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emeritusemeritus · 9 months ago

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You think you know someone. [Fred Weasley x Reader]

Title: You think you know someone.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Timeline: OOTP- canon and timelines altered for purposes of the story. Some bits have been exaggerated for artistic purposes. Based more on the films than the books. Reader joins DA but what if instead of Cho ratting them out, it’s you?

Summary: You had everything during your time at Hogwarts- good friends, Fred Weasley as your boyfriend and a promising future, until Dolores Umbridge turns up.

Warnings: This one turned out a little dark. Mentions of injury, torture, bullying, wounds, blood. Umbridge is a bitch. Snape is a bully. Use of unforgivable curses. Punishment. Kissing, pranks, swearing. Dumbledore’s Army and resistant forces. Brief mentions of Voldemort and probable war. Pet names: baby, sweetheart, princess. Not beta read. Happy ending I promise.

Word count: 9.3k (I feel like I’ve written a novel here)

This work is gifted to @kellyxo1 thanks to the wonderful request that I couldn’t turn down! I’m sorry it’s taken me a while to get this out but it’s been a complete labour of love and I hope you like it!💕

You knew Dolores Umbridge was trouble the moment you spotted her in the Great Hall, her gaudy pink outfit and matching pink cheeks made her stick out like a sore thumb amongst the classic, muted colour pallet you knew to be Hogwarts. Her smile unnerved you, the cold expression in her eyes never once matching the infallible twisted, sadistic smile that so often painted her face. Everything about her rang alarm bells in your mind.

Fred and George had been sitting either side of you at the banquet table in the Great Hall as she took centre stage and delivered her speech about being very good friends, as ominous and foreboding as it seemed.

"That's likely," the twins had mumbled, resting their heads on their hands, elbows on the table as a small act of rebellion against the airs and graces she clearly put on. You'd subconsciously scooted closer to Fred when she stood, reaching for his spare hand under the table that he'd offered you, sensing a little of your discomfort. Fred was always acutely aware of your emotions, able to read you like a book, you supposed it was a natural consequence of being together for so long.

You'd met on the first day of Hogwarts when you'd stepped into the train compartment he shared with George, locked eyes and the rest was history. You'd been dating since your second year, both of you unable to deny the childlike crushes and stolen glances of your attraction and as you grew up, you grew together. Now you were in your last year, with big plans ahead of Fred and George's business which you'd planned to help them with initially and bigger promises of moving in together in the flat above the shop. The natural progression of a happy relationship and an exciting prospect that kept you motivated to finish school on a high.

The atmosphere at Hogwarts was different this year: understandably tense and foreboding, not just because of Cedric's death and the rumoured return of Voldemort but of the disquiet around Harry's claims and the propagandistic reporting from the Daily Prophet refuting Harry's claims. It seemed everyone was divided into wether they believed Harry or if they believed what they were reading in the media. It was evident that the ministry had worked hard to deny and deflect Harry'a claims, disparaging and slandering him publicly. Of course the arrival of a certain Pink adorned dementor didn't help things, especially when she, as new defense against the dark arts teacher, did away with the old curriculum and removed any defensive, practical teaching in favour of simple theory- which would be of no use in real life situations, of which you were all undoubtedly facing. Then the educational decrees began where she was appointed Hogwarts' high inquisitor and sought to change anything she was as unsatisfactory, backed by the ministry, which seemed to propel the whole school further and further away from what it should be teaching and how it should be preparing it's students for what was inevitably happening.

"She can't do this! It's ridiculous, George is fuming, never mind Fred," you overheard Ginny say as you were about to take a seat for dinner but quickly stopped as you gave her a questioning look, not knowing what she meant, her eyes focusing in on your frozen form.

"What?"

"You haven't seen the new decree?" She asks curiously, placing down her fork onto the plate. You shook your head briefly before walking quickly out of the hall, dinner be damned to examine the wall of decrees, trying to fix your eyes onto the new plaque on the wall.

Educational Decree No. 30: All Weasley products will be banned immediately.

You rushed upstairs to the common room, split in two minds about wether they would be there or on the quidditch pitch, trying to expel their frustrations... until you remembered that broom flying had been outlawed unless part of a lesson or during Quidditch games, as few and far between as they were coming due to the constant cancelling.

When you found them in their dorm, George was pacing the room, kicking the wooden frame of his bed after every circuit whilst Fred sat perched on his own bed, face downcast and eyes filled with anger.

You knew it wouldn't stop them, nothing ever did, but the business they forged from nothing had suffered for a while as students were afraid of the repercussions of being searched and found with their products.

"Can't sell my products, can't fly a broom, can't even kiss my own girlfriend unless I find a way to snog her from six inches away!" Fred had been furious and rightly so but there seemed to be no hope in sight.

It seemed no one was unaffected by the drastic measures Umbridge was taking and you were all facing the consequences of the increasing restrictions, in multiple ways. You'd been given detention for the stupidest things, including casting a spell to undo the jinx Malfoy had placed on Neville one afternoon, another leg lock jinx that you'd fixed for him, received another for the muggle book in your possessions and another for deigning to be within six inches of George. The punishment was cruel and twisted but you'd hidden it from Fred, knowing how protective he was and how he'd act out to retaliate against her which would only land him in worse trouble. She seemed to focus on you in particular, for whatever reason you weren't sure but she hardly hid her distaste for you publicly. Fred said it was because of your connection to him and George but you weren't sure, it seemed more personal than that.

It had been Hermione's brilliant idea to forge a sort of rebellion in order to actually learn the practical side of defence and you'd been eager to sign up after attending the first meeting at the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade, knowing that you had to arm yourself in whatever way you could, the feeling of unease at the current climate always looming overhead. You'd been pleasantly surprised by the turn out, seeing many familiar faces as you'd walked hand in hand with Fred into the small, freezing cold room as you waited for Harry, Ron and Hermione. Cho, Luna, Neville, Ginny, Michael and so many others from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had turned out to fight for the cause and as you looked around the room of friends and familiars, it was evident that this could work.

You'd signed the parchment Hermione had brought with no hesitation, lining up between Fred and Ginny, clearly marking your name under his in the pencil provided. As you walked back to the castle in a group, Fred's arm around you and his hat in your head to keep the cold away from your ears, you felt determined and inspired to make this work. You'd just need to find somewhere to practice away from the prying eyes of the inquisitor.

Then came Educational Decree No.68: All student organisations are henceforth be disbanded. Any student in noncompliance will be expelled.

This time, you weren't angered or afraid of the newly instated restriction but instead felt empowered to rebel. Neville, in a feat of brilliance, had discovered the room of requirement one Saturday afternoon as he made his way down the seventh floor corridor. It was perfect, exactly what was needed, and you'd all wasted no time in putting the room to good use.

Within just two weeks, you'd mastered disarming spells, stunning spells, hexes, jinxes and defensive charms that you'd never thought you could do. Ginny had proven herself to be incredibly skilled and you'd stood watching in amazement as two magpies flying around the room, both coming from your boyfriend and his twin. The twins had taken to placing bets, mostly against Ron, all of you in good spirits about finally being able to do magic again. You and Fred took full advantage of being shielded away from the eyes of Hogwarts and had taken to lingering in the room after the sessions so you could be close to each other, to kiss freely and be intimate again. It had seemed so long, so cruel to have to keep away from him, at least in public and as you watched him master spells so effortlessly and looking so deliciously hot as he did it, often with messy hair and rolled up sleeves, it was exactly what you needed to relieve yourself of the building frustrations.

Fun and laughter had once again returned to Hogwarts, though shielded from the regulating eyes, it was just like before. The twins had even taken to pranking again, no longer concerned by the changes, including giving Filch laced chocolates which made him erupt with giant, puss-filled boils on his face when he got too close to the scent of your secret gatherings.

Educational decree No. 82: All students will submit to questioning about suspected illicit activities.

Umbridge had began to gather students for an inquisitorial squad which would earn them credit for joining, most notably the Slytherin students that weaselled their way into Umbridge's good books. Most probably by being pure bloods. They took great pleasure in pulling up the younger students in particular for punishment or questioning and abused their powers frequently.

Then you returned to school after winter break and the news of the Azkaban breakout happened, constant storms were forecasted, Umbridge's cruel regime heightened. Everything felt so restrictive, so unnecessary, so twisted. The only place you found solace was during DA meetings when you could be yourself, free to act and perform as you wanted surrounded by your friends and boyfriend. Always alert at the imposing threat, knowing Filch was on to you all and the rest of the inquisitorial squad which only fuelled you to keep discreet.

It had been a regular day of classes until your DADA lesson where you'd been required by the toad to write an essay on the benefits of conversational reasoning as opposed to practical magic to handle disputes with half breeds and lower class species, such as centaurs. You'd almost immediately refused to write such things, particularly due to the disgusting terms used to class different species but also due to the ridiculous concept.

"I am teaching you verified way of effective communication, in which you do not have to use your wand," she defends with a sickeningly fake smirk.

"Or our brains by taking away our autonomy," you'd argued, not even under your breath.

"Are you questioning my methods of teaching miss y/l/n? By all means if you think you can do better I should like to see you try."

"Can't be hard, Professor Quirrel did a better job and he shared a head and a singular brain cell with Voldemort."

A murmur of concealed laughter burst from the students around you and for a singular moment you felt the victory of it, empowered even.

"Detention!" She's utterly outraged, her face turning a dangerous shade of fuchsia. You could feel the eyes on you, most notably your boyfriend and his twin from across the room but you didn't care. Since returning to school you'd been torn away from Fred, unable to be anywhere near each other and certainly not in a group with your friends as it would break at least three decrees. You were frustrated and had hit breaking point, anger simmering in you but why you didn't know. You'd completely had enough.

"It's a date Dolores," you said sarcastically with the sickliest smile you could muster. More snickers erupted around you and even a clap that sounded suspiciously like it came from the direction of your future brother in law.

"My office, now!" She screams, pointing with her pink tipped finger towards the door. You grabbed your stuff from the desk and walked out without a single look in anyone's direction. On your way to her office, you pulled the special coin from your pocket and checked over the date and time to check you had it right. There was a DA meeting later that evening and you'd hoped this would be over quickly so that you could still attend.

Only, that never happened. Instead you'd been tortured for hours in the cruelest of ways, repeatedly questioned over your involvement with the alleged group and had been forced to drink truth serum until the words had slipped out of your mouth. You'd had no control over it, no way of resisting any longer and with great shame, you'd told her about the room of requirement, completely unable to stop the words from coming out.

The inquisitorial squad was on you in mere moments, as soon as Umbridge had signalled them from outside the door and Malfoy's grubby hands were pulling your weak and exhausted body from the chair before you could even register the intrusion. The things you'd been through, the pain and the anguish, it was nothing compared to the fear you felt at the DA being discovered; you could only pray that you'd held out long enough so that the meeting was over.

"Where is it?!" Umbridge screamed into your face when you wouldn't disclose the exact location of the room of requirement, having already inadvertently let slip that the room was your meeting place. You gave her your darkest look, no longer feeling controlled by whatever she had obviously put in your tea. When she didn't get an answer, her hand struck you hard right across the cheek but you hardly flinched, hardly feeling the pain anymore.

"I know the way Ma'am," Filch said, his saggy face appearing around the corner creepily, his features twisting into a vulgar, perverse smile. You could hardly look at Umbridge's face as it twisted into a pleased, twisted grin as she fixed her jacket and allowed Filch to lead her. Malfoy grabbed hold of your robes tighter in his fist and you were dragged along with them until you reached the seventh floor.

You felt sick to your stomach, wanting to scream and cry, resist in anyway you could as you fought against Malfoy's hold but you were physically tired and weak. Crabbe had grabbed hold of the other side of you, your thrashing too much for Malfoy to hold down by himself and his hands were much tougher against your skin, no doubt leaving bruises in their wake. When the door to the room of requirement didn't appear, you felt hopeful that she'd realise you were lying, even if that meant horrendous consequences for you. There was no way of warning them, nothing you could do to allow them to flee, you'd have to watch as they were all caught redhanded. They'd think you ratted them out, your friends, the love of your life. You knew it was exactly what Umbridge wanted, to turn everyone against you- and she was undoubtedly going to get it.

"Bombarda Maxima," her eerily calm and squeaky voice rang out as she pointed her want at the wall. Your scream mixed in with the large bang as a giant hole was created in the wall, depris and dust flying everywhere.

When the dust cloud cleared, you were dragged off from the side viciously by Malfoy and Crabbe until you were presented in front of the Army- your friends. You didn't want to look up from your spot on the floor, still fighting against their holds on you but something made you look up. And then you met his eyes.

Fred had never looked at you that way, ever. The looks of love and adoration you'd become accustomed to over the years, the playfulness and the intimate looks, it was all gone. The look in his eyes would haunt you forever, the coldness, betrayal and the resentment and it was explicitly clear what his expression told you.

He believed that you ratted them out, believed that you could ever do that to him, to them all.

You had to look away, desperate to see any hope that someone believed you, that someone sympathised with the torment you'd endured but as your eyes travelled across to George, you stopped short. He looked furious with you, disgusted and despite everything you'd been through in the past few hours, you'd receive no sympathy or chance to explain yourself to the people you loved.

You were dragged away as Umbridge dealt with the Army, bestowing threats and punishments upon them that you couldn't hear. You no longer fought against the holds of the Slytherins but instead went willingly, feeling guilty, shame and simply dirty for your role in all of this, even if it wasn't your fault.

Members of the ministry arrived not too long after, having been alerted prior to the discovery of the DA. You couldn't look at Kingsley, much too distraught to see his look of disgust at you, no doubt planning to tell the Order what you'd done. Harry was ushered in not long after having been caught in the skirmish. His newfound hatred of you seemed to radiate off him as he stood beside you and this alone made you want to scream and cry out of frustration, tears welling in your eyes that you wouldn't allow to spill.

The final straw was when Percy walked in, without so much as a glimmer of recognition towards you and took over from Malfoy to restrain you and Harry, keeping the shoulder of your robe balled up in his hand. The minister ordered him to dispatch an owl to the Daily Prophet and he diligently nodded, trying to manoeuvre you along with him.

"Get off me Weatherby," you demanded viciously, fighting against his hold and managing to break free, only to be stopped as you all looked on in amazement as Dumbledore disappeared out of sight in a magnificent display.

You'd hoped after that, you'd be able to get Harry alone, to explain yourself to him, to tell him what had happened but he'd completely avoided you, blanked you entirely. You hardly blamed him but you needed to explain, to clear your name. Umbridge then commanded Harry to join her in the hall where the punishment was being conducted, all of the DA together.

You'd been permitted to return to your dorm after the meeting had finished but you stood outside of the hall doors, desperate to see Fred and explain yourself, hoping he could bring you at least an ounce of comfort. Your head was pounding from the pain earlier and the marks on your arms were throbbing, sore and weeping though you fought not to look at them, knowing the pain would only be worse when you saw what was tormenting you. You couldn't go to Madame pomfrey, Umbridge had made that very clear and so you suffered in complete silence until you could reach out for your friends.

You lingered outside of the door for what felt like hours, the anxiety and the nerves you felt seemingly freezing time. When the doors opened, the members of the DA began pouring out with soured looks on their faces which only heightened when they caught sight of you. It was never hard to spot Fred and George amongst a crowd, their towering height easily distinguishable amongst a sea of people.

The look on everyone's face was near identical, the disgust and the resentment evident in their eyes as they spotted you but none clearer than the twins. George looked like he detested you, his face scrunched into a look of utter distaste, eyes glaring into you as he walked past without a care. Fred looked away, ignoring your presence completely as he glided past you without muttering a single word, his face stone cold and void of expression.

"Freddie, please," you said weakly and emotionally, with tears in your eyes, turning around in the spot as he walked past you. But nothing, he didn't turn, didn't react, simply walked away without so much as a single glance.

"Harry," you implored, taking a step towards him but he too blanked you again, pushing past you and walking quickly up the steps to avoid you.

You stood alone in the cold and empty corridor, feeling more isolated and alone than you ever had and finally allowed yourself to cry. Silent tears fell down your cheeks, shoulders sagging as you cried for everything you had undoubtedly lost, for the treatment you'd received and for the pain you still felt in your head and arms. Finding a spot in a hidden corner, you finally allowed yourself to pull up the sleeve of your robe and look upon the damage that Umbridge had inflicted with her sadistic quill. It was horrendous, an onslaught of slurs and vicious words etched into your body, no doubt intentionally done to leave the scars as a permanent reminder.

You sobbed your heart out in that little nook between two cold, stone pillars as you tried desperately to heal the marks but no spell was strong enough even to numb it in your weakened state.

You eventually made your way to Gryffindor tower, stepping through the portrait and finding the common room practically deserted. You sighed and walked up the stone steps to your dorm, only to find that the door had been shut and your blanket and pillow had been thrown outside of it, a clear sign you were not welcome even within your own dorm. You were painfully exhausted and wanted nothing more than to curl up in your bed and cry into your pillow until you eventually passed out. But you didn't even deserve that.

With a heavy sigh, you collected your blanket and pillow and trudged down the steps back towards the common room, eyes blurry through a mixture of tiredness and tears. You stopped short the second you crossed the last step, seeing Fred and George step in through the portrait hole, your stomach flipping nervously as you anticipated a barrage of insults or horrible pranks, their allegiance turning from you now.

"Fred, Freddie please," you begged, dropping your makeshift bedding to walk towards him, trying to reach out for him. You paused as you saw the redness on the back of his left hand, a clearly fresh punishment, 'I must not break rules'. George intercepts immediately and barges past you, blocking you from getting to Fred as he turns his twin away from you.

"You think you know someone," George mutters as he gently nudges Fred up the stairs, sending you a vicious glare before he walks up after him, once again leaving you alone. Fred didn't even spare a single glance at you, not even to recoil away.

You curled up in a corner armchair as soon as the tears appeared, pathetically dragging the blanket over you and cried until you fell asleep in the uncomfortable chair.

The two weeks that followed were the absolute worst weeks of your life. Umbridge had stripped you of everything you loved in one fell swoop, turned everyone against you and left the place you called home feeling miserable and lonely. You deserved it, you knew that, having ratted them out. You'd antagonised her and now had to live through then consequences, as cruel and twisted as they were.

The glares from everyone you had once called friends hadn't stopped, especially from George, which hurt the most. Fred had outright ignored any effort you'd made to reach out to him, no matter how desperate you'd sounded or how hard you'd tried to make him understand. He didn't care. He believed the lie.

The first week you'd tried to take your meals with the rest of the Gryffindors but it was made abundantly clear to you that you were not permitted nor welcome to join your friends and had been cruelly banished to the end of the table, beside the first years. The second week you'd stopped attending meals at all, not able to push through the shame and embarrassment of being cast away, exiled from your group. Lessons were monotonous and any down time was utterly excruciating as you were left enclosed with the other Gryffindors, namely your ex boyfriend, though no one would make any contact with you. You'd tried to sleep in your dorm but the girls had done nearly everything to prevent you from actually sleeping, talking loudly, setting off whizzbangs inside your curtains and had even transfigured your blanket a few times to varying degrees of horrid things. At the end of the night when you were certain everyone was asleep, usually very late, you'd creep down to the common room and huddle into your uncomfortable chair to sleep, only to be woken mere hours later when the first of the easy risers woke up. Your life was hell.

"There's just something I don't understand," Hermione says as they all stand on the bridge, the golden trio, Ginny and the Twins, all wrapped up in warm clothes and sweaters as they discuss the changes put into place since Umbridge had taken over as Headmistress. Naturally, the conversation had diverted to you, something Fred was entirely displeased about. The group turn to Hermione after her words, intrigued by the change in tone. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes before opening them again, as if building the strength to say her next sentence.

"I jinxed the enrolment parchment, for Dumbledore's Army," she admits, not quite meeting the gaze of the group around her. "It was purely a preventative measure, incase we were betrayed by one of our own. The person who disclosed any secrets would be jinxed to break out in spots, to spell out 'sneak' across their forehead, so we knew who the betrayer was. Y/N didn't have that, she never even had a single spot."

"Blimey Hermione," Ron says a little breathlessly, disbelieving she'd have actually gone that far.

"I know," she says a little defensively, "I just can't work out how she got around it!"

"Maybe she wrote her name wrong? Did she know about the jinx?" Harry suggests but Hermione shook her head, at the very same time that Ginny replied.

"I was behind her, I saw her write her name. It was right."

"Maybe the jinx didn't work?" Harry suggests carefully but stops himself when he receives a forceful glare from Hermione at the very notion of her failure.

"What does it matter? She dobbed us in wether or not she's covered in spots!" Ron says rather harshly, leaning against the wooden bannister.

Fred can't listen anymore, completely overwhelmed by the conversation and the thought of you betraying them. He turns and walks off back towards the castle without so much as a word to the others, not even his twin, and ignores their calls of his name as they watch him fade into the distance.

Spotting you sitting alone in the corner of the room when he returns to the common room, he frowns to himself. He'd known you since the moment you stepped on the Hogwarts express and had loved you for nearly just as long. It was wrong to see you sat alone, so sad and without the usual spark you naturally emitted. Everyone had always been drawn to you, your humour and wit, your dazzling smile, the fact you made everyone aroun you feel comfortable and valued. Too many boys had been drawn to you for his liking but you'd never even given them the time of day, never once wavering in your loyalty to him or ever made him doubt that it was him you wanted. You'd spent years supporting him, helping him and George develop their products, cheering for him loudly at every Quidditch game and had wormed your way into the hearts of every single one of his family members. Secretly, it crushed him to see you so lonely and tired, even if he still felt the sting of your betrayal.

It didn't add up, though he wouldn't disclose this to any of the more angered members of the group, why you would do such a thing. You'd been excited to start the DA, had joined in enthusiastically, kept the secret for so long and most of all you completely despised Umbridge. He couldn't deny that he still loved you, even though he was conflicted with his feelings now, he still held out hope that this would all go away, that there was a reasonable explanation but his anger wouldn't allow him to listen. It killed him to push you away, wanting nothing more than for things to return to normal but he felt a deep sense of betrayal that he couldn't shift.

"Fred?" He heard from behind him, pulling him out of his musings making him realise that he'd been staring at you all this time as he turned towards the person addressing him. Her name was Emery Atkinson, a Gryffindor from the year below that he'd never really acknowledged or spent much time with.

"Yeah?" He replies politely though he couldn't escape the edge of irritation after being pulled away from his thoughts. He watches as the girl giggles as soon as he acknowledges her and tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Oh good I got the right twin!" She giggles, ignorant to the blank look she received from Fred. "I was wondering if you had some canary creams I could buy? My brother loves them and it's his birthday soon. Your inventions are so clever, I don't know how you and George find the time between your studies and Quidditch, it must be exhausting. You're so good as Quidditch, I always cheer you on. Plus your girlfriend, but I heard that you weren't together anymore right?"

Truthfully, Fred had only registered the first half of her speech, tuning out after Canary Creams but his attention had been drawn back at the mention of you. He can't help but feel that little stab of sadness at the mention of you, especially someone referring to you as his girlfriend, or Ex rather. In the back of his mind he wonders if you heard that, from your short distance away, he hoped not.

"I still can't believe it, why would she do that? If I was with you I wouldn't even dream of ruining it." She sounds faux-scandalised and quite frankly, rather bitchy as he reaches out to touch the sleeve of his sweater. Fred doesn't humour her and instead takes half a step back subtly, reaching to scratch the back of his head as a discreet way of getting her off.

"Er, yeah I think we have some creams leftover, I'll send George over with some later, alright?"

"Not you?" She says with a sad little face, trying out her best puppy dog eyes that have absolutely no affect on him.

"George deals with the confectionery," he says a little too quickly; which is a complete lie. "Sorry, I've got somewhere to be but I'll let him know you're interested in buying."

He breaks away, giving her a forced but polite smile and a brief, parting wave but it's awkward and he's inwardly cringing as soon as he puts his hand down. Turning to where you had been sat in the chair, he notices you've disappeared and he is instantly overcome with a wave of guilt. You'd heard it all.

—

The next few days passed in blur for Fred, his mind wandering between what he was doing and thoughts of you, like he couldn't concentrate for more than a minute. He felt so conflicted within himself, made worse by the time spent apart from you, the longing beginning to set in. He'd never really been apart from you for very long, at most only a few weeks during the summer holidays and even then you'd have sent numerous letters by now, keeping in contact as much as you could until you were back beside each other. Now it was just torture, having you so close but so far away and the knowledge that he was the one that had pushed you away only furthered his guilt and internal conflict.

Fred was in a terrible mood, battling his thoughts, surviving on very little sleep and now the threat of her sadistic punishment was the icing on the cake of a really crap day when he and George had been forced to Umbridge's office. Harry had been caught trying to use the floo, to alert the order or escape and had been caught red handed by Umbridge. Each member of the DA had been frogmarched into the office, shoved and restrained by members of the inquisitorial squad and each member looked as uneasy as the next. His stomach turned when he saw Ginny held down by Goyle and he fought to get out of Graham Montegue's hold but it was useless when Umbridge mindlessly cast a spell to subdue him.

Harry was sat in the chair in the centre of the room, the first to be questioned with Umbridge hovering dangerously close to him, her temper boiling over as she speaks frantically in his face.

"You were going to Dumbledore weren't you?" She says, leaning down threateningly in front of Harry.

"No," Harry responds.

"Liar!" She screams back and in a move that shocks each member of the DA, she pulls back her hand and slaps Harry hard around the face, the harsh sound echoing through the otherwise silent room.

She pauses for a moment, simply glaring at Harry until her face twists into a sick, twisted grin as she straightens up and composes herself, each movement carefully thought out as she turns her back to him.

"Very well, you give me no choice Potter," she says with an even cadence, her tone dangerously low. "As this is an issue of Ministry security, you leave me with... no alternative, unless Professor Snape arrives within moments."

Fred feels like he can hardly breathe, the tension and unease in the air so thick that the room feels like it's getting smaller by the second. The unpredictability of the woman before them was alarming, the dangerous undertone of her voice despite her light and breezy tone was almost scarier than his worst nightmare.

"The cruciatus curse ought to loosen your tongue," she says, adjusting her pink jacket.

"That's illegal," Hermione states in outrage but Umbridge hardly flinches. Instead, she reaches out for the photo frame of the minister on her desk and pauses briefly to look at it before turning it over and lying it down flat on the desk, so that Fudge could not see her next move. She straightens herself and extends her wand, only to stop when Snape appears by the door, his eyes fixed to her outstretched wand that was pointed directly at Harry.

"You sent for me Headmistress?"

"Snape, yes," she says, taking a step back and everyone in the room exhales, relaxing only slightly. "The time has come for answers, wether he wants to give them to me or not," she says, her eyes flicking to Harry only briefly.

"Might I suggest against the cruciatus curse this time headmistress," he says evenly and carefully, "the consequences of such an audience might be... disagreeable. In fact I would hesitate in conducting any of the prior disciplinary methods in this instance.""

This time? She'd used the cruciatus curse before? And on a student? Prior disciplinary methods? Fred thinks, did he mean the quill?

"Very well," she says after a moment of pondering, her arm falling to her side as she relents, eyes wandering over the all too familiar Quill that sits proudly on her desk before her gaze shifts back to Snape. "Have you brought the veritaserum?"

"I'm afraid you've used up all my stores, the last of it interrogating Miss y/l/n."

Snape carries on speaking but Fred doesn't hear a single word, blood rushing to his ears as his heart pounds. He feels like he's received a stray bludger straight to the chest, his stomach dropping with fresh shame, sadness and overwhelming guilt.

Suddenly it all made sense. She'd tortured you into giving out the information- the cruciatus curse, veritaserum, what else had she done to you?

He couldn't help but let out a dry sob at the information, sensing everyone's eyes on him at the news. He struggled against the holds with everything in him, needing to fix what he'd broken.

He'd believed them, so quickly, believed that you could have betrayed them like that. The pain you must have felt, the loneliness and the guilt and then after your whole ordeal he had cast you aside, pushed you away and never given you a single chance to explain.

He eventually turned to look at George who looked utterly broken by the news, his regretful inner thoughts so evident upon his face. Each member of the DA looked a mixture of guilty, sheepish and sad, realising how wrong they'd been about you and what they'd done to someone who had once been their friend, someone who had suffered so much for all of them.

The meeting seemed to go abhorrently slowly until Umbridge left with Harry and Hermione on a sort of mission based upon a quickly constructed lie and Fred didn't waste a single moment before turning around on the spot and punching Graham Montegue straight in the face as soon as Umbridge had left. Seizing the momentary upper hand, the remaining members of the DA turned on the inquisitorial squad and fired an array of jinxes and spells at them in order to get away.

"Fred, Go!" George had urged whilst stunning Crabbe, allowing Ginny to step free. Malfoy fought back but he was quickly matched by Angelina who covered for Fred, blocking the exit.

"Go, she needs you!" Angelina shouted as she sent a jinx flying towards Cassius Warrington's smug face.

Fred didn't hang about and immediately ran out of the office and towards the common room where he was praying you'd be. It was quiet on the main staircases, perhaps it seemed much quieter because of the lack of portraits and bare walls but even to the few people Fred passed, he offered no explanation nor cared about what they thought. He needed to find you.

"Y/n!" He said bursting through the portrait hole and scanning the common room for you, checking the chair you'd so often occupied but found nothing except a couple of bewildered faces at his strange outburst.

"Y/n?" He called again, walking up the stairs towards the dormitories but received no reply. In his haste, he accidentally misstepped as he climbed up to the girls dorm and nearly triggered the blocking slide to appease but fortunately managed to regain his balance and stress carefully over the path he'd taken so many times before, the secret message in the steps that allowed him to breach the rules.

He threw open your dormitory door and stopped blankly when he found nothing. Your bed looked like it hadn't been slept in, there was hardly any of your things around the bed and the room. Had he come to the wrong room?

"Fred?" Your voice said shyly from behind him and he whipped around to see you looking up at him hesitantly from near the door, holding a few things in your arms and your robe tied tightly around your chest.

"Y/n," he says with a sigh of relief, moving forwards quickly to reach out to you but once again stopping short as he noticed you visibly flinch at his sudden movement. Suddenly the overwhelming agony of guilt and regret hit him anew and he vowed to slow down, hoping not to scare you away.

"I'm so sorry," he said, voice breaking slightly as he looked at your tired, sullen face and those wide, scared eyes. He'd never seen you look so broken and it killed him.

"I didn't, I don't ," he stutters, dropping to sit on the side of your bed. "You haven't been sleeping here have you?"

There's a minor pause and he wonders if you're actually going to reply to him, if he even deserves it, until you step forward and place your things down onto the bedside table. He watches in silence, noting the large book and a few packaged bandages that slip onto the table as you gingerly take a seat beside him, your feet no longer touching the floor.

"Kind of hard to when you're banished by the rest of your dorm," you reply quietly. He can't detect the tone of your voice, expecting it to be sarcastic or unhappy but it actually sounds flat and completely void of emotion.

"The chair," he realises, "you've been sleeping in that chair?" He's slightly bewildered and profoundly ashamed now, not having clicked until now that you'd been there early in a morning and late in the night, much later than you'd ever typically stayed up before. You shrug and turn your attention away, though you're yet to actually meet his eyes.

He drags a deep breath in through his teeth, resisting the urge to hang his head low on his shoulders.

"Y/n, I am so sorry, I, I don't even have words," he says, stumbling over his words- something so uncharacteristic for him that it briefly startles you. "You didn't deserve this, even if you had told Umbridge about us, no one deserves this. We were all so shocked that it could be you, of all people. We never stopped to think of why," he pauses again, steadying himself. "Snape admitted what she did to you, she tried to use it on Harry but he stopped him."

"But the quill was broken? How could she use it on Harry?" You say, finally looking up with a look of complete confusion.

"What quill?" Fred asks, completely lost himself, "the black quills? I meant the cruciatus curse, she, I mean she, on you, didn't she?"

Your silence says everything and he has to close his eyes and steady his breathing at your silent confirmation.

"What quill?" Fred feels a little bolder now and reaches for you but you pull your arm back and place it in your lap, trying not to wince as you catch the healing scars. "This one?"

He holds out his hand and shows you the faint markings from his punishment, 'I must not break rules' barely visible now. He frowns when you shake your head but don't offer any other explanation. He's frustrated that he's not getting anywhere but it's internal and he knows it's not your fault, he just wishes he could help, or go back in time and fix everything.

"Tell me, please," he says, keeping his eyes locked in the side of your face, trying to urge you to look at him. "What happened in that detention?"

"It doesn't matter," you say quickly, hopping down off the bed and stepping over to your trunk to get a fresh shirt from the laundry pile, knowing it would need changing. "I've got to shower."

You go to turn away but Fred lunges for you and grabs your arm to stop you from leaving, making you cry out in pain as soon as his fingers make contact with the tender skin. As soon as the shock wears off, he frowns, looking down at your arm before looking up to your face, seeing tears falling down your cheeks.

"Please baby, please just tell me," he says, voice breaking as his own tears well up in his eyes.

"She told you about the veritaserum?" You ask, assuming anyway and Fred nods. "Then you know what you need to know."

"No, I don't," he says quickly, trying to think of ways to stop you leaving without hurting you. "She used an unforgivable curse on you! Gave you truth serum, you cried when I touched your arm and you have bandages on your bedside table, please just tell me what happened!"

"Fine," you say, pulling your arm back. "You want to know? She tried to force it out of me, tried to get me to drink the stupid tea but I wouldn't. When that didn't work she pulled out that little stupid quill and wrote anything she wanted all over me. You wanted to know about the bandages? Fine," you said viciously, clawing at the fastening of your robe. Underneath was your once crisp, white shirt that had a considerable amount of red blood staining the sleeve. You didn't stop undressing, all but ripping the buttons away as you fought to show Fred what was underneath.

Bandages littered your forearms, with blood oozing out the sides. Fred's frozen as he looks at the bandages on your body, sick to his stomach already.

"Did you know Snape is a skilled occlumens? I didn't, I do now. So after she was playing with that sadistic little quill, writing whatever she wanted into my skin, he enters my mind and shows me every single fear I've ever had, every nightmare. But I didn't say a word, not a single fucking word. Do you know what it's like to have visions forced into your own mind of your boyfriend dying in front of you repeatedly, over and over until you start to go mad? All whilst your skin is slashed open just to get you to talk? Only it didn't work, so she dropped the quill and picked up her wand. I've never felt closer to death in my life but still so far away from it. But I wouldn't talk. So she forced veritaserum in my mouth and I couldn't stop it, she got what she wanted no matter what I'd fought for. And the best part? They don't heal, not truly. Nothing I do stops it, like a constant reminder of what happened."

"Princess," Fred chokes out, tears streaming down his cheeks, fighting to hold back his sobs at your words.

"No, not princess," you say sternly, emotions all falling from your face. "Not anymore."

"Please, I want to make this right, anything I can do, I want to support you," he says, nearly begging. "I have to make this right, I can't lose you."

"No."

Your voice is harsh and stern, your face expressionless again. "You believed them so easily, you all did. You believed I could do that to you, without hesitation. You didn't let me explain, never even looked at me because you were so certain that I could have done it. I've been exiled, banished and forgotten by all of you I called friends without a single thought. So you and your stupid brother and the rest of Dumbledore's friggin army can go fuck yourselves, it's not my fight anymore."

Fred flinches as the door slams shut behind you and he's left to sob openly, his devastation consuming him. Eventually when he returns to his own dorm, George says nothing upon seeing his twin's stricken face and his curtains fully closing around the bed.

The next morning, Fred has already left the dorm by the time George wakes up and doesn't see him at all around the common room or the hall, though he's not surprised. But when he doesn't show to his lessons, George worries and goes in search for his twin with increasing worry. Eventually, he finds him in the library, pouring over an array of books from the restricted section, most of them about healing spells and anatomy.

"Freddie?"

When Fred looks up with red rimmed eyes and an intense look in his eyes, it's clear to George that Fred hadn't slept. "Whatever it is, let me help."

One week. It took one week of endlessly pouring over book after book until they finally found options.

It's early morning on a Saturday when Fred creeps down to the common room was before the sun has risen, seeing you hunched over in your chair. Angelina had told him that they'd apologised profusely to you and had accepted you back with open arms back to the dormitory but you'd simply walked away and carried on sleeping by the fire, not yet willing to forgive them for the treatment you'd endured.

"Y/n, y/n, wake up," he says quietly, carefully touching your shoulder, trying to avoid anywhere that he had seen bandaged.

"Freddie?" You ask sleepily and his heart soars with hope at the noise, the familiarity of it abs the softness of your voice so heartwarming.

"I have something to show you, me and George," he says lightly, waiting for you to wake up.

"Told you both to get fucked," you mumble, squashing any hope he had, but he perseveres.

"Just this once prince-y/n, please," he says quietly. You open your eyes, seeing him still dressed in his pyjamas, pleading with his eyes and looking so vulnerable that you relent and agree to whatever he had planned. Throwing back the blanket, you surprise a groan at the stiffness in your neck and diligently follow him back up the stairs towards his dorm, accepting his hand as he guides you. Your hand fits perfectly into his, just as it always had.

"Where's Lee?" You say as you walk into the dorm room, seeing only George who gives you a small but timid smile.

"Bunking with Ron," Fred says somewhat vaguely, gesturing for you to sit on his bed. The room looks exactly as you remember albeit slightly less dishevelled than you'd experienced previously, but you don't mention anything. Fred takes a seat beside you and George moves forward, grabbing a book from the chair beside his bed.

"We don't know if this will work," George says.

"But it's better than nothing," Fred finishes, gingerly reaching out for your hand.

"What?"

"The wounds," George says gently, "Fred told me, we just want to make them better. Might not get rid of them completely but it's worth a shot."

"Found this in an old healing book, it's a counter curse for wound healing by curse," Fred says, taking the book from George to show you. "Figured Umbridge's quill must have been cursed so this might work. Please let us help."

All it takes is a nod from you, albeit slightly hesitant but truthfully there was no one you trusted more than the twins, before at least.

You could hardly look them in the eyes as you pulled away the bandages, the vile words etched into your skin by her personal sadistic quill. You heard George inhale at the deepest cut along your inner right forearm but didn't react, knowing it would be shocking to anyone.

"Take my hand, if it hurts too much all you have to do is squeeze and we'll stop, okay baby?"

Biting down on your lip to stifle your cries, you hold Fred's hand tightly as George begins to cast the counter-curse, each of you watching on with rapt attention and slight amazement as the cuts begin to slowly knit together. It was working.

You whimper as he works over the deepest, the same one Fred had accidentally caught the week before and Fred's hand squeezes yours automatically for support.

"You're doing so well sweetheart, it'll be over soon I promise," he says quietly in your ear, comforting you in anyway he could.

After the last cut is sealed, George immediately drops down to sit onto his bed, his concentration and energy depleted from focusing so hard. You can't believe it as you look down at your arms, no longer seeing blood and only able to see the faintest of marks and redness where the wounds had once been. Only then do tears begin to fall from your eyes as you launch yourself towards Fred, throwing your arms around him in appreciation. He steadies himself after a moment of being caught off guard and holds you tightly against him, shushing you gently as you cry. His arms wrap around you so perfectly, so protectively and his smell comforts you like to no other, exactly as you remember.

"You did so well, so well, it's okay baby," he coos into your ear. You pull apart slowly and immediately walk over to George, pulling him into a hug though it's a lot less intimate.

"Thank you both so much," you sniffle.

"You're welcome," they answer at the same time, making you smile.

"We've missed you," George says after a moment. "I'm so sorry for what you went through and for what I said. I should have known it wasn't your fault, you've been my best friend for so long and I'm so ashamed of myself for how easily I believed her over you, that should never have happened."

"And you know how sorry I am," Fred says, walking over to you and kneeling down until he's directly in front of you.

"You're the best thing that has ever happened to me and I was an idiot for ever thinking it was you. I know things can't ever go back to how they were before, but I love you so much that I can't lose you. Seeing you hurting almost broke me and I know that you might need time or never see me again but you need to know exactly how I still feel about you."

"It's not just you," you say in reply, heaving out a long breathe, "I pushed people away."

"We deserved it," George says.

"Baby," Fred says gently, getting your attention. "I don't know how to fix this or how to make things better, but I'll do anything. I was an idiot, a complete git but I'll spent the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. Please say this isn't ruined."

For the first time since the incident, you allow yourself to feel hopeful that things could get better, that Fred could love you again. Sat surrounded by the two people you loved most in the world, you finally felt the love and protection you'd been needing since that awful night.

"I want that," you say quietly, picking at the blanket under your fingers, "I just want things to just go back to normal." You raise your eyes up to Fred's to see him smiling back at you, clearly pleased with your words.

"Well, let's start with this then," he says with a mischievous smirk, leaning towards you painfully slowly as if he's giving you plenty of time to say no or push him away. His soft lips press against yours gently and you can't help but feel a warmth spread all over your body, almost like you were defrosting and returning back to you're usual self. His hand reaches up to cup the side of your jaw and you're certain you can feel a fear hit your cheek, though it doesn't come from you.

The next morning, you walk hand in hand with Fred into the great hall for breakfast and sit right back at the centre of the table with your friends. You assume Fred or George had threatened them not to say anything as everyone around you acts normal, pretending the previous weeks didn't exist, though one by one they all apologised to you, most notably Ron and Harry. Ginny thought you were badass for everything you'd been through, not relenting even though you'd been tortured into eventually revealing the secret. Hermione had apologised so eloquently and thoroughly that you both ended up crying in the common room as she explained about the jinxed parchment and how she'd held out hope that it hadn't been you.

Each person made it up to you in anyway they could, admitting their mistakes and regrets and though you would probably never forget, you chose to forgive.

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saintsugu · 1 year ago

Text

PLAY TIME; KINKTOBER DAY 5

rating: mature; mdni

pairing; yuuji itadori / ryomen sukuna x fem!reader

word count: 5.6k

content warnings: explicit sexual content, 18+, apocalypse au, vague horror (aka it’s kind of creepy), vaginal penetration, all of the explicit sex is with sukuna, manhandling, true-form sukuna, monster fucking (two cocks // four arms), non con, sadomasochism, slight dacryphilia, dvp, usage of pet, bellybulge, unprotected sex, cumflation, alluding to cucking

Author’s note: super unedited. i’m really proud of this fic + the idea as a whole, but i’m really proud of the fact that I got the last 2/3k done in about 1.5 hrs. please enjoy the last piece of 2023’s Kinktober!<3

Today, the forest is ominously quiet—even more so than usual. Dead leaves crunch underneath your boot with every step and it makes your skin crawl; not to mention how freezing cold it is. How did you even end up out here alone to begin with?

Letting out a shaky breath, which is painfully visible, you try to tug your sleeves down to cover your numb hands. As you’re in the process of doing so, the frightening noise of a twig snapping has your hand instead finding your knife on instinct.

It could be an animal, but it’s not likely. Given the time of year, most are hibernating, and those that aren’t have already been skinned and cooked.

You turn around yet are met with nothing except the forest from which you came. With the trees being as crowded together as they are, it’s easy for someone to hide, so your guard isn’t exactly down just yet.

After many excruciating minutes of silence, a voice speaks and you’re too terrified to realize who it is. Unsheathing your blade, you take a step behind you and are ready to hit whoever may be in front of you.

“Hey, stop, it’s me!”

Yuuji catches your wrist within moments of impact. Despite his desire to always be gentle with you, the current predicament required a bit of force from his end and you couldn’t help but wince before releasing the knife. The blade clatters against the stones below you and you sigh so loud in relief that you’re sure the entire forest could hear it.

Your eyes soften and you press your head against his chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was you.” The statement is fairly obvious, yet you still feel the need to clarify that you didn’t mean to try and stab your boyfriend, rather than the stalker you figured he was.

“Don’t be,” you can feel his hand intertwining with yours and it makes you feel safe. “Let’s go home. I already carved out a path for us, I was just looking for you.”

The trek back to the cabin is short but a bit steep. Yuuji’s holding onto you tightly the entire trip. The grip on your hand aids in making you feel a little more at peace despite the eerie crawl of the woods.

The cold weather has been well appreciated. Both you and Yuuji find it much easier to layer up and use blankets, rather than deal with turning the generator on fully to keep cool. The way you have it now, you’re able to keep it on for a few hours at a time—just enough for you to shower and do whatever else requires electricity, before shutting it off. There are only a few downsides to the chilling temperatures; one of which, being the fog that occupies the forest.

It completely limits visibility; that’s nice if you’re holed up in the cabin, but when you’re out scavenging? Horrible. You can’t even see two feet in front of you.

“Be careful. Step over,” he carefully directs you, quiet as he grips your hand a little tighter. It’s how you know you’ve arrived home. You’re careful to raise your feet and make sure you don’t bump against the fence that Yuuji had staked into the ground.

The wiring itself isn’t awfully thick, but it keeps most animals away; not to mention that it’s main function is sound purposes. Along the wires, there are different cans and bells that will rattle if the fence is at all bumped or tugged. It’s a good method to keep you and Yuuji up worrying all night.

It’s so cold. Your words are barely above a whisper, hands shivering slightly as the cabin comes into view. You can nearly hear the frown in Yuuji’s voice when he tells you that you’re almost there. He’s been very….overprotective of you, to say the least. It’s not like you can blame him, though. The world is scary now.

“Close it a little softer next time.” You can’t help but teasingly scold your partner as you step into the warm home.

“But I wanted to shut it before the wind picked up.” It’s cute, the way he snickers at you before moving towards the fireplace. “You should change into something clean while I start the fire.”

You had planned to already, so you have no issue bouncing towards your shared room to change your clothes. When you return back, Yuuji has busied himself with the fireplace.

Moments like this are nice. Those times, no matter how brief they may be, where you get to watch your boyfriend clumsily set the logs on fire. The simplicity of it all nearly makes you forget the world right outside of your door that has gone to hell.

It’s just you and the boy occupying the cabin. At different points, people have come and gone, but it’s been a long time since you’ve met eyes with anyone other than Yuuji. A man by the name Megumi stayed with you for a bit, nearly six months, actually, before taking his leave in search of his father. The rest, you’ve long forgotten their names. It’s quite…sad, actually. You spend a lot of nights wondering about their whereabouts.

“You like what you see?” He teases. His palms are pressed against the floor behind him, lanky limbs spread out a bit as he uses his locked out arms to hold him up.

“Oh always,” you nearly giggle. He never fails at finding a way to cheer you up.

Eventually, he stands up to help you make some food. It’s nothing special, really. You just boil rice over the fire and cook it with some canned chicken that Yuuji managed to find on a run last week.

Food has been getting harder to manage as of late. Thankfully, when this started, there was already a large pantry full of non-perishable food inside the cabin. Even with that being said, it’s been years and supplies are depleting rapidly. Between the two of you, you surprisingly don’t eat much, so it’s easier to ration better, but with less than half of the supplies left, you can’t help but worry.

“It’s good,” he says, taking a bite. He’s leaned against the wall across from you—you’re both still keeping warm near the fireplace.

If it weren’t for the bitter temperatures, you would’ve probably sat at the large, oak table in the dining room— a table that’s much too big for only the two of you —but with the crisp and cold air, you opted to eat on the floor in favor of the warmth.

It’s sweet but it makes you laugh a little. He always tries to make you feel better, no matter what the topic at hand is; he’s like a man consoling his wife. “If it wasn’t, I’d be worried. Takes a lot of work to fuck up rice and chicken,” you say playfully.

“Better than I could do.” His laughter is contagious. It fills the air the same as it fills your lungs. The pure joy you feel when hearing it, spreads through your entire being as your lips curl into a smile of their own. “I’m serious!” He grins even wider. “Gramps used to make all my meals for the most part.”

“‘Dunno how you got this far like that.” You’re laying on your stomach while you tease him. Your body is nearly perpendicular with the wall, but the side of your head rests against a pillow. Having already finished your meal, you have nothing better to do than shamelessly stare at your lover.

The sound of the fire crackling mixes with the boy’s voice and fills the room. It all feels so cozy that it makes you forget what awaits you outside of that small wire fence. He makes it easy to forget—or to ignore, for better lack of words.

When you’re staring into his eyes, it’s easy to pretend like you’re unaware of the storm raging outside. As if you don’t know the world is burning the same way the shriveled firewood has.

Once he finishes his bowl, you find it as a perfect chance to straddle his lap. With your legs spread, your knees press into the plush carpeting. The moment can only be described as intimate as your foreheads touch.

“I love you.” It’s a quiet affirmation that you both repeat at the same time. The repetition causes you both to laugh, before he silences you with a soft kiss. “My girl,” he whispers.

Slow kisses begin to get more desperate as his hands roam your body. He’s in nothing more than a black tank top, and a pair of thin pajama pants that are too baggy for him. It gives you easy access as you kiss his neck, uncaring of how you do so; it’s not like anyone will see.

For the rest of the night, Yuji conveys just how much he loves you. Your time spent together consists of limbs messily intertwining as he has his way with you on the floor. Despite having full control over a willing partner, Yuuji is still so sweet and kind to you. He may accidentally overestimate his strength and manhandle you slightly, but he always tries his hardest to not hurt you in any way.

He brings you to the edge more times than you would have ever imagined and he’s a bit more…clingy than usual—not that you mind, of course. You just hadn’t realized how scared he had gotten when you got seperated in the forest. He definitely did a good job of hiding it from you.

After cleaning up and triple-checking that the doors are locked and the windows are still boarded up, you make your way into the bedroom. You feel extremely safe and secure as you lay beside him. An arm draped over your side as he pulls you close into his chest.

“Goodnight,” he whispers softly. You swear that your name has never sounded sweeter than when it’s dripping off his tongue.

Thanks to his comforting touch, you’re asleep within minutes.

— three years ago.

Run. Keep running. Don’t stop.

Those words repeat through your head on a loop. They got louder and louder the more you felt your body start to slow. You’re running out of energy. As much as you wish it could, even your sudden burst of adrenaline isn’t enough to combat your starvation and dehydration.

You feel like you’ve been running for days—like some wild animal that’s being hunted down. Every time you try to take a breath, they’re on your heels again.

Nearly 3 weeks ago, you had stumbled upon a small group. They offered you food and shelter, in return for manual labor. Due to your starved state, you didn’t think to ask many questions before taking the water they offered you and mindlessly agreeing.

Unfortunately, what you had hoped to be a new companionship, turned out to be psychopaths trying to force you to kill unsuspecting people. They would track down homes and kill whoever resided in them. You tried to sneak out, but they caught on and were quick to chase after you.

It’s been over a week of this little chase, and you can barely stand. You’re beginning to wonder if running is even worth it, at this point.

Despite seeing it, your brain doesn’t fully process the branch in the path until after you’ve tripped over it. You have absolutely no time to recover as you fall straight towards the dirt.

“Shit,” you curse, feeling thorns poking against you. As you lie on the ground, exhaustion setting in even more so now than before, your inner monologue morphs.

Get up.

You’re nearly screaming at yourself. Every part of your body feels heavy. No matter how hard you will yourself to get back on your feet, you’re rendered incapable.

The approach sound of footsteps confirms that this is the end. Once they find you, they’ll kill you without a second thought. At least I tried. It’s the last thought that runs through your brain as the footsteps get louder and everything goes dark.

It’s quiet. You like it.

It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so…at peace.

“You’re awake.” The voice sounds panicked but…happy?

You’re quick to shoot up, but you’re surprised when your hands move freely. If they didn’t kill you, you had at least expected them to restrain you somehow. Yet, when you look around the room, it’s so unfamiliar.

“…who are you? A-are you with them?” You feel weak at the stammer in your voice, but it can’t be helped. Despite his soft features, you’re terrified of the man sitting across from you.

It’s clear that he’s confused, but you still aren’t convinced. “With who? When I found you, you were unconscious in the dirt.”

That doesn’t make sense. Did they…stop looking for me?

You nearly ask again, but you’d rather not be questioned about why you were running. If he wanted to kill you he would’ve done it when you were knocked out cold. There’s no reasonable explanation for him to bring you back to his home and do it there.

“I’m Yuuji,” he says and you can tell that he’s worried he’ll upset you. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

It didn’t take long for you to warm up to him after that. You truly had nowhere else to go, so you slept in the guest room of his cabin for months, until one day, things took a bit of a…different route.

“How’d you find this cabin anyways, Yu’?” Your voice is a bit higher than usual as you lean against the plush couch. On his latest supply run, the boy brought back a good amount of alcohol and you both agreed that it’d be a shame to let it go to waste.

“I didn’t,” he shakes his head, words a bit slurred. “It was my Gramps’. Been in the family since before I was born. It was my family’s designated rendezvous place—we all kind of picked it as a joke but,” he pauses. The silence is deafening as you hang on his words. “I was the only one who made it here.”

Your expression drops. Neither of you had attempted to ask about the other’s families in the months you’ve known each other, finding it a bit of a personal topic to bring up at random, but now, considering you’re both tipping over the edge from the alcohol…your filters are a little less engaged.

“It’s okay, though,” he takes a sip of his beer as he plasters a fake grin onto his face. He pauses, before his face turns sour. Initially, you believe that he’s about to open up, add on to what he said, but you quickly stand corrected when he bolts up and starts to walk— no, run off.

“Yuuji?” You call after him as he disappears from your view. Due to the drinks, your reaction time is a bit sluggish, so it takes a minute before you’re up and following him. Once you finally follow him into the open bathroom, you find him hunched over the toilet and it suddenly makes sense.

His beer can is on the floor, its contents pooling around the base of the toilet as Yuuji uses his forearms to keep himself stable. He doesn’t throw up much, mostly just coughing and gagging— Still, the sight brings up a few…unpleasant memories and the sounds alone make a melancholic feeling settle in your chest.

“Do you want some water?” You offer, but he shakes his head.

“Stay here.” It’s a simple request. His words are slurred, but the look in his droopy eyes tells you he means it. He rests his head against his right forearm, staring directly at you as he tries to regain his strength.

Eventually, you settle onto the floor a few feet away from him. With your back against the door, you curl your knees up to your chest and just wait for him to feel better. A few minutes pass, neither of you would really be able to count how many, but he finds himself leaning against the bathtub rather than the toilet.

“’m glad I found you,” he says quietly, voice hoarse from coughing so much. “I was kind of going crazy all by myself. I swore I started hearing things,” he chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

It’s so peculiar to you how Yuuji is so…positive. Even now, drunk and hunched over a toilet bowl, he finds it in him to laugh. You don’t have it in you to tell him that you’re happy to— cause that would require admitting that you care about him.

“What were you doing before all this?” You ask him curiously, trying to change the subject. It’s something you’ve wondered for a long time yet never found a way to bring it up.

“I was just a college student,” he laughs a bit, the skin of his eyes creasing at the thought. “I delivered pizzas when I could. Did some odd jobs, too. Like…landscaping for my grandpa’s neighbors and shit. What about you?”

“Just bartending,” you nod, thinking back to those simple times. “It was good money.”

The two of you sit and talk like that for a little longer, until Yuuji eventually starts to doze off. As cute as he looks as his eyes flutter shut, you know better than to let him sleep there. “C’mon, let's get you to bed,” you say softly, helping him stand up.

“You’re so sweet,” he murmurs, half asleep and still inebriated as he leans against you. You’re practically dragging him towards the bedroom with his arm around your shoulder. “And pretty too. ‘M so happy we found you…”

That night and in that moment, you were too hung up on him calling you pretty to acknowledge the we in his words; or maybe you did notice, but it was subconsciously easier to just…chalk it off as a slip of the tongue.

—

You’re drenched in sweat as you suddenly wake up, body practically launching away from the bed. You press your palm to your chest, feeling the way your heart is beating at an inhumane rate.

For the past few weeks, you’ve been having vivid nightmares. Usually, they’re all similar; all having to do with you being taken or something of the sort. Tonight’s dream was a bit different.

You were in the cabin, but nothing was working. The boards were off the windows, the fireplace wouldn’t light, and the generator wouldn’t work. Thankfully, you woke up before anything bad could truly happen, but waking up was bad in and of itself, considering the bed is empty with Yuuji nowhere to be found.

“…Baby?” You call out nervously, leaning over to turn your bedside lamp on. You were hoping that he was just in the bathroom, but that hope is quickly squashed when he doesn’t call back.

With a stuttered sigh, your legs swing over the side of the bed as you prepare to search for your lover. Shaking hands sift through your drawer, pushing around objects you forgot existed, before landing on a thick flashlight. It illuminates the room, making your eyes widen in a weak attempt to adjust to the light.

Your footsteps are light and cautious against the creaking wood and it’s a scene straight from a horror movie. Once on the stairs, you can hear something creaking— a door or a window— but when you get in the kitchen, you can’t seem to find anything.

Timid as a mouse, your voice is quiet as you call out for Yuuji. There’s no response, of course not, but as you begin to speak again, you’re very quickly disrupted.

A thick hand wraps around your face, easily covering your lips and practically suffocating you as his fingertips dig into your cheekbones. Panic bubbles out of your throat, eyes wide with adrenaline, yet as you go to scream, another hand finds its place around your throat.

“Don’t scream.” A dark and eerily familiar sound pierces your ear. It’s a contorted and dark version of a voice you hear every day. “Or you could, but who’ll find you?” He mocks sadistically.

Your head is yanked back, nearly giving you whiplash as it makes contact with the man’s chest. You feel as though you’re about to hurl. The panic is presenting itself clear in the form of bile in your throat, and the fear in the form of tears.

“I’ve sat on the sidelines for too fucking long.”

Another hand begins to tug at your flimsy pajama shorts— wait, another hand…?

Looking down in absolute horror, you’re greeted by a third arm tussling at your clothes. You’re convinced you’re going insane, but it’s so real. At this point, with dead people walking around, nothing should surprise you, but even so, you can’t help the way your eyes widen in horror at the side of multiple sets of arms.

You’re far too distraught to even register the way the fabric tears at your thigh, completely ripping apart with a flick of his hand. The lump in your throat grows, making your mouth dry as you struggle to speak.

“W-who are you?”

The man behind you just laughs— a deeply disturbing sound as it vibrates throughout the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything, just grabs your waist with one of four hands and begins to drag you; where exactly, you aren’t sure.

Amongst the laughter, he covers your eyes as he manhandles you away. He’s keeping your sight obscured until you can ‘properly see me’, as if it’s some sort of game. It’s terrifying.

It feels like the wind is knocked out of you with how roughly he’s shoving you against a hard surface— your table, you soon realize. He maneuvers you as if you’re some kind of doll and gets you laying onto the table before your vision is finally returned. He retracts two out of four hands; keeping them only on your waist and throat.

Your heart drops when you finally see the man in front of you. It’s Yuuji— your Yuuji, but his body is deformed. He’s much taller and stockier for starters. He’s missing the lean figure that you’ve grown to adore. Instead, he’s towering over you ever more, with an extra pair of arms sprouting from his midsection. One of the most disturbing parts, though, are the second and third eyes. They’re placed directly under his regular eyes, but they’re half the size. It makes you want to throw up.

“What? You don’t like seeing your baby Yuuji?” he imitates you with a sadistic grin.

You’re shuddering in fear, throat constricted just enough to let you speak. “You are not my Y-Yuuji,” you stammer, shaking like a goddamn leaf.

He just laughs, tugging at your panties. Even with you desperately squeezing your thighs together, he rips them apart with ease. “You’re right, I’m not. Yuuji couldn’t fuck you properly even if someone was telling him how.”

What is he talking about? Who is this?

“And trust me, I tried,” he says, like he’s exasperated as he rips your panties off. “Every time I talk to him, he just ignores me. Little brat.” He’s muttering to himself as thick hands pry your legs apart.

“Please, don’t,” your voice shakes, resorting to your seemingly last option of begging whoever this imposter is. “I-I’ll give you anything else just don’t…” you can’t even speak it out loud. You know what he wants to do to you— what he’s about to do.

Your pleading is met with a loud, and mocking laugh. “You look so cute like that; all helpless and crying. You humans have always looked best like that.” It makes sense. You would’ve never described him as human. You don’t know where he’s going with this tangent, but his voice soon drops an octave and answers your question.

“Do you really think I’m gonna pass up the chance to get what I’ve been craving for so long? Why, because of a few tears?” You hadn’t even realized you were crying until then, but now that you know, the dams are releasing.

“W-who are you?” Sure, he’s claimed to be Yuuji, but it’s clear that you aren’t falling for that. His eyes zero on your cunt as thick fingers begin to prod at your folds. None of the movements make sense and it’s clearly not for your pleasure. It feels more as if he’s just inspecting it.

It’s been a long time since he’s been let out to play, after all.

“Call me Sukuna, Doll.” His words are eerily dark before he roughly shoves a finger into your cunt. For the most part, you’re fairly dry, but he knows that he can change that; and he knows that it won’t take him long, either. Humans are simple creatures.

Tears slip out of your eyes faster, only fueling him on even more as he starts to finger fuck you. His fingers are a lot thicker than the slender digits that you’ve gotten used to. It hurts but it also..feels good? You hate even thinking that, but you can’t deny the physical pleasure you’re experiencing despite the mental anguish alongside it.

“You’re wet,” he obnoxiously observes, uncaring of the way it makes you squirm. “Do my fingers feel that good? Or are you just used to Yuuji treating you like glass?” You don’t respond, instead opting to turn your head away.

A third finger slips in and you swear that it’s already the equivalent of your boyfriend’s cock. “I always told him that he needed to be rougher. The little brat wouldn’t listen but I knew better; I know that girls like you just want to be treated like whores.”

As the pad of his fingers press into your g-spot, you finally let out a moan. It’s whiney and high pitched and out of fucking nowhere. In all of the times he’s listened in on you and Yuuji having sex— which has been every time — he’s never heard a noise like that leave your lips. It has his ego inflating even further.

Immediately, you’re trying to bring a hand to your lips, trying so hard to muffle the noises that keep seeping out like a waterfall. Still, it’s no use once Sukuna catches onto what you’re doing. A large hand overpowers your own as he pins it against the hard table.

“Don’t do that,” he demands, a sick grin on his face. “I want him to hear.” Him? Yuuji can hear?

You’ve been far too scared to put together all of Sukuna’s implications. Too riddled with fear to even think about if Yuuji knew that this demon was living inside of him. Even so, from everything he’s said, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure it out.

It doesn’t take much longer for his patience to break. With one hand still buried inside of your cunt, two others are undoing his sweats. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight you see next.

Not only is his cock considerably bigger than Yuuji’s, but there’s two of them.

With panic spreading through your body, you’re very quickly trying to scramble away. “T-those can’t—“ you’re stammering, body attempting to crawl away from him and up the table. Even with you slipping away, he’s trying to line one of his cocks up. “Those can’t go inside of me. Y-you’re fucking crazy,” you curse, mind reeling just at the thought of him trying to jam just one of those things inside of you.

“Stay fucking still,” he barks, yanking you back down and right onto his dick. Your mouth opens in a silent scream, and your eyes begin to roll back. With your lips parted in an O, he finds himself groaning at the feeling of your tight heat and the sight of your oh so beautiful face twisted up in both pleasure and pain.

With a deep groan vibrating his entire chest, he bottoms out inside of you. He feels impossibly deep as he nestles inside of you. Your nails scrape against the wooden surface, and your back arches. Your entire body is being overwhelmed by the intense pain he’s causing, yet you can’t deny the element of pleasure that’s mixed in.

You would’ve never mentioned it to him, but Yuuji did always treat you like glass. He was always a bit too kind and a bit too gentle. It felt good, just not…intense.

“Sukuna,” you nearly scream the name, hips stuttering as you try to not cum right then. He’s pushing your knees up to your chest, leaning forward to get a good look at the pathetic puddle he’s turned you into, as he fucks you roughly.

“You sound good saying my name, pet,” he laughs, thrusting deep into you as his second cock rests above your stomach. “I always knew you would.”

The two of you stay like that for awhile— Sukuna fucking you within an inch of your life, and you taking it like some sort of rag doll. It doesn’t take much longer for you to cum. With the length of his second cock rubbing against your clit, you’re easily overstimulated until you're squirting all over him.

That’s another thing you’ve never done with Yuuji. It feels so dirty and twisted, but fuck, you can’t deny how good this monster is making you feel. His cock is reaching places you didn’t think possible and it’s driving you insane.

After what feels like forever, Sukuna’s finally starting to pull out. You’re practically half-conscious at this point. Your body is lolled out on the table, limply laying there as you stare up at him with lidded eyes.

You watch as his, seemingly permanent, grin widens, and you don’t fully understand why it is, until you feel something else prodding at your hole. He’s not…is he?

For the nth time tonight, your eyes widen at the sight of him trying to push his other cock into your pussy beside the one that’s already there.

“S-Sukuna it won’t fit, it won't—“

“Will you ever learn to shut up?” He snarls, starting to push in. Thankfully for him, two cocks is a quick way to get you to quiet down. You’re far too preoccupied with getting stretched beyond your limits to worry about talking back.

It feels like you’re going to explode at any given time. It’s just too much. You could barely fit what was in you before, let alone double. Your eyes twitch due to how hard they’re rolling.

Finally, as you begin to regain some semblance of control over your body, you try to refocus your vision. Your eyes land on Sukuna once more, studying how he begins to look less like Yuuji the longer this goes on. He’s beginning to morph into his own self. It’s weird and creepy and you want it to stop.

Drifting away in search of something else to latch onto, your eyes find another thing to focus on. This one, though, is much more alarming.

A thick bulge can be seen poking through your skin in the shape of his cock. You watch in absolute horror as it moves in tandem with his hips.

“You little humans,” he purrs. “All so fragile. Look at that…” once his hand goes to trace the bulge and you finally see just how large his hands really are. “Look how deep inside of you I am. C’mon,” he taps your cheek, trying to pull you from your dazed state. “You can’t fall asleep yet.”

He doesn’t even give you the chance to say something in response. Instead, he begins to fuck you at a rough pace. Not as fast as earlier, but a lot deeper. With each stroke, you find yourself crying out his name and reeling from the pleasure he’s providing. It’s sick and insane that you’re finding any aspect of this enjoyable, let alone all of it. Every single movement has you one step closer to cumming.

By the time Sukuna’s emptying both of his cocks inside of you and filling you to the brim with cum, you’ve already hit your climax two additional times. You’re completely dazed over at this point, barely even conscious, and definitely not aware enough to notice how swollen your tummy is due to the copious amount of cum he dumped inside of you.

He hasn’t even pulled out yet, but he’s letting out a deep sigh. The deal he and Yuuji made was that he got to fuck you once and only until he came. He has a feeling Yuuji won’t allow him any other fun than that, especially since it’s going to be hard enough trying to convince you this was a nightmare or whatever other bullshit he’ll try to feed you.

“Okay, brat,” he mutters, pressing down lightly on the bulge and watching you haphazardly squirm. “I’m done now. Let’s go.”

One. Two. Three.

Nothing comes. No one switches.

A devilish grin finds Sukuna’s face once more.

“God, you’re such a little pervert,” he laughs. “You want to watch me fuck her brains out again, don’t you, Yuuji?” Even with no response, he knows he’s right.

His hand strokes your cheek gently, before roughly grabbing your jaw, scaring you but not enough to jolt you awake.

“Seems like we get to have some more fun, Doll.”

tagging: @enchantedforest-network , @themovingcastlez , @hannzai , @pussydrunkfyodor , @chaoticmoonave , @kkittycries , @dilfhos , @saintriots , @suyacho , @princess-okkotsu

#jjk smut #ryomen sukuna #sukuna smut #yuuji itadori #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #itadori yuuji #yuji x reader #tw noncon #.kinktober 2023 #.ezra’s writing #.file } itadori #.file } sukuna

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shadow4-1 · 7 months ago

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I'm just imagining the 141 renting out a "haunted" mansion for a short vacation only for the place to be exactly as advertised.

Like, the moment Soap shows you the listing for the Scottish castle alarm bells are going off in your head. You're not superstitious, but something about the place is just too damn ominous. Despite the fact everyone thinks you're overreacting you make your feelings on the trip very clear.

"This is a horrible idea, you guys. The place literally says its haunted."

"Ghosts aren't real." Ghost scoffs.

"Yeah, well then what the fuck are you?"

Everyone chuckles at you. They think you're joking, but you're being serious. They all vote to spend a weekend at the god forsaken place and either you can stay on base or go with them. Those are your options, take it or leave it.

Of course you go. Being left behind in the empty barracks seems even spookier.

At first the place is actually quite charming.

It's more of a quiet countryside villa instead of a brooding castle, like the listing portrayed. There's more than enough rooms to house you all. You decide to stay in the book nook room. The bed rests against a rather gorgeously large window. The ensuite bathroom is old timey with a clawfoot bathtub. You make yourself right at home by taking a hot bath before crawling into bed.

That night you sleep like a baby with a thunderstorm raging right outside the window. Lightning strikes through the white curtains and despite the weather, you're thoroughly content. Maybe Soap was right.

The next morning you're greeted to a disaster.

All of the books on the bookshelves are littered across the floor. Adrenaline kicks in and immediately you rush out of the room. You run down the hall to find all of your team sitting in front of the fireplace. Each of their eyes are shifty and nervous. They regard you with distrust.

"Guys, what the hell is going on?" You yelp. "I woke up to books everywhere!"

"Yeah, well I kept waking up 'cause someone kept pulling the sheets off 'a me!" Soap grumbled back.

"Someone kept tapping at my window." Gaz admitted.

"I heard scratching at my door. Thought it was a cat but..." Price trailed off.

Everyone's eyes turned to face Ghost. He was simply staring into the crackling fire.

"You alright?" You ask him. "Something happen to you too?"

"Thought I saw someone in the hall."

#call of duty #cod imagines #mw2 #mw2 headcanons #simon ghost riley #cod mwii #john soap mactavish #simon riley x reader #captain price #ky #kyle gaz garrick

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chaptersleftunwritten · 26 days ago

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Hi love!!! It’s absolutely been toooooo long since I set a request but I read your prompts & had to send this in!!!

Neighbor Eddie? Maybe he sees the new neighbor moving into the apartment next to his & gets a little obsessed with her? Constantly timing it out to see her in the halls or at the mail room, knows where she works so he “accidentally” stopped in, knows her favorite coffee shop, he’s just always “accidentally” bumping into her , possibly dark sorta stalker-ish story?? Idk Halloween got me in spooky vibes lately & i loved it!! if you’re not comfortable writing this I totally understand but as always I hope you’re doing good!!🫶🏼🫶🏼

(11. New Apartment and 16. A flock of crows) with Eddie Munson. Thank you for your request lovie, I hope this is deliciously spooky!!

Warnings: Stalking, obsession, Dark!Eddie, mentions of homicidal thoughts and torture, mentions of sexual content, 18+ content!

Days were becoming shorter and shorter— darker and gloomier. Through the bleak winter clouds your eyes were drawn to the inky crows circling above your head. Their squawks and wails so violent you could have mistaken them as alarm bells ringing in your ears. They knew something you didn’t.

It was evident that something wasn’t right. An ominous darkness that lay festering beneath the surface of the deceiving ordinary. You had felt it since you moved from your home town— since you had laid your head down to sleep that first night in your new apartment.

It was comparable to a pair of beady eyes staring at you from a shadowy corner. The coat rack that your brain had convinced you was a man looming at the foot of your bed. The feeling made itself known. It demanded to be felt.

At first, you couldn’t have possibly suspected the curly haired metal head who cozily lived across the hall was to blame for your bazar paranoia.

But then you began to see more and more of him…

Eddie was his name. Eddie Munson.

Time continued its endless march onward and you hadn’t noticed the pattern because you had blindly narrowed it down to mere coincidence that you were seeing him so often. And that’s how Eddie wanted it to be. Undetectable. Like micro dosing you with a highly addictive drug. He wanted you to think of him often, but he had to be discreet about how his practices were played out.

It started in the laundry room in the basement of your shared apartment complex. You would be waiting on your load of laundry to finish in the dryer whilst Eddie would be waiting for his things in the washing machine. This was the first of many evenings shared this way. You and Eddie stood silently whilst the clink and clank of fabric shook in the operating machines in front of you. He had clearly left some loose change or maybe a lighter in his pockets.

Until you decided to try and spark the first conversation, “You’re in apartment E, right?”

And that’s all it took for the poison to seep penetratively deep into Eddie’s psyche. He was enchanted by you. Blanketed in a fog of your perfume. Your voice like a siren song lulling him to a watery grave. You had bewitched him. He was hooked.

“I live right across the hall from you in letter F. I moved in last week.” Most people mistook Eddie’s silence as ignorance, but not you. You could see that he wanted to talk to you. You understood him.

“Eddie. It’s nice to finally meet you.” He replied sheepishly and you would be lying if you said that his voice hadn’t caught you off guard. Gruff with a hint of softness— like he hadn’t spoken aloud in a while.

There was an allure to him that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. The way his cheeks heated and his eyes darted everywhere but your face. It’s almost as if he was being seen for the first time. Like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been…

“I heard you play guitar? Sounds pretty cool. I can hear it through the walls sometimes.” You offer him a polite smile to try and coax him out of his shell, but he remains reserved. His arms crossed over his chest and his wild hair falling into his eyes. His eyes that seemed to be the deepest shade of brown you had ever seen. Swallowing light and offering only darkness.

“Didn’t mean to bother you. I’ve been needing to sound proof my walls.” His voice remained lodged in his throat, strangled. He wanted to keep the words unspoken. Thoughts that were meant only for him.

You wave away his worry with a flick of your wrist, “It doesn’t bother me. I do enjoy a good thumping base when I’m doing the dishes. Gives me a reason to dance around and not look clinically insane.”

Your laugh left him stilted— like a deer frozen in headlights. It was a sound he had only dreamt of. Something pulled straight from a fairytale. Your claws sunk into his skin further and his entire body erupted in an itch to run away from you.

“Sorry, I sometimes get ahead of myself, my name’s—“

Before you had any time to even just simply introduce yourself, the brunette was taking off out of the room. Like a criminal fleeing a crime scene. Full of panic and spontaneity.

“Wait— you forgot your… laundry…” And at that point you were meekly talking to empty space. Bumbling like a desperate fool.

If only in that moment you had taken the opportunity to look inside of his washing machine to discover that it was actually empty all along…

Eddie’s uncontrollable fascination with you only worsened with time and he found himself dressed in a dark zipper sweatshirt and a black baseball cap— premeditating his plans before he saw them through. He followed you to and from where you worked at a small bookstore near the edge of town. His breath breathing a thick spread of condensation onto the window pane as he searched for you through the glass. He would stand there for ridiculous amounts of time, sometimes for hours.

However he knew that to avoid suspicion he had to come inside at least a few times. Just to be safe.

He would trace his painted fingertips along the spines of books in the music section of the library and he would pick up one or two of the hardcovers and glance at the front page and the blurb on the back. Just to try and show some sort of faux interest. He would do this all whilst keeping his intense gaze fixated on you.

Your warm smile that always met your eyes. The way your nose scrunched slightly as you concentrated. He appreciated each article of clothing you wore and how the colours contrasted and complimented you beautifully. He longed to hear you laugh and he despised whenever another man would talk to you.

It caused his mind to darken to places it never had before. He would contemplate torture and homicide. He would indulge in fantasies of tying the men up to chairs, beating them into puddles of blood and drool and then making them watch as he fucked your sweet pussy silly. It drove him insane. You drove him insane.

He blamed you for what he was becoming. This animalistic hunter who only had an appetite for you and only you. Nothing could quench his thirst. There was nothing strong enough to drown out the thoughts he had about you.

It’s how he found himself standing behind you in the queue at your favourite cafe. Eddie found the coffee shop to be incredibly basic and he couldn’t quite understand why you loved and preferred it over any other, but if it meant that he got to see you more often then he would come here for the rest of his life.

Eddie hated coffee. He couldn’t stand the stuff. But just because he bought one, didn’t mean he had to drink it. All he had to do was to look like he was. So he nestled himself into a small crook at the hidden away corner of the store and left himself the perfect view of you from afar. He had your order memorised. Alongside the scent of your shampoo.

One day he promised himself that he would work up the courage to let himself into your apartment and see what trinkets of yours he could take but it was something he appreciated that it needed intricate and precise planning. Perfection took time, after all.

“Eddie?” You beamed down at him, your small and white ceramic mug and saucer balancing in the palm of your hand steadily, “What a pleasant surprise! How are you?”

Eddie gulped thickly at the thought of being caught and his trained and alert eyes follow your movements as you take a seat in front of him, welcoming yourself at his small table for one.

“I’m good. How are you?” His answers were always clipped and short. Nothing too interesting to draw you in, but enough mystery to leave you wanting more.

“Same old, same old!” Your shoulders bounce in a quick and dismissive shrug but he already knew what you had been doing prior to this interaction, “Do you come here often? I swear I’ve seen you in here a few times…” You weren’t confident in your allegation which caused Eddie’s heart to settle in his chest. He had you right where he wanted you. Dumb and sweet.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” He cocks one of his eyebrows at you challengingly and his lips curve upward into a sly smirk. In just a sentence he had disarmed you and you melt into your seat comfortably.

“I’ve become quite the regular here…” You sip at the rim of your cup, leaving traces of your lipstick behind on the pristine glass which Eddie knew he would be taking home with him later, “It’s just so cozy! I love it.” You snuggle down into the collar of your cableknitted sweater, the one Eddie had watched you buy from the second hand store just a few blocks over.

Eddie knew you so well. All of your cute mannerisms and your nervous tells. But you hadn’t the faintest clue about him.

Everything seemed to shift one morning when you had stumbled into Eddie when you were retrieving your mail from your post box. It had become a theme for you both to be grabbing your mail at the same time, and somewhere inside of you, a part of you that existed deep down, began to feel uneasy around Eddie.

You began to take notice of the look in his eyes. He always seemed to be somewhere else. Miles away. You could always feel his presence so close behind you, an eerie existence that you couldn’t ignore. His breath would sometimes tickle the hair on the back of your neck and you could have sworn you had felt him sniff your hair at least once of twice.

You started to try and avoid him at any given opportunity. You thought that because he never spoke to you much anyways then there couldn’t be too much harm in the matter.

The only problem was the double edge to your sword. You thought Eddie wouldn’t notice… but of course he did. And it angered him to a point of no return.

“Jesus Christ!!” Your hand clutches at your heart, your fingers fisting at the fabric of your sweater, “I didn’t even hear you come down the stairs…” Your breathing is erratic at the discovery of Eddie standing behind you. It was his intention to remain quiet— to catch you off guard. He liked to see you scared and riled up… it.. excited him.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Although his words sounded sincere, they weren’t. But he knew that you couldn’t tell the difference, “You okay?” He is closer now and he is nearly fleeting at the reflection of himself mirrored in the irises of your gorgeous and blown eyes.

He hears you gulp down a pool of saliva and it causes his smile to widen further, “It’s awfully early to be downstairs, is it not? Where are you off to?” He nearly pins you against the wall of metal post boxes but quickly reverts to opening his own locker. It was empty inside but you didn’t have to know that. He enjoyed toying with you. Puppeteering your feelings like a master of strings.

“I’m going to work.” You were struggling to deflect the annoyance and fear in your voice and Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle to himself lightly. It was a Sunday morning— you weren’t going to work. Actually, you were only down here to try and avoid running into him later on. You couldn’t hide from him anymore. He saw right through your charade.

“You’re going to work at 7 a.m. on a Sunday?” He pried further just so he could see you squirm. And the view was fucking delicious.

“Yes—“ He didn’t allow you to finish.

“In your pyjamas?” He takes his time as his eyes drink in your appearance from head to toe and you are suddenly under the impression that you may be in terrible danger…

“Well… I’m just about to go and get ready so… yes.” You slam your locker closed, twisting the key hurriedly and darting toward the staircase.

“One sec, I’ll walk up with you.” Eddie’s stern voice stills your movements and you shake your head, smiling uncomfortably. The corners of your mouth don’t meet your eyes. Eddie notices this.

“I really should get going—“

“And done.” He closes his locker with such gentleness that it makes your head spin and as he walks over to your rigid frame empty handed you feel your heart shudder in your chest.

“You didn’t have any mail?” Accusation is clear in your voice as you stare at his hands knowingly and Eddie stops dead in his tracks. His once warm smile falls from his lips and his eyes harden to as cold as ice as they meet your own.

“And you don’t have work today.” You watch his head tilt off to one side, like an interested dog listening to its owner for further command and your skin crawls with horrid goosebumps. Your stomach twists into anxious knots and your heart rattles so loudly in your chest that you are afraid he will hear it.

A dreaded silence falls over the empty hall, nothing to be heard but laboured breath. Your voice tremors with anticipation as you bring yourself to ask the question that you already know the answer to.

“How do you know that, Eddie?”

He offers nothing but a vacant stare, almost like he is waiting for you to make the first move. If you run, he will be sure to chase after you. But once he has you in his clutches— he won’t let you go.

“How do you know that.” You ask again, grasping the paper envelopes so tight to the point that they begin to crinkle in your grip. Eddie’s fingers twitch, longing to touch something. To touch you. To hold you still. He couldn’t handle much more of your minuscule frantic movements.

“I think you know how, sweetheart.” Groomed eyebrows perk up on Eddie’s forehead, beckoning you to antagonise him further. His eyes look scarily black now, lifeless like a shark circling its prey. He takes tedious and careful steps toward you but you match each one with a step further up the stairs.

“Well… I… I need to get going. Time is ticking.” You flash him one of your forced smiles again and it’s enough for Eddie to finally reach out and grab you from behind.

His fingers tangle through your hair and he yanks you back down from the staircase. Your envelopes aeroplane across the room and his fingers clasp firmly over your lips before your horrified blood curdling scream can leave your throat.

Eddie moans erotically into your ear as his nose tickles up the nape of your neck. His nostrils whiffing in your scent deeply like a bloodhound on the hunt, “Oh, baby. So soft. So beautiful.” He groans again as his fingers indent into your skin harshly and your thrashes against his restraint fail. Your back is flush against his hard chest and only one of his arms is strong enough to keep you there, “Finally I can have you all to myself…” His voice had shifted downward an octave and you can feel his wolfish smile against your neck before he starts to gnaw and nibble on your skin, “Hope you’re ready for the time of your fucking life…”

forgot I had a tag list whoops, my bad! Enjoy xoxo

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers @rainybloo28 @munson-enthusiast @godcreatoreli @littlefreckles4 @what-the-jams @tlclick73 @ameliapond1995 @thepurplelovewitch @somethingvicked @costellation-hunter @munsonzgf @emxxblog @ingridvasquez @sadbitchfangirl @im-julessssss @munsonburn3r @unclecrunkle @cierra222 @ziggeddie @yarafae @sidthedollface2 @kellsck @your-nightmaredoll @purplewitchcauldron @manitskatrina @georgeweasleyslostearhq

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easy-there-leftovers · 1 year ago

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I See You, Darling (2)

[Astarion x reader] Due to surprisingly overwhelming demand, the previous fic, along with this one and many more to follow, will now be part of a series!! It was honestly very difficult trying to come up with what happens next, but here we are. The idea came to me during a fever!! |Word count: 2.5k.| Based off of this post I made.

Part 1 here!!

Next part here!!

The reader believes they are in a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time their fantasies conjured up such an obscure, yet somehow realistic scene. And so they’ve elected to treat the experience with as much realism as one would observe in a dream; little to none.

Alternatively;An ex-art-student-now-traveler accustoms themselves to the party.

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“Shadowheart. Shadow…heart. Hm.” His gaze bounced between you and her.

“I’m sure her parents meant well, but the name is rather ominous, isn’t it?” He leaned over to your side, not bothering to hide his blatant distrust. Lowering his voice dramatically, if anything.

“Unless she chose it herself. Which is even more worrying, honestly.” He chuckled out.

It had been no more than two bells after mornbright when you met Astarion. Since then, you’ve come to realize how…different your presence has changed the course of the story. Though more subtle than you expected.

It would seem as if you had met the elven vampire before the party was formed, which was strange as your last save point was far later than that and the forest had been quite a long way from the beach.

When you finally stumbled upon Shadowheart, he was quick to share his inner thoughts that you haven’t heard from the game before.

As they continued with their quest to find a cure for the Illithid problem, expanding their party as they did so, you had tried to make yourself useful by doing the dirty work for them. Looting and opening crates filled with camp supplies, armor, and potentially useful weapons and artifacts could always come in handy for trade or for “artifact consumption,” as per Gale’s need. Sorting them for your group’s convenience.

And while you did not have more direct and immediate practical use for your course of study in the modern world, the research you’ve created and reviewed for character creation and world building was doing wonders for your survival.

Or as much as it can for a magicless, not so athletic human.

The “runes” of the medieval ages that have been carved into stone, along with the basic history and background of the common races and deities of the fantastical world that tabletop RPG has offered puts you at quite an advantage.

Not to mention your experience with the areas of the game giving you the same effect.

But this library of information had also aroused something akin to suspicion and concern. It would be understandable if you were a simple traveler just like them, or perhaps even an artisan from the guild, but you were not as astute as either background.

So how could you have access to this much knowledge yet be unaware of more practical matters? It’s as if you had simply read about it from somewhere.

Astarion had been quick to give an explanation before you could form one of your own that could poorly convince your companions. Although, perhaps his suggestion was more outlandish than anything you could have come up with.

“They came with me. Property and all the formality that comes with it. A family pet, if you will.” A perfect excuse to justify your constant proximity to him, and a likely explanation to being well read, but not well experienced.

You thought nothing of the title, your apathy to the non-hazardous labels of this world apparent.

The same couldn’t have been said about your associates who had a few comments about this disclosure.

“I am unfamiliar with the–well, I shall not say ‘culture.’ ‘Customs’, perhaps. I did not think your kind to house such breed of cattle. Perhaps they could be useful.” Was Lae’zel’s.

“I assure you, they typically don’t. Humans aren’t naturally subservient to Elves, at least in this manner. This setup sounds more akin to slavery. Blink twice if you need help.” Was Gale’s response.

“It seems like Astarion's from the upper city, given the embroidery on his armor. I wouldn’t put it past them to have servants that follow them around.” Shadowheart’s nose crinkled at the thought.

The party already had such an interesting rapport. Not entirely comfortable with one another to divulge everything, but loose enough to have semi-pleasant conversation with.

You thought this as you sorted out the fruits of your collective labor into neat pouches and bags, keeping items similar to one another factioned into their respective holding space. The chest being closer to Withers more than you’d like, but it was nice to hear the ramblings of an…undead person? Hearing someone continuously talking allows you to be more productive.

You’ll admit, handling enchanted armor and crystals does make you a tad nervous but you’re comforted by the thought that it will not be you who wields it in battle.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gale approaching your direction. Possibly to ask for his share of the camp supplies just a little earlier to sate himself as you had an abundance of it for now. You regard him with your back turned and he stops for a bit.

“I will say that I don’t have the lightest of feet, but I figured myself better at sneaking around.” It’s not his fault that he got caught, but the bright purple robe and the smell of the oils you’ve been crafting for them are particularly noticeable.

“You are, but I’ll assume you're not exactly in the best shape after dealing with a few goblins.” You hold up a bottle of a healing potion, swinging it a bit with your fingers to indicate that the smell had warned you of his arrival.

“You’ve got a keen nose on you. Must be from all of Astarion’s training but, speaking of which,” He nears himself to your crouched form, going in to lean against a very old and empty crate.

“Gale, wait–” Right as your warning leaves you, they seem to evade him as falls right through the wood. A comical layer of dust and lichen pluming out from the force. He tries to quickly recover from both the physical and emotional damage as he brushes himself off to make himself presentable once more.

“Ahem, as I was saying,” He again makes his way over to you, settling for just standing close as his attempts to look unbothered temporarily cost him his ego.

“I was serious about what I said before. While I don’t know what to make of our pallid friend just yet, as enigmatic as he is, what he said before is quite confusing. Best make haste away from here if you want your freedom while we’re distracted with this worm problem.” His tone suggests a genuine concern which confuses you.

You’d be lying to yourself if the label of the set up didn’t sound odd, but you’ve never expressed discomfort as there was nothing all too worrying about it on your end. It was mostly for show, and you had as much independence as Tav would have in your game.

You endeavor to quickly dispel his worries.

“You don’t have to worry, I’m very satisfied with my servitude under Astarion. He’s very lenient and reliable, and I’m better off with him than on my own." You return to your task of sifting through your materials but pause and look back up at him to continue.

"I do thank you for turning my way though. Your concern is much appreciated but unnecessary.” You lowered your head a bit to show your thanks.

“Well if someone as generous as yourself says to trust you on this, then I have no choice but to concede! I’ll keep a watchful eye and offer guidance, should you need it. Also, do we happen to have something for—” As he asks you for some sort of salve, just a few ways off, your eccentric “handler,” of sorts, watches the two of you interact.

Don’t get him wrong, such matters don’t really catch his attention, but being an elf does curse him with the ability to have extensive hearing. Something that he thinks Gale knew, and something you forgot. That would explain the lack of distance between you two.

He thinks it’s amusing how the wizard is trying to make conversation with you as if you were some foreign creature. His usual eloquence nowhere to be seen, and you seemed as unbothered as ever. Like how he usually saw you when you conversed with someone through a crystal.

It was a phone, not that he knew that though.

“They’re a real nice one, aren’t they?” Karlach says from her side of the camp which was nearer towards his tent and yours.

“Hm, yes. While that may be an admirable trait, it’s hardly going to get them anywhere if they keep this up.” Astarion huffed out, not very keen on your altruistic playstyle so far.

He doesn’t know much about what you do and don’t know, all he knows is that you do know of the events to unfold and could be the key to defeating his master.

All he needs is to keep you at his side. So he’ll allow you this much freedom.

“Oh come on, you. You can’t seriously think that after everything. Our camp’s pretty well maintained because of ‘em, not to mention the connections we’ve been able to get!” She fortifies her statement by knocking on her chest, the engine humming within feels lighter and newer since you’ve informed her of the tiefling blacksmith at the grove.

He hums in response, returning to reading his book as he thinks about his growing hunger. He’ll have to hunt soon enough. While your positive reputation occasionally reflects on him by proxy, it can also reflect negatively due to the alleged nature of your relationship. If he wants the journey to a way of understanding the tadpoles to be a more comfortable one, he has to at least prevent their trust in him from diminishing.

Night falls later than he’d have liked, having waited for everyone to be asleep so that he may prowl the forest for sustenance.

The rest were sound asleep in their bedroll as the skirmish from earlier on in the day had proven to be sufficiently tiring. The crackling fire surely brings a lulling warmth that he supposes he’ll have to miss out on for a while.

As he begins to slink off into the darkness, he looks back to gauge his surroundings and catches your form from across the settlement. It seems you were tallying away the items in the shared chest and double-checking to see that everything is checked and balanced with your records.

Your shoulders jump at his suddenly standing form, but try to understand his intentions. You mouth, “where?” with a very confused face, to which he responds with a simple shushing motion and waits for your acknowledgement.

You nod slowly, and he holds your gaze before sneaking off once again.

‘He’s coming back, right?’ You wondered. The progression of your experience now in comparison to the game was vastly different, and you didn’t know if all scenes, or only some, would present themselves in this world. You assume he planned to hunt, and while you trust his abilities, you want to make sure he’s attended to properly should he be harmed in any way.

So after retrieving a few potions, a journal, and a pencil, you stashed them in a satchel and positioned yourself at the base of the tree in the direction he left in. You weren’t particularly sleepy tonight, and planned to pass the time in wait of your companion.

There wasn’t much to do in this century to keep yourself entertained. The only things you’ve found so far were a few instruments and all manners of journals and inks.

The inkpot that you picked up appeared to be red this time. The game of, “which ink dye will I get this time?” will have to be the most of your entertainment for now. Not all too different from home, you suppose. And while writing keeps your mind at bay, illustrating all manners of wildlife have proven to be quite the fun exercise.

You’ve made a few notes on creatures that you and your company have encountered. The visual elements of a drawing allowed you and the others to keep track of materials that could be salvaged from them, and their resistances to certain attacks.

Though as much as you liked depicting such lifeforms in paper, you’ve come to be very interested in portraying your vampire friend.

Evidence of your interest present in the pages filled with his likeness as you search for an unmarked page. You’ve made a few of the others, yes, but anyone who would gain access to your journal would surely see which member of the group you favor more.

You continued to draw, and occasionally write, on the parchment as you waited for Astarion to come back. All sense of time evading you as you focus on the task at hand.

A perfect opportunity for a tired rogue to surprise an unsuspecting human.

“And what are you still doing up, little one?” He appears from behind the very tree you rested against, causing you to spill a bit of ink on your thumb.

You clicked your tongue, not at all annoyed by the character but by your absentmindedness and now stained appendage.

“Sorry, I was just waiting for you.” You sealed the inkpot, and gathered your materials. Effectively, but unknowingly, hiding your work from peering eyes that were the same deep red as your finger.

“I’m very flattered, darling. But couldn’t you wait until morning? I'm sure this couldn’t have been all too important, yes?” He gestures to your satchel, referring to your journal, but you misinterpreted it as him asking for your medical supplies.

“Oh, that depends. Are you hurt, by any chance? I stayed awake in case you might've needed help tending to yourself.” You opened the pouch to reveal its contents to him, your stained thumb in full view.

The sight makes him sigh out, but is thankful for your offered service.

“I’m alright, nothing of interest happened while I was away.” He considers telling you about the nature of his little…'escapade.' He's unaware if you are of his condition, and he doesn’t wish to out himself if not necessary to avoid possible conflict. So he settles for advising you to rest.

“We need you well rested, my dear. You sleep. I’ll keep watch.” The dialogue is familiar, and you can’t stop yourself from letting a small laugh out as you responded with an equally familiar line

“Thank you. I’ll sleep better for that.” You lower your head as you usually do in gratitude.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He mirrors your gesture, albeit in a way that is most appropriate for someone of his character. “Sweet dreams.”

You walked back to the chest. Returning the potions and ink you’ve plucked from the supply, but keeping the rest of the pouch’s materials with you as you turn in for the night. Awaiting the promise of further study that a new day typically makes.

As Astarion is left with his own thoughts, a sour taste still in his mouth from his earlier meal, he thinks about the man in the journal you kept. He did not see much, only a vague outline of the figure. He thinks about who, or what, it could have been but dismisses the thought rather quickly.

He has no time for a mysterious person with hair less perfect than his own, touching his untainted locks as he does.

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Thank you everyone for your interest in the series!! As per the request of some, I'll now be adding a taglist!

Thank you to @rey26, @shyminnie07, @lynnloveshobi, @iggee-rose, @automnepoet, and @tiannamortis for asking to be tagged!!

#astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion x mc #baldur's gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader isekai(?)#aware!astarion #though I guess not so aware--#lol

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naffeclipse · 2 months ago

Text

Charm Brought It Back Pt. 2

Reader x Witches!Sun, Moon, & Eclipse

Commission Info

Whoo! The darling @jackofallrabbits has all my thanks for the continuation of the DCA Hocus Pocus AU! The boys want every piece of the historian reader, and they have no time to lose! The sun is rising, and they must prepare the ceremony, and you realize that your dear friend Michael has arrived at the witches' home. Very poor timing, on his part. Enjoy the flirts and curses!

Content Warning: Suggestive themes, heavy kissing, heavy touching, injury, disturbing imagery, and fear.

———

The witch carries you across the room, clasping you tightly within a cage of his claws. You’re frozen in his embrace. His towering height and lithe, long limbs make you feel incredibly small, like a mouse before a hungry cat. His extra set of arms disappears into the shadow of his dark cape. How did he summon them so effortlessly? You tilt your head back to gaze up at Eclipse’s face, the eldest brother of the hanged brothers. They should still be dead—they were for almost four hundred years.

His face is inhuman. The markings and color stain his visage in a midnight-red crescent, and a blackened shadow swallows it. His eyes, bright yellow and predatory, glance down at you. A grin splits his lower face with wicked teeth. He runs his tongue over his bone-white fangs.

Your stomach flip-flips within you.

Candlelight flickers ominous over the colonial home as the cauldron continues to bubble in the fireplace. The other two, Sun and Moon, watch you. Their wide eyes gleam in the firelight: one of pale pools of feverish desire and the other glint in scarlet, roiling with appetite.

You cling tighter to Eclipse’s shoulder. A childish desire to bury your face in the crook of his shoulder almost takes hold of you.

“Where are you taking me?” you whisper into Eclipse’s cape.

“To the parlor,” his voice is soft as dusk, and the vibrations through his chest sink into you with a gentle rumble. “The main hall is hardly a place to hold a ceremony.”

Your eyes widen. He strides past the tables with the many candles aflame in a thick, waxy cluster. His claws flex against your shoulder and around your thigh.

“What ceremony?” your voice climbs into a squeaky pitch.

A chuckle echoes behind Eclipse’s shoulder. You turn your head to catch Sun and Moon following behind, and the latter’s lips curl into a sinister smile as his shoulders shake with amusement—as if he finds you utterly adorable.

“Little mouse, there’s nothing to fear,” Moon soothes, almost in a sing-song voice.

“It will be wonderful,” Sun clasps his hands together. Eagerness streaks through his face like falling stars at sunrise. “You’ll see, sunshine.”

A thickness coats your throat. When Eclipse asked you to stay, did you agree to something far more sinister? Do they intend to use your soul or your life to grant them greater power or something else just as nefarious?

“Wait.” You tremble. “Wait.”

“Little comet, we still need you,” Eclipse says firmly but gently. His yellow eyes narrow in the slightest, glancing at the black ribbons on his wrists. “The bells will ring for us at dawn unless we perform the ceremony. You must be part of it. You must speak the vows.”

Your heart scampers within your rib cage.

“Wait,” you say again, panic slithering up your spine. He continues onward.

Eclipse easily unlatches an almost hidden door in the back of the main hall while balancing you in his arms. Cobwebs tear apart as it swings open and he enters a smaller but no less intricate room. A window overlooks part of the road cutting through the thick forest. A few shelves are covered in dusty bottles of glass and woven baskets. Ancient and dried fronds, stems, thorns, and petals are stored on wooden tables.

In the corner of your vision, the white rabbit darts inside the room. The one that spoke with a woman’s voice. She bounds across the space, knocking into a small stand that topples over a jar of powder. Sun curses, his voice growling demonically. The claws holding you tense as Eclipse glowers. You shiver under sharp talons pricking into your sweater.

Moon leaps forward and cuts the rabbit off in her destructive path. His eyes, glinting with bloodlust, follow her like a hound eager to tear apart a fox. He steps across the room, into her path, and forces her to correct her race. Her hind legs kick out. Her fluffy body arches smoothly through the air but she lands too close to the door and clips her front foreleg. She topples over, sliding across the hard floor and back into the main room.

With a flick of his wrist and a dark murmur, Moon casts the door shut without laying a finger upon it. It slams close, rattling the walls and causing you to jump in Eclipse’s arms.

“It’s alright, little comet,” Eclipse purrs.

“We now have privacy,” Moon declares with a rasp. He eyes the door with a branding glare as if daring the rabbit to intervene again.

A faint scratching is heard at the bottom of the door. You clutch your hands into small balls of anxiety.

“I’ll rid us of the little beast after the ceremony,” Sun promises as he steps closer, laying a hand upon your arm. “As for you, my little ray of sunshine, we must get you ready.”

“With haste,” Eclipse speaks, and his brothers listen. You snap your head from one witch to the other. Gently, Eclipse sets you back on your feet. You sway, clutching your chest and twisting your fingers into the knitwork of your sweater.

“This is all happening fast,” you say, breathless. The room spins slightly in your exhilarated state. You start to inch away, back to the door with the soft sound of claws gouging into it.

“We apologize, mouse,” Moon whispers as he steps to a black wood cabinet and pries open one low door. “But necessity calls for it.”

“When we have the luxury of time,” Eclipse speaks while approaching a small table where a stack of books resides. His black claws draw slowly down the spines, “We will have a proper ceremony, with all the decorations you desire and a feast that could gorge a village.”

A shudder falls down your back. The chill sinking into your bones is numbing, and fear creeps deeper into your mind, plucking at every wild and frantic thought. Are they going to cook you up and eat you? Are they going to cast a spell to turn you into a toad? This wasn’t part of the fabled story of their return, was it?

You’re not certain you want to find out any more. Are your questions worth your life? They’re being so cryptid, so rushed.

You shuffle further back, away from the focused witches and their enchantments. What are they capable of? If only you could make them stop for a moment and answer you.

“Sunshine, darling, where are you going?” Hands slip down your arms and over your wrists.

A gasp falls from your mouth, quiet and quick. The hands, pale and yellow, with scarlet ribbons tying golden bells to his wrists, lift your hands into the air. You’re not so different from a little ballerina figurine being posed, forced to dance endlessly in a music box.

“I’m not sure I want to stay,” you breathe, frightened. The rate of your heart picks up in tempo, banging like a drum against your sternum.

He leans over your shoulder. His wicked smile fills the corner of your vision. Eyes, pale and gray like mist, hold you captive.

“There’s so much we can show you,” he says. He trails the tips of his claws down your sleeves, and the layer of separation causes your eyelids to flutter. “There’s so much we can do for you. What would you like, my poppet?”

You’re locked in his spell. Did he cast magic or is it simply his touch? Your arms stay in the air as his hands fall down your sides, rubbing slowly over your ribcage before settling on your waist.

“I want to know.” You stare ahead at Eclipse and Moon as they set a blackwood altar in the center of the room, before the window. “I want to know everything about you and your lives.”

Sun’s teeth graze the curve of your shoulder. His breath is warm against the side of your neck, and the air rattles out of your throat.

“You will have it all,” he answers, and whisks you off your feet in a spin. The room blurs before he stops you, hands holding your own as you’re locked in a dance with the witch. His cape shifts over his shoulder, revealing the deep opening of his flowy, white shirt. Your cheeks burn. Flustered, you jerk your head up, tearing your eyes away, and almost become ablaze as you find his cheeky smile.

“I do mean all,” he winks, coquettish and wicked.

You balk.

He takes your hand and presses it to his chest, right above where his heart would be. His skin is smooth and pale, split into two colors of yellow and off-white down the middle of his torso. You feel a strange hum instead. Not a beat, but a constant buzz of energy. Magic, perhaps.

His footwork guides you around the room in a sweeping circle. As he twirls you, one hand on your waist and the other holding your arm above your head, you catch a glimpse of old and age-stained pages fluttering open. Eclipse sets the book on the altar. He bows over it, his eyes roaming over the archaic writings.

Beside him, Moon holds a silvery veil in his arms. He murmurs something to his elder brother, who dips his head in agreement.

You almost stumble as another shock of fright seizes you.

“What is that?” you ask as Sun reclaims you, pulling you flush against his torso—your middle bubbles at the contact.

He simpers with a low hum.

His mouth opens but before he can speak, bright headlights cut into the room from the window. The diamond-patterned panes slice the room into shapes of light and shadow, and you inhale sharply.

A car. Who’s here? The owner of the property?

“What is that?” Moon hisses, his hood falling deeper over his face as he slinks into an alcove of shadows.

“It’s like the sun.” Eclipse lifts his arm to shield his eyes, peering around the blinding high beams.

“No.” Sun’s brow narrows. His arms lower around you, tightening around your waist until you gasp. “It’s unnatural.”

You peek over Sun’s shoulder, pushing up on your tiptoes to see a familiar build of the vehicle just behind the lights. Michael’s car.

What is he doing here? Did he suspect you would come here alone, against his advice?

What will the witches do when they realize your friend is here?

Your gut clenches. You have to warn him. He has to stay away before they try to throw him into their cauldron or turn him into a fox.

A shiver falls down your back and down to your toes. You turn your head to find Eclipse’s wide eyes cutting into you, and you freeze. He couldn’t know it’s your friend, could he?

“We have an unwelcome visitor,” Eclipse declares. The corners of his mouth tug downwards and he promptly slaps the book close with a heavy, dusty thud. “Brothers, what shall we do with him?”

“Let’s cast him into a carrot and feed him to the rabbit,” Moon suggests.

“No, no, I was of the mind that we could make a new rug out of his skin,” Sun muses, his fingers stroking the small of your back, much to your terror.

Michael’s voice rips through the house. Muffled by the door, his shouts turn quick, frantic. You clamp your mouth shut. A horror so cold slips into your veins, and you tremble. He can’t be here.��

Eclipse lifts his hand, a hum filling his throat as he stares down the door. You cry out a soft, “Please, don’t!”

His wide yellow eyes turn back to you, surprised. The next moment, the jarring thud hits the wood of the door and cracks it by the wrought-iron handle. Splinters fly outwards.

Michael shouts your name, then commands, “Don’t make any vows!”

Your mind turns blank. What?

A snarl rips from Moon’s mouth. You flinch, the sound right at your shoulder as you realize the hooded brother has joined you and Sun. His clawed hand falls to your shoulder, talons almost digging into your collarbone.

“Who is that?” Moon’s scarlet eyes flash in demand. “How does he know?”

Another kick flies into the door. The entire house shudders as the wood buckles and a boot chops through it. Immediately, you watch a familiar hand snake its way inside and throw open the mangled frame of the door. In the threshold stands your friend.

“Michael!” You stare, stunned. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes widened upon the scene. His dark jacket catches splinters of wood and his unruly hair is extra ruffled from the effort of breaking the door down. Immediately, a white rabbit darts inside. Michael lands on the witches and their snarling, teeth-bared expressions before finding you. His fists clench at his sides.

“Get away!” He dips a hand into his jacket pocket and hurls a handful of small, dried lavender petals.

As if struck with a blade or bullet, the witches all recoil as the flowers rain down. Sun’s and Moon’s hands disappear from you. Backing away, Eclipse almost stumbles into the altar before he rights himself. A hiss, furious and demonic, roll off his tongue. You flinch. Lavender flowers litter the floor.

The white rabbit rushes for you, stopping only to stand on her hind legs and press a foot to your shin. Her green eyes shine with desperation. “Stop standing there and run!”

There’s no thought but of terror. You reach down and scoop up the rabbit just as Michael steps towards you. He grabs your arm and half dragging, half guiding you through the witch’s house, the three of you rush for the exit.

“Little comet!” Eclipse cries. His voice tugs on your heart, but you twist and refuse to be pulled back into his orbit.

A growl follows from Moon, and a mumbling of something wicked and furious slips from Sun’s mouth, but you can’t look back. Through the candlelit main room and out the door, Michael races. His grip almost crushes your elbow.

“I told you not to come here! I told you not to come here without me!” Michael boils. You shrink slightly as he reaches for the passenger side door, uncaring for the rabbit you clutch against your sweater.

“I didn’t—I didn’t know,” you say quietly, defenselessly.

The rest of your rebuttal doesn’t leave your mouth before a familiar and haunting voice shouts, amplified like a poltergeist screeching into your ear. Michael immediately forces you to duck, pushing your shoulder down until you’re crouched behind the car, him protecting you with his own body. Gravel shifts underneath your shoes.

Michael’s car begins to groan. You lift your head tentatively, then gape. The frame of the vehicle begins to twist and rust, curling at the edges and darkening with burnt-orange marks. You hear a strange, hissing sound, then realize the tire you’re hunched beside is leaking air. As the car withers, glass cracks then pops. You yelp under a shower of shards but Michael’s jacket shields you from the sharp edges. The rabbit in your arms struggles for a moment.

“We have to keep moving! Go to the cemetery,” she demands.

“Right,” Michael mutters. His eyes land on the rabbit you shield in your arms, and his expression only shifts in the slightest at the human voice emerging from the rabbit’s mouth.

Likewise, she stares back at Michael. You pet her fluffy white fur as your fingers tremble. Her hide is soft and her body is warm and comforting.

“You’re an Afton, aren’t you?” she says softly, almost as if she were seeing an old friend.

Your brow furrows. How could she possibly know his last name? Is she a witch too?

“I am.” Michael stares down at her, his grip shifting as he looks forlorn to his car and then back to the house. His mouth twists in a grimace. “I read about you in my ancestor’s journal. You’re Vanessa. I thought… I hoped it wasn’t true.”

“Vanessa?” you echo in your whiplash confusion.

The rabbit’s white ear flops back slightly before she presses a foot to your chest.

“We can’t linger.” Her green eyes flash to you, scathing as she remarks. “The witches want the virgin for their ceremony. We can’t let them complete it.”

Michael’s grip tightens upon you, and you make a sound of discomfort. His nostrils flare, his breath running harsh and heated. You’ve never seen Michael so upset, so close to violence.

“What is going on?” you gasp, clutching Vanessa tighter to your pounding heart.

“I’ll explain later.” Michael moves away, shaking glass from his jacket and jumping to his feet. He surveys the house. You can hear footsteps, curses, and something sweeping the floor. “Follow me. Run as fast as you can.”

“Michael—” you start but he’s already pulling you back to your feet. Vanessa leaps from your arms. She bounds across the road and into the tree line. Michael follows the white rabbit, and you try to catch your breath as the darkness becomes absolute as you try to keep pace.

You have to trust him. He and the talking rabbit. You follow, your feet pounding over pavement and then dirt and leaves. Branches scratch at your sleeves; you’ve long forsaken your poor sweater to being snagged and ruined.

Laughter cracks overhead like black lightning. The echo isn’t too far away, and you shudder at the thought of what spells will allow them to catch you. Witchy howls of both amusement and anger snake through the half-dead canopy of trees. The midnight air hangs heavy. Michael bursts through the treeline to an open field of dead grass with you hot on his heels before you spy what he’s running you toward.

An old wrought fence spans the length of a reclusive cemetery. It’s ancient, by the shape and crumbling aspect of a few of the headstones you spy on within the space. Your mind races to date the burial ground but Michael urges you forward just as a breeze cuts overhead.

You turn your eyes skywards just as Michael finds the corner of the overgrown and neglected corner of the graveyard property. A streak of movement interrupts the constellations of the night sky, and you almost stumble in dawning horror.

Flying just above the near leafless and dark trees are the witches. Brooms, elegantly carved and sleek, carry them effortlessly in the air. Their capes and cloaks billow like black manes to dark beasts behind them, and claws clutch tightly at their flying vessels. Teeth sharp, eyes glinting, their gazes meet yours. Eclipse. Sun. Moon.

Under their harrowing eyes, you feel no more than a mouse running from a cat’s pounce.

“Keep going,” Vanessa urges. Her white form dashes onwards, but she comes to a sharp halt and turns back, ears pricked.

Two stone pillars, cracked and faded from years of standing as sentinels mark the entrance to the burial ground. Michael ushers you into the cemetery. For one desperate moment, you wish you could study the history of this place, find out its name, who lies here, but you are torn from your brief musings.

“I know you.” Eclipse’s voice carries over the field. His black cap settles onto his shoulders as he sinks in the air to hover just above the threshold of the graveyard. “Your kind are all the same, witch hunter.”

Michael stands between you and the witch. His gaze is hard, unyielding. You clutch at his jacket, fearing the lack of barriers.

“What did he call you?” you breathe out. “Michael.”

He huffs at Eclipse as Sun and Moon settle on his flanks. Moon turns his hungry eyes upon you, glinting like blood. Sun strums the staff of his broom. His claws catch on starlight.

Eclipse tilts his head and bares his fangs in a taunting smile. “Do you really think you can keep our lovely little virgin from us?”

You shiver violently. What do they want?

“I’ll watch all three of you return to dust and ashes,” he promises. Vanessa slips against your ankle, pressing close as if she were a guard dog instead of a rabbit.

All three of the witches burst into laughter, wicked and harsh before they rise and fly over the gate, deeper into the cemetery.

Michael pushes you further down an unmarked and overgrown path. “It’s alright. They can’t set foot here. I’ll take care of them.”

“Wait,” you gasp. You stumble as Michael urges you onward. “Wait, don’t hurt them!”

“They’re witches,” he snarls so viciously, it makes you jump. He stops, finding a row of headstones with tall and web-cracked faces. “You have no idea how dangerous they truly are. I will explain everything once they’re gone. Stay here. Vanessa?”

The rabbit hops up beside you. Michael again pushes you down by the shoulders until you curl up in the shadow of a colonial headstone. He stands over you, glancing this way and that to the sky. A few large and overgrown trees cut into the skyline through the burial grounds.

Vanessa noses her way onto your lap. You open your arms and she hops on, her small feet pressing on your jeans.

“Listen to him,” she speaks sternly. “He knows what he’s doing.”

“But—how? Michael? Where are you going?” you call, your voice cracking, but he’s already rushing away from the grave you’re hunkered near. He rushes into a flat, open plot of land filled with weeds and dead grass. Michael looks to the midnight sky.

You peer over the headstone. Vanessa hits your shoulder until you slink back down, but you catch a glimpse of Eclipse emerging from behind a black, dead tree and sailing through the air. He bows low upon his broom, eagerly stalking Michael. Your friend withdraws a cylinder from his jacket pocket. Popping it open, Michael quickly sprinkles something white around him—salt.

Your heart climbs into your throat. You long to call out, to beg Eclipse to spare him, but Michael whips out what appears to be an old charm made of leather. Upon it are scratched archaic symbols you have never once glimpsed before in your historical studies. A few small bones dangle from where the leather is tied with cord.

Your eyes widen as Michael holds it high. Eclipse stops, leaning back and tilting the broom away until he comes to hover. Then, he laughs. Michael remains unmoved, though his brow furrows in the slightest.

A disgusted sound leaves Vanessa’s voice.

With a point of Eclipse’s finger, the charm ignites into flames. Michael yelps, dropping it to the ground and clutching at his hand, no doubt burned by the spontaneous combustion.

“Little mouse, where are you hiding?” A low voice calls, rasping out like a lover searching through the dark. Moon.

You stiffen. Vanessa’s ears pin flat against her skull. You press your back against the headstone, hiding yourself in its shadow. A soft breeze touches your hair, tugging strands across your face.

“We can play so many games when it’s only us.” Moon’s broom appears just a row down, scanning the fallen leaves and grave markers. He perches low, his shoulders shifting under his cloak like a tiger ready to leap upon prey. “Come on out. Let me take you home.”

Your blood runs cold. The ghost of his hands is still upon you, and you wonder if it would be so terrible to return with them. They would leave Michael and Vanessa alone, wouldn’t they?

Moon slips slowly through the air, his broom black as night and silent, and his head lifts. He inhales deeply. Under the brim of his hood, his eyelids flutter.

Then his entire head snaps to where you hide. You squeak in fright.

“There you are.” His jaws split into a ravenous grin as he reaches out a hand, flying over a gravestone just to where you kneel on the ground.

“No!” Michael shouts. “Get back!”

You jerk your head to him and watch as he steps away from the salt he just spilled.

“Michael, don’t!” Vanessa warns a moment too late.

Eclipse sneers. Extending his hand, he speaks. His voice becomes of tongues, lapping and overtaking, but mostly devilish. The air turns sharp and tangy, and the wind picks up, twisting leaves around Michael’s feet. His eyes widened at his mistake.

A flash of horror cuts through you just as Eclipse hurls out a curse.

Michael drops to the ground and begins writhing. You can only catch glimpses of him between rocky headstones, his body twisting and his flesh turning dark and rancid. His body convulses.

A scream tears out of your lungs. You jump to your feet, clutching a hand over your mouth as you witness Michael suffer. Eclipse’s eyes immediately snap at you. Close beside you, a hand brushes your sleeve, cool and blue. Moon. You can’t move.

“Oh, how I’ve yearned to curse your ancestor.” Eclipse leans low, lording over Michael’s writhing form with little more than a delighted glint in his gaze. “He forced my brothers and I upon the gallows. He let us hang slowly. We convulsed and gagged for air, and then we died.”

Eclipse leans closer, hanging over Michael in a taunt. “This is the least I can bestow upon you. Never fear, there is far more punishment to be delivered.”

You’re rooted to the spot. Ice water flows in your veins.

“Come here,” Moon murmurs close beside you. His hand begins to circle your wrist.

“Don’t let him take you!” Vanessa’s voice cuts through the hazy terror fogging your mind, and you jerk back to alertness. You shake off Moon’s hand. His sharp breath of frustration follows as you take off over the graveyard towards Michael.

“Stop it! Whatever you’re doing to him, stop!” you cry out, reaching one hand out. You’re not sure who—Eclipse or Michael.

Eclipse straightens upon his broom. His expression brightens into a pleased, unholy smile.

“Little comet,” he purrs, opening his arms.

“Eclipse, please—gah!” Arms grab you from behind. You hear Vanessa’s voice calling out, furious and demanding, but your feet leave the ground and in a heartbeat, you’re airborne.

“Sunshine, there you are!” The cheerful voice falls over you. Sun continues, “The wretched rabbit is getting her fur all over you! I never did like her, not even as a vermin.”

Large hands maneuver over you, pulling you onto his lap and balancing you in his hold while the broom rides faster, racing over the cemetery and away from everyone else. You gasp. You immediately twist and cling tightly to his shoulders. His hands surround you. His palms rub slowly along your back.

“I’ve got you now,” he declares. His breath, warm and misty, tickles your cheek. “One would think a person would be lonely and bored watching our home for all of these years, but that was what she did when she was mortal at her master’s request. So really, isn’t our curse just a lovely gift for her?”

“Sun!” You tremble. The wind tears at your clothes. You watch the ground become a blur underneath you, and a sickness stirs. “Please, set me down.”

“Not yet, sunshine.” The air changes, and the broom gains speed, pressing you deeper against his chest. “I want you for only a moment. You can say ‘I do’ can’t you? I’ll do the rest.”

“What—wait, wait,” your fingernails dig into the fabric of his cape hanging over his shoulders. The flight is far too fast and you feel far too vulnerable, seated upon his legs as your only insurance you won’t fall to your death.

“Although,” Sun’s fingertips slip under your chin and tilt your face up, “it’s not fair that Eclipse kissed you and I haven’t. We can steal one before the ceremony, can’t we?”

Your tongue becomes heavy in your mouth. You can say little, caught in the torrent of the breakneck speed of the broom as well as the Sun’s sultry eyes devouring you whole. He lowers his mouth to your neck. His other hand caresses your thigh, fingertips touching your flesh with reverent want. Heat waterfalls into your middle. He lowers himself to your shoulder and grazes his teeth against your neck.

You inhale, your breath rattling at the touch of a warm and wet tongue dragging over the tips of your collarbones in the hollow of your throat.

“One kiss,” he half pleads, half demands. His lips brush your jawline in their climb upwards.

“Too fast,” you utter. The world spins and blackness swoops in on your vision.

“I can go slow,” he assures, but when he lifts his head, his smile drops from his lips. “Sunshine!”

The world tilts, and you think of very little as hands grasp at you, but the broom rocks and you slide out of Sun’s hold as a curse rips from his throat. A wretched call rattles your darkening visible, and then, you’re falling.

Your eyelids flutter, and you hardly have a second to scream before a second pair of arms catch you and pull you against a cool chest.

“You buffoon!” Moon snarls right beside your ear. “You dropped our virgin!”

A numbness clings to your limbs. You’re still reeling, slumped in his lap as he rides on his broom at a much safer speed.

“I would not have let death take away our chance at happiness and life and love,” Sun shoots back, not unlike a sibling retort in an argument.

“Go help Eclipse deal with the vermin!” Moon demands in a low growl. Sun snarls something back, but his voice fades in the distance.

You feel the wind shift, slowing down until you’re left to hover in the air. Eyes closed against Moon’s chest, you breathe rapidly. Your shaking hands press tight to his white shirt.

“I will keep you safe,” he murmurs softly into your air. “Step here, little mouse. This mausoleum wasn’t blessed, and it lies outside of the cemetery's boundaries.”

“Okay,” you murmur listlessly. You lift your head, trying to stop the spinning from within. Your legs shake like a newborn fawn but you feel dead grass underneath your shoes as Moon holds you up on your feet. His broom lowers gently to the ground and falls still as if there were no magic to the black wood staff at all.

“Breathe.” He moves you slowly, carefully pressing your back to the solid brick of a small, gray mausoleum. “Apologies for my brother. He is eager to make you our bride.”

Perhaps it only houses a small family. What is their history? Your brain churns over senselessly while the oxygen returns to your head.

Did he say bride?

His hands find your shoulders and pin you in place. Chest heaving, you gaze up at the witch now hovering over you. There is no escape. You smell midnight and something herbal and sharp upon him.

“The vows,” he says. His eyes hold you captive. “You can say the vows to marry us.”

“Marry?” You’re breathless, but you ask all the same, “Why am I marrying you?”

“To have us,” he says, low and husky. He presses closer, caging you with his body and holding you hostage against the cool stones at your back. “You will know everything soon. There is so little time—the witch hunter and the rabbit are trying to spoil everything. Little mouse, look at me.”

You try to avert your gaze, turning your cheek, but his command causes you to buckle.

“I will begin the vows.” Moon presses in closely. His chest is flush with your own, and you fear he can sense the wild fluttering of your heartbeat. You are not cool and suave, and you are still falling, falling, falling.

“Will you take me to be your husband?”

“Moon,” you whisper. “I… I… I…”

His teeth flash. Then, he leans in, pressing close to your ear. A soft flick of his tongue against your cheek draws out a breath from you, just before he begins nibbling on the soft flesh of your earlobe. You gasp. Your hands find him, clinging tightly as flutters begin in your middle.

He releases your ear from his teeth but his mouth remains pressed close to the shell of it.

“Will you take me, so I will obey, serve, love, honor, and keep you in sickness and in health?”

Your knees sink deeper but he refuses to let you slip out of his grasp. His claw hooks the collar of your sweater and stretches it, exposing your shoulder to the starlight.

His mouth lowers there. The press of his lips is soft and cool like a stone smoothed by a river. Your stomach burns with a flame you cannot name. He slowly opens his jaws, first licking your sensitive flesh until goosebumps run down your arms, then ever so delicately pressing his teeth into your shoulder. The tease of fang marks. The promise of more. He does not break the skin, but you mewl under his controlled bite.

He releases you. His hand cups your cheek as he straightens.

“And forsaking all others,” he rasps, “keep you only unto me and my brothers, so long as we both shall live?”

Your bottom lips tremble from emotion. Confusion spins you.

Can you say ‘I do?’ Should you?

Moon softly caresses your cheek with his thumb. His eyes are gentle like pools in the starlight.

“I swear to love and cherish you,” his voice softens.

Your fingers curl around his wrists. He lowers himself to you, and your eyes flutter as his lips brush against yours—

“Get away, witch!”

Your eyes flash open. Moon’s gaze narrows into slits as he turns his head, pressing harder against you and trapping you against the mausoleum until you squirm.

“Michael?” you gasp, peering over Moon’s shoulder, only to choke on your breath.

Over the slight hill from the true cemetery, a creature shambles. Purple flesh clings to bones, arms extended. Shuffling over the gnarled, dead grass, you watch as flesh splits and hangs by threads across his cheeks, exposing his molars. His nose is little more than a nasal bridge and two dark holes. His hair is dark and greasy, and his eyes are sunken, barely left save for black orbs and a single pinprick of light in each, like a lone flame of candlelight.

“What did Eclipse do to you?” You feel faint. “No, no, no, change him back! Moon, please!”

“No need,” Moon steps forward to face your zombified friend. You almost drop to the ground when Moon’s hands leave you. A cold fury radiates around the witch’s cloak.

Bounding over the top of the hill, Vanessa appears. Her white fur is now smeared with dirt and her breaths are sharp and quick. She hops over to you.

“Get up! Michael’s lavenders won’t keep the other two back for long!” Vanessa pushes against your leg, her tiny bunny body doing little to bring strength back to your limbs.

“Michael,” you whisper, clutching your mouth where the witch almost kissed you. “Eclipse has to take away the curse. He has to.”

“He won’t.” Vanessa’s eyes are dark, and hard. “We have to go.”

Your chest is hollow and your head swims. You watch Moon approach Michael in swift, sure steps. Michael’s arms are stiff and crooked, but his rotten fingers curl into a fist. Moon strikes and gouges his claws into Michael’s throat. You watch in muted horror as Moon rips away purple flesh and sinew. A rancid smell spills into the air. You gag, then scream out Michael’s name. The pale, bony column of his throat is exposed.

“You’re interrupting my wedding,” Moon hisses slowly at Michael before lifting his other hand.

Unphased, Michael throws a punch at the witch, and it hits with a burst of lavender petals. A screech drawls out of Moon. He falls backward. You hear the faintest sounds of Moon’s wretched snarls as Michael then awkwardly runs. His leg drags at the shin as if it were broken. You realize it is. Moon howls, clawing at the petals and trying to remove them from his person.

The witch calls out your name. You look back. His red eyes are furious, then desperate as Michael cuts in between the two of you. He brings his good foot down hard on Moon’s broomstick, and it snaps.

Moon screeches and writhes on the dried grass.

“Go,” Michael croaks. You stare at his gaping open neck but he takes you by the arms and hauls you back up to your feet. The scent of death is thick. “Now!”

You stumble, tears filling your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I’m so sorry. I’ll make them change you back.”

“Just run,” Michael huffs, half decayed and struggling. “We have to get to town. We have to lose them. They only have until sunrise.”

Sunrise.

And a ceremony they wish to perform.

#naff's writing commissions #hehe i had so much writing these witchy boys being just their best (worse) selves!#they just want to do a ceremony :)))#hocus pocus au my beloved #witch!eclipse #witch!sun #witch!moon #charm brought it back #naff writing

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eleganthologramcolor · 4 months ago

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141 x Reader but Reader is actually a monster disguised as a really pretty human. Sets off alarm bells in each man's head when they lay eyes on them. They can tell SOMETHING is wrong, but they can't quite place it. Reader picks happily at raw meat, has these eery, piercing eyes, seems to be mentally dissecting everyone with a harsh stare. Has an unfeeling voice, seemingly only motivated by the fear of anyone they meet, an eery, hungry smile on their face at the smell of it. Has no qualms about wondering alone at night, because, according to Johnny, in their own words, "I've got nothing to fear. I'm the most dangerous thing out here."

Simon who swears to Reader that he'll figure them out, one way or another, warily keeping one eye open whenever they're near. Reader who toys with Simon, making vague, ominous threats because they love how they can smell that faint fear in the air surrounding such a scary man. He made the mistake of letting Reader know that he was disturbed. Thought to himself that he's quite a bit stronger than most enemies, he could take them on if they tried something. Until he caught those glossy hungry eyes on him when he tried to drift off on the couch.

Johnny who ignores his body and mind who desperately want to escape. He feels like prey for the first time but he loves it, enamored with such a pretty thing who makes him feel weak in the knees (and in the gut, and in the chest, he's ignoring the fact that their vague threat about where he sleeps at night has him hyperventilating, he thinks he can handle whatever reader could possibly throw at him). His heart is racing, he loves the feeling, seeking Reader out during their nightly walks, following from a distance down unlit streets, surprised when they tell him they knew he was there, and that he should be more careful, "one hungrier than me would've lead you out to the woods."

Kyle who is aware of the hidden danger, but wonders if such a thing could be soothed with well administered affection? Being sweet from a distance, offering loving words like a piece of meat to a stray cat(or at least he hopes they're as harmless as one). He admires the way reader sends everyone running, seeing that sweet face turn to him when he's the only one left, willing to try and look past the prey instinct reader instills in everyone else. He understands, must be lonely when everyone is afraid, yea? Doesn't mean he isn't keeping his guard up, though, fingers wrapping around the blade in his pocket when reader finally comes to him, seeking attention. Just in case.

Price who is very firm, setting strict boundaries. Then strict rules. Finding ways to appease reader without putting him or his men in harms way. He opts for a different route than Kyle, something that feels so... dangerous, should be trained not to bite before you begin to dote on it. Thinks he can tame reader, speaking with a firm voice to them, never showing leniency, not daring to. Giving reader any power over him, he knows, will be when he's lost.

#drabble #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #captain john price x reader #141 x reader #monster!reader #valentine's writing

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irisintheafterglow · 1 year ago

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Parley? (opla!zoro x you)

summary: a stranger arrives to disturb your peace and you have no choice but to negotiate with him.

wc: 2.57k

cw/tags: first meeting, swearing, mentions of canon-typical violence including blood and swords, zoro doesn't know how to express his feelings

note: i'm so nervous posting this ngl because i really like zoro as a character but i'm scared that i'm not gonna do him justice since i don't know him as well as gojo or geto or bakugo etc etc etc. hopefully all yall zoro girlies like this because i've been itching to write for him since my explore page became nothing but mackenyu. enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

You hear the chimes first. The melody is soft, nearly imperceptible to the untrained ear, but you sense it. After all, you were the one who tied the string under the walkway floorboards in such a way that the bells above your window would clink if something pressed down on the wood. Over time, you learned to identify where outside was being pushed based on more strings and bells. It made it easier to find the Lady, on the rare occasion she stepped into open air and you weren’t with her. However, whoever was now setting off your makeshift alarm system had footsteps unlike the usual occupants of the house. The quietness of the notes was unsettling, in a way, because it meant they were creeping around the house. Someone didn’t want to be heard.

It was the flowers next, the roses with uniquely reflective petals that were especially good at bouncing moonlight precisely through your window. The Lady commented one day in the market that she’d taken a liking to that particular flower, and you bought the vendor’s entire stock to plant around the house once you realized how it could be used. Not before you built a crow’s nest-like window, first. The glass structure jut out of the house in just the right way that you received colors from the left, right, and front of the house. Had an intruder approached from the back, your only blindspot, you would hear the more insistent clicks of the typewriter keys attached to the outside deck panels. The nearly noiseless bells and the ominous shadow sneaking across your wall were enough to snap you wide awake.

The soles of your feet meet cool stone as you slide from under the covers, wrapping the sheath of your saber around your waist and slipping out of your bedroom. Despite the darkness of the hallway, your legs move by memory to the Lady’s chambers only to find the door already ajar.

Shit. Were you too late?

Slinking into the room in one graceful stride, words leave your mouth without thinking when you see him standing over your Lady, holding two deadly-looking swords.

“Taking a life halfway gone is immoral no matter the bounty, pirate hunter.” His head snaps in your direction and you have your blade on him before he can blink, resting the point lightly but threateningly against his throat. His eyes narrow on you challengingly and you put ever so slightly more pressure into your hilt, forcing him to surrender and sheath both swords. The third, you note, remains undrawn on his hip. “No better targets to pursue than a retiree? I expected better from the demon of the East Blue.” His gaze remains unchanging while you step forward, inching him backward until his head hits the wall with a soft thud. You were thankful, for once, that the Lady was starting to lose her hearing and was always a deep sleeper.

“She’s wanted,” he says in a low tone.

“She’s withered,” you retort. “Killing her advances justice no more than leaving her alive.” His face is still unreadable, void of any emotions just as the rumors conveyed. Many tales circulated of the infamous pirate hunter, but you chose to believe the Lady to be far too irrelevant to pose any real threat to the Marines. As one of the last known powerhouses of the Gold Roger era, it was more likely her wanted poster would be drowned out amongst younger hotshot pirates than for her to become an actual target. And yet, here was the most feared bounty hunter in the seas, hunting down a myth that many assumed was already six feet under. And for what, fun?

“It doesn’t matter. Honor is a courtesy denied to killers.” He speaks in a way like you wouldn’t understand his ideas, and it sends a white-hot flash of anger racing through your veins.

“Ooh, yes. You’re being so honorable by julienning a defenseless old woman while she sleeps.” To your surprise, he flinches, unwillingly bringing your eyes to corded muscle and flexed biceps. It’s a bit of a struggle to refocus on the task at hand. “Enlighten me on how this makes you feel vindicated.”

“I kill pirates for a living,” he states simply, nodding over to the slumbering mass under the thick comforter. The tip of your sword follows every movement he makes, careful not to give him an opening to strike. Unexpectedly, he seems almost relaxed, like the weapon at his throat was the least of his worries. “That woman is a pirate.”

“That woman was a pirate. She is no longer the ‘Captain Indigo’ you seek.”

“Who is she now, then?”

“Lady Lavender, adored by her constituents and far removed from a life of piracy. If I weren’t on the verge of spilling your organs on the carpet, I’d say visit the farmer’s market on Tuesdays. You’ll see just how different her life is now.” His chin tilts in disagreement.

“The Marines say otherwise.”

“What do you say?” A minute tilt of your wrist angles your saber so that the point now resides under his sharply defined jawline. “Hmm, hunter? Any opinions in that thick skull of yours or are you just another mindless government weapon?”

“You understand nothing,” he mutters like an indignant teenager, looking off to the side woefully. It makes your blood boil.

“Try me,” you snarl at the green-haired stranger. In another life, you’d have thought him pretty handsome, if you weren’t so infuriated by his indifferent sense of justice. He knew nothing about you, or the Lady, or what either of you had to endure to create a sense of safety. Safety, you would add, that you weren’t going to give up easily.

“This woman you serve, what are you to her? A caretaker? A child?”

“A friend,” you answer cautiously. “Something your line of work would know nothing about.”

“The Marines know that your friend murdered the former governor and seized the island in an act of desperation,” he informs you with a note of condescension. “They’ve wanted her gone for ten years, and I am here to collect her head. It’s not personal; it’s business.” The incorrectness of his information is laughable, but what concerns you more is the ease with which he talks of taking lives.

“You don’t feel any sort of remorse for the targets you kill?” The anger in your stomach starts to rub against a different, unwanted influx of sorrow. After witnessing the change in a ruthless pirate empress, you refused to believe a human could be this heartless.

“I don’t dwell on them long enough to care. Most of the time, they do something stupid that makes it a little easier to dispose of them.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong about her,” you recover, pressing the blade against his skin on the brink of drawing blood. He winces, squirming against the wallpaper for some sort of relief. You don’t budge. “The former mayor was a half-brother whom she reconnected with after Gold Roger’s execution. His death was caused by a misdosage of medicine used to treat hemorrhoids he’d suffered with since he was twenty. On his deathbed, he made her promise to take care of this city...” You inhale, focusing on the man in front of you. His expression is soft, nothing like you would have expected from a feared killer-for-hire. He was actually listening to you.

“Go on.”

“And to take care of me. I have the great pirate hunter at the end of my blade, so she must not have done that bad of a job at either request.” He’s silent for a moment and you watch the cogs turn in his brain, hoping he’d find some humanity and realize that killing the Lady isn’t just pointless, it’s fundamentally wrong.

“It doesn’t change the fact that I need money.” Nevermind, then. Backup plan it is.

“I understand that,” you concede, and you remove your weapon from his neck. His hands are on the hilts of his swords instantly, but he doesn’t draw them. He could kill both you and the Lady in a single swing, but he doesn’t. Maybe you did reach a different side of him. “That's why I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

“I don’t make deals with pirat–” he starts, but abruptly cuts himself off when you raise your eyebrows in expectation. Did you not learn anything from what I just told you? His face contorts in confusion, as if his mind was at odds with what his body was telling him to do. After carefully schooling his expression into blankness, he stands to his full height, rolling a broad shoulder. “What’s the deal?”

“You’re aware of the Blue Ringed crew, yes?”

“Famous for their poisons, I’ve heard,” he confirms and you nod. “They cover every inch of their ship in toxins and wear special clothing to prevent contact with their skin. Makes it hard to sneak up on them.”

“Exactly. See, you’re not as uneducated as you look,” you tease and you feel your face heat when he sticks his tongue out at you. It’s so boyish and immature, in stark contrast to the handsome, god-bodied man that faces you. “I happen to have a counteragent, enough for you to get on their ship and collect three times the amount if you killed us tonight.”

“And what would you get in return?”

“The sound of your boots walking off the property and never returning,” you whisper a little desperately, pleading with him to leave your perfect peace intact and forget this altercation ever happened. The quiet in the room as he ponders your offer is suffocating save for the gentle snores of Lady Lavender. Eventually, he takes your deal, inspecting the powder-filled vial when you bring it to him on the front porch.

“How do I use it if it’s powder?”

“Mix it with lotion to help soak it faster into your skin. When your skin is dry, you’ll have roughly an hour to navigate the boat completely immune to the poison. It’s sweat resistant but will wash off with seawater, so take care not to get thrown overboard,” you instruct him, crossing your arms across your chest against the chilly ocean air blowing in from the south. It was breezier than normal and you regret not grabbing a sweater. Unless you wanted to freeze your ass off, you needed to finish this debacle quickly. “Kill the pirates, get your bounty, and leave us the hell alone. Deal?”

“Fine by me.” He carefully places the vial in the pocket of his pants and begins his descent down the front walkway. Before you can turn back into the house, however, his voice reaches your ears so lightly you think you’d hallucinated it. “Stay warm.”

He doesn’t end up keeping his side of the deal. A few days after your initial altercation, he approaches the house again in broad daylight holding a box about the size of your hand. You stare at him in disbelief, reading in the nook of your window and he has the audacity to smirk at you when he spots you looking.

“I thought we had a deal, pirate hunter,” you remind him when you open the front door of the house. It was infuriating how good he looked for having just returned from a pursuit, dressed up in fine fabrics with his hair combed back nicely. The irony was palpable, the situation not unlike the stories the Lady told you about the numerous men who attempted to court her. They appeared at the same front door with flowers, rubies, and promises of devotion, but none of them actually wanted her heart. In contrast, you wanted to stab the heart of the idiot in front of you.

“Stop calling me that,” he frowns and you can’t help the laugh that leaves your mouth. “My name is Roronoa Zoro–”

“Oh, sorry,” you interject and his eyebrows furrow at your lack of manners. “Am I just supposed to act like you’re my friend now? After you tried to kill my boss?”

“I thought we were past that,” he states bluntly.

“That was four days ago.”

“It’s enough time to move on.”

“You’re impossible.” You shake your head in disbelief, slightly puzzled at the giddy feeling in your chest when the faintest smile appears on his face. “What’s that?” You gesture to the rosewood box in his fingers.

“Consider it an apology,” he says, holding out the box for you to take, “for bothering you the other night.”

“How chivalrous.” You eye the box warily, still unsure about the enigmatic bounty hunter before you. “But we don’t need nor want your money.”

“It’s not money. Just open the damn box,” he grunts impatiently and you begrudgingly oblige, sliding back the top panel to reveal a bracelet. It wasn’t like any other bracelet you’d seen before, a gold chain garnished with a single deep green emerald barely the size of your pinky fingernail. It was delicate and elegant, subtle enough not to draw attention but luxurious enough to make you feel spoiled. “Do you like it?”

“I do, actually. The color is pretty,” you reply slowly, still slightly in shock. “Why green?”

“Take a wild guess.” He smirks again and your gaze flicks up to his hair. It was just as vibrant as the gemstone and he watched you carefully as the pieces clicked into place. With the bracelet, you’d be forced to think of him every time you looked at it or anything the color green. What kind of guy buys a momento for almost killing you, you had no idea.

“You didn’t need to bring me this. I thought the deal was–”

“I remember what the deal was, but I felt bad making you stand outside shivering while you explained how the counteragent functioned.” Your eyes widen slightly at his admission. He noticed you reacting to the wind, so how intensely was he watching you that night? If he sees your surprise, he doesn’t comment on it and continues to explain why he brought you the gift in the first place. “The powder worked, by the way. I snagged this from the captain’s chambers on my way out.”

“You stole this because you saw me get cold?” He merely shrugs, clearly unbothered.

“I mean, yeah. You looked miserable.”

“I was miserable.” He smiles slightly again, the corner of his mouth quirking in amusement. It makes your heart stutter against your wishes. “Does this mean we’re even now, pirate hunter?”

“Call me Zoro and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“You’ll consider it?”

“Holding a sword to someone’s throat is a major transgression that can’t be forgiven so easily,” he taunts and you roll your eyes. “Let me start over, meet you properly without the involvement of weapons.”

“You really want to see me again?” He scoffs at your question as if the answer wasn't crystal clear.

“What, bringing you a bracelet wasn’t obvious enough? I’ll have to bring the entire ship next time. Might take a little longer to get back to you.”

“Get off my porch, Roronoa Zoro,” you laugh, reaching out to push his shoulder away and feeling every inch of his skin against your fingers in the brief moment your bodies touch. “Don’t come back unless you have something important to say.”

“I think you’ll soon find out what I prioritize as important.”

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