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blacklesbothatlovestowrite · 10 months ago

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Familiar Pt. 2

CHAPTER SONG: Good Pussy Problems - Jada Kingdom

Tag list: @lppriceisright @callmewifey @briacreations96 @ilovelulu @doramilaj233 @littlebizcuit @ziayamikaelson @andibecamethestars @6-noir @s0lam33y @briacreations96 blacknthick7

"Jay, betta yuh did put seh yuh waan ah fiftee percent fih yuh royalties dem." (Better you did put that you want fifty percent of your royalties) Dom ran his fingers over his face, you'd both been in his living room going over the proposed contract N'Jadaka's assistant had sent.

"Mi know weh mi ah do. If mi tek a bigga cut dem nah guh waan me fih own mi masters dem." (I know what I am doing, If I take a bigger cut they won't want me to own my masters) You respond.

"Jah, yuh really ah guh tek twenty five percent fih now doh?" (You're really going to take twenty five percent for now though?) Dom hisses his teeth and you shake your head.

"Yes, Domingo." You roll your eyes, sighing in frustration. He couldn't see the bigger picture. If I owned my masters, later on I could sell my catalog for way more. "Mi haav mi yiy dem pon eh goal. Mi know weh mi ah guh do." (I have my eyes on the goal, I know what I'm going to do.)

"Wah bout yer name and merch rights?" (What about your name and merch rights) He asks, raising a brow. "It seh dem waan gi yuh twenty percent wah di rassclaat kinda deal is dat?" (It says they want to give you twenty percent what the fuck kind of deal is that?)

"I'd own my name, and be able to get 40% of the tour profits." You explain. Owning your masters and your name was the way to make money. You could get brand deals that were 100% all yours by owning your name and as far as your master's, you could sell your catalog to the highest bidder later on.

"Ah. Is yer money, mi nah guh three meds it." (It's your money, I'm not going to stress about it.) He says, handing you back your iPad.

You finished all your adjustments before sending the email back. You'd spent the two days given to read over every fine print before adding that You'd own your masters and name. You were smart, your grandma raised you. She taught you about looking out for yourself and your little brother. She'd taught you about hoe ruthless and wicked people could be over money.

You'd come from nothing and did everything you could to ensure you never were in that position again financially. You still had a long way to go before you were happy with your finances but for now you were comfortable.

"Mi ah come guh mi yaad." (I'm going to my house) You say, hugging Dom before grabbing your stuff and heading out.

"The sound already has 15,000 videos under it." Shuri says, as you gather your things. You'd just signed to their label, after they'd agreed with your terms for the contract.

ShuriUuu and 983,201 others liked.

UdakuRecords Welcome @Twinkle to the Udaku Family <3

RiriWi Real music, Real Girl #IDG1F

ShuriUuu They're not ready for you yet #idg1f

NjadakaU Pretty girl love money #idg1f

RamondaUdaku Welcome to the Family, can't wait to meet you.

DestinYyy How cute

The label posted a picture with you in the studio today, doing vocals for the track. The picture had went viral, several blogs and news stations picked up the story of you signing onto Udaku Records. N'Jadaka had you scheduled to do several interviews that would be released Thursday in time for the songs drop on Friday. It was Monday.

Tomorrow, and Wednesday was going to be packed. You had the interviews, and a photoshoot that all needed to be up by Thursday. They planned to break the internet Thursday before dropping your song.

So far the song was on Tiktok, Instagram reels and Youtube shorts. People were already singing the few lyrics and posting themselves to the trending song. You made several alluring videos with your best friend/hairstylist Azura filming you. Your hair had changed several times in the span of a weekend.

You'd went to your condo, where Azura filmed you in a bathing suit as you posed and made faces at the camera. Once you'd gotten the video and layered a new snippet of the song, you posted it to your Instagram.

Azuradidollie and 235,012 others liked.

Twinkle Call me what you want #idg1f

RiriWi Damn ma...

ShuriUuu God took his time with you.

Azuradidollie Whew mumma heavy, look how di gyal batty fat ehhhh? Yuh angle, triangle dat.

NJadakaU I wanna call you mine

BadGalRiri @Twinkle Caribbean girls run tings

Spiceofficial Big chuneee

chrisbrownofficial Check your dms mama

ChampagnePapi Ass on houston texas but the face look just like Claire Huxtable.

MayaBee Pretty girl

"Yuh see di amount ah celebrities inna yer comments?" (You see the amount of celebrities in your comments) Azura laughs, as you both ate fried chicken with rice and oxtail gravy.

"I know." You feel your face heat up as you shovel rice into your mouth.

"Wah Maya ah duh inna yer comments? Unnuh neva agree fi nuh comment, like or follow one anudda?" (What's Maya doing in your comments, Haven't Ya'll agreed to not comment, like or follow each other?)

"Yah ask mi? Mi nuh see nor hear from di gyal since Saturday mawning." (You're asking me? I haven't seen or heard from the girl since Saturday morning) You shrugged.

"Da gyal deh sick mi fucking tomach, mi nuh know why yuh ah pree har. She all fi har self." (That girl there sicks my fucking stomach, I don't know why you take her serious. She's all for herself.) Azura kissed her teeth as she drank her sorrel.

"Zur, mi like har. She haav sum bad ways but she's a good person." (I like her. She has some bad ways but she's a good person.) You defend her.

"Tan deh mek har tun yuh inna yamhead. Yuh coming like jelly back. Da gyal deh naav nun bout har. She don't waan yuh win, look how she did diss yuh and yuh let it go." (Stand there and make her turn you into a fool. You're weak. That girl don't have anything about her. 'worthless') Azura declares and you shake your head.

"Not too much on my girl." You cut your eyes at her and she laughs.

"Tan deh wid di likkle badmind gyal." (Stand there with the little jealous girl) Azura sticks her tongue out and you roll your eyes.

"Gweh!" (Move) You joke.

"Nyam mi front and gweh." (Eat my pussy and go away) Azura retorts, rolling her eyes and you laugh.

"Been there, done that." You wink.

A knock on your door, has you up and headed for the door. There's only three people that can come up without the front desk alerting you. One of which is here and the other was out of town. Your face set into a scowl and your nose wrinkled as you opened the door to see Maya.

"What?" You say, looking her up and down in annoyance.

"Baby, I'm sorry." Maya says and you sigh.

"Is this going to be a reoccurring thing? You being in your feelings because I'm pursuing music?" You ask. She'd walked out on Saturday upset when you told her you planned on signing onto Udaku Records. She'd tried to convince you to sign onto her label despite you having told her before it would never happen.

"It's not about the music, Jay..." Maya muttered. "I don't like Rina and it's not just about her dissing my album. She wants you, I saw how she looked at you that night at the club. Hell look at what she and that skinny giraffe are saying in your comments."

Did she really just call Shuri a giraffe? Dis girl...

"Maya, you've got to get over that. People are always going to want me. You think I don't deal with this shit with your label mates and the industry community dicks that are always aimed at you?" You hissed your teeth. "You can either choose to accept the fact that I'm yours and deal with whatever comes or we're going to have to just call it quits from now."

"You'd break up with me?" She whispers, her eyes wide and tears already starting to leak.

"Yes. I wouldn't want to but it's not fair what you're doing, you're punishing me for other people's actions. You were pissed when you hadn't heard from me Friday night but you've ignored me since Saturday morning. That's a double standard that I will not put up with." You insisted, crossing your arms as she cried. You wanted to hold her and wipe her tears away but she couldn't treat you like this and think sorry and some tears would fix things.

"Ok, I understand. I'm sorry for ignoring you and for punishing you." Maya croaked out, her voice low. You nodded.

"I forgive you." You assure her but when she moves to step forward you place your hand on her chest. "You ignored me for 2 days, now it's my turn. Talk to you Wednesday evening."

Her mouth dropped open as you closed the door in her face laughing, you always gave in to her when she acted like a spoiled brat but this time you wouldn't. She needed to tighten up and give you the same energy you gave her when it came to her career, the spotlight and the many people lusting after her.

"Yes goodie... yuh gag har backside." (Yes, beautiful. You gagged her ass) Azura was dying with laughter.

"Yuh seeh yuh..." (You see you) You shook your head before climbing back on the couch to finish your food.

You can apologize with chocolate - You 6:57 pm

Understood baby, I'll see you Wednesday. - Babes 7:00 pm

Wednesday evening. I love you spoiled brat - You 7:03pm

"Hi, Twinkle. It's so good to meet you! I've been obsessed with your song." Nessa says, and you smile at her.

"Thank you for having me." You say.

"So, everyone's dying to know. Who was Which Gyal meant for?" Nessa asks, and you laugh as she butchered the words in a fake patois accent.

"Just a likkle song fi any gyal weh haav mi name inna har mouth. Mi nuh inna di chattings wid people pickney so mi mek eh song fi any gyal weh waan trouble mi or has troubled mi." (Just a little song for any girl that has my name in her mouth. I'm not into the talking with people's kids, so I made the song for any girl who wants to trouble me or has troubled me.) You see she looks lost so you say everything again in english.

"You have a beautiful accent." Nessa compliments and you thank her. "You recently signed on to Udaku Records and have been teasing a song. Idg1f. Can you tell us what inspired the song?"

"Well I had the lyrics in my head and a little melody. I've had so many people come at me crazy because I was in a very public relationship almost 2 years ago. I've said before and I'll stand on it, I love money and anyone who wants to give me money can definitely do it. I'm a pretty girl, I know what I deserve and that's how I've made a living just being pretty." You explained and Nessa raised a brow.

"You were with Chris Brown, no?" Nessa asks coyly, and you roll your eyes playfully.

"Yes, I was. However he's irrelevant now." You reply with a shrug.

"Many people speculated Which Gyal was about Ri, are you and Rihanna cool now?" Nessa asks and I shake my head.

"I barely know her personally. We never had any problems, so I don't know where that narrative came from." You answer, honestly. "I love her, she's so creative and multifaceted. There's nothing but respect for her."

"We all saw Drake and Chris in your comments. How do you feel about that?" Nessa questions.

"No disrespect to Drake but he's too corny for me personally. I can't get with his antics and as far as Chris, well he knows what's up. That's it." You lick your lips.

"Rihanna was also in your comments, giving you a stamp of approval." Nessa continues. "What do you think of that?"

"As I said before, I have the utmost respect for Rihanna. She's an icon, I look up to her. She's paved the way for Caribbean girls and I can only hope that I make her proud." You felt conflicted because while you grew up liking Rihanna, you knew she could be very shady. She'd never spoke on you before besides saying you were a non factor when asked in an interview when you and Chris were dating.

The rest of the interview goes pretty smooth. Towards the end as Nessa's closing out her producer comes over and shows her something on his phone. Nessa looks from the phone to you before nodding at whatever the producer says. He walks off camera and Nessa looks at you again.

"So what do you have to say about Maya posting you on her social media?" Nessa inquires and you stare at her in shock .

"We're cool, so--"

On the screen in between Nessa and I on the wall is Maya's latest post and you blink as you see it.

Kyliebabe and 1,249,865 others liked.

Mayabee I love you, baby. You are my sunshine. @Twinkle

Azuradidollie dutty tinkin gyal, weh di fuck yuh ah post mi bomboclaat fren fah? yuh is ah waste gyal fi tru, only batty bwoy do dem tings deh.

You can't find anything to say as you stare at the screen in shock. She hadn't even discussed this with you before she went ahead and posted that. You were angry beyond words.

"Still cool?" Nessa laughs, and you narrow your eyes at her. You took a deep breath to calm yourself before releasing it.

"No. We're not cool at all." You say, taking the ear piece off and tossing it down before grabbing your bag and walking out.

You had finished the rest of your interviews in autopilot. Your energy was faked, you felt betrayed by Maya. This wasn't the actions of someone who cared about you, this was a calculated move that you were sure was brought on by her label and manager.

All the time spent hiding and keeping you a dirty secret just for her to out your relationship the moment you were finally getting attention on you for the right reasons was sickening. You'd never pressured her or argued when she chose to follow her label and manager's decision to keep your relationship quiet.

You were supportive and you put her career and goals first. Any other time this would have been what you wanted but right now you felt used and like a prop. You blocked her number and blocked her on all your social media's, not caring to hear what she had to say.

Over and over she'd shown time and time again you were not on the list of her priorities. You could argue away most of her bad habits and bad ways but this. There was no excusing this. You couldn't defend it because there was nothing that she could say that would make you feel even remotely ok about any of this.

Today was your photoshoot and you were numbing yourself to the hurt you felt. All the excitement dying down at things that should have been making you happy. You'd never dreamed of being in the position you were in and your joy was being stolen.

"What do you think about this, Jay?" Shuri asks as you, Riri and N'Jadaka are looking over the edits. The picture they all seemed to settle on was sexy yet cutesy. You had a huge bouquet in your arms, while posing in the gold sparkly dress Azura had helped you pick. Your tattoos were showcased in a very peekaboo way whilst the rest of your body was covered.

"It looks good." You agree, your tone giving off a 'whatever' kind of vibe.

"Alright, we'll use it as the cover to idg1f." N'Jadaka says. "It really matches the vibe of the song. Gotta give it to you Shuri, your vision is immaculate."

"It's all dependent on the artist." Shuri shrugged, looking at you with a small smile. You returned it though your smile didn't meet your eyes.

"You've been working your ass off ma." Riri agrees, looking from Shuri to you. "You've been locked in ever since the first day in the studio."

"I'm glad ya'll feel that way." You feel your cheeks warm, and you look down at your hands.

"I have a meeting but I just wanted to stop by and say that you're doing great, Jay." N'Jadaka adds, before reaching over to hug you. He dabs up Shuri and Riri before leaving.

"You hungry, Ma?" Riri inquires, she knew you weren't feeling like yourself. She and Shuri talked amongst themselves about taking you out to cheer you up.

"Afta mi belly naav nuh bottom." (After my belly has no bottom 'greedy') You laugh, before nodding.

"Alright, why don't you get changed and we'll take you out. You deserve to be celebrated. You've signed to our label, your about to release a single that millions are anticipating and you've been kept busy this whole week with promo shit." Shuri asserts, licking her lip. "Pick whatever outfit you want."

🎶 You must be stupid, don't even flirt with me, what you doing mi nuh interested, keep it pushing, come outta mi face and give me some space. You likkle bit too nuff yute don't chat to me, A wha so? Don't make your friend dem gas you, cause this is a brand new moto 🎶

Azuradidollie and 644,431 others liked.

Twinkle You must be stupid, don't even flirt with me, what you doing mi nuh interested, keep it pushing, come outta mi face and give me some space. You likkle bit too nuff yute don't chat to me. #Single #idg1f

Azuradidollie Yes babes, mek di waste gyal know wah gwaan #idg1f

513 comments, 23,491 likes.

ShuriUuu You free fi carry me out #idg1f

985 comments, 67,203 likes.

RiriWi Give me money and buy me stuff #idg1f

678 comments, 52,465 likes.

chrisbrownofficial she like eating pussy, I'm like me too 😉

User Ariana what are you doing here?

1,252 comments, 101,230 likes.

Mayabee Jay, don't play with me.

User Girl go sit down and nurse your heart burn

1,190 comments, 141,234 likes.

Kyliebabe Single but was just fucking on oh.... ok

Azuradidollie @Kyliebabe Ah yuh ah nyam har front?

User Why are you so pressed? your friend caused the drama babes.

791 comments, 62,123 likes.

Shuri and Riri took you shopping to celebrate your newest achievements, before finally taking you to dinner. You'd had the wig taken off your head, and was wearing your hair out in a wavy silk press. Makeup free and natural, save for lipgloss and your lash extensions.

You posted the video Riri recorded of you walking, and twirling and posing to the lyrics of your song that you knew would hit Maya deep in the gut. You put the lyrics in the caption before using the hashtag single to make a statement as you had no interest in her, her label or her manager using you.

You put your phone on DND, as you ate your sushi and pasta. Throughout the dinner, the conversation was light. You all exchanged information about yourselves, favorite colors, music, artists, hobbies, goals, etc.

You found out that Shuri could play several instruments, and write her own music. The latter wasn't a shock as she had tons of writing credits. She wrote songs on the daily just by living and watching, she was beyond talented.

Riri could play the electric guitar, and was amazing at putting together beats. She could hear music in her head as she went about her day, and was always recording a melody that she had stuck in her head. You could see similarities in yourself and the both of them.

"What made you want to co-head the label?" You ask Shuri. Her family's music business venture was years old but you saw a significant change once she and N'Jadaka stepped up to be the new faces of the label.

Riri and Shuri shared a look, before Shuri looked at you. Her jaw was clenched and her body was tense. You could tell there was something there.

"Riri and I are together but at one point we had a third." Shuri explains which is no surprise to you. You figured they were together, everyone speculated but they had never confirmed. "Destiny's an artist on the label, I was only into producing when we got together but when I seen just how shitty a lot of artist's deals were, including hers... I chose to do something about it, it was shortly after my father and brother died that I pushed for N'Jadaka to head the label while I worked beside him. We worked to give our artists better deals than they'd previously had, whilst working to ensure the company was still making money."

"I worked tirelessly to give Destiny everything she wanted, because I saw how stressed she was not having creative control and being forced into the bullshit the label pushed on her. My father and T'Challa agreed that our relationship should be kept quiet as Destiny was a sex symbol and was more profitable and marketable as a single straight woman." Shuri rolls her eyes.

"After the accident, I finally had the chance to change the direction of the company to what I'd had in mind. However, I soon realized Destiny was only using Riri and I. The moment she had a better contract, she left us to be the industry mattress." Shuri laughs to herself.

"Why aren't you and Riri public now?" You ask, curious. They no longer had a reason to keep their relationship silent.

"The gag is we are. We're private not secret. We post each other, we're out and about with each other. We've just never addressed anything because we feel no need to. Everyone knows what's up with us." Riri declares, looking at you with a small smirk.

"That makes sense. Social media can be just as destructive as it is beneficial. Especially to relationships." You agreed.

"I take it you and Maya are no longer friends? " Riri raises a brow as she looks you over.

"No, we are not." You shrug, rolling your eyes at the mention of the girl. Azura was right, and you saw that clear as day.

"So, you're a free agent." Shuri watches you through hooded eyes, as she sips on her bourbon.

"Why do you want to know?" You look at her with a wide smile on your face daring her to be bold.

"Just want confirmation that you're free before we have you coming all night. Not that you being in a relationship would have stopped the pursuit." Shuri's lips turn up as she watches your body flush at her words.

"Yuh think one dinna and ah likkle shopping can lock me dung?" (You think one dinner and a little shopping can lock me down?) You giggle as you sip on your lemon water.

"Definitely not." Riri denies, as she waves over the waiter to clear the table and bring the check.

"However we all know at some point you will be on your back with your legs spread open and your mouth wide as we work your fat pussy over." Shuri says and you clench as her words heat up your core. She used patois to say 'Fat pussy' and that had you feeling hot all over.

"Mmm mmm girl." You shake your head, giggling. "Yuh haffi work fi mi tight ole." (You have to work for my tight hole.)

"So, this is what working looks like. Now it's making sense why you were so pressed to work with Rina." You see Maya approaching behind the duo and your face drops as she opens her mouth.

"What are you even...." Your words fall off as you realize she still had your location on her iPad. You unlock your phone to remove her iPad and block it before locking your phone again. "What do you want?"

"Why the fuck are you out here acting like a whore when you have a whole girlfriend?" Maya exclaims.

"Whore? My girl outta di two ah wi? who ah whore? cuz mi know seh my pussy nuh haav more den 5 bodies pon ih." (My girl, out of the two of us, who's the whore? Cause I know that my pussy has no more than five bodies on it.) You match her tone.

"Mi neva yet disrespect yuh ar mek nubodi disrespect yuh yet, so don't ever innah yer life try diss me ar mi pussy." (I have never disrespected you or let anyone disrespect you so don't ever in your life diss me or my pussy.) You hiss.

"Why are you treating me like this?" Maya starts with her bag of crying and for once you feel nothing as the tears roll down her face. She can't cry and think she'll get her way.

"You called me a whore." You kiss your teeth. "That is not the words of someone who loves me or even cares about me. You'd think with all the slut shaming you and I have both endured, that word would have never left your mouth."

"I'm sorry." Maya cried. "I didn't mean to say that, I was just angry. I love you so much, Jay. I would never purposely hurt you, you know that."

"Disrespecting me and using me as a prop for your career wasn't you hurting me?" You scoffed.

"I didn't." Maya swears and you swallow as you see the look in her eyes. "I swear to you, I did not. My manager made the post on my page, I didn't know until after it happened. I would never use you in that way, you know I wouldn't."

"Maya, I love you." You see both Shuri and Riri share a look out of the corner of your eye but you keep your eyes trained on Maya. "I love you so much that I put you and your wants over my own. I let myself down to lift you up. If I'm being honest I overlooked the shitty things you'd do or say because I was that in love with you. But love should never feel like that, at least not the love I want. You're a good person, I genuinely believe that but you just aren't good enough for me. I deserve more, I deserve better. You've said sorry just about almost every day we've been together and yet you continue doing the same stuff you know hurt me. I'm putting myself first for once, and if that makes me a whore or selfish, or anything you want to call me that's fine because I've come to terms with the fact we aren't right for each other."

"Don't do this, Jay... I'll be better, I promise." Maya's face was pale as she cried. You felt embarrassed for her as everyone in the outside area was staring, cameras were flashing and you knew people were recording.

"I'll text you later." You sighed, before grabbing your purse and walking towards Maya. You wipe her tears and grab her hand, leading her away from the attention and cameras.

What do you guys think? Let me know below <3

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come-on-darling-honey · 2 years ago

Text

stupid and heartbroken. [Embry call x reader]

You and Leah Clearwater have something in common, heartbreak and a inclining to stupid decisions. Slowly you and Leah find the secrets of the Reservation that took your best friend, Embry, slowly unravel themselves to you. But not without a little blood, tears, and love.

word count: 1.7k. this will be multiple chapters. please enjoy <3

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

Chapter one: stupid and impulsive decisions made by the heartbroken.

"I’m not angry at Emily." Leah had told me. I banged my head on the door frame, turning around too quickly. She’d spent the last few days at my house ranting mercilessly and rightfully about Emily and Sam, the lack of loyalty, and the pain of betrayal. I’d held her hand.

She gasped and ran over to me across the small kitchen. "I didn’t think it’d shock you this much." She muttered, and I could hear her grin, so I slapped her leg lightly, groaning about the throbbing pain in my temple and nose. I'd sat down on the floor, Leah clutching my arm. "I think I should get my mom to look at your head."

I had tried to protest, knowing the last place she wanted to be was anywhere near Sam.

“Hush.” I never won a fight against Leah.

It was a twenty-minute drive from Forks to La Push; normally it would speed by like nothing and the beautiful winding trees would hold my attention, but this time all I could see was a green haze. I could smell strong iron as if someone had placed a spoon under my nose. Why in the hell would I have a spoon under my nose? When I raised my hand to my nose, I discovered it was wet with a red haze. Wincing Leah told me to stop touching my nose.

"What the hell happened?" I heard Leah’s mom Sue yell. I had closed my eyes while in the car; my head kept spinning, and I could’ve sworn the road was swirly, like literally a swirl. Leah guided me into her home, explaining—and suppressing laughter—about my incident. She’d conveniently left out the part where she’d forgiven Emily; I made a mental note to mention that later.

Turns out there were lots of people at the Clearwater residence, all of whom kept mentioning how much blood I was covered in. I heard a soft gasp and a hand grab mine, Seth. He’d always been a little brother to me, sweet, kind-hearted, and concerningly chaotic.

"The two of you are on your own for four days, and you turn up like this?" Sue was not enjoying this.

I attempted to mutter a sorry as she attacked my nose with tissues, hushing me. I couldn’t help but remember how alike Leah and her mom are. Harry Clearwater's laughter fills the room.

"You two do more damage than the boys!" He was right; Leah and I had a record for roughhousing. This, however, was not fighting. This was stupidity, lack of sleep, and genuine surprise.

The house was full of laughter, and I cracked an eye open, seeing a lot of boys in the other room. Jacob was there, and he slowly came over to me.

"What the hell did you do to her, Leah? She looks like Carrie!"

"No, she did this to herself."

Jacob's laughter became more hearty and fucking annoying. I didn’t have the energy to hit him. If I could just close my eyes again.

"Nothing's broken, and you only have a light concussion." My chances of getting some sweet, sweet sleep seemed like a pipe dream for a cold man. I groaned and slouched on the wooden chair. Seth started talking about how good it was that nothing broke and how he wouldn’t be able to stomach it if he saw his mom "fix" my nose if it was broken.

All the blood had been cleaned up, and I stole one of Leah’s shirts, yearning for her bed. It looked so beautiful. So soft. I would marry that bed. Honestly, any bed. I think I’d take a pile of rocks and a blanket at this moment.

"Don’t even think about it." Leah scolded, pulling my gaze away from the alluring dream castle.

"I’m tired, though." With how weak my voice sounded, even I wouldn’t let myself fall asleep. It hurt to speak after not doing so for so long, no doubt due to the pain pulling and contorting all my muscles into a tangle of strings. Leah put on a TV show we’d both seen before, clearly unnecessarily loud to keep me awake, and sat me on the hardwood floor. Sitting opposite me, it was clear how tired she was too.

"So, you aren’t angry at her?" I didn’t mean to say that aloud, but I think that head bang knocked out any sense I had in my head, I always knew it would come to this. I’d have to live the rest of my life as an idiot.

Although Leah didn’t look taken aback, it seemed like she’d been expecting me to bring it up, just waiting for the clogs in my head to move faster.

"No. If she is in love, I don’t think I can hate her for that. But it still hurts, you know? She’s my cousin; we grew up together, and she just..." She pulled in a deep breath and continued, "It’s so fucked up. I think I’ll resent Sam for it forever. But Emily’s family. That's stronger than this." Leah and I had always been friends, but only recently had we been this close. Being two years younger than her, I grew up closer to Jake, Quill, and Embry and Leah than Sam, but just recently we’d gotten closer. Pre heartbreak.

"Even if it hurts, its love?" I ask. I can’t help but think of Embry when I speak of love. I can feel the warmth of his touch even when I am so far from him. His brown eyes, long, dark hair, and smile—a smile that held every gasp of reassurance—I don’t think he was with Jacob earlier. I wish he was. I just want to hear him.

"It’s love, especially if it hurts, I guess."

Maybe Leah wasn’t the only heartbroken one. I felt a hot tear rise. Fuck off. I wiped it away, hanging my head down, but, dear lord, that hurt my nose.

"Stop thinking about him. He left you. That isn’t a friend." Leah said, can she read minds?

"What do you say to some reckless activities?" I asked, smiling. Grabbing my backpack from her desk, I pulled out the pain meds I had stashed for cramps. They’d work well for this. Swallowing three down without water wasn’t a cheerful experience, but it got Leah to laugh.

"Cliff diving? In your condition?" Leah and I didn’t tend to make good choices. But heartbroken people rarely do. We were defiantly going, Leah had already stood up, grabbing her keys.

"I can’t get any more hurt!" We started putting our shoes back on. "Plus, I won’t tell your mom if you don’t."

"Ah, secret cliff diving, even though you are 18 and I’m 20." I didn’t respond as we left the house. only talking again as we drove away. The meds had thankfully kicked in rather quickly.

"I mean, if Emily and Sam get married, there is no way I’d go to the wedding," Leah continued, her eyes plastered on the winding road in front of us. I couldn’t think of anything to say in return. Going through what she has gone through in the past week, my anger would probably lead to stupid, impulsive decisions. Speaking of stupid and impulsive decisions, we drove up to the bottom of the cliff and decided to walk up so we wouldn’t have to walk up again after we were soaking wet.

"So how high up do we go? I’m thinking high or stupidly high." Leah’s tone was harsh, the wind was harsher, and I could feel nothing.

"Stupidly high, but only if you go first," I tried to laugh, but the wind was sucking all the air out of my lungs.

"Deal," she laughed. Her face seemed peaceful, devoid of the knitted brow she’d been sporting lately. The wind circled around her, picking up stray hairs from her braid that lay on her back. "Fuck it’s cold." We took off as many layers as we could and left them in the car, only wearing our shoes, jean shorts, and a black t-shirt for Leah, and cargo shorts and a white vest for myself. It was brutal. My arms weaved around myself; Leah did the same. When we reached the very top of the cliff, I remembered the first time I reached the top. It had been with Embry. before he left. His thin frame was swamped in layers upon layers of clothes. His hair swirled. He held my hand anxiously the whole time. His tall stature looked like the wind would pick him up and take him away. He’d gained muscle since I’d last seen him—at least that’s what Leah had told me. that he’d become one of Sam’s puppies. He called them the hall monitors on steroids, and he joined them?

"Ready?" Leah pulled me out of my stewing anger.

"Ready." I laughed, looking down. Since the first jump, the sense of impending doom has remained. It rushed within me. "Are the currents too strong?" The waves collapsed over each other. People do jump from this height; we’ve seen them. The puppies jump from this height. So, I guessed we’d be fine doing it. But it wouldn’t feel good. It’d feel cold.

"They might be; we can go back if you want." Leah said, holding onto my arm as if she were trying to tell me something that I couldn’t hear. But I knew from the look in her eyes that she wanted to do this, and I wasn’t going to let her down. She’d go down with me if I changed my mind; Leah wouldn’t leave me alone.

"Let's do this," I said, my teeth cold.She grinned back, and we both took a few steps back. As she ran to the edge, I heard something in the woods behind us. I watched as she jumped down, her lean body struggling against the wind. Watching her land was amazing. She reappeared on the surface and gave me a thumbs up.As she swam to the beach, I could see the strength it took.

I could hear more rustling, it felt like I was being watched. Turning around giant glowing things caught my eye. Were they eyes? Is that a bear? Am I gonna die right here because that’ll be embarrassing. Maybe the painkillers were too strong, or maybe I was just an idiot who could look a massive bear in the eyes and not feel fear? That’s not a bear. It moved back slowly, like I hadn’t seen it. And I definitely wasn’t an idiot because I felt fear. It hit like a fucking hammer. The massive not-bear looked human. That wasn’t a good sign. I turned quickly and jumped. The air pelted my skin.

end of chapter one.

ATTENTION. please do not copy any of the actions made by the characters, they are reserved for the stupid and heartbroken. Lots of love, em x

embrys pinterest board

leah’s pinterest board

#leah clearwater #embry x you #embry x reader #embry call #embry twilight #embry call imagine #twilight imagine #twilight saga #twilight #leah clearwater x reader #leah clearwater imagine #new moon twilight

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bloodwiine · 1 year ago

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CHARACTER BASICS

Full Name: Neo Marin Nickname: Neo Age: twenty-four Gender: genderfluid Pronouns: she & them Ethnicity: Mexican, Black, Unspecified Indigenous Nationality: Veritean Education: Studied abroad for four years+ Hometown: Ravenwyck Current location: JustPort Species: Wixen. Written Aesthetics: warm cuddles, running under the rain, freshly-made buttery popcorn, unfinished manuscripts & oversized t-shirts

trigger warning: illness mention ( not detailed )

CHARACTER APPEARANCE

Face Claim: Lizeth Selene Height: 5'3" / 1.6 Hair Colour: brown Eye Colour: brown Dominant Hand: right Distinguishing Features: film reel tattoo, mismatched earrings, bold makeup, funky socks, nose ring

SUPERNATURAL EXTRAS

Abilities: aside from what all wixen can do, neo has yet to discover whether or not she has additional or unique abilities though there are rumors of her great grandmother having been able to timewalk, so many have wondered if it's possible for others in the family Have you always been aware of your abilities?: Yes, though initially I do think my father was a bit uneasy about having two of us in the house, he eventually warmed and grew more accustomed to it. That, and he adores my mother. Favorite Magical Items: Not necessarily a specific item, though I do love using my abilities when storyboarding and working on my next idea. Not that they're ever shared with anyone else. What supernatural creature is your character most scared of?: Werewolves, I don't think I'd enjoy being a lycanthrope or losing my abilities to do magic. Who or what would they die for? Family & friends. Does your character fight or flee? They'd certainly prefer not to fight, but they also aren't the type to just back down.

PERSONALITY

Positive Traits: ingenious, passionate, creative, warm, adaptable & empathetic

Negative Traits: impatient, procrastinator, impulsive, restless, stubborn, overcritical & competitive

Neutral Traits: social, energetic, focused, multifaceted, flexible, detail-oriented & pragmatic

Goals/desires: tfinally create a masterpiece film of their own, finish some of their unfinished projects, inspire others, travel once again, expand the cinema

Hobbies: watching & analyzing movies, trivia nights, exploring abandoned locations, collecting vintage cameras, writing, dancing & going out

Habits: being punctual, staying physically active, encouraging others, taking breaks, procrastinating on personal projects, checking phone too frequently, interrupting conversations, skipping regular sleep schedule & being overcritical of themselves

CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT Q’S

QUESTION ONE: were you born on the island, if so, what kind of curiosities do you have about the world beyond? if you weren’t, what do you miss about the world outside veritas isles?

They definitely do, though they are one of the fortunate few that was able to leave, they didn't get the chance to see nearly enough of what they had hoped. They now miss the freedom & the ability to see new films at her fingertips, that and just the movie world in general was a lot grander in the outside world.

QUESTION TWO: what is your favorite part about the island?

The cinema, of course. Beyond that, wherever friends are hanging out.

QUESTION THREE: if your character is supernatural, do they fear humans? if human, do they fear the supernatural?

Hmm, not anymore, though they certainly had hesitations about them at some point in their life. Especially due to how Neo's father's family responded to him marrying a wixen.

QUESTION FOUR: share a fun headcanon or fact about your character! this doesn’t have to be long, just something to introduce us to your character!

From a young age, Neo found solace in the flickering lights of the silver screen, watching as stories unfolded before their eyes. Their parents' commitment to the cinema only fueled Neo's growing enthusiasm, and they spent hours absorbing the magic and allure of film. Their childhood was a tapestry of movie nights under the stars, curled up in the theater seats, and playing among the rows of film reels. She ended up staying longer than intended as she grew to love Los Angeles, she even debated never returning to Veritas Isles, but unfortunately she received word that her father had fallen ill, so without hesitation, she of course has returned.

ADDITIONAL HEADCANON

Despite Neo's strong ties to the world of cinema and her unwavering passion for storytelling, there's a part of her that feels like an outsider to the magical tapestry of her lineage. Born into a family that has run the town's cinema for generations, Neo's magical heritage often feels distant and intangible. While the island's enchantment is woven into every corner, Neo grapples with a disconnect, a yearning to bridge the gap between her human experiences and the ancient mysticism that echoes through her blood.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

friends from before she moved

people she met while in L.A. / traveling around

perhaps the person that told her of her father?

someone that's helping her with her magic

family friends

someone from the rogue pack, perhaps that sort of talks highly of it...

#vih.intro #c: neo marin #intro: neo #**#template credit: unholymilf

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wixenhq · 7 months ago

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✧･ﾟ: oh, it's so good to see your faces ! please welcome ANGELINA JOHNSON & BLAISE ZABINI as played by V ! RON WEASLEY as played by BELLA ! NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM as played by LILY ! SERAFINA GAUNT as played by ARI ! LUCILLE VELLEUX as played by KAT ! CHAUNCEY VASHER as played by HEATHYN ! OLIVIA SALLOW as played by JASY ! ZARIAH MORDEN as played by EXE ! NOELLE SAFIQ & ROLF SCAMANDER as played by KOSHI ! please check your dms for the link to the server, where you’ll find more information on how to get started. we’re so happy to have you with us at WIXEN and we can't wait to write with you !

౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ ( iamkaylanicole, twenty eight, cis woman, she + her ) ⸻ ( SURVIVED ) have you had a chance to meet ( ANGELINA JOHNSON ), yet? you would definitely remember ( a mouthful of melted chocolate hidden behind a sheepish hand, presence commands attention without conscious thought, offbeat quips meant to joke though she's serious, thrill seeking, when do you stop ? when is it enough ? the fall doesn't hurt that much anymore anyway ) if you did. it’s been rumoured that they’re ( ADVENTUROUS & COMPASSIONATE ) but i’ve heard that they’re actually quite ( JUDGEMENTAL & OBSTINATE ). you’ll normally find ( her ) at ( HONEYDUKES ) when they aren’t working as ( CHASER FOR THE APPLEBY ARROWS ). it’s been a tough few years for all of us, and now every time that I think about ( ANGELINA ) I can hear ( SATURN by SZA ) playing in the back of my mind ⸻ ( v, twenty nine, est, she + her, racism )

౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ ( deivysnicole, twenty seven, demi man, he + they ) ⸻ ( SURVIVED ) have you had a chance to meet ( BLAISE ZABINI ), yet? you would definitely remember ( lips full of cleverly disguised poisons, the hanging sense of not knowing what's real and what's not, pretty lies whispered against your skin, butterfly kisses that sting ) if you did. it’s been rumoured that they’re ( OBSERVANT & ALLURING ) but i’ve heard that they’re actually quite ( MANIPULATIVE & MATERIALISTIC ). you’ll normally find ( them ) at ( ARCANE NIGHTCLUB ) when they aren’t working as ( SOCIALITE ). it’s been a tough few years for all of us, and now every time that I think about ( BLAISE ) I can hear ( GARDEN KISSES by GIVEON ) playing in the back of my mind ⸻ ( v, twenty nine, est, she + her, racism )

౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ ( danielle rose russell, twenty-five (actually 62), cis woman, she/her ) ⸻ ( REVIVED ) have you had a chance to meet ( SERAFINA GAUNT ), yet? you would definitely remember ( red that spills from carved wounds : she’ll shed blood to fix the broken pieces , a mother’s love dipped in distaste —— i love you but i don’t like you , resentment a childhood best friend : she runs to it like it’s home , & living in a house of glass all on her own : loneliness a song that plays on repeat ) if you did. it’s been rumoured that they’re ( CAPTIVATING & DAUNTLESS ) but i’ve heard that they’re actually quite ( ABRASIVE & HAUGHTY ). you’ll normally find ( her ) at ( THREE BROOMSTICKS ) when they aren’t working as ( AN AUROR AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC ). it’s been a tough few years for all of us, and now every time that I think about ( SERAFINA ) I can hear ( GLORY AND GORE by LORDE ) playing in the back of my mind ⸻ ( ari, twenty-seven, gmt+3, she/her, none ) + ( taking harry's ex connection )

౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ ( harris dickinson, twenty-seven, cismale, he/him ) ⸻ ( REVIVED ) have you had a chance to meet ( RON WEASLEY ), yet? you would definitely remember ( the sound of a fire roaring to life , always knowing more than anyone expects , shoulders that werent made to hold the weight of the world , cheeks aching after laughing too much , going big and never going home , the fear that you will never be as good as you once were , watching your life pass through a haze , holding onto things so tightly that they may break from the pressure , proving to yourself over and over again that youre enough just as you are , oversized sweaters and crooked smiles , & the first peak of sunrise after a long night ) if you did. it’s been rumoured that they’re ( COMPASSIONATE & INTUITIVE ) but i’ve heard that they’re actually quite ( HOT HEADED & STUBBORN ). you’ll normally find ( him ) at ( THE LEAKY ) when they aren’t working as ( HITWIX ). it’s been a tough few years for all of us, and now every time that I think about ( RON ) I can hear ( NORTHERN ATTITUDE by NOAH KAHAN ) playing in the back of my mind ⸻ ( bella, twenty-three , est, they/them, disordered eating / self harm )

౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ ( earthdarlin, twenty nine, cisfemale, she/her ) ⸻ ( SURVIVED ) have you had a chance to meet ( ZARIAH MORDEN ), yet? you would definitely remember ( a well timed boot to the back of the knee, the first bumblebees of springtime, leaping from a broom for the sake of your pride, missed phone calls, last in first out, anything you can do i can do better ) if you did. it’s been rumoured that they’re ( VIBRANT & INTUITIVE ) but i’ve heard that they’re actually quite ( REACTIVE & IMPATENT ). you’ll normally find ( her ) at ( HOME ) when they aren’t working as ( CAPTAIN/KEEPER FOR THE FALMOUTH FALCONS ). it’s been a tough few years for all of us, and now every time that I think about ( ZARIAH ) I can hear ( LOSER by CARR ) playing in the back of my mind

౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ ( andy_blossom, twenty six, cis woman, she/her ) ⸻ ( SURVIVED ) have you had a chance to meet ( LUCILLE VEILLEUX ), yet? you would definitely remember ( idyllic dream crushed like rose petals, arms too small to hold the ones loved most so close, the contrast between anxiety and tranquillity, driven to perfection, innocent laughter and lipstick stains, losing yourself in a sea of bodies and alcohol ) if you did. it’s been rumoured that they’re ( CHARMING & UPFRONT ) but i’ve heard that they’re actually quite ( ENVIOUS & IMPULSIVE ). you’ll normally find ( her ) at ( ARCANE ) when they aren’t working as ( ASSISTANT COACH FOR THE HOLYHEAD HARPIES ). it’s been a tough few years for all of us, and now every time that I think about ( --- ) I can hear ( ADULTS by SOCIAL ANIMALS ) playing in the back of my mind ⸻ ( kat, twenty five, gmt, she/her, insect visuals )

౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ ( matthew daddario, twenty-seven, cis man, he / him ) ⸻ ( SURVIVED ) have you had a chance to meet ( CHAUNCEY VASHER ), yet? you would definitely remember ( being a vampire fucking rocks , in this essay i will- ; clawing desperately for a father's affection & receiving none ; turning rage & hatred & loneliness into something pure & sweet ; laughing at your own jokes. ) if you did. it’s been rumoured that they’re ( GOOFY & CHAOTIC ( AFFECTIONATE ) ) but i’ve heard that they’re actually quite ( FOUL MOUTHED & TRIGGER CAST HAPPY ). you’ll normally find ( him ) at ( CLUBS , BARS , ETC ) when they aren’t working as ( KEEPER OF THE HALL OF PROPHECIES IN THE DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES ). it’s been a tough few years for all of us, and now every time that I think about ( CHASE ) I can hear ( DUEL OF THE FATES by JOHN WILLIAMS ) playing in the back of my mind ⸻ ( heathyn, 33, mst, she / her, n / a )

౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ ( jenna ortega, twenty-five, cis woman, she/her ) ⸻ ( SURVIVED ) have you had a chance to meet ( OLIVIA & SALLOW ), yet? you would definitely remember ( being tortured by those unseen by others; the feeling of someone walking over your grave; the haunting sound of a ghostly melody floating through the moonlight ) if you did. it’s been rumoured that they’re ( RESILIENT & INSIGHTFUL ) but i’ve heard that they’re actually quite ( SECRETIVE & COLD ). you’ll normally find ( her ) at ( OBSCURUS BOOKS ) when they aren’t working as ( A TRAINEE UNSPEAKABLE IN THE DEATH CHAMBER ). it’s been a tough few years for all of us, and now every time that I think about ( OLIVIA ) I can hear ( A LITTLE WICKED by VALERIE BROUSSARD ) playing in the back of my mind ⸻ ( jasy, twenty-eight, mst, she/her, detailed descriptions of eating disorder behaviours )

౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ ( callum turner, thirty (102), male, he/him ) ⸻ ( SURVIVED ) have you had a chance to meet ( ROLF SCAMMANDER ), yet? you would definitely remember ( that first encounter with a magical creature at the hand of his father, wild yet so kind, lost in the meaningless void between human aggression and creature naivety, colorful ribbons around his neck in majestic bows his mother so sweetly tied around his neck, clueless on the the fate that held for her only child, sweet memories of hot summer nights around the bonfire, surrounded by the loving family that was the scammanders, the result of horrendous torturous fate that was to come to the creature loving family, starry nights illuminated with soft candle lights and sweet scented perfumes ) if you did. it’s been rumoured that they’re ( ATTENTIVE & INTELLECTUAL ) but i’ve heard that they’re actually quite ( DISTRACTED & STORMY ). you’ll normally find ( him ) at ( THE THREE BROOMSTICKS ) when they aren’t working as ( MAZOOLOGIST ). it’s been a tough few years for all of us, and now every time that I think about ( ROLF ) I can hear ( GOODNIGHT MOON by GO RADIO ) playing in the back of my mind ⸻ ( koshi, thirty, gmt, they/them, none )

౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ ( mishti rahman, thirty, female, she/her ) ⸻ ( REVIVED ) have you had a chance to meet ( NOELLE SHAFIQ ), yet? you would definitely remember ( rose petals floating gently in the water outside in a warm spring afternoon, bees buzzing and birds singing their delightful tunes, the deep dark stains in such pristine images, quiet, sweet, bitterness filling one's mouth as they're forced to bite their tongue, obliging, the loud sound of screams and war knocking down one's door as little kids hide deep in their closet, terrified, imagining those warm afternoons back, braided hair tangled in flowers and pretty bows if the nightmares from the night before were not to exist. ) if you did. it’s been rumoured that they’re ( CHARMING & POISED ) but i’ve heard that they’re actually quite ( TEMPESTUOUS & SADISTIC ). you’ll normally find ( her ) at ( A QUAINT COFFEESHOP ) when they aren’t working as ( WRITER ). it’s been a tough few years for all of us, and now every time that I think about ( NOELLE ) I can hear ( BEST THING by JANINE ) playing in the back of my mind ⸻ ( koshi, thirty, gmt, they/them, none ) ౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ ( archie reneaux, twenty seven, cismale, he/him ) ⸻ ( REVIVED ) have you had a chance to meet ( NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM ), yet? you would definitely remember ( a silent need for everyone around him to be happy and safe, carefree and gentle grins, a live and let live attitude, the serenity and calm of greenhouses and tending to plants, and the earthy fragrance of soil and musk clinging to your clothes ) if you did. it’s been rumoured that they’re ( LOYAL & EMPATHETIC ) but i’ve heard that they’re actually quite ( STUBBORN & TEMPERAMENTAL ). you’ll normally find ( him ) at ( THE LEAKY CAULDRON ) when they aren’t working as ( APOTHECARY OWNER ). it’s been a tough few years for all of us, and now every time that I think about ( NEVILLE ) I can hear ( RIPTIDE by VANCE JOY ) playing in the back of my mind ⸻ ( lily, twenty four, cst, she/her, none )

#hp rp #discord rp #appless rp #harry potter rp #golden trio rp #new rp #accepted.

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hybridhadal · 11 months ago

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ABOUT ME

Hey, how you doin’n, bitch? My name’s Hadal Ai Douglass, but you can just call me Hadal (or HD).

I’m just your everyday twenty-something year old black and nerdy queer. I'm 5'6" with brown eyes and black locs. I love gaming, travelling, martial arts, anime, music, cussing (so be warned), and getting into trouble with friends. I know this reads like some corny Tinder profile but bare with me. I'm actually a pretty interesting guy once you get to know me…

I come from the Murx (which is short for Murkstone, VA) and my pronouns are ‘he/him’ as well as ‘they/them’. I resonate more with the ladder though. Coming from the Murx though, people tend to pretty much call you whatever the fuck they want. While not as popular as NYC or as hood as Detroit, the people here are characters nonetheless. It can get pretty busy and even crowded on certain occasions too. It has this sort of Gothic and old time aesthetic which attracts tourists for sure. But it also still keeps the allure of a regular modern city with the tall buildings, the traffic, burger joints on every corner, and neighborhoods you probably wouldn't want to get caught in at night.

Speaking of which, the nightlife is pretty cool here too. There’s lots to do. We got clubs, we got bars, we got strip joints, and other stuff. But after you've done it all, it can get a little repetitive. I’ve also lived here since I was a kid. So, perhaps I’m not the best person to talk to about it. One of the best things about the city though is that we also have these yearly music festivals that a bunch of outsiders attend. It’s called the "Deep Flow Festival" and it can get pretty big. I typically DJ at these events and the like. So, I’m a little known in the community here. Still, one of my bigger goals in life is to see the world.

One of my biggest dreams is to become a big presence in the music industry; to work with bigger names and make crazy loot. I know, it's a little cliché but I'm a creative at heart. I already make and sell my beats to some of the rappers and singers in my area (and a little beyond). On top of DJing at some of the spots around here, it pays the bills. It's also better than working some 9 - 5 that drains my life. So, although what I'm doing is barely getting me by, I'm not complaining. But again, I want to be bigger. I wanna be heard around the world. I wanna make big money, and ultimately move out of my little kitchen pantry of a pad. Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful for the place that I have. But it'd be cool if I could live in better place or maybe even in my own house. In today's economy though, you probably have to be making 1% money to buy and keep a house (especially the kind that I want). But I also want to get into other avenues too. Well, either that or find a sugar daddy to take care of me. I mean, shit, it is what it is.

I’ve been told I can be a bit boy-crazy at times though. On of the reasons I'm really into martial arts is that I love a man who can throw some hands. But if you're reading this and you're anything like my folks, you'd probably think that I still have a lot of life lessons to learn in that area (and you'd probably be right). I wouldn't call myself a spring chicken though. I can be a bit paranoid when it comes to men but not in the way you might think. Like I’m not afraid to get out and get to know people. That’s pretty much my job to a degree. I just know some of these men out here can be crazy as all hell sometimes. So, I do what I can when I can to keep any contingency that I can.

Growing up, my step-dad pretty much forced me to partake in survival school as well as self-defense training. He’s one of those Pan-African Hotep types on top of being an ex-marine. So, he made sure to raise me to be as militant and as hard ass as he could. I'd even go so far as to say that I picked up a few of his qualities (both good and bad). I mean, I never really met my real father or anything like that. So, I normally refer to him as just my dad despite not really getting along with him like that to this day. But, yeah, survival school taught me a lot though. I kinda had a rough time adjusting to it but I did eventually. Shit, I even made friends. Some of which even came up with me from middle school all the way to high school.

Before all that though, it was just my mom and me. She and I were practically inseparable. Then, she got her dream macho man and became the mayor. Pretty much everything changed after that. It all became about keeping an image, which pretty much meant keeping any sort of affiliations between her and I secret. I'm not exactly the most exemplary child (or so she constantly leads me to believe). It also meant spending significantly less time with the person who I at one point spent all my time with. I can’t blame her though. My biological father skipped town on us before I could really form any decent memories of him. So, for a small portion of my formative years, it was just the two of us. Once my step dad stepped into the picture, I pretty much became that little block of wood that he whittled into a shank. I don’t know...

But enough about my mom and dad. This next fact about me might seem like a bit of a stretch. But the craziest part of my life by far is the fact that I’m actually a practitioner of cosmic sorcery. Now, I know you’re probably thinking…

“What in the fuck is cosmic sorcery?”

Well, it’s pretty hard to sum up in just a few words but I will do my best. Cosmic sorcery is the study and manifestation of the universe's darkest secrets. Think of all that lies in the spaces between universes being summoned to our plane of existence; like being able to call on beings from the heavens and beyond to grant you whatever you desire. Cosmic sorcery can grant its user knowledge, physical enhancement, or sometimes even the complete annihilation of something. But also, it is an overall teaching of this universe's many elements. With enough knowledge, I could probably terraform (or flat out destroy) whole cities if not the whole planet. Now, mind you, I'm not on some OP anime character type shit but I know a lot. But yeah, there’s a LOT you can do with cosmic sorcery.

Ultimately cosmic sorcery preaches the oneness of the individual self and the universe. It is as powerful as one who practices it puts into it is. That and its incredibly ancient and mysterious. So, you can expect a lot of shit to go unexplained by me. I may practice the bitch but I'm no historian. The way I try to think of it is that it’s basically mankind's biggest kept secret (sorta, I guess). I mean, of course I’m not the only one that knows it. That’s also not the only form of sorcery out there. But it’s the one my grandfather blessed me with before he passed. I strive to know more and more but there isn’t much on it. I have to consult beings from beyond time and my own reality for guidance, and that's a whole box of chocolates in itself. A lot of the time, it feels like I'm just winging it.

But that's about it when it comes to me…

I feel like I've experienced quite a bit of life while not really experiencing life outside my own little bubble. But I mean, shit, I'm still young. Anything can change at any time. In fact, my dad says that's the only constant. I'm just a simple guy with big dreams and a lot on the mind. The following entries are pretty much a look into all of my highs, lows, and everything in between. Every dream that I’ve dreamt, every hard time I’ve overcome (or am still overcoming), every boy I’ve ever had a thing with / for, every embarrassing moment I’ve endured, and every triumph I’ve earned will all be here for the world to see. I hope you find it all as interesting as I do because believe me. It's some crazy shit.

Enjoy

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talenlee · 1 year ago

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Game Pile: Phantom Ink

Let me show you one of my new favourite hidden information party games built around the theme of messing with a ghost. Which is weird in that it’s a genre that’s populated with enough cards that this game went through a period of being known as Ghost Writers before finding that they needed to shift the name to something else.

Alright, since you can’t talk about a Board Game Experience without accounting, to some extent, how a player actually engages with it, how does one play Phantom Ink?

Phantom Ink‘s premise is that there are two teams of people asking a ghost they’ve found to identify a word. Two teams, two ghosts, one word. Each team asks their ghost to answer a clue with a word, and then the ghost starts to spell the word. The team can interrupt the ghost at any time, meaning that if you know the question, you might be willing to stop the ghost while it’s half-way through answering because you think you know the word they might be writing. And why would you want to do that?

Because the other team is right there and they want to guess the word!

The play round is that one team hands their ghost a pair of cards; the ghost picks one of them and discards the other, then starts to write the answer down. When that team thinks they have enough information, based on them knowing the question, they tell the ghost to stop and pass it to the other team. That means that you’re trying to pay attention to the other ghost, their mannerisms, how they answer questions and how the team reacts to letters as they’re revealed, and you’re trying to work out their questions while you’re trying to decipher your answers.

This is a really great game for getting into your own head, because you don’t want to give away information to the other team about what you’re doing or why but also you do need to communicate with your own team and make sure everyone is on the same page, and it’s all done with the level of privacy of, like, being able to whisper in a friend’s ear.

There’s more to it, of course; this is just a simplified description of the otherwise extremely open, extremely public gameplay experience. While it’s a game about hidden information, it’s a game where your options for keeping that information hidden are extremely limited. It’s still got that giggling tension of games in its genre, but in order to give people as much time as possible to make interruptions, to call for the ghosts to stop drawing, everything is done ritualistically, the ghost silently waiting a moment before drawing the next letter of the word SNAIL as they leave the other players wondering how the hell that relates to their clue.

Alright, though, why this when you could have sunk the same money into spooky communication all-star Mysterium? Or the competitive last-place-targeted mystery game Dixit? Both of those games are very well established, and they’re well proven. Chances are good if you play board games occasionally with people at social experiences, those games are well known and maybe even already in your collection, or their collection. Just using those games as a place to start, what’s the allure of Phantom Ink as a social play experience for a Halloween party?

I say that like I’ve ever been to a Halloween party. Like, y’all know that Halloween lands right as the year starts to get hot and sunny, right? I’ve seen maybe twenty trick or treaters in my entire life and most of them are kids going out with their parents and seeing if anyone has lollies for them at all. But let’s go along with what I am pretty sure a Halloween party looks like, in the context of being in a culture where you want some reason for multiple people to hang out at your house and stay up late together. Sounds fun!

Anyway, in the context of a party event, where people don’t necessarily want to learn anything too complicated, Phantom Ink is a board game about asking a room full of people about a crossword clue you’re having troubles with and deliberately giving them a slightly wrong clue. If you can imagine your friends and see them all losing their minds about that, and finding that funny, congratulations. Phantom Ink is for you.

Mysterium as a party game is full of anxieties. Someone has to stay silent for sometimes as much as two hours. Dixit is a game that quickly becomes about reading individuals, identifying a single safe loser and picking on them, and it’s a hard game to actually be good at, which can be frustrating to a particular player type.

Plus, and it’s very important, Phantom Ink is a competitive game. See, when it comes to getting engaged and staying engaged, there’s a particular problem cooperative games can get in party environments. We talk about ‘alpha gamers,’ where one player can dominate a play experience by telling people what to do, but there’s also the inverse, of players who aren’t seriously invested, realise other people are taking care of things, and are willing to kind of check out. This kind of play situation, for lightly engaged people, can lead to them seeing everyone struggling towards the same end and feeling like they can just give up and not bother anyone, but still float in the game because, you know, nice to be involved.

Now this isn’t to say Phantom Ink fixes these people’s experience of the games, but there are players who when confronted with this option, with the additional teeth of a game about beating someone, can be excited by it.

Phantom Ink isn’t about to solve all the problems of its genre. It requires a competitive mindset, a love of word games, and an interest in group puzzle solving. But it also looks cool, takes up a smaller footprint and requires less buy-in for a group to get started on, and the way it kicks in feels, to me, like a game with more active teeth. It’s a communication game stripped almost to the studs, with every component doing the absolute minimum it has to in order to keep the players connected to one another.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Game Pile #Games

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get-shiggy-with-it · 4 years ago

Text

gin and tonic and bad, bad men

Collab Masterlist

✧ pairing: bartender!dabi x waitstaff!fem!reader

✧ word count: 6k

✧ warnings: misogyny, scummy dabi, noncon/dubcon, yandere vibes, cat calling, toxic relationships, toxic work environment, face fucking (?), smut, semi-public sex (in an alley), alcohol, drunk reader, drunk sex, smoking mention, brief spitting, humiliation, light degradation, probably incorrect use of restaurant terminology, reader is implied female but no body parts are explicitly gendered

✧ summary: Dabi is willing to protect you from those awful, nasty men who torment you at work, but he never does anything on the house -- or the newbie at the bar catches dabi's attention and everyone else's.

✧ a/n: Heyy my first dabi, and he's scummy as hell in this. who's shocked? Not me. This is for the BNHAREM collab and it's a coworker/workplace au! Please go check out all the other works, everyone is so talented! Enjoy~

Dead men tell no tales, but drunk men’s mouths run wild.

Liquor loosens the lips like no other force of nature.

Dabi knows this to be true.

Whiskey runs hot in the blood and makes hands reach to lay claim on whatever is closest, whatever is prettiest within their grasp.

Alcohol on the tongue draws forth cravings from deep, hidden pits in men—bears their ugly truths to the world—and Dabi is the master of this liquid sorcery.

He sits, high and mighty, behind the safety of his bartop and watches the sea of bodies grow loose with vodka and gin and in turn he drinks their secrets. Sees the things they hide in sobriety and knows their nature with a removed certainty that is only found in those who have seen the darkest depths of mankind and come out the other side stinking of their filth.

The mahogany slab that separates Dabi from the waves of slobbering drunkards does nothing to stop the infection from spreading. He knows their thoughts, knows their truth, knows what their hands long to bruise, because they’re his thoughts too.

His truth.

His longing.

Kept only at bay by the simple fact that the boss doesn’t like him drinking on shift. Likes to keep his air of professionalism even if the bar is nothing more than a seedy dive in the bad part of the bad part of town.

Whatever keeps him off Dabi’s back is fine.

“The bar is over there and that door is to the kitchen…”

Toga’s voice pulls him from his stupor. The dirty rag he’d been using to halfheartedly wipe down the counters leaves his skin slick, calluses soft and plump as the water eats at them. She’s showing around one of the new hires. The turn over rate for staff here is so goddamn awful that this is a near weekly occurrence, so Dabi doesn’t pay her much mind as she wanders over.

It isn’t until her face is shoved up against his across the bar that he looks away from his task.

“Say hi to the newbie!” she cackles, smile just deranged enough to keep her safe from the crowds on packed nights.

Toga doesn’t look it but she belongs here too, in the filth and squalor of humans. But not like him. She thrives and gorges herself on their foolishness, twirling through the mob of patrons, always knowing who’s back to pat for gracious tips and who’s to stab when she needs to.

He glances up through his lashes and is both shocked and unsurprised by what he finds.

Hanging off the end of Toga’s arm, you stand out against the dingy background of the taproom. The smog of the bar clings to it’s staff, making their hair dull and their eyes red rimmed. You haven’t been poisoned yet though. The smell of the downpour raging outside still clings to you and errant raindrops drip down your chin like tears.

“Hey,” he grumbles and with another prodding look from Toga tacks on a gruff, “name’s Dabi.”

“He’s our bartender,” Toga provides after his silence and you smile. He guesses cause you don’t know any better.

You’ll learn not to do that down here soon enough.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Your name slips off your lips and onto his like top shelf tequila. There’s rain on your palm as you reach out for him, so when he takes it to shake, you can’t feel the way the grime clings to his skin—can’t feel the roughness etched into his fingers through the chill.

Can’t see him for what he is.

Meanwhile, you’re practically transparent in the dim, neon light of the bar.

The buttons of your shirt are undone too low, he notices as Toga drags you away to the back. He could warn you, should warn you. That when the late night crowd stumbles in, you’ll want those extra inches of skin covered up. That dressing like that is just asking for something to get smacked.

You must be stupid to not know it, because he doesn’t think you do.

You’re not really carrying yourself like a slut, he thinks, watching you trail along behind his boisterous coworker smiling and nodding and eager to please.

He ought to warn you.

But he knows he won’t.

You’ll be gone within a week and Dabi will swiftly forget your name and face just like the others before you. He’ll sneak shots in while his manager’s back is turned and any memory of you will be filtered out by his abused liver.

But for now, Dabi reigns himself back in to polish some of the obvious stains from his glasses and prepares himself for the show. The doors open in an hour, and he wants to be ready for the action.

The drunk antics of all the city's criminals gets old fast when you’re the one who has to clean up their shit.

Fresh meat is the only real entertainment they ever get around here.

So Dabi watches as you don one of the stained, black aprons and doesn’t tell you to cover up that sliver of your chest practically glowing in the electric red and blue light. Just looks on from the relative sanctuary of the bar as Toga instructs you on how to carry the drink trays and waits patiently to see you be devoured.

After you trip on the way back to the kitchen, Dabi pulls a twenty out of his pocket and shoves it in a jar hidden under the bartop. He makes a mental note to tell the chef he’s betting on just under a week you’ll last.

At the very least he’ll get a free performance and a neat hundred out of your inevitable failure.

He goes back to polishing, only looking up once as you breeze past the bar on your way to unlock the gates for the nocturnal animals of the city to filter in as they please.

You smile at him again as you pass.

Dabi tosses another twenty into the jar.

***

Well, he may have lost the bet, but he can’t find it in himself to mourn the forty dollars too hard.

Today would be your two week anniversary, and honestly, Dabi felt a bit of grudging respect for the determination you showed, no matter how pointless it was.

Determination and foolishness often came hand in hand.

He couldn’t help but think you looked more than a little the fool as you smiled and made unbridled eye contact with the patrons while walking your rounds from table to table. You’d learned enough to cover up a bit more, but he can’t be sure if that’s because you’ve started to notice the stares or because a spring cold front has rolled over the city. Either way, he watches you shiver under the gaze of a particularly rowdy guest and feels a chill run up his own spine as he watches the man’s eyes trail up your thighs, drinking down the slivers of bare skin like his fifth beer of the night.

Dabi is intrigued now.

Wonders how you’ve made it out of the fray every night so far.

Wonders what you’re hiding under those skimpy clothes and friendly, thoughtless smiles.

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out.

It’s inevitable really. When you’re working nights there are certain occupational hazards to expect. So when the little clock above the bar reads just past one in the morning, and you drift out once again into the raging mass of bodies, Dabi isn’t shocked to hear the yelp and smash of glasses just a few minutes later.

The first die has been cast.

He looks up from pouring out two fingers of whiskey just in time to catch the man’s hand slipping between your thighs, dirty fingers digging into the flesh and yanking you down onto his spread legs. The tray of drinks you’d been carrying clatters to the floor, lacing the air with the sweet burn of alcohol and futile outrage.

It’s far too loud to hear what the man says to you, but the way his blackened, ragged nails press five perfect, filthy crescents onto your skin—how they mark you as a worthy target, claiming you with their muck—sends a clear enough message.

Dabi wouldn’t bother watching if it wasn’t you trying to squirm your way out of being passed from lap to lap around the booth. He’s isn’t the least bit ashamed to admit how curious he is to see which way you’ll react.

And while he expects passivity—a drawn look with wide eyes, hoping no reaction at all will leave them bored and searching for a more interesting conquest—Dabi finds himself on the wrong side of the tracks once more.

His eyebrows shoot up, quite the reaction from the generally stony bartender, as your hand cracks open palmed across the face of your captor. A strange, heavy silence falls over the bar. It lasts only a few precious seconds but it’s enough to draw the attention of your manager who pulls you, cursing and snarling like a dog without it’s muzzle, back to the kitchen.

It’s your face that does him in—seals both your fates in dripping cream and purple wax.

Working down here, in this pigsty bar with it’s air that clings and dirties and tarnishes, brightness of any kind is foreign.

Alluring.

And your eyes that shine with the glow of reckless willpower have the same draw as the fat wads of cash that slip too easily from drunk fingers into his tip jar. Defiance is a rare currency in the underworld and Dabi’s fingers itch as your secret is revealed.

You believe you’re worth something.

Even as he hears the rasp of his boss’ voice, berating and threatening from behind the swinging doors, Dabi can’t help but hold the image of your smile turned snarl. You’ll get off with a warning because you’ve lasted this long and it’s a hassle to find replacements with pretty enough faces. But only this once, do it again and you’ll be out on the street.

For his part he tries to look sympathetic when you crowd yourself behind the bar and pout with your tail between your legs.

You haven’t spoken to him since that first night and he hasn’t exactly made an attempt at conversation either.

It wasn’t like you were worth the effort before.

But now, as you sniffle and pretend the pin prick tears in your eyes are just from the bite of the liquor slicked floor, Dabi feels an old heat rise in him. Something stokes the embers that laid dying out inside the prison of his ribs, and he welcomes the familiar burn.

Like an old friend, like a knife at his throat.

The man from before approaches the bar to order another drink and his cloudy eyes don’t even seem to register the way you cower from him, back turned and sinking into the peeling wallpaper. They’ve forgotten you already. To them you are one of dozens, not worth the fight it takes when plenty of properly meek flesh hops from table to table, ripe for picking.

But Dabi see’s the flint in your hands and knows it’s you that lit this fire licking up the back of his throat.

With two rough fingers he beckons you over into the soft overhead spotlights of the bar. Like a beast to its master’s call you shuffle forward into his gravitational pull and look up at him warily.

“Wanna learn how to mix?” he asks, even to him his voice sounds harsh with disuse.

“...sure,” you say quietly, after a brief pause.

You’re warm and soft as he settles behind you, caging you in with his arms under the guise of reaching for a strainer or a jar of olives. Unlike that bastard, now long passed out from drink, Dabi’s face remains free of your claw marks when his chest brushes against you or his hand wanders to the small of your back to move you aside as he serves customers.

He even works up a little smile of his own when you stare, sunny bright over your shoulder at his attempt to distract you from the incident.

The city, the bar, the underground—all of it is an angry, storming ocean filled with angry, storming bodies that swiftly drowns its victims as they desperately tread water in the open, black abyss.

Without him, you’d learn to take the wandering hands and vulgar words or you’d be foolish enough to inhale them in lungfuls and sink to the bottom.

But as you smile and nod while he shows you how long to stir an Old Fashioned, Dabi feels his own neglected determination rise to the challenge.

By the end of the night, you already trail behind him as he does his rounds to each abandoned table. Like a stranded victim to a raft, you cling to the safety he’s dared to provide.

And if he plays his cards right.

He might not come out of this bet so empty handed.

If only you knew, he was no better than the rest of them.

You’d run straight from the trees into the wolf's den.

***

“What’s your favorite drink to make?” you ask.

Dabi glances up at you, his chest pressed against the cool surface of the bar as he surveys the empty taproom. It’s a little over an hour till opening, but the only thing waiting for him outside of this hellhole is an even deeper hellhole, so Dabi almost always finds himself lounging around the abandoned bar. The boss doesn’t care anyway as long as inventory gets taken and any dried blood from the night before is gone by the next day.

You’ve taken to drifting in early too, even sometimes on the nights you don’t work.

Normally, he’d be annoyed, but it’s better you’re here than out on the streets.

At least if you’re bugging him behind the bar, he can keep an eye on you. Dabi’s found recently that you’ve been on his mind with increasing frequency. It’s easier if you’re in his line of sight. There’s a certain reassurance in your dopey little smile and your hand fisted in the back of his shirt—your body knows where you belong even if your pretty little brain hasn’t quite caught up yet.

Pretty.

“My favorite or my best?” he grunts, pushing off the bar and wetting his lips.

“Is there a difference?”

You’re looking at him with what he assumes is meant to be a cocky grin, but he has a hard time taking you seriously with your crossed arms squishing your chest up like that.

“‘Course there is,” he turns to grab one of the highball glasses from it’s rack and sets it down on the counter. “Just because you like something, doesn’t mean you’re good to it.”

When he looks back at you over his shoulder, you’ve got this comical little furrow in your brow.

“To it?”

Dabi presses the tip of his finger into your forehead, “At it, whatever. Don’t frown so much, you’ll look old as fuck soon if you do.”

“You don’t know how old I am,” you scoff and slap his hand away.

“Bet I’m older,” he mumbles, searching the shelves of bottles idly while dropping a few cubes of ice into the glass.

It melts in his palm, slipping through the spaces between his fingers.

Dabi clenches his fist tighter.

“I don’t know about that,” you’re trotting around to the other side of the bar now, slipping into one of the worn, red topped stools and watching him start to mix.

He likes having you for an audience. Any other customer is only concerned with getting his drink as fast a possible, to numb whatever wounds need to be numbed on their insides. But you appreciate the art form of crafting this liquid destruction.

“I’m older where it counts,” he replies simply, pulling a bottle of gin down from near the top shelf and plopping it on the counter.

“Oh really? How’s that?”

Dabi measures out two ounces of sharp, clear liquor and pours it smoothly over the ice. He doesn’t bother looking at you as he works. He knows your eyes won’t leave him.

“Experience,” he offers and doesn’t elaborate.

The tonic water cracks open with a satisfying hiss and bubbles as he tips it into the glass. You trail your fingers through the condensation on the bar absentmindedly.

“I’m not as clueless as you think I am, you know that?”

He does glance at you then, senses the lack of your attention that’s focused on the fading finish of the bar top.

Dabi waits in silence.

You do elaborate.

“There’s some real fucking choice clientele here, but nothing that’s gone down on shifts is like, a new development.”

“No?” he asks because you expect him to respond and because he enjoys the way you perk up when he actually engages in a conversation with you.

He likes that you like it.

His attention.

It’s not often he finds anyone worth the effort.

“No.”

You stare at him expectantly now, eyes flicking between him and the glass as he stirs the drink a few times and grabs a lime wedge.

Dabi rolls his eyes at the clear fishing line you’re casting for more questions, but takes the bait anyway.

He hopes you know how lucky you are.

“What, got groped on the train a few times and now you think you're a seasoned member of the criminal underground?” he squeezes the fruit between two fingers lightly to spread its juice around the rim and lets it float atop the ice. “I fucking knew you were a dramatic little bitch.”

“I am not dramatic,” you pout just like you do every time the boss chews you out.

He gets the distinct feeling you’re just as much of a petulant little brat elsewhere as you are at work. Then again, that is what makes you so interesting. If you didn’t try to gnash those little baby teeth at him every now and again, he wouldn’t have bothered jumping to your rescue so often.

Dabi doesn’t partake in...partners often. People disappoint him, which isn’t shocking considering the amount of shit he’s seen them spew in his years behind the bar. People are dirty and never in the sexy way all those pop songs talk about, and that makes them boring. The allure of inviting someone else into his shoebox little life is shaping them to fit it. You can’t sculpt mud that loses its shape, slips through your fingers and back to the filthy earth where it belongs.

But you haven’t been stained yet.

You sit at his bar looking like a perfect slab of clay, ready for his hands to dip past those sweet, sweet lips and form them to fit only his fingers.

A rare find in a place like this, just like the single malt on his top shelf—unexpected, leaving behind a pleasant burn on his tongue.

He thinks back to that man on the first night he showed you some of the drinks and all the others that came after him. Here, in the bar, you can come scurrying over and hide behind the wall of his chest. You can put Dabi and the counter between you and the mass of hands and whistles.

He hadn’t really bothered to think of what might happen to you when he’s not around.

Who might touch his precious treasure he’s managed to dig out of muck.

Who might try and ruin you before he gets the chance.

His brain is working to rationalize the growing feeling of possession he feels towards the half frown half permanent smile that you fix him with. But he knows.

He knows exactly what he’d like to do to you and how he’d like to do it.

Knows it’s exactly what all those creeps on the train or drunks that stumble in one hour to call would like too.

It’s fine though. People like him wouldn’t be so attracted to people like you if you weren’t asking for it.

And you were asking.

Every time you stood by him, attached at the hip and let him chase off the assholes who tried to get in your pants or practically begged him with your eyes for some scrap of attention—you were asking for him to take control.

Even if you were too stupid to see it for yourself.

Your body knows what you want, even if you deny it with every fiber left of you.

He doesn’t offer another response, just slides the concoction across and into your outstretched hands.

Gin and tonic is simple, bare bones and hard to fuck up. He likes that. Everything else is so goddamn complicated, this type of magic doesn’t need to be.

You seem to forget the weight of the previous conversation and peer curiously down into the glass. Dabi is shameless as he watches your lips wrap around the curved edge and your throat constrict as you swallow.

He likes that more than the floral gin that hits his tongue when you pass the drink back and he sips.

“So which is it, your favorite or your best?”

There’s a pause as he considers the questions before passing the glass back to you.

“My favorite.”

He isn’t looking at the drink when he answers.

“Oh,” you respond quietly, sipping lightly on the drink he’s made and looking at him like he isn’t seconds away from taking you then and there.

“Stay awhile after your shift,” he says, not much thought behind the words. “I’ll drive you home.”

***

You look almost angelic, a beacon amongst the refuse and grime of the back alley, silhouetted by the dying orange glow of a lone street lamp. The door to the kitchen is still rattling in its frame as Dabi pulls you stumbling behind him.

He isn’t angry.

But there’s something burning in him.

In reality, he’d felt the potential of the night the instant he walked through the front doors, slipping behind the bar to clock in only to find you leaned up against the drink racks, ready and waiting.

The same sensation since the first time you’d smiled that dopey smile his way was raging to a crescendo under his skin. He’d been doing you a service all these weeks, keeping you from the prying eyes and fingers of the patrons—keeping them from soiling what was his to ruin.

Tonight he would take what he was owed.

Indulge a bit in what he’d won, the gold nugget he’d plucked from the dirty, city sewer riverbed.

After all, he needed to make sure you were a worthwhile investment.

If the boss thought the restaurant business was risky….well, Dabi knew better.

You struggled a bit as his fingernails dug into the skin on your bicep, but he just tugged harder, clicking his tongue at the jumble of slurred protests you groaned into the sweet summer air. There was a space between the two massive dumpsters out behind the kitchen Dabi used to go to smoke. It was a nice, private little spot. Didn’t smell too great but nothing here did, and that wouldn’t matter when he had you to distract him anyway.

In seconds he had your back to the wall, hidden on either side by steel containers. The brick caught on your uniform and Dabi watched the fabric tighten around your chest and throat. You brought your hands up to his shoulders, but your hands were weak as they shoved at him, easy to gather in one palm and pin down.

He wasn’t exactly sure what put this idea in his head—the urgency in his blood—but it definitely had something to do with that last customer.

It was halfway through your night shift, closing in on one in the morning. Dabi was stuck behind the bar, churning out cheap beers and lines of shots. You’d been forced to brave the sea of regulars, too busy to hide yourself away in the kitchen with Toga or watch with owl-wide eyes as Dabi doled out liquor.

The bar was unusually packed. Not that it was strange for a bar to be full on a Friday night, but he’d never seen the place without an empty seat in sight.

Maybe it was because you were so easily swallowed up by the roiling mass of bodies, or maybe it was because Dabi lost himself in the magic of the drinks—of the mixing and matching and perfecting—that he didn’t notice the man.

That the way this particular customer stared and touched and spoke to you miraculously didn’t end in a smart slap to the face and a screaming session from the manager.

No. It seemed that somewhere along the way he’d let that light in you, the matchstick spark, dwindle just a bit too much, let you sink just a bit too far into the mud of the place. Cause when this man pulled you into his lap and plied you with shot after shot, cheering all the time, calling you his ‘pretty little thing,’ you didn’t put up any fight.

No.

No you smiled that dumb, bright eyed smile at him.

Flashed this nobody asshole Dabi’s sweet little smile and drank the shots he’d poured like Dabi hadn’t wasted the nearly a month driving you home and keeping you safe from the human garbage that wandered in off the street. Like all that work had been for nothing, up in ashes the instant that man’s hand found purchase on your bare thigh and you didn’t so much as squirm in his grip.

You squirm now though.

Fight despite the alcohol blurring your vision and turning your bones to jelly. Normally the boss hates it when his employees drink on shift, but if you want to take it like the fucking slut you were well, who’s Dabi to stop you?

He kept pouring rounds for that table and watched the man tip sweet, top shelf whiskey down your throat. It didn’t take long till you were losing your balance and sinking deeper into the quicksand debris of the bar.

Gin and tonics used to be medicinal—mixed up with quinine to treat malaria. Dabi likes that. Likes the idea that he’s whipping up healing potions instead of Molotovs. Likes the freshness amidst the burn.

But Dabi wants you to burn now.

Wants your throat on fire with the betrayal.

It’s easy to force your knees. The whiskey made you pliant even as you shake your head and look up at him with bleary eyes.

“You’re looking at me now, huh?” he works his tongue across his teeth as the words leave him, spitting straight on your cheek to watch you recoil in disgust. “Didn’t seem too interested in me earlier.”

“I don’t, I’m sorry...what?” you mumble.

He thinks if you were more coherent you might be crying.

Maybe he should have cut you off sooner.

“Don’t act stupid with me,” he still has your hands held above your head and his free hand moves to grip your scalp. “You’ve been behind my bar so many times, there’s no way you don’t know I see everything.”

“Why didn’t you…” Dabi shakes your head as your eyes droop and you gasp at his nails raking your skin. “You could have helped me!”

“What? Help you get fucked by some drunk shit? I don’t think so.”

“No,” you shake your head yourself this time, face screwed up in confusion and as the grit of the alley bites into your knees. “They wouldn’t let me leave, I was scared, Dabi please—”

He is swiftly losing his patience, hand leaving your head to fumble with the clasp of his belt and pants. The look on your face—tears beginning to bead at the corners of your eyes and mouth opening up as words try but fail to find their way off your tongue—is enough to have his cock twitching with interest.

“Listen sweetheart, cause I’m not gonna fucking say this again,” he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in his chest as his dick falls free from his boxers and your eyes go almost all white as he strokes up the ladder of piercings on his shaft. “You might think you’re cut out for this job, but you aren’t shit. Everything’s got a price down here and you’re gonna have to pay the fuck up for what you owe me.”

You look like you want to protest, even in this state—on your knees in an dirty as fuck alley with a fat cock nudging your lips—but he’s got his thumb worked between your teeth, shoving down on your tongue until your jaw pops open and he can sheath himself inside.

The half choke, half sob, half shameful moan that squeezes out past his dick only has Dabi growing harder. It’s been so long since he’s fucked someone’s throat. So long since he’s fucked anything at all, he’s nearly forgotten how goddamn good it feels to have something other than a fist wrapped around him.

His fingers migrate, moving to grip you by the cheeks, keeping your mouth open and jaw locked so you can’t bite him. Not that he thinks you really would.

Your body knows what you want.

And it seems like you really want a fucking dick in your mouth.

He pulls out, listening to the click of the little metal barbells against your teeth and the gasp of air you take before he plunges back in.

“Look at you,” he muses, daring to release your hands which flop uselessly to your sides as he holds your face still and starts to roll his hips. “Don’t know why I waited so long to collect, fucking shit.”

Your neck bulges with every stroke of his hips, and when the ring at the tip of his dick nudges the back of your throat, you gag so pretty he can hardly stand it.

He wonders idly, as you cry and choke on his cock, if you’re thinking about the man in the bar. Wishing it was his length you were lapping at like a good little hole.

Wishing Dabi had been better.

Not like the others.

And for a moment, it has him stilling—the horrid notion that there might have been something not so twisted between you if only he wasn’t scum like the rest, if he wasn’t just hiding his dirt on the inside.

Tar logged lungs and heart.

But then he remembers that if he just fucks you hard enough, you’ll forget all those nasty things until you’re fit just for him. Molded for Dabi right down to the thoughts in your head.

So instead of stopping this now and hoping you’re drunk enough to forget the filth of the alley and the salt of his cum on your tongue, he picks up his pace.

His thighs burn with the effort, not used to this kind of movement after years alone, and your face is a mess of tear tracks and spit that dribbles out in streams around the length of him slamming into your throat.

It’s quick and dirty and hard and everything Dabi has ever been and will always be. Delicious and hot and fresh. His blood is pounding in his ears, drowning out the cries and sobs and whimpers coming from you between his knees. Instead his head is alight with the thought that soon he’ll mark that mouth as his, claim you before the others could. And if the road to hell is paved with good intentions then Dabi doesn’t know where he’s going when he dies, but he’s deep in heaven now.

With a bang and a whimper Dabi will pretend didn’t slip past his lips, he slams past your teeth once more before exploding in your mouth. Thick, white ropes of release coat your tongue and he doesn’t pull out, just works his fingers under your jaw until he feels you swallow around his softening cock.

Only then does he take a step back to survey his work.

Half in shadow, surrounded in trash and debris, cum stained with dirt under your nails, Dabi feels pride well in his chest.

Distantly he thinks that this burning sense of completion, of perfection, of accomplishment, is what an artist must feel—hand finally dropping the brush to gaze upon their life’s work.

A masterpiece.

His perfect, human clay creation.

Your mouth still hangs dumbly open, hands resting on the brick dust coated ground, your eyes are wide and still stare up at him—reminiscent of a peasant gazing onto a king, confused at the power before you. And with the dim burning of the streetlight, illuminating his hair and glinting off the silver piercings adorning his ears, Dabi thinks he must look just that—a king with his crown of bloody jewels.

He watches as you sway and fall forward on your hands and coughing onto the ground. Your chest heaves, your legs shake, and Dabi feels his shoulders soften. He tucks himself away slowly, refastening his belt as your sputtering subsides. With careful steps, he moves to stand in front of you once again, running his hand along the back of your head until your breaths come deeply and his mouth tastes sickly sweet at the way your hands move to grip at his boots.

“Hey,” he mumbles, feeling some strange heat in his face that brings him to his knees before you. “Look at me.”

And you do in an instant.

Dabi half expects a glare, steely and cold like the walk-in but it’s not.

Your eyes are blank and glossy, staring hooded and helpless like a stray cat desperate to be carried away and fed warm milk.

He wipes a bit of his own release from the corner of your mouth and doesn’t question the sudden, intense need to lick behind your teeth. With filthy hands he cups your face and revels in the feel of your swollen lips and the taste of himself on your tongue.

It screams ownership.

And Dabi has never had much to his name so the thought only makes him want to cling harder.

As he pulls away there’s a smear of red dust on your cheek from his thumbs stroking the skin. Marked. Claimed. Coated in a thin layer of grime just like every other poor soul that walks into this place, but that dirt is his. That filth is him, a permanent imprint on your bones.

He thinks you’d look good with his name in black ink etched into your flesh, dark and blatant so anyone who looks at you would know, would see who owns you even when the muck has been washed away.

“You did good,” he says, giving you a smile of his own—maybe his first, surely not his last.

Your voice is nothing more than a sunken ship wreckage of what it once was, interrupted with sniffles and creaks. “I..want to go home….”

“Let me drive you,” his hands reach under your arms to lift you shakily off the ground, head tucked safely into his shoulder as he helps you limp to his car. “Not safe for you to go walking at this time of night. Men can be fucking monsters you know?”

His heart pounds happily in his chest as you nod against him.

“Thanks,” you whisper into his shirt.

Dabi grins wider than he can ever recall. The kind of expression that makes his cheeks ache and his head spin.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” the words drip off his tongue, top shelf truth if he’s ever heard it. “Anytime.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #bnha fanfiction #tw: alcohol #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw misogyny #tw sexism #tw cat calling #tw drinking #tw toxic behavior #tw yandere #tw spitting #bee.writes

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dulcetpill · 3 years ago

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post-canon musings

When I see people talk about how Juwon may not move to Manyang for several more years after the already-long-enough year of epilogue yearning... It simply breaks my heart. Both Dongsik and Juwon were so miserable and ultimately lonely (even though it were two different kinds of “lonely”) for twenty (20) years already, why must they suffer any longer? It feels so cruel to prolong it more than strictly necessary.

I think it was relatively easy for them to go a whole year without each other—technically, they’ve been doing that for twenty years prior. They had a lot to work through. Closing the case, all the trials... Dongsik finally finding closure, finding peace... and finding emptiness. Akin to a feeling after you finish a book. A long, long terrible, gut-wrenching read that you desperately want to end, but when it is finally over, you don’t know what to do with yourself. It’s been so long... Healing can be not only a painful process, but a confusing one. Much to do, much to think about—especially about what to do. Is Dongsik allowed to work in police while he’s on probation... or ever? Does he want to? What does he want now? Should he want it? Should he have it? Does he deserve to have it? Such thoughts plague his mind. He cleans his house. Replants the garden. Sleeps in his bed. He can finally enter Yuyeon’s room feeling not a gut-piercing pain and dread and hope and pain, but a bittersweet sadness. He doesn’t get rid of her belongings, but he cleans the room. It’s easier to breathe now.

Dongsik goes to Jaeyi’s shop and helps her renovate it. For so long she dreamt of leaving it behind, the hope of her mother returning keeping her bound to it, preserving this little miserable place as it was, as if nothing should be changed... only to realize that she doesn’t really want to leave, doesn’t have to, but a little change is good, actually. So she redecorates. Dongsik smiles at her when Jaeyi tells him her idea. She smiles back. They understand each other.

A year of longing isn’t that hard when you’re busy. And Juwon is busy. With transferring to a new substation, acclimating to the new surroundings, new coworkers, new restaurants and a new house. He does move out from his apartment in Seoul, and his new place is... decent. It doesn’t really matter. It’s just a place. There’s a butcher shop in town—but no one gathers here after hours to share rumours, drinks and their hearts’ warmth. It’s just a place.

His coworkers don’t look weird at him. When he just transferred, they complimented him on cracking that case. They tried not to talk about his father—but they said Juwon’s dedication to law and justice is remarkable. Juwon doesn’t know how to feel.

He gets more comfortable footwear, ready for a sudden call even on his days off. He takes calls on his personal phone. He says it’s his duty. He feels good about it. He tries not to think why he also feels guilty—and still unfulfilled. He doesn’t answer Oh Jihwa’s texts. He doesn’t text Dongsik—who once texted him asking about how he’s doing in the new place. Why is he asking Juwon that? How can he possibly worry for him—after, after everything? His father’s trials still aren’t over. Juwon wanted to fall from grace, go to hell, destroy his own life, yet people from Manyang are still reaching out to him. For him. He doesn’t deserve it, whatever this “it” actually is. Calls from Manyang are so alluring, like siren’s calls. He must withstand. Must be rational. (This rationality comes with a dull ache.)

When he receives Jihwa’s text on February, 5th, a guilt collides with a guilt, leaving only duty. To mourn chief Nam Sangbae, to pay respects. He was thinking of him anyway—it wasn’t exactly a coincidence that he chose to visit his mother’s grave on this day. So he comes to Manyang’s Butcher Shop, where not-so-weirdly friendly people are already gathered. Jaeyi welcomes him, her tone full of awkward teasing bitterness, as if he was a friend who left without a goodbye and never called in a whole year. Was he... supposed to? He anxiously looks past her, trying to see who’s gathered in the shop, if... But Dongsik is the last one to come, he’s right behind Juwon, and he looks well, and that’s—that’s good. Good. It’s good to see him, to know he’s alright. It’s hard to look away, and yet somehow shameful and painful to stare too long, as if simply seeing Lee Dongsik is a guilty pleasure, one that he mustn’t indulge too much.

They sit around the table, all smiles and elbows in each others’ sides. Han Juwon feels awkward. He feels... shy? He feels warm, even though it’s February. He likes the food, he genuinely does. He can’t stop staring at Dongsik, no, of course he’s looking at him—they’re talking, that’s normal,—and Dongsik, too, is looking, and that’s obvious, but—

Juwon’s heartbeat is stable, but a little too intense. He doesn’t feel like this when he’s anxiously looking around in the mountains for a lost person. This intensity isn’t scary, yet it scares him nonetheless.

When they’re alone on the bridge, Dongsik’s teasing is so gentle Juwon vaguely thinks of just falling down to his knees and begging for forgiveness—in the middle of the day, their... their people walking just below there. Because Dongsik looks warm, he looks healthy, he looks... shy? He looks hurt, underneath it all, and the thought of that makes Juwon’s insides twist. Dongsik shouldn’t look hurt of any kind now—or ever, for that matter. But Juwon has to go, he can’t just stare or run back to Dongsik for real—to fall down to his knees, to cry in his hands, to... to hug him? How does one simply hug someone? Juwon can’t hold back a smile, but he barely manages to hold back tea—

It’s two month since their conversation on the bridge (that they haven’t crossed yet, what with Juwon running away to do good things, and Dongsik staying in the middle, waiting for Juwon to return to him—perhaps some other time, but definitely return.) Juwon is busy, that is all. And, well, he can’t just randomly go to Manyang for no good reason, can he? He visits his mother’s grave again—it’s the anniversary of her death, after all—and he just happens to be nearby... He almost halfheartedly hopes no one is actually there—of course they are. It’s Sunday. Dongsik and Oh Jihun are having lunch, while Jaeyi is serving a customer.

Jihun is the first one to notice him, and after a second of disbelief he lights up with a wide smile, waving to Juwon to come in (he’s so exited he almost chokes on his food.) Dongsik curiously turns around and does choke on his food. He looks flabbergasted, as if seeing Han Juwon in the flesh after two months was somehow weirder than seeing him after a whole year of no contact. Juwon awkwardly stands beside their table: “I was around...”

“How sweet of you,” sneers Jaeyi, pushing a chair to his legs.

“It’s strange to see just the two... three of you,” confesses Juwon, because it’s true.

Dongsik gives him one of his cheeky grins.

“It’s barely past 1 p.m. on Sunday, you’re lucky you’ve met us here at all, Inspector Han. It’s just this guy here lost a bet and now owns me a meal of my choice,” he points at Jihun, who immediately crosses his arms in partially pretense annoyance.

“Yeah, and of course you chose Jaeyi’s best meat! Didn’t even hesitate!”

“Would have you preferred a date in Busan’s loveliest noodle restaurant?” Dongsik’s smile widens at Jihun’s pained face. “So you really are lucky, Inspector Han. Unless you actually wanted to find our Jaeyi alone, of course.”

Juwon frowns in confusion: “No, why—”

He’s cut off by Jaeyi’s snort. “Yeah, no,” she looks at Juwon, very pointedly barely suppressing an eye-roll, and shakes her head. “Aww, saying that just because you’re so happy to see him,” she smiles at Dongsik. “Han Juwon, you should come more often. It makes Lee Dongsik funny.”

“I’m always funny,” Dongsik says, a cute expression on his face, but he warily squints at Jaeyi. She squints back, eyebrows raised, and it’s as if they’re holding a private conversation on a matter discussed not so long ago. Jihun, cheerfully unaware of the eye-talking right in front of him, smiles at Juwon:

“It’s not just Dongsik who’s happy you’re here! All of us are! So do come more often!”

Juwon, his mind still filled with “Lee Dongsik... happy”, asks in quiet disbelief: “You’re... happy I’m here?”

The three of them look at him, Jaeyi with annoyed pity, Dongsik with sadness—even though he’s still smiling, Jihun with his own sort of confusion.

“Well, of course?.. I mean, I can’t speak for everyone everyone, and “happy” is a pretty strong word, but...” at this, Jaeyi interrupts him, once again pushing a chair against Juwon’s knees, forcibly making him sit.

“Whatever you think or want to think, there are people who do care, and seeing you alive and in good health right before their eyes makes them feel better.” She puts an empty plate for him and disappears to the backroom.

Juwon turns to Dongsik, a quiet question stuck on his tongue: “Are you happy to see me? Do you want to see me? Does seeing me make you feel better?”, but Dongsik smiles and, throwing a wink at Jihun, mischievously not-whispers, “Eat up. Jihun’s paying for everything.”

So Juwon eats, hiding a small smile in a bite of freshly cooked meat.

“Come more often” means Juwon comes to Manyang a whole month later. He’s busy. It’s Friday, and when he enters the shop it’s already past 23. Everyone is a little tipsy, so they only cheer and graciously ask him to join them. Just a half-an-hour later they start to disperse, but coming here strangely doesn’t feel like a waste of time. Juwon walks Dongsik home, and they don’t even really talk. It’s pleasant. Dongsik awkwardly pats him on the arm, wishes him a safe ride home, and disappears into the darkness of his house.

The touch burns for three more weeks. Juwon gets in his car and goes to Manyang right after work, already have taken a shower and wearing fresh clothes. He always takes an additional set of clothes with him to work, in case he gets sweaty or dirty on the job. It’s not that weird or special. He’s not in a hurry. He just likes long car rides.

Next time is two weeks later. The past few day have ended up being quite stressful for Juwon, and sitting alone at home is somehow uncomfortable, uneasy. Itching. He could’ve made himself a drink and tried to go to bed early, but his mind is filled with smiles and the vague sound of meat being cooked, and the mere thought of sleeping feels like drowning. So he goes to Manyang.

After that it’s just one week. Jihwa, eyebrows raised and all, tells him to just move to Manyang. Her tone is slightly ironic, but the glint in her eyes isn’t mocking. Everyone snorts at the suggestion, and Juwon, feeling blood rushing to his face, says, “Who knows. Maybe that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

At that, Dongsik gently laughs: “Please do, Inspector Han, please do. Our little town is not the same without your handsome face around.”

Juwon cocks an eyebrow and smiles at him. “I thought as much.” The room feels hot for the rest of the night.

He skips a week. Because he’s busy. He can’t help but let out a shaky sigh/laugh when later that night he receives a text from Jihwa, asking if he’s alright. He actually replies. Yes, he’s alright. It’s not like he promised to come weekly now.

He comes weekly.

By the end of August coming every Friday to Manyang feels less like a gracious ritual or a spontaneous whim, and more like going home. It’s weird, because he never stays the night, never spends the weekend there. It’s just a few hours of people and food and a feeling of belonging. It’s new and rather painful, and he tries to shake it off, but in the end it just makes the ache worse.

When he comes on the last Friday of August, it’s raining, and the only person at the shop is Jaeyi, preparing meat and very obviously intending to soon leave for the day. Juwon sits in his car for a second, a feeling of disappointment slowly creeping in his body. When he takes his umbrella and gets out of the car, Jaeyi notices him and waves, inviting him into the shop.

“I can’t imagine you’re here to gallantly give me a ride to spare me getting drenched while walking in this pouring rain, so I can only assume no one told you about the change in the plans,” she squints her eyes at him, but the tone of her voice is friendly. At his confused look she only sighs. “Thought so.”

“Dongsik got himself a cast today—don’t look alarmed, nothing’s broken—he literally slipped on some garbage on his way to a store, that idiot,” Jaeyi snorts and sighs again. “And now he can’t exactly go outside of his own house, you know, certainly not in this weather. So, a change of location has happened.”

“Then, you’re gathering at Lee Dongsik’s house?”

“We’re gathering, but yeah,” she pushes several stacked plastic containers in his hands. “Can you get this to the car? I need to close the shop.”

Dongsik’s house is bright. And loud. And smells of something delicious being cooked. Jihwa is comfortably seated in a chair, and her posture is so uncharacteristically domestic, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to assume a pose of a pretzel when one’s in Lee Dongsik’s house,—Juwon almost thinks he hallucinates. Im Seonnyeo is looking through the CDs on the console table, and the music is already on. Kang Dosu’s voice is heard from the kitchen, the man not visible in the suspicious cloud of smoke slipping into the living room. Dongsik himself half-lays on the couch, engaging in a quiet conversation with Jihwa. He looks at Juwon and Jaeyi and beams.

At the same time, Jihun strolls out from somewhere holding a tray of snacks, and he too grins widely at them. He turns to Dongsik, “I think Dosu’s trying to burn down your kitchen,” he says while still smiling. “And it doesn’t look like we can stop him.”

“Well, I sure can,” sighs Jaeyi, power-walking around the couch towards the sound of Dosu’s panicked cries. Seonnyeo giggles and joins after her.

Dongsik makes a dramatic face as if terrified at the implication of his house burning, but then calls out to Juwon and cheekily pats the seat beside him. Juwon sits. It’s weird. The last time he was in this house, it was cold, dark and miserable—it was a place where life should be, but wasn’t. Even the basement felt more homey, not that Juwon had much experience with the concept. But now... but now the house is so warm. Not in a it’s-august-so-of-course-it’s-hot way, but simply pleasant. And Dongsik looks so pleased, as if he didn’t go through something mildly (physically) traumatic today, as if his day couldn’t be ruined by the cast on his leg or the rain or the potential Dosu-induced house burning. He is smiling, content and comfortable, and Juwon is mesmerized.

Twenty minutes later and a few snacks thrown around by way-too-old-for-these-types-of-games siblings they all move to the tiny kitchen, lured in by the smell of the pretty decent looking, seemingly non-burnt meal. They sit around a small, miraculously fitted technically-inside-the-kitchen table, even though, Juwon guesses, there’s definitely a perfectly functional dining room in the house. Conversations come and go, and very soon someone makes tea. Jihun gracefully tries to grab 7 cups at once, and is saved by Dongsik who takes them one by one from his hands and puts them on the table. Juwon gets an enormous white mug with a clearly handmade feeling to it. It has shaky wildflowers drawn on it and certainly-handwritten words “Best Brother In The World.” It’s amateurishly cute, and the mug looks well-loved. Juwon stares at it, and Dongsik smiles, gently scratching at the ceramic of the mug. “Oooh, this one is Yuyeon’s present for my fifteen’s birthday, I think. She was very into acrylics that year, even though she kinda sucked at it,” he points at Jihwa: “Everyone got their own mug. And Jihwa broke hers, like, two month after. Cried like a baby.”

“I did not cry,” Jihwa snorts. “I do not cry.”

“You did. Couldn’t even look Yuyeon in the face for a week, you felt so guilty,” he shakes his head and grins, pouring tea into the mug. Jihwa huffs, but doesn’t argue. A sad smile lingers on her lips.

“Do you... want the mug?” Juwon asks, barely touching its awkward patterns with his fingertips.

“Nah, it’s fine. Jihun will whine if I use anything but this monstrosity anyway,” Dongsik waves in reassurance, and Juwon stares at the cup before him. It’s... really something. Weirdly shaped, yet certainly not handmade, with a curious pop-culture print. Surely a reference to an inside joke of theirs.

“I don’t whine!” whines Jihun and throws a cookie at Dongsik, who moves out of its way, and the cookie, making an awkward landing at the edge of the table, falls right into Juwon’s lap. Juwon looks down, more confused than uncomfortable. Dongsik looks down too and simply reaches to carefully take the cookie and shake off the crumbs from Juwon’s legs with his hand. “Well, looks still edible to me,” he concludes and shoves the whole cookie into his mouth, a teasing glint to his eyes. Juwon doesn’t even hear the ugly snorting everyone around them makes.

It’s already past midnight when everyone starts to lazily gather their things to go home. Juwon is still holding onto his mug, cherishing its last droplets of warmth. He isn’t tired, yet feels oddly sleepy, as if lulled by the friendly whispers of the Lee house. It’s nice. Suddenly the thought of getting out of the house into the spitting rain, getting into the car, driving into the night, getting into his apartment, coolly and lonely, still empty... suddenly this thought is the most unappealing thought ever. His apartment feels like a place. This house feels like home. And suddenly Juwon doesn’t want to go. He stares at the decorated walls, soaking in every detail of well-used, worn-out drawers and bookshelves of the living room. He nods his goodbyes, but he isn’t making a beeline to the front door himself. He feels like a spoiled 8-year-old kid in a store who doesn’t want to leave without taking half of the store with him. This feeling annoys Juwon, and he sighs. For a moment, he lets himself imagine living in this house—no, in a house like this. Warm, bright and welcoming. Where everyone acts like they own the place, without looking arrogant or rude. Where someone smiles at him so, so gently, as if he means it. As if he doesn’t mind... Juwon wants to stay.

“Stay.”

Juwon slowly turns around. Dongsik is yawning, crookedly leaning on the wall, his leg cast covered in doodles left by the others. Dongsik smiles-pouts and says in a quiet, soft voice:

“I know you always go back, and I know you didn’t drink because of that, but you look like you really need a nap. Probably not the best idea to drive right now, especially in this weather. So, stay,” then after a second, he adds: “But only if you want to, of course. Wouldn’t want to pressure. And I do have a spare bed, with clean sheets and everything, so unless you can sleep only in your own very specific bed—”

“I do,” Juwon simply says. “Want to stay, I mean.”

Dongsik beams at that, awkwardly separating himself from the wall.

“Oh, that’s good then,” he says, smiling somewhat through Juwon, as if this whole situation is actually embarrassing for him. “Should I show you around the house? I assume you’re already quite familiar with the floor-plan, yet you’re still haven’t paid up your rent... Should I charge you for today?”

He says that looking Juwon directly in the eye, in such a classic Dongsik way, it almost makes Juwon giddy.

“If I like the bed, I might start paying,” he smiles.

In October Juwon talks about transferring. (His coworkers seem genuinely heartbroken by the news. It’s nice, in a way.)

By the end of December he realizes that it’s going to be a very first New Year he spends with his family.

#beyond evil #kind of juwon-centric #well. VERY juwon-centric actually lol #it's like 95% juwon #idk what this post is #I just wanted to write out some ideas about how the next post-canon year could look like #but instead I made a half-assed. nay. quarter-assed fic full of cheese #it even has dialogue WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME #I'm embarrassed. please don't actually read any of this post or I'll die of humiliation #sorry for teh bad grammar or weird phrasing #I'm a non-native dunce <3 #a question for self reflection time later:#why am I thinking so much about Han Juwon #(s)pill it out

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darkened-writer · 3 years ago

Text

Simply Divine- (An Alcina Dimitrescu x Reader) pt.3

!!WARNINGS!! Contains blood-drinking, Soft caressing, and good ol’ family arguments.

The room was dark, darker than any average eyes were used to, the fabric tying Y/N’s arms to the wall as soft as satin.

After the encounter with Lady Dimitrescu, she was dragged into a spare bedroom that was usually locked to the maids, chains, and cages within the area and a single area to be hung up by silky ties.

She had been left there for the last twenty-four hours as far as she could tell within the lightless room. No sounds other than their own breaths coming from herself.

“Mother says we have to get the girl, Y/N I think her name was?”

“Surely she’s not serious about what she wants her for...”

“Well, if she isn’t fit for it then she will be thrown to Uncle Moreau for experiments..”

The soft click of the door suddenly opening alarmed the poor girl, immediately having her on her feet, scared.

“What the hell do you want with me! I was just looking around! Please.. don’t hurt me...”

Three girls stood in front of Y/N, their dark cloaks floating around them in a mystical and alluring way, the gems on their chests helping Y/N realize, these were the Dimitrescu daughters, Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela.

“Mother wants you as her pet, her plaything!”

“You must hope she has no feeling for you, we’ll turn you into a bottle of wine...”

“Nevermind, those two, just follow us, and keep close.” Cassandra helped her up.

“Why me...? All that happened was a moment in her room and now she wants me? It makes no sense...”

“You apparently are different, your blood smells...” The girl sniffed the air.

“Sweet... Tainted...”

Y/N walked alongside the girls, all other maids out of sight, the only ones in the halls being just the four.

“Different? I didn’t even know you all were some kind of vampires...”

“Not vampires, Mother needs blood to keep her normal form and we are her daughters, we can turn into bugs..”

“Bugs?!”

Daniela stuck her arm out and it seemingly disintegrated into a bunch of flies, then back into an arm.

“Holy crap?! That’s...”

“Cool? Powerful?”

“Odd, to say the least.”

The room doors came into view and Bela opened them, the smell of burning wood evident from the fireplace.

What stood out to Y/N was the chains against the wall and the lever next to the fireplace, raising her anxiety with every step.

“Ah, you are so kind to me, my daughters... Please, Y/N, take a seat.”

The girls pushed her into the seat, making Y/N grunt.

“Is this punishment for being in Mother Miranda’s lab?! I said I was sorry, why do I have to be punished?!”

The lady smirked, setting down her cup of wine and getting up, her towering height making Y/N uncomfortable but also slightly intimidated.

“You aren’t being punished, Dear... you are going to be my personal servant. You will clean mine, and my daughter quarters... bring us our food, and you will follow along with me as long as I am awake.”

“But, Mother! She smells divine! Can’t we just drain her?!”

“No, Bela, she is off-limits in that regard, though I wouldn’t mind letting you three have a taste of her...”

This piqued the daughters’ interest, the three now looking at Y/N with ravenous eyes.

“Go on... sink your teeth into her...”

The girls all picked a body part, Daniela chose the wrist, Cassandra chose the neck, and Bela the other wrist. Their teeth sink into the flesh and pleasant hums of gratitude towards their mother rang out, Y/N, however, bit her lip as she felt the blood leaving her body.

“Now girls… don’t get greedy now…”

Bela broke off from the left wrist, licking her lips and smiling.

“Thank you, mother.”

The other two broke off, thanking her also, while Y/N tried to keep her head up from the dizziness.

“Leave us.”

“Of course, Mother.”

The three scattered away in swarms of flies, leaving the head of the house and her new pet.

“My dear, you need rest as you will have plenty of duties as my personal servant. I had the girls decorate your new quarters and move your things to it.”

Y/N ‘s head hung low, eyes barely open as she groaned in exhaustion.

She felt the sensation of being picked and carried, then being set down along velvety sheets, the room dark but cool in temperature.

“You are just too pretty to let go of, my dear…”

A cold but calloused hand caressed Y/n’s cheek, thumb dragging her bottom lip down.

“I will never intend to hurt you, I will protect you from Miranda.”

The hand left her cheek.

“fată drăguţă…”

And then, a slam of a door shutting. She was alone, and that is when she would let the darkness of sleep consume her.

#resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x female reader #lady dimitrescu x maiden #flf #xreader #fanfiction #fanfic

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alfredosauce50 · 3 years ago

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From a past life [Yandere vampire! Romania x reader]

Synopsis: For centuries, he waited for your return--your rebirth. So when he finally learns of your whereabouts just outside of Wallachia, he rushes to meet you in hopes of becoming what you both used to be. But he runs into a predicament when he learns you're in a relationship with a man, a pesky human mortal by the name of Daniel. He'll do anything to get rid of him, even if he has to play dirty. He made a promise to you that he would find you for the rest of your lifetimes, so God forbid that he breaks it. Wordcount: 3, 813 The reader is referred to as she/her.

A trip to Romania had always been on your bucket list. Your boyfriend was just as excited to go, but he wouldn’t have been if it turned out to be the last trip you'd ever go on with him.

Today was when you would visit the highlight of your itinerary. On the Transylvania side of the border with Wallachia, and nestled in miles of rolling hills, was Bran castle. The awe-inspiring fortress told one of the most famous tales of old as Count Dracula's abode. Or at least, it was rumored to be as it fit the description of it.

Needless to say, you were dragging him around the estate to admire anything and everything that piqued your interest or served as a potential photo spot. “Oh, hurry up, Daniel! This is where he slept!” Scrambling closer to the grand bed, which was certainly framed with more wood than needed, you leaned in behind the red rope that fenced off the artifact. Then, you flashed him a wide grin.

He returned the gesture with a tender smile of his own. “I'm as old as this castle, kicsim. Let me take things in slowly.”

“You're only three years older than me. I don't think you have the right to call me little or yourself old.” Flattening your lips at that, your frown melted away as quickly as it appeared.

“But look! Dracula's sheets and mattress. Though it would make more sense to say it was Vlad's... The guy he was based on. Hmm, but that wouldn't make sense either.”

The man rubbed the nape of his neck with a soft laugh. It was no doubt he shared your enthusiasm, but your unapologetic passion always made him fall harder than he already had. “Yep. I believe he was imprisoned here. I don't think he'd be getting the master bedroom.” He appeared from behind and rested himself on your head as you placed a pistol grip on your chin.

“Even then, I can't imagine him sleeping so soundly after sticking so many sticks up people's--” Two strong arms squeezed around your waist to make you gasp.

“Ah-!”

“Okay! What do you say we go down to the gardens for a walk, hm?”

And that was exactly what the two of you did. Skipping out in front of him, you held onto his hands and swung his arms. “I'm gonna go down to the pond, okay? You can enjoy this place nice and slowly like the old person you are.”

This was the greenest garden you ever had the pleasure to stroll through, even the tea house blended in with its moss-covered roof. It only emphasized how ancient this castle really was, and something about it delighted you in ways you couldn't articulate.

“Alright, kicsim. I'll see what nice flowers I'll add to my hair.” Daniel scooped the pink blossom from his hazel brown bangs and placed it behind your ear. “When I do, I'll come get you. Don't let any vampires find you before I do.” Shooting you a wink at that, you pecked him on the nose before running off.

Who would have thought those words would ring truer than he intended? Several miles away, slept a man who was as old as Bran castle. His name too was Vlad, though he never earned such a fearsome reputation by impaling his enemies. Instead, he kept a low profile and dedicated his long, neverending life to finding someone.

Every restless night, she was what he dreamed of since her passing.

When I go, promise me you'll find me again.

Promise me.

Fluttering his eyes awake, they glowed a blood-red in the darkness of his bedroom. They drooped with a tiredness that never seemed to go away no matter how much he rested.

Sliding off the mattress, he folded the flaps of his robes tightly around his body before making his way into the halls. Every corner of this humble countryside cottage he called his home was enshrouded with shadows, and not to mention the thick coating of dust caking the top of every shelf, couch, and tabletop.

He hadn't cleaned this house for centuries. His will to try withered away through the years in his lonesome, but he was patient. Peeking through the gap between the curtains of his overgrown hair, his irises shrunk as the blinding daylight poured into them through the drapes of his living room window. He could feel it in his dead still heart.

Something had changed.

Out there in the world scorched by the sun, was something even warmer. And it was so familiar, so tender, he could not mistake it for anything else, or anybody else for that matter.

She was nearby, and the thought filled him to the brim with a joy so potent, tears of relief welled in his wide eyes. He had waited hundreds of years for this moment. For her return. Her rebirth that would usher in his own.

The prospect was so invigorating, he felt as if his heart began to beat again. He never felt so alive. Scurrying back to his bedroom, he sat in front of his vanity to access his appearance. He had to look presentable before meeting her, hadn't he? A bedhead like this and nightwear would simply not do.

Especially when he hadn't cut his hair for at least twenty years.

Giving his long locks of strawberry-blonde a thorough comb, he let it fall straight down to his lower back. With a few quick snips, he shortened his bangs by a few inches to give the impression he had some sort of control over an otherwise uncontrollable mane of hair.

As he shed himself of his robes in exchange for day clothes, a white dress shirt paired with dark plaid pants, one singular thought repeated in his head like a broken record. As morbid as it sounded, it was more of a Godsend than anything.

Death was never the end. Not for her, and not for him. Or rather, a new beginning.

But it didn't start the way he imagined. Following her sweet scent to the gardens of the famed Bran castle, he found the smell growing more and more pungent, albeit confused. It was mixed with another's, tainted by the stench of a human male. His irises thinned to slits, and he tensed up all over. How could this be?

Hiding behind a tree, he peered over the side to confirm his suspicion.

There she was, her beauty as pristine and untouched as the last time he loved her. For just one second, he was over the moon. But his euphoria was short-lived when he saw that she was with a man. Kissing him, even. Even though it was just on the nose, any further down her face would have caused him to start an apocalypse.

That insignificant, trifling, and scheming little creature. He was about to reap what he sowed. How dare he take his place? It was him she was meant to with, not that pesky mortal!

Whipping his head to the front, his eyes went round with disbelief and his breathing grew ragged. An unfathomable ache spread in his chest as he dug his nails into the bark. How could he have let this happen? It took every shred of his willpower to keep the waterworks at bay.

His throbbing heart was also weighed down with a pang of heavy guilt. To allow another soul to be this close to her was a grave disservice to the promise he made. But that didn't mean he couldn't undo this.

In just a few seconds, he formulated an intricate plan to carry out well-deserved revenge. To have her in his arms again, and him, out of the picture where he belonged. In the blink of an eye, he appeared behind the man and tapped him on the shoulder. When he spun around, he grabbed him by the neck and caught him in a trance with his hypnotizing, inhuman gaze.

“You will give these flowers to the nearest young woman you see. Put them in her hair and kiss her on the lips.” Opening his own palm, he materialized three peonies before placing them in the other's.

Unable to escape the powerful snare cast by a vampire such as himself, Daniel did so as told. “I will give these flowers to the nearest young woman I see. I will put them in her hair and kiss her on the lips.” He reiterated monotonously with his eyes glazed over.

Watching the helpless man saunter off, he smirked devilishly as he exchanged glances with his long-lost lover. This would hurt her a great deal, but she would only be devastated if he never did it.

You had been watching the pond, completely ignorant to the scene that was about to unfold. Little did you know, it was purposely orchestrated. Using a stick to prod at your reflection, you lingered on the ripples distorting it before glancing up. In the distance was none other than your boyfriend, and judging from the pink in his hands, he found his flowers.

So you stood up. You would have snuck up on him as a surprise, but your feet remained firmly planted on the ground when you witnessed him give it away, then flirt with another woman. It couldn't be mistaken for anything else. He was kissing her!

Frankly, you couldn't believe it. One year was all it took for him to lose interest? Blood flushed your face as bile rose in your throat. How could he? And during a vacation at that, too! Tears threatened to spill out of your eyes, but you blinked them away when you heard the light treading of feet nearby.

This had to be a misunderstanding. Right?

Spinning to the source, you found yourself staring at the most peculiar man you had ever seen. He carried a delicate parasol to shade him from the sunlight. Combined with his pasty white skin, it was almost as if he was one of the very mythological creatures the country was renowned for.

He smiled gently, almost understandingly.

“Are you alright, domnișoară? I have a spare handkerchief if you'd like.” His alluring voice was as bewitching as a siren, but his mere presence brought you unspeakable comfort. And yet, he was nothing but a stranger, an odd one at that, so you were at a loss to realize that all it took for you to gravitate towards him was for your eyes to meet.

“I'm okay, thank you. But I couldn't possibly accept something like that. I mean, I don't know you...” Waving your hands at the man apologetically, you took the opportunity to scan him up and down.

As if he walked right out of a fairytale, he oozed prince-like charm. His clothes were traditional and refined, but that long, silky hair of his was certainly a rare sight--rare but breathtakingly beautiful. It gave his character untold notions of grandeur, mystery, and an inexplicable impression he was ancient.

But that couldn't be, not when he didn't look a day over twenty.

“What do you mean, you won't take it? It's yours.” He pulled out a small piece of fabric from his sleeve. Placing the finely embroidered cloth into your palm, he never gave you the chance to object. “It would be rude to regift something, so you'll have to keep it forever.” Mischief curled at his lips, and you couldn't help but laugh a little.

“Alright, alright, you got me there.”

You dabbed away the moisture before breathing out a sigh.

“I'm sure you're a very nice person, but I can't bother you more than I already have. Thank you, again, Mr. Vampire.” If it weren't for how heartbroken you were, you would have been mortified. Being pitied by a Romanian local was never part of your plan.

Just when you were betrayed by Daniel, he appeared like a knight in shining armor. If only you could forget what happened between you and your boyfriend. Otherwise, you would be bragging about meeting a vampire in Romania for as long as you could talk.

“Mr. Vampire?” He lifted his head before revealing a pair of sharp fangs in a grin. Now that caught you off guard. “You don't see me calling you miss human--and I have a name, thank you very much.” As he placed his gloved hand on his chest to playfully feign offense, he bit back another smile at the sound of your amused giggling.

Despite what happened a few minutes ago, talking to this actor was making you feel better already.

“And let me guess, is it Alucard?” You shook your head. “Or is it Vlad? You can't possibly call yourself Dracula looking like that.”

He blinked incredulously, then curved an arm over his face as if to cover himself with his non-existent cloak. “How did you know?”

“That your name is Alucard?”

“No, Vlad.”

“Okay, close enough. It was nice meeting you, Vlad, but I have a stupid boyfriend to scream at.” At the mention of that, you looked like you were on the verge of tears again. “All I'm hoping is that he's still my boyfriend after this. If only he were as much of a gentleman as you.”

He reflected your distress in a frown, and you would have been surprised by how much this apparently bothered him. But you already walked off. So he offered one last niceity before you strayed too far. “Good luck with your boyfriend.”

“No promises.”

He let those two words affect him more than he intended. Needless to say, he moved on quickly to watch you run to the unsuspecting brunette. Soon, his anguish was staved off by the sight of you shoving him back a few steps.

What looked like a one-sided argument broke out, and all the poor, confused man could do was just that--be confused. Shortly after, you stormed off, and he jogged behind, desperately calling your name.

A sinister smile cracked at Vlad's lips, and his irises glowed red. That little thing had no idea what was yet to happen to him.

That night, Daniel took you to the Brașov city hall for dinner. The beautiful buildings surrounding a fountain were as traditional as they were clean. Too bad your zeal was burned away by your anger. In the few hours in the hotel before, he barely managed to soothe it by explaining himself. A given, considering his explanation made no sense whatsoever.

He couldn't remember flirting with a woman.

“I think we could share a pizza. Are you okay with that?” Lifting his gaze to meet yours, you only turned away to stare out the window into the endless night. Your spaciness was deserved on his part, but little did he know, it only had so much to do with his wrongdoings.

The eccentric local never left your mind. After all, he gave you something to smile about with his whimsical kindness.

Vlad must have been an entertainer, a virtuoso at that, but his actions never came off as ingenuine. To be frank, you were drawn to his sincerity, and even looking for him subconsciously, wishing that he could magically appear because you willed it.

If only Daniel could be just as sincere.

“I must be okay with a lot of things.” His face fell. The same sorrow from when he was at the hotel room returned, but you couldn't care to give it any attention. “Like you pretending you didn't kiss someone right in front of me because you don't remember. I'm not stupid. Who else would have long hair tied back and flowers in their fringe?”

Daniel knitted his brows so tightly together, creases formed between them. “... I know it sounds like I'm lying, but I swear to you I didn't do it. You know me, (F/N).” At this point, he hadn't the foggiest what to say to appease you because he simply didn't do it. “I promise. All I'm asking is for you to trust me.”

“You promise?” You fumed.

There was only one thing you hated more than a liar.

“I trusted you, Daniel, I really did. But how could you ask me to trust you after I talked to that girl? She remembered it, so why can't you? Did you think I was that crazily into you I could let anything slide?” The biting truth silenced him, but it was the sound of you choking back tears that broke his heart.

“I'm gonna go to the bathroom to think this over.”

He had no way to argue with you, let alone the heart to when it was just broken and crushed to a thin slab of flesh. What if he really did kiss someone, and miraculously forgot?

“When I come back, I better not see you kissing anybody again.”

Standing up at that, he watched you leave with a defeated expression. Then, he folded his arms across the table and buried his face into it. There was no way he could fail that, could he?

What were the odds of kissing someone again when he had absolutely no intention to? The chances were dwindling at zero as he kept his head down. Unless supernatural forces were at work, nothing could get him to budge from sitting at this table.

But even he couldn't count on the world of the mundane to save him.

Sitting a few tables away was the exact opposite of mundane. When the front door slammed shut, he stood up and walked to the customer with their head down. While all the men in the establishment wore their hair short, his was long and flowing like time itself. There was something other-worldly about him. Something ghostly in the way he walked.

With every step he took, his feet never seemed to touch the ground as if he was floating. And his pale complexion was just as macabre as how he carried himself.

Not a minute passed, and Daniel found himself standing outside by the fountain. With absolutely no recollection, he somehow left the restaurant and wound up here in the festive courtyard. As shock paralyzed him from head to toe, the only thought that occurred to him was this. What in the hell was going on?

Rather than sitting head down in the warm restaurant, he was out here, chilled by the biting European cold. Couldn't he have at least remembered the transition?

In front of him was the same woman he supposedly flirted with in the gardens. And judging from the blush on her cheeks, he just threw away all his chances at making up with you.

“Listen, I... I don't know you. Forget me. Forget this ever happened.” Daniel trembled, feeling a chill run down his spine as he staggered back a few steps. It was like a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. There was just no sound explanation for this when this situation wasn't sound at all. Whatever it was, this was clearly a case of sabotage.

And like hell he was giving in to whoever that masterminded it.

He ran back inside with a fearful kind of urgency. Rushing back to the table he unwillingly abandoned, he froze when he saw you marching towards him down the aisle with murder on your mind. But death was too lenient a punishment. It would grant him a clean slate, a new beginning from a past life of unfaithfulness.

So he was splashed with a glass of red wine instead.

As the crimson liquid soaked his hair, it spread over his shirt like blood. After you saw what he did, the last shred of hope you didn't know you had died, squelched out there on his clothes for the world to see. A chorus of gasps was heard from every corner of the restaurant. Unbeknownst to the patrons who murmured amongst themselves, it wasn't just any lover's quarrel they were watching.

Daniel's breath hitched as he struggled to process his mortification. Behind you stood the very gentleman that tapped him awake, but he never made the connection between him and his misfortunes.

And perhaps, it was better that way.

After leaving your boyfriend for good, Vlad offered to walk with you around the city. Once again, he had swooped in to save you, only this time around, he was staying.

“So... What are you gonna do now?” He asked, casting a tender gaze your way. Before you could wrap your arms around yourself, he beat you to it and flung his cloak around your body. When you gawked at him, he only grinned toothily with his fangs.

Your cheeks reddened and you turned away. Why he was still in his vampire getup was beyond you. But seeing his enthusiasm only reminded you that you lost yours. “... Book another hotel room. Spend the rest of this holiday crying. Maybe never think of this country ever again.”

“And I'm not letting you do any of those things.” He hummed, giving you a gentle squeeze. “Why do you think I'm walking with you right now, hm? I'm gonna take you around to the best spots in Transylvania. The most haunted ones, I mean. So you can forget about going back to the hotel.”

You sighed but managed a small smile. “That's great and all, but I'm not made of money. And my stuff is all there.”

He squinted. “... Oh yeah. But after we get your stuff, we can go elsewhere, can't we?”

A few laughs fell from your lips. His generosity really knew no bounds. “Your house, then? You do realize I only met you today, right?”

Vlad closed his eyes. He could beg to differ.

“But you're still walking with me alone. In the dark.”

“Only because you saw me cry twice today. I wouldn't be mad if you killed me so I don't have to be so embarrassed.” He frowned at the sound of that, so you added this. “I was just kidding. Something about you just makes me feel... Strangely comfortable. Like I've met you before. Isn't that weird?”

“... Not really.” Reaching the top of a hill, he stared at an old castle in the distance, sitting high up in the mountains. “There's a legend about this city. Hundreds of years ago, a vampire and a human woman fell in love. She died, of course. But people say he's still around, waiting for her to reincarnate so they can be together again.”

The way he spoke was so sad, it was almost as if he was that very vampire himself. But what did that have to do with you?

“... Okay. Then do you think he'll ever find her?”

Vlad turned to you with an unreadable expression, but there was an untold fondness in how he looked at you.

“He already has.”

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cloudywriter · 3 years ago

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the lost princess of terrasen

rowaelin month - september 7th

prompt: fairytale au - (an anastasia au in this case)

important: okay y’all so i went way overboard with this entire au and it got out of hand so now this might just be a full-blown thing. however, with that whole releation and me going crazy with outlining and writing i could really only have this much of the story out and ready for today but i plan on continuing it!! hopefully after rowaelin month. enjoy this little introduction :)

(cw: brief descriptions of violence)

masterlist, AO3

~~~

At freshly 18, Celaena Sardothien was free. She’d aged out of the orphanage and was finally released to go live her own life, no longer held down in the outskirts of Rifthold. Celaena didn’t want to wait a second longer, the need to leave the horrid place she’d lived the last ten years was ingrained in her bones.

The woman who ran the orphanage, Clarisse, was cruel. From a young age, she poked at Celaena, commenting constantly on her weight or how she didn’t act like a proper young lady. Her entire life up until this point was spent at the mercy of Clarisse and her stern ways. All the girls in the orphanage were treated as maids and dolls for Clarisse to manipulate. But, Celaena made it, counting down the days until her birthday.

Now, here she was, stuck out in the cold. She’d imagined her freedom to be more alluring than this instead she was shaking as she wandered through side streets that led to the heart of Rifthold. She carried with her a backpack barely full of her meager belongings and the too-thin coat on her back. Clarisse didn’t even spare her a hat to keep out the cold so she moved her hair to shield her freezing ears the best she could and waddled along the snowy pavement.

She still had her kingsflame necklace around her neck, though, and that’s all that mattered. Where she had gotten it from she hadn’t a clue. The first memory she possessed was waking up in the very orphanage that would become her prison. Clarisse explained to her that she’d hit her head and a nice man named Arobynn had brought Celaena to Clarisse to be cared for. Clarisse questioned her about her family and upbringing relentlessly but Celaena could not recall a thing. Her mind was blank. For many nights as a young girl, she’d sit upright in the creaky, lumpy bed she occupied and willed herself to remember. She’d cry and scream, banging her fists into her head in frustration when nothing ever surfaced.

The only connection she had to whatever life she lived before was her kingsflame necklace. And she’d follow that kingsflame to the ends of the continent if it meant she’d one day solve the mystery of her existence.

Which led her to the first stop on her journey of discovery, Terrasen. Once Celaena had accepted that her memories weren’t coming back and this was the life she’d have to lead she adjusted. She served Clarisse and went to the small, dilapidated school down the street with the other orphans. There she discovered her love of books and the meager library the school offered became her sanctuary. It was there while she read a book on the kingdoms on Erilea, hoping something would strike her familiar she learned that kingsflame flowers only bloomed in one place, the capital of Terrasen, Orynth.

As a child that discovery was a revelation. Terrasen. Maybe she was from Terrasen.

As Celaena walked she felt her toes growing increasingly numb, Adarlan’s winters were bitter and she was not equipped with the proper wear. Her teeth chattered but she pushed forward, she needed to get passage to Terrasen.

She drew the map out of the pocket of her coat once again and checked the status of her journey. Only a little longer until she was at Rifthold’s main dock station.

The city of Rifthold was big and Celaena felt out of her depth as groups of people swarmed the streets walking to and from their different destinations. It was overwhelming, the smells, the tall buildings, the weather, the noise, the sheer number of people, everything.

Eventually, she saw the lights of the station and she blew a sigh of relief, she hadn’t been very confident in her ability to read a map. She approached a man sitting in a booth behind a sheet of glass, smoking a cigarette.

Celaena stepped up to the counter.

“Hello, sir, I’d like to buy a ticket to Orynth,” she gave him a smirk, leaning casually on the box. She’d learned from many years of coexisting with Clarisse and a revolving door of people that to make it through life you needed a mask. Celaena had crafted her mask carefully and had perfected her act after so many years. She exuded arrogance and confidence so that another soul would never see the scared, lost little girl she truly was.

The man grunted, blowing a puff of smoke from between his cracked lips. “Do you have your papers, girl?”

Her brain stalled. Papers? She cleared her throat, “papers?”

“Yes,” his scratchy voice replied, “you need papers to cross the border.”

Celaena’s heart sank but she kept her expression neutral. “Well, I-”

“Listen, girl, I’m not going to sit here and waste your time so don’t sit here and waste mine. If you don’t have the right documents then I can’t sell you a ticket, simple as that,” he held the cigarette between his teeth.

She searched for some way to turn this situation around, chewing on her bottom lip.

From the shadows a little ways into the dark alley adjacent to the docks, she heard a hissed whisper. “You, blondie,” an old woman emerged slightly from the shadows, beckoning Celaena forward with her index finger.

Celaena looked around, the man in the booth was already back to ignoring her, his nose stuck in a newspaper so she decided to approach the woman. She didn’t have much to lose and Celaena thought if it went south she could take her.

Celaena crept closer, tightening her grip on the strap of her backpack.

“You need papers?” Her voice was hoarse as if her throat was made of sandpaper. Celaena nodded her head keeping her guard up, watching her surroundings out of her peripheral.

“I know who can get you some,” her face morphed into a slight smile that unsettled Celaena more than anything. Celaena furrowed her brows, “who?” The woman tsked at her, her hot breath forming a cloud in front of her face.

“That kind of information isn’t free, my dear.” Celaena had to resist the urge to roll her eyes, everything came with a price in this world.

Celaena reached around to the side pocket of her backpack, fishing out a few coins she had to spare. She’d saved just enough from doing odd jobs to pay her fare to Terrasen. She deposited the coins into the palm of the old woman’s hand, her knobby fingers running along their smooth edges.

“Go a few streets north and into the red brick warehouse with the large windows, you can’t miss it. Ask for a Mr. Rowan Whitethorn, he’ll get you the papers,” she instructed, hoarding the scant sum of money she was given as though they were priceless heirlooms. Celaena turned her head in the direction the woman directed as if she could spot the warehouse from here and by the time she rounded back the woman had disappeared once again.

Celaena huffed and shot another glance at the ticket man, he was still paying no attention, tapping his cigarette out with his finger. She didn’t necessarily want to go on a wild goose chase to obtain these papers but she had no other way of getting them so she breathed deeply and shoved her hands into her pockets and twisted north.

The woman was right about not being able to miss the warehouse. It was a large, old, imposing structure, clearly, it had not been in use for some time now. Celaena crept closer peering into the foggy windows as she passed the front of the building. She couldn’t see anything and was unconvinced she’d find the elusive ‘Rowan Whitethorn’ inside.

Nonetheless, she approached a rusting metal door on the side and pushed it open with her gloved hand. The door protested but it miraculously opened revealing a wide area stacked high with boxes along the walls and corners.

She ventured further into the space, dust and broken glass crunching beneath her boots. She didn’t see any signs of life besides maybe some rats. As she neared the opposite corner what could’ve been a makeshift sitting area came into view, blocked from view initially by a stack of boxes. She approached noting the circle of crates, a dusty blanket, and a few books piled on the side.

She peered at the title of the book on the top of the stack.

The Royal Family of Terrasen. Mixed emotions surged through her body.

“Who’s in here?” A male voice boomed nearly rattling the windows. Celaena shuttered, letting her bravo fill her bones as she heard a set of footsteps enter the space.

+++

Rowan Whitethorn’s life since the fall of Terrasen and the reign of the Valg had been a hell-hole, to put it bluntly. His family fell out of status, his parents were slain in the ambush on Orynth’s castle, and Rowan was left in an unfamiliar land at twelve years old.

A sect of the Whitethorn house had been visiting Terrasen’s court for the holidays when Maeve made her move against the continent. Doranelle crumpled first to her rule and Terrasen followed, the army of Valg she’d amassed was too large to stand against. Adarlan only survived because King Dorian bowed down to Maeve.

Even now at twenty-two, he has nightmares about that evening. The terror he felt as Valg poured into the ballroom and slaughtered the royals. The terror he saw in the princess of Terrasen’s eyes as she was shoved into the kitchens by her nursemaid where Rowan had happened to take shelter as well. He was scared too, running as soon as his father screamed at him to as the Valg slit his throat. He regretted it deeply, leaving like a coward when the palace was invaded. He regretted the cowering he did in the kitchens as well but when the young princess had burst in the doors, tears flowing freely down her cheeks something had come over him. He had pushed her out into the snow yelling at her to run and she did, scrambling to find her footing.

The rest was a blur, the Vlag hurried into the kitchens soon after but somehow Rowan made it out with his life. The same could not be said for many people in the castle that night.

Now, Rowan lived in Rifthold as a thief and doer of other’s dirty work. He longed for the day he could get out of this city of nightmares crawling with Valg. One day, he promised himself, one day he’d have to funds to make it back to Wendlyn and witness what had become of his home.

There was an opportunity, though, that’d heard about from whispers on the streets. Aedion Ashryver. One of the few survivors from Terrasen’s downfall. He chosen to stay in Terrasen’s territory afterward, the country had no real structured ruling now. The old King-Consort Darrow was the closest thing there was to a king but from what he’d gathered the man is old and weak, not the same after the death of his husband, King Orlon. Terrasen had virtually crumbled.

Somehow, Aedion had built up the Bane and gained standing for himself. A standing he was using to campaign to find his long-lost cousin. How Maeve hadn’t gotten wind of Aedion and his plotting and squashed him, Rowan wasn’t sure. Nevertheless, Aedion was offering a hefty reward for the return of his dear Aelin, the nation’s true queen, convinced she was still alive.

Rowan thought the operation was useless. Her body was never found, that was true, but he imagined she’d likely fled into the Oakwald forest and perished from hypothermia not long after. If he could make a pretty penny from returning the ‘princess’ to Aedion, though, he wasn’t above doing so.

All Rowan needed was a young, blonde, and blue-eyed woman he could convince to join his cause and he could coach her to be the perfect replacement for Aelin. Truthfully, he wasn’t convinced this could ever be achieved but it was something he’d contemplated.

Rowan was making his way back to the warehouse he liked to operate his more shady business out of, the biting cold seeping into his clothes. The looming, muddy red-brick building came into view and he pushed the frosted metal door open. Immediately, he was aware that someone had invaded his space.

Small footsteps had disrupted the layer of dusk along the floor. His hand flew to the dagger strapped to his chest as he prowled further inside.

“Who’s in here?” he called out, gripping the dagger tightly by its handle. Once he got far enough into the space he could see a young woman was standing near his makeshift seats.

The first thing he noticed was she was beautiful. Long, golden blonde hair flowed down her shoulders, her skin was pale and her lips had a blue tint to them. Rowan pushed aside all those unsavory thoughts, she was an intruder after all. However, he couldn’t help but study her, she was dressed far too light for the dead of winter, not even a hat on her head.

She looked right back at him, accessing him as he was her. She didn’t look scared to have been caught trespassing, no, honestly, she looked annoyed as if he was interrupting her.

“Who the hell are you?”

~~~

let me know if y’all like it so far and would like to see more, xoxo

#rowaelin fanfic #aelin x rowan #rowan x aelin #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #aedion ashryver #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #rowaelin month #rowaelin au #rowaelin fanfiction

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sirensmojo · 4 years ago

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"KINDRED",3 - Tommy Shelby x Reader.

Summary: Tommy meets a librarian that he discovered to be the chief of an underground organisation. Needing man enough allies to dirty their hands in the battle against Oswald Mosley, he shakes hands with the devil. Feelings intertwine with business, a mix that leads to unalterable ends...

Warnings: Swearing, drugs, romance, drama & cheating.

Word Count: 5K

❰ Previous Chapter

*Shelby Brother Company Limited, Birmingham*

“Michael’s a pain in the ass.”

You and Tommy were seated one in front of the other in Tommy’s office, it was almost midnight.

You both stared at each other after your affirmation, the need to formulate words obsolete, when all of a sudden, a hiccup hit your throat.

“Wow.” Your brows raised, along with your free hand, patting over your chest.

Only the booze could bring them to talk, but they would forget everything the next morning, or that, they pretended so. Everything the other would say was rooted in the other’s heart, as a prize.

“I could maybe try something.” You calmly spoke, as if a flash of thunder lightning struck some idea into you.

You two had dirty hands and were capable of taking care of yourselves, but those past three, you got each other’s back.

Without knowing it, you were keeping a close eye on the business of the other just in case.

If the Peaky Blinder found something wrong concerning your business, he would take care of it, in the shadows of course.

No need to tell you he quite cared when he wasn't sure himself.

It was also working the other way, you had ears at each side of the continent, you what had happened to the Shelby politician without him telling you, and straightened back up every shaky thing.

“ ‘Bout what?” Tommy asked, pouring some more whiskey in the cup resting in your other hand.

‘The two partners trying to get rid of Mosley’ had become an excuse. The silence each brought to the other was addictive, and the days between each meeting only amplified that obsession.

“Speak sense to his wife. Given the situation, I think both the weak and tuff points of Michael’s scheme are her.”

Tommy frowned, thinking deeper about what you told. You weren’t entirely wrong, he doubted Michael would’ve betrayed him without the support of somebody.

“He was pushed to one side, a little push to the other one will make him think right.” Y/L/N got further.

An evening meeting was programmed weekly.

You started meeting at the library during the first week. Then, the Shelby Brother Company Limited’s office, catching the attention of another member of the Shelby family.

“You think it’ll be this easy?” The peaky blinder asked, sprinkling ash onto the ashtray that was on the table that separated you two.

“It’ll have to.” You responded.

Polly was the first one to confront Tommy directly about the presence of a very well dressed woman far too often in the offices.

“Her hair is nice.” She added, smoking on her cig looking intently at Tommy's gleaming eyes at the mention of the so-called “librarian”.

Because that was how he presented Y/N. A girl from an aristocratic family searching for exoticism and bought a library.

He and you were to work together solely due to his status at the House of Commons, none more none less.

But the Gray woman knew better, even if she refused to push the matter further.

“May God keep Arthur away from her, he’ll eat her for his lunch.” Pol’ tease before she shook her head at her own statement as Tommy coughed away this whole discussion.

(...)

Three knocks could be heard on the Gray’s room door in the Midland hotel.

The entrance opens, “Told you I’ll join you in a minute, Gin--” Michael’s voice stopped as soon as his wife abruptly pushed her shoulders to his to enter the room.

“What are you doing?” One of his hands was in his suit pocket, the other one grabbing the door handle.

She hassled to the phone, dialling a number without even glancing at the Gray.

“Gina?” Asked the man, looking intently at the movements of the woman, blinking slowly.

She refused to address him, waiting patiently until the person she was calling responded.

“What is going on? What do you mean our contacts were offered another deal?”

Michael went closer, and as he was sitting on the desk chair, leaning backwards on it, he started to understand what was going on.

“Anyway, we can still offer them to prosper durably, that man can’t say the same, right?”

She rolled her eyes at herself after remaining silent for some minutes, she was listening to the individual at the end of the line.

It was more than clear she was done with everything.

She wasn’t even slightly “happy” to be in the shit hole that was Birmingham as she, herself, qualified multiple times. The only reason she was here was that Michael didn’t want to properly betray his cousin.

He convinced her to come here and resonate with Tommy about a “normal succession”, but she knew damn well it wouldn’t work. Why would he give everything he spent so much time to gather under the pretext of succession?

Tommy wasn’t the type to give up things, for any reason.

And now that they were away from New York, their allies already started to forget about their promises…

Why did she even agree to let Tommy a chance?

“He didn’t fall for Michael’s plan. We will have to do it our way.” She seemed happy at least, to finally be able to handle the matter how she wanted to, which was the only good news about this call.

When the receptionist asked for her at the restaurant, she’d expected to be told all was ready there and that Michael would only have to give the order for the plan to begin. But no.

Gina hung up the phone before she lifted her eyes to her husband that was staring at her, patiently waiting.

“It was my uncle, some man going by the name of Haynes met with all of our contacts, offering them a greater alliance directly with the Chinese, without needing us as intermediaries.” She finally spoke.

The younger Gray looked away, clenching his jaw as a hand came over his face. He let out a long sigh, his body voicing his displeasure. But his wife’s hand came on his shoulder as she leaned on his back, and murmured near his ear:

“But. He says it’s looking like the perfect time to launch plan B, baby.” She grabbed his chin as she turned around to stand in front of him.

“He says it’ll show them we can also ‘bang’ if it’s needed. It’ll be like showing our hand, and in this case, this is the thing to do.”

One of her hands was on Michael’s thigh as the other was still holding his face so he was looking at her. It was a way to say “focus on me” without actually saying it.

As the man was diving into her brown eyes, it seemed she succeeded at keeping him from thinking too much. She gave answers before he could even formulate questions.

By his silence, Gina surmised Michael still wasn’t sure about the plan.

“We did it your way Michael, coming all the way up here to your cousin’s chaotic decisions. Things need to get in order, baby. And it seems like you’re the one that cares enough to do so.” The words left her mouth so lightly as she straightened up and turned her back to her husband.

“We need to go back to America as soon as possible. You promised our child will be born there.” She added, glancing at him above her shoulder.

(...)

Arthur and the boys had convinced Tommy to relax at the Garrison after a long day. Even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he slammed the doors open to a packed place.

Ahead of them were approximately twenty women, all dolled up as if coming from the Eden club in London. Very short hair with the golden headband with feathers, embroidered pearls on their cotton dresses made it known they were from high society.

Some of them were dancing in the middle of the room, while others were singing on the counter zigzagging between glasses and bottles.

It was the first time Tommy had seen most of those people.

He was actively searching their faces trying to locate the reason for their presence when his eyes confirmed his thought. You were dancing, turning on yourself holding the hand of a taller woman.

You had on a black & red dress going down to your knees with a black and gold headband that flattened your hair, forcing your finger waves to frame your face. Your slow and haunting movements were wrinkling the fabrics, complementing your silhouette.

As you were spinning around, the fringes of your dress were flying in the air as well as your hair, adding to your alluring dance.

Your cheeks, certainly reddened by the alcohol and your half-opened eyes due to you boozing with the huge grin that illuminated your face, made Tommy’s eyes twinkle. As if it was a beautiful night sky full with stars he was looking at.

“Who’s that Tommy?” Arthur questioned entering right after the Shelbys head.

“Get in the room, I’ll bring the bottles.” Tom’s low voice ordered as he motioned to the little room near the counter.

Finn and Isaiah hassled to the room without wasting any more minutes, too appealed by the idea of getting drunk while Arthur leaned to his brother’s ear.

“Look at that butterfly Tommy, isn’t she lovely?” He asked after he caught the reason for Tommy's order.

The latter dismissed the discomfort with a rough cough, turning to his brother.

“What about you fetch the bottles, eh?” He simply put, and that was enough for Arthur to leave it there.

“Whiskey for the peaky boys!” He exclaimed as he patted Tommy’s shoulder. He managed his way behind the counter, after which, he took what he was searching for and disappeared behind the large doors of the little room he closed behind himself.

Tom stayed there, looking at you for some time trying to understand which one of the facades he had seen was the real you.

You were now sitting on your friend's lap, legs crossed, your lips were alternating between a long cigarette holder and a glass of what Tommy surmised to be whiskey knowing the character.

Giving up on searching for an answer, he turned his heels and joined his brothers as if nothing had happened.

(...)

Coming out of the car, you looked both ways before crossing the street and joining the large wooden door, a hand in your suit’s pocket, the other leading a cigarette to your lips.

You pushed in the door and were met by two pairs of eyes. A tall young white man, with a dark-skinned one, wearing berets.

Without second glancing at them, you confidently walked to the stairs at the end of the large room, making this place your own.

Your heels resonated on the cold hard ground, and as they did, each man in the building turned to you, staring in both awe and confusion.

Coming down the stairs, you passed by the three little training rings before you sat down at a little table in front of one of them. It was two men fighting, one who had a luxuriant moustache hiding his upper lips, freckles sprinkling his face.

He was screaming at the other one with a thick Birmingham accent, “Come ‘ere, boy.”

“Hit me! Hit me!” His tone was louder each time.

The poor man ahead of him didn’t dare to punch, which he certainly regretted after he received a strong right fist in the jaw.

Only a couple punches later the loud man succeeded at putting down the other that was wincing in pain.

“Yeaa” The moustache man exclaimed before being interrupted by one of the two boys you saw earlier.

“Arthur! There’s a--” He stopped dead at the sight of you, and you put your cig in between your lips as you got up, beginning to applause.

The sound resonated against the walls as no one was making any noise. You grabbed back the cigarette with your fingers and moved closer.

“Do you fight? I know great opponents,” you paused, feigning to think. “not so sure they will stand even for a round with you.” You clicked your tongue, tilting your head.

They both looked at you up and down for a whole minute before the named Arthur opened his mouth, even if still struggling to properly breathe, he smacked his lips as his hands went flattening his hair.

“Searching for exotism, love?” He grabbed the towel he was handed by a small chubby man with a hat. “Bet you liked what ya see.” Arthur decided to make it normal for a woman to come to sit and watch men fight.

“Indeed.” You let out, a curious gleam in your eyes.

He turned to the man on his side that leaned in his ear, murmuring something.

Arthur let out a deep “Hmm” before he got out of the ring.

He glanced at you and decided to keep up the talk.

“I don’t fight like this, it’s just for---”

“Fun?” You interrupted him, your eyes still fixed on his figure. His stare encountered yours before he put on a shirt. He grabbed the filled cup off the table.

“Curly, Tommy needs you in Charlie’s yard. Finn, you go with them.” He was pointing at the men and to the door up the stairs as if dismissing them.

So the man handed him things was going by “Curly” and the boy, Finn.

“What you doing here? It’s not some place for you.” He buttoned up his pants.

You scoffed at his affirmation, leading him to look up at you.

“I like some good fights, is that forbidden, Mr Shelby?” You came nearer, throwing the rest of your cig in his cup.

You were standing right in front of him, taking the bow tie hanging on the half wall of the ring and slowly led it to his neck. He took a step back, but you stepped forward, blocking him against the ring sides.

“You know Tommy?” Arthur felt the need to say something, the situation being extremely odd to him.

You gently put in place the bow and looked up to Arthur’s face, from his pale skin to his eyes. You stayed there a whole minute, analyzing his soul throughout the blue spring sky of his glassy eyes.

“I’d like to see you fight more. In real rings, Arthur. Why don’t you use the boxing place, it’s not far from here.” You turned your heels, walking back to the chair.

He looked at your figure, his eyes blankly fluttering for a moment. Needless to say, the minute you stared at him was displeasing, he was feeling as if he was robbed of something.

He ignored the warning and grabbed his boots, before he installed himself on the other chair around the little table, wanting to hear more about your offer.

“You fight good, but with some real training you could be something else.” You offered him a cigarette that he refused.

You were testing him from the very moment you put your feet in this cave, from checking how to open his mind was to his relation with poison such as cigarettes.

And now that you know everything you need to know, you could offer something.

“You’re some sort of agent?” He asked, intrigued.

You shook your head “Did you ever imagine women fighting? Just like you did, perhaps slightly better” You questioned, teasing him on the end.

His only response was to look at you in disbelief, and you bet he didn’t even understand what you told him.

“There is a world that exists, right here in Birmingham. Wanna go out and see?” You motioned your head toward the door, inviting him to agree with you.

It wasn’t that hard to convince the elder Shelby brother, he was always open to seeing more of life. Even if that meant to beat the shit outta people, get drunk, fuck the whole city or drowning in drugs.

The thing with Arthur was that he wasn’t careful enough, what told him it wasn’t a trap and that he will not get kidnapped or even killed if he followed you? Nothing. Nothing was ever sure with him, but leaving on the edges was something like his daily prayer, so of course he said yes.

Why in the hell would he say no? Tommy could do without him today.

(...)

Tommy had an unexpected visit from Churchill himself. It seemed like the latter had taken a liking to the head of the Shelbys.

“Do what you have to do, Mr Shelby.” Were Churchill’s words toward the reason for his visit, Mosley.

Indeed, he had thought out a concrete plan. And surprisingly, it was thanks to the books you sent him over the weeks, it was almost worth getting harassed by her over the primar book.

The plan was simple, Mosley will make a speech a week and a half from now, the 6th, in Bingley hall. Taking advantage of an anti-fascist demonstration during the rally, an old war comrade named Barney will shoot, and to be cleared of any suspicion, Thomas will be standing right next to Mosley at the time of his death, making sure he’ll take the head of the fascist union.

Today’s meeting was to explain details of the plan and what needed to be done before the d-day, but Tom didn’t see his brother during the entire day and when he’d asked the boys he was responded that Arthur stayed training some more.

It was hard at times, even for him to understand his older brother.

Not that he wanted to, but normally Arthur would never miss a meeting. The only times he didn’t show up were when he was overwhelmed with dark thoughts, and it wasn’t the right time for something like that to occur.

He decided to come to the pub, hoping to see his brother there, drunk, but not in a random cave trying to end his life.

Tom opened the Garrison’s doors, coughing at the amount of smoke coming in his face. He squinted his eyes, at first searching for a fire, but the more smoke entered his nostrils, the more he recognized the smell of apples and red fruits.

“Arthur, what the hell?” he called.

The place was crowded but Tommy’s eyes were focused on his brother, installed at the table near the windows.

He walked to the table and motioned to the windows. “Open one of these.” He ordered, but his brother didn’t see nor hear him. He was too occupied smoking on what seemed like a pipe with a long tube from where came the smoke.

“Oi!” Tommy yelled.

As everyone around the table turned to him, his eyes met with someone he would’ve never expected to be here.

Y/N was previously actively discussing with some girls when someone shouted into her ear.

You stared at Tommy for what seemed an eternity, he doing the same, both asking themselves what the other was doing here.

“Tommy!” His brother exclaimed, louder than he needed to. But this one was too occupied looking at you to even glance toward his brother, that well noticed the stare between you two.

Arthur managed to get up and pat his brother’s shoulder, welcoming him properly.

That’s when he turned to him, incredulous. His icy blue eyes were piercing his brothers, relentlessly.

“Welcome to the new Birmingham, brother!” Arthur seemed ecstatic. “Did you fucking know there were women fighting too, Tommy?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Arthur.” His brother shook his head, still looking at him.

“Boxing, he saw women boxing for the first time.” You entered the conversation to Tommy's displeasure. He looked over you blankly.

“What the fuck is this?” He pointed to the thing Arthur was smoking from previously.

“It’s called a hookah. Or a shisha in percian.” You responded even though he decided to ignore you for who knows what reason.

“Come on, brother, it’s the good life, isn’t it?” Arthur asked, seeing the face of Tommy next to him.

He ultimately pointed back to the windows, “Open those.” Was all he said before turning back and leaving the pub.

“Sergent Major!” You authoritatively called, the heavy Garrison’s doors making a thud as they closed behind you.

The stars were twinkling dimly in the bright sky, cleared of any cloud. It added phlegm to the frenzied atmosphere between the two individuals.

He was already walking in the opposite direction but immediately stopped at the mention of his Small Heath Rifles’ rank.

Thomas turned back. “What did you say?”

You decide to ignore him and start walking to him.

Each of your steps snapped with the fortitude of an army. And the fineness with which you balance your weight from one foot to the other could bewilder the fiercest individuals, that, he knew.

Not a single ounce of hesitation nor apprehension in your movements.

But the most unsettling thing Tommy found about you was your facial expression. It wasn’t closed off or concentrated, quite the reverse, the spark settling behind your iris could light up any type of darkness and you were undoubtedly giving slices of life to each person you would smile to.

The addition of your features creating a delicate dimension where it was possible to believe the best things could happen.

At that moment, Tom wished he hadn’t seen you at that library. You were something he couldn’t overfly even if he dared to. But for some reasons he wasn’t able to move on, swayings seizing his entire being, physically as well as mentally.

There was just something about this, him and you.

“What the hell did you think, you that act like the most intelligent of all fucking Birmingham and beyond. My fucking brother doesn’t need none of that!” Tommy wasn’t screaming, but you could hear in his deep tone the anger rooted in his throat.

“He doesn’t need it or you don’t want him to have it, Thomas?” You calmly stated, which made him turn his back at you, passing a hand over his face.

You were pushing him to the edge and that made you laugh, which you didn’t even try to muffle.

He turned back to you, eyebrows raised.

“You wanted this.” He pointed you with his index.

He was accusing you of wittingly driving him crazy and you couldn’t even deny it.

You grabbed his finger with your own hand and pushed it down without releasing it.

“No, I counted on it.” You started, your lips curling into a smile that didn’t escape Tommy’s gaze.

“Life’s a succession of wars, Tom. But soldiers too need to relax.”

No one had ever put a finger on that nerve, but here he was, gazing longingly into your orbs, your words resonating within him.

You wasn’t only talking about Arthur and the fact he needed to be distracted to stay away from dark thoughts. You were also talking about him, that didn’t have to take care of everything as you were there now to handle some of it.

“I promise you I know what I’m doing.”

He leaned backwards, looking at you with an unreadable expression.

Why were you promising things now? The last time you two were that close, it was you that ran away, and now you were the one initiating things to drift from professional to personal.

You sighed and looked down. That’s when you realized both your hands were locked together.

You frowned, remaining silent. You were shocked, but not as much as you should. You weren’t totally stupid, the feelings settling in you were pretty clear once you stopped pushing them aside.

Soon enough he followed your stare, noticing the thing as well.

Both of you released at the same time, looking at everything but the other.

Tommy coughed, fighting the will to be the one saying something in this situation. But he didn’t want you to escape him again this time.

“I’m dealing with Arthur, you don’t have to put your nose in my affairs. It’s not part of the deal.”

You’d preferred he hadn’t spoken. You rolled your eyes at yourself before throwing him the “really?” look.

“You can’t even deal with Michael and you’re telling me you’re dealing with Arthur.” You scoffed, putting a hand on your lips to muffle the sound of your laugh.

His body relaxes at your gigglings.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re foolin’?” You couldn’t hold the laugh back any more.

He didn’t respond, nor act on what you just said. He just stares at you, filled with joy at the simple sight of you being vulnerable.

A smile drew at the corner of your lips when you stopped mocking him.

Your eyes fluttered of wellness, as he was just standing close, doing nothing else than breathing.

Tommy grabbed a cig and put it in between his lips, but you hassled to steal it and lock it between yours.

He glanced at you, raising his brows. He was done with you that was for sure. But not in a bad way. You were playing a game and you won the match.

He came lightening up your cig as watching you take a deep and slow puff on it.

You started to walk, going deeper into the street and he started to do the same.

(...)

Michael and Gina were coming back from the restaurant. It was the first time the husband took his wife out to eat in Birmingham as she, obviously, wasn’t a fan of the city.

They didn’t see the time’s flying and it was already ten when they reached the wide glass doors of the hotel.

As they entered it, they noticed it was almost pinched black inside, the only source of brightness emanating from little orangish lights hanging on the walls behind the counter.

Michael glanced left to right at the place, no one to be seen, or so he thought. It was only when Gina stepped foot in, that he glimpsed figures coming out of the dark spots.

They were moving fast, getting nearer the American woman before his husband could do anything to protect her.

“Gina!” Was all he said before she disappeared outside the front doors of the hotel along with the individuals.

(...)

Tommy stops the engine looking straight ahead.

You were looking outside the window, to your large mansion. You managed to glance at the man before opening the door. You were gauging his reaction, almost testing the water all while maintaining the silence.

As the tension couldn’t get higher, you stepped out. You began to move away from the car when you heard its door open, followed by the clearing of a throat you knew too well.

Tommy’s steps on the gravel came nearer and nearer. When you turned the keys in the lock they were right behind. You opened the heavy wooden entry and got in, letting the door open.

The man entered behind your and turned his back at you, closing the door. When he turned back at the entrance, Y/N had disappeared.

He stepped deeper in the house, and joined the living room, where he glimpsed at your figure, your air resting at your back, your fingers over a note on the table.

Tom got closer to you, grabbing your elbow with the tip of his fingers, looking at the paper you seemed focused on.

Done.

You quickly glanced around, as if making sure you were alone. You then turned to him, raising your palm to his cheek, a gentle touch that he didn’t expect, making his lids slowly fluttering.

You took a step forward, leaned towards him and fondled his nose with the end of your own before leading your fingers to his lips.

You closed your eyes, rooting yourself at this moment and forgetting about the library, high society, Mosley, Michael and everything that stood between you.

He was the one to initiate the kiss, the call for you being louder than any other things at the moment. One of his hands slid to the hollow of your back as the other was grabbed by hers.

Fingers intertwined together, breath mixed, lips pressed against one another, heartbeats speeding and a thousand seconds later, you pulled away, slowly raising your gaze to Tommy’s.

The weight this kiss meant dropped on Tom’s shoulder as he, without hesitation, came to taste again the sweet flavour of your lips. You gasped at the connection, the eagerness of the feeling inside your stomach being fed.

You were breathing loudly in his mouth, your hands now grabbing Tommy’s clothes shamelessly.

They both knew there was no turning back and that things got more complicated than they needed to be, but none of them pulled away nor hesitated for even a slight second.

Following Chapter ❱

#peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #peaky blinders fandom #peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x reader

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jaskierswolf · 3 years ago

Note

Dearest Wolfie, I am here to humbly request some Jaskilion vampire smut pls 🥺

Dear Buttercup

Prompt: Frottage/grinding/scissoring Relationships: Jaskier (netflix)/Dandelion (book) Rating: E Content Warnings: vampire sex, sex magic, frottage, biting, blood drinking. Summary: Jaskier gets caught in a thunderstorm, luckily there's an appropriately spooky house near by to shelter in.

For my darling @dani-dandelino and also my last prompt for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Art by @dapandapod

Lightning shot across the sky in a vicious streak of blinding light, and there was a resounding clap of thunder that made the ground shake. Jaskier’s hair was stuck to his forehead as he tried, with very little success, to shelter under his guitar case. He blamed Geralt for this entirely. The bastard had gotten into another fight with Yennefer and Jaskier was left to find his own way home from the pub. He wasn’t drunk, just mildly tipsy and sorely lacking a driving license. It had been too late to catch a bus so here he was stomping through the park in the middle of the night, during a fucking thunderstorm. The old house in the centre of the park looked like something out of those stupid horror movies that Geralt and Yennefer liked to watch. It looked haunted during the day, but at night… fuck. It was something else entirely.

So naturally, Jaskier wanted to have a look. He was soaked through to the skin and shivering. His house was still a good hour away if he didn’t get lost, which, if he was being completely honest, he probably would. Directions just weren’t his strong suit, and everything looked the same at night. The house, despite scaring the shit out of him, looked incredibly tempting. It would be warm. He could dry off. Maybe the owner would even let him stay the night, if they were kind.

And if he was really lucky, they might not kill him.

He laughed and he wiped his nose, pushing his sopping wet hair off his forehead and away from his eyes. His fringe immediately fell forward again.

“Oh fuck off,” he muttered and shook his head, wrapping his arms around his chest in a futile attempt to stay warm. “Stupid Geralt, stupid Yennefer, bloody fucking thunderstorm.”

The large wooden doors creaked open, startling Jaskier from his pity party. There was candlelight flickering in the hallway and the sound of a violin singing from somewhere in the house. Jaskier crept forward, cocking his head as he peered inside. The house was extravagantly decorated in burgundy and gold. From the porch, Jaskier could see a faded painting of a young man, dressed in old-timey clothing, regency if he had to guess. It was rather Mr Darcy. The young man was tall and slender, with a mess of golden curls that just about covered his ears. Jaskier couldn’t look away. The man was beautiful, with soft pale skin and rosy cheeks, a smile that could outshine the sun. He had a long dark blue tailcoat, and there was a small white dog bouncing at his feet.

But it was his eyes.

Beautiful cornflower blue.

Utterly stunning.

The door slammed shut behind Jaskier and he spun round, arms flailing, “Oh cock!”

The sound of the violin stopped. The house fell eerily silent. Jaskier could hear his own heartbeat hammering in his chest and he pulled at the edges of this shirt, flexing his fingers and tapping out a rhythm on his leg. Nothing helped. He was pretty certain he was about to die. The worst thing was he couldn’t even remember entering the house. One minute he was admiring the portrait from afar and the next he had his hand raised, ready to trace the sharp cheekbones of the handsome blond.

“I haven’t had a visitor for a long time,” a mesmerising tenor voice lilted from the top of the stairs.

Jaskier jumped, almost falling over as he twirled again to face the mysterious owner of the murder house. His mouth fell open as he saw the beautiful blond at the top of the stairs. His skin was deathly pale, and his hair now fell to his shoulders in a cascade of curls, but there was no denying that it was the same man from the portrait. Blood red eyes glowed in the darkness, never blinking as he peered down at Jaskier with a haughty expression. Gone were the elegant regency clothes from the portrait. Instead, the blond wore an unreasonably sexy lingerie set, black as the midnight sky, with garters strapped around his thighs. On each thigh above the garter was a holster, with an elegantly decorated hilt; daggers.

Seriously, who the fuck carried daggers in this day and age? Surely you needed a license for that?

But on the mysterious stranger it just seemed to work. He was timeless in his beauty.

The fine silvery silk robe trailed behind him, and he raised one perfect eyebrow, looking considerably unimpressed. Jaskier’s eyes widened as he realised he still hadn’t said anything, too busy gawking at the angel before him…

Or perhaps the devil.

There was no way this gorgeous creature was a man from god. He was too sinfully tempting.

“Ah, bollocks,” Jaskier stammered. “Well, you see I just- there was a teeny problem with my ride, and then the storm, and well… the wine. Oh the wine, it was absolutely delectable, you have never tasted anything as delicious, a true blessing from the gods themselves.”

He was rambling. He knew he was and yet he couldn’t shut up. Jaskier just kept talking, letting his wine fuelled brain spew poetry about everything and nothing. He talked about Geralt, the flowers he’d seen on his walk, the stars that had been glittering in the sky before the clouds had ruined the view. He talked about the way the river shone in the moonlight, and Geralt, and the cute adorable kitten he’d seen sheltering in an alley… and well… about Geralt.

“Forgive me, dear fellow,” The man finally interrupted with a wave of his hand, “but if you are quite done, I’d like to ask what you are doing in my home.”

Jaskier blushed, glancing between the very much shut door and the handsome figure before him. Gesturing wildly between himself and the door he stammered, “The door? It- it- ah, well, it just sort of opened.”

“And you walked in? I must say, you really have no sense of self preservation. Pretty little thing though, aren’t you?”

Jaskier scoffed, putting his hand on his hips. “Little?!”

“How old are you? Barely twenty by the looks of it,” he smirked, a long finger brushing Jaskier’s cheek. “So young.”

“I- I-!” Jaskier spat out, “You! I’m twenty five!”

“A child,” the man hissed.

And Jaskier’s heart jumped. He froze, an icy feeling creeping through his veins.

Fangs.

Red eyes.

Definitely immortal.

“Oh fuck, fuck!” Jaskier fell backwards, tripping over his own feet. “You’re a vampire! No. No, no, no. This is a joke. Fuck!”

“Vampire,” the vampire scoffed. “How rude! I have a name, buttercup.”

“I- how- oh cock,” Jaskier whined.

But before he could flee, the vampire’s hands were around his neck. The bastard moved faster than light. His pale skin a blur as it pressed against Jaskier’s throat, lifting him from the floor.

And Jaskier, in all his idiotic horniness, was starting to feel rather aroused by the whole thing. Sure, he was scared shitless, but if the vampire didn’t kill him…

Well…

Jaskier really hated his dick sometimes.

“So, ah- umm, will you do me the pleasure of telling me your name?” Jaskier squeaked, gasping for air.

The vampire chuckled, a beautiful melodic laugh that could charm aphrodite herself. “Finally, some manners, darling. My name is Dandelion, you would do well to remember it.”

That was… promising.

“A flower for a flower?” Jaskier suggested, praying that this would not be his last night on earth. “Please don’t kill me.”

“Oh, my dear Julian, I have no intention of killing you. Contrary to popular belief, I am not a monster, unlike the villain that turned me. Now, he was an utter cock. He didn’t even ask! Day before my wedding, unbelievable.”

Jaskier laughed. Was the vampire, Dandelion, actually telling him his backstory? What the fuck had he walked into?

“That’s… unfortunate?”

“It was a complete disaster, my darling Henrietta married the deplorable Valdo Marx instead and I had to flee to the shadows like some bloody monster. It gets lonely.”

Jaskier blinked, feet still dangling as the vampire held him by his collar. He was struggling to breathe, his cock was hard in his pants and he was almost certain that he probably would survive the night. “Can’t- breathe.”

“Oh, poppycock! I am ever so sorry, dear boy,” Dandelion cooed and dropped Jaskier to the ground. “Better?”

“Yeah, yup.”

Dandelion inhaled deeply, “Oh, you do smell good, really good.”

This felt more like what Jaskier would expect from a vampire encounter. Before he could even respond, Jaskier felt himself being thrown back against the nearest wall, Dandelion’s cold body pressed up against his. The vampire ran his nose under Jaskier’s jaw, a low moan falling from his lips. “Talk about fine wine. You, my dear buttercup, smell utterly irresistible.”

Jaskier whimpered, his hands nervously gripping Dandelion’s silk robe, fingers intertwining in the soft fabric. He wasn’t really sure what was happening but he knew he liked it. Getting fucked by a vampire, there were worse things in life, especially when the vampire was as pretty as Dandelion. Jaskier wondered whether his eyes really had been such a dazzling blue before he was turned into a creature of the night. Red eyes burned like fire instead, the pupils almost completely black.

It should have been fucking terrifying.

It should have.

And Jaskier thought he’d never seen such a beautiful creature as the man before him. There was a scrape of teeth against his throat, and Jaskier groaned, helplessly baring his neck to give the vampire better access. He’d never thought getting his blood drained would be so alluring, but he was achingly hard and feeling heady with arousal at the mere thought of it.

The vampire just laughed and pressed a skin to Jaskier’s neck. “Eager little whore, aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“Now, now, patience,” Dandelion purred, making Jaskier shiver. “First we need to get you out of those clothes. You must be absolutely freezing, where are my manners?”

“Fuck your manners,” Jaskier grumbled, yelping as Dandelion scooped him into his arms and flew through the house. “Oi! Watch it!”

“Such a fragile little flower.”

“I- You, oh fuck off,” Jaskier protested weakly, because to Dandelion, he was fragile. He was human, mortal, weak. Despite looking like the stronger one of the two, Jaskier was like a glass rose compared to the glimmering diamond that was the vampire.

Dandelion fussed around him in a blur of silver and blonde, peeling Jaskier’s wet clothes from his skin, bringing him a steaming mug of sweet tea. It was all… kind of nice?

The vampire had said he was lonely after all, and maybe Jaskier’s blood would taste nicer if he was not miserable and cold. How was he supposed to know?

“Dandelion?” Jaskier asked, cocking his head as he looked up at the pretty blond from the pile of soft silk sheets on the bed.

“Yes? Did I miss anything? It’s been a while since I’ve had human company.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but smile. He’d been in the strange house less than any hour and yet his head was spinning from the rollercoaster of emotions, fear, arousal, panic, and now whatever this was, a sort of fondness perhaps?

“Everything is perfect, Dandelion, but why- why am I here? I thought… you’re a vampire. I smell good? Didn’t you want to- to-, you know?”

Dandelion giggled and perched on the bed next to Jaskier. “Sweet buttercup, I would never drink from you unless you wanted it. It’s not expected of you. I can go without.”

“You can?”

“But of course! And I’m not about to fuck you when you’re shivering, and reeking of fear, no matter how hard your cock is. I have standards, Jaskier.”

The vampire had standards. Of course he fucking did. “I’m not afraid now,” Jaskier whispered, “And I want you to drink. Come on, trapped-”

“You’re not trapped.”

“- in a vampire’s house, in the middle of a thunderstorm. It practically writes itself.”

“And yet, I made you tea?”

Jaskier laughed, “Yes.”

“Well then?” Dandelion breathed in a soft low whisper that made Jaskier’s skin tingle, “Perhaps a kiss?”

This time it wasn’t Dandelion’s hands that forced that air from Jaskier’s lungs, but his words. Jaskier swallowed, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth as Dandelion approached him. The daggers had been removed from their holsters and set aside on the table, but the rest of the vampire’s ensemble remained. Jaskier, on the other hand, was as naked as the day he was born, only the silken sheets to protect his modesty. His cheeks warmed under the heat of Dandelion’s gaze, a blush that he was sure bloomed right down to his heart. He nodded dumbly, unable, for the first time in his life, to find the right words.

Dandelion’s skin was like ice as he cupped Jaskier’s cheek, their lips barely a breath apart. “You really are such a pretty flower, I love beautiful things.”

Jaskier whimpered as their lips met, ice and fire, vampire and human. Their breaths mingled as Jaskier eagerly parted his lips, and Dandelion’s tongue slipped inside his mouth. Jaskier had kissed a lot of people in his life but never anyone quite like Dandelion, centuries of practice served the vampire well, and Jaskier was left breathless and panting in mere seconds. His arousal from before reared up and he moaned wantonly against Dandelion’s lips.

“Divine,” the vampire murmured as they parted, and he pushed Jaskier backwards against the bed, their legs entangling so that Dandelion’s thighs pressed against Jaskier’s cock, “simply divine.”

“Dandelion,” Jaskier moaned, his head falling back onto the pillow.

“My venom won’t harm you, darling,” Dandelion whispered, his lips pressing against Jaskier’s neck, “but it will enhance your pleasure, dull your other senses so you know only me, my lips, my hands. You’ll be more relaxed than you ever thought possible…”

“Yes,” Jaskier answered Dandelion’s unanswered question.

The vampire sank his teeth into Jaskier’s skin, sharp pain soon subsiding into what could only be described as the most intense pleasure that Jaskier had ever felt. It was heavenly, magical, a blessing from god herself. He vaguely heard himself moan, arching his back off the bed as he thrust against Dandelion’s thigh. Every movement sent wave after wave of never-ending pleasure through his body, fire burning in his soul. He whined when Dandelion pulled away from his neck, rocking into Jaskier’s body, unheard praises whispering into his ear. When their lips met once more, Jaskier could taste his blood on Dandelion’s tongue.

It was addictive. He wanted more, more, more. “‘Lion,” he slurred as their bodies rocked together.

“Shh, little buttercup,” the vampire cooed, brushing Jaskier’s fringe from his eyes, before biting once more on his shoulder.

Jaskier keened, his orgasm shattering through him as he bucked up against the vampire. It seemed to be an eternity before he came back to himself, covered in cum and his own blood on Dandelion’s bed. The vampire in question was running his fingers through the thick hair on Jaskier’s chest, blood staining his lips, smearing down his chin. He looked as fucked out as Jaskier felt, smiling serenely as he hummed under his bed.

And his eyes were cornflower blue.

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathed shakily. “Did you…”

“Mhmm, not long after you. What a sight you made, truly stunning? I really would love to paint you one day.”

Jaskier groaned and rolled over, grimacing at the mess but too tired to care. “If the sex is that good, you can paint me every fucking day.”

“Oh, darling buttercup,” Dandelion cooed, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s shoulder where the bite mark was beginning to heal. “You and I are going to get along splendidly.”

#the witcher #jaskilion #jaskier x dandelion #vampire dandelion #wolfie's witcher writing

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pocket-luv101 · 3 years ago

Text

Summary: On his way to buy a Christmas cake, a snowstorm forces Licht to stop at a small inn. (LawLicht, Modern AU)

Between the falling snow and the night sky, Licht could barely see in front of him. He was forced to pull over and he parked on the side of the road. He stared at the unfamiliar road in front of him and he debated what he should do. Licht didn’t know the town well and he doubted he could find his way back to his hotel on his own. He was a pianist and he visited the town for a charity recital.

Earlier, he left his hotel to buy a Christmas cake and promptly became lost in the snowstorm. Licht was certain that Kranz would lecture him for driving in the blizzard to go to a bakery. He didn’t want to sleep in his car during a storm so he reluctantly took out his phone to call Kranz. His long lecture was the lesser of two evils.

He frowned at his phone screen when he saw that the battery was almost depleted. He knew he wouldn’t be able to call him, let alone speak with him for long. The car he drove was rented so it didn’t have a phone charger with him. Licht thrust his phone into his pocket and thought of anything else he could do in his situation. He wondered if he could find a hotel or bed-and-breakfast nearby.

A knock on his car’s window surprised him and he jumped slightly. He turned on the dashboard light so he could see who the person was. The blond man didn’t appear dangerous so Licht pulled down his window slightly. He only lowered it enough so he could hear him. He was suspicious that a person would be walking in a snowstorm.

“Hey, Snow Angel, you shouldn’t be parked here. You’re blocking the driveway of my bed-and-breakfast. No one will be visiting in this snowstorm but I need to use the driveway.” The man told him and gestured to the building next to him. Licht started his car to turn on the headlights. He saw a large house and a sign advertising the bed-and-breakfast. Due to the snow, he hadn’t noticed it earlier.

“How much is a night?” Licht asked him. “I need a place to stay.”

“It’s a hundred and twenty. You can park in the driveway and then go inside to talk to my brother at the front desk. He’ll help you check in. Oh, my name’s Hyde. If you need any help during your stay, just ask for me.” Hyde told him and then walked back to his car that was waiting behind him. Licht reasoned that he could trust the man since the bed-and-breakfast appeared real.

The driveway was large and Licht parked his car near the entrance. He would be able to reach his car and drive away quickly if it was a trick. Licht was a pianist and he travelled often so his mother would warn him about trusting others easily. He didn’t know who could be a demon or an angel.

He entered the quaint house and he looked around the lobby. Licht could see people dining in a large and it appeared the building was truly a bed-and-breakfast. He thought it was lucky that he parked so close to a hotel during the storm and he silently thanked the snow fairies for guiding him. A tap on his shoulder pulled him out of his thoughts and he turned to see Hyde.

“You love blocking my way, don’t you, Angel Cakes? The view is nice but I do have work to do. Hey, JeJe, sorry I’m late for work. The storm was terrible and then I was stopped by this Snow Angel. I’ll head to the kitchen right away.” Hyde spoke with the man behind the counter. He held out his hand to Licht and asked, “Do you need help with your jacket?”

“I’m fine.” He brushed aside his offer. Licht stomped his feet on the mat to shake off the snow before he walked to the front desk. He briefly spoke with the employee before he took out his wallet to pay for the room. “My phone is almost out of batter and I need to call my manager. Can I borrow a charger or a phone? He’s going to worry if I don’t tell him where I am.”

“You can borrow our desk phone.” JeJe said and gestured to the phone. He stepped back so Licht could talk with his friend privately. “I’ll get you a charger you can borrow too. What kind of phone do you have?”

“Thanks.” Licht was glad that he managed to find a safe place to stay during the snowstorm. He dialed Kranz’s number and he waited for him to answer. He heard how panicked he was through his voice. “I’m fine, Kranz. I can’t drive in this blizzard so I’m staying at this tiny bed-and-breakfast. It’s called The Servamps. I’ll drive back to the hotel in the morning.”

“Why did you leave the hotel in the first place, Licht? If you needed something, you should’ve called me or asked the hotel staff. You didn’t tell me you were leaving either.” Kranz groaned. Beneath his frustration, Licht could hear how worried he was for him. He had been Licht’s manager for years and he was a family friend.

“I wanted a Christmas cake but the hotel only had chocolate and vanilla cake.” Licht knew that it was pointless to lie to Kranz about the reason he left. He held the phone away from his ear as he began to read him the riot act. He leaned against the desk and rubbed his temple. “You don’t need to yell, Kranz. Everything turned out fine. Except, I couldn’t find a bakery that’s opened this late.”

“That’s not the point, Licht!” He snapped back. “Did you go out to buy that cake after your parents called? I know you must be disappointed that they can’t see you for your birthday next week. However, you shouldn’t do something dangerous like driving in this storm.”

“It’s nothing like that.” He spoke in a flat voice. “I know Dad and Mom love me, even when they’re constantly on tours. They promised that we’ll have a family dinner once their tour is over. I’m also busy with my upcoming recital so I’ll barely notice that they’re not here. You don’t need to worry about me as if I’m still six years old, Kranz.”

Licht spoke with him for another few minutes before he hung up the phone. He searched for the employee he spoke with earlier so he could ask for his room key and a phone charger. He turned around and he almost ran into a person.

“It looks like I’m the one who’s blocking you this time.” Licht quickly recognized Hyde’s laughter even though they only met each other that night. He had a distinct voice that was smooth and alluring. Hyde held up a plate with a slice of cake. “I’m glad this wasn’t damaged when I bumped into you. I overheard that you wanted a Christmas cake and we have a lot in stock for the holiday.”

“My cake.” He took the plate from him and his face softened into a smile. Hyde was shocked by how his eyes twinkled with excitement. For someone who constantly scowled, his reaction to a simple cake was endearing to him. “Thanks. How much is the cake? Well, I’m eating it right away so you can add it to my bill.”

“It’s on the house since it’s almost your birthday.” He told him and Licht wondered how much of the conversation he heard. Hyde must’ve read his thoughts because he added: “I don’t pry into my customer’s personal life but it’s my job to make sure you’re smiling while you’re here. I would tell you it’s normal to be sad in your situation but you seem like the type to hide his feelings.”

“They love music. Music is my life as well. I don’t want to hold them back from their career after they’ve done so much to support me.” Licht didn’t know why he was telling a stranger about his personal life. He sat on a comfortable couch next to him and took a bite of the cake. “This is good. You work here but do you want to share it with me?”

“I can’t refuse a snow angel. I’ll get my own slice from the kitchen and come right back.” Hyde said. “You said you’re a musician. I would love to learn more about that.”

#servamp #lawlicht #greed pair #servamp hyde #licht jekylland todoroki #fanfiction

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