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thesightstoshowyou · 5 months ago

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No Questions Asked

Ledger!Joker x F Reader

- Chapter One -

Summary: A house call puts you in the path of Gotham’s newest menace.

Warnings: Gunshot wounds, blood, descriptions of medical procedures and medical “torture,” reader is described as having longer hair because I was gripped with insanity and had to write that scene, swearing.

[A/N: This is a bit different than what I usually write! Stepping out of my comfort zone, I guess. Let me know how I did!]

The sidewalk simmers, heat rising off pavement. A weak breeze billows through the street, bringing with it the stench of refuse and exhaust. Gotham in the summer smells like literal hot garbage.

Paradise.

Your nose wrinkles and you tug your hat further down on your forehead to shield your eyes from the sun. Towering buildings offer shade, but thousands of windows reflect the glare of that accursed star at just the right angle to blind unsuspecting passerby. Even the skyscrapers here mean harm.

You weave through the crowd, calves burning with your quick, deliberate steps. The strap of your bag digs into your shoulder and sweat gathers beneath it until your shirt adheres to your skin. The relative cool of the alley you enter would be a relief if you weren’t already so sticky.

The door is unassuming; metal, distressed, a little rusted at the corners like all the others nearby save for the rectangular peep hole at eye level. You knock twice, two sharp raps in quick succession. Almost immediately, the shutter over the peep hole slides open with a clang.

You raise your chin in greeting to the pair of eyes that inspect you through the opening. Slam goes the shutter. The muted click of locks opening reaches your ears before the hinges squeal as the door is tossed open.

You don’t wait for permission from the burly man behind the door. Instead, you cross the threshold and descend the worn stairs two at a time. An annoyed sigh leaves your lips when the stuffy basement air presses into your already overheated skin. You’d think these rich assholes could at least afford some a/c.

Rossi meets you in the doorway. His uneasy expression immediately sets you on edge and you worry the urgency of the situation had not been properly conveyed over the phone. He gives you a look before you step into the room, a glance that says, ‘Don’t ask questions.’

He must think you’re an idiot. You could not have made it in this job for as long as you have by allowing your curiosity to speak for you.

It immediately becomes apparent what Rossi meant when you enter. The low ceiling is dotted here and there with aging, incandescent bulbs that bathe the room in sickly yellow. At the center of the room is a round, makeshift “conference” table littered with bloody paper towels and rags.

A few goons you don’t recognize hover uselessly around another slumped in a fold out chair, the reason you’d been called here on such short notice. He’s vaguely familiar, a distant relative of Maroni’s—Ronny Something. He’s clammy and pale, his scarlet coated fingers pressed limply to the wound in his shoulder.

However, what draws your attention and raises your hackles is the man seated in the corner atop an overturned box. His legs are spread wide and he hunches over them, elbows resting on his knees, fingers clad in purple leather and absently fiddling with a pocket knife. Dark green hair hangs like oily curtains next to a grease-painted face. Stained mostly white with blacked out eyes and a curling red grin, it’s apparently supposed to be a crude imitation of a clown. Above him, the light bulb flickers, throwing him in and out of shadow, but you can still make out the sharp eyes trained directly on you.

You don’t ask. Never do. That rule had been made abundantly clear. Instead you stride across the room and shoo the henchmen aside. Bending at the waist, you pull Ronny’s hand away from his shoulder and click your tongue as blood gushes from two distinct bullet holes.

“I was told these were grazes,” you start as you straighten to shoot a glare at Rossi. “There’s at least two slugs still in there. I’m gonna have to call the doc. He needs anesthetic and blood and other shit to keep him from going into shock. I don’t have the tools—

“Do it,” dares a sing-song voice. Startled, you turn to face the man in the corner. He’s smiling now, yellow teeth peeking between red, his upturned cheeks pockmarked and twisted. You realize the paint covers thick scars that stretch away from his lips like a macabre extension of his grin. The intensity in his gaze is difficult to hold so you don’t, instead glancing at Rossi, the unspoken question of, ‘Who the fuck does this weirdo think he is?’ written all over your face.

“No, no, no, no don’t look at him. Look at me.” Even with the weird, warbled inflection of his voice, there’s authority in his tone and an unspoken threat should you disobey. Brows knitting into a frown, you do as you’re told, and your head twists back to meet the eyes of the clown in the corner. The air in the room is thick and heavy and it’s no longer because of the heat. You can barely even hear the other men breathe.

“I’m a nurse. I don’t have the expertise necessary to perform surgery.” Not entirely accurate these days, but he doesn’t need to know that. “He could die, and then my head would wind up on a plate.”

“I like your head…where it’s at.” His own head shakes a little with his words and a pink tongue darts out to swipe across painted lips. Finally, he stands. Pinching the knife between thumb and forefinger, he slips the blade into an inside pocket. Gripping the lapels of his purple jacket, he gives them an exaggerated shake. His movements are erratic and cartoonish and you can’t stop your nervous little backwards half-step.

‘Who the hell are you?’ The question sits poised on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t let it free. Instead, you grit your teeth as the…man saunters over to Ronny and claps a hand on his uninjured shoulder. The movement jars Ronny enough to pull a pained cry from his mouth.

“Little, uh-“ the clown snaps his fingers like he’s trying to remember something, then makes a grabbing motion like he’s pulling the information out of the air, “Ronny here has faith in your skills. Don’t you, Ronny?”

Weak, but hasty, Ronny nods as though he’s trying to placate the other man. In response, the clown spreads his arms, palm up, eyebrows raised as if to say, ‘See? Told ya’ so.’ Voice a deep growl, he sweeps one arm in front of him and says, “The floor is yours.”

None of the men speak up. There’s no protest, not even a scoff. The only sounds are the flickering bulb and Ronny’s haggard gasps.

You don’t glance over your shoulder at Rossi. It is clear to you now that there has been some sort of shift in power and this clown…this man is in now in charge. And questioning orders is definitely not in your job description.

“Well, that’s fuckin’ great,” you sigh. The man chuckles, high and airy. “Get him on the table,” you snap at the two goons hovering nearby. After a second of hesitation, they quickly comply and hoist a blubbering Ronny onto the dirty tabletop until he’s flat on his back, his legs dangling.

Heart rate pulsing in your ears, you whip off your ball cap and toss it away. Hurriedly, you gather your locks into a messy bun before tossing your bag onto the table next to poor Ronny’s shivering form. The zipper is so loud in the tense silence, the rustle of bandages and the clink of instruments a cacophony. Unfortunately, there’s no sink to be found, so you settle for hand sanitizer.

“You’re gonna be okay, Ronny,” you tell the man staring up at you as you snap on a pair of gloves. Fear and pain twist his expression and you can tell he wants to protest, but won’t dare. It makes you wonder what the man in the makeup is capable of to inspire such fear in hardened criminals.

Scissors make short work of the bloodied shirt. With gauze and sterile water, you clean away dried gore so you can properly inspect the wounds. You note one graze along the bicep, a bullet buried in the deltoid, and another lodged just under the clavicle.

“If there’s any nerve or artery or organ or bone damage, I won’t be able to repair it. He needs actual surgery.” You shoot a withering look at the clown who makes a show of sucking in air through his teeth as though he’s concerned. You don’t miss the grin tugging at his scarred lips. “I can get the bullets out and do my best to stop the bleeding. You two,” you nod at the unnamed henchmen, “Will have to hold him.”

Ronny whimpers, the sweat pouring off his brow mirroring your own. You want to complain about just how not sterile this space is, how Ronny is probably going to die of an infection even if you get him stabilized, but you bite your tongue and focus on the task at hand.

You watch the process as though you are suspended just outside your body: Insert IV, start fluid, give what little pain meds you have on hand, sterilize the forceps, clean the injuries, bodily hold down a thrashing, screaming Ronny while you dig out the slugs, slap him awake and tell him to man up, hold pressure, stop the bleeding, suture the wounds closed.

“Keep this,” you shove the bag of normal saline into the hands of Goon Number One, “Above his head.” You turn to a stone-faced Rossi and solemnly tell him, “Doc needs to see him.” You fill a syringe with antibiotics, amazed by how steady your hands are. Ronny barely flinches when you jam the needle in the meat of his hip.

Snapping off your gloves, you release an exhale that trembles on its way out. On autopilot, you turn back to your bag and reach for the blood pressure cuff when, without warning, leather-clad fingers wrap around your wrist. Jolting, you stumble back into the table to put an arm’s length between you and the clown—where the fuck had he come from—but he closes the distance with one, bouncy step.

Just like that, you’re snapped back to reality. Now firmly seated in your body, you are startlingly aware of how hot everything is: The air, your sweaty palms, his chest against yours, his breath on your lips, your blazing cheeks, the stares of the other men burning into the sides of your head.

“Don’t—

“Shhh, shh, shh, c’mere,” the clown murmurs as he grips you by the back of the neck. You stiffen and push back against his hand in a subconscious effort to put distance between you, but fall still when his opposite hand comes to rest on your neck. His expression is unreadable, the look in his eyes a mixture of amusement and something a bit more menacing. You don’t want to search too hard, but fear of what will happen should you look away keeps your gaze on his.

White paint cracks along the creases in his forehead when his brows raise. “You’ve just got a little….” He presses a thumb to the corner of your mouth and drags it upward. You feel the slickness smearing across your dewy skin, too thick to be spit or sweat. Blood, you wager. Judging by the satisfied smile that spreads across his face and the contented hum he emits, you guess there’s a red half-grin now curling away from your mouth.

An imitation of his own.

You barely manage to contain the flinch when the clown raises his hand to your crown. Fingers dip into your hair and feel around for the hair tie keeping it piled atop your head. Three quick tugs sees your locks cascading around your shoulders. Both of his hands then come up to ruffle and shake until it’s all a wild, frizzy mess.

You don’t know whether to be afraid or baffled, and you realize this is entirely the point. Keep others guessing and unable to predict your next move. There’s fear in uncertainty.

The intensity of the moment, the frantic fluttering of your heart, the stifling heat of the room has you seconds away from begging for mercy, something you’ve never done before. Even the slouch of his shoulders—the way he almost curls over you—seems designed to make you panic. You swallow thickly and open your mouth to break the awkward, terrible silence when he interrupts:

“Why don’t you…run along, hm?” He offers you your ball cap and, tentatively, you take it. The clown shuffles back the tiniest inch and you suck in a gasping breath, your heart like some kind of trapped bird ricocheting against your ribs as you hastily whirl around to pack up your instruments. Fuck Ronny’s blood pressure. Doc can handle it. You must get out of here.

You don’t look over your shoulder as you quickly stride from the room, but lilting words reach you in the hallway and stop you dead in your tracks. A chill races up your spine.

“See you soon!”

The clown’s parting sentiment.

You’re up the stairs and out the door before Rossi can catch up. “Who the fuck was that?” you snarl, whipping around so fast your bag smacks against your sweaty back.

“Are you livin’ under a rock?” he shoots back, but any bite there might have been in his words has been shaken from him. He’s pale, you notice, obviously disturbed by what you had to do to Ronny.

“Yes!” you exclaim, throwing your arms up in the air. “Yes I am! I keep my head so far down, I’m underground.”

Rossi shakes his head and huffs a humorless laugh. “Turn on the news, then. That oughta answer your questions.”

Begrudgingly, you do as you’re told.

It doesn’t take long to put a moniker to the painted face splashed all over your television screen:

The Joker.

Maybe it’s time to pay more attention to current events.

#ledger!joker #ledger joker #the joker #the joker x reader #ledger joker x reader #ledger!joker x reader #the dark knight #joker x reader #thesightstoshowyou

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kitsuga · 5 months ago

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PREFECT open the door {Ace Trappola x Reader/MC/Yuu}

Description:

A fic in which Ace tries to move into the Ramshackle Dorm.

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Tags: fluff, honestly. i feel ace. i too would try to flirt and fail so horribly, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, you can assume reader/mc is yuu!, twisted wonderland x reader/mc/yuu, twst x reader/mc/yuu, twisted wonderland/twst, ace trappola x reader/mc/yuu, ace trappola

Word Count: 1,899

A/N: Written on: February 12, 2022

One of my sisters loves him and begged for some ace content so here it is LKJSDFKJSDF

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“I thought the little punk was getting better—so why the hell is this thing on me again!”

Ace pushed past the hardly awake MC and flopped down on the dusty couch in the lounge. His long, heavy sigh shook his whole body; he launched into his complaint again, not noticing that MC had barely shuffled into the room behind him.

“Who told him there was a rule for stepping into the room with your right foot first if it’s past 9 P.M. Who!? I get my head taken for something stupid like that!”

“Was it that you stepped into the room with the wrong foot, or you argued with him?”

“How could you accuse me of something like that!”

MC rubbed their eyes, taking a long sigh before they spoke again.

“What did you say to him?”

“...I didn’t SAY anything.”

“What did you do.”

Ace’s lips twisted to the side with a huff as he refused to make eye contact with them. Boring a hole in the side of his head, MC sat and waited for him to paint the picture of his own demise.

“I.... kmcked’m,” he mumbled.

“You what?”

“I kicked him!” Ace shouted, throwing his hands up in the air, letting them fall alongside the rest of his body, slouching further into the couch. “He turned around after yelling at me and I just, I kicked the back of his knee—I didn’t kick him that hard!”

“Ace.” MC held their face in their hands, disappointment completely evident in their voice.

“It wasn’t even genuinely a kick—it was more of a push!”

“Ace.” They growled from behind their hands.

“You know I love hearing my name and all--”

“Stop talking.”

The two of them sat in silence for a moment; Ace snuck a few looks over at MC, making sure to retract his gaze if they made a move to look back at him. As though it were their new catchphrase, MC sighed heavily once again and smacked their knees, pushing themselves up off the couch.

“Well, you dug your own grave, Trappola. Sucks to be you.”

“Aw, come on, Prefect!”

“What do you mean ‘aw come on’? What do you expect me to do? You’re lucky there wasn’t a bigger consequence for you—like being kicked from school for violence.”

“One little kick, really?”

“You’re talking about Riddle. Yes, one little kick.”

MC pushed Ace’s head playfully, moving him around on the couch a bit which was met with his protests. They ignored him as he called out to them by name, simply waving their hand to dismiss his words while climbing the stairs. Over their shoulder, they wished him sweet dreams and shut down whatever he was saying by suggesting he sleep by pointing out the extra blanket draped over the armchair in the living room. Ace sat back on the couch with his arms crossed, lips twisted to the side in a heavy pout as he watched them disappear up the stairs, his eyes lingering where they fell out of his sight for a few extra moments.

The redheaded boy sighed, knowing that MC was probably right—not that he’d tell them, anyway. He made his bed and he had to lie in it—both figuratively and in actuality; dusting off the older couch, he laid on his back and wrapped himself in the blanket all after he had turned off the lights. He lay with his eyes closed, trying his hardest to get comfortable with the bulky collar around his neck. He twisted, turned, and sighed more times than he could count—counting it may have helped him to fall asleep at this point. Ace opened his eyes to stare at the crumbling ceiling above him, his eyes dragging over each piece of the spider's webs that decorated the place. The night would not take him.

Nor would the shadows. Nor would his mind. Everything fought sleep as his brain constantly moved its gears, but no actual thoughts had come to his mind. Ace was missing something—longing for something. There was a reason Ace had run to the Ramshackle Dorm rather than simply retreating to his room—and that reason had moved to their own bed upstairs. An hour or two had passed since he first laid down, but he was getting too antsy now; he threw the blanket off him and jumped to his feet in a huff.

Even if he tiptoed, the old wooden stairs creaked and moaned beneath his feet; each one made him wince, so he had given up. He was sure MC would have been up by now anyway with the sounds, so he rushed the rest of the way to their room, throwing open the door.

A sliver of moonlight illuminated MC. Grim had curled up at the foot of the bed as their back had faced the door; they turned to look over their shoulder at Ace as he stood in the doorway. Their voice had matched their face—emotionless and stoic.

“What.”

“Prefect.”

“Yes, Ace. What.”

He hurried over to the bed, throwing himself onto his hands and knees on top of it to slightly hover over MC as they turned to their back to meet his eyes.

“Let me move into your dorm.”

“...Get out of my room.”

“MC, please!”

“No. Good night, Ace.”

Ace bounced on the bed which was met with groans from both MC and Grim, who was doing his best to ignore Ace.

“Seriously! Let me move in. I’ll transfer over to your dorm, and I’ll never have to deal with the little tyrant again!”

“You can’t, Ace. Now go to sleep.”

“Come on!”

“No. Now, shut up.”

“You’re being unreasonable!” Ace shook the bed once again, ignoring Grim’s shout at him to knock it off.

“Good night, Ace.”

MC turned to their side to face him and closed their eyes tight in hopes that their friend would take the hint and leave; they smiled slightly to themselves when they felt the weight of his body leave the bed but frowned deeply when they felt a gust of cold hit them. They opened their eyes to find his staring back at them, only a few spare inches between them.

“Fine, if you won’t let me into your dorm, then let me into your bed!”

They groaned when he wiggled an arm underneath them and pulled himself even closer; Ace held them close and with a devilish grin, nuzzled his nose against their cheek even as they tried to turn their face away. MC hissed each time the lock of his collar rammed into them. He could almost feel the heat of their blush traveling up their face as he continued getting as close as he could to them, keeping an arm around them to hold his position; they didn’t attempt to free themselves, just drew their eyebrows together and frowned even deeper.

“You’re already in my bed!” They lightly kicked his shin. “Out.”

“Okay, then let me into your bed every night.”

MC was surely paying attention now as it was Ace’s turn to start trying to fight off a blush; unfortunately for him, the sliver of moonlight was showing all his cards. He turned his face away from them and tried his hardest to look annoyed, but it was difficult to turn away as the collar around his neck was pretty bulky.

It was best to come clean, right? Ace battled with his pride, his confidence, and his now flustered and racing heart. He stammered a bit but tried his best to hold his head up high despite his limited movement and looked down his nose at MC, who was still only inches away from his own face.

“Well, I mean—yeah. I said what I said. Maybe I want to crawl into your bed every night. It’d be a lot easier to do if you just let me move into your dorm.”

“Ace--”

“Look, I came to see you ‘cause I was upset, yeah—but I really like when you comfort me. You’re still so nice under that irritating dismissiveness, and you’re always ready to help me out but still put me in my place. I think you’re kind of dumb but, you know, in a cute way, and I just—arhg!”

Ace wiped his face with his free hand as though he could wipe off his embarrassment or the crimson colour off of his skin; he felt like the shadows in the room were laughing at him. He opened his eyes back up to find MC’s staring back at him, an unreadable emotion pooling within them.

“So... how ‘bout now? Will you let me into your dorm?”

The two of them sat in silence for a bit, the room heavy with emotion; Ace was just thankful Grim was asleep and missed his confession or he’d never hear the end of his embarrassment. He bit his tongue as MC blinked a few times, looking between his eyes and scanning his face for any hint of him messing with them—he knew that look anywhere. He stared at them a bit harder, trying to silently indicate the authenticity of his confession; his eyes started to wander down to their lips, however, and found himself swallowing hard before subconsciously leaning in slowly to bridge the small gap between the two of them.

“No.” MC pushed his face away gently, playfully.

Ace groaned and grabbed them by the wrist, moving their hand and returning his face to his previous spot.

“What do you mean no--”

“No, you can’t transfer to my dorm. It’s impossible.”

“Oh, so the no wasn’t for the kiss?” His devilish grin was evident in his voice. His face was pushed away again after another attempt to lean in; he met this action with a repeat of his groan and moving MC’s hand.

“What you can do, besides move into my dorm, is go apologize to Riddle tomorrow.”

“Uhg.”

“I’ll go with you, it’ll be fine.”

MC brushed a rogue strand of hair out of Ace’s face, softly caressing his cheek a moment before intertwining their fingers with his and placing their hands in the space between their faces.

“We can go on a date once you get that annoying collar off. Then, you can kiss me the right way.”

Ace’s eyes went wide before growing hooded, a genuine, loving smile accompanying his gaze on the person in front of him. He knew it was the right choice to come seek comfort in their loving arms, and he was glad he had pushed himself to annoy them; the blanket downstairs wasn’t even a fraction as warm as he was enveloped in the feelings between the two of them, and the couch was certainly not as soft and inviting.

So, he couldn’t move into their dorm, but he could move into their heart—as cliché as he was to admit it. Ace was thankful for a friend like the Prefect, and even more thankful for a lover like MC. His soft gaze turned back into the person in front of him, watching as they had slowly started to drift back to sleep; Ace knew he shouldn’t open his mouth, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Hey,” he whispered. “You never answered about that ‘in your bed every night’ thing. That still on?”

“Shut up, Ace.”

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #ace trappola x reader #ace trappola x mc #ace trappola x yuu #kitsu.writes #kitsu.twst #kitsu.twst ace #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst fanfic

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octuscle · 4 months ago

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The ghost of Beta Rho Omega

Jeff and Scott were standing in front of a hovel. It must have been an impressive house once. But the broken porch, the half-collapsed roof, the broken windows, it was all pitiful. And all in such an excellent location. The university campus was around the corner, with a few remaining fraternity houses in the neighborhood, but the majority of them were investment properties such as student residences, boarding houses and office buildings, with coffee shops and co-working spaces on the first floors. Not exactly their world. Jeff and Scott were the children of laborers, their children were laborers. In their minds, students were freeloaders and ne'er-do-wells. And in many cases, even voters for the Democrats. As I said: Not their world!

Their job today was to clear out the wreckage, tear down the porch and prepare the construction site for the excavators that would arrive tomorrow to clear the way for a new Starbucks or something. They didn't need to unlock the door, and they didn't have a key anyway. A powerful kick was enough. And the rotten wood gave way with a crash. A cat fled screaming from the dark room, which smelled musty. The young colleagues would have put on face masks by now. Wimps, Jeff thought to himself. They shone flashlights around the room. It looked as if a farewell party had been held many years ago and then the building had been abandoned. Beer bottles and weathered pizza boxes could still be seen in the thick dust. The furniture was covered in droppings from pigeons, cats and other animals. Scott went to a window and forcefully pushed it and the shutters off their rusty hinges. Fresh air! Thank God! And light that offered an even better view of the chaos. Part of the ceiling had come down. Water damage. The wallpaper was hanging in shreds from the walls. The only thing that looked surprisingly clean and intact was a large banner above the fireplace “verum homines olet, verum homines amant odor verus hominum”. Scott asked what that meant. Jeff replied if he looked like that, would he speak Spanish.

The two of them searched the first floor. The stairs leading upstairs didn't look like they could withstand two massive workmen. They would need a ladder. The kitchen smelled like rotten food and animal droppings. There were pictures hanging in a hallway. Some of them were a little yellowed. But surprisingly, the frames of the pictures were dust-free. On the frames were brass plates with names on them. And in front of each one was always the same: “Bro of the Month” and a date. Some of the plates were from the 50s, some from the 70s, some from the 90s. There must have been many more pictures in the past.

The shadows of the missing pictures could be seen on the wall. The last two Bros of the Month whose pictures were still hanging were called Jeff and Scott. And the Bros, who, like the other shirts, had BPO printed on them, clearly looked like what Jeff and Scott would have looked like if they had spent their high school days in the gym and on the football field. Jeff and Scott turned pale. Pale like the freshly painted wall behind them. Shit, Jeff had to throw up, was there a bathroom around here? He opened the nearest door.

White tiles, urinals, toilet boxes. Jackpot! He opened a box and broke into the toilet bowl. Shit, shit, something was wrong! Yes, there were puddles of piss and obviously more than one guy had jerked off here. But everything was in good condition. “Bro, everything okay in there?” Was that Scott? His voice sounded different. Younger. Deeper. ”Dude, are you jerking off? Or why is it taking so long?”

Jeff went back to the hallway. The guy standing there was probably Scott. With longer hair. And somehow… younger! Had he changed his clothes? Or had he been wearing the overalls all along? And damn it, why wasn't he wearing a helmet or a T-shirt. And Scott stank! Of sweat and musk. Shit, shit, shit! Scott raised an arm and scratched the back of his head. Like the Scott in the picture “Bro of the Month.” He inhaled the stench from his hairy armpit. A deep cave between large pectoral muscles and impressive biceps and triceps. Was Jeff seriously getting a boner? Scott began to knead the bulge in his crotch with the hand that wasn't scratching his head. “You like what you see, bro?” Why did Scott talk like that? “Bro,” that's what young, stupid college students called each other. Not workers. Like Jeff and… Were they workers? Scott had been his buddy since high school. Most successful quarterback in ten years. And he himself… Wasn't he… Right, the linebacker. Shit, maybe he'd just had too much to drink yesterday. Jeff flexed his pecs. He knew that made Scott hot. ”Of course I like it, bro! How about you? Do you like it?” On Jeff's naked chest, beads of sweat glistened in the chest hair. Scott lowered his dungarees and freed his cock from the yellowed and encrusted jockstrap. With one hand he jerked his cock, with the other he worked Jeff's right nipple. Jeff moaned, unbuttoned the waistband of his trousers Scott pushed Jeff back to the toilets and pushed him against a wall. He spat on his dick and began to insert it into Jeff's ass. Shit, why couldn't the two of them be together for half an hour without having sex?

Last night's party had gotten out of hand again. Like almost every party at Beta Rho Omega. Jeff and Scott were on garbage duty this time. Damn, a few of the chairs in the dining hall had been broken. That happened quite often, too; the BPO members were the biggest guys on campus. The alumni were used to writing regular checks for new furniture. The guys from Rho Epsilon Epsilon Kappa across the street had really overdone it again two years ago; their house had to be completely renovated. But hey, that was the neighborhood: a bunch of frat houses where big, dumb guys competed to see who could throw the best parties. A few went to college. But they were just a few nerds.

Pics by @ki-kink, inspiration by @rowdy317

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #age reduction #ai image #frat bro #bro tf #jock tf #douchebag #football jock #time warp

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lethalchiralium · 1 month ago

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Happiness [26]

chapter title: Burial Plot

a/n: i literally got the fucking writing worms the last few days. i have been non-stop. missus deserves everything because i say so and i love her. (i love you) 4.7k words

warnings: missus’s trauma and her reactions because of it. UNEDITED.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

It’s been at least two days, you were certain of that. There was a tiny window near the ceiling, shining light from dawn to dusk - the only light you were allowed while you sat in the cold basement, holding and taking care of a sick Mellie. You only slept for a few hours, wanting to listen and learn your captor’s patterns, which was what Simon always said to do.

One had heavy footsteps and didn’t do much, only went outside to piss and to smoke. Two liked to pace, he had lighter footsteps, he talked on the phone for at least twenty minutes every hour. Lloyd had loud footsteps, he was constantly talking to his henchmen or on the phone, the only time he wasn’t upstairs was when he came down to make sure you were still stuck with a miserable baby. Anger festered in your chest when you saw him, always bleeding through to the rest of your body.

The only route of escape you had was up the stairs and through the locked door. Then, you had no idea where to go from there.

Would it be better to follow the drive they take up to wherever you are? No, they could easily get in a car and grab you again. If there’s woods, you need to go into the woods.

You wiped at your face after you washed your hands in the sink of the tiny bathroom, it was nestled in the corner of the basement. It was getting darker in the basement, you had already changed Mellie again and tried to feed her but she refused. You were grateful that you were given more diapers than which you started, even if Lloyd handed them to you himself. You were more than desperate to hit him in the face, but you can’t bite the hand that feeds you. You gazed at yourself in the mirror, recognizing your face but not your eyes - fear had made its home there, terror a weight that has drowned many and you weren’t sure you were safe from that fate.

Footsteps above you again, it sounded like Lloyd. You moved out of the bathroom, the concrete beneath your feet was freezing to the touch but you barely acknowledged it, your eyes gazed upon the broken bookshelf beside the staircase. There was only two shelves, one broken and left inside of it. You’ve been looking at it during the day, thinking it may be loose enough to break free and be a weapon.

Creak, creak… click.

The sound of the lock on the basement door made you panic, you darted to your bed to pick up the sleeping Mellie - she barely stirred as you sat on the bed, holding her to your chest and watching your only exit. Your stomach knotted with anticipation, knowing Lloyd would be coming down to “chat” - to pry information about Simon out of you with a cigarette stained smile. Your hands shook, you were desperately gripping Mellie’s little onesie to try and stop it as Lloyd walked down the steps, his wickedly cruel painted on his face.

“Hello, sweethear’.”

A hand on your face made your eyes rip open, the roar in your throat grew louder and your weak arms instantly went to throw the touch off.

“Sweetheart, it’s me, it’s-“

Your push was met with a grunt, “Get off me!”

You threw more of a struggle, you could hear thundering footsteps and you pushed harder. Fight, push him off, keep Lloyd away, away, away-

“Get her on her side-“

“I’m bloody tryin’, Price, she’s not exactly workin’ with me-“

A large hand pushed your hip down, your stomach pressed into the mattress and the same hand on your face cupped your cheek. Paralysing fear pulsed in your chest, your hands were wrenched behind your back. “Get off!” You tried to throw your elbows back, kick your legs, but another pair of hands held your legs down. “Let me go! Let me go!”

“Darling, wake up, it’s me.”

All you could feel were burning hands, disgusting sweat against your face that were merely phantoms compared to this, but it was still terrifying. Your eyes screwed shut as if to hide from your attackers. This wasn’t something you could come back from, they’d tear your limb from limb and pluck the meat from your bones like the starved coyotes they were. Always staring, always wanting to poke, prod, and gnaw on any sliver of skin. “Please-“

Lloyd will kill you. He tried so hard, he’s trying again, he’ll do more than almost slit your throat in half, he’ll stab you, he’ll shoot you, he’ll-

“Watch it, Simon-“

Ice cold water splashed against your face and your eyes shot open, head twisted at an uncomfortable angle and all you could see was Gaz, kneeling beside your bed with a half empty glass of water in his hand. Pressure came from your back, your face, your legs, and you couldn’t move your head to look.

He leaned back on his legs, the sigh that escaped him sounded relieving. “She’s awake now.”

“Kyle?” The hands on your legs disappeared, the pressure on your back slid away, the hand on your cheek went from rough to soothing - it curled around your hairline and brushed the sweaty hairs back. You tilted your head a little to look back, a glimpse of blond hair entered your view. “Simon?”

“Right here.” So he’s the hand on your hair.

The water settled into the sheets before your face, the muscles in your body began to constrict and become almost brittle. The fight in your chest and mind was now long gone, a fleeting exposure to the normal fight or flight response. Fear nestled so deeply in your brain that it bled like a river when you were locked in that basement and nearly tortured. Muscles stunned into paralysis, tears flooded the plains of your cheeks. The nightmares kept getting more vivid, even worse each time, and you weren’t scared by the task force holding you down. Simon’s earned a myriad of scratches, you’ve punched Soap in your sleep, even cut Price’s face with your nails. Gaz was wise enough to be the one to wake you up, after many days of Simon doing it and you screamed so loud every time that the girls were terrified. Ice water was your idea, constraint was your husband’s - you didn’t blame him, the shock of the water would freak you out and you already feel horrible for the damage you’ve caused the family.

You’re already well aware of the exhaustion you bring too. Simon can’t leave you home alone anymore, the rest of the 141 sleep in the empty rooms in the basement just in case your husband needs help with you. Walking was difficult, eating hurt, your lungs out of breath at every turn, even thinking made you ache. He had to be nearly full-time care while he split his time up to take care of the girls, but his friends had stepped up there. It’s temporary, you kept telling yourself. You’d pay them back tenfold someday.

“Jesus, she got you good, man.”

“S’alright.” His gentle hand fled to your shoulder blades, shapes softly rubbed into them. “You alright, sweetheart?”

The sob escaped your lips before you knew it resided there, your eyes screwed shut as tears escaped. You couldn’t roll over to unpin your arm from your chest, your lungs couldn’t rise, and all you could see in your head was that room with the mold, the dirty sink, the bloody quilt, and the box you kept Mellie hidden in. Simon’s gentle rubs on your back did little to help, but it was something nonetheless. Nimble fingers tugged your hair from your face and curled it around your ear, soft words left his mouth as the sound of the bedroom door as it closed made you wince.

“It’s alright, love, you’re home.”

•••

He’s still breathing after you check for the hundredth time. A finger beneath Simon’s nose, his eyelashes fluttered as he dreamt peacefully. He’s tired, you can see it in the way he’s grown sluggish the past few days. Your fingertips ghosted over the bruise on his cheek from where you hit him in your sleep, believing he was your kidnapper and attacker then trying to fight him off. His left hand was settled on his chest, his right arm nestled around you unconsciously. Peace was only afforded at night when you were awake and watching him, crying under the moonlight when you look at all the scratches and bruises you leave on his body. He never deserved this kind of cruelty; it was one you had vowed to protect him from. Yet, the same could be said about him to you.

Your cold hand cradled his jaw, your head finally rested against the pillow again. It’d taken so much of your energy to stay awake, to try and fight the nightmares off, but as you watched your husband sleep, you wondered if you could too.

Except, your bedroom door creaked open and your head snapped to look at it. The shadowy figure held the handle with one hand, the other arm held a shadowy lump. Your hackles relaxed, knowing just how tall your daughter was and you reached an arm down the side of your bed.

“Daddy?”

“It’s just me awake, baby. Come here.”

Winnie shuffled herself into your room, you could recognize the silhouette of her favorite teddy under her arm as she took your hand. You could barely make out her face, but the moonlight reflected off of her tears. Instantly turning on your side, your hand brushed them away.

“What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?”

“You were yelling earlier.”

Your answer was immediate. “I just had a bad dream, Daddy took care of me.” An absent movement of your hand curled a lock of her hair around her ear. “I’m alright.”

She sniffled a little, her hand squeezed yours with urgency. “I had a bad dream too.”

Your heart sank, guilt began to gnaw again at your nearly empty insides. Soon it would have nothing left to digest. “C’mon, baby girl, lay up here with me.” You picked Winnie up with what strength you had left and pulled her into bed, nestled on your side. Simon needed his sleep, you decided, so you could handle this. Not that you have been lately, but you still could. Laying around and doing nothing for your children felt painful.

Winnie was quick to dig under the comforter and you nearly tucked her underneath it, and moved more towards Simon so she could have more space. Her hands gripped your loose shirt, her little face nestled on your shoulder and her bear uncomfortably shoved into your side.

“Did you wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t know… It was scary.”

You leaned down and kissed her forehead, “I’m sorry, baby. Was there a monster or was there-“

Her little hand reached up and touched your face, the numbness in your skin dissipated. “You were gone again, Mama, and-and I got really scared.” You met her eyes in the dim light, your hand brushed her tears away. Even now, you could see the true fear on your baby’s face.

“I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere ever again.”

A little cry came from her lips, “I thought you-you were gonna be like Mum Gr-Grace.”

The implosion of your heart in your stomach sounded like a thousand trains roaring right beside you, it made you nauseous. “No. No, baby, I’m not dying anytime soon. It seemed like it though, huh?”

A little nod.

“And I’m so sorry that it happened. Daddy did everything he could to keep us safe, but sometimes the bad guys are too sneaky. That’s how he got me and Mellie.”

“Uncle Koko got hurt.”

It wasn’t a good moment when König had come to see you in the hospital, his loud limp and hard time bending over. He had been shot three times in taking down a majority of the intruders and narrowly escaped death to try and protect you, which had failed. You had cried and apologized over and over, Simon squeezed your hand and the Colonel left swiftly. You cried for hours after that, sick to your stomach that he could have died for you - and it could have been in vain.

“I know. But he’s gonna be okay, just like me. I’m going to the therapist for help, you remember what a therapist is, right?”

“Yeah, they’re-they’re a doctor for your feelings.”

“Good job, duckling. And I’m getting better every day, even though I have those scary dreams too.” You took her chin in your grasp, “Winnie, I will be okay. It will take time, but I will be okay soon. Healing takes its time.”

“But… But what if Daddy gets taken too? What… What happens if Daddy can’t protect us anymore?”

“Well,” Your hand cradled her cheek as you rested your head against hers. “We have Uncle John, Soap, and Kyle. And if they can’t protect us anymore, I will. I protected your sister the same way I would protect you.”

“Then who protects you?”

“I will. Sometimes you don’t need anyone to protect you, but it’s nice to have it. It’s nice to know Daddy does everything he can.”

“But he…” Failed. Betrayed you. Left you to die.

“It was not Daddy’s fault, do you hear me? Get that out of your head. If he knew, it wouldn’t have happened.” You placed a kiss on her head. “You don’t need to think about that right now, Win. Your dream was just a dream, I’m home with you and Mellie and Daddy now. We can talk more about it in the morning, alright?”

Your daughter sniffled a little before she pulled her bear from between you, and tucked him into her elbow. “Promise?”

Your eyes fluttered shut, your nose nestled in her curls. “I promise. Go to sleep, Daddy and I’ll protect you.” Winnie nodded a little before she moved to kiss your hand.

Sleep didn’t evade you then, your dreams were fleeting and unmemorable.

•••

Almost every surface in your house is covered in flowers. Wives of soldiers who served under your husband sent them, Hell, even a few of the nice crystal vases came from König’s wife, Karo, with a beautiful handwritten note expressing her relief in your return and dismissal of your guilt. My husband does everything for his friends and their families, you are and will be no exception. The card is kept on the side of the fridge with a magnet from London.

Speaking of plants, you have three extra houseplants that come and go at all hours of the day. You were grateful for the basement, you didn’t have to displace your children so the 141 could operate out of your home. Instead, they worked out of your way; always checking in on you and your daughters, which were often met with a wave and a simple “I’m fine.” You were sure Price hasn’t seen the inside of his own house since this whole ordeal started. There was never a moment where you were alone, at least two of the task force stayed home with you. Simon hadn’t been alone in days, you’re sure of it. Taking you to and from base for the military funded therapy they so graciously provided you, you suspected he had pulled many strings to get you in somewhere as quickly as possible. It’s a toll on him, he liked to be alone sometimes and there was nowhere he could hide - not that he wanted to, it seemed. He always had to be near you, touch you, something to make sure his presence was known.

You knew it well. It wasn’t hard to miss Simon’s lurking if you tried, nor was it easy to ignore his tired and injured face. Winnie found it entertaining to decorate his scratches and bruises with her Hello Kitty bandaids and kisses pressed to them, to which he smiled after every one. She’s five and smart, the biggest heart you’ve ever seen, and it almost makes you sick just how much like Simon she is. Kind, caring, expressive, and an overall love bug. It made you excited to see if Mellie would be the same, or the baby.

That’s right. The baby.

A back burner topic that you couldn’t think about too often since everything else felt more important than your pregnancy, like your life or Mellie’s. Your hand settled on the plush of your stomach below your belly button, unknown to Simon. He hasn’t mentioned anything since they ran tests in the hospital. Maybe ignoring it would make it easier if you miscarried, which you were almost sure of when you were in that basement. There was a lot of blood and you… the blur of it made your head hurt. Mellie cried, you… You believed the baby wasn’t definite, even when the doctor told you it was - with twelve weeks under your belt to prove it. There was no point for it to stay when it had every reason to leave, when you had every reason to say it wasn’t safe for your family anymore.

Someone had added newborn diapers and clothes to the weekly grocery run by Kyle, they were both quick to hide them away as if it would set you off. You found your gaze rarely moving from the show on the TV, kept warm by your blanket and Mellie. Exhaustion crept in every moment but you fought it, you could barely eat, barely exist without help. The only thing you were good for now was comforting your children and overthinking to Hell and back.

Mellie sniffled against your chest, you looked down at her to see her swiping at her little eye. You were quick to brush her hair back, her eyelashes fluttered as she looked up at you, tears in her eyes. A kiss to her forehead and she hummed contently, her hand going back to holding her pacifier that she continued to suck on. Just a quick glance to you always calmed her down and any attempt for Simon to hold her ended with ear-piercing screams. Sometimes you felt bad for him, for everything he’s enduring for the sake of taking care of the family - but the little itch in the back of your mind couldn’t care at all. The hour of need he vowed to be there for came and went with no sign of him until it was completely over and you had saved yourself. Saved the child you had without him, then his friends had saved you. Not him. And that betrayal felt like your teeth that chewed your nails down to the quick - harsh and painful.

His hand is on your ankle, his thumb rubbed tiny circles through the blanket and a part of you refused to acknowledge the comfort it provided. At least just for this moment, your husband was in no way a traitor but in the dark recesses of your mind, he was enemy number one - the most wanted man, ready to be hanged for his crimes as if he had stolen the crown jewels. The piece of innocence you once had was now shattered into a million pieces and the irrational side of your brain only had one person to blame.

The rational divide in your body craved the sanctuary of his presence, knowing there was nothing he could do - stuck on base, running interrogations in Price’s stead. He didn’t even know anything had happened until Price called him from the hospital, which a part of you was angry at Price for. The blame shifted like branches in the wind, one could not exist without the other.

The peaceful side of your body craved normalcy. The broken and bleeding side wanted to break your hand in the wall and scream at them until your throat became raw.

The gentle rubbing on your ankle turned to a soft pat, your eyes refocused on your husband as he leaned forwards, peering at you. Your face began to heat as he stared at you, like he was able to claw his way into your head and hear every word you said. “What?”

“You feelin’ okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re staring at me.”

A sigh escaped your nose. “Didn’t mean to.”

His head tilted just a little, a couple strands of hair fell away from his face as he began to study you for just a moment. He sighed too, gently rubbed your leg and looked down at Mellie. “Not nauseous or anythin’?”

Your hand instinctively went to Mellie’s back, your fingers splayed out as if to make her look smaller. “No, Simon.”

His body minutely moved back, he sat up straight and wiped at his nose. “M’gonna go shower. Be right back.” Simon quickly stood and walked away, but not without gently patting your head as he did.

His footfalls were replaced by the sound of the front door closing and heavy boots, you craned your neck to see Soap appear. The paper bags he had were shoved onto the counter, he ripped his hood off of his head and wiped his eyes, blinked a few times, then looked at you. “It’s pishin’ a doon out there.” A slight tilt to your head and he sighed, “It’s raining very hard.”

“Why didn’t you say that then?”

“Ah did.” A chuckle left his lips as he peeled off his coat, placing it on the counter. “Ye 'n' yer Simon are too alike.”

“Why?”

Soap began to dig in the bags, “Ye both ask too many questions. Him more than ye, since I like ye more than ah do him.”

You hummed, your gaze moved down to Mellie again. She’d gotten bigger since the incident and her stay in the PICU; the cold didn’t hurt her much, thanks to the flannel you wrapped around her, as well as how fast Price and his small temporary team found her and then you. The image of the rock face still hadn’t left your nightmares and neither had Price’s terrified scream for a medic.

Sometimes it felt like he was your only friend in this birdcage that was once your home. The only one who understood because he was there, he wrapped up your injuries as they bled and oozed, he stared at what you did to your kidnapper. He saved your child’s life, he saved yours, and ferociously defended his decision to keep Simon in the dark. Price was your friend. Sometimes you hated him too.

A pan clanged against the stove and you flinched, Mellie grumbled a loud and angry, “Mama.”

You pulled the blanket farther up her back, even when it freed your freezing feet. “Sorry, honey. Go back to sleep.”

She shook her head, her button nose pressed awkwardly into your chest before she looked up at you. “Seep?”

You knew better than to get her to nap on you, a particular little thing she was. It took a lot of energy to push yourself up and stand, all while still holding Mellie. The tingling in your hands grew worse with every moment, so you needed to get her upstairs to bed before you could accidentally drop her.

No, you wouldn’t drop her. You can’t drop her. She can’t walk, she can’t do much of anything other than babble, she can’t…

You inhaled through your nose before breathing out. The pungent smell of the candle in the kitchen invaded your nostrils, it made you nearly gag at the smell you once loved. You remembered lighting it that night, you remembered…

“Are ye excited for the parties?”

A look to the kitchen was met with a smiling Soap, your eyebrows furrowed and your chin instantly tucked into Mellie’s hair. The bags were gone, he was starting to cook something.

“Parties?”

He held out a spatula towards you, pointed down towards your daughter. There was no look of confusion on his face, only excitement. “Mel’s birthday party and the baby shower. We’ve been workin’ on ‘em for the past few weeks-“

“Johnny.” Simon’s voice echoed from the stairs as he suddenly made his presence known, quickly shucking on an old black t-shirt.

Soap, the ever present beacon of excitement, chirped, “Hi, LT, I’m makin’ dinner-“

But you didn’t even look at Johnny when he spoke, your eyes bored holes into Simon’s wet hair. “I didn’t know you were throwing parties for that.”

Simon’s glare was harsh before it moved to you, softening immediately. “I was going to tell you when you were feelin’ better.”

Feeling better. Feeling better? For fuck’s sake. You’ve been ushered around this house like a 98-year-old grandma with a fall risk, you just minorly damaged your hands and one of your legs, you were fine. Why couldn’t they see you were fine? Price could. Price was your friend, he could see you were fine. Why couldn’t the rest of them? Why doesn’t Simon know? Why does it seem like he doesn’t know anything?

Your voice instantly rose, anger fire balled at him. “You know I don’t like surprises, Simon!” Does he? Does he know? What does he know?

He winced a little, his hand outstretched as he slowly walked towards you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d be upset since you were-“

Think. Know. Understand. Notice. Does he do those things?

“That’s the problem.”

No.

“Come again?”

If he did, he’d have noticed the way you leaned back a little, half a step away as he grew closer. He would have noticed the way you held Mellie tighter, the way she squawked in annoyance as you did. He should have noticed the rage in you.

“I said, that is the problem.”

“What is?”

“You don’t think. You never think! Of course I’m not gonna get better with the lot of you hovering over me! I can do things on my own, I’m strong enough! I’ve been fine for weeks!”

Simon was a strong man, he didn't back down. That you knew, you expected his quick quip, “Your doctor said you should be takin’ it easy, love, that’s why-“

“I’m not weak, Simon! I’m passing all the tests with flying colors!” Spit flew from your mouth, your fingers gripped Mellie’s onesie like it was a lifeline.

You stared at Simon with wide eyes, ones that threatened tears. You could see the exhaustion in his face, the bruises you accidentally left him look so much worse in the light of the window. At any other moment, the sight of what you did to him would’ve made you look away. Now, you stared at him, made him look at you and what his broken promises have done to you.

“I’m just trying to help!”

“I don’t need your fucking help! I didn’t before and I don’t now!”

“What the Hell do you mean by that?”

“You know what?” You looked towards Soap in the kitchen, who seemed to look frozen by your gaze, his eyes wide and shocked. “Thanks, Johnny, but I’m not hungry anymore. I’m going upstairs.”

“Sweetheart-“ His hand grabbed your wrist without warning, the one that held Mellie’s back. You almost instantly screeched as your brain went into shutdown - protect Mellie, protect her, protect her-

“Don’t touch me!” Simon ripped it from your wrist so quickly that it almost took you with him, but you kept your balance and held your squirming toddler closer to your chest. The air in your throat constricted, you struggled to breathe as you whimpered, “Don’t… Don’t touch me. Stop.”

Simon shrunk to a size that was too much like a man you didn’t know, a shadow of something inside his brain that made him seem like a frightened child. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t care at that moment. That little itch in the back of your mind became a gaping gash, and you could only see him as the man who let you get hurt. Who chose his work over your child’s life. Over yours. By God, you were allowed to be angry now. Your jaw clicked with how hard you pressed it together.

“Don’t.”

#lethalchiralium #happiness series #lethal chiralium #simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x wife!reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x wife!reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley call of duty #simon riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x you

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milkteabinniechan · 4 months ago

Text

♡Hauntingly Yours - Han Jisung

MINORS DNI 18+ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: ghost! Han x fem! reader

summary: You signed the lease to a brand new apartment and now you're on your own again. You sure didn't miss single life but some creepy noises at 3am suggest you're not alone in your new place.

warnings: angst, nipple play, temperature play, paranormal intercourse(?)

“All houses wherein men have lived and died; Are haunted houses. Through the open doors; The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, With feet that make no sound upon the floors.”

You lifted the last box off the moving truck and made your way inside. The landlord failed to mention the creaking stairs and the rotting wood bannister that wobbled when you held onto it. He had told you the wooden floors were all original, as were the windows. The house was built in the late 1800s and you had rented out the top floor. You asked him who would be renting out the floor below you and his face went cold. You remembered that look from your childhood. Kids would give you that cold, uneasy stare when you told them about the figures you saw in the night. You don't talk about that stuff anymore.

“No one will be living downstairs, miss. Not anymore.” The landlord said firmly. And that was that. No more questions, no more answers.

You grunted and groaned as you lifted the last box up the stairs to your new bedroom. You set the box down on the floor and collapsed into the bed. Your eyes stared at the ceiling. Peeling white paint and water stains scattered above you. You couldn't explain why you were so drawn to this place, this house. Your mom had practically begged you not to sign the lease. She said she got a bad feeling about this place. But you didn't get a bad feeling. You felt strangely comforted, oddly at peace.

That night, you made yourself comfortable on your new mattress. You made yourself some tea and quickly faded off into sleep. But soon your eyes shot open and a cold rush ran through your body. You sat up in bed and looked around the room. You had that familiar, eerie feeling that you weren't alone.

“Hello…?” You whispered meekly. You held your breath in anticipation of a response but none came.

You sighed deeply and dragged your hands along your face. Get it together! You told yourself. You glanced at the clock on your bedside table to see the flashing numbers Three Oh Three A.M glaring right back at you.

In the morning you padded softly to the kitchen only to find all of the cupboards and drawers flung open.

“What the fuck?!” You hastily shut every cupboard and every drawer. You hadn't bought very many groceries yet so there wasn't much of a mess to clean. For a moment you thought the landlord may have come in and done it. But he had been out of town since he gave you the keys, almost as if he was fleeing the place entirely. Then you had another thought. Your eyes darted around the room, your senses heightened and on edge.

“Listen! If there is anyone here. I live here too now, okay? So we're going to have to learn to…coexist.” You waited. You paused and waited for some kind of sign. A whisper or a knock or something, anything. But just like when you were a child, when you wanted proof of the figures that you saw at nothing, they never showed themselves.

Another night of falling asleep rather quickly. You were never able to fall asleep this easily at your other apartment, but here you drifted off to sleep rather effortlessly. While you slept, a ghostly specter hovered in the corner.

Han had been gone for years. Centuries of watching people move in and out of this house. His family home was now a revolving door of randomly selected people that lived their lives for a year or two then vanished, never to be seen again. Han would watch children grow and couples fight and make up. The whole spectrum of human emotions were displayed for him like a torturous loop in this limbo he found himself in.

But now, Han’s attention was soon completely captured by your beauty as he watched you sleep. He found himself drawn to the warmth and vitality emanating from you, something he hadn't felt in centuries. His ghostly form hovered closer, his ethereal fingers reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. You stir in your sleep. The cold sensation of Han’s touch startling you.

Emboldened by your lack of reaction, Han continued to touch your face, your hair, your arms. The more he touched you, the more he craved physical contact. He leaned in closer, his face hovering just above yours, and pressed his icy lips to yours in a ghostly kiss. He couldn't believe what he was doing. For years he couldn't even hold someone's hand let alone press his lips to theirs. You part your lips and open your mouth to his. Your eyes flutter slightly. Han was stunned and overjoyed as you responded to his kiss, your warm lips moving against his cold ones. He deepened the kiss, pouring centuries of loneliness and longing into it. His arms encircled you, pulling your sleeping form closer as he lost himself in the sensation of your embrace.

Han breaks the kiss as he notices your fluttering eyelashes, fearing that he has awakened you. He searched your face, finding your eyes still closed. He leaned his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

"You can see me, can't you?” He whispered softly.

Your eyes flutter open slowly as they take in the floating figure above you. Han fixes his eyes on you, fully expecting you to scream or run away. But instead, you sit up and fix your eyes on him as well. You both stare at each other for a moment before you finally break the silence.

“Who are you?”

Han smiles sadly, his hands gently cupping your cheeks. "My name is Han Jisung, I am the gentleman who used to live in this house.” His voice is sure and strong. “I didn't mean to wake you, ma'am. I couldn't resist..." His gaze drops to your parted lips, and he hesitates, torn between desire and guilt.

Han Jisung, you repeat his name like reciting a soft prayer. Han hasn't heard another person speak his name in so long, his heart lingered on every syllable. You ask him how long he's been here and how he died, but his face twists with confusion and frustration.

“I don't remember.” He hisses.

You lightly brush the tips of your fingers along his cheek. Han's eyes search yours, hope flickering in their depths. He shivers at your touch, a ghostly moan escaping his lips. He takes your hand and presses it against his chest, over where his heart used to be.

"I feel so much, being near you. It's like I'm alive again." He brings your hand to his lips and kisses your palm.

You shiver again as Han’s icy kiss penetrates your warm skin. You bring your face slowly to his and part your lips once more, silently inviting another kiss. Han’s mouth descends onto yours, his lips insistent as they claim your own. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entry. His hands roam your body, learning the curves and dips of your form. He is ravenous, desperate to make up for centuries of denied touch and affection. You melt into the touch almost instantly, falling back onto the bed and pulling him on top of you. You feel his hands traveling up and down the sides of your waist, keeping a respectable distance from anything too intimate. You take his hands on yours and bring them to your breasts. Han tears his mouth away from yours, panting heavily. His hands squeeze your breasts, his thumbs rubbing against your nipples through the fabric of your shirt.

"God, I need to touch you. All of you."

Han gently pulls your shirt over your head, revealing your bare breasts to his hungry gaze. He sighs in wonder, his fingers tracing the curves of your breasts, the rosy peaks of your nipples. He leans down and captures a nipple in his mouth, suckling gently as his other hand massages your other breast.

His tongue swirls around your nipple, the cool sensation making you arch into his touch. He lavishes attention on your breasts, alternating between suckling and laving with his tongue. His hands slide down to your hips, pulling you harder against him. Your mind is lost to the sensations of his hands roaming desperately over your body. You pull at his clothes, your need overpowering any common sense that may be left. He rises above you, his eyes glinting in the dim light. His hands make quick work of the rest of your clothing, leaving you bare beneath him. He unbuttons his own waistcoat and breeches, shedding the century-old clothing.

Han allows you a moment to admire his spectral form, his pale skin seeming to glow in the darkness. He settles between your thighs, his cool flesh a stark contrast to your warmth. He kisses you deeply as he positions himself at your entrance

His eyes flash with desire and tenderness. He enters you slowly, his cool hardness filling you inch by inch. He groans at the sensation, his head falling to your shoulder. "Oh, Miss… you feel divine. You feel like Heaven." He begins to move, his thrusts deep and measured.

Han's pace quickens as you meet his thrusts, your movements driving him to the edge. He buries his face in your neck, his icy breath against your heated skin. His hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pumps into you. You can feel your orgasm nearing as he continues to piston and stretch inside of you. Your own morality fraying at the seams as you reach your peak and let the sensation of unknown ecstasy consume you. Han lets out a guttural moan, his body tensing as he finds his own release inside of you. He buries his face in your neck, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he shudders with aftershocks.

You lie there together bathed in the moonlight dripping through your bedroom window. You listen close to the sounds of breathing. Han is here with you. And not with you. You hold him flush against you for as long as you can. You're not sure what will happen to your ghostly companion once the sun rises in the morning.

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sultrydxrling · 5 months ago

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Vampire husband <3 (AFAB!) reader/ Fill in any hair, race, or size. This is open and I can guarantee this dress would look amazing on anyone. especially for this wonderful vampire.

He left a note on our bedside table that you woke up to see, in his beautiful cursive he wrote,

"Good morning, my beloved. there's a gift for you in the wardrobe across from the bed. do your hair how you like, drip yourself in any diamonds you choose, and meet me in the ballroom."

You squeal excitedly and run to the wardrobe, practically tripping over yourself. You open the doors to see the most beautiful gown.

A white corset led into a full ballgown bottom, with the base color being white. Laid over the fabric of the skirt was a sheer piece of material adorned with at least one thousand white diamonds. The corset was also decorated with the same diamonds, but scattered wonderfully across the entire dress; were what appeared to be Blood spatters. However, upon further inspection, they turned out to be the most beautiful rubies. Attached to the corset's shoulders were shining, off-the-shoulder sleeves that sparkled in the light.

you call one of the maids to help you with the corset and adjust the dress to your liking. you thanked the maid and sent her away so you could do your hair in your favorite hairstyle, which also happened to drive your lover crazy on more than one occasion.

You do your best at a natural makeup look, your skin glowing after your moisturizer, though you lace your eyelids with a soft, but dark red shadow that compliments your skin tone, followed by a blush that has the same effect.

You deeply contour your neck to accentuate it and choose a simple diamond, teardrop-shaped necklace. This would hopefully draw more attention to your neck by covering it less.

After spraying his favorite perfume on your neck and slipping on your white, sparkly heels, you walked to the stairs from your room, already able to hear your lover's fingers gliding across the ivory keys of his piano. This makes your heart swell as you glide down the carpeted stairs. His delicate hearing picks up your footsteps and he stands, waving his hand to encourage the piano to keep playing with his magic.

With a soft wooshing sound, he meets you at the bottom of the stairs, standing behind you with his hand on the waist of your corset. His breath teases your sensitive neck as his eyes devour every inch of you.

"Hello, Mon cher, how beautiful you look in that gown astounds me. I knew you'd look radiant. Dance with me?"

You practically fawn against him as you turn around, your chest to his. You nod, speechless as he takes your hand and leads you into the middle of the giant black-marbled floor, golds dancing across the black. You lean your head back joyfully as you relax into the dance, and the ceiling above you is painted with heavenly depictions of cherubs, the architecture, and the chandelier a bright, shining gold.

your stomach spins with your feet as you two dance, your heart pounds and you laugh. Your husband gazes down at you with a fanged, gentle smile. You can see his gaze lingering on your neck. This causes a blush to spread across your cheeks, showing through your makeup. He lifts you to himself and holds you strongly around the waist. Your feet lift off the ground and he proceeds to keep dancing with you as he buries his face in your neck.

"You're always so warm, and you smell so good. Your scent hungers me- and I an hear your heart pounding darling..."

This makes your breathing hitch in your throat and you can feel his fangs grazing your skin, a soft wet spot gathering on your undergarments. He takes a deep, shaky breath against your neck and begs quietly.

"May I? Please? I'm starving for you."

He sets you down carefully and kneels to one knee, clutching at the overlapping fabrics of your dress and looking up at you with his bright, pleading eyes. you can't say no to him, breathing deeply and nodding.

He stands quickly and pulls you to him once more, sinking his fangs deeply into your flesh and drinking from you needily. His arms hold you strongly around your waist, keeping you from moving barely an inch. As he drinks from you, you can feel the dizziness flooding your head.

You're not sure how much time passes, but after a while, he gently pulls you into a bridal-style position, carries you up the stairs, and lays you gently in your shared bed.

Somehow, your dress had been removed and lay gently over a chair in the corner of the room. Your eyes opened to see your husband undressing himself, looking over at you with that wonderful soft smile of his. You always swooned when you saw it, giggling and hiding your face in your soft pillows. He walks over to you and lays behind you, spooning you softly.

"Come here, face me."

you do as he says, met with a rough kiss, his fangs digging into your lips softly. you moan quietly and drape a leg over his waist, intertwining your fingers into his hair. The vampire pulls you on top of him and pushes his tongue between your lips.

Your hips, as if on cue begin to move and grind desperately against his bulge. He gasps and takes hold of your hips with his long fingers, digging his claws into you. You could feel the wet spot on your panties begin to grow against him, moaning lewdly into his ear.

Even though you don't have his flesh-piercing fangs you bite softly against his cold neck, sucking softly. His skin is slightly more living-looking due to him recently feeding on you, a soft pink tinting his body. The blood quickly gathers at the spot as you began to suck, his groans filling your ears, giving you more pleasure and incentive to grind.

You move your hips faster and faster as a tingle swirls around your clit, finding yourself close to climax. His cock throbs softly beneath you, encouraging your movement.

"Ah- Beloved- you feel- amazing..."

He breathes into your ear as he grips your hips tighter, his nails drawing a little blood. both of you pant like dogs as you lean into each other, desperate to finish with each other. He reaches behind you rips the fabric away from your drenched hole, and tears off his own. He quickly shoved himself inside of you, causing you to whine out.

Your husband's eyes roll back into his head as he moves his hips rapidly against you, thrusting roughly against your walls. Your walls clench tightly against his length as your body refuses to hold its climax any longer you squirt over his lower half.

"Oh my- God yes!"

He pushes himself as far into you as he could and his cum fills you to the brim, surprisingly warm. You rest your head on his chest, your hair a mess and had come out of its hairstyle, frizzy in all directions. You and your husband laugh with each other as he cuddles you close.

After a while of cuddling, he helps you to your feet and leads you into your bathroom. He helps you into the tub and runs the warm tap, using a small glass to rinse you off before plugging the water. He smiled at you lovingly as he poured an almond milk bath into your bath water and lavender petals.

"I am so deeply in love with you."

He pampered you for the rest of the night, with face masks, lotions, and moisturizers. Anything to make you feel more comfortable. Then you had a glorious dinner full of all of your favorite foods.

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worldofkuro · 8 months ago

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Painted Smile

Painted Smile XXV

<- Previous Chapter I Next Chapter ->

Summary: You couldn't wait to meet new friends. What you didn't expect was this smiling little boy, only one year older than you, that would take such a big place in your life.

Notes: Mhn... Things are started to get interesting. I'm having fun, so much fun. I'm almost sorry but this chapter is mostly fluff. Please, savour it...

You woke up because of a noise. You opened your eyes, stretching yourself and trying to find Alastor on the bed. It was still night time and it wasn’t unusual for Alastor to wake up in the middle of the night to work on his broadcast or do something else.

But he was always quiet.

You never woke up because Alastor made noise. You sat up and looked around you, smiling when you saw Eamon sitting on your bedside. You kissed its nose before leaving the warmth of your bed, opening the door of your room, calling softly for your husband. You saw light coming from the living room so you decided to walk as quietly as possible down the stairs, toward the light. You knew it was Alastor, you could feel his presence.

You peaked into the living room, watching as your husband was taking care of a broken mug on the floor with coffee spilled everywhere.

“ Alastor, are you hurt ?” you watched as he lifted his head up to you with a warm smile. He stood up and walked toward you before kissing your forehead. You closed your eyes, the feeling of his lips on your skin would always relax your body in a way you couldn’t describe.

“ I’m okay, love. It seems like I was still upset about what happened to you with the stalker, my hand was shaking.” he sighed, whispering his words softly against the skin of your forehead.

You knew Alastor hated being controlled by his emotions, he was always composed. He told you once, being emotional was showing someone you cared about them, and you were the only one he cared for with his mother. So, being angry against another man was for his being weak, he was letting his emotions get the best of him to the point he broke a mug because of it.

“ Why don’t you come back to bed..? It’s three in the morning…” you whined against him. You knew he wouldn’t sleep but at least, he would be with you and maybe you could calm him down in some way?

Alastor looked at you for a minute before nodding. He cleaned his mess before going back to the bedroom with you, turning off the light. You slid into the covers, opening your arms for him. You were still sleepy, but if Alastor needed you awake a little longer, you would fight sleep off. He smiled softly at you before going into bed, placing his head on your chest, above your beating heart.

“ Do you want to talk about it, my love?” you asked softly as your fingers were running through his curly hair. He hummed but didn’t say anything which made you understand he didn't want to talk about it. You whispered a lullaby to keep yourself from falling asleep. You were tired but you wouldn’t let Alastor alone when he needed you.

You stopped your song when you felt Alastor’s relaxed body breathing deeply against your cleavage. You looked down at his face and smiled brightly when you saw his relaxed expression, his eyes closed, sounding asleep. It was very rare for you to sleep after Alastor, it usually never happened.

You tried to contain your excitement, keeping your fingers in his hair, looking at the ceiling. You always cherished those moments when Alastor was letting his guard down. It was something you wished to protect.

You didn’t realize it when you fell asleep but you almost gasped when you woke up hours later and found Alastor still asleep on your chest. You almost squealed in excitement, was it your lucky day? Being awake before Alastor?

You kissed his forehead before moving away from him as quietly as you could. You freezed when you saw him move, maybe reaching for you but he didn’t wake up. You smiled brightly before leaving the bedroom, walking down the stairs and entering the kitchen. You made Alastor’s coffee just like he wanted.

You looked at the clock, it was still early, you could let him sleep a little more. You made your hot chocolate and turned around when you heard Alastor going downstairs. You smiled softly at his sleepy face.

“ I made your coffee.” You said before kissing his cheeks. He wrapped his arms against you, kissing your forehead, thanking you in his deep sleepy voice. You smiled at him, placing the pastries in front of him. “ Did you sleep well?”

“ Mhn… I slept deeply, this doesn’t happen occasionally.” he held his chin with his left hand, looking at the ceiling, seemed perplexed. You tilted your head as he winked at you. “ Don’t get used to it.”

You pouted, you could get used to waking up before Alastor and making his coffee. Most of the time, he was the one awake before you, making you breakfast. He quickly finished eating before going to take a shower. You smiled as you cleaned the dishes. You went to wash up after Alastor then you went into the living room, sitting on the sofa.

You tied up his tie for him, you always liked doing that so, he would let you do it, always watching you with a fond smile. You stared at him, stroking his cheeks.

“ You don’t have to meet with Alyzée today, my shadow keeps watch.”

“ Nu-uh, I’m going. Take back your shadow, I don’t want you to be tired.” You kissed his nose with a fond smile.

“ It’s not taking an ounce of my energy and with what happened with the stalker, I’m not taking any chances.” he cupped your head in his hands, staring at you.

You nodded before kissing him once more. You both walked off the house and Alastor drove until his workplace. You kissed him goodbye, even if he insisted that he could drive you to Alice’s place, you refused it, you liked walking. You waved at him before walking toward Alice’s, you stopped on your way to buy sweets and quickly arrived at your friend’s home. You smiled at the butler, who smiled back at you, and guided you into the living room.

Alice was sitting on the sofa, writing something on a piece of paper. You walked toward her, and sat at her side, hugging her.

“ Well, hello, beautiful, what are you doing?” you asked as she hugged you back.

“ I’m trying to find a name for my child.” She smiled softly at you.

Alice was beautiful but seeing her being so happy about being pregnant was giving her another kind of beauty. She showed you the names she wrote, showing you the one Alyzée had written and the one she picked.

“ Do you have an idea? I could take some ideas from the future godmother of my child.”

You freeze.

You looked back at her as she was looking at you, seeming insecure, her teeth biting into her lower lip. You blinked at her, trying to calm the joy that was bubbling inside you. Maybe you didn't hear correctly.

“ Alice… Are you… asking me to be your child’s godmother..?”

She blushed, looking away before nodding shyly.

You screamed in joy and hugged her against your body. Of course, you wanted Alice to ask you to be the godmother, you wished about it but you thought Alice would ask Alyzée to be the godmother.

“ I didn’t think you would ask me to be the godmother!” you shouted in joy and disbelief. She rolled her eyes at you, seeming relaxed. She winked at you, putting the piece of paper on the table.

“ We’ve been friends since forever. You were here with me when I needed you, you are my best friend. Of course, who else could I ask ?” She gently poked your belly, smiling when you giggled.

“ I thought you would ask Alyzée.”

“ No, no. I… “ She whispered to you. “ I wish my child will see her as some kind of mother too…” She leaned back, looking at you. “ You would be the best godmother, I can feel it.” She smiled at you, grinning widely at you.

You were touched. You knew your friendship with Alice was deep and strong but those kinds of moments would make you remember and smooth your doubts. Alice was from the RicheMont family, one of the richest families in Louisiana, she was beautiful, intelligent, confident and so on…

You always felt like you weren’t worth her friendship, you were from a modest family, you didn’t feel like you were anything special.

But thanks to your husband, your best friend and your family, those doubts were less present in your mind. You worked on yourself, and now, at 25 years old, you were more confident with the bonds you made with others.

You turned your head toward the door when you saw her husband entering the room. He smiled at you before looking at Alice.

“ How are you feeling?”

“ Great! I just told the big news about who the godmother is.” She smiled at him, looking at you.

“ Oh, that’s perfect.” He smiled at you. “ Alice is always talking about you and..Alyzée was it ?” He looked at her waiting for her to nod before looking back at you. “ You are the best person who could be Alice’s friend, thank you for taking care of her. You’ve known her way longer than me, so I hope you’ll help me if I need advice.” He smiled at you, holding his hand toward you.

You shook his hand with a smile. You almost felt bad for him, he was a good man but Alice’s feelings were for Alyzée. He really seemed to want Alice’s happiness, maybe after her pregnancy, they could talk about it? You looked at him as he stood up before going to work. You looked at Alice whose smile dropped.

“ Why did you not come with Alyzée yesterday? Did something happen ? We waited for you…”

“ Oh…” You looked at her. You didn’t want to worry her, you didn’t want her to react in a way you or Alastor wouldn’t be able to control the situation, but you didn’t want to lie to her. “ I think I found the stalker, I fought with him.”

You saw her eyes widening, her hands already trying to see if you were hurt in any way. She was already talking about calling the police but you stopped her quickly, you didn’t want the police on this. You tried to calm her down.

“ Alice, don’t you remember what happened with Larry? We couldn’t call the police or your own spies because it was putting your secret at risk.” you held her shoulders with your hands, staring at her. “ Let us do our work.” you smiled softly at her as you saw her body relax. “ Nothing happened, see ? I’m still alive and well.”

She looked at you, you could see her concern in her eyes but she sighed after a few seconds, nodding at you.

“ I trust you not to be stupid.”

You laughed at her before standing up, tellinger her to take a walk in the streets. She followed you and you both took a walk in the street, looking at babies clothes. You helped her choose clothes and toys, even if you didn’t know if it was going to be a boy or a girl, Alice was buying everything. She asked the shop owner to send it to her house before leaving, already seeing something she wanted in another shop. You couldn’t help but smile at her eagerness.

“ What do you wish for ?”

“ A Girl! I just know it's going to be a girl. A strong girl just like her Mama!” she beamed as she stroked her belly. “ I can’t wait to teach her how to dance, dress! Alyzée will teach her how to be composed and pretty and you will teach her how to cook, fight and beat Alastor down!”

You roared in laughter at her last sentence. You shook your head, rolling your eyes at her. You both went to a coffee shop around noon. You smiled when you heard the radio and Alastor's voice was coming out of it. Everyone was listening to him, everyone was adoring him.

“ You look so proud.”

You looked at Alice as she drank her tea with a knowing smile. You stuck your tongue to her before drinking a mojito. You both talked all afternoon, talking about the baby, about Alyzée, about your daily life. You looked at the clock, it was almost 5. You both stood up and you walked Alice home. You hugged each other before you walked toward Alastor’s workplace, you knew he didn’t finish work but you were curious about seeing him in his workplace.

You entered the building, looked at the entrance’s decoration before turning around when you heard your name.

“ What are you doing here ?”

You looked as Victor walked toward you with a big smile, the cheeks flushed because of the hot weather. He was carrying a pile of paper and was breathing hard. Victor was one of the few people that Alastor had kept by his side, and you liked him. He looked like a little kid who was trying to get praise from his boss. It was cute.

“ I’m looking for my husband, is he still working?”

He nodded before telling you to follow him. He walked into the corridor until Alastor’s door. He turned toward you, breathing hard, his arms shaking because of the weight of the paper sheet.

“ Do you need…help, Victor?” you asked him, feeling sorry for the poor man.

“ No! I’m good, do not worry!” He told you before looking at the door then you. “ Could you knock for me? He finished his broadcast twenty minutes ago.”

You giggled before knocking on the door and waited until you heard Alastor's voice telling you to enter. You opened the door for Victor, he quickly went inside and put the paper on a table , sighing in relief. You followed after him and turned your head toward Alastor who was looking at you with a little smirk. You knew he felt your presence which was why he didn’t seem surprised.

“ You are late, Victor…”

“ I’m on time !” Victor said, almost with a puppy sad expression.

“ That’s what I said. Now, go.” Alastor said as he stood up from his seat. He walked toward you as Victor left his office. You smiled at him, kissing him softly as he hummed against your lips. “ What is my darling wife doing here?”

“ I wanted to see my husband.” you chuckled when you felt his lips kissing your neck before sitting back on his chair. “ This is the first time I come here… With my body.”

“ Last time, it was your soul, you’re right.” He leaned on his chair, crossing his arms against his torso. You looked more closely at his face, he seemed to be sweating. You took a tissue from your bag and wiped his forehead as he closed his eyes. You touched his forehead with your hand and frowned a little.

“ You’re warmer than usual.”

“ Well, it is summer and my office gets hot with all my materials.”

You pouted, trying to fan him with a piece of paper which made him laugh. He stood up, kissed your forehead and said it was time to go home. He took some paper with him and you both left his workplace, and drove to your home.

You looked at him, you felt like he was overworking… You took his hand and walked toward the lake behind the house. You didn’t really go there because of the accident years ago, but now you weren’t scared anymore… As long as Alastor was there.

He looked at you as you took off your shoes and lifted up your dress before taking a step into the water. You turned around to look at him. holding your hand toward him with a soft smile. The water was fresh, maybe it would help him relax.

He stared at you before taking off his shoes and socks and walked in the water, toward you.

“ You aren’t scared?”

“ I’m with you, so, no, I’m not.”

You felt warmth in your body when you saw his expression relaxed. You knew it was important for him for you to never feel insecure or scared when he was around you. You didn’t want to go deeper in the water, you still didn’t know how to swim. You sat on the grass, keeping your legs in the water.

Alastor dived into the water with his clothes on. You smiled when you saw him emerge out of the water, his hair sticking in on his forehead. He closed his eyes as he swam, never going too far from you.

You kicked your legs against the water, you really were lucky to have the lake on your property. It felt good… You stood up, telling Alastor you would come back with food. Picnicking seemed like a good idea. You wanted him to relax, you could feel the tension in his body like it was in yours.

You made sandwiches and came back to the lake, telekinesis the drinks until you were sitting on the grass. You looked up and almost caught fire because of how hard you blushed.

Alastor was shirtless, water running on his body, his head tilted back, his arms keeping him up from the water, on the floor. He opened his eyes and smirked at you, raising an eyebrow. You gulped as he left the water and walked toward you.

“ You’re red, darling.” He touched your chin, making you close your mouth you didn’t even realize was open. You shoved the sandwiches in his hands, looking away as he laughed. You laid down on the grass, looking at your husband who was eating your food.

He was so beautiful, the sun was making him have a divine glow. His scars weren't making him ugly, it was making him look dangerous and you loved it. Those scars were proof that he made it through Hell.

You looked at his face and smiled when you saw his gaze on you. His stare would always find itself on you, in an empty room or crowded place, he would always look for you. He leaned toward you, kissing your lips with a soft smile.

How perfect life was.

“ Did you know Alice wanted me to be her child’s godmother?” you whispered against his lips.

“ I guessed it.” He whispered before kissing you once more.

You smiled against his lips, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You pushed your lips against his as he tried to get away, wrapping your legs around his waist. You tried to suppress your laugh as he was groaning when you didn’t move your lips away from his. It wasn’t a kiss, just you who didn’t want to let him go.

He stood up easily, even if you were still clinging to him. He walked toward the lake, before entering the water, speaking , his voice muffled against your lips.

“ Darling… Let go…”

You shook your head, keeping your lips against him. You chuckled as he sighed before swimming in the water. You nipped at his lips, looking at him playfully. He went into the water with you, kissing you propremy before diving into the water.

You closed your eyes, feeling your hair moving against your skin, Alastor kissing you fondly. You felt yourself relaxing, Alastor was holding you, you weren’t going to drown. You felt him poking your cheek with his finger. You opened your eyes slowly, you couldn’t see well, everything was blurry but you could see Alastor’s eyes. You both stared at each other before he swam to the surface.

You broke the kiss, smiling sweetly at him. He looked more relaxed than when you saw him at work. He swam to the lake’s edge, and you both ate what was left of sandwiches, looking as the sun was setting down. You played with Alastor’s curls until it was time to go home.

When you laid in your bed, you kissed Eamon’s nose before looking at Alastor who was ready to go to bed. You put your head on the pillow, sleeping almost immediately after feeling Alastor kiss your forehead.

You opened your eyes, wide awake. You looked next to you and saw Alastor’s side of the bed, empty. You jumped off the bed, feeling yourself being nervous. You walked quickly down the stairs, going into the living room, finding Alastor writing down notes. He looked at you, surprised.

“ Darling?”

You squinted your eyes at him and walked toward him, observing him. His voice didn’t seem like usual. You frowned when you saw sweat on his skin. You touched his forehead and gasped when you felt how hot he was.

“ Alastor, I think you might be sick.” you said, already ready to go take the medicine you kept in your drawers.

“ Darling, I’m not. It’s hot, remember ?” He tilted his head, looking at you, amused.

You shook your head, crossing your arms on your chest. When you saw him going back to his notes, you took his hands, begging him with your eyes.

“ Then, please, at least, go to bed.”

He looked at you before sighing and nodding. You were happy he couldn’t say no to many things from you. You went back to bed and you worried even more when he fell asleep before you, his head on your chest. You bit your lips, stroking his head before falling asleep before you could acknowledge it.

You woke up because of Alastor’s voice.

“ Damn it…!”

You sat up, looking around. The sun was up, you looked at the clock. It was seven and half. You left the bed and went down the stairs quickly. Alastor was moving clumsily, trying to take his notes, he almost stumbled against the table.

You could see his face, flushed, sweating, his eyes seemed to be unable to focus on things.

Alastor was sick.

“ Alastor, stay here, I’m calling Victor to tell him you won’t go to work.”

Alastor turned his head toward you, seeming surprised to see you. Did he not feel your presence ? You walked toward the telephone but Alastor stopped you with his usual charming smile.

“ My love… I’m going to work, there is no need to worry. It’s just a little fever, nothing more.”

You stared at his hands, you could see he was sick. You could feel it, and it wasn’t a little fever like he said.. But Alastor could be such an obstinate man like you could be a brat. If mister said he wasn’t sick, then everyone needed to accept it.

But you weren’t just anyone. You could play like Alastor played everyone. You have been doing this since childhood.

“ Well, then, Alastor. Let me heal you then.” You smirked when you saw him freezed.

“ We don’t know if you can heal something other than cuts.”

“ Let's try it out now! Like you said, it’s just a small fever, it should be easy for me.” you stared down at him. You knew he wouldn’t choose the choice that would hurt you. You stared at him when you saw his smile twitched. You knew you won.

You dialed Alastor’s workplace and sighed in relief when you heard Victor’s voice. You told him Alastor couldn’t go to work because he was sick.

“ Alastor? Sick?”

“ My wife is holding me hostage, Victor.”

You shushed your husband before telling Victor you would call him later. You looked at Alastor who was trying to keep his smile but you knew he was upset. You pushed him into the bedroom, forcing him to change before going into the kitchen, preparing a meal for him.

You kept being at his side but you didn’t know why, his fever just got more and more powerful. Alastor who, in the beginning, was smirking at you, was now in a semi-conscious state. You tried to wipe his forehead but he smacked your hand.

“ Don’t…. touch me…”

You looked at him as he watched you, his eyes unfocused. You took back your hand, you didn’t want to upset him more than he already was.

“ I’m sorry, I just wanted to cool down the fever.” You smiled at him but he didn’t relax. His whole body was tense, his smile wasn’t on his face anymore, he was snarling like an animal who was trying to protect himself.

“ Don’t…”

“ Do you want to drink something ?” you asked him, standing up slowly, trying to keep your voice smooth and cheerful.

“ Hot chocolate….” he whispered, closing his eyes.

You tilted your head, confused. You were always laughing when Alastor would be disgusted by your hot chocolate, asking you how you could drink something like that.

“ But you don’t like it…Why?”

“It tastes…like my wife…” he said, opening his eyes slightly, looking at you. “ She…is sweet…”

You didn’t know why but that made you teared up a little. Alastor was so delirious he couldn’t recognize you, but he was still thinking about you. You went downstairs and made hot chocolate and took a glass of fresh water. You walked back in your bedroom and sat back down on the bed.

“ Here, I made it just like your wife used to.”

He sat up clumsily, and took the mug before drinking a little, grimacing as the sweet brevage hit his tongue. He put the mug down, shaking his head.

“ How does she… drink that…”

You smiled sweetly before giving him the glass of water. He drank all of it in one go. He laid down once again, grimacing in discomfort. You took Eamon and put it on his chest, making him look at the plushie.

“ Eamon…” He took the plushie with a small smirk. He stroked the fur of the plushie before looking at you. “ You shouldn’t touch it, lady…” You asked him why, tilting your head. “ I cursed… my wife with it. We are bound… forever..” he gave you a boyish smile before falling asleep, Eamon in his hand.

You smiled, stroking his curls before taking care of him. You wiped the sweat from his forehead, putting cold wet tissue on his forehead to slow down the fever. You stayed with him, giving him his medicine and food so he could be better. You never touched him when he was awake.

When night came, you sighed in relief when you felt the fever went down. You looked at your hand, maybe you could heal the rest of the fever with your power…? You began to call on your power, your eyes shining red with a purple hue, coming closer to Alastor.

“ Darling, don’t…”

You freezed when you saw Alastor’s gaze on you. His eyes were focused, conscious and he had his usual smile on his lips. He sat up slowly and you quickly helped him.

“ Alastor, do you recognize me ..?”

He nodded, kissing the back of the hand.

“ I’m feeling better… Just tired and cold, but you don’t need to heal me…”

You were staring at him, trying to see if he was hiding the truth but you could see Alastor was back to normal. You sighed in relief as your power flew out of you in a calming way. You kept taking care of Alastor until the next day, he was feeling way better.

The next morning, he smiled at you before going to work while you decided to stay at home to clean out the sheet and every tissue. After cleaning you went to bed, you were so tired…

But when you closed your eyes, you could feel your soul being taken away from your body. You opened your eyes to see your body sleeping peacefully in front of you. The red thread connecting you to Alastor was bright red, it has been like this since you did the ritual. You looked on the side, you could feel Papa Legba’s presence next to you and you let your soul be guided toward the city.

You were looking around and saw Alyzée walking in the street with Alice. You smiled when you saw both of them, with baby items in their hands. You looked behind them and grinned when you saw Alastor’s shadow behind them, guarding them.

Why have you been brought here, then?

You could feel Legba’s presence pressuring you. It was like he was trying to show you something but you didn’t know where to look. You were beginning to panic, which was making your link shaking. Your soul was beginning to get back to your body. You turned your head toward a random direction and froze when you saw a man. The same man who fought against.

You couldn’t see his face, you couldn’t see very well in that form, you still needed more training. But that wasn’t what made you have goosebumps. It wasn’t his presence that made you gasp. What made your heart drop was that: He wasn’t looking at Alyzée or Alice.

He was looking at you.

Tag List: @lukneetoonz @martinys-world @littlepoetnova @sirens-and-moonflowers @eris-norwega @tiredflame132 @mo-0-o @vvollerie @sodavizz @boogiemansbitch @tessemerick @slytherin4ever @kammsinn @alastorssimp @t0xic1vi @diamond-almond @fangirlbitch02 @saccharine-nectarine @thenorthnightingale @bibliophile-yomna @itzjustj-1000 @mothraantics @yourdoorisunlocked @phamtasic @karmakillz @holographicage @sarcastic-sourwolf @akuraluna2468 @everwolf-20 @thesunandmoons-blog @songbrita @noraunor @fandomsbookclub @hokkaido97 @catticora @gasiacos

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running-with-kn1ves · 12 days ago

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Phrogging. Or... Spider-ing?

A/N: Ignore the dumbass title I couldn't think of anything more captivating; Missed my love for driders-- I wish spiders were real 💔

Synopsis: You move into an old, but enticing fixer-upper of a house. While doing your general, you know, fixing-upping, you come face to face with the cause of the bumps in the night you’ve been plagued by.

CW: Spiders, attempts at intimidation, fear, GN Reader

You know that skittering you hear while laying in bed sometimes? Little 'tic tic tics' behind your headboard as you try to sleep at night, or muffled bumps under the old hardwood floor creating flurries of dust as the thumping moves to another side of the room. Yeah, not always the most comforting feeling, especially when you're busy plastering white paint on old, cobwebbed walls at eleven at night, in a home built decades before you were born.

Eggshell-colored sludge covered your elbows and cheeks, small speckles crusted over the dust on your ‘new’ floors and painting sheet. The bumps were a constant source of annoyance, especially tonight while you yourself, were making a bit of a ruckus. You didn't dare move while listening to the sound, a large roller still held rigidly in your dominant hand, dripping white onto the floor. Another thump resounded, creating small tornadoes of dust. And then another. They were farther away this time, to the south of your damp, italianate-style home. Ghosts and goblins weren't your forte-- even with the near century-old two-story you've been blessed to snatch off the market in time, you thought the cobwebs and oddly spacious basement were just remnants of the old owners, creaking with age and dim with use-- not the presence of the otherworldly.

But these little tip-taps and deep grunts from below were by no means just a product of old wood and concrete-- they were... intentional. The roar of the incinerator was recognizable, separate from the sound of disturbing bangs from below.

The thump moved again, this time your paint roller falling into its wet bucket of a home as your legs shake, falling asleep from use; painting around the baseboards of your new suite (a dream bedroom-- even if it was caked in a layer of mouse droppings) was no easy feat, on you or your joints.

Underneath a box of old sheets the thump went to disrupt the floor again, the box jumping a quarter inch off the ground.

Your queasy legs rise to investigate.

Down the hall and to the ground level, you avoid several caved-in steps as you leave the second floor. The shimmer of dust particles in the air makes you sniffle, rubbing your nose raw as you make it down. The basement door, only a few feet on the wall to your left, sat slightly ajar.

The door bolt lays unused and slightly clanking against the rotting wood. A foul smell wafts from the open crack, a stench you have yet to get rid of even long after scrubbing the stairs with bleach from top to bottom. Perhaps the wood is starting to mold.

They're damp when you rest on the first basement step with your socked foot, deadbolt still clinking as you watch the darkness. Nothing stirs, besides dust particles mixed with the smell of petrichor.

Racing to the bottom of the staircase you rapidly search for the lightswitch, nearly tripping in the oncoming darkness.

Flipping one of them on and off again as the musty odor creeps closer, you can sense the movement of unseen creatures; blindly feeling for the second lightswitch, a dreary yellow from above finally bursts in the cavern of decade-old belongings, along with the sound of a whirring ceiling fan on the brink of falling out of the old cement.

Nothing seemed out of place, old dusted boxes lying against one another with wet stuff seeping from their rotten corners. A quiet ‘drip drip’ came from somewhere.

A small sigh escaped from your dry mouth, corners of your lips sticking together from lack of use in anything other than swallowing your sandpapering tongue.

You scanned the room, all dawned in yellow except the deep corners of the basement. It read as usual, giving off the same historic, uncomfortably wet aura. But your eyes stopped, either out of a disruption in the moldy pattern, or an instinctual fear that was trying to warn you.

Slender and black, it looked almost frozen, except for some wrongful twitching at its tip; you might’ve ignored it as a large crack in the wall, or perhaps dripping sewage from the upstairs bathroom if it had stayed still. But it curled, just slightly bent and sticking out like an appendage. It was aggregate with notches like a finger, jointed. It seemed to notice your staring, creating a creaking tap before it disappeared into the darkness of the ceiling beams and rotted corner to your right.

Horror was slow to dawn on your face, exhaustion making your skin droop where wrinkles would show in only a matter of time. You had seen that, right? It wasn’t just your brain making things up because it was way past your self-mandated bed time?

The panic causing your heart to speed three times faster than the original lethargic beats was real, though. And that was enough for you to believe you were more than hallucinating. Blindly you search your back pockets for your phone, not daring to take your eyes away from the now empty, peeling corner.

You hadn’t noticed the drumming that harassed you while painting had stopped-- until it started again. This time it came from above, dancing on the ceiling beams where you couldn’t see, sounding as if it was coming directly for you. When you were upstairs it was almost aimless, moving around like a cat with its head stuck in a box.

You pressed a hand in front of your mouth, trying not to scream; it would do no good to wake the elderly neighbors, who already seemed prepared to destroy an outsider like you through the homeowners association. Well, what good would that be if you were dead!

Whatever the leg belonged to, it must have sensed your urgency as you tried to shuffle back up the stairs, your body pressed against the back wall to keep your eyes on the basement. The unclosable door upstairs had gently gone shut, the door bolt swinging against the splintered wood as if it too didn’t understand what had closed the door so simply.

It had distracted you from your real fear, the thing you took your eyes away from.

“Hello, there.”

Wide-eyed and shaking, you drew yourself to look back at the dark corner, but the voice was far too close to come from so far away.

“Up here, simpleton.”

Your paint-dried fingernails dug into the split wood from behind, begging for some stability besides the wet stairs beneath your soggy feet.

Stuttering breaths ran throughout the groaning, mildew beast of the basement. You prepped for the worst, for some kind of phrogger or decaying corpse that found a way to haunt you. Burning tears tugged at the sides of your eyes, falling asbestos egging on your terror.

But what you found was a… young man; the kind of man you wouldn’t expect to be living in your basement, nonetheless hanging from the exposed beams of your basement. His eyes glowed with a round, edgeless face, oval and smooth like glass. His features were darkened by the shadows from above, the yellow lightbulb bathing him in a dark black and flaxen.

“What-- who are you,” You swallowed your fear, now that you knew for sure it was just some freak hiding out down here, rather than some supernatural entity. “Why are you in my house?”

Your voice grew stern, angry with the exhaustion this adventure had put you in.

“Your house?” He scoffed, the thumping following him as a black mass from underneath his face carried him to another beam, this time closer to you and the railing of the stairs.

You stomped down to the cold last step of the basement stairs, wondering if you should go as far as to find a broom and start pushing him out with it.

“As far as I was aware, this was free territory, since.. Oh well, I don’t know. But it’s been over a decade since a beast like you had attempted to enter my home.”

You nearly scoffed back, his home?

But the mockery was taken away from you as the long, slender appendage was made visible again. It slowly lowered itself from between the beams, the man from above moving with it. Another had shown itself, and then another. The man fell to the floor, black limbs and mass breaking his fall.

The human upper half raised itself far above you, the long, obsidian spindles of his hair a tangled mess as his head nearly touched the beams from above. He barely fit in the ground floor of the basement, the ‘legs’ of his lower half grazing against damp boxes and an old piano shoved at the corner. The softness of his jaw was deceiving; humanly. However the darkness and creasing of his eyes showed his true nature, his antiquity. From the fullness of his flesh to small black freckles and his square nose, he displayed the range of features most humans would have; and yet, he was terrifyingly un-human.

He towered in a menacing stance, hands to his side and shoulders slightly raised, as if he would come at you with his arms swinging if he sensed threat.

You looked down to the part that confused your mind, dark legs taping inconsistently, and yet in a calculated pattern as each leg followed one another. Below its torso, where you prayed a pair of cargo pants or torn jeans would be, instead held the teardrop shaped abdomen you would see on one of the many spiders you’ve killed since you’ve been here. The legs were an extension of its beautifully horrific lower-half, black and sheening as a thin layer of shiny, spiked hairs were standing on end.

You looked back up to see its face, horror engulfing in your own as you waited for the rest of the monster to turn into what it depicted. You almost jumped as the closed black lines you took for wrinkles or dust on its face opened up, a variety of blackened eyes glistening to stare at you. You didn’t have the sense to count, taken aback at what your mind had conjured in front of you.

“You-- it--” Clutching at your heart you tried to stop the squeezing that held you frozen. “This isn’t real...”

“I suggest if you don’t want a roommate, or rather-- don’t want me to eat you, you abandon this residence, immediately.”

You sucked in a raspy breath, again pushing yourself against the rotting wall to create distance from the towering, spider-like man.

“It’s my house..” You whispered, waiting for him to open his jaws like a snake and aim for your neck. He looked confused only for a moment, a clear tension of rage bubbling up in his pinched expression. “It’s my house.” You said louder, clearing your throat.

At this, he just stared. What you took as anger was rather an inability to form a response on his end.

“And what makes this yours? Your presence, your belongings?”

“My name is on the deed; I forked out thousands, there’s even a loan in my name, if you’d like to see that.”

“Deed…” He repeated, unsure what to make of it. “I don’t know what the ‘deed’ is that you speak of, or the methods you have taken to try and gain ownership, but I assure you this land is claimed.”

You still clutched at your chest against the stairs, waiting for a move to be made. This was not something you had ever encountered before-- you didn’t even know who to contact, as you were certain the real-estate agent who handed you the keys wouldn’t be of any assistance. Any foreclosed homes’ problems were the new owner’s responsibility to handle, whether it be mold or a seven-foot creature residing in the basement.

Do you call animal control? That can’t be right, he speaks, he’s even telling you to leave your own home.

There had to be some kind of compromise to be made. You gather the courage to speak again, taking a deep breath to avoid stuttering.

“Well… no one needs to leave, just yet. Right? We can.. Figure this out somehow. We’re both reasonable here, there can be some arrangement to be made?”

It sounded as if you were asking him for permission, the farthest thing from the truth. All this hard work in renovating and you were going to give it up to some basement-dwelling beast? No way, you’d fight him off if you had to, even if you trembled while doing so.

The creature was hesitant, bringing a hand up to grab onto the ceiling beam. His eyes cast down in thought, thin eyebrows furrowed in uncertainty.

“Humans don’t do well for very long here, I assure you.” He gave a grimace, trying to avoid the obviousness of how he stared up, and down at your curled-in form, clearly frightened and trying to keep your distance like a cornered animal. “But I suppose it's the only option, if you don’t intend on leaving.”

“So…” You swallowed the dryness of your mouth, close to heaving. “You’re not going to try eating me right now, or while I sleep or something?”

He tried to prevent an amused grin from pulling up the right side of his face, but a small dimple couldn’t hide it.

“No. I was bluffing, in the hopes that you’d run away. I’ve never tried human, and don’t plan on it; much too coarse.” He let go of the beam, seeming to shrink down as his attack stance became less of an assurance. “Doesn’t mean I’m unwilling if the opportunity arises, however.”

“You almost instinctively relaxed as you watched him do so, trying to slow your sporadic heart that was still running at full speed.

“But, aren’t you-- at least, part-human in some sort?” You wondered if this was the right time to be asking questions seeing as this creature-- who was certainly by no means harmless-- was only a few feet away from you and clearly distrusting.

“Getting into the family history before even knowing my name? That’s not particularly kind of an intruder.” He smiles outwardly this time, a creepy grin showing underneath the heavy hair curtaining around his face; it was starting to appear more gaunt the farther he stepped into the light. “But yes, arachnid’s have some human traits; I just appear less frightening to your eyes than my friends.”

As he speaks he lifts up a thin, lengthy arm, watching as something black crawls from behind him and across his wrist. Squinting your eyes and unconsciously lifting closer you see its a spider, a thick, long-legged creature that looked like the father of all the other spiders you had been killing since you moved in.

You almost seemed to lower your shoulders at realizing he was part human. That you weren’t witnessing some kind of demon or underworld spawn that could rip you apart with just its mind; he had a fair set of weaknesses, too.

“Don’t relax just yet, human,” He spat the word like it was derogatory, letting the spider walking across his arm reach the beam to his left as he was growing into something fearful. “Just because I won’t kill you doesn’t mean you are safe.”

Even with the hardened glaze of his eyes, the look of sheer disturbance deadened into his lips and expression-- it was a relief to know you would live to see another day.

“Why should I be afraid if you’re just going to sit here like an unpaying roommate? I’d rather you not be here, but if you’re going to leave me alive than I can deal with boarding off the basement, Mr. Spider.”

You challenge his shadowed face, watching how he leans back in a reclusive manner and goes still, save for one of his left legs tapping.

Like clockwork, that creepy, unnervingly toothy smile curls open again as his hands rise forward, claw-like.

You had gotten the courage to stand straight, ignoring the pounding of your chest as you watched him. But with two steps he was across the stair railing, using his legs to entrap you against the peeling wallpaper.

His narrow arms shot out to claw against the wall next to your head, digging into it with thick nails as his face got close.

“It’s Seir; don’t insult me with such an absurd name,” Anger tinged the edge of his tone, looking down at you with the abundance of his eyes; you could see they had a reddish ring around them, a dark crimson you would have never noticed otherwise. “I have seen more history than you have read about in your lifetime, more death and destruction than you will ever witness.”

He watched your face drain in color, eyes wide at seeing him close; what he saw as fear, was partly fascination that tightened your lips. Not to say you weren’t terrified, of course.

“I like your fear-- I relish it. It means you aren’t going to be blind and stupid, that you will obey, and be frightened. And for as long as you stay here, you will not know peace.” The wallpaper crumbles as he brings a chalky hand to your jaw, placing a delicate thumb to the curve below your ear. “A night will not go by where I won’t attempt to destroy any sense of safety you have. I will be in every corner, a million eyes watching so that you are never, never left alone.” He grows closer, lowering his elongated neck to see eye to eye with you, close enough to touch your nose with his own if he dared. “Are you prepared for these consequences of staying in my territory, of being utterly feasted on by me in every way besides your vessel?”

Seir’s finger traces down your jaw to your neck, trying to invoke the fearful goosebumps most humans would have by the touch of a creature by him. Rarely did he take measures to touch a human in order to cause fear, but it was clear you would need more than the occasional hissing and view of his presence to run away and leave him to his solitude.

You look away, almost blinded by the unconventional handsomeness he portrayed if one looked deep enough; with a bath, a sheet above his spidered body, and maybe a haircut-- he would be no different than one of the well-dressed guys in finance who sped-walk past the cafe that you people-watched at, pretending to look for a job on your laptop. Well, the eight eyes decorating his face kind of destroyed the illusion.

The intimidation tactic he carried out was less frightening than when he was standing ominously in the middle of the basement, leaving his attempt almost campy. You huff, a little irritated and tired now that you were no longer in fight or flight mode.

“…It was just a nickname, geez. I didn’t know spiders could be so sensitive.”

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hometoursandotherstuff · 1 year ago

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This looks like such a normal house. It looks like a development I once lived in. It was built in 2007 in Calhoun, Tennessee, but there's nothing ordinary about it. 3bds, 4.5ba, $424,900.

I was not expecting this. Do you see how the tile curves where it meets the wood? Interesting.

This is actually the kitchen.

Believe it or not, those 3 arches are the kitchen.

Check this out- they took the appliances, but if you want to go to the fridge, you go to the alcove on the left. To cook, you go to the one on the right where the stove is. Then, when it's time to load the dishwasher, that's in the middle pantry. How inconvenient is this? Running back & forth, in and out. What psycho designed this kitchen?

If you need water to cook, the sink is in here. I have never seen anything like this.

Double-sided fireplace so you can enjoy it in the kitchen and the living room. Stairs to the bedrooms are on the right.

I think that this is the primary bedroom. Is that a window above the double window?

The en-suite bath and closet.

The rooms are such odd shapes. What's up with the floor? Did they "pickle" it with white paint?

This room has a large deck.

Very large bath, too. Either the new owner has to take a toothbrush to that grout or have it redone.

The hallway has a bookshelf wall.

This bedroom seems to have a dance floor. What is that white tile? A pattern? Honestly, it looks like 1st base.

This room has a tile floor and a small en-suite.

Stairs to the rec room.

This is a very large space and you can walk right out to the yard.

There's a bathroom down here, also. Why do they put teeny tanks on the new toilets? They look out of proportion.

You can see from the back of the house that the ground floor is partially underground. There's a garage, but no driveway, just lawn.

The patio is attached to a 2 car garage.

The lighting on the ceiling is pretty cool.

This home and the neighbors are in a clearing and this particular home has 5.3 acres of land.

#unusual homes #modern architecture #houses #house tours #home tour

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

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No Sugar Tonight 5

Character: Brock Rumlow

Summary: A regular customer becomes more than just a familiar face.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The townhouse is big compared to your apartment, though most places are. Brock keeps his hand tight on yours as he brings you up the front steps. He punches a code into the lock, the numbers blocked out by his large figure. You teeter on your feet as he pushes down the lever and shoves the door inward.

He points you in ahead of him and adjusts the straps of the duffel bag hooked over his shoulder. Those are your things, parsed down to a single bag. He follows you in as your eyes skimp the walls. Despite your muddled fear, you can’t help but stand in awe of the antique panel and brick.

“You seem like the old-style type,” he plops the bag down on the wooden bench against the wall, “shoes.”

You look down and nod. You kneel to unlace your work sneakers and put them on the rack. He sits beside the duffel as he works at loosening his boots.

You tear your attention from the tear drop bulbs of the chandelier light above and look at him. Like really look at him. He’s in all black like always. His hair is a similarly dark hue and a shadow of stubble never leaves his square jaw. His shoulders are broad and straight and even sitting, he looks huge. He looks up and narrows his eyes as he catches your gaze.

“Sir, er, Brock,” you twist your palms together.

“Yes, baby,” he sits up, his shoulders squaring. The pet name tweaks in your stomach.

“Erm...” you peer around. “I... I don’t know.”

“You don’t like it?” He stands and you take a step back. “We can update it.”

“Um, no, it’s... pretty but... what... what am I doing here?”

He snorts. It’s as close to laughter as he’s come.

“Whatever you want, baby.” He nears and reaches for you. You wince as he cradles the back of your head and draws you close. “It’s our home, we make the rules.”

He bends and kisses your forehead. You gulp as the heavy scent of his cologne strangles you. His fingers curl into your scalp and he hums. He hesitates for just a moment before he pulls back.

You suck your lip in under your teeth and turn away. You’re buzzing from his proximity. The way he crowds you is unnerving. Everything about him is.

You sense him watching you as you tiptoe around the bottom of the staircase and stop to stare at the framed painting of a woman in 19th century garb. She seems familiar as she sits on a stool in flowing ivory and pets a lamb, her stomach swollen with child.

“Like I said, you can change it,” he grits as he comes closer. “Have a look around. Explore. It’s all yours.”

You flinch and bat your eyes at the picture. This is real. You peek over at the duffle bag as the horror rolls up your spine. You don’t think you’re ever going back to your old life. This man won’t let you.

You continue down the hallway next to the stairs if only to get space from him and your looming fear. You turn to look into the den. A long sofa and cushy armchairs, bookcases on either side of the vintage fire stove and a rustic rug across the aged wooden floor. You can’t deny that it’s cozy.

He lurks like a shadow but allows you enough space to make your own way through the place. The kitchen is wrought in walnut and iron. A gas stove, a black fridge, and a dishwasher to boot. The walk-in pantry is stocked to the ceiling. You back out as he leans in the crook of the counter.

“There’s more upstairs, baby.”

You take his subtle directive and retrace your path. The dining room on the other side of the stairs gets only a quick glance before you climb to the next floor. Another hallway with several doors. A bathroom with a clawfoot tub and separate shower booth, a linen closet, and office, and the main bedroom. You stop in the last and stare at the four-postered bed.

You retreat and pass Brock as he stands against the wall, halfway up the stairs. There’s another door but it doesn’t open. You don’t try to get past the lock. You go back to look down at him.

“It’s nice, er... Brock.”

“All for you,” he turns and climbs up patiently.

“I--” your wring your hands, “really?” You look one way then the other, “thanks, but...”

“You shouldn't chew your lip. It’s already chapped.” He grabs your hands and pulls them apart, “stop picking at your nails.”

“Sorry, I--”

“Don’t be. I’ll take care of ya until you take care of yourself,” he brings your hands up between his, grazing his calloused skin over yours. He turns your palms to his and pushes his fingers between yours. His cheek dimples and he guides your hands to his chest. “You’ll be safe here.”

You nod and stay silent. His warmth seep through his shirt into your hands. It adds to the sheen of sweat speckling over your body. That fiery heat of fear, the nip of the inevitable. You still can’t wrap your head around it all but you know deep down, you’re not going back to your boxy apartment.

#brock rumlow #dark brock rumlow #dark!brock rumlow #brock rumlow x reader #series #drabble #crossbones #no sugar tonight #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america

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holdinbacksecrets · 10 months ago

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lake house — l.dh

situationship to almost lovers. short, sticky, and hopefully sweet. suggestive, 18+ wc: 1.2k

he’s the only one awake when you head downstairs for a glass of water.

moonlight paints the walls, brushes the end of the couch, and fails to give away any part of his tall frame sitting at the dining table.

he watches you walk past him wearing a t-shirt and nothing else. your braids fall down your back with a scarf wrapped around your head to prevent frizz. the sweet, familiar notes of your perfume linger in your wake.

he watches you stand on your tippy toes as the t-shirt clings to your curves while you reach for the highest shelf. when you’re about to climb onto the countertop, he speaks up.

“i don’t think you should do that if you aren’t wearing any underwear.”

the volume of donghyuck’s voice is quiet, just loud enough for you to hear, and he’s right. you aren’t wearing any underwear. you don’t bother commenting on the silence he existed in until this moment as it sets in he was likely watching you.

you fall back on your heels, motioning to him and then nodding to the displayed dishware out of reach. he runs his fingers through his hair before rising from the seat to help you. he approaches you slowly, and you wait for eyes to drop and collect a pretty view. they never do.

donghyuck extends a glass in one hand and a mug in the other—take your pick.

in the next moment, you’re filling the glass before he places the mug beneath the flowing faucet, standing so close that his warmth softens the coolness on your skin. someone left the window open, but it’s above a sleeping friend. there’s no use trying to close it.

you’re side by side, and it’s natural to rest your head against his frame in between sips and the necessary gulps. you want to know what he thinks about you. if the reason he was excited about this weekend has anything to do with seeing each other again.

the two of you are good at waiting and hoping the other will finally bend, wondering how long it’ll take before a give in. secretly, he never plans on waiting longer than four days. perhaps the fifth day once midnight strikes. you haven’t figured that out yet, giving in by day two or experiencing the relief when he calls on the third day. perhaps he’s lying about his little rule.

he sets the mug in the sink and brushes his thumb across the side of your neck, just above a constellation of moles. he’s kissed the spot more times than you can count, and the craving for his euphoria slithers beneath your skin, starting in your chest before coiling down your body.

you lift your glass again to fill your cheeks. he smiles at the sight. you’re adorable yet so incredibly sexy in this moment. donghyuck doubts you have any idea how easily you exist in the middle of his favorite venn diagram.

your glass joins his mug, and you look up at him. your height difference is exciting and comforting and leaves you feeling safe as can be in his presence. you daydream about the feeling of his chin on the top of your head, wondering how much time would pass before he’s kissing your hairline.

“come to bed with me?” his eyes widen for a moment, and you feel a wave of his vulnerability mist you in the darkness. the glowing light from the stove is all you have to work with. he’s nervous.

you nod, interlacing fingers with his and walking backwards for a moment before you turn to lead the way.

at the stairs, he walks beside you, hyper aware of your chosen pajamas and not wanting to see something you haven’t given him consent to view again. it’s been two weeks since he’s seen you naked.

donghyuck’s bedroom is three doors past yours. he got lucky with the window seat and angled ceiling. he feels so far removed from the rest of the house with a beautiful view of the water.

his bedding is plaid, and the room feels rustic in comparison to the delicate details within your own, accompanied by pastel blues and yellows.

you can see him much clearer in the soft glow from the nightstand’s lamp. he’s wearing black joggers you recognize and a white t-shirt. his hair is still damp and stubble peppers his chin. in an impulsive moment, you’re touching his face, tracing the shape of his nose, the contour of his cheek, and the arch of his brow before brushing your thumb across his lips. they part beneath your touch. you smile, existing in this feeling donghyuck always creates for you and remembering how unnatural it used to feel—surprised by the comfort despite your still short time in each other’s lives.

now, months have passed of getting to know—unraveling without judgment. his secrets are kept securely in your mind. vulnerable memories are cherished in your heart. the way he makes you feel is savored by your soul and replayed in your dreams. intimate explorations you’ve experienced together are reminisced in quiet moments when you’re alone, admiring the new, golden hues in your reflection.

he’s indulging in these wee hours of the morning with you. he hasn’t said anything since his hopeful question, and you’re ok with that. you feel like all the words are out in the open anyway. you believe they are when he leans forward to kiss you.

donghyuck pulls you against him. your chest meets the base of his sternum. you moan at the feeling of your mouths moving together, missing these soft collisions, but the kiss remains gentle and slow without urgency. his tongue is a ghost, barely meeting your own. his hands stay on either side of your face while your own grip his shirt.

donghyuck pulls away to explore your neck and jaw before his lips touch your eyelids. he smiles then. your heart is about to burst, and you wait for the final kiss that’s bound to find your lips.

and it does.

“i’ve missed you,” his words pass through an exhale.

he’s sitting on the bed while you stand between his legs with your fingers in his hair. your lips continuously meet his forehead, filling the void that grew during your time apart. donghyuck asks about your journey up and how the trip went. he tells you you can drive home with him—he insists you do.

when he rests his face against your stomach, you wonder if he’s ok. “hyuck?”

“mmm?”

“is something wrong?”

“just missed you. didn’t know if you’d be here. wish i would’ve asked.” he’s been in his head about you.

“you can always ask.”

“i know that.” if he picked up the phone, he would’ve told you he’s in love with you.

“we have the whole weekend together.”

“how long will it be before everyone is sick of us?” he had to kiss you. of course he wanted to, but the words were bubbling up again. every time he thought to pull away, they danced on his tongue.

“i’m in the clear—making banana bread in the morning. join me?”

“as long as you’re wearing pants.”

he feels your stomach tighten as you laugh, and it’s heaven. he squeezes your hip and leans back, rearranging the pillows so you can join him.

“i didn’t expect to run into anyone downstairs tonight, and i’m so used to living alone… but i’ll wear pants. don’t worry about that.” you lean in and kiss him as a promise, tucking your legs beneath the covers.

you fall asleep talking about the sky—you’re so excited to see the sunrise in the morning over the lake. donghyuck sets an alarm so you don’t miss it, traces i love you against your forearm to see what it feels like and falls asleep too.

#haechan fic #haechan oneshot #haechan imagines #haechan scenarios #haechan x reader #haechan x black reader #nct dream imagines #nct dream blurbs #nct fic #donghyuck x reader #donghyuck imagines

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 2 months ago

Text

Sound, color, touch

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 17

Prompt: Lights

Rated: E

Tags: Magic AU; Established relationship; Married Steddie; Explicit sexual content

Notes: Once more for the Phantom Thief boys! I published the first part of this exactly 363 days ago, for last year's holiday drabble challenge. I'm not crying, you're crying!!

In the end, it's just the two of them again.

The kids have gone home, the girls have left for Chrissy’s place, and Wayne's retired to his room. Eddie puts out the fire in the tavern's guest room while Steve cleans the kitchen.

It's weird, he thinks as he wipes the counter, how much the place changes after closing time. How it goes so much darker, so much quieter. How the life and the lights and the laughter drain out of it, leaving it empty and silent. Like a place removed from the world - miles and miles under the sea or above the clouds, where you could scream for hours and days and years without being heard.

Eddie’s slots into him from behind, blanketing him in his warmth. His hands come to rest on top of Steve’s, taking the rag from his fingers. His lips find Steve’s neck and shoulders, kissing the tension out of his muscles.

"I’m here, honey,” Eddie says, words slicing through the silence. He doesn’t keep his voice low. Knows that Steve needs sound and color and touch. “Say it with me?”

Steve exhales, letting Eddie’s warmth bleed into the places where it’s cold and dark. “You’re here.”

Eddie hums, turning him around so that he can kiss his forehead. “Let's go upstairs?”

Eddie never stops kissing him as they make their way up the stairs.

Their room is in the attic, the single wall dominated by a large stained glass window.

Eddie’s lips caress every inch of his skin as he lays him out on the bed, only pausing long enough to rid them of their clothes. Steve shudders, tipping back his head to give him better access, gaze catching on the painted ceiling above their bed. Eddie outdid himself with it. A purple and blue sky at dawn, the moon and stars twinkling between mountains of puffy clouds.

In the beginning, Steve thought it was a trick of the light. That it was the glow of the window making the clouds look like they were lit in all the colors of the sunset, making the stars appear like white, winking needlepoints against the darkening firmament.

The sound he made when he understood what it really was made Eddie laugh so hard he slipped out of him and collapsed by his side in a naked, cackling tangle of limbs. Steve slapped him.

“Stop laughing, you asshole. Since when- … Why didn’t- … Fuck, Eddie, is it back? All of it?”

Eddie shook his head and smiled, dark eyes shining with the lights from above.

“Only a small bit of it,” he said. “Enough for a few tricks.”

When he held up his hand, a firework of tiny sparks was crackling between his fingertips. Steve watched it, happiness clogging his chest, guilt tightening his throat, grief twisting his stomach, and the lights turned blurry. Eddie made a soft sound, magic fizzling out as he pulled him close.

“It's so little,” Steve said when the tears had dried and he lay with his ear pressed close to Eddie’s heartbeat, gazing at their very own sunset above. “You used to be a fucking force of nature, and now-”

“And now I'm the happiest I've ever been,” Eddie said, lifting Steve’s hand to kiss his wedding band. “I'm with the man I love and I get to kiss him every day, every hour, every moment, for as long as we both live.”

Steve opened his mouth, but Eddie pressed their entwined hands into the sheets, reaching between them with the other, and he forgot what he was about to say.

“And besides,” Eddie purred, picking up speed and bending down to suck a mark into Steve’s neck, grinning when the slick sounds of him stroking Steve’s cock mingled with breathy moans. “Are you saying I’m not a force of nature now, honey?”

Now, many months later, Steve feels no bitterness looking at the lights twinkling on their ceiling. Instead, he arches his back and tangles one hand in Eddie’s messy curls as their lips meet, letting himself fall into the moment.

The world is sound. Gasps and moans and whispered confessions of love, shared in the sliver of space between their lips.

The world is color. Eddie’s eyes reflecting the light of the stars, pale skin and dark hair backlit by the shifting kaleidoscope of the painted sky behind him.

The world is touch. The delicious pressure of Eddie’s fingers scissoring him open, the beautiful burn of Eddie slipping inside, of Eddie’s tongue coaxing apart his lips.

“Remember how you told me not to fall for you?” Steve asks later, when they’re both sated and exhausted, wrapped up in each other between the sheets. Eddie laughs, loud and boisterous, sweeping some sweaty bangs aside to kiss his forehead. “Did you really mean it?”

Eddie goes silent, connecting the moles on Steve’s arms with one finger as he thinks.

“Yes and no,” he says. “I wanted you, even then. Even though I never thought I’d have you. And at the same time … I knew what you’d have to risk. Or thought I knew. I never saw any of it coming. The lengths they’d go to, the horrible things they’d do to you.”

He trails off, and this time, it’s Steve’s turn to pull him in and hold him close.

“Do you ever regret it?” Eddie whispers against his chest. “Falling in love with me?”

“Never,” Steve says. “I don’t think I could ever regret it. If asked, I’d do it all over again, in the exact same way, if it’ll lead me back here.”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, eyes outshining the stars in the dark of their room. “Yeah, me too.”

They kiss under this sky that’s just for them, and it’s everything Steve never knew he needed, everything he’s ever wanted. Sound and color and touch. He wants to keep kissing Eddie like this forever.

He knows they’ll never stop.

Tag list:

@sourw0lfs @bananahoneycomb @firefly-party @whoneedscanon @steddie-island

@sidekick-hero @theheadlessphilosopher @extra-transitional @penny00dreadful @medusapelagia

@mugloversonly @0happyeverafter0 @stevesbipanic @acingthecounts @sweetheartprincess28

@starryeyedjanai @sailing-through-hawkins @original-cypher @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles 2024 #phantom thief AU

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brailsthesmolgurl · 10 months ago

Text

CHASTENED

The Foreseer was only tasked with one job, to be the guardian of the Creation Protocore under Astra's rule. Men of all walks of life, all kinds of statuses tried to get close to the Creatio Protocore only to deeply regret their decisions. But how about a young lass at the verge of death with a motive to steal the eminent gem takes on the impossible challenge?

Warnings: Angst, Extreme Pain, Character Death, Blood and Gore, consideration of a part two soon. Spoiler towards Zayne's lore.

Y/N pulled her coat tighter over herself, the huge bundle of animal fur still not effective against the harsh gales of the region. Her lips were severely chapped, if she were to lick them at any point, she might either end up with her tongue stuck to her lips for the remainder of the journey, or else she would have a bleeding issue. None of the options on the table present a feasible method.

The tower sprouted from below the hills, the achromatic slates of the gray towers stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the span of white snows. The sight of the towers a reminder to her that she just needs to hang on a bit longer to get to her destination. The closer she reaches the towers, the smaller she felt as compared to the towering structure.

She stood at the doors that could easily fit a snow giant and looked at the scriptures carved onto the heavy doors. '𝕿𝖔 𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖔𝖗𝖘, 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖑𝖎𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖆 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖆 𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖞. 𝕿𝖔 𝖌𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝖆𝖈𝖈𝖊𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖊𝖗, 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖕𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖓𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖊, 𝖙𝖔 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖞𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖊𝖗. 𝕿𝖔 𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖊𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖆 𝖉𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖞, 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖆𝖈𝖈𝖊𝖕𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖗 𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝖋𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓 𝖎𝖋 𝖎𝖙𝖘 𝖋𝖆𝖙𝖆𝖑.'

Pulling off layers and layers of animal fur, she revealed her uniform underneath, a chain mail clad to her small stature, with a layer of thick yet fine leather draped above a gown of woven silk. The emblem of the castle she hailed from sewn onto the front and back of her leather armour. You see, this trick of hers would cost her kingdom a great fortune as every century, the King would send his troops out to the Towers of Thorns to receive a prophecy for the next coming century.

It has been a tradition since the first formation of the kingdom. However, y/n had travelled regions beyond one's imagination, to get an answer for her cure. However, all answers lead back to the towers she is currently entering into. There was a small door which is of the size of a mundane. She pushed the door and it creaked open, heavy iron scraped against the snow covered grounds. The snow becoming a good lubricant for the cracks that grew deeper into the floors.

She managed to squeeze into the small opening and was met with a huge hall, tall ceilings held up by pillars made of solid mortar. A highly sought after material for her nation, to build their own castles and for the symbol of wealth. Mortars were shipped in by boats from lands afar but coming across it is entirely rare. Chandeliers made of soft rime hung from the high ceilings, with the purpose to capture the moonlight at night and to provide what little lighting the hall already has.

The hall would have easily been mistaken to be a ballroom hall, if it was not so dead and cold. Literally dead and cold. Y/n figured if there were a bit more decorations; such as extravagant paintings, sculptures and better lighting, this place could easily surpass all of the other ballroom halls she had ever attended. She walked towards the end of the ballroom hall, a huge and wide flight of stairs welcomed within her sight.

Up to the second floor, the floor had transitioned from tiled marble to stone made out of the hands of a very talented stonemason, given its adjacent patterns. The halls presented on both side were long and seemingly endless, with only four doors occupying on each of the sides. She will have to figure out eventually which room leads to the Foreseer.

She came to the last door, disappointment slowly etched onto her face as she have only been greeted with nothing but empty rooms. She actually wondered for a moment if she had ended up in an abandoned castle. The last door opened with a slight creak to its hinges and she saw a spiral staircase leading upwards. Off she went, feet stepping onto the steps carefully as they are quite steep.

She came across another room, a larger one this time, but not as big as the ballroom hall she had first entered. Windows aligned the room, a sight she has been missing out for a bit when she was exploring downstairs. The middle sat a man, eyes closed as if he was resting, with a large sceptre in his hand and the Creatio Protocore floating within it.

That is the Foreseer. Her mind spoke out as she slowly approached the man in slumber. She had only heard of stories of the Foreseer, but she had never known that he was this handsome? This could explain why troops that were dispatched to this tower refused to reveal the looks of Foreseer. It was clear jealousy brewed within those men, if they were to describe the Foreseer as how y/n is admiring his features, the troops would not be scoring any women anytime soon and this castle could and would be swarmed by females.

The Foreseer's skin was pale, akin to the snow that surrounds the tower, but his raven hair a contrast to his complexion. He adorned a dark blue outfit, that carries an iridescence of silver, a subtle match to his silver accessories that were embroidered onto the ends of his long coat and sleeves. His hands were hidden under a pair of gloves just as black as his hair and he was sat in his throne. Or more like chained down to it.

Eyeing the Creatio Protocore, y/n thinks it would be the best timing to grab the protocore now while he was still sound asleep. She reached her hand out to inch closer to the sceptre, but when she is close enough, the Foreseer's eyes opened and he turned his head to look at her. She clumsily fell, startled by his sudden wake. "What do you think you are doing mortal?" The Foreseer's voice was surprisingly low, no hints of grogginess despite him just waking up.

"I represent the troops from the land nearby to receive the prophecy for the next centenary. I would wish to know it so that I may bring the destiny back to my people." She lied, pushing herself off of the cold floor. The back of her gown now stained wet but she could care less.

"The tradition has been banished I see." The Foreseer slowly blinked his eyes, to wake himself up better and took in a deep breath. "You are not here for your people. But it is for your own." His eyes snapped towards her, deep forest greens darkened.

"I...I..." She hesitated, eyes darting everywhere when she tried to come up with a valid explanation for what she was trying to do earlier. "I need the Creatio Protocore, in order to cure my heart that is dying of a reason that nobody could elucidate."

The chains wrapped around the Foreseer emitted a faint glow and she watched them disappeared off of his body, except for his thorax. The chains on his torso were pointy but it rested comfortably on him, with every breath it takes, the chains expanded and contracted accordingly. "It is very assumptive of you to think I would give it to you, just because you asked nicely. What a fool you could be." He remained seated on his throne. "Many men who stepped foot in here with reasons and excuses similar to yours ends up getting deprived of their existence. Should you wish for the same ending as them?"

"No. Please no." She begged, getting onto her knees this time. "Please do not kill me. I will do anything. But please do not kill me."

"Even if I do not, your heart shall anyways." He acknowledged, beckoning her to her feet. "As punishment, you shall remain in this tower to serve me through the end of your days." His voice and facial expressions are alike, stoic. "Should you try to leave, I shall not show you any mercy as how I have dealt with the previous trespassers."

"Where are we going?" Y/n asked, speeding up her footsteps behind the raven haired man. The man had woken her up, provided her with a few pieces of rye bread and here they are, walking up a stair well that goes up in a spiral. The rye bread she had yet to finish still in her hands. She was worried she might get motion sickness and waste what had already went down her throat. The Foreseer remained silent, footsteps steady on every step. A candlestick within his grasp, illuminating the steps ahead.

A thud followed by a creak was heard and sunlight poured in. Both of them had arrived to a roof top. Not being a lover for low temperatures, the warmth of the sunlight made her sighed in enjoyment. "Come here." The Foreseer called out to her and she went towards him, towards the stone barrier. Her eyes widened when she took in the view of the snowy mountains in the far distance, the snow had came to a halt, leaving white traces over the whole span of land ahead, with occasional barren stalks of trees reminding her the consequences of the harsh winter. She never knew she could find beauty within a sea of pristine white.

"This shall be your punishment." He pointed towards a small pot on top of the stone barrier, a single bud remained unbloomed. "Bloom this plant and your punishment shall be voided and you shall regain freedom." Y/N raise her head to meet his gaze, blinking in confusion.

"The weather is so cold here, I don't think it will be able to bloom under such harsh conditions." His never-changing expressions made her gulped. "Nevertheless, I would give it my all." Her surrendering stance made him huffed in approval. "So do you come up here often?"

"Making small talk I see." He turned to face the view. "Casual notes will not lessen your punishment."

"I know for sure it would make our accompaniment more pleasant." Her bravery got commended when the man eyed her for a second. "I certainly do not wish to spend the last of my days talking to a wall or a flower when I acknowledge the existence of another person within the same confinement as me."

"I come up here whenever I want to see the view, or to be under the sun." He replied.

She pointed towards the bud in the pot. "How and where did you obtained that because it will practically be impossible for you to find that out in the cold here."

"Someone gifted this to me and this is not an ordinary flower." His gloved hand traced the clay pot that holds the bud in place. "I was told it could bloom even in the harshest of winters. So, ensuring the flower to bloom shall be your expertise."

A series of shrill chirps pierced through the silence and both of them looked up in sync. The man looked relaxed while poor y/n looked like she was about to witness god herself, although she is already in the vicinity of one. "What is that sound?" Her hands were halfway lifted up, next to her ears, getting ready to cover either her head or ears, depending on what happens next and whether it would involve her head or ears. "I have never heard of such sounds!"

The chirps are continuous, leading her to cover her ears with her small hands. A gust of wind hit her head and down came a bird-like creature, about the size of a hawk. The bird-like creature is almost-crystal like, coated in a silverish blue from head to toe, body texture a close resemblance to crystal glass on chandeliers. It's raptorial claws beats the impression of it being a fragile bird. "This is an Arcticyon, they pass by here whenever they migrate. Alas, that was eons ago." His look resembled a quaint longingness, staring at the bird.

"I suppose being in the cold, all the way out here, away from civilisation, things get pretty lonesome." His cold gaze returning and the bird rejoiced with it's flock in the skies, a moving blue cloud then proceeds towards the opposite direction it came from.

"You are not here to study my behaviour. Your curiosity almost led to your own demise." His cruel reminder made her wished she never said anything earlier on.

After a couple of days, the daily routine of caring for the bud got emblazoned into her head. She was assigned to a room which has all of the amenities she needed to keep herself alive and entertained. That includes having her own clothes, food sources and bathroom. She assumed all of which are a part of gifts from the royals who came to visit.

She got out of bed at the crack of dawn, the sun peeking over the horizon of one of the mountains in the far distance provided a normal circadian rhythm for her. Time is not a limitation here for her, she is free to explore within the towers. Visiting the Foreseer is out of the question for her. She lit up a candle and started climbing her way up to the top of the tower, speeding up her footsteps just so she could catch sight of the early sunrise. It is an unspoken competition now.

When she arrived to the top, the Foreseer had already beaten her to it. Not that he had ever been a part of this 'competition' of hers but she did not expected him to be up here this early. "Good morning---" Her right arm violently jerked and she gasped in surprise, the candle falling from her hand and onto the snowy ground, instantly getting extinguished. Hands were tightly pressed to her chest, screams muffled with her biting down harshly onto her lips. Tears welled up in her eye sockets almost instantly.

The Foreseer approached her, watching her closely as she faltered to the snowy grounds. He said nothing, but stood next to her figure within reaching distance, awaiting for her next move. Her gloved arm make it hard for him to assess where is her actual pain spot. Her twitching slowed and he took a step back, to give her some personal space till he noticed something falling from her face, wetting the grounds beneath. She is crying.

He was about to take a step closer but she pushed herself off of the floor, head remained facing downwards and muttered under her breath, fleeting misty clouds formed when she spoke. "Good morning, I will go ahead to water the bud now." She took her time to walk over towards the edge of the rooftop and there sat the pot, with the bud already at the verge of blooming. She surely have a good pair of green fingers, just like what the Foreseer had suspected.

The Foreseer could see why she needed the Creatio Protocore now. Her weakness hails from her once in a lifetime disease, Cryotasis. This disease only occurs to people whom are born to be Astra's nemesis. The God inflicting this upon the chosen one a sign of a cruel punishment, and nothing could heal them other than the Creatio Protocore. Throughout centurions, the Foreseer had witnessed only a handful of Cryotasis victims, mostly wanting to get the protocore so that they could heal themselves, but of course, the Foreseer would never succumb to the greed of a mundane. But now, she is the tainted individual, cursed with the touch of a God.

"Are you alright?" He could not stop those words from rolling off of the tip of his tongue. It was certainly very rare for him to ask someone about their condition, not that he ever thought about caring either. He is incapable of sensing emotions or resonating with them but with her, she makes him feel things that he had never felt before. It is a new sensation for him, so maybe that is why he thought it was only right for him to ask if she was okay.

"Yeah I am used to it by now." And he saw a reflection of him, a fraction of him in her. How she holds back her pain and diverts her attention to something else to suppress her mind. Whenever he felt lonely, he too, would divert himself from having to feel the loneliness creeping in. Her words of dismissal made the man leave her to her own desolation. When the Foreseer had went down the steps, she lifted her sleeve up, the blue veins stuck out like a sore thumb against her pale skintone, imprints of webbed and black snowflakes emblazoned on her skin, cold to the touch, even colder than the winter she is currently in if that makes any sense at all.

She ran her fingers over it, but it did not hurt, she only felt the scars raked across the pads of her fingers, but her affected arm did felt numb and stiff. The young maiden stood up, leaving the watering can by the side of the potted plant and she proceeded to head downstairs so she could layer on an extra coat. Upon arriving at her room, her wooden door was slightly ajar and she saw the man sat on the plush chair inside of her room, a book held up to his face and his legs crossed comfortably. "Come in."

"I never thought I would be able to see you read." She commented, slotting herself into the adequately sized room. The Foreseer paused momentarily, book lowered and his icy stare pierced through her, just like his following sentence.

"First, you asked me about being on the roof and now you are mocking me about my habits." Although she never had that intention to mock him but she could tell he does not like sharing anything about himself. He is a lone man locked in a tower afterall, the act of sharing would practically be impossible. "I may be a deity who has responsibilities, but this does not defer me from my hobbies." Tapping the hard cover of the book, she took a seat on the edge of her bed, trying to initiate more conversations and the day went by, with them both exchanging conversations. More like her asking him questions and him replying in impermanent statements.

But two weeks had passed, with her being reluctant to leave now. Be it her wounds are getting more and more severe, the cryotasis on her arms had gotten so severe that she had limited movement for her thumbs, sometimes not being able to bend it to pick things up or to hold things. The nights she had spent rolled up in bed, enduring the excruciating pain littered all over her arm. Stygian veins now a replacement of her previous symptom and she strongly believe that she is rotting from the inside out.

The knock on her door woke her up, eyes snapped open. “May I let myself in?” The voice of the only man she had been acquainted with for the past two weeks came through the other side of the wooden obstacle at the entrance.

“Yes you may.” She could not hide the weakness in her voice. The door then opened up, revealing The Foreseer in his usual outfit but without the blue coat this time around. He claimed that his coat resembles nothing more than an accessory and she remembered teasing him about accessorising himself even though he does not even have any visitors on a daily basis. His retort was witty, turning the table she had set against herself, emphasising that if it was not for him, she would have been stuck in the clothes she had originally worn and the amount of methane gas buildup on her would have made the Foreseer kicked her out of the tower.

He stood still at the entryway, lips slightly parted as his eyes traced the maiden in front of him, from top to bottom. Her cheeks flushed at the way she was being stared at. This is the very first time the deity had looked at her so tediously. “We need to get you to the hall downstairs.” His feet hurried across the floor and he scooped her up into his arms, her squeaking in response to his sudden actions. Till she realised that she no longer felt like she had a pair of legs. Her thoughts of the Foreseer wanting to make a move on her immediately got diminished. She is now in her late stages and there is nothing she could do. Nor would she want to do anything about it. She realised throughout these past weeks, she had fell for the man, the deity himself who showed her no signs of interest other than entertaining her questions with one-worded sentences.

She was pretty certain that she has a one-sided affection towards the man holding her now. His footsteps are hurried, the sound of his shoes thumping against the tiled floors echoed through the long hallways. As she was about to say something, another series of pain struck her and she arched her back involuntarily, wailing in pain. The man laid her down onto the floor instantaneously and he held her torso up to keep her from breaking her back. She did not know that this man, the deity himself reciprocates the same feeling towards her. This only took him a week to finally come to a conclusion to the ache in his heart. He ached for her belongingness, her company, her smile, her curiosity; he is in love with her.

The eyes of the deity burnished into flames of gold and the sceptre that houses the Creatio Protocore formed in mid air and landed into the hands of the Foreseer. She had regained her breathing, still panting heavily with tears slowly forming icicles on her pale stricken face. The linings of black veins now climbing upwards like vile vines towards her neckline, peeking out from the collars of her night gown. The parasitic nature of the curse now taking its full course on her. “The Creatio Protocore will heal you.” The deity looked at her and for the first time, she could notice emotions within his gaze. “For that, I shall give it to you.”

“No you can’t, you can’t do it.” She used every last bit of strength she had left in her body to push herself up, watching the deity kneeling on one of his knees, statued right in front of her. “You will lose your life.” He had explained to her the sole purpose of his being and presence within this world. He is only here, as his name suggests, as a tool of Astra, as a Foreseer of men. His duty held him back from having to step out of the premises of the towers and that he is strictly forbidden to foresee his own future. She called it an irony, but he called it his responsibility. “Don’t do this for me. You know how important you are to us, to everyone who looks up to you.”

The maiden staggered and he caught her by her waist, pulling her closer to him effortlessly. “What a fool of you to come up with that, through my own will, I shall be losing my sole purpose of living to someone of significant importance to me.” He ran his fingers through her hair, his touch warm and gentle, unlike what she had expected, including this intimate moment between the both of them. His willingness to kill himself just to save her received an immediate rejection from her but it fell upon deaf ears as the deity remained stubborn with his decision. “With this, I bequeath my Protocore to you. So you are to be set free from Astra’s curse.”

The sceptre emitted a blinding light, a high pitched screech came along with it and the both of them closed their eyes together. She hung onto his coat as blustery winds engulfed them, a pathetic attempt to try and separate the both of them. The Foreseer’s grip tightened on her waist, pulling her closer to him till her face caved into his neck. Once the gale had stopped, she pulled back from his embrace and she sat up hurriedly, eyes bearing concern as her sobs jerked her back to reality. The physical pain of hers disappeared but not applied to her faint heart as she watched his skin take on the shade of cement, grey and tough-looking. He is solidifying, a common telltale sign of deities dying before they fade into dust. “No. No. NO!” Her screams elevated with every word, hands coming up to cup his face, his eyes meeting hers directly. Orbs of hazel brown and deep green held emotions that meant the world to her at this moment. “Please no.”

The man pulled one side of his lips upwards, a crooked smile landed its way on his face and he spoke what was seemingly his last sentence. “I hope in the next life, we shall never cross paths again as I shall always pick you over anything else.” He let out a soft chuckle, already accepting the fate of him dying. “I love you.” He then leaned in, sealing their lips together for the first and last kiss before his body fully solidified and she was kissing nothing more than a statue. She did not even got a chance to tell him about how she felt.

She was caught up in an emotional turmoil, losing him after a confession was the worst ending she could hope for. But the blinding light behind her lover made her covered her eyes. Uncovering her vision, she noticed a lady had appeared from the source of light, adorned in gold that could build a whole empire, her olive skin a compliment to her outfit. She matched the description of Astra, with aura that immediately establishes tension within the whole hall and with eyes the shade of the iridescence of the sun, sometimes yellow and sometimes orange. Tutting both in disappointment and strong indignation, the deity stood in front of the couple, her height towered over the late deity whom kneeled in front of her. “Betrayal is what I caught on I suppose.” Her voice booming, reverberating through the hall. “A mere sign of affection towards a mundane cost him his life. What a blot on one’s escutcheon.” Although she was talking to herself, her statement indirectly suggested towards the maiden bawling on the floor.

“Now.” The deity continued, proceeding towards the mundane. “A tool I shall make of you. I hope you shall not be a replica of such a failure.” Snapping her finger, the maiden cried out as she too, experience the same fate of solidifying, just like the deity she had fell in love with. The both of them then sat as a centrepiece in the grand hall. One wore the expression of acceptance while another the opposite of it. Astra smirked, determined to make them suffer as the jasmine on the rooftop bloomed exuberantly, marking the memory of the man coming to an end and soon to be renewed in his next life.

Another deity series started and ofc, this shall take course just like how the Rafayel series did, so stay tuned for more angst my loves <3

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #zayne love and deepspace #lnds #rafayel love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #zayne angst #zayne lnds #zayne x reader

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