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euphoricfilter · 2 years ago

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like crazy ~ part one

☆ﾟpart one of four

pairing(s): namjoon x reader, seokjin x reader, yoongi x reader, hoseok x reader, jimin x reader, taehyung x reader, jungkook x reader

genre: fluff || smut || angst || non-idol au || reincarnation au || strangers to lovers || established relationships || regency era au || gang au ||

summary: the story of why you loved to dance in the rain.

word count: 14k

tags/ warnings: duke! taehyung, jimin, fluff, so much love, angst, death(s)/implied murder, mentions of blood, mentioned suicide, mentioned puking, friends to lovers, strangers to lovers, smut in the forms of: implied loss of virginity, unprotected sex (don't be stupid, this is fiction), oral (fem receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, cum play, talks of pregnancy and babies

notes: this mini series is very loosely inspired by an au idea i wrote a while back about an immortal m/c. i'm going to try and keep updates every other week but i am moving home really soon so if there's any change in the schedule then i'll post about it!! and as always, feedback is always encouraged <3

‘like crazy’ mini series masterlist || my main masterlist

🪐 🌠 ∘₊✧─── *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ───✧₊∘ ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 💫

“A lot has happened since we last spoke” You look down at the gravestone, moss and mud having found home over unnerving death, “Sorry it took me so long to visit” Maybe it helped that the sun was out, tears that were meant to fall soaked up in golden rays of light that warm your cheeks rather than wet them.

You place a bouquet of red chrysanthemums before the thick slab of stone, closing your eyes briefly. Not a thought in your mind as you revel in the peace of what was once a roaring home.

“Now, where should I begin?”

The day you remembered your first life, it felt as though your world had tilted off its axis. That everything you thought you’d learnt about yourself was nothing more than a singular star in a galaxy that sat in the vast universe. A mere atom in the formula that builds you as a person.

It was like a never-ending spiral. Little pockets of a past life you were never supposed to know, hidden between rouge pieces of space rock and black holes of a different time. Where one misstep had you slipping down a rabbit hole of the unknown with nothing to grab onto. Spiralling down like you were Alice, except you were far from Wonderland.

You weren’t even sure if you were in denial, or if it was all a far-fetched dream crafted by a wild imagination. Perhaps it was something more like guilt, because as much as Jimin was most definitely the love of your life; he was simply the love of this life.

Strange, heart-wrenching emotions had weighed on your shoulders as you remembered a past lover, who had held your heart ever so delicately in soft hands. And you’d held his, cradling it to your chest until your hearts had beaten in unison. Where wild fantasies had painted a forever, that was never going to be forever.

Your skin had crawled as fingertips that no longer exist had danced over your body, and burning lips, kissing you in places that should only be Jimin’s. A touch not that of your lover’s, digging into sacred places, secret places that you had only ever worked up the courage to show Jimin.

The sudden force of having to re-live grief when you yourself should also be dead had sent you into a frenzy. With too many sleepless nights, and too many harsh words sent Jimin’s way as you tried to navigate so many new stimuli at once. This love for another man was like a phantom hand latching onto your heart and squeezing, pulling, and sinking you further down. Sinking down, down, down until a whirlwind of emotions had flushed over you. Joy. Excitement. Sorrow. Heart-ache. Hatred. Love. Too much love. So much more love. A different sort of love you had never felt. Love love love.

There were too many secrets. Secrets you didn’t truly understand, a jumble of words that melt into slush and clog your brain, sparking against neurotransmitters and mingling with more information than you knew what to do with. Secrets that go away when Jimin is stood before you, and you’re reminded of who your heart now belongs to. The world finally silent, and hands stop grabbing you, and you can finally breathe again. It was as if Jimin had become a catalyst for your fraying feelings.

The story of Jimin had bloomed in spring.

When the sky felt as though it were at the tips of your fingers if you were to reach up high enough. And the world smelt of flowers and herbs that sat on window-sills of rundown houses. Where skin was sun-kissed, tender and pink on the back of your neck. And all the evils of the world were taking a nap for the afternoon with the cats that lounged in the shade under trees.

“Excuse me”

You perk up, squinting when the sun hits your eyes.

The memory of your first encounter with Jimin will always be one you find yourself going back to. Vivid enough that when you dream of this day, you’re often tempted to reach out and touch him as if he were really there.

His name on the tip of your tongue, tickling the back of your throat and mind, though nothing comes out as the scene replays itself for the thousandth time.

It’s like a well-practised play, where you pose as the main cast while simultaneously being the audience. (Maybe it was more of a tragedy, a shame when you know how this one ended.) A little jarring that you have no control over your own body, lips moulding around words so many times you could recite the first conversation the both of you had over and over again.

Sickly regret holding you in its palms, because there are so many more things you want to tell Jimin, words that he’ll never get to hear.

It mustn’t have been very long after midday when you’d met. Sweat tickling the back of your neck and untamed grass pocking at your ankles and between bare toes.

The air smelt of burning wood, crackling fire nothing but a whisper in the wind as footsteps crunch over gravel, and children thump into the tall grass and crush delicate flowers under the weight of their tiny bodies.

The dress you were sewing is dropped into your lap in favour of cupping your hands around your eyes to see the face of your visitor. Your cheeks dusting the lightest shade of pink when you finally get a look at his face.

You knew of Jimin, as did most on your estate. The other seamstresses never knew when to close their mouths, always tittering away about everyone and everything that lived in the area. Mindless gossip that you always found yourself turning away from when their giggles would get too loud, or opinions too crude for your liking.

Jimin had become somewhat of an enigma since turning into an adult. Names were thrown around like he weren’t ever to hear them; though you know his mother works in the building next door. Sure to have heard what her friends had been saying about her son behind her back. How much of a shame it is that he has such a nice face but no money. That no woman would ever want to settle for a man with nothing to his name, even if their babies were to be beautiful.

Or how their daughters had wandered into the city and found wealthy bachelors, who bought them dresses lined with thread made of gold, and jewellery that weigh down their necks. Who eat like royals, and prance around well-kept gardens into their husbands’ arms.

Thoughts ever so shallow you never found yourself stooping to their level when they’d nudge you for your opinion. The bitter remark that their children had abandoned them had always clung to your lips, because surely if they cared they would have lifted their parents out of commoner status and housed them in luxury.

The rumours of Jimin’s beauty were true, that much you now knew. Whatever child-like innocence you had left inside of you dubbing him as something akin to a garden fairy; just as you imagined them when you were young.

Not quite dainty, yet not thick muscle, something a little softer around the edges. And with his overgrown hair haloed by the sun as he takes a step to the side, blanketing you in shade, you think he looks like a dream.

“Yes?” your head tilts, gaze flitting to the scarce bouquet that he holds. Tips of his fingers evidence that he’d dug them up himself, wet soil clinging to his skin and boots; just as rough and old as the rest of his clothes. Though really you find you have no place to judge when you, yourself are dressed no better than him.

“These are for you” He thrusts the flowers into your face, entirely too eager as dirt falls into your lap, though you find yourself laughing. Uncaring that your mother’s dress bears the brunt of his enthusiasm.

You clear your throat when he avoids your eyes, “From you?”

And he nods, watching from the corner of his eye as you take them in gentle hands as not to let any of the smaller flowers fall out of place. You lay them delicately over your lap, feeling around the grass for your thread.

You snap it with your teeth, tying the stems of the flowers together so you wouldn’t lose any of them. A pot already in mind that you keep beside your mattress in the bedroom. Dust had collected around the rim, and lime scale clung to the insides, though you think the flowers would look lovely beside you as you slept.

“And–” he rubs his hands over his pants, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, “And this” He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket.

The tips of your fingers brush against one another as you take it from him. Curiosity wins over the heated flush that threatens to dust over your cheeks at the accidental contact.

‘I think you’re pretty’

“Would you like to join me?” you smile, patting the space beside you, Jimin’s own lips curling up at the corners.

“I’m Jimin”

And you refrain from telling him you know. Because the Jimin you knew was the one that had been tossed from mouth to mouth, built on flimsy lies and stupid expectations. Entirely built by rotten imaginations and women who had nothing better to do than chatter about other people’s lives when their own was crumbling just as much.

“Y/n” you giggle, outstretching your hand for him to shake.

Jimin’s eyes curl into little crescents as he smiles, a laugh bubbling up his throat “Nice to meet you, Y/n”

“Nice to meet you” You nod, “Oh! And, I think you’re pretty too”

“Do you think I can take you on a date? Tomorrow?” he turns to you, and you blink up at him.

“So soon?”

“Too soon?” he winces.

The corners of your lips turn upwards, busying yourself with finishing mending your mother’s dress, “No, I quite like how straight to the point you are”

Jimin’s chest deflates as he sighs, “I thought it might have scared you a little” he admits.

You hum, “No one’s ever asked me on a date before” you admit.

A wave of ease falls over the both of you, a unanimous understanding that there weren’t any expectations between the two of you. That as much as love was thrown onto the table, it didn’t have to be what the two of you got out of this.

Friendship, when you’re alone, is just as precious as a lover. Another human being with very human emotions and morals that match yours is just as special as something a little more than platonic.

“No way” he laughs, shoulder knocking against yours, you bite back a smile, “A girl as pretty as you?”

“Mmhmm”

“Then it’d be an honour to be the first” feeling bold, Jimin’s arm slips across your shoulders, “And hopefully the last”

“Ah is that so?” you drop the dress onto the grass beside you, pushing yourself to sit on your heels as you turn to face Jimin.

He nods, eyes flicking from your own to your lips, then back up again. Perhaps only mapping out your face into his mind, carving out every little crevice that makes you, and burning it into his brain. Or maybe it’s something a little less innocent.

You lean forward, a chaste kiss pressed to Jimin’s cheek before you pull back; a shy smile mirroring his, flushed cheeks probably matching his too. Though you find yourself liking the feeling, something ever so foreign yet welcome, you can’t help the airy laugh that spills from your lungs.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

It had been the incessant tapping at your window that had woken you up like a little bird was pecking at the old glass. Understandably, fear had settled in your heart, it wasn’t often you were woken up in the middle of the night like this.

The floorboards creaked under the weight of your body as you slipped off your mattress, socked feet barely making a sound as you plan an easy escape without your uninvited visitor knowing you were going to find your mother.

You almost trip over your own feet when the tapping stops, Jimin calling out your name.

You scuttle over to your window, tugging your curtains open, “What are you doing here so late?” you whisper when you unlatch the window, pushing it open.

“I forgot to give you this” he raises his arm, a singular sunflower clasped between his fingers.

“You came all the way here to give me this?” you ask, baffled.

“Yes, I forgot to pick you a bouquet before our date this afternoon” he nods, “That…and I just missed you”

“Would you like to come in?” you take a step away from your window.

You see the unfiltered surprise on his face, “Too soon?”

He shakes his head, “I just wasn’t expecting it is all”

You pluck the sunflower from between his fingers, turning to place it in the vase with the other flowers he’d gifted you over the last week.

You turn back to Jimin as his boots thump against the floor, he kicks them off, shuffling in one spot as you take a seat on your mattress.

“Come here” you hide your smile, biting your bottom lip. He’s ever so careful as he takes a seat beside you. The both of you fall onto your backs like you often did in the grass at the park.

Soft silver moonlight spills into the room from the open curtains, cool night air washing over the both of you as you stare at the ceiling.

“I really like spending time with you” Jimin breaks the silence, though his gaze remains trained on one spot of your roof.

“I really like spending time with you, too” You tilt your head to look at him, unexplainable happiness filling your body until you felt like bursting.

He hums, next words barely above a whisper. “I hope we can be together for a long time”

“I would like that”

Jimin turns his head to face you, the softest smile on his face, “I’m glad”

Love with Jimin was pure. The both of you were young enough that it didn’t matter if it were rough around the edges, imperfect; though you wouldn’t have changed it for the world. It wasn’t hard to fall in love. Not when it was Jimin.

For every date he took you on, he would spend hours in the park picking flowers for you.

His mother had always adored them and could talk about anything botanical for hours. She knew all their meanings and all their worth. Her love for one of the world’s tiny treasures brushing off on Jimin growing up. Over the years the reason for his love had changed, something special to his mother was now something special to him.

Because flowers now reminded Jimin of you. Where soft petals between the tips of his fingers felt like your skin under his hands, always reaching out for you, holding any part of you he could. How the world around you smelt of flowers as he braided them into your hair or you made promise rings with wilting stems that needed a little bit of love; a new life, a new purpose.

And of course, Jimin had heard all about the men in the city who bought acres of land for their lovers. Gardens tended to with warm hands but barely there love. And Jimin’s dream was to spend afternoons in a garden, your knees brushing as he plants flower beds and vegetables. So he could wake you up each morning with a new bouquet and a letter as to why he loves you so much.

“What’s this one?” you tuck Jimin’s hair behind his ear, pressing a kiss to his nose.

“A red chrysanthemum” He tilts your face, thumb caressing the skin behind your ear.

“Yeah?” you breathe, eyelashes brushing against your cheeks as his lips barely brush over your own, and Jimin hums.

You smile into the kiss, “And what do red chrysanthemums mean?” you whisper, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

“I love you”

You pull back, eyes widening a fraction. Three words that felt like they should be whispered, a secret that the two of you shared but never spoke about. You knew you loved Jimin in some capacity, you weren’t stupid. And you knew he liked you back, he’d made that known; and yet those three words had you feeling as though love was the only emotion that mattered. That the only thing you could ever do was love Jimin.

“Too soon?” he smiles, thumb running over your bottom lip.

You shake your head, “No, not at all”

“This is for you too then” His free hand slips into his pocket. Piece of paper tucked between two fingers, he drops it into your awaiting palm.

‘I love you ♡”

Young love didn’t have to be rushed. You didn’t have to stagger after Jimin as he pulled you along, or him chase after you as you sped ahead. It could be late-night talking about all the seemingly insignificant things in life. How hard growing up was or the insane expectations for success that neither of you had a chance of grasping.

Marriage didn’t have to be your only reason. Not when Jimin had become many of the reasons you liked waking up in the morning, or making lunch for the both of you to share on scarce breaks at work.

It could be slow dancing in the moonlight, as Jimin hums and crickets chirp. Or afternoons spent lounging in the sun with pinkies intertwined and breaths in sync. Or, now whispered ‘I love yous’ melting into soft kisses to cheeks and lips and noses. Or pink flushed cheeks and smiles that hurt your face, the good kind of hurt that makes you giggle and want one more gentle press of his lips to your own.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You dip your fingers into the shallow edge of the lake, “It’s pretty cold”

You peek over your shoulder as Jimin pulls his shirt over his head, lithe muscles flexing under the motions of his movements. Every sharp line and soft ridge of his body was illuminated by the silver light of the moon.

“Guess we better warm up then” he grins, eyes raking down your body. They then linger on your face, and it’s not often you wonder what Jimin’s thinking. He usually speaks his mind, clingy shyness about his feeling for you never holding him back when it came to his thoughts.

You laugh, “Perv” your own shirt haphazardly shucked off your body, thrown into a pile with the rest of Jimin’s clothes.

His arm slips over your waist as you kick your panties off, goosebumps prickling the skin of your arms as your boyfriend takes a step into the lake.

His chest opens as the initial shock of the cold crawls up his spine. Jimin watches you fidget, arms wrapped around your bare breasts, “Come on, baby” he reaches a hand out for you, walking further until he’s waist-deep in the water.

An easy smile is on his face as he beckons you over, wading closer to you when you work up the courage to slink into the water. Your breath hitches as you take Jimin’s hand, legs wrapping around his waist. He throws your arms around his shoulders, murky water rippling around the both of you as he spins you around. Your bare chest pushes up against Jimin’s as you pull him closer, your body easing a little at the extra heat.

“You’re pretty” he murmurs, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs, hoisting you up a little higher.

You push his hair from his forehead, lips lingering over warm skin when you lean down to press a kiss over his hairline; your hands cupping his cheeks, eyes flickering across his face. You weren’t sure how to explain how you felt, Jimin had always been better at words than you had been.

It’s just, Jimin in the moonlight always felt right. Because for once the world fell silent, it felt like it finally belonged to just you and him. He looked ever so pretty dusted in silver, honeyed skin kissed by the wonders of the sky. Blemishes nothing but pretty places to kiss, each moment your lips touch his skin another reason for you to wonder how you even ended up here.

“I love you” you whisper.

But that never felt like enough. Three frail words that you utter over and over again, that should really lose their meaning over time, are the only words that ever seem to come to mind when it’s Jimin. Nothing fancy. Nothing poetic. Nothing that’s more than an ‘I love you’ because no matter how many times you seemed to say it, the weight of your words is always understood by Jimin.

And he laughs, “How abrupt of you”

You bite back a smile, “Sorry, it just came out”

“I might love you more, you know” His eyes close.

You press a kiss over his eyelids, “I think that’s impossible”

He hums, “I don’t”

He peeks an eye open, smiling when he sees the frown on your face.

“Every breath I take, and for every beat of my fragile heart, I will love you. Until the day I lay on my deathbed, and we must part ways, my love will be yours.” his eyes meet your own, “Though I know we’ll meet in the sky, and I’ll hand you my heart once more”

“And I’ll hand you mine” Your eyes search his, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders.

“I’m glad, my love. And I’ll cherish it for as long as you’ll allow me”

“Forever.” you say, wondering if his eyes really held galaxies or if they simply reflected the sky, “It’ll be yours forever”

“Then I have something to tell you”

Your eyebrows crease, and a strange sense of dread and excitement mixes inside of you. And you aren’t sure if you’re jittery from the cold or nerves or fear.

“What is it?” you urge.

Jimin swallows, hands travelling over your bare back and down your waist, “I’ve put down two gold coins for that house we had been talking about”

Your chest deflates, lungs wringing themselves out of all the air you had until you’re laughing. Almost falling backwards into the water if Jimin hadn’t pulled you closer to his body.

“Have you really?” you breathe, hand tangling into the hair on the back of his head, “Park Jimin, don’t lie to me”

He smiles, chest shaking with his own breathy laughter, “Never, my love. Truly it is going to be ours”

You shake your head, “How did you find the money for it”

“You know I have been working double shifts as of late” he hums, wet hands pushing your hair from your face, eager to see your blooming happiness.

“Yes, but I thought it was for your mother”

“She earns enough to feed herself, and I wanted a place of our own. And I know how much we’ve both dreamed of this moment, I had to do it”

“You’re perfect, you know that?” your lips mould into his, a moan of appreciation swallowed as you tilt your head; tongue poking at the seam of his lips.

“I do now” he huffs, pulling you in for another kiss by the back of your neck.

“We’re really going to have a home”

“Yes” he laughs, “Forever ours”

“I can’t believe it” you whisper, “Pinch me so I know it is real”

A moan gets caught in the back of your throat as Jimin’s teeth nip at the tender skin behind your ear, plush lips kissing over your skin, saliva slicked and heated.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You think you can find your and Jimin’s love in the little wonders of the world. Because as much as he wanted to hand you the universe, both of you knew that was impossible. That your love was tucked away, safer when hidden in dreams of a shared future. Tucked away in a home that was now yours forever, because neither of you had plans of going anywhere.

As selfish as it may seem, you’d stolen spring to be your own. You’d met in the spring and found a place for yourselves as flowers bloomed. You were Jimin’s spring flower and he was the sun and the moon and all the pretty things in between.

It wasn’t hard to fall into a routine, your lives were like clockwork, never stopping. It had always been that way, except now you’d stay within the precious walls of your home, and Jimin would return to you before the sun slipped behind the horizon and dinner was finished cooking on the fire.

Most mornings the both of you would wake up before sunrise, and you’d eat near-stale bread on the chairs Jimin had made outside the front door. Where once or twice a butterfly had come to kiss your nose in good morning, and then Jimin would kiss the same place over and over until you’re both giggling like it was the first time you’d kissed.

And for the days he slipped out of the house before you woke, he would leave little letters around the house for you to find throughout the day.

‘Last night I saw a star as you slept, and it reminded me of your eyes. Briefly, I thought to wake you but after seeing you so at peace, I decided to join you instead ♡’

He’d always had a secret liking towards poetry and found himself sitting with a quill and paper as the moon sat in the sky, thinking of poems about you. And only the ones that made him smile, and made his heart jump up and down inside his chest did he ever leave on his pillow for you to wake up to the next morning.

You’d clean the floors between sewing as Jimin worked as a blacksmith, lithe frame bulking up over the last couple of months. And he would make sure to leave you a note before leaving the house, with every little thing he would find that he loved about you.

‘Today’s reason is your smile ♡’

Evenings were your favourite, as were Jimin’s. Both your bodies ease into one another’s as you sit on worn-down cushions while playing checkers that your father had carved for you as a child.

Or you’d simply lay your head over Jimin’s thigh as he sings for you under the stars. Bellies almost full and hearts the most content as the universe writes your love in shooting stars, its ink the soft glow of the moon.

“I have a surprise for you next week, so take the day off” Jimin’s fingers rake through your hair, tucking it ever so delicately behind your ear.

You peel your eyes open, “And what about your own work?”

“I have already asked for a day away, no problem” He smiles down at you.

“What sort of surprise is it?” your voice comes out barely above a whisper, carried by the wind to Jimin’s ears, who hums.

He runs his thumb over his bottom lip, “I mustn’t say, it will ruin it”

“But I’ll be curious” You jab a finger into his stomach, lips curling into a smile when he leans down to capture your lips.

“Poor thing” he whispers, stealing another kiss.

‘A clue to your surprise: It reminds me of you ♡’

“I still don’t know what it is” You slide Jimin’s most recent note across the table, and he shrugs.

“Your final clue” He hands you another piece of paper.

‘Think of when we first met’

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this excited” Jimin laughs, arm slung over your shoulders.

You skip ahead a little, walking backwards as you smile over at Jimin who takes one of your hands, helping you twirl as if you were a princess and he was the prince. You’d spent every night sewing a new dress with leftover fabric from the tavern; a special occasion called for a special outfit.

And Jimin had smiled and laughed so much he’d almost fallen off the back of his chair as you’d spun for him. He’d called you utterly beautiful and then tugged you over his lap for a kiss, maybe two.

“Of course, I’m excited. I’ve been eager to know what your surprise is”

“Happiness looks good on you, my love” Jimin stops walking, pulling you to his chest.

“Then I must look good all the time, with you around”

“Where do you learn these things” His hand covers his mouth, a lame attempt at covering his smile.

“You”

Jimin raises his eyebrows, astounded, “When have I ever been cheesy?”

“All the time. I’ll show you when we get home, I have all those letters you’ve left me”

“You kept all those?” he gapes, footsteps falling in time with your own as you both start wandering back down the gravel path.

“Of course. I still have the first ever one you gave me, and then all the ones that came after that”

You bite your bottom lip, willing yourself not to laugh when you catch sight of Jimin’s rose-dusted cheeks.

“Then you may think I’m extra cheesy today” he announces, fingers interlacing with your own.

“Is that so?” you hum, shoulder knocking against his arm.

Jimin turns to you, “Do you trust me?”

You blink.

“Of course”

“Then please close your eyes”

“Right now?” your head tilts, eyes squinting to gauge how far away the end of the pathway is, “It doesn’t seem like we’re anywhere that a surprise could be”

“We are” he turns to you, “It won’t be a surprise if you keep looking though”

You nod, eyes narrowing; sceptical.

“If this is where you secretly murder me then I swear on my grave I will come back from the dead Park Jimin”

He laughs, “It would be impossible to live in a world without you, I wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you if it weren’t for your own pleasure”

You bring your hands to cover your eyes, back straightening when Jimin takes hold of your arm, turning you in the direction of the forest.

“Careful, the path is uneven this way” He pulls you further under the blanket of trees.

“Are we almost there” you stumble, amused laugh shaking your shoulders as Jimin’s other hand falls onto your waist to keep you steady.

“Almost”

The both of you stumble to a stop, your eyes squeezing shut behind your hands as you wander into the sun, out of the shade.

“Are you ready?”

And you hear the unease in his voice, a week of pressure building up. Bubbling until it’s now fizzling out of him in nervous rivulets, hands clammy as they run up and down your arms. His feet shuffle against crunchy grass, and this might be the most jittery you’ve ever seen Jimin.

“Yes,” you tell him, keeping your eyes closed as you take hold of his hands, squeezing his fingers between your own. Jimin swallows, Adams's apple bobbing under the weight of it.

His eyes wander over your face, “May I kiss you?”

The corner of your lips curl up at that, “Yes” you nod, leaning into his touch when he cups your cheeks.

The tension in both your shoulders releases as your lips mould together, ever so slowly, neither of you rushing as Jimin’s tongue teases into your mouth. He laps up every little noise that slips off your tongue, sweet like nectar.

Your eyes slip open, entirely focused on Jimin’s. “I really hope you like it” He keeps your focus on him, foreheads still touching, noses knocking against one another.

“May I be honest with you?”

And he hums, “Yes, of course”

“If it’s from you, then I will always love it”

“That seems a little extreme” he laughs, though unease still chews away at his mind.

“I don’t think so. Surely you would like anything I gifted you”

He nods, “Of course, I would”

“Then it’s no different for me, so please don’t worry” you whisper, eyes slipping closed once more as you press a featherlight kiss to his plush lips.

“Keep your eyes closed for a moment” he whispers back, and you hum.

Jimin’s hands fall away from your body, shadow slipping away from behind your eyelids as he steps away from you.

“Open them”

And you do.

“Oh Jimin” you whisper, a twitch of your lip the first sign of a smile.

As far as you can see, there are just flowers. The most vibrant you have ever seen, almost glowing under the warm light of the sun. For all the flowers Jimin had given you over the years, you think there must be every colour he’d ever thought to bring you; all swaying in tandem as if it were the most beautiful ocean.

The field stretches until it meets the sky, land completely hidden by a blanket of wildflowers.

You don’t know where to look, so many places to look but only two eyes. Your head is pulled in every which direction, mouth falling open in awe.

“Where did you find this place?” your voice comes out breathless, gaze only briefly meeting Jimin’s before you’re drawn back to acres of untouched land. A whole ecosystem thriving on its own, untampered with by human life.

“On the way back from a job. It reminded me of you, and I knew I had to bring you here” he steps closer to you, fingers brushing against your own.

You turn to face Jimin, “It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. Thank you for sharing it with me”

You slip your fingers through Jimin’s, “Would you like to dance with me?”

“Right here?” his eyes widen.

You nod, tugging him towards the sea of flowers, “Yes”

“But we have no music” his resistance nothing more than a show as he makes no move to stop you.

Wild grass tickles both your ankles, delicate petals of smaller flowers caressing your bare legs as you hike your dress up.

“That doesn’t matter” you laugh, pulling him further and further until overgrown flowers dust over your waist like gentle fingers, and a butterflies’ wings tickle your cheek.

Jimin watches as you twirl, hands outstretched for him to come closer. Your body knocks into his as he pulls you into his chest. Both of you fall in sync, as curious hands wander over arms and backs, down to waists and hips.

You flinch when something wet hits your nose, Jimin turning his face to the sky.

“It looks like it’s about to rain,” he says, and you tilt your head to look, “Perhaps we should go home”

You shake your head, “But we only just got here”

“But the rain, my love” he takes your hands, taking a step back, though your feet stay planted in their spot.

“A little bit of rain never hurt anyone” You pull him back into your body, eyes squeezing shut as a raindrop collides with your lashes.

The both of you are washed in a gust of shade, the sun hidden behind dark clouds that bleed into the horizon.

“Won’t you dance with me?” you look up at Jimin, clothes starting to mould into your skin as the sky rains more unshed tears.

“I suppose” he grins, arm falling around your waist.

Your hair clings to your foreheads, sodden leaves wetly slapping against your arms and legs. Rouge petals that had plans of rotting on the soil now hanging on to your dress and Jimin’s pants.

Your dress doesn’t fan out like a royal’s would when Jimin spins you, neither is he really dressed like a prince but the both of you feel as though you could be of that status in that moment.

Your eyes fall shut, smile never leaving your face. It’s as though your body evaporates, that the world around you fizzles upwards in little bubbles and you follow their lead. Chasing after the light that shines down on you like a beacon.

Something strange tugs at your heart, sinking you further and further into the darkness as you kick upwards until you’re spinning and the world is spinning with you. And the darkness feels all too familiar, your footsteps practised perfectly as if a routine.

Hands roam your body. Both yours and his laughter muffled underwater, a whisp of a soul slipping through your fingers when you turn towards the deep timbre of another voice, a voice far deeper than Jimin’s. His laugh vibrates in your chest as phantom hands graze against your naked skin. And he’s calling your name, your mouth opening to call back except nothing but air puffs past your lips; air bubbles caressing your cheeks as they float upwards.

Your feet move on their own without much thought as you turn in every which direction, only to ever be met by darkness; feet caught in quicksand that has you sinking further away from the light.

There’s something on the tips of your fingers as you reach out and an awful pressure squeezes at your chest and the echo– the echo of a voice you’ve heard before. Everything is awfully jumbled, words shoved down your throat, acidic in your stomach– poison as it absorbs into your bloodstream.

You stumble over your feet chasing after where the stranger’s voice had come from and suddenly your eyes are open as you collide with the floor. Brain rattling within the confines of your skull and your whole world shakes a along with you.

Jimin’s arms cage your head, chest heaving as he holds himself up over your body.

You feel puddles of water and sodden soil soak into the back of your dress as you sink further into the ground.

“Sorry” he whispers, droplets of water from his hair falling onto your cheeks.

“It’s okay, I forgot where I was for a moment” you admit, a smile pulling at the corner of your lips.

“I could tell” he laughs, falling back onto his heels.

Jimin tugs you up by your arms, pushing your wet hair out of your face.

“Maybe we should go home” he murmurs, “I’d hate to have another accident”

You nod, “I think that’s a good idea”

“Let’s go home, my love” he pushes himself to stand, and you glance down at your hands.

“Did you hear another man’s voice?” you blink away the rain from your lashes, Jimin’s eyebrows furrowing.

“No? It’s only the two of us here” he takes your hands, helping you up, “Did you hear someone?”

You shake your head, “No, it must have been something else”

“You know” Jimin starts as you trek out of the flowers, “I’ve never met anyone that loves dancing in the rain as much as you”

“I can’t explain the feeling” You turn to him, the smallest of smiles on your face.

“Then should we dance every time it rains?”

“I always dance when it rains” You pull him closer to your side, a futile attempt to steal some of his body heat.

“Yes, but I always watch. Maybe I’ll join you from now on”

“I would like that” you hum.

And that should have been the end of it. A conversation left in the past where its only leeway into your future is Jimin joining you the next time it decides to rain. Except, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

It was rotten how for those few moments the world hadn’t been yours, and Jimin hadn’t been Jimin, and you hadn’t been you. Or that the other voice that had definitely been in your head, a whisper in your ear, an echo on the other side of the dark plane. A siren’s song pulling you further into your own demise, forbidden land you should have never passed over.

It shouldn’t have been anything more than how much you truly loved dancing in the rain, where it was just something you had always loved and always done without thinking much about it.

You turn your head to look at Jimin who lay beside you, finally asleep after the both of you had taken a bath. So at peace with himself and the world, as the weight of emotions, you’re unfamiliar with breathe down the back of your neck and you lay awake.

It’s when you close your eyes, you start to fall. And the eyes that meet yours when you open them aren’t Jimin’s.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

For every life you lived after this one, the love you had here will cling onto you forever, sticky like you’d dipped your fingers in molasses. And maybe it’s because this had been the first time you’d learnt what love truly was, or maybe Taehyung had carved such a large hole in your heart that only he could ever truly fill. So even in life after him, he continues to burrow inside of you as his soul finally rests.

Pure love was an addicting feeling. And maybe Taehyung had made you greedy, grabbing onto such a wonderful feeling over and over until it destroyed you. It wasn’t fair to blame him, but surely your greed had stemmed from somewhere.

And love could only ever be as magical as you’d imagined it if it begins with Taehyung.

And so, the story of your first life, and therefore your first love starts with Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung and Jimin had been the most similar of your loves. Both of them had always liked the more delicate things in life.

Taehyung liked to read how whimsical the ocean was, white seafoam as gentle as clouds, and waves that caressed ankles that wandered the shore. Or how the stars always seemed that little bit brighter when you were in love, the universe shining its approval of something so perfect. He liked the idea of faeries that danced under the light of the moon, or reading forbidden love stories and poems that hurt his heart. Only to be mended with stories of truer love and lifetimes dedicated to another being.

Taehyung’s sole purpose in life was to become a duke and run the estate after his father passed. Except he had never liked to be shoved into a mould, crafted by hands that had no care, rough as they shaped him. He despised the fact his life was gifted to him just so he could be chained to a role he had no purpose of fulfilling.

His spirit had always been that of a wild bird, curious about things he had no business knowing, and wanting to wander where forbidden.

He loved the freedom that birds had, how beautiful their feathers were, gliding through the sky without a care in the world. They had something he didn’t, and maybe his admiration had stemmed from some weird sense of jealousy. But, that never stopped the look of pure joy on his face whenever he caught a glimpse of a dove dancing on the waves of the wind.

One of Taehyung’s hobbies had become complaining about his classes. The both of you giggled under one of the trees outside his window, shoulders knocking against each other’s as he told you stories of how his politics tutor was surely a witch, and there was no doubt in his mind that his literature teacher was a ghoul.

The world felt as though it were crumbling at his feet on the days the two of you couldn’t meet. And so, he’d send you letters in secret, asking to meet at the front gate of the estate; where he’d hand you flowers through the bars, or kiss the back of your hand, only to beckon you closer when that doesn’t feel like enough. His plush lips warming your cheeks until he finds your lips and the both of you are melting into cold metal bars, the shyest smiles on both your faces when a maid catches the both of you.

Most days were spent in the garden, or the drawing room where the both of you could talk for hours. You liked flicking through catalogues of dresses for the coming seasons, always asking Taehyung what he thought. Wondering if he’d like a new broach for his jackets, or if a new waistcoat would suit him. How wonderful the both of you would look matching, with a handkerchief you’d embroidered for him sat in his breast pocket– every gentle prick of the needle through fabric and each delicate line of tread, laced with love that lays beside his gently beating heart.

Taehyung liked to recount all the things he adored about love, reciting poems and lines of novels he’d read before bed, and then telling you everything he adored about you. Because ‘love’ and ‘you’ should always fall in the same sentence in his eyes. Love would never truly be ‘love’ if you weren’t in the picture. Your silhouette was painted within each frame of his life, tucked in corners of the canvas or slipped far within his heart and mind.

Taehyung and love were perhaps a synonym of one another.

He was the epitome of love.

All things romance and passion, and all things special between two people that have you shy and kicking your feet. Every moment feels like the long-awaited kiss after chapters of build-up and tension, where you have to look away from the book for a brief moment to recollect your thoughts and then bite your nails to hide a smile.

If you had to describe Taehyung in one word, you think you’ll always gravitate towards eccentric.

“I think the reason I was born, was to love you” he’d told you one evening, the stars like a halo around his head as he’d taken your hands into his own.

You hadn’t known what to say, the corners of your lips quirking up at the sides because, of course, he’d utter such sweet words while the both of you laze in the gardens. Not quite ready to part ways just yet. Even if your carriage had been sat outside the house for over an hour, and your supper was probably sat on the table at home.

“What a sorry reason to be born” you’d whispered back.

“I don’t think so. The opposite, in fact” he tugs you a little across the grass, closer between his legs, “What is the point of life if it isn’t for unconditional love? And a mind that functions with the sole purpose of loving another?”

Maybe it was that moment that you realised you loved love. That you loved loving Taehyung and you loved that he loved you just as much as you loved him, if not more.

“Then, you’re my reason for living” It had fallen off your tongue quicker than you had thought to catch it. Though the smile that had stretched onto Taehyung’s face is one that will forever be etched into your mind, it had been innocent, content.

You’d seen him smile so many times and yet, something had shifted in your mind, any qualms you had about letting go and succumbing to the purest form of adoration had fizzled out in both your hands.

Because life wasn’t so bad when you had someone to love.

“Just as you are my reason to live” he says.

“I hope the both of us live forever so I never forget this feeling” you’d interlaced your fingers, cheeks flushing the lightest pink that’s veiled by the silver moonlight. Though he probably feels how warm you are when he cups your face, pressing a kiss over the tip of your nose.

“Forever?” he hums, “Even if you were to forget, I would remind you over and over for as long as we’re together, and every life after that”

“I’ll remind you too then” you promise, though Taehyung laughs, chest vibrating under the weight of his voice.

“I could never forget, not when it comes to you, my love”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You don’t remember when you’d met Taehyung, you think he’d always just been there.

Perhaps the both of you had snuck out of a ball back in the day, two rowdy children giggling on the balcony as you whispered about guests. Which ones you liked, or the ones your mothers’ would mutter about under their breath. The both of you had done it so many times that it would be fitting for your first encounter. A habit the both of you would keep up as you grew older as well.

Or maybe the both of you had camped out under the tables while your mothers flitted from group to group, and you’d stolen cakes from plates and perfectly cut sandwiches from unattended trays. Where you’d exchange slices of tomato for his pieces of cucumber, and you’d both share squares of cake from one fork.

Friends from childhood had started bleeding into something a little more as the two of you grew and realized that maybe friendship wasn’t enough for either of you. And maybe that had been the little seedling from where your never-ending greed stemmed from. A constant feral need for constant love that was depicted in careful strokes of paintings and well-thought-out words bled onto a page with dark ink.

Taehyung had known early on that it was always going to be you he married. There was no doubt in his mind that you were going to wed. It was not often he put his foot down when it came to the choices made for him in life, and making it a point he had no interest in any other woman than you, had always been a point he’d made extremely clear.

Marriage hadn’t been something you’d put much thought into until Taehyung would bring it up as you drank tea together of an afternoon. And after the little seed of possibility had been planted in your mind, you knew you wanted to marry Taehyung.

And you’d never second-guessed yourself, because if it was going to be anyone, then it was going to be your best friend.

“If I were to wear a white dress, would you wear a white suit?” you lay the magazine over your chest. Taehyung pushes his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose when he tilts his head down to look at you; head resting over his thigh.

“If that is what you want” he hums, “White flowers may be too much, so let’s add colour”

You run a finger over your bottom lip, “Purple?”

“Of course” he nods, “I’ll braid them into your hair too” his fingers tickle over your hairline.

You push yourself to sit up on your elbows, “I think it’s bad luck if the groom sees the bride in her dress on the morning of the wedding”

Taehyung runs his thumb over his bottom lip, “To hell with tradition”

“Your mother isn’t going to be very happy” you smile, “All she ever talks about is the perfect wedding”

Taehyung smiles, “Yes, but it isn’t her wedding. I think I’d be beyond miserable if we weren’t to see each other, I must tell you how beautiful you look before we meet at the end of the alter”

“It would only be a few hours” you press, eyebrows raising.

“A few hours too many. Who is supposed to help me with my tie if not you?”

You fully sit up now, “You’d have a maid or two aiding you”

Taehyung frowns, whatever paperwork he was reading long forgotten on the couch as he tugs your legs over his thighs, fingers dancing over the bare skin covered by your skirt.

“But they don’t do it as you do, and I have to look my best the day we tie souls and vow to be lovers for the rest of our time alive. It’s an important day”

“I suppose you’re right” you hum, brushing his hair from his forehead, “I too, would be lonely if we were to part on such a joyous day”

It hadn’t been long after the both of you had entered adulthood that Taehyung’s father had died, and only a few months after that the two of you had gotten married.

You’d worried for Taehyung, knowing that even though his relationship with his father had never been the best, at least a small part of him should have been sad that his soul had left to rest. But no matter how much you lightly prodded, and made sure to ask if he were okay, Taehyung never shed a tear.

He never truly found a way to articulate his feelings; losing someone he never saw as a father left the smallest hole in his heart. A pinprick, because Taehyung wasn’t heartless and knew the old man had brought him into this world, something he will forever be grateful for– but that was it.

For the thousands of days you and Taehyung had spent together, the day he had proposed would be your second favourite of them all. He hadn’t made it extravagant, nor did he make it a huge point by proposing at a large gathering. He knew you despised those sorts of events, so he had asked you to be his bride at your favourite spot.

The pond in Taehyung’s gardens had always been your favourite. It felt as though the world only belonged to the two of you when you spent evenings alone, sat on the bench, where fireflies danced over the water, their reflection like little stars scattered across the pond, the moon so much larger in its reflection than it looked in the sky.

The day of your wedding, and all the days after that would forever take the top spot.

Taehyung had always loved your soul. He knew you were pretty, of course, you were; you were the most ethereal being he had ever come across.

The faeries and pretty little wonders he read about, he always pictured you in their place. But it wasn’t always about the way you looked that had Taehyung coming back for more, or his heart thumping ever so hard against the skin of his chest whenever you were around.

He thought you had the most wonderful soul that he liked to dip his fingers into, gentle like the softest waves, or cradle it to his chest. The most delicate part of you, ever so precious, the rawest form of yourself that he’d hold on to for as long as he was allowed. Because if one day the two of you were to ever part, he’d find the path of your soul, trace his fingers through every dip and curve he’d memorized, and make his way back to your side.

The night of your wedding, the night the both of you had given yourself to one another fully, was never a moment Taehyung thought he’d be ready for. It’s not that he was second-guessing his choice– sometimes in life the moments we’ve been waiting for feel like a lifetime away. So many hours and even more minutes between now and then, that when the day stumbles before you in all its joyous glory, no amount of falling into your mind in silent preparation had ever truly prepared you for this.

Taehyung had worshipped your body like you were his only goddess, you were his religion, his reason for life and death and everything he breathed and consumed in his fragile mortal body. Your souls knotting as your lips pressed so gently against one another, their pinkies forever intertwined as they melted like candle wax and hardened as one lifeform.

Taehyung particularly loved the feeling of your nails digging into the delicate skin of his shoulders. A feeling forever ingrained into his mind, sending a shiver up his spine when his mind wanders to how you looked in candlelight, spread bare for him to defile.

The both of you felt as though the honeymoon phase was nothing but lies, an easy scare for those who fell too fast, drowning in acidic love that dragged two people away from one another in harsh waves. Because for you and Taehyung, it never ended.

Every day that you woke up to Taehyung beside you, had you burying your face in your pillow, smile so hard to contain you covered it up with a kiss to Taehyung’s lips as he slowly woke up.

“I love you” he’d murmur, eyes barely open.

“I love you more” a hand cupping his cheek, you’d press a kiss to his jaw; sometimes tickled by the stubble that had grown in.

Something ever so mundane, yet it always seemed to bring you so much happiness.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

For a week during the summer, Taehyung would hand his duties over to his assistant and take you away for a short vacation.

You liked the little house the both of you owned on the other side of town, secluded from the rest of the world.

It had been one summer when your love for rain had started. You often found yourself reading by the window when the summer showers would pay you a visit, dousing the garden in muddy puddles and the gentle pitter-patter of the world’s tears hitting the ground easy white noise as you danced across pages of books. Or simply watched Taehyung sits on the piano bench, only so he could sit in your company.

Taehyung had always loved playing the piano, one of his many loves that he’d buried with the immense amount of work that had piled on to him since taking the seat as head of the household. The grand piano that sat in the far room of the house was his secret door of salvation.

“Will you play me a piece?” you motion towards the piano, doors to the garden hooked open. Sure to slam shut with the wind picking up. The air was a little sweeter that afternoon, a gentle breeze raking through your hair, licking at the tops of the pages of your book.

“I haven’t played for a while” Taehyung closes his own book, “But if it’s for you, I could never say no”

You take a seat beside Taehyung as he flexes his fingers, gently running his hand over the ivory keys.

“Would you like me to get your music book?” you lay your head on his shoulder.

He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. I doubt I’d remember how to read much of it anyways”

“Do you remember my favourite piece?”

Taehyung’s tongue wets his bottom lip, “I should hope so”

Your eyes close as the first note penetrates the air, your head jostling slightly as Taehyung reaches the other end of the keys, his cheek knocking against the top of your head. The tips of his fingers dance elegantly, gentle with each deep hum of the piano’s song.

You perk up at the first sound of rain, barely there, almost concealed by Taehyung as his movements become bolder, each thick note more pronounced, each deep hum vibrating through your skin.

You lift your head from his shoulder, “I didn’t think it would rain today”

You take one look at Taehyung, the smallest smile teasing at his lips when you stand. You kick your slippers off by the open door, toes curling into the damp grass as you step outside.

You blink as a raindrop falls on your nose, slipping until it’s wetting your lips. You turn back to look at Taehyung, waving when he lifts his head to look at you; and he winces when he presses the wrong note.

You wander further into the garden, hiking your skirt up so it won’t drag across the wet soil.

As the rain gets heavier the sound of the piano is slowly drowned out, the world yours for the moment before you’re turning back to Taehyung.

“Tae” you call back inside, beckoning him over when he turns towards you, “Come dance with me”

The piano is left and forgotten as Taehyung pushes himself to stand, shoes piled with your slippers as Taehyung steps into the garden. He slinks towards you, hair starting to cling to his forehead as the rain gets heavier.

“You’ll catch a cold” he takes your hand, tugging you into his chest.

“But the world is so beautiful when it rains”

“Just this once I’ll indulge you” he presses a kiss to your forehead.

As much as the world looks wonderful in that moment, Taehyung outshined it all. Your clothes stuck to the both of you like a second skin, your hair tickling the side of your face, clinging to you like sticky wet vines down the back of your neck.

Taehyung’s hands wander your body, pulling you closer when you start to drift away– your hips finally falling in sync. All those hours of classes on how to dance are washed away by the rain as the both of you stumble, almost falling over each other’s feet.

“Look” you point towards the back of the estate, “there’s a rainbow” you laugh.

Taehyung follows your line of sight, “How pretty” he hums, his hands falling to your waist.

Your fingers tease over his chest, heart hammering under his skin, mere seconds away from jumping out of his skin. Taehyung’s hands wander further down, a surprised moan catching in the back of your throat when he grabs the meat of your ass; tugging you into his body. And you can feel his growing erection against your stomach.

“Not in the garden” you whisper, fingers trailing lower until you’re gently tugging at his belt.

Taehyung leans down, warm breath fanning the side of your neck. He presses a wet kiss to the unblemished skin, “I wouldn’t give the serving staff the pleasure of seeing you fall apart for me” he whispers, sodden hair falling over your shoulder.

You take his hands from where they’re teasing over the top of your thighs, “Let’s go” you take long strides back towards the house.

“Where to, my love?” he trails after you, the most giddy smile on his face.

You look at him over your shoulder, “Our bedroom”

Your feet slap wetly against the tile floors, muddy footprints trailing behind the both of you. Youthful joy thrums throughout your body, giggles hard to keep down as the both of you stagger through the hallway towards the bedroom.

Taehyung’s overzealous in the way he opens the door, and you both wince when it bangs against the wall. The briefest clarity grazes your mind before lust sets back in, and all you can focus on is the incessant throbbing between your legs, and the man stood before you.

You kick the door closed, Taehyung pulling his wet shirt over his head when you turn back to him– your dress is soon to follow.

“Would you mind helping me?” you turn your back to Taehyung, shoulders curling inwards as his fingers trace over the intricate ribbing of your corset.

He’s gentle as he tugs at the ribbons, and you heave a sigh of relief, muscles finally easing a little. Dull throb sinks out of your ribs as you heave a deep breath.

You turn around, Taehyung’s eyes trailing to your bare chest, curving down the slope, fingers itching at his sides to sink and dig his nails into the plush flesh. He swallows, Adams's apple bobbing under the weight of desire.

“My beautiful wife” he whispers, hands running up the length of your arms before he’s teasing the edge of your breasts. You trace over his belt, tugging impatiently as he pulls you towards the bed.

You fall backwards onto the mattress, air momentarily punched from your lungs. Taehyung’s arms cage your head, thigh nudging your legs open for him.

Your wet hair sticks to your neck, small droplets of water falling over your cheeks from Taehyung’s own hair as his eyes wander over your face. Windows to his soul wide open as sickly sweet love dances within his eyes, adoration you know you’ll never get from another man bared naked, yours for the taking.

You rut up against his knee, damp cotton panties dragging deliciously against your clit.

Taehyung’s arms flex as he leans down, plush lips trailing down your jaw, gently plucking soft moans from the back of your throat with every mean nip of his teeth over delicate skin.

Your thighs clamp around Tae’s leg, arms slithering around his shoulders as you use him for your own pleasure, short bursts of pure arousal wracking up your body with every purposeful tense of his muscles.

“Good girl” he groans, falling to hold himself up by his elbows as his lips map out the rest of your body– kissing over your neck, the underside of your breasts, down towards your stomach. You whine as he kneels before you, hips bucking upwards to try and chase the slowly fizzling pleasure.

He kisses your mound over your underwear, tips of his fingers barely brushing over your clit as he trails them down towards your covered folds. Thumb splitting your labia, guttural groan rumbling from his chest as he feels your slick heat.

He can’t seem to stifle the chuckle that slips past his lips either as you whine, the most pitiful pout tugging onto your face as he teases you.

“How needy” he croons, adding a little more pressure over your entrance, “I’ll make sure to make you feel good”

You lift your hips, a silent invitation for him to tug your panties off, and he does, dropping them beside him; forgotten as he looks at your slick soaked pussy.

“Tae” you whisper, impatient as your fingers tangle into his wet hair, careful as you try and tug him closer to where you needed him most without hurting him.

“Hm?” he hums, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as he pushes them open a little wider, making it easier for him to slip closer to his favourite place.

Your toes curl as he bends, placing the lightest kiss over your clit, “Want you”

“Want you too, my love” he murmurs, hot breath fanning over your folds.

He licks a bold stripe from your entrance to your clit, tongue dipping past your walls before he’s pulling back, wad of spit dribbling over your already sodden cunt.

Your thighs threaten to twitch closed, and when Taehyung notices this he tugs them over his shoulders, dragging you a little further to the edge of the bed.

His thumb teases over your clit, thrumming at the sensitive little bud as he pushes his tongue back inside of you. The moan you let out is sure to have echoed down the halls, your embarrassment only amplified when you feel another dribble of slick gush past your walls, sure to coat Taehyung’s chin shiny.

“M’ gonna cum” you hiccup, hips frantically bucking upwards as Taehyung further smothers his face into your pussy.

He hums, a new wave of arousal coursing through your body at the unexpected vibrations.

It’s a haphazard flick of your clit that has you tumbling head first into your orgasm, thighs quivering as they clamp around Taehyung’s head, though that doesn’t seem to deter him as he licks into your cunt, swallowing down your release.

“S’ too much” you sob, hands pushing your lover from between your thighs. He kisses your knee, head flopping across your leg as he looks up at you.

Your stomach clenches at the dopey smile on his face, thumb running over his bottom lip, still shiny with your arousal.

“Are you tired, my love?” he asks, fingers curling around your wrists, kissing your palm, then the tips of each finger.

You shake your head, “I can still go if you’d like”

“This isn’t about me, it’s about you”

You swallow, unexplainable love swelling inside your chest.

“Please make love to me” you whisper, pink hue deepening in shade on your cheeks as Taehyung stands at full height, shucking off whatever clothes he still had on.

You can’t help but wet your lips, watching as he runs a gentle hand over his length, slicking his cock up with pearly beads of precome.

You push yourself up further on the bed, legs falling open as Taehyung kneels before you.

He runs a finger through your folds, barely dipping a fingertip inside of you before he’s pulling out, pushing your thighs further apart.

He guides his cock to your entrance, slicking the head with your cum before he’s gently pushing into you. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, cunt clenching around Taehyung’s length as he gently rocks into you.

He groans, barely pulling out before feeding you another inch. His hands roam up the length of your body as he finally bottoms out, hips rutting into you by habit.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down for a kiss which he melts into, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his head, tongue teasing over the seam of your lips.

He licks up into your mouth, concoction of your saliva clinging to his tongue when he pulls back.

“Ready?” he murmurs against your lips.

“Mmhmm” you hum, muscles falling lax as Taehyung pushes your thighs up to your chest. He almost pulls out, the air punched from your lungs as he snaps back into you.

Unabashed, you moan, Taehyung’s name tumbling from your lips like it were the only word you knew as he thrusts into you.

It’s wet when Taehyung’s thighs meet your ass, sticky with arousal that clings to both your skin and moans a harmony with one another.

Your hand snakes down the length of your body, between your thighs, teasing over your clit as Taehyung throws his head back, utterly consumed by unadulterated pleasure.

“Together” he groans, hips losing their calculated pace.

His cockhead nudges over your sweet spot, a whine dripping off your lips that Taehyung catches, kiss messy, teeth clashing.

You pick up the pace on your clit, fizzling pleasure slipping down your spine, slick gushing from your hole, so many feelings, so many emotions– all amplified as endorphins buzz at your brain, a shockwave of dopamine setting you alight.

You feel Taehyung twitch between your walls, your pussy clenching sporadically around his length as he nears his orgasm.

Taehyung tips over the edge before you do, creamy white cum painting your walls in thick ropes. Your own orgasm following as you feel another wave of Taehyung’s seed flood your cunt.

His hips twitch as you continue to clench around him, pushing his release further into you.

Your chest stutters as you try and catch your breath, fingers splayed over your mound as you fall back into reality.

Your moan as Taehyung pulls out, a hiccup following as he presses a kiss to your cheek. His fingers gather up the dribble of cum that follows his cock, pushing it back inside of you. And you twitch at that, overstimulated.

He reaches behind your head for a pillow, your thighs falling to the bed, to which Taehyung tuts.

“Lift your hips up for me, darling” he soothes, singular hand gathering both your ankles, pulling the lower half of your body from the mattress so he can slip the pillow underneath you.

“You’d look awfully pretty baring my child” his hand trails down your stomach, over your womb.

“I hope this time we are lucky” you tell him, finger interlacing with the ones over your stomach.

“Me too, my love. Our child would be the most precious little thing”

You smile, eyes slipping shut as you paint the image of what your baby would look like, “I hope they look like you”

“I’d always wished they’d look like you. Their mother holds all the beauty of this cruel world”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your chest, “Then how about they look like the both of us, as their father shares all of that beauty”

“That would be wonderful” Taehyung pushes himself off the bed, slipping on a robe that had been forgotten on one of the chairs that morning.

“What if they aren’t a boy?” your hands fall over your chest, watching Taehyung as he gathers the bowl of water and towels.

He turns to look at you, “What would it matter if they were a girl?” his eyebrows furrow.

“Wouldn’t you need an heir”

He wets his bottom lip, “Boy or girl, I’m not bothered, my love. If we were to have a son then I would never subject them to the horrors of becoming heir. And if we have a precious little daughter, I would love her all the same, and if one day she decides she wants to take over the estate then I would let her”

The corners of your lips tug up into a smile, “Then I am glad” Your hand finds his as he takes a seat beside you on the bed, dipping the towel into water, gently dragging it over your sweat-slicked skin.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Falling in love with Taehyung had made you a lot of things.

Juvenile had never been on top of that list, though when you think about it, it really should have been. Or that somewhere written in the fine print of your story, neither of you would die, that you’d both freeze in time and continue your lives for the rest of eternity.

Some days when you’d sit alone, you wish Monet had been around during your life with Taehyung. His paintings as beautiful as the love you shared. Paintings full of purpose, the world through the eyes of a man– impressionist paintings that had so much raw colour, so much more vibrance than the real world.

You wish he’d have been able to put paint to canvas, where every gentle stroke of his brush was a piece of stupid, young naivety put into breath-taking art. Meaningful, purposeful, and beautiful. Because your ignorance would have made a beautiful collection, a series of a time when the future wasn’t as perfect as his art. Bringing both you and your lover to downfall.

Your life was not the art of Monet, nor was it as mesmerising as Van Gogh’s Starry Night. You weren’t frozen in time like you were part of history, forever documented on paper and hung for the world to see.

You were naive enough to think that with Taehyung’s new rise to power, somewhat unexpected in high society, he wouldn’t have one or two enemies.

The end of your first life hadn’t been what you had wanted it to be.

As much as you remember the day you had gotten married or all the afternoons you and Taehyung had spent in the garden, dancing in the rain, under rainbows and the sun that peeked through the clouds, there to celebrate your love just as much as the both of you were; what was supposed to be the perfect ending like all the far-fetched stories Taehyung read, this was more of a tragedy.

Because that’s what it was– farfetched.

You remember the afternoon that the perfect life you had, had crumbled. Sand slipping through your fingers, falling to the bottom of the hourglass.

You lay on the couch, your foot tapping against the arm, Taehyung’s quil tinking against the bottle of ink. In recent months you’d found yourself reading Taehyung’s favourite books, all of their spines worn down, loved and read over and over.

“Do you smell that?” you push yourself up onto your elbows, the book laid over your lap.

“Smell what, my darling?” he takes off his glasses, hand running over his tired eyes.

Your eyes meet Tae’s, “Something smells as though it’s burning”

The both of you sit in silence for a moment before Taehyung pushes his chair back, peering out the window. His fingers try and pull at the latch, finding it stuck, and he turns back to you.

“Maybe I’m imagining it” you tell him when you see his eyebrows furrow.

“I can definitely smell something” he turns back to you, “I can’t tell what. Go and call someone to open this window, it’s jammed”

Your book is dropped onto the couch as you push yourself up, you go to open the door to Taehyung’s office, only for the door not to open. You push a little harder, shoulder knocking uncomfortably against the hardwood.

You press an ear to the door.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung asks, stalking towards you.

“It won’t open”

Taehyung makes a noise from the back of his throat, and you step out of the way when he takes hold of the door handle.

He mirrors your earlier action, shoulder knocking against the door.

“It won’t open” he turns to you.

“I know, my love” A gentle smile moulds onto your lips.

You press your ear to the door again, “Do you hear that?”

Taehyung follows; ear pressed to the door, “Burning?”

“Burning?” you stand straight.

You crouch down, fingers feeling over the gap between the floor and door, “Hello?” you call out, hand flinching away as heat licks over your fingers.

“Is anyone there?” Taehyung shouts, fist banging against the door.

“Taehyung” you tug at his shirt, trying to pull him away from the door. He relents, taking a step forwards, “Taehyung, it’s a fire” You take his hand.

“What?”

“It’s a fire” You show him your fingertips, hands shaking slightly as the reality of what was happening settles in.

“You’re hurt” he murmurs, “If one of the staff would just answer we could treat your wounds” his lips barely brush over the burn.

“Taehyung it’s barely an injury, not when we’re locked in here with a fire right outside that door”

He swallows, “We’ll find a way out”

“How?” you dare ask, “We can’t go out the window, that’s suicide from this high up”

His foot taps against the floor, hand running over his jaw in thought.

Your focus is snatched away from your lover when something creaks, burning flames slithering under the crack under the door, molten snakes with no goal in mind.

Taehyung pulls you further into his office, the door crackling as the flames start to chew it up, an onslaught of heat spilling into the room. You can smell the gasoline, splintered wood glistening in it as the door creaks off its hinges, flinging the fire further into the office, and you watch as it singes over the carpet.

The flames dance before you, a mesmerising dance, crawling up the walls, heated footsteps stalking across the rug, heady puffs of carbon monoxide smoking into the air.

Your hand flies to cover your mouth when a thin wisp of smoke slips down your windpipe, tickling your throat and searing at the inside of your lungs.

Taehyung pulls you into his chest as you back into the wall furthest away from the fire, “It’s going to be okay” he heaves, his own hand covering his nose and mouth, dry cough spluttering past his lips.

Your eyes squeeze shut as the fire slinks closer to the both of you, dangerously close, teasing as it flicks at your ankles, its amble arms chewing up the bookcases, rage only amplifying with each novel it consumes.

You catch sight of a silhouette standing outside the office, body veiled by thick flames that continue to slink into the office. Another splash of gasoline only makes it burn brighter, sweat tickling the back of your neck.

Your arms slip around Taehyung’s waist, and he helps you both sit on the ground, arms now holding your shoulders. A lame attempt at holding you away from the blazing fire that creeps closer.

Your lungs can’t seem to get enough oxygen, panic setting into your bones as you heave for a full breath. Your eyes water as you choke on what should have been a rush of oxygen, only your lungs burn with the ash that settles inside of you, clinging to your windpipe– coating the inside of your mouth.

“Try not to–” Taehyung coughs, hand lifting to clasp around his throat, cheeks flushing a deep red “-breathe it in too much– cyanide”

A yelp gets caught in your throat as the flames flicker too close to you, singing the hem of your dress. You try and kick it away, hand flapping down to make sure the fire doesn’t chew at any more of your clothing. You try to ignore the prickly burn to your bare skin, eyes squeezing shut as you try and curl in on yourself to make you smaller.

You tug on Taehyung’s shirt, dry cough lurching your body forward that Taehyung tries to catch only to heave.

“I love you” you whisper, the both of you cornered. Nowhere to run.

The figure stood outside the office long gone, fire now out of their control. A wild beast that had no plans of stopping until it had chewed and gnawed at your home, until it had nothing to fuel it anymore, leaving behind piles of ash and broken dreams– charred bodies and guilty minds to the ones who had started this.

You flinch backwards when Taehyung’s desk folds in on itself, flames spitting out its joy as the planks of wood slowly char under the heat; a warning for your own destiny.

His fingers lace into the hair on the back of your head, pulling you into him, “And I love you. When the both of us are reborn, I will find you, and we can fall in love all over again” he manages, the flames looking like hellish wings behind his back, slowly licking at his shirt, sizzling the fabric– more chemicals sifting through the air and into your fragile lungs.

Taehyung curls further into you when the fire licks at his shoes, easily chewing through the leather, deft fingertips tracing up his legs, and over his body.

“Don’t say that” Your fingers loosen their grasp on his shirt as you heave for another breath, mind entirely gone as you spin, the world spinning with you. Your brain felt as though it were being flushed out with helium, pressure so much you think it might explode.

Your eyes squeeze shut.

And when you open again, Jimin’s there.

His eyes still wide with shock.

You feel bile rise up your throat at the sight of him, blood smeared across his perfect face, puncture still oozing red from his neck soaking through his shirt fully. Your floor is in no better shape, though you think there's as much of your own blood as there is his.

“Jimin?” you whisper, vision momentarily veiled by salty tears that fall down your cheeks like pitiful pearls, mixing with the crimson the drips from a gash in your head, dull ache migrating to behind your eyes.

“Jimin you have to wake up now. Please”

He doesn’t move, not when you hear footsteps from the other room– heavy boots that clatter against old wood– not when you call his name. Not when the front door creaks closed and the world is silent once more, or when your chest stutters out another breath and you feel another wave of blood gush out of your stomach, adding to the puddle below the both of you.

“Jimin” you call again, choking on your own sob, fists balling up, “Jimin, please don’t leave me. I’m scared”

You look into his eyes. Nothing. All signs of life spilt onto the floor.

In a sick and twisted way, you’re glad Jimin had gone before you.

You’d have hated it if he had to watch you dead on the bedroom floor while he slowly follows you. At least now you could be with him a little longer, even if you couldn’t tell him goodbye for the last time. Or tell him how much you love him, or how happy he’d made you, or how grateful you are.

So many words left unsaid, that you swallow back down with a sob. And they mix with the bile that singes your throat, so close to spilling onto the puddle of red as you make eye contact with your dead lover.

You drag your body through the blood on the floor, closer until your chest is pressed against Jimin’s and your body falls lax against him, arm slung over his side.

You press the palm of your hand against your open wound, what little hope you had left inside of you, the smallest voice whispering that maybe you could survive. Though somewhere deeper down you know that your soul will soon follow Taehyung’s, and now Jimin's too.

You push your head into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder, tangy, metallic blood staining your lips as you kiss over the tainted skin.

He was still warm, skin still very much his as your fingers skim over his back. Ever so gentle as though he would crack if you weren’t careful. And you would have gathered him up in your arms if you’d had the strength.

And at that final moment when it settles within your mind and your heart that your body can no longer hold onto the slither of life still inside of you– the easing thump of your heart mellowing inside your chest. You remember the little note Jimin left on his pillow for you to wake up to that morning.

“When you and I hug, our hearts are locked behind our ribcages and touch through our skin. Always beating in sync. And for as long as my heart beats beside yours, it will belong to you. For those moments we part, perhaps it falls out of sync, and when we reunite, my heart may just be reminded who it beats for. And we will be in sync once more ♡’

☆ﾟ thank you for reading!! reblogs are always appreciated, and please let me know what you think!!

permanent taglist: @m1sss1mp @supernoonanyc

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2-dsimp · 2 years ago

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Hi NightFlurry again!!

Thank you so much for loving my ideas. I'm an avid reader of your blog and love making my own stories; I always check if you have anything interesting to read or any cool art.

While I was reading your genshin yandere otome game, my brain started churning, and I thought to myself, 'If there's a yandere school au, why can't there be a yandere fantasy au as well' I'm so glad you love my work, I was afraid that it wasn't good enough...ToT Anyways, I'm trying to brainstorm some backgrounds for other characters, so far I'm working on Kazuha, Wanderer, Ei, Dainself, Diluc, Kaeya, and Zongli, but feel free to ask/request for any particular character!!

Also, I love it when people comment back on my work. It makes me feel so happy when I read each comment even if it's as lengthy as 4 paragraphs! So please feel free to comment! P.S. I'd also love to hear your opinions 2-dsimp!!

Bye NightFlurry!!

And thank you for blessing me with such good food o(≧v≦)o

I just came back from a jog so my mind is racing with ideas to share and add onto to the fantasy au from my pov! Firstly I’ll just list off the few possible candidates I can see vying for the readers hand in holy or unholy matrimony depending on what ending you get!

Itto the Terrible (He’s a dragon Oni )/Childe the Abyssal knight. but I’ll probably introduce them sometime later so for now I’ll officially announce…

Tyrant Prince! Scaramouche

He’s shunned by the royals and commoners alike. The royals find him to be unfit for succession of the queens throne simply because he was adopted by the shogun and to add insult to injury he had commoners blood running through his veins or so they thought.

As for the reason why the commoners held Tyrant prince! Scaramouche in such low regards was because of his crass and cold behavior towards them. Just imagine the look of fear, embarrassment, and shock the commoners had when he looked at them like they were mere ants, an insignificant existence that wasn’t befitting of his presence nor his attention. And treated them as such.

Although To be fair, Tyrant prince!Scaramouche wasn’t always that way. In his younger days of youth he used to be sociable and warm towards his subjects. But an incident which brought his downfall into the dark abyss of turmoil. That was done by the hands of one who he thought of as a true friend. Caused his heart to grow cruel and cold towards commoners and nobles as a whole.

To make matters worse his relationship with his mother was already strained to the point where only bitterness remained lingering on his tongue whenever he spoke of her.

Not only that he wasn’t the only one the shogun adopted being the meticulous woman she is she rounded up potential orphans that would carry on her legacy. The succession battle was nothing less then pretty since everyone who was an orphan knew the terrible conditions of those who lacked power. And so every son and daughter had the intention to kill anyone getting in there way.

With those factors Tyrant prince! Scaramouche made a promise to himself to never let anyone in as he was all he had left to salvage what remains of himself. Until he met you someone who reminded him so much of himself and yet the only difference was you were strong enough to try and free yourself from what chained you down. Instead of wallowing in self pity, hatred, and helplessness.

However, with your help he knows that the both of you could take over his kingdom via rebellion and claim revenge on the ones who wronged you both. While You deal with your shameless parents who’ve tried to sell you off into marriage with a fat old rich king from afar. Just for a quick buck to prevent the decline in their poor province.

He will execute any and all loose ends so he can truly be set free as his own person. With Tyrant prince! Scaramouche by your side it’s a guarantee that the two of you will govern his country with nobody to stand in the way of y’all’s powerful reign. All you have to do is accept that your his precious tyrant queen if not well he has his ways of convincing you otherwise. As he’s not the type to keep his hands clean…

“Isn’t the scenery beautiful my queen look at what we accomplished, now that we’re in power no one will be able to defy us nor deny us of our existence. Together we’re unstoppable— My dear why’re are you shedding your precious tears? Aren’t you happy that your family is dead, you wanted them alive you say? Haha you’re joking right? Well I suppose you’re not, I offer my utmost condolences my love but they were the ones who almost prevented us from being together. For that I couldn��t just exile them…No, for such a grave sin it ‘twas only natural that death was the only option available for them to truly repent for what they’ve done.

————/———————/———-

I might post doodles of him sometime later XD

#scaramouche x you #scaramouche imagines #yandere scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #genshin childe #ataraki itto #scaramouche scenarios #scaramouche x player #otome! yandere genshin impact #otome! yandere genshin #yandere fantasy addition #tyrant prince scaramouche #scaramouche drabble #genshin drabbles #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin impact

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jackdaw-sprite · 1 year ago

Text

Fic Author Self Rec

I got pinged by @murphy-kitt in the fic authors self rec (Thank you!) so here we are a couple of days later.

I actually only have 14 published works on AO3, and one of them is a collab so unlike some I don't have too many to be indecisive over! This did not keep me from being indecisive.

The Horologist's Paradox

Summary: A quiet little domestic lost time oneshot where Danny lives with Clockwork. That doesn't mean that everything is good. Clockwork in particular has some regrets.

Reasoning: This is my most recent complete fic, and there's a bit of a recency bias in my head. But also I love how I balanced the domesticity and Clockwork's inhuman nature in it, and finally managed to include some more of Clockwork's snark in a characterization that still made him care deeply about Danny and be soft with him. The build to Clockwork's fantasy of fixing Danny feels properly slow to me, and I loved writing it -- I wrote most of that fantasy in a single night, compared with a few hundred words here and there for the rest of it.

A confession: I decided on submitting the 'Danny discovers his insides are turning into clockwork' prompt for phight before writing this. The prompt got so far into my brain that I needed to write it (well,something related :)) myself. Well. More than I already had. I do have a lot of WIPs :D

Funerary Rites (ongoing)

Summary: Alternate portal incident. To save his parents' lives, Danny agrees to a deal with the fae who tends the veil after they rend a hole in it.

Reasoning: I'm happy with the writing thus far, but really this is more on my list because of how much I'm looking forward to writing the rest of it. Unlike everything else on this list, this is incomplete and very slow going -- the planned character interactions are difficult to write and it's only going to get worse as things, uh. Get worse. The outline for this thing is 13k words, about 7k of which is specifically for the incident in question. The moment I reread the outline it bores directly into my head again and inflicts me with more Thoughts.

Mare

Summary: Danny goes on a fetch quest to the moon. A ten years later fic, set in a spirit world au somewhat inspired by Natsume's book of friends.

Reasoning: While this fic ended up being about moving on, growing up, (not) letting go, and the fear of change it started as an excuse to just go completely nuts with description, which I consider one of my strong suits in writing. It shows! The pacing here is honey-slow but I still adore a lot of the description I used. I'm going to indulge in copying a scrap from the start, in fact:

At his left, the swells of hills and mountains began to sway, as the boughs of the forest covering it caught in a breeze. In the razor-edged light, the leaves gleamed silver and for long minutes it was as though Danny were flying between not one but two seas: one a mirror, and one of blades. In the real world, neither existed. The lunar soil was barren and dry. But Danny hadn't existed in the real world for a long time.

Cosmic Horror

Summary: Clockwork comforts Danny in the wake of the cloning incident. But Clockwork is not human, nor anything close to it, and his lair is vast and deep.

Reasoning: This was my first published fic for the fandom, and really I'm still fond of it! Again the description here is a strong point but it's less of a vivid spirit world situation and more of an eldritch god that loves Danny situation.

Solanum

Summary:

After she mentions that one of her tomatoes isn't doing well, Danny and Tucker decide to cheer Sam up by sneaking a replacement tomato plant into her greenhouse. It does not go well.

Short and sweet, at just under a thousand words.

Reasoning: Really I just like how light this was, and how fun! Most of my stuff is varying shades of fucked up and most of that is lost time. This is just Danny and Tucker meaning well but not really thinking things through, and not really knowing anything about plants.

As for tags... here are some no-pressure tags:

@gamma-radio-dp @strawberrycamel @reading-wanderer @datawyrms @seaglass-skies @echoghost1

#me talking #tag game #well sort of #danny phantom #long post

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wickedlyqueer · 1 year ago

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5, 14, 15, 18 for fanfic ask?

Aw thanks Carson! :D This got ramble-y, and I won't apologize.

5. What’s a fic idea you’ve had that you will never write?

Hm, there's the Holy Poly fic, but other than that...? Oh, okay I guess this is familiar to you and the people on discord, but recently I had this 1 am brainrot idea where Elphaba is dead, and Glinda is so distraught over it that she crafts an entire D&D map and embues it with magic, so they can both live there. Basically, Elphie doesn't realize they're in a simulation and that they might not even exist since they already died???

And while everybody in the discord was like "THAT'S FUCKED UP! WE'LL SUFFER! WRITE IT!" I had to explain... that I can't.

There's one (1) rule I follow and that's that a fic needs to have a cathartic ending. It can be sad or bittersweet, but I physically and emotionally cannot deal with an Elphaba who find outs that the person they love and care for the most is actively lying to them and has created a universe that isn't even real (!!!). Elphaba, fundamentally, would never ever trust Glinda after learning that. It would go beyond betrayal. It very much gave Glinda all the power and agency over Elphaba and it felt so nefarious and so wrong, that despite the chat hyping me up, I had to stick to my principles and refuse to ever touch the idea.

BUT. As you also know Carson, I did like certain aspects of that idea, so I let the idea sit in my brain for a bit and now that has turned into the multiverse fic, which I am excited about, has a far more expansive world than the other idea ever had, and does not consist that fucked up power balance.

TL;DR If I don't like a fic I let it marinate in my brain until the elements I like & do work find a place in a story I want to write and can envision.

14. If you could see one of your fics adapted into a visual medium, such as comic or film, which fan fic would you pick?

I find adaptations fascinating and I love visual mediums, so for most of my fics I can think of something. But for now let's say Smoke Covers Your Radiating Heart.

It's an 80s AU so I can easily see it be turned into a cheesy & messy & iconic 80s movie, bops and all!

15. How do you come up with titles for your fics/chapters?

Fuck if I know, honestly. I do like my titles to reflect the fic, so I always try to get the main "theme" of the fic somewhere in there. Like Smoke Covers Your Radiating Heart; in itself the title reflects how Glinda and Elphaba have quite some trouble showing how they feel about each other. They're hiding (even though a bit of smoke is never going to hide goddamn radiation (!!!).

But simultaneously there's some silly word association going on. The smoke refers to the amount of smoking that is happening in the fic (and generally in that time period). Radiating was a reference to the Dutch history that I've interwoven in the fic and the anti nuclear weaponry protest that Elphaba organizes. The heart obviously reflects gelphie's love and the "covering" I already explained. Just shake the words in your hand for a lil bit and voila; Smoke Covers Your Radiating Heart.

18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic?

Oh gosh, this is tough, because I don't really write memorable lines imo? I'm more focused on the scene and dialogue and if it blends together. Not whether I have the perfect sentence that's very quotable. But again, if I have to force myself and choose an answer, I really love this exchange from the Victorian one-shot:

“I don’t care,” Glinda breathed out shakingly. “I want to have and hold you, Elphie.” “Then have me in your dreams, your thoughts, your fantasies. The only place our love is allowed. That’s where you’ll find me.”

Ask me a fanfic question

#sam's asks #ask game #gelphie #wicked fanfic

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masked-disciple · 1 year ago

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Ok friend you have my curiosity where is this fic you speak of. I am SO ready to have my brain chemistry fundamentally changed

Start here. My recommendation is to read that, maybe read the rest of Turnabout NaNoWriMo, and if you want to know more after that, I can hand you some 200k of fic that is properly formatted with the interludes, because Ao3's formatting really doesn't work with the Sagiverse anthologies. (So what you see here is maybe like a quarter of what we've got. We have a lot, and also lots of art.)

Turnabout NaNoWriMo is the first of three-and-a-half anthologies I've written, and it's only after reading and enjoying all of them do I let people at my fiance's anthologies, which are excellent but a bit more private. (Turnabout Runaways, which was this year's NaNo challenge, is incomplete but at least 50k. I will be slowly working on it probably for a few months, and eventually it'll be done.)

These anthologies take place in a greater crossover AU we refer to as Sagiverse. It started in 2020 in Saint Seiya, and now hosts several different series, eight hundred some-odd characters, upwards of thirty different fantasy worlds (of which Earth is only one), and more plotlines than we can keep track of properly.

Here's the two-sentence pitch: seven hundred years ago, there was a giant war between various magical factions on Earth that ended in a mostly-forgotten pyrrhic victory and the gods choosing to seal magic away from the world. So magic began to slowly die out, and as of present day, magic is rarer and rarer, and mage society is dying out, but it's still holding on as best it can, until one day the gods finally allow magic to return.

Ace Attorney gets involved with this very very simply. Miles Edgeworth is a mage. To be specific, he's a necromage, one of the most powerful currently active on Earth. His father, Gregory Atticus Edgeworth, had never found proof of magic while he was alive. His mother... well, no one knows who his mother is, or anything about the man at all. After DL-6, Miles was taken in by MvK as a ward just as canon says, but the von Karmas themselves are magi of a kind. After DL-6, Atticus finds the proof of magic's existence that he's been looking for all along, and he is not going to leave his son and missing fiance alone in a world that so very much wants the both of them dead.

And so begins a thirty-five year trainwreck to put their wayward, way-finding family back together. They'll do it, no matter what it takes. It just turns out their family's a little bigger than they think it is.

The fic I linked pretty much opens with the identity of Miles' mother, which you learn pretty much as I did, because I didn't plan jack or shit, only let him tell me what was going on. You may raise an eyebrow at the canon ages, don't worry about that. We had to fix the timeline anyway (because the forensics tech was all twenty years out of date so we just changed the years to be twenty years earlier, setting DL-6 on December 28th 1981) so we just didn't pull him back as far. Atticus died at 39, his fiance was 33.

This is because when I first got into AA, I found the IS-7 picture of Gregory and Ray, and I sort of mistook 18-year-old Ray as Atticus' wife. My fiance pointed out the age gap, paused, and went "but they're cute so I'm sure we can make it work" and then we did. If you hesitate a bit on the ship but don't immediately hate the idea, I promise I can sell you on it. At the end of the day, everything comes back to Atticus and Ray's tragic romance. This I can promise you: it ends happily. We're just still writing everything in between.

Sagiverse!Ray is a pretty distinct character from canon!Ray, but they're close enough that if you like one you'll probably like the other. I gave him way more trauma and it's fun. :3c

If you're wondering what happens to other characters, I can answer that. Apollo is dead for a few months, Phoenix a little bit longer. Robot!Athena has Issues. Franziska changes her career from Interpol to Magica Underground mostly because it's a better use of her legal talents. Miles gets to be the chosen one and lead a war against one of his university friends who unfortunately (and semi-accidentally) stole Phoenix's corpse and ran away with it. (Phoenix is fine, don't worry about it.) Atticus gets to be a bounty hunter on the ghostroads with Mia and they do a lot of shooting MvK and causing problems. Ray, uh. Well, at least he only got shot in the head twice?

#asks #relicsongmel #like if i'm going insane in the tags on something AA that doesn't make sense #95% chance i'm talking about sagiverse #occasionally i check in with canon and go do some meta on that but mostly i stick to our au #but yeah if you let us do it we WILL rewrite your brain and you'll have to live with it #and YES i am trying to get a wiki up because it's big and complicated! i'm just dealing with finals and so much work ;~;

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darkpoisonouslove · 2 years ago

Note

For fic writer asks: 1, 3, 10, 15, 25, 26, 31, 45, 46, 49 :)

Thanks! :D

1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

I'm thinking either Imitation Play or The Power of Peace. Both are pretty similar - have an excessive amount of worldbuilding details, dry humping at inopportune times with the bonus of unconventional magic being involved, internal struggle that is worked out through the kind-of-smut and leads to an altered sense of self, asshole!Valtor and a Griffin who probably enjoys asshole!Valtor a little too much than strictly advisable. I feel like those are all staples of my writing. Both are also conceptually strong if I do say so myself. Imitation Play might be a little more so, though. I had the title before I had even started writing the story and I think it's reflective of every aspect of the story.

3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

Angst, hate-love, hate sex, porn with feelings, alternate universes, eye color symbolism, too many goddamn metaphors, moral dilemmas, long-term relationships, repressed feelings, impossible to repress feelings, love making things complicated and probably a whole lot of other things.

10. How do you decide what to write?

Lmaooo, I don't have any control whatsoever over this. It's not so much a decision as much as it is just going with the flow. I just ask myself "Do I feel like writing today?" And if I manage to answer that with a yes or at least a "no, but at least I can try it and maybe I'll put myself in the mood", then I start going through my recently touched projects. If none of those makes my brain go "That's the one!", then I try going through my notes to see what other ideas I have. Sometimes that whole process is unnecessary, though, because I get an idea for a WiP or for a new story and the inspiration from that idea carries me the rest of the way. I have learned not to try to force a WiP that doesn't want to cooperate with me because that just leaves me with negative feelings for the fic in question and makes returning to it that much harder.

15. What’s your favorite AU that you’ve written?

Evil. Evil, evil, evil question. Am I gonna have to go through all of them now?... Nah, it's Sparks of Life. Granted, the reworked version of Sparks of Life that only exists in my head so far but it is Sparks of Life nonetheless. I adore magic and fantasy but do you know what I adore even more? Modern day versions of fantasy characters. Sparks of Life was my first modern day AU for Winx, I believe (I'm too lazy to check) and that's probably why I fell in love with it so thoroughly. Well, that and the fact that the first part of it I wrote already had Griffin and Valtor being married. It doesn't really have a plot. It's just vibes and character interactions but that makes it comforting because as long as I stick to the overarching but very vague theme, I can just add parts to it however and whenever I please.

25. What other websites or resources do you use most often when you write?

Online thesaurus, online dictionaries, my dad's old Bulgarian-English and English-Bulgarian physical dictionaries, Google Translate for when I'm too lazy to pull out the physical dictionaries (but I will if Google Translate fails me (which is a not so rare occurrence), the OneLook Thesaurus and Reverse dictionary for when I remember what a word means but not what the word IS.

26. Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue?

I've actually written fics with no dialogue but those were short and inspired by songs and it was more of an inner monologue of the PoV characters. I would pick fic with only dialogue. I believe I could pull that off (depending on what you're trying to write, of course, but still).

31. What’s your ideal fic length to write?

Something that can be finished in one sitting, lol. But considering that lately my brain capacity is not what it used to be, finishing stories in one sitting isn't very realistic. I'm not particular about "ideal length". Based on the majority of my fics, my ideal length is 3-5k words. There are stories that require a lot more words if you want to do them justice, though. Long fic certainly has its many challenges but I always have something to add to a story so while I came up short when the actual writing is concerned, most of my ideas run pretty long.

45. What’s something you’ve improved on since you started writing fic?

The flow of the story. I used to rush through parts without even realizing I was doing it. I didn't have a good grasp on how a story is supposed to flow and would make jarring shifts in tone or plot points. I like to think I've gotten much better at avoiding those.

Another thing is character motivations. Looking at my earlier fics, I can see that the characters were doing what they were doing just because I wanted them to regardless of whether it made sense for them to do it from a logistical PoV or from PoV of their characterizations. I really think I'm starting to figure out how to keep their motivations consistent and believable.

46. Do you prefer writing on your phone or on a computer (or something else)? Do you think where you write affects the way you write?

Typing on my laptop is so much more comfortable and faster than typing on my phone but I would write a story draft on my phone in a pinch. The only difference between those is in the number of typos I make. It definitely increases when I'm typing up a story on my phone. Otherwise, I don't think the device influences the quality or layout of the work. Sometimes, though, I feel that I will go insane if I don't write my story on paper. It's just a feeling and I tend to always write my longest fics on my laptop but for short(ish) one-shots, I usually use a notebook for the first draft (the Griffin x Marion fic I'm working on I wrote on paper first but Imitation Play was written directly on my laptop). That decreases the number of typos usually.

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

As I mentioned above, I am currently working on this Griffin x Marion fic. I finished it the other day and the plan was to post it yesterday but pushing myself to write 2000 words in one day left me quite tired and I knew that last stretch I wrote would need a lot of editing so I decided to do what's best for the story. I am more than willing to share a snippet from the more polished parts though!

Figuring out Griffin’s play was the most crucial part of this visit to Cloud Tower. Oritel would have agreed, would have shown the same initiative in tailing the witch that Marion did. He would have been the only one who would have taken her intrigue with this perfect opportunity seriously.

Griffin’s stance on the politics around dark magic and the people who used it was clearly pronounced. It hadn’t taken Marion much effort at all to stir the conversation with her mother’s counselors to reveal the most scandalous information they’d heard about Griffin. All rumor, of course, but stemming from a solid foundation of the witch’s own making.

Her particle manipulation powers and her prowess with magic relating to all manner of heavenly bodies had raised more than concerns as soon as she’d altered the trajectory of the biggest meteor shower in the known universe.

The Dragon Scales rained harmlessly over the Magic Dimension riding the ripples of space currents believed to be the Great Dragon shivering and shedding her skin. Over thousands of years no scholars, scribes and astronomers had succeeded in deciphering the pattern behind the phenomenon.

Griffin had not only predicted it successfully this once, but also influenced its course. To the point where the meteors had blazed through the atmosphere of several planets leaving behind a fiery trail in the sky, small craters and hard rock on the ground, and not a shred of mysticism.

Griffin’s appointment as the newest addition to the Cloud Tower faculty had stirred unrest all over the Magic Dimension, all of its leaders left to ask what would happen if she decided to repeat her magic show but this time take it further. Marion suspected that had been the whole point of it – to make all the monarchs aware of the force they’d be facing if they decided to go against witchkind. The effect had rippled further, of course, other dark magic users who shared Griffin’s views witnessing it as well.

Learning who’d reached out to her would be of great use to Marion in light of her mother’s refusal to consider anyone else’s power but their own, given to them as a birthright. Even in the face of a magical show that would’ve exhausted Marion’s own powers to the point of inducing magic depletion syndrome for the next few days.

Instead of examining the pattern of odd and worrisome magic thefts all over the dimension the Queen of Domino had preferred to focus on Marion’s interest in Griffin and had set out to present it to anyone that noticed it as dutiful yet unfounded concern over state affairs, as overzealous protectiveness. She may as well have called it paranoia to Marion’s own face. In doing so she’d only left Marion one option – pursue it to the very end.

Send me fic asks

#my writing #my fanfic #my wips #griffin x marion #snippet #fanfic snippet #excerpt #ask #her-majesty-wears-jeans

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uozlulu · 2 years ago

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IwtV AMC fic. The Mortal and the Vampires. PG-13.

Character(s)/Relationship(s) Armand, Daniel, Louis; Armand/Daniel, Armand/Louis, Louis/Daniel, Armand/Louis/Daniel Genre Fairytale/Fantasy/Slash/Vampire Rating PG-13 Word Count 11,315 Disclaimer As this is fanfiction, I do not hold copyright to the source material(s) nor do I claim that I do. This is for free entertainment purposes only. Summary A mortal met two vampires in a gay bar in San Francisco one night fifty years ago. If they were kind, the vampires would have screwed him and left him be, but Armand and Louis chose Daniel, and that was at times as much of a curse as the dark gift Daniel once sought. A kind of modern fairytale set within the universe of the AMC show. Warning(s) spoilers up through season 1 episode 7, spoilers for the remaining events in Interview with the Vampire, inspired by spoilers for The Queen of the Damned, inspired by spoilers for The Vampire Armand, mention of spoilers for The Vampire Armand, set during the AIDS epidemic, set during the COVID-19 pandemic, chronic illness, consensual blood drinking, toxic relationship, addiction, food consumption, alcoholism, nausea, blood-fueled eating disorder, mention of taking illicit drugs, language, mind manipulation, brief hospital setting and paraphernalia, medical distress, mention of sex but no explicit descriptions, mention of vampire attacks, major character undeath Notes I read a fic a while back that made me liken Armand/Daniel to the fairytale “Beauty and the Beast.” After a few days of that thought rattling around in my brain, I created this fic, which eventually went in more of a poly than pairing direction. This isn’t a straight up 1:1 “Beauty and the Beast” AU, but more like a kind of fairytale that exists within the world of the AMC show that incorporates a few plot points reminiscent of the fairytale.

I’ve seen the television show and read the original IwtV almost twenty years ago. Every spoiler I’ve learned for the rest of the series I’ve learned through my friends, book synopsis, cultural osmosis, and being a part of the fandom since starting the TV show. That’s why this fic is based on spoilers even though I don’t know all spoilers, so apologies if this is a bit of a telephone game via my swiss cheesy memory that’s probably forgotten things. Luckily, the show is an AU, so this is a bit of a free real estate situation anyway.

AO3 link

The Mortal and the Vampires

Once, long ago on a cold fall night, a mortal met two vampires in a gay bar in San Francisco. Daniel was high and looking for booze. Yet, his mind was still inquisitive and drew Louis to him. It was Louis’ turn to choose whom to bring back to his apartment and Armand had no objections.

If they were kind, the vampires would have just fucked Daniel within an inch of his life and left him be. Yet, Louis needed to talk about his life and Daniel kept asking questions and kept changing the mini-cassette tapes in his recorder. When the interview ended in violence, Armand threw Daniel at the door and the boy fled.

Louis pocketed the mini cassettes. “He didn’t even listen.”

“He’s mortal. He just heard be young and fuck forever.” Armand watched Daniel run through the alley from the window. He could not look away until the boy disappeared from sight.

Louis looked around his apartment. The paper peeled from the walls. The table laid in ruins. His life replayed through his mind. “What am I doing?”

“Instilling the fear he lacks.” Armand stepped away from the window. He knelt down by the remnants of the table and picked through the pieces and then he stood straight. “He has the tapes.”

“Let the boy keep them.” Louis licked his lips and let his mind wander to places far away from his pockets. “That boy is going to run all the way to New Orleans.” He sighed and then held Armand’s gaze. “You know, I’m not over it. Over thirty years and I’m not over it.”

“You don’t have to be over it,” Armand said.

“I need to make peace with it – with all of it,” Louis said. “I need some time to myself.” He left swiftly.

The faucet in the kitchen dripped steadily. Music played loudly from another unit barely muffled by the thin walls. Armand took to the streets. He rose on the breeze between buildings like a kite. He finally settled down in front of Daniel who managed to run farther than Armand thought someone who reeked of that much vice could.

Daniel looked up at Armand, noting how Armand’s eyes glowed in the darkness of the alley. Daniel swallowed and could not find his voice.

“I need your tapes,” Armand said.

“Then turn me,” Daniel said.

“This isn’t a negotiation.” Armand hauled Daniel to his feet effortlessly and reached into his jacket pockets. There were only a few condoms. Jeans pockets turned up a wallet and a wrinkled handkerchief. “Where are they?”

Daniel checked his own pockets and cursed under his breath. “On the table. Fuck.” He needed those tapes. “My recorder too.” He did not have enough money to replace that.

Armand let him go. Daniel managed to find his footing and looked off in the direction of Louis’ apartment. He sighed and started walking.

“They aren’t at the apartment anymore.” Armand followed.

Daniel stopped walking. “I need my shit. I’ve got work to do.”

“Louis has them,” Armand said. “He’s left the city.”

Daniel slowed. “Then I’ll go to New Orleans and research it myself.”

“So you can run to Lestat with your collar open and beg him to turn you?” Armand stopped at Daniel’s side. “If you become a vampire, you’ll never feel the sun again.”

“Fewer sunburns,” Daniel said.

“One day you’ll wake and everyone you hold dear will be dead. No one will remember what it was like when you called this place home. You’ll tell a tale of how a vampire stole your mini-cassette recorder and everyone will stare with a blank look of pure ignorance.” Armand held Daniel’s gaze.

“My family disowned me, and my friends are either dead or gone.” Daniel did not look away. “I already have no one.”

Armand ran his tongue along his teeth. He studied Daniel a long moment. He could not explain it, but he did not want to be rid of the boy. Not yet. “Then I’ll show you what you seek. You will become my shadow. You will live with me, hunt with me, and observe this life you crave for what it is.”

“And if I still want it?” Daniel asked.

“Then I’ll kill you,” Armand said. His fangs caught the nearby streetlight.

Daniel’s heart quickened and then immediately calmed. “Better than dying in a jungle.”

Armand led them to the airport where he arranged a private flight away from San Francisco and to new horrors.

Time passed, Armand showed Daniel nights full of violence and passion. Daniel spent his days trying to chase stories and deadlines. When Armand woke one day, he found Daniel in the bedroom neither of them slept in at the desk in front of an open window asleep amid his notes and manuscript for an upcoming newspaper article. A small breeze played with Daniel’s curls and a strip of sunlight from the barely parted curtains illuminated each strand it touched.

Armand kept his distance, but his gaze lingered on Daniel for a long time. Somewhere deep down inside of him, he almost remembered the heat of the sun amidst a field of wheat, plentiful and tall. He could almost smell it drying in the sun. Almost touch them. He slipped deeper into the condo away from the sun and the wind. He curled up in the corner of the sofa and turned on the television.

When Daniel woke, the sun was low but not setting yet. He stared at his typewriter and sighed. He had half a paragraph and a bunch of smashed keys. He pulled the paper from the typewriter and put it in a pile of other scrap paper in similar states. A muffled murmur from another room caught his attention. Daniel stretched and followed it.

It was not unusual for Daniel to find Armand awake before sunset. Some days he found Armand making absolutely vile concoctions in the kitchen, reveling in the bright colors they created. Oher days, like today, Armand gazed at the world through the television while sitting curled up on the sofa. A series of wood ducklings jumped out of a tall stump and splashed down into the water below one by one while a soft voice narrated. Armand pulled his legs close to his chest and rested his chin on his knees. The only light in the room came from the television.

“You’re going to ruin your eyes watching TV in the dark.” Daniel settled down in the opposite corner of the sofa.

Armand’s eyes remained fixed on the screen as it transitioned to a majestic view of the sky across the clearing in a forest. “I can sleep off any damage.”

The documentary continued to play. Traffic rumbled outside. The sun would not set for a long while. Daniel’s gaze settled on Armand. Armand kept watching the nature program. Finally, the program ended and a donation pleas began. Armand started flipping channels.

“I’ve been wondering,” Daniel said, “if you drank my blood after I dropped acid, would you also get high?”

Armand stopped flipping the channels when the donation drive ended and a new program began. “I’ve never gotten high or drunk from blood.”

Daniel watched the camera pan across a long, majestic mountain range. He looked at a clock nearby. They still had a long wait for sunset. “Maybe your body heals too fast for it.” He paused. “If you took something and I drank your blood, would I get high even if you didn’t?”

Armand blinked and glanced at Daniel. His brain already seemed to turn behind his eyes. “Do you want to drink my blood?”

“Don’t answer a question with a question,” Daniel said. “Can you get high?”

“I’ve never tried,” Armand said. “Do you want to drink my blood?”

The television continued to flicker. Traffic continued to rumble.

Daniel licked his lips. “Will it turn me?”

“No, but I’ve heard sometimes mortals become ill.” Armand uncurled his legs and set his feet on the floor but remained sitting on the sofa. He turned off the television. He never let a mortal drink his blood before, and he wanted to know what would happen. The plague was now inconsequential and modern medicine had a cure for so many things. Armand doubted an incurable disease would be an issue and even if it was, it might be fascinating to watch someone succumb to it.

“I have a strong stomach,” Daniel said. He licked his lips and leaned closer, letting the tips of his fingers slide along Armand’s neck. His skin was smooth and firm. Daniel’s bitten nails definitely would not pierce it. Cutting Armand open with his pocketknife like a package seemed weird. “I don’t have fangs.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Armand said. He pierced his vein with his nails. Blood gushed forth, sliding down his neck and across his collarbone. His heart beat quickened in anticipation.

Daniel leaned forward and licked the trail with his tongue. Armand’s blood was viscous and florally sweet. Daniel followed the path up to the puncture marks and drank eagerly. His hand gripped Armand’s shoulder, keeping him pinned against the corner of the sofa.

Daniel came up for air and a series of blood streaked kisses. Clothing found its way to the floor. A light turned on seemingly by itself. The sunlight faded from the sky and night arrived. The walls absorbed their moans.

It was closer to dawn than midnight. Daniel’s heart pounded in his ears. He tried to join the crowd moving along the sidewalks as nonchalantly as possible, but everyone kept looking at him. He took a few deep breaths and almost jumped when he saw a set of familiar glowing eyes watching him from the shadows not far away. “Mr. de Pointe du Lac.”

Louis smiled slightly. “I could hear your heart and mind approaching. You can call me Louis now that the interview is over.” He looked past Daniel a moment but saw no signs of Armand.

Daniel tried to get his breathing and heart rate to go back to normal. He could not stop thinking about the person Armand killed. He did not want to go back to the condo. He did not know where he should go.

“Do you have a place to stay?” Louis asked.

“Not tonight,” Daniel said.

“Come with me,” Louis said, “but if you demand to be turned, I will throw you out or kill you myself.”

Daniel nodded. He followed Louis through a series of alleyways to some of the cheapest housing in the city. Louis’ studio apartment had barely enough room for two bookshelves, a coffin, a radio, a love seat, and a small table with four chairs. Louis pulled a heavy curtain over the window.

“I can only offer water,” Louis said and gestured for Daniel to sit at the table. “I’d let you cook one of the rats from this building, but they feast on poison.”

Daniel sat on one of the chairs. “So you can drink their blood even if they’ve been poisoned?”

“I’m already dead. As long as the blood I consume isn’t also dead, I can drink all I like.” Louis set the water on the table.

“So only veins? No blood bags?” Daniel asked.

��If it’s not expired, a blood bag will work, but it tastes like the bag,” Louis said.

One of the neighbors woke and their radio began to play loudly through the walls. Daniel’s stomach rumbled. If he went home, there would be coffee and maybe a left over bagel. He could also drink Armand’s blood. Daniel’s thoughts paused. He probably should not want to do that again. It started as a sex thing and then it slowly became a daily thing. He had not had any of Armand’s blood since early yesterday morning after they returned from a hunt.

Louis frowned at the imagery and thoughts Daniel’s mind projected. It was a year since the interview. He wondered why Daniel’s name had not appeared in publication in all that time. Now he suspected why. “When was the last time you submitted an article?”

Daniel finished his water. His heart and lungs were calm now, but his mind kept hopping between Armand’s blood and the hunt tonight. “I don’t know…” He thought a long moment. “February? Maybe? The one about someone going around draining cows of blood. I had to pretend I don’t know vampires exist.” He fidgeted a little on his chair to distract his brain. “I keep coming up with stories but my typing must not be good anymore because they keep getting rejected.” He needed to stop drinking before he wrote, but alcohol filled the void Armand’s blood left behind especially when Daniel would try to leave like tonight.

Neither Louis nor Daniel spoke for a long time. The radio continued to play from the other unit. Someone pounded loudly on the floor above them trying to silence the noise. Daniel’s fingers slid along the glass. He watched the fingerprints appear and disappear. “Armand ate a kid today. I mean not a kid-kid, but some high schooler I think.” He frowned. “I mean there are so many terrible people out there….” Although if Armand ate the wrong bad guy that could just start city-wide violence.

“Do you think farmers stop to contemplate who the lamb they slaughter was in life?” Louis asked.

“I dunno… I would,” Daniel said. His gaze shifted to Louis. “They have to choose which sheep get to make more sheep, don’t they?” He stifled a yawn. “So they should choose wisely.”

Birds began to make noise outside, already looking for scraps of food left behind on the streets. Louis leaned back in his chair. “We can share the coffin. I’ll keep the lid open today.”

“Is it safe for you if it’s open?” Daniel asked.

“If I close it, you’ll suffocate in your sleep,” Louis said.

Daniel nodded and followed Louis to the coffin. Louis got in first and Daniel got in second. There was barely room for both of them, but somehow they fit with some adjustment. Louis’ body was cold but seemed to warm slightly the longer they laid together. Daniel’s eyes closed. He did not register falling asleep.

Coffins made for decent beds and kinky little sex closets upon waking. Daniel left Louis’ apartment satiated but also starving. He returned to Armand and began another year of breaking up and making up spanning many cities. Daniel slept at odd hours and in odd places. Meals became a blur of cigarettes, coffee, and whatever strange concoction Armand placed in front of him. Daniel could still taste the warmed greens with rat’s blood Armand gave him before Daniel stormed out of the apartment.

The rat’s blood should have been Armand’s blood. Daniel drank it more than once a day when they were together now. Everything else tasted terrible in comparison.

Daniel leaned against a payphone in Paris debating if he should page Armand and go home. Daniel’s wallet and stomach were empty. His mini-cassette tapes were full, but his deadlines long overdue. He could not remember the last time he ate, the last time he wrote, or the last time he published. Somehow, the best thing he ever wrote was still his piece on the pollution of the rivers that he did a few months before he met the vampires three years ago.

Daniel slowly unhooked the pay phone. He put the francs he found abandoned on the street into the machine. He felt eyes on him and dropped the phone when he spotted Louis standing beside him. Daniel cursed under his breath and pulled the phone up by its cord. “Hey.”

Louis studied Daniel a moment. Daniel’s hands trembled and he seemed unable to stop shivering despite his leather jacket, which was too large for him now. Louis looked around at the buildings nearby, eyeing the one he knew Armand liked best. ‘I’m taking our boy to that place,’ he thought deliberately at Armand. He turned to Daniel. “Get your coins back. Let’s go to a café.”

Daniel opened his mouth to decline but changed his mind. He pressed a button on the pay phone and his francs returned. “I’m not really hungry.”

“You just think you aren’t,” Louis put a hand across his shoulders for a few steps and then led them the same café Armand took Daniel the first time they visited Paris two years ago. Louis and Daniel took a small table with four chairs. The waiter arrived promptly, exchanged greetings, and left them with menus.

Daniel glanced through the menu. Everything sounded bland or dull compared to Armand’s blood. His stomach rumbled at the thought. He ran a hand through his hair and then froze. His attention immediately latched onto Armand as Armand headed over to them and sat in one of the empty chairs between Louis and Daniel.

“You should have just let him page me,” Armand said.

“He needs to eat actual food,” Louis said.

Daniel’s eyes did not leave Armand. “When do I drink?”

The waiter returned, checked to see if they were ready to order, and brought Armand a menu. Without any orders ready, the waiter left for other tables.

Armand watched Daniel. Under the strings of lights, Daniel’s eyes cast shadows and the skin seemed taut against his cheeks. His clothing hung off him strangely, and he kept shivering despite the hot evening. “You can drink later,” Armand said. “Eat something first.”

Daniel eyed him and sighed. “You know this isn’t what I’m hungry for,’ he thought very strongly.

“Later,” Armand said.

When the waiter returned, Daniel ordered the same strawberry dessert he had with Armand the first time they came to this café. Louis ordered a sandwich and Armand ordered coffee. While they waited for the orders, Louis glanced at Armand and thought, ‘He’s dying.’

‘I know,’ Armand thought in a hiss.

Music played nearby. Daniel focused on it to avoid thinking about the void in his stomach or the blood in Armand’s veins.

‘What are you going to do when he catches that disease?’ Louis asked.

Armand frowned. He heard the whispers through vampire telepathy recently. He thought he could escape the disease in France, but many mentioned it starting to spread here too. Another plague was coming in the next few years, this time borne on blood and easily passed from vampires to mortals if a mortal drank vampire blood.

‘You’ve turned him into a vampire without actually turning him,’ Louis thought.

Armand hissed quietly in warning.

Daniel looked at them curiously. Before he could ask, the food arrived. Louis and Armand pushed their dishes towards Daniel’s section of the table.

Daniel stared at the food unmoving. The sandwich was fresh. The coffee smelled fragrant. The dessert looked perfect. He knew that he should want to eat the desert the most. He liked it back when he joked about the first Paris trip feeling like some kind of honeymoon. Now he could barely remember how the dessert should taste.

“I’m not hungry for this.” Daniel’s stomach remained decidedly silent at the thought of anything but Armand’s blood.

“You will be when you eat it,” Louis said and set a spoon down on the plate with the dessert.

‘Maybe if I had some blood, I could,’ Daniel thought as loud as he could.

Armand held his gaze. ‘Later. Eat.’

Daniel eyed Armand and scooped up a strawberry with his spoon. He put it entirely in his mouth and chewed. It was fresh and sweet. It was floral and somewhat enticing. Daniel ate a few more bites of the dessert and then his stomach lurched. His grip tightened on his spoon. He looked up at the lights. He managed to keep the food down and not vomit. He sighed and drank a good portion of the coffee in front of him. That managed to settle his stomach barely.

Armand tensed. This was not the first time he saw Daniel react to food like this. This was the first time he saw it happen with food that Armand had not tried to make. “Daniel –”

“I’m fine,” Daniel said. The lights seemed to make him paler and gaunter. “I’m just not hungry.”

Armand’s thumb stroked his other hand. He pried into Daniel’s mind, but every other thought was blood instead of the next new article or curiosities about the people sitting nearby. Armand’s jaw tensed. “Let’s go home.” He made eye contact with their waiter, obtained the bill, and left cash on the tray when it arrived.

The vampires rose from their chairs. Daniel sighed and followed. Once they were away from eavesdroppers, Louis bid them goodbye. He was still on his personal journey. Armand and Daniel continued to the apartment Armand rented near the cafe. As they walked, a vampire thought so loudly Armand could not tune them out.

‘My mortal lover is gone,’ the vampire mourned. ‘Even the mortals know nothing. They ween to the hospital and never returned.’

‘It took a family not long ago, the same symptoms,’ another said.

‘We aren’t dying from it, so I don’t fucking care!’ someone growled. ‘Shut up about it already or think quieter!’

Armand licked his lips and entered the apartment. He slipped off his shoes and they rested neatly near the door. Daniel kicked his off haphazardly. With a thought, Armand moved them with his mind into place.

“Is it later now?” Daniel asked.

“Almost,” Armand said. He led the way to the bedroom. Choices swirled in his mind.

Daniel pulled his shirt over his head and cast it to the floor. It shot off towards the hamper within seconds.

Armand could see Daniel’s ribs against his flesh. He could map out tendons and bone throughout Daniel’s body. Daniel did not stop shivering. His stomach rumbled loudly. Armand reached out and pressed his fingers to Daniel’s forehead as a formality more than a necessary gesture. “Sleep.” Daniel’s eyes closed and his body fell forward into Armand’s arms. Armand held him tight. Daniel still shivered even in his sleep. His heart did not beat as strongly as it should. His stomach kept rumbling.

If Armand turned Daniel, he would no longer be able to listen to Daniel’s thoughts. If Armand did not turn him, how long would it take the new plague to kill Daniel? Or, would Daniel starve to death before that? How long until Daniel’s mind ceased to exist on Earth? Could vampire blood even sustain him any longer?

Blood fell from one of Armand’s eyes, creating a trail down his cheek. He looked at an undetermined point across the room. He should turn Daniel. He could do it right here and now. He could suffer the silence but see Daniel thrive. Or, Armand could keep feeding Daniel, tethering Daniel to his side, and always be one-step away from a death Armand might be too far away to prevent when it finally happened. He hated it. All of it.

Armand peered into Daniel’s dreams, finding a room where blood oozed from the ceiling and walls and saturated a carpet that squished with every step. Daniel stood naked in the dream room, unable to touch or drink, wasting away in agony.

Armand left the dream. His grip on Daniel tightened. A terrible but doable horrible third option surfaced in his mind. Armand licked his lips and ran his fingers through Daniel’s curls. His eyes glowed in the darkness. He imagined barriers strong as steel and tall as cliffs setting up in Daniel’s mind, wrapping around all of Daniel’s memories of Armand, his blood, Louis, and the vampire life. Armand reinforced the barrier with concrete and wire, creating a terrible capsule and envisioned it tucked away in the furthest recesses of Daniel’s mind where no light could reach.

Armand held his breath and peered into Daniel’s dreams again. There was no more blood. Daniel drifted down the Seine on a small boat, staring up at the stars just as Daniel and Armand did the first time they visited Paris together. A woman sat beside Daniel, her hair a strange mix of colors, a figment of Daniel’s imagination.

Armand’s mind slipped out of Daniels’ dream and his fingers out of Daniel’s hair. He adjusted Daniel in his arms so he could carry him. There was a hospital not far away. He could leave Daniel there and when Daniel woke, the doctors would know what to do.

Once Daniel was in a room and started to undergo treatment for dehydration, Armand fled into the night.

When Daniel woke in the hospital days later, he was almost too sick to speak let alone think. His brain could not focus. He could barely understand when people spoke to him no matter their language or accent. After two weeks, his mind cleared, his health improved, and after another week, he could finally leave the hospital. The staff told him a beautiful young man brought him there one night and paid for his bill. The description matched no one Daniel could remember.

Daniel found a pay phone and dialed the only number he had memorized. He waited for them to call him back. When the pay phone rang, he was surprised when a man answered. “I’m trying to call,” Daniel paused and his brain seemed to shudder to a halt, “my wife…?” He paused. “Her name is Alice.” Even as he said it, a part of him did not feel confident about a single word he said.

Far away in another country, Armand did not speak immediately. He peeked at Daniel’s mind finding dissonant chaos as if Daniel’s mind was trying to patch over what Armand sealed away in the box. Armand finally spoke, “I represent her.”

Daniel blinked. “For what?”

“Legal matters,” Armand said, improvising as he went, “for your divorce.”

“What?” Daniel looked around, but there were no answers in the buildings, traffic, birds, and people nearby.

“You’re divorced,” Armand’s voice seemed to echo in Daniel’s mind. “You must have gotten so wasted after you signed the papers that you went to Paris afterwards.”

A cold sensation dripped in Daniel’s brain and sent a shudder down his spine to his toes. “I see,” he murmured, barely a whisper.

Armand licked his lips and continued in the same echoey voice, “You will never contact her again. You will find,” he paused, “someone else.”

Daniel felt another shudder. He nodded and then realized Armand could not see him. “Okay. Alright.” He paused, uncertain why he lingered on the line.

Armand hated this. He managed a whisper, “Goodbye, Daniel.”

“Bye,” Daniel said. He hung up the pay phone. It spit out his change. It was not enough to call his editor if his editor would even speak to him again. Daniel sighed and shuffled off down the street.

Half the world away, Armand stared at his phone a long moment as the dial tone echoed. He was alone. He had half a mind to fling himself into the sunlight in the morning.

Years passed. Lestat became a rock star and all whispers and rumors of Louis’ interview in the vampire community ceased. Armand tuned into Daniel’s thoughts regularly and spied on him whenever he was near. Daniel got married, had children, and hit every deadline on time. He published in respected magazines and journals. He appeared on news programs. Armand grew dusty and listless. He flung himself into the sunlight one afternoon and only ended up dooming the mortals he met that day to vampirism later.

Years later, Armand stood in front of a wall of televisions at a mall department store clutching a new video camera in a bag. All of the televisions displayed the same news network where Daniel explained his latest investigation to a reporter. Daniel’s eyes and hair shone in the studio lights. His skin no longer stretched taut across his bone and his hands were steady and strong. It was fifteen years since Daniel almost died in Paris.

“Our boy has gone places,” Louis said, seemingly materializing at Armand’s side.

The segment ended and Armand’s gaze turned to Louis. Slowly the televisions in the display turned off one by one as a voice over intercom system announced the store would close in ten minutes.

Louis smiled slightly. “I did a lot of thinking. I figured some things out. I think I know what I want from this eternity, at least for now.”

“What?” Armand asked as if he could not read Louis’ thoughts easily. He wanted to hear Louis say it aloud.

Louis smiled slightly and stepped closer. He put his fingers on Armand’s face and kissed him in the empty display room. “You.”

They hunted together that night, rekindling their partnership and reaffirming their bond. The decades passed and they secured a building in Dubai and took up residence in its penthouse with all but one window treated to block the sun’s UV rays. They took on mortals as servants who swore allegiance in the hopes of a dark gift that would never come.

One morning just as the sun pierced the horizon, Louis set his e-reader in his lap and said, “I want to invite our boy here.”

Armand paused, his finger hovering over the video editing software controls on his iPad screen. “It’s a global plague year.”

“I know,” Louis gazed at the memoir open on his e-reader a moment, “but our boy is dying. You know this. You already hacked his medical files and consulted one of the foremost authorities on Parkinson’s disease.”

Armand’s iPad screen timed out. He did not look away from Louis. “You want to turn him.”

“He begged me to when we met and I think he’s earned it,” Louis said. “The word would be emptier without him in it. That’s why you saved him, isn’t it,” Louis paused, “‘Alice?’”

Armand’s thumb stroked the edge of his iPad. He did not know why Daniel’s brain reorganized their time blood drinking into getting high together or where that concept of some hideous two-toned eyebrow came from. The next time Armand sealed someone’s memories away, he would influence the story their brain told afterwards. “Daniel was dying.”

“And you couldn’t let go of his mind or curse him.” Louis set his e-reader aside. “I know your heart as screwed up and needy as it can be.” He paused in thought. “I’ll have to ask for no third parties so his editor won’t pry.”

Armand set his iPad down and stood. He stepped into the center of the sitting room and observed it, his eyes following the flow of the room from the floor to the bookshelves on the ceiling. He needed a way to spy and participate in the interview. “We could make this place your hermitage. You already almost treat it as such. No e-readers where Daniel can see, no trips outside when he can know about them. We will all wear black.”

Louis’ attention stayed on Armand as Armand moved about the room as he spoke.

“I will become one of the servants and remain in the room, bringing food and other necessities, always waiting to return the tray so my presence won’t be questioned. I’ll disguise myself with brown contacts and gloves.” Armand paused. “I wonder how long it will take him to realize I’m not mortal.”

Louis’ lips quirked into a smile. “Until you snap and visit your bookshelves.”

Armand’s face relaxed into a placid expression and he spoke with reverence, “As you say, Mr. de Pointe du Lac.”

Louis snorted and then changed his demeanor to match, letting his voice become more even, more authoritative, drawing from his life long ago in New Orleans. “As I say,” he paused.

“Rashid,” Armand said.

“As I say, Rashid,” Louis said. He got up from the sofa.

They headed to their rom still plotting their charade.

One afternoon almost fifty years since the gay bar in San Francisco, Daniel retrieved a package he received from Dubai that he let sit out with other mail for a few days. It was the first package he received that was not something he ordered since the pandemic and his retirement began. He skimmed the enclosed letter and then removed a mini-cassette player and a few mini-cassette tapes from the box. The shorthand on the tapes read vampire. The date and sequence of the tapes used his own personal system. It looked like his handwriting. There were eight tapes.

Daniel took the contents to the living room and settled into his chair. He placed the first tape into the player and pressed play.

“This is Monday, October 2, 1972,” Daniel’s voice spoke on the tape. “I’m in San Francisco with Louis de Pointe du Lac. This is tape A.” There was a pause. “When you’re ready, Mr. de Pointe du Lac.”

A soft southern voice began a tale of vampire romance at the turn of the previous century. Daniel stared up at the ceiling and tried to attach what he heard to any stray memory of the encounter. 1972 was two years after he graduated high school and at least three years into his substance abuse. As the tapes played, sometimes he remembered peeling wallpaper and lights that kept everything dim and sensual, but he could not place a face to the man claiming to be a vampire.

Daniel’s voice returned to the recording, his questions ill thought, leading, and asked slowly with too many pauses. He definitely did this interview high, but as each tape played, his voice started to sound more sober, though his questions were still absolute shit.

Daniel reached the final tape. Louis’ tale ended. Music played from another unit, the song barely recognizable. A car honked outside somewhere, crackling in the speaker.

“I want to become a vampire,” Daniel said on the tape.

In his chair, Daniel froze. He frowned and turned the volume up one notch even though he could hear it just fine.

“Please, Mr. de Pointe du Lac!” Daniel said earnestly on the tape, his words in a sudden rush, formality a hope for reward.

“No!” Louis’ voice rose. “Didn’t you listen to my story?! Didn’t you understand what I told you?!”

“I did!” Daniel replied, still an excited rush. “But I can’t think of anything better!”

There was a horrible hissing sound and the sound of a table smashing to pieces. The recorder hit the floor with the tapes. A door burst open and then a body landed on the ground with a horrible thump away from the recorder. “Run!” a new voice shouted.

The recording ended. Daniel rewound it a small amount and pressed play again. He ignored his own pleas, focusing instead on the scuffle and the voice at the very end. Certainly in his drug and alcohol-addled, Parkinson’s muddled brain, he would remember a vampire attacking him or even someone saving him from such an attack.

Yet, Daniel could only remember tiny details of the room. He ran a hand through his hair and looked at the clock beside the television. The interview spanned barely four hours. He reread the letter, already deciding to take this vampire up on his offer and head to Dubai.

The myth about vampires being unable to use mirrors persisted even after most mirrors stopped using silver s backing. Armand finished placing his contacts and checked himself in the mirror in the bedroom where Louis and he kept their coffins. His collar was open and inviting, though he would not let Daniel drink his blood this time or at least not during the course of the interview. His hair was immaculate and styled perfectly. His gloves fit snugly with no hint of long nails. His contacts were a good, natural dark brown.

Armand could not look away from the brown eyes in the mirror. His mind recalled a field of sunflowers stretching well into the distance and winters that were long, cold, and full of snow. When the snow melted, puddles scattered across the land and dirt roads. He remembered a very young face staring at him in a puddle with the same dark eyes that stared at him in the mirror. It was the child before the church stole him from his parents, before the traders stole him from the church, before Marius bought him. Armand’s jaw tensed and he willed these memories far away. He left the mirror and prepared for his performance.

The performance almost did not matter. Armand could have stood naked or worn the ugliest paper bag and Daniel would have barely spared him a glance. Armand slept sporadically. He stood in the glory of the sun’s rays protected by the treated windows. He performed cell phone conversations. He prayed, unsurprised when Daniel interrupted. He imagined the box he constructed in Daniel’s mind slowly disintegrating, letting memories leak one by one as it disappeared. He saw no signs of knowing in Daniel’s eyes. Daniel’s brain had to do the rest. It was frustrating and agonizingly slow.

One evening, Armand watched the sunset spread out across the windows in the sitting room. The sky became increasingly orange. He heard Daniel’s shuffled steps and felt as much as heard all the interview questions and quandaries projecting from Daniel’s mind before Daniel even entered the room.

The thoughts dissipated when Daniel looked at Armand. “You’re watching the sunset again,” Daniel observed, his mind immediately trying to figure out why this seemed significant only to come up with no answers.

Armand smiled. “I enjoy it.” He angled his body to invite Daniel to stand beside him, though there was ample room around him for Daniel to stand wherever he wanted.

Daniel kept a professional distance but did choose the side Armand opened to him. Daniel’s eyes followed the clouds as the colors and brightness continued to intensify. “You’re the only person who appreciates this view. All of the other servants seem to be trying to transition to vampirism early.”

Armand’s eyes moved from the water to the sky to the buildings. “They don’t know what they will miss. I already know.”

Daniel’s gaze shifted to Armand, studying how dark Armand’s eyes were and how his gloves fit his fingers. He watched the sunlight illuminate the lighter strands in Armand’s hair. For some reason, his mind looked for vampirism but found no signs. “Louis seems to trust you a lot.”

“I like to think he does,” Armand said. The colors of the sunset began to lose their intensity.

Daniel’s attention returned to the sunset. Darkness began to encroach. Several ways he could say what he wanted to say played through his mind. All of them sounded too much like he was talking to one of his daughters.

“You’re worrying I’m wasting my life here,” Armand said, trying to sound like a lucky guess.

“When people with power over you give you a lot of trust, it can be alluring,” Daniel said. “One day you’re running through the streets of San Francisco and the next, you wake up in a hospital feeling like you don’t know your life anymore.”

The colors left the clouds, but daylight still barely lingered. The lights in the room were still off, allowing them to continue watching without reflections.

“If you know what you’ll miss, maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t be here,” Daniel said. “I used to think I wanted to be a vampire. I even begged Louis to turn me like an asshole.” He paused and watched the last of the light disappear. “I’m glad he didn’t do it.”

Armand held his breath a moment and then nodded. They remained in darkness, the only lights coming from the city. “I know Mr. de Pointe du Lac has never turned any of his servants. I still wish to serve him.” The lights in the room turned on seemingly by themselves. Armand found Daniel’s gaze. “I still wish to protect him.”

“From what?” Daniel did not look away.

“Himself,” Armand said.

Daniel stared a long moment. He was not sure how a mortal could do that. He still could not remember how the first interview ended but he heard enough of it on the tape to surmise there was no way a mortal could stop Louis once he was angry enough. Daniel rubbed his face and reminded himself to keep his professional distance. If this kid wanted to ruin his life, then Daniel had no say in it. He was not sure why he even thought he might.

“Mr. de Pointe du Lac will wake soon,” Armand said. “Do you require anything, Mr. Molloy?”

Daniel shook his head. “Nothing you probably won’t already bring.”

Armand nodded and left the room. He heard one of the servants scurrying away towards another part of the penthouse when he entered the hallway that lead to the kitchen. It was not a surprise. He could hear their heart beating beside the doorway the entire time. Armand began plotting the servant’s demise.

Sleep plagued and eluded Daniel. He would struggle to fall asleep when he should, wake up shortly after, and repeat until he gave up on sleeping in bed entirely. Inevitable if he was comfortable and the interview lulled as early morning headed towards dawn, he would inevitably fall asleep wherever he sat. It was embarrassing, unprofessional, and one of the many reasons he retired.

When Daniel did manage to sleep, his dreams became increasingly strange and more like memories. At first, mist, fog, and shadow obscured portions of the memories as details and events changed with each sleep. Instead of Alice getting high with him on the kitchen floor, he drank blood greedily from a figure he could not identify on the floor of the same kitchen. Instead of running through Paris nights holding hands and admiring the lights, he helped lure humans away from prying eyes and into waiting jaws. One time he dreamt of a room where blood seeped from the walls, ceiling, and made the carpet squish under his bare feet. It should have a smell to it, a taste to it, but there were none. He almost wanted to believe that this was his brain processing the story Louis wanted to tell, but another part of Daniel knew better. Even now as he drifted to sleep in the silence and warmth of the sofa, his brain already seemed to know it was another memory even before he saw Louis’ face at the gay bar clearly in his mind.

In the penthouse, Armand brought a blanket and settled it across Daniel’s body. He lingered, observing Daniel’s face in slumber, and then retrieved his iPad and took a photo.

“He’s going to see you do that someday,” Louis said quietly but not without amusement.

“I’ll airdrop him the photo when that happens.” Armand saved the photo onto the device with many other photos he secretly took of Daniel when Daniel was unaware.

Louis went over to the windows, observing the early morning before dawn. “Have you decided if you want to turn him?”

Armand joined Louis at the window. The waxing moon drew closer to the horizon. Armand did not want to damn Daniel. He did not want to stop hearing Daniel’s thoughts. He did not want Daniel to stop existing. He did not want to curse Daniel. He wanted to be the only vampire to curse Daniel. None of these wants could coexist. “No.”

“If he consents to my offer, I will turn him,” Louis said. “Maybe that’s the best option. You won’t have to lose his thoughts.”

Armand stiffened. He remembered the mortals he met decades ago when he ran into the sunlight. He gripped his iPad tighter and hissed, “You sound like Marius.”

“I don’t,” Louis hissed back. “I’m not doing this for myself. I’m not doing this for you. I am doing this for Daniel but only if he wants me to. He asked me to turn him and I can’t think of a reason not to do it now.”

“He’s mine.” Armand’s feet hovered off the ground slightly, allowing him to tower over Louis even more than he normally did. “I didn’t spare him so someone could claim that right.”

“But even if he says yes, you might not do it.” Louis did not look away. “It will still be about what you want. So, which of thee two of us really sounds like Marius?”

Armand hissed loudly. Daniel’s breathing changed. Armand’s feet almost silently touched the floor. Both vampires turned towards the sofa.

Daniel’s eyes fluttered open. He groaned in annoyance and rubbed his face. Slowly he looked towards Armand and Louis. “Sorry,” he said, his voice still heavy with exhaustion.

“It doesn’t offend me,” Louis said, his tone once again even and firm. “I know it’s a possibility.” He stepped away from Armand. “We were at a good stopping point for the morning. We should end this session.” He turned to Armand. “See to it that our guest makes it to his room, Rashid.”

“I will, Mr. de Pointe du Lac,” Armand said, his voice barely level.

Louis bid them good morning and left. He wanted to sit outside where Daniel could not see in the short time before dawn.

Daniel pulled the blanket off his body and let it pool in the seat beside him. He stretched his hands and then began putting his interview equipment away.

Armand walked over and folded the blanket easily, placing it neatly in the unoccupied seat. He huffed under his breath.

Daniel slowly stood and shouldered his bag. “You don’t have to see me to my room.”

“I do what Mr. de Pointe du Lac asks of me,” Armand said, his voice more under control now.

“And it seems to consistently piss you off,” Daniel said as they walked. “Maybe you need a night out or a different cult.”

“I could go to a gay bar and get fined or put in jail,” Armand murmured.

“Only if you stay in Dubai.” Daniel paused at his door.

“Do you go around encouraging all of Mr. de Pointe du Lac’s staff to leave him?” Armand asked.

“No. You’re the only one who talks to me.” Daniel bid Armand good morning and disappeared into his room.

Armand lingered a moment and then took his time heading to the kitchen. He was in no mood to sleep yet.

The thought that Rashid was a vampire was always there in the back of Daniels’ mind, but he kept reasoning the thought away. Tonight, he could not rationalize it any longer as he watched Armand ascend to the bookshelves on the ceiling and toss a book down to Daniel’s feet. Daniel picked the book up and listened to Louis proclaim Armand the love of his life. But Louis’ voice sounded very far away as Daniel’s mind began to flood with memories. There was no Rashid and no Alice, only Armand. The fights, the sex, the feeding, the quiet moments curled up in front of the television, the film cameras, the kitchen gadgets – everything struck Daniel’s mind with such clarity and force the only thing he could manage was a whispered, “Fuck this,” much weaker than he wanted to say it.

The book dropped from Daniel’s hands. His knees hit the carpet. His mind seemed to spin more than the room. His heart climbed into his ears. He could not take a full breath. His forehead burned. His body chilled. Nausea threatened. He could hear Armand talking from somewhere up above but he could not understand the words even though they were in English.

Louis knelt beside Daniel and pressed his hands to Daniel’s face. Daniel was hot and his skin was red.

Armand took no notice. He was back in the air, enjoying the freedom of hovering off the ground and drifting about the room. “You were so quick to dismiss me that you couldn’t see what was in front of you. Well, what do you think now?”

“Armand –” Louis said.

“I’ve returned everything,” Armand continued. “There’s nothing left to forget.” His gaze returned to the floor below.

“Armand, do something,” Louis held his gaze, “or our boy’s going to die.”

Armand’s triumphant grin faltered as he became aware of how Daniel’s heart raced and how his breath wheezed. He peered into Daniel’s mind and watched as memory after memory flew from its containment until several memories seemingly occupied the same space at the same time. Armand’s feet touched the floor noiselessly. He knelt and pressed his fingers to Daniel’s forehead though the gesture was unnecessary. “Sleep.”

Daniel slumped against Louis, his heart immediately beginning to calm, though his brain continued in chaos.

“Is that really going to work?” Louis asked. When he listened to Daniel’s mind, he heard multiple conversations happening simultaneously.

“It will give his brain time,” Armand said, though he could not be sure. He picked the book off the floor and sent it to its place on the shelf by itself. He lifted Daniel easily and took him to his room.

Louis followed. Questions swirled through his mind, but he suspected that neither of them knew the answers yet. He pulled the bed covers out of the way and helped Armand divest Daniel of his shoes and belt. They settled the blankets over Daniel.

“How long will he sleep?” Louis asked.

“A few hours or a few days,” Armand said. “It’s different every time.” He sent the medical team an urgent text on his phone.

“I read that people with brain damage have trouble under anesthesia and with comas.” Louis watched Daniel’s chest move with each breath. “When he wakes, he might not be the same.”

Armand did not say anything in response. The building seemed to groan. His phone buzzed with the medical team’s confirmation they would arrive shortly.

When Daniel woke, sunlight streamed into his room. Machines kept track of his pulse and body. He stared up at the ceiling. He never stopped to notice before how his real memories always had smell and taste, how the air had weight or movement. Whenever he remembered Alice, the world seemed sterile, more like a dream. For everything he thought was a memory of her, he now had a memory of Armand arranged slightly to the left with more blood, sex, and violence. His eyebrows drew together and he sat up slowly. He knew better than to try to release himself from these machines. He knew that much even in Paris when he woke up in a hospital only to find himself “divorced,” francless, and alone. At least this time he was not nauseous.

The medical team told Daniel that he slept twelve hours but it was not a coma. They cleared him but advised he take a night off from the interview and recuperate. By the time, Daniel emerged from the bathroom, the medical equipment was gone from his room and someone changed the bedding.

Daniel should pack everything up and leave, but the medical team was correct, He could tell he had to rest even if he spent most the day asleep. He retrieved his recordings and notes. As much as he wanted to leave, if he did stay he did not want to have to kick his own ass for shirking his work. He scanned his notes and paused. He did not finish his time stamped notes for the end of his recording from two nights ago. He knew he fell asleep at the end of that session, but he always made certain to listen to the end of his recordings just in case.

Daniel accessed the recording and moved the time marker to his last time stamped note. He pressed play. There was a long pause and the inevitable sound of Daniel sleeping. He sighed. Voices spoke quietly, a blanket rustled near the computer. Then there was an argument, almost too quiet for the computer to record at first, but Louis and Armand’s voices grew louder as it escalated.

One of the servants brought Daniel breakfast and left it in its usual spot. Daniel murmured thanks, his mind still on the recording. Louis’ voice sounded from the speakers, “He asked me to turn him and I can’t think of a reason not to do it now.”

The servant lingered a moment and then left the bedroom.

Daniel slid the time marker back and rewound the recording. He increased the volume and listened carefully. He poked at his breakfast and added to his notes. He moved to the recording from last night.

The sun drew lower in the sky, but not quite enough to start setting yet. A knock sounded at the door. “Come in.” Daniel looked up and Louis entered.

“Didn’t have enough fun at my expense last night?” Daniel asked. “Now you’re showing up even before the sun sets. Is the ash thing you showed me some theater trick?”

“Treated windows,” Louis said. He entered the room and stood in a sunbeam. It did nothing to his body. “All but one.”

Daniel got up from his desk and looked at the glass closely. It did not seem any darker or different from any other window. “I think that’s the most honest thing you’ve told me the entire time I’ve been here.”

Louis joined him at the window but his attention remained on Daniel instead of the view. “I’m surprised you’re still here.”

“You wouldn’t know this but there comes a point where your body listens to your doctors even when you don’t want to.” Daniel’s gaze averted to Louis. “I might leave tomorrow. I meant it when I said ‘Fuck this.’” He looked around. “Where’s Dr. Frank-N-Furter?”

“Armand runs the entire building,” Louis said. “He’ll arrive shortly.”

“Of course he does,” Daniel murmured and then said in a clearer voice, “I heard your argument from the other night.”

“I meant what I said about turning you,” Louis said. “I picked you in that bar because high or sober, your mind is unique. You question everything and look for things that need recognition. You deserve more time. You deserve the death you asked for all those decades ago.”

“Because I passed some bizarre initiation?” Daniel asked. The sun began to set and the room gained an orange glow.

“Because I can hear anyone’s thoughts at any time and most people’s thoughts aren’t worth listening to,” Louis said.

“And if you turn me, you won’t hear them unless you talk to me,” Daniel said.

“It’s an equivalent exchange,” Louis said. “All curses are.”

“I want to finish the book as a mortal first before I decide,” Daniel said. “If we can even get to the truth.”

Louis looked away at the sunset. The colors grew more intense. His gaze returned to Daniel. “When the first interview ended, I went back to all the places I lived and thought about everything I experienced. This is the story I chose. It’s the story that gives me peace.”

“Was it your choice? At the end of the first interview, you told me you’d recently gone back to New Orleans and saw Lestat,” Daniel said. “Now you tell me he died after Mardi Gras. I just had my memories unsealed after almost fifty years. How long have yours been sealed?”

Louis held Daniel’s gaze. His eyes caught the light from the sunset. “Memory is malleable and fallible. It only keeps us tethered to time.”

Daniel sighed silently.

“I still want you to write the memoir,” Louis said. “Even if it’s not the full truth. It’s something that should be out there, a warning to everyone. Vampires have gone too long being only creatures of fantasy.”

“Why die for a lie?” Daniel asked. “Armand said other vampires will kill you over this.”

Louis’ eyes seemed to glow increasingly bright as the light faded from the sky and the room. “I want to leave something behind. I want my death to be more than an end.”

Night spread across the sky. Lights turned on by themselves across the penthouse. Armand appeared in the doorway.

Daniel’s lips pressed into a thing line. “Here to lie to fuck with my mind again?”

“Are you going to run away?” Armand settled into the space between Daniel and Louis.

“Not tonight,” Daniel said. He made no promises about tomorrow.

The three of them lingered at the windows. Traffic passed below. Lights shone across the land and water. Armand kissed Louis. Daniel looked out the window and murmured, ‘Is this their weird way of excluding me?’ in his mind. It felt like the time Louis fed from Armand but Daniel had no salad to distract himself this time.

“No, we plan to include you this time,” Armand said.

“Stay out of my…” Daniel’s voice trailed as he realized what Armand intended. Armand placed his hands on Daniel’s face, held his gaze, and then kissed him too. Daniel returned the kiss. He kissed Louis next. Clothes found their way to the floor. Nails dug into flesh. Teeth left marks. Blood flowed. Voices echoed into the night.

When Daniel woke the next afternoon, he still felt satiated even though he slept just as poorly as ever. Last night things would deescalate and then escalate again. The vampires sometimes sipped his blood and drank from each other, but Daniel never drank from either of them. It was the only professional line he did not cross last night, if being professional mattered any more. Their non-disclosure agreement certainly had not the entire time.

Daniel sighed, slowly got out of bed, and got ready for the evening. He wandered from his room, but there was no sign of anyone. He found himself staring at one of the painting on display he spoke to Armand about back when Armand played Rashid. In the painting, a man, likely Jesus, reached up towards the heavens while imps tried to drag him down. Holy light shone from above and behind his head. Marius de Romanus brought up nothing in Daniel’s searches even in scholarly resources. Tintoretto was a little younger than Armand, if Armand’s quip about being five hundred and fourteen was even correct.

“It is correct,” Armand said from the shadows. “I was born in 1508.”

Daniel looked at Armand standing in the dim light. “Stay out of my head.”

“You think loudly,” Armand said. It was not a complaint.

Daniel’s gaze returned to the painting. “You painted this, didn’t you?”

Armand gazed at the piece, his eyes lingering on flaws as a writer might wrinkle their nose at word choices from past works.

Daniel could not discern any of the flaws. “Was it a commission for a lesser client? A study?”

“A middle class client saved up their money for the piece. The client died before they could collect it.” Armand’s gaze turned to Daniel. “Why do you think Marius did not paint it?”

“He sounds like a vampire. You’d be the contemporary of Tintoretto.” Daniel met Armand’s gaze. “Who’s Marius?”

Armand did not look away. His thumb rubbed against his opposite hand. The building seemed to groan almost imperceptibly. “An arbiter of fate.”

Daniel wanted to ask “Did he arbitrate your fate?” but he was not sure Armand would answer that. Instead, Daniel asked, “Why did you become a vampire?”

Armand heard both questions. His hands separated deliberately. “Why does it matter?”

“Two vampires brought me here with the mind to turn me,” Daniel said. “Louis turned into a vampire for dick. I wanted to turn into one to escape the bullshit around me. Before I make my choice this time, I just wanted to know what your motivation was.”

Armand made a conscious effort to relax his jaw. He sighed. “I didn’t choose it. I was dying and the choice was made for me.”

“Like when you sealed my memory,” Daniel said.

Armand lowered his voice into almost a hiss. “It was not the same! You lived! You still have choices!” The building groaned seemingly in agony.

Daniel opened his mouth and closed it. He wanted to believe he could have survived with his memories intact. Yet, he could still remember the feeling of death encroaching in Paris. It was heavy, smothering, but comforting, and acceptable. He only shook the feeling once he woke up in the hospital without his memories.

“Marius was my mentor, lover, warden, and keeper,” Armand said. “He taught me everything and nothing. He takes when he thinks he gives.”

“When the time comes, will it truly be my choice?” Daniel asked.

“Are you going to leave your choice to the last second?” Armand asked. . “I don’t know when the deadline is,” Daniel said.

Armand stepped away from the painting. “Come to the kitchen. I don’t want to play Rashid tonight.”

“If you feed me a rat, I will leave immediately,” Daniel said.

“I could put it in the air fryer,” Armand said. “Tonight was going to be cat. I thought it would be dramatic to bring a cat to the table for Louis to dine on. It’d be a surprise for him too.”

Daniel sighed and followed Armand. “I’m not eating a cat either.”

The interview resumed and the narrative traveled to Paris just before Nazi occupation. Louis supplemented his point of view amid entries from Claudia’s final diary. Armand finally appeared in the story. Louis turned a doll maker born the same year as Claudia into a companion for her. Claudia’s final entry documented vampires speaking telepathically about the looming Nazi invasion and Claudia wondered if she should wait for Louis to abandon them for Armand or if she should just take Madeleine away from this madness. “Except, the whole world is mad,” was her final line.

“We should stop there,” Louis said. He rose from his chair and looked towards the windows. The sky was already lightening. The sun would rise soon.

“Alright.” Daniel rubbed his face, marked the time and date verbally, and then shut off the recording program on his computer.

Louis bid good morning and took his leave. Armand said nothing and remained sitting in one of the chairs, his iPad still in his lap. He used his nail as a stylus to play a game.

Daniel finished packing his things in his bag and went over to the windows. The clouds reflected the sunrise just out of view. Everything became a soft red. “You’re quiet. Worried about tomorrow?”

“Why would I worry?” Armand set his iPad aside and joined Daniel at the window. His eyes lost their glow as the amount of light outside increased.

“Why indeed,” Daniel watched the boats in the water. He breathed deeply and paused. He could smell garlic. It was just barely in the air. Daniel glanced at Armand but Armand’s attention was on the view and he seemed unaffected by the smell like stories claimed vampires would be. Daniel tried to remember the acronym for the signs of a stroke.

“Face, Arms, Stability, Talking, Eyes, React,” Armand said.

Daniel rolled his eyes.

The odor of garlic grew stronger. It did not bother Armand even as it grew more pungent in the air. Garlic affecting vampires had always been more myth than truth. He watched the reflection of the sunrise fade. “You’re not having a stroke.”

“You’re not a doctor,” Daniel said. The garlic seemed to permeate the entire room now.

‘Do you smell that?’ Louis asked from elsewhere in the penthouse.

‘I’ve got it under control,’ Armand thought. He could feel killing intent draw close. He already had a plan to lure the threat in and take care of it immediately.

At that moment, a bright light lit the entire room. Daniel shielded his eyes. Armand’s flesh began to smoke and sting, but it did not turn to ash as readily as it might in direct sunlight.

One of the servants stood behind them with a sterilizing UV light in one hand like a shield and a wooden stake in the other hand. The light glistened off their protective sunglasses. “You bastards are never going to turn us! I’m not going to keep wasting my life! Revenge is mine!”

Daniel moved without thought before Armand could enact his plan. Daniel bowed his head to avoid looking directly at the light and flung himself and all his weight at it. It fell from the servant’s hand, rolled across the floor, and turned off when it hit a table leg. Daniel barely had time to regain his bearings when the stake pierced his chest and buried itself between his ribs.

Armand felt something cold grip his spine. He seized the servant before they could pull the stake from Daniel’s chest. He did not rip their arms off as he planned, but broke their spine in a series of excruciating pops. The servant fell to the floor, still alive but immobile.

Louis arrived. Everything was worse than it felt telepathically. He checked for signs of other servants’ joining the chaos, but no one else appeared.

Daniel’s chest hurt. Each breath he barely managed was agony. His heart beat in his ears. Exhaustion clung to him. He touched his chest, feeling wood and blood.

Armand knelt at Daniel’s side. Louis disabled the UV light by burning its wires from the inside. Daniel reached up, his tremoring fingers leaving streaks of blood on Armand’s face. Louis watched from a distance, not interfering with Armand’s or Daniel’s choices. Armand ran his fingers through Daniel’s hair. His tongue slid along his teeth. He hesitated.

Death settled around Daniel, heavy and suffocating, but this time there was no ease, no comfort, and no acceptance. Daniel tried to grasp at Armand but his fingers could not grip. ‘Not like this. Not now,’ he thought with all his might but it felt like barely a mental whisper.

Armand leaned down and then bit Daniel, sucking at the bite. He pulled the stake from Daniel’s chest. The suffocating heaviness grew. Daniel’s eyes closed. His hands stilled. He barely registered when Armand pulled away. His body shivered and convulsed. He died on the floor of the penthouse and rose a vampire. He devoured the paralyzed servant without much prompting and hungered for more blood.

Days passed. Daniel was officially dead. Louis notified Daniel’s editor who flew to Dubai to collect his ashes from Daniel’s “assistant” Rashid at night. Daniel’s older daughter wrote his obituary, but Daniel spotted little tweaks indicating his younger daughter changed and added things before publication. His daughters asked that mourners donate to Parkinson’s research. He could not remember the last time he hugged them since he would not have thought at the time to make an effort to remember it. The last time Daniel saw them, he got drunk when out to dinner before the pandemic. As with all of his relapses, his daughters gave him space until he was sober again. He was sober since February but left them alone since it was still a pandemic and they would have tried to travel to see him. He watched the sun lower in the sky and tried to ignore the ache in his arms.

Daniel’s stomach rumbled. His need for blood pulsed through his body. He was in no state to continue the interview yet. He did not know if he would finish it let alone get around to writing the book, but he had plenty of time to do it now, though he lost the element of being an outsider. He watched the sunset grow more brilliant in the sky.

“What did you think of your first week?” Louis asked.

“It’s not what I imagined,” Daniel said, but he took to it easier than he wanted to admit. “I don’t like it. I don’t hate it.”

‘For now,” Armand murmured.

The light faded from the clouds. Darkness swept the sky. The three vampires in the window disappeared into the night.

The End

#my fanfics #my fanfics 2023 #my iwtv amc fanfics #iwtv amc fanfics #interview with the vampire amc

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amyisherenowitsokay · 2 years ago

Note

''warning spoilers'' no you just made me want to read it NOW. talk about a pro elevator pitch.

How about Dead Weight and Paradorx, both individually, and then with reference to Re:MHNY? Inspiration, headcannons and worldbuilding, characterization, what's different and similar between them, or unique to each one? Or what did you want to explore or try in one that you couldn't in the other, or never got the chance before at all? Does the exploration in one help flesh out the others? What's the 'lay of the land' when you look over them all together? and of course, where are you headed plot wise?

I think you already answered a bunch of this to someone else lol, but ah well.

PHEW okay, I'm awake, I'm ready, let's a'go

Dead Weight and Paradorx really got similar treatments, but with obviously very dissimilar plot points.

As I've mentioned I think before, Dead Weight was entirely inspired by the one-off paragraph in Re:MHNY, in the second to last chapter, where Zim fantasizes about what kind of soldier Gaz would be were she Irken. My friends and I started shooting the shit for fun, and I sunk my teeth in and never let go. Dead Weight is taking a lot more research because it's so heavily entrenched in the Irken military, culture, and upbringing. Whereas Paradorx is a more familiar 'teen shenanigans/coming of age/eventual found family' sort of deal. I think genuinely they’re probably my two most different stories, with the only overlap being the use of characters and the ships lmao. Genuinely, I can’t say either story has ever leant insp for the other, or inversely, that they’ve ever taken anything away from one another. My brain really only works to focus on one project as I’m working on it, and sort of forgets everything else exists while I’m working on it. It helps me focus and really dedicate my time to what I’m actively doing and writing as opposed to getting myself all confused.

The faux-infanticide just sort of came to me as its own spontaneous idea. The subplot of the Control Brains/higher authority Irkens deliberately weeding out potentially disloyal Irkens sort of occurred to me as I was writing it. The Irkens are primarily a species raised for war and infiltration; a bunch of murderers and spies. Even in the first episode, during the Great Assigning, there's monitors and cameras all over. Zim also has multiple equipment capable of spying/observing, monitors all over, etc. I think it's fair to assume that these are tools for his mission, but also that Irkens are probably very used to being spied on. They never let their guard down, are always skittish, and paranoia seems to be a common trait too. So what was supposed to just be a 'Zim, Gaz, and cast as Irkens' AU turned into 'Big Brother raises smeets under the thumb of the military industrial complex.

Dead Weight is basically 100% headcanons that I have to come up with that feel appropriate for the IZ universe, and that benefit to the story that I have in mind. I am as far removed from the army or any personal resources as you can get, which is something I prefer to draw from if possible, so I've been looking at screenshots of the show episodes that have the Armada/Tallest in them to try and glean any background information to see if anything sparks inspiration. I've considered watching any shows with underground or overtly military-type themes, but the closest I got was Mr. Sunshine lmao. Instead of shows, I've taken up a few sci-fi fantasy books (Ender's Game, Dune) that have really been helping me out with developing meaningful characters who still fit in spaces designed to deter individuality, during high-stakes war, etc.

For Dead Weight, I’m really getting the opportunity to explore more violent, high-stakes, sci-fi worldbuilding than I’ve really ever done. Re: MHNY3 is going to have a lot more Irken worldbuilding, sure, but not nearly as much as Dead Weight has. I’m looking forward to further down the line, when I get to discuss even more mature themes (a’wink) and how those work into the existing infrastructure of obedience, militarism, and every character’s general personality. I’ve already dropped hints here and there, but I really want to make sure to lay all the groundwork cleanly so that the reader gets the jokes later on, if that makes sense.

Regarding Paradorx, as I mentioned, the world building is way easier. This one I wanted to write as a challenge to a truly slow-burn fic. While my series fics aren't really short, ever, the idea of doing a bunch of little stories that carry over into the overarching plot gave me the same nostalgia of how old episodes of Scooby Doo felt to me as a kid. Also, I wanted to really explore the found family archetype in a way I haven't before, where Dib, Zim, and Gaz are all equally invested in one another rather than Dib and Zim being friends first, Gaz and Zim being together first, etc. All parties moving in synchronization and circling around one another faster and faster.

For Paradorx, the insp is a lot more varied and easier to find. I'm actually reading mystery novels, some with and without supernatural elements. The hard part is actually the cryptid selection. There's so many, and so many with such varying interpretations and accounts, that it makes it hard to find sources that ring with 'authenticity,' or that I feel comfortable basing my own recount on. The only cryptid I feel confident about writing is ghosts, but everything else is up in the air. I'm currently just keeping a list of spookies that I'd like to use, and other than that am doing my best to wing it.

Paradorx I think really gets to explore more of the coming-of-age, found-family type ish that doesn’t quite happen in the Re:MHNY series, or even arguably in What We Become. Just like with Dead Weight, I’m looking forward to handling mature themes with a much different infrastructure than I’ve ever written for these characters, and show how it changes them to face something as temporary allies vs well-establish family-friend-something-else dynamics.

As for the PLOTWISE question, naturally I warn of spoilers.

For Dead Weight:

My intention is to add in NSFW content that isn’t just violent (a’WINK) later down the line, yes, but also treachery, assassinations, love triangles, multiple wars, a genocide here and there, a LITANY of near-death experiences, and more. Sirius Minor, that one-off joke from that episode of Zim selling candy, is going to end up everyone’s favorite planet by the time I’m done writing.

I’m terrible at tagging my posts, but later if/when I find it I’ll tag it, but another intention I have planned is for all the characters to basically end up where they do in the cartoon, with some exceptions. Whether that meant location-wise, planet-wise, rank-wise, title-wise, residence-wise, etc., I will leave that mostly up to your imagination, but with a screenshot or two (or several) for your review.

And of course, for Paradorx:

My intention right now is to make this a story with danger, but really to hone in on the individual emotional fear, vulnerabilities, and stressors of the cast, how they were developed, why they can’t/won’t let go of them, and all the fun ways they manage to simultaneously trigger and support one another on their journey to being more competent, happier people.

#invader zim #fanfiction #ao3 #ravenfollower13 #amyisherenowansweringyou #dead weight spoilers #dead weight #paradorx spoilers #paradorx #ty for your patience op #brain is mush

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princeanxious · 3 years ago

Text

(Black) Rose Petals

My anxceit brain rot is acting up again, so i wanna share this brief(<- lol 3 hours later and this is a whole oneshot fic whoops) idea that just hit me

Cw: an altered take on hanahaki as a concept, brief blood mentions but nothing too graphic i think, HURT/COMFORT, happy ending! Lemme know if i missed anything!

So like. Human/high fantasy au with a surprise appearance of hanahaki but its worldly existence is that of just some extremely rare and nasty spell/curse that can be cast on others unlucky enough to run into a being heartbroken enough to cast it.(or something. Idk.)

So uh. Janus is a prince, Virgil is a prince from a different kingdom, and following the backstory of them being really close as childhood friends, but something changed and they broke apart suddenly & violently. And unfortunately, both were far too prideful to admit their fallingout was due to a mutual effort(however unintentionally caused) and have refused to even consider rekindling their friendship until the other breaks and apologizes first, much to their kingdoms' frustation and dismay.

At the starting point of this would-be story, Janus and Virgil would have been avoiding eachother for about 6 years(both having been roughly 16 at the time of their falling out, making them roughly around 22 at this point), and their allyship is tenuous at best, though unreflective of their kingdoms stronger connections.

It stands to not that there has been times where theyve met during those six years, always unintentionally and unfortunstely never ending well. Though theyve long since learned to simply ignore eachother for the peace of their kingdoms, rumor has it that the first few encounters after the initial fallout were shouting matches fit enough for rivals.

It's always been unclear to the public why such a toxic fallout had occurred so suddenly between such close friends, and while their were hundreds of ideas and rumors guessing why, no one would know that even Virgil himself didnt know.

The only one who had the full story was Janus. And it drove Virgil crazy to no end.

They'd never kept secrets from eachother before, so when Janus started to close off from Virgil, he'd worried he'd messed up somehow. But Janus wouldnt explain it, even when he assured him it wasnt Virgil's fault.

And when Virgil just wouldnt let it go, Janus changed tactics. Even when guilt and regret filled him with every nasty jab he'd thrown, Janus felt this was the safest option.

Virgil couldnt know, could never know that Janus loved him, or Virgil would hate him for it, or find it weird that Janus loved his best friend this way and leave, and Janus knew he couldnt take the pain of rejection of Virgil leaving because of his love.

So, Janus chose to make Virgil hate him instead. Janus couldnt have Virgil, he was convinced of it(for some reason, perhaps bc one of them was already betrothed at a young age or smth else that isnt outright real world homophobia bc i want a happy ending w/out extra strings on that end dang it), and felt it was better to break apart what they had with false vitriol than with his confession of love. Safer, even.

Better to love from afar knowing he could never have what he wanted, than stay close by and let his hurting heart consume his rationale and fracture everything they could've had if he ever slipped up.

The act was easier with every year that went buy, even as his heart never stopped yearning, never stopped hurting. Even when there were times, few as they were, where Virgil seemed to think about breaking the tenuous peace with an olive branch. Bare glimpses of the person Janus fell in love with all those years ago.

And it hurt his heart all the more when Janus turned them down each time, turning the offer of reconciliation away with a bitter resolve that stemmed more from his own self-inflicted pain than anything else.

(He doesnt notice that the bitterness has begun leak into everything he does. Doesnt realize how blinded its making him to the way hes begun to act to everyone else around him, not just Virgil.)

He just had to stop loving Virgil, then barrier could come down for him to accept, or rather, finally offer an olive branch of his own.

That's all.

(He was lying to himself, though. Virgil had never done anything that could make Janus stop loving him, despite having every reason to return Janus's unwarranted venom two-fold. The bastard. Why couldnt Virgil make things easy and just hate Janus already?)

And then, well. Something goes wrong.

An outting, a request for Janus and his father, King Remy, to attend a meeting in a neighboring kingdom's castle.

It was supposed to be a simple little trip. A simple regular meeting of allies for any updates and the like. Using simple straightforward path through the enchanted forest that seperates their kingdoms.

Janus shouldnt have bothered to count himself so lucky as to expect his life to stay simple. Not when he keeps making stupid decisions.

He doesnt really remember how it started, or why he'd dared to leave the carriage at the first sounds of an attack against his fathers wishes, but the creature he encounters is nothing he has ever heard of, never seen, never expected to see in broad daylight.

Its massive wooden body is haggard and willowed, wailing with grief. Despite their knights trying their best to fend it off or at least maneuver it away from the royals, the creature is persistant, seemingly searching past its assailants for something else.

And when it's gaze meets Janus's, he freezes. Because he feels it. Feels the aura of the gaze. Its wailing is deafened by the invading voice suddenly inside Janus's head.

"I see it is You who I seek,

Your sorrow is a beacon, your splintering heart a tragedy, yet the cause of your grief is your own! Your soul is tainted with a loneliness of your own design, and yet you wallow still, with no intention to change. Your lies poison the garden that grows within you, making bitterness prosper and understanding wilt in its wake.

If that is what you seek, then so be it. But know this now, your body will soon reap what you've sown."

And with that, the lumbering creature turns, still ignoring the shouts and attacks of the knights as it disappears into the forest with barely another wail.

The encounter leaves the traveling party shaken but otherwise unharmed, rushing the rest of the way to the neighboring kingdom without pause until they were safely out of the trees.

Janus, thinking over the words that had rattled through in his head, choses to say nothing about the experience. A cryptic warning at best, hes sure, and sees no reason to raise alarm for a few intrusive words.

What Janus doesnt know is that creature is a creature of grief, born from the worlds worst heartbroken souls and drawn to other beings' sorrow like a moth to a flame. What Janus doesnt know is that this creature's presence alone is rare, unheard of even when war or plague or loss ect. is not directly involved.

What Janus doesnt know is that this creature saw Janus's heartbreak and became angered by its self-inflicted presence in the young royal and the ensuing bitter rot beginning to poison his soul for good.

What Janus doesnt know is that this creature has bestown an ancient curse known as 'hanahaki' upon him in its anger.

A slow-acting curse that feeds on a broken heart's woe from the moment it is cast, working to slowly entrap the cursed being's body's limbs and neck in vines and filling their lungs with flowers.

There are only two known ways to break this ancient curse.

If the cursed being can heal their broken heart, then the curse will receed and fade away.

If the cursed being cannot heal their broken heart, their lungs will fill with flowers as the vines slowly tighten around their chest. And eventually, they will die.

The event doesnt quite escape Janus by the time he notices something isnt quite right, but its become distant enough in his mind that it doesnt immediately jump out at him as directly connected.

The simple kingdom meeting had gone otherwise normally, even as Janus could hear snippets of gossip at all ends about the kind of creature theyd encountered.

And of course, Virgil had been there with his father, King Patton. The old man seemed desprate to fret over Janus and his father, but he'd long since lost that permitted closeness since Janus and Virgil's fallout. Janus would be lying if he told you he hadnt been trying to avoid the kind king's sad eyes all day.

Janus unfortunately found himself lying a lot more these days, though.

Virgil had been trying to past his defenses again today, too. Snipping little bits of snark he knew would make Janus laugh or frown at, really anything to pry at the solid barrier that he'd figured out Janus had been putting up. Anything to break through and catch another glimpse of the Janus he used to know, anything to even just give him a chance to ask "why?"

Now that Janus knew what Virgil was doing, he wasn't successful. Didnt mean he couldnt still try, if only for the sake of annoying Janus for entertainment. Even if it ended in a particularly petty spat that ended up cutting way too close to home on both sides.

"Like fucking hell Janus, you make me wonder why we were ever friends!" (What happened to you? What happened to us?)

"Well maybe we shouldn't have been! I'm sure we all would have been happier!" (Its better this way, it has to be.)

"Maybe we would! I dont know why I ever thought I liked you. I should have just given up when they told me to, at least then hating you wouldnt have taken so long!" (I dont mean it, i dont hate you, i hate this, that this is what we've become. I cant take it anymore. I just wanted to know what i did wrong.)

"I'm glad we can finally agree on something, then!" (This is what i wanted, so why does it hurt so much?)

It had left his wounds freshly reopened, and gave the curse the perfect chance to strike. By the time they'd arrived back home, the curse had begun working in overdrive.

He'd only been coughing a little.

He'd begun to blame it on spring time allergies, but the stupid cough became persistent. Within a week, the Royal Doctor had looked Janus over, and told him he'd probably caught a cold and that they'd have to keep an eye on him if he got any worse.

And then, well.

Then one night out came the first few petals, before a whole flower followed. And for a few moments Janus stared at the delicate bulb of darkness in his lap, stunned.

Thats when the words of the creature clicked in his mind, gently gazing at a bloodflecked petal in his palm.

'But know this now, your body will soon reap what you've sown.'

Following suit with plucking up the flower in his lap, he wasn't surprised to have piece together this next omen; a Black rose- a symbol of death.

Janus couldnt really deny it now, he probably deserved this.

But that didn't mean he couldnt try to hide it.

It was always easier to breathe after a flower finally ejected itself from his lungs, and then for three days he was mostly fine before the next inevitably forced its way out.

Surprisingly, he kept the lie going for about two whole months without incident.

And then he doubled over infront of his father during a particularly horrible fit, and unwillingly coughed up two whole roses before he could stop or calm it. And well, all hell broke loose after that.

Janus pretty quickly stopped caring though, as the curse seemed to get worse, and began to become a constant, painful reminder that rose bushes had thorns. And that Janus would not be spared from them inside or out, lucky him.

It took another three days for the vines to appear, almost overnight. Small thin little things that started at his wrists and ankles, and wrapped up and around his arms and legs, finally meeting and weaving tightly around his chest. Within 48 hours the vines had grown strong and begun to thorn, and walking became impossible without drawing blood.

Finally, the curse began to slow. Yet, Janus wasnt too sure he could count himself thankful for it.

Bedridden and miserable, Janus wanted to laugh at his miserable self-inflicted state. And cry. And scream. Too bad his lungs were having none of it, seeing as he could barely talk without setting off into another wheezing, blood flecked coughing fit.

When the Royal Mage had figured out just what Janus was cursed with, it was like setting a fog upon the castle. There was nothing to be done, nothing that could be done without agitating the curse further.

His father had even sat next to him, looking more serious and wrecked than he'd ever seen his carefree king of a father be, and listened to him plead for Janus to talk to him. Give them something to work off of, anything!

Janus knew why he chose to keep his mouth shut, feeling deserving of the punishment of his own making. Instead he closed his eyes, and silently wept.

Word of prince Janus's sudden ailment got around the kingdoms quick, as was the reason for Remy's abenses at ally kingdom leader gatherings.

When word got to Virgil, its said that he stumbled out of his chair and down to the kingdom stables, calling for a hasty visit that King Patton knew the reason for all too well.

For all the bite back he'd done since their fallout, Virgil still cared about Janus. Had loved him even, even if those feelings were now locked away deep inside to keep them safe from the carnage of their falling out.

If Janus was dying, Virgil couldn't let the last words he said to him be 'I hate you!'

Because above all else, it wasn't true. And Virgil was tired of fighting it. Tired of fighting Janus when he just wanted to hold him close and never let go.

The state that Janus is in when Virgil comes barreling through the doors of the other's sickroom is shocking enough to make him freeze in place.

Black petals and roses litter the large bed, the royal resting in it looking so small and painfully weak. Pale and wheezing, the cursed prince stares at him with surprised and terrified multicolored eyes.

The fact that the emotions dont dissipate behind a wall of indifference the longer Virgil remains in the room says volumes about whatever storm is brewing inside Janus's head. Hell, when Virgil comes to sit down next to him and takes his hand with a gentle squeeze, he even gets a hesitant squeeze back.

And at that point Virgil knows that if Janus is going to die, he cant just admit he doesnt hate him. He.. He has to get it out in the open, all of it. And given that Janus cant even properly speak, its the perfect opportunity to lay it all out.

Everything.

And its only when he finally lays it all out, even down to "I still love you, have loved you, for so fucking long. I was gonna figure it out, how we could be together, yknow? Even after you started pushing me away, even when i couldnt figure out why cause i could tell that you didnt want to, i was gonna figure it out. I.. I dropped everything the moment i heard cause, cause I care about you so fucking much it hurts, even when i know I shouldve given up I just. Couldnt. Because I knew something was off. I always knew, Jan. You'd never actually lied to me before, and now i dont even care about that! I just. I wanted you back. And I'm so terrified of losing you before I got to chance to try.."

And Janus is weeping again covering his mouth in a way that cant be comfortable to muffle his cries before giving up and reaching out for Virgil with both arms.

And Virgil doesnt miss a beat carefully wrapping his arms around Janus as the other clings tightly to his tunic and sobs.

Virgil can make out portions of apologies through the hiccups, carefully waiting out the storm as Janus breaks down in his arms for the first time in years. And like Virgil always does, he holds and protects him the whole time, carefully rubbing his back in soothing motions and tucking Jan's head into the crook of his neck.

It's only when Janus finally exhausts himself that the tears stop, but he doesnt let go of Virgil even a little bit, so Virgil carefully reclines them both, having manuved himself onto the bed to better hold Janus.

Theres an uneasy peace between them, which niether want to break after years of tension, but Janus knows he needs to say something.

"You are going to be so mad at me.." He says, his voice rasping but no longer quite wheezing.

"Mmm, you dont know that. And- and.. Even if i did get mad, I don't think it will stop me from loving you. After all we've been through, I dont know if theres anything that can. So.. Try me."

"When.. When I began to draw away, I'd had a revelation. And like the idiot that i was, I figured it was better, safer for me to pull away. And when you stubbornly clung on like a spider to a web no matter what I tried, I panicked, and kept used the first thing that had worked.

"I.. I cant say that it was purely romantic love, at the time. But it was infatuation, a romantic crush that rivaled over all my platonic feelings for you and made it hard not to reach out and say something. And I was convinced if i said anything that would be the beginning of the end of it, that you were push me away for being weird or hate me. I was afraid of your rejection breaking my heart, and losing you as a friend as a result.

"Instead, i broke my own heart by pushing you away. How fitting, hm?"

Virgil had gone still and quiet, but Janus kept his head tucked into Virgils shoulder for fear of losing his nerve.

"What im trying to say, is that I.. I love you too. And im sorry I was such an ass about it."

A good sign was Virgil slowly resuming rubbing Janus's back as he processed the other's words. Janus marveled in the partial amount of breathing room the curse had released its hold on. After a few long moments, Virgil finally spoke up:

"..You were right about one thing" Virgil added softly, before backing up just enough to scoot down to be closer to eyelevel with Janus, " I am mad. But really only about the fact that i could've already been with you the past 6 years. But you can bet I'm not leaving you alone now. I want to spend everyday you have left by your side."

And Janus could feel his eyes prick with tears, happy ones, for once.

"The mages say this curse is fueled by a broken heart, but eventually dies out if the broken heart heals.. So you may be at my side for quite a while, you know?" Janus says snarking oh so gently, his eyes betraying his nervousness.

"Bold of you to assume im not ready to spend the rest of our entire lives together, side by side." Virgil replies seriously before grinning, tucking Janus closer and tilting his head up, basking in the bright red blush across Jan's cheeks.

"Speaking of.. Can I..?" Virgil begins, glancing at Jan's lips.

"Please, kiss me." Janus finishes, meeting Virgil in the middle to close the gap between them.

And if Janus's lungs feel clearer than they have in months? Well, for now he plans on using it to continue kissing his love, obviously.

They had tons still to work through and talk about in honesty, but that could wait for another day. For now, these lovers plan on peacfully basking in each others presence for the first time in 6 years, finally reunited and safe.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #janus sanders #anxceit #sanders sides fics #romantic anxceit #luka writes #tw hanahaki #ask to tag #hurt/comfort #i would i could get a word count of this but mobiles a bitch so oh well lol

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atsukashii · 2 years ago

Text

vi. son's of the sea

✗ synopsis : imprisoned for a crime you did not commit you are hidden in a cage from the world. vowing to end the queen who dealt your life sentence, you bide your time in the dark waiting to strike. however, your early promised freedom comes on a whisper in the dark, taking the form of dark eyes, and grey wind swept hair carrying the scent of the sea.

✗ pairing : osamu miya x reader

✗ genre : pirate au, royalty reader, fantasy au mutual pining, fluff + a pinch of angst

✗ warnings : mature content : mentions of alcohol, language, death (mentioned)

✧･ﾟ:* previous | m.list | next *:･ﾟ✧

The world around you is hidden by various shades pinks and oranges as bright light hits your closed eyelids. The fact your body seems to rock ever so slightly is the first thing you notice. The second is the your bones seem to feel heavier and heavier with every movement.

An uncomfortable throbbing in your back begins to dissolve any chance of returning to sleep. The pain only worsens the more you recognise its existence, and the thought of someone knocking you out again doesn't seem like a bad idea.

There's a soft thudding noise coming from somewhere near you, and the longer you lay rocking ever so slightly in almost perfect synchronisation to the noise does your mind go into alert mode.

Fighting away the lingering exhaustion to your eyelids, you finally blink awake finding yourself staring at a weathered wooden ceiling. It's worlds away from the cold grey stoned cell you'd seen every morning for months on end.

The cell.

Flashes of your escape surge your mind in rapid succession. The explosion, the jump. You'd somehow survived the drop and the swell of Blackwater Bay. And there amongst the rocks they had been waiting.

You can recall familiar swirling storm cloud eyes, the strength in his gaze as he told you to hold on to him. 'If ya let go you’ll fall and there’s not going to be anything I can do - you’ll die.'

Your bones had screamed at you as he moved, one hand free and the other clutching your thigh in such a tight grip you could almost still feel his fingers pressing into your skin.

And when he had stopped-

A ship.

Straining your head slightly to the right, the soft light becomes blinding forcing a hiss of pain from you as it seems to pierce your brain. A rough voice chuckles from out of sight, followed by a subtle scraping of metal the harsh light dims until it doesn’t make your head pound.

“Apologies about the light, I thought you could do with some fresh air.” Something rings loud and blaring inside your head that says you should know this voice, possibly even fear it, but as you loll your head to face the stranger, you can’t bring yourself to be afraid.

From behind a dark wooden desk with his back to a wall of closed curtains which sway slightly at the still open windows behind them, you take in the two toned male. His brown eyes, far too keen and observant, to the point it would instantly make one uneasy to be under that gaze.

It was his face though that should have alarmed you. Not from the fact that he was a stunning male to look at, but the fact that it was branded on thousands of wanted posters across the five seas. It was one of the many that had been plastered to one of the walls in the Roost, but amongst the others crossed out with large marks of ink, the captains expressionless face had remained unmarked.

“I didn’t get to properly introduce myself last night upon your arrival.” His words shocked you slightly, not expecting his calm and approachable advance. The fact that you weren't sitting in another cell or chained to the bed shocked you even more. Because here you laid, on a bed that was too uncomfortable after sleeping on a straw mat for months, with a wanted pirate seated near you looking at you as if you weren't a stowaway on his ship.

“My name is Kita Shinsuke, captain of this ship.” Court etiquette drilled into your brain since birth has you forcing your groaning bones to shift. The captain doesn’t say a word as you painfully shuffle yourself into a sitting position, only releasing a long held breath once your back settles against the headboard of the bed.

“I’m Y/n.” Is all you say. You know that he is aware of just who he dragged half dead out of the ocean. For gods’ sake he had now made himself more an enemy of the empire by blasting a bloody hole in the side of the coastal wall of the Azure castle for you. There was no way this keen-eyed captain did not know just who you are, but still you’re not going to project your misguided formal ranks to anyone.

“Just Y/n?” He asks with a knowing look.

“Just Y/n.” You reply following a resounding nod. The captain only watches you for half a second more before leaning back casually on his chair.

“Alright then.”

“I don’t know why you did it - but I am in debt to you.” You manage to get out through your hoarse voice. As if only now noticing it, Kita rises out of his chair, grabbing a silver tumbler and filling it with what you hope is water.

“It was nothing but pure selfishness on my behalf.” He says, passing you the goblet which feels far too fancy to be drinking water from, but your aching throat has you reaching for it anyways.

“As for the debt, there is something that I believe you may be able to assist me with.” He doesn’t say anything more as he suddenly steps back, leaning against the edge of his desk.

His actions stir confusion in you, your brown furrowing. You'd expected him to clarify just what on earth that means, but hushed whispers break your silence.

“Shut your ruttin mouth! Do yer want to piss ‘em off?” Comes a failed quiet hiss from the other side of the wooden door to the room. Your gaze volleys between the direction of the door and Kita, catching him rolling his eyes before moving back to the chair behind his desk. As if this were a completely normal situation.

“Yeah because it’s my big mouth Atsumu that's going to wake em up.”

“That’s what I said, ain’t it!”

“You morons, you know that the captain’s in there and very much awake.” A third voice groans and you can't help but raise a brow as the door suddenly opens, causing two figures to tumble through the entrance and spilling onto the floor. It's the blonde head of hair of the two that draws your focus.

Rubbing the back of his head with a sneer strewn across his stunning face, Atsumu Miya look's like he had stepped out of your memories. Sure, he was older by a lot, but the mischievous glint that glimmers in his brown eyes is the same. The moment he shift's on his knees, his head turning to you, that sneer morph's into the same confident smirk he had perfected as a child.

“Don’t you lot know you should give sick people peace and quiet to heal?” Kita speaks, shifting his nonchalant expression to the duo on the floor who look seconds away from pointing fingers at who's at fault it was they were in the room at all.

“I saw the state of her back yesterday and just wanted to check up on how she is doing is all.” Your gaze briefly leaves Atsumu's shining one as you glance at the other person on the floor. His voice calls at your memory more than his face, so it takes you a moment to realise he was the one who somehow had snuck into the Roost to warn you.

He nods at you before grumbling, “Hitoshi Ginjima.” Not quite knowing if he was being blunt on purpose or if that was just him, you simply nod back.

“And your excuse, Atsumu?” Their captain asks, and as you look back at your childhood friend you can’t help but smile slightly at his teasing grin.

“Just blessin' the princess with my dashin' beauty.” There’s a groan from behind him and a smack to the back of the head sends him bowing over once more.

The scene causes a wave of nostalgia to course through you, having seen Atsumu been smacked over the back of his head by his twin and father countless times. Never hard enough to hurt, but just to admonish a child that saw it as acts of love.

“Get out the lot of you, she needs to rest and your ughly face isn’t helping Atsumu.” A stranger steps over Atsumu’s bowed figure as he cups the back of his head. The dark haired foreigner simply offers a incline of his head to his captain before walking to your bedside. With a hard gaze but somehow somewhat friendly smile, he nods to you.

“My name is Ren Ōmimi, and I'm the doctor aboard this vessel.” He begins to explain. “You’ve got a nasty infection in the lacerations on your back. Luckily we got to it in time but you are incredibly lucky. Another few hours and you would be carrion.” His words bring a silence to the room causing the dull pain to spark to life once again. During your time in the Roost, not once had you thought you would be taken out by infection, instead the queen was constantly making sure your wounds were clean so you could suffer for longer. You'd thought that the guards would have gotten to you by then. Hearing just how close you were to the gaping jaws of death does nothing to you. You let the words slip away, not focusing on them as you look at the doctor.

“You’ve been out for two days,” Ren says as if reading your mind. Tuning to his crewmates, he settles the two still on the floor with a glare. “Get out, I need to treat her wounds.”

With a begrudging moan, Atsumu raises off the floor but the feral grin that covers his face as he steps out the door offers nothing but promised trouble.

“I’ll bring you an ugly face that you’ll appreciate soon princess.” With those fleeting words, he’s gone. The captain following quickly on his heels, obviously wanting to give you some rare privacy. A luxury you'd gone without for so long it felt unnatural.

“I apologise that we have no female’s on board that could help with this.” Ren says as you shuffle forwards. “It’ll be easier to treat it if you lie on your stomach”. It’s odd in a way, that the pirate doesn’t drill you with the same sneering leer that the guards had as you lay down on your stomach, pulling the back of your shirt up, revealing your back.

“It’s fine.” Compared to the people at the prison, this man was as innocent as a fly even if he had a dagger sheathed at his side.

“Can I ask how this happened?” The crack of the whip is still as loud in your ears as it was just days ago. Without wanting to, your body instinctively inhales as a dulled spasm of pain shocks its way across your back, forking up to your shoulder and out towards your spine like splintered lightning as Ren coats the wounds with some sort of herb ointment.

By the time the guards had finished with your punishment, you’d been able to almost feel each of the nine tails of the whip slowly digging away at your back.

Not quiet knowing how to answer the question, you simply rest your cheek against your folded arms and shoot the pirate a look. “A man’s pride is such a delicate thing.”

Maybe you’d said it as a test, expecting a grunt of offended anger, however the low laugh that meets your ears instead surprises you. “Having been in this kind of work for most of my life, I can agree with that.”

“Do you say that as a pirate, or a doctor?” You can’t help but ask, a small smile pulling to your lips despite the stinging pain of him working on your wounds.

“Both.” Ren replies, a smile of his own forming as he finishes up. Reaching down to grab bandages off the back of the bed he speaks, “you wouldn't be surprised to know that men's pride gets more in the way when you’re trying to help them not die.” Not a surprise indeed. It’s not until he tells you to sit up so he can bandage you does his face begin to flush.

“I’ve got to bandage your wounds. I’m so sorry if this-” Maybe if you had been a different person, you may have hesitated. Rather, you shrug your shirt off, leaving your torso bare. To his credit, Ren’s eyes do not stray from his work on your spine, even as the bandage's wrapped around your chest and shoulder.

“Even though you are the only female on this ship, I want to assure you of a few things before the captain releases the rest of the hounds on you.” Ren says once more, breaking the silence.

“Everyone on this ship is aware of where you just escaped from, and we’re not naive enough to not understand that your experience there was anything but traumatic…” He manages to get out before finally taking a step back and holding your shirt out in front of you to grab as he still stands at your back.

You continue to listen as you slip it back over your head.

“Our captain is a man of honour, and all of us are too - even if there are a few questionable cases.” You have an idea that he’s talking about Atsumu. “I can guarantee that nothing will happen to you on this ship from the hands of one of our crew. Our captain would have their hands for such a thought.” Turning back around to face the tall man, you nod your head in thanks and wring your arms, immediately marvelling at the lightness of your limbs.

Without the dragging weight of the iron shackles, the movement feels almost wrong, looking at it feels wrong. Like there should be something there, that something is now missing.

“Thank you.” You get out, not taking your eyes off your free hands until he speaks again.

“There’s no need, it's human decency.” Ren shrugs before levelling you with a look. “Your back is going to take a week, maybe more to heal properly - those cuts were very deep when I got to them, and it will leave a permanent scar.” This time it’s you that shrugs, flexing your wrists simply because the movement still feels strange.

“I suppose I'll have a few of those,” Raising your hands until the red and still fresh scars around your wrists come into view. Without having to look down you know there will be matching ones on your ankles, but you’re not bothered by them. You’re just grateful that the bloody things are off.

“I can give you some ointment to reduce scarring.” He offers, gathering the supplies left on the bed.

“No it’s alright.” looking at your finally clean hands and arms, you can’t help but smile. “I don’t mind them.” Or the fact that you smell clean and not like piss - but you don’t voice the last part.

Another soft knock sounds from the door, and it's the warm brown eyes of the captain’s that meet your gaze once more.

“There’s not much, but it’s better than what you currently have.” Kita says in greeting as he slips through the door with a small neatly folded pile of fabric in his arms. It takes but a moment to realise they are for you, and another second to look down at the pathetic clothes you’re wearing.

Brief embarrassment surges as you take in your bare legs and the very very large white long sleeve collared shirt that drowns your figure. These are not the clothes you jumped into the ocean in.

Flicking his doctor a nod of thanks as he passes, Kita looks back to you.

“Your shirt was stuck to your wound so Ren had to cut it off you. And even if we wanted to save it for you - it reeked of piss.” He explains as if it solves everything. Taking the clothes and sitting down on the bed you furrow your brow. To be honest, you’re not all that bothered with the fact that at one point someone has seen you naked. They had to remove your clothes to get to the festering wound - it was life or death so it wasn’t that horrifying to think about for you. Yet you couldn’t help blurt out your curiosity.

“May I ask who changed me?”

The captain it seems was incredibly difficult to read. With a completely void expression you weren’t quite sure what to make of the silence that followed your question. Not until he turned his head towards the window, breaking your gaze and you saw the pink blush on the tips of his ears. Well, that would make it somewhat easier then.

“That would be the sailing master on this vessel.” At your own blank expression, the captain's stoic face broke into a small smile.

“Our navigator. A close friend of yours I believe.” It’s the amusement swimming in his dark gaze that has a blush burning across your cheeks.

Did he mean Osamu? Oh gods…

“Change your clothes and come out when you’re done. I’d like to introduce you to my crew now that you’re awake.” Were his parting words as he slipped back out of the door, finally leaving you utterly alone for the first time.

Instead of immediately changing, you decide to take a quick snoop around the room. Not really looking for anything in particular, but simply getting familiar with your surroundings.

Upon the desk near the bed, it’s piled high with various different items, coins, charts, leather back books that look so old and withered that if you were to pick it up it may crumble in your arms.

The one thing that did catch your gaze was the wooden picture frame sitting next to the unlit lamp. Treading on silent feet, you round the desk until you can see it without disturbing anything on the desk.

The image has you smiling for a reason you’re not sure of. You can immediately tell that the young boy perched on the lap of the old lady is the captain. But it's the expression of laughter and happiness covering their faces that has your heart clenching tightly in your chest. Kita couldn’t have been older than seven - close to how old you had been when your mother had passed.

‘You are the embodiment of my heart walking outside of my body darling.’

Turning away from the picture, you trudge back to the bed and change. The white blouse is oversized yet comfortable, and the charcoal pants hugged your figure a bit too tightly - that would need to be rectified, but for now it was okay. The black weathered and beaten boots were slightly too big for your feet, so you were conscious of your steps as you opened the door, facing the captain once more.

His gaze flickered over you in an assessing look, nothing more, before nodding. One day, you internally decide, I'm going to get a smile from this stoic man.

“If I didn’t know better, you could have passed for being a pirate.” He was a man of few words you were coming to realise as he turned and led you down the hall.

‘Track your exits, your windows, where every person stands and where any liftable item is’ You could hear your fathers voice breathing down your neck. Back when you were a child, you had grumbled and groaned every time he came to oversee your lessons, lecturing you on things you’d heard countless times before. Now you wish you could hear him nag at you about etiquette or your stance or even your rats damned hair that never wanted to behave.

The moment you both breach the external door, you wince again at the bright day light. You can't even remember the last time you stood in direct sunlight like this, so you take a moment to close your eyes and breathe in the air. The salinity of the breeze if familiar, but the lack of reeking fumes of your cell is a blessing. Exhaling, you block the full force of the sunshine from your face with your hand. Holy hells its bright.

You hear rather than see the scuffling of feet as you follow Kita’s back as he walks out onto the deck. When you manage to look up, a crowd of men stand in front of you, their gazes flicking between trying not to gawk at you in curiosity and to their captain who stands to in front of them. But as Kita clears his throat commanding their attention, there are more than a few admonished faces.

Part of you knows that you should probably be looking at the captain as well, but your eyes become cemented on a man standing to the far left of the crowd, leaning against the ship railing with his arms crossed.

There’s a soft breeze as the boat is moored, but it's still enough to whip his hair just enough to catch your eyes. His head is tilted towards the sky as if he is too just taing in the sunshine for the first time today. Your breath catches in your throat as he tilts his head back as Kita begins talking, but his eyes - those grey eyes - they immediately fall on you as if he knew exactly where you were.

He’d always seemed to know where to find you when you were children so it wasn’t that much of a surprise. But now, seeing him in the bright sunlight, dressed in a dark grey shirt rolled up to his biceps, the front basically half undone showing his golden skin and the medallion hanging around his neck.

Osamu Miya was a man.

It hits you just how far your youth is from you now. Gone was the scrawny boy you had known, with dreams of becoming the greatest swordsman in all the land to rival his father.

Instead now here he stands, a pirate, the navigator of the Nine Tails. And you share the deck, no longer known as a princess, but a supposed murderer.

There’s another cough by your side and you slide your gaze back to the rest of the crowd as Kita begins to make introductions.

Apart from the twins, Ren, the captain and Ginjima, the rest of the faces held no familiarity. Kita’s first mate was the first to take a step forward and hold out his hand for you to shake.

Aran Ojiro he had said, another quiet and seemingly level headed male, and an apparent opposite to many of the other men who were practically shoving each other out of the way to speak first until you were holding back on a laugh.

The sound collapsed in your chest as gold eyes filled your vision.

Him. Familiarity rang loud in your head as you looked at the man standing in the centre. You know him, you’re sure of it. As if reading your mind, Kita interrupts your train of thought.

“Suna-”

“Rinatrou,” You finish, not realising you’ve said the words out loud until all eyes are on you once again. The attention normally wouldn’t phase you, but as you stare at the young man in front of you, it dawns on you just how vulnerable you are. Even with training your father had pushed you towards in your youth, you are still a woman on a boat full of wanted pirates.

I will not be afraid. Drawing courage from god knows where, you look level Suna with a blank stare.

“Your father was on the council underneath the king.”

“Yes.” His single word answer tugs at a string of anger buried just deep enough to glance over, and you find yourself wanting to snarl.

“I passed him in the hall the day i was first dragged to the Roost.” Suna says nothing, simply listens as you let out your tangled thoughts. “He did nothing then, and every day since.” The men around you are so quiet that the only noise coming from the ship is the thudding of the waves lapping against it, and the creaking of the wooden mast as wind whips around the rolled up sails. “He’s a piece of shit.”

“A fact that I am vividly aware of.” If he was half as much of a piece of shit as his father, you have no doubt that Kita would not have let him on his ship - no matter how much he may have needed his aid. You could hold no grudge against the boy you’d seen on and off in court since your childhood for the actions for his father. Because you knew first hand, that children are not always the same as their parents. Your brother and the current king are a prime example.

The thought of Wakatoshi has you looking away from Suna, as if simply looking at him brought vivid images of your older brother to mind. What had he been told? That you had died? Or was he still unaware of your fate, thinking that the king's mother was simply taking you under her wing?

“— could be.” Kita’s voice speaks quietly and you wouldn’t have picked up on it at all had there not been a gentle tap on your ankle. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see blonde hair and a smug grin and you fight the childish urge to kick him back.

You may be grateful for Atsumu pulling you out of your spiralling thoughts, but you aren’t going to tell him that. Noticing your lack of attention, Kita simply turns your way and repeats what he said without a care in the world.

“We’re looking for something, and I think you might be able to tell me where it could be.” You must look as lost as you feel after hearing that because Kita simply waves away his crew, telling them to return to whatever they were doing before leading you back inside.

Entering the room that you were in before, you begin to realise it’s the captain's quarters. Kita doesn’t give you much time to stew over it as he rounds his desk, pushing things aside until you realise that the top of it is not made of wood, but a large map.

A very old one, with cream withered paper, ripped and missing some of the corners, yet somehow it seems brand new at the same time. But more than the fact it is possibly the largest map you’ve seen, you realise you’ve seen part of it before.

“It includes the Dead Isles.” You point out, leaning over the desk, looking at the archipelago of islands far off the coast of Hyogo.

“It includes all the Dead Isles.” Kita corrects, making you tear your eyes off the paper and look at him.

The Dead Isles archipelago didn’t appear on many maps, because no one had been able to completely cartograph the archipelago. The shallow reefs, razor sharp rocks and rumoured monsters of the deep, many people who had tried had died. And what land they had found was barren, unable to provide fertile fields for the people to farm - they had forgotten about much of the world and hence named the Dead Isles.

“You mean to tell me that this is a complete and accurate map of one of the great mysteries of the known world.” You ask, not quite believing what he was saying.

“It’s not one hundred percent accurate.” Osamu’s voice is like a whisper in the wind, and you find yourself utterly unable to do anything but watch as he shifts next to you, pointing a finger on the small cluster of Islands. Those grey eyes like swirling storm clouds shift to you, drawing you in until you feel like you’re standing in the middle of that hurricane where everything is still and quiet.

Standing in the eye of a storm, that's how it feels when looking at the navigator.

“I wanted you to look at it and to see if anything looks familiar to you.” Kita finishes, dragging you back to reality and the task at hand. Anything familiar... its a map, of course its familiar. With furrowed brows you look over the map once more. What were they hoping for you to find?

Nothing about the islands or their placement seemed to stand out to you. With a defeated sigh you let your eyes roam over the rest of it. About to voice your failure, you see the beautifully drawn design around the map. Many of the maps and charts you perused as a child were part of heavy tomes, artfully designed to be more appealing to the eye than factual.

Parts of the map were similar to those, with depictions of the sun and moon, sea monsters spoken about in folktales and myths told to get children to behave, and constellations scattered around the border.

It was one of those constellations that seemed to call out to you, as if there was a hand on your shoulder, urging you to look at it more. As if to say This one, can you see it?

You wouldn’t need that gut feeling to know that it was important. No it was the constellation that you had been obsessed with since you were but a child. A trident, with a crown of stars above the teeth.

You knew that constellation, that story. One that was passed down from person to person from your mothers people. A people from the Broken Islands that had all but died out, their myths and gods with them.

So why on earth did they have that constellation on here?

Kita is already looking at you when you glance up for confirmation. And the light in his eyes tells you that you’ve just confirmed what he had thought. You know what he hoped you would. Did this have to do with the Kaimana constellation or its myth? Or could it be something more.

Your brain whirls as you realise that this may be more complicated than simply looking at a map. That this may have to do with the entire hidden history your mother had known but was unable to fully share with you - and if he was riding on getting any major information from you he is going to be severely disappointed at your lack of knowledge.

“You recognise the constellation.” Atsumu stated, sitting in the chair beside his captain, leaning back on two legs, but looking at you as if it weren’t a question that you might recognise, but a predetermined fact.

“I do, I read about it as a child.” You see the look Osamu shoots you out of the corner of your eye. One that calls you a rutting liar at the withheld truth of just how obsessed you had been with the story behind it. It’s Kita’s expression that has you explaining yourself.

“My mother was from a small island tribe in the Broken Islands. They didn’t really have a written history, but instead their history and stories were passed down from generation to generation.” You start, looking back down at the map again. “She died when I was a child, so much of that knowledge was lost with her. She had always said I’d needed to be older to hear some of the stories. Afterwards, I searched the royal archives for anything I didn’t know, or asked my father. But the books in there held only shadows of their knowledge.”

Once again, you turn to the captain and finally stand up straight. “If it is information you want from me, I’m sorry but I don't think i'll be of much use to your cause.”

“So far I you have been.” Kita points out before reaching into his coat pocket. “Years ago I obtained an amulet. The night of your brother's coronation, we only infiltrated the event to make a trade deal.” Something in your chest aches at his words. You know, deep down you do, that the night you’d seen Osamu again hadn’t been out of pure curiosity on his behalf. Albeit you hadn’t known he was a pirate, you’d been blinded by the shock that he was there and alive to think of much else. So you shouldn’t be hurt by the truth, but yet here you are, your heart throbbing in time with the subdued pain in your back.

“Osamu said that you have far more knowledge of the ancient constellations and their meanings than he does. And considering much of what I have been told of them are obscenely contradictory to what they are now known as, I want someone who’s more knowledgeable on it than a simple ‘have read in passing’ hunch.”

“Why?” You ask before your brain has to chance to overthink whether asking outright is the right thing to do. What on earth are they looking for that may possibly have something to do with long lost constellations and stories.

“I traded the life of my enemy’s first mate to get this back after it was stolen from me, because somehow, I just know that it’s important.” The captain’s voice was resolute as he pulled something out of his pocket, brandishing it on the desk for them all to see.

There it is.

The thick golden chain looks as if it was freshly polished, without a single scratch or mark upon it. At the bottom of the linked metal lies a large circular amulet. The branded large sea dragon wrapped almost around itself, its eyes embellished with two small sapphires has your heart dropping into your stomach.

It’s back.

When you were seven, you’d been diving off the main dock trying to find coastal clam shells when you’d gotten your foot stuck in some leftover fishing net that some of the fishermen had lazily just dumped under the wharf. You remember the panic, the fear as your chest burned from lack of oxygen. You’d struggled to see as you tried to hack away with your small fishing knife at the rope. You remember the black dots dancing in your vision, your heart thundering inside your skull until it was all that you could hear.

Your body reacts the same as you look into the small sparkling eyes of the sea dragon. Its just as beautiful as it always had, the gemstone eyes just as hypnotic as when you’d looked at it, slowly falling asleep as a child.

“Where-” your voice sounds foreign to you as it breaks. “Where did you get this?” With trembling fingers, you let your fingers brush over the metal. It’s so cold in comparison to the warmth you were used to, from hours and hours of resting against one's skin.

“Why?” Maybe it’s the lack of explanation, or the blaring curiosity that has the small ember of anger flickering inside you from earlier exploding into a fiery rage. Maybe it's the fact that it is here, still in one piece that has your anguish burning to life. Or maybe, it’s because you are staring at the proof that this, this scrap piece of metal is here and she isn’t. “Because that,” You’re pathetic broken tone completely eclipsed by your fury as you shove a shaking finger at the amulet. “-was around my mothers neck when she was pushed out to sea on her funeral pyre.”

#soldier poet king #osamu miya x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu fantasy au #osamu fantasy au #osamu miya fantasy au #osamu x y/n #osamu miya x y/n #atsukashii writes

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allegra-writes · 4 years ago

Text

“The Devil all the time”

Hunter!Tom x Demon!Reader

Supernatural AU

NSFW

Warnings: Smut

"Break the silence, damn the dark

Damn the light..."

The Chain - Fleetwood Mac

Forget everything you thought you knew, you had every reason to be afraid of the dark when you were a kid. In this world where monsters are real, the Holland brothers hunt them so normal people can continue to live in the bliss of ignorance.

But when something goes terribly wrong, Tom will do anything to save his brother's life, including selling his soul to the devil. Well... Not exactly the devil, but close enough.

You don't need to watch Supernatural to read this AU

MY MASTERLIST

He knew it was you, even before turning. He knew it as soon as he heard your deceptively delicate footsteps break the supernatural silence that had fallen over the forest the moment he had buried the little metal box in the old crossroad. Tom didn't want to think about what it meant, having such an intimate knowledge of you to be able to recognize you by the cadence of your steps, being so in sync with you that he could tell whenever you were in the vicinity.

So he used his favorite deflection technique whenever it came to you.

"Y/n? What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? Sorry, did I say nice girl? I meant evil skank"

The insult didn't phase you. None ever did. It was hard to take them seriously when you knew how many nights he fell asleep with your name on his lips, after pathetically releasing himself into his own hand, or fucking his boring girl-next-door girlfriend, chasing orgasm over unsatisfactory orgasm that would never completely satiate him. Because it wasn't your face the one contorted in pleasure looking up at him from the mattress.

"You called. I came" You batted your lashes, sweetly. "I always come when you call…"

He gulped, the innuendo not lost to his ears. It threw him off guard, like it always did.

"I would have thought this would be… beneath you" Tom cleared his throat, looking away, trying to regain his footing, "collecting a deal, like a vulgar crossroad demon"

There was nothing vulgar about the soul of a Holland. But he didn't need to know that, so you just shrugged,

"Queen Rowena has an interest in you boys. She finds you entertaining. I'm just being a good subdit"

He scoffed,

"Funny. I would have never peg you for a sub"

You took a step closer to him.

"You don't have what it takes to make me submit, Holland" Your hot breath fanned over his skin, setting his skin on fire. Making his blood boil. You had a way of doing that, of bringing out the worst in him. Of making him lose control. And you thoroughly enjoyed it, poking at the bear until the claws came out, laughing at the carnage.

Another step, and you could physically feel it: The hate, radiating from his every pore, his mind screaming with it. He hated you. He hated your kind. He hated your beauty. He hated the pretty white dress you were wearing, so pure and innocent, glowing like a beacon in the dark. A lure, guiding uncountable men before him into perdition.

But above all else, he hated that, even then, he couldn't help but to want you. Fervently. Desperately. Irreversibly.

"I came here to make a deal" He croaked, cursing himself internally for showing weakness.

"Let's negotiate, then," you replied, stepping away, mercifully letting him breath.

"My brother-"

"I know" You interrupted, sounding bored already, "Reapers everywhere are going berserk. Who, oh who, will get to reap the soul of a Holland?"

The wind picked up, making your long dress billow around your legs. You twirled a little, admiring the way it moved. Tom's eyes were glued to you, almost hypnotized. Partly because you were too dangerous to be left unsupervised even for a second, partly because you looked beautiful like that. It had never been more obvious to him that you were an unearthly creature, you didn't belong to this world. There, surrounded by greenery, barefoot, swaying softly under the twilight light, he wondered how could anybody ever mistake you for a human.

"Of course" your apathetic voice took him out of his revery, "being reapers, watching them go wild is rather boring. I swear they are the most uninteresting beings of all creation"

That made him see red.

"Boring? Boring?!" He knew his voice was rising with every word but he just couldn't help it, "They're waiting for my little brother to die!!"

"Which could happen any minute now," You reminded him, all playfulness gone from your demeanor, "so if you wanna strike a deal, I suggest you start making me an offer worth my time"

He was taken aback by that.

"I- My soul in exchange of a wish, and you collect it in ten years" He tried and failed not to think about what that implied: vicious, invisible hounds of hell tearing apart his body and dragging his soul to hell, "Isn't that the usual deal?"

You scoffed,

"After all the things you did in your life, what makes you think your soul doesn't belong in hell already? And if your brother dies, that is one less Holland on earth to worry about. You and your brothers have managed to become a big pain in the ass for us…"

He pulled out a knife, a strange one, with runes in the blade. You arched a brow in recognition

"The Winchesters' knife. Are you threatening me, little hunter?"

Your lack of reaction was another blow. He had hoped you'd be more impressed than that. Nonetheless he turned it in his hands, offering you the handle.

"I'm throwing it into the deal"

To his surprise, you didn't immediately take it from his hands, choosing instead to pace the clearing, deep in thought.

The truth was you couldn't care less about the knife, it wasn't more dangerous to you than a toothpick. And while it was true it could certainly damage your queen, she had a far better weapon to protect herself: You.

But it did confirm your suspicions about the Hollands having access to the old Winchester arsenal, which meant they had access to something way more dangerous than that rustic weapon made of steel and bone. A book, made of ancient dark magic and human skin, written in blood. A book that was precious to queen Rowena and by extension to you: the Book of the Damned.

The Hollands were a family of extremely talented, yes, but old fashioned hunters. The stab first, ask questions later kind. They probably had no idea what they had in their hands… but you did.

"Very well then," you finally declared, "this is my offer: Your soul and that knife in exchange for sweet Harry's life and one year for you to get all your businesses in order"

Tom felt all the blood drain from his face. One year. Just 365 more days to live, before an eternity of torture in hell.

"O-one year?" He breathed.

"One year" You confirmed, "More than enough time to go see the Grand Canyon, eat the world's spiciest burger or whatever you have on your bucket list"

The disdain in your words only made him hate you harder.

"Not nearly enough to live" He replied through clenched teeth. You rolled your eyes,

"You're a hunter. You lead short, violent existences, charging head first towards what most humans run away from. Things faster, stronger, more powerful than you, surviving each encounter out of sheer luck. Killing one monster after another, until that luck runs out. Because the monsters? Unlike you who rely on it everyday, they just need. One. Single. Lucky. Strike." You punctuated every word with one step in his direction, until you were face to face again. Until, for the first time ever, you could see the fear, the desperating hopelessness he kept hidden inside, reflected on the warm coffee of his eyes. You knew a lesser man would be already crying and begging for Mercy.

Tom wasn't like other men though, that was the whole point.

"Or…" You soften your tone and your stance, letting your fingers ghost over the back of his hand, his whole skin erupting in goosebumps. That was the very first time you touched him. Ever.

And it was as if nobody had ever touched him before, the light caress enough to set every nerve ending, every single one of his cells, alight.

He was so distracted by the sensation and his body's response to it, he almost didn't hear your next words over the sound of his own pounding heart.

"Or you could keep your little pocket knife, and even have your ten years if…"

"If?" He struggled to focus.

"You let me borrow a book"

His brows furrowed in confusion,

"A book? What book?"

"Any book of my liking, for as long as I want" You shrugged it off, "Do we have a deal?"

There was a catch there, it was obvious. He knew he was going to regret it but, what choice did he have?

"Deal"

Your smile was blinding, luminous. If he didn't know any better, he would have called it angelical. Now, that was one ridiculous thought.

"What now? We seal it with a kiss?" His eyes fell to your lips, so soft looking and inviting. He wasn't eager to put his mouth on a filthy demon and doom himself. He wasn't.

You chuckled, but there was no humor behind it.

"Oh no, darling. This is big. This is special" You're special, "A simple kiss just won't cut it…"

No. You couldn't mean… could you? Was there no limits to your hatred for him? Did you really want him so defeated, so humiliated?

"What do you want?" He spat through gritted teeth.

"The same thing you want" You put your hands on his chest, rising to your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "The same thing you have wanted ever since we first met . The thing that's obsessing you..."

"I don't know what you're talking about"

You smirked,

"You can lie to your family, you can even lie to yourself, little hunter... But you can't lie to me."

He couldn't hide, you could see every fantasy, hear every single one of his thoughts of you on repeat, like a prayer in your direction. Just like he couldn't hide the way his skin was burning now for you, the way his blood rushed south, the way all logical thought left his brain, his iron grip on his emotions finally breaking as he snapped.

Lightning fast, in just a blink, he twirled you around, your back hitting the rough bark of a tree, as he towered over you, demon blade to your throat, every inch of his body pressed against yours. His eyes were ablazed with rage, and passion, as he surged forward, striking you with his best hit.

He kissed you.

Lips vicious against yours, teeth biting and scraping only to soothe the offense seconds later with his tongue, until he was dizzy, light headed with the lack of oxygen and the taste of you. The hand not holding the knife to your neck fell to your breast, squeezing the pliant flesh with enough force to cause pain on a human woman, merely making you moan. He swallowed the sound, letting his fingers trace your waist, your hips, clawing at your dress until he finally, finally, felt skin under his fingertips.

It was better than anything his mind had conjured in his feverish fantasies in the dead of the night. The skin of your inner thighs velvety soft, as they parted under his touch, the sweetest sounds leaving your lips as his fingers found your naked core. You weren't wearing any underwear, probably never had. The realization that, in all your past encounters and fights you had been standing there, just feet away from him with nothing under that damn dress hit him like a truck, making his head swim.

He searched between your folds, and suddenly his fingers were inside you. He was inside you, a part of him was buried deep within you, within your silky heat, claiming you as his, if only for the night.

And you were so wet for him, and only getting wetter as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, scissoring them, opening you up until he was able to slip a third one in, fucking you with his hand in earnest. You were sobbing, clutching at his biceps, head thrown back in pleasure. He took advantage of that to suck bruises on your neck, only to see them fade before his eyes. Your skin tasted clean, smelled like wild flowers and rain. Ozone. Lightning. Like those coursing through his veins with every cry, every delicious gasp you made.

He found the perfect spot inside you, the one that sent sparks through your nerves with every stroke of his calloused fingers.

"This what you wanted?" To make him lose it? Lose his mind, himself, in you? "For me to make you come on just my fingers, like the little slut you are?"

The floor disappeared from under his feet as you sent him flying away from you, a searing pain exploding at the back of his head as he landed, sprawled at the feet of an old, dying oak. With blurry eyes, he saw you stalk towards him, all power and cold, controlled fury.

"Let's get one thing straight, Holland. I'm not one of your sluts" You sneered, "and I'm definitely not your basic bitch of a girlfriend. So you better start showing me a little respect, are we clear?"

He gulped, sitting up. He had to be seriously fucked up in the head, for his cock to be twitching inside his pants at your threatening tone.

"Crystal"

"Good" You declared, coming to a stop right in front of him, standing between his parted legs, "Now, let's put that mouth of yours to a better use"

He knew that image was going to be forever tattooed on his brain: You standing in front of him, holding the skirt of your dress up, waiting for him to put his mouth on you. Tom took a moment to admire you, before delving in, flattening his tongue over your slit, before drawing tight, precise circles on your clit with the tip. God, you tasted so divine it was messing with his head; something as dark and corrupted and twisted as you, feeling so exquisite, so perfect, so heavenly to his every sense.

He helped you hook your knee over his shoulder, his other arm snaking around your leg, pulling you even closer. You could feel his smirk against your cunt the moment he realized your legs were shaking, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care, not with his wicked talented mouth devouring you like a last meal, rocking your whole world, making you see stars behind your closed eyelids.

You always knew that man would make the stars fall.

Tom kept on, penetrating you with his tongue as far as it would go, his whole face moving against you. The slight burn of his scruff felt delicious against your delicate labia, as he used his fingers to open you up like a flower, separating your petals to get to the delectable nectar inside. You were close, he could feel it, the obscene sounds you were making, the waves of sweetness falling on his lips feeding his ego, filling him up with pride. By the time the night was over, you'd be unable to forget him. He would make sure of that. He would make you come, over and over, until the only thoughts left in your brain were of him, the only word your lips knew how to speak was his name. He would mark you, like a bloodstain, like you had done to him.

Almost there, he almost had you. Your muscles were locking, your walls starting to tremble, when a loud crack resonated over his head, and you stepped away on unstable legs, breathing hard. You didn't even need to breathe, it was just his effect on you. He made you feel human. And it was both exhilarating, and terrifying.

You took another step back, but he took hold of your ankle, tugging hard enough to make you fall on his lap, white skirt covering the place where his hands were fumbling with his zip, with his boxers, aligning himself with your entrance.

"Fuck!" He cursed, as you sank on his rock hard cock, not giving him any time to get used to the feeling of you around him, before starting to move.

"How does it feel" You taunted, "fucking a monster? Is it as good as you dreamed of?"

Better. You felt even better. Tom hadn't thought it was possible, but he loathed you even more for it.

"Shut up" He growled.

You leaned forwards, breath hot against his ear,

"Cause you feel amazing, Tom. Your cock feels like heaven"

His hand tangled in your hair, keeping you in place as he crashed his mouth to yours again, the other fumbling for the buttons at the back of your dress, tugging and pulling, tearing at the fabric, in his haste to feel more. More of your skin against his, more of the body that had been his hyper fixation for far too long.

You sat up, still grinding on his cock, letting the tattered dress fall to your waist, watching in satisfaction as his eyes went wide, zeroing on the way your breasts bounced in sync with your hips.

Reaching up, for a glorious second Tom could feel one perfect pebbled nipple against his palm, the roundness, the weight of your soft flesh on his fingers; before an invisible force pinned his hands to his sides.

You tsked.

"Still don't get it, do you little hunter? This?" You let yourself fall all the way down his thick cock, hard, tearing twin moans from his mouth and yours, "This isn't about you. This is about me."

Leaning back, you braced yourself on his strong thighs, changing the angle, changing your movements to a slower rocking against his pelvis. The friction against your clit was perfect, the feeling of his big, throbbing dick so deep inside you, stretching you like no one before, sending electrical pulses through your spine. It was decadent. It was ecstasy.

It was torture. Underneath you, Tom was sobbing, eyes bright with unshed tears, fighting in vain against his bonds. He needed it faster, harder, anything to help tilt him over the edge you were keeping him on, your sweet cunt too tight, too good around him to allow his cock to soften, your rhythm too leisured to let the tensed, strained coil inside him to snap. You were uncaring, using him remorselessly to get yourself off, your little moans getting higher in pitch the closer you came to your climax. Tom felt himself getting higher just by looking at your beautiful pleasure ridden face. You cried out, and suddenly it was happening, you were coming, pulsating around his cock, falling apart on top of him.

And the ground beneath him quaked. The sky above his head bled, the blue twilight torn open by lightning, and thunder, despite the fact that there wasn't a single cloud marring its diaphaneity. You fell forwards, hand braced on the tree, next to his face, ridding the aftershocks of your orgasm until the end.

"No!" Tom cried when, after a few seconds of catching your breath, you dismounted him, letting his dick slip out of you.

You arched a brow,

"Something you want, Tommy?"

He locked his mouth shut, gritting his teeth. You smiled, amused, knuckles stroking his still iron hard cock.

"Do you need more, little hunter?" You enveloped him in your hand, moving it up and down his member, watching the head disappear under his foreskin, "Do you need to come?"

He banged the back of his head against the bark.

"Yes!" He finally admitted, "So badly…"

"Then beg" You commanded, stilling your hand. He snapped open the eyes he hadn't realized he had closed. Oh, if looks could kill…

"Never" He hissed, livid.

"Very well, then" You picked up your pace, pumping him fast, your grip almost too rough. He gasped for air, feeling the telltale tightening of his balls, the coil inside just about to break under the tension. But you must have felt it too, cause your hand let go of him altogether. Too late, he understood what you were doing.

One beat. And then another, and he was coming all over his t-shirt, orgasm completely ruined.

He cursed, tears escaping through the corner of his eyes, fingers digging into the moist ground under his hands. You chuckled, cruelly, standing up and stepping out of your shredded dress. He could have ganked you with the demon blade in that moment, he really could have, except his hands were still pinned by an invisible force at his sides.

"Let me go, you bitch," Tom growled, tossing, fighting against his restraints to no avail, "aren't you done?!"

"Not quite." You smiled, mockingly sweet, "Just one more thing before I leave. Don't worry, it will only hurt for a minute…"

He renewed his efforts to escape, as you bended over, reaching for his chest, white hot pain burning through his ribs. He almost cried out, but what he saw stole the voice from his throat, turned his blood into ice inside his veins, leaving him shaking, jaw slack and mouth open in a soundless scream:

You, naked and gorgeous and terrible. Transfixed, eyes glowing with a supernatural indigo light, the shadow of two massive, bended, broken wings projected on the trees behind you.

Not a demon, he thought. You're not a demon.

You smiled, and it was terrifying.

"No. I'm the thing demons have nightmares about" You replied out loud to the words he had only said in his mind, "And now, little hunter, you belong to me. Mind, body and soul"

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x you #the devil all the time #supernatural #supernatural au #supernatural smut #demons #angels #demon!reader #hunter!tom holland

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