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gumballavocadoharry · 9 months

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One puff is all it takes:

*Mentions of cigarettes, smoking, spankings and discipline. Things were different in the 50's....don't smoke (period.) or drink (irresponsibly).*

It was a rare perilous item to be seen in the house. Almost never seen. Bunny always had one in her fingers, Jack used to use it ceaseless in his early twenties, Alice's mother used it a lot...as did her father. But despite the usual sightings of the skinny little wrapped paper, the warnings and terrors of it never set itself aside. For sure, the dangers of it were far more bigger than a cheap rolled up piece of ash that was available at any booth or store possible.

But there it was.....captured by the eyes of a curious little boy. Roger, just couldn't rip his eyes from the micro white cylinder shaped paper with the harsh smell of cigarette smoke. Now, Roger had been duly warned of the nasty addictive habit that came with smoking. James Dean made it look cool, but it was anything but that. Roger reasoned that his father, Jack, the man he looked up to, smoked a lot in his heyday. Roger would hear stories of his father with his friends, hanging out at clubs, drag racing, flirting around with....woman and of course, smoking.

Jack had this rebel with a cause attitude, living life carefree in the streets of New York City, doing whatever he wanted, tasting the freedom of adulthood with a teenage mentality. Of course, Jack wasn't 'as cool' anymore; settling down to a tranquil night of family games instead of staying out late into the dawn, living for the day. But this was Roger's chance.....a chance for him to stand boldly against the peers of his school. To be the first third grader to smoke.

"Oh shoot, Bunny must've left her cigarette over here." Alice swooped the nasty bud and tossed it outside on the lawn, stomping it out. She cleansed the house of vague smokey smell and peppered fragrance to it. But Roger's alluring fascination of the item still wasn't mellowed.

The thoughts followed him; outside watching Bunny smoke while listening to her husband and watching their children play, Dean, taking a cool break from his yard work and settling down into his favorite lawn chair to smoke a cigar, and then there was Nancy's father who smoked a pipe after a hard day's work. The good people of the city, smoking their cigarettes while washing their cars, shopping, even going on dates. Movies where the man lights his lady's cigarette for her. It bombarded Roger with the notion.

Finally, Roger had enough. He had told his friend, Bryon about his plan, and requested a couple cigarettes from his father's pack. "Only two Roger. If my dad notices, I'll be in big trouble!" Roger agreed and took the buds before heading back home. He kept them tucked under his shirt until he made it to his bedroom.

The taste of metal ran through Roger's mouth. A warm patch on the back of his neck heated behind his ear. His palms pressed firmly on the sides of the table while his back was turned and his eyes scanning the bed as if the aphonic object could say anything. Only the gurgling of Roger's gut was speaking in the room.

With shaky hands, Roger carefully peeled back the flap of his open jacket and just looked at the two small tall white sticks. The muffled smell of tobacco pinging his nose from time to time. Everything was set. Roger had internally planned to smoke the first one after hours, once the households of the neighborhood died down and Roger could take a few quick puffs before putting out the bud and coming back inside the house like nothing happened.

"They'll just think it's Bunny's." Roger reasoned aloud. A knock on the door shook Roger from his unsteady conscience. "Hey Rog, dinner time!" Susan's voice echoed through the door. "Coming!" Roger called, throwing his jacket into his closet and coming downstairs for the home cooked meal of chicken and veggies. Roger kept a keen eye on his dinner, making occasional conversation as not to uproot a suspicion of cloaking something.

After dinner, Roger waited anxiously. Every scribble of a sound sent a jitter through him. Susan's footsteps to her bedroom, the clinking of the dinner dishes being washed by Alice and finally the little snicker of Jack probably counting bills in his bedroom. Roger's heart became the only ricochet of echoes throughout the bedroom. The sounds of the house settling would snatch him off guard, swiping his head to the door as to who was coming in.

"Susan, Roger, time for bed guys. I'll be in there to tuck you both in soon." Jack's voice boomed through the hall. Roger quickly holsted himself into his pajamas and into bed before Jack could arrive. "Is my little puppy all cuddled in his bed?" Roger, gave a smile, scuffling himself not to dart his eyes towards the half peeked closet. As Jack bent down to smooch a kiss on Roger's forehead, the boy could see through the little gap of Jack's arm and torso of the closet with his jacket tucked inside.

It was mocking him; badgering him with this spoiled innocence of receiving his usual goodnight kisses that shined perspective on a anything but innocent act that Roger had set to perform. With a quick boop on the nose, Jack whisked himself away with wishes of sweet dreams and an "I love you." Once the door was closed, the hallway light shadow had disappeared, Roger made his move. Alice and Jack had settled into bed and so had Susan.

Roger grabbed the flabby jacket and tiptoed quietly downstairs after shoving pillows and blankets under his covers; carefully sculpting the figure to look like his own. He grabbed a lighter from the drawer and with sleath, he managed to unlock the front door and skate out to the garage, grabbing his bike and wheeling off around the corner.

A thick rush of heat ran through Roger the more he peddled away from the house. His look back of the perfect suburban home with perfectly trimmed grass, flowered bushes and the perfect little round satellite sitting neatly on the roof. He swallowed his gut and drove his bike as fast as he could. The night was quiet, streets were empty....Roger was alone. Isolated. He had an abundance of privacy because everyone was home sleeping. Even the sounds of late night crickets had settled down.

The little light on his bike was his only map through the dark. Roger finally decided on the back of a empty old aparement building in the city. He made sure no one was around, no one was looking. Roger then carefully pulled the cigarette from his pocket and grabbed the lighter he snagged and lit the little stick after shoving it into his mouth. He took a deep breath before inhaling the bitter substance. With one puff, Roger started gagging, rasping for air that he couldn't find. He dropped the cigarette and stomped on it, putting it out immediately.

Roger tamed his loud gags before getting on his bike and riding back to his house. He put the bike back in the garage before coming back into the house, shoving the jacket back into his closet and going to bed....all without one wake up from anyone.

The next morning, Roger woke up with the nasty tobacco smell in his mouth. He rushed to the bathroom and brushed his teeth a total of four times to rinse the smell from his mouth. His jacket didn't have any odor besides the smell of two in the morning. Sweat stuck to his body like dew. It dripped from his forehead, unaware that his night rests was nothing mere than tossing and turning in sheets full of guilt.

Roger knew the effects of smoking and how medically and morally wrong it was- even for the first thrill.

Roger's mouth grew dry and metallically. He wanted to crawl in his skin upon hearing the open door of Susan's bedroom and the smell of steamy vegetables cooking into a egg coated omelet. His knuckles turned porcelain, being squeezed tightly into fists that were unnoticed util Roger saw that his hands felt tight and sticky.

He took careful steps down the stairs, almost in a memory of the night at its peak when Roger to contort his toes to match the silent sounds of the living room. At breakfast, Roger facaded his usual gregarious makeup, chatting away about his latest schemes and Susan piping in about his adoration for Delilah Crane; a honey blonde girl with the roundest brown eyes and sweetest uproot smile he'd ever seen. Roger learned the hone out his alibis if he were to ever get away with something that would surely spark his parents attention to their natural benevolent fret.

Once the breakfast dishes were cleared, Roger grabbed his backpack and was headed for the door before being stopped by Alice. "Roger, you forgot your lunch...and I don't have anywhere to be so I can drive you kids to school today." Alice seemed more excited about it than the children. Maybe it was because this would be a missed opportunity to hear the walk-to-school type gossip.

"Bye kiddos, see you at home." Jack took his time kissing foreheads in a line that started with Alice and ended with Roger: Oldest to youngest it seemed. Roger watched from the car window of Alice's black chevy, Jack taking off, honking, signaling his departure until the evening. The car ride was filled with music from the radio and Alice's murmured humming along to it. Roger stared out blankly at the familiar streets of his nocturnal adventure, remembering the grayish colored post office and the neighboring tanish house that sat behind it with the little chimes of the wind chimes that were hanging from the porch.

Alice eased the car into a parking spot, whipping her head around to her children. "Okay sweethearts, I'll see you both after school. I want you both to have a nice day." She kissed their chubby cheeks before sending them on their way with their bags and lunch in their hands. Susan broke off from her brother, marching towards her more senior classes and girl group, trussing herself into a conversation.

Roger walked through the mellow lit hallway and made it halfway to his locker before a voice slapped him from behind. "Roger!" Bryon ran up to Roger with excitement bursting in his eyes. "Did you do it?" Roger pinched his eyebrows more annoyed than confused, "Do what?"

"You know....the cigarettes I gave you?" Roger's minds flashed back to the night. "Yeah," He pulled Bryon aside, not wanting anyone to hear his dirty little secret. "I snuck out at night and I lit one and inhaled and puffed before putting it out." Bryon's eyes shot from out of his head. "Really?" Roger looked around to see if anyone was paying attention. No one cared; thrusts of kids squeezed past them to their respective classes. "Yeah...but don't say anything. This could play out two ways and I don't wanna get excited if it goes sour. That happens a lot." Roger almost sensed shame in his voice from sputtering out those last words.

The school day went by quickly like the moon shifting shape to the sun. Roger's nerves were on fire the whole day, wondering if Bryon could shut his lips like he promised. Susan's class let out early so her walk home from school was a solid twenty minutes before Roger's. Skipping down the hill, he noticed Bryon standing near a blue car, being shadowed by a man. It was only when coming closer did Roger recognize that to be Bryon's father, Mr. Weyer.

"Bryon, two cigarettes from my box are missing- I counted exactly twenty five in there- now what's going on?" Bryon gulped, staring only at his feet. "You didn't smoke em did you?"

"Of course not, no!" Roger couldn't deny the truth in his friends voice. And neither could his father. Roger had made a dash down the road, taking the long way home as to recollect himself. He stopped by 'The Bargain Bin', a cheap discount store for candy, postcards, nick-nacks..and so fourth.

Roger bout a five cents worth of bubble gum, munching away, blowing bubbles until he was home. Upon arrival, Roger found it strange of seeing both his parents cars in the driveway. Is it an early day for everyone? He thought. His mind was frazzled trying piece together a puzzle to what was going on. "A party for me?" He thought aloud, "But no balloons, no streamers.." Roger's stomach sunk when a worst case scenario sliced into his brain. Suddenly his fingers twitched, his heart raced and his mouth became tangy with the taste of metal. Like the taste of blood mixed with spit after biting into your own cheeks.

Roger took a deep breath and opened the door bracing himself for the worst. But it was much worse than he could have ever described it in that moment.

Alice and Jack were sitting on the couch....Roger's jacket in Alice's hand and the cigarette in Jack's.

A sudden stab of fear shot through him like a jumpscare upon seeing their furious faces. "I can't even begin to say how disappointed I am!" Jack managed to voice with gritted teeth. "Smoking! You smoked a cigarette after everything we've taught you!"

"How did you-" "Bryon, Bryon Weyer's father told us after Bryon told him what happened. Apparently, he gave you two from his father's and you smoked one of them...we have the other one here." Alice chimed in.

"And don't deny it, the lighter from the house is in your pocket." Jack hissed. He bit his fist and stood up, pacing the room with hefty breaths that gave slight whistles every now and then. "Why? Just why Roger?" Alice concerned with anticipation. Roger shrugged, "I...I saw everyone doing it: Bunny, Grandma and Grandpa, Bryon's dad, Bryon's older brother...and then....Dad used to when he was younger," Jack whipped his head around, "I was in my twenties and it was stupid choice! I regret that everyday Roger because....well first of all, it made my breath stink, my clothes stink and I kept getting cavities,

"Oh, and not to mention that one of my friends who smoked learned that lesson first head on his deathbed from a five year battle with lung cancer!" Roger bowed his head, feeling the pangs of making such a pointless excuse. Alice put her fingers to her head, "Roger....are you okay? Are you sick and is anything hurting?" Even through the mess of this, Alice still showed her true empathy through her anger.

Roger gave a swift shake of his head. "Good. Now march yourself upstairs to your bedroom right now before I get the switch!" Jack's words shook Roger enough for his scamper up the stairs and close his bedroom door.

Jack paced the room. "Alice, I know he's only eight, but he has to learn that this is completely unacceptable! You know he deserves a firm hand this time." Alice squeezed her lips with her hands, "Yes, yes he does Jack." She sighed, allowing a shaky gasp to penetrate into her lungs.

"I-I'm beside myself! When did he smoke it? How could we not notice?" Jack finally sat down, releasing a deep sigh that was imprisoned inside him. "He's a good boy deep down, I know he is....but these bad influences are everywhere."

"What do you think his punishment should be?" "One month, no TV, no bike, no candy, no leaving the house without supervision, only walking to school and back with one of us, no friends over, no talking to friends on the phone, no dessert, no comics, extra chores and a first hand lecture on the dangers of smoking."

Alice swallowed hard, "Are you sure that's not too harsh?" "He snuck out of the house and smoked Alice. Those are two big offenses! And....I think he needs the switch this time too. This is too serious to just turn away from." Alice nodded, knowing Jack was not being impartial.

"I also think that Bryon's connection with Roger should be cut off for awhile. He's clearly not a good influence if he gave Roger the cigarette."

"You're right. Let's go talk to him."

Roger sat at his desk, tapping his foot- a nervous habit he inherited from his mother- and stared blankly at the grainy oak desk. He knew he was really in trouble now and all Roger could think about was punching Bryon in the face for selling him out. A knock on the door shook Roger from his thoughts. In followed Jack and Alice. "Roger, me and your mother were talking and we decided that this act cannot go unpunished. So as of today, you are grounded for a month. So that means, no friends at the house of phone calls to them, no TV, no dessert or candy, no comics, no bike and no leaving the house without us and that includes going to school. And you'll hear the first hand lectures of the dangers of smoking."

"What! All I barely smoked it! It was one puff and it was horrible!"

"Well, Roger..maybe next time you won't try something like that again. And another part of your punishment I forgot to mention is extra chores and......a walloping."

Roger hung his head, tears fuzzing his vision. "I don't like this anymore than you....but it's necessary." Alice left the room, leaving just Jack and Roger.

Later on that night, Roger sat alone in his room, studying his window. The moon floated like a cloudy balloon and impaled itself into the wires from the backyard. A knock at the door broke Roger's somber mood for a minute. Jack had entered, with a stack of Roger's comics. "I figured if you're going to be in this house for the month, then...I'll lighten up with the comics. But that's all." His voice had a sternness to it in a modest way. One that wasn't overbearing in the sense of disrelish for his small compensation.

"Wow, thanks Dad." Roger set aside his comics. Jack neighbored Roger on his bed. "Why?" Roger lifted his eyebrows and gaze to meet Jack's. "Why Roger? Why do something so reckless?" He shrugged. "I don't know," and true....after all this, he really didn't anymore.

"You have a nice healthy pair of lungs. You have soft and smooth skin, white and pristine teeth, a clear speaking voice....I just don't wanna see you end up like some of these smokers Rog. They have bad teeth, they look seventy when they're really forty and above all, they're not healthy and they don't live long at all. That's not something for anyone and especially a boy your age. Do you understand?"

Roger nodded. Jack held his arms out for Roger to collapse in them. "I just don't-" Jack gave a quick kiss to Roger's temple, "wanna see you get sick okay? I love you very much and...I know I came on strong, but it's only because I wanna protect you. I didn't have anyone to tell me cigarettes were bad, and I got sick a lot. My father smoked a lot because he didn't know cigarettes were bad. But I'm telling you because of all this. Now," Jack moved Roger to face him, "I don't ever wanna see this again okay?"

Roger nodded. "Okay?"

"Okay." Roger said, realizing Jack needed verbal reassurance.

Roger became satisfied with knowing that some risks are not worth the cost.

#jack chambers #jack chambers imagine #jack chambers son #jack chambers daughter #susan chambers #roger chambers #alice chambers #harry styles #harry styles imagine #dadrry #dad!harry #harry styles dwd #dont worry darling #dwd blurbs #harry one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfictions

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comesitintheclover · 10 months

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wip wednesday!

okay so it’s not technically still Wednesday where I live but I’m moving so my Wednesday feels like 3 days long.

Thank you so so much @ileadacharmedlife for tagging me! I have no idea what I’m doing but this is fun! :D! I have like 17 WIPs but here’s one of my carry on ones:

Basilton Grimm-Pitch’s 10 Step Plan for Getting Over Simon Snow

^(letting himself be in love with)

Dear Aunt Agony,

Do you have a painkiller the size of a roommate, a war, a vampiric blood disease, and being hopelessly in love with the person who will kill you one day? (…)

It was that look on Philippa Stainton's face when I stole her voice. Snow was standing right there, and I forgot all about him for a moment, lost in the terror of what I'd done.

(I know, even I surprise myself sometimes). And I hated Stainton - she would follow Snow around giggling, like a moron - but it was her face that kicked in my guilty conscience.

I’d never felt like that before.

(Except for being a vampire). (I always feel guilty for being a vampire).

But at least that I hadn't chosen. I'd done this. On purpose.

I'd switched off the recorder as soon as I heard Stainton speak, but it was too late.

(…)

I wiped at my stinging eyes. The grey skin under them felt like cobwebs and burned at the scrape of my cotton shirt sleeve. No wand, no money, no handkerchief- what had I become? I double checked my jean pockets. No phone. Well, I didn't want to talk to anyone anyway.

I sighed and looked around me. My head aching as I pieced together how I'd come here. The dusty sunlight, grey tarmac, colourful shop windows, the bell on the door, the squeak of my shoes on the linoleum squares floor as I made a beeline for the far corner. Now hidden among trashy tabloid covers, weeks of newspapers, and stacks of magazines. I sat for a while, breathing the gentle air and reading absurd titles. From the front of the store I heard a steady stream of jangling door-bells, crinkling candy wrappers, and casual conversation with the shopkeeper.

This was so much better than Father and Fiona in the dark dining room. (Vampires aren't allergic to unnatural light, crowley, turn the lightswitch on for once).

I picked up a home improvement magazine with a nice bouquet on the cover and started flipping through the pages. Pretty soon I was engrossed. The lists upon lists! The aesthetically pleasing organising of products! The ridiculous op-eds! The double-paged, big glossy adverts of perfume bottles or cars or women, half in darkness. (Bloody vampires, I thought, grinning, despite myself). But most of all, I loved the few pages towards the back of the magazine:

Dear Aunt Agony

(…)

I have lots of other WIPs but this has already gotten long 😅, I’ve been mainly working on a piece for @cruelsummer-ficfest since June, a Neville/Harry song fic with Paris as the prompt, that I’ve titled 2003 Unbearable :D -which I love with my whole heart but have had to fight like 10 demons to work on it. On the final chapter now! I also made art and a playlist for it but I want to post the fic first <3

I’m still pretty new to fandom spaces so I don’t know who to tag but hi @ebbpettier @wellbelesbian @chen-chen-chen-again-chen and anyone else who happens to read this 😊💗💖

#wip wednesday #cruel summer fic fest #carry on #Basilton Grimm-Pitch’s 10 Step Plan for Getting Over Simon Snow ^(letting himself be in love with)#I should figure out a shorter title for that #2003 unbearable #harry potter #<3 #comesitintheclover’s art <3

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spookymultimedia · 2 years

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Damaged

Something triggers Laszlo into a panic attack while he's spending time with Sean at his house. LaszloXSean if you read between the lines. Takes place somewhere between the time in season 4 episode 1 and 2.

CW: pov of a character experiencing a panic attack in detail and implied past physical and emotional abuse from a parent

I couldn't tell you why it happens to me. It just happens. Occasionally, my body undergoes intense paralyzing fear that I have no control over. I used to get these spells all the time after I left England but eventually it just stopped. Yet, it was at the Rinaldis residence when that familiar crippling fear gripped my body once again. I don't want to remember what triggered me. I know what it was but I refuse to linger on the subject. It was linked to my estranged wretched father; that's bare minimum of what I can share without risking my mental health.

I remember watching the television with Sean and Charmaine because he had invited me to visit. I sat there stunned because I thought this phenomenon wouldn't happen to me again. I thought it was over. I believed that I had recovered fully but some damage takes an eternity to properly heal. I couldn't seem to breathe right and a migraine was developing. My hands felt really really shaky and my vision was just blurry. I think Sean was talking to me but it got hard to concentrate. I couldn't speak. Suddenly I was a little boy again, hiding. My limbs felt numb. My conscience was rapture away from me. My mind was engulfed in a blinding fiery light of memories that scorched my mind, burning me alive. Cold sweat ran down my head. I couldn't cry or scream. I was frozen.

"Laz? Laz what's up with you?" His smile dropped into seriousness. Charmaine was looking at me now.

"What's going on?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. He's not talkin'. Hey, buddy, you okay?"

I tried to talk but instead I just whimpered like a dog. My head was pounding. I raised a shaky hand to my head. I tried to breathe which turned into hyperventilating. My lungs were burning. It was irrational but it was like I was kissing death. I thought I could die right then and there. I felt small. I felt so small and helpless. Helpless as a tit bird fluttering from a fox in chase. A feverish shiver ran up my spine.

"I- I think he's having a panic attack or somethin," said Sean. Charmaine turned off the television.

"Hey, hey. You're safe. It's okay. Look, breathe in," he uttered softly with a gentleness I had never heard from him before. He took a deep breath in. I grabbed onto his arms. I tried to breathe with him but it was near impossible. I was trapped in my body. He held my hands and rubbed my palms. "You're safe." I tried to listen to him, I really did but my body refused to remain calm. I wasn't myself. This pain was aching all over me. I curled up and leaned into the couch. He stood up. I sat there for two minutes.

Suddenly this sharp scent reached my nose. I blinked my eyes open and looked at him. I could finally breathe again. As suddenly as it started, the terror had subsided in my body.

"What is that smell??" I muttered. I relaxed, slowly regaining my senses again. He was holding a tiny bottle in one hand and a lid with a small tube connected to it. My head didn't hurt as much but it was still in some degree of pain. I still felt pretty damn weak and my mind was still not completely present.

"Essential oil. Are you okay?" His eyes were wide with worry.

"I feel dizzy." I mumbled. I was fighting to stay conscious. I attempted to sit up but then a wave of vertigo fell upon me. I ended up in his arms, as he tried to hold me up. "Woah, take it easy Laz. Should I call a doctor??"

"No!!" I didn't mean to sound so violent. I guess I was still scared.

Charmaine set a glass of water on the table. "I'm going over to get his wife, I'm sure she'll know what to do."

"Okay." He nodded at her and took the glass of water. I was latched onto his shoulder, which was more firm than I imagined it would be.

"Here, you want some water?"

I took a tiny sip before spitting it out. He looked at me confused.

"Thanks"

"O-okay?" He set the glass down, and hugged me close. I held onto him like my life depended on it. I was still shivering quite a bit. I whined like a feral injured mutt.

"Don't scare me like that." His voice trembled. He supported my head with his soft hand on my cheek. I think he was crying. I don't know. Maybe not. Maybe it was my imagination.

"Has this happened to you before?"

I hummed out an affirmation. I cleared my throat.

"It's been years. I didn't think it would happen again. I'm just- I'm," I swallowed, "I'm damaged Sean." Blood red tears ran down my face.

He was uncharacteristically quiet for a minute. He looked scared. I worried that he would surely shy away and scream in terror at my ghastly composure, but he remained calm. He petted my cheek and wiped the blood. "Shhh," He hushed and ran a hand through my hair.

"I am irreversibly damaged," I choked out. I stayed like that for a while while I sobbed into his arms. It was immensely vulnerable and humbling to be like this in a humans' arms but there was a tender peace in his arms. I tried not to stain his shirt but it was pretty difficult. He soon broke the silence.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" He looked down at me.

"My- My father had this temper," I took a deep breath before speaking again. I whimpered and tried my best to pull myself together, "I didn't have the greatest upbringing, as a child. . ."

He nodded solemnly and petted my head as I cried quietly. It was calming. I closed my eyes and felt truly safe in his arms.

[Nadja pov]

I was sitting in the library when I heard a ringing at the door. "GIZMO THE DOOR!" I yelled. Nothing. "GIZMO!" I swore under my breath as I set my stuffed owl aside and marched over to the door. I looked into the peephole and saw our lovely neighbor Charmaine. I gasped gayly and flung open the door. "Charmaine! It is so good to see you."

"Nadja It's an emergency! Your man was at my house and he just started freaking out all of a sudden. It was like a panic attack or somethin."

My jaw dropped. It was like a slap to the face. My poor Laszlo was having panic attacks again? My dead heart fell when I heard it. "Laszlo!" I rushed past het, slamming the front door and she behind me followed me. I lifted my dress as I ran. I must have left her behind but I didn't care, my dear Laszlo needed help. I got to the house and looked at him. Cradled up against Sean. I felt horrible looking at him like that. I hadn't seen him like that in years.

It first started during his transformation. He wasn't nocturnal yet. We were in that honeymoon type phase in our young relationship. I would watch over him as he slept, on the brink of his human death. It was hard for him to sleep most nights. He would stir from slumber in a fit of panic. He would scream and cry to the point of dehydration from nightmares so vivid and violent that it tormented him. I slowly learned that Laszlo was deeply damaged. His depression didn't go away overnight. In fact, Laszlo had been different. He was pretty quiet and solitary aside from being around me. He felt as if the world was cruel and unjust. He wrote ghastly gorey poems and waxed about how selfish and evil humanity is. He was bitter. I can't say I was any better. I was pretty jaded too. It took centuries for him just to truly trust other vampires, let alone humans. Who he had deemed the worst. He had kept humans at arms length at all times. I walked into the house and walked over to Laszlo. He was cradled in Sean's arms, looking weak and tired. I had never seen him trust a human like that before. Especially in such a vulnerable state. "Laszlo." I placed a hand on his cheek. Laszlo sat up and I helped him up.

"Will he be okay?" Sean asked and stood up. He looked at me wide eyed.

"He will be fine." I smiled softly.

[Laszlo ]

I was fully conscious when Nadja helped me feed on some blood of some poor virgin that Guillermo fetched.

" Darling I'm surprised you didn't lash out and kill Sean. You're so famished," Nadja cooed as she held up the dead limp wrist and petted my sweaty hair.

"One: in such catatonic state I couldn't kill anything if I tried to; and secondly: I'm offended that you would think I'd kill Sean. I would never. I can't bear the idea of it."

I went back to sucking when my head started to spin again.

"I thought you didn't have sympathy for his kind." She smiled warmly at me. I ignored her.

"You said humans are inherently selfish and despicable things? Remember?"

I sighed and looked up at her sternly.

"I was a different man Nadja. I was hurt and it made me think irrationally, everything I had said was completely nihilistic and pretentious. Anyone who thinks there's no hope for humanity is a fool who doesn't want to be happy," I sighed, "there is still goodness on earth. Kindness and brotherhood is alive and well and Sean opened my eyes to that; and I'm eternally grateful for it." I went back to eating.

"I suppose you're right." She said half convinced and nodded. A couple hours later Sean had arrived at the door. I greeted him when Guillermo called on me.

"Hey!" he smiled wide, "Glad to see you're alright, you scared back there. I thought you were a goner."

"Yes." I walked to him and grinned. I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Sean, you're a reliable man and a strong shoulder to lean on."

"Oh don't worry about it." He smiled back at me and shook his head.

"I love you Sean. You're a good friend." I patted his back.

He was a little startled by how forward I was but his smile never faltered.

"I love ya too pal."

#anxiety tw #abuse tw #past abuse #what we do in the shadows #wwdits fanfiction #laszlo cravensworth #sean rinaldi #charmaine rinaldi #nadja cravensworth #nadja x laszlo #laszlo x sean

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theprayerfulword · 2 months

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May 11

Colossians 3:17 And whatsoever ye do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father by him.

Psalm 5:11 But let all who take refuge in you be glad; let them ever sing for joy. Spread your protection over them, that those who love your name may rejoice in you.

Hebrews 12:2 We must keep our eyes on Jesus, who leads us and makes our faith complete. He endured the shame of being nailed to a cross, because he knew later on he would be glad he did. Now he is seated at the right side of God's throne!

2 Corinthians 10:4 The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds.

1 Peter 3:16-17 Keeping a clear conscience, so that those who speak maliciously against your good behavior in Christ may be ashamed of their slander. 17 For it is better, if it is God’s will, to suffer for doing good than for doing evil.

1 John 1:9 If we confess our sins, He is faithful and righteous to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.

May you become a new person when the Spirit of God touches your heart, for you will be speaking His words of encouragement and doing His deeds of love, pointing others to the glory and majesty that is the Father's through the praise and worship you offer up to Him. 1 Samuel 10

May you be as willing to allow God to separate you from those people and things in your life, those desires and thoughts in your soul, that He wants to take from you for your benefit, as the people of Jabesh Gilead were to give up their right eyes in order to live, though it be as slaves to the Ammonites. 1 Samuel 11

May you listen to the Father and learn from Him so that you may come to the Son of God, Jesus. John 6

May you believe and know that Jesus is the Holy One of God, Who has the words of eternal life. John 6

My child, do not fear being overcome by sin, nor be concerned about what the future holds. I have given you My Holy Spirit and anointed you with the strength to stand; I have equipped you to resist the enemy in every battle that is mounted against you today. Simply seek Me early, My sleepy one, for I am waiting for you in our secret place. I have strength with confidence to give you through My Spirit, and truth with authority from My Word. Be certain, My cautious one, that sin shall not have dominion over you, for though you are attacked, and though it wounds the flesh, it shall never be sovereign over you, for only I, your Creator, your Redeemer, your Savior, have earned that right. I am the One Who has vanquished all other names and authorities who would seek to own and devour you. Take courage, My love, and resist without yielding, stand without submitting, to the temptations and corruptions that assail you. Be strengthened with My assurance that evil shall never hold sway over you again because of the victory given you by the Father through My work of obedience. Through the blood of My sacrifice on the cross, I bought salvation, kinship, and kingdom inheritance for you.

May you give thanks to the Lord, for He is good, and His love endures forever. Psalm 107

May you cry out to the Lord in the midst of your trouble, for He will lead you by a straight way to a city of safety as He delivers you from your distress. Psalm 107

May you give thanks to the Lord for His unfailing love and His wonderful deeds for men, for He satisfies the thirsty and fills the hungry with good things. Psalm 107

May you turn away the wrath of men, deflecting their anger and diverting their rage, by the soft answer of God's love and gentle response of His compassion. Proverbs 15:1

May you give good expression to knowledge, uttering it aright and making it attractive as you present it appropriately, as those who are wise are known to do. Proverbs 15:2

May you receive comfort from the fact that the eyes of the Lord are everywhere beholding the good and evil, for this is a terror to sinners. Proverbs 15:3

#daily #blessings #prayers #scripture

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exploringblackhorror · 7 months

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The Double Entendres of Dean Armitage

When I rewatched Get Out for this class, I was taken aback by how every single piece of dialogue built up to the climax of the Armitage kidnapping and brainwashing ring. Of course on my first watch, being unaware of this reveal, I didn’t pick up on many of these lines. So, in this blog post I want to specifically analyze the double entendres said by Dean Armitage.

The first example of this dialogue is when Dean relishes in the killing of the deer in Rose and Chris’ car accident: “one down, a couple hundred thousand to go… I do not like the

deer, I’m sick of it. They’re taking over. They’re like rats. They’re destroying the ecosystem. I see a dead deer on the side of the road, I think to myself, that’s a start.” Here, Dean expresses his disdain for black people thinly veiled through the symbol of a deer. He clearly believes that the American black population, which exists as a result of white people forcibly bringing people from Africa to enslave and terrorize, is too large and has grown too powerful. When he says “they’re destroying the ecosystem,” he is not talking about the environmental system but rather the order of society. Dean celebrates the murder of black people as “a start” of restoring the white supremacy of the antebellum period and denounces the relative freedom of contemporary black people. Rose and Missy’s reactions both show that they see through the deer substitution while Chris awkwardly smiles, unaware of the true meaning of this tirade.

Dean then describes himself as a traveler who “[keeps] bringing souvenirs back.” Knowing the true business of the Armistads, these souvenirs likely include human bodies. He then shows Chris his father’s portrait, describing his father’s loss to Jesse Owens, “Hitler’s up there with all of his perfect Aryan race bullshit.” To Chris this may seem like Dean attempting to validate the equality of black people, but in reality, this is Dean plotting to exploit black bodies for their mythologized athletic superiority.

The pair then move to the kitchen. As they pass the basement Dean states: “we had to seal it up. Some black mold down there.” Here, Dean again uses a symbol as a stand in for black people. This statement reaffirms his belief that the black population is too numerous, and by comparing black people to mold he also reiterates the belief that black people reproduce too much and too quickly. This basement of course is used for the brain transplant procedure, which again shows that he regards the black captives as a hazardous infestation. When they reach the kitchen, Dean states: “my mother loved her kitchen, so we keep a piece of her in here.” The camera then pans to Georgina, marking an immediate tone shift. The “piece of her” is of course her brain which has been transplanted in a black body, effectively colonizing it. Georgina is immediately off, she does not speak or carry herself like a black woman.

When the pair exit to view the backyard, they see the black groundskeeper. Dean states: “I know what you’re thinking… white family, black servants… we hired Georgina and Walter to help care for my parents. When they died, I couldn’t bear to let them go… But boy, I hate the way it looks.” Dean attempts to make Christ comfortable with the fact that the Armistads are a “white family” with “black servants.” The camera capturing the massive mansion only reinforces the image of a white planter family exploiting the labor of black “servants.” Knowing the outcome of this movie, the “hiring” of Georgina and Walter was kidnapping, and the “care” provided by them is simply the use of their bodies as vessels to hold the white consciences. When Dean describes how after his parents died he “couldn’t bear to let them go,” Chris surely believes the family had formed a connection with their workers. On the contrary, Dean is describing how he could not bear to let his parents’ end with their natural life, and artificially extended their lives by exploiting black bodies. He concludes by stating that he “[hates] the way it looks.” To Chris, it seems like Dean is expressing an awareness of the history of black laborers benefitting white families while in reality, Dean is actually expressing the disdain for his parents inhabiting black bodies.

When Jeremy recalls the story of Rose biting a boy’s tongue in highschool, Dean tells Chris: “you better be careful.” Dean masks this threat as a joke. When Jeremey fixates on MMA, Dean sniffles, which seems to be some kind of signal. Through this doublespeak, Dean simultaneously attempts to make Chris feel comfortable while he expresses his disdain for black people. This concept can be applied to the way white liberals and corporations performatively attempt to express solidarity with black people while often repackaging racist rhetoric in the process.

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aelnare · 4 years

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;;Sprich mir von allen Schrecken des Gewissens, von meinem Vater sprich mir nicht.

He was a boy on the edge of becoming a man when his world slowly but surely began to fall apart. Drystan von Reuß, son of the princess of Dale, did not understand the anger within himself. He did not understand the distance between him and everyone else. But there was nothing he could do about it. He had tried his best to be a good son, to make his father proud, to make his mother smile. But whenever his mother smiled his father became angry. And whenever his father was proud, his mother became sad. There had been a time when he thought himself the reason for that. Had they not been happy when they first married? Lady Mother often spoke of that time. Brand was the crown prince, the golden boy, the wonderful future. They loved him. They adored him. Drystan was ready to die for him. The two boys were the best of friends, playing between the flowers in Dale’s gardens, fighting each other with wooden sticks. They hunted dangerous dragons and wild beasts in their dreams together. Nothing could tear them apart. Nothing and no one. But deep inside his heart, hidden away between hopes he never dared to speak about, dreams he never dared to dream, there was a different feeling altogether. There was agony. There was pain. And worst of all there was jealousy. And nothing he could do about it. He was seven when he first realised that there was something different about them. Something different between them. Where Brand was met with smiles and laughter, only cold hands and stern faces greeted Drystan. His father grew ever more distant, he could hear them shout at night, fight and bicker. Over the kingdom, over their honor, over the truth. Uncle Bain and Sir Lancelot turned away when Drystan approached with Lord Heinrich. They turned away from him, they turned away from his father. All he wanted was to make them proud. It was during that time that Brand became too busy to play with him. A future king needed a different sort of upbringing, a different sort of teacher. He was the heir after all. And Drystan was left to bend and break under his father’s iron fist, always eager to please but never good enough. He was seventeen when he dreamed of dying a hero’s death. When he dreamed of being a knight in splendid armour, living forever in songs and poems. His father would be proud of that, what other choice did he have? Mother would be sad. But she was always sad. And at least he would give her a reason for it. At least she would have to think of him for once. Brand laughed at him for that. All he had wanted was to make him proud. He was a grown man when he stood upon a bloodied battlefield, watching Dain Ironfoot defending a motionless body, a dead king. A dead cousin. Dain died that day, like so many others he died protecting the king of Dale and their kingdoms, the vision they had built for their future. But Drystan survived. And there was nothing to be done about that. Drystan, the spare, the one they had never wanted. He was the one that survived, for fate played a cruel game in those days. They cried for Brand. They sang songs and wrote poems, they would remember him forever. And princess Tilda, his own mother, was so so proud. Drystan could not help it. He was jealous. He was angry. He should have been the one to die. And Brand should have lived. Should have ruled. He had been ready to die for the other, but not even that he was allowed in the end. He was guilty all the same.

#meinliied #aelernil #there you go #the title which is also the Heinrich tag translates to #speak of all the conscience’s terror but of my father do not speak.#or all the terror of the conscience #;;sprich mir von allen Schrecken des Gewissens; von meinem Vater sprich mir nicht - Heinrich von Reuß #headcanons #drys having serious survivors guilt?#drys being jealous of Brand while also fiercely loving him?#YOU BET ON IT #Giuli you challenged my honor I hope I defended it well

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cherryrogers · 4 years

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➸ protector

pairing: bucky barnes x reader | mob au

warnings: swearing, mild violence + assault, stalking, mentions of illness + death, fluff.

word count: 7.4k

synopsis: Ironically, the man with blood on his hands and a permanent target on his back was the one you’d never felt safer with.

a/n: mob au’s are top tier so of course i had to write one at some point. i hope that this one is even a smidge as good as every other one out there !! please enjoy and any feedback is appreciated !!

A dark blanket had encompassed the city; swallowed the highest of skyscrapers and narrowest of alleyways. Engulfed shamrock green parks and swept through empty office buildings. Allowed for the busy city to sleep, ironically — this was New York, after all.

Below it, along a quiet street bordering Central Park, walked an unlikely duo. One who’d only ever known violence. The other hoped never to come across it. Yet under the deep ink sky, indulged in each other’s company, no two people seemed to harmonise so well.

“I thought you were walking me home, not taking me down every street in Manhattan.”

“What, have you had enough of me for the night?”

Furrowing your brows, you stopped in your tracks. “Is that what you’re doing? Stringing out the walk back so that the night doesn’t end so soon?”

Bucky looked back at you, a grin pulling at his lips. “Maybe.”

You smirked, poking a finger into his chest. “Tell me, Barnes — do your mob friends know that you’re such a sap?”

Eyes glimmering under the moonlight, Bucky shot a glare your way before slinging an arm back around your shoulder. “I guess I better get you back then — obviously you have better things to be doing...”

“And a drama queen,” You teased, leaning into his embrace. “Some big bad mob boss you are.”

“Yeah, yeah — give it a rest.” He rolled his eyes, only pulling you closer.

It wasn’t often in his line of work that Bucky met someone who could make him momentarily forget about the life he led. In fact, you weren’t in his line of work at all, and that’s why it was so easy with you. Frankly, everyone around him either worked for him or wanted to kill him; it was difficult to find anyone between the two that he could simply be himself with.

While he had power over Hell’s Kitchen, that didn’t mean it was safe for him to roam the streets freely. Ever since he was a child, his father had told him to always assume that he was being watched, whether it was by the cops or members of other mobs looking to cause trouble. Everyone he ever associated with became a target; a weakness. Someone whose death would throw him off his game. That’s why he never made friends, always sticking to the few ones he had who’d been in the crime world as long as he’d been.

Following a messy run-in with another mob on a night which felt like centuries ago, Bucky wandered into a random bar in hopes of clearing his head with as much whiskey as the cash in his pocket would pay for. But the bartender that night, well, she wasn’t having any of it. As it turned out, a conversation lasting until 2am with her did more for him than the strong liquid in his glass had ever done.

That night, he decided that perhaps he could have one none-criminal, none-mob, none-person that has a weapon on them at all times friend. Just one; just a friend.

He was honest with you about his work. At first, he wasn’t even sure you believed him. Because why would you? You couldn’t count the amount of times guys had made up horribly unbelievable lies about their occupations in an attempt to make an impression. ‘Mob boss’ would certainly be a new one, but not any more or less convincing than a supposed world-renowned doctor or a highly successful entrepreneur that had trouble adding up their bill total.

There was certainly something different about Bucky; in the way he carried himself, in how he talked. Plus, his eyes tended to always drift back to the entrance, as if he was anticipating someone’s arrival. While a doctor is a more common career for the average man than a mob boss, if anyone happened to be one, your guess would be the guy that was able to drink on weeknights without worrying about having a hangover for work the next day.

“It’s pretty dark around here, that’s all,” You shrugged, eyeing the star-scattered sky. “And muggers don’t make exceptions for the mob, unfortunately.”

“You don’t think I could take on a mugger? What do you think I do for a living?”

“You know, you’ve never actually told me...” You shifted your gaze to him, watching as his brows pinched together and the smile slowly disappeared from his lips.

Any knowledge you had of mobsters and gangs was from the movies. All the crime, killing, money — it seemed insane to even speculate that it was happening right under your nose. You’d only known Bucky for a few months, not once had you even questioned his work because you’d convinced yourself that it was better not to. That you liked the person he was with you, and whoever he was at work wasn’t any of your concern.

It spiked your curiosity, though. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done anything that’d horrify you if you saw it on the news. Being a bartender, you met new people almost every day — you had a skill in distinguishing good and bad people. Bucky had a good heart; there was nothing about him that signalled as a red flag. He genuinely cared about you — why else would he walk you home from work every chance he got? As well as being the reason for your full tip jar most nights, and simply spending most nights with you when he could be anywhere else in New York City.

A sigh fell from Bucky’s lips as he stopped the two of you under a lit street lamp. He brought a hand to your face, gently tucking your hair behind you ear. “It’s complicated, dollface.“

“Is it?” You asked quietly, uncertainty evident in your expression. “Or are you afraid of telling me in case it’ll scare me away?”

Bingo. A guilty grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Not many people can read me like that.”

You let out a laugh. “Well, not many people have the pleasure of talking to you for hours almost every night.”

“Yeah, you’re a pretty lucky girl.”

Scrunching your nose, you softly whacked at his chest. Honestly, picturing Bucky as a leading mobster in the city was difficult sometimes. Almost always, there was a smile on his lips and a glint in his eyes — nothing like the stereotype at all.

Within moments, he’d pressed his lips into a narrow line, tracing his hands down your arms before clasping your hands in his. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, or about this city. If you asked, I’d explain it all to you, but I don’t think you want that on your conscience. I was born into this life; I do what I do because I have to and it’s nowhere near an easy job. It’s a scary world to get caught up in, babe — one that I’ll protect you from for as long as I can. That is, if you’ll let me.”

Taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you let your eyes drop to his chest, covered by the white dress-shirt and dark blazer that he always tended to sport. It occurred to you that his work had to be far more dangerous than you’d imagined. Truthfully, it worried you. What was so bad that he didn’t want on your conscience? Who would want to hurt you if you happened to get caught up in his world?

You agreed with him; it was a scary world, and you were a completely stranger to it. However, something else occurred to you as well. In the time that you’d known Bucky, that he kept you company on your late shifts, that he walked you the distance from the bar to your apartment every time without fail, you never once questioned your safety with him.

There was a time when you’d spend most of your tips from the shift you’d just finished to hire a cab to take you home, afraid of what hid in the shadows on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. Alternatively, you’d wear a large winter coat on warm summer nights so you could carry pepper spray in your pocket and access it easily, not to mention the hand cramp you’d develop from carrying your keys between your knuckles for the entirety of the journey back.

With Bucky, you never needed to worry about being vulnerable, being a target — you’d happily let him protect your from the terrors of the world for the rest of your life.

“Bucky, I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for walking me home every night.”

“You thank me all the time, and I always tell you it’s not a bother—”

“No, I mean really thanked you,” You cut him off, giving his hands a squeeze. “I used to dread leaving the bar every night. The thought of having to walk back to my apartment alone in the middle of the night, every night... it made me feel sick. And out of nowhere, this really gorgeous guy starts showing up at the bar every night and gets me home safely without fail. I— I don’t think you realise how safe I feel with you, Bucky. I feel so safe that I couldn’t ever be scared of you. You’ve looked out for me for this long out of the kindness of your heart — you’re a good person, you care about me. Your work might be scary to me, but you’re not, and I’m not planning on losing a good guy who happens to be caught up in a not-so-good world.”

Panic flared in your chest when you stopped speaking. You and Bucky weren’t exactly... an item, yet. Yes, he cuddled you to his side when he walked you home, he made you laugh like you never thought you could, he called you pet names that had your heart bursting with adoration. But between his hesitation about getting too close to you and your fear of asking him questions that he didn’t want to answer, an invisible boundary had set its place in the middle of you. Perhaps you’d been too forward, he only asked if you’d let him keep you safe and then you went on an unnecessary tangent—

Oh, he was kissing you. Okay, okay.

His careful hands cradling your face felt like the only thing stopping your legs from giving out; Bucky was kissing you. And fuck, it was a good kiss. One you’d been anticipating since the first time he walked you home. God, if your mother knew you were kissing a mob boss right now—

It didn’t matter — not to you. The job didn’t define him, even if everyone else around him told him that it did. You’d make sure he remembered that; you’d protect him in your own way.

Bucky pulled back first, anxious to see your reaction. It was impulsive, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. Not when you were telling him how safe he made you feel, not when you said you didn’t want to lose him. Because he didn’t plan on losing you either.

“Listen, I’ve done things in the past that I’d rather forget...”

You shook your head at him. “Bucky, you don’t have to explain anything—”

“Please, just one thing,” He urged, watching you give him a nod before continuing. “I don’t— I don’t kill for fun, or steal from anyone out of greed, or hurt anyone just because I can. I know a lot of people who do all three without remorse; those guys are the ones I’m trying to take down. I just don’t want you thinking I’m some sort of monster—”

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” You offered him a genuine smile. “I think... you’re doing the best you can with the life you’ve been given.”

In a rare moment of demureness, a light blush coated Bucky’s cheeks; he couldn’t have put it better himself. A kiss was pressed to your forehead before he was tugging at your hands.

“C’mon, let’s get you home.”

* * *

To put it lightly, you were not happy.

It was a Sunday; the only day of the week where you were able to spend the evening binge-watching nearly half a season of a show in the comfort of your own living room. The only day that you could spend alone — no social interaction whatsoever. After a week of dealing with (usually tipsy) strangers, God knows you needed a day to wind down.

However, this Sunday night, you were right where you didn’t want to be — behind the bar, pouring out another glass of rum to a man who really should’ve just started a tab, waiting for the blessed hour of 2am to arrive because a co-worker called in sick at the last minute. To top it all off, Bucky wasn’t there to accompany you. You’d thought about calling him, but your mind told you he was probably busy with ‘mob stuff’, whatever that was. Plus, he spent almost every other night at the bar with you; you could survive one night alone.

It wasn’t such a busy night; Sundays never were at such a late hour. By the time you were closing up the place, there was only one person who’d stayed the whole night. He left without a fuss when you asked him to, which was reassuring. It was going to be your first time walking home alone in months — you didn’t need something to be paranoid about.

Still, you’d came prepared — a can of pepper spray hid in your left pocket, while your keys remained between your knuckles in your right one. Sometimes, you wondered if you were being dramatic. When you walked home with Bucky, there was barely anybody on the streets, never mind anyone that was looking to attack someone. But your paranoia won over that rationale; you could never be too sure.

You didn’t take the long way home like Bucky tended to have you do. Unlike with him, you wanted to get home as fast as possible, not waste time dawdling around the streets.

And still, within minutes of your departure from the bar, you felt someone’s eyes on you.

Surely, the odds weren’t that against you. It was your first time leaving work alone in months — it couldn’t also be the night that something... bad was going to happen because of it.

Don’t think like that, you thought to yourself, huffing quietly. A few more blocks and you’d be at your apartment building. Nobody was watching you, nobody was following you. Paranoia was unnecessarily powerful; it had to be your mind playing tricks on you.

However, after a short internal argument with yourself, you decided that it couldn’t hurt to take a glimpse behind you — just in case. And maybe sometimes trusting your paranoid thoughts was the right thing to do.

Because with one look over your shoulder, your heart rate had doubled in speed — there was someone following you.

The man from the bar, you were sure it was him. Not that you were good with remembering faces, but you’d just seen him not even ten minutes ago. Is that why he waited till the end of your shift? To follow you? You specifically?

He was around fifteen feet behind you, purposely keeping his distance. Fucking hell; what did he want? What could you give him that forced him to sit in the bar for hours waiting to get you on your own?

Bucky was going to kill you, but you’d rather that than, well, someone else having the chance to before him. Within moments, you were dialing his number, ignoring the sense of helplessness you felt in your chest.

The phone rang, and rang. Too many times for your liking.

...

“_____?” Thank fuck.

The sound of his voice alone was reassuring; it’d be even more so if he was there with you. He didn’t sound groggy, at least you hadn’t woken him up. “Are you okay?”

“Hey...” You let out a nervous laugh. “Where are you right now?”

“Just at home, dollface...” He answered cautiously, obviously sensing your unease. “Are you alright?”

Approaching the corner of the street you’d been speed-walking down, you took a left turn, eyes darting behind you before you disappeared down the next street. He was still there, still close behind you.

Bucky heard your breath hitch. “Babe, what’s going on? Where are you?”

Fuck. “I’m walking home from work.”

“What? You don’t work on Sundays.”

“Someone called in sick, I got called in last minute,” You gripped the pepper spray in your pocket impossibly tight, fear coursing through your veins. “Bucky, I think someone’s following me.”

There was a moment of silence; you worried he was already mad. But soon enough, you heard the fumbling of boots against a wooden floor. If you weren’t so terrified, you would’ve told him that coming to find you was unnecessary.

“Stay on the phone, okay? I’m gonna come and get you. Keep walking, don’t go down any alleyways,” He instructed, as you heard the click of a front door shutting over the speaker. “Do they know you’ve seen them?”

“I— I think so? Fuck, I don’t know...” You uttered, panic laced in your voice.

The sound of a car starting up provided you with some relief. He’d find you soon; Bucky would keep you safe. “You’re okay, I’m right here. How far away from the bar are you?”

“Uh...” You quickly took in your surroundings — hopefully you weren’t appearing as panicked as you felt. “There’s a nail salon on my right. Next to an Italian restaurant, and there’s a Starbucks on the corner.”

Luckily, Bucky knew Hell’s Kitchen inside out. His boots pressed hard on the gas instantly. “I know where you are. Just keep moving, I’ll be there soon.”

“Thank you.” You whispered, too afraid of provoking the man who was following your tracks. Was he even still there? You couldn’t bring yourself to check.

You imagined Bucky must’ve been breaking speed limits left and right on his journey to you, considering that it’d barely been five minutes since he’d got in his car before you heard a vehicle not far behind you.

Working up the courage to take a look back, you noticed that the man following you had been distracted by Bucky’s car. It was a large, sheer black SUV with blacked out windows; the perfect car for someone in his profession. Perfect enough that your stalker of sorts realised he was in for it, and immediately spun around to walk the other way.

However, he wasn’t getting off that easily.

The car door flung open, making you flinch even from where you were stood fifteen feet away. A figure dressed in a black hoodie and dark jeans jumped out, catching the man by his jacket sleeve before he could make his escape — Bucky. He mustn’t have had time to switch to his regular attire. In different circumstances, it’d be nice seeing him in such casual clothes.

Within seconds, the man was slammed against the brick wall of the bank you’d just passed, Bucky’s hand wrapped around his throat. All you could do was watch, paralysed with shock.

Coughing and spluttering, the man looked up to identify his attacker; his eyes widened. “B— Barnes?”

“You know me?” Bucky asked through gritted teeth, his grip on the man not wavering in the slightest, even when he nodded furiously. “You’re sure as hell not one of my guys — who you do work for?”

Stupidly, the man continued to squirm, desperate to get out of Bucky’s clutch. His throat was only clasped tighter. “Tell me who you fucking work for.”

“P— Pierce! I work for Pierce,” He panted.

Fucking hell. “Did he send you here?

“Yes.”

“Why?” Bucky growled, yet again tightening his grasp when there was a pause in conversation. “I swear I’ll crush your fucking windpipe—”

“The girl,” He answered breathlessly. “Someone told him you’d been seeing a girl— one that wasn’t part of your mob. He— He thought he’d be able to get to you through her, so he sent me to spy on her, work out who she was to you. I was just following her, I wasn’t gonna hurt her—!”

“But Pierce is planning to, isn’t he?” Son of a bitch. This, this was exactly what he was afraid of. Pierce has been looking for a way to take him down for as long as he could remember. But with no outside connections, no obvious weakness to him, it was impossible. You were just what he’d been waiting for — a loose screw in the framework, a crack in the pavement. Someone that would throw Bucky Barnes right off his game if you were dragged into the mess that he was trying to keep you out of.

But he’d made a promise to keep you safe; he wasn’t planning on breaking it.

Jaw clenching, eyes narrowing — Bucky rammed the winded guy into the wall for the last time. “If I see you around here again, you won’t live long enough to report back to your bastard boss.”

God, he could just do it. Squeeze this bonehead’s throat until he was unable to grant his lungs the pleasure of a singular breath of oxygen. Leave his pathetic ass unconscious on the ground for someone else to find — for Pierce to find. He’d be furious, but he’d be scared. Scared of how easy it was for his nemesis to take out one of his men. Scared of what lengths he’d go to ensure your safety.

But you were still there, watching him, unsure of his next move. If he could help it, he wasn’t going to let you be the witness to a murder, especially one on his part. The one pure thing in his life — he wasn’t going to ruin you.

With reluctance, he snatched his hand back, letting the man fall to his knees and instantly gasp for air.

“Get the fuck out of here, or I’ll change my mind on letting your sorry ass live.” He snarled, not waiting for a response before he began jogging in your direction.

Lips parted, brows furrowed, eyes glossy — you looked like you’d seen a ghost (or just heard that a mob boss was planning your murder).

Concern contorted into his features, Bucky quickly approached you, stopping himself from grabbing your face in his hands in fear that his touch wasn’t what you wanted. Had he just ruined everything? Even though you’d claimed that he could never scare you, he wasn’t sure that after that performance that your statement still stood.

Your eyes zeroed in on his chest, cogs working in your mind to try and process what the hell was going on. And Bucky worried that this was it — he’d dragged you into something you never wanted to be a part of and now, there was no getting out for you. You hated him for it, didn’t you? Fucking hell.

But after a few moments, his doubts were proven false when you crashed into his chest, enveloping his waist and shoving your face into the crook of his neck. He’d saved you, just like you knew he would.

Letting out a breath of relief, Bucky drew you closer by encircling your shoulders. Behind him, the pathetic man who he’d just about let live scurried away from the scene, allowing you to peacefully bask in the safe place that was Bucky’s arms.

Still, he feared that being out in the open wasn’t such a good idea. Pressing a lingering kiss you the crown of your head, he pulled back to meet your glazed eyes. “I’m taking you back to my place, is that okay?”

Without a word, you gave him a nod. If whoever was keeping tabs on you knew where you worked, there was a chance that they knew your home address too — the thought sent an unpleasant shiver down your spine.

The car ride back to Bucky’s was quiet. Buildings blurred together as your eyes remained glued to the window, a dismal look on your face. In the driver’s seat, Bucky stole glances at you — he’d never seen you so silent, so down. The crime world was not something he was a stranger to. Being at the top of someone’s hit list was nothing new to him. Nobody could get rid of him; that’s why he was despised by so many, and he didn’t care to mind these days. Shooting his way was a waste of bullets, men sent to find him with knives and crowbars in hand were using their time poorly.

But you weren’t him. No, you were the bubbly bartender that got whisked into his mess simply because you’d been nice enough to ask him about his sullen mood the first night you’d met. This life was never meant for you. Only a sick, emotionless person would’ve sought to harm you, even to spite their worst enemy. Even as ransom, as a way in to seek out Bucky’s weaknesses. He’d told you little about his work, and for good reason. The less you knew, the less important you were to those against him. Knowledge was power in this business.

A clanking noise emerged from in front of the car, managing to pull your eyes from the window. The car had stopped momentarily to allow a grand, silver gate to open, cushioned between the start and end of the black metal fence surrounding the land. Bucky had reached a hand out of his window to punch a code into the keypad next to the gate without you even noticing.

You knew that Bucky was well-off, but fuck.

The house was smaller than you’d imagined. Definitely still large, especially in comparison to your studio apartment. But taking into account the designer suits he styled every night, the stupid amount of money he’d tip you for a single drink, even the confidence he carried at all times — not cockiness, but self-assurance — had you thinking that when he went home at night, that it was to a multimillion dollar mansion. All glass, taking up acres upon acres, all for one man to live in.

However, it wasn’t that at all. It had a maximum of two stories, along with a garage to the left of the main building. It was modern, for sure. Monotonous with its black front door and window frames, the rest blinding white — more subtle than celebrity mansions shown off on social media. It was very Bucky; impressive and eye-catching, but not too flashy.

He opened the car door on your side, allowing you to climb out of the SUV, taking his outreached hand even though you didn’t quite need it. You would’ve uttered a joke about chivalry being dead if it weren’t for your dull mood; perhaps another time.

On a more positive note, you definitely felt safer enclosed in the towering fence surrounding Bucky’s house. At home, you’d be scared to blink in fear that it would declare you vulnerable to an attack.

It wasn’t long before he’d guided you into his home, tapping another code into another keypad as you entered the place, examining it in awe. The scruffy black boots on your feet juxtaposed the gleaming checkered flooring underneath them. A silver chandelier spread light across the foyer-like area, making you squint after the drive through the dark night.

Bucky watched as you took in your surroundings, noticing the way you crossed your arms over your chest, bowed your head — you were curling in on yourself, as if you didn’t belong there. He didn’t like that.

But after a minute or so, you diverted your gaze to him, a weak smile tugging at your lips. “This place... it’s amazing.”

You’d only seen one room, sparse of furniture and lacking personality, but you didn’t need much more convincing of its splendour.

As confident as he walked, Bucky couldn’t say he took compliments well. It was the modesty that he didn’t even realise he had. Flashy watches and perfectly tailored suits littered his closet, sure — but not to reel in ego-feeding comments. He wasn’t the one who tailored his clothes, or carefully sculpted his wristwatches; he merely had the cash to splash on them. Many could only dream to have what he did — they’d take it in a second if it was offered to them. But for what? To maintain by being on the wrong side of the law and trusting that you woudn’t mess up? To be constantly looking over your shoulder, constantly having a target on your back?

He had a good life, he wasn’t denying that. Fear wasn’t the issue; he wasn’t scared. But he wondered if this was all there was to his life. Being someone’s enemy, the object of another’s hatred. No sense of normality to cling onto when things began to get messy. Maybe that’s why he became so attached to you; his sense of peace, a normal life. Which was ironic, since there was nothing normal about you. If you were normal, you’d be forgettable. And that, you were not.

As a thank you, he shot you a grin, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Do you need a drink? Or somethin’ to eat?”

You shook your head. “I’m okay, thanks. I’m more tired than anything, honestly.”

“I’ll take you upstairs then.” Usually, he’s take hold of your hand, or wrap an arm around you to escort you somewhere — he had a feeling you needed your own space right now, so instead, he let you follow his steps up the sheeny marble staircase.

It was true, you were tired. Exhausted, even. But you didn’t want to close your eyes, or be left alone, be left vulnerable again.

Bucky led you into a darker room, one that clearly wasn’t used so often. Still, it was large for a bedroom. A queen sized bed was pushed against the far wall, draped in royal blue sheets which complemented the grey cushions sat atop of them. A closet built into the wall took up one side of the room, and a plain, white wooden desk sat under the window on the other side. The door to an en-suite bathroom just peeked out next to the closet. Minimalistic, but lovely nonetheless.

“This is the guest room, usually where my sister stays when she visits every once in a blue moon,” He commented, moving to switch on the lamp standing on top of the desk. “There’ll be some clothes you can change into in the closet.”

A sister; you were even aware he had siblings. That was something he’d never talked about — family. Neither did you, so much, but it was as if Bucky didn’t have one at all. He said that he was born into the mob, so you assumed that his parents (or at least one of them) led the same life that he did.

With a small smile, Bucky acknowledged your thankful nod before leaving you to your own devices. It was obvious he didn’t want to pry, ask you questions that he already knew the answer to.

And you weren’t exactly sure what to say to him either. The situation was completely out of your control; if someone was after you to spite Bucky, how were you supposed to protect yourself? You couldn’t just move in with Bucky to ensure your safety, and it’s not like your apartment building with its rusty locks and lack of security detail put you out of harms way.

Sighing defeatedly, you stripped out of your work attire and kicked off your boots before taking a look in the closet. There weren’t too many nightwear options anyway, but you decided on a faded vintage Metallica shirt, cracks in the logo from the amount of times it’d been washed, along with a worn pair of baggy sweatpants. Not exactly an outfit that you were eager for Bucky to see you in, but given the circumstances, that was the least of your worries as you stepped out of the bedroom. You’d been alone for barely five minutes, but an uneasy pit was still beginning to form in your stomach.

The mob boss came into sight once you’d wandered back downstairs. Freshly poured glass of whiskey in hand, lounged back on a pristine white couch through an archway to the right of the foyer. Probably a lot more expensive that what he chugged down back at your bar, shipped directly from Ireland or Scotland. He didn’t notice as you stood idly in the archway, simply taking in his appearance — comfortable clothing, still sporting an extravagant Rolex (of course), slightly disheveled hair that’s been brushed back by his fingers — before slowly approaching the couch to take a seat next to him.

“You’ve never mentioned your sister.” His eyes flit to yours upon hearing your voice, tentative in case it was a sore subject.

The corner of his lips curled, not used to seeing you in anything other than washed-out jeans and a simple black tee. Shuffling along as you seated yourself, Bucky let out a breath. “She’s lived in Syracuse with my mom since she was barely a teenager, her name’s Rebecca.”

It brought you a sense of relief that Bucky still had family; since he never spoke of them, you worried that he’d lost them because of his lifestyle. “Does she visit much?”

“Nah, only a couple of times a year,” He shook his head, swirling his drink around in his hand. “It’s safer if she keeps her distance from the this part of New York. I used to never let her visit at all, but then— then my dad died a few years back, and after that she insisted on coming down here from time to time — said she couldn’t handle losing me too.”

Surprisingly, it wasn’t the job that killed his father. Lung cancer did it before another eager opposer ever got the chance to. Bucky had never been a smoker; never saw the appeal, especially after witnessing his father go through packs upon packs of cigarettes with the purest tobacco he could find to deal with the stress of the job.

And of course once he’d passed, it was up to his son to take over an organisation he wasn’t at all prepared for. Gone too soon, his father hadn’t been able to teach him everything he needed to know. Everything he needed to survive. Luckily, the Barnes kids were smart — Becca currently working on her nursing degree and Bucky, well, learning how not to die in his occupation.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” You sympathised, not wanting to keep pressing. There was a reason he’d been so intent on keeping you safe — his sister had already been driven away from the dangers and risks of being close to the mobs of Manhattan. He didn’t want that for you too. Not when this was your home, when he didn’t feel like he could lose you along with his sister because of the life he led. “I— I hope you know that tonight doesn’t change anything.”

His brows knitted together. “What do you mean?”

Fiddling with you fingers in your lap, you met his eyes dubiously. “I’m not scared— well — getting followed home from work by a guy sent by a mob boss to spy on me was pretty scary. But it hasn’t scared me away from you.”

Admittedly, he was happy with your words. The last thing he wanted was to see you running in the opposite direction. He wouldn’t have taken it lightly, even if he understood exactly why you wouldn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

Throwing down the rest of his drink, almost numb to the familiar burn in the back of his throat, Bucky discarded the empty glass on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Pierce has been after me for as long as I can remember; he was after my dad before that. He’s a coward, I can tell you that. Gets his men to do his dirty work. Carries a gun but never uses it. He won’t hurt you, but he doesn’t have a problem ordering every guy he knows to do it instead.”

A timid smile tipped your lips, as your clammy palms pressed against your thighs. “Is this supposed to be comforting?”

He huffed out a chuckle, but apologised upon seeing the worry behind your eyes. He’d been desensitised to violent threats and things alike; he wouldn’t let that happen to you. “I’m sorry, dollface. What I’m trying to say is... those guys are puppets on strings. They’re not smart; they don’t think for themselves. None of them have enough brain cells to get past me, which means they’d never be able to get to you.”

Your expression seemed to soften at that. Good, that meant you trusted him. Because he’d never lie to you. When he said he’d keep you safe, he meant it wholeheartedly. Now that he knew Pierce was meddling in his part of town, that made things a little easier. He’d let the rest of the guys know in the morning. Form a plan of action to force them to stay the fuck away.

In truth, Bucky wasn’t afraid. With his whole chest, he’d say that he had a higher IQ than all of Pierce’s men combined. And he’d say the same for you. Having a gun in your pocket of a knife slipped into your boot didn’t make you clever; it didn’t inherently make you a threat. Not when your target was never in your line of sight, never able to be spied on unknowingly. You’d known you were being followed within minutes, and you had Bucky in the phone not long after the realisation. You trusted your gut, always — that’s what was going to keep you safe. And him, of course.

“I believe you,” You reach a hand across the lavish couch, curling your fingers around the top of his hand. “I really do trust you, Bucky. I hope you don’t doubt that. I meant what I said the other night, about feeling safe with you.”

He tensed slightly in his seat — he really was a big sap, wasn’t he? The head of a mob who had a countless amount of blood on his hands was getting nervous at a woman’s touch. Your touch, however.

“I know,” Bucky eyed you fondly, savouring they warmth of your hand cupping his. “Just... please, next time you’re covering a shift, call me—”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you grinned. “I knew that was coming. It was one night, I didn’t think—”

“But look what happened—!”

“And what would’ve happened if you were walking me home?” You quirked a brow. “That guy still would’ve followed me from the bar, he might’ve even followed us to my apartment and— and tried something once you’d dropped me off.”

You were right. It seemed like they only knew where you worked, not where you lived. Bucky would’ve liked to think if someone was following the two of you that’d he’d notice, but he couldn’t lie — an elephant could’ve followed you down the street one night and he still wouldn’t have realised because he was so caught up in you.

A crease formed between his brows; what if they had found out your address? Without him knowing, which worried him even more—

“But I don’t wanna think about that,” You added, seeing his features falling. Feeling brazen, you shuffled closer, your thigh pressed against his. His breath hitched; you noticed. Heat pooled in your own cheeks. After all, you’d only kissed him once. Being in such close proximity to him still had your heart pounding. “What matters is that I’m here, and I’m with you, and I’m safe.”

Like music to his ears, your words put the shine right back into his eyes. And again, he couldn’t resist pulling you into him — kissing you. Tugging you by the hand still clutching his, basking in the feeling of your other hand moving to rest against his jaw, and moulding his lips with yours. A perfect fit, he thought.

The bitter tang of whiskey was prominent on his tongue; you’d never been one for spirits, but the taste on his lips was impossibly addictive. Something you could get used to. Under the soft pads of your fingers, his jaw was freshly trimmed, dark and rough. Lips honey soft in contrast.

He took you upstairs after that. After you’d both pulled away, lips swollen and eyes hazy, still holding hands like letting go was a crime — the only crime Bucky would shy away from. You were tired, he could tell. If you’d been at home, you would’ve fallen into a slumber long before now; that was if no one had been following you back. While he trusted that you felt safe in his home, it was clear you were still a little shaken. Even more so when he guided you to the guest room, closing the curtains for you as you scrubbed your teeth in the en-suite bathroom.

You felt like a child again; hurrying to spit and rinse so that you could escape the cold, tiled room and fall back into the arms of someone you felt safe with.

By the time you were done and padding back into the bedroom, Bucky had changed into yet another outfit you had yet to see. Now in a white shirt that clung to his torso and biceps, along with grey sweatpants matching yours, he looked... he looked gorgeous. Maybe you were being dramatic; the suit was certainly attractive, but seeing him in his casual wear— it was so domestic. It spread a fuzzy warmth from your fingertips to your toes.

As you pried your eyes from where he was stood in the doorway, shooting you a gentle smile, you began to curl up against the headboard of the large bed. And before a ‘goodnight’ could leave his lips, you hesitantly asked—

“Can you stay with me?”

Brows raised, Bucky swallowed nervously. Of course, he wouldn’t say no. “If you want me to, sure. I can set up on the floor—”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, Bucky,” You grinned, knees pulled to your chest. Always a gentleman, he was. “I’d... prefer it if you were next to me.”

Sparkling with hope, your eyes pierced into his. If anything, he was sure you’d want to be alone for the night. Gather your thoughts, consider cutting him out of your life for getting you involved in something so dangerous. That was his doubt talking — he knew that you trusted him. And if sleeping next to you would put your mind at ease, he’d never let you sleep alone again until you felt you could.

Moving under the thick quilt, you observed Bucky as he tentatively made his way over to the bed, suppressing a chuckle.

“Are you sure this is okay?” He questioned, just about to pull back the quilt on his side.

A smirk played on your lips as you reached forward, pulling the sheet back for him. “We just made out on your couch; I’m okay with you lying next to me. Are you okay with this?”

He scoffed softly. In that moment, he knew that a bullet to the chest or a knife in his stomach wouldn’t be the death of him — you would.

“Just making sure.” He sighed, eventually climbing into the bed beside you, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

The pillow underneath your head felt like a cloud as you laid down on your side, Bucky mirroring your position soon after. He’d left the lamp on; the dim light casting a shadow over his features. It hit his eyes perfectly, however. Ocean blue, inviting you to drown in them — you’d do so in a heartbeat.

“Thank you.” You murmured, eyelids already heavy. If you weren’t drifting into unconsciousness, you would’ve pressed your lips to his yet again, craving the taste of that priceless whiskey. As a thank you, another one — you couldn’t thank him enough.

All those nights he could’ve spent in his million dollar home, drinking the purest of spirits on his plush couch, perhaps with company that was a little more used to his lifestyle. All those nights he could’ve spent in the safety and comfort of his own abode, he spent in a cold, austere bar drinking alcohol less expensive than his shoelaces, with you.

And he’d do it every night for the rest of time to watch over you, make you laugh, smile — ensure that such a vibrant girl was never exposed to what truly lurked in the shadows of Manhattan. He’d do it because without you, he’d be lost in those shadows. Trapped in a life of crime and violence and misery. Nowhere to turn to simply breathe.

Finding your hand under the silk sheets, Bucky pulled it close, brushing his lips against it ever so softly. And he replied with a smile. “You too, dollface.”

Watching as you fell asleep, gentle breaths hitting the pillow beneath your cheek, lips still a little swollen, hand grasping back at his ever so slightly — he sighed. One of relief, of content.

Your Bucky, always watching over you. But you — you were protecting him too. Protecting the worn-down soul of a complicated man from being truly lost in such a brutal world.

For that, he’d be more thankful than you could ever imagine.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes reader insert #mob!bucky #mob au

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tsushimanoonryo · 3 years

Text

Drabble: Chiyoko pt. 2

“Your sister is behaving strangely again.”

Hiroto sighed. Chiyoko was always behaving strangely and Kazumasa was always complaining about it. As if Hiroto could stop his sister from doing what she wanted. He’d tried and failed every time.

Even so, he turned his head to look at his Chiyoko. She was meant to be on the veranda practicing her calligraphy. She was actually meant to be in the house practicing her calligraphy but she’d thrown a minor tantrum because she wanted to be outside like her brothers. Chiyoko might not have gotten her way had her mother not happened to pass by and witness the scene.

“There’s nothing wrong with her getting a little fresh air,” Lady Shimura had said indulgently. “After all, it’s a lovely day. Let her practice in the sunlight. It may do her good.”

The tutor couldn’t argue with the wife of the jito, so Chiyoko had gotten her way in the end. But she’d abandoned her work and was off near the garden pond chasing butterflies while her poor tutor ran after her. It was actually sort of funny and Hiroto had to suppress a laugh. He wasn’t supposed to encourage her antics.

“I can’t believe our parents are making me marry her,” Kazumasa continued with a frown. “She’s going to be the worst wife ever.”

“She’s only eleven,” Hiroto replied. “My mother says she will mature by the time you are to marry.”

“Your mother lets her do whatever she wants,” Kazumasa said. “She’s going to turn feral if she isn’t careful.”

“You were an unholy terror when you were eleven,” Hiroto pointed out. “You still are. Maybe my sister is the one who is getting the raw deal.”

Kazumasa’s frown disappeared as he barked out a laugh.

“You’re right about that.” he said with a grin. “But still, it’s different for women. They should be more graceful, shouldn’t they?”

And you should be a little more respectful of the jito’s only daughter, Hiroto thought. The one they’ve graciously betrothed to you.

But he left the words unspoken. He himself thought that his sister could stand to show a little more poise every now and then.

“Forget her,” Hiroto said, walking toward the sparring ring. “We’ve got work to do, don’t we?”

He selected a good-sized bokken and gave it a few test swings before turning to Kazumasa.

“Come,” he said, holding the point of it toward his friend. “Let’s duel.”

………………………………………………….

“Kazumasa doesn’t like me,” Chiyoko whispered to him after dinner.

They were all sitting out in the garden, enjoying sake and the full moon while Lady Sakai plucked out a rhythm on her koto and Lady Shimura played a pleasant melody on her shakuhachi. Hiroto’s father and Lord Sakai were deep in quiet conversation about some private matter and the Shimura boys were laughing boisterously with Lord Sakai’s son. Only Hiroto and his sister were somewhat removed from the revelry.

“What do you mean?” Hiroto asked quietly, shooting a look toward the others to make sure they weren’t listening. “Did he say something to you?”

“No,” she said. “But he says things to you. He said things to you today.”

She made her voice deeper and furrowed her brow.

“‘She’s going to be the worst wife ever,’” she repeated in a fair approximation of Kazumasa’s voice. “‘She’s going to turn feral.’”

Hiroto furrowed his brow. Chiyoko had been across the yard when he and Kazumasa had spoken. There was no way she could have heard what they discussed.

Chiyoko always knew too much. She knew things that were spoken about in hushed tones that she shouldn’t have been able to hear. She seemed to know what people did when they were alone as well. It was absolutely uncanny and spooked Hiroto on more than one occasion.

“Kazumasa is young and stupid,” he said, trying to ignore the chill that crept up his spine. “There are still many years between now and your marriage. He will come around.”

Chiyoko didn’t say anything, but kicked at a rock with the toe of her zori. Perhaps it was a trick of the moonlight, but it seemed like there was a strange glint in her eye. It might have been the same look in her eyes she had the day she showed up dirty and ragged to Castle Shimura.

“Chiyoko…” He said uncertainly. “Do you want me to say something to mother and father?”

She shook her head.

“They will be angry with him,” she said. “It will cause problems with Lord and Lady Sakai.”

That much was true. His parents thought of her as a gift from the kami and treated her as such. They were much more indulgent with Chiyoko than they had been with any of their sons. If they knew of Kazumasa’s unkind words, they might rescind the betrothal offer and the alliance would suffer.

“I will speak to him, then,” Hiroto said, but Chiyoko cut him off.

“No,” she said. “I will. I might only be a girl, but I’m a samurai’s daughter. I can fight my own battles. Even if they are only verbal ones.”

“You think you can win against Kazumasa Sakai?” he asked.

“I know that I can,” she said. And she sounded so sure of herself that Hiroto was half-convinced she was right.

………………………………………………….

The revelry ended shortly after their conversation and Chiyoko hadn’t gotten the chance to speak with Kazumasa. Hiroto had planned on saying something to him when they tucked into bed for the evening, but Kazumasa had not yet learned to hold his sake and he was snoring by the time his head hit the futon.

The next morning was busy as well, with servants rushing back and forth to be able to send the Sakai family back home to Omi after the morning meal. Kazumasa complained of a headache and his mother nagging him about making sure all of his things were packed. He was in a foul mood and Hiroto didn’t want to make it worse by lecturing him.

Perhaps it’s for the best, he thought. By the time we visit them in Omi, Chiyoko will have forgotten all about it.

Upon his father’s instruction, Hiroto and his brothers were to ride part of the way back to Omi with the Sakai retinue to escort them through the Shimura lands. He and Kazumasa usually made a game of racing each other on trips like this, but his friend was sullen and unusually quiet.

“You really did drink far too much last night, didn’t you?” Hiroto asked with a laugh.

“Oh shut up,” Kazumasa groaned.

“Surely the worst of it has passed?”

“I kept breakfast down, didn’t I?” Kazumasa retorted.

“But only barely from the looks of it.”

“You Shimura are a pain in my ass,” Kazumasa grumbled. “You know your sister spoke to me last night? She had some choice words, that’s for sure.”

Hiroto stopped his horse short.

“What?” he asked. “When?”

“I don’t know,” Kazumasa answered. “I was still half-drunk, I think.”

“Kazumasa,” Hiroto said. “You couldn’t have spoken with Chiyoko last night.”

“I tell you I did,” he argued. “We were out in the garden and she was right in front of me, just as you are now. I remember it. The fireflies were out. The glow made her look like a ghost. She said I needed to watch what I say about her, or she would make things worse than anything I could experience in any of the eighteen hells. It was a little frightening.”

“A dream,” Hiroto said. “It sounds like it was a dream. My sister wouldn’t make threats.”

Kazumasa frowned in thought.

“It seemed real,” he said. “But now that you mention it, I don’t remember speaking to her before we all retired to bed. And I don’t know why I would have gone back out to the garden so late. Or why she would have been there.”

“You had a guilty conscience for speaking ill of her earlier in the day,” Hiroto said. “So you dreamed about it.”

“That’s somehow worse,” Kazumasa groaned. “I wanted to dream about that girl from the teahouse. Tsuna with her big beautiful…”

“Kazumasa!” Hiroto hissed, slightly embarrassed.

“Bah,” he groused.

“Dream or not,” Hiroto continued. “Chiyoko was right. You know how my parents feel about her. If they think you are disrespecting her, they would not hesitate to end the betrothal. That would be bad for both of our families.”

“I know,” Kazumasa said. “She’s just…”

Hiroto shot him a look of warning and Kazumasa shut his mouth.

“Alright, you win,” he said. “I’ll hold my tongue.”

“For once in your life.”

“Pain in the ass,” Kazumasa repeated. “All of you.”

#drabble #headcanon #chiyoko sakai #chiyoko shimura #lord shimura #fanfic #ghost of tsushima #backstory #cut for length #kazumasa sakai #chiyoko sakai was a kitsune and you cannot tell me otherwise

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jingabitch · 4 years

Text

A Deal with the Devil

SUMMARY: You’re not sure whether the demon in front of you is real or a hallucination, but you don’t really care.

RATING: Explicit

PAIRINGS: Hoseok x reader

WORD COUNT: 6.6k

A/N: For the demon!au prompt for the BTS Ghostie bingo challenge.

Thank you to the lovely betas who looked over this @lunarlxve and @sungiesangel, and to @jkeuphoriadreamland for listening to me whine about the backstory!!

This room – damp, smelling like mold, cold. It was all you knew. All you’d ever known. Tomorrow would be your first and last time leaving, to be publicly executed in front of the entire city.

The unfairness made you want to scream. Instead, you sat by the window and sobbed. You didn’t understand; you’d never understood. The people who’d come to give you food and water had just said that you were here for the protection of yourself and the kingdom, but you didn’t understand why it had to be you who got locked up and then butchered like an animal.

The sound of the heavy door scraping against the ground as it opened made you turn around hopefully. For what though, you didn’t know. Maybe for the father, you’d always been told you needed to be here to save, to take his turn saving you?

“Oh, it’s just you,” you said dismissively to the new entrant, turning back to rest your chin on the windowsill. You weren’t exactly in the mood for company today.

Hoseok tsked at you. “That’s no way to greet someone.”

You didn’t bother to respond. Surely you could be forgiven for your lack of manners on the eve of your death. Besides, it was just Hobi. He was your best (and only) friend, and you were sure he would understand, given the circumstances. You didn’t quite know where he came from, but he’d been around since you were a child, probably just a couple of years older than you.

Hearing you sniffle miserably, he drew closer cautiously. “Hey,” he said tentatively. “You okay?”

“What do you think, Hobi?” you snapped.

“Someone’s in a mood,” he said lightly.

“Well, someone is going to be burned at the stake tomorrow, so unless you have something that can help, save it,” you snarled.

“It seems like today is your lucky day, then,” he almost sang.

“What are you talking ab—” you started, turning to face him, before screaming at the sight you saw in front of you. In the time that you had looked away from him, he’d somehow sprouted horns and wings. Massive, black leathery wings now bracketed his body, taking up almost all the space in the small room.

Your eyes, panicked, shot up to his, discovering that his warm brown eyes had changed. He now gazed back at you with eyes a deep emerald green, with black slit pupils. Panicked, you fell onto your knees sobbing, not even feeling the pain of the impact reverberating through the joints.

“Please,” you begged. “Please, spare my soul, demon.” Your hands were clasped in front of you as tears slid down your face.

“Y/n, please stop screaming.” Hoseok – or the demon wearing Hoseok’s face – held his hands out placatingly, coming towards you. He was speaking to you the way one might an injured animal, but far from being soothed, the sight of the demon coming towards you terrified you further, and you scrabbled backward until your back hit the wall, cowering away from him.

Realizing that this wasn’t working, Hoseok folded his wings behind him and got on his knees to be on your level. “Y/n, please, please stop. I’m not going to hurt you.”

You’d stopped screaming, but you were still terrified, pressing your shoulders back into the wall so hard that you could feel the indents of the rough stone wall almost cutting into your skin. Still, Hoseok recognized this as progress.

“I’m just Hobi, okay?” he said, using your childish nickname for him. You’d given it to him the first time you met him when you were five, and he was (you’d thought) seven because you couldn’t pronounce his name properly, and it had stuck.

“Who—” you paused to swallow hard, then tried again. “What are you?” Your voice trembled, as did your hands, fisted in your skirt.

He grinned. “Can’t you tell?” he asked, opening his wings slightly with a flourish. Startled, you jerked back and hit your head on the wall. Realising that this wasn’t really the time for jokes, he folded them back against his back contritely. “Sorry,” he apologized, shuffling closer on his knees. “Are you okay?” He reached for you, wanting to cradle the back of your head and check that you were okay, but your eyes flared in terror at his outstretched hands, and he dropped them by his side.

“Okay,” he said, sitting on the ground cross-legged. “I’ll just stay here, okay? Will you please listen to me now?”

Pressing your lips together, you managed the tiniest of nods.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he started. “In fact, it’s the opposite. I want to save you from the stake.”

“But—why? And how?” You were losing your mind, you were sure of it. “And, are you really Hobi?”

“Yes,” he confirmed.

You blinked. “But Hobi was a little boy when I met him.” That tiny detail was the only thing your frazzled mind could hold on to.

“I came to you as a child and manipulated my appearance, so it looked like we were growing up together.” He shrugged.

“Oh, right, just like that,” you said in a mocking tone, laughing sarcastically.

Instead of answering you, he transformed in front of you, a puff of smoke dissipating into the air to reveal the boy you remembered from your childhood. “Do you believe me now?” he asked in a high-pitched, childlike voice, blinking up at you.

“Why are you telling me all this now?” you asked faintly.

“I told you, Y/n-ie. To save you.” He transformed back into his original appearance and shook his wings out.

You pulled a skeptical face. “Why does a demon care what happens to me?” You’d never left this room, but one of the few books you had access to was the Bible, and you knew that demons were evil, manipulative creatures.

“Y/n, come on. I’ve been your friend all your life. Is it so difficult to believe that I want to help you?”

“Well, I don’t even know why you were hanging around me all this time, so yes,” you said, folding your arms across your chest.

Hoseok huffed. Where had you gotten all this attitude? You’d been stuck here all your life. You truly were your father’s daughter. “Fine. If I explain everything, will you let me help you?”

Standing, you brushed the dirt off your clothes. “Fine,” you sniffed, walking past him to the one chair you had in the sparsely decorated room. “But only because it’s not like I have anywhere to be.”

Even in the face of everything going on in your life, you found it in you to sass him. He wanted to kiss you as much as he wanted to slap you silly, and thankfully, if everything went according to plan, he’d get to do both. Standing, he turned to face you, perched on your chair with your back straight and chin up. He could see the princess in you, and imagine you seated on an ornate throne, dressed in the most lavish of gowns rather than the slightly frayed linens you wore now.

In another life, that would be your fate. But in this one, you were his. He knew he had you in his grasp, he had spent a lifetime (well, your lifetime) getting to know you. You were backed into a corner now, and as much as you tried to pretend, he knew you had nothing.

“I was sent to you,” he started.

The laughter bubbled out of your chest. “Wow, my guardian demon!” you mocked.

“If you’ll let me finish,” he gritted, annoyed. He knew you were hiding your fear behind bravado, but it was still irritating as hell. He heard your father had been the same way, though, laughing in the face of the enemy who had vanquished him, telling him he would never amount to anything, that he would damn the kingdom. He’d turned out to be right, but still.

You subsided, sulking. The Hoseok you knew had always been so jovial, constantly smiling, and laughing. This demon standing in front of you could not be more different.

“God and Lucifer had a bet,” he explained, “over whether or not the humans would put you to death. God thought that people would be good and kind, not treat people as a means to an end, all that good stuff. Lucifer… has a very different take on humanity,” he said dryly. “I was sent to make sure you were delivered to your execution.”

“And yet you are offering to save me from the clutches of death?” In your distress, your tone turned snippy, reverting back to the formal language that you so rarely had the need for, cloaking yourself in your royal lineage.

“Yes, my lady.” Two could play at this game. He would indulge you for as long as you wanted.

“You would disobey your master? Why?”

He stepped closer, forcing you to crane your neck to look up at him. "I have acquired a certain fondness for you over the past fifteen years, my lady.”

“Is that so?” you murmured.

“Of course, my lady. How could I not, after watching you blossom into such a beautiful woman?” His rakish grin as he ran his hand through his hair would be your downfall, you just knew it.

Instead of answering, however, you redirected the conversation, although the colour that appeared high on your cheeks showed your discomfiture. “And what will happen if I am not at tomorrow’s execution?”

“Lucifer will lose,” Hoseok replied simply.

Your sharp gaze let him know that you were not amused by his non-answer. “The kingdom will be turned upside down to find you. As long as you remain missing, the rule of the king will not be secure.” His second attempt was far more informative.

“So civil war, then.” Your voice trembled as you said it. You knew that the kingdom had just emerged from decades of internal conflict. Your disappearance would throw it back into disarray. Could your conscience handle it? Wasn’t the death of one prisoner girl a just price to save thousands of innocent lives?

Hoseok could see the hesitation in the way your hands clenched anxiously into fists, wrinkling the linens you wore. As respectable as your altruism was, it was wholly unnecessary in this case.

“Y/n, do you know why you were locked up here? Why do you have to be killed publicly tomorrow by burning?”

Your gaze snapped to his. “Of course,” you replied immediately. That had been the question on your mind ever since you were aware of your surroundings when you’d wanted to go out and play, and the servants and guards had told you no. You parroted their words now to the demon standing in front of you. “It’s for my protection and the protection of the kingdom.”

“Yes, but why?” he pressed. “Why you? How does you being here accomplish that?”

It felt like there wasn’t enough air in the room. He was pressuring you, voicing aloud the questions that had tormented you, kept you awake at night, staring deep into your soul and forcing free all the secrets you didn’t dare acknowledge for fear of what it would cost you.

“Stop it,” you hissed, attempting to remain composed, to show him that you weren’t affected by his sinful words. But despite your royal blood, you were untrained in the art of decorum, and your distress was visible in every inch of your body, from the clench of your jaw to the set of your shoulders and the tears that you couldn’t force back.

“Your father,” he continued, undeterred, “was the king. He was overthrown and given a traitor’s execution by the man who usurped him, the current king.”

“Stop it!” you cried, abandoning all pretense of nonchalance as you threw yourself from your chair, pressing your hands against your ears. “Stop it, stop it, stop it,” you sobbed. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

“Y/n, I understand that it’s difficult, but you must know all of this. If you choose to die a martyr for your people tomorrow at dawn, that is your decision. But you should know why.” He bent to you, placing his hand on your shoulder as he sought your gaze.

You glared at him with teary eyes. “Why?” you demanded. “Why do I have to know? What am I supposed to do with this information? I’ve been locked in this room my whole life, for God’s sake!” you screamed. Hoseok sat on the ground in front of you, holding you close to his chest and rocking you back and forth.

“Shh,” he consoled you as you wept, letting you cling to him as you had so many times before. No matter what it was – a scraped knee, a scolding from a guard when you’d gotten too curious about the outside world – he’d been the one who was there for you. As he was now. The familiar embrace was comforting, reminding you of the years you’d spent together when his words failed.

“Okay,” you finally said, sniffling as you raised your head off his chest to look up at him. “Tell me.” With your jaw clenched and your chin determinedly raised, your birthright shone through your face.

Nodding his assent, Hoseok took a moment to sort through his thoughts before he spoke again. “You are the daughter of the old king, and any son you bear will have a claim to the throne stronger than the king’s own heir. This is why you have been trapped here.”

In a softer voice, he continued, “This is why you are to die a traitor and a heretic.”

“A traitor?” you repeated in a tremulous tone. “A heretic?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“They would drag my name through the mud for having been born?” Your voice rose, but he met your gaze unflinchingly.

“Yes, my lady.”

“And what if I do not do as they will?” you asked.

“There will be civil unrest here, my lady. And… the bet will remain undecided.”

“What does that mean?”

“The devil will not win, because you were not executed.”

“So by leaving, I will be saving the people?” you asked, raising your brow.

“Not exactly, my lady. The devil will not win, and control over the kingdom will not be transferred to him. But…” he paused for dramatic effect.

“But what?” you prompted impatiently. Now was not the time for theatrics, you thought.

“The people will have shown, even if you are not executed, that they will not follow His will. He will no longer watch over them.”

“The kingdom will be forsaken,” you murmured, the cogs in your mind spinning rapidly. At least if control was transferred over to Lucifer, there might be some form of guidance.

“Yes,” he confirmed with a nod.

“I—I have to think about it,” you said, lurching to your feet as you backed away from him. You paced the entire length of the room restlessly, your hand resting against your forehead. Hoseok watched you, sitting on the ground like the little boy you could still remember him as. His lanky frame looked borderline ridiculous sprawled out on the ground like that.

Although he looked like he was watching you lazily, without a care in the world, Hoseok was actually paying close attention to you. After so many years by your side, he could basically read your mind, and he knew just what to say to sway you.

“Are you really thinking about sacrificing yourself?” he asked, propping his chin on his hand as his catlike eyes followed you around the room.

“No… maybe… yes?” Your tone grew increasingly confused, trailing off quietly.

“Haven’t you done enough for them?” he wondered in a deceptively light tone, sounding like he was just musing to himself instead of trying to convince you. He didn’t want to scare you off, after all.

“What?” He knew you would hear him and was satisfied when you refocused your attention onto him, your eyes wide.

He shrugged, looking embarrassed that he’d been overheard. “I mean, you lived your whole life for them stuck in the tower. Do you want to die for them too? When they’ve done nothing but hate and curse you all your life?”

Your chin wobbled. “They cursed me?” All this time, you’d believed that you were a hero for sacrificing your freedom for the protection of the people.

Hoseok’s green demon eyes filled with sorrow for you. “Y/n… you had to have known. What were they supposed to say about the bastard daughter of the old king?”

“If I’m a bastard, why am I here? My children wouldn’t have a claim to the throne anyway.” Your brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Your parents’ marriage was annulled after your father was executed. They said the marriage was made under false pretenses.”

Shocked, you sank down on your bed, your hand blindly reaching for the mattress before you lowered your body heavily down onto it. “They took everything from me,” you murmured. Your birthright, your freedom, and, tomorrow, your life.

“They don’t have to,” Hoseok said, watching you carefully. Would you fall into his clutches now?

“What’s your plan?” you asked quietly, looking up at him. Your expression was open now, trusting and curious, and he felt the triumph of victory curling in his stomach.

“I’ll take you away, of course.” It sounded simple, because it was. There was just one catch.

“And then what?” That wasn’t it, though.

“The world is huge, Y/n,” he said, spreading his arms wide for emphasis. “We can travel around the world. No one will ever find us,” he promised with a wink.

“Really?” Your eyes filled with hope, your back straightening slightly. He could see your mind filling with dreams now of seeing all the places that you’d only read about in books.

He nodded, smiling tenderly at you. Demon he might be, but your childlike wonder soothed his damned soul.

“Wow,” you marveled. He was promising you everything you’d ever wanted, tempting you with your deepest secret desires. Just like the snake in the Bible. As you remembered that, your mood plummeted. There was definitely a price to pay for all of this.

“What’s the catch?” you asked cautiously.

The sweet smile turned into a sinister smirk. You’d always been a smart cookie, he thought. Of course you would realise that none of this came for free.

(You forced yourself to ignore how sexy that expression was on him.)

“The devil will probably look for you,” Hoseok admitted. “He only wins if you’re actually executed so he’ll want to deliver you back here.”

“For fuck’s sake, Hobi, you should have started with that!” you snapped. “How can we run from the devil himself?!”

“No, I have a plan, trust me!” His eyes widened earnestly, the picture of innocence. You glared at him. How many times had he said that right before he got you into trouble? He’d always disappeared right before anyone came in and caught what looked like you alone in the middle of a mess.

Come to think of it, was any of this real? Was it all just a giant hallucination dreamt up by your desperate mind? The guards and servants had never acknowledged Hoseok’s existence, instead indulgently smiling at you and calling you an adorable child when you told them about your adventures with him.

“How do I know this is real?” Your voice trembled. What if you were just crazy, the isolation having driven you mad?

“I don’t know how to convince you,” Hoseok admitted. “But does it matter?”

Your gaze shot up to him. Of course it matters, you wanted to snap. But really, did it? If it wasn’t real, you’d be slaughtered tomorrow, a pawn in a game you’d never even known about. But if you believed, you’d have one more night of peace. Of hope.

Your shoulders slumped as you sighed, your face buried in your hands. Why did you have to be the one caught in this situation?

“Fine,” you conceded, mumbling the words into your palms. “What’s your plan?” The words were said without enthusiasm.

“The devil is… lazy and distracted,” Hoseok said, trying to put it delicately. In truth, Lucifer was so preoccupied with chasing his erratic impulses and desires that he barely concentrated on anything too difficult, preferring to let his minions (like Hoseok) take care of it. “It’ll be easy for him to find you as you are because your soul is so pure, it kind of glows.” You were basically a beacon for the devil.

“And I suppose you know how to stop it from doing that?” you asked dryly.

“Of course.” His eyes glinted. “We just have to tar your soul.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Your brow arched. “You don’t have a lot of time.”

Standing, he stalked with purpose towards you. His pupils narrowed into slits, unsettling demon eyes focusing on you like a predator on its prey. Coming to a halt right in front of you, he bent down, bracing his hands against the mattress on either side of where you were sitting. You swallowed and looked away, leaning back slightly. Unfazed, he followed you, his forehead almost touching yours as he stared straight into your eyes.

“I don’t need a lot of time,” he breathed, the warm air falling on your lips.

You exhaled shakily, clenching and unclenching your fists in your linens. “Hobi…” Your voice was weak and unsure, fading like the light streaming in through the window as night descended upon the kingdom. “What are you doing?” He’d never taken such liberties with you before.

“You know what I’m doing,” Hoseok asserted. His voice wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. He knew he was right, could hear it in the quickening of your breath. You might be innocent, having been stuck here all your life, but your body knew and reacted.

This would be easy.

“Is this—” you paused to gulp “—part of your plan?”

His right hand lifted off the mattress and slid along your bare calf, right under the hem of your linens. “What better way to ruin your innocence than bedding a demon?” he asked, one side of his mouth quirking up in a half-smirk. His hand went up, up, past your knee, to the side of your thigh. “What do you say, my lady? Will you run away with me?”

Your decision took only a split second to make. “Fuck it,” you decided, before leaning forward the fraction of an inch that was necessary to press your lips to his. Your hands settled around his waist, but you quickly realized that for all your bravado, you had no idea what you were doing. Just as you were about to pull back in embarrassment, however, Hoseok made his move, the hand that wasn’t caressing your leg reaching up to cradle your jaw as he tilted your head upwards to make it easier to deepen the kiss.

“Good girl,” he growled against your lips, the hand holding your chin travelling down to your neck. Gripping it tight, he pushed you back so that you fell on the mattress, crawling onto the bed and hovering over you.

“Hobi,” you gasped as he started trailing kisses over your jawline, sucking a livid bruise into the sensitive patch right under it. Your hands scrabbled helplessly at his sides, not sure what to do.

“What is it, love?” he muttered against your skin.

“Hobi, I don’t know what to do,” you confessed.

He stopped, lifting his head to stare down at you. “Don’t worry,” he told you, his tone full of dark promise. “I’ll show you.” He drew his hand up from your thigh to your hip, taking the hem of your linens with it. Your lips opened as you drew in a shuddering gasp and he grinned down at you before crushing his lips back onto yours.

Another time, probably, he would kiss you deeply and savagely, all teeth and tongues and raw need, but for now, he held himself back, reining in his beastly urges out of consideration for your inexperience. The slow, gentle kisses he traded with you instead, running his tongue along your bottom lip and feeling you shiver underneath him, were fun in a different way.

He was a demon, after all. He loved stealing your innocence.

His fingertips ghosted across your lower belly, down to your core. You closed your eyes tight and bit your lip as he stroked his fingers across your slit, gathering up the fluid that had leaked from you, but couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped you as you felt the pad of his finger brush over your clit.

“Y/n… open your eyes for me,” he compelled. You obeyed helplessly, watching, transfixed as he knelt astride you, sucking the fingers coated in your essence off. “You taste so good, love.” The sheer enjoyment in his expression as he tasted you made you clench involuntarily.

“Good girl,” he praised you. He shucked his shirt quickly and then started unlacing his breeches, while you watched with wide eyes. You lifted your hands to his abdomen, then paused right before you made contact, unsure if you were allowed to.

Hoseok quirked his eyebrow at you, his hands pausing their work. “You know, the whole point of this is that you’re allowed to touch,” he commented dryly.

You flushed, your hands drawing back slightly in your embarrassment. Rolling his eyes at you fondly, he took your hands in his and guided them to his abs. “Don’t be shy,” he encouraged in a softer tone as your eyes widened.

“Wow,” you breathed, trailing your fingers down his abs. You’d never felt a man before, so warm and solid, all hard edges and ridges. Soon, you reached the edge of his breeches, and you took over his previous task of undoing the laces as he smirked down at you. While he’d been fast and purposeful in his movements, you took a leisurely, unhurried pace, happy to take your time uncovering the mysteries of his body.

When you were finally done, you raised your gaze to meet his, and he stared back at you, silently asking what you were going to do next. Emboldened by what you perceived to be a challenge, you hooked your fingers in his waistband and pulled his breeches halfway down his thighs. His length sprang free, and you stared at it in wonder before looking up at Hoseok again, this time unsurely.

“Go ahead,” he said, nodding, as he tried to hold back his laughter. Virgins were so cute, and you were the sweetest one, because you were his, all his, because you knew him and wanted him, instead of as a result of some trickery. He sucked in a breath as you brushed the backs of your fingers gently across it, then took it in your hand hesitantly. The surface was smooth, but hot and hard in your grasp, and you were instantly entranced.

He nodded encouragingly at you and, emboldened, you started stroking him lightly. “You can go harder, love, it won’t break,” he said, startling you slightly.

When you did as he asked, he let out a low groan, throwing his head back. “You’re a natural, love,” he said in a low, raspy voice, making heat pool in your core. He wrapped his hands around your wrists gently, pulling you away from him, before tugging your linens over your head. You looked away and swallowed, embarrassed by your nudity, and Hoseok tutted, gently holding your jaw and turning you back to face him.

“Don’t look away from me, love. You’re beautiful,” he told you before kissing you again, one hand bracing his weight above you while the other slid down your body to your core. With his leg, he nudged yours apart, exposing your intimate flesh to his touch. He circled his thumb over your clit while slowly pushing one finger into you.

“Shh,” he soothed against your lips when you started to cry out in discomfort. “I know it hurts, love, but I have to prepare you, okay?” You’d never heard Hoseok speak to you this gently before, and you settled your hands around his hips, holding on tight for comfort.

He slowly stretched you out, with one finger, then two, his thumb never ceasing its ministrations on your clit. Slowly, the discomfort was replaced with pleasure, tightening in your lower belly. You brought your knees up to bracket his body and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Hobi, please,” you whimpered, holding on for dear life. It felt like you were building up to something, but it was too big and new and a little scary, if you were being honest.

“It’s all right, love, you’re doing so well,” he said, pressing kisses to your lips, your jaw, your neck, paying special attention to the spot where he’d left his mark. You threw your head back, your hips following the rhythm of his hand as you bit your lip to hold back the gasps and whispered moans. His erection felt like a brand against your hip, and you could feel him squirming slightly, his body impatient despite the honeyed words he whispered.

The slick sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you echoed throughout the room, reaching a crescendo as you approached your climax. “Good girl, so good for me, you’re going to cum all over my fingers and then on my cock, aren’t you, love,” he encouraged, keeping up a filthy litany that was endlessly titillating to you, until with a shaky moan, you came, clenching down hard on his fingers as you shuddered under him.

He patiently worked you through your orgasm, only withdrawing his hand when you slumped back onto the bed, breathing hard as sweat beaded on your brow. With the hand covered in your essence, he reached for his own hard length, stroking himself to take some of the edge off as he regarded you. So beautiful, delicate and vulnerable under him, and his, all his.

Hooking his arms under your legs, he pulled them further apart before releasing them. You knew to stay in the position he’d manhandled you into, your arms still locked around his neck. “I’m going to fuck you now, my sweet princess,” he whispered against your lips as he positioned himself. “I’m going to fill you up and stain your beautiful, pure soul. Would you like that?”

“Yes, yes, Hobi, please,” you begged in a breathy voice. You meant it, too. What good was purity and goodness when the God you’d been taught to worship had made a bet on your life, thinking you so insignificant and unimportant that it was a game to him? You wanted to stick it to him, and to everyone else who’d betrayed you before you were even born, punishing you for the sin of existing. Hoseok had offered you an outlet for all your hatred and anger, but it was you, all you, who’d harboured those feelings for years, who’d silently cursed those who imprisoned you when you’d done nothing wrong.

“Please fuck me, Hobi,” you whined before pressing your lips to his in a kiss, something you’d picked up remarkably quickly – but then, like your parents, you’d always been intelligent. He smiled against your lips as he slowly started pushing into you, taking his time and letting you get used to it. He’d prepared you with his fingers, but he was longer and thicker than even three of them together, and there was some discomfort as you were breached for the first time.

You whimpered, blinking back tears as he shushed you with soothing touches and soft kisses, keeping himself under rigid control as you rippled and flexed around him while you tried to adjust to the intrusion. “You’re doing so well, love, just a little more,” he cooed, rocking his hips gently as he brushed some hair off your face.

Eventually, he was fully seated inside you, and he paused to let you catch your breath. “That’s all of me, love, you did so well taking it all in.” He kissed you gently, biting back the urge to thrust, although he couldn’t quite keep himself from grinding his hips slightly for some delicious friction. “You feel so good, so hot and tight around me, so perfect,” he whispered, panting slightly. His breath came out in puffs against your temple, tickling you.

“Hobi…” you groaned, your hands raking down his back until you couldn’t anymore, having reached the point where his wings extended from his body.

“Fuck,” he panted, rearing back slightly to thrust into you. That was a sensitive spot for him, and you’d found it without even knowing. As he pushed his way into you again, his pelvis bumped your clit, causing you to moan as your legs wrapped around him.

“Hobi, that feels good,” you whined. In response, he did it again, and again, building up a gentle rhythm. The sound of his skin slapping against yours filled the room together with your combined moans and pants, a dirty, beautiful, sinful symphony.

“Y/n, you’re so good, shit,” Hoseok swore, his nails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists. He was skating too close to the edge, and he knew, even without asking, that you weren’t there yet. He was thousands of years old and had bedded countless women; he would not be unmanned by a human, and a virgin at that.

“Hobi,” you moaned in response, your fingers brushing across the base of his wings again. You opened your eyes and marveled at the sight of your only friend and now lover, his jaw clenched and teeth gritted as he concentrated. His wings had spread open over the both of you, blocking your view of the rest of the room. It felt like there was only you and him, and nothing else in the world. And, in this moment, that may well have been the case.

“Fuck, you need to cum soon, Y/n,” he said in a strained voice as he reached down to rub at your clit with his fingers. He was less gentle now, forcefully bucking into you like he couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t even noticed the change in his tempo, but you had, and you loved it.

“Hobi, harder,” you begged, your hips rising to meet his.

His teeth bared in a snarl in response. “Yeah?” he panted in a voice gritty with need as he did as you asked, never letting up on your clit. “If you want me to fuck you harder, my lady, you need only ask.” The sound of the barren wooden headboard hitting the stone wall joined the sounds of your fucking.

“Are you close, love?” he asked, dipping his head back down for another kiss.

“Yes, Hobi, yes, yes,” you cried, tightening your arms and legs around him as you hurtled towards your climax.

“Cum for me, love,” he commanded, and almost on cue, you did, your mouth opening in a silent cry as your back arched. Your expression as you were stuck in the throes of your climax was beautiful to him, and so were the sounds of your helpless breaths and choked moans that streamed from you.

The feeling of your core tightening around him, squeezing his length, drew his own orgasm out, and he shuddered over you, his head dropping so that his forehead rested on your shoulder as he came inside you, filling you up with hot ropes of his seed. You stroked the back of his head as he groaned through it, your eyes half-lidded with contentment.

When he was done, he slumped over you, his wings falling to the bed like every part of him was exhausted as his softening length slipped slowly out of you. He tended to you with soft kisses and whispered nothings until you both caught your breath before rolling onto your side.

“So,” he prompted, causing you to turn your body so you were facing him. “Do you have any regrets?”

You giggled. “Why would I have regrets?”

“You know,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “You’ve ‘damned your soul’ and all that.” He didn’t do air quotes with his fingers, but you heard it in his tone.

“My soul was already damned.” It was true, you knew. Even the powers that be had decided your life was unimportant enough to risk on a gamble, and you were condemned on this earth for the crime of being born to a deposed king. “My birth was a mistake.”

“No,” Hoseok said firmly, cradling your face as he leaned in to kiss you. “You were not a mistake. The politics that takes place outside the walls of this tower have nothing to do with you. The civil war was not your fault, and your imprisonment is yet another sin committed by the imposter king.”

“Okay,” you accepted, snuggling close to him. You acted nonchalant now, since you were high on endorphins and sleepy from your physical exertion, but he knew that it would take you time to truly understand what he was telling you. It didn’t matter – he would be there with you every step of the way.

“So what’s the plan, Hobi?” you asked, your words distorted slightly by the jaw-cracking yawn you couldn’t hold back.

Hoseok leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. You really were too cute. “Well, we’re going to take a nap for a little while,” he said, hugging you close. “Then you’re going to get dressed in the robes they had prepared for you to die in, and we’re going to scare the shit out of your father’s murderer.” After a lifetime dressed in what amounted, basically, to undergarments, the clothes that had been prepared for your execution were the only clothes that suited a lady of your rank, and you weren’t leaving without them.

“Okay,” you said, your voice dipping slightly towards the end as you slowly succumbed to sleep.

“Then, we can go anywhere you want, love. Travel the world, see the great wonders, eat all sorts of delicious things.” Tenderly, he brushed your hair behind your ear.

You drifted off to sleep easily – perhaps too easily, for someone who had just damned the kingdom to civil war and caused them to be cast adrift from the embrace and protection of God. Yet you didn’t feel bad. After all, who was truly evil? Was it the demon come to steal a virgin from the tower? The harlot who was in bed with a demon, who’d chosen her own selfish desire to live a free life over the protection and safety of the people – people who, in a different life, would have been hers? Or was it the man willing to sacrifice an innocent child for his own power? The people willing to turn a blind eye to justice for stability and riches? The God so detached from the lives of those who worshipped him that he was willing to turn a blind eye on the suffering of innocents?

For the first time in your life, you truly didn’t care.

If you liked it, please leave a comment and/or reblog. It goes a lot further than a like. Thank you!

#hoseok smut #btsghostiebingo #btswritingcafe #kwritersworldnet #mikrogalaxynet #smutcentralnet #btswriterscollective #ksmutclub #bts fic #bts smut #hoseok x reader #bts scenarios

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malfoymanortings · 4 years

Text

bad child

SUMMARY: Gwendolyn Weasley was the only one of her family to be sorted into Slytherin, and she becomes the black sheep of the family. her morals get twisted as she fights for her place in Slytherin house, but will she lose them completely?

PAIRINGS: none, eventual Draco X OC if continued.

hello! really im not sure if this is worth continuing, but it’s been floating around my mind for awhile so I decided to start writing it out. possibly will become a mini series if anyone wants it? enjoy!

Ginerva and Gwendolyn Weasley were the second set of twins to be born to the Weasley family. Their parents had been ecstatic to finally receive the girls they had so desperately wanted (more so Molly than Arthur), that it temporarily overshadowed the sheer panic of them having been twins. Twin girls.

Their first set of twins, Fred and George, had been more than several handfuls to deal with. If they weren’t lighting something on fire, they were terrorizing their easiest target, their youngest brother Ron.

The girls had proved to be just as difficult in their own way.

From a very early age Gwendolyn was able to convince Ginerva to do just about anything she said. Stealing from muggle shops, their siblings, neighbors; setting out more vindictive traps for the muggles around their neighborhood. The girls were close, but there was always the understanding between them that Gwendolyn was the leader out of the two. In addition to that, she was also the more manipulative and cunning of the two.

That’s not to say that Ginerva wasn’t strong in herself. She just loved her twin dearly, and was willing to put her own morals aside for the sake of keeping the peace with her twin. Gwendolyn had always felt that as the only girls, and the second set of twins, they needed to work hard to stand out and not let opportunities for power pass them by. Even if that power was only enjoying stolen bubble gum while their siblings had none.

Regardless of her questionable morals, Gwendolyn fiercely loved her family and had a conscience, contrary to what her older brother Percy seemed to think. She just cared more about what would be best for her and in turn, her twin, than how her actions would affect others. Gwendolyn would go to the ends of the earth to ensure Ginerva was okay.

By the time the girls had turned nine, their parents had come to realize that although Ginerva was normally at the forefront of the trouble they got into, Gwendolyn was the orchestrator of the scheme. No matter how many times Molly berated the girls for their wrongdoings, they didn’t stop. She spoke with Ginerva and told her she did not always have to go along with her sisters plans, and she spoke with Gwendolyn, telling her just because Ginerva was willing to do things for her didn’t mean she should.

Ginerva had tearfully said she would do better. Gwendolyn had laughed.

When the girls had finally headed off to Hogwarts, their mother had fretted and worried and bitten her nails as she sent them off, giving their older brothers firm instruction to watch over them. Percy had taken the suggestion to heart and swore he would, the twins had saluted their mother and laughed as they nodded, Ron had just shrugged noncommittally. Molly even requested that Harry and Hermione do their best to watch out for them, and the second years promised they would.

Ginerva was sorted first. The hat sat on her head for a few moments before loudly proclaiming “GRYFFINDOR!”. The redhead made her way over to the rest of her redheaded family, who hooted and hollered and made a ruckus as she blushed.

Gwendolyn was next. The hat sat on her head for a few beats longer than her twin, before proclaiming “SLYTHERIN!” just as loudly as it had for Ginvera. The redhead’s eyes widened for a moment, before she quickly fixed her expression into an indifferent mask and walked stiffly towards the green and silver table. Her family at the Gryffindor table had hesitated before clapping; Percy with an expression of horror, the twins with a disappointed grimace, Ron with a mix of concern and fear, and Ginerva with a look of crushed devastation.

Gwendolyn didn’t spare a second glance towards her family as she set down tentatively at the Slytherin table, hearing murmured whispers coming from an already established friend group a few seats down from her. She had felt out of place without her twin next to her.

“I’m Astoria,” the brunette next to her greeted, holding out a hand for her to shake.

“Gwendolyn,” she replied, giving the other girl a firm shake. “You can call me Gwen.”

The brunette nodded and smiled, before turning her attention back to the sorting.

“Weasley, hm?” a voice drawled to her left, and she turned to see a boy with slicked back silver hair giving her a haughty once over. “I’ll have to let father know they let one of you in Slytherin. Surely the hat has made a mistake. A muggle loving blood traitor would never be allowed in Slytherin.”

Gwendolyn paused for a moment, her thoughts racing. She knew enough about Draco Malfoy to know his approval would make or break her acceptance into Slytherin house. She needed to earn his approval. She had to show him he wasn’t just another Weasley. She had to break free.

Her eyes narrowed. “The hat doesn’t make mistakes, Malfoy. But perhaps you do. I’m not like my family. I absolutely hate muggles. They disgust me.”

She said the words with force, her lip slightly curled up in a snarl. A rush went through her at the admission. Her family would never allow her to talk like that. Although she didn’t thoroughly hate muggles, she certainly didn’t like them. It was thrilling to finally say it out loud.

Draco looked taken aback. He lifted an eyebrow, eyeing her appraisingly. “Well, Weasley, maybe your family isn’t a complete blood traitor waste after all.”

“My name is Gwendolyn.”

“I don’t recall caring.”

The two glowered at each other for a moment, before Dumbledore gathered everyone's attention for his speech. The night went on rather quickly from that moment, and before long they had headed up to their dorms. Gwendolyn spent her first night in Slytherin tower staring at the ceiling and contemplating her future. Tears would be useless. She had to be strong to get through her Hogwarts career. Her sister would not be at her side. That night, she resolved to be strong, sly, and cunning. It was her best bet at getting through the year unscathed.

Gwendolyn proved during her years at Hogwarts that she was nothing like her family. It gained her the approval of Malfoy, which shot her up the social ladder of Slytherin house. Astoria Greengrass had become her closest friend, and the two girls were accepted into Malfoy’s prominent social circle by the end of their first year. Her growth and flourishing in Slytherin house had driven a large wedge between herself and her family. Her voiced distaste of muggles and her turned nose at muggleborns did not go unnoticed by her family.

In return for being accepted into Slytherin, she had lost her family relationships.

Summers were always the hardest. She no longer had Ginerva as a friend. The girls had grown cold and distant with each other as a result of Ginerva becoming more confident in herself without her sister constantly in her ear. Percy, before he too had abandoned their family for the ministry, had acted as though she didn’t exist. The twins were more and less the same, although they weren’t as sociable towards her as they were towards the others. Ron absolutely despised her for not only being Slytherin, but also being good friends with Malfoy. Charlie and Bill simply weren’t around.

Her mother was, to put it honestly, disappointed in how she had shunned everything she had been taught morally growing up. Her father resented the way she spoke of muggles, and endlessly attempted to change her mind. They didn’t understand that when she was sorted into Slytherin house as the only Weasley, she did what she needed to do to not only thrive, but survive.

A small part of her that grown bigger over the years couldn’t help but start to believe in what the Slytherin’s thought. Especially with the way her family shunned her and couldn’t understand that she had done what she needed to do as a scared, lonely eleven year old.

Things had gotten worse since Voldemort's return. At the end of her fourth year, Ron and Ginny had accompanied Harry to the Department of Mysteries where they had fought against Death Eaters and Voldemort himself had shown up. Apparently in protest of Umbridge, they had been involved in Dumbledore’s Army, something they had not invited her to be part of. The rest of her family that still attended Hogwarts had been in the club, aside from her.

She was used to not being included by now, of course.

Her parents were a part of the Order of the Phoenix, an organization founded to fight Voldemort and his followers. Her siblings were much more informed on what went on during the meetings than she was. It wasn’t from her lack of trying, of course. When they had spent the summer at Grimmauld Place, she had attempted to listen in on the Extendable Ears with the others. But they always managed to shift away slightly or crowd around the ears so there was no way for her to hear. They simply didn’t trust her.

She had heard the Golden Trio speaking on more than one occasion about how she shouldn’t even have been allowed there with them. None of her siblings ever stuck up for her. It stung, but she supposed it was only reasonable. After all, she was a Slytherin. As Ron had always voiced, normally paired with a biting glare towards her, there wasn’t a witch or wizard that was in Slytherin that hadn’t gone bad. Apparently he had adopted the phrase from Hagrid.

So she sat outside most of the summer, alone, lying under the large Sycamore tree a yard away from the house. She had been offered more than once to visit her housemates' places during the summer, but her parents had forbidden it. With the war gaining momentum, it was too much of a risk. The unspoken message was clear. They didn’t trust that she would keep quiet about any

“Hey, Gwen.”

Gwendolyn turned with a start, her thick red hair tumbling over her shoulder. Harry Potter stood a few feet away from her, looking awkward as he waited for her reply. She examined him for a moment. He was taller now, more filled out and sturdy, she supposed from an aesthetic standpoint she could understand why her sister liked him so much.

“Can I help you?” the words were sharp, her brow raised as she awaited an answer.

He rarely talked to her. None of them did really, except for when their mother forced them all too cheerily to interact ast family dinners and the more sparse family outings. But Harry had always treated her as though she were a bomb, one step too close and she might take him out.

“Well, erm,” Harry seemed to blanch at her boldness. He seemed to have been expecting her to be more like Ginny. “I was wondering… I know you’re friends with Malfoy,” the name fell from his lips in a twisted spit. “Have you heard much from him this summer? I saw him in Knockturn alley while we were shopping for school supplies, and he seemed off. I just was wondering if he had said anything to you that made you worried.”

Gwendolyn stared at him for a moment, listening to him ramble on. He was awful at being subtle. He wanted to know if she knew any of Draco’s secrets, and he thought if he asked her nicely she would willingly give them up. She had to scoff at that. Typical Gryffindor.

“You’re concerned for his well being?” she stood, her voice falsely sweet. “That’s so kind of you, Potter. But from what I recall, you and Draco don’t care much for each other,” she tapped a finger to her chin, pretending to ponder the thought for a moment. “Oh! You were just hoping I would gossip with you. Perhaps next time, try Veritaserum. Or have your little brainiac give you a more subtle approach.”

Harry stuttered for a moment, seeming at a loss for words. He glanced backwards, and she followed his gaze to see Ron and Hermione standing at the front door of the Burrow, watching them. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw clenching.

“Get lost, Potter,” she snarled, anger flashing through her like a hot branding iron. “Or I’ll give them something to watch.”

“Right, erm, sorry.” Harry managed to say, turning and walking swiftly to the house. He didn’t spare her a backwards glance, and the trio slipped into the Burrow the moment Harry came back.

Gwen tamped down on her anger, wishing desperately she were at Hogwarts already. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

#ginny weasley #draco malfoy #draco x oc #weasley #harry potter #harry potter series #harry potter x reader #weasley twins #fred weasley #george #george weasley #ron weasley #ronald weasley #hermione granger #death eater #death eater draco

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dany-is-my-queen · 4 years

Text

Born To Be Yours | Part I

Sansa Stark x Fem! Baratheon! Reader (Daenerys Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader eventually)

Season 1-8

Word Count: 1,494

Note: It’s been a while now since I wanted to post this, I had this idea for around two months, I really hope you enjoy reading it as I enjoy writing it, I’ll might take some time to finish it but have for sure that I’m not leaving this series behind, it’ll end with season 8. I changed a few things, so it’s canon and au. Let me know if you like it!

Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9

You arrived at Winterfell, all the way here Joffrey was complaining, your little siblings were excited to see the North for the first time and you were too.

“I hope this northerner bitch is worth the cold.” Joffrey shivered.

“You shouldn’t talk that way of your future queen, brother.”

“None of your business Y/N, besides you could find here your true love, that bullshit you always dreamt about.” He mocked and you rolled your eyes.

“Perhaps I will.”

You were riding your horses and spotted the castle in front of you, the cold weather on your skin, does a coat really help? You entered by the gates and recognised the Stark family, a little boy beside her mother, the lord and lady, the eldest son, a tall redhead girl, a tiny girl who had a smirk on her face and another kid by her side. They seemed very close to each other, you hoped you have that. Your family was all scattered, your mother cared for you, obviously, you were her daughter but despite that it always felt like she put you beneath the rest of your siblings, your father was the one who taught you how to use a sword and a bow, he was more fond of you, Joffrey hated you, Myrcella and Tommen both loved you so much, uncle Jaime also gave you lessons with the sword fighting, he wasn’t so cold to you, uncle Tyrion adored you, he always give you lessons you will use when you grow up, and your grandfather... he didn’t exactly despise you.

“Winterfell is yours”. Lord Stark said to your father.

“Y/N, see that handsome boy?!” Your sister muttered excitedly, looking upon the one called Robb. “Someday I want to marry a man like him.”

“Oh my dear Myrcella, you will find a man that deserves you, I promise.”

“You should pick him, he seems to be a gentlemen, wouldn’t that be nice?” You just chuckled.

You were on your room unpacking your stuff, you’ve always been the kind that likes to do things herself, your handmaidens just helped you when you asked them or when you were with your family so they don’t tell you you are a princess and everyone is at your service, but that make you feel useless. There was a feast in the night, you prepared and go with everyone.

You sat beside your brother, he was a pain in the ass, but you’ve always behaved in these events, you’ve always been so proper compared to him.

“Enjoying the evening?” He didn’t listen, then you noticed he was staring at the oldest Stark girl. She is quite beautiful to be honest. Her hair was stunning, just like fire. She was staring at him too with a grin. Suddenly the little one threw a piece of cake on her cheek and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Arya!” She screamed.

Truth be told, a lot of lords from all Westeros tried already to wed you to his sons, your excuse was “I’m still young, I don’t want to get compromised so soon” or “I don’t think he is the one” and you were grateful that your mother didn't pressure you into it. You knew having preferences for women didn’t go well, you didn’t really care, as long as it’s someone you can trust and love there shouldn’t be any problem, just a few people thought like you.

Your mother and Lady Stark were having a conversation, soon you became the main topic.

“So, Princess Y/N is not betrothed to anyone yet?”

“She’s on age, but I’ll make her a match with someone of our status.” Cersei was serious and Lady Catelyn just agreed. “My love, come over here.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Stark, thank you for your hospitality, your home is a lovely place.”

“You have a very well mannered daughter, your grace.”

“Indeed.” Your mother said proudly.

You excused yourself and went outside where uncle Tyrion was speaking with a lad.

“There’s my favourite niece.” He held a globet on his hand, the boy raised his head to peer at you. “This is Jon Snow, Lord Stark’s bastard.”

“Oh well, nice to meet you, Jon.” He was handsome you give him that.

“Likewise, princess.” He made a curtesy.

“Why are you not inside?”

“I don’t fit it.” He shrugged.

“I believe you are a good man, Snow, you should prove them wrong.”

The next morning you wake up with the news about one of the Stark boys fell from the tower, Bran was his name, you’ve heard he was a very good climber but didn’t want to listen about how dangerous it was. Hopefully he’ll recover the conscience, even if there are more consequences, you had a hunch it wasn’t an accident but who would want to hurt the little lord?

“What a tragedy.” Tyrion nodded slowly.

“Is he going to be okay?” Tommen asked and you couldn’t tell, only the Gods know.

“It was a long fall, my little lion, let’s pray.” Your mother answered with a suspicious and uncertain tone in her voice.

Before you left, Robb came to offer you a quick walk that you gladly accepted. You were holding on to his arm.

“My princess, I’ve heard only good things about yourself, you truly are one of a kind.”

“Oh my Lord, sadly we couldn’t speak much, get to know each other better.” He turned to face you.

“Maybe one day, when our paths cross again I hope.” You smiled.

“Farewell, Princess Y/N, safe travel.” Jon approached next to your horse.

“Farewell, Jon Snow, good luck on the Night’s Watch.”

Soon you were heading back to King’s Landing with Lord Stark as the new hand of the King, Arya and Sansa. You really wanted to get close to the girls, have a friendship with them.

You were practising with sticks next to a river, the little Stark and the butcher’s son were fighting one other, you saw Joffrey approached with Sansa.

“What do we have here?”

“None of for business, brother, go away.” You looked at Sansa who was frighten.

“A butcher’s boy who wants to be a knight.” Joffrey put out his sword and cut the boy’s cheek. “And you are hitting both my lady’s sister and my own, who is a princess.” Arya strike him and a direwolf came from nowhere biting your brother’s wrist.

“Please, let him go.” You entreat and she and the wolf ran away. “Are you okay, crybaby?” He just sniffed with terror in his eyes.

“Bring help!” He yelled, Sansa went off running while you stayed with him. “That’s what happens when you try to be bold, you’re not.”

Later you all were inside and started to argue about the truth of the earlier situation.

“That’s not what happened!”

“Yes, it is.”

Your mother had a evil look on her face. “Sansa come here darling.”

After the lies she told, you weren’t sure why she was defending him, you finally got your chance to speak.

“I was there too, remember? We were just playing around, after your son tried to hit Arya and insulted her.” Your father knew you were telling the truth.

“Y/N is no liar, it’s done.”

“What about the beast that attacked him? That one might have escaped but there’s another.” Your mother wrapped Joffrey’s arm and glare furiously at you.

“No! That’s an innocent animal, you won’t hurt them, mother please.” You begged but didn’t seem to change her mind nor your brother’s. Sansa was already crying and also begging her father to stop it. “Please no Lady, she didn’t bite anyone.” Your intents were useless when Lord Eddard was about to finish this matter. You were so mad, to see how far they always go to show they are better.

“Let the wolf go, she won’t stay with Lady Sansa, at least let it live.” You implored hoping your father would accept.

“Deal.” Was all he said before leaving the room.

Once you arrived to the capital, you went to check on the Stark girls.

“Do you need anything?” You asked sounding the most polite you could.

“We’re fine, thank you.” The redhead answered first with annoyance in her tone. Their Septa scolded her. “Don’t be rude with your princess, Sansa, she’s being gentle.” “Forgive her, princess Y/N.” You nodded.

“It’s quite alright, I don’t think we’ve been introduced before, my lady, I’m Y/N Baratheon as you already know but when we are alone you can call me Y/N.” You said with a light smile.

“I’m sorry, princess Y/N, I’m still sad because of Lady.”

“I wished I could have done more.” Arya putted a hand on your shoulder.

“You are nothing like your family, I can tell, I like you.”

“And I like you, little lady, I’m sorry about your friend too.” Ned sat and you stand up to take your leave.

#sansa stark x reader #sansa x reader #game of thrones fic #got #house baratheon #baratheon reader

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violetnotez · 4 years

Text

Is the this the longest fic Ive ever written? Yes. Does it suck? Also yes. Will nobody read it because it makes no sense but Im still going to post because I wasted way too much damn on this thing? TRIPLE YES.

Word count: 10.4k words (she thicc)

Genre: Angst and Fluff, sfw

AU: Fantasy AU!, Hanahaki disease

Prompt: “How could your keep this from?”

Warnings: blood

Summary: You are born into a worls where you must marry your best friend, Prince Shoto, in order to unite your kingdoms in harmony. You are happy to marry your childhood friend and love, until he leaves for a quest unannounced, and you are left questioning if you really want to marry him. Once he returns a few weeks before your planned wedding, you begin to not fall in love with him, but one of his comrades- the barbarian, Bakugo.

*this is for the even for @bnhabookclub! Heres the link to the post if your interested!

Again. welcome to the shitshow that is my blog. read at your own risk cause this gets REAL WIERD REAL QUICK

Petals-all you could see were the petals.

Your mouth and throat felt so dry, your forehead damp with sweat as your back convulsed painfully, raspy coughs wracking out of your chest as you forced the petals out of your body.

They were so pale, like creamy vanilla, a stark contrast from the droplets of your blood splattered on the delicate buds.

You quickly reached for your handkerchief, wiping the residue off your dry mouth in fear of it dribbling on to your white dress-your wedding dress. Your hands were shaking, unable to cry any more tears at your misery-you had come to terms many weeks ago that you were going to reach an unhappy end.

Why did it have to be him?

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

You were the princess of your kingdom, destined to marry Prince Shoto of the neighboring kingdom. It was something you two had been accustomed to from birth- in order to connect the two kingdoms and end the quarrels between the two civilizations, you had to marry. It would be a harmonious marriage: Prince Shoto was kind, soft spoken, and a natural born leader. You two had been wonderful friends as siblings, your fathers putting away their troubles in order for you two to get along. They were hoping that by making you friends at a young age, you would learn to grow feelings for each other.

For a time, it worked-you had fallen for Prince Shoto, his soft yet powerful demeanor making you blush each time you remembered him, your young hands writing your name with his last in your journal like a prayer. At 13 you already began to count down the days until you would turn 18, because on that day, you were set to marry your predestined lover- Shoto Todoroki.

For years you had felt so lucky you were blessed with such a sweet boy to be with, being able to live out your lives harmoniously and in peace, something both your parents didn't have the luxury to have. It sometimes left you feeling frustrated- Shoto was truly kind, but very quiet about his thoughts. Your love felt one sided, Shoto seemingly only tolerating you because he had to.

Once he got older, he became more distant towards you, clearly wishing to rebel against his father’s wishes by being distant towards you. It hurt you immensely to see your best friend and crush plainly reject you, but you still held on to the hope that you two could be happy with each other. Yet all that changed when the Prince had left for a quest.

He had been gone for what seemed like an eternity and for a time, you were extremely worried. You could barely focus on your studies, only imagining your poor friend somewhere cold, hungry, and alone. You knew he would be fine, he was a resilient fighter, but yet you couldn't help but allow the worrisome thoughts to collect in your brain. After news that the Prince was in a neighboring kingdom, safely traveling with a young boy, a witch, and a warrior, you felt at ease- with all those comrades, he was sure to be safe. You finally breathed a sigh of relief, able to calm your anxieties after a long time of being unable to.

Information continued to trickle in, sometimes good and sometimes bad, but it always stated that the Prince was spotted safe and sound. You took solace in that information, and for awhile, you began to worry less and less about Shoto, until he was barely a memory.

During that time, you had begun to take on the habit of reading. Before it was a task you simply did when forced or extremely bored, only reading books and stories from your own kingdom.

With so much extra time on your hands waiting upon the Prince to return, you began to learn of other stories, ones that were trully a delight to you: stories of nomads who traveled the country and did rituals to bring them fortunes, women who sold potions by gathering mystical ingredients from the woods, people choosing their own destines and their own paths. It intrigued you- from birth you had one mission for your life: to unite your kingdoms. Once you married Prince Shoto, your destiny would be complete: and then what would you do? You had no other purpose, except being a symbol of that peace for the rest of your life, sitting pretty on a throne until your last breath.

It began to eat at your insides, gnaw at your conscience that you were merely a pawn in your father’s legacy. You could now fully understand why Shoto had been so defiant: he had realized the truth of his life as well.

Slowly, you began to learn to dread instead of anticipate your wedding day. With the Prince being gone, it was sending quite a ruckus in your home, your father more annoyed with each passing day that the Prince had not come back. You, on the other hand, rejoiced. The kings had both agreed at your times of birth that if anything happened to either child before your 18th birthday, the agreement would be cancelled and the marriage no more. They would rely on their children to fix their broken ties.

You had just turned 17, the mental clock beginning to tick in you and your father’s minds, as the Prince still wasn't back form his quest. Just a few more months, and you would both have your wishes: Shoto seemed to have no interest in marrying you, and why should you even for that matter? You two truly didnt love each other- your friendship was a hoax your fathers had created in order to save their own legacies. Your love for each other was man-made and a lie. Just a few more months, and you'd be free of this terrible fate.

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

The day you turned 17 and a half, you were busying yourself on your plush pink bed, reading another novel about free spirited women in a far off land.

“Princess y/n,” your hand maiden opened the door quietly, afraid of disturbing you, “the King would like to speak with you.”

You gave your shy handmaiden a small smile, delicately marking the spot in your book as your feet landed on the cold floor.

“Thank you,” you replied, “Ill be there shortly.”

You entered your father’s study, his feet stomping the room heavily as he paced in deep thought.

The room was grand, a golden chair sitting in front of an old ebony desk, the room surrounded by maps, battle plans, and bookcases full of legends of stories written long before your time. Light flitted through long windows against the wall, looking out to the rural countryside and a matching red carpet run the lengths of the stone floors.

Your entrance seemed to have disturbed your Father’s train of thought, his head instantly looking to see who had interrupted him. Once he saw it was you, he sighed, greeting you with a tight smile.

“You wished to see me Father?’ you asked politely, your fingers tugging nervously at the sleeves of your dress. Your father never called upon you unless it was extremely important- had you done something wrong? You wracked your mind for any actions that would had been unwise for your father to find out, but to your surprise, you couldnt think of a single thing you had done.

“Yes, yes,” your father said hastily, waving his hands toward a small wooden chair at the foot of his desk, “please-sit. We have much to discuss.”

You sat on the hard chair, a chill traveling your back as you watched your father sit in his plush throne, his face clearly tired.

“As we all know, Prince Shoto has been on a quite a long quest for some time,” your father began, his voice deep with annoyance, “and has not come back. And with your 18th birthday fast approaching, and it worries me that the boy wont be back in time for your marriage. I have talked to King Todoroki about my worries, who also had the same fear, and he promised to bring the boy back and end his little shenanigan. But Shoto refuses to leave until his quest is complete.”

Your father took in a deep breath through his nose, his face a mix of anger and agitation.

Your heart beat excitedly- the prince wasnt coming back? The news bounced happily inside you, giving you some hope that you needed- that must have been why he had gone on that quest in the first place! Even though you were excited, you felt a tightness in your chest- you were childhood firend after all. He really didnt like you that much that he felt he had to run away?

“Oh dont look so solemn daughter,” your father comforted, his voice soft with sympathy,” Shotos father allowed the boy to finish his quest in 5 months’ time, and he is forced to return to his kingdom. In the meantime, we can not forget the whole reason for your marriage like young Todoroki has- you must connect the kingdoms in order to bring harmony.``

“Which is why,” your father added, “we must begin to plan the wedding.”

Your head shot up, the feeling of shock flooding your body. It was still going to happen? Your body began to feel heavy, your father's words fuzzy against your ear- you didn't want this, any of this. You felt trapped like a songbird in a cage, unable to scream out what you desperately wanted to say: if he didnt love you, you didnt want any part of this.

Your father seemed to not notice the look of terror on your face, continuing to inform you of his plan. “We already have sent out invitation to relatives and noblemen in other countries, as well as begin to plan out the festivities. It will be a 3 day event, full of food and parties and, of course, the celebration of our kingdoms coming together. The closer to the date, we will begin to need you for fittings of your dresses as well as rehearse your wedding vows and such. I promise I will make this as wonderful as I can, for you are my only daughter.”

The king smiled at you, wrapping your stiff body into a hug. You could barely feel his embrace- the world was numb to your screaming mind. You wished upon everything in you to end this, to make this all go away, but you knew you couldn't- you would be forced to do this whether you wanted to or not.

You simply nodded your head to your father’s parting words, and then ran to your quarters, shutting the door and ceremoniously throwing yourself on your bed in defeat.

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

For days you felt numb and broken, all fight leaving your body. You watched as all your handmaidens and servants ran like chickens around the castle, preparing for the enormous festivities coming in close time. You were a good and proper princes, silently placid and allowing everything around you to happen.

Flower arrangements, samples of sweets, and fabrics for your dresses all came to you, and you agreed to all of them or just randomly choose. You could care less for your “special day”- the only thing you could truly hope for was prince Shoto ignoring his father’s wishes and not coming back.

That, of course, was a wishful fantasy. You were having a blissful dream when your hand maiden barged into your room, clearly too excited to be considerate of your sleeping state.

“Miss y/n! Miss y/n! Oh please wake up! There is most wonderful news!” she cried excitedly, gently pulling the covers off your body, “You must get ready at once!”

“Prince Shoto- he is back from his quest!”

---------

The whole of the kingdom rejoiced at the news, since he had arrived a month before the wedding. He was here, ready to marry and unite the kingdom. That was all that truly mattered.

Your handmaiden dressed you in your most elegant gown, the icy aqua color bringing out the rosiness of your cheeks, as she placed pearly ornaments in your hair. You felt like you were being presented as a gift to the Prince, a reminder of what he was destined to do. You sighed, dreading having to reunite with your once friend and secret love.

Shoto was standing in the ballroom of your castle, very accustomed to it since you both played here occasionally as children. He was used to the golden floors and the crystal chandeliers the sizes of boulders, all hung gracefully in a row on the ebony ceiling. Him and his company were standing shoulder to shoulder, facing the polished staircase cascading towards them.

He looked at his new found friend’s faces, their expressions clearly in shock. Izuku, his face ruddy with dirt and his cheeks aflame from nervousness as he twisted his shirt between his fingers (a nervous tick Shoto had noticed). Uraraka gawked at the room around her in awe, her wide eyes drinking up the scene in front of her. Bakugo was least impressed, his arms crossed in front of his exposed chest and his eyes formed in judgmental slits.

Shoto had told the others before why he had to go back, but only after the quest was over- he wanted to help his new found friends, and after promising to help them in their battle, he would have felt extremely guilty leaving them behind.

Their reactions were mixed when he revealed he had a marriage in a few weeks time- Izuku was clearly shocked yet in awe hed be marrying a princess, while Uraraka seemed to find the situation romantic. Bakugo simply laughed, mocking him from being such a “sissy” for actually getting married in the first place.

Shoto was feeling conflicted inside at the moment- it had been so long since he had last seen you, and when he had, he was less than kind to you. He was quiet, distant, and quite petty about the whole situation of your marriage. You had turned barely 17 when he left, his young body desperate for some adventure and resilient to his father’s wishes. He merely saw you as a nuisance, someone in the way of his freedom. He knew it was unkind and unjustified, you didn't know what was going on inside him, but he was angry nevertheless and desperate to leave. So when he was approached by young boy in need of a friend for his quest, it was hard to resist the offer.

But as nights when on and he had time to be alone with his thoughts, his mind always seemed to travel to you. The way you giggled, your laughs sounding like chimes in the wind, or how your smile always seemed to make his skin tingle with warmth.

You were always a strange girl, but always in the best way, daring Shoto to races even thought your father said it was “unlike a princess to do so” or trying to braid Shoto’s mix-matched hair.

He would never forget the day he had allowed you to do so, your nimble fingers soft against his skin and making him burn up from nervousness. Your touch was so calming and soothing, your small compliments and soft voice sending his soul soaring with pleasure. It was then he realized he had loved you for you, not because he was forced to.

Shoto felt guilty for forgetting those cherished memories in his fits of anger, but he had agreed to help Izuku and he vowed to not give up on that promimse. Months went on, and Shoto couldnt tell how much time had passed: he only hoped you were doing okay without him.

It wasnt until his father had came to collect him that he realized how short he was on time. He had still stuck by his friends, yet the constant reminders of your wedding was in the air, haunting him. They would travel through kingdoms, the whispers of this event following him as the townspeople began to talk. It was a wonder his friends never caught on except him, only to find out weeks before your wedding.

Now Shoto was standing in the ballroom, feeling quite nervous- he hadnt seen you in so long….would you look any different? He was certain your beauty had grown by then, the thought of you looking older and more womanly bringing a blush to his cheeks. How would you see him? He had become quite a different person on his quest, his body becoming more hardened from battles with bandits and the harsh life of travelling. Would you feel the same for him still? Were you just as excited as you were so many years ago to finally be together?

Shoto heard the clicks of shoes on the wooden floor, a man with the straightest back he had ever seen standing proudly at the steps of the stairs.The man took a deep breath, his voice traveling through the room as he announced your arrival to the group of travelers.

Yet Shoto didnt hear a single word he said- he was enraptured by your beauty. You had seemed to turn into a fine young woman since he had last seen you, your curves accentuated by the tightness of your gown, the blue complimenting you perfectly. Your hair flowed in soft ringlets on your back, the pearls in your hair like stars. You were an angel blessed to this planet- an angel he was destined to marry.

The only thing that was worrying him was your expression- he had expected you to seem so much more lively, welcoming the bright smile you would always give him when you saw him. But now, your face was gone of any warmth, looking almost numb to the situation as you looked down at the group.

You traveled down the stairs, hating the way your name sounded in the announcer's voice. This was all so cliche- the Prince comes from a quest, and there is the Princess, simply a prize for his hardwork. A trophy of sorts for doing a good deed. Why did it have to be this why? Why couldnt you feel anything? The world had felt so cold for so long, feeling trapped due to the lack of control you had. Everything had seemed to loose its splendor and color, your vision for weeks turning gray in sadness-

Until you saw him.

The ash blonde boy, his hair unruly and his eyes a bright red like blood. He was clad in strange clothes, like a barbarian, his chest completely open and showcasing his taut muscles. You were intrigued by him- you had only seen likes of him in books and stories you read. He was so different, so menacing, and you wanted to know more. He was the only thing you could focus on, not taking any time to look at the others in the group, including Shoto.

Shoto was the first to reach you, unafraid to approach you like the rest of the group as you reached the bottom of the steps.

“Y/n-” he said, his voice deep and airy, “you look-wonderful.”

You gave him a small smile, but it made his heart sink- you didnt look happy at all. It seemed forced, far from the bright grins you used to send his way all the time.

“As do you, Shoto. You look quite different from when we last saw each other.”

You quickly turned your attention away from him, focusing on his new comrades instead.

“I assume these are the young heroes that accompanied you on your journey?”

“Y-yes!” the young boy with the unruly green hair stuttered, nervously bowing his head. He was quite adorable in a way, his small stature and freckles dusted on his cheeks giving him a child-like quality (even though he was most likely your age). “My name is Izuku Midoriya!”

You gave a reassuring smile to the young boy, trying to make him feel comfortable.

“It is wonderful to meet you Izuku.”

You began to walk towards the girl know, her pointy yet colorful hat signaling that she was a light witch, a sorceress who used your powers for good.

The girl shimmied in her dusty boots, clearly as nervous as the boy. She lifted the corners of her cloth dress, bowing slightly.

“My name is Ochaco Uraraka, your highness,” she smiled sweetly, her cheeks dusted in a pinky glow.

“Ochaco…” you mused over the name, its sound foregin yet light on your tongue, “you are a light witch, I assume?”

“Yes, yes I am!” the girl practically squealed, relief seemingly flooding her face. ‘How did you know?”

You giggled a her amazement at you, completely unaware apparently that she had the most witch-like outfit you had ever seen.

“A lucky guess,” you shrugged your shoulders playfully as you began to walk again, your heart beginning to race as you edged toward the barbarian.

You stopped in front of the man, his stature a head taller than yours. You eyes looked slightly up at him, your cheeks reddening- he was much more handsome up close, his rugged features making you feel breathless. He un-apologetically judged you with his vermilion eyes, looking you up and down with scorn.

Why did you find that so attractive?

“And you are-”

“My name is Bakugo.” he instantly interrupted you, his voice deep and velevty like syrup, “thats all you need to know.”

“Bakugo?” Your brain searched for any name similar to that, but found none- this boy was definitely a foreigner, most likely from far off lands you could only dream of. You had no idea why he followed Shoto back to the kingdom, but you were happy he did- he was definitely a sight for sore eyes.

“A warrior, I assume by your garments,” you nodded, your eyes trailing to his torso “and by the looks of your scars, an experienced one.”

He scoffed at your observations, his eyes rolling in his sockets.

“For a princess, your eyes wander a damn lot. But yeah- Im hella of a good warrior. Best in the kingdoms.”

You cocked an eyebrow at his language, your cheeks red by his comment. He was so unapologetic and rude, yet- it was intoxicating to you.

“I’m glad to here that.”

Shoto was eyeing you sadly the whole time- what was so different between you two? Why did you seem so welcoming to the others but so distant to him? His face began to turn red with fury as he watched you interact with Bakugo, the way Bakugo insulted you so plainly and cockily making him want to yell. He watched as your face had light up for just a moment when you spoke with him, something Shoto didn't get the luxury to experience.

He also noticed what Bakugo had vocalized- you eyes did wander when you looked at him. Shoto at first tried to rationalize that you were simply being curious, since Bakugo was definitely a strange sight for you, but the way your cheeks blushed and you smiled so warmly at him made him think otherwise.

What did you see in that barbarian that you didnt with Shoto?

You looked again at the odd group, taking a deep breath through your lungs.

“I want to congratulate you all for your successful quest,” you began, the lines slightly rehearsed, “and as thanks from my father for bringing back Prince Shoto, he would like to welcome you all for dinner tonight. We would love to hear all about your journey then,” you then snuck one last look at Bakugo, his eyes boaring into yours. It was making you feel a warmth inside that you had thought long ceased.

You instantly looked down at your hands, your cheeks feeling hot. You knew this was wrong- you shouldn't feel smitten for any other boy, especially this warrior, yet you couldnt help it- you were entranced by his resilience and the freedom he had, something you could only dream of.

“If youll excuse me, I have - things to attend to. It was a pleasure to see you all” you gave the group a tight smile, turning your back quickly from the group to follow your handmaiden back to your quarters.

Shoto watched you until you were gone, his heart beating painfully. He wished he could run up to you, grab you by your wrist and ask you what was the matter. It was still him, your friend for all those years, and you were still you, his love and his best friend. Were you beginning to forget, like he did? He felt his stomach drop painfully at the idea- he would ask you, tonight. He would figure out what had happened between you two, and fix it.

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

You were now at dinner, sitting stiffly as you moved your food around your plate, your tight corset making you feel un-hungry. All night you had been detached and quiet, feeling almost sick by your surroundings. Your father was overly outgoing to the guest,giving you side-eyed glances and trying to enter you in the conversation. You would simply smile and nod, occasionally throwing in a comment before returning to squishing your food between your utensils.

The only time you ever seemed interested was when Bakugo would speak. His comments were all snarky and rude, completely self centered about how strong or intelligent he was.

He was constantly proving his worth throughout the dinner, taking over the story of their journey when he saw fit, making sure everyone knew he was the most capable one of the group. It was obscene, his remarks, his language, even his personality, but- you were intrigued by it. The only person he had to listen to was himself. It was so intoxicating to watch him talk, to hear what other remarks would leave his mouth. Whenever he spoke, you stood up a little straighter, taking time to take in any information he gave about himself and immortalize it into your brain.

Shoto had felt awkward the whole meal, not knowing how to gauge your emotions. You seemed so distant, as if a stranger was sitting next to him. He wished he could enter your mind, detangle all the emotions and thoughts that were keeping you from being yourself around him. There was no laughter, no genuine smiles, no happiness came from you. This bothered him- you were usually so cheerful. His nervousness was eating the inside of his stomach, as his mind still couldn't figure out how to approach you after dinner.

“-and the wedding will be a three day celebration, full of festivities,” your father continued boisterously, his voice booming embarrassingly around the room, “Shoto and y/n will be the main attention, of course, over 200 noblemen will see them share vows-”

The sound of your chair pushing away echoed throughout the dining hall, making the whole group look to you. You cleared your throat delicately, a hand resting on your chest.

“Excuse me for my rudeness, but Im feeling- unwell,” you sighed a quick smile.

“Are you alright, do I need to-” the king asked, his eyes full of concern as you shook of his worries.

“Oh no, Im completely fine- just a headache,” you gave a pained smile, “I hope you all enjoy the rest of the meal.”

Shoto watched you walk away, desperate to make sure he knew which way you went in this large castle. He instantly pushed away from the table as well, rising quietly.

“I- uh-am full, thank you for the meal,” he bowed to the King slightly, placing his napkin on his plate as he rushed out, confusing the group that was left.

Izuku and Ochaco looked at each other, their cheeks red with embarrassment and shock as they looked at Bakugo, who was clearly not bothered by the disturbance. Ochaco then looked at the king, who was clearly confused by the whole ordeal, as an awkward air lay heavy on the table.

Ochaco hastily took a large bite from her plate, filling her mouth with food- “MMMMMM!” she exaggerated, trying to start up conversation again, “I LOVE the ham!”

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

Shoto ran around the castle, looking through every corridor and door, searching for you.His head was racing, trying to organize his thoughts in his minds. He needed to figure out how to speak to you- should he act normal, like nothing was wrong? Should he be formal and see how that went? Angry? Upset? He didnt know how to approach you, but he knew he had to do it.

He finally saw your gown turn an empty hallway, his feet picking up pace. He quickly was able to catch up once he could pin point your location, his hand wrapping around your wrist in order to stop you.

You felt slender,cool fingers wrap around your skin, making your body run cold. You instantly jumped by the sudden touch, all breath leaving your body as you turned around quickly.

Your wide eyes met the mix matched orbs of Shoto, a small pang of annoyance filling your body from getting so scared.

“Shoto,” you replied breathlessly, slightly happy though it was only him and not somebody else that had grabbed you.

“I-uh-y/n,” he replied back, his mind going blank.

He let go of your wrists, his hands resting at the side of his body. “I-Im sorry to scare you like that,” he apologized, “I just- wanted to speak to you. If you’ll let me.”

You looked at the boy, his eyes now averting yours, probably from nerves. You decided to listen, turning your body to him.

“Apology accepted,” you said plainly, “What did you want to speak about?”

Shoto drew a blank- what did he want to talk about? He loved hearing your voice, finally only reserved for him, but yet you seemed preoccupied. Distant. Like you were on another world and not truly there with him.

He stared at you lightly, looking extremely conflicted. “I-I wanted to talk to you about what happened while I was gone.”

“You explained quite plainly what happened on your journey,” you replied, clearly not in the mood to talk, “I applaud you for your bravery, it must have been quite a difficult journey-” you gave him a small bow, your eyes gone of any warmth. “I really must go to bed, Im sorry, but i do feel-”

You began to walk away again, Shoto desperate to keep you near him. He walked in font you, blocking your path.

“You didnt here me correctly-” he changed his wording this time, trying to be as specific as possible. “I want to know what happened to you while I was gone.”

You eyebrows turned down in confusion. “What are you trying to say Shoto?”

He swallowed, trying to clear his dry throat as he licked his lips, conflicted.

“You seem-different.”

“Its been a year and a half since I last saw you, Shoto,” you reasoned, “of course Ill be different.”

“Yes, but-” he paused, “youre too different. Youre not the same y/n I knew.”

“Why? Because Im not following you around like a love sick puppy?” Annoyance began to bubble inside, feeling attacked by Shoto’s words. “Because I finally got over the fact you didnt love me ? You dont have to pretend Shoto, I know full well you only see me as a nuisance.”

Shock flooded Shoto’s system as your icy words pierced his skin. What happened to you? Yes, he was rude to you before he left, but he didnt feel like that anymore. That was a simple phase, were you going to define him by that?

“I dont see you as a nuisance, y/n.”

“Really?” you scoffed at his words. “then tell me why your father had to go out to find you twice before you finally decided to come back?”

“I made a promise to my friends. I had to finish my quest before-”

“You had a promise to me, Shoto!” you yelled exasperatedly, your heart bursting with hurt. “To your family! To my family! Our people! What was so much more important than that?”

“I was so worried about you Shoto, terrified for you. Those first few months I couldnt think of anything but you.” You were beginning to reveal a lot, too much, but the emotions, the hurt, the anger, was flooding out of you like a broken dam and you couldn't stop it.

“But then I realized that you didnt care for me. You thought I didn't notice how you gave me the cold shoulder those last few months? How you ignored me, only gave me quick answers, acted as if I was just a pest following you around? I remembered all of it, and then I realized- you left because of me.”

“You left because of me, didn't you, Shoto?” your voice was harsh and crude like metal, stabbing into Shoto’s conscience.

He stayed silent- how could he say anything back? Your words were making him feel small and foolish- he should have known that you would have noticed his change in demeanor, just as he noticed yours.

You smiled painfully at his silence, feeling a fresh cut of pain slash inside you. “I knew it.”

“Y/n, I-” There was so much he wanted to say, things he wanted to take back. He didnt want this meeting to go like this- with you even more distant to him. Out of all the possible outcomes, this had to be the worst one.

“Dont even try to backtrack Shoto, I know the truth now,you just confirmed it.”

He knew he was less than kind to you before he left, but know it wasnt like that anymore. Why were you so angry?

“Fine-yes-I left, and it wasnt right,” he admitted, his voice deep, “but Im back. Why are you putting my old self against me now?”

“Because I couldn't for the year and half you were gone! I-I loved you Shoto, and you-”

“You dont love me anymore?” Shoto looked down at you sadly, his eyes full of sorrow. It felt like his heart was breaking in two, the way those words spilled out your mouth so easily making it sting even more.

You swallowed, filling a pit grow in your chest. Everything felt so cold, so empty. This was your best friend- why couldn't you just be nice to him? You thought you had gotten over all this.

“You dont love me-so why should I love you?” your voice was barely a whisper, cold and empty in the frigid hallway.

Shoto stared down at you, his voice caught in his throat. Did you really believe that? That he didnt love you?You had been friends since children- you really thought all those times, all those days you played together, were all fake? Who even were you?

“I just want you to know,” you spoke, your voice monotone and icy,” Im not doing this for my father, or your father, or even you. Im doing this for my people and thats it.”

“It” meaning the wedding.

Tears began to prickle your lashline, confusion flooding your numb body as you began to walk away from Shoto-

you hadnt cried in what seemed like forever.

Why were you now?

“Y/n, please, can we just talk-” he tried to reason, harsh with desperation.

“No.” your voice was plain in its tone that you were done with the conversation.

“Im just curious Shoto- why did you come back? Because if I had the luxury to have all that freedom, to be free for once- I wouldnt.”

Shoto’s heart felt broken as he watched you walk away, your dress ruffling as you continued on your path. He felt defeated, confused, even angry- what had happened to you since he had been gone? Did you really hate him that much? What did you mean you had no freedom? More questions flooded his mind than what were answered, but he now knew one thing- you didnt want anything to do with him.

As Shoto’s was returning to his corrdiors sadly, you were lost in thought, just feeling- empty. You didnt feel sad, or angry, or even spitefu anymorel. Just- numb to the world. You could walk for miles and miles it seemed and you wouldnt feel a thing.

Why was that? Why were so mean to your long lost firend? You should be hugging him from happiness and relief-not meeting him with coldness and hate.

As you were lost in thought, you didn't even notice yourself running into a person. Your hand instantly reached out, meeting soft yet rough skin. You looked up in confusion ,and your breath hitch- it was the barbairan, his vermilion eyes like rubies as he stared down at you in scorn.

“Oi, watch were your going you damn princess,” he scolded,pushing you off him gently. You stumbled slightly, trying to get your footing right- you had run in to him, you had even touched him. If you were feeling alright, and if the circumstances were different, you could practically squeal. “Youre gonna hurt someone.”

“Did I hurt you?”

He scoffed at your comment. “Like you could ever hurt me,” his voice was deep and velvety, his comment sending shocwaves into your system. The reply was prideful, yet it could have been- sweet. Kind, in a way in a different light- maybe he meant it like that?

“How do you know that?” you blurted out, a small smirk crawling across your lips.

You just wanted him to talk more, to hear that velvety voice directed towards you- but you were close to flirting with him. What were you doing? What was going on with you?

One second you were chewing out your life time friend weeks before your wedding, and now you were being smitten with a random man you didn't even know.

He chuckled slightly, his canines glinting. “Your a fucking handful, arentcha?”

He eyed your wobbling feet, as you still were finding your footing slightly.

“You clearly cant walk right-you feeling fine, because Im not gonna be the one who carries you-”

“No, no , Im fine.” you reassured, your cheeks rosy. ‘Thank you for catching me.”

“Youre the one who ran into me.”

“You could have just pushed me off though, you seem like the type to do that,” you gave him a cheeky grin, it disappearing when you heard a slight growl come form him.

“The hell you mean princess?” he was trying to be menacing, but you could tell there was something behind it- he was curious. You loved how he called you “princess”, making it sound like a pet name than a title.

“Your a lone wolf, are you not? You are strong, independent, free-” you began to list off, your eyes focusing on his, “you follow your own code and beliefs”

“Damn right I do,” he agreed, your heart soaring that he looked so proud of you for describing him so perfectly. “-which is why Im confused as hell that half-and-half prince is allowing himself to get married.”

Ouch.

The small amount of hope that Bakugo seemed to like you had quickly got destroyed, feeling hurt flood your body. You quickly tried to shake it off, so Bakugo couldn't see it on your face.

“What he even want to talk to you about anyway?” The boy shifted in his stance, his muscles moving with his movements.

You gulped, guilt filling your body- Shoto, the one who had just fought with. You couldnt tell this boy what had happened- that was private, and really, it was embarrassing.

“Just-uh-about-” you stammered, your cheeks red as you searched for a lie.

“Ugh, let me guess, you two were trading spit werent you?” he interrupted in disgust, taking your red cheeks as a sign you two were doing something unholy in the hallway.

You swallowed, licking your lips as you gave him a tight lipped smile. You were just going to follow along with Bakugo’s line of reasoning- you didnt have any other better ideas.

“Y-yep, just- please dont tell anyone?”

He gave a bitter laugh, his voice booming against your ears. “You guys cant get dirty? I guess that makes sense, since you all our royalty, cant be having any scandals-”

“Do you promise?” you rushed him, now feeling uncomfortable- if anybody heard you and Shoto were kissing in the hallway, and you two were really arguing-

“Yeah, dont worry princess, youre secrets safe with me.”

You sighed a breath of relief, feeling your heart jump at the smirk the boy sent your way.

“Thank you- I- uh- best be going now,” you stammered, rushing past the warrior, “have a nice night Bakugo.”

You rushed to your room, your heart feeling on fire. Your hands were shaking, your mid racing- all you could think about was that boy. Your world had seemed so dark, until he showed up. His rude responses, his chaotic personality, his snarkiness, that overly prideful speech, his freedom- it was so intoxicating to you. You felt your heart pumping against your chest- you hadn't felt this alive in so long.

You suddenly felt very sick, your head feeling drowsy- maybe you were actually catching something, and thats why you were acting so strange? You were gasping for breath it seemed, your corset making it hard to breath. I felt like something was tightening around your chest, small prods poking into you from the inside- it was a strange sensation, one you did not welcome in the slightest. You stumbled to your bed, holding on to the post as your lungs felt tight with no air, liking something was blocking your passageway. Coughs began to erupt out of you, wracking your body until you finally felt you could breathe. You sucked in a deep breath, welcoming the sweet night air, your chest still feeling tight. You looked down at the ground, trying to slow your stammering heart, until your eyes feel upon something new- a single white petal, resting softly on the ground.

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

After that night, You became obsessed with this boy, learning bits and pieces from him though conversation you had overheard from Shoto’s friends and workers inside the castle. You learned he was from an extremely far off land, past even the Mountains, which surprised you. He lived alone, and apparently had a dragon as well. He had gotten in many fights due to his overly prideful personality, which was why he had so many scars decorating his taut body. Your handmaidens seemed to look at him with annoyance, saying he refused to wear anything “civilized” and would plainly cuss them out if they even set foot in his room to clean.

You knew he had a softer side though- he had kept your “secret” safe, right? You heard nothing around the castle about any make-out session or argument between you and Shoto. That little act made you feel special in someway- maybe he had a soft side for you?

Whenever you would feel yourself getting sucked into the sadness of planning your wedding, you’d think of fantasies with that barbarian boy. Him taking you in the middle of night, taking you far away from this place. His hands placed around your waist, that snarky smile looking down at you again.

Seeing him walk around the castle grew a desperation and love in your body, watching his handsome face stare around the rooms, his voice loud and prideful- you wished he could look your way, acknowledge you again. His vermillion eyes sent fire into your soul whenever you closed his eyes, his face being a beacon of warmth in your life.

Yet that beacon of life was killing you from the inside- every day and every night you fantasized about Bakugo, the sickness taking over you grew worse and worse. The closer you got to your wedding day, the worse it felt, the vines inside you prickling at your soft organs. They were growing, you felt it, as you coughed up more and more petals.

For a few days you had no idea what was going on, fear striking you as you wondered if you should ask to see a doctor. But you decided to do your own research, scourging through books until you found your sickness: Hanahaki. The the mythical disease for unrequited love. It was quite rare, but it came to the most lonely, delusional, and desperate of lovers.

It made sense, really- it all started when you talked to Bakugo, after falling in his arms. It hurt he didnt love you back- but why should he? One run-in shouldn't make people fall in love with each other, but somehow it made you. You welcomed the pain alittle, as it was a reminder you still had some feeling other than emptiness inside you. It also terrfiied you- you were supposed to be in love with Shoto, not some barbarian from a far off land you barely spoke to.

How had this happened, how could you let this happen?

Even if you did tell others you had Hanahaki, they would point the finger at Shoto, calling him cold and callous for not loving you. You were the one who was the cold one, pushing your old friend away. Even if you felt some residue of anger for him, you wouldn't put him through that- he didn't deserve it. You let this disease do its course- if it went away youd be freed, knowing that Bakugo loved you back, and if not- well, you’d figure that out when you got there.

You had barely talked to Shoto or even noticed him since that night, not realizing the amount of worry he felt towards you. Everyday that went by he noticed how sick you looked, your skin paling and you eyes losing any life. Every cough you tried to hold back he noticed and it rang in his ear like a terrible siren- there was something wrong with you.It ate at his insides, his fear of you pushing him away again making him scared to ask what was wrong.

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

It was now the night before you wedding and you were feeling less than hopeful. You were supposed to be lively and happy, as your father had thrown a party to celebrate the events of the next day, yet you had no energy left in you to dance or socialize. You stayed in a dark corner, trying your best to blend in and not be noticed.

The coughs were not leaving, and it felt like your chest was being constricted until you could barely breathe. The annoying tickle of a cough was constantly at the back of your throat, as you tried to keep the petals at bay. You were miserable.

“Princess, are you doing alright, you seem a little- pale? Do you need some water, or maybe fresh air,” the young witch Ochaco approached you, her rosy cheeks and bright eyes looking at you.

“Hello, Ochaco,” you greeted, your smile strained, “you know-fresh air would be nice.”

The sweet girl smiled at you, gingerly taking you by the crook of your elbow and out of the ballroom. The fresh air was rather nice, soothing your hurting brain and your sore lungs. You two walked in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s company. Your mind was shifting around, thinking about Shoto and what would happen tomorrow. It hurt too much, though- you still were both not at speaking terms, and now you had to be promised to each other for eternity. The thought made your throat itch even more, and instead, you switched to own of your many fantasies of Bakugo that brought you some comfort.

“So, how are you feeling? Nervous, excited, scared?” Ochaco asked gingerly

“About what?” you asked, looking at her with curiosity

“Uh,um-your wedding,” she giggled nervously, her cheeks growing red again.

Oh-you cursed yourself for getting to invested in your fantasy, feeling embarrassed for thinking of Bakugo and not about Shoto.

You really didnt know how to answer her question-You felt yourself dreading it-how could you tell her that? But you didnt want to lie to her- lying to her would be practically evil, like giving a child a promise and not fulfilling it.

“Its expected of me to marry him,” you reasoned out carefully, “Ive been thinking of this day since I was a child.”

She gaped out you in awe. “Really?That early? In your kingdoms is it a tradition to marry from each other’s kingdoms?”

You gave her a wihsful smile. “Actually- no, it isnt. We’re the first ones.”

Her brown bob fluttered against her cheeks, her eyes staring up at you in confusion.

“I-if you dont mind me asking,” she asked nervously, “why is that?”

You sighed, giving her a small smile.

“Its kind of a long story….”

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

“Long ago our two kingdoms began to quarrel against one another. But that happened years back- we still continued to fight against each other, and quite frankly, we forgot about why. We just knew we hated each other and wanted to see the other fail. My father had always said to me that my mother wished for her children to be born in a peaceful kingdom, yet my father’s pride prevented that from coming true for her.

“Until the day I was born- my mother, sadly, died while giving birth to me. My father now had no queen, and really, no future ruler, since I am a girl and only men can become ruler in my kingdom. In his grief, he began to feel sympathetic, I suppose- he knew King Todoroki had a young boy who was barely turning 4, and my father got an idea. He travelled to his kingdom, and somehow was able to talk King Todoroki into an agreement.”

“In order to end the suffering of our two kingdoms, Shoto and I would marry once I turn 18, in which would bind our kingdoms forever in peace, with Shoto as ruling over both.”

Ochaco breathed out a large sigh, giving you a conflicted expression.

“So-thats why you two are getting married? Its arranged?”

You looked at her in confusion-“Didnt-Shoto tell you that? I thought Bakugo at least knew-”

“Bakugo?” Ochaco blinked a few times, clearly puzzled. “Bakugo just thought it was quite, well, wierd Shoto was getting married- Bakugo is just a lone wolf who cant understand love I guess-”

You strangely felt angry at her words- how could she even say that about him? Yes, he was cold and callous at times, but how could she know he couldn't at least love? You knew he had to at least have some way of having feelings for another person, you had to at least hope for that-

“-it must be why he left last night,”

You stopped in your tracks, feeling a ton of bricks pound into your chest.

“He-he left?

“Um yeah! Something about being ‘bored waiting around for a stupid’- oh my gosh, y/n are you alright!?”

You were coughing up quite alot, your lungs dry and painful as your heart tore in two. He-he left. Without you. Without even a goodbye.

After all that daydreaming, all that hope, that dedication to him, hoping he would notice you- he left. He never loved you, and you knew it- you were just so desperate for someone to take you, to teach you how to be free.

You wanted him to teach you, to see potential in you that you could be just as defiant to the world as him.

Uraraka wrapped her slender arms around your body, patting your back softly to help you rid your body of whatever had attacked you. It was taking everything in you to not let a single petal fall out, the itching in the back your neck unbearable as your heart beat agonizingly against horribly.

You felt a few silky petals slip out of your mouth, soft against your dry tongue. Miraculously, Uraraka didn't suspect a thing- most likely from the darkness she couldn't see the disease overtaking you.

You gulped desperately for air, finally getting a hold on your lungs.

“I-Im fine,” you panted out, raising from the floor on shaky knees. “Thank you”

Urarka gave you a pointed look, clearly not convinced. “Of course, but are you sure? Do you need water, or maybe I should get Shoto-”

“No!” you yelled out, covering your mouth in case of another attack.

You felt a little guilty for yelling at Uraraka so harshly, her wide eyes looking at you in shock-you just couldnt bear seeing Shoto when you were grieving over a lover that was never yours- and apparently dying from it too.

“No, Im fine, really,” you said more calmly, trying to be reassuring, “lets, just- walk back, if thats okay-”

“Yes of course! Ill walk you to your room, just in case you get sick again-”

You two walked in silence again, you mulling over your broken heart as Uraraka watched you in worry. You two passed the ballroom, everyone seemingly enjoying themselves and not noticing you two as you lead the way to your room.

You stepped up to the door, your hand grasping the doorknob until you paused, a question entering your mind. You were still confused why Uraraka said she didnt know your marriage was arranged-you would have expected Shoto to have told his group after saying he was getting married.

Was he embarrassed by it, that he was marrying you?

“You said you were surprised to here our marriage was arranged,” you asked quietly, “Shoto never told you?”

Uraraka shuffled in her pink boots, her shoulder hunched close to her chin.

“He-uh-no,” she breathed out, “he said he made a promise to marry a girl he loved.”

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

Morning.

Daylight.

Wedding.

You should be feeling happy, excited, optmistic-you had been imagining this day since you were a child. But now, all you could feel was a coldness you couldnt seem to shake off- after your talk with Uraraka last night, you felt so confused.

The person you “loved” had never loved you, leaving you sick and hurt.

The person who did love you, you most likely pushed away to the point where they didnt love you anymore.

You couldnt even understand your emotions yourself. All night your sickness wouldnt leave your poor lungs alone, making you cough uncontrollably all night, the petals piling up around you.

You wouldn't allow anyone to see you in the morning, snatching your wedding dress from your hand maidens and putting in yourself. You fixed yourself up, trying to make yourself look as lively as possible, but it seemed impossible- you felt too empty inside to really put your heart into it.

Another round of coughs attacked your chest, a single petal dribbling out of your mouth, along with a speckle of blood. It dripped on the inner folds of your creamy white dress- easily disguisable if you made sure it was covered- yet it made you begin to cry.

What was going on? Why did you have to do this? Why were you still sick?

Your knees hit the cold floor, wave after wave of tears and coughs struck your body in a terrible symphony, the petals piling up on your dress.

You couldnt take it anymore- this sickness was going to have to take you, because you had no energy left to fight it anymore.

You felt a knocking on your door, the sounds harsh against your temple. You sniffled, one last cough feebily spilling out of your bloodied lips.

“Go away-I promise Ill be out soon-” you began sadly, until you heard the door swing open.

You looked up, your face in shock as you did not lock eyes with your handmaiden, but with Shoto’s.

He looked around the floor, noticing the bloody petals, his face completely torn-he knew what was going on.

Shoto stared down at you, his eyes boaring into yours-he knew something was wrong with you. He had came by your room in hopes of fixing your relationship before speaking your vows, working up the courage until he heard you crying. No matter what was between you two, he wouldnt let you go through pain by yourself.

Now he watching you cough up your life, those sickly petals flowing out of you, each one taking a toll on your body.

He gasped out your name, the words like honey as he sat next to you on the floor. You looked so beautiful in that white gown, like an angel from heaven.

But the paleness of your skin, the bags like bruises under your eyes, the blood on your lips- it all reminded him that you were human, and you were hurting inside. He reached for your hand, his fingers grazing your skin-so cold- but you pulled it away quickly.

“Please, dont Shoto-” you whispered hoarsely, “Im-”

Another wave of coughs wracked at your chest, this time the rasps painful against your chest as the vines squeezed.

Shoto didnt know what to do- how could he help you? There wasn't anything he could do to help, except watch his best friend and love slowly cough her life away. A few petals cascaded out of your mouth, adding to the piles as you heaved air back into your lungs, your knuckles white.

“How, how could you keep this from me?” he asked sadly, ignoring your pleas and pulling you into his lap.

You felt how warm he was, and realized- he did love you. He had been there for you as a child, and he was here for you now, comforting you in your worst moment.

Your heart felt like it was exploding as tears cascading down your face, salty and warm against your skin.

“How-how could I Shoto?” I shuldnt have been so mean to you,” you sobbed, “Im so sorry, so sorry, this is all my fault-”

“Please, no, dont be sorry,” he said softly, his arms cradling your body, “we both have our own faults. I shouldnt have left you for so long, and Im sorry for that, I-” he gulped, his heart beating harshly against his chest.

“I-I do love you,y/n, I do.”

You picked up your head, forcing yourself to look at him- he was so handsome, his mix matched eyes softly looking down at you- he was still the little boy you knew from a child, though, always so calm and sweet.

“I know, Shoto, I just, I-” you gulped, fighting to keep the coughs and sobs at bay.

He sighed, feeling his heart sink.

“You loved Bakugo, didnt you? Thats why,” he motioned to the petals, “this is happening to you.”

You gave him a shocked look, your eyes wide and glassy. You forgot how observant Shoto could be- you felt your cheeks grow red, realizing now he must have known by the way you stared so much at Bakugo.

“Was-it that noticebale?”

“Y/n,” he sighed, his chest feeling heavy, “very.”

You giggled at his remark, feeling strange for laughing for once. But Shoto was so abrupt with his words, it always made you laugh at his remarks.

Shoto’s heart soared at your laugh, the sound like chimes against his ears. It died down, the room quickly feeling closed in again.

“I just dont want to do this. I-I want to be friends again. To figure out who were are, without us being forced to be with each other.” you sighed, your heart rattling against your chest. “ I-I want to be with you and marry you- when we decide. Not my father, or your father- I want to be free to choose.”

You turned to Shoto, your hands touching his cheek.

“I-I did love you-and I still do-Im just so confused, and trapped, and-”

“You just want to be your own person,” he finished your sentence, his voice so much stronger than yours.

He looked down at you, his face surprisingly smiling.

“I think I may have arranged that,”

You jumped up, your face in shock. “H-how? Tell me!” you squealed, not unilke a child, your eyes wide with anticipation.

Shoto grinned at your face, loving how excited you could get so quickly.

“Do you remember my oldest brother?” he asked

“Of course I remember Natsuo! He was always so kind to me as a child,” you reminenscenced, “but how is he going to help us?”

“Well, as it turns out, I spoke to our fathers and my older brother,” he said, a small grin on his face, “they agreed that my brother could rule both kingdoms in my place. By himself, and my sister will accompany him if he ever needs help.”

You sucked in a lung full of air, unable to believe what you had just heard-

“So that means-”

“We are free to do what we want now.”

You yelled in happiness, happy tears cascading on your face as you wrapped his body around yours, “thank yous” spilling out of your lips.

Shoto hugged you back, smiling sadly- he had to admit, it was hard negotiating that new deal. After the night, that remark of how you didnt feel “free” stayed in his brain, haunting him until he found a solution. Knowing it would make you happy made it worth it- even if that meant you could leave him now. He loved you, but if that meant you could be happy with or without him, he would be content with the knowledge that you were finally able to be your own person.

“You can now be yourself,” he said sadly, his eyes staring down at the floor, “and even if that means you do not love me, I accept it. You dont have to feel guilty.”

You looked at the poor boy, his eyes shaded as his bi-colored locks cascaded onto his foreheads. You felt a warmth fill your chest, the sensation soothing and calming as the tightness in your lungs dissappeared. The tickling in your throat seemed to wane slightly. Your hand found his as his eyes instantly rose to meet yours.

“I wont feel guilty,” you smiled gently, “I want to be free- with you.”

Taggings: (if you want to be added, just shoot me an ask or a reply on this post and Ill add you on to my future fics!)

@freckledoriya @orokayagi @leeeah-loooser

#bnha #bnha x reader #bnhabookclub #bnha au #bnha fantasy au #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #todorki x reader #mha todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto #todoroki shoto x reader #shoto x reader #shoto #mha shoto x reader #mha shoto todoroki #bnha prince shoto x reader #prince shoto x reader #prince shoto x you #prince shoto x y/n

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morningflames · 4 years

Text

a word of warning

well here’s a post i never thought i’d be making

it’s come to my attention that a Certain Someone is planning on making a comeback to WrA soon and it fills me with nothing short of dread. i spent the day yesterday warning people he terrorized and manipulated that this was happening. you know it’s bad when there’s a literal network of people who share an abuser that have remained in contact for years in the event this happened again.

i am not going to lie and say that making this post does not terrify me but i cannot in good conscience sit back and let him worm his way into the rp scene again and do what he did to me and at least half a dozen others all over again.

to summarize: tarcanus aka tarcanus frostborne is a manipulative, emotionally abusive and predatory individual that should be avoided at all costs.

i am the player behind lyrinel, a former officer of his and someone who was on the receiving end of nearly a years worth of abuse and manipulation. my experiences pale in comparison to those of others who dealt with him and came forward to me after i left his guild, and i cannot speak for anyone who does not feel comfortable coming forward. if you do want to let your voice be heard, feel free to reblog and add your own anecdotes.

my story below the cut.

tw: manipulation, emotional abuse, gaslighting, coercion, grooming

i first joined coram populo in early 2014 after my best friend and fellow survivor (i will refer to her by her character’s name of thradia from here on out) joined the raid team in december of the previous year. we were both just looking for a social place to park our characters and maybe start role playing again, as we hadn’t had a guild or dedicated rp group in a while. things were fine and friendly for the first couple of months, though it’s worth noting that a large part of the office corps had just left or was in the process of leaving when thradia and i joined. we were both 18 at the time.

i made the mistake of reaching out to tarc in the spring, when i noticed him posting to his tumblr about how busy he was. i offered to be an IC assistant of sorts to his character and he was more than happy to toss me into an absolute whirlwind. we still didn’t know much about each other, but in the span of a couple weeks we went from casual contact in guild chat to immensely long (sometimes between 10 and 12 hours) skype calls, constant DMing, and an almost uninterrupted stream of conversation. i was struggling to finish high school at this time (spoiler: i failed to graduate) and found myself suddenly caught in an all-consuming relationship with this man and his guild. from the moment i woke up to the moment i finally hung up and crawled into bed, my time was taken up by tarc and the guild and the game.

i was promoted to officer less than five months after joining the guild. this was overwhelming for a number of reasons, chief among them being the fact that i had never been an officer in a guild like this before and i was very quickly escalated to tarc’s “inner circle.” this was a circle that he evidently didn’t even include his most senior officers in, as he didn’t seem to communicate with them to the extent or abundance that he did with me - and later, when she was ALSO promoted to officer, thradia.

within a few weeks i found myself at the center of dozens of micro-confrontations and venting from tarc about other members of the guild, raid team, and even fellow officers. every time, i would tell him he needed to take it to his co-gm and talk it through with her. she, like him, was a grown woman with a lot more experience and better people skills than me, a teenager barely out of high school, but tarc insisted on beating me over the head with his frustrations and then proceeding to guilt me and tell me i was a terrible friend when i didn’t agree with him or expressed i was uncomfortable being in the center of a vent session that i felt was unwarranted.

tarc was never wrong. he did not apologize. the words “i’m sorry” did not exist in his vocabulary, and if they did, they were almost always followed up with the word “but.” constantly he would be sending multiple messages to me or thradia while we were running events and raids for the guild, ranting about a few particular members that he disliked at the time regardless of how we felt about said members. thradia and i would both be reduced to tears and/or anxiety attacks by his outbursts that all but demanded we take his side even if we didn’t. his feelings and circumstances were paramount. everyone else’s were just inconveniences.

tarc was always the victim. no matter what was going on, no matter who had instigated whatever vein of conversation we were on that had gone awry, he had a way of making you feel like utter shit until you grovelled for his forgiveness, which he rarely gave. instead he would move on without giving any closure or allowing you to discuss your feelings at length. if you tried, you were the insensitive one who he couldn’t go to with his “unfiltered emotions,” which was the entire purpose of his inner circle to hear him say it. i was not allowed to just be his friend or just be an officer, i had to be both and neither at the same time, and it still was not the right course of action. nothing ever was.

tarc was openly manipulative and antagonistic, always citing it as an “inside joke” when called on it. i opened up to him once about my father’s alcoholism and how i was uncomfortable with alcohol culture and being around drunk people. regardless, he would constantly call while drunk (or maybe he was pretending to be to get a rise out of me, i honestly do not know what was genuine and what was put on with him) and make me stay on the call with him for hours. when he was (allegedly) diagnosed with an inability to process certain alcohols that could be life threatening, he continued to drink (or claimed he was drinking) dangerous amounts, which lead to me begging him to stop as i feared for his life. one of the worst anxiety attacks i have ever had was over him endangering his health and me believing i was going to see a friend die. he knew how much this upset me and he did not stop. he held me as a captive audience to his self destruction (or the playacting of it) and let me cry and beg and plead with him to take care of himself.

tarc loves to promote a clean, “family friendly” persona online. he will go on and on about the positive atmosphere his guild provides and how progress and accepting he and his “safe spaces” are. as soon as you are inducted to his inner circle, however, you learn otherwise. he will gladly engage in sexually charged conversation with you, even if you are ten years younger than him as thradia and i were. we were both legal adults, yes, but just barely. i can’t count the inappropriate remarks and jokes made about us, our friends, and even minors all in the spirit of joking “what if” conversation. he has a history of making young LGBT+ people uncomfortable, making their sexualities and identities about him and how he can relate to them.

tarc was the most two-faced and divisive guild leader i’ve ever seen. he would rant to me mercilessly about wanting to kick one of the junior officers and raid team members in private while never saying a word to their face or bringing it up with the co-gm. he would start schisms between people, telling each what they wanted to hear and encouraging both parties not to confront each other about it, allowing the resentment and distrust to grow as he fanned the flames on both sides. he wanted people to stay in the guild and continue to basically work for him while also putting him above anyone else in their friend circles. he told straight up lies to thradia and i, claiming one of us had said things about the other that we never did, driving a wedge and distrust between us.

tarc treats his guild(s) like a business. he is entirely capitalist-minded even in an MMORPG that people play for fun, churning out “content” and keeping up appearances like a machine. he treats his officers and guild members like employees, not people. any time irl would demand attention away from the game, forcing someone to miss or cancel an event, he would subtly guilt them about it until they apologized, even if it was a dire situation or a family emergency.

when tarc wanted to start a wow roleplaying podcast, he approached me about cohosting. he wanted a female voice, and since i was out of school and had no job lined up due to not graduating i was the perfect candidate. i came on to narrate and research the lore segment of the looking for roleplay podcast, which was little more than me paraphrasing a wowwiki article, but i was held to a “professional” standard. i had to have my research done by a certain day, my recording done in advance, etc.

the podcast was a spot of contention for several reasons, one being the mysterious emails tarc would allegedly receive about it. the podcast had a shared email account that all three of us could access and look at, but tarc claimed that people sent emails directly to him since “everything’s under his email.” he would use these strawman emails as indirect criticism of turwinkle and i, reading them aloud or typing up what they supposedly said but NEVER producing a real screenshot or address to verify them. i’m convinced he only did this as a way to make turwinkle and i feel badly and work harder “for the listeners” to appease things tarc didn’t like about our segments. he also insinuated he got inappropriate emails about me specifically at this account but, again, i was never allowed to see them with my own eyes, just hear about them secondhand, which is why i believe they did not exist.

around this time, tarc began recording conversations without mine or thradias consent. he would start recording random sections of calls and taunt us, playing back out-of-context lines and joking that he would make “podcast commercials” out of them. they were often embarrassing, personal, or just wildly out of context lines that we didn’t want played to the public, and i heard only a fraction of what he possibly recorded of me. i have no idea what kind of material he has of me and thradia that was recorded without us knowing or consenting. it felt like blackmail. it still does.

i internalized all of this. i thought this was normal. i thought he was an excellent guild leader and a role model for leadership. i had begun to treat world of fucking warcraft like a goddamn job and i thought that was fine. my life revolved around coddling and entertaining him, socializing and promoting and recruiting for the guild, raiding, running pvp entirely on my own, keeping up IC connections and attending events, recording for the podcast, all of it. i ate, breathed, and slept wow and coram. it was insane. i had been talked into having no boundaries for myself and my time, and any time i tried to correct that and build a boundary i was attacked for it until i backed down. i have never felt worse about myself than i did while i was in this guild. i trusted no one. i was worn thin.

i finally had enough early 2015. at this point this man was trying to get me to come live with him hundreds of miles from my family so that i could attend a technical school in his area. i am still 18. he was 28. i had been trying to step down from my position as an officer, citing if i was going to be LIVING WITH HIM that it was going to give me an unfair bias in my standing in the guild. this set him all the way off. he was planning a trip to atlantic city for me, himself, and thradia, who i had a ticket to visit for my birthday. he was getting frantic because he had been pursuing thradia for months, and i was no longer cooperating.

when i threw this wrench in everything, our relationship devolved in the span of a few hours. within the day i left the guild on all of my characters and pulled myself out of all of his projects. within the month i had frantically faction changed several characters and eventually unsubscribed from the game for two years because i lived in fear of him. he had always alluded to “knowing people” who could hack and track IP addresses and kept tabs on everyone who visited his blogs and websites. i didn’t know what i thought he was going to do - all i knew was his thinly veiled brags and threats were at the forefront of my mind. i have played this game since 2006, but for the first time in my life i couldn’t enjoy it out of fear and exhaustion caused by him. he had ruined my favorite game in less than a year and made me paranoid about my entire online presence, to the point where this blog was abandoned for months before i turned it into what it is today.

and the thing is, tarc’s not a creepy or abrasive guy when you first meet him. he’s funny and charismatic and outgoing. he loves to tell you about his world travels and show you pictures of him petting baby tigers at rescues in southeast asia and go on about these crazy winnings he would have in vegas. he’s larger than life - at least online. he came to visit me twice in the year that we knew each other. the first time was also the first time i had ever met thradia in person, and we had been friends for six years at that point. he has met my family, and that of several other members (both my age and older). no one ever questions why he’s there. no one ever thought it was odd that for a week he hung out with three teenage girls exclusively.

this horrifies me to this day.

thradia and i are still best friends. we compared notes and were sickened at how we were played against each other. slowly, i returned to the game. i reached out to people who had left or been on their way out when i first joined the guild, curious to see if there was a common thread. there was. everyone i spoke with had similar stories: being made to feel like shit, nothing they ever did for the guild was enough, they weren’t allowed to miss events or raids no matter what the reason, they were questioned and joked about inappropriately and made to feel uncomfortable and preyed upon, etc. i was not the only one. thradia was not the only one. at least half a dozen other former members and/or officers had these stories, and tarc just kept getting away with it.

he cannot keep getting away with it.

i am being open with this for the first time in six years because i don’t want to see it happen again. because i don’t want to know that, had i said something sooner, more people could have been protected. i was 18 when this was going on. i had no real world experience. i had no standard for how i should be treated, much less by someone almost ten years my senior and who claimed to be my friend. but he knew better. he should have had boundaries and space and lines he refused to cross. he did not. he crippled my trust in people for a very long time. i have only become comfortable playing wow on horde side again in the past year or so. i finally stopped looking over my shoulder, /who’ing him and his guild, avoiding rp hubs. but now i feel like i can’t do that anymore. the safety i have worked so hard to achieve for myself is now threatened.

i understand my experiences are mild in comparison to what some offenders on this server have done. but at the end of the day, this year was the worst year of my life. to this day, the skype ringtone literally triggers me because i associated it with him and his endless calls that i never knew what to expect from or how to get out of. i can’t look at certain parts of the game without feeling fear. for months i held my breath going online or logging into wow because i was waiting for him to pop up and start accusing me of things or trying to guilt me into coming back.

tarc ran coram populo, a guild that, as far as i know, still staggers along with a few members who can’t be bothered to leave. whether or not he’s planning to return there, i don’t know. he organizes and runs (from what i can tell) the azerothian trade federation (whatever the fuck that is). i don’t know what his plans are. i don’t know what his online presence looks or will look like when he comes crawling back. but i beseech you, do not give him the time of day. do not give him a platform, no matter how nice and “woke” he makes himself out to be. he lures you in with humanist ideals and then sucks the absolute life out of you- and that’s if he doesn’t want to pressure you into a relationship on top of it.

to tarc: if somehow you’re reading this, stay away from me. keep my name out of your mouth. i do not want an apology and a string of half-assed, gaslighting excuses. i have records of past conversations. i have screenshots. i know what you fucking did to me and to my friends. i do not want you back. i do not want you here. i do not want to share space with you. i want you to go away and never come back.

you alone made it so hard to trust myself and other people. thradia and i both have had to seek therapy due to you. and now, you have the audacity to come riding back into the scene on a white horse, being self righteous about abuse and predatory behavior online, and have the utter gall to condemn behaviors you yourself emulated without apology or second thought. i know you think you’re a good guy. that’s what makes you so fucking dangerous. you genuinely don’t think you’ve done anything wrong, and if you do, you’ve buried it and squirreled it away and have covered it up to the point where you can turn any accusation back on the claimant.

do not attempt to contact me. do not try to threaten or appease me. go back where you were. i am finally at home again, and you will not take that from me. go. away.

#wrymrest accord #wra rp #wra community #okay to reblog #i am going to basically go dark on here now and not check on this #i have gotten ohysically ill from dredging this shit up #i will not be engaging past this point so whether you believe me or not i do not care #i know my truth and i know what happened to me even though i was gaslit to hell and back

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2460nodone · 3 years

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Hell is a Relative Term (1/2)

Title: Hell is a Relative Term Category: Plays/Musicals » Les Misérables Author: AliceInSomewhereland Language: English, Rating: Rated: T Genre: Supernatural/Romance Published: 05-21-13, Updated: 05-22-13 Chapters: 2, Words: 9,662

[Part I] [Part II]

Summary: Eponine is one of the few who stand between humanity and hell, sworn to fight evil and protect the helpless, even if it costs her her own life. Vampire slayer!Eponine. e/e. Rated for language/content

Original author’s note: Ok guys, here we go with fic #2 for the Fic War on tumblr! This one was a prompt from tumblr user poeticbibliophile: "Modern AU prompt? One line for you, m'amie — 'Are you afraid of the good you can do?' from Les Miz, V. Hugo. Tag me if you chose this. TY!"

Part I

What if I told you the stories were true?

What if you knew that there really are things that go bump in the night? Things that live under your bed and in your closet just as much as they live in your mind, things that stalk you in the dark and prey on your terror? That all the monsters your parents ever promised you were pretend exist? That sometimes, people die, evil wins, and that the light cannot always banish your fears?

The world was hell.

There was no other way to put it.

No one really knew why these creatures existed, but they did. They ruled the night, mauling and feasting and terrorizing the population all the world over. It had always been this way; God had long ago forsaken the world and its inhabitants. Hell had swallowed Earth, and its demons walked with sorry humanity.

But there were people to fight it. Men and women, chosen for their strength, their character, their skill. They were given tasks, they learned the weaknesses of the different creatures, and eventually specialized in one specific type of Hellbeast.

"Eponine!" a voice shouted.

A young woman, olive-skinned, brown-eyed and dark-haired, stopped short, closing her eyes in trepidation before slowly turning.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," the man said sternly. He was middle-aged, with a close-cropped, graying haircut and a beard that matched. "I want you to patrol tonight."

The girl, Eponine, clenched her jaw. "I promised my brother I would be home tonight. He needs me. You have Musichetta, send her instead."

"Don't question me," he scolded. "I'm sending you."

When Eponine opened her mouth to protest, the man cut her off. "You are a vampire slayer, Jondrette. This is your job. This is your duty. You were chosen to protect the people of the world, and you will patrol tonight."

"One of those people I have to protect is my brother, Javert," she snapped. She loved the man, but he so frequently forgot that she was one of the rare slayers who had people at home to take care of. She had yet to lose everything, and she planned on keeping it that way. "I have a duty to him, too. And I promised him I would be there tonight. Send Musichetta instead."

Without waiting for his response, Eponine turned on her heel. She knew that Javert would probably punish her later for her insubordination, but she didn't care. Gavroche needed her.

Eponine was a vampire slayer. One of few slayers, in fact. Most of the women who became slayers died young.

It was not a fate she coveted.

In fact, she hated everything this life. But she had been chosen, as Javert constantly reminded her, by a power bigger than herself. And since he was her Guardian – the Guardian of all the slayers in this quadrant – and essentially her boss, it was he she answered to.

She was on the train, headed home to her brother. The dark world rushed by her, and she wondered how many vampires were out and active tonight.

She hated them with a burning passion. When they Turned, they kept their souls, but the bloodlust was so intense that they rarely heeded what little remained of their consciences. Eventually, most lost themselves in the Hunger or went insane from the guilt of what they did when their urges were unbearable. Most that she had met, however, loved killing. She had yet to meet a truly guilty vampire.

True to legend, they could not be in sunlight, and a stake to the heart or a clean swipe of the head from the shoulders would kill them immediately. Crosses, churches, hallowed ground – all unbearable to them. They couldn't even speak the name of God; that's how damned they were. They were vicious, evil creatures, and she wanted nothing more than to kill them all.

She hated being a killer, but she loved the fight, loved the moment when they lost. She would watch them victoriously, almost arrogantly, as they died in front of her. It gave her a rush, and afterwards, she would run through the streets, high on adrenaline, hungry and horny and happy.

She would find Montparnasse when she could, but otherwise she would grab a burger and indulge at least one of her urges until the high wore off and the real world crashed down on her again.

Several weeks later found Eponine back on patrol and deep in the throes of combat with a vampire. She could almost taste her victory when she felt, rather than saw, the presence of more of the loathsome bloodsuckers.

Panic bubbled up in her; she faltered and was knocked to the ground. She could feel blood trickling down from her brow, and her opponent, standing above her now, bared his teeth menacingly. She was surrounded

"Good job, little 'un," a grating woman's voice cooed.

Eponine felt her insides go cold. From her place on the ground, she stared up into the eyes of her mother.

She had hated her parents when they were alive, and had not been surprised when the police showed up one night, delivering the news of their deaths. She was, however, surprised when she saw them months later, their faces twisted as they sucked a woman dry.

But that was years ago, well before she was a slayer.

"Hello little Eponine," the creature that was once her mother sang.

Eponine pounced, fighting like a madwoman. But she was outnumbered; she only managed to slay the original vampire she was battling before she was repeatedly beat down… by her mother and her father and the rest of their gang.

Her father wrenched her head back by her hair, exposing her neck. This is it, she thought, fighting against those who were pinning her to the ground. I'm about to become another dead slayer.

The vampire broke her skin with his teeth, followed on the other side by her mother, and Eponine heard herself cry out. It all seemed to be happening from somewhere else; she knew and understood that she was dying, but she couldn't feel it, barely noticed it. Heaviness spread through her body, and her eyes began to get heavy.

Just before they closed, she became aware of a movement to her left. Her mother was ripped away from her neck.

Then everything went black.

When Eponine woke, she felt like she had been out drinking all night. Her body was heavy, her head was pounding, and she felt sick.

When her eyes adjusted to the daylight seeping in through a crack in the curtains, she looked around – turning her head slowly so as to prevent the exaggeration of her nausea and headache.

The room was simple, bare. There was some framed art on the gray walls, though her eyes were too weak to make out the pictures. A small flatscreen TV was on a small bookshelf that was packed with more books than DVDs, and even more books were piled on the dresser near the bed, as well as on the nightstand next to her. Those, she could make out: The World According to Garp, an anthology of the works of Sartre, Catch-22.

The bedspread was red, the sheets were white. Thick, black curtains were pulled together, though a ray of bright sunlight streamed through a crack.

Where was she?

Eponine wasn't sure how much time had passed, but she was several pages into The World According to Garp (whoever lived here had great taste in literature – this was one of her favorite books) before a gentle knock rapped on the door and it opened.

A man stepped in. Tall, curly blonde hair, casually dressed in dark jeans, a white v-neck t-shirt (that gave her a peek of just a little hair on his chest below a defined collarbone), and a black jacket. He was like a marble statue come to life. His eyes, she noticed, were impossibly blue, and his face was achingly handsome. A small bit of stubble covered his jaw and the top of his neck. She had no idea whatsoever who he was.

"How are you feeling?" the man asked. Eponine, in spite of herself and the weirdness of the situation, found that she liked his voice.

Instead of answering – Eponine hated answering direct questions, especially when she didn't know the inquirer – she countered, "Who the hell are you, and how did I get here?"

The man perched himself on the edge of the bed, purposefully staying as far from her as he could. Still, he smirked at her. "I saved your life last night, Slayer. You were outnumbered by the Thénardier Coven, and they would have killed you."

Eponine glared at him. "They took me by surprise," she grumbled. Then, "How did you know I'm a slayer?"

The man snorted. "You slayers wear your rank like a badge of honor. It's impossible not to know."

Eponine actually felt a little affronted, even though he had answered the question lightly.

He shrugged, apparently aware of the insult, and added, "Plus I was watching you."

"What?" she asked, dumfounded and staring at him.

The man grinned again. "I was following the Thénardier Coven, and so were you. You fell for their bait, you know. They were planning to ambush you. You should be more careful," he admonished.

Eponine raised her chin indignantly, but said nothing.

"Yeah, you would've died if it weren't for me," he continued.

He was actually fishing for a thank you. She couldn't believe it.

"Slayers are only women," she pointed out, ignoring his comment.

He ignored hers as well. "You're sleeping in my bed, you know. I saved your life, brought you back here at my own personal risk, nursed your wounds. A 'thank you' wouldn't be unwelcome," he said pointedly. It angered her that he seemed to find all of this so humorous.

She sniffed, realizing that he wouldn't talk about anything else unless she voiced her gratitude. "Thank you," she said tightly.

He smiled. Dear god that was a beautiful smile. "Why, you're welcome," he deadpanned.

"Now, who are you? Where am I?" she asked impatiently.

The man frowned. "You may stay as long as you need. At least, until you are well enough to make it home. Get some rest, and I'll bring you some food. You need your strength," he said, ignoring her questions. He stood, reaching the door in two short strides.

"Why won't you answer me?" she asked, before he could take his leave.

He stopped, hand on the doorknob, the door partially open. Then he shrugged, turning back towards her and seriously replying, "This is the last time you'll ever see me, so it doesn't matter." Then he was gone.

Montparnasse was a vampire.

What was worse, he now belonged to the Thénardier Coven. They were the most violent of the covens in this part of the world, and the most deadly. But also one of the biggest.

Javert had lost many a slayer trying to eradicate their ranks, their power.

Eponine was determined not to become one of them. Especially since she was the human daughter of the clan leaders.

But Montparnasse had been her last friend from her old life. He was in love with her, as a human, but he knew she was uninterested in him, even before she had become a slayer. Still, he had let her use him (not that he didn't console himself with some on the side, anyway – he was no virtuous man).

She felt guilty about how she had treated him now, though. He hadn't deserved to be used for sex. He was a good looking guy, and could've found someone who might have loved him back, even if he had some issues with alcohol and was kind of a klepto.

Eponine found that she was crying as she drove the stake into his heart. She hadn't noticed during their fight, as she was far too entranced by their dance to the death. But she would not lose.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to him as he died.

This time, she felt neither hungry nor happy, and definitely was not horny.

It was Montparnasse that she had gone to for that reason. And here she was, responsible for his death, in so many more ways than just this one.

When she looked up, tears flowing freely from her eyes, she thought she saw a flash of blue eyes and blonde hair disappearing into the shadows, but she couldn't be sure.

Marius, Azelma, and Gavroche were the only good things in her life anymore.

She had met Marius not long after becoming a slayer, and had fallen in love with him almost immediately. Sometimes when she had gone to Montparnasse, it was because she wanted Marius, and she could close her eyes with the other man and pretend that he loved her too.

The thought caused a wave of guilt to flow through her body. The hurt of Montparnasse's death (by her hand) was still very close.

Marius was kind to her, though. He was a sweetheart, always stopping to chat and inquire after her and her sister and brother, always ensuring that she was uninjured and being safe on her patrols.

She hoped that he might someday fall for her too. Eponine felt less damaged and depressed and hopeless around him. Perhaps he would even be willing to put up with the uncertainty of her life, her future, for a few passionate years by her side.

But one evening he ran up to her, more excited and worked up than she had ever before seen him.

"'Ponine! Oh, 'Ponine, I've fallen in love," he told her dreamily, taking her hands in his and spinning her gaily.

For a fleeting moment, Eponine thought her meant her.

"She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Her hair is long and so blonde, her eyes are beautiful, and my god she probably has a wonderful soul to match."

Eponine gave him a strained smile.

"Can you find her for me, 'Ponine? You know your way around, and you're good at finding people."

Before she could stop herself, Eponine heard herself agreeing to help him.

She found the blonde beauty, all right.

Her name was Cosette.

She was the daughter of Jean Valjean.

Jean Valjean was the patriarch of the Fauchelevent Coven.

That idiot Marius had gone and fallen for a vampire.

Jealousy and contempt bubbled up inside of Eponine. She didn't know what to do with herself. Or with Marius. And when she had told him what she had learned, he had dismissed it.

"Not all vampires are bad, 'Ponine," he insisted. Eponine wanted to punch him for his stupidity. He might as well have been suggesting that he take a leisurely swim in the ocean in the middle of a hurricane. "She's a good one, I just know it. Besides, the Fauchelevent Coven has always been fairly peaceful. They don't attack humans, not like the Thénardier Coven or the Tholomyes Coven or the others."

Eponine stormed out, going on a hunt.

She would kill something tonight. She could only hope that it was a vampire, not that idiot, love struck boy she had left in the bar.

A few hours later, Eponine was on her third kill (she had been on the offensive tonight, though it wasn't strictly protocol to hunt alone and without a secure plan that Javert knew).

That's when she saw him.

When the vampire woman was dead, Eponine spun on her heal, flicking her sweaty hair out of her eyes.

"Why are you following me?" she demanded.

The blonde man regarded her seriously. "You seem angrier tonight than usual."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you stalking me?"

He gave this some consideration, before replying, "More like ensuring that you don't get yourself into any sticky situations again."

She took an involuntary step closer. His eyes were so blue. "Why?"

He shrugged. "You're not like the other slayers."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

He thought for a moment. "They're all driven by something. You just go through the motions, but you're so talented. What's keeping you from rising to your full potential? You could be the best slayer alive, if you wanted. You could eradicate the entire Bloodluster population if only you tried."

Eponine regarded him incredulously. "I don't even know you, I'm not talking to you about my reasons for slaying!"

He was watching her closely, looking for something in his face. "Are you afraid of the good you can do?"

Her face darkened. "Look, bro, my reasons for slaying are my own, and are certainly none of your business. And, I will have you know, I'm not afraid of anything."

"Whatever you say," he scoffed.

Eponine shoved him back angrily; he grinned, lazily taking a step back to keep his balance. It only pissed her off more.

"You're intriguing, little slayer," he said, quirking a half-smile at her.

Without missing a beat, she replied, "And you're an annoying jackass, mystery asshole."

He laughed at that.

Eponine still did not know his name, but she began to enjoy his somewhat constant presence when she patrolled. Somehow, he always seemed to pop up in time to see her fight, and ended up staying with her until her patrol was finished just before dawn. Then they would go their separate ways.

"Don't you ever sleep?" she asked as they walked slowly together through the empty streets. No one was ever out at this time of night except for the slayers or the occasional other fighter. She often wondered what his specialty was.

"Don't you?" he countered.

Somehow he always kept things balanced between them. She wasn't sure whether he answered her questions with questions of his own because that's what she did or because he wanted to maintain a certain balance between them. She was fine with boundaries, but the more time she spent with him, the more curious she became. She liked this marble man, this beautiful boy that seemed to gleam with the light of the sun even at night. She wanted to be his friend. She enjoyed hearing about his true friends, the ones that knew him as more than the Marble Man, and she found relief in telling him about her own fucked up life.

Rather than taunting her by knowing her name (which she had never actually told him) while she did not know his, he mostly referred to her as "Slayer" or "Little Slayer." She couldn't decide whether the whole thing was creepy and whether or not she liked his nicknames, nor could she decide if, when he did call her by her name, the shiver that went down her spine was because it sounded so foreign on his tongue or if it was because she liked hearing her name on his lips.

They had become friends, somehow. She wasn't sure what exactly had happened, but she truly did appreciate that he had saved her life, and he hadn't left her alone since, for whatever reason, and she had grown to like his company.

He was driven. He talked a lot about his dreams of helping the people, saving them from these circumstances, finding a way to eradicate the violent covens and hopefully rehabilitate the rest.

Eponine was less in favor of rehabilitation, but her Marble Man insisted that not all covens were violent like Thénardier. He told her frequently that she was blinded by her hate for her parents and what they had become. When he said this, she told him to fuck off and mind his business, usually storming off and leaving him behind. And he usually let her go.

It irritated her to no end that he knew her so well – seemingly without even trying – when she knew nothing about him. Was she that easy to read? He always seemed to guess her emotions – which she had spent so many years learning to hide – without any effort at all. He was always telling her about her potential, about how her circumstances could improve if she only tried a bit harder. He knew her name, he knew her story, but she knew nothing about him. Not even his name.

So one night, she asked him. They had been friends now for a few months. He had watched her fight, had even stepped in a few times when she got a little too close to death for his comfort (though she loved the rush that just escaping death gave her).

"What's your name? You know so much about me, but I know nothing about you."

He was silent for a long moment, and Eponine was fully expecting him to change the subject or stay quiet until she felt humiliated enough by her prying to change it herself, just as he always did. But tonight:

"I'm Enjolras," he told her quietly.

She froze in shock, unable to keep walking. He had actually told her. Her Marble Man had a name, and he had finally given it to her.

After a tense moment, in which she stared at him with an unattractively open mouth and he stared back with trepidation and dark eyes, he stepped up to her. She couldn't read his face as he searched hers, slipping his hand into her own.

Eponine wasn't sure what he found in her face, but he must have been satisfied because he was suddenly turning away, tugging on her hand to pull her with him so they could resume their walk.

But she didn't move. Instead, she tested his name, whispering it into the slight wind. "Enjolras…."

He immediately turned when she said his name, cupping the side of her face with his hands and bringing his lips urgently to hers.

Eponine was waiting for him; her lips parted almost immediately against his, her arms wrapped around his neck, and she pressed herself into him just as he pulled her closer with his free arm.

Enjolras deepened the kiss, meeting the tongue that had only moments ago held his name so tenderly. She shivered as his hand traveled down her rocky spine to rest at the slight valley that had formed at the small of her back.

He kissed her passionately, and she rose to meet the challenge, just as she did with her slaying. His kisses moved from her lips to her jaw, to her neck, to her collarbone. His hand preceded the actions of his lips, tracing their route before he made it. Now, his fingertips traveled down her chest, lips following as he unzipped the jacket she was wearing to reveal her cleavage.

Her hands were entwined in his hair and god she had forgotten how good this felt, and his fingertips and lips and tongue had just reached the top of her breasts when he cried out in pain, leaping away from her.

Eponine stared as a bit of smoke rose from his fingers, as though he had been on fire. He was staring at her with a torn, almost heartbroken, and pained expression.

She knew that she was staring back in horror. Her hand found the pendant buried in her cleavage – a silver cross. It was meant to protect her from her foe.

Anger like she had never before felt suddenly overtook her and she wanted nothing more than to kill him where he stood.

He just continued to stare.

"You're a fucking vampire!" she screamed at him. She could hear the hurt and anger and fear in her voice. What had she done?

"Eponine–."

"No!" she snapped, cutting him off. The way he had implored her with her name – without even needing to say anything else – had twisted her heart in her chest. "If you ever fucking come near me again I will stake you through the heart, and cut your head off, and cause you a lot of fucking pain as I do it!"

Enjolras listened to her scream, holding his burned hand in the palm of his uninjured one. Staring at her with almost heartbroken eyes.

Then he was gone.

#enjonine #enjonine fanfic #enjonine fanfiction #enjonine fic #eponine x enjolras #enjolras x eponine #e/e #é/e

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