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half-dead-ham · 2 years ago

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The Justice League found themselves in one of the Watchtower conference rooms, watching with mounting dread as another vortex of swirling Lazarus green spat out even more indescribably creatures into the main streets of Metropolis. This was the third one in as many hours, and Superman was still trying to contain the havoc these creatures were creating without getting caught by one.

Needless to say, it was slow going.

"What about the Dark division?" Hal asked, eyes trained to a monitor showing a flying green old lady hurling cannonball sized mounds of hamburger at anything that moves from a chain superstore.

Batman shakes his head, he'd called everyone he knew but they had no idea how to handle these beings.

Hal sits back in resignation just as Flash speeds into the room.

"Alright I know I'm late, what'd I miss?" He askes no one in particular, voice light despite the situation.

No one answered the question but Diana, who silently motions to the screens, all displaying various levels of a destroyed downtown. A biker literally tearing up the roads, a punk singer on top of the globe of the Daily Bugle, bewitching anyone within earshot. A beast the size of a tank barreling through a park, a castle of boxes growing and incorporating nearby buildings into its mass. All this and Superman was just trying to mitigate damage while avoiding a large robot in a jetpack.

Flash whistles at the displays, wow that was a lot of damage.

"And no one's called Phantom?" He asks, eyeing a monitor showing a large green dog bursting out of a petstore, oversized maw grinding on all the chew toys that would fit.

The heroes at the table looked at each other in confusion, they had never heard of anyone named 'Phantom'.

When Flash got no reply he turned to the table, arms crossed as he looked over the others in his team.

"Really? No one thought about calling the dude that can clean this up? Seriously?"

"Flash," Green Arrow said slowly, "we have no idea who you're talking about."

The mask around Flash's eyes scrunched momentarily, thinking, before a look of clarity passed, complete with a small 'oh'.

"Right, sorry, forget that not everyone knows the guy that has to deal with our stuff," he chuckled sheepishly.

Before anyone could ask about what 'our stuff' meant Barry added, "don't worry I know a way to get him."

And then he was gone in a streak of red out the door, much to everyone's exasperation.

Not even five minutes later Flash was back again, cheesy smirk plastered on his face as he sat down next to Wonder Woman. They all just stared at him for a few seconds, expecting him to explain, to make small talk, something to help the situation.

"Well?" Oliver prompts, curiosity and stress getting to him as he sees another building collapse from the corner of his eye. "Where's your guy?"

Barry just sits there, saying nothing but holding up a finger as if to ask them 'just wait a minute'. Oliver frowns at the reaction but couldn't get a word in before another swirling vortex of green opens in the conference room. Chairs screeched across the floor as every hero leapt to their feet, all except Flash, who just turned in his chair to face the floating circle.

Seconds passed as nothing happened, tension running high in the heroes as they stared at the portal. Then the surface moved.

Slowly, like something out of a horror movie (and very much unlike what was happening in Metropolis) a figure pushed its way through the portal like it was fighting it. A hand tore through the surface, stark white with clawed tips, with the arm and body following, covered in black.

When the figure was out of the portal the heroes hesitated. The thing looked young. No older than sixteen, but with glaring signs to its otherness. The pointed ears, the claws, the way it stayed frozen in the air as though the watchtower's artificial gravity wasn't working, too green eyes washing over the group before him before landing on Barry.

"Baaaarrrrrrrryyyyy," the creature groaned. But, not like a haunting groan? More like an 'I'm so tired of your shit' type of groan.

"You know you shouldn't make whole paradoxes in time just to get me to see you, right?" The creature gripped, slumping their shoulders and making a face at the speedster.

The Flash just shrugged, as though making a paradox in time wasn't incredibly dangerous.

The figure sighed, giving the rest of the -now highly concerned- heroes another once over.

"So what did you want this time? Not everyday you drag me this side of the human realm to see your super buddies."

"Nothing much," Barry replied, "Supes is just having a hard time with some of your people and somehow I was the one who knew the best guy for the job."

The being frowned, looking from the still tense group of heroes to the monitors displaying the destruction of Metropolis.

Seeing as the creature wasn't attacking them, Oliver's curiosity was piqued.

"What did Flash do to make you come here anyway, and what even are you?"

The being, was it Phantom? Phantom kept watching the monitors, waving his hand at the table in dismissal.

"Ghost," he replied simply. "And this time he decided to make a paradox where Frans Ferdinand both got assassinated and was around as world war two began." There was more, but it was a low grumbled mess mixed with hisses and chirps that could very much not be made with human vocal chords.

"Isn't that bad? Like, change the course of history bad?" Hal joins in as he looks at Barry, horrified that he just changed the past so casually. "And also, how the hell do you know his real name‽"

"Uh huh," Phantom half replied, still glued to the monitors. "'Work for big daddy time, 's why you don't remember Ferdinand being around for the war in history. 'S also my job to fix whatever stupid shit the speedsters get up to in time, so I see 'em a lot."

Finally Phantom turns back to the group.

"I know all their names, a few of yours too. Comes with the perks of the job, I guess," they shrug.

With that knowledge bomb safely dropped, Phantom proceeded to pull out- is that a fucking thermos?- from their previously unnoticed messenger bag and points it at Barry.

"You. No paradoxing at least until I fix this mess. You have my number, would it kill you to use it?" They then wave to the rest of the League. "Also, explain to your friends why it's not a good idea to also summing a ghost with time paradoxes? I wanna say I trust them more but the shit I've seen some of you pull sadly makes me think otherwise."

And with that, Phantom flew through the floor, reappearing on one of the displays showing Metropolis not ten minutes later.

"So," Barry turned his chair back around to face the table of gobsmacked heroes with a cheshire grin. "That was Phantom."

Oliver looked like he wanted to scream, Hall like he was ready to throw hands. Batman had that look on his cowl like he had an investigation itch to scratch and wanted to race to the nearest computer to itch it. Diana stared blankly at where the ghosts had been not minutes before, in silent contemplation.

Barry leaned his chair back as he watched it play out, so glad he got to spread a little chaos just this once. The kid was the best prank teacher a speedster could ask for, he'd be getting extra pineapple on his pizza when he saw the kid next Tuesday.

"I suppose it's fitting," Diana broke the silence with her comment. "That one's so familiar with traversing through time would know my grandfather's ward."

"WHAT?" Barry shouted, turning to the Amazonian.

From there the conference room devolved into chaos, with Barry, Hal and Oliver getting into an argument about the speedsters supposed stances on the supernatural, Batman reaching the nearest monitor and trying desperately to pull up everything he could on Phantom.

Superman entered to this scene, out of breath and confused. Diana just looked over and gave him a tired smile as a greeting.

dc x dp prompt: instead of constantine or batman or billy being the one who knows about Ghost Stuff, it's the speedsters, because clockwork is the one who has to deal with all the Time Paperwork their nonsense creates and danny keeps getting sent in about it.

(I had more but honestly I think it's more fun to see the very different directions people go with less specific prompts :) )

!!! Oh this is so sick!!! Maybe the GZ works in parallel with the speedforce? Something of the sort? Either way this is such a neat idea :)

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dc comics #writing prompts #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #so this got away from me #but it was just too good!#I couldnt get the image of danny chastizing the Flash for making a WHOLE PARADOX just to call his friend.#i should probably go to bed #Just ~2k of danny and Barry trollign the JL #I prefer the 2003 flash but im tryna get used to him being barry so if anythings ooc its notmyfault-

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tokoyamisstuff · 3 years ago

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Dark Side Of The Moon Ch. 2 - Dark! Loki x Reader

Chapter 2: “On The Run”

Chapter Summary: Even though you can’t help feeling drawn to the lunatic that looks like your deceased lover, you try to surpress your feelings and flee to find your friends.

Warnings: Loki is fucking crazy, Violence, Torture, Jotun! Loki, Mentions of Death, Abuse, Unhealthy Relationship, Mentions of Rape

Words: 3360

[Story Masterlist]

Masterlist to my other works right ->Here<-

“And the shark, it has tears,

And they run down its face.

But the shark lives in the water -

So the teardrops one can’t see.”

- Rammstein - Haifisch

Taglist: @winterglcw @commonintrest @emmojoy @satansbra @just-someone-who-likes-to-write

“She died through my hands.”

That sentence replayed over and over in your head, forming a continuous loop as you silently formed those words with your own lips.

“It’s not him!” you called out to yourself, since your reason had seemingly disappeared ever since you first saw the person that was a perfect copy of the man you once loved.

You were rolling around on the bare floor, shivering as you softly punched your head to not get lost in thought again. The emperor didn’t even have the basic decency to give you any clothes back, only having the Citauri throw you into an old dungeon to keep you prisoner - or whatever he’d plan to do with you.

That man was so different of your Loki.

And the timeline both of you were currently in had exceeded your worst expectations, making you wonder if fate just wanted to torment you.

In this universe, Thanos never even got so far as to collect all of the Infinity Stones. Loki Laufeyson had won the battle of New York and took over this world, then somehow double-crossed and killed the Titan. So right now, he possessed the power of the Tesseract, as well as the Cascet of Ancient Winters. For what reason he kept that Jotun relic was unknown, probably out of nostalgic sentiment you assumed.

Afterwards, the God of Mischief had killed his brother Thor in bad blood, as well as torturing Natasha - the exact way he threatened her back in your world, when he was in his cell. Clint was still his servant, as it seemed. You had seen him when they took you to his cell.

He couldn’t get rid of all the Avengers, however - even though their current location was unknown. They were in hiding for many years now, probably trying to get their hands on the other Infinity Stones.

Also noticeable was the fact that this universe had neither Hela, nor Captain Marvel - so one good and one bad thing to compensate for each other. Not that they’d be a match for Loki in his current form anyway...

And there was no Dr. Strange on this version of Earth, your last bit hope to escape disappearing as you learned about this fact.

That much was all you had learned by now, mainly through tricking and manipulating some of your guards into giving you information.

All in all, you only knew for sure was that this world’s Loki was a terribly trong, murderous sociopath, intoxicated by power and loneliness.

And you had become the focus of the little emotion left in him.

It was hard trying to surpress all the voices and memory submerging in your mind. So there was nothing left for you except for rolling up into a ball, lying on the cold floor as you prepared to be washed over with sadness and guilt once again.

_____

“Would you help me recieve the greatest honor by becoming mine and mine only, Lady Y/N?”

How could you ever forget this moment?

Back on the Asgardian refugee ship, your Loki had asked you that very question, now popping up in your mind once again.

Every detail was still as bright as daylight, preserved deep into your heart.

You clearly remembered the small, green box he had summoned out of thin air, presenting you a plain but still incredibly beautiful ring. The golden piece of jewlery formed a snake eating itself - a symbol of infinity and wholeness.

It was just his way of being thoughtful.

“I-I prepared this a while go, to be precize...but I never thought of being worthy” he had stammered and you found yourself speechless, admiring that very scene playing in front of your eyes. “A-Anyway, after all that happened, I realized that all moments I spent happy, were when I was with you. I don’t want to lose you again, Y/N! And I feared, well...that it might be too late to ask someday.”

It was most unjust that this most blissful moment would be interrupted by a great rumbling shaking through the whole spaceship - and even before Thor would crash Loki’s proposal, both of you were aware just what kind of danger you would have to face soon:

Thanos.

Your numbers had already been decimated by Ragnarok, all that’s left being some civilian refugees, injured and traumatized. The only ones capable of fighting left were Loki, Thor, Heimdall, you and the Hulk.

Yet all of your struggles were to no avail, only able to watch and scream and bag at the Titan, so he’d at least spare those innocent lives as he mercilessly slaughtered woman and children alike.

“Fucking monster!” Pulling out a gun, your mind went completely blank as you gave it some last, desperate attempt to save or avenge just anyone.

No bullet would even come close enough to pierce his skin, as Ebony Maw would deflect them to hit yourself and people close to you. “I’m not the only one you should see responsible for this outcome” Thanos scoffed.

“What do you mea-” Your voice got swallowed by a pained groan as you saw Loki, kneeling in front of Thanos and revealing the one thing he was after:

The Tesseract.

“You......took it?!?” The only thing managing to escape your throat was a high-pitched yell as Loki’s face contorted in disappointment and regret - just now realizing that he had put you all in danger.

They would’ve never went after you if it wasn’t for him. He had doomed his race, failed you and what was left of his family.

“How could you put us all in danger?! I thought you had changed! You swore it with your life, Loki! That you loved me more than you desired power!”

No answer.

Instead, the god would prepare one of his speeches, directing words of undying fidelity at Thanos and his arms. And even though it was meant to be lies, a play to make the threat feel save, every single word hit your heart like knives.

“How could I ever marry someone like you?!” feeling as if Loki most recent, selfish act was suffocating you, you could only whisper - yet he understood very clearly, the facade dropping in an instant. “I-I hate you...traitor...”

If only you knew that those would be the last words you’d ever direct at him...

Loki materializes a dagger, desperately trying to make up for his biggest mistake yet, and at least save you, the light of his cursed existence, and the only thing he had ever done in his life full of wrongs.

But Thanos looked right through the charade from the very beginning, using the stones to trap Loki in their hold - and then, grabbing the god’s throat.

“You have what you want, Thanos!” Thor tried to bargain, “There’s even less than half of my race left. Please, just let us go!”

“Oh, I will” he spoke stony, then shifting his attention to the god in his hands. “But first, I’ll do you a favor and erase that disgraceful pest all of you were too weak to take care of.”

As he was struggling for air, gasping uncontrollably as he tried to free his neck from the Giant, Loki’s glare wandered to you - and when your eyes met, both of your hearts skipped a beat.

He smiled. In the face of death, the last thing he wanted you to remember was the good things after all.

And seeing the ring on your finger, how couldn’t he? Loki knew you were about to say yes - and knowing this was more than enough for someone like him.

After all, the God of Mischief was used to happiness being taken away from him as soon as he thought it to be okay to open up to someone.

But you were safe. That’s all that counted for him!

It was like his eyes were telling you “It’s gonna be alright. I’m sorry, Y/N...I love you.”

You don’t remember much after that, having a mental breakdown as you had to watch the love of your life perish - and forever thinking about how you had turned him down just seconds before.

A part of you had died with him back then.

_____

The creaking sound of the cell’s door made you jump from your dream - but the person which entered was one you had never seen before.

A monster.

It’s silhouette very much resembled Loki, yet his skin was painted in a dark shade of blue, with thin linings carved across his whole body. He had fangs and even horns coming out of his temple to add at that.

The beast’s eyes were shining in a threatening red, glistering contrastful in the dark hallway. But the worst were those black irises, absent of any form of compassion - there seemed to be only rage, confusion and hate.

“Fuck!” you screamed, terrified and fearing for your life. Shuffling until your back hit the wall of a corner of the room, you defendingly put your arms in front of yourself. “Go away! Don’t to-ouch me!”

Loki cleared his voice as he put the Casket away, not making any efforts to revert his outer appearance back to ‘normal’. He had admired it on his way to your cell, like he’d do many times a day when he was reminiscing about the day he learned about his heritage...

...and how he had killed Odin, his adoptive father, with that very relic, afterwards clearing the universe of that despiseful race of the Jotunn - making him the last of his kind.

“Oh my” a dark voice finally declared, “Seems like ‘your’ Loki never dared to show you his true form. Pathetic.”

No, that wasn’t completely true. Your lover had at least told you back then. But when did you ever have the time to talk things over and heal, being dragged from one fight to another?!

The Jotunn felt great joy as he towered over you, gleefully watching your naked body cowering to his knees, covered in goosebumps and shaking heavily. Your breath was clearly visible while you tried to cover your shame as best as you could, wary glare never leaving the abomination that was just lurking right in front of you.

“Wha- OUCH!” you hissed as the Frost Giant took ahold of your wrist, monitoring the pain spreading across your face as his touch would frostburn any skin he was touching with ease.

Loki grinned menacingly as he let go off of you, admiring his handywork as the first layer of your skin had already died, crumbling away to reveal your pink flesh.

“Oh, how I missed that” he explained, much to your surprise ripping a piece of his own clothing apart to cover the wound with it. “Your kind is so easily broken. It’s always fascinating to watch.”

“Just kill me already, you freak!”

Well, Loki had in fact spent hours after hours thinking about how to handle you, and yet he couldn’t decide. Obviously he would’ve killed you right away if it was otherwise, but he still had a soft spot for you somewhere deep in his heart, after all.

And it upset him more than he’d ever admit. So he tried to assert his dominance, to ease the feeling of weakness and loss of control.

“I’m only doing you a favor, woman.” The god would touch your cheek, making you flinch away - but this time, it wouldn’t hurt. Never would he dare to scar this most beautiful face!

“The man you loved was just the same as me, yet it seemed he wasn’t completely honest with you. What you are seeing right now is the form of a Frost Giant...the monstrosity you chose to love.”

“L-Loki…”

It was no surprise that he saw tears filling the rim of your eyes - yet out of a whim, you pulled your arms around his neck, tears wetting his robe. He gasped, unable to act in any way as he stiffened in the pose.

That was by far not the reaction he had been expecting - and he surprised you as well. You had thought him to instantly shove you away, beat you agaib or even bite - but he just kneeled there, not daring to make a move.

"Why?” Now his voice was much softer, pained even. “I’m a monster. I hurt you. So why?”

“I’m so sorry” you whimpered, words being interrupted by heavy sobbing. “I try to fight it, I really do. But I just can’t, I-I”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“How could I be? It’s you, Loki...no matter what you look like.” Eventually, you’d face him again, wiping the tears out of your face when for another moment, you made yourself forget that this was a completely different person. “I was just surprised, that’s all. Letting me see this form out of nowhere...”

“Y/N, I’m not the same as him” he retorted, knowing very well what it’s like to lose oneself in daydreams and illusions to ease the pain of loss. His sight wandered around the room instead of your face, stating “I did horrendous things, dear. Tormented and killed countless. It’s unforgiveable.”

“So did he” you stated, even though you knew those two Loki’s couldn’t be compared. “And you should already know: I feel dead inside, ever since he died.”

“You really loved him, didn’t you?” When you nodded confidently, Loki sighed ashamed, reluctantly touching your wrist again. A warm magic would flow through you, healing the wound in no time. “I wish she had felt the same for me...”

For a while, both of you were plainly sitting in uncomfortable silence, with Loki even lending you his cloak to warm yourself up.

“It’s not him” you told yourself once again. “It’s not him. It’s not him. IT’S NOT HIM!!! That man is dangerous and instable. He can’t be trusted!”

And then, finally, you dared asking, cutting through the thick air:

“What exactly happened to me, in this world?”

Loki’s face contorted in agony, rubbing his face as if in deep pain. “Is this really necessary? I already told you. She died because of me.”

“More details would be nice” you retorted bluntly, not really caring if he was to have a violent outburst again. Curiosity got the better of you at that moment.

The emperor’s voice was low and husky, and just now you realized how damn tired he looked - with dark rings under his eyes, and more pale than you had ever remembered him.

The weight of his sins sure had taken a stroll on that sensitive man.

"I saw the ring” he uttered deeply affected, “That’s something I could only dream of. Thinking about it, I think she never really loved me in the first place. Or maybe she just grew tired of my lies. Understandable, I have to admit...”

“Yes, it was quite the opposite, even” he continued after a long, strained breath of his. “She hated me. Joined the Avengers and tried to kill me, several times. Only years later I learned about the truth: Already far in the past, back on Asgard, she betrayed me. After I fell off the Bifrost, she thought myself dead - and consoled herself by bedding my brother. I had to kill him, I-I-I just had to!”

Loki’s hands were shaking so frantically you could feel it from over there, mad eyes darting over your physique to take in your reaction. “After they finally lost, I took her prisoner. Seven months of trying to make her mine, no matter the methods. Mind-controlling her would not be satisfying. So I tortured her, played games with her sanity, and- I’d rather not speak about how else I violated her.”

“You, wha-” Now you were the one shivering in horrid anticipation, “You raped me...?”

No answer. Instead he just finished this disastrous story.

“One day, I went to her cell like I always did. I hoped once her mind was broken she’d stop struggling to be mine. But she never did. You Y/N’s are quite the fighters, as it seems.”

“Wha- wwhat happened to me...I mean, ‘her’?”

A loud whine escaped his vocal cords as he hit the wall right next to your face, making you suck in a pained breath.

“She used her chains to hang herself. There was nothing I could do. Ever since then I knew I’m cursed to inflict pain on anything I hold dear.”

"D-Don’t give me that self-pitying bullshit” you wanted to shout at his face - but the cramping in your heart as well as the hyperventillation made talking impossible.

How could one do something like that to a person they claimed to love?!

“Go” you whimpered, already shuffling away from him and he could hear anguish and fear drop out of every vocal, and he realized you were having a panic attack. “Please!”

Loki closed his eyes, letting out one last, deep sigh. He knew he owed you that much.

“Very well.”

That whole night, you spent crying and screaming to your hearts avail, unable to process your current situation and newfound knowledge.

So that would be your life from now on? Being hurt mentally and physically, frostburnt and hurt and violated against your will - all while looking at a face that remembered you of happier days?

Never!

Things were just like that evil Loki said: You are a fighter!

And if you couldn’t help that crazy man, you would at least help yourself! The Avengers are still out there, somewhere. You needed to escape and help them!

How could you have been so blind all those years?

Loki - your Loki - would have never wanted to you give up. He’d want you to survive and live your life to it’s fullest, trying to make the best out of everything you’ve got.

Just like he always did. That much you had learned from him.

“I’m sorry, Loki. If I die, I can’t even remember you...I love you…”

Breaking out succeeded faster than you could ever think it would take - because when you’d finally get out of your fetal courl and wandered across the cell, you realized Loki didn’t properly close the heavy steel door back when he rushed away from you.

“It’s not him. There’s no helping that man. I have to find my friends, I-”

Still shocked and scared and traumatized, you didn’t even realize that someone was watching you, not even questioning that the hallways were oddly empty.

You sneaked out of an open window, bare feet feeling the morning dew as you shook away Lokis cloak and ran as fast as your feet could carry you.

There was it - the fence.

No one could tell you what kind of world would await you outside of that property as you swiftly avoided some guards, rushing through the all so beautiful garden.

But as soon as you reached out to climb the railing, you felt someone balling a fist in your hair, harshly holding you back and causing you to stumble and fall.

“I thought you to be different…” an all too familiar voice grumbled. Loki didn’t even want to hear any apology or excuse, kicking your guts so heavily that you had to throw up, cramping on the ground.

“Don’t you dare to run away ever again!” he now yelled furiously, "She tried it too...so damn.many.times…!”

But before you could even respond, he suddenly began to cry uncontrollably. “I thought you would stay. Do you think I like to do this?!”

His voice was laced with grief and regret, yet he kept on forming countless bruises on your body. “Why can’t you fucking love me, hel?!”

You didn’t know how long his violent crying fit lasted, with him weeping as he let off some steam on your helpless self.

There was no trace of the hurt, regretful man left you talked to in your cell earlier. After being finished, having reclaimed a fraction of composure, Loki pressed your face in between his hands, ripping on your mangled body to face him.

“Fate gifted me another chance to possess you, Y/N. And I will form you into a magnificent pet, I promise.”

_______

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#Loki #Loki x Reader #Loki x You #Loki x Y/N #Loki Laufeyson #Loki Odinson #Loki Friggason #God of Mischief #Loki / Reader #Loki / You #Marvel #Disney #Asgard #Midgard #Writing #Fanfiction #Self Insert #tw abuse #tw violence

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dragonblobz · 3 years ago

Text

I'm on my bullshit again. No lemons. Just Shinigami goodness. Wrote this to In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth 3 by Coheed and Cambria.

Ryuk has been around for such a long time. Ever since she had found that notebook sitting on that tree stump years ago. Cover soft looking and beaded with dew. It had looked as if it had been there some time. And, although the pages looked weathered and yellow, there was no mold or outward damage.

Surprising given its location in the middle of the woods. She’d only even seen it because she’d stopped and knelt to retie her shoe. Just an alien black square looking sharp and unreal sitting on that stump just off the jogging trail.

She can remember how the thing had felt when she’d picked it up. Soft in texture. Like careworn leather.

The words “Death Note" emblazoned on the cover had made her feel a little unsettled. Eerie out here in the predawn misty quiet.

A silent voice inside her mind had whispered that maybe she should put it right back down on that stump and keep running. As far and as fast as she could.

Another voice, vapid and cunning, had laughed at the absurdity of such a book, with such a title, being left out here in the middle of nowhere.

She hadn’t left it there. Without opening it, she’d tucked it under her arm and continued on her morning run.

She performed all the menial tasks of her daily life, forgetting all about that Death Note leaving dew marks on her dining room table.

Breakfast was bland. Work was tedious. No different than any other day. Even when she’d reentered her home and plopped her work bag next to the thing, her eyes really didn’t focus on it.

It was the tall bony Shinigami standing in her kitchen that finally arrested her fuzzy mind from the blandness of living.

He hadn’t even been looking at her. Instead, the spinous processes of his vertebrae pressed onto the dark material upon his long back as he leaned over her counter. Observing a bowl of fruit as if it were a still life masterpiece.

She hadn’t moved. Was utterly frozen. Just watching this creature as it looked at her food.

“What’s all this junk? Taking up room that could be used for perfectly good apples.” It’s voice, low and yet raspy, grated on her eardrums as it lifted a hand and poked a claw into the ripe flesh of an orange. The movement causing several pieces of fruit to fall out of the over filled bowl entirely.

With a deft movement, the creature caught the only apple which had exited the bowl. Rubbed it with the pad of it’s thumb as it finally lifted it’s face to look at her.

It’s face………

Cadaverous. Eyes beady and large and yellow. Nose squashed. Like a mummy who’d decided to affix it’s hair for a punk rock concert. It was even sporting a dangling silver earring on one of it’s little ears.

At her gawping expression, it had smiled. Wide thin dark mouth sporting a row of razor teeth appearing aged and yellow.

“No screaming, eh? Hiya, Y/N.”

She hadn’t bothered to question how this thing knew her name.

“Um…….. hi?” Her own voice sounded dry and distant in her ears. “And you are?”

It bit into that apple, it’s eyes closing. As if savoring the fruit. A stray drop of the juice dribbled down onto it’s chin.

It said a word. But muffled thru a mouthful of apple, it nearly sounded like a retch.

“Ex….Excuse me? I didn’t…… I didn’t quite understand that.”

“Not a good listener tho. Ah well. Nobody is perfect.” It’s long tongue snaked out to swipe at that bead of juice as the creature had studied her.

Raising it’s free hand, it extended a long bony finger. She noticed now the rings glinting on his hands.

“I. Am. Ryuk.” He said it very slowly. As if she might have been a child who might not understand. But there wasn’t a trace of sarcasm or ill temper in it’s behavior.

“So….. Ryuk…… why…… um…. What……. What do you want?”

At this, it’s smile had widened.

“I’m just here Y/N. YOU are the one that picked up the Death Note.”

Imagery of that notebook popped up in her head.

“I….. I did……”

“Yes. You did. And I’ll be with you until you die now. Or I do.” It was leering now. “Whichever comes first.”

“I see….” She didn’t really see. Turned from him and went into the dining room to pick up that notebook. Opening it. Reading the first thing written on the inside of the cover out loud.

“The human whose name is written in this note shall die.”

It had been frightening in retrospect. Not those words. Not that Death Note. Not even the monster standing in the doorway happily crunching it’s way thru a second apple and watching her.

What had been utterly terrifying was that she had not blanched. Had not set this note down and backed away. Had not told that creature to take it and go.

Instead, she’d stood there. Continuing to read. A name and face already coming to mind.

A face belonging to a monster who’d put that apple eating shark mouthed monster to utter shame. The man who’d killed someone she had loved.

Without looking away from the Death Note, she’d reached over and started rummaging thru her work bag. Fingers shaking and fumbling at keys and change.

“Never can find what you’re looking for if your bag is too full, Y/N.” Ryuk looked vastly amused. “You’re not even going to question the validity of the Note? That’s what you humans usually do.”

She hadn’t answered. Simply gasped as her fingers had clutched onto a great fistful of bullshit in her bag. Lifting the whole mess out to drop carelessly on the table. Chapstick and a tampon scattering across the surface.

And there, rolling and coming to rest against an old broken key chain, had been a blue ink pen.

She’d looked up at Ryuk. Eyes wide, almost manic.

“Any person?”

He smiled again. Repeated her words.

“Any living person.”

There had been no eloquence. No artfulness nor ritualistic care taken in that first death. She had scratched the name onto the paper. And a way to die. Almost stabbing it in. Breathing coming out in ragged desperate gasping.

After the deed had been done, the pen clattered to the floor as she’d wept. Fingers numb.

It hadn’t occurred to her that there would be no way to instantly verify this death. Not until that moment. And so, with a frustrated cry, she’d slapped the Death Note onto the table and fled into her bedroom. Right over to the dark corner to collapse, wrap her arms around her knees, stuff her face into her knees, and cry as a child. Ryuk following her, tilting his head quizzically at this suffering.

“Why are you crying? You couldn’t have liked that human if you wanted them to die.”

“Please…… please go.”

But he didn’t. Simply had sank down. Knobby knees on either side of his ghastly face as he sat across from her.

“I told you. I’m here till you die, Y/N.” There was no camaraderie or sympathy in his voice. It had been matter of fact. “But this surely will get boring very soon, won’t it?”

“When will I know if he died?”

Ryuk smiled again. Leering.

“My my. Impatient aren’t you. Actually that’s a quality I like about you humans. As for your question, I guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself.” His eyes glint as his smile turns wicked. “You could always write a name belonging to someone closer. If you’re seeking validation, of course.”

“There isn’t anyone else I wanna kill.”

“Then this is going to get very boring very quickly, Y/N.”

She hadn’t had to wait long. Two days later, she’d received correspondence that her presence would no longer be required at a hearing. The defendant was dead.

A quick Google search verified that the person had died just as she’d written.

Setting the phone down, fingers numb, she'd simply looked up at her Shinigami.

She knew that’s what he was now. She’d been peppering him with questions about himself and his kind. And about the Death Note. He hadn’t answered many of them. At least, not until she’d given him an angelic grin and revealed a bag of bright green apples.

“Your apples can be green???” He'd looked absolutely delighted. And had been far more forthcoming.

“He’s dead. He’s really……. Gone…….”

Ryuk merely grunted in visceral enjoyment as he popped the core of that Granny Smith into his maw.

Without warning, she’d reached forward, patting at another errant drop of juice on his chin with a Kleenex she’d just snatched from the box. The action was mainly impulsive. And she’d laughed.

“You’re so messy.”

The Shinigami had frozen. Utterly motionless. He didn’t breathe himself. Statue still. Simply looking at her.

The years passed by like this. The shock and relief provided by this first killing soon giving way to an almost comfortable routine. She didn’t go on a wholesale slaughter. And often targeted those who hurt children. The pain of such cases resonating with the events of her own life.

And there were so. Many. Apples. Loads of them. Ryuk loved all kinds. Although he did seem preferential to Honey Crisp. She never once could get him to try another fruit. And she DID try. Not even a damn orange.

“It’s yummy. Ya know, for somebody that says he gets bored easily, you sure are picky.” She waggled the bright fruit.

“I’ve watched you peel one of those things. What sort of food makes you work so hard? Now THIS……” He'd held up his half eaten apple. “THIS is the pinnacle of crisp and juicy. Now leave that orange wherever you found it, if you please.”

Time was littered with conversations as simple as these, intermingled with serious discussions in which he was as non informative as ever.

It was one of these more serious conversations which followed an observation on her part.

She’d noticed changes in him. Very slight. But she was simply around him so much that she could see them. His movements had become slower. More careful. His speech slowed as well. As if he might be thinking more carefully. Or even forgetting things. She never once pointed this out.

Not until, one day, after clearing 6 entire apples, he’d actually groaned as he’d flopped upon her couch. Long booted feet hanging over one of the arms.

She plops next to him. Poking at one of the skulls on his belt. He’d long since stopped being surprised by her impulsive touches and nearness. Her humanness. Simply tolerating it.

“Are you hurting, Ryuk?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Oh. No reason.”

“I’m dying, Y/N.”

For once, it is she who freezes.

“I thought Shinigami lived a long time.”

“We do. My time is simply running out.” He’s just watching her.

“You’d said….. you’d said that you guys get more years by taking ours.”

“We do.”

She stops toying with that skull entirely. Turns her body so that she’s facing him directly.

“Is it time, then?” She’s oddly unafraid.

“Time for what?”

“For you to….. ya know…… write my name in YOUR Death Note?”

At this, he chuckles.

“I’m not going to write your name.”

She looks confused.

“But….. why not?”

Now he’s actually laughing.

“Do you WANT me to write your name in my Death Note?”

She chews on her bottom lip. Reaching out to pat his chest. Once again, he doesn’t react.

“I don’t want you to die.”

He laughs again. But there is no more true mirth in the sound.

“Why?”

She counters.

“Why won’t you write my name?”

“I am not entirely sure, Y/N.” The slight confusion in his voice gives credence to this answer.

“Well. I am sure.” She’s staring intently at him. “Everything ends, Ryuk. Nobody ever stays. Nothing is constant. I’ve never had a single person ever remain in my life. Except….. except you.”

He sighs. Patiently repeating himself.

“I will be with you until you die.”

“I don’t care if it’s because you have to be here. You’re still HERE……. Will it be soon?”

That same, toothy leer.

“You know I won’t tell you your lifespan, Y/N.”

“I don’t mean me.”

He just looks at her. She’s never seen his face so expressionless. Then repeats yet again.

“I will be with you until you die. Or until I do.”

“I will write my own name then. Will that do it?”

“Stop being foolish. Be a dear and get me another apple won’t you?”

“Yeah….. I will. But I’m not done.”

“I’m sure you’re not.” He chuckles.

It is as if this conversation opens a chasm in this inevitable process. Everything about Ryuk is changing. And so quickly.

Already emaciated and pale, even his dark lips turn papery and light grey. His hair grays too. Yellow eyes growing filmy where they had been so keen before. As if, when the aging process actually begins in a Shinigami, it is accelerated.

It is barely 2 weeks after this conversation that he gives a defeated grunt, sprawled on her bed as she’s on her laptop.

“I can’t get up.” He barks out a laugh. As if this is genuinely funny to him.

She closes her laptop and rises from her chair. Turning and walking over to the bed to flop next to him. Staring at the ceiling just as he is.

“You want another apple?”

“Thank you, Y/N. But I do not.”

“That close, huh.”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Will the Death Note still work? When you’re gone I mean.”

“Yes.”

Her voice is oddly cold.

“Do death gods go to hell? I cant go to heaven or hell. What about you?”

He doesn’t answer for several minutes. She doesn’t speak either. Finally…

“I suppose we will end up in the same place, Y/N.”

“I'm glad.” She turns her face to look at him. “I’ll need something before you go.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“The Shinigami eyes.”

At this, Ryuk turns his face as well. And they just stare at each other.

“Clever greedy impatient girl.” The insult is almost affectionate. “Are you truly that afraid to die alone?”

“Nobody should die alone. And this way, neither of us will half to. Half my lifespan for the Shinigami eyes. We’ll die at the same time.” She looks back up at the ceiling. He does too.

When he feels her fingers intertwining with his, as always, he doesn’t react.

“I never actually made that offer to you. Merely spoke of it.”

“I don’t care. I want the Shinigami eyes.”

He turns his face to her.

“Who am I to turn down such a lucrative deal?”

She sees his hand coming towards her face. Closes her eyes.

When she opens them again, the picture of her and some old friends on the wall is noticeably different. One face, the face of the friend who’d committed suicide years before, is clear and unblemished. The other faces each have a name and numbers above them.

And when she looks back at Ryuk, she sees that his hair is once again jet black. Eyes just as clear and sharp as she remembers. He leers at her. Squeezes her hand as she’s squeezing his.

“I’ll take that apple as well. If the offer is still there.”

She grins.

“You got a new lease on life and you STILL won’t try an orange?”

He scoffs.

#death note #ryuk #fem reader #ryuk x reader #tw suicide reference #my writing

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yandere-sins · 4 years ago

Text

Be safe (Atsumu)

Summary: You are to marry the fox spirit Kita Shinsuke after you accidentally agreed to become his wife by signing the deed to your new home. A contract is a contract, he says, but is there more to this marriage than you know? Will you be whisked away by one of the foxy twins instead, or have to marry Kita after all? Can you be with a creature that only seems tender on the surface, or will you try to run even if it might cost you your life? Choose your route carefully, you never know what these foxes are up to!

Characters: Kitsune!Miya Atsumu x afab!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings for this chapter: Yandere, Forced/Unhealthy Relationship, Manipulation, Mention of blood

“But if you leave, they’ll find you.”

Again, you couldn’t argue with that. You couldn’t argue with anything he said; not, when he was so right about it.

It had been days now, perhaps a week since you two left the village. Time passed quicker when you were hunted and always had someone on your heels, so you lost track of it. It moved especially fast if these someones had long jaws and big teeth, trying to maul you no matter if you were awake or asleep. If you didn’t see them while you wandered the forests by Atsumu’s side - stumbling and failing to keep up with him no matter how hard you tried - then they’d come to you in your nightmare-filled hours of sleep. You weren’t sure if you were cursed or ridden with remorse, but you had never been so constantly exhausted in your whole life before.

No matter how safe your current location was, you caught yourself looking over your shoulder all the time, double-checking your surroundings. Sometimes, subconsciously, you held yourself back from touching trees or kicked away your footsteps when there was time for it. Paranoia was a constant companion, and it wasn’t any better than the person you actually were traveling with.

There was no hiding it how bad of a travel companion Atsumu was. His constant picking on your abilities, the insults, and trashing wasn’t only going on your nerves but even deeper, down to your confidence and strength. When you two were talking, it was mostly arguing with each other or you telling him you couldn’t take another step without collapsing. The few times that you stood up for yourself, Atsumu made it crystal clear there was nowhere to go.

“But if you leave, they’ll find you,” was his new go-to sentence whenever you dared to defy him. As if he liked to remind you that the choice between pest and cholera you made wasn’t going to guarantee you freedom from the other. Atsumu might be the pest in your life at the moment, but there was something just as or even worse ever-present, ready to lash at you the moment you distanced yourself from the fox spirit.

Perhaps Atsumu wasn’t the prince you wanted, but you came to realize he was the fox you needed.

You couldn’t keep count of the times you two had been attacked on your journey, not specifically by other foxes, but there had been many other creatures that seemed to want to pick a bone with your protector. Whether it had been because of you or simply because they seemed to have a specific interest in Atsumu, these fights always were more gruesome than your innocent, human heart wanted to see. One or two times, there had been a critical amount of blood lost after a fight, but so far, you two had managed to get out of it every time. Those were nerve-wracking times, and you had thought about simply leaving Atsumu where he hid himself to recover, so you could run away. Perhaps it would have saved both of you some trouble if you separated, and maybe you would have been safer on your own, hiding and dodging the things that came after you.

But were you really? Thoughts flooded your mind almost instantly about the things that could happen when you were on your own. Most of the time, you didn’t even know where you were, stranded in the middle of the forest, and even if you knew, where would you go? You couldn’t go back to your’ home’ as it wasn’t a safe place for you anymore. And if you asked for help, the best anyone could do was bring you back there, where ultimately, you’d be found. You didn’t want to think about what would happen if another person tried to interfere with this particular situation you were in. What would happen to them.

Somehow, seeing him wounded and whiny, you couldn’t bring it over you to abandon him like that. Of course, there were more factors playing into why you’d stay by his side instead of leave, but you were still struggling with accepting them all. Even if he probably would have survived without you, you made yourself believe you felt indebted to at least try to help him, perhaps tend to his wounds amateurishly. In the end, you rather endure his grumbles and moans than to really leave him, and that should have told you everything right back then.

It should have told you what kind of coward you were.

You were scared of the marriage, having wanted nothing more than run away. But now you were scared of the consequences - your life, even. To some degree, Atsumu was scary too. You saw him - his real from - and you watched him fight. If he wanted, he could kill you in one bite with his giant maw, and so, staying with him was scary. But he didn’t. Quite on the contrary, and even more so, against his harsh words, he still held your hand gently, warmed you at night by laying down next to you so you wouldn’t get cold, and brought you food. You stopped asking where he got it, checking the freshness date on the packages only to find them being practically new. Yes, you were curious, but he had his ways, and he never got you the same thing twice, and especially not if you seemed to have disliked it.

This journey wasn’t quite what you expected your life to be, but every day, it was taking new paths and let you experience more things. Even if civilization was close, you began to forget and yearn less for it, the longer you spent time with Atsumu outdoors. Of course, there were things you absolutely missed, like normal baths and, well, fridges to open even if you aren’t hungry, but Atsumu’s drive to move forward was stronger than your desire to go back to normality again. And really, there was less and less to complain about because if you did, he’d take care of it. He’d run and fetch you new clothes or yarn to fix small holes in yours. If you were cold, he found you fur to wear, and if you two crossed paths with a river, he let you wash up even without looking - you hoped.

Over time, he was less and less an annoyance as he was a caretaker. Though his walking pace never slowed to something you could match, he still stopped ever so often to wait for you or even offered to carry you on your worst days. Riding a gigantic fox wasn’t comfortable, but efficient, and holding on to him tightly, the wind never won over the warmth coming from him.

Still, and you assumed Atsumu knew this as much as you did, this arrangement you two had wasn’t something meant to last.

“I know they’ll find me,” you whispered, thoughtfully dragging your hand over the arm he laid around you, spooning you from behind so you wouldn’t be cold. The makeshift dip in the ground you two used as a bit of a cover for the night was anything but comfortable, but having something breathing and warm lay beside you and hold you did a lot for you. “But… this life… I can’t live it either.”

He grumbled something into the back of your head, his voice lost inside your hair. Surely, it was just another complaint, but you understood what he wanted to say. To him, you going back and living a relatively everyday, human life was out of question, Atsumu always insisting that you’d be found and killed if you left his side. You offered for him to come with you, to live a ‘normal’ life with you despite your gut telling you he would be the largest annoyance you ever encountered. Still, he shied away from it.

From what you had found out, he and his brother - Osamu - only recently joined the other foxes who, against what the two were, lived relatively civilized even though they kept themselves hidden from the public still. Meaning, the brothers were actually fox spirits much more feral than the others and not used to humans or how they behaved. Atsumu explained that with a stern expression, unlike his usual chipper one. Personally, he’d rather describe himself as ‘fun’, but apparently, even he knew the differences that separated the two from the clan.

Living like humans didn’t seem like an option for him after centuries of being wild. But to expect the same amount of enthusiasm he had for nature, slowly but surely, seemed to also dawn on him as impossible. It became evidently clear that it wasn’t just your state of being that collided with each other, but generally two wholly different worlds that just didn’t fit. If you liked the day, he liked the night. You preferred warm water, and he cold - he the mountains, rather than the beach and warm sea.

It seemed impossible that you two would ever get on the same level of understanding, and you were painfully aware that one of you would have to cave in if you two decided to stick together for a better chance of survival. Your mind began to buzz as you thought over all the possibilities, making you fear that there was another night of restless dozing incoming.

“So you want to leave me… too.”

His whispers barely reached you while your head was focused entirely on different things, but his voice made you listen up. “What did you say?” you mumbled, slurring your words as you felt the heaviness of the drowsy half-sleep that you had already been under. Atsumu’s hold around you became tighter, and he pressed himself right up to you, almost as if he was trying to melt into you and hide, but your stirred, feeling alerted by the change of moods, making it impossible for him.

“If you go, I’ll be all alone…” he mumbled softly. Meeting his gaze head-on turned out to be an unfortunate action, your heart feeling a throbbing pain. For the better portion of the time spent with him, you had cursed Atsumu under your breath, wished for him to leave, and especially keep his potty mouth shut. But right now, he looked like a baby animal, with wide eyes and puppy gaze. A being you’d rather protect and coddle instead of the monstrosity he actually was.

Perhaps he was uncomfortable, realizing you could see his feelings, so he quickly hid his expression in your shoulder, putting on a fake laugh as he spoke. “I can’t go back either, and my brother didn’t want to come. So if you go… I’ll be truly alone.”

Biting your lip, you felt an incoming headache press on your brain. The sudden change of feelings inside you was raging war against the ideas of the future you had been building in your mind and thought over. It was true, so much you knew, Atsumu left a lot to break you out and run away, no matter how much he seemed to think humans were worthless beings. Maybe that was the reason that he kept insisting on sticking around with you and tried to keep you satisfied even if his words were as harsh as bites.

In some ways, that made him the same as you. Both of you only had the other one left and nothing else.

Even before realizing this, you had noticed how Atsumu was treated by other creatures. If he wasn’t fighting someone, even spiritual beings seemed to want little to do with him, huffing and leaving with a scowl. You couldn’t know if there wasn’t at least one other friend he had, but currently, it didn’t seem like he was very much liked by others besides his brother, who he spoke fondly off most of the time. Though you wondered why, you didn’t voice these questions, instead trying to think of what to do.

Happiness clearly looked different to you, but Atsumu’s taunts aside, he wasn’t as bad as that he’d deserve being robbed of it too. Even if separating seemed like the best way in the long run, it broke your heart knowing he’d be in this predicament just because of you and because you made the more selfish decision. Perhaps if you two knew each other longer, he would become gentler in his choice of words? Maybe he’d be more considerate and kind once he got to know you as not just the ‘human’ but actually as an individual? There was still the possibility he’d change, right?

“I’m…” you spoke up, not having thought about it twice. “I’m not leaving.”

“You’re not?” he immediately chimed up, pushing himself up and peering over your shoulder. “You’re going to stay with me?”

“Y-Yeah…” you stuttered, deciding to keep the idea of leaving at a later point in time to yourself. “I’m staying.”

His face suddenly was too close again, warm breath caressing your skin and messing with your head. Your heart picked up the pace as you didn’t know how to respond to the broad smile and delight in his shining eyes. If you turned your head a tiny bit more to the right, you could have kissed him without any more effort. There was something nudging you in your head to do it, but curse your reasonability - or bless it - that you figured that would set more things off than you could handle.

“Forever?” he asked as innocent as a child, and you gulped, immediately feeling like you were caught in a lie. There was no plan of sticking with him longer than necessary, and ‘forever’ seemed awfully long for some time. Atsumu waited for a reply almost angelically patient. Instead, you felt his face nuzzling against yours, like an affectionate pet would. He genuinely seemed to be happily anticipating your response, and you wondered if it meant so much to him to not be alone anymore. There must have been more loss than you could imagine in his life that he’d be satisfied to be by your side despite him always making it seem like you weren’t up to his standards.

“Forever is awfully long,” you eventually contemplated out loud, and though you couldn’t see it, you heard the disappointment and frustration in his voice as he spoke up again.

“And I am supposed to endure it all alone?”

Of course, it wasn’t fair, you understood it too. You knew he lost a lot too by helping you, and if this was his only requirement, maybe you could fulfill it. It wasn’t like he asked you to serve yourself on a silver plate, and no, he did not need to remind you what the pros and cons were of staying with him.

With him, at least, you’d be safe from whatever was coming your way.

He had proven himself more than once to you.

Slowly, you sat up, even though Atsumu’s body followed as if he was an extra limb on you. His touches and closeness never ceased, and you didn’t have the strength or even will to fight it. “I can’t promise forever,” you stated firmly, deciding to put a foot down in this conversation, even though you knew it was time one of you caved in to the other. And it seemed it would be you.

“But for now, I will stay. You’re not alone if I’m around, right?”

For a solid minute, and with the time stretching out the longer it was quiet, you two merely stared at each other, neither of you budging to the other’s stare down. If everything in this world was scary, it might be true that you underestimated Atsumu, but he was the least of your concerns now. He’d yap and snap, but you found some trust in yourself that he wasn’t going to bite you.

“Pinky swear?” he required softly, being calm once more. With how close he was, only a whisper was appropriated to not burst anyone’s eardrums, and from the corner of your eyes, you saw his hand lift to the height of your head, pinky stretched out in anticipation.

You thought for a second. There was a nudge in the back of your head about supernatural beings and promises, but it was late, and you were tired and your memories fuzzy. Something in you didn’t want to promise it; after all, who could know how long this promise was going to last, and you didn’t want to think of the consequences when breaking it. But if it would end the conversation, and positively too, then who were you to deny him?

Linking your pinky with his, you felt the fingers curl around each other tightly as if it strengthened the bond you just made. Once he released you again, you sunk down, back into his arms, wondering if you had made a mistake just now. But when you laid your head against his chest, you heard an enthusiastic rhythm coming from it, and it made you almost believe that it was the right choice.

“Tomorrow, let’s search for a home,” he mumbled. These were words meant for you, but they sounded incomplete as if there was a hint you missed in them. Your eyelids became heavier as you listened to Atsumu’s heartbeat, his warmth lulling you into sleep, and you heaved another deep sigh as you wondered if the feeling of being safe in his arms was justified or just another illusion in your exhaustion. The last thought that crossed you before falling asleep was if this was any different as staying with the clan you tried so hard to escape from. But your mind gave out before you could think about it any more thoroughly.

Little did you know that Atsumu would never ever let you go again. Even if you had told him ‘no’, it wasn’t like it was actually your decision, and with a wagging tail, he looked forward to the new future with you he’d build. One that you couldn’t run from, unlike what awaited you in the past.

After all, Atsumu was the only one that could keep you safe, and he’d make sure you’d never forget it.

a/n: I can't lie, this chapter was a bit of a struggle for me as I was lacking a clear direction for it, but I hope I was able to make Atsumu's yandere personality in connection with his more real struggles that I think he'd experience, shine through! Do let me know what you thought in the comments or asks and thanks for reading ♥ Next up is Osamu!

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monstersandmaw · 5 years ago

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Male ice dragon x cursed female reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This is a one-off special story that I wanted to write as a huge huge thank you to a very generous person who supported me on Patreon and also on ko-fi. I don't normally do this, and although this is not a commission, I did chat with them about what they would like, and I've wanted to write an ice dragon for a long time, so that worked for both of us! Thank you, 'The Silent Pariah'! Hope you enjoy it! It's been on Patreon for a week, and went down really well, so it’s time to share it here!

Content: reader is cursed to turn into a more monstrous form at night, and is locked away in a tower, guarded by an ice dragon. There's a bit of a misunderstanding, some angst, a bit of fluff, and some smut. Words: 5124

Dusk drifted down around the stones of the castle, bringing with it that daily, familiar crawling under your skin. Night was a time for monsters and shadows, for creatures less than human, and for hiding away, but you welcomed it with open arms as you had for years.

Your bones started to grow warm, your nerves ringing and prickling, and you knew it wouldn’t be long now.

Turning your back on the courtyard of the deserted castle, you left the balcony and made your way inside through the beautiful, hand carved doorway and into the bedchamber beyond. Sliding your dress off your shoulders, you stepped out of your clothes and felt the change sweeping up inside you, rising like a flood of unbridled power and raw joy. Laughing, you bowed forwards like a supplicant at a shrine, and when you straightened no more than a few minutes later, breathing hard and sweating, the creature that blinked its reptilian eyes back at you from the mirror on the far wall was not the nobleman’s daughter with the blood of kings flowing through her veins.

Blueish black, scaled skin covered your cheeks, the delicate scales leading your gaze towards pointed ears, just barely visible through the thick hair that fell around your now inhuman face. Blinking slowly as your gold, crackle-glazed eyes readjusted, you rolled your shoulders and flexed your taloned hands. With skin the colour of shadows at midnight, and a spine-studded whip of a tail, you slid on a simple linen tunic and turned for the spiral staircase.

Outside, through the walls of the castle, you could hear the enormous wing beats of the only other soul who lived in this vast castle, each flex of his wing strong as a storm wind as he came back to his roost at sunset.

“There you are,” came a deep, sonorous rumbling voice as you stepped out into the evening air, still revelling in the change.

Looking like a thousand shards of moonlight, the dragon adorned the crumbling curtain wall of the castle, delicately perching there with the grace of an ornamental bird.

“Irien,” you smiled. “Good day?”

Polite as ever, he inclined his head, slowly blinking sapphire blue eyes and smiling softly to reveal a maw full of deadly teeth. The dragon stretched out one of his elegant, muscular forelegs and climbed down from the wall, over the old stable block, and into the courtyard like a cat slinking down a flight of steps. His ivory talons barely made a whisper on the slate roofs of the tumble-down old buildings, and with his silky-white wings tucked neatly against his scaled back, he flowed like quicksilver.

“Mmm, yes,” he purred, lowering his head almost to the ground in greeting and closing his eyes again as you ran your hands over the glass-hard scales of his face. Each one was the size of your palm there, but as they slid further down his glacially pale body, they grew large as your whole hand, some even bigger than that. “So warm,” he laughed, nuzzling your fingers playfully and breathing his icy breath against your fingers.

“I’m not that warm. It’s not my fault you’re basically an icicle,” you snorted and he laughed, drawing his neck up like a swan.

Suddenly he scowled and turned serious, his whole body tensing.

“Company?” you asked.

You’d been through this charade together before, and something always sank a little in your chest when you thought about what the arrival of a knight and his little posse might mean. Would they have some magic with them this time that negated the ageless magic of the dragon? Some spear sharp enough to pierce his scales? Some trick he’d never heard of? Perhaps a ballista borrowed from the dragon hunters of the south? Would this be the day that your curse would be broken and you’d have to leave the relative freedom of your castle for the gilded cage of marriage?

Irien looked back at you, his eyes hard and stern as he watched your internal struggle play out in a series of scowls across your face. “Same as usual?” he asked.

“Drive them away,” you snarled. “I have no interest in breaking this curse so I can go and live like a brood mare until I produce the requisite number of appropriately-gendered offspring, thank you.”

With a savage snarl, he beat his wings, once, twice, and launched himself into the air. His ensuing war-scream could have split the night sky in two and it made your ears ring and your vision blur.

Irien was relatively young for a dragon but he was still nearly a hundred years old, and there wasn’t a trick or strategy he hadn’t yet encountered from some upstart young knight, hoping to win fame and fortune at the end of a lance. Oh, and the chance to break your curse. Somehow that always seemed to be an afterthought with these men.

“No one ever bothers to ask if I even want ‘rescuing’,” you muttered bitterly as you watched Irien sail away like a galleon on the unseen currents of air.

He circled the central tower of the old elven castle once to get a measure of how many there were, before spiralling down in a whirling corkscrew, breath blazing shards of ice down on the unfortunate troop somewhere beyond your view below. It wasn’t that you didn’t feel sorry for the way they died - at least it was quick - but you couldn’t help the sour sting of spite that lanced through you whenever Irien announced that there was another lot at the abandoned castle’s gates. Your parents still hadn’t given up on ridding the family of the stain of your curse.

Irien was back within five minutes, landing gracefully beside you, breathing hard from the exertion of flying and drawing on his reserves to create the ice-laced breath inside him.

“Were there many this time?”

He shook his head. “Only six in total.”

“Banners?”

“Grey and yellow field with a black raven.”

You turned away in disgust. “Those were Halvard’s men,” you said. “My father’s closest adviser.” Lifting your shadowy palm, you curled your fingers and inspected the black claws before turning your hand over and watching the way the moonlight glinted on the leathery scales on the back of your hand.

Monstrous. Vile. Cursed.

Lock her away!

True love’s kiss! The only way to break it!

Dragonskeep is the only place for her now. She cannot be seen.

The shame of our family…

Irien’s soft, concerned rumble behind you drew you back from your ragged collection of memories and you turned with a half smile. “I pity you sometimes, you know?” you sighed.

“Me?” he asked with a soft chuckle, falling into step beside you as you wandered off, vaguely thinking of heading towards the rambling rose gardens at the back of the castle. “Why would you pity me? You’re the one locked in here with a dragon who keeps eating the men who come to rescue you.”

“True. I used to think you were no better than them,” you admitted. “Those first few years after they dumped me here…”

Since then, you thought he’d rather come to think of you as part of the castle furniture, or even just another thing in his hoard to guard and protect. It was better than nothing, you supposed, and you had the books in the old elven library for company, and the vegetable garden at the back that you’d been restoring since you were sixteen, and a rather impressive number of stone sculptures ranging from the ‘uniquely abstract’ to something halfway decent. The masons who had abandoned the stone workshops in the gardens of the castle had left their tools behind, like children’s toys abandoned.

He scowled, clearly a little affronted, and shuffled his wings like a chilly bird. “Why? Have I ever given you reason to think badly of me?”

You stopped and raised an eyebrow at him. “You accepted their gold and gems easily enough when they showed up on your doorstep with a newly-cursed thirteen year old and struck whatever bargain it was with you to keep me here,” you pointed out. It felt so long ago now, but you’d never forget the first time you’d seen him. You’d burst into tears and begged your parents not to abandon you here.

Irien had the good grace to look embarrassed at that, turning his snowy head away and grunting awkwardly. “I… Well, I did, yes. But when I asked why they wanted me to take a girl under my protection ‘until such time as her true love can break the curse’, I have to say I was frankly appalled.”

Something ugly twisted inside you at his words. Perhaps it was the recent reminder of the world’s disgust at your ‘condition’, and their determination to change you back, but hot outrage boiled up inside you at his words. “Appalled? So you do think the way they do?”

“What?”

“This!” you blurted, halting and angling your face so that the moonlight glinted on the scales there and on the jaw full of fangs. You stared him down with blazing, inhuman, yellow eyes. “You do think this is disgusting, just the way they do?”

“I thought you didn’t care,” he replied haughtily. “I thought you didn’t care about the curse at all.”

“I don’t!” you practically shrieked. “But I do care about -” you cut off suddenly, feeling as though the ground were rocking beneath you. All these years, he’d just been tolerating your company because of the regular shipments of diamonds and cut gemstones that your parents added to his vault of hoarded wealth in an attempt to keep all but the most determined suitors at bay.

“Care about what?” Irien asked in a softer voice.

“What would you know?” you hissed, turning away and marching towards the tower where he couldn’t enter without bringing the whole lot down around him. “You’re made of ice anyway.”

You left Irien standing in the courtyard and marched up the stairs back to your chambers. You heard Irien lingering in the courtyard, but eventually he took wing and left the castle for his preferred roost on the cliff just above it. It was a long time before you got to sleep that night.

When dawn came the next day, you didn't bother getting out of bed til late in the day, and you clung to the shadows of the library instead of going out to tend to the garden. It was a warm day, and the plants would need a water, but you just couldn’t face meeting Irien now. For all the time that you’d been here, you’d always assumed that he’d seen past the effects of the curse.

It had taken you almost a year not to be afraid of him, but as the months had ticked by after that, and he’d shown you the castle grounds and how to take care of the abandoned elven fortress; how to feed yourself and even how to read ancient elven so that you could access the rest of the books in the library; you’d come to think of him as more of a guardian than a guard. Had he just been humouring the cursed little girl all these years, despite the fact that you were a woman grown now?

Late in the afternoon, just as you started to feel restless again with the gradual sinking of the sun, a faint tapping reached your ears, coming from the far end of the library. The room stretched the full length of one of the newer wings of the castle complex, with light flooding in on either side through huge windows, and at the far end it terminated in a wide balustraded balcony where former scholars would no doubt have gone to get some air during their studies.

You poked your head out from behind the bookshelf where you’d been studying best way to rid a certain garden herb of aphids, and squinted along the clear aisle between the rows of shelves. There, at the balcony at the far end, you could just glimpse Irien, gently tapping a claw on the glass. He was far too large to fit his body onto the terrace, but he could perch elegantly on the rim like a butterfly on a teacup.

Grinding your teeth, you fleetingly considered simply ignoring him, but in the end you straightened and dumped the book on the floorboards. Grim-faced, you marched up the length of the room and opened the leaded-glass door at the far end, coming to a halt in the centre of the balcony with crossed arms.

“I think,” Irien carefully began the moment you were outside, “That we may have had a misunderstanding yesterday.”

Your scowl deepened.

“Hear me out?” he asked, clearly well aware of your tendency to bolt at the first sign of discord.

Reluctantly, you nodded. As far as you knew, he’d never lied to you before.

Out here in the fading sunshine, with the low light flashing in prismatic ripples along those pearlescent scales, he looked… Frankly, he looked like a dream, and something ached inside you the longer you gazed at him. The graceful lines of his lithe, powerful body, the delicate, leathery membrane of his white wings, his ivory claws, the crystal spikes that adorned his head like a crown and continued down his lissom neck to his shoulders, only to start up again at the root of his tail and end in a fractured cluster of crystals around the tip of his tail; everything about him spoke of elder magic and of something ancient, something lost and forgotten from another age, despite his relative youth. He was intoxicating.

With a great inhale as if for courage, he began by apologising. “I’m sorry that what I said came out so wrongly yesterday,” he said. “I didn’t mean that you are appalling in any way. What has always appalled me, however, is the fact that your parents were prepared to abandon their own child to the dubious care of a dragon, and lock her away in an old elven stronghold for something that wasn’t her fault or doing in the first place.”

“Oh.” Well… when he put it that way…

“Oh,” he laughed. “I thought you might know me a little better than that after so much time together…” he added, tone bordering on huffy and petulant.

Even you had to admit that it was true. “Yeah,” you hedged. “I… I thought I did too. Maybe that was why I was so shocked. I’m sorry too… I was still in a strange mood after the soldiers came and I let it get in the way and took what you said the wrong way.”

Irien smiled gently and rumbled a slow, almost juddering exhale that you’d always found strangely attractive. In fact, you nearly missed what he said because your attention was focused on the sound. “I promise that what I said to you all those years ago still stands… the time I found you crying on the roof of the keep.”

Your lips gave a feeble twitch at that. He’d had to fly you down because you’d been too scared to climb. “And what is that?” you demanded though you recalled it perfectly well. Your eyes glittered as the mood shifted palpably between you, both tangibly relieved to be sliding back into your familiar repartee and banter, almost as if you’d not fallen out at all.

Catching the look in your eye, he gave another half-laugh. “That if you like the way you are, then it seems pretty futile to me to try to change you against your will. And personally,” he added, lowering his head a little and turning a tad bashful, “I think you’re beautiful whether the sun is up or down.”

The churning in your stomach that had been gnawing away at you since the previous evening suddenly stilled, and you smiled. “Really? I mean… it doesn’t bother you at all?”

Irien rolled his lovely blue eyes. “Not in the slightest. If anything, your ‘cursed’ form is… well…” He bustled and flustered a little with his wings, turning his gaze away.

That was a surprise. “Is what, Irien?”

“You’re stronger and faster like that; your eyes work better in the dark, and your hands seem to borrow a bit of inspiration from my kind,” he said, holding up one ivory-clawed hand so that the sunlight danced off his own talons for a moment. “And you have a tail…” he croaked.

“Sounds like you’re trying to tell me you’ve got a crush on my cursed self,” you snorted in disbelief, taking a few steps over to the balcony and resting your forearms on it. When he didn’t answer immediately, you shot him a sidelong look. “Irien?”

“I… have tried to tell myself that we are victims of circumstance… That… what I have come to feel for you is only to be expected when two souls are locked away in close quarters with each other for so long, but…” He paused and shrugged as he returned your look askance and exhaled. “Alas, I remain unconvinced.”

“Wait, is that your way of saying you do have a crush on me after all?”

He scoffed, frustrated with himself, and snapped, “When you put it in those terms, it sounds somewhat… cheap and insincere.”

His fingers flexed on the stonework, talons grinding small indents into it and sending a tiny trickle of finely-ground dust to the tiled floor of the balcony. Reaching one hand out you placed it over the leathery scales on his hand - really his foreleg - and squeezed. It was like squeezing stone, but he clearly felt the impact because he jolted a little in surprise and slid a foot down the wall from his perch. His wings flapped instinctively to keep himself in place and you almost laughed.

“So your feelings for me aren’t cheap and insincere then?”

“No,” he growled, and then with a little more grace he sighed. “No, not at all. I can’t stop thinking about you. Whenever I see someone with their troops tramping up to the gate, it’s not my hoard I think to protect.” He turned his head and blinked quietly at you. “It’s you.”

Something caught in your throat at that and tears prickled your eyes. “Irien…”

“Mmm?” he rumbled.

“Will you fly me somewhere?”

“Anywhere. Where would you like me to take you?”

Your eyes drifted over the rambling castle grounds, bathed in the golden light of early evening. Of course, now that you knew he truly cared for you, perhaps you could persuade him to fly you anywhere in the world, although it wasn’t particularly safe for his kind out there. People built cruel ballistae with bolts as thick as tree trunks to fell dragons from the sky like downed swans, but in these parts, he assured you he was safe enough.

When you didn’t answer him immediately, he rumbled your name and lowered his white muzzle to the balustrade, resting it there and watching like a patient hound while you decided. You placed your fingers on his nose and felt the chilly, frosty breath wash over them. The sheer steadiness of his presence was almost overwhelming, like he had his own gravity and was drawing you in and holding you there. You found both of your hands going to his face and suddenly you were leaning over him and sobbing.

“Hey,” he murmured, bringing one wingtip carefully to touch your shoulder. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You sniffed but the surging emotions refused to let you talk. It was too much. After a lifetime knowing you’d been abandoned here for who and what you were, to have the unwavering acceptance of the only being in the world who had shown you true respect and kindness… it left you spinning.

His pale hand closed around your waist and he pushed off the tower with you delicately in his grasp. You’d done this before, though not often, and the thrilling swoop in your stomach chased most of your tears away, leaving room for little else but wonder in your heart as the world spread out beneath you like a patchwork quilt.

Irien didn’t tell you where he was headed, and you found you didn’t care where he took you. He climbed higher into the hazy, lavender sky above, and soared over the castle wall and out into the pastures beyond where deer grazed and occasionally the massive mountain sheep would come down to enjoy respite in the warmer valley in the winter. Out beyond the open, untamed fields, a huge, glittering lake sparkled, and he seemed to be making for it as he glided along on unseen thermals.

The sun had just begun to kiss the mountain tops to the west, gilding a line of fire along their silhouettes, when he landed on the quartz pebbles of the lake shore, their colour almost the same as his own white scales. He set you down on the grassy bank just above the beach and stepped back.

“Better?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he replied, bringing his head back and nuzzling your stomach affectionately, blue eyes rolling closed.

As your hands traced the contours of his massive head, he sank his body down to lie on the pebbles and curled his tail around his legs like a cat. The rumbling of his breathing soon deepened until you had to giggle. “Are you purring? Do dragons purr?”

“Only when we’re - oh - really… ahh…” he faltered as your fingertips skirted around the base of one of his crystalline horns which was, apparently, extremely sensitive.

“Really what, Irien…”

“Ah…” he gasped as you repeated the gesture. “Oh… gods that’s good…” he blurted.

You kept doing it until he rolled onto one side, breathing quickening as a tangible shiver passed along his spine. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive,” you murmured, leaning down to plant a kiss on his smooth cheek.

Half-twitch and half-spasm, his right foreleg raked a huge channel through the pebbles as he groaned long and low, claws flexed.

“Should I stop?” you teased.

“Up to you,” he rasped. “But…”

“But what…?”

He seemed to be having difficulty stringing a sentence together, which was amusing. The fact that he was so affected by your touch was definitely doing things to you as well, and as you felt the sun going down, you realised you were going to shift soon.

“But what, Irien?”

His jaws opened and he began to pant, little crystals of ice forming along his canines and over the pebbles of the beach where his head lay pillowed. His belly was pale as moonlight, the iridescent sheen only beginning on the larger scales of his sides and back, and as you gazed down the length of his body, you saw that the small slit in the sheath on his lower abdomen, almost between his legs, had begun to glisten with a pearlescent fluid. It looked swollen too, and as you caressed that sensitive spot on his head again, you watched as the very tip of his cock began to emerge from the sheath.

“You want me to keep going?” you asked, feeling your own skin heating up, partly from the impending change and partly because the sight of him getting so worked up was affecting you too.

“I didn’t… bring you here for… this,” he panted. “But I won’t stop you if you want to.”

“Do you want it though?” you asked, stepping back as your bones began to creak and shift. “Shit, sorry I’m… I’m shifting…” you gasped, reeling backwards and landing hard on the ground behind you. “I thought I had a few more minutes…”

It didn’t take long, and when you looked up, he was watching you with his steady, sapphire gaze. “Alright?” he asked. “I’ve never seen you change.”

With your new ‘monstrous’ eyes, you had an even better view of him. Where your human sight saw gentle rainbows shimmering on his scales, now you saw refracted light glittering and shattering off his spines, and the sheer depth of colour in his eyes was phenomenal. “How about another kind of ‘first’?” you asked, voice huskier now, and you began to slide the simple shirt up over your head.

The heat of his gaze made you preen a little as you revealed your dark blue, scaled body to him. His jaw parted again, mouth hanging open softly, and his tongue was visible too behind that row of enormous teeth. He was tasting your arousal on the air, you realised, like a predator.

“Gods, that’s hot,” you hissed and he tilted his head, catlike. “I want you, Irien. Is… Is that wrong?”

He shook his head. “If it’s what you feel, then it’s not wrong. I want you too, though I fear I might break you.”

“We’ll have to get creative,” you grinned, feeling your tail lashing behind you playfully.

“Look at you,” he snarled, rearing up a little like a cat about to pounce; a cat made of glass and porcelain.

His cock was not yet fully unsheathed, but you could see it - dark blue at the base, the colour of the heart of the lake behind him, with paler ridges that looked extremely inviting, and fading to pure white at the tip. It twitched and drooled under your gaze and he grunted softly. He was huge. The only way you could think to give him any kind of pleasure would be either to ride him and grind yourself along his length as best you could, or to loop your legs around it and let him fuck the space between them, and honestly, both had their appeal.

A huge drop of pre-come slid from the tip and landed on the pebbles below as his cock twitched again. He was breathing hard now, nostrils flared, and he stared openly as you stepped out of the last of your clothes, moving towards him while he stayed perfectly still. It was as if he thought you’d evaporate if he shifted so much as a muscle.

He whispered your name and you placed your finger on his lips in passing as you stalked along the length of his body. With the slightest pressure of your hands you asked him to tip over onto his side again, and he did without question.

The huge dragon folded his wings carefully behind him and then rolled onto his back as you directed him with little more than a quick touch here or there. His cock began to slide fully free of the slick sheath, and you jutted your chin upwards at his belly. He understood your request and brought his hand to the ground, palm up, for you to step into, and he raised you up onto his stomach. His hand fell back immediately to the beach beneath, limp and weak. You straddled his cock and he gave a huge, low frequency groan that made the water ripple and dance. His tail lashed violently, sending a spray of pebbles up into the air and splashing down into the water.

Slowly, teasingly, you rocked your hips over the tip of his cock and watched him leaking beneath you and all over his stomach. The claws of his hands scrabbled in the stones beneath him and his wings, stretched out on either side like a butterfly on display, flexed to their widest span. His head jerked backwards and he opened his maw wide.

“You like that?” you asked and he nodded, mute with pleasure as you picked up a steady rhythm.

“Oh gods that’s so good,” he grunted after a while, voice sounding wrecked. He bucked his hips upwards and nearly dislodged you, but you grabbed the scales of his belly and ground down harder against him, gripping with your thighs. “I’m not going… to last long,” he panted. “I’m… oh gods… oh…” and he chanted your name over and over as you worked him harder and harder.

You managed to catch a ridge of his cock against your clit and ground yourself into it before bringing your finger carefully there to help you along. When he realised what you were doing, he took one look at you pleasuring yourself and using his cock to help, gave a short whimper, before his whole body tensed up.

He came all over himself, ropes of hot release searing against your clit in a rush as his body clenched and convulsed, mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure, and you found yourself coming a heartbeat later. Your fingers gripped his cock, prolonging and intensifying his orgasm as you came in waves atop his cock.

Eventually he slumped back, head knocking against the pebbles behind him, and he lay there, twitching and spent, apparently dazed and reeling from the force of his orgasm. Your legs were slick and shaky too, but as you moved off him, he managed to raise his hand to help you down.

“I’m going to have to bathe in the lake to clean off,” you grunted, looking down at yourself. “Look at me.”

“I am,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”

Feeling a little unsteady still, you turned away from him and said, “Come and join me when you’ve recovered a bit…”

“Mmm,” he said, making no move at all as you strode into the lake. He was clearly enjoying the view, and it was a long time before he rolled himself over and heaved his body up to join you. When he did, he nuzzled you and let you lounge on his foreleg, half in and out of the water. He brought his tongue to your thighs and carefully laved it up and over your body, honing in on your clit which was still aching and sensitive.

Your legs parted instinctively for him and as he raked his teeth appreciatively over your stomach, bringing you up to his maw so that he could taste you better, you let yourself fall limp in his hands. It wasn’t long before he had you shuddering and moaning against his tongue, gasping his name.

He made you come twice more after that, the last time on the grassy bank above the lake shore, and as he curled around you protectively to let you recover, you rested your head against his side and sighed. “I don’t ever want to leave here,” you murmured. “Can it always be like this?”

“I’ll try,” he smiled, laying his head down beside you. “I’ll try.”

—

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#exophilia #ice dragon #dragon x reader #male dragon x female reader #male monster #female reader

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lady-amethyst18 · 3 years ago

Text

The Best Known Treatment

Leo was walking home from school. The teachers noticed he wasn't feeling well and sent him to the nurse, to which the nurse told him to go home. Despite being warm out today, Leo felt cold, so he wore a jacket and a scarf around his neck. His throat felt like it was on fire, and he felt tired. He lost his voice too. He would never understand why his parents sent him to school today when he wasn't feeling his best.

He felt another coughing fit coming. He hunched over and covered his mouth with his fist as he coughed. It felt like he was getting punched in the gut every time he coughed. When the coughing fit was over, he pulled out a packet of tissues he brought with him. He pulled one out and spat out the phlegm he coughed up into the material. There were no trashcans nearby, so he had no choice but to stuff the tissue into his other pocket. He just wanted to go home and go to sleep in his warm comfy bed at this point. He didn't want to do anything else.

His stomach was growling. He didn't eat breakfast and he refused to eat his lunch. Every time he swallowed, it felt prickly going down his throat. He would rather go hungry than have to endure the pain again. Just a couple blocks away from his home now, he noticed one of the tims were wandering the streets. Which meant that Balan was nearby. Curiosity took over, and he turned a corner to see. Sure enough, the theater was just across the way. The fuzzball turned around to see if Leo was still following it. But he stopped in place. "I would like to say hello, but I don't feel well... Maybe I'll drop by another time." He said in his head. His throat hurt too much for him to say anything out loud. He started walking away until his stomach gurgled again. The door to the theater opened, and Leo heard a warm and inviting voice. "I heard that." It said.

Balan was at the door, smiling as usual. "I thought you'd be out here. Why don't you come inside, Leo? You sound awfully hungry." He gestured for the boy to come inside. What he really wanted was to just go home and lie down. But the maestro's look of generosity was too much for him. So he decided to walk inside.

The warmth of the theater felt refreshing, even though it was warm outside anyway. Leo took off his jacket but kept the scarf on. He still felt mildly chilled. "I can tell you've had a rough day. Long day at school, I assume?" Balan tried striking up a conversation with the boy. Leo shrugged his shoulders, not knowing how to respond as his throat hurt too much. "You're out relatively early. Is there a special occasion going on? If it is, is it that special for you to skip lunch?" He continued to ask questions only to have no answer. At that point, Balan was starting to get confused and concerned. He turned around and knelt down to his level. "Leo? What's the matter? Why aren't you talking to me?" Leo opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue while pointing at his gaping maw. He also rubbed his throat in discomfort, trying to tell Balan what was wrong.

It finally hit him. "Oh! I get it now! Your throat hurts." He exclaimed. Leo nodded in response. "Well, it's no wonder you haven't eaten anything. It's painful going down, isn't it? That would also explain why you're out of school early." Leo nodded again. Balan pulled him closer as he held him under his arm. "Aw, I'm sorry, Leo. I know how much sore throat sucks. Have you tried gargling warm saltwater?" He recommended. Leo stuck out his tongue and shook his face in disgust. "Oh, it's not that bad. It's very helpful, in fact! Have you ever even tried?" Leo looked away from Balan's gaze and just barely shrugged his shoulders. He guessed the boy never tried.

"I'm sure it will make you feel a bit better, Leo. Come on, let's give it a try." He guided Leo to the bathroom, where he grabbed a small cup and filled it with warm water. With a snap of his fingers, a salt shaker appeared in his hand and sprinkled it into the water while grabbing a little stirrer to mix up the solution. "Here you go, Leo. Try it." Said Balan as he offered the glass to him. Leo covered his mouth and shook his head while holding out his hand. He didn't want to drink it. "Come on now, my boy. It's not like you're swallowing it. You just gargle with it and spit it back out when you're done. Sure, it might not taste great, but it'll help relieve some of the pain. I promise." Leo still refused to do it.

Looks like Leo was one of those picky patients that refused to take their medicine. Balan tried to think of a way to get him to take the solution. "Tell you what, Leo." He started. "If you take this solution just this once, I'll give you a treat in the end. Be it a popsicle or hot chocolate. How does that sound?" Balan found Leo's weakness when he mentioned hot chocolate. He remembered his mom saying something about how warm liquids often soothed a sore throat. Plus, how could he turn down hot chocolate? Leo sighed heavily and took the glass. "Very good," Balan said. "I'll go see if there's anything in the kitchen for you to eat. Preferably something warm and soft. Does that sound good to you?" Leo nodded his head. He forgot he was starving as he hasn't eaten anything recently.

One of the tims hopped up on the table, chirping. "Make sure he actually takes it, alright?" Balan told the critter. It nodded in response and started looking at Leo. "Meet me in the dining room when you're done. Ok? You just have to do it once." Leo rolled his eyes but gave a thumbs up anyway. With that, Balan disappeared.

Leo looked at the glass of warm saltwater. The thought of him drinking saltwater disgusted him. But he wanted this sore throat to go away. Besides, Balan never steered him wrong, right? He took a deep breath a took a large slurp from the glass. He gargled as he was supposed to and spat it out into the sink at the end. He admitted it wasn't as bad as he thought it was. The warm water felt lubricating almost, despite it being salty. Oddly enough, it did help. Leo cleared his throat as he was trying to get his voice back. "One... Two... One... Two." He counted. The closest he could get to speaking was at a whisper. Not much progress, but at least he could talk somewhat again.

Leo looked for the dining room around the theater. The tim that was with him guided him through the hallways to find the right room. When Leo finally arrived, Balan brought in a jar with some golden, gooey, viscous liquid inside. "Ah, there you are, Leo. Did you gargle with the solution?" Leo tried to muster whatever words could come out. "Yeah. I did." He whispered. "Sure sounds like you did. Now before you get your treat, I want you to do one more thing for me." He opened the jar and scooped out the liquid with a spoon. "What's that? Cough syrup?" Leo asked, his voice still raspy and sore. Balan chuckled. "Somewhat, yes. It's just honey. It's perfect for sore throat. Just take a spoonful of this, and it will help make your throat less scratchy." He knelt down to Leo's level with the spoonful of honey in his hand. With no other choice, Leo opened his mouth and Balan spoonfed him the honey. After gargling the saltwater solution, it felt good to eat something sweet.

Eating the honey made his throat feel a little better. It felt a little less prickly when he swallowed, and he could raise his voice a tiny bit louder. "There now. How do you feel?' Balan asked. Leo cleared his throat. "That does help. Thanks." Before he could get another word in, Balan stuck a thermometer in Leo's mouth and grabbed a stethoscope to listen to his chest. "Tell me, Leo, when did you start feeling bad?" He asked. Although the sudden checkup caught him by surprise, he answered anyway. "Uh... This morning." He replied. "How do you think you caught this?" Balan took a magnifying glass and looked through his eyes. "I think I caught it from my parents. One of my dad's co-workers got him sick. And then my mom got sick, and now I'm sick. They sent me to school anyway. But the nurse told me to go home." "It didn't really hit you until later in the day, did it?" Leo cocked his head to the side, a sign of saying yes.

Balan took the thermometer out of Leo's mouth and examined it. "Well, the good news is you don't have a fever. Seems to me you've got a touch of laryngitis. But don't worry. It's easily treated." He assured. "Yeah, Balan. This brings me to the question." Leo spoke up. "How did you know saltwater and honey help a sore throat?" Balan chuckled again. "Oh, Leo, I'm no stranger to a sore throat. I've had it before." He paused. "... Uh... Grant it, I can't really remember the last time I've had it, but I know it's a pain in the rear. Plus, I have a friend who's an expert in home remedies. They told me that honey can work wonders for laryngitis." Leo smiled at him.

His stomach growled again, and Balan laughed in response. "Oh my, we can't forget about that, can we? Come, sit down at the table. Do you like macaroni and cheese?" He asked. Leo smiled and nodded his head. It was both warm and soft and wouldn't feel as prickly when going down his throat. He was about to sit at the table until his nose felt itchy. As if the sore throat wasn't bad enough, now he felt the sneezing coming back. He reached into his pocket for his packet of tissues only to find them empty. He used them all up after spitting up so much phlegm at school. Leo held a finger to his nose, trying to prevent the sneeze. Noticing this, Balan pulled out a handkerchief from his sleeve and held it out in front of Leo. "Here, my boy. Sneeze into this." He said. Leo pulled his finger away from his nose and flung himself forward into the rag as he sneezed. "ACHOO!"

"Bless you." Balan said, wiping Leo's nose. Leo took the handkerchief from Balan to clean himself up. "Thanks. Sorry about that. I'll wash it when I get home." He said. "Oh, you don't have to worry about that, Leo. I have plenty more. You can keep that one if you like." Balan gently said. Leo shrugged and stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket. Finally, he sat at the table.

One of Balan's clones came in with the pot of mac and cheese. It ladled some into both bowls and handed Leo a mug that was topped with whipped cream. "This is your reward for gargling with the saltwater, Leo. I kept my end of the bargain, and now you get your treat. I know how much you like hot chocolate. Plus, this will help with your sore throat." Balan said. Leo licked his lips, practically salivating over the beverage. He took the mug and immediately began guzzling it down. Balan couldn't help but laugh as Leo chugged the drink. "Does that feel better?" He asked. Leo stopped chugging his drink and sighed in delight. "Much, thank you. I didn't know how much I needed that." Balan smiled. "That's good to hear. Now eat up before it gets cold. It's a good idea to eat a little when you're feeling sick." He advised. Leo nodded and started eating the pasta.

Balan was surprised by how fast the boy was eating, despite his throat hurting. He was practically shoveling the food in his gullet and not stopping while drinking his mug of hot chocolate as well. The maestro took it as a sign that he was starting to feel better now that his throat hurt a little less. The poor boy was starving because of his ailment. Leo finished his bowl of mac and cheese and his mug of hot chocolate in no time at all. He sighed in relief now that his belly was full. "My, my. You indeed WERE hungry. Need seconds?" Balan asked. Leo just pushed the bowl away from him. "I would love some more, but I really gotta get home. I just want to go to bed at this point." He cleared his throat to help his still raspy voice. Balan nodded and stood from the table. "That sounds like a good idea. I'll escort you to the door." He warmly said.

Leo grabbed his jacket from the coak rack as the maestro lead him to the door. He knelt down to his level and adjusted Leo's scarf. "You take care of yourself, Leo." He said. "Remember to drink plenty of fluids, take the medicine your parents give you, and get lots of rest. Gargle warm salt water and take a spoonful of honey if you need to. It'll help take away the pain for a little bit. I hope your laryngitis will go away and you get well soon." Leo smiled and hugged the maestro before walking out the door. "Thanks, Balan. Who would've thought you were the best doctor." He said. Balan hugged him back. "Not a doctor. Just experienced. Now you go home and relax, ok?" Leo nodded his head as he walked out the door of the theater.

As Leo was about to turn a corner, he stopped a moment to cough and felt his nose itch again. He groped around in his pocket and pulled out the handkerchief Balan gave him. "ACHOO!" He sneezed. "Bless you!" Balan called at the other end. Leo smiled and waved at him as a way of saying thank you as he headed back home to rest.

#balan wonderworld #fanfiction #leo craig #hurt comfort #balan

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the-silentium · 4 years ago

Text

Siren Song

Masterlist - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Fors is an Original planet. I do not give permission to people to use it for their own fics, the planet, the animals, the Nightmares, the lore or anything related to Fors. Thank you.

Pairing: Bad Batch x Reader

Words: 3025 words

Warnings: Blood, monsters, ANGST.

A/N: Thanks to @shadow-hyder who helped choose who got hurt in this chap ~

Taglist: @haloangel391 / @lightning-wolffe / @cherrydemon5 / @and-claudia / @clone-rambles / @mandaloriandin

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"Wrecker. I knew you'd come to help me." 99 whispered through his comm.

Wrecker couldn't contain his excitement at his ori'vod calling out to him. He was alright, on this planet, away from the long-necks and their experiments, away from the dirty looks and degrading whispers, away from all the forced maintenance. He left the rainy planet like he always dreamt he would.

For so long Wrecker ached for the reunion with his brother. He had so much to say to him, from his biggest explosion to date to his best prank on the regs with Crosshair and he couldn't forget to relate how he fought a giant snake that could have easily swallowed him whole in a single bite!

He could already see 99 listening intently to each of his words, nodding and smiling as he would move his hands around to illustrate his words, because words weren't powerful enough to convey the power of the moment.

Clone force 99 would be complete with its fifth member on board. All they needed to do was get him out of there with the rest of them.

"That's not him! Guys!"

For a split second, Wrecker had forgotten their newest teammate. Their cabur'ika. He was so wrapped up in helping his vod that he forgot everything else and let his body take control. His body knew what to do, fighting was in his blood.

A new spark burned to life in his chest at the prospect of presenting you to his very wise sibling, maybe he could help you with your insecurities like he helped them all with theirs.

"I know his voice Y/N! That's him!" He pushed forward, his team right behind him.

You'd see soon, it was worth it. 99 was worth it.

"Stay under the trees!"

He would have laughed at your words if he hadn't caught a glimpse of a man standing near a river. Trees were everywhere on this planet, you didn't have to worry. Instead, he forced his legs to move faster.

A huff resonated through the comm just as 99 called again, the newfound fear in his voice made Wrecker's blood boil in worry and anger.

He was almost there. He'd help. He'd save him.

A nagging feeling plagued the back of his mind. It was just like when he forgot to close the light of the fresher one night and caused the ship to be inoperable for a couple of days or when he forgot Crosshair in a secluded village while on a supply run. He couldn't tell what was wrong, all he knew was that something wasn't as it was supposed to be.

Wrecker got to the edge of the river, 99 just on the other side of the large angry stream. The ravine they had followed for a while was visible from his spot on the bank. It seemed they had moved a klick away from it and deeper into the jungle. The tall wall of rock and mud abruptly stopped and disappeared under a tumultuous waterfall that would be breathtaking in broad daylight.

He doesn't see them, but Wrecker heard the soft steps of his brothers joining his sides. He didn't acknowledge their presence in the slightest, his eyes being glued to his elder kneeling on the ground clutching his chest, the grunts of pain leaving his mouth were too clear over the roaring water separating them.

Without thinking he took a step forward, carefully setting foot in the deep river to reach the other side without getting carried away by the rapids.

“Wrecker, what are you doing?” Hunter put a hand on his pauldron to keep him from going further into the water.

“He’s hurt!”

Without wasting a second, Wrecker harshly shrugged Hunter's hand away to venture into the raging water, fighting for his balance against the strong current pushing against his abdomen threatening to take him further through the jungle. Wrecker winced as static took over his comm, drowning the words of his team behind him.

99's voice overflowed the nagging sound to encourage him forward, inciting him to grab the outstretched hand as soon as he was within reach.

"Stay back." Wrecker ignored the help, he didn't want to pull his older brother into the river where he'd have no chance to survive.

The ignored hand gripped his armpit in a useless effort to assist him, water dripped down his soaked blacks and armor, nurturing the grass below.

"Are you okay 99?" Without wasting a second, Wrecker turned to his brother, already reaching for his frail shoulder.

The sight squeezed his heart in nostalgia. There he stood, smiling just like the last time the Batcher saw him when they departed for their mission on Devaron. He even opened his arms like he always did whenever they’d all return from their assignments. This was him.

An urge to jump into the long-awaited embrace propelled his body forward to carefully wrap his strong arms around the fragile form of 99. Relief flooded his brain as soon as he felt arms wrapping around his own waist, numbing his senses to concentrate solely on this moment.

"Thank you for making all the way to me." He heard his voice in his comm, as clear as day, the background white noise abruptly muted as Wrecker's eyes widened in understanding.

He managed to pull away slightly before the sight in front of him paralyzed his muscles. By fear, surprise or sadness, he couldn't decide which one had more control over his body.

“Thank you for saving me Wrecker.” 99's lips stayed glued together despite the words echoing through the soldier's head. The once calming smile had lost all its warmth only to be replaced with a way more sinister grin.

Half of 99- no, half of the monster disappeared under a layer of darkness slowly bleeding from its eyes, nose and mouth, the black goo covering its right side morphed into parts of someone else. Brown hair, a youthful smile, a broad muscular arm, they all appeared for a moment before the goo engulfed them again and changed over and over again, never truly setting on anything in particular.

The shiver running up his spine brought the man to his senses long enough for his brain to order his body to move away from the threat. His chest separated from the smaller one as his feet stumbled backward. Unfortunately, his left hand didn't have such luxury. The liquid tightened around his fingers, crept over his palm to reach his forearm and slide under the sleeve of his blacks.

He pulled and pulled again without any success. He was trapped.

"So long…"

It was cold as death, enough to chill the giant to the bone. Bile raised in his throat as the sticky feeling crept up his skin. He tugged as hard as he could, but inches by inches the wicked sludge reached his elbow, gaining complete control over his arm.

"It has been so long…"

For some reason the tank of a man has never felt as small as in this instant, heterochromatic eyes staring up at him right in the eyes like his opaque visor wasn't even there.

"We're so hungry."

Before he could register the meaning behind his words, Wrecker went flying backward a few meters away from his initial standing spot, a heavyweight on his chest pinning him to the ground.

Everything was happening too fast. Wrecker had some difficulties keeping up. That is until the unprotected skin of the underside of his upper arms burned worse than a blaster wound, his brain instantly knew what happened.

With a yelp followed by a powerful kick, the clone tried to once again to dislodge the opponent clinging to him. His movements didn't send the gigantic thing rolling like he hoped, instead it merely shrieked in his face and flapped its cracked white wings to fly away, claws still locked around his arms.

Fortunately for once, the beast doesn't get off the ground. Unfortunately, it meant that some parts of its prey had to go.

Massive maws closed around his helmet, offering an absolutely atrocious view of the beast's mouth and throat. Wrecker would never admit it, but the sudden fear forced his eyes closed for a split second, protecting his fragile orbs by doing so. Shards of his visor exploded under the assault of some particularly sharp teeth, scratching the sensitive skin around his eyes.

This high level of panic was completely new for him and he didn't like it one bit. A nice adrenalin rush was one thing. This was far from the enjoyable spectrum. He wanted to yell for help, but who would hear his call? He was alone.

The pressure around his head was increasing fast. Saliva covered his helmet, leaving Wrecker to blindly touch around his head for the maws, fingers slipping between the sparse teeth to force them open. The grip around his upper arms tightened, shooting a new wave of searing pain through his body as the claws dug deeper into his flesh.

Ignoring his agonizing arms, he put more strength behind his movement and had the toothy vice open in a second. A well-placed kick on the bird sternum sent it flying backward, liberating his lacerated skin in the process.

Hands cleaned his visor in a haste but stopped as soon as his fingertips started to tingle. The soft feeling soon morphed into full-on burning, prompting the soldier to wipe his hands onto the grass at his sides.

Holes adorned the once intact tactical gloves, showing the damaged skin that it was supposed to protect.

Before he could question the condition of his hands, a screech pulled him back to reality.

The milky bird was big, easily four times his size with weird legs and two pairs of arms. The long white beak was pretty sharp with nasty teeth occasionally poking out, its maws opening frantically on a high pitch screech, its old-paper like wings flapping in anger at its side.

Following the blue trail of bolts hitting the creature, the calls of his brother resonated through the comm without any interference as soon as his eyes landed on their offensive positions.

His brothers. He remembered them now. He wasn't alone. They were here.

"-ot responding." Tech

"Wrecker! Come back here!" Wrecker winced at the very loud order coming from his sergeant. Apparently, it wasn't the first time he barked his instructions.

"I'll get h-" Static filled his ears once again as 99 appeared at his side, hands wrapped around his pauldron.

"Don't leave me. Please Wrecker, help me.."

"I'll hel-" His words were cut off by a sudden pull from behind, quickly followed by water engulfing his armor.

Gasping, Wrecker tried to keep his head above water by instinct but failed miserably. The strong current left him totally helpless, the force of the water digging into his injuries to make him totally unable to move them around to get to the surface. Where was the surface? He turned on himself so much that nothing made sense anymore.

A pull on his back stopped his body from turning in all directions, halting his quick descent down the river. Multiple hands pulled him out of the stream and wasted no time to pull him upright.

"Wrecker can you hear me?" Hunter shook his shoulder forcefully.

Too soon Wrecker tried to lift himself up using his arms to reassure his brother. All he managed to do was to almost faceplant into the wet dirt beneath his torso.

"99." Was all he could say. He still felt a pull towards the other bank where he knew his oldest brother was still waiting for him.

"There's nothing there. It's not real." Hands lifted him by the armpits to take him back under the cover of the trees. "It was a trick."

"No he's right there!" The clone was getting frustrated as everyone ignored his hand pointing behind them focussing instead on keeping him upright.

A shriek pierced the night followed by a sudden splash of water, causing the three soldiers to jump simultaneously. Wrecker turned just in time to see the bird emerging from the river and fly away with something bright in its mouth.

Once the beast disappeared over the horizon, every memory repressed by the weird fog obscuring his brain came back to the front of his mind. Tears ran down his cheeks as he remembered that 99 died in a Seppie attack on Kamino, that he wasn't there to help.

He had to bite his bottom lip to keep his whimpers from escaping, the pain of losing his brother a second time was way worse than it originally felt. Whatever it was back there felt so real, so warm, it told him exactly what he needed to hear and acted like the one and only 99. Deep down maybe he knew already but allowed himself to be blinded by hope.

And hope crushed his heart in the more twisted way possible.

Crosshair was the first to let go of his brother when they got deep enough into the line of trees, moving his attention to the grapple fixed under his rifle to put it away. So that's what pulled him into the river.

"Are you okay Wrecker?" Hunter's worry pulled at his already suffering heart.

"I am." He weakly mumbled, quieting down the hisses of pain menacing to erupt from his throat.

"We don't have much time." Hunter carefully lowered himself to set his brother at the foot of a large tree. "We have to patch you up and search for Y/N before anything that might 've heard the noises comes this way."

Wrecker perked up at the mention of your disappearance, his eyes roamed the surroundings to get a glimpse of your shirt painted in blood and guts that always gave him a tiny heart attack every time he looked at it. He never thought not seeing that shirt would fill him with dread.

"What happened?" He asked just as Tech removed his helmet to toss it at Crosshair for examination.

The jungle looked way more terrifying without the night vision helping his sight. Without it, every shadow looked like an Algax silently staring with its inexistent orbs.

"We don't know. We were too…" Tech trailed off, quickly assessing the wounds on his arms. "focussed to notice anything."

Wrecker winced at the same time Crosshair did, although for a totally different reason. Tech stopped poking at the edges of the wounds to stuff some gauze pads on the bleeding lacerations before wrapping them with a sterile wrap.

"Cross?" He asked his brother that stopped analyzing the helmet to lose himself in his thoughts, eyes fixed on one of the holes in the visor.

He seemed taken aback for a moment but quickly recovered, rolling the customized helmet in his hands.

"Night vision stopped working on one of the lenses. Too damaged. The front is melted at some places," He turned the helmet over to trace a long crack at the back of the head. "and it may not resist a hit to the right place."

The frustration in his tone wasn't lost on anyone. Clearly, the helmet wasn't the subject of his irritation and no one had to ask for the truth. They were all prey of the same guilt.

"I'm sorry. She told us not to follow voices." Wrecker averted his eyes, not able to look at his fuming brother anymore. Whatever happened to you was his fault. If only he hadn't followed the voices, you wouldn't be missing.

Bile raised in his throat as his mind wandered on the dreaded questions. What happened? Were you in danger? Or hurt? Or dead?

From his experience on this planet, Wrecker knew it was safe to assume that you crossed paths with a monster of the night. This was a certainty. All there was to speculate on was your wellbeing.

"Her tracker is still working, we'll find her." Tech applied a small bacta patch that he pulled out of his belt onto the palm of Wrecker's hand, the latter hissing in pain.

"You're lucky the water washed off any remaining chemical that burned your skin or else we'd see some bones if the state of your helmet is anything to go by." He admired the edges of the burns that weren't covered by the patch. "I'll wrap your fingers together to keep them from moving on each other so refrain from closing your hand. You'll only damage it more."

"But I won't be able to shoot!" He frowned, teeth clashing together as Tech put some gauze between his fingers and wrapped the bandages tightly together.

"Blasters don't work anyway." Hunter grumbled as he turned back to them, letting go of the hair at the back of his neck to face his team.

"But light does." The engineer got on his feet to help Wrecker, offering his forearm to pull him up.

"Light?"

"I threw an emergency light stick at it."

"How did you know it would chase it?" Wrecker pulled on his helmet that Crosshair held out to him.

Having only one night vision lens would make it difficult for him to continue, hopefully, it wouldn't slow him down too much or cause him to miss some monster out there. He couldn't be more of a burden than he already was at the moment.

"I didn't. It was merely a theory." He typed away at his vambrace, missing Wrecker's bewildered expression. "And I was only partially correct. They indeed are reactive to light, but they do not fear it as I initially thought. Turns out that light enrages them. It gave up on you in order to eat the stick." He explained in his signature matter of fact tone.

Before anyone could add to the previous conclusion, Tech continued.

"I got her position. She's close” The corners of Wrecker’s lips lifted slightly. They could track you, everything would be fine from here. You weren’t lost. “and unmoving." The whispered last words rang loud and clear in all the clones' ears.

Wrecker's breath wasn't the only one to abruptly stop.

#bad batch x reader #wrecker x reader #tech x reader #crosshair x reader #hunter x reader #sergeant hunter #clone force 99 #star wars #clone wars #Reader is gooooneeee #what the hell happened?#the answer...in the next chap

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detective-crescend · 3 years ago

Text

break up with your girlfriend (i’m bored)

There is a game that Klavier Gavin sometimes likes to play.

‘Likes’, however, may not be the appropriate term.

It isn’t a nice game, or one that makes him feel like a particularly good and decent person. And yet, when he wins—which he almost certainly does, on all but two notable occasions—the rush of chemicals that his victory incites within his clearly damaged mind will cover up all but the most persistent cries of outrage from what remains of his decaying moral compass.

It is a private challenge, it is a weakness he has long since conceded to… it is played like this:

There are plenty of people in the world who would love Klavier Gavin simply for what he represents. Conversely, there are people who will despise him for those very same reasons.

When the small voice in the back of his mind begins to speak too loudly—the one that sounds so very familiar, calm and leveled while it interrogates his every action—when he, in turn, begins to doubt himself, Klavier will search out the nearest member of the latter group. The more this individual seemingly dislikes him, the better the effect. And, having identified someone who must dislike Klavier more than he dislikes himself, he will do whatever is necessary to change that person’s opinion.

Sometimes it is as simple as attention and kindness, gifts and persistence; sometimes it is through a display of vulnerability or chagrin that is only somewhat manufactured for the moment. Though Klavier’s motivation for doing so is horrifically selfish, the goal is to be perfectly genuine in his search for their affection. It needs to be; only once his target has offered up their adoration can he tolerate himself once more. If it is a false version of Klavier that they are idolizing, it only strengthens the voice’s position inside his own mind.

The point of this game is emotional intimacy, not physical. Klavier has never been in the game of intentionally breaking hearts. One of the cardinal rules that he has set for himself, then, is that his appointed convert must be maintained as a friend, not a lover. In actuality, the majority of the rules pertain to limits and boundaries—monetary, time, distance, and attitude—or to create clear definitions of what constitutes a win or a loss of the game. It is important, Klavier feels, to keep things consistent among matches and, therefore, fair.

But, although Klavier has flourished in this diversion since his now distant childhood, he had also never encountered a contender quite like Apollo Justice before.

It wasn’t that Apollo was particularly difficult to read or to predict what it might take in order to shift his perception—on the contrary, Klavier had known exactly what needed to be done to achieve his goal almost immediately upon meeting the man. Whether or not Klavier is capable of it, however, is where the debate hinges.

There are rules that will need to be broken, for one thing, along with a set of small, concealed truths that must be unearthed—things that Klavier had long since been in the habit of burying below several layers of his own psyche. As of this moment, there are only two that Klavier has managed to excavate and examine with any sense of composure.

The first, that Apollo has beaten him so thoroughly in Klavier’s own game that their exchanges have ceased to be a game at all. Instead, they have taken on the frantic and impetuous nature of an entirely different emotion. Klavier’s desire to win Apollo’s affection had ceased to be a simple desire; it now felt like a need, pulsing bright and warm from somewhere so deeply within him that he had long since stopped believing it was possible to feel this way at all.

The second truth—both far more recently understood and infinitely more frightening—is that the aforementioned need may, in fact, be love.

It is not as pleasant an emotion as he had once anticipated, more like gnawing hunger that rumbled when Apollo was absent and roared with an open maw when he was nearby. It made Klavier indecisive and introspective in an entirely different way than the voice in his head, made him overthink every word he spoke and every thing he did when Apollo was nearby. It made him impulsive and greedy, wont to push his luck at every opportunity he could possibly take.

And, as luck would have it, this emotion was ruining any chance he could have with Apollo in the process.

“I am performing at a local studio tomorrow,” Klavier is attempting to begin one afternoon, in the immediate aftermath of a trial he has just lost. Though he’d meant the words to sound suave and unintentionally cool, the force of Apollo’s indifferent gaze strangles the words into an awkwardly insistent rush. “Would you like to come, as my guest? You may bring Fräulein Wright as well.”

Before him, Apollo’s dark eyes narrow, his hands still in the process of packing up the strewn remainder of his courtroom notes. “What kind of performance?”

“It is for a streaming service, ja?” Klavier replies, grinning through the nerve induced flips his stomach has been performing since the moment he opened his mouth. “They invite artists to come for an interview and to cover a song of the audience’s choice. There is usually free food and drinks.”

“So no Gavinner’s music?” Apollo looks skeptical.

“Nein, I promise.”

Another moment of cautious consideration is given before Apollo eventually, reluctantly, nods. “Trucy’ll kill me if she finds out I said no. Text me the address and time.”

Of course, it isn’t until hours after the requested message had been sent that Klavier thinks to check the status of the polls online that will decide the theme of his performance. One glance is all it takes to know that his invitation could be nothing but an absolutely terrible idea.

The damage, however, had been done.

As such, Klavier wakes the next morning with his emotions an odd amalgam of dread and anticipation that carries through the remainder of his day. By his arrival at the indicated studio—far earlier than the time he had provided to Apollo due to the ever-necessary addition of hair and makeup—Klavier is certain he has thought of nothing else the entire day other than Apollo’s arrival.

“Trucy couldn’t come,” Apollo says later, looking exceedingly uncomfortable in clothes other than his courtroom ensemble. It is the first time since the Guilty as Charged concert that Klavier has seen him in anything so casual; he had forgotten that, in the absence of hair gel and when wearing something that is not a shocking scarlet in hue, Apollo looks good. Good enough that Klavier is far from the only one casting surreptitious looks as they walk together from the lobby to the studio.

Those small glances are enough to send his imagination into a tailspin that, consequently, causes his response to be just moments too late to sound entirely casual. “But you still came.”

“I already said I would,” Apollo replies, ignoring the delay with a dismissive shrug. “It would’ve been rude to bail at the last second. Anyway, Trucy made me promise I’d record your song. When is it, by the way?”

“Twenty minutes—I won’t keep you for too long, ja?”

The problem is, during a performance, Klavier is practically incapable of any sort of critical thought at all. Years of practice have led to a near Pavlovian response to the appearance of a camera in his face; at just the glint of a lense reflection, any doubts or worries he had previously been wrestling with will be delicately tucked away to make room for the public persona Klavier presents to the world.

The same thing happens, here. Within moments of the interview starting, Klavier forgets about his apprehension in having Apollo present for this performance. By the time he eventually starts to sing, he’s forgotten about Apollo sitting just beyond the camera in a plastic folding chair all together.

The song picked for him to sing is almost certainly a joke, intentionally selected due to his recent and rather outspoken declaration of bisexuality. But Klavier has never been one to back down from a challenge or to let anyone know they’ve gotten under his skin. His take on Ariana Grande’s morally bankrupt classic is stripped down and irrevocably smoky, just the sound of Klavier’s voice and an electric guitar with absolutely zero changes to the lyrics, as was expected.

Klavier is not singing to Apollo, precisely—as far as he is aware, Apollo does not have a girlfriend from which to break up with—but a song will always sound better with some sort of emotion attached to it. Klavier has long been in the habit of searching any lyrics that are not his own for a handhold that he can grab on to relate to; here, the idea of wanting someone unavailable, no matter the cause, is an easy enough choice.

And things go seamlessly for the majority of the song. It isn't until nearly two minutes in, just as Klavier is finishing the bridge, that his gaze slips past the camera he has just recently glanced up into, and finds Apollo’s eyes wide and locked upon his. Perhaps it is not entirely professional, to maintain uninterrupted eye contact with the opposing counsel as the lyrics “you can hit it in the morning like it’s yours” are murmured seductively into the microphone bent towards one’s face. The suspicion is confirmed when, thirty seconds later, the song’s end is met by an uproar of applause from everyone except Apollo, who stands and leaves the room altogether.

“Stop messing with me,” Apollo shouts in the parking lot when Klavier has finally caught up with him. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, I don’t know what sort of advantage you think you’re playing at, but stop.”

#day 2 of the ‘write everyday challenge’#idk who the dude singing this cover is but he’s got a nice voice #was going to try to finish this but we’re on day three now #so…. take it #idk where I was going with it anyway #sometimes i write things

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ahgaseda · 5 years ago

Text

pray | one

you are more than my existence, please listen to my prayer, hold me, tell me about myself, call my name so I can know who I am...

summary : everyone knows of the unspeakable evil that lives on the mountain, but you willingly sacrifice yourself to the demon named Jaebeom, as long as he takes you far away from the monster waiting for you at home.

warnings : strong profanity, explicit dialogue, instances of blood and violence, graphic sexual content, black magic themes, potentially triggering elements that involve mentions of past child abuse, mental health, etc.

miniseries chapters : one / two / three / four / five / six / seven

A demon lived in the shadow of the mountain. That was the legend you were always told. Each time as a restless child you wandered toward the woods, your mother - aware that scolding held little effect on you - would try to instill some sense of terror instead.

“The demon will catch you and drag you away,” she would say, voice a high shrill.

I wish he would, you often told yourself.

There were days you sat for hours on end, gazing into the darkness of the forest. You imagined wraiths and monsters and any other deadly creature that could devour you without consequence.

You wanted to be devoured. It was the closest to salvation from your father you would ever find.

It went without saying you had no friends. You were the strange little girl that would rather chase butterflies and climb trees, always lingering dangerously close to the forest’s border.

“She wants to dance with the demon,” other children would tease in a jeering song.

You paid them no mind. The woods enraptured you, beckoned you within her boughs. You would cup a hand to your mouth and send out a call, wordless notes that your soft voice would carry into the shadows. The woods would sigh, caressing you with wisps of wind that let you know your calls were heard.

Stamping your little bare feet, you would gather courage to enter. It was forbidden to enter the accursed forest, where black magic was known to breed. Though you considered yourself brave, you feared the punishments that would follow if you were caught. And for that reason alone, you returned home every time.

Not until you woke on a rainy day to find your mother gone were you finally driven to enter. Without her, there was no one to protect you. She had left you alone and defenseless with a man that drank away his sorrows. In your young mind, you didn’t blame her for saving herself, but you would resent her for it for the rest of your life.

Bare feet plodded across the fields. The kids threw rocks cruelly at you when you passed by, but you were much too fast. You heard their words, full of hatred and scorn, and kept running.

You reached the border, a small child staring into the gaping maw of the black forest. Survival pulsed through your veins. In that moment, you decided whatever lived inside the forest was far less dangerous than the man outside it.

“Please,” you whispered, hands clasped before you in prayer. “Grant me safe passage.”

Then, you stepped inside.

The first thing you noticed was the softness of the ground beneath your feet. The fields had been rough and coarse against your soles, but even now, something cooled your broken skin. You looked around in curious awe, the smallest rays of light piercing through the canopy overhead. When the mist hit the rays of light just right, little rainbows appeared in their wake.

You reached out, touching one of the trees. Dainty pink flowers grew from its bark, winding between your fingers. You giggled, marveling the buds and their tiny leaves. Birds alighted on every branch to chirp curiously at your presence.

Further in, you continued, turning in a circle as you walked, just to make sure you didn’t miss a single sight. It was like nothing you had ever seen or even dreamt of in your wild imagination.

Suddenly, the air cooled. The wind rushed. You rubbed your arms as your breath appeared like smoke. The birds disappeared into the heights of the trees.

You came to a stop, listening to the loud beating of wings. It sounded like a bird, a thousand fold.

The boy alighted before you, wings rustling at his shoulders.

You could hardly believe your eyes, mouth opening in shock. Surely before you stood a boy, no much older than yourself, but the similarities were few. Enormous black wings arched above his shoulders, still shifting as the boy levelled his gaze at you harshly.

“Why are you here?” he asked with impatience.

Your attention had landed on the dark curved horns sprouting from the top of his skull, then drifted to his skin. He wore no shirt, only trousers. You could imagine what a hassle pulling a shirt on over wings would be, but you moved your interest to the black ink in his flesh. He was covered in script from neck to fingers and everything in between, etched with a language you would never hope to understand.

“What are you?” you asked with a child’s naivety.

The boy tilted his head. “What do I look like?” he replied, almost menacingly.

The little fear you had promptly evaporated. Your lips parted in a wide grin and you giggled, exclaiming, “You’re a fairy!”

The boy’s brows stitched and the most incredulous frown took over his face. “A… fairy?” he exclaimed in disgust.

You raced forward, colliding into him and wrapping your arms around his bare waist. “I prayed to the woods for safe passage and she sent you to protect me!”

The boy grasped your arms and attempted to pry you off, adamant. “I’m not protecting you.”

“Of course, you are,” you said with glee, pulling your head back from his chest to peer up at his face. “The woods said so.”

Surly, he wrinkled his nose and barked, “I don’t listen to trees.”

You let your hands fall from his body, taking a step back. “Everyone knows there’s magic in this forest.”

Of all the creatures you expected to find, he was the last possibility. A child much like you, despite wings and horns and a host of tattoos in his skin. You marveled the script on his chest, but you knew it would be quite rude to ask for a translation at the moment.

“Dark magic,” he corrected sternly, striding forward and waving his hand. “Come with me.”

You watched him walk past you and didn’t hesitate to do as told. You followed the short-tempered boy back to the border, eyes on his long wings as you trodded behind him.

He pointed at the forest’s edge and cocked his head, clearly motioning for you to take your leave. “Now, go,” he snapped.

You turned sulky. “Can’t I stay a little longer?”

“No,” the boy replied without missing a beat.

You puffed up your cheeks and began to pout.

The winged boy furrowed his brow and asked, “What are you doing?”

You stomped your feet and grasped his wrist between your hands, tugging on his arm. “Let me stay!”

“You humans are strange,” he murmured under his breath.

You released his hand and broke into a sprint, breezing past him and toward the deep shadows of the forest. The boy rolled his eyes at your attempt of escaping him.

You didn’t get far and you gasped aloud when the boy appeared from overhead and landed squarely in front of you. It was hard to stop considering how fast you were going and you smacked against his hard chest, falling backwards onto the ground with a thud.

“Clumsy things,” he sighed, pretending to brush dirt from his shoulder.

You got to your feet, dusting off your legs, and looked up at him with amusement. “What is your name?”

“Jaebeom,” he replied, surprised at himself for being so forthcoming.

You gave him your name, though he did not ask for it.

“Mm,” was all Jaebeom said. Then, he turned and proceeded to walk away.

You trailed behind him and surveyed his wings again, finding them astounding in every aspect of the word. “How far can you fly?”

“Far.”

“How high?” you pressed.

“High.”

You scowled at him, finally getting irritated at his curt replies, and asked, “You don’t have many friends, do you?”

Jaebeom blinked, turning to you confusedly. As if your question had completely thrown him off balance.

“You seem like you don’t know how to have a conversation,” you explained, softening at his expression.

“There’s never been a need,” he replied sadly.

Your heart ached at that. It was a feeling you knew all too well. “I can be your friend, if you like,” you offered sweetly. “Your first friend!” At that, you extended your arm.

Jaebeom glanced down at your outstretched hand, clearly unimpressed.

You smiled with delight when he finally shook your hand. Even among his kind, the gesture was recognized.

Jaebeom shrugged, hiding his interest. “What do friends do?”

“Well,” you began, moving to his side as he continued to walk between the trees. “We talk and play and tell each other stories. We ask about each other’s day and…”

By the time night fell, you managed to draw the faintest of smiles from Jaebeom. And there was no way in hell you weren’t going to bring loud attention to it.

Pointing at his face, you exclaimed, “You smiled!”

He gawked and quickly deadpanned, “I did not.”

“I made you smile!”

Jaebeom rolled his eyes and deflected, “I’m only smiling because it’s nighttime now and that means it’s finally time for you to leave.”

You chuckled at his dryness, knowing by the aforementioned smile he had grown to enjoy your company. “Next time I’ll make you laugh,” you told him with a mischievous grin. “Just you wait and see.”

Jaebeom, who had been looking down at his feet pensively, reared his head up in surprise. “Next time?”

“Bye, Jaebeom-ie,” you called with a wave, stepping through the opening in the forest’s edge. “Thank you for making me forget how sad I was.”

Jaebeom’s face softened and his eyes burned with the threat of tears. “You were sad?”

But you had already run far enough not to hear him. Your heart was swelling, feeling joy for the first time in such a long time. This day, a day you swore would be the worst in your life, had become the best because of a winged boy named Jaebeom.

Jaebeom felt an ache in his chest. For the hours you spent with him inside the woods, you had been sad and yet you spent all of your energy simply trying to get a smile out of him. Jaebeom wanted to find whatever - or whoever - had made you sad and remove them from the face of the earth forever.

“Until next time, cheonsa,” he spoke softly before turning back to the dark loneliness of the forest and vanishing inside.

You could barely sleep. You thought endlessly of your new friend - your only friend. You told no one about him. Not that you had anyone you would want to tell.

Slipping into the woods became your happiness. You spent any possible hour hidden away among the trees. Jaebeom always sensed your return, as if the forest eagerly told him, and would join you within seconds of your entering. After a few months, you began to assume he waited near the border for you.

Together, you and Jaebeom grew from clumsy children to blossoming teenagers. Jaebeom was the first to notice the change. Suddenly, he was nervous to rough and tumble with you as he usually did. You were quite disappointed at not wrestling in the mud with him anymore, but to him, it seemed overnight you began smelling too good.

Though Jaebeom always playfully teased you, soon he was too awkward to do so. And you noticed how you began to win most of the rounds of verbal sparring. As you grew, your body changed shape. Feminine curves reminded Jaebeom you were becoming a woman and he was becoming a man.

Teasing turned to flirtation, which was dangerous. Jaebeom could tell you were receptive to his little touches and his occasional hungry remarks. He rebuked himself for not being more careful, for letting friendship drift too close to romance. Sadly, Jaebeom knew he could no longer prolong the inevitable.

On the morn of your seventeenth birthday, you escaped into the forest like any other day.

As you stepped inside her borders, you rubbed at tears with a rough hand. It had been torture at home. You were facing a fate worse than death in your eyes. Careful to never let Jaebeom see you cry, you dabbed at your wet cheeks with the sleeves of your dress.

Little did you know, Jaebeom perched in the tree above. His blood boiled. Someone had hurt you and on your birthday no less. He was angry, but stifled the rage for your sake.

Jaebeom descended before you as he always did. After years in his company, you never gasped in surprise when he landed just shy of you.

Flashing a smile, you greeted, “Good morning.”

“Is it?” he questioned, never giving an inch.

You shifted nervously and watched him move closer. “I’m a woman now,” you finally spoke, fighting back tears. “They have discussed selling me to a princeling or a lord. Some nonsense about me being beautiful.”

“Total nonsense,” Jaebeom retorted, trying to make you smile. Though the news made all the blood drain from his face.

“It’s strange,” you mulled softly. “Being sold like a broodmare. I’ve never felt more like an animal than I do today.”

Jaebeom grit his teeth. Fire licked across his skin.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, your voice trembled, “My aunt told me today that the first few times will be unpleasant. More than likely, the man who buys my hand in marriage will not care about my comfort.”

Jaebeom wanted to snap any man in half that hurt you and he snarled, “Why are we talking about this?”

“Oh,” you said, flushing with embarrassment. “I-I’m sorry. I was… thinking out loud, I suppose.”

Jaebeom regretted the harshness of his words. Clearly you were scared and he could do nothing to comfort you.

You spent the day with your only friend in somber, peaceful quiet. Jaebeom took you to all of your favorite places. The river to feed the koi, with their glistening scales of every shade of every color amongst the lily pads. The winding trees to see the newly hatched crop of vibrant parrots followed.

Even the rare red stag came to greet you, allowing your hand to touch his snout. You were hard pressed to find a creature as beautiful. You always gaped at him in awe.

Jaebeom’s eyes were on you, never wavering. He knew you would assume the visits to your favorite reaches of the forest would be in celebration of your birthday. Not in a final farewell.

He was letting you say goodbye.

When the sun began to set, Jaebeom led you to the border. You almost made him drag you.

“I… have a present for you,” Jaebeom finally said, rifling in his back pocket.

“Jaebeom,” you sighed. “I told you that wasn’t necessary.”

“Well, you told me that after I started making it so…,” he countered in feigned scolding. “I didn’t want it to go to waste. That’s all.”

You snickered. He was always deflecting and you expected nothing less.

Jaebeom wasn’t the only one who had noticed the changes in your bodies. You were well aware of the broad expanse of his chest, the bulging muscles of his arms, and the chiseled lines of his stomach. There were many times you had to resist the urge to slip into his arms. You wanted to feel the heat of his body against yours. It was maddening; the warmth that emanated from him.

Jaebeom finally handed you the tiny box, snapping you from your reverie.

Your heart fluttered. Tears pricked at your eyes before you had even opened it. Lowering your head bashfully, you whispered, “I can’t remember the last time someone gave me a gift.”

That wounded him deeply, though his expression stayed neutral. “Happy birthday, cheonsa,” was all Jaebeom said.

You could hardly believe your eyes as they blurred with tears. Inside the box was a ring. The dark stone was held by gleaming silver, small strands twisting like the roots of trees to hold the gem securely in its center.

“Jae…,” you breathed, lost for words. “It’s…”

“It’s a black diamond,” he explained anxiously. “They are supposedly very rare. Like you.”

You pulled the ring from the box, slipping it on your finger slowly. Were you even worthy to wear something of such value?

“You don’t like it,” Jaebeom groaned at your silence. “I should have known it was too dark. I can try to find something else.”

“Stop,” you replied, peering up at him as the tears escaped and rolled down your cheeks. “It’s beautiful.”

He was thrown by your emotion. “You’re sure?”

You wiggled your fingers, staring at the gift with affection, and whispered, “Never in my life have I seen something so beautiful.”

“I have,” Jaebeom blurted, immediately biting his tongue.

The admission was lost on you. “Thank you.”

He smiled. “You’re welcome.”

“I will cherish it forever.”

Jaebeom held up a finger. “One last present.”

“Jaebeom,” you started.

Before you could argue, Jaebeom swooped you in his arms and beat his great wings. You cried out in surprise, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you were carried higher and higher into the air.

The trees hummed, branches moving from his path as Jaebeom ascended even further. He had never flown with you before. Jaebeom knew he would have to be full grown before he could carry another person with his wings. Now, he was at the cusp of adulthood and to him, this would be his only chance to let you feel flight.

The two of you appeared in the canopy. You clinged to Jaebeom desperately, panting hard on his neck.

“Open your eyes, silly girl,” he teased, coming to sit at the summit of a tree and holding you securely in his lap.

You listened to the familiar sound of his wings relaxing, folding to his back dutifully. The air wisped past your ears and tasted crisp on your tongue. You had never been this high in your life, no matter how many trees you climbed in your youth.

Opening your eyes, fresh tears streamed down your cheeks.

The forest continued for miles and miles, stretching past what your vision could see. The horizon was endless. But at the center of your gaze was the ever-looming mountain. Its heights were hidden in the clouds.

“I never knew,” you stammered. “It’s such a big world.”

Jaebeom chuckled, his eyes on your face filled with such wonder. The sun’s rays reflected in your glistening eyes. Jaebeom knew in that moment he was hopelessly enamored.

You would never know the pain he endured for your sake. He could not survive in the sun. Even as he held you while the sunset splashed the sky with her colors, the sun punished him. The ink scrawled across his skin burned.

But he swore it was worth it to see the sky painted in your eyes.

You heard your name on his tongue and turned to meet his gaze, surprised above everything else when his lips touched yours.

Jaebeom had kissed you before, but nothing like this. Yes, his lips had graced your cheek or the corner of your mouth, and many times you pressed your lips to his brow or nose in playful flirting.

Nothing like this.

The surprise faded and you let your eyes flutter closed. Less afraid, you released your vice grip on his shoulders and slid your fingers into his dark hair, deepening the kiss.

Jaebeom lit a fire inside your soul, coaxing it to the surface with his heated kisses. You moaned softly at the push and pull of his hands kneading your back. The sound brought Jaebeom back to reality and without warning, he fell backwards, tumbling back through the canopy with you in his arms.

You yelled at first, terrified at the sensation of free-falling, but quieting when you remembered the man who held you could fly. His wings unraveled and punished the air with powerful beats, allowing Jaebeom to alight on a branch.

Jaebeom kept his hands on your waist, letting you regain your balance, and grunted when you melded your lips back on his. You tugged on his hair, hungry for the fire he made race through your veins. Jaebeom smirked darkly against your mouth, flicking his tongue between your lips.

Then, he remembered what he had to do.

When Jaebeom broke away, you swayed where you stood, steadied only by his rough hands around your waist, coaxing up and down your lower back. Had you known kissing was such a rush, you would have kissed him a long time ago.

Your eyes met and you giggled, bashful. Jaebeom lowered his head, hiding a smug grin, hair falling in his face.

“Please,” you sighed breathlessly. “Keep kissing me.”

Without another word, Jaebeom stepped from the branch with you in his clutches, using a single beat from his wings to land gracefully on the ground. His eyes burned into yours and the forest suddenly felt undeniably warmer.

Jaebeom lay you on a soft bed of grass, propping himself over you and kissing you tenderly. You were aware of his body on yours, how he had made himself comfortable between your thighs.

And you were content to kiss him for an eternity.

The playful teasing was long gone. The air was thicker. This was a mood you had never felt. This was intimacy, raw and unbridled. You were in the arms of the boy you loved and the only person you trusted.

With your fingers tangled in his long hair, you kept him trapped to you, humming softly at his lips melding with yours. You slipped your hands down his chest, tracing your nails over the endless ink scribbled expertly in his skin, and moved to grip his shoulders. Your touch wandered closer to his wings, feeling where the joints connected to his back.

The moment you touched their bases, the wings came alive at your touch, fanning and stretching overhead and rustling with excitement. You suddenly felt that no one had ever touched Jaebeom’s wings and the act itself was considered an intimate one. Jaebeom kissed you even harder, darting out his tongue to rub along your lip.

Jaebeom palmed your breast and your breath hitched. He broke the kiss to look into your eyes, assuring himself you were alright with his touch. You didn’t hesitate to grab his hand, steering it lower to the hem of your blouse and guiding him underneath to your bare skin.

You moaned softly when his hand settled on your naked breast. Jaebeom kneaded and caressed, rubbing his thumb over your nipple. His lips broke from yours and brushed over your jaw. When you felt his mouth on your neck, you arched into his touch and locked your ankles behind his back.

Something was happening between your legs - a tugging ache you had never felt before.

“Jaebeom,” you sighed, squirming beneath him. His kisses on your neck were making you crazy, filled with a need completely new to you.

You succumbed to the way he made your pulse race, undulating beneath him and roaming your hands restlessly across his body. His skin felt hot, scalding against your fingertips, like he was burning alive and you were to blame.

“I, um,” you hesitated, clearing your throat. “What if we…”

Jaebeom sucked beneath your ear and hummed, “Hm?”

You blinked, heart thundering against your ribs. “Can I give myself to you?”

Jaebeom’s eyes flickered at the thought, but his voice was firm against your neck. “No.”

Your heart sank, surprise sharply fading into disappointment. “But if I do, then they can’t sell it.”

Jaebeom met your gaze, nuzzling your nose with his own, and spoke sadly, “I can’t.”

You peered up at him through the haze, through the warmth the two of you had begun to make together. Questions and pleas raced through your mind, but all you could bring yourself to ask was, “Why?”

“It’s different for my kind,” Jaebeom explained, pupils dilated wide. “It means more to us.”

That stung and you did nothing to hide it. Lips trembling, you cried, “And it means nothing to me?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jaebeom said hurriedly, shaking his head and causing more hair to stray into his face.

You looked away, resisting the overwhelming urge to cry. You weren’t worthy of him. He didn’t say it, but that was how you felt.

Jaebeom felt you unhook your ankles and let your legs slip from his hips, and he knew he had made a mistake. He never was good at wording things properly.

He gazed down at you with longing, realizing the position he was in; you on your back beneath him, him laying between your thighs. Heaven knew he wanted you more than anything. He had never desired another person before in his life. Only you, for as long as he could remember.

But he couldn’t make love to you. If he did, he would belong to you forever.

Jaebeom sat up, lifting you with him. You pulled away from him once on steady footing and Jaebeom rubbed his thumb across your bottom lip. You lowered your head, nervous.

“I’m sorry, cheonsa,” he whispered. Jaebeom wanted to fall to his knees and beg your forgiveness. Here he was, desiring nothing more than to destroy any man who hurt you and yet he had cut you deep.

“Don’t be sorry,” you quickly told him, putting on a brave face. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Jaebeom knew that was a lie, but he didn’t challenge you. He cocked his head toward the border and you gave him a nod, dragging your feet as you followed.

Heading toward the forest edge, you turned back to him and asked, “See you tomorrow?”

Jaebeom grit his teeth, pushing down the surge of emotions threatening to crush him. “No.”

You blinked in surprise.

“Don’t come back here again unless you plan to stay.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Your heart vanished somewhere in your stomach. “What? Why?” you exclaimed. This had to have been nothing more than a cruel joke.

“When I reach full maturity, I have to take a bride,” said Jaebeom, avoiding your eyes.

“Jaebeom, you will never reach maturity,” you teased, trying to alleviate the sudden tension with humor.

Jaebeom tightened his hands into fists and forced the words out, “I’m serious. And if you’re the one that comes, then I will have no choice but to take you.”

You stepped away from the path, rounding on him squarely. Only a moment ago, you had willingly offered yourself to him. You had never felt so bemused and out of place. “Why is that a bad thing?”

“Because you deserve more,” he murmured, pained. “You deserve a life in the light. Not trapped in my darkness or my curse.”

Your face tensed with oncoming tears when you realized what all of this meant. You were being cast out from the woods and Jaebeom had not taken you, because he was saving himself for someone else. “I would rather be trapped in your curse than mine,” you countered, resistant.

Jaebeom shook his head and huffed, “He’s not a curse. You can escape him. Make a life for yourself. The simple life you’ve always wanted.”

Your lips trembled and you felt yourself breaking when you said, “With a man that hurts me?”

Your voice almost made him come undone. Jaebeom had sworn never to disappoint you. For years he wondered if you would be the one he chose to take when the time came, but after seeing you beneath the sun, he knew he couldn’t condemn you to an eternity in the shadows.

“Don’t try to change my mind,” he snapped.

You bristled with anger and shot back, “Why not? You want me to make a life for myself. Well, the life I want is with you.”

Jaebeom threw up his hands and angled away, resolve crumbling. “You don’t even understand what that means,” he shouted bitterly.

You had never confessed your feelings to him. Jaebeom was a vault, but you could feel him slipping away from you forever. “I understand that I love…,” you began shakily.

Jaebeom was on you then, covering your mouth with his hand. His eyes were scalding, filled with tears. “Don’t say it. You have no idea what I am and what I will become. You have always seen me as something good and kind, but I’m not. I’m far from it.”

You pulled his hand away, showing him no fear with how he had backed you against a tree, and said, “You’re a demon.”

Jaebeom blinked.

“I’ve known all along,” you told him. “My people tell tales of your kind. Demons live in the shadow of this mountain. It is why the forest is forbidden. Dark magic breeds here. The elders sing songs of the winged men that steal away the most beautiful of mortal women.”

Jaebeom backed away, surprised. “You knew?”

“Yes.”

Jaebeom’s face tensed with confusion. “And still you kept coming back here?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” you whispered, carding your fingers into his black hair. “I’m afraid of them.”

Jaebeom gathered you back in his arms and leaned his head against yours, eyes filled with tears. He was in physical agony. He couldn’t imagine being parted from your warmth for even a moment. All this time you knew what he was and yet you never feared him, never rebuked him for the monster that he was and would always be.

Then, he said, “Go.”

When his arms slipped from your body, you clutched him to you tighter and whimpered, “Jaebeom, you’re the only happiness in my life.”

“I mean it,” he hissed, spitting your name like venom. “Get out.”

You could do nothing when he pried you from him, pushing you backwards just enough to put distance between the two of you. The air turned cold. Winter had come in the fraction of a second. The forest seemed to shroud, cloaking itself in darkness.

“No, Jaebeom,” you shouted, planting your feet. “I know you love me.”

Jaebeom lowered his head, hiding his face and displaying his horns in aggression. Wings outstretched above him and the woods howled a piercing cry that made your blood run cold. He slightly lifted his hands, bold with ebony symbols and script, and thorns began to grow.

Rebellion filled you, but you were powerless. You wanted to defy him, but you staggered back, the darkness and thorns threatening to devour you. With one last look at the demon you loved, you turned and ran.

The shadow never stopped. It spilled over everything like ink. The thorns billowed and spread. You ran until you gasped for air, until your muscles ached. By the time you reached the edge of the forest, you landed on the grass with a thud, panting desperately for breath. The thorns swarmed between the trees, twisting and tangling with vines. You watched in horror as they finally stilled.

Rising to your feet, you approached the woods, placing your hand on the prickly stalks. There was no place for you to fit through. It was sealed away. Up and down you scurried along the border, looking for a weak spot. Even just a tiny place you could crawl inside.

There was none.

Tears fell down your face. You raked your hands through your hair, pulling the disheveled mess from your eyes, and screamed at the top of your lungs, “I hate you!”

The forest groaned.

You charged forward and pushed at branches, tore at the leaves. You clawed at whatever you could reach, trying to forge a path inside, and all the while you chanted bitterly, “I hate you! I hate you!”

Somewhere in the forest’s midst, Jaebeom crouched on the rough expanse of a branch, seated limply with his head hung low in shame. His wings lay at his side, lifeless and unmoving. The woods had never felt so cold then, so devoid of magic.

Your voice echoed. Those three words were a constant song in his ears, vowing to haunt him till the end of his days.

Not until the moon came to its full height overhead did you accept defeat. Dragging your feet home, you gazed at your bloodied, tattered hands. Wishing to avoid questions, you hurried to the nearest stream to wash yourself.

As you submerged your aching hands into the gentle waters, you heard the faintest of whispers in your ear. Unnerved, you stood sharply, looking around for who had spoken. Then, you cast your eyes down and gasped. Your hands had healed. Only small, faded scars were left in your flesh.

Smiling ever so softly, you turned to the looming forest in the distance. No matter what Jaebeom had said or done, the woods still loved you.

But still you cried yourself to sleep. You cried till you could shed no more tears. Slipping the ring from your finger, the only gift you had ever been given, you clutched it tightly in your fist and cradled your hands to your chest protectively.

For a moment, you had tasted magic and known what it was like to be safe and loved.

And as quickly as it came, it was taken away.

next chapter →

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#got7 fanfiction #im jaebum #got7 smut #jaebum smut #got7 #got7 fanfic #got7 fic #got7 au #im jaebum fanfiction #jaebum fanfiction #jaebum fanfic #jaebum fic #jaebum au #got7 scenario #got7 reaction #got7 imagine

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solynaceawrites · 4 years ago

Text

Subhuman

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, fem!Reader Tags: Smut, PWP, Porn No Plot, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Masturbation, Monster Sex Rating: Explicit Summary: The first time you have sex with Dante after he returns from the underworld, you learn just what it means to be his mate. Note: This came about after an interesting conversation in a server about Dante’s dick when he’s using SDT. Specifically, how it’s shaped. It’s also my first true foray into what I would call monster-fucking fics, so, uh . . . I hope you enjoy?

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The first time you’d seen Dante’s Sin Devil Trigger, you’d been trying to haul Nero’s dumb ass out of Urizen’s throne room. Your first thought had been, what the fuck, followed quite quickly by, that’s a nice ass, and you’d done your best to shove both of those to the side, as being stuck in the middle of a demonic tree was not the best time to be ogling your lover. The second had been a glimpse from the distance as he dove into the underworld, just a streak of burning orange across the sky and into the ground. You’d been more than pissed that he’d left, especially without so much as a good-bye, and you’d made that known to Morrison when he gave you the deed to the Devil May Cry. “He better not come back,” you’d said irritably, “unless he wants me to shoot him.”

But Dante’s disappearance, particularly after seeing that new form of his, left you with a rather particular problem. You’d told him once that you loved all of him; that love had extended into your sex life, and it’d been becoming more frequent for the dick he fucked you with to be scaled instead of flesh, for the hands that dug into your hips to be tipped with claws fit to tear through steel. You didn’t have much of an interest in finding someone else to date—Dante had truly been one of a kind—and there were times when the nice, normal dildo you kept tucked away in your bedside table just didn’t cut the trick.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like them. They’d always worked fine whenever Dante had to take an overnight job. It was the fact that thinking about Dante led to you remembering his easy grin and the way he felt curled around you at night, making the pain of his being gone much more apparent. The easiest option was to think about his other form; that one hadn’t made you coffee, or kissed the top of your head in passing, or told you how much it loved you. The problem with that was it was a bit disorienting thinking about a demonic dick while using a human one. So, you’d found a website that hosted an . . . unusual assortment, and selected one you thought was probably the closest match to a cock you’d never gotten to see.

You’d gotten one you could actually use, since some of the sizes they offered were a bit much.

The day it arrived, you’d closed the shop and gone to the room you used to share with Dante. The dildo, a model with a name you forgot almost as soon as you read it, was mouthwatering. Thick and ribbed and the size of your forearm, with a girth you couldn’t fully fit your fingers around, and you’d been careful as you used it for the first time. A lot of lubrication and plenty of time to let your body adjust around each inch, and you’d been so full that you’d come as soon as the base brushed your mound.

It was a particular favorite after that. You had a rather extensive collection of toys, from vibrators to dildos to other assorted odds and ends, and any time you’d been missing Dante’s demon cock, you’d pulled it out. Sometimes, if you were particularly riled up, you’d use a vibrator against your clit, and those were the times when you were so shaky-legged afterwards that you needed a day to recover fully.

That’s not to say you didn’t just miss Dante, because you did. The best you slept was with one of his shirts clutched to your chest, and you’d always leave a few slices of pizza untouched whenever you ordered in case he showed up and was hungry. Of course, leave it to him to pick the worst timing to come back home: you, taking a well-deserved shower that you weren’t expecting to be interrupted by the devil hunter, and if he’d gotten smacked between the eyes with a shampoo bottle, he more than deserved it.

Two weeks short of a year since he’d left, Dante had been back. You’d yelled at him, cried more than you ever had before, and he absorbed it all, his grin turning to a sheepish smile and then outright guilt the longer you laid into him. Part of you felt bad for it. He’d probably been expecting something out of the movies, where you ran into his arms and kissed him senseless, like you had when you’d been reunited in the tree. But he hadn’t chosen to leave you behind then, and the hurt you felt not only at his leaving but at his sauntering back in had quashed that little protest. And when he’d tried to make it up to you the way he always did, you told him he could either keep his hands to himself or sleep on the couch.

Life hadn’t exactly gone back to normal in the following month—there was a lot to talk about, and you did, and he listened—but just having him back was a good enough start as far as you were concerned.

“Dante,” you call. When he doesn’t answer, you pull your head from the fridge, frowning at the empty seat behind his desk. You need his help deciding what to do for dinner and, unless he wants an anchovy-pickle-mayonnaise sandwich, the two of you are going to have to get something delivered. “Dante!”

“Bedroom!” he shouts back.

You take the climb the stairs and head into the bedroom, intending to ask him if he wants lo mein or pizza, only to freeze when you see him sitting on the bed, cradling that damned dildo in his palms. “Uh . . .?”

Dante grins at you, and you try not to flush under his heavy gaze. Sex has been off the table while the two of you work through the hurt his leaving caused, and, with him around, you’d taken to carrying the dildo into the bathroom with you whenever you needed some relief. You must have tossed it onto the bed after your afternoon shower, probably intending to put it up after you got dressed only to forget, and while you don’t think he’s angry, he certainly seems bemused. “Nice toy,” is all he says.

“Uh.”

“Color’s especially interesting. In fact, I’d say it looks pretty damn similar to mine.” He taps the rubber before dragging his finger along a prominent ridge. “Even this. I’d known you missed me this badly, I’d have bent you over the desk as soon as I walked in the door.”

“What do you mean, if you’d known?” Your voice is harsher than you intend from your mortification, and Dante blinks as you stalk forward to yank it from his hands. “Did you think I was having parties while you were in the underworld?” It’s not fair to say, and you know it’s not, but there’s a vicious satisfaction when he frowns. You toss the dildo onto the bed and fold your arms. “I missed you like hell. I’ve told you how hard those months without you were. So, if I wanted to buy a dildo that reminded me of your dick to help with that, it’s none of your business, and you can forget bending me over anything while you’re at it!”

He doesn’t argue, which helps your irritation a little. “Sorry, doll. It just caught me off guard. Though . . .” The way he tilts his head reminds you so much of a big dog that it’s ridiculous, especially with his shaggy hair. “You know you can have the real thing, right?”

“Maybe I like it better,” you retort.

You know the challenge you’re laying at his feet, and a thrill goes up your spine when his smile takes on a predatory edge as he stands. “Is that right? Maybe we should test it, just to be sure.” Dante peels his shirt over his head and your mouth goes dry at the sight of his chest, broad and covered with fine silver hairs. This was why you’d wanted to wait on sex for a while. The moment he lays on the charm, your anger goes right out of the window, which isn’t always the best thing when there’s an issue to solve. For now, though, you decide that it’s fine, and you lean against the wall and cock a brow. Come and get me.

There’s a flash of heat that has you wincing. When you open your eyes, it’s to see the horns and claws and fangs you’ve dreamed of since the first sighting in the tree, and you hold your breath as Dante prowls towards you, his claws ticking against the hardwood floor. He crowds you against the wall and peers down at you. Dante’s already a good head taller than you when he’s human; now, you have to crane your head back to look at his chin, and he kneels to be eye-level with you, his maw parting so his tongue can slide over your cheek. The rough surface of it has goosebumps breaking out along your arms as you think of what it’s going to feel like rubbing over your clit, and when it slides over your lips you part them to suck it into your mouth.

Dante growls, his breath fire-hot where it fans along your cheek. You almost don’t notice him cutting through your clothing until cold air caresses your skin; with a gasp, you draw back, and his hand grips your waist to pull you up so his face is level with your chest. “Pretty,” he rumbles, the sound thick and foreign and full of gravel, and you grasp at his horns when he curls that ridged tongue around your breast. The tip flicks your nipple, making you squirm from the prickles of pleasure it causes, and, with a laugh that’s ash and smoke, he rubs over it firmly.

And, gods above, you’re probably going to finish from that alone.

It’s heaven: rough and slick and warm, his saliva thick as it coats your flesh, making the friction so much silkier. You tug at his horns a futile attempt for more, though what more is, you don’t know. Not like he can do much else with his teeth the size of daggers, but his touch has awoken something greedy within you that clamors urgently for attention. When he shifts to give the same attention to your other breast, you nearly sob, and your nipples are peaked and stiff and tender by the time he’s through.

His hands cup your rear and lift you, yelping, so that your sex is in front of his mouth. The claws on his wings hook your wrists to pull your arms above your head as he braces your knees over his shoulders, and you can’t stop the whimper you let out when those teeth graze your mound. There’s a low rumbling from his chest as he breathes you in, and then you watch as his fangs part as his tongue slides between your folds.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine. “Dante . . .”

He licks you exactly how you like—his tongue thick and flat and rubbing firmly from your ass to your clit—but the texture is something else entirely, and you’d be rocking desperately against him if he weren’t holding you still. He slips it within your weeping sex, and you nearly scream when it folds on itself so he can lash the tip against your quivering pearl; it hadn’t seem so long at first, but now you understand why he’s got difficulty talking in this form. Not that you care if he speaks or not. As long as he keeps fucking you like he is, he can stay quiet. Every time his tongue flexes within you, you keen, and his answering pants send heated air along your labia and thighs, only heightening the pleasure that you’re already drowning in. You come in no time at all, but he doesn’t stop. Dante keeps right on working your body until a second orgasm follows hard and fast on the heels of the first, leaving your back bowing as you cry out his name.

Your legs are too weak by the time it fades for you to stand. Dante carries you easily over to the bed, lowering you back down so your head doesn’t smack into the fan, nuzzling your stomach and crooning sweetly against your skin. You don’t know what he’s doing, but something about the sound relaxes you so you’re limp when he deposits you on the mattress. Then you catch sight of his cock, and you lift yourself into a sitting position, your eyes wide.

The damn thing is huge. Dante already is, but this form of his adds length and girth, and it glows the same fiery orange as his eyes and the cracks in his armor. The top of it is covered with darker plates that taper off as they wrap around the vibrant underside, and those plates are covered with tiny, ridged bumps; the shaft of it flares twice, thickening in the middle, and the flared tip that you remember has some sort of swirl that narrows it at the slit and has it widening into protrusions where it meets the shaft. At the base you can see what you assume are his balls, held tight to the shaft, and there’s a small part where it meets his pelvis that looks perfect for stimulating your clit. You think, is that even going to fit? Then, I’ll make it fit.

There’s fluid dripping from the tip that you have the most insane urge to taste. It’s thick, a bit darker than normal, and you lean forward to drag your tongue over the slit. Dante hisses a warped version of your name as you lap at the head, gathering as much of the precum as you can before swallowing. It tastes sharp and rich, with a faintly spiced undertone, and it leaves a tingling trail from your lips down to your stomach. You’re not entirely sure, but you’re pretty certain that it’s an aphrodisiac of some kind, maybe meant to either get his partner in the mood or make it easier for him to get that monster between his legs inside of them. Or both.

Either way, you’re going to combust if he doesn’t fuck you soon.

But how to make it work? Humming, you shift onto your hands and knees, but it still doesn’t quite line up right. “Dante, I think—hey!”

The bed creaks warningly as he settles between your legs. His thighs press you nearly wider than is comfortable, and the heat of his body blasts against your back when he leans over you, one of his clawed hands bracing next to your own. You study the armor plating at his wrist for a moment, but the feeling of his head nudging insistently at your opening has you digging your fingers into the quilt, a breathless, “Please,” falling from your lips.

Slowly, he pushes it within your opening. Your mouth hangs open in a groan as it stretches you; there’s no pain, just the same tingling you’d felt when you swallowed his precum, and you realize that your assumption was right. Still, as he carefully thrusts deeper, you’re not sure how much of it you’re going to be able to take, a thought that’s reinforced when the head of him is fully inside and your walls squeeze around it. He’s barely gotten started and you feel fuller than you ever had in your life, and when he presses forward so your lips open around the first flare of his shaft, you cry out, your legs trembling. The second flare sliding leisurely into your sex has you coming for the third time, all of this little ridges you’d noticed and the ribbing along the sides more than enough to have your head spinning. By the time his hips are flush to your rear and his sac is nestled snugly against your clit, you’re boneless in his grasp, and you understand, through the haze, one very clear fact.

Dante is going to ruin you.

He moves slowly, carefully, letting you adjust to his size as he pants hotly against your shoulder, and you mewl every time he rocks his hips. You’re honestly not certain how much more you can handle; each tentative thrust has those flares and ridges stretching your cunt, presses the head of him against something within you that adds a faint dash of pain to the overwhelming pleasure. His teeth prick your skin and you gasp, scrabbling for purchase against the sheets as his hips pick up the pace until you’re rocking over the mattress, rocked forward by every powerful roll of his hips. The sound of his body driving into yours fills the room along with your desperate cries, and all of it only seems to spur him on. The heat radiating from him ramps up as his claws tear through the quilt, and his fangs become better acquainted with your shoulders and the back of your neck, each mark he leaves drawing a moan from your throat.

Dante reaches beneath you to cup your stomach, keeping you lifted as he fucks you senseless. He growls something that sounds like, “Mine,” when he presses you up, and you nearly scream at the new angle, the new depth. Forget tomorrow or the next day, you’re going to need at least a week before you can go out in the field again.

“Dante,” you whimper, “Dante, baby, please—”

He grunts and draws out, leaving you breathless. Then he takes hold of your hips and flips you onto your back before sheathing himself within you again, and this time you do scream as that protrusion you’d noticed earlier bears down on your clit as he fills you. Every time he moves, it presses and grinds against your pearl, lending a desperate edge to the coil tightening in your stomach. Dimly you’re aware of his face drawing closer, and you don’t hesitate to open your mouth when his tongue nudges at your lips, sucking on his flesh eagerly. You’re close, so close, and when he thrusts roughly enough to nearly knock you into the headboard as his tongue grazes the back of your throat, you fall apart, consumed by him.

Wave upon wave of bliss wracks your body, which bows under and squeezes around his. And he doesn’t let up, rutting into you with growls and rasping groans that have your blood on fire until you’re dizzy and light-headed and your ears ring from the force of it all. You don’t know how much longer he works his body within yours, teetering on the brink of blackness, but you feel his tongue leave your mouth so he can sink his teeth into the flesh where your shoulder meets your neck, and the pain of that is blurred and diluted by the pleasure that comes when the first scorching wave of his seed fills you. On and on he comes, so that it smears along your thighs and pools on the sheets beneath you, so that you wonder if it’s ever going to end.

But end it does. With a lick over the wound he’s left, he draws out, and there’s a faint noise as he does so. More of his seed flows out, still hot enough to nearly be scalding, and you whine at the sensation of being so full and yet so empty at the same time. The sound of his footfalls shifts as he crosses the room from talons to bare feet; when he returns, he’s human again, and he kisses you gently as he lifts you from the bed. “Sorry, darlin’,” he murmurs. “It’s been so long, and I . . . Well. Guess I made a mess, huh?”

“A good one,” you mumble.

Dante chuckles and sets you down in the bathroom, and you watch sleepily as he fills a tub with warm water and your favorite bath foam. “You relax. I’m gonna go change the sheets.”

You nod, and he helps you into the bath, where you sink into the warmth with a groan. There’s a dull ache already forming between your thighs, and your shoulder is going to hurt like hell tomorrow if you don’t do something about it, but you’re far too tired right now to work even the simplest of healing spells. Besides, you think, he’d left that there as a reminder of his love for you, so you’re not exactly complaining. Dante comes back right as the water is getting cool enough that you want to get out, and he dries you off with a fluffy towel before once more picking you up and carrying you back into the bedroom.

You’re half-asleep by the time your head hits the pillows, though you manage to hold on long enough for him to turn off the lights and join you, his weight warm and familiar at your back. “Dante?”

“Hm?”

“Welcome home.”

He pauses, his arm tightening around your waist as he buries his face in your hair. “I’m back, sweetheart. And I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

#dmc #devil may cry #dante sparda #dante/reader #dante x reader #dmc fanfic #dmc fanfiction #writing #oneshot #myfic #subhuman

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n0tamused · 3 years ago

Text

- | Afterlife

Warnings: angst, description of gore, talks about death, character death.

Song recommendations: Her & the Sea - The Clann

Word count: 1,945

Characters: Kaliyah Sen-Ryokō, Ginjiro, mentioned/implied Tobirama?

"What happens after we die?"

The question made the silver beast stirr from his half-sleep, his large emerald eyes opening to stare at the back of his master. She sat closer to the edge of the great mountain cliff, a giant towering over all others. The sun was still high in the heavens and the wind was ever present, eternal on the mountain peaks. Leaves rustled in it, brushing against each other and creating a symphony of nature along with the little songbirds who sat scattered across the treetops. Waves crashed against the nearby shore below, the sight going on for miles and miles with nothing but vastness of blue. Specs of white dotted the sky, fluffy and shifting with the currents of wind.

"What brings this question forth all of a sudden?" Ginjiro asked in turn, silence following his question for a moment before pushing his head and body forward in the slightest, dragging across the lush grass until his head sat beside her. Kaliyah sat quiet, watching the sea move, waves lapping at the shore. Her lips moved into a thin line, her throat bobbed up and down as she swallowed. Ginjiro's eye went over her features, and she seemed to shrink under his gaze. Her eyes were glossy and watery all of a sudden but her expression remained cold and unmoving.

"I don't know.. it just appeared in my mind. Along with that "prophecy" of the Old Nan." she finally answered, her voice as stable as it could be although it wouldn't take Ginjiro a moment longer to understand that this was bothering her for a long time, much longer than what she was letting on now. Deep within his chest he could feel the phantom sting of pain, anxiety in gut and lungs that she was feeling.

"Prophecy?" He opted to ask; he didn't remember her mentioning any prophecies of her.

" I never mentioned it to you.. She said... 'Water will destroy you' " said Kaliyah after a long moment of silence. Her eyes still remained on the far horizon, knowing if she even dared to look at Ginjiro that the feeling in her chest would seize her whole.

"I know I shouldn't believe in it, Old Nan gave many so-called prophecies and none of them ever came true but this… this one is harder not to believe." She continued, chest heaving in silent and forceful breaths. Lifting her head up she hoped for the fresh air to soothe her nerves.

Ginjiro retorted to look forward towards the sea too, removing the tension of his gaze.

"You were always an amazing swimmer, you're like a fish, I'm not sure how that prophecy would ever apply to you" said the beast calmly, his great and slim whiskers moving as he spoke, flowing. She has always seemed to love the water, to swim and dive and retreat many shells and pretty rocks. His hiding cave was filled with them, all of various sizes and colors. At his words Kaliyah shook her head, shamefully.

"And all I can think of is how many times the water almost took me; and I may be a good swimmer but unlike fish I can not breathe under water. The waves are always too strong, the currents too quick and the many times they almost took me for themselves I…" she trailed off. More and more of her fears started to surface.

The beast beside her opened its mouth to speak, only to be cut short by the girl again- "It's not death itself that frightens me."

That went back to her question, he noted.

"I am not scared of the pain either, the pain is the least of my worries, Ginjiro. What scares me is what comes after that. Is it darkness that awaits me? An eternal hell of raging oceans that keep drowning me? Which I can't escape from. Will I ever see the ones I love again? Or will I just... disappear?" It was getting harder to breathe, yet she forced herself not to shed any tears. Her chest began to quickly rise and fall with labored breaths, her hands tightening their hold around her legs, knuckles turning white and trembling. The view of the sea was no longer clear but blurry instead, dancing with her unshed tears that kept building up.

"You… are too good to keep suffering in death, my little one." Ginjiro said reluctantly, for even he wouldn't be able to answer such questions, nothing was certain about that inevitable fate.

"I hear many talk about the Pure Lands. And there, there is no suffering, no raging fires or oceans and certainly no darkness." He kept going only to see Kaliyah crumble furthermore. The sight immediately silenced him,more concern sprouting within him; he had never before seen her like this. Not even when she came desperate for his aid.

Big tears ran down her cheeks as she finally succumbed to the feelings that were eating her inside out like a beast. Her legs went to tuck themselves beneath her as she bent forward until her forehead touched the ground, her hands covering her face as she wept. Blades of grass poked at her neck and arms. Ginjiro was swift to lift himself from the ground, pained expression painting his draconic features. He grumbled quietly as he came to lay his large body between her and the sea. Casting a large shadow to befall on the girl. His wing came to come over her, in the form of a hug; shielding her away from the offending sights and the stares of trees, birds and the sun. All fell quiet suddenly, only the whistling of wind remained.

"Shhh now.. shhh.. don't you cry." Ginjiro was at a loss for words once again. And it was believed he was wise, he knew the answer to many questions and riddles but not to this. This was way out of his reach, and it pained him further that he couldn't bring any comfort to the one that grew so close to him.

" I- I don't want to forget anyone after death! I want to see everyone, I want to reunite with the ones I love; another life would be a blessing to me as long as I don't get to sit in darkness." she spoke through numerous gasps for air and hiccups, her throat closing on itself. It sounded as if she was angry at the world for this mystery. Ginjiro wrapped himself around her completely, as much as his flexibility would allow him. Now she was pressed against his belly, right beneath his shoulder while his maw nudged her carefully in affection. One of his whiskers came to drag across her arms and hands. Small noises came from him, rumbling through his throat. A noise that could easily be compared to a cat's purr, only softer. Like a turning of many wooden wheels behind layers of thick walls and even more soft cottons. It was distant and warm like a blazing hearth. Crackling of fire that brewed.

She continued to weep, watering the grass with her tears while her hands remained clamped over her eyes and face. A desperate attempt to shield her sorrows, something she found weak, shameful. Everything felt out of place, forced against her.

"I don't want- to die." came a small voice, Kaliyah's voice. A stark comparison to her usually stoic tone, a commanders voice. No- this was the voice of a girl ashamed of her fears, scared and paranoid of most things around her, scared of the future and scared of her own mind and doings. Ginjiro nudged her head again, her whole body too, to get her attention, to try and get her to look up.

"You will not die Kaliyah." he said.

And at mentioned of her name she seemed to recollect just the smallest bit of courage. She looked up, her weeping ceasing for only a moment. His eye shone like fragments of emeralds exposed to the sun, even under the umbrella of his wings. It was dark, only small bit of light came into the tent that was his body.

"Not for many more years to come." Her eyes widened, staring at his narrowed eye, brows furrowing in confusion. What the beast said was a promise. "And certainly not from something as silly as water" he finished.

-"I would sacrifice my last breath to give you one more. I'd give up the world so you may remain whole.. so worry not, little one. An infinity of such pain is nothing compared to the mere thought of losing you-"

Now as she watched blood trickle down his scales as she repeated the same words, she cried even more than she did that day. Screaming at the world and at it's cruelty. She wished she could give him the life he had promised her, wished she could take away the pain and the wounds. He had kept the promise.

It was the only thing that was shared equally in the world and that thing is unfairness. She wished she could go back to those cliffs and stay with Ginjiro forever, overlooking the world from the enormous heights.

Blood coated her clothes, tattered and dirtied, it matted down her hair and his silver mane. She stood in his blood and her own. More rivulets sprang forth and ran down her body from her own wounds. Still, she forced herself to stand, to go to Ginjiro and be beside him. None of the pain could compare to the one in her heart. She would rather face a thousand of swords all over again, she would face those raging oceans and empty darkness for an infinity of time rather than be here now. Here where Ginjiro lied dead and she kept on trying to move him, fisting his long mane in her hand.

All the power in his last breath went to pouring all his life energy into her, and the stone that hung around her neck. One they both created. Blood had stopped circulating in his system minutes ago, yet she couldn't bring herself to accept it. She wouldn't. Despite all the proof, she wanted to believe he would live. Even with his hollow wounds gaping at her from his chest and wing; wind whistling through them. His giant wing stood above her, shielding her from the sky. The contents of his insides were spilled across the ground outside the village grounds. The great walls looming in the distance, while the surrounding woods remained silent in sympathy. Moments ago his blood was steaming hot, pouring like waterfalls from a hot spring. Now, his body lost its fiery heat. Many wounds littered his body, painting a print of a tiger on his body in red.

The soil was soaked with his blood, so much so that the earth couldn't accept more, leaving a large puddle behind. Crimson puddles swirled with the dust and dirt. And a stray leaf went to fall into it, dancing with the current the wind created. With all her might she tried to shake the beast's head to get him to wake, he was so much larger than those years ago, so much heavier. His eyes stared at the sky overhead, stars looking at themselves in his dilated pupil like a mirror.

Darkness started to dot in her eyes, vision dancing with tears. It all tunneled until all she could see was the dull green eye. And for a moment she could swear she saw it move, all color return to it as it lazily blinked at her before the ground disappeared under her feet and hands seized her shoulders

___________________

-My Ao3

#original character #naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto oc #dragon #Ginjiro #Kaliyah Sen Ryoko #angst #idk which account to post these on anymore here hahas #kunoichi #warring states #naruto angst

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away-from-anthills · 3 years ago

Text

chapter six-

“Sparkthistle! Sparkthistle is missing!”

Antstar bolted upright from sleep as if he had been struck by lightning. He could hear murmurings of confusion outside his den, and turned to see his Clan awake with their newfound discovery. The sky was a beautiful, vivid teal blue made brighter by the storm that preceded it, and the ground was wet from the remnants of rain.

“Sparkthistle is missing?” Antstar asked into the crowd. Goldenpaw came forth and nodded- although her expression was not one of concern but of simple confusion. A small crowd had gathered outside Whitetooth’s den, where the van-patterned cat was soothingly reassuring their Clanmates that they had fallen asleep with her there and woke up to her missing.

Marblepaw, meanwhile, was in the back, her tailtip still shivering, nodding along to every word her mentor said.

Antstar turned to see Russetfoot behind him. “Should I send out a search patrol?” Antstar nodded and watched as the dark red tabby rounded up Adderthorn, Webwhisker, Stoatslink, and Coalpaw in an instant.

He hid, best he could, that he did not want them to find anything.

But after the initial shock, the camp dissolved into disdain. “She probably ran off,” said Sandwhisker. “My father went much the same way. He disagreed with his leader’s choices one too many times, and ran away to Twolegplace from frustration…”

“Personally,” said Talonscar, narrowing their rheumy olive-green eyes, “I’ll be glad if she ran off.”

“Oh, don’t say that!” reprimanded Crowflower.

Cherrycloud stood outside the nursery with Molethroat at her side, confliction across her face.

Figuring it was the best thing to do, Antstar climbed the Tallrock, about to make an announcement about the disappearance in order to settle his Clan down.

His mind felt spacey. Was he forgetting something?

Right- the warrior ceremony for Spiderpaw and her siblings was to be that day! “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey…” He trailed off as he recited the familiar spiel, but it seemed as if his Clanmates understood him as they lined up. He looked behind him to see the distant silhouettes of the search patrol, and then began.

“This morning, Whitetooth discovered that Sparkthistle, who had been in the medicine den last night for kittencough treatment, had gone missing. Russetfoot and I have started a search patrol to find her. Some of you seem to suspect…” His throat felt dry and his head felt like it was filled with helium as his Clan stared him down. “…Some of you seem to suspect that she purposely ran off, or that she wanted to join another Clan. We cannot confirm anything until she is seen again, so please refrain from such gossip.”

“He’s so willing to excuse a cat who did nothing but swear against him,” said Talonscar. Crowflower jabbed them in the rib to get them to quiet down.

“As the search starts, however, Clan life must go on. Provided nothing drastic is found in the search, we will proceed with Spiderpaw, Coalpaw, and Sparrowpaw’s warrior ceremonies this afternoon.”

There was a murmur of agreement. Much to Antstar’s relief, Whitetooth seemed to have had a point. Nobody was particularly missing the ginger molly.

Not too long later, Russetfoot’s patrol came back empty-handed. “We found nothing,” admitted the red tom.

“However,” Webwhisker added with a touch of meekness, “we found the slightest trace of WindClan scent on the gorge near RiverClan.”

For a moment it felt as though a sheet of ice was cutting through Antstar’s lungs.

“So we figured we’d ask RiverClan if we saw anything.”

“We’d likely need you to come along, though, Antstar,” Russetfoot said, gazing into Antstar’s perpetually-wide amber eyes. “While we are friendly with RiverClan, it will do well for us if you explain why we are asking them.”

“Right, then.” Antstar swallowed, making a silent prayer that no RiverClan cat had seen the disposal of Sparkthistle’s body the night before. “Let us go there. Russetfoot, stay behind to keep watch of camp.”

To Fourtrees and then across the rickety bridge they went, careful to not let its fraying sides splinter them. The familiar, wide-open territory of WindClan seemed to fold away behind them as they were greeted with RiverClan’s reedy grounds and corrals of willows. Smooth rocks embedded into the earth seemed to tower over them, and Antstar had to look twice to ensure no cat was watching them from the peaks. Soon, a large island cut off from the rest of the world by the smooth river became visible through the reeds, and Antstar realized this must be RiverClan’s camp. He had never been here before, but he had heard Shalestar’s deputies complain about having to swim to get to it. Nearly as soon as he had stopped to look it over, though, Stoatslink and Coalpaw had already leapt into the waters, and he had to follow them. He slipped in, the cool summer waters licking at his flank. Something about this water felt positive, gentle; something very much unlike the frightful black current that he had watched Sparkthistle-

No. He couldn’t think about that now. It was a false memory, he told himself. That couldn’t have really happened. Sparkthistle was simply missing, and he would have to aid his Clan in finding her.

Soon, his paws gripped onto the shore of the island, and he pulled himself up before looking back to ensure Adderthorn and Webwhisker would reach the other side. Webwhisker pulled himself out of the water first, and silently motioned an offer to help Adderthorn, but she refused, her gaze far beyond him. She had always been distant like this, even to her own two children, Marblepaw and Twigpaw. Perhaps that was part of what Whitetooth meant when they stood over Marblepaw and-

No, no. It didn’t happen. It was some wild dream, Antstar tried to convince himself. It had to be.

The air hit his nostril, and it was thick with the scents of water, reeds, and freshly-caught fish. It was not nearly as pungent as he had thought it had been- or at least the way gossipy WindClan cats had whispered it was to him as RiverClan strode into the Gatherings.

He was surprised by how freeing it felt- not that he liked the scent, but he had never realized how tired he had been of the smell of WindClan grasses. But before he could take a chance to ponder that, a hiss greeted him, and he looked to see a tortoiseshell molly on the shore confronting Stoatslink.

“Trespassers!” she snarled. She was a rather small specimen for a RiverClan cat- perhaps she shared a common gene with Tulipstar.

“I am Antstar, WindClan leader,” said Antstar, the words feeling rather uncomfortable in his mouth like a grain of sand in an oyster’s maw. “I need to talk to Tulipstar.”

“And you think you can just come onto our territory like that? Show some respect. We may be allies, rabbit-feet, but that doesn’t mean you can just come into our camp on such short notice.” She drew her teeth together to make a ffft sound, but as she did so she backed into a tall tom with brown tabby fur, who Antstar immediately recognized as Trufflepelt, Tulipstar’s slightly-harried deputy. “Let them trespass,” he said. Immediately the tortoiseshell nodded and slinked off into the reeds.

“…Sorry about that. She means well, but she always has a bit of a temper.” He bowed to Antstar. “I will take you to Tulipstar now.” He led them away through the reeds and into camp. The WindClan cats, with their thin bodies and drawn-out faces, looked like kites among kestrels with the RiverClan cats around him. Not only did they live in nearly complete cover from the starlight- something Antstar found deeply unnerving- but their habitat had shaped them completely differently. Where WindClan’s tough, lean prey had rendered the cats thin and hardy, RiverClan cats had grown fat on their diet of fish- an advantage, given the cold waters that often soaked their pelts. Their ears were rounded at the tips, and they often had fur that wasn’t necessarily long so much as it was incredibly thick. Suddenly it made sense to Antstar why they spent so many summer days lounging: their thick pelts and plump bodies couldn’t make the heat easy for them.

“There she is,” said Trufflepelt, pointing his tail over at where the RiverClan leader was talking to a red tabby molly with tufted ears. Her ears twitched with the sense of the WindClan cats’ arrival, and soon she got up to canter over to them. Her small size was accentuated by the rest of RiverClan, who were nearly the size of ThunderClan cats, albeit with less of the muscle.

“Hello, Antstar,” she said kindly. “It is good to see you look well.”

Antstar was a bit surprised to hear he looked well, given he felt as though he hadn’t slept in moons. “Hello, Tulipstar. Good to see the same of you. …Can I talk to you about something?”

The RiverClan leader nodded. Antstar felt something soothing in her presence, rather something of a doting aunt that he never had.

“Last night, one of our warriors was ill with kittencough. Our medicine cat fell asleep with her in the den, and when they woke up, she was gone. We’re wondering if you or your Clanmates have seen her; her name is Sparkthistle. She’s a bright ginger tabby molly, rather skinny, slightly upturned nose, amber eyes…”

Tulipstar thought carefully, clicking her tongue and staring at the ground as if she was trying to summon every word she had heard that day. “I’m sorry, I can’t say we have.”

“Sparkthistle?” snickered the tortoiseshell from earlier, her jade-green eyes aglow. “I fought with her at a Gathering once. Don’t know what was for, and I know you aren’t supposed to pick fights at Gatherings- but man, I totally licked her.”

“Not appropriate, Mossfang,” Tulipstar said slightly bitterly. The tortoiseshell frowned, as if she was a child Tulipstar had put into time-out, and went back to where she had been sharing a small pike with a pale tan tabby tom.

“Here,” said Trufflepelt. “I’ll arrange a patrol. Redfeather, Longsnout, Smokebark, and Willownose.” The red tabby from earlier rose to her feet and padded over, alongside three other experienced-looking cats. Antstar could tell all of them were older than him. If they found Sparkthistle… could they recognize what had happened to her?

“Our friends in WindClan have a missing Clanmate. Could you do a patrol with them to ensure she has not found her way onto our territory?” instructed Trufflepelt. “I shall come along with you.”

Away the ten cats went. Trufflepelt and Antstar sat at the front, Trufflepelt’s pale amber eyes deeply focused at the task at hand compared to Antstar’s floundering ones. Then there was Redfeather, Webwhisker, Stoatslink, and Coalpaw, all exchanging pleasantries as they searched, then the three other RiverClan warriors, and then, in the very back, Adderthorn, who remained completely silent.

“Tell me about Sparkthistle,” asked Redfeather, suddenly pacing up to Antstar. She was a very pretty molly, despite clearly being in middle age. Her face was framed by vivid darker red stripes, and her fur was so dark ginger that it was practically the color of ripe currant.

“Sparkthistle… she’s a very argumentative molly. Always has prickly things to say. Doesn’t get along with anyone, in our Clan or in others. You saw that tortoiseshell in your camp talk about how she had a fight with her once.”

“Ah.” Redfeather nodded sagely. “And you said she was in the medicine den with illness?”

“Kittencough,” said Antstar. “She didn’t seem to believe she had it.”

“Could she have run out and done something just to show she didn’t have it?” “That would sound like something she’d do.”

“My sons would often do that when they were apprentices. If Pebblesky said they were ill and put them to bed, they’d always be found the next morning sneaking out and trying to fish to show how tough they were.” She laughed wistfully. “It never worked, though.”

Antstar nodded along, pretending that he didn’t know she had come to the wrong conclusion.

As they walked, they soon approached the gorge- this time, from RiverClan’s side. While WindClan’s side was a sharp edge, a cliffside; RiverClan’s was more of a slope, and Antstar felt too nervous to approach it in case he lost his footing.

“Could she have fallen into the Gorge?” Smokebark asked in a very matter-of-fact way, after a long pause as they looked into the crashing rivers below.

Another long pause. Antstar felt the silence creep under his pelt.

“…It’s possible.”

They all looked down into the raging currents.

“That’s how one of Redfeather’s sons passed away,” whispered Willownose into Antstar’s ear. “The two of them went out playing by the gorge, and Applepaw tripped and fell in. Squirrelpaw went running in after him. They managed to pull Squirrelpaw out… Applepaw, however, was dead by the time the patrol had found them. We worry about Squirrelface, now. A fine warrior, but he seems to never want to make connections.”

Something vile began to burn in the back of Antstar’s throat as he looked over to see the look of horror on Redfeather’s face as she stared down into the waters.

“… It is a possibility she might have fallen in,” said Antstar, trying to convince himself.

“If we looked in the gorge,” Smokebark continued, “we’d have to do it on our own, with more RiverClan cats. It’s a very dangerous thing. Even the most powerful of leaders would be no match for it on their own.”

“We should look everywhere else first instead,” said Webwhisker. “That way it’s a last resort for you guys.”

They nodded amongst themselves and left, Redfeather shaking her head to get her mind off of the son the gorge had whisked away from her.

They continued on, through the territory, but there was no sign of the WindClan molly- as Antstar knew there would not be. They soon made their way into RiverClan’s camp, and when Tulipstar looked in their direction Antstar and Trufflepelt simply shook their heads.

“No luck?”

“Not a sign of her,” Antstar confirmed.

“I think she might have fallen into the gorge,” Smokebark continued, “but we agreed we’d only look there as a last resort.”

Tulipstar approached Antstar. In the sunlight that glittered through the willow leaves, her white-and-orange pelt only looked all the more vibrant. “I’m sorry you could not find your friend here.”

Friend. Antstar did not have the heart to tell her that couldn’t be more untrue.

“We’ll keep looking on the moors. And-“ -he swallowed- “there’s always the chance she could have run far beyond the Clans altogether.”

And so, the WindClan cats slipped away as Redfeather and Tulipstar watched, through the reeds, through the water, and over the bridge, on the long path home.

“Was anything found?” asked Russetfoot as soon as the patrol returned, but judging by their distant expressions and the lack of Sparkthistle among them, he had already found his answer. He nodded immediately as Antstar explained- the kindness RiverClan had given them, the lack of WindClan scent on their land, the gorge.

“Ah. I’m sorry. We asked a ShadowClan patrol and the barn cats, but neither said they saw any sign of her.”

However, as Antstar looked upon camp, there was still little distress over Sparkthistle’s fate. Only Cherrycloud seemed to be acting off. Otherwise, while there were murmurs and rumors circling through camp of what might have become of the ginger molly- maybe she ran off to SkyClan, maybe she went to Twolegplace, maybe the bull in the farm pens got her- there was next to nobody that truly seemed to miss her.

For a split moment, Antstar made eye contact with Whitetooth. They looked reassuring, as if they knew all along this was exactly what would happen.

It was fine. It was all working out for the better.

Everything was fine… And he had a warrior ceremony to start.

“And do you promise to uphold the Warrior Code and protect and defend this Clan… even at the cost of your life?”

Spiderpaw nodded enthusiastically. Antstar had always thought of her as small, as she had been when he had first received her as an apprentice. Only now, as he was about to bestow her warrior name, had he realized she was nearly as tall as him. How much had changed since Shalestar had given her to him, all those moons ago…

“Then, by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name. Spiderpaw, from this moment on you shall be known as Spiderfoot. StarClan honors your determination and cunning, and we welcome you as a full warrior and moor runner of WindClan.”

The three former apprentices turned towards the Clan, their mentors and their mother Shadeflower looking on with awe.

“I give you Coalclaw, Sparrowpetal, and Spiderfoot!”

“Coalclaw! Sparrowpetal! Spiderfoot!” cheered the Clan. Shadeflower and Houndnose, who had been Sparrowpetal’s mentor, chatted together about Stripedwing’s upcoming litter. Coalclaw was being congratulated by the other tunnelers. And Spiderfoot, her head held high, was bragging to her uncle, Webwhisker, and her grandfather, a tabby elder named Silverbelly. The Sparkthistle matter had been forgotten nearly entirely.

Just as Antstar decided the matter was safely buried away, however, he spotted RiverClan cats on the horizon marching towards camp with urgency in their gait. Trufflepelt was leading them; Redfeather, Smokebark, and Willownose were behind him, the latter two carrying something limp and orange.

Oh, no.

“WindClan!” cried Trufflepelt. The tom was out of breath. Presumably, they had practically sprinted there from RiverClan territory. “WindClan! We found Sparkthistle!”

Immediately the cheer from the apprentice ceremony vanished as the RiverClan warriors slipped into camp through the gorse-lined tunnel. They laid Sparkthistle’s body out before the Clan, who stared before it in a lopsided, shocked way. It had been rendered ragged from the waves, sopping wet, with the once-ginger fur now darkened and muddied, clumping together like windblown grass.

“We’re very sorry to inform you of this, but we found her drowned in the gorge. She had been dead for some time. She was snagged on one of the rocks near the edge of territory.”

“It is most likely she fell in on accident,” added Smokebark, in the methodical way which he always seemed to speak with.

Antstar suddenly felt his heart, which had been rattling around his ribcage, begin to still as there was a murmur throughout the Clan. “She refused my instruction to rest in the medicine den,” said Whitetooth, stepping forward. Their face always looked so still but yet so genuine, like a stone reflecting sunset. The events of the night before felt so distant already. “If she was found in the gorge, she likely went out hunting to try and defy my instruction. She then must have tripped and fallen in, as our RiverClan friends have told us.”

Antstar scanned the clearing. Ironically, it seemed as if nobody was particularly upset. Only Cherrycloud seemed to be struck with an emotion, and the expression on her face wasn’t one Antstar could clearly read. For a split second, the Burmese tom felt his amber eyes wander to Whitetooth, who locked their eyes back. It was as if they were communicating something to Antstar through his mind: I told you there was nothing to worry about.

“We should bury her on the north side,” said Stoatslink, “near the farm.” He was carefully sniffing the body, inspecting; it was like he was not yet fully convinced on her death. The camp began to fill itself with discussions of how they would do the burial, who would be there, and Trufflepelt offered his apologies as the RiverClan patrol slipped away. The cats who had joined WindClan just a scant few days ago seemed unable to comprehend the body before them- they had not dealt with the death as often as their clanborn peers had. The elders, however, seemed to regard Sparkthistle with only the dullest surprise.

Antstar knew he should have felt relieved. In a way, he had. And yet… something gripped at him. If they regarded Sparkthistle with such indifference… if they ever found out his secret, would they regard him the same way?

No, they wouldn’t. He was no murderer. He was simply helping his Clan be unified, peaceful.

But something told him this was not the last time he would have to make such a choice.

That night, the sky was so clear it felt as if one could jump up into it and be gone. Sparkthistle had been buried at sunset, on the north side of territory. Only Stoatslink and Cherrycloud had chosen to sit vigil for their Clanmate, although Antstar sensed that perhaps more would have joined out of a sense of pity; the sort of pathetic, reluctant pity one would regard a dying adder with; if it had not been for the warrior vigils of Spiderfoot, Sparrowpetal, and Coalclaw.

“Antstar, can I talk to you for a moment?” asked a voice. For a moment, Antstar jumped when he saw an orange molly that looked eerily like Sparkthistle, but he calmed himself when he realized it was simply Cherrycloud. She shared her sister’s bright tabby pelt, and her amber eyes, but she had a softer face, and she smelled of drying kit milk.

“Of course.” Antstar tried his best to look peaceful and solemn, but a raging current was coursing through his nerves. Had she already realized?

“I just… I really want to thank you.” Antstar nearly stumbled back in his seat- partially with relief, partially with bewilderment. “I know the Clan and… my sister… did not get along well. But it means a lot that you sent out those patrols and went to RiverClan.”

“She was one of us,” Antstar said. “I would have done the same with any other Clanmate.”

He had nearly forgotten she was a WindClan cat, in his mind’s attempts to rationalize what he’d done.

“I know she didn’t get along with you particularly well.” Cherrycloud began to walk over to the gorse tunnel, and Antstar followed. “She never really got to connect with me, either, after we were apprentices. I wish I did something back then about how neglected by our mother she was. I just… never found the courage to.”

She looked into the distance. The very last vestige of day was on the tip of the horizon, giving a faint purple glow, but the rest of the sky was as indigo as indigo could be.

“Did she ever talk to you much?”

“…She did, at first. I couldn’t handle her negativity, though, and I had to let go for my own sake. It was right around when Molethroat and I fell in love that she stopped trying entirely. I think she envied me for it. I remember she had always wanted a mate. …She never visited our kits. I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.”

Antstar looked back to the nursery, where Houndnose was trying to wrangle Rosekit and Amberkit. Only now that he had ruminated on the two sisters- and seen Sparkthistle’s look of horror as death overtook her- did he notice her resemblance in them. Amberkit had her eyes, Rosekit had her ears…

“I guess that’s what I’m mourning. Not her, necessarily- oftentimes she just made my days worse. But… the opportunity she could have had. I wish she had had the time to sort herself out and adjust.”

At first, Antstar felt the guilt was going to gnaw through him so hard that his liver would be torn in two. But then he remembered Whitetooth’s words: And Sparkthistle is never going to get better, either.

The tragedy here, Antstar decided, was not that Cherrycloud’s sister never got time. It was that Cherrycloud had expected a fantasy that would simply never come, like waiting for a stone to sprout flower buds. Sparkthistle was not going to change. If anything, she could have gotten much worse. It was a tragedy. It had to be. But leadership, if nothing else, was a chain of little tragedies.

“…Sorry for rambling,” she added.

“No, no- don’t be sorry.”

“I just… it’s hard for me to know how I feel about it, I guess. But being a mother grants me some peace about it. It feels like I can stop it from happening all over again. Brindlekit in particular reminds me so much of her better qualities.” She trotted away, toward the nursery, where Antstar could see the reflections of her kits’ eyes glow back at him in the dark.

“You should come visit the kits, sometime. They love you.” And with that she slipped into the nursery, and the faint chattering of her children became whispers in the night’s air.

He’d never think about this again, he decided. The only time he would allow Sparkthistle to occupy his head once more was when he would announce her passing at the Gathering. There was no need to continue to ponder it.

It was over now. And Antstar hoped that he could approach leadership, from this point on, with a fresh mind.

#warrior cats #warrior cats ocs #story

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jubilantwriter · 4 years ago

Text

Of Blood and Static

Chapter 4: Is it foolish of me to want to hope?

(AO3) (First) (Previous) (Next)

Word Count: 4285

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The Lady is aware of the loops. She’s aware that there are actions she can take to avoid the ending they always end up with. She knows that there are paths she can drag them to, if she’d just follow through with her choices. The Lady knows this. But there’s very little she can do as a child that prevents them from going down the same path they always go down.

She ends up dropping him again, reason falling down with him as the loop continues as it always does. Very little changes in this loop, after all, even with her holding a puzzle that’s a good deal complete. It’s still not the whole picture, and maybe that’s the reason why she drops him each time.

(A boy in a blue sweater shoved her away from a nome, protecting the small creature as her ravenous appetite made her attack anything that breathed. Somehow, he managed to force her attention to the previously offered sausage. A part of her was repulsed by it - she wanted something that was alive, not already dead - but another part of her was desperate for the meat. Not out of hunger, no, but for a completely human reason. She clung to it as she sobbed, tearing into the sausage as the pains went away slowly. The Hunger was still there, but it was nothing more than a background throb she could manage. Her Shadow had looked at her, head tilted curiously before disappearing. Meanwhile, the boy kept his distance, wary of her actions before he gathered up the nomes and left her be.

The lingering feeling of relief felt odd to her, but she’d learned not to question the things she felt. She put the feeling aside for later, until she’s ready to piece it apart.)

The television is here, as it always is. As the Lady, she must maintain her appearance as the most beautiful and elegant creature on the Maw. Each decision and move she makes must be confident. She must never falter, lest they take it as a sign of weakness.

And the Lady is never weak.

Never weak until this very moment, she supposes. Hesitance was never something she personally encountered often. She can count on one hand the times she’s hesitated in her life, and here she is, adding another count to her fingers. There’s no good reason for her hesitance either. Why does she falter from pressing her hand against the glass? What is it that makes her feel such… trepidation?

(Why was it that she felt fear in having to face him again? She's an adult - there's nothing left for her to fear. Not even her own death.

So what was it about the Thin Man that made her hesitate like so?)

The television doesn't wait for her command, however. It flickers on by itself, static filling up the screen as it slowly tunes itself over and over until... yes. A familiar silhouette sits in a chair on the screen. Still, she does not press her hand on the warming glass.

Moments pass without either of them uttering a word. The Lady remains where she stands, stock still as her mask covers her emotions. On the screen the Thin Man sits patiently, not even fidgeting a bit as he waits for her to say something. Another stretch of silence passes before the Thin Man's words begin to appear on the screen.

"So," he begins, "did you eat a child this time?"

A bark of surprised laughter escapes her. "What do you mean?"

"I meant what I said." She can almost sense the smile on his face as he continues. "I just wanted to know if you ate a child this time."

"And if I said no?" She doesn't recall eating a child. True, she's transformed a good amount into nomes to work her ship, powering it with coal and scrambling around to do whatever it is they do. And yes, she does use children as a source of meat for her Guests, but she's never really eaten a child.

(The boy in the blue sweater had looked back at her, their eyes meeting for a moment as she tore desperately into that sausage. There was something familiar about his eyes, something about them that reminded her of-

Maybe that’s why she started crying. He wasn’t looking at her with malice that day, though she should have deserved some ounce of it. No, though his bangs had covered his eyes, she could still clearly see the quiet emotion he held for her before turning away and running with the nomes.

Sympathy.)

"I would be pleasantly surprised." The Thin Man sounds genuine, but many things about him tend to be genuine, she's found. He hasn't really changed so much from when he was a child. Her chest clenches as she remembers the boy she dropped to his doom. An instinct (a routine, a pattern, a senseless habit she continues to this day) that had her releasing her last friend to his fate.

(Why do they always fall from cliffs? She wishes they'd stop doing that.)

"Why are you here?" She rubs the fabric of her kimono between her fingers, trying to keep her hand occupied. "Why are you being so... calm?"

Be mad, she begs in her mind, it's easier to justify my actions when you're mad.

"Because." A pause. The silence lingers as he seems to consider his words. "I think I've grown tired of being upset and mad."

"And so now you're here, on this screen, simply to bother me?"

"Would you rather I leave?"

"No." She answers far too quickly and scowls to herself. "I mean- you're free to leave as you please. I won't stop you."

"Hm." Oh, how she wishes she could slap the smugness out from his words. "As tempting as that offer is, I believe I will stay for now. It's not like I have anywhere else to go."

"Are you truly confined to just one space?"

"Aren't you?" His question gives her pause. "Despite the Maw moving from place to place, you're still stuck on the same ship filled with the same rooms with the only change being your Guests. I would say you're just as trapped as I am." He waits for a retort, but she finds herself unable to give one. When the silence lingers for too long, his words continue as though he never paused to begin with. "I'd say you have it worse than me. At least I know I'm trapped in place until something forces my hand. But you're living under the illusion of being free, believing your prison to be an ever changing force you can control."

This is becoming too much. Memories of past Thin Men trickle into her mind, where his cocky words slowly dripped with venom and malice and rage as they screeched at each other. Times where blame was tossed around as easily as a child's life, resulting in loops and loops of broken televisions and her quarters being void of any devices. When did the television make its way back into her quarters? When did they start getting along again?

It shouldn't have been so far into the past, but she finds it hard to grasp the particular moment in which they were willing to be civil again. If only those memories would trickle in instead of the more... painful ones. She holds a hand to her head, a headache forcing its way to her temple.

His words sound too much like the ones that used to be filled with so much venom. With a groan, she quickly tries to recover and shoots back a response she hopes sounds playful.

"At least I have all the food I could want here."

"Yes, having any food is a perk I suppose."

"What?" she questions, lowering her hand from her head. Having any food? "Are you saying you don't eat?"

"I mean," he shrugs on screen, "it's not like I have to."

"But are you at least... offered it? In your little living space." It strikes her as odd that his own chambers would lack any amenities. Shouldn't their respective realms be molded to suit their needs? The Maw had granted her a library inherited from the previous (first? Second? Third?) Lady, with rooms changed to suit her preferences, and portraits to showcase her likeness as opposed to the previous proprietor. Surely the Tower would do the same for the Thin Man.

(A room that housed her was filled to the brim with toys she liked. They floated around her, enticing her, giving her reason to stay and play, rather than try to escape. It was safe there - that's what the room wanted her to see. The music box played such a lovely tune too.

It was enough that it made her forget her broken and healing bones. It was enough that it made her forget her twisted limbs and aching, curved back. The room had everything she'd ever dreamed of.

Everything except-

"Hey!")

"...No?" The Thin Man fidgets a bit in his seat. "I was never offered food here. At most, it offered me a new change of clothes as I grew older but. Nothing else."

"...No food?" Her thoughts slow to a stop at the revelation. That can't be right. That doesn't sound right. "How odd. Surely, it would make sure you were fed to keep you alive for this long."

"In a sense." He fidgets some more, his head angled away from the screen between them. "I mean, it's not like I needed food once I started... living here, for lack of a better term."

"What did you survive off of?"

"My depression?" His shoulders shake a bit while she hums in disapproval. "I'm kidding. Cigarettes." A growl comes from her throat as he frantically waves his hands in the air. "Okay okay! I fed off the life forces of the Viewers, I suppose. What powers the Tower powers me as well. Or at least, that's how it feels."

So something similar to the Lady, she supposes. Still, eating food isn't something she is willing to give up despite her powers. She hungers every day with pangs that wane or strengthen depending on how often she feeds. It distresses her that the Thin Man hasn't even been given the basic right to eat like a person.

(But perhaps he's lost the right to be a person, after he assumed his role as the Thin Man. A monster doesn't need to eat. So where does that put her?

A monster, still.

But one parading as a human.

The most terrifying kind of monster.)

"Come here," she says, gesturing towards herself with a hand wave. "Come here, and I will feed you a meal."

"I cannot."

"Do they call you the Thin Man because you starve yourself willingly?" She's glad the mask she wears hides her sneer, but judging by how the Thin Man hunches his shoulders up, he can still tell what kind of face she makes. "I am the Lady of the Maw. It is my duty to feed those who come aboard my ship."

"I am not aboard your ship," he reminds her gently. "I am a figure on a screen."

"You are starving."

"I am not. I feed off of the-"

"Yes, I know." She barely skims over the rest of his words as she continues to gesture emphatically. "But that's not the same as eating. Now that I think about it, I'm surprised you managed to kidnap me when I was a child. How do you have any strength to chase down and grab nimble little children?"

For a moment, the Thin Man merely sits in his chair, refusing to answer. She taps at the screen, now growing more concerned for the physical state of his being.

"...Mono?"

"I don't." She can almost hear his hushed, sheepish tone through those two words. "I don't have any strength. Now that I'm in this state, I understand better the methods my prior self used to terrorize us. Do you remember when he kidnapped you, and how he didn't make too much of an effort to physically grab you?"

She nods, speechless as she recalls those traumatic moments with clarity.

"He used his power to pull you into his grasp. It wasn’t a show of strength - rather, it was because he had no strength. I already feel so feeble as I am now. Imagine how he must have felt. I bet the reason he disappeared immediately after was to return to the Tower before you could break his fingers apart to escape."

"Mono..."

"And when he chased me down, all he would do was walk forward and teleport closer." Another pause. "Six," his words begin, "I don't think I have it in me to do anything more than a slow walk. Any faster, and I'm sure to be winded. I’m sure that standing up too quickly will have me passing out onto the floor."

"Oh, Mono." She places both her hands on the screen, pressing against it desperately as if to try and grab him herself. "You need to come here right now and eat."

"I don't think eating is going to solve my physical weakness."

"But it's a start!" She thumps against the screen as her worry reaches levels she thought she'd never experience again. "Come here for a meal, you absolutely malnourished man!"

"I cannot. I'm literally locked behind a door. At most, I can reach through with just my arms, but I don't think I can just waltz out so easily."

"Then take some food with you!"

"I can only take children and Viewers."

"Then take me!" She very nearly shakes the television in frustration. "Oh- but first, let me grab some food for you to eat-"

"Six, please." He lifts his arms up and gestures placatingly. "You hate it here."

"But I hate knowing that you've been left to starve for years." Which is the result of her letting him go. The guilt gnaws at her - it’s one thing to know that she'd left him to rot and suffer alone, but she never imagined just how extreme it was. "Please, it's the one thing I have to offer."

The only thing she has to offer.

"It's alright, Six." She hates how comforting he can make his words. As if she deserves his comfort. "I don't need food."

"I don't care." She grips the television tightly as memories of their youth come trickling forth. They'd shared food together once. Whatever scraps they came across, they would eat together. He always gave her the larger half despite being the bigger of the two. It was always just like him to do. Even now, when she has a bounty of food to share, he still turns it down with the same old excuse.

He doesn't need it.

"I'm fine."

"Then let me see your arms."

"Excuse me?"

"Show me your arms." She crosses her own and glares at the screen. "Let me see the true state of your being."

"I'm a monster, it doesn't matter."

"It matters to me, a fellow monster." The screen flickers at her words. "Let me see you."

The sound of static fills the air as his words no longer appear. There's a moment where she believes he will simply turn off the screen and leave her filled with rage, but shock colors her as the screen distorts with two large hands pressed against it. It's oddly familiar how his hands push through the screen as though it were nothing more than plastic, arms dangling and unmoving as she approaches him. Gently, she grabs his arm and pushes the suit sleeve up. His skin is horribly pale - she could compare him to a ghost, but the thought of him being dead frightens her. Instead, she compares the width of his arm to hers and... he's terribly thin.

Of course, he IS the Thin Man but still. She thought herself petite and thin as is, but he is barely skin and bones. Practically just bones, really. She gives his arm a squeeze, horrified to find that she can easily encircle his wrist between her thumb and pointer finger. More than encircle even. When she squeezes, she half expects there to be no bone at all and is relieved to find some sort of physical resistance to her grip. Isn't he supposed to be the bigger of the two? How had he even managed to keep a firm grip on her as a child?

This man needs a full course meal. And then three different types of dessert. Her mind races with all the things she could feed him - something easily digestible, a soup perhaps? No, a stew. With fish, of course, he seems the type to be wary of meat and justifiably so. Ah, but if she tells him of the source, then perhaps he would be willing to eat some meat. He could have a part of her share even. Oh, and he probably needs other nutrients too, not just protein. There's probably some vegetables to spare. A bit of fruit if they're lucky. She wouldn't mind parting with the luxury items of the Maw if it meant ensuring that the Thin Man was simply thin and not emaciated.

A slight tug from her hands has her startle out of her thoughts. She looks down and finds the Thin Man's arms retreating back into the screen, and a brief flash of fear has her grabbing his arms. There's a struggle as she hangs onto his arms to try and tug them out of the screen, while the Thin Man struggles to pull them back inside. No, she can't let him go just yet. Not when she's so close to having him here to stay.

"Wait," she begs, "don't go yet. I want to try. At least let me try, please?"

His arms freeze in place, before falling limp and hanging over the television's edge. She gives them a gentle squeeze, unnerved by how she swears she can feel every edge and curve of his bone even through the layers of clothing he wears. There must be something she can do, something to ease her mind, even if it's just for a little bit.

(She never liked it when he willingly starved himself for her sake.)

"Promise me you'll wait for me here." He's a sneaky one, this Thin Man. If she turns her back on him, there's a chance he'll slither his way back to his domain and never return. She needs to guarantee that he won't leave her so soon. Of course, the other doesn't respond. His words don't appear on the screen, and for some reason, he chooses to remain silent. Perhaps it's the screen getting in the way, or maybe he's lost his voice. Whatever it may be, words fail to make certain that he won't run away from her.

It's childish, really, the solution she comes up with. But she thinks it fits him, knowing that he was more of the sentimental type between the two of them. She holds her pinky out in front of him, curled slightly to make a hook.

"Pinky promise me."

They say actions speak louder than words.

The Thin Man's arm raises before it jolts and hesitates. She can see him considering and reconsidering, wondering if it's all worth the hassle. But he's the sentimental type, the kind that finds value in little, childish vows like this.

(He once presented her with a pinky promise. "Promise we'll stay friends forever?" Her finger hooked with his as she smiled and kept their vow tied closely around their pinkies.

"Promise.")

He hooks his pinky with hers, giving it a firm shake to reassure her that he'll keep his promise. Slowly, she lets go of his finger and backs away from the television. His arms remain hanging in place as he waits for her obediently. With a firm nod, she turns away quickly and rushes off to find him some food. Ideally, she'd like for him to take back a bowl of soup. The Chefs must have made a fresh stew by now, but the contents are skeptical at best, and she remembers her own misadventures in the kitchen, creating havoc and tossing in random items she found lying around as the Chefs were none-the-wiser.

So maybe not.

A sandwich maybe? Ah, but that ran the risk of it being made with a mystery meat. The idea of the Thin Man accidentally eating child meat disgusts her, and the hurt he will feel from the deception may make him want to never reach out to her again, so that idea is rejected as well.

Maybe something with fish? It's a safe bet. There are no mystery ingredients, no ways that the food could be tampered with by wayward children trying to escape her ship.

She has to be quick; keeping a guest waiting for their meal is never a good sign of a caring host. The Lady makes herself a plate of pan-seared fish, the Chefs babbling between themselves as she intrudes in their kitchen. They make themselves scarce as she glares at them from behind her mask, shadows working for her as she makes a simple dish of fish and greens.

When she returns, shadows falling away like a graceful shawl shrugged off, the Thin Man's arms are still hanging in place, waiting like promised. She smiles behind her mask and presents the plate of food proudly.

"Here, take this." She presses the plate into his hands and watches as they curl around it carefully. "Don't worry about returning the plate - I have plenty already."

Again, the Thin Man hesitates. She nods to the plate and gestures to the screen. Take it inside, she wordlessly says, and eat your fill. He brings it to the screen to pull the food in. The plate clanks against the glass and goes no further. Frowning, she steps closer and tries pushing the plate in.

No dice.

A growl of frustration escapes her. Of course. Nothing nice can ever happen. Still, she tries to force the plate in with greater force, ignoring how it slides against the glass and threatens to spill the food. A large hand takes her own, gently cupping it as he pulls it off the plate. She's startled into a stop and allows him to place the plate down in front of the television.

It's still warm.

He could eat it and feel warm. He could eat it and feel full. He could eat it and tell her that her cooking is wonderful, or good, or even just alright. She just wants him to eat. She wants him to enjoy something for once, after she took away his chance at happiness by letting him go.

(Countlessly. Endlessly. Over and over and over again, the loops continue with no end in sight as they run the same track over and over and over and over and over and over-)

Hands cup her face, rubbing under the eye holes as if to wipe away any tears. She's not crying. She hasn't cried since she was a child. Monsters don't deserve the right to cry. And yet, here he is, comforting her as if she were. Monster to monster. She holds onto his hands, so large and thin and nothing like she remembers as a child, and threads their fingers together.

"I'm sorry," she says, because there's nothing else to say.

He doesn't answer back with words, only actions. A gentle squeeze, a soft brush. Even as an adult he's so tender towards her. It's more than she deserves. What will it take to make him happy again? He pulls a hand away, only to present his hooked pinky to her.

She tilts her head (pressing it closer to the hand that remains on her face) and hums with a barely there confusion. A promise? But for what? Still, she humors him, hooking their pinkies together for whatever promise he may have. Whatever he wants, she will give it to him.

It's what she owes him, after all these years.

He pulls his hands back into the screen, the loss of warmth already making her cold. She doesn't try to grab him and force him to stay, however. It's not within her rights to do so, to beg for him to linger outside just a bit longer. The screen stabilizes as his figure returns to being the center of the screen, ever so distant.

"What was that promise for?" she begins, not waiting for him to begin their conversation. The familiar font pops up on the bottom of the screen, and she traces the letters as he speaks.

"I promised that one day, we'd share a meal together."

A laugh escapes her as she presses two fingers on the word "together". Oh, how nice that would be. "That’s quite the fantasy to have."

"Yes," he agrees, "but a fantasy I wouldn't mind chasing."

She hums, not wanting him to know how much she feels her hope clinging to that promise.

"So now you truly owe me a meal."

"Of course, but you can't complain about my cooking."

"Well that's hardly fair - what if it's terrible?"

"Then you smile and swallow and tell me that it's lovely."

"You're the worst."

Even though she can't hear him, she knows he’s laughing with her as she presses her hand against the screen.

The loop ends with the cold rain's drizzle and the taste of stagnant air as a hopeful promise lingers just a little bit too long in silence.

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