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saskiahaggens · 2 years ago

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𝔍𝔞𝔠𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰

Masterlist

Contains spoilers of season 2!!

Paring: Chishiya x blind!reader

Warnings: death, blood

Word count: 1161

Chishiya placed a hand on your back when you arrived to the game. He said that he only wanted to make sure you were following him since you never knew what may happen. Especially after you had to put on a collar.

You lost your ability to see as a child, but you were not helpless. You can navigate by making little noises like humming, and predict walls, stairs, distances, and much more. You could typically go around without assistance, but when there were a lot of people at a game or at the beach, you could get disoriented. You met Chishiya in a game and even saved his life thanks to your incredible hearing abilities and he hasn't left your side since.

"Do you hear this?", you inquired after coming to a halt.

You most likely arrived in the room where the game started. At the very least, Chishiya came to a stop. A strange noise was heard a few minutes later. Was it… skin slapping? Chishiya chuckled at your expression as you realized what it was.

More and more people entered the room, and with each one, you came closer to Chishiya. According to their steps, there are at least 21 people in here.

The rules were then explained, and your heart almost stopped beating. You couldn't help Chishiya. How was he going to survive? You couldn't tell him what his symbol was.

"Calm down," Chishiya said as he noticed you becoming anxious.

A girl approached you and invited you to join her group. Chishiya poked your arm, signaling that he was right and accepted her offer.

After a few rounds, nearly everyone was dead. Even Chishiyas' new friend died in the last round. He was a kind person, perhaps too kind for this world.

"Chishiya, I'm sorry.", you mumbled.

You sat down in the storeroom and drank a soda. A guy left just moments ago and he didn't want to tell Chishiya his symbol.

"It's not your fault.", he groaned as he rubbed his temple.

"You know something right? You need to know something. You always do."

"Not at the moment."

Chishiya stood up and walked away a few steps. You heard some rustling and a few moments later you felt something in your hand.

"What is this?" you questioned, attempting to guess the thing.

"My favorite snack in here," he grumbled.

Meanwhile, another person entered the room. It was the lady. The sound of her shoes was familiar to you.

"Would you mind telling me my symbol?"

Chishiya stood up to ask her, but all you could hear was rustling from the same direction Chishiya had been minutes before. Said man continued trying to convince her, but she turned around and headed straight toward you.

"Hey, could you please give me this?" she asked, undoubtedly pointing to the pack of cookies in your hand.

"They can't see what you're pointing at." Chishiya remarked instead.

"I'm sorry I didn't realize." The noises her clothes made and her silence meant she bowed, what made you chuckle.

"Just take it.", you said, perhaps a little harshly.

Did Chishiya knew that she was coming? Whatever his reasons were, the woman took the snacks and walked away quickly.

"She didn't even say thank you.", you muttered as Chishiya sat down for the third time.

"Maybe, but now I have a chance to win."

"What do you mean?", you asked confused, but still a bit happy.

"Sometimes it's annoying that you can't see, otherwise you would have noticed it too. I'll give you a hint: these cookies have four different flavors."

Four different flavors? What is the importance of this? After some thinking, you understood what he was talking about.

"She communicates with this other guy who was here earlier! I assumed they just ate a lot because they came here every round. So the bag cookies you handed me were the last of its kind?"

"Not exactly, I hid the rest, but it still worked. Matsushita, the guy who she cooperates with took the same one as her, even so she had hearts."

"So he is the jack of hearts!"

"Yes. So, based on Kotoko's response when I mentioned having clubs and the fact that Matsushita most likely lied. I must have diamonds or spades."

"At least you have a fifty-five chance now. Couldn't you just ask someone else?"

"That's not a good idea. The time is nearly over, and I'm not sure if they'll tell me the truth."

You both returned upstairs, but were interrupted by none other than the criminal himself.

"Hey you!" You stopped, but to your surprise Chishiya didn't.

"Who do you think is the jack of hearts?"

He caught you off guard, but you just brushed it off.

"Perhaps it's me."

"Than you would have a stupid strategy. Be honest."

"You're not dumb. Why don't you figure it out yourself? Must be easy with a partner like yours."

"Well then. This guy you're walking around with has a diamond. I hope you survive, the fun only starts now, would be a shame if you miss it."

🂡🂡🂡

You were eventually permitted to go after fourteen hours. Banda told Chishiya his symbol for the last round, and you thanked him excessively. He just laughed at you, but you didn't care.

"Hey, Y/n?", Chishiya asked when you walked away from the arena.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, listen, I'm not a man of great words, but I want you to know how much you mean to me. That's why I don't want you to play in the next game, alright?"

"I don't want you to risk your life alone, Chishiya."

"I understand, and I also understand that the king of spades is dangerous, which is why you will wait near the arena. Nobody is playing games to extend their visa anymore. They are well aware that the end is near and that playing games is the only way to avoid the king of spades."

"Are you trying to say that my visa doesn't matter anymore, because we will get home soon?"

"I will make sure of it."

"Chishiya, you've changed. To be honest, when I first met you, I hated you."

"I don't blame you. Back then, I was a jerk."

"Yes you were.", you mumbled before leaning closer to him.

You kissed his cheek lightly, and Chishiya was relieved that you couldn't see him blush.

"I might have hated you before, but I can tolerate you now."

"Looks like more than tolerating to me.", he joked, throwing his arm over your shoulder. "You're lucky, I like you. When this is all over, maybe we should go on a date."

When you started walking, you smiled like a child. Perhaps you should, and perhaps he was right. Maybe it'll all be over soon.

#alice in borderland #alice in borderland x reader #x reader #reader insert #imagine #aib #alice in boderland x reader #aib imaging #aib chishiya #chishiya x reader #chishiya imagine

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oneoftheprettynerds · 4 years ago

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Just My Type: Dark!Steve x Reader (Mob AU)

Chapter 2 in the Lipstick and Crayons Series.

Chapter 1: Welcome to the Darkside

Main Masterlist

A/N: This chapter is 2K words more than the last chapter and I’ve second guessed every single line in this one. This story is getting a lot of traction guys and I’m equal parts happy and scared. Thank you for the nice comments, they do encourage me. Also I’m just ranting feel free to skip this note haha. Your support in any form: like, comment or reblog is appreciated greatly. Also you can dm if you want to be friends, God knows I need those. Hopefully, this chap was worth the wait. Also, I made a poster for this on the main masterlist so check that out, it might be foreshadowing dome plot.

Warning: Eventual Non-Con, Sickening Threats, Mob Themes, Violence, Death, Manipulation, a mild mental breakdown, Cheap Tricks later.

Genres + Characters: Mob AU, Single Parents AU, Steve Rogers x Reader.

Summary: Steve can't ever repay you for what you did. After meeting you, Steve believes his broken family is the missing piece in the puzzle of your own wrecked one. Indebting the crime lord to you has been the biggest mistake of your life, cause now you can't get rid of him, no matter what. Loyalty and favours go a long way in the mob.

Chapter 2: Just My Type

It had almost been a week since the incident and you had barely gotten a wink of sleep. When you drove back to your house that night, Steve surprisingly didn’t argue as you had expected. After that friend of his whispered something in his ears, you only assumed he was needed elsewhere and you couldn’t be more thankful for that. They escorted you to your car and Steve thanked you with a strained smile, words genuine but eyes calculating. You didn’t even wonder what went inside his head. You were thankful for the peace and quiet of your own car, content to just get out of the area and into your humble abode.

After you put the already asleep Grace to bed, you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of her room. You just sat on the floor beside the bed, hand intertwined with hers as you rested your head beside her tummy on the mattress.

Your adrenaline wore off and your limbs ached as your thoughts finally settled into place, the gravity of the catastrophe a few hours prior hitting you. Tears made their way down your cheeks as you realized that you both could have very well died tonight.

One bullet could have sealed each of your lives and you were basically defenseless had Steve not saved you against the creeping assaulter. You couldn’t commend yourself for even defending yourself against one attacker, the guilt of killing someone harboring in your tired head. Your quiet whimpers eventually wore you out, while Grace’s shallow breaths lulled you to sleep.

You didn’t manage to sleep for long though, every time your eyes closed, horrific images flashed in your mind. A blood curdling scream here, heaps of dead bodies there, with distant exploding sounds all around. You could see men clad in black holding guns to Grace’s head and whensoever you woke up, you just wondered how much more creative your mind could get, making these visuals so realistic.

When 8 AM rolled in, you didn’t wake Grace up even though it was Monday and you had work. You got up, changed into a long tee after a shower and called your office and then her daycare. You knew you would have a hard time going back to your normal life, to become trusting enough to leave her alone.

Your assumption about yourself was right. You took almost the entire week off, which your boss generously allowed you to after hearing your traumatic experience, which soon made the city news headlines. All your colleagues checked on you, almost once in the five day break you took, and sweetly enough offered to bring you anything you needed.

It was kind of them, but none of them could bring you what your heart genuinely craved: peace and assurance that you and Grace would be safe.

Even though Saturdays were off, you did go to work to see what you missed and where to start on again. You went in because you knew that the random spurt of resolution you got in the bathroom to collect your life, wouldn’t last.

To ease back into your normal life, you gathered your guts, called a babysitter and left home. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave Grace at the daycare just yet. One of your good friends offered to come in to the office and help you, even on the weekend and you were quite grateful to him.

When you both decided to take lunch in the nearby dining place, you both got to talking, the conversation obviously originating from ‘How have you been?’ and ‘Is Grace okay?’. You reminisced about how you used a photobooth to hide, grotesquely and uncomfortably chuckling when you remembered Sarah calling you her mom and how her dad saved you all.

You deliberately left the part where you killed someone and Steve shot someone too. You hadn’t come to terms with it yet and you stiffly restricted your mind whenever it tried to go down that lane.

He sensed how the conversation was becoming tense and distressing for you and briskly redirected the topic.

“I hope the dad was hot though?” He wiggled his eyes creepily and you snorted at his vulgarity, light for the first time in days.

“He was easy on the eyes; I will admit that.” You played along, recalling your girlfriends and how you used to ogle people.

“Don’t be a homewrecker though, I don’t support cheating.” He said nonchalantly, checking his phone as a notification bell rang off.

“He’s a widower.”

His eyes snapped up and met yours as his head tilted in confusion. “That’s a strange fact to know about someone you met for a few minutes.”

Steve’s even stranger comment about his dead wife popped in your mind and before you could stop yourself, you blurted that out as well.

“He even said and I quote, ‘She deserved what she got.’” He put his phone down, weirdly amused.

“Ooh Creepy! Do you think he is one of those husbands who kill their wives and bury them in the backyard? The podcasts always say that the psychopaths are visually handsome and charming. And his statement was quite vague and spooky.” He continued munching, and you felt that now Aiden was really paying attention unlike before.

“Steve did have a gun while searching for Sarah, come to think of it.” You drank your tea and awaited his response. What you did not expect was his eyes to widen and worry to cloud his features.

“Um Widower Steve with a toddler Sarah? At the place where The Vices attacked?” He mumbled, grabbing his phone and doing God knows what on it. Your eyebrows furrowed and before you could ask him what was up with his antics, he resumed.

“This is a long shot but I really hope your Steve didn’t look like this.” He positioned the phone in your vision, and you could already tell it was Steve by the sapphire blue of his eyes piercing through the screen into your soul. The picture was a month or two old, his hair was much longer when you met him than in the photo.

“This is him.” Your eyes met Aiden’s and worry visibly took over his features as his forehead creased and jaw tense.

He looked around the restaurant, finding it empty in the afternoon. He leaned and whispered, “This Steve of yours is dangerous.”

You interrupted Aiden, even though you already knew Steve was, the sight of his armed men still fresh in your head, and inquired, “Why do you say so?”

“It’s just like the fictional stories we hear from our parents, except here, in this city of ours, every myth holds true. There are really powerful men, untouchable by law, who reign the city silently and live luxuriously. Every shady, under the table deal you’ve heard of, transpires. Illegal trades, fraud schemes and bounty hunters are not fictional, they exist here. These men kill whatever hinders them and trust me, you don’t want to be the deer caught in their Jaguar’s headlights.”

Ice froze in your veins again, resembling the fear you felt that night but now because of your deemed ‘savior’. You convinced yourself that you had not wronged him in any way, instead had saved his daughter’s life.

“Are you in contact with him? If you are, distance yourself cleverly, don't block him immediately.”

“No, we just parted ways near my car, he thanked me for Sarah and was called away. It’s almost been a week and he hasn’t reached out if that’s what you mean. We didn’t exchange contacts and I don’t think I even told him my full name.” You explained yourself as if you were on the witness stand in court, trying to convince yourself more than Aiden.

“Pray that he doesn’t remember you more than that, if at all. I’m being totally honest here in telling you this, I’m genuinely worried for you and Grace. You are smart but he is powerful. He has unimaginable resources and if you become more than a speck of dust on his windshield, you are screwed. There is no exaggeration here.” You took his words to your heart and swore to be careful, if not for yourself then for Grace.

The rest of the day went by and you found yourself dwelling on and worrying about Aiden’s words. At least he put it out there as it was. Heeding his advice, you did google Steve on your phone, finally finding him in the topmost news headline when you added ‘Buck’ in the search bar as well.

‘With 38 lawsuits pending against businessman Steve Rogers, the filers have lost all hope in prosecuting him. All cases are being drawn out for indefinite periods of time by the Chief Justice Bruce……��

Aiden was right.

Businessmen was code for illegal mob heads. Cases being stretched on meant he was, in fact, invincible, at least to the common man’s fists.

You flickered through several titles, each one more surprising than the last. He was believed to be involved in the carnival attack, alleged for three hit and run cases that he didn’t lose but the witnesses swore they saw him driving and was also rumored to have brought in quintals of drugs just last week, but the packets just evaporated into thin air and there was no proof of their existence in the first place even on incessant searching.

Every crime of his made you shudder and you mentally thanked Aiden for pulling you out of your oblivion. Your mind raced and heart palpated and you cursed yourself for being so drastically unaware even after living here for almost four years. Technically speaking, Steve and you were even, him saving your life and you saving his daughter’s. No logical reason came to your mind for him contacting you ever.

You wished as Aiden said and assured yourself that your paths would never cross again, Steve not having reached out in a week, so hopefully never again.

That thought went out the window when you reached home to find a box awaiting you. Hannah, the babysitter you had called, informed you it came around 5 in the evening and was exclusively to be opened by you today.

Your mind raced as you paid the babysitter, your hands sweaty as you tried not to think about the gift and its sender. There was an apparently clear answer to who mailed it but you refused to accept that, courtesy of Aiden.

The box was of the height of Grace, it was black with red hearts painted across it; some red roses also sparingly adorned it. You opened the lid and found tons of red tissues and a multi-flower bouquet adorned with mostly red roses and a few purple and pink flowers.

Because of your frequent gardening in your backyard, you knew all the flowers’ meanings. To sum it all up, red flowers, especially roses were used for courting someone. Pink meant admiration, purple for beauty and you knew the ‘violet’ flowers were for loyalty.

As your nerves increased tenfold, you willed yourself to get it over with and empty out the box first, ignoring the little card in your bouquet, saving the ‘best’ for last. You find a mini bouquet inside but unlike yours, it had chocolates of every kind. You did read its card and cringed when it was for Grace, bothered not by the deed but by the doer.

Further inside were some animal plushies, face masks, perfumes, scented body lotions and shampoos. Your head hurt thinking about the ‘single mother care package’ delivered to you by someone you refused to acknowledge.

As Grace sat in her playpen occupied, you dared to pick your card and read its message, your heart beating unrealistically fast for someone who refused to accept the cruciality of her situation.

I can’t thank you enough in this lifetime for saving my little princess. The gift of your help is more than anything money could ever buy for me. Please accept this invitation of mine for dinner tomorrow night, 7PM at La Bonne Nuit, as a symbol of my sincere gratitude for everything you’ve done. I’ll gets the kids covered and pick you up, you just be ready and look as amazing you always do. Sincerely, Steve Rogers

You stilled as you read it over and over again.

An invitation, your ass. Even in writing his authority portrayed, there was no question and hope for you coming, he just stated that you’d come. Looking pretty as always? You just met him once, in the middle of a calamity, covered in dirt and blood.

All the red roses and gifts screamed his romantic interest but you illusioned yourself into thinking they meant gratitude. You wouldn’t be able to digest it all otherwise.

Knowing what you knew now about Steve, you understood there was no denying the dinner tomorrow. You had to get out of his clutches and distance yourself, but as Aiden had so rightfully said, cleverly.

That night you laid in bed mulling over your next course of actions. You had called the gift shop to return the unwarranted presents you received but they said it was non refundable and anonymous to trace. You bitterly snorted in their face, they put a card with Steve’s name on it for heaven’s sake!

You didn’t flinch even when you realized you never gave Steve your address, neither for mailing stuff nor for picking you up. There was no number given to call him and thank or to call him and deny. The bastard had planned it all out, and you felt like you were driving in a one way lane, going deeper into the tunnel. Somewhere among your all-relentless fretting, you managed to finally sleep.

When the doorbell rang, your eyebrows furrowed. It was just 6 PM and you weren’t expecting anybody else except for Steve. You had already begun getting ready, having developed a habit of keeping an extra margin of time now having a toddler. You still had to assemble Grace’s essential backpack, fill it with her meds and bottles.

While still putting on your diamond earring, you made your way to the door, unlocking it to find a redhead grinning at you. Before you could interact with her, a small body clung to your legs and you looked down to find the azure eyed kid that put you in this mess, Sarah, smiling up at you.

“Mama! You look pwetty!” She looked up in awe and now aware that she didn’t have a mother, you were even more so coerced into accepting this title rather than telling the kid that 'you are semi orphaned'.

“I’m Wanda, Sarah’s nanny. Mr. Rogers told me to pick her friend, Grace, up for the night?” So, this was what Steve meant. Bringing Sarah was proof enough of her legitimacy, but behind her you saw ‘Buck’ salute you from the driver’s seat of the black car. One of these days, you needed to learn his real name.

You invited Wanda inside and Sarah ran to Grace immediately, grabbing and whining while asking Grace to give her some popcorn she was munching on, her fist generously full.

In your open plan kitchen, you grabbed two plastic bowls, filled them with each with the tub of popcorn that sat in the microwave and handed each toddler one, fortunately quietening Sarah. Sarah obeyed Grace, in first thanking you, their ‘mama’ and then following her to her open playpen.

You faced Wanda again who sat on a barstool and kept on beaming. If your annoyance at her amusement showed, she sure didn’t let it falter the smile.

“Mr. Rogers told me you’d worry about your daughter, but I assure you she’d be in more than capable hands.” All you could focus on was how self-reassured she was. “I’ve served him for almost two years, the last family I served, I was there for 8 years and before them, I was employed for 3. I know the general bedtime and snacks, all I need from you is information about her allergies.”

You nodded and told her about Grace, her meds and what all you packed. When you got to know that her family owned the daycare Grace went to, you were finally somewhat convinced. After seeing them off, it was about fifteen minutes later, that the devil disguised in Prada showed up at your door.

You grabbed your purse and your keys. Wiping your sweaty palms on your dress, you opened the door. Steve stood there, a smirk lodging on his handsome face. His blue, three-piece suit perfectly paired with his cerulean eyes was impressive to say the least.

He was dressed to kill, and it appeared as if you were his first victim.

As your eyes took him in from top to bottom, his did the same lazily, taking their time, resting at certain places for longer period than others.

“You look stunning.”

You knew you did. You wore one of your more expensive dresses when you found out La Bonne Nuit to be one of the few seven-star hotels in the country. In hindsight, if you’d have dressed worse, maybe he’d have left you alone.

“Thank you.”

“Shall we?” He offered you his hand and you obliged with your palm in his. Your other hand pulled the doorknob while you stepped out, all alarms already set-in place. He waited while you locked and put the keys in and when you were done, with a soft kiss along your knuckles, he pulled you along.

The act surprised you, your stomach turning and your gut wrenching and you wondered if you’d be able to process the food after all, with your upset digestive system.

Like a proper gentleman, he opened the door for you and when you settled, he took his position at the driver’s seat. The silence was painful for you, your overthinking finally filling ideas in your head that you avoided contemplating about all day, focusing on Grace.

He was relaxed though; his humming was proof enough.

Mid way through, your thoughts were rudely interrupted when a hand housed itself on your knee. You glanced to find Steve’s palm slightly rubbing your knee. If it was meant to be assuring, you certainly didn’t feel like it.

You frowned and looked up to Steve who still had the arrogant smirk on his face, eyes straight ahead on the road, giving no indication of his inappropriate touching.

You wanted to swat his hand away but a brainwave dashed through your head and a disturbing thought made you halt, that whether he carried guns to restaurants as well, since carnivals were no big deal.

You ignored his hand and continued looking outside, pretending to ignore it as well as he did. Your scowl was a huge giveaway though.

You didn’t know that, but when your eyes found their way out, his finally rested on your face, the smirk growing even more.

Thankfully, apart from the incongruous touching, the dinner went okay-ish. The food and wine were impeccable, perfect even, the restaurant on the hotel’s top floors was so picturesque. You tried to savor your one-time experience there, knowing you’d no way be able to come back there.

Well, you tried to relish as much as you could while your mind still sat there, wary of the human in front of you. If you’d ignore your journey here, Steve was nothing short of a true gentleman, often making you wonder if you had imagined his hand on you.

This ‘friendly’ date you were having was probably one of the best you have had, he had left no expenses. He appeared to be interested in your work, about your childhood and about Grace’s but you swiftly avoided his questions about her father. He was growing a tad bit too comfortable for your liking and you still refused to entertain the idea that this was a ‘date’ date.

When you were finally onto dessert, the last course of your meal, your table was shadowed by the broad frame of a brunette and his date. He clapped Steve’s shoulder and Steve rose to hug him, you awkwardly smiled.

“It’s been far too long since you’ve been here, Cap. Why don’t you and your gorgeous date stop by my penthouse for a bit? We could finally go over the papers you sent me, in person?” He winked, they discussed something more and then went away, his date bowing and trailing after him as well.

Steve claimed his seat again, and finally told you about the interrupter. “That was my good friend, Tony Stark, always in a hurry. I’ll introduce you to him when we meet him later.”

“I think I’ll be heading home; you need not worry about my introduction, I hardly think we’ll ever run into each other again.” His eyes narrowed and you clarified, “Me and Mr. Stark, I meant.”

That’s good, don’t associate yourself with more of his kind.

“He was so kind in inviting you though, it would be rude to refuse.”

“It’s already late, Steve. And I’ve never left Grace alone for a night yet. What if she’s antsy? What if she is bothered? What if she feels unsafe? She's only used to very few people, and after last week, I-” You had started the sentence hoping to use Grace as an excuse but every word of yours succeeded in making you more apprehensive.

The carnival night flashed in your mind, along with the nightmares and you started panicking even more. Your hands clammy, your dessert spoon fell in your lap as sought your phone in your purse, hoping to call Wanda for an update. You felt like a terrible mother, who left her child with a stranger, only a week after she suffered trauma, just to go on a date with a mobster.

Steve reached across the table and grabbed your fidgety hands and as you wriggled to get your hands free, he softly called your name. Voice stern but vocals gentle. Your blurry eyes snapped to meet his while he guided you to breathe deeply, in and out.

His firm hold convinced you to listen to him, you’d never free yourself of them otherwise.

When you had calmed a bit, he withdrew his hands and fetched his phone. Your thoughts slowed down, and you wondered if anyone here was judging you. Your little scene, mercifully, went unnoticed by the other affluent people dining here.

Steve handed you his phone where four colored frames rested, the screen showing you Grace and Sarah cuddled in a frilly, pink four poster where Wanda sat too, her lips moving.

The feed was live and the screen muted, both the toddlers’ eyes fluttering close slowly, on the bridge of sleep.

You handed the phone back to Steve and drank your water while he rubbed circles on the back of one of your hands. You never freaked out like you did right now, always collected and never giving into anxiety. What had happened to you?

Well, In your defense, you had never experienced a disaster either.

“The kids are safe; I’m never putting either of them in harm’s way ever again.”

Your mind did catch the plural in his statement but you promised yourself you would not let it get that far and continued drinking your water, emptying the entire glass.

“The HD image you just saw was by cameras Tony recently developed. His technology is amazing, I’ll take you to his lab sometime.” You appreciated his attempt to redirect the topic but you also focused on how tech-savvy his friends were as well.

You hummed and agreed, trying to be ambiguous with your answer.

When you finished your dessert, you hoped he’d forget about his ‘friend’ Tony but to no avail.

“His penthouse is two floors above. He owns this hotel as well in case you didn’t notice.” He led you to the elevator as you recalled the Starks Group logo you saw earlier sometime.

Some AI named Jarvis opened the elevator doors for you in the living room of Tony’s penthouse. It was even more magnificent than the restaurant earlier, the place illuminated by several hues of different colours. Steve chuckled and strung you along, introducing you to a ginger-head named Pepper, who was Tony’s date earlier and went to search for his acquaintance.

She offered you wine but you politely declined, opting for water instead. She brought your glass to you from the extravagant kitchen and you both sat on the barstool there instead of the living room. Too anxious to say the wrong thing, you stayed quiet until her voice filled the deafening silence.

“So, Steve almost never brings dates around. You two serious?” She questioned, leaning towards you, waiting for some gossip, no doubt.

“Oh no! We aren’t dating. He just invited me for a friendly dinner. We merely met the other week.” You deliberately left out the part where there was bombing by crime families and attack on the common man.

“Honey, in the mob life, you don’t just introduce random people to the fam.”

Oh, she wasn’t being shy about the whole mob ordeal. It seemed weird to hear it from her, since you and Steve hadn’t used the word yet. Maybe he figured you already knew considering the circumstances you met in or how famous he was.

“We really aren’t romantically involved. This dinner was just a gesture of gratitude if I’m being truthful.”

She chuckled, as if you were a kid making stories and quizzed, “Gratitude for what?”

You trapped yourself into that one. You didn’t know how to answer her and your brain downright blanked. Surprisingly,, Steve came to your rescue and two voices interposed your conversation.

Steve called your name and as you turned to the men, he continued, “She’s the one who saved Sarah the other night. You know the story, Wilson probably got it printed.”

“Impressive, really. Hey, I’m Tony and I see you’ve already met Pepper, my fiancée.” He shook your hand and kissed your knuckles, much like Steve did earlier in the day. You bowed, smiled and mumbled a ‘nice to meet you as well’. They escorted you to the elevator and Tony continued.

“Well, it’s not everyday Steve brings brave and extraordinarily attractive women around. Welcome to the family, sweetie. She’s a keeper, Cap.” He winked while saying the last sentence and before you could correct him, Steve ushered you inside the elevator, bro-hugging him. As the doors closed, Pepper winked at you from behind Tony and a shudder ran through you.

Okay you had to make it clear, get on the same page.

As the elevator music filled the silence, you started, “Steve, look we aren’t-”, “I served in the army, that’s why Tony calls me Cap, short for captain.” And crudely got interrupted.

“I never wanted to get into the army, I thought people were fools to sacrifice the one life they got. But I went to make my mother’s dream a reality, I really loved her, you know? Sarah is named after her, my mother.”

His voice broke at the end and as much as you wanted to redirect onto your former topic, you couldn’t. This amiability of yours would be the death of you.

“She died alone in her bed; I was dispatched too far away to even make it back for her funeral.” He mumbled but you heard him clear as a sunny day, and he leaned back onto the wall for support while you awkwardly rubbed his shoulder to return the support he provided earlier during your mental breakdown.

He closed his eyes and gathered himself, taking deep breaths. As the elevator dinged, his eyes opened and he gave you a strained smile.

The car ride to his mansion was painfully silent, his mind too sidetracked to focus on harassing you again. With all that you went through today, you almost forgot about that.

His mansion was enormous, twenty guards stood outside and even more patrolled the lawn. He took you inside his house, the interior even more detailed and scenic than Tony’s temporary residence.

You just concentrated on swiftly getting Grace and Uber-ing back. As Steve showed you earlier, Grace and Sarah hugged and slept and it was a meticulous task to untangle their limbs without waking either of them up andnd get Grace with her back-pack. You thanked Wanda on the way out, hoping to avoid Steve but somehow he stood outside before you, leaning on his sleek black car. He opened the door for you before you could refuse the ride. You settled with Grace in the backseat itself, trying to be smart.

He just summoned one of his guards to drive and sat alongside you in the back. You didn’t let the annoyance at his clinginess show though. You just focused on Grace who drooled over your shoulder.

Hopefully, there won’t be any point of exposure to him ever again, your circles didn’t match, both social and professional. Your Venn diagrams didn’t overlap anywhere. This should be reason enough to avoid meeting ever again.

He didn’t try anything even this ride around. You doubted it was hardly because of the toddler or because of the driver. He did as he pleased, if he wanted to he could very well grope you. Luckily, he wasn't in the mood.

When you reached your dwelling, you stepped out hastily, thanking him in a whisper. You fumbled to get your keys out, but since everything you held slowed you down, he caught up with you without even trying.

He took and held Grace’s bag while you drew the keys out, Grace still on your hip. He handed you the bag back, “So this is it, I guess?”

“Yeah, tonight was a total delight. Thanks for the dinner and everything, really.” You put up your best façade, hoping to convince him.

“It was, thanks to you. The company matters the most.”

You awkwardly chuckled and you sensed him leaning in, his eyes flickering shut. Your eyes closed as you turned your head to avoid him, so that his lips would peck your cheek.

They never came.

Your eyes opened to find his and he chuckled, leaning in once again swiftly, catching you off guard this time. He didn’t meet your lips though, he kissed the corner of your mouth, lips overlapping for a fraction of skin.

“In due time, baby.” He stepped back and strolled to his car leisurely, content in his own world.

You opened your door and slammed it shut, the peck feeling wrong on so many levels. It felt more sensual than a lover’s kiss, leaving room for intimacy and longing.

Your thoughts ran a hundred kilometers an hour, the most absurd but nauseatingly true being, this was a date and it was not your last encounter.

Steve smirked outside in his car, the dinner an absolute success in his opinion. Tonight just made him feel that you both were more than compatible for each other. You needing him during your mental breakdown, him relaxing under your shy touch, Tony’s approval, not that important though, and your anxiety for Grace was the best part, because he, more often than he’d like to admit, fussed about Sarah the same way, agonizing and fretting her well being.

A text lit up his black screen and his grin widened even more if possible.

‘The Stark cameras are up and working, Sir.’

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ghostadventuresstuff · 3 years ago

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Zak Bagans (Vampire) x Reader

Y/N

You never did have the best track record when it came to being safe, it was as if danger and near-death followed you everywhere you went but your boyfriend Zak was mysteriously always there to save you. He'd make you drink some homemade medicine which would have you feeling brand new in a day or two. It cut down on hospital bills.

You and Zak were returning back from a date when your car was smashed into by a large truck, running you off the road and with enough force you're ejected from the car. You can hear Zak shouting your name as your vision starts to blur, he sounds fine but that's impossible because the two of you had just been in a car crash.

Sleep overcomes you and closing your eyes seems like a good idea, however before the darkness takes over you feel something wet on your lips. It was probably blood from a head injury but something inside you told you to part your lips slightly and swallow. It was as if you could hear Zak's voice in your head. Then the darkness overcame you.

*2 DAYS LATER*

You slowly start to open your eyes, you remember very little from the accident but you were adamant your injuries should have killed you. You sit up in bed, yours and Zak's bed to be precise and notice there's no sign of injury on your body.

On the bedside table is a glass of Zak's homemade medicine, you drink it without hesitation as you always did. Though this time you taste something metallic, you bring the glass up to your nose and sniff. Blood, that's what you can smell. But why would there be blood in the juice you just drank?

You needed to find Zak and get some answers because you were seriously starting to freak out. Carefully you climb out of bed only then noticing that Zak had put you in one of his shirts which reached your knees. What exactly happened after the crash? Zak should have been injured just like you.

Walking down the staircase you get to the bottom step where a patch of sunlight seeps through the front door window. The second the sun makes contact with your skin your foot starts to hiss and you jump back as you feel the skin on your foot blister. What was wrong with you? sunlight didn't normally burn people like that.

'Zak,' you call out.

You get no reply. Carefully you edge your way around the patch of sunlight on the stairs and edge your way into the living room. The curtains are wide open and sunlight floods the room, you instinctively cover your eyes with your hand which is odd because you're never normally sensitive to light like this. A stray beam hits your hand and you hiss in pain before jumping back into a patch of shadow by the bookcase.

You started to freak out, what was going on with your body? You'd never felt this weak before, back in bed you felt fine because the curtains were closed but now you felt the energy leaving your body. You begin to sob silently and sink to the floor clutching your hands over your knees. Maybe Zak can offer an explanation.

*EVENING*

Zak hadn't returned home all day leaving you trapped in the small shadow in the living room. You were unable to reach your phone, by now you had cried all the tears out of your body and had begun shaking uncontrollably. Then suddenly you hear the front door open and Zak casually drops his keys into the pot, he was whistling.

'y/n are you up?'

You try to stand up but your body is weak and you collapse back to the floor. You manage to knock over a book which causes Zak to run into the living room, his eyes scan the room frantically before they latch onto you. His face drops as he darts beside you in a second.

'What are you doing down here?' he speaks frantically.

You gasp, fighting for breath 'I woke up and you were gone. I came downstairs but the sunlight hurt me, I've been trapped here all day because the sun kept coming through the windows. Why did the sun hurt me?'

Zak glances over at the open curtains and curses under his breath. He examines your hand and foot which still has slight burn marks on them.

'I'll explain everything to you, babe, after you drink this.'

Next thing you know his eyes have turned black and his canines have extended and he's biting into his wrist. Your eyes bulge at the sight of blood trickling from the wound. You believed in the supernatural world, but Zak couldn't possibly be a vampire as he showed no signs. He was obsessed with Dracula but you simply thought it was a quirk.

'I never should have left you, I thought you'd take more time to heal. Come on drink up, it will make you stronger,' he says with urgency in his voice.

He brings his wrist up to your mouth and as much as you find the idea of drinking his blood repulsive, something inside you stirs and suddenly you're craving the crimson liquid.

You pull away after a minute or so and already you feel strength returning to your body. Zak stands up and brushes the dust off his trousers before bending down and scooping you up bridal style. You should have been more scared by the monster holding you in his arms, but he still looked and acted like the man you fell in love with.

'Let's get you back upstairs love,' he speaks softly.

Before you know it you're back in the bedroom and Zak is placing you back in bed, however, he doesn't leave this time. Instead, he climbs onto the bed next to you and rests your head on his chest as he starts to play with your hair.

'If you haven't already guessed it by now y/n I'm a vampire.'

You nod in understanding, 'yeah I kind of conned onto the whole black eyes, extended canines and blood. How old are you? And why did you lie to me? Oh yeah, and what the hell happened last night?'

Zak chuckles, 'I'm 150 give or take a few years, after a while vampires stop counting birthdays. Now the reason I lied to you is that I didn't want to lose you. That night when we met in the club I was at one of my lowest points where I craved blood and would kill anything with a pulse. I saw you sitting at the bar and as much as I wanted to drink your blood, I couldn't bring myself to physically harm you. When that creep was hitting on you I was jealous and protective, I did kill him by the way. But once I got to know you I knew I'd found the reason to switch my humanity back on.'

He sounded genuine, and it made you feel warm inside that he was jealous of another guy hitting on you.

'I'd just lost my job that day and was looking for a little adventure. Then you came along and I got to have my adventure, give or take a few times you talked me out of things for fear of my own safety,' you joke.

Zak sighs, 'It takes a lot to kill a vampire y/n, whereas humans are easy to break.'

It was your turn to chuckle, it felt like you were having a normal conversation with your boyfriend who just happened to be a 150-year-old vampire, 'we were in a pretty bad crash last night. What happened? Because my mind is drawing blanks after I passed out.'

'We were hit by an oil tanker, the driver was over the limit and unfortunately didn't die but chose to do a runner. You were thrown from the car and I fed you my blood to heal you, however, if a human dies with vampire blood in his system then they start the transition into becoming a vampire.'

That explained the weakness to sunlight and the weak body, Zak had turned you into a vampire because he didn't want to watch you die. However, you were curious about the transition and what happened to the driver.

'What happens during the transition?' You ask, genuinely interested and a little scared.

'You have to drink blood from a human. That glass I left you earlier which you drank contained the blood of the driver. He had no regard for your life and chose to run instead of calling an ambulance so I took his life to save yours.'

Okay so that explained what happened to the driver, his blood was in your system and that was turning you into a vampire. But you had so many more questions. Zak seemed relatively calm and willing to answer, after all, he had made you immortal without your consent.

'How can you walk in sunlight whereas it burned me?' you question.

Zak shifts himself from under you and pulls something out of his jacket pocket. It's a small black box, 'vampires can only walk in sunlight if they have a ring made by a witch, luckily I know a friendly witch who made mine. Here give me your hand y/n.'

You lazily lift your hand up while Zak pops open the little black box, inside is the prettiest ring you've ever seen. You can tell it was handcrafted and looks like it's been through the ages.

'Zak the ring is gorgeous,' you gasp.

Zak smirks and slips the ring out of the box, 'this was crafted by my father 170 years ago, he gave it to my mother and then my mum handed it to me and told me to only put it on the finger of the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my days with. I had the witch spell it so you'll be able to walk in sunlight, will you do the honours of marrying me y/n?'

Your mouth drops open, those were the last words you expected to come out of his mouth. Was this why he was out all day? You should have been flattered that he'd waited 150 years to find the right person, and you couldn't believe that person was you.

Ever since you were a little girl you'd always planned how you were going to get married. Maybe to a vampire wasn't the initial plan but things change, you were both vampires and that meant he'd be stuck with you for a very long time.

'Yes, Zak I will marry you.'

You've never seen a bigger smile on Zak's face than right now, he slides the ring onto your finger before pulling you in for a kiss. You smirk against his lips and pull away slightly.

'You do know you're now stuck with me, Zak.'

He chuckles, 'I think I can handle you y/n.'

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acklesterritory · 4 years ago

Text

That Kind of Love Never Dies_Chapter 1

Hey guys, Now that more voted to split my fictions in 2 parts, I'm back with the first part. I hope you like it. Don't forget to leave me feedbacks. I'll always appreciate them. Love you all.

This is for writing event @tvdspngirl314

My quote is "That kind of love never dies"

Dean x Reader series (just 2 parts)

This chapter words: ~5k

Series warning:

Angst, fluf, smut, angry Dean, hurt Reader, hurt Dean, there's some more but I hate spoilers so I insist on "Angst & Hurt"

It all started with a stupid argument at home. What was it? Three months ago? Sam couldn't remember the exact date but after years, it was the first time this awkward coldness between Dean and Y/n had started to build. He could remember the first time he and his brother came across Y/n like it was yesterday, they were hunting a very nasty creature who used to kidnap young and lonely women at night, then got them wrapped in ropes and ties on a bed in a warehouse to rape, torture and feed on their blood until the victim either died or accepted to turn into one of his kind.

Sam could remember the helplessness in people's eyes too. The pain of the victims' families, the frustration and anger on cops' faces when no one could find the criminal yet, even after the sixth missing girl.

"Sammy, he just kidnapped another girl. And I think I know where he's gonna take her. Let's hunt this son of a bitch."

When Dean was saying that, Sam never expected him to fall in love with the woman they would save that night. Well, unfortunately they weren't fast enough to prevent any harm to the girl. When they arrived and Dean killed the nasty creature, Y/n was almost dead. The monster had already raped her, tortured her … and when he felt the hunters enter the place, he drank almost all of her blood, to gain more energy to fight. So as always, Dean was up to blaming himself. Of course only in his own eyes, not anyone else's.

"Call Cas to come home. Tell him it's an emergency."

Dean told his brother when he finally could get Y/n out of those ropes. And Sam knew he was right. At that point, no one could save Y/n unless God or his angels. Maybe she was not so lucky coming across a nasty supernatural creature like that but she was lucky enough that Cas arrived just on time and healed her. However, angels can only heal physical wounds. But Y/n was hurt much more than that. She couldn't just move on from the things that the bastard had put her through. Even after Cas tricked her brain to forget some certain things, she still had bad nightmares and had this dark shade of hopelessness in her eyes. Soon, she started to eat and talk less and less. And Dean just couldn't let her go. He really wanted to fix all of that for her but she kept shutting him out… until the depression hit her. It was so bad that Cas felt the need to tell them to prepare themselves for her death. Because after all those days and unlike everything else in their lives, The Winchesters were already used to her presence around them; like the way a lonely person can get used to a wounded cat more and faster than anyone else.

"I'm not gonna hunt until I'm sure she can live her normal life." When Dean stated that, Sam really thought he was joking. But after a few days he started to believe it. Dean truly would do anything to keep her alive. From cooking vegetables to laughing at his own dad jokes in front of Y/n to make her smile. That was when Sam started to feel that they can be more than a random hunter/rescued victim relationship! It felt like his brother had finally found his motivation in life: "Saving Y/n."

Gradually Y/n started to respond to this special attention from Dean with trust and smiles. Soon they became a power couple that could motivate each other so easily that sometimes Charlie would call them out. And honestly Sam had no problem with it. In fact Y/n had become his other sister.

"My God, Dean! You're burning up!" It was two day after a werewolf hunt in which Dean had got hurt. At first it was just some scratches on his arms and chest. Yet as the time passed, more symptoms started to appear: headache, pain, fever, cold sweat, even nose bleeding and before they could figure it out, Dean fell unconscious. Apparently the claws of the werewolf were poisonous. However Sam wasn't sure. The only thing he got no doubts about was the fact that it was already too late. Dean couldn't make it to the hospital. So either Sam had to do anything possible to save him or Cas should've picked up his God damn phone.

"No. no, no, no, no. Dean … Dean!!!"

That was when Sam got to hear Y/n's helpless cry and see her true feelings. She was already in love with his brother.

Luckily, unlike typical love stories; no one died that night. Sam's antidote worked. And Dean opened his eyes an hour later.

"Sammy … Y/n?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Y/n grabbed his face and put her thirsty lips on her beloved hunter's, letting the tears stream down on her face… and then his.

"Never do that again." She begged, breaking the kiss, her trembling hands holding Dean's face so she could look into his eyes.

Sam couldn't stop his smile remembering how cute they were. Y/n literally had Dean wrapped around her little finger, to the point he accepted to teach her how to hunt and soon she was part of their team too. Until … a few months ago. After two years of them being constantly close to each other, Sam could tell something was off when Dean started to go out without eating breakfast with Y/n. Of course she got suspicious after the third time and that was when their endless arguments started.

"Why don't you just tell me what's wrong?"

"Because nothing is wrong, Y/n."

Actually there was. Something was VERY wrong. Anyone could tell that just by the change in Dean's eyes whenever he wanted to look at Y/n. Day by day he was getting more quiet and cold. Now they didn't even eat pie together or watch movies late at night. And Sam couldn't ignore his brother being grumpy or drunk on hunts, not anymore.

"Ok man, I've had enough. You either tell me what's wrong with you or next time I won't make any excuses so you can leave Y/n out of our hunt plans. I'm serious, Dean, I'll tell her the truth." He finally said, when they were alone in the impala, on their way to do their next hunt.

"She wants more."

"More?"

"Yeah. Sometimes it's like she sees more in me. She thinks we can have a different life. There's no need for any saying, I can see it in her eyes whenever we accidentally come across some family at a diner that try to feed their kids or people's wedding photos whenever we go to talk with some witnesses or whoever during the research! Sometimes she even looks up wedding dresses or kid stuff on the net!" Dean blew his anger out of his nostrils and sighed, shaking his head.

"Wow." Sam couldn't find the proper word to say but he couldn't hide his surprised face either.

"What?" Dean gave him an annoyed look.

"I mean …" Sam chuckled. "… are you telling me you're actually angry with her for imagining the things you always dream about?!"

"Sam …"

"No, really. I'm just curious. What's wrong with you, man?" Sam asked genuinely, waiting for an answer.

"What's wrong with me?! You think something is wrong with me just because I'm the rational one in this relationship; who's actually able to see the difference between a dream and the reality?"

Yeah, anyone could take that earnest speech, but not Sam. He'd seen and knew enough about his brother.

"What's the reality? Aren't you and Y/N living that dream life already?"

"What?! No. No … that's not the same." Dean shook his head.

"Really? How is it not? It's been two years, Dean. You two are constantly with and/or around each other. Always worried when the other one is in trouble and still looking at one another like there is nothing in the world that can make you happy as much as this relationship. So … excuse me if I won't buy your pretty speech; man ." Sam said, Rolling his eyes.

"Ok, let's say you're right but ... is it gonna be like that forever? With all the supernatural crap that we have to take care of … and the constant danger and chaos in this hunter life we have… I …"

"You what?" Sam asked when Dean didn't finish his sentence. He was lost in his thoughts, staring at this unknown point in the depth of the road. Finally he blew out his despair.

"I just can't let her fall for the things I know I can't provide for her. It's not fair, Sammy. It's not fair to lock her up in this dark life with me just because she loves me … especially while I know there is a whole bright future out there waiting for her."

"Here we go, the old Dean's self-doubt" Sam thought to himself as he took a deep breath before finding the best words to wake his brother up from this nightmare

"Yeah, I know but I don't think it's your call. If Y/n wants to go to hell with you instead of living in heaven with someone else, it's her choice. Not your responsibility. Right?"

Dean shook his head while his lips curved up a little to fake a smile but he never answered or said anything about that conversation ever again. He kept his silence for like three weeks … until someone new showed up: "Gary Smith". A tall man with the most stylish haircut and the most perfect teeth and smile.

They saw him for the first time at their hangout bar, as the new bartender who almost jumped in Y/n's way as soon as they entered the bar.

"Oh my God, bunny! Is this really you?" He said, pulling her in his embrace. Like she was the long time missing piece of his beloved puzzle!

"Bonny? You're wrong. Her name is Y/n." Dean said, pretty annoyed by the way Gary tightened his arms around Y/n's little shoulders, making him chuckle.

"No, uh … it's just a nickname." Y/n said as soon as the guy let her go.

"Yeah, actually the most fitting nickname that I could think of. I mean … you have to agree. She got the most cute little ears in the world." The guy explained, chuckling and pulling on her little star earring. Well, if Sam wanted to be honest, he had to agree with him. He never paid any attention to it before but now that Gary mentioned it, he could tell Y/n's ears were truly small.

"I see … So … I guess this means you were close friends?" Dean said, already hating the way Y/n e's blushed with hearing her old nickname.

"Uh … well, no. Actually more than that." The guy grinned, ruffling his own hair while he was awkwardly laughing and looking at Y/n. Just like a proud embarrassed teen!

"We used to date." Y/n said.

*oh* Sam tried his best not to let that stupid grin sit on his lips but Dean's frown and his sudden heavy silence didn't let him do so.

"Yeah. We are kinda each other's first. Like … you know? prom date." The man added, giving Y/n a wink while Dean's gaze was still locked on his large arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah. It's been years, Gary."

"I know. But believe me, bunny. you still look the same." He said, bending to put a kiss on her right cheek.

Dean would kill him. Sam just knew that. Because his brother's eyes were already burning with jealousy.

"By the way, don't you wanna tell me who these gentlemen are ?" The guy asked Y/n, giving her his softest smile.

"Of course. This is Sam and this is Dean. My colleagues who are my friends now. I live in their place."

After they met, everything got even more complicated. Y/n, the girl who was still trying to get old-happy-days Dean back suddenly stopped whatever she used to do. No more complains, no waiting at nights to see Dean before going to bed, no more effort to get involved in hunts, no nothing. And despite what Dean had claimed before, it was making Dean even more frustrated. Day to day he and Y/n were getting colder towards each other and there was nothing he could do to fix it. That was what made him even more furious. Sam already knew all of that and he still had to live with both of those grumpy faces. So last night when they began to fight, he could see this was coming: Y/n left the bunker after Dean let some hurtful things out of his mouth, just because he didn't know how to deal with all the heartache anymore. He now was convinced that Y/n didn't love him anymore. Yet the next day after drinking whatever strong drink they had, he begged Sam to come with him. Apparently Jodie texted Dean about Y/n being in her place for that night. Just to make sure that her crazy step son won't sell his soul over a tracking spell! So Dean almost begged his brother to be there with him, cause Dean believed that as much as Y/n didn't care about him, she still respected Sam and cared about him. Like a little sister and her elder brother.

So here they were, In Jodie's living room, in front of her and Y/n.

"Considering your sleepy eyes, I think we caught you at bed time, huh?" Sam asked, checking Y/n's obvious eye bags.

"Who says that? I'm totally good, Sam."

She said with a small smile, looking much more in control and stronger than before. So Sam knew it was a lie. Y/n Just had made her peace with what had happened last night. The realization۹ kicked Dean in the gut. Y/n always used to be stronger and bolder when she got hurt.

"I'm gonna make some coffee for us. Why don't you guys take a seat till I come back?"

Jodie interrupted, to ease the heavy and sharp silence that suddenly had fallen over all of them.

Y/n gave her a smile.

"Of course."

It was so fake. Her smile didn't even curl her lips completely. She was still badly hurting.

Sam swore in his head when he looked over his brother who sank silently into the nearest seat at the end of the table like a broken shell that he was too . One of Dean's hands was in the pocket of his jacket, the other formed a fist on the table. Sam was sure Dean knew it too. He knew everything was almost past saving. "Almost". Sam tried to stick to their small chance.

"So …" He cleared his voice before he put some (semi fake) hope into his words."You're … you're gonna come back home today or did Alex and Claire made you promise them otherwise?" He laughed and tried to make it funny but the truth was he asked this for Dean's sake, knowing he already was struggling to find the words … to let Y/n know how much he wanted her back … to ask her to come back.

"To be honest … I don't think I can live in the bunker anymore." Y/n said and as Dean's head snapped up to look at her in horror, she raised her hand to stop his (likely) protests.

"I applied for a job 3 weeks ago and to my surprise they called me this morning to tell me I'd actually got it."

*What?*

No one had to ask it. The question was already hung in the air. She snored mockingly in her nose. "Perfect timing, right?"

She moved her gaze from her interlocked fingers on the table to Dean's eyes.

He didn't answer, he didn't move but he got tense. Still staring back at Y/n.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Sam asked, once again saving Dean from asking the question he was itching to ask with some other words that for sure couldn't be nice.

"I wanted to but I didn't think I could actually get it and even if I did, I never figured out how to tell you. Besides, I never considered the "move out" option before..." She looked at Sam for a second before she turned her gaze on Dean. "... But I actually appreciate that you bring it up. I think now I can take the advice. I'm gonna move on."

Sam's heart dropped in his stomach when he heard those words. Because he knew what this meant. It felt something like having to watch Dean get stabbed in the heart.

"Is this … because of that Bartender?" Dean asked, staring deadly at Y/n with his bloodshot eyes. He was already chewing on his bottom lip. And Sam knew a heavy storm was on its way to hit them.

"I don't want to answer that question."

*shit*

"Why? Because you can't just simply say no?" Dean scolded and Sam could see how it pushed on Y/n boundaries.

"No. Because it's not your fucking business and it's not Gary's business either. But at least he knows his limits."

*well, fuck*

"By "limits" you mean when he drools on you just because for God knows whatever the reason, you started to wear leather jackets when we go there?"

"WHAT?!"

*Oh, fuck* Sam thought to himself, watching Y/n rise from her seat.

"You think … you really think that I …" she laughed nervously and Sam could tell she would punch Dean in the face if she wasn't a sweet, super nice person.

"How you can even …"

"I can even what, Y/n? Are we now going to pretend like I'm a blind man who can't see how you got attracted to your ex again? Did you really think I couldn't see how your hands were shaking when his filthy face lighted up by seeing you for the first time after all these years?"

Sam wanted to interrupt him or at least leave the room but everything was happening so fast.

"So what? Why and since when you care about my private life?"

"Since you stopped drinking bunker's beers just because you rather drink those crappy poisonous cocktails he makes at the bar!"

Dean was on his feet now as well. And despite his will, Sam couldn't stop his smile. He never saw his brother this jealous before. It was fun.

"Poisonous? … You … of all people, you are the one who says this? cause as much as I know, you're the one who puts dormitives in my guest's food so the poor guy gets tired and can't spend his time with me!"

"Yeah, because your poor guy is not welcomed in MY PLACE!" Dean yelled, punching the table with so much power that made everyone almost jump out of their skins.

"Dean!" Finally Sam interrupted but as soon as he stood up, someone rang the doorbell and Sam could hear Jodie welcoming someone inside.

"Guys … I know it's not my place to interfere but you two really need to sort things out somewhere private … of course that's when both of you can be much calmer than this."

"No, we have nothing to say or to talk about, anymore. Your brother was clear enough when he said he wants me to move out, so I'll move out. And that's it."

Y/n declared, looking at Sam to resist any eye contact with Dean, probably to make him even more crazy.

"And that's it? You wanna ignore that part where you were too eager and ready to accept that suggestion and leave the bunker instantly like your pants were on fire?!"

Dean retorted while Y/n was shaking her head like she couldn't believe him.

"Whose pants are on fire?" Jodie interrupted as soon as she re-entered the room with the coffees she'd made, this time a man was with her. Y/n's guy. The famous bartender.

*Oh, No!*

Sam sighed, closing his eyes for a second so the guy couldn't read his face.

"Obviously not mine." Dean hissed through his teeth, looking first at the guy and then at Y/n with such a disappointment and rage that no one could ignore.

"Hey, what's wrong?" The guy asked, choosing the worst spot to stand on: right next to Y/n.

"My typical life I guess. Nothing's new." She mumbled in reply to him but her eyes were still on Dean.

"No, nothing is wrong with your life, Y/n. It's about your choices. That's what's wrong with you. As always." Dean said bitterly. As sharp as a knife, as cold as ice. Sam could see how it drained color from Y/n's face.

"You better watch your mouth, buddy." The Gary guy warned Dean and Sam could tell that if it wasn't for the sudden thud sound that stole everyone's attention, Dean would throw a fight right there. But …

"Y/n!" Jodie almost screamed. Y/n was laying on the floor, seemingly unconscious.

"Oh, God." Sam said as Jodie rushed to her.

"Y/n? … Y/n can you hear me?"

As she sat next to her, Gary's fingers already were on Y/n's carotid pulse point. So Sam couldn't stop himself from looking up at his brother, who was still standing where he was. In shock.

"Oh, shit!" Gary's worried voice made Sam check Y/n's pale face again but Jodie was the one to dare ask the question which was on everyone's minds.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Her pulse ... too faint." He said before turning to Dean: "Is she bleeding?"

"Bleeding?" Dean blinked and mumbled in confusion.

If it was up to Sam, he'd ask *What bleeding?* & *Why are you asking this from my brother?*

"Oh my. You still don't know. Do you?" Gary sneered.

"Know what? What's happening?" Jodie was freaking out now and Sam actually felt the same. He didn't like the way this stranger pretended like he knew her better than them. However what happened next was much more unexpected. And … rude!

To everyone's surprise, the guy reached out to Y/n's jeans and drew his hand between her legs but before anyone could react, he spread her legs open so it could be possible for everyone to see that big red stain there. Then he raised his hand. It was all wet and red in blood!

"She's having a miscarriage." He revealed.

Sam's gaze instantly caught Dean's ... Burning. Dean was burning inside with his heavy silence.

"Don't you worry. It's not mine." Gary added more fuel to that hell with such a mocking tone, staring right back at Dean's eyes.

Now Sam could feel it. The storm was there: rising in his brother's roar!

Before Sam could've moved any muscles, Gary was already pinned to the wall, Dean's hands on his now-ripped-out collar.

"Dean, no!" Sam jumped in, trying to catch his brother's arm before his fist make any contact with the guy's nose but all he could do was changing the direction of the punch which landed on Gary's shoulder, making a painful cracking sound.

"I said no … Dean, stop it." Sam had to literally cage Dean in his arms so the furious man couldn't tear Gary apart.

"Get off me, Sam. This son of a bitch has to learn his place."

"Enough!" As Dean just broke himself free, Jodie's scream stopped everyone in their tracks.

"It's enough!" Jodie warned all three men, pointing at them one by one.

"You want to fight? Not here. Not in my house!"

"But ..."

As soon as Dean opened his mouth to protest, Jodie cut him:

"And you … you should know Y/n is pregnant with your twins. So … you'll be a responsible man who will try his best to save them or you can get the hell out of here and never come back!"

"What?" Sam was too shocked to suppress his reaction while Dean couldn't even find any words to say. His confused look darted between Jodie's face and Y/n's figure while his parted lips kept moving without making any noise, just like a dying fish on the shore!

"I promised her not to tell anyone but it was a promise under normal conditions, not this." Jodie sighed, struggling to keep her emotions under control. Sam saw the worry in her frown. Like a real mother, worried for her children. However it was nothing in comparison to his brother's blank eyes and pale face.

"Dean, It's ok. We just need to take her to hospital. … it's ok, man. I promise."

He had to grab Dean by his jacket, as his brother was struggling to process all of these in his head.

"Come on, man. We got no time. Do I need to do this alone or you'll …"

"Get the car, Sammy."

It was just a simple sentence. Yet it had enough power to make Sam's heart sank. Since Dean had put the car keys in his hand saying that, Sam couldn't stop thinking about that tone. Dean never had called Baby a "car" In years. And Sam had never heard that crack in his voice since their Dad's death.

"You ok?" He finally let himself ask, two hours after they arrived at the hospital.

"I want to be." Dean closed his eyes and put his head against the cold wall, letting the dim light to darken the shadows under his eyes.

"I'm sure she'll be good. She's strong, Dean. You know that."

He smiled and Sam looked away not to watch him. He knew that smile. Dean used to give him that, whenever everything was gone so wrong that Dean couldn't promise him anything good. Like when both of them were still kids. Hungry, cold and all alone in a rusty motel room where John had left them on their own for a one day long hunt but then a heavy snow had crashed the roads and kept them apart for half a week. So Dean had to wash the dishes and do the laundry in the motel to rent the room for another day and provide some snacks so they wouldn't starve to death. But after three days, the hotel managers didn't want them to be around. And Sam could vividly remember that smile on his brother's face when he asked: *Where should we go then?*

"You were always such a father material. You know?"

Sam admitted with a broken smile on his face.

"You were always responsible, kind and caring with me as a kid. And I can't imagine anyone who deserves to be a father more than you."

Dean took a deep breath and opened his eyes without looking at him: "But I don't want ... I really can't, Sammy."

All, it certainly wasn't the response Sam had expected. He used to believe that Dean would never turn down any chance to start a family with Y/n. Especially after everything in the world was back to normal.

"Are you kidding me? You always wanted this."

"No …" Dean finally turned his gaze to meet his brother's confused eyes. "No, Sammy. Not like this. I don't want to raise another kid without his mom. I'm not that strong anymore."

Dang. Once again Sam's heart dropped in his stomach. Dean was really helpless.

"Mr. Winchester?"

Dean was on his feet as Sam just realized the doctor's presence.

"It's me."

Sam prayed for any good news as doctor took a glance of Dean and fixed his glasses on his face …

"To be continued …"

READ CHAPTER 2 HERE

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@jay-and-dean @adoptdontshoppets @akshi8278

The next and also ultimate chapter will post on Sunday, April 25. Thanks for reading.

Feedback are always appreciated.

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean x ofc #dean x you #dean winchester #allyswritingevent #Acklesterritory #dean winchester x ofc #dean x y/n #dean winchester x you

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darkdevasofdestruction · 4 years ago

Text

Don’t Let Go ~ Alfie Solomons

I’m in love with one man and one man alone. Mum and dad love Alfie too, but they still can’t take him away from me ;;;

How did she end up like this, she wondered? They were family...Even though her last name was not legally “Shelby”, she was still a part of the family since she was born. The parents were best friends, and when her parents died, Polly took her in. And then, they grew up together - Same home, same beds, same food, same clothes...Same everything.

And then, war came, and while true, she was younger than even John - Not by much, only about 3 years - But that didn’t seem to bother either of the Shelby siblings, and she was especially close with Arthur and Ada, mostly because they were the ones with the warmest hearts, and could understand her gentle one as well..

However, Tommy was the smartest of the family, and Polly taught her enough about Gypsy street-smarts, so the three of them together somehow became the true heads of the family, the true backbone that kept everyone straight and together.

When war came, she was barely 16, and yet, she joined them, dressing as a man and pretending to be a volunteer physician, healing and running around the battlefield, only to end up helping them dig up tunnels and plant explosions...

And taking a bullet for Tommy.

And nearly dying.

But at least, by the time they returned home, 4 years later, she was called an honorary Shelby and Polly officially adopted her.

She wasn’t Y/N L/N anymore, she was Y/N Shelby, and she was damn proud of that.

She helped with fixing races, rode around with her gorgeous black mare, going to the Garrison with her brothers to make sure they don’t end up drunk, in a ditch, she helped the strategy against the Lee family, got beaten up by Sabini, beat him up right back, got in that whorehouse of a Russian noble family, let the Duchess touch her while in her underwear, got beaten up by the priest, had to blow up a train with good people and many more...

But nothing was bringing her down, because she was a Shelby, and she was strong - Mentally, Physically, Emotionally - And she wanted to make sure the family was together, or at least trying to hang on, somehow.

She was the perfect woman - Never drank, never smoked, never cursed, never did drugs, never did drugs, never dated anyone...

But when one day, Thomas took her on a meeting at Alfie’s place... Boy of boy, was that entertaining.

She always appreciated Thomas’s ambition, cunning and intelligence...But Alfie? Alfie was something else. Something much above him, no much smarter, so much better at scheming...And at everything, really. And she was attracted by him like moths to the light.

Back and forth talks, interesting insights on life, learning words in foreign languages that she didn’t know, but he did, and likewise, teaching her foreign stuff, talking to him about books and many other things...

And it was weird, but it almost seemed like she didn’t want to leave that place any time soon, but Thomas needed her for business, so what could she do, really?

And she agreed...And agreed...And agreed...

Until one day, when all things went completely upside down and...Sure, she did her job, and she was supposed to return to Alfie’s to have a chat with him and Tommy... And she did...

As soon as she stepped inside the “Bakery”, she saw Ollie, whose eyes widened in shock seeing her in that state.

“Miss Shelby, what happened?! Let me call the physician-...I’ll go inform Alfie-...” Ollie stumbled over his words, only to have her grab his sleeve and pull him back. “Don’t tell them I’m here. With the way I look, better make it a surprise. Tommy’s here, right?” she asked, slamming the doors open, walking inside, the clicks of her small heeled boots resounding all over the place. “B-But Miss Shelby, we have to treat you - “ Y/N simply shot him a glare, before continuing in a straight line. “Ain’t a Shelby anymore.” she muttered, and soon, she reached the middle of the wide business room, as Alfie was sitting at his desk and Tommy was pacing. “Y/N...Finally, you’ve arrived. What happened to you?!” Thomas asked, rushing to her side, only for her to push him away. “You lied to me, Thomas. You lied to me. You promised I wouldn’t get hurt. That you were gonna make sure they wouldn’t touch me. That I was gonna come back perfectly unharmed, not even a strand of hair touched. Only business talks. How do you think that went?” the girl looked down, her hands deep in her bloodied, yet incredibly fancy and silhouette-fitting high-waisted pants. “What exactly happened with the Sabini meeting, Y/N? And why are you covered in blood?!” he asked, frowning. “It’s fine, not ALL of it is MY blood, thanks for worrying, THOMAS!” but as she rasped out his name, she started coughing up some blood, and as her side started burning in pain, she lifted her already disheveled shirt, applying pressure with her hand where she got shot to keep herself from bleeding out. “Well...This one is.” she used her sleeve to wipe her face, completely non-chalant. “Y/N...Tell me what happened...Please...” Thomas’s voice went lower, almost as a soothing whisper, but it was quickly obliterated by Y/N’s exaggerated, yet pained laugh. “I got beaten up, raped and shot by Sabini and his men. That’s what happened, Thomas. No business talk, just abuse. You promised nothing will happen to me...But, oh, damn, remember that you told Lizzie the same too, and she, that fucker raped her at the Derby too, when you were too busy fucking around with two other women? Oh, wait...Is it because I’m a woman? Because, the way I see it, all women that you have in your life get abused somehow...By you. Grace died because of you. Ada left the city because of you. May got hurt because of you. Esme hates you...There’s also the Duchess, but she very much outsmarted you, so she’s safe and...Still a noble woman. And don’t even get me started on Polly...Poor woman...Having to endure living in the same world as you. For the amount of time you spend fucking women, one would think you’d be more considerate of them.” her beautiful eyes were sharp and hateful, throwing daggers at the man in front of her as she continued to pace around, her tongue speaking the poison that very much tainted her heart over the past many years of her life. “...Y/N. I know you’re in pain, and that I’ve hurt you. I know. You are right, I agree. I’m aware. But it wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t have known, and-” as he continued, the girl calmly approached him, and as soon as she was right in front of him, she back-slapped him, thanking her classy mind for wearing lots of rings that day. As she laughed at the way the wounds showed up on one side of his face, she followed by slapping him on the other side, much harder than before. “Shut the fuck up, Thomas Shelby. Don’t speak to me. Don’t get close to me. I am not a Shelby anymore, so you can fuck off...Do you see who you’re doing business with, Alfie? A guy who can’t even protect his family! He got all of us arrested and almost hanged, made Ada go away, made Polly go insane, had Arthur beaten up, me as well, and guess what, Michael got shot and JOHN GOT KILLED! BECAUSE OF YOU, THOMAS! Grace died because of YOU! And your child got kidnapped and almost died BECAUSE! OF! YOU!” with each sentence, she punched him, hit him, kicked him, smashed him head with her knee, then on the wall, then ended by stomping her boot on his stomach...And walked away, as calmly as if never happened. “And...This is not my blood.” “Well, lass, gotta say, yeah, you ain’t as much of an angel as I thought, eh. Or, maybe now more than ever, you’re the angel I thought you were.” Alfie watched from behind the desk, completely relaxed, analysing the show in front of him, and yet, his brain was running a thousand miles per second, thinking of millions of things. “D’you have a free spot here, Alfie? No guns and death and all that. Maybe...Someone to patch up your boys. I don’t know. Hell, I’ll even accept being your secretary or...Flower girl. Cook. Tea girl. I can walk Cyril...I don’t know, anything you want, just get me the hell out of this Shelby hell.” she turned around to look at him, using her other sleeve to clean her face, using the water from her tears. “Heard that, Thomas Shelby? Your sister’s deserted you, and for a good reason, eh. You can leave now, there’s other times to do business, right.” Alfie spoke, getting up and stepping towards her. “This isn’t over, Y/N. We’ll talk again. You’re a valuable part of the family, and you’re coming back, sooner than later.” Thomas went get get out of the building, only for the girl to quickly take out the gun from her jacket and cock it, pointing it at the man. “Fuck off and go to hell, Thomas.” she pulled the trigger... “Stop it, lass, don’t do it! You’re gonna regret it!” Alfie sprung out, holding one of his arms around her body, while his other hand went to her gun, making her shoot a wall instead of a living being, letting the man get out of there, still alive, somehow. “Damn it, Alfie! Why’d you do that! It’s 2 for 0, damn it! I’m fed up with taking bullets to save that guy, while all he does is sit comfortably behind his desk, damn it! I’m not a fucking rag doll that can be tossed in the trash!” she cried, trying to struggle out of his grasp, but the wounds were hurting her too much, so her strength gave out faster and she stood limp in his arms, trembling softly. “S’okay now, lass, yeah. I’ll bring ya to Cyril and we can...Uh...Drink that tea you like, right. Forget that guy, let’s get ya treated, right. Get that bullet out of ya. And sure, y’can be my physician, I know you were a great one in war, yeah.” the Jew gently took out the gun from her hand, throwing it to the ground for Ollie to take later, an he picked her up with much, bringing her to the medic’s room. “I need vodka, cigarettes, and if I’m brave enough some Tokyo...Snow...Whatever you call it.” she groaned as soon as she was place on the bed, as the gangster frowned in confusion at her. “I thought you didn’t do vices.” he sat on the opposite bed, watching her intently. “Woaw, I lied to you and everyone else in the world. I do drink and I do smoke and I did date before...Just...Not when people were seeing me. People think you’re an angel, they will hopefully leave you the hell alone. Difficult being a woman these days, as you can see. Everybody’s treating you like a piece of garbage. And bring me that vodka, I need to have the room spinning before I take out the bullet...And vodka’s the best disinfectant. The hospital stuff is washed up and diluted a lot of times.” she gave him a sarcastic half-smile, taking the cigarette he just lit up and puffed on it. “Only whiskey and rum, if you want, yeah. You don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not around here, lass. Just do what you want, nobody’s gonna say a thing, right, and if they do, you know how to use a gun, so shoot their brains, eh, show them all who’s in charge.” he got up, bringing her what she requested, watching attentively as she let her head back, poofing smoke into the air. “Thanks, Alfie. Come back in an hour. I don’t need witnesses of my misery. You know better than everyone, Captain Solomons, that taking out a bullet gets messy.” she pointed the cigarette at him, smirking miserably at him, knowing very well that she wasn’t mentally ready for the procedure. “Well, lass, if you’re very sure, you don’t need help, right, then I’ll be waiting outside.” the Jew patted her head, leaving the room, letting behind only a graveyard silence, that for some reason, creeped the girl out big time. “...Let’s fuck shit up, then...” she muttered to herself, letting the ashes of the cigarette fall pitifully on the bed, as she took a deep breath and violently slammed her hand over the medical tools.

She’s always been a very careful and precise person, and whenever she did this on someone else, she would have people keep the victim down, so she could rummage through their bodies with relative ease, especially after they got shit faced drunk...And maybe with some anaesthesis... But this is the worst. Just like back then, during the war...

Letting a few tears of anticipation fall down her face, she cut a bit deeper into her body, to allow her fingers, previously washed with alcohol, she whimpered and squealed as she searched around for the bullet - It was no easy feat for, but it had to be done, no matter the searing pain -.

It felt like time stopped completely before the extraction of the stupid lead thing, she held it in her hand, watching its taunting gleam glaring back into her eyes, then watched with horror that stupid bottle of whiskey, and with her last strength, she snatched it and putting her pillow over her face to keep the shrieking from leaving the room, and gritting her teeth, she let the alcohol pour out from the bottle, wailing loudly, and yet, hoping nobody would hear her.

She was still sobbing in the pillow, the fire-like pain, electrifying the surging, diffuse pain throughout her whole torso, and she laid there, throwing away that pillow as soon as the door was opened again, and adjusting her head, she noticed Solomons walking in the room, a basket dangling from his arms.

“What’cha got there?” she asked in a weak, whisper-like voice, still trying to recover. “Goodies. Freshly baked cookies. At least something that smells nice in this pigstry, eh.” Alfie’s joking way of speaking seemed to take away her mind, but she smiled apologetically, lifting her hands briefly. “Sorry, too much blood on my hands. Literally and metaphorically speaking.” she explained, only to have Alfie take out one of the cookies and feeding her. “...This...Is the best thing I’ve eaten in my life. Did you make them? Because if you did, you’re like...A Cookie God. Have more?” she asked, managing, with a lot of difficulty, pain and his help, to get in a sitting position. “Well, I’ve never been called a God, right, but it ain’t that bad, yeah. Here you go, one more. I’ll ask a maid to draw a bath for you, yeah, I doubt you wanna stay all bloody the whole day, eh.” he helped her eat another cookie, and weirdly enough, despite all the blood on her face, her small smile was oddly charming. “...Y’know...If you ever want to retire from this gangster bullshit...You could settle down and...Just bake for a living...No, rather, a hobby. I’m sure you have enough money for a life time, so might as well just rest and take it easy. Move away from here...Maybe another country...Or another city, at least...And just...Y’know...Be happy. You could do that...And be rid of stupid Italians and Americans and all these jerks.” Y/N spoke, more or less not directly to him, but in a way, she was projecting her own hopes and dreams. “Margate.” Alfie muttered, sitting down in front of her. “Margate?” she furrowed her brows in confusion, leaning forward a bit. “Aye. By the seaside. The sand is really soft, they say, and the waves are nice, yeah. Very calm town.” he continued, which made her gasp softly in realisation. “You...You DID think about retirement! It means you’re really kinda fed up with this...This mess. I like where this is going.” she smiled softly at him, nodding in agreement. “I think you’re making the right choice, if it makes for anything.” “Y’know, lass, you’re not wrong. We do need a vacation, yeah, and a very long one at that, right. Now, how ‘bout we talk about what you need, right, for this medical thing. You’re a sensible woman, yeah, so, I trust you more with the details and organising.” he pointed, and thus, they started chatting idly about the medical issues, and even more, about life in general - Books, the pictures, concerts, travelling and things...Leisure things, just simple things that she never had the privilege to talk about, and she had no idea she wanted, nor needed.

Many weeks passed and things were unusually calm for her, and for the first time in her life, she felt...Happy. She enjoyed being around Alfie, working with him without being involved in all the killing, and she absolutely loved baking things together, and he was so charismatic and charming, always giving witty remarks that amused her and made her laugh...

It was the perfect life she always dreamt of having, and he even asked if she wanted to go to a jazz pub with him, and...She got to dress up, and do her make up and do her hair, wear pretty, expensive jewellery, and a damn fine dress to show off her gorgeous silhouette, and high heels to match...And she walked next to him, her arm hooked to his, as they enjoyed the beautiful jazz music and each other’s presence.

It was a blissful dream, and she swore that if anyone dared wake her up, she was gonna kill them, and it won’t be quick, nor painless.

“Y’know, Alfie...You’re the best man I’ve ever met in my life. And that says a lot, considering how many men I had the misfortune of meeting...Including my family.” she raised her champagne glass slightly to clink with his. “Maybe you haven’t met the right men, dear, yeah, y’know, and men in Birmingham are fucking shit anyway. Camden’s better, yeah.” the man chuckled mirthfully, leaning back on his chair. “You...Mentioned Margate once. How are things going on with that?” Y/N asked, smiling at him softly. “Well, lass, y’know, yeah, things are...Things are fine. But, uh...You see...The doctor said I’m sick. They aren’t really sure yet what’s wrong with me, alright, but they said the results should be given pretty soon, yeah.” he admitted after a few seconds of consideration, which made the girl gasp in shock, moving her chair to look at him better taking his hands in hers and leaning forward. “What did they say about it? Did they take blood sampled? Wanna do blood work? Or...Biochemistry tests? Or something more complex?” Y/N bit her lip, looking concerned like never before. “Don’t worry, lass, even if I die, yeah, I’ll still make sure you get paid for your hard work, alright?” the man tried to brush it off, but the indignant look on her face made him chuckle. “I’m gonna kill you if you imply something like that again. I don’t need your money, I just want you to be healthy and alright, got it? Now come on, tell me, what do they suspect. Also, where is your doctor’s clinic, and when will your results arrive.” she pressed on, waiting for an answer. “Come on, don’t be so serious, yeah, enjoy the show, it’s not every night we get to have fun, right?” Alfie, again, tried to play it off as nothing important, but the look on her face made him sigh and nod, giving in. “They think’s cancer, right. I got a tumour, they’re checking if it’s...Uh...Cancer or not. right. Doctor’s around here in Camden, results come out sometime in a week or two, that enough?” he rolled his eyes, and yet, he was grateful for her worrying. “...I guess. If I knew, I would have done the lab work myself, but, you know...If anything, I can do the procedure myself... Or maybe I should hold your hand and make sure you’re not scared. They have to do general anaesthesia, cut you open and all that...It won’t be fun.” she looked down a bit, before smiling encouragingly at him. “Y/N. I’m a big boy now, right, I’ll be fine, no need to worry about me, yeah, you just...You be okay, and relax, and-...And before long, we’ll go to Margate together.” he continued, trying to calm her down, without realising at first of the commitment, until he noticed the excited gleam in her eyes. “Alfie...? Are you...Are you sure...? Margate is the place you want to go to...Why would you...Me...?” she muttered, almost unsure of how to react. “Let’s go home, eh. I want to make you some nice tea, yeah, and some cookies. I have to tell ya something, and I’d rather it not be out.”

Alfie squeezed her hands, helping her get up, and the walk home was filled with anticipation and a comfortable silence that wanted to rip out the answers out of his throat.

He let her dress in more comfortable clothes, and so he did, then went down to prepare some nice and warm tea, with the biscuits he baked that day, and went to her room.

“Do you like me, Alfie?” she asked in a shushed voice, not daring to raise her head to look at him. “What’s not to like, lass? You’re smart and witty, and for some reason, you find me funny, and look at ya, you’re gorgeous, right. So if I say, yeah, I want you to come to Margate with me, I mean it. You just have to agree, aye. Get away from this and rest. God knows we need this.” he had a sweet smile on his face - A smile that quickly faltered when he saw stray tears falling down her face, and he started worrying. “Why...In the world...Would someone as amazing as you...Like me? Alfie, you’re...You’re amazing, and me, I’m...I’m the worst. I can’t let go of the past, and I’ve got like...This...This devil inside me...This Shelby devil that keeps whispering in my ear, saying that I’ll never be happy, and that I’ll...I’ll kill again, and I’ll be dragged back to that slum and...And all that happiness will just shatter and...And I don’t deserve you.” she looked down, hoping her long her would hide her face, but next thing she knows, she got brought into a tight embrace, and he stroked her hair, his chin on top of her head, waiting for her to calm down, and yet, he could feel her trembling softly. “Don’t say things like that, yeah, that’s not true. You’re with me, not with them anymore, right, so, then, you’re going back. I won’t let them take you back, if you don’t want to, aye. No need to cry, right, I’ll protect you from anyone who dares try to take you away, eh, even if it’s Tommy Shelby himself, so no need to cry, yeah, Y/N?” he spoke, only to feel her cling even tighter to the back of his shirt. “I...I’ve...I’ve never felt like this before, Alfie. You make me feel so warm...And safe...And happy...I’ve been hold before, but all I felt was repulsion and fright...I was panicked and I wanted to run away...But this...This never happened. And I think I love you, Alfie. Don’t let go of me, please.” her voice was barely audible, but Alfie could feel the raw emotions, so he laid down with her on the bed, holding her dearly. “It will be fine, Y/N, okay. None of these worries will come to you again when in Margate. You and I will be happy, away from here, yeah, so, know that I love you, and let’s wait just a bit more, so we can get rid of this Changretta mess, and we’re leaving, eh.”

And it was true - From that night on, they slept in the same room, holding each other dearly, reassured that the next day, things will still be as good as the previous night. One morning, however, Alfie woke up without her in his arms, and he panicked, thinking the worst - Poor Ollie thought he was going to get killed - But it was all fine, as she returned with the biggest grin on her face, jumping in Alfie’s arms, not allowing him the chance to say a word, only shocking him. And she held his hands and dragged him to his room, getting him to sit on the bed, and at first, she wanted to make tea, but then she shook her head and brought a bottle of the best whiskey, poured it in the glasses and had him drink.

“Damn it, lassie, don’t fucking scare me like that, yeah, like, at least tell me in advance if you’re gonna leave, okay, I thought those fuckers got ya for good. What the hell was the urgency?” he asked, drinking the glass in one go before looking at her. “I...Well...Haha, sorry ‘bout that, I’m just...I’m sure super happy. So, as you know, today the doctors had to mail you the test results, so, you know, I seem to have been a bit too eager to find out, so I since there were no trains, I walked all the way to your doctor, told him this and that, then got the first train back, and here I am. Oh, and, obviously, I’m super happy ‘cause like, I couldn’t keep myself - Sorry ‘bout that, by the way - So I ripped the envelope and looked at the results. And, uh, yeah, so, I’m happy ‘cause - Look ! - No cancer! You’re completely, 100% cancer free! And, like, the tumor completely benign, no invasiveness, no metastasis, so this is completely curable by surgical removal, and it won’t affect your life span, nor will it, in any way, alter your health. Et, voila, here we are! Go on, drink, cheer, be happy, I know I am!” she laughed gleefully, watching the shocked spark in Alfie’s eyes as he took out his glasses to read over the annoyingly complicated medical stuff, but he was a smart guy, and he understood everything there is to it. “You’re the best, shiksa. You say things are gonna turn out bad, but here, look, they aren’t, and hey won’t right, ‘cause clearly, there’s something up there, alright, that’s looking out for us, and it ain’t only me making sure you’re fine. I’m happy, Y/N, and in less than a month, aye, we’re fucking away from here. Just the two of us...And Ollie as a butler, if ya want. And we can get as many dogs as you want. We can do whatever we want, really.” he hugged her tightly, cupping her face and kissing her tenderly.

It all went sweet and soft at first, and it got hotter and hotter, with much more passion than before, and one thing led to another, and their first night of overflowing love gave hope for a better future, one that will ensure their happiness and that won’t involve them in this stupid gangster war anymore.

Just him, her and Cyril, maybe Ollie too, at the side...What better life to have than this?

But just one week before they had to leave, as they were still preparing for their grand exit, Y/N was walking towards the clinic room to check on the few patients she had left, only to notice the glint of guns, and she did a turn around, looking for Alfie, and yet, Ollie stopped her in her tracks as soon as she saw her, rushing to hide her from the people who were, apparently, having a meeting with Alfie.

“Ollie, it’s an emergency. Life or death, I promise. I NEED to speak to him. Who is he having a meeting with?” she asked, holding her clipboard close to her chest, looking left and right carefully. “With the Sabinis. Now, come on, Y/N, whatever it is, can wait. I’m sure you can wait a bit with Cyril. Please.” Ollie pleaded with her, but she only started writing rapidly on her clipboard, letting the first two pages filled with obvious, typewriter-written pages about standard medical procedures. “I’m sorry, Ollie, but this is bigger than even Sabini. Come with me and NEVER leave Alfie alone with those sharks, got it?” she gave him a sharp look before rushing to the usual place Alfie had business meetings, and as she completely ignored the villains, she slammed the clipboard on his desk, giving him a look. “Very important medical business thing, I need your signature after you read through these.” as he was so much taller than her, she only needed to bend a bit to talk into his ear, carefully flipping the first two pages, only to reveal big, messy writing.

ENEMIES WITH GUNS IN THE MEDICAL WARD POINTED TO THE BOYS DON’T TRUST THEM

Alfie gave her a look, knowing shit went bad, he nodded slightly, getting a pen and, as his signature, he wrote “TELL OLLIE”, and ushered her to leave. And so she did, and Ollie went to alert the other guys so they could ambush the enemies in the medical ward, all while cursing herself and preparing guns, hidden in her long trench coat, then returned to stay by Alfie’s side, her hands placed on his shoulders reassuringly.

“Mr. Solomons, I see the little song bird likes flying around to every powerful gangster family. Wonder if she’ll go to the Changrettas when she’s done with you.” the Sabini leader smirked at her, and Alfie could feel her nails digging into his flesh, and not even the good way this time. “Listen, listen, Mr. Sabini,eh. You come here, begging me for fucking favours, right, and then, you dare fucking speak ill of my partner, yeah? So, where is the fucking time where you, like, do something to make me want to do that fucking favour of yours, if the only fucking thing you make me want to do is to fucking grant you the favour of putting you out of this miserable fucking life, right?” there was no clearer indicator that Alfie was angry than when he cursed like his beard was on fire, and true, YN found it very weird, considering how sweet and gentle he’s always been with her, but she could feel the protective aura he gave off, and she never felt safer than now. “Aye, aye, Alfie, don’t overreact, please, it was just a merely innocent joke! Lighten up, let’s discuss business. We teamed up with Luca Changretta, we can give you money and exposure. We can sell your rum and weapons all over Europe, especially France and Italy, and that means, in the long run, a ton of money. I’m sure you’ll agree with me, won’t you?” Sabini spoke, and from the corner of her eye, she could see one of the men taking out a gun from the back of his pants. “Mr. Sabini, I will have to ask you, as Mr. Solomons’s secretary, not to take out any weapons, otherwise our men will shoot all of you, with no discrimination.” Y/N threatened in a low voice, taking her hands from Alfie’s shoulders, and crossed her arms to her chest, ready to draw her weapons at any second. “It’s alright, Y/N, right, I don’t think Mr. Sabini is fucking stupid enough to dare a shoot out in my own fucking warehouse, eh.” Alfie warned the Italian gangster, snapping his fingers for Ollie to come by. “Vaffanculo...Che stronza! No, fine, fine, we’re all calm, all good, right? We can have a business deal and leave this place happy, both parts, right?” Sabini spoke, using his hands to gesture everyone to calm down. “Stick that deal up your ass.” Alfie cursed Sabini in perfect Italian, making Sabini straighten up, almost as if he got sobered by a hammer to his head, and without a second to wait, some of the lackeys drew their guns.

But they were too late, for Y/N already had both guns out and killed most of them, starting with Sabini himself, and Ollie’s boys helped up just enough to have the Red Sea at their feet.

Once all the enemies were laying dead on the cold, wet ground, Y/N sighed, throwing the guns to the ground, sighing and staring at the carnage with the eyes of a dead fish.

Alfie nodded to himself, pissed off at the mess that just had to happen, a week before they were going to sail to a better place, without either of them having to bloody their hands anymore, just like now.

“Well, Ollie’s got them all, so we’re good now. The sooner we finish the preparations, the better. Let’s hope Changretta the Bitch gets blown up...I should go check on Cyril, I’m sure he got scared by the gunshots.” Y/N sighed, patting him on the shoulder before turning on her heels to leave, and yet, Alfie motioned to Ollie to clear the mess, and then followed her back to their room, watching her cuddle with the beautiful dog. “Are you alright, Y/N?” Alfie asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching to stroke her hair, only for Cyril to reach to get his head pet instead. “Aw, Cyril...You’re the cutest baby ever. And...I will be, Alfie. I will be. Soon...Once we leave, I will be. Until then, I’m happy spending my time with you and Cyril. It relaxes me...And it makes me happy. WE are happy.” she reached out her hand, holding his, intertwining their fingers together and leading him to lay on his side, with the dog between them, like they were a family. “Well, darling, it’s just a few days longer, and we’re out of here, right. And we’ll be a family, like you want, and by the shore, there’re no more gunshots, right, so, we can learn how to swim, and we can mess with this slobbery bastard, and I can teach you how to bake other things. I heard the waves and the salty air help you sleep better. Ain’t that just fucking perfect, eh?” Alfie gave her a sweet smile, and laid there, with her, relaxing. “Sounds amazing, Alfie. I can’t wait for Margate, then. Just you, and me, and Cyril...And maybe Ollie too, y’know, that guy makes the best tea, ain’t gonna lie.” she giggled, squeezing his hand lovingly. “Aye, it’s gonna be great. And, we can travel wherever you want, whenever you want. Any country, any city, any date. You pick, we go. Sounds good?” Alfie asked, smiling tenderly at her excitement, happy that she wasn’t stuck on the previous blood bath. “Yeah, it sounds perfect. As long as we’re together, everything is better.”

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #arthur shelby #john shelby #ada shelby #polly shelby #elizabeth gray #michael gray #finn shelby

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fascination-street-writing · 4 years ago

Text

For Make Believe and Not So | Part II of II | La Squadra x Reader

To wake up to the sight of your messy hair and eyes softened by sleep is a lovely pleasure in life, but one not granted to him nearly enough. Tonight, however, you will stay and dream of an impossible future together. Tonight, you will save the heartbreak for your better selves.

Link to Part I

Content Warnings: N-SFW Sexual Content

The faux leather of the booth seating creaks with each jostle of laughter and lunge across the table for another shot of liquor. You suppose – after weighing the throbbing of your knees to the disoriented thrum of your head – that you have drank far too much. But you do not care, for you know that you are indeed with good company. Never mind that you had agreed to work opening shift tomorrow, because that is not your trouble now.

Though the music from the speakers blares through the tight space of the bar and patrons shout in jovial cheer to one another, you could not be bothered by the distractions. After all, the game of briscola before you is far more enticing – that, and your team is winning.

Formaggio nudges you in the ribs and discretely flashes you his cards before playing his turn for the both of you. Melone throws his cards down with a groan, withdrawing from the game. If not for Formaggio, you might have done the same; you are lost – utterly and completely lost. Perhaps you would have done better for yourself if you were not currently so intoxicated.

You reach for your ears to twirl your earrings out of habit, only to be met with air. Your silver earrings sit discarded on the table. You remember now; something about Illuso using the reflection to cheat, and Formaggio begging you to take them out. You did so with a shrug, though not entirely certain that your partner’s whim was so embedded in truth. Your earrings were not that shiny.

In the end, the two of you finish the game victorious. The waiter sets down a tray full of cinnamon whiskey shots. A cloud of cigarette smoke engulfs the table as Prosciutto takes a drag and sighs, accepting his defeat. Seated beside him, a look of mortification sweeps across Pesci’s face. “Do I have to?” he asks, eyeing the amber-colored liquid with hesitation.

“You lost, ragazzo,” Formaggio sneers with a smirk. He slides the tray towards the younger man.

“Mhm, losers have to drink up,” you say with a giggle. “You knew the rules.”

Pesci bites his lip. “It’s just – Well I . . . Uh . . .”

Prosciutto rolls his eyes. “Gesù Cristo, Pesci,” he mutters. “If you want to salvage your dignity, then drink.”

The green-haired man turns red in the face. “It isn’t bad, Pesci,” you insist, reaching across the table to tap his knuckles in an attempt of reassurance. “I promise.”

It is enough to goad him, but begrudgingly so. Liquor held at eye level, he swallows his spit before downing it in two – no, three – sips. He sputters and coughs as the whiskey burns his throat. The others laugh, yet he feels as if he has conquered the world, though only for a moment. The way you praise him, like hailing some accolade of his, makes him want to try again. Just to hear you speak so fondly of him.

Alas, the night drones on. Formaggio leaves the booth to chat up the bartender, and Melone wastes no time in claiming the newly vacated space beside you. You do not mind the change in scenery and the way he practically dangles off you, or the comments he throws your way regarding just how much he admires the style of your hair tonight – or, about the way your outfit perfectly accentuates your birthing hips (“That dress was made for you, bella-bella”). It is not until he asks about your blood type that Risotto promptly hoists you from your seat and ushers you to sit betwixt he and Prosciutto. You never had the chance to protest.

“What’s this?” Formaggio asks when he returns with two drinks clutched in his hands – one for you, no doubt. “How the hell are the rest of us supposed to shoot our shot with [Y/N] when she’s sitting between you two?”

His words fly over your head. Your attention is instead trained on the purple concoction he holds. “Speak for yourselves,” Ghiaccio scoffs. “You should have better things to worry about than getting your dick wet.”

“Hey, hey – I never said I didn’t have important things on my mind, but she’s one of them!”

“Wait, what?” you suddenly ask, your interest piqued after receiving your drink.

“Formaggio’s trying to fuck you,” Ghiaccio says with disinterest.

You shake your head and chuckle, chewing on your straw. “Of all the people at this table – no, in this bar – you’re the last person I’d sleep with, Maggi.”

Those cat-like eyes glisten and his jaw drops. The others erupt, and you can only hope that you have not wounded his pride too much. It is all just fun and games, after all. Formaggio points an accusatory finger towards Pesci. “You’d even pick testa di ananas here over me?”

“I said what I said.”

“Mio dio!”

At the end of the night, it is Ghiaccio who agrees to drive you back to your apartment – and reluctantly so. You stumble out to his maroon Alpina with little help from him. You think that he must like watching you trip over the bits of loose cobblestone masonry that line the pathway to the parking lot; even more, you suspect that he does not care for you very much. Or at least, not nearly to the same extent that the others do. It is no matter, for you have learned that you cannot win the favor of everyone. It is one of life’s many daunting natures.

The soft lights of Napoli flash by in a whirl as the car speeds down the road. Admittedly, he drives a bit too fast for comfort – or perhaps it is his attempt at furthering the wedge between you two. When he nearly swerves into oncoming traffic, undoubtedly distracted by something, you wonder if it is his vendetta to get you killed tonight. You suppose he would not risk the insurance claim on his car, however. The thought quells you. But it does not change the matter of your non-existent comradery to the man driving.

He is intelligent – one of most intelligent people whom you have ever met. Yet, his fixating rampages over the most miniscule of things is startling. Frightening, even. More often than not, however, it is he who is the subject of his own rage.

“Ghiaccio, can I tell you something?” you ask, though you know he will tell you to be quiet. You do not give him the chance to say so. “I think that deep down, you’re a nice guy. You just don’t want the others to see it, for whatever reason.”

He tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

“I had a good time tonight, and I hope you did too. It was nice seeing you let loose a bit.”

To say that he ‘let loose’ is a gross understatement. He refused to join the game of briscola, insisting that it would not be a fair match, and that the lights were too dim to even see the cards properly. He had refused every beverage offered to him – even water. Ghiaccio merely sulked the entire night, making it clear enough that he would rather have been elsewhere.

“It would be nice to do it again, and I –“

“Just, stop,” he hisses, throwing out his fingers in frustration, without releasing the wheel. “Stop talking.”

You huff and look away. The air within the car turns cold. It makes you shiver. “I know you’re just trying to get me to take back what I said, but I won’t. Why can’t you just let me say something nice to you? Why can’t you let me try to be cordial? I’m not asking you to like me or anything. You don’t have to be so hostile, especially when I’ve done nothing wrong to you.”

The car rolls to a halt in front of the townhouse that you share with several other university schoolmates. You expected an attempt at some semblance of an apology, but you were simply hoping for too much from the man beside you. Grabbing your purse, you wrench the door open, failing to notice the ice chips that have formed around the seal. They crackle and shatter on the pavement.

“I’m sorry.”

You thought too soon, it seems. He does not look at you – in fact, he refuses to tear his gaze from the road ahead of him. Stiffly, his jaw juts out in vexation, and you can practically see the gears churning in his mind. He does not know what to say next, yet you have heard all you need.

With a glimmer of a smile, you bid him adieu: “Goodnight, Ghiaccio. Thank you for the ride.”

He watches you hobble up the steps, supposing that he ought to have at least offered to help you inside. But why should he force himself into your servitude when you were the one who chose to drink tonight? Shaking his head, he at least waits until you vanish behind the front door – though not because he wishes you well.

Certainly not.

Behind closed doors, you have taken a lover. You do not dwell in childish games with one another. In front of the others, you spare the fleeting looks of longing – of insatiable adoration to the man who succeeded in swaying your affection in his favor, and he to yours. You suspect that they must know of the affair, but he insists that your secret has been kept. It is better this way, for all parties involved. Better than souring hearts or making enemies of those who have become your closest of friends.

You suppose that you might feel remorse with each passing of his fingers over the supple perks of your breasts – but guilt does not make your belly swell with anticipation. With a content sigh and a lopsided smile, laced with ardor, he leans over your sprawled form and brushes his lips to yours. He thinks you look like a goddess, naked and tangled in the mess of bedsheets; and perhaps you are, for he has never met a woman as beautiful as you. He pulls away, only to kiss you again, as if to prove to himself that you are real. Goddess or not, you are corporeal.

Do not ask him to say that he loves you, because he will not admit it. And yet, under his gaze, you swear that you have become a daisy flower, potted on a windowsill, and he the preening blue jay, just beyond the reach of the glass. You wish to feel this way forever.

“Do that again,” you command, a nymph-like grin on your face. You reach out a hand to cup his cheek and sweep your thumb over the moon of his cheek.

Illuminated by high-spirits and spent desire, he cocks an eyebrow. “Do what, cara?”

“Kiss me.”

Who is he to deny you? At the peak of your own satisfaction, his lips move to your neck, savoring the warmth of fresh love-bites. You turn your head to give him ample space. You will surely parish in the heat tomorrow, in what will be your decision to wear a turtleneck to cover the blemishes, but that is a problem for your future self. The gentle rumble of a stifled chuckle sends a vibration through you. You bury your fingers in his hair, holding him close – as if he might slip away if only you let go.

“You look pretty like this,” he says without pulling away. You quiver as wetness pools between your thighs. “Sei così bella.”

“And only for you,” you tell him.

He shifts until his trail of kisses have led him to your glistening folds. “Only for me.”

You wait in your own delirium for his mouth to work you open. And he does, until he has had his fill of your balm and saccharine sweetness. You writhe and buckle into his lips. Just before you reach your limit, he stops and beckons you to stand. You do so on shaking legs. He settles against the headboard and you follow suit, straddling his hips and sinking yourself down on his stiffened member. Arms coiled around his neck, you stretch around his shaft and sigh in delight as you contort to his hardness, as if already molded into memory. His hands clasp your hips, urging you along with each jostle of your body.

It is euphoric. Even when you throw your head back in ecstasy and cry out his name, reaching your fill and gifting to him your release, his eyes never leave your face. To wake up to the sight of your messy hair and eyes softened by sleep is a lovely pleasure in life, but one not granted to him nearly enough. Tonight, however, you will stay and dream of an impossible future together.

Tonight, you will save the heartbreak for your better selves.

When a neatly packaged box addressed to the men of La Squadra di Esecuzione arrives on the front doorstep of their hideout – via express mail, no less – Risotto is the one to bring it into the living room, though not because he wants to. He recognizes the penmanship of the scrawled address. He has seen it on dossiers, files, letters of grievances and recommendations, and of course, thirty-six wrapped formalin frames. As always, there is never a return address. But he knows who it is from, even before Formaggio slices through the tape that welds the box shut.

Photographs spill onto the coffee table. Far too many to count, admittedly. And all of them, pictures of you. The first that Melone pulls from the pile is one of you caught in motion, a textbook clutched in your arm and your cellphone held up to your ear – heading to a class amidst the bustle of your university campus, no doubt. A look of exasperation sweeps your face, frozen in an eye roll and a scoff. The next is a photograph of you at work, in mid-conversation with Formaggio, who leans over the front counter. Your hand hovers over the cash register, ready to punch in the total for his order. What the camera did not capture was the smile upon his face as he beamed up at you. He takes the picture from Illuso’s grasp.

The analog lettering in the corner is dated to the very same day that the green-eyed man first visited you at the pizza shop. “Unbelievable,” he hisses. “Unbe-fucking-lievable!”

There is a photograph of you sharing a cigarette with Risotto in a park near your apartment – something that has become an unspoken pastime between you two. There is a photograph of you sitting in Ghiaccio’s car the night of the bar trip; his scowl has been immortalized for the others to see, and for a moment, a twinge of regret eggs him. Another of you in the bar with everyone else, taken through the cloudy glass of the front window, earlier that same night. When the photograph of you and your lover is turned over, all eyes fall to the man – accusatory gazes laden with what might perhaps be anger. But it is not the time to dwell in jealousy and betrayal, because he will lose you soon enough.

“He’s been watching us, all this time.”

Melone begins to flip the photographs over. Despite the tension of the room, something has caught his attention. “Some of these have letters on the back,” he says as he shows the evidence to his squadmates. “This one’s an L. Here’s a P. And an A.”

It is Illuso who understands the intention, though only after finding an E and an I. Lei – she, in reference of course to you. “It’s a message,” he insists.

No one argues. Not even Ghiaccio makes the effort to refute the permissibility of Illuso’s discovery. By the time the code is finally pieced together, the room has grown heavy and odorous of cigarette smoke. Two spent packs litter the floor, but Prosciutto will worry about sweeping the ashes later. He can bear the mess a bit longer, for there is another – far more pressing – that needs tended to. In that tantalizing cursive, the ever-elusive Don of Passione speaks: “Lei è la prossima.”

She’s next.

No one speaks. How could you, their fondest friend – a woman who delivers pizza to fund her way through her studies – have fallen into Passione’s snare? “It wasn’t enough that he killed Sorbet and Gelato,” Illuso sneers. “Now this? Now her?”

Risotto is quick to shut him down. “I told you to forget about them,” he reminds the men. “I told you to – ”

“How are we supposed to do that when this shows up at our doorstep?” It is Melone who interrupts. Risotto stiffens. “How are any of us supposed to forget about Sorbet and Gelato when the situation is about to repeat itself? We can’t, and you can’t expect us to.”

“I can, and I will. And I expect the same to be done of her.” The man with black sclerae cannot even utter your name. Even the thought of it makes his chest tighten. “From this point on, I am prohibiting all of you from seeing her. If not for your sakes, then hers.”

Truly, each man in the room already knew the daunting solution – they simply did not wish to hear it uttered aloud. Your safety and well-being are important to them; it just so happened that the bond you share has put your life in jeopardy. They will not be the reason for your death. “So, who’s going to tell her?” Pesci asks.

“Why bother?” Ghiaccio huffs. “What part of ‘forget about her’ don’t you understand, mammoni?”

Pesci casts his gaze downward to avert the glare of the hot-tempered man. No man in the room volunteers. Their leader supposes that it ought to be his duty – to assume the responsibility, considering that it was his insistence. But, despite the stoicism, he never has been good at saying farewell.

“I’ll do it.”

Prosciutto steps forward, and the others are grateful for it. “It seems that, in the Don’s attempt to herd us like sheep – to weaken us into subordination – he’s instead succeeded in creating enemies for himself.”

He releases a puff of cigarette smoke. Perhaps he should have held it in for a bit longer, until his lungs swelled, and his head grew dizzy – because in the end, he feels nothing.

Aprile in Napoli is, you think, the loveliest time of the year. The pavement is slick with afternoon rain, but it does not trouble you in the slightest. In truth, you enjoy the smell of rain – it is purity and earth, and a fresh start. You peddle to a stop just before the row of graffitied townhouses at Vivo Pallonetto Santa Chiara. This time, there is no dog to gawk at you through a window. No child in rags to run past you with a stolen purse. No pizzas with sausage, eggplant, or porcini mushrooms, either.

Only you and your shattered heart.

You do not bother to tether your bike in place, because you will not stay long. With each step on the cracked concrete stairwell, it becomes harder to breathe, and you imagine that you are traversing your own ascension. Only, there is no heaven at the top – unless heaven is a locked door. In that case, you want little to do with her. You find the key buried within your purse, amongst gum wrappers, a bottle of vitamins, and receipts that ought to have been thrown out long ago.

You had not known what to say to the young man – no, the boy – with golden hair and turquoise eyes who met you in a black Maserati with tinted windows. You had not known what to say when he handed you an envelope with money and the key. Something of compensation for their family, he had said, to get along after their deaths. Had they even had family outside their tightly woven niche? You never knew. Your tongue grew heavy like lead: you did not thank the boy, but he did not expect you to. Instead, you sat in the backseat of his car and wept, moistening the expensive upholstery with tears.

There were no funerals. No memorial services. No solidary condolences. Only money to finish your studies, loneliness, and a key.

You begged the chauffer to pull over. You exited the car without so much as a contemplation of gratitude. There you stood, in some distant courtyard of a café, where you had met Prosciutto one last time just months ago. Or maybe it has been years. Grief has a way of making time pass slower. Perhaps you are already an old lady – or perhaps, only twenty and some more.

He greeted you with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a peculiar tiredness to his eyes. You moved to take a seat, but he held out his hand to stop you. You understood what he wanted – he wanted you to walk with him until you reached the park where too many times before you sojourned with Risotto. Only then, with Prosciutto instead, the sight of the neatly cropped grass made your stomach curl.

“Don’t make this difficult for me,” the blonde man said, all the while avoiding your furrowed brow and gaping mouth. “But you need to stop coming around. It’s better this way, for all of us and yourself.”

Do not be difficult – and so, you do not beg or cry, nor do you ask questions. You had always known that dangerous men did not make safe company. You knew, forever in your soul, that Eden did not last forever; and one day, you would have to leave. Prosciutto stubbed his spent cigarette on the heel of his shoe. You thought he meant to reach for a new one, but you did not give him the opportunity to.

He never said you could not hug him. And so, you did. Face buried in the lapel of his suit jacket, you spoke: “I know it’s not any of my business why, so I won’t ask,” you told him. His breath hitched. “It’s not my place to pry. Oh, I’ll miss you all so terribly, but, in the end, I wish you the best.”

His arms encircled your back, hesitant to return the gesture of your affection. At first, he merely hovered; yet, when you moved to pull away, he held you, tight. “I told you not to make this hard,” he mumbled into your hair. Vanilla – your hair smelled like vanilla. “Be good, bella ragazza. Stay safe for us, huh?”

“You too, Prosciutto.”

You insert the key into the lock. A part of you wishes it will not fit – that you can turn around and leave this wretched place that you love so dearly; why bother with something that will only make you wish you had not done it? Alas, the knob clicks. It is closure you seek, and you open the door. You could have prayed for a nasty little prank. That, sitting on the couch, Formaggio would be waiting for you, with a lopsided grin on his face, asking what took you so long?

Prosciutto might be cooking pasta and puttanesca in the kitchen, simply because he knows it is your favorite. Pesci might be watching a game of soccer on the television, glad for a new spectator to endorse his commentary. Illuso might be standing there, offering you a glass of wine to share with his own – a toast to the end of an arduous week, or just because he feels like it. Melone might beckon you to sit on the floor so that he can give you a back massage after your long night of running around Napoli. Risotto might be brooding in silence, though his demeaner brightens whenever you enter the room; and already, his fingers will begin to itch at the anticipation of slipping away for a cigarette with you. And Ghiaccio . . . Well, maybe Ghiaccio might scoff at your intrusion, but you would welcome it all the same.

But it is only you and your thoughts. With a shudder and a sigh, you sit down on the couch. The springs contort beneath your weight. Cobwebs adorn the walls like autumn decorations. Dust collects on the furniture. Everything has been left out as if they all might walk through the door at any moment and resume their allotted daily leisure. A tear trickles down your cheek. You wipe it away and hold your breath until your eyes dry and you cannot cry. They would not want to see you like this, and you know that it is best to just move on with your life. To reach for the opportunities that were never permitted to them.

Your cellphone vibrates – a phone call from a schoolmate. Against your better judgement, you flip the screen open and accept. “Hey, [Y/N]!” she says to you. “We’re still meeting up to study tonight, right?”

You look to your watch. You were supposed to be at the library twenty minutes ago – this little detour of yours has not come without consequences. “Um, yeah,” you tell her. Your voice echoes in the dark space of the room. It makes you wince. “Sorry, I just lost track of the time. I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Well, if you’re going to keep me waiting, I’ll get us some coffees. Addio!”

You toss the key on the coffee table, atop a stack of over-turned photographs that you cannot be bothered to look at. It is none of your business, anyways. Or at least, that is what you told Prosciutto. At the door, you turn the lock, prepared to seal it all away. In the hue of the setting sun, you cast one final longing gaze into the living room. With the shaking of your head, you shut the door behind you and take your first step forward, though not before uttering to vacancy of that which was once irrefutable happiness.

“Arrivederci, amici miei.”

| 4364 Words | Epilogue |

#la squadra x reader #la squadra #prosciutto x reader #risotto x reader #formaggio x reader #melone x reader #illuso x reader #ghiaccio x reader #jjba reader insert #vento aureo

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scorpionyx9621 · 4 years ago

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I Hope Hopeless Changes Over Time: A Red Hood and Batman Fic

*Source of the image I found off of Pintrest. I tried to find the original artist but the link on Pintrest led to a dead Tumblr account. If anyone wants to find/point out the account to me so I can give proper credit to the artist please please do.*

I wanted to make a fic based on an ask I did from the lovely @dilfbatman about Jason and Bruce. I hope people enjoy this mini-fic that I've expanded upon.

TW: Blood, Physical Assault, Suicide Ideation, Swearing. Bruce being a shitty father but trying. Jason having demons

3.75K words.

Bruce was uneasy about Jason staying over at the Wayne Mansion. Even with other members of the family around. Jason has done so much wrong and has hurt so many people. However, at the end of the day, Jason still is his son. So when he gets a call from Jason in a hushed voice asking Bruce to stay the night. He hesitated for a second, but acquiesced, Jason was nothing if not independent, so to be asking Bruce outright to stay at the Wayne Manor meant something was wrong.

"Master Jason wouldn't reach out to any of us unless something was gravely wrong, Master Wayne." Alfred had reassured Bruce, who was staring absentmindedly at the glass case which housed Jason's old Robin costume. The costume that Jason had died in. Bruce always tried to repress the memory of holding his son's cold, lifeless body. The pain he felt from losing his parents burned in his heart as an everlasting stab wound. But the pain from losing Jason, his son, it was too much to bare.

"I'd be welcoming to Master Jason, but keep your distance. Master Damian is spending the night at Jon Kent's house, Master Richard is in Blüdhaven, and Master Timothy is with the Teen Titans tonight. I'll rest assured Jason doesn't try anything to harm you. But don't try to encourage a confrontation." Alfred explained. He always seemed to understand Jason to a tee after he came back to life.

"I don't know how you do it Alfred, you can read the boy like a book." Bruce had retorted. Cocking a half-smile to the man who raised him since his parents died.

"Master Wayne, Master Jason wears his heart on his sleeve. He always has. And one of the reasons why you two fight constantly is because, for as terrific as a detective you are, you are horrifically inept in reading the emotions of your children." Alfred had stated, those words bit Bruce. He wasn't expecting such sharp words from Alfred. "We failed Master Jason. And he's hurt, he's been hurt for years because of it. However he keeps choosing to come back and try and trust again. We needn't come at him with accusations of ulterior motives, but we should be supportive." Alfred stated.

"But cognizant of what Jason is capable of." Bruce added back. Jason may need help, but he's still dangerous. He has tried to kill Bruce and the rest of the Robins multiple times. He wants to trust Jason and warm up to him again. But the man who wears the Red Hood and stalks the streets of Gotham killing those he deems criminals is not his son anymore.

Alfred and Bruce greeted Jason as he walked in the large double doors of the Wayne Manor. The first thing Bruce noticed was the dark circles under Jason's eyes. It seemed as if the man hadn't slept in days. Jason was wearing sweatpants and a fitted black wife beater, accentuating his muscles. Jason would have looked more intimidating had his body language not suggested he was as disheveled as he was, physically and mentally.

"Thanks Alfred." Jason had said meekly towards the butler. He took one step into the mansion and looked at Bruce. Bruce noticed as soon as Jason's eyes met his, his tired irises contorted into anger. His lips pursed downwards but Jason chose not to say anything. Instead just walking past Bruce pretending not to acknowledge him.

"Master Jason, you will be staying in the guest suite on the main floor. I've already prepped everything for your arrival. Please make yourself at home." Alfred had said. Jason just shook is head as he headed towards the hallway leading the guest suite. Bruce didn't notice it immediately but the stench Jason had emitted stung in the air. It smelled like stale liqour and body oder. It seems Jason hadn't bathed in days. Bruce had wanted to say something but chose not to.

The evening went by quietly enough. Jason had taken a shower and changed into another fitted wife beater but still sported a tired energy about him. Alfred had put together a beef pot roast for dinner with red potatoes, carrots, onions, and celery over garlic mashed potatoes. A favorite dish of Jason's. The three of them ate quietly as Bruce continued to size up his son. He was conflicted. At one point he saw the man who blew up the head of a Gotham security force member with a torture decide he had created. On the other hand, he saw the boy who would beg for Bruce to buy him more books after he finished the maximum amount a library card would allow for a week in the span of 3 days. The son who told him being Robin gave him magic.

The dinner ended as it began. With awkward silence and the father-son duo eyeing each other. One with cautious trepidation and the other with abject hate. Bruce had decided not to go on patrol tonight as he felt he needed to be at the manor should anything happen while Jason was here. An uneasy sense of dread built over Bruce as he had said good night to Jason as the two passed by each other in the halls. Jason simply spat 'Bitch' at Bruce and walked into the bedroom. Bruce had been bad with other people's emotions, but something didn't sit right with the way Jason was carrying himself. He had decided to stay up tonight regardless. A sense came over him after being sworn at by Jason. A sense he hadn't felt in a long time. He felt as though his son needed help.

————————————————————

"You're a monster"

"Jason is a murderer"

"Stay away from Jason, he'll kill you."

"No one wants you around, Todd"

"You're just a good guy trying to be bad"

"This is the kid you had to replace me with as Robin? Bruce he's pathetic."

"I can't believe my daughter wasted the Lazarus Pit on a miserable failure like you."

"Maybe I'd be better off dead"

Jason tossed and turned. It's been days. He couldn't get the voices out of his head. Those whispery, moany voices that taunted and tormented him. He knew it was a result of the Lazarus Pit. Ever since Roy died and everyone left him the voices started taunting him again. He tried everything he could to get the voices to stop. He drank, he read, he worked out, he did everything he could. The only way the voices became quiet were when he was beating the ever-loving shit out of some criminals. This was not the mindset Jason had wanted. He wanted to go back to being supported by Bruce, the man who betrayed him. He knew that Bruce was weak. He couldn’t kill the Joker because of his weakness.

Jason got up and walked over to the connecting bathroom to the suite that he was staying in. He went to the sink and splashed some cold water on his face. Against his better judgement, Jason looked up to the figure he saw in the mirror. He took note of his jawline, his face, his green eyes, his muscles.. but one thing that caught his eye was the fucking skunk streak of hair at the top of his head. The physical reminder of his dip in the Lazarus Pit. He had just re-dyed the spot not two days ago and it already came back. He did everything he could to try to hide the streak. It’s what he hated most about his new body. The pit wiped away all of the scars he had on his body. And any new fresh scar or wound would just fade in a matter of moments due to the effects of the pit. The only thing that ever stayed was that damned streak.

Jason had nothing but disgust and contempt for the man he saw in the mirror, which, ironically, was himself.

“You’re just using the sarcasm to hide your hatred.”

“It’s your fault that everyone hates you.”

“Killing the sick of the masses to save those who are weak is your calling”

“Those reptiles deserve to die”

“I don’t want to kill unless I don’t have to.. I don’t want people to hate me..” Jason tried reassuring himself. The voices in his head kept getting louder and louder. “I want Bruce and everyone to love me again....” He continued to try to re-assure himself. It was a false sense of hope as always. His mind soon wandered to a moment where he was on top of Dick in a fight. Confronting his older sibling and reciting a quote he had heard from a Japanese philosopher and optimist as he had the barrel of a gun placed against his older brother’s temple.

“Do you know what the most convenient phrase in the world is, Dickie? It’s ‘I’m sorry.’ Anyone who hears that is obligated to forgive, no matter how hurt or angry they might be... There's no more disgusting phrase in all the world. It's used to displace your suffering unto others so you can escape your sins... The moment you employ it, your suffering becomes the other person's. A thing can be unforgivable, but oh, if they apologize... I say there's no reason to accept that suffering. You don't have to forgive them. Cast aside the mask of your conscience.“

“Stop this. Please stop this.” Jason had begged aimlessly into the air. He didn’t want to live like this anymore. He didn’t want to live, period. He just wanted all of this to end. He had caused so much pain and so much suffering to the people of Gotham all so he could attempt to hurt Bruce. But those words kept repeating in his head. He knew he had to stop this. He needed help, he wanted to go to Bruce and explain what was going on but Bruce would just have him institutionalized. His murderer of a son starts hearing voices in his head? A one way ticket to a padded room.

Jason suddenly stared back into the mirror and saw something he detested. The green eyes that stared into his soul. The one he hated more than anything else. Was himself. This thing was staring him in the face mocking him, and he wanted it gone.

“Do it Jason.” the voice had beckoned from the mirror. “Kill them all. Slit Damian’s throat and watch the fucker bleed. Bash Tim’s stupid face into the concrete until there’s nothing but mush. Rip Dick limb from fucking limb. Watch Bruce as you choke the last bit of life from his eyes. I promise all the pain will go away once all of this is done.” the voice sounded almost sweet as it promised to do all of this. Jason just retched as he saw the green eyed monster promising poison to him. He felt his vision fade to black.

------------------------------------------------------------------

STOP IT. SHUT. UP.

*CRASH*

Bruce had jumped up from the chair he was sitting on in the library, the voice came from the suite that Jason was staying in. Bruce didn’t have time to think. He just ran towards the noise. He threw the door to the suite open and ran to the bathroom. There he saw Jason in front of a heavily cracked mirror. Jason was hyperventilating and he saw blood oozing from Jason’s fist which was pressed against the mirror. Bruce saw from the reflection that Jason had split open the left side of his lip seemingly from a shard of glass. It wasn’t long before Jason glanced up at the imposing shadow in the mirror and noticed Bruce’s presence.

“YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME BRUCE.” Jason had shouted at his reflection. Jason was shaking. Bruce had wanted to assess the injury that Jason gave himself. But he knew he was cornering a scared animal if he pressed any farther forward. Bruce stood their frozen. Pondering between trying to press forward upon a killer, or to check up on his son.

“Jason, I just...” Bruce was cut off by another scream as Jason turned around.

“IF YOU COME ANY CLOSER I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL KILL YOU WHERE YOU FUCKING STAND YOU PIECE OF SHIT.” Bruce finally got the cue. The hitch in Jason’s voice. This is the same hitch his voice made when he was a kid and was angry at Bruce. Alfred was right. This is his son. And right now Bruce needed not to be the Batman approaching the Red Hood. He needed to be Bruce, to help his son.

Bruce walked forward to Jason, still shaking as blood oozed from the gashes of glass on his fist. Bruce decided against everything in his gut telling him to stop this criminal. This monster who killed for sport and to prove a point. He needed to help Jason, his son.

Bruce was knocked back by a fist to his chest. Glass imbedded itself into Bruce as he felt the sting of their shards. Jason was right, he was going to hurt Bruce if he approached. Oracle was right, Jason had been abusing venom. The quick gain in muscle mass was proof enough but the stinging pain in Bruce’s chest also proved that hypothesis. Jason barred his teeth as his eyes displayed a seething hatred. Bruce would have been frightened on any other day. Today, Bruce felt a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time. Bruce collected himself and got up to approach Jason again.

“I TOLD YOU I’M GOING TO KILL YOU BRUCE. I FUCKING HATE YOUR GUTS. I WANT YOU TO DIE. I WANT ALL OF US TO JUST FUCKING DIE.” Jason screamed even louder this time. A hot stream of tears worked their way down Jason’s cheeks. Bruce no longer saw a rage-induced monster but the boy who took a tire iron to his gut on the streets of Gotham. The boy who would was thrilled at every opportunity he got to show Bruce the A’s on every test he got in school. This was his baby boy who needed his help.

“Jason Peter Todd that’s enough.” Bruce said firmly, but not harshly. Jason stared directly into his eyes. “Jason. I want you to listen to me.”

“Go to hell you motherfucker.” those words which escaped Jason were laced with poison. Bruce didn’t waver.

“You can punch me as much as you want Jason and I’ll deserve all of it.” Bruce came closer to Jason. Jason proceeded to physically make himself smaller. Like a scared animal. Bruce remember what he did to Jason after he had seemingly killed The Penguin. How he beat Jason to within an inch of his life. His heart plummeted to his stomach as he saw Jason cower like a scared dog over his approach.

“What are you going to do Bruce, beat me to a fucking pulp again? You hate me more than you hate the fucking Joker, don’t you?” Jason asked. Bruce truly saw the fear in those green eyes. He had to take a moment and realized just what he was doing. He unclenched his jaw and relaxed his shoulders as he approached Jason. This time he was back within striking range of his son.

“Jason. I failed you. I have been failing you for the past 10 years since your death. I have failed this city and this family in providing the protection it needs. I couldn’t kill The Joker because I’m weak.” Bruce sucked at emotions and emoting. But Bruce hadn’t felt this shaky and wavering since the day he lost Jason. His son needed to know the truth. He deserved to know the truth. “Jason I never hated you. I hated the actions you have taken against the people of this city. But I’ve come to realize that the hatred and contempt I’ve held is because you do what I can’t do.”

“Oh so now you’re coming over to apologize? I don’t owe you shit after what you’ve done to me.” Jason had stated. He may have been acting like a pinned animal. But his mouth will never not cut like knives.

“Jason, when we had fought in the abandoned apartment. And you had the Joker with you. You had tried to shoot me after I had turned away from you.” Bruce said. Inching ever closer to Jason while trying not to be imposing. “In that moment, I threw the batarang because I knew you were going to retaliate against me. But I need you to know in that moment I turned away. I turned away because I decided I wasn’t to be the one to decide the Joker’s fate. He had taken your life and it wasn’t up to me to decide. I want nothing more than for the Joker to pay for the countless lives hes taken and ruined.” Bruce swallowed hard as he felt tears beginning to well in his eyes. “I failed you because I couldn’t kill the Joker. But in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to have my baby boy back. I wanted you back in my life. I still want you back in my life.”

“Bullshit. Fucking BULLSHIT.” Jason spat at Bruce. The emotions were flooding out of his face. Anger, hatred, fear, but most of all sadness. Jason’s voice began wavering as he began to cry. “If you loved me why in the fuck have you never realized I’ve been trying to help the people of Gotham. Instead every time I take matters into my own hands all I meet are your fucking fists. I hate your guts Bruce. We’d all just be better off fucking dead. It’s all Hopeless. I’m hopeless.”

Bruce took a deep breath. He tried to find his resolve. He wanted nothing more than to be able to reach out to his son again. “You’re absolutely right Jason. I’ll bet Gotham would be a whole lot better without me. Without the pain I have caused. And no amount of apologies will fix the pain that I have caused you. No words will ever take back the transgressions I have taken against you.” Bruce was crying this time. “But know this. You always have been my son. And I love you so much. The day I lost my parents was agony. The day I lost you, I felt like I had lost myself I felt I had died a bit inside.” Bruce choked out. “We both have done so much we regret. If I could take back all the times I hit you I would do it in a heartbeat. But no amount of sorry will take back that pain. I shouldn’t be in the position to be asking this. But I just want my son back.” Bruce swallowed. “You have every right to hate me, but I will never stop loving you. You aren’t hopeless and you never have been. You never have been a burden. You are valued by so many people. I. I love you my son. I love you Jason."

Jason’s face relaxed from a position of contempt and hatred and soon was overcome with years of pent up tears. Jason let out a hearty scream as he proceeded to weep and sob. As if a dam had broke and was threatening to engulf a town in an apocalypse. Bruce went against everything he had known and was screaming from the inside of his body and wrapped Jason in a hug. He was almost as large as Bruce himself and barely fit around his arms. But Bruce held his son and hugged him tight. Jason was crying uncontrollably.

“I’m hearing these voices. They’re telling me I’m a monster and a killer and that I should kill all of you.” Jason shouted between sobs. “But I don’t want to. I’m so afraid Bruce. I don’t want to hurt anyone unless I have to.”

“Just breath Jason. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Let it all out.” Bruce had solidified his resolve and worked on being there for Jason. He couldn’t run away this time. His son needed him more than ever. And Gotham be damned. He’s not making this mistake twice. He’s staying here. For Jason.

It felt like hours before Jason had run out of tears and sobs. Jason was fading and seemed like he was about to fall asleep. The shards of glass that were imbedded in his hand seemingly prevented Jason from bleeding out. Bruce had saw Jason’s eyes glaze over as his breathing calmed.

“Jason, I’m going to pick you up and take you to bed.” Bruce had said, asking for permission from his second son. Jason simply nodded as he starred off. He was numb now. The pain seemingly gone for the moment. Bruce lifted Jason up and was taken aback by just how heavy his son was. He truly was 225lbs just like his records showed. This wasn’t the son who hid under the cabinets when Bruce first brought Jason home. But Bruce still saw the boy as his son nonetheless. As Bruce laid Jason on the bed Alfred had approached with a first aid kit. Proceeding to begin to clean up Jason’s hand. Jason was so exhausted he barely felt any of the picking and pulling or the iodine going into his wounds. He kept his eyes fast forward on Bruce.

“Bruce. I. I’m sorry.” Jason had said meekly.

“Don’t apologize Jason.” Bruce had stated. He ran his hand through Jason’s hair, giving a soft massage to his scalp. “You get some sleep now. I don’t think you’ve rested in days.”

Bruce had remembered the time he had read Jason to sleep. This time he had thought back to a poem that struck him from his phone. It was from a famous lyricist and singer. As Bruce pulled up his phone he had found the poem and recited it as Jason fell asleep. Things are far from perfect or even better. But tomorrow was going to be the first day of the rest of his and Jason’s lives.

“They told me once, ‘there's a place where love conquers all’

A city with the streets full of milk and honey

I haven't found it yet, but I'm still searching

All I know is a hopeless place that flows with the blood of my kin

Perhaps hopeless isn't a place

Nothing but a state of mind”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

pHEW GOD THAT WAS LONG. I hope you all enjoyed the fic! This was my first published attempt at angst and whump and while I feel some parts are cringe. I am proud of what I made.

Big thanks again to @dilfbatman for inspiring this fic. The inspiration of the title is the song Hopeless: by Halsey. The quote about I’m Sorry is from the character Shadow Maya Amano from Persona 2: Innocent Sin. And the poem at the end is the first part of the lyrics to the song Good Mourning by Halsey.

#Jason Todd #Red Hood #Bruce Wayne #Batman #Whump #Angst #Hurt/comfort #Non-ship #Bruce being a good father #Jason trying his best #Jason getting the rest he deserves #The two have gone through so much but they can get help #TW Blood #TW Physical abuse #TW Swearing

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star-trekkin-across-theuniverse · 4 years ago

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Worthy (pt4)

Author’s note: I am crappy at tagging people. Inbox me if you want to be added, and just keep poking me if I keep forgetting to add you. <3 @rampant-salamander @bolontiku

I had to wonder if the powers from Thor’s hammer included allowing me to disappear into the floor so I would not have to face the source of my embarrassment again. I wanted to slam the bathroom door and lock it and hide until Thor left. But I somehow guessed his sense of chivalry would be too great to just leave me to die of embarrassment and he would do something stupid, like breaking down the door, to ensure I was okay, instead of just understanding I needed to lick my wounds in private. Particularly when he thought humans were prudish about nudity. Did they walk around in Thor-land buck naked all the time? I mean, if they all looked like Thor that might not be a bad thing. I was far too conscious of my lumps and cellulite and stretch marks to be okay with joining them in the nude party though.

I dropped the towel and looked at myself in the floor to ceiling mirror, trying to guess what he must have thought when he hauled me off the floor. I was pale. I’d been far too busy finishing my thesis to be out in the sun in the spring, and it was obvious by the way my arms were the same fish belly white as my stomach. The time spent in the lab showed on my tummy and hips and thighs, all of which were broader than they’d ever been before. My roommate had said curvier was a nicer word, but I knew exactly how many slices of pizza had contributed to each new curve, and the fact that none of that skin had seen the sun in months made me feel bigger. I couldn’t lie and say I was completely unsatisfied with my body. I was just bigger than I’d been, and more uncomfortable in my skin. I’d promised myself I’d find some sort of activity to balance with my work life, for no other reason than for my health. I just didn’t buy into hating myself because I didn’t belong on the pages of a magazine. My body housed my brain, and my brain was pretty awesome. The rest was just packaging and resources for keeping my brain safe and at optimal function. But that was what I thought. I cast a critical eye on myself trying to figure out what Thor would have thought seeing me bare-assed on the floor. Given his impatience with my modesty, he probably hadn’t thought much at all.

I pulled my pyjamas on, and had to laugh at myself. The spaghetti strapped tank-top and boxer shorts didn’t cover much more than my towel had. But I couldn’t cross the living room again to find something else if I ever wanted to get rid of the man-god sitting in my living room.

I steeled my courage and opened the bathroom door. He’d figured out how to turn on my television, and had stopped on what appeared to be a documentary about the Avengers Initiative. He laughed at the television and shook his head, then clicked it off when he realized I’d come into the room.

“Do you want something to drink?” I offered.

“I rather think you do not wish for me to stay that long, Ella Carmichael.” He pushed himself off the couch and walked into the kitchen where I was refilling my wine glass.

“You know, you can just call me Ella. It’s weird to use someone’s first and last name,” I commented. “Are you sure you don’t want a drink? I hate to drink alone.” I held the bottle up in offering. I could see him hesitate for a moment, probably contemplating the honour involved in drinking wine or something.

“If you insist,” he smirked. I poured him a glass and came around the kitchen island to hand it to him. When he took the glass from me, he narrowed his eyes and took my wrist into his hand. He turned it over, palm facing up and ran his thumb across it. I’m not ashamed to admit I got goosebumps; it was more intimate than I’d been touched in recent memory.

“Have you always had that mark?” I realized he was running his thumb around my left hand in a pattern. I looked down, but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“I can’t see any mark.” I pulled my hand away and held it under the bright light over the island. Nothing. Thor took my hand again and looked closer, and traced the design out again on my palm. He was seeing something that I was not. He dropped my hand and picked up the hammer from where he’d placed it on the floor by my front door. He put it carefully down on the granite countertop of the island, and pointed at a big fancy three pointed knot on the face of the hammer.

“This is called a triquetra. It is also on your hand. I would know how long it has been there,” he explained. I shrugged.

“Well, I can’t see anything at all. But that’s the hand I picked up myewlnor with. Maybe it left a mark?” I knew I was completely butchering the name of the hammer, but god knows I couldn’t remember how to say it.

“Mjolnir.” Of course he would correct me.

“Mee-owl-neer?” I tried again.

“Mjolnir.”

“M-yol-neer.” I was reasonably sure I had it right that time. He nodded, and took my right hand in his, flipping the palm up. He traced his thumb around in the same pattern.

“It’s on this hand as well. This is a mystery. I do not know you well, Ella, but Tony seems to think you quite intelligent. Intelligence is not all there is to worth. But it is perhaps somewhere to start,” He pondered. I bit my lip.

“I don’t know how you judge worthiness where you’re from, but I’m not anything special. I don’t run around rescuing kittens from trees, or saving maidens from dragons, or curing cancer. I can’t even donate blood. I have some weird antibody.” I protested. Thor’s mouth cocked to one side in a grin.

“I have never done those things myself, and yet I am worthy. I will speak to my father,” he determined. He finished his glass of wine.

“You appear well. Your colour has come back, and you no longer show the signs of shock. I bid you good rest, Ella Carmichael. Thank you for sharing your libation with me, and for indulging my concern,” he bowed his head a little, hefted the hammer and turned. I followed him to the door. He turned as he crossed the threshold and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I will bring news once I have more understanding of what has happened.”

XXX

“So Thor saw me naked last night.” It was quite possibly the best first-line I’ve ever had. And I got to drop it on Angela as we walked through the build-a-Belgian-waffle line. She dropped her fork on the floor with a loud clatter.

“What? Naked? How?”

“Well, it all started when I had no clothes on,” I began.

“Seriously, Ella. What happened?” She demanded.

“Seriously. I was taking a bath and he knocked on the door. I figured it was you with the passcard, even though I’d said it could wait. So I wrapped my uber-skimpy-Stark-Industries-micro-towel around me, figuring I’d be opening the door a crack and accepting a passcard from you. He was at the door. And he just invited himself in, plain as you like. Said he was concerned about me,” I started. Angela shook her head, and as we walked through the waffle decorating station, I finished filling in all the details.

Once we were seated at a table, she took one of my hands and looked at it.

“I don’t see it either,” she sighed. “Do you suppose he has weird powers that let him see through things? Maybe that’s why he didn’t care that you were naked. Maybe he sees all of us as naked all the time.”

“You’re confusing him with Superman,” I laughed. “He has x-ray vision.”

“Superman is a comic book character! Thor is real! Who knows what all his powers are.” She cut her waffle up and started in on it. I pushed my waffle around the plate a little and drank my coffee. I didn’t like waffles. At all. I ate the mountain of fruit I’d piled on top of it, but couldn’t bring myself to get into the waffle itself.

“Well, not making a big deal about naked women is one of them. He made it clear he thought my prudishness was weird.”

“He’s weird. Most men would be hard pressed to not scope you out, regardless of how cool they tried to appear,” she stated, and then made a gesture that looked a little like jazz-hands. “Oh-em-gee! Boobies! Play it cool, dude. Play it cool, and she won’t cover up and then? More Boobies!” Her fake-guy voice was hilarious.

I snorted on my coffee. “I’m hardly in peak physical condition. He probably was just horrified by the wiggly bits and stretch marks.”

“I don’t think they see past the boobies, to be completely honest,” she laughed. I shook my head and finished my fruit. I’d effectively smushed up the waffle until it looked like I’d eaten some of it.

“What is on the agenda for me today, boss?” I changed the topic and drank my coffee. Angela pulled out a tablet and flicked through it.

“More orientation stuff. We’re going to go to distribution, and learn how to requisition things for your project. And how to req for your apartment too. And how different the two forms are and how important it is to make sure you use the right form,” she started. “Here’s a hint. The importance of using the correct form is inversely proportional to how similar the forms are to one another. You won’t believe that will take most of the morning, but it will. Then you’re seeing Markus after lunch.”

“Can I order bigger towels from distribution? Because the towels in my apartment are ridiculously small.”

“I don’t think so. But you can also requisition outside items from your in-suite purchasing app. Or I can just take you to Macy’s after work,” she suggested. “Are you not going to eat the waffle?”

“Confession?” I made a face. She nodded. “I hate waffles. They’re like a pancake with a skin disease. Disgusting.”

“I take back every nice thing I said about you. Waffles are amazing. Those are flavour pouches.” The look on her face was enough to make me bite my lip to prevent the laughter from slipping free. She was gripping her table knife like she might actually stab me. It would be a sticky ignominious death by maple syrup.

“Flavour pustules, maybe. So gross. I’m more of a bacon and eggs girl,” I admitted. Angela shook her head, her eyes cast downward in disappointment. She finally cracked the tiniest grin.

“Damn good thing you’re funny. Because that might be a deal-breaker otherwise. Come on. Bus your table. Let’s get you off to distribution so you can learn about the pedantry of requisitions.” She winked and grabbed her tray, leading the way over to the kitchen cart before directing us back to the elevator.

Distribution might not have been mired down in red tape, bureaucracy and shenanigans if they’d had a single window. But they were located in a sub-level of the building, below the parkade, completely walled in. There was a single door in, and it was right beside the loading bay. The staff kind of looked like they were a lost race of mole people. They were pale, suspicious of visitors and seemed a little paranoid that the rest of the company was out to make their lives miserable on purpose. The main stock clerk all but hissed at us when we came in.

Angela made quick work of running through the requisition forms. There was a single line that delineated personal requisitions from project reqs, and it was required for payroll deduction where appropriate. It was fair enough, but wouldn’t it have been simpler just to colour code the forms? I asked Angela as much and she clamped her hand over my mouth.

“Do you want to be barred from ordering things? Don’t rock the boat!” She hissed. “If you can control yourself, I want to show you heaven. This is the one thing that distribution does right.” She led me over to a table that had a pile of different catalogues on it. “This is the only part of Stark Industries that is still analogue because catalogues are so much easier than websites. And here’s where your colour coding idea comes into play. Blue catalogues are filled with workplace supplies, divided by shade of blue. The light blue cover is office supplies; the dark blue cover is electrical doodads, etc. You’ll learn them as you need to. The yellow covers are personal items. Light yellow is Stark Industries branded stuff. I do most of my Christmas shopping in the light yellow. My dad has a thing for polo shirts and golf balls. Goldenrod is household items that are covered by your living allowance. Stuff like bedding, kitchen utensils, towels. I think there’s a surround sound upgrade in there.” She handed me a pencil and flipped the Goldenrod covered catalogue open to bathroom stuff. The towel page was dog-eared. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who hated the mini-towels that came standard in the room. I filled in a requisition for towels and a plush bathrobe.

Angela brought me back to the stock clerk’s desk and walked me through the process for submitting the order. It was complicated. I almost expected to need to know a secret handshake to complete the transaction.

“So that should all be delivered before the day is over.” She led me back out of the department. True to her word, the distribution department and requisition in-service had taken us almost to lunch. We stepped off the elevator on the floor for my research division. “I figured I’d show you your desk before we eat lunch.”

We rounded a corner into the lab area. The space was wide open, from window to window. There were workstations at the periphery of the room. I assumed the conspicuously empty one was mine, but Angela walked right past it to a desk that was covered in stuff. There was a pile of paperwork on one corner that at first glance I thought was probably the information relating to my proposals. The desk itself was one of the Stark Industries touch responsive computers that I’d been desperate to try since the first time I saw one. The monitor was carefully suspended from the ceiling, keeping the desk as clear as possible. On the far side of the desk was a small cactus with a little plastic welcome stick pressed into the dirt, and a box of office supplies.

Angela made quick work of logging me into the computer. The log in sequence unlocked the desk drawers, so I was able to clear my desktop with one sweep of my arm into the top drawer. Angela sucked in her breath in response to the action.

“I will organize myself later. For now, that desk needs to be clear, if I’m ever going to work at it,” I explained. She grabbed the cactus protectively and held it away from my reach.

“Promise you won’t hurt the plant,” she demanded.

“Sure,” I agreed. She put the plant back down and disappeared across the lab, quickly returning with what looked like a shelf. While I watched, she mounted it to the window behind my desk. How she did it was a mystery, it looked like it was just hanging there. Some sort of mysterious Stark Tech, I suppose. She took the cactus and placed it on the corner of the shelf, her shoulders square in defiance of my otherwise blasé organizational skills. As though she already knew that I wasn’t going to organize my desk drawers later. I looked over at the desk beside me and saw that all the way down the bank of windows, there were shelves mounted against the windows, holding the various personal treasures of the employees assigned to each desk. My shelf looked kind of boring with just the cactus on it.

“Okay, let’s get lunch. You’ve got your meeting with Markus in 45 minutes.” Angela steered me back out of the lab and over to the elevator.

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outrebanx · 5 years ago

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saviour

John B x female!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Y/N has had feelings for John B for a while and does everything to try and stop those feelings - but at a kegger one night, she protects him (this is an awful summary I apologise)

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: swearing, a little fighting

A/N: this was my first time writing for John B so if you like it pls give me feedback :)

You always loved going to keggers, you were a kook, but that didn’t matter too much since you spent all your spare time with the pogues. Kiara had introduced you to them several months ago.

You and her had been at the kook academy together, and you loved that she wasn’t stuck up like most other kooks you knew, she didn’t care about shopping or money so you became best friends almost immediately.

When she left the school, you had stayed, but you were both desperate to stay friends and so she ended up introducing you to the friends she’d had before she went to your school, and who she now spent a lot of time with: John B, JJ and Pope.

You had gotten along with all the boys straight away, but you couldn’t help but feel a little more for the brunette. Not that you’d ever make a move on John B, him and Kie seemed to have something between them, and you wouldn’t want to risk your friendship with either of them for just a crush - something that could easily go away with time.

However, with everyday you saw John B, your feelings only seemed to grow stronger for him, when you were around him you were focused on him and when you were away from him he seemed to be the only thing occupying your thoughts - in all honesty it was driving you crazy, you’d never really liked someone as much as this and no matter how hard you tried to distract yourself with random guys at keggers from time to time, it never worked and he’d still be the one you liked.

You were all standing round the beer keg, John B and JJ handing beer to anyone who approached with a steady conversation flowing between all of you.

You had kept stealing glances at John B the whole night so far, not that he or anyone else noticed, or at least you hoped they hadn’t. But like normal, the way you felt for him annoyed you, so instead of facing your problems you drank some more and instead turned to the crowd to see if there was anyone you could distract yourself with tonight.

Kie seemed to notice your shift in mood and the way you were looking at the crowd of people on the beach, she knew everything about you, except how you felt about John B and you were terrified of telling her in case she stopped being friends with you - it’s not like you have many friends on the kook side and you knew none of them would live up to the standards of the pogues.

She nudged her shoulder with yours, getting your attention, “found anyone you’re going after tonight yet Y/N?”

John B’s head shot up as you answered, “No not yet, but there’s still time.”

“I don’t see why you go after strangers, why not just try and date someone?” Pope asked from next to Kiara.

“Uh I don’t see you asking JJ that,” you say pointing at the boy who was staring at the ass of a passing girl, “and anyway there’s just nobody I want to date, it’s that simple.”

“Really, what about us?” John B asked

“What about you?”

“Would you not date any of our group?” He waved his hand around, indicating all of them, looking intently at you to see your reaction.

“A) no pogue on pogue macking and B) no I don’t want to date any of you.” You looked at the floor, hoping to hide the emotions on your face - did John B ask that because he might like you or was he just being curious. Probably curious, best not to get your hopes up, that’s how you get hurt.

“Fair enough,” John B said, going back to giving out drinks.

Kie turned to you, “Do you want to go and dance? Maybe you’ll find someone there.”

“Absolutely, just let me down my drink.” You gulped the rest of the beer in your cup down, grabbing Kie’s hand and walking over to where there were people dancing.

You had been dancing for about five minutes, losing yourself in the atmosphere around you, for once not thinking about John B - not that that lasted long though.

“When are you going to tell John B you like him?” Kie said to you out of nowhere.

You coughed in surprise, not sure what to say, “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Don’t lie to me Y/N, I know you better than anyone else, I see the way you look at him.”

“Shit. I’m sorry Kie I just thought I’d get over it, and then I didn’t, and then I didn’t want to tell you because I thought you and him had a thing and-“

She held out her hand to stop you from rambling any longer, “Me and him don’t have a thing, God he’s like a brother to me so the thought alone is gross, and the way you look at him when he’s not looking - he looks at you in the exact same way Y/N, you’re just too busy being a mess to notice.”

You laughed, “Do you really think he could like me?”

“I really do, which is-“ she stopped for a second, something catching her eye elsewhere on the beach, “Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

You looked in the direction she had been looking at, a crowd already gathering where JJ, John B, Rafe and Topper were trying to beat the shit out of each other.

Both of you began running towards the group, the closer you got the more you could hear the crowd egging on the fight and Pope trying to stop it. You and Kie pushed through the crowd, the sight was worse than you could imagine, both JJ and John B were on their backs, Rafe kicking JJ and Topper punching John B in the face repeatedly.

“Get the fuck off him Topper!” You screamed, moving forwards to try and intervene, Kie moving to do the same with Rafe and JJ.

John B looked at you, eyes pleading that you leave, not wanting you to get hurt, but you felt the same about him, he already had so much blood on his face and you couldn’t stand back and watch.

You grabbed Topper’s neck from behind, pulling him away from John B so he could stand up again but your grip didn’t last long as Topper elbowed you in the stomach hard enough that you doubled over in pain. You could hear the shout from John B when he saw this, more angry than he was before, punching Topper so hard that just after a few he was down on the ground unable to get back up.

After this, the fight died down pretty quickly, JJ had Rafe in a headlock and was shouting at him to leave and to take Topper with him, which thankfully they did.

Once they began limping off, John B ran over to you, hand on your shoulder, “Hey are you okay?”

“I’m good don’t worry,” you lifted your hand to touch his face, he leaned into your touch, “but holy shit this looks really bad John B.”

He looked down at you, eyes moving between your concerned stare and your lips, “I’ve had worse.”

You rolled your eyes, taking your hand off his face, “Sure you have, anyway what was the fight about?”

“Um Rafe and Topper were saying gross things about you and Kie, so we stopped them from saying those things.”

“Oh, thanks then, although I’m not sure it was working as you did seem to be losing when we got over here.”

He laughed, “No I was just tiring him out, I was about to turn the tables on him when you intervened.”

“Nope I absolutely saved you, don’t deny it.”

“Fine you are my saviour Y/N,” he smiled before adding, “but seriously thank you, even if you getting hurt was the last thing I wanted.”

“Well I could say the same thing to you.” You kissed him lightly on the cheek, wary of not wanting to hurt his injuries, before turning away, ready to go and check on the others.

He grabbed your hand, “Hey, you know you were wrong about something earlier.”

“Really? What exactly was that?”

“You said no pogue on pogue macking - you’re a kook, the rule doesn’t apply to you.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, waiting for him to say more, the butterflies in your stomach going crazy at where this could be going.

He took your other hand, “I just thought you’d like to know, especially because I like you, and I really hope you like me.”

You smiled brightly at him, closing the gap between your faces so your lips were on his. The kiss only lasted a few moments, but this was long enough for both of you to get a little flustered.

“Lucky for you, I like you as well.” You said smiling up at him, his own smile just as happy as yours.

#john b x reader #john b routledge x reader #john b imagine #john b routledge #outerbanks fic #obx fic #outer banks imagine #chase stokes #jj maybank #pope heyward #kiara carrera #outrebanx #jj maybank x reader

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lostsoulaltair · 4 years ago

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OnS Theories (17S). Third Theory - Shikama’s punishment, and the reason behind the corpse (Long Theory)

Hello everyone, it’s been few days since I’ve updated, I’ve been a little busy along studies coming over but nevertheless, let’s keep going with these theories, I hope you guys are doing alright!

This theory is special, it isn’t centered on what it’s mostly known or rather, it is the doubt of veracity towards Shikama Doji’s statements.

Before starting, I must say that there’s this lingering feeling that Shikama is actually lying about having a son but rather, he’s seeking something entirely out of such thing, therefore, let’s talk about it.

P.S: Theories exclude ships and remain within a neutral view.

To begin with, something that has been causing quite the surprise is to see Shikama Doji stating his life was ruined or rather was affected due to others along the cost of his “son”.

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 94

Back in chapter 94, Shikama stated he’d create a dark sun; due to how he was blamed and he lost his child due to certain incident that is left unknown for the meantime; but, within this, there’s something that doesn’t make sense, what do I mean?

It is well known that Kagami Takaya takes inspiration of religion in order to bring forward this story, furthermore, it cannot be denied that Shikama Doji or Sika Madu takes inspiration of the devil, the fallen angel Lucifer; the angel that was punished for trying to be superior to God; of course such statement might differ depending on the religion.

But then, how can I state that Shikama is inspired by such figure?

Back then, at the beginning it felt that most things were fantasy until they mentioned the name of an angel, said angel was Michael and it wasn’t mentioned once but twice; the first one being Ferid Bathory and the second being the Hyakuya Sect:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 85

This only lead to the fact that some names within the Bible or other religious texts might come in, but then again, how can I state Shikama is heavily based on Lucifer?

It is known that the name Lucifer has different meanings such as: “Morning star”, “Light Bringer”, “Bringer of Dawn”, etc. And one of the biggest details the manga has given as an insight of this is displayed within this panel:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 57

In chapter 57, Kureto Hiragi faced Tenri Hiragi until he achieved victory, but, before Tenri died, he told Kureto that “a cursed god” would appear to him; after such thing was stated, Tenri died, Kureto said: “father?” to check if he was alive or not, but something rather fascinating is the fact that there was a light before the appearance of such cursed god; something similar to what the real name stands “morning star”.

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 57

Within Tenri’s corpse, his shadow slowly allowed to make Shikama appear after being using Tenri as his host until he could wait and eventually lead to the events of Shinoa’s possession.

But then, does this mean this is the only proof?

Actually, the second proof within this is according some passages which were focused on how Lucifer, before falling from heaven, he was able to walk down through rivers of fire, anywhere to impart wisdom to humanity; but among this, it is well known that Lucifer was one of God’s most beautiful creation and that’s something Shikama does share with said inspiration:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 57

Within the LNs, after Shinoa got Shikama Doji back, she was finally able to remember who he was along the fact she stated he/she was beautiful; furthermore:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 57

Shikama Doji stated that God’s personality was more twisted than him, implying he does have knowledge of God.

To even expand this, back in the World Resurrection LNs, specially in Vol. 2; Guren had a conversation with Rigr Stafford; Rigr stated that the First Progenitor was a being that played the role of a God; he decided which empires would come and fall along religions, ideas, etc.

Ironically, within this, it is often heard that the devil or formerly Lucifer, became prideful and arrogant which pretty much matches Shikama’s personality.

It could be said that Shikama Doji is heavily based on Lucifer or rather, there’s a chance that might be his real name at the very end.

Now, focusing again to the main point of the theory, Shikama mentions he broke a taboo:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 81

But what exactly was his taboo? Was it that he had a child or he betrayed God’s will?

While it is mostly seen in the manga that he mentions and is wishful to have Mikaela’s soul; there’s a huge issue that dismisses Shikama’s real intentions, what do I mean?

If many might recall, at the beginning of the LNs of Vampire Mikaela, the story dwells or rather states that it’s about revenge, revenge towards God. And so far, the one carrying such revenge is Shikama instead of Mikaela; therefore, what does this have to do with Shikama’s real intentions?

For this, let’s recall some events from the current story:

Back then, Shikama started to perform experiments until he found Ashera Tepes; him being the first human that became a vampire after drinking Yu’s blood in the Dark Ages of Greece, it seemed that he was seeking something within kids and of course, such thing was stated by Noya:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 85

Indeed, Shikama seeked to find a kidt that could become Mikaela but all the vampires failed; but why?

It is well known that most of the vampires were sired by Shikama with the sole exception of Ashera; it is unknown if the other demons also drank Yu’s blood or the First’s; but within this, there’s something revealing, what could it be?

Correct. Within this, Shikama was seeking to find beings that held down certain traits until he stopped and seeked to reach the Land of the Rising Sun; but only one of the Vampire Progenitors kept with this and that was Rigr Stafford.

Rigr Stafford found two subjects that held down the Michaela trait, those being Ferid Bathory and Mikaela Shindo; but among this, Ferid found another one on his own, which was Crowley Eusford.

But, between those three, only one held two traits which was Mika, he kept the Seraph trait and the Michaela trait from the very moment he was born and Rigr only made sure he was the perfect result of what he seeked.

But then, now that the past was brought, why does Shikama need Mika’s soul if he’s his supposed son?

The reason is that he is lying. Shikama doesn’t want to recover his son, but rather, he wants to recover his real power, what he was once long ago, but, is there a proof to this?

There is actually proof towards this; and the proof relies within Ashera, Krul and Rigr.

Therefore, let’s proceed:

1. Krul Tepes

Despite that she hasn’t talked that much in relation of the First, she has never seen the First Progenitor as a father, but as a monster or someone who took her happiness away:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 49

At that time, Krul Tepes was begging the First to not take her brother away, to not take Ashera and make him a demon, but, within this, there was something interesting; what could it be?

Correct. The fear Ashera once felt or rather, the fearful presence the First gave towards them was so different, it was as if Ashera didn’t recall how the First was truly:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 49

Ashera didn’t doubt the First nor had fear towards him, it was as if he knew everything he’d do would lead to a better future which has been quite the opposite.

Along this, after the First possessed Shinoa and after the events of his sealing along Mika’s death as a vampire; Krul didn’t want to go where the First was but Ashera told her it would be fine; but among this, it wouldn’t take long until he appeared again and one of the things that has been displayed by her is this:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 98

Krul displayed despair and fear of what it was about to come, same thing could be seen in the latest chapter:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 99

It means she’s very aware of the nature of the First Progenitor, not the fact that she met him back when he was just slowly taking steps of his own goals but rather, she’s aware about his real nature and power to the point he’d endanger the whole world to its collapse.

2. Ashera Tepes

While it’s true that Ashera was fearful of him but grateful due to him giving him the freedom to save his sister, after he became a demon, he lost his memories about everything, and when the battle between him and the First came and Yu headed off to his rescue, there was rather something interesting that he mentioned:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 74

Ashera states he has the power to mesmerize others along the level of danger he gives; this only gives an idea of what Shikama has always been, a real monster, but then, chapter 98 and 99 come into scene since it’s pretty much how the Black Demons gather and follow up the First’s original plan, but why?

This is due to the fact that the First might have brainwash them or rather mesmerize them to the point they’re obeying him without doubting his words; they’re still believing the stories about a greater future along his child

3. Rigr Stafford

As for Rigr, there really isn’t much to say since he’s pretty much opposed to the ideals of the FIrst; he’s even aware about something:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 84

The First Progenitor never awoke completely, as time passed when he was possessing Shinoa, his awakening became louder to the point all the Progenitors of the World felt his presence, but for Rigr, that was the ideal spot on which he could restrain him, keep him at bay and capture him for whoever knows what purposes.

Therefore, what could it be said about Shikama’s intentions?

His intentions aren’t focused on merely making the world better towards what he views “better” but rather, everything he’s doing, the fact he developed artifitial life, the fact he created artifitial seraphs or rather he was capable of developing the technique for that only implies a rebellion; a massive rebellion but for that, he needs more strength than what he currently has; but if that were the case, then what’d happen with the corpse, what is the corpse to him?

There’s a possibility said corpse wasn’t actually his son but rather his former body; but how can I state such thing when his powers are towards what his former body looked like?

Shikama Doji is well known for being a liar, he might promise everything, but it must be within his interests that the other party must accept, which is a deal; Shikama Doji once stated that thanks to the sins of x beings, they converted him into an inmortal that would wander around forever, this alone reflects that his current appearance might have not been the same, but rather, the one that was the corpse

And this lead us to the biggest question, what was his punishment besides wandering forever on Earth?

Correct. What he was or rather, the almighty power he once had was sparced, removed or taken from him. He lost all what he once had except his wings; all the divinity he once had was removed from him entirely which ended up giving him a body that would suffer the strains of the sun.

The fact he started seeking boys with traits was just the beginning but the real purpose for this wasn’t something vague or simple, but rather, he aimed to finally recover what he lost via them, he aimed to find a human that could harbor both traits in a natural way which is why this leads us to the present, this would explain why he’d need Mika’s soul since his body or rather his physical is long gone but his soul, his soul keeps all the information he once had, all what he was once...only to fill in the void he once lost.

NOTE: I must say this is a theory mostly based on doubts that linger within my head, of course, I hope you get to enjoy the theory, by this it doesn’t mean it’ll happen but it’s a possibility nevertheless.

What do you think?

Let me know!

gif belongs to clair-audients

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shakespeareanwannabe · 5 years ago

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Strange Comforts

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x OC

Summary: A sequel to ‘Protective Instincts’ and a prequel to ‘Best Laid Plans’ (I wish I could link them here but I’m still figuring that stuff out). With T-minus 10 weeks to go before the baby arrives, Pope discovers that it’s the little things in life that bring the most comfort. *This one’s not based off clarke’s wonderful headcanons, but it’s set in the same universe so that’s where the credit goes!*

Warnings: Pregnancy fic, swearing, references to smut, references PTSD, references to therapy

A/N: Hi everyone! This is part three of who-knows-how-many of my Dad!Pope series. I’m still looking for a series title, and I’m trying to figure out how to create a masterlist for this so I can put them in order for y’all. I hope you enjoy! I loved reading your comments for the last two! Please let me know if you want to be tagged in future installments!

***

“…and, unless someone else wants to share, I think we’ll wrap up for today,” the kind-eyed therapist addressed the group of veterans, shooting a small glance towards Pope out of the corner of his eye.

True to his word, Santiago had been attending group therapy sessions for the last six months, his first session taking place exactly a week after Bex had told him the good news. Will had highly recommended this therapist, having gone to see him himself when his fiancée had left him, and hoped he could shed some light on Pope’s issues so that he wouldn’t walk out on his pregnant girlfriend next time things got hard.

And Pope had been attending the sessions. Listening to what other veterans said, the issues they were going through, it helped. Sure, both Frankie and Will had been fairly vocal about the problems they ran into while trying to adjust to civilian life, and Pope knew that Tom had had massive difficulties when they forced him to retire, and Benny’s issues were plain to see even if he didn’t talk about them, but those were his friends, his brothers, his family. They had all seen the same shit, so, clearly, they would have similar issues. But hearing random strangers, Marines, and Rangers, Navy and Military and Air Force men and women speak about seeing IEDs everywhere, and drinking to forget, and panicking at the sight of blood was…strangely comforting. The only problem was that Pope could never bring himself to speak.

He wanted to. God knew he wanted to. He needed to be okay. For Bex and the baby, for Frankie and Charlie and Mateo, for Benny and Will, for Molly and the girls, and, most importantly, for himself. So he could stop feeling like a major fuck up in every aspect of his life, so he could feel deserving of the life he had inexplicably been blessed with. But whenever he would try to open his mouth, he froze. How could he possibly talk about the shit he had done in the name of freedom? Was there a way to talk about his instincts shutting his emotions down without coming across as a cold-hearted bastard? Why did his tongue stop working whenever he tried to talk about how deathly afraid he was of screwing up this baby’s life, Bex’s life, their life together as a family? How deathly afraid he was that he had already screwed up Frankie’s, Will’s, and Benny’s lives? How he had nightmares of when Tom had died?

Santiago used to think he was a brave man, but now he felt like a coward. He could face down armed sicarios and terrorists without batting an eye, but he couldn’t talk about his emotions to save his family. It was complete and utter bullshit in his mind.

“Alright everyone, I’ll see you next week,” the therapist dismissed the group and Pope shot to his feet, beelining towards the coffee station.

Everyone else stood around talking, chatting about their daily lives or the weather or whatever, but Pope focused on mixing his coffee. He used to take it black, but then Bex started teasing him that only psychopaths took their coffee black, so he started mixing milk and sugar in instead. He liked it, but he needed it to be perfect.

“You actually drink this swill?” the therapist came up behind him and chuckled.

Pope cracked a smile. “I’ve had worse.”

“Haven’t we all,” he murmured. “Question Mark.”

Santiago shook his hand. “Pope.”

“You’re Ironhead’s friend, right?” Pope nodded. “Damn…he’s told me some of the crap you guys have been through. Sounds like holy hell.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Shit, man. No wonder you don’t talk during these meetings.”

Pope felt himself flush. “I mean…you know…”

“Hey, it’s fine. This is a no pressure situation. You just had me curious is all. Either you get people who don’t stop talking, or people who never talk in these sessions. But you…you always look like you want to talk but think better of it.”

Pope shrugged. “It’s like you said. Holy hell. Got used to not talking about the bad stuff.”

“So, what changed?”

Pope smiled softly, his eyes taking on a far-off look. “My girl’s pregnant.”

“Congratulations, man,” Question Mark slapped him on the shoulder.

“Thanks…” Pope shook his head slowly, sadly. “I almost screwed it up. Hell, I’m half convinced that I did, and this is all a dream. But when she told me…”

Question Mark was already nodding. “All of your training went haywire? Started imagining the worst?”

Pope cocked his eyebrow grimly. “Basically.”

The therapist nodded understandingly. “I get that. Same thing happened to me when my wife got pregnant with our third. Despite the other two being great kids, something about my last tour made me think that I’d screw the pooch with the new one. Checked myself into a hotel for a few days and drank myself silly until my brother-in-law showed up and told me that my kids were asking about me. That sobered me up pretty quick.”

Pope grinned grimly. “It was my buddy Catfish for me. Called me and reamed me out, and if Ironhead has told you anything about Fish, you know that he’s not the type at all. But it shook me enough to get my ass back to my house and beg for her forgiveness.”

“But you still sometimes think it’s all a dream?”

“I always thought guys like me don’t get the happy ending.” Pope sipped his coffee and shrugged. “But I’ll take it and run with it. She’s the best thing in my life. I’m not gonna let her down again.”

Question Mark smiled and dug into his pocket, pulling out first his wallet, then his card from his wallet. “Listen, Pope. I know how it can feel trying to talk to a room full of strangers. It sucks sometimes. If you ever want to chat, just one on one, give me a call. I’d be happy to help.”

Pope sucked in a deep breath and took the card. “Yeah, man. That would be great. Thank you.”

“No worries, man. Just, do me a favour?” Pope nodded. “Remember that you deserve this, okay?”

With a final clap on the shoulder, Question Mark moved away and began chatting with another member of the group.

Pope guzzled down the rest of his coffee and threw out the cup, heading home after a successful session.

***

Bex giggled to herself at the soft sounds of cursing and arguing emanating from the spare bedroom as she stirred the pitcher of lemonade.

Frankie, Benny and Will had come over to help Pope put together the furniture for the nursery and, based on the echoes she was hearing, it was not going particularly well. She had abandoned her rocking chair in favour of making the team refreshments after Benny had let loose a string of impressive swear words in two different languages. At approximately 30 weeks pregnant, laughing as hard as she did while listening to Ben swear himself blue in the face just made her have to pee, so she dismissed herself knowing that if she didn’t she would have to endure a lifetime of teasing.

“Just a sec!” she called out as the doorbell rang.

Slow and steady footsteps descended the stairs as a call of “I got it, babe!” echoed down the hall. Rebecca came around the corner with her tray of lemonade and potato chips as Pope handed over a few crisp twenty-dollar bills to the pizza delivery guy.

“Thanks man, you have a good day,” he smiled as he closed the door.

“Mmm, what’d you get?” she inhaled deeply. She’d gotten pretty lucky with the cravings so far, but she would not deny that pizza sounded pretty damn good.

“Got us a meat lovers, got you a pepperoni and pineapple since I know you’ve been on a sweet and salty kick lately.” Pope opened the smaller box to reveal the steaming, cheesy pizza and Bex felt her mouth begin to water.

“Have I told you today how much I love you?” she asked, placing her tray of snacks on top of the pizza boxes Pope was holding out to her.

He smirked at her, his eyes drifting up and down her body slowly. “You told me several times this morning, but I’ll never stop you from saying it again.”

Rebecca felt herself flush at the memory. Those second trimester hormones had hit her hard and seemed to be lasting a good long while, and Pope was certainly not complaining. His girl was stunning. She was always stunning to him, but that primal part of his brain told him that she was even more stunning when she had a belly full of his baby. Her bump was prominent, her tits were bigger and more sensitive, her skin was glowing, and that alpha male voice inside his brain crowed every time he woke up to her beautiful face and growing belly that it was all because of him. He had knocked her up and, thank God, she had decided that she loved him enough to want to raise a family with him. She was achy and uncomfortable, but she loved him and wanted his kid, and that meant more to him than he could ever say. Luckily, with the influx of hormones the past few months, he had been able to show her instead.

He watched as she slowly climbed the stairs, taking care to stay a few steps behind her just in case.

“How’s it going up here anyway?”

Pope groaned. “I don’t get it, baby. I can field strip any gun you put in my hands blindfolded. All of us can. How the fuck is this stuff beating us?”

Bex giggled softly as she entered the nursery and absorbed the scene in front of her. What she wouldn’t give for her phone right now so she could take a picture. Benny sat in the middle of the floor, looking like he was about to cry; crib pieces scattered around him. Will was leaning against the wall with a tired hand over his eyes, a half-assembled dresser beside him. Frankie was sitting in her abandoned rocking chair, cap pulled low over his eyes. He looked like he could be asleep, if only his leg wasn’t bouncing up and down anxiously.

“Soups on, fellas,” Pope announced, prompting the team to abandon their projects for paper plates piled high with pizza slices and tall glasses of lemonade.

Bex smiled fondly at her family as Pope, Benny and Will sat against the far wall underneath the bay window, the three men examining the assembly directions for the crib like they were preparing for a siege.

Frankie held out his hand to offer her the rocking chair but she shook her head. “If I sit in that thing any longer, I feel like I’m gonna turn into a grandmother instead of a mom.”

Frankie cracked a small smile. “Fair enough…” he scanned the room quickly before meeting her eyes again. “Do you want me to go grab a chair from the kitchen?”

Again, she shook her head. “The floor is good, Frankie.”

“You sure? I can—”

“As long as you promise to help me up when I inevitably need to pee, I’m positive,” she chuckled.

“You got it, kid,” Frankie held her hands to help her gently lower herself onto the hardwood floor before throwing himself down beside her. “How ya feeling?”

Bex shrugged as she bit into her deliciously sweet and salty slice of pizza. “You know, I’m actually alright. I know I’ve gotten pretty lucky, but I thought this whole pregnancy thing would be a lot tougher.”

Frankie nodded kindly as he chewed on his own slice. “I remember how Charlie was when she was pregnant with Mateo,” he reminisced. “Couldn’t sleep more than ten minutes at a time, constantly had to pee, had to wear these ugly compression socks. She handled it like a champ for the first 30 or so weeks, but by the time he was finally ready to make his entrance, we were both ready for her not to be pregnant anymore.”

“Yeah, she mentioned that,” she murmured. When Frankie had raced over to calm her down after Pope had left, one of the first things he said was that he and Charlie would be there for them, no matter what. And they had been. Charlie in particular had been Bex’s lifeline. She had been so kind and understanding, helping Bex get set up with an OB/GYN, lending her pregnancy and parenting books, and just letting her bitch and cry whenever she needed a female shoulder to cry on. “She said she got to a point where she would’ve given anything to just get Mateo out.”

Frankie nodded. “Oh yeah,” he sighed. “The week before he was born, she was not sleeping. Her emotions were all over the place, she wasn’t hungry, she couldn’t sit still, and she would get angry at me for the littlest things. It got to the point where I didn’t recognize her anymore, you know? Like, where did the woman I love go?”

Bex reached over and rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. “That must’ve been tough.”

Frankie shrugged. “Like I said, she handled it like a champ. And I sure as shit wasn’t about to complain when she was in labor for the better part of three days.”

Bex whistled lowly. “Three days…Jesus…”

“I’m sure it won’t be that way for you,” he backtracked quickly, playing with the back of his cap as he ducked his head. “I dunno the statistics or anything but…”

“Hey, hey, Frankie, chill. It’s okay.” She pulled his hand away from his hat and ran her hand up and down his arm. “You feeling okay, Frankie? You seem…on edge.”

Frankie looked across the room at his brothers, deeply entrenched in the assembly directions, before sighing. “She’s pregnant again,” he whispered.

A bright smile crossed her face. “What? Oh my god, congratulations!” She reached out and wrapped her arms as best she could around his shoulders.

“Thanks…” he sighed.

“Do you…did you not want another baby?” she asked, confused at his dismal attitude. Frankie had been the one to talk Pope off the cliff, telling him how great fatherhood could be. And it was clear through his interactions with Mateo that he was an amazing father. He was one of those dads who flourished under the responsibilities of parenthood, who saw taking care of their child as a joy and a privilege, not as a job or as babysitting. If there was one thing Rebecca knew for sure, it was that Francisco Morales was a family man through and through, so she was a little surprised at the dread in her friend’s eyes. She had expected Frankie to be more…enthusiastic about having a second baby.

“Of course, I do, Bex, I just…” Frankie groaned, doffing his cap for a moment to run a stressed hand through his hair before redonning it. “I’m making jack shit right now at work, and Mateo is almost three, and the pregnancy was so rough on Charlie last time…I just…I can’t let my family down.”

Charlie shuffled herself closer and wrapped her arm around Frankie, leaning her cheek on his shoulder. “You won’t…” she murmured softly. “Yeah, this kid was unexpected but you and I both know your wife. She wouldn’t be having a second kid if she didn’t want one. Plus, you both know what to expect now. Hopefully she’ll have an easier time this go around, but you also know the signs and what kinds of questions to ask. And yeah, Mateo is young, but that’s okay. You guys can start teaching him responsibility early and, if they both end up being too much, call Benny to take Mateo.” Frankie cocked his eyebrow and Bex laughed. “Well, I was gonna say call Santi, but we’re gonna be a little busy ourselves. Benny’s energy can match a three-year-old easily though.” Frankie chuckled and wrapped his arm around his best friend’s girl. “As for money,” Bex shrugged. “I know Santi could use some help managing the security firm. He wanted you to partner with him anyway, and he’s still holding out hope that you’ll join him, so why not?”

Frankie nodded slowly. “I could help him out a couple of days a week and still teach flying lessons. Yeah, that could work. I’ll talk with him and see what he says.”

Bex chuckled as she shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not gonna be much of a conversation, Frankie, trust me. He’s been hoping you’ll take him up on his offer. Don’t tell him I told you, but he’s missed working with you.”

Frankie smiled softly as he watched Pope grab Benny in a headlock while Will shook his head slowly. “Yeah, I missed him too.”

Bex shifted again and Frankie stood, gently helping her stand, recognizing the signs immediately. The two watched the MMA fighter and the security firm director wrestle on the floor for a minute before Will was able to separate them.

Bex turned to Frankie and smiled. “If you really missed him, can you do me a favour?”

“Anything for you, kid,” he smiled back at her.

“Stop fucking around and help them build the damn furniture please. I know you put together all of Mateo’s furniture on your own, so please, put them out of their misery.”

Frankie’s loud bark of laughter startled everyone. He wrapped his arm around Bex and gave her a quick squeeze. “Sure thing, kid. Hey, idiotas! Let’s get moving. We want this stuff ready before the baby’s first birthday, okay?”

***

Pope sighed contentedly as the golden rays of the setting sun illuminated the dust particles dancing in the air. These moments were quickly turning into his favourite nightly ritual.

The radio droned lowly as he sat in bed, dressed in a pair of shorts, with Bex sitting reclined against his chest. He had just finished applying coco butter to her skin, and now his hands were resting gently on her belly, waiting for their kid to make their presence known.

Bex took a deep breath, allowing the air to escape through her lips as she cuddled further down into bed, resting her head just above her boyfriend’s heart. She loved these moments too, when it was just the two of them. No museum breathing down her neck, no art classes to teach, no security emergencies calling him away from her. Just the two of them, bonding with the baby that was nestled safely within her.

Sometimes, Santiago would talk to the baby when they sat like this. He’d tell stories about his childhood, about their relationship, about the kid’s future aunts and uncles. Sometimes, he would play classical music on his phone and direct the speaker towards her belly. Sometimes, he would talk to her, sharing his thoughts and fears, tell her about the things that he wanted to do with their kid when they were old enough. Most of the time, he would just hold her in silence and wait for the kid to kick or roll inside of her so he could feel it.

“The nursery looks really nice, babe,” she mumbled drowsily, wincing slightly as her skin bulged out against Pope’s palm, the outline of a tiny foot appearing for a brief second.

“That’s all you, sweetheart,” he replied, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple as he soothed his hands up and down her swollen stomach. “The Hundred Acre Woods theme is stunning.”

Originally, Rebecca had wanted a jungle theme for the nursery, but Pope had borderline begged her to do something else, literally anything else, that wouldn’t remind him of crouching in the Colombian jungles next to Tom the day before everything went to shit. So, he hadn’t complained when she announced that she was going to Disney-fy the kid’s room with a mural of the Hundred Acre Woods and all of Christopher Robin’s friends.

“I made it pretty, you made it functional,” she yawned, shifting slightly to lie on her side, her left arm wrapping around his side as she nuzzled into his chest.

Pope snorted. “Yeah, once you convinced Frankie to stop being a prick.”

Under Frankie’s direction, all of the furniture was put together in less than an hour. The solid oak crib, dresser/changing table, shelving unit and rocking chair pulled the room together nicely, and the white bassinet sat in the corner of their bedroom, waiting to be put to use.

Rebecca smiled sleepily. “Not my fault you three didn’t notice that the one dad in the group was sitting around twiddling his thumbs.”

Pope grinned down at her. “We make a pretty good team, huh baby?”

She lifted her droopy eyes to him for a moment and smiled brightly at him. “Forever and always, my love.” She ran a gentle hand over her belly and sighed happily. “You’re stuck with me now.”

It suddenly struck Santiago how badly he wanted that to be true. What wouldn’t he give to wake up next to this beautiful woman every day? To be allowed to love her and spend as much time in her presence as possible? To raise their child together and be a family? To grow old with her by his side?

He ghosted his hand down her side and gently picked up her left hand, running his thumb over the knuckle of her ring finger as she drifted off to sleep.

“Not yet I’m not, mi amor,” he whispered. “But I want to be. If you’ll have me.”

He gently shifted them down the mattress, curling up behind her and resting his hands lovingly on her belly as he settled in to sleep, taking comfort in the knowledge that everyone he loved was safe in his arms that night.

Tags list (open): @darksideofclarke, @writefightandflightclub, @eternallyvenus, @rae-rae-patcha

#santiago pope garcia x oc #santiago pope garcia #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #fanfiction #oscar issac #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal #dad!pope

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silverlightqueen · 4 years ago

Text

Writing’s On The Wall

silverlightqueen’s SKZ Scarefest

ghost!Jeongin x human!reader - comedy, angst, Jeongin will stop at nothing to make sure no one moves into his house and y/n is tired of it

Word Count: 2.8k+

Summary - y/n’s job as a real estate agent has always been easy. Selling houses in District 9 has never been particularly difficult - people line up to live in the famed ‘Spooky City’ - and y/n just has the gift of the gab, meaning she’s got the highest number of sales in the company. But one house, she just can’t seem to shift. It could be the tiny box room on the third floor, or the slightly beaten down garden fence, or the ghost that scares away every family that comes to view the house. Yeah, it’s probably the ghost.

Warnings: death, ghosts, stuff that looks like blood but isn’t, I think that’s it but please let me know if I missed something!

a/n: and here is the eighth instalment of my SKZ Scarefest! I really hope you guys enjoy this, and thank you @silverlightprincess for proofreading, you’re the best! please be sure to check out the previous parts and keep an eye out for the last part tomorrow! x

taglist: @kodzu-ken @cloudsgathering @silverlightprincess

silverlightqueen navigation

My heart gets heavier and heavier as I near 325 Sunshine Street, my mood souring when I turn onto the road. Don’t get me wrong – it’s a beautiful neighbourhood. If someone’s on their front garden as you drive past, they’ll wave and smile, and everyone is so generous, kind and friendly. The houses are all big and pretty, and I can see myself living somewhere like this one day, when I’ve got a family of my own. But now, whilst I’m a struggling real estate agent, this road is my personal hell.

Maybe calling myself ‘struggling’ is an exaggeration. I mean, I’m fresh out of school and my sales are already blowing my colleagues’ sales out of the water. It probably helps that my parents own the company, so they tend to give me the best houses to sell, but that’s beside the point. The point is that I am far from struggling. But this house, 325 Sunshine Street, is the bane of my existence. I’ve been trying to sell this house for months, and every time someone shows interest, it just gets ruined.

I pull up in the driveway, having a moment to collecting myself before I push open the car door, stepping out and smoothing down my pink skirt. I reach in and grab my handbag from the passenger seat before shutting the door behind me. I look up at the house, taking a deep breath, before heading up to the front door. I push the key into the lock, turning it and opening the door, wiping my court shoes on the mat as I shut the door behind me.

I hear a sudden commotion from upstairs, sighing as I head into the kitchen, and I decide to busy myself with the coffee machine whilst I wait for him to grace me with his presence. It doesn’t take him long to materialise, and I don’t even bother looking up when he walks in, just raising a hand in greeting. ‘Morning, y/n,’ he says sweetly, and I can hear the grin in his voice, just humming in response.

It started with little things. Taps suddenly running in rooms we weren’t in, or the back door creaking whilst we were upstairs. These things weren’t enough to put the customers off – leaky taps can be fixed, and so can dodgy doors. So then, when customers would come for their second viewings, things became a little worse. Flickering lights and glasses smashing. Most people would decide against the house at the point, but the slightly braver ones would be subjected to even worse. Doors slamming in their face, or things levitating and then flying at them. They’d leave the house running and screaming.

At first, I’d been a little unnerved, wondering if the house was possessed or something, but eventually, I just got annoyed. This house was taking up too much of my time, and totally ruining my sales stats. So I made a decision that I’d fix this problem, no matter what.

The next time I went was not for a showing, or an open house. I went by myself, and I sat in the living room, and waited. For hours and hours. So long that I fell asleep. When I woke, it was late evening, pitch black outside, but the lamp had been turned on, and there was a blanket on me. I came back the next day, and did the same, and there was a blanket on me again when I woke, the lamp on and a lukewarm hot chocolate on the coffee table before me. I drank the hot chocolate before making another one and leaving it out on the counter. When I came back the next day, the two mugs had been washed and put away in the cupboard.

There was someone living in this house, but I had a feeling they weren’t actually… living.

For weeks, we did the same thing nearly every day. I’d fall asleep after waiting for so long, and I’d wake up to a warm and bright house with the radiators blasting out heat and the lights turned on, a blanket on me, and a hot chocolate ready and waiting. Sometimes, I’d arrive to a book on the sofa beside where I sat, there for me to read, or I’d wake to my phone on charge because it had died. A few times, when I didn’t bring any food, there’d be a pizza or a burger and chips from the takeout place down the road waiting for me, and I’d always leave half. When I’d come back the next day, it’d be finished with the packaging thrown in the bin.

Around two month ago, I woke up to a boy with bubblegum pink hair sat on the sofa opposite me. His face was young and innocent, but a little sharp around the edges. I blinked in surprise a couple times before asking, ‘What’s your name?’ He was silent for a moment before replying in a small voice, ‘I.N.. And you’re y/n y/l/n, from y/l/n Estate Agents.’ ‘I.N., why haven’t you said hello to me yet?’ I asked, and he hesitated. ‘I thought you might be angry with me,’ he said quietly, looking down at his hands, and I felt my heart go out to him a little. ‘I’m not angry. A little frustrated, and curious, but not angry.’ ‘Curious?’ ‘Why don’t you want anyone to move in?’ I asked, and he didn’t reply for a few moments. ‘Because… I want to live here. Not with anyone else,’ he whispered, and I raised an eyebrow.

‘You’re a ghost. You can literally go anywhere you want, in the whole world, and you want to stay at 325 Sunshine Street?’ I asked, and he nodded. ‘There’s nowhere else I want to be, other than here,’ he replied, not meeting my eyes, and I sighed. ‘The thing is… the previous owner needs me to sell the house. They need the money,’ I said, and he looked up at me in confusion before realisation passed across his face, and I wondered what he was thinking. ‘Well… can’t I just buy it?’ ‘Do you have money?’ I asked, and he shook his head miserably. ‘So… no, unfortunately, I.N., you can’t buy it. I have to sell it.’

‘But you can’t sell it if no one will buy it.’ ‘No one will buy it because you’re scaring them off. So you need to stop,’ I said softly, and he looked up at me with pity in his eyes. ‘I won’t stop. I’m not letting anyone move in,’ he said gently, as though breaking bad news to me, and I raised an eyebrow at him. ‘So, if I can’t sell the house by a certain time, someone else will be given the house to sell, and they won’t be as kind as me when they find out a ghost is living here. They’ll call the Busters to get rid of you,’ I said, his eyes widening. ‘But… but I can’t leave. I have nowhere to go,’ he said, beginning to panic, and I took a deep breath. ‘I.N., the world is your oyster. You have so many different places to go.’ ‘No, you don’t understand. I have to stay here. Please, y/n,’ he begged, and I was taken aback. ‘But, I.N., there’s nothing I can do. I have to sell the house.’

It’s been two months since then, and the house is still not sold. As you probably guessed. I even offered for him to move in with me, I was that desperate, but he would not leave that house, not for anything. And over time, he only got worse and worse. I’d arrive with potential buyers to find dead animals dotted around the house, terrible rotting smells hanging thick on the air, bees’ nests planted in the kitchen cupboards. And yet, when it was just he and I, and he’d materialise from thin air beside me, I never had the heart to shout at him. He’s looks my own age, and I just found him so tragic. A young boy who died and is now doomed to roam the Earth until he figures out what his unfinished business is, and is too scared to venture out into the world, so he sticks to 325 Sunshine Street. And so instead, I’d order takeout and we’d sit on the floor of the living room with blankets and watch a kids’ film together.

I’ve been getting a lot of shit from my parents – they just don’t understand why I can’t sell the house. It’s in the perfect location, and it’s the perfect house. But I can’t bring myself to tell them that even though people want to live in the Spooky City, they don’t want ghosts living in their houses. They’d probably get Busters into the house without another word, and I can’t let that happen to I.N., or whatever his real name is. He’s too… young, too sweet.

‘How many people are viewing today?’ he asks, jumping up onto the countertop as I hand him a cup of coffee. ‘Just one family. What have you got planned today?’ I ask tiredly, before taking a sip of my coffee, and he looks a little uncomfortable. ‘I… I’m not g-’ ‘gonna tell me, okay,’ I say, sliding into one of the seats at the dining table, and he’s just silent. ‘y/n-’ ‘Don’t, I.N., not today. I’m too tired. They’re gonna be here in about ten minutes, and I want to save my energy,’ I murmur, and he just nods, the air tense as we drink our coffee. I really like him, maybe a little too much, but my patience is starting to wear thin with this damn house.

We sit in a slightly uncomfortable silence, but I don’t mind, sipping on my coffee and collecting what’s left of my sanity for these potential customers today. When we hear the knock on the door, we both look at each other, I.N. grinning at me, and I can’t hold back the small smile on my face, rolling my eyes as he fades into thin air. I head to the front door, taking a deep breath and smiling widely as I open it, greeting the family warmly.

I let them in, and the kids are practically bouncing off the walls in excitement as I show them around the bottom floor, giving them the speech I’ve said enough times to be able to recite in my sleep. Everything’s going well, no dead animals or bad smells, and I can feel myself getting more and more nervous with each room I show them around, wondering what he’s got planned, but there’s nothing. We do the entire second floor, and not one thing goes wrong. I wonder if he’s decided to give up with scaring people off, hoping that, finally, this goddamn house will be off my hands. The family all seem to love the house, and I start to get a really good feeling about this.

And then we head up to the third floor, and as we reach the top of the stairs, my heart drops. There are little red drops on the floor, leading around to the bedroom, and I can hear the family whispering behind me as I continue on with my speech, trying to pretend that nothing’s happened. But when we step into the bedroom, I can’t really pretend anymore.

The words ‘GET OUT’ are written on the wall, massive bright red letters from floor to ceiling, the thick liquid dripping down in sinister lines. The family behind me are gasping, the kids screaming, but my reaction is pure rage, my fists balling up as I try to contain myself. ‘Is that blood?’ one of the kids asks, running into the room, and then I spot a bucket hanging on the light fixture. I feel time stop when the bucket tips a little, the kid stood just beneath it, and I act quicker than I ever have before, though it feels like I’m moving in slow motion. I grab the little kid, moving them out of the way and I feel the bucket land on my head only a moment later, liquid splashing all over my body.

I pull the bucket off my head as I take deep, ragged breaths, trying desperately to keep hold of myself as the family stare at me in shock and fear. They don’t even ask if I’m okay before they grab the kid and run, their footsteps thundering down the stairs. I’m silent until I hear the front door slam behind them, and then I scream, ‘I.N.!’

He materialises in front of me, panic all over his face, and I look down at myself, my pretty pink skirt and blazer set, my white blouse, my entire body covered in the thick red bloodlike liquid that’s on the wall. ‘Is this blood?’ I ask calmly, closing my eyes to try and keep myself together. ‘No, no, it’s this recipe I found on mumsnet, with corn syrup and food colouring and stuff. It wasn’t supposed to go on you, though, y/n, I’m s-’ ‘Don’t tell me you’re sorry, because you’re not. If you were sorry about all this, you wouldn’t have done it,’ I whisper, the boy looking at me with frantic guilt in his eyes. ‘y/n-’ ‘Don’t. I’m leaving. Someone else can try sell the house. I’m done,’ I say softly, stepping around him to leave. He grabs my hand and I wrench it away, not looking back at him once.

I hear him following me, but he doesn’t say a thing, not whilst I put our coffee cups in the sink and fill them with water to soak, not whilst I tidy my things away into my bag, not whilst I head towards the door. And then he whispers something, so softly I can’t hear, and I hesitate with my hand halfway to the door handle. ‘What was that?’ ‘I said… I’m Yang Jeongin,’ he breathes out, eyes full of tears, and the words hit me like a ton of bricks.

Everyone knows the Yangs. They were a lovely family who lived in Spooky City, just a couple streets over from where I grew up, and even if you didn’t know the Yangs personally, you knew of them, and how kind and generous they were. Their son went to my school – he was a couple years older than me, and he had this friendship group, 8 of them I think. They were the popular boys – you wanted them, or wanted to be them. I didn’t really know any of them except for the most popular one, Felix, who was known for his deeper than deep voice. I couldn’t tell the others apart, or even pick them out in a crowd, so I didn’t really know Yang Jeongin.

Everyone knew that that friendship group had bought a house together, the worst one on Sunshine Street, and had planned to move in together just after school. They spent months fixing it up, making it fit to live in, and they finished just before end-of-year exams. After exams, the Yang family went on holiday, and died in a tragic plane crash. It broke the boys to lose their friend, and they ended up not moving into the house. I never heard about what happened to the house but now, I finally connect the dots and realise I’m stood in it, with Yang Jeongin himself.

‘I can’t let go of my house, our house, that we spent so long on, that we put our hearts into. This was gonna be our home. I can’t let it be anything other than our home. I’m sorry, y/n, but I can’t. I’ve had to let go of my family, but I can’t let go of my brothers. They still come here sometimes – they just drive past and stop for a second – and I don’t ever want them to come here and see another family living in our house, our home. I know they’re trying to sell it, they think that’s what they want, but they don’t. They really don’t. They can’t let go of our home,’ he breaks down, tears running down his face, and I feel my heart breaking. ‘I.N.. Jeongin. I… I’m sorry,’ I whisper, lifting my arms, and he falls into them, and I just hold him, his choked sobs the only noise in the quiet house.

And then I wait until he’s calmed down a little before I take my arms from around him, holding his hands in mine and stifling a laugh when I see that he’s now covered in the fake blood too. ‘We won’t let go. We’re not letting of this house. I promise you,’ I say to him seriously, eyes locked with his soft brown ones, ‘I’ll keep hold of your home if it’s the last thing that I do.’

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hvlfwygod · 4 years ago

Text

know your strength, part 2 | patrick & ben

tw: idk it’s a little intense

June 20

When he opened the door, his father was on the other side.

Very creative, he thought, or said. So the dream skipped a few minutes and got right to the point. Despite himself, his heart started beating faster, faster, and he closed his eyes, but this was a nightmare so he saw it all happening anyway.

I’m not going to give you the satisfaction, he said, or thought, just as the door slammed in his face again and the dark started to suffocate him. Whatever you want, I’m not doing it.

I’m just happy to know you’re stuck here. The voice sounded muffled, far away, and then footsteps retreated, leaving him there.

His heart was still racing when he woke up.

—

A small canvas, coated in blacks, grays, browns. Dark reds. Jagged bursts of white.

His stomach curled, threatening to eat itself.

His head hurt, hurt, hurt.

The figure in the doorway stood like a menace, face blurred because his fingers would not stop trembling.

Patrick hadn’t slept so much in months, and the inspiration was spilling out of him. He woke up in the middle of the night and finally knew how to finish the painting. His throat burned, he wanted to be high and far away, anchored only by his frenetic brushstrokes. This scene was not his mind, but it was shaped like his nonetheless. All quaking lines and consuming shadows. It was hungry and aching, just like him.

His leg bounced, shaking his easel.

He felt like shit.

But he was nearly done. Withdrawal was a bitch and lasting long, long, but he’d be out of the woods soon. Soon. Focusing on creating let him shut out the rest.

June 21

Constant nightmares were not new to him. He could handle them, especially since he knew why they were happening. There was no monster waiting for him when he closed his eyes.

Still.

He knew how to function on little to no sleep. And he’d started napping, snatching a few hours of peaceful, quiet rest.

Still.

He was sure that the point was to break him. Make him tell someone, or beg for it to stop, or grovel and apologize. He wouldn’t. He could endure more than most.

Still. Still. Still.

Ben kept waiting for his mother to come, but she must have had better things to do.

June 22

When the painting was done, he set it to dry, then scoured his kitchen. Left his roommate a sloppy apology note. Ate until the hunger pangs stopped.

His head was clearer now, and he thought about his knife.

Patrick would never tire of his nightmares. He reveled in them, came alive when he had them. He’d never stop relying on them first, always.

Still, a push might be nice.

Hence the painting. And the knife. (An impulsive purchase, back when he could make those.)

He hadn’t really had a plan when he started this. All he wanted to do at first was attack, to indulge his powers. But now that days had circled by and Patrick had circled deeper into a hellish sobriety, he wanted more. He wanted to see Ben’s face.

Patrick found it on his shelves. He watched the blade spill into shape, roll back, spill again. Roll back, again. Spill.

He really felt like shit.

Patrick hadn’t slept so much in months, but he slept anyway, because the other option was to think and think and think and think about little pills, little tabs, little piles of powder.

—

Ben didn’t try unpinning himself from under the beast— he knew in this version of events no one came to save him. But he did look it in the face. How much longer until you get bored?

Never, it answered, showing off its teeth. Are you? I can make things worse. I love a challenge.

Ben felt the ground move. A hand emerged from underneath him and rested on his forehead. It pulled him down, down. He didn’t flinch, even as his chest tightened up. Whatever you do, it won’t work.

The monster made a low, growling noise, but it sounded amused. It will work on someone else, I’m sure. You have a roommate? I noticed on my walk in.

Ben did not answer, which felt like a defeat. Another hand snaked around his arm, his leg, hugged his torso from below. Because this was a nightmare he knew he was going somewhere worse. The beast hummed again, the noise huge and deep.

I won’t, I won’t. As long as you meet me tomorrow. I have a gift for you.

June 23

For how excited he was, it was hard to get out of bed. His head felt as though it was trying to detach itself from his body.

Patrick felt almost delirious from the pain exploding out of his skull. Had withdrawal been this bad last time?

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. He found something that resembled a painkiller, drank water straight from the faucet. He felt like complete shit, but it didn’t matter. He had somewhere to be.

—

Every morning since this started, he woke up angry. Today was no different.

Ben considered the candle, still in the same place on his dresser. Unlit, and no offering beside it.

He was in no mood to cook.

There were no instructions on where to meet, so he just went to the same place as before. He bought another coffee, sat at a bench, and waited.

Something approached him that was tall and gaunt and resembling a human that hadn’t slept in days. Ben confirmed after a few frantic blinks that it wasn’t a ghost. His shoulders relaxed.

He had about three seconds of relief before his shoulders tensed up again. Ben had no time to get up, so he pressed himself back into the bench. “Are you fucking crazy?”

There was a knife in Patrick’s hand. It was oddly shaped, and the blade was black and slick like an oil spill. Ben’s eyes didn’t move from the sharpened point, because he wasn’t sure where it would go once he looked away.

“Oh, relax,” Patrick scoffed. Ben watched the knife get lifted, and the blade slide into its hilt, defying all that he knew about knives and the laws of physics. “Of course you assume I’m going there. Fucking scumbag.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Ben asked. Cautiously, he glanced up to Patrick’s face. The man looked very, very sick, and equal parts smug.

Instead of answering, Patrick presented the object in his other hand. Ben had been so focused on the weapon he hadn’t even noticed the painting until it was in his lap.

His father glowered back at him. He stood in the doorway to Ben’s old room, body slightly turned. Clothing rumpled. One arm hung down, hand curled around a bottle. The other was gently bent at the elbow. He was pointing, just firmly enough to be menacing. Clothes scattered the room, his bed just peeked into view, mostly eaten by shadow. His father was mid-sentence. His face drooped into its scowl, as if his muscles has learned to settle into that expression.

The lines were shaky, but it was so perfectly him.

Ben poured his coffee all over it.

Patrick was laughing, but Ben heard it at a slight delay. He could barely see anything besides his father’s painted face, warping.

Aw, you don’t like it? Ben realized Patrick was talking. “But I worked so hard! I guess I’ll try to do better next time. Don’t worry, Prius, there’s plenty more where that came from.”

Ben was so mad he couldn’t speak. His heartbeat shook his entire frame. His teeth practically chattered as he tried and failed and tried and failed to respond.

“How d—”

“How dare I?” Patrick interrupted. Suddenly, he was in Ben’s face, and Ben jerked away. Another laugh, but he couldn’t hear it at all.

Sometimes anger was like a living thing.

—

Something was wrong. The headache hadn’t subsided. In fact, it’d only gotten worse since leaving his house.

Ben was unresponsive. Patrick’s skull was spitting open. Something was wrong. The wrongness needled at him. He was almost nauseous, but stubbornly he refused to stop smiling.

“Prius? Oh, poor guy, did I upset you? Good.” He sneered as he grabbed Ben’s face, forced him to look up from the ruined painting, now on the ground. The man flinched, but not out of fear. He couldn’t describe it, but the distinction was obvious. Ben was returning to this reality, and he was pissed.

Plus, his eyes were all wrong.

“You’ve had it too good for a killer, Ben,” Patrick sneered. His knife was close; maybe unneeded, considering the response the painting had caused. But he’d come this far, and the guy deserved it. So he held it up, pressed it to Ben’s cheek, pulled it down.

It didn’t draw blood, not really. It was more interesting than that. His knife was an extension of his powers, and it harmed accordingly. Something inky and unkind sank into Ben’s skin. In the same instant, his screamed. He curled over, hands flying to the mark. Patrick backed away, watching with a bright, hungry interest. For as much as he loved his nightmares, there was a sick satisfaction with seeing the fear in person.

Ben had said he was immune. Patrick had called bullshit, and he was right. He reveled in that.

Then, his head exploded.

—

Ben hoped that Patrick felt every second of his nightmares. Every single, terrible second of this. This unrelenting terror, this mind-bending fear, fear, fear. This free fall into the worst of his memories. He hoped Patrick felt it all, tenfold.

No, twenty fold.

Feel it. Physically, terribly feel it.

His mind scrambled to steady itself. He came to just as Patrick was passing out.

And then, he left again, this time with his mother. Ben could barely tell up from down; all he knew is that she was just as angry.

—

For a split second, Patrick thought he died.

He pushed himself upright. Instead of Ben, Morpheus sat across from him. They weren’t in New Athens anymore. If he had to guess, Patrick would say his dad brought him inside a cloud.

“How do you feel?”

Patrick scowled. “Good to see you, too.”

Morpheus sighed. “Kiddo, what’s going on?”

“Don’t call me kiddo,” Patrick snapped at him. “Nice of you to show up after I figure out my powers. Really convenient.”

“Did you want me to leave you on the sidewalk?” Morpheus looked genuinely confused. Patrick just scoffed. The god sighed again. “I am glad your dreams are back, son.”

“Don’t mock me. You gonna take them away again?”

Another look of confusion. Morpheus tilted his head. “I didn’t take them away.”

Patrick frowned at him. “Then why—”

“Patrick, come on. You just needed to sober up.”

All this time. Patrick stared at Morpheus. “Bullshit.”

“I don’t deal in bullshit.”

“Ugh.” Patrick rolled his eyes. “No one says that.”

Morpheus shrugged. “I’m a god, I don’t need to keep up.”

“Whatever.” Something about this conversation was deeply humiliating. Patrick turned away. “Thanks for the help, I guess.”

“You didn’t answer me. How do you feel?”

He paused, thought about it seriously. “My head feels better. I feel, okay.”

“Good.” Another stretch of quiet. “I love how you use your powers. But be responsible, please.” When Patrick didn’t respond, there was another, longer sigh.

He reemerged in his bed. At his side was a few bills and a bottle of water. A little note that read: say no to drugs -M

—

“What are you thinking?”

Nemesis was raging. Ben stood in a parking lot in Canada, shaking.

“This is what you use your power for, Ben? A petty fight?”

Ben sucked in a breath. “I didn’t—”

“You cursed him days ago—”

“I didn’t know.”

“That is no excuse! You cursed him then, and then again just now! You could have killed him!”

“I don’t know what to do.” Ben was crying, all at once. Everything crashed on top of him, all at once. “Sorry, can you give me a minute?”

She gave him six, since that was how long he needed before he could speak again.

Slowly, he wiped his face with his palms. “How do I control it? Why didn’t you come earlier?”

“You need to figure this out. Your power is triggered by anger. You cannot let it consume you like this.”

“I don’t want it to,” he argued, but weakly. His eyes burned. “That was what he did, I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be like that.”

“Don’t think about him. This is about you, Ben.”

“Mom, what do I do?” He looked up at her. “People hate me, they’re out to get me, and I can’t even blame them, but I still did this. I want to stand up for myself without—” He shook his head. “I can’t keep doing this. Please help me not do this.” He was shivering, cold to his bones.

Nemesis was quiet. Then she placed a hand on Ben’s head. “I will try to guide you, Ben. But this is still your responsibility.”

It was a kinder response than he expected. Ben felt like crying again. He closed his eyes. For the first time that week, he felt as tired as he should be. When he opened his eyes again, he was back in town. The sun was bright, the painting gone. Patrick, too, was nowhere to be seen.

He took a deep breath.

Ben put his head in his hands for a while, then he stood. He needed to go home. He needed to lay in bed for the rest of his life, but just the rest of the day would have to do.

#sp: ben #sp: patrick #know your strength #ben #patrick

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speedygal · 4 years ago

Text

Cope

A/N this deals with the aftermath of January 6th, 2021. If you do not want to read anything regarding those events, please skip this post.

--------------------------------------------------------

“Mr Harker, you said that your friend would be here, yes?”

“I did.” Jonathan replied.

“Where is he?”

Jonathan weighed his reply, the count had been silent, too silent, apart from unexpected weeping in the basement.

“Hmm, he isn’t in a very good mood right now.” Jonathan replied. “Perhaps in the morning.”

“I look forward to meeting him.”

“So do I.” Jonathan said with a nod.

Jonathan closed the door to the bedroom their guest was in with a smile then turned away. His current guest was the person that he decided would make a great meal after having escaped the hands of justice with a very talented lawyer that got under his skin.

It was more than satisfying knowing day by day the criminal was going to die and not be able to do a thing about it because his house was current unable to house him. Jonathan turned away from the door reflecting over the demise that he had planned out for the one who almost got away when he arrived to the diner room and spotted a familiar figure seated in a chair in front of the fire place

There was a empty glass -- stained lightly by left over blood on the rims -- on the table alongside the chair. The count was facing the direction of the fire place thinking something over with his painting hanging from across him on the wall of better times and the mood in the room was different compared to how it had been for the last several weeks since the count’s strange behavior started. Jonathan looked at the count with great concern as the fire cackled then approached the chair.

"Count Dracula, you haven't been drinking for twenty-two days."

Jonathan had a hand on the arm rest of the chair that Dracula was seated in.

"I am happy to see that you have stopped wailing in the basement at ungodly hours. . . but this silence is bothering me."

The count made his reply.

"Jonathan, please be seated over there."

Dracula's voice was hoarse, his once black hair was white even with a mess of long curls that were thick resting on his shoulders not even set up in the same hairdress that Dracula had welcomed him into his life century ago, and looked as though he were in a period of mourning dressed from black from top to bottom with little display of colorful clothing that Jonathan had known the older vampire for.

"Twenty-two days ago there was a event in America. It was all over national television. Couldn't look away from it. That was the only thing on social media. The only thing."

Jonathan searched his memory.

"I have been busy on several court cases."

"Thankfully. You recall that I had been knocking on wood all day on the fifth."

"Yes."

"Well, the results came in right at the same time as that event occurred."

"What is this event?"

"I can't speak of it."

"It is bothering you."

"My dear Jonathan, the man we shall not speak of in this castle or outside of this castle for the remainder of our lives incited a insurrection against Democracy when his Vice President who enabled him for four long years said no to him."

"He said no?" Jonathan asked, surprised.

Dracula nodded.

"To overturning the election, as did his DOJ, his CIA, but the Republicans were willing to."

"You're joking."

"He told his army that he loved him, told them that they were very special people, and to go home."

Johnathan's jaw slightly fell.

"He did not send in the national guard."

If Jonathan could puke, he would have.

"His people in the pentagon refused the DC capitol police's requests for help."

Jonathan was silenced.

"One man saved democracy that night; Eugene Goodman, a black man, used the color of his skin to draw the mad mob seeking for blood away from the senate chamber into the waiting arms of his companions and the door was closed after they were drawn away."

Dracula sighed.

"The Republican Party did not ask for who shall not be named resignation, begin impeachment proceedings, ask for the 25th amendment to be invoked; instead, they asked for the white house staff to remain just for one night."

he held up a finger.

"One more night.” He lowered his finger, slowly. “And we all know what one more night leads to.” the count shook his head. “Just one more day and they're through just one more day and they're through just one more day and they're through--” he picked up the glass then smashed it to the ground with a loud clash. -”AND HE GETS AWAY WITH IT. ONE LAST TIME!"

Dracula got up to his feet then approached the window with a grip on his golden walking stick then paused in front of it as he were paused with rage.

"The Republican Party has been stabbed in the chest and died, grizzly, in the eyes of the very public with common sense."

The count lowered his head.

"It's a terrorist party. The values it once represented is no more." Dracula's features darkened, solemnly. "Instead, it accepts Trumpisim.”

Dracula paced back and forth, slowly, but elegantly.

”It has become emboldened by it after nothing was done and only four hundred some people are being investigated.” Dracula’s shoulders loosened with both of his hands guided on his stick. “You understand how this encourages domestic terrorists to come out of the shadows and show themselves."

Jonathan nodded in understanding.

"So I take it that your rocket didn't launch.” Jonathan noted, earning Dracula’s attention and the visible once prominent eyebrows raising. “You would be in a far better mood to be seen in the way for your continued existence having proved it can fly and land.”

A tiny smirk grew on Dracula’s face looking upon Jonathan but became tinged by fact.

"I think it is not launching any time this month.” Dracula’s voice fell even softer as his words came out softer and kinder losing the volume that he had spoken about the subject. “The FAA is a dinosaur and it were fighting with that very passionate space oriented man to get it to launch today.”

Jonathan combed the back of his head.

"I find it hard to believe that a vampire would be bothered by this."

"Mr Harker, America is that little dog that randomly appears in your life that you kick away and it keeps nipping at you until one day, it doesn't and it concerns you instead of delights you."

"It's always been there and always will be there." Jonathan said, cutting Dracula off.

Jonathan didn't want to hear what he thought what the count was going to say and if he said what Jonathan felt that he were going to say, it was going to be surreal having it not there for the first time in his century long existence.

"Two months ago, I would have agreed with you."

"I have faith in the American people in that." Dracula was quiet listening to the younger vampire. "They elected a woman and a man into the White House.”

Dracula nodded in agreement before replying.

"This time, it has been infested and goes over to a tree and slowly dies by the inside without any help."

Dracula's voice grew sadder.

"I thought it were set to die over the course of my lifetime while sailing the ocean of time for Elisabeta. Civilizations come and go, but this one wants to stay and get rid of the waste that tried to kill it. "

The comment brought certain relief for Jonathan regarding America.

"It appears history must repeat itself in the way that the Federalist Party had after proposing a New England Confederacy within the United States."

"After the Hartford convention, they were no more just as the Republican Party after the DC insurrection. Imagine, Jonathan, watching your party die before your eyes and having to leave it because it is a party of treason.”

“I can imagine." Jonathan said. "Mine didn’t die, it just evolved. I can try but I can't imagine it happening."

Dracula had a small nod in response,

"And the Republican Party is quickly heading toward the state of being dissolved and replaced by yet another party, The Patriot Party, The New Patriot party The Trump Conservative party, or . . . .” the count turned to face the younger vampire. “if we're lucky it could just be the Independents."

“And what about Georgia?” Jonathan asked.

Dracula sat back down into the chair then poured a glass for himself and sipped from it.

“Oh, we won that.” Dracula replied.

Jonathan raised his brows.

“We?” Jonathan asked. “What party are you part of?”

Dracula laughed then looked inside the bottle and frowned, disappointed, then shifted his attention toward Jonathan.

“I call myself one of the good guys as not posing a insurrection.”

“You would have it as a revolution,”

“With the American Vampires.”

“And gotten them all killed.”

Dracula had a short laugh, his cup held between two fingers by the lower handle, his blue eyes on him.

“We can debate about some other time.”

Jonathan nodded in agreement.

“Speaking of tomorrow, I brought over fast food.” Jonathan straightened up in his chair. “You look very thirsty.” Dracula gazed over toward Jonathan. “One day express, he’s a anti-vaxxer and doesn’t have anything on his schedule.”

“Sounds delicious, how thoughtful of you.”

“You will feel better.” Jonathan patted on Dracula’s forearm.

“Is my meal drunk?” Dracula asked.

Jonathan at first seemed surprised then it faded observing the curiosity on Dracula’s face.

“Very drunk."

Dracula smiled then with his free hand held his fingers beneath Jonathan’s chin.

“You just know how to please me, my dear companion.”

Dracula got up to his feet with a smile then went up the stairs with the walking stick as his support. Jonathan went over to the table then looked beneath it and slid out a additional bottle and grinned, “At least, he didn’t find this blood bottle.” then went over to the fire pit, took out his own glass, and poured some blood into the cup as the door to the soon to be victim opened.

Dracula was incredibly thirsty as he approached the bed then carefully closed the door behind him. He set his walking stick alongside the edge of the frame, bore his fangs, then carefully bit into the side of the victim’s neck and drank from him measuring how much blood were sucked out for his thirst. He withdrew from the victim and licked some blood off with some youth returning to his features and his hair regaining some color. Dracula departed, well again.

#Dracula #Jonathan Harker #Dracula X Jonathan

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