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lostinanothersmemories · 2 years ago

Text

Nine-Minutes

Warnings: nsfw (18+), Vega and his weird possessiveness

Or on Ao3

They hate his stupid smirk, the one they can feel on their skin with every kiss he places lower and lower. When he glances up thumbs already dipping under their waistband they can’t maintain the eye contact. They swear he leaves a deep chuckle in their head mocking them, taunting them, as he always does. Ever reliant he lets a bit of psychokinesis pop the button of their pants zipper exposing them for him. “Nine-minutes,” they comment without a glance down.

Tough crowd.

He continues his kisses no sense of urgency despite the constant countdown on their bet, their thigh twitches in response to his feathery light kiss. A single digit glides across them painfully not enough yet when his thumb joins followed by another finger they suddenly find it just a bit too much. A heavy gasp stretching his lips into another smile so confident he’ll win. Which his lips target their most sensitive point their hand doesn’t hesitate to grab onto one of those curled horns he’s so proud of. It only entices him further, filling their head with compliments.

You look so good losing,

You taste delicious,

You could be a sex demon with a body like that you’d never struggle to feed.

It the eyes that goes first, the routine magic used to maintain a more humanly shade thrown away when his hand joins his mouth. It’s a good thing they don’t need the oxygen their body has begun neglected the act of intake when their core tightens. Suddenly the grip on one of his horns isn’t enough their free hand previously pressing into the wall finds a chunk of his hair pulling harshly.

I didn’t know you could be such a rough lover my darling.

Their hand retreats as they find the strength to take in air again.

That wasn’t a complaint but I understand your performance anxiety.

“Sh-shut up,” they struggle through when he picks up his work just to spite them.

Oh I do love those eyes of yours it’s a shame you’ve become so insistent on hiding the most extravagant parts of yourself.

They hate him, the way his hand lifts their thigh over his shoulder, and they can’t help the whine. Without a warning he leaves his knees and instead of letting them rest on the ground lifts them with himself. Weight resting on the hand under them and the thigh resting on his shoulder.

They should have made rules, they should had been more specific about what he was allowed to do…They shouldn’t even be in this position in the first place. How could they have let him talk them into this again.

All it takes is a nip at their thigh to bring them right back to focus.

You know I don’t like being ignored darling, especially not by my pretty little pet.

That voice sends a shiver down their spine every time, chilling how he’ll react with such coolness. It’s like rifting to the Artic from Puerto Rico.

The gruff huff of a breath that was never taken pulls them from another wandering thought, Vega unhappy without their full attention letting them fall back onto the creaky cot. Keeping their thighs spread with his body as those cold to the touch hands push up their arms. A flash of magic keeping their wrists still. “It hasn’t been nine minutes”

You won’t be complaining soon. Eyes on me.

Despite the urge to look away they watch him set kisses down their stomach biting the second they start to think of anything but how his piercing eyes have locked onto their gaze.

When his fingers sink back into them, they want to curse the fiend out, he cannot possibly run so cold, and the smirk given to them when they jump is just evidence of his mischief.

Vega’s eyes leave them just for a moment while he readjusts their position and when his fingers curl their whole-body jerks in response. In sick pleasure he pokes and prods the spot catching an ankle attempting to push him away. Their unnecessary breathes pick up, unable to find the willpower to keep their head up it falls back. Bit back whines replacing any snark left, and when their hands grip onto the metal of the cot those cool fingers pull away.

They are panting merely out of the habit of imitation trying to communicate a simple question. “What-“

The deal was if I get you to orgasm within nine minutes, I get to have you as I want you tonight. I’ve got plenty of time left my warden, and I want to hear you.

“Your obsession with-“is cut off with a yelp as his mouth abuses that sensitive spot he loves so much. This time he’s far too close to kick off so their body chases that pleasure while they wish him off, thighs closing around his head. The rough texture of his horns rubbing against their skin, it wouldn’t be the first time their skin was reddened by that roughness. If he has anything to say about it, it won’t be the last either.

My obsession with what, my dear.

The cot creaks when they tug against the bonds he’s made, they refuse to answer but their hips buck into his mouth. Thighs beginning to tremble when he slips his hands between their thighs to force them apart. Keeping himself from another opportunity to win, a bastard truly, refusing to simply win the bet but overpower them completely.

His lips catch theirs sharp teeth and his passioned grip on their hips slowly moving their legs up until they can feel their thighs on their stomach.

Let me hear you.

Bastard. A hand abandoned their thigh to take their throat in his hand, they both know breathing is optional, but their habit is hard to kick anyways.

He fights back that more sadistic side of him but still growls in their mind when his hand tightens around their throat.

I want to give you what you want darling, you know I do. So just give in and. Let Me.

He grinds down onto them and the cot shakes again when they try to grab onto something steady. Try to grab onto him.

He leaves no remorse when he pushes into them ignores their thighs trembling squeezing around his waist. With no air in their lungs their voice has one place left to go.

God-

The voice in his head has him pause immediately, cruel smile showing those sharp teeth.

There’s my warden. All it took was a little pressure.

Satisfied he sets a brutal pace leaving choked whines and moans in his head each one inspiring him to go faster, harder to bend and break them to his will. His hand dips down to win their little bet before time runs out to feel them tighten around him as they finally push off the edge they were led to.

Vega still grinds his hips into them as they come back down their hands gripped onto the fragile metal of the cot as they try to pull away from the overstimulation. Unsatisfied with their hesitation of his reward he tightens his grip on their throat.

Now give me what is mine.

Tears fight to leave their eyes as he grinds down into the sensitive spot leaving their body shaking, they let go of that second nature magic. Horns fill the empty spot, inhuman eyes replacing the ones they chose. His eyes dilate at the sight of them hand abandoning their throat to grab their hips with both, pounding into them feverishly. Their hands no longer bound as he loses focus on anything but them, their body, how they truly look.

Their hands immediately seek his horns again pulling him down over them, breaths ghosting each other’s lips as he takes in the sight they so rarely allow.

Beautiful, perfect, mine. Mine. Mine.

A hand abandons their hip to grab a horn ripping a moan from their mind before he goes to mark his territory with bruises on their neck. Their own hand draws vicious scratches down his back bucking up into him until they reach that high again. He follows soon after them horn pressed against their cheek when he bites at their collar bone as if to muffle himself.

The two lay beaten from the moment, for once they don’t mind his cool skin so close.

Not as elegant of horns as I thought my warden would have. A human may even call them brutalist, you look like a warlord my dear. My beautiful rough warden, you could certainly take a beating, maybe you have.

His hand rubs at the base of their horns, smiling when they instinctively lean into it. They cannot remember the last time someone even saw their horns let alone touched them so gently.

Rest my darling, but do not hide yourself from me again. I will not be so gentle next time I have to teach you.

Tough crowd.

You look so good losing,

You taste delicious,

You could be a sex demon with a body like that you’d never struggle to feed.

I didn’t know you could be such a rough lover my darling.

Their hand retreats as they find the strength to take in air again.

That wasn’t a complaint but I understand your performance anxiety.

“Sh-shut up,” they struggle through when he picks up his work just to spite them.

Oh I do love those eyes of yours it’s a shame you’ve become so insistent on hiding the most extravagant parts of yourself.

All it takes is a nip at their thigh to bring them right back to focus.

You know I don’t like being ignored darling, especially not by my pretty little pet.

That voice sends a shiver down their spine every time, chilling how he’ll react with such coolness. It’s like rifting to the Artic from Puerto Rico.

You won’t be complaining soon. Eyes on me.

Despite the urge to look away they watch him set kisses down their stomach biting the second they start to think of anything but how his piercing eyes have locked onto their gaze.

When his fingers sink back into them, they want to curse the fiend out, he cannot possibly run so cold, and the smirk given to them when they jump is just evidence of his mischief.

They are panting merely out of the habit of imitation trying to communicate a simple question. “What-“

The deal was if I get you to orgasm within nine minutes, I get to have you as I want you tonight. I’ve got plenty of time left my warden, and I want to hear you.

My obsession with what, my dear.

His lips catch theirs sharp teeth and his passioned grip on their hips slowly moving their legs up until they can feel their thighs on their stomach.

Let me hear you.

Bastard. A hand abandoned their thigh to take their throat in his hand, they both know breathing is optional, but their habit is hard to kick anyways.

He fights back that more sadistic side of him but still growls in their mind when his hand tightens around their throat.

I want to give you what you want darling, you know I do. So just give in and. Let Me.

He grinds down onto them and the cot shakes again when they try to grab onto something steady. Try to grab onto him.

He leaves no remorse when he pushes into them ignores their thighs trembling squeezing around his waist. With no air in their lungs their voice has one place left to go.

God-

The voice in his head has him pause immediately, cruel smile showing those sharp teeth.

There’s my warden. All it took was a little pressure.

Now give me what is mine.

Their hands immediately seek his horns again pulling him down over them, breaths ghosting each other’s lips as he takes in the sight they so rarely allow.

Beautiful, perfect, mine. Mine. Mine.

The two lay beaten from the moment, for once they don’t mind his cool skin so close.

His hand rubs at the base of their horns, smiling when they instinctively lean into it. They cannot remember the last time someone even saw their horns let alone touched them so gently.

Rest my darling, but do not hide yourself from me again. I will not be so gentle next time I have to teach you.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio

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deepdarkdelights · 3 years ago

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Lady of The Night (Namjoon x Reader)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Word Count: 13.3k

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Obsession, Victorian Era, Time Travel, Misogyny, Jack The Ripper Murders, Forced Relationships, Forced Stripping and Dressing, Blood (Lots of it), Gore, Fear, Panic/Anxiety, Discussions of dead bodies, Depictions of a corpse, Depictions of Wounds, Use of Drugs, Illicit Behaviors

I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals.

Preview: You had been plunged backwards through time for a reason, and maybe this was the reason. This was the world’s most infamous cold case. What were the chances that a journalist would slip through the cracks in time and stumble into the East End of 1891? The only conclusion you could draw was that you were meant to identify who the ripper was.

You knew nothing about time travel regardless of the pop culture you had consumed. For all you knew, changing the events of the past would not create a ripple effect but instead a branch. And, as horrifying as this scenario was, your curiosity was going to get the better of you. You needed to know, even if it meant following around the egotistical self proclaimed genius that had sheltered you.

A/N: Yay! It’s my first fic up after my two week break! So, this is pertaining to the Jack The Ripper Murders. For storytelling purposes, the timeline of events has been altered as well as details of the crimes. This story may not be for everyone so please read the warnings and take them into consideration before reading. Your mental health and wellbeing should always be your number one priority. That being said, I hope you enjoy! 💜💜💜

You could see your blurry reflection in the glass of the watch face you held in your hands.

You wiped away your tears with the heel of your palm violently as you sniffled tiredly. It had been a long day.

You were coming to terms with the fact that you were the last living member of your family, everyone else had died and moved on. Your mother had been young when she had you, but she was also young when she left you. Mere moments after you had been given life and were brought into the world, she had departed shortly after.

All you had ever known was the warm, comforting embrace of your grandfather. He had been more like your father your entire life and now he had left too. And all you had to remember him by was his old, Victorian house, some grainy photographs, and his pocket watch.

Today had been the day you learned of his last will and testament, and he had left you everything he had ever owned, especially that pocket watch. He had carried it everywhere with him for as long as you could remember, the long, silver chain neatly clipped to his vest at all times. He would often remove the watch from his pocket, swiping his thumb over the sealed lid fondly before flicking it open and tracking the time. He had never once been late to anything, something he bragged about often.

If you closed your eyes, you could visualize a scene that was not unfamiliar to you. You would be seated on the floor in a pile of pillows by the fireplace, the flames crackling and emanating a comforting warmth. The scent of black cherry tobacco wafting under your nose as your grandfather settled a thick book on his knees, pausing his reading aloud to puff at his tobacco pipe. You would giggle happily, wrapping your quilt tighter around your body as you watched him attempt to blow smoke rings. He would then slip his hand into his pocket and remove the watch, the chain clinking about as he flipped the watch open.

“It’s almost half past nine, don’t you have school tomorrow?” He would ask you, raising one eyebrow in questioning.

You, at ten years old, were familiar with what this meant, and you absolutely refused to head up those creaky stairs to bed when the two of you were in the middle of embarking on an adventure.

“Please, just one more chapter!” You would beg, eyes wide and watery with a pout settled on your lips.

“Alright,” He would concede after a long pause of faux thinking, “We do have time, don’t we?”

But that's where your grandfather was wrong. You didn’t have nearly enough time. You were twenty two when time came and took a hold of your grandfather and left you in the dust. That was the thing about time, it moved quickly and was unforgiving. Twenty two years was not enough, you were far too young when you said your last goodbyes.

Fuck, and now you were crying again.

You laughed humorlessly to yourself, pulling the sleeve of your jacket over your hand and wiping your tears away again. Crying would do you no good, he would want you to be happy. Death did not mean the end of a life, it meant the celebration of one, was something he had once told you.

It was time to start celebrating then.

You uncorked a bottle of wine, throwing the cork into the sink and having a staring match with a wine glass before you sighed and grabbed the bottle by its neck and left the room. You lit the fireplace before sitting down in your grandfather’s chair, throwing a leg up on his ottoman and taking a swig from the bottle. That made you feel a little better.

You tilted your head back before turning your face into the fabric, the scent of black cherry tobacco still clung to the chair. Your eyes burned again with unshed tears as you nestled your head closer to it, breathing the scent in deeply before taking a longer swig of wine from the bottle. You were sure you looked pathetic.

You groaned in irritation, the last thing you had wanted to do was throw yourself a pity party yet here you were, drowning your problems in wine like a young mom who is questioning why she didn’t use protection.

You sat up, grabbing the neck of the bottle and setting it on the side table before standing up on weak knees. It was too weird being in that room without him. You weren’t ready to move on so quickly. So, you killed the fire and shuffled up the creaky stairs and headed to your bedroom down the hall.

Once the door clicked shut behind you, you flung your clothes off into the corner of the room and grabbed an old, large, band shirt you tended to use as pajamas. After you slipped the raggedy fabric over your head you slid beneath your sheets, fisting the comforter in your hand and pulling it up to your nose.

You could see the silver of the watch glinting under the moonlight on your night stand. Without much thought you reached across your bed and grabbed it, pulling it under the blanket with you. You twirled the delicate chain around your fingers as you pressed the latched watch to your chest. Your eyes fluttered shut as sleep tugged at your mind. But, despite that, your head was still filled with the memories of him that you tried to shake away.

You missed him, and you wanted to go back and see him again.

~~~~~~~

When you woke up the next morning, it was to the smell of warm food wafting throughout the house. In your delirium you rolled over and buried your face into your pillow, you were sure it was just your grandfather whipping something up.

And then you were jolting awake. There were two things you knew: one, your grandfather was a terrible cook who considered spam as breakfast, and two: he was dead.

You shot up in bed, your sheets pooling around your waist as you cocked your head towards the door, listening in silence. You could faintly hear the sound of pots and pans clinking and the clacking of heels along the wood floor of the hallway.

Someone was in the house.

You snatched your phone from your bedside table and slipped free from the warmth of your bed. The pocket watch swung into your thigh, the chain still wrapped around your fingers from the night before. You kept your phone on the ready, prepared to dial the emergency line in seconds.

When you opened the door you stuck your head out into the hallway, swinging it from right to left. You couldn’t see anybody, but the scent of food had gotten stronger.

You allowed your door to swing shut behind you, the knob clicking with an air of finality. The floorboards were cold beneath your bare feet as you made your way down the stairs, dodging each squeaky board from years of practice. You knew this house like the back of your hand.

Once you had descended the stairs you found yourself in the first floor hallway, the kitchen door to your right. Your eyes fluttered shut and you took in a deep breath before tensing your body with determination and flinging the door open so hard that it slammed against the wall.

A cry of shock echoed through the kitchen, the clash of pot and pans forcing a scream from your throat in response. Standing in front of you was what appeared to be a maid, her wispy brown hair tied into a bun at the base of her neck beneath a hat matching the long black dress and crisp white apron she donned. She looked like she had been pulled straight out of the nineteenth century.

The two of you stared at each other in shock for a moment after your scream had died down and fizzled out. Her hand laid limply on her chest over her heart as her shoulders heaved with surprised breaths.

Her gaze flickered up and down your form, her cheeks quickly reddening at your state of undress.

“I cannot believe this!” She suddenly cried, throwing down the spatula she held in her other hand. “I’ve told the young master numerous times to stop consorting with heathens like yourself!”

“Heathen?” You echoed in confusion. “Hold on, what the fuck are you doing in my house?!”

“In your home? The audacity! You lay with the young master once and you believe yourself to be the lady of the estate? I will not have a harlot like you traipsing around!” She yelled back.

“Lady, what the fuck are you on? You’re the one who broke into my house! Get out!” You screamed.

“Emmett, Emmett come quickly! The young master let in another stray!” She called.

In a matter of seconds a man entered the room dressed in a three piece suit and gloves, he looked much like a butler.

“Again? This is the third one this month, Mary.” He sighed in disgust, eyeing your form. “The indecency of this one, running around naked.”

You were speechless, all you could do was dumbly look down at your bare legs. The shirt you wore was fairly big, it covered everything important. Still, you grabbed at the hem and harshly pulled it down further, your mouth agape at his words.

“Come now...miss. It’ll do you little good to linger here, we wouldn’t want to get the authorities mixed up in this, they aren’t fond of your kind as you know I’m sure.”

You couldn’t think of anything to say until he approached you, gripping your arm roughly and tugging you out of the kitchen.

“Get your fucking hands of off me, fucker!” You yelled, struggling to free yourself from his grasp.

He tutted to himself as he ripped the front door open, “Such colorful language and such poor manners. Well, I suppose that is to be expected from women of your status.”

“Stop!” You cried, digging your heels into the floor. “You can’t throw me out of my own house! If you don’t leave I’ll call the cops, I swear!”

The butler merely shook his head, tired and annoyed with your antics. “Have a pleasant day, and for your own sake, find yourself a husband and stay off of the streets.”

And with that, he threw you out onto the front porch and slammed the heavy, mahogany door shut, the lock clicking into place. You spent the following moments banging your fists against the door and demanding to be let back in, once you realized how futile that was you unlocked your phone and dialed the emergency line.

But you weren’t met with anything, no ringing, no voicemail, nothing. Your face scrunched up in confusion, your phone didn’t have a signal...how was that even possible?

And that was when you realized, for certain, that something was very wrong. When you finally looked up from your phone, you were surrounded by trees.

You stumbled backwards in surprise, knocking into the front door behind you. All of the houses that once lined your street were gone. For miles around you all you could see was a dense forest and dirt and gravel roads. Your sweet, elderly neighbors house was gone, the ice cream shop that you could once see from your house was gone, the sidewalks and the fire hydrants were missing. It was as if they had never been there in the first place.

“What the fuck?” You whispered to yourself, your stomach turning and your heartbeat thundering violently in your chest.

Everything was gone, how was that possible? Where did everyone go? Where did all of the buildings go? There was no way that they could all have been decimated and replaced with trees that towered higher than your house in one night. What in the absolute fuck was happening?

You crouched down to your knees, weaving your fingers through your messy hair as panicked sobs wracked your body. You had no explanation for what was happening, you had no idea what the hell was going on. Your phone wasn’t working, you were kicked out of your own home, and everyone was missing.

You sat there for a moment, crying to yourself in a complete and utter panic before you realized that you needed to at least try and find someone who could help you. You allowed yourself a few more moments to squeeze out some more tears, heave your last sobs, and dry your wet face. You had done a lot of crying the past few days, enough tears to last you a lifetime. It was time to get to work now and figure out what was going on.

So, you stepped foot onto the manicured lawn before you and made your way to the dilapidated road ahead of you. The dirt and gravel dug into the bare skin of your feet causing you to wince and jump in pain. It was better and easier to walk alongside the road rather than on it.

The more you walked, and the further you walked, it became apparent that it was not only your street that had suffered changes overnight, but your entire town. What had once been a shopping district you frequented often in your teens was now a sea of never-ending trees. You hadn’t seen this much greenery since you went hiking years ago.

The home that you remembered was much different from the sights you were seeing now. Your house had been the only Victorian on the street, the others newer builds that had popped up over the decades. It looked like any other street you had ever seen, an amalgamation of history in a couple blocks. But now, it appeared to be a clean slate, devoid of noise, devoid of life, and devoid of structure.

In an eerie way, you felt like you were at the beginning of time, back before humanity had cultivated the earth and turned vibrant greenery into concrete jungles. It was as beautiful and it was lonely, if you hadn’t had that run in with the maid and the butler earlier, you could have assumed you were the only person on earth. How startling and stifling that would have been, to be just a house plopped in the middle of nowhere, with not a person in sight.

It was not unlike how you felt now, alone walking alongside an empty road surrounded by trees. You could feel the miles passing as dirt clung to the soles of your feet, the skin burning in protest as you continued walking aimlessly in search of any signs of another person or house in the area.

The thick layer of dark clouds hanging in the sky was not doing anything for your mood. You were certain you would be doomed to spend the day or possibly even the night in the trees trying to take cover from the onslaught of rain that was sure to come.

And, just as you had predicted, all it took was one roll of thunder through the sky before the clouds let loose a torrent of rain. Your only saving grace was that the rainfall was not ice cold, but lukewarm. Your other concern was that where there was thunder, there would be lightning. At least you weren’t the tallest thing in the area though, a tree was more likely to be struck than you were. But that would be the cherry on top of your shitty day wouldn’t it, to be struck by lighting as well?

But, just as your hopes were about as low and hell, you spotted something in the distance. The structure was familiar, you were certain you had seen those peaked roofs and stone walls many times before. Yesterday you had been driving on the highway when you passed the country club, and now you were certain that’s where you were. Where you stood now and once been home to a highway, and mere miles away was the country club you had passed everyday on your way to work.

If you were lucky, the staff would take pity on you and maybe you could shower and get some food in you before you called the authorities to deal with those intruders of yours.

By the time you finally made it up to the country club, you were completely soaked to the bone. The only pieces of clothing you had on, being your underwear and your oversized t-shirt, were drenched with water. You looked like a drowned rat if you were being honest with yourself.

But, even in your panicked and miserable state, you took notice of a few things. The signs that once held directions and the name of the club were gone, nothing there that even hinted at their prior existence. The parking lot was long gone as well, not to mention the caged in tennis courts and the golf grounds. It was all missing. The only thing that stood as familiar to you was the large, Victorian manor itself, and the grand water fountain in the center of the roundabout. This roundabout was made of gravel though, instead of the cement you remembered it being. And, to your disdain, the tiny pieces of gravel had returned to puncture the delicate skin of our feet once more.

You were tired, you were cranky, and you were wet. All you wanted to do at this point was run inside and collapse on the polished floor.

You sped over the gravel as fast as you could before running up the stone steps, sliding under the cover of the roof that was fixed over the front door. You raised your hand up and curled your numb fingers around the door knocker. And, with difficulty, you swung the door knocker against the rich wood of the front door frantically. If there was a doorbell you would have been annoyingly ringing it nonstop, so you had to settle for banging the door knocker violently instead.

While you were mid swing the door was ripped open violently, your soaked form almost being tugged inside as you were still attached to the knocker. A man stood in front of you, he too was dressed in a three piece suit, gloves adorning his hands and polished oxfords sitting under the hem of his pant legs. His suit was much finer than the butler’s from before, but the expression on his face was just as, if not even more, stern than the butler that came before him.

“Please,” You huffed out, using your best pleading gaze. “I need help.”

“I think you are mistaken, miss. I do not believe you have any business with the master of this estate.” He responded coolly, a harsh edge to his tone.

“Wait please!” You cried as he backed away and attempted to shut the door. You gripped the door frame, wedging your arm in place to keep it from closing. “I just need to use your phone.”

“I’m sorry miss, but -”

“Claude? Who’s at the door?” Another voice echoed from inside.

“Please, can I come in for just a second?!” You called inside as you heard the click of footsteps approaching the door.

“Master, I think it would be best if you let me take care of this.”

“It’s alright, Claude, step aside.” The voice responded. The butler, Claude, edged away from the door in uncertainty before disappearing inside the depths of the club.

Seconds later, a new man replaced him, opening the door much wider than the butler had. Your heart dropped into your stomach in astonishment and embarrassment. He was probably the most attractive man you had ever had the privilege of seeing and for a moment you were convinced you had fallen into an alternate universe because all of the men you had seen on a daily basis were nothing in comparison to him.

He was rather tall with tan skin, dark hair, and a set of dangerous dimples. It took everything in you to restrain yourself from delicately poking one of those smooth craters in his cheeks that was calling out to you.

With a sudden jolt you realized he had been staring at you just as intently as you had been staring at him. His lips had parted and his eyes had darkened. You could feel his gaze traveling over the dips of your collarbones and the exposed flesh of your legs and arms before settling on the thin fabric that stretched over your chest.

Heat instantly flooded beneath the skin of your face, your arms crossing over your chest. In your moment of hysteria you had forgotten your lack of bra and the rain. You were sure this man had seen more than you had wanted to show him.

His tongue swiped over his lower lip at your action, his dark, half lidded eyes flicking up to meet your own in a rather sensual stare.

“Are you a lady of the night?” He asked, his voice deeper than before.

Ah, that was a term that you had become rather accustomed to today. Well it’s synonyms at least: heathen, harlot, and now lady of the night.

“No!” You cried in frustration, you had no issues with sex workers, what you did have an issue with was that because of your state of dress everyone had come to assume you were looking for some!

“Please, I just need help.” You sighed, your shoulders dropping from the stress you had endured all day.

The look in his eyes had all but disappeared after your omission of the truth. You were not a lady of the night, you were just scared, confused, and in need of help.

“Come inside.” He said, opening the door wider.

You looked up at him in surprise, shocked to see a gentle smile gracing his lips. Before he could regret offering you shelter, you hastily entered the front room, your arms still wrapped securely around you as you felt the warmth of the building rush through you.

Yet again, though, you noticed things were different. The front desk was gone, the signs pointing to the bathrooms and the changing rooms were missing, and there weren’t any people other than yourself and the man that stood before you.

“Where is everyone?” You asked him, turning to face the man as he closed the door behind the two of you.

“What do you mean?” He asked you, equally as confused as you were.

“This is a country club...where are all of the guests?”

“Country club?” He laughed, his dimples becoming more prominent as his eyes filled with mirth. “This is my home, there isn’t a country club for miles.”

“What?” You whispered to yourself, the water from your shirt sliding off of you and tapping against the wood of the floor rhythmically.

“They’re still fairly new after all, not many around here I’m afraid. You must be lost then?” He mused.

“What do you mean they’re new? They’ve been around for years, this is one. I’ve been here numerous times!” You explained, exasperated.

“Are you feeling well, miss?” He asked, stepping closer to you without letting his gaze wander as it had before.

No, you weren’t feeling well at all, you were incredibly fucking confused. What he was saying didn’t make any sense, none at all. Country clubs weren’t new, they had been around for over a century now.

And that was when it all began to make sense. All of the pieces suddenly had fallen into place. All the houses on your street were gone, the shopping center, the highway, the signs and the parking lot were missing from the country club. Your phone was unable to get a signal in the hours that had passed. You had encountered four strangers that spoke in a manner you had not heard often and dressed like they were from a different era.

“What - what year is it?” You asked, your body trembling now from anxiety and from your wet shirt.

“1891, of course.” He responded, his face appearing even more confused than it had before. He was looking at you in concern as well, he wasn’t sure why you would be asking him such an obvious and ridiculous question.

“Oh.” Was all you managed to say as you began to stumble backwards, your legs going weak underneath you as you slumped to the ground. Your vision was focusing and un-focusing, your head feeling light as you could faintly hear his panicked voice in front of you. It was beginning to sound further and further away though as your bare thighs met the cold, wood floor beneath you.

You were having a stressful day.

~~~~~~~

When you woke it was to a cold compress against your forehead and the feeling of a plush mattress beneath you. For a moment you thought that you were at home again, that the past few hours had all been some fever dream and your grandfather was taking care of you in your state.

But the feeling of the thin, silver chain still wrapped around your fingers assured you otherwise. That had not been a dream in the slightest.

You jerked forward, the cold cloth flying onto your lap as your hands scrambled across the top of the duvet reflexively searching for your phone.

“It’s alright, relax, you’ll only worsen your condition!” A voice seethed as hands settled on your shoulders and coaxed you back against the pillows behind you.

It was him again, the man with the dimples.

“You have a fever, it won’t do you any good to move around too much.” He lectured you, his hand waving around as he scolded you.

You quickly caught sight of something wrapped up in his ringed fingers, it was your phone.

“Give that back!” You yelled, snatching your phone back from his hands and holding it tight against your chest. You were glad that your phone was password protected, not that he would ever know what to do with it even if he managed to unlock it by accident.

“What is it exactly?” He asked you as he relented, taking a seat in a chair that had been moved to your bedside.

“It’s none of your business, that’s what it is.” You replied, shooting him a look that he reciprocated with shock and astoundment. He probably had never been spoken to like that before, a man with what you could only assume held power, status, and wealth. There was a part of you while still shocked at your predicament enjoyed the idea of fucking with some rich people.

“As a guest in my home I think I have every right to know.” He shot back with a quirk of his brow, jerking his chin up.

The audacity. So, as petty as it was, you refused to dignify his statement with a response.

��Fine, if you won’t tell me then I’ll have to assume you don’t know what it is either and you stole it just like you did that watch. It’s to be expected of someone of your...nature.” He insinuated, his gaze flicking over your form from head to toe.

“My nature?” You replied, your skin going hot with untapped irritation.

“Well, a prostitute of course.” He answered with such certainty it made you want to scream.

“For fuck’s sake how many times do I have to say I’m not!” You yelled, throwing your head back against the pillows.

“Well of course you are, with that way you looked coming up here you were practically naked, how could you not be a pros-”

“First of all,” you interrupted, “The proper term is sex worker and you have no right judging women who have no other choice and even if they did choose it you still have no right to demean them for taking up a profession that employs a service and receives payment for it like any other job!”

“Secondly, the manner in which I am dressed does not mean you get to make baseless assumptions about me or my job without knowing why I look this way in the first place.”

He sat there for a moment, stunned. A long pause of silence passed between the two of you before a smile split across his face, those dimples returning in full force.

“I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Did I ask?” You retorted, annoyed, and overall confused from his sudden change in demeanor. A voice echoed in the back of your mind that maybe he had a thing for women putting him in his place but you quickly shoved that down in embarrassment.

“Well it’s only proper, you’re already in my bed anyways I figured you should know my name.” He replied with a boyish smirk.

You choked in confusion and shock before softly muttering your name in response. You did owe him that much, he had taken you in and taken care of you. That was the only thing you would give him though, his prior attitude still stung.

“I’d like to inform you that despite your progressive thoughts not everyone will see eye to eye with you, miss. You’re lucky you found your way here, there’s a murderer stalking these streets.”

“A murderer?” You echoed, your blood chilling in your veins.

“You don’t know of Jack the Ripper? That’s what the public titled him at least.” He explained.

Holy shit, the timing was perfect. Namjoon had told you the year was 1891, whatever had caused your slip through time sent you right back into the tailend of the Jack the Ripper murders. You had been lucky that he hadn’t stumbled across you, because despite your beliefs that your attire didn’t mean anything, everyone you had met had mistaken you for a sex worker. It would be expected that the infamous ripper himself would have thought the same and your name would have joined the list of victims.

That was too close of a call for you.

“Has he killed recently?” You asked out of morbid curiosity, you were hoping, selfishly, that you had arrived after his last victim.

“He’s been rather active, I should know, I’m the one investigating him.” He said, a look of irritation falling over his features as he crossed his leg over the other, his tongue poking against the inside of his cheek.

“You’re an officer, then?” You asked.

He responded with an annoyed snort, rolling his eyes. “Thankfully no, I’m more of a private investigator. I’ve been employed by some officials high in the government to do the work the police have been ruining as of late. How embarrassing, three years and they still haven’t managed to pin the murderer.”

Ah, so you had struck a nerve. He didn’t like the police, noted.

“Tell me more.” You probed, your genuine curiosity winning over your unease.

Namjoon appeared to gather himself, his gaze that had once been far off returning to you. “Detail such grizzly deaths to a lady? I’m afraid not.”

“Where I come from we don’t take sexism lightly, Namjoon. And, not to mention, I’m a journalist. Trust me, I can handle it.” What you said was true, as a journalist you were receiving a once in a lifetime opportunity, you were given the chance to witness the investigation of the world’s most well known cold case.

“You’re a strange woman, unlike any other I’ve ever met before.” He said softly, an amused light in his eyes.

“You’d be surprised just how much we are capable of.” You shot back.

“Fair enough,” He smiled, enthralled with the back and forth the two of you had engaged in. “I’ll tell you more in my study, I’ll send for a maid to help you dress.” He said before standing up and heading towards the bedroom door.

“I’m interested to hear your thoughts.” He called over his shoulder before the door clicked shut.

As soon as he left, you felt like you could breathe freely, a deep exhale of air passing between your lips.

So, you had slipped through time. Your thumb rested between your lips as you nervously chewed at your nail. You were coming to terms with the fact that somehow, some way, you had retreated into the year 1891. The next issue that you needed to resolve was how you were going to get back to your own timeline. You didn't belong here, that was for sure. Just from your previous conversation with Namjoon you knew that you were drastically different from anyone of this era. At this point, you were sure that was bound to get you in some sort of trouble. It was probably best to lay low around people other than Namjoon who had already been exposed to your modern ideals.

As you sat, stewing in your thoughts, a series of gentle knocks echoed from the door to the bedroom. You peeled the sheets away from your body and stilled for a moment. Somebody had changed your clothes. Where you had once worn your faded tour shirt you were now dressed in a long, flowing, silk nightgown that just brushed the tops of your toes. It was rather pretty and ridiculously comfortable but that didn't lessen your anxiety from having a new state of dress from what you had passed out in.

Another set of knocks, less gentle ones this time, spurred you to move faster. As soon as your bare feet met the plush carpet beneath you, you rushed to the door. Upon opening it, a maid stood there. She held a few items in her arms, her face obscured by the dense pile of fabric she cradled. Without saying a word you moved aside and held the door open for her. You could faintly hear her mumble out a weak thank you, muffled by what she held.

She shuffled over to the bed and dropped everything on top of the mattress with a heave that swung her small body with it.

"Alright, Miss. Are you ready?" She asked, turning to face you with a pleasant smile.

"Ready for what exactly?" You replied.

"Well, to dress you of course."

Your face flushed in embarrassment, that was something you had conveniently forgotten, people of higher status like your host did not dress themselves in this period.

"Oh, that's alright, I can manage on my own."

"Are you certain?" She asked, an apprehensive look crossing her features as she stopped laying out the clothing items, her hands halting over a corset.

Fuck.

"On second thought I would love the help." Yeah, there was no fucking way you were learning to lace that thing on your own.

You hadn’t realized just how much of a struggle it would have been to dress yourself had you not appreciated the help the maid had given you. In Victorian fashion, layers were undeniable and you couldn’t help but flinch at the thought of how hot these women had to get in the warmer months.

You had also assumed the corset would have been troublesome, given how you always heard about its bad rep via movies and literature. In reality, it was quite comfortable. It wasn’t overbearingly tight and you could breathe perfectly fine without a single hint of dizziness. You couldn’t help but ask the maid about this in astonishment.

She giggled as she smoothed your dress, “Tightlacing you mean? Why, is there someone you’re trying to impress?”

Your face burned with heat at her insinuation, “No, no, I was just curious.”

“It is quite fashionable, but not very practical, no?” She said with a hint of a smile as she stepped back from you. “Well, if that’s all you’ll be needing of me the master is waiting for you in his study, would you like me to escort you? It’s not very far.”

“Oh no, I’m sure I’ve distracted you enough, if you could just point the way that’d be very much appreciated.”

“Of course!” She chirped, guiding you into the hallway of the manor. “Just head straight down that way, it’s the door at the very end of the hall!”

“Thank you for all of your help.” You smiled gratefully before your turn and began your walk through the hallway.

The manor was gorgeous with pane glass windows that stretched from the length of the floor to just below the ceiling that were framed with thick, velvet curtains. The floor beneath your shoes was parquet and a deep mahogany that shone proudly in the daylight that filtered into the hallway. You had not seen all of the manor but you knew, just from this glimpse, that the rest of it radiated wealth and power just like its master.

The clicking of your shoes against the polished hardwood echoed down the length of the corridor as you approached the doors to the study. You had never been to this floor of the manor in your timeline, it had been long since roped off and only elite members were allowed access. Now, it appeared you could roam freely to your heart's content.

Your knuckles brushed against the door, three knocks in quick succession sounding out into the quiet hallways and study.

“Come in.” Namjoon called, his voice steady yet distracted.

You pulled the heavy doors open and slipped into the study. Upon entering you noticed a number of things, for one the study resembled that of a library. The space was vast with bookshelves towering over you as well as everything else in the room.

Namjoon was seated behind a desk, his fingers resting at his temples while he flipped through a set of papers placed on the surface of the table. While the rest of the manor had appeared clean, almost sterile really, this space had gone untouched by the staff. Various books laid open or bookmarked on the floors, couches, and his desk.

Upon further inspection you noticed textbooks and medical journals strewn about, anatomy pages glaring back at you.

“Are you a doctor, Namjoon?” You asked, lifting one of the textbooks up to get a closer look at what he had been reading.

“A doctor?” He laughed, “I consider myself to be more of a scholar, really-”

Whatever else he had meant to say ceased, the words failing to part his lips. He was looking at you again, not unlike the way he had looked at you when you had appeared on his doorstep scantily clad and drowning in a torrent of rain.

He made you uncomfortable.

“Look at you, looking like a lady. You could have fooled me if I did not know any better.” He said, the corner of his lips tugging up into a sarcastic grin.

“Such a gentleman.” You huffed with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. “If you’re not a doctor then what is the point in reading things like this?”

“To catch a killer, you must think like a killer.” He hummed, tapping the tip of his forefinger against the side of his head.

“You’ll never catch him.” You said, the words escaping you before you could even think about the repercussions they would have.

“And why would you think that?” He asked, his eyes narrowing with a challenging look to them, the irises were dark and sent a cold chill down the length of your spine.

“Call it intuition.” You replied, thinking quickly on your feet. “If countless others who are far more qualified and knowledgeable have failed to find him, it’s improbable one individual will bring him down.”

You had unknowingly just challenged his intellect, if this were a dance you would have quite literally just stepped on your partner's toes.

Namjoon stood quickly, his chair shooting back as he rounded the desk and approached you. You stumbled backwards in surprise but did not manage to dodge him as he matched your pace. His hands had settled on your waist, spinning you around to pull you back into his chest.

His voice was soft and mellow beside your ear as he spoke, “Each victim was a prostitute, all found in the east end of town. Already there is a location and a motive, no?”

“Now, here is what I find interesting.” He hummed, swiftly gripping your chin and pushing your head back onto his shoulder. His fingers ever so lightly brushed down the column of your throat before drawing a line across it from left to right.

“Immediately he slits their throat, and right after? Disembowelment.” He said, his other hand that was settled on your waist migrated to your lower abdomen, his fingers caressing another line over the clothed flesh.

“Most people, those ‘investigators’ for example, would say he hates women. But on the contrary, I think he is quite fascinated. With every murder he takes something that is uniquely theirs, would you happen to know what that is?”

“Their womb.” You managed to say. You were trembling and you were certain that he could feel it. He was scaring you, the reality of your situation was suddenly becoming rather apparent.

That could have been you.

“Exactly, and to do something like that you would need some medical background, especially considering the speed and technique with which he does it.” He confirmed, his hands resting on your waist once more, this time turning you to face him.

“So, if I were a ripper who was fascinated by women, where would I be?”

“Well...everywhere?” You replied, stepping out of his hold.

“Yes and no. We have a pattern and a motive, someone who is targeting prostitutes in the East End. My money would be on a hub for illicit activities, and with my sources I have a clue as to where he will strike next.”

That piqued your interest. “And where would that be?”

“If I know anything, it’s that the rich don’t like to follow rules and love a good party. Every now and then viscounts, dukes, and aristocrats alike will gather and dabble in illicit activities together. These parties change location every now and again, but most commonly we see them in the East End. Chances are, we can find a doctor with devious intentions at the hub of them. So, do I seem qualified to you?”

“This was your way of proving your capability to me?” You huffed, shaking your head.

“Yes, and it appeared to work.” He smiled, leaning back against his desk with his arms spread behind him on its surface.

“Well, luckily for you, I’m interested.” You responded, jutting your chin out as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Interested?” He echoed.

“If you want to catch a killer, what better way is there to do so than draw him out?”

“You’re offering yourself as bait? Are you neurotic?!” He laughed, shaking his head from side to side as he popped off of his desk. “Do you really think I would allow that in good conscience?”

“I don’t need your permission to do anything, Namjoon. What I am offering is an agreement of mutual satisfaction. You get a way to bait the killer and I get the story of a lifetime.”

You had been plunged backwards through time for a reason, and maybe this was the reason. This was the world’s most infamous cold case. What were the chances that a journalist would slip through the cracks in time and stumble into the East End of 1891? The only conclusion you could draw was that you were meant to identify who the ripper was.

“So, do we have a deal? You asked, extending your hand out to him.

The silence that hung between the two of you was unsettling. His dark eyes lingered on your hand for a moment before flicking up to your face and back down. His lips were pursed in thought and you could tell he was debating with himself heavily. There was a soft ringing in your ears as the quiet stretched on.

A sudden smile spread over his face, one that you thought almost appeared devious. He laughed to himself and then shook his head before breaching the space between you and gripping your much smaller hand in his own. He gave your hand a firm shake before tugging you forwards and pressing a light kiss to the back of your hand with a grin.

“We have a deal.” He confirmed.

“What a fucking flirt.” You grumbled to yourself beneath your breath, anxiously sliding your hand over the fabric of your skirt. “So, when will this party take place?”

“One week from now.” He said, raising his hand to hold up one finger.

That was much longer than you had wanted to spend in the Victorian era. Far much longer.

“And what will we do in the meantime?”

“Well investigate, of course.”

~~~~~~~

Days had passed in Namjoon’s company, and for all of the investigating the three of you (Namjoon, Claude, and yourself) had done, no results were accomplished. But, on the other hand no murders had been committed in the East End.

You were halfway through the week until the party, and despite your efforts there was absolutely nothing. You were becoming as frustrated as the inhabitants of the East End as well as your fellow investigators. Among all of your “resources,” you were caught at a dead end just as the police were.

You had heard of Jack the Ripper in your youth, you were once an avid true crime fan. But, for the life of you, you could not remember who the next victim was and where their corpses would be found. And for all you knew, protecting that individual would only cause someone else to lose their life. Time was tricky and fickle, and if it was set in stone, it did not matter who would die so long as someone was drafted into the void.

You assumed.

Your host had been...strange, to put it simply. You had thought to yourself that that was just in his nature, he was easily distracted, unfocused, yet insanely intelligent. But his mannerisms were unusual. He seemed completely unfazed by the case he had been assigned to, the only moments in which he showed a visceral response were when he dealt with you, or the police force. He hated them intensely, you could only assume because of how ineptly they were handling the case itself.

And, most frequently, you found yourself going head to head with him. And boy, did he enjoy the challenge. And, if you were bold enough to admit it, you would say he derived pleasure from the arguments the two of you would get into. He would constantly fix you with that confident smirk, the one that told you he believed he was always one step ahead of you. And fuck, did it piss you off. And he was very much aware of that. He loved a good challenge and you were far different from any of the women he knew of.

He often wondered how far he could push you before you snapped.

And if his cocky behavior wasn’t enough to piss you off, it was how much of a blatant flirt he was. There was nothing more frustrating than someone arguing with you while flirting with you at the same time. And your constant refusal and rebuttal to his advances only seemed to fuel the fire.

The cover of night time became your one refuge, that was when you had an excuse to stay away from him. You could have the whole night to yourself and be free of him until the morning.

Usually.

Normally, you slept through the night. But for some reason your body woke you. It was either late at night or extremely early in the morning. No sunlight entered the room, it was still incredibly dark.

At first, everything appeared to be perfectly normal. That was of course until you noticed a figure seated in the chair by your window mere feet away. You immediately jumped and began to scramble backwards out of the bed, the sheets twisting around your legs and slowing you down.

It was the call of your name that made you freeze.

Namjoon was sitting in your room at an ungodly hour...watching you.

“Namjoon?” You hissed, pulling the sheets back up to your chin. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I didn’t want to wake you.” He answered, pressing his palms onto the armrests and pushing himself up to stand.

“I really wish you would have.” You grunted, pulling the blanket around you even tighter. “Do you know how creepy you -”

“Two more women are dead.”

Silence.

“What happened?” You whispered, your fingers going limp.

“One woman was murdered late last night and the other an hour ago. It was a double event.” His tone was flat, completely absent of affect.

The three of you could only hold him off for so long, and it looks like he lashed out as soon as he was given the chance. Two women within the span of a few hours were killed, and you couldn’t help but feel like that was your fault.

No matter what you do, someone will die.

“What do we do now?” You asked, sullenly looking to him from your point on the bed.

“We have to go meet with the authorities.” He answered, distaste evident in his voice when he uttered the word ‘authorities.’

“Come, we don’t have much time.” He urged you, snapping the sheets back to the foot of the bed while pulling you up to your feet.

You stumbled as he tugged you forward, your head spinning from the sudden motion. You were struggling to see, your eyes still heavy with sleep despite the dreadful news you had heard. The feeling of his hands at the back of your nightdress certainly shocked you awake.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You snapped, smacking his hands away from you.

He appeared frustrated, his eyes dark and his face set in irritation at your refusal. “I just told you, we don’t have much time. All of the maids are still asleep, it’s far too early to call one of them for help and you certainly don’t know how to dress yourself.”

“I can manage on my own, I don’t need your ‘help’.” You argued, stepping away from him in an attempt to create some distance between the two of you. “You don’t know the first thing about women’s clothes anyways.”

His jaw tensed, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before releasing an annoyed sigh. “Trust me I have undone a few corsets in my time, it’s not as difficult as you make it out to be.”

“And just as I said, I can dress myself I am not a fucking child.”

Before you could move his arm shot forward and his hand wrapped around your forearm tightly. Despite your struggling he yanked you towards him, his other hand gripping your elbow.

“As stupid and insufferable as you like to think I am, I know you are not from here.” He said, his voice low and dangerously quiet. “You don’t speak, act, or even walk like you are from here. The more you hide from me the harder this is going to be. You need help, now you can either be a brat and I have to force you to do as I say, or you can play along and we can get this done and get to work. It’s up to you.”

He had just told you he knew you were a time traveler without explicitly saying it. At least that was the way you took it. But the way in which he spoke to you did not seem to insinuate that he meant that you were a foreigner. Many of your interactions with him would have led him to believe you were from a different time and, not to mention, you had done a terrible job of hiding your phone from him the first day you arrived. You had done a poor job of concealing that from someone as smart as him.

“And what if I don’t want you to see me?” You tried one last time.

“It wouldn’t be anything I haven’t already seen.”

So, he was the one who had changed you the first day you had arrived in 1891. There were many red flags waving in the back of your head, and like an idiotic bull you had failed to recognize a single one of them. Some journalist you were, you had missed all of the finite details.

“Turn around.” He finally said, his voice firm.

And, with no other choice, you did. It was incredibly awkward on your end. Despite the attractiveness of your host, you had no desire for him to strip and dress you. Unfortunately for you, he did not care. You understood the urgency to leave and your little spat had already delayed your departure. But you were a person who valued your dignity and autonomy, you weren’t built to live in a society such as this one.

You tried your best not to focus on the feeling of his touch, but it was incredibly hard to ignore. Instead of touching you as little as possible, it felt like he took every chance to caress, graze, and linger on every inch of bared skin.

For a moment, all movement stilled. You were only halfway dressed, your corset exposing everything upwards of your chest leaving your collarbones, arms, shoulders, and neck on display. You shuddered at the sudden feeling of fingers smoothing over the column of your throat, not unlike the incident in Namjoon’s study.

He was absolutely quiet as he pressed his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, softly breathing in and out as his fingers continued to stroke the skin of your throat from left to right in a gentle, slow, sawing motion. Your heart was pumping frantically in your chest in what could only be described as fear. Your back was ramrod straight, a harsh line in comparison to the relaxed form behind you.

Why were you so afraid of him? It was like every nerve and muscle in your form was begging you to leap away and run for your life. But he wasn’t dangerous, right?

You jolted at the feeling of lips just brushing against your shoulder as he pulled away from you and finished helping you dress, far quicker than he had been before. His demeanor was suddenly resigned, professional, and cold. It was like he had suddenly mustered a sense of self control in mere seconds.

Who exactly was Kim Namjoon?

Said man was retreating in the direction of your bedroom door, his hand grasping the doorknob as he called over his shoulder, “Meet me out front, and please be quick about it.”

That was when a thought suddenly intruded your mind.

“Namjoon? How did you get into my room? The door was locked.”

He stiffened for a moment, his hand tightening around the doorknob causing the muscle to strain and his knuckles to whiten. He said nothing, his head jerked to the side for a moment like he was gesturing in disbelief.

He raised his head and stared at you, and then without saying anything, he left.

~~~~~~~

You stared at the face of your pocket watch, the delicate chain wrapped around your gloved fingers. The hands of the watch were still, the familiar ticking of the watch was silent. It was like time had completely stopped. And in a way, maybe it had.

The carriage halted to a stop spurring you to snap the watch cover closed and pin it back into place.

Your companion quickly exited and stood outside, reaching his hand out to you to help guide you from the compartment. Despite the sudden animosity between the two of you, you placed your hand in his own and allowed him to help you down. The layered skirts of your dress swirled around your ankles, they were heavy and made it hard to climb in and out of transportation. Begrudgingly, you managed to say your thanks between gritted teeth.

“Try to behave.” He whispered beside your ear offering his arm to you.

You hooked your arm into the crook of his elbow and allowed him to lead the way. If you had it your way you would be fifteen feet in front of him carving your own path through the East End. But, your lack of knowledge of Victorian etiquette had already managed to get you in trouble and the last thing that you needed was more trouble.

“Where are we going?” You asked, quickening your pace to match his long strides.

“The previous crime scene has already been cleaned up by the task force, but the one from this morning is still intact. I have been instructed to go over their findings as well as conduct my own investigation.” He explained.

“Alright, what can I do?”

“What you can do is stay right here.” He instructed, bringing the two of you to a stop at the mouth of a narrow alleyway. It was already blocked off, warning the public to steer clear of the area.

“You have to be kidding? You really expect me to wait here for you while you go and investigate? I don’t take kindly to being told to just sit and look pretty, Namjoon.” You glared.

Namjoon titled his head back and let out a sound of annoyance, his shoulders rising and falling dramatically with an exasperated sigh. “For once, will you please listen to me? This is an active investigation and I am asking you, a civilian, to stay put. I swear, I will tell you everything you need to know for your story, alright?”

Another bitter silence passed between the two of you. He knew you were incredibly dissatisfied with what he had said. But he was just as stubborn as you were, that being the reason the two of you butted heads so often.

He shook his head, jaw tensed with anger as he stepped away from you heading in the direction of the alley way.

“Stay put!” He called over his shoulder, waving his hand at you as he disappeared, his form melting into the darkness of the alley that had yet to see the glow of the early morning sunrise.

Now that, that pissed you off. You were not some dog that would obey his every command, the more he told you not to do something the more it made you want to do it.

You waited for a few moments, for his sake and for the very fact that it would piss him off that you refused to listen. You were an impatient woman, and you would be damned if you listened to a single thing he said.

The air was crisp and cool with the lack of sunlight, your breath fogging the space in front of you as you slunk down the dark alleyway. You could hear Namjoon’s voice echoing down the brick tunnel, he sounded enraged. There were several other voices attempting to speak over him, but they were evidently failing.

And then there was the smell, it was horrid. The cramped space was packed full of the scent, it was indescribable. The only prominent smell that was familiar was the tangy, coppery odor of blood thick in the morning air.

But what you hadn’t been expecting was that the body was still there, slumped against the ground haphazardly like it was nothing more than trash. An officer was still there, knelt down next to her body. He was prodding her flesh with a grimace, holding a handkerchief over his nose to block out the scent.

“Christ, she’s still warm!” He called out, jumping up to head back to the investigators while giving you a full view of the carnage laid out before you. “He could still be close by!”

Multiple sensations bombarded you at once. A scream was caught in your throat as your stomach began to churn from the sight before you. You raised a gloved hand to cover your nose and mouth as you leaned against the wall, your knees feeling weak.

It was bad, worse than you could have possibly imagined.

There was blood, more blood than you had ever seen in your entire life. And whatever it was that was laying before you just barely looked human. But the parts that did look familiar was what made it so unsettling, so wrong, so horrifying.

Namjoon was calling your name.

You were still in shock when he grabbed you, his hand cupping the back of your neck and forcing your face into his chest blocking the grotesque view you once had. His other arm wrapped around your shoulders, cradling you closer to him.

“Her...her face.” You stuttered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Are you that inept at your jobs that you couldn’t keep a civilian from entering a fucking crime scene?!” He yelled over your head, his voice vibrating deep in his chest.

“I told you to stay put.” He mumbled, his lips pressed to the crown of your head while his thumb stroked the side of your face as you shook in his hold. This was the gentlest he had ever been with you.

You had never seen anything like that before. Whatever words he had spoken were falling on deaf ears, a sharp ring was echoing throughout your head, numb tears streaking your face and ruining his jacket.

You could feel his hands slide to the curve of your jaw, forcing your head up to look at him and only him.

“From now on, you listen to me, okay?” He said, his eyes darting over your face to make sure you were retaining what he was saying.

You weren’t sure what was more concerning to you. The fact that he was suddenly so gentle with you, or the fact that he paid no mind to the corpse mere feet away from the two of you.

There was something wrong with Kim Namjoon.

~~~~~~~

Whatever investigation Namjoon had managed to conduct during your moments of shellshock provided nothing new. The choice of murder was the same, albeit the brutality was by far the worst of all the victims before.

Her body had been warm indicating the perpetrator could still have been close by, but despite that knowledge the search parties could not find the culprit that had been described. There was no man covered in blood hiding in the shadows of the East End, he had disappeared like he had never been there in the first place.

A few days after the murder had taken place, Namjoon had informed you the killer had made contact. His face was grim as he described what had transpired. A letter and a parcel had arrived addressed to the taskforce, inside was what appeared to be a human kidney and a letter signed with a flourish, “Jack The Ripper.”

He was playing with them.

Your dreams were plagued with the memories of the sights you had seen that day in the early morning light of the alleyway. And instead of forcing you into submission, it made you angry. The initial sight had rendered you imobile, weak, and defenseless. You had never seen a human look like that. But with each dream you dreamt as the week melted away, you festered in guilt and rage.

Your fellow Victorian journalists had called him a monster, but you knew better. He was not a monster, he was a coward preying on women in the veil of darkness. Cowards harmed the weak and the defenseless, he was a caricature of a monster.

And you wanted nothing more than to rip the Halloween mask off of that faux monster.

This thought is what lent you strength as you and Namjoon reentered the East End, prepared to once and for all unmask the killer that had escaped the two of you.

You were dressed expensively, and rather salaciously, to blend in with the aristocrats around you. Namjoon and Claude appeared comfortable in the environment and it made you wonder if this had not been their first time attending an illicit party. Namjoon had explained to you before that he was often hired by government officials to do the jobs the police often failed to do, so it would not be unexpected if he had been there more than once.

You were bombarded by various sights that had you sticking close to your companions. When Namjoon said “illicit” parties, he meant it. The amount of illegal activities taking place was astounding. No matter where you looked, something was going on. Various partygoers were drinking unmarked liquids, inhaling unidentified substances, or swapping large amounts of money for some unknown service (although you had an inkling as to what they may be).

At one point in the night you had tried to locate a bathroom only for Namjoon to pull you away from the door you had attempted to open.

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.” He said with an all knowing, tight lipped grin.

“Really, and why not?” You asked, your hand resting on your cinched waist.

“I didn’t picture you as one for...group activities.”

“Group activities...there’s an orgy in there?!” You whisper yelled, frantically wiping your hand on your skirts with wide eyes.

Namjoon wheezed out a laugh, guiding you away from the room and back towards the center of the pseudo ballroom. “What can I say, this is a sinner’s paradise.”

“Sinner’s paradise, more like Chlamydia’s Palace.” You huffed, your cheeks hot.

Namjoon laughed again only to be stopped by the presence of his butler, Claude. His hand concealed his mouth as he whispered something to Namjoon. Whatever it was he said seemed to please Namjoon while also provoking an indescribable look to wash over his handsome features.

As soon as Claude stepped back, Namjoon spoke. “I need you to stay right here, okay? Don’t talk to anyone, don’t drink anything, just keep to yourself until I return.”

Your eyebrows pinched together in irritation and confusion, “But, Namjoon -”

“Remember what happened the last time you refused to listen to me?” He snapped, raising his eyebrows in emphasis.

You pressed your lips together, turning your head to the side. Yes, you did remember what had happened the last time you ignored his instructions.

Namjoon sighed, propping his finger under your chin and turning your head to look at him. “Please, trust me on this one thing.”

You thought to yourself for a moment, the last time you didn’t listen it hadn’t exactly gone well for you. This was just one thing he was asking of you after all of the things he had done for you, he was asking for just one moment of cooperation.

You lowered his hand from your chin and took a breath. “Okay, I trust you.”

A look of pure elation erupted on his face. He gave you a wide grin, his dimples deepening in his cheeks.

“I’ll be back.” He said before retreating into the crowd with Claude following close behind.

And then you were alone, but not alone for nearly long enough.

Your hands fiddled with the pocket watch your grandfather had gifted you as you walked, your head down and your gaze focused on the glass face of the watch. It was almost like everything had gone wrong after he had died and left it in your possession.

Far too distracted from your internal thoughts and the presence of the watch, you missed the incoming form barreling towards you. Within seconds you were knocked to the floor, the layers of your skirts luckily breaking your fall.

“Ah! Sorry, sorry, sorry, my bad! In a rush, I’m quite late I’m afraid.” The voice rushed out, a slight wheeze accompanying it as he appeared breathless.

You felt two hands grasp your own and carefully help you into an upright position.

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” You said, irritation clear in your tone.

“No really! Forgive me, it’s my mistake.” He said.

You adjusted your dress, making sure all of the important bits were in place before finally looking up to see who exactly this man was.

You were not expecting it to be him. Not at all.

“Grandpa?” You asked softly, taken aback.

It was him, he looked years younger than when you had last seen him, but it was him. You had gone through countless scrapbooks as a child and the face that was staring back at you was the younger version of the man that had raised you.

“What?” He laughed, his eyes crinkling as his shoulders shook.

Your gaze zeroed in on the chain of the watch clipped to his pocket. And, without saying a word, you pulled your own watch free and showed it to him.

All mirth completely left his body, like the flame of a candle being snuffed out. His lips parted in shock and distress as his eyes traced over his own initials carved into your watch. His hand patted his own chest frantically as he pulled the watch free and held it beside your own.

They were identical, down to every nick and scratch in the silver finish.

“How did you get here?” He asked, his voice low and serious in a way you had never heard before. “Did they send you?”

“Did who send me? Nobody sent me. I just woke up here, other people were living in my house and everything was gone.” You explained as he pulled you to a corner of the ballroom.

“This isn’t right,” He mumbled, flipping open his own watch. “You’re a time anomaly, there can’t be two of us here at the same time.”

“Two of us?” You echoed.

“Time travelers, dear, it runs in the family I’m afraid. What was I thinking about giving that to you without explaining?” He said, his words flying so quickly to the point that you were struggling to keep up.

“Then let’s leave, show me how to get out of here! There has to be a way!”

“You can’t just leave, you’re here for a purpose, you didn’t just come here by accident.” He said as a blue glow began to steadily thrum and pulse from his watch. “Oh no.”

“Oh no? What, what’s happening?”

“I have to go, I’m being called back. Whatever you do, you cannot change anything, do you understand? Who are you staying with, what have you done?”

“I haven’t changed anything that I know of. I’ve been staying with Kim Namjoon.”

His eyes widened as the watch began to pulse even stronger than before. “Kim Namjoon! Listen to me, you need to go, you need to get as far away as possible he -”

But before he could finish what he was saying he disappeared. It was like he had blipped out of existence, like he had never been there at all.

You spun around in a circle, trying to see if he was truly gone. All of the party goers did not appear to be phased, it was like they hadn’t seen a single thing that occurred. How was that possible? Fuck that, how was any of this possible?

All you knew was that you were going to follow his advice and get the fuck out of there and out of the East End.

You forced yourself through the thick crowds of people, pushing, checking, and elbowing away anyone that got in your way. You winced as one particular shove sent a whole glass of wine pouring down the cleavage and dress of one inebriated woman. It didn’t really matter though, you were sure she could afford another one with the way she had been slamming back drinks all night.

You threw open various doors in an attempt to find a way out, each time you were met with an increasingly more disgusting or disturbing sight. You didn’t even know some of those positions were possible for fuck’s sake.

Finally, when you threw open a door you were met with the smell of crisp, fresh air. A way out.

It was a slim alleyway of the East End, just barely illuminated by the crescent moon that hung in the pitch black darkness of the sky. A sudden sense of paranoia washed over you, the last time you were in an alleyway it had ended poorly. But you knew you didn’t have time to think about that.

Oh, if only you did.

The minute your heeled feet met the ground you were greeted with that all too familiar scent. There was blood nearby and lots of it. You could hear shuffling a few yards away, and you knew that you fucked up.

Your throat felt tight as you attempted to swallow, you were certain you could taste the blood on your tongue from how strong the smell was. And, when you finally turned to face whatever was in that alley, you were horrified.

A few yards away you spotted three figures, two on the ground and one leaning against the wall. And beneath the three of them, a crimson river steadily flowed through the cobblestone.

You took a step back, your heels scuffing the stone spurring only two of the figures to look up at you. A scream bubbled in your chest at what you saw. Claude was hunched over the figure of a woman, blood splattered over his face and down the leather apron he wore over his clothes. You could see bloodied tools in his grip as he settled back on his hunches, pausing his motions mid incision.

And then there was Namjoon, the once blank look he wore on his face suddenly lighting up with intrigue at the sight of you.

“Claude? Why don’t you take the lady home.” He spoke, gesturing to the corpse.

Claude looked between you and Namjoon for a moment, appearing conflicted. But he did not hesitate any longer as he scooped up the woman’s corpse and retreated down in the dark depths of the alley.

Namjoon was quick as he approached you, you barely made it a few feet away before he grabbed you by your forearms and pinned you up against the wall, hushing you as panicked cries parted your painted lips.

“I’m sorry, darling. But, I did tell you to stay put didn’t I?”

“Why?” You managed to say as you trembled in his hold, ugly sobs wracking your entire form.

“Women only want me for one thing I’m afraid. My money. I thought that maybe I could help those women who had nothing, that they could give me love in return if they didn’t know who I was. But they were just the same, motivated by money. I would give them my love and beg them to stop selling themselves but they just wouldn’t listen to me. Every single one of them failed my little test. They were greedy, and selfish. They didn’t deserve to be women. So, I hurt them just like they hurt me.”

You didn’t know what to do or what to say, you could only focus on the rising feeling of panic in your chest.

“I knew someone would eventually catch on to what was happening. But how ironic was it that they assigned me to the case out of all people? Those fucking investigators are so inept they never saw it coming. And Claude, well his loyalty was extremely helpful. If you don’t want to be caught, don’t commit the crime yourself.” He whispered.

“All I wanted was to give them my love, but each and every single one of them broke my heart. All of them except for you.” He said, pressing a kiss to your cheek that made you violently flinch.

“You were such a little spitfire, and when you showed up to my door I thought I was going to have to kill you on sight. But you proved me wrong, you’re the only one deserving of my love.”

A blue light suddenly lit up the space between you, the glow of the watch casting sinister shadows over the ripper's face.

Immediately he reached for the watch at the same time as you, and without much effort he wrenched the watch free from your hands and shoved you down to the ground. Your head met the stone first and on impact black spots blurred your vision.

The watch pulsed vibrantly in his hands, humming like a heartbeat. A wicked laugh shook his shoulders as he flipped the face open.

“So this is how you did it?” He asked, swinging the watch by it’s chain recklessly.

“Namjoon, don't’!” You cried, struggling to stand.

But it was too late. A feral scream ripped its way out of your throat as you watched him slam the watch into the ground and violently dig the heel of his shoe into it. The glass shattered, the metal bent, and the blue glow stuttered, weakly thrumming before fizzling out and plunging the alley into darkness.

The ripper stalked down the alley and stood over you, a viscous smile pulling at his cheeks as he slowly tilted his head to the side.

“Don’t look so surprised my love, there is only one way I’d ever let you leave me.”

#bts #bts namjoon #bts x reader #namjoon #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x reader #yander #yandere bts #yandere namjoon #bts fanfic #yandere namjoon x reader #yandere kpop #yandere bts x reader #bts rm #rm x reade #yandere rm x reader #jack the ripper au #victorian au

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poguestvff · 3 years ago

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CALL ME BACK P. 2 — JJ MAYBANK

in which, JJ and Y/n finally reconcile whilst sat on the bathroom floor

taglist | masterlist | 1.8k words

warning(s): very small descriptions of wounds, angst if you squint, fluff, for the most part, and nothing else i dont think. she/her pronouns part one !!!

The ringing of the phone beside her hadn't made y/n budge instantly. She wasn't expecting a call, her parents knew where she was and who she was with, her friends knew where she was and who she was with. she didn't exactly think there was a reason for a phone call so she let it ring. When a soft ding followed it, the boy beside her let out a sigh.

She raised from the bed, sitting up as she stretched her arms above her head. Y/n picked up her phone from the small table as she noticed the photo she had tried posting finally went through, the tagging of Topper's account making his phone go off as well. She swiped down to the notification center, finding a voicemail from JJ. Her heart seemed to sink within her chest momentarily. She hadn't seen that name in a couple of days, hadn't come in contact with him in a couple of weeks.

It wasn't something she wanted, it was something she needed. Something they needed; Space from one another. She should've seen it coming, hurdling at her at a rapid pace since the time they'd began dating, but she ignored just about every sign until it was right in front of her. She never blamed him, she never would blame him. Y/n understood he had a troubled time showing affection, he was her best friend after all, she knew him in and out, there was no reason to not hold a candle to his name.

Seeing his name made a mountain of things run through her head. Questions upon questions on whether she should listen but a gut feeling made her decision final as she lifted the device to her ear. "Uh, hey. Hey, Y/n/n." She could hear the shakiness, the sound of hesitance that wavered within his voice. "I don't know why I called... Yes, I do. I just really need someone right now and—and everyone's gone. I didn't know who to call except you. Just... just if you get a minute call me back." Then the line went silent.

She looked over to Topper, the boy sleeping sound beside her on his stomach previously though now he lay, staring right back at her. "Was that maybank?" He asked in a groggy tone, a yawn following as he rubbed at his eyes. She hummed, pushing her legs over the side of the bed. "Why did he call?"

"I uh... he didn't say." she said in a low, confused tone, holding the phone in her lap. She couldve called him back, she probably should've. But she didn't know how she'd react if she heard his voice and have to listened to his pained tone again. She typed out several different messages, all in preparation to send but she couldn't decide on which one immediately.

"It's too early, just go back to sleep." Topper said, pulling lightly at the back of her shirt. She looked over her shoulder to him, seeing a tired smile on his face that she didn't reciprocate. "What?"

"I really have to go, Top." She told him as he let out a sigh, turning over on to his back to stare at the ceiling. "He needs me—"

"Just like how Pope needed you to come to dinner the other day or like how Kiara needed your help to chose an outfit."

She clicked her teeth, shaking her head as she stood, setting the phone on the bed. "Don't be an ass." She muttered, grabbing her hoodie from the floor as she threw it over her head. "This is different."

"Tell me how it's different."

"It's JJ! That's how it's different." She exclaimed, hands tossing up before settling at her hips. "If he needs someone and I'm the person he calls, it's not for a dinner date and it's not fashion advice. it's because he genuinely needs someone."

She wasn't quite sure why Topper was so upset over this. they weren't dating, they were just close friends. Friends who spent the night together, watching comedy movies until they cried of laughter. Nothing more, she didn't doubt that for a second. Especially when she knew even when she did these things with JJ, there was always the happy, bubbly feeling within her that didn't feel the same with Topper.

And so the boy rolled his head over to her, fingers thumping against his chest. She couldn't tell what was going on in his head. He hadn't looked angry and there wasn't a frown on his face. It almost looked like he was expecting this, expecting her to defend JJ, tooth and nail. "Then go, y/n."

He looked like he had more to say, like he was biting his tongue, but if he had, he kept those thoughts to himself. "I will." She said, grabbing her phone and her keys, placing them in her back pocket to leave the thornton house.

She sat in the drivers side, pulling her phone from her pocket as the second she'd opened it, JJ's contact was still there. She still hadn't decided on what to send and so she finalized her messaging that she was on the way, sending that she was on her way and a heart. Which, ironically, was the same heart, once again, that they had sent weeks ago before for the last time in their last and final text conversation.

Driving the direct route that she'd known to the chateau had made her stomach feel unnerved. She’d recognized every turn, every stop sign, and the dirt road leading up to the plot. Finding that the front door was not properly closed, clearly slammed as she remembered that the screen was missing a screw causing it to need to be closed slow. The creaky door made someone in the house move as Y/n entered. "JJ?" She asked, making her way further into the home. "Jay, it's just me."

Another noise came from the bathroom as she moved around the corner, seeing JJ sat on the floor. The back of his head was against the wall and his eyes were closed though soft tear streaks shined across his cheeks from the way the light hit them. He opened his eyes finally, only side eyeing Y/n as she stood at the doorway. "i'm sorry."

"Don’t even think about apologizing." She said, pushing his feet back lightly to open the bottom cabinet, finding the medicinal items she needed. She sat in front of him, her knees digging into the hard wood floor below them. She could feel his eyes on her every move while she poured the alcohol onto a small hand towel. "This is gonna sting."

"I know." He replied, a sad smile coming on her face as she began to clean up the small cuts on his cheeks and the split lip. Her opposite hand held his chin lightly, dragging the towel lightly over his skin. She avoided all eye contact, he knew that for a fact as his eyes darted around her face.

She sat back on her ankles as she pointed at his shirt. He nodded, arms raising though wincing in the process as she rushed to his aid, helping him pull the dirty tee from over his head. The bruises that had become more prominent in the time of him waiting on the floor had caused for a heavy feeling to settle in her chest but she didn't say a thing, continuing to work in silence to help ease his pain just enough, leaving at one point to grab a cold beer from the fridge to place against his abdomen since there wasn't a single thing in the freezer other than the quarter filled ice tray.

"So...you and Topper." He said as she tilted his head to the side to clean the blood from the side of his jaw. She gave him a rather chagrined glare. "Sorry, just looking out."

"You don't have to look out anymore." She mumbled as he frowned. "And no... Topper and i— never." she cut herself off.

He went silent for a second, feeling the way her short nails scratched at the side of his cheek lightly. "You’re wrong." he said, suddenly, in Y/n's opinion as she gave him a confused look. "i always have to look out for you. like... like how you're doing right now."

"That’s different." She said for the second time that day.

"You wanna tell me how?"

She sighed, placing her hands in her lap as she sat back. "It just is, JJ. I’m sitting here cleaning your stupid... wounds like old times. This is nothing new."

"And because you and topper's friendship is new, it's different?" he asked. She placed her hands over her face, letting out a low groan against them. "It it's different because we're exes? Because you and Topper dating shouldn't be any of my concern now? News flash, you and Topper even remotely being friends was one of my concerns when we were friends."

She moved her hands from her face, staring at him. "No. what? No, what are you talking about? I didn't even come here to argue about topper, I don't get why it's even a topic right now." she said, her voice faltering near the end before she began leaning forward again to place a bandaid over his cheek.

"Because you know..." he trailed as she didn't even bother stopping. "You’re not... his."

"So what? I’m yours, is that what you're insinuating?" she asked, collecting the trash into her hand.

He didn't answer immediately, fiddling with his fingers in his lap instead. "Yeah." He mumbled. it was clear to him that she had not expected that answer. She stopped, pulling back again, so they could look directly at one another. "I didnt just call you because I could, I called you cause I needed you. I couldve called anyone but I called you because you know me best and i know you best. I know you well enough that you'd drop whatever you were doing for me. That's selfish, yes, but I needed you. Not want, need. A want would be that i want you back."

He was right because that's exactly what she did. And she knew him well enough to see the way he suck his shoulders just slightly in fear of what she'd say next. What she did next. Y/n's hands moved to rest on both of his cheeks, leaning forward to press a light kiss to his forehead before hugging him to her chest. "It didn't work out the first time." She told him in a lower tone.

"That was a trial run, i know what not to do." It was a joke, she knew. He had terrible timing. She heard the emphasis on the ‘I’, implying that he was the only one who made mistakes with the relationship. She let out a very minimal laugh at this, shaking her head at his antics.

She pulled back, running her thumb over the bandaid on his cheek. "We know what not to do." She correct him, placing a gentle kiss to his lips that he returned.

And within that moment, They both knew they were neither a want or need for one another. They were both.

#outer banks x reader #outer banks #jj maybank #obx #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank angst

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goofgoofdildo · 4 years ago

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I asked @goldandlights Ages ago if I could write a ficlet based on their post about Jaskier and Geralt both thinking the other doesn’t like touching them, and then I was suddenly busy doing volunteering work and hurting my knee so I only coughed up this now. I wrote it in a daze so not sure of the quality, but I wanted to keep my word that I would write something. read the tags also ig.

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

Geralt watches Jaskier’s sparkly eyes scan the crowd. They catch on a man in his twenties, with strong arms visible inside his rolled-up sleeves. He’s tall and lean, weight rested on the support beam as he stands by and smiles along. Jaskier winks at him, and Geralt looks into his soup, which has grown cold, showing Geralt’s sour expression reflected back at him from between circles of solidifying fat.

Jaskier has told him, voice so gentle. He had sidled up to him, close enough to feel the heat but not touch, and said, ‘You know, when I perform, I sell everything. It’s a performance, and. I flirt with people a lot, but it doesn’t mean anything, you know? It’s just to get them to pay more, so we have coin?’ And Geralt thought he should say something, but he didn’t. ‘Anyway,’ Jaskier sighed and pressed on, ‘you can tell me to stop, I won’t mind at all, this just makes it better for us, but I can stop, if you say so.’ Jaskier touched his hand on the bed back then, the skin of his palm feeling like a blessing, and Geralt would have given him anything.

He almost told him he wouldn’t mind if Jaskier took a lover, really, it was okay, Geralt didn’t have a problem with it. It wasn’t as if Geralt had ever been in a relationship that exclusive. It was stupid, he knew, because that wasn’t what Jaskier was asking. He was just asking for permission to do his job, to do it well. Jaskier felt so devoted to the relationship, that he even considered asking Geralt for permission for something so futile. And Geralt never minded, really. It was easy to say yes, he wasn’t some horrible brute that would insist on controlling every Jaskier’s move and conversation. After all, a wink or two equalled to nothing, especially not when it was him who Jaskier fell into bed with in the night. And even if he were a man inclined towards such possessiveness, there was no reason for him to worry, not when Jaskier had only been with him ever since this started. As his eyes remain locked on his sweaty, glowing lover, he thinks back to the night in Vizima.

They’d pushed on to make it into the city, even though a storm and the accompanying darkness had been chasing them. When they made it into an inn, they were all thoroughly soaked. It reduced Geralt to short grunts, Jaskier into a mess of chattering teeth, and Roach huffed indignantly every time Geralt tried to spur her faster on.

In an inn packed with wet travellers, getting a horrible, drafty and creaky nook of a room was a clear win, they both knew this, but it didn’t stop Jaskier from shivering violently. Watching him stuff his fingers tinged blue with cyanosis into his armpits in a vain attempt to warm up, water dripping from his face onto the dusty floor, Geralt felt, not for the first time, a guilt wash over him. This was his doing. He selfishly let Jaskier come along with him, and when he did, Geralt failed to take proper care of him.

He told Jaskier to undress. All of his clothes were wet, as he insisted on keeping them up top in the pack so as to avoid wrinkleage. Geralt told him to dry his hair with the shirt of his that survived the rain. It was the one he slept in, pushed to the bottom of the bag. It took Jaskier dropping the shirt thrice for Geralt to help him very gently dry his hair.

Jaskier ended up in Geralt’s last clean shirt, wrapped in their spare blanket on top of the flimsy quilt found on the bed. Geralt hoped that once warm, Jaskier would fall asleep fast, at least, to end his shivery suffering. But watching him writhe on the bed, curled in on himself, as Geralt kneaded his rolled-up bedroll in his hands, it became very clear that Jaskier was not getting very warm. Geralt cleared his throat. Jaskier barely ever touched him. Sure, he washed his hair, he stitched his wounds. Jaskier saw that Geralt needed a massage and he provided it, his hot hands on Geralt’s back a revelation. But Geralt had made it clear that he needed no-one. So all of those things, Jaskier’s services, well. They couldn’t have been anything but insurance that Geralt would keep him. For some reason, Jaskier wanted to follow him, and Geralt wasn’t strong enough to let him know he had never had to earn his place. How he desperately wanted Jaskier to stay. He was constantly worried about scaring him off, too, about crossing a boundary beyond repair. And maybe that line would prove to be a hand on his cheek, or maybe a look at his blackened eyes. Geralt constantly felt like he was teetering on the edge of eternal doom of not being able to ever see Jaskier again.

But then, Jaskier was hidden in a pile of blankets and that pile was still shaking violently.

‘Jaskier?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Do you,’ he bit his tongue, ‘I shou—just. What if I held you?’

‘What?’

Fuck. ‘To keep you warm.��

Jaskier’s head peeked out of the blankets and a hand held them open until Geralt dropped the bedroll he’d been wringing with his hands. Once Geralt sat on the bed, he waited for Jaskier to position himself however he wanted. He seemed so scared, so hesitant, and Geralt was about to get out, take it back, but then his bard braced his thighs with his legs, knees by Geralt’s hips.

‘This okay?’ he said in a tiny voice. Geralt nodded earnestly. And then Jaskier plopped into his lap, as if it was nothing. He drew the blankets over them and wrapped his hands around Geralt’s torso. Jaskier’s dead-cold feet tucked themselves in the hollows behind Geralt’s knees as his legs lay stretched on the bed. It stretched around him, enveloping and consuming, the weight of the other body. It pinned him in place. He breathed hard as his arms slowly made their way around Jaskier’s torso. Jaskier wriggled closer, arms tightening around him, and then a thumb dipping under his shirt, touching skin. It sent a shock through Geralt’s body that he had trouble not showing. The thumb stroked that tiny bit of skin. ‘Can I put my hands here?’ Jaskier whispered, his head pressed sideways into the space between Geralt’s arm and chest. He nodded. Jaskier’s horribly icy hands pressed into Geralt’s back, the touch warming him nonetheless. Jaskier lifted on his knees to press even closer, and when he sat back down, Geralt first felt his nose press into his chest, Jaskier’s ear now so close to his heart that Geralt got worried he might hear the way it was slowly picking up speed, when he felt the second thing, that being Jaskier’s unclothed cock press against his own through his breeches as the bard sought to steal as much heat from him as possible. It made it so much obvious how vulnerable Jaskier was making himself. Oh, how precious the cargo in his lap was. How close, yet not enough.

When Geralt tightened his arms around Jaskier and sunk his back a bit lower to settle in for the night, Jaskier’s hands started making patterns on his lower back. Jaskier’s belly dragged along Geralt’s as he shifted to reach Geralt’s ear. ‘Thank you, Geralt,’ he whispered, his nose pressed behind Geralt’s ear. It made him shiver, that sweet breath on his skin, the tingling feeling left by a nose dragged along the curve of his neck until Jaskier’s cheek rested on his shoulder. Geralt moved a hand into Jaskier’s hair in response, carding through the strands reverently. It was soft even now, wet and tangled. Geralt thought of how much he liked it when Jaskier washed his hair, tried pressing the tips of his fingers into Jaskier’s scalp. Massaging it gently. ‘mm, Geralt,’ Jaskier grunted, but before Geralt could worry he was doing it wrong, Jaskier was pressing closer still, nosing at his neck once more. Geralt kept up the pressure, his other hand rubbing at Jaskier’s back to help him relax. The hands on his back picked up the pace, now warmer. A set of clipped fingernails ghosted along Geralt’s spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Geralt’s head tipped back, air leaving his lips in the shape of ‘Jaskier’. ‘Mhmm?’ was Jaskier’s response muttered against Geralt’s neck. Geralt’s fingers in his hair tightened their grip, and then a pair of dry lips pressed gently into his collarbone. Geralt inhaled sharply.

‘Geralt?’ Jaskier shifted to look at him.

‘Yeah?’

Jaskier pressed another dry kiss into the corner of Geralt’s mouth, ‘Geralt,’ and he stayed close, his breath on Geralt’s cheek.

Geralt chased that mouth, ’Jaskier.’ And then he kissed Jaskier, gently at first, but then Jaskier whined in the back of his throat and pressed closer, his cock hardening against Geralt’s stomach and that knowledge, that Geralt was making Jaskier aroused, was intoxicating. Geralt licked into his mouth, pulling him in by his hair. Jaskier’s hand was now holding his jaw, drawing in him hungrily, sucking on his lower lip. His nails were making patterns into his back and Jaskier kept making all those sounds, like he was having the time of his life. Geralt’s world changed in that moment, with the knowledge that he could be touched like that.

At the time, when Jaskier first touched his cock, when he took his fingers and pressed them inside himself until Geralt got the hint, Geralt gave little thought to what it would mean for them. He lay Jaskier down, because Jaskier wanted him to, needed him to, and he fucked him. He touched Jaskier, relishing in every contact of skin on skin. It was a gift, to him, that he could do it, and something in the earth shifted every time Jaskier’s tongue licked into his mouth, every time he thrust back onto his cock. The world shifted on its axis. They fell asleep together, Jaskier wrapped around the Witcher’s back, stroking his bicep. Gently. Lovingly.

He wasn’t there in the morning. Jaskier turned away from him, curled in on himself on the tiny bed, even though it was still so cold. He must have been cold. Geralt didn’t dare touch him.

They didn’t talk about it. Geralt was on a hunt while Jaskier entertained the guests in the tavern, and when he came back, there already was a bath arranged for him. Jaskier helped him bathe, rubbed a salve on his bruised side, put him to bed, and left to perform the rest of what he glamorously called a set.

Geralt couldn’t fall asleep that night, his mood soured. He’d thought he’d learned his lesson of not getting his hopes up. But secretly, in private, he could admit he was a foolish man. A romantic, Jaskier would say.

He remembers his mood only picking up the next day after the skies had cleared. The day turned out to be pleasantly warm and by the time they laid out their campsite, they’d made good time on the road, and managed to carry a normal conversation. They didn’t touch the whole time. Had dinner on opposite sites of the camp, even though they smiled at each other warmly. But now that Geralt knew what it felt like to touch Jaskier, he desperately longed for it. He excused himself and went to refill their water skins that they’d emptied after dinner. The sun was slowly setting as he was coming back. It caught on Jaskier by the fire, made his hair shine.

When Geralt got closer, he saw Jaskier had laid out their bedrolls next to each other, like always, not shying away, and it brought him some peace. They both started settling in, Geralt checking around the campsite for anything Jaskier could have forgotten to do, just out of habit. When he finally turned to the bedrolls to settle in, he saw Jaskier put away his lute and look at him, a warm smile on his lips, his eyes piercing. Geralt’s throat went dry.

Jaskier was on the bedrolls only in his shirt, clothes folded neatly on the side. He was sitting on his heels, hairy thighs spread wide, off-white shirt pooling at his crotch where the hand holding an instrument just seconds ago now disappeared to rest idly. Geralt had no idea what was happening. He wanted to tell Jaskier to touch himself, for christ’s sake. He wanted to ask if he’d been bewitched, even though he hadn’t let him out of sight the whole time. He wanted those lips on his.

And he got that, but not before Jaskier let him fuck his throat. And then after the kissing, they tumbled onto their bedrolls, bodies plastered together, and Jaskier fucked himself on Geralt’s cock until he came on it, like he didn’t turn away from him in the night, like there was nothing odd about this. He didn’t let him pull out, either, his forehead pressed into Geralt’s chest, sitting on his softening cock, Jaskier repeated ‘Thank you. Thank you,’ until his breathing calmed down.

Geralt didn’t know what he was thanking him for, but as he held Jaskier in his arms that night, grazing his bare shoulder with his lips, legs intertwined, he thought, I can live like this. If he could only hold Jaskier in the night, when the lust rode over the part of Jaskier’s brain that was repulsed by affection from a white-haired Witcher, then Geralt could live through the cold light of day.

He knew he looked like all the things Jaskier had been told to fear, but as the man himself had said, they also made him interesting. But it was clearly a different thing to write a song about his wondrous yellow eyes, and to look into them as the Witcher touched him.

Geralt is very old. He has the white hair of an old man. Maybe Jaskier despises the way the strands slide over Geralt’s pale skin in the harsh light of day, making him look gaunt like the dead. Or maybe the touch of a hand scarred with the taking of lives of creatures is too much for him. Geralt eats raw meat, sometimes. It’s easier. But maybe it disgusts Jaskier. Maybe it scares him. Geralt had never even considered that his breath might smell bad because of this, before they started fucking. He had never thought to rub oil into his skin for fear that Jaskier might find the scarred skin of his back much too rough for comfort, too easily reminded of the way Geralt got the scars, in the first place.

Or maybe it’s just his face. His nose has been broken many times, after all. It sits a bit wonkily on his face. And his scar disturbs the skin, reminiscent in shape of his pupils. Out of all the things Jaskier grew up around, only cats and snakes have yellow eyes like that.

Geralt, watching himself in a bowl of soup, feels every bit the wretched creation of a misguided experimenter that he is. If he can only have Jaskier in the night, then that’s a blessing, and a miracle. If Jaskier can’t bear to be with him like that outside of bed, that’s okay. Geralt can’t compare in any regard to the blacksmith with shiny tight curls of chestnut hair on his head, can’t beat the sweet smile of a flirtatious barmaid. He wonders if, when Jaskier asked if they were to take other lovers, if he really meant to suggest that Geralt find someone else alongside Jaskier, so the burden of comforting Geralt wouldn’t only rest on him. But Jaskier said he would not take anyone else, maybe out of misguided loyalty, and Geralt felt it was polite to promise the same. And then, it almost made it feel like they truly belonged to each other, like this was a real thing Geralt could have.

So when Jaskier finishes his set and makes his way over to Geralt, sitting beside him, but hesitating to touch his hand even as he reaches out, at first, Geralt tells himself he’s thankful for this. He wants this, this is good. He’s a Witcher and having Jaskier like this would prove dangerous for both of them. He pulls away from Jaskier and settles further into the corner of their bench.

Jaskier, now hunched over his own steaming bowl of broth, watches Geralt move out of the corner of his eye. His hands tremble with grief for touch he can’t have right now. He wonders what that smells like to Geralt. Maybe like security, like understanding. And Jaskier does understand that Geralt has boundaries, and he respects them, it pleases him to know that Geralt likes him enough to show him how far he can go, and lets him make it right up to the line. He holds him in the night, after they fuck. Sometimes, he feels Geralt’s lips on his shoulder when he shakes from a post-orgasm forty winks. Jaskier tucks those touches into the bottom of his heart, where nobody will ever see how much he wants them. How he wants so much more, yet would never ask.

He knows Geralt lets some people touch him in everyday, non-utilitarian ways. He has seen him and his brothers, clutching arms and punching chests, holding hands, even. Geralt says they sometimes fall asleep in a heap by the fire in winter. But clearly, that requires an amount of trust that he hasn’t reached yet. It’s okay.

Jaskier watches Geralt in that corner. His hair is mussed quite badly, his cheekbones highlighted by the way dust has settles in the hollow of his cheeks, and Jaskier absentmindedly raises his hand to call over the barkeep so he can request a bath for their room. They haven’t looked for contracts, yet, it’s way too late for that, so they might even fuck tonight. Here’s to hoping the bed isn’t ridden with lice, he thinks.

The barkeep saunters over, giving him a cheeky grin. She’s beautiful, with round cheeks and a sharp nose. There are laugh lines around her eyes, a roughness to her hands, and a sparkle in her eye. She has been calling the owner her husband the whole time, but flirted with Jaskier nonetheless, clearly enjoying the attention, although he suspects it’s all just talk. He likes her. She places a hand on the table in front of him, leaning on it, and he slips a hand on her waist. He laughs when her eyes sparkle and fully expects the little swat of the washcloth across his knuckles that she delivers with a playful stomp of her foot.

‘Careful now, bard, or I might become utterly besotted with you, and whatever will my husband do, when he finds you in my chambers?’

Jaskier laughs, his head thrown back, ‘Well, dear lady, we might just have to find out!’

Geralt drops his spoon into the earthen bowl with a surprisingly loud clatter. His jaw is tightly set, even though he looks up with an apology in his eyes and resumes his eating.

The barmaid’s smile dwindles, but then comes back to her, this time in the form of a soft curl of her lip. ‘Well, it’s all just talk anyway, bard. I’m too old for you, and you’re too inexperienced for me!’ she exclaims, and then lets Jaskier tell her his order. She pats his shoulder as she goes.

Geralt’s eyes are closed now, as he rests his head back in the corner of the wall. He’s all tensed up. Jaskier reaches out a tentative finger to trace along Geralt’s pointer finger where his hand rests on the bench. Geralt’s breath hitches. ‘Forgive me,’ he says, and draws his hand back. Jaskier swallows his hurt. He wants to touch so badly, but instead, he draws into himself. ‘There’s nothing to forgive, Geralt,’ he pushes out and stuffs his face with the broth.

The bathwater is cold, as was to be expected, Jaskier supposes, but there is a hearth next to it, and the room looks very nice, actually. Candles are burning in arrangements of two and three in their holders, illuminating the room very well. Perhaps this is the lovely barkeep’s way of apologising to Geralt for what he saw as infringing on his territory. Jaskier reminds himself to be less generous with his affections, next time. With another lover, he could hold them, touch them in a show of affection to ward of the sting of jealousy, but he supposes it is different with Geralt.

Jaskier looks into the water as Geralt undresses, making ripples on it with his little finger. He’s already added the little scented oil they had left. Geralt can smell it in the air, and it calms him a little, but he still moves with a weight holding him down, guilt dripping off of his limbs in invisible thick streaks. He wishes he could just tell Jaskier to go find the barmaid again. He wants to tell him he doesn’t need to keep doing him the service of bathing him, doesn’t need to watch him rub his skin back into gaunt paleness in this bright candlelight. But then, Jaskier smiles at him tentatively, like this might be the last thing holding him here, and Geralt once again remembers that, at the core, he is a weak man. So he goes and dips into the water, watching Jaskier turn once he’s in. As if it’s somehow better to see only his chest and face clearly.

Jaskier lathers a washcloth up with soap while Geralt dutifully scrubs at his face. He lets the cloth hover just above Geralt’s shoulder, asks, ‘May I?’ And Geralt nods courtly, displeased already that he can’t just tell Jaskier to fuck off if he doesn’t want to do this. He wants it so much, though, that he’s willing to cling to this.

He lets Jaskier wash him, run the cloth across his chest, his back. Jaskier massages his scalp with practiced fingers as he washes his hair. Geralt allows himself to stop thinking about them, about the man that is presently seeing to his aching back, and just focus on the sensation of being touched, gently. Being taken care of, even if out of perceived necessity. Jaskier hums a little melody under his breath, washing the back of Geralt’s neck, and Geralt wants to make home inside this moment, but only until he feels bare skin gently press against his shoulder.

Jaskier’s hand moves up and down a couple of times. ‘Okay?’ he asks, as if Geralt would ever ask for more. He nods nonetheless, and Jaskier’s hands start mapping his shoulders, massaging gently where he feels a tense muscle. Geralt’s hands ball into fists under the surface of the water as he tries to hold back content groans. He doesn’t want to sound like a fucking animal, not when all they’re doing is bathing and touching lightly.

Jaskier stops humming when his hands breach the surface of the water to rub at Geralt’s tummy. He throws his head back and finds himself almost cheek to cheek with Jaskier, who’s smiling lightly and breathing more easily than he has the entire time they’ve been in town. It unsettles Geralt greatly.

‘The bed seems nice,’ Jaskier whispers into his hair. It makes goosebumps appear along Geralt’s arms, and the low growl underneath Jaskier’s usual tone makes his gut clench. He thinks Jaskier might even be able to feel it. He makes himself nod, yes, he want to satisfy Jaskier. That’s what this is about, after all, although he suspects the pleasure really is his, and not Jaskier’s, especially with those fingers tracing circles into his skin at the hip. He nods a couple more times, just to make sure Jaskier has caught the answer, and the touch finally disappears.

‘Alright then, I’ll leave you,’ Jaskier sighs as he stands up, and leaves for the bed in the other room. The water seems to turn colder the minute Jaskier withdraws his touch. Geralt tells himself to cheer up. He can earn it, tonight. He can hold Jaskier until the morning, clutch onto his body like a drowning man, and he’ll be okay in the morning.

When Geralt makes it into their room, there are candles lit in every corner, and the bed has got a blanket and a heavier quilt on it, too, which are both certainly luxuries, for Jaskier and his standards. Jaskier isn’t there, he’s probably taking a leak outside or making sure the bath is drained and taken care of, so Geralt sits on the bed and waits. He opts to keep his shirt on, but he doesn’t keep his breeches, studying a scar from a week ago that is now healed on his thigh. Jaskier tended to that, it healed so nicely. But there are some uglier ones, turning skin into a sort of thick shell. The one on his face feels like that, too.

There is a polished piece of silver by one of the candlesticks, reflecting light back into the room and away from the wall. Geralt thinks back to the barmaid. She must be behind this, how good the rooms look. He regrets letting himself snap like that.

The mirror keeps looking at him, so he rises from the bed, checking the door with a glance, and takes it. He sits back, the mirror on his thighs, and looks. He’s always been like this, or so it feels like. But ever since that first night with Jaskier, or maybe the morning, something has changed. He tries to see himself the way Jaskier sees him. He studies the reflection, baring his teeth. They’re a bit yellowish, he will admit. And sharp. He knows how to kiss and suck with them, but he knows Jaskier can feel them. And there’s fuzz peeking out of his shirt, which Jaskier seems to like, except in the light, one can see how terribly pale it is. It clashes with his bright eyes, his knotty hair. He must look and feel like an oversized stray cat.

He’s still looking when Jaskier comes in. His strong back comes into view clad in a black shirt, white hair splayed over his shoulder blades. Jaskier thinks he looks lovely like this, half-undressed and soft from the bath. Geralt doesn’t even register him coming in, he’s so engrossed in whatever he’s studying on his thighs. Maybe he’s looking at his scars, as he’s recently started doing more frequently. It worries Jaskier, but he doesn’t know how to ask.

Jaskier undressed on his way to Geralt, already delighted at the amount of light in the room. They’ve been fucking for months now and he hasn’t had the chance yet to really look at Geralt in this much light. Fucking glorious.

He climbs onto the bed behind his witcher, hands hovering, keen to touch. But he’s not preoccupied with studying his own thighs for scarring. There’s a mirror on his thighs, reflecting the stoic face of the White Wolf back at them.

‘Jaskier.’ He says, grip going white-knuckled on the mirror. Geralt is rarely startled.

Jaskier points his chin at the now slightly raised mirror and Geralt’s gaze follows. They are both now in the reflection, one hair of white hair, long, the other short and brown and messy. One gaze warm, the other fresh. They go amazingly together. Jaskier smiles a little smile while Geralt stares.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Jaskier says, dropping his gaze. It feels too heavy to hold it on their shared reflection right next to Geralt’s unyielding eyes.

There is silence for a long while, and Jaskier studies Geralt’s thighs for him, since he’s busy looking in the mirror. There are a couple gashes on there that he was there for. He starts looking over them, the ones he knows by heart, when Geralt takes a breath. ‘You,’ he says. It takes a bit for Jaskier to realise. He’s thinking about Jaskier.

Okay. Right. That’s…a thing.

Jaskier wants to ask, he does. So many questions. What about me? Are you thinking about me in the mirror, the man so close to your reflection?

‘What are you thinking?’ Geralt beats him to it.

Jaskier’s eyes are still fixed on one of the bigger scar on his thigh. He places a tentative hand on top of it and looks up at Geralt. His knee brushes Geralt’s lower back, but Geralt doesn’t flinch away.

‘This scar,’ he tells the truth, really, when you think about it. Geralt looks him in the eye, then at the place where his hand covers the white tissue.

‘Remember how you got it?’ Geralt hums. ‘We went with Eskel,’ Jaskier drags his palm further up Geralt’s thigh, ‘I think about the two of you…how. How Eskel leaned into your side by the fire, while you rested. He touched your hair as I bandaged you up.’

Geralt hums again, and Jaskier knows that he’s pushing it, and he shouldn’t, but the words are out before he can stop them, before he can truly reconsider. He says, ‘I wonder why it is that you let him touch you like that, but not—not…me.’

Geralt goes completely still, gaze locked on his thigh. Jaskier withdraws his hand, clasps it over his mouth. He shouldn’t have said that. He goes to say, ‘Sorry, Geralt, I didn’t me—,’ but Geralt’s mouth moves first.

‘You’re…repulsed?’

Jaskier’s world shatters. ‘I’m what?’

Geralt is still not moving, but he sighs, ‘You touch me in the night. You kiss me, and let me hold you. I know you do it for me, Jaskier. You never touch me in the daylight, never when you can—can see, uh. See me,’ his knuckles are white in his fists now, ‘And that’s okay. I know I don’t quite reach your standards, but. But I won’t inconvenience you,’ The last part is choked out, Geralt’s jaw set tight.

‘Geralt,’ Jaskier whispers, ‘I didn’t know. I thought…Well, I thought.’

He decides, then. He pushes and pulls on Geralt until he settles against the headboard, and Jaskier climbs into his lap. Geralt looks at him, and his eyes are glazed over.

‘Geralt, love. I see you. I’ve always seen you, in every dark corner, in every thick forest, I always see you. I know what you look like. Know your hair, know your scars, know your teeth. I want them. Please, Geralt?’ And Geralt’s tears are beginning to spill, but he’s not moving and Jaskier is getting desperate, ‘Can I have that? Please? Can I hold you?’

Geralt nods frantically. Jaskier cups his jaw and swipes at his tears. ‘Can you show me how you want to be touched, love?’ he whispers.

Geralt reaches towards his cheek and takes Jaskier’s hand. He intertwines their fingers.

‘In public?’ Jaskier asks.

Geralt nods, says, ‘Please.’ And then he places a soft palm against Jaskier’s cheek, presses a kiss to his temple. He leans forward and hugs Jaskier. He repeats his plea a couple times, until he settles with his lips over Jaskier’s.

‘Say it,’ he says, ‘Can I have you?’

Jaskier presses kisses to his jaw, ‘You have me, you have me, you have me.’

Geralt receives the kisses, the praise that night, and as he settles, Jaskier on his chest, he allows himself tentative hope that they’ll wake like that in the morning. He kisses Jaskier’s forehead and settles, eye catching that mirror, and thinks vaguely as he drifts off, we looked good together.

#I really don't know if this is good or not but am happy I actually wrote it hah #sex ment #self image issues #of the massive variety #self worth issues #geraskier #goldandlights

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pocketfulofrogers · 4 years ago

Text

Planes, Trains, and Firetrucks

Pairing: Kelly Severide x Reader

Summary: What’s a polar vortex to a desperate sister trying to get home? With a little determination and the luck of a stranger, you might just be able to pull off a Christmas miracle.

Notes: So I got drunk with my aunt and uncle on Thanksgiving and watched the only Thanksgiving movie to both exist and be quoted in it’s entirety by my whole family. I woke up with a google note that said ‘Planes, Trains, and Automobiles but make it a love story.’ Kinda wished I had payed more attention to the movie now.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you try to reign in your frustration. You had been all over this airport for the last six hours desperately searching for any way to get home. So far, you had only been strung along.

“Is there anything to Chicago at all? I’m just trying to be back for even a portion of Christmas. Seriously, at this point I’d saddle up a horse.”

The woman scrunches her nose as she scrolls through her computer, a sense of defeat looming over you until she smiles quickly. “I found a 5am to Detroit that connects…” She trails off and begins to frown again. “Just canceled.”

“Seriously?!” The word explodes from your mouth unwarranted and much louder than intended and your hand flies to your mouth in embarrassment.

Before you can begin to apologize profusely, you hear the man behind you mumble under his breath. “Probably because of the giant winter storm and white out conditions covering the entire North East.”

You whip your head behind to glare at him, but he’s too focused on his phone to even notice that you had overhead him. Defeated, you turn back around and quietly apologize before grabbing your phone and sulking away, the guy behind you chuckling slightly.

Mom: Your sister just got here, she’s so excited to see you!

Barely managing to suppress your groan, you lean against a nearby pillar to type a response that hopefully won’t break anyone’s hearts.

The man pockets his phone and approaches the counter. “Hi, can I get a hotel voucher?”

“We’re prioritizing vouchers for flying families and couples first.” She smiles.

“Really?” He groans, loud enough to grab your attention and hears your chuckle from what he assumes you think is karmic justice. But when he locks eyes with you, he gets an idea. “That is so kind of you guys!” He exclaims with a smile. “My wife will love that.”

In the middle of trying to explain to your mom that you couldn’t have left any early, chuckles steps up in front of you with a grin, holding up a pamphlet and you narrow your eyes. “Be my wife for a night, cow girl?”

You roll your eyes and walk away from his laughter and fake apologies, not stopping until he calls your name. “This?” You gesture between the two of you. “This is creepy.”

He holds up his hands before sliding the voucher in his dark jean jacket pocket. “They wouldn’t give me the voucher unless I put another name down so I just said you were my wife.” He shrugs his shoulder as if he can’t see the problem. “Now I can’t check in unless you’re there.”

You grab your bag and start walking again. “Not my problem.”

To your dismay, he keeps up with you. “We’ve been running around this place all day, so you have got to be at least a little tired.” You really were. “I let you use my charger.” He did do that, but it doesn’t seem to him that his small act of airport kindness has swayed you. “How about we get some sleep and then I promise I will help get you to Chicago?”

This causes you to pause again and look him up and down, almost hating yourself for even considering it. Those piercing blue eyes didn’t seem to hold any malice, nor did his small smile. He was charming, that much was obvious, but so was Ted Bundy.

You cock a hip to the side. “You could be a serial killer.”

The smirk he flashes makes you a little weak. “So could you.”

“Fine, but we’re stopping for pepper spray.”

Each time Kelly closes his eyes and feels his exhaustion begin to pull him under, he hears you curse under your breath. You had been obsessively scouring the internet looking for a hail mary, but each time you hit a wall.

He had given up somewhere between the last car dealership left in a 100-mile radius to endure your guilt trip and the proposition of hitch hiking. Honestly, he was more concerned than surprised when you seemed disappointed at him shooting down the idea.

Despite this budding friendship, you had offered no details of yourself, even when asked. You made another serial killer joke when he asked you why it was so important you get home, but he didn’t miss how guarded you became.

The next time you groan is when he also gives up the idea of any form of rest. Kelly sits up quick enough to see you throw yourself back into the creaky swivel chair.

“Is there a battery pack on you or something?” His voice is gravely, thick with exhaustion and just a hint of frustration.

You wince. “I know, I’m sorry. I just can’t believe that there’s not a single taxi or rental car available.”

“You could just buy a car.” He suggests it as an outlandish joke, but then your eyes light up.

“You’re a genius!”

Standing out in the middle of an alleyway, snow coating your hair, you can’t say your not a little nervous. Kelly is stood beside you despite very loudly voicing his opinion on how this was a terrible idea. Actually, that it was maybe the worst idea you’ve ever had.

“If anyone is going to be a serial killer, it’s going to be this guy.” He mumbles another remark, shifting his eyes to check your surroundings again.

You shoot a glare at him, but have to admit he’s probably right.

There wasn’t much in your bank account to spare, especially when you consider the price of a decent car. Craigslist offered one result in your price range within reasonable walking distance and you didn’t really stop to think it out.

Now you were in a barely lit backstreet leaking a smell you’d rather not name.

“You didn’t have to come.” You state, again.

He scoffs. “With your lack of self-preservation and this piece of shit that won’t make it out of the state? I won’t be responsible for you ending up on a milk carton.”

You want to comment that that’s not a thing anymore, but he had stuck by you for the last few hours and that’s more than you can usually expect from a stranger. “Aw, you care.” You reply instead.

It smells, terribly, but if you roll the windows down enough, you can hardly even notice. Wearing enough layers to not fell the cold is another story. You had expected Kelly to bail on you, insisting you wouldn’t blame him for running back to the warm comfort of clean sheets that weren’t his own, but again he shook his head.

He slept for the first six hours, grateful that you seemed to be a decent driver, but you tossed and turned in the back for about four before you climb back up front and ask to take over. There was only a little bit of gloating each time you passed through a city and grinned an ‘I told you so’ at him.

He doesn’t tell you, but he finds your giddiness contagious.

You don’t notice, but he keeps watching you whenever you’re not paying attention- intrigued by the woman who is actively going to hell and back just to get home. Matt told him he was insane, but there was something about you that he just couldn’t let go of.

He had watched you give up one of the only plane tickets left to a younger woman. Feeling touched as she cried in your arms. When you bought lunch for an unaccompanied minor and let her use up the entire battery life of your phone to watch a few movies, he knew he had to at least talk to you.

The only opener he had was a charger and it seemed to have been enough to get your trust.

“You know,” He starts, pulling his jacket tighter around him, hoping the rising sun would bring some form of warmth soon. He wasn’t hopeful. “I think I’ve earned a few questions.”

You glance at him and raise a brow. “Fine.”

“Are you always like this?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Your surprise makes you laugh.

“Prickly.” He clarifies.

“I’m not prickly, I’m stressed.” You defend yourself. “How are you not? Aren’t you trying to get home too, to see your family?”

He shrugs. “It’s out of my control, and the only family I have are people I get to see pretty regularly.” He smiles at you. “Guess I’m pretty lucky.”

“Well, it seems I’m definitely not.”

As if on cue, there’s a loud pop from the front of the car and it begins to sputter and smoke. Kelly is quick to calm you down and ease you into pulling off the road in the most soothing voice you think you may have ever heard.

Sitting on the side of the road, you only pick up your head from your knees when you hear a loud sigh and the hood slam shut. Kelly wipes the dark grease on his pants and gives you a solemn look.

“It’s toast.”

You let your head fall back onto your knees, not paying much attention to the encouraging words he tries to use to raise your spirits or the almost comforting hand on your shoulder, not even when they both disappear.

It isn’t until he’s grabbing the bags from the worst impulse buy of your life that you decide to check back in. “What are you doing?”

He points back to a semi-truck stopped not far behind with a smirk. “I told you I’m lucky.”

Your elbow bumps the trucker again and you pull you arms in closer to your body, try to scoot further away while being mindful of Kelly pressed close to you on your other side. Why you agreed to sit in the middle, you’ll only understand once you figured out why you agreed to this in the first place.

The man seemed nice enough, but it was two hours to the next city and you hadn’t slept in 36 hours.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do when we get there. Maybe find some wifi and look for our next ride?”

Kelly purses his lips. “How about we take an hour?”

“What are we supposed to in Dyersville on Christmas day?”

There’s a sparkle in his eyes when he smiles and shrugs his shoulders.

“Alright. This was a good idea.” You mumble around a mouthful of the burger you were trying to not inhale.

Somehow, Kelly had managed to convince a food truck to kick out one more order before packing up to get home. The smell hit you just as your hunger did and it didn’t take long for you to start stuffing your face.

He picks up his drink beside him on the bench and nods. “We needed this.”

“So bad.” You gush. You look around and finally feel like you can breathe again. “Maybe my luck’s turning. It’s a beautiful day, we’re so close, and this just might be the best burger I’ve ever had.”

He starts to laugh, but stops suddenly when he looks past your head. Before he can even react, the man he had been eying grabs your purse and takes off, Kelly quick on his heels. You yell after him, almost taking off too, but then his feet catch a patch of ice.

He goes down, hard and you rush to his side.

“Kelly? Kelly are you okay?” He’s touched by your concern, but he doesn’t have the breath in his lungs to convey it.

“Fine.” He grunts out.

“You folks alright?” A man with peppered hair and a thick grey mustache approaches behind you in a white button up. “We were just fixing our lights outside when we saw what happened. We’ve got two EMTs grabbing their bags if you’ll just stay where you are, son.”

Kelly waves him off, calling him chief, and tries to sit up. “Guy got her bag.”

You shush him and quickly help him up. “There’s nothing in there that can’t be replaced.” You assure him.

“Holy shit, is that Kelly Severide?” A woman calls out from across the street before jogging over. “Can’t wait to let the boys know that the great Lieutenant got played by a kid.”

Kelly chuckles at your confusion as he wipes his dirt covered hands on his jeans. “Gomez, nice to see you again.”

“You know each other?” You ask.

Gomez nods. “Lieutenant Severide here held a rope rescue training, whipped us all into shape. What brings you back here?”

Kelly sighs, adding a voice to the very rough time the last 20 hours had been. “Got snowed in just outside of Seattle. This one,” He points over to you and raises a brow. “Just had to get home and dragged me on and insane trip.”

Your jaw drops. “Dragged? You definitely refused to leave.”

“Only because I whole heartedly believed you’d get yourself killed.” He winks at you and you can’t suppress your smile.

The chief contemplates for a moment before offering up an old battalion car to get you through the final stretch. Kelly looks to you, smile beaming and makes another comment about his impeccable luck.

“So, you’re a firefighter.” You begin when the silence becomes a little too thick. “Is that why you were in Washington?”

Kelly nods. “Small city fire departments don’t have the resources we do. I try to go to a few a year to teach them how to use the stuff they have for difficult rescues.”

“Wow…” You trail off.

“You can’t ask me that question and not answer it for yourself.”

Rolling your eyes, you have to agree. “I was there for an interview. Some doctors there created a revolutionary treatment, and I was able to witness one of the surgeries.”

“Must be important for you to give up your Christmas Eve.”

You shrug. “My sister got really sick a few years ago. She’s okay now, but we weren’t able to see her for a really long time. Doctors saved her life and this could save someone else’s. It’s important information.”

“That’s why you wanted to get back?”

The moment becomes a little too heavy, but you manage a sad smile before you feel compelled to look out the window. “It’s her first Christmas since, it’ll be the first time I’ve seen her.”

He grabs your hand and your attention after a moment of silence and his stare is intense. “We’ll be there soon.” He assures you.

12 hours into shift and Matt Casey is as bored as he’s ever been on a Christmas. No calls, no Christmas spirit, and most importantly Christmas dinner was a bust. So, when Severide open his office door, covered in dirt and oil and grime, he was intrigued at least.

“You look like hell.”

Kelly rolls his eyes. “I need to borrow your truck to take Y/N home.”

Casey’s eyes widen. “She’s here?”

Kelly isn’t sure why he seems so excited until he hears him grab almost the entire firehouse to lead them to the floor. To you. Despite his protests, Gabby is positively thrilled. You however, surprisingly, are not overwhelmed by all the greetings and hugs. The environment is so warm and welcoming that you can’t help but slide right into conversations.

“She is gorgeous.” Gabby tries to keep it to a whisper. “Your texts do not do her justice.”

Kelly nods, well aware that just a few words typed while you were focused on the road could never be enough to describe how incredible he believed you to be.

“This isn’t it, right? You’ve got to see her again.” Joe butts his head between Kelly and Gabby. “We already like her.”

The drive to your house is quiet, somber. Not a single sound besides tires crunching through packed snow. There’re so many questions you have unanswered based solely on the fact that you don’t know how to ask them. Staring out into the night sky to watch the snow fall is no longer enough to comfort you.

It isn’t until he pulls up and puts the truck in park that you start to feel the pit in your stomach become overwhelming. You’re worried you’ll never see him again. Worried that the past day will be the final one and that thought is terrifying.

“Stay.” You blurt out.

He’s caught off guard by your request, but still smiles. “My family is back at the station and this is too important for you to be worrying about your parents meeting me.”

Your nod acknowledges that he’s right, but your eyes convey your sadness. “Merry Christmas, Kelly.”

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

“I cannot believe you just let her go!” Matt walks in on Gabby yelling. “You liked that girl, she invited you in, and you left?!” She’s pacing back and forth in front of a freshly showered Kelly. He looks like a puppy in trouble and Matt’s smart enough to know not to butt in.

“That was not a first impression I wanted to make.” He tries to defend himself.

Gabby turns to Matt, exasperated, and he raises his hands.

As if someone were listening to his silent prayers, Capp comes in to tell Kelly that he had a visitor on the floor. His heart began to race, filling with hope that maybe, just maybe…

He rounds the corner and there you are, dressed up with a delicate smile. For a moment he’s breathless, the only thing he wanted to see. He wants to open with something witty, but you beat him to it when you hand him a tupperware container, stepping close enough that he can smell the light layer of perfume you’re wearing.

“This is to thank you for letting me drag you and your luck all over the northern states.”

He laughs. “I believe it was me that refused to leave.”

“And I probably would’ve made the national news for being missing if you hadn’t.” Your smirk makes his heart skip a beat. “You know milk cartons aren’t a thing anymore, right?”

He laughs. “Well, how am I supposed to thank you for pretending to be my wife?” You laugh until you realize he’s being serious. “How about dinner tomorrow night?”

“I would love that.”

When he leans down slowly and presses his lips to yours, you have to laugh at the cheers that erupt from the background.

#kelly severide x reader #Kelly Severide #Chicago Fire #chicago fire imagine #kelly severide imagine #kelly serveride fanfiction #matt casey #gabby dawson #christmas

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killuaisaprincess · 3 years ago

Text

Mi Amor

Gon isn't surprised to be woken by a blood-curdling scream. He isn't, but when amber eyes snap open, his sternum aches with how choked out it sounds. The way the scream lingers in the air, pained, so desperate. It cuts right through his muscle and skin and smashes through bone, making him jump out of the bed, instincts taking over.

He shouldn't have let Killua convince him they should sleep in different rooms. Sure, outright confronting him wouldn't have worked. Killua had been especially cagey all day... but Gon could've used something, anything... three different rooms would be too expensive. Then again, Killua had already accounted for that, and Alluka ended up in the same room with Gon, Killua a separate one. Gon should've pushed harder. Killua had been distant and weirder than normal... his smiles clearly fake for Alluka's sake.

His heart is pounding so loudly in his ears, fear, and rage trickling down in pools of sweat, hands clenched in fists of iron, veins popping. He was terrified someone was actually hurting Killua... with how he sounded... even though Gon knows Killua is more than capable of taking care of himself, in his sleep even...

Gon doesn't waste time. His adrenaline is spiked with fear; he punches a hole straight through the wall to Killua's room. It probably wakes everyone in the little motel up, including Alluka, but Gon doesn't care.

"Killua!"

Gon steps over debris from his newly created door, panic rising in his chest. His best friend was slumped over in a heap on his bed, legs entangled in a sheet, and slim digits grasping at his thin tank top as he gasps for air.

Gon pads across the room, trying to temper how loud his footsteps are as he rushes over, dipping a knee into the creaky bed, before settling down. He's slow with his movements, despite how much he wants to grab Killua and pull him into a bone-crushing hug. He tentatively brushes his fingertips against Killua's shoulders, lifting him up in hopes that'll help him breathe easier, ever so gently looking into those scared, broken eyes.

Those giant blue eyes blown wide open in fear, tears pooling at the corners, making Gon swallow his rage. To kill whoever hurt Killua this much a thousand times. Seeing that fragile look, feeling Killua shake under his light grip, and hearing his mumbles is enough to make Gon's heart split clean in two.

"No... no, please... I'm sorry... I'll be the perfect assassin... no more... please. It hurts. No more... please... I don't want to. I don't want to. I'm scared. I'm scared."

Like a mantra over and over, every word is another knife plunged and twisted into Gon's chest, making it hard to breathe. Killua... knowing Killua was in so much worse pain, had been in so much worse pain...

How.

Dare.

They.

He has to bite back every urge to tighten his grip.

Gon's hands are strong, strong, and rough; they have been since he was little, running around Whale Island, climbing trees, and befriending animals much larger than him. He makes sure to be as gentle as possible with every touch. Tugging his fingers up to brush some of Killua's sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes, the pad of his thumb pressing under Killua's cheek. Softly, tenderly wiping away some of those tears. There's a flicker of recognition in Killua's eyes, one that makes Gon's heart soar. He presses Killua flush to his chest, fingers draping across the younger's thin waist, protectively. Every touch is strong, but not in the way Killua is used to. Not strength that would restrain him and hurt him. Strength that would protect him, gentle, profound strength.

Gon rubs light circles against Killua's back through the soaked fabric of his over-shirt. Killua doesn't say anything, but Gon listens carefully, full of intent to every breath Killua takes. The heavy gasps like he's being plunged underwater, choked with sobs, slowly start to calm down. If it didn't get better Gon would have used the techniques he asked Leorio about.

Killua seems so tiny in his arms, pressing his face into his chest like this and sobbing. Despite the fact that they are relatively the same size, he seems impossibly small and fragile, and Gon tugs Killua closer, squeezing his eyes in pain, burying his nose in Killua's hair.

It hurts more than anything that he can't do anything more for his best friend; Gon wishes more than anything he could go back in time, go back and time and save Killua. A small broken child, crying on the cold dark floor, bleeding out. They are fifteen now, but whatever small time they have left of a 'childhood,' Gon won't let Killua suffer anymore... he won't be selfish this time.

"It's okay. I've got Killua... I won't let anything happen to him. I'll protect him, I promise. I've got Killua..."

His own mantra repeated over and over. He wouldn't let anyone lay a hand on Killua.

Killua's sobs eventually reside to a stop, only a few sniffles. Gon's heart still feels heavy, but when Killua shifts under him and Gon pulls away, offering Killua the biggest brightest smile he can.

The ashamed look on Killua's face as he rubs the heel of his palm under red puffy eyes makes Gon's heart break again.

"Kil-"

"I'm fine."

Killua snaps, voice hoarse, eyebrows pinched together, tears slowly welling up in his bloodshot eyes, and Gon can't take it. That pretty face being scrunched up in pain. The kind, gentle soul he loves more than anything distraught. When a sob tears from his lips, that's all Gon can take.

Gon tugs Killua right back, ignoring how he squirms, even weakly hits Gon in the chest. He shushes Killua will all the love he can, running featherlight touches against his spine. Killua shivers under him, and Gon's shirt is a mess of snot and tears by now, and Gon doesn't care. He just mummers soft reassurances to Killua. Over and over.

"It's okay. I've got Killua... it's okay, my love, it's okay."

Killua stiffens, and Gon freezes, his breath catching in his throat as Killua looks up, confusion flickering in those perfectly beautiful eyes. Gon's heart feels like breaking again because Killua is confused. He's staring wide-eyed and dumbfounded.

"W-what? My... love...?"

Gon can't take it. That Killua would be confused by something Gon feels so truly. It's because of them, them, and their sick, twisted, hateful love.

"Did you bonk your head, stupid?"

Gon shakes his head, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against Killua's, grinning widely, his small dimples showing, fingers tugging Killua in closer and never letting go.

"Nope! Killua is my love! Killua's my everything! My sunshine! My moon! My stars! My sun!"

Every word he fills with strength and love, love they never gave him, as Killua's blotchy cheeks, pale ivory, and pink, go red. It's beautiful. Killua's beautiful. Gon doesn't want him to be in pain anymore. Some might think it nothing more than childish adoration, making him say something out of a romcom. That's not it at all. Despite what it seemed, his childish nature, and baby face, Gon was intelligent, and he knows with all his heart he loves Killua.

Killua blubbers, those long slim beautiful fingers, digging into Gon's shirt as he buries his head into Gon's shoulder. Gon smiles so softly, fingers petting Killua's locks of hair. Killua is light as a feather, really, but the weight of his head and body craning into Gon makes Gon's heart skip a beat. He hums happily, tracing circles around Killua's bony shoulder blade. He isn't even sure how long they stay like that... Gon feels his eyes get heavy a few times before he shakes himself awake.

Killua's light breathing and drooling all over his shoulder makes Gon peer down fondly as he lifts Killua up with ease, warmth ebbing in his chest. He wouldn't let Killua have any more nightmares, not tonight, not ever; he'd never let the Zoldyck's touch Killua again.

Gon walks through the hole in the wall, sort of sad he can't see the cute little blush that will bloom across Killua's features when he tells him he punched a hole through the wall for him, but Gon supposes he can wait. To alas also be scolded too... although he might already get scolded as big blue eyes stare at him, Alluka standing there in her pink pajamas, worry pooling in her eyes.

Alluka must have heard her brother's screams, now and before; she probably always worried about him... So Gon grins, ending up on the side of the bed almost falling off, Killua pressed against his chest, Alluka on the other side, hugging her brother from behind. Gon lovingly caresses Killua's cheek, and Alluka yawns, peering at him through sleepy eyes.

"You really love big brother, huh?"

"Mmm. I love him lots."

Alluka grins, slowly closing her eyes.

"Nanika's glad, so am I."

Gon smiles, although she or Killua can't see, reaching over and tugging the sheet over her and Killua more, leaving one of his hands to rest on Killua's waist, the other Alluka's shoulder.

He was glad too.

#killua zoldyck #hxh Killua #killua hxh #gon freecss #hxh Gon #hxh #gonkillu #hunter x hunter #;windy’s stuff #killua #gon #gon x killua #i probs won’t get around to writing smth for Ki’s b day precious babey 😭😭😭🥺🥺but I wanna make a few more edits but I’ll repost smth for #him give him the love he deserves and carry him and protect Ki and hold him #ask to tag

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monsterfuneral · 4 years ago

Text

the vampiric pros and cons | the lost boys

Relationship: Poly!Lost Boys x Fem!Reader

Summary: One year anniversaries were always important, it was a mark of a year long commitment to one someone or something but what happens when your four someone’s seem to forget?

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, the reader has a breakdown, the boys being dumb, fluff, swearing.

Words: 3.3k

Author’s Note: I hope you like this as much as I liked writing it, thank you very much anon for the request <3

Idk what is giving me this 3k word juice but I really enjoy it

REQUESTS OPEN

(please read my “I do NOT write” section before sending in anything <3)

---

There were pros and cons of being a human. One very important con being time perception, whether it be what time you had to be at work, what year it was, or even what special occasion fell on what day. Time was something your very undead boyfriends hadn’t had to deal with in decades, while they attempted to adjust to your much more human life it did come with difficulty, which today just proves how much. With your eyes flitting from the mirror to the clock on your nightstand and back to your reflection, you couldn’t help but let out a slow sigh. They were an hour late.

While at first you assumed at least one of them- Dwayne- would be able to keep track, that thought now seemed futile. You knew that as a vampire you didn’t have to stress over something as trivial as time management, especially since they quite literally had forever to do something. But you couldn’t deny it hurt every time you watched the clock tick by without any signs of revving engines outside your apartment complex. You couldn’t deny that it stung when they seemed to have forgotten your one year anniversary.

Your eyes locked back onto your reflection’s, looking over your outfit for probably the thirtieth time. While you weren’t wearing some fancy ball gown and your hair wasn’t perfectly styled, it was a lot more effort you put in your everyday appearance. You had switched out your worn leather jacket for a fancier, seemingly spotless one. You even put on your best pants, not a rip in sight, along with a pair of black combat boots that looked brand new. The effort probably wasn’t worth it knowing the boys would probably be dressed in their regular clothes, which you didn’t mind, but thinking about that now it made you feel slightly ridiculous for even caring so much.

With another glance at the clock on your nightstand you felt a harsh pang in your chest, 1:21am it read in big red blocky numbers, they were supposed to pick you up at twelve. You tried to keep the tears at bay but the more you stared at the clock the blurrier the numbers got. Was it stupid to have put hope in them in the first place? Could you really blame them? You knew what you were signing up for, so why were you getting so upset?

You brought your hands up to your face and sniffled, wiping the tears away rather harshly.

“Fuck.” More tears slipped from your eyes in retaliation and you let out a groan, realizing just what you had to do. You walked over to the chair in the corner of your room, one that served more as a laundry hamper rather than something to sit on, and plucked your bag from top of the pile searching for your keys.

If they weren’t going to come here then you were going to come to them, and you were not happy.

---

You white-knuckled your steering wheel the whole drive to the bluff, music playing low on your radio yet still feeling all too loud. Even though they had forgotten you couldn’t help but feel like it was your fault. But that was ridiculous right? You had reminded them almost every night and they had seemed to be listening, did you just not try hard enough or did they really just not care?

The tears were pooling again, blurring the lines on the road before they morphed into dirt and you were finally parked at the rickety wooden stairs leading down to the cave. You shut the car off and just sat for a few seconds trying to level your breathing. You glanced at your wristwatch and it read 1:53am, you couldn’t suppress the growl that crawled up your throat. After everything you did for them, after all the times you reminded them, they fucking forgot.

With that in mind you threw the rusty car door open and slammed it shut, your fists clenching beside your thighs before you drew your jacket closer to shield yourself from the ocean breeze. You stomp down the creaky stairs, angrily muttering to yourself before coming up to the gate entrance and slipping inside, careful not to snag your jacket like you’ve done many times before.

You walked through the tunnel leading towards the flickering light coming from the candles and metal barrels. It usually warms you from the inside out but in this moment all you felt was cold. There was no smile growing on your face, no hands guiding you carefully so you didn't bust your ass on the way down, no whooping vampires flying overhead. It was silent inside the cave. Nobody was here. They must have been out feeding. That thought only served to enrage you even more.

Of course they had time to remember their own needs but not yours when it was your anniversary? You hadn’t even asked for much either, all you wanted was to go down to the beach and have a cute little night-time picnic with them, a bonfire lit off to the side and all of you having a great time, that’s all you wanted.

You couldn’t help but once again feel like you were overreacting, was it really their fault for forgetting? While they certainly weren’t perfect when it came to remembering everything, at least they tried. But what stopped them from trying this time? Stop over thinking so much. Did they still care for you or did they lose interest? You’re being ridiculous. You felt tears begin to streak down your cheeks once again, the frustration building more and more.

When you plopped down onto the couch a small puff of dust followed, clouding around your hips as you cradled your head pathetically and cried into the palms of your hands, very certain the makeup you had put on earlier in the night had been fully cried off.

You weren’t sure how long you had been sitting on the couch after your last tear dropped, but it felt like hours. Your body felt vacant of all emotion, your eyes locking onto the flickering candle sat atop the fountain, it held all of your focus as it danced and swayed with the occasional breeze that would push itself inside the cave. The fluttering of wings sounded so much louder now too with it being so quiet, Marko’s pigeons flying back and forth every now and then. Your head didn’t even lift up when you heard the distant whoops of your vampiric partners. The anger was now completely washed away and was replaced with a cold nothingness, all emotions having been exhausted from your body when it had been racking with sobs.

The fluttering of clothes sounded overhead when they finally flew inside, circling the top of the cave before finally realizing there was an unmoving figure sat upon their couch. David was the first to touch down, cold blue eyes staring at you with concern as you just continued to stare ahead at the flickering candle. His heavy steps echoed off the cave walls as he drew closer saying your name gently as if it would break you to say it louder. If you were being completely honest with yourself, it probably would have.

David kneeled down in front of you and carefully placed a hand on your knee which you moved slowly away from. He raised a brow and looked back at the other three, Marko was chewing on his thumb nail, closely watching the scene in front of him unfold.

“Kitten?” David’s voice was probably the softest you ever heard, his eyes locking with yours once you were finally jolted from your daze “Hey are you okay?” You almost felt guilty, he looked so worried even with how little he showed it on his face, it was in his eyes.

“Babe what’s wrong? Did someone do somethin’ to you?” Paul chimed, stepping closer to the couch cautiously. You still didn’t speak, mind still in a thick fog. “Babe?” Paul sounded worried too and you couldn’t bring yourself to lift your head up to look at him.

“I think something’s wrong guys.” Marko said from where he stood behind David.

Paul let out a scoff “Yeah no shit, man.” You could practically hear him roll his eyes.

Finally your mouth opened, prying your chapped lips apart and muttered a raspy “You forgot.” It felt like the littlest bits of energy were finally sinking back into your skin, allowing you to lift your head and look at your four worried boyfriends. “You forgot about our anniversary.”

Their eyes widened almost comically after hearing you say that. A groan coming from Marko as he threw his head back, fingers knitting through his perfect curls “I told you guys there was something wrong tonight! I knew we forgot something!” Paul let out a long sigh and leaned back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Dwayne finally got closer and kneeled himself down next to David.

“Hey sweetheart…” He whispered, reaching out to gently take your hand in his colder one “We are so sorry. You gotta understand that we wouldn’t do this to you on purpose.” He squeezed your hand gently, looking back at the others. You knew that if you had any more tears left you would have probably started crying again. “We’re so sorry that we hurt you like this…” He brought his hand up to your chin and lifted your head up so he could look you in the eye standing up and bending over to bring his face closer to yours “Please let us make it up to you.” His hair was veiling over your face as he leaned in, almost shielding you from the outside world, his chilled lips met your cheek softly delivering the gentlest kiss you’ve probably ever received.

“Yeah babe please let us make it up to you.” Paul practically begged. You turned your head stiffly to look at him, seeing how frantic he almost looked.

“Would you like that?” Dwayne asked, voice soft as if he was telling you a secret. You couldn’t deny the tug on your heart when looking into his dazzling brown eyes, the desperation to earn your forgiveness all too evident.

“Okay…” You whispered back, afraid to speak any louder.

---

The bonfire in front of you danced with the ocean breeze, a breeze that softly weaved through your hair and would have made you shiver if it wasn’t for the blanket David wordlessly wrapped around your shoulders. He sat next to you staring into the amber flames too, the yellows and oranges lighting his face up beautifully. The hollowness from your breakdown was finally beginning to melt away, a small smile creasing your lips before bitterly falling again.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered quietly, but not quietly enough as the rest of the group raised their heads and voiced their curiosity of what the hell you were apologizing for. “I was being a drama queen.” You chuckled humorlessly “You guys have told me so many times how hard it is to manage time as a vampire and I still got so worked up over something so stupid.”

Marko was the first to shake his head and voice his opinion “Hell no, you’re not going to feel sorry for something that isn’t even your fault!” You looked at him from over the fire, his expression hardened “It’s us who should be sorry- who are sorry- not you. I’m not letting you blame yourself because you’re dating a set of dumbasses.” Paul nodded in agreement, not even trying to start some childish argument for being called a dumbass.

“And it’s not stupid either. We’ve been together for a whole year, which is a long time to commit yourself to one person, let alone four vampires.” Dwayne chimed, soothing your remaining guilt. You gave him a grateful smile while David pulled you closer to him, arm slung around your shoulder and letting you lean against him.

Silence had settled over the five of you again for a good ten seconds before you heard Paul yelp, making you jump. Marko had him pinned to the sand, their bodies both flailing as they wrestled. “Oh your ass is grass pipsqueak!” Paul threatened when Marko flew up into the air, Paul following closely, some sand falling back onto the ground below. David shook his head and chuckled as he watched the two rambunctious blondes play fight, growling and hissing at each other.

“Children...” He muttered playfully smirking at you when you giggled.

“Come on up guys!” Marko called a few feet above the fire, Paul pulling harshly on his hair making the shorter blonde let out a yelp of his own.

“Yeah, how does it feel asshole!?” They pushed each other, flying in opposite directions before colliding again.

“Paul I will fucking dunk you in the ocean!” Marko threatened.

David squeezed your side a little tighter “You wanna go for a ride princess?” He asked, eyes still locked on Paul and Marko.

You felt yourself start to smile “Yeah I want some front row seats to this.” You shrugged the blanket from your shoulders and handed it to Dwayne who took it without a word.

David gave you an encouraging squeeze before helping you stand up and kneeling down a little so you can jump onto his back. He tightened his grip on the backs of your thighs and told you to hold on tight, which you did. He slowly rose from the ground and you let out an excited giggle next to his ear, having gotten used to the heights of flying a long time ago. Marko and Paul’s petty argument got louder as you both got closer, they were punching and kicking and even clawing at each other like feral alley cats.

“I’ll tie you to a tree and leave you there, fucking test me.” Paul seethed, you would have thought he was serious if you hadn’t known them, plus the wide smile on his face was an immediate giveaway.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

You squeezed your arms tighter around David’s neck and muttered next to his ear “I bet you ten vinyls Marko completely wastes Paul.”

David let out a quiet snort and turned his eyes over to you “You’re on. If you lose you have to sleep over at the cave for a whole week.” You rolled your eyes at the counter before he continued “Let’s just say you won’t be getting much sleep if I win a kitten.” He winked at you and turned his head back just in time for Marko to grab a hold of Paul’s jacket harshly and began flying towards the ocean so fast you could barely see them.

Paul screamed before hitting the water, not being able to catch himself as he was catapulted into the waves. He came to the surface with a string of colorful curses being thrown at Marko who was cackling loudly just above him, curling in on himself as he shook, looking as if he was laying down in midair. When Paul rose from the water you could practically see the steam rolling off of him as he grabbed Marko and brought him underwater. You were glad they were dead because Paul was literally forcing Marko to stay underwater while he laughed, traunting the curly haired blonde, watching as he thrashed the water around frantically.

When Marko surfaced he let out a growl and was about to give Paul the same treatment but David calling out to them drew his attack short. “Come on boys! We don’t have time for your little drowning session, the sun’s gonna be up soon!”

“You owe me ten records.” You pat David’s chest triumphantly and he hummed in response.

“I guess I do.” He turned his head to the side and gave you a slow kiss, one that made your heart flutter in your chest and your cheeks heat up.

Paul and Marko flew up slowly, Dwayne joining the four of you as well with your blanket still in his arms. The two blondes looked like wet dogs as they tried to shake the water from their hair, effectively spraying all of you with water.

“Hey watch the jacket!” You half teased, wiping the droplets off onto David’s jacket which made him shake his head in slight annoyance. “You’ve had this jacket for years calm down.”

---

The fly back to the cave wasn’t a long one, five minutes or less, but David knew you didn’t feel like walking all the way back and honestly neither did he. So the wind blew your hair from your face as he and the boys weaved playfully past each other, laughing and calling out into the night sky. You finally felt like yourself again, all the previous emotional exhaustion now replaced with a simmering happiness in your chest. You were still harboring a little anger at being so easily forgotten but that was a conversation for another night, right now you just wanted to enjoy yourself, flying through the sky without a care in the world before finally touching down on the cave floor next to the fountain. Most of the candles that were still lit before you all left had been blown out while you were gone. You looked around and watched as the boys all settled down, Marko lighting the barrels again and setting the torch inside to burn too.

You settled yourself back down on the couch between Dwayne’s legs, his back against the arm of the sofa. He threw an arm over your chest and held you against him, settling a few soft kisses on your cheek. “You feeling like sleeping here tonight sweetheart?” noticing as you attempted to stifle a yawn.

“Oh are we having a sleepover.” Paul teased with a wiggle of his brows. He leaned over the back of the sofa and tried to kiss you but a strand of his still wet hair smacked you in the face making you groan.

“How are you still wet.” You chuckled, peeling the wet strand from your right cheek moving it behind his ear.

“Blame it on that douchebag chihuahua.” He sent a playful glare in Marko’s direction who yelled out a defensive “Hey!” in response.

You looked down at your watch and muttered a quiet ‘jesus christ’ at the time, 4:39am. You hadn’t even realized how late it had gotten, the night seemingly passing by in a haze while they were gone.

Dwayne moved your hair over to your right shoulder “You can go ahead and sleep sweetheart.” His voice was soft in your ear, lips brushing against your neck as he kissed your neck softly. “I can take you to your nest, tuck you in and shit.” He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your back. You turned over on your side and snuggled closer to the tall vampire, your face buried in his neck.

The night may have had a much more than rocky start but in the end you were happy. You couldn’t stay mad at them, especially when they didn’t truly mean to hurt you. It was a mistake and they made up for it and will probably continue to do so for weeks. You knew what you were getting yourself into when they told you what they were, and you loved them even when the cons sometimes outweigh the pros, you were willing to go to the ends of the world for them and they were more than willing to do the same.

---

Paul getting absolutely fucking dunked was inspired by the amazing @tweedracer

Links to their stories here, please read them they’re amazing:

POLY! LOST BOYS x HIPPIE VIBES READER by Tweetracer

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dralf0yy · 4 years ago

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Wedding Bells || 2 || F.W x Reader

A/N: I AM SO SORRY I TOOK SO LONG TO GET THIS UP BUT ITS FINALLY HERE AAAA!! If i’m being honest, I’m not a big fan of the way I ended this bc it felt rlly unfinished but I felt the need to get it up as soon as I could. I hope you guys enjoy and sorry for the long ass wait 🥺

Word count: 1.6K (aaa she’s a bit sh0rt)

Part 1

Fred landed at the beach just outside his aunt’s old cottage.

The place he proposed to you

The weather was unironically cloudy and cold—identical to the way he felt.

Chills ran up Fred’s spine as he wandered around the beach, taking in the beautiful, calming scene around him. It reminded him of you. More specifically the way you were always remarkably gorgeous without effort, even in your darkest moments, and the way you soothed him with your embrace and kind, loving words.

It made Fred hate himself for abandoning you. You were fragile and even the smallest inconveniences would chip away parts of you that made you happy and whole. Everyone,especially Fred, knew this. He knew that you had cracked when the war broke out and he almost died. And he knew that this time, you had completely shattered, and it was all his fault.

He made his way up the sandy hills, marching through some of the long grass that had sprouted up and halted when he had reached the top. His eyes fluttered closed as he inhaled the salty scent of the ocean, thinking of the day he proposed

One year ago

“Fred where are you taking me?” You giggled as you trailed behind Fred with your hand intertwined with his.

The two of you, and George, had been helping Bill and Fleur fix up their aunt’s old cottage. It had been a long, hard day of redecorating and repainting and the sun was almost completely set

“You’ll see soon enough my love. We’re almost there.. Okay now close your eyes and wait here for a few seconds”

You nodded in response and heard Fred’s soft footsteps shuffling around in the sand. You shifted your weight back and forth between your left and right foot and giggled when you heard your boyfriend curse at the sand under his breath

After a few more seconds of shuffling, you heard Fred whisper

“You can open your eyes now, love”

Your eyes fluttered open slowly and you expected to see his face inches from yours but much to your surprise, he was on one knee clutching a small, black velvet box that fit perfectly in the palm of his hand with a heart shape dug into the sand surrounding the two of you. Fred steadied himself and gazed up into your eyes

“Y/n, these past 6 years with you have been unbelievably amazing. You have shown me what love and true happiness feels like and I will be forever grateful for that. There is no one else I would rather have by my side for the rest of my life, besides George of course,” He joked as a tear cascaded down your cheek

“no one else that I would rather give my love to, wake up next to every morning, have lots of little Weasleys with, and no one else that I would rather marry than you. And the war last year made me realise that I didn’t wanna wait any longer for this. So, Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n.. Will you marry me?”

Tears of joy were now uncontrollably streaming down both your cheeks as you chuckled and silently—but enthusiastically— nodded your head

“Yes! A million times yes!” You exclaimed and pulled Fred up, bringing your hands around the back of his neck and pulling him in for a kiss that was so full of love and passion that it made his head spin

Present

Fred let out a loud, broken sob and collapsed onto his knees remembering the memory that had once made him so ecstatic. He stayed there with his face buried in his hands for what seemed like hours while mumbling ‘I’m so sorry’ repeatedly to the empty space in front of him

Fred lifted his head back up and the sun was barely visible on the horizon.The sky had slightly cleared in the few hours that he had been there and it became a flurry of yellow, orange, purple and pink streaks.

It was a beautiful image. It was one that you wished you could share with your dearest loved ones when things were bad. It gave Fred the a sense of calmness that he needed to clear his head

“I’m gonna make this right” He stated and disapparated back to the Burrow

***

“Here Y/n/n, have some cake, love” George offered to you. A grateful grin appeared on your face as you took the small, fragile plate with a slice of cake on it from him carefully and snuggled into his side. You sighed tiredly as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders

“Something on your mind?”

“Well.. I’m just worried Georgie. What if he’s done something reckless and got hurt or can’t get back to us—?”

“Don’t worry, love I’m right here” Both your heads turned towards the front door, and there, stood the one and only, Fred Weasley

You immediately sprung off the couch and out of George’s embrace, dropping the plate of cake in the process, and ran towards Fred. You jumped on him, wrapping your legs around his waist, and buried your face in the crook of his neck.

“Oh my Godric! You’re okay” You squeaked and hugged him tighter. He let out a quiet chuckle and gave you a kiss on the top of your head before setting you back down on the ground. He looked at you with a faint smile on his face, looking as if he was trying not to break again

He didn’t manage to keep the facade up for very long. He pulled you into his chest and burst into tears. Through his fit of sobs, you could hear him choke out an apology

“Shh it’s okay, Fred. We don’t have to talk about this right now..” You cooed soothingly—but slightly muffled— into his chest. You pulled away to look up at his face

“How about you head up for tonight? We can talk in the morning” Fred nodded and started to trail off towards the stairs with your hand wrapped inside his but stopped when he realised you weren’t moving

“A- Are you not coming up with me?” he hiccuped. You opened your mouth to answer but George beat you to it

“Actually Y/n, I think you better head off to bed. I need to talk to Fred”

Too tired to protest, you muttered an ‘okay’ and tread up the creaky stairs of the Burrow leaving the twins alone to talk.

Fred awkwardly stood in the room and rocked back and forth on his feet looking anywhere but at George who was patiently waiting for you to be out of earshot

“I’ll get straight to the point,” He snapped, “I hope you’ve acknowledged that you messed up, Fred. Y/n spent the last 5 hours crying and worrying about you, wondering what she could’ve done wrong for you to walk out on her like that—”

“She didn’t—”

“I KNOW SHE DIDN’T,” George sighed in frustration, “I’ve tried to mend her as much as I could, but the rest is up to you. She’s like a sister to me and I don’t wanna lose her because of something stupid that you did to hurt her. Now go up there and make it up to her and don’t ever take an amazing person like her for granted— because we both know that Y/n won’t give you a 3rd chance”

Fred nodded and trailed up the stairs towards his childhood bedroom, not knowing how to respond as it was a little unusual to see George so serious and worked up about something.

Fred quietly pushed the door open, expecting you to be asleep and not wanting to wake you. He stepped in and felt his heart ache at the sight of you curled up in George’s bed with tears streaming down your face, with muffled hiccups coming from you and clutching onto one of Fred’s christmas sweaters, staring at the floor

You peered up towards the doorway where Fred was standing. Your teary gaze shifted back to the floor next to a small mound of clothing. Your hushed hiccups ceased and the room was filled with deafening silence

Fred’s shoes came into your line of sight and his hand made contact with your shoulder.

“D’you wanna move over to my bed, love?” He whispered gently. You lazily nodded your head and sat up. You made your way over to Fred’s bed and hesitantly lied down on the edge of the mattress. A deep sigh left Fred’s lips as mattress dipped next to you

You unhurriedly shifted around and stared into Fred’s cinnamon coloured eyes with your own Y/e/c orbs. You noticed that they were bloodshot and slightly puffy, but nevertheless, they were still as enchanting as always.

You cast your gaze down towards the pillow, taking a deep and shaky breath. “Be honest,” You said in a voice that was barely a whisper, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” Fred exclaimed suddenly, making you jump, “Sorry I- No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I just—I was being a git and I was just doubting everything, you know? I was.. I was anxious that you didn’t really wanna marry me or that I wasn’t actually ready” he said in a quieter voice.

You nodded and sighed, succumbing to the warmth of Fred’s chest and absorbed what he just confessed.

You decided to leave a lot of things unsaid. Knowing that he was willing to come back and make things right again was enough for you to give him another chance—though you knew you would no matter what he had done anyway.

The familiar sound of Fred’s heartbeat reminded you that he was there, and there for good, along with the feeling of his arms tightening around your frame and your entangling legs. Things were at a fair balance once again, and the two of you couldn’t be more content with your journey of love

***

Main Taglist: @paigeyisme @slytherinlovesgryffindor @cleopatera @accio-rogers @beacosta27 @anyasthoughts

Wedding Bells Taglist: @wand3ringr0s3 @angel-of-blue @stuckindilemma @angstywhore @imdixonsangel @girl22334 @gredandforges @dorothyofcosta @drvcopotter

Fred & George Taglist: @thisuserlovesyouandyouandyou

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whitherwhence · 3 years ago

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Monstrous May Challenge, Day 9: The Undead

The Presence

An herb-woman moves into a little house, and finds it might not be as vacant as it had seemed. What’s it like to live with someone who has neither a form you can see nor a voice you can hear? f/?. 1854 words.

cw: mild non-sexual dubious consent (specifically for chaste touching that can’t be anticipated)

“Will you stay?” she asked to the darkened room, “I mean, will you come to bed?” She was being courageous, she thought, and she couldn’t mess this up. Not this. She adjusted the pillows again and budged over, just enough to make it clear where they could go, if they wanted. If they wanted as much as she wanted.

It had been only about half a year now since Jane had moved into the empty little house and had set about making it comfortable for herself. She’d fixed the drafty front door and replaced the crumbling kitchen sink right away, and then slowly brightened the place with paint on the walls and polish on the floors and flowers in the window boxes. There was a loft built in, almost certainly to be used as a bedroom, but she was never completely comfortable up there at the top of the sturdy ladder. That was fine. It was a small house, but there was enough room for her bed to stay on the ground with her writing desk and tiny kitchen table and big cushioned chair by the wood-burning stove.

A week into making her home here, Jane was out behind the house, clearing out what looked to be an old, makeshift garden bed. It was hard to tell what it had been used for, as it was so overgrown with weeds, so she decided to build a separate one for her herbs. She was debating how many of the long weeds to dig up and how many to keep, because really the leaves and blossoms were quite pretty to look at, but she didn’t want them to creep too far and take over, as weeds are wont to do. She was just thinking she could put a few wildflowers in with the weeds, something the bees would like, when she felt it.

It felt like… curiosity? She knew very well the sensation of being watched. But it wasn’t coming from the path, or the trees, or down on the road below. Was it coming from the house? That couldn’t be right. Jane would know if a stranger was in her house, she’d made sure of that. But it was coming from the house, the feeling, the curious gaze.

The first time she found something on the kitchen table, one of the pretty weed blossoms, she frowned. But she tried to quickly shake it off, because she had been ever so tired when she came in at dusk the evening before, so worn out from her duties in town — maybe she had picked it on her way in? But… why would she go all the way around to the back of the house before coming in, and how did she forget doing it? She looked around to the front door, to her spring coat hanging on the hook and her muddy boots neatly placed underneath, to her chest of vials and jars, to the dishes she had washed and set to dry last night, to the book resting on the arm of her chair, everything where she’d left it. No sign of an intruder. There was nothing for it, so she shrugged and put the weed in some water and put it back on the table. The only thing tall enough she had was a glass bottle, and it looked nice enough, but she still made a note to look for something nicer in town.

Three days later, it was a small stone. It was lovely, a dark rust color and all jagged edges — perhaps from the garden? — so she set it in a tiny dish, a charming thing she’d gotten from the town potter.

It was a flower the third time, one from the window boxes. It was too short for her new vase, but it looked nice in a teacup. As she carried it over to her desk, where she’d be writing letters for most of the day, she mused aloud, “I haven’t left anything out for them, but maybe some nice brownies have come to stay?” She had only been joking, but there was a loud thud from the loft, like one of her small storage trunks had been pushed over, and she thought better of it. So. Probably not brownies, then.

Every few days or so, she’d find on her kitchen table a weed blossom or stone or leaf or fern frond or flower, something from outside, something from in the back garden, but not beyond. After the fourth time, she started saying a quiet thank you to the… the room. After the sixth time, she started blushing.

Sometime after the wildflowers started blooming in the old garden bed, and her herbs started thriving in the new one, she introduced herself to the air inside the house. “I don’t know if you know, if I’ve said, but I’m called Jane.” She felt a bit silly after she said it, but it seemed important.

She could feel the curious gaze on her from time to time, she could feel that she was being looked at by something or someone, and she felt it especially when she spoke aloud or hummed to herself as she worked. She didn’t know what to call it, but at some point she started thinking of it as the Presence, and thinking of the Presence as them.

Occasionally, a spoon would clatter in the drying rack, or the papers on her desk would shuffle just slightly, or a couple of glass vials would clink against each other, or a candle flame would gutter and blink and then grow tall and then gutter again. Once (but only once), an herb bundle she had hung to dry came untied, and the stems scattered on the floor. It was always something small, a slight push of something physical. She didn’t know what that was about, if they were testing the objects they could move, or if they were trying to get her attention. Either way, she gave it. “Good morning,” she’d say to what she hoped was their general direction, or, “I’m going to town tomorrow and won’t be back till late,” or, “Hmm, have you seen my shears? I put them right here,” and eventually, “Hello, dear.” She hoped it wasn’t too forward.

The soft touches came on so gradually that Jane wasn’t sure what she was feeling at first. More often than not, the touch was to one of her arms. The back of her hand or her shoulder would tingle with a soft warmth, an effervescent heat that would make her skin flush and her breath shudder. One time it was the top of her knee while she read in her chair, another time it was the side of her face while she pulled on her boots.

She wasn’t entirely sure what the Presence was, a poltergeist? a spirit? a ghost? She tried not to think too much about it. Instead, she said thank you for the gifts she found, and she grew her herbs and made her mixtures, and she kept the house and garden in good shape, and she sighed and blushed and tried not to want too much when she could feel them near her.

And now, six months on, a half a year since she made this little house into a home for herself, she gathered her courage. It had been a strange day.

This morning she had awoken to the wonderful tingling warmth on a spot on her temple and spanning across her ribs, like she was being embraced and chastely kissed. She’d choked out a sob, a little panicked and very unsure, and ran out of the house in only her boots and coat over her nightclothes. She’d fled around the house to the back path, and the whole time she could feel them at her elbow, then her hand, her jaw, her shoulder, and then not at all as she tripped through the back gate. She’d tried to say something through her tears, so they would understand that she wasn’t frightened of them, she was just surprised, that she needed a moment to get her head back on, but all that had come out of her mouth was something like, “I, I, oh please, I—” But it hadn’t felt like they were near her anymore, it felt like they were gone, and she wept wretchedly as she took the wooded path.

So she’d walked and cried and cried and walked. And she’d found herself at a place where she knew the main path forked off into a kind of loop, so she’d turned to go the long way home. Along the way, she’d found a few stones, some pretty fallen leaves, and some last bits of late summer color boldly showing off before the cold really set in. She had picked some and stuffed them in her pockets, careful to leave plenty besides.

She’d taken her time walking, and it was afternoon when she had trudged back through the gate, face dry and achy, pockets filled with small treasures.

It had felt silent and cold in the house, empty in a way it hadn’t been in so long. But Jane had talked aloud anyway, hoping they’d listen. “I brought you some things from the woods, things you can’t find around the house, see?” She’d placed all the stones in a row, and the leaves in a dish, and anything with a tall stem into the vase. She’d taken a deep breath, then braced herself. “I’m sorry about this morning. Would you please come back? I just get overwhelmed, and I feel… I’m not sure what you feel. But you’ve been very kind to me, I think, and I like when you bring things in for me, and when you touch me, and—”

There had been a creaky sound in the loft, like someone trying to be quiet but not quite able to pull it off, and Jane had let her mouth curl up with relief. “Will you come down?” she’d asked gently. “I promise we’re okay.”

And now, at the end of this day out in the woods, after she stoked the fire and made something hot to eat, after she bathed and bundled herself up in soft blankets, after she read a chapter or two, and had watched a flower in the vase turn and a leaf rustle in the dish, she got into bed.

Jane moved the pillows, shifted herself to one side, and valiantly asked the Presence if they would join her. It would be okay if they didn’t, it would really be fine. But she wanted them to, so much, because it felt significant if they would accept her clear invitation.

They didn’t. Or, at least, not right away.

But when Jane woke in the morning, she felt sparks of warmth all the way down her side, and all the way across her ribs. She smiled and hummed, and she stretched out her arms and legs. They both lay there for a minute in the drowsy half-light. Voice gravelly with sleep, Jane said, “Good morning, dear.”

~~~

—————

lol this is so late! It’s the first one I started working on when I began thinking about participating in Monstrous May a little over month ago, and it’s seen several drafts since then. I knew what I wanted to do, and I’m not certain I got all the way there, and I like it very much anyway, but good lord did it ever take TIME.

A note on the mild dub-con cw: Even though the one being touched welcomes the touch, and imo the one doing the touching is as soft and benevolent as they know how to be, it’s that the consent is still not entirely informed. It’s very tricky, I think, because Jane really likes what’s happening, and she feels a bit like she’s being courted — the attention, the humble gifts, the odd attempts at communication, the touches unlike anything she’s felt before — and she does develop some kind of feelings for the Presence, but the fact remains that she’s missing SO MUCH information. Aaaaaanyway. I hope you enjoyed! Please do let me know what you think, if you are so inclined <3

#monstrousmaychallenge #monstrous may challenge #day 9: the undead #a kinda sorta ghost romance #a sorta ghostmance #whence writing

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captainseaweedbrains · 4 years ago

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Promises

Katniss made a promise she couldn’t keep.

1930s Everlark in an orphanage. Angst

Trigger: Abuse

Ao3: x

The sun is beating down on my sunburned face when I spot the familiar black Cadillac sitting in the driveway. I stand there for a moment, my basket of gardening tools clutched in my hands, as I stare at the car. I know this car. It’s the same one Prim and I rode in coming to this horrid place.

“Mr. Heavensbee?” I question aloud, walking toward the driveway in a daze. What is he doing here? Is it for business?

“Katniss!” Sister Effie shrills, breaking my trance. My head snaps in the nun’s direction and she points to the rose garden where I’m supposed to be helping with pruning. I sigh, looking back at the car once more, before trudging back to the garden where the rest of my group works diligently. We were promised a special treat if Father Snow approves of our work and it wasn’t often we were rewarded, so we all took our tasks more seriously today.

My knees groan in protest as I sink to the ground to inspect the lower branches for anything dead. Days like today were my least favorite to work in, where the sun is merciless and the heat doesn’t let up for a second. Gardening the extensive gardens at St. Thomas’ makes me feel forty times older than my thirteen-year-old self ought to feel.

I’m cutting away dead branches when a hand caresses my back. I jump, squeaking at the touch, and turn to see a grinning Peeta standing next to me with the basket of branches we’ve been collecting for burning. My eyes squint as I look up at him and smile back.

“Care to help the needy?” he jokes in a creaky ol’ beggar’s voice, shaking the basket with a hunched back. “You, miss,” he acknowledges me, “please help the needy, or rot in Hell for all your sins!”

I cover my mouth to hide my laughter, glancing over to see if Sister Effie had heard, but she sits, unfazed, under an umbrella she’d set up earlier this morning to supervise us, fanning herself, and I hand him my branches.

“That’s quite the punishment,” I play along. “Going to Hell for not giving you my branches.”

“Oh, God watches all, wretched child,” he continues in the voice, and we both duck behind the rose bushes to cover up our laughter before someone sees.

“You’re so lucky you get to go inside,” I whisper once we’ve calmed down. “I’m going to have a burnt head for weeks.”

“Hardly,” Peeta scoffs, popping his head up and deciding to take a break while I continue pruning. “Coin is there each time I go into the shed, inspecting everything I dump into the pile. It’s annoying.”

I nod, imagining the coolly composed woman standing watch as Peeta and the other select boys brought in their baskets of branches and dead leaves, closely inspecting each branch with the same critical cruelty she holds when inspecting our daily chores. “She’s like God, only worse!”

“Don’t ever compare that woman to God, Katniss. It’s insulting.”

I continue pruning the dead roses, their snow white petals wilting as I work while Peeta fans himself with his hand, complaining how it’s not fair that the boys are forced to wear pants in the humid summers while the girls got to wear dresses. I point out how I’m always cold in the winter time, but that doesn’t stop him from complaining over how unfair it is. We get into a tiny spat before Sister Effie starts to voice how our piles are gathering up. “Peeta? Has anyone seen Peeta?”

“Duty calls. I’ll see you in the kitchens,” he hisses before grabbing his basket and running to the next row over.

Carefully, so he won’t see me, I pop my head out and watch him run over to Annie Cresta’s pile. Peeta could complain all he wanted about the boys’ uniform, but I, well I kind of liked them. I liked how snug his shirt was against his broadening shoulders and the way the short sleeves seemed to bring out the small muscles he was gaining from working in the kitchens for so many years. His animated smile that I see in every dream he stars in is on his face, laughing at a joke Annie must have told him, and the small butterflies I’ve been feeling for weeks now flutter again. I know it’s a sin to be looking at him when I’m supposed to be working on my chores, but God won’t mind my looking for another second, right?

A blood curdling scream howls from the house, breaking my focus, and we all pop our heads up in its direction, wondering who Coin’s latest victim is this time. Screaming only worsens your punishment, so I have to give the victim credit for taking a chance, especially if the car does belong to Mr. Heavensbee, and that’s when it hits me.

The last time I heard that scream I was seven years old at the Hawthornes’, trying to help my mother drag a screaming Prim to the car, screaming how she didn’t want to leave Rory, the second-oldest Hawthorne son who was the same age as her. Prim didn’t have many friends at home since we lived with my dad’s parents in an older neighborhood than the Hawthornes, and Rory and Prim had clicked instantaneously. She begged and begged for Mama to leave her there, screaming when she was told no, and I remember pinching my ears closed, trying to block out the piercing sound. Wishing she would stop.

Before registering why she could be screaming, I bolt from the rose garden, ignoring Sister Effie's threats, and run through the back door, trying to target where the screaming is coming from.

What did Prim do to get Coin’s attention? Didn’t I always tell her to blend in? That standing out was a bad thing here?

The screaming sounds like it’s coming from the foyer, an area we are forbidden from entering unless scrubbing the floors and dusting furniture. Prim must have been curious about something and gone in there. I run toward the sound, sweat burning my eyes, and there at the bottom of the stairs, holding onto the door frame for dear life, is my sister. Mr. Heavensbee is pulling at her to follow him, insisting they’re going to be late for their train. Prim continues to scream, telling him she doesn’t want to leave.

“I want to stay! Please let me stay!”

“Now, now,” Mr. Heavensbee consoles impatiently, “Child, we’re going to be late, and your new family is waiting. Remember how much you liked them?”

Her screaming continues and I have to shout over it, hoping she hears me.

“Prim?” my voice cracks. “Prim!” I race down the stairs, almost tripping on my own feet. Did he say she’s leaving? A new family? But what about me; didn’t he promise we’d stay together?

She looks up, her eyes puffy with tears, and yanks free of Mr. Heavensbee, running into my open arms. I run my hand down her sweaty hair, shh-ing and telling her everything is going to be alright.

“I don’t want to leave,” she cries into my dress, clinging onto me so tightly I fear she may break a rib.

“Who says anything about leaving?” Looking up at the large man, I ask what’s the meaning of this.

He opens his mouth, stuttering out a response, when a cold voice sharply replies: “That is not how a child speaks to an adult.”

My arms stiffen around Prim’s body as I look over my shoulder at Madame Coin standing on the bottom step, her bony hand clutching a small bag I recognize as Prim’s belongings.

No... No! She can’t!

“You’re sending Prim away?” I pray this isn’t true, that God is playing a cruel prank on me.

“Primrose has the opportunity for a better life,” Coin sniffs.

“She’s my sister!” I turn to Mr. Heavensbee. “You promised we’d stay together! You promised!” Tears of betrayal start to fall as I cling to my little sister. “You told me you’d make sure we’d stay together!”

He nervously traced the bushy mustache and glanced at his watch again. “Things change,” he tells me. “You can never tell in this profession.”

“But you promised!”

A sharp tug of my braids breaks my grip on Prim; Coin’s arm holding me in her clutches as Heavensbee captures Prim. I fight with all my might, knowing the consequences of acting out like this will be severe, but he promised! I promised! We would stay together after Mama and Papa passed.

“It’s been a pleasure having you under God’s house,” Madame Coin states with false sincerity. “May you find grace under your new roof, Primrose Williamson.”

I can barely see I’m crying so hard as the realization that my sister is leaving forever hits me. I’ll probably never see her again. “Prim! Prim!” I break out of the witch’s grasp and run outside to the car, begging Mr. Heavensbee to take me, too. “I’ll cook, clean,” I beg. “I’ll do anything to stay with Prim, Mr. Heavensbee. Just—please, let me go with you.”

He peels my hands off his suit, pushing me into the grass, and gets into his car. I watch in a teary blur as my sweet little sister drives farther and farther away until finally, the car is completely out of sight. My heart cracks to pieces. My body numb. The world spins and breaks all at once.

My eyes break away from the driveway and target the group of children peeping out by the side of the house, even a few curious nuns joining them. I try to compose myself, to brace myself for the inevitable punishment that is waiting for me inside, but all I can do is gasp for air, curling my arms around my legs. My little Prim is gone. She’s going to a new family. Without me. I truly am alone now.

“What do you think you children are doing?” Madame Coin snaps at the audience, shooing them with her cane. “Be gone and finish your chores, or God will punish you for meddling in others' business!”

I see Peeta in the crowd, his recent growth spurt making him a few inches taller than the other children, and my stomach sinks so low I’m sure the Devil can see it. This is my punishment for looking at a boy. Madame Coin, and even Father Snow, always insisted that we do not look. It is a sin to look when we were put on this earth to serve. I looked and lost my sister. I’m sure He’s laughing from above at my foolishness.

My eyes avert to my too small shoes, hoping everyone would just leave me be so that I can be punished and sent back to work.

“That was quite a scene you exhibited, child.” I know I should look up—children must look up to their superiors—but the thought of that woman’s cruel smirk at the sight of my tears made my blood boil.

“I apologize, Madame,” I hiccup, running my hand across my snotty nose. “She’s my sister.”

“Was,” Coin corrects and I do look up now, rapidly blinking as my eyes adjust to the bright sun hitting her light blonde hair. “She’s no relation to you now and I suggest you remember that. You lost all relations the moment your parents dropped dead.”

She was trying to get to me, wanting me to say something that would cause a bigger punishment than I could ever imagine, and I should keep my mouth shut and falsely accept her statement, but a little voice inside my head reminds me that lying is worse than a beating.

“Pardon me, Madame Coin, but aren’t we all God’s children? Doesn’t that mean we’re all related?” I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth. A lie would have been better.

“You insolent little girl!” she growls, reeling back her cane. I instinctually cover my face, praying to God for how sorry I am and for Him to please make the beating bearable. I don’t want to limp like Peeta, or flinch at every sound like Clove Anderson.

Please, I beg. Make it fast.

The wooden cane never strikes and I peek out from under my arm in surprise and see Coin standing there, a calculated look written on her face.

“Stand,” she commands and I oblige, too curious and confused at what was happening. “I should give you thirty lashes for that scene alone,” and the ball in my throat gets stuck at that. I’ve never received thirty lashes before. “But I’m going to be merciful today. Follow me.”

We walk past the gardens, my chin high in the air as heads cautiously pop up to watch us pass. I don’t know where we’re going, but soon we are close to the woods, about a mile I’d guess from the house. Questions fill my head as I wonder if she’s actually going to kill me out here in the wild, where no one can hear me scream. It’s numbing knowing I wouldn’t put up much of a fight if she did decide to kill me. There’s no point trying, now.

Coin stops in front of a small hut that’s no bigger than our gardening shed and pulls out a ring of keys. She unlocks the door and steps to the side, motioning for me to step in. I peer inside, cringing at the smell, and I know this is my punishment for acting out in front of Mr. Heavensbee and for talking back when I wasn’t supposed to. She’s going to lock me in here.

“Well get in!” And she grabs my collar, shoving me into the dank, dark room. From the smell alone I can tell no one’s been in here for years and I feel around for anything, the tiny hole near the floor supplying no light. The room is empty. “You will spend 40 hours in here. One hour for every lashing you would have received had I not been in such a good mood. You will repent to the only person out here: God. And when I return, I expect you to recite an explanation on your sins and what you have learned from your time out here. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Madame Coin.”

She closes and locks the door and I am shrouded in darkness. Alone, I can finally cry without worrying about eyes watching, and I cry until God takes mercy on me and I fall asleep.

I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep, or how late it is, but a tiny knock on the door alerts me awake.“Who is it?” I demand. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me,” Peeta hisses, knocking again.

I stand up and feel my way to the door. “Peeta? What are you doing here? Did you sneak out?” I accuse, wondering why he always put himself into harm’s way for me.

“What? No! No, Katniss.” I hear him sigh and I lean my head against the wooden door, imagining the way his chest rises, his hands in his hair because he’s agitated. “I brought you some bread and water.” A tray slides through the tiny hole by the ground and I stumble to it, my stomach growling at the knowledge of food. It’s hard to keep myself at bay while eating the single slice of bread, but I manage and take a tiny sip of water, savoring the refreshment I’ve been denied all day.

“Does she know you’re out here?” I ask at last, hoping he won’t get into trouble because of me again.

“She told Annie to bring it, but she’s afraid of the dark and I offered to take the tray instead.”

“Does Coin know you’re out here, Peeta?” I clarify.

He doesn’t say anything for the longest time and I know his answer before he even says it. “She knows you’re being fed, but no, she doesn’t know that I’m the one who’s bringing it to you.”

I sigh and roll onto my back, looking up at darkness. “God’s punishing me.”

“What? No! You can’t believe that, Katniss. Madame Coin is insane. Possessed, I’m sure.”

“I sinned, Peeta, and He took my sister away,” I simply tell him, my voice emotionless. I must have cried longer than I thought. “Prim’s gone because of me.”

“Don’t tell me you’re starting to believe in all that.” His hand finds my arm through the hole and I scoot up so that our hands are holding onto each other. I wonder if this is another sin we’re creating, but holding hands doesn’t seem terrible. I’m sure Jesus held his best friend’s hand and Peeta is the only person I can depend on in this place now.

“I don’t know what to believe.” And that’s all I say until he tells me he has to get back before they lock the doors, squeezing my hand in parting.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he promises, but I’m beginning to lose hope in promises.

#Everlark #Everlark fanfiction #The Hunger Games #The Hunger Games fanfiction #Everlark fanfic #Katniss Everdeen #Peeta Mellark #Primrose Everdeen #Angst #I wrote this back in 2013 #So hopefully it still works lol #Enjoy and let me know what you think!#my writing

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hawks-is-kinda-chicken-little · 4 years ago

Text

Voicemail: pt 2

Hawks X Reader

Summary: Commitment is sometimes scary, especially when Keigo already has so much on his plate. So instead of communicating that to his lover, he grows distant.

PART 1

-PART 2-

PART 3

PART 4

Key:

[F/n]= Friend’s name

[F/h]= Friend’s height

—————————————————-

That night wasn’t easy for anyone. There was no sleep, no rest, no breaks. A whole day had gone by and the investigation had gotten nowhere.

No one was out that early in the morning. However, a couple of people reported seeing some sort of black van near the back of the alleyway the day prior. But, that is the only thing they knew.

Keigo was getting desperate, he ended up using all his assets to find out anything that might get him some sort of lead.

He even went as far as contacting people in the league of villains. That didn’t get him even the slightest clue. But, due to his affiliation with the league they offered to poke around since they thought of Keigo as part of their cause, making him family. And you don’t mess with family.

Some of the villains had met the woman before, and some had only heard stories of her.

Dabi was one of the first to see her, but not because of Keigo. He had actually seen her years before they even started dating.

Dabi always kept an eye on his siblings from a distance, but never let himself be seen by any of them. Sometimes, he would even use binoculars to peer through the window of his mother's hospital room just to make sure she was alright.

One day, while he was checking up on his mother, he spotted a young woman he had never seen before walk into the room with a bouquet of flowers. He wasn’t one to trust other people, so he kept watching. And while doing so, he saw how happy his mother was while the young woman was there. Soon, his sister came along, a surprised face present at the sight of the other woman, before seeming to giggle and tackle her into a hug. The mysterious woman squeezed her back, rocking them both side to side as they laughed.

The next time he saw her was when he was walking down the street in a disguise. She was on the other side of the road. But, to her side was the youngest of the Todoroki’s. Shoto looked relaxed and happy, as he talked to her. Talking was so rare for Shoto. He was like a completely different person. Dabi could not wrap his head around this strange woman.

The more he watched her, the more amazed he was. He learned her name, (y/n). She was so motherly to Dabi’s sibling, it was not the fake kind of love though. She showed them true unconditional love and care, she gave them a place to escape to when their father became too much.

It truly brought tears to his eyes. She listened to them, cared for them, and loved them. Someone was there for his family, when he couldn’t be, and he thanked god for her and everything she was. She did not know it at the time, but she had gained a guardian. She was family now, and Dabi would look out for her like he did his mother and siblings.

It wasn’t until she started dating Keigo that Dabi actually got to meet her. Keigo was drunk out of his mind with some of the other villains at the bar of the league’s hideout. It was 2 in the morning and Shigaraki was absolutely done with everyone’s shit, wanting to kick them all out. Keigo was in no position to walk or even fly home. So Kurogiri, being the one sober person out of all the idiots, grabbed Keigo’s phone and called the first number, which also seemed to be the most recurring number on his recents list.

Dabi might have not been the most sober out of all the drunkards at the bar, but his mind was still mostly present. He could make out the panicked feminine voice coming from the speaker of the phone. Poor thing, she sounded so tired, like she just woke up.

Thirty or so minutes later, and a person came through the front doors of the building. Dabi eyes fell onto the figure as time stilled. It was her. It was (y/n). It was the woman who looked after his family. She was right there in front of him.

His thoughts were shattered by a high pitched squeal from an overgrown bird man who tackled the poor woman in a bone crushing hug. (Y/n) quickly apologized for him, hoping that he had not caused them too much trouble, all while Keigo clung to her like a child. She was nothing but polite and sincere as she thanked Kurogiri wishing him a nice night as she ushered Keigo out the door and to the car.

After that night Toga asked that she come around more. Keigo was skeptical, not really trusting any of us. But, Toga was very persistent, even going as far as saying she was going to find the sweet lady herself. Keigo finally gave in and brought (y/n) one night.

It was strange actually talking to her, he could see why his family loved her so much. It was a calm night. The league loved her. She became like his second little sister.

So when Dabi was told the news, he was livid to say the least. They all were. Dabi was also disappointed in not just Keigo, but in himself for not looking after her.

The whole league was on a look out. Toga was ready to slit throats, Shigaraki wanted to disintegrate everyone, Twice was a mix of depression and rage, everyone was on edge.

Keigo appreciated all the help. It was not hard to tell that the hero was falling apart with every second that ticked by. Eyes droopy and red, almost resembling those of the underground hero Eraserhead. Dark bags formed under his eyes

Everyone around could see just how much of a wreck he was from miles away. Especially Endeavor, who was already having to explain to his family what happened to their beloved friend/ family that morning, after the crime. His children looked up to her and he knew it. It had been a long time since he talked to Rei, but he knew that (y/n) was important to her. She was like one of Rei’s children, heck even Endeavor was starting to think of her as his kid.

Each of his children had a different reaction. Fuyumi was the one who he told first, knowing that she could break the news to the rest better than he could. She had always been good at talking to the rest of the boys. But of course, no matter how hard Fuyumi tried to hold herself together, she just couldn’t. She fell to her knees in front of Endeavor crying out.

Little did Endeavor know that she wouldn’t have to tell the other two, because Shoto and Natsuo were in the room right beside them sitting at a table. The walls were thin and all that could be heard was Endeavor’s voice and Fuyumi's cries. Neither of the boys could move, both looking at each other trying to process the words of their father. It hit Natsuo first, as he stormed out the room and left the house. Shoto just sat there, alone. Even when Endeavor stopped talking, Fuyumi’s cries could still be heard. Endeavor tried his best to comfort them, but he had no clue how.

He couldn’t even imagine telling his wife of (y/n) disappearance. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to as he prayed that (y/n) would soon be found.

Rumi wasn’t doing much better, she couldn’t calm down last night. Switching from cries of rage to cries of desperation. Some of her anger pointed towards Keigo, but some pointed herself.

When the investigators were looking through her phone, they found an unsent text that was meant for Rumi. The text read:

Heyyy, so i need to crash somewhere tonight. I can't really go into much detail because i might start crying again and I don't want to wake people up this early in the morning because of my loud ugly crying. I’ll explain when

It stopped there. The text was never finished. Rumi wishes she would have known, she feels responsible for not being there. It did not help when she was informed that (y/n) was also pregnant. She just wants her family back. (Y/n) was always there for her no matter what.

No matter how much anyone else may try and take some blame, Keigo knows that it's his fault that she left the house. He was to blame, but he’s going to fix it. He’s going to find his angel.

Hours went by with no news, but the edgy tension never ceased to suffocate everyone. More heroes were out on patrol, keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity. The villains were snooping around the shadier parts of japan. Everyone was getting drowsy due to the lack of sleep.

Miles away, that's all she knew. They had driven for hours. Or at least that's what it felt like. But then again, things always seem a little warped when you have lost tremendous amounts. Everything felt so numb, only feeling dull aches resonating from wounds inflicted by her tormentors all over her tired body. They might have hurt her less, but she wasn't going down without a fight. Even when she had begged them to not hurt her and her baby they just kept coming at her. Completely merciless. Dragging her beaten unconscious form into a black van at the end of the alley.

She almost missed the van, it was so much warmer than the unforgiving cold spikes of the concrete nipping at her skin. The poor girl had no idea what was going on. They had tossed her into a rusty cell, damp and frigid, no source of light to be found. Her hungs burned from the musty air breaching her nostrils.

Heavy footsteps clattered from the ceiling above causing tiny dewey water drops to fall onto her dirt crusted face. She couldn’t move her hand to wipe them away. No muscle could obey the command of the mind, all she could do was force her blurry eyes to slightly crack open. Cloudy vision made it hard to focus on her surroundings, but she could sort of make out what seemed to be another cell directly across from her. Something that looked like the outline of a small person sat with their back against the wall, with something laying oh it's lap. All her energy was worn out moving her squinted eyes around, leading her vision to go black. The last thing she heard before passing out was the creaky opening of rusty hinges.

A man rushed through the office corridors, panting as though he ran a marathon, papers bunched up in a death grip by his arms. He kept going until he got to his destination. A golden name plate hung from the door, ‘Boss Bird’. The man didn’t even bother to knock, he just barged in falling through the giant door. The person on the other side of the desk abruptly stood from their seat now on high alert. Slightly slouching forward the man sucked in a couple loads of air before looking up at the person before him.

“We have some possible leads,” He huffed.

The man only saw a flash of red before the person was right before him, wings protruding outwards from their back as razor sharp eyes pierced into his own. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, rendering him speechless.

“What! What do you know!” The man opened his mouth but nothing came out.

All the papers were snatched from his grasp as the other filed through them hoping the papers would tell them something the man couldn’t.

“Call the others.”

“But, Hawks we still ne-”

“That’s a fucking order.” The man was too shocked to move.

“NOW!”

Jumping from his spot he was shuffled out of the door, slamming it behind him, leaving the person inside shaking as rage coursed through their veins.

Endeavor was the first to arrive. Standing right on the other side of the door where he heard a frustrated scream before a heavy thud. He opened the door to see Hawks leaning over his desk, one hand clawing into the wood of the desk, while the other grasped his golden locking, giving them a harty tug.

“What’s the news?” So trapped in his own thoughts, Hawk did not even acknowledge Endeavor.

“Hawks!” Now Endeavor has attention.

The said hero snapped his head to face him, eyes forming deadly thin slits, as if staring at their next kill. But, after Hawks snapped out of his fit and composed himself, he handed the papers to Endeavor. Hawks started pacing as Endeavor studied them. The first was an old report of a case put aside, but never to rest as it was left unsolved.

The headline read: Seven year old girl, reported missing after running away from home. Family said she snuck out at night. A search party was formed by the family and neighbors, but there was no sign of the girl anywhere. When asking around the town over, two separate witnesses claim to have seen a strange black van rushing out of an alleyway late at night when they were heading home from work.

With a frown Endeavor flipped to the next page.

Thirteen year old boy was reported missing by teachers after a school field trip to the downtown park. One person reported seeing a suspicious looking van at the end of the town limits near the park at 12 am, but had no other information.

Then he went to the next page

Five year old girl found mutilated in the back of an alleyway after being reported missing by parents. No evidence could be collected at site. Black van was reported being in the same alleyway prior to finding the girl, but was not there at the time she was found.

Endeavor skipped the next one.

Twenty-five year old woman found dead in a city dumpster.

Next one.

Nineteen year old boy found dead in the alleyway-

All brutal. All unsolved. Four more pages remained but Endeavor couldn’t read anymore. Endeavor looked up from the papers, he couldn't suppress the worry clearly painting his face. Rumi then burst through the door, demanding answers only for Endeavor to shove the papers in her face. Hawk’s pacing only quickened as he watched his friends' reactions. Rumi’s ears folded back flat against her skull as horror washed over her expression.

Lowering the papers she spoke “please tell me that this- this has nothing to do with (y/n)’s case.”

Neither dared to speak, instead opting to let the silence speak for them. Papers swayed to the ground as her hands shot up to grab her hair. She squatted to the ground letting out a string of harsh curses; towards the world, towards hawks, and towards herself.

There was not much information on the reports, but they all had one thing in common. One vital piece. The black van. It was mentioned in each report. Hawks had all his subordinates search all databases for any more information that might get them some more information, but not much was found. He also asked them to make copies of each report, stating that multiple copies meant more people could examine them at the same time. Honestly, Hawks couldn’t believe everyone bought that lame excuse. His real motive was sending copies to the league, having them look into the reports as well.

More surveillance was posted around surrounding cities. Keeping an eye out for any suspicious looking van lurking around. Even police were informed of the situation at hand. So far nothing has come up.

Suddenly Hawks came up with an idea, a set up. Lure the assholes into a trap. Have an seemingly unsuspecting person walk down a couple of streets to bait the criminals out of their stake out. It might be a stretch, but it was worth a shot. The issue was that none of the heroes themselves could play victim, it had to be someone outside of the spotlight. But that was quickly solved when a [f/h] person came walking into the building, demanding to see Hawks so that they may slap the shit out of him. It took awhile for them to calm down once they saw him, but they were quick to jump on the train, offering to play the victim. Hawks was familiar with [f/n]. Rumi and them were the closest thing to family his angel had. He knew he didn’t really have a say in letting [f/n] in on the plan because they would fight tooth and nail had they been denied to position.

Breath whimpers bounced off the walls of the cells. The sound was enough to finally bring [y/n] back to a semi-conscious state. She opened her blurry eyes, bringing a sore shaky hand to her face to rub away the film blocking her vision. While it was still dark she could somewhat make out her surroundings. In a weak attempt to sit upright, her arms gave way making elbows collide with the hard concrete. A pained hiss passed her busted lips as her upper body pounded back to the ground.

“You have to be quiet” [y/n] froze looking towards the direction of the small broken voice.

A tiny frail girl sitting in the cell across the room, huddled in the arms on what looked to be a slightly older boy. Both hunched over in the corner, faces showing nothing but fear. Tattered clothes hung by threads on their bodies, dirt and grime lathering their bodies. Judging by how they looked and acted, they weren’t in the best of conditions, but then again she probably wasn’t either. [Y/n] moved up to sit in slow motions so as to not startle the petrified children. So many questions raced through her mind, thoughts and worries, but for now she had to keep them to herself.

“Hello.” Her voice came out a little scratchy, yet it was still soft and gentle.

Neither child could muster a response. But, the frail girl gave a small wave with her shaky hand. The boy on the other hand only pulled the girl closer to his frame in a defensive manner. It was obvious they didn’t want to talk, be it out of fear or distrust.

Clanking of boots alerted all three of them, growing louder with each harsh smack to the ground. The children cowered further into corner walls, trying to make themselves as small as humanly possible. [Y/n] narrowed her eyes towards the entrance doors. Clank-clank-clank-clank. Only ceasing when they were right on the other side of the door. A hand jangled the knob, causing the hinges to screech apart as the door opened. The girl whimpered, making the boy slap his hand over her mouth. Three men walked into the holding room, all wearing similar attire. Armored vests with white undershirts, brown cargo pants accompanied by black boots sleek with fresh wax.

“Sleeping beauty lives another day,” One of the men said.

“For a second there I thought the boy had surely ruffered her up past the point of return,” another responded.

“Boss would have killed us for sure,” The third pointed out.

All three shared a hearty cackle. Talking about her as if she was some sort of pet. [Y/n] was about to snark back at them until she saw the boy’s panicked expression behind the legs of the men as he held up a quivering finger to his busted lips. Heeding his warning, she bit her tongue as they continued their taunting.

“When is the big guy picking her up?”

“I think he wants her delivered.”

“The hell? Who does he think we are? Fedex? How are we supposed to ship her to America?” [Y/n]’s eyes shot up, panic filling her system.

“Watch ya self bud, hate to end up like the last guy who pissed him off,” They all shuddered.

Adrenaline was overriding her reason, part of her wanting to curse them out and part of her wanting to break down.

One of the men picked up on her panicked state and shook his head. Each one of them giving her some sort of pitiful stare. “Sorry about this dollface. We would have just kept ya here and made you a worker, but ya caught the boss’s eyes. No god can save ya now.”

She doesn’t need a god, she needs Keigo. Every attempt to blink away the tears proved useless as the salty drops fell from her chin. All she could think of was Keigo, her friends, and her unborn child. She felt so weak, so sick.

“Poor thing, doesn’t even know what's coming.”

“Hopefully this one will last longer than the rest.”

“The boys going back out scouting tonight?”

“I think so, but i'm not sure. Anybody heard what we are supposed to do with those two?”

A muffled whimper came through the boy's hand as the girl shook. One of the men turned and slammed his hand on the metal poles of the cell making both kids jump.

The men were still talking, but she couldn’t hear them anymore, the chatter blurred out by the buzzing in her head. Body swaying slightly as her vision began blotting with black patches. Thud. She hit the ground giving into exhaustion and stress swarming her whole being.

Keigo just couldn't settle down, constantly moving some part of his body. This had to work, he didn’t know what he would do if it didn’t. The heroes were working to make the set up seamless and fool proof. However, behind the scenes, the League was hiding in the shadow’s ready to grab any perp trying to flee.

Things really started to fall into place when the moon rose to take the sun’s spotlight. Hawks watched [f/n] walk the dark streets from a roof a couple buildings away. Rumi watched as well, ready to pounce at the first sign of danger. [F/n] strode along the dimly lit pavement, hands in pockets, faking an ignorant facade as they made their way around. It was hard to put up such a front in this kind of situation, but they were going to do their best for [y/n].

Everything seemed pointless until a hand shot out, pulling them into a pitch black alleyway. Go time. Heroes swarmed the alley for every entry point. Nothing was left uncovered. The kidnappers were clearly caught off guard, a total of seven of them; six surrounding [f/n] and one in the drivers side of the black van. They put up quite the fight, but they knew they wouldn’t win so they fled. Only two got back into the van before the driver hit the petal, leaving the rest to fend for themselves. The four that had been left covered the other’s escape. Making it quite difficult for the heroes to give chase, Hawks sent feathers accelerating towards the van. They just weren’t fast enough to all catch the vehicle, but lucky for him a single small feather was able to sneak into the hatch of the back doors. Just as the can was reaching out of sight, Hawks spotted a second vehicle tailing the first. The League was enroute. Turning his back to the villains at hand, they grew tired, reaching their limits making it easier to take the criminals down. Two heroes had to pry Rumi off one of them since she was yelling bloody murder while smashing his head into the ground with brute force. All four were arrested, shoving them in cop cars that were to bring them to the station for question immediately. Not waiting around, Hawks took to the sky flying towards the station. On his way he focused his attention to the single feather that snuck into the van.

Blasts of bright blue flames bursted towards the escaping van. The League practically kissed their bumper. Hawks could hear the yelling between both vehicles. Using the feather, Hawks maneuvered so that it unlatched the doors, making them swing open. Exposing them to Dabi’s flames and Spinner’s bad driving. The two in the back, should have buckled in because they went flying onto the window of the Leagues vehicle causing them to swerve from one side to the other, losing the van and its driver in the process. The driver escaped, but he was completely unaware of the feather that now lay hidden under the left back seat.

Both pests that flew onto the windshield were knockout cold upon impact. Hauling them into the truck, arms and legs tried, the League headed back to their hideout where they planned on doing their own sort of investigation. Notifying Hawks of their catch, and the one that got away.

There was no good cop, bad cop in these interrogations. Absolutely everyone was done playing nice. Back at the station Rumi had already broken one of the criminal’s hands after they idiotically refused to talk. Snap. And there goes the other hand.

“TELL ME!”

Crunch.

“W-we weren’t the ones who picked up ya gi-girl, I swear!”

Hawks threw the other reports on the table. “What about any of them, huh?” He leaned over one of the men, eyes piercing through theirs.

The man's eyes darted to the papers, widening just enough to show some sort of recognition. A cold sweat washed over his features, failing to retain the panic coursing his veins.

“Something you want to share with the room bud?”

The man swallowed thickly eyes glancing at his colleagues for some sort of sign. But, they were just as frightened as him. Hawks could tell the man’s resolve was crumbling, he just needed a little nudge. All attention was zeroed in on the man. Guards came in taking the three other men away, leaving the just him and some pretty pissed heroes.

Squatting down so that Hawks was just below eye level of the man. Plucking a medium sized feather from his wings,Hawks twiddled it around his fingers before the shallow shaft found purchase between his thumb and pointer finger.

“I didn’t get my title for nothin ya know” The lacerating edge of the dangerous weapon now centimeters away from the bridge of the man’s nose. “Wanna find out how I got it?”

As expected, the League was ruthless to their captives. Using all kinds of tortuous methods to get their two to talk. Pulling nails, unhealable burns, Shagiraki even disintegrated the pinky finger of one of them. There was a point where they were begging for sweet death to take them from their cruel unrelenting captors. But, the League was far from done with them. Death couldn’t help them now, their lives belonged to the League. That which could use a couple of new Nomu’s.

Both heroes and villains wracked the kidnappers minds for all they were worth. Diving into every sick bend of their twisted operations. Confessing all of their abductions and murders on top of the ones presented before them. The two kids that are currently being kept at their hideout, as well as [y/n], who they beat unconscious before dragging her away. Hearing that from their respective captives nearly made the heroes and villains go feral. Hawks wanted to scream until his cords bled raw. The only explanation that the captives could muster was that it was their job. They collected the people, and then those people either got put to work as a slave or sent to an affiliate who would use them as lab rats. They didn’t hunt for specific people, just people who they could easily snatch. The whole thing was run by some kind of corporation, originating from America where they have their headquarters.

That’s where [y/n] was being shipped off to. [Y/n] and his baby. America. Miles and Miles away. Red seeped down Hawks vision. One of the men was suicidal enough to comment that Hawks wouldn’t find her in time, since she was probably being packaged and shipped as they spoke, jokingly mentioning she was in no condition to survive that kind of transportation. The man’s neck had to be pried from Hawk’s talons. Red slashes marked the sides of his neck as he was pulled from the room before it was too late.

All the heroes prisoner’s were placed in holding cells for the moment being, but Hawks disabled some of the security of their specific cell and tipped Dabi off on how to slip in there undetected. Hawks wanted the League to collect all of them so he could have his proper turn cutting them up without being restricted by the law.

For right now though he needed to focus on the task at hand. The feather that he sent with the retreating van was so far that it was hard to pinpoint where it was. He could barely sense it enough to move it around, let alone sense its surroundings. But he needed to scope out the place. Hawks sat himself down in a quiet room, isolated from the havoc raining outside, putting all his being into that single feather. It's times like this where he is almost thankful for the grueling training the heroes commission put him through.

The van was empty, but he still needed to be cautious. Keep it out of sight. The one who escaped most likely alarmed everyone of the incident, leaving the inhabitants on look out for any sign of trouble. Little did they know the hell that was about to doom them all. The feather made its way around, maneuvering around right under their feet. On its way it passed by a much more armored vehicle where some of the men were loading cargo into its trunk. Hawks scrunched his closed eyes, trying to decipher the words passing between the men. The voices were hazy and blotchy, letting him only make out every couple of words. Hearing something about the ‘big boss’ and a private jet. As the feather continued to map out the hideout, he heard someone talk about a woman not doing too well in one of the cells. [Y/n], Hawks thought. The feather flew from one place to the next until it came to a giant metal door. A guard stationed at the table to the left of the door, oblivious to the feather trying to slither through the small space between the heavy door and concrete.

Bards twisted and broke from the feather’s shaft. The tight squeeze shredded the feather, but it made it through nonetheless. Due to the condition of the feather, Hawks could only drag it across the concrete. Slowly, but steadily. Halting when it approached two cells, one holding the two missing children, and the other caging his poor dove. All three sleeping upon the cold ground. The feather made its way to his doves cell, approaching her sleeping form. Tears welled in Hawks eyes, gently guiding the feather to caress her grimy cheek. Hoping to provide some comfort and reassurance to her, but also to himself. Oh, how he wished it was his hands cradling her face, instead of that one measly feather. Hawks would give anything just to hold her in his arms, encasing them both in his bright red plumage.

Creeeaak. Hawks shot up eyes darting to the now open door of his isolated space. It was just Rumi, Hawks sighed in relief.

“Get your shit, we head out in 10.”

He nodded, a gesture which she returned before closing the door on her way out. Hawks brought his attention back to the feather, giving her cheek one last tender stoke. After he tucked it within her shirt, slipping it under the side of her bra strap to hide it from prying eyes.

No time was wasted, the heroes were suited up ready to go. The top three hero agencies unified were not a force to reckon with. All fueled by determination and blinding rage.

Since Hawks had the one breaching feather in their base, he led the way. They had been on the move for two hours already. The feather pulsed as they got closer. Feathers on his back twitched in anticipation. It seemed like it was taking forever to reach it, like the pulse was fading with every inch he flew. Hawks couldn’t quite focus that one feather. But, something wasn't right.

Narrowing his eyes, he could see a wrecked black van in the distance. Sitting wasted outside an isolated group of buildings in the middle of nowhere. After reporting this to the squad, they halted, letting Hawks survey from above.

As he looked around, he remembered the other vehicle that the feather came across. But, didn’t see it. Infact, the entire outside seemed empty. That didn’t sit well with him. All the luggage that the men were packing into that other vehicle were gone.

“Not seeing anything from the sky.”

“Roger that. Rumi is heading in from the side entrance.”

“I can speak for myself, Endeavor. Screw off.”

Hawks heard Endeavor sign in annoyance. “I'm gonna go in from the roof, meet ya in Rumi.” She gave an affirmative. Wings soundlessly swooped through the air, bringing him right on the roof of one of the bigger buildings. Something was definitely wrong, he couldn’t feel the feather anywhere in the facility.

“Got some goons on the lower floors” Rumi whispered into the comm.

Relief washed over him. This base wasn’t abandoned. Hawks sent a couple of feathers every which way into the building. He himself climbed into one of the windows on the top. Lucky for him, the room was vacant of life, only a stone table with chipped wooden chairs in the middle of the room occupied the space. Soft footsteps carried him to the door. A door which was slightly cracked open, making it easier for Hawks to peer outside the room. Three guys stood with their backs facing him, all leaning over the rails on the stairwell. Nasty fumes of tabaco wafted into Hawk’s nose, making it scrunch in displeasure. Hawks cracked the door open just a little more to allow two feathers through. Flying just above the men’s heads. Positioning themselves so that they were on the outsides of the men on the end. Before swiftly slamming their heads together. Efficiently knocking them all unconscious without causing a big scene. Feathers returned to their owner who made his way out of the room, guard never dropping as he made his way down the stairs.

Comotions ensued as more heroes, not even very stealthily, broke their way in. Hawks spotted Rumi bashing heads, even smashing chairs into the skulls of the hell bound souls. Rumi met his gaze, shouting out to him over the loud ruckus.

“Go find [y/n] and the kids,” Smash “We’ll handle the rest.”

With a curt nod Hawks scouted through the halls, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Eyes sharp and deadly, like the true avian he was. Wrecking all in his path, hunting for the heavy metal door that held his dove captive. Once it was in view, he darted to it like a bullet, ripping it from the hinges, not even bothering to use the door handle. There were only two words that could describe him at that moment, feral predator.

Two terrified screeches pulled him for his trance. Guilt leaked into his heavy heart, eyes softening as they looked upon two little kids huddled into eachothers arms, fearfully shaking in the farthest corner away from him in the cell to his left. He shifted his gaze to the right, scanning over the dark cell. A blanket covering a human sized lump in the corner opposite to him.

Anxiety clawed at the fear inside of him. He called her name, startling the kids even more. The lump stayed deathly still. Not budging even as he broke open the cell. Shakey steps brought him closer, falling to his feet inches away from the covered figure. His hand moved to grasp the edge of the blanket, but he couldn’t do it. His breath swallowed as the beating of his heart dangerously slowed. Hawks couldn’t bring himself to see what his failures had done to her. He couldn’t bring himself to see her dead. Rotting out before him.

“They took her.” Had Hawks not had such a heightened sense of hearing, he would have never had heard the small voice at all. Nor would he have picked up the grieving tone that laced those words.

But even though he heard them, he didn’t immediately register them. When he did though, his hand yanked at the blanket. Making carefully arranged pillows shift in the process. Confusion washed over him. Standing up, Hawks kicked the pillows to the wall, causing some to tear on the spikey ridden edges of the wall.

However, he stopped after one of the pillows uncovered a blood stained phone set atop the remains of a seared feather cut into pieces. Cautiously, Hawks picked up the device, examining the outside, before tapping the screen. As he was scanning the phone, Rumi and a couple other heroes came in. Rumi went to him while the others went to help the children. The phone came to life, a notification bubble popped up. Informing him that there was one unopened voicemail. Hawks completely ignored Rumi as she questioned him. She even screamed right in his ear, which definitely caught the attention of those around her, but Hawks was too invested in the device that all attempts proved useless.

Hawks pressed on the notification, instantly unlocking it without a password, bringing him straight to the awaiting voicemail. His thumb paused right above the play button.

“Press it already,” Rumi huffed, earning her a side glare from the birdman himself. Her spine gave the slightest shutter at the emotions brewing within those ruby orbs. It was dangerous, threatening, ready to snap at any moment. Those same eyes went back to glaring holes into the screen as his thumb finally tapped on the play button.

“Christ, ya’ll really giv’n me a run for my money. Nice feathers by th’way. Thought ye could just sneak one by my men? They might be dumb enough to get caught, but they ain’t that dumb. It's nothin personal, kid. Just business,”

There was a slight pause and a muffled scream coming from the background, “Will someone shut that bitch up already. God she’s given me a headache.”

A loud smack erupted throughout the speaker, the screaming came to a stop. The man in the recording let out a long sigh. In a more sympathetic tone he said “I left the two rascals, but Boss wants this one. Afraid ye ain’t gett’n her back.”

Hawks grit his teeth, dropping the phone, bolting out of the facility in hopes that might be able to find some kind of sign as to where she could have been taken. Tire marks or streaks of torn clouds in the sky, god just something. Frantically, he continued to circle the sky.

Rumi picked up the phone after he stormed out. A noise on the speaker told her the audio wasn’t done. But, the man’s next words made her wish it was.

“Not alive at least. They never come back alive.”

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Soooooooooooooooo i will make another part because my dumb ADHD having ass keeps getting side tracked. Also thank yall for the love, honestly I feel like this is horrible an so confusing, I’m so sorry XC. I won’t be offended if you tell me this is absolute garbage.

Some people were asking to be tagged so why not, if you want to be added to the tag list for the rest of whatever this is just let me know

Tags @assassinslittlesister @anxiousgoddest

#hawks x reader #bnha hawks #bnha fanfiction #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami #mha hawks

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saedii-gilwraeth-simp · 4 years ago

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We’re on Fire (blow a kiss to the crowd) ~ TDC ~ Chapter 1

My first fic of the year is here! (cricket noises). This is a hunger games AU and it will hurt most likely. Main and Chapter Titles are from Birdy’s Just a game, which was on the og THG soundtrack. I’m posting this so that I do have some motivation to keep writing but I have a couple of weeks worth of chapters so don’t stress too much. Any comments, reblogs etc. are appreciated af and shoot me a message/ask if you want to be tagged.

CHAPTER 1 ~ But There Comes You

~ District 10 ~ Arsinoe ~

The cow was gentle that morning. Normally, she hated when Arsinoe milked her, even though Arsinoe was always delicate and soft, her strong hands making the process easy and quick. The cow hated Arsinoe, and thus Arsinoe wasn’t too fond of the cow either.

But today, the barn was quiet and the cow wasn’t huffing and kicking at her like usual. Arsinoe thinks that even the animals sense what today brings. The sun had risen cold and Arsinoe is convinced Mirabella’s mood was what was drawing the clouds over the district.

Reaping day was never a good day for 10. Arsinoe tried not to let it impact her. What would happen would happen. Besides, hope was useless. No one had won from 10 in nearly 50 years and Arsinoe doubted that they would start now.

Picking up the pail from under the cow, Arsinoe stood, stretching her long legs. She had hit a growth spurt a couple of weeks back and now her pants were too short and her boots and vests were too tight. Arsinoe stomped back toward the house, not before she gave the horse an apple; Mirabella said she wasn’t meant too, but the harvest had been alright (not good, never good) this year, and the horse deserved a treat every now and then.

“Arsinoe, Mirabella said you need to come in and get ready!” Kat yelled from the back deck. Arsinoe sighed, the motion blowing her recently cut hair from her face. Mirabella’s insistence on dressing them up for reaping day was the furthest thing from Arsinoe’s comfort zone, but she would do it for her older sister.

Today was always when Mirabella was the most upset, and Arsinoe tried not to make it worse.

She kicked the wooden post on the back deck to shake the caked mud off her boots, before removing them, revealing ratty socks that were only hanging on by pure stubbornness. She opened the back door that Kat had disappeared through, making a beeline for the kitchen, placing her pail of milk in the barely working fridge. She would have to come back after the reaping to jar the milk before it went off. And then she would need to chop her fire wood. And then the chicken coop needed cleaning.

Arsinoe made this mental list as she climbed the creaky stairs towards where she could hear Mirabella fretting over Kat. Arsinoe added to her list that she would need to braid Kat’s hair because she was the best at it.

“Arsinoe, you need to change,” Mirabella said when she spotted Arsinoe in the mirror, where she was affixing a brooch to Kat’s faded purple dress. The brooch was old, their great grandmothers and it displayed every year of it’s age, but Mira still gave it to their youngest sister as a good luck charm. Arsinoe didn’t particularly believe in luck. Arsinoe glanced at the bed before rolling her eyes at the dress and stockings laid out there.

“Must I wear a dress?” Arsinoe said, picking up the faded black dress that probably wasn’t going to hit her knees, which explained the stockings. Mirabella sighed.

“Please, Arsinoe,” Arsinoe locked eyes with her sister before sighing again and taking the dress to the washroom. She bathed quickly, focusing on her dirty fingernails and dark hair. She didn’t think about what today would bring, didn’t think about the fact that today might be the last day she could see a friend, a classmate. A sister.

Arsinoe slapped her cheek gently. She wouldn’t lose her sisters. She was too stubborn for that.

“Queenie!” Arsinoe looked around to find Jules jogging towards her, Joseph and Billy following behind at a more reserved pace. She reckons that Billy’s mother would murder the two of them if she saw them running in the soft, nearly muddy dirt, especially in the cream coloured slacks Billy wore. She hugged Jules tight, sitting her chin on Jules’ head.

“How we doing today, folks?” She asks when they seperate. Joseph shrugs, nonchalant. He thinks himself his own lucky charm, impervious to the Reaping. Arsinoe thinks he’s stupid. They still had years to go before they wouldn’t be reaped anymore. It was only Billy, at 18, who was staring down his final Reaping today.

Jules nods before pulling away. Joseph slings his arm around her shoulder and smiles, that smile that puts everyone at ease.

“The odds are ever in my favour, you?” he says. Arsinoe rolls her eyes slightly. She meets Billy’s eyes and he gives her a look that they share, acknowledging Joseph’s almost frustrating optimism. Arsinoe looks away quicker than normal, making his eyebrows furrow.

“Don’t have to have good odds, just don’t have to have bad ones,” Joseph smiles again, gesturing for them all to sign in. They go, Mirabella and Kat pulling ahead. Arsinoe trails behind, unexcited for another Reaping.

“Hey,” Billy knocks shoulders with her and smiles, “I like your dress.” She scoffs gently and hopes he doesn’t notice through her hair how her ears go slightly red. “You okay?” He asks, concerned. She nods.

“Yeah, just want to get today over with without anything going too wrong,” Billy nods. Arsinoe looks him over. He looks calm, not stressing, but she could see the tension in his jaw. Arsinoe knew her jaw was probably doing the same thing. So she changes the conversation.

“Do you reckon they’re sending some new escort this year? Last year’s one looked like he was about to keel over,” she said, making Billy chuckle. Arsinoe can’t help but let her lip twitch. She liked when Billy laughed, even if no one knew the butterflies she felt when he did it.

“Or turn to dust,” he replied, making her smile. The reached the sign in station. Billy squeezed her shoulder with a small smile. “I’ll see you later.” Arsinoe nods and they split up.

Arsinoe tries not to wince when they spike her finger and takes Kat’s hand before they walk towards the crowd of 16 year old girls. She catches Christine Hollen in the crowd, the mayor’s daughter’s usually pretty face slightly green. Arsinoe hopes Christine doesn’t get her name reaped. They may not get along, but it would be like sending a lamb into a wolf den. Not pretty.

It takes nearly twenty minutes before everyone in the Reaping pool is settled in the square and then Mayor Hollen comes out of the Justice hall, followed by a young, blonde capitol guy, probably not all that much older than Arsinoe.

She turns her head slightly, looking through the 18 year old boys until her and Billy meet eyes. They share a knowing smile as the mayor finally passes the mic off to the capitol escort.

“Good morning everyone, are we excited for this years Games?” The escort asks excitedly only to be met with glum silence. The boy moves on, obviously taking the hint better than last years old coot. “Alright, ladies first,” he walks to the bowl of names with a slink to his step and Arsinoe is nearly blinded as the sun bounces off what must be a mirrored manicure. He walks back to the podium and opens the slip of paper as everyone holds their breath. Kat’s hand squeezes into Arsinoe’s.

“The female tribute representing District 10 is… Katharine Queen,” Arsinoe’s hearing goes dead for a second as she sees Mirabella almost collapse on buckling knees before catching herself on Arsinoe’s shoulder and standing straight again, but she still looks shocked, a sob making it’s way past her lips.

Kat sighs shakily from next to her before trying to shake off the way Arsinoe’s hand has tightened on hers.

“Arsinoe, let go before the peacekeepers come,” Arsinoe hears the words but doesn’t let go, instead turning to the stage to respond.

“I volunteer as tribute,” she yells. Her voice shook and she’s sure everyone can hear it. She releases Kat’s hand and shakes Mirabella off (ignoring her soft sob) before walking towards the aisle, her boots squishing the dirt beneath her feet. She wipes clammy hands on the skirt of her too-short black dress and pushes her shoulders back to make herself seem more postured. This was the start of the show after all.

Her escort of peacekeepers lead her to the hall’s steps where she takes them alone, mentally forcing her overlong legs to bend so she can at least walk. She can hear Mirabella trying to console Kat but can’t find them in the crowd before the dumb escort with his dumb nails are thrusting a microphone in her face asking her name.

“Arsinoe Queen,” the escort titters in excitement and Arsinoe nearly punches him in the throat, especially when he comments how pretty she looks. The crowd looks like they’re on her side in that one.

“Alright, after all that excitement we still need a male tribute,” the escort moves to the other Reaping bowl and pulls another slip of paper from it. “The male tribute from district 10,” the escort says into the mic, unravelling the paper, “is Joseph Sandrin,” Arsinoe eyes jump to the crowd as she hears what is obviously Jules’ small scream of pained horror from their section.

This was a nightmare.

Joseph walked up the steps and Arsinoe could see his easy smile had fallen from his face, unsurprisingly. They uneasily shook hands, knowing exactly what was to come.

The Games had begun.

#three dark crowns #one dark throne #two dark reigns #five dark fates #kendare blake #queen arsinoe #queen katharine #queen mirabella #jules milone #joseph sandrin #billy chatworth #pietyr renard #christine hollen #hunger games au #we're on fire #WoF

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pillowfluffs · 5 years ago

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Sweetness!Jeno

Pairing: Jeno X Reader (Gender Neutral)

Genre: high school!AU, vampire!AU, sick, fluff

Summary: read to find out heheh..

Author’s Note: I know I haven’t posted a story in so long, but please bear with me. I’m getting back into writing! I promise! I’ve been a little sleep deprived (meaning I’m getting 6 hours instead of 8 hours of sleep) and this vampire!Jeno au has been stuck in my head, so I’m finally sharing it with the world. I’m sorry if it’s not as good as my other stories TT.

**Warning!! Little mention of blood! Please read at your own risk!!**

Doyoung come get your son rn istg-

The sound of frozen rain bounced off Jeno’s coat as he walked through the storm, feeling the cold rain drip down from the ends of his hair sticking out of the hood, sliding down his forehead. He walked down your block, making a minor detour on his way to school, seeing no one but he heard the steps of others walking down a block away, hearing the slight pace change as the frozen rain fell harder from the gloomy skies.

He walked coolly up to your door, ringing it before he entered. “Y/N? Are you ready?” The house was silent and he had heard no response. Usually, the two of you would walk to school together and Jeno would pick you up, but whenever one couldn’t, there was always some sort of communication, except for this morning - there had been no messages or anything from you since last night. No lights shined through the house, he could hear no movement around him, and all he could smell was you. He focused his hearing as he shut the door slowly behind him, standing still near your door, dropping your bag. His eyes began to glisten, glowing blood-red as he heard nothing at first. He scanned the house, seeing perfectly through the dimness of your house. He slipped off his shoes and went up the creaky stairs, focusing on the sound of the slowed heartbeat he assumed to be yours since there was no other scent besides yours and your parents’ in the house.

His jaw was clenched as he silently stood at the top of the stairs. He felt his fangs protrude as he took a deep inhale, smelling only you and he could now hear still breathing. “Are they still asleep?” he asked as he blinked away his glowing red eyes and strode over to your door. The door opened silently to reveal you laying still, cuddled up beneath your blanket, surrounded by your various pillows.

He stepped over to the side of your bed before he knelt down. He brushed your hair from your sleepy face, waking you. “You’re not going to school today?” He rested his chin on his fist resting on the edge of your bed.

You tiredly shook your head, blinking slowly. “I’m cold,” you muffled softly through your blanket but knew he heard you clearly. “Your hand felt nice...” You tried to speak up, fighting the slumber which tried to slip you back under consciousness, snuggling deeper into your blanket.

He stood up and sat on the edge of your bed, shifting it to his weight and pressed his hand against your heated forehead. You nuzzled your face against his cold hand, barely holding it through your blanket. “It feels a lot warmer than normal...”

“Mhmm...” You instinctively moved closer despite his abnormally lower temperature. “You’re gonna be late, Jeno...” You looked up to him through your half-opened eyes as he stared at you with his big orbs. He played with your hair, combing his fingers through it, knowing this would lull you deeper toward sleep.

“Don’t even think for a second that I’m going to leave you alone all day like this,” he smirked. “Do you still have a few of my shirts?” To which you nodded slowly, knowing you probably had more than a few buried within your drawers. He got up from his spot, leaving a cold feeling upon your head. The wind began to pick up outside, whistling through the branches of the trees, making the leaves dance as they brushed past. The sound of rain grew louder as the room grew silent, except for your breathing and heart beat to Jeno. Although he didn’t need it, he knew the sound of your beating heart would be enough to lull him to sleep.

He dug through your drawers filled with all the familiar shirts he grew up watching you wear, seeing how your taste in style bloom. He pulled out a plain white shirt, slipping it over his body and turned back towards your bed, pulling the shirt down over his abdomen. “Scooch.” He lifted the blanket as you wiggled away from the edge of the bed, making space for him. He laid down beside you, tucking the blanket close around you as you laid close with your head resting on his chest. “Now get some rest. I’ll still be here when you wake up.” He laid still beside you with one arm wrapped around your head, petting your hair.

Without a second thought, you slipped into unconsciousness faster than you thought you would. Jeno looked down, adoring the sight he saw in his lifetime: you breathed slowly through a tiny gap between your lip with the blanket covering almost every bit of you. He could feel how slow your chest would rise and fall with every breath you took. Your soft locks slipped through his fingers as the two of you laid there. He stared at the ceiling and scanned the room, seeing little change. The little plants on your windowsill were on the brink of death which made the atmosphere feel even gloomier with the rain outside. Memories of the day he took you to the plant store flashed in his mind, but they also made a shiver run down his own spine. He could remember the thirst, the hunger he felt that day.

His fingers subconsciously slid down your face to your neck. His own breaths stopped when he felt the fang marks still present on your skin. He glanced downwards where his fingers were to find his marks still present as if they were fresh. Usually, they would have healed by now, but now he made a mental note to give you a few drops of his blood to heal you when you woke. “Do you feel this way because of me?” Your words of affirmation always helped bury the pit of guilt in his stomach whenever he showed up at your window at night, needing to feed, but it was different now. It stung him on the inside as if he had taken a silver bullet to the chest.

He closed his eyes, wrapping his arm tighter around you, pressing you closer around him as he tried to shut out the thoughts and ideas of even hurting you in the slightest bit. His eyes opened feeling the slightest movements coming from you. He loves you. He had never loved anyone so much in his immortal life and he hoped you knew it. He never wanted you to forget this love, this fire he felt for you. He would do anything for you. He entangled his legs with yours, turning to his side so you were buried against his chest. “I’m sorry for hurting you, Y.N… I’m sorry I’m a monster…” He pressed a kiss to your forehead before he softy peppered a few more all over your sleepy face.

Your eyes slowly blinked away the last bits of sleep, feeling especially warm. You yawned against Jeno’s chest, rubbing your face all over the fabric of his shirt.

“Sleep well?” You looked up to find a smiley eyed Jeno looking down to you with the most adoring eyes. He rubbed your back happily as you smiled and nodded, wrapping your own arm around your torso.

“Thank you for staying,” you hummed gleefully. “You’re so warm.” You pressed your face into his shirt. He let out a soft hum before it grew silent with no sound of rain to fill the space.

“I wouldn’t leave you… I never will Y/N.” He held your face in his hands, revealing your fresh face to him in the last golden rays of the day shining through the window. “You’re so precious to me…” He pouted a little just hugging you. “I need you to drink a bit of my blood…” He went right out with it,” not knowing how else to tell you.

“Why?” you asked without looking up.

“‘Cause the marks are still in your neck… I know it’s not your favorite thing to ingest, and I’m really sorry you have to.”

Just the way he said it made your heart break a little. “Jeno, you need to be fed. It’s only natural for living things to eat and if it means you live another hour, day, week, year, or anything, I’ll do it.” You poked his cheek as you spoke everything, meaning every word with your heart. “Don’t apologize for being you and doing what you need to do.”

“God, I love you so much. Alright, I’ll be right back. I thought of a way to help with the taste.” He slipped out of bed, unlatching himself from you. He returned within a few seconds as if he didn’t leave at all. “Ready?”

You sat up on the bed, still cuddling the blanket close to your body and nodded. He pricked a tiny bit of his hand, letting a few drops drip into your mouth. The metallic taste made your face twist, never getting used to the taste each time. He immediately pressed his lips against yours as he held your face in his hands, catching a bit off guard, but you matched up to his rhythm without missing a beat. With the swift motion of his tongue against your bottom lip, you opened your mouth. The taste of sweetness from a sugar lump soon replaced the metallic taste of blood in your mouth.

He pulled away against his own wishes. “Now how does that taste?” He smirked, seeing the satisfying smile on your lips.

“Sweet, but.” You stood onto your knees as he stood at the edge of the bed and wrapped your arms around his neck. “You’re sweeter,” you said as you pulled him in for another kiss.

~~~~~ Masterlist for more! Thank you for reading!

Draft made: February 25, 2020 at 6:57pm EST Final Draft made: February 26, 2020 at 6:26pm EST Posted: April 25, 2020 at 7:30pm EST

#jeno #lee jeno #nct imagines #nct scenarios #jeno x reader #nct x reader #jeno scenarios #pillowfluffs #jeno imagines #nct dream imagines #nct dream x reader #nct dream scenarios #lee jeno imagines #lee jeno scenarios #lee jeno x reader

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prolestariwrites · 4 years ago

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Open For Me [1]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Vergil/Reader Tags: Explicit sexual content, First time, First love, Violence, Death, Implied dubcon, Implied drug-induced sex Rating: M Part: 1 of 5

Summary: Vergil's life has been difficult as far back as he can remember, until he meets a young woman who saves his life. Can she save it again when he learns the truth of who he is, and bring him back from a dark and dangerous fate? A five-part story of pre- and post-canon Vergil. A/N: I’ve been working on this fic for months and I’m excited to finally be publishing. Thank you especially to @wordborne and @solynacea for feedback on this story. Credit to @drusoona for the Vergil pic above and the many sent my way that helped immensely. This story is written and will update every Friday, five parts in total.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Chapter 1: February 1994

That’s the problem with being the strong one. No one offers you a hand. —m. t.

“Come on,” you whisper as you unlock the front door and slip inside. Vergil follows, and you lean around him to quietly press the door shut and turn the deadbolt with a click. Pausing, you listen for any sound, but the house is dark and quiet. The truck outside means that at least your stepfather is home, but it’s late enough he’s probably sleeping off whatever he drank for the day. Mom is working nights, so no chance of running into her.

You don’t bother to turn on any of the lights, leading Vergil carefully up the steps, making sure to avoid the one that squeaks. His presence behind you makes your senses heightened, because if either of your parents found out you brought a boy home they’d have your ass and you’d be lucky to make it out alive. You hadn’t said as much to Vergil, but he seems to know instinctively, and he is silent as he follows you up to your room in the third-floor attic.

Once safely inside, you shut and lock your door before flipping on the bedside lamp. The room is bathed in warm light, and you turn nervously to see what he thinks. Vergil surveys the room, his face expressionless, but you breathe a sigh of relief when he nods. “It’s nice,” he says.

“Thanks.” Suddenly embarrassed, you gesture to your bed. “Want to sit down?”

“Sure.” He drops his bag quietly and kicks off his shoes, well-worn boots that are too expensive to belong to him. Everything he has is too expensive to be his, the leather jacket that he shrugs off and hangs on the doorknob, the chain around his neck that holds something under his dark t-shirt.

Vergil is a street kid, one of the many that roam around selling drugs and shoplifting to get by, but he’s different. Even though everything he owns is surely stolen and he doesn’t go to school or have a job, he’s not like the other punks who hang out on the corners. You had seen him around a bit, coming into the community center once in a while when they hand out box lunches or to rummage through the clothes bin. There had been something about him, some kind of air that made him stand out from the usual homeless kids; as if he didn’t really belong, as if he was from somewhere else, some time else.

Finally your curiosity got the better of you. You hang there too, a place to go that’s not home, and one afternoon as he was looking around with a scowl, you dared to go over.

“I’ve seen you before,” you said, looking him up and down.

“No you didn’t,” he had answered.

To your surprise, he had actually seemed almost alarmed. So you changed tactics and asked, “You need some help?”

“I don’t need help,” he said. “I’m looking for a phone.”

You jerked your chin to the side. “Payphones are over there. Need a quarter?”

“Thanks.” He had taken your quarter and made a call, and afterward you told him about the shower in the back he could use if he wanted. He had hesitated, but then nodded, and twenty minutes later when he had emerged with his silverish hair all wet and slicked back you were almost in love.

He kept turning up, and whether you made sure to run into him or he made sure to run into you, you didn’t know. But somehow when you were there, he was too. You learned his name was Vergil, and he was on his own, seventeen years old, just like you. You are a senior in high school, but he never went, and you laughed when he seemed surprised at the suggestion.

“Where do you live?” you had asked him one day as you helped him load some clothes into the washing machine.

“Wherever I can,” he had answered shortly.

“You can stay with me, if you ever get stuck.”

Like most of the teens that frequent the center, Vergil started to help around the place, but most of the time he just hung around, watching you do homework or sweep the floor, using the place to shower and get dinner or just take a nap in the TV room.

It’s cold tonight though, so when you offered a place again, he actually said yes. It still surprises you, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you watch him sit carefully on your mattress. He looks so out of place on your pink bedspread, which is too thin and too short but all you have. “Are you hungry?” you ask.

“Not really,” he answers. “Why are we being so quiet?”

You blush furiously at the question, moving to pick up some things you had tossed on the floor. “My stepdad is probably sleeping. He can be mean when you wake him up.”

“Sounds like an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you snort. You peek over your shoulder. “Not much longer though. I’m graduating in June and then I’m fucking out of here.”

“You’re leaving?”

You nod and dump the clothes in the hamper. “Yeah. I’ve been saving for a place. Gonna go to the city, get a job waitressing or something and try to take some classes. I want to be a nurse.”

Vergil considers this and nods. “You’d be good at that. When are you leaving?”

Shrugging, you reply, “I don’t know. This summer. Why, you want to come?”

His eyes widen slightly, then he surprises you again by nodding. “Yes. I’ll come.”

You smile and move to the bed, pressing your knee to the mattress as you straddle one of his legs. “Good,” you say, your arms going around his shoulders as his wraps around your waist. Then you lean down to kiss him, and your mouths seal together with a sigh as you settle on his lap.

It was two weeks ago when you had first kissed Vergil, stealing one when you were saying goodnight before heading home. You had been staying later and later just to hang out with him, and he was a regular now, there just to see you. Vergil even started walking you home, although you made him leave you at the corner, afraid your parents would see you walking up with a boy they wouldn’t approve of. It had been nothing more than a peck, but the next night he had kissed you properly, and every night since, leaving you in a daze when you turned down the block to your house.

His mouth is just as hot, just as firm, his lips lingering over yours. He slides his palms over your hips before slipping under your shirt, and you nibble on his lip as his fingers move upwards, his touch on your bare skin making you shiver.

The room is quiet, the only sound your heavy breathing mingling as he takes off your shirt and you unbutton his jeans. Shyly you undress before he climbs over you, and you run your hands over his chest, his body just lean muscle. Hanging on a thin chain is a red jewel, and you pause to examine it as he cages you in with his arms. “This is beautiful,” you whisper, but he cuts off any other remarks with another kiss.

His eyes are intense as he slides between your thighs. “Open for me,” he whispers. The red pendant hangs between you, the bedroom light making it sparkle just a bit, and when he lowers against you it presses firm and cool against your breasts. It’s your first time, and you wonder if it’s his too, but you’re too scared to ask because neither answer will honestly make you happy. So you pull him into another kiss as the head of him nudges against your opening, sighing into his mouth as he presses inside.

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Vergil sits on the edge of your bed, elbows on his knees, and thinks. Sleeping on a mattress had felt almost foreign to him, it had been so long; even on the nights when he ended up in a shelter or crashing at someone’s place, it was on the floor, or at most a couch. A real bed with a real pillow and blanket had given him a strange sort of unease, so he had spent most of the night watching you sleep, pleased with that at least.

The clock on the bedside table reads ten minutes until seven. He should go, but he is reluctant. It is bitterly cold outside, telltale frost on the window that shows the temperature is below freezing. It’s also Saturday, which means that the places he would normally go to, like the library or the mall, will open later than normal. He is also wary of running into someone on the way out and getting you in trouble. Even though he knows the way through your house already, having memorized it like second nature on the way in, a wayward creaky step or a loose board in the floor could alert someone he is there, and that would be disaster.

Most of all, though, he doesn’t want to leave you. Vergil glances over to see you still asleep, his lips curling into a small smile as he presses his mouth to his fingers. Last night had been… unexpected. But it was exciting and lovely and your kindness in giving him a place to stay was only second to how amazed he had been when you kissed him. He is always amazed by you: like a bright star, he thinks, something that gives life and warmth. But he is cautious, always cautious, because too much sun could burn.

Something shifts in the house, prickling along the back of his neck, and Vergil knows he made the right choice. A few minutes later there are footsteps in the hallway below, a door opening and closing, running water. Some muffled words and more footsteps, then the house falls quiet again, whoever it had been visiting the bathroom now back to sleep. Still, his presence is dangerous for them both, and they could have easily met on his way out.

You shift on the bed, your hand sliding along the bedsheet in your sleep. Deciding on staying, he lays back down, folding his arm around you to pull you against his chest. You are wearing one of his shirts, something that had made him snort when you asked, but it was endearing and Vergil was happy to lend something. Your legs curl around his and he sighs, trying to enjoy the peace and quiet.

How long has it been for him to have such a moment? Childhood, probably, before Dante would wake up in a ball of frenetic energy and tear through the house, feet slapping on the floor and his voice echoing down the hallway. Vergil would lay in bed like this, or sit on the windowsill, watching the snow fall or the leaves dance on the wind or the flowers peek out from the tree outside his window. Dante’s room was across the hall, but that had been Vergil’s place to himself, his thinking spot.

He looks out the window, swallowing uncomfortably at the memory. The last time Vergil had been in his room, he was looking for a tennis set. He had found one of the rackets but not the other, and he huffed around his room in frustration, debating if it would be worth checking Dante’s. Dante could never clean up after himself, and searching his room would be doomed from the start.

Deciding to check the backyard, Vergil had hopped down the steps, wondering where his brother had gone off to. Once he found the other racket his plan was to make Dante play a few games, knowing he could beat him easily. They were evenly matched at most things, but Dante was always better at sports than Vergil: except tennis, which is why it was his favorite game.

You shift next to him, and Vergil realizes he is holding you a bit too tightly. He eases his grip, pushing away the next set of memories of what happened as he hunted through the sandbox for the missing racket. His fingers are trembling, but he forces them to relax, finally rubbing soft circles on your lower back as you open your eyes.

“Hey,” you whisper.

“Hey,” he says back.

You yawn and press closer. “I half expected you to be gone,” you say sleepily.

Vergil chuckles. “I thought about it. But I didn’t want to leave you.”

“Good.”

He sighs, going back to staring out the window as you doze off. An hour slips by with him lost in his thoughts before you stir again, stretching your limbs before turning to smile up at him. “Hey again,” Vergil says.

“Do you want to hang out today?” you ask.

His brows dart up in surprise. “Sure, I think? You mean here?”

You shrug. “As long as we’re quiet. No one comes up here. You can stay here if they call me for something.”

Vergil nods, but doesn’t let himself get excited. Another night or two under a roof is too much to think about. Instead he rolls a bit to cover you with his body, his hand firm on your hip.

You sigh and press your face into his neck, and Vergil swallows thickly. Holding you like this, the only person who has ever been so kind to him… it’s a bit overwhelming, and he needs to take a few minutes to ground himself. Being alone has always been the plan: it’s safer, less messy, less likely to attract the demons who inevitably find him. Whenever there has been a bystander who gets in the way it just brings trouble, so Vergil makes it a point to stay away from humans as much as possible, venturing near them only when he needs something.

But you… his thumb runs circles on your hip before his palm slides up to your waist. You are small and fragile and wouldn’t stand a chance against the things that hunt him, but staying away from you seems impossible now.

“Are you feeling okay?” you ask quietly. “Seems like you’re thinking about something.”

Vergil shakes his head. As he bends down to press his lips to yours, there is a drop of emotion that feels unwelcome: fear. He had long ago stopped being afraid, years on his own teaching him that only strength and discipline matter, that hesitation and fear only brought weakness. And weakness means death.

“Vergil,” you sigh, and he kisses you again, firmer this time as he presses one leg between your thighs. Arms wrap around him as fingers slide into his hair, the sensation thrilling and soothing at the same time. His heart is racing as his hand reaches out to grab the bedsheet with a fierce grip.

Beneath the surface of his skin and muscle something pulses in his blood, something he has felt for years but cannot name, something wrapped up in his DNA. All he knows is the drive to unlock it, whatever it is, but it has never been so clear or so fierce. Vergil has the sensation that whatever part of himself is still hidden is just out of reach, but being with you here brings it closer than ever, and he wonders if you could be the key. Anxiety mixes with desire and it is confusing and terrifying but he wants more of it, more of you.

The bedroom door slams open and you both break apart, jolting with the sound. Your hands press to his chest, pushing him off, and you slowly rise to take in the half-dressed and half-drunk man that stumbles in the door. “What the fuck is this?” he growls, pointing at Vergil. “Who the fuck are you?”

“It’s okay,” you say hurriedly, trying to push around Vergil. “He’s a friend of mine, and needed a place—”

“Fucking slut! You brought a boy home to fuck in my house?” he shouts. He takes another step forward, swaying slightly as his words slur. “Your mother’s too soft on you, I been saying it. After I kick his ass I’m gonna teach you a lesson, whore.”

Vergil can feel you go tense behind him, a little noise escaping. But he feels settled, faced with a threat he can understand, and he shakes off your grip to step into the middle of the room. “Disgusting pig,” Vergil spits, scoffing when the man gapes at him. “Turn around and leave if you know what’s good for you.”

The man lets go a string of curses that are barely coherent before he crashes forward, swinging. Vergil easily sidesteps him, his reflexes quick as he grabs him by the back of the neck and launches him towards the floor. He bounces against the wood, shouting as his chin cracks open, and when he rolls Vergil kicks him in the stomach.

“Vergil! Stop it!”

Your voice is the only thing that stops him. It pulls Vergil back from where he kneels over the man, fist raised to connect with his face. Vergil takes a few deep breaths, feeling the pulse of his power subside to a manageable level, and beyond that, the taste of what he cannot unlock, taunting him to hit the drunk and see what happens.

The stepfather looks up with wide eyes, as if shocked that he is on the floor, and Vergil makes a face. He reeks of beer and his face and neck are smeared with blood, two things Vergil hates. He stares back, jaw tightened as he grits his teeth; but as he lowers his fist he sees a bit of red tingeing the corners of the man’s eyes.

It is not the red of a night of drinking or of stumbling bleary-eyed from sleep: it is the red flash of a demon.

He stands and hauls the stepfather up, ignoring your protests. “Stay here,” he barks, dragging the man out and down the attic steps.

Once they hit the hallway, Vergil uses his real strength to slam him against the wall, nearly hearing his teeth rattle. He lifts the man easily and leans forward to threaten him. “I know what you are,” Vergil growls.

“What—”

“I can see you,” he seethes, talking to the demon. “This human left himself wide open with his vileness, didn’t he? So you listen.” The stepfather holds his breath as Vergil’s grip tightens. “Make sure he leaves her alone. Don’t speak to her, don’t look at her. Or I’ll come back and take care of you as well, understand?”

The man nods, so Vergil lowers him slowly. He lifts a hand to wipe blood from his mouth, and after shooting him a glare he pushes past and into the bathroom, slamming the door. Tension radiates through Vergil’s body but he purposely keeps it in check, taking his own moment before climbing the stairs back to the attic.

He finds you sitting on the bed, clutching the blanket tightly. “What happened?” you whisper.

“Nothing. He won’t bother you.” Vergil grabs his bag before moving to where his boots lay, leaning over to pull the laces. “I should go. I’ll see you—”

“Wait!” You run over and launch yourself, catching Vergil around the waist. He looks down in surprise as you hug him tightly, damp face pressed to his chest. “I’m sorry,” you murmur.

Vergil tilts your face up with a frown. He looks at your eyes, eyes that are free from any trace of demon, before stroking your cheek. “You don’t have to go,” you say, and Vergil nods, knowing that leaving is impossible now.

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc vergil #vergil sparda #vergil x reader #fan fiction #open for me

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