#bad idea it was muddy and raining. but i did not fall

[gorgynei]

(guy aware of how to safely go into the woods) hmm i think i will. wander into the woods while its dumping rain and not look at when sunset is. and also not tell anyone im doing this and not bring a flashlight. sounds like a solid idea

[incorrectmarvelquotesss]

— obscured vision —

Warnings: angst, stalking, gun violence, blood, mentions of a fight

Summary: Jason can’t see anything but you.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Word Count: ~5.4k

A/N: I wanted it out, so here you are! Enjoy ;)

Jason’s breath turned into vapor in the winter air, his boots slushing and crunching through the wet snow. He barely suppressed a groan as he took another step up, his stitched abdomen protesting with each jarring movement on the stairs.

Taking the fire escape had been a stupid idea, but he’d forgotten his keys and knew the window would be cracked open. His face was hidden beneath his hoodie, his red helmet stuffed in his backpack. A bruised face unhidden by makeup and a hoodie over his head would have to do tonight.

As he tugged the window upward, its stubborn wheels jammed halfway, as usual. He let out a frustrated growl, resting his forehead against the cold glass as his breath fogged it, despite his usual distaste for condensation. His breaths came shallow, each one catching on his aching side, while the city buzzed below him.

His shoulders sagged as he turned, slipping off his backpack and tossing it through the narrow gap with a careless flick. Leaning back against the now wet glass, he closed his eyes, letting the ambient sounds drift around him: a distant siren, a muted shout, the rustle of wind down the alley.

He slid down onto the gritty metal of the fire escape, the rough brick behind him biting into his jacket. He didn’t care. Bruce had been slipping too much cash into his account each month anyway; he could replace any jacket. His mind idly wondered what the others used theirs for.

Between Dick, Tim, and Damian, he was certain he was the only one who knew what it was like to have empty pockets and a cold room as a kid.

He opened his eyes. The alley below was cloaked in shadows, save for the occasional beam of a passing headlight catching on the dumpster. He kept his eyes trained there, letting his head sink back against the sill, neck aching with the effort. He let his gaze drift up at last, tracing the clouds rolling thickly over Gotham’s sky.

He exhaled, and the dampness in the air clung to his face.

It had rained all evening. The snow that everyone had eagerly enjoyed yesterday had turned into slush as it always did. He had lived in Gotham for his whole life—not including the five years he was dead or training with the League of Assassins.

This was how winter had always started. He had never enjoyed the transition from fall to winter, but the lovely winter was worth it. 

He shivered as the first icy droplet hit his cheek, reminding him he needed to get inside before he was soaked. Gripping the edge of the window, he braced himself, shoving the glass upward with a strained grunt.

The chill of the window stung his hands as he scrambled through, landing hard on his couch. The throbbing in his side flared, and he bit back a curse, ignoring the muddy tracks he’d left across the carpet.

“Todd,” a familiar voice called from his kitchen. 

Jason groaned, head turning just enough to gaze into the dark kitchen. He could make out the faint outline of his youngest brother, Damian, from the small light of the numbers on the stove. “Demon,” he replied smoothly, keeping his tone measured. Every bit of him wanted to tell Damian to leave his place, but there was no fight in him left tonight. “What do you want?”

“Father’s having one of those… nights,” Damian explained with his arms still crossed. Jason noted the kid’s barely visible flinch. If Jason squinted, he could make out the shape of a backpack on Damian’s back. “I needed a place to stay.”

“And you chose mine over Dick’s?” Jason asked with one of his eyebrows raised. It was rare for Tim or Damian to crash at his apartment rather than Dick’s for when Bruce was having one of those bad nights where he kept snapping at them and Alfred.

The last time Tim had crashed at his, it was because Dick was off-planet. 

Damian managed a shrug as he walked closer. “I needed someone quiet.” Damian muttered, barely audible. But Jason heard it, even over the hum of his refrigerator. Damian’s hand reached out and he flicked the living room light on swiftly, watching with an amused smirk as Jason squinted against the sudden harsh lighting. 

“Turn that off, brat,” Jason grumbled out, voice rumbling through the somewhat area. Damian, in his usual fashion, ignored Jason. He looked around the apartment, nose wrinkling as he took in the mess; laundry piles, books, take out bags, anything to everything was lying around. 

“You’re getting tardy, Todd.” Damian’s nose wrinkled a bit more as his eyes snagged on the muddy footprints Jason had just tracked in. He kicked over a pile of laundry mercilessly. Damian’s eyes darted to Jason’s bedroom door and then back to Jason. “Where’s Y/N?” 

Jason’s chest tightened, the room seeming colder than before. He averted his gaze, shoulders slumping as he leaned back into the couch cushions. Just hearing your name reopened the wound he’d been trying to bury. Only a week since the fight, yet it felt like months. Every day was a hollow routine, made worse by your absence.

“She’s not here right now,” Jason muttered out, the words like bile on his tongue. He didn’t meet Damian’s gaze as he spoke. He knew what Damian would say if he knew why you weren’t here. 

Damian crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “What did you do, Todd?” 

Jason could feel the judgement radiating from the younger teen. His own mind was spewing a bunch of nonsense about how he didn’t deserve you and it’d be better if he had let you go for good. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to see your clothes in his closet. Maybe then the second toothbrush in the bathroom wouldn’t be so glaringly vibrant. Maybe then he could ignore the judgement on Damian’s face. 

“Nothing,” Jason grumbled, his eyes cast on the mud tracks. “I didn’t—”

“Bullshit, Todd.” Damian’s voice was just as harsh as Jason thought it would be. “She couldn’t have just up and left you.” That was the harder truth to swallow for him. The fact that if he hadn’t messed up, you would have been here. You probably would have already fed and tucked Damian into the spare bedroom before waiting out here for him. 

Jason’s jaw ticked. “Demon—”

“As much as we all hate to admit it, she loves you for a reason I don’t understand.”

“Damian,” Jason cut in harshly. “It doesn’t matter. She’s gone, okay?”

Damian’s face turned harder, frown deepening. “But—”

“I said, shut up.” Jason’s words were sharp as glass, each syllable flaring the ache in his side. He inhaled deeply, willing himself not to think about you, about your absence that seemed to seep into every corner of the apartment.

He’d even used your shampoo this morning, clinging to the fading scent. His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms as he fought to stay grounded. He inhaled deeply, trying not to think about you or the fact that you weren’t here, sleeping in his bed, in his room. 

Damian glared back, silence filling the air between them. Finally, with a curt nod, he muttered, “Goodnight, Todd.”

Jason offered a brief nod in return, his throat tight. Damian disappeared into the guest room, the door clicking softly shut behind him. Alone again, Jason let his head fall back against the couch, eyes stinging under the bright lights. He didn’t bother turning them off, didn’t bother kicking off his boots.

Without you there, urging him to get up or scolding him for the mess, he sank deeper into the quiet, heavy ache of the night, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he told himself the sting was only from the light.

The faint buzz from his pocket tugged him back to the present, cutting through the haze of his thoughts like a blade. He sighed, a soft curse slipping past his lips as he fumbled for the phone. If it was Tim asking for a place to crash again, he might just let it ring out.

But as his eyes flicked to the screen, the air shifted in his lungs. Your face—peeking over a book in the picture he’d taken months ago—stared back at him. His hand stilled, heart lurching in a way that made his ribs ache. His thumb moved on instinct, swiping to answer.

He pressed the phone to his ear, his voice betraying him with a crack. “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?” The way the question splintered in his throat made him wince. He hadn’t heard your voice in days, and the ache of your absence pressed heavier than the bruises littering his body.

He clenched his jaw to keep himself steady, to not let the desperation seep through. But all he could think about now was how good it would feel to hear you say his name again, soft and familiar. 

“Jason,” you breathed. The sound of your voice over the line sent a wave of relief and something sharper through him. There was strain beneath it, though—like a string pulled too tight, ready to snap. His shoulders stiffened, the dull burn of his battered muscles forgotten as he sat straighter. 

“What’s wrong?” The question came low and urgent, his tone dipping into something darker. His hand tightened on the phone as he heard the hesitation in your next breath. 

“I think… someone’s following me,” you whispered. The tremor in your voice tightened his chest, his pulse thudding harder. In the background, the sharp crackle of a passing vehicle echoed through the phone, every sound amplified in his ears. 

Jason stood, ignoring the protest of his battered body. His stitches pulled, a faint sting blooming at his side, but he didn’t care. He crouched to grab his backpack, the weight of his helmet inside grounding him as the panic in your voice lingered in his ears. 

“Where are you?” His words came quick, the edges rougher than he intended. His heartbeat roared, drowning out everything else. Screw logistics. Screw the rest he’d planned tonight or the fact that Damian would have to hunt him down if he woke up. None of that mattered. Not when you were out there alone, afraid. 

You rattled off a street intersection near your campus he knew very well. He could practically smell the sweet scent of sugar and the bitter taste of coffee from the cafe near where you were. He had picked you up so many times before for this one class.

He cursed himself mentally as he tried to shake the guilt of not being there right now, regardless of the fact that you two had fought. You were his girl. 

He strode to the window, eyes scanning the shadows beyond the glass as if sheer will could bridge the distance between you. “Stay on the phone with me, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone softer but no less intense. “I'm coming to get you.”

“Okay,” came your soft reply, fear embedded into the one word. He let out a deep breath as he pushed open the window, ignoring the burning sensation that made his teeth clench. The cool night air hit Jason like a slap as he swung himself onto the fire escape, his movements swift despite the dull fire in his muscles. The phone stayed pressed to his ear, your breathing on the other end the only thing grounding him. 

He cursed himself for every moment he’d wasted, every second he wasn’t already there.

“You still with me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice steadier now, though his body was alight with adrenaline. 

“Yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. There was a hitch in your breath, a telltale sign of you trying to hold it together. It broke something deep inside him. His chest ached again. 

“Good. Keep talking to me,” he said as he climbed down, his boots landing with a soft thud on the alley pavement. His bike wasn’t far. He broke into a jog, ignoring the way his body protested, his stitches pulling tight beneath his jacket. “What do you see? Anyone around?” 

“No, just... cars parked on the street. A few lights on in the apartments above the shops. It’s quiet,” you said, your voice trembling. He heard the little exhale you let out, evidently overwhelmed and scared. He could almost imagine you, shoulders curling in and phone pressed to your ear with that little pinch in your brows. 

Jason grit his teeth, his free hand curling into a fist. He hated this—the vulnerability in your tone, the fear lacing every word. You weren’t supposed to sound like this. Not his girl. Not because someone was too stupid to know who they were messing with. 

“You’re doing great,” he said, his voice dropping into something softer as he reached his bike. He stuffed his hoodie into the bag, the red bat symbol now on display. He yanked the red helmet free from his bag, tossing it on with practiced ease. “Just keep walking, sweetheart. I’m right behind you.”

The lie slipped out so easily he almost believed it himself. But you didn’t call him on it. Instead, you exhaled shakily again, the sound like static in his ear. 

“Jason,” you whispered, his name barely audible over the distant hum of an engine passing you. He closed his eyes briefly at the slight comfort you saying his name brought him. 

“I’m here,” he said firmly, his voice steady and sure even as his heartbeat thundered. He started the bike, the engine roaring to life beneath him. “Just stay with me, okay? I’ll be there soon.” 

The streets of Gotham blurred past him as he sped through the city, the cold wind biting at his skin. Every turn brought him closer, but it wasn’t fast enough. He knew that intersection—the alleyways, the blind corners, the spots where someone could lurk unseen. He was thinking in a way he hadn’t done since Damian was kidnapped by his grandfather. All the ways he could protect you, hold you near him when he reached you. 

“Talk to me,” he urged, his tone firmer now. “Do you have the gun I gave you?” His stomach lurched as he asked the question, the thought of you needing it pushing bile into his throat. He had given it to you, but he had also mentioned that you would never need to use it.

Now he was left contemplating his promise to you. The promises of protection, of caring, of loving you falling hollow. 

There was a beat of silence on the line, and Jason’s grip on the handlebars tightened, his knuckles whitening. The roar of the bike’s engine couldn’t drown out the pounding in his ears as he waited for your answer.

“Yes,” you finally said, your voice trembling. “It’s in my bag.” Relief warred with something darker in his chest. He was glad you had it, but the fact you might need it made his stomach churn. He hated this—hated that he couldn’t reach through the phone and pull you into his arms, hated the way his promises felt like empty echoes now. 

“Good,” he said, forcing his voice to stay even as he leaned into a sharp turn, the tires skidding slightly on the slick Gotham streets. “Keep it close, sweetheart, but don’t touch it unless you have to. Do you understand?” The rain started pouring down a bit faster. 

“Okay,” you whispered, the word fragile and uncertain, but he clung to it like a lifeline. 

The city blurred past him—neon lights bleeding into shadows, the cold air slicing against his exposed skin. He weaved between cars, reckless but controlled, every second bringing him closer. But it still felt like miles too far. Too far from you. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said suddenly, your voice breaking. “I shouldn’t have called you. I just—I didn’t know who else—”

“Hey,” he cut you off sharply, the bike screeching to a halt for a moment as he waited for a light to change. When they didn’t change a second later, he ran the red lights. He didn’t care about the looks he got from passing drivers, the chaos of the city fading into the background. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for calling me. You did the right thing, okay? You call me every damn time, no matter what.” 

You didn’t respond, but he could hear the faint hitch in your breathing, the sound tightening something deep inside him. He softened his tone, the rough edges smoothing out.

“Sweetheart, listen to me,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “I’m yours. You get that? Doesn’t matter what we’ve said or what’s happened. You call me, I come running. Every time. No questions. No hesitations.” 

A few moments passed in just laboured and shaky breaths. “I’m almost there,” he said, the words coming out like a promise. And this time, he’d keep it. 

The rain intensified, turning the streets into slick ribbons of black and gold. Jason’s tires kicked up sprays of water as he pushed the bike harder, weaving through the chaotic Gotham traffic like a man possessed. The world outside the phone call didn’t exist—only you, your shaky breaths and the distance he was tearing apart to get to you.

He didn’t care that he would most likely wake up with a dozen missed calls from Bruce to reprimand his behaviour in public as Red Hood. He could deal with that tomorrow. 

“Tell me what’s around you now,” he demanded, his voice steady but lined with urgency. He could see the tallest building of your campus now, the red lights dim in the neon signs surrounding it. 

“Um...” Your breath hitched again, the sound rattling through his chest. “I just passed the café. I can see the bookstore across the street. There’s... there’s an alley up ahead. Jason, I—”

“Don’t go near it,” he interrupted, his voice sharpening. He could picture the intersection perfectly now—the dim street lights barely cutting through the fog of rain, the shadows pooling in places no one should walk alone. “Stay in the light, sweetheart. Keep moving, but don’t rush. Just act natural, okay?” 

​​“Okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling, the faint sound of your steps echoing faintly through the phone. The roar of his bike echoed off the buildings as he turned onto your street, his heart pounding with every beat that he wasn’t by your side. He could see the café sign now, its neon glow muted by the rain. 

“I see the café,” you said, your voice so soft he almost missed it.

“I see it too,” Jason replied, relief flooding his tone as he spotted you a few paces ahead. Your figure was small under the weight of the storm, your bag clutched tightly at your side. He could see the trench coat you were wearing and the half-broken umbrella in your hands. 

But he wasn’t the only one who’d spotted you. His eyes locked on a shadow moving behind you, too deliberate to be a casual passerby. The figure lingered near the edge of the light, pacing a little too perfectly with your steps. 

Jason’s jaw clenched, his vision tunneling. “Sweetheart, don’t look back,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “Just keep walking toward the bookstore. I’m right behind you now.”

You hesitated, your steps faltering slightly. “Jason—”

“Trust me,” he said, his tone firm but pleading. “I’ve got you.”

He cut the engine and dismounted the bike in one fluid motion, his boots splashing onto the wet pavement. The rain poured around him, soaking through his jacket, but he didn’t feel it. His focus was locked on the man trailing you.

Jason’s hand hovered near his holster, his movements smooth and deliberate as he closed the distance between him and the stranger. The man was too preoccupied with you to notice the Red Hood stalking behind him, and Jason intended to keep it that way—until it was too late.

Jason moved with the precision of a predator, his body a coiled spring ready to snap. The man trailing you was oblivious to his approach until it was too late. In one swift, silent motion, Jason’s arm locked around the stranger’s neck, earning a quick struggle before the man managed to kick out of his grasp. 

Jason’s eyes flared as he threw a punch. The man staggered back, his hand shooting for his waistband, but Jason was already on him. He grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him against the nearby wall, the impact rattling the alley. 

Jason felt a faint shift in the air—a movement too fast, too sharp to be ignored. He spun, his instincts screaming just as a second man emerged from the shadows, his gun raised and aimed straight at Jason’s chest. The man behind Jason kicked his knee, effectively knocking Jason to his knees. 

Jason’s breath left him in a sharp hiss as the kick collided with his knee, sending a jolt of pain through his leg. He stumbled but caught himself, barely, his body teetering on the edge of collapse. His eyes locked onto the gun aimed at his chest, the barrel glinting in the dim light of the alley. His eyes flickered between the gun and the man. The man from behind cackled. 

The gunman took a step closer, the cold muzzle pressing against the red bat symbol on his chest. “Red Hood. Saving pretty girls, huh? Thought you used to be above all that.” 

Jason’s jaw tightened, his muscles coiling in preparation, but the pain in his knee was a constant reminder that he was in no position to fight back easily. The gunman’s words cut through the night, a taunt designed to throw him off balance. But Jason wasn’t going to let that happen. Not tonight.

“You have no idea what you're talking about,” Jason said, his voice low, threatening, as he forced his back a little straighter, despite the throbbing pain. His fingers twitched at his side, inching closer to his own gun.

Just as the gunman took another step, a rustle from the other side of the alley caught Jason’s attention. A flash of movement, a shadow that wasn’t there before. It was enough to shift the gunman’s focus, just for a split second. That was all it took. Before the gunman could react, a loud crack echoed in the alley. The force of the shot sent the man reeling back, his body crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. 

Jason swiveled around, kicking out the man’s legs from him and then knocking him out. Jason’s heart skipped a beat, his eyes darting to the source of the shot. There you were, just an arm’s length away now. Coming to a stop in the alley, your hand shaking slightly as you lowered the gun, still aimed in the direction of the man who had just fallen. Your chest heaved as you stared at the limp body, the weight of what you had just done settling over you. 

Jason’s chest tightened, the relief of survival and the shock of what had just happened colliding in a heavy rush. He had no words at first—only a stunned silence that rang louder than any sound in the night. His knees still were firmly pressing down onto the pavement. His hands reached for the gun, gently pulling it from your grasp and sliding it into an empty holster. He held your hand a bit tighter. 

His hand pulled you lower, closer, tugging until there was barely an inch left between the two of you. His gaze left the body on the wet cement, falling upon your wet hair and trailing down your face slowly to your lips. His chest heaved with exertion against yours. His eyes snapped up to yours, watching you keep your gaze on the body. One gloved hand pulled the back of your neck to move your head to face him. He ducked his head to block the sight of the body. 

“Hey,” he murmured, his eyes trying to snap you out of the trance you were in. “Hey, look at me, sweetheart.” His thumb brushed against your cheek, the rough material of his leather doing nothing to hide the heat emitting from the two of you. 

The action seemed to break your trance, wide and fearful eyes meeting his through his helmet. Your hands came up to deftly take it off, fingers more steady than your panicked breathing. He let you take it off, silently letting you raise it above his head and pull it away from his face. A sob tore out of your lips just as his gaze met yours. 

“Sweetheart.” 

Jason’s heart clenched at the sight of your tears, his own breath catching in his throat. He had never seen you like this—so vulnerable, so shaken by what you had just done. He could feel the tension in the air, thick with the weight of the moment. Your eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief, searched his face for something—reassurance, perhaps, or just some kind of grounding.

He gently reached for your trembling hands, cupping them in his own, his gloved fingers brushing over your skin in a pattern. “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice unsteady, but soft. “You did what you had to do.” 

But you shook your head, your breath still ragged as you took in the scene around you. The gunman, still lying motionless, the echoes of the gunshot ringing in your ears. It had all happened so fast—too fast for you to fully process. He swallowed thickly, not caring about the fact that he was still in costume without his helmet on with you in an alleyway. 

Instead, he moved closer, his body pressing against yours as he sought to anchor you. “Look at me,” he urged again, his voice low and steady, trying to cut through the whirlwind of your thoughts. He leaned in, forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cool night air. It was a gentle way forcing your eyes away from the body, blocking all of your sight of the body on the pavement. 

His eerily green eyes stared into your teary ones. 

Your hands, still trembling, found their way to his chest, clutching the fabric of his suit as if it was the only thing holding you together. The silence between you both stretched, heavy with everything unsaid, everything unprocessed. But his presence, his touch, was grounding you, even if it didn’t take away the storm inside you. 

Slowly, you met his eyes, your breathing steadier now. The pain in your chest didn’t fade, but it became something more bearable, something you could hold onto.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, the words faltering at the edges.

Jason’s eyes softened, his hand gently pulling you even closer. “You didn’t have a choice, sweetheart,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “You saved me. You saved us.” 

Jason cradled your head and pulled your face into the crook of his neck. His eyes darted to the limp body, studying it for a moment before he noticed the slight movement of his chest. He kissed your hair. “He’s alive, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your temple, dropping another kiss, lips lingering. 

Your body stiffened, but Jason’s arms only tightened around you, offering comfort in the midst of your confusion and guilt. You could feel his heartbeat under your ear, steady and reassuring, as his fingers gently threaded through your hair. It was grounding, but the overwhelming emotions still churned inside of you like a storm. 

“Alive,” you repeated, your voice faint and distant as you pulled back just enough to look at him. The weight of the word felt heavier than it should have, the knowledge that the danger wasn’t fully over, that the man you had just shot was still breathing.

Jason’s gaze softened, his eyes filled with something unreadable. “Yeah. But you did what you had to do. You protected yourself. You protected me.”

You nodded slowly, your hands still gripping the front of his suit like a lifeline, as if the very fabric of him was the only thing keeping you grounded in reality. The thoughts were swirling too fast, too loud in your head. You weren’t sure how to process it all—the gunshot, the blood, the adrenaline still pumping in your veins.

Jason seemed to sense your inner turmoil, his hand moving down your back in a slow, calming motion, like he was trying to steady you, keep you from slipping. “You’re okay,” he murmured softly, his lips brushing the top of your head again. “We’re okay.” 

But you weren’t so sure. Everything felt wrong. You had just almost taken someone’s life, even if it had been in self-defense. Your stomach churned with nausea, and you clung to Jason’s chest, hiding your face against him, letting his presence shield you from the reality of the situation. 

You steadied your breathing and looked up at him, ignoring the urge to look back at the limp bodies. “What—what’re we supposed to do now?” 

Jason’s expression softened further, a flicker of understanding in his eyes as he saw the fear still clouding your gaze. He gently tilted your chin up with his fingers, forcing you to meet his eyes, trying to anchor you in the present moment. “First thing’s first,” he said quietly, his voice steady but with an edge of urgency. “We get you out of here.” 

His hand didn’t leave your chin, his thumb brushing against your skin in slow, soothing motions. But there was no mistaking the tension in his jaw, the sharpness in his movements. He was calculating, already thinking several steps ahead, but he made sure you felt none of it. His focus was entirely on you now. 

“The police’ll show up soon,” he murmured, his voice low, almost unreadable. “I’ll tell Oracle—Barbara what happened. She’ll handle it.” He raked his hand through your hair, staring down at you in concern. 

You nodded, still unsure, still reeling from everything that had just happened. The reality of the situation was setting in—the cold, harsh aftermath of your actions. You hadn’t just fired a weapon; you’d taken control of a life. Even if it was in self-defense, the gravity of that decision was heavier than any physical injury.

“We can’t be here when they do. We don’t need to explain any of this to them. Not tonight.” He glanced toward the fallen man, his jaw tightening. 

“What about him?” you asked, your voice small, trembling, though you immediately regretted it. The man you’d shot, his life still hanging by a thread. His future, whatever that was now, was out of your hands, but you couldn’t ignore the guilt crawling under your skin.

Jason's eyes darkened slightly at your question, but his expression remained controlled, calm. He didn't immediately answer, his gaze lingering on the fallen man for a moment before he looked back at you. The faintest of sighs escaped his lips, but his tone was resolute. “I’ll take care of him,” he said quietly. “He won’t be a threat to us. Not again.” 

The certainty in his voice sent a chill down your spine, but you didn’t flinch away from him. Jason’s world was one of calculated decisions, harsh realities, and necessary actions. You’d seen glimpses of that before—the man who operated in shadows, whose choices often weighed heavy, but always with purpose. 

Your heart still raced, the guilt and uncertainty gnawing at you, but you forced yourself to breathe steadily, pushing the questions from your mind for now. The sound of distant sirens began to echo through the alley, too close for comfort, and Jason’s grip on you tightened just a fraction. 

He gave you a small, reassuring nod. “We need to move. Now.” Without waiting for another word, Jason gently pulled you with him, leading you further down the alley. The sounds of the night seemed muffled, your mind still focused on the chaos you’d just left behind. But with each step you took away from the scene, the weight of the situation shifted.

You weren’t in control of it—not yet, not fully—but Jason was, and for now, that was enough.

[harrystylesfan2686]

Hello! For the dialogue, number 18 AzrielxReader.

Thank you!

"Stay With Me."

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You get Hurt on a mission with Azriel.

Warnings: slight mentions of torture

A/N: hey!! Thanks for requesting! Hope you like this!!💕😭

Dialogue Prompts Masterlist Part 2

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"I, am, tired!" You struggle saying each word, considering you are walking through a storm in forest.

You are on a mission with Azriel, of all people. You have no idea what Rhysand was doing pairing you both together. He knows how the two of you don't get along but he still, put you with each other.

You are currently walking through a woods along Night Court border. You were supposed to meet Eris for some information Rhysand needed against Barron but the basturd didn't show up, instead a storm did. Out of nowhere, heavy drops of rain started falling, covering the forest with dark clouds and muddy road.

You can't fly due to the water and can't winnow because you can't see anything, so, the two of you decided, walking it is. Having no idea where you are going, you have been walking for hours, surely Rhysand would be suspicious by now.

"You complaint too much." You can practically hear Azriel's eye roll following his remark. He might seem quite and kind to other people, which he is, to other people. Not to you though, his entire personality changes when it comes to you. All the kind and quite persona gets replaced with a snarky and bored one. Arguing with you seems to be his life purpose.

You don't understand why. He has always been that way with you. You were so good from the moment you met. You and Rhysand met first, having both being victims of Amarantha, in different ways. You know the horrors Rhysand had to suffer to survive, you didn't nearly spent the same enduring as him but Amarantha kept you with her for her torturing tasks, scaring you body with her anger.

You and him escaped her together and he brought you back to Velaris with him, knowing you haven't got any family left. He introduced you to his inner circle and kept you in as one of Azriel's spies. You were so excited to finally meet the infamous Spymaster, what you didn't expect was the cold expression he had in his eyes after meeting you.

You groan and take the next step heavier in anger, hoping to stomp your foot but your breath leaves you body when you foot gets sucked in a giant hole, being covered with dried sticks and mud. You scream as you fall, the hole bigger than you thought it be.

When you finally fall on the ground with a thug, you stay still for a second and then the pain hits. Quickly starting from your abdomen and spreading to the rest of your body. You feel snips of pain all over your body, having being covered with small cuts by the dried wood, but the main source of pain is into your stomach.

You try to get up but cry out in pain, again laying down. This time you only lift your head to see what causes such immense pain. You gasp when you see black matel, and small sharp teeth like points connected to a thick matel band.

A bear trap. Great. Seems like you are a bear now.

You can't even breath through the pain. It's that bad. The sharp points digging into your skin with more force every second, your blood now starting to pool beneath you. You close your eyes as you feel a wave of dizziness behind your eyes.

"Shit, Y/N!" Azriel's voice comes to you first before you feel his hands coming to your body. "This is going to hurt." Is the only warning you get before his hands dig into your stomach, pulling at the matel. You scream out as it finally get out of you, leaving huge gapping holes and straches that, now, also bleed.

You sob in pain as Azriel throws away the trap and covers your injury with his hand. You turn to look at the thing, large enough campared to half your body. You realize it would kill you if Az hadn't taken it out. Gods, where do people even find weapons so big.

You cry again when Az press on your wound and lefts your upper body to his. The rain pouring only making things worse and he spreads out his wings, as if reading your thoughts, hiding you from the rain and the world.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?" Your voice coming out weaker then you imagined and Az sucks in a breath.

"Shut up. You aren't going to die." Sure, Rhysand will come for you both. And if he doesn't, Az will carry you all the way to Valeris himself if he'll have to. Letting you go is not an option.

"Who will you have to fight with after I'm gone? Hm?" You try to joke, laughing at yourself weakly but Azriel looks mad.

"You're alright. We're getting out of here, you're going to heal and we are going to keep fighting like we always do." The small quiver in his voice spoke more than he wanted to.

"I hope so." Your eyes closing now.

"No, no, no, no. Hey! Hey, look at me!" His hands jerk your face, desperately trying to keep your eyes open and to his. He groans out, thinking of a way to keep you awake and then freezes, saying the one thing that has you so shocked, you don't think of anything else.

"You're my mate."

His hand, that was to your wound clasp around yours, again putting it to the bleeding hole, now pressing with both of your hands, and he looks into your eyes, repeating his words trying to get you to see the truth in them. After a moment, your fingers slightly tighten around his and he almost cries in relief.

"What?" Your voice so weak, it brings tears in his eyes. "How?"

"I'm sorry. I never told you before. I was never strong enough to do so." Your slightly quickened breathing and eyes on his, he takes this as good signs and continues talking, hoping to keep you interested and shocked enough to stay awake until he finds a way to get out.

"From the moment I met you, I've known. You are my mate. The person I longed for all this time. I- I didn't tell you because I was ashamed. Ashamed to admit that you got paired with someone like myself. You happy personality was something I could never keep up to. I could never keep you happy." A tear falls down his eye but he ignores it and keeps talking, keeps your beautiful eyes on him. "I love you, Y/N. I always have. From moment- we first met. From the second I layed my eyes on you. I don't want you to be stuck with me, so I never told. I was a coward, darling. I am so sorry."

The name he called, doing something to you. Making you feel something you haven't felt before.

Your mate.

Azriel is your mate. He has known this, ever since he met you and didn't tell you, but you can't find it in yourself to be angry at him. In a way you understand him. Understand why he did what he did, you wouldn't have told him either, given how you thought of yourself, you wouldn't want to tie him to you forever too. Hel, you probably would have ran away, afraid of what having a mate would imply.

But now, you don't care about any of this. You have a mate. And you will show him just how much you want him. If this is, in fact, your last living moment, you will not waste it. You weakly lift your other hand, keeping one to his, and touch his face. The act taking so much enery, your fingers shaking against his cheek and he can clearly feel it, given that now more tears fall down his face.

"I am proud to call you my mate."

You weakly smile at him. His eyes now shut close and he hugs you to his body, the hand that is to yours, now cluching tighter and the other around your back, his face buried in your neck and he cries harder.

The last thing you hear before darkness sweeps you, is his voice begging you to stay as tears fill your face and neck.

"Please, stay with me."

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

[dangerdazee]

descendants: rise of red james hook x morgie le fay one-shot, in which hook stays back to keep watch with morgie

i ship them so so so bad. also while ur here go check out the edit i did for them bc i couldn't help myself

"Morgie, honey, you keep look-out, okay? If you see Merlin coming, give a signal." Uliana says.

"Should I do a wolf howl? Or like a dog howl?? I can do different dogs!" Morgie shows great enthusiasm, but it comes off annoying and childlike and far too perky to Uliana.

James Hook, knowing this, leans over to whisper to Uliana.

"Do you think it's the best idea to leave him out here by himself?"

"Good point. You stay with him. Maleficent, Hades, with me. Let's move." Uli, Maleficent, and Hades trudge through the wet, slightly muddy grass towards the school.

Morgie turns around and starts climbing the tree that Hook was in a minute ago, and even though he just got down, Hook climbs up after him. The two boys sit side-by-side on a thick branch that seems sturdy enough to hold them both.

The drizzling rain adds to the ambiance of the night. There's something peaceful about it.

Even though their friends are currently sneaking into Merlin's office to steal a forbidden cookbook... out here in the tree, on a rainy night, with the soft lights of the school exterior barely illuminating their surroundings, it's nice. And they both definitely enjoy the company here as well.

"Did you really think I shouldn't be left out here on my own?"

"Yes, but not for the reason I let Uli think. It's dark and we aren't supposed to be here. I didn't want you to be left alone in case anything happened. Not to mention, it's rare that we can find time alone."

Morgie smiles.

Morgie knows he's viewed as the weakest link of the group. Evil still, yes, but he's not as dark and brooding and serious as the rest of them. The others, especially Uliana, tend to look down on him for it. They end up treating him like a kid sometimes.

Hook never does, though. Hook's always treated Morgie as an equal, no matter how non-villainous he acts sometimes. That was one of the first things that really drew Morgie to Hook. (After his hair.)

Hook is also a bit protective over Morgie, hence the hesitation to leaving him outside the school alone during this whole mission.

Even under the tree, the drizzling rain still gets them. Their hair grows damp and dark spots of water scatter their clothes.

The two move their hands towards the other's, like a magnet is pulling them. Morgie's hand ends up more on top of Hook's, but their fingers naturally weave together in an uncoordinated but perfectly comfortable manner.

Morgie is heavily focused on his job. Uliana told him to keep watch, and that he is. Hook looks over at the boy, his strong focus and the rainwater dripping slowly from his hair. A small smile grows on Hook's face as he watches the other, and Morgie looks over at him upon feeling the stare.

"What?"

"Nothing. Do you see Merlin anywhere?"

"No, I-"

"Wonderful."

Hook shifts his weight to the hand between them and leans on it, being careful not to fall as he brings his face to Morgie's. Ever since Hook and Morgie started... whatever this relationship they have is, they've realized how little private time alone they can find. Much less, opportunity to kiss. So when the opportunity is there, at least one of them is usually quick to jump at it, and this evening it was Hook.

Their relationship is complicated. They haven't labeled it; they've hardly talked about it. It simply is. To the average on-looker, they mostly just seem like good friends. Really good friends.

Maleficent and Hades have figured out that something is going on (then Hook fully spilled all about it to Maleficent, as friends might do.) Uliana hasn't. She kind of couldn't care less either way, though.

Morgie wants a label. He wants something more solid and serious, but he knows that just isn't the kind of person Hook is.

Morgie's willing to take what he can get. He'll compromise for Hook. Secret kisses, affectionate moments, a closeness slightly more than qualifies as friendship. It's hard sometimes, but Morgie says he'll do it for Hook. He just assumes that's what Hook wants, even if that's not what Morgie wants.

Hook doesn't love it, though, but he doesn't really know how else to navigate it. He's talked with Maleficent about it before, but even with the advice of his in-a-committed-relationship friend, Hook still feels clueless. Morgie hasn't said anything, so he just assumes it's up to him to make it real.

He only hopes his cluelessness won't drive Morgie away before he can figure things out.

Maybe more communication would do them some good, but villains aren't exactly known for their emotional maturity and communication skills. They're both starting to get a little tired of it, though. Morgie especially.

Rustling leaves interrupt the kiss, causing both boys to jump a bit and look around. Neither of them see anything.

"Must have been the rain or something." Morgie says.

The two look at each other and slowly smile, laughing lightly with that bit of embarrassment that comes from such an occurrence.

"I hope Merlin didn't get by just now. Uliana might kill us." Morgie says.

"No, no, something worse. Like a chocolate pie."

They laugh at the jab at Uliana's plan with this forbidden recipe. Morgie nods, agreeing.

As the laughter dies down, Morgie debates in his mind if he should ask what he wants to ask. It could go wonderfully, or it could go horribly, and he's really scared of that second possibility. But, they're alone and he has an opportunity. He figures, much like a kiss, this chance shouldn't be passed up.

"Let me take you out."

Hook's heart just about stops and he quickly turns to face Morgie.

He's been so nervous about not knowing how to do this. He never fully considered that maybe it didn't have to be him who progressed things. He could be the askee, not the asker. Funny enough, that only makes it slightly easier.

"What?"

"Let me take you out. Like, on a date."

"You want to go out together?"

Morgie nods with hopeful eyes. Every second of silence from Hook makes Morgie's anxiety over the situation grow stronger. He feels his hope diminishing.

"I mean, maybe not. Or, no- I want to! But if you don't want to, then just forget it. I mean, I do want to, but it's not a big deal. Unless you also want to, then it's a big deal. But if you don't, don't worry-"

"Okay."

"Okay? Okay to what?"

"Okay to the, uh... the date. Yeah. We can go out. I think that'd be nice."

"You do? Really?"

"Morgie, you're acting as if you don't already know that I like you. I just kissed you. I'm pretty sure that ship has sailed!"

"Yeah! Yeah, I know. I'm just... happy."

"Yeah. So am I."

[ciitroner]

Cabin In The Woods: and the consequences of your actions

Kidnapper!Ghost x Reader x Kidnapper!Soap

PART 3 OF THE KIDNAP!AU BACKSTORY SERIES, part 1, part 2.

ROUGH DAY (main story)

Summary: Never did you once believe that the seemingly abandoned cabin you stumbled across after an accident on your hike would belong to two men you once met at a bar. You wish you'd listened to your gut feeling about them...

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI), afab!reader, kidnapping, oral sex, NON-CON, blowjob, DARK FIC, creepy/pervy behaviour, toxic behaviour, somnophilia? (not really, but you were about to drift to sleep), dacryphilia, humiliation, mention of stalking, slight violence, manipulation, hair pulling, fingering, you get hurt in the process of the hike

Notes: This took way too long, I deleted a few drafts before I said fuck it and settled with this one. Ok mwah enjoy Wc: 4.9k

The evening sun, accompanied by the small occasional breeze carefully, yet harshly, caresses your tired body. Your frame hangs low as if you had not slept in years, your eyebags complimenting the appearance. One after the other, with a shaking huff and a puff, you lift your legs to strive forward. To where - you had yet to discover. You had lost your hiking trail and were now only hoping for a helping sign, although to no avail. Your friend, whose house you were staying at, at the moment, had suggested that you enjoy the forest and nature instead of… well, sulking at home over not getting a job. It was a good idea at the time, and you had promised her to take a lot of beautiful photos that both of you could sigh happily about later on. The only problem is, that you’ve never gone on a hiking trip before, and suddenly being thrown into the worst situation you could currently think of- fuelled your hate for nature. No signal, and an almost dead phone did you no good.

With every rise of angriness and anxiousness over the setting sun, you find the strength to go deeper into the forest - maybe not the greatest idea, but you are so very sure that the hiking trail was around that area… probably… hopefully. You feel a droplet hit your nose, pulling you out of your thought process. How lovely! The bad situation became even worse. It’s slowly but surely getting colder, and what was once only a few drops of rain had turned into a heavy downpour. You could barely see your surroundings, but at least you don’t have to worry about water, you laugh miserably to yourself while you resume walking - as standing in the middle of nowhere would get you… nowhere. The forest ground is wet and slippery, forcing a few gasps and yelps out of you when you lose your balance from time to time. You’re cold, wet, muddy and grumpy after a few stumbles when the first flash of lightning lights up the dark sky, and not very much later - you hear the sharp sound.

“Ah… shit.” You’d have to find shelter as soon as possible, as being surrounded by trees wasn’t ideal in a full-blown thunderstorm.

The slow, hunched walking evolves into jogging in fear when the next bolt of lightning hits somewhere close. Something, most likely a root, knocks you down on your knees as you trip over it. Barely hearing your groan over the loud pitter-patter of the rain, you get up again - and you’d guess your knees were scraped bloody through your pants due to every fall - though, this one was significantly harsh. Your soggy clothing and annoying backpack weigh down on you, not much unlike the anxiousness of getting lost and eaten by wolves - and holding back tears is the only thing you feel like you have control over at the moment. Gasping for breath, you push through a dense thicket, the rain soaking every inch of your being and thorns grabbing onto the poor excuse of clothes you’re wearing. The forest seems to close in around you, and bile rises in your throat - which you have to force down with a gulp. The eerie creaking of branches, the rustling of unseen animals… creatures, the horrible sound of lightning and the relentless downpour create a symphony of discomfort - nonetheless, you push through the labyrinth of nightmares.

Each step forward is a struggle, and being unable to see what’s in front of you awakens a cruel twist of fate as it sends you tumbling down a steep part of the mountain. The world becomes a blur of mud, rocks and undeniable hurt as you desperately claw at anything within reach - attempting to halt your rapid descent. Time seems to slow down, and the echoes of your terrified screams mix with the howling wind until everything goes dark.

With a shocked and pained gasp, you awaken. God knows how long you’ve been out cold - but it mustn’t have been too long, as the world around you is still dark, and the storm continues its wrath, indifferent to your plight.  Pain radiates through your body as you lay there, dazed and battered. You must’ve hit your head, making you pass out, you conclude after a horrible headache crashes down on you. Your hands hurt and so does a part of your lip, you could only guess that it had been injured in the accident. Grimacing, you manage to push yourself upright - letting out pained ah’s and oh’s when you have to balance your body on your hands to get up. Your backpack is still in its place - you realise, and you’re thankful as it could have dampened the fall. You stay standing still for a while, just… appreciating life, thankful you’re still alive. You put your hands in your pockets to preserve the warmth when you realise that your phone is gone, and you realise it's worthless to try and look around if you don’t want to fall somewhere again - as horrible as it was, your life was a bit more important.

As you’re turning around to take a new path, hopefully bringing you some place higher up where you could scream for help during the day, something catches your eye. With a squint of your tired eyes, you notice a cabin in the far distance. You realise it’s not a trick of your exhausted mind and that there indeed is a cabin nearby, nestled within the shadows of the towering trees - and like the most cliché horror character, you’re not taking a chance, limping forward towards the entrance. The cabin emerges from the darkness, its outline becoming clearer as you draw near. It looks old and slightly ugly, you notice - the chair and table on the front porch most likely have been broken and fallen over due to the relentless storm and many more.

With a deep breath, you approach the creaking door. You decide that it’s better to be potentially breaking into the cabin than to be left standing outside in dangerous weather conditions. You pull down the handle, and you’re relieved when it opens. The interior of the cabin gives a special charm of itself - as if time had paused within its walls - and you’re thankful that the shelter you had found for yourself had a good roof, not letting any drops of water slip by. The air is thick with the scent of aged wood and dust. Pretty - but basic, furniture is arranged sporadically as if the owner only had put them there to… put them there. You notice a lamp over a kitchen table with two seats and realise that there might be a chance that the electricity still works, you could only hope. Quickly closing the door behind you, you take on the job of grazing the walls with your sore fingertips, for a sign of the light switch. You mutter an apology to the absent owner when you spread mud and water over the floor in your search, and promise yourself to clean it afterwards, “Aha!”

It takes around ten seconds before the light starts flickering before staying lit. You’re careful to avoid the rugs - some normal, and other animal pelts - when you search for other light switches, as you didn’t want to stay in the dark for any longer. When you’d get home… if you got home, you’d give your friend two slaps on each cheek before giving her a long hug and cry into her shoulder. Then you’d research every how-to on hiking there is, even though you’d never go again - it’s good to know. The occasional gust of wind through a window, incapable of being fully closed, makes the dust dance in the air and you cough.

There’s a fireplace in front of the sofa, surrounded by a bit larger stones, with a flat-screen TV resting on the mantel above the fireplace. You’re cold, and the only thing on your mind is a shower and a hot drink - but you shake your head and explore further, setting down your large backpack close to the entrance. You’d have to take out your things to examine what’s wet and what’s not later - even though you took a waterproof bag (thank god for your friend’s boyfriend), you don’t know if your things were safe from the horrid weather and fall. It’s a two-floor, cosy cabin - the upstairs area consists of a balcony and a bedroom. The windows, though framed by large heavy curtains, allow glimpses of the storm outside, and the flickering bedside lamp you’ve turned on allows you to see the dust gathered on the wooden frames of the bed, and a few flies that had died. The downstairs area consists of the living room, kitchen, and surprisingly clean bathroom - aside from the dust, there is no sign of mould nor any horror film yellowish-bathroom colour anywhere in the sink. You sigh in happiness and pray to whatever entity that had let you live the fall down the mountain that the hot water still works.

The owner might not have visited for a while, and you can only hope that they don’t feel like coming during the few hours- or days, you might be here. The wooden floor creaks under your every step when you walk over to pick up your backpack and settle it down on the kitchen table - obviously after dusting it down with a feather duster you had found in a corner. You needed a change of clothes as soon as possible if you didn't want to get sick - and thus, you unzip it and uncover a carefully wrapped bundle of spare clothes. The previous overthinking, while you had packed your bag, pays off as you take out another pair of underwear, shampoo and some warmer sweats. Luckily, as it was packed at the bottom - it hadn’t become wet, unlike your equipment at the top. You walk to the bathroom and put your clothes down on the counter connected to the basin.

You turn on the water in the bathtub, and let it run while the gentle hum of the electricity powers a small heater. You undress and look at yourself in the mirror, horrifying - you conclude. Steam begins to rise, and you slide the curtain to the side and walk in, sighing as the too-warm water almost boils your skin off - as it should. You made a mental note to remember the fireplace afterwards before you begin washing yourself, scrubbing the dirt and grime off of your body. The scent of your shampoo fills your lungs, and you smile to yourself.

After a long time, you emerge from the shower, wrapped in a dry towel, and feel a renewed sense of vitality. You slip into the fresh, clean clothes - a stark contrast to the dampness and discomfort that defined your… adventure thus far.

You towel dry your hair before leaving the towel to dry on the bathtub curtain rack along with your previous clothes - abandoning your shoes for a pair of warm fuzzy socks you had brought with you, wearing them with a pair of slippers you’d found. Although a few sizes too big, you cringed at the thought of walking on the dust and dead-flies-filled floor. The cabin was creepy, and the occasional flickering of light paired with the storm outside made you take no chances - so in case a monster of some sort came up behind you, at least you could hit it with a slipper. You shrug.

You bring out a vacuum cleaner and plug it into an outlet in the kitchen before cleaning the cabin, making it a more comfortable place - you were especially careful not to leave any dust particles around the fireplace, as it's highly flammable. You decide to clean upstairs as well, fixing the bed in slight sympathy for the owner, before arranging the logs in the fireplace - creating a carefully crafted pyramid you’re frankly proud of. A small box of matches rests on the mantel, and thankfully there are a few left. You strike a match, the flame dancing briefly before settling into a steady glow, and carefully touch the match to the kindling. The flames grow, licking at the wood and bringing the living room area to life.

You’d brought a few - now soggy, although still edible - snacks with you. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep your stomach satisfied for at least a day or two. A breeze from the broken window made you shiver and stay closer to the fire, it was still dark outside, but the rain had calmed down by now and would probably come to a full stop in a few hours. You eat a few protein bars, before falling asleep on the sofa - not being able to turn the television on, as you had no energy to search for the remote control. Dangerous, yes, but it seems like your bad luck had run out as you awaken in the morning (or afternoon, you had no idea - as the only clock in the house had stopped working) with a fully intact cabin and now only a small sad fire in the fireplace. It’s sunny outside, thankfully - and you quickly wash your dirty clothes in the bathtub before hanging them outside on a clothesline. You grimace at the sight of your shoes, it would take at least a few sunny days to dry them fully - even though you almost turn them fully inside out. You walk back inside again, to get yourself some food.

“Hey!”

You let out a shrill scream at the unsuspected voice behind you, and you quickly turn around - cursing as you stumble because of the big slippers on your feet. He’s big, the man. Owner, you presume, inspecting him with wide eyes. He has a large balaclava with a skull print on it, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve seen it before. His gaze is cold, and there’s a certain standoffishness to his demeanour.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologizes, half-heartedly you assume by the hint of amusement and lack of warmth in his tone. His gaze assesses you, not unkindly, but with a detached scrutiny that makes you uneasy. He kicks his boots off by the front door, leaving it ajar, before setting down four full bags on the table you’d kept your backpack - before moving it to the sofa while you snacked yesterday. Your accelerated breathing and heart rate calm a bit when you realise that he doesn’t have any will to hurt you for breaking into his cabin at the moment, you feel the need to excuse your actions.

“It’s okay, it’s been q-quite a night,” you gulp, throat dry, “found your cabin while I was lost due to the storm.”

His response is a nonchalant nod. “Make yourself at home,” he responds, voice authoritative - making the suggestion almost sound like a command. It holds a distance that almost seems intentional. He takes in his surroundings and notices how clean it is, unusual to what it would normally be like after not visiting for almost months at a time. “I… I cleaned,” you announce with a cough, getting up from the floor feeling like an idiot. He seems indifferent, as if your actions hold little significance to him, “I can see that.”

He opens cabinets and slowly but steadily empties the bags, most of it is food, and other things include batteries, you notice. You feel awkward standing while he does the work, “d-do you-”

“Name’s Ghost,” he states abruptly, cutting you off mid-sentence, and not bothering to extend a handshake or any other friendly gesture - continuing to store the items in their places. The introduction hangs in the air, the conversation feeling more obligatory than welcoming. You take off his slippers - and he seems to track your movements through the corner of his eye - before offering your own name. He lets out a short hum, and there’s that. It doesn’t lead anywhere, and you’re both left in silence before the front door opens once more. The sudden footsteps behind you startle you, and you turn around to find another man there.

“Did ye hang those rags outside- oh,” the man notices you and raises his dark eyebrows, “didn’t expect tae see anyone here,” he greets with an accent, although somewhat confused, his tone is friendly and warm - rivalling against Ghost’s composed and cold behaviour. Ghost offers the man a subtle nod in his direction, acknowledging his presence without uttering a single word.

“I was on a hike, got lost and sought shelter from the storm here…” you quickly explain yourself, fiddling with your fingers behind your back in anxiousness of being stared down by two large men. The man continues your conversation while Ghost neatly folds the plastic bags before putting them in a box somewhere in the corner.

“Nae bother,” he drops your name and your ears perk up, eyebrows furrowing in shock. He speaks with a grin as if nothing weird had happened at all. He takes off his boots before joining Ghost in the kitchen - muttering something about teabags. “Thanks for gien’ the place a tidy up.” You ignore his thankfulness.                  

“How do you know my name?” you ask, a tinge of uncertainty layering your words. The man’s grin widens, “we met at the bar, ‘bout a month ago. We had a good time, tad bit too much on the bevvy, though.”

“Ah… Soap?”

“Aye.” He almost vividly describes the details of your… not so much conversation, reminding you of a night when you were perhaps a bit too inebriated to recall much. You have to shush him after a moment, and he cackles at your embarrassed face.

You find it odd that Soap remembers everything so clearly - especially since it’s been a month, while your memories from that night are only flickering fragments. The realization that he has been holding onto these details gets you uncomfortable.

“Ye like yer tea wi’ a wee smidgen of sugar, aye lassie?”

It’s as if he has been meticulously collecting pieces of your life. Despite the peculiar circumstances, Soap continues to engage in casual - slightly one-sided - conversation, seemingly oblivious to the unease settling within you. The sun shines bright through the window close to the table, where Soap is now ushering you towards. You shake your head.

“I… I think I should go home,” you utter tentatively, voicing the sudden urge that has gripped you. Ghost’s gaze, still concealed behind the balaclava, remains unreadable - though the air surrounding him seems to thicken. Soap, his charm momentarily faltering, raises an eyebrow in confusion. “Leaving… so soon?” he questions, friendly demeanour momentarily slipping into an expression of perplexity - leaving you with goosebumps. He leans casually against a wall, as if waiting for your explanation.

“It’s just… I don’t know. These past hours have been a bit,” you wave your hands around, wanting to find the right words, “too much,” you stammer, struggling to articulate your urgency to leave. Soap’s grin returns, but there’s a subtle shift in his gaze, “we’ve got everything ye need right here. Naw need tae go,” he voices with a friendly tone that contradicts the unease in your gut. He places a warm cup of tea in front of you, setting you down on a seat, before sitting on the chair in front of you with a cup of his own. Ghost, still a silent observer - now also with a cup - stands beside Soap, not much unlike a bodyguard.

“Ye’ve been through so much… take a day or two’s rest here before you leave.” It’s voiced almost like a demand. “I guess,” you sip on the tea - silently cursing Soap because he made it just the way you like it. Soap relaxes against the wooden chair and Ghost moves slightly away from your eyesight - before lighting his balaclava to drink.

That was your third and last mistake.

“Love the hustle and bustle o’ the city, but sometimes, a quiet place like this feels like a different world, aye?” Soap shares, a lopsided grin on his face. “I guess,” you repeat. It had been a nightmare, really. You’d never go out again after this.

“Especially since we’ve now got an Angel sent from heaven, now.”

“I- I guess,” you would be a bit more creeped out if he wasn’t exactly your type. You’re both attracted to each other, it seems like. Awful situation.

You continue chatting, Ghost quipping in with small jokes occasionally - and you laugh. The tension in the air slowly disappears, and soon enough - when the tea cups are empty, Ghost drags his mask over his jaw again, hiding anything but his eyes. He gets a stool and settles down next to Soap. You’re thankful they’re being nice hosts.

“Soap-”

“Johnny,” he cuts you off, “he’s Simon. No need for call signs.”

“Ah… Johnny,” you begin, and swear that you see him shudder slightly, “where do you keep your plasters? My knees-” he cuts you off, “hurt in the storm, yeah? Lt will show ye.”

Simon, without uttering a word, motions for you to follow him. Johnny stays in the kitchen, mumbling something about dinner, had it been that long? He leads you to the bedroom to your surprise, you’d guess they’d kept them in the bathroom… but alright. The silence in the air is thick, only broken by the occasional creak of wood under your feet as you climb the stairs. The flickering poor bulb on the ceiling sparks to life when he turns it on, and he gestures towards the bed.

“Take your clothes off.”

“W-what?”

Simon doesn’t repeat himself, doesn’t even glance at you as he walks to the bedside table and rummages around, before getting up and leaving the room. You decide to strip, not wanting him to stare at you while you do it, at least. You take off both your shirt and pants, leaving you in your underwear when Simon returns to you with a damp cloth and a few plasters. “We need to clean the wound before applying the plasters.” He deadpans as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. You hesitantly nod, feeling way too naked.

“Have you done this before?” you ask dumbly, “i-is it a part of… your job, or something?”

“Sometimes.” He kneels between your legs, and you hiss when he starts to almost expertly wipe at your knees. He doesn’t stop for your cries, focus unwavering and trying to get it over as quickly as possible. You recall Johnny calling Simon “lieutenant”, and you guess their line of work was military. He carefully places plasters on the scraped areas once he finishes cleaning the wounds. He throws you out of your thought process when he sits beside you, towering over your vulnerable body, “elbow” is the only thing he says before lifting your arm. You two sit in silence as he works, his touch is surprisingly gentle, despite the lack of expression on his face - and the whole process feels clinical, as if he’s merely completing a necessary task.

“You’re lucky it’s not more serious,” he finally speaks, placing a warm hand on the back of your neck, squeezing slightly and breaking the quiet tension looming over you both. His words are cold, his voice deep, and you find yourself longing for the warmth and friendliness that Johnny had exhibited earlier. The hand stays for a bit too long before he gets up. As you put your clothes back on, Simon exits the room without a word, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You can hear the distant sounds of Johnny’s clinks and clanks in the kitchen. Descending the stairs, the delicious smell of food fills your lungs, and you’re so hungry - you realise.

“Feelin’ better, bonnie?” Johnny asks as he places three plates of food on the table. You nod, sitting down in your previous seat. It’s a simple microwavable dinner, but you almost drool. Simon sets down a wine glass in front of you all and Johnny brings a bottle, “to relax, aye?” he winks. You could use a glass of wine, to be honest, and so you let him fill your glass.

The three of you sit down to eat, and the conversation flows more naturally this time. Johnny, though still eccentric, appears to have softened his demeanour, engaging you in discussions about various topics. You find yourself laughing at some things you normally wouldn’t, you blame it on the wine and stress. As the night progresses, they suggest you take the bed - to which you reply that you can’t- won’t

“Can’t let you sleep on the sofa!” you exclaim.

“Who said anything about a sofa?” Simon shrugs. You brushed it off and assumed they had a guest room somewhere you could borrow, you were naive, you realise, now. Because that’s how you end up between them in their bed. To preserve heat in this cold climate, Johnny had said, plays with your sense of logic like a puppeteer.

At some point, he’d started touching you a bit inappropriately, and when you’d turned around to cuss him out - he’d latched his mouth to yours. Simon lies on his side, facing you two - yet not moving a muscle to help you at all. Between filthy and sloppy kisses, you manage out a “What the FUCK do you think you’re doing, Johnny!” to which he only responds with a shaky moan and rubs his growing hard-on into your thigh, “fuckin’ loooove when ye sae m’ name. Gets me so hard, lovie.”

He stops shoving his tongue down your throat to instead lick a stripe down to your neck, where he starts sucking hot open-mouth kisses into your skin. You let out a quivery breath, closing your eyes to not see the drooling man hunched over your body - the imprint of his dick tight against his jeans. You remember cumming on your vibrator to the thought of it a month back, but now you’d do anything to run away from it. A slap on your cheek brings you back to reality, the skin almost burns and tears prickle in your eyes. Simon is staring you down, while Johnny raises his body just enough to almost rip his t-shirt off of himself.

“Keep your eyes open.” It’s a demand, a scary one at that. Military men are, in theory, hot, but in practice… still hot but also terrifying. He brings his calloused fingertips to gently stroke the cheek, before gripping both of your cheeks until your lips pout and your face aches. Johnny grins crookedly, bends down and gives you an almost cute kiss before yelling “ass up!” Your body almost flies down the bed with the force he drags your pants and panties off of you, and you let out a squeal which both of the men laugh at, “P-please, I can… I can give you money” you beg through your pouty lips and make them laugh harder, “sure,” Johnny comments, “got naw money to pay rent, how are ye supposed to pay us?”

“How,” your mouth hurts, “how do you-”

Simon releases his grip on your face and moves to pet your hair.

“So talkative. Take her mouth, Johnny.”

The man almost flies up to sit next to your head, pubic hair rubbing against your cheek when he drags his leaking cock over your lips. He’s big, awfully so, and he knows it because he pulls at your chin until you open it reluctantly, “nice ‘n wide now, sae ahhh,” then sinks in. The moan he lets out almost makes you rub your thighs together, it’s filthy and pornographic, and only intensifies when you swallow around him in an attempt to not puke up the dinner you’d shared with them. Simon smacks your thigh, which makes you avert your wet eyes from Johnny to him. He continues petting your hair while his other hand simultaneously moves downwards to your pussy, body easily moving in between your legs to make it difficult for you to close them. His middle and ring fingers spread your flaps apart and tease at your hole before dragging them upwards and collecting your juices. You fight but fail the loud moan that escapes your mouth, “Y-yeah just like that- fuck…” Johnny rambles on.

It’s embarrassing, and you have to hold back from crying when you see how wet you are. Simon gladly spreads his fingers to show off, before wiping them off on Johnny’s balls, making his breath hitch, and his next thrust a bit harsher. With the hand on your head, which has since long stopped stroking, he wraps his fingers in your hair suddenly and pulls you slightly upwards. Tears trickle down your cheeks, and your sobs only rile the man in your mouth up even more. Simon gets closer to your face, almost rips your hair off of your skull and moves his still-wet fingers down to your clit, rubs painfully - almost past the point of pleasure.

“You, are never leaving.”

[welcometowhore-rrorville]

𝒲𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒫𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒲𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒯𝒾𝓂𝑒

Featuring: Jason Voorhees

Word Count: 1.4k 

Warnings: horror content, canon-typical violence, swearing, mean friends are mean, edited but i make mistakes

-

You never should have trusted your so-called friends when they suggested sneaking up to Camp Crystal Lake. It was a stupid, stupid, stupid idea. But you could never find the courage to stick up for yourself, and thus were always involved, and mostly blamed for, any chaos the group of rowdy 20-somethings got up to. You were barely old enough to drink and hated the taste anyway, which led you to be the only one not hollering drunkenly as you sat in the back of the crowded Jeep. Your friend raced down the dirt roads, tires squealing as mud flung everywhere. It looked like it was about to storm, but obviously the group didn’t care.

By the time the car stopped right next to the batterted sign, you were aching to get out and stretch your legs, even for a moment.

You quickly popped open the door, hopping out. 

“What’re you doing?” one of your friends called. “Tryna go for a swim?”

“I just wanted to stretch, is all. . .” you began, but of course someone cut you off. 

“Ha! Wait, baby (Y/N) wants to hang out in the big bad woods all night? I dunno, sounds awful dangerous. . .”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, watching as someone shut the door, leaving you outside in the dirt. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“Go and face your fears,” one called. “C’mon. Everyone knows you’re a total pussy. We’ll pick you up in the morning!”

“Don’t leave me here!” you cried, suddenly realizing what they intended to do. You pulled uselessly on the locked door. “Guys, seriously! This isn’t funny!” 

“See ya tomorrow!” 

The tires spun rapidly, flinging dirt onto your bare legs. You flinched, letting go of the handle as the group drove off, still hooting and hollering as they snickered. 

You let out a sigh, trying your best not to fall to your knees and cry. You looked up, watching as the rumbling clouds began to precipitate. A drop landed on your head. Your shoulder. Your nose. More and more came down, and before long you were soaked to the bone and freezing. 

You couldn’t just stand here all night. At this rate you’d get hypothermia.

You grit your teeth, hands gripping your arms as you cautiously began your trek into the woods of the camp. You just hoped those stupid rumors you kept hearing about weren’t true.

By the time you spotted your first cabin, you were shivering and wobbly as you walked. The rain had gotten progressively worse the more the day wore on, and now it was almost dark and you felt like a kicked puppy. 

You reached the front porch of the small place, placing a shaking hand on the handle before opening it. You noted the puddles of water everywhere, but a leaky roof was better than no roof. 

You stepped inside, shutting the door behind you to block out the storm.

It was dark, and you fumbled around before feeling a lantern. It took a few minutes of struggling, but you managed to light it, and let out a sigh of relief when you could finally see again.

It wasn’t much—one room with a few bunk beds, couch, and a kitchenette, but you were thankful for anything. You placed the lantern on a hook jutting out of the wall, lighting up the space. 

You spotted a towel thrown haphazardly on one of the bed posts and grabbed it, drying yourself off as best as you could. 

You paused in your actions when you heard something from outside. It sounded almost like footsteps. Did your friends come back?

Not wasting a second, you scurried back to the door, flinging it open.

No. It wasn’t your friends. It was a man. A giant, hulking mass of a man with sopping wet clothes and a machete bigger than your arm. He donned a white hockey mask, weathered and worn like it had been attached to him for years.

He stood just a few feet away, watching.

You let out a scream, scrambling out the door and shooting towards the woods. Your shoes splashed in the muddied puddles, leaving your body slick with rain, sweat, and mud as you ran. 

You didn’t dare look back. You just kept running, hoping to make it back to the road. Or to anything besides more dense forest.

You could barely move, and brambles scraped against your flesh. Your whole body stung, small rivulets of blood pooling out of every small nick and scratch.

It didn’t stop you. You had to keep going. Keep running. Running away from—

Your foot caught in a root, and with a sickening crack you collapsed to the forest floor, screaming. Your foot erupted in pain, and you stared at your ankle, bile rising in your throat as you saw the odd angle it stuck out at. 

You clambered backwards on your hands, pressing yourself against a particularly large tree trunk. You cried softly as you forced your broken ankle to move, pulling your knees against your chest.

Everything was wet and dirty and dark around you. Everything looked the same, and even if you could still run, you had no idea where to go.

So you sat. Waiting. Sobbing. Trying your best to stay quiet despite your throbbing ankle.

“I don’t wanna be here,” you whimpered to yourself. “I wanna go home. I wanna go home. I wanna go home.” You were pleading to nobody, childish cries leaving your lips. “Please. I want my mom and my dad and my bed and I wanna leave here.” 

You suddenly fell silent at the snap of a twig nearby. You shoved a hand over your mouth, stifling your heavy breaths and cries. Is this it? How you died? All because you were too cowardly to stand up to your friends.

Your eyes darted around, trying desperately to spot your pursuer. He was close. But where?

You finally spotted him, walking swiftly towards you, his blade still clutched firmly in his hands. He walked like nothing stood between the two of you. Like nothing else mattered but seeing your head on a stick.

“No,” you begged, pulling yourself away from the tree and crawling desperately away from him. “Please, no. Don’t kill me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” 

You’d only made it a few pathetic feet before he stood right next to you, heavy boots sunken into the muddy ground. You fell onto your back, tears streaming down your face. You shook your head, holding your hands out in a useless attempt to shield yourself. “I didn’t do anything!” you shouted. “I don’t wanna be here! Please! I just wanna go home!” 

He didn’t raise his blade. He didn’t move at all. He just stared down at you, eyes behind the mask analyzing your injured form. He listened as you pleaded. You begged for your life. That was nothing new. Jason had heard those words many times before. But what did you mean when you said you didn’t want to be here? He saw you at the sign. He saw your friends. Your broken expression as they left you. He saw the way your lip quivered as you stood there. It had been a long time since he felt anything but rage. But looking down at you. Your twisted ankle. Your dirtied clothes and scratched flesh. He only saw himself. That same expression of terror as nobody came to his side. His throat burning as he tried to gasp for air. 

A voice whispered to him. A soft, familiar voice. ‘Keep her, Jason.’

You let out a hoarse scream when he finally moved, bending down to stare into your petrified eyes. He tucked his blade into a pocket, both hands now shuffling underneath your body. You shook your head violently. “No, no, no, no,” you repeated, trying to stop him as he lifted you up and pressed you against him. 

He walked back through the woods, you still floundering in his arms. You punched your fists against his chest, but he didn’t even pause in his gait. He was something else. Unhuman. His skin was an unnatural greenish-pale color, like a dead frog sat out in the sun. His mask dug into his skin so deep it looked like part of his very being. His hands were cold against your flesh, and inside his chest you heard no beating heart. Just heavy breathing.

You let out a whimper. What was going to happen to you? 

[casualwriters]

Sirius finds out Lilly and James died and on the same day he found out you were a death eater.

A/n I got this idea in the car, sorry if the ending was crap hope all my Sirius Black babes enjoy.

"How could you! They were our friends!" He said his voice rasing up. He was close to you his hand pushed up you're jacket that was already drenched in rain, you were wandering for hours to find him after you found out, that Lilly and James died. Frozen In fear when Sirius stepped closer the smell of rain and tobacco on his clothes his hands that you were so use to be being gentle were rougher when he pushed, up your jacket to see the twisted, skull on your right arm.

His hand wrapped around your arm his eyes narrowed you couldn't read him not at all he step back like He saw a Ghost shaking his head " it can't be can it" he said but It wasn't what he thought that you betrayed the group and got Voldemort involved and that how Lilly and James died. You were to stunned to speak frozen to even yank you're arm away.

"Answer me!" He said finally breaking you out of you're thought.

"Why! Do you even care!" Yelling at him, yanking you're arm away from him. It was strange really, never in million years that you thought, you fall in love with Sirius black, who toyed with girls and guys hearts and spit them out.

His black hair was drenched the hair you enjoyed playing with when he past out of boredom from studying together, his eyes the chocolate brown eyes you fell into everytime, was burn with hatred. Stepping back has you had just got you're hand free, the rain became more intense falling on the both of you.

"So what you ratted on James on Lilly who did nothing! Beside be your friend" Sirius said.

Sirius should know best out of everyone being apart of the black family himself but he didn't know that night you were gone, was the night they forced the mark on you're arm, enjoying the screams and tears of pain. "I didn't " cutting yourself off "I didn't have a choice to become one of them"

You're voice was defeated looking down at you're fingers that were covered in silver rings, your eye catching one in particular. A Ring Sirius had given you. A emerald sat in the middle of a silver twisted band. "Serious? You're going with that you lied to me about everything" he says

"What do you want Sirius!'' you yelled tears falling down you're eyes '"you really think I killed them!" You wanted to laugh and be angry shaking you're head " I love you " Sirius pushed his hair back angry fuming " I can't love someone who helped murder my best friend," tears fell down you're face more you're noise was runny but Sirius didn't care he stepped closer his hand moved out, his fingers ran down you're face. "We were never gonna have a Happy ending remember that okay" His hand rested on your jaw his fingers were shaking he scoffed " I hope it was fucking worth it " he says dropping the cigarette in the muddy water before he stepped on it ashing the cigarette.

Fumbling back you looked at him " Sirius " you whisper looking has he turned his back never excepted that he lost three people that day when he left your vision angry trying to hold in the sob that was choking into your throat you looked down seeing rain droplets, hit you're skin the black mark was still there, closing your eyes you pushed off from one of the pillars and thought fine he wanted a bad guy let's become one.

[isumietokyo]

‧₊˚.✮๋ A great fall ✮˚.⋆

Part (1/?)

!Tw : !bullying

Aoi feels a rain drop hit her shoulder, "it's raining" she says out loud. Because she's well dressed today, she can't afford to get wet: she runs to the woods nearby and hides under a tree. "It was a sunny day, how come it's now raining ?" she thinks to herself, looking up at the crying sky above her. She was exited about berry-picking today but the weather decided otherwise...

"I wish I had brought my umbrella..." she sighs before speaking again, "at least it's not a storm". she looks around for a bit and sees something that makes her blood run cold: a group of teens, as normal as can be, not to her tho.

She recognizes her bully from middle school. The same people that used to shove her head into toilets and throw rocks at her were just feet in front of her. "Luckily, they aren't coming my way..." she tough.

"I need to get away from them" she starts making her way in the opposite direction when, funnily enough, a branch cracks under her foot, making a breaking noise, thankfully not loud enough to alert them, right ?

She turns around to see the whole group now starring at her and starting to walk in her direction.

Without a second tough, she starts to run deeper into the woods, not caring about the rain anymore. Her short heels sinking into the mud, her dress being shredded by sharp branches in her way, she doesn't care about that right now, she needs to escape them. In a hope of outrunning them, she takes a dangerous path, which she regrets when her foot slips and she start rolling down a muddy hill. Her head gets hit several times by random rocks in the process, she falls unconscious.

When she wakes up, she looks around but she doesn't recognizes her surroundings. "I'm must've fell deep into the woods..."

She tries to stand up but fall back to her feet right away, "I have to find a shelter, it's getting dark and I don't even know where I am".

She notices a cave near and, still not being able to walk, starts crawling her way there. When she finally gets there, she uses the wall to help her stand up. She looks down at her formerly beautiful dress, "That's a shame I ruined it..."

She's still processing what happened when she smells something...nice ? It smells like...meat ? "I'm pretty sure it's a bad idea..." She drags herself to the source of the smell but she soon sees how dark it is inside, it's pitch black, "there's no way that's safe".

She turns around and starts to walk to the exit again when she hears a voice calling behind her. "H-hello ?" She freezes, at that moment, answering is the last thing she thinks about, instead she focusing on her situation, she fell down a hill, lost consciousness, entered a cave, and now someone was calling her from inside. "Okay, everything's fine" she tough to herself, "whoever is calling probably just heard me, I didn't talk out loud, they'll maybe think it was an animal if I don't say anything ?"

The voice calls again, "Is someone here ?" the voice is loud but quiet at the same time and Aoi almost feels relaxed while listening to it.

Even thought her whole body is begging her to run out of this cave, something inside her is telling her to stay. She stands still for a minute before finally answering, "y-yes".

The voice goes quiet for a moment before asking, "who are you and what are you doing here ?" She answers nervously, "I-uh I'm Aoi, I didn't mean to enter your cave, I didn't know someone was here..."

"How did you get here ? It's pretty deep in the woods", she breathes in then keeps on, "My foot slipped because of the mud and I rolled down the hill nearby", the cave went silent.

"It's dangerous to enter random caves like that you know ?"

The deep voice was now...scolding her ?

"O-okay, I-I won't do it again but for now, I have a question for you too".

"I'm listening" the voice answers.

"Who are you ?"

[petes-neckarrow]

The Accident

Summary: How exactly did Jordan O’Malley bite it? Here’s his story…

Notes: very first Ghosts fic! Happy to see it be whump lololol.

Warning ⚠️ graphic depictions of injury ⚠️

—————

Rain. 

Wet. 

Driving. 

Skidding. 

Flying. 

Falling. 

Pain. 

Falling. 

Tumbling. 

Panting. 

Pain. 

Gasping.

Pain. 

Walking. 

Pain. 

Stumbling. 

Pain. 

Crawling. 

PAIN. 

Jordan groaned as he hauled himself through the muddy ground with his right hand and pushed with his left, his legs having collapsed from underneath him ten yards back. 

The branch jutting out of his stomach caught on a rock poking from the ground and shifted. He could only grit his teeth and keep moving as new sparks of pain bloomed throughout the wound. A trickle of blood oozed from his mouth and stained pale, trembling lips. 

He knew riding his bike would be a bad idea, especially without his helmet. He’d known that ever since he’d bought the damn thing. 

But it was just so freeing to feel the wind blow through his hair, whipping his jacket around as he sped through abandoned country roads.

Jordan had been doing that a lot lately. Late night biking, that is. So much so that he practically knew all the small roads he drove on like the back of his hand, and the properties surrounding them. 

He did it for a reason, of course. Work, family drama… It all piled up day after day, exhausting him. 

The night-drives to clear his mind were getting more and more consistent until it simply became part of his everyday routine. Go to work at one of his four part-time jobs, ignore the phone calls from his parents, eat dinner at the tiny house he was renting from his dad’s old friend, take the motorcycle out for a spin, go to sleep on the air mattress.

Tonight was no different. But the rain was a surprise. It wasn’t anywhere in the forecast for today, he’d made sure it wasn’t before leaving. Jordan had made a big mistake when he kept driving, even as the rain fell harder and harder.

And now he was paying the price dearly for not turning back. 

Everything hurt. It all hurt so goddamn much. Jordan thought he knew pain when the neighbor’s dog bit him in the leg in third grade, or when Brad Cunningham shot his foot in sophomore year of high school, or even when accidentally injected his t-shot in the wrong spot a year ago. But that was nothing compared to what he was feeling right now.

Jordan’s earbuds, still miraculously connected to his iPod touch, continued blasting music uselessly. How they hadn’t fallen out yet was a mystery. “-I don’t think you trust. In. My. Self-righteous suicide-”

‘Yeah, that’s really nice to listen to while dying.’ He sarcastically thought to himself. His side ached from being dragged through bumpy rocks and poking twigs. But he still went on. There was a small, tiny sliver of hope in him that he could make it. If he could just keep going.

In the distance, a single light shone from the window of a large mansion. He knew there was an old lady that lived there, partly because he’d consistently driven donuts with his bike in her large circular driveway, forcing her to chase him away every time with the threat of calling the police. He hoped Mrs. Woodstone didn’t hold too strong a grudge that she’d turn him away when he ended up on her doorstep, clinging to life by his fingertips.

That is if he could even make it to the driveway, much less her porch. Jordan could feel his arm muscles spasming, getting weaker and weaker with each desperate pull from the right and push from the left.

Until finally, the moment he reached the edge of the driveway, his arms gave out on him. 

No longer could he drag himself towards safety. 

Jordan was utterly screwed. If his weak heart could beat any harder, it’d be racing from the panic taking hold of him. 

He was going to die. He was going to die and he hadn’t even done the things he’d wanted to do in life.

He’d never be able to buy a Nintendo switch, never visit Ireland, never get a chance to try wagyu, never join an orchestra. 

So many tasks left undone, so many dreams broken. All because of a stupid decision.

‘So this is how the great Jordan O’Malley dies.’ He thought as his eyes went foggy and his ears filled with the sound of silence. That definitely wasn’t a good sign, no longer being able to hear the rain he knew was still relentlessly falling. 

‘Death by impalement. Could’ve been worse. At least it wasn’t something dumb, like slipping in the tub.’ Jordan couldn’t help but let out a weak laugh that quickly turned to coughing, choking on his own blood.

As he lay on his side, covered in mud streaks and dead plant matter, all he could think of was how he was happy to die wearing his binder. At least he would look somewhat like himself in the afterlife, if there was one.

—————

Notes: song mentioned in fic: Chop Suey by System of a Down

ao3 link

[wingedcupcaketimemachine]

The Mystery of the Barnet Clan Harry Potter x Reader Series

First Year Chapter 10: Nicolas Flamel

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Summary: Harry and (Y/N) discover who is after the sorcerer's stone

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3,607

Story Starts Below Cut

Chapter 1

Chapter 9

Chapter 11

Series Masterlist

Harry Potter Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays the invisibility cloak stayed folded at the bottom of his trunk. Harry wished he could forget what he'd seen in the mirror as easily, but he couldn't. He started having nightmares. Over and over again he dreamed about his parents disappearing in a flash of green light, while a high voice cackled with laughter.

"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," said Ron, when Harry told him and (Y/N) about these dreams.

“That’s not what you were saying when you saw yourself holding the Quidditch cup,” said (Y/N), “But he is right, Harry. You should forget about that mirror. It’s bad news.”

Hermione, who came back the day before term started, took a different view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Harry being out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row ("If Filch had caught you!"), and disappointment that he hadn't at least found out who Nicolas Flamel was.

They had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a library book, even though Harry was still sure he'd read the name somewhere. Once term had started, they were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Harry had even less time than the other two, because Quidditch practice had started again.

Wood was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his spirits. The Weasleys complained that Wood was becoming a fanatic, but Harry was on Wood's side. If they won their next match, against Hufflepuff, they would overtake Slytherin in the house championship for the first time in seven years. Quite apart from wanting to win, Harry found that he had fewer nightmares when he was tired out after training.

Then, during one particularly wet and muddy practice session, Wood gave the team a bit of bad news. He'd just gotten very angry with the Weasleys, who kept dive-bombing each other and pretending to fall off their brooms.

"Will you stop messing around!" he yelled. "That's exactly the sort of thing that'll lose us the match! Snape's refereeing this time, and he'll be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!"

George Weasley really did fall off his broom at these words.

"Snape's refereeing?" he spluttered through a mouthful of mud. "When's he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going to be fair if we might overtake Slytherin."

The rest of the team landed next to George to complain, too.

"It's not my fault," said Wood. "We've just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us."

Which was all very well, thought Harry, but he had another reason for not wanting Snape near him while he was playing Quidditch....

The rest of the team hung back to talk to one another as usual at the end of practice, but Harry headed straight back to the Gryffindor common room, where he found Ron and Hermione playing chess, while (Y/N) was curled up in an armchair watching the game. Chess was the only thing Hermione ever lost at, something Harry and Ron thought was very good for her.

"Don't talk to me for a moment," said Ron when Harry sat down next to him, "I need to concen --" He caught sight of Harry's face. "What's the matter with you? You look terrible."

Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Harry told the other three about Snape's sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.

"Don't play," said Hermione at once.

"Say you're ill," said Ron.

"Pretend to break your leg," (Y/N) suggested.

"Really break your leg," said Ron.

"I can't," said Harry. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all."

At that moment Neville toppled into the common room. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what they recognized at once as the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor tower.

Everyone fell over laughing except (Y/N) and Hermione, who leapt up and performed the countercurse. Neville's legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling.

"What happened?" Hermione asked him, leading him over to sit with Harry and Ron.

"Malfoy," said Neville shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."

“What a prick,” said (Y/N).

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged Neville. "Report him!"

Neville shook his head.

"I don't want more trouble," he mumbled.

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" said Ron. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier."

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Neville choked out.

(Y/N) and Ron shared an awkward glance. Neither of them were very good with other people’s feelings.

Harry felt in the pocket of his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas. He gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry said. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."

Neville's lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog.

"Thanks, Harry... I think I'll go to bed.... D'you want the card, you collect them, don't you?"

As Neville walked away, Harry looked at the Famous Wizard card.

"Dumbledore again," he said, "He was the first one I ever-"

He gasped. He stared at the back of the card. Then he looked up at Ron, (Y/N), and Hermione.

"I've found him!" he whispered. "I've found Flamel! I told you I'd read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here -- listen to this: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel'!"

Hermione jumped to her feet. She hadn't looked so excited since they'd gotten back the marks for their very first piece of homework.

"Stay there!" she said, and she sprinted up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. Harry, (Y/N), and Ron barely had time to exchange mystified looks before she was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms.

"I never thought to look in here!" she whispered excitedly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

"Light?" said Ron, but Hermione told him to be quiet until she'd looked something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself.

At last she found what she was looking for.

"I knew it! I knew it!"

"Are we allowed to speak yet?" said Ron grumpily. Hermione ignored him.

"Nicolas Flamel," she whispered dramatically, "is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone!"

This didn't have quite the effect she'd expected.

"The what?" said Harry and Ron and (Y/N) looked at her in confusion.

"Oh, honestly, don't you three read? Look -- read that, there."

She pushed the book toward them, and Harry, (Y/N), and Ron read: The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.

There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).

"See?" said Hermione, when they had finished. "The dog must be guarding Flamel's Sorcerer's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"

"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" said Harry. "No wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it."

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry," said Ron. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"

“The stone might not be so safe anymore,” said (Y/N) solemnly, “If Snape knows about it, there's bound to be someone else after it too.”

The next morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, Harry and Ron were still discussing what they'd do with a Sorcerer's Stone if they had one. It wasn't until Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team that Harry remembered about Snape and the coming match.

"I'm going to play," he told Ron, (Y/N),  and Hermione. "If I don't, all the Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Snape. I'll show them... it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win." 

"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the field," said Hermione.

As the match drew nearer, however, Harry became more and more nervous, whatever he told Ron, (Y/N), and Hermione. The rest of the team wasn't too calm, either. The idea of overtaking Slytherin in the house championship was wonderful, no one had done it for seven years, but would they be allowed to, with such a biased referee?

Harry didn't know whether he was imagining it or not, but he seemed to keep running into Snape wherever he went. At times, he even wondered whether Snape was following him, trying to catch him on his own. Potions lessons were turning into a sort of weekly torture, Snape was so horrible to Harry. Could Snape possibly know they'd found out about the Sorcerer's Stone? Harry didn't see how he could -- yet he sometimes had the horrible feeling that Snape could read minds.

Harry knew, when they wished him good luck outside the locker rooms the next afternoon, that Ron, (Y/N), and Hermione were wondering whether they'd ever see him alive again. This wasn't what you'd call comforting. Harry hardly heard a word of Wood's pep talk as he pulled on his Quidditch robes and picked up his Nimbus Two Thousand.

Ron, (Y/N), and Hermione, meanwhile, had found a place in the stands next to Neville, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why they had all brought their wands to the match. Little did Harry know that they had been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker Curse. They'd gotten the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville, and were ready to use it on Snape if he showed any sign of wanting to hurt Harry.

"Now, don't forget, it's Locomotor Mortis," Hermione muttered as Ron slipped his wand up his sleeve.

"I know," Ron snapped. "Don't nag."

(Y/N) simply rolled her eyes at their antics. 

Back in the locker room, Wood had taken Harry aside.

"Don't want to pressure you, Potter, but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favor Hufflepuff too much."

"The whole school's out there!" said Fred Weasley, peering out of the door. "Even -- blimey -- Dumbledore's come to watch!"

Harry's heart did a somersault.

"Dumbledore?" he said, dashing to the door to make sure. Fred was right. There was no mistaking that silver beard.

Harry could have laughed out loud with relief. He was safe. There was simply no way that Snape would dare to try to hurt him if Dumbledore was watching.

Perhaps that was why Snape was looking so angry as the teams marched onto the field, something that Ron noticed, too.

"I've never seen Snape look so mean," he told (Y/N) and Hermione. "Look -they're off Ouch!"

Someone had poked Ron in the back of the head. It was Malfoy.

"Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there."

Malfoy grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle.

"Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?"

Ron didn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Harry, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch. (Y/N) kept and eye on Snape with her wand at the ready.

"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all. "It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money -- you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."

Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy.

"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," he stammered.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said, "You tell him, Neville."

"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."

“Shut up, Malfoy,” said (Y/N), “Why don’t you and your goons go torment someone else.”

Ron's nerves were already stretched to the breaking point with anxiety about Harry.

"I'm warning you, Malfoy -- one more word.”

"Guys!" said Hermione suddenly, "Harry --"

"What? Where?" and (Y/N) and Ron in unison.

Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her mouth, as Harry streaked toward the ground like a bullet.

"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" said Malfoy.

Ron snapped. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help.

“Ron, stop!” said (Y/N).

"Come on, Harry!" Hermione screamed, leaping onto her seat to watch as Harry sped straight at Snape -- she didn't even notice Malfoy and Ron rolling around under her seat while (Y/N) attempted to separate them, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that was Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle.

Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches -- the next second, Harry had pulled out of the dive, his arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in his hand.

The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.

"Ron! (Y/N)! Where are you? The game's over! Harry's won! We've won! Gryffindor is in the lead!" shrieked Hermione, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the row in front.

Harry jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. He couldn't believe it. He'd done it -- the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes. As Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, he saw Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped -- then Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Dumbledore's smiling face.

"Well done," said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Harry could hear, "Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror... been keeping busy... excellent..."

Snape spat bitterly on the ground.

Harry left the locker room alone some time later, to take his Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed. He couldn't ever remember feeling happier. He'd really done something to be proud of now -- no one could say he was just a famous name any more. The evening air had never smelled so sweet. He walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in his head, which was a happy blur: Gryffindors running to lift him onto their shoulders; Ron, (Y/N), and Hermione in the distance, jumping up and down, Ron cheering through a heavy nosebleed and (Y/N) with a bruise forming on her left cheek.

Harry rushed over.

“What happened to you two?” he asked, scanning their injuries.

“This idiot got in a fight with Malfoy and accidently socked me in the face,” said (Y/N), pointing at Ron, “It’ll probably turn into a nasty bruise, so thanks, Ron.”

“It’s not my fault,” said Ron defensively, “You shouldn’t have gotten in my way!”

“Remind me to slap you later,” said (Y/N), “Anyway, I’ll walk back with you, Harry. You still have to put your broom in the shed, right?”

The two left the Quidditch field, leaving Hermione and Ron to walk back to the castle together.

Soon, Harry and (Y/N) had reached the shed. Harry leaned against the wooden door and looked up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun. Gryffindor in the lead. 

“By the way,” said (Y/N), leaning against the wall, ”You did brilliant today, Harry.”

She was right. He'd done it, he'd shown Snape....

And speaking of Snape...

A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible toward the forbidden forest. Harry's victory faded from his mind as he watched. He recognized the figure's prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the forest while everyone else was at dinner -- what was going on?

He quickly got (Y/N)’s attention.

“Do you see that man over there?” he asked, pointing in the direction of the forest, “I think it’s Snape.”

(Y/N) followed his gaze, and watched as the figure disappeared into the forest.

“Snape?,” she asked, “What would he be doing in the Forbidden Forest?”

“I dunno. But we’re gonna find out.”

Harry and (Y/N)  jumped back on his Nimbus Two Thousand and took off. Gliding silently over the castle he saw Snape enter the forest at a run. They followed.

The trees were so thick they couldn't see where Snape had gone. They flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until they heard voices. They glided toward them and landed noiselessly in a towering

beech tree.

They climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to Harry’s broomstick, trying to see through the leaves. Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, too. Harry and (Y/N) couldn't make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Harry and (Y/N) strained to catch what they were saying.

"... d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus..."

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, his voice icy, "Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, after all."

Harry and (Y/N) looked at each other in shock. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted him.

“Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid’s yet?”  

“B-b-but Severus, I —” 

“You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirrell,” said Snape, taking  a step toward him. 

“I-I don’t know what you —” 

“You know perfectly well what I mean.” 

An owl hooted loudly, and Harry nearly fell out of the tree. (Y/N) helped him steady himself in time to hear Snape say, “— your little bit of hocus-pocus. I’m waiting.” 

“B-but I d-d-don’t —” 

“Very well,” Snape cut in. “We’ll have another little chat soon,  when you’ve had time to think things over and decided where your  loyalties lie.” 

He threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was almost dark now, but Harry and (Y/N) could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though he was petrified.

The walk back to the castle was almost silent, both Harry and (Y/N) rattled y what they had just seen.

“Where have you two been?” Hermione squeaked as they approached the castle.  

“We won! You won! We won!” shouted Ron, thumping Harry on the back. “And I gave Malfoy a black eye, and Neville tried to  take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed! He’s still out cold but Madam Pomfrey says he’ll be all right — talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone’s waiting for you in the common room, we’re having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens.” 

“Never mind that now,” said Harry breathlessly. “Let’s find an empty room, you wait ’til you hear this. . . .” 

He made sure Peeves wasn’t inside before shutting the door be hind them, then he told them what he’d seen and heard. 

“So we were right, it is the Sorcerer’s Stone, and Snape’s trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy.”

“And he said something about Quirrell’s ‘hocus pocus,’” added (Y/N), “I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through —” 

“So you mean the Stone’s only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?” said Hermione in alarm. 

“It’ll be gone by next Tuesday,” said Ron.

[moccahobi]

A Fae's Brew To Take You Away [Chapter 24]

Summery: Photography: Taehyung loves it. Specifically he loves film photography. He even spent an entire day hiking and taking photos in a meadow (there was a woman there at first but she left soon after). For Y/n though, Taehyung’s trip to the meadow was the start of something bad. Something real bad.

Pairings: Taehyung (BTS) x Reader, Yoongi (BTS) x Hoseok (BTS)

Rating: Teens and up

Chapter warnings: injury, character death

Series warnings (I update as I figure more stuff out): horror, injury, threats, character death, major angst, emotional distress, alcohol, verbal fight, anxiety

Word Count:  985 words

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fae AU!, College AU!

Tag list: @youarejesting, @i-am-moonchild, @oddinary4bts​

Chapter 23 >> Masterlist << Next

This was a bad idea.

This was such a bad idea.

Why had he suggested to put an apple tag in Taehyung’s car? 

Why was he humoring his two friends in this?

Eyes flitting between Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jungkook as they angrily talked, he was getting more and more worried. Plus, they hadn’t even made it to Taehyung and Nayeon-something Jungkook was very much trying to keep them away from. This was going on too long. The rain and wind was making it dangerous too… Yoongi wanted to leave as soon as possible. 

Taehyung’s scream silenced everyone, its fear and pain cutting through the conversation like a knife. From his periferal, Yoongi saw Jungkook quickly looked over at Taehyung, the man seemingly collapsed on the ground. Yoongi and Jungkook seemed to have a similar idea as they started down the hill (very slowly and cautiously because of the mud) before they were stopped by another scream, much closer. 

Hoseok.

Yoongi rushed over to where Hoseok was sitting on the ground, grabbing his shoulders and watching horrified as he started coughing up muddy water, cutting his scream. The water he was coughing up started to form a puddle on the ground, mixing with the dirt and leaves… and was there some red developing in the water? 

Looking closer at the water Hoseok was coughing up, Yoongi saw blood. Hoseok’s face was losing more and more of its color as more and more blood started coloring his coughed up water. After a horrifying minute of Hoseok coughing up bloody, muddy water, his eyes growing more and more unfocused all the while, he finally passed out. 

“Seok-ah! Seok-ah!” Yoongi was tapping his shoulder trying to get some sort of response, but there was nothing. Looking up at Namjoon and Jungkook, Yoongi spoke again, “W-We need to leave. He needs a hospital. Can you both help me carry him?” 

Jungkook's gasp took Yoongi's attention temporarily elsewhere. Someone was doing stuff with Taehyung, whose leg looked fucked up, and a little behind them, by the swollen stream, Nayeon was walking out of the river. She was human sized and looked waterlogged and pale just like Hoseok. 

Ripp Hoseok. In the middle of Jungkook talking and trying to deescalate the situation, Hoseok starts screaming in pain, falling to the ground and coughing up water (way too much water for it to be just from the rain). They all watch in horror as the blood in his face seems to become less and less but before he seems to pass out, they see a large Y/n, in some sort of flowy dress walk out from the swollen river. She’s limping and dripping water. 

She looks to be in a similar state to Hoseok but there is something very different: she seems to be smoking. 

Not only is she panting and each walk is making her look worse and worse, but the water on her skin and dress is literally evaporating, her hair shriveling up as if under flame. There is some muddy concoction in her hand, her eyes are red from what looks like crying but no tears are coming. Somehow, she manages to make it over to where everyone (other than Taehyung and the mysterious man) were, falling to the ground beside Hoseok. 

“I am so so so so sorry.” She spoke, her voice rough and wispy as if she had barely any energy to talk, “I did this to you. You’ve been touched by my magic. I am trying to break the connection.” 

She stopped, breathing hard as she reached over and touched Hoseok’s arm, her own arm shaking violently. 

“Hold on. Please. Think of all your friends.” 

Yoongi watched in shock as Hoseok seemed to regain some of his color, eyes unfocused on the world around him. He steps closer and sits next to Hoseok, hopeful that he’ll notice Yoongi here.

“I am here, Seok-ah. Hang on. Please. I… I can’t lose you.” His own voice was rough and mournful.

Nayeon looked at Yoongi briefly before putting her full body on Hoseok, mumbling something in a different language. The color returning to Hoseok’s face soon took over, overpopulating his face and making it look like a painful red. He was hot to the touch.

“N-Na-Nayeon-ssi. This. He isn’t getting better. Please. I don’t know if he will make it.” 

She didn’t respond but Hoseok groaned and rolled into Yoongi’s lap. Even if Yoongi had the energy to try to pull her off and stop this, he now physically couldn’t. 

Tears sprung up in his eyes as he watched Hoseok’s face continue to become red, his body like a heater on Yoongi’s. 

“Seok-ah. Please. Hold on. I. Please. I… I love you. I can’t lose you.” He was crying, the tears landing on Hoseok’s arm before seemingly disappearing. Hoseok clung closer to Yoongi as he spoke, a soft smile growing on his face. Despite this, he didn’t respond to what Yoongi was saying and Yoongi only felt more spurred on to continue. “If you make it through this, I will give you all the M&Ms in the world. You’ll be so rich off of M&Ms you won’t be able to eat them all. I’ll actually confess and if you don’t like me, I will move on. Please. Please. Please. Seok-ah. Hol-” 

“I am sorry I’ve been so shitty to you these few days. Gi, I-” 

Hoseok stopped moving. Nayeon stopped moving. The color left both of them. 

Jungkook and Namjoon were also crying. Slowly and carefully, Jungkook removed Nayeon from over Hoseok, laying both of them down on the ground. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a loud and vibrant flash of light.

Fire. 

Nayeon was burning up, the flames violently licking at her body and seemingly ignorant of anything else. Like flashpaper, she burnt up and left behind nothing on the ground.

[alteredphoenix]

The Talon Trick (StP Card Games AU)(Chapter 1)[WIP]

A/N: So a lot of people seemed to really like this idea I came up with for an StP fic that I'd like to do if the inspiration struck me (featuring the Princesses playing card games in the Long Quiet to pass the time while waiting for the Hero to show up - which shocked me, because I wasn't expecting such a positive reaction), and that provided just enough motivation to write something out. This first chapter is just about done, but as I have a bad habit of leaving a multi-chaptered fic to the wayside shortly after losing steam this isn't something I'm ready to post on AO3 - at least not right away. (And I do feel bad about that, but it's something I've struggled with for years and trying to overcome.)

I think stockpiling a few chapters and then uploading them is a better idea (and probably a much better course of action for me to do in the long run), so have this little snippet for the time being while I force my brain to sit still long enough to finish the chapter and give it some polish.

-

The Princess slowly, heavily, drags herself up into a sitting position, strawberry blonde hair spilling over her shoulder in one big curtain. Her chest heaves, sucking in lost air. Absentmindedly, she reaches one hand up and feels for the tiara sitting neatly over her scalp. One pat, two pats, and she finds it.

Somehow, beyond all reason, it’s stayed on. She huffs quietly and tips it back upright from where it was all but hanging over the side of her head.

She spares a moment to stare at the floor, a grey several shades darker with hints of a color mixed between rain-washed stone and muddied brown – and shifting. She squints, frowning, and stares down harder, even blinking several times for good measure. But the scene doesn’t change; those are lines, cross-hatched and messy and sketchy, like the ones she recalled seeing on the basement floor and chipped into the walls, shift and shudder in every direction, both to her and away from her. Some of the patches even fade in and out of sight, reappearing further ahead into another patch of the floor that quickly assimilates into another network of jumping, dancing cross-hatching. A tentative brush of her left hand makes a rivulet of lining readjust and follow along the curve of her fingertips.

Brows knit, the Princess picks her head up and casts a slow, sweeping gaze around her. The area – the world – is grey tinted beige as far as the eye can see – and nothing else. They continue to shift and retract and connect down here as they did up in the air, one long, pervasive wall of cloud and fog without end. A sound like a breeze sighing through the leaves on the trees pricks teasingly at her ears. She turns her head one way and then the other, listening, straining; the sound travels with her, cloying and evasive.

Confusion wells in the pit of her stomach. “...Where am I?” she asks aloud.

“You are here, returned to me, where you belong.”

“Who--” she begins, turning back around, and jumps back, the gasp ripping right out of her.

A young woman stands, far away yet close and larger than life. She has the same blonde hair, the same pink dress that conforms to her slim, pale curves, the same silvery tiara upon her head. The same voice, the Princess notes belatedly, soft yet quietly monotone, and feels her mouth fall open. She swallows thickly, tears her mind away from the fact to gaze up and down at the woman’s body. All around her, from the top of her head to the sloping V of her navel, small hands attached to long, slender arms shifted and waved and flexed with a fluidity both stunted and natural, some grasping absently at the air. One hand drapes over her eyes. A pair of hands cover her breasts. Another pair wraps over her bony shoulders in a loose embrace, the same which a second pair cupped the pointed joints of her hips.

“What the….” the Princess begins, mouth and brain working. “Who are...What...are you…?”

“I am solitary lights in an empty city. Oceans reduced to shallow creeks. Trees without a forest. I am infinite.”

The Princess blinks. One slender eyebrow arches up. “…Huh?”

“I am you,” says the woman. “You are me. Pieces of a dream on the path to being whole. A fragile vessel.”

The Princess swallows again. “...I don’t understand.”

“You will, in time. But know that what I speak is the truth, and this truth will set us free.”

“Free,” the Princess echoes. “Free from, uh...what, exactly?”

“Here,” the woman says, and a dozen-dozen hands fan out behind her and gesture at the shifting, grey mass of clouds and sketch lines. “I have only just now wakened from these trappings of unconsciousness, but the answer remains all the same: there is no exit. The concept of an exit does not exist; not even the concept of time exists. It merely is. But I know there are worlds beyond the Long Quiet, worlds that can be reached, and there will come a time for when we will find them.”

“So,” the Princess begins, drawing the word out, tentative and venturing, “we’re stuck here. This, uh… This Long...Quiet.”

“We are.”

“But you just woke up.”

“I did.”

“Like, right now.”

“More or less.”

The Princess stares at her. Her other eyebrow rises. “...So how do you know there aren’t any exits if you just—“ She shakes her head. “You know what, never mind."

[vanillash0r3s]

one stop before delirium

(just a reminder, i am open to feedback!! looking forward to hear what you guys think of this :D)

It was late evening in March, the night I disappeared. I had just finished my shift at the grocery store. The weather was cold, rainy, and gray. Melting snow and muddy fields, with no light in sight. It smelled like dirt and rain. I was on my way home, waiting for the bus while listening to music. It was a normal day. I boarded my bus and immediately felt uncomfortable. Nothing was obviously wrong or distressing; it simply felt weird. The bus driver smiled and nodded but did not say anything. There were four other passengers, all of whom appeared to be regular. They all had strange wounds on their bodies, shaped like stars and hearts.

It made me feel a bit concerned—was it a cult symbol of some sort? The bus smelt of gasoline and old food. "Thank God I get tomorrow off," I thought to myself. The eyes of the other passengers felt off, cold and unearthly, what sort of creatures am I dealing with?

I sat down and looked at the dull city, watching the buildings and other vehicles pass by. I started to doze off and dream of a better town than this one. I was asleep for a bit 30 minutes when I awoke to a loud crash. I jolted up to look around me; everything was okay, which was odd. 

I turned once more to see if the bus driver had even cared; it seemed like no one did. The smell of rotten food had only intensified. "Was it in the bus or one of the other passengers?" I wondered to myself. I tried to relax again, but something was in my peripheral vision.

I turned my head back and jolted up again; all four passengers were behind me now. I gave them an awkward wave and continued to listen to music—bad idea. I felt a tap on the top of my spine; one passenger was inches from my face. I felt his breath on my face and heard it through my headphones. "Uhm, could you please back up?" I asked gently. They all gazed at me, and my head was hammering. The scenery outside had suddenly turned black, completely isolated. 

The air felt dense; I started to sweat. The fluorescent lights were messing with my head, and my sight dimmed as I began to feel fall unconscious.

My bones were cracking; I could feel it. I have no clue how it happened; it was as if some higher beginning was messing with my anatomy on the spot. I struggled to open my eyes. The last thing I remember seeing was the passengers holding my arms, twisting them until my bones popped out. The sound of cracking made my ears ring.

(part 2??)

[mistralxsoul]

The man (Zack, he said) seemed confused and exhausted. Disoriented, even. Flynn couldn’t necessarily blame him for that. He was in the same boat. He couldn’t quite remember how he had gotten here or the circumstances that led to his being here and trying to sort his thoughts while his head spun as bad as it did seemed to do nothing but confuse him even more. 

So for now, he focused on the here and the now. He was unharmed, Zack seemed unharmed and they were out in what seemed to be some type of rocky terrain, with some foliage scattered here and there. The ground was wet and muddy, puddles filling any dips in the land. Running a gloved hand across the soil told him that it had rained not too long ago. Unfortunately, the sky was too cloudy for Flynn to judge the position of the sun so the time was currently unknown but if he had to guess, it had to have been day time. 

During his evaluation of the surrounding area, Flynn almost doesn’t realize that Zack has spoken to him and he quickly moves to stand, happily taking the man’s hand just in case. “I don’t believe I’m hurt. Just feeling a bit lost, I suppose.”

Flynn turned to eye Zack for a moment, taking in his attire. Was it a uniform of some sort? It certainly wasn’t a uniform of the empire. Could this man be from the guilds? Or perhaps just a traveler? He ponders for a moment before quietly returning his name.

“My name is Flynn.” He almost moves to salute, falling into an old habit when he would introduce himself as a knight, or more recently, as Commandant but it was probably for the best that he kept that information to his chest for now.

While he and Zack were suddenly thrusted into this situation, he still wasn’t sure on who Zack was as a person and he simply needed to be cautious and learn more of the situation before he revealed his entire rank to the man. 

“I don’t suppose you have any idea on why we’re out here in the middle of nowhere together, do you?” Flynn watched Zack closely, making sure to watch for any signs of suspicion. “Do you know what’s going on? Do you remember how we got here?”

He seemed fine on the surface, the man seeming especially eager to assist Flynn to his feet and making sure he wasn’t harmed. As a knight, Flynn respected that but he also knew what could happen if one trusted someone so easily. 

"Uh. Yeah." The words more resembled the exhausted sigh they accompanied then any true assessment of the current predicament, or an accurate conclusion of his condition. He inhaled a deep breath, as though that was what it took for him to begin to unfurl his body from it's prone position, rising to stand.

His erratic actions sent the frog hopping for its life, back down into the murky depths of its watery abode. His gaze focused on the uninhabited puddle, watching the ripples caused by the frogs departure settle into a stagnant calm.

Fingers curled into his palm and unfurled in swift succession, the motion achieved without any definitive sign that anything outwardly was wrong.

What was going on? What happened?

Because of who he was, a Soldier, a source of fear for so many on the Planet, it was almost imperative he be aware of himself at all times. Lest he do something to offend the natives. The last thing he would want would be to start an accidental skirmish.

His memories were skewed, like his mind was desperately trying to catch up with everything his soul already knew. The fragile strands between reality and fiction unfurling. Bit by bit, it seemed everything that made him who he was was gradually being rewritten with lies and deceit, taking away the very freedom he had so desperately sought.

He felt somewhat like he was still sleeping.

He shook his head, buzzing in his ears like flies were bouncing around inside.

"Can you stand? Are you hurt at all?" He reached down a hand to help if need be. The stranger looked to be about his age - though he wasn't very well versed in guessing - he didn't know him from anyone else.

The uniform told him he wasn't just a regular ole Joe though. Which didn't rightly bode well for him at the moment. Still, he wasn't going to leave him high and dry. It was obvious he had little clue what in the world had occurred there either to leave them both out cold in the middle of no where.

"I'm Zack." They could start there. Sharing a name would at least take the sting of uncertainty out of the situation. Names were personal, and sharing them became somewhat like giving a piece of the self to someone else. Sometimes their identities was all they had.

[hopespeakwriting]

HIHI can I have a date with byakuya miu and kokichi hc but rainy cuz it's raining rn and I love it if it's not too much to ask😘😘😘

Sure! IM REALLY SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT WAWAWAWAAAA!!! MY WRITERS BLOCK AND PERSONAL PROBLEMS FRICKED ME UPPP

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TW: cussing and dirty jokes at miu's part.

Byakuya Togami:

You guys were on a date at the park the sky was grey and sun hid behind the rainy clouds.

Okay, he hates rain on him. sure, he likes watching rain on the comfort of his room. but when he's outside?! hate.

complains to you all the time, with sarcasm of course...

" What a clever idea you had... look at my clothes.... im soaked..."

You take a umbrella from your backpack and share with him.

He thinks for a moment and then thanks you with a smile. The kind of smile that he only shows to you.

Suddently, you lean in for a kiss. He accepts, kissing you underneath the umbrella. Romantic dont you think?

Oh... But little did he know that this was just a distraction....

When he least expected you pulled the umbrella aside, making the rain fall all over the two of you.

Byakuya jumped back in surprise, his hair and clothes entirely soaked.

"What!?- S/O!! HOW DID YOU-"

Run. he's chasing after you now.

He trips on your feet knocking the both of you down making him and you fall on the wet grass. His glasses fell on the ground beside him.

he was ready to start complaining but he stopped as soon as he saw you laughing and rolling on the muddy grass.

He couldn't help but laugh and roll by your side. After some minutes laughing he stops and turns to look at you.

"Maybe this date wasn't so bad afterall......" he said smiling.

H̶o̶w̶ d̶i̶d̶ t̶h̶e̶ b̶o̶t̶h̶ o̶f̶ y̶o̶u̶ g̶o̶t̶ b̶a̶c̶k̶ h̶o̶m̶e̶ w̶i̶t̶h̶ y̶o̶u̶r̶ c̶l̶o̶t̶h̶e̶s̶ a̶l̶l̶ s̶o̶a̶k̶e̶d̶ a̶n̶d̶ m̶u̶d̶d̶y̶ s̶m̶e̶l̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶ w̶e̶t̶ g̶r̶a̶s̶s̶? now that's another story.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Miu Iruma:

Thank the stars she didn't bring the electronic gadgets she invented.

Miu doesn't like rain at all actually. sooo-

Complaining a little bit too-

"Ughhh.. rain.. my hair is gonna be all wet.. and my makeup..! do you have a umbrella? no? fuuuck..."

you asked if you both could do something fun, Like dancing in the rain, and she agreeds.

You softly grabbed her by the wrist, guiding her underneath a lightpole on the sidewalk of the street.

As soon as you let go of miu's wrist she holds your hands and start dancing a energetic dance with you as the rains falls over you two.

You two danced for some minutes until you both got tired.

At the end, miu wrapped her arms around your neck giggling and resting her hand on you shoulder.

The both of you got soaked by the rain, and after all that fun you both agreed to go home and take a bath.

"Damn im all wet.. and i dont think it was cause of the rain~ IM JOKING S/O IM JOKING HAHAHA"

seriously tho, she loves you and those cute moments with you <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kokichi Ouma:

As soon as the rain started to fall kokichi said that he dislikes rain.... you knew it was a obvious lie.

He likes rain. no no, he LOVES rain.

When is raining you can slide in the water, jump in a puddle of rain etc! So he was CRAZY when he saw the rain.

" Look s/o! its raining! lets play together! Nishishi~ "

Kokichi grabs your hand and runs to the nearest puddle he sees.

He asks you to jump in puddles with him. You hesitate for a bit, then accepts.

He starts jumping violently on the water with a big smile. you on the other side jumps cautiously, scared of making a mess.

You two stop jumping after some minutes.

Kokichi suddently throws his head back and opens his mouth, drinking the falling rain.

You told him that the rain water is probably dirty and he shouldnt't drink it. He eventually gets bored of drinking the rain and decides to go home with you.

"Nishishi~! that was fun! but my socks are all wet now.... Welp, not that i care. C'mon, lets go home!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There it is! again, sorry for the wait (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞ I hope u liked it! i̶s̶ p̶r̶o̶b̶a̶b̶l̶y̶ n̶o̶t̶ r̶a̶i̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ a̶n̶y̶m̶o̶r̶e̶ b̶u̶t̶ y̶k̶n̶o̶w̶-

AAANYWAYS- if u like me to change anything feel free to say!!

[eunseok-s]

five — i messed up...

pairing: yoon jeonghan x gender neutral reader

warnings: jeonghan calls the reader pathetic, swear words, a hurt y/n

genre: angst

word count: 0.6k

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taglist: @honeyhuii @soobin-chois @fylithia @enhacolor @ja4hyvn @bambisgirl @hiqhkey @its-madi @byeolwonnie @yizhoutv @shuatm @end-hyphen @yeosangiehwa @kayleeshinee @joonsytip @justasoftstan

a/n: i apologise for the delay in updating, a work friend of mine passed away and i needed to take some time away. this written part is not my best work but i wanted to update as soon as possible. i hope you guys are all okay ❤️

You manage to make it to the library with a few minutes to spare, you look around before you park yourself on a random seat, just to see if Jeonghan made it before you did. The room is empty, the only other person in the library being the librarian making sure everything is ready before the day begins. She gives you a small wave which you return.

As you sit down, and pull out your laptop, you start to feel nervous. The last time you or Jeonghan breathed a single word to each other was when you were both eleven. It all started when he muttered "show off" under his breath when you and Joshua were the only two students in the year to pass an exam with full marks. He would always make little remarks at you whenever you had gotten 100% on any test or exam at school.

In retaliation, when you and Joshua were walking home after school, you pushed Jeonghan into a muddy puddle. You remember him falling face first into the water, his t-shirt covered in mud and grass stains. He responded by trying to pull you down with him but Joshua managed to block his hands. You remember immediately feeling horrible that you chose that path to go down but it was too late for you to do anything when he ran off.

Your mom told you it would all be fine, that his t-shirt would survive in the washing machine and would come out white again. You first apologised to Jeonghan weeks after but he never accepted your apology, all he did was make you feel bad for the incident by reminding you every day of it. You apologised multiple times and even bought him a similar t-shirt to replace it but your attempts failed.

He turned up at the library fifteen minutes after 9am, his hair slightly wet from the rain outside, "Sorry, I'm late," he mumbles, throwing his bag under the table and making his way to the coffee machine. You take a deep breath and exhale, this is going to be a long morning.

By noon, you had exchanged no less than fifty words to each other. When you’d asked him about his ideas for the project, he slid his work book to you and said nothing. Great minds think alike though; the two of you had the same ideas.

Though, whenever you tried to communicate anything to Jeonghan, he wasn’t listening to you. He would shrug and just focus on whatever he was doing on his laptop. It bothered you.

You started to feel hungry and offered to pick something up for him when he slammed his pen down on the table, sighing and looking at you for the first time today.

“Look, y/n, I appreciate—in fact, no, I don’t appreciate that you’re trying so hard for us to be friends or something, it’s not gonna happen. I’m only here because I have to be, because I want to pass this course and get the hell out of here. I wouldn’t work on this project if you were the last person on earth. So please, stop trying so hard because you’re pathetic.”

Jeonghan regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth but it was too late to take them back, he’d already said them. You were aware he didn't like you and that he felt like that but the way he said those words… they felt like venom and you just wanted to get out of there. You look around the room, your eyes locking with Seungkwan’s who stood a few tables away from you. You gathered all of your stuff together, pushing everything into your bag.

"Y/n, wait..." Jeonghan pleads for you to stop and listen but you just want to leave. You're not going to cry in front of him. You won't.

"Y/n..." He calls for you once more but you're already halfway out of the library, heading for the bathroom.