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agalitzine · 3 months ago

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SILHOUETTES OF US :

TWO — Hyunjin

warnings: explicit language, mentoins of blood and traumatic flashbacks

song i wrote this chapther with: ❤️‍🩹

chapter one <— masterlist

TWO — Hyunjin

People always stare at me like I’m the problem.

They don't say it out loud, but I see it in their eyes — it's like I'm something dangerous. Something that might snap and ruin their perfect little worlds if they came too close.

Maybe they're right.

I stood near the back alley of the famous local club, leaning against the wall, cigarette burning low between my fingers, watching the world spin around me. The bass from inside rattled through the bricks, and the cold night air bit at my skin, but I liked it better out here — where I didn’t have to pretend to give a damn about anything.

I exhaled smoke into the darkness and kept my head down, hood up. Just another shadow in a world that didn’t want me.

And then I heard her.

It was sharp at first — a voice cutting through the thumping music.

"Hey! Someone just took my purse!"

My eyes flicked up, sharp and alert even when I told myself not to care. She was standing there, panic in her voice, looking around like she actually believed someone might help her.

Naïve.

People don’t help. People watch.

She looked small, vulnerable — her pale blonde hair catching in the breeze like some porcelain doll someone forgot in the wrong neighborhood. Pale skin, soft pink lips that were trembling, eyes wide darting everywhere, trying to hold herself together.

But no one was moving.

The security guy — just a fat slob leaning against the wall like he couldn’t be bothered to lift a finger. He barely even blinked.

Typical.

I flicked the cigarette to the ground, grinding it under my boot.

I should’ve stayed leaning against that wall. Should’ve minded my own business.

But then I saw him — some low-life sprinting down the alley with her purse, like he owned the damn world.

No.

I wasn’t about to let that slide.

Something inside me — the part that still burned even after years of shutting everything out — snapped.

Before I even thought about it, my feet were moving, fast and deadly, like muscle memory from fights I’d survived growing up. I reached the thief in seconds, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him back so hard his feet left the ground.

He hit the pavement with a sound that would haunt his ribs for weeks.

"Give it," I growled, my voice low, cold enough to make him freeze.

His fingers shook as he handed over the purse. Weak. Pathetic.

I snatched it from him, glaring down like I wanted to put him in the ground. Maybe part of me did.

I turned, my gaze searching for her — and when I found her, standing there with wide, stunned eyes, it felt like the air between us shifted.

Like for a second, I wasn’t the monster people always whispered about.

I held the purse out, keeping my face blank, because I didn’t know how to do anything else.

"Is this yours?"

She nodded, but she looked like she could barely speak — just staring at me like I wasn’t real. Like maybe I was some ghost that crawled out of the shadows. Scared, sunshine?

I didn’t know what to say next.

I never do.

"Be careful next time," I muttered, handing it over, our fingers brushing for half a second. I felt that touch in my bones. I immediately turned to walk away, ignoring what the fuck that was.

But as I lit another cigarette with trembling fingers, my mind stayed stuck on her — her eyes, her small hands holding that pink purse like it was a lifeline.

She was familiar, I just couldn't figure out where I have seen her.

People always stare at me like I’m the problem.

They don’t say it out loud — they don’t need to. It’s in the way their eyes flick over me and then away, quick and sharp like they might catch something if they look for too long. Like I'm a loaded gun someone left on the sidewalk, waiting to go off.

Maybe they're right.

I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my jacket as I walked home, my steps heavy against the cracked pavement. The night was cold, but I didn’t care. I liked the way it bit at my skin, reminding me that I was still breathing, still here. Not that I knew why.

The streets were mostly empty now, just a few late-night wanderers staggering out of bars, their laughter too loud, too fake. The kind of people who'd cross to the other side if they saw me coming — and sometimes they did. I watched one guy notice me and immediately grab his girl’s hand tighter, pulling her away like I was some kind of plague.

Yeah. That's fine. Let them keep their distance.

But as much as I tried to shove the night behind me, she kept crawling back into my head — that girl with the pale blonde hair and trembling lips. The one who looked at me like I was a ghost.

Like she couldn't decide if I was about to save her or ruin her.

I hadn’t meant to get involved. I never do.

And yet, there I was — chasing down some idiot for a girl I didn’t even know.

A girl who looked like she didn’t belong anywhere near the shadows I live in.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I ran a hand through my hair, pulling at the strands like that could tear her image out of my brain. But it didn’t work. I could still see her — those wide hazel eyes locking on mine, like she could see straight through all my walls.

It unsettled me.

And I hated that.

By the time I reached my place, the streets had gone completely quiet, like the whole town was holding its breath.

My house sat at the edge of the neighborhood, tucked away like it was part of a different world. The gray house on North Street — that’s what I heared people calling it, if they even dared to talk about it at all. The one everyone walked past a little faster, heads down.

I stopped in front of it, staring up at the silhouette of sharp angles and cold black windows. The moon cast just enough light to outline its shape — dark gray walls, roof tiles like jagged teeth, metal gates that creaked when the wind blew too hard. Everything about it looked like it belonged in some horror movie.

But I liked it that way. I loved that house.

No one ever knocked on my door. No one ever came close. It was my sanctuary.

I pushed the gate open, listening to its familiar groan. I stepped inside the yard. The ground is lined with stones, black and smooth, leading to the front steps. The porch light is out — it always was — and I didn’t bother turning it on.

I knew every inch of this place.

The key slid into the lock with a quiet click, and I pushed the door open, stepping into the darkness that felt more like home than anywhere else ever had.

Inside, the house was cold and quiet. Everything was neat — not dirty, not falling apart — I hate when things are not on their place. Maybe that's the only good thing I shared with my mother.

Everything is in shades I picked out about two years ago when I moved in: black, gray, and dark wood.

No one had ever been inside this house — except for Lee Sean. I met him a few months ago, the first and only time I stepped foot into the local Hills Club. Turns out, he owns the place. Sometimes I regret ever leaving this house that night, because from that moment on, I haven’t been able to get rid of him.

Don’t let his quiet demeanor fool you — that man is twisted, probably even more than I am. But not many people know about that side of him. Not even his own family, as far as I can tell.

I hate how he shows up unannounced, but maybe that’s on me. I’ve never exactly given him a chance to warn me. Every time he texted to say he was coming over, I’d lock the doors and pretend I wasn’t home.

I shut the door behind me and locked it with a soft click.

Silence.

For a moment, I just stood there, leaning back against the door. Running a hand over my face.

My heart still hadn’t fully calmed down. Not from the fight. Not from her.

I shrugged off my jacket and tossed it over the arm of the black leather couch, walking toward the kitchen. The floor creaked under my boots, and I kicked them off lazily, leaving them near the doorway.

The kitchen was spotless — like no one actually lived here.

I opened the dark wood cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, grabbing a glass from the shelf. The sound of the liquid pouring into the glass was the only thing breaking the silence. I filled it halfway and stared at the amber liquid for a second, before knocking it back in one long swallow.

It burned all the way down, but I didn’t flinch.

Setting the glass on the counter, I leaned forward on my hands, head bowed.

Her face still wouldn’t leave my mind.

Why?

Why her?

I poured another glass, slower this time, and carried it to the living room. The leather couch groaned slightly as I dropped onto it, sinking into the only place that ever really held me together.

The room was dim — only the moonlight slipping through a gap in the curtains gave it any glow. Across from me, a black steel shelf held a few things I kept from the outside world. Things I couldn’t let go of.

And there — hidden between two thick books — it was.

I stared at it for a long moment, my chest tight, before reached for that picture. The paper was worn, folded too many times, edges soft and fragile. I ran a thumb over it, tracing the lines I knew too well.

The image inside stared back at me. And for a moment, all the cold walls I’d built inside my chest cracked. I sat there, holding the picture in one hand, whiskey in the other, and let the weight of it crush me.

My jaw clenched. Anger, sharp and familiar, rose up like it always did — burning under my skin.

But underneath it, buried so deep I could barely breathe around it, was something worse.

Grief.

The kind that never really goes away, no matter how many bottles of whiskey you drown it in. I took a long shaky breath, never taking my eyes off the picture.

Memories I didn’t want flooded back — like smoke filling every corner of my mind.

Screams.

Blood.

Silence.

I swallowed hard, setting the glass down before my hand could shake and I'd drop it. I hated how weak that picture made me feel.

But I couldn’t let it go.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

I leaned back on the couch, resting my head against the cushions, holding the picture close like it was the only thing that still kept me human.

The whiskey burned in my veins, but it wasn’t enough to drown the ghosts. It never was.

And through all of it — all the memories and rage clawing at my insides — her face kept flashing through my mind.

I let out a low, bitter laugh, rubbing my hand down my face.

“Get it together,” I muttered to myself, my voice rough and cold in the empty room. But no matter how many times I told myself that, nothing changed.

The shadows in this house felt heavier tonight.

People like me don’t get happy endings.

taglist: @eastjonowhere

#hwang hyunjin #skz x reader #stray kids #hyunjin smut #hhj #skz #skz imagines #skz fluff #bang chan #skz hyunjin #skz hyung line #lee felix #christopher bang #angst

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coffehbeans · 1 year ago

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G/t WAC Day 21

Add a Chapter to one of your older fics

Better late than never! This took a while to edit but I'm happy with the result. Juhren and Sunflower are my oldest g/t ocs, I've written their first meeting a thousand times before, but lost most of the writing when my old phone broke. This time, I've reimagined their scene, so I'm excited to show y'all how these two had a really rocky start. Hope you enjoy!

Warning for mild descriptions of violence and death.

..............................

Run.

A branch caught on her hair and she fell backwards. Her head throbbed from pain. She scrambled up. Dirt caked her back.

Run.

Just keep running.

Don't look back.

Twigs and leaves snagged on her skirt and ripped holes in it. Heavy thuds echoed in the distance, in the burning village she left behind. The remains of a roar were carried by the wind as she ran faster, out of breath.

"They're here. Sunflower, they're after you." Alba had said.

"Just run and don't look back."

She passed through trees, stumbled on roots, twisting her ankle as she cried out in pain. But she continued.

Get away. As far away from them.

Run. Run. Run.

Run.

....

She heaved, slumping down by the base of a tree. Her heart thumped inside her, pounding so hard she thought it'd break through her chest. Sweat and dirt covered her and blood dripped from her head, golden blonde hair disheveled and full of leaves and sticks.

Her shallow breathing slowed down, the forest sounds became measly chirps of birds in the distance.

The feeling inside her started small at first, like a knot in her throat, an invisible lump forcing her to cough. The coughs got louder and harsher, throat burning from the motions. She spat on the dirt.

Then a tear fell. One. Two. They fell in successions as she hiccupped and leaned over the earth. She held down her whimpers. She can't be heard. She can't be seen. Yet the sobs still came out from her trembling lips. Sunflower clutched the dirt and curled up on the ground, letting out a constrained wailing.

The houses crumbling apart. She saw it. She saw someone's terrified face before being crushed underfoot. Blood splattered everywhere. The screams, so many screams suddenly cut off as teeth closed in on them, splitting them in half. She looked up, the stone walls of houses already collapsed. She looked around, and bodies scattered across the cracked pavement, limbs distorted as bones protruded from the lifeless corpses. The beasts screamed and laughed, kicking and stomping over everything they could find.

Then the guards from the capital came, and one flew past her, and he looked at her with those haunting, glowing eyes, widening in realization.

It could see her lack of kiira. It could see what she was.

"A human! There's a human in here!"

The flying cavalry would not get to her yet, as they were busy containing the rampage, Sunflower knew that. But it's already too late, too dangerous, and there's no safe home to turn to anymore. Alba clutched her hand tight and sneaked her out of the burning orphanage, giving her a bag of supplies as if she had prepared for this years ago.

"Run, Sunflower. Run. Follow the map I gave you, and run."

Sunflower didn't have time to hug her. Didn’t have time to say goodbye to the director and the kids. She didn't even know if they're alive.

All she knew was to run, and go to the point marked on the map.

Sunflower dried her tears and got up on shaky knees, hissing when her weight leaned on the sprained ankle. Stumbling forward, she breathed heavily from the strain, clutching her bag tight.

No matter what. She had to run. And seek help from someone she did not know. "She" would know how to help her, Alba had said. "She" would keep her safe.

So Sunflower pushed forward, even while her vision got blurry, and even when she didn't notice her body falling limply to the ground, as her vision turned black.

....

"Juhren, look!"

Sunflower came running to the clearing of the forest. Their clearing. Juhren wondered what would they do today when he saw her coming excitedly towards him, golden hair flowing in the wind. Would they climb a tree again? Would they play hide and seek? Or would Sun like to hear one more of his stories from the outside world?

He smiled when she stopped in front of him, her tiny frame two heads shorter. Her green eyes shone from glee, and her hands were folded behind her back as if she was hiding something.

"What's this?" - Juhren leaned his head to the side, smirking when he saw what she was hiding. - "You know you're bad at surprises, right?"

Sunflower backed away and pouted. - "Not fair! You're no fun!"

Her pout disappeared as quickly as it came when she brought her hand forward.

"I just wanted to gift you something since it's your birthday today!"

She motioned for him to come closer, and Juhren leaned over in front of her, round eyes looking curiously.

And with a jump, she put the flower crown over his head.

"These are special flowers that never die! If it wilts, you only need a bit of water and they'll bloom again!"

Juhren took the crown from his head and looked at the tiny blue flowers with wonder.

"Woah..."

Sunflower beamed. "Do you like it?"

He put the flower crown back on his head, glancing down at his best friend, a smile on his face. She knew how much he liked plants. She picked that special type just for him. His heart fluttered with joy.

"I love it! Thank you, Sun."

"Yay!"

Shu hugged Juhren tightly and he giggled as she hung on him like he was a tree. With a mischievous grin, he lifted her from the ground and she yelped as he carried her like a sack of potatoes.

"Hey! Put me down!" Sunflower squirmed and laughed, failing to sound serious.

"It's not my fault that you're so light!"

"It's just you that keeps getting taller!"

....

She woke up with a jolt.

Sunflower sat up, her head pounding against her skull. She clutched it with her hand, recoiling when dried blood rubbed against it. Is it too serious? She hoped not. The sky was covered by towering sequoias, a few rays of sunshine passing through the dense foliage. Her heart rocked faster inside her.

I was knocked out for too long.

She got up, struggling under her buckling knees, and trudged forward with that sharp pain on her ankle. Her head thrummed annoyingly, but she had to keep going. She'd get help from Alba's friend, and then she'd be able to rest. Sunflower walked faster through the forest, stumbling, and flinching from the pain, yet she continued forward.

I won't die here. I won't die, I won't die.

I won't die.

She repeated this inside her head, focusing on the leaf-covered path ahead of her, the sound of birds and the rustling of leaves going unnoticed by her ears.

Until heavy thunder resounded around her.

Sunflower turned stone cold, her eyes widened and panic bubbled up inside her chest. She darted her head. Left. Right. Behind her? No. In front of her. The steps were getting louder, faster, closer, multiplying in intensity and – oh god, there’s multiple of them – and coming in her direction like a fleeing herd.

She cried out and ran, the pain in her ankle all but forgotten. Behind a tree? Inside the bushes? – The steps got so intense she struggled to keep on her feet. Sunflower ran aimlessly until – There was a hollow by the base of a tree. She ducked inside it and crawled as far away from the entrance as she could, vision obscured by darkness. She covered her arms and legs with mud and dirt, hoping and praying it was enough to hide her scent. Her gut twisted and turned.

If this didn't work, she would die.

Tears scurried down Sunflower’s face, burning as they traveled on the cuts of her cheeks. She pumped air in and out of her lungs, covering her mouth with a trembling hand, smelling the scent of mold and dirt. Don’t cry. Don’t scream. Don’t make a noise. The thundering got louder and closer, but she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t move.

Booming steps followed by ugly laughter echoed above. Sunflower muffled a scream, eyes shooting wide open. There were too many. The nordem were all around her. The earth vibrated with each step, and their deafening voices ringed in her ears. She curled up further, hoping the tree bark would engulf her and swallow her whole.

They chatted about raiding a village as if it was a walk to the market. Bile rose in Sunflower's throat, burning rage threatening to consume her. All that carnage, just for fun?! No. She can't get mad now. Just keep still and they wouldn't find her. Just keep still and –

"Hey, do you smell that?"

"Now that you mention it, the air has some scent to it."

Her eyes threatened to pop from her sockets. Shaking hands, reach for the dirt, scrub it over your skin. They can't hear you – Their hearing is too good – They cannot hear you moving. She picked another clump of mud, shaking so much half of it fell, and rubbed it on her other arm. They can't smell you, they can't –

"I've never smelled a scent like this before." – a gruff voice thundered.

Sunflower's hairs turned up to their ends. It was right outside. She could see its boots in front of the opening. Just stay still. They won't find her. They will walk away. Just stay still.

"Must be an animal."

"Or a different type of kiirian." Another nordem sneered.

“I suggest we look for it.”

“First one to find it gets to keep it.”

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe. Sunflower gagged as air escaped her lungs. Her head was banging against her skull. They won't find her they won't find her they won't –

"What are you doing here."

The nordem flinched at the sound of a new voice. It sounded younger than the previous ones, yet just as loud as any other giant, with a gruffness to it.

Not another one! Sunflower scooted away from the hollow’s opening; eyes tightly shut.

"And what do you think we're doing, brat? This is our patrol route!"

"This area has already been covered up." - the younger yet deep voice replied. - "the next patrolling places are supposed to be over there. If you don't wanna miss out on the 'fun', you should head out the other way." – it said matter-of-factly.

A series of growls bellowed above her and she covered her ears with shaky hands.

"Fine! Let's do what the boy says for now."

"Tsk. If there's nothing there..."

"But be careful, kid." – the deepest voice of the group rumbled lowly. – "if what you said is a lie, then you know who's the first person that's gonna hear 'bout it."

Silence.

Sunflower froze. The multiple nordem left, only one remained. The deafening silence stretched between the sequoia trees, and she sucked in the humid air from the hollow. Sunflower cut her whimpers off with a clamped hand over her mouth, holding her breath. Hot tears dampened her hand.

A step. Another one. The earth shook. Don't make a sound. Don't make a sound. Bile rose in her throat. The meticulous, slow steps banged against the floor, making trees creak in protest and the leaves on the ground to rise and fall. The earthquakes got louder. It was coming closer. She thought she would vomit. Her vision blurred, her stomach churned, her head pounded each time the heavy steps collided against the soil and – No. It couldn’t have found her. It couldn’t but –

The truth dawned on her. If the other nordem could smell her, then this one could smell her too.

Her eyebrows raised in horror.

"I know you're here."

Sunflower pressed herself deeper into the the tree, heart hammering against her ribs as if begging to escape. It knew. It knew she was there, and the thought suffocated her inside. Was it taunting her? Sunflower couldn't breathe. The air came scarcely in her hurting lungs and tears dripped on the bruised hand that covered her mouth, mingling with dirt and blood. Closing her eyes, the sickening nausea grew deeper. She'd faint if she kept this up. But she couldn't. She wouldn't. No. Sunflower would not die here. She can't. So she forced herself awake.

Maybe, she still had a chance to survive.

The steps grew closer, each impact seemed to reverberate through Sunflower’s very bones. A relentless drumbeat that echoed in her ears. The ground wielded to the beast, trembling beneath its feet and causing dust to rise and itch inside her nostrils. She quivered so violently she couldn't keep her shaking hand pressed against her mouth.

When the earthquakes stopped, her source of light was covered by shadow. The hollow's entrance.

It was right in front of it.

"Come out."

A deep and powerful voice rumbled inside her ears and a shiver crawled up her spine. Sunflower moved her neck to the right, turning her head towards the entrance.

Her breath caught in her throat.

An eye. An orange eye with slitted pupils fixated on her with an intensity that froze her in place. It could see her. It could see her entirely. Her heart tried to break free from inside her bones, hands going cold as tears dripped down her face. She didn't try to contain her sobs anymore as they escaped from her throat and wracked her frame.

"I'll ask one more time. Come out."

The reverberating voice boomed with an even tone. No emotion could be seen from its eye. It commanded her with confidence, knowing that she had no other choice.

She had no other choice.

No. There must be a way. Sunflower turned her back to the eye and dug her nails in the tree wall. She gripped her knife with both hands to steady her shaking and hit the wood repeatedly. She could create a path. The hollow was small. The creature couldn't reach her. It won't reach her. The wood groaned as Sunflower made a dent into it, hitting the tree harder and harder with desperate grunts. She can get out. He won't reach her. She won't die. She can't die.

A deep sigh sounded outside. A gust of wind blew on her back. She shivered, but continued. Just keep going. Trembling hands wielded the knife, creating a fist-sized hole in the tree bark.

Something small fell to the ground next to her with a tap. She flinched. Turning to her right, she saw it: a white seed, as small as a pine, sank under the earth.

What is that?

Thorns sprouted from the dirt and shoved Sunflower away from the tree wall. She yelped and scrambled up, but another branch emerged from a seed and pushed her away. Screaming, she crawled back towards the spot, digging her boots and her hands between the plants, but they formed a wall in front of her that pushed and pulled until she fell, sending her to the entrance. Towards the nordem.

The roots forced Sunflower to face it, watching that unexpressive orange eye grow as she came closer. She writhed and struggled in vain, the vines pushing her with a force that no common plant could, thorns cutting her arms and back and dragging her forward, even as she dug her boot in the earth and pushed back against it with all her strength. The eye got bigger and bigger as she approached it, slitted pupils shrinking as it focused on her. She shook her head from side to side.

"No! No!! PLEASE!! –"

The eye was gone. A calloused palm appeared in her field of vision. No matter how much she struggled, the vines wouldn't bulge. She was dumped on the awaiting hand as it curled around her waist, trapping her in a loose fist. Her stomach plummeted as she was raised in the air, wind blowing inside her ears. Even if she was trapped, even if her heart wanted to leap out of her, Sunflower fought, feet dangling underneath her. Her arms were free and she clawed and punched the hard skin, yet no matter how much force she used, not a single scratch was made on it.

The motion stopped and she encountered its face, seeing the pair of eyes that stared at her without an ounce of emotion. She shivered under the nordem's grip, sobbing, pounding her fists against its hand.

"No! I beg you! Don't kill me!!"

The nordem opened its mouth to speak, but choked on its unspoken words. The forest got silent as Sunflower wavered up and down. The stillness and the shaking of its hand made her open her tear-stricken eyes, looking up.

The giant stared at her with widened eyes, its irises darting left and right. Color drained from its massive face as he looked at her like she's a ghost.

The contrast of its expression made her catch details of its features, a sickening nausea growing in her insides.

The orange eyes. The tanned skin. The short, spiky auburn hair.

Her body froze solid, her eyebrows shot up, dread and recognition flashing through her eyes.

No. No. Anyone but him – !

The nordem's lips trembled as it opened his mouth, exhaling over her. Sharp teeth appeared as it spoke, and the pang in her chest stung harder.

"...Sun...?" It whispered; doubt laced its deep, booming voice.

"Juhren..." - she quavered back his name.

...

Time was running out. His chest got heavy as each breath seemed harder and harder to take. His change would be today. He's sure. He knew that his eleventh birthday would be the last he'd celebrate with his friend.

He'd never see Sunflower again.

He stopped by the clearing where they always met. She wasn't there yet. Juhren tightened his grip around the flower crown necklace, its delicate petals protected by a square glass casing. Would he even be able to use it anymore? Would he even be able to see his friend's gift? He kneeled and steadied his heaving breaths, heart beating faster and faster as minutes tickled by and as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. Everything hurt. From his bones to his muscles, even the simple movement of breathing made him clutch his eyes shut in pain. If he let himself unchecked, he'll grow. Just keep himself together, until he can see Sun. Until he can say goodbye to her.

Why was she taking so long?

Just when the thought of leaving crossed Juhren's mind, he saw Sunflower walking towards him. Hugging a book with a tight grip. Her face somber and serious.

"Sun? What happened?" - he said in a trembling, gentle tone, hoping it'd hide the pain he felt deep inside his bones.

She threw the heavy book on the ground in front of him and opened it with a forceful motion. Her eyes were glinting with anger. For someone so small, she looked terrifying. Dread sank deeper in him.

What was going on?

"Look at it." - she pointed at the page.

The book showed the nordem.

His heart sank and his mouth went dry. The pain under his joints screamed louder as if reacting to the information.

She found out.

Sunflower found out what he is.

"Why did you hide it from me?!" She shouted at him, cowering as bitter tears streamed down her face.

"Sun, wait! I-I can explain-"

"NO! I trusted you!!" She cried out.

Sunflower trembled as she shook her head incredulously, tears scurrying down her face. Juhren reached a hand out to her. She was so much shorter than him now. How would she react when...?

As he thought, it's impossible. She'd be terrified. She would never…

Sunflower shouted at him again.

"W-was that your plan? Lure me out so you could kill me?"

"No! I'd never do anything like that!

"Liar!"

Sunflower walked backwards towards the path where she had come from. She sobbed loudly, her face a mix of sadness and anger. Juhren wanted to run after her, to hug her and say he'd never hurt her. Ever.

But she was right. He lied to her.

The pain in his heart grew stronger.

He didn't deserve to see her anymore.

Sunflower's face changed to betrayal. She turned her back to him and ran away, not before saying those two words that would stick into his mind like weeds in fertile soil.

"You're a monster."

...

He uttered her name and went silent, the grip around her loosening slightly. That previously unexpressive face now had guilt charging its monumental features. Sunflower found that ironic. The feelings from those bygone days felt like a distant memory, its wounds all but healed. But now that he was before her, gigantic and menacing like every other beast, she couldn’t help but laugh inside at the absurdity of it all. That pitiful face didn’t match him. Didn’t match the likes of his loathsome kind.

Sunflower looked down and smiled bitterly, her downcast eyes focusing on the flesh all around her.

"It's like I've said that time..." - she mumbled. Her hometown flashed back in her mind, the visage of those animals destroying it with joy in their faces. Sunflower wondered if Juhren was there, grinning alongside them in their bloodthirsty rampage. Her heart grew heavy.

"…Guess you're really a monster after all."

Juhren sucked in a breath and the fear inside Sunflower resurfaced all the way back with a chill down her spine. Oh no. Did she say too much? But just as Sunflower flinched and closed her eyes, a powerful gust of wind blew around her as she was brought down to the ground.

Sunflower scrambled up, backing away from the nordem that stood up and towered over her. Craning her neck up and up and up, Sunflower felt cold as she took in Juhren's massive height. Gosh, he looked unrecognizable, his appearance no different from the beasts she saw. He became just like them. His torso was covered by the leather strap of his shoulder armor, black pants tied by a leather belt, with multiple bottles of seeds attached to it. On his back he carried two axes that were as tall as a house. The only recognizable features, the hair and his eyes, turned obscure as his face stretched out far above her. He became emotionless like before, the stillness making her think he’d step on her in cold blood.

Just as she was readying herself to run for her life, he spoke in that thunderous voice. Not a trace of the voice she remembered.

Sunflower knew for certain, this nordem had no trace of the friend she once knew.

"You're right. I am."

Her eyes widened and her lips trembled while she stepped away, her neck almost breaking from looking so high up.

"Go."

That powerful command snapped Sunflower out of her shock and she didn't give a second thought before bolting to the opposite direction, even as her ankle throbbed and she stumbled, running as far as her legs could take her.

She was right. She was right from the very beginning. Their friendship was a mistake. She knew it was back in that day. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Then why, why? Flashes of their childhood, their bright smiles as they played together, all the things they talked about, all the things he showed her – Why? The tears dried as she ran faster. Was all of it a trick? Was all of it fake? Did none of that matter to him? Are the nordem so despicable once they grow that they dismiss any memory they’ve made with those smaller than themselves? She trusted him. She trusted him. That feeling of betrayal resurfaced, the healed remains of that buried wound aching deep inside her chest.

Yet a lingering thought, albeit too small for her conscious mind to notice, slowly but surely stilled its place deep inside her:

Why did he let me go?

Sunflower looked behind her. But when she saw that the large silhouette was nowhere to be found, she turned forward, the drifting thoughts all but gone.

And she ran. Never once looking back.

…

It's been a while since she disappeared in the woods. Her smell vanished from the spot ages ago. Yet, for some reason, he expected to recognize a blur of green and yellow somewhere, as if she had no sense of self-preservation. Only that for her to return to someone like him.

He’s still so naive.

Juhren looked down at his hand, clenching and unclenching it as if a phantom of her was still in his grip. The annoying knot inside his throat didn't want to go away, and that dull ache settled its place in his chest. He sighed, closing his eyes. Opening them again.

And turned around, back to the way he came from.

#gtwac #wacprompts #g/t #giant/tiny #sfw g/t #g/t writing #g/t story #g/t fearplay #fearplay #g/t angst #coffeh writes #oc: juhren #oc: sunflower

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vallxlkzal · 7 months ago

Text

So keep my crooked translation from Ukrainian to English just because someone was interested. I hope that this translated text will be at least somewhat similar to the original. I'll leave a link to the original below:

💔🥀Part one🥀💔

I can't take it anymore, my breath is ragged, the blood in my ears is pulsing with a frantic heartbeat, and my legs... My legs are carrying me as fast as they can in the most frightened state. This sudden burst of adrenaline now seemed to me the most difficult test, although I had never felt anything like it, I think, in my entire life. I was scared, and lonely, and very, very... Scared! Horror is all that consumes me right now because…

It chases me. They. I counted four of them, as far as the current situation allowed. Four... People? Entities? I don't know what it is, but I definitely saw that they were dressed the same as me, but it was a mistake to go closer to them. Oh, sure, I even forgot how hard their sticks hit me on the head and that now warm blood is flowing from under my hair and my favorite hat is very, very red, but I still tried to save myself — so much I wanted to... Live ?

I was hit for the first time. I am — Wally Waldini... What did I do wrong, why did they do this...

I can't anymore. It seems that I have already flown around the entire night city — and everywhere was closed, and the streets were abnormally empty. I didn't know where to ask for help. And... Oh, what the... What is this?!

My reflection in the window of a store struck me so that I stumbled and fell. My magic walking stick, though not working for some reason, fell from my trembling hands and for the first time in my life I felt complete... Helplessness? I am completely, completely defenseless lying on the cold pavement.

I saw them in the shop window. More precisely — myself. I was just like them! Completely, completely similar, but I was not laughing and having fun, but was bleeding and was very scared. And for some reason I suddenly felt cold and I realized that I was alone in an unknown city, in an unknown pixel universe, I hadn't slept, I hadn't eaten, and my clothes were wet... I must have been beaten in other places and... I have there was no time to take a closer look. I just fell into striped hands in some dark park and barely escaped their icy embrace. The deformed faces, the static crack of the lightning, the supernatural strength and the intimidating smile of these "Wallies" had to warn me immediately. They laughed, pulled me by my sweater, by my hair, by my hat, by my stick, chirped something about "the perfect morality experiment" and held one of their stick to my throat, listening to me gasp and try to call for help. Several times I passed out and they eased the pressure to choke me again.

And then they let me run away and started chasing me.

— Hello! — I heard a familiar voice from afar and, leaning on the night lamp, which for some reason began to flicker, I tried to stand up.

These... Wally? Um... These strange people who looked like me were coming from all four directions, trying to surround me, however, picking up my stick and swinging, I quickly tried to get around them. They seem to have been toying with me in a very cruel manner, and they also seem to possess the magic of the sticks, and...

They seem to be leading me somewhere. They are not allowed to run in all directions, but only in some. Thus, even more bloody and frightened, I found myself in front of the fence of some building. These Wallies took me out of town, to some country private house, and I had no choice but to climb over the fence and knock on the front door, mercilessly ring the doorbell and shake the surveillance camera.

— Please, open it! Is anyone home?! Please, they are near!

The light in the house turned on and the four strange people remained behind the fence, looking at me with a smile, and then abruptly disappeared in a bright flash, as soon as I heard someone coming to the door.

Surprisingly, they let me in and I fell on the floor exhausted, finally covering my eyes. The last thing I heard was the sound of a loaded gun, and the only thing that went through my mind was: "Am I going to be killed?"

I woke up not in a hospital bed, but tied to a... Chair? In a dark room? And... Some man in another part of this enclosed space was standing and just watching. It was difficult for me to see his face because everything was floating in front of my eyes. I was tired, beaten and had no energy for anything.

— Finally I found you, — this man had a very cold tone of voice that would have made me laugh before, but now just made me panic even more. Breathing started to become erratic and breathing became difficult, so difficult...

— Waldo.

I didn't know who the man was talking to. To me? Surely I should have tried to talk too?

— N-no, you're confusing me with someone... I'm Wally... I... I don't know how I ended up here, it's an accident, I got lost... I need... Help.

The man started to laugh for some reason. And laughed so long and hysterically that I was already mentally digging my own grave.

— A very strange game, Waldo. A very strange prank, — he came closer and bent down, but I still couldn't see anything in front of me because I was sick. — Very crappy disguise. What is it? Blood? Whose? WHOSE?!

Why is this man yelling at me anyway? What did I do wrong?

— M... My, sir... I-I was beaten... Four people and... They look a lot like me. I don't know why... I need... Police...

— Well, you bastard, then you came to the police. Right into the hands of the detective. Finally.

I gave the man a frightened look and tried to understand what he meant. Is he a detective? Who was he looking for? Me or those... Four...

— At first I wanted to see you behind bars, but now... I will destroy you with my bare hands.

— Wait, please, what have I done? Why? What universe have I entered?

The detective, if I understood correctly, bent even lower to my face level, and my bloodied lip quivered in panic as he gave me a grim and irritated look.

— What do you mean by "what universe did I get into"? — at last I was able to see him a little better, as the half-dark, and in all probability the basement, room allowed: a young man, to my surprise, with a piercing gaze and, probably unironically, a loaded pistol aimed at me. This is such a mess. I haven't run into such problems yet.

— I... I understand that you have confused me with... Those four people, but I assure you, I swear, I am not them. My name is not Waldo, but Wally Waldini and my best friend Wenda and my dog Woof and I were just going on another interesting adventure, then something strange happened and... I woke up in this pixel world!

The man, or rather a young man, just like me, listened attentively, keeping his eye on me. Is it like some night terror where someone thinks I'm a criminal and ties me to a chair in the basement?

The Detective lifted my lowered head by my chin... Don't joke about two chins, please, I'm not in the right state... I still didn't understand what this person felt for me and why he was looking so passionately into my eyes. This situation was very stressful and frightening, so I didn't even notice how I started to cry. His eyes narrowed and he continued to look at me with an appraising look, touching and pulling my blood-sticky hair. Now he pulled this new black hair especially painfully and looked at my neck. If only I could guess what he want from me this time??

I really wanted to sleep and my eyes were half closed from it. I had absolutely no strength for anything. I had the impression that something was wrong with my body — it was too heavy and it was also difficult to think and resist. People call it "fatigue", but I'm not exactly human. I'm just Wally and such things used to be very far from me. I have never felt so tired before.

Only now did I realize that Wenda was right about me. I really liked danger and risk, and this time it punished me painfully. Wenda, Woof... Please save me.

***

Meanwhile, from the perspective of the Detective, everything looked so interesting and crazy that he himself did not believe it. Well, how can you believe this: you are looking for Waldo, you don't sleep many nights, decipher his riddles and collect, as if a collection, new and new brutal murders... and he comes to you one night and falls at your feet? One day the Detective already had dinner with one of Waldo's doubles and, although he was cheerful then and did not fall on his feet, he was just as close. But not as close as now.

The Detective tightened his grip on Wally's hair, listening to him whimper. Oh, the Detective knew how Waldo could deceive. And that the "fear" in his eyes now is just part of the show. What did he come up with this time?

The Detective mused, looking at the strange marks on Wally's neck. Dark, almost crimson. As if someone tried to squeeze this fragile throat with a strong stick. And squeezed with a very fierce force. Couldn't Waldo strangle himself?

— What is on your neck? — asked the Detective for some reason and did not even notice it, but Wally answered: "Those four people who look like me tried to strangle me."

For some reason, the hand let go of the black hair, and doubts and questions crept into the head. Many questions. This time the Detective noticed Wally's tears, really noticed, because Wally in Waldo's body still felt like the good guy and didn't have the maniac vibe at all if you talked to him closely. However, his body, his face, his voice — everything was like what the Detective was looking for all along. He was looking for Waldo — a murderer and just a rabid scumbag, and he came across Wally from the books and cartoons, who got into their universe? It sounds stupid, but if Waldo knows how to travel through time, then it shouldn't cause any doubts, right?

It was strange to see someone crying who always laughs and slips out of your arms at the last moment, who does not allow you to sleep normally and keeps you in a nervous tone forever.

— So you mean to say you're Wally... Waldini?

— Y-yes... Yes! That's right... This is my first and last name...

— Then why don't you look like Wally?

— I don't know! Maybe because it's a more realistic pixel world? I have not been here before! Wizard Whitebeard didn't give me any directions about this place, and I probably shouldn't have gotten here, but I did. My magic walking stick... it doesn't work anymore.

Wally bowed his heavy head and fell silent. He didn't say anything more, didn't answer any questions and only trembled, cried, moaned in pain, because probably he still had a headache, a throat that was squeezed and a body that was mercilessly beaten.

The Detective dared to take the only step in this strange situation: he untied Wally, took him in his arms and really led him to the bedroom, putting him on the bed. Yes, it was dirty with blood and dirt from the dirty clothes of the strange striped guest, but that is not so important. Wally really wasn't trying to hurt or hit or laugh maniacally like Waldo. Wally curled up and lay quietly.

— Okay, Waldo... I mean Wally, how can I help you if you say you left the pages of the book and the TV screen? I'm looking for a murderer and a notorious criminal who looks a lot like you. And you are either lying to me, for which you can pay bitterly, or you are telling the truth.

Wally let out a tired breath.

— But despite all that, I still have a hard time believing you.

— Okay, Detective, then I have just one question for you.

This particular phrase made the Detective tense up, immediately sitting down next to him and holding Wally's hand so he wouldn't run away. Waldo also said so in the restaurant. And he said he would leave a big tip later and leave quietly. Now, however, the Detective has nothing to lose.

— Why did those four people who look like me drive me into your house? They could kill me, but they let me run when I could, and calmly walked when I, leaning on my stick, could no longer do it, but only swayed from side to side from fatigue and fell?

The Detective thought in silence. This is a really strange plan. What does Waldo want this time and most importantly — WHERE is he now? Damn it, HERE he is — in the Detective's arms, literally in his bed, lying and not moving.

— Well, Wally, he and I have... A very strange relationship.

— Listen, Detective, this is all, of course, somehow strange and wild, but I don't want to be in this world anymore. I must have been sent here to help you, but how? I saw that... Entity, if you can call it that. That's your Waldo. I saw him as closely as you see me now. And for the first time I don't know what to do. I don't know how to help you. I don't know anything else...

While Wally was talking, the Detective was having flashbacks. All this time he tried to catch Waldo, even shoot him, put him to sleep. Faced with Odlaw. But seeing Waldo so close, calmly looking at him and listening to him was incredible. However, he is too kind, his questions are too naive and his fear is suspiciously realistic.

— If only Wenda was around, she would tell me what to do... — Wally said sadly.

— The same.

— What?

— The same, I say.

— Mr. Detective, please explain...

— Wenda was my wife. Waldo killed her. I want to kill Waldo. You look suspiciously like Waldo, but you say you're Wally. Did you solve the puzzle?

Wally turned to the Detective and for some reason was genuinely, uncharacteristically indignant. Now this striped wonder looked like the striped wonder that sat on the bench on a fine clear day and could be seen in the scope. The Detective grimaced.

— You would see yourself in the mirror, ew...

— I don't want to see myself in the mirror, Mr. Detective. I already know that this pixel body doesn't match who I really am, but let me get one thing straight... Wenda is my best friend and she doesn't have a boyfriend... She's alive.

— Well, maybe YOUR Wenda doesn't have one from your measurement.

— I don't mean to offend you, but wouldn't Waldo be upset if you were Wenda's husband?

The Detective smiled bitterly for the first time, patting Wally on the head and thinking that it would be a good idea to offer this guest a wash and give him a first aid kit.

— No, Wally, because Waldo... He... Never mind.

— I understand everything, Detective, but please don't transfer your feelings for Waldo onto me.

The Detective realized that he wasn't just holding Wally all this time, he was stroking him, touching him, playing with his hair, and just being too close. To be honest, he didn't believe a word Wally said, but he didn't want to miss the chance to have this criminal, as he thought, in his hands. It had been so long and so longed to finally find him that the Detective really forgot about the question "why did they bring me to your house?"

Because the Detective's mind was enveloped in an intoxicating haze around the dreamy morning park, where Waldo playfully beckons with a thin finger and disappears at the last moment; because the Detective's mind is surrounded only by the striped tapes of danger alerts, forensics and hot pursuits. Because...

— Detective, can you even hear me? Detective?

— Huh?... Yes, I hear.

— Help me, and I will try to help you, even though I am afraid. However, maybe this way I can find my lost way home.

"Absurdity, nonsense, crazy nonsense and poor senselessness," — thought the Detective, and said something else:

— I agree.

🥀💔🥀💔🥀💔🥀💔🥀💔🥀💔🥀💔🥀💔

#lumpy touch where's waldo #where's wally #wheres waldo

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fullpenguincupcake · 5 months ago

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The Enemy Within: A Supernatural fanfic +18

The fluorescent light buzzed above Ethan Kane’s head, casting a sickly yellow glow over the motel room’s faded floral wallpaper. He stood by the window, tugging absently at the collar of his worn leather jacket. Outside, the Nebraska town was dead quiet, save for the occasional rumble of a distant truck on the highway. The room smelled like stale cigarette smoke and despair, fitting for a place where people came to disappear.

Ethan’s fingers traced the edge of the photograph on the cracked wooden desk. A family of three, smiling under a streetlight. The wife’s face had been ripped off, her husband gutted, and their child—a little girl no older than six—disappeared without a trace. The crime scene photos were worse, but he didn’t need to see them again. The blood patterns, the ritual marks carved into the walls, they all told him the same story. Something inhuman had been here. Something ancient and powerful.

He folded the photo and tucked it into his pocket, his jaw tightening as he turned away from the window. His boots crunched against broken glass on the floor—leftover evidence from the last guests who hadn’t made it out alive. Ethan wasn’t afraid of dying, not anymore. But he hated this part of the job: the waiting, the tension that coiled in his chest like barbed wire.

The door creaked open behind him, and he spun instinctively, hand reaching for the gun holstered at his side. His trigger finger twitched when he saw the figure standing there, silhouetted by the dim hallway light. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an aura that made the air feel heavy, like the sky before a storm.

“Don’t shoot,” the man said, his voice low and smooth, like velvet scraping over steel. “I’m not here to kill you.”

Ethan didn’t lower his weapon. “You don’t look like housekeeping.”

The man stepped into the room, and Ethan’s breath hitched. Piercing blue eyes locked onto his, unnervingly calm. There was something about them, something otherworldly that made Ethan’s skin prickle. The guy looked human enough—dark hair, sharp jawline, a black trench coat that probably cost more than Ethan’s entire wardrobe—but there was no mistaking the faint shimmer around him, like heat waves rising off pavement.

“Name’s Cass,” the stranger said, tilting his head slightly. “Cassiel.”

Ethan’s grip on the gun tightened. “An angel? In Nebraska? What the hell are you doing here?”

Cass raised a brow, unimpressed. “Same thing you are, apparently. Hunting.”

“Not yours to hunt,” Ethan shot back, anger flaring hot in his chest. “Humans bleed just fine on their own without celestial meddling.”

Cass’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though his eyes stayed cold. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing about hunters.”

Ethan bristled, taking a step forward. “You got a lot of nerve walking into my investigation like you belong here.”

“Your investigation?” Cass echoed, crossing his arms. “You think you’re the only one who cares about what’s happening in this town? This isn’t some half-assed demon summoning. Someone’s killing humans to reclaim power. And if you’d bothered to look past your own ego, you’d realize you’re way out of your league.”

Ethan’s cheeks burned, but he didn’t back down. “And you think you can do better? Angels haven’t exactly been angels lately.”

Cass’s expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, the room seemed to grow colder, the air crackling with tension. Then, just as suddenly, the tension broke. Cass sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. You want to play this game? Let’s play. But don’t come crying to me when your stubbornness gets you killed.”

Before Ethan could respond, a deafening roar shook the building. The walls trembled, and the lights flickered violently before going out altogether. Ethan barely had time to register the sound before the window beside him shattered, glass flying everywhere. He ducked, shielding his face with his arm, and cursed loudly.

When he looked up, Cass was gone.

Shit.

Ethan scrambled to his feet, pulling his gun from its holster. The motel room felt smaller now, claustrophobic, with the darkness pressing in from all sides. He reached for his flashlight, but before he could switch it on, a shadow moved in the corner of his vision.

“Looking for me?” Cass’s voice cut through the silence, closer than expected.

Ethan whirled around, flashlight beam landing squarely on Cass’s chest. The angel didn’t flinch, his blue eyes glinting in the harsh light. Ethan opened his mouth to tell him to watch his goddamn back, but the words never left his throat.

A guttural growl ripped through the air, and the ground shook beneath them. Ethan stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the desk. When he looked up, his heart sank.

The rogue angel loomed in the doorway, its massive frame blocking out what little moonlight filtered through the windows. Its skin was pale and cracked, glowing faintly with a sickly green hue. Blood dripped from its fingertips, splattering against the floor with a wet thud. Sharp teeth gleamed in a wide, predatory grin.

“Found you,” it snarled, its voice dripping with malice.

Ethan raised his gun, firing without thinking. The bullet hit the creature square in the chest, but instead of hitting flesh, it ricocheted off, embedding itself in the wall behind it. The rogue angel laughed, a sound so unnatural it sent shivers down Ethan’s spine.

“Is that all you’ve got?” it taunted, stepping closer.

Ethan’s mind raced, trying to think of a plan. He glanced at Cass, who stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the creature. The faint shimmer around him had grown brighter, his presence filling the room like a living flame.

“Cass!” Ethan barked, desperate for any kind of help. “Do something!”

Cass didn’t move. Instead, he tilted his head, studying the rogue angel with an eerie calm. “You’re bleeding grace,” he said softly, almost conversationally. “It’s killing you.”

The rogue angel’s grin faltered, its glowing eyes narrowing. “Shut up.”

“No,” Cass replied evenly. “You’re burning out. Even if you kill us both, you won’t survive much longer.”

Ethan didn’t understand what was happening, but he could see the effect Cass’s words were having on the creature. The rogue angel took another step forward, its movements jerky and erratic.

“Stay out of this,” it growled, its voice cracking.

“Make me,” Cass said, his tone as smooth as ever.

For a moment, it seemed like nothing would happen. Then, with a deafening roar, the rogue angel lunged.

Ethan reacted on instinct, diving out of the way as the creature barreled past him. He hit the ground hard, pain shooting up his side, but he ignored it, scrambling to his feet. He grabbed his knife from its sheath, ready to fight, but Cass was already moving.

The fallen angel stepped forward, his trench coat billowing around him as if caught in an invisible wind. His hands glowed faintly, runes appearing on his skin like tattoos coming to life. The rogue angel hesitated, its glowing eyes flickering between Cass and Ethan.

“Choose,” Cass said, his voice commanding. “Fight me, or run.”

The rogue angel snarled, its body trembling with rage. It chose poorly.

Ethan’s breath hitched as the rogue angel lunged at Cass, its massive frame cutting through the dim motel room like a shadow come to life. The air crackled with tension, the faint hum of celestial energy filling the space between them. Ethan tightened his grip on his knife, his eyes darting between the two beings locked in a deadly dance.

“Cass!” he shouted, but the fallen angel didn’t turn. His focus was razor-sharp, his movements fluid despite the creature’s erratic attacks. Runes glowed brighter on his skin, their light casting eerie patterns across the cracked walls.

The rogue angel snarled, its jaws snapping inches from Cass’s face. Ethan’s heart pounded, a mix of fear and something else he couldn’t name—something hot and primal that curled low in his gut. He hated this feeling, hated how helpless it made him feel, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding before him.

Cass sidestepped the creature’s strike, his trench coat swirling around him like a storm. His hand shot out, fingers brushing against the rogue angel’s arm, and with a sharp crack, the creature stumbled back, howling in pain. Its glowing eyes flicked toward Ethan for a brief moment, and for an instant, he felt naked under that gaze, as if the monster could see every secret he’d ever tried to bury.

“Stay back, Ethan!” Cass commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos. “This isn’t your fight!”

Not my fight? Ethan clenched his jaw, resentment simmering in his chest. Like hell it isn’t. He wasn’t some bystander, some fragile human waiting to be saved. He was a hunter, damn it, and if Cass thought he’d just stand there and watch while the bastard almost took his head off…

Before he could think better of it, Ethan surged forward, his boots slamming into the fray. The rogue angel swung wildly, its claws raking the air where Ethan had been a second earlier. He ducked, his body moving on pure instinct, and brought his knife up in a smooth arc. The blade connected with the creature’s side, sinking deep into flesh that sizzled and smoked upon contact.

The rogue angel screamed, a sound that scraped at Ethan’s nerves like rusty nails. He yanked his knife free, ready to strike again, but Cass was already there, his presence commanding and unyielding. The fallen angel’s glowing runes flared brighter, their light almost blinding, and with a single motion, he shoved the rogue angel back, sending it crashing into the far wall.

“I told you to stay back,” Cass said, his tone sharp but not unkind. His blue eyes met Ethan’s, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them. The intensity in those eyes was overwhelming, a mixture of anger and something softer that Ethan couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah, well,” Ethan retorted, his voice rough, “looks like I’m making this my fight now.”

Cass’s lips twitched, almost like a smile, but the expression was gone as quickly as it appeared. The rogue angel was stirring, its massive form shifting as it pushed itself off the floor. Its glowing eyes fixed on them, fury burning bright within its hollow sockets.

“Stay close,” Cass murmured, his voice low enough that only Ethan could hear. “And whatever you do, don’t look away.”

Ethan nodded, though the command made his stomach twist. He didn’t like being told what to do, especially by someone who—what? Wasn’t even human? But as he moved to flank the creature, his pulse quickening with each step, he found himself oddly comforted by Cass’s presence. The fallen angel was calm, steady, a counterpoint to Ethan’s own frantic energy. It was strange, how easily they fell into sync, despite their differences.

The rogue angel charged, its roar deafening. Ethan dove to the side, rolling to avoid its massive claws, while Cass stepped forward, his hands glowing with celestial energy. The runes on his skin pulsed, their light growing brighter with each passing second. The creature tried to dodge, but Cass’s movements were precise, calculated, and with a flick of his wrist, he sent the rogue angel stumbling backward once more.

“Now!” Cass barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Ethan didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, his knife aimed at the creature’s exposed flank. The blade sank deep, and this time, the rogue angel’s scream was tinged with desperation. It lashed out, its claws grazing Ethan’s shoulder, but he gritted his teeth and held on, driving the knife deeper until the creature finally collapsed, its glowing eyes dimming to ash.

For a moment, there was silence. The motel room seemed to hold its breath, the only sound Ethan’s ragged breathing and the distant hum of Cass’s fading runes. He straightened, wincing as pain lanced through his injured shoulder, and glanced over at the fallen angel.

Cass was watching him, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he stepped closer, his movements measured and deliberate. Ethan tensed instinctively, his bodyprotest ing to the proximity, but he didn’t move away. Couldn’t move away. There was something about the way Cass looked at him, something that made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Cass said finally, his voice soft but laced with warning.

“Yeah?” Ethan challenged, his voice rough. “Why’s that?”

Cass didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against Ethan’s injured shoulder. The touch was fleeting, almost accidental, yet it sent a jolt of awareness through Ethan’s entire body. Heat pooled low in his belly, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

“Because,” Cass murmured, his voice dropping dangerously low, “you could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

Ethan swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. “I guess we’ll never know, will we?”

Cass’s eyes darkened, the blue seeming to burn brighter in the dim light. Without warning, he closed the distance between them, his body pressing lightly against Ethan’s. The fallen angel’s scent invaded his senses—something clean and otherworldly, mixed with the faintest hint of smoke. It should have been strange, wrong even, but instead, it felt like coming home.

Ethan’s breath hitched as Cass leaned in, his lips brushing against Ethan’s ear. “You’re reckless,” he whispered, his voice a low purr that sent shivers down Ethan’s spine. “But I suppose that’s part of what makes you… fascinating.”

Ethan’s pulse raced, his brain struggling to keep up with the rapidly escalating situation. “Fascinating?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s one way to put it.”

Cass pulled back slightly, his piercing gaze locking onto Ethan’s. There was something in those eyes—something raw and unfiltered—that made Ethan’s heart pound harder. The tension between them was palpable, a living thing that crackled in the air like electricity.

“Tell me, Ethan,” Cass said, his voice dripping with temptation, “what would you call it?”

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growling · 11 months ago

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There was eleven of us, we lived in the lake... For breakfast, mother cut wind, I didn't know my father, as he perished of liver cancer, when he died in a tragic car accident, after self-immolation at uncle Eugeniusz's name day party. Uncle Eugeniusz was taken by the NKVD in '59. No one complained.

We were all part of hordes and plundered the area. Konin, Szczecin and Oslo were in flames. We also played in construction sites. Sometimes one of us got hit with a reinforced slab, sometimes not. Whenever our foot got impaled with a stray nail, mother cut it off and said with a smile, "you, kurna, got another one, yeah?" She didn't tremble with fear that we're gonna kill each other like that. She knew that we're all going to die eventually. No one complained.

Seasonal diseases were fought by grandma. To combat tuberculosis, scurvy, tumors and polio, we used urine and moss. The doctor visited us, unless at grandma's - for the moss and urine. We went to the woods whenever we wanted. We ate berries, which were previously pissed on by foxes and roe deer. We ate death caps, which were defecated on by rabid bisons and martens. We didn't have hamburgers - we ate wolves. We didn't have chips - we ate ants. There wasn't coca-cola back then, there was bear saliva. There was frog period blood. No one complained.

Whenever our neighbor caught us stealing apples, he punished us himself. Lime pit, knife, hunting rifle - it varied. The neighbor didn't get offended over the stolen apples, and neither did father over replacement in parenting duties. Father and the neighbor drank beer in the evening - as always. Then father came back home, and on his way he took another child. Children then were littered everywhere. On lawns, in drainage ditches, by bus stops, under trees. Just like how today are littered candy bar wrappers. There weren't candy bars back then, but children were laying everywhere. No one complained.

During summer, we climbed on top of the skyscrapers, and weren't monitored by adults. We jumped. Nobody, however, got splattered on the pavement. Everyone could fly and no one needed any special lessons in order to learn this skill. No one also complained.

During winter, some father arranged us a sleigh ride with his old fiat, and always sped up during turns. Sometimes the sleds got caught against the trees or fences. Then we fell. Sometimes that moment a jelcz or star drove by. Then we died. No one complained.

Bruises and scrapes were a normal occurence. Just like knocked out teeth, ripped open stomachs, sudden lack of an eye or amateur amputations. The school pedagogue didn't send us to the family psychologist because of that. Nobody informed us how to dial a number to the police (then MO) to snitch on our parents. The belt was then a teaching aid, and from aid, nobody had yet died from. Aunt Janinka repeated, "better a spanking than breakfast". No one complained.

We made ourselves soups from mazut, asbestos and Ludwik. We also ate crack, fingernails of strangers, animal remains, sandpaper, chemical fertilizers, thistles, aphids, cow fetuses, fish feces, kogel-mogel. When somebody got stung by a bee, they drank 2 glasses of milk and pressed it with a cold frying pan. When somebody choked, they drank 3 glasses of milk and pressed it with a heated frying pan. No one complained.

Nobody went to the dentist every month. Cavities are tasty. Whenever someone swole from an aching tooth, we played catch with their head. We had one dental filling for the eleven of us. Everyone wore it for 2-3 days in a month. No one complained.

We were young and tough. We refused car rides. We just ran after it. Our dog was tied to the trailer hitch with a steel stable and ran next to us. And no one was bothered by it. No one complained.

We were raised by gamekeepers, old witches, escaped prisoners, collegues from juvie, janitors and priests. Our mothers birthed our siblings normally - at work, in reedbeds or at the balcony. Almost all of us survived, only some of us didn't go to prison. No one finished studies, but everyone found work. Some of them started their own families and are raising their children according to psychologists' recommendations. That's sad. Currently, there is more candy bars than children.

We, the children from our lake, love our parents for how they then didn't yet know how to "properly" raise us. It is thanks to them that we spent our childhood without sweets, respect, a warm dinner, sense, and some - limbs.

No one complained.

#this is also how we raised kids in the old kanai ward before the woke detective organization came in and ruined our culture #(my very own translation of a polish copypasta ive been obsessed with lately. are you proud of me father)#mine

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writingamongther0ses · 2 years ago

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7 People, 7 Snippets

Rules: I think you give 7 snippets of your WIPs and tag 7 people? I think?

Thanks for the tag, @at-thezenith and @writinglittlebeasts!

Heartbeat

"That... wow." Liza shifted uncomfortably. "Wow. That's awful." The detective sighed. "Yeah. To be frank, Miss Dorado, that's why I'm here. Paired with the recent death of Kyle Burton, my-" "I'm sorry?" Woodhall blinked. "Excuse me?" "You said Kyle was dead. Last I checked, he was still among the land of the living." The detective sighed. "My apologies. It seems nobody has told you yet. After he was released from the hospital, we took him and…"

Treasure Triplets

They frowned. “Um...from when I know, Bill offered Becca and Ella internships. But when they got there, turns out the internship was for one. At the end of the week, one of them would be forced to leave.” Jesse took a sip of their coffee, wincing at the memory playing across their face. “Both wanted it and the only thing escalated into...a pretty bad fight between them.” “Harsh words?” “Fists.” Harrison winced, seeing where this was going. “Yeesh.” He was lucky that he only had an older brother. He couldn’t imagine a fistfight between female triplets. “And let me guess. Terra got stuck in the middle.” “Yep. Then they found out Bill was a crook and from what I heard, Terra just kinda...snapped? I can’t blame her if she was dealing with that bullcrap all week. She ended up threatening him.” Jesse scratched their cheek. “At least that’s what he’s claiming. All I know is that she yelled at him.”

Heartbeat

A quiet noise nearly made Jordan startle out of his seat. He relaxed once he saw the concerned brown eyes. "Oh. Hey Little Bird." Liza Dorado, nine years old, held up a yellow lunch box. "Snack time already?" She bobbed her head in a nod. He chuckled, picking her up and setting her on the desk. Once he was sure she was secure, he turned and grabbed his own lunch bag. Together, they pulled out their snacks- Jordan had a Go-Gurt and chips, while Liza had what looked like homemade tortilla chips and salsa- and started eating.

Arcane

"Henry?" Her husband was making an unconvincing show of pretending to examine the spice rack. He had discarded his vest, coat, and ascot, leaving him in an untucked shirt and black pants. He was barefoot, and his auburn curls were sticking up. It was a type of disorder she was unused to seeing. "I was just coming down for a cup of tea," Emma said gently, shutting the door behind her. "I thought I heard a noise-" He turned. His eyes were red, tear tracks visible on his cheeks. "Oh, Henry."

Bad End

The silence was broken by something batting at her ankle. The sound came rushing back as Mary Arden looked down. It was a cat. A black cat, with one little white splotch at its chest. It blinked big blue eyes at her before batting at her ankle again. And anyone who knew Mary Arden knew that she was an absolute sucker for cats. She let out what could be considered an undignified "Awww!" as she scooped the little guy up. "You are really thin, little man!" she cooed, feeling his ribs underneath his fur. She headed to the door as she continued cooing. The cat seemed to be more interested in her hair, batting at it. "Let's get some food into you!"

Bride of Loki

"She flat out pounded you against the pavement, that's what she did!" Runa said. "Something you said set her off and her arms went all tree-like and she freaking shoved her fingers-" Asta hit her twin over the head. "Sorry." "We were pretty sure you were dead. There was blood everywhere and you weren't moving." Asta said, spreading her hands out, probably to show the amount of blood. “Kari started freaking out and the doctor said you were dead but then you…” She clasped her hands together. “It looked really gross-” Runa hit her twin over the head. “Ouch! Sorry.”

Bride of Loki

I don’t want to see what she hides from me. He looked up just in time to see her jump. There was a huge crack as she landed on the base of the statue. Then Siv straightened, aiming a toothy grin at him. “Yes.” Like the others, she had changed.

I'll tag, with no pressure, @ink-fireplace-coffee, @writinglyra, @eternalwritingstudent, @hyba, @radley-writes, @akindofmagictoo, and @ashen-crest.

#tag game #writeblr #wip #Bride of Loki #Bad End #Arcane #Treasure Triplets #Heartbeat

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mjonthetrack · 15 days ago

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you again -

Chapter Sixty-Nine — “The Trunk Didn’t Close All the Way”

The autumn air was crisp and playful, rustling through the trees that lined the edge of the alumni park as golden leaves danced under the canopy of late afternoon sun. Music still poured through the speakers, a melodic fusion of old-school and trap that kept the Divine Nine moving. The vibe was warm—lit up by red, gold, and purple—the colors of legacy and love. The kind of energy you only get at an HBCU homecoming.

Daisy stood on tiptoe, slipping her fingers under Damion’s chin, coaxing his face down to hers.

“You gon’ make me late putting these plates in the car,” she teased, eyes twinkling.

He smirked, mouth brushing hers in a slow kiss. “That’s the only way I like you. Late and spoiled.”

She giggled, then popped a quick kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Let me handle the goody bags, Poppa.”

When she turned to walk away, the soft sway of her hips framed in that short crimson dress made two of the younger bruhs holler instinctively. She whipped around on her heel, raising one perfectly shaped brow and giving them a look only a Delta big sister could deliver.

“Y’all not slick,” she called, pointing at them with a manicured finger. “You better let my future husband lead y’all little side shimmy. That’s Big Dog to y’all—old pups.”

The bruhs laughed, hands up, all respect. “Yes ma’am!”

Damion just barked once, pride swelling in his chest. That was his woman.

Daisy made her way toward the line of luxury cars parked at the edge of the gathering. Their black Maserati SUV caught the sun just right, its sleek curves glistening. She unlocked the trunk with a quick press of the key fob and began stacking the dessert boxes and tinfoil-covered pans inside.

She was humming to herself—something soft, Sade maybe—one heel slipped halfway off as she adjusted a fruit cocktail drink in the cupholder groove.

She never heard the tires.

The scream of them skidding across the pavement was swallowed by the bass of the speakers. But she felt it—the thud in her gut, the twist of instinct in her chest.

Daisy looked up sharply, her body stilling as she saw it.

A car.

Speeding.

No license plate.

Headed straight for her.

The eyes behind the wheel locked with hers.

It was her.

That girl—the one who touched her, who embarrassed herself at the show, who tried Damion like she was entitled to him. Her eyes were wild now. Red around the edges. No focus. No fear. Just chaos.

And the car wasn’t stopping.

“Oh my God,” Daisy whispered, a strangled breath caught in her throat.

She reacted on impulse—threw the last goody bag forward and dove.

Not into the back seat.

Not to the side.

Into the trunk.

The open trunk of the Maserati.

It was instinct. Body memory. A last-second grasp for survival.

She curled inward fast, head tucked, knees to her chest—but not fast enough. She didn’t have time to close it behind her.

The car collided.

The scream of metal against metal shattered the air. Glass exploded like fireworks. The back of the Maserati crumpled like an aluminum can, forcing the trunk lid half-shut, jamming on impact.

Everything tipped sideways.

The force crushed her body into the corner of the trunk, knocking the wind from her lungs.

She heard the sound before she processed the pain.

Then silence. Then screaming.

Smoke coiled up through the twisted steel and cracked windows.

From the outside, it looked fatal.

One car embedded in another. A direct hit. The front end of the other girl’s vehicle was wedged into the SUV’s rear, driver slumped forward against the airbag.

Daisy’s blood-colored fruit cocktail had exploded on impact—spilling down the inside panel, sticky red everywhere.

If anyone looked, they wouldn’t see her face. Wouldn’t see her breath fogging. Just a scene that screamed death.

Inside, Daisy lay frozen in a mangled cradle of steel and leather.

The adrenaline was high—nauseating. Her head was pounding. Her mouth was open but no sound came out. Her Chanel heel was missing. One earring had been ripped from her ear.

She blinked slowly, pain buzzing behind her eyes. Her fingers twitched, brushing the edge of the goody bag, now flattened under her side.

She could hear yelling now.

Feet slamming pavement.

Sirens in the distance.

But no one could see her. No one could hear her voice—raspy, dry, whispering for Damion.

He didn’t know.

He didn’t see her dive.

He didn’t know she was alive.

Tears stung her eyes but didn’t fall.

She was compartmentalized between two realities: pain and panic.

The only thing that cut through the fog was his name—looping in her mind like a prayer, a tether.

“Damion… Damion, I’m here…”

Chapter Seventy – The Sound of Steel and Sirens

The world had tilted. The joy, the dancing, the surprise proposal—all of it had evaporated in the smoke curling from the crumpled vehicles.

Screams still echoed through the autumn air, people running toward the wreckage, phones out, sirens wailing in the distance. Damion’s chest was heaving, trying to make sense of the chaos as he sprinted ahead of the pack with the bruhs and the redz behind him.

And then he saw her.

The girl.

Stumbling out of her mangled sedan.

Blood on her forehead. Her white dress torn at the hem. And her expression—wild, almost possessed.

She staggered forward, heels broken, mascara running, and spat directly in the direction of the Maserati SUV she had plowed into.

“Bitch deserved it,” she hissed through bloodied teeth, her voice cracked and dry, filled with venom.

She turned, trying to run.

Damion didn’t think—he moved.

He roared, a sound primal and full of violence, tearing across the pavement after her before any of the bruhs could catch up. His trench coat billowed behind him as his strides closed the distance in seconds.

"You outta your fuckin' mind—!"

He grabbed her by the arm and swung her bodily to the ground. The crowd screamed as she skidded into the grass.

Brandy’s hands were over her mouth. Destiny had tears in her eyes, clutching her chest. One of the bruhs restrained Damion before he could lay hands again, but his voice sliced the air like a blade.

“You think this shit a game?! You know who the fuck was in that car?! You know who the fuck you just tried to kill?!”

The girl screamed under her breath, trying to crawl away.

Cops and EMTs finally arrived, charging toward the wreckage. The girl was restrained in cuffs, still sobbing, shrieking, her mind clearly snapped in half.

But Damion wasn’t focused on her anymore.

His eyes locked on the twisted Maserati. The driver’s side was obliterated. Blood streaked down the back window. And her phone—her damn phone—lay cracked on the ground next to one of her Chanel heels.

“No…” His voice broke. “No, no, no.”

The fire department was already setting up the jaws of life. Damion tried to run toward the SUV, but two firefighters pulled him back.

“There’s someone in there,” one said. “We need to work fast.”

He couldn’t breathe. His knees hit the pavement. He shook his head violently.

“Daisy…”

Behind him, everyone fell quiet. Shock. Fear.

Even the loudest of the bruhs was whispering, “Not Big Sis D. Not her.”

His mother’s voice echoed in his mind—her screams from that hospital night when Daisy had coded. His own cries.

Please, God, not again.

— Inside the SUV Daisy blinked hard. Everything hurt.

Her ribs, her back, her ears ringing.

She was crumpled in the back of the trunk, pressed between a crushed backseat and a tilted speaker. She could smell gasoline and fruit cocktail and blood.

She couldn’t move her left arm. Her right hand was curled beneath her body.

“Damion…” she whispered, voice hoarse. “Poppa…”

Her ears rang louder. Sirens wailed above her. But then—metal.

A high-pitched screech as the back of the SUV began to shift. The jaws of life were digging in, peeling away layers of steel.

She cried out and curled further into herself. The noise was unbearable. Her nails scratched at the carpet.

She wanted to cover her ears but couldn’t move. Her mouth parted in a sob as she saw light—sunlight—creeping in through a crack in the SUV frame.

And then a voice.

Familiar.

“Hold on, baby. Please, just hold on.”

It was him.

Damion.

Tears slipped down her temple as she blinked upward.

She couldn’t see him yet.

But she could feel him.

His voice was shaking. He was cursing someone. Barking orders. Snapping at EMTs.

And then finally—light poured in.

The trunk door was wrenched up by brute force and machine strength. Smoke rolled out. Her hand twitched as she reached weakly forward.

“Right here!” a medic shouted. “She’s alive!”

Damion pushed forward, breaking free of the hold on him.

When his eyes found her—his daisy, his delta, his world—he collapsed forward.

“René… oh my God…”

He reached out, brushing her curls gently. She whimpered from the movement.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m right here.”

He broke. Tears streaked down his face.

And Daisy, aching, bruised, and still unsure how she was alive, let her eyes flutter closed as his fingers curled around her hand.

The sirens didn’t stop. Neither did his shaking.

But he had her.

And he wasn't letting go.

Chapter 71 – Damion’s Desperate Call

The ambulance’s siren cut through the humid evening like a jagged knife, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the pounding of Damion’s heart — or the chaos flooding the hospital’s emergency entrance. His hands shook as he gripped the phone, every second burning hotter with the frustration that churned in his gut.

“Selah,” he snapped into the receiver, voice rough with panic, “it’s me. Damion. You’re still working tonight, right? I need you. It’s Daisy — she’s hurt bad, and they’re taking her to some—” His voice broke, “They’re taking her to thathospital. You know the one — the white hospital. The one with the goddamn reputation. I’m begging you, get here. Now.”

He could almost hear the quiet hum of concern on the other end, but no time for niceties. “Luther, Dad, it’s urgent. Daisy’s been hit — stabbed before, you remember? This isn’t just another emergency. They won’t let me go with her. I’m trying to get you both here. I didn’t even tell y’all I was back in D.C. yet… or that I’m engaged to Daisy, damn it. Get here.” His voice rose, frustration bleeding through every syllable.

Damion’s hands clenched tighter as he toggled the group call, the names lighting up the screen: Gloria Emerson, Daisy’s mother; Betty-Ann René, her grandmother—esteemed Deltas both. “They don’t even know I’m here, let alone that Daisy and I are together,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “Gloria, Betty-Ann, I’m sorry to drop this on you — but you need to come. Now. This white hospital they’re taking her to? You know the kind of shit we’re up against there.”

The floodgates broke as he added Daisy’s father — an old Omega brother who had never expected to hear his son-in-law’s name connected to his daughter in this way so soon. “I don’t care what you’re doing. Get your asses here. She’s in there, and I’m not going anywhere without her.”

The cluster of concerned voices on the other end was drowned by the clamor in the emergency bay. Nurses hustled, doctors barked orders, but none of it was for him. He stood rooted, feeling every moment drag as medics prepped Daisy for transport. The doors of the ambulance slid open and his breath hitched.

“Damion,” a nurse called, but before he could move, two medics stepped between them, blocking his way. “We can’t let you ride with her.”

“What? No. I’m her fiancé. I have to go.”

“We’re sorry, sir, protocol.”

His protest faltered. The sterile white walls seemed to close in, suffocating. Rage and helplessness warred inside him as the ambulance doors slammed shut. The whir of the engine kicked in.

“Wait!” His voice cracked, but the ambulance pulled away, cutting him off.

He sank to the bench, his phone still warm in his hand, eyes burning with a mixture of fury and fear.

Somewhere deep down, he knew the fight wasn’t just about the hospital or the rules — it was about the legacy of distrust, the scars of a system built to divide, to control, to silence.

And right now, all he could do was wait.

The background buzz of voices around him mixed with the distant wail of sirens. Friends, family, and fraternity brothers circled, but all Damion could see was the space where Daisy had been.

The weight of the moment settled on him like a storm — and the battle had just begun.

Chapter 72 – Ride or Die

Destiny and Brandy didn’t waste a second.

Without a word, they looped arms with Damion, pulling him toward Brandy’s sleek black SUV parked just outside the emergency entrance. The urgency in their eyes said everything — no time for questions, no space for hesitation.

“Get in,” Brandy commanded, already sliding behind the wheel. Destiny sat shotgun, shooting him a steady, fierce look. “We’re gonna get you there. You just be ready.”

Damion’s breath was still raw, his fists clenched on his knees as the door slammed shut. The engine roared to life, tires spinning hard against the pavement. They peeled out, a blur of motion under the streetlights, racing after the ambulance that had just pulled away.

The highway stretched before them, lanes melting beneath the speeding tires, headlights streaking like fireflies in the night. Not a word was spoken — none was needed. The silence was thick but charged, the unspoken bond of family, friends, and fighters wrapped tight around them.

The ambulance’s flashing lights flickered ahead like a beacon, and Brandy pushed the pedal harder, weaving through traffic with precision and grit. Destiny kept her phone out, calling ahead to the hospital’s front desk, coordinating their arrival — making sure someone was waiting.

Minutes felt like hours.

They pulled into the emergency entrance just seconds behind the ambulance. Brandy killed the engine as Destiny turned toward Damion, her eyes softening for the first time since the chaos began.

“You go. We got this,” Destiny said firmly.

Brandy opened her door, giving him a steady nod.

Damion hesitated — the weight of everything crashing down again — but he swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

As he stepped toward the hospital doors, Destiny and Brandy peeled away, engines growling to life and disappearing down the street like shadows.

For a moment, Damion was alone — but never truly alone. His people had his back. And no matter what, he wasn’t letting Daisy go.

The fight was far from over.

Chapter 73 — The Waiting Room

The sterile hospital corridor buzzed with hurried footsteps and low murmurs, but to Damion, time had slowed to a torturous crawl.

He forced himself forward, ignoring the demands from staff to wait outside the operating rooms. His heart hammered in his chest, every step heavier than the last.

As he rounded the corner, he caught a glimpse of Daisy’s wide, panicked eyes. Her breath came in sharp bursts as she struggled against the nurses guiding her toward the surgery suite.

“What are you doing?” she screamed, her voice cracking with desperation. “I don’t need that! I’m fine! I’m fine! My ears are just ringing — I’m a little sore!”

Her words shattered something inside him.

Before anyone could stop him, Damion reached out, grasping her trembling hand. “Baby, hold on,” he whispered fiercely, brushing stray hair from her sweat-beaded forehead.

The surgical doors slid shut behind them, and the room filled with antiseptic chill and bright lights. He stood by her side, silent and unyielding, as she fought the haze creeping into her eyes.

Her family arrived moments later—Gloria and Betty-Ann, their faces etched with fear and resolve, and Daisy’s father, calm but protective. Damion’s parents, Selah and Luther, followed closely behind, their presence grounding him in this storm.

Together, they stood sentinel, united in hope and anguish, waiting for the battle to end and for their Daisy to come back whole.

Chapter 74 — Sister’s Fury

The hospital waiting room buzzed with a heavy, nervous energy as Damion, Destiny, Brandy, and their families clustered together, every eye darting toward the surgery doors. Then suddenly, those doors slammed open, and a strong figure appeared, pushing a wheelchair with urgency.

The woman was a striking contrast to the usual hospital staff — her deep brown skin glowing under the fluorescent lights, eyes fierce and blazing with righteous anger.

“They tried to put the pads on her,” she snapped sharply, voice laced with frustration and authority. “She doesn’t need that. They weren’t listening to her.”

Damion’s heart clenched, his jaw tightening as he stepped forward, the weight of the moment pressing on him. This was his fiancé — his life — and he was watching people toy with her health, her dignity.

“She seems to have just a minor concussion, some ringing in her ears, and a few light sprains,” the nurse continued, eyes narrowing. “Get her the fuck out of here!”

The words landed like thunder in the room. Daisy’s mother, Gloria, gasped, clutching her pearls, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Betty-Ann, Daisy’s grandmother, nodded fiercely, a quiet strength emanating from her.

Gloria’s voice cracked, “That’s my daughter. She’s stronger than they give her credit for.”

Damion’s hand instinctively found Daisy’s, gripping it tightly as if anchoring himself. His voice was low, fierce, “They’re playing with my fiancé. No one’s going to disrespect her like that.”

Destiny and Brandy exchanged determined glances, their usual composed facades now softened by raw concern. Brandy muttered under her breath, “We got her back. All of us.”

Daisy’s eyes fluttered open, the faintest smile touching her lips despite the pain. “I’m fine,” she whispered, voice shaky but resolute.

Damion leaned down, kissing her temple gently, whispering, “You’re everything to me, Renè. We’ll get you out of here.”

The nurse’s fierce protection wrapped around Daisy like armor, and in that moment, everyone knew — this fight was far from over, but Daisy wasn’t alone. Not now, not ever.

Chapter 75 – “The Calm After the Sirens”

The last of the adrenaline was still pulsing under Damion’s skin when the second set of double doors pushed open. This time, the presence that stepped through was steady, controlled — a Black woman in navy blue scrubs and white Nikes, with a stethoscope still hanging around her neck. Selah Emmad, Damion’s mother. One of the most respected trauma nurses in D.C., and the woman who’d once saved Daisy’s life on another chaotic night years ago.

Her gaze swept over her son, then over Daisy in the wheelchair, still flinching at every sharp sound in the emergency wing, her hands twitching upward to shield her ears from the fluorescent hum of the lights, the too-loud intercom, and her own roaring memories. Selah’s sharp eyes took it all in.

Then she simply nodded toward the doors. “C’mon,” she said, her voice low, calm, commanding. “Let’s get back to your place. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere we can all catch our breaths.”

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her son, who hadn’t fully unclenched since the crash. Damion sank into her embrace, just for a moment, and Selah rubbed slow circles into his back the way she had when he was a boy.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered, low enough only for him. “I knew you’d work it out. You brought her back home.��

Damion’s arms squeezed tighter for a beat. “They were gonna take her, Ma. Just like that. Like she wasn’t somebody.”

“She is,” Selah said, eyes glinting. “She’s ours.”

The group began to move like a unit. Brandy and Destiny flanked Daisy, arms gently guiding the wheelchair like a crown detail. Gloria walked beside her daughter, eyes never leaving her. Betty-Anne René was silent, regal as always, but her hand was gripping her late husband’s Omega dog tag at her neck — a quiet prayer of strength for her granddaughter.

They moved through the sterile lobby, ignoring the sideways glances from the staff, past the whispers. Luther Emmad and Mr. Emerson followed at the rear, heads down in quiet discussion — two retired Que bruhs already plotting what kind of legal and media hellfire they were going to rain down on this hospital.

Once in the parking lot, Daisy winced at the blare of a car alarm in the distance, the sound making her suck her teeth and jerk.

“Shit,” she groaned, pressing her palms to her ears, head lolling back against the chair. “I still hear it. That ringing won’t stop.”

“We’ll get it managed,” Selah promised, checking her pulse with deft fingers. “I’ll work on her soon as we get in.”

They reached the massive black Maserati SUV — a new one, Brandy’s car trailing behind — and Damion picked Daisy up easily, despite her protest.

“I can walk,” she muttered.

“You limp,” he replied without blinking, setting her down gently in the back seat with her legs up.

As the doors shut and the engine purred to life, Daisy let her head fall against the leather, groaning.

“Fuck,” she said under her breath. “I dropped my drink. That was Big Sis Deborah’s fruit cocktail. And those cupcakes. That bitch.”

Everyone in the car blinked — and then laughed.

Gloria leaned forward, stroking her daughter’s curls. “You and your damn sugar.”

“That wasn’t just sugar,” Daisy murmured sleepily. “That was legend. She put real mango purée in the bottom and let it steep overnight.”

“She talkin’ like she lost a Birkin,” Damion muttered under his breath.

“I did!” Daisy snapped back, groaning as the movement made her head throb. “It was a fruit Birkin. A masterpiece. And she totaled it.”

Selah chuckled from the front seat, adjusting the air. “Well, good thing you’re surrounded by people who can get you new cupcakes.”

“And who gon’ revive Big Sis Deborah to remake it?” Daisy slurred, half-sleep, half-dramatics.

Damion reached back and brushed her thigh, quiet and grounding. “I’ll call in favors, pretty girl. The whole damn fruit bowl if that’s what you want.”

She smiled faintly through the ache, eyes fluttering shut.

As they pulled away from the hospital, the sirens grew distant behind them. The family wasn’t fully whole yet — but they were on the way. Safe. Together. And war-ready.

Because someone had messed with Daisy René Emerson-Emmad.

And that was not going to be forgotten.

Chapter 76 — “Fruit Bowls & Fallout”

The apartment was warm. Familiar. Gold sun slanted through the tall windows, catching the gleam of framed photos — graduation shots, family gatherings, Daisy twirling in her Delta red, Damion in his Omega gold, one arm slung around her waist with a smirk. It looked like peace.

But inside, Daisy still felt the smoke.

They’d laid her on the plush cream sectional with every pillow in the house under her head, and two weighted blankets on top of her despite her saying, “Y’all gon’ make me sweat like a damn brisket.” Her eyes fluttered open again now, her voice hoarse but firm as everyone gathered.

Selah Emmad stood over her like a commander, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around her arm, checking her pupils. Gloria Emerson sat perched at Daisy’s hip with a glass of water. Betty-Anne sat to her left, knitting quietly — a telltale sign she was trying not to cuss somebody out. Destiny and Brandy were cross-legged on the floor by her feet like a Greek council hearing. Damion leaned against the doorway, silent, jaw tight, arms folded, never once taking his eyes off her.

“So,” Daisy said finally, voice quiet and a little raspy, “here’s what happened…”

Everyone leaned in.

She winced, rubbing one temple. “I’d just put the damn goody bags in the trunk — y’all know I labeled them by chapter and everything, don’t play with me — and I heard this engine screech. It was wrong. Like… horror movie wrong. I turned, and it was her. The no-color bitch from earlier. Eyes wild. Locking in on me like I had killed her puppy or slept with her daddy or something. And she was not slowing down. That wheel didn’t twitch once.”

Damion’s eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring.

“I didn’t think,” Daisy muttered. “Didn’t even scream. I just dove. I dove into the trunk and slammed it shut with one hand from the inside like an action movie. But I was awkward as hell, laid all twisted, and then she hit.”

Brandy’s hand covered her mouth. Destiny looked like she wanted to go back and spin the block.

“I couldn’t breathe. There was glass and it smelled like smoke and melted rubber. I thought I was gonna die. But I didn’t even get to say nothing because the cops got there and…”

She paused.

“And?”

“No one asked me shit,” she said bitterly, eyes hard. “They didn’t know I was in the car, I get that — but when I was in the gurney, when they realized I was alive, still nobody asked what happened. Not the EMTs. Not the police. They just stared like I was in the way. Like I’d caused a disturbance. Like a Black woman bleeding was just a problem to be swept up.”

Damion’s body shifted off the wall before Selah gave him one look. “Sit,” she said calmly. “Be still.”

Daisy rubbed her forehead. “I kept saying I didn’t want pads, didn’t want sedation, and they kept strapping shit on me like I didn’t know my body.”

Gloria muttered something that sounded like a prayer and a curse.

Betty-Anne looked up from her knitting, finally. “They’re lucky they didn’t try that when I was there. I’d have called in the NAACP before the IV line was done priming.”

“I saw her face,” Daisy said suddenly. “That girl. Before she passed out. She was screaming before she even hit the car. She looked…gone. Like possessed or something. I don’t even know her name. Why does she hate me that bad?”

The room went quiet.

“You don’t gotta know her,” Destiny said firmly. “Jealousy don’t require introductions.”

“Bitch saw you glowing,” Brandy added. “Big sis, alumni queen, ring on your finger, man at your side — she wanted what was yours.”

“She wanted to break it,” Gloria whispered, voice trembling.

Damion finally moved, walking over, squatting beside the couch. His hand found Daisy’s beneath the blankets, gripping tight.

“I should’ve walked you out,” he said, quiet.

“You were busy leading that lil’ side shimmy,” Daisy said with a smirk, but her voice trembled too.

“She’s gonna pay,” Damion said.

“I don’t want you in jail,” Daisy murmured, eyes closing briefly.

“I’m not talking with fists,” he said, though his jaw still ticked. “I’m talking legally. Socially. Every camera, every post, every eyewitness — I’m collecting it all. This ain’t gonna get buried.”

Selah patted his back as she stood. “Let’s get her hydrated, cleaned up, and then you and me gonna get the rest of this trauma protocol started, son.”

Damion looked up at his mother and nodded once. “Yes, ma’am.”

As Selah headed for the kitchen, Daisy curled her fingers through Damion’s and let her head fall to the side.

“I don’t care if the fruit punch is gone,” she whispered. “Or the cupcakes. Or that damn silk scarf that flew off my hair in the crash…”

He smiled faintly.

“I just want my ears to stop ringing,” she finished, eyes drifting closed. “And for that bitch to know I’m not dead. And I’m still him’s fiancée. And we’re still us.”

“You hear that, world?” Brandy called toward the ceiling, half-laughing, half-crying. “Delta D still standing. Still stunting. Still Mrs. Emmad in the making.”

And from the chair where Betty-Anne had returned to her knitting, a soft, steady hum started. An old hymn.

Because this family? They don’t fall. They rebuild. Harder. Louder. Together.

Selah was finishing the last of the ear irrigation, her gentle but no-nonsense hands steady against Daisy’s temples as she adjusted the warm compress. The apartment was calmer now—barefoot elders shuffling in and out the guest room, Destiny and Brandy fussing over a mountain of untouched takeout, and Damion sitting cross-legged on the floor at the foot of the couch, his eyes never leaving Daisy.

Daisy tilted her head slightly toward Selah’s hands and grinned through the wince. “I’m thinking…” she began slowly, a spark igniting in her voice despite the ringing still pulsing faintly in her head.

Selah arched a brow but kept her fingers light. “You should be thinking about rest, baby girl.”

Daisy ignored her. “I’m thinking maybe we rally the bruhs and the redz—full line, full chants, full strolls. Make this trial big. National, even. I want barking and oo-ops that echo down every courtroom corridor, that crazy hoe gonna hear it for the rest of her miserable, pressed days.”

Selah blinked. Then she huffed a laugh under her breath. “She got fight in her,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. “She gon’ be just fine.”

Damion grinned at the foot of the couch, pride written all over his face. “You really not gon’ rest until we turn the courtroom into a probate show, huh?”

“I want her to know,” Daisy said, her tone sharpening as her eyes opened fully, fire behind them. “She didn’t take anything from me. She didn’t win. I’m still me. I’m still Delta D. And I’m still walking down that aisle when the time comes, ring and all.”

Brandy, now leaning over the back of the couch, smirked. “I’ll talk to some of the grad chapter girls. We can get crimson and cream heels stompin’ the marble off that courthouse floor.”

Destiny cracked her knuckles with a grin. “I got two bruhs who work courthouse security. Let’s make it a pep rally meets lawsuit.”

Selah just shook her head, grinning as she stood, pressing a kiss to Daisy’s forehead before speaking over her shoulder. “Y’all better not get my nursing license revoked with this little ‘Delta v. the Devil’ special.”

Daisy rested her head back into the pillows and looked at Damion. “You down?”

He didn’t even blink. “We spin the block with our people? Baby, I’m already laced up.”

And just like that, the apartment filled with energy again—vows whispered, strategies planned. Because she wasn’t just healing. She was preparing. And anyone who came for Daisy René Emerson better know: the next time she stood in front of a crowd, it wasn’t going to be in retreat. It was going to be in power.

Chapter Seventy-Two: “Don’t Ever Count Me Out.”

The conference room was silent—tension-stuffed air thick with purpose.

Papers rustled. Suits shifted. Phones buzzed muted against long walnut wood as Destiny slid a legal pad across the table to Brandy, who already had her glasses on and her pen mid-scribble. Damion stood, arms folded, sharp in a black turtleneck and slacks, his jaw flexing as he scanned the legal layout Destiny projected on the wall. Behind them, the official seal of their firm glowed: Emerson, René & Co.

"Attempted vehicular manslaughter," Brandy said, voice clipped. "On private property, during a sanctioned alumni event. We’ve got witness accounts, Greek chapter presidents, and security camera footage from the community center across the street. What we don’t have—"

"Is a damn report," Damion cut in, eyes flaring. "The cops didn’t take one. Didn’t speak to Daisy. Treated her like a suspect in her own trauma."

Destiny nodded grimly. “Because she Black. Because she’s a Delta. Because she’s a woman. Pick one or pick all three.”

Selah Emmad, Damion’s mother, leaned forward, calm but resolute in her nurse’s scrubs. “We’ll treat the physical aftermath. But I’m telling you—this kind of auditory trauma, the kind from a car coming full speed—ringing, fog, panic? That’s the kind of thing that can linger if we don’t push for recognition of it.”

Across the room, Gloria Emerson sat poised, but her clutch of the coffee cup betrayed her rage. “I don’t want recognition. I want restitution. Let that little girl try that foolishness in front of the right cameras. We’ve got senators who owe our family favors. Let’s shake a tree.”

“And we’ve got media,” Betty-Anne René said softly, aged but fierce. “We got anchors who pledged under our watch. We can do more than march—we can mobilize.”

Damion’s phone buzzed again. No response from Daisy.

He exhaled sharply. “She should’ve been home hours ago. She said she was going to nap.” He looked up, and the room felt it: the shift from legal strategist to protective man. “Somebody get the keys. Now.”

—

When they got back to the couple’s luxury apartment—nothing. Purse gone. No shoes by the door. The sound machine she’d liked for sleep was still humming ocean waves on the nightstand.

“I’ll check her Find My,” Brandy said, pulling up her phone. A few taps. “Downtown… wait. Why is this bitch at a bakery?”

“A bakery?” Gloria asked, blinking.

“Not just any bakery,” Brandy clarified, eyes narrowing as she zoomed in. “That’s Legacy Loaf. Black-owned, in the Shaw district. Old Howard haunt.”

Damion was already grabbing his trench. “We’re going.”

—

The bakery was small and warm, the scent of vanilla and cinnamon thick in the air. Soul music played softly through old speakers. The line was minimal, but the bakery case was stocked like a dream—rows of red velvet croissants, Hennessy-glazed bread pudding, sweet potato beignets, and brioche buns the size of a grown man’s fist.

And right in the center of it all, hair in a high pineapple puff, Chanel hoop earrings catching the soft sunlight through the front windows, was Daisy René Emerson.

She was leaning forward, finger pressed to the glass like a kid in a candy store. “Oh my God. Is that… a brown butter banana biscuit with praline glaze?” she whispered, practically drooling.

Behind her, the bell on the door jingled violently as the whole crew—mamas, grandmamas, lawyers, nurses, and one protective-ass fiancé—filed in.

She didn’t even turn. “Y’all ever just need sugar therapy?” she said dreamily. “Like, you almost die, and your body’s like, ‘give me a beignet or give me death?’”

“Daisy René Emerson!” Gloria shouted.

Daisy turned slowly, sheepish. “Hey mama.”

“Girl what the hell—”

“I left a note on the fridge!”

“No you didn’t!”

“…I meant to.”

Damion marched to her, grabbing her waist and hugging her so tightly her feet nearly left the ground. “Don’t do that again. You scared the hell out of me.”

Daisy leaned back, teasing. “I brought you one too. Chocolate chip with espresso drizzle. You forgave me yet?”

He kissed her. “No.”

She smiled. “Okay but you gon’ eat that donut, right?”

The rest of the group just stared, half-laughing, half-exasperated. Destiny groaned into her palm.

“Somebody get this woman a damn bodyguard and a leash.”

“Get your man,” Brandy added, shaking her head.

But Betty-Anne René just smiled, taking in her granddaughter, alive and radiant.

“She’s got the fire,” she murmured, sipping her tea. “Let the world see it.”

The door to their bedroom closed softly behind them, muffling the gentle chatter and coffee spoons clinking in the kitchen beyond.

Daisy stepped out of her shoes and walked barefoot across the plush rug, every step quiet, measured. Her hair was still pineappled high, earrings now tossed somewhere near the vanity. She turned to Damion, who was watching her in still silence—jaw clenched, eyes tracing every line of her body like he was memorizing her all over again.

She reached for him, wrapping her fingers in the collar of his trench and tugging him forward until their foreheads touched.

“I need to feel soft,” she whispered. “I need to feel like that again. Not like a headline. Not like a court case. Just… your girl. Your fiancée.”

His breath caught, his hands cupping her face like she might disappear again.

“And you,” she added, her voice trembling but fierce, “you need to feel control again. I see it in you, Damion. You still shaking from the hospital. From that white cop trying to look through me like I didn’t almost die. You need to take it back. I’m giving it to you. We got ten minutes, bruh. You got me?”

He didn’t answer.

He just moved.

His mouth was on hers before the last word finished echoing between them. His hands found the hem of her sweater, lifting it over her head as she climbed onto the bed. It was hurried and hungry—his kiss bruising, hers breathless, but it was theirs.

Her body curled into his as if on instinct, trusting him to guide her out of the memory of steel and smoke and glass and into something warm again. Every touch was a claiming: a reclamation of what had been nearly stolen, a promise that she was still here, still his.

He whispered her name like a mantra.

She whispered his like a prayer.

And when they were tangled in silence, just skin and heartbeat and exhale, her palm found his cheek.

“That,” she murmured, eyes wet, voice steady. “That’s what I needed.”

He kissed her again, softer this time. “You’ll always have it.”

Chapter Seventy-Two

The studio was cool and quiet, lit in that soft golden way networks loved to use when a segment was “personal” and “heartbreaking” but “triumphant.” Daisy sat dressed in a sleek, cream wrap dress with long sleeves, her curls pulled into a low puff, minimal makeup hugging her cheekbones. There was a small lavender pin tucked near her collarbone—subtle. Controlled.

Beside her, Damion cut the image of Black poise and power: dark navy turtleneck, silver chain peeking from beneath, his watch sharp and eyes sharper. He had one arm around the back of her chair, and she leaned into it with a natural ease that spoke of love, trust, and a long-fought peace—despite everything. Her hand rested gently on his thigh beneath the table, not for show. For tethering. For grounding.

“I want to start by thanking you both,” the anchor said, her voice professional but reverent. “What you’ve been through—not only surviving a violent attack, but choosing to speak out, especially with your legal firm now gaining the NAACP’s backing—it’s historic.”

Daisy didn’t speak. Not yet. She turned her face toward Damion, her lashes brushing his shoulder as she rested her cheek there, eyes closed for a second, the studio lights almost too much.

Damion’s hand closed over hers on his thigh. He took the lead, just like she’d asked him to that morning.

“We didn’t ask to become a symbol,” he said, voice even but hard-cut with emotion. “But if that’s what it takes to protect Black women—especially Black women with power, voice, brilliance? Then so be it.”

The anchor nodded, lips tight. “Can you speak on the hospital situation—how she was treated?”

“She was ignored,” Damion said plainly, the cold heat in his tone unmistakable. “My fiancée was nearly killed. She was screaming that she was fine. They tried to put pads on her chest and sedate her. Wouldn’t listen. Wouldn’t hear her. If it weren’t for a Black nurse with sense? Who knows what would’ve happened.”

“And now you’ve filed an intent to sue not just the driver, but the hospital and responding officers.”

He nodded. “We’re not playing about this. She almost died because someone hated her shine. And then she was treated like a problem to contain instead of a human being in pain. My woman ain’t just a Delta, not just an attorney, not just Howard royalty. She’s a person. And they dehumanized her. So now they get the legal smoke.”

The anchor blinked at the force of his words. Daisy finally lifted her face, kissed Damion’s shoulder lightly and looked at the camera, tired but luminous.

“I’m still here,” she said softly. “And I’ll never be quiet again.”

There was a pause. Damion’s hand squeezed hers again. She looked up at him with the smallest, most genuine smile—the kind of smile only a woman who’d been undone and put back together could give. A woman who was learning what it meant to be safe in love again.

Chapter Seventy-Three

Their office was bathed in amber light from the late afternoon sun, the blinds pulled half shut, a hum of stillness settling into the walls like the exhale after a storm. The air still held the weight of what they’d said on national television—how Damion had spoken from his chest and his heart. It was the kind of interview people would replay, retweet, study in law schools and community advocacy programs.

But in here?

It was just them.

Damion was leaned back on the edge of the couch in her office, the suit jacket he’d worn off and tossed onto a chair, his forearms resting on his thighs. He was winding down, and she could tell—his jaw soft, his breathing evening out, the corners of his mouth twitching toward a relaxed smile he hadn’t had in weeks.

Daisy walked over quietly in her heels, then knelt between his legs and reached up to gently cup his jaw.

“You did so well,” she whispered, brushing her thumb across the stubble on his cheek. “You were so handsome… and you did my situation justice, Damion.”

His gaze dropped, humbled for a second. “You think so?”

She didn’t answer with words.

She leaned in and kissed him—once, then twice, then a third time slower than the last. Sloppy, warm, unhurried kisses that made him chuckle low in his throat.

“Alright now, Miss Emerson,” he teased, hands gripping her waist. “You gon’ start something in this office.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Ain’t this the office we started everything in already?”

He grinned wide then, that dangerous Omega smirk that could cut glass, and she giggled into his neck before standing.

“I got something for you,” she said, walking around her desk. She rummaged in the drawer and pulled out a thick manila folder. “Don’t laugh.”

“I ain’t gon laugh,” he said, still recovering from how good her mouth had felt on him. “Promise.”

She slid the folder across the table to him.

He opened it—and paused.

There, sketched in color pencil and marker, was a mock-up of the front of a law firm. The Emaad Family Practice in thick block letters over elegant glass doors. Underneath it in red script: Proud Partner to the NAACP. And below that? A row of stick figures. He recognized the curls, the suit, the little triangle for Delta hands. One was throwing up hooks. Another had a briefcase. One had two puffs and a red lipstick mouth.

“This you?” he asked, laughing.

“Duh,” she said. “I’m the one with the most style.”

“And me?”

“The tall one with the fade and muscles,” she said, deadpan. “I added the chains too.”

He shook his head, laughing louder now, his heart full. She was so serious, so brilliant, so soft when she chose to be.

“You been drawing our firm before we even had a sign up?”

“I been building this with you since the day you walked into my dorm cocky as hell in them damn gray sweats,” she muttered, coming around the desk and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Don’t act new.”

He looked at her, really looked—at her bandaged wrists, her still-sore movements, the ring on her finger, the light back in her eyes.

“We really doing it, huh?” he whispered.

She nodded. “Yeah, baby. We are.”

Chapter Seventy-Four “The Emmad Family Practice”

The sun was generous that afternoon, spreading warm rays over the bustling downtown block, the heartbeat of D.C. pulsing through the brick and glass around them. A tall white curtain veiled the brand-new signage above the double glass doors. People gathered on the sidewalk—press, community leaders, alumni in sharp suits, Deltas in crimson and cream, Omegas in gold and purple, old heads in fedoras, babies balanced on their mamas’ hips. Bouquets of flowers and NAACP banners added color, but nothing outshone the woman standing behind the mic, crimson dress hugging her figure like it was stitched for this exact moment.

Daisy René Emerson—no, Emmad—beamed out at the crowd.

“Good afternoon, family,” she started with that smooth, boujee fire that made her the Delta queen of Howard back in the day. “As you may know, I opened this firm as a proud Howard graduate—”

A cluster of loud calls broke out.

“Ooo-ooop!”

“Aight now, Big Sis D!”

Laughter bubbled through the crowd. She grinned wide, throwing up the Delta hand signal with pride.

“Y’all so loud! But I love y’all,” she said, shaking her head. “Now, what a lot of you might not know is that my fiancé and I—” she motioned to where Damion stood just behind her, looking clean as ever in a black suit, his Omega ring glinting, a quiet storm on her horizon “—have been on this law journey together since freshman year.”

Someone from the Omega side barked.

“Oh, hush,” Daisy said, laughing as she nudged Damion gently. “And believe it or not, he can sometimes keep up with me in court.”

The crowd hollered. Destiny and Brandy hollered the loudest.

She took a breath, eyes scanning the crowd—their parents, NAACP reps, their friends, their firm’s staff, and even their old professors from Howard. News cameras were locked in.

“Being recognized by an esteemed organization like the NAACP means everything to us. So does this partnership. We’re building something that is going to last far beyond us—something rooted in Black justice, Black love, and Black excellence.”

She glanced back at Damion. Her face softened.

“But if I’m being honest… something was missing. One part. One person.”

She turned to face the crowd again. “Damion Rashaad Emmad has been my greatest academic rival, my best friend, my partner, my lover…” she paused, letting it sit for a beat. “The bruh to my red—if you know, you know—and that’s on Coleman.”

The Greeks whooped and hollered. Damion folded his arms, watching her, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She held up her left hand, the diamond he gave her catching the light.

“And most recently… my fiancé.”

The cheers thundered through the street.

She grinned even brighter now. “There isn’t a man I would rather stand beside—legally, lovingly, lustily—” she tilted her head and smirked as the crowd cackled and Damion ducked his head with a half-laugh. “—or in the future as Mrs. Daisy René Emmad… Mrs. Emmad, if ya nasty.”

She cracked up at her own line right along with the rest of them, wagging her finger like don’t play with me.

“I couldn’t wait til we got married. With this case happening, the timing just felt right. I wanted this firm to represent the two baddest attorneys on the East Coast—who also happen to be deeply in love, unbothered, and undefeated.”

Applause.

“Without further ado,” Daisy said, turning to Damion now, her eyes glinting like she was still that freshman who’d walked past him on the Yard with her nose in the air but her heart already gone, “please join us in welcoming the Emmad Family Practice.”

She reached up and handed him the gold ceremonial scissors with both hands, eyes shining.

Damion grinned—crooked and boyish, the smile he didn’t show the world but always gave her.

He stepped forward, holding the scissors steady as Daisy placed her hand over his. Together, they sliced through the crimson and gold ribbon, the fabric fluttering away like the closing of an old chapter.

The curtain dropped behind them—

And the words gleamed above the glass: Emmad Family Practice Proud Partner to the NAACP

The crowd roared.

Destiny, Brandy, and the rest of the Deltas started a chant, “Big Sis D!” The Omegas responded with barks and shoulder rolls. Even some alums near the back were wiping tears. Selah clapped with one hand on Luther’s shoulder. Gloria had her hand pressed to her heart, and Betty-Ann whispered something that made everyone around her smile.

Damion turned to Daisy and wrapped his arms around her waist, dipping her just slightly before kissing her right there in front of everyone.

Her heel lifted off the ground just a little as she leaned into him, full of purpose and pride.

They had arrived. Together.

Chapter Seventy-Five: The Cut, The Crowd, and The Crown

Later that afternoon, after the speeches, the hugs, and the collective joy, the couple returned to their office upstairs in the same building.

As they sat cuddled on the couch, a buzz erupted from Damion’s phone. Then hers. Then Destiny’s, Brandy’s, even Selah’s.

Daisy opened her social media and gasped. “Damion… the speech. It’s going viral.”

Already millions of views.

Dozens of D9 pages had reposted it. So had the NAACP. Lawyers across the country were quoting her. Black women professionals were duet-reacting with tears in their eyes. Even Taraji P. Henson had reposted it with a caption: “This is what it’s about. We love to see it.”

Daisy stared at the screen, speechless.

He turned her face to him with a single knuckle. “That’s your impact, René.”

She blinked up at him, smiling through tears.

And for once, in the swirl of Black joy, justice, legacy, and love—they allowed themselves to simply breathe.

They had built something sacred.

And the world was finally watching.

The Emmad Family Practice office was quiet now.

Outside, the buzz of celebration still lingered in the air—cars honking supportively as they passed by the new sign, red and purple ribbons fluttering in the fall breeze. But up in the office, it was just them. Daisy and Damion sat on their velvet couch, tucked into the corner nook of the space, legs tangled under a throw blanket, her head resting against his chest.

The lights were low. A citrus candle burned gently on the table. His hand absently traced her arm.

Her tablet buzzed with notifications—again.

“Yo,” Damion muttered in disbelief, scrolling through his own. “We really broke the internet.”

Daisy stretched, blinking slowly. “Let me see.”

She took the tablet and leaned into him with a smirk, thumb tapping through post after post. Her speech had gone viral—on Twitter, on Instagram, on TikTok. Everywhere. Every major Black media outlet had reposted it. Black Twitter had lit up with hashtags like #EmmadEra, #ColemanLove, and #MrsEmmadIfYaNasty.

There was a video of Destiny crying in the audience with the caption: “Big Sister Destiny BEEN knew they were That Couple.”

Another of the bruhs howling in pride as Damion cut the ribbon: “Big Dog cut the ribbon like it was that Quesadilla at the probate.”

And one that had already passed half a million likes: a clip of Daisy saying “...the bruh to my red, if you know you know, and that’s on Coleman,” set to gospel organ chords with the caption: “Ain’t no law like Divine Nine law.”

They both laughed at that one.

“Oh my God, Damion,” Daisy wheezed. “Someone edited me saying ‘Mrs. Emmad if ya nasty’ over Janet Jackson’s beat!”

He leaned over her shoulder and cracked up. “Yo, they even tagged Janet.”

“I’m not ready,” Daisy snorted, scrolling again. “Oop—look. It’s being covered by Essence. And—baby—they just tagged us in a post from the NAACP main page. They shared our speech with the caption: ‘Black excellence, rooted in legacy, service, and love.’”

Damion went quiet.

She turned to look up at him, his face serious, eyes glossed.

“This… this is everything we talked about in freshman year,” he murmured. “You remember when we stayed up that night after that Poli Sci debate? Said we’d have a joint firm. Said we’d fight for our people, together.”

“I remember,” she said softly, cupping his face. “You wrote it in my planner. ‘Mrs. Daisy René Emmad, Esq. Partner, Future Supreme Court Justice, Lowkey Bully.’”

He smiled into her palm. “I meant it.”

She grinned, kissing his jaw, then his cheek. “I know.”

On the TV, a news anchor from a major D.C. affiliate broke in with the headline: “Howard Grads Launch Law Firm Backed by NAACP.” The B-roll was from earlier that day—Daisy laughing in her coat, Damion cutting the ribbon, Destiny cheering with Brandy in the background.

Then came the anchor’s words: “In a moment going viral across the country, Daisy René Emerson and Damion Rashaad Emmad—Howard graduates, Divine Nine members, and newly engaged couple—officially launched the Emmad Family Practice, a new Black-led legal firm backed by the NAACP. The couple plans to represent victims of racially-motivated violence and systemic injustice, starting with the recent case involving Emerson herself.”

Daisy’s face softened. She hadn’t heard it spoken like that yet—from someone else’s mouth. The case. Her case.

She curled deeper into Damion, her fingers slipping under the hem of his sweater.

“People are listening,” she whispered. “They’re finally listening.”

“They’re more than listening,” he murmured, resting his chin atop her head. “They’re watching. And rooting. And ready.”

She closed her eyes for a beat. “We have to keep showing up. Not just for the cameras or the buzz. But for them. For the folks who can’t afford big-name lawyers. For the ones who think nobody’s watching.”

He kissed her temple.

“Baby,” he whispered. “They watching now.”

They sat like that for a long while. The sun dipped lower. The office glowed amber in the waning light. Her hand never left his chest, his arms never loosened from her waist. And though the world outside was bursting with noise and celebration—inside this room, it was just love.

Legacy in motion.

Justice in real time.

And two Black hearts finally resting in the truth of what they had built—together.

#michael b jordan x black!oc #michael b jordan fanfiction #romance #x black oc #mature fic

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zee-nery · 5 months ago

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Eternal Love: Chapter I

Eternal love is the truest and the most purest form of love where there are problems but with solutions where there is love in any and all conditions where there is trust more than infinity where there is honesty and fear grave fear of losing one another.

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Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.2k

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My heart was hammering in my chest, I could feel the blood rush to my face as I scrambled away from the hoard of zombies behind me.

Turning corners, left and right, hoping to lose the undead that was undeniably gaining on me.

“Hey! Get in!” A voice hollered.

My head snapped in the direction of a man standing in front of an older building. Flicking between the man and the hoard, I decided to try my luck.

I didn’t waste a second scrambling through the doorway with the man shutting and bolting it after coming in himself. My breathing was uneven clutching the bag of supplies over my shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

I turned around to face him, his round doe eyes stared into mine.

“I’m okay… thank you”

He gave me a small smile, looking over into the corner of the room. I turned my gaze in the same direction to see another man standing in the room.

“Hi, my name is Jimin. Close call back there huh” he spoke with a slight smile.

“ Just a little” I gave a half-hearted smile back.

“What were you doing to get yourself in such a predicament” Jimin questioned.

“I was running low on basic supplies and well it’s just me so, no one else is gonna do it,” I said with an airy laugh.

“You’re alone?” The man from before asked.

I turned around to face him again, not realising how close our bodies were. His doe eyes stared right back into mine once again. I let out a slight cough and took a couple of steps back.

“Oh sorry, my name’s Jungkook. How rude of me” He offered me a warm smile.

“Eunji” I replied with a slight smile “just me, myself and I”

The tension in the room began to rise a little, and my eyes began to wonder looking everywhere but the two men.

“Well I best be off, thank you Jungkook, I’ll be sure to return the favour,” I said with a small smile “Jimin it was lovely to meet you both”.

I grabbed the straps over my shoulder and began to walk towards the back door.

“Wait” One spoke from behind me “Why don’t you join us”

My body froze and tensed slightly.

“Uh I’m not too sure”

“I’m sure the others wouldn’t mind”

I turned around slowly to meet his doe eyes once again.

“Others?” I questioned

“There’s seven of us in total, we’re staying in an abandoned barn not far from here,” Jungkook spoke lightly.

“I’m not too sure,” I said looking down at my feet “How do you know they’d want me there or need me even”

“They’re our brothers Eunji, They wouldn’t mind. Right, Jungkook?”

“I’m positive” Jungkook confirms.

“I mean I really don’t want to intrude,” I spoke with uncertainty in my voice.

“Don’t be silly, but we best get moving before sunset.”

I eventually agreed after some convincing, I mean I guess 7 heads are better than 1. To be completely honest I’m not too sure how I’ve made it this far on my own.

I walked alongside the pair no one spoke a word yet the atmosphere remained calm. I could tell we were reaching the barn they spoke about, slowly the scenery began to shift. Large buildings and various streets were replaced by trees and fields that looked like they went on forever.

“This way Eunji” Jimin guided.

I followed his lead walking down the path. Weeds had begun to grow through the gravel and parts of the pavement were cracking.

As the entrance of the barn grew closer I began to have second thoughts, this might not be such a good idea.

Jimin swung open the door and was tackled by a tall man.

“Jimin! I thought something had happened to you two you were gone for ages!”

Jimin let out a slight chuckle before entering with Jungkook behind him.

“We brought someone with us” Jimin chirped.

I slowly peeked my head from behind his back. 5 eyes staring right back at me.

I looked up at Jimin with uncertainty all over my face. Honestly, it’s a bit intimidating when you think of it. I’ve been alone for 9 months not speaking to any other humans let alone 7 men.

“Guys this is Eunji, please introduce yourselves” His warm hands took hold of my arm gently guiding me from behind Jimin's back.

“Hello, Eunji, my name’s Namjoon.” I looked up to meet him, he had a rather calm vibe to him. His eyes showed little to no emotion. I really couldn’t tell if he approved of my presence.

“Hello, I’m Jin” Another man spoke my gaze shifting to him instead.

It’s all quite overwhelming if you think about it and if I’m completely honest I don’t know how I feel about it all.

Introductions were quite simple they seemed approving enough except for one, however, Jimin told me to give him time. Seems he’s always been this way.

“Eunji there are 3 bedrooms each one has two beds inside. We each take turns doing patrol but you won’t be expected to tonight of course.” Namjoon spoke with authority. He must be the leader.

“Two on patrol at all times, you can share a room with Jungkook and Jimin. Feels right considering the circumstances.”

I tightened my grip on my bag, I mean it was obvious I was going to be sharing a room with someone but it still made me nervous.

“Would you like something to eat Eunji?” Jin asked his kind eyes finding mine.

“No thank you Jin” I said with a slight smile.

“Are you sure? We’re all about to have dinner” I assumed he was trying to convince me but I can only take so much from them and the bed is sounding more tempting than the food.

“Come on Eunji, I’ll show you to our room” Jungkook spoke holding his arm out towards me.

I gave Jin one last smile before following Jungkook towards the bedroom. The room was relatively small each bed separated one by the wall and the other next to a boarded-up window.

“Take your pick, I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight”

I looked up at him one of his hands wresting comfortingly against my back.

“You don’t have to do that, you’ve done enough for me I can take the sofa,” I said with a small smile.

“I can’t let you do that Eunji, please take the bed”

I sighed back at him contemplating before pulling him for a hug. He wrapped his arms around me resting his head on my head.

“Thank you” I whispered into his chest. I slowly pulled away from him avoiding eye contact.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” He asked concern laced in his words.

“I’m sure, thank you tho” I smiled lightly at him.

“If you’re sure,” he said returning the smile “get some rest if you change your mind don’t be afraid to say”

And with that, I was left alone in the room. Sighing I sat down on the bed, I better get some rest I suppose. I lay down on the cold bed wrapping my arms around myself before drifting off to sleep.

——————————

Preview - Masterlist - Chapter II

#bts #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #zombie #apocalypse

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neutron-stars-collision · 3 years ago

Text

Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 1 - Nocturnal Animals

Masterlist; Chapter 2

Summary: Desperate for a scoop (and a pay rise), you scout Gotham for anything of interest. When you cross paths with the mysterious Drifter, you decide to use the chance to spark up a fruitful cooperation.

Warnings: Swearing.

Author's Notes: ... Hi *waves*. Yes, that's a new series because it seems like Rob's characters tend to make themselves at home in my head. I wanted to develop Bruce a little more and this idea came to exist quite quickly. Reader is a journalist in need of a topic, Bruce is out on the streets... and the rest is history :))) Slow burn as always since that's my specialty (apparently).

I hope you'll enjoy this introduction and I'll greatly appreciate feedback!

The only pretty thing in Gotham during the fall was the way neon lights reflected in the puddles of the alleyways and street corners. The myriad of colours and slogans tinted the darkness with a sense of something bigger than the wet tarmac and slippery pavement slabs. Only, that light did not get everywhere, creating niches in the city’s fabric, where no ray of hope could ever permeate. That is where the crime skyrocketed, no matter the season. That is where scoop and intel were found. Conveniently.

Adjusting your hood for the umpteenth time, you frowned as another cold drop of rain slid inside your coat. In October, even waterproofing hardly did its job; especially one four years old and long past its prime. But it did not matter. Your eyes restlessly scanned the surroundings, mindful of anything that could be of interest. Because while murders in Gotham were hardly the breaking news type novelties, a serial killer on the loose, seemingly connected to the city’s elites, was quite the concept. A case to crack and the potential of a pay rise. Something you could not deny yourself, considering the tightness of the pockets and emptiness of the bank account. In short, you needed to find something worth writing about. Something worth covering by the GC1. Or else… No.

There was no time for that. Having made it to the docks, you stopped, hiding underneath the roof of an abandoned warehouse. The last victim had been found here, stabbed multiple times with an unidentified weapon. Potentially – a meat hook. Which did sound lovely, you had to admit. Having left the apartment that evening, you were led with the idea that maybe back at the crime scene, you could discover crucial evidence everyone had missed. Now, drenched, tired and disheartened, you realised how wrong you were. There was nothing left aside from the rain, the murky water by the docks and the foul stench of trash and urine. The police had cleared everything.

With a resigned sigh, you took a quick round of the area, taking photos with your phone. Apart from a few unidentified objects lying on the ground and rusty spots you could hope was the residual blood, there was nothing.

“Fuck,” a soft curse escaped your pursed lips, ringing out in the quiet alleyway.

Finding absolutely nothing meant another stressful debrief in the morning. And you have had enough of those already. With the mind half-focused on the idea of heading back home and drowning the sorrows in a glass of cheap red wine, the unmistakable roar of the chopper pierced the ambience and made you look up.

At the sky first, using the instinct whole of Gotham had acquired throughout the last few months. Because once the signal had been lit no one could rest easy, watching the shadows with anticipation of what came next. But tonight, the light was off. The masked vigilante, the Bat-Man, Vengeance… there’s been many names and even more theories about his identity. No one knew when he appeared or when he left the scene. Having heard rumours, you held your breath until the black motorcycle appeared on the horizon. It was not him. Or at least it did not look like it was.

Your target parked the vehicle on the opposite end of the warehouse spaces. You observed, hidden in the shadows, as the man took off the black helmet and stood up, quickly pulling up a black hood over the head. He was moving with purpose, throwing a non-descript backpack over his shoulder and heading towards the abandoned building. With curiosity, you watched as he kicked open the chained door and disappeared inside with the clank of metal. Now that was a way of investigating you had not thought of yet…

For a moment, you wanted to follow him, to satisfy the curiosity as fast as possible and (hopefully) get some answers. But then reason kicked in, with yet another sigh, you backed into the shadows, waiting for the stranger to return. After all, no one sane would leave a motorcycle like that unattended for too long. Once he appeared fifteen minutes later, you were ready. Keeping away from the light, you skirted around the area and approached him without making a sound. A handy chat-up line on the tip of your tongue:

“Visiting the crime scene, are we?” once the man looked up at you with surprise evident in the abruptness of his reaction, you grinned.

Even with the flickering streetlights, it was hard to make out his features. You could see sharp edges of the jawline, slightly crooked nose and wide eyes, their intense stare intriguing.

“Who are you?” his voice was hoarse as though he was not used to speaking.

The sharp edge to the vowels told you the stranger was not easily intimidated. Yet your appearance was unexpected. His lips were pursed as he stiffened, clearly bracing himself against what would come next.

Perhaps he was the case you could crack…

“I could ask the same question, Mr…?” leaving out the opening, you waited for a beat before adding in a faux disappointed tone, “I see. Well, I can’t blame you for snooping around this case is quite the sensation” making sure to drop the bait, you watched him closely.

There was no apparent reaction. The man threw a nervous look towards the alley’s exit and then glanced back at you. As your eyes adjusted to the half-light, you could see more of his face. The chiselled features and fascinating eyes drew you in despite caution. Yet you still did not know who it could be. He did not look like your usual thug or a drophead, and you would bet he was not one of the Falcone’s. So… who?

“What do you mean?” your internal ruminations got cut short with a simple question.

The enticement worked. Pasting on a mysterious half-smile, you stepped closer to the stranger and lowered your tone to a confidential whisper:

“The usual… Corruption, Gotham’s finest… perhaps some revenge to trigger it all and… boom” with pleasure you noticed that the man seemed transfixed on your story “Here we are. I wonder who’s next” it was a simple deal, two people wanting something out of the conversation.

A game you were willing to play. Even if to understand more about the case and the mysterious drifter. Something shifted in his eyes, acceptance replacing the previous uncertainty. An agreement had been reached without either of you laying out the terms. Feeling an inexplicable rush of adrenaline, you awaited the question as the man thought hard. Once he looked up again, you allowed yourself to stare at him intently as he asked:

“Do you think the killer is after the people in power?” the innocence in his voice made you throw a cheeky grin to the mix.

For whatever reason, you felt like extending the conversation if he was willing. The rain and damp clothes faded into the background as you eyed him closely, thinking on the next move:

“Sure looks like it. You’ve been mapping the area from the roof, weren’t you?” it was the obvious conclusion, so you decided to run with it, “Found anything good?”

The more you observed him, the less everything made sense. The dark streetwear, muddied motorcycle, and how he moved, like a fighter, a nocturnal animal. Yet he did not seem dangerous like a criminal. Before you could run on with the ideas, the man replied:

“I’m not sure” the hint of caution made you frown.

‘Not sure’ wasn’t an applicable answer. Ignoring the pang of disappointment, you bated your eyelashes once your gazes locked and chose to voice the let-down:

“That’s a shame, I could do with some scoop” slight reveal of the identity in hopes he would follow.

But it was for nothing.

“You’re a journalist” it was his turn to measure you coolly.

Mindless of the interest burning bright, you raised an eyebrow, mirroring his judging stance with an aura of theatricality:

“That wasn’t a question,” another telling stretch of silence, making you add with the familiar tinge of bitterness “Yes, one of the hyenas, as some say” the cold had caught up, making you shiver and helping to make up your mind “Well if you don’t want to help me, I better get going” you sized him up one last time, the traitorous part of your brain hoping you could meet again.

Why? Because if there was anything you loved more than a good scoop, it was a mystery. A puzzle to crack. Something to motivate and drive you forward. He was an enigma you wanted to decode. With a parting shrug, you moved to turn away just as he spoke up:

“You shouldn’t be wandering out alone at this hour. It’s dangerous” oh.

That was new. A personal touch to an exchange of information between strangers. Turning towards him again, you noticed with a surprise that he reached up to remove the hood. As the streetlight hit his unobscured face, you tried hard to look away yet found yourself unable to. There was something hauntingly beautiful in the blue of his eyes and the tightly set jaw. Pain written onto the features that could not be wiped off with a mere smile.

But one could try. You scoffed, choosing to armour yourself in humour to deny the maelstrom in your head:

“And the sky’s blue” the repartee waiting for a punchline you delivered while looking the man point-blank “Or black,”

It could have been an illusion (or wishful thinking), but his lips twisted in the faintest of the smiles. There was no time to verify it. In a flash, he was putting on the helmet and turning the engine on, disappearing with a spray of water from the puddles.

Alone again, you grinned. There might’ve been no intel, but there was something else found tonight. A different sort of mystery.

***

Closing your umbrella with a groan, you pushed open the door leading to GC1 headquarters. The complaint was always the same – how come a leading tv channel in Gotham doesn’t even have an automatic set of doors? Funding cuts apparently.

It has not stopped raining since last night, puddles deepened, and the mood grew dense as the city descended into yet another circle of seasonal depression. As with most things, even that was extreme here, making an ordinary citizen keen to commit murder if it meant having one cloudy day without rain. Sometimes you did consider doing just that. And today was not any different. Your steps grew heavy as you neared the office, your mind unable to focus on anything that was not him. The stranger. It made no sense. But he was there every time you closed your eyes, every second you drifted away from reality. As though in a dream, you passed through the familiar maze of cubicles, knowing the path to your desk by heart. Only once you reached the spot, falling into the chair with a groan, you did acknowledge the surroundings. Sophie, an acquittance of convenience occupied the cubicle next to yours, her keyboard clicking with aggression. A scowl on her face. With curiosity, you peeked over her shoulder, an innocent question accompanying the movement:

“What are you working on?” noticing a fat pile of newspaper clippings on her desk, you frowned.

With so many current affairs and scandalous murders, barely any attention had been given to the past. Yet it seemed like that was precisely what Sophie had been assigned. She acknowledged your appearance with a nod before flipping through a couple of pages without attention:

“A column about Wayne. I know, I know, the man’s a cryptid, but-” she waved a hand dismissively as you cut right into the sentence, unable to keep the surprise from your voice.

“What? The Wayne?” the intonation that once used to make you laugh, now commonplace in your dictionary.

Because, yes, theWayne was a cryptid. And yes, writing about him was a task nearly impossible given he appeared in public once a few years.

Ignoring your paralysis, Sophie threw you a sceptical glare and picked up one of the clippings, putting the newspaper directly in the line of your eyes.

“Yeah. The boss said it’s been long since-”

As soon as your gaze landed on the black-and-white photograph on the page, everything faded into the background. He did not look the same when wearing a crisp white shirt and a tailored suit, but there were no doubts left in your mind. Even if it made no sense whatsoever. Mindless of Sophie’s protests, you tore the page out of her hand to examine the photo closely. Same features, same dark hair, same eyes. But-

“That’s Bruce Wayne?” your hand shook as you set the clipping back on her desk, aware of the waver in your voice.

“Yes, why- You look like you’ve seen a ghost” Sophie fixed her curious eyes on you, noticing how blood drained from your cheeks.

Without giving it too much thought, you got up from the chair and picked up the bag you had just set on the desk. There was only one thing you needed to do. Everything else be damned.

“I did” grinning at her puzzled look, you waved your hand, “Bye, gotta go” without waiting for an answer, you set upon the journey back through the maze.

Work had to wait. The blue eyes flashed before yours as you took out the phone and checked the next train that would take you to the Wayne Tower.

***

The initial bravado wore off when you approached the tower, gaze landing on the massive steps with apprehension. At the very top, you could see the heavy wooden doors with a brass knocker and a more modern doorbell button with a golden plaque above. As though massive letters on the top of the building weren’t enough. You took a deep breath as you eyed the fortress, unable to concoct a plan that had any chances of working out. Because another thing everyone knew about Bruce Wayne was that he never allowed any visitors. And yet you also knew that you could not give up, having joined the dots. A final long inhale. Let’s wing it. What could go wrong, eh?

As you reached the set of doors on top of the staircase (and rolled your eyes at the said plaque), you plastered on a confident smile on your lips and pressed the doorbell button. The ringing pierced the silence, making you involuntarily flinch. Maybe it’s a mistake? The doubts descended over your mind as your feet started itching, legs shuffling to fulfil the fleeing instinct best they could. With half the brain already eager to bolt, you barely registered when the door creaked open. In the newly created gap, stood an older woman in a weirdly old-school maid uniform. She eyed you closely, never losing the pleasant smile that seemed fixed to her face.

“Good morning, Miss” her smile widened as she asked the innocent question, “What brings you here?”

A good one, you had to admit. Stifling the increasing uncertainty, you beamed back, rushing out the words one after another:

“Hi… I, um- I’m here to see Mr Wayne” your tongue stumbled over the surname, unused to the sound.

Never in a million years, you would have expected it to happen. And yet there you were.

“Have you got an appointment?” her smile faltered as she increased the scrutiny, hand tightening on the handle, ready to slam the door in your face.

Only one way out of it.

“No… But he’ll know who I am” hopefully “Think he’ll be happy to see me, actually” an addition to charm the woman into letting you in.

The logical part of your brain knew that he would not be happy. Quite the contrary, probably. But that did not change the needs. So, you strengthened your back and took an experimental step forward as though already confident of the outcome.

“I’m not sure-” she hesitated, the pleasant smile nowhere to be seen anymore.

C’mon. Another step towards the door, one hand reaching out to touch the wooden surface. A likeable face expression put on like a mask. Seeing a shadow of conflict pass through her face, you added:

“Please?” the puppy eyes that had earned you a few ins when it seemed absolutely beyond the realm of possibility right on hand.

Before you had to search the arsenal for more weapons, the woman replaced the uncertainty with a weaker version of the lovely smile as she took a step back from the doorway.

“Oh, all right” she opened the doors wider for you.

A passing desire to hug the woman had to be abandoned for now.

“Thank you” instead, you gave her the brightest grin available and took the liberty of having a look around the hallway.

The interior did fit the expectations with stone pillars, a wide mahogany staircase and hand-embroidered carpets laying on the floors. But it was evident everything had long expired from its glory days. Upon closer examination, you noticed the chinks in the balustrade and the old stains on the carpet. Mr Wayne did not care much for his family’s legacy. But then, you knew better than anyone that material objects did hardly matter when contrasted with life’s tragedies.

“Here, Miss,” your thoughts had been interrupted with the woman showing you an entrance to a vintage elevator, “Mr Wayne is upstairs in the study,” she added as you stepped into the cabin.

She shut the metal crate and pressed one of the buttons on top of the list. The elevator creaked to life and began a slow ascent with the accompaniment of metallic clutter. With curiosity, you studied the floor plan, noticing how only the upmost levers seemed to be in use, for the buttons were worn out from the regular touch. The elevator could also go below the ground floor, but the levels lacked numeration, adding to the interest and occupying your mind with possibilities until the cabin came to a standstill with a groan.

Your stomach was tied in a knot before you even stepped out of the elevator. And for a good reason, as you soon understood. There was barely time to register the surroundings as your eyes got drawn to the gothic arches and large windows showing the cityscape of Gotham laid out beneath the tower.

“Dory, who is this?” the familiar voice rang out from the side, making you whip around in a flash.

Two discoveries: the woman’s name is Dory, and Bruce Wayne doesn’t enjoy having surprise guests.

You did not dare wait for her to introduce you, instead took a step closer to the man and grinned with the simplest of questions:

“Remember me?”

Sure, hope he does. Using his moment of hesitation, you let your eyes wander over Bruce, immediately noticing the dark circles underneath the bloodshot eyes and scarred forearms, revealed by the old, oversized t-shirt. He was not the man you saw in the newspaper photograph an hour ago. It was the stranger you talked to the previous night. Seeing the flash of recognition in the blue eyes made you release a shuddered breath.

“I didn’t think you’d remember me” Bruce shot you a glance before motioning for Dory to leave the room.

He seemed much less confident without the veil of anonymity and darkness, protecting him from knowing stares and judgement. The awkward movement and slouching posture nothing like the man you met less than 24 hours beforehand. But it was the assumption that got you, emitting an honest scoff you did not bother hiding.

“Oh, come on… How could I not?” you stared him down with disbelief, the head still soaking up the reality of the situation and recalibrating to fit the new needs.

With a start, you noticed a flash of surprise in his eyes before he turned away, staring at the cityscape. The wall had been put up, and there would be no more peeking. For now.

“What do you want?” Bruce’s back tensed as he asked the question, apprehension and frigidity filling every syllable.

Immediately you understood what it was – a public persona, the Bruce Wayne everyone thought he was. Cold, rich, and distant. Only, you knew that was not the whole picture. The memory of his faint smile from the previous night flashed before your eyes as you offered him a one-word response:

“Information” that simple.

You were not sure what that came from or why it became the reason for your rash decision to visit him. But it seemed to make sense. And that was better than giving up.

Because forgetting didn’t sound like a viable option.

“Isn’t that your area of expertise?” the sharp edge in his voice was accompanied by a side glance full of disregard.

As though he wanted you to surrender and leave him alone. Little did he know of stubbornness and persistence… Using the room as your stage, you quickly closed the distance to Bruce and placed yourself in the line of his sight to accentuate that he would have to listen. A sweet, knowing smile on your lips:

“It seems like it’s yours too,” you threw the remark, pushing onwards before he could think of a rebuttal, “Never in a million years I would have guessed it. The prince of Gotham scouting the streets at night and investigating the crimes. And yet” with interest you observed as his confidence wavered and he dropped the gaze to stare at the floor.

You had lied out the issues perfectly. Now was the time to reveal the terms. But before you got that far Bruce raised his head and began:

“If you want money-” the contempt in his voice did strike a chord, making you frown and drop the act for a split second.

Karma for negotiations with the rich bastards, huh? For a moment, you wanted to scoff and tell him where he can put that money in the plainest of terms. However, you still needed him to agree and cooperate. So, instead, you offered him a warning glare and replied in a measured tone:

“Don’t be a jerk, Mr Wayne. I just think it’s no coincidence we’ve stumbled upon each other, and we could use it to our advantage” noticing the glimmer of curiosity in the blue eyes, you allowed yourself another step closer, resting your hands on the back of a dark wooden chair “Here’s what I suggest: you’ll let me work with you, we’ll share the intel and whatever tips we get our hands on” it probably sounded better than it could function.

To hell with reason. There was that rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins again. Making everything brighter and sharper. Because if it worked out… You did not dare hope that it could. To keep your hands from shaking, you gripped the wooden frame tighter, awaiting the response.

“What will I get from this?” this time, Bruce’s voice was devoid of spite.

In its place, you detected genuine interest and determination. Although it was difficult to admit, you were not that different. Each driven by their own needs and ambitions, desperate to make it work, no matter the cost. Alone.

Your mind got stuck on that word, making your mouth follow its logic by saying:

“A friend?” warily, you met his gaze over the table; his walls were up yet you could still see a shadow of recognition “And a promise that I won’t pry into whatever it is that you’re doing. I won’t write anything about you or our cooperation. It’s going to be our secret” concluding the pledge breathlessly, you knew the earnestness could not be hidden from your eyes.

It was there, making your heartbeat speed up and your hands shake. You never believed in destiny or fate, yet somehow, everything that happened since last night felt like it could be one of those. Like a plan devised by someone else in charge. An opportunity you did not dare let go of easily.

“All that for information exchange?” Bruce’s question caught you by surprise as he added, eyeing you closely, “You must be desperate,”

It was his time for scrutiny, a chance to take apart the protective armour and see what you were made of. You met his inquisitive gaze, showing a degree of loneliness in your eyes and the extent of dedication. Just so he understood. And then you shrugged, letting a genuine smile bloom on your lips:

“Aren’t we both?” not expecting an answer, you allowed yourself a longer look at his face before throwing the conversation off its profound grounds “Listen… It’s not like I’m trying to bribe you into a marriage of convenience or other such bullshit” on its own accord, the thought entered your mind.

Marriage of convenience? Now that was an idea you’d rather not delve into. Where the hell did that come from? Sure, he was not a dapper gentleman you always expected him to be, but he certainly was not ugly either. Stop. Ignoring the urge to shake your head and stop the ridiculous train of thought, you found a distraction in the subject of the mess.

There it was again, the not-quite-smile from the previous night. As soon as you spotted it you grinned, feeling an inexplicable sense of triumph deep within your heart. Because it did seem like he was capable of smiling, and that discovery alone felt like a victory.

“I’m glad” Bruce rolled his eyes, evidently trying to distract you from the observation.

He still had a lot to learn.

“Me too, sweetheart” your smile widened as he visibly froze at the nickname, “So… what’s the verdict?” there was no point in dancing around the subject.

You relaxed the pose, making it seem like you did not care, all the while holding in a breath and feeling the pulse speed up in the veins. Everything depended upon it. Or it seemed like it did. Bruce met your gaze warily, conflict visible despite the veil in how he had caught the bottom lip between the teeth, worrying the fragile skin. Despite yourself, you glanced at his mouth, feeling the warmth spread over your cheeks because of the act of looking alone. It had been too long.

You mentally slapped sense into your brain exactly when Bruce broke the silence:

“Fine,” he spared a final look at you before wandering off to gaze out of the windows.

A clear signal. Despite the cold response, you grinned, unable to process the feelings filling every corner of your mind. You would make the best out of the situation. You had to.

“Great,” letting the quip slip, you added, “I’ll talk to my sources about the docks’ case, and I shall be back” there was a promise in the sentence that you could not deny yourself.

Even when knowing that it was only you that felt excitement at the prospect.

“Fantastic,” Bruce sighed heavily, for once not hiding the myriad of feelings aroused by your suggestion.

He still had his back turned to you, expecting your imminent exit. You did not want to disappoint, so one last, selfish look had to do. Your eyes slipped over his form, the broad shoulders and the worn out clothes, looking out of place in the grand study. And yet all of it was his, the master of the house personified. A mystery to crack.

You could not deny yourself the pleasure as you turned towards the lift, aware you could not even see his reaction. It did not matter.

“Don’t worry, you’re gonna love it, darling” glee made your heart summersault as you stepped into the cabin with a final remark, “I’ll let myself out,”

For once, the rain outside did not matter.

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lostinanothersmemories · 3 years ago

Note

darlin and “let me go” for the intense vine thing

Oh no… :(

Warnings: major character death, mentions of blood

Vampires aren’t very warm, they don’t need it either. Sam’s never needed the warm blankets even when he was alive. He ignores how cold they are. Pulls them closer as he wakes from dreamless sleep. “Mornin’ darlin,” he tries to stir them opening his eyes to find them already looking at him. “Cold morning isn’t it? I should make you some coffee. Maybe in a bit though, I just want to lay with you.” He rests his chin on their head leaving no gaps between their bodies. “You know it’s a bit rude to not respond.”

“Am I supposed to play along Sam?”

He pulls away just enough to look in their eyes, “You aren’t making much sense.” They only nod. When he gets up and makes them a cup of coffee he doesn’t hear footsteps approaching when he turns and finds them sitting on the counter. Looking at him again. He offers the cup but their hands stay folded in their lap, so he resigns to set it beside them. “Frederick was gonna make his way out today. Bright was still on the fence about going.”

“Going where Sam?”

He turns to the stove, “I should make some food I know you can’t feed yourself without me. Wouldn’t want you to get hungry.” He starts on the food breaking eggs with practiced ease moving across the floor with grace. Singing to the soft country song playing from his cracked phone. Neither remember when it was picked up from the concrete. The cautious knocking at the door comes and goes without a response. Until theirs a wiggling of the door knob pushed open by the prince of the Solaires. Vincent steps in backing away from the kitchen when he looks at it. “Sam?” He looks up from the plate he’s carefully organizing the food on, “When did you get in here? You shouldn’t be here. They-they don’t want to see people.” Looking around he panics without the sight of them sitting on the counter, instead seeing plates upon plates of food going bad after being made. “Go away you are make them leave get out!” He’s pushing his friend out the door before he can get a word in. When he takes a breath and turns around life returns as normal. The finished dish is placed in the sink and will be cleaned later.

“Vincent seemed like he had something he wanted to say.”

He swings around at their voice leaning against the wall looking at him but so close to the door. With a sigh he goes closer locking the door, “Wasn’t important.” He looks down only to find them gone again when he looks up. Going deeper within his home he finds them watching him from the couch and he lets out a breath of relief. “You can’t scare me like that.” They follow him as he walks around the couch sitting beside them to take their hand. He doesn’t pay attention to the knock at the door but for the first time they look away. He flinches with the sight, eyes shut cold on hard pavement blood too much blood blood everywhere the healing isn’t doing anything the healing has to do something. He sees their eyes again as they look back at him.

“You should go with them.”

He already shakes his head, “I belong here with you.”

“I’m not here Sam”

He blinks away the tears forming in his eyes, “Of course you are. Right here with me.”

“David would be comforted by you being there.”

He pushes off the couch walking away, “I’m staying here with you. I’m not-I’m not leaving you.” Passing them as they stand in the door way of the bedroom, passing them as they sit on the counter of the kitchen. Freezing when he sees them leaning against the front door.

“You have to let me go Sam.”

His eyes flicker from them to the doorknob then immediately fall to the ground, right before his knees follow the route. Kneeling on the ground before them. “You know it’s not your fault.” They follow his lead kneeling in front of him with the first smile he’s seen from them since-. “You could write English papers on my fatal flaw. Always so eager to handle it myself.” They tuck a strand of his overgrown hair behind his ear. “Just don’t follow my lead. Promise me. Promise me Sam, you won’t force yourself to feel alone.”

“I promise.”

They tilt his head up with no strength behind those fingers. “There’s my good boy.” They glance back to the door and he flinches again. Rising to their feet they reach for the door handle but freeze looking back. “You made me happy Sam Collins,” without looking they unlock the door once more. He watches them leave, he watches them leave less bloody then they did the first time.

He dresses how he knew they would like, well but comfortable. In black but a flower in his hair their favorite from Freddy’s garden. Two young but growing vampires by his side. He takes the offer when David asks if he wants to go with their stone alone. He doesn’t talk to them. Rests his hand on the rough rock and rereads the name he rarely called them. Forces himself to read the last date. And places the flower atop.

#redacted asmr

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honeydarlings · 4 years ago

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Can you please write a one shot about yandere!All Might in his hero form stalking the reader (knows their schedule, habits, etc.) and in his mind, he’s just protecting them? Then later on, he notices the reader isn’t back home at their usual time and finds them hurt after being mugged in an alley way. Perhaps he takes them back to his place to fix up their wounds and when they want to leave, he won’t let them since he’s overprotective.

First request !!! I hope you like it !!

I'm Doing this for You

TW || Stalking, kidnapping, manipulation, drugging, gore and violence.

7:30pm, you walked through the front door to your apartment. Right on time, as always. Whenever you got home after work you would tie your hair back just to get it out of your face as you started cooking dinner. All Might loved the way you looked with your hair back, he got to see more of you. He sat atop a building right across from your apartment window with a pair of binoculars. Everyday he watched you. He would watch you wake up, take the train to work, eat lunch, return home. Almost everywhere you went he was watching. “7:45, you always turn on the radio.” The hero mumbled to himself as you turned on the small radio sitting on your kitchen counter. He smiled, happy to know your every move. At first he was unsure about following you, worried he would be found out by you or another hero. But then he realized he was doing this for your sake, to protect you. It’s a dangerous world out there, especially for someone as delicate as you. As 8:15 rolled around so did your dinnertime, you sat down on the couch and turned on the TV. “True crime.”He muttered. True crime indeed, you turned on one of your favorite true crime shows as you began to eat. Suddenly All Might’s phone buzzed, startling him a bit. “All Might we have a situation downtown, we need you here” The text read. “Damn.” All Might huffed, couldn’t it wait until after you went to bed, so he knew you were safe?. Another text came through, “It’s urgent.” He scowled and got to his feet, leaping off, leaving you all alone.

8am. He barely made it, watching you wake up was one of All Might’s favorite things. Your messy hair and groggy face. You were so damn adorable, he couldn’t help but smile. Everything you did was absolute perfection to him and he wanted nothing more than to stay by your side and keep you safe. You departed for work, walking to the train station. All Might following close behind, leaping from building to building. He made sure that you safely boarded the train before going off to do hero work. After all, even though it tore him up, he couldn’t watch you all day, he was still a hero.

By the end of the day, All Might was exhausted but he still rushed to get to your window to watch you come home. 7:30, on the dot. He sat, staring at your front door. It didn’t open. He felt a pit form in his stomach. “Maybe they’re running a little late.” He reassured himself, trying to stay calm. He waited five more minutes, still no sign of you. The panic had now settled in, All Might quickly stood and raced to find you. He followed your exact route to the train station, you weren’t there. He scrambled to the small library where you worked and peered through each window, you were nowhere to be found. He quickly made his way to the train station, checking every shop. He had never felt like this before, he had never been this panicked fighting villains or saving others. He reached the alleyway you always cut through and was met with a sickening display.

You were sprawled onto the pavement, covered in bruises and blood. Soft whimpers escaping your lips. A tall lanky figure stared down at you with a led pipe in their hand, your bag in his other. “What the hell is going on here.” All Might boomed, trying to maintain his composure. The figure looked up at All Might with fear and then took off in a sprint, dropping the led pipe but still holding your bag. “Bastard.” All Might growled, chasing after him. It didn’t take long to catch up to the criminal, seeing as All Might was much faster and could cover more ground. He grabbed the thief’s shoulder and pulled him downwards onto the pavement. He landed on his back, knocking the wind out of him. All Might made sure that he was out of your sight, then picked the man up by his head, gripping it tightly. He started to squeeze. The man screamed, clutching All Might’s massive hand trying to pry it off. “You are lower than scum.” All Might snarled as his hold tightened. A crack rang out through the alley. Blood started pooling out of the man's eyes, nose and mouth as All Might continued to squeeze. Another loud crack followed by silence as the criminal's body went limp. Blood and teeth were splattered onto the ground as the man’s corpse hit the pavement. The blonde hero shook drops of blood off his hand then wiped the rest off on the corpse's jacket.

All Might returned to you, your bag in hand. “Are you alright?” He asked softly. You slowly shook your head, unable to get any words out. “Please, let me take you back to my home, I can patch you up and keep you safe.” He gently wiped your tears from your cheeks as you nodded. He smiled and picked you up bridal style. “You don’t have to tell me what happened yet, we can wait until you’re all fixed.” You nodded again, clutching his chest. Once the two of you reached his house was when you managed to speak up. “Thank you, All Might.” You said in an almost whisper. The hero’s stomach fluttered, you were so damn cute! “Of course, anything to keep you safe.”

He walked you through his massive mansion, up the stairs and into his bedroom. He set you down gently onto his large bed. The sheets against your bruised skin was like heaven, you’ve never laid on anything softer. “Wait here while I get my medical supplies and something to drink, I shouldn’t be long.” All Might said as he exited the room. You laid in silence, still trying to process everything that had happened. You were mugged, some creep attacked you with a led pipe and took your bag. Good thing All Might showed up when he did, if he was even second later you could have been killed. The thought made you shudder. You looked around his large bedroom which was surprisingly empty. Nothing except a bed, dresser and a TV mounted on the wall. You were still trying to process the fact that you were inside the number one hero’s home. Does he give treatment like this to all civilians he finds injured? Your thoughts were interrupted by All Might entering the room holding a tray with painkillers, bandages, tissues and a tall glass of water. He set the tray down and grabbed the tissues. He lightly brushed the soft paper against the semi dried blood that gushed out of your nose earlier. “Is it broken?” You asked. “No, but pretty close. You’re lucky I showed up.” He said. He sounded stern and a little bit angry. “Here, take these. I’m sure those bruises are hurting.” He said handing you three small pills and a cup of water. Without hesitation you swallowed the pills with a big sip of water. All Might continued to work in silence as he bandaged your hand, suspecting it to be sprained, and cleaning out the scrapes that covered your hands and knees. As he worked you started to feel dizzy. All Might noticed as your wrist went limp in his hand. “Feeling sleepy, y/n?” He asked. “H-how do you know my name.” Your speech was slurred as your body relaxed into his bed. He brought his hand up to your face and caressed your cheek. “Y/n, sweetheart. That’s not important right now. You should rest. I’ll finish patching you up.” Suddenly all the worry you just felt went away as you drifted off. “You’ll be safe here, y/n. Safe with me.” All Might whispered as he gently kissed your forehead. “I’ll be back in about an hour, my dear.” He stood and planted a kiss on your limp hand. He picked up your bag and fished out your keys. He sighed and shrunk down to his small form, leaving his house and catching a taxi.

The blonde hero stood outside your apartment fiddling with your keys, trying to find the one that fit into the keyhole. “Bingo.” He muttered with a smile as a silver key slid in perfectly, unlocking your door. He stepped into the darkened room and inhaled. He couldn’t believe it, he was in your house! It smelled just like you. He rushed to your bedroom excitedly. He stepped inside and grinned. The whole room just screamed “you”. Even your bedsheets reflected you. All Might grabbed a suitcase laying on the floor and began to pack things for you, inspecting every single one. He smelled every shirt and sweater. After a few minutes he closed the suitcase and was about to head to the bathroom to pack more but then he noticed something on the top shelf of your closet. It took no effort for him to grab it, seeing as he was still massive, even in his small form. A small All Might plushie, a soft shade of pink dusted his face as he held the stuffed toy. You were his fan. He toyed with it before gently placing it in the suitcase. He then made his way to the bathroom grabbing your toothbrush and toothpaste placing them in a plastic bag and then inside the suitcase. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. 9:01. “Shit! They’ll be waking up soon!” He rushed out of your front door, quickly locking it behind him. Once he reached the street he changed back into his muscle form to get to you quicker.

You slowly opened your eyes. You were still in All Might’s house. Why would he keep you here for so long? Footsteps quickly approached the bedroom. You groaned and sat up, still groggy. All Might burst through the door. “Ah you’re up! How did you sleep? Feel better?” He questioned as he rushed to get by your side. “I slept well, and I’m feeling a lot better, thank you.” You smiled. “I should probably start heading home soon though. It’s really late already and I have to work tomorrow.” You swung your legs off the side of the bed and tried to stand. All Might jumped in front, knocking you back onto the bed. “I can’t let you do that, y/n.” You stared up at him, wide-eyed. A pit formed in your stomach. “What the hell do you mean?” You shouted, instantly regretting when you did. “I can’t let you leave. It’s way too dangerous for you out there. I’m the only one who can keep you safe.” You tried to stand again only causing All Might to push you back down. “Please listen to me y/n. I’m doing this to protect you!” You were too scared to move anymore. “Wh-MPH!” All Might pressed his thumb over your lips, shutting you up. “The only place that you’ll be safe is here, with me.” Tears stung the corners of your eyes. He pulled his thumb away, letting you speak. “You’re scaring me.” You whispered. All Might’s face fell. He was scaring you? “Darling, I’m so sorry. I just want to keep you safe! Isn’t that what you want? To be safe? To be with me? I planned everything out! Here, I’ll show you!” He ran out of the bedroom only to return with your suitcase in hand. “I packed all your clothes and I even brought your All Might plush!” He held up the small toy, smiling wide. You started sobbing. “I want to go home. Please just take me home.” You choked. “Darling. I don’t think you’re in the right headspace right now. You’re still a bit woozy from the sleeping pills. You can’t possibly be thinking straight right now. How about you sleep on it again and then we’ll discuss this again in the morning?” He picked your legs up and placed them back on the bed, pulling the soft sheets over top. You were frozen with fear. He kidnapped you. He drugged you. “You’re a monster.” You whispered as he placed a kiss on your forehead. “It might seem that way right now darling but, in time, you’ll see that I’m doing all this for you. We’ll speak more about this tomorrow.” He smiled and left the bedroom, locking you inside. He had you now. And he would never let you go.

(This was so fun !!! Feel free to request as much as you like while they’re open !!)

#all might x reader #yandere all might #yandere x reader #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia #yandere x darling #yandere all might x reader #yandere toshinori yagi

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