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harrysfolklore · 5 months ago

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omg i have a question for the bitchy carlos fic -

so nicole piastri came on red flags podcast recently and spoke about oscar and his childhood, what if there’s an au segment of her talking about older piastri & what would his reaction be

okay this turned out being way longer than intended bc i added the scene of carlos and nicole meeting bc why not, i hope i'm not annoying you with too much little bitch content, i'll promise i'll post for other drivers now READ LITTLE BITCH HERE

Host: "So, Nicole, we've heard a lot about Oscar's journey to F1, but what can you tell us about his relationship with his sister, YN? She has quite the personality online, doesn't she? Can you tell us about their relationship growing up?

Nicole:"Oh, those two. They've always had such a special bond. YN is a few years older than Oscar and yes, she's known as the Piastri who fights people online, but she's always been fiercely protective of him. From the moment YN first held Oscar as a baby, she appointed herself his protector. It was adorable and sometimes a bit much, but always came from a place of love.

Host: Can you give us an example?

Nicole: "When Oscar was about six and YN was maybe nine. Oscar had just started school and was having trouble making friends. He was quite shy back then, if you can believe it. One day, YN overheard some kids teasing Oscar in the playground."

Host: "Oh no, what happened?"

Nicole: "Well, YN marched right up to those boys and she told them off in no uncertain terms. She said, and I quote, 'My brother is going to be a famous race car driver one day, and you'll all be asking for his autograph. So you'd better be nice to him now!' The boys were so shocked they just stood there with their mouths open."

Host:"That's amazing! Did it help Oscar?"

Nicole: "It did, actually. Oscar was so impressed by his big sister standing up for him that it gave him a confidence boost. And you know what? Some of those boys ended up becoming his good friends. They still joke about YN's 'prophecy' coming true now that Oscar's in F1."

Host: "That's such a heartwarming story! It's clear YN has always been protective of Oscar. Now, speaking of relationships, we've heard that YN is dating Carlos Sainz. Can you tell us a bit about how that came to be?"

Nicole: "Oh, that's an interesting story! YN actually told us she was dating Carlos a while back, but we weren't surprised at all. We knew she liked him since that time in Singapore last year when our family visited. YN was trying so hard to act mad about Carlos' win, but it was obvious she was impressed."

Host: "So you had suspicions before they even got together?"

Nicole: "Absolutely! Even before that Singapore trip, YN used to go on these multiple rants about, in her words, 'this arrogant Spaniard' who kept pushing Oscar off track. She called him something I won't repeat but I'm pretty sure everyone knows it, it absolutely irritated her. But you know what? We all knew that deep down, she had a crush on him."

Host: "That's quite the turnaround! Have you met Carlos — as YN’s partner this time — yet?"

Nicole: "I haven’t, actually. I’m hoping to do that in Baku after the summer break. But I can see Carlos brings out a softer side of YN that we don't often see in public. Don't get me wrong, she's still fiercely stubborn and outspoken, but with Carlos, there's this gentleness that comes out. He seems to really understand and appreciate her passion, and he's not intimidated by her strong personality at all. In fact, he seems to admire it."

Host: "It sounds like they complement each other well. How has Oscar taken to their relationship?"

Nicole: "Oscar's been very supportive. I think he appreciates seeing his sister happy, and of course, it doesn't hurt that Carlos is someone he respects on the track. It's actually quite funny to see YN now, cheering for both Oscar and Carlos during races. She's always torn between wanting Oscar to win and not wanting Carlos to lose."

Host: "That's nice, Carlos sounds like quite the gentleman. Has YN picked up any Spanish since they started dating?"

Nicole: "Oh, that's actually a funny story. We love to tease YN about this. You see, she failed Spanish in high school - couldn't conjugate a verb to save her life. And now here she is, dating a Spaniard! Carlos has been trying to teach her, but let's just say it's a work in progress. She can now order a beer and ask where the bathroom is, so I suppose that's progress!"

Host: "That's hilarious! I'm sure she'll be fluent in no time."

Nicole: "Bless her, she's really trying. She's determined to have a full conversation with Carlos' parents in Spanish by the end of the year. We'll see how that goes!"

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ynpiastri our queen is here !! and no one is ready

tagged: nicolepiastri

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username1 NICOLE PIASTRI IS THE MOMENT

username2 SLAY THE HOUSE BOOTS DOWN

mclaren Icon 🧡

lilyzneimer the besttttt 💓

username3 IS SHE MEETING CARLOS ??

username4 oh i can’t wait to see our queen giving carlos a run for his money again

landonorris Coolest ever

↳ ynpiastri her favorite will always be yuki don’t even try it

↳ username1 HEEEELP

yukitsunoda5511 Nicole is brat

↳ username2 I LOVE THEM 😭

oscarpiastri I’m ready, your boyfriend however…

↳ username3 LOOOOORDDD

↳ username1 POOR CARLOS

↳ ynpiastri leave him alone 😤😤

Baku had a special energy during race weekends. The tight streets and high-pressure atmosphere gave you a mixture of excitement and nerves, but today, the butterflies in your stomach had nothing to do with the Grand Prix. Instead, it was about the lunch you were about to have, where Carlos would meet your mom—officially, as your boyfriend this time.

You walked through the paddock with Carlos by your side, his hand wrapped around yours. Oscar was a few steps ahead, casually walking toward the hospitality area where no other than Nicole Piastri waited. She had met Carlos briefly before, like many of the other drivers, but this was different. He wasn’t just a name on the grid anymore—he was the man you were dating, and Carlos seemed to be nervous about the meeting.

"You think she likes me?" Carlos adjusted his hat for what felt like the hundredth time, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"Carlos, she’s going to love you," you couldn’t help but smile at his nerves, "She already does. But, you know... as a mum, she's entitled to give you a little hard time."

"That’s what I’m worried about," Carlos chuckled, but his smile was still tight, "I just want to make a good impression, you know?"

"You will," you assured him, squeezing his hand. "Just be yourself."

Oscar slowed down, overhearing your conversation and grinning like he already knew how this would play out. "Mum’s gonna grill you, mate," he teased, throwing a glance back at Carlos. "She’s been waiting for this."

"Not helping, Oscar," you muttered, giving your brother a playful shove. He just smirked, clearly enjoying himself.

When you finally reached the hospitality tent, your mom was already seated at a table, smiling warmly as she saw you all approach. She stood up to greet you, wrapping you in a familiar hug before turning to Carlos with that same welcoming smile—though you knew there was a glint of mischief behind it.

“Carlos, it’s so good to see you again,” she greeted, shaking his hand.

"It’s great to see you too, Mrs. Piastri," Carlos said, his polite smile fixed on his face. His Spanish charm was dialed up a notch, but you could still feel the slight tension in his grip as he held your hand.

“Please, call me Nicole,” she said, taking her seat again. “I’m not that formal, especially not with my daughter’s boyfriend.”

As you all settled into your seats, you couldn't help but notice the amused glances Oscar and your mom were exchanging. You knew that look—they were up to something.

"So," Nicole began, her eyes twinkling with mischief, "how long have you two been together again?"

You glanced at Carlos, who seemed to relax a bit as he answered, "About two months officially, right, cariño?"

You nodded, but before you could add anything, your mom raised an eyebrow. "And unofficially?"

"Mum!" you said as you felt your cheeks heat up.

Oscar, who had taken a seat across from you, let out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying the show. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching the dynamic unfold.

"That’s what I thought," she teased, making Oscar let out a loud laugh.

You felt your face grow even hotter as your mom's implications hung in the air. Carlos, to his credit, managed to maintain his composure, though you noticed a slight redness creeping up his neck.

"Well," Carlos cleared his throat, his accent a bit thicker than usual, "I think it's safe to say we've known each other for quite some time now."

"Oh, I remember. You two weren't exactly friendly at first, were you?"

"That's putting it mildly, Mum," Oscar snorted, "Remember the time she came home absolutely fuming after a race? She was ranting about 'that little bi—'"

"Oscar!" you cut him off, "We don't need to relive that."

Carlos squeezed your hand under the table, clearly amused. "No, please, I'd love to hear about this."

"Oh mate, you should've heard her," Oscar spoke again, "'Carlos this, Carlos that.' I swear, she talked about you more when she hated you than she does now."

"I did not!" you protested, but your brother's knowing smirk told you he wasn't buying it.

"It's true," your mum added, her eyes dancing with laughter. "I remember thinking, 'This girl protests too much.' I had a feeling even then that all that anger was hiding something else."

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. "I can't believe this is happening."

Carlos wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "It's okay, hermosa. I love to hear these stories."

You looked up at him, seeing the warmth in his eyes. It was hard to believe that those same eyes had once glared at you across the paddock.

Nicole smiled, watching the two of you with that familiar mom look—part teasing, part proud. "Well, now look at you. I guess all that bickering was just a cover-up for how much you liked each other."

"You’ve gone soft," Oscar rolled his eyes dramatically. "I kinda miss the days when you’d call each other names."

"Don’t worry," you muttered, giving Carlos a playful glare. "He’s still a little bitch sometimes."

Carlos laughed, his arm tightening around you as he kissed the top of your head. "And you’re still my favorite enemy turned girlfriend."

Your mom let out a satisfied sigh, leaning back in her chair. "I knew it all along."

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20forty9 · 11 months ago

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I Didn't Mean To Haunt You

Chapter V - Shades Of Us

Summary : The spirit takes on a new trainee, and Maheas becomes more comfortable with the spirit. You must face the repercussions of the previous day, which only leads to arguments and conversations in the rain. And ultimately, a terrible realization that you've tried to deny for a long time.

Word Count : 7.7k

Contains : Me projecting (extra pained)

Pairings : Gojo Satoru/Reader, Geto Suguru/Reader, Nanami Kento/Reader, Yu Haibara/Reader, Everyone/Reader (Reverse Harem)

Cross-posted on Ao3

A/N : Ermmmm yeah so after deleting the OG chapter and rewriting it, I have a nice welcome-back chapter. So much for taking two weeks off, amiright? Haha. (Pained). I hope you'll forgive me for the angst present in this chapter and no Geto or Gojo, because now we finally have two new pairings introduced! Also, even if I'm not pairing MC with any female characters, I have a very big soft spot for Shoko, I'm sure that's obvious. Also, another short flashback, and a new OC introduced. She's the last one, I promise! And she's relevant... eventually! They all are. They all serve their own purpose, I prommy guys!!!!! Canonly, in the OG version of this story, this OC has a niece/god-daughter but I feel like that'd be too much for a JJK x Reader story on Ao3, so I'll keep that separate unless people are really interested. She's very important to the OC and plays a pivotal role in his development, but I can forgo that for this version of the story to keep things more simple.

The public have an insatiable curiosity to know everything, except what is worth knowing. ~ Oscar Wilde

It has been a few weeks since the spirit has started training Maheas one-on-one with his new polearm, and things are going rather smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, that in mid-September, Suliman introduces another young child to join them.

Venick is much younger than Maheas, and she seems very out of place in Suliman’s strange society. Her straight black hair falls over her shoulders, hiding away most of her face unless the servants tie it back in a ponytail for her. She doesn’t give any of those fake smiles that everyone else here does – actually, she doesn’t smile at all, nor does she speak much. Her weapon, a bow, is always clenched tightly in her hands, keeping it close to her chest. There’s no sign of her having any cursed energy capabilities, but Suliman sees something in the young girl that others cannot, according to her.

It had taken some time for Maheas to warm up to the spirit, but Venick took much longer. She refuses to join in on training unless the blonde boy drags her, but by then she’s already kicking and screaming in protest, digging her heels into the ground and kicking up dirt as tears run down her face. She doesn’t want to learn how to fight. She’s a child.

The spirit finds itself completely disconnected by most emotions by now, so it has to remind itself that it is training kids. Granted, one of them is probably a psychopath, and the other can be a complete brat, but they’re still kids. Suliman’s perfect weapons are molded as young as eleven years old.

So, on bright days like these, the spirit decides to take the kids to the kitchens to cook a dish for them. It is a comforting meal it used to cook back in its own world constantly, making more than enough to share with others.

Maheas and Venick sit at the kitchen island on the high stools, looking at the spirit curiously. Even the young girl seems entranced by how it flips the vegetables in the large wok seamlessly, shuffling around the room to cook udon noodles and tofu at the same time. Her bow sits right next to her on the floor, her leg brushing against it every time she swings it back and forth.

By now, Maheas understands that the spirit is deaf and can’t understand them when its back faces them. Venick, however, doesn’t exactly know much. Of anything, really. Suliman hasn’t said much about her, but the spirit guesses that the young girl was found in the middle of nowhere, neglected and probably more than a few years behind on education and socialization.

“What’re you making?” The dark-haired girl asks the spirit as it flips the veggies in the wok again. “Can you hurry up? I’m hungry.”

“It can’t hear you,” Maheas says to her, nose-deep in a book about ancient battles, not even bothering to look up at her. “It’s deaf.”

She tilts her head, confused. “But they- it nods its head when you talk to it.”

“When it’s looking at me, sure. It reads lips.” He sighs, slamming the book closed irritatedly. “But when it isn’t looking at us, it won’t hear. Look.”

He gets up from his chair, walking right behind the spirit who still works away over the stovetop and cups his hands around his mouth.

“ BOO!” Maheas’ voice echoes loudly against the walls of the large kitchen, making Venick jump in her seat. However, there’s absolutely no reaction from the spirit, just a little hiss of pain when a splash of boiling oil hits its right hand.

The boy returns to his seat, opening his book back up nonchalantly. “See?”

Venick stares at the back of the spirit’s head before her eyes trail over to Maheas. “Why’d it go death anyways?”

“Deaf. With an f. Are you stupid?” Maheas glares at her. “And beats me. It’s been like that since Madame Suliman saved it.”

“Like me? Will I go deat– deaf too?” She asks, clumsily stumbling over her pronunciation.

Venick sure is talkative today. God, just shut up, the blonde boy thinks to himself, rolling his eyes. “If you don’t shut up in the next five seconds, yeah, you will. ”

That gets her to close her mouth, keeping her lips sealed and staring dead ahead at the spirit who continues to cook, completely clueless to their conversation. Finally, Maheas goes back to his book, legs swinging back and forth happily as he reads uninterrupted. His eyes flit up every so often to observe their teacher who finishes up mixing the noodles with the handmade peanut butter sauce.

It plates the food on two separate plates, topping the thick noodles with the fried tofu, vegetables and toasted sesame seeds. The two kids immediately dig in, eating as if they haven’t been fed in weeks. They shovel down the food so quickly that the spirit can see the peanut butter sauce sticking to the sides of their mouths, making it raise an eyebrow. When was the last time they ate?

“You’re not gonna eat?” Venick asks it through a mouthful of food. Though, if the spirit was being honest with itself, it couldn’t read a single thing she said; but it can guess.

It shakes its head. It had an apple three days ago, it was completely fine. It wouldn’t need to eat for another few days or so.

“You’re weird,” she muses, going back to stuffing her face with food.

“Of course it’s weird, it’s not like us,” Maheas says after taking a large sip of water.

It seems to be routine, as days pass. On the too-hot days, the spirit forgoes training and encourages the two kids to eat, rest or read instead. This is all done without Suliman knowing, or else she would probably ream them all for being too lazy, or some ridiculous reasoning of the kind.

It only puts a halt on these calm days when rumours start popping up around the area – defectors, running away from Suliman’s watchful eye. They leave behind everything in their possession; homes, money, family, their own children. She becomes more restless around the spirit and her own men, subtly making sure that they are staying true to their duties. None of it is confirmed, of course. However, the training becomes more intense for Venick and Maheas, as the woman seems to be around the training grounds nearly constantly.

The rumours finally rear their head one day, some semblance of truth coming to light.

“You won’t go like them, right, spirit?” Maheas asks it after an extensive day of clashing their polearms against each other. There were rumours of high-class defectors this time around, leaving behind their beloved children in hopes of saving themselves. Apparently they were caught, but nobody has heard anything else about them since then.

The young boy tugs at its pants with his grime-covered hands. “You won’t go anywhere, right?”

It shakes its head, wiping the sweat from its forehead. There is no life for it outside of this, it is sure of that.

“Good. I don’t want you to go,” he says, looking at a group of men returning with a large wooden box, big enough to fit a body inside of it. “I won’t let you.”

“You understand me, spirit? I won’t let you,” Maheas looks determined as he looks back up at the spirit.

It nods, mindlessly agreeing with him. If it helps calm the blonde boy down, it will agree to any delusion he has. After all, that’s all it is – a child’s delusion.

It repeats that mantra in its head, over and over again, for the rest of the day, until it goes back into its room that night, the weight of the day resting heavy on its shoulders. It puts its polearm against the wall, right next to the door, toeing its uncomfortable shoes off and haphazardly throwing them into a random corner of the room.

It’s about to lay down and let its weary body relax in the thin duvet on the bed when something catches its attention in the corner of its eye – a new book rests upon the top of the desk, one that it has never seen before.

‘Langues Des Signes Française - LSF / FSL’ is in big, gold letters etched into the dark blue book. Beside it, there’s a small note written in neat handwriting.

- No need to thank me. This will make communication much easier. ~ S

It sets the book down as if its hand had been burnt, immediately tossing the note in the garbage. If it wants to learn to communicate with humans, it will do so on its own terms. Not because this witch wants it to. The spirit sighs, sitting down on its bed, eyes stuck on the book cover.

Its stomach uncomfortably grumbles, for some reason.

It could go for an apple.

It’s hungry.

2005.

You wake up alone.

You’re facing the wall when your eyes crack open, the bed cold except for where you lay. You must’ve moved around a lot in your sleep, because you’re laying where Gojo was resting, no remnants of his warmth leftover on the mattress. You look over your shoulder, noticing the notebook is still on the nightstand, but Gojo’s sunglasses are nowhere to be seen. Him, Geto and Shoko must’ve left hours ago and let you sleep in.

You wonder where they went without you, considering there are no missions today, and you have to debrief all together. Whatever.

Rubbing the sleep away from your eyes, you feel your jaw popping as you yawn. You sit up, stretching your arms and inhaling deeply before letting them rest at your side. You feel strangely alone, and decide to head to your own room to change into some fresh clothes and maybe take a shower.

Your eyes glance over to the notebook, hands grabbing it to look more closely at the three different handwritings. Subconsciously, your lips perk up – you feel touched by their very simple gesture of writing in the notebook just to wish you something as simple as a goodnight.

As you lazily slip your ratty converse shoes on your feet, you realize that you’re still wearing the clothes that Gojo let you borrow last night. Should probably wash these before they’re returned, you think to yourself, grabbing the notebook and your dirty clothes before carefully closing the door to the white-haired man’s room behind you.

The halls are void of any life, but you’re not entirely surprised. This seems to be the usual at the school. You finally make it to your dorm room, unlocking the door and flicking the lightswitch on. Carelessly, you dump your ruined clothing into the hamper near the door, going to the dresser to pull some casual clothing out; a dark t-shirt and matching sweatpants of your own.

When you walk into the bathroom, you lean down to place your clothes on the ground and immediately feel pain flare up on your side, reminding you of your wounds from the previous day. Carefully, you lift your shirt, exposing the gross blotch that seems to have spread across your ribs, akin to the curse snaking around your forearm. You catch your own gaze in the mirror, smiling wryly to yourself.

“ You’re a sight for sore eyes,” you mouth to yourself. A reprimand only for your own eyes. “ You look disgusting. ” Self-hatred only meant for you.

If you look at yourself any longer, you’ll start feeling the bile rising at the back of your throat. You let the t-shirt drop back down, switching the shower on and undressing yourself, keeping your back turned to the mirror the entire time. You soak the dirtied bandages that were once wrapped around your arms in the sink, the water already turning a light brown.

You hiss as you test the heat of the water with your hand, feeling it burn your skin. Though it’s not even turned all the way to the hottest setting, you’ve been much more sensitive to heat ever since the curse made you more in-tune with your fire. Nevertheless, you step in the shower, letting the boiling water hit against your body, letting it turn your skin raw. As much as it hurts, it still helps soothe your aching muscles, letting your shoulders go slack, hair getting heavier as the water soaks it.

After carefully washing your body with soap and rinsing your hair with shampoo, you give yourself a few more minutes to bask in the shower. You observe the way your hands look now – palms covered in calluses from the polearm, cuts from the splinters that dug into your skin from the fight yesterday. Those are hands that can kill.

You leave the water on for much longer than necessary before you snap out of whatever daydream you stuck yourself into, quickly turning the shower off and towelling yourself dry.

It’s your first time looking at the curse on your arm since yesterday morning, and you’re relieved to see that it didn’t spread at all, even with the aggravating annoyance of a curse you faced. You didn’t get angry, you were just bothered. As long as you remember to control your emotions, the curse won’t spread any further.

You tug your fresh clothes on, then look through the cupboard underneath the sink, relieved to see that Yaga must’ve refreshed your bandage wrap supply when you were gone the other day. You quickly wrap your arms back up, then drop Gojo’s clothes in the hamper after exiting the bathroom.

Just as you go to sit down on the bed to take another moment for yourself, you notice a small screen light up on your nightstand. Carefully, you shuffle over to look at it. Did someone leave their flip phone in the room? Next to it, there’s a sticky note with familiar handwriting scribbled across it.

- Figured it would make things easier. ~Yaga

Curious, you flip it open, a bigger screen lighting up. There’s a few notifications on it, all from the same teacher. You scroll through them one by one, slowly feeling your heart drop out of your ass.

- Meeting room. [Sent 8:03am]

- I’m serious. [Sent 8:03am] - ASAP. [Sent 8:04am] - I mean, NOW. [Sent 8:05am] - You fucked up. [Sent 8:10am]

You take a look at the current time, and feel your heart drop even further, if possible.

Half past eight.

You are totally, royally fucked. Absolutely screwed. There are no words that can emphasise how badly you messed up.

You nearly trip over yourself as you run as fast as possible, completely winded by the time you reach Yaga just outside of the meeting room. He stands there, arms crossed, eyes hidden behind his favourite pair of sunglasses – but the unmistakable threatening aura surrounding him is enough to tell you that you would be lucky if you walk away from this meeting unscathed.

Yaga’s brows are furrowed deeply, intense shadows etched into his face. Even though you can’t see his entire face, you guess that the man is more than just exhausted from all the stress that has accumulated since yesterday; though, to be fair, Yaga is always stressed. Still, that doesn’t stop the shiver from running down your spine when he simply turns his head to face you, but remains firmly stuck in place, leaning against the wall next to the doors of the room.

“You’re late,” is all he says.

“ I’m so sorry, ” you sign frantically before bowing deeply, feeling cold sweat gather at the back of your neck and on your palms. You don't even bother telling Yaga that you weren't woken up by the others which is why you were so late, knowing it wouldn’t change a thing at this point.

“If I had realized how late you would be returning from your mission, I would’ve given you the new phone myself,” he seems to sigh deeply. “Would’ve probably saved us some time.”

“ Thank you for that, by the way, ” you grab the phone out of your sweatpants, showing it off for a moment before putting it away.

When you look back up, Yaga’s fingers are pinching the bridge of his nose, his sunglasses discarded in his other hand. You can see the dark circles underneath his eyes more clearly, and you feel guilt wash over you – how badly was he stressing over this?

“Listen, we need to talk,” the teacher takes a step away from the wall to be closer in front of you. “What the hell were you guys thinking yesterday, not putting a veil up?”

Probably because two of us were going deaf while the other was being tossed around like a ragdoll, you think to yourself, briefly looking away for a moment.

“I’m being serious here,” Yaga makes you look back at him by raising a finger at you. “What if a non-sorcerer was around at that time? Do you know how catastrophic that could have been?”

You nod, frowning. Of course, it’s obvious. You cross your arms, shoulders becoming more tense as he takes another step forward, feeling your face warm up uncomfortably.

“This is something you have to take seriously,” he says your name as he continues, face starting to get red in frustration. “I won’t be able to help you if a normal person comes across you using your abilities.”

“ I am taking it seriously, ” you sign back, hands moving in jerks, feeling the nervous sweat start to break out across your entire body. “ What part of this shows I am not taking this seriously? ”

“You should always remember to put up a veil!” Yaga’s arms sweep outwardly, his teeth grinding together, nostrils flaring.

“ Sorry that we were kind of occupied getting our asses beat, sensei,” you reply, mouthing ‘sorry’ as you roll your eyes. The sarcasm is not lost on either of you, infuriating the brunette even further.

“Are you kidding me right now? Don’t give me that,” he says before starting to pace the hallway in short, aggravated steps. He suddenly stops, taking a deep breath and exhaling, then turning back to you. “Maybe it was too early to let you go out on your own.”

Your eyes widen, and you lean back, sucking your cheeks in. “ I dispatched that curse. Is that not what I was meant to do?”

“Without alerting anyone else! And preferably not destroying the area in the process!” Yaga is yelling now, you are sure of it. “Is that all you’re good for?!”

You still.

“Excuse me?”

“ GODDAMN! You do realize the higher-ups are going to lose their shit over this? I’d be surprised if they even let you walk away alive after this!” He continues, completely unbothered by your reaction. “I shouldn’t have let you go in the first place. This was a mistake.”

Yaga’s lips pinch together as he takes another breath, jaw clenched, crossing his arms again as his finger taps anxiously on his bicep. Your back is now pressed against the wall as you try to put as much distance between the two of you as possible, visibly swallowing. Your body is completely rigid, eyes still wide.

The lack of words is heavy, silence palpable amongst you. Your head feels fuzzy, having trouble finding the right words to say. You scratch anxiously at the bandages covering your arms, quickly looking at the clock above the doors before gathering the courage to look back at Yaga. The brunette seems to have finally realized what he said, palm covering his mouth as he looks at you, regret swimming in his eyes.

“ Do you mean it?”

Yaga remains quiet.

The door slowly opens, an elder that you don’t bother remembering the name of peeking his head out. Yaga immediately turns his head to talk to the old man, an exchange that you cannot follow – not that you particularly want to, crossing your arms, body stiff as the anxiety still runs rampant at the back of your mind.

You don't move until you see the door open more widely, letting both you and the teacher walk inside to sit down at the long table. The other members are already present, each of them in their assigned seats, leaving one free. You motion at Yaga to take it, who does so without any protest. You stand next to him, wringing your hands behind your back as your eyes bounce around the room.

“We’ll get right to it,” Gakuganji says, hands resting on the table as he looks over the pages of documents in front of him. “We’ve learned about the events of yesterday’s mission thanks to Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo.”

You and Yaga both suck in a breath at the same time, looking at each other for a split second before looking back in front of you. You can see the teacher clench his fist tightly at his side, leg bouncing up and down nervously.

“I understand that they messed up. It won’t ever happen again,” Yaga immediately says, trying to salvage the situation. “Please don’t punish them,” he says, briefly looking at you, “we can keep them away for a bit longer before they’re completely acclimated. Killing them is not necessary.”

“Pardon?” Another elder speaks up, slightly tilting his head in confusion.

“...Well– I– in the past, you’ve said that if they were to mess up, you would… kill them,” he trails off. “Is that… not happening?”

“Where did you get that idea from?” The same elder says. “No, we’re beyond elated that the spirit completed the mission.”

Others nod their heads, another elder standing up to talk. “We were reluctant at first,” that’s a mild way to put it, you think to yourself, “but it exorcised the curse quickly and efficiently.”

“It is just a simple bump that they all forgot to put up a veil. Just an unfortunate mistake, is all,” Gakuganji butts into the conversation again. “Gojo and Geto were incapacitated at the time, but they were both adamant that it won’t happen again.”

Yaga nods his head slowly, in complete disbelief. You aren't sure what to think of this either, completely baffled at the sudden change in behaviour from the council.

“It could probably finish missions faster on its own, without any distractions. As long as it has someone else around to cast a veil, it will be fine.” The elder from earlier says.

“Yes, yes, I agree,” another one says, wiping at his long beard. “It would make everyone’s lives easier if we just dispatched it on as many missions as possible. That way, we can focus on our own work and recruit more sorcerers. It doesn’t need much sleep or food, correct?”

“Well, yeah, but–”

“–It’s decided then. Something that can get rid of curses effectively with no second thought, doesn’t need much rest or resources, and has good control of its power shouldn’t go to waste, no? Especially if it avoids any more deaths in our community.”

“So you want to send them out on their own and risk their life instead of others?” Yaga questions them, pressing his hands down on the table as he stands up. He doesn’t seem to be liking the direction this conversation is going in.

“Well, from our observations, it heals more quickly than humans do, and it’ll cost us less. We’re thinking of the bigger picture here, Masamichi.”

The higher-ups already seem to have settled on their decision, and there is no changing their minds. You feel a small flicker of hope – you won’t be killed after all, or put away in some white room to continue to rot in! This is exactly what you were hoping for.

“I think that settles all we wanted to talk about. We’ll be in touch soon to send your spirit out on a new mission.”

With a simple wave of Gakuganji’s hand, he dismisses everyone, and they all slowly trickle out of the meeting room and into the hall until it’s just Yaga and yourself left, standing in the dimly lit room.

The tension is still palpable between the two of you, but neither of you speak up about it. Finally, Yaga turns to you, and you return his direct stare lacking any warmth with a tightness in your own eyes.

“You’re a weapon now,” is all he says. “Congratulations.”

He walks away, leaving you alone.

The next few days pass by in a blur, fall making itself known with overcast weather and clouds that never go away. It’s constantly damp outside, and a small chill starts to accompany each breeze. Normally, you would love this weather – it’s not suffocating like summer is, and you could enjoy being outside more often – but you can’t find it in yourself to appreciate it.

Yaga and you still haven’t talked since your argument. You don't pay attention to the classes, nor does the teacher really spare you a second glance. Any time you enter a room and Yaga is already there, the latter leaves without a word, and vice versa. Gojo, Geto and Shoko seem to be unaware of the tension between the two of you – or maybe they choose to ignore it.

It’s hard to ignore the heavy and oppressive hopelessness that courses throughout your body. You’ve never fought like this before; sure, there have been disagreements, but Yaga has never said anything hurtful until now. Even if everything was spoken in the heat of the moment, it doesn’t lessen the blow of his words. You find it embarrassing how easily it affects you, the deep ache in your chest refusing to waver.

It hits harder than usual on a rainy day, as everyone stays inside to stay dry and warm. You decide you want to prepare yourself a cup of green tea in the communal kitchen, but as you enter, you notice Yaga sitting at the dining table with the comfortable chairs, sipping on his coffee and flitting through a newspaper. You freeze in the doorway, relieved that the teacher hasn’t looked up from his reading material, so you turn around and quietly walk away. You will go outside today, then.

You carefully open the door and step outside in your t-shirt and sweatpants, haphazardly having shoved your converse on. The laces are still untied and you don't even have your shoes on properly, but you don't care about that right now. You need fresh air before the tightness in your chest becomes more unbearable.

You are greeted with the refreshing smell of petrichor once you step outside, your attention immediately drifting over to the small droplets of rain elegantly falling from the sky, carving puddles into the ground below your feet. You’ve taken shelter underneath the protection of the porch, watching as the gentle wind slightly blows the rain sideways. It’s a soft kind of rainfall, the kind where you want to put a hand out and feel the refreshing, stark contrast of the coolness of water against your warm skin. You’re just about to walk out into the rain, but you notice a cloud of smoke permeating from around the corner – then, the telltale smell of tobacco hits your nostrils.

You walk over, turning the corner and being greeted by none other than Shoko herself, enjoying the lack of people outside with a cigarette held between her dainty fingers. Her eyes are closed, head tilted back. She’s dressed in a dark hoodie, leggings, and sandals. The brunette must hear your footsteps across the wood planks, and she slowly opens her eyes, her gentle gaze falling onto you.

“Hey, didn’t realize you were outside too,” she greets you with a small nod. You return the gesture, standing next to her and leaning your body over the rail, resting your arms along it. You feel the old, peeling paint scrape against your skin, making it itchy.

“Want me to put it out?” She asks you, following your actions. A drop of water falls along the bridge of her nose, but she ignores it. You shake your head, unbothered. Actually…

You tend a hand out towards her, fingers outstretched.

Shoko’s eyebrows raise, a small smile playing upon her lips. “Have you even smoked before?”

And yet, she hands you the cigarette anyway.

You shake your head again, looking at the snout held between your fingers before your lips wrap around it, cheeks hollowing as you inhale. The smoke starts curling around you, and the burn in your lungs is immediate, making you start to violently cough, throat sore and head going dizzy for a moment. You can see Shoko laughing from the corner of your eye, taking the cigarette from your hand and taking her own drag as your coughs die down.

“So, thoughts?” She teases you, laughing harder when you just bring your hand up to take it from her lips, taking another drag. “I didn’t think you’d like it, honestly.”

You shrug, feeling the anxiety slowly seep out of your body. No wonder she smokes, especially with all the shit she must see on a daily basis.

You continue to pass the cigarette between yourselves, smoking without exchanging anything else other than small, secretive glances at each other. The sky becomes packed tight with darker clouds, the rainfall starting to grow bigger and heavier, hitting against the dying leaves of the trees. It continues to fall smoothly, the puddles on the ground expanding.

“I love this weather,” Shoko admits, making you turn your full attention to read her lips. “I’m not fond of the cold, but the rain makes everything so quiet. ”

I wouldn’t know , you think to yourself.

“Not many people like to be outside when it’s like this, so there’s no cars honking at each other, no businessmen getting in arguments over the phone, no children crying… it’s just so peaceful.”

You look out to the rain again, the scenery becoming a variety of muted shades of grey as the clouds cover any sunlight. Bright colours aren’t as overwhelming, and there’s nobody else outdoors except for the two of you. It feels like it gives you a moment of reprieve, a moment that you only share with one person. Maybe this is what being quiet is like.

“Why are you out here, anyways? Aren’t you cold?” She asks you, smoke tumbling from her lips. There’s a moment where she just stares at you, before her mouth forms a small ‘oh’ shape, and she turns around to rummage through her bag that rests on the bench pressed against the wall.

She returns with a small notebook and pencil in hand. “I keep an extra one around now.”

Gratefully, you take it from her hands to write.

- My body runs warmer than most. It’s why I hate the summer. And I just needed some fresh air, I’m guessing that’s the same for you.

“Something like that,” she muses after reading. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”

You give her a tight-lipped smile, one that doesn’t reach your mismatched eyes. You look down at the blank page in the notebook, thinking for a moment.

- Yaga and I got into a fight.

Shoko gives you a grimace, quickly taking another drag. “Yeah… about that, we kinda figured.”

You sigh out, cringing to yourself, but you aren't surprised. You would be shocked if the entirety of the campus somehow didn’t hear Yaga yelling, considering how you felt the ground vibrate underneath you at that moment.

It takes the brunette a moment to gather her thoughts, but when she does, she stomps down on the old cigarette and lights a new one, immediately handing it over to you.

“He’s looking out for you, truthfully,” she says, looking down at the snout held between your lips. “He’s worried you’ll get unfairly punished.”

You give it back to her, holding the pencil in your hand instead.

- Is that all I am, though? A weapon?

Shoko’s eyebrows pinch together. “Tell me, why do you fight curses?”

You look at her like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

- Because I want the world to be safe.

“Who doesn’t?” She smiles half-heartedly. “Ask anyone around here that, they’ll probably give me that exact answer. Hell, I have to admit that I want that too.”

She suddenly looks at you directly in the eyes, which makes you nervously direct your gaze to her lips.

“Why do you fight them?” She asks again.

It takes you a moment to pick up the pencil again.

- Isn’t that all I’m good for?

Her eyes are stuck on the words written in the notebook, and she nods lightly to herself.

“I’m a healer,” she starts to say. “I have the ability to use reverse cursed technique, so I heal. That’s my job. I’m not the best fighter– I don’t have that kind of strength. I have to watch others get hurt so that I can heal them. Rinse and repeat, so on and so forth. I’m rarely sent out on missions because I’m such an asset , you can thank the elders for that title.”

She takes a deep drag from the cigarette, exhaling smoke through her nose, the wisps twisting around the two of you.

“I feel useless.”

- You a~

She quickly grasps your hand, stopping you from writing anything else. “No, I know. But for some reason, I think you, of all people, would understand me the most. You know, it’s a thought process you can’t exactly shake quite so easily.”

“I watch from the sidelines as my friends get injured. I have to wait for them to come to me, beaten and bloody, sometimes on the verge of death, just so I can finally lend a hand. My worth only matters because I can bring them back. But one day, maybe I won’t. What will I be worth then?”

She lets her words hang in the air, a stronger gust of wind sending the rain flying towards you for a second. You finally, truly look at Shoko. She looks exhausted, the dark circles underneath her eyes too heavy for someone her age. Her shoulders are slumped forward as she curls in on herself, tired from the constant burden she carries on her shoulders. It’s no wonder that she’s mentally exhausted, too.

You pick up the pencil again. You turn away from her, hiding the paper so that she can’t read it.

- I only know how to bring destruction, how to kill. I only have the ability to use my most destructive element, unless I want to painfully rot any further. Before I came here, my purpose was that of a weapon. I left to get a better life. But look at me now, I’m in the same spot all over again, my only purpose is to serve the elders.

You look behind yourself to take a quick glance at her, who simply looks back at you curiously. You see the blood staining her hands, blood that should be on your own instead, an ancient duty that you neglected long ago. Shame washes over you. You turn back to the notebook.

- I’ll make sure to wipe every single curse from this place. That way, you don’t have to wait for your friends to be hurt to help. None of you will do anything. You can live.

You hand the book back to her. Her deep brown eyes scrutinize every single word carefully, and she sighs out deeply before she starts laughing. Her shoulders shake violently, tears forming at the corner of her eyes, and you can see the way her back jumps as she hiccups.

“You’re hopeless,” Shoko says, followed by your name, her eyes full of warmth as she looks at you. “Really fucking hopeless.”

You smile awkwardly, tilting your head to the side in complete confusion but nodding along. Sure, whatever you mean.

“We really are stupid, huh? I think the dumbest decision I’ve made in my entire life is… well, joining this life,” she continues speaking after her laughter has died down. Your eyes grow hazy as a memory rears its head, sending you spiraling into the past.

The young boy tugs at its pants with his grime-covered hands. “You won’t go anywhere, right?”

It shakes its head, wiping the sweat from its forehead. There is no life for it outside of this, it is sure of that.

“Good. I don’t want you to go,” he says, looking at a group of men returning with a large wooden box, big enough to fit a body inside of it. “I won’t let you.”

“You understand me, spirit? I won’t let you,” Maheas looks determined as he looks back up at the spirit.

It nods, mindlessly agreeing with him. If it helps calm the blonde boy down, it will agree to any delusion he has. After all, that’s all it is – a child’s delusion.

Fuck.

You nearly yell it out loud, lips forming the word before you realize it.

FUCK.

Your hands desperately grasp at your head as you hunch over the railing, feeling something creep up at the back of your throat. It wasn’t a delusion, you fucking moron, he was unstable from the very beginning. You vaguely feel a hand against your back, but the touch feels so far away as you feel the breath get stuck in your lungs.

A dumb decision, indeed.

As you throw up over the side of the porch, your mind keeps screaming at you through your ragged breaths and the stench of bile heavy in the air, mixed in with the dew from the rain.

The dumbest decision.

After dropping you off at your dorm room and making sure you were okay (and a billion reassurances signed her way), Shoko finally feels comfortable enough leaving you alone to return to her own room to sleep the rest of the day away. Even after throwing up what little you had in your stomach, you feel completely restless and can’t lay still in bed.

You don't understand the sudden onslaught of paranoia and anxiety – you had been doing so well lately, besides the angst surrounding your latest argument – as you were coming to terms with your new lifestyle. There was no need to look twice over your shoulder and around every corner for any semblance of your past, you were an entire continent away from it. Nevertheless, it doesn’t seem to quell the unintelligible screaming at the back of your mind, so you get up, heading to the communal kitchen once more.

This time, it’s empty – no Yaga around, nor any student or other staff member.

Thank god.

You absentmindedly walk up to the counter where the electric kettle is, rummaging through the overhead cupboard to find your favourite brand of green tea like you always do. It’s a fluid, yet robotic motion – it’s become secondhand nature after years of doing it. After turning the kettle on, you grab two mugs and put a separate bag of tea inside of each. Once the kettle’s light turns off, you pour the boiling water into them, bringing them over to the dining table.

Once you sit down, you realize there’s no one else to drink from the other mug. Apparently, the ritual was a bit too much of a secondhand nature. You and Yaga have always shared a moment in the day to drink tea together, without fail.

…And now you’re both avoiding each other like the plague.

You look over at the second cup of tea pathetically, feeling disappointed in yourself.

Even so, you sip at your own mug, feeling the comforting warmth spread throughout your body. The taste lingers on your tongue, and you feel a vibration at the back of your throat – a small, quiet satisfied hum, if you were to guess.

You aren't left to sadly ruminate on your own for much longer, however. Two familiar men join you at the table, a duo you haven't seen in quite some time.

“Hiya, I hope you don’t mind us joining you!” Haibara enthusiastically greets you, a large smile spread wide across his face. Nanami takes the seat next to you, across from Haibara, as the brunette sits on your other side.

Eyebrows raised in surprise, you shake your head, gesturing to the seats in a welcoming manner.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Haibara rubs the back of his neck, an apologetic look in his eyes. “Sorry about that.”

“I don’t think it makes much difference to them, I’m sure they’re busy,” Nanami says, putting his stack of books down on the table, quickly flitting through one before closing it.

You shake your head again, very quickly this time. You regret not bringing your notebook with you, chastising yourself at the back of your mind.

“ It’s ok, ” you sign, hoping that the simple motion of your fingers is enough to reassure them both.

“ I’m not busy at all, ” you continue, though you’re sure that’s a bit too complicated. You notice that both of the men’s eyes watch your hands carefully, which makes your lips quirk up very subtly.

“Nanami knows more sign language than I do,” Haibara says, pointing to the blonde across from him. “He’s been reading up since he met you.”

“They don't need to know that,” Nanami hisses at him, cheeks taking on a slight shade of pink before turning to address you. “But yes, I’ve got some basic words down.”

You feel your chest warm, but not from the tea this time. The subtle smile grows across your face. “ For me? ”

“Well, yes. Who else? We don’t know anyone else who’s deaf or mute.”

You nod along. “ Thank you very much,” you sign.

“Oh, that one’s thank you! It has to be. Nanami has been trying to drill it into my head!” Haibara speaks up again, pointing at your hand motions.

“Why are you painting me in such a bossy light?”

“Because you absolutely are.” The brunette deadpans.

“I’m determined, not bossy. I want us to be able to understand them easily, and I’m sure they’d appreciate it too.”

“ I really do, ” you lean in between the two of them as you sign.

“Anyways, why are you here all alone?” Haibara asks. Nanami glares at him, but keeps his mouth shut. “You look so sad,” that certainly gets him a whack over the head from the blonde. “Wh– OW!”

You laugh quietly, shrugging your shoulders as you give them a mirthless smile. “It’s nothing. ”

“...We were the ones who overheard sensei yelling at you,” Nanami admits. “We told Shoko about it. I apologize if that was invasive.”

You wave him off. Yaga rarely gets that angry, honestly. You would be surprised if they didn’t tell anyone about it.

“He sounded really emotional,” Haibara says, the look on his face suddenly serious. “His voice was shaking – like he was on the verge of tears, or something.”

That surprises you. Obviously, you can’t hear what people sound like, and can’t hear when their voices waver, or are sarcastic, or cold, nothing . You usually have to pick up on cues, but that can be hard at times.

“I’ve never heard him sound like that before,” Nanami says as well. “If it’s any comfort, he’s been moping around in class the past few days.”

“He kinda reminds me of a moody teenager,” Haibara laughs, giving you another charming, comforting smile.

“I wouldn’t worry about this too much, honestly,” the blonde continues. “He’ll come around eventually.” Awkwardly, he reaches across the table and pats your hand gently before quickly retracting it, his face turning a darker hue of pink.

You thank them both again, feeling lighter than before. The two men look between each other and nod before getting up, bidding you a good afternoon. You continue to sip at the rest of your tea, the melancholic feeling that once loomed over you in a heavy cloud nearly completely evaporated. Just as you empty your cup, a broad figure sits down across from you.

Yaga doesn’t have his sunglasses on, making it easy for you to see the remorseful look on the teacher’s face. He points at the other cup that has been left untouched.

“ May I?” He signs.

You nod.

Yaga’s large hand wraps around the ceramic, taking slow sips of the drink. His eyes remain on the table in front of him while yours are on him, carefully watching every move he makes. There’s no anxiety bubbling in the bottom of your stomach, weirdly enough, just a strange lack of any emotion. You both sit in complete motionless silence, undisturbed by anyone else. It’s completely still, save for Yaga drinking his tea.

Once he finishes his tea, the man puts his empty cup on the table, finally looking directly at you, whose gaze immediately goes down to the teacher’s lips instead.

Instead of signing, or speaking, Yaga reaches across the table to gently grab your hands, his long fingers wrapping around them in a comforting and solid hold. He bows his head down slightly, looking at your conjoined hands. Your fingers twitch, the unusual soft touch putting your body on high alert, but you can’t find it in yourself to pull away; you decide to give yourselves this tender moment. There’s a slight tremble to Yaga’s shoulders, one that you try – and fail – to ignore.

“I don’t want them to hurt you,” is all you read upon his lips.

You slowly retract your hands, shaking Yaga out of his stupor. Vaguely knowing your discomfort with touch, he’s about to apologize, but you move your hands more quickly.

“It’s okay ,” you sign.

“I forgive you.”

You smile at each other, and it finally feels like you can breathe properly again.

After days of overcast weather, the clouds part as the sun sets.

#jjk x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #haibara yu x reader #haibara yu x you #haibara yu x y/n #cross posted on ao3

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danafaithwriting · 7 years ago

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Millennials are Killing the Vampire Industry Chapter 1

Jude hunts some vampires. Poorly. Chapter length: 2k

It was a dark and stormy night club. Jude shivered in his jacket, grateful to finally escape the rain as he ducked into the entryway. Despite the weather, and despite the Temptation Theatre’s reputation, the floor was crowded, throbbing with moving bodies and music so loud you felt it more than heard it. Michael Jackson’s Thriller, in case you couldn’t tell it was Halloween by the… everything else.

Actually, maybe it was the reputation that made the club so popular. Something about surviving the night at a club known for mysterious disappearances and otherwise illegal activity. Coupled with the turn-of-the-century design, people swarmed on the sexy allure of vampires and ghosts. Jude thought it almost made up for the actual, real vampires who spent their time here.

His phone vibrated with a text. You’re late.

He glanced up and spotted his cousin on the mezzanine level, leaning against the balustrade that overlooked the busier ground floor. He waved. She flipped him off.

Another text. Bitch. Rude.

Jude made his way to the back of the club, beneath the second floor where the dancing turned into tables and booths.

I’m going to fill in your blind spot, Freddie. You’re welcome :-).

He leaned against the wall beneath the stairs, the once ornamental relief now tacky with plastic cobwebs and pumpkin decals. Even he didn’t believe how cliche it was, for vampires to make dirty night clubs on Halloween their hunting grounds. But his eyes dragged across the room and, yes, without fail, something pulled at him.

She stood by the bar with an affected casual air that did nothing to distract from her statue-like stillness. She was striking. Not beautiful, in a supermodel sense, but interesting. Features that didn’t quite fit together that somehow looked good here. Classic vampire move.

He felt the pull again, though less a pull and more a gentle tap on the shoulder. She wasn’t actively manipulating him, or anyone else. She didn’t look at anyone or anything in particular, like she was waiting for something.

His phone buzzed. I already spotted the vamp, he’s right by the stairs. On the left.

Jude glanced up and eyed the patrons by the staircase. He stood against the bannister, white blond and deathly pale, like a vampire Die Antwoord, with an unwavering focused stare that only a vampire could maintain in this darkness. Jude frowned. That made things more difficult. Not impossible, but difficult, with just the two of them.

The vampire’s head whipped around and and stopped on Jude, a flash of red in his eyes. Jude’s blood ran cold, and he quickly looked away, back to check on-

The other vampire was gone. Uh oh. He looked back at the-

They were both gone.

Jude cursed and pushed off the wall, searching desperately for either vampire. He caught movement in the corner of his eye, a body slipping past the emergency exit. He followed without a thought.

The storm had dissipated for now, leaving a dim glow on the rain damped carpark. An empty carpark, devoid of life in any sense of the word. Jude’s ears rang with the last ghosts of music, but he tried to listen past it. Past the echoes of his boots against the concrete, the dripping of rain from gutters.

“Gee, Jude, how’d you manage to lose two vampires?” he mumbled to himself.

A rush of air, the world spun, and Jude was face down on the ground. Bolts of pain shot from his hands up his arms. Before he could even gasp air back into his lungs, he was up again, an ice-like, vice-like grip on his arms held him up on shaking legs. The street was empty, and then it wasn’t. Figures appeared silent before him like they’d never not been there. Five of them, identical in all black, with glowing red irises reflecting the dim light. He recognised two of them, the vampires from the club. His stomach lurched.

“Is this the one?” The voice chilled him far too close to his ear.

“One of them,” said Die Antwoord. “There was a woman, too, still inside.”

In hindsight, probably shouldn’t have talked loudly about hunting down a bunch of vampires.

“She won’t be a problem.” He could hear the smirk in his captor’s voice.

Even the most well trained hunter would be hard pressed kill a vampire in a one-on-one fight. The only advantages humans had were group tactics. And apparently vampires were using group tactics now. He wouldn’t be able to could kill six vampires alone. Even if Freddie were here they couldn’t.

“I’m not alone,” said Jude. He hadn’t noticed he was bleeding until he spoke, and flecks of blood flew from between his lips. Every set of glowing eyes followed its path through the air and to the ground with rapt interest. That made his stomach turn worse than anything else, but he pressed on. “I don’t just mean my cousin. We have backup coming. Any minute now this place will be crawling with hunters. You won’t be able to escape.”

It wasn’t exactly true. It was entirely a lie, actually, but if he could buy himself time, or better yet, get them distracted arguing amongst themselves… He still wouldn’t survive, but he could maybe take a vampire or two down with him.

He was going to die, though. That much was a given.

The vampires were silent for a moment. Silent and still, nothing about their demeanour indicating at all that they’d acknowledged what he’d said.

Then the hands on his arms shifted. His captor ripped the stake from the loop on Jude’s belt and tossed it away, then pushed him to his knees and held him by the jaw and the top of his head. He gasped between teeth held tight together.

“We’ll kill him now and continue with the plan,” said the vampire that held Jude’s life in his hands. “If we die in the process, then we die in the process. A worthy sacrifice on the path for glory.”

Well. Shit.

Jude tried to protest, but the vampire gripped him tighter, pressing tight against his throat and strangling his words. His heart pounded, loud in his ears and audible to every creature in the vicinity. He closed his eyes, and sent a quick prayer to whatever power that makes vampires afraid of the divine that his death would be quick. And that maybe, his boyfriend would forgive him for bailing on Halloween movie night. And for keeping vampire hunting a secret. Because he was about to die and Oscar would never know how, or why. And this was all a little bit selfish, but if you can’t be selfish the moment before you die, then when can you, really?

He heard a snap, and flinched. It wasn’t his neck, at least, not yet. He hesitated, and cracked an eye open. Nothing had changed, at least from what he could see. If the vampires had tilted their heads, as though to focus on a sound heard far away, then Jude hadn’t noticed.

And then one of them was sprawled on the floor, crushed beneath another body with a stake in his back. The vampires sprang into action, the female from the club reaching her ally’s assailant first. More figures stepped out of shadows, or dropped from the roof—vampires, Jude acknowledged with a sinking feeling—and swept the scene, attacking in ways that were too fast and complex for Jude to follow. They blurred into a violent mash of colour and darkness.

One of the vampires stalked towards them, and Jude’s captor dropped him and shoved him out of the way. Jude stumbled to his feet and drew a knife from his jacket pocket, twisted around and slashed his captor across the back. The vampire stumbed, half turned, distraction enough for the other vampire to drive a stake through the space where his heart once beat.

From one angry vampire to another…

She sneered at him for a second and drew the stake from her victim, turning it on Jude now. Then she stopped, sniffed, and gave him a quick once over.

“Oh, shit you’re a human!” Her sneer softened to a genuine grin, and she lowered her weapon. “My bad. You’re wearing so much black I went autopilot. You should cut down on that if you don’t want to be mistaken for more… unsavory types.”

And then she winked.

Jude looked at her properly for the first time. Her face was familiar, but not too familiar, round jaw and long nose and curly hair in a deep shade of brown that he recognised but couldn’t place. She wore an orange crop top and bright blue track pants, an industrial bar in her ear, so far removed from the faux-historical dignity of his assailants he got aesthetic whiplash.

“What kind of fucked up upside-down universe have I stepped into?” he said. Vampires conspiring with each other. The Vampire Spice Girls attacking them. Like something out of a shitty B-grade teen vampire movie. He was already living a B-grade teen vampire movie, thank you. He didn’t need this on top of it.

“Listen, just pretend you didn’t see anything,” said vampire Sporty Spice. “Go home, take a nap, we’ve got this.” She turned away.

Jude snapped back to reality. He reached forward and snatched the stake out of her hand and raised it against her. She whipped around and caught his wrist, stake tip an inch from her chest.

“Woah, man, I saved your life just then!”

Jude gritted his teeth, tried to wrench his hand from her grasp. Her grip wasn’t tight, but it was sturdy. Not putting up a fight, but not relinquishing either.

“I’m trying to help you, I’m not the bad guy here,” she continued.

“Are you a vampire?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

Jude swiped at her with his knife hand, to emphasise his opinion on the matter. She dodged his attack and sighed in frustration.

“Come on, it’s not like that. Walk away.” He didn’t hear the last line, rather, it appeared fully formed in his head. A shudder ran through him, and his muscles tensed, legs itching to obey the command while he mentally fought for control. It was like trying to convince himself not to breathe.

The vampire grimaced. “Sorry. I hate doing this, too, but I hate dying more.”

Jude caught a glimpse of movement behind her, and stopped listening. A vampire, not an ally of hers, flying towards them. Deep, gaping black gashes littered his body, but he’d escaped the fray, and would be on them in seconds.

Jude ducked down, and Sporty Spice cried out in surprise as she came down with him. He shoved her to the side, wrenching the stake from her grip, and launched himself at Slasher vampire. He slashed with his left hand, and the vampire caught the arm easily. He didn’t catch Jude’s underhanded stab with the stake. Well, he did catch it, impaled in his stomach. The vampire snarled and pulled back, stake still in his body, out of Jude’s grip. He grabbed Jude by the throat, sharp nails digging into skin, palm cutting off oxygen. Jude pried uselessly at his throat, squeezing his eyes shut against blooming stars.

The grip on his neck slackened with a wave of force, and Jude stumbled back with a gasp. He doubled over, forcing sharp air back into his lungs, heart pounding in his ears. He blinked a few times, to force the blurriness away.

Freddie held the vampire tightly by his shoulder, stake so far in his back the tip came through the front. Right through his heart.

He broke into a grateful grin. He’d never been so happy to see someone. “Hey…” He let the syllable linger until his voice cracked into a hoarse cough.

Freddie grimaced. “Jesus,” she said. “You look like you’re half dead. What the hell happened to you?”

Half dead, but still alive. He was alive. He looked around. The carpark was empty, no evidence of the last few minutes remained, nothing but the body in Freddie’s arms. How many vampires survived? Where did they go? Why were they here? Now that the danger was over, the floodgates opened and questions filled his mind faster than he could think them, struggling to make sense of what had just happened. His head pounded.

“Jude?”

He blinked. Freddie frowned at him. She wore three layers of beads around her neck, and she pulled them over her head, the three loops extending to one long chain. At the end of it hung a heavy wooden crucifix. Right, binding. Schrödinger’s Staked Vampire, after all, had to be considered both undead and dead-dead until you watched them burn in the sun. In the meantime, binding by crucifix worked just fine.

He hesitated. “I have no idea what just happened,” he said. He reached forward to help out. His hands were shaking.

“Yeah, you’re so out of it,” said Freddie.

“Huh?”

“You’re injured. I’m taking you-”

“Not to a hospital,” he said quickly. “I’m really not up to making up an excuse for my injuries right now.”

“Of course not. Your boyfriend is a nurse. I’m taking you home.”

His heartbeat fluttered, in a sickening, anxious way. “Oh, that’s worse.” The last thing Oscar needed was to stress out about Jude’s injuries.

He didn’t have it in him to resist, though, suddenly exhausted, head spinning with information that just didn’t make sense. He let Freddie drag him back outside and to her car, with only one last desperate look at the empty street.

(If it reads kinda weird, my formatting didn’t keep when I transferred it, so I might have missed some repairs.)

Tag list (lmk if you want to be added/removed from this!): @forlornraven @panismightier @teasandchocolate @die-tenebris

#all danas go to heaven #writblr #writeblr #writers on tumblr #vampire industry #lenore sharp #jude gallego #one day i'll like.... actually post something with oscar in it. i promise

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