#ill never have strike’s hair so i wonder if i should change how he does it after he grows it back…hmm | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fanmoose12 · 4 years ago

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As all horrible things do, it starts out with a peaceful moment.

The day, when it begins, is humid and hot, the promise of storm is prominent in the air.

But for now, it's just a promise, and Levi allows himself not to worry. The large tree hides him in its shadow, the grass providing a soft pillow for his body, and Hange is pressed against him, her fingers writing the secrets of universe on his skin.

She murmurs something to him, too soft for Levi to catch. He means to ask her to repeat it, but then his eyes meet hers, and the honey brown of her irises entrances him so much that everything else flies out of his head. He thinks of making love to her right there and then, with the sun as their witness. That douche Apollo would certainly like it...

His lewd plans must have reflected on his face, because Hange shakes her head and tuts, "Levi, Levi... You don't listen to me. What if I was going to say something important?"

"Everything you say is important."

It slips out of his lips unprompted, unexpected. Levi blames in on the sun. Apollo, that deceiving bastard, must have loosen his tongue.

Hange widens her eyes and her mouth falls open in an expression of pure wonder as though Levi has done something incredible.

"Oh, Levi," she whispers, her voice softer than the wind.

She props herself on her elbows to raise up and get closer to him. There is a smile on her face, one that tells him that Hange is going to kiss him. One that promises that the kiss is going to be full of passion, sweetness and love.

Hange hovers just above him, only inches separating their lips. Levi waits for her to shorten that distance, and just before Hange does...

Someone behind them clears their throat. Levi and Hange abruptly turn around, staring at their intruder. Due to the scorching sun and the promise of that kiss that haven't been fulfilled, it takes Levi a long moment to recognise who has disturbed them.

As soon as he does, he hurries to hide Hange behind his back, protecting her with his body.

The god's messenger - Hermes - laughs and takes a step forward. Levi tenses, pushing Hange back just a little further. He doesn't trust gods, never did. And he has a damn good reason for that.

The messenger stays silent for a lengthy moment, and Levi starts to hope - maybe, it's just a mistake. Maybe, he'll leave them alone. The hope grows and grows until-

Until Hange opens her mouth.

"Did Apollo get jealous of our quiet afternoon? Does he wish to join?"

The joke is ill-timed, ill-advised and all around terrible. Levi should have scolded Hange. Instead he snorts alongside her.

Hermes doesn't bat an eye. He doesn't even glance at Hange, as though Levi is the only one here. Perhaps he should feel relieved that Hange is supposedly sparred from god's anger for one deed or another. However, he feels a slight irritation at the apparent disregard for her person.

"Levi," the god speaks. "You have been summoned to the Mount Olympus. Come with me and I'll take you there."

The words spoken surprise him, but Levi doesn't let it show on his face.

"No," he says resolutely. "I have no business with gods."

"You have now."

Something in Levi snaps at the indifferent tone of the messenger's voice. He means to raise up, to come closer to him, but Hange holds him back, her touch both reassuring and calming.

"What do you want from Levi?" she asks, and Hermes shoots her nothing more than a quick, uninterested glance.

"It doesn't concern you."

Levi's anger boils to a frightening point. God or no god, Levi won't let anyone treat Hange like that.

"Whatever concerns me, concerns Hange too. So answer her question, or leave and don't come back."

"And why did I even bother..." Hermes mutters.

He raises his hand, snaps his finger and- and Levi starts falling.

When he opens his eyes, the peaceful afternoon, the scorching sun, Hange's warm body - it's all gone. What he has now is a cold, marble floor and dozen pairs of eyes staring down at him from giant, grand thrones.

Instinctively, he reaches out for Hange only to find that both of his hands are bound.

"Hange-" everything else dies on his tongue, when he sees Hange with two men restraining her. Levi furiously fights against his bounds, desperate to get to her, to make sure she is safe and unharmed.

Hange meets his eyes and shakes her head. Calm down, I'm fine, her gaze tells him, don't do anything stupid.

Levi wants to do something stupid so badly, he wants to free himself and hurt those who dared to lay hands on his Hange. He wants to unleash his anger and destroy everything and everyone here, leaving nothing behind.

But it's not a shady tavern, Levi reminds himself. It's a Pantheon, and one should never anger gods. It was the first lesson Levi's childhood taught him.

That lesson is the one he would never forget, so more for Hange's sake than his own, he forces himself to forget about his anger. He turns to look straight ahead and nearly chokes as he comes face to face with him.

He saw that man only twice in his life, back when he was no more than a skinny brat. Levi thought him a mere human back then, not an almighty god, the king of kings.

He didn't change since since then - the same lushious brown hair, the same piercing green eyes, the same infuriating smirk.

All this time Levi thought that the man who killed his mother was a wealthy merchant or an influential politician. A powerful, yet simple mortal. Turns out, his mother's murderer is Zeus himself.

But reverence before god's might and fear of their punishment doesn't ease Levi's anger. The desire to hurt the man in front of him only grows.

"Kneel," someone behind him urges, but Levi only raises his chin in defiance. He would rather visit the Underworld and stay there than kneel before that scum.

"Kneel," they demand again. Levi stays unmoving. He stares at his so called father with all fury in the world. If Zeus is really his his father, if he is really a son of the king of gods himself, then if he glares hard enough, maybe, the bastard will go up in flames. Maybe, the lightining will strike him or-

The pained grunt interrupts Levi. He looks to his left to see Hange- his Hange lying on a floor with her face pressed to cold marble and a man standing above her, his foot on her back. Levi wants to rage, wants to kick and scream and tear the man who dared to touch her to pieces.

But it will do him no good. It will do Hange no good, so he surrenders.

He gets down on one knee and bows his head - not in reverence, but to hide his burning eyes.

His father laughs. "Welcome to my palace, son. How do you like it?"

I don't, Levi wants to say, but they have Hange. And her wellbeing is more important than his petty anger.

"It's marvelous, all songs don't do it justice," Hange's voice rings. Levi turns to her with wide eyes, even now, bound and overpowered, she tries to protect him. "Is there a reason you were gracious enough to invite us here, my lord?"

"A fierce one," his father chuckles approvingly. He raises his hand, waves it and Hange starts to scream. "But not very smart. Mortals have no right to speak up in this place."

Levi's vision clouds with specks of violent red. His hands are shaking with anger and rage, he desperately wants to-

Hange catches his eye and subtly shakes her head. I'll be fine, my love, she wordlessly tells him, hush and don't fret.

Levi tries his best to do as Hange says. He raises his head and meets his father's eyes.

"Why did you call me up here?" keeping his voice straight and calm takes a considerate effort, but Levi does his best. For Hange.

"My son," the allfather's voice carries around the large chamber. "I have a job for you. The Titans have risen up in power. They seek to have my place, to take what it's rightfully mine. I need you to destroy them for me."

Destroy... Titans? Even the notion of it was ridiculous. Do gods have no one else that'd be more suited for this job?

"I'm not strong enough for this mission," he says. "Find someone more powerful than me."

"You're my son," Zeus' eyes flash with anger. "There is no one more powerful and skillful than you. You will do this for me, Levi. Or..."

His father shifts his gaze to Hange, a smirk pulling on his lips. "Or I'll do to your lover the same thing I did to your mother. And the child that grows inside her will suffer an even more horrible fate."

A child? Levi's heart falls. He slowly turns to Hange, but she seems just as bewildered by this. She looks down to her stomach, then back up at Levi. Her eyes fill with understanding, and then - they start to fill with rebelious fire. Hange is not afraid, but that feeling has always been unknown to her.

Levi, on the other hand, is afraid. He is terrified for Hange, for their child, but he doesn't let fear get to his head.

If his father insists on him fulfilling this mission, Levi will submit. On his own conditions.

"I see you've already saw the reason," Zeus smiles. "My son, with time you'll realize what an honor I've bestowed upon you. You will be sung about in songs, you will be remembered and praised for the rest of your life."

Levi wants to scoff, as if he desires to have any of it. His only wish is to have a peaceful life with his Hange and their child, without any gods or deities interfering.

"And if you're so worried about succeeding, I'll give you the means to defeat every foe. You'll receive my lightining bolts..."

"No," Levi says. "You will give them to Hange."

His father laughs again. "Until you defeat my enemies, son, your lover stays with me."

A shudder runs through Levi at the thought of leaving Hange behind with him. The memories of his mother's corpse flash through his mind,and straighten his resolve.

"Hange will come with me, or I won't go at all."

The lightening cackles in the air.

"Are you trying to bargain with me, boy? Don't anger me, or your lover..."

"Lift a finger in her direction, and you'll have to look for another child of yours. I may not be able defeat you, father," he spits the word like a curse. "And every other god that will want to stop me, but hurt Hange and I will certainly try. You need me to defeat Titans for you, and I need Hange with me."

Somewhere behind Levi, the lightening strikes, the thunderous ripples reverberating through the marble floor and walls. Levi doesn't flinch.

His father nods, as though he is impressed. "You clearly are my son. you're just as fiery. I wanted to keep your lover safe, but be it as you wish, the mortal will go with you. I should warn you, however, the journey won't be an easy one."

"Hange is strong. And without her, I'm ten times weaker."

Zeus waves his hand at the soldiers that hold Hange. They release her, and Levi instantly reaches out, firmly grasping her hand. Already, he feels that much calmer.

"You have nine moons to finish your mission, my son. If the child of that mortal is born and the nine Titans still don't meet their end, I'll take the child and kill your lover. I'll be watching your journey. And I hope you won't disappoint me."

Levi can barely nod, before the world around him changes again.

He's back in their little garden once more, and as soon as he catches his footing, he pulls Hange to him and holds her in his arms.

He inhales the sweet scent of hers, his whole body trembling. Apologies want to tumble from his mouth, but Hange interrupts his laments with a low laughter.

"So your father is Zeus himself? I should be more careful while making love to you from now on... What if I make you feel so good, you'd start blasting lightening from fingertips?"

It's just like Hange to find a joke in everything. Levi can't help but chuckle along with her.

"Maybe, it'll knock some sense into you..."

"You've knocked me up already, my love," Hange giggles, and Levi wants to kick her. He also wants to bury himself in her embrace and stay there for all eternity.

"That's all you've got to say?" he takes a step back to glance into her sparkling eyes. "What about my father? Aren't you surprised?"

"My love," Hange cups his cheek, leaving a ghost of a kiss on his lips. "Why must I be surprised? I always knew you were special."

***

It takes them a whole month to track the first Titan.

He is huge, bigger that Levi could ever imagine, but he’s also old and barely able to move when they find him.

Levi slices his neck and marvels at how easy it was. Hange runs up to him as soon as the Titan disappears and gives him a kiss that makes him weak in the knees.

She gives him a wide smile when they separate, and Levi smiles right back.

One Titan out of nine is defeated, and Hange didn’t even have to get involved. That gives them more than enough reason to celebrate, and they do it under the stars near the glistering lake.

Hange punctuates every kiss with a sweet praise and soft confession. When Levi is near his peak, she draws back and curves her lips in a tantalizing smirk.

“Careful now, my love,” she teases, while Levi can’t do nothing but huff and grunt at her. “Don’t kill me with your lightening…”

“I won’t if you do the job right,” he shoots back, pulling Hange down for another kiss.

She laughs as he nibbles at her jaw and lets Levi flip them around, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“If I die in your arms, Levi,” she whispers. “I’d shame the gods themselves with my happiness.”

***

Their next victim is harder to defeat. He’s not so big, but he seems younger. When Levi approaches, his blade already drawn, the creature grows mad with rage.

Levi gestures for Hange to stay back, and she does.

Up until the Titan launches his first attack.

Levi docks but not to evade the Titan’s massive arm. Hange starts throwing the lightning bolts they got from Zeus, aiming them with breathtaking precision. The creature roars, as one of the bolts hits him right in his eyes.

“Levi, go!” Hange shouts, and he doesn’t waste another second. He cuts the Titan’s legs and waits for him to fall. When he inevitably does, Levi is already there, right next to his nape. He slashes it without hesitation.

Hange lets out a joyous cry, launching herself on Levi. “We did it, again!” she happily laughs.

“I told you to stay back,” Levi scolds her, but Hange just keeps laughing.

“But, my love, you know me. I hate staying out of action.”

***

That night, when they make love in a small clearing in a dark forest, Hange doesn’t praise him.

Instead, she goes on and on, complimenting herself.

“You’re so lucky, Levi,” she husks as her hands roams his chest. “To have a lover as gifted as me. My aim is as precise as Artemis’, my wits are sharper than Athena’s swords, my beauty can rival Aphrodite’s…”

The gods always listen, and what Hange says will undoubtedly anger them all. But Levi is high on their victory, high on their love, so he doesn’t care about it now.

He throws his head back, when Hange moves her hands from his chest to his stomach and then even lower. He moans when Hange grabs him and whispers, “And your ego is as big as Ares’.”

The pleasure Hange was giving him disappears.

“I am as gifted as gods,” Hange straddles his hips and pins his hands above his head. She licks her lips, her eyes flashing, as she revels in his quiet whimper. “And my punishment can be just as severe…”

Levi is absolutely spent when Hange takes mercy on him. She curls around him, and watches his attempts to catch his breath with a wicked smile.

If this is the kind of punishment he’ll keep receiving, Levi is ready to defy gods every waking moment of his life.

***

"This one is different," Hange whispers in his ear as together they observe the Titan's movements. "The skin is..."

"Weird," Levi finishes for her.

Weird is not colorful enough to describe this Titan. Where the other looked vaguely human-like, this one does not. Its skin is too white and its body too long. The mouth doesn't look normal too.

"Be careful," Hange warns, when Levi pushes himself off the rock they've been leaning against.

"Don't intervene," he shoots back.

Hange grins and doesn't even give him a courtesy of promising to stay out of it. With her trusty bolts, she starts running towards the Titan, an excited cry tearing from her lips. Levi curses andhurries after her.

Together they defeat the Titan in mere minutes, despite its many abnormalities.

Later that evening, they go to the nearest town and buy grapes and bread. Hange demands to buy wine but Levi points to her stomach, and she stops arguing right after that.

Hange isn't showing yet, barely two and a half moons have passed since the child was apparently conceived, but she's been growing moodier with each day and she often complains about the ache in her back.

"That's your fault, Zeus' descendent," she huffs as she tries to get comfortable around him. "You tricked, seduced and dishonored me in the most terrible fashion."

Levi rolls his eyes and doesn't point out that it was Hange who bewitched and seduced him. And she never had any honor or shame to begin with. He just pulls her closer and pops a grape into her mouth. Hange smiles as she tastes the sweet fruit.

"Although I have to admit," she says after she swallows it. "I didn't imagine that Zeus is you father."

"Who did you expect it to be then?"

"Don't know," Hange shrugs. "Hades, maybe? Both of you have the same dark and wicked scowl."

His scowl can get too dark, but it's certainly not wicked... But for now, Levi wants to know something else.

"How did you guess I wasn't mortal?"

"Well," Hange flicks hair out of her face and opens her mouth, asking Levi for another grape. With a sigh, he complies. Hange gives him a grateful smile and continues. "Sometimes you pick up stuff that should be too heavy for you. And sometimes you move too fast for me to follow. But more importantly..."

"Yes?"

"You're too handsome to be a mere mortal. And when you make love to me, it feels absolutely divine..."

Hange laughs and Levi scoffs. He leans closer and kisses her laughter away.

"If there was a god of stupidity, Hange,” he whispers against her lips. “You'd be their child."

***

The fourth Titan they encounter is the strongest one yet.

It's different from all others, its fur covered body and long ears more beast-like than human.

"I don't like that one at all," Hange mutters and Levi silently agrees. Just looking at that Titan makes him wish that he had left Hange back home, where she and their child would be safe.

But Hange isn't at home, and Levi likes to think that she is safer here with him than with his father and the rest of his kind on Mount Olympus.

"Looks like a monkey," he mutters. "A really ugly one," he adds just to make Hange laugh.

"We can't all be beauties like you," she slings an arm over his shoulder and presses a kiss to his cheek. "Good luck, Levi."

Hange means to move away, but Levi doesn't let her. He catches her hand and brings her back to him, pulling her to his chest. Something is wrong with that Titan, something about him... makes his throat constrict with fear.

"Hange," he breathes all air out of his chest and fills it with her sweet scent. He doesn't ask her to stay back, knows it's pointless, but that horrible feeling inside, the fear and almost certainty that something will go wrong... it forces Levi to embrace Hange just a little bit tighter.

"I'll be alright, my love," Hange whispers. "We both will be."

Of course, they will – how could they not? Levi is a son of Zeus, and Hange is brighter and more brilliant than any other mortal or deity.

They will be alright, he keeps repeating it in his head as he starts running to the Titan.

Something is definitely wrong with that Titan, because when Levi approaches, the giant creature smiles. It smiles and then looks away, turning— turning to Hange.

Levi’s heart stops.

The Titan lowers his enormous, clawed hand, and before Levi can move, before Levi can find it in himself to breathe, the beast snatches Hange up in the air.

Levi doesn’t remember what happens next, doesn’t register his next moves. His vision fills up with red and his chest is heavy with rage.

He sees nothing but blood, blood, blood. He is covered in it when the Titan crushes down and Levi catches Hange up in his hands.

He falls to the ground with her, pulling her on top of him. It is only when he hears Hange’s heartbeat, his own finally starts up again.

He breathes in deeply – once, then twice, and when the trembling in his hands ceases, he lowers Hange down and methodically checks her, looking for wounds and injuries.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she keeps repeating, but she is not. There is a long and deep scratch on her leg and bruises all over her forearms and chest. Her stomach seems unharmed, but Levi still presses his ear to it and prays he hears something there.

“It’s still there,” Hange gently brushes his hair. “It’s still there, I can feel it. We’re alright, my love. All three of us.”

He leaves a tender kiss there and thanks his yet unborn child for being so strong. He then picks Hange up and carries her to the nearby stream. Hange protests and tries to kick him, but Levi just holds her tighter. After what has just happened, after what he’s just felt, he just wants for Hange to be close, needs to feel her warmth and know that she’s still with him.

He cleans her wounds by the stream and dresses every injury with a great deal care.

“Levi?” Hange asks, when later that day they sit by the fire. Levi is curled around Hange, and he kisses her shoulder to tell him he’s listening. “That Titan...”

Levi’s blood boils just at the mention of that beast. His mind flashes with memories of Hange in its arms, there up in the air. For the first time in his life, Levi thanks his unhuman instincts. If he came just a second later…

“I think he was sentient, Levi. Not like an animal, but almost like… almost like human.”

The tone of her voice, the almost defeated notes he can hear in it, Levi doesn’t like where this is going.

“What if they’re not mindless beasts like we’ve been told they are? What if they’re just like us?”

“Hange…” he says, a gentle precaution.

But Hange perseveres. “He didn’t attack you, but decided to go for me. He ignored you, even though you’ve posed a bigger threat, because he recognized that I was your weakness. Animals can’t be so smart. Only humans are.”

Levi sighs. He can’t bring himself to say it out loud yet, but he agrees with Hange. There is something more to the Titans that they’ve been told. There is something more to the Titans that his father has shared.

“The next Titan we meet…” Hange turns to look at him, her eyes pleading. “Can we observe them a bit more? Maybe…”

“Maybe,” Levi echoes. He presses his forehead against Hange’s and promises, “Next time we’ll do it your way.”

***

Hange’s belly grows in the time it takes them to find their next Titan. If situation had been any different, Levi would have been adamant about her staying back, but he promised her they’d get to the bottom of this together.

And he intends to keep that promise until…

Until they locate their target. And realize that they’re dealing with not one, but three Titans.

Images of Hange’s body flying around like a ragdoll still wake him up in the middle of the night with a hoarse scream on his lips, and it was just one Titan. Levi doesn’t want to know what will happen if they’ll fight three of them. He turns to Hange, intent on making her sit this one out, but then Hange points her finger, forcing him to follow its direction.

When he does, Levi sees the three Titans. Who are running in the opposite direction from them.

“Let’s catch up with them!” Hange urges.

Despite carrying a child for almost six moons, Hange gets on a horse surprisingly easy. She waits for Levi to get behind her before spurting the horse in pursuit.

It takes them a better part of an hour to get close to the Titans. When they do, Levi jumps from a horse and starts to approach the giants. He makes sure that his steps are slow and measured, as unthreatening as possible. But just as gets close enough, the Titans turn from defence to offence.

The one in the middle - the one that looks like he's covered in armor - steps forward and raises his arm.

"I don't want to hurt you!" Levi shouts, but this only spurs the creature on.

Before he can crush Levi with his might, Hange jumps right in front of the Titan, her arms spread wide.

"Please, stop!" she yells, frantically moving her arms up and down. "We just want to talk, we mean no harm!"

The Titans exchange looks between each other, before the one with blonde hair nods her head.

"We will listen," she says. "But you have to lay down your weapons first."

Hange grins, looking at Levi with a childish wonder. She grabs his blade and throws it out before approaching the three giants.

"So," she takes her time to study each of them, her grin growing wider and wider. She rubs her hands when she finishes, looking almost feral in her excitement. "I have a plan."

***

Hange's plan is ridiculous, risky and possibly not worth the effort. But Hange charms the Titans with her passionate words, and then turns to Levi with a smile that has charmed him all these years ago. She has all of them convinced in less than an hour.

"If you were humans before, you can be turned back again," Hange says like it's that easy.

"If there is a way to do it, we don't know how," the tallest and largest one replies.

"But if there is someone who knows..." the one with armor around his body begins uncertainly.

The one with a blonde hair sighs. "If there is someone who knows, it can only be her. Give me your map, I'll show you where to find her."

"Well," Hange meets Levi's eyes and winks, absolutely radiant in her briliance. "That's already a start."

***

That her turns out to be another Titan. Unlike the others of her kind, she walks on all fours and looks like an ugly, hairless dog. Her companion is even worse - with large jaw and disproportionate body, he simply looks awful.

"Try to be nice, Levi," Hange chides, when he shares his observation with her. "They're possible allies."

Levi doesn't completely understand what's the point of all of this, but he always trusts Hange, and this time is no exception. He follows her to meet these new Titans.

Surprisingly, they listen to Hange patiently, at least, the one resembling a dog does.

But when Hange finishes, she shakes her head, sadness and remorse reflecting in her giant eyes.

"The curse turned us into this. And we can be turned back only by the person who did this to us."

"And who is it?" Levi asks, although he feels like he already knows an answer.

"Zeus," another Titan replies. "You came to finish what he started, didn't you? I can smell his stench all over you."

"He ordered us to come," Hange agrees, her voice placating. "But we do not wish to follow through with his order. Perhaps, if there was another way..."

"With you on our side..." Titans stare at each other, seemingly holding a silent conversation. Whatever decision they come to, it is in Levi and Hange's favor. "Perhaps, we can truly find another way."

***

It takes them two more moons to formulate their plan.

As they go over details again and again, the sky above them grows heavier and darker, and Levi feels lightening in the air. It's not a storm, not yet, but it is worryingly close enough.

As the weather continues to worsen, Hange's stomach continues to grow. The baby's kicks grow so strong, even Levi can feel them now - he delights in it every time he does.

By the time they're finished with the plan, Hange is already too late in her term. Going without her is out of question, Levi doesn't want to leave her alone and he doesn't wish to do this without his better half. They all agree to wait until the baby is born.

On the day their child feels like it's ready to see the world, the storm starts in earnest. The wind flies around and the sky is completely black with only flashes of lightening illuminating it all.

Hange's screams mix with thunder, and Levi holds her hand throughout it all, trying to soothe her pain with gentle touches and kisses.

When the baby finally arrives, it takes his breath away.

She is absolutely beautiful because she is unmistakably theirs.

Levi smiles when he sees a patch of black hair, and his heart swells, when the baby opens her eyes and he sees the familiar honey brown.

Just as she opens her eyes, she starts screaming and kicking, and Levi thinks 'yes... this is definitely Hange's child.'

They don't have the time to pepper her sweet rosy cheeks with kisses, marvel at her beauty or get tired of her wailing.

The storm grows stronger, and Levi knows that he is waiting.

They put the child in a small crib Levi made just days ago and they tuck her in, stopping just for a second to stare at her in awe.

"Take care of her for us," Hange asks their allies. They all give her a nod and position their large bodies protectively around the crib. "Thank you," she smiles. "We promise to take care of you too."

As soon as these words leave her mouth, the ground below them disappears. Levi takes Hange's hand in his at the very last moment.

He keeps holding it as they return to a marble throne room.

The guards try to separate them just as they did the last time, but Levi doesn't let them. He glares at them defiently and holds Hange close to him.

"My son," his father begins with a false sweetness in his voice. "Your time is up, your child is born. Then why the Titans continue to live?"

"I thought you could help us with that, father. It is your curse that had created them after all. Lift it and their threat will cease to exist."

"It's not what we had agreed upon."

"But it's a much easier way."

Zeus' eyes flash with fury, the lightening dancers around his fingers. "Do you dare to defy me?"

Levi keeps his head raised high, as he stares up at his father. "I'm just offering a different sollution."

"You will pay for that."

"If I will, so will you. The Titans have gathered, there is a small number of them, but they're strong, maybe, strong enough," he glances up at the gods seated on their grand thrones, "than some of you. Do you wish to test if it is true?"

"Insolent boy," his father growls, but Levi knows his anger means nothing.

There are whispers all around him, hushed and concerned. Other gods don't wish to have another war, not if they're not sure that they can win it. And if Zeus doesn't submit, then he risks starting a war even grander that against Titans - a war among gods.

"I will lift the curse," he grits through his teeth.

"And you will leave us alone," Hange adds in a singing voice.

Zeus' glare is impressive, but Levi isn't afraid of it anymore. He knows it can't burn people.

"That's all we wanted to discuss," Levi fails to hide the smugness from his tone. "And now if you excuse us..."

"We have a daughter to return to," Hange finishes.

The gods sigh in relief when a demigod and his mortal disappear from their realm. History has taught them just how much destruction a grieving lover can bring. They thank Tyche for their luck.

***

When Hange and Levi return to their world, they find that the Titans are gone. Instead five humans are waiting for them, gathered around a crib with a wailing baby.

The storm is over and the sun is shining brigthly.

Hange kisses the back of his hand and murmurs, "We did it, my love."

Levi smiles and together, they come to hold their baby girl in their arms.

And like all joyous things, this one starts perfectly.

#sheeesh! sorry anon i'm an idiot and accidentally deleted your ask #good thing i had a screenshot :)#also thank you for your prompt it was a delight!!!!! i wanted to write something like that for a very long time #levihan

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tenthgrove · 4 years ago

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Hello, I just saw that you opened your request. I'm the one who ended up writing a whole prompt! Imagine this for each member from La Squadra: they had an one-night stand with a random woman, she accidentally got pregnant and decided to have the baby without telling them. After a while, the woman got ill and passed away, but not without before sending her child with their father (let's imagine she has the direction of their hideout even if it's ooc, or she knew where they hang out). So, one day someone knocks the door and introduces themselves as the kid of one of the members/if it's too young, someone left them on the door with a explainatory note... How do you think each member would react by discovering that they have a child and they're supposed to take care of them from now? You can make each kid with different ages if you want, it would be funny to see Prosciutto or Ghiaccio dealing with a rebellious teenage son or Risotto trying to take care of a toddler, but I guess not all of them would want to keep their children. Sorry if it's a lot, haha.

La Squadra did a Diavolo

La Squadra x Reader, Platonic/Familial, SFW

A/N: your idea about mixing up the ages got me thinking, and I ended up using randomisers for the children’s ages (though I did consciously change some of them) and genders. It added a fun bit of chance to this prompt.

Formaggio, with an 8 year old daughter

The whole thing feels surreal to him. There's a little girl on his doorstep calling herself his daughter and by all evidence, it's true. He doesn't really know how to feel about it at first. On one hand it's kind of cool he had a kid all this time and you're clearly a lovely girl, but on the other hand, what the fuck? Still, not being the practical sort, his sense of sentiment far outweighs any question of how he's actually going to look after a child, so without much deliberation, Formaggio agrees to let you stay.

Formaggio isn't too experienced with kids but he doesn't exactly dislike them either, so he figures he knows what to do. At your age you can at least do the basics of looking after yourself, so he isn't too worried. The only problem is that if you ask him to cook for you or help clean your room, his eyes go very wide. He never quite picked up those skills himself, he's afraid, so you're going to have to ask someone else for that one.

The good news is that Formaggio is a very easy-going, fun sort of dad, who is a natural at playing with you and lets you do what you want when he can't be around. He quickly gets used to showing affection to you, letting you cuddle up to him on the sofa in front of the squad and even carrying you around once in a while. He gives amazing piggy back rides.

The bad news (or more good news, depending on how you are) is that you have to leave school. Risotto says that at your age you can't be trusted not to tell anyone your new family is a bunch of assassins, and taking you to and from school each day would be too much of a hassle. Nonetheless, you're welcome to continue your education from home, though Formaggio will hardly push you if you don't keep up with it. Melone is much better on that front.

Despite the risk, Formaggio can't bring himself to force you to lose all your friends, so he lets you keep meeting with them. Furthermore, he knows a few guys in other squads who have kids about your age, so he's happy to introduce you to them if you want a friend you can be more honest about your home life with. Formaggio might not have a clue what he's doing, but he's doing pretty good.

Illuso, with a 3 year old daughter

He's been fearing this day would come for years. A small child knocking on the door of the hideout, holding a note in hand addressed to him, just as a shady looking car drives away. Yeah, Illuso remembers your mother pretty well and he remembers the distinct lack of precautions they took during their encounter. Now, the consequences of his actions are here at his house, and Risotto is currently standing in the doorway of the office looking ready to give him the biggest dressing-down of his life.

After his tongue-lashing, Illuso frantically agrees to take responsibility for what he's done and see to it that you're well cared for, and begins the task of looking for relatives who might take you. Unfortunately, none of your mother's family can be traced, and Illuso can't exactly call up his own right now. Leaving you on the door of an orphanage isn't an option because you're old enough to say where you've come from, so it looks like for the time being, Illuso is stuck with you.

Initially, Illuso is not thrilled. He pawns you off on Melone, Sorbet and Gelato whenever possible and tries to live his life as before. But increasingly, he can't help finding himself visiting your room whenever he's stressed or has had a bad mission. There's something so pure about gently stroking your hair as you sleep. He can't help but feel... attachment, as he rubs his thumb against your tiny palm.

From then on, Illuso starts to make a point of spending more time with you. You're at the age where you just want to touch and explore everything you're given, so letting you make a mess with his makeup and beauty creams is an easy way for him to observe and learn about you. He even starts doing the more practical things like washing and feeding you every so often.

Eventually, Illuso becomes an actual father to you. He loves you as a father should and puts his time into making you happy. Illuso is glad he didn't give you away, as you've opened his eyes to so many things. For the first time in many years, he feels human. He feels redeemable.

Prosciutto, with a 13 year old son

As you tell him your story Prosciutto racks his brains. He didn't have many one-night-stands in his youth but the ones he did have were so far back he barely remembers them, so your mother's name doesn't immediately ring any bells. If it weren't for the striking resemblance between you, Prosciutto probably would have thrown you out for a liar there and then. But as you are, it's clear you're being honest. He lets you in.

After a short interrogation by Risotto to make certain you aren't acting on behalf of some third party looking to infiltrate the squad, it's agreed you can stay, so long as you keep quiet about it to your friends. At your age you can largely look after yourself and all you really needed was a roof over your head, so there's no problem with you moving into the spare room as long as you stay out of the others' way.

Education isn't much of an issue either, since you're likely well settled in your current school and can get yourself there and back. Just whatever you do, don't go telling anyone you live with a bunch of gangsters now. Prosciutto means it, you could seriously put yourself in danger if you do that.

Much to your father's ire, you end up befriending several members of the squad, especially the younger ones like Melone, Ghiaccio and Pesci who have some generational overlap with how you were raised. Prosciutto would rather you didn't do this but at the end of the day, he can't really stop you. God forbid you call him an old boomer again.

Your relationship is overall positive- Prosciutto makes a point of taking you on outings when he has the time, and giving you parental advice when you need it. However that doesn't stop you from making fun of his stuffy, old habits, and playing the moral high ground in regards to his work.

On that note, the problem comes when you develop an interest in the squad's work. It's only inevitable, given how pervasive the topic is in conversations around the house, and the fact you're more than old enough to know what a gang is, but the day you first ask him about it is no less welcome. What's scary is that you're about the same age as Passione's youngest recruits and, well, if you ended up joining them because of him, Prosciutto might never forgive himself.

Pesci, with a 6 month old son

He knew it had been a mistake. Not long after his 18th birthday he'd given in to the squad's pestering about his virginity and finally gotten rid of it just to shut them up. Now he's ridden with guilt. Not only did the poor woman get pregnant because of him but now she's died. He can't help but wonder, the letter attached to the basket you came in was very vague after all, was your mother's death at all related to your birth? If so, Pesci doesn't know how he'll forgive himself.

Pesci immediately panics and stumbles into his Fra's bedroom crying louder than you are. Prosciutto remains calm, advising him to first make sure this actually is his baby through Melone, in case this is somebody trying to trick him, and to then think through his options rationally. As far as Prosciutto sees it, he has two. He can either see to it that you're taken in by a caring, reliable individual, or he can keep you for himself. Surprisingly, Prosciutto's actually okay with the second one, since in his eyes duty to one's family is absolute.

Pesci stammers a bit and asks if he can wait a few days to make his mind up, which Prosciutto permits. But it isn't long at all until Pesci is far too attached to you to ever let you go, and it becomes clear you'll be staying for the long-run. Risotto is hardly happy about this but agrees with Prosciutto's sentiment of family, so he doesn't try to insist you be sent away.

Pesci is an incredibly loving father. He'll dash from the other side of the house at a moment's notice if he hears you crying. That said, being so young himself it's inevitable he requires some help with raising you. Sorbet and Gelato chip in quite regularly, as does Melone when Pesci is desperate enough to fall on using him. Prosciutto helps out too, being your uncle, and occasionally you've even had Risotto answer your cries.

La Squadra can only hope their situation improves somehow in the coming years, since Pesci has no idea how he's going to deal with an older child in a house full of assassins. At very least, being so young it's a long time before he has to worry about things like school. For now, what's important is that you are loved very dearly. Pesci has discovered a new protective streak in himself, something he discovers every time he looks in your eyes.

Melone, with a 4 year old son

When you arrived you were frightened and confused. You struggled to babble out the story you were told to tell as the strange men crowded around you in the front room of the house. Then, a bizarre looking man with purple hair pushed to the front of the crowd, insisting he knew what to do in a situation like this. He carried you somewhere quiet, and gently asked you to repeat your story again. You told him you were looking for your father, Melone.

Melone is elated. He's always wanted a child, but getting into a relationship stable enough to produce one has never been an option with the life he lives. Now the happy accident he never new he had has come home to him! Carrying you back to the living room, Melone introduces you as his son and announces to the team that he will be keeping you.

This is met with some protest. Not only are you of the age where you'll need constant supervision, but quite frankly, nobody trusts Melone to take care of a kid. Melone refutes their accusations harshly, making it absolutely clear he will not be giving you up without a fight. Finally, Risotto surrenders, on the terms that if he catches any signs of abuse or neglect, he will see to it personally that you are re-homed elsewhere.

Melone's parenting style is relatively laid-back. He believes parents should be a 'safe base' from which children should explore the world, coming back when they need advice but ultimately following their own whims within reason. He encourages you to play as you wish and does not stop you from bonding with the rest of the squad. Finding supervision for you while he's on missions proves to be a non-issue, since his stand's massive range means he can often do most of a mission's work at home.

When the time comes to educate you, Melone decides against the risks of enrolling you in school. He is an amazing teacher and can teach you everything you'd need in half the hours of a typical curriculum. Beyond the essentials of literacy and simple maths, Melone largely encourages you to follow you own interests rather than stick to some boring, arbitrary list of useless things a normal curriculum for some reason expects you to learn.

That said, he knows the importance of making friends, so he frequently takes you out to meet with neighbourhood children. All-in-all, the squad is surprised at his sensible parenting choices, and the happy child you are turning out to be.

Ghiaccio, with a 2 year old son

It's almost comedic the lengths Ghiaccio goes to to avoid the problem. As the others crowd around you in Melone's lap, Ghiaccio cowers in the corner insisting that you absolutely cannot be his. It's very obvious you are, of course. You look almost exactly like him, and have a cry to match. You've even inherited the same, mild visual impairments that earned him his glasses. There's no getting away from the truth.

After accepting the truth, Ghiaccio takes you away to his room to 'clear his head' before deciding where to send you in the morning, but when morning comes, that deliberation time quickly turns into a few more days, then a month, then never. It's clear Ghiaccio's become attached to you, and he cannot bring himself to give you away.

Unfortunately, he doesn't have the foggiest clue in hell how to look after a toddler. He has a hard enough time understanding what it is adults want from him, let alone small children. There are times he even considers giving you away again, but they never last long enough for him to go through with it. Bit by bit, he slowly learns how to be a father.

Melone is his primary co-parent. As cautious as Ghiaccio is about letting him around his baby, it soon becomes clear Melone can understand your needs far better than he can. The pair have many sessions together teaching Ghiaccio how to do things like wash you or cook your food. It's honestly a massive help, and probably the main reason Ghiaccio doesn't completely melt down within a month of having you.

These issues aside, Ghiaccio is a person who is very genuine in his affections. He would break the shins of anyone who even looked at you threateningly, and every fibre of his being wants you to be happy. He even learns to control his temper, as he knows from experience just how damaging an angry parent can be for a child. He's going to give you a better childhood than what his parents gave him, and that's a promise.

Risotto, with a 6 year old daughter

Well, perhaps this ought to have been expected. In his early 20s Risotto was really far less careful than he ought to be in regards to his encounters, so he probably had this coming. You are at a difficult age, old enough to understand your father is a criminal but young enough to still need his care. If he takes you in, there will be many challenges. And yet he cannot bring himself to turn you away. Looking at you he feels... obligation.

In the early days he tries his best to shelter you. He keeps you in his room and tells the others not to talk to you. But that's no way for you to live, and he knows it. Eventually, he swallows his fears and lets you explore your new home, even taking you out to the park a few minutes each day so you can run around. He talks to Melone about continuing your education, and asks Sorbet and Gelato if they'd let the spare room next to them be turned into a bedroom for you. He's going to make sure he raises you right.

Risotto may be quiet and introverted, but do not mistake that for emotionally distant. He does not underestimate his vital role in your emotional well-being, and is quick to pick up on when you are feeling sad or lonely. He makes sure to pick you up in his arms and ask what's wrong when that happens.

Though he didn't know her well, he mourns your mother with you, and is very watchful for the signs of attachment issues that may result from losing a parent at such a tender age. Being all you have left, Risotto gains a new instinct of self-preservation. For the first time in years, his life has meaning.

In terms of bonding, he prefers calm activities that allow him to passively observe your interests, such as watching movies or reading you books. When he's working in his office and doesn't need his camera on, he's happy for you to sit in his lap as long as you're quiet. He would ask if you don't read what's on his screen, though, at least not while you're so young. He'll give you a better explanation of what he's doing some day, but not just yet.

Sorbet and Gelato, with a 12 year old daughter

First of all, let's make clear that regardless of which one is biologically your father, they both feel equal responsibility for you. No doubt they were both present for your conception anyway, so as far as they're concerned, if one of them has a secret kid from a hookup, they both have a secret kid from a hookup.

Having always wanted children, they are happy when you appear on the doorstep and introduce yourself as their daughter. Though they don't say it out loud to avoid upsetting you, they kind of wish your mum had kicked it sooner so they could have raised you from a younger age, but they're more than happy to make do with what they've got. There's no hesitation in welcoming you to live with them permanently, and anyone who has a problem with this isn't brave enough to say it.

Right from the get-go they are very permitting parents, awarding you a generous helping of their cash each week and having a rule list that pretty much starts and ends with "don't talk to the police." Despite your age they don't expect you to be independent, and are happy to cook for you and help you out with other things when you ask. It seems parenthood was made for them.

Despite all this, there is one problem in your relationship that is making things difficult. That of your fathers' work. You're 12 years old and you aren't stupid. You know they kill for a living and you know they enjoy it. When you stumble into the bathroom at 1am to find them covered in blood and laughing together, there's no making excuses. No matter how good they are with you, this is going to make you afraid of them.

Sorbet and Gelato are incredibly stringent in solving these early issues. After all these years they've finally got the family they wanted, and they aren't going to let it slip away from their own cruelty. They are honest with you about their occupation, since they want you to know you can trust them, and make absolutely clear it won't affect their care for you. You are welcome to ask questions and receive honest answers, but other than that Sorbet and Gelato will make a point of not accidentally causing you to witness something you shouldn't.

With them, you are welcome to continue your old life in terms of school and friends. They want to spend time with you, but they don't want to overtake your existence completely. When you are up for it, they are keen to take you on outings that interest you so you can spend time together as a family. They hope you know how happy you make them.

#la squadra #la squadra di esecuzione #la squadra x reader #formaggio #formaggio x reader #illuso #illuso x reader #prosciutto #prosciutto x reader #pesci #pesci x reader #melone #melone x reader #ghiaccio #ghiaccio x reader #risotto nero #risotto nero x reader #sorbet and gelato #sorbet and gelato x reader

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bakugosbratx · 4 years ago

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Request: Hi! I was wondering if you could write a story when y/n is the crazy one and kidnaps Bakugo. Tysm ! -meena

Warnings: NSFW 18+ Content. Yandere, stalking, kidnapping, cursing, mental illness, blood, abuse, drugs, etc.

Check out my other works here

A/N: Hmm this is a different turn of events. I love it 👀 I hope you enjoyed anon! I went a little wild with this one.

Words: 2.2k

Tags: @awilddreamerwrites @peachsenpie @miriobaby @lanarist @sickchildren @bakugousbrat @ssplague @ahbeautifulexistence @m779 @vinny-likes-to-play21

“Dear Katsuki,

I watched you save a civilian on television today. I know it’s your job and all, but you did not have to save her. Her life is not as important as mine. Do you not cherish what we have? Am I just a nobody to you? This is my 103rd letter to you and still no response. I know your address did not change so do not give me that pathetic excuse, Katsuki Bakugo. Surely, you must remember we are soulmates. We are one. How dare you fucking forget me? I had to rip all of my posters down in a fit of rage. You know how angry that makes me, baby, but it will all be okay, because you are coming home to me. We will be one.

Sincerely,

Yours.”

You burst into a fit of giggles as you kick your bare feet back and forth on his bed. You wrote in black ink and covered the paper in orange hearts since it is the pro-hero’s favorite color. You could not help but leave precious lipstick kisses on the page. Something you always do in your love letters to Katsuki. The posters in your house are covered in them. Katsuki’s beautiful face is just so kissable. You cannot wait to do it tonight.

All you can think about is Katsuki. That is all your day consists of. Your clothing is all his merchandise and his favorite colors. You spend hours upon hours watching interviews, videos, surveillance footage of the hero. When he is out on patrol, you do your best to hide in areas so you can see the hero up close and personal. Your face just beams with joy at the mere glance of him.

You did your best to meet him several times. Any disaster there was to be had, you put on your nicest attire, do your make-up just how you think he likes, and have your hair freshly done. No better way to greet your significant other after hero work than looking like a beauty pageant queen.

Sadly, all your attempts were failures. Katsuki did not even give you the time of day. He is way too focused on beating the villains to a pulp. You did admire this about him, but your own selfish desires created hatred in you. He should be paying attention to you. Not those pesky villains.

Katsuki is sure to receive forty-five letters addressing the issue. All that he will never even skim over. This is only adding fuel to the fire.

The posters that hang in every single room in your apartment are ripped to shreds. Pools of tears covered your orbs, smudging all of your makeup. You climbed onto your black sofa, taking your left high heel and breaking the glass photo of Katsuki hanging there. Shards of glass sprinkle the couch and hardwood floor below. You don't even care for the pieces that collected into your skin. You will worry about that later.

“Fuck you, Katsuki!” You sobbed, ripping his face with your teeth and spitting out the saliva covered photo onto the litter filled floor.

“Pro-Hero Great Explosion Murder God Dynamite saves another civilians life yet again, taking down another member of the league of villains who was terrorizing the victim.”

The news anchor’s words fell on deaf ears as you went to the television screen. You are captivated by your significant other’s beauty on the tv. Blood leaked from your freshly manicured hands. They are painted orange and black as always.

“Oh, Katsuki,” you sighed with a smile, tracing a heart around his face with your leaking blood, “we will be together soon. I promise, baby. I’ll take you away from this sick, cruel world so we can live happily ever after.”

You were serious that day. You planned it on your calendar. The countdown began on the night you are going to be one with Katsuki. A day you knew you both looked forward to.

“Dear Katsuki,

Did you miss me? I know I missed you. I even stamped this letter in my blood so you can have my DNA to mix with yours. I can’t wait to procreate with you. We will make such wonderful babies, don’t ya think? They will be so beautiful like you. I will be such an excellent mother. No woman can be a great wife to you like I can. Do you understand me?”

You had to pause writing as your blood started to boil at the thought. Your pen is already creating a huge ink spot from the anger consuming your hands. Small growls escaped your parted lips as you began to growl.

“If I can’t have you, no one can, Katsuki Bakugo. I am your one true love. You're one and only. And I’ll make sure that day comes. Just a few more days, baby, and we will be one.

Sincerely,

Yours.”

The day finally came. You knew Katsuki’s schedule by heart. You loved watching him do his morning routines with the security cameras you placed in his home. The poor male never even thought to check. Such a mistake on his part. It only confirmed he needed protection from the world. Only you can provide that. Sure, you may be quirkless, but no one knows Katsuki like you do. No one can love him like you. He knows this. He has to.

You drew a luke-warm bubble bath with nice lit candles, rose pedals, a few drops of your blood, and some freshly made desserts for you both to enjoy while you catch up. You are even so kind enough to fetch him a beer or two so he can relax. You know how he enjoys his alcoholic beverages after a long day of hero work.

You rested on his bed. The natural caramel scent engulfed your nostrils as you wrote letters into your notebook once more. Even when you two are officially together forever, you still love to write out your thoughts. You know he enjoys them as well.

Hours upon hours passed. Frustration arose overtime. You did not want to be angry with your spouse, but he knows better than to be home late on your special day. You have almost filled up your notepad with phrases upon phrases of ‘I love you’s’ and sweet nothings. Along with other things.

You tapped your bandages covered foot on the ground as you began to pace. “What is taking him so long?” You huffed aloud, growing more impatient by each passing second. The bath is beginning to become cold and that is just rude in your opinion. You decided to write out your emotions.

“Dear Katsuki,

What the fuck is taking you so long, huh? It’s so fucking aggervating and just plain rude. I have done so much for you only to toss me to the side like I’m nothing. Are you cheating on me? I do not tolerate disrespect, Katsuki Bakugo. You are going to make me mean and you know I hate being mean to you. You just make me jealous, baby. You know how you do that to me. Make me feel all types of emotion I can’t seem to understand, but one thing is for certain is that you and I will be together.

Sincerely,”

You did not even get to finish your final entry as you hear the front door downstairs unlock. Scrambling to put the diary away, you gather the necessary items from under the bed and wait for the perfect moment to strike. Katsuki’s natural loud ways was helping you locate his every move without even having to look at security footage.

All you have to do is be patient.

Katsuki sat on the couch, propping his sock-covered feet onto the glass coffee table and turning on the television. You allowed him some moments to get settled before gently tip-toeing down the stairs, rope, duct tape, and a blunt object ready in hand.

Just as Katsuki turned to acknowledge your presence, the crowbar hit his head, knocking him unconscious. You quickly attend to his wound — not without dropping some droplets of blood into his — so it does not get offended. You cannot have your husband getting an infection.

You tie up his hands and legs, duct tape his mouth after delivering kisses to his perfectly plump lips, and drag him to the kitchen. You did not realize how much your lover really weighed. Too much time was wasted dragging him to the fridge than preferred, but it will all be worth it in the end. You know it will be.

Katsuki did not wake up until the next day. You stayed by his side the whole time, telling him about your day and how much you have planned for you two. Of course, he needs to build his trust with you. You love a very intelligent man and the last thing you need is for him to be against you.

Slowly opening his crimson eyes, his attention is brought to a grinning you. Katsuki immediately attempts to escape the captivity he is in, but it is no use. You just had to buy special rope that cancels quirks.

“Struggle all you want, Katsuki-poo. There is no escaping me.” You chuckled, loving the way he squirmed and furrowed his eyebrows at you. All of his curses are mumbled by the tape which is probably the best considering you did not want to be insulted right now.

“When you calm down, I’ll take off the tape.” You bargained, shrugging nonchalantly as you kneel in front of the man. Did this calm him down? No. You know it wouldn’t regardless. You know Katsuki better than he knows himself yet you already want to push his buttons. The way he gets so angry turns you on and you can’t just help yourself but want more.

After a couple of hours of Katsuki complaining and you writing even more in your diary, he decided to calm down. This made you happy. You wanted to hear his beautiful gruff voice.

Grabbing the corner of the tape, you rip it off. Katsuki is already barking insults. “Are you fucking insane? Who the hell even are you? This isn’t going to end well with you, you psycho bit—“

A hard slap to his face interrupted Katsuki’s spill. Along with the duct tape you placed back on his mouth. “Such a meanie,” you pout, “and here I was about to be so nice to you.”

This cycle repeated itself for three days. You never left his side once. How could you? He is obviously in distress. He needs you by his side. He cannot do anything without you. Especially with his hands tied behind his muscular back. Katsuki finally decided that playing the game is the only way to win it.

You ripped the tape off once again. Katsuki did not even speak this time. “Did you learn your lesson?” You quizzed with an arched brow. “Y’know being a meanie is not going to get you anywhere, Katsukikins.”

“Why are you doing this?” Katsuki inquired, his gruff voice sounding so weak and hollow. You almost felt bad.

“You’re so silly, Suki. C’mon,” you brought your lips close to his, “gimme a kiss.”

Reluctantly, Katsuki did as instructed. Considering you are straddling his lap and his powers are useless, he has no choice in the matter. You loved the compliance.

“Good boy.” You praised, ruffling his messy blonde hair. Katsuki glared at you. “Will you be good and eat some food for me?”

“I don’t want your stupid ass food.” Katsuki growled, laying his head against the bottom freezer of his fridge.

“Nonsense, Suki.” You giggled, feeling extremely joyful to be with Katsuki. You bring a spoon of Miso soup up to his closed lips, “have some. I blew on it so it’s not too hot.”

“Get that trash away from me, you idiot—“ Katsuki was interrupted by a spoon entering his mouth. Though he would hate to admit this, the soup tasted delicious and he is quite hungry. He put up a fight, but allowed you to feed him properly until every drop was gone. Unfortunately, Katsuki is unaware that the soup is drugged until it’s too late.

His body began to feel numb. He did not even have the strength to ask questions as his eyes became drowsy. Soon, he is slumped over, sound asleep as you manage to drag him up the stairs and into your shared bed.

Planting kisses all over structures, you tuck him in and finish some late night entries in your diary. Skimming through them all and reflecting on how you got here now, it made you smile. Progress has been made and will continue to do so.

Signing off on the final page, you write:

“Dear Katsuki,

These past three days have been exhilarating. I see it in your terrified eyes how happy you are that I am here. I know how much you missed me. I missed you, too, baby. We will continue to grow and soon, we will have children. I even have my menstrual cycle all planned out. I am all yours and you’re all mine. Can’t you see, baby doll? We are forever meant to be.

Sincerely,

Yours.”

©bakugosbratx

#tw blood #tw yandere #tw kidnapping #tw injury #tw stalking #bakugosbratx #bratx request #bakugo x yandere reader #katsukibakugou #yandere my hero academia #yandere bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugō #submission #bakugo x you

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hobidreams · 4 years ago

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november 1868.

but you’ve always been his, haven’t you?

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst words: 2.8k contains: historical au, mentions of death, unhealthy relationship dynamics (but era-appropriate; you know how it goes), explicit sexual content, longing.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble eight. start from the beginning?

If there is one inevitability in life, it is that time goes on.

You, like everyone else under King Yoongi’s reign, simply do your best to survive with your head intact. With the ground now mostly frozen over with ice, you have no reason to visit the gardens, and honestly, it becomes less of a loss by the day. You have your hands full with work; the worsening winter always means a higher possibility of catching an illness for the court ladies, and so you are left with little time to think of the king. Willful ignorance is a powerful defense mechanism when even the mere mention of him brings a frown to your lips and a lingering pressure in your chest.

But it is impossible not to think of him today, on the 11th of November. What would have been Queen Jeonghui’s birthday, but is instead a day of mourning.

All official business has more or less halted for the day. The entire palace is somber, the occupants moving through familiar routines feeling numb from more than just the cold. You are among their number, having finished all the work that could distract you while the sun set. Now, you wander in the pitch dark, through the open corridor towards your quarters with heaviness in every step.

You miss her laugh. The queen had always treated you like one of her own, asking after your interests, new discoveries, and health even while her own dwindled. You miss hearing the stories of her surprisingly rambunctious life before she came to court. You miss the brightness in her voice when she spoke of the hopes she had for the future of the kingdom, and for her precious Yoongi. You blink away a tear as your journey comes to its end.

In your small but private room, you begin to undo the straps of your hanbok with the relieving sense that this day is almost over. Stripped to your undergarments, you’re eager to crawl beneath the warm blankets and let blissful sleep take you into tomorrow as soon as your eyes shut.

Except sleep is not easily persuaded to come tonight, as you soon learn.

Even when you force your body to stay still as long as possible, even when you try to block out all thought and simply imagine blankness before you, you remain no closer to dreams, forcibly stuck in this bleak reality. That’s when your exhausted mind begins to wander to places most dangerous, even though you already vowed to stay far, far away.

You wonder whether the king is alone in his grief tonight. Has he eaten properly, or has he completely shut himself away? Does he even have enough heart left to mourn from all you’ve witnessed these past months?

(This last thought is what makes you ache the most, despite yourself.)

Then a quiet voice mutters your name from outside.

You blink and look up, uncertain whether it was just the wind. Who would it be at this late hour anyway? Who would be so bold as to call your name and not your title? But then the sound comes again, louder this time with some impatience in the syllables, and you realize exactly whose voice it must be.

Scrambling to your feet with the chill of losing the blanket sweeping over you, you have a split second to decide between keeping him waiting and having a proper appearance. You land somewhere in the middle, pulling on a loose, long jeogori that was once your mother’s before throwing the door wide open before you can think it through.

Damn all the odds.

It really is him.

In the moonlight, his hair seems almost ethereal with the way most of it cascades loosely around his shoulders. It’s fine, pale gold, spilling across the crimson dye of the royal robes that have been left slacker than is normally allowed in public company. There’s still a hardness in those midnight eyes, a set obstinacy in lips twisted down for a scowl that seems all too inherent to him now.

“Jeonha,” you exhale, more breath than sound.

How are you meant to receive him after all that has happened?

Wordlessly, he moves forward. You flatten yourself against the wall to allow him entry into your tiny home, your world without question, just like you always have. His sleeves brush past you as he walks and the incredibly subtle scent of plum blossoms begins to swirl around the air, so familiar it brings a hot sting to your eyes in an instant.

“Is that—”

“Shut the door.” His voice is biting, forcing you to drop the question.

You have little choice in the matter. When you turn back to face him, this room feels about three times smaller with the imposing aura that emanates from him. He has never felt more like a king to you than now, staring at you down his nose like he holds your life in his palm. At this distance, you fear he can hear the palpitations of your treacherous heart.

“Um.” You involuntarily wrap your hands around your stomach, trying to calm the jitters. “…How may I help you, jeonha?”

His lips curl in a smirk, but there is no real humor in it. “You must know the only thing a man and woman can do alone at night?”

Surprise is so blatant on your face that it amuses him; the smirk grows wider but remains empty still.

“You— You wish to do that?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you or did you not say to come if I had anything I required?”

He remembered. He knew it was you. A part of you thaws, just an inch.

“Still— Must… Must it be tonight?” Of all nights.

“It has to be.”

You swallow, dry. All you know of the act are the medical descriptions and consequences of such copulation as written out in your studied texts. To think of such a thing occurring in real life— to even consider it with the king! It was beyond your wildest thoughts, even when you used to let your childhood fantasies soar. But even more ludicrous than that, for him to consider being with you, a mere uinyeo when all the ministers routinely brought their high-born daughters to court in hopes of tempting him… “W-What of the court ladies, the ones waiting to be made concubine…?”

At your last word, he scowls like a bolt of lightning, gone before you can confirm that it was there at all. “I see.” He shifts, as if already prepared to leave. “I should have gone to them first.”

Your stomach drops.

The prospect of a random woman wrapping herself around him in seduction, holding him closer than he’s ever been to you… You wince. The mere thought of how he might fit against her, leave a part of himself inside her body, strikes envy deep into your mind. Especially when you consider all that could follow such an intimate act.

You know it’s not your place to be so concerned; it never has been, but damn it. Here he is in front of you, and not them. That has to mean something.

“No!” You blurt out, and watch his face darken with satisfaction. That in itself makes you fiercely aware of how much he has changed but still, you say, “no. Don’t… don’t go.”

In a stroke of boldness, you slip the jacket from your shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

“Good girl.”

It all happens so quickly.

Grasping your arm, he brings you to him with one strong tug. Invades your space with his heat. You’ve never been this physically close before but you are given no time to savor it. Your eyes search his for a hapless second before he forces his gaze away with a light whip of his hair. For a second, you think like he might kiss you, but that particular touch never comes.

“Bed.” The air around the word makes it sound like he’s rushing as he pulls you both towards the mussed bedspread, but of course it’s not that. It’s almost laughable, the thought that he would want so badly to claim you as his. It’s more likely that he wants any warm body beneath him, and you happened to be the most convenient.

As he pushes you to the floor, as he begins to strip you of your undergarments, your mind struggles to set aside your worries and the rest of the world with it to focus on the feeling of his unobstructed fingers on the skin he reveals with each passing second. For a moment, it works. For a moment, all you know is the heat of his desire as he throws aside most of your coverings, then discards his own as if they were nothing more than cleaning rags. Staring at his bare body for the first time, you take in all the lean muscle that make up his chest, the paleness of his skin that brings to mind the word delicate. It’s at complete odds with the ugliness that’s surrounded him for so long and really, you don’t know what to believe anymore as he rakes his eyes over you too.

You’re shivering. Keenly aware of your nakedness, made even more stark when your king practically fixes you to the floor with his presence alone. He must know this is all new to you, that he’s the only one able to put you in this position even after everything he’s done. But will that afford you the tenderness you so crave? Your pulse thunders in your ears as you await the answer.

“Turn over. On your hands and knees.”

Your breath hitches.

He doesn’t even want to look at your face.

You choke back the emotion that yearns to spill over, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing exactly how he affects you when he doesn’t allow you the same luxury. You’re stronger than this, even though your fears have just been confirmed. That this, his broad hand harshly squeezing your ass, is the only reason he broke through the thick wall of silence between you. That he treats you just like any other woman, not one he’s known all his life.

What does it say about you that you’re still willing to give him everything?

His other hand trails down your back as if lightly scratching an invisible character there. Then, when he reaches for your sokgot, the last bit of cloth left to you, it truly hits you that there will be no going back from this. Not after he physically carves himself into your memory. It makes you unthinkingly tense up; in turn, the hands against you stutter to a pause.

The silence feels thick, smothering. Then—

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No.”

You say it before you can decide whether it’s the truth or merely what you wish would be the truth.

“Hm.”

He leaves you wondering if that was the answer he wanted and resumes, undoing the ties, pulling away the layer that wants to cling to the slight wetness between your thighs. Evidently not one for wasting time, and why would he linger when he just wants an easy release anyway, he runs the tip of his thumb down your slit before pushing eagerly into your heat. The lewd moan that you emit is a noise you’ve never made before, and it makes your face burn with shyness.

You’ve touched yourself like this perhaps three times ever, more out of medical curiosity than anything. You didn’t quite see a point in it when it just left you feeling lonely once the high faded. But under your king’s control, it feels maddeningly new. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what he’s going to do next, like when he suddenly pushes in a second finger and you feel the spike of pain work its way through your limbs before giving way to the next wave of pressure. It’s just almost too much to take, his insistent kneading against your dripping walls.

“Your cunt is so fucking tight. Just for me? Only take my fingers like this?” He feeds you another finger when you nod, huffing a smirk at your whine. The unfamiliar words are as harsh as his hands. You’ve never heard him like this, so rough and cocksure, practically an utter stranger. But a stranger could never bring out such overwhelming emotions in your chest, your poor, confined heart.

Your legs are soon shaking with the strain of holding up your weight when pleasure and pain war so intensely in your body; but you don’t dare collapse in surrender, even though this has always been a losing battle. Not even when he rears back, replacing his cream-slick hand with what you think is the blunt head of his cock. He whets it along your folds and it feels so much thicker, intimidating like the rest of him. But you want it. You realize then just how much you want it, even if this is all you’ll have of him when it’s over.

He leans over you, hot breath whisking across your back, a palm on your hip. “I’m your first.” It sounds like a boast. “No one else.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No one else.”

And he takes his first stroke.

Hisses when he feels you squeeze around him, and you wonder if this is his first time too. Then you have to force yourself to stop thinking about that altogether, afraid that the real answer might hurt more than this: the ache of being spread apart with every brutal, solid inch, filled too quickly by a man who doesn’t seem like he could take things slow even if he wanted to. He keeps shoving forward, biting down every surfacing grunt as his nails dig into your waist and it hurts. It hurts so much but you grit your teeth, refusing to back down because you need him to know that you can take this. Even when your mouth feels drier with every yelp, every moan, you tell yourself it’ll be easier the next time he wants to have his way with you. Right now, that seems better than not feeling him at all.

“This cunt,” he finally growls when he bottoms out, for once sounding so unbridled that goosebumps speed down your weakening arms. But you find yourself liking the sound, craving it even as he pauses to catch his breath.

The first few thrusts are slightly awkward. Just his hips bumping against your ass as he tries to find his footing. It doesn’t take long until he picks up a rhythm. Starts to slam into you, jolting you forward. Soreness starts to grow exponentially with a foreign feeling you think might just be pleasure spreading throughout all of you. You concentrate on that in lieu of your knees forced repeatedly against the hardness of the wooden floor, the bedding too thin to provide any real comfort.

“Jeonha,” you gasp on a particularly deep thrust, and he seems to like that. Strokes faster in response (or perhaps reward). You don’t even register that you’re half-smiling when he does, having learned something about him that is privy to only the two of you.

On top of that, he can’t seem to stop touching you. It goes beyond the way he fucks into you, more into how he can’t stop exploring the expanse of your back with his nails or with his mouth, sucking stinging marks into your body. It’s as if he needs to have as much skin contact with you as he will allow himself, needs to feel your warmth just as much as you crave his. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking, but you try again with a hoarse, “jeonha.” He gives it to you harder, rousing, stoking that dangerous tension.

You don’t even notice his mouth beside your ear until— “Mine.”

He claims you, and something inside you melts. Not a particularly powerful feeling but a sea change nonetheless, a weak peak that ripples out, thrums through you both. He allows you to submit to the sensation for a few scarce seconds before he tears himself away, leaving you to pulse around nothing, whimpering from the emptiness. You barely recognize the sound of skin on skin friction but suddenly, heat splatters across your back, white painting itself over your skin as he gives one, elongated exhale and it’s over.

The king backs up, shifts away. Lets any lingering warmth between you dissipate into the ice air of winter, but this time he holds your gaze with a certain firmness, as if trying to pluck out the slivers of truth in your expression. In his eyes, the thin scar ever carved down the right, you find only more depths. Fathomless, endless depths – dark and painful still.

#ficswithluv #bts smut #bts imagines #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #min yoongi #bts angst #historical au #daechwita #rain writes #moonlit throne #... how do you feel about him now?

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cherrywoes · 4 years ago

Text

crimson king. (diavolo x fem!reader.)

prologue.

“Stricken among a field of poppies,

With hair as red as molten flame,

The Crimson King brought low the thane,

And thus usurped his father’s throne,

For there would be a day the world would end,

And he would not see it until his own life’s end.”

— the records of Paimon, King of the West.

masterlist | i. cruor.

♕

“LADIES, GATHER ‘ROUND.” The Matriarch of House Gascoigne clapped her silk gloved hands sharply. The sound echoed throughout the dance room, cracking through the air with the force of a whip. “We have news from the capital!”

An excited murmur rose amongst the girls. It had been months since the royal family had last issued news on any events regarding the palace, or the King and Queen themselves; ever since their children, the prince and princess, had fallen ill with some unknown illness, not a mere scant of word was allowed outside the palace doors, much less from the mouths of maids and butlers. It had left much of House Gascoigne (their female occupants, at least) with little to do besides practice their waltz, needlework, and plan on wooing the finest bachelors in the kingdom. To have this little bit of gossip to break their melancholy was welcoming—even if it was bad news, for a time.

“News from the capital!” One girl gasped, reaching for the letter in delight. The Matriarch held it high above her head, swatting the girl’s grasping fingers with the paper and striking a deep cut in her hand. She hissed and pressed the well of blood to her mouth, scowling at the older woman.

“Yes, news.” The Matriarch’s stony gray gaze flickered over the throng of girls, counting each head—seven in all, her daughters—and found herself just one shy. She counted once more, just to be sure, and yet again, she was lacking a duckling with particular [color] hair and [color] eyes. “Where’s [Name]?”

“[Name]?” Another of the sisters rolled her eyes and stamped her heel. The hem of her dress caught in the stiletto and she was forced to listen to the slight tear of the seam as it punctured through the expensive fabric. “Please! It’s not like she cares for idle gossip; open the letter, mother!”

“Last I heard she went out hunting with father,” one crowed slyly, waving a lace fan in front of her face coquettishly. Her eyes, sharp and blue, darted over to the matriarch, whose face was unmoving. “Not much of a change, is it, sisters?”

“Girls!” The matriarch’s sharp tone cut through the speculating chatter like a knife. The sisters dropped their gazes to the floor momentarily, then back up to their mother, properly chastised. “I am ashamed of you—all of you. Speaking of your sister as if she is scum of the earth; why, your father would be disappointed in all of you. I do not believe any of you deserve to hear this news today.”

“No, mother! We promise not to speak of her as such again!” Similar sentiment rose, each girl pleading with their mother individually with different promises and different oaths. “Please, the letter!”

The matriarch looked upon her daughters with a narrowed gaze. They returned her stare with ones of silent pleading. She sighed and closed her eyes. “Very well then. Let’s see what it says, shall we?”

She cracked the wax seal upon it and with a cough to clear her throat, began to read.

“Marriage?” You parroted back at your father with gawkish eyes. Your mare came to a still beneath you, snuffling at a patch of vibrant green grass, a product of the new spring. You could feel the stays of your corset protest at the deep inhale of disbelief you took, squeezing hard shards of whale bone against your ribs. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“It’s time, [Name].” Your father sighed, much in the same way your mother would do when she was exasperated with something you or one of your sisters had said. He adjusted the reins of his horse’s bridle, nervous, and stared off in the distance somewhere away from you. “You know I would never force you into an arranged marriage, but…”

“But I need to start looking,” you mocked in a high, posh voice. You snorted through your nose and fixed him with a dark glower. “How many times have I heard that before? Ten? Twelve?”

“I know… I know your mother pressures you,” he amended,”but this time I’m afraid I’m the one asking you to begin searching. You’re twenty years old, [Name], far past the age of marriage already; I just want to see you well off and comfortable, if not happy.”

“And my happiness doesn’t matter as long as I’m well off and comfortable.”

This wasn’t how you expected your day out with your father to go. You had expected to hunt dove, at most, maybe a few squirrels or two; your quiver had been packed to handle it. Instead, you had gotten barely a foot or so into the forest, your mare eager to head into the lush grass, before he was bringing up the subject of your marriage—again. This wasn’t the first time you had heard it, but it was the first time it had come from him, and you were starting to wonder if they were just concerned or wanted you gone.

“Sometimes you can have one thing and forsake the other.” He shrugged helplessly. “I would rather you have money and comfort. But if you can somehow gain happiness as well, then…”

Which was highly unlikely, he was saying, as your marriage would likely be out of convenience, as the majority of your older sisters’ were. Your family was rich and everyone wanted part of the Gascoigne fortune—if not in gold, then in their daughters. Each of your sisters had a dowry large enough to buy off a country or two and every dirty old man wanted a piece of it, whether you were willing or not. Luckily, your parents were not so old fashioned as to arrange your marriage with a far older man, or push you in that direction, but they directly encouraged you to get married soon, and quickly. It didn’t help that a lot of the men repeated the foul saying “Gascoigne pussies are as good as gold”, meaning that if they were lucky enough to get any of your sisters or yourself with child, they might as well be set for life.

You didn’t want that. Not if you could help it.

With narrowed eyes, you looked at your father once more. He was fidgeting in his saddle, avoiding looking at you entirely, and by the look on his face, you had to wonder if he was just nervous or debating asking you to attend a debut ball knowing full well that you would be five years older than any other girl there—at least, that was your assumption. You had missed your first and subsequent balls after a particular rough bout of sickness that kept you bedridden; you had only recently been able to function normally again, albeit with some lightheadedness if you were too active in a short period of time.

“Right.” You reached up and held a hand over your head to deflect an oncoming branch. “Well, I guess I have no choice in the matter, do I?”

He sighed once more. “You know if I had any other choice, I would give you all the time in the world, [Name]. But the older you get the more you risk turning out an old crone with no marriage ties. I don’t want that for you—your mother doesn’t want that for you.”

You huffed and turned your head. Your mother’s sole goal was to marry off all of her daughters to eligible bachelors to get them off her hands; at least the ones who didn’t cater to her every whim, like yourself and a few other of your sisters. She was not a cruel mother by any means, but she was a thorn in your side at times, especially with her insistence on perfection. Your waltz and embroidery were as perfect as they were going to get, and you most certainly weren’t going to shrink your waist down to her tastes either. You would be surprised if she didn’t have something else to harp on you about when you returned home.

“I suppose.” A glance at the sky revealed it was already lunch time. You had already skipped tea with your mother and sisters; skipping another meal was a bad idea, even if you were out hunting. A very unladylike sport, she would probably hiss. “We should probably get back for lunch if we don’t want mother getting angry at us again.”

Your father almost seemed surprised, looking up at the sky himself. “It is, isn’t it? I heard we’re having pigeon pie today.”

“Pigeon pie?” You repeated slowly. “Father, that was yesterday. We’re having potato soup today.”

“Oh. Are we?”

You didn’t answer, watching him turn his horse around and begin the ride back home. You followed at a distance behind him, watching as he regarded the trail as if it was entirely new to him and familiar in some spots. You had been wondering if his illness had gotten worse and your proof was right in front of you. His father before him had been afflicted with the same memory loss, a product of a few lines of inbreeding centuries before, you had heard, but only in the paternal line. It had started with him mixing up names and stuttering them into the proper ones; then he slowly began to fall out of his routine, eyeing his paperwork in slight confusion; and just now, forgetting days and time.

Before you could call out to him and ask what day he thought it was, you heard an ungodly screech coming from the manor. It sounded faintly like one of your sisters, but it was loud enough that the birds in the trees startled and took to the sky. You urged your horse into a canter, your father following suite, and the closer you got, the more you could make out actual voices instead of mindless screeching.

“—this is ridiculous! How does she get to go to the palace and I’m stuck here?! Mother, it makes no sense! She’s twenty years old, she has no chance—”

“—oh, please, Violetta, like you could do any better at nineteen—”

“—says you two, I could sweep him off his feet without even a—”

“—I wouldn’t even need a dance, just five minutes alone in a—”

“—Adrielle, shut your mouth! I ought to send you to a convent!”

“There she is!” A finger went flying to point to you as your mare pushed through the treeline, hooves clopping on firm stone. “Mother, tell her to turn down the offer!”

All of your sisters, including even the youngest ones, just shy of fourteen, were gathered around the cut in the pathway in a tight cluster. All of them had some range of fury or irritation on their faces as they looked at you, clutching their lace fans or skirts tightly in their fists. You had only faintly heard your mother’s threat to send Adrielle to a convent and raised an eyebrow at the little crowd they made, pulling your horse to a halt with her reins. You wouldn’t dare risk dismounting in a dress, so you stared down at them all from your mount in confusion.

“[Name],” your mother approached your horse with some hesitation, eyeing the mare’s ears in any hint of her mood. “Here. This arrived for you in the mail today.”

You didn’t miss the sour tone in her voice. You accepted the opened letter from her with a raised eyebrow, the broken seal on the back stamped with the royal crest. Your sisters watched you like a hawk, searching for any hint that you weren’t happy with whatever the letter said.

While the envelope wasn’t addressed to you, the letter inside was: it was written in the elegant hand of the Queen herself, even down to a personalized address from her as well.

‘Dear [Name] of House Gascoigne,

It is my pleasure to notify you that you have been selected to participate in the Bride Hunt for Prince Diavolo of the Devildom. As you filled all the requirements to participate, you, along with three other girls in your bracket, will be escorted to the palace to participate in a selection of games picked by the prince himself. As this is a show of goodwill between our kingdom and that of the Devildom, we encourage you to be on your best behavior with your fellow competitors and play to win.

As a more personal note, I do hope you participate, [Name]. I believe you have a true chance at winning, my dear.

Queen Cordelia.’

In the corner of the letter was her personal seal, stamped in shining red wax. Unbroken, you could make out the sigil of the phoenix, a half of the official crest. You looked up at your mother’s expectant face and then at your father’s hopeful one, having likely guessed what it was.

You sighed.

“I suppose I’m going to the palace after all, then.”

Your sisters groaned in disappointment. Some of them even clicked their tongues at you and turned to head inside, your mother turning on her heel and chiding them on their childish behavior.

Your father caught your eye as you moved your horse to head to the stables. His smile was one of pride and hope, as if this had made all of his dreams come true.

You only hoped you wouldn’t disappoint him when it all was over.

taglist (open): @crashica (just let me know if you want to be added!)

#diavolo x reader #obey me diavolo #obey me diavolo x reader #diavolo x mc #diavolo obey me #diavolo x y/n #obey me #obey me:swd #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me barbatos #obey me lucifer #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me solomon #obey me shall we date

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mintmatcha · 4 years ago

Text

10 Months

Matsukawa and Hanamaki

Part One

CW: mentions of death and illness, ANGST

Today’s just another day at work. Someone’s dead and someone else is talking about it.

The worst part of the job, Mattsun decides, isn’t consoling the grieving or dealing with the aftermath of death: it’s listening to these shitty, repetitive speeches. There’s only so many times a man can hear about God’s plan and how much better someone is now that they’ve entered the great beyond before he goes numb. Sure, yes, logically, he understands this is all sad, but before all else?

It’s boring.

Has he always been this bitter? Has he always been this good at choking down his feelings? Probably.

Mattsun looks away from the speaker at the front of the room, who's droning on about some shit while practically draped over the coffin. He does a precursory scan across the room, making sure everyone was properly teary eyed and mourning, before pulling out his phone. Maybe it’s unprofessional, but it doesn’t matter. No one’s looking at the funeral director during these things. If they were, it was something for them to discuss later during the reception.

'Did you see that employee?'

'No, I was crying.'

'He was on his phone!'

'How horrible!'

Just before he can open Twitter, a glimpse of unforgettable, bright strawberry blonde hair catches his eye. For a moment, he ignores it off. He’s used to imagining things, used to his brain searching for hints of pink wherever he goes. He's used to turning his head to see it was a trick of the eye.

But this time the color doesn’t fade. Instead, it comes into focus, catching the light that pours through the stained glass windows, rainbows painted across pale skin. All at once, the presence becomes real, and Mattsun feels like he’s seen a ghost.

Not a literal one, but, fuck, he might as well be.

It’s been years since he’s seen Makki, longer since they actually talked, but there he was, standing at the back of the parlor with an obituary in hand. He loathes himself for the way excitement bubbles inside him and his heart gets caught in his throat… and then immediately drops as he processes why Makki would be here. He tries to remember the last name of the deceased, hoping the last name wouldn’t be familiar. Makki’s dad was never in good health, could it be-

No, he definitely would have recognized anyone else with the last name Hanamaki.

That’s when it hits him that Makki isn’t dressed for the funeral. In a sea of black, he’s wearing some raggedy sweatshirt with coffee split down the sleeve and a loose pair of jeans, ripped in all the wrong places. Frankly, he looks like shit, but he’s just leaning against the door frame, standing there like he belongs, with a tiny little grin on his face.

Makki never looks over, too involved in the speech, but he’s aware of Mattsun’s presence. His torso is angled to face his old friend, chest broad and inviting. Mattsun hates that after all these years, he can still read his body language and understand what it means. It’s an invitation to come over.

Mattsun has to stop himself from going over there. Time has passed, he’s made his choices. He can’t just drop his work for an old friend.

No, not a friend. Stranger adjacent.

He’s made his choices.

He stays where he should be, in the corner, for what feels like hours, autopiloting through the rest of the service. By the time it’s all over, and the lights are dimmed, Makki’s already gone.

Mattsun hates that he knows exactly where to find him.

They find each other behind the parlor, wedged between the building and the dumpster. Makki’s sitting on the curb, legs folded up under him and pressed into his chest. That signature smile hasn’t faded, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He pats the empty space next to him, but Mattsun just shakes his head and stays standing.

“Just like high school, huh?” Makki says, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pouch. He taps the bottom four times, then shakes it, hard. Waking up the cancer, making sure it’s out of bed, he used to joke.

“Except we aren’t hiding from teachers anymore.” Mattsun kicks at a crumpled soda can and watches it bounce across the asphalt. “And you’ve changed brands.”

“Now we’re hiding from your boss.” Makki pulls a stick out and waves it, “And Iwaizumi’s not here to bitch about it.”

“Dude,” Mattsun tries not to sigh, but it sneaks out. The casual act was unsettling; Makki was pretending that past 3 years never happened. “I’m happy to see you and all, but I’m working right now.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Makki pats his pockets frantically, then pulls out a small pink lighter. It's not the same pink as his hair, but it's close. He brushes it against his pants, back then forward, opening it and lighting it in one smooth motion. He holds out the cigarette, twirling it between his fingers, “Help me light this, why don’t you?”

Mattsun blanches, scoffing in annoyance at the thought. There's the flash of a memory, Hiro's fingers against his lips, holding the cigarettes for him as he breathes in, skinned knees brushing against each other, but he pushes it down.

“Hanamaki, I-”

“I’ve been demoted to just Hanamaki, huh?” he places it between his teeth and sets it alight, sucking in until the end glows orange. He holds still, savoring the moment, then lets out his breath, smoke seeping out through his teeth. “So, it turns out that I need to plan a funeral.”

Mattsun lets his apathy break, just for a moment. He runs his hands through his hair, completely fucking up the slicked back style as he processes this. “Fuck, dude, I’m sorry.”

“Eh, don’t be.” Makki shrugs, “Not the end of the world.”

Mattsun blinks, trying to shake off the initial shock. He just lets his work persona take over. “Well, we would be happy to help you plan. We can scheduling for next week in my office, if you want-”

“There’s no rush, don’t worry.” Makki leans back and faces the sun. Even though he’s sitting on the ground, no more than 5 feet from garbage, he seems so peaceful.

“Who’s it for?” Mattsun asks the obvious question and Makki grins wider, like he’s been waiting for this moment. He waggles his fingers in the air, like he’s celebrating.

“Me.” Makki says. He rolls his head forward and that pleasant air about him fades. It strikes Mattsun that he’s lost weight since high school; his already sharp features are more sullen, sunken into his face. “I’m dying.”

How hadn’t he noticed earlier? He spent so much time looking at Hiro in high school, so much time studying his features…. How could he miss such a dramatic change? Even now, he can remember exactly how the curve his cheek felt under his thumb, how smooth his skin was. Mattsun doesn’t realize he’s sitting until loose gravel bites into the palms of his hands.

“Fuck, dude.” he can only look straight ahead, focusing on nothing, “Are--- are you sure?”

“As sure as medical science can get,” he has the audacity to laugh, “I got brain cancer.”

Brain cancer. Mattsun knows what that means in a vague sense and yet it means almost nothing to him. Questions bubble up in his mind, all of them swimming around, begging for any sort of information to make this all make sense.

"How long?" He wanted to ask anything else, but that’s the only sentence he could form.

" 'bout 7 inches.” Makki pauses for affect, “Oh, you meant how long do I have left to live?" he's grinning wildly at his own joke, waiting for Mattsun to react. When he doesn't he just takes another drag of his cigarette, smile never fading. "I thought it was funny.”

"It was a little funny." Mattsun relents, gesturing for the butt. It's passed with brushing fingers, knuckle against knuckle. It's been years since he's smoked- since third year of high school- but each pull still burns all the same. "How long?"

"Well, two months ago they told me I had years," he says, like it's nothing, "But the doc did a rescan and it's way worse than they thought.” He taps his temple, “Apparently, three lil fuckers in there."

"How long?" Mattsun can’t stop repeating himself.

"10 months." he wobbles his hand side to side, “Give or take.”

Mattsun takes another drag, harder this time. It’s unfair that he’s this upset about it, that this isn’t just another funeral to him.

“Whoa, don’t hog the whole thing!” Makki grabs for his cigarette, opening and closing his hand like a small child, “You’ll get cancer from these, you know? ”

Mattsun doesn’t laugh. He just watches the ember fall on to his slacks. They flare of a quick moment before dying, leaving little discolored burns in their wake.

“Both of us can’t get cancer- it’d be like wearing the same dress to a party. So embarrassing.” he finally just snatches it out of Mattsun’s hand, “So, are you going to help me?”

“H-help you.” he repeats back. Nothing that’s happening right now feels real.

“With my funeral. Duh.”

“You want me to plan your service?” Mattsun asks.

“Well, us. Not just you. Duh.”

Duh.

“Why?” Mattsun breaths and yet he feels like he’s suffocating, “Why me? After everything I did-”

“I don’t want my dad to worry about it.” Makki kisses his teeth and pulls himself into a ball, “He almost had a heart attack trying to figure out my mom’s and I …. I just don’t want him to worry.” Makki breathes out through his nose- it’s how he dispels negativity in his life, just like how he did in high school. “Besides, if I plan it, it doesn’t have to be some fucking boring ass pity party. We can make it fun. A fun-eral.”

These all just seem like words. There’s meaning behind them, sure, but they don’t seem to mean anything when they’re strung together like this. Mattsun wonders if this is shock, or some weird form of it. He’s seen it before, in the eyes of family’s blindly choosing and planning. He always thought they dumb, not knowing how to react, not knowing if they should be sad or angry or …. Something.

But he gets it now. The news doesn’t always sink in.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits after a long moment, “I don’t… I don’t think I’m processing this.”

Makki pushes off of the curb and stands, brushing off dust from his pants. “I get it. It’s a lot to hear.” he flashes a peace sign over his shoulder as he starts down the alley, “Think about it and get back to me.” A thin puff of smoke curls into the air, “My number’s the same as it always was.”

Mattsun sits there, hidden between the dumpster and his work, and tries to process as he watches Makki walk out of his life once again.

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volleychumps · 4 years ago

Note

hi so sorry to bother u again but i tried to send a request and tumblr bugged out :(( so if u got this already just ignore this but if not can i request Tsukki's crush asking him to pretend to be her boyfriend to get back at a toxic ex? And he tries to drop hints but she's oblivious because she thinks its all part of the act? Thank you sm and I love ur writing!! ur style is just *chefs kiss*

Feigned Love. (Tsukishima Kei x Reader)

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

“You want me to what-”

“Never mind, that was dumb of me to ask, so just forget I ever said anything-” You blurt as the tall boy’s face starts to break out in a disbelieving grin.

You bite the inside of your cheek embarrasedly, turning away in a rush until a hand catches your wrist to stop your escape, a familiar sigh filling your ears as if this were the biggest inconvenice Tsukishima Kei had ever had to face.

“I’ll do it. I’ll fake it with you.”

“Wait-”

“On one condition-” Tsukishima clicks his tongue as you blink in a bewildered fashion as the blonde takes a step closer to you, a smirk tugging at his lips as he does so at your deer-in-the-headlights expression.

“Don’t fall for me, you loser.”

You stall for a second, processing his words before shaking your head with a grin.

“As if, nerd.” You laugh out loud at the ridiculous suggestion of your best friend before punching him in the shoulder, beaming at his acceptance before beginning to walk off, waving a hand backwards.

“See you tomorrow then, boyfriend?”

Tsukishima merely scoffed in response as you walked off, not noticing that the smirk had fallen from his face as you did so, hazel eyes wondering through black frames if this was really okay.

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

“Can’t you pretend like you actually like me, Mr. I-don’t-know-how-to-smile?”

Tsukishima’s frown seemed to deepen with distaste at your question, looking up from the manga he was reading in a bored manner to hit you back with a sharp retort when it falls on silent lips. Your ex was boisterous walking into the classroom with his friends, and the look of pain passed across your face in a way that had the blonde’s chest tightening.

And then it was showtime.

Tsukishima closed the manga, holding it with one hand with his thumb holding his place before standing and sitting next to you on the window sill of your classroom, freely using his other hand to rest your head on his shoulder as his other arm now hung loosely over your shoulder. You blink in surprise as Tsukishima opens the manga back up, leaning his head on your own as some of your friends squeal at the sight.

“Y/N! You and Tsukishima-Kun are finally dating?!”

“I called it, you two were always joined at the hip!”

“Ahaha...yeah, I guess it sort of happened.” You smile, purposefully avoiding the now heated stare of the boy you wanted nothing to do with anymore. Still, the fact that you were getting under his skin acted as a vicious form of self-satisfaction as you make a show of pecking Tsukishima’s shoulder-

not noticing how the blonde’s breath seemed to hitch.

“Since when?” You stiffen, not expecting said boy to pipe up as Tsukishima’s eyes lift from the ink on the pages, hand slickly moving down to your waist to pull you into his side tighter as an amused grin with ill intent makes its’ way onto his face.

You glance at your friend’s face in wonderment, surprised he was actually seeing through your favor pretty well as you remind yourself to treat him later. The blonde tilts his head, meeting your ex’s eyes in a bored manner.

“Since she finally noticed who’s better for her than you were.” Tsukishima’s grin only widens as he feigns kindness, ignoring the silence that settled around the coming students interested in the morning drama as your ex clenches his jaw. “Oh my, did I strike a nerve?”

“You didn’t strike shit, you little-”

Your ex audibly growls as the morning bell cuts him off, glancing at you once before taking his seat in a pissed off manner, and you can’t help giggling a little as Tsukishima shakes his head, ducking down to tickle your ear with his breath quietly.

“You’re quite evil, you know that?”

Maybe this wasn’t real.

“And you’re quite the actor.”

Maybe you really thought he was doing this for the game.

“Hm. Better put on a nice show, then.”

Your eyes widen when Tsukishima brushes some of your hair back to cup your face as he lightly brushes your forehead with his lips, leaving your jaw slackened as the blonde stretches before getting up and back to his seat, slipping his headphones over his ears without sparing you a glance. You put a hand to your forehead in a daze, snapping out of it before realizing it was part of the favor. Or so you thought.

Tsukishima hides his blush in his palm as you brush past him to get to your seat.

Then he just had to show you that there was no dice to roll.

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

Tsukishima tried his best- he really did.

Two weeks flitted by with the label branded into your backs as in a relationship, Tsukishima slowly getting accustomed to the way of things.

He always met you on the window sill before class starts, glancing at your now sleeping figure as you don’t even notice when your ex walks in, rolls his eyes at the sight, and gloomily takes his seat. Tsukishima quirks a brow, nudging you slightly to make sure you don’t miss it.

“You don’t want today’s reaction?” He hums lowly as you shift a little before cuddling into his shoulder sleepily, taking the blonde off-guard at the spin of the now normal events.

“Mm. Don’t really care.”

You...what?

Tsukishima’s gaze falls back to his book, but he’s hardly paying attention to the panels, heart involuntarily pounding at the simplicity of your words that carried a heavier meaning than you seemed to realize.

After class, you grabbed his hand casually as you walked in the halls, mindlessly swiping through your phone as Tsukishima continues to walk along, glancing down at your grip on his palm before looking straight ahead.

He holds his breath, taking a chance. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re quite used to this whole thing. Can’t get enough of me, hm?”

The blonde remains casual, but still hears his heart in his ears for your reply, your hand slowly letting go of his as if you were realizing. Tsukishima looks back down at you to see you embarrasedly rubbing the back of your neck, chuckling nervously as he feels his stomach drop at the sight.

“O-Oh. I just figured because we do everyday-”

“You done messing with your ex?” Tsukishima can’t stop the hard edge that comes with his words, still walking along. “It’s clear he regrets it, so how long are we planning on-?”

“You’re right.”

You had stopped walking, Tsukishima now looking behind him to see you smiling in a slightly strained manner as you laugh. You laugh as you walk up to him, eyes shielding something Tsukishima’s analytical eyes couldn’t pinpoint as you give him a sweet kiss on the cheek, one that would’ve sent the blonde’s mind awhirl-

if you hadn’t done it in a parting manner.

“Thanks, Tsukki. You did well. I’ll treat you to something expensive to make up for wasting your time, okay?”

“Y/N, you know that’s not-”

But you were already halfway down the hall, giving him that familiar backwards wave, sending him back to two weeks prior, where he rolled the dice to play in a game of fake feelings-

when nothing about his actions were fake at all, the game board having been non-existent.

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

“Y/N, you were just using that asshat to make me jealous, weren’t you?”

Tsukki stalls outside the classroom door at the sound of the bastard voice. The voice he hated for all the months you stayed with him.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your voice cracked, and Tsukishima knows he should walk away from an obviously private conversation happening an hour after the last bell-

but his back touched the wall as he dropped his gaze to his feet, wondering if you would indulge in the satisfaction of making the boy who hurt you asking for you back. Would you accept? Were you using him after all-?

“You��re telling me you actually have feelings for that-?!”

“And what if I do?”

Maybe this wasn’t real.

Tsukishima’s eyes widen a fraction.

Maybe you really thought he was doing this for the game.

He didn’t hear the rest of the conversation before casually stepping into the classroom, leaning against the doorway with a hand in his pocket, hazel eyes locking onto your figure as he purposefully ignores the agitated vermin holding you by the shoulders.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Tsukki-?” Your eyes widen as Tsukishima’s eyes narrow in on your ex touching you, a humorless chuckle slipping his lips as his whole demeanor changes as he strolls casually up to the two of you.

“Are you going to let her go or am I going to have to snap your arms in half?”

He ignores the sputtered question of assault before grabbing you by the wrist, tugging you out of the classroom successfully as he walks a fast pace, adrenaline mixed with your words on his heels as he ignores your questions of where you were going-

Only stopping when you had whimpered for him to.

Slowly, Tsukishima lets go of your hand to glance behind him, breath hitching at the tears rolling down your flushed cheeks. He reaches out to you, arm retracting when you flinch at the motion.

“I didn’t mean to scare you-”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Tsukki.”

Your voice had fallen to a whisper, hands making useless attempts to wipe away the moisture as you laugh humorlessly, refusing to meet Tsukishima’s eyes as the blonde lets you speak.

“You told me to do one thing and I couldn’t even do that.”

Then he just had to show you that there was no dice to roll.

His feet were moving before he could think as his words flash in his head.

“Don’t fall for me, you loser.”

“I must look really damn pathetic-”

Tsukishima clicks his tongue, impatience finally breaking through as he’s met with the moment he’s longed for as he glares at your teary eyes through his spectacles, cupping your face as his voice drops an octave.

“Shut the hell up.”

Tsukishima kissed you harshly, thumbs wiping at the stray tears as he feels your hands slowly grip the back of his shirt, sighing into his mouth so cutely that Tsukishima couldn’t help but drop a hand to your waist, pressing you up against him, satisfied with the sound you made before pulling away and leaving you breathless.

“B-But you said-”

“I’m quite the actor, aren’t I?” Tsukishima throws your words back at you as you find yourself smiling, tears drying on your cheeks as the blonde strokes your cheek with his thumb gently- as if he were handling porcelain.

“As if I would date a nerd-”

“Well, I don’t want to date a loser- yet here we are.”

“Tsukki?”

“What?”

“...you don’t really mean that, do you- because I’m having trouble distinguishing what’s real and what’s not-”

“If you don’t shut up I’m going to do it for you.”

“Well, in that case-”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes, as you smiled cheekily as he tugged you closer-

the blonde was a man of his word, after all.

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

General Works: @takemetovalhalla @savemesteeb @dreebbles @kasandrafaye @yams046

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu anime #haikyuu tsukishima #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #Karasuno #haikyuu karasuno

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muzawrites · 4 years ago

Text

Carrying On (Jay Park Mafia AU)

Summary: Its been said that in times of tragedy new relationships emerge and become stronger, when tragedy strikes we seek connection it is in our nature. How does the loss of their father affect the relationship between Jay and his adopted sister, Amara. Does it strengthen it? Or does it reveal things which were once hidden?

AN: This is the first story I’ve ever posted, constructive criticism is always welcome

Fifty-one.... fifty-two…. fifty-three…. fifty-four…. fifty-five… damn this is really not working. Why do they always make it seem like counting sheep helps you fall asleep? I checked the clock again- 12:05am. Sighing, I rolled over to the cooler side of my bed and let my mind wonder to the last 2 weeks, the worst 2 weeks of my life as far as I can remember. My adopted father and leader of the most powerful mafia clan in South Korea had passed away, leaving his only son Jae-beom (aka Jay) in charge of his empire.

I don’t remember too much from my childhood before I was adopted but from the snippets I do remember and what I’ve been told, it wasn’t good. I was found by Jay’s father going through garbage outside one of the restaurants the family owns at the age of 10, having been abandoned by my mother for being a mixed-race baby, I guess she couldn’t deal with having a half black half Korean child any longer. According Jay’s father I reminded him of the daughter he had lost a couple years prior when she and her mother (his wife/Jay’s mother) had falling ill and both passed away. In the back of my head I always felt like some sort of ‘replacement child’ for the daughter he had lost, even though he never made me feel like it, even Jay made me feel like his little sister even though it took a bit of time for him to get use to me as he was 16years old when I was “brought into the family” but over time we became very close, even naming me his co-right hand along with his best friend Simon. And of course he always took his role as the protective big brother a little too seriously with some of my boyfriends throughout high school and varsity. They would break up with me after a few weeks with either a broken nose or blackened eye.

I sighed and rolled over one more time before giving up and getting out of bed to make a cup of tea or something stronger to help me fall asleep. I threw a long silk robe over my sleep chemise to conserve some decency just in case one of the guards was roaming around. As I walked down the hall, I noticed Jay’s bedroom door slightly open with the light inside shining through. After softly knocked I pushed the door to find him sitting on the couch facing the fireplace with the coffee table filled with presumably work papers, “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” he asked without turning around, his full attention on the fire before him. “Shouldn’t you?” I rebutted as I grabbed the empty whiskey glass in his hand, walked over to the mini bar in his room to get him a refill and me a glass of his strongest whiskey on the rocks. He was still wearing the black slacks and black dress shirt he wore earlier in the day with the tie thrown somewhere in the room and his top two buttons undone.

“Seems we both can’t fall asleep huh” he said, as I handed him his glass. He mumbled a soft thanks as I sat down next to him. “Seems like” I replied leaning into his shoulder and staring into the flames with him. For some time, nothing could be heard but the fire crackling and the occasional clinking of ice against glass as we took sips of our drinks. “So, what happens now?” I asked, finally breaking the silence. He sighed, running his hand over his face. “In a few days, we meet with the heads of the families underneath us to continue business as usual” he answered, gulped down the rest of his drink and placed the glass on the side table as to not jolt me from his shoulder. “Can’t believe he’s gone” I whispered.

“Neither can I” he responded, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back of the couch. Jay had been prepped to be the leader of the family organisation since he turned 13 and now at the age of 32, he was more than ready to take over and I had no doubt he would do great things in this position but the fact of our father’s passing was still heavy in our hearts. I gulped down the rest of my drink as well and placed my glass on coffee table. I stretched out my back and neck, unconsciously pushing my chest out against the silk of my robe. Long gone were the days of the scrawny little girl who first joined the family; I had grown into a woman with curves in all the right places, soft caramel skin which glowed under the light of the fire. From the corner of my eye, I notice Jay intensely watching me, not being able to decipher the look like I usually would be able to I pushed it aside.

“Can I have a hug?” I asked, giving him my best puppy dog eyes and pout. He chuckled while getting up and opening his arms up for me. I quickly jumped into his arms and wrapped my arms around his neck before he could change his mind. He wrapped his arms around my waist a bit lower than they usually would be. For some reason this hug felt different from every other hug we’ve shared, but still felt warm, safe and like home. “I’ll never let anything or anyone hurt you” he suddenly confessed into my hair as he placed a soft kiss on the crown of my head, I looked up to find his dark brown eyes staring into mine. “And I will never leave your side” I replied, my statement making him smile. I don’t know what took over me but I suddenly found myself leaning up to kiss him. He didn’t respond at first but after a few seconds I felt his lips move against mine. This kiss was so much better than any I had ever experienced before. His lips were soft but firm, he tasted of the whiskey we had been drinking and a hint of something else, something uniquely him, he took full control of the kiss holding onto my waist a little tighter. Suddenly I felt like a bucket of cold water fell on me when I felt his tongue brushing against my lips and I came to my senses. I shouldn’t have kissed Jay… he was practically my older brother. I quickly ended the kiss, pushing myself away from him and loosening his grip on my waist in the process. “I’m sorry” I mumbled, avoiding his eyes, trying to get past him and back to my room and to hide under my covers from the embarrassment. “Amara wait” he said, calling me by my birth name instead of the name I was given when I came into the family. He was the only one who called me Amara as he knew I preferred that name a little bit more than my given name. He quickly grabbed my arm and pulled me back into his embrace before I could even take 5 steps away from him. I couldn’t bare to look into his face because of the embarrassment. “That kiss wasn’t a mistake” he said softly. I looked up at him, surprised. “I’ve always felt more for you than any normal brother would or even should, I guess that’s why I have always been so protective over you. At first I thought it was because you had such a tough time growing up and I wanted to protect you from that and this hectic mafia life you had been brought into, but as we grew older I knew it was much more than that. That’s why I could never stand seeing you with those idiots you used to date, especially that piece of shit Bobby” he said. Bobby was the guy I had dated in my senior year of high school but he had broken up with me right after prom after I had given him my virginity, stating that the only reason he was with me was to sleep with the “Park Princess”. I remember crying for a week but after that he mysteriously went missing and his family left town not long after. I had always assumed he had left with his family.

“You’re mine. You’ve always been mine and I’m never letting you go” he declared, looking deep into my eyes before pulling me back into a slightly rough passionate kiss. Deep down I knew I felt the same way about him. I even had a full blown crush on Jay between the ages of 16-18 but after that I quickly pushed it aside thinking it was not only one sided but wrong as he was supposed to be my brother. I briefly thought back to my past boyfriends and realised they all had either personality or physical similarities to Jay but in my mind and heart they would never amount to him. I felt him walk backwards towards the couch without breaking our passionate embrace. He broke our kiss to sit down and signalled for me to straddle him. Before I did I untied the knot I had done on my robe, letting the soft silk fall off my skin, revealing the deep red chemise I was wearing underneath. “Fuck” I heard him whisper as I straddled his lap and continued kissing him, his hands returned to my waist, pulling me closer into him which cause my barely covered pussy to brush up against the quickly growing bulge in his pants, this action causing us both to groan into each other’s mouths.

His lips left mine and started trailing down my neck, finding that sweet spot that made me grind into him just a little harder. My fingers made quick work unbuttoning his shirt and slowly ran down his strong chest lightly brushing over his nipples, this action causing him to groan and dig his fingers- which had moved from my waist to my ass- deeper into my soft but firm flesh. His lips quickly returned to mine as his hands started trailing up, dragging my chemise with them. We briefly separated so he could pull the material over my head before returning to the kiss. “Hold on tight” he muttered, as he got up without breaking our kiss, my legs wrapped securely around his waist. He softly placed me onto his bed as he broke apart from my lips to remove the rest of his shirt. “Fuck you’re perfect” he groaned, his voice laced with lust. “Those fuckers didn’t deserve you” he muttered as he returned to kissing my neck, this time also grabbing onto my boobs and playing with my nipple with his one hand whilst the other trailed down the side of my body and returned to my legs around his waist, I felt nothing but him at that moment, the soft heated touch of his hands running down my body, the smell of his rich expensive cologne, his soft lips on my nipple driving me crazy. At that moment all my thoughts were consumed by him. “Have you ever wondered what happened to that piece of shit Bobby” he said looking into my eyes with a dark look I had only seen a handful of times. “I killed him” he said, now kissing and sucking my left nipples whilst his right hand continued to play with the other. “What!” pulling his hair causing him to look up at me, “Not only did he have the audacity to touch what’s mine, but he hurt you as well…he had to pay for that” he declared kissing me once again. As dark and twisted as it seems, his confession turned me on even more.

His kisses left my lips once again as he kissed my body further and further down. His fingers made quick work of the cute thong I had been wearing, tearing it off my body “Hey! That was one of my favourites” I complained before moaning as his fingers brushed up against my clit, “I’ll buy you a million more, get you whatever you want and I’ll do whatever you want” he said, looking deep into my eyes. “Well right now, I want you to stop teasing and eat me out” I said grabbing onto his hair, pushing him down towards where I needed him most, “Your wish is my command, my Queen” he said seductively before attaching his lips to my clit. Him calling me his Queen and the feeling of his thick fingers entering me as he sucked my clit made me cum instantly. “Jay!” I screamed his name as I experienced a high like never before. As I came down from it, he pulled his fingers out of me and licked them clean whilst looking me dead in the eye. “You taste so good babygirl I could be down there forever” he said. I quickly sat up and pushed him back and kissed him, tasting myself on his lips sent my body into overdrive as I quickly unbuckled his pants. He chuckled at the rushed movements and pushed me back as he got up to remove his pants.

As he did this, I got a full proper look at his body; firm, muscular, covered in tattoos and all mine. I truly was the luckiest girl in the world at that moment. As he pulled down his briefs, I got my first proper look at him, he was long, thick and veiny. His tip was an angry red colour dripping beads of pre-cum. He’s gorgeous, I thought. I reached out to feel him, barely able to wrap my hand around him. He felt hot and heavy in my hand. I slowly started to stroke him, and he let out the sexiest groan I had ever heard causing me to look up at him. His eyes were dark with lust and passion. “Baby, you better stop if you don’t want this to end too early” he groaned, taking my hand away from him and leaning into another kiss. He laid me down and once again started kissing my neck. At the back of my mind I wondered if it would hurt; Jay was definitely much more blessed than any other man I had been with.

“Don’t worry baby I’ll go slow” he said positioning himself between my legs as if reading my mind.

“At first” I replied with a sexy smirk on my face as I grabbed him and pumped him a few times before lining him up with my entrance. “I love you” he said as he slowly entered me. He felt so big that it kind of hurt but I didn’t want him to stop. The pleasure outweighed the pain. “Fuck baby, I love you too” I moaned as he finally bottomed out. “Shit baby you feel so good” he groaned as he started moving at a slow and steady pace. I grabbed his face and pulled him down into another kiss, missing the feel of his lips on me. In this moment I felt complete I knew that we were meant to be, I knew that he was fully mine and as I his. “Fuck baby harder” I moaned as he moved one of my legs to rest on his shoulder. He granted my wish as he started moving faster and harder, hitting a spot in me that made my brain go all fuzzy. I became a moaning mess underneath him as he did what he pleased with my body. “Shit baby, I’m so close” I groaned against his lips. At that moment he pulled out of me and before I could protest he flipped me over onto my stomach and pulled my hips up into a perfectly arched position, he quickly re-entered me, now feeling even deeper than he was before. The sounds that were coming out my mouth didn’t sound like me but at that moment in time I didn’t care because all my body and mind were focused on Jay and the pleasure he was giving me. My mind briefly drifted, the thought of him impregnating me at the moment and how beautiful our baby would be warming me up even more. This thought quickly got pushed aside as I felt him grab my hair and pull me up till my back met his chest. “Fuck baby you feel so good and so fucken tight” he groaned into my ear as I turned my head to kiss him. “I want to feel you cum on me” he groaned as his fingers attached themselves to my clit sending me into the most mind-blowing orgasm I’ve ever experienced in my life. My walls tightened so much around him that he came not a second later. He continued pumping into me, drawing out our highs as much as possible. “Fuck” he sighed in content. “I’m never going to get enough of you” he said pulling me into another kiss.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing” I said clenching my inner walls around his still hard member. He groaned, flipping us over till I was on top of him with his dick deep inside me.

“No, not a bad thing at all” he smirked as I slowly started moving, “You’re mine forever” he said, sitting up and kissing me once again. We continued to make love until the sun slowly started peaking through the curtains. “I love you” he whispered into my hair as I lay in his arms, “And I love you” I replied as I turned my head to give him one last kiss before we fell asleep.

At the back of our minds, we both knew we would probably face a lot of heat and probably negative attention if our relationship was to be exposed with most saying it’s wrong. However, I knew that no matter what Jay would never leave me nor I him.

The End

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bubblegumbeech · 4 years ago

Text

King on High and How to Fall

Phic Phight Prompt fill for @heroine0ftime

As a ghost gets more powerful, so does the strength of their obsession.

“You’re making a mistake Pariah,” Clockwork warned once they were alone.

The two of them often retired together to the chamber at the top of the far tower, away from the main estate of the keep. It was more comfortable, personal. And it allowed them to talk candidly away from the eyes and ears of those who would judge their propriety otherwise. And those who need not know more than they were told.

Pariah rolled his eyes, “as you have told me countless times, every time we start a new conquest.”

Then, he caught Clockwork gently by his elbows, stopping him before he could storm further into the room. Clockwork deflated at the touch, it was a comfort and often helped ground him in the reality of the present, kept him there instead of floating away into the future, into what could have been and what yet might be.

He looked up to catch his king’s eyes, as tall and imposing as he was, Clockwork did not feel frightened of his king when his gaze fell upon him, not the way that he would have before, when Pariah’s cunning and dedication were enough alone to have the whole of the realms fearful. Now, it was a gaze darkened with emotion and lost just enough to irrationality that Clockwork could see what had never existed before.

Threads, rivers, paths in every direction that led to Pariah’s End, and even more so that led to his failure. It was disheartening for Clockwork to see one as mighty as Pariah, fall in so many ways, in so many futures. There were still more, of course, where Pariah succeeded. Where he would unite the entirety of the realms underneath his rule and instill order upon that which was made from chaos, order but never peace, not anymore. Those futures had vanished when he accepted the ring.

Before, Pariah had been terrifying in a way few could understand or even articulate. If you found yourself in his sights, either in his way or or as something he desired, there would be no escape. He sought completion by his very core, and was caught duty bound by rites, failure had never been so much as an acquaintance in Pariah’s life. And it was a stranger still, one he would soon meet if Clockwork could not dissuade him from this path.

Knuckles brushed gently against Clockwork's cheek, dragging him back to the present, to Pariah’s arms and warmth of his keep. Pariah was smiling again, likely amused at having caught Clockwork distracted. The affection in his eyes was too much, more than it had ever been before, and Clockwork knew, in the same way he knew the futures and the past and every branching path that could connect them, that it was only as real as the powers bestowed by his ring and crown.

Clockwork caught his hand, “Pariah, please. You don’t need the power, use the strengths you have now if you must-”

“I must,” Pariah interrupted, dropping his hand and releasing Clockwork from his hold, “you know I must. It was a task entrusted to me.”

His obsession would not let him walk away, there was no stopping now in the middle of a task unfinished. It was not something he could do, it went against the fibers of his own creation and his reason to be. Clockwork knew this. It was why he was here, trying to twist the path and change the course, rather than asking him to stop completely.

There was little hope, all of the futures that had once been bright and shining were now faded into shadow, twisting further and further away from his grasp. Much like Pariah himself.

“Reject the ring, it seeks to change you. To mold you into a tool for others,” he implored. He could not make it a demand, Pariah’s power was far too much to challenge casually and especially not in his own lair. This was but a last desperate attempt at appeal. Pariah shook his head.

He had known Pariah wouldn’t listen. He wasn’t hearing the words Clockwork said, he was listening only to the pieces he could digest, what he could easily accept into his own plans and move forward with. It was frustrating, and almost uncharacteristic of him. The crown was already corrupting him and Clockwork wondered if Pariah could still see him at all, or if he was simply another part of the king’s conquest.

“You are one to talk, a tool for others,” Pariah spoke softly, his voice accusing. Did he know? Was it possible? “I’ve seen how you bend your back and twist your powers to the wills of the observants. They are lesser, incompetent. They seek to use you just as much as they may seek to use me.”

Clockwork scowled, “so you trust what they give you? You speak ill of them, your voice practically drips in malice whenever you so much speak the name of their order, but their gifts are beyond your scrutiny?” He did not mention his own reasons, it was not something Pariah needed to know. It was something that would only further hasten his fall should he hear of it and Clockwork was barely holding the future together as it was.

Pariah frowned and reached again for Clockwork’s face, but he floated away, out of the King’s reach. Pariah stepped closer still, “I know what power they hold and their reasons for gifting them. I don’t care to fall for their schemes.”

“That’s your pride speaking Pariah,” Clockwork scoffed. He was powerful, so powerful, why did he think he needed more than what he had? Did he not realize what made him so feared was not the power behind his strikes, but the cold certainty of his success? Was that not why he had been chosen?

Why he was King?

“I know you don’t agree, that you would rather the Infinite Realms fall entirely back into Chaos as they were at your creation. Is that desire enough you must fight with me over every extension of my rule, every conquest? You know I will not stop, so you seek delay?” Pariah said, his voice quiet.

Pariah’s emotions were always deceptive, the softer he spoke, the more strongly he felt. And he was angry now, frustrated with Clockwork just as Clockwork was with him. There was little they could do when their obsessions clashed like this. Often, it was Clockwork who had to bend, to try and find a way around, a string to follow into a brighter future despite the decisions made here and now.

Clockwork bit his lip, holding back words he knew better than to say, “I seek a future where you stay, where you do not fade and are not Ended. That is what I seek in the futures spread before me, you are the one cutting strings until there are fewer and fewer options left.”

He grabbed Pariah’s hand, pulling it to the ticking clock of his chest and holding it there, desperate for him to feel Clockwork’s truth, his certainty, “you will fall along this path Pariah.”

There was a moment where neither did anything, the two of them soaking in the presence of the other, before Pariah smiled softly and pulled Clockwork fully into his arms. He was warm, the fire of his core blazing and passionate and Clockwork allowed himself the comfort, allowed himself to relax into his King’s arms while he still could.

“How can I fall,” Pariah said softly into Clockwork’s ear, “when I have you?”

A shiver passed through Clockwork and he pulled Pariah even closer, tucking his face into the larger ghost’s shoulder and trying not to let it show, not to let anything give him away. It was too much, it hurt. His core was pulling in two different directions and there was nothing he could do but hold tight until he was forced to let go.

And he would be.

It was only a matter of time.

Eventually, Clockwork pulled away. Pariah seemed unwilling to let him go, but made no move to stop him. “Go Pariah, create your kingdom… I will be here, as always. Waiting for you.”

“Bitterly, I imagine,” Pariah said with humor. Then he delicately brushed a strand of Clockwork's hair from his face where it had fallen from his braid and moved his hand under Clockwork’s chin, lifting it so that they were forced to meet eyes.

When he leaned in for the kiss, it was gentle, and Clockwork savored it as much as he could. Unlike Pariah, he knew it would be the last time they shared something nearly so sweet, it would have to be. The futures as they stretched before him now would not allow for another. Not if Pariah was so determined to continue along this path and Clockwork could do nothing to stop him.

Pariah pulled away and Clockwork couldn’t stop himself from reaching up and cupping his hand against a bearded cheek. Pariah’s own hand moved to join it, trapping it there as he leaned into whatever comfort Pariah took from such a small gesture. He’d always been so physical, perhaps it was in part because of his obsession, perhaps it was simply something uniquely Pariah. Either way, it ached to take advantage, and Clockwork had to pull away before he lost all of the resolve he’d built and failed his own obsession entirely.

Once, Clockwork had wondered for a fleeting moment, what might happen should he fade. Would time cease with him, or would another spirit take his place, watching over the streams of endless possibility? If so, would they see it as Clockwork did? Would they have found another way? One that Clockwork himself was blinded to?

Did it matter?

“I will see you upon my return,” Pariah said as he walked away, towards the door that led down through the tower and eventually away from the keep entirely. He was leaving and Clockwork had not been able to stop him, nothing could stop him. That at least, was consistent.

Clockwork swallowed a lump in his throat, careful to keep his voice steady and low, “It shall be a success my King, you will return in glory as always.”

He watched as Pariah nodded, accepting the future Clockwork had seen, and left. Clockwork stayed for a moment longer, took the time to wait for Pariah to leave his keep entirely and start his newest campaign, that of the Far Frozen. He waited until the ambient ectoplasm of the room cooled- no longer as intimately warmed by Pariah’s core, and then he waited a bit longer to steel his nerves.

Using his staff, he carved a portal into the fabric of the realms, twisting and pinching time around it and appearing in his own lair. The clock tower’s echoed around him in a cold comfort, lonely compared to the feeling of standing inside of Pariah’s keep, but a comfort nonetheless as he waited for the portal to close behind him before calling out.

“He has left on his conquest, he does not suspect anything.”

Seemingly from nowhere, six other ghosts appeared, each wearing a heavy cloak of their own and shadowing their faces, each as ancient and timeless as Clockwork himself, each born of chaos as he was, and each seeking chaos once more.

“Then it is time.”

“You betrayed me,” Pariah growled, pulling Clockwork close in a mockery of the affection they had shared upon his departure. It should have been impossible, Pariah should not have been able to discover their plans, the secrets Clockwork had tried so hard to keep from him. And yet somehow he had appeared, wreathed in flame and fury and had cornered Clockwork in the tower, had grabbed him before he could stop time and make his escape.

Clockwork struggled against it, but Pariah’s grip, as always, was that of steel. Pariah pressed him forcefully into the wall so that every carved stone dug into Clockwork’s back, and Pariah’s arms were a cage around him with no escape. Danger blazed behind his eyes.

Swallowing his fear, Clockwork sought for what he could say, what futures there were that he might use to protect himself from the King’s anger. But Pariah shook him forcefully, breaking any possible concentration and pressed a warm hand against the pulse of Clockwork’s core. He stilled, much like an animal caught by the neck, and his struggle ceased.

There was no possibility, Clockwork knew rationally, of Pariah Ending him. There was no future he had seen where such actions could ever come to pass. But it was an instinctual fear that held him frozen now, and one Pariah knew to use to his own advantage. He leaned in close, his voice practically a whisper.

“Do not speak,” he said, and Clockwork obeyed. Doing otherwise would only worsen whatever punishment Pariah saw fit to bestow. And there was no hope now, that Clockwork could escape before he did so.

The hand on his chest moved slowly upwards, and rested instead at the join of his neck and shoulder. It traced, deceptively soft, over where a human’s arteries would be, etching out a path up until fingers curled underneath his chin and a thumb caressed the delicate skin under his left eye, “if I take your eye, will it keep your gaze from turning to another?”

Don’t speak, Clockwork reminded himself. He bit back a retort about choice and how sight in itself was less than necessary if Clockwork truly wanted to be with another. Neither did he ask for it to be spared, Pariah wouldn’t listen and Clockwork was unwilling to break his own pride in order to stoke the King’s ego.

Unfortunately, Pariah knew him well and likely followed the direction of his thoughts since his grip tightened in reprimand, “If I took your sight would you still see your precious futures, or would you be struggling, blind like the rest of us to the possibilities laid before you? Would you be stuck in the present, here with me, reliant and dependent and unable to leave my side?”

It was a threat. And unfortunately for Clockwork, it was one Pariah had every intention to make good on if he didn’t do something, say something, to dissuade him. To change the course they were on now. So Clockwork lifted his own hand, catching Pariah’s where it laid upon his cheek, and smiled-showing his fangs, “Do you fear my gaze Pariah?”

The fury caught like a flame, Pariah's emotions stronger and less in his control the more power he siphoned from his Kingly adornments. It burned around them. Pariah ripped his hand away, using the sharp of his claw to dig into the flesh and Clockwork froze time before he could be caught fully again. It was difficult, keeping hold in the lair of another powerful ghost, but it was a familiar lair and he held it still.

His eye stung, the cut was deep and he would likely be unable to see through it until it healed, if it ever healed fully. There was so much power and intention behind Pariah’s attack, it would be a wonder if it did not scar, a sharp, twisted reminder of what must be done, and what Clockwork himself must sacrifice. He grimaced and wiped some of the ectoplasm away as it dripped easily down the side of his face and puddled unattractively upon the stone floor beneath him.

Pariah had not explained his anger, and Clockwork took his chance to comb through recent pasts, untangling them as much as he could to read where he and the other Ancients might have been discovered, or if it had been some other perceived betrayal that had moved his King to such fury. Yet somehow, when he looked, there was nothing but twisted knots and empty shadows where answers should have been.

Were the observants making their move so soon? Clockwork knew they sought the subjugation of the realms in the name of balance and order, it had been why a king was selected in the first place, as a mimicry of mortal governments and society. Did they foresee Pariah’s fall and work now to avoid it, to keep a tyrant on the throne so that they may avoid once more dirtying their own hands?

But then why give him the ring? The crown? Was it truly as Pariah had said, an attempt to increase his power and hasten his conquest? Were they so foolish to think that would ever be allowed by those that came before, or did they like Icarus seek to fly higher than what was afforded them?

There were far too many questions and Clockwork had never been a mind reader- that had always been closer to Nocturn’s particular taste, and even he could not reach into the minds of those that watched as protected as they were with their charms and spells and numbers. Clockwork shook his head, banishing his visions and focusing instead on the present reality.

It didn’t matter anymore, he needed to flee. He was compromised and the King’s regard was no longer the protection it once might have been.

He tried to pull away, but Pariah’s hold on his right arm did not break and Clockwork, in his surprise, released his grip on time for just a moment. It was a moment long enough though. And Pariah once more pulled him fully into his grasp, the entirety of his lair shook around them in his anger.

“Did you just try to escape?” he asked, and Clockwork couldn’t answer. Could barely think, caught as he was in the blazing heat of Pariah’s emotions.

Pariah held him still and moved a hand to grip at the back of Clockwork’s neck to shake him, “did you think I would let you leave .”

Clockwork grimaced, “I had hoped not to give you much choice.”

“Are you truly that scared to lose your precious sight?” Pariah asked, his voice calculating.

There was nothing he could do, Pariah’s hold was unyielding and every future he could see, as twisted and unique as they were, led down the same path with the same conclusions. The only hope he had was to appeal to Pariah’s obsession, and avoid the cold certainty of his logic.

“Would you take from me the only thing that makes me useful to your cause?” he said carefully. It was a gamble of tone and intention to see how Pariah would react, if it might move even incrementally into Clockwork’s favor.

Heat pulsed around them once more as Pariah's emotions escaped him in waves and drenched the ambient ectoplasm, almost drowning Clockwork himself in their intensity. “What use is a seer I cannot trust?” he growled, the question stung at Clockwork’s core despite its accuracy. “Why should I not simply bind you here to this chamber and keep you beholden to me? Make it so that you cannot twist the universe to your whims and flee so easily from my grasp?”

“You would hunt me down if I fled,” Clockwork said with certainty. There were no futures where Clockwork escaped Pariah by running away.

Pariah hummed in agreement, then he used his thumb to wipe away some of the ectoplasm still bleeding from Clockwork's wound. It was a delicate threat, as far as threats go and Clockwork almost leaned into the touch. Pariah purred at his act of submission and the anger slowly started to leach from the air around them, morphing and twisting into something else, something complicated and confusing and no less volatile, “perhaps I should bind your tongue instead then.”

“You can try.”

Clockwork awoke slowly, Pariah’s arms caged around him. He should have known that escape would not be easy, and that Pariah would be unwilling to let him leave. The mark Pariah had carved into the side of his face still stung and Clockwork poked at it gently, feeling the give of the skin to see how far along his healing was. He could, theoretically, speed up time and have it heal faster, but it would be the same either way to Clockwork, and he didn't feel the need to bother.

It was frustrating to be caught so soon. But it was not beyond their plans. And though the path he had chosen was narrow, it had a light at the end, brighter than any of the lit paths that had once stretched so plentifully before him. There was hope, and possibilities for the future.

Pariah would no longer be King and the realms would heal.

They just needed time.

He looked over at the sleeping king- his grip lax in his sleep, and bared his fangs. Well, no one said Time wasn’t petty. And Pariah didn’t need his eye any more than Clockwork did.

“I miss trusting you.”

Clockwork inclined his head, hiding a smirk as Pariah walked into the tower chamber he had sealed Clockwork in. It was certainly nicer than the chains he had threatened, but it was still a cage and Clockwork itched at the restraints. His core was near numb in its constant ache as he was kept from manipulating and keeping the timestreams. He could not know how stable they fared without him, could only hope that the limited power he had now would be enough. The fact that he could not see their collapse was the only thing keeping him sane, “you can always decide to start trusting me again.”

Pariah scoffed, “you’ve tricked me once and now think me a fool?”

He didn’t, but he would not admit that to Pariah. He had ego enough as it stood and there were few things Clockwork could do to stave off boredom these days, messing with Pariah was one of few things that brought him joy.

Pariah wore an eyepatch now, the mess Clockwork had made of his eye covered and hidden away. Just as well, he did not think he could hold back his smirk if it were on full display.

“I see only one future now,” he said, changing the topic.

There was a rustle of fabric and Clockwork turned to see Pariah shed his cape and make himself comfortable; as if he were coming home to a lover and not to a traitor caught and imprisoned in a tower. It irked Clockwork, that Pariah seemed determined to deny him the status of an enemy, and instead treated him as if he merely strayed temporarily from his true course. To him this was all an inconvenience, a small blight where Clockwork had wandered away from where he truly belonged, by Pariah’s side, and Pariah sought to correct him.

“So you’ve told me,” Pariah answered easily, kicking off his boots and sitting at the edge of the bed, “But I can hardly trust that. It seems convenient for you, that the only future left is one where I fall and the Realms fall with me. It sounds quite a bit more like a future you’ve designed to try and convince me to cease my conquest, rather than an accurate and likely reality.”

That would be because it was.

As it stood, the majority of the futures he saw had Pariah either succeed or fail, and rarely did they showcase the Realms themselves falling into turmoil or instability. What they showed instead, should Pariah succeed, was much worse. Order, control, restrictions placed upon that which was infinite and could not be contained and the eventual rise of the Observants as they do more than their name implied. Should Pariah fall, the realms would be fine.

It was only Clockwork that wished for some other way.

“Your obsession has taken control of you.”

“My obsession is what I am, it is the reason for my existence. Even you would not be so callous as to deny a ghost his existence,” Pariah countered. He had grabbed a book and was reading it, stretched out and comfortable on the bed while Clockwork watched from the window.

He had taken away any other furniture from the room, if Clockwork grew tired and wished to rest it would have to be in the bed where he had carved out Pariah’s eye. It was a subtle type of cruelty, but it taught its lesson as Pariah relaxed and Clockwork kept his distance.

“You were lost the moment you took up this task,” Clockwork mourned, “you should have rejected it like every other who was asked before you.”

Pariah closed his book, “it was my duty-”

“You had no obligation to them !” Clockwork yelled, losing his temper in his grief.

“I could not ignore it. Something needed to be done, and there was something I could do. Would you doom those beneath you to chaos and ruin?” Pariah snapped back and Clockwork flinched.

It was true, that the anarchy of the realms had been dangerous for those that were newly formed and those that were naturally weaker. But they had discovered how to survive in their own ways eventually, forming cultures and communities, and learning to exist and coexist with each other in unique and creative ways. It had seemed bleak then, had led to a decision against the wishes of Clockwork and the others considered Ancient.

They had chosen a king, and Pariah seemed the obvious fit. His obsession would not allow him to shirk his duties or to leave a task unfinished. It had been a mistake of course, the realms were not meant to be so easily controlled, and Pariah could not stop.

An immovable object meets an unstoppable force.

“If you thought rationally of these duties, you would better understand. You could-”

“I could do many things,” Pariah offered, “but I have grown impatient, and I have been betrayed by whom I trusted most, and I will finish this if I have to raze it beneath me. Did your futures show you that, when you decided to turn against me?”

Clockwork stepped closer, “I seek a future where you stay, where you do not fade and where you are not Ended. I have never lied about that.”

Pariah scoffed, “but you would see me fall nonetheless.”

“I would trip you on the way down.”

Pariah did not respond to Clockwork’s obvious bait, just shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers as if he were dealing with an unruly child and not the embodiment of time itself, made form. He stood up from the bed and walked over to Clockwork, gently placing his hand over the clock in his chest that hid his core.

It was a delicate touch, and Clockwork was reminded, intimately of the night Pariah had left for his conquest of the Far Frozen, when he had begged Pariah to see sense one last time before deciding finally that it was too late and making plans to end his reign.

“Does it hurt?” Pariah asked, his voice a soft murmur, “I can find a way to bind you more intimately, to steal away your power and leave you adrift instead, your obsession barely a thought underneath the simpler desire to exist.”

It was a threat, Clockwork knew that, but with the way it was spoken- just barely loud enough to hear with Pariah's lips pressing softly against Clockwork's temple- it sounded much closer to a promise and Clockwork fought the urge to shiver in fear. It would only entice Pariah further.

He lifted his arms, placing his hands on Pariah’s bare chest in an attempt to push him away, but it did little to stop him from simply pulling Clockwork closer, his hand moving from Clockwork’s chest to settling at the small of his back. It was vexing indeed, that every move Clockwork made to separate them brought him closer instead.

“What use would I be then?” he scowled, blushing from Pariah’s proximity and the heat emanating from his core.

Pariah just hummed, amused and unhurried, “well, you would still be nice to look at.”

He backed away before Clockwork could sink his teeth into him, having learned his lesson when he woke up short an eye. Clockwork growled and Pariah chuckled, his eyes bright with mirth and affection. The intensity of the emotions made Clockwork blanch, just how much further would they fall?

“Clockwork,” said a familiar voice, made strange only by the fact that it wasn’t Pariah’s, “so this is where he’s been keeping you?”

Clockwork practically wilted in relief, “Nocturn, you put yourself at risk coming to see me.”

The other Ancient rolled his eyes and stepped forward, his gaze tracking around the room and cataloguing every spell and rune Pariah had built into the walls to keep it as his prison. “A risk I felt necessary, we need you or our plan will hardly amount to much.”

“You’ve completed the tasks then?” he asked, hopeful.

Nocturn nodded, “as much as they can be, we crafted the sarcophagus, and Sojourn holds the key. The rest are ready and in place, we just need the crown and the ring.”

So it was finally time then. Clockwork sighed, “I don’t suppose you can help me out?”

A smile stretched wide across Nocturn’s face, “why do you think they sent me? ”

He had not left Pariah’s keep, there was no need to. Instead, Clockwork waited in the throne room for the King to return from his most recent battle. It had been a long one, and Pariah was likely hoping to be able to come back to his keep and rest.

Fortunately, that is exactly what Clockwork was planning on giving him.

“Are you so desperate to be punished?” Pariah asked once he saw Clockwork there, sitting on his throne. He wasn’t bothering to sit properly either, his legs crossed underneath him, smirk firmly planted on his lips.

“I don’t know what you mean my king, I have not left your keep, as commanded.”

Pariah growled, stalking forward, “how did you escape the tower-”

Clockwork froze time then, pulling tight on a power long held out of reach and relished the burn of it as it flowed through him. It would not hold long, but it didn't need to. He quickly flew over to Pariah, coaxing the ring from his partially opened hand and then reaching up for his crown.

But as his hand touched the cold black metal Clockwork felt his powers jolt, as if electrified, and time started around him once more. Pariah grabbed him by the wrist, extended as it was over his head, and threw him into the ground, releasing him only long enough to pin him underneath his knee, his hand glowing and aimed directly at Clockwork’s core.

“Did you think I would fall for the same trick twice?” Pariah mocked, “did you think the only chains I bound your powers in were those of that room? That I could not foresee your escape?”

“I had been optimistic,” Clockwork said, glaring up at the crown. It was close, so very close.

It would have to be enough.

Pariah crushed his wrist tighter in his grasp, “give me back the ring.”

Buying time, Clockwork shook his head, “you know I won’t do that, Pariah.”

“So you wish to increase your punishment, so bored in your tower that you long for pain instead? Perhaps I should take a finger this time.”

“That would be unnecessary, your highness,” said a voice from behind him and Clockwork twisted, manipulating his body so that Pariah knelt on stone instead. It wasn’t enough to escape, Pariah grabbed him once more and dragged him into his arms. Before Clockwork could manipulate his form again an ectoblast glowed in Pariah's palm and burned a handprint into the curve of Clockwork’s neck.

Quickly, he threw the ring towards Nocturn, who caught it easily and made a show of studying it.

“You dare enter my keep uninvited?” Pariah growled, his hold on Clockwork both a threat and a promise to deal with him later, once this new threat was handled. The ground shook around them, skeletons and countless more or less rotted corpses dragging themselves up from the depths of the earth beneath them.

But Nocturn simply looked around at the shambling forms collecting around him, he made no moves to defend himself, “Do you not seek dominion over all ghosts? Surely this keep is open then, to your citizenry.”

In the moment Pariah commanded an attack, a blast of energy shot him from behind, knocking his crown crooked and loosening his grip on Clockwork. He took the chance he was given, twisting time just enough to escape fully, and threw himself out of reach entirely.

Pariah’s eyes blazed .

“Clockwork -” his growl was interrupted though, when the rest of the Ancients entered the room and began to attack.

Sojourn grabbed him by the arm, “we should get you out of here.” Clockwork shook his head, unwilling to leave before he saw this through in its entirety.

Nocturn seemed to be of the same mind, “No, he should stay, Pariah’s rage will be his fatal flaw, and I doubt there is little else that will make him nearly as angry as Clockwork’s betrayal.”

“It is the second time,” he admitted and Nocturn cackled before melting a handful of the mindless monsters into stardust. Clockwork himself felt weak, so long with his powers suppressed and his obsession kept just out of reach. But it was almost intoxicating, pinching and curling time in looping spirals around the endless mob of death and watching them age into dust or simply cease to be depending on the direction he pulled.

His core pulsed in satisfaction, the actions he was taking now, they would lead to a better future, a more stable path, and it was important they succeed. A roar of rage cut through Clockwork’s thoughts and his core pulsed for a different reason entirely, recognizing Pariah’s anguish as he lost the fight, alone, betrayed.

Their eyes met, and Clockwork froze, caught in his gaze. But before anything more could happen, Pariah’s eye slipped closed and he collapsed into slumber. Nocturn and Misery stood over him, they had taken the chance at Pariah’s distraction to enact the next stage of their plan. Clockwork swallowed down the guilt that had lodged in his throat and drifted slowly over to them.

“The sarcophagus?” Misery asked, and Nocturn allowed his illusion to drop fully, revealing the final part of the plan. The Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep. Even Pariah, stubborn and bullheaded as he was, would not be able to escape this alone.

Misery lifted the sleeping King with her strings, placing him inside, gently for Clockwork’s sake. Sojourn had the key. And as long as no one was foolish enough to try and steal it to wake a half-crazed tyrant, then everything would go exactly as they had been planning for so long. It was hardly perfect, as far as outcomes went, and there were so many ways that it would have and should have gone wrong, but it was the only thing Clockwork could stomach and the others had not fought nearly as much as he’d expected at his insistence. Perhaps they too, did not desire the End of an old friend on their hands?

Nocturn bent to grab the crown from Pariah’s head but Clockwork held him back, his gaze flicking quickly through futures and possibilities before finding a strand, silver and strong with an appeal he had not thought to seek before, “leave the crown, he cannot use it in his sleep after all.”

“Are you sure?” Misery asked, her veil shifting as she tilted her head in her confusion, “what if he should be awoken?”

“What if he wasn’t, but the crown fell instead into the hands of another? Will we start a collection of Kings?” Clockwork countered, closing the lid of the sarcophagus and looking around for Sojourn. He was still fighting, having quite a fun time with the others as Pariah’s keep continued to struggle against them. It wrenched at his core, the thought of them attacking Pariah so intimately, but he had cast his fate against Clockwork’s warnings and this was his due.

Nocturn chuckled, “no, I suppose not. I think we’d all prefer just the one.”

“Yes,” Clockwork agreed, looking far into the future, “Everything is the way it’s supposed to be.”

Misery rolled her eyes, “Do you think Sojourn remembers that we need the key to lock it?” she said, her eyes tracking the other ghost as he fought.

“... I’ll go get him.”

“Clockwork, are you one of the Ancients?” Danny asked one day as a distraction from his homework. It had been a stressful day for him, and Clockwork was perhaps too forgiving when it came to trying to keep him on track.

He turned away from his screens to answer, “I have been called as such.”

Danny stuck out his tongue, and Clockwork tried to smother the affection building in his core before it overflowed, “Jeesh, ‘I have been called as such’. Does the word yes give you hives or something?”

“Yes.”

Danny threw a cushion at him.

“Why do you ask?” Clockwork didn’t bother to dodge, instead choosing to rewind the cushion’s time until it was back in its proper place and Danny was left pouting at his failed attack.

He shrugged, “dunno, just… was kinda curious about Pariah I guess? What his whole-” Danny made a vague gesture with his hand, “deal was, you know?”

Clockwork nodded, then he pulled up an image of Pariah’s Keep in his largest mirror for Danny to see. There was nothing particularly exciting, just a coffin that held a sleeping king, his castle long abandoned and left to ruin.

“He was chosen because it was thought his strength and his obsession would be the best fit for the job. And perhaps, in a way that was true, he was certainly among the strongest of ghosts, and more importantly, was the most feared of them all.”

The image changed to an older one, of Pariah and his council speaking, Clockwork standing at his shoulder. Danny looked surprised to see him, but Clockwork waited until Danny’s next question to explain further.

“What was his obsession? I mean, I was never really king but even I could tell that job would suck . Was he just obsessed with power or something similar like, I don’t know, conquest?”

There were some that accused him of such, near the end, “his obsession was not dissimilar to your own, in a way. And it was formed I imagine, for similar reasons.”

“Clockwork, that doesn’t answer my question.”

He chuckled, “I apologize, old habits die hard after all.”

“Clockwork!” Danny pouted, and he had to hide his laugh in his hood or risk the child’s further ire.

“His obsession was with Duty. It was not something that could be left undone, nor unfinished. If he needed, he would do the task himself and see it through to its completion.”

Danny’s nose wrinkled in confusion, “that doesn’t sound so bad? I mean, especially not for a king?”

“True,” Clockwork admitted, “his downfall came about when he was tasked with uniting the Realms.”

“The Infinite Realms?” Clockwork nodded, “he knows those are infinite right? That’s like, the whole point!”

Clockwork agreed, “an impossible task, and a powerful obsession. Which one breaks first?”

There was a moment of pause, Danny looking at the screen, at the bits of Pariah’s time as king that played on like a silent movie. He frowned, “couldn’t he just… have done it differently?”

“How so?”

“Just-, I don’t know! Differently!” Danny said, agitated. Clockwork hummed thoughtfully, perhaps this would be a good chance for a lesson?

He tilted his head, curious. The futures around Danny were often varied and fractured, every decision made at the drop of a hat and each and every one exceedingly important. There was no real way to know which direction they would be going in if Clockwork did what he was thinking of doing.

But Danny had subverted expectations before, and Clockwork was nothing, if not born of Chaos.

“Daniel, could you do me an errand?” he asked.

Danny agreed easily, and Clockwork set him the task of collecting a certain key. It was a learning opportunity, if anything. Danny would have to realize he was no different from any other ghost and just like them was beholden to his own obsession. He would likely realize along the way exactly what it was like to struggle against it.

After all, what was Pariah now, but a ghost that needed help?

#Danny Phantom #Pariah Dark #Clockwork #Pariah/Clockwork #Dark Ages #Bee's writing #eye mutilation tw #Phic Phight #phic phight 21

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evarcana · 3 years ago

Text

Taking it out on you

Ev attends the court meeting only to learn that sometimes the second impressions are just as bad as the first ones.

characters: Ev Panopolis, consul Valerius and brief appearance of Volta

words: ~3k

warnings: alcohol (as expected)

notes: On some point I gave up on the idea of Ev being the apprentice, as she just does not have this "MC energy". So this is an introduction to her story, because there is no better way to celebrate the 1 year anniversary of this blog than to remember that a very long time ago I used to write fanfiction.

It has been almost a month already. Almost a month since she came to Vesuvia, almost a month since she was told that her services were not required here. The thought makes Ev frown, but she keeps a quick pace, the sound of her impatient steps on the marble floor echoing through the palace corridor.

It is just before eleven o’clock, and the last of crisp morning sun pours over the rich mauve of lustrous silk drapes and the gold leaf of intricately carved murals, drawing out the warm scent of orange blossom and beeswax from the polished panels of precious wood. Vesuvian palace is exactly what she was promised - a great wonder, and yet Ev doubts it could give any lesser impression while the backdrop to its striking opulence is the city torn apart by disease and grief.

There are no servants or visitors in sight, and Ev’s only company in this seemingly endless corridor are paintings on the walls, depicting what she can only guess are some of the proud moments of Vesuvian history - people and places so foreign to her.

She does simple math in her head: two months and two days ago she was marching down the corridor of a very different palace, eager to be on time for the meeting with Crown Princess Nafizah despite the quite literal last minute notice, and not knowing yet that she was about to hear details of this so-called diplomatic mission.

Back then it sounded straightforward enough. Prakra couldn’t ignore the news of Count Lucio's tragic death, not least because that meant Princess Nadia, the youngest daughter of the Prakran royal family, was left widowed and with the daunting task of handling the red plague epidemic in Vesuvia all on her own. Any ruler could do with an extra pair of hands and any country could benefit from the alliance with Prakra, especially in times of crisis like this. And it would have stayed straightforward if only the discovery of Countess Nadia’s mysterious illness and the unexpected, unreasonable, outrageous hostility of Vesuvian court did not bring this crisis to the whole new, now personal, level.

In theory, Ev did not have to deal with any of that. She could use the excuse that it was only appropriate to deliver such unsettling news about Nadia in person, go back and forget everything that happened in this palace like one of those unpleasantly bizarre dreams you get after a night of drinking. But Vesuvia was still the city Prakra cared about, Nadia’s city, and as far as Ev knew none of the people who came to be in charge of it were appointed by her. Prakran diplomatic presence was perhaps the only way to look after Nadia’s interests until she woke up. Even if Ev had no actual power over the court, returning to Prakra without accomplishing at least something felt like a failure, and failure has never been an option for Ev. With that in mind, she pressed the seal with enough force to imprint Prakran royal crest on the desk and not just on the drop of red wax marking the envelope, and stayed.

Now, after a month of living in the city, she has learned to see that there is more to her new role than just misfortunes. Her relocation allowance is generous, her new place is nicer than what she had in Prakra and she is getting rather used to the convenience of the wine shop next door. Even if parts of it are foreign and unwelcoming, Ev feels at ease in Vesuvia. The tension in her body relaxes, and she thinks maybe this palace can eventually get used to her too, but the thought faints away as soon as she sees the salon door. Ev presses a pile of papers closer to her chest and tells herself that she can think about everything else another time - the court meeting is about to start.

She pushes the door open but immediately freezes on the spot stricken by the gagging wave of nausea - nails dirty with soil and blood, sickly sweet buttercream pastries and rustle of feathers covered in mud. It is no more than a faint impression but even through the fogged mind Ev recognises the feeling - it is vestige, the afterimage of magic. She has felt it before, many times and in many different forms but never has it made her feel physically sick. What is even more unusual is that such a revolting sensation is coming from the palace quarters. One would expect tingles of bubbles from the charmed fountains of never ending sparkling wine or at least the impression of whispers, premium tea, treacle and bitter ambition from the walls which have been magically given ears, and not... whatever this is. Ev draws a deep breath, pushing down into her diaphragm and looks around the room. The salon is not set up for the court meeting, instead there is a tray of food and stacks of empty plates towering on almost every flat surface. Her eyes stop on greasy remains looking terribly out of place on the delicate porcelain plate and she unconsciously covers her mouth. Maybe she is mistaken after all - it is the strange smell of food and not some kind of creepy magic, and, more importantly, maybe this is not the salon she was looking for.

Before Ev gets a chance to mentally blame the chamberlain for giving her the wrong directions, a tiny figure appears from behind the chair. The white cornette is instantly recognisable and Ev is about to ask procurator Volta whether she is here for the court meeting too when she sees that behind the commotion of dark robes Volta is frantically trying to push the whole roast rack of lamb down her mouth. Dear gods. Somewhat unsurprisingly, one of the bones appears to be stuck. Clearly having not expected to have an audience, the procurator widens her eyes at Ev in a mixture of terror and shame. Unable to speak, after a few incoherent squeaks, she throws her tiny hands in the air helplessly, spattering herself with gravy and gestures to the open French doors leading to the balcony. Without giving it too much thought, Ev gives Volta a quick nod and takes an opportunity to escape the awkwardness of the scene.

Wrapped in the soft shade of the balcony, consul Valerius is casually leaning back in the chair, with the usual glass of wine in his hand. Even before she reaches the doors, Ev sets her eyes on his face. The consul is looking away, his face carved and unmovable, the tight knot of dark eyebrows making him look ireful and disgruntled, like one of those statues of stern gods she saw growing up in Zadith. Her next step lands much quieter and then, there steps in, Ev stops and stands very still wondering what thoughts could possibly bring this storm to Valerius’s face. Sun would suit him much more, she thinks, her eyes curiously trailing down the golden glints of his hair.

A loud snort catches Ev off guard and she realises that Valerius is now facing her, looking considerably more displeased than before, no doubt because of her. That’s more like it. How could she forget that this man is the very cause of her problems.

“Could I please have some of your time, consul?” she asks, heading straight towards him. Greetings seem excessive, they didn’t necessarily part on friendly terms last time.

“I didn't expect to see you here again.”

Ev allows herself a smirk. “I know.” I am not here to do what you expect from me. She stops inches away from his chair looking down at him, apparently enjoying the close proximity which, considering their formal relationship and the consul’s well known bad temper, could be regarded as both highly inappropriate and potentially reckless. But Valerius only turns away, more interested in his drink than in her.

“I have been studying the treasury records,” she continues, searching his face for any kind of reaction. His lips curl up in a sneer as he takes a sip of wine, but his eyes are still firmly fixed on the horizon. Ev follows his gaze expecting to see some radical change to the surrounding landscape, but there is only faint outline of the city roofs behind the lush green of the palace's vast grounds, - no columns of smoke, no ominous looking storm clouds gathering in the distance, nothing that could possibly be more interesting than her. Whatever. “Your tax system - ,” she hands Valerius neatly arranged papers, which he completely ignores,“- it is not working.”

“Vesuvian tax system remained largely unchanged for the last two generations, this is how these matters are handled traditionally,” says Valerius, once again denying Ev courtesy of eye contact.

Ev’s mouth twists at the sound of the last words. Too worried the conservative mindset might be contagious, she quickly withdraws her hand and takes a step back.

“I trust you understand that sometimes one should focus on what works, and not what is traditional,” she says, doing her best to disguise the growing irritation. “You don’t attract nearly as much foreign trade as you used to.”

What comes next is a very profound, uncomfortable silence. Ev sighs.

“Consul, you had plague in the city, people died,” her voice is louder now, “lots of people died”, and the irritation is obvious. “And Vesuvia cannot exist without its people. Somebody needs to bring food from the farmlands, make clothes, teach children, attend to the sick. Yes, in the past you could always import whatever you did not have but now people are scared to come because of the plague. You -”, she pauses in anticipation noticing Valerius shifting in his seat, but he only reaches for the bottle to top up his glass, “- you need to do something to make it attractive for them again. Lower the customs, lift the taxes for people whose skills you need, sell empty real estate cheap. There is plenty all around the city!”

Deep down Ev knows that none of these is going to work long term, but she doesn't care - she wants to do something and she wants to do it now.

Yet, nothing changes. She is still standing there, and he is still looking away. Ev would prefer him to disagree, start arguing with her - anything really, as long as it breaks this silence.

“Fine! If you don’t feel like changing this traditional system of yours, even temporarily, at least fix your mistakes.” Ev starts chaotically flipping through the papers searching for the one she needs, which would be a much easier task, if she was less flurried and if Valerius offered her a seat. She wonders whether he is now watching her, sneering at her struggle. “Your approved accounts, here,” this time she brusquely puts the paper in front of Valerius’s face blocking his view, “your numbers do not even add up! ”

For a split second she sees something on his face - a twitch, a flick of rage, and thinks that she has gone too far. But his question comes out in a calm, almost disinterested tone: “What makes you think that somebody like you is even qualified to check the city’s budget approved by the esteemed procurator Volta?”

A moment passes before Ev is able to break from staring at Valerius in disbelief. She glances to the salon where, judging by the sound, Volta has freed her mouth only to move to the next dish. Seriously? Perhaps she should be impressed that he managed to say it with the straight face.

And then there is a chilling sensation at the pit of Ev’s stomach. She asks herself what is going on here? What is this city under the reign of a person who questions everything and everyone except the obvious mistake in the accounts? And what is she - ? Angry, she reminds herself, is what she is, and throws a look at Valerius, who is taking another sip from his glass as in triumph. You don’t need to be qualified, you just need to have common sense. And you, Valerius, either don’t have it or you were not even bothered to look at what your court approves.

She pictures him lazily drinking wine, legs on the desk, his shirt unbuttoned, while completely ignoring his state duties. The image is irritating and yet not entirely unpleasant.

“We both know that I come from a family of alchemists and merchants. Trust me, I know how to count,” she says with a smile. It sounded right in her head, a ridiculous answer to the ridiculous question.

“I thought that during our last meeting you said that you had nothing to do with your witchcraft family.” A perfectly raised eyebrow, and that infuriating smirk.

Ev opens her mouth in protest but gives up quickly. Those were her exact words after all, save for the witchcraft part.

She begins to pace around the balcony avoiding looking at Valerius as much as possible. The consul clearly has a way of getting on her nerves, and she needs all her concentration if she wants to explain what exactly will happen to this goddamn city if they carry on with this approved budget.

“Think about the consequences for the people if this mistake is not corrected!” she shouts, her voice much louder than she would like it to be, and quickly turns to Valerius expecting a blowback. But the pale eyes are looking down, studying something on the floor, or on the edge of the fabric of her long sleeve, she really can’t tell. Oh gods, he is not even paying attention.

***

Valerius has firmly decided that he is not going to pay any attention.

The time of plague was exhausting: the palace suddenly full of people of all kinds and intentions promising to find a cure, pleas for help on the streets which he could not escape even behind the doors of the most expensive carriages, the count who was growing more desperate everyday and the white smoke of the Lazaret carried by the sea breeze towards the city, the memory of which still haunts him. And now there is the Satrinavas’ new pet here having an audacity to talk about his city’s problems - the problems which, out of all people, he should know the most about, he is the consul after all, and a Vesuvian.

Vesuvia he inherited is haggard and sad, and on top of that an enormous responsibility. The last thing he needs is a stranger questioning his authority, as if the incompetent court and the city demanding their beloved countess back have not been tiresome enough. Valerius lets out a short, barely audible sigh. He just wants this farce to be over so he can go back to thinking.

But the witch is not planning to stop, if anything she seems to be enjoying it. Look at her. Absorbed by herself and her ludicrous ideas, she is loud and talks too much with her hands. Her dress keeps slipping down the shoulder draping around the soft curve of a half barred breast every time she does one of these unnecessary, overconfident gestures. Valerius has absolutely no idea whether this is deliberate or she is simply unaware of the indecency which keeps drawing his eyes.

He tries to distract himself by taking a drink of wine only to discover that his glass, just like the air around him, is full of this loud perfume of hers. Harsh cinnamon, incense and patchouli, very much alike their owner, have no concept of the personal space ruining the perfect balance of his red. The wine is not helping. He catches himself looking at the shoulder again. In fact, absolutely useless. He sets his unfinished glass aside on the small table. Valerius has had enough.

***

“Enough!” Valerius shouts. His voice is suddenly deep and rather forceful and Ev hates that it has the desired effect on her. She stops and looks at him. “You were not invited to the court meeting.” The consul’s face looks awfully angry now.

Ev narrows her eyes. “And what exactly are you doing at your court meeting?”

“That should not be a concern of the Prakran subject”, Valerius says, his words dripping with poison, “or whoever you are.”

“I am a diplomatic emissary -,” she does not get a chance to finish.

“Leave!”

Ev wants to scream and protest, but even she knows better than to yell at somebody who outranked her. She draws a breath. One, two, three. All right.

“I only came to give you the papers”, she says coldly, her eyes still locked on his, and leans forward to place the documents on the table. “But I am taking this away, one should work without the distraction of wine.”

With these words Ev snatches the glass from the table, turns away and heads toward the exit as fast as she can without breaking into running. She does not want to look like she is scared that Valerius will grab her by the arm. If anything she is slightly disappointed that he doesn’t.

“My regards to the court,” she raises her hand and waves the glass in the air without looking back. Behind her there is a sound of paper being torn apart.

***

Ev only slows down when she reaches the main staircase.

Suddenly feeling very tired, she leans against the handrail. Again, what is she doing here? Why did she need to turn up in person when she could send a letter? Ev closes her eyes and rubs her fingers together as if feeling for answers in the whorls of her own skin, and remembers about the glass in her hand. Another bad decision. It would have been wiser to take the bottle.

She raises the glass to her lips and breathes in the wine. It’s pleasant. Perhaps she would prefer its company to the boring palace affairs too. Ev twists the glass in her hand, eying the smooth rim before drawing one long sip. It leaves a blush mark of her lips firmly planted on the surface which she studies for a few seconds. “You better be as angry as I am now”, she says to the dark liquid at the bottom of the glass.

#no i didnt read the whole thing myself #the arcana #consul valerius #the arcana fic #the arcana fanfic #evpanopolis #valerius x mc #ev x valerius

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alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer · 4 years ago

Text

on the topic of alastair apologizing... let's talk about the Academy. idk, here's my two cents.

EDIT: thank you to @alastairxcarstairs for pointing out that Alastair's hair was natural at the academy, not bleached. I have made a few edits in red! I don't think it changes the idea of my post too much, but it does raise some complications as something that we know has affected alastair deeply (vs a comment about his father & clive which were things he was already feeling and whose traumas to not lie in a comment made) and I think honestly might be one of the only ways for a reconciliation between the two of them, to recognize that they both used shitty ways that the world works against them to hurt each other deeply, and that wasn't right. (also can the two queer "icons" learn to not be racist please & thank)

this got... ridiculously long. I'm sorry. feel free to disagree with anything I've said, it's just my conclusions from what I've read an my own experiences. theres a lot of discussion of bullying, death, and alcoholism.

alastair really didn't say much to or about kit and thomas (except the rumor, which I'll get to in a second) at all. he called thomas names, but it wasn't something that ever really bothered thomas and I think that's probably because alastair never said them with malicious intent.

he said a lot of shit to and about james and his family, none of which james deserved. that's something he needs to atone for.

most of his bullying (except the rumor) with matthew was reciprocated. they both talked shit to and about each other. it doesn't cancel each other out in a way that means it never happened, but its not really something anyone has to atone for imo, just more of a "we both treated each other like shit and that was stupid, let's move on from it and not do it anymore."

the vetis demon... it was a prank. a cruel, scary, idiotic prank. it wasn't alastair's idea, but he went along with it and he helped. obviously it was something very distressing to james and matthew, but they're both fine. I'm not saying alastair should get a pass for it, but clive literally died. they were 14/15 and as someone who lost a classmate at that age, there's a weird sort of guilt about it, even when you had nothing to do with their death. alastair learned the consequences of his actions the hardest way possible, and I don't think people recognize that enough. we don't know much about clive at all. he acted like an asshole, sure, and he was definitely naive and arrogant (a vetis demon???) but we don't know how he treated alastair. was he kind to him behind closed doors? was he always cruel? did he bully alastair? we don't know. regardless, I'm positive that alastair has a lot of complicated feelings about it, and a fuck ton of guilt. because HE can be a better person. HE can apologize and move forward and travel the world and fall in love and get his heart broken and do all of the things that people do after they finish school, and clive never will. alastair learned his lesson, and james and matthew can be reasonably certain that he'd never try anything like that ever again. while he could certainly still apologize for it, I think thats something they can assume at this point without him saying it.

the second one was deliberate, matthew knew that alastair had already told him it was Clive's idea, but he WANTED to get until alastair's skin. he WANTED to make alastair hurt more. he was a child (they both were), and he was upset, and he wanted to make alastair hurt. and he did. alastair snapped.

and, finally, the rumor. the first thing to recognize is that alastair was in a bad place when he said that. he said that because he was in a bad place. all of those^ complicated feelings had just started (clive had literally just died) and to make matters worse, everyone's fathers had rushed to the Academy in wake of the incident except for Elias (thomas pointed this out). then matthew showed up. he started out by calling alastair names, fine, typical. then he said "Has no kind soul thought to inform you that your hairstyle is, to use the gentlest words available to me, ill-advised?..." strike one "...A friend? Your papa?" strike two. then he said "Though I cannot help but wonder whose idea their nasty little trick was" even though Alastair had already explained that it was Clive's idea and why, strike three.

the first one was just racist. maybe he didn't mean it to be, but we know that alastair was self conscious about his hair because of how dark his features are and how alienated he feels as a non-white boy.

the second one was an unfortunate coincidence imo. matthew had no idea what alastair was going through at home or that he was particularly upset about Elias that day because he'd been forced to watch all of the other boys with their fathers.

in matthew's eyes, what he said there SHOULD have been just another throwaway insult, but he was blinded by his privilege as a white boy with loving parents, and anyone who knows alastair's situation can see that it anything other than just a throwaway comment.

I'm explaining all of this not to excuse what alastair did but show how the rumor scene was atypical from his usual bullying. we haven't SEEN enough on paper to make that observation, but we can infer from all of this that that was not how alastair normally behaved. that was how alastair behaved when he was pushed over the edge, that's it.

while he said awful things about Thomas and his parents and Matthew's parents, he was never trying to hurt them, it likely didn't even cross his mind. he didn't start that rumor, and I doubt he even ever actually spread it. there's no evidence that he would be someone to spread rumors like that (something very speculative and secretive, vs something obvious and well-known like what he said about tessa), especially given the rumors around his own family. he only repeated it to matthew because he was pushed out of his limits. it's most likely that he heard the rumor, ignored it, and the ONLY time he has ever spoken it was to matthew that day.

he said it to hurt matthew. that was his only goal. that was his only motivation. he wanted to make matthew HURT. and he did. he really, really did. I think he could see it as soon as he said it. CC has said that he regretted what he said as soon as he said it. he hurt matthew in ways that can never be undone, and I think he knew that as soon as he said it because he has been hurt that way, too.

so, no, I don't think alastair actually owes thomas or sophie or gideon or charlotte or henry an apology for what he said beyond "I caused this person you love very much irreparable harm" because while he said awful things about them, he never did anything to actually hurt them (beyond hurt matthew).

to say that alastair owes matthew an apology... feels a little cheap to me. I don't think alastair will ever genuinely apologize to matthew solely because he doesn't think that what he's done could ever be forgiven. even if he were to become a fucking saint, even if he became the nicest, kindest, most giving man on earth, there is nothing he can say or do that can undo the pain he's caused.

what happened to charlotte and her baby is NOT alastair's fault, nor is matthew's alcoholism (because we could play the blame game all day then - because if it weren't for Elias would alastair have been pushed past his limits? is it his fault? if his alcoholism is because of his brother's death, was all of this just Yanluo's fault in actuality? but that was all in revenge for Wen Yu exterminating a nest of demons, so maybe it's her fault, then? it would never end, and that's not even TOUCHING mother hawthorn's involvement). matthew MUST be responsible for his own actions and choices.

but alastair caused a harm to matthew's psyche that can NEVER be erased. he will carry until the day he dies. alastair may have not intended to hurt him in such a profound was, but he did, and he knows it. he crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed.

this doesn't mean that alastair can't be redeemed or that he can't be a good brother-in-law to james and a good partner to thomas or a good person in general or even that him and matthew can't move past it and learn to tolerate each other. but in his eyes and matthew's, forgiveness is too weak of a concept for what he has done, and I doubt he will even ask for it.

#i say this all with the most love in my heart #alastair fucked up #alastair carstairs #matthew fairchild #thomas lightwood #james herondale #the last hours #tlh #cw bullying #cw alcoholism #cw death

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dayurno · 4 years ago

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@andrewsrabies and i had a very productive conversation on the kandreil server about catholic au kandreil so here it is the result of my moral obligation to write it as an ex catholic school student

no tws this is just gay as hell. i also might crosspost it on ao3 at some point. so who knows. please be aware this is definitely a little bit blasphemic

the father.

“You will never have him.”

Neil smirks. “Are you talking from your own experience?”

The roof is too windy, too dark — Neil, with his back to Andrew and draped over the ledge, knows just one push would be enough. He doubts he’d ever resist the fall: Palmetto Academy is too lofty of a building to match its even loftier saints.

Yet Andrew does not dare to approach the ledge, and Neil does not turn around to see him. There is no reason to, when both know what they are here for — “He is better than you,” Andrew tonelessly points out, the edge of irritation making something red and ripe unfurl inside Neil, “in every conceivable way.”

“One thing we have in common,” Neil observes, crushing his cigarette against the ledge. “You do not strike me as worthy of Kevin Day, either.” He pauses, then lets his smirk widen. “Not that it stops you, of course. He is the best thing you want. The only, too.”

A heartbeat. Two. Neil would never survive the fall — as he would never survive Kevin. Some choices are easy to make with your head on the line.

“Are you a believer?” Andrew asks, at last, his voice ghosting over Neil’s back. It drips and overflows, patiently waiting to sink Neil beneath the waves, every turn of his tongue vicious.

How can a tongue so cruel be used to kiss someone so good, Neil wonders. Surely Kevin had a taste for poison.

“Oh, am I?” Neil muses, turning ever so slightly. He does not find Andrew — doubted that he would. Andrew is as much of a nothing as Neil is. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

“You will not have him.”

“Why?” he hums. “You won’t let me?”

“I find it useless to repeat myself.”

Neil taps against his wrist watch. “You should know better than to think that that has ever stopped Kevin before.”

“Define that,” Andrew lazily prompts. A challenge.

“Me, being worthless. Another thing the two of us have in common.”

“We,” he viciously hums, “are nothing alike.”

“No,” Neil agrees. A lie, not his first and definitely not his last. “You hate me and I hate you. Let’s see who hates best.”

Andrew’s gaze burns against Neil’s nape. “I do not hate you more than I want Kevin.”

“How sweet of you.”

For one, Neil wants Andrew to be proved wrong: in some twisted way of his, he wants Andrew to hate him as much — or perhaps even more — than he wants Kevin, if only to solidify Neil as a permanent presence in their not-relationship. Hatred, he thinks, is just another form of obsession; almost as intense as desire, but not as contagious.

One thing was true, though: Neil would not leave Palmetto without having felt Kevin Day’s mouth pressing against his, sweet and young and oh so ill-advised. If that meant having to push through the taste of Andrew’s sour tongue, so be it. The sweetness of Kevin was worth it.

Neil taps against his wrist watch again, not bothering to look back at Andrew as he says, “Tick tock, your detention is about to start. I believe you have some daily worshipping to do.”

“Daily worshipping,” Andrew scoffs, but, Neil notices, does not disagree. “Is that what you call it when you imagine it in your head?”

“Oh?” Neil drags out. “How Christian of you to think I have to imagine.”

He cannot see Andrew through the ever-thickening fog of tension surrounding them, but Neil knows the twitch of his eyebrow well enough to build a picture in his head. “You will not have him,” he repeats. His voice is far away now — so ready to leave, Neil muses. For all of Andrew’s so called toughness, Kevin’s mouth must keep him on a tight leash. “Even you, stupid as you are, would know not to touch what is mine.”

Neil turns to look at him, catching only a glimpse of Andrew’s pale hair under the dim lighting of the staircase that leads to the rooftop. He hovers by the doorway — waiting for Neil’s next move. Calculating, even; math Neil barely knows the numbers to. “I will make you no promises we both know I will not keep,” is what Neil hums back, dragging out his words like cheap perfume across a hotel room. “I can touch anything, and Kevin doesn’t seem too opposed to it. Kind God of yours, right? Always thinking of those who have less.”

Andrew does not reply. He slams the door behind him, and Neil is once again alone on the roof.

He lights another cigarette.

Smiles.

Lets it burn.

Rinse and repeat.

the son.

“And then you— Andrew, you’re not listening to me,” Kevin sighs, his upper lip curling into a soft frown under the egg-yellow lights of the detention office.

I believe you have some daily worshipping to do. Andrew Minyard hates everything about Neil Josten, from the sharp tip of his tongue to the dim freckles on his cheeks, but for once he is right — when was the last time Andrew had fulfilled his worshipping duties? Was it last night’s mass, or this morning’s confession?

Either way: it has been too long. A good Christian is always ready to do better, and Andrew has never been one to slack off on divine duty.

“No,” Andrew agrees, because he does not lie to Kevin. Leaning against the edge of the teacher’s table and looking all high and mighty with his primly tucked dress shirt, Kevin looks as if he knows he’s worth gold, or at least as if he needs a reminder. “I am not.”

Kevin’s dark eyebrows furrow. “What has gotten you so distracted that you can’t even listen to me?”

Foolish, foolish man that Kevin is, to think that Andrew has ever thought of anything but him. “You,” he replies, blunt and toneless. “Pretty mouth of yours. I couldn’t hear a thing.”

“Andrew,” Kevin warns, dropping the hands he had just been using to gesticulate.

“Yes?”

“What are you trying to do?”

Andrew feels the corners of his mouth twitching. “Why, complimenting what is mine. I do it all the time.”

Kevin’s mouth closes, cheeks blushing a ripe red. He is too far away for Andrew’s liking, but preamble is Andrew’s only game, and the view is rather pleasant from his spot at the second row of seats. “You,” he slowly says, raking a hand through his hair, “are too much.”

Andrew motions dismissively, leaning back on his chair to take in all of Kevin’s image. “Kevin and his unwavering self-restraint. So good, hm? I like you best when you give up control.”

“You do not like me.”

“Oh,” Andrew muses, smile sharpening, “I like you.”

It makes Kevin roll his eyes, the reply, but it’s quite fond. “I told you that if you want a kiss, you just have to ask for it.”

He hums in acknowledgement, but changes the subject, “Does your God forgive you for what we do?”

“She knows I’m good,” Kevin replies, all warm smiles and deep dimples. “She’ll forgive me.”

Too good, Andrew thinks — too good to have anything to do with someone like him. And yet. “Come here, then,” Andrew beckons, motioning him forward. “Give Her something to forgive you for.”

Kevin’s answer is a huffed out laugh, but he complies: Andrew watches in barely-concealed anticipation as he slides through the first row easily, stopping near Andrew’s seat and gracefully leaning against his desk, keeping some respectful distance between them. “I thought I said come here,” Andrew remarks, resting both of his hands on Kevin’s knees.

Mine, he thinks. And fuck Neil Josten for expecting anything else.

“Lead the way,” is what Kevin says, offering his hands for Andrew to do with them what he wills.

He does. He tugs on Kevin’s hands to bring him into his lap, to which Kevin easily complies, crossing his hands behind Andrew’s nape and offering him a curious look. “You’re angry about something,” Kevin quietly points out, tipping his head to the side.

Andrew’s hands fly to rest over his thighs. “Ran into your friend at the roof just now.”

Kevin mulls that over on his head for a little before guessing, “Neil?”

“Mhm,” Andrew replies, “the very one.”

It doesn’t fluster Kevin — Andrew hadn’t it expected it to —, but it does prompt a pensive look in his eyes. “I suppose it makes sense that you don’t get along. You’re too alike.”

Andrew brushes his lips against Kevin’s, reaching a hand to lightly tug against his tie. “The only thing we have in common,” he says, “is that we both want you.”

Kevin doesn’t look surprised by the new piece of information, but leans in to thoughtfully nibble on Andrew’s lower lip. “Yes,” Kevin agrees, as if he knows the extent of both their devotions — as if he’s not surprised at all by the enormity of their desire. “You do.”

“And you like it,” Andrew points out.

He is silent for a small while, a warm weight on Andrew’s lap. “He asked me for one kiss,” is what Kevin chooses to eventually say, “and one kiss only. Before he gets expelled.”

“And you love a lost cause.” Andrew tucks a strand of hair behind Kevin’s ear. “Will he get his kiss?”

“I won’t let him get expelled,” Kevin answers, nuzzling against Andrew’s palm as painstakingly eager as always. “I’ll strike a deal if needed. He has potential.”

“To what?” he wondered aloud. “He is nothing.”

Kevin frowns. “No one is nothing. Everyone is worth something.”

“Savior complex,” Andrew teases, fitting his palm against Kevin’s jaw and bringing him down. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“One kiss can’t hurt,” he says. Not an answer as much as it is a thought.

Andrew hums, fitting their noses together. “But do you want him?” he asks, brushing his mouth against Kevin’s. “Or do you just like that he wants you?”

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

“No.”

“Hm,” Kevin says, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

Then leans in.

Andrew forgets what he was talking about.

the holy ghost.

“Have you thought about my offer yet?” Neil asks, perched on top of a bench as he stares over at Kevin, the early morning light brushing through his auburn hair. Palmetto’s garden is paler than it has ever been at Autumn’s peak, but Kevin loves the season — finding Neil on his morning was just a bonus.

Kevin stretches his arms out lazily, feeling Neil’s eyes follow his every movement, before replying, “What can I give you to make you stay?”

Neil smiles, tight-lipped. “I don’t stay, Kevin.”

“Well,” Kevin draws out, supporting himself against the bench Neil is perched on to stretch his right leg. “Then I suppose you don’t want that kiss like you say you do.”

“Oh,” Neil’s smile melts into a lazy smirk, the dark bags under his eyes competing against the brightly lit end of his cigarette. “Oh, you don’t know how bad I want it.”

“Prove it,” is Kevin’s easy reply, his rosary dripping down his chest as he moves to stretch his other leg, Neil’s eyes boring holes through the exposed skin. “Put some effort into staying. Don’t let yourself get expelled.”

Neil mulls it over in his head for a moment, but Kevin is in no rush — this early in the morning they are the only people awake on campus, which means there is no danger of interruption that is not divine.

Good Lord, Kevin quietly thinks to himself, all of my life I have been good. Let me have this.

At last, Neil prompts, “You sure think highly of yourself to believe that one kiss is enough to make a man stay. Aren’t your people supposed to be humble?”

“I’m God-fearing,” Kevin corrects, “not stupid. I see how you look at me.”

“We all have our gods,” Neil hums, turning around to straddle the back of the bench and stare straight into Kevin’s front. “I’m just wondering what I have to do to keep the Goddess on my side.”

“Which Goddess?”

Neil smiles. “You.”

“Stay,” Kevin replies, “and I will be close enough for you to get tired of me.”

“Oh, I don’t reckon I will.”

“Can’t know if you never try.” Kevin bends to stretch his left leg one more time before pulling himself up, now face to face with Neil. “And you still haven’t disagreed with me, so I’m guessing a kiss is enough to make you stay, after all.”

“Hm,” Neil hums, thoughtful, without ever taking his eyes off of Kevin’s face. “It might just be circumstance. You should burn those shorts of yours before the fire of Hell does.”

Kevin tips his head to the side in challenge. “But Andrew likes them so much.”

“I’m sure that he does.” He breathes into the smoke of his cigarette one last time before killing the flame against the bench. At last, Neil concedes, “Keep my interest, Kevin Day, and I’ll stay.”

“You’re interested aplenty already,” Kevin observes as Neil’s eyes dart downwards. “So much so I might have to schedule a session at the confessionary for you.”

Neil swipes his tongue over his teeth like a snake licking venom out of its own fangs. “Why wait? I’ll confess to you now all of my thoughts.”

“I recognize I’m a creature of the divine, Neil, but I’m not fit to be a priest.”

“Of course not,” Neil solemnly agrees. “What would be of that Andrew of yours, if you were?”

Kevin presses his lips together, the memory of Andrew’s bed still fresh against his skin. “He’d be just like you,” is what Kevin limits himself to replying. “Just waiting to get expelled.”

Neil’s mouth spreads in a smile that’s a bit more genuine, not snarky or coy as it usually is, and Kevin offers him a curious glance. “Ah, so the rumors are true: you did straighten him up. Was one kiss enough, I wonder, or was Andrew more expensive to keep?”

“He knew what he would lose if he got expelled,” Kevin replies, “and he made his choice.”

“So you say,” Neil hums. He pushes himself closer to Kevin almost lazily, using his hands to keep himself up at the same time as Kevin leans an elbow against the back of the bench to stare up at Neil, meeting him halfway. “The Catholic church owes you so many converts. You are a Saint among men.”

“It is the men that I often convert,” he chooses to say. “They are easier to lure in.”

Neil chuckles under his breath. “I think Andrew and I are just weaker than the majority,” he observes, then pulls away to light another cigarette. “Go have your run. Burn those shorts when you’re done with it.”

Kevin rolls his eyes, but does what he’s told.

Not the shorts, though — those stayed in his closet.

#kandreil #aftg #aftgfic #kevin day #andrew minyard #neil josten #andreil #kevineil #kandrew #i had a vision. i had Thoughts. i had them #god this is so gay. im literally religious #anyways. anyways #that catholic guilt hitting DIFFERENT different #my writing

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justoneday-namjoonii · 4 years ago

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forgive me

anon request: “I really love the way you write angsty stuff so if u want, can u write a scene where jungkook is like involved in illegal stuff like drugs or maybe he's a hitman, Y/N and Jungkook have a conflict about that because she's not happy with what he does, he gets hurt a lot but he enjoys his job and doesn't wanna give it up cuz he loves the thrill. It can be an emotional scene where Y/N tells him that she's afraid of losing him because of what he does. Honestly come up with anything, I don't mind 😂”

prompt: Jungkook is a druglord, you’re a waitress at a shabby burger place. He loves what he does and even though you try to ignore it, it scares you. You fear you’ll lose him if he doesn’t quit and he’s all you have. Your so called family are full of lies and if it wasn’t for Jungkook, you don’t know where you’d be. You wonder every night if the sirens you hear are for him—you pray it’s not for him. Secretly, he feels the same about you.

pairing: Jungkook x reader

genre: angst, drabble, mental health issues, mentions of murder, mature subject matter

author’s note: For the anon who requested this, this is for you! I hope you enjoy~ did i watch Truth be Told and decide to make the OC a twin? yes, yes i did

When you opened your eyes, you started to feel around for your cellphone. When you couldn't feel for it, you rolled over and yawned, it's probably under the bed. That's where its gonna stay too. As soon as you got home from work, you fell face-first into your bed and taking a shower was the last thing on your mind. But now you're feeling the stale department store smell on your clothes. It takes about two minutes for you to roll out of bed and realize you that Jungkook should have been here by now. You grab your phone and see two missed calls and a text from 2 hours ago.

jungkook💖💫: im sorry ill be over a little later baby, something came up

jungkook💖💫: i miss you angel

You smile, he always misses you. And you miss him too, but you know he's probably out there in the slums of the city, doing what he does. How you lucked out with him, you have no idea. One night you were trying to call an Uber to get home from a birthday party at the club. It was around midnight and you had to work so you couldn't hang with the hardcore crowd. You went outside to call for a ride but you were being watched. Some guy kept catcalling, just outright harassing you. It was the scariest night of your life. You were telling him to leave you alone but he was drunk or high, either way, he wasn't all there. He snatched your phone. Just when you thought he was going to grab you, a black sports car, one you would have had to work two lifetimes to afford, stopped at the light. And before you know it, the man trying to get you is being dragged into the alley where he probably would have taken you. You remember being frozen, all you could hear was cursing and blunt force. The mystery man, whose car is still in the middle of the road, emerges from the dark corner between the buildings.

You were completely taken. The smile, the hair, the tattoos, and dangling earrings, paired with a striking gaze—he was an angel. He was so beautiful and he was just looking at you stand there with your mouth open.

"If there's one thing I hate, oh here you go," He hands you your phone and you get a nice look at his hand tattoo, "it's motherfuckers who can't leave women the fuck alone. Sorry you had to deal with that, but he won't be bothering you or anyone else after tonight, or use his hands again," He sighs, fixing his clothes a bit and wiping the blood from the corner of his lip, "are you okay?"

"Yeah, thank you," You slip the phone in your bomber jacket pockets, "not a lot of people would stop a stupid guy from bothering a girl they don't even know."

"Yeah, I'm Jungkook by the way," He introduces himself with a smile, situating his nice clothes, "do you- Um, did you need a ride? I'm not a creep I swear," He holds his hands up in surrender when you furrow your brows at the suggesting—great, now she thinks I'm a pervert.

"I didn't stop that guy as blackmail to get laid, I just-" He pauses to grapple for the right words, "I saw you just standing on the curb and I know it's not safe out here-"

"If it's not any trouble," You interrupt his rambling, "I live about 15 minutes away, I was gonna call a ride but if you don't mind, I'd appreciate it. My name is Y/n, by the way."

That night changed your life forever. It was the first time you had wanted to kiss a stranger, the first night you ever came close to a soulmate. He confesses to having seen you in the club, he was at the bar, refusing offers from every girl from the bartenders to cougars out on the town, at least that's what you always thought. In that little fifteen minutes, you got to know very little about him but you felt so comfortable sharing things about yourself when he asked. He dropped you off and said if you ever needed anything, to give him a call.

You never got to use the number because you ended up seeing him again. He showed up to your job, but he wasn't there for you, he was there for one of your money laundering and pill-popping associates. You were taking a break and for some reason, the break room was eerily empty. After you heard gunshots and the whole store went into chaos. You remember trying to leave and suddenly being swept away and into an outside electrical room apart of the building. You calmed down enough to realize that it was him but you were baffled.

"What're the odds that you would work at the same place as that bastard," He fiddles with the gun, tucking it to his side and flipping on the safety and pulling off his mask with a toothy grin, "do you remember me?"

"You?... Jungkook, how did you- Why are you-..." You make a small step back and swallow, scrambling to think of something to say. "Have you been following me like some creep?!"

"No! this is just a run-in by fate, I swear I didn't plan it. I'm not even supposed to still be here but I couldn't just leave, not without saying something to you."

"Okay...What do you want to say? I have to get back on the clock." You look him up and down, his all-black clothes and heavy boots intimidating but alluring in many ways.

"Wanna grab a coffee?"

For some reason, you said yes to the familiar stranger.

"Sure- I mean no! No, I can't Jungkook, I have to get back to work-"

"Trust me, just come with me," He extends his hand for you to take and smiles, "you won't regret it."

You took his hand and never looked back.

* * *

Nights like this.

When it's too early to ruin his life and too late to pretend like he wouldn't care. So when he shows up to the lounge to enforce an unpaid debt from a client, he leaves with bruised knuckles, two grand, and a rush of adrenaline. He went a little hard on the guy, but can you blame him? He messed up his plans. Tonight is date night, also known as 'crash at your place' night. It worked out though, you had to work late so he wouldn't be too tardy. Judging by the fact that you haven't answered your phone, you must be knocked out.

He slips his hand into his pocket and fumbles with his keys until he finds the one to your apartment. When he walks inside he hears the sink on and smiles to himself, you must've just woken up.

"Baby, it's me," He announces himself, "how was your day?"

"Fine," You step out in your work clothes, still trying to get your earrings out, "as fine as a day working for the devil could be."

"That bad?" You take note of the silk black shirt that's rolled up to his elbows, letting you see his beautiful sleeve of tattoos. When he comes dressed like this, and smelling like smoke you know he's been out into high-end clubs. The way some of the women look at him makes you feel small and a little self-conscious. But he always reassures you that you're who he wants, not some woman who sees him as an experimental one-night stand. When he tells you to meet him in the restroom because he needs to tell you something, you're reminded that you're all he wants.

"She screwed the schedule. My only day off was taken because her favorite, Kasey, has to go out of town."

He unbuttons the buttons on his shirt with deliberate fingers. "You walked out on a job for me before, remember that?" He smiles, letting his shirt fall from his shoulders like a dream. A bruise on his upper arm catches your attention but you don't say anything. "If you're not happy, just leave. I can take care of you, you can be my sugar baby."

"Yeah, my step-mom would love that, I could see it now," You cringe at the thought, "Hey, just a heads up, I'm not working or married but I have a sugar daddy who pays all my bills and lets me use his money for free, oh, he's also a drug lord. She'd really think highly of me then."

"Fuck Carol, she's a judgmental priss anyway," He comes up to you, hands finding your waist, "why do you care what she thinks about you?"

"I don't care what she thinks, but if she finds out she'll tell my dad and I don't want to hear it from him. If he pretends to not be disappointed by the lesser-twin one more time, I'll actually cuss him out...He's such a liar, he lied to my mom and he lies to me.”

"Quit saying that," Jungkook grabs you under your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist so he can sit on the edge of your bed, "you're not the lesser-twin, you're the cute and sexy twin." You sit back on his thighs and you both laugh at his attempt to lighten your mood.

"Well, I'm not a successful surgeon and I'm broke as hell, but at least my boyfriend thinks I'm cute." His hands find their way to the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, revealing a disappointing tank top.

"See, this is disappointing. Why are you wearing a tank top? It's a hundred degrees outside." He sighs, looking up at you like a pouting little kid.

"Because I want to," You grin, brushing his hair from his brows, revealing a scratch, "you're cut."

"Yeah, had a run-in with an old friend, we're obviously not friends anymore."

"You should take me with you on these deals and stuff, I'd make a great bodyguard for you," You joke, "if you showed me how to use a gun."

"You?" He giggles at the image of you secretly acting as a bodyguard, a dagger, and a gun in a garter under a skintight dress. "That's not a bad idea, they'd be too distracted looking at how fucking beautiful you are to see you as a threat."

"Yeah, I always saw as the Bonnie & Clyde type of couple," He leans up to kiss you and you smile through it before he pulls away, "eh, you need to shower, you smell like weed."

He furrows his brows, a snarky smile on his mouth. "And you smell like French fries, but I still kissed you.”

"Touche." You can't argue with that, the French fries smell gets to you too.

He picks you up, carrying you to the bathroom with a beaming smile.

"Let's shower then."

* * *

A deal went bad, he got grazed by a bullet and spent a few hours at the emergency room.

When he pulled in to the driveway and saw your car, he sighed in relief—he was hoping you'd come. After work, you had come by earlier to clear your head and take a breather from your cramped apartment and rowdy neighbors. Ever since his 'new position' he was put up in this huge mansion, equipped with a full staff. Luckily, they were off tonight so no need to keep quiet.

It's getting late and you've been trying to watch a baking show to stay awake but it was getting difficult. He hadn't called or answered any of your calls or texts. When you hear the garage door open, your heavy lids lift and you yawn, trying to wake up so you can tell him how your day has been.

He opens the door with a deep sigh and he's glad you can't see the thick white bandage on his upper arm and tired shadows under his eyes because of the dim lights. "Jungkook, it's so late..." You mumble, sitting up. "what took you so long?"

"Yeah, baby, I just had a mix up with someone who owed the group a lot of money, they, uh- They opened fire and we had a lot to clean up." He offhandedly mentions that and goes to the bathroom to change and you just wait for him.

The painkiller is wearing off but he manages to brush his teeth and slip into some sweats and a t-shirt. After flicking the light switch off, he falls into bed with a heavy exhale. Glad to finally have him close so you can tell him about your terrible day, you turn to hug him, and instantly a wince of pain leaves his mouth.

"Sorry," You giggled, thinking he was just kidding until you see the bandage on his arm, "Oh my gosh," You sit up, hand reaching for his bandage with concern in your brows, "what happened?"

"It's nothing baby, I was grazed by a bullet and had to go to the ER," He spares you a weak grin, hand rustling through his damp locks, "but it's nothing, I feel fine."

It's always nothing to him. You lean down and place a gentle kiss on his forehead, one he would normally place on you. Nights go by and you know he's out there risking his life, not thinking how devastated you would be if one night he doesn't come back.

He caresses the apple of your cheek, lips parting when sits up to try to kiss you, but you pull away.

"Hey, I've had a long day I just want to kiss you," He sits up now, "talk to me."

"Talk to yourself, I'm going to sleep."

"Where the fuck is this coming from?" He glares at you, tone firmer than before. "Y/n, cut the crap. What's the problem?"

"Jungkook, there's no problem I just worry about you."

"I don't mean to make you worry," He speaks softly, "but you know this is what I do, I can't stop now, even if I wanted to."

"I know," Sadly, "but you're all I have."

He tilts his head, a bit confused. "What happened?"

"My sister called when I got off of work. My dad isn't doing well, his liver is in terrible condition and he needs a transplant...He's on a wait-list now."

Knowing the severed relationship you have with your family, he treads lightly when requesting this. "Do you want to go see him?-"

"No!" You snap. "Why would I want to see him? This is what he gets for killing my mother."

"Y/n, you don't mean that..." Jungkook gets uncomfortable when you enter that head-space, you become ruthless in your words and your eyes glaze over with something he has yet to understand.

"Why not? It's true. He was cheating on her, that's why he never came home and she thought something was wrong. So drove out in the middle of the night during a storm and ended up crashing into a tree, because of him. My sister has always defended him, but I think it's because she didn't like mom either...The two of them may have cried at the funeral but I know them, they were glad she left us. That's why I need you, Jungkook, I don't have them or want them..."

"Y/n, you have to learn to forgive them for whatever you think they did, it's going to drive you insane if you don't...Fuck them, spend your energy on us, okay?"

"I'm already insane, I'm with you, aren't I? You come close to being killed every week, and it bothers me to think you might not come home...But I'll go through that if it means I get to have you, I love you, I only love you..." You lay your head on his shoulder.

He’s your angel.

You aren’t sure what you are to him.

#jungkook scenario #bts drabble #jungkook drabble #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #Bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #jungkook mafia #jungkook hitman #bts hitman au #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #this wasn't supposed to be a murder mystery but idk #i was getting unhinged vibes #like the oc #shes a little crazy

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starryknight09 · 4 years ago

Text

Friendly Fire

Febuwhump Day 4: impaling

Read on AO3.

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Peter dodged the drone that tried to ram into him and kicked it as it passed by. It fell to the ground in a clump of metal. These things terrorizing Manhattan weren’t hard to destroy but there were so many of them the sky practically looked black. It was the Avengers first mission since they’d defeated Thanos after Captain Marvel had snapped the gauntlet. It was too bad she’d disappeared back into space a few weeks ago because they could really use her right about now.

Peter swung closer to the main battle where most of the drones seemed to be amassed. He shot out a taser web along the way taking down another five drones that were crowded too close together.

“Nice shot kid.” Tony said as he flew by.

“Thanks Mr. Stark.” He grinned under the mask and shot out another web at a drone that had ventured too close. “Is it just me or does it seem like we’re not even making a dent in these guys?”

“According to FRIDAY we’ve taken out about ten percent of them.”

“Wonderful.” Clint complained over the comms. “So at the rate we’re going, we’ll have these things cleaned up by tomorrow morning.”

He wasn’t wrong. They’d been at it for almost an hour now and the sun was about to set.

“Anyone have any bright ideas?” Rhodey asked.

“We could really use Thor right about now.” Clint said.

“Yeah well point break’s off philandering with Quill and his merry men, so we’re going to have to make due.” Tony said.

“It’s too bad we can’t just EMP them.” Peter said, all his skills being tested as he dodged drones, webbing up as many as he could and striking any that got too close.

“We’d have to take out a significant portion of New York's power, and mine and Rhodey’s suits, for that to work, so let’s try to avoid that.” Tony sniped.

“Guess we’ll have to do this the hard way then.” Clint said. Peter briefly caught sight of the archer on the top of nearby rooftop as he swung past.

To be fair, there was a lot going on, so what happened next wasn’t completely Clint’s fault. Or Peter’s.

A handful of drones attacked him simultaneously, and they were too close to use his webs. He landed a hard hit on one, but when he did, he got too close to another one and his spidey sense flared as it shot its lasers at him. He yanked hard on his web to dodge out of the way and narrowly avoided getting hit, but the moment he moved his spidey sense wailed at him. Before he could figure out why, his leg jerked. What?

“Oh shit.” Clint swore and a second later the pain hit him. His leg felt like it was on fire. He looked down at it and it took a moment for his brain to process what his eyes were seeing. One of Clint’s arrows had speared through the fleshy part of his calf.

Oh. Ow. Ow ow ow. The shock and the pain of it had distracted him enough that he’d forgotten to throw another web out to stay in the air, so now he was falling on top of bleeding. He managed to focus and fire a web onto a building, just in time to slow his descent so he skimmed across the ground and landed on his good leg without hurting himself any further. He slowly crumpled to the concrete, staring at his skewered leg stretched out in front of him. Blood leaked out and stained the pavement. The sight made him dizzy. Luckily, none of the drones seemed to have followed him.

“Uh, anyone got eyes on the kid?” Clint asked over the comms. Peter knew he’d fallen out of the archer’s line of sight.

“Why?” Tony asked immediately, and Peter could sense his tension.

“He might’ve, sort of, just a little bit, gotten in the way of one of my arrows.”

“What? You shot him?” Tony yelled.

“It was an accident!”

“Where is he? Peter!”

Oh right. He could talk. “I know how a shish kabob feels now.” He groaned. “Can’t say I’d recommend it.”

“Where are you?” Tony asked, panicking. “Never mind. I see you.”

Ironman flew toward him and landed with a clang. The helmet retracted and Peter could see the man’s eyes widen as he took him in.

“It’s not that bad.” Peter tried to reassure him.

“Not that bad. We need to work on your definition of those words. You’ve been impaled.” Tony said, crouching down to get a closer look at his leg.

“It’s just a flesh wound.” Peter said and let out a hysterical laugh. He couldn’t help it.

“Not funny.” Tony had gotten touchy about him getting hurt ever since he’d come back from the snap.

“No but seriously, it’s just the fleshy part. I think if you just pull it out it’ll be fine.”

“Pull it—” Tony stopped and took a deep breath. “You never pull it out. If you ever get stabbed or skewered or whatever you leave it in. Capiche?”

Peter nodded.

“And you’re supposed to be a genius…” Tony muttered to himself and then the next moment the helmet of his armor formed back into place. “Try to hold still kid.”

Peter frowned. “I thought we weren’t taking it out.”

“I’m not.” Tony said and one of the fingers on his armor uncapped and Tony aimed it at the arrow. A focused laser shot out of the finger and sliced off one side of the arrow, near enough to his skin that Peter felt the heat, but it didn’t burn. Tony repeated the same process on the other side so now only about an inch of arrow shaft stuck out on each side of his calf. For just hitting his leg it sure was bleeding pretty profusely. The puddle of blood under his leg had been slowly expanding. Looking at it made him feel a little ill.

Tony seemed to notice the same thing in the next moment. “Let’s get you out of here kid.” Before Peter could protest, Tony had lifted him up in his arms and taken off.

“What about the fight?” Peter asked, starting to feel lightheaded. They’d barely been winning before and now they were losing Spiderman and Ironman.

“Don’t worry about it. They’ll be fine.” Tony answered, sounding distracted.

Peter wasn’t sure he believed him, but he didn’t have the energy to argue. He closed his eyes.

“Stay awake Pete.”

“I’m awake.” He responded, opening his eyes with a reluctant sigh.

The rest of the flight passed in a pain filled blur. By the time they made it to the compound he wasn’t feeling the greatest, but he was still awake, and he wasn’t crying or screaming in pain even though he kind of wanted to. Every jostle had sent sparks of agony up his leg. Who knew how much an arrow wound hurt? He had a new respect for Hawkeye and his primary weapon of choice. He never wanted to end up on the wrong end of an arrow again.

“How are you doing?” Tony asked as he deposited him on the waiting gurney on the roof. Peter gave him a weak thumbs up and the man gently pulled off his mask before they started wheeling him to the elevator.

“Don’t worry. I’m going to kill birdbrain.” Tony growled.

“Don’t.” Peter said with a wave of his hand. “It was an accident.”

“He should’ve known better than to be shooting those things so close to you.”

Peter knew it wasn’t worth arguing over. Tony was acting like an angry dad, and when he got like that, nothing Peter said would change his mind. They descended and as soon as the elevator doors opened, they pushed him into the medbay, Tony following alongside the bed. Dr. Cho was already waiting at the exact spot where they stopped and locked the bed.

“I saw the scans from FRIDAY.” Dr. Cho said, more to Tony than him, as the medical personnel started helping him out of the suit. “It should be an easy enough fix. We’ll put him under to take the arrow out and stitch up the artery and everything else, but he should be back to normal in a day or two with his healing ability.

Tony let out a relieved sigh.

“You should go back and help.” Peter suggested once he knew the injury wasn’t too severe, even though he didn’t really want Tony to leave his side. He winced as they finished carefully peeling the suit away from the arrow, guiding the ends through the holes in the suit, but unable to keep from jostling it slightly.

“I’m staying.” Tony said, adamant.

“But—”

“They’ll be fine. Trust me.”

Peter acquiesced with a sigh, hoping Tony was right. He tried to ignore the flutter of motion around him as the medical people worked, attaching an IV and all the necessary wires to him.

“Hey Mr. Stark?” Peter prompted and Tony purposely didn’t acknowledge him as he continued to stare at a monitor over Peter’s head. Peter sighed. Right. He tried again. “Hey Tony?”

“Yes?” The man looked down at him with a smirk. Peter rolled his eyes. Ever since the snap, Tony had been relentless about Peter calling him Tony instead of Mr. Stark, and Peter had been working on it, but it was a work in progress.

“When I wake up will you watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail with me?”

Tony shook his head in consternation. “You’re a menace kid.”

Peter grinned. “Is that a yes?”

“We’ll see.”

“It’s a yes.” Peter said confidently. “Because you love me.”

Tony’s eyes softened almost imperceptibly but Peter noticed it. “Sure do.” He confirmed, something Peter was pretty sure the pre-snap Tony never would’ve admitted, especially around other people, but this Tony was different. He was softer, gentler, more willing to share his emotions and show affection. Peter was still trying to adjust.

Tony ruffled his hair. “But don’t tell anyone I said so. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

Peter snorted. Ok, maybe he hadn’t completely changed.

#febuwhump2021 #febuwhump #irondad

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