#through generations and generations of the same body horror flick over and over | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bafflement · 6 months ago

Text

Deaged Oz AU - School Daze

Tip blinked as his scroll pinged, he hadn’t been expecting a message, but maybe someone needed to get in contact with him? He flicked the notification open absently, wanting to get back to the conversation he was having with Qrow only to blink down at it in horror. What the hell? Why would he be enrolled in a primary school of all things? This had to be a joke, but if it was then it definitely wasn’t a very funny one.

But no, it very much seemed to claim that he, or rather ‘Wintertip Pine’ was now enrolled in the final year of an Atlas primary school. No, no this wasn’t funny in the slightest. He had a job to do, he couldn’t pause things to go and pretend he was an actual child. A chill seemed to run over him at the mental image that provided. Salem wouldn’t hesitate for a breath before burning it to the ground to get to him. After all, she’d done it before. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to force the imagery that bought up back into the depths of the wizard’s soul… he wasn’t going to think about the consequences to this, it was fixable. It had to be, he’d never survive, having to pretend to actually be the eleven year old his body currently resembled. At least it might grant Salem a moment of amusement before she killed him and anyone else close by? But James knew that, he had to know that attempting to place him in a school would just put everybody else in danger. Unless… was that why he’d fought so hard for his custody, to turn around and pull a power move like this? He wanted desperately to believe that James would never even think of doing something like this, but obviously someone had. If not him, then who?

Some of the shock and anguish must have shown on his face, because Qrow snatched his scroll out of his hand, looking worried. That worry turned to fury as he read the same message Tip had.

“What the hell is Jimmy thinking?” he snarled, almost dropping the scroll in his rush to reread it, hoping he was hallucinating. Looking up from it, he met Tip’s eyes and realised just how haunted they were at the moment. No, this was no hallucination. This was very, very serious. “Doesn’t he realise that you’re Salem’s main target? Dammit, Oz, you’ll be in danger and so will any actual kids caught up in this stupidity. No, we’re going to go and see Jimmy, right now.”

“I was about to suggest that meeting with him would be the best option.” Tip agreed, his voice sounding vaguely distant to his own ears. If this was something James had actually set up? Well, then, they might need to have a far more serious talk about boundaries. It was bad enough that he’d given him a tracker without his consent, but something like this? Putting actual children in danger for what, appearances sake alone? No, that was insupportable. James was a good friend, but if he was starting to think like that, then maybe it might be better to distance himself now. While he still could, for all the fact that the General held temporary guardianship of him and his brother both.

Oh no, what if he’d placed Oscar in school, too? He would be less of a target than Tip was, maybe, but only as long as nobody realised that they were brothers for all intents and purposes. That alone would make him excellent bait to all the wrong people trying to get to him through those he loved. He was just glad that Qrow was more than old enough to look after himself and that the others, for all they were still of an age to be Beacon students were technically fully accredited hunters now. They’d been trained well, he just had to have faith in their abilities.

“Qrow? We need to check, to make sure that Oscar hasn’t been subjected to the same thing. After all, James is technically his guardian, too.”

“If it’s Jimmy, which much though you know I don’t really get on with the guy seems less than certain.” Qrow winced though, arguing in favor of Ironwood wasn’t something he’d ever really seen himself doing but here they were. He seemed to be doing a great many things he was less than comfortable with, lately.

Tip grinned at him, briefly surprised. It was pretty clear he was very distracted by the notification, though.

“Oscar?” Tip asked softly, his brother looking up from his book in curiosity.

“Yes? What do you need?” Oscar asked, registering the serious look on Tip’s face and halfway rising from his chair. Tip shook his head slightly and Oscar settled back down, head cocked to one side.

“Nothing urgent, I just, did you get a scroll notification recently?”

Oscar blinked, looking down at his scroll in confusion, before shrugging. “No? Should I have done?”

“Not really, no.” Tip responded, sounding relieved. “Don’t worry about it.”

“… did something happen?” Oscar asked suspiciously. Tip shrugged back, trying to look nonchalant.

“Nothing urgent. It’s alright, I just needed to check.”

Oscar stared at him for a second before deciding that the blank face his brother wore meant that he was unlikely to get any more of a response tonight. It was always annoying when he did that, but if it was actually important he’d probably find out eventually.

Qrow gestured towards the door and Tip followed him out into the corridor and towards James’ office. This wasn’t going to be a fun conversation, but he dearly hoped that Qrow was right and James had not in fact done this. He was in charge of Atlas, with Salem almost at their doorstep. If he’d gone mad on top of everything else, well better not to think about that too deeply. At least the walk would be quiet. Winter was somewhere else right now, so she wouldn’t be here to witness the fallout. What she didn’t know, she couldn’t yell at him over. Right?

James looked up with a smile as Tip and Qrow entered, though that quickly fell away at their expressions. None of them said anything for a few seconds, staring at each other before Tip sighed, laying his scroll on James’ desk, the notification of his supposed enrolment fully visible on its surface.

“Explain.” Was all he said. James blinked at him before picking up the scroll. For a man that was usually rigorously self-disciplined, his feelings were laughably easy to read for once. Shock, followed by a sick sort of horror flashed across his face as he read the mail Tip had been sent. So it really hadn’t been him. But if it wasn’t James, then who was it? He was the only man in Atlas that had even the pretence of being Tip’s guardian, and Aunt Em certainly would never have enrolled him in a school, of all things. She knew better than anyone that he wasn’t actually a child. Besides, she was all the way in Mistral, how would she ever even have heard of the school in question. As some of Tip’s anger drained away, he vaguely recalled hearing the name of it somewhere before. It was probably even a very good school. He just wasn’t in any need of their services. Could this be Salem, hoping to lure him out? It felt different, though… no, something still wasn’t right.

“I… why is this an enrolment notification, Oz? You’re not actually a child, you don’t need to go to an actual school. Even if your next vessel… apologies, but it does have to be said, was an actual child that would be waived. In a school, Salem would know where you were, we couldn’t protect you. Why enrol yourself?”

“I didn’t.” Tip stated, voice still tight with fury. “And since you didn’t either, would you happen to know who did?”

“I can find out.” There was a dark tone to James’ voice now, eyes steely as he turned them back to the scroll. “Although, you may need to take certain tests and exams to test out of school, Oz. That might not even be a bad thing, really. It would provide more of a paper trail, give you more legal standing than you currently possess. Foundling, wasn’t it?”

Tip scowled at that, though he acknowledged that James was probably right. Besides, it wasn’t like foundling was particularly accurate anymore. He wondered if his records still stated that, considering his family and their likely reactions to that little detail, but that was less than important at the moment. What was important was fixing this, or at least making things as quick as possible. At least he could easily test out, even if it would take time he couldn’t really afford to waste right now. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to.

James tracked the request backwards, landing on a rather familiar name. He groaned to himself in annoyed frustration, but he had to admit this was probably at least partially his fault. After all, he had asked Clover to keep Oz out of danger, though this was not what he’d meant. A school, under other circumstances, would even make some sense. Except, of course, for Salem. Except that Oz, for all his physical age was chronologically thirty six. He sighed to himself at that, too. Why his records had been altered by over four years was something he was still unsure of. But then, even when Oz had been obviously all of fifteen in retrospect, the new head of Beacon, everybody had been so eager to believe his stated age. It was easier to think he just looked younger than he was, as opposed to admitting to themselves that Vale had likely actually lost the plot. Anyone else, in that position at that age, would have been an absolute disaster. Ah well, that was a thought for later. He summoned Clover to his office, a dark scowl on his face. This might almost be fun, though it was looking more and more likely that Oz was actually going to have to take those damn tests, At least they knew who to blame, now? At least it wasn’t Salem, so hopefully she didn’t actually know Oz was a kid, either. At least not yet, but then underestimating her was never a good idea, either.

Clover Ebi, ever punctual, strode into James’ office. His face dropped on noticing the acidic glare the General was shooting him, but he hadn’t done anything wrong to deserve that, surely? He was a good soldier and as far as he was aware, he hadn’t committed any acts against the orders he was given. Unless… was this about little Tip Pine? The General had ordered him to protect the boy and keep him out of danger though. The easy way to do that was to put the kid in school. Besides, weren’t children supposed to be in school?

As Ironwood started to yell at him, Clover looked more and more woebegone. He’d only been doing what he thought was right, but apparently that had been the wrong thing to do in this instant? He thought he was just following instructions… why had things suddenly become so much more complicated, and why was the youngest Pine boy always somewhere in the thick of things? Things weren’t meant to be this complicated… he missed the days when everything made sense.

Once he’d dismissed the downtrodden looking Clover, Ironwood settled back in his chair, staring at the scroll that Oz had left behind. He would have to get that back to him at some point, of course, but Oz’s scroll was the only one they had right now capable of interkingdom communication. He wished that Oz knew how he’d done it, but the boy had assured him it wasn’t replicable and he was loathe to deprive Oz of his own communication. It would be so useful, though. Ah well, Oz was nice enough to let him borrow it at times, not that he’d ever break his trust. Part of him still smarted under the idea that Oz had truly thought he would enrol him in a school without his permission, but from Oz’s point of view? Well, he was his guardian, after all… it made sense. If it hadn’t been for Salem, would he have actually done it? There was no way of knowing and he liked to think he was rather better than that, but then he would certainly have been tempted.

Speaking of, would Oscar be better off in a school, he wondered. The boy didn’t have the same excuses Oz did, though that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t be a target. If only they weren’t brothers, if only Salem could be trusted to stay away.

Tip, several rooms away, couldn’t see Ironwood’s face as he mulled things over. If he had, he might have had even more second thoughts than he already had been regarding their friendship.

Making a decision, Ironwood resolved to ring the school in question. He didn’t really want to talk to them, but maybe his position as head of Atlas academy… and the Army… would be enough to get them to back down? It was such a silly issue, after all. What was one less student, compared to the danger they’d be in? Not, of course, that he would tell them that, though the mental image of the looks on the faces of the council members if they ever found out was rather amusing in itself. Clover might need to find a very deep hole if that happened, but then he might even deserve it at this point. Ironwood certainly wouldn’t be able to protect him.

He hit call.

The line was picked up by a helpful sounding young woman, who reacted rather predictably to the news that it was General Ironwood on the line. She sounded slightly overawed which was vaguely gratifying. Hopefully he could use this to get Oz out of the situation. It truly was rather ridiculous, after all. Oz was laughably unsuited for a primary school, he could probably pass the tests in his sleep. Not to mention exactly what the teachers would make of someone like him, he’d be their best student… but quite possibly also their very worst nightmare.

“General Ironwood? It’s an honour, sir, may I ask why you’re calling?”

“Ah yes, there seems to have been a mistake and my youngest ward appears to have been enrolled into your school. His name is Wintertip Pine, if you could remove him, that would be for the best.”

“Ah yes, I see his enrolment here. May I ask why you wish to remove him? The records state that he’s eleven, so he’s the right age for our school.”

“Tip is… rather too advanced for a primary school, I fear.” Ironwood sighed, uncertain just how to put it.

“I hate to tell you this sir, but the system won’t let us just unenroll your ward. He’d have to test out.” She really was sorry to say it, but it wasn’t like General Ironwood had been the first proud parent to try this stunt. Imagining him as a parent was rather strange, though. Poor boy.

Sighing, Ironwood arranged for the requisite test packets to be sent to Atlas. It looked like Oz would actually have to take the tests, but at least once it was done, he wouldn’t need to do it again.

Tip filled out the tests rather quickly, grumbling to himself. Thankfully, at this level, his way of writing probably wouldn't be noteworthy. He hoped.

He passed, of course, but that was hardly a surprise, as James said, he could take these in his sleep. He shouldn't have had to, but if it hadn't been Clover, then it might have been someone else. They had a point, the longer the paper trail went, the more proof he had that he was a legitimate citizen. Having more or less appeared out of nowhere according to the records, he needed all the help he could get in that regard.

Clover might need dealing with at some point soon, though. He wasn't actually a child and he really didn't appreciate this. He wondered if it might be an idea to take the tests to graduate high school, too, but as a physical eleven year old, that might gain him too much scrutiny. Besides, high school tests tended to be essay based and he was rather uncertain if he could word those in a way they would expect an actual child to sound like.

Ah well, he'd find out if he had to?

#deaged oz au #headmaster ozpin #rwby ozpin #professor ozpin #qrow branwen #james ironwood #clover ebi #clover ebi is not bright #james ironwood in dad mode #school #tip is annoyed

6 notes · View notes

agentnico · 4 months ago

Text

Boy Kills World (2024) review

Voice of Archer inside Pennywise’s ripped body… I was surprised he at no point screamed “LANAAAAA!!”

Plot: Boy is a mayhem machine who's been training to assassinate the bloodthirsty Hilda Van Der Koy and avenge his family's murder; guided by his sister's mischievous spirit, Boy uncovers one stunning revelation after another as he barrels toward Hilda.

Let’s get real - a cheese grater in a horror or gore film is simply the worst. Just the thought of it scraping away a hefty chunk of flesh is nothing short of skin crawling. Evil Dead Rise and now Boy Kills World - you guys are messed up. Nevertheless, we have another funky revenge action flick, a genre of which has seen a real resurgence since the success of the John Wick franchise. And it stars in the lead one of the eight Skarsgard siblings, though when you think action star you usually would pick Alexander. Bill up until now has carved out a niche as the best one to hire if you’re seeking a creepy vibe, be it the mysterious stranger in Barbarian or a killer clown in the IT films. However that changes with Boy Kills World, as Bill Skarsgard, rippling with muscles, plays the typical I-am-an-instrument-shaped-for-a-single-purpose; essentially a killing machine who disposes of his enemies in a variety of bloody styles (like a damn cheese grater!!).

This would have been a generic example of the revenge tropes, however the movie has an interesting stylistic choice in that Skarsgard’s character of Boy is a mute, so we get to hear his thoughts through a voice in his head, who happens to be the same voice as Archer from the FX cartoon series. I admire that the writers were trying out something new, but I must say as much as I enjoy H.J. Benjamin’s candescent voice, it did become over indulgent. It’s as if they were trying to imitate Deadpool’s fourth wall breaks and profanities, but without it being that funny. I also found it difficult to reconcile them as being the same person, as the mismatch of Bill Skarsgard’s physical performance with Benjamin’s voice was so stark that it became a distraction. Again though, I admire the creative effort.

The action sequences are hyper stylised and fun, with plenty of CGI blood splattering about and the camera zooming in and out of the action like it’s high on cocaine. The cast all seem to be having lots of fun, with the likes of Sharlto Copley, Michelle Dockery and Brett Gelman giving energetic cartoony performances, and overall I enjoyed it. The story is as by the numbers as you can expect, and 99% of what you see on-screen has been done thousands of times before. I liked the plot twist at the end though it was no M. Night Shyamalan, and in the end, it was a decent way to disengage the brain. Will I remember it though? No chance! Minus a point also for boy not actually killing a whole world. Like I get that they didn’t have the biggest budget, but don’t give false promises in your title.

Overall score: 5/10

4 notes · View notes

kanerallels · 2 years ago

Note

Galen and Saville modern au!

This was actually INCREDIBLY fun to write and also INCREDIBLY LONG so here you go! And here it is on AO3

(tw for a little gore/mentions of death)

@lucilliantpearl @magpie-trove I really really hope you guys don't mind if I tag you guys-- since you're the only people I know who love Valiant, I figured why not? Feel free to ignore this, though!

Galen Verras had worked a lot of strange cases in his time working as a US Marshall. Mysterious deaths and kidnappings and every kind of horror imaginable.

But this one was particularly confusing to his superior officers. The gang that had been tormenting the city of Reggen for the past few months— known, rather unoriginally, as the Giants, thanks to the massive size of most of their recruits— had held up another store. Every time this had happened previously, there had been a shooting and at least one death, if not more. Galen had lost count of the amount of crime scenes he’d arrived at to find a dead body and the same symbol carved into the victim’s skin— a crown made of bones.

But this time was different. Galen had reviewed the security footage a hundred times, and it hadn’t made any more sense any of the times. Even now, as he replayed in his head while he drove, it confused him.

The shop itself had been small, and the security cameras hadn’t worked. So the only footage they had was from a camera outside. Over and over, Galen had watched the same thing— the two recruits, both carrying weapons, went inside. Through the windows, a struggle could barely be made out, until another person entered the shop.

Not ten minutes later, the customers inside came streaming out, along with the boy who’d been hurt in the struggle. Paramedics had arrived on the scene, as had Galen himself about half an hour later. There was no sign of the two recruits, no injuries other than the boy, and no money missing from the shop.

All the witnesses gave their statements, and they all led one way— the young woman who’d come into the shop. According to the witnesses, she had distracted them from their target, scaring off the recruits somehow.

Galen had seen this gang operate before. Some girl was not likely to scare them off.

So what exactly had happened?

This was what he was on his way to find out, taking his slightly shabby car into the clothing district in Reggen to find one Saville Gramton, who was supposed to be the young woman who’d scared off the gang members. Supposedly, she lived with her father above his sewing shop.

He spotted the sign saying “Tailor”, hanging proudly from the storefront, and pulled off to the side of the road to park. As he got out of the car, he took a moment to prepare himself, mentally. If this woman really had somehow terrified two gang members, then Galen needed to be ready. Either way, there was some piece of the puzzle he was missing. The only question was what it was.

Crossing the street, he moved to the small door and knocked. It was a long minute before the door swung open.

“We’re clos—”

The woman who answered it froze, her eyes locking onto Galen’s for just a moment. I know her, he realized. Somehow, I know her. But the memory refused to emerge from the depths of his brain, and he decided to keep moving despite it.

“Miss Gramton? I’m Federal Marshal Galen Verras,” he told her calmly, tapping a hand against the badge clipped to his belt. Her gaze flicked to it, then narrowed very slightly.

He’d seen that look before, on a hundred different witnesses or criminals who were preparing to lie, to protect themselves in whatever way necessary— and he meant whatever.

Generally speaking, those witnesses weren’t girls who probably weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet, though. Saying the woman was slight was an understatement, and Galen had to wonder for the thousandth time how she’d managed to fight off two members of the most vicious gang in the city.

“Can I help you?” she said warily.

“Hopefully, yes,” Galen told her. “I’m here about a robbery that happened a few streets down from her, in Tomas Mardon’s bakery. Do you know it?”

“A little,” she said vaguely. “I go there every now and then.”

Lie. An interview with Tomas had confirmed that Miss Gramton was a frequent visitor, although Galen had gotten the feeling the man wasn’t telling them everything, either. “I see,” he said. “And were you there yesterday afternoon, around three?”

She hesitated, and Galen could see the debate going on in her eyes. He found himself wondering what he would do, too. Would he let the lie keep going, or would he push harder?

“Sir? Who’s at the door?”

Miss Gramton’s eyes widened as a boy hobbled around the corner, using a crutch to hold himself upright. Galen knew this boy, and he even knew where from. Flipping through his memory, he said, “Will, right? It’s Marshal Verras, from the bakery yesterday. I was there after you were hurt.”

The boy paused, glancing at Miss Gramton, and Galen did the same. Her eyes said she was trapped, and they both knew it. Calmly, Galen said, “Why don’t you let me in, and we’ll talk about this?”

Letting out a sigh, she nodded. “Fine.”

Stepping back, Miss Gramton led the way into the shop— which was small, but the tables covered in fabric and a box containing thread, needles, and shears spoke of enough customers to live comfortably enough— and into a back room that held a table and a few chairs. There was a small stove in the corner, near a small refrigerator and a few cupboards.

Miss Gramton took her seat, nodding for Galen to do the same. Will sat next to her, looking back and forth between them like he was waiting for his companion to lunge for Galen’s throat. Which, judging by her glare, wasn’t entirely possible.

There was a short silence, and Galen took the opportunity to study Saville Gramton. She was small, but had a steely sort of strength about her, although that could have just been her scowl. Her short-cropped hair was fair, her jaw square, and her eyes a blue-gray that held Galen’s defiantly.

There was something distinctly captivating about them, too, as she studied him right back, but that was hardly relevant at the time.

Folding his hands on top of the table, he said, “It was you at the bakery yesterday, then? Wasn’t it?”

“It was.”

Galen frowned. “And yet, you chose not to remain with the witnesses. You ran off, instead of staying to be interviewed. Technically, I could charge you with obstruction of justice.”

“Are you going to?”

Not a hint of fear in her voice, although Galen knew she had to be concerned. He couldn’t help but admire it, even though he knew it would make things harder. Letting out a sigh, he said, “I would like it if I didn’t have to. But for that to happen, I need your side of the story.” His gaze flicking to Will, he added, “And more of an explanation here as to what exactly is going on here. But let’s start with the robbery, and what happened to those gang members. Did you kill them?”

Miss Gramton’s eyebrows shot up, and she let out an incredulous laugh. “You think I killed two gang members twice my size?”

Galen couldn’t hold back the slightest twitch of a smile. “Not exactly, but it couldn’t be ruled out.”

He was fairly certain rolling one’s eyes at a Federal Marshal was a bad idea, but that didn’t stop her. “I didn’t kill them. They left. Not dead, gone. I needed to chase them off, so I did. That’s all.”

And there was something so familiar about that intonation that Galen was absolutely positive that he knew her. He knew her from somewhere, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was. He was about to ask if he knew her when Will piped up.

“Are you going to arrest Sir?”

Galen blinked, confused. “Who?”

Nodding at Miss Gramton, Will said, “That’s what I call her. So… are you?”

“I’d prefer it if I didn’t have to,” Galen said steadily. “But first I’m going to need to ask her some questions. That should help the situation.” He turned his gaze to Miss Gramton. “So. What can you tell me? Start from the beginning, if you can.”

After a brief hesitation, she started speaking. Galen listened intently as she told him how her father had suffered a terrible injury, and was currently in the hospital on life support. How she’d been forced to keep the family business going on her own, keeping up the pretense that it was her father doing the work so she could keep the customers he’d garnered with his reputation, and find a few of her own with her work.

She hadn’t meant to throw things into such disarray by picking a fight with the gang. All Saville had been trying to do was protect Will. And in doing so, she’d tricked two men working for the most dangerous man in the city.

It didn’t take a genius to guess how he’d respond to this. The Duke— the leader of the gang— would be offended, at best. At worst, he would be out for blood. The best thing to do would be to take both Will and Miss Gramton into protective custody, Galen knew.

But there was the complication of Will’s legal situation— he was in a group home, Saville had told him, and came here to get away from time to time— and the fact that Galen wasn’t sure he could trust everyone around him. With Cinnan being put on administrative leave indefinitely, and Leymonn in his place, he didn’t have anyone to consult about the legality of the situation, and he wasn’t sure Leymonn wouldn’t use it against him somehow.

He was alone. Sure, he had allies, but Galen missed the days when he had someone with him who he trusted to watch his back, who helped him be better and work better.

It had been a long time since those days. Long enough that Galen was used to being on his own. But that didn’t mean he liked it.

“What’s going to happen next?”

Miss Gramton’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and he glanced at her. She was still wearing that fierce expression, like she was ready to do battle. But even she couldn’t take on an entire gang on her own.

“You’ve upset some powerful people, Miss Gramton,” he told her. “So I’d like to put both you and Will in protective custody. I have… a friend you can stay with.” Lissa wouldn’t like it, and Eldin would be Eldin about it. But they were the closest thing to people he could trust that he had left.

“I can’t just leave,” she protested. “This is my life. And if I leave, I won’t be able to pay our debts. The landlord—”

“I’ll handle your landlord,” Galen said firmly. “For now, we get you to safety. Both of you. Then we handle the next steps.”

She didn’t speak for a long moment, her eyes distrustful and worried. “I know you don’t trust me,” Galen told her. For whatever reason, it felt right to be honest with her, like her blue-gray eyes would see through whatever comforting lies he offered her. “And I can’t blame you. But I can promise to do everything in my power to keep you two safe, and to bring the men who hurt Will to justice.”

The last part settled it. He could see it in her face, in the resolved set of her jaw. “Alright,” she said. “Tell me what we need to do.”

Galen nodded, mentally gathering himself for the battle with Leymonn and his other superiors ahead. It would be hard— it always was— but the glance he took at Saville gave him a strange sense of comfort. Her glare was battle-ready, and he realized he might have another ally in this fight after all.

She couldn’t do much, he knew. But it was comforting all the same.

#thanks for the ask!!#valiant sarah mcguire #galen verras #saville gramton #will (valiant)#(if anyone can remember his last name let me know)#modern au #justified inspired au #if anyone who reads this actually knows what justified is. what. how #(amazing show can't not recommend it enough)#writing stories is a kind of magic too

5 notes · View notes

cyancherub · 3 years ago

Text

aftertouch

this is PART ONE of the FIVE PART HORROR miniseries WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING.

itadori yuuji x reader x sukuna

dynamic // yuuji x fem!reader x sukuna

genre // smut + horror

aged up characters (25+)

heavy nsfw + dc, minors do not interact

part one word count // 12.8k

playlist // to devour

header by @dilf-uc thank u sora my beloved !!!!!

DO NOT POST MY WORK ON TIKTOK.

SERIES SUMMARY

a killer is ravaging the streets of your once-peaceful town. will your new roommate protect you from the nightmares that exist both in your head and out of it?

WARNINGS FOR PART ONE (please read)

horror + general cw - graphic imagery, nightmares; mentions and descriptions of gore, death, and cannibalism; reader smokes

nsfw cw - sexual tension, teasing, foreplay, marking/biting, begging, strength kink, dry humping, breath play, clit slaps, fingering, edging, rough sex, manhandling, nipple play, masturbation (m) (ish), oral (f! receiving), mating press, pussy job (ish), spit kink, praise kink, overstimulation, creampie

full text

It’s late October, the day is gray, and the sidewalk is empty.

It’s eerie, the way the leaves crunch underfoot just a little too loudly — the only sound in the air aside from your own footsteps. You suppose it’s been this way for a while now. Desolate. Ever since the killings started.

You glance over your shoulder, just to make sure no one’s following.

You really shouldn’t be out by yourself. That’s what the news reports all said, anyway: don’t go out alone. Don’t go out at night. Don’t live alone, not if you can help it.

The killer targets young women, especially those who live all alone. He breaks into their homes and takes them.

And then they turn up god knows where, with pieces of them missing. Pieces — chunks of their flesh gone, torn away. Some of the victims appear with handprints everywhere: large vestiges of cruelty littering their lifeless skin. And then there are the bite marks: deep and visceral, marring brutalized flesh. So many bites that there’s barely ever an inch of skin left untouched.

You glance backward again, just for good measure.

You shouldn’t be thinking about this. No use for mass hysteria, one reporter had said. Take precautions and you’ll be fine. We’re looking for him. We’ll find him.

You pick up your pace, digging in the recesses of your pocket, with your lips pursed around an unlit cigarette. It takes your numb, jittery fingers a second to grasp the lighter.

You cup a shaky hand over the cigarette between your lips, shielding it from the harsh wind. It’s been cold and dry lately; the air is so brutal, so bone-chilling and stripped, that your lips have scabbed over from splitting so many times.

They taste like blood every time you run your tongue over them.

You flick the lighter, hold the flame to the end of the cigarette until it ignites. You take a drag the same second it catches, feeling some of your stress subside as soon as you do — your body’s conditioned response.

Take precautions and you’ll be fine.

You’re trying to take precautions. You’ve been trying, to no avail. This is a last-ditch effort.

When you lift your arm to check your watch, you realize that you’re going to be late. That’s alright. You slow your pace, just slightly; you’ll give yourself a little more time with the lifeline between your lips.

☽☽☽☽☽

You’re only halfway finished with your cigarette by the time you make it to the cafe. But this should be enough to get you through — enough to take the edge off. Just enough, though. You drop its remains to the ground, crush them to ash under your foot, and open the door to the cafe.

If you hadn’t recognized the man you’re meeting by his strangely colored hair, you’d recognize him by the fact that he’s the only person in here — aside from the waitress, who’s typing away at her phone near the kitchen.

But he doesn’t notice you. Not yet, at least, because he’s sitting with his back to the door. That seems like such an odd choice to you. Such a vulnerable choice. You’d have chosen to sit on the other side, where you could keep an eye on the door of the cafe.

“Itadori?” you say, a little early — still approaching him from behind.

He looks back over his shoulder, wide-eyed, and gulps down a big, hurried bite of whatever he’s eating. Then he’s leaping to his feet, turning toward you.

“Y/n?”

“That’s me,” you say, extending a hand.

“You can call me Yuuji,” the stranger says genially, shaking your hand. His hand is large around yours. Rough and warm.

Warmth — you feel like it’s been a while since you’ve felt that. Everything has been dark and cold. Every surface you touch has been frigid, lifeless. You’re just realizing that now.

Yuuji’s handshake is as enthusiastic and exuberant as his smile. You’re almost sad when he lets go of your hand.

He gestures cheerfully to the bench opposite him and waits for you to sit before he does the same. You take off your scarf and he watches, taking a big gulp of his drink.

“Do you want something?” he smiles.

“Well,” you shrug. “I don’t want to put you out or anyth—”

But Yuuji’s already turning to call the waitress over, waving cheerily in her direction.

You’re struck by his demeanor. It’s too bright. It doesn’t fit, not here in this town — not with everything that’s happened. Darkness is the only thing that resides here; the sun abandoned this place long ago. Gloom fills the streets, stalks under the gray clouds that obscure the moon each night. No one is supposed to be happy. No one is supposed to be cheerful. Fear: that’s all anyone has known for the past six months. No one is allowed to feel anything else.

And that’s why, instantly, you take to him. Maybe that brightness is so out of place that it’s uncanny. But it’s so nice to look at the person across from you and realize that he hasn’t yet been consumed by the horror of the present. To you, it’s like seeing the sun after months of rain. You’re basking in it.

You’re so engrossed in the energy of his movements — your own so lackluster in comparison — that you completely miss what he orders for you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say, watching the waitress walk off.

“Oh,” he says quizzically. “I didn’t say I was gonna pay for it.”

You blink at him in confusion.

“I’m just kidding!” he laughs. “Of course I’ll pay for it.”

“Oh.” The joke is so ridiculous that you find yourself bursting into laughter. It’s the first time you’ve laughed in so long that the sound of it is almost strange — unfamiliar.

And now you’re even smiling over the table at him, matching his wide grin with your own, charmed. The first source of happiness you’ve found in this town in a long, long time.

“So, about your ad,” he’s saying, already moving onto the next topic of conversation — the cadence of his words quick and comfortable, like you’ve known each other for years. “I know you wanted a girl as a roommate, and I wasn’t trying to be weird by answering it or anything —”

“That’s alright,” you shrug. “The ad’s been up for a while now. Ever since… ever since, you know…”

You trail off, completing the thought in your head. Ever since the killings started ramping up, and I realized how dangerous it is for me to live on my own. And now I’m desperate, because no one wants to move into a new place, and there’s a fucking killer on the loose. One who might come crawling through my bedroom window one of these nights. And no one will be in the next room over to hear me scream for help.

You consider saying it, but you don’t want your desperation to scare him off. And saying it would make the whole thing seem too real, anyway. So, instead, you just let the unfinished sentence dangle in the air.

“No bites so far?” asks Yuuji. You watch as he gulps down the rest of his food eagerly.

Bites. What an awful word to use. You can’t hear it without thinking of those flesh wounds piercing the victims’ bodies. You can’t hear it without imagining incisors digging deep, so deep they puncture skin. And the teeth don’t stop there; they dig deeper and deeper still, not stopping until they reveal flesh, blood, gristle, bone.

You cringe, but Yuuji’s just looking at you innocently as he awaits a response.

“Nope. None so far,” you say. “Except yours, of course.”

“Sorry,” he laughs bashfully. “I know there’s a lot of bad stuff going on. I know it’s a weird time for some strange guy to message you. But I just figured… I need a place, and the rent is so cheap. It couldn’t hurt to try.”

Yuuji’s right about the rent being cheap. You’d dropped the price ridiculously low, trying to lure someone in. At this point, you’d pay someone to move in with you.

“Don’t worry about it,” you shrug. “I probably would’ve done the same if I were you.”

There’s a smile on his face. It’s open, friendly, and entirely non-threatening — the same smile he was wearing in his profile picture when he answered your ad. It’s that smile that had you thinking, Maybe a guy roommate is okay. He seems alright.

Yuuji’s talking about the job market now; apparently, it took him some time to find a job after he moved to town a while ago.

“What do you do?” you ask.

“I’m here and there,” he says brightly, lacing his fingers together. “Construction, mostly.”

You glance at his hands; they’re covered in scratches and bruises, a mess of fading colors.

“What’s with the bruises?”

“Boxing,” he says. “Just a hobby. It’s dangerous out there. Gotta stay safe.”

You nod, looking at his knuckles. His hands are big, calloused and rough — the kind that could knock a guy’s teeth out. Considering the scars littering his knuckles, they probably have before.

When you meet his eyes, you realize he’s been watching you study his hands. He looks mildly amused.

“Boxing,” you repeat. You’re reevaluating him — looking at him in a different light, now that this new information is on the table. You narrow your eyes, scrutinizing him. He’s not a huge guy, but he’s decently big. You bet he’s well-built under the hoodie. Maybe you can get a bodyguard out of this, and not just a roommate. “That’s pretty cool.”

Who better to have the next room over?

He shrugs, smiling genially. “It’s fun. What about you? What do you do for work?”

“I work for Sunny Hill Gazette.” Where I hear every single detail about this nightmare of a case, you’d add, if you weren’t so hesitant to darken his cheerful mood.

“Smart girl.”

“Oh, no,” you say, frazzled. “I’m not a journalist or anything. I’m just a receptionist.”

You don’t know if he was flirting with you just now; it was probably said innocently. Then again, the mischief in his tone and the little smile on his face say otherwise.

Either way, the unexpected praise has your stomach in knots. It’s been a while since you’ve had this kind of human interaction. You can barely even remember the last date you went on.

Not that this is a date, of course.

Yuuji smiles, throwing an arm over the back of the bench. “I’m still impressed,” he says. “All my brain’s good for is telling my body what to do,” he laughs. “I bet you hear some gruesome stuff, though.”

You nod. “Honestly, I would’ve quit forever ago if I wasn’t struggling to make rent.”

He looks at you sympathetically.

As if he knows just what you need — a distraction — he launches into a spiel about the woes of working construction. Lazy co-workers, short-term contracts, a shitty boss. Somehow, he manages to put a positive spin on everything, to turn it humorous. It takes your mind off of the killings, at least for the moment.

Time in this cafe seems nonexistent; you don’t know how much has passed when the waitress comes to set your food on the table.

Yuuji continues to chatter away as you bite into the wrap he ordered for you. It’s much better than you expected, and for the first time in forever, you actually have an appetite. You wolf it down, only pausing to cover your mouth and laugh when he says something funny.

As you eat, you find yourself soothed by the atmosphere of the cafe. In the warm light, with the gloom outside held at bay (the rain and cold stopping just short at the windows, instead of consuming you, for once), you feel safe.

It’s so nice to feel safe.

Soon, you’re finishing off your wrap as Yuuji pilfers fries off of your tray. You find it endearing, so you push the tray forward and pick at them with him.

But, inevitably, you find your thoughts wandering back to the killer. There’s no escaping him; he’s always hiding in your mind somewhere, waiting to devour any sliver of happiness that happens to find you.

“It’s crazy, what’s happening out there,” you say, looking out at the empty street. For a moment, your mind casts the street in darkness. You imagine, under the sinister cover of the night, a man dragging a girl down the fire escape across the street. In your head, she kicks and screams, clawing at his arms.

“Yeah,” Yuuji agrees. When you look back to him, he’s frowning, slightly pale. “It’s fucked up.”

You nod; you’re thinking about your apartment now. The darkness that fills the place every night after you turn out the lights. It gets heavier as time goes on, like more things are lurking there. You don’t even get a reprieve from the horror as you sleep — because the killer stalks your dreams, too, terrorizing your unconscious mind.

The nightmares plague you almost every night, nonsensical and gory.

“I can see why you’re looking for a roommate,” Yuuji’s saying. “It must be scary to be on your own.”

“Yeah.”

Dejectedly, you look down at your empty tray. You know this meeting is coming to an end. The prospect of leaving this place and losing this company — this warmth — is utterly gut-wrenching. Your apartment seems suddenly sinister and cold — as if something evil took up residence there while you were gone, and is now waiting for you to return.

Move in with me. For a moment, the words are at the tip of your tongue.

You allow yourself a desperate little fantasy; you imagine him coming home with you, warming up the entire place. You know the dark wouldn’t feel as suffocating with him there. But, as much as you want to drag him home with you right now, you didn’t come here with the intention of inviting him into your home right away. This meeting was just to test the waters.

You hadn’t anticipated being drawn to him this fast.

The waitress drops the check off at the table, and the fantasy dissipates. As much as you like him, you need to give it a little more time. You have to be cautious.

“Thank you,” you say as he grabs the check. “I think I’m going to wait a little longer. Maybe see if I get any other responses to the ad.”

“Yeah, okay,” Yuuji nods, good-natured. “I appreciate you meeting with me.”

You feel guilty, watching him count bills to put them in the check presenter. But he doesn’t seem to mind, still well-disposed as he downs the rest of his soda and stands, shoving his wallet into his back pocket.

“How about I walk you to your car?” he asks.

“I walked here,” you say sheepishly. It definitely wasn’t a smart move, but you didn’t realize the streets would be empty as they were. You’d just been craving some sunlight.

Not that you’d ended up getting any.

“I can walk you home?” he offers.

You’ve seen too many stalker films to allow him to walk you all the way, but maybe he can walk you halfway back.

“Okay,” you agree.

You feel comforted as you walk out of the restaurant behind him. He’s like an unlikely guard dog. A mastiff, maybe — some breed with a sweet face and sharp teeth.

He does have a sweet face; you keep peeking up at it as he walks beside you with his hands in his pockets, a light blush on his cheeks from the cold.

He catches you staring. “What?” he asks coyly.

You clear your throat, laughing. “Nothing,” you say, reminding yourself that this entire thing was just a meeting. Not a date.

It’s chilly out. Time really did disappear, back in the cafe. The sun will set soon; you’re grateful that he’s here beside you, walking you back. You’re grateful that you’re not an easy target.

He makes you feel so safe that you let him walk you almost all the way home. Just in case, you stop the street before yours. Just in case.

Guiltily, you look up at him and say, “Well, I can make it the rest of the way back, I think.”

“Okay,” he shrugs amiably.

You shift from one foot to the other. “Yuuji,” you blurt suddenly. “Can I have your number?”

He grins. “Yeah. Of course.”

“I meant for the apartment,” you say, fully aware that you could just as well message him on the site where you put the ad up. “In case I don’t get any other responses, I’ll call you.”

He agrees, pulls out his phone, and the two of you exchange numbers.

When it’s all done, you have a strange compulsion to hug him — drawn in like a moth to a lantern. He pauses for a second when you wrap your arms around him, surprised. But he reciprocates quickly, pulls you tighter against him.

It’s odd — two strangers embracing in the middle of the desolate sidewalk. You know it’s odd, but you don’t care. You just want to soak up what warmth you can. You’ll store it up for the days ahead, because you know that they will be — inevitably — lonely, terrifying, and cold.

You pull back after too long, embarrassed.

He’s a little stunned, but smiling. Blushing.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” you say sheepishly.

“Any time,” he says. “It was fun.”

“Yeah,” you say woefully. “I’ll be in touch.”

He nods. “Get home safe, okay?”

“I will.”

His warmth lasts you the rest of the walk to your apartment.

☽☽☽☽☽

Another death today.

It’s been two weeks since your meeting with Yuuji, and the killings have gotten more frequent. No one else has answered your ad.

The reporter talking on the television is a young woman whose face you’ve seen several times a week for the past six months. You wonder if she’s always looked this old. This tired. She can’t be much older than you, but it’s clear that these past six months have chewed her up and spit her out, the maw of a hungry beast.

The wind whips the reporter’s hair against her face. It sticks to her lips. They’re chapped, just like yours. You can see her nails every time she pauses to move the hair out of her face. They’re horribly short, chewed down to the quick. Crusted with blood.

She’s standing at the riverbank. There’s a thin layer of brown slush where the murky water meets the land. The sky is dark; the sun is hidden away, tucked behind the clouds — a well-kept secret.

There was still sun this time last year. This year is much darker than the last, colder.

The body was found right here on the riverbank.

The coffee in your mug tastes acrid. It’s murky, like the river.

You imagine that you can see a red tinge to the slush behind the reporter. For a split second, you can even visualize a body floating there on the banks of the river. It’s a gruesome apparition: washed ashore, green and bloated. The flesh eaten away. Most of it by the killer, of course, who left his rotten leftovers to be consumed by the things that come up from the depths of the river to feed.

The remaining flesh was covered in marks.

Bite marks. Bruises. Handprints. At this point, it’s predictable. Tired.

What was left of the remains were identified as belonging to the woman who disappeared some time ago from her apartment on 15th Street.

You feel your blood run cold. It all drains from your face, leaves your skin numb. Your mouth is dry, but you swallow anyway. 15th Street — just one street over.

She lived alone. The neighbors notified the police that they hadn’t seen her for some time. The police found her bedroom window smashed. There was dried blood on the windowsill. It was presumed that she had been dragged through the glass.

The killer could’ve walked just a little further, could’ve stalked up your street instead. He could’ve dragged you, kicking and screaming, through the jagged glass of your broken window. He still can.

Maybe you’re next.

That’s now one body found practically every other day, says the reporter.

Every other day. Maybe, the day after tomorrow, the killer will come through your window, and you’ll feel his teeth on your skin.

Every other day, she repeats.

It feels like a death sentence. A ticking time bomb.

You lose your tenuous grip on your mug, and it falls to the carpet, hitting the ground with a muted thump. Numbly, you look down at the coffee seeping from the mug. It stains the carpet, soaks into it. It’s evening, and that was your third cup of the day — an unsuccessful attempt to feel, for once, awake. Alive. Nightmares rob you of your sleep almost every night; lack of rest keeps you foggy during the day. Not that your waking hours are any less of a nightmare.

No matter how much coffee you drink, you can’t erase the exhaustion that’s settled deep in your bones.

Please stay safe, the reporter says wearily, as the coffee bleeds into the carpet by your feet. Do what you can to protect yourself.

You’re already grasping your phone in your shaking hand and tapping to a familiar name. The emergency broadcast cuts off abruptly, and then the evening news resumes. The man in the center of the screen smiles wearily at the camera.

In other news, he’s saying, the Sunny Hill Association welcomes you to claim a plot at the new community garden. A false, unnatural smile twists up his lips. Footage of the community garden starts to roll. It’s pathetic and gray; the flowers are wilting, the vegetables small and bruised.

You raise your phone to your ear as it rings, praying for an answer.

It comes after several rings.

“Hello?”

A bright voice, just the one you were hoping for. As soon as you hear it, relief floods your body.

“Yuuji?” you croak.

“Y/n,” he says, recognizing your voice immediately, the enthusiasm clear through the line. “What’s up? How are you?”

“Great,” you lie weakly. You might as well cut the bullshit. Get right to it. “Are you still looking for a place?” you ask abruptly.

“Oh,” he says. You can hear the confusion in his voice for a second; quickly, it’s replaced by eagerness. “Yeah, actually. I am.”

You look out the living room window. Night is beginning to fall, and the gray light filtering in gets dimmer by the second. Darkness comes earlier and earlier each night, swallowing the day whole.

Momentarily, you wonder if tonight will be the night that the killer comes to eat you whole. To rend your flesh from your bones. To devour.

And if not tonight, will it be tomorrow night?

“Can you move in tomorrow?” you ask hurriedly.

“Tomorrow?” he says, surprised. “That’s so soon.”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.” You’re too tired to offer an explanation, so you just punctuate your sentence with a shaky breath.

There’s a moment of pensive silence.

“Yuuji. Please,” you croak. “I’ll waive the rent for —”

“What?” he laughs. “Are you crazy? Don’t do that. I’ll try to pack my stuff tonight, alright? And I’ll be there tomorrow.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Okay. Thank you.”

☽☽☽☽☽

“That’s all of it?” you ask anxiously, watching Yuuji manhandle a box through the doorframe of what’s now his room.

You glance quickly out the living room window; the gloom outside is building, a pale blue. Night still won’t fall for a few more hours, but you don’t want him to leave, even if he has more to move. You want him to be settled. To be here, in case you need him.

“That’s it,” Yuuji says genially, setting the box down on the floor of his room. It’s a big box, heavy — you could tell that from the way his fingers dug into the cardboard at the bottom of it as he carried it. But, still, he seemed to lift it with so little effort. He’d moved everything easily, denying you every time you’d offered help.

He must be a lot stronger than he looks.

Not that he doesn’t look strong. You were right, back at the cafe. He is well-built. Lean, but strong. Powerful but lithe, like a fighter should be. You can see it through his clothes. His pants are baggy, but his shirt is light and thin, and it’s clinging to the sweat on his chest and stomach.

You’re relieved he’s here, especially now that you have a better idea of his physical abilities. He walks into the living room; you track him closely with your eyes, as if he’ll disappear if you lose sight of him. You need him here, have to make sure he stays, because you need him to protect you from the evil that lurks in the dark.

You don’t care that he plops onto the couch in the living room covered in sweat; at this point, he could do whatever he wanted, and you’d just thank him for being here.

“Perfect,” you say, delayed.

Now that he’s here with you — now that he’s moved in and settled — you know it’s psychological, but the gloom outside seems to recede. The apartment lights seem a little brighter, a little more intense; the glass on the windows feels a little thicker, the lock on the front door stronger.

Safe. This is exactly how you should feel in your own home. You’d forgotten what that’s like.

Yuuji plops onto the couch, lifting the bottom of his shirt up to wipe the sweat off of his face. You catch a glimpse of his stomach; it’s well-defined. Sweat snakes down his abs. It’s frigid in the apartment, but, still, he’s warm.

Yuuji drops his shirt, then looks up at you. Catches you staring. “What’s up?” he smiles.

“Oh, nothing,” you laugh nonsensically, slightly flustered. “Want some water?”

“Sure.”

He reclines on the couch; you fill a glass of water and bring it to him, sitting a little too close.

“Thanks,” he says, accepting the glass from you with a bright smile. “I was wondering where you keep these.”

“Top right, next to the fridge,” you laugh. You don’t even know why you’re laughing; you’re just so relieved that it’s making you giddy.

“Perfect,” he says, before gulping the water down.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you blurt, watching him drink.

You know that you shouldn’t be so frank, that you shouldn’t be sitting so close, that you shouldn’t be acting so overeager. You’re overstepping boundaries; you barely even know him. He’s only just moved in. And you definitely don’t want to weird him out, because you need him here. But you’re feeling comfortable, warm for the first time in ages, and you’re realizing how desperately you’ve been craving human connection.

“Me too,” he says, licking the water off his lips. “The rent was super high at my other place. And,” he says, smiling at you, “I’ve been hoping you’d call me back ever since the cafe.”-

“Because of the apartment?”

“Yeah, that too,” he laughs. “But nah. What I mean is, I think you’re cute.”

You sit there awkwardly, taken aback by how blunt he is. How frank. He’s just looking at you, unabashed and smiling.

“Oh,” you say. “Really?”

“Really. I’ve been wondering what the scoop is with you,” he smiles.

The scoop. You laugh. “Is that a newspaper joke?”

“Yeah, of course it is, Smarty Pants,” he teases.

“Well, I’m flattered,” you laugh. “I mean, you always could’ve called me if you wanted.”

He shrugs. “I thought about asking you out, but I didn’t want to creep you out or anything. Especially with everything… going on.”

“It’s not creepy,” you say, flustered. “You can still ask me out if you want.”

He grins boyishly. “Maybe I should ask you in? Considering we live together now.”

You’re beguiled by his charm, soaking it in after so long in the gloom.

An impromptu “date” with him, here in the apartment. You’re considering it. Would it be weird? Especially now that he’s living with you? Maybe, but you find yourself drawn closer and closer to him by the moment. The more you think about it, the nicer it seems.

“If you want, I mean,” he shrugs. “And it’s no hard feelings if you’re not into it, you know? Since we live together and all.”

“I’d like to go… in, actually,” you say sheepishly. “Like you said. I think it sounds nice.”

“Oh, great,” he pipes. “Should we put on a movie later or something?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Definitely.”

“Are you an early sleeper?”

“Generally, yeah,” you say. “Why?”

“Just wondering when we should put the movie on,” he says.

“Anytime is fine.”

“Lemme shower first, though,” he says, rising from the couch. “I’ll pick you up from your room at 8?” he teases.

☽☽☽☽☽

The pale, dying evening light filters in through the window, bathing the couch in twilight. You and Yuuji are already settled in, having eaten the takeout that he’d ordered beforehand. You’re slightly buzzed on a beer he cracked open for you, and you feel nice.

He’s scrolling through channels with one arm tossed lazily over the back of the couch.

“What do you want to watch?” he asks.

“Anything is fine,” you respond, laying a blanket out over yourself. You toss one over to him, and he sets it aside. “I really don’t mind,” you say.

Really, you don’t. You’re just grateful that he’s here; you couldn’t care less what he puts on for the two of you to watch. It’s enough that, for once, you’re not terrified to sit in the dark of your own apartment, worrying about who might be lurking in the shadows.

You’re content, watching him scroll through the channels.

“Alright,” he says brightly. “I’ll pick something good, I promise.”

“Great. Just nothing scary, okay?”

He peeks over at you curiously. His eyes are big and bright in the dying light, the blue of the TV dancing across his face. “I gotcha,” he laughs, grinning. “But you know I’ll protect you, right?”

You feel your stomach twist. He’d said it jokingly, but it’s just what you’d needed to hear. “Thank you,” you say.

“You like action movies?”

“That sounds good.”

“Great,” he pipes.

The movie opens with an intense scene of a car chase.

Outside, rain starts to fall, pattering against the glass of the window. You can smell him beside you, the soap on his skin from his shower. It’s a masculine smell, distinct. You find it comforting. And there’s something else about it, too.

It’s addicting, you think. Intoxicating.

The movie progresses. It’s not your kind of film, but that’s fine. All you can think about is him, his protective presence beside you. The heat coming off his body.

You adjust under your blanket, wrapping it tighter around yourself.

“It’s kind of cold in here, isn’t it?” Yuuji asks.

When you look over and up at him, his eyes are raking over your wrapped-up form. You know exactly what he’s doing, asking you that. It is cold, but he doesn’t even have a blanket over him; he’s just splayed out beside you in sweats and a hoodie.

He’s just trying to get you closer.

“Yeah,” you laugh sheepishly. “I don’t turn the heat on very high. It’s a habit. To save money, you know?”

“You can come closer if you wanna get warm,” he smiles. “I’m not gonna bite.”

There it is. And you’re going with it, playing along, with your stomach full of butterflies.

So you oblige, scooting close to him on the couch. He adjusts for you, props his arm up on the back of the couch so you can push your body up against his. The rush of warmth hits you; pleasure floods your limbs just from the proximity. You drop your head onto his shoulder, resting your hand lazily on his stomach. It’s easy to feel all of the ridges of muscle under his hoodie, his lean body — hard and powerful. He wraps an arm around you, envelops you in warmth. Pulls you closer.

Your stomach feels tight. It’s been a while since you’ve felt anticipation like this. You want him, crave him; it’s an intense desire. A hunger.

Before you really know what you’re doing, you’re slipping your hand under his shirt. You touch him, feel his stomach under your fingertips: firm, hot. His abdomen rises and falls as he breathes, steady under your splayed fingertips.

The movie plays for a few tense minutes. His fingers toy with the edge of your shirt lazily, warmth seeping through the fabric and onto your skin. His heat is addicting — a drug. You move your hand lower on his stomach, just slightly. And then, with a hurriedness that tells you he can’t restrain himself anymore, Yuuji slides his hand up your shirt.

You shudder at the first touch, his hand burning hot on your skin. It’s been so long since you’ve felt a touch like this — you need it.

“You’re okay?” he asks, breathy. It’s barely a question; just a few hasty, murmured words. You can hear the anticipation lacing his words, under the sounds of the movie that you’re watching with glassy eyes.

You nod, feel his fingers move over your stomach — exploring. He moves them lower, runs them lightly — teasingly — over your waistband, laughs softly when you gasp.

You’re breathing hard, feeling his fingers travel upward. They keep getting more curious, more eager. He covers every inch of your skin: squeezing, groping. And you want more, so much…

“More,” you murmur, hazy.

Yuuji pulls you onto his lap roughly, facing outward, slipping both hands under your shirt. His dick is already hard beneath you, pressing up against you. You feel his lips brush your neck; his breaths are hot on your skin, getting heavier the further up his hands get. As his hands come up to cup your tits through your bra, his mouth closes in on your neck: licking, sucking your skin. You shudder. His hands squeeze, eager. A little whimper escapes your mouth; he swears under his breath, rips your bra down roughly to free your tits so he can take one in each hand, groping hard.

“That feels so good,” you murmur. He’s too eager, groping too hard, but somehow it’s just right. The pain is so good, delicious. The want behind each touch has your stomach in knots.

“So fucking good, Yuuji,” you murmur, bringing a hand backward to pull at his hair.

He keeps kissing your neck, keeps running his tongue over it, wet and hot. Each time you tug at his hair he gets a little rougher. He nips at your skin — not hard, but just enough to make you shudder. His hands get more eager, groping your tits harder, his fingers pinching your nipples. You squirm in his lap, gasping, wet and desperate from being manhandled. A quiet groan spills from his mouth; he thrusts up against your ass, feverish.

“Want me to touch you some more?” he asks, heavily.

“Please,” you murmur desperately, grinding down on his dick. “Please, I need it.”

“It’s really cute when you beg,” he laughs against your neck, gripping your waist from behind.

Roughly, he wrestles you off of his lap, laying you out on the couch so he can climb on top of you. There’s that brute strength again, so much of it — a natural roughness, more strength than he knows what to do with. And as you’re thinking about the possibilities of what he could do with all of that strength and enthusiasm, he’s wrenching your arms roughly above your head, pinning them there with one hand. You wince, and he mumbles sorry, but you don’t even have the time to answer before his lips are meeting yours. He forces your mouth open with his tongue, pushes it into your mouth, eager.

The kiss is so hungry. Hot, wet — sloppy. His tongue gets deeper in your mouth, and he grinds down against you, pushes you further down into the couch cushions. You can feel the hunger in every single movement. The heat intensifies as he ruts his dick against you, thrusting hard through your clothes. You think the separation might drive you insane. You want to feel him; you’re feverish, getting more desperate each time he grinds his dick down against you. You keep bucking your hips upward, desperate for more pressure between your legs. He keeps kissing you, deep and messy, just pausing to nip at your lips before shoving his tongue in your mouth again.

As his tongue explores your mouth, he adjusts — brings his knee up between your legs, forcing them further and further apart. He doesn’t stop until his knee is pushing up against your pussy. You gasp; it’s just what you need. Pressure. Breathless, you squirm, moving your hips now that you have something to grind on.

“Does it feel good?” he asks, soft and teasing — pulling back just enough to talk with his lips still on yours.

You nod, faraway, drunk on the feeling as you rub your pussy on his knee for friction.

“Tell me,” he says. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“So fucking good,” you murmur as you move your hips, shuddering. “It feels so fucking good.”

He pushes his tongue back into your mouth, kisses you again — hungry and sloppy, until you’re gasping. Every so often he’ll pause just to tease into your mouth, low and breathless — Do you want me to fuck you? Do you wanna feel my dick inside of you? Do you want me to stretch this pussy out?

Yes, yes, yes. Please. While you’re murmuring desperate, breathless affirmations, he’s tightening his hand around your wrists, pinning them down harder. He ruts his dick against your thigh while you squirm against him, the both of you so desperate to use each other.

So fucking cute, he’s teasing, as he drags his dick up and down your thigh. You’re so fucking cute, begging like that.

You can feel the heat of his dick through your clothes, the size.

The tension between your thighs is building up as he pulls off of your mouth, trailing wet kisses down your chin. You need more; you’re a mess of want, squirming against his knee, wishing it was his dick pushing against your pussy. His breaths are hot against your skin, his mouth moving further and further down, licking and sucking your skin until he’s at your neck. He stops there, his tongue swirling against your throat, laughing softly as you buck your hips upward more desperately.

His hands are so tight around your wrists now that your fingers are going numb. Your head is hazy; all you can focus on is the feeling of his dick moving against your thigh, his hot breaths on your neck, the wetness dripping out of your pussy as you move it against him. His mouth keeps getting hungrier and hungrier on your throat, sucking on your skin so hard now that it stings — drawing blood to the surface.

There’s so much heat between your legs, and you’re dripping wet, needing more as you arch your back, begging for it. Yuuji, please.

“What do you want?” he says against your throat, squeezing your wrists. He adjusts, moving his knee back down while he brings his free hand down your body. Groggily, and with his mouth marking your throat, you feel him trail his fingers down until they’re between your legs. Instinctively, you spread your thighs. He presses his fingers against your pussy through your sweats, teasing.

“Tell me,” he says.

“I want...” you start, trailing off to shudder when he starts to move his fingers over your pussy, his touch just light enough to get you wanting more. You try to free your wrists, desperate for more than what he’s giving you, but he tightens his grip.

“What is it?” he grins against your neck, the heat of his fingers seeping through the fabric. He’s still humping your thigh, hard thrusts against it, breathing hard.

You’re arching your back, moving your hips to get more pressure from his fingers on your pussy. There’s so much tension built up in you already from all of this teasing — at this point, he could make you cum with barely any effort. You need him to.

“I want to cum,” you whimper breathlessly. You’d say anything, do anything to get him to fuck you. To make you cum. “I want you so bad, Yuuji,” you say, “don’t you want to feel my pussy?”

“Fuck.” He thrusts harder against your thigh. Laughs breathily into your neck. Then, finally, his touches get more urgent through your clothes. “Yeah, I want this pussy,” he slurs. “I bet it’s nice and wet for me.” He slaps your pussy through your clothes, and your hips jerk — the impact just right through the fabric. “I bet it’s gonna feel so good when I fuck it,” he says, breathy.

“Please,” you whimper.

Finally, he obliges — rutting against your thigh and sucking your neck as he slides his hand down the waistband of your sweats. He pins your wrists down harder above your head, pushes them further down into the couch. The anticipation is so much as his hand snakes downward; you’re already dripping wet, aching when his fingers come to hover over your clenching slit.

You let out a little whimper as he swipes his fingers over your pussy. He humps your thigh harder when he feels it, all that slick seeping out.

“So fucking wet,” he muses, teasing his fingers over your hole as he ruts against your thigh. “Fuck.”

He drags your wetness up to your clit, and you’re arching your back, sensitive. So much anticipation is building up between your thighs — your insides aching, puffy, begging for release.

While he presses his slippery fingers to your sensitive clit, you’re pleading for him to fuck you. Your pleas turn breathy, turn into hitching moans as he rubs your clit, grinding so hard into your thigh that you can tell — even doing all of this teasing, he’s just as worked up as you are.

He plays with your pussy until you’re right on the edge: swipes his fingers over your entrance, flicks over your clit at just the right pace, steady. Sucks your neck harder and harder as your back arches more, the tension building up so high it’s almost unbearable. You keep tightening up — more and more and more with each swipe of his fingers.

And then, when you’re right on the edge — one swipe of his fingers away from release, he takes his fingers away and shoves two of them deep inside your fluttering, dripping hole. You gasp at the sudden stretch — finally getting the intense friction that your aching insides have been needing so much. That stretch has the tension so close to bursting. You’re already clenching on his fingers, murmuring, oh, god, I’m gonna cum.

But he stops you right at the edge again, pulling his dripping fingers out of you. It leaves you so frustrated: your back arched, your chest heaving, nearly in tears from being denied the release you so desperately need.

“Fuck,” you choke.

Yuuji laughs softly into your neck, teasing his fingers over your fluttering slit as he waits for you to calm down. It’s only when the tension in you has subsided — just marginally — that he pushes his fingers back into your pussy. You shudder — sensitive, frustrated. His fingers curl against your dripping insides, drawing the tension back to the surface, quick. You don’t know how long you can last; he’s curling his fingers into your g-spot, pumping them in and out of you as his thumb toys with your clit.

You’re hurtling toward the orgasm he denied you, begging for him to let you cum. He thrusts against your thigh, grinning against your throat — It doesn’t take much to get you to beg. You really are desperate, aren’t you?

You are. He’s playing you just right, moving his fingers at just the right pace. You’re whimpering, gasping, tightening around them. As you get closer and closer to the edge, you’re slurring desperately for him to let you cum.

Yes, yes, just like that, right there, make me cum. Let me cum, I need to cum, please.

He’s humping feverishly against your thigh, his own breaths picking up. But he’s still toying with you, his breath hot on your throat, asking — Do you think I should let you? Do you think you deserve it?

You’re murmuring nothing coherent, just spreading your thighs and clenching up fast as his fingers curl faster, harder, squelching against your aching insides.

You’re right on the edge, quivering, with that sweet release just about to rack your body — when he pulls his fingers out again.

“Yuuji,” you sob, frustrated, “pleaseplease, don’t, I’m so close. Put them back in, make me cum, please.”

“I wanna taste you first,” he says, slipping his fingers out of your pants to suck them clean.

He releases your aching wrists and forces you upright to wrestle your shirt off of you, then drops it to the floor. And now that your hands are free, you’re running them all over him, whining for his dick, lifting his hoodie up impatiently. He obliges you for once — pulling his hoodie off, dropping it off the couch. He’s all sharp definition and lean muscle. You just stare for a second with your stomach in knots, looking between his body and his face.

He grins at your expression, reaching forward to wrap his fingers around your neck. Forcefully, he pushes you backward by the throat. He slams you down onto the couch so hard that it knocks the breath out of you; you barely have the chance to take gasp for air before he’s climbing back on top of you. You know it’s not purposeful roughness; it’s just a combination of eagerness and brute strength — so much of it that he can’t hold back.

Yuuji pins you into the couch cushions by the throat, bringing his mouth to your chest. He starts to move downward, leaving hot kisses all over your skin. They’re impatient, messy. You yelp as he rips your bra further down with his free hand, so hard that the clasp at the back breaks with a snap.

And now, with your bra out of the way, and your tits completely exposed, his tongue comes out. He runs it over your nipples: swirls and flicks at them while you gasp for air. His mouth closes in on one, then the other, sucking and biting lightly. All of these sensations are so intense; you’re squirming, your pussy dripping wet, drowning in your own anticipation.

When he’s had his fill of playing with your tits, Yuuji moves further down. You desperately need him to give your pussy some attention — it’s puffy, aching, dying to get fucked and filled. But he just keeps teasing you, taking his time licking down your body. He devours every inch of you on his way down: kissing, sucking, tasting. You put your hands on his head, pushing him further down urgently.

He’s far enough down now that his fingers leave your throat, letting you finally gasp for air. You fill your lungs as he sucks on the skin right under your belly button, hard enough to get you whimpering. You’re dying to fuck him. And, no matter how much of a tease he is, you can tell he’s dying to fuck you, too, from the desperate way he’s thrusting against the couch.

He moves painstakingly slowly over that final stretch of skin. You’re almost in agony by the time he finally gets his tongue right above the waistband of your sweats. You’re so desperate now, pushing his head down hard, bucking your hips up over and over. Yuuji shudders, hooks his fingers over your waistband. You think he’ll pull your sweats down, but he makes you wait one more time. With a teasing grin on his face, he kisses your pussy through the fabric.

His mouth is right above your pussy, the warmth of his breath seeping through the fabric. You’re dripping, clenching up in anticipation — so much of it that you know you’ll cum as soon as he puts his dick in you.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, because you want to watch when he finally gives your pussy the attention it needs. He looks up at you from between your legs, gauging your reaction as he pulls the waistband of your pants down.

You bite your lip, watching him pull your pants down. He rips your panties down with them, impatient. When they get tangled around your ankles, he rips them off forcefully. Eager.

And now he leans over you, his eyes glued on your pussy, like a dog drooling over a bone. He grips your thighs, spreads them. Positions himself between them.

Anticipation, desire, embarrassment. You’re feeling so many things, but the strongest of them is frustration, and it just keeps heightening as he lowers his face right over your pussy.

“Yuuji,” you whine as he hovers his face between your legs.

His breaths hit your cunt, hot and heavy. You watch him adjust his weight, sliding his hand down his sweats. His eyes don’t leave your pussy, not even when he pulls his dick out and starts to jerk it, dragging the precum down to the base.

The sight of him jacking off right between your legs, getting off on just the sight of your pussy, has your stomach tensing up. You’re so wet that you can feel it seeping out of your cunt, right beneath his face.

Maybe that’s what prompts him to finally stick his tongue out, to lower his face all the way down. You watch, still propped up on your elbows, while he licks up your dripping slit, jerking his hand over his dick.

That first lick: wet, hot, slick on your aching cunt, has you trembling. He moans, breathy.

He licks up your slit again as he strokes his dick, his eyes fluttering shut. He’s eager with his tongue. Enthusiastic, as he laps up all of the wetness pooling out of you. You keep yourself propped up on your elbows to watch through hazy eyes.

You see him drag his tongue all the way up, until it’s at your clit. He’s messy, inconsistent in the best way: switching from flicking his tongue over your clit to circling it to sucking it. But it feels so good — a new sensation each time he switches up, spending just the right amount of time on each action. You indulge in the pleasure as it builds — closing your eyes, spreading your legs wider so he can eat you sloppier, your head lolling back on your shoulders.

Then he latches his mouth onto your clit and gives you all the attention you’ve so desperately been needing. His mouth is hot as he sucks on it, circles it with his tongue. You lift your head back up, open your bleary eyes to watch him eat you. Everything’s so sloppy, so wet — his mouth and your cunt drenched in your arousal, his spit.

You can tell how much he likes it. He’s enthusiastic. Desperate, fucking into his fist while he eats you out. The little moans that escape his mouth each time he ruts his hips get trapped against your pussy. His voice — the heat of it on you, the anticipation in it — gets you wetter.

He licks up every drop of slick that leaks out of your pussy — and then, so eager to please, he goes back to your clit, swirls his tongue over it some more. All of these sensations are driving you crazy, so much intense pleasure and want. You want to cum right on his tongue, because you know he’ll eat up everything that gushes out, eager and enthusiastic.

You can feel yourself getting closer and closer, and you want to give him better access to your clit. So you rest your weight on one elbow, reaching the other hand between your legs to spread your pussy open for him.

He swears under his breath, fucking his fist harder. “Such a pretty fucking pussy on you,” he grins, looking up at you.

“Come on, Yuuji,” you whine.

He laughs. Pulls back slightly to spit on your pussy before he lowers his head back down, using his tongue to spread the spit over your clit. Feverish, hungry.

He latches his mouth back onto your pussy, uses his tongue sloppily again. It’s more intense this time, and you’re so close to the edge, closer with each flick of his tongue. He’s chasing his orgasm too, fucking his fist hard.

You need to cum; all of your muscles are tensing up as his tongue teases your orgasm to the surface. Everything’s throbbing, aching. And you’re breathless, your pussy clenching up around nothing as he brings you right to the edge.

You’re right there: murmuring a stream of breathless, pleasured pleas, because you need it so badly.

Don’t stop, just like that, please, I’m gonna cum, oh, god.

Each swirl of his tongue is more and more intense. Better and better.

Keep licking it, baby, just like that, right there, it’s so good.

Just a few more swipes of his tongue — that’s all you need to cum.

Don’t stop, you’re begging desperately. I’m - ! Fuck, I’m gonna cum—

But he pulls away, again, with a grin. You know he was right on the edge too, from the way he was moaning against your pussy and fucking his fist so desperately. But he keeps denying you both of the pleasure you want so badly.

“Yuuji,” you whine, so frustrated that tears are brimming over in your eyes.

“Not yet.”

He adjusts between your legs, pulling his sweats down to free his dick. He’s so big, so hard, dripping precum from denying himself for so long. You watch him stroke it, so desperate to feel it inside of you. The blue light from the TV dances over the sweat glistening on his body.

“Not until I get my dick in you,” he says, jacking off while he looks down at your body. His eyes are glued on your pussy, wet with your juices and his spit.

“Fuck,” you whine. Your stomach is in knots. Too much frustration, too much teasing. Brought to the edge over and over. You’d do anything to cum. Anything for a release of all the tension he’s built up in your neglected insides. That’s how desperate you are.

He’s desperate too. So eager for such a tease. He pumps his hand over his dick, watching you squirm.

Then, finally, he’s had enough.

He grabs you by the hips, pulling you forcefully toward him. You lose your balance on your elbows, and your back falls to the couch as he leans over you, gripping the bottom of your thighs. He pushes them up, rough and impatient after too much waiting.

You’re yelping as he folds you roughly in half, pushing your thighs up until your knees are touching your shoulders. It’s uncomfortable, but there’s no time to complain because he’s already leveling himself over you, his face flushed with anticipation. He lowers his body downward until his weight is pressing you in half, your legs slung over his shoulders.

He brings one hand between his legs, grips his dick at the base. While you’re murmuring for him to put it in, put it in, he slaps it teasingly against your dripping slit.

“You want this dick in your pussy?” he says breathily. Such a tease, always such a tease — he slides his cock back and forth over your slick cunt instead of putting it in. Precum dribbles down, gets everything messier as he thrusts against the outside of your pussy, neglecting your clenching entrance.

His dick keeps catching your clit, and you shudder. His weight presses you down, down — further into the couch cushions.

“I need it,” you plead, nearly in tears from how badly you want him to fuck you. “I need to cum.”

“I know,” he laughs.

He leans further down, crushing your body with his as he presses his mouth to yours. His lips are wet, dripping with your slick. Like everything else he does, the kiss is sloppy and rough — smearing your own juices all over your mouth as he ruts his cock against your pussy, teasing over your entrance. You beg for it with tears in your eyes and his lips on yours.

“You want it that bad?” he says breathily. He’s feeling good, groaning as he humps against the outside of your pussy.

“So bad, so bad,” you pant. “I’d do anything.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, breathy, as he adjusts to reach between his legs.

Finally, finally — he positions the tip of his dick against your fluttering entrance.

He pushes it in, just a fraction of an inch. But you’ve been wanting his dick so badly that the first feeling of it stretching your aching walls has a loud moan spilling out of your mouth. He pushes it in further, groaning. You’ve been edged so many times; you’re so sensitive that you’re just struggling to last.

“Fuck,” he pants. He’s had enough of all the teasing; you can hear a new desperation in his voice now that he’s in you. “I knew it was gonna feel so fucking good,” he says through his teeth.

He leans his weight further onto you, folding you harder in half. And then he sinks his entire dick into your pussy, all the way to the base. You gasp sharply. And now, with your pussy wrapped around him, you can tell that he can’t hold back anymore. He pulls back, then starts to fuck you hard and deep. Fast thrusts, breathing hard into your mouth.

Your walls stretch to accommodate his dick as he buries it. This is what you’ve been needing. Friction. Your insides are already twitching, dripping around him. It’s taking everything in you to stave your orgasm off. You don’t want to cum yet; you want to keep enjoying the feeling of him sinking his dick into you over and over.

Eager, fast thrusts as he crushes you down into the couch with his weight. Feverishly, he tells you how fucking good your pussy feels squeezing his dick. How much he’s been needing this. He fucks you like he’s needed it, too — quick and hazy, panting and moaning into your mouth.

So much praise you can barely even take it.

Fuck, I knew your pussy was gonna be good.

Those feverish words, moaned into your mouth. You’re losing your composure, struggling to hold your orgasm back.

Such a good fucking pussy. So wet.

He’s so deep in this position that it has you squirming each time he bottoms out. But he has you crushed so hard beneath him, folded so tightly in half, fucked so far into the couch cushions that you can barely move.

“Yuuji, it’s so deep,” you gasp.

“You can take it,” he pants, hazy with pleasure as he slams his cock in deep. “Weren’t you just begging for my dick?”

You nod, wincing as your knees dig deeper into your shoulders.

“Take it just like that,” he slurs, focusing just on pumping his dick into you — on how good it feels. And soon enough, he’s fucking into some spot deep in your pussy that has your toes curling. When your eyes start to roll back, he fucks you harder, encourages you — You like it deep like that? Are you gonna cum on me?

You’re gasping as he keeps stimulating that spot in you, brutal and quick. You’re losing your composure, begging to cum again.

Yes, right there, don’t stop, don’t stop.

You know he won’t stop this time. He’s too focused on his own pleasure, feeling too good to stop as he chases his own orgasm. Slaking so much desire, fucking you with all the pent up frustration he stored up while he was teasing you earlier. You can hear his orgasm getting closer with each groan he lets out into your mouth. He just needs to fuck you — needs to keep burying his dick deep in you until he makes himself cum. So he doesn’t stop; he keeps going, pumping his dick into your pussy, hard and urgent. You’d wondered earlier what he could do with all that brute strength and energy, and here it is — each thrust getting harder, intense and brutal as he fucks all the tension out.

More, I’m so close, make me cum, you beg.

He obliges you, gives you deeper strokes, shoving his tongue in your mouth. Faster and harder as you start to tighten up — just what you need. He tells you, between messy kisses, how fucking good you are, how fucking good you’re making him feel. And you’re eating it all up — the praise, the pleasure of his cock plunging into you, that feverish look on his face: eyelashes fluttering, cheeks pink. He’s getting so close, gritting his teeth as he keeps ramming his dick into that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. And soon, you’re right on the edge, tightening up around him hard.

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters. He pauses, takes a few deep breaths, trying not to cum before you do.

“Fuck me,” you beg.

So he grits his teeth and shoves his cock into you again, so deep and hard that you yelp. He groans through his teeth, fucks into you again and again — deep, deep strokes hitting you perfectly. One, two, three, and you’re done — hurtling to your orgasm, with your pussy clenching around him and your toes curling over his shoulders.

“Cum for me, cum for me,” he slurs, urgent as he fucks you hard and sloppy, desperate for his own release.

You’re already about to spill over as he keeps brutalizing your sensitive, quivering walls. Your cunt squeezes up around him, and his eyelashes flutter. The feeling spurs him on, makes him fuck you harder as you tighten.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper breathlessly.

“Shit,” he pants. You can hear the desperation in his voice, how hard he’s trying to hold back.

And then the tension bursts, and the first intense wave of pleasure racks your body. Your insides drip, keep getting more and more sensitive. Each thrust feels better, more intense. He’s feverish above you, his hazy eyes eating up the lewd expression on your face as you cum.

He keeps going, trying so hard not to cum so he can abuse your insides with his dick. You’re getting pounded down into the cushions, folded in half, with your pussy convulsing around him and the couch creaking so loudly it drowns out the sounds of the TV.

Waves of pleasure keep washing through you, over and over. He’s groaning, swearing under his breath, dropping into you while you cum around his dick, fucking your orgasm out. He’s relentless, even when it’s too sensitive — pulling more and more pleasure out. It intensifies each time he buries his dick in deep, each stroke so delicious and brutal. So intense, after so much buildup.

You’re drunk on the pleasure as it washes through you, slick coating his dick, seeping out of your hole each time he bottoms out, running down your ass.

Such a good fucking pussy, god, it’s so fucking good in this pussy, you’re gonna make me cum.

You can barely even process anything he’s saying; your mind is too hazy with pleasure, floating. But you can hear the urgency in his words, and it tells you how close he is, how hard he’s trying to hold his orgasm back. He’ll cum soon; you can feel it building in every urgent thrust. His head drops down; he grits his teeth, just trying to postpone his orgasm long enough to fuck you through the rest of yours. But his thrusts are getting erratic, sloppy, and his moans are building.

You know that if you don’t tell him to pull out, he won’t — not with the urgent way he’s fucking you. He’s too wrapped up in the feeling, too drunk on pleasure. But you don’t care — you want his cum, want it filling you up, dripping out of you. He can fuck your aching pussy until the feeling of it makes him cum.

While your orgasm is dying down, his is building up. He fucks you greedily, and the sensation of his dick against your sensitive walls is so intense that it hurts. But he’s too far gone now to care about your comfort; he’s just using you, taking out all of his frustration on your dripping, used insides.

You’d whine about how sensitive you are, and how much your body’s aching from being folded in half like this, but he can’t hold back, and you know it.

“I’m so fucking close,” he’s panting, as all that energy and eagerness comes to a climax. “You can take it until I cum, right?”

You nod, whimpering, and take it. Each stroke against your overstimulated walls. The pain subsides soon, makes way as pleasure starts to build up again. Your whimpers turn into moans as you watch his face start to contort.

“Fuck,” he slurs, the couch creaking so loud you can barely hear him. “Fuck, it’s so fucking wet, I’m gonna cum.”

You can see it, hear it in his messy, squelching strokes. His eyes roll back as it starts, and he shudders — pounds deep into you, erratic and needy. The sight of him cumming, the feeling of him slamming his dick into you over and over, unloading in your pussy — you can’t handle it, and it has you going over the edge again.

He fucks his cum into you, shoots it deep, groaning while your pussy starts to convulse around him again. And you whimper as you cum again, telling him how good his dick feels, how hard it makes you cum.

You think he’ll stop thrusting when his orgasm dies down, but he doesn’t, because yours is still going. He shoves his tongue deep in your mouth, keeps fucking you through yours — even though he’s overstimulated from his orgasm, shuddering. You cum hard with him abusing your pulsing, dripping walls. He moans into your mouth, jerking his hips forward — plunging brutally into your cum-filled, contracting pussy, so intense for you and him. You’re so messy, so full of his cum that each time he bottoms out a mixture of his cum and your arousal gushes out of your twitching hole, coating his dick, dribbling down your ass and onto the creaking couch.

He doesn’t stop until he’s fucked your second orgasm out.

Then, when it’s all done, he adjusts so you can unfold your aching body and lay out flat beneath him. He collapses on top of you, drowsy, burying his face in your neck.

☽☽☽☽☽

You’re running.

No — that’s not right. You’re trying to run.

It’s like trudging through quicksand. Your limbs are sluggish, unbearably heavy. For a second, you think that your feet are somehow adhered to the ground. That there’s something making you stick.

You look downward, through heavy eyelids, to find that your feet aren’t even touching the ground. Somehow, you’re floating above it. Just an inch. Suspended in the empty space between your feet and the bloodstained ground are teeth.

They’re everywhere. Some large, some small. All bloody at the root, as if they’ve just been wrenched from someone’s gums.

Someone is behind you, in pursuit. Ahead, there’s a sliver of light. It keeps stretching, getting further away. You’ll never reach it, not before he gets you.

You’re in an alleyway, and you don’t know how you got here.

Your pursuer is catching up quickly, his footsteps echoing off of the brick walls that cage you in. You want to look backward, to see how close he is. But when you try to turn your head, you can’t. All you can do is listen to his footsteps get louder as he gets closer.

You want to sob, to scream — but you have no mouth.

Nothing about this is right. What is this place?

Through the fog in your head, you realize — you’re in a dream. A nightmare.

He’s so close now. Just a few paces behind. You think that you can feel his breath on your neck — cold and frigid. Rotten. Something in his throat festers, decays. The air ahead of you is muggy. Hot, suffocating. You want to take a big gulp of air. You need it. But you can only inhale through your nose — shallow, pathetic half-breaths.

What happens if he catches you? Will you wake up? Or will you reside in this dream forever, feeling his teeth rip into your flesh over and over?

You will your limbs to move faster, but they don’t obey.

Please, god, help me — !

It’s a woman’s voice, unfamiliar and desperate. A muffled, raw plea from the maw of some ravenous beast. It echoes throughout the alleyway, fills the hot air with terror. An awful shriek follows, and your stomach churns. Bile rises up in your throat, with nowhere to go. It sits on your tongue, bitter.

If you had a mouth, you would scream too. You would beg. You would tell anyone who’s listening that he’s following you, that he’s going to catch you and eat you alive.

Let me go, please! I’ll do anything!

That voice again: louder now. It comes from all directions. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle under his putrid, frigid breath. His mouth is open wide, gaping and ready to consume. Just a few inches behind you. You don’t know if you’ll escape.

You reach forward, claw at the thick air, trying to rip through the walls of your nightmare.

What are you doing? Why are you doing this?

That woman’s terrified, desperate voice is everywhere. She begins to shriek. Somehow, her scream is tangible, swirling through the air. You feel it coming close. Closer and closer, until you feel it prying at the skin where your mouth should be. It’s sharp, piercing. The scream begins to rip through your skin, as if it has claws.

Please, she’s shrieking.

Her scream has ripped your mouth open now. Sinew and threads of flesh hang where your lips should be, filling your mouth with blood. You feel that entity that is her scream forcing your jaw open, crawling into the bloody cavern.

Are you the one devouring her?

Please don’t!

Her voice, in your mouth. As her voice slithers down your throat, you start to suffocate on it. It crawls further and further down until it molds with your esophagus, until you’re the one screaming please in both her voice and yours.

Her sobs echo in the air, defeated and pathetic, until they’re drowned out by the sound of gnashing teeth.

And then, as you scream in her stolen voice, you feel something close in on the back of your neck, sharp and hungry.

You wake covered in sweat, with a chill running down your spine. You jolt up and look around blearily; after a few moments, when your eyes focus, you realize you’re in your own bed. You can’t remember how you got here. Your mind feels foggy. Heavy. The last thing you remember is falling asleep on the couch with Yuuji. He must have carried you in here, but you can’t remember. You’re too tired to try to remember.

You’re so exhausted; you lay right back down, falling into a dream even more horrific than the last.

☽☽☽☽☽

“Good morning,” Yuuji greets brightly from behind the kitchen counter, watching you exit your room.

You’re groggy again, exhausted. Just like every other morning. You rub your puffy eyes. It’s been a few weeks since that first nightmare — a few weeks since Yuuji first moved in.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks.

“Well,” you lie.

The nightmares just keep getting worse. A different voice plagues your dreams every night, screaming for help. Muffled, horrific pleas. You’d tell Yuuji about it, talk to him, but you don’t want to bother him with it. You don’t want to dampen that brightness of his, because you need it. It’s the only thing keeping you afloat.

Yuuji’s a good roommate; the days have been so much easier with him here.

But the nights have been so much worse. Both in your head, and in this town, where the murders have increased in frequency.

Now, there’s a killing every night.

You’re so glad he’s here to protect you.

“Do you want some breakfast?” Yuuji’s asking as he cooks up something on the stove. Some kind of meat, you think. Sausages, maybe. Apparently, he likes to cook; he insists on cooking for you every single night. He’s so sweet. So caring. It’s just what you need, in a time like this.

“No thank you,” you say a tick late, wrapped up in your thoughts of that awful nightmare.

You suppose it could’ve been much worse. It could’ve been real. You could have been the girl of the night, and the killer could’ve broken into your room, stalked around the pitch black as you slept fitfully.

He could’ve been here. In your space.

You shudder, but Yuuji isn’t paying attention. He’s putting the meat on a plate, chattering to you about something or other as you try to shake the grogginess off. You lean against the counter, watching him talk.

He pauses. Pouts, when he realizes you’re not actually listening to him. “You okay?” he asks. “Tired?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m alright. Just drowsy, I guess.”

☽☽☽☽☽

You can’t escape the killer. Not even in the most mundane parts of the day, like right now, on the drive to work.

He exists in everyone’s minds, all the time. A plague. On the radio, between bright, cheerful songs that are supposed to heighten the collective mood in this town, the radio show hosts always end up talking about the killer.

Just a moment ago, an upbeat song was playing. And now…

You know what the worst part about it is? a man’s voice is saying through the speakers.

What? It’s a woman hosting the show with him; she sounds more tired than intrigued.

Those girls were all alive when he ate them.

How do you know that? the woman asks, disgusted.

It’s what the coroner said, apparently, the man on the radio responds. A new bit of information on the case that was just released. Those girls were drugged. They were awake when it happened.

That’s brutal, the woman says. This man is sick in the head. The whole thing, it’s just awful. Something is so deeply wrong with him.

Of course, the man says dismissively. I mean, who knows what’s going through his head when he eats them.

There’s silence for a second, and then the man says, Maybe what seasoning to use?

The woman scoffs in disgust.

What? the man taunts.

Don’t say things like that.

Why not? Do you think they call him The Gourmand for nothing?

Who the hell calls him that?

Everyone. It’s the new thing, the man says. You can hear his smile.

That’s awful.

Why?

It’s in bad taste, the woman says forcefully.

Taste? the man teases.

I didn’t mean it like that, the woman insists.

Morbid fascination, the man says. We all have it.

You’re disgusting. You’re part of the problem, you know?

Your stomach turns; your jittery hand darts out to shut the radio off.

You grip the wheel, sitting in silence as you drive through the gloom. It’s all-consuming, like the terror ravaging this town. Like the greedy hands and mouth of the killer stalking its streets. The Gourmand.

Ahead, the clouds gather, bloated and looming. You’re hurtling toward them at seventy miles an hour. Heading straight for the storm.

As the rain starts to come down, pattering on the windshield, you consider the fact that you might already be in the eye of it.

#cherub fics #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #itadori yuuji x reader #itadori yuuji smut #yuuji x reader #yuuji smut #itadori x reader #itadori smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #dark content tw

5K notes · View notes

olivyh · 2 years ago

Text

TWST TRUE VILLAINS: Of Machinations and Madness

A/N: Almost done guys! Three more chapters after this (the final two will likely be shorter than these ones). It feels weird to be in the home stretch, since this is my first actual series on this page! After this is all done I will have more time to update TWST memories and maybe some more one shots <<33 also Yuu/Yuuken/Mc being an older sibling figure to ortho >>>>>>>> best dynamic

TW: Death, gore, general horror, body modification, strangulation

Again, this entire series is 18+ and I ask that you please view at your own discretion.

By the time they awake, their old dorm is bathed in oranges and gold from the light of the setting sun. The old wooden beams creak as a gust of wind rattles the windows, marking the arrival of the headmaster, who strides in confidently not too long after they manage to stand on their own two feet properly again, gripping Epel close to their chest protectively as they glare at the man.

"Hello, young one!" The man, cheery as ever greets them, bright yellow eyes formed into crescents in the shadows of his mask. The same mask that Yuu wants to rip off his face and stomp into the ground. Their jaw clenches and their grip tightens on Epel, only pausing when they feel the edges crumble a bit in their hands, gasping as they catch the fragments in their sweaty palm that still sits within the sling. "Oh dear. Is that a gift from one of the dorms?"

They feel the wrath begin to fill their system, red hot adrenaline pumping through their veins ad blurring out everything around them aside from the unbearable man in front of them, who clicks his tongue at their lack of a response.

"You monster!" They launch themselves at him, hitting the headmaster's shoulder with the rock in their hand. The man chuckles and flicks his hand, sending them sailing towards the wall, their back slamming against the delicately carved wood of their fireplace, crumpling to the ground with a yelp.

"Poor fledgeling," He pouts playfully, waking over to them. "Was it truly that terrible?" He kneels next to Yuu, patting their hair affectionately and hushing them as they bite back sniffles and their back begs for mercy. "My sincerest apologies, but I do hope you understand that this world is simply... like this. Surely you understand, no?" They groan in agony, but the adrenaline is stronger as they run at him once more, the faces of their friends flashing in their mind as they raise the stone once more, Epel's eye glancing down at them.

For a second they can almost see Ace and Deuce, Jack and Epel reaching out for them, telling them to think for once, begging them to stop before they lose the sweet, innocent Yuu they knew and loved completely. Pleading for them to put the stone down, grappling at their clothes, their hair, their broken arm.

But they can't help but replay the sights of their friends’ deaths before them.

Ace and Deuce's heads rolling on the vibrant grass.

Jack, lain abandoned on the cold tile of Pomefiore, completely alone.

And Epel, plummeting to the ground and crumbling, turned to stone for all of eternity.

They let out a howl of fury, of anguish as tears spill out of the corners of their eyes as they slam the frazzled man to the ground, straddling his chest, screaming and cursing as they bring the stone down on his head before the man could use any more magic to react. He lets out something akin to a sharp gasp as they bring it down once more with a sickening crunch. They can feel the magic pulsing around them, the man now too weak to fight them off. His claws dig into their injured arm, making them wail as they bring it down on his head once more, his twitching arms falling beside him along with his now broken crow mask.

They stare down at the dead headmaster, and then at their bloodied hand, and then at Epel's bloodied stone face. They mumble a quick apology to the boy before standing, looking down at the man with a frown and a pang of regret, gasping and shaking. Their legs threaten to give out beneath them as their actions begin to sink in.

Yuu didn't expect the wave of guilt that would wash over them upon seeing what the headmaster really looked like. To see how the crimson washed over his sharp features, glazed over eyes that had an eerily similar color to Jack's staring up at the ceiling, his mouth parted open softly.

They feel their stomach turn as their grip on Epel loosens a bit, looking down and seeing the deep brown of Jack's blood now mixed with the bright red of Crowley's on their hand, the substance staining Epel's soft features and seeping into the stone.

They choke back a sob and their legs completely give out, the Prefect blubbering to themselves, tears spilling from their eyes as they hurriedly back themselves into a wall, covering their head with their hands and trying to steady their breaths as they silently sob, hand covering their mouth and placing Epel gently on the ground, facing away from them as they curl into a ball.

Murderer, they think. You're pathetic. Just as bad as they are.

Murderer.

MURDERER.

They grip their hair in their hands, pulling at it until their scalp burns.

They scream.

They scream until their throat's sore, until they start coughing and gagging. They scream staring at the dead man before them, staring at the back of Epel's bloodstained face. They cough up what little is in their stomach on the floor in front of them, breaths coming in hurried puffs and gasps as their mind races, wiping their bloodied hands on the wood around them.

"Off, get it off, get it off please," They sob, crawling over to the kitchen and pulling themselves up, scrubbing at their hands no matter how much it makes their broken arm scream, until their skin is rubbed raw and bleeds down their arms, mixing with the ice cold water. They sniffle and sob, trying to catch their breath as they look around them, paranoia filling their entire being.

"They're gonna- gonna-" They sob, scrambling back to the living room and collecting Epel's head, still sticky with blood. They sniffle and wrap his face gently in one of the rags that had been strewn across the room that they hadn't bothered to pick up.

Mostly due to the fact that half of them were caked in dried blood, claw marks torn through some of them. The fabrics served as grim reminders of what had happen just before they'd arrived in Wonderland, and they wouldn't dare move them in fear of awakening whatever force that turned the cat monster on his owner and friend.

Now is different.

Yuu runs their hand along his face, their breath hitching as they fold the fabrics over it and tie it tight. They place him in the pocket sewn on the front of the Scarabia uniform, hoping that he wouldn't fall out during their escape. They turn to leave, hand already gripping the cold doorknob as they cast one last sad glance at Ramshackle dorm's living room.

It looked like a nightmare with the dead headmaster on the floor, but they can't help but remember the fun they'd had there. Yuu and ADeuce on the couch, cooking dinner together, joking and laughing about whatever came to mind. Them holding Yuu as they bawled about how much they missed their home, about how worried they were about their family, friends, and their future.

Those good times were simply memories now. They would never feel the warmth of Ace and Deuce ever again, their bodies cast aside and bloodied heads serving as a warning for those in the Heartslabyul Dorm to not break their Queen's rules.

They felt a pang of reluctance upon realizing that they would be abandoning their only home in this world, their sanctuary that would block out all the horrors of Night Raven College. They take a breath and step out into the open, the cold air biting at their hands and face. They wished they'd asked one of their friends for a jacket, or at least tried to find one.

They hear a booming voice behind them, not knowing if it was their gym teacher (a man known to work his students to near exhaustion, if you could even call it that. At first they didn't think the school would allow a teacher to force a student to run laps until their feet bled and they passed out. Now they don't even know if those students ever woke up from their spots on that field) or the shopkeeper (a man who was friendly with them from the start, but they'd been told by Ace that they should be careful not to fall indebted to him. Those who are indebted to the shopkeeper disappear and are never seen again.) They ran, stumbling over loose roots and rocks, hand covering their mouth to try to hide their panting as much as they could. They push through the forest, praying that the extended shadows of the trees is enough to hide them as the gate of the school comes into view.

They run and slam into it, the metal screeching and clanging in protest as they shove it open. They feel a heavy pressure press on their brain and their torso, making them gasp as they're thrown back onto the ground, their air pushed form their lungs.

"That won't work!" They hear a voice giggle. They scream and grab a stick, scrambling backwards and holding their pocket closer to them, feeling one of Epel's corners dig into their stomach. "Oh no! Don't be scared, please!" The little robot floats closer to them, making their breath catch as they glare at him, grip tightening on the stick. It seems to get the hint, backing away for a moment before lowering itself to the ground.

"Go away!" Yuu shouts, voice breaking.

"No, Yuu!" They gasp, gulping.

"H-how did you know my name?!"

"The cameras around campus! And you're kind of a celebrity here?" He giggles. They take a moment to look over his boyish features. A round face, wide yellow eyes smiling down at them plastered on top of too-pale skin. Atop his head and lining what would be his hairline was a giant blue flame, flicking with each movement. As his mouth moves, the piece of metal covering the lower half of his face blinks. "Your heartrate is slowing down. Are you feeling better?"

They slowly nod, standing back to their full height. "W-why can't I leave?" They choke out, motioning towards the open gate. "Why do I have to stay here?"

"There's a magical barrier protecting the school. Nobody's allowed to enter or leave unless it's before or after breaks, events, et cedera." He floats forward, small, mechanical hand brushing over their cast. "Would you like help?"

"Help?"

"Yes. You seem injured in... a lot of places, actually," His eyelids droop slightly and his eyebrows furrow, as if he were frowning. "My brother can use healing magic, and we have some machinery that could fix that for you. Maybe he can also help your friend!"

"He can bring Epel back?!"

The boy pauses. "He can't bring him back, but he could create a replica of him- like me!" They feel their heart sink upon the implication that the young boy in front of them had died and been duplicated as a robot, hoping that his death was at least a peaceful one.

"Right..." They mumble. "And your brother...?"

"Well, he's a little antisocial, but he's really a nice person once you meet him! I'm sure he'd be willing to help you!" They nod, standing to their feet and following the boy.

"Why did you come here, anyways?" He tilts his head.

"Oh, my brother and I were worried about you. We can't have our favorite character dying so early!" They feel their blood run cold at his words, but shake them off. He was a child, of course he would say things in such a way, as if their whole experience here was just a movie, or some sick game they'd been forced to play. They continue along the stone path, the boy, who they learn is named Ortho, chatting away happily about the things he and his brother do, their conversations, just about everything.

Yuu is glad for the distraction. For once, when they step through the mirror, they don't feel the familiar wave of dread and anxiety wash over them. They try to bite back their naivety, but find themselves unable to. Can they even call themselves naïve anymore? They were a murderer.

The eerie appearance of the dorm makes them stop in their tracks, jaw dropped as they stare at the skeletons holding up the pillars, paired with the fog that rises up from the large cracks that line the floor. The dorm smells of smoke and ash, and every other step they take they're afraid of falling through the floor. Ignihyde is eerily silent aside from the hushed whirring of machinery and some yells that echo through the corridor, dimly lit by electric blue LEDs that line the ceiling and floor. They find themselves walking closer to Ortho as other small animatronics skitter past their feet.

A robotic cat creeping around the corner, making eye contact with them before scurrying away. A flock of birds flying through one doorway and out the other, some of them perching on the chairs and light fixtures that hang off the wall. They gasp as a small spider struggles to walk across the floor, a quiet, high pitched shriek emitted from it before a small puff of smoke rises from it's leg, falling onto it's back and curling into a ball, a small puddle of oil leaking out from the broken limb.

"Are you scared?" He asks, snapping them out of their daze as Yuu hesitantly nods. He thinks for a second and holds out his hand, noticing their confused expression and chuckling. "It will make you feel better!"

They smile softly at his childlike enthusiasm, holding his small, cold hand in their own. When he moves they can feel the gears within his fingers turning, occasionally feeling a small click or tap where their palms met as the boy explains more and more about the dorm, falling silent suddenly when they enter what Yuu presumes to be the common room.

"W-what's wrong?" They whisper to him. Ortho's eyes glaze over, and they can see small letters blinking across the front before he blinks and looks back to them. Silently, he grabs them and lightly pushes them beneath one of the small tables of the common room.

"Stay here," The boy instructs them. They nod, slowly letting go of the boy's hand. He stands up straight, positioned towards the door.

They hear scratching, the harsh, screeching sound of metal against metal as something in the opposite hallway is knocked over. They hear something skitter towards the entrance, the sound getting louder and louder until they muster the courage to peek around the single leg that was in the middle of the table, freezing in terror when they see the robotic centipede, it's length practically stretching across the common room, wrapping around the circular interior.

It sniffs around for a moment, the lengthy forcipules waving about and licking up the wall. It turns it's head and narrows in on Ortho, letting out something akin to a groan that shakes the furniture in the room, the sound reverberating within Yuu's chest and making them clutch the front of their sweatshirt. It charges at him before they can even blink, a wave of anxiety crashing over Yuu as they watch Ortho grab one of the legs and rip it off, the creature's scream making their ears ring as they muffle their cries with their arm, watching how the oil sprayed all over the young boy. It thrashes for a moment, stumbling in it's tracks and leaving a trail of the black substance as it whipped around once more.

As if in slow motion, they watched the creature tumble towards him, huffing and growling as it's legs knocked over and mowed down everything in it's wake, impaling the much smaller animatronics that were unfortunate enough to not get out of the way in time.

"Ortho, wait!" They wail, running towards the boy and holding his head protectively in their own, feeling the slight warmth from his hair as they muster all their strength to pull the boy out of the beasts' path of destruction. Ortho tries pushing them off of him, small face contorted in anger.

"I can take care of it!" He shouts, turning towards it once more. They shake their head, choking back a panicked sob as they pull him along the corridor.

"Which-" They pant, hearing the creature's frustrated growl behind them as it turns the corner and slams into the wall, creating a large crack that sends small pieces of debris landing on their head. "Which one is your brothers?"

Ortho flies in front of them, still huffy and yanks them into a doorway. They collapse against the door, gasping and panting as the creature runs past the door, arms shaking it and scratching against the cold metal as it disappears deeper into the dorm. They quickly reach for their pocket, letting out a sigh of relief when they feel that Epel is still in there.

They look around the dim room and notice that it looks like a relatively normal room. Of course, it matched the rest of the dorm with the dim LED lighting and intricate carvings on the walls, but it looked more personalized. Small robotic parts scattered across the floor, bits and pieces kicked into corners and shoved into shelves that weren't already occupied with anime figurines and books. Posters line the walls and, on the desk closest to them, a computer setup, the background switching from one background to another while it's not in use. A pair of headphones and a controller lie next to the keyboard.

"Ortho," A quieter voice calls from the darkness of the room. They gasp, looking up at the man who had come out of what they presume to be a workroom from the beeping and whirring of machinery they hear before the door slides shut mechanically. "I told you to leave things as they were." The man, who looks identical to his brother- the same yellow eyes, paired with blue tinted lips and long, fiery hair that cascades down to the floor. His features are sharper than his brother's, and he glares at the Prefect.

"But they were going to leave!"

"We both know they wouldn't be able to," He sighs. "Now you ruined it all... when it was just getting to the good part. I told you that we don't mess with canon!"

"Idia!" The boy whines, fists clenched in front of him. "We were talking about Epel earlier, yeah? And about how you said it would be better if he was a bigger part of the story-" The small boy continues, and they can't help the goosebumps that rise on their skin as they're talked about as if they were nothing more than a character, that their experiences were some sort of entertainment to these brothers.

"I-I don't know what you-" They gulp when both of the bickering brothers turn to them. "What you're talking about, but please. If there's anything you can do-"

"Yeah, yeah, bring him back, right? I saw the whole thing through Ortho's eyes," Idia huffs, pushing his hair off his forehead and tilting his head back, his neck cracking from the effort as he releases an exaggerated sigh.

"You can use the prototype you've been working on?"

"That one's not ready for anything," Idia scoffs. "It probably won't even walk straight."

"Please," They look at the man, taking Epel out of their pocket and holding him gingerly. "I'll do anything."

The man turns, theatrically tapping his finger to his chin as he chuckles. "Anything?"

"Y-yes...?" Bad move, they hear inside their head, a droplet of cold sweat sliding down their cheek. Bad, bad move!

"I guess it wouldn't hurt," He disappears back into the workshop, motioning for them to follow. Yuu walks with Ortho in, gasping in amazement at the amount of machinery that was crammed into the space. Small holograms, figurines that move with one another, occasionally bumping into each other. Larger arms that disassemble some other projects and organize the pieces into overfilled bins. The smell of rust and chemicals seeps into the air, making them choke back a gag at the overpowering scent.

Idia holds his hand out in a manner similar to the way Ortho had, having spent the time they were looking round to pull out one of the smaller, more humanoid robots. "The face?"

They nod and slowly unwrap Epel's face, handing it to the boy who breaks off a chunk, making Yuu gasp in shock, feeling anger and sorrow pull at their heart. Ortho pats their back lightly, which would be comforting if his hands were not as hard as they were. They try not to glare at the man and steady their breathing, fists clenching and unclenching at their sides.

He inserts it onto the smaller robot, typing away at his computer as Yuu stares in anticipation, nervously fiddling with Jack's bandanna as his hands move quicker across the keyboard than their eyes can follow his movements.

The room is silent aside from the clicking of his keyboard and occasional sigh and mutter until quiet whirring sounds from the robot.

"Yuu?" they hear a familiar voice ask and they shoot up, wrapping their arms around the new robotic Epel and crying into his hard shoulder, apologizing over and over again until they're coughing as much as they were crying. It wasn't him, they knew, but the holographic screen filled in what the rest of his pretty face would look like, and, despite sounding emotionless and monotonous, his voice sounded identical to the real Epel. He hugs them back as Yuu wails, pressing his cold face into the crook of their neck.

His arms get tighter and tighter around them as they choke, trying to pull away only to be yanked in closer by the small robot, feeling their ribs creak as the arms around them constrict more and more.

They scream and try to fight back, flailing against his binds and begging for one of the brothers to help. Idia swears and goes back to his keyboard as Yuu's blood pulses through their ears, gasping and sobbing as they feel Ortho yank at the other robot's arms.

Yuu pulls at the exposed cords in the back of the neck, gripping a handful and yanking, their entire body tensing nd jaw clenching as their vision goes white for a moment, falling to the ground once the robot lets go of them, gasping as their hands twitch and they arch their back, screaming in agony as the electricity courses through their veins. Their body relaxes as everything fades to black for a moment, being woken up by a soft hand patting their cheek as they gasp and cough, nearly headbutting the robotic boy as he backs away.

"Thank the seven..." Ortho sighs in relief.

"Are you serious?" Idia practically growls, the tips of his hair turning a deep red as he stands, slamming his hand on the table. "You really had to destroy it? I was going to make it stop soon." He begins to pace, mumbling to himself and pulling his fiery hair. "I had it, I HAD it!"

"Brother..." Ortho mumbles, reaching out for his brother, who continues to pace.

"Do you have any idea how long it took for me to hunt down those materials?" Idia fumes, the temperature of the room steadily increasing with each frenzied step around the room. His hair glows so bright it overpowers the LEDs, bathing the entire room in a bright light that makes Yuu look away. "Do you?!"

"N-no-" They mumble, hands shaking as they stare down at Epel, crouching to pick up the piece of his face only to have their hand stepped on by the older brother, who sneers at their painted expression.

"Out. Now!" They quickly scurry out of the room, fearful of his short temper and sporadic, angry movements. They bite back the tears that threaten to spill from their eyes as the metal door slides open quietly, the younger brother stepping out.

"I'm sorry, Yuu," He whispers, eyes turn to the ground as he stares in defeat. "He just gets like this when things break, it's not your fault."

They try to sniffle back their tears and they place their hand on the boy's head, absentmindedly playing with the fire. "Don't worry Ortho. Thank you for helping."

"N-no, but-" The boy's eyes widen as he grabs their arm, tossing them off to the side as he's thrown against the opposite wall by an animatronic suit of armor that had charged at them. Yuu screams, watching how it's armor ripples and it disappears, barely catching the faint outlines of the screens that allow it to become invisible as they scramble to his side. The armor sprints down the hallway and disappears through a doorway, followed by another, more human scream silenced by a crunch.

The small boy's hands twitch, sparks flying from the back of his head, which spasms occasionally. A trail of inky oil leaks from the wound as he writhes, the small machinations within him whirring faster and faster as smoke rises from his small body.

"Ortho!" They sob, cradling the small boy in their lap and rocking him gently, holding his spasming head to their chest as they rub his shoulder. "I-it's okay, it's all going to be okay, you understand?"

He attempts to speak, the words coming out in an array of vowels and sounds, the small voice box present at the base of his neck sparking.

"Shh... shh you're okay..." They sob. "I-Idia!" They still don't know where the armor went, or if it was even gone from where they were. "Idia, please!"

They get no response from the boy, despite crawling over and slamming their fist on the door. "Idia!" They sob.

Ortho shakes his head, or at least tries to despite most of his muscular functions shutting down, the whirring of the cool down fans far too loud in the hallway as his head glitches and twitches, harshly bumping into their shoulder as they try to muffle their sobs. They kiss his cold, metallic forehead gently, weeping as guilt fills them once more, heavy in their heart.

"Not again-" They mumble. "Please, he's just a kid, please-"

Ortho tries to say something before his eyes flash red a few times, followed by the quiet whirring of his machinery shutting down. A rush of wrath fills their entire being, their grip tightening on the boy as they quietly curse at Idia.

They pat the boy's cheek in a sad attempt to wake him up, gulping as their head spins.

"Someone-" They gasp, staggering to their feel and attempting to maneuver the boy onto their back to the best of their ability. "Someone has to know h-how..." They continue to mutter, limping down the hallway, much, much slower due to the boy on their back. "Don't worry Ortho, don't worry-" They wince as they feel cold oil slide down the back of their neck, making their clothes stick uncomfortably to their skin as they shuffle forward, hearing the familiar song of gears spinning in a nearby room.

They shove the door open.

"Please! I need your-" Their mouth goes dry as they make eye contact with the scared boy inside, half of his arm wedged in a blade saw, the machine continuing to spin and hack through the flesh as tears streamed down his face, his agonized screams muffled by the cloth that he had shoved into his mouth. The sound of metal clashing against bone rings through the air, blood splatters onto the walls and staining the room in red, the smell of iron sickening as it clings to the inside of their nose and clings to their throat. Yuu staggers backwards, swallowing the bile that threatened to spill, biting their lip to cover up the terrified shriek that had crawled up from their lungs.

They cough and begs. "Leave, please, please," They turn to him in horror as they watch him grab a mechanical arm, shoving it into the empty space where his arm had been with a horrifying squelch. He screams once more as Yuu runs out the door. They hold Ortho close, praying that he hadn't witnessed what they had to in his state.

They balance the boy on their back more, securing him further as they whip around the corner.

"Help me!" Another student screams, his purple hair sticking to his face in thick strands, stuck by sweat and tears. His bloodshot eyes meet Yuu’s, pleading for them to intervene. "Please!" Sobbing, he's yanked backwards by a bot, thrown like a toy into a crowd of much smaller animatronics.

They look away in time to hear the sound of flesh being torn apart as some of the rogue robots tear the boy to shreds, his screams turned into sad gurgling which is eventually silenced as the splatter of blood from the scene before them lands on their face, making them choke back a cry.

Running back to Idia's room, they're shocked to see him standing right outside of his door, staring at the oil-stained dent in the wall in horror, tears silently streaming down his face. "Idia, please!" They wail. His head jolts as they look to them, and then to Ortho on their shoulder.

The boy's face turns from sorrowful to furious quicker than they can blink, being shoved to the ground as the older brother holds the younger in his arms, whimpering and sobbing into the crook of his neck. He glares up at them, placing Ortho to the ground and towering over them, fists clenched at his side as he practically yanks them to their feet by the throat, pinning them to the wall.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He growls. "You really are a murderer."

They shake their head feverishly as bile rises in their throat, cut off by his tight grip around their windpipe. Yuu's head pounds as their vision begins to fade along the edges, gasping and clawing at his hand with their free hand. Their feet practically dangle from the ground as they sob, unable to even beg for their life before it's ended.

For a split second they hope he does kill them, put an end to their suffering. It would only be fair to everyone who died trying to protect them, trying to keep them safe and out of harm's way.

Their eyes snap open as he drops them, their legs giving out from beneath them as they crumble to the ground, holding their throat and gasping and choking.

"Leave." His quiet, heartbroken voice sounds through the quiet hallway, his gaze drifting down to Ortho.

That's all Yuu needs to hear before they're scrambling back in the direction they came, hearing the stomping of the centipede behind them as they all but launch themselves into the mirror, tumbling and falling face first onto the cold stone of the mirror chamber, sobbing as they fearfully look up at the final mirror.

Laced with elegant silver thorns and at the top a giant pair of dragon-like wings. They gasp as the surface ripples. They hide their face in their arm, curling up on the floor.

"Oh, you poor, poor thing," A quiet voice calls to them, a cold hand landing on their head as they bite back tears. "It's alright dearie, no need to be afraid."

They finally will themselves to look up at the boy. A round face framed by pink and black strands, magenta eyes that smile down at them warmly. Eyes that held too much wisdom for someone of his age. They wonder if being here had done that to him, or if he was already like that.

"Are you okay?" He kneels beside them and the dam breaks as Yuu sobs, screaming into the stone as tears and snot drip onto the surface below them. They scream until their throat is raw and the sound comes out as soft whimpers and breathless wheezes. All while the man rubs their back, hushing sweet nothings and comforts into their ears as they shake and wail. They finally try to catch their breath, coming in and out as harsh gasps and coughs.

"Better now?" They sit up, sniffling and wiping at their eyes as the man holds his hand to their cheek, wiping their tears away with a cold thumb. "You're okay now, no worries. You're looking for a home, no?" They nod, unable to muster the energy to fight the boy. "Come hither, I will give you a place to spend the night at least. And, if you'd like, a permanent home."

"I-I would..."

He nods, helping them stand as he holds their hand, rubbing his thumb into the back of their palm soothingly as he guides them through the final mirror.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst fanfic #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst fanfiction #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twst true villains #ignihyde #idia shroud #twst angst #ortho shroud

62 notes · View notes

rotshop · 3 years ago

Text

help girl i just woke up and im already thinking abt mag s/o again. anyway please consider ;

[ tw body horror, some brief light gore and violence ]

[ note ; reader is SLIGHTLY described. the only thing mentioned is that they have a noticeable, identifying scar on their face

hank + mag s/o

-he knew you even before the boombox incident. he doesn't even really remember how you two first met, he just remembers that you started talking to him and then just kinda kept coming back. at first he wasn't the biggest fan of you since he was 'doing just fine on his own,' but...he admittedly was already really attached to you. they've never been much of a talker and that's especially noticeable to you at that point in time but ,,, they respond enough with signing, nodding / shaking their head, or the occasional speaking that you're able to carry some conversations pretty well.

-he doesn't really. have. a lot of people in his life. you're really his only real close friend, it's kinda hard for him to fully wrap his head around it so !! they chose not to, instead focusing more-so on whatever it was you were rambling to them about that day.

-not super sure of where to put this lmao but ummm ehe . he's actually surprisingly touchy with you????? like. you've hung out at his house a few times and he just like. you'll start out sitting next to each other and you'll end up either laying with your head on their chest or vice versa . its . a little funny . you tease him about it a little and he just flicks your shoulder. also traces your scar a lot if you'll let them, they're not entirely sure why they do it, they just . like asking you about it occasionally.

-also you have scary dog privileges. they might look like any other grunt at that point but they're still tall as fuck and idk man !! something abt getting a blank stare from someone who towers over u would probably make u shut up and mind ur own damn business.

-again, he's not super good at fully recognizing / acknowledging certain thoughts and feelings of his but . yknow. he can definitely tell he at least worries about you a lot more than he would some other grunt he just met. he can definitely tell there's a reason he doesn't mind you touching him, whether by grabbing his hand to go show him something or just placing a hand on his shoulder or arm (most likely arm, again. hes tall. ). they can definitely tell there's a reason that they find themself genuinely enjoying your interactions.

-after the park thing you don't see them for a long time. everytime you try and call him the lines dead, everytime you try and ask others about him you just get choice words, all in all you're pretty much lost on the entire thing. sure, you know what happened but . it just never sits right with you. it doesn't help whenever people ask questions about them or give you wary looks because of your association, half steps back when you take one forward.

-anyway. yeah nevada goes to shit and you get magnified for the aahw. by now you just. don't really talk about hank. surprisingly, you have a little more of your old memories than the average mag !! congrats. problem is they're all foggy enough that you only really distantly decipher them. lmao. you aren't super high on the ladder but you're a pretty tough mag to beat. you're well known enough that other mags tend to hang around you when there's not much else going on. v2 mags especially think it's fun to mess around with you by jumping on your back or otherwise clinging onto you . idk man u've got like . a little family here .

-at one point or another there's an outing youre on that ends up going wrong. you get split up from the rest of your unit and are forced to hide out in some old abandoned building while you wait for backup. you're a little too injured to try and walk all the way back, a heavy gash on your side preventing you from doing too much in the moment. when you hear heavy steps on concrete you're able to give some sort of noise of relief, turning your head to look over your shoulder at whichever agent in your group had finally found you-

-you're instead met with red goggles and the end of a gun.

-any kind of relief is snatched away, you know damn well who it is by just the bit you can see in the dark alone. even standing in the shade between two windows (one of which you were sitting by, probably how they seen you in the first place- if that's the case though, it's a little weird they hadn't just shot at you through it.) you knew it was him. you're already stumblingly forcing yourself up to as much of your full height as you can manage, taking some kind of defensive position even as one of your hands ghosts over your gash. the throbbing pain of it and the feeling of blood sticking and running down your skin is enough that you can't seem to focus on the fact that he won't stop staring at your face.

-it doesn't take long before your legs seem to fail you, forcing you forward a bit as you kneel in some sort of attempt to keep upright. you're too busy hissing under your breath and screwing your eyes shut in pain as your hand covers your side to notice your company stepping forwards. you're snapped back to attention when there's a hand on your face, fingertips digging into your skin as they yank your head down a little further. you know you should be grabbing him, that you should be digging your claws into his torso and ripping him clean in half, throwing whatevers left aside and leaving. you know thats what you were told to do, what you were told they deserved anyway. yet, you aren't. instead, you're just giving some warning growl as you stare at them. you notice how the end of the gun is pointed away from you, how their touch seems to outline the mark on your face.

-"If you try and hurt me, I'll kill you." That's the only real heads up you get before he's crouching down and shoving your hand out of the way, grabbing something from his pocket to get to work on you. you don't fail to notice how little attention they're paying to you (aside from the focus on your wound, of course), that you could just rush forward and slam them into the ground if you really wanted.

-ok im skippin g ahead bc this is already way too goddamn long for hcs DEJWJCS

-anyway. it's a complicated relationship for a while. the others tend to avoid you a little but he just keeps showing up around you. they keep staring at you and just hanging around in your general area. it's not that much of an irritant if you ignore all the weird emotions and thoughts it keeps bringing to the forefront of your mind, forcing you to once again try and meddle with your memories.

-eventually he just starts walking over to you and sitting down next to you. sometimes he doesn't say anything at all, just sitting there and seeming to wait for one thing another- he never seems to find whatever that is, as he always gets up and leaves without a word at some point or another. then they start talking, its just little things at first, point-blank statements you can't say much on. sometimes they're just saying they and the other three will be gone for a bit othertimes it's some half-demand to let them look at the stitches they did on you (semi-related, he's not good at them. the stitches are pretty rough. at one point or another sanford has to redo them properly lmao)

-but then there's one particular night. they do the normal thing, come over, sit down next to you, not say a word. this time though you note how they're facing you. instead of some reminder or a demand for anything, he's pulling his ask down and asking a simple question. 'What do you remember?'

-it's a long conversation. he's talking more than he normally would by a long shot, occasionally stopping whenever his words seem to especially fail him and get stuck in his throat. you don't even really remember moving around, or even him pulling you in any way, you just know you somehow end up laying next to him with your head on his chest.

-whenever the memories do seem to click into place, it's hard. you have a lot of choice words for them yourself, months of being left alone without a word bubbling up with a vengeance, they listen to them. while some mags (such as yourself) do have the ability to speak, the san and dei don't think they've ever heard one with that much emotion in their voice. they've especially never seen a mag just break down like you do, they're both tensing up a little from their far away spot when hank's walking closer to you. instead of you lashing out or swiping at him though, you just sit there while he wraps his arms around you (as best as he can at least, it's a little difficult but he's able to get them around your neck and reach his other hand behind you well enough). you're eventually doing the same to him, though it's more so just your hands resting on their back.

-it takes a good while for proper trust to be rebuilt along with an honest, proper explanation from hank that only you're privy to. eventually though, there's enough trust that you're able to hang around him again without narrowly avoiding an argument or anything. they don't like being super affectionate or 'vulnerable' in front of the other two, so most times they prefer being in your or their room. also they're still touchy lmao, doesn't help that you're mag sized now and so they just want to hold you . its hard to explain, he's never been super affected by others heights and even when he is it's usually a negative thing for him but . for some reason . he just likes being shorter / smaller than you lol ,,,,,,,, hope you like holding them a lot bc that's what you're gonna be doing

-holy shit these are long so . i think .i am going to stop here.

#hank j wimbleton x reader #madcom x reader #madness combat x reader #madcom imagines #madness combat imagines #rot writes #hank 'jmy s/o is twice my size and could turn me into a fine wine if they really wanted to and i love them for it' wimbleton

174 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

Text

Baby, It’s Cold...

Warnings: this fic includes dubious/nonconsent, fingering, lying, manipulation, and general Ransom naughtiness

This is explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: You go to meet your online admirer but not all is as it seems.

Note: Our Chris-mas fic is here! I tried to keep the holiday details as vague as possible and hope you all enjoy what I came up with. As a reminder, y’all chose Ransom Drysdale + Sugar Daddy + Silverfox (= yes please)

I hope y’all enjoy!

Let me know what you think! (Like, reblog, reply, leave some words, a gif, nonsensical emojis)

Your nerves wouldn't stop. It was the tap of your fingers, the urge to chew your thumb, and the way you shifted in your seat just when you got settled. The flight was long enough to calm down and definitely not long enough to prepare yourself.

You scrolled through your phone, offline for the journey. You swiped through the photos saved in your gallery. Hugh had paid for the ticket. A gift for the holidays he said; his gift, he added, was you. It was cheesy but it made you smile. He always had a way of surprising you. One moment, he was stern and demanding, the next he was flirty and fun, and sometimes, he could be sappy. He was different than any man you’d met; well you hadn’t exactly met yet.

It had started on your Insta. You liked to post pictures of pretty things; flowers, birds, critters, and the odd monument. Sometimes, even, yourself. He messaged you about some photo of a vintage book. It was random and awkward. You weren’t quite sure how you managed to bring the quality to text but you did always find a way.

But it continued and you got to know him. He knew a lot about books; he said he worked in publishing. As a photography student, you weren’t as impressive. You assumed he was older; a few years, he said. Well, that wasn’t so bad. He also suggested you keep some prints; it could make for a good coffee table book. You liked hat he humoured you but you were like any other arts major; you were waiting for your green apron.

As they announced the landing over the speaker, you buckled in. You played with the locked buckle. You had lied to your mother. You told her you were staying on campus for the winter break. What would do if she knew if you were meeting a stranger? Huh, you were meeting a stranger and you had kept it all a secret. Your romcom had just become a horror in your mind.

Well, you had the app on the phone. The one that would send your location if you didn’t log in within the next eight hours. But it could be too late by then. Shit, this was stupid. So stupid. You could hide and tell him you missed your flight. Well, fuck, you’d texted him just before boarding.

As the plane descended you went through every worst case scenario; catfish, liar, murderer… Hugh was hot as fuck and you had to admit, a rich guy with eyes like his, was way out of your league. You bit your lip as you looked at the pic of him at the beach; was it the abs that made you so dumb or the smirk?

The large wheels rolled over the tarmac as the pilot steered past the other planes and into position. You waited as disembarkment began and the attendants reminded passengers to remain seated until told otherwise. You felt the wine in your stomach swish. Hugh had paid for first class; you had enjoyed the complimentary drinks a little too much. The first had been for courage, the second for foolishness.

Finally, it was time to get up. Time to face your naivety. Why did these things seem like a good idea until the last minute? Rather, why did you think they were? This was like that blind date in your freshman year that turned out to be a prank by your roommates. Sophomore year saw you relocated.

What if the same was going through Hugh’s head? What if he was disappointed? It was easy to seem cooler than you were behind a screen. It wasn’t exactly like you broadcasted the fact that you spent all your time in the library or the fact that your study group was the majority of your socialization. Well, maybe you’d both be let down and you could laugh about it together.

You grabbed your carry-on and followed the rest of the passengers down the ramp and into the tunnel. You felt like you were in a movie or a dream. It was surreal. Had you really flown all this way to meet this online pal?

As you reached the escalators, you turned your phone off of airplane mode. There was a message waiting for you. ‘At the gate.’ It was all too real as you sent back an emoji and neared the belt to grab your bag. You extended the arm and rolled it behind you as you headed for the last barrier. You were waved through customs and met another set of escalators. You bounced your leg as you descended.

You got to the bottom and walked around as you searched those waiting around the gate. Blonde hair, you couldn’t miss it. Blue eyes, tall, broad shoulders… he was the type to stand out in the crowd.

“Hey,” you felt a large hand on your back and another on the handle of your bag. “Right here.”

The deep voice was the same from your phone calls. You smiled and looked over as he took your bag entirely and wrapped his arm around you.

“I can’t believe you’re finally here.” You turned to him and his hand rested on your hip as he faced you.

The air went out of you and your lips parted. You blinked and sputtered. “H- Hi.”

“You okay? How was the flight?” He asked.

You were in shock. Your entire body jittered and your breath was trapped in your chest. It was Hugh but he was about twenty years older than his photos. Most of his hair was silver, with only a few strands of blonde, and though he hadn’t aged poorly, the difference was stark. Handsome as he still was, he had lied.

“It was… fine.” You forced out. “I…” You shook your head and pouted as your thoughts raced, “Hugh, you’re… older than I expected.”

“Call me Ransom. Everybody does.” He leaned it, “Why don’t we talk about this in the car?”

You looked around. You couldn’t really just turn around and go home, could you? You lowered your chin and sucked in your lip as you thought. What else had he lied about?

“Sure,” you said thinly. “I…”

“Babe, it’s me,” he coaxed, “I’m exactly who I said I was. And you, you’re even more gorgeous in person.”

You glanced at him and nodded. You hooked your shoulder bag over your arm and he grabbed your hand as he pulled you with him. The wheels of your suitcase rolled loudly behind him as the buzz of the crowd drowned out your panicked mind. You let him guide you, in disbelief. You didn’t know what else to do.

You were outside as the haze cleared. You approached a car, sleek and sporty, though you were never good with types. Hugh, or Ransom, opened the trunk and dropped your bag inside. He went to the driver’s side and opened the door as you stared across at him. You mirrored him and lowered yourself into the passenger’s seat. The doors closed almost in unison and you stared through the windshield at the unfamiliar parking lot.

He cleared his throat and turned the engine. You snapped your belt into place as he shifted into gear. You flinched and crossed your arms. You peeked at him in the rearview and his hand crawled onto your thigh. His eyes met yours in the mirror and he smirked. You were paralysed as he steered with one hand and his fingers tapped against your jeans.

“Merry Christmas, babe,” he said, “Or… happy holidays. Whatever’s politically correct.”

He laughed and you only managed to choke on your spit. You felt like you should be mad but did you have any right to be? He hadn’t exactly catfished you. Not completely. And he had paid for your ticket and from what you could tell, he was just as rich as he claimed. Yet, that wasn’t exactly why you’d come. Sure, it was all just in good fun, you didn’t expect a whirlwind romance, but it was still jarring.

“Why don’t you just relax?” he purred, “I know it wasn’t too long a flight but flying always takes it outta me. And you’ll need your energy. I have lots of surprises in store for you.”

You nodded and leaned against the door. You hugged yourself and lifted your leg over the other and Ransom’s hand slipped away. He seemed unbothered as he sat back in his seat and turned his attention to the road.

The radio flicked on and filled the tense silence. You clung to the unknown lyrics to keep from drowning in fear.

🎁

Despite your doubts, you couldn’t help but be astounded by Ransom’s house. Almost four years in a dormitory and the Holiday Inn was like a palace to you, but his place was even more than that. A modern façade with a blanket of store across the sprawling yards which seemed to have been perfectly laid to match the straight lines of the structure.

You stayed in the car as Ransom climbed out and took your bag from the trunk. You jumped in your seat as he tapped on the window with his knuckle. You looked over at him and undid your belt. You got out, your bag dangling from your wrist, and he touched the small of your back again as he led you forward.

“We’ll have dinner and then you can open your gifts,” he said, “That’s when the fun will start.”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed as he unlocked the door with a code and ushered you in.

You watched him hang his jacket and reluctantly unzipped your own. You put your bag down but kept a hold of your phone.

“You’re nervous,” he intoned.

“Why did you send me those pics and not something more recent? You lied.” You said.

His mouth slanted and he raised his brows. “They were me. Not much of a lie.”

“Enough of one, don’t you think?”

He chuckled. “I think you at least owe me a little leeway. Considering.”

“Considering what? You offered to pay. Don’t hold that over me.”

“I’m not but… you’re young, you’re impulsive. I mean, you came all the way here and now what? You’re going to tuck tail and run home? Spend the last of that bursary money so you can hide?”

“Don’t patronize me,” you huffed as you stepped out of your boots.

“I’m not.” He said firmly. “I’m giving you advice and it’s hard to see when you’re young but we both know you’re smarter than your age. We both know what this is and me being older isn’t going to affect that.” His eyes roved over you, “Is it?”

You lowered your lashes and thought. You wetted your lips and looked down at your phone. You unlocked it and opened the app. You keyed in your password and turned off the alert. You’d come this far and you were fairly certain he wouldn’t murder you. Besides, your mother would kill you once she found out you’d come all this way.

“It’s just gonna take me a bit to get used to it,” you tucked your phone away, “But promise me, that’s it. The only lie.”

“Promise,” he said gently, “Now, dinner should be here soon so why don’t you get changed.”

“Changed?” You snorted, “What--”

“Up the stairs, the room at the end of the hall, there’s a red box on the bed. It should fit. If it doesn’t, I’m sure it’ll still look great on you.”

You smiled as your cheeks burned. He was older but he still had charm and had aged into his looks and not out of them.

“Alright,” you said, “I… what’s for dinner?”

“Another surprise,” he replied as he neared and leaned in, “I’m more excited about dessert.” His breath tickled your cheek, his lips too, and you shivered. “Now go, we’ve both waited long enough for this.”

You drew away and turned to head up the stairs. He tapped your ass and you squeaked. You looked back over his shoulder and he winked. “Can’t help myself,” he raised his hands, “But I’ll try.”

You continued up the stairs and tried not to gape at what had to be expensive art. The furniture was no less extravagant and as you entered the room at the end of the hall, you closed the door and pulled out your phone. You typed in Ransom instead of Hugh Drysdale and pages of results popped up. Editor, Publisher, and Owner of Blood Like Wine Publishing. Jesus Christ, were you really that daft?

Well, he was famous enough to reassure you he wasn’t going to kill you. You tossed your phone on the bed beside the box and carefully untied the black ribbon around it. You shimmied the lid off and revealed the red velvet. You lifted it up, a short little piece trimmed with white fur. It was the most ridiculous thing you’d ever seen but scandalous nevertheless.

You stripped as your nerves only got worse. You slipped into the dress, it was tight around your chest and the short skirt had a slit along the thigh. You wanted to laugh at yourself. There was a pair of heels at the foot of the bed and you sat to slip on the stilettos. You stood and wobbled. You felt so dumb but a glance in the mirrored door of the closet gave you pause. Not bad.

You slowly made your way down the stairs. You held tight to the railing and as you came to the bottom, you looked around at the airy halls. You wandered into the next room and back to the kitchen. You stopped in the doorway as Ransom looked up from the counter. He carefully plated the food from the containers surrounded by paper bags. Expensive, boujie take out.

“The other way,” he smiled, “Past the stairs. I’ll be in shortly.”

“Oh, okay,” you spun and caught yourself on the wall.

You found your way to the room across the hall. There was an artificial fireplace in the wall burning and a low table with two cushions planted deliberately on the floor. There was a bucket with ice and champagne in it and two glasses waiting. You crossed to it and touched the petals of the stemmed roses in the tall crystal vase.

You turned as you heard footsteps. Ransom entered with two plates. He passed you and set them down on the low table. He spun back to you and took in every inch of you. “Wow, you look… great.”

“Thank you,” you shied away and he caught your hands. He pulled you close as the candlelight gleamed along his silver hair.

“Come here,” his hand grazed your arm and he caught your chin, “Amazing.”

He brushed his lips against yours and pressed them more firmly. You let him as you heart hammered and he pulled away as he nibbled your bottom lip.

“Let’s eat,” he breathed. “Before it gets cold.”

You followed him to the table and sat on the cushion. It was difficult as your skirt rode up and you bent your legs beside you awkwardly as Ransom popped the cork. He poured the wine and you sipped at the foam. You could still feel the glow of the grigio you’d downed on the plane.

“So, did you bring your camera? Tomorrow we might go out and you can get some photos. It’s beautiful in the winter. Cold but makes warming up all the better.”

“Yeah…” You took a bite of the salad. “So, why didn’t you tell me who you were? If your age doesn’t matter, then--”

“You didn’t ask me for money. Not even when I mentioned it. Most women, I tell them who I am, they google me, and they do a poor job of tiptoeing around my checkbook.” He shrugged. “And I like you. I wanted to get to know you without everything else.”

“Get to know me?” You scoffed. “That’s what you call it?”

“My intentions were innocent. At first. I thought your pictures might make a good book and then I found one of you. Business isn’t everything.”

“Oh,” you fluttered your lashes, “It’s not?”

His hand snaked over to your thigh and he squeezed. He played with the fur along your skirt.

“I have enough money.” He said, “What I want isn’t so simple.”

🎁

You finished dinner and washed it down with the champagne as Ransom cleared the plates. As came back, you sat on your knees and watched him cross the room. There was a table stacked with presents in the corner. You only just noticed it as he looked it over and picked out one wrapped in gold paper.

He neared and held it out to you. You took it and ran your finger over the edge. “Your gift is in my bag,” you tried to stand and he waved you off.

“Later,” he said, “Open it.”

You slid your finger under a fold and tore. You slowly unwrapped the box; black and shiny. You crumpled the paper and dropped it on the table. You wiggled the lid off a revealed a pair of black furry cuffs. You giggled.

“Thanks,” you looked up at him.

“Stand up,” he said.

“W-Why?” You tilted your head.

“You gotta try them on,” he grinned, “Come on. Just a little bit of fun.”

“I don’t know, I never--”

“I know you didn’t come here just for steak so come on, get up.” He demanded, “And turn around.”

You bit down as you stared up at him. You wanted to laugh but the lines in his forehead warned you he was serious. He bent and took the cuffs from you and set the box aside. You stood, numb and shaky. You didn’t believe it. He wasn’t going to--

He spun you around and swept your arms behind you. You tried to pull away as he caught your left wrist in a cuff and quickly hooked the other. They closed tight around your wrists and he tugged on the link as if to test them.

You stared at the artificial flames licking at the glass. He cupped your ass and dragged his hands around to grip your hips.

“They look nice,” he purred, “Oh, baby.”

He bent and nuzzled your neck as he brought his arms around you and kneaded your tits. He pushed them up as he nibbled at your skin.

“These… are perfect,” he kissed you and teased your flesh with his teeth. “Fuck.”

He pulled down the top of your dress and bared your chest. You wriggled and he hugged your waist he kept you close.

“What are you doing, baby? Where are you going to go?” He tweaked your nipple, “Dressed like a little slut.”

“Hey,” you gasped and he retracted his hand to smack your ass.

He hushed you as his fingers crept down your thigh and he rolled up your skirt an inch at a time. “What are these?” He snapped your panties, “You don’t need those.” He pulled them below your ass and they fell to your ankles. “Let me show you what an old man does better than any kid.”

He reached around you and tickled your pelvis. He raised his head and inhaled the scent of your scalp as his hot breath glossed over your head.

“Don’t be shy now… or would you feel better with a camera?” He taunted. “Hmmm?”

“Hu--Ransom,” you uttered.

“Come on,” he forced his hand between your legs and flicked between your folds. “What did you think this was? How long did you think I’d wait?”

“No, but--” You gasped as he toyed with your clit, “Ransom.”

“Say it again,” he swirled his fingers.

You gulped and moaned as he rubbed harder. Your legs quaked around his hand as he slid his fingers further back. You felt your arousal slicken as he spread it over your cunt and poked around your entrance. He slid a finger inside of you as he wiggled his crotch against your hands.

“Is this what you came for? Or did you want all of me?” He pushed another finger in. “You want me inside you, baby? Stretching you?”

You groaned as he curled his fingers and pressed the hell of his hand to your clit. He rocked his hand and cried out. Your legs cramped as your feet curled in the high stilettos.

“It doesn’t really matter what you came for,” he pushed on your shoulder until you bent forward. He caught the middle of the cuffs and held you like that. “I’m gonna get what I want.”

You closed your eyes and whined as he pulled his fingers out of you. You quivered and he spanked you before he withdrew his hand entirely. You felt him fumbling behind you as you shook your head. As you had been since you met him, you were off-balance. You couldn’t decide if what he wanted was what you wanted too.

You felt a prod along your ass. He brushed his tip down your cheek and poked between your legs. He wetted himself on your folds and pushed along your entrance. Slowly, he slid into you, grunting as he sank past his tip. Deeper and deeper until you threw your head up and moaned. He filled you completely; painfully and delightfully.

“Yeah, you want me.” He hissed as he thrust and jerked your body. “You want to be mine, don’t you?”

You hummed as he moved against you, your shoulders straining as he tugged on the cuffs.

“Say it. Say you want to be mine.”

“Ah,” you moaned, “I want-- to-- I-- I’m yours.”

“You’re mine, baby,” he snarled, “All mine. Aren’t you?”

“Y-y-yes,” your eyes rolled back as he sped up.

He rammed into you so hard your legs buckled. He growled and followed you down. He bent you over the table as swept the bucket and vase out of the way. He got to his knees as he pinned you over the top and crushed your hips against the edge. Your cheek was hot against the cool table as he jolted you.

“Mine,” he grunted, “Baby, all mine…”

He rutted into you as his voice mingled with yours. You whimpered as your legs tingled and your core bloomed. You let out a feral whine as you came, convulsing beneath him as he gripped the table above your shoulder.

“You want me.” He rasped, “You want me to cum in you.”

“I-I-I…” You twisted your hands as you struggled to think; struggled to do more than murmur wildly.

“Fuck.” He swore and you felt him burst.

He slowed as he slapped the table and when he stilled, he held himself over you and his breath sent a shudder through you. He sat back on his knees and slid out of you. His cum spilled down your thigh and you slumped down against him. He pinched the velvet bunched around our waist.

“You got more gifts to open, baby,” he slapped your ass as he stood, “You think you can keep up with an old man like me?”

#dark!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale #knives out #ransom drysdale x reader #fic #one shot #request #merry chris-mas #seasonal #holiday fic

988 notes · View notes

electric-soulja-boy-porygon · 3 years ago

Text

Hey warrior cat fans!

I just wanted to say thank you to the people who liked my Mapleshade horror au post, the idea had been bouncing around in my head for a while, but I'm surprised and touched that some of you seem to like it. So I've decided to talk a little more about what I've thought about for this AU:

As mentioned before, Mapleshade is a spirit who has not been able to put to rest after Petalkit cursed the clans

After killing Oakstar, she settled down for a few generations until she woke up again because of Stormkit's accident

Stormkit himself has some things play out differently, starting immediately when he is washed away by a suprisingly sudden torrent, so fast that nobody was able to catch him before he was swept away

After that, Stormkit dreams, stirring in and out of consciousness. The only thing that he truly remembers about the days that follow is the soft hull of a motherly voice, and the strange sensation of feeling underwater

He washes up near a barn several days later. His jaw is broken, but somehow it's been tended to, as if someone had cleaned it to prevent infection, and kept him nourished while he was unconscious

He is discovered by a pair of brother and sister, Flick and Mitzi. (the loners Crooked meets when he runs away in canon!) Mitzi has younger kittens at this point, so they both obviously bring the kitten back with them, since an unconscious, drenched kitten is obviously troubling

When Stormkit wakes up, he's obviously confused to where he is, but the barn cats don't seem to know enough about the clans to direct him home, so he decides to stay with the loner family for a while

He also gets to meet Flick and Mitzi's grandmother and her brothers, Petal, Larch, and Patch, the latter of which also has a broken jaw

The older cats seem to know a little bit more about Riverclan, but they don't like to talk about it. Regardless, Stormkit integrates into the whole family, getting along with the other kittens, being taught by the adult siblings and Patch, and giving Petal and Larch the same respect as he would an elder

But there's a tension between Stormkit and Petal. She seems to hate the clans, and doesn't understand why Stormkit would want to return there

But eventually, when Stormkit is around 7 or 8 moons, the old 3 cats decide to tell Stormkit how to return to Riverclan. He's furious that they hid that information from him, so although he has a mostly good goodbye with the loners, it's a somewhat bittersweet farewell with the oldest cats

After that... I don't have the most concrete ideas!

Stormkit returns to a clan that thought he was dead, and everyone is both elated and also 100% not sure how to react to his broken jaw

Rainflower is awful as per usual, but Stormkit refuses to be renamed, and becomes Stormpaw, a little bit late at 8 or 9 moons

A lot of story beats in Riverclan remain the same, but Mapleshade's role here is different

She and Stormpaw meet a lot, her appearing as a ghost cat (not as her horror form for reasons I'll get into), and she's initially pretty out of it

She doesn't really remember anything initially except that she was a warrior named Mapleshade

She's a sort of mentor figure for Storm like in canon, but genuinely nicer

But over time she begins to remeber things... And starts to change. Her body begins to become horrifying again, and her mind starts to fade into mindless rage because of the curse

She's very proud of Storm, and a part of her dies with pride when he asks to be named Stormshade, but she's starting to loose control of herself

The plot becomes more murder mystery as Mapleshade starts killing again. The only official death I can name is Rainflower, but she kills way more than just one cat

Although Stormshade finds out the culprit pretty quickly, he and a few other cats (maybe Brambleberry and a Thunderclan cat? Mapleshade is targeting both clans after all) have to figure out why she's doing it and how to stop her

Eventually Mapleshade's story is found out through the help of some elders, and Storm connects the dots

He returns to the loner family to ask them for help in soothing Mapleshade's soul. The younger generation has no idea what's going on, but Larch, Patch and Petal are shocked

Petal, who caused the curse, has no love for the clan cats. But with her brothers encouragement and knowing that this situation is hurting Mapleshade, Stormshade, and other innocent cats eventually convinces her to go with them

All the loners come with Storm, and the whole family gets to meet Riverclan (although nobody knows who the 3 oldest ones are!) And while planning to lure Mapleshade out, there's a lot of really sweet bonding

When Maple is eventually lured out, she's basically unrecognizable and completely feral, which breaks her children's hearts

After a lot of danger and action, the 3 siblings approach their mother and ask her to forgive the clans. The clans have hurt their family, and their family has hurt the clans. Mapleshade deserves peace, and so does her children, and so does Stormshade and his family

Surrounded by her kits, who survived and have lived to be old, their descendents, and the Riverclan cat who she thought of as if he were her own..... Mapleshade is finally able to move on. What's left of her is buried near the river, a reminder of what started and ended it all

Some of the barn cats decide to go home because that's where they belong... But Larch, Patch, and Petal are old, and the journey to the clans made their bones ache. The cats of Riverclan treat them with kindness, not in spite of, but because of their history

They fit in with the elders extremely well. Some two of Mitzi's kits, Magpie and Soot, also join the clans, and become Magpiepelt and Sootstream

Later in life, Stormshade goes on to become leader. For one of his lives, Mapleshade appears to him, clear in the mind, and fur no longer damp from water

She gives him a life for moving on, to understand that bad things can happen, and having the strength to keep living in spite of it

Seasons layer, after the death of Mapleshade's children, his brother Oakheart brings home two kits who look just like the Thunderclan warrior, Bluefur. Everyone notices.

But despite what the clan might notice, they also remeber those 3 elders. And so, nobody says a thing. Stonekit and Mistykit are welcomed into the clan with open arms

#warrior cats au #warriors au #warrior cats #long post #mapleshade #larchkit #patchkit #petalkit #crookedstar #abelism #my posts

203 notes · View notes

bokettochild · 3 years ago

Note

Request: something with the doppels please?

I headcannon the dopples as being Legend's deviants in a similar way that the Colors are for Four, so that's reflected here.

I came up with this a while ago though, and while I'm not fully satisfied with it, I thought it would be fun to explore how the dopples react to the Four Sword.

Hence, Color and Dopple bonding/meeting!

If the item they grabbed in order to help someone else could not be cursed for once, Legend would be very thankful.

But since when did things ever go his way?

...Their way?

You know what, when did things ever go as planned? There, pronouns don’t matter this way.

Not that the pronouns really change much, they just become... plural...

Four would very much not like to believe their eyes.

No really, please, make this not be real.

There are four Legends; four of him, and the Four Sword has been split.

Sure, the enemies that sprung on the two of them while they were gathering kindling are now dead. Sure, Legend protected them when the attack had caught them both off guard. And yeah, all five of them are now bleeding and injured, but why does it need to be five?

Because Legend’s sword was knocked away. Vio reminds the rest of them. Because our sword was the closest at hand and he needed a weapon.

Picking it up shouldn’t trigger it though, it needs force, it needs power pushing through it to activate. Blue grumbles.

And what do you think Legend does with his sword usually? None of his items are exactly normal if you recall.

Blue huffs at that, but no one says anything else, Red is too busy cheering at having more brothers while Green is currently weighing the pros and cons of Legend knowing the secrets of the Four Sword.

In all honesty though, the vet is taking it rather well.

“Seriously,” The red Legend sighs, looking at his alternate selves and then at the Four. The man doesn’t even ask for an explanation, he’s just burying his head in his hands. “Of course, of course this happens.”

“Aaand that’s why it’s called the Four Sword.” the green Legend sighs, looking at the blade he still holds in his hands with a slight smirk.

“I’d wondered if it was fully capable yet.” Blue Legend hums. “I suppose it only needed some power to unlock it’s abilities.”

The last of the four Legend’s sits frozen, shining gaze locked on Four for a brief moment as they look back at him. It doesn’t last long. They aren’t sure how or why, but this deviant is smaller than Legend, and the second that they make any move towards their split companion, the yellow deviant squeaks and ducks behind the green one, bright eyes shining with absolute horror.

“Hello,” The blue deviant peers around his brother in confusion. “There’s a forth one?”

“Four Sword.” The red deviant grumbles. “It implies that there would be four.”

“There was never four before.” The green one muses, looking behinds himself with a cocked brow. “And none of us was that fearful.”

“You okay?” It’s clear Legend’s blue isn’t the same violently minded variant as Four has, in fact, he seems something more like Vio or Green, calm and observant, but not altogether unattached from the world.

“How-” The golden variant whispers, eyes still not leaving Four as the younger looking Legend stares out from behind his other deviant. “You’re dead!”

They pause, confusion on their face as they take in the uneasy way that Legend’s variants look at each other.

“You’re dead, you’re dead, YOU’RE DEAD!” The deviant shrieks, frenzied and frightened in a way they’ve never seen Legend before, hands gripping tightly to his counterpart as he stares at the Four-Who-Are-One with a manic sort of terror, confusing them and setting his brothers ill at ease.

What does this...child, intend by his words? Is it a threat? Is it a dream, a hallucination? Splitting can mess with the mind, especially for first timers, is this part of Legend just insane somehow?

“I killed you!” There are tears in the golden one’s eyes, and he continues to quake behind his counterpart as the other three exchange looks of recognition.

“Kid, calm down.” Red starts, brash and uncertain.

“That’s Four.” Blue adds.

“He’s our friend.” Green soothes, oozing charm and charisma that reminds them of Warriors.

“They tried to kill us.” Goldie whispers, clutching even tighter at the tunic in front of him.

“Um...no?” Blue is taking the forefront of their own mind, but Red holds him back from being too violent. Even so, their own variants know better than to push at something so fragile. The golden variant of Legend is like the metal he’s colored after, delicate and so easy to break, too harsh a movement or action will snap him in two, and they aren’t ready to deal with that split, not when Legend is already in four pieces!

“Ignore him, please.” The red Legend sighs, rubbing at his face in a tired manner, and when they look closely it’s easy to see that this variant received the burden of Legend’s eyebags- his tunic and cap may be red, but the bruises beneath his eyes are a dark purple that make the vet’s own gaze seem near black in comparison.

“It’s a slight mix up.” The green one adds, kneeling down beside his counterpart with an assuring smile that they have only ever seen directed at the youngest of their number, and even then, most of the time it’s meant for Hyrule.

The Blue, Red and Green deviants all stare at each other, eyes flicking silently and expressions twisting for a moment before there’s sighing from the Blue and Red, and the two of them stand and make their way over to Four.

“Let’s give them some space.” Red sighs, “Kid’ll be freaking out for a hot second yet.”

They can’t help the suspicious raise of their brows. “You do realize he’s part of you, right?”

The two Legends exchange another look before looking back to him.

“Not exactly.”

“He,” Red Legend jabs a thumb over his shoulder, “Is supposed to be dead.”

Four would like a moment to scream please.

“What do you mean?” Red takes control as a panicked glance is shot over to the small-Legend. “He’s part of you!”

“Part of us that died.”

“We’ve been split before.”

“Albeit in a different way.”

“There wasn’t four of us to choose from.”

“Not with our soul already divided.”

“The Four Sword had to dig up something that wasn’t there anymore.”

“It was either us or the blade.”

Four has been split for the last six years and even they don’t do this. “Why are you talking like that?” They hiss, looking between the two forms of their friend. Blue is screaming inside and Red is shivering, Vio is demanding answers and Green is contemplating the possibilities of learning to do this themselves, all of which at once makes for a very busy head and no space to process much of what was just said.

“Practice.” The two Legends echo, nodding en tandem.

“Like we said,” Red sighs again. “This isn’t the first split for us.”

“First time we’ve become four.”

“But not the first split in general.”

Four looks between them, curiosity winning out over shock as Vio takes the lead. “Explain.”

And they do. As it turns out, the fabled sixth adventure of the hero of Legend resulted in his mind being divided amidst three separate bodies, each of which took on a few of his qualities as their main attributes, but, for the most part, remained distinctly Legend.

“It’s not a clear divide.” Blue Legend explains. “We share memories, can speak with each other via a link of our minds, and in general we act like we would when together.”

“Some traits are stronger though.” Red Legend adds on.

The red variant, Crimson, it turns out, is Legend’s exhaustion and irritability. He’s the frustration and stress and takes the brunt of their experiences. The blue variant, Ocean, on the other hand, is the resourceful, experienced part of Legend that can spy opportunity and possibilities in most places. He is, in a way, like Vio, representing the creative and intelligence of Legend. The green variant, Forest, the two inform him, if the valor and strength of Legend. Like their own green, this part of Legend is dedicated to his tasks and to the people around him. Without the exhaustion, bitterness and calculating aspects being as prominent, it allows him to be more open and friendly when separated from his brothers.

“And the golden one?” They ask, eyes trailing back to where the deviants in question are still talking.

Crimson sighs once again, shaking his head. “Call him Lore.”

“He’s us, but much younger.”

“He died when we were young, so his memories, his experiences, that sort of thing, they don’t line up with ours.”

Ocean nods in agreement. “Last he knew, we were visiting our grandparent’s farm after our third adventure. He doesn't know about our experiences since.”

“Much less us.” Crimson adds on. “He’s the only Link as far as he's concerned.”

“But how is he dead?” Four presses, confusion eating at their minds. It wouldn’t make sense for a deviant to be able to die, not without affecting the soul as a whole.

“He’s Legend’s innocence.” Crimson answers, eyes too dark and too sorrowful. “He’s been buried so far and so deep that he’s ceased to be a part of us anymore.”

“And he’s scared of me because...?”

“Because you tried to kill me- I mean... us.”

Three heads turn to where the younger looking Legend stands, hand tightly holding onto the forest deviant’s hand. The youngster looks calmer now, if not considerably confused. “How are you alive? I thought-”

He's cut off by a hand over his mouth as Forest offers a pained smile that looks more like a grimace. “We all thought you came hundreds of years before us.”

“I do. What’s this about killing us?” Vio’s slipping, but none of the Legends seem to notice.

“Nothing.” Three voices chime at once.

“Right.�� Ocean looks around them with a frown. “How do we change back? Splitting up always causes problems, and the sooner we reunite and get back to normal, the better.”

“The Four Sword should do the trick, if you can become of one mind.” They provide their brother- brothers? “Just touch the tips together.”

Legend’s deviants all nod, understanding in their gazes that shouldn’t be there.

“Why aren’t you freaking out? Most people would at least be a little shocked by this.” They ask, gaze traveling from one of the split heroes to another.

“We’ve wielded the Four Sword before.” Crimson explains.

“Not wielded, exactly-” Ocean corrects.

“We carried them.” Forest clarifies. “But only until we could put them back.”

Four looks between them, and as once, they answer. “Adventure number one.”

Okay then. “I have so many questions.” They sigh, looking between Legend’s deviants.

“Ask Legend. We’re him after all, so when we reform, we’re still there.” Ocean reassures them.

“Most of us anyway.” Crimson murmurs.

“Am I dying too now?” Lore sighs, looking up at his brothers with eyes so tragically sad that Four almost feels guilty for asking them to reform.

“Not dying.” Forest winces.

“You’re going back to sleep.” Ocean tries.

“Or back to Gramma.” Red adds. “She’s probably worried.”

Lore looks pacified, and it takes only a moment more before Legend is standing, as one, before the Four again, eyes shadowed and hand rubbing down his face as he hands over the sword. “Oy vey.”

“You took that well.” They respond, taking the sword back and not at all wrapping their arms around it protectively.

“Been split before.” Legend groans. “Speak no words, or I tell everyone about you.”

“Me?”

“All of you.” Legend glares, but their mischief in his gaze. “I didn’t study the legends of the Four Sword for nothing, I know.”

And somehow, that doesn’t worry them. Legend knows how they work, knows there are more than one of them, but he’s the same, in a twisted, strange and not Four Sword based way. “We’re talking later, and I want to know more about them if I can.”

“Only if you split too.” Legend challenges.

“We can do that.” Four agrees. “We really should split more anyways.”

“We?” Legend cocks a brow, straightening up from where he stands.

“Us.” Four gestures to themselves. “Four.”

The vet stares for a moment before chuckling softly. “Why didn’t you tell us we had your pronouns wrong? Plural they/them is fine you know, you just had to say something.”

“Would you like the same?”

“Heck no!” Legend winces. “I’m male, singular. The dopples are just parts of me, but that doesn’t make me a plural entity, just someone with a jumbled brain on some days.”

“Dopples?”

Legend rolls his eyes, stooping to collect the wood that he had dropped when they were attacked earlier, disregarding the way blood smears across it from the cut on his arm. “I’ll explain on the way back to camp.”

#dopples #linkeduniverse #linked universe #legend linked universe #four linked universe #four swords

78 notes · View notes

themangolorian · 3 years ago

Text

Pairing: Mandalorian x Reader

Request for @the1maddest1hatter my absolute love who has been so completely and totally patient with me and understanding and i’m so glad i was able to finally finish this and post it for you finally, and i hope it’s everything you were hoping for and more. thank you so much for not giving up on me - this was so fun to write and i’m glad i finally got it to somewhere i’m happy w/ it. i love you! 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Warnings: some slight violence.

You weren’t often in the habit of getting yourself involved in the business of others. But when you’d seen imperial guards chasing the cloaked and armored figure across the square, you figured you had no choice.

The fleeing culprit looked more than capable of taking care of himself, but the enemy of your enemy was your friend. So, interrupting the elaborate dance you’d been performing in the middle of the market, you twirled and flipped expertly until you were between the guards and whoever it was they’d been chasing. The distraction was enough. Still dancing and trying to suppress a smile, you saw the end of the figure’s cape disappearing around a corner.

The guards cursed violently your way but shouldered their way roughly past you in pursuit of the disappearing figure. What was more, your ruse had drawn the attention of the crowd of shoppers in the square, most of whom assuredly also had no love for the Empire. Before long, the cylinder you’d put in the square was full of credits.

But then-

Someone gripped your elbow painfully from behind, someone else your shoulder. Striking out to escape, you accidentally turned over the cylinder, spilling credits everywhere.

Loud shouts, haranguing from the crowd, assaulted the imperial guards who had returned empty-handed, the figure no doubt having escaped.

“What kind of dancer do you think I am?” You lilted sarcastically with more confidence than you deserved considering you were being detained.

“Keep your conniving trap shut, scum.” The trooper at your back rammed his baton into your lower back and you could hardly suppress the yelp of pain as you crumpled.

The protests from the crowd were easily deterred when the guards drew their high powered blasters and before you knew what was happening, you were being dragged away in durasteel binders. You cursed under your breath at the imperial guard who scooped up your hard-earned, now easily lost credits.

That was when the Madalorian had swooped in and, helped by the element of surprise, along with what was clearly immense skill, had taken out the guards - freeing you.

“What are you, a trooper gone good?” You’d joked, gesturing at his armor, though you knew it bore little resemblance to a trooper’s. He’d only grunted, focusing instead on freeing you from the binders.

But inevitably the guards had been almost instantly replaced with another unit who’d wasted no time in opening fire. The Mandalorian had dragged you along by the binders you were still trapped in. He managed to dart out of the way of every blaster shot aimed your way, hauling you with him as he went.

By the time you found yourself ensconced in the safety of his ship and as he blasted away from the planet you’d briefly called your home, your heart was beating too fast and you were laughing too hard, out of both panic and glee at the escapade, to question the new reality you found yourself in: on the ship of a stranger whose face you’d yet to see.

But that had been long ago enough by now that it was but a distant if happy memory. The Mandalorian, a man you’d thought so strange at first, had offered to drop you off on any planet of your choosing. And you’d truly meant to leave, but event after event had transpired, all revolving around the Empire’s chase for the child in the Mandalorian’s care, someone you’d also found strange but had now come to care for excessively.

You’d kept putting off leaving and then one day it had just stopped coming up. Though neither of you spoke of it, it now seemed a given that you were a staple in their strange little family.

“This is a good place to set up camp for the night,” the Mandalorian was saying, pulling you out of your reverie as you stared at the suns setting distantly in the sky past the horizon of the sea spread out beneath the cliff just beyond where you stood.

You turned absently and smiled at his visor. You had yet to see his face, even now, but by now he knew just how much you loved the seas, as few of them as you’d gotten to see in your lifetime. The choice of campsite was intentional, providing you with a breathtaking view of this particular planet’s suns-set.

Your heart stiffened painfully as you smiled sweetly his way. The man you’d gotten to know had been nothing like you’d thought he would be when you first met him, as intimidating as he’d seemed. He was gentle and generous to a fault, kinder than most souls you’d ever known.

The Mandalorian cleared his throat, breaking you from your stupor once more, but when he spoke, he too sounded emotional. “I’ll build the tent. Do you want to see how many rations we have left?”

You’s meant to answer but several things happened in succession. Din flinched then unholstered his blaster faster than you could blink. For one staggering moment of horror, you thought he was aiming it at you. But then the cold bite of metal was sharp at your throat, a strong arm coming around your middle firmly before you could react to any of it. A strangled cry left Din’s helmet.

“Where’s the target?” A raspy voice hissed at your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You tried to struggle, despite the idiocy of that act. Your hands shot to the man’s wrist around your neck and you threw your body back in the hopes of escape. But he was like a brick wall and did not budge, did not even react to your attempt as if you were little more than a bug beneath his shoe. It took you a long moment to process the fact that you were in danger of losing your life.

“Let her go,” Din spoke in a cold, threatening voice, “and I’ll let you live.” The blaster in his grip did not waver.

Your blood ran cold when your captor only chuckled. “Give me the location of the child, and I promise her death will be painless.” He flicked the sharp blade at your throat and you gasped involuntarily at the pain, felt a warm trickle of blood running down your neck.

You saw Din’s grip tighten around his blaster, knew he was calculating the odds of shooting your captor without harming you. But you knew Din too well now, knew what conclusion he would reach. But if you were a lost cause, you were free to do whatever it took to ensure that Din was not. To ensure both his safety and the safety of the child.

Thoughts of the craggy, rocky surface at the bottom of the cliff just behind you nearly made you shudder; your fear of heights was almost blinding, but you fought through the distress that would have paralyzed your entire body with fear. Din and the child were, after all, more than worth it.

The standoff continued as if the world had come to a standstill though the breeze continued to blow past you, the chirping of animals continued in the jungle you’d emerged from and, distantly, the breaking of waves on the rocks below did not stop.

Just as you meant to make your move, your captor was yanking your arm back and up until- a sickly crunch sounded and you screamed in pain, trying to muffle your own hurt so Din would not be goaded, but you saw only black for several seconds and your knees almost crumpled beneath you. The slight sliver of brainpower you had left in the moment told you to propel yourself backwards. Your captor, off balance from the movement of breaking your arm, staggered back with you, now just at the edge of the cliff.

“No,” Din shouted, his voice strangled, his blaster faltering now. If he shot, he ran the risk of hitting you. And the knife was still clutched at your throat.

Your captor hissed and tightened his grip around your throat in retaliation, and you struggled to breathe for a few moments. “Move one more muscle and I’ll throw you over the ledge,” he barked at you before loosening his grip. The knife had cut into your neck again, drawing more blood.

Your eyes never left Din’s visor. You could not, of course, see his eyes behind it, but you could will your thoughts and feelings into your own gaze, directed as it was at him. In the brief second you had left, you tried to express with your eyes alone everything you’d never had the courage to tell him before.

Then- you pretended to crumple in your captor’s arms, ignoring the way the knife cut at you again in your new position. He cursed, trying to straighten you. You used the moment in which he was caught off guard to propel him backwards with all the strength you had left in your body. At the same moment, you heard the sound of a blaster.

There had been the smallest part of your brain that had been sure you might be able to catapult him off the edge without going with him. But that had been a fool’s dream.

You lost your breath as you tumbled backwards off the cliff’s edge, unable even to scream.

Your captor had already lost his grip and distantly you heard his scream behind you as he fell. Though you were falling fast to the rocky depths below, you felt suspended in the air, suspended in time, trying to cherish only the last sight you’d had of Din as he’d surged forward hoping to catch you before you fell. You closed your eyes before you hit the icy surface of the unforgiving waters below.

******

Din had seen your intent the moment it had entered your eyes and had immediately been filled with nothing but pure dread. He ran through the possibilities as quickly as he could, but it hadn’t been fast enough. He’d shot the blaster only a second too late. And though the shot had found its mark in the heart of your captor, you’d gone over the edge anyway.

Another strangled, inhuman cry left Din’s lips as he leapt forward towards the cliff’s edge. He reached the peak just as your body disappeared beneath the surface below. This time he took no time to think. He dropped his blaster and dived gracefully off the cliff’s edge, trying to use his momentum to fall into the same area of choppy water where you’d disappeared, blessedly far enough away from the rocks that would have killed you instantly.

The icy temperature of the water barely registered beyond Din’s suit as he flipped his helm’s light on. Din tried not to panic when he saw nothing but empty, rough waters. Cursing within his helmet, he propelled himself further downwards, searching desperately for the sight of you. He began to breathe unevenly as water filled his helmet and knew he would soon have to surface. He could not, he knew, surface without you and expect you to live.

That was when he saw a flash of the bright skirt you almost always wore. He could have laughed with relief that you dressed so flashily. Then he was propelling himself through the water. His heart began thundering again when he saw your face blank, your eyes closed, unconscious.

His arms came around your chest and then he was battling the rough water upwards, breaking the surface and pulling you along with him. The water immediately drained from his helmet, allowing him to breathe. The weight of his armor and the strain of holding you aloft made the journey back to the rocky surface difficult, but adrenaline at the thought of the mere possibility of losing you drove Din faster.

He pulled you along with him up onto a rock above the breaking waves. He ripped his gloves off, one hand fluttering down to check your pulse, the other at your nose to see if you were breathing. When he realized you were not, he did not hesitate-

Din wrenched off his helmet and dropped it carelessly on the rock beside him. He fought the feelings of panic wrenching through him as he leaned down, pinched your nose between his fingers and put his lips to yours. He’d dreamed so many times of your lips on his, but never like this. He cursed himself distantly for never acting on his desires before, for letting his fear dictate his feelings for you, which were clear here at the possible end of it all.

Then he was pumping his clenched hands down on the center of your chest before putting his lips back to yours, trying to breathe you back to life.

“Come on,” he was saying roughly, “come on.”

***

Suddenly, you began to cough and heave, water trickling out of your mouth; your eyes fluttered open briefly. They closed again but not before you’d seen the stranger bringing you back to life. A beautiful, chiseled face. A man with plush lips, dark stubble and a mustache. Deep soulful brown eyes.

You struggled to breathe in, struggled to hack the remaining water from your lungs as you half sat up. The stranger held his arm sturdily at your back.

“The Mandalorian,” you managed to speak through racking coughs, “is he alright? Where is he?” In your panic, you had not stopped to think who the stranger might be or how you’d arrived in his care.

The man did not respond, only clapped you on the back several times, trying to help you cough the water out.

When your eyes fluttered open again briefly, they landed on the soaking cape, hanging over the stranger’s shoulder, seemed to finally see the beskar shoulder piece. You gasped, choking briefly on the water still trapped in your throat.

“What-“ But then he was fitting the helmet swiftly back over his head. But not before you had seen the anguish in his gaze.

Immediately, you berated yourself inwardly. You should have kept your eyes closed. You should have- but you could not have known.

“Din,” you tried, but you silenced yourself, knowing he must be kicking himself.

Quiet and stoic as the day you’d met him, he lifted you into his arms, letting you hitch yours around his neck. Despite what had happened, you cherished being in his arms, curling into his chest, your head pounding from the fall, from your near death.

You were weaker than you’d realized and lost consciousness in Din’s arms again barely registering that he’d activated his jetpack.

When you awoke, you were cozy and warm and wrapped up in a swathe of blankets, your wet clothes gone. You blinked at the ship’s hull above you. You were back on the Razor Crest.

“Grogu,” you managed through your drowsiness.

“He’s alright,” Din’s voice came from the alcove just to the side of his bed, which you were now laying in.

You breathed a sigh of relief, but your breath hitched when you remembered what had occurred, what you’d seen, what Din had done.

“Din,” you breathed against your will. Likely he wanted nothing more than to be left alone, as remorseful as he no doubt was. His creed for your life? What a paltry exchange.

The thought brought tears to your eyes. As well as the thought that Din could only hate you now. How could he not?

But then he was at your side, his gloved hands hovering over you. “Are you alright?” Concern so deeply evident in his voice that it only made you want to cry harder.

“I-“ you managed, your voice choked. You grasped his hand since he held it there just at your eye level, and he sunk down to one knee, tightening his grip around your own. “Din, your creed.”

For just a single moment, he stiffened, but then took a shaking breath and relaxed. His other hand came up to stroke your forehead, then your cheek. “Don’t think about it. Just rest.” His voice was more gravelly than usual.

You swallowed through the dryness in your throat, distantly noting the bandages he must have applied to the wounds you’d sustained at the hands of your captor. Your eyes fluttered closed under his touch, worried if you kept them open, he’d leave your side. But his gloved hand continued its steady stroking of your cheek.

Tears threatened to spill from behind your closed eyes anyway. At the tenderness of it all. Of Din’s ability to forgive the unforgivable. Of what your presence in his life had caused him to forsake.

“You should have let me die,” you croaked before you could stop yourself. It was far from the right thing to say, but you meant it.

His breath hitched under his helm, and his fingers froze at your jaw, his other hand clenching yours tightly. “Don’t say that,” he muttered gruffly, his voice choked.

Din was more emotional than you’d ever heard him, but you were sure it was because of the betrayal of his creed; you could not fathom that his grief might have anything to do with the fact that you’d almost died.

You spoke through the painful tightness in your throat. “I’m not worth it- You shouldn’t have- I’m sorry I caused this-“

You stopped talking when he released your hand to cup your whole face between both his hands. You opened your teary eyes in surprise but, of course, saw only your weepy reflection in his visor.

Din’s gloved thumb rubbed just beneath your lips. “I…I couldn’t- let you die.” The words seemed a struggle and he let them out haltingly - not as if he didn’t want to say them, but as if he didn’t know how. “I…” You heard him swallow beneath the helmet as your eyes darted all around his visor, wishing you could see his current expression, wishing you’d never seen his beautiful face at all. But then- “I care…about you…more than I can-“ He cut himself off, as if fearing he’d said too much.

You merely stared, hardly able to believe your ears. He couldn’t mean… Could he feel the same… The thought was too unbelievable to truly consider.

His grip on your face loosened. “I…” He sounded suddenly uncertain. “I understand you don’t- feel…the same. I just…”

But then you were gripping his wrist before he could withdraw his touch. You heard a sharp intake of breath beneath the helmet and realized your fingers had met the skin of his wrist. Your eyes fluttered sideways, drinking in the sight of his perfect skin, scars and all, just there beneath your fingers. When you brushed his wrist with your thumb, he let out a sigh and his hand tightened around your face. Your eyes darted to his helm then back and then you were leaning sideways and pressing your lips to his wrist.

You felt his pulse jump beneath your lips as you pressed another kiss to the inside of his wrist. When you looked back up at him, his helmet was tilted as he seemingly stared down at you.

“If-“ You licked your parched lips, swallowed with difficulty. “If I close my eyes, will you- Can I-…” You’d never found yourself, chatty as you tended to be, at such a loss for words. “Can I kiss you?” You managed. He froze and you opened your lips to take it back, terrified you’d said the worst thing you could have in the moment. But when he shifted to move, you lost your breath, wondering-

He went to take off his helmet without waiting for you to close your eyes.

“Wait,” you gasped, shutting your eyes tightly, just as you heard the whoosh of air that must have meant he’d acquiesced.

“You don’t have to-…”

And it was your turn to stiffen. The modulator had always been a given, and you’d never really thought twice about what his voice might have sounded like without the digital disruption.

It was husky and crackly, soothingly deep.

You found your breathing going shallow again when his hand, now ungloved, was back at your cheek.

“My creed,” he started, his voice rumbling somewhere deep within your chest, affecting you deeply. “My creed dictates that I- protect….my clan.”

Your breath hitched again, impossibly so.

“The promises I made when I received the helmet,” you heard a heavy thunk as he apparently put the item in question down. “There is more to my creed than just the helmet. A Mandalorian who cannot keep…his clan,” Those two words again; your stomach flipped of its own accord each time he said them, at the thought of what he might be implying. “A Mandalorian who cannot keep his clan safe…is not worthy of the helm he would wear.”

You startled when his bare finger ran across your lips soothingly.

“Grogu…” he began again, slowly, as if weighing the words. “Has seen my face. Do you know why?”

“He’s your son,” you breathed against his fingers, reveling in the way your lips brushed his fingers as you spoke.

“Yes,” his voice cracked on the syllable, but only just, and when he spoke again, he’d recovered. “My family. My clan.”

You swallowed hard again through the lump in your throat, pursing your lips to speak, to deny what you thought he might next say, not because you didn’t want it to be true, but rather because it was the only thing you wanted to be true and were too afraid that it was not to even entertain the thought. But his finger hovered just over your lips once more, silencing your attempted protest.

“You didn’t make me break my creed,” he promised. “I’ve been wanting to- I’ve wanted to see your face…for so long.”

You made a noise of protest now. “You see my face all the time.” Indignant when he got what you didn’t every single day.

“Without the helmet. Not through a visor.” His voice was heavy again, emotional.

It was not until then that you realized what he’d said. He’d wanted to see your face too. He-

“You-“

“You can open your eyes,” his voice was soothing, encouraging even.

“Are- are you sure?” You managed finally.

He let out a low chuckle that set your heart to racing faster than it did even when you were dancing nonstop in city squares. “I’m sure.” It was a promise.

You opened your eyes and your sigh was involuntary. You drank in the sight of every sharp angle and soft line of his face hungrily. His eyes were tender, but as he leaned down, there was a kind of hunger in them too.

This time, when your lips met, it was a different kind of life you felt him breathe into you.

#the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x you #mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #my stories #request #the1maddest1hatter #the mandalorian #din djarin #mando #mandalorian #reader

69 notes · View notes

waithyuck · 4 years ago

Text

cold

pairing: vampire!huang renjun x reader (f) *halloweenie special*

genre: smut, supernatural au

word count: 3k

warnings: blood, biting, blood drinking, brief descriptions of gore (I guess idrk), explicit language, degradation, sexual content (oral, facefucking), no aftercare, mentions of being killed, renjun is a mean dom :/, reader is kinda weirdly into the whole vampire thing **unedited**

a/n: this was kinda written in a rush but I tried my best to produce it in the best quality I could! I hope y’all enjoy 💕 (I also wanna add that yes, it was already planned that there wouldn’t be any penetrative sex in this)

< previous | next >

~10/24/2020~

~~~~

walking home from work at eleven o’clock at night was probably the worst mistake you could have made. even worse, you thought it would just be such a great idea to take the back alleys, since it was faster and all you wanted to do was lay down on your bed and go to sleep.

you were an idiot, straight up.

you were walking with your head down, too preoccupied reading something on your phone to notice and be alert of your surroundings. you didn’t notice the creeping shadow coming up on you from behind.

when it grabbed you, you weren’t even able to scream; it covered your mouth immediately and shoved you against the brick of the building next to you. when you looked to see what it was, your body froze in horror.

this man–thing...no, creature, was standing before you grinning sinisterly, his sharp canines bared to you as he drank up your figure with his glowing, blood red eyes.

well, this was it. you were going to die in the hands of something you were pretty sure classified as a vampire. you didn’t stand a chance, not with the amount of strength, speed and stealth this man had already showcased to you.

you couldn’t make a sound, the fear inside you suffocating your lungs and making it hard to breathe. the man didn’t utter a word to you, and as he inched his fangs closer and closer to the vein pulsating in your throat, you squeezed your eyes shut and awaited to feel your death.

but it never came.

the weight of the man-creature-vampire thing was lifted off of you, his cold presence gone in an instant. you heard blood curdling snarls ringing out in the darkness of the alley, and you were too afraid to open your eyes to see what was happening.

you imagined that it was basically a fight between two vampires, and the victor would claim you as the meal. you should have run, but your legs were weak as the fear still consumed every cell in your body.

you were basically dooming yourself.

the wild growls finally ceased when you heard a loud crack of bones snapping, followed by a cut off yelp.

you assumed one of them was now dead, and finally you opened your eyes to take in the sight before you.

there stood another creature; much younger than the previous one by the looks of him, standing over the body of the now dead vampire. it’s head was severed from its body messily, the neck snapped clean off to where you could see the spine poking out in its place.

you wanted to throw up.

when the younger vampire looked at you, his blood red eyes squinted, and he moved closer to you in seconds, using his super speed to crowd you back against the brick wall. you whimpered, but didn’t feel as much fear as you did before, and you managed to keep your eyes open as you stood before him.

his nostrils flared as he sniffed around you, and it surprisingly didn’t weird you out as much as it should have. truth be told, even in the dim light of the moon, you could tell that this man was highly attractive. you cursed yourself for thinking this way about a creature that could easily tear you in two.

you were torn from your thoughts when you saw two fingers snap in front of your face, making your body jolt in return.

“the fuck are you doing out this late?” he suddenly questioned, his voice not at all like how you were imagining it to sound. it was soft…it wasn’t a voice you would have paired to be with a vampire. “it’s dangerous as fuck out here, you know.”

he was speaking so casually, like he didn’t just rip the head off of one of his kind. you sputtered out of cheer nervousness (and a little bit because he was so dazzlingly attractive), not knowing how to respond. his blood red eyes practically rolled out of his head at your pathetic attempts to speak.

“humans are so pathetic, seriously.” he spat, looking you up and down. “I don’t even know why I saved you. you smell good enough to devour.” his smirk, paired with the last part made your spine straighten, your hair prickling at the sense of possible danger.

“n-no!” you finally managed to blurt out, your hands coming up to instinctively cover your vulnerable throat. you wracked your brain to try to figure out how to negotiate with him; to get him to leave here without draining your body of life and blood.

unfortunately, only one thing came to mind, and you hated yourself for thinking it in the first place.

...you couldn't deny that you kinda had a thing for the whole undead, blood sucking, super strong creature shit he had going on. a million and one flashes raced through your mind, showing you different scenes of this stranger taking you up against the brick wall right here, and even biting you just to have a little taste.

it was fucked up, but you could stop your thighs from clenching at the possibilities.

he quirked an eyebrow at you, his smirk never leaving as he leaned into your space even further, flattening your body to the wall with his own.

“no what?” he practically purred, his cold breath fanning against your skin, causing goosebumps to form instantaneously.

“I’ll…” you started, weakly meeting his strong gaze. “I’ll d-do anything...j-just don’t kill me.” you tried to sound strong but there was a shiver in your voice, your chest trembling as you tried to speak. you saw his eyes flash with mischief before he pulled away entirely, giving you your space back.

“okay.” he nodded, his lips still presented in a smirk. “I’ll come find you whenever I need a favor.”

you couldn’t even ask him to elaborate or question him on exactly how he would find you, because in an instant he was gone from your sight, vanishing away and leaving you in the darkness with the still laying dead body of your first attacker.

with a quick shake of your whole body, you practically ran home, slamming the door shut and locking everything, including the windows.

you weren’t sure when to expect to see the vampire who saved you again, but you didn’t think it would take him two weeks to show his face.

you were minding your own business in the safety of your home, throwing your dirty clothes into your bedroom hamper when you heard a soft thud come from your window.

turning around, your eyes met the same red ones from that night two weeks ago, and you had to fight yourself not to shriek. his face was stoic as he stared at you, decked out in all black from his hoodie to his jeans, lowkey making your mouth water.

“hey there,” he said, slithering closer to your form. once again, he cornered you against a wall, not caring to give you any personal space. he inhaled softly, his nose living closer to your neck. “you smell absolutely delicious, darling.” his sharp canines were on display as he smiled mischievously at you, your heart racing in your chest at not only the fear, but the proximity of this attractive man as well.

“um, h-hello.” you muttered out stupidly, wringing your hands together in front of you.

“let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” he stood up at little straighter as he spoke, his eyes glinting as he looked at you. “you owe me a favor, and I’m being generous enough to let you choose what you want to give me.” he looked down at his nails, feigning disinterest as you were practically hyperventilating before him.

you nodded your head to acknowledge that you were hearing him, and he took that as a sign to continue.

“so, what will it be?”

you thought back to the thoughts you were plagued with that first night, and you almost immediately clenched your thighs. you really wanted this vampire to have you, all of you, even your blood for fucks sake. it’s like the sight of him cast a spell on you, and all you wanted to do was have his cock shoved down your throat as he did his best to ruin you completely.

you knew he was capable too; there was an aura around him that screamed dominance, and having the extra factor of being a vampire did nothing to extinguish your lewd sexual fantasies.

it was really fucked up, but you made your mind up in less than a minute.

“you can bite m-me.” you squeaked, looking anywhere but him. you swore you heard his breath hitch, but he nonetheless crowded you once again as he nosed into the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“hmm, tempting.” he allowed the tip of his nose to graze softly against your sensitive skin, causing you to shiver as it tickled you. his sinister eyes flicked up to meet yours. “are you sure?”

with a small nod you agreed, your brain screaming at you to run and never look back, but your core telling you the very opposite.

his hands found your waist as he grounded you, holding you steady as he finally began to scrape his teeth along your flesh.

“I won’t take too much,” he muttered, almost like a reassurance to you. before you could even nod, he quickly plunged his fangs into your skin, and the pleasurably painful sensation immediately had you moaning out loudly.

you gripped his shoulders tightly, your eyes glazing over as your whole body pulsated with a sudden need, the burning hot pleasure running down from where he was currently biting you to your core, instantly causing your panties to flood with your desire.

he took a few large gulps, and once you began to feel lightheaded, he pulled his fangs from you, moaning at the taste of your blood.

not being able to hold yourself back, you spoke very through that came into your head.

“I w-want your cock,” you breathed out desperately, not sure exactly where the statement came from. it was so sudden and out of the blue, but he didn’t seem fazed for one second.

“oh really?” he questioned playfully, his blood stained lips quirking up in amusement.

“”yes, please,” you begged in response, gripped at the fabric of his hoodie tightly.

he hummed, his throat vibrating with the sound.

“get on your knees.” he demanded, his demeanor changing as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. he pointed to the ground in between the both of you and at first you were shocked at his words, even though you were the one who admitted you wanted him in the first place. you pressed your back against the wall even tighter as he gazed upon you with his blood-red eyes, your woozy head spinning.

“h-huh?” you managed to sputter out stupidly, causing him to sigh in annoyance. he shot his cold hand up to grip your throat, his nails squeezing into your skin slightly as you squeaked in surprise.

“you said you wanted my cock, right?” renjun growled, getting closer to your face with each word. you managed to nod shyly in his hold, your eyes wide and glassy as you stared back at him. he smirked, “then get on your fucking knees. don’t make me tell you again.”

he let go of you neck and returned his hand to his side, your eyes watching his every move before you finally shook yourself out of your stupor and lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. you didn’t really know what to do with yourself at that point, so you looked up at him with wide eyes, waiting to see if he would say anything else.

he rolled his eyes, scoffing as he reached for the button and zipper of his black jeans.

“dear fuck, do I have to fucking hold your hand through all of this?” his voice was icy and biting, but you still felt a warm shiver crawl up your spine as your core clenched at his words. he finally was able to undo the button and zipper and he then pulled down both his pants and underwear, leaving his almost fully hard cock out in the open on display for you.

he gripped your hair suddenly, forcing your face toward his crotch roughly. “put it in your fucking mouth, slut.”

you didn’t hesitate then, opening your mouth while using a hand to guide him past your lips, immediately swirling your tongue around the sensitive head. he groaned out above you and reached a hand to rest behind your head, not pushing on you just yet.

this wasn’t your first rodeo, so you were able to almost instantly take him all the way down your throat, only having to work up to it about three times. when his cockhead hit the back of your throat, you gagged a bit but it paid off to hear his moan cry out above you. you looked up innocently at him, bobbing your head up and down with your cheeks hollowed, drool dribbling out of the sides of your lips, adding to the messy look.

“that’s a good girl,” he breathed, his hand rubbing the back of your head almost tenderly before he shoved you completely down on him, your nose pressed against the skin of his pelvis.

your eyes blew wide and tears were prickling, but you willed yourself to relax, your throat slightly constructing instinctively around the intrusion in it.

“can I fuck your pretty face?” he growled out, finally letting you up for air. you pulled off to breathe, spit connecting your lips and the head of his angry red cock.

you managed to croak out a rough “yes”, your voice already hoarse from the few minutes of action it had been through. he gave you no time to prepare before he reached down to cup your chin and jaw in one hand, opening up your mouth before he roughly thrusted inside.

it sounded so filthy; the sounds escaping you were not cute and you were a bit embarrassed, but you were enjoying every second of the abuse to your mouth and throat. your panties were most definitely ruined at this point, and you could feel your pussy pulsating with every rough thrust of his cock down your throat.

“fucking take it, slut,” he grunted, his hips never ceasing their movements. you tried to breath through your nose as best you could, and were grateful for the small breaks he would allow you before going to town once again.

you braced your hands on his thighs as his pace quickened, his hips sloppy as he chased his high. there were no words shared and no derogatory comments spit at you as he grew closer and closer, his growls and snarls only growing louder with each passing thrust.

the sounds he was making were almost enough to get you to cum untouched, the mental stimulation almost overbearing as you felt your core tingle in need for him.

there was a nagging precense in the back of your mind that told you he wasn’t going to fuck you like you so desperately wanted him to, and there was a part of you that was perfectly okay with that.

the vampire let out a loud growl before he coneoktelt buried himself to the hilt down your flexing throat, your head knocking into the wall behind you as his cum shot directly down your esophagus.

it was uncomfortable, but you managed to swallow what you could before he pulled out and shot the rest of his hot cum all over your awaiting face.

you basked in the feeling of each shot landing on your skin, and you closed your eyes. your body felt as if it had no energy left, and you barely noticed him pulling his pants back up and fastening them closed in one swift movement.

you were right about him not fucking you or returning the favor, which was fine considering the lack of strength you currently had. the burn in your core was slowly fading along with your physical and mental strength.

as you lay slumped against the wall, his cum painted on your face and mouth, you mustered up the strength to look at and found him perched on your windowsill, ready to leave.

“what’s your n-name?” you croaked, your eyes barely open.

you could make out a smile forming on his lips.

“renjun,” he quickly responded, a lightness in his voice that you hadn’t heard before and that was a complete contrast to his earlier tone.

“and don’t worry, darling. I’ll be back for you.”

and in a quick flash, he was gone, and it was like he wasn’t ever there in the first place.

#renjun smut #nct-writers #neothestars #neowritingsnet #huang renjun #nct smut #nct #nct dream #nct dream smut #renjun #nct scenarios #renjun scenarios #nct dream scenarios #halloweenie special

443 notes · View notes

bowlegsandbiceps · 3 years ago

Text

Suptober Day 7: Young at Heart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Teen / Death!Dean & Human!Cas / Destiel / 5,073 words

Read on AO3

Suptober Masterlist (A03)

It was a snowy evening in the heart of winter when Death roamed the streets of Chicago. You wouldn’t have known him from any other young man, bundled as he was in a worn leather jacket, jeans and boots but there was a certain static about him that made other pedestrians give him a wide berth. He was headed to the fire station on the corner of Hope and Clairmont, humming a Billy Joel song as he avoided slush piles and other humans alike.

He posted up against a telephone pole, making sure to breathe so any passers-by would note the cloud of air passing his lips on every exhale and assure themselves that he was human. It was the least he could do. He checked his watch, an old Timex with a cracked face, and shoved his hands in his pockets. Any minute now.

Across the street, a young girl hurried into view from around the corner, her arms full of a bundle. She looked up at the sign over the fire station door, looked down at her bundle, and swallowed hard. A tiny arm rose from the bundle, naked and red. The girl took it and tucked it back inside the blanket. She sniffled, setting the bundle gingerly down on the top step before backing away slowly. One step, then another her eyes remaining on the pile of blankets before her face crumpled and she turned to run, a dry sob echoing down the empty street.

Death pushed off the telephone pole and made his way leisurely across the street. The baby had started to cry, cold now without its mother to hold it and keep its limbs covered. Death looked down at it, feeling its little heartbeat slow. He crouched down, breathing directly onto the child, and knew he was likely making its final moments worse, a wretched thing like him, even if he was trying to provide a little warmth.

Then something unexpected happened. The baby quieted and bright blue eyes opened, holding Death captive in an intense stare. Death couldn’t feel things, he mused, but if it could, surely it would have been charmed by the babe who instead of recoiling from its impending end, raised a hand toward him, beckoning.

Death raised a cautious hand, one finger hooking in that tiny fist and he was surprised at how strong it was, despite the hypothermia. The child held his gaze still, just looking not pleading or frozen in horror and Death glanced at his watch again, noting the time. He looked up at the firehouse door, the sound of laughter dulled by the heavy metal. If only the girl had knocked before she ran. Death looked back to the child, its ethereal stare snagging his again.

Death raised his hand and knocked.

Inside the firehouse, a number of men made an uneasy circle around the strange man holding a bundled infant. Death hadn’t meant to stay but since he’d already gone and messed with the strings of Fate he figured he might as well assure that the child was taken care of.

“You found him on our stoop?”

“Yeah, you know, I figured some poor kid musta left him. Safe harbor and all.”

Death looked around then down at the babe who seemed to be transfixed by Death’s face. Death wondered what he saw, why he wasn’t scared. His little soul was a speck of shining light, strong and hearty though his body was frail with the beginnings of pneumonia settling in his lungs.

“Why didn’t you take him to a hospital?”

Death blinked and the man recoiled slightly. “Well, he was left here, and don’t you have EMTs on staff.”

One of the men seemed to shake himself out of a stupor and stepped closer. He shivered as Death transferred the baby into his arms, the brush of his hand on Death’s coat giving him a sudden vision of fire and smoke and a strange sense of vertigo as if falling through the floor. He coughed, moving to lay the child on the table and it immediately started to cry. Death hovered closer moving into the child’s line of sight and it settled down though still made discontented noises as he was poked and prodded.

“Did you see who dropped him off? A firefighter asked and Death shrugged, hands back in his pockets.

“She was young. Hurried off before I could say anything.”

The firefighter narrowed his eyes but didn’t question it. “Did she say anything? Why she was dumping him? If he had a name?”

Death paused, looking down at the boy whose eyes were on him bright blue as all newborns are but there was an electricity in them. Death laid a gentle hand on the child’s head, feeling the soft down of hair, the fragile skull.

“No,” Death said finally. “But his name,” Death smiled and the child seemed to smile back. “Is Castiel.”

“Cas-tee-what?” One of the fire fighter’s whispered to another and Death turned towards him, causing both men to step back.

“Castiel. The Angel of Thursday.” Death’s thumb swiped across the child’s forehead. “The Angel of Solitude.”

Death was a busy man, lots to attend to and never in the same place for very long. He worked mostly with children, preferring to be the one to usher them to the other side but as time passed he found himself returning to one place over and over.

The child he saved had been adopted almost immediately by a couple who’d lost many children of their own. Death may have pulled a few strings with Fate but the outcome was ideal. Castiel grew up well-loved and cherished by a mother and a father who understood the great gift they’d been given. They even decided to keep his name, something that pleased Death immensely. If he gave the grandparents a few extra years because of it, well that was his business.

It was a windy day at the beginning of spring when Fate suddenly shifted and Death lighted down in Chicago once more. Castiel, climbing around on the jungle gym at the local park, his babysitter on the phone several yards away was forty-five minutes from an untimely end. Death hung back, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket as he watched the scene play out, an older man making his way over. Death eyed the babysitter as the man approached Castiel, holding a leash and collar.

“My dog got out of her leash! Can you help me find her?” The man said, his face drawn in grief but Death saw into his heart and his rage rumbled as thunder in the distance.

“Oh no!” Castiel exclaimed, jumping down and touching the leash in the man’s hand. “I’ll help you find her. I got a dog too. His name is Marshmallow.”

The man offered his hand and Castiel took it.

Death was there in an instant, one hand on the man’s shoulder. When the man looked up, his mouth opened in surprise and he gasped his last breath. Castiel cocked his head to the side at the man crumpled on the ground before he looked up at Death. Death could only stare back.

“What happened?”

Death shifted from foot to foot. “He was a bad man. He wanted to take you.”

Castiel’s eyebrows rose and he looked down at the cooling body on the wood chips. “Is he going to be okay?”

Death fought a smile, eyes flicking to the reaper nearby before waving them away with the man’s wretched soul. “He’s gone to where he belongs.”

Castiel nodded and offered his hand. “Wanna swing with me?”

Death’s neck jerked in surprise but found himself carefully slotting his hand in the child’s and allowing himself to be lead off to the swing set.

“I’m Castiel. What’s your name?”

Death paused thinking back to a time when he had a name. “Dean, I think.”

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel looked up at him, his face dominated by large blue eyes. “Wait, you think? Don’t you know your own name?”

Death huffed. “Well, no one has used it in… a very long time.” He cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Castiel grabbed onto one chain of a swing and turned to sit in it. “It must be lonely, no one knowing your name.”

Death sat in the swing next to the boy and pursed his lips. “Maybe a little, but it’s not so bad. My work keeps me busy.”

Castiel kicked off with his feet and began pumping his legs, reaching higher. Death lifted his head to watch. “‘Daddy says ‘all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’ I asked him who Jack was.” Castiel let his feet drag along the ground, grinding to a halt and Death felt a smile quirk at his lips as the child’s head tipped to the side in confusion. “But he just laughed.” Castiel’s head righted itself. “Not at me though. Sometimes I’m funny and don’t realize it.”

Death surprised himself with a laugh, the sound carrying on the wind and making the group of people gathering around the corpse by the jungle gym shiver. The babysitter was still on the phone but the commotion was stealing her attention. Death turned to look at Castiel, rocking back and forth in his swing, his eyes on the horizon.

“Hey, just so you know, for next time, any stranger comes up to you asking you to go somewhere with them you kick em in the shin and scream your head off,” Death rested his palm atop the boy’s head and Castiel looked up at him, a small smile playing across his lips. “Capiche?”

Castiel gave a deep nod. “I capiche.” His eyes had found his babysitter who was now frantically searching for him. When her eyes landed on him, Death hid himself from her. “She looks really mad.”

“She’s just scared,” Death replied and Castiel looked over at him. “You wandered off and she didn’t know where you were.” And a guy dropped dead about six feet from where you were playing.

“Castiel!” The babysitter skidded to a halt in the gravel in front of Castiel’s swing, pulling him into her arms. “You scared me.” She picked him up, hooking him on her hip. “Come on we need to go.”

The child heaved a deep sigh as if resigned to his fate. “Okay.” He twisted in her arms, looking back at Death, and gave a small smile. “Goodbye, Dean.”

“Bye kiddo.”

The babysitter was already starting to walk away and she snorted, looking over her shoulder then at Castiel. “Who are you talking to.”

“Dean. He’s my new friend.”

Death sat smiling until they were out of sight.

Castiel was eight when his dog Marshmallow was going into his fifteenth year. Death generally let the new recruits handle the animals but on a scorching summer day, he found himself standing at the gate of the big craftsman on the corner where Castiel lived. He looked up at the second-story window, the one he knew to be the young boy’s who was getting bigger every day.

They’d met many times over since that first encounter in the park and to Death’s surprise, Castiel always remembered him and knew him by name. Now seemed to be no exception, the front door opening to release Castiel into the world. His dark hair was an unruly swirl beneath the baseball cap he wore, his matching t-shirt proclaiming he played for the Mustangs, sponsored by Nally Ford.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said with a small smile as he approached. Death smiled back but his eyes caught on the white ball of fluff that was attempting to make his way down the porch steps to follow the boy.

Death let himself in the gate, striding forward and they met halfway, Castiel looking up into Death’s face while Death peered down into his. There was no fear there, no anxiety. There never had been, a wonder Death never could truly comprehend. Marshmallow gave a low growl. Death glanced down at the old dog, barely any teeth left in his head but ready to bite at the smallest provocation. That was about right.

“Marshmallow. No.” Castiel looked down at the dog then back up into the face of Death. “He’s just grumpy because he doesn’t feel good.” Castiel watched as Death crouched down, hand reaching. The growl ceased as Death’s hand hovered over the dog’s head and Castiel squatted down to pet him, hands gentle around the old dog’s ears.

“Yeah, about that,” Death began softly. “This is going to be hard for you to understand, Cas, but Marshmallow is very old.” As he said it, the dog’s eyes sank closed. Castiel rubbed his ears.

“I know.”

Death swallowed hard, his hand moving to hover over the dog’s back and Marshmallow’s legs gave out, his body rolling to the side as he began to pant. Castiel rubbed his belly. “And when dogs get very old, well, they have to go.” Castiel looked up at him. “And when that happens, someone comes to get them.”

Castiel looked down at the dog who was panting, tongue lolling out the side of its mouth. He ran his fingers through the curly white fur at his side. “Not the dog catcher…”

Death chuckled. “No, no not the dog catcher. Someone who helps them make the transition to their next journey.”

Castiel continued to play with Marshmallow’s fur. “Who?”

Death licked his lips, sucked in a breath he didn’t need. “They look like ordinary folks, sometimes you can see them, other times you can’t.”

“Like you?”

Death blinked and took a moment to marvel at the feeling of surprise, something he hadn’t felt in eons. “Yes, like me.”

Castiel looked up at him, blue eyes steady but solemn. “You’re here to take him, aren’t you?”

Death swallowed hard, the sorrow in the boy’s voice cutting him deeper than tears ever could. “Yeah, Cas. I’m sorry.”

Castiel sniffled a bit as he looked down, petting down Marshmallow’s side. “You’ll look after him? Wherever you take him? He won’t be alone, right?”

Death placed a hand on the back of Castiel’s neck and waited for a shiver that never came. Finally, he spoke. “Yes, of course, Cas.”

Castiel sucked in a deep breath and sat down on his butt, folding his legs so they butted up against Marshmallow’s legs. “Can I have just a few more minutes?”

Death glanced at his watch and nodded. They sat there, young boy and ancient entity as the dog’s breath became more shallow. Castiel dug his fingers into the thick curls of Marshmallow’s side and folded himself in half, pressing his face to its chest. The dog fussed attempted to lick at Castiel’s ball cap. Castiel breathed in deep and Death found himself doing the same, smelling cut grass, sweat and the musky odor of an animal nearing its end.

“It’s time, Cas,” Death murmured, his voice low and Castiel lifted his head, face tear-stained now, but he wiped them away with the back of his hand. He placed his hands on the dog’s side, looked up at Death, and nodded.

Death allowed the dog to sniff the back of his hand, accepting the feeble lick before he carded his hand through the curls at the top of his head. Castiel’s hands that had been rising and falling with the dog’s labored breath stopped. Death curled his hand and brought it to his chest, holding it there for the feeble soul to feel safe on its journey. His other hand when to the top of Castiel’s head.

“Go get your father. He’ll help you with the ritual.”

“Can’t you stay?” Castiel asked, blue eyes shining with unshed tears and if Death had a heart it would have broken.

“I’ve gotta get Marshmallow to where he belongs.” Dean knuckled away a tear that was making its way down Castiel’s cheek.

“Okay,” Castiel lowered his head, looking at the cooling body of his beloved pet. He looked back up. “Goodbye, Dean.”

Death was unprepared for the boy to wrap his arms around him in a tight squeeze before getting up and walking back towards the house.

Castiel was twenty when his fate changed again and Death nearly didn’t make it in time. In the back seat of a car, driving way too fast down a dark winding road, Death appeared next to him, his face striated in moonlight. Castiel jumped, his reflexes slower with the alcohol in his veins.

“Dean?”

“Cover your face, kid.” Death muttered as he braced his feet against the seat in front of him and threw out an arm.

When they hit the tree at 63 miles per hour Castiel’s body slammed into his arm and Death could feel the ribs break, felt the punctured lung as if it were his own. The driver was halfway through the windshield, another reaper already there to take him. Death waved them away as blood slowly filled Castiel’s lungs.

He coughed, choking on the acrid liquid, unable to get a full breath. His hand twisted in Death’s leather jacket, tugging, blue eyes wide and for the first time Death saw fear there. He couldn’t stand it. He reached past the headrest in front of him, touched the mangled face of the boy there and he immediately stopped breathing.

“You can’t do that!” A voice sharp from outside the car and Death nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned his head to look out the window and found the small blond woman standing there with her clipboard of names. “It’s the other boy’s time, Dean.”

Death glared out at her, throwing open the door. “You got your soul. Get out of here.”

“You reaped the wrong-“

“The hell I did,” Death yelled and every animal in the forest quieted, the wind through the trees died down.

The two of them watched as headlights appeared down the road, slowing when the driver saw the wreckage. Death and Fate stood side by side on the shoulder of the road as the good Samaritan talked to Castiel through the back window, promising him everything would be alright.

“He’ll make it.” Death heaved a sigh, hearing the sirens in the distance.

“Just barely,” Fate muttered, consulting her clipboard. “One of these days you’re going to run out of favors.”

Death turned to look at her. “Not any time soon.”

It was three days later in his half-empty dorm room that Castiel attempted to take his own life. Death arrived just as Castiel kicked the chair out of the way, his body falling with an extension cord wrapped tight around his neck right into Death’s arms. A quick flick of his pocket knife and Death had freed Castiel, laying him gently down on the floor as he coughed and sobbed.

“No! Take me! I want to die!” Castiel twisted onto his knees, grabbing onto Death’s legs and hugging them tightly. “Please. I can’t take it. The guilt, it’s too much!”

Death ran his fingers through Castiel’s unruly hair. “It’s not your time.”

“It was my time,” Castiel wiped at his face, fury in his eyes as he glared up at the ancient entity. “I heard you and that lady talking. She said you reaped the wrong one!”

“You hit your head pretty hard, kid.”

Castiel wiped at his face furiously, getting his trembling legs under him. “I know what you are. What you do.”

Death brought himself to his full height, leveling Castiel with his most pensive stare. “Do you?”

“I’ve always known,” Castiel spit. “And I never cared. You were always my…” Castiel trailed swallowing hard. “My friend. But this, I can’t take this Dean.”

“Why can’t you just be grateful,” Death huffed holding out his arms.

Castiel’s face went slack with shock. “You kill the man I love instead of me and I’m supposed to be grateful?”

Death’s mouth popped open, surprised again, that made twice in a single decade now. “Your… the man you loved? Wow, how did I miss that?”

“You miss a lot of things,” Castiel spit, his eyes hard.

Death rubbed his mouth. “When-“

“Since I was a child,” Castiel heaved a sigh. “Look don’t try to change the subject. I was dying already, Dean!” Castiel’s fists were clenched at his sides. “Why didn’t you let me go? Why’d you have to take him? He was everything to me. How could you not know that?”

Death rubbed the back of his neck, “Life isn’t really under my purview, kid.”

“What about love then?” Castiel got right in his face, nose to nose, and Death stood stock still.

“I know it when I see it.”

“Then you must have been blind that night.” Castiel spun away, running his hands through his hair. “I can’t do this. Please. Take me.”

“No.”

“Why? Why not?”

“I told you. It’s not your time.”

“Are you sure it’s not because you have some weird obsession with me?” Castiel strode right up into what a human would call their personal space. “What is it about me huh? Why me? Why don’t you latch on to some other poor bastard?”

Death swallowed hard. “I can go if you’d like.”

Castiel let out a humorless laugh. “Stay. Go. What do I care?” He let himself fall onto his bed, face buried in his pillow while Death stood watch.

Death didn’t see much of Castiel after that or more like Castiel didn’t see much of him. He’d check in every now and then, saw him graduate college, move to the east coast, fall in love and get his heart broken only to fall in love again. Through it all Death stood watch, sometimes with Fate at his side, like at Castiel’s wedding.

“I could step in,” Fate murmured, an offer she wasn’t likely to make twice but Death shook his head, watching as Castiel beamed with happiness after kissing his husband.

It wasn’t long after that they met again in a hospital just north of Chicago. It was nearing midnight and no one was around. Castiel was sitting with his mother, his husband and father had gone home hours before but Castiel insisted on staying. Neither could understand why Castiel refused to leave her side but didn’t question it. Castiel was a good son who loved his mother very much.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said as Death hovered in the doorway. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“I tried to wait for you to leave,” Death mumbled, looking down at his boots as he tapped his toe on the floor.

“Why?”

Death looked up and found Castiel’s head canted to the side, and he couldn’t help but smile. “We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms when we last spoke.”

Castiel looked down at his mother’s hand, so small and frail in his own. He cleared his throat. “You were right. I should have been grateful.”

“It was a callous thing to say when you were grieving.”

Castiel snorted. “That’s true.” He huffed a sigh. “But ultimately you were right. I didn’t love him. I didn’t know what love was then. Not that kind of love anyway.” Castiel ran his thumb over the thin blue veins of his mother’s hand. “How much longer does she have?”

Death checked his watch. “We’ve got a few more minutes.”

“Then sit.”

Death did, across the bed from Castiel and took in the changes, the strands of gray in his hair, laugh lines crinkling around his eyes and mouth.

“You know you look exactly the same as I remember you when I was four.”

Death grinned. “All that clean living.”

Castiel snorted, a grin pulling at his own lips before it faded. “You’ll take care of her?”

Death nodded. “Of course.”

Castiel squinted, opening his mouth then closing it again. Death heaved a sigh. “Go ahead. Ask whatever you want to ask me.”

Castiel’s cheeks bloomed a lovely pink that Death would see in every sunrise from that moment on. “How’s Marshmallow?”

Death blinked. “I give you one question to ask me whatever you want and you ask about your damn dog?”

Castiel frowned. “I loved that dog.”

Death rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Marshmallow is doing great. Has lots of doggy friends.”

A small smile tugged at Castiel’s lips. “Good. I hope Mom gets to see him.”

“I’ll make sure she does.”

“I’m ready.”

Death gave a small nod, waiting a beat to watch Castiel breath in steadily, his eyes on his mother’s face. Death reached forward, fingers brushing a white curl from her forehead before resting his palm there gently. One of the monitors began to scream. A nurse bustled in quickly, checking in and ultimately turning off the sound, standing by as the old woman took her last breaths. Death took her soul and cradled it to his chest.

“Take care of her,” Castiel whispered and Death gave him a solemn nod before he went on his way.

It wasn’t long after that Fate dealt Castiel another bad hand and Death had arrived to do his duty. Castiel’s husband laid prone on a hospice bed, his once strong body frail and hairless, ravaged by a disease Death hated almost more than he hated himself. Death came into the room unannounced, stood by Castiel’s side as silent tears ran down his face.

Death checked his watch.

“I can feel you.”

Death nearly fell over in shock. Third time in as many decades. Damn.

“Don’t hide, Dean. I’ve been expecting you.”

“I tried.” Death placed a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “I tried but I’m out of favors.”

“It’s okay,” Castiel sniffled, his own hand coming up to cover the cool one on his shoulder and Death felt the warmth as if it were the sun. “How much time do we have?”

“Couple minutes.”

Castiel nodded, leaning forward and placing a hand on his husband’s shoulder, giving him a light shake. He gasped awake, eyes hazy with pain and medication but something in them still blazed when they landed on Castiel.

“Honey, I want you to meet someone. Can you see him? Next to me.” Castiel turned, looking up at Death, and licked his dry lips.

“Yes,” Castiel’s husband croaked. “He’s just as handsome as you said.”

Castiel let out a watery laugh, glancing up at Death who was not blushing as he reached up to rub his ear. “He’s here for you.”

Castiel’s husband nodded solemnly. “About time.”

Castiel let out a quiet sob and immediately tried to shove it back into his mouth. His husband squeezed his hand as Death squeezed his shoulder.

“Come on now. This ain’t the end. I’ll see you. Hopefully not too soon?” Castiel’s husband lifted his brows and Death gave him a small smile.

“Not if I have anything to do with it.”

Castiel was leaning over, pressing his forehead to his husband’s and breathing slow in his nose and out his mouth, barely hanging on. Death stepped forward, hand covering the one that Castiel held. One final gasp and then the room was silent. Castiel gave a soft cry, feeling warmth rush through him, love and light and something so bright it almost burned. And then it was gone.

Death pulled the soul close to his chest, his other hand lighting on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel glanced up into the face of Death but was immediately distracted by the small ball of light in his hand. Castiel looked up and Death nodded in answer to his question. Castiel let go of the hand in his and wrapped his arms around himself as the tears came hot and fast.

“Can you please stay?”

Death shifted from foot to foot. “I need to take care of him. But I can come back.”

“Please hurry.”

Death wasn’t really the type to hang around any one place too long but for years after Castiel’s husband’.s transition, he found himself irrevocably drawn to Castiel. He’d always been to a certain extent but the man’s grief had worn down all his defenses, all his excuses to stay away. For once Death was welcomed into a home with open arms.

They sat on the couch and watched bad television. Death had a strange obsession with Dr. Sexy that Castiel found hilarious. Death tolerated all of Castiel’s terrible nature documentaries. It was one night as Castiel was going up the stairs to bed that he paused, looking back at Death who was putting the dishes in the dishwasher.

“I love you, Dean. You know that right?”

Death stood stock still and he’d be goddamned if it hadn’t happened again. He looked up to find Castiel just standing there on the third step, gaze just as intense as it had been when he’d first laid eyes on him as an infant. He didn’t have to say it. Neither of them did so Castiel just gave him a small smile and continued his ascent up the stairs. And that night, Death followed.

It was both the worst and best day of his tenure when Castiel’s time was finally up. Fate in her fussy suit with her obnoxious clipboard arrived to stand at the end of the hospital bed where Castiel lay, Death at his side.

“No more favors. No more tricks,” Fate said softly and Death looked away from the face of his beloved, aged and creased as it was now, while his was permanently stuck as youthful and smooth.

“Can I keep him?” Death asked, staring into the eyes of Fate and daring to hope. “I know it’s not ever been done. I know this is a one-person gig but…” Death looked back upon the only face he’d ever loved, into the only eyes that had ever truly seen him. “Just this once, can I keep him?”

Fate gave him a small smile. “Yes, Dean. He’s yours to keep.”

So Death and his companion were joined at the human’s crossing, bound by Fate herself to walk through eternity together. Sure they quarreled, sometimes even spending a few decades apart but the string that tethered them was unbreakable, a fact Death loved to remind his younger counterpart of.

It’s said that when a couple dies within hours of each other they’re always accompanied by another couple, two men, handsome and young, looking more in love than any cosmic entities had a right to be.

#suptober21 #destiel #supernatural #fanfic: supernatural #deancas #character death #the dog dies sorry #writing by me

30 notes · View notes