#if you can speak inside my skull with a dead man’s voice you can call me by my name | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

doublekanble · 10 months ago

Text

dead meat

Alastor/reader (gnc)

romantic-platonic

word count: 11.1k

Or, the progress of going down and deeper. (please treat this as if theyre a bunch of drafts coupled together (they are) this read so much funnier if you keep in mind the fact alastor have genuine feelings/genuinely cares for you but he’s just batshit insane) its 13min til 2am if theres an error no theres not tw: gorish talks and imagery littered thru specifically 1, 5 and 7. alastor chased you down in 7.

1. Because you listen.

When you finally came back — frayed at the seams, run-through you with a headache and a rock in hand. You looked down, the warm wetness oozing from him and seeping into your pants quickly turn cold. You couldn’t tell what you’re looking at for a minute, adrenaline still running through you and your head ache just a tad. When you finally see the pink bits and the leaking blood, your breath runs ragged and your thought run miles. You try to remember all the warning your mother gave you about getting involved with a man like Alastor, you don’t know how you’ll tell mom she never gave you any advice or warning about this.

“God… Oh my God what did I—What—“

Not a single book warned you about the way you physically feel ill touching a body growing cold. So with guts churning and the prickling on your skins, you scrambled to throw yourself off and backing away from the body on all four. Desperately, you called out to whatever is there and beg in your head to wake you up from this nightmare of a show. And when you hit something distinctly warm and alive from behind, you call out to it, thinking it’s your mother, coming to save you from this, to tell you that it’s alright and that everyone make mistakes and this is nothing more than a bad dream. You’ll wake up from this soon, in your childhood bed, in your childhood room, in your childhood house and you’ll be anywhere else and not here.

But when the warmth embraces you, and you feel a warmer breath by your right ear, pressing a soft smile and a bliss-filled chuckle into it, it hit you that your mother would’ve hated you if she sees this. If she sees him.

“Oh, mon Chéri, I knew you’d have it in you” You hate the way the voice swallowed and a take a breath, as if mesmerized by the sight, like you but so wholly unlike you, it whispered in your ear, “What a show. What a show.”

Your eyes is focused on him, but not on him, not a person. That couldn’t be a person at all. Saliva tasting bitter, the bile rising in your throat hurts as you desperately tries and tear your eyes away from it. But enraptured by the intricacies inside his head, you only do so much before finding yourself looking closer for something you couldn’t understand.

“Don’t worry,” setting his lips on your temple, he sigh into your skin, one hand held onto yours and gently rubbing the red from your fingers onto his, as if helping you clean up, “It’s your first time, everything will be so much better once you’re used to it.”

Your eyes flickered between the thing and whatever of yourself visible to you. It’s all red, so much red. Its head, his head was caved in, you can see the front of his skull, everything else is everywhere. How could this ever get any better if it’s going to be this red? Was it going to be this red every other time too? You can feel your fingers going numb from the grip you have on that rock, you can feel the dent from where it dug into your palm, you can feel clearly the traces of well-kept nails running down your left arm from where he tries to pull you away. And every bit of it is red. And suddenly your clothes and his grip and the night air and your skin felt just a bit too tight, too suffocating. Your brain pulses and compressed against your skull. It hurts to think, it hurts way much more to speak.

“I—I don’t want to – I can’t-“

“I thought I couldn’t too, until I did it again, and then again. And then I realized that this,” raising the hand he held onto so kindly, almost like guiding your eyes to the sight. While the pain in your stomach is almost unbearable, he couldn’t sound any more ecstatic. “This, is freedom. Our freedom”

You were sure that the freedom that you’ve been yearning for wasn’t supposed to be associate with a corpse. No type of freedom will ever be going to drive someone to cracked open a skull in the middle of the night. There’s nothing but pure malice that will drive someone to bring a rock onto another man’s head and refuses to stop even when his ears bleed and he stop fighting and started begging. Your mother hated Alastor, and she never break his skull open. You hated your mother, and you never break her skull open.

You want to open your mouth and tell him to shut up. You want to say your mother was right, you shouldn’t have gotten involved with him, no matter how inviting his offer is. You shouldn’t have run off night after night chasing the daylight with him. He is a scoundrel, he is disgusting, he’s the worst type of delusional criminal there is, the most pretentious man in all of Louisiana. But you can’t, because you just maimed a good man and refused to hear his pleas. With nothing left to you, you all but break down into his arms.

“There, there~” he coos into your hair as your wailing get swallowed up by the cold night air, “I’m right here, aren’t I?” if only he’s anywhere else but here with you, mouth spewing reassurances one after the other.

(It’s alright, he’ll take care of it today. It’s ok, he’ll teach you about some other day. From now on, you’re going with him, whether liking it or not.)

2. Because you wouldn’t

“Isn’t he one of those highbrows you like to rub shoulders with?” her tone accusing and upset, you almost choked on your tea when she slapped the papers down in front of your food and walk out the living room. Even though you have an idea about what she talk about – the news came out just in time for it to be covered on the radio first, you still pick it up and scanned your eyes along.

“So I’m supposed to remember every face I came by now?” you glowered to yourself, “How do you know who I’m ‘rubbing shoulders’ with anyway?”

Over the sounds of your heart beating wildly in your ears, over the humming in your head, you hear her mumbled something about “that boy” as she starts to vacuumed the carpet. It’s a ridiculous thought, but for a brief second, you were sure she’s going to ask you about your numb fingers.

‘SON OF FAMOUS MUSICIAN, REPORTED MISSING AFTER NIGHT OUT-’

It’s so odd to you, how much he worth, yet how little people care. Name printed in bold font atop news about the fast declined of the economy and crashing stock markets a full week after he disappeared. He never told you his full name, nor does anyone around him ever make mention of it despite their occasional jeering and jokes. You didn’t bother with it at the time, you two weren’t the most talkative person in the room, let alone together.

Then again, it does make sense. He told you before that he’s not proud of what he came from or what he became, under drowsy lights and forced to sit side-by-side like all the other night. You still can’t drink, he still can’t dance while being miserably drunk, and nobody else wants to babysit a miserable drunk. You don’t get why anyone needs you to look after him, despite being so out of his head, he seems perfectly well with handling himself.

Your lift the tea cup to your dry lips and take a sip, the tea tasted bitter.

A voice loudly called for you, irritation written clear in it. You swallowed the lump in your throat and all but jump to her spot in the small hall, unwilling to let the two talks for more than necessary. Your mother stand with a huff to her posture.

“It’s him again.”

You laugh dryly, “It’s always him, mom.” tugging the receiver from her hand, you bring it up to your ears. The moment you do, a chuckle rang out. You shivers.

“There’s the lad of the hour! Why, I almost thought your mother was trying to stringed me along before shutting the line off again!” the mother in question grunt and grumble about how annoyingly persistent he is, you agree. Last time she did so, the phone kept ringing until she relented. “In any case, I hoped you’re all up and ready today!”

“We have nothing planned today.” Your reply was immediate and flat, hoping he would leave you alone, but Alastor only laughs in an almost affectionate tone.

“And I’m here to changed that!” he exclaimed, you run a hand down your face and try to keep your calm.

“Alastor, John’s missing. This is not the time.” you whispered sharply into the receiver, hoping to whatever’s true he’ll shut his trap for once. You’re not interested in getting caught by the neighbours over the phone of all thing.

“John? Now that sounds familiar…” he pauses, you can almost see the way he turn a brow up and pretends like he’s lost in thought, it’s almost endearing, “Why, isn’t that the lad I named on the radio yesterday?! What a horrible case! Some people are saying he finally throw himself onto a train and-“

“Alastor!” at the sound of your own voice scrapping in your ears, you pauses. You relax your grip and lower your voice, doing your best not to pay attention to the figure peeking out from your kitchen, “Listen, I don’t have the time to play around. Get to the point.”

“Clearly, you’ve the time for nothing, you and your mother…” sighing heavily, he dropped the act. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop kidding. We’ll talk once I get there. Be ready in twenty.”

“Wh— Alastor!“ The phone turn dead in your hand and you’re left standing in the hallway.

You stare at the receiver in shock, then, you grip it. Holding back the urge to break it open over the table it sits on, grinding your teeth, you place the receiver back. You clutched at the end of the table and count to ten, jaws aching and head spinning from anger. Even with your head hanging low, you can hear footsteps falling along the hallway. Your mother red house slippers stand in view from the side, you wondered if you can burn it and buy another pair.

“You’re going out with that creepy radio host again.” she’s standing with her hand crossed and an exasperated look, you just know it.

“Mom, please,” heaving a sigh of your own, you don’t want her to rub it in your face, even if she doesn’t know it, “Alastor’s not creepy. He’s a good man, I promise.” you have to believe he’s a good man, after everything. If you don’t, you’ll lose the rest of your mind. You prayed that she leave you alone, but she kept pressing.

“You keep saying that, but I know he’s nothing but trouble. I mean- look at you!? You looked so exhausted every day. Every time you leave with that scurf, you came back looking more lost than before!”

Turning to her, you have a retort at the tip of your tongue, you always do. But the looks on her face was nowhere near what you thought it was, so you stumbled. For a second, your vision blurs and your head spins. When it cleared up, your eyes met.

“That good for nothing man, dragging you out every night! Have he ever asked what you want before?!”

Standing like a cornered rat, you try to find your voice.

“I-“ you swallowed again, “I don’t mind it, mom. I like going out.”

Have your mother always looked this tired and worn beyond her age? It almost as if she’s been holding the world alone. She said your name, and you feel all lost again. Like a small child with bare knees stripped red and wailing for her to come and save you.

“You don’t even like parties.”

You remember how much she always scolded you when you got yourself into troubles, but your mom always patches you up while she does so. In the time frame before your home became more of a house and your front door is a front door without any sort of implications. And then it hit you just how old mom looked now. She used to be so tall compared to you, but now you’re over her slightly hunching figure, a little bit or a lot, it’s just enough to look down on her. Suddenly, the world feels too constricting and your skin feels too tight.

All this time, she wasn’t angry at all, was she? Your mom haven’t been angry for a long time now. But it doesn’t change you, it doesn’t change anything else. You closed your eyes and push a breath through your nose.

“Maybe I’ve changed, mom,” you walk past her into the living and tug on your overcoat with fingers stained red, fighting against the waver in your voice and hoping she won’t hear it, “maybe you should be happy for me.”

Alastor always take less than twenty to show up, but you didn’t know how long he was watching you for before clearing his throat. You didn’t bother to respond, only lifted your head up to make sure it wasn’t some random prude before shifting aside. He have the decency to stay silent and sit down with you on your front porch, offering a sympathetic smile at your sorry state and gently wiped away your tears with his red handkerchief when you refused to move and take it yourself. It wasn’t the first time you sit out and wait for him on the porch instead of listening to her outburst, but it was the first time you ever cry over it.

You wanted so desperately to turn back and tell her that you haven’t change, that you’re still her little kid. The same one that want to sit out the parties and the smokes and the dancing and the jazz just to spent the days working on something with her nearby, in the kitchen working on something or sleeping in the armchair, always in the old set of red house slippers. You want to show her something you make, only for her to not get a single part about it. You want to fall at her feet and begged her to tell you you’re still the same kid. You want her to go back to closing the front door and locking you away from the world again.

But you’re nothing but a rat, fresh off from a murder. You’d soon throw yourself in front a running train than to ever let mom know her child will ever do anything wrong. So you swallowed everything back, stand up, and walked away from her porch with Alastor hot on your trail, smiling all the while.

(you want to tell her you haven’t changed at all, but you know better than anyone else. you thought you know better.)

3. Loosely, you’ll fall.

The show was an utter bore, you’ve concluded. The allure of watching history made quickly died out when it pertains to dancing, something you’ve been watching people do with much more grace. It might’ve been much more interesting too, if the dull drums in your head invites itself out. But even when you step outside into open air outside the theater, it remains.

“Well, that certainly was�� something.” Walking after you in a leisured pace with one hand behind his back, another going back and forth on brushing off his coat or adjusting his glasses, to anyone else, he looked completely normal. But you know him long enough. “I could’ve sworn it’s a musical show.”

Usually, it’s fairly hard to catch Alastor in a flustered state, facial or demeanour wise. You supposed years of practice couldn’t really stamp out personal discomfort. You would’ve felt bad, but you don’t have enough strength to bother.

“There is musical, alright,” you grumbled, a hand to your temple as you walk on without waiting for him, “I’d say it’s too much even.”

Obediently, silently, Alastor traces your footstep as you seethe to yourself. You were supposed to be back in bed and sleep away this headache and your free day at this hour. It’s a shame you just can’t help from talking back to your mom and chased yourself out of the house, onto the street, and right into his games.

You wish you could rub those kissing scenes into his face and mocked his offbeat timid nature and tell him to go shove it. For once, the mere thought of intimacy itself reminds you of that night and forced you to think about how Alastor always stands just a bit too close to you, always just behind you. It takes everything in you to not scratch at your wrist and tears your skin open, so you opted for patience and sympathy, no matter how much the image haunted your eyelids said otherwise.

Before you know it, the voices and the hollers and bumping shoulders traded itself for a single bell chiming, then hushed murmurs and echoing clinks of porcelains and glasses filled the space. You invited yourself to a small spot off in the corner with a lone seat and hunched over with your left hand over your face, while Alastor comes up to the counter. When he came back, he pulls another chair from the table right next to yours and all but covered you from everyone else’s sight. You stare at him in between the webs of your fingers while Alastor rest his chin in his right hand and hums all softly at you.

“You should’ve told me it’s still there, dear. I wouldn’t have bother dragging you out.” His free hand brush against yours in a gesture you can blindly guess as benign and kind. Unlike the Alastor from this morning, unlike him in the theater. Unlike Alastor from the broadcast and unlike the man holding onto you that night. You’ve seen this so many times before in so many people, it’s just make-believe for adults and you’ve already seen this in him. You thought you have, anyway, so you take your hand away from him and look at the approaching waitress. It must’ve been a trick of the light, the way his eyes grows just a bit darker. But you still think hard about what you would’ve said back then.

“I need to get out anyway, better here than there right now.” You would’ve been fine with the idea of going back in, but by the time you do, Alastor was standing in front of you, and you would rather let him think whatever he wants than to pissed him off even further somehow.

“Better with me~” When push comes to shove, he is a bitter man with a silver tongue, you’ve seen him pour drinks onto people and getting away scot-free. It’s always funny to everyone else in the group, until they’re at the direct end of his bitter temper.

Alastor have never even so much as raising his voice at you in anger, but you also thought he would never kill anyone, so you refuse to take any chances. As long as you stay cordial and don’t step past your line, Alastor won’t ever have a reason to. So long as you keep to your leash, he’ll be pleasant and let you go home soon. It leave a nasty taste on your tongue, how you know exactly what to do with him.

“Whatever you say, Alastor.” Gently nursing your headache, you sits a bit straighter. You really couldn’t tell what’s worse, the oddly plastic smell of the café, or the light from the bulbs burning your retinas. “You never told me why we’re out here in the first place.”

Clapping his hand together, he grins. “Oh, yes! Terribly sorry my dear, I figured we shouldn’t talk about it over the party line. Who knows what else is lurking, yeah?” you stay seated despite your instinct telling you to run. You know this was coming anyway, “See, we didn’t get to celebrate the other day. You got so sick, after all-”

He kept on talking, seemingly perfectly fine with you tuning him out. Even if he’s not fine with it, he can’t do anything to stop the almost freakish way statics filled your head and washes your entire body in a cold and numbing wave of sweat, electrics ran through your head while you grips your hair. And it’s almost like he knows what’s going through you, because he wiped away a drop of sweat running from your forehead with a knowing smile.

“Be careful now, if you get sick, I’ll have to take care of you.”

“As if you can take a step into my house.” As if she’s ever going to let him take a single step inside after today. But he kept that irritating look on him, if only the thought of tearing it off his face doesn’t hurt you so badly.

“Who said it’ll be at your house~”

His chuckle right after shuts you up. Right, you forgot. Of course you did. He have a lodge somewhere near a bayou. You weren’t sure whether Alastor meant it as a tease or a threat, you don’t really want to think about it. So you forced a laugh when he grows just a tad silent. Tilting his head, he looked at you with something you couldn’t tell, and like aways, he switch topics without a bat of an eye while you sat there with sweats running down your back in the middle of winter.

You reach for your cup and bring it to your lips without bothering to know what’s in it, trying to follow along while Alastor rattled off a to-do list he made without your consent for today’s hangout. A visit to a confectionary shop, a trip to the tailor, quick stop at a small dinner he discovered recently and, if there’s still time, he can take you to your book shop. As your vision blurred for a second, the bitter taste of coffee hit your tongue, and it took everything in you to bite back a swear and to hold your mask of politeness. Accidentally flitting your eyes up, you catch him smiles. But it isn’t the kind of smile friend gives to one another, it isn’t the type where two people love and care for each other. So you keep your gaze low and keep drinking the coffee he ordered, at least they do a decent enough job at taking your mind off of John.

(somehow, it felt so familiar, it wasn’t until the moment you crawl back into your warm bed after a cold dinner that it hit you. it wasn’t against your ear this time, but it was the same smile. you swallowed the acid in your throat and thought about how many people saw it just before they lay six-feet under.)

4. And when you finally fall,

John wasn’t that much of an asshole, but he lives like he’s the most wretched man in all of Louisiana. A shadow of a person, beyond that of a ghost. Alastor told you that the only reason anyone ever stuck around is because John have more money than anyone could ever understand, and as long as you can withstand the awkward silent and the sneers, you can count your worries for the night’s drinks goodbye.

Coming from a long and well-known line of gifted artist, John was set for life, even with his less-than-responsible lifestyle. His great grandfather wrote plays, his grandfather paint, his father plays the piano and John drink himself blind. He stop touching anything that even insinuate the idea of creating art on his twenty birthday. Ever since, he wanders the night, going from place to place to emptied his family’s wealth into pretty floozies and drink away his own shame.

With an eerily out of place grin, just close enough to his normal happy demeanour to count, just a bit too wide to be normal, Alastor show you off to John like an exotic pet while his friends already dash off to dance.

“Oh! And how could I forget, this one might not be able to play it, but they have a fantastic taste in music!” then, he turns to you with a friendly hand on your shoulder and a sympathetic look, “If only you ever have the means to pick it up, you’ll be the talk of the town for sure!””

“Surely.” John reply with an odd laugh and look you up and down, suddenly the idea of sitting back with him and watching the others felt just a bit too much for you. But you only brushed their comment off with a wave of your hand. Acting like you didn’t pick up on how John down his drink with just a bit more fervour and Alastor smiles breached the border of normalcy before he pats your back gently, as if encouraging a shy dog to socialize, before inviting himself out and leaving you alone with a man you’re not sure was all there.

You tell yourself you just won’t go with Alastor to his night parties next time, but you pick up the phone every time. And every night you have to sit right by John’s side in complete silent when everyone spreads across the bar.

At first, it was somewhat scary and unpleasant. Then, it was awkward and uncomfortable. Every time you sit right next to him, he would scoff and chuff at you under his breath. Refusing to ever talk or look at you. Unless it was time to leave, John will never do anything more than call for a drink and then sip on it until he needs another one. Every time Alastor came to check up on you, he would smile at you sweetly and make a jab or two at John. You figured by now it’s a show of sort to him, but sometimes you still make a small effort to shut Alastor up and direct him back to whatever he was doing before. It became your new normal for half a year at least.

And then one night, completely worn out and tired with the day and the loud jazz inside a loud room with lousy lights and lousy companion, you stand up without a word to anyone and went out the back door. Outside in the cold air of October, you huddled by a wall inside the back-alley and pulled your knees to your chest. Staring at your hands, you can only sigh and ruffled your hair, digging the palm of your hand into the base of your skulls and wishing you can break it open.

“If you’re so tired, then why not haul yourself back home?”

Jumping up with a yelp, you clutched at your heart, completely missing the door creaking open the first time. You forgot how John even sounded like for a minute, voice low and gruff, completely contrasting everyone else in the group.

“…” halfway peeking through the door and staring impassively, you wondered why he even bother when he seems so done with you. Words right on the tip of your tongue, you him a passing glance, debating whether this worth an excuse out of your pocket. He cut you off before you even begin to open your mouth.

“What? You’re deaf now?” John shouldered the door and step outside fully, standing in front of you.

“…And if I am?” You frown, this feels too much like being scolded. At least his voice is kinder to your ears . “Better off if you are.” He chuckled, “…So?” You would be upset, but you’re too tired and he’s not leaving you alone, so you shrugs your shoulder apathetically.

“Horrible day at work, fight with my mom, then got dragged out here again.”

“Heh, figured.” You glare up at him, he raises his hands up in defence, whiskey with a single ice cube in its glass clinking as he does so, “You seems miserable whenever the lot isn’t around to see.”

You want to spat at him, what would he know about you? But you know he’s right. It really does feel miserable, going all the way out here just to sit and having nothing to do. So you dropped your head into your palm and groan.

“Ugh-…Is it that obvious?”

He cackle, you take it as a yes and sink your head a bit lower at the sound.

“Why not just—not come?” taking a sip from his whiskey, he sat next to you without invitation, “You can just say no to him, y’know.”

“As if I haven’t tried.” You grumbled, but stop when he raised a brow at you, motion for you to keep on. A bit clueless, you shrugs again, “What? You know him for longer than me. You should know that.”

John looks at you as if you’re stupid, and you’re beginning to think you are. Pointing a finger at you, he asked you about your job. Then with a nod, he stated outright.

“But you don’t do anything for him.”

You sputtered, the irony of a drunkard basically calling you useless and being right about it doesn’t escape you at all.

“What does that have to do with anything? He’s a persistent guy, that’s it.”

“That bastard doesn’t bother hanging around anything that isn’t useful. He’s not that type of guy.”

“Then what type of guy is he?” you ask. He looks at you, licked the top row of his teeth, then heave a heavy sigh.

Dowing the rest of his whiskey, John stand up and offers you a hand. You hesitate before slowly taking hold of it and nearly fell over when he pulled you up. He mumbled a half-hearted sorry with a look.

“Not whatever you’re thinking of him, that’s for sure,” he drag you inside by the shoulder, snickering when you try to keep up and failing miserably before slowing down for you, “Now common, I need another drink.”

It’s all John ever told you about Alastor, it’s all you ever need, but you never listen.

John didn’t change fully after that night, but he still change somewhat. The John that was so drained and empty was still there, but he sits up a bit straighter, as if managed to confirmed whatever else he have in his head. For three months, you two never talked about what happened in the back alley, nor do you talk at all. He still down enough drink to kill an elephant and lost his balance to the point someone needs to take him home. But he nodded his head whenever he’s not tipsy enough that the ceiling spins like a globe and you catches eyes, and sitting beside him felt a bit less draining and off-putting.

You told Alastor about it later, the conversation you two have in the back alley, because of course you do, telling everything to your good friend. Alastor would then look over whenever John’s acting friendlier to you, because of course he does, and joked about it. You saved him five years of his life, he laugh. You laugh along because his tone seems just a bit off. You sometimes think about who Alastor is, whenever you have a moment to sit back and contemplates everything between you two. But not for long, because like clockwork, Alastor would pull you away to do whatever he wants for the day, and like always, you would follow along with little to no complains.

Sometime before John went “missing”, you break the thinning layer of ice between you two and tell him out of the blue that you never actually touch an instrument in your life, but you wished you have the chance to. You thought he would’ve laugh at you, but he sat through your recount of younger you being enthralled by a street musician, seeing it as a form of liberty you can only hope to capture through any other art you made. He asked why, you said there was no space in your life for making music. Not then, not now. He asked if it’s ever a regret, you stay silent.

You asked him to play you something, he huff a laugh behind his glass, but shut up when you didn’t laugh along. A false police alarm got the place empty enough for your group early that night, and the owner was desperate enough for extra cash, enough for him to mousey up and play a song you remember by heart. He played really well, you told him. His playing is the bare minimum, it lacks the souls his father have, he sneers at you. He doesn’t need to have a soul in it, just get used to being mediocre while having fun instead, you reply, leaning against the piano and staring at the group chatting away from you two. He didn’t bother with a counter, but he kept playing, this time it’s a melody you’ve never heard before. You saw Alastor turning his head to you two, but you pay him no mind and turn back to John. He looked so calm playing something like this.

John trips over his fingers and curses a lot, you tell him to keep playing. Until the song’s finished and you left standing in silence for just a bit, waiting for the other to say something. Turning the word over in your mouth, you’re a bit speechless, like you’re face-to-face with a kindred soul. But there’s no real comfort in telling a drowning man he can breathe, so you say his melody felt like home.

Worn beyond his age and exhausted in a way that’s so out of place for someone who have the world in his hand, his smile was genuine, facing towards you, like an old friend and a warm meal. The bar dives and the social circles Alastor loved pulling you along have always made you feel so out of place. Their grin’s too perfect and their voices too pleasant, all with an oddly rotten attitude. It’s like watching a picture show, it’s not how people genuinely act, it’s the semblance of one.

Maybe that’s why you and John never got along too well, he was too busy hiding his face behind glasses of gin and whiskeys, you’re too busy hiding in Alastor shadows. But you both never play along, and you both never faced each other fully before that night. You hope John never have that realization, the fact you’ve never faced him at all.

Then before you knew it, his face to the ground, all red, turned from you. That’s all you knew about John Holloway, that’s all he ever get to tells you.

(deep inside, you want to say that it wasn’t your fault. but the difference between getting swept along with life and standing in a back alley with blood on your hands is that somewhere in your empty head, you did register his scream. there’s a reason you can’t see his face and there’s a reason the rock was in your red hand, sitting in your red palm.)

5. so far down, you won’t know the way home

The forest floor was red, by the time you realized it.

It wasn’t by your hand, but it’s enough for you to step back and breathe. It always so odd to you, just how easy it really is to see in the dark, even when the moon hides away behind strips of clouds. In the dark, at the dead of night, your eyes should’ve been blind to the red that’s bleeding all over, but it never does. It took you a second to remember what you’re supposed to be looking at, and you turn the light towards the main figure, standing so proudly in the middle of this. In through nose, out the mouth. Don’t focus on the thing below, look at him and smile. He smiles back, genuine joy stiches itself on every corner of his face. If only this flashlight is weaker.

“Sorry darlin’. This one have more fight in him than I thought he would,” he strides towards you, the familiar metallic stench overwhelms your senses when his red hand came up to tuck a strand of loose hair behind your ear, “Good thing we got it done before he find his way out, huh?”

Good thing he got it done at all, you thought. You can only bother to hide your exhaustion with a mute nod and a grim grin. Knowing exactly how this will plays out again, you remind yourself to be ready. Alastor laughs and pat your cheek affectionately before pulling you by your hand towards the corpse quickly growing cold amongst the grass. As he does, you try to ignore the echoing in your eardrums.

It was gut wrenching at first. The panting, the gasping, frantic steps that echoes through the empty woods, devoid of bird calls, devoid of life. Just a hound, chasing its prey, and a vulture perched on a tree waiting, watching. The choked exhale when they fall, eventually tired out and tripped over themselves or getting a bullet to the thigh. The way they all looked so confused, then they bargain, then they get mad and calls him every name under the sun before shutting up and look at him in the eye. You weren’t sure just how he looked to them, but perversely, you’re glad you never get to see it.

They scream and yell and beg for someone to please come and save them until they can’t anymore, but it felt like they never stop at all.

“Come here.”

He sits you down by the body, open and ready, still holding onto your wrist while you fight every bone in your body to keep your hand still and keep your foot nailed down. His face, flushed with excitement and sweat running down his forehead as he rattled on about how soon, you’ll have enough guts to do this with him instead of only ever following after and picking up the scraps.

“Remember that feeling? Remember the rush?” lifting your clenching fist up to his lips, he smiles and chases your gaze, you stare back, “Etch it into your brain, don’t ever forget it.”

With that, he plunges your fist into the open cavern of flesh and red and it feels so incredibly blasphemous and wrong. While Alastor knitted his fingers atop yours and guide your hand through the process, you feel your senses grows fuzzy around the edge. Half of you wish that headache didn’t die after the 3rd time, at least then you have something else to focus on other than the sopping wet red mush slipping in and out between your frozen fingers. The idea that someone’s inside would immediately cool off after their death is a farce to you, their warmth still so tangible and so fragile it takes everything in you to stop the burning acid from bursting in your throat. He told you on your fifth time that if you vomit on the body, he’ll have you cleaning it with him, sounding just a tad bit considerate, as if the idea of forcing you into doing something you dislike hurts him.

It's almost too much to think about, how you’re becoming something so different, something that’s just enough to his liking, to the point where all you have left are instincts and the alarms in your head. It felt like years ago when your weekdays are filled with nothing but sitting inside your cozy home and looking out the window, hoping one day you’ll be able to experience that high life and being cared for by someone who love you with everything they have, even if it’s the worst experience of your life. It’s almost like decades ago when your thoughtcrimes are no more than passerby on a long day and your smile is a sham but it’s ok because everyone bought into it and you do too. Now you spent your days looking behind your shoulders for excuses while pinprick runs up your neck, waiting for the day you’ll be buried with the people he hate.

You hope when, not if, you do have to, you’ll manage to come up with an excuse to mom for the body in that alley way. You clenched your fist, only the red squelching and spongy inside of a man you barely know respond.

(the hound stare up at the vulture and leave with a red maw, it watches the vulture from the shadow of the trees. the vulture learned to ignore the hound and feast away at leftovers.)

6. I hope you’ll call out for my name.

Unconsciously, you tap your index finger to a rhythm a man showed you some years ago. One you called beautiful, and one that made him smile. Like always, your weary and sunken eye catches red painting your left hand, but you only sigh and return to penning out your letter. A ringing echoes throughout your bleak and empty house, but no voice call out for you. There’s no point in picking up, you simply let the call die on its own. If it’s him, he’ll crawl his way to the front door with or without that call either way.

When the noise abruptly ended and didn’t pick up again, you put down your pen and hold the letter in hands that never lost its stain. Staring down at the words you’ve painstakingly poured over since her funeral, you crumbled the page and held your head. Over and over again, you write and write, hoping that some way, somehow, something can change.

But like always, nothing is enough, so you throw the paper into the small bin next to your seat, holding back the urge to throw everything else on the table with it too; your mom raise a murderer, not an ill-manner rodent. There’s no longer a point in lamenting things that can never be change in your lifetime. You can do this tomorrow, or the next day, or the day next to that, you’re considering how to go out still. As long as he’s not here, that is. You check the clock, eleven and a half, you have around fifteen minutes before he’s here.

Alastor was always suffocating, you thought, dragging yourself to a wardrobe that haven’t felt familiar for more than half a year now. Nosy and meddlesome, it’s something you picked up on even when you were a doe-eye little rat running across the night without realizing you were walking with a hunting hound, but you always thought it was simply how Alastor cares about people. Your mom was right, you were so naïve about him, thinking he can care for anyone else aside from his mother and himself.

He was always suffocating, but ever since the funeral, he all but latch onto you.

The pure black outfit he gave you was something you would wear to mom’s funeral. But coming from him, it makes you feel like a stranger was staring back from the mirror’s view, out of your own skin. So you boxed it and hid it under the sofa after the whole thing.

And of course, Alastor knows this. So whenever he browse through your wardrobe on his own accord, he would always make sure to make a comment about how these plain and boring clothes never look right on you with a good-nature smile. You no longer have the mind to bother with a reply, so you let him do whatever he wants. As long as he get his digs in, you get your peace of mind. The things in here means the world to you, but what use is there to defend something you’ll soon have no use for.

Clicking your tongue, you pulled out something that looks decent for the street and locked the door to your room. You fixed your clothes until it fits right on you and sat on your bed, wondering if you should just stay inside and make him take some couple extra steps. But decidedly, being in your own room with him will always be so much more unnerving of an experience rather than just letting him shuffling through your stuff on his own. So, the door to your room open with a click, and you step out into long familiar but distant hallways. You wish you can unlearn the concept of loving something that isn’t tangible anymore. It’ll make the hallways a bit brighter.

Like usual, you peek into the empty, almost sterile kitchen and walk up to her armchair. After confirming that you’re alone today also, you found yourself back on the sofa with nothing else to do, simply waiting for Alastor. Checking the time again, it’s exactly mid-day now, so his mother must’ve needed help with something, you’ll have to wait for a bit. Gulping down the uncomfortable heavy weight that settled over your heart since a year and a half ago, refusing to ever die, you lie down and close your eyes.

A year, a half, two week and three days, it’s really a wonder how you work. Maybe that’s what Alastor sees in you, a walking list of contradictions, or maybe this is how everyone works, and you were just cruelly kept out of the loop. Even though you never bother to consider her in your own life, ever since a year and a half ago, you wake up staring at the ceiling with bleary eyes wondering what’s she’s doing every day and why you can’t hear her. Then, remembering that she won’t be doing anything from now on, you get up and make yourself breakfast. Sometimes you would still hear someone calling for you, along with the constant ringing from the phone, but then one day, you forgot how she sounded like, so you starts to ignore the calls.

The day you realized you can no longer hear her voice, calling out to you from the door to your house, you’d tried to trace her footstep by opening her cookbook and making the dish she love. One moment, you were staring down into the pages, the next, you’re seated at the counter, surrounded by Alastor’s companions. You’d call for a whiskey. Everyone find it absolutely hilarious and jokes about your new life while you held the glass in your hand and stare down into the amber-colour liquid. Just as Alastor laugh and reach out for your hand to take it away, talking about how you simply won’t be able to handle the aftermath, you knock your head back and the glass ran clear in one gulp. His friends all cheered for you and shoving another glass into your hand, assuring you’ll get used to this soon, but you don’t know how much you can trust them.

Quite frankly, the whiskey was beyond repulsive. As if you just swallowed flaming charcoal, your throat burns so badly, it’s stopping you from forming a single coherent sentence. You can’t stop yourself from tearing up over it, either, vision blurred and unsteady while a beginning of a headache started creeping up on you, so you down whatever’s in your hand again in the hope of becoming familiar with it fast enough to never have to think twice about it. Before a pretty dame in the group can pass you a third drink, you were hauled up by the shoulder and drag out the door, Alastor hissing a goodbye to the group through his teeth.

Storming off ahead and ranting about how utterly irresponsible you are while you stumbled behind him like a fawn, Alastor would slow down and stare when he can’t hear your soft footstep anymore. You remember walking by a closed tailor shop and flopping yourself down, back against the glass window and weeping without a word. He walked back and sit next to you after a while. You know he’s waiting for you to say something on your own, but you only shrink into yourself. You don’t know what was worse in that moment, the burning in your throat, the head splitting ache slowly brewing or the fact you never know your mother favorite food. How are you supposed to grief someone you don’t know anymore?

In the midst of it all is Alastor, who seemingly lost all of his previous anger. You’ve seen a lot of him over the years, you know he sees all of you. But this is the first time you break down without a word or a reason and you wondered if he feels just as lost and confused as you are. It as if he doesn’t know what to do with you once you actually breaks in a way that doesn’t serve his vision of you, in a way he never have to fix before.

“…Tough day?” with an oddly shy tone, he nudge you from the side, “Didn’t know you’re this much of a sad drunk, honey. Guess I was right to keep you off the bottle after all.” He chuckled, then trail off when you stay silent and stare off into nothing.

It must’ve been no more than ten minutes, but it felt like years before you gave up and open your mouth, voice breaking and quiet. “He made it look so easy.”

“He? Michael?”

He perks up the moment you speak, mouthing off the names of all his associates in hope of finding the one that raises your ire. You would’ve found him endearing if things were different, but you cut him off.

“John,” Then as if it’s not enough, as if Alastor never remembers anyone else, you try to keep your voice even while rubbing your eyes “John Holloway. He made drinking look so easy.” Even without looking, you can see his lips pulled into a taut line.

“Ah, right, John Holloway,” rolling his eyes and shuffling that much closer to you and pulling out his handkerchief, he sneers, holding your wrist still while wiping your face, “No doubt he does. If you didn’t take him out, that chump would’ve drink himself to Hell on his own.”

“At least then he gets to pick his own way out…” You huff.

“It’s been years, honey!” done with cleaning you up, he stuff the handkerchief in his left pocket, “I can’t believe you’re still hung up on him!”

With every word out of his mouth, Alastor’s fake and chipper accent gets just a bit firmer, as if finally knowing what to do. Sitting up straight and pulling his glasses off, he wiped it on his vest and ask dismissively.

“When did he die again? Was it 1928?”

“1929,” you breathe and lean your head against the glass, “Remember that musical you called innovative and new?”

“If only I can forget.” He blanch at the thought of it, you smile wistfully.

“The music was nice, it’ll be nice to watch it again.” From the corner of your eyes, you catches his. You hated how he look so content with this.

“That makes one of us…”

After that, a blanket of silence fell onto you two. With a headache in full swing, you recalled asking whether he ever remembers how they look. Chuckling, he only leans close until your nose almost touch and say that he does. You ask if he’ll ever remember you, he froze and stare into your eyes with an almost incomprehensible look. Standing up, he brushes himself from dust and give you a hand, you take it.

Before you two departed in front of a door that no longer lead to a home, he tells you in an almost too quiet voice that he hope he never have to remember you. You hate his everything in that moment. From how his stands was just a tad bit different from his usual tall and confident poised self to the way he looks so abnormal with the corner of his lips dipped down. You hate how you’ve grown fond of his smile, so you turn and closed the door with a good night.

In the morning, sounding like you just dragged yourself from hell back up, you asked him for a clipped picture from the old newspaper and leave it under your pillow. And ever since, you’ve been rewriting the same letter. To everyone that you ever have a hand on, and to John and your mom. But specifically to John and mom.

John was a good man. It’s a shame he drank too much and care too much in one night. It’s a bigger shame that you can’t keep your thoughtcrime as exactly that, a thoughtcrime. He was right, too. You never knew the man you called Alastor, you don’t think you’ll ever do and you’re happy for it. You only ever find the cowardice to take another man’s life with his help, and you’ll only ever find yourself in more trap than being free from it.

You still bought yarns and cookbooks that you think your mother would’ve love. You come back with enough groceries for two people and the kitchen table are always set for two. You check every day in the kitchen for her still. You still crept up behind the armchair just in case she’s sleeping. Her red slippers still sat patiently just in front of her door. You know she never will be there, but it’s a nice thought. And since mom won’t ever going to be there again, you’ll take a nap. Alastor can have fun dealing with half-asleep you once he’s here.

(you’re woken up by the sounds from your kitchen, the smell familiar. as if finally escaping a bad nightmare, you sprang up on your feet and peek in like a child. Alastor stood at the stove, smiling at you. for the first time in years, his smile didn’t reach his eyes.)

7. we’re going to hell together, after all.

Left, right, right, left.

The silent always puts you on edge, as if there’s something out here, biding for it’s time. If only it’s a beast you can take down with a shotgun. You try to recall the forest trail that you know is somewhere out here as shadows of trees covered you from the moon. But you know Alastor, and you know for a fact that if he wanted to, he could herd you out of New Orleans with just a couple of words and a smile. So you uselessly try to focus past the thundering in your ears, you can’t hear a trace of him anymore. So on the count of three…

Throwing yourself to the right, you almost slammed into a tree as a bullet lodge into the trunk of another just right ahead. A soft chuckle rang out from behind, you kept running. Left hand clutching your right wrist, a sob bubbling up from your aching throat, it’s between running like this and letting the hand ram itself into whatever’s there in the forest. Even if you’re blessed with the chance to get out of this alive, you’ll never have use for your right hand ever again. Bones doesn’t heal right when they sit past five days, but you’re not sure you can even hold a pen with a mangled thumb and a pinkie barely hanging on. You lost a bit of your will at that, but the silence of the woods draws you from your thought. You want to die by your own hands.

Right, left, right.

But you know you won’t be able to. The moment you let him take you here, you already lost. Alastor knows the woods better than you. He knows hunting better than you. And you’re sure he knows he can outrun you at any time. You refuse to dwell on the meaning of it and push your left hand against a tree.

Another shot rang out, this time hurling right by your head and nicked the tip of your right ear and went into the night. You don’t know where it goes, but you staggered just a bit and nearly launch yourself forward when a small bush snatches the end of your clothes.

“Sorry honey!” his voice gets further and further away while he stand still and yell out to you with a casual tone, as casual as he can keep it, “Frayed nerves and all~” he laughs, the rest of his words intelligible, and then suddenly, the forest went silent again. You can’t afford to stop and think anything through, so you push on ahead.

When you’re stuck with only the breaking and crushing of leaves under foot and your own winded breaths filling your ears, you cursed. Your throat starch, your lungs burns. With every step you take, your visions blackened around the edge and breathing alone hurts so horribly. It’s a blessing you even lasted for this long, you never have to chase anyone like he did. You wishes you burn that letter instead of dropping it in the bin, you wish you burn that house down instead of living with a ghost you can’t see. You wish you burn him. You know something was off with him that day, Alastor couldn’t shut up to save his life ever since he gets the key to the house. But he didn’t so much as uttered a word to you while staring down at the cutting board, but you didn’t care enough to ask him. Biting back a curse when a stinging pain shot up from your ankle, you feel your head spin as a short and pained chuckle escape your dry lips, he was thinking about how he wants you dead, surely.

Left, left? Right. L-

You can’t help but cry out the moment the bullet sink into your right upper thigh and sent you down. You crashed sideway onto the forest floor and black out for just half a second when a rock dig into your left temple. Clutching at your thigh with a broken hand, your laugh sounds unfamiliar to your own ears, almost choking as it drags nails and spikes through your throat, like that of an animal, like you’re an animal. The loss of oxygen is getting to you, the irony doesn’t escape you.

While your body winds down and the pain and exhaustion settles in, you go into the most horrible aftermath you’ve ever have to endure. Your head pulsating with every beat of your heart and your limbs grew heavy and cold. Vividly, you pick up on leaves breaking and sticks crushed under heavy footstep and you abandoned all sort of dignity to scrambled and try to drag yourself away from him, fingernails dug into dirt and grass to pull your lead like body away. But another clink, another shot hit your lower torso from behind as your choke scream got swallowed up by the earth, left to clutch at your wounds with face buried into the earth and tears streaming from your eyes.

“Oh honey, why so sad?” a heel sit on your bullet wound, dancing in circle before he slowly press his whole weight onto it. Your suffocating wail isn’t enough to amused him, but he still laugh with such gentleness in his tone. “I thought this is what you want? Weren’t you writing to dear old John about leaving? Well, here it is!”

The relief he granted you last for all but half a second before he bring his foot down. Stinging, numbing pain spread through your entire body and you’re left gasping for air while he held your shoulder and set you to face him. Hunching over your shivering body with a hand on your face, he smiles. Or at least you think he is, there’s not a point trying to make out a single thing over the agonizing pain that’s making a home in your body. You wanted so badly to just black out and die right here, you pretty sure you did black out at some point, but Alastor slap your cheek lightly and calls your name with almost a whine to his tone. The warmth from his hand stand out amongst the incomprehensible burning of your flesh and the blood rushing through your head, why are you here again?

“Oh come on, don’t leave me hanging like this. You know I hate it when you ignore me.”

You’re not, you want to scream. If there’s anything you can ever say for him to get off of you and leave you alone, you would. You don’t know if it’s the blood lost or the pain getting to you, but your already waning visions of him blurs beyond recognition while he coos at you.

“I guess it really do hurts that badly?” he laughs, “One question solves then!”

At the mention of it, your blood ran cold and the forest felt just a bit more freezing than it already was. Right, he did say something about John, didn’t he? Almost like it was yesterday, when you’re sitting alone in your room at eleven in the morning. Although barely able to remember the exact wording of every letter, you know by heart the concepts and questions in all the letters you’ve written and rephrased a thousand times and over. But the question wasn’t in that one, it was at least several drafts before it, dropped because it was too presumptuous to ask your first and closest victim such a horribly him question. All of it, sitting neatly in the bin right by your writing desk. All of it, he could’ve read in the hours it took you to wake up.

You want to stick to what’s left of you and die raising your head just a bit higher than when you live by not letting him hear a word out of you, either the fact your throat still hurts so badly just swallowing or the fact you know it’s all but useless talking now that’s keeping you. But from the corner of your eye, you saw his right, red hand gripping tightly onto something that you can’t properly make out, and then you remember the reason you never anticipated any of this occurring within your lifetime.

“Th-the letters…” you groaned, “it’s not-you-“

Right, the reason you were caught off guard by him breaking your fingers while pinning you to his car, the reason you couldn’t even begin to make head from tail when he pressed you for the name of whoever it was that makes you do this. The letters that is, for all its intended purposes, your suicide note.

“Yes, yes,” with a draws to his voice, as if he’s tired of this, “Your lovely letters, to dear old ma and John. We both know I read all about them.”

“No-“ you cough, it’s hurts just to breathe, “I wasn’t going to- tell them-“

“Oh, that. I know.”

For just a moment, you’re void of anything. All the pain and the blistering heat and the cold night air leave your body for just a second and left you with nothing at his words. You’re aware of his every movement, even through the darkness of the night. Suddenly, everything is too much, too loud.

“I thought you’re smarter than this, love.” you can’t see him properly at all, but you can’t see him smiling and it scares you, “It never was just about the letters.”

“Then what-“

Shushing you, he leans down until your forehead nearly touched, you try to focus and find his eyes at this awkward angle but it only worsen the unbearable pounding in your head.

“This, is what you want,” he pauses, you can see the outline of his jaw shifting, like rolling words on his tongue. You want to call him a madman, but you don’t even know if this is him anymore. This isn’t the Alastor you know for years. He would’ve never talk to you without that stupid accent that’s everywhere on the radio. The Alastor you know doesn’t need to considers his words talking to anyone, always with an excuse on his sleeve. And that Alastor would never gotten so close, wouldn’t have sounded so personal. “You said you want to leave. To get to that ‘freedom’, right?”

He sounded so hurt, as if it’s him that’s being crushed under weight with bullets in him and two broken fingers, as if it’s not you writhing on the forest floor, as if he’s the one dying tonight.

“You can’t bear to live anymore, right? You can’t do this with me anymore, can you?” you’re painstakingly reminded of the fact he still have his right hand on you, casually moving it down to your neck while he raises his left. You aren’t sure why, but you still try to claw at the hand clasping gently around you. You think this happened before, but you weren’t sure where the idea came from, the loss of oxygen getting to you quicker than you thought it would. Somewhere in the back of your mind, your fingers, two broken and eight dirtied with dirt and your own blood, it lost the red that have been clinging onto you like a disease.

“Al-“ in that moment, your vision suddenly cleared, like a last-ditch attempt at life. The grip he have around you is like that of a snake, too. Coiling gently and kindly, with a thumb digging into your skin while the inners of your ears felt like bursting open.

“It’s alright, mon Chéri, I’ll help you. I always have, haven’t I?” he always have been helping you, but that was Alastor, your friend and the demon on your shoulder. Not the man that’s staring down at you with such a look and speaking to you with such tenderness and love you can’t begin to dissect.

Desperately, you stare up at the image of an unfamiliar man with voices you’ve never heard before. He smiles a smile so painful, as if losing his mind too, but you can’t tell who he is anymore. Your mom was right, John was right, you’re right, but none of it matters when you’re running out of breath and the rock in his left hand fits so well into his palm.

“I’ll come see you when I’m down there, wait for me.”

Your vision bloomed and blurred away. You stay awake for long enough to hear the first crack of skull, reverberating through your eardrums. You’d stay awake for the second hit, and the third. And you stay awake for just long enough to grow envy of John for never having to faced you that night.

(the hound leaps, sharp fangs breaking tough skin and tearing veins, the vulture, without a mind to think of god, only knows how to cries out.)

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thelampisaflashlight · 2 years ago

Text

Lamb

[I decided to write something about my first proper ghoul OC, Lamb, because I missed them. Aether has to deal with them, because somebody needs to be responsible for this little dweeb.] Below the cut.

Too many hours are spent inverting the corners of their room.

Manipulating the shadows with their fever addled mind, the headache too strong to bear the faintest thread of light.

They breathe, but it is shallow.

Their chest does not seem to move.

They can hear people talking.

They call their coming death a tragedy.

Others call it a waste.

And the voice whispering to them from down below calls it...

A chance.

An oppurtunity.

A lady in black, with long gray hair tied in a bun so tight they can almost feel the bull of it on their own scalp, appears beside their bed one night.

She does not come alone.

She is shadowed by towering figures, their faces obscured by masks that shimmer in the lowlight cast by the single bulb left on in the hallway.

It hurts to look at them.

At the light.

The woman speaks, but the words mean little to them, still they listen.

They listen until their ears ring.

Unpleasant and grating.

Louder and louder as the figures raise them from their bed.

There is a gentleness in the way they cradle their frail body.

Like they're naught but a little bird.

All fragile bones, easily broken.

Already broken.

They take them downstairs, past more people in black.

Someone cries.

Voice raw with grief.

And it's strange.

So strange.

How little guilt they feel.

How something akin to anger makes their heart beat stronger for just a moment hearing that sound.

But they're too far gone to feel bitter.

From there, things get hazier still.

They're carried out and away, into the night.

They get the sense that they are dying.

Perhaps that they are already dead.

But their body finds no grave, no cold earth to soothe the ache in their skull, or the fire consuming their insides.

Instead they taken on foot to a place where the moon shines, blinding overhead.

The woman speaks again, something low, almost inaudible.

Promises their body will be made anew.

That the pain, the burn, will be gone soon.

And they laugh.

They laugh.

And laugh.

Like it's the funniest thing they've ever heard.

Until all that comes out is the harsh rattle of death.

Lamb has lived in the abbey for nine years now and still has no idea what they're supposed to be doing.

Every day, they just go with the flow, and somehow.

Somehow.

They manage to work diligently.

They do their best, whether it's ironing uniforms with a bunch of siblings, cleaning the floors, or listening to Papa complain that no one takes him seriously.

The latter is less a job and more...

"Are you listening, Agnello?"

Speak of the devil.

"Certo, Papa, I am listening." Lamb lies, picking at their nails.

Papa sighs and leans back in his chair, "Since it's important, I'll repeat myself just this once; I need you to retrieve some paperwork from the den for me."

Lamb tilts their head, "Ehh? Papa, your den is only a room away. Can you not get it yourself?"

"No, no, not my den, the den." He clarifies, sitting up and pointing down at the ground, "I need you to-"

Lamb gives a croak of distrust, narrowing their eyes at the older man.

"Agnello." Papa speaks sternly, "You cannot avoid that place forever."

"I do not like it." Lamb grimaces, "Stinks of ghouls."

"Agnello, you are a ghoul."

"Does a dog need to like other dogs to be a dog?" Lamb counters, "They're scary!"

"They're very docile I assure you." Papa soothes, leaning across hid desk to pat them on the head, "Regardless, I need that paperwork by the end of the day."

"Fiddle-faddle..."

"Off you go now." he shoos them, "Go, go."

Lamb croaks at him irritably, but heads for the door anyway, lingering in the frame long enough to pout.

"Agnello."

"Going."

"Good."

Lamb isn't fond of the other ghouls, it's nothing personal, they just...

It's hard to explain.

There's this... itch.

A tingling sensation that runs the length of their spine when other ghouls are near, their presence never fails to set them on high alert, and to be honest Lamb isn't really sure why.

Perhaps it's because they're more used to being around the siblings, living among the human clergy like a dog among sheep.

That was... that is, they think, perhaps part of why they were made to begin with.

Even if they don't understand, even if they don't remember, they know enough to know that the people here, within these walls, are meant to be looked after.

Cared for.

Protected.

From what, Lamb isn't sure.

But they do many things without knowing the reason why.

It's kind of silly though, them thinking they could protect anyone from the monsters in the basement.

Small and meek as they are.

Lamb isn't exactly large and intimidating, everything about them is soft, there are no edges or hard lines to their form, even their horns are blunted and tiny.

As they reach the stairwell to the basement, Lamb pokes their head 'round the corner, peeking into the darkness to see if there's anything stirring down below.

Squeaking when a figure passes by the landing.

"...Fiddle-faddle."

Aether isn't sure what to make of the impish creature peering down at him from the top of the stairs, whether he should be concerned by its presence or not.

"...Fiddle-faddle."

Fiddle-faddle?

"What?"

A hiss.

The creature retreats slightly.

"...Hi?" Aether raises his hand, giving a small wave, "Hi, what are you doing?"

No response, just black eyes staring down at him from around the corner.

Aether might be a demon from Hell, but whatever is skulking on the landing is...

It's something for sure.

"What are you doing?" he asks again, chuckling nervously, "...What the fuck..."

The creature lowers itself down on all fours and places its hand -a surprisingly ordinary hand, the nails don't even look sharp- on the first step.

"Uhh..."

Getting a better look at the creature, it's definitely another ghoul, but not one Aether recognizes, which... which isn't impossible, but it's strange that he hasn't seen this one before.

"Do you... do you need something?" he tries, but, again, the other ghoul remains silent, trying to descend the stairs on all fours for reasons Aether cannot fathom.

The motion is... strange, awkward even, and kind of reminds him of how Rain will occasionally run up the stairs like that, but coming down this way makes little sense and seems dangerous.

Aether watches the ghoul creep down the stairs, dumbstruck.

When the ghoul reaches the bottom of the stairs, it skirts around him, sticking towards the wall, ignoring him as it searches for... something.

"Whatcha lookin' for? Can I help you??" he questions, following the ghoul as it sniffs about, pausing at the door to the common room, standing now to its full height, which is...

Fucking tiny.

This ghoul is barely taller than Aurora, and looks like they'd snap in half if Aether sneezed in their direction.

As they reach for the door knob, Aether grabs the handle first, stopping their encroachment.

"I can't let you in there." he says, "Until you tell me why you're down here."

The ghoul looks up at him, eyes wide.

Aether can't help but shiver, seeing his own reflection staring back at him from the inky blackness.

"...Papers." the ghoul replies finally, "...Papa left them down here."

"Papers? What kind of papers?"

"Work ones. I don't know, he just said they were important, okay?" they state impatiently.

"You're being kind of rude right now." Aether states, placing his freehand on his hip like a disappointed mother might, "First of all, who are you, and why are you down here?"

The ghoul balls up their little fists and bumps them together, pursing their lips, seeming to weigh their options.

It would be endearing if Aether weren't dubious of the ghoul's intentions right now.

"Lamb."

"Lamb?"

"Lamb."

"Okay, Lamb." Aether says, "Why are you down here?"

"Papa said-"

Honestly, when Aether asked, he was expecting a simple response, maybe for the ghoul to repeat what they said previously about needing to grab forgotten paperwork, but instead...

"So he said-"

Instead...

"And then-"

Aether pinches the bridge of his nose, "Okay, okay, I get the idea."

This ghoul, this ghoul can talk.

So much.

"So Copia sent you down here instead of coming down here himself, because...?"

"...Who the heck is Copia? Papa sent me. Papa."

"Copia is..." Aether furrows his brow, "...Copia is Papa's name. How... How do you not know that?"

"He has two names??"

"Oh my god..."

#Lamp writes #shitghosting #nameless ghouls #aether ghoul #copia #nameless ghoul oc #ghost band #ghost bc #the band ghost #ghost band fanfic #ghost band oc #Lamb is both clever and really dumb at the same time

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iviarellereads · 2 years ago

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Harrow the Ninth, Chapter 50

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For detail on The Locked Tomb coverage and the index, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Second House skull) In which there are a number of shocking reveals, and the other pun that nearly made me defenestrate my e-reader.

THIRTY MINUTES BEFORE THE EMPEROR'S MURDER

Ianthe leads Gideon to God's rooms, but the door stands open when it should be locked tight. The two press themselves against the wall to listen and peek inside.

Cytherea's body is inside, tied to a chair with tendon, as John asks how she's done all this.

The voice was still gravel. "I charge you with acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, the human race--" "Commander." "--for which the only sentence is death; repeated mass killings, the utter disintegration of institutions political and social, languages, cultures, religions, all niceties and personal liberties of the nations, by use of--" "Commander Wake," he said. It sounded like he scrubbed a hand over his face; there was a muffled exhalation. "I've heard all this before." "Call me by my full name, or don't name me at all. I'll be damned if I pass up the chance to hear you speak the words."

He delays a bit, and tries to get away with only a partial quote, but eventually she draws the whole thing out of him.

"Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead Kia Hua Ko Te Pai Snap Back to Reality Oops There Goes Gravity,"(1) he recited, all in one breath. "Correct?" "They're dead words--a human chain reaching back ten thousand years,"(2) said the corpse. "How did they feel?" "Genuinely sad, bordering on very funny," said God. "Can we talk?"

John continues that Wake has been trying to "commit suicide by cop"(3) since he found her. She asks if the ten billion he killed gave him telepathy, and he half wishes they had, but he knows people. He asks what her mission was, fishing for information.

After some more exchange of words, he asks why she went to the Ninth House twenty years ago, and how she's still a sane revenant after all this time.

"You're not a necromancer--" "Necromancy is a disease you released," she said. "Necromancy needs to be strategically and deliberately cleansed."(4) "Don't spout bigotry, Commander. I won't kill you for it and it hurts your cause," he said calmly. "I have access to any number of cute pictures of necromantic toddlers with their first bone. They don't make for fat-cheeked roly-poly babies, but they've got a certain something, and nobody likes toddlers juxtaposed with cleansed."(5) "How many babies died in the bomb, Gaius?" "All of them," he said.(6)

He asks again, how she got into Cytherea's body as she wasn't there when he picked it up at Canaan House, and what she was doing at the Ninth nineteen years ago. Before she can even think about responding, though, he asks who's at the door. Gideon almost thinks they've been found out, but Mercymorn and Augustine stroll into John's room, seeming not to notice Gideon or Ianthe hiding in the coat rack.

Mercy says it's all over now, and Augustine suggests that John man up and give in. John asks if he's in trouble (causing Mercy to burst into approximately four seconds of angry tears before she works it out of her system) and if it's really the right time to confront him about it.

As John gestures to Wake, Mercy and August seem to notice her for the first time. He introduces them, but Wake says, with great satisfaction, that they've met.

God said quietly, "You've met, Commander? Can you tell me more about that?" "I met the woman. I never met the man. She was the spokesperson for both." Mercy said, "It can't be. This can't be happening. This cannot be happening," and the other Lyctor said, "It evidently can." And God continued, "In what context?" "They were working for me," said the dead Commander. Mercymorn demanded, "Are you flattering yourself, or being wrong on purpose?" The other Lyctor interrupted, "Joy--" but she was saying, wildly: "Oh, let it happen! If this is happening, let it happen ... We had a deal, Wake! Where the hell have you been hiding for nineteen years?" "Where--you--fucking-left--me," she ground out. "In my bones. Then a blade.(6) In--that--fucking--hole."

Mercy and Wake argue for a bit, repeating that Gideon was on Wake's tail for two years before he sent her, in a dying tailspin, down onto the Ninth.

John freezes everyone, like he did at the dinner with Harrow's soup, and asks again why Wake went to the Ninth. She replies:

"To break into the Tomb."

Wake goes on to explain most, if not the whole, Dios Apate, Major(7) plot: Mercy's eggs and the dummy incubators were non-viable, so she inseminated herself with the sample obtained. The child's blood was supposed to help her break into the Tomb.

As John explains how this could never have worked, Gideon Prime walks in, finds Harrow and Ianthe cowering, and steals the sunglasses from Harrow-Gideon's face,(8) then continues on into the room until he's noticed by Augustine.

The woman I was pretty sure was actually my mother - wearing the body of a woman I'd had a crush on, who in turn had been wearing the identity of a woman she'd murdered, until I fell on a spike so that my boss could kill her - craned her head around in her bonds.

Wake looks like her saviour has just walked in. Duty closes the distance between them, taking a gun out of his belt, and shoots Wake at the base of Cytherea's skull.

God is dismayed that Wake's ghost is completely gone. Augustine asks what happened to Number Seven, but Duty says it ran away. Augustine wants to know how THAT works, with Duty still alive. Mercy interrupts to say she wants Gideon I to hear this too, to know what Pyrrha died for.

God asks Gideon Classic if he was aware Wake was pregnant when she landed at the Ninth House. He did. God asks why he didn't stop her, to which he replies that he thought it was his, to the disgust of Mercy and uncontrolled, desperate amusement of August.

John puzzles out that the plan, then, was to kill a Lyctor's baby to open the wards… but Mercy says he knows they all know exactly what those wards entail. It was his essence, collected in another night of debauchery, twenty years ago. God asks if the baby died en route to the ground, but Mercy says no, it didn't.

At this, Gideon, wearing Harrow's body, emerges from the robes, and closes the space between herself and the group. Everyone turns to look at her, as she comes to stand behind the chair with the body on it.

"I'm-" I said.

The world revolved.

"I'm not fucking dead," I said, which wasn't even true, and I was choking up; everything I'd ever done, everything I'd ever been through, and I was choking up.

And the Emperor of the Nine Houses, the Necrolord Prime, stood from his chair to look at you - at me; looked at my face, looked at your face, looked at my eyes in your face. It took, maybe, a million myriads. The static in your ears resolved into wordless screaming. His expression was just - gently quizzical; mildly awed.

"Hi, Not Fucking Dead," he said. "I'm Dad."(9)

=====

(1) Yes, those are, in sequence, quotes from Henry V, New Zealand's national anthem, and Eminem's Lose Yourself. Also explains the dogtag! (2) Hmm. Well those are definitely references to our world and time. So… this is the far future, somehow. And Dominicus is definitely our solar system. (3) I'm not personally a fan of the "commit" part of the phrase (suicide shouldn't be framed as a crime to be committed, but a tragedy of loss and failure of support systems), but "suicide by cop" is such a weird and loaded phrase to find in these books that, up to a point, appeared to be silly space lesbians, y'know? Oh, but we were never quite in a silly book, were we? Not since Gideon's "indenture" on Drearburh was made clear. (4) I suppose that begins to hint at what the BOE's agenda is. (5) He's so cold about it, too. Not harsh cold, I don't think, but so calm about discussing a war of propaganda. (6) In her bones, then in a blade. Perhaps a very large blade, carried nearly everywhere by a certain redhead of her own make. A blade that, perhaps, might give off an aura of malice toward a necromancer sensitive but untrained in reading or understanding the presence of spirits. The first night on the Mithraeum, when Harrow was possessed and found herself in Cytherea's tomb, the sword plunged into the dead woman's heart. A thanergetic link indeed. (7) Recall, when Mercy was horrified at August's calling the new plan "Dios Apate, Minor" and he had to reassure her that it was Minor, MINOR! before she agreed to go along. Well, they'd used a plan very, very similar to that very one, twenty years before. (8) Now why would he need sunglasses, and why would he not have his own? I feel like this also carries a LOT of emotional and thematic significance, because as we see in this very chapter, G1deon thought that Wake's baby was his. So here he is, forming a connection with her. The child denied him. (9) It took me a long moment of thought not to throw my e-reader at this one. I'm just as glad I didn't have the hardcover to contend with because I'd have valued it less than the potential replacement cost of a nice Kobo. Though it would've been VERY cathartic.

#the locked tomb #tlt #harrow the ninth #htn #harrow the ninth spoilers #htn spoilers #gideon nav #ianthe tridentarius #emperor john gaius #awake remembrance of these valiant dead #mercymorn the first #augustine the first #gideon the first

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koiguy94 · 1 month ago

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I’m speechless my friend didn’t deserve this

The blue lights flash behind me, and my stomach knots up like it always does. I’m not speeding, not swerving, not doing a damn thing wrong. But none of that matters. I’ve seen this movie before, and it doesn’t end well for people who look like me.

It’s 11:47 PM, and the streets are dead quiet. The only sound is my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I pull over slowly, hands already at ten and two on the wheel. The squad car rolls up behind me, and its headlights flood my rearview mirror.

“Stay calm, Marcus. Stay calm,” I whisper to myself.

A tall officer steps out, his face shadowed by the blinding glare of his car’s lights. Another follows, shorter, stockier. Both walk toward my car with a predatory swagger, like they’ve already decided how this is going to go.

The first officer taps on my window with his flashlight. I roll it down just enough to speak.

“License and registration,” he barks, not even looking at me. His flashlight shines straight into my eyes, making me squint.

“Yes, officer. I’m reaching for it now,” I say, my voice steady but strained.

I move slow, deliberate, narrating every motion like I’m talking a toddler through a bedtime story. “I’m opening the glove box… here’s the registration.” I hand it over, then reach for my wallet.

That’s when it happens.

“GUN!” the shorter one yells.

Before I can react, the door yanks open, and a fist slams into my temple. Pain explodes in my skull as they drag me out of the car. I hit the pavement hard, gravel biting into my cheek.

“Please! I don’t have a gun!” I scream, my voice cracking.

But they don’t care. The first blow of the baton lands on my ribs, then another, and another. I feel something snap inside me. My screams bounce off the empty street, but no one comes.

“Stop resisting!” one of them yells, even though I’m not resisting. My arms are pinned under their knees, my chest pressed to the asphalt.

The flashlight smashes into the back of my head, and my vision goes blurry. Blood pools in my mouth, the metallic taste making me gag.

“I’m not… I’m not resisting…” I gasp, the words barely audible through the blood and pain.

They don’t stop.

One of them pulls out a taser and presses it to my back. The jolt rips through me like fire, my muscles convulsing uncontrollably. I’m choking on my own screams now, tears streaming down my face, mixing with the blood on the pavement.

“Thought you could pull a gun on us, huh?” one of them sneers, kicking me in the stomach.

I can’t breathe.

Everything starts to fade—my vision narrowing, my hearing muffled. But just before I black out, I hear the crackle of the radio.

“Suspect subdued. No weapon found.”

I wake up in a hospital bed, handcuffed to the rail. My body feels like it’s been through a meat grinder. My jaw is wired shut, and I can barely see out of one swollen eye.

The nurse won’t look me in the eye when she whispers, “You’re lucky to be alive.”

Lucky? That’s what they call this?

The door creaks open, and two officers step in—not the ones who nearly killed me, but their colleagues. They’re calm, composed, rehearsed.

“You assaulted two officers during a traffic stop,” one says, his tone cold. “You’re under arrest for resisting arrest and endangering law enforcement.”

I can’t even respond.

The story they’ll tell will be different from mine. The dashcam “malfunctioned,” and my word won’t mean a damn thing in court. To the world, I’ll be just another violent Black man who got what he deserved.

But they won’t tell you about the nightmares I’ll have for the rest of my life, the way I’ll flinch every time I see those blue lights again.

Because for men like me, there’s no escaping the horror.

#storytime #truestory #so true #fuck cops #all cops are bastards #story

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alchemist-of-altoids · 1 year ago

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Most of the Batfam are in the Batcave. They just finished patrol for the night. They’ve been sticking extra close ever since… Damian. It’s only been a month. Alfred tried to tell them to take some time off, but they couldn’t. Gotham wouldn’t. Crime wouldn’t. Villains wouldn’t. So they can’t. Danny appears in front of them, in full royal regalia. He’s beautiful and terrible, majestic and horrifying. They can’t stop looking, but they desperately want to look away. As however, two more beings show up afterwards. A man in some… strange armor. It looks like a bizarre combination of medieval European knight’s armor and assassins garb. It’s also red, green, yellow, and black. The final figure is-

“You bastard!” Dick shouts, lunging at the knight in all black before anyone else can even react. He knocks the knight to the ground. His helmet rolls away, leaving a pitch black skull with Lazarus green eyes. Dick reeled his hand back and let loose one hit after another, bloodying and bruising his knuckles. “Motherfucker! You killed him! He was just a kid! My little brother! You took him from me! From us! I swear to god I’m gonna-“

“Nightwing! Enough!” Bruce called at his oldest son. Dick didn’t want to stop. He wanted to keep going. To beat whoever this was until they were just a smear on the ground. But he looked back, for just a second. They were scared. Of him. His family. He’d lost it. He’d sworn they’d never see him like this, that he’d never get lost in his anger again. He couldn’t. But he did. He stood up, and started to back away, but before he could get far, the other Knight grabbed his arm.

“Let go. Now.” Dick said. He needed to get away, he needed to-

“Not on your life.” A familiar voice echoed inside the helmet. But i-it couldn’t be. He was gone. He was dead. He- “It’s good to see you Grayson.”

The new knight removed their helmet, and there he was. His baby bird. Giving him that smile that was reserved for Dick.

“Damian.” Dick hugged him. Then Cass came in. Then Steph. And one by one the rest of the family piled in.

“Good to have you back Demon Brat.” Jason said.

“How is this possible?” Tim asked, holding onto his younger brother.

“How is this possible?” Tim asked.

“Because my-“ The knight began speaking, before the third, and unknown, figure spoke.

“Nope. No talking. Shut your mouth Frighty.” He said, his tone and manner of speaking contrasting with his attire. He stuck his hand out towards the Bats. “Hi, I’m Phantom. King of the Infinite Realms, Ruler of Ghosts, Chosen Champion of the Core, blah blah blah. Anyways, here’s the thing.”

Everyone tensed at that. They released Damian and got into defensive positions. Considering the situation, there was no way that whatever this person was about to say would be good.

Phantom grabbed “Frighty”, as he had called him, and lifted him up. He tossed him his helmet, and then turned him to face the family.

The family tensed even more. They prepared to strike as “Frighty” began moving. Then, he dropped. He fell to one knee, bowing his head.

“I am deeply sorry.” His voice boomed. “I apologize for what I have done. I failed to consider the wishes of anyone apart from myself.”

“Yeah, Frighty can be a little short sighted sometimes.” Phantom chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not that I’m one to talk about that.

“Anyways, he wanted to retire. But before he could do that, he needed to find a replacement. Can’t leave the King unguarded afterall. Even if said King is the strongest ghost in the Realms and never even WANTED to be King. Sorry, getting off track. Anyways, he wanted to find someone from his bloodline to take his place.”

“So why not take me?” Bruce asked the second Phantom had said that. “If you needed someone from our bloodline, why take him? Why did it have to be him?”

“Oh, uhhh. Yeah, you’re not the side of the bloodline I’m talking about. Frighty was an Al Ghoul waaaaaaaay back. This armor is actually more modern than anything he had in his life. I think he’s Ra’s great-great-great… great? Grandpa? Doesn’t matter! Point is, Damian was the best choice. Because what you think I’d accept Ra’s as my guard? No way. The only reason I’m not dragging him to the Realms for what he’s done is because I know I’ll get him eventually. Talia would be okay, but still not great. Damian was a good choice because I know I can trust him. He’s good. Kind. And he’ll kick my ass if I’m being stupid. And, although the won’t admit it I know he did it on purpose, we’re about the same age. He’s a little older, but not much. And what can I say, I’ve always had a thing for angsty vegan billionaires and vigilantes in red.”

Damian blushed at that, though luckily only Cass noticed. She’d pocket that information for later.

“But anyways, I’m here to let you know that Damian will NOT be my Knight until he has lived out his natural life. Or… well… half-life, I guess.”

“Half-life?” Bruce repeated.

“Yes? He’s going to be a halfa, like Red Hood.” Phantom said like it was obvious.

“What?!” Jason yelped. “I am NOT a halfawhatsit or whatever!”

“I mean, your core in underdeveloped and you’ve got all that nasty shit in you, but l wouldn’t go THAT far.”

“Phantom, they truly do not know what a halfa is.” Damian said.

“Wait, seriously? With all of the liminality and ecto you guys have I thought- Oh well. Might as well start at the beginning. Frighty, you’re dismissed. Head back to the Keep.”

“Yes my lord.” “Frighty” said before disappearing into a Lazarus green portal. Not long afterwards, a bright light surrounded Phantom. Where he had been floating now stood a boy, right around Damian’s age. He actually kind of blended in with the rest of the group. Black hair, blue eyes. He looked around 6’3. Taller than Bruce, but not quite as tall as Jason. His build was similar to Dick’s. Definitely muscular, but a lean muscle.

“Hi. I’m Danny Fenton. Now, what I’m about to say is going to sound insane, but hey,” Danny flashed a grin with too many teeth, that were too sharp and too long to be normal human teeth. “Something tells me you’ll believe it.”

With the official crowning of the Infinite Realms new King. Fright Knight can finally retire. Thousands of years he has waited for this moment, to finally rest.

But first he must find a suitable replacement for his new king whom he had admittedly grown fond of.

But Whom?

The answer was quite simple. Just as he had been trained long ago to prepare for his potential fate. Having been bestowed the duty by his own ancestor. Who had been chosen herself by the previous, on and so forth.

His bloodline, an heir. He was sure it held strong. Protecting their doorways and preparing for the next Chosen weilder of the Soul Shredder, protector of the High King.

The Next Fright Knight.

After informing his new King of his temporary leave. He entered the Royal Library to follow along his family tree and remind himself of the name he had long since been summoned away from.

AL GHUL.

And from the looks of his descendants only one met the criteria he was searching for.

18, Male ( his time around his new King had certainly been enough to gleam where his..interests lie and being the same age should help smooth the reaction of his new King when he finds out)

If you are to be soul bound to one enother for the rest of your existence, it is a benefit to appeal to one another afterall.

Now, he must simply shred the soul of Damian Wayne and bind him to the sword.

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lonely-lost-soul · 4 years ago

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Under The Floorboards pt. IIII

(Technoblade X Reader): Pt. I, Pt. II, Pt. III, Pt. IIII, Pt. V

Whipping the sweat off your brow you placed the honey jars you collected on the ground, Phil really built this farm efficiently. However, that didn’t stop you needing to collect honey pots here and there, now that the vault was complete you could actually use the honey for normal things. Technoblade would never admit it but he loved when you put honey in his tea, contrary to popular belief he wasn’t a fan of plain black tea or coffee. You rolled up your sleeves and adjusted the sunhat that sat lazily on your head against your better judgment you had left your armor inside. The only thing on your person was a netherite ax Techno had enchanted for you, it was an effective weapon but without your armor, you were a bit of a sitting duck. As the bees buzzed and bumped lazily into each other, you couldn’t help but smile fondly at the sight. They were just so silly. You picked up the crate of jars and turned around, your eyes narrowed as you saw some movement by the trees, it was still too early for Tommy and Technoblade to be back...so just who was snooping around the property. You felt very naked in your sun hat and overalls, especially if it was Dream himself that you were about to encounter. Your worry only increased as you noticed four men all in netherite armor walking towards the house, their swords were drawn. You had a feeling that these were the men who took Technoblade the day prior. They were like a little gang all dressed the same way, bloody aprons and all they really had the executioner vibes down.

“Hello, gentlemen.” You smiled giving them a wave while you adjusted the box of honey, “beautiful day isn’t it?”

The first to answer was a man who had a scar from the tip of his eyebrow down to the bottom of his lip. He sent you a smile and you noticed a tooth missing from the upper row, a navy blue beanie held his dark hair in place.

“Very beautiful, it’s always a good day when the sun is shining.” He mused the sun in question reflected beautifully across all their netherite armor. The one thing you decided to leave inside, you weren’t intimidated nope not at all. “What’s your name sweetheart?”

“(Y/N).” You responded with a hum, “Is there something that I can help you all with today?” Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed two of the men moved to surround you, they thought they were slick. The only one who didn’t move was the tallest of the children there, he looked to be half Enderman. He also looked like he wanted to be anywhere but where he was right now poor thing. Drawing your gaze back to the other three men, you noticed one was Tommy’s age and had small horns atop his head, along with goat-like ears. A burn scar also took up half of his face. It made you frown distastefully, what was with these kids getting traumatized? First Tommy and now the half enderman and the goat kid, you couldn’t adopt all of them, well you could but it’d be a lot of work. The other looked to be part fox after all the big orange ears and the fluffy tail was dead give away, wait didn’t Ghostbur say his son was a fox. “Are you Fundy?” You asked, suddenly tilting your head to the side.

“How do you know my name?” Fundy’s face flushed a little and he shuffled on his feet, his hand twitching to grab the sword that was at his side.

“I talked to your father earlier today. I’m assuming that’s how you found me?” You took the hat off your head and rested it on Carl’s stable. The fox gave a reluctant nod of confirmation you licked your lips and put your hands behind your back. “So? Do you have a problem with Technoblade or just me specifically?”

“Wow, she’s not even a little bit ashamed.” Quackity mused and you frowned, “We’re here because your boyfriend blew up our country. He also disgraced our President right Tubbo? Don’t know if you’re aware of that or not but he escaped his punishment. So we intend to make him repent.” He walked towards you and you took a step away from him.

“That’s far enough thank you.” You held up your hand in hopes it would stop his trek towards you, Quackity did pause for a moment. He let out a chuckle and smiled. He thought your tough attitude was cute, but he was clearly mocking you.

Jackass.

“Quackity maybe we should leave her be...she didn’t do anything.” The young goat kid murmured his ears flicking as he looked up at you.

“Quiet Tubbo. Let the adults speak,” Quackity snapped at him before clearing his throat and looking back at you. “Listen (Y/N) was it? We’re going to have to ask that you come with us. If you don’t we’ll have to take you by force.”

“Wait, couldn't Technoblade have trained her?” The half enderman spoke holding up his finger in the air but no one seemed to pay him any attention.

“I guess force it is. Although the fight is a little unfair.” You took out your ax and twirled it in your hand, “Something tells me you don’t exactly like fair fights.” Fundy took a hesitant step backward not really wanting to lose a life for this of all things, but he pulled out his sword just in case. Clicking your tongue in distaste you sent a bloodthirsty smile their way, one that rivaled Technoblade, “Come at me.”

Without hesitation, Quackity charged at you with his sword he didn’t aim to kill, just disarm or injure. You blocked the swing with the wooden part of your ax and spun around just in time to dodge an attack from Tubbo. You managed to elbow him in the back and he stumbled forward into Quackity, the man made a grunting sound before shoving Tubbo off of him and into the snow. Fundy moved next and managed to land a hit on the side of your arm, you hissed loudly glaring daggers at the fox. His ears pressed against his head and he let out a small whimper, “sorry!”

“Don’t apologize to her!” Quackity groaned, “You guys are the worst gang ever.” He slapped his forehead as you readjusted your posture, “I have to do everything myself.” Quackity snarled charging at you again you sidestepped out of the way. As he stumbled trying to regain himself he knocked over the honey pots and they shattered against the ground. You swung your ax and managed to land a hit on him in the back of the legs, he let out a strangled yelp and fell on his face into the snow like Tubbo had done earlier. Yanking out the ax out of the leader of the gang blood splattered all over the ground and stained the snow. Little red beads dripped off the ax as you held it by your side, the man only let out another scream as it was torn out of him.

“Back. Off.” You repeated again baring your teeth with a hiss, “Turn around and go back to L’manburg and I won’t kill you. Got it.” The ax was pointed at all of them, you saw the half enderman nod vigorously,

“Yes ma’am.” He nodded rapidly grabbing Tubbo and Fundy by the arm and pulled them back, the three of them watched as Quackity snarled and backed up to join them. You watched them cower and you dropped your ax on the ground so you could press the palm of your hand into the wound on your arm. You quickly turned and ran back into your home to collect bandages and fix yourself up, blood speckled the floor as you made your way into the bathroom. You tore off your overalls and shirt, washing out the wound before wrapping your arm in bandages. You didn’t know how long you stood there in front of the mirror but you looked worse for wear.

Technoblade was going to lose his shit.

---

All Technoblade could think about on their way back to his retirement home, was you. He could only put up with Tommy for so many hours until he needed to talk to literally anyone else. He was ready to get your relaxing date night underway; he could already feel your fingers running through his hair braiding his as you went. He hummed fondly listening as the voices called him simp repeatedly, he didn’t mind this time considering he was when it came to you.

“That’s still cringe chat.” He murmured to himself as Tommy continued to scream about something in the background, “Yeah, yeah I love her.” He heard the chat flip their shit and he fondly chuckled, intermixed with their happy cries there was a distinct sound of ‘E’ as well as ‘nerd.’ He almost didn’t hear Tommy’s worried shouting. He frowned and rolled his eyes back into his skull,

“What Tommy?”

“Technoblade! Technoblade!” The teen bumped back into him, Technoblade grunted and looked down at him. He followed Tommy’s eyes and spotted the blood littered snow outside his house. Technoblade paused and his vision went red around the edges, his eyes stayed trained on the bloodstains as the voices began to roar within his skull. His head shot up and he saw the honey box spilled over on the ground, glass littered the snow, your hat hanging loosely on Carl’s old stable.

“T-Technoblade.” Tommy stuttered again looking up at the pig-man, seeing how glazed over his eyes looked. He swore steam was coming out of Technoblade’s nose and his hand drew out his pickaxe gripping it so tight his knuckles turned white. He felt his tusks grow in size and his face began to shift into his pig form. Tommy’s voice was drowned out by the flood that was the voices in his head:

‘SHE’S GONE. THEY HAVE HER. KILL THEM ALL. BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD. WE DEMAND BLOOD. E. SAVE HER. YOU’RE A FAILURE. YOU DIDN’T PROTECT HER. SLAUGHTER ALL OF THEM. SHE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. SHE NEVER HURT ANYBODY. YOU BROKE YOUR PROMISE. BLOOD. BLOOD. BLOOD. BLOOD.’

Technoblade took a step forward to which Tommy rapidly backed up in response. He’s never seen Techno this gone before, oh shit he has it bad for (Y/N). However, Tommy didn’t make a move to stop Technoblade; he didn’t want him to release that rage on him. Technoblade walked into the house, stepping on his glasses that fell off his face. He threw his door open with a loud slam, he needed potions and he needed a new sword.

Whoever did this all their cannon lives were gone he’d make it long and torturous.

A soft voice broke him out of his stupor his entire body went rigid.

“Bubs…” He slowly turned around and came face to face with you, you looked so small, so delicate standing in the doorway. You were wearing your pajamas, soft blue with little sheep all over them. His ears twitched and his shoulders softened considerably seeing you standing safe in the doorway, however, he tensed again the minute he saw the bandages tied around your arm. Blood leaking through them, he growled eyes locking in on the spot as you made soft shushing sounds at him.

‘SHE’S HURT. SHE’S ALIVE THOUGH. BUT SHE’S HURT, THEY NEED TO PAY. ATONE FOR WHAT THEY DID TO HER. BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD. SPILL THEIR BLOOD THEN MAKE OUT WITH HER. SHE’LL LOVE YOU MORE IF YOU DO. BLOOD. BLOOD. BLOOD.’

Technoblade jumped feeling her hand caress his cheek, “Bubs it’s alright I’m okay.” Your voice was smooth and soothing, his eyes dilated as you spoke to him. His face shifting back to normal as he breathed heavily through his nose, “See?” You brought his head down to rest against your chest, it looked uncomfortable the way that he was bending. However, he could feel your heart beating in your chest, he made a soft whimper and grabbed onto your shoulders his pink hair tickled your chin. You brought your hands up to run his fingers through his hair as he finally calmed down enough to ignore the voices for the time being. Right now they were just commenting on how nice and warm her hands were anyway.

“What happened to you? There was blood everywhere I was so scared.” His voice broke a little bit as he pulled away from you. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest Technoblade had never looked so broken.

“The butcher squad came and attacked me. They wanted to use me to get to you but I fought them off just like you taught me.” You couldn’t help but smile proudly at him and he let out a disbelieving laugh. His hands moved from your shoulders to your back as he cradled you gently in his arms, you both stood there rocking back and forth together until Technoblade was satisfied.

“That’s my girl.” He finally murmured backing away from you, you flushed at the compliment. Whenever he called you that it made you flush all over, you let out a loud flustered whine and whacked him on the chest. Technoblade laughed at your flustered expression, it was a rare moment the tables were flipped like this and Technoblade was going to take full advantage of the situation. “Princess what’s with that look? Am I, thee Technoblade, making you flustered? I know I’m a lot to handle, I beat Dream once, I never die, I’m not homeless. Guess what?”

“What?” You couldn’t help but let out a giggle as he circles you eyeing you up and down.

“I’m single.”

“Oh really?” You cocked an eyebrow, “I thought you had a girlfriend.” You twirled your hair around your fingers and you felt his strong hands rest on your waist.

“Hm I don’t think so. You might need to refresh my memory,” Technoblade mused kissing your neck tenderly.

“Well she’s stunningly gorgeous, and tough as nails,” Your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned back against him. “She absolutely adores you and how protective you are of her, and how much of a gentle giant you are.” He made a noise of protest and rested his chin on the top of your head. You could tell he was pouting at you,

“See, not only is that super cringe but also factually incorrect. I am not a gentle giant, I just committed vast sums of minor terrorism and I also kill orphans so what would my girlfreind say to that huh?” He huffed clicking his tongue distastefully.

“She would say that you’re right but also she sees the way you take care of Carl, and how you put up with Tommy. You’re totally brothers. That makes you at least a little bit soft”

“Not brothers and I don’t like him.”

“Right sure,” You giggled a little and kissed his chin lightly.

Technoblade let out an indignant sound before muttering, “Oh we should probably tell Tommy you aren’t kidnapped. Also discuss what to do about L’manburg now that they know you exist.” You blocked out that last part and made a beeline outside to find Tommy. The teenager in question was fumbling with his hands over by his cobblestone tower, you ran over to him and engulfed him in a hug.

“(Y/N)!” He shouted letting out a disbelieving laugh hugging you back with a childish smile. “You’re okay! Holy fuck I totally thought you were dead and shit! Technoblade was going fucking apeshit! His face went all pig like n’ shit totally thought he was gonna kill everyone for you! Not that I was worried.” He added quickly shoving you away crossing his arms.

“Of course you weren’t THE Tommy is never worried.”

“Yeah exactly Miss Blade you get me.” You smiled fondly at him and you ruffled his hair and he shouted at you to stop. You did so sensing Technoblade approach the both of you, Techno interlocked your hand with his own and squeezed it tightly. “You chill now Big T?”

“I’m always chill Tommy. Only nerds aren’t chill.” He mused with a scoff, “Hence why I always call you a nerd.”

“WHAT THE FUCK TECHNOBLADE! I AM ALWAYS CHILL! I’M THE CHILLEST MAN ALIVE I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW!”

“Stop shouting,” Technoblade groaned burying his face in your hair as you laughed fondly at their antics. Although L’manburg knew about your existence now, and although you knew Dream probably wasn’t too far behind in learning that knowledge either, you felt everything was going to be okay.

All you needed was each other, Technoblde, Tommy, Phil and you. Together you four were gonna do great things, you just knew it.

~~~

I do plan on making another part because people seem to be enjoying this story a lot more than I originally thought when I first posted it. Which is amazing thank you for all the love and support! New stuff is also in the works, thanks again for reading and enjoying! Stay safe guys! 🥰✨

#dream smp #dreamsmp x reader #technoblade x reader #technoblade x you #mcyt x you #mcyt x reader #mcyt #minecraft fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #blood for the blood god #rp

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fics-by-caroline · 3 years ago

Text

Bloodlust

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Magical!Reader

Summary: You and Loki are part of the Avengers, but the pair of you have different ideas of what justice entails than the rest of the group; i.e., more horror, more drama, an eye for an eye. And man, do you two ever look sexy covered in blood.

Category: Smut (18+ only, please!)

Warnings: Smut (blood kink, oral sex -- f receiving), rough sex, porn with some plot), language, graphic descriptions of violence, gore, smoking, alcohol consumption, mention of human trafficking.

A/N: This is my first time writing smut, so please be nice 🥺

Taking a drag from a cigar in the corner of the dimly-lit speakeasy, your target looked you up and down. Even without tapping into his thoughts, you could tell that he liked what he saw; how the black dress you wore hugged your figure, how you had crossed your legs in a way that allowed him to catch the red bottoms of your heels, red that was reflected in your lipstick and nails. You turned to make eye contact with him, and were immediately hit with hearing him imagine you on your knees sucking him off in one of his fancy cars and afterwards kicking you out onto the street.

Typical, You thought with disgust, finishing your martini. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into your back. Feeling him get up and walk towards you, you shot a knowing look at Loki across the bar.

“Can I buy you a drink?” The man’s voice was dripping in disgusting salaciousness. He sat beside you, reeking of the over-application of cologne, whiskey, and cigar smoke.

You shot him a demure smile. “A dirty martini, drier than the Sahara.”

The man waved down the bartender before leaning closer to you. “Michael Ashbourne.”

You suppressed an eye roll, taking instead to lighting a cigarette. “I know who you are, Mr. Ashbourne.”

“And what is it that you know of me?” Ashbourne stroked your hair with a drunken finger.

Uncrossing your legs, you turned to face him. “That you are one of the worst Midgardian men alive today. You cheat people out of their winnings in various casinos around the world, making yourself and your friends — no doubt the ones who surrounded you in that corner over there — some of the richest men in the world, while managing to operate under the radars of your enemy governments. You sell weapons and drugs because you always want even more money on top of the billions you already have, not caring about the damage you cause. You drink the most expensive liquors, sleep with all the women you please, and leave people eating the dust in your wake. But what brings you to the epitome of disgusting actions is your engagement in the trafficking of girls, once again, for even more money.” Even though you kept your voice low, you made sure to lace every word with biting poison.

Ashbourne pulled back in shock, unmoving and speechless.

You smirked at his silence. “Your cunningness is almost impressive, especially for a human. You manage to remain one step ahead of the mewling mortals who are left to crawl in your fading footprints. Bravo. Unfortunately for you, however, I am not one of them.” You waved a finger, from which a small ribbon of white magic followed.

“Who the hell are you?” Ashbourne hissed.

“A hero in the eyes of the people you have crossed, and the villain in yours.”

Ashbourne scoffed condescendingly. Stupid bitch, you heard him think. “Speaking in mysterious riddles just makes you look stupid, missy. I don’t know how you know what you know, but it’s a bit too much for my liking.” He raised a hand, beckoning over the large men who had accompanied him.

You sighed, unimpressed. Before they could so much as reach for their belt, you pulled the pistol from your garter stockings and fired silenced shots in between their eyes, before holding a dagger against Ashbourne’s throat. The speakeasy froze in horrified silence.

With a small chuckle at the sudden shock and fear in Ashbourne’s muddy eyes, you called to Loki. “Darling, are there others?”

“No darling, not here … but we can’t have witnesses, can we?” Loki sauntered up to you, kissing you on the head. He looked around at the few bystanders in the bar, terror keeping their feet rooted in place.

“Loki, is that really necessary —”

You were cut off by Loki launching towards the horrified bystanders like a cat pouncing on prey, his daggers slicing through their necks gliding ease. He finished off by throwing a knife into the bartender’s skull, silencing his terrorized mind that shrieked in your own so annoyingly. Loki looked back at you with an amused glint in his eyes, blood on every surface of the speakeasy, including Loki’s own body. Gesturing around him, he noted dryly, “They were dead in seconds, no suffering.”

You rolled your eyes before turning your attention back to Ashbourne, who sat with eyes wide and mouth agape. You smirked and applied a bit more pressure to the blade in your hand, drawing small beads of blood. You snuffed out your cigarette and stood up, toying with his bowtie as your heel dug into his foot. You could taste the fear that drenched his mind. “What’s this?” You cooed. “Feeling scared?”

“Ah, you’re so right, my love,” Loki smiled, looking around the room at the bloody mess he created. “Not using magic is so much more fun. I missed getting my hands dirty.”

You chuckled lowly. You couldn’t help but stare at him hungrily; there was something in the way the blood splatter stood out against his pale skin that awoke an arousal in you. Shaking your head, you turned back to the man under your knife and cocked an eyebrow. “How do you think I should do this? Stabbing is too classic, going for the neck is too neat.”

“Unzip him, dear,” Loki hummed. He shot a bolt of green magic towards the man, binding him in glowing ropes that wrapped around his pitiful body. Noticing your dry look, he shrugged. “I want a proper view of your handiwork, and I can’t have that if I’m holding him.”

“Fair enough,” You said. After a moment’s thought, you waved your hands, making Ashbourne’s shirt disappear in a white flash of your own magic.

“Wait, wait, stop. What do you want? Money? I have money. What do you want?” Ashbourne pleaded.

“I want ...” you said coldly, “to hear you scream.”

You stepped forward and sunk your dagger into his lower abdomen, slicing upwards smoothy, careful as to not sever any major blood vessels. Ashbourne screamed in agony — music to both yours and Loki’s ears. You grinned at the blood that spurted out to meet you, and tossed the dagger onto the surface of the bar. You looked at the open mess in front of you and sunk your hand into the open cavity, making Ashbourne wail.

Loki smacked Ashbourne’s face with a deadly glare. “Stay awake, you.”

You reached farther into Ashbourne’s gut, quickly finding the pulsating aorta. You looked up at Ashbourne’s paling face, cheek now sporting a bloody handprint from where Loki had slapped him, and pulled on the artery, which snapped and spurted hot blood all over you. Loki released his magic binds, leaving the body of the man to collapse like a rag doll onto the floor, very much dead.

You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears as you discarded the shred of aorta in your hands onto the lifeless body. You turned to look at Loki, who was smiling back at you with a familiar, blazing fire behind his eyes. He reached over and picked up your discarded dagger from the tabletop. He looked it over once, then swiped his tongue up one side of the blade. You groaned in arousal at the sight.

“The taste of justice, my dear,” He said, licking his lips.

He turned his fiery gaze back on you, holding the knife out for your taking. Without breaking eye contact, you licked up the other side, the metallic taste of Ashbourne’s blood spreading through your mouth only adding to the wet ache between your legs.

“Fucking hell,” Loki breathed, the large bulge in his dress trousers clearly evident.

You took the dagger, swiping away the rest of the blood that stained it on your finger and licked it clean. A deep rumble escaped from Loki’s lips before he smashed his lips onto yours, your tongues trading the tastes of blood and saliva. With a sharp tug, Loki tore your dress down and pinched your nipples between his bloodied fingers as he backed you up onto the bar. While normally, he would take his time with you, tease you at a torturously slow pace, make you plead and squirm beneath him, he now was fuelled purely by an animalistic flame, his lips and teeth marking your lips, jaw, neck, shoulders, collarbones. You broke apart only for you to render the pair of you naked by way of a flick of the wrist and a flash of white light. You stared at each other, both of you breathless and admiring how the blood that drenched your clothing had stained your bodies in a beautiful pattern of death.

“I love you so much,” You whispered.

“I love you too,” Loki said, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip lightly.

In a flash, the momentary gentleness was gone as Loki pushed two fingers inside of you and curled them. You shouted out in pleasure, then gasped when you felt Loki’s tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, Loki!” You hissed, throwing your head back and grinding deeper onto Loki’s fingers and tongue.

The most audacious and obscene sounds filled the speakeasy as Loki twisted his fingers inside your cunt and attacked you with his mouth. You moaned unabashedly and Loki in return groaned against your body. His nips against your clit were anything but gentle, his fingers fucking your cunt so deeply, so gloriously, that your entire body sparked with invisible electricity.

“You’re going to cum for me,” Loki growled, “you’re going to cum for me and make me drink it as you do.”

You nodded into the air, gasping, panting, writhing under him. You clenched around his head, locking Loki into place, and came on his face, rolling and thrusting your hips against his mouth. Loki held your hips and drank your release until your orgasm finally finished washing over you.

Before you could begin to catch your breath, Loki seized your neck in one large hand and pushed himself inside of you in one fluid motion, causing the both of you to moan loudly. He started moving his hips immediately at a quick and relentless pace, splitting you apart in pleasure. You reached up to wrap your arms and legs around him desperately. As he hit that sweet spot that no other could, you brought your nails down his back, no doubt drawing blood. All thoughts had disappeared from your minds, pure animalistic pleasure and arousal clearing everything else out. Your combined energy made the lights spark and flicker, furniture going flying as your grip on your magic became weaker. Loki slammed into you, your walls tight around him, his pelvis grinding in such a way that he moved against your clit. You were only barely registering how you clung onto him for dear life, the most indecent noises pouring from both of your mouths, bodies slick in blood and sweat sliding against one another. Your connection into each other’s minds let you both know that the other was just as close to their climax without speaking. Expletives punctuated your shared groans and screams, Loki’s grip on your body so tight that bruises were sure to follow, your teeth and nails marking his skin.

“Loki, I — fuck — Loki!” You cried as you felt your body begin to tremble uncontrollably.

“I know, I — ah! I know —!” Loki groaned, biting your neck.

You exploded again with a scream and you slammed your hand onto the table, releasing a huge pulse of magic that levelled the room around you. Green explosions set off around you as Loki lost control and spilled into you with a stammering thrust and deep groan. Even though your eyes were both closed, you could see each other in your minds, totally blissful and exhausted, chests heaving. Loki’s lips found yours in a loving kiss.

“We should ... we should clean up here before the others come by,” You said, still out of breath.

Loki nodded wordlessly. He pulled out of you, causing you to whimper. We waved his hand, and the speakeasy righted itself in a glow of green light. Tables and chairs fixed themselves, light fixtures hung back up on the ceilings, blood and bodies disappeared, until the only remnant of your activities was the gore that still covered your naked bodies. You stood up and cricked your neck before cleaning yourself and Loki up, and dressing the pair of you in the dress and tuxedo you two were wearing.

“What will we say to the others when they ask about the sudden disappearance of everyone here?” You asked slowly.

“Don’t worry, love,” Loki grinned, “we can tell them the truth. We’re both too valuable for them to kick us out of the group.”

You laughed and took Loki’s outstretched arm, walking out into the cool night.

#loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x f!reader #loki x female reader #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #mcu loki #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #loki smut #loki oneshot #smut #mcu #mcu fanfiction #smut fanfiction #smut fic

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ray-ray-writings · 4 years ago

Text

Warming Up-Technoblade

This is a Technoblade x gn!reader in the dreamsmp! In this, we’re going to pretend that every village has a name, you’ll see why.

TW: Mention of domestic abuse. It’s very very brief, like one sentence long.

Check out my masterlist here!

Philza and Techno find something in the snow that definitely shouldn’t be there and take it back to Techno’s house to warm up

Technoblade’s POV

There wasn’t supposed to be anyone but Philza and me on this path. Ever. It was the path that Philza and I trekked to get from my home in the tundra to L’Manberg and vice versa. It was only known by the two of us. There shouldn’t have been anyone else here, it’s hidden… Lot of good that did me.

The walk started normally. Philza and I left his house in L’Manberg to go back to mine. I had something to show him and he wanted to come see it. So we took off down our path, bundled up tight. We walked for many blocks, making random conversation about the goings on in the server. We had almost made it back to my house, only about 150 blocks to go. I didn’t notice the body, Phil did. He was in the middle of a sentence and cut himself off with a gasp.

“What?” I questioned, really confused as to what was happening. He said nothing, only rushed forward further down the path. I immediately hopped into action and followed behind him. There was no way I was letting my father run off on his own. I watched, almost in amazement, as Philza dropped to the ground and slid on his knees, coming to a stop as he leaned over something on the ground.

As I joined him at his side, he shrugged off his winter coat and placed it on the ground. “Dadza, what are you-” My question froze in my throat as I looked to the ground. There, lying unconscious in the snow, was a person. They had cuts and bruises strewn about their face, a deep red stain soaked their shirt, telling us they were injured. Their eyes were closed, but short shallow breaths puffed from their parted blue lips letting me know they were alive. “Who is that?” I croaked, dropping to my knees beside my father. “I don’t know. I don’t recognize them. And how they got all the way out here is an absolute miracle,” Dadza stated, grabbing their arm to check their hearts. They’re health bar was a little below half but after a few moments of staring at it, they lost half a heart.

“We need to get them inside… Do you mind?” I let out a sigh, I knew what he was asking. As much as I didn’t want a housemate, I couldn’t just leave this person to freeze. “Yeah, okay. Just put your coat back on. I don’t need you freezing too. My internal body temperature is hot enough for me, I’ll give them my cloak,” I grumbled, a little begrudgingly. Dadza gave a quick nod before pulling his coat off of the person and slipping it on to his own body once more.

In one swift motion, I unclasped the cape and swung it around and laid it down on the person. “I’ll carry them bridal style. Let’s hope they don’t have back injuries,” I muttered, standing up, Dadza doing the same. I quickly bent down and scooped them up in arms, stumbling a little under the weight, but Dadza’s arm held me steady. Dadza tucked my cape closer to the unconscious person’s skin before the two of us trudged back to my cabin.

Once we had made our way to the house, I quickly brought the stranger into my living room. “Dadza,” I announced motioning my head to the couch and then to the fireplace. He took the hint and pushed the piece of furniture closer to the fire. I slowly leaned down and placed the person down on my couch. Once I was sure they were secure, I turned to my father, “Do you want to get the blankets or the first aid kid?” “I’ll get the first aid kit and begin taking care of their wounds. I’ll begin on their stomach as it’s obvious they’re bleeding from there.”

The two of us walked further into my home to do our respective tasks. I couldn’t help the grumbles that escaped my lips. So much for having a fun day with my father. After gathering my warmest blankets, my dresser caught my eye. I let out an annoyed sigh before walking over and getting an old sweatshirt of mine and some sweatpants. It’s obvious their clothes are ruined, you know, cause of the blood stain… Why did this have to happen to me?

Philza was already working on their face by the time I entered the room. He looked relieved at the sight of me. “They’re clothes are ruined… I’ll dress them if you want to prep whatever you were going to show me,” Dadza offered as I set the items on the back of my couch. I gave him a short nod and turned around. I was glad Philza had offered to take care of them. It’s not that I wouldn’t, I just don’t think I’d be very good at it. Besides, I had other things to do anyway.

*Time skip and POV Change*

Y/N’s POV

It was warm. Too warm. Hot. Why is it so hot? Aren’t I in the tundra… Wait is that a fire? Crackling? Oh god, I’m going to be burned alive.

My eyes snapped open and a gasp escaped my lips as I attempted to sit up as fast as I could. A shooting pain in my stomach caused me to gasp again and fall back into the sno-- nope this isn’t snow. My eyes scanned the room wildly and found that I was in a cabin, lying on a couch, next to a fireplace. Once again, I attempted to sit up, but was too weak to do it on my own causing a hiss to pass my teeth, “Woah there,” A gentle voice called as a friendly hand placed itself on my back, gently lifting me up and helping me sit up and lean against the arm of the couch. My eyes focused on a blonde man with a soft complexion in front of me. His eyes raised from his hands to my eyes, “You alright?” He asked softly. I felt comforted in his presence. Something from deep within me told me to trust him. So I did.

I gave a slow nod, noticing that when I did my skull pounded. “Yeah,” I croaked, my throat extremely dry, “I’m okay… Thanks… Not to be rude but who are you and where am I?” I asked, my eyes scanning around the room once more. The blonde man let out a small laugh as he backed away from me, not going far. Just far enough to give me some space. “I’m Philza, you can call me Phil. My son, Technoblade, and I found you on our journey home a few hours ago. You were unconscious in the snow. As for where you are-” “You’re in my house,” a monotone voice cut Phil off. My eyes shifted to where the voice sounded, they didn’t have to go far.

At the other end of the couch stood an extremely attractive tall man, pink hair framing his scar littered face. “And who are you?” I asked hoarsely, my throat still very dry. “I’m his son… Well one of them. I’m Technoblade and you’re in my house,” he stated, his eyes boring into me. I gave a small hum of acknowledgement, remembering that it hurt when I nodded. “Here,” He said, passing a cup to his father before his father handed me the cup along with a few pills. “For your pain,” Philza murmured, pressing the cup and the pills into my hand.

I eagerly lifted the cup to my throat and allowed the cool liquid to coat my throat before bringing the small pills to my lips and swallowing them as well. Bringing the cup down and my hand up to my mouth to dry my upper lip, I noticed I wasn’t in my clothes. “Your clothes were… damaged. So we put you in some of Techno’s old clothes. I changed you. I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable,” Philza stated, his eye shifting nervously. I gave him a small shrug, “It’s fine. You guys saved me. You didn’t have to. Thank you,” I said, my eyes shifting between the two.

Philza gave me a soft smile, and Techno was still staring into my soul, “It’s what anyone would do… Would you mind telling us your name?” Philza asked, trying not to intrude. “Oh! I’m Y/N… I’m from the Village of Blockley!” I informed the two. Both sets of eyes widened in disbelief at my announcement. “Blockley? That’s well over 2,000 blocks away from here! Why have you come all this way?” Philza questioned in shock. “It’s a bit of a long story…” I trailed off, not really wanting to bother them with my sob story. “We’ve got time,” Philza prompted, motioning for me to continue. I turned my head to get confirmation from the other man. He gave me a small shrug before sitting down on the arm of the couch, folding his arms and leaning in toward me. I let out a sigh before shrugging… Here we go.

“I was born and raised in Blockley. As I grew up, I got tired of the same old routine. Wake up, go to work with my father, the town’s cleric, break for lunch, back to work, work till sundown, be inside as soon as it’s dark, go to sleep, wake up the next morning and do it all over again. I wanted to leave, find something new, something exciting. I told my father all of this. He thought the idea of me leaving was stupid. He told me that there was no way that anywhere else would accept me and that I would be left alone, defenceless and I would come crawling back to the village. I disagreed, of course. We got into a verbal fight and it escalated. My father struck me. And then he threw me out, told me that if I wanted to leave then to leave and never come back. I would never be welcome back in the Village of Blockley… So I left.

“I wondered for a very very long time. I had very little supplies and no sense of direction. I somehow ended up in tundra completely under prepared… I was about to go back the way I came when I was attacked by a zombie. I had never fought before, we had an iron golem to take care of it and I was always inside by sundown. Well I killed it, but not without a few injuries and completely draining my body. I was limping back the way I came once more, but a skeleton shot me in the stomach causing me to collapse in the snow. I think he thought I was dead, so he left me alone. That’s the last thing I remember. And now I’m here because you saved me… And for that I owe you my life.”

Silence followed my story for many moments. The two seemed absolutely stunned at my story. As I was about to speak again, arms wrapped themselves around my shoulders carefully, still mindful I was sore. “Jesus kid,” Phil mumbled in my shoulder, “I’m so sorry. You don’t owe us anything kiddo. You can stay here as long as you like,” He offered gently. Tears pricked in my eyes as I squeezed the older man back. This is just what I needed a fatherly figure to tell me I was welcome somewhere. Wait, it’s not his house.

Still in the hug, my head shifted to Techno. He seemed angry, but somehow I knew that it wasn’t aimed at me. The two of us locked eyes, “He’s right Y/N,” Techno spoke carefully, “You can stay here as long as you want. You’ll always be welcome in my home.” And there go the tears. A small sob escaped my lips. I had only just met these people, but I knew that I was always meant to find them. “Oh don’t cry honey,” Phil tried to comfort in a panic.

A watery laugh escaped my lips as I buried my face in his broad shoulder, “These are happy tears Phil. I promise. Thank you. Thank you for welcoming me. That means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

*Time skip*

I could tell that Techno was really having to work on getting used to having another person in his house. Every morning I would walk into the kitchen and he would jump, go to draw a weapon, and then his eyes would meet mine and he would let his guard down before going back to whatever it was he was doing. He would take me with him to explore or gather materials but the words that were spoken between us were few and scarce. I didn’t mind though. I knew that it was definitely a new and sudden change for him to have to deal with. So I made myself as useful as possible.

When Techno would leave me home alone, I would spend that afternoon cleaning and organizing the house so that by the time Techno returned the house was spotless. I would also make sure there was food ready for him when he got back home so he wouldn’t have to worry about making himself something to eat. I always took the time to ask about his day, even if his answers were short and choppy. I could tell that he often felt awkward in the silence between us, so I filled it. I would always talk to him, tell him about my day, the new gossip I heard from Phil, or just about nothing and everything. On days I didn’t want to talk, I would play soft music throughout the house so the silence wasn’t so deafening.

I could tell that my actions were slowly but surely warming the thought of me living with Techno up. I would catch small smiles that painted his face out of the corner of my eye as I babbled about how Philza had taught me a new bread recipe. My question of how his day was was met with longer explanations about what the pink headed man had done that day. Fond looks he didn’t know I could see would settle on his face as he found me taking things out of chests only to put them in different ones. The day I heard Techno laugh was the day I found my favorite sound.

As cliché as it is, as the two of us grew closer, I found myself falling deeper… Deeper in love with the man that had saved me. How could I not? Once he opened up, I found him to be the funniest, kindest, most lovable man ever. Techno tries so hard to appear tough to me, but it doesn’t fool me one bit. I once watched him cry because he stepped on a flower.

“Flowers aren’t supposed to grow in the tundra Y/N. That flower didn’t care, they put all their effort into growing and I crushed it!” He huffed, wiping away the tears that had escaped his eyes. I simply listened with a soft smile and nodded along. That was the day I realized I was in love with him. His fond looks, gentle touches, and soft words told me he felt the same.

“Hey, how’s it going in here?” Techno questioned softly, his hands gently brushing against my lower back. “Hey, it’s going good! Dinner will be ready in like 10 minutes,” I replied, peering into the oven to confirm my guesstimate. Techno hummed in acknowledgement and moved to sit next to me on the open counter. I playfully rolled my eyes at his actions, but couldn’t deny the soft smile that curled on my lips as I chopped carrots for the salad.

“Hey… I wanted to tell you something,” Techno spoke, breaking our peaceful silence. I let out a hum, tilting my head up, “What’s up?” I asked, my eyes locking with his. “I just wanted to tell you that… that I love you,” Techno admitted softly, his eyes not leaving me. The smile on my face widened at the confession. I quickly set down my knife before moving to stand in between his legs. I gently reached up and wrapped my arms around his neck, bringing him down to my lips for a soft kiss. Techno immediately kissed back, his hands moving quickly to settle on my hips, pulling me even closer to him.

“What was that for?” Techno muttered softly after the kiss was broken. “I just wanted to tell you, I love you too,” I murmured, my lips brushing against his as I spoke. “Tell me you love me again,” he demanded. I giggled at his shift of tone but complied, leaning forward and pressing my lips to his once more. Gosh I’m so glad they found me in the snow.

There you have it! I really hope you enjoyed! If so, be sure to leave a like!!

709 notes · View notes

yyxgin · 4 years ago

Text

my only hate, my only love (kim seungmin)

pairing: kim seungmin x fem! reader genre: enemies to lovers au, highschool au angst, fluff word count: 11 k requested by: @joons-asscrack warnings: swearing, mentions of broken home

synopsis: A high school Shakespeare club angrily splits into two groups when they can’t agree on the correct interpretation of Romeo and Juliet. One group thinks it’s a cautionary tale about the stupidity of youth and shallow lust; the other group of youth thinks it’s a beautiful tragedy about poisonous hatred conquered by love. Reconciliation seems impossible-- then a person from one group falls in love with a person from the other.

(this dea is not mine !! I found it on pinterest under the tumblr user @/sarah531, however, i looked for the account and couldn’t find it. if you have any idea what the current @ of the owner of this prompt is, please let me know !!)

I actually used a lot of passages from this essay of Romeo and Juliet since I didn’t actually read it, all passages of the characters that talk about the play and are in italics belong to the rightful owner of this essay.

“A glooming peace this morning with it brings. The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head. Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things. Some shall be pardoned, and some punished. For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.” your voice resonates in the quiet classroom, your words followed by more silence as you drop to your seat and close the book, placing it onto your table. The reality sinks in as the entirety of your English literature class doesn’t dare to say a word, the moment you finish reading the oh so famous Shakespearen drama making everyone lose themselves in their thoughts.

Your professor looks you in the eye, smiling a little. “So? What did you think about it?” she asks, moving her glasses further up her nose with her pointer finger, gazing onto the few people that actually chose this class as their subject of choice just to get more credit. You liked reading, to be honest. Everything about this class seemed inviting-- there were only a few people there and those that did actually care about the literature itself enough were thoughtful enough to hold a proper conversation with. You actually made friends with a lot of your classmates, your brains working at the same frequency as your shared ex gifted child burnout syndrome draped over your brains way too often after arriving to high school, making you connect on another level as you tried to soothe each other’s nerves and be there for each other. It was no secret that only the biggest of nerds went to the English literature classes, but you were okay with that idea.

You snort out a laugh, raising up your eyebrows in amusement. Your classes were always open for discussions, so you didn’t even have to raise your hand to speak-- one of the perks of being the professor’s favorite. You open your mouth to begin talking, when a voice cuts you off, beginning the discussion instead.

“Well, I think it was pretty,” mumbles a boy from the corner of the room, the only one you didn’t even particularly like in this whole class, making you roll your eyes. It was hard, being in the class of your favorite professor when you had to fight over being her favorite student with Kim Seungmin himself-- the devoted dandy boy, the member of the book club, the student council president. You despised everything about him only from one sole reason-- he was the top of the class. That was enough for you to hate him.

You’re asking why? Well, you were supposed to be the top of the class, of course. And you were, for the main part. You didn’t share any other classes with him, making it easy for you to ignore his existence, but it just so happened that your favorite class also had to be the one where you had to see his face so often.

He was your moral enemy.

“Care to tell us more, Seungmin?” professor Jung asks, motioning for your classmate to continue speaking, to tell her all of his thoughts. You knew Romeo and Juliet must have been her favorite play by the smile on her face, eager to hear all of your reviews and thought processes while reading the piece.

“Well, I think it was quite poetic. Tragic, even. I like the way Shakespeare portrayed the prejudice and ending of a long conflict just with the power of love.” he nods, licking his lips after his bold statement, making you laugh out loud this time.

All the eyes of your classmates turn to you, even your seatmate-- ever so laid-back and chilled out Han Jisung furrows his brows at your sudden outburst. You were never the one to turn attention your way in classes, the sight of you not reddening under the gazes of the people in the room nowhere to be seen surprising even you.

“Is there something funny, Y/N?” asks the professor, calling you by your first name. You liked the way it sounded, cringing at every teacher that called you by your last name as if you were a legal adult with your life figured out. This seemed more friendly-- it seemed kinder, even. You liked the way it made it feel like your professor actually cared about your opinion.

“I think there is, yes,” you nod, giggling to yourself again.

“And what is that?” she seems intrigued, taking a few steps to your desk, listening to what you have to say.

“Well, I think what he said is ridiculous.” you point out, a shock spreading on your professor’s features, making you continue. “The only thing tragic about this whole play is how Shakespere portrayed the fake image of love. I mean, Juliet was only 13, don’t you think it was a bit early to get married to a man? After a day, that is?” you explain, intriguing your classmates even more.

“It was the 16th century. It was normal to get married young back then,” mumbled your enemy, Kim Seungmin from his seat, locking his eyes with you through the classroom.

“Of course I know that,” you ironically smile at him, rolling your eyes in the process and looking back at your professor with a genuine smile this time, explaining more of your point of view, “I think it portrays girls as boy-crazy. Like love is everything they are made of and that they are worthless without a partner-- and that’s why Juliet chose to kill herself. If anything, I think it portrays the stupidity of the youth the most.”

“So you think she was stupid just because she killed herself upon seeing her loved one dead?” Seungmin’s brows are raised now, looking at you as if he was mocking you.

“Well, Romeo did the same thing, so yes. I think it was stupid of them. They were reckless, the whole situation was. How could they know they were in love when this all happened in one day? Nobody can fall in love that quickly.” you mutter, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I think the play portrayed love at first sight beautifully,” grins Seungmin, the teasing smirk on his face bothering you so much you want to wipe it off his face. Is he really that ridiculous?

“There’s no such thing. And what were the families doing, after all? Arguing without even knowing why? For all we know, their ancestors may have hated themselves because they accidentally took their cow and they decided to kill each other for that?” you scoffed, your voice raising increasingly.

“Now that’s ridiculous.” rolls his eyes Seungmin, taking you over the edge, your voice raising with every spoken word.

“Your view of love is ridiculous. If I knew the boy I was eyeing was my family’s enemy, I wouldn’t bat an eye before dropping him, but no, she chose to marry the guy. Did she really have such twisted morals?” you scoff, a part of your class laughing at your outburst.

You hear a few quiet, amused ‘yeah’s and ‘she’s actually right’s from everywhere around you, only flooding your ego more as you recognise that your point of view is shared by more people and you aren’t actually crazy.

“I think love is more important than rivalry.” speaks Seungmin, cocking his head to a side, teasing you just by the look on his face, your eyes scanning his features as you hear a few other comments from your classmates around you. Some girls even go as far as cooing at his romantic statement, making you laugh and roll your eyes at them. Were they all this ridiculous?

“She was thirteen!” you argue, screaming. That is all that takes professor Jung to interfere your heated discussion, clapping her hands in authority, making everyone’s heads snap to her figure standing in front of the classroom with an amused look on her face.

“Looks like we have quite the discussion here,” she points out, seeing your angered face.

“Yeah, because Seungmin’s point of view is stupid!” you grunt, making her point a scolding look into your skull that almost makes you shrink in your seat in embarrassment.

“Y/N, no one’s point of view is stupid. Literature is all about the impertretation,” she states, earning a few nods and hums from your interested classmates, “now, who agrees with Y/N’s interpretation of the play?”

A few hands shoot out into the air, Jisung’s following as you angrily nudge him into his side, making you grin. No way your friend is going to support your moral enemy’s idea-- he was your friend, after all. Something inside of you is telling you that this whole feud wasn’t only about the play anymore,. You were fighting with Kim Seungmin, and that was enough to keep you standing by your point.

“And who agrees with Seungmin’s interpretation?” she asks again, searching through the classroom. It seems like the amount of people that agree with your classmate is about the same as the amount of people that agree with you, making you annoyingly roll your eyes at the realisation that you once again didn’t manage to outpower your moral enemy.

“I see the classroom has split into two teams,” she grins, nodding her head, “well, I did think you were going to have different opinions on this, but I didn’t think it was going to get so heated over here.” she points out, switching her gaze from you to Seungmin and back, as if to scold you and support you with your antics all at once.

“Yeah, well, it’s not my fault Y/N can’t appreciate one of the most important pieces of English literature-”

“I’m all about supporting, if it was actually good and meaningful-”

“Stop it, you two!” she scolds you, making both of you shut up and finally provide some silence in the room. “Well, since you all look like you have different opinions on the topic, let’s try a fun experiment. I was going to make you all write an essay on the play by yourselves, just like we usually do, but I think this is going to be much more fun for all of us.” she states, smiling to herself like a happy child on Christmas. You wonder what’s racing through her head as she searches through the classroom, locking eyes with you, then continuing.

“I want you all to write an essay and do a presentation on Romeo and Juliet-- you can write about anything, whether it is your ideas, what you took from the play, what is your view-point on it. But you have to write it with the person who has the exact opposite opinion on this play. So this way, we can get the story from two points of view. Let’s see what you agree on, what you don’t, make it a discussion, I don’t care, just make it make sense. Do you understand me?” she smiles and you swear you can already feel what is going on before she says it, making your head hurt and breath hitch in your throat.

“And since Seungmin and Y/N seem to have the most different opinions on this, I am picking them as a pair-- no, there’s no way for the two of you to change.” she says before you can even open your mouth to argue back, leaving you to stand up from your seat just at the time when the bell rings.

“But miss Jung-”

“I want it done until the end of this month.” she smiles, taking her things and leaving the classroom, letting the thought sink in. You lunge yourself back to your seat, defeated and left to process the fact that you now had two weeks to work on a project with Kim Seungmin-- your biggest enemy.

A sigh escapes your seatmate’s mouth upon the scene, running his hand through his hair in frustration. “That’s what you get for always picking fights with him.”

That’s how you end up in a coffee shop two blocks away from your house. You didn’t exactly ask for Kim Seungmin’s number-- you weren’t in the 2000s anymore-- you swiftly added him on Facebook in order to get this over with so you wouldn’t have to meet with him anymore. Yes, you were mad at Mrs Jung for pairing you up with him, but you still adored her and wanted to do well, so that’s why you chose to do what you had to and arranged a meeting with him.

Kim Seungmin appears in the coffee shop in his usual cozy demeanour-- oversized sweater and everything, with a backpack hanging off his shoulder and a serious look plastered on his face. He places his copy of Romeo and Juliet onto the table and sits his figure into the chair right in front of you, sighing heavily as he stares at you from under his eyelashes, voice low and defeated.

“Hi.” he greets, resting his back against the head of the chair, waiting for you to take initiative. You were the one who arranged this whole thing in the first place, so it was kind of your responsibility now in his books.

“Hello,” you cleared your throat. You felt like you were sitting there with the devil himself, just begging yourself in your head not to explode like a raging volcano with every movement he made that always somehow ended up irritating you. It was like his aura was everything you despised-- his collected way of discussing and his calm way of thinking getting on your nerves with every sigh he sent your way.

“So… how do you wanna go around this?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at you in question.

You sigh back at him just to show him how annoyed you are by your professor’s choice of your partner, bringing your hands to rest them on the table and cracking your knuckles in nerves. You didn’t meet his eyes, you felt too intimidated to do so in the moment, before you spoke up and managed to get your point across.

“Well, since we have to gather both of our viewpoints in the essay, I think we could just start of by telling the other one what topics we want to talk about so the other one can debunk them.” you mumble, suddenly feeling nervous by the possibility of your idea being rejected. If you could disappear on the spot, believe me, you would.

Seungmin hums from his seat, nodding. “Seems reasonable.”

You try your hardest not to let out a relieved sigh, nodding back at him. “I brought some notes.”

You did some preparation for this. Well, a lot of preparation. There was no way Kim Seungmin could catch you unprepared at your study meeting. You wanted to prove to him that you were worth so much more than sharing your grade with him and if he had any snarky or teasing remark, you best believe you mastered up a response just as spiteful, if not more than what could possibly leave his lips in the moment. You weren’t here to embarrass yourself. You were here to look smart. Smarter than Kim Seungmin.

“Perfect.” he just mutters, taking the sheet of paper you were offering to him from your hand, placing it on the table in front of him and skimming his eyes through the lines of text you scribbled down yesterday evening.

The silence makes your palms sweat. It makes you nervously bite down on your lower lip. You felt embarrassing-- you were never the conservative type. All this time, you used to hate your classmate from afar. You never actually spoke to each other, all you did to express your hatred for the boy was in the way you always rolled your eyes when he spoke up in class, or you sighed when Mrs Jung was complimenting him in front of everyone, making sure he heard you. You don’t know what broke in you that day-- you were quite the shy type, to be honest. You didn’t like to be the centre of attention. What were you even thinking by all of this?

“I don’t think we should mention their age as an argument,” he says, finally meeting eyes with you.

“Why?” you ask, dumbfounded.

“Because as I already said, it was long ago. People used to marry young.” he shrugs, offering the sheet of paper back to you with a judging look on his face.

“Okay and? My point still stands. They were too young and reckless.”

“I also don’t think we should talk about the sex part.” he concludes, landing his hands into his lap.

“Why? Because it’s controversial?” you teasingly grin at him, waiting for his response.

“No. Because it clearly brings nothing to the table about our arguments. It doesn’t even really play a big role in the whole thing, so I think it’s useless to mention,” he shrugs, looking at your face. It felt like his eyes were studying you, judging you. It was hard to keep eye contact with him-- so you didn’t. You averted your gaze out of the window, opting to watch the passer-bys instead.

You sigh, waiting for him to say something against your notes again. Of course you could expect this-- there was no way Kim Seungmin would agree with anything you’re trying to say in the matter at all.

“And the point about Rosaline is a little over the line as well…”

“What do you want me to put in the essay if you’re just going to tell me it’s unreasonable and over the line, huh?” you voice out, pinning your eyes onto his shocked figure, “it’s supposed to be an essay on everything I didn’t like about it, so that’s what I’m going to put in it and your job is to comment on my arguments. Just like my job is to comment on what you loved about this piece of shit of a play, and that’s what I’m going to do, so fuck off.” you growled, standing up and taking your things with you, too frustrated and hot-headed to continue the discussion.

Only Kim Seungmin could make you this mad and you hated him for it even more.

You hear your door open, revealing your mum standing in the doorway with a mug of hot tea and a soft smile playing with her features. You sigh, playing with your pen in your hand, waiting for her to say what she needs to say and leave so you could have some silence to finally work.

“Sweetie, you should really relax for a while. You’ve been studying for the whole day…” she mumbles, taking the tea to your desk and running a hand through your hair. You fight off the urge to pull away from her, knowing damn well it would hurt her feelings, so you just opt to nod at her face and faking a smile.

“Yeah, sure, mum.” you respond, but make no effort in getting up from your chair and moving to your bed. It was already late in the night and your mum was wearing her pyjamas, signaling that she was going to sleep. She always went to sleep early, because she needed to wake up in the early hours of the day to go to work, but you usually didn’t go to sleep earlier than midnight anyway-- homework was taking you too much time sometimes.

“I mean it. You’re doing great job in school, sweetie, but you have to lay off for a while or else you’ll overwork yourself.” she says affectionately, making you grunt on the inside.

“Okay, okay, go to sleep now, good night mum…” you mumble, waiting for her to finally leave you alone.

“Are you telling me to go away?” she asks with a hint of laugh in her voice that you know for a fact is fake, because the expression on her face looks hurt. You hate to see that face, because it makes you feel guilty, but you really can’t help yourself sometimes.

“No.” you mutter, shaking your head.

She just stares at you for a while, biting down on her lower lip, before she hangs her head low and sighs out. She turns around, taking a few steps to your door, turning around only for a moment when she stands in the doorway and whispers a quiet ‘good night’ at you, closing the door behind her and disappearing into her bedroom.

You feel a sense of relief coming over you. Of course you weren’t going to sleep yet, but she didn’t have to know that. She didn’t have to know a lot of things.

The small, old copy of Romeo and Juliet falls into your eyes in the corner of your desk. You had to borrow your book from the library and you hated how some pages were torn and the ink was so old it was hard to read sometimes, but you couldn’t afford to buy yourself one, because you were saving up for college and every cent counts in your household.

You take it into your hands, reading over the passages you bookmarked when you were first reading the book, wanting to refresh your memory with the lines that stood up to you and made you snort at how ridiculous the book truly was again before typing them down into the document you had opened in front of you.

“Love is heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep and awake- it’s everything except what it is!” it says. You run your fingers along the words, the curves of the ink cutting you like a knife. Love is all of these things-- it’s terrifying and it’s unpredictable. It sounds scary in your ears and you’ve seen it right in front of your eyes- love is everything except what it is.

Love isn’t heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold. Love isn’t sick and healthy. Love is pain. It takes everything you have, it ties you down, it makes you do things you would never do if you weren’t in love. It intoxicates you and makes you make bad decisions. When you love, you’re irresponsible. You’re like a storm.

Your mum and your dad were in love. Or, your mum always told you they were.

So if your mum and your dad were in love, they were supposed to be together through the heavy and the light. Through the bright and through the dark. Through sick and healthy. They were supposed to be there for each other.

They were both really young when they fell in love. You understand-- they were reckless and they were stupid.

But did your father really have to leave you?

Love is nothing from the above. Love is sick and love is just a play. It would be stupid to be hung up on that idea that Kim Seungmin so desperately wanted to believe in.

“So, how far did you get with the essay?” asks Jisung on your lunch break, looking at you with expectation. You told him about your planned meeting with Seungmin, but you didn’t get around to telling him just how it went yet.

“Oh, that…” you mumble, letting out a dry chuckle, “well, he told me my ideas are stupid, so I’m just going to write it by myself and send it to him so he can add his points into it.” you shrugged, taking a bite from your sandwich, stuffing your cheeks with the food so you didn’t have to explain any further.

Jisung sighs in front of you, rolling his eyes like every time you gush about Seungmin and how he gets on your nerves. “Can you lay off that Anne and Gilbert attitude already?”

“Stop saying that, that’s disgusting,” you scrunch up your nose, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Well, it looks like you two are doing a whole 21st century remake right in front of our eyes, though,” chuckles Jisung, teasing you further, “with that whole top of the class students that hate each other and act like children just because they don’t agree on something. It’s only a matter of time before you fall in love.”

“Ew,” you fake a gag, rolling your eyes at him, “that is so not happening.”

“Yeah, sure, tell me about it at your wedding in a few years.” he mutters.

“I am not getting married in my whole life, marriage is wack,” you roll your eyes at him for the millionth time, the gesture so familiar to you over the past few days. Everything seems to annoy you recently. Maybe you were just going through a bad patch, who knows?

“Oh would you look at that, Y/N’s acting like a Grinch again,” giggles Jisung, ruffling your hair in the process just to annoy you even more, making you pull away abruptly from his touch.

“That doesn’t even make any sense! Grinch hates Christmas, not fake images of love.” you argue back, finishing your sandwich and rolling the plastic that was covering it into a little ball, throwing it into his face to shut him up.

“Yeah, sure.” he snorts, throwing the ball back at you. You catch it in your hands with a promise to yourself to throw it out when exiting the cafeteria later, when you feel a light tap on your shoulder that makes you turn around.

The sight in front of you makes you shoot your eyebrows up in shock, leaving you flustered and surprised. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to ask when we can hang out again to work on that essay, since it’s, you know, like half of our final grade…” mutters Seungmin, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly and pointing his eyes at you, casually waiting for your answer.

“Oh, we’re not meeting again. I’m just going to email you the file when I’m done.” you shrug.

“But that’s unfair to me?” he offers, eyebrows shooting up and his hand falling to his side.

“Why would it be?”

“That gives me less time to work on it, you know. And you have to add your comments to my work anyways, so it would mean you’ll have to write those at the last-minute.” Seungmin explains, his tone of voice calm and collected, just as always, after all, making you roll your eyes and fume up again.

“I don’t really care,” you shrug, smiling ironically at his face.

“Why- what?” he asks, looking genuinely concerned and confused, eyebrows scrunching up and his voice raising a little by an octave.

You don’t answer him, though. You’ve had enough of his snarky comments and remarks in the coffee shop-- you weren’t going to meet up with Kim Seungmin again, even if it meant the possibility of getting a bad grade from your most favorite and treasured subject.

After the boy is met with silence, all he does is scoff at you, shooting his arms up into the air and shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re such a fucking child, oh my god.”

And with that, he strides off, your eyes following his every move to make sure he doesn’t come near you again. His steps are quick and angry, and this is actually the first time you’ve seen him get so frustrated with something. You take pride in getting him over the edge. You were finally even. He doesn’t look back once and you think you finally made it.

“Stop staring, Anne.” you hear from your friend sitting right in front of you, making you break away from your bubble and taking a look at him, seeing him amused and with a teasing grin plastered on his face.

“Fuck off.”

“Peace? I hate the word as I hate hell and all Montagues.” Mrs Jung reads out, when you start dozing off in the class. You’ve read the play a lot of times already, making you feel bored even by the repetitiveness of your class. You understand that she is just waiting for all of you to turn in your papers, not wanting to move on from Romeo and Juliet just yet, but you find yourself slowly falling asleep under the spell of her voice and the fact that you spent the whole night studying again. The sentence startles you awake, making you chuckle to yourself.

‘Peace? I hate the word as I hate hell and Kim Seungmin himself,’ you think. If Han Jisung could read minds, he would be surely teasing you with another smart remark of how much energy you’re spending by hating the poor boy and how it’s not possible for you to not fall in love with him soon after how much time he spends in your mind, but Han Jiung can’t read minds. And even if he could, you’d just tell him to fuck off. Because he is wrong.

“Am I boring you, Y/N?” asks Mrs Jung, fully startling you awake as you straighten your back and properly sit on your uncomfortable chair again.

“Of course not!” you call out, blinking rapidly to keep your eyes from closing on themselves again.

“Oh, I thought I was, by how tired you seem by listening to me.” she just smiles at you, then continues talking and looks at the other students in your class, leaving you to blush to yourself without giving you more attention.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, looking around the classroom. You feel embarrassed. You really didn’t mean to give your favorite professor the wrong idea-- you just got to bed really, really late yesterday. It happened often, but you guess that it just took a bigger stroll on you today.

Your eyes meet the orbs of your moral enemy, that just gazes into you with intensity. You quickly look away. Why is he doing that? His eyes look worried. He’s not supposed to look at you in such a way-- he’s supposed to laugh at how you’ve just been scolded. He just won a few points to himself by paying more attention than you, he just got on the better side with your favorite professor, yet he doesn’t look like he’s enjoying it at all.

A small piece of paper catches your interest from the corner of your eye. You read through it, recognising the loopy handwriting of your seat-mate.

did you stay up late studying again?

You sigh, taking a pen out of your pencil case and neatly writing under it, trying not to get caught by Mrs Jung. You really don’t want to get scolded for the second time today.

yeah

you should probably relax a little, your grades are already good to begin with

You roll your eyes at the note. Of course he’d say something like that. In elementary school, your grades were good without even trying. All you had to do was pay attention in class and write what you could remember, but now, in high school, everything is a little harder for you and you suddenly weren't good enough anymore. And yeah, you could say that grades don’t even matter that much, but for you, they meant everything.

yeah that’s bc i study jisung

now you’re falling asleep tho how is that helping

You don’t answer him. It’s not that he’s wrong. It’s just that… you’re not going to tell him that he is. Yes, you falling asleep wasn’t helping you in the tiniest, because the less you pay attention in class, the more you have to study at home, and the more you study, the less you sleep, which means you’re going to fall asleep in class the next day and it’s just an endless cycle.

sorry :( but just remember that grades aren’t everything Anne you can get an F once in a while

thanks

You write. But you don’t really mean it.

Because if you get an F, you’re not going to be the top of the class anymore.

And how will you get a scholarship if you’re not?

You arrive to the library, sighing to yourself as you quickly take your coat off and smile to Mrs Kim, the older librarian that let you work here part-time for the time being. You didn’t get paid much, but you loved the job. For the most part, it was easy-- there weren’t many people coming to libraries these days anymore and you could just stay behind the counter, occasionally letting people borrow books and writing them into the evidence. You had a lot of time to study there as well, it was silent and calm. Sometimes, you felt like your heart could rest a little in the small place.

“I’m sorry for coming late Mrs Kim, but the bus was late so I couldn’t get here sooner-” you rush out out of breath, dropping your backpack under the counter, ready to change seats with your employer that was done with her shift for the day.

“It’s totally okay, sweetheart, you know there’s no rush.” she smiles at you, reassuring your nerves with the gesture. You were glad you had such caring people around you. You met with Mrs Kim more than you did with your own mother-- it was strange, but comforting to know that at least someone close to a parental figure was still in your life.

Maybe you just hung yourself into older, reliable people because you lost the security you had in your own mother. Or because you didn’t even have a father to begin with. You don’t know if you’re doing the right thing, but in your heart, it surely feels like you are.

You nod at her, seeing her leave and wave at you as she takes her things with her before you’re left alone with your thoughts. You sit yourself on the chair, looking around for a moment, before you take out your notes and start working on your homework. The library felt like a safe space-- not that you didn’t have the silence and comfort at your own home, since you were home alone all the time anyway-- but here, at least you felt like there was a reason behind your loneliness. You were at work, after all.

You wonder if things would have been different for your mum if she didn’t have you so young. Maybe she would still be happy with your dad-- maybe she wouldn’t have to work a lot just to get you through life. It’s not easy, raising a child on your own when you are a child still, you realise that. And your mother does a good job-- at least you think she is-- but sometimes, you wish your life would be different.

You curse at your mother for being so reckless when she was young. If you’d be born later, she’d finish school. Give you a better life. Maybe, you would even have a father. You would be a little happy family, going on vacations and enjoying your lives.

Now, you’re stuck with trying your hardest to be the best at everything. To have your life figured out, because at your age, your mum surely didn’t. You know you shouldn’t blame her-- you need two people to create a child, but there was no other person for you to blame.

You try your hardest to get a scholarship, because you can’t pay for college on your own. You work so your mother doesn’t have to stay at her job over-night so often just to pay the bills. You educate yourself to be smart and successful-- because that will surely change your life for the better, right?

Suddenly, you hear the bell above the door of the library ring, startling you away from your thoughts. You look that way with a polite smile on your face you’ve taught yourself while working at customer service, ready to greet the customer with fake enthusiasm, when your mouth hangs open without a word. Startled would be an understatement to the feeling you feel at the moment.

“Hello,” the person greets politely, looking at you momentarily before going up to the counter with a stack of books in his hands. He looks up after placing them on the surface and that’s the moment when you see he realises your presence fully-- after seeing his face fall into shock.

“Good afternoon,” you grunt ironically, taking the books closer to yourself so you can check them in, recognising his eyes following your every move from the corner of your eye, “your ID?” you raise up your eyebrows at him, annoyance apparent in your features.

“Oh, right,” he catches himself, quickly patting every pocket of his clothing, until he puts up his hand into his backpack and browses through his wallet, slender fingers offering you the little card so you can scan the code.

The computer freezes for a bit and you curse to yourself-- did it really have to happen now? With Kim Seungmin watching you like an alien? The computer at your local library wasn’t the newest, per say. It didn’t even have to be, your usual customers were just as old, if not even older than that piece of machinery, they didn’t mind waiting. But now wasn’t the time for the computer to freeze. You feel yourself losing your nerves, bouncing your leg up and down, angrily glaring at the screen.

A minute passes, than another-- could it even get worse than this?

“So,” clears his throat Seungmin, making you snap your head up to meet his gaze, “what’s up?” he asks, shocking you again.

“Why do you care?” you snap, glaring at him instead. How dare he act so casually after saying all those mean things to you? You couldn’t believe your ears.

“Because you’re my classmate…?” he furrows his brows, tone of voice cautious, sounding like a question instead.

“And?” you ask, watching the screen of the computer instead, cursing at the new electronic system Mrs Kim decided to install. It would have been so much easier if you could just scribble down your signature on a small piece of paper and take the books like you used to do before, but no, she was all about innovation.

“And I thought we were civil enough for a casual conversation,” he rambles, making you snort in disbelief.

“Oh, we are anything but civil.” you respond, losing your nerves, taking your hand and angrily hitting the top of the screen, as if it was supposed to make the computer work. You violently curse under your breath, hitting it a few times, each one more lightly, until the program starts to work, finally registering the books back into the library evidence.

“Why do you even hate me so much?” he asks after you stop, looking at you with annoyed eyes and a look worthy of an oscar-winning actor. He didn’t care, you knew that, but he sure looked like he did.

You just scoff at him, shaking your head.

“Goodbye,” is all you offer him, his library ID in your hand, before he takes it and rolls his eyes at you again, like many times before. With that, he leaves-- just like you wanted him to-- and you can finally relax.

You sigh out, taking a seat on your chair again, angirly shutting your textbooks close and grunting under your breath. You put your head into your hands, resting them on the table, breathing heavily. You won’t even be able to study now, and it’s all thanks to him.

Why do you even hate him so much?

Kim Seungmin is an interesting individual. As you continue to work in the library the next week, you meet him there every single day. You don’t even have the energy to bark at him anymore-- he slid into your life like a gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe. Always there, but you never get used to it and it’s still annoying when you walk around.

Kim Seungmin is your moral enemy, as we already established. He comes into the library every day and you’re convinced it’s just because he wants to piss you off, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of letting him rile you up anymore. You just silently glare at him and sigh when the timing feels right to show him how much you actually still hate his presence.

He comes back one day while you’re working on your essay, sitting at the table with furrowed eyebrows and the end of your pen trapped between your teeth. The copy of the play is sitting open right in front of you and his eyes fall into it, recognising the underlined replicas and words. You didn’t work on that essay together ever since your first meeting and the due date was nearing, all he wanted to do was review it with you to at least know what he was getting into.

“Can you even read all of these books in a day when you keep coming back for more every time?” you grumpily mumble as you check back the books you, as the librarian, let him borrow yesterday. They are quite thin, but still, you doubt he was so quick to read all of them in a single afternoon.

“Why do you care?” he asks, snickering to himself. Of course, here he is-- annoying every single cell and fiber of your body again.

“Oh, trust me, I don’t. It’s just getting a little annoying.” you ironically smile at him, sitting back to your chair as you finish lending him the new stash of books. You’re not even sure where he got all of these from, since they don’t even look that interesting, but you choose not to think about it any longer as you get back to your essay, scribbling onto the lined paper.

“I like what you’ve written so far,” he says, startling you. You thought he left already-- I mean, why would he even stay? But he didn’t and he was standing right in front of you, eyes skimming over your messy handwriting.

“No you don’t. You’re arguing against me.” you snap back, darting your eyes to him, seeing him sigh.

“Whatever,” he shakes his head, “I was just wondering when you’re going to finally stop being so childish so we can work on that project together, you know.”

“I’m not childish-”

“Stop arguing with me for once, for god’s sake!” he rushes out, throwing his arms in the air in nerves, huffing out in frustration. “Look, I’ll be here tomorrow. The same time. I’ll bring my things and if you still don’t let me work with you, I won’t write anything and we’ll get a bad grade together. Take it or leave it.”

And with that, he is gone.

Fuck Kim Seungmin.

Turns out your enemy is a man of his word.

He truly does show up the next day-- with his backpack slung on his shoulder, cute big glasses sitting on his nose and a stack of papers in his hands. He raises his brows at you upon arriving and you just let out a defeated sigh.

You put a lot of thought into this yesterday evening. Did you hate Kim Seungmin? Of course you did. Was he really annoying? Yes. But were you going to get a bad grade just because of that? Not a chance.

And so you choose to give up on the small war and let him sit in front of you, you let him casually ask you questions about the essay and surprisingly, you answer. It is kind of easy, working with a partner on the same exact level as you, because, and now, don’t get me wrong, you love your classmates, but it seemed like you did all the work all the time. It was nice to have somebody by your side that actually managed to do something and took his part responsibly.

“So, since we’re not just gonna go there and argue right from the start, I wrote a little something about William Shakespeare and his background as well in the introduction, I actually didn’t get around to writing the introduction to the play itself, but-”

“Oh that’s fine, I have it done. We can just stick that in there,” he smiles at you warmly, taking you by a surprise.

You’ve never seen Kim Seungmin smile at you. It was strange to act so friendly around him. Perhaps you were really losing your mind while studying so much.

“Perfect.” you nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“I also have the general storyline written down so you don’t have to do that…” he mumbles, looking away for a while when your eyes meet. Is this supposed to be so awkward?

“Nice.” you opt to simply reply in your usual cold nature, nodding.

“Can you tell me which topics you wrote about? So I know if I need to write my part about more things…” he takes the initiative again and you’re actually kind of glad, because that means you don’t have to think of the schedule of your little meeting anymore.

“Oh, right,” you say, shuffling around in your papers, “um… I just wrote about the age aspect, how reckless their love was, the image of love itself in the play, I also wrote about how meaningless the rivalry was…” you mumble, averting your eyes to the blue ink on the paper.

“Awesome, so we have all of that done… except from the love thing. Okay, I’ll write it next time I come around, since I have tutoring in a few,” he smiles, standing up from the chair, taking all of his things with him.

“Next time?”

“Yeah, well, we still have to finish it. You’ll be here on Tuesday, right? Since the class is on Thursday, so we can have time for the finishing touches.” he proposes, leaving you staring at him, startled.

“O...kay,” you nod, watching him leave.

“Perfect! I’ll see you around, bye!” he cheers, escaping the library that now feels so much hotter than before, leaving you all alone. You notice his tall figure rushing the other way of the library, watching it until it disappears completely out of your sight.

You notice how hot your cheeks are, bringing a hand to rest against the burning surface, taking deep breaths to somehow calm down the racing heart you are only recognising now, that he’s gone.

You still have a lot of work to do before Tuesday-- one of your tasks, it seems, is to try to not fall for his friendly nature and welcoming smile. Because perhaps, he was right all along-- why do you even hate him so much?

Kim Seungmin has always been your moral enemy-- you despised everything about him, from the way he was always so calm and collected, so sweet and caring, so smart and thoughtful. You despised his composure. You despised the way he always somehow managed to make friends with everyone around him no matter who the person was.

He was everything you weren’t. You were just the quiet kid from a broken family that always had to look after herself. You were the kid that had to keep on trying to be the best one, because your mind didn’t let you accept the second place.

Yet now, that Kim Seungmin is sitting right in front of you with a sweet smile plastered onto his features and a stack of notes in his hands, making your heart race with his every move, you start to quietly doubt your silent hatred for the boy.

He makes it so easy to be likeable. You’re jealous of him.

“Okay, so, do you want to start reading? I think it might help us to have a run down before presenting this on Thursday,” he asks you, leaving you to take a deep breath in, nodding to yourself.

You skip the introduction bits-- both of you know a little too much about the play and its author already, you have no reason to be reading those parts out loud. Something inside of you starts shaking at the thought of presenting your work to him. You were never really good with presentations, your quiet nature leaving you getting hot in the cheeks and stammering every time you had to read in front of the class, but now, it feels even worse with the boy staring at you, listening to everything you have to say.

“They say Romeo and Juliet describe a love that surpasses all boundaries, but a close reading of the play suggests the lovers’ feelings are more complicated than pure love. If we look, we can find plenty of evidence that Romeo and Juliet’s love for one another is, at least initially, immature. Romeo begins the play claiming to be passionately in love with another woman, Rosaline. When he sees Juliet, he abandons Rosaline before he has even spoken to his new love, which suggests that his feelings for both women are superficial. Juliet, meanwhile, seems to be motivated by defying her parents. She is unenthusiastic about her parents’ choice of husband for her, and at the party where she is supposed to meet Paris, she instead kisses Romeo after exchanging just fourteen lines of dialogue with him. When Romeo returns to see Juliet, she is focused on marriage. For Juliet, part of the appeal of marriage is that it will free her from her parents: ‘I’ll no longer be a Capulet’,” you read out quietly. The room is silent, you can even hear the passing cars outside of the window, but Seungmin says nothing. You pay a daring look to him, finding him focused on your face, which makes you shakily drift your eyes back, reading some more so you can distract yourself.

“Marriage is, also, another great aspect of the story-- Juliet is only 13 in the play and even though we can argue and say that historically, she was of age to get married, I still think it is irresponsible to marry so young and so quickly. It brings a bad view of reckless love to young readers that are forced to read the play while growing up.” you continue, hearing Seungmin smirk from the other side of the table.

“‘With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out’, Romeo says, however, to Juliet, all of the freedom she gets from love sparks in the idea of leaving her parents so she can have sex.” you read out, hearing Seungmin finally burst out laughing.

You stop reading, looking up to him with questioning eyes.

“Why are you so dramatic about all of it anyway?” he asks you, making you furrow your brows in confusion.

“What do you mean dramatic? I was supposed to write about my own view of it, so I did just that. You don’t have to laugh at me for it,” you shake your head, kind of feeling pathetic for the way your heart is racing. The thing is, and you know it sounds ridiculous, you actually feel kind of hurt by the sound of his laughter.

“I understand that, but why do you keep bashing the author for writing it like that? It’s like you don’t even believe in love, all you did was criticise all of the ideas he had. And so what if they were young and reckless? They were still in love, you know?” he rambles, making your blood boil again.

“You can’t just ignore all of it because it was in history. I don’t think it’s normal to marry so young and to claim you are in love so quickly, because you know what? If they survived, they would make a child. And then, they would realise how they fucked up their own life and Romeo would run away from her with a snap of his finger, because that’s what young, immature boys do. And then-” you raise your voice, not even realising how heated you got with the argument as you continue to ramble. The vision of your own parents and your own story is slowly eating you all up from the inside, when suddenly, Seungmin cuts you off again with a laugh.

“But you don’t know that. It’s not even in the play and your conspiracies are just… pathetic, really,” he shrugs, taking in your distressed state.

Pathetic conspiracies. Is this what he called your life?

“Leave.” you say, breathing heavy.

“What? We didn’t even-”

“You criticize everything I write, not even recognising that maybe I do have a reason for feeling like this and maybe I really do not want to idolise young, immature love when I know just how much damage it can make, so please, for the love of god, Kim Seungmin, leave me alone!” you yell out, standing up from your chair and pointing to the door.

“Y/N-”

“I said get out!” you scream. His deep eyes stare at you for a few minutes, startled, before he hurriedly takes his things and leaves through the front door.

Once you’re finally alone again, you sigh heavily and put your head into your hands. You feel your eyes burning, trying to desperately blink away the stupid tears filling your saddened orbs, but it’s no use as you see a few teadrops fall onto the opened copy of Romeo and Juliet on the table.

‘It’s easy for someone to joke about scars if they’ve never been cut.’, it says.

Maybe you were fooling yourself when you thought Kim Seungmin will no longer be your enemy after all of this.

10.

You raise up to your feet when Mrs Jung calls on you on Friday. You already know what’s going to happen-- you’d been preparing yourself for this moment for the past two long, miserable days. You hadn’t spoken to Seungmin since that day in the library and frankly, you feel like after all of this, you have nothing to say to him. You feel like all energy has been sucked out of you, like you are just a walking cage without a soul just ready for this whole project to be over.

You scan the faces of your classmates, most of them looking interested by your essay. They must be expecting drama, an outburst of emotions as you listen to Seungmin’s words, but you won’t give them the satisfaction today. You’re just going to do your part-- you’re going to read out what you have to say and that’s where it ends. You’re not wasting your energy on Kim Seungmin anymore. It’s not worth your time at all.

So you start, just like that time in the library. You make all your points, you mention all of the topics you wanted to discuss. You throw it right in front of their faces, silently confessing to them all of your deepest secrets and insecurities, because the truth is, you wouldn’t feel so strongly about the play if it didn’t affect you as much.

And when you’re done, you let your rival speak. You listen to him with curiosity, it doesn’t matter how much you’re trying to convince yourself you don’t actually care. His words flow into your ears and fill your mind with thoughts, every single one of them dedicated to his neat handwriting and his brain full of mysteries he is currently uncovering right in front of you.

“To be honest, Y/N’s words made me think. They made me think too hard. They made me question if my point of view was actually as correct as I thought it was. You see, Y/N is a smart girl. No one can deny that. Perhaps that is what made me doubt my own words so much in the first place,” he starts, looking you directly in the eye, but quickly averting his eyes to the small group of people in the classroom instead, “but still, even though there are some points of her essay that I agree with-- like the age aspect, even though historically, it could be meaningless, as well as the way their marriage comes too fast, there are still things I strongly disagree on.”

He takes a deep breath, shuffling the papers in his hands until he finds the right one, and starts speaking again. “Y/N says their love isn’t as pure as it seems to be. With Romeo abandoning Rosaline and with Juliet desperately wanting to break away from her parents, it may seem that way. However, I think that yet, while the two characters may have initially fell for each other due to a mixture of convenience and lust, Romeo and Juliet’s language shows their passion maturing into real love,” he says, taking a short look at you that makes your insides burn in flames, “In their first meeting, they compose a sonnet together using the religious language of pilgrimage. They both start using astrological language to describe their love. As their relationship develops, they use less rhyme, which has the effect of making their language feel less artificial. These changes in the lovers’ language show that they are growing together. They are growing to care more deeply for each other, they are growing into a feeling of love they have for each other.”

“Another thing I disagree with Y/N on is her image of love. ‘Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn,’ she quotes. Romeo asks his friend, Mercutio, this question when he feels hurt by his love. Yet, as I already mentioned, in my opinion, love is growing. And growing is a journey-- in every journey, there is going to be some pain,” he looks at you again, as if to tell you that his words aren’t meant for the class, but for you and your ears only. It doesn’t look like he’s arguing with you anymore--he is simply telling you what’s on his mind. What he believes in.

“In theory, I think love is beautiful. I understand the pain and I understand the journey. And with me saying I disagree, I’m not saying Y/N’s opinion is wrong. It’s simply what she believes in,” he nods his head, locking his eyes with Mrs Jung, “but perhaps, it’s the romantic in me that believes that the image of love portrayed in this book was, in fact, beautiful.”

He clears his throat, looking at you again, but this time, his eyes don’t drift to the papers in his hand, rather speaking from his memory instead of reading out the things he had written down. “‘The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing, and think it were not night.’ Isn’t that beautiful?” he averts his eyes to the class, smiling to himself and looking to the ground.

Somehow, his words feel heavy on you. Like they hold the weight of the world, like what he said wasn’t just to prove a point to you. Perhaps Kim Seungmin saw through the hurt you feel-- perhaps he tried to understand. Maybe, he even tried to make you feel better.

Somehow, his words feel like a confession. His ending ment of saying ‘thank you for your time’ goes unnoticed in your brain, everything turning blurry as the bell rings just as your presentation ends, your brain, eyes-- your whole being focused on Kim Seungmin and the way his voice recitated the words with such passion in his heart.

“‘And where two raging fires meet together, they do consume the thing that feeds their fury,’” the voice of your English literature teacher cuts through your senses like a knife, the smile on her face bringing you back to reality, “Good job, you two.”

11.

A kick in a face wouldn’t hit you harder than seeing Kim Seungmin appear in the library the next day. You aren’t prepared to see him, not when all you’ve been thinking of the last night without being able to fall asleep were his words, his mind and his face. You saw him every time you closed your eyes-- it was like he suddenly imprinted himself into your brain. It was crazy. You felt crazy.

Romeo and Juliet fell in love at first sight. Romeo and Juliet got married the next day.

How much time did it take you to fall in love with Kim Seungmin?

Suddenly, you have no idea. And what makes it all worse is the fact that somehow, it all makes sense in your eyes. Maybe Jisung was right when he told you that giving so much energy into hating the boy would somehow make you end up like the 21st century replica of Anne of the Green Gables and Gilbert Blythe.

“Hello,” he breathes out, the corners of his mouth slightly curving up before he bites the nervous smile down, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Hi,” you shyly greet him, noticing the book in his hands alongside with the library card, taking it from his reached-out hand. You recognise the book way too well, the hard covers a little dusty and the spine damaged from the amount of people that had borrowed this book from the library before.

You take the copy of Romeo and Juliet and place it on the table, registering it back into the database. It feels like a chapter of your life is ending. It seems like forever since you’ve been assigned the project, but in a way, you know that nothing will ever be the same.

You kept thinking of his words in the night. How in his romantic mind, love is beautiful. And it’s a journey that requires pain, in a way.

You kept thinking of how your parents were in love. And then, they were in pain. It was their journey that somehow ended up with you being born, ended up with your father leaving you because he couldn’t bear the responsibility. You kept thinking about how you used to blame your mother, even though all she ever did was raise you and love you. And in a way, you knew Seungmin was right and love was beautiful-- it brought your mum pain, but she was happy while it lasted. And you were the proof of that.

You give him back his library ID, fully expecting him to leave without another word, but he doesn’t. He takes it back from your hold, slipping the card into his back pocket, giving you a meaningful look as he sighs.

“I-”

“Look-”

You both start at the same time, nervously laughing before prompting the other one to speak first. You avert your eyes away from his face, letting him know you won’t be the first one to speak this time, patiently waiting for him to start talking.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry if I ever made it seem like I hate you or anything, because, well, it’s quite the opposite, really,” he chuckles, wiping his hands against his pants, “I never had the guts to hold a proper conversation with you before, because honestly, I was too shy to do that, since you’re like… so smart and everything, but yeah,” he sighs again, shortly looking you in the eyes before finishing his little speech, “I’m just… sorry, I guess?”

You feel your lips tugging into a smile, shaking your head in disbelief before speaking up again. “No, I should be the one saying sorry, because I was the one acting like a bitch… I guess that were just my own insecurities getting in the way.”

His smile mirrors yours in no time, taking your breath away as you curse in your own head. You feel crazy. So, so damn crazy for liking it so much.

“It’s okay. I guess we both had some things that came in the way. If I wasn’t acting so cold, maybe you wouldn’t hate me as much-”

“No, it’s not your fault!” you stop him, reaching out a hand to gesture him that he is talking nonsense.

He nervously shifts his weight from one leg to another, taking a short look at his shoes, gaining all of his courage before speaking up again. “I know this may sound ridiculous, but would you maybe want to… hang out sometime?”

“Hang out?” you repeat, voice a few octaves higher than usual.

“Y-yeah,” he nods, eyes big, “I was actually thinking of asking you out on a date but since you used to hate me until now, I didn’t want to go too fast-”

“It can be a date,” you jump in. The voice in your head is screaming at you now, hell, it is running around your head and hitting the walls in anger and panic. How the hell did you end up in this position? Asking Kim Seungmin out on a date? You really must be ridiculous.

“Okay,” he smiles, urgently nodding.

“Okay.” you grin. You exchange a daring stare into each other’s eyes before he deeply inhales and scratches the back of his neck, turning on his heel and quickly pacing to the door. You almost think he’s going to leave, but he quickly looks back and stops in his tracks, shooting you one last, bright smile.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow!” he cheers, not even letting you respond before he runs out of the door.

As the library falls into dead silence, you take a seat on the chair, sighing deeply and bringing your head into your palms resting on the table, just like many times before when Seungmin left the comfort of the library, but this time, there’s a goofy smile playing with your lips as you think of the last few minutes, chuckling to yourself. This was an outcome you did not expect from the project-- but it’s an outcome you don’t mind at all.

Romeo and Juliet fell in love at first sight. How long did it take you?

It’s fair to say at least two weeks.

Maybe you were foolish and maybe it will hurt, but there’s something tempting at the warm feeling in your chest and the excitement Seungmin’s presence makes you feel, and that feeling alone doesn’t let you give up on this just yet.

Your eyes fall to the opened book of Romeo and Juliet you’d left on your table just before he arrived, meaning to return the copy of the play to the library. You’re met with a sentence that makes you chuckle at the irony, the foolishness washing over you mixed with a feeling of joy you can’t quite comprehend yet, but welcome it with your arms wide open and expecting heart.

‘My only love sprung from my only hate.’

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huenjin · 4 years ago

Text

shootout.

there’s nothing like a shootout that lets two partners bond the best.

pairing: bang chan x reader | detectives!au genre: action, romance word count: 5k words warnings: crime, blood, killings, language, implicit mention of sexual activity

part of the domestic disturbance series.

"Chan, look at this," you drag your fingers over the side of the muscle car, pointing out several holes, feeling the depression clearly. Your eyes slowly trail towards the fresh blood by the window and you gasp, "Bullet holes and blood."

The thin silence is broken by the scream that comes from inside the warehouse. Your eyes widen and Chan quickly whisper-yells at you, "Quick! Move!" You and Chan move towards the door after drawing your guns out.

You press your ear closer to the door. Behind it, you can hear mumbling and clanking of metal. You mouth to Chan, "What the hell is going on in there?"

He places a finger over his lips and you nod. Chan crouches down and peeks through a crack in the door. You lean over and whisper, "What do you see?"

"Multiple people. Someone is lying down on his back in the middle of the room. The light is flickering and someone's standing over the man." He peeps further. "There's movement in the back too. Maybe one. No, there are two to three people behind."

Suddenly, in a flash, there's another howl of pain and you grip Chan's arms in surprise, moving closer to him. Chan turns to look at you, your face edging so close to him that he can see your eyes glistening and how sharp your nose is. He takes in a huge breath in surprise and closing his eyes, he informs you, "We're going in."

You stand back and Chan winds up, kicking in the door. Chan yells as he rushes forward, "Police! Freeze!"

You look around at the makeshift operation room with a lot of medical equipment around. A shirtless man is lying on an operation table in the centre of the room and a man in a white doctor's coat who you presume to be Dr. Kim stands over him, prying a bullet wound from his shoulder. The two bulky men who stand behind have their guns aimed at you, narrowing their eyes. One of them has a scar over his face and the other over his neck, both fierce enough to scare you.

"What the hell is this? What the fuck is going on?" The doctor speaks up, looking at the two of you shifting his gaze from the patient to your guns.

"Put your guns down," the bulky man behind the doctor barks. "Now!"

The other bulky dude yells, "Do it!" You and Chan keep your guns pointed finely at the two said bodyguards behind.

The black build of the gun is heavy and it's awfully familiar. The walls are closing in on you and you take deep breaths in. It's the sound of the child screaming and bullets firing. Your pulse is rapid and hot against your skin. You feel the beads of sweat forming by your forehead.

Chan takes a step to your side, speaking, "Let's just take it easy. No one has to get hurt."

"I have a feeling that it won't be that easy, Detective," Dr. Kim informs Chan, his lips tugging to the right to form a smirk. "I'm afraid so."

Chan's shoulder bumps into yours and he looks at you for a second, nudging at you, "Are you alright? You don't look so well."

"I've been better," you smile nervously. The gun trembles in your hand and Chan looks at you, worried. He notices your shivers and your beads or perspiration by your forehead. He wants to protect you and he swears he'll do exactly that.

The shirtless man on the table moans and grunts, looking to the side to see you and Chan, before yelling, "You bastards. Do you know what my family," he groans, "will do to you?"

"Chan," you gasp, your grip on the gun getting harder. "That's Amanozako Susanoo. Ranking officer and scion of the Amanozako drug cartel. The same case that the NIS put me off."

"Ah, fuck," Chan shakes his head, disappointed. "You're now a mob doctor, Kim? Stitching up cartel foot soldiers? I hope you at least get paid well for this."

"We all have to make our living, Detective," Kim shrugs. "After that sham malpractice, I've struggled. Now if you'd let me, I'd like to operate here."

Chan glances at you uneasily, his tongue poking at his inner curve of the cheek. The bodyguards adjust their grip on their guns and the lightbulb that hangs over the table shifts in the wind, causing the knife in one of the bodyguards to glisten and hit your eyes. Dr. Kim slowly resumes examining Susanoo's wound.

"Back away, pigs, if you value your life," Susanoo seethes and you click your tongue.

"We just want to talk," Chan is firm and Susanoo flips the two of you his middle finger and swears, "On dore, ē konjō shi toru ya nai ke! I ain't talking to you both."

"Not you, Susanoo. We want to talk to Dr. Kim."

"Me? You want to talk to me?" Dr. Kim looks at the two of you, worried.

"They're playing you, doc. The minute you get outta the line of fire, they're going to haul me off. Kutabare! Keep working!"

Dr. Kim looks at the two of you and then the bodyguards before resuming the examination on the wound.

"Susanoo, just tell your men to put down their guns. We'll get you to the hospital," you suggest. He is furious, even more so after your suggestion.

"I ain't going to any hospital, yariman," he seethes in anger and Chan loads the gun in the heat of the moment, yelling back at Susanoo, "Call her that once more and this bullet flies straight into your skull."

You can only guess what Susanoo said, but it was safe to presume it is something offensive because Chan responds rudely enough for the bodyguards to step forward in defense. You yell, "Hey! Hey! Back off."

Everyone's yelling. Chan shifts and points his gun at Susanoo, seconding your voice, "Tell your men to back off, Susanoo or I swear to god, I'll put a hole in your head." There is commotion around when Susanoo yells back, "Oh, big talk, little man. You do that. And you and your girlfriend are next."

"Yeah, probably. But you'll be too dead to appreciate that," Chan bites back. Susanoo's face hardens and he continues, "Just let us take the doctor. That's all we ask."

"It's not going to happen," Dr. Kim refuses. "I'm not going to the prison again. Not when you even brought a former NIS agent with you this time round."

"Who said anything about the prison, doctor?" You ask. "We just want to talk to you about something." The doctor digs deeper into the wound to find the bullet. Susanoo screams in agony.

"It's about the Maskmaker?" He laughs. "You think I'm the Maskmaker?"

Susanoo chides in, "The dude that has been killing all those girls? Doc, is that you?"

"Oh, that's just ridiculous," he digs further for the bullet out from Susanoo's body as he screams again. "The idiocy of this city's police department has no bounds."

"So you'll answer all the questions we have for you?" You ask. Dr. Kim jerks the tweezer out of Susanoo's shoulder and drops the bullet into a tiny steel plate. The patient is screaming in agony and the doctor smiles, "There! That's the bullet. Anyone with even a little medical training can stitch you up from here."

"You're leaving?" Susanoo asks.

"Yeah," the doctor smiles. "I'm going to leave with them to get this absurd mess sorted."

"We'll take the doctor and leave," Chan informs. "You and your men can disperse by then."

Dr. Kim places the instruments carefully, the metal clinking and slowly tells, "I'm just going over to then slowly. You understand?"

"Yeah, doc. I understand," Susanoo smirks. "Understand this!" He yells. He whips his hand out from behind his back, pointing a chromed semi-automatic pistol right at you. You heave in a huge breath, your eyes widening and your grip on your gun faltering.

Chan sees red, like paint that spills over his vision. He has been seeing red from the minute Susanoo laid his filthy eyes on you and so Chan doesn't think much when he pulls the trigger.

The gunshot is as good as a hypodermic to the heart. It isn't simply loud, it cracks into the air and echoes around the walls, resonating and magnifying the feeling of our vulnerability. A bright red circle appears in the centre of Susanoo's forehead. His head snaps back and the blood splatters all over the table and over the doctor's white coat.

"No!" The doctor screams. Susanoo's body falls off the table and the doctor tries to hold it. He falls to the ground and you hurl yourself along with Chan behind a wooden cabinet in the commotion.

"Jesus! He killed the wakagashira," one of the bodyguards says, while the other screams, "Kill him. Kill him. Shoot him now."

Chaos follows. Both the bodyguards open fire, aiming at the cabinet and everywhere in the room, their shots whizzing audibly past you. You fire off one shot, miss and throw yourself forward, flipping over another operating table to use it as a cover. Chan looks at you, worried, yelling over the gunshots piercing through the air, "Are you alright, Y/N?"

"I'm fine," you raise your gun to show you were unscratched. Chan heaves out a sigh in relief, turning his focus back on the guards. You peek around the cover and see the two guards crouching behind the cover. Dr. Kim scampers away, retreating into the darkness.

"Get back here, Kim!" Chan aggravates. Upon hearing his sound, the guards fire again. The side of the cabinet bursts open, spraying Chan with wooden splinters and you wince. Chan pulls himself back luckily.

"You're a dead man," the guard screams. More bullets explode against the cabinet. One of them blows a huge chunk of it and Chan scrambles to stay behind cover.

"I'm pinned down here," he hisses at you. You look at him worried, wondering how you could help and realise that you are staying covered under a steeled operation table. You tell him, "Get here when you can."

Suddenly, there's the sound of an engine revving in the back to the warehouse. Your knees straighten instinctively and you stand barely up, swearing, "Damn it! He's getting away!"

The guards see you and Chan groans, "Ah, Y/N," and he leaps forward, pulling you down with him, taking cover behind the operation table as the guards open fire again furiously. Chan falls on top of you and you wince in the impact. He quickly lifts himself up, his body weight supported on the hands that are pressed on the ground by either side of your face. He whispers, leaning closer towards you, "Let him go. We can't get him without risking ourselves, you idiot. Stay down!"

Outside, the car revs up and zooms away and your head falls to the side, disappointed, "He got away."

Chan supports his body weight on his left arm as he leans closer and brushes the hair away from your face, cupping your face with his right hand for a second or two. Your cheeks stain red and you hate that you're having a moment when you could be shot dead along with Chan. He presses a quick kiss on your forehead, his feel lingering for a long time before he sits up, "We'll get him the next time, okay?" And you nod, biting your lower lip and tugging at it nervously.

Caught up in the moment you just shared with Chan, you don't notice how quiet the room has gone. You nudge at him and mouth, "Listen, Chan." The room is eerily quiet and neither of the guards shoot.

"Are you two ready to surrender?" Chan asks.

There's no response. None at all. You can hear the soft padding footsteps and the sound of someone fumbling with a glass bottle. You smell rubbing alcohol and your eyes enlarge. There's the sound of the cloth crumpling and a lighter flicking.

"They are making a Molotov cocktail!"

"We have to shoot," you tell him. "Now!" Chan listens to you. He ducks low, under the bottom of an adjacent cabinet as he slowly crawls till there with you hot on his heels ("I'm not losing you now," you had said.) and Chan gets a clear view of the bodyguard's feet from here.

Chan's kind enough to give a heads up as he shouts, "Hey, you!" before firing off a shot. The bodyguard's shoe bursts open and he screams, falling down and dropping the Molotov cocktail on himself. He writhes on the floor, engulfed in bright red flame laced with blue trails and you press your lips at the site, looking away quickly.

"That leaves one." Chan walks ahead and looks around for the other person. Meanwhile, the other bodyguards loom eerily behind your back, covering your mouth tightly and pulling you back with him. Chan pops over the cabinet and sees no sign of the only remaining bodyguard.

Susanoo's bodyguard drags you to one corner away from Chan. You try breathing loudly but the man has his arms choking your passage and you begin coughing, only for the man to cover his hand over your mouth, the gun edging dangerously close to your face. Impulsively, you throw your head forward, hitting the gun and sending it sliding away after making a loud noise. You cough out loudly when he uncovers your mouth after swearing, "Bitch," and pulling out the knife that you had seen earlier in his pocket and holding it by your neck. It cuts through your skin lightly, blood dripping down slowly.

Chan's eyes embody what you identify as fear. It's the same look you had on the day Minhyuk fell down before you, bleeding after being shot. It is fear that changes to anger when the guard's head peers over your shoulder, breathing onto your skin, telling Chan, "She's a pretty one. A very pretty one. Too bad I can't have more fun with her before shooting her dead."

Chan's knuckles turn white as he grips on the gun tightly, lining up the shot. The man barks, "Put down your gun. Put down your gun, man, unless you want her dead!"

"Okay, okay," he raises his hand, slowly kneeling down. "Just let her go." He lowers his gun, the sound resonating the walls as it hits the ground and kicks it to the right.

"Good boy, good—" He takes his hand away from your neck for a split second but that is all you need to seize the opportunity. You grab his arm and jerk him down — his knife cutting your skin by the arm and the dermis opens painfully in the hassle — and elbow him brutally in the side of his head. The bodyguard drops to his knees, wobbles for a second and then falls over unconscious.

Chan rushes towards you, pulling your unharmed arm forward, your body falling into his hold as he hugs you tightly. His head snuggles into the curve of your neck as he holds you tightly, mumbling, "I was so scared if he'd kill you. I was so scared." His hand rests on the back of your head as he pulls you into him, your nose buried in his broad, warm chest. He places a kiss — a peck, a barely there contact of his lips — against your forehead as he pulls back to look at you properly. The blood from your forearm stains his shirt but he doesn't seem to mind, caught up in the overload of emotions he feels.

Your head is empty. The pain is still loud but it seems to be fine when Bang Chan hugs you so tight that he wishes he could do that always. You pull away from his grip and look around the place.

"We just killed Amanozako Susanoo," Chan reaffirms.

"Yes," you smile at him, your cheeks still heated up. "Yes, we did."

"Yes, sire," you respond politely, "Yes, I will have the full write up given to you by tomorrow. Goodbye, sire." And you hang up. Chan starts the car on ignition as soon as you are done with the call. You look to your left and through Chan's being, you see the police cars parked all around the warehouse, the red light illuminating in the late evening. Officers rush into the warehouse, swarming around the place.

"Hey, Y/N," he pauses. He rip out a piece of his shirt absent-mindedly and pulls you forward, trudging your being into the gear stick as he holds your injured arm up and ties the bleeding wound up, the cloth of his white shirt staining red slowly. "Are you alright?"

"A little shaken up," you smile. "And the slight scratches," Chan glares at you and you chuckle, insisting, "I'm fine."

"I'm glad you didn't get hurt," you mumble, relieved. Almost like you can take easy breaths now and the air is a lot less suffocating. "I am, oh my—"

"Hey, hey," Chan frowns. "But you got hurt."

"Meh," you shrug. He looks towards you and your hair is loose, barely keeping it up in that ponytail of yours after the entire commotion but you don't bother to tie it back up properly, letting huge strands of hair fall forwards as you look down at your knees, the jeans now ripped.

"Have you ever been in a shootout before?" Chan asks.

"Of sorts," you mumble. "It didn't end well though. I was worried today would be a repeat show of that. Sorry for being a wreck in the beginning."

You pull down the window of his car as he finally pressed on the gas, the car pulling forwards. The breeze pushes the strands of your hair behind and Chan holds his breath in moments like these. He wonders if it is possible for someone to look pretty even after a shootout with scratches and injuries on their body, but you pull it off so well that he thinks it's hot. He thinks it's hot enough that you took the big bulky man down but the way you were unfazed after that, that was sheer excellence in Chan's eyes and all he could do was gape at how beautiful you are.

"Hey," Chan brings your attention back to him and away from the passing trees and the low noises of the sirens ringing the air. "Did the District Chief reprimand you or something?"

You laugh, "You're kidding, right? Amanozako Susanoo was a drug-runner and a rapist who we suspect of at least eighteen gangland murder. I might just get a medal for this."

"Find Dr. Kim and you might get two," Chan teases, his right hand on the gearstick and the other on the steering wheel, occasionally flashing you a smile or two as he drives.

"Chan," you frown. "I don't think he's our guy. I don't think he's our Maskmaker. The way he acted in there and the way he reacted to us? He didn't seem like it. He doesn't seem to me as someone with a deep psychosis."

Chan sighs, "I had a feeling you'd say that."

Chan's phone rings and the car audio rings along with it. He presses on a button on the steering wheel, putting Captain Han through the line.

"Detective!"

"Cap!"

"Hey, Captain," you laugh over. Chan smiles and informs, "You're on speaker technically, Cap."

"About Dr. Kim," Captain Han starts.

"We don't think he did it, Cap," Chan cuts him off. He nervously chews on his bottom lip and looks at you. "We don't think Dr. Kim is our guy."

"What in the world?"

"He doesn't seem like it," you explain further. "I know it might seem like he is the guy but we spoke to him, Captain. He doesn't seem like it."

"I don't want to hear it, the two of you," his voice is firm and authoritative. "Amanozako Susanoo is dead, Dr. Kim escaped and now you're telling me that he might not be the killer?"

"It's a working theory," Chan protests and you heave out a sigh in frustration.

"I appreciate that you're working on theories, Chan—"

"Thanks," he sheepishly smiles.

"But what facts do you have to support it? All the evidence points towards Dr. Kim being the Maskmaker. He even matches the profile Y/N made," Captain Han tells and your eyebrows rise at him calling you by your first name.

"Ah, yes, but—" you trail.

"I don't want to hear it, Y/N," he says, frustrated. "Unless the two of you can back up your allegation, Dr. Kim remains as our prime suspect.

"Listen to me, Cap—"

"No, you listen to me. Because of you, we've got one cartel officer in the morgue, one in the burn ward and," Captain pauses. "Y/N resulted in the third one with a broken jaw." You click your tongue in annoyance.

"I did what I had to do," you blatantly say.

"It was a righteous shoot!" Chan whines and Jisung is quick to respond.

"I know and that is why you're not being suspended. Again. I pulled every string and cashed every favour I had with the Commissioner to let you two continue this case, or at least till we have Dr. Kim brought to justice."

"Thank you," Chan decides to choose his words wisely. "I appreciate it."

"I want the two of you back at the precinct to search for—"

"I can't, however, oblige with that request of yours, Cap," Chan cuts Namjoon's sentence and you're surprised at him refusing an order.

"Why, may I ask?"

"Y/N's injured. I'm not coming anywhere near the precinct till I have her taken care of," Chan responds in monotone and you look away, cheeks staining red. You also want to yell at Chan to stop treating you like some fragile doll but you won't deny that the care felt nice.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" Captain's voice booms through the speaker, louder this time.

"I'll be fine, Captain. It's probably nothing and Chan is overreacting."

"You won't stop bleeding, so shut up."

"Uh, I'll leave you two to it." Captain Han's voice pipes in between your quarrel and you mumble, "Okay."

The Captain hangs up and you roll your eyes at Chan, "I'm not injured severely."

"You're injured nonetheless," his voice rises and he glares at you, pressing on the gas a little bit more.

You mumble, incoherently, "I'm fine," and Chan chooses to ignore it, turning on the radio news.

Captain Han's voice booms through the speakers as he addresses a crowd of reporters, "Thank you for coming here today. As you already know, we have a break in the Maskmaker case. We now have a primary suspect: Dr. Kim Ilwoo. At the moment, Dr. Kim remains at large but we hope that the citizens of Seoul will cooperate in our attempts to bring him to justice…"

"Everyone — Every cop — is going to be behind Dr. Kim while the real Maskmaker is still at large."

"That's not good," you sigh and you notice Chan pulling into the parking lot of a residential complex.

"Yeah, it isn't," he says, unbuckling his seat belt after parking. He leans forward and hovers over your body, as you can feel his breath by your face, the cold essence of peppermint chewing gum fresh from his mouth. He unbuckles your seat belt for you and looking at you with his nose brushing past yours slightly, he says, "We're here."

This night is definitely going to be a recipe for a disaster. You know it.

Chan fumbles with his key, trying one after another from the bunch and you laugh, murmuring, "Should have divided them."

"Then, I'd lose them," he pointedly stares at you before finding the right one and opening the door.

The room gives away his new bachelorhood, or the very least you presume he has had a recent breakup.

Everything is functional. The mantle is where he puts his keys and garage door opener. On the coffee table is a wrench set and a new set of wheels for a longboard. Under the small eating table is a pack of beer. You are guessing that the fridge-freezer holds meals for one and he has more clothes in his laundry basket than in his closet. He's not hopeless though, he clearly knows one end of a vacuum cleaner from the other. He's got modern looking prints of the wall and a small photo of his folks on a side table. You identify Jisung, Felix and Hyunjin from there. He's never decorated, that's for sure, but then who paints a rental place? You know you wouldn't.

He turns, smiling shyly, not a look you've seen on his face before. Spending time with Chan entitled you to see a lot of different shades in him. You can't help but smile back — he brought you to his place against the order of his captain just to take care of you. You are dead sure that this is enough to steer you from the loud thoughts screaming at you to not let history repeat again. But you're a fool. A fool for Bang Chan.

Your eyes linger uneasily on the cardboard boxes taped with elephant tape that is arranged carefully against the corners. Chan tells you to sit on his sofa. It's a pretty nice place for a detective of his ranking and you watch him move around in his house. He brings a bag full of content and pushes the table in front of the sofa to the side as he kneels before you.

In the dim lighting of his home, Chan looks beautiful. He had the kind of face that stopped you in your tracks. You guess he must get used to that, the sudden pause in a person's natural expression when they normally looked his way followed by overcompensating with a nonchalant gaze and a weak smile. Of course, the blush that accompanied it was a dead give-away.

This is a man you wanted to know more than you'd ever felt before. How could you ever hold back your soul from touching his?

Chan helps you out of your boots and you laugh, "I'm not handicapped, Chan," and shove his arms away, your chest vibrating and the walls echoing your laughter.

He continues to help you out of your boots even after that, mumbling, "Let me help." And your hands stop midway as you watch how gently he takes them out and places them by your side. He sits by your side and drags the bag closer to him along with the tub of water and cloth. He unwraps the piece of cloth he had tied your injury with and throws it to the side.

He winces visibly, "That's a deep cut," and rubs his forehead before muttering, "Ah, that bastard."

You don't say anything as you watch him. He uses his left hand to apply pressure on the cut, praying that the bleeding reduces. He dips the new white cloth into the water and cleans the area along with the help of a soap. You clench your teeth in the pain that hits you as he cleans the injury. He wipes the cloth over your neck too, edging his face closer to you as his left hand leaves your arm and grips your face to angle it. You are flustered and take steady breaths in, praying that he doesn't notice your heartbeat rising because of him.

He applies antibiotic ointment over it and covers the area with a sterile bandage, the two of you engulfed in nothing but the silence, your breathing and the sound of the fan rotating. He moves back and smiles to himself, "There, all done," and moves his gaze up at you only to find you staring at him already.

You had promised yourself to never repeat history again; to never fall in love with a fellow partner; to never like another man who swore to protect justice at all costs.

But promises are meant to be broken and as you gaze at Chan under his dim lights, his face so temptingly close to you, you are more than ready to break the promise you've made with yourself.

As you lean forward, your fingertips tracing his jawline, Chan knows and feels the same because he meets you halfway, his hands creeping behind your back by your waist and tugging you closer, your bodies touching and your lips on his, soft and testing waters initially. Chan pulls you closer, his lips moving against yours, angling your face to delve deeper into you.

He has his lips against yours, nearly knocking you off all the wind in your lungs. You sigh into the kiss, find your hands in his hair, tugging at the roots and moving against his body, your legs stretching by either side of his body. His hand sprawls over your neck, his thumb caressing against your jugular before pressing into the neck, rubbing slow circles. He kisses the top of your lips, your hands tugging at his shirt.

And the two of you move against each other as the night darkens, covering everything and the gasps and breathless sighs that take over the soft air in the room has nothing against the two of you — the two of you that hold each other in some sort of desperation for physical reassurance. For some sort of hope that the two of you diffuse into each other.

#stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #skz smut #chan smut #chan fluff #chan x reader #straykidsland #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz imagines #chan crime #stray kids crime #bang chan x reader #writings.rue #reposted after editing an old fic of mine a part of it technically

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fandomficsnstuff · 3 years ago

Text

Healer - Part 2

Ivar x Modern!Reader

(Warnings: I don’t think there are any warnings, but let me know if I’m wrong)

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You couldn’t stop running, not until you were forced to, a branch catching your foot, making you fall and scrape your knee on a sharp rock. You silently sobbed, not because of the pain but because you had no idea where you were, you were alone in a foreign place with foreign people, strange things were happening and it finally broke you. You pulled your knees to your chest as it began to rain, hugging them tightly against you as you sobbed, ignoring the blood that spilled from the cut on your knee, mixing with the rain that ran down your body and soaked you completely. You weren’t sure how long you sat on the forest ground, ignoring the cold rain, but you had stopped crying, blankly staring at the ground in silence as nothing but the sound of rain hitting the ground and surrounding forage filled your ears. You think you heard voices but you didn’t care, you felt alone and tired, you had no one, and the extremely sad part? You didn’t really think anyone back home would miss you. You didn’t have any family left, no real friends, not even at work or in the apartment you lived in, no one would miss you, no one would look for you. The thought caused another wave of fresh tear to form in your eyes, but before they had a chance to fall you heard footsteps, looking up you saw Ubbe and Hvitserk, looking down at you with sympathetic looks.

You let Hvitserk pick you up bridal style and carried you back to Kattegat, the whole way you were quiet, just staring at nothing in particular as they carried you inside the big hall, eyes on you as they placed you in front of the fire, Hvitserk attempted to give you his fur coat but you just brushed it off, staring at the flames with an empty look on your face. You knew they were just trying to help but you didn’t want their help, maybe it was selfish, but you just wanted to be alone. You felt a cough work it’s way up your throat, making you cough into the crook of your elbow as you continued to stare blankly at the flames in front of you. Ubbe next tried to get a fur coat over you but you rejected that as well “leave me alone…” you quietly asked, even though you knew they didn’t understand you. You pulled your knees to your chest again and curled up in a ball, watching the flames as tears silently rolled down your cheeks, your face void of emotion, even as some soup was placed in front of you, probably in an attempt to warm you up, but you were just fine with the flames licking your skin, it’s what should have happened so long ago, right? Why not now? Next Björn entered, whispering something to the others and you felt their eyes on you.

Björn approached and kneeled down in front of you, his eyes soft despite how cold his face seemed. “The seer told me” he said in broken english, making you look at him with a slight frown “he did not… talk much. But talk enough” he said, looking at you with slightly raised brows, as if asking if you could understand him. You gently nodded and Björn did so as well, glancing at the others before looking back at you with a softer expression “you eat, yes? Get strong, learn, speak like us. Then we speak, good?” he asked and for a second you didn’t answer, looking into the flames before hesitantly taking the soup and the spoon that was given to you, hesitantly eating what was served to you, taking tiny slurps from the soup, reluctant but obeying nonetheless. Björn nodded and got up, taking the fur coat you had refused to wear and put it over your shoulders gently, walking out of the hall and leaving you alone with the others.

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Months, it had been months since you had arrived here, and slowly everything was starting to seem more real. You had learnt most of their language by now, their customs, their ideas, it all made you think that these people were actually real life vikings, that you had actually somehow gone back in time. You were standing outside the same tent that made you run away in fear all those months ago, taking a deep breath, glancing nervously at Hvitserk who gave you a reassuring smile before walking away to join his brothers at the hunting cabin, prompting you to enter cautiously, as though the whole place was booby trapped. You couldn’t help but glare at the old man, the Seer, everyone called him, as he sat there, smirking as he heard you enter, or perhaps he knew you would enter long before even you did. “You’re back” he said in his raspy voice, knowing you had learnt their language by now, so he didn’t bother cutting your hand again, thankfully. “I’m just as surprised as you” you mumbled sarcastically, venom dripping from your every word but the man just cackled like last time, prompting you to roll your eyes “how do I get home?” you asked, not wanting to play any games, the man continued to cackle as though your question was the funniest thing he had heard in a long time “you are home, young healer” he cackled and you considered strangling him, but you took an oath to do no harm, so you took a deep breath and calmed yourself “I mean where I came from, I have a work there, an apartment, I have a life that I need to get back to” you tried to make him sympathise with you, a frown on your face as you watched his face fall, smile fade and laughter quiet until there was nothing but the wind outside.

“You think you are missed?” he asked and that caught you off guard, you bit your lower lip and gently shook your head, looking down sadly “I know I’m not… but I have responsibilities, I’m not meant to be here, some mistake has happened” you tried to reason with him but when you looked up he blew something in your face, making you cough as you shut your eyes tightly, coughing as you inhaled it and suddenly you felt your body hit the ground as you continued to cough, you couldn’t even get the words out to ask ‘what have you done to me?’ before you were out like a light, darkness enveloping around you, it felt odd, like you were floating.

You woke up with a gasp, laying on a sofa in the doctor’s lounge, your eyes scanning the room but it was empty, you heard people outside the room, walking by and chatting, a few pages going off here and there as you took your time to ground yourself, your feet carefully hitting the ground as you slowly stood up, cautious of your surroundings as you opened the door and walked out, almost bumping into someone but you moved at the last second. It was like the person didn’t see you, and when you turned to face another, snapping your fingers in front of her, you realised that they actually didn’t see you, a dark feeling settling in your stomach. You frowned and walked the hallways of the hospital, coming upon the same man you had treated, your last patient before you turned up wherever you were now, he was arguing with someone inside and when you walked in you saw none other than Clive, the same co-worker who was all too eager to claim all the credit for your work. You glared at him before listening in on their argument.

You sighed as you realised what Clive was telling Peter, the man who was your patient the day you vanished. He was spouting all this bullshit about how insurance wouldn’t cover his recovery, even though he was brought in on an emergency and you had checked his insurance yourself before he even went into surgery. You wanted to scream at Clive, you wanted to yell at him for being so rude, for lying to a patient and for being so heartless, you wanted to have his medical license taken away and you wanted him to act like the grown man he was supposed to be. But you couldn’t do anything but watch as Clive heartlessly talked to Peter, who couldn’t do anything but take it. You leaned against the wall and felt tears form in your eyes at the frustration you felt, maybe you were dead… maybe you were dead and in some twisted sense of irony you got back home but as a ghost or something, a spirit maybe. Whatever it was, you wanted out of here, you actually began to miss Kattegat, here you felt alone and lonely, you were surrounded by people, none of them saw you, heard you, even felt your presence as you walked through the hospital. You got to the top of the hospital, sitting down on the edge of the roof, eyes straight ahead as you didn’t dare look down, your back slumped as you considered if this was a terrible nightmare or real, either way, you couldn’t die, right? Forcing yourself to look down you saw the streets below, people going on about their day as if you had never even existed to begin with. Suddenly you felt someone beside you, turning your head and seeing the Seer, facing the tall building ahead of the two of you.

“Is it like this, now? No one cares?” you asked quietly and upon receiving no response you felt yourself tear up, all you ever wanted was to make a difference in the world. “You still can” the Seer rasped, making you sigh heavily “how? I-... You won’t even tell me who I’m supposedly here for” you pointed out and he once again chuckled, the sound like a cackling, as always “you will know, when the time is right, daughter of Frigga” he rasped and you rolled your eyes “you’re way too mysterious, you know that? And this ‘Frigga’ is not my mom-uh… mother, I mean…” you added, the Seer once again just cackling “for a woman who knows so much, you see so little. You will know all in due time, young healer, and in due time you will see all” he said and you rolled your eyes again “not helping” you mumbled and once again he cackled, the laughter echoing in your skull, not letting you escape it for a single second.

You woke up, panting and sweating heavily, your cheeks stained with tears that hadn’t stop running, you felt as though your lungs had no room to expand, you were panting and sobbing all together, looking around and seeing it was dark outside, a frown forming on your face, you knew it was at least noon when you went to go see the Seer. You threw off your fur blanket and walked out of your room, still panting for air until you stumbled into the great hall. You didn’t even notice Ivar there, watching the flames until you fell to the ground, clutching at your chest. Ivar crawled to you with a concerned frown “what is wrong?” he asked but you just shook your head, still feeling as if you had no room for air in your lungs yet you so desperately craved it, needed it. You curled up, despite your logical brain telling you that made it worse, but you were panicking, and luckily Ivar picked up on it, brows up in realisation and suddenly you felt one of his hands on your back and the other on your collarbone, forcing you to unfold and straighten your back, air finally being able to fill your lungs. You were still crying when you slumped against Ivar, not thinking straight as you buried your face in his chest. You expected him to push you away, at least not respond to your actions, but what you didn’t expect were hesitant arms wrapped around you, one of his hands gently stroking your hair in a soothing manner as you calmed down.

You stayed like that the whole night, telling Ivar the whole story, expecting him to tell you it was stupid, that you were foolish for believing the Seer or something like that, but you were met with silence, patient silence as he listened to your every word. “I’m scared, Ivar… I think I’m really scared of being alone, of never achieving anything, being forgotten, left behind and unable to help anyone or myself” you whispered and felt him tense at your words, you almost broke away from him when he once again eased into your touch “you are not alone. You have everyone here in Kattegat, you have Helga, I even think Floki likes you, you even have… me… so not to worry, many will remember you” Ivar soothed, letting you see a totally different side of him. Sure, in the months you had been here Ivar had been the one to teach you about their gods, while Ubbe and Hvitserk explained the language and helped you understand it. It had been four months since you arrived and you had grown closer to the youngest of the siblings. You enjoyed his sarcasme and sharp tongue, his wit and his determination, but most importantly, you enjoyed small moments, like this, where you saw what you considered to be the real Ivar.

Before long Ivar began to talk about meeting his father again, which you had apparently missed while passed out from whatever the Seer made you inhale, something Ivar told you he was very upset about, but you could see that he wasn’t. Apparently his father had disappeared years ago, only now popping up and asking people to sail with him, and Ivar had apparently said yes, to go to England with him. You couldn’t help but chuckle “bring back some of their tea, alright?” you joked, Ivar looking at you confused but dismissed it, he, along with everyone else you spent a lot of time with, had gotten used to your odd humour. The next day you watched Ivar proudly as he did his best to walk to the boat, almost helping him up when he fell until Aslaug stopped you and Ubbe, making you step back and watch as Ivar crawled to the boat and into it. You glared at Sigurd as he laughed at Ivar but brought your focus back to him once more, giving him a subtle wave as the boat began to set sail, he didn’t return it but you could see in his eyes that he wanted to.

#Ivar x Reader #Ivar x Modern!Reader #Vikings fic #Healer fic

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rreyie · 4 years ago

Text

𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙡𝙙 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨- 𝙖𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: after three years of not seeing eren due to his buisness in marley, you reunite with him only to find he isn’t the same person anymore, but the one thing that hasn’t changed is his desire for you.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: smut! hair pulling, spanking, hate (?) sex, eren being an asshole, MAJOR season four/manga spoilers, vaginal, orgasm denial, overstimulation, fingering, oral (male receiving), f! anatomy reader, dom! eren, sub! reader

𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: smut/ nsfw

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨: eren yeager, reader insert

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚: i really struggled with what to name this, but i still think it turned out fine. this may be the dirtiest thing i’ve written so far but anyways, eren stans come get y’all juice

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it had been three whole years since you had last seen eren. as much as you missed those emerald green eyes giving you a playful glare from across the room, you certainly did not miss his careless demeanor.

it had happened after the girl shot sasha, your best friend. as you laid there sobbing on the floor, all eren did was laugh. no comfort. no “i’m sorry.” just a half hearted chuckle from that asshole of a man.

as you put her body in a different room, you walked out of the dimly lit airship to see eren sitting on some sort of box. through that mane of chocolate brown hair, you saw those emerald eyes again, only this time, they weren’t as youthful as they once were. they were tired. drained. dull. you didn’t know how else to describe that look.

“whatcha starin at?” he asked. his voice was barely audible.

your cheeks still red and eyes puffy from crying, you sniffle and manage to speak some words. “i’m looking at the jackass who was laughing at my best friend dead on the floor.”

eren chuckles. “i see nothings changed over the last three years, huh?”

you look away from him. you couldn’t bare to look eyes with him, especially now. he touches your arm. “come on now, look at me. i missed you.”

you swat his arm away. “shut the fuck up. why did you laugh? in a time that i needed you most you just sat there and laughed?”

eren laughs again. “haven’t you forgot, dear? i can see everything. i knew sasha was going to die before it happened.” you couldn’t stand his shit anymore. you jerk your body to face him, and raise your arm, looking directly into his eyes. you throw a punch at him, aiming directly for his skull, but his calloused hand stops you, making you look weak.

“heh, let’s not get too hasty here, dear-“

“quit calling me that damned nickname!” you shout at him. “i can’t talk to you right now. i’m going to bed.” his arm releases it’s grip on yours, and you angrily storm off into your resting place in the airship.

another few days passed, and you were coming back from the memorial service held for sasha. as you took off your army great coat, darker spots staining it from the rain pattering outside, a figure towers over you.

you look up and make contact with the entity, now figuring out that it was no other than yours truly, eren.

“well, want to talk now?” he asks. his voice was monotone, like nothing happened at all. you throw your coat onto a nearby chair, and storm upstairs to your room.

you eneter the room, which was pitch black, your tear-ridden eyes not processing anything you see. only a blurry mess of shadows and highlights. you throw yourself onto your bed and curl into a fetal position.

you wanted to throw up. first your best friend dies, and then your relationship was going down the drain... on top of that a world war was happening right before your very eyes.

a cold hand is pressed onto your back. you jolt at the contact, and see erens face looking down at you. you hadn’t taken the time to notice that he had cleaned up nicely, hair in a bun and cleanly shaved.

as your head tilts upwards, he presses his lips to yours, the unfamiliar sensation making your lips tingle. you let out a small moan and feel erens mouth curl upwards.

“well, i can tell even if you didn’t miss me, you sure missed my cock.” eren says. this statement caught you off guard, and your cheeks flushed red. eren snickered, and continued to kiss you. eren inserted his slick tongue into your mouth, pushing and pulling your tongue in all different directions, mixing your saliva with his.

erens hand moved south, his finger just grazing upon your clothed womanhood. though your area was covered, you could still feel the friction of his finger and the fabric. he began to slide his hand inside the flimsy waistband of your pants and cupped your delicate womanhood.

letting out a soft moan at the contact, he began to grope and squeeze you in all the right places, and ran his index finger along your wet folds, already soaked with your slick.

“wet for me already, ain’t’cha princess?” he growls into your ear, warm breath sliding upon the exposed flesh of your neck. he moves his lips to your neck, and begins to gently suck, eager to mark you, similar to how an animal marked its territory. the gentle suction made you like putty in his arms, and you leaned into his chest. his heartbeat was beating right into your ear, giving you a sense of security.

unexpectedly, a finger slips into your walls. an “a-ah~” elicits through your lips. you shifted your hips to desperately try and feel full, even though only one narrow finger was inside you.

“only good girls get two fingers”, eren says. “are you gonna be a good girl for me? hm?” eren pushes his finger inside you more, hitting the plush sweet spot that was nestled inside you. you let out a pathetic little whimper as eren stretched you a little further.

“y-yes...” you stammer. eren began to pump his two fingers into your tight hole, as he felt his own arousal course through his veins, the fiery sensation talking over him and pulsating though him, going straight to his dick.

your thighs began to tremble as you were about to feel your orgasm, but then, right when you were on the cusp of reaching bliss, he carefully but slowly took his fingers out, his coated in your juices. he sneered at you, as your let out another whimper.

“h-hey...” you say, barely able to make words after your spoiled orgasm. “what w-was that for?”

“because you’ve been fucking around with me all week”, he responds, starting to unbuckle his leather belt. “all i’ve wanted this whole week was for your pretty little pussy to bounce on my cock, but you’ve been so stubborn that you wouldn’t even look my way. this is my payback. i’m going to absolutely fuck your brains out tonight.”

your spine shivered at the thought of you being here all night being used as erens own personal pocket pussy. you didn’t want to know how many rounds you were in for tonight, since eren never stops until he’s tired.

before you knew it, erens belt was off, and you were sitting on the bed watching him did himself of his shirt. his perfectly toned abs were semi-visible in the moonlight, the ripples of skin or bones creating a masterpiece. his hair was nearly free of the bun at this point, but you wouldn’t dare notify him of this.

eren folds the belt and gives it a little whack upon the bed, giving a crack.

“strip”, he commands. “now.”

you obey his words, and pull of your shirt without hesitation, followed by your cargo pants, leaving you in your bra and panties only.

erens gaze turns predatory as if he was a lion and you were the antelope. he flips you over almost effortlessly, and grabs your ass.

“dear god, i missed this...” he groans. “your ass is gonna be all red after i’m done with you.”

you clench your eyes, bracing for impact. you knew exactly how this was going to go down. eren cracks the belt down onto your left ass cheek, and you yelped at the impact. he did it again, the pain soon quickly melting into pleasure with each snap.

sure, eren could be a bit rough in the bedroom sometimes- no, scratch that. he could be super rough. but he always knew where the line was to be drawn. or at least he used to know. you only knew that this man had been deprived of sex for the time he was in marley, so he was likely craving some sort of intimacy. and now that he had you, he wasn’t going soft this time.

as soon as the last crack of the belt had ceased, he threw the belt down and kneeled over you.

“suck me off”, he demanded.

you flipped yourself over this time, and got level with erens member. erens black boxers had a throbbing bulge in the center. as you pulled his boxers down, his cock immediately sprang up, and slapped against his stomach.

boy, eren always had a nice dick. it was pale, but a vein ran through the side, and connected to the red tip of it. he hasn’t shaved down there in a while, so the seemingly primal hair that laid at his base was expected.

you grasped his cock that was eagerly waiting for attention, and moved your tongue along the shaft, placing kitty licks on the tip. you felt eren twitching under your touch. you wanted to tease him to compensate for your lost orgasm, to feel him writhe and beg to cum.

eren grew impatient with the kitty licks and tongue work that he grabbed a fistful of your hair and jammed your mouth onto him. you gagged at the sudden movement, the tip touching the back of your throat. he moved your head back and forth, using your spit to guide you along.

you took in his whole length. it was painful, but totally worth it to see his expression on his face. cupping his balls, you played with them, moving around the sensitive skin with your hands.

“i-m gonna c-cum...” eren warns you. you try and pull off so he wouldn’t make you choke. eren resists, only pulling you closer. his cock spasms, and releases a load of cum into your mouth. you were nearly choking on cock, the salty taste reaching every corner in your mouth.

you swallow it all. eren pulls out his cock, still hard even though he just came. he takes hold of your shoulders and pins you down on your bed.

“don’t worry princess, i’ll compensate for that lost orgasm this time.” he said, an evil smirk on his face. yup. you were in for it.

he quickly takes your bra and panties off before starting, and takes note of the giant spot of arousal in the bottom of your panties before he slides them off. he unclasps your bra and gives your breasts a quick little squeeze before pumping his cock a few times and lining it up at your entrance.

“p-please, be gentle...” you whisper.

eren laughs. “not a chance.”

he thrusts into you, his whole length unexpectedly filling you to the brim. letting out a groan, he thrusts into you again. it felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. you grip the sheets beside you.

“i missed the feeling of your little pussy...” eren growls. he continues to thrust, smashing his hips into yours as he fucked you with no mercy at all.

lewd sounds of skin slapping a guttural wet sounds filled the room as you squirmed beneath him, moving your hips so he could get a good angle. his dick begins to touch on your sweet spot, hitting it repeatedly. the pressure on your spongy seeet spot was enough to make a loud moan escape from your mouth.

“m-more!” you yelp. eren heeds your command as you felt his balls slapping against your ass ruthlessly. “oh god, please, eren! please!” erens pace quickens a little bit more as you feel the burning sensation of your orgasm about to take over. you cum right on his dick, the creamy liquid spilling out of you and coating him so he could glide into you with ease. eren still has a bit to go, and while making an effort to cum, he only thrusts harder, causing you to cum yet again, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“ngh- oh fuck...” eren stammers, as he bottoms out into you, shooting thick ropes of cum into your hole.

you lay there panting, eyes almost shutting. but eren isn’t anywhere near done yet. his dick gardens yet again, and he continues to thrust.

“e-eren... please no more...” you gasp, trying to contain yourself as eren slammed into you again and again.

“no”, he says raspily. “you’ve been teasing me all fuckin’ week. you need to be punished for this.” his tip kisses your cervix, causing you to grimace. “turn over.”

you tried to move, but your legs were like jelly, unable to move after all the previous sensations you were feeling.

“dumb slut. let me help you.” eren places you on your tummy and re-aligns himself at your entrance, and jams his throbbing dick into you. your ribbed walls were clenching around him tightly, which only made him encouraged and want to go harder, deeper, if that was even possible.

your vision turned foggy upon your third orgasm, toes curling and all.

“ngh- aah!~” you whimper, feeling numb and helpless. something about eren using you as his own personal fuck toy made you seem to cum a little bit quicker than the last times you’ve had sex. maybe it was the control he had over you, the domination.

“oh, did my little whore cum for me again?” eren groans. “louder. i want this entire hallway to know exactly what we are doing in here. let them know how good i’m fucking you.”

eren gives a tug at your hair, making your head turn around and look him directly in the eye. he had a wicked sneer painted across his face. he purposely hits your sweet spot again, making a string of high pitched moans and whimpers fill the room, maybe even the whole hallway as eren instructed you to do.

your noises were the final straw that eren had. he quickly pulled out and flipped you over before jacking himself a few more times, and letting his cum splatter across your face and chest. your vision was so foggy at this point that everything was just a big cloud of white. as you regain your vision, you see eren laying over you, his brown hair messy and eyes filled with love.

“you’re not gonna just leave me like the others, right?” he questions you as he kisses your naked collarbone. you’re completely out of breath at this point, and all you can do is nod.

“good.” he grabs a towel that was sitting on your nightstand. “i hope you never leave me, to be honest.” he cleans up his release combined with sweat that was puddled on your body.

“n-never.” you stammer.

#aot hcs #aot headcanons #aot smut #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #snk headcanons #snk smut #eren jeager #eren jaeger #eren yeager #aot eren #snk eren

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