#tonight is beyond evil night | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

diaphragmjellyfish · 3 months ago

Text

Gentleman

Rafe Cameron x reader

College AU

Smut, 18+ only

Tw: hazing, prostitution if you squint, me being back from the dead after years

Whoever invented nylon underwear was on your personal hit list after today. You understood it was more for show than for go, but seriously, you’ve never been so uncomfortable in your life. Surrounded by the other pledges, you got yourselves dolled up like strippers to be auctioned off to the campus’ leading fraternity. What the fuck, right? It was “for charity,” but you knew that was just an extreme to cover up this ridiculous hazing process. The idea was that all the pledges had to prance around a basement in lingerie in front of a bunch of douchey frat boys and let them bid on a night with you. If you chickened out or didn’t get high enough bids, you’d be dropped. So here you were, applying a final coat of clear lip gloss before being lined up like horses at auction getting ready for slaughter.

“Alright ladies, look alive!” the sorority president yelled as she jaunted through the makeshift dressing room. “These boys have full pockets and hard cocks, let’s not keep them waiting.” Real classy. And the fact that some of these girls actually seemed excited was beyond you. If your whole future wasn’t relying on getting into this sorority, you’d have been gone a long time ago. But here you were, about to whore yourself out for a chance at your dream.

“Layci, you’re first,” you heard as you and the other livestock – I mean, ladies – lined up by the door in the order that you’d drawn earlier in the day. You were third from last. You assumed the boys would all throw their money on the first bunch of girls, meaning the end of the line would be left to fight over the scraps of what was left. And you knew this fraternity too– had heard their name mentioned on campus a lot. Known for using Daddy’s money to throw expensive parties with VIP lists and endless cocaine, their elite functions were held only at country clubs and private beaches, mansions and yachts. Hopefully that at least meant that whatever pig won your bid would be a two-pump-chump and you could be over and done with this whole thing before midnight.

“Push up those titties and pout those lips,” the president shouted with an evil enthusiasm, “the show is about to begin.” She took one last look at the desperate lineup of girls, adorned in the sluttiest garments they could muster. You shouldn’t think too little of them. After all, you were standing among them. You had your own reasons for being here, so you would give the others the benefit of the doubt too. The president skipped out of the room and to the basement, where the bidding would take place. This was all happening in the fraternity house, or mansion you should say. They had set up lights, speakers, and a runway for the annual event. You heard the president through the microphone from where you stood.

“Welcome, gentlemen, welcome! To the annual Kappa Delta Theta bid night for charity!” You heard a hoard of whooping and clinking of glasses. “Let me just say that tonight’s lineup of young ladies is sure to exceed all expectations. Please use your paddles to place your bids as the ladies walk out. Feel free to use those later tonight, too,” she suggested cheekily, and was met with comments dripping in testosterone and entitlement. “All proceeds will go to Kappa Delta Theta’s charity of choice, the Charlotte Food Pantry, which feeds over one thousand families per week.” Well, at least you could get behind that.

“We ask that you please let us know if your chosen lady does not meet your needs. After all, these girls are still proving themselves as honorary members of the Kappa house.” She went on to say, a subtle warning to the waiting girls. “Once you have won your bid, please make your way to the back room where you will meet your lady and be sent to one of the private rooms in the house. After that, the rest is up to you!” Cheers and hollering followed as the president brought out her list of girls.

“Let me introduce you to lady number one, Layci,” she announced as the lighting dimmed and a spotlight was shown on the curtained entryway. Layci breathed deep and plastered a smile on her face before exiting into the room– a gazelle marching into a hoard of lions. “Layci majors in marketing, and enjoys Sunday football and Bud Light Limes. Let’s start the bid at $100.” You struggled to hear the remainder of the bidding amongst the shouting and music until you heard a “Sold! To Trey Parker for $375.” Trey Parker, Jesus. You were glad he hadn’t bid on you, but felt extremely bad for Layci. He was an obnoxious drunk, known for snorting coke and punching walls when his football team lost. This was going to be a long night.

You attempted to dissociate and drown out the rest of the bidding as the girls filed out one by one, but before you knew it, you were face to face with that daunting curtain. The bidding had seemed to slow down a lot, and the room grew quieter as the boys won their bids and moved on to claim their prizes elsewhere in the house.

“Gentlemen, we only have a few ladies left, so let’s see those wallets! Next up, we have a Pre-Law major who enjoys pina coladas and getting caught in the rain, gentlemen give it up for Y/N!” you mustered up all the courage you had, pushed your bra strap up one final time, and walked into the blinding spotlight. You saw the glares of eyes watching your every step, analyzing your body, your face. Never in your life had you felt so vulnerable. Law school. Law school. You reminded yourself of your goal, and that gave you the courage to plaster on a smile and strut down the walkway. Whistles could be heard, but you ignored them and gave a spin before walking back up.

“Let’s start at $100,” she stated as you waited for the inevitable sting of a low bid. After all, you hadn’t put nearly as much thought into this as some of the girls had. Waxing, laser, facials, nails… all you had done was shaved and shown up. A paddle raised in your line of sight. Shit, was that Tanner Marshall? A cocky boy with a beer gut and entitled attitude, you’d heard rumors of his temper. Multiple women on campus had horror stories about him. Please, God, anyone else. Please not him.

Another paddle raised in the corner of your eye from a boy you hadn’t seen before. “$200,” he said quietly as his eyes raked your frame. He was cute, you wouldn’t lie, but you had no reason to believe he was any better than Tanner Marshall. His blue eyes met yours as he adjusted his backwards baseball hat and leaned forward.

“$350,” said Tanner with a smirk.

“$500,” the mystery boy countered without missing a beat.

“Woah, woah, let’s slow down, boys. There’s still a couple other girls after this,” the sorority president countered.

“$600,” Tanner Marshall forced, growing frustrated at the thought of taking a loss.

“$750,” Mystery Boy added, showing no signs of giving up. The highest bid you heard so far was $800. Did you stand a chance at topping that? If you did, they’d have to let you join for sure. To sweeten the pot, you threw a wink towards Tanner Marshall, as much as it sickened you.

“$900,” he said in a pained voice after seeing your flirtatious act.

A silence followed. Shit, you shouldn’t have done that. Mentally prepping for the most traumatic night of your life, you heard a solid “$1,000” from Mystery Boy. All heads turned to him at this extreme bid.

The sorority president seemed shocked at that, but gathered herself and announced, “One thousand dollars, going once,” please, please God please, “Going twice,” let him win and let him be an ounce kinder than Tanner Marshall, “Sold! To Rafe Cameron.”

Rafe Cameron, you’d heard his name mentioned before on campus but had few details to go off. You locked eyes with him once more before making your way back through the curtain and releasing a large sigh. It was over, but it wasn’t. Now came the tough part. Yes, you’d won the highest bid of the night, but now you had to fulfill it. Would he be aggressive? Would he listen to your pleas to be gentle? Would he fuck you and throw you into the hallway like trash after?

Your thoughts were interrupted as you were herded back to the entryway of the house by one of the sorority sisters. She handed you a strip of condoms and said “Good luck,” before leaving you to wait for Rafe Cameron to show up. The seconds felt like days as you paced in your stripper heels, attempting not to roll an ankle. Footsteps sounded in the distance and got closer. You held your breath as Rafe turned the corner and locked eyes with you once more. He let his gaze fall openly down your body once more and then gestured towards the stairs with a smirk. “Shall we?”

The trek to your private room didn’t last nearly as long as you had hoped. As you both entered, he turned to close and lock the door behind you. You stood in the center of the floor awkwardly, waiting for him to give you some cue as to what to do. Should you try to talk to him? Should you kiss? Should you drop your underwear and bend over and let him do what he pleased? This was an entirely new scenario to you, and you had absolutely no idea what to do. He waited as well, hands in his pockets, though not out of nerves. It was a test. He was trying to see if you were forward enough to take action, or if the awkwardness would be too much for you to stand. You held eye contact firm. He seemed pleased with this and broke the tension.

“Y/N, right?”

You nodded in response.

“Face down on the bed, hands behind your back.” Your breathing stopped, and you couldn’t move. So this was the type of night this would turn out to be. You’d be meat. He watched your shocked expression and waited for movement, before cracking a smile and saying “I’m kidding.”

“Oh,” you breathed, relieved and feeling slightly looser.

He kicked off his expensive shoes and hopped on the bed, hands behind his head as he leaned back against the pillows. He patted the seat next to him in a silent order to sit. You perched on the edge of the bed and leaned down to finally take off your excruciating shoes. You sighed in relief once they were off, and spun to sit next to him, still feeling unsure.

“I’m not sure what to do,” you finally admitted, hands picking at each other. His piercing blue eyes made contact with your own. He was extremely confident, and it was a little intimidating.

“Well, we’re supposed to have sex,” he stated plainly, hands still behind his head.

“Right,” you said nervously, “so should we just… start?”

“Why you doing this?” He questioned, the sudden change of topic giving you whiplash. “You don’t seem like you want to be here, so why are you?”

“Uhh,” you thought. Should you lie and act into it? Should you be honest only for him to treat you like a chew toy anyways? “Well, I uh, I just need to get into this sorority.”

“Other ones weren’t fancy enough for you?” he questioned, a joke laced in truth.

“Not exactly,” you started. “There’s a grad school I want to go to. Need to go to. And of girls in this sorority who apply, 90% get accepted. The Dean was a Kappa.”

He nodded in understanding. “That’s a better reason than most,” he finally responded, giving you some comfort. “I was right, though.”

At this, you gave him a questioning look. “Right about what?”

“You’re not Kappa material. That house is for sluts and party girls.” You were caught off guard by his bold language, and somewhat offended at his accusation, though you know deep down that he was right.

“Well then why did you pay $1,000 for me if I’m not a slut?” you countered, trying to throw something, anything, back at him.

“Because you’re smoking. And I know what Tanner Marshall does to girls, and you’re too innocent for that.”

“I am not innocent,” you huffed, glaring at him through a blush. He doesn’t know you. Who does he think he is labeling you like that?

“Oh yeah? How many guys have you slept with?” he argued. You paused. Should you lie? You didn’t want him to think you couldn’t handle yourself in the bedroom. Then, he might tell Kappa that you weren’t satisfactory and you’d never get in. Something about his stare, though, demanded honesty. You could see him being a very cut-throat boss or CEO someday.

“...one.”

“One guy, or one time?” Damn him. Was he a mind reader or something?

“.... one time. There, happy now?”

“What did you think?”

“What did I think of what?” you countered.

“The sex. Did you like it?”

You paused. This conversation was taking a turn, but what did you expect from a night like tonight?

“It was… fine,” you admitted.

“Just fine?” he prodded, “did you finish?”

“Wha– that’s none of your business,” you argued. He must have some real ego, asking you a question like that.

“So, no,” he stated. Your intense blush only confirmed his remark.

He smirked to himself, contemplating his next words.

“So, Y/n, here’s my offer.” He was definitely a business bro in the making. “We can stay in here for 20 minutes, make some crazy noises, and you can tell everyone we had sex so you can get into your precious sorority. No hard feelings. Or, you can actually let me fuck you. You’ll learn what good sex is supposed to feel like, and walk out of here an honest woman.”

What an insane offer. He was giving you a free pass to get out of this after dropping $1k for a night with you. He would let you walk away and tell everyone you had gone through with it. What was the catch?

“What makes you think I’ll like it any better with you?” you countered, feeling defensive.

“Oh, trust me, you will,” he smirked again. You wanted to wipe that smirk off his stupid cute face. Damn him. Why were you even considering this? You should take the free pass and run, you thought. But for some reason, you stopped. He was super hot, and you were in college. There was nothing wrong with wanting to get a little more experience, especially if you were going to spend your entire school career in the library doing test prep. You know what? Maybe you should do it. After all, he spent big money to save you from a worse fate, and was giving you options right now. You wondered how many of the other pledges were wishing they had that offer tonight.

“Okay,” you breathed, feeling emboldened by your choice.

“Okay, what?” he quipped.

“Okay, we can… do it,” you responded, again feeling shy but trying to power through it. His face lit up with a laugh at your phrasing.

“Well then, come here, sweetheart,” he muttered, pulling you closer to him by the hips as you gasped. You were fully lying down next to him now, and he was leaning over you with a hand on your inner thigh, your leg pushed up against his stomach. He leaned down and confidently took your lips with his own. You squeaked in surprise at his boldness before sinking further into the mattress and shutting your eyes. He kissed you slowly, yet dominantly, tongue peaking out to brush your lips before retreating so as not to scare you with too much, too fast. His one elbow remained propped by your head as his other hand rubbed soft patterns on your thigh. That felt nice, you thought, as your body grew hotter. If the rest of the night was going to be anything like this, you were in for it.

Breathing heavily, you pulled away for air as he brought his mouth to your neck. He licked a firm stripe up the side, pulling another gasp out of you, before sucking down on a patch of skin. He soothed with his tongue before lightly biting, being sure to leave a mark. You began to writhe underneath him at the sensation, which he definitely noticed.

“Feelin’ good?” he muttered, face still buried in your neck. You felt the urge to tease him as he had been teasing you all night.

“It’s… fine,” you giggled, attempting to knock his confidence. But he only sucked harder at this, drawing a yelp from you. He sat up on his knees before you and tore his t-shirt off in a fervor. He paused for a moment, giving you time to pump the brakes. However, you took that time to admire his defined torso, lined with lean muscle and veins trailing down below his waistband. You wanted to find out where they lead. He adjusted his backwards hat and lowered himself onto the bed between your legs, hooking your thighs over his shoulders. He began to kiss your inner thighs before you stopped him.

“We can skip this part,” you said breathlessly. He looked at you, confused.

“Why?”

“I just… I don’t really like it, is all,” you admitted. He looked at you like you just spoke Chinese.

“You’ve had one guy who had no idea what he was doing eat you out. I’m doing it, and you’re gonna like it. Besides, I’m not fucking you without getting you warmed up first.” He said it almost as an order, and you had no choice but to let him continue. Maybe it would be different this time. You doubted it, but it was possible. He used a hand to push you back down on the bed and began kissing your thighs once more. You were only in a bra and underwear, so he had easy access to you, but he didn’t go straight for it just yet. He kissed and sucked around your thighs and hips, careful not to touch your center. He was being a tease.

You lost yourself in the feeling and began to writhe once more. Noticing this, Rafe brought a hand down to pull your underwear to the side, and met your center with a soft kiss. Your nerves were all lit up at this point, so even the small motion felt great. Your hips bucked up for more friction, but he pulled away.

“What do you say?” he teased.

“Please,” you pleaded without any thought to it. He mumbled a ‘fuck’ at this, and commented, “What a good girl you are.” He brought his mouth back down and began to lick stripes up your center before suckling on your clit. This action caused a small moan to leave your mouth, which only encouraged him more. He continued these motions for God knows how long, licking, suckling, kissing, until you were a squirming mess underneath him. Then, he brought a single finger to your center, swirling it around your hole to collect your juices, before pushing it inside you to the second knuckle. He paused here so as not to hurt you, and waited for a reaction. When he found none, he pushed his digit all the way in, and studied your face as he brushed your inner wall in a “come here” motion. You gasped as your eyes shut closed and your head dropped back. Shit, that felt good.

“That’s it,” he mumbled as he kept up this motion, adding his mouth back into the mix once he was satisfied with your facial expressions. The combination of his mouth and finger was insane. You’d never felt anything like this before, even by yourself. This must have been what girls were talking about when they raved about oral.

“Oh my God, Rafe,” you sighed. He moaned in response, grinding his hips into the mattress. After several more minutes of this, he sat up and looked for the strip of condoms that had been forgotten on the floor. Standing from the bed and tearing one off, he dropped his pants and tore the packet open with his teeth. You admired him. He was straight out of a Greek myth, all corded rope muscles and a jawline that could cut a man. His tall frame overtook the room, and his dick… it was… big. Big enough to have you concerned. The last guy you had been with was half the size, and the pain was excruciating. Rafe saw your concerned face.

“Y’okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just, um… “ he waited patiently for a response. “Would you mind, maybe, like… starting kind of… slow?” you finally managed to drag out.

He looked at you again with a hint of laughter on his face.

“Honey… I’m not just gonna jam it in you,” he laughed. “We’ll take it easy. I’m not a monster.”

You giggled with him at this and relaxed into the bed once more. He kneeled before you on the bed looking like a Calvin Klein ad. Hands beside your head, he lowered himself on top of you and gave you a sweet kiss. He lined himself up and asked, “Ready?”

You nodded and felt him push his tip through your folds. He pressed carefully into you as you stiffened at the stretch. His face was buried in your neck once more, kissing up and down softly. Feeling your tense muscles, he whispered an order. “Breathe,” he soothed, the hand that wasn’t holding himself up petting your hair. You did as told and attempted to relax your body. He slid further in and paused to let you adjust.

You peeked down at your joined bodies and saw that the fullness you felt inside of you was only half of his length.

“Jesus,” you sighed.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, holding you steady. His words were the only thing keeping you grounded in that moment as you tried to manage the stretch of him. When he was most of the way seated, he pulled out a couple of inches and carefully pushed back in. You felt the drag of him on your walls, and let out a sigh. The sensation was bordering on painful, but the pressure of his tip inside you was a needed and pleasurable distraction. He did this once more, pushing deeper in this time, and continued this motion until he was fully seated inside of you.

“How’s it feel?” he questioned.

“It’s a lot,” you breathed, unsure how to describe it.

“I know baby, I know,” he comforted, hand still petting your head. “Let’s get you goin’, yeah?”

You nodded, though you would have agreed with anything he said in that moment. He dragged himself out halfway and pushed back in. He was still being gentle, but was definitely picking up the pace and made sure to watch you for any signs of discomfort. He sat up to a kneeling position between your legs and brought his hands to your waist, holding you steady for him. He worked into a quicker pace and brought a thumb to your clit, drawing small circles. This had you bucking your hips to meet his, soft moans beginning to leave your mouth. You closed your eyes and dropped your head back, falling into the moment.

Seeing you relax, he cooed, “There you go.”

“Oh my God,” you sighed, brows scrunching at his relentless rhythm. This was nothing like your last time, and you were so grateful for that. His thumb quickened on your clit, drawing higher and louder moans from you. “Fuck, Rafe,” you moaned loudly, only spurring him on further. His own moans joined yours, and you felt your stomach tighten. You tensed, and he noticed, not changing a thing about his actions until you were seeing stars. Your whole body tightened as you came, thighs trembling and mouth hanging open in a silent scream, and he watched every second of it, keeping pace until you peeled his hand off your center, the feeling becoming too much to handle. He dropped his hand, but remained constant with his hips until you saw his own face begin to scrunch. He moaned a “Fuck, Y/N” as he spilled into the condom, and paused for his own high to blow over before pulling out of you gently. You felt an emptiness in you then, wanting him back inside of you but knowing you both needed a break. After throwing away the condom, he came back to lay beside you on the bed, heavy breathing matching your own.

Your eyes remained closed, but you became conscious of how long you were lingering. Wasn’t that rule number one of hook-ups? You were supposed to leave right after?

“Sorry, just give me a second and I’ll go,” you huffed, still catching your breath.

He looked over at you and, after realizing what you said, spoke, “you’re not going anywhere.” You looked at him in slight confusion.

“We’re gonna snuggle and then go get some food. I’m fucking starving after that.”

“Okay,” you conceded. Again, you would have agreed to anything that man had said in that moment. You didn’t have the energy or will power to put up a fight. He pulled you onto his chest and wrapped his arms around you, kissing your forehead and soothing your skin with his fingers. You sighed and shut your eyes, soaking in the moment.

“So?” he prodded, that same cocky tone as before lacing his voice.

“So, what?” you teased.

“I’m guessing by your volume that you liked it,” he retorted. You felt yourself blush at this, not realizing that you had been particularly loud. He felt your embarrassment and comforted with a laugh, “It’s okay, I like loud. It was hot.” All you could do was giggle and bury your face in his chest.

“Hungry?” he changed the subject. You nodded, and he sat up and said, “Get dressed, gorgeous.” You looked down at the wrinkled lingerie that still adorned your figure, realizing that you didn’t have anything else to wear. You certainly couldn’t wear this in public. This wasn’t Vegas. He saw where your gaze landed and seemed to understand. After putting on his joggers, he walked over to you with his shirt and put it over your head, pulling the sleeves over your arms. “Doordash it is, then.”

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey smut #jj x reader #john b outer banks #pope obx #obx #obx fic #obx smut

119 notes · View notes

f1nalboys · 13 days ago

Text

What Happened to the Cat? ; Randy Meeks

Ghostface!Randy Meeks x Fem!AFAB!Reader

a/n: long time no see! thank you all for being uber paitent with me as i deal with some irl stuff, i appreciate it and the kind words you all have sent into my ask box so much!!!! any and all thoughts are welcomed; lmk how you guys enjoy this take on ghostface ray :D

WORD COUNT: 9,434

WARNINGS: smut, DARK MATERIAL AHEAD, MAJOR DUBCON bordering on noncon tbh. just tread carefully. ghostface!randy, incel!randy, degrading and misogynistic language throughout, knife play, pain play, choking (unsexy kind), costume sex, predator/prey dynamics, primal-esque behavior from randy, coercion, chasing, stabbing, blood, wound fingering (you’ll see), oral + fingering (afab receiving), threats of anal, missionary, randy is actually so fucked up and evil in this one i apologize but not really, cliffhanger-esque ending, proofread but its me.

“Let me lick your pretty piggy cunt, Y/N.”

The ever-familiar modulated voice crackles in the receiver, the hair on your neck standing up on end even as you recognize where the phrase is from. You’re standing in the middle of the hallway, front and back door on either end, dread building in your gut. Ghostface. Every iteration of the son of a bitch has been haunting you for years now, from high school to college and beyond, destroying everything you have known about yourself, your loved ones, and the world, all in the palm of his gloved hand. And here this one was, quoting fucking Black Christmas to you like this was all a joke.

The realization that you had rewatched the movie with your roommate, Randy, last night hits you like a ton of bricks. This fucker had been watching you.

“Fuck you, you freak.”

“Touchy, aren’t you?” He says with a sharp laugh. “You won’t be sayin’ that when I’m fucking you with my knife, now will you, bitch? Sticking your fucking nose in where it doesn’t belong, right? Looking into shit you should’ve left alone.” His tone cuts through you and you whip around, heart pounding in your ears. Of course this had to happen tonight. It was a rare one where Randy had left to go to dinner with some of his friends. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

There’s a creak behind you.

Your head jerks to the side, the flash of black fabric and white plastic darting down a hallway making your stomach flip. Your body is one second behind your brain. You’re screaming at yourself to run, to get to the back door and follow the foot path around the house to your car, to get to the house phone and call for help, to get the fuck out of there. Just as your foot finally begins to move, your head twisting to face forwards, a hand is grabbing your collar and yanking you backwards.

The wooden floor under you is slick, your feet flying forwards as you hit the ground. Pain shoots up from your tailbone as you yelp and the edges of your vision turn black as his hand moves from your collar to your scalp. “Let go!” You shout, hands coming up to grab at his wrist as his fingers tangle into your hair, the feeling of the strands being pulled from your scalp nothing compared to the ache in your skull when he slams your head back down onto the floor twice.

You’re dazed, eyes squeezed shut as you groan. Your hands cradle your head, fingers warm and sticky with your blood. By the time your vision refocuses, he’s on top of you, knees digging into your side and his knife pressed at your throat. “P-please! I’ll do anything, please don’t kill me!” You manage to choke out, going silent when you feel the blade dig into your flesh as you swallow heavily. He says nothing, just cocks his head to the side.

“Anything?” He repeats and your eyebrows scrunch together for a brief moment; the voice you were hearing now was familiar. It was kind, soft, an edge of something darker to it, but missing the distinct crackle and depth of the voice on the phone. For a second, you wonder if this is a prank that one, or more, of your friends were trying to pull on you. But then he’s pushing the knife closer to you, nicking the thin flesh of your throat, free hand planted by your head. “I knew you were a fucking slut.”

Suddenly the knife is tossed to the side and his gloved hands are wrapping around your throat, cutting off your oxygen. Your hands instantly reach for his wrists, trying to pull him off of you, your eyes widening in fright as his grip doesn't loosen. Inside your chest, your heart beats at your ribs, overcompensating for the lack of oxygen in an attempt to keep your body going. When his grip tightens further, and your eyes feel like they're beginning to bulge out of your head from the pressure, you change tactics.

Your mouth is opening and closing in a desperate, fish-out-of-water way to get air as you begin to punch at his chest. Your actions grow more desperate as the seconds tick by, the only sound you can hear being your own heart beat and his grunts as his thumbs dig into your trachea. The sight of the white mask, the dark all consuming eyes, begins to grow fuzzy as your hands punch and claw at any part of him you can reach. The man behind the robe is not particularly large, but he’s stronger. Couple that with catching you off guard and it was no wonder that you were here, trapped under the mysterious figure, the life being choked out of you.

Clutching at his robes, you stare into the blacks of the mask where the eyes are and you think about Randy coming home and discovering you dead on the floor. You can imagine him dropping to his knees beside you, grabbing ahold of your shoulders and shaking you, his hands trembling. Your fingers begin to loosen around the fabric, shaky hands reaching up and clumsily tugging at the mask.

He shakes his head a few times, jerking it out of your touch with an annoyed grunt, his grip loosening every so slightly. You manage to grab a hold of the chin and pull it off, determined to see who was killing you and make them look you in the face, really look you in the face, while they were doing it. Maybe you could somehow manage to leave a clue behind to their identity for-

“R-Randy?” You choke out, voice hoarse and nearly unintelligible. The mask hits the wood floors with a soft thud, his grip tightening as you say his name, but you don’t fight back. You stare up at him, right into his blue eyes.

His hair is tousled, wet with sweat. His pink lips are parted, his chest heaving as he blinks down at you, tanned cheeks flushed pink. “Don’t fuckin’ look at me like that.” Your vision grows blurry again as you realize Randy, your roommate and best friend, the person you had been tracking down Ghostface with, was Ghostface. He was the one killing you.

He lets go of your throat.

“Fuck!” Randy says, grabbing the knife and holding it just above your throat as you gasp and sputter underneath him, eyes squeezed shut. The oxygen burns as you breathe in, coughing, black dots swimming across your vision. You try to blink through the blurriness; you can see the bright pink hue to the apples of his cheeks, a bead of sweat rolling down the bridge of his nose as he narrows his blue eyes at you in accusation. “Why the fuck did you have to do that for?”

It’s almost enough to make you laugh. Here he is, a knife to your throat, and he’s mad at you.

Your mouth opens, cracked lips parting to tell him to go fuck himself, but all that leaves your throat is a choked noise. Pain rips through your esophagus and you flinch, stomach churning at the realization you can’t speak. Your eyes blink back the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks once more as you swallow, looking at Randy.

His eyes are searching your face, and it’s clear to you even now, with the knife against your throat, that you seeing his face had taken the wind out of his sails. He’s nervous, head cocking to the side every few seconds and his jaw rhythmically clenching as he stares down at you.

“Fucking bitch.” Randy finally spits, his face morphing into disgust. “You fuckin’ ruined it all. Nosy cunt, just had to stick your nose into shit that didn’t concern you.” His voice is low, gravelly, and spit collects at the corner of his lips as he speaks. You’ve never heard him speak this way; a crude joke here and there, sure, but never something this vile aimed at you and you alone. “Is this what you wanted, huh? To make this harder for me than it already is?”

His voice cracks and as the fuzz on the edge of your vision begins to go away, you can see a tear slide down his cheek. Randy angrily wipes it off of his face with the back of his gloved hand. Wetting your lips, you brace yourself for the pain. “R-Randy,” you start, voice hoarse and cracking. He’s breathing hard, shoulders heaving with effort, but he remains silent. “...Why?”

It’s the most you can choke out right now and thankfully he decides to answer right after scoffing. “Why?” Randy’s head cocks to the side, searching your face, his knees digging into your ribs. You let out a small whine of discomfort at his weight on top of you. “You were gonna figure it out, you know.” The change in his voice makes you still, eyebrows scrunched together at the softness in his tone, as if he were sad about what he was saying. “I knew you would. I couldn’t let that happen… you’d tell everyone.”

“Wouldn’t… I wouldn’t…” Talking still hurts but lessens as the minutes tick by. “I… I wouldn’t have told anyone.” Randy tsks, shaking his head.

“I’m not an idiot. I know you.”

“Please, please just let me go, Randy.”

“You know I can’t do that.” Fresh tears prick at your eyes, lips thinning slightly as your chin quivers. Randy grunts, averting his gaze for a moment. “Stop looking at me like that.” He says sharply, digging the knife back against your throat. All the blade does is spur your tears on. “Jesus Christ, stop crying!” The knife is pulled away and you suck in a blubbering breath before the crack of his palm meets your cheeks.

You yelp, hand coming to press against the swelling flesh as he leans down, hot breath ghosting against your cheek. “Do you want to live?”

The tone of his voice makes your blood chill. Sharper than the knife in his hand and just as cold. You sniffle, your chest tight as you nod. A small sob escapes your lips and he smiles. “Please don’t kill me, Randy.” Begging seems redundant at this point but you realize there is nothing you can do but try. “Randy, fuck! Fuck, please don’t kill me, I don’t want to die!” You sob, a blubbering fucking mess underneath him.

He tilts his head to the side slightly, an amused smirk on his face. “You wanna know something?” He asks, ignoring your tears and dragging the tip of the knife down your cheeks carefully. “I’ve always imagined you underneath me crying. Knew you’d look pretty.” He sighs softly, wetting his lips, pulling back as his eyes search your fear-stricken face. “Anything?”

“W-What?”

“You said you’d do anything,” he repeats, shifting his weight back, a wild look in his eyes you’ve never fucking seen before. It’s enough to make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end and a wave of nausea hit you. “You wanna live that bad?”

Something in your gut tells you to say no, to fight and struggle and to die with some fucking dignity. But it’s Randy. Your best friend, your roommate, the person you trusted more than yourself. An hour ago, you never would have thought he was capable of this. You nod your head once, a tear sliding down your warm cheek as his smile grows more affectionate.

“I knew it.” He says, pulling the knife away from your neck where it had been loosely pressed. He tosses it to the side, the clang as it hits your hardwood floors making you flinch. His gloved hands are suddenly all over you, leaning down and harshly pressing his lips to yours. His teeth smash into yours as you grunt in surprise, his tongue forcing its way in, a parasite finding a host.

You’d be a liar if you said you never thought about kissing Randy before. Of course you did! He was a sweet, funny, goofy guy you had been through terrible tragedy after terrible tragedy with; it was hard to not think of him in that light. You never made a move, and, like always, he didn’t either. You would often lay in bed, eyes closed, knowing Randy was in the next room over, and think about what kissing him would be like.

It’s rougher than you imagined.

Randy moans, pulling back from you to suck in a few harsh breaths, a string of saliva connecting you two. “Fuck,” Randy moans, his voice thick. His blue eyes darken, his lids heavy as he stares down at you. “God, you’re a good kisser, you know that?” His familiar goofy smile spreads across his pink face and you do your best to ignore the flipping of your stomach.

“Y-You are too.” You say as your voice cracks slightly. His smile grows further and you wonder briefly if his cheeks hurt. A wave of disgust washes over you as he brings his gloved hand up from your side to cup your cheek, and you turn your head to the side. “Are… are you done?”

Randy blinks. “Done?” He asks, a laugh bubbling up in his chest. You grunt, face feeling warm in embarrassment and nervousness as his knees dig further into your ribs. “Nah, I’m not done yet.” He finally says, his smile twitching. “I mean, I can get the knife if you’ve decided you’re done…?” He motions to the blade just beside him, watching your eyes lock onto the steel. “If you’re feeling brave, though, you can try and fight me off.”

“What?”

“I said,” he grabs the knife with one hand and your wrist with the other, shoving the handle into your shaking hand. “If you’re feeling brave, try and fight me off.” There’s a light to his eyes you’ve only seen when he talks about his favorite movies, a kind of glee that you had a hard time not teasing him about previously. Now, however, there was nothing fucking funny about it. The knife is heavy in your hand, weighed down by the souls it’s taken already.

Your eyes widen, glistening with unshed tears as you look at him. “I… I don’t want to fight you,” you say shakily. “You’re my friend, Randy.” He scoffs at this, snatching the knife from your loose grip and the mask from beside you. He stands, towering over you, and panic hits you as he goes to put the mask back on.

He was going to kill you unless you convinced him otherwise, and Randy was very stubborn. There were only a few things he loved, and, thankfully, you knew them all.

“W-Wait! I’ll do it!”

“You’ll do what?”

“I’ll… I’ll fight, or whatever. That’s what you want, right?” You ask, staring up at him as he pauses, your heart thudding in your chest. He could put the mask back on and sink the knife into your gut without a single word; you just had to trust he wouldn’t. “Y-you always say the chase is your favorite part.”

Randy cracks a smile. “That’s why I like you,” he says, crouching down beside you. “You always got me. Really got me, in ways the others didn’t.” It’s true, you realize. While Randy was popular and had lots of friends, he had told you time and time again how it seemed like you were the only one who actually heard him. It used to make you feel good.

Now all it does is make you feel sick.

“You must really want to live, don’t you?” He asks, voice dark as he peers down at you. Shakily, you nod, swallowing down the bile that steadily felt like it was crawling up your throat. Randy grins as his eyebrows raise, tucking under the wet strands of hair sticking to his forehead still. “Alright, fuck it. I’ll chase you and you can try and escape. You make it out the front door, and you can live. You can run off to the cops and tell them everything. But,” his grin sharpens. “If I catch you… I get to do whatever I want to you.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Depends on how worked up you get me.” Randy smiles, wetting his bottom lip as his eyes trail down your figure beside him, still frozen on the floor. The heat behind his gaze makes your skin crawl and your gut swirl, the two sensations twisting and turning inside you. “I’ll probably do something else first, though.”

Randy’s hand reaches out, grabbing at your tit through your pajama top. His grip is rough as he squeezes the fat between his fingers, letting out a growl-like moan at the feeling. You let out a shudder, turning your head to the side as you squeeze your eyes shut and press your lips together. He huffs, letting go of your breast and grabbing ahold of your chin, forcing you to look back up at him with a scowl.

“Get up. I’m giving you five seconds, and if I catch you, I’m fucking you until I decide to kill you.”

His voice is void of all emotion, roughly letting go of your chin as he stands, and his words make you scramble upwards onto your feet. You stumble down the hallway, mind reeling as you try to think of what to do.

“1…2…” The back door is too far. Randy was quick on his feet, he’d reach you before you got the deadbolt undone.

“3…4…” Randy tugs on the mask, voice muffled as he counts. The knife is held tightly in his hand, robe loose at his ankles. Your only option is upstairs. The steps are just to your right and you sprint towards them, feet hammering heavily against the wood as you hurry up them. You could lock yourself in your room, or maybe get to the attic with enough time to pull the door down.

“5… Ready or not,” Randy watches your figure disappear up the steps, a wild grin on his face under the mask as he starts after you, thundering up the steps two at a time. He uses his free hand to click the modulator on again. “Here I come, bitch.”

You’re at the landing, turning down the hall to sprint to your room, when you see the ghostly white mask staring up at you. Randy swipes the knife at your feet as he stomps up the steps and you narrowly avoid it, letting out a yelp as you haul ass. Slamming the door shut behind you and locking it, you look around for anything that could help.

He’s at the door in seconds, his fist banging against the wood as you run to the opposite side of your dresser, grunting with effort as you try to push it in front of the door before he can break through. “Let me in, you fucking cunt!” He snarls, now throwing his body against the door. He’s growling with each hit, the sound of splintering wood making your palms slick with sweat. “I just wanna see what your insides look like!”

The dresser scrapes against the grain of the floor, ignoring the pleas and curses spilling from your lips faster than you can think. After an agonizing few seconds, you manage to get the dresser in front of the door just as Randy begins to break through. You scream, stumbling backwards as his hand, holding the knife, pushes in through the split in the door he caused.

The knife swings wildly, blade glinting in the light of your lamp. His arm retreats and he’s back to slamming his body weight against it, the dresser loudly scooting further from the door each time. Your time was running out. In a few seconds he’d be in here with you and that would be it.

You rush to your desk on the other side of the room, throwing things off as you search for something, anything, to protect yourself with. The sounds of Randy forcing his way in grow muffled, like you’re underwater. Your hands wrap around the metal scissors as he finally breaks in, and you turn around, wielding them in front of you with shaky hands.

“Look at this.” He steps inside the room, standing with the knife in front of him. His shoulders are heaving with each breath he sucks in, and though he wears the mask, you can almost see the grin he’s giving you. “I didn’t think you’d get this far, if I’m being honest.” He steps forwards and to the right, hugging the wall as you side step him, keeping yourself at the same distance away, moving to the left. The two of you slowly, carefully, circle the rug. “I mean, you’re smarter than most girls, but I figured you’d be a pretty easy kill.”

“Fuck you!”

“There’s that fire!”

“This isn’t a fucking joke!” You snap, eyes narrowing in anger. The room is thick with tension, a standoff between a fawn and a wolf. You tighten your grip on the scissors, jaw clenching at the slickness of your palms. Your hearts beating against your ribcage, your stomachs in your ass, and yet, even with the thick sludge of fear that is coursing through your veins and weighing you down, there’s another feeling. It’s deep in your stomach, buried under the rubble, but it’s there.

Lust.

Randy laughs, head cocking to the side as he continues to move, slowly, carefully. Each movement he makes is calculated, directly reflecting your own. You wish he didn’t have the mask on, that he’d stop being a fucking coward and let you see the extent of his enjoyment for torturing you. “I know it’s not a joke, Y/N. I’m taking this very seriously.”

He lunges forwards slightly, knife shallowly stabbing into your gut. You yelp and stumble backwards, hitting into the wooden post of your bed frame as you clutch at your side, watching the blood soak into the fabric of your pajama top. For a few moments, all you can feel is heat. You had never been stabbed before, but you had imagined it to play out like the movies. Instead, the piercing pain comes in quickly, and you let out an involuntary shudder as your free hand presses into the wound. All you want to do is drop to the floor with a whimper, the edges of your vision riddled with dancing black dots, and beg Randy to leave you alone.

Instead, biting your tongue hard enough to draw blood, you ignore the pain rippling through your side as he laughs. He returns to his place near the wall. The two of you are still circling slowly, one foot after the other, unable to take your eyes off of him for a second.

He could have brought the knife to your other side in a second flat, gutting you. You can almost imagine him standing over your body as you desperately try to hold your organs inside your belly, warm thick blood oozing from the wound in buckets, soaking into the rug Randy had helped you pick out before you collapsed to the ground, coughing up blood. Why hadn’t he?

“Doesn’t this just get your fuckin’ heart racing?” He asks, the scratchy tone of the modulator making you swallow hard. “Not knowing if your next step is your last, if you’ll even make it out of this fucking room…it’s exciting!” You continue your carefully placed steps, your back now to the door. The dresser was still in front of it, but if you got an extra few seconds, you could squeeze through the gap between the wall and dresser and make your way out into the hall.

If you could do that, you could make it down the steps and to the front door before Randy made it to the landing. Your car keys were right next to the door where you always left them; you could do it. You had to do it. You had to do anything you fucking could to get out of here. The other option was dying.

Randy turns his head to look behind him and you take the brief opportunity to lunge forwards, squeezing your eyes shut as you sink the scissors into his shoulder. You cut through robes, shirt, and flesh. As the blade makes a sickening squelch noise, you expect him to scream, collapse to the ground or stumble back like the villains always do in those shitty movies he likes.

Your eyes widen and you take a shaky step backwards, scissors stuck in his shoulder as he whips his head around to face you, a low growl emanating from under the mask. His gloved fingers wrap around the metal handles, yanking it out with a hiss. The steel is covered in dark red blood. It drips onto the carpet opposite of the puddle of your own blood that was growing underneath you. The robe where the stab wound was is sunken into the cut, the fabric bunching together and fraying into the wound.

“You forgetting something, Y/N?” He questions sinisterly, gingerly holding the scissors in his hand. He swings them side to side, taunting you. “Did you seriously think a little stab would stop me? You think none of the others put up a fight like this?” He scoffs, his anger at you clear even through the modulator. “You all think you’re the exception, that you’re the final girl. Well guess fucking what? You’re not… and I think you want me to catch you.”

“I don’t!”

“No?” He taunts, cocking his head to the side. You wonder if, under the mask, his lips are squeezed into a thin line with a furrow to his brows. That was the face Randy always had when he was pissed. You take a step backwards towards the door. “So you’re really trying? You ran up the steps. You let me in your room. You gave me your fucking scissors! Just admit that you want me to fuck you, even if I gut your ass after.” The excitement in his voice has your heart sink.

This wasn’t Randy anymore; this was Ghostface.

Realizing there’s nothing you can do here to save yourself, you make a mad dash for the door. Squeezing yourself between the dresser and wall, you watch as Randy walks over to you, tossing the scissors behind him as his grip tightens around the knife. You’re halfway there, your hands flat against the dresser as you shove it forwards an inch to allow you to squeeze through, when Randy rears his foot back and kicks it.

“FUCK!” You scream as the dresser is violently forced into the door and you, slamming you back into the wall. Your ankle is bent uncomfortably, your leg turned outward and stuck at the bottom of the dresser. Randy lifts his foot once more. “Wait, no, don’t-” you plead, your heart hammering in your chest as you continue to move, nearly out of the room. He ignores you, his foot planting on the edge of the dresser as he kicks it forwards. Your foot is the last thing in the doorframe.

The pain is blinding. Your vision goes white as a fiery warmth crawls up your leg. As your vision returns, so does your hearing; you were letting out a blood curdling scream, your throat raw, and your free leg gives out on you. You collapse backwards, sobbing as Randy grabs the dresser and yanks it back, freeing your foot.

Looking down, groaning in pain, you try to move your ankle. There’s resistance and an electrical shock shoots up to your knee. Not broken, but there’s clearly something wrong with it. You try and move it again, grunting as you press your foot flat to the ground, attempting to stand. The pain is too much. Fuck. If you can’t move it, you can’t walk on it, let alone run. You look up and see Randy standing in the doorway of your room, your dresser overturned behind him and your door half hung on its hinges. He cocks his head to the side and then takes a step forwards.

You scramble away as best you can, using your hands to push yourself towards the stairs. You can’t catch your breath, your pain and fear mixing together and suffocating you as you try desperately to breathe. Pain erupts from your ankle and your side, the involuntary noises you were making as you crawl away from your best friend making you sound like a wounded animal.

His footsteps are slow, taunting, consistent. Step… step… step. You keep your head up and forwards, eyes glued on the steps, your only possible solace. He allows you to make it to the top of the landing before he’s on you again, grabbing your shoulder and turning you over onto your back. “No! Get off of me, Randy!” You say, punching at his chest and squirming as he straddles you. He huffs from under the mask, grabbing at your wrists and pinning them to your chest with one hand, waving the knife over your face with the other.

“Ah, ah,” he coos as you fall still, still blubbering. “You’ve really entertained me tonight, Y/N, you know that?” The tip of the knife is pressed to your cheek, digging into your flesh until a small bead of blood bubbles up. You whimper, chin quivering. “You’ve really got the spirit of a final girl. I’m almost sad I have to kill you now.”

He brings the knife up, clutching it in two hands.

“Wait!” You cry out, using your free hands to cover your face. Your brain is scrambled, your heart is pounding, and everything hurts, but there's only one thought in your head. I don’t want to die. “I-I thought you wanted to fuck me?”

If he notices the fear and desperation in your voice, he doesn’t mention it. Randy goes still above you, knees digging into your sides, inadvertently pressing into your wound. “What?” He asks, and the incredulous tone that seeps through the modulator is almost enough to make you laugh.

“You… you said you’d fuck me.” You repeat, voice cracking. Disgust washes over you in droves, nearly choking away your next words. “I want you to.” Your eyebrows crease together as you swallow down the bile rising in your throat. He says nothing, the knife coming down to his side as he stares at you. You can just barely make out the glint of his eyes through the mesh.

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice is quieter, less sharp.

“I’m not.” You reaffirm, staring up at him, trying to keep your face straight. Shakily, you reach your hand up, hesitating as your fingertips brush against the latex of the mask, half expecting him to lash out and plunge the knife into your head. Randy’s breathing is ragged, but he doesn’t move.

Carefully gripping the material, you move the mask off of him, a far cry from how you had done it just a few minutes before. Randy’s face is sweatier now, redness expanding across his freckled cheeks to the tips of his ears. His eyes dart away from yours and he swallows hard, his adams apple bobbing. He almost looked nervous, which, all things considered, is funny.

A smile twitches at your lips despite it all. “I’ve always had a crush on you.” You say quietly, feeling your own face grow warm. Your pain has dulled into a throbbing and hot heat. Your ankle feels like sand, too heavy to move. Your side is still burning, ripples of pain traveling up your ribcage as you move your arms. His eyes snap to yours, eyebrows scrunched together in annoyance.

“Yeah, right.”

“I mean it.”

“I don’t believe you.” He says, watching you drop the mask onto the ground beside the two of you. “You just don’t want to die.”

You sigh slightly. “I don’t want to die.” You say, eyes flicking between his, watching them lighten ever so slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m lying about this. If I have to die… might as well get the truth out there, right?” You try and force a laugh, squirming uncomfortably before hissing in pain.

“You… really? On me?” He questions, wetting his cracked lips when you nod in confirmation. There’s a beat as he studies your face, trying to determine if you were lying, if he was a fucking idiot to believe a word out of your mouth. “I have to kill you.” He says finally, voice quiet. “You’ve seen my face. You’ll tell.”

“I know.” You confirm quietly. You’ve gone completely still by now, the adrenaline and fight rushing from your body in an instant. Tears prick at your eyes again and you turn your head to the side, staring at your broken bedroom door. Briefly, you wonder how expensive it’ll be to fix it. You bite back the unamused laugh that bubbles up in your throat at the realization it doesn’t matter; you won’t be the one paying to fix it after you die. “I just don’t want the last thing I remember about you to be… to be this.”

Randy doesn’t say a word, but you can feel his eyes glued on you. “I wanted it to be different.” He finally says, breaking the thin silence that had settled between you two. When you look back up at him, his eyebrows are threaded together. “Always thought it would be, you know… romantic.” Randy almost looks shy above you, like he was caught shoving a love note into your locker instead of a knife into your throat. “You really want to?”

You nod. It was true, in some strange way. Maybe it’s from the concussion he had surely given you when he smashed your head into the floor downstairs, or maybe it was from the shock slowly overtaking your body from your stab wound and fucked up ankle, or maybe you were, deep down, just as fucked up as Randy. You weren’t sure of the reason, but you were sure of the fact that you wanted him. Swallowing heavily, you nod again, more confident. “I do.”

He hesitates for only a moment, his eyes flashing with the uncertainty you had come to know and love. But you watch him take in your disheveled appearance, his eyes darkening, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “Take your shirt off.” He orders you quietly, and you listen without thinking. Randy wets his lips again as you awkwardly pull your top off, hissing as the fabric peels away from the wound. Your side is covered in blood, and you have to turn your head away as blood pulses out, covering the wooden floor underneath you.

You toss it to the side, shivering at the cold wood underneath your exposed skin. His hand comes and cups your breast carefully, gloved thumb running over the thin fabric separating him from your nipple. He hums as he sees it harden, the corner of his thin lips twitching upwards as he repeats the motion again. You sigh, your body relaxing under his touch, your eyes closing as you focus on the feeling and not the circumstances that led you here.

“I love your tits,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, his grip tightening as he squeezes. “God, the amount of times I’ve jerked off thinking about them, about you…” Randy lets out a small, breathless laugh. You whimper, squirming underneath him and wincing at the ripple of pain. You do your best to ignore it. He tosses the knife to the side, dipping down and kissing you hungrily, pressing his chest to yours.

He wanted to kiss you hard enough to fuse together, to become a blob of unrecognizable mass writhing in pleasure. You kiss back this time and he groans, his tongue pushing its way past your lips, sliding over yours. “Randy,” you say breathlessly, shuddering when he pulls your bra up past your tits, freeing them before you feel the cool leather envelop your flesh. His right hand is slick with blood, a mix of yours and his, smearing it across your flesh. You squirm under him again, pushing upwards against his crotch, pulling a grunt from him.

“You really want it bad, don’t you?” He questions hurriedly against the flesh of your neck as he nips at your pulse. “I bet I don’t even have to touch you and you’d find a way to cum, wouldn’t you? Yeah, I fuckin’ bet. But it wouldn’t be enough, would it?” His words send a shiver down your spine, your head swimming as his nose brushes along your neck up to your ear, his breath warm. “I can hear you when you fuck yourself at night, y’know? When you think I’m asleep, and you let yourself get a little louder, a bit more brave.”

“R-Really?”

“Mhm. Hearing your little whimpers, the sound of you cumming…” He lets out a low groan, pulling back as he works on shifting his weight, tugging your pajama pants and underwear down to your knees. “Let me see her,” he mutters, mostly to himself, as he pushes your knees apart. He ignores your hiss of pain as his pupils enlarge, eyes trained on your now spread cunt. You can feel your face grow warm. “Holy shit. Look at you.”

Randy reaches a gloved hand out, carefully dragging a finger up your slit. You swallow back a whimper at the feeling, your eyes widening when he holds the finger up to show you your wetness. You shouldn’t be wet right now. Waves of disgust recede briefly only to crash back over you, time and time again, drowning you. “Look at this… fuck, I didn’t know you’d get off on this too.”

His smile is large, stretched across his skin to the point it looks like it hurts. He dips his head down, hands on your thighs, nose hovering above your pussy, and he breathes in deep. He moans - whimpers - and wastes no time, his pink lips wrapping around your clit and sucking.

“R-Randy!” You moan, your thighs attempting to close around his head. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, holding you open for him. “Oh shit,” you groan, your eyes squeezing shut as you do your best to focus on the quick-building pleasure in your gut rather than the ever-persistent pain in your side as your body involuntarily moves against his tongue.

Randy moans against you, letting go of your clit in favor of flicking his tongue back and forth along your slit, tasting as much of you as he can. “So fuckin’ good baby,” he mutters, his nose bumping along your clit as he pushes his tongue in your hole. It makes you gasp sharply and he hums, eyes opening to look up at you through heavy lids. He wasn’t lying when he told you he thought about this moment a lot, late at night in bed, hand wrapped around his cock. “Tell me you like it.”

His voice is muffled by your cunt and you don’t register it, your mind reeling with your situation as your orgasm steadily began to build. It hung heavy in your gut, growing thicker and bigger with each passing second, with each flick of his tongue and bump of his nose. Your pussy hurt, throbbing with need, desperate for release. And then, finally, you’re right there, toes beginning to curl, dots of color dancing in the dark of your closed eyes, when he stops. “What the fuck?”

He snorts at your meak and confused protest. You force your eyes to open, chest heaving, and involuntarily you glance down at the puddle of blood under you. It’s only grown, and the realization nearly takes the wind out of you. You felt tired, cold, exhausted.

“I told you to tell me you like it.”

“I-I didn’t hear you.”

“I know. Too caught up in how good I was making your pussy feel, right?’ He asks, voice soothing. “Couldn’t even be bothered to pretend to hate it.” You look up at him and he smiles, the corner of his lips curling upward. “Dirty fuckin’ bitch, huh? Is that what you are, Y/N?”

You shake your head and he laughs. “I’m not.” You say, trying to have any ounce of conviction in your tone, but it only serves to amuse him further. His stupid shit-eating grin makes a flash of anger course through you. “I’m not.” You say again, nostrils flaring. Your fight dies down as his smile drops and his eyebrows stitch together in annoyance.

“No?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. Without breaking eye contact, his left hand moves from your thigh to your pussy, pressing against your clit to an almost painful degree. The pressure makes you jolt, a groan being pulled from your lips. “You’re not getting off on how much I’ve hurt you?” Randy questions casually, taking his fingers and moving them down to your pulsing hole.

Whimpering as you feel him prod at your opening, you simply squeeze your eyes shut in response. You wouldn’t give him the fucking satisfaction. He’s not deterred by your stubbornness; he’s been friends with you long enough to know that it was all a facade, a way to keep control when you had none. It was one of his favorite things about you.

“You might not like it,” he says, humming as he begins to press the leather-clad finger into your cunt. You hiss at the slight stretch, face screwing up at the strange sensation of the leather sliding along your walls. There’s only a brief second of resistance before your body lets him continue. “But she sure does.” He purrs, breath hot against your bare thigh as he begins to pump his finger inside you. “Let me right in, didn’t she? Imagine how she’s gonna react when I finally give you my cock.”

You whimper; it’s involuntary, an accident, maybe not even from pleasure, but it doesn’t matter. The noise is encouragement, a golden stamp of approval, for Randy. His finger picks up speed as you cream around the digit, the sound of your wetness increasing with each pump. Another finger is pushed in and you whimper. “O-ow!” You whine at the stretch.

“Shut up,” he hisses, his blue eyes narrowing. “You think my cocks not gonna hurt when I fuckin’ shove it in here?” He follows his question with a third finger, the added stretch of the leather sending a shiver up your spine. You suck in a breath, shuddering with each pump, your own arousal loud enough for you to hear it. “You should see your fuckin’ pussy right now, baby, I mean… fuuuck. Creaming around my fucking fingers. Your clit’s throbbing; bet that hurts, doesn’t it? It’s all achey, desperate for me to touch it?”

You don’t want to answer his mocking words. A part of you is screaming at you to do something and get the fuck out of there, to get his hands out and off of you, to hold onto some of your dignity before your death. It’s not loud enough. “Y-yes!” You grunt, your eyebrows threaded together. “It hurts, Ray, fuck, j-just, please!” Your voice is whiny, cracking in the middle of your begging, your hips trying to push forwards in a desperate attempt for friction. “I’ll cum, I swear to god I will!”

He hums, his fingers curling inside you. The pleasure, while good, spreading throughout your whole body, isn’t enough. “You’re tellin’ me if I touch your clit you’ll cum?” Randy asks, amusement clear in his voice. You nod desperately, meeting his eyes. His cheeks are tinged pink with exertion, a hungry look in his eyes. He leans forwards, eyes flicking down to your clit, and you expect him to flick his tongue against the throbbing bud or suck it into his mouth.

Instead, he lets out a small breath, the cool air focused on your clit, and you cum.

“There you go, baby,” he says, watching you with a lopsided grin as your body shakes, legs attempting to close around his shoulders, pussy clenching rhythmically around his fingers. A low groan slips past your parted lips, ending in a pained whimper as the pleasure ebbs away, making way for the ache in your side. “God, I knew you were gonna look beautiful cumming.”

His voice is soft, sweet. In another world, he would have said that to you in your bed, the two of you surrounded by plush pillows and warm blankets instead of blood. You blink a few times, staring up at the popcorn ceiling, a warm tear slipping down your face to your ear. You sniffle as you feel him move from between your legs, pulling his fingers out slowly. He presses them to your lips and you don’t need him to tell you what to do.

Your mouth parts, your eyes closing as he presses his fingers past your lips. “Fuck.” He breathes as your face screws up slightly at the metallic taste that accompanied your own arousal, remembering how your blood had covered the leather before he began touching you. “Almost done sweetheart, I promise.” He murmurs, sliding his digits over your tongue, pressing down a bit before pulling them out.

You watch as he bunches the fabric of the robe into his hand, pulling it up enough to reveal his jeans, his cock pressing against the fabric. His free hands fumbles with the button for a moment before he huffs, his face growing a darker shade of red in embarrassment as he drops the robe, using both hands to unbutton and shove his jeans down.

“God, maybe I’ll make you take my cock in your ass.” He says, groaning as he wraps his blood-and-cum-covered hand around his cock. He strokes himself once before pausing and spitting into his gloved palm, looking down at you, a sadistic glint in his eyes as he watches a ripple of fear go through you. “Never had one there, have you?” He shakes his head, answering his own question. “Nah, too respectable, aren’t you? You’re not a slut when you bring home another fucking douchebag. You just let ‘em fuck your mouth a bit and then your pussy, right?”

“Randy-”

“No.” He snaps, his face screwing up into a snarl. “Just shut the fuck up, alright? For years I’ve been sitting by, watching asshole after asshole get to touch you, get to flirt and kiss and fuck you. And I sat back like a good friend, like a fucking gentlemen, cleaning up their fucking mess with no reward.” He moans, his hips bucking forwards into his hand. A bead of sweat rolls down his nose, dripping onto the robe. “Fuck that. I might as well have my fun.”

Leaning forwards, he smashes his mouth against yours. He ignores your whimper of pain, the tears that had steadily built up and fallen during his rant. His tongue forces its way past your lips and Randy moans at the feeling of you kissing back. At this point, it didn’t matter to him if you really were enjoying it; what mattered was that he was able to be with you in the way he’s been dreaming of since you had met.

With one of his hands, he lines his cock up to your entrance, swiping the leaking and swollen tip through your folds as he pulls away from your mouth to straighten up. The both of you let out a noise of pleasure, and he grins, pleased at your lack of fight. It was fun during the chase, but now he was fulfilling a fantasy. “Ready?” He asks, pressing his hips forwards a bit, prodding at your opening. You feel so fucking warm against him that he shudders, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to stop from cumming then and there.

You’re not. You are, actually, but you don’t want to admit it. Sniffling, you shake your head quickly. “N-not yet,” you say, watching his expression soften as he meets your eyes. He bends down again, his pink lips pressing soft kisses along your jaw. His other hand runs along your side, goosebumps raising on the exposed skin in his wake.

Your eyes close and you imagine yourself in bed with him, comfortable and safe. The warmth underneath you is no longer your own blood, but the heated blanket you had for the winter. The metallic smell a candle, the robe tickling your bare stomach a blanket. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” He murmurs against your cheek, tilting his head back to look at your face. There's a dazed look in your eyes, but when you nod again in confirmation, he grins. “Good girl,” Randy says as he begins to push inside you. “It’ll feel good, I promise.” He dips his head down to kiss you as he pushes past your body's natural resistance, moaning hot into your mouth just as you did. “H-holy fuck!” Randy shudders, his voice cracking as he bottoms out. “S-so fucking tight, and warm, fuck!”

His cock is thicker than any of the guys’ you’ve been with before, stretching and filling you up with every inch he pushes in. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, your head burying into his shoulder. Your side throbs with pain, but you’re able to ignore it and the blood still spilling from the wound, your head growing cloudy. Part of it you can blame on blood loss, on survival, on instinct. The rest of it is purely you. “Fuck, Randy! O-oh my god!” You gasp as he pulls out, the tip of his cock the only thing left in your cunt until he shoves every inch back inside.

Your fingers scramble to grab at his shoulders as he pistons his cock in and out of you when you accidentally dig your finger into his stab wound. “Fuck!” He yells, his movements stalling, and you remove your hand instantly, your heart nearly stopping in fear. Your apologies come quick, nearly incoherent, but he shuts you up with a grin. “Fuck, do that again.” He says, his hips moving again.

“W-what?”

“Do it again.” Randy repeats, a glimmer in his eye as he grabs your hand, his fingers awkwardly pressing yours into his wound. You grimace at the feeling of your fingertip pressing into the warm and bloody hole. He grunts in pain, his face screwing up into a grimace, but he doesn’t let you pull away and his hips dont stop fucking into you. “F-fuck. Oh god, your pussy is so fucking good.” He moans, pressing your finger in deeper, to the first knuckle. “Jesus Christ, you’re so fuckin’ tight. You like this don’t you?”

Randy grunts, keeping his eyes trained on you, before he pushes your finger into the wound further. The hole is warm and you can feel the flesh throb around your finger. His cock is throbbing inside you, and you’re not sure how much is from your cunt and how much so from this. He yelps in pain again, finally letting your hand go.

It drops back to your chest as his thrusts speed up, his free hand coming down to rub at your clit. “Oh, shit!” You moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. “Randy, oh my god, I-I’m so fucking close!” Your whimpers only spur him on, his thrusts bordering on painful as his hips snap against your own. Your ankle is still throbbing but you can move it with only a brief moment of sharp pain.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Y/N,” Randy whines, his voice cracking in pleasure. “Been dreaming, shit! Been dreaming of fucking you, god damn, and it’s so much better than I could have imagined.” His head tilts back slightly, eyes closing as his hips begin to sputter. “Come on, cum on my fucking cock, alright? Be a good girl for me, don’t hold back, alright? I want it, fuuuuuck, please? Please let me feel you cum on my dick, Y/N. Don’t you wanna cum one last time, baby?”

His words cut through you in an instant. A choked whimper is all you can manage as you cum, tightening around him and making him shudder. His thrusts are so fucking sloppy now, his mouth hung open and panting, drool building at the corner of his mouth. He hurriedly thanks you, telling you how good your fucking pussy feels, how he’s going to cum inside you and make sure you feel how much he loves it. You can’t focus on anything other than the words ringing in your ears.

“Don’t you wanna cum one last time, baby?”

He was going to kill you. You knew that; he told you as much. A naive part of you thought that maybe, somehow, he’d fuck you and then decide to let you go.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cum.” Randy says, his cock throbbing with each thrust. His face is screwed up in concentration, hands digging into the flesh of your thighs. “I’m gonna fucking cum inside you, Y/N!”

You bring your hand up and dig your thumb into his shoulder as far as it can go.

Randy screams in pain, falling backwards in an attempt to get away from you. You follow him, hovering above him on your knees as he thrashes under you, ignoring your own pain. “FUCK!” He screams, finally shoving you backwards away from him. He sobs, his hand clutching his shoulder, heat traveling up and down his arm. “You stupid fucking bitch! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

You don’t waste any time. You’re not even thinking anymore, your body taking over to save itself. You shove your pants and underwear back up, tugging your bra back down over your tits as you stumble to the steps. The sharp pain in your ankle is back tenfold, nearly blinding you, but the sound of Randy struggling to his feet keeps you going.

Clutching the handrail, you drag your body down to the steps. You’re sweating, cold and hot all at once, the wound on your side steadily dripping blood down your thigh. “Get the fuck back here!” He’s at the top of the steps as you reach the bottom, hauling ass to the front door.

Everything hurts. You aren’t sure if you’re even breathing as you struggle down the hallway, grabbing onto the wall to drag your body to safety. Every step you take knocks the fucking wind out of you, spots in your vision, but the adrenaline is keeping you going. You had a chance and your body knew it.

Randy is thundering down the steps, his cock straining against his unbuttoned jeans. Not only had you hurt him, you had denied him the one thing he wanted from you. “You fucking bitch,” he screams, spit flying from his lips. He reaches the bottom of the steps and turns, watching as you reach the front door, grabbing your keys from the dish. You look backwards and spot him, knife in hand, his teeth gnashing in annoyance. “I’ll fucking gut you for this.” He shouts as you unlock the door and stumble outside and off the porch, straight into the arms of campus police.

“Jesus!” The uniformed man grunts, catching you in his arms. “Are you alright, miss? We got calls about some screams.” He peers down at you, moving his hand and seeing it covered in your blood. He curses, grabbing his walkie talkie and calling for backup. You’re sobbing still, heart thumping and beating at your ribs, shivering against him. It was cold, and the heat from your wound only seemed to spread when Randy was on top of you. “Miss,” he says, repeating it a few times until you finally lift your head to look at him. “A few more officers are coming out to help, but I need to know what happened, okay? Who did this to you?”

You turn to look back at your house, staring through the opened living room door. Nothing. Randy was gone. You can see the open back door further down the lit hall, the breeze making the drawn shade move gently. He was gone, but he’d be back. You turn to look back at the cop, your breathing uneven, and you blink.

“Ghostface.”

#f1nalboys masterlist #f1nalboys writing #f1nalboys works #scream #scream franchise #ghostface x reader #randy meeks #randy meeks x reader #randy meeks x y/n #ghostface x y/n #scream 2 #scream 1996 #scream 1997 #im sensitive so be careful with how u proceed towards me ..... HEHEHW #love nasty fucked up evil randy

75 notes · View notes

gg-neptune · 8 months ago

Text

Bad Day

A night with Sev after a bad day. Hope you like it. :) Sorry for grammar errors (I love this pic)

Pairing: Severus x Reader

Words: 0.7k

Warings: None

It had been a long day for the both of you

Severus has had multiple students' potions go wrong leaving his classroom a mess and the poor man tired beyond belief

And you had so many disrespectful students you couldn't even recall them all as you thought back about the day that had just occurred

Not to mention a student had managed to somehow set one of your curtains on fire, meaning you now needed a new curtain

Without even thinking as soon as the last student left your classroom you gathered your belongings and headed to Severus’s chambers promptly locking the door behind you leaving a note to those that had detention to wait till tomorrow or something

You didn’t really care what they did at this point you just wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep

As you were walking to Sev’s chambers in the dungeons you passed his classroom which was already locked

When you arrived, you decided to at least be polite and knock on his door

“What do you- oh. Hello there.”

You pushed past him ignoring his snappy tone before he realized it was you

You forced the door closed before you wrapped your arms around him clinging to him as if you let go, he wouldn't be there anymore

It took a while before you let go but when you finally did you took notice of the tired expression on his face

“Bad day,” you asked tucking some of his raven hair behind his ear

He simply shook his head before leaning down to give you a gentle kiss

“Me too”

Both of you were still in your teaching robes and after decided to not go to the Great Hall for dinner you both just took a quick shower together

It wasn't your room, so you didn’t have any of your clothes, so you were forced to wear his

Not that you minded

You grabbed the giant blanket off the side of his couch and draped it over yourself curling into a ball savoring it’s warmth as he observed you

“Comfy?”

“No.”

He gave you a questioning look until you reached your arms out inviting him to join you and of course not being able to say no to you he did

His big arms wrapped around you tightly as you settled against his chest one hand pressing against his chest and the other going up to cup his face

“As I am enjoying this, if I stay here any longer, I will not get up,” Severus said gently into your hair. His tone was sad almost like he regretted it.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You need to eat, love.”

You groaned in displeasure not wanting to let you of your human body pillow

“I know. I’m so evil. What do you want to eat?”

“I’m not hungry,” you claim as you cling to him tighter refusing to let him get up. Even if it was for a good reason.

“Hmmm. Ok.”

Suddenly his arms tighten around you, and he hoists you up carrying you with him to his mini kitchen.

You simply accept this change instead of trying to fight something you know you’ll lose and snuggle closer to the man.

“I’ve got some uh… chicken wings?”

“You eat chicken wings?”

“No, I don't know why they're here. I did not buy these.”

You giggle slightly as you look at the box of frozen chicken wings.

“How about we just tell Dumbledore your unwell and I need to take care of you, and I get some food from the Great Hall for us?”

The man just stared at you still holding you in his arms.

“Or not.”

Eventually he decided to just go steal food from the Great Hall. He returns with two plates full of food.

“Thank you Sev.”

“‘Course.”

You sit down on the floor and eat at the coffee table in his living room

Once you are both satisfied you store whatever is left over and resume your place on the couch

He seems much happier since he’s been with you tonight

You know you are

You gently ran your thumb over his soft skin as he hummed in content as he tried to relax a bit

His arms felt safe and secure as if it was the safest place in the world

For you it probably was

You mindlessly began to play with his dark hair

Until you heard a soft snore

You turned your attention to his face only to notice he had fallen asleep

Gently you wrapped your arms around him falling asleep as well grateful to have him by your side

#pro snape #pro severus #severus snape #professor snape #pro severus snape #snape #snape fandom #snape fluff #snape x reader #snape x reader fluff #severus snape headcanons #snape cute #overprotective snape #snape cuddle #severus

173 notes · View notes

lesbianaglaya · 1 year ago

Text

thank god i enjoyed that because i got wildly bullied by not one not two but THREE old people on the bus afterwards

bottoms time :):)

#thank god generally whenever people have been terribly towards me in public they do it to such a level #that it goes beyond offensive to the ridiculously funny. shoutout to the self proclaimed wizard on the eurostar and the two french guys #who invited me to spend the night with them while i was actively talking to emts #you’re joined in ranks tonight by three evil old quebecers #gabby.txt

16 notes · View notes

2cupids · 5 months ago

Text

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃𝐍’𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓 | 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐣𝐣𝐤 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 — 4.1k+

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 — angst, spoilers (ch. 30, 90, 111, & 120), pet names, character death, reader finds out she’s pregnant (he already knows though 😭), other characters are mentioned, he interacts with her from afterlife.

he knows it, that his life is coming to an end.

his fight with the cursed spirit jogo left him badly injured with half his body burned, and the damage done is far beyond repair, even for someone like shoko. the pain radiating throughout his entire body is excruciating, and he’s tired. so tired. all he wants to do is sit down and rest, close his eyes and leave this unfair world behind, but he can’t just yet. he has to keep pushing onwards, there are still so many transfigured humans and cursed spirits to exorcize and kill.

does he have to keep going? the short answer is no.

he’s not even particularly fond of this job in the first place, but since he chose this line of work, it’s his obligation to see it through.

on top of that, with gojo being sealed away in the prison realm and all, that puts the burden on a lot of the younger sorcerers. in his eyes, children shouldn’t have to bear such a heavy load, especially since they’ll have to go against higher grade curses that are out of their league that they have no business dealing with. as long as he’s still there and is able to fight, he’s going to do everything in his power to keep that from happening. or at least lessen the amount they have to exorcize.

walking down the desolate underground tunnels of shibuya station feels eerie, the blood stained walls being a haunting reminder of just how much evil kenjaku has unleashed in such a short period of time. he doesn’t hesitate to exorcize anything that crosses his path that has no place in this world during his descent towards the lower level of the station.

though everytime he lifts his undamaged arm to wield his blade and kill another monster it hurts terribly. most people wouldn’t have even survived what he did, sustaining third and fourth degree burns over half their body, but nanami is strong. his strength coupled with his willpower to kill as many monsters as he can before his body ultimately shuts down is what drives him.

in the distance, he can hear the moans and groans of what he believes to be transfigured humans, and it sounds like a lot of them. he could turn around now and let his students and fellow sorcerers handle the rest of this, while he goes to a nearby hospital and lets them fix him up to the best of their ability before returning back home to you, but he can’t bring himself to do something as selfish as that.

he’s going to die tonight, there’s no doubt in his mind about it. the uncertainty of not knowing what waits for him in the afterlife isn’t what worries him, it’s knowing he has to leave you behind.

miles away in another district, you sit by yourself on the big, leather couch in the living room of you and kento’s house. the movie you put on to pass the time as you wait for your fiancé to finish his late night mission is boring you, and although you try to stay awake, you find yourself nodding off every so often. the minutes on the clock feel like they’re passing by agonizingly slow and you want nothing more than to feel the strong embrace of nanami’s arms wrapped around you once again.

speaking of which, shouldn’t he be on his way back soon?

no sooner than the thought crosses your mind does the soft buzzing and the light emitting from your phone screen on the cushion beside you catch your attention and you eagerly rush to pick it up. you take a minute to admire the poster picture you set for nanami, the picture being the time he let you wash and braid his hair, and you smile. you couldn’t ask for a better man.

you don’t want to keep him waiting though, so you tear your eyes away from the photo and clear your throat before hitting the button to answer the phone.

“ken! have you left work? are you on your way back yet?!” your bright, cheery voice would usually cause a big grin spread across nanami’s face, but this time a sorrowful smile is plastered on his face instead.

he won’t be coming.

nanami softly chuckles, focusing on ways to keep his voice neutral and calm before he speaks so you can’t sense the fear, devastation, anger, and every other emotion he feels as he talks to his precious girl for the last time. “no…”, nanami hesitates, thinking of a way to put it, but there’s really no easy way to say it. “i won’t be coming home tonight.” he sighs.

your smile fades and turns into a slight frown. “oh.. what’s going on in shibuya is really that bad?” you ask, playing with the hem of one of his shirts that you’ve stolen.

“yes. it’s bigger than any of us expected. i’m so sorry, sweetheart.” another long pause follows and your heart begins to race, there’s something else he’s not telling you.

kento has never been a man who hesitates or has trouble finding the right words. in all the years you’ve known him, he’s never been one to beat around the bush, he’s always been straightforward and direct. for him to have trouble finding the words and not knowing what to say is unheard of, and it worries you.

“baby, what’s wrong? what aren’t you telling me? and why are apologizing, it’s not your fault.”

nanami remains quiet for the next few seconds as he looks for the courage to tell you everything, that this is the last time you’ll hear his voice.

“i don’t think i’ll be returning home.. ever.” and that’s when his voice cracks, uttering the words that no jujutsu sorcerer ever wants to tell their family or their partner. at least he has the chance to say goodbye though, some sorcerers aren’t even that lucky.

“i need to stay in shibuya to fight. i love you, more than you’ll ever know, and i hope you find it in your heart to forgive me.”

your mind goes blank. did you really hear what you think you heard? did nanami really just say what you think he did?

you stay silent on the other end of the phone, not sure what to say. “ken.. what are you saying? what do you mean you won’t be back?!” you laugh in disbelief as your eyes begin to water.

the world you created with kento is starting to shatter around you.

“you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, you know? i’m blessed to have been able to spend these past years with you. thank you for opening yourself up to me and allowing me to be able to share your life with you. i’m sorry i have to leave you so soon. i planned on spending the rest of my life with you. i wanted to grow old with you”

hot tears flow out of your eyes and stream down your face and chin where they fall and stain nanami’s shirt. some manage to seep into the corners of your mouth, their salty taste colliding with your taste buds. you’ve never noticed how salty tears really are until now.

you cover your mouth with your hand to mask the flood of sobs coming from you, but it’s not going to take long before your cries grow far too loud to be masked.

“i knew i should’ve left this damn job sooner.” nanami’s brows draw together in anger and frustration at himself for having to place you in such a position. “i never planned on doing this forever. it’s dangerous and i planned to leave when i found the right person, that person being you, but i didn’t leave soon enough. now look where it got me. i’m so sorry, you don’t deserve this.”

“nanami please stop.” denial is hitting you hard, there’s no way this can be real. you can still vividly recall the warm spring afternoon a few months ago when he got down on one knee and proposed to you. that was the day that sealed your fate, you were going to be with this man for the rest of your life.

now he’s suddenly being taken away from you.

could this be some sort of sick joke someone put him up to? no, even as much as you wish it was, you know it’s not. kento would never do something as cruel as this to you, much less let another person put him up to it.

“you have all my passwords to any documents you might need to access, if there’s anything you can’t find, it’ll be in the top drawer of the desk in the office, don’t forget that, okay? you have the numbers to my bank account and cards, but it shouldn’t take life insurance long to pay out.”

“this isn’t funny, stop it.” by this point you’re violently sobbing and your eyes are getting redder by the minute. nothing feels real anymore. the thud of your heart pounding in your chest fills your ears, and you think it might just explode any time now. a single tear rolls down nanami’s face, then another one follows, and another until he’s crying with you.

he inhales, taking a shaky breath and trying to regain his composure, but fails. “you remember when we were planning to have our honeymoon in malaysia? i want you to still go. do you understand? do it for me, okay love?”

the wails that exit your mouth are gut-wrenching. each one sounds like it’s filled with more heartache than the previous one as they increase in volume as they echo through nanami’s side of the phone. he has to physically take the phone away from his ear, but even as he holds the phone down next to his thigh your loud cries can still be heard.

you don’t have to say it because the anguish in your cries speak for themself, telling kento “don’t leave me.” it breaks his heart, he would do anything to prevent having to hurt you like this but it’s too late now. he wipes away his tears with the back of his fully fleshed hand before bringing his phone back up to his ear to speak.

“you can throw away my books in the office, or you can read them and keep them if you want. i know you don’t really care much about that kind of stuff anyways though,” nanami laughs lightheartedly. a sharp pain tears through his chest and he silently winces at the pain something as small as laughing causes him. but that’s okay, he’ll only have to endure the pain a little while longer.

“i have one more thing to tell you before i have to go.”

you don’t catch what he said, your weeping drowns his voice out, only catching his words here and there. yet, you don’t miss the sternness of his voice calling your name, and you subconsciously quiet down a little.

“listen to me. i want you to be happy. don’t live your life constantly thinking of me and what could have been. do you understand?”

you open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. silence follows on your end now.

“answer me. do you think you can do that for me?” nanami asks, remnants of his authoritative tone seeping through.

a small, almost inaudible “yes”, croaks from your throat, accompanied by more sobs.

“find a new partner, love again, start a new family. i want to see you flourish, darling. just..” nanami lets out a sigh before he continues. “just make sure the guy treats you right, or he’ll have to deal with the ghost of your ex. i can still beat his ass as a ghost. oh, and do all the things you want to do. you’re special, and i know you’ll succeed in whatever you choose.”

“kento don’t leave me! please don’t leave me! i don’t want anyone else!” you tightly clutch his shirt that you’re wearing as you beg and plead with him not to leave you. he wishes he could come give you one last hug, or a kiss before he leaves, but he has a job to finish.

“whatever you choose to do, be happy. do what brings you joy, pretty girl. you won’t be able to see me, but i’ll always be there right next to you, supporting you. you’ll feel my presence and know i’m there. don’t come over here joining me too soon either, okay baby?”

nanami debates on whether to mention this or not, but he decides it’s best to, he doesn’t want you to think he died without knowing. “my baby girl is gonna be as pretty as her mother. don’t you worry about a thing, everything is gonna be fine. i love you.”

his words come in one ear and out the other, it’s like you hear him, but you’re really not grasping his words. you’re trying to force your voice out to say something else and you’re finally able to. “ken? nanami?!” it’s too late now though, he’s already hung up and you find that out once you take the phone away from your ear.

on the other side of the city, nanami slips his phone back into his pocket after trying to send you a video. the reception has suddenly gotten bad down there and he tried multiple times to send it, but it’s taking forever to send, so he can only pray that it reaches you somehow.

the facade he put on and maintained fairly well while talking to you of being calm and collected, was his way to try to make his death not as hard on you. he’s found peace in knowing his time is almost up and he hopes that can help as you come to terms later.

now, reality is crashing down on him once again and he tilts his head back, slowly closing his eyes as more tears rush out. memories run through his mind of all the times he’s shared with you; good times and bad times, intimate and playful ones, happy and sad ones. why does he have to leave? he’s finally happy for once in his life and now he has to leave the most important person in his life behind for a shitty, unfair job?

nanami catches himself, he can’t think like this. he can’t die with regrets or bad thoughts, so he chooses to simply be thankful for all the wonderful memories he was able to share with you and that he gets to reminisce over during his final moments. although he won’t be able to physically see his daughter grow up, he’ll be watching from above.

he takes a moment to collect himself then continues walking down the dark tunnel, the echo of his footsteps bouncing off the walls being the only sound to be heard until he reaches the end. nanami turns and walks down the stairs, immediately being met with multiple transfigured humans just like he thought. his grip on his weapon tightens and he gets a running start at the monsters, catching them by surprise.

they surround him within seconds and with his blade, he slashes through as many at one time as he can, all while dodging attacks from the others he has yet to kill.

nanami is so tired. it feels like his body will give out on him at any second. he just wants to rest. with each transfigured human he slices through, the image of him walking down the beach with the sun beaming down on his face gets clearer and clearer. it won’t be much longer now.

he tries to catch his breath as he watches the last and final monster fall to the ground. he lets the dull blade slip out of his hand and drops to his knees. suddenly he feels a cold hand on his shoulder and his eyes shoot open. “good job, i didn’t expect you to finish them all off,” a cocky voice says from behind him.

mahito.

nanami would be able to tell that voice from anywhere. the cursed spirit, mahito, is one he’s had multiple encounters with, the one worst being when he got trapped in the cursed spirits domain and nearly died.

they say the third time’s charm and in this case it is. under normal circumstances it wouldn’t take a single touch from mahito for him to be able to transfigure nanami’s soul, but because he’s so badly injured and weak, this one touch is all it takes.

the footsteps of a person running can be heard, the sound of their feet getting closer by the second until the person reaches the stairs. the person rounds the corner and is met with a heartbreaking sight.

“n-nanamin?” the voice calls out.

it’s yuji.

there’s nothing kentoi can do to prevent the child from witnessing his death. he feels horrible. yuji is about to see his mentor die right before his eyes and nanami isn’t sure how it will affect him, hell it might even scar the poor boy for life. the only thing he can do is give yuji some encouraging last words. nanami turns the uncharred side of his head towards yuji and smiles. “itadori, please have ino take my belongings back to my wife. will you take it from here? i know you can handle it, you’re strong.”

a wave of calmness and peace washes over nanami as he closes his eyes. a bright light surrounds him and his old friend, yu haibara, from high school emerges from it, extending his hand out to nanami as he makes the transition to the other side. “welcome friend, what are you doing over here so soon?”

those are the last words that leave nanami’s mouth before his upper body explodes into pieces as mahito stands and happily watches.

the horrific scene will forever be engraved into yuji’s mind.

an indescribable feeling rushes over you, one that’s unfamiliar. you’re not sure what it is, but you don’t ever want to sense that feeling again. it’s the moment you realize your everything is gone.

the night sky shines less bright as the light from a dying star burns until it flickers out completely. nanami kento is dead.

you’ve lost count of how many days have passed since kento left you. the days have started to run together and everything’s been a blur, you can barely even remember your own name.

you often find yourself staring at his blood stained watch that lays on the coffee table, one of a few items that ino personally returned to you; kento’s watch, his weapon, and his phone.

the playback of past events involving kento are constantly unfolding in front of you. when you look at the front door, you can see him coming home from a long day at work, undoing his tie and taking his shoes off. sometimes you see him in the kitchen wearing the apron you bought him. or when you pass by his office, you can see him sitting in his chair with a book in his hand. everytime you see him, he’s always see-through, it's never like it’s actually him in the flesh, and you’re not really sure what to think. you know it’s probably your mind’s way of coping and it doesn’t frighten you, but you’re not sure if it’s doing more harm than good.

students from jujutsu high and other sorcerers have both stopped by to try to comfort you in your time of grieving, including nanami’s favorite student, ino, who shares candid memories of nanami. you truly appreciate them, you really do, but unless any of them could bring nanami back, you would rather just be left alone to mourn.

more days pass and you notice your period has yet to come and that you don’t have much of an appetite, but you don’t pay it much attention, attributing it to being everything you’ve been going through the past few weeks. for some reason, you accidentally let it slip out during a conversation with shoko and she suggests you go to the doctor. you’re reluctant at first, believing it’s just late and it’ll come back sooner or later once your emotions are back in line, but you trust her and take her up on her advice.

the next day, ijichi drives you to your doctor and you explain the situation very briefly. they perform some bloodwork and run a few tests on you, one of which is a pregnancy test that you find completely unnecessary and silly, but you do what needs to be done for the sake of this to all be over with.

the results come back particularly fast for the pregnancy test and the doctor tells you you’re expecting.

expecting..? expecting what?

you must have not heard right, so you ask her to repeat it. “you’re pregnant, there’s a fetus inside you. i’m very sorry about the timing, but congratulations.” tears start to fall and the doctor sits a box of tissues down beside you as she softly pats you on the back.

the car ride back to the house is quiet like usual. except this time it’s quiet for a different reason as thoughts, worries, and questions invade your brain. ijichi helps you out of the car and you thank him for the ride. you slowly make your way up the steps to the house, still not believing you’re going to be a mother. you clumsily fumble with the keys to unlock the door, and take your shoes off before you walk into the kitchen and lean against the counter with a hand on your tummy.

how are you going to take care of a baby by yourself?

your vision becomes blurry with tears, which isn’t out of the ordinary considering everything that has happened these past few weeks. this was nanami’s dream, to start a family. you close your eyes and let the waterworks flow. all kinds of different emotions rush through your body as you cry for the life he won’t get to experience.

your phone buzzes and you wipe your tears before taking it out of your purse, not bothering to check the notification screen to see who or what it came from. instead, you open your messages to tell shoko the news when you notice a blue dot next to someone’s contact, you have an unopened message.

when you glance up at the sender’s name, it’s no other than nanami. you check the time and the date and see it was sent a few minutes ago, that must’ve been the reason your phone went off.

but he’s been dead for what, two weeks now? how is that even possible? you turn your attention over to the coffee table where his phone also lays with the other items ino gave you. you haven’t been able to bring yourself to charge his phone and it’s been dead for close to two weeks as well. all the more reason this gives you chills.

you’re not sure whether to open the message and view the attachment or not. what will you find? your curiosity outweighs everything else, plus it’s supposedly from kento, it can’t be anything bad.

you open the message and it’s a video. you turn your volume up and press play. nanami comes into frame and begins to talk, “hi baby, i just wanted to say i love you. i want you to listen to this whenever you feel lonely. and you’re going to be a great mommy to our daughter.” then the video ends. his hair is down, he looks tired, and he has a few scratches on his face but he still looks as handsome as ever. you notice he only shows one side of his face, but you don’t pay it any attention. you’re just glad you get to see one final image of him.

your fingers caress his face through the screen, and you smile. “i don’t know how i’ll do this without but–“, you instantly freeze. something just touched you.

there’s no other way to explain it, but it feels like a hand just softly pressed against your stomach. no one else is here, could you be going crazy? or could it possibly be…

“tell my baby girl all about me, okay mama?”

his voice.

it was like he was right next to you. you quickly look up and turn your head to the side where the voice came from, but no one’s there of course.

nanami told you not to worry about anything, that he would always be with you. he’s a man that always stayed true to his word, and even in death he doesn’t change.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ❀ — this is my first time writing a full angst fic so if i had to suffer while writing this y’all have to suffer too 😭. but he’ll always be my man idgaf and gege will pay for killing him off. also let me know if you’d like me add which episodes the spoilers are in too and not just which chapters. feedback is appreciated as always!! thank you for reading mwah.

#𐙚 .. 2cupids #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk drabbles #jjk imagines #jjk fanfic #jjk x y/n #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x black reader #anime x reader #anime x black!reader #x fem reader #fem reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader

144 notes · View notes

helluvaoutlaw · 2 months ago

Text

Deliver Us from Evil

((A closed RP thread for @second-wife-playbook ))

Warning! NSFW content (namely torture and violence)

((the dialogues are all in English, aside for a few exceptions, but whenever you see a sentence with a * it means they are speaking Italian.))

––––––––

Vatican City, Italy, 9:00 p.m.

The flickering glow of candlelight cast long shadows along the towering walls of St. Peter’s Basilica, illuminating the gilded arches and intricate mosaics with a warm, ethereal glow. The haunting melody of Gregorian chants filled the sacred space, echoing from the Altare della Confessione and filling every corridor with its solemn resonance. The faithful gathered near the altar, their voices melding into a single, haunting wave of prayer.

Cardinal Graziano Malaspina moved quietly down one of the lesser-used hallways, the sound of his footsteps almost swallowed by the vast silence of the basilica. For once, he did not join the chants, choosing instead to observe from the edges, shrouded in the quiet solitude of the basilica's shadows. Tonight, he felt an odd sense of disquiet—a subtle, unspoken tension that seemed woven into the very air.

He paused at a window, glancing out at the nearly empty square below. The marble and stone, so familiar to him, seemed to almost breathe in the stillness of the night.

Cardinal Malaspina was a striking figure, his presence commanding yet refined.

Standing tall with a lean, dignified frame, he carried himself with the quiet confidence of someone who had risen swiftly through the Church’s ranks.

His Italian heritage showed in his dark, deep-set eyes, which held an intense gaze that could both soothe and unsettle in equal measure.

His hair, thick and precisely combed back, was a distinguished blend of salt and pepper, echoing the silver that flecked his well-groomed beard. The beard itself was neatly trimmed to accentuate the strong, angular lines of his face, adding an air of wisdom to his appearance. His nose, prominent and finely shaped, gave him a slightly aristocratic look, one that complemented his quiet, reserved demeanor.

Despite his relatively young age among the cardinals, having just reached sixty, he bore the wisdom and experience of a man who had seen much in his time with the Church. His crimson cassock fell in sharp lines around him, pristine and orderly, each detail carefully attended to—a testament to his meticulous nature and devotion to his duties.

He cast a wary glance over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the dim hallway for any sign of movement. Satisfied that he was alone, he reached out to the statue of Archangel Michael, knelt down, made the sign of the cross and pressed a small lever concealed along its back.

With a low, almost imperceptible rumble, the statue shifted, rotating on its pedestal to reveal a hidden doorway nestled behind it. The faint hum of machinery stirred, as if acknowledging a secret it had kept for centuries. Beyond the doorway lay a narrow elevator and a spiraling set of marble stairs, both leading downward into the unknown.

Without hesitation, Cardinal Malaspina slipped inside, feeling the air cool and thicken with a sense of sacred secrecy. Once he crossed the threshold, the statue resumed its original position, cloaking the hidden passageway from view. To any passerby, it appeared as though nothing had changed, the Archangel Michael standing steadfast in his silent vigil.

As Cardinal Malaspina descended deeper into the hidden chambers of St. Peter’s Basilica, the echo of his footsteps was joined by those of Guido, his loyal aide and confidant.

Dressed impeccably in a black suit, Guido inclined his head in a respectful bow, murmuring:

*“Your Eminence.”*

He fell into step beside the Cardinal, his tone low but crisp as he relayed the latest report.

*"Our Hunters returned from the United States. They found the hotel but...the demon was already dead. By electrocution, in a swimming pool."*

Guido's tone conveyed his disappointment, though he continued smoothly, *“The Infestor had been haunting the hotel, taking human lives one by one. But by the time they arrived, someone had gotten there first.”*

The Cardinal sighed, a brief flicker of frustration crossing his face.

*"A pity. Such a rare specimen could have proven useful to us in Project Divine Justice. There’s always something new to learn from their nature—if only we can get to them first.”*

They walked past sleek, reinforced doors, which opened into a series of rooms unlike anything one would expect beneath Vatican City. Hidden behind the walls of faith and tradition, the Order of Saint Michael the Archangel’s underground headquarters resembled a modern, highly-equipped facility. Laboratories buzzed with scientists in white coats, analyzing samples and conducting experiments on demon blood, bone, and essence.

In a separate room, instructors led young initiates in the arts of demonology, each student pouring over ancient texts bound in leather, annotated with both Latin prayers and weapon schematics. Further down, hardened agents trained with exorcism rituals and weapon drills, preparing for their next assignment.

Cardinal Malaspina felt a surge of satisfaction as he moved through the corridors, taking in the power and purpose of OSMA’s sprawling network. He had dedicated his life to making the Order one of the most formidable forces the Church had ever sanctioned, one that could confront Hell itself.

In recent years, however, Project Divine Justice had brought his ambitions to a new peak, aiming to capture demons directly from Hell to ensure no secrets were left undiscovered.

*"Of course, it’s more difficult than ever to secure our...acquisitions,"* he mused aloud, glancing at Guido.

*"Few demons are allowed on Earth, and those that do break through are often killed on sight.”*

Guido nodded.

*"That’s why Crimson remains indispensable. With his network, he can bring us exactly what we need, directly from Hell itself.”*

A sly smile tugged at the corner of the Cardinal’s mouth.

Crimson, the demon mafia boss who commanded such power within Hell’s underworld, was a key ally.

For the right price—and perhaps a few thinly veiled promises—Crimson delivered the demonic specimens they needed, hand-delivered to OSMA’s agents, allowing their experiments and training to proceed in earnest.

Their path led to a heavily secured door, marked only with a cross etched into blackened metal. Cardinal Malaspina paused for a moment, laying his hand on the door.

*“When we unlock the true nature of these demons, Guido, the world will be prepared. Humanity will finally be safe from these creatures.”*

"Dio è con noi, Eminenza."

"E noi siamo con Dio."

#helluva outlaw #helluva boss #striker #coronis #survival #escape the Vatican #experiments AU

68 notes · View notes

vindicated-truth · 6 months ago

Text

Disclaimer: this is Google / Papago translated so if any native Korean speakers have a better translation, let me know and I’ll edit this!

Han Joowon: Sergeant Lee, where were you and what were you doing last night at 11:00 PM?

Lee Dongsik: Are you asking because you don’t know? I watched the first episode of Beyond Evil at home.

Han Joowon: Then does that mean you’re going to watch the second episode today as well?

Lee Dongsik: Of course, isn’t that a given? Why? Do you want to join me?

Han Joowon: That’s right. *raises hand for a high five*

Lee Dongsik: *shyly returns the high five*

Han Joowon: *bursts out laughing*

Lee Dongsik: Right then, Beyond Evil tonight at 11:00!

Han Joowon: Don’t miss the second episode!

—

The most endearing part of all of this is that normally it’s Han Joowon who can’t meet Lee Dongsik’s penetrating eyes, but here it’s Shin Hakyun who can’t help but shy away from Yeo Jingoo’s openly adoring gaze 🥹

#beyond evil #괴물 #lee dongsik #han joowon #이동식 #한주원 #shin hakyun #yeo jingoo #신하균 #여진구

106 notes · View notes

streets-in-paradise · 3 months ago

Text

Blessed Once, Cursed Twice

Gladiator (2000) Oneshot

Pairings: Maximus x Fem Reader/Maximus x Lucilla. (One sided) Commodus x Lucilla (just implications of his obsession with his sister)

Warnings: Pre movie, decontextualized party scene ( because i want to get it written without wasting creative time in thinking how it can make sense lol). Commodus is the reader's wingman helping her to approach Maximus because he wants him to abandon the pursue of Lucilla. Reader gets a bit mean to him because he is careless for exposing her in order to speed the thing.

Summary: For reasons beyond your understandment, Commodus has convinced you of letting him help you win over Maximus despite knowing that would go against the wishes of his sister. Trying his way goes way out of your safe zone, making you feel exposed and midly humilliated. Through your playfull little payback you find yourself before the handsome soldier.

Note: The foreshadowing elements here were Inspired in some ideas I came up with after doing this post.

Tags: @wildsaltair

The night was still young and full of promises, like your hopefull self to the thought of seeing your crush. Knowing that Maximus would be among you kept you in a beatutification race with Lucilla during your preparations, dreaming to be the one to catch his attention for once. You weren't resentfull of your dear friend, but you knew she had the upper hard and it was hard not to feel envy on your wishfullness always negated. The spaniard noble was too low to aim for her anyways, reason that should have made him more attainable for you.

Aware of your situation craving the affections of the same man, she could have showed kindness and allow you to have him knowing that he was an impossible marriage choice for her. She didn't, and you knew you would never win. Still, the flames of your lovefull hope could not be entirely estinguished and you were willing to comform with less. A sweet glance, polite conversation and some lovely smile followed by courtesy compliments would be enough to feed your daydreams for months. Lucilla could crown herself champion and you would humbly accept the second place in the race for his heart, doomed to admire him in silence for respect of your friend. It was the only arrangement you could aspire for in noble terms, because desperation haven't made you open to questionable paths to fullfill your dreams.

As an insidious temptation allways waiting for a moment of weakness to strike, Commodus repeatedly tried to open that way for you. Suspicious enough was finding him approaching you as a caring friend wanting to help, but worse was hearing his advice pushing you for a betrayal.

" You look beautifull, Maximus would be plain stupid if he ignores you tonight. " You heard him whisper from behind as he joined you in the wait for his sister. " What you really need is just release yourself from your moral restrictions and fight for him. Remember that you have as much right as my sister to aim for his affections , ... perhaps even more. "

Looking aside with caution only find him positioned in the right angle to whisper near your ear, you gave him a skeptical side eye.

" I have a concience, Commodus. It's not my fault you weren't born with one. "

He simply chuckled, advancing further to place himself beside you.

" Your stoical attitude is your curse ... Why sacrificing yourself for someone who would not return this heroic gesture? My sister had her chance of stepping aside, but it's clear she doesn't care enough about your silent suffering for that. There is no betrayal if she backstabbed you first, only an act of justice. "

He had a way with words that made the most despicable act sound sensical, logical and desirable. A true wonder of wicked rethoric, but you were well trained to spot it.

" There should be an entire academia dedicated to the study of the dark corners of your mind. We would learn a lot of how evil works its deeds. "

The callout wasn't enough to make him desist from his misterious interest.

" ... And yet I remain the onlyone who tries to help you. I must not be so horrible after all, ... the only friend of your purposes."

He leaned a hand on your shoulder and you shrugged with indifferent distrust.

" For your own convenience, although the reason keeps escaping from me ... "

Commodus gave you his softest glance, and in that moment he felt almost sincere to you.

" I find you longing relatable. "

" What can you possibly be longing for? The throne of your father? ' Emperor Commodus, the altruist' ... Or should I say Commodus, the matchmaker? It makes no sense to me, ... unless in your wicked delusion you fear a noble man like Maximus being welcomed into your family could steal your father and your throne from you. In that case I must warn you: his union with Lucilla is not your problem. He wouldn't betray you, as I would not betray your sister. "

Despite you felt closer to exposing him, he remained calm as if you wouldn't have figured out a single glimpse of his motivations.

" As soon as we will find your beloved, you will see what my wicked ways can achieve working for your cause. "

It didn't took long for him to find Maximus and practically push you towards him with a scheming smoothness that made it look a perfectly natural and casual approach. You could have admired his odd talent, if you wouldn't have been so careless of him from the moment that you saw the man of you dreams.

Splendid as usual, so handsome and naturally tantalizing before your eyes, Maximus was all smiles for you in complete unawareness of his effect in your behavior. His imponent presence made you feel small, but it did in a comforting way. You could only think of how good you would feel trapped in his strong arms, how safe and loved you would be if he would choose you for a wife.

"Pleasure to see you again, good lady."

His voice brought you back to reality and you could only smile, to what he concluded the introductory gesture taking your hand to place a kiss on your knuckles.

Strenghts were abandoning you. So easily you were falling apart for him and he began to notice it.

" As it's mine, brave lord. "

Frustrated with the slow pace of your shy demeanour, Commodus redirected the attention towards himself in order to start his interventions.

" We have found you in excellent time, Maximus. Turns out were having a very productive conversation about wants. "

His tease intented to work as encouragement for you to start flirting, but the heavy erotical undertones circunstantially lead into a wrong guess.

" Very well, your highness. As you don't interfere with my conquests, I won't disrupt yours. "

The mere sugestion weirded you enough to forget how overwhelmed you intially felt because of the inminent need to correct the claim.

" Commodus has nothing to do with any want of mine, neither I belong among his desires. "

The quick clarification delivered without thinking forced you to improvise an explanation for the words of the prince.

" … It was a theorical discussion. He despises intellectuals, but I am well read and I find arguments stimulating. "

There was a shade of relief in the semblance of Maximus when he sweetly encouraged you.

" I know, the last time we talked the notion of fate in Virgil. "

" … And you left me picking an interest in cartography. " You added for him, ecstatic of realizing he did remember you. " You are a fascinating man, Maximus. "

The polite praise impulsed his compulsion for humbleness.

" … Not as much as the brilliant minds in Rome, but I enjoy reading during the few moments of calm the life of the soldier allows. "

His admiration for what he believed to find in the capital as someone who never stepped there was almost naive.

" Rome was founded in the choice of a bribed judge. "

The satirical comment was clever as a response, but it deviated too far from the discussed intentions and Commodus interpreted it as a sign of regret that he wasn't going to allow you.

" She got polemical so quick! It's a good sign, that means you are stimulating her. "

The shame painted in your face said enough, so you pretended to laugh your blush away after his surprising and clearly purposefull lack of subtlety. He was being too direct, as if all he cared about was making it happen without considering your opinions on the process. You didn't want your feelings revealed before you could tell if there was any real chance with the man of your aspirations.

That would have humilliated you, but Commodus only cared about himself.

" I am not closed to challenging perspectives, but yours would need of a more explanation." Maximus interrumpted the silent disagreement you were having with the son of the emperor, reminding you with his attention why you were willing to make a deal with him in the first place. " That is a peculiar interpretation for the roots of Rome."

An idea came to you in order to prove Commodus you too were capable of ruthlessness. If he wanted so badly to help you out in the pursue of Maximus, he would under your own terms. Even if that would turn out uncomfortable for him, as it was for you finding your limits for tolerance to expousure constantly mocked by his lust inciting contributions.

" Because nobody wants to acknowledge Paris as the true, accidental responsible for the glory of Rome. Not when we also have Romulus. Ascanius, Aeneas or Hector. All greater men than him, yet their fates were submitted to the choice of Paris. Troy was doomed to fail no matter what path would have been taken ... but would there be a Rome without the support of Venus and Mars to the trojan cause?? Philosophers are so concerned in doing moral sanctioning of his verdict that they miss sight of what he discarded. We owe to Paris more than what we dare to acknowledge, because he represents everything the roman spirit isn't. Vain, selfish, lazy, sensuous, effeminate ... "

The callout to the prince's insecurities worked well as a playfull revenge, observing him fall for the trick as fast as the goddesses pouncing on the golden apple at the wedding of Thetis.

" His choice was an impossible one. Abandoned from birth, expected to die and then raised as a shepherd ... How would Paris learn to value noble virtues that no father taught him in? We would never know if Juno would have made of him a great king building the empire earlier with Troy as capital. Nobody encouraged him for rulling, not like the did Hector ... They casted him out. "

Using him as device to impress Maximus, you trully iniciated an intellectual discussion with Commodus.

" There is a big problem with your position: you are implying that a correct choice exists and Paris should have aimed for the throne. The underlying dilemma on the Judgement of Paris is that the intersection of curses from the loser goddesses turn your accepted bribe useless. If he favors Juno, Venus and Minerva become his enemies. "

Maximus must have found some sort of amusement or investment in what you were saying, because he was listening attentively. Perhaps it was wishfull perception of your delusional infatuation, but you could swear there was pride in his eyes as your reasoning overcame the point of the prince.

" Blessed once, cursed twice. " He summarized for you both. " He has the throne, but lacks love and military direction. Soon he surrounds himself of flatterers and starts taking bad choices while his competent generals turn against him. "

Leaning closer to him with complicit demeanour, you seeked the proximity you craved for with the argument as excuse.

" You are being too generous, my dear Maximus. That is an oversimplification of the fate that awaits this boy king. "

Acting secretive because you were about to get even stranger, you were ubicated with enough closeness to talk lower as if you aimed only for him.

" Venus is vindicative and we already know that Paris doesn't mind about being betrayed by the wife he already has, because he so easily left her for Helen. No, for him the curse would be different from Diomedes'. She would drive him mad with repulsive desires out of his control: if Minerva favoring his best general against him doesn't end his rule, the scandall would. And so, I doubt the empire Juno promised to Paris would become a reality before he would lose everything. "

Maximus was following you, but you could only stare at his lips while he delivered a complementary reply fixing the one flaw in your exposed point.

" You forgot to mention he is not the rightfull heir to the throne. In order to receive his bribe, he would have to kill the eldest brother or win an unleashed civil war, what would be hard to achieve without the guidance of Minerva."

Ignoring the annoyance menacing with turning into anger on part of your failed accomplice, who was aware that the list of adjectives you used for the portrait of Paris were a mock to him, you rushed to praise the contribution of the lovely soldier.

" That would have never occured to me! But is fantastic how alike our minds work ... Don't you think? "

The sweet smile you directed him could have melted the snow on the cold north he never wanted to get used to.

" Has anybody told you that the quick sharpness of your mind could have made of you a good strategist? "

It turned to a smirk with his praise, a rush of confidence struck you on the sudden finding of something that you knew for sure would impress him.

" Marcus Aurelius himself, ... although not in those terms. But I would rather not to talk about that, at risk of troubling our prince. He is abnormally silent and I have learn to fear that. "

Calm on the outside, his complacent yet somehow wicked semblance warned you of the comeback.

" … I was merely wondering how our friend would solve the debate. Which are Maximus' strongest wants? After all, that is the esence of the issue: a man being comfronted with his more longed aspirations. "

Detecting a tease of some kind, Maximus replied to Commodus being too faithfull to himself.

" I believe I would simply reject the bribe, your highness. "

Even if his answer wasn't necesarily a clever one, it was the most selfless presented in centuries of revisions for the episode.

" Then you would be three times cursed, because you can't reject a divine gift. " You sweetly adviced him, trying hard not to be evident in your admiration. " Three different paths shape three different men: the powerfull emperor, the victorious general and the eternal lover … Follow your instincts and pick one. "

Your voice sounded almost seductive on the invitation, what surprised you of yourself.

" I am a soldier, lady. I can't risk loosing the blessings of Minerva." Maximus added, hinting his definitive answer. "And i don't claim this as a personal ambition of becoming general, but because duty demands it. "

Commodus released a few chuckles, amused by what he perceived as naivety.

" … But you would become an invincible general of brilliant tactical wisdom! Only alone and powerless. Enjoy a lifetime of endless fighting for the gain of those you serve."

His sadly precise observation left you in a good place to present an advance in terms you felt more confortable on.

" Maximus, … would you endure a life without love? "

He turned his glance exclusively to you, making your heart race as you waited with expectation.

" It would be the hardest sacrifice, because there is more of me to consider regardless of my profession. I have no interest in joining the fate of Achilles, of dying crowned with glory as a single man. "

In his words you read the chance you were waiting for and you didn't hesitate.

" I'm tired of Rome and its innate corruption, the simple life on the province would suit me well. "

He chuckled with you, what successfully masqueraded the move as a subtle joke, but you trully hoped he would consider it.

The arrival of Lucilla would soon take the attention away from you, enforcing you again in the role of a mere watcher, but you endured it with satisfaction.

#gladiator 2000 #maximus decimus meridius #maximus x reader #russell crowe #russell crowe x reader

68 notes · View notes

sugar-plum-writer · 1 year ago

Text

The Serene Peony Of Winter

Paring: Sukuna!King of Curses x Fem!Geisha Reader

Tags: Slight! mention of violence; Fem!reader; Sukuna!imagines; will be 18+ as more chapters come; slow!burn, [I want to have a good build up!], an ancient Japan romance through time with darling reader~, A chapter by chapter series, It will be a bit long maybe 10 chapters. So~ enjoy~

[If you all like it, please heart and reblog the post! to know you want to read more~ and follow for chapter updates! or leave a comment to tag you when I put out new chapters~ I will do my best to roll out UPDATES ASAP!]

New chapter update! @naoyagasm @janeaugustine @teonawrites @periwinkless-universe

CHAPTER - 2

The array of lamps and candles illuminated the beautiful room, like the night of a banquet, the wooden carvings engraved the room-like the hand bearing a legacy of love. Silk scrolls, delicate picturesque vases sat. As the scent of rosemary lingered, in prayer.

He sat as he gazed at you, looking into your eyes into your soul

Suddenly snapping back to reality― You closed your eyes and bowed your head, looking at him as if you just weren't about to run out screaming

"You, flatter me", a soft smile donned your face as your sleeves rustled― the grinding of tea leaves resounded― a perfect tea ceremony, it had been ingrained into your bones, even in death you could do it flawlessly

"I pray you like the tea I have prepared, especially gotten from the first harvest my Lord", placing the piping hot porcelain cup of tea in front of him as you looked him in the eyes

It is okay, it is fine, I will be fine, deep breathes, Y/n, treat it as any other, oh god why can't my heart calm down- oh how hard you tried to convince yourself

"Flattering?"― he laughed, taking up the cup of tea in his hands- holding it near his face, inhaling the aroma as his lips touched the rim

"You know, for a mere human, you sure look quite calm― by now 1 out of 2 would have fainted" he placed the cup down, and before you knew it―

you felt a great force grabbing your jaw, forcing you to look up, eyes widened in terror as you looked into the blood-red eyes illuminated by evil, fueled by desire, and― living in a world beyond yours

"Look me in the eyes when I speak to you woman, it's your face I want to look at"― devilish grin dripped from his eyes to his lips, forming a smirk on his face, a color― unfamiliar

Pulling you close― his hot breath on yours, Inches away― the poor porcelain tea splattered across the mat, spanning to the silks drenching the precious fabric― leaking to the tatami mat― As a gust of wind made all candles fade out not daring to light up.

Eyes locked into yours― burring holes into your skin, so deep your heartfelt dug out from the depths of your chest―

"I have been very patient", his hands going down from the wisps of your hair to your earnings brushing it― untangling it, as his lips kissed the lock of your hair

"Tell me, what's your price woman?"

"Afterall I didn't expect- to see such a beauty tonight"

Heart pounding― breathing shaking, not an inch of your muscle moved because of the sheer terror you felt, a terror digging― clawing deep into your very bones, you felt you had 1000 swords around, glistening, near your neck, threatening to perforate it mercilessly

"I-"

You dug out from every nook and cranny of your existence― Every ounce of strength you had― and looked him in the eyes

"I, Y/n do not offer such services Ryomen Sukuna-sama, for I am a Geisha"― freeing yourself from his grasp, you lowered your head onto the ground, joining your hands in front― you bowed deep on your knees, head lowered enough to snap your neck

"I have no price- for, the Sakura have not bloomed yet, and my Peony's have not wilted-,

Taking a sharp breath- piercing your lungs, your voice louder

not wilted enough to be thrown away as an arrangement of a Higanbana", with a solemn tone, the last words rolled out your tongue- into an air sharp enough to cut lives, you raised your gaze again looking into his

Silence

Utter suffocating silence

Chuckle― no rather a cackle echoed throughout the room

"Really? How amusing, even after knowing who I am, How I can rip your skin to shreds, dig out your pitiful guts, and throw them to dogs", his sharp nails grazed your cheek, and it stung as crimson blood dripped down your cheek to your chin

A crimson rouge of a unique kind, a rouge he loved to see, a rouge of death- as red as death

"Yet, you said no, not screaming, rather, in a way I Sukuna have never been spoken to, quite a woman you are", resting his chin on his hand, his legs crossed

"Is that mere dignity of yours― worth more than that pathetic life of yours woman? Should I call you a fool or an insane fool", looking down at you condescendingly, how pathetic you are

"For too many―their lives sure are worth it, but to me"

"Is life worth living as a person with no dignity? Even if I die, it is fine, for, I think― I have lived long enough. I don't wish to give away the last part of me that I have left", voice cracking as a stream of sorrow started to roll down your cheeks, only it knowing the pain― the horror you bear

"My face, my voice, have already been tailored, my Lord. Who am I? I do not know, but, until my dying breath I wish to keep this pathetic dignity of mine, I am foolish, maybe the biggest fool in the world"

The sadness in your soul, the tragedy in your heart, that circulated through your veins, all black like ink dripping from your eyelashes down your cheek gently falling down your neck

"Please, if you wish― if it will satisfy you", taking the last hairpin from your hair, raised it holding it between your palms as you lowered your head

"End me"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Your mind does not remember what happens next, for your emotions were too much all over the place, but what you do remember is― the words that shook you to your core

"Didn't you say- you aren't to be thrown away as a dry arrangement of Higanbana? Raise your head"

Vision hazy, clouded by tears, not even able to make out your own hands, you looked at him

"You won't be, For I Ryomen Sukuna, am interested― what your story is woman, I will make sure―

His devilish eyes glistened as if he found a new toy

"To taste the tragedy in your heart, the piercing pain― Let me eat it, swallow it down my throat into my veins, into my brain forever as I live Y/n, to make it mine"

Footnotes:

>Peony: It means bravery and honor. Today it is used in decorations at weddings to promote good fortune for the bride and groom. It is referred to as "the king of a hundred of flowers"

>Sakura: It represents a time of renewal and optimism, as in Japan during the blossoming of Sakura- it marks the end of winter and beginning of a new start.

>Higanbana (Red-Spider Lily): A flower of death and sadness

Hence-

"I have no price- for, the Sakura have not bloomed yet, and my Peony's have not wilted-

not wilted enough to be thrown away as an arrangement of a Higanbana"

Means:

"I have no price- as, happiness has not bloomed, a new start has not arrived, my dignity and honor have not wilted- not wilted enough to be thrown away as an arrangement of death and sadness."

I hope you like the explanation~ <3 Footnote: Check out masterlist for all chapters!

166 notes · View notes

rainforestakiie · 6 months ago

Text

Priest Adam x Devil/King of Hell Lucifer part 02

hello! here is the second part of @inubaki's request! i hope you like it! i also adore the artworks you made for part 01! they were amazing! i loved how you were able to make them just as i pictured in my head! ah!

'A Priest observing that one of fathers in his charge seems to be heavily distracted by something no one else can see. Father Adam had come to them young, an unwanted fourth child to a Nobel family hoping to gain the church’s favor. Life is hard for Adam whim continues to wait for his family to return for him, growing into despair until one day he suddenly improves. He claims he’s spoken to an angel. And, to his credit, does give information far beyond what any child should know. But the older Adam gets, the more distracted he becomes. More happy, but conflicted. Till one day he disappears.'

The Imp (Priest Adam x Devil/King of Hell Lucifer) = Part 01. Part 02. Part 03.

Adam's room in the church was a desolate place. Unlike the other boys, who had roommates, Adam was confined to a small, solitary, box-shaped room. An extra bed sat in the corner, stripped bare, its sad, lumpy mattress adding to the sense of abandonment. Crosses adorned the walls, with a framed painting of Jesus Christ dominating the central wall. The bare wooden floorboards were coated in dust, creaking ominously with every step. A single, dim light bulb hung in the middle of the ceiling, and a window between the two beds held a vase of fake sunflowers—a gift from Sister Emily before her tragic accident.

The worst part of the room, however, was the wardrobe. It loomed across from the window, a hulking, ancient wooden piece with floral-like carved legs and dusty doors that wailed when opened.

Adam flinched as the wardrobe doors were yanked open, the mournful wail echoing through the room. Sister Sera shoved aside the hangers of hand-me-down clothes, revealing the back of the wardrobe. She rapped it with her knuckles and turned to Adam, placing a hand on her hip.

“You see, Adam? Nothing,” she said sternly. “There’s nothing in your wardrobe.”

Adam stared into the gaping space, his fingers trembling at his sides. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, his heart pounding in his chest.

“You must sleep tonight. I will not accept another night of you staying up beyond your bedtime,” Sister Sera sighed, turning back to straighten the clothes. She closed the doors with a heavy thud, her long black skirt swishing as she moved. Her heels clicked against the floor, punctuating her words. “It is not healthy to stay up late.”

Adam continued to stare at the wardrobe. His shoulders jerked as he watched the right door slowly creep open. His breath hitched, and his face grew pale, his emerald eyes widening.

Sister Sera noticed and moved back to the wardrobe. She opened it again, inspecting the hinges thoughtfully. Moving the right door back and forth, the hinges emitted a cackling sound. Sister Sera pushed it shut, only for it to pop open and begin to creep ajar again, the hinges whining.

“Ah,” she breathed out, her eyes softening. She crouched down in front of Adam. “Adam, it’s just an old wardrobe. There’s nothing to be frightened of. The hinges are old, so the doors won’t stay shut. It’s just loose pressure.”

Adam’s gaze remained fixed on the wardrobe, his breath shaking. Sister Sera grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to look at her.

“Listen to me. There’s nothing hiding in your wardrobe. It’s old, it’s going to make sounds, and the doors will pop open. There is no evil within the house of God,” she smiled warmly, like a mother to her child. “As long as Jesus gazes upon you, you are safe from the demons of this world.”

Adam glanced up at the painting of Jesus on the wall. He licked his dry lips and slowly nodded, his weary green eyes flicking back to the wardrobe before returning to Sister Sera.

“I think those books have gone to your head. This is why I didn’t want you reading them,” she said, standing up and slipping her fingers into the pocket of her long black skirt. She carefully took out a rosary and placed it into Adam’s shaky hand. She curled his fingers around it, the red beads peeking out between his fingers. “This is a gift for you. When you get frightened, hold onto it and think of God and Jesus. No darkness can ever touch you.”

Adam stared down at their hands, his eyes still wide, as he nodded slowly.

Sister Sera smiled and brushed her hands down her skirt. She then took hold of Adam’s hands and began to lead him from the room. “Now then, let us prepare for the day. You have a long day ahead of you.”

Not fully listening to Sera, Adam peeked over his shoulder at the wardrobe, his worry unabated. He thought he saw claws slipping out of the wardrobe, curling around the right door. But he didn’t have time to inspect further as Sister Sera sharply pulled him into the corridor.

“There’s someone special we want you to meet today.”

Adam continued to glance nervously behind him as Sister Sera whisked him away. They ascended the steps toward the third floor, the old wood creaking beneath their feet. Adam's eyes darted to the artificial flowers scattered around the hallway, displayed in mismatched vases on random tables and shelves. Lilies, tulips, roses, daisies, and other flowers created a disjointed bouquet of false beauty. Adam pressed closer to Sister Sera, shying away from the open windows where sunlight streamed in. His lips twitched at the sound of the other children outside, their laughter and joy in stark contrast to his confinement within the church.

"Ah, here we go~" Sister Sera sang, stopping at a room and rapping her knuckles against the door. "Sister Emily?"

Adam let out a breathless gasp, his green eyes widening. Since the incident last year, Sister Emily had been bedridden, and no one was allowed to see her—not even Adam, who missed her dearly. His heart leaped into his throat, his body stiffening with worry. Was she alright?

"Hello, Sister Sera!" Sister Emily's cheerful voice piped up, and Sister Sera opened the door, revealing a sweet, quaint room.

Emily's chambers were mostly white with hues of pink and purple scattered throughout. It was the first time Adam had seen a nun without her coif. Emily was sitting up in bed, wearing a fitted white nightgown with a purple cardigan draped over her shoulders. Her long, curly purple hair cascaded down her rosy face and pooled around her waist. Her eyes were completely bandaged.

"Hello, Adam," she beamed, knowing he was there without needing to be told. Sister Sera must have informed her. "Don't worry, I'm beginning to feel much better now! We can start gardening again soon."

Sister Sera chuckled. "Maybe not right away."

She gently nudged Adam forward, encouraging him to enter the room. As he did, he noticed that Emily wasn’t alone. Two children were sitting on stools next to her, a boy and a girl who appeared to be about a year older than Adam. They looked like twins, with thick red hair framing their freckled faces and caramel eyes framed by thick eyelashes. Their faces were covered in freckles.

"Adam, I want you to meet my little cousins," Sister Emily said. The red-haired girl reached forward to hold her hand. "This is Eveline and Steve."

Adam glanced at the twins, awkwardly nodding as they both continued to stare at him.

Sister Sera placed a calming hand on his shoulder. "And young Steve here will be your new roommate, your buddy."

Adam met Steve’s eyes and felt his cheeks flush bright red, especially as Steve slipped off the stool and stepped up to him, extending a confident hand.

"Hi, I've heard so much about you, Addie," he grinned so beautifully that Adam felt his heart skip a beat.

Addie? He had never had a nickname before.

Slowly, Adam placed his timid hand into Steve’s.

Steve had such pretty eyes...

~#~

Creeping along the corridors, Adam moved as slowly and silently as possible, knowing that if he were caught, he would face the sting of a ruler or a sharp slap. His emerald eyes flickered weakly to the hanging portraits of the Fathers who had overseen the church over the years. There were so many, each one bearing a disturbing resemblance to the others—thick brown hair, brown eyes—despite being unrelated. It was uncanny. The only one who looked different was Father Michael, the church’s founder. He was short, with striking blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

At the thought of Father Michael, Adam tiptoed closer to the portrait. Tilting his head back, he gazed up at the man in awe. Father Michael was...beautiful. Adam tilted his head, crossing his arms behind his back as he continued to stare at the first Father of the house.

Rumour had it that Father Michael was related to the first Archangel who had descended from Heaven to guide humanity. Adam wasn’t sure if it was true, but Sister Sera believed it fervently. Adam’s eyes traced the four angry, blood-red scars on Father Michael’s cheek.

The story went that the Archangel had been branded by the Devil. The scars on Father Michael's face were said to be proof of his divine lineage, caused by the Devil himself.

Adam touched his own cheek, tracing his fingers over the spot where the scar would be if he had the same injury. Did the Archangel really fight the Devil? Was the Devil truly that terrifying? Was there a reason behind the Devil's actions?

Just then, Adam heard the soft clip-clank of heels approaching along the corridor he had been sneaking through. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened in surprise and fear. He glanced at his bruised hands, knowing just what would happen if he were caught. He might even be locked in the 'bo-bo' box, a punishment for the naughtiest children. Adam had never disobeyed to that extent, but this could be it. He was supposed to be in class right now, after all.

What should he do?

He took a shaky step back, worry twisting inside his stomach. His hands began to twist in front of him, tugging at the sleeves of his sweater, when suddenly he heard a familiar quack. Immediately, Adam spun around to find the familiar white and gold duck staring at him from a dumbwaiter.

He swore that the dumbwaiter was shut. Sister Sera kept it locked with a special key. Adam shuffled towards it; the dumbwaiter seemed just big enough for him. The duck quacked again, tilting its head as if to gesture for Adam to get in.

The familiar voices of Sister Sera and Sister Uriel echoed behind him, sending a horrified chill through him. Making up his mind, Adam rushed to the dumbwaiter and climbed inside. He went to pull the sliding door down, but it sprang shut on its own. Adam jumped in surprise as the duck wiggled onto his lap, both of them holding their breath as the two nuns stopped outside the dumbwaiter.

Unconsciously, Adam wrapped his arms around the duck, holding it close to his chest. The duck pressed into him, the strange red circles on its cheeks glowing, and the little top hat remained perfectly still on its head. The nuns outside the dumbwaiter were speaking harshly to each other, their voices low whispers as if they were worried someone might hear them.

“Everyone?” Sister Sera asked, her voice tinged with horror.

Sister Uriel made a sound. “The whole family. Both mother and father.”

“They were found in that state?” Sister Sera's voice echoed through the wood. “And the child?”

“Missing,” Sister Uriel said. “They believe...he might have met the same fate. But they never found the body.”

Sister Sera made another sound of disapproval and worry. “This is certainly worrisome. Especially if that child does turn out to—”

Their voices faded as they continued down the corridor. Adam craned his neck, trying to hear more, but soon lost the sound of the nuns' conversation. His head knocked against the side of the dumbwaiter, and he frowned, rubbing the tender area.

Who were they talking about? And what family had they mentioned?

Breathing deeply, Adam sighed, feeling the oppressive silence around him. He knew he should return to class before he was caught, but something kept him rooted in place. He shuffled forward, stretching a trembling hand out to tug on the latch and slide the door open. Suddenly, the dumbwaiter jolted violently. Adam froze, his eyes widening in terror, a soundless gasp escaping his lips. The dumbwaiter began to move on its own, and Adam pressed himself firmly against the cold, metal wall, watching as tiny lights flickered through the small gaps, indicating they were passing different levels.

The duck remained eerily silent, its feathered body pressed against Adam's chest, listening to his racing heart. The speed of the dumbwaiter increased, plummeting them through the church at an unnaturally fast pace. Finally, it came to a bone-rattling stop, and Adam's head struck the back wall with a dull thud. The sliding door of the dumbwaiter opened immediately, revealing a dimly lit area. Adam squeezed the duck in his arms, feeling its warmth as a slight comfort in the growing darkness. The duck turned its head, bobbing its beak against Adam's face as if to reassure him that he wasn't alone.

Letting out shaky breaths, Adam glanced down at the duck, his fear strong. He was terrified. Why did all these strange things keep happening to him? For a moment, he remained still, too afraid to leave the dumbwaiter. He knew where he was—he had been taken to the restricted basement of the church, a place forbidden to the children.

Suddenly, the duck wiggled free from Adam's grasp and, despite his efforts to catch it, leaped out of the dumbwaiter, waddling across the cold, grey floor. Adam watched with wide eyes, his mouth opening and closing in disbelief as the duck's soft feathers swayed and its tiny top hat wobbled adorably. The duck paused, quacked, and tilted its head, beckoning Adam to follow.

With a hesitant nod, Adam slid forward, stretching his legs out of the dumbwaiter. There was a small drop to the basement floor, and Adam flinched as his sweater scraped against the rough wall, landing with a soft thud. He curled his arms closer to himself, biting his bottom lip and glancing around warily, his eyebrows knitted together in anxiety. The basement wasn't particularly frightening at first glance. It was mostly clean, with tables lining both sides of the room and unlit hanging light bulbs above. One bulb appeared to be blown, casting an eerie shadow.

The room stretched forward, taking a sharp turn to the left where a soft, warm golden glow emanated. Adam swallowed thickly, a lump forming in his throat as he nervously followed the duck. Thankfully, the duck moved slowly, stopping frequently to ensure Adam was keeping up and not distracted by the strange objects around them. There were many distractions—odd stones, feathers, and a bloodied green horn among them.

A bookshelf lined the end of the room before the sharp turn. Adam shuffled closer, folding his arms and peering weakly at the jars on the pristinely clean shelves. They contained all sorts of unsettling things—pieces of meat sealed in some kind of gelatinous liquid. Adam's nose wrinkled in disgust. He jumped when the duck circled his ankles, its feathers brushing against him. He smiled weakly at the duck, but it waddled off towards the only light source. Adam turned and gasped, his emerald eyes widening in astonishment.

The basement opened into a claustrophobic, shadow-draped chamber adorned with murals that seemed to writhe in the flickering candlelight. A single, dust-covered table bore ancient parchment, but what ensnared Adam’s gaze was the mannequin at the center, clothed in a hauntingly beautiful, ethereal snow-white dress. The dress cascaded like a ghostly waterfall, its waist embroidered with sinister apple-like patterns and eerie, flower petal-like fabrics. Feather-like designs lined the sleeveless neckline, and a long, spectral veil shrouded the mannequin’s head, falling to its knees like a death shroud.

Adam stared in mesmerized terror at the dress, its otherworldly beauty almost too much to bear. Behind the mannequin, two vases overflowed with real purple and white roses, starkly contrasting the lifeless ones in his room. He puzzled over the presence of a wedding dress in the church’s crypt-like basement. Could it have belonged to Sister Sera? But the church condemned marriage, forbidding such unions among its nuns and fathers.

A duck rubbed against his ankle, jolting Adam from his reverie. He smiled, bending to pet it, but the duck waddled behind the mannequin, vanishing behind the voluminous, glittering fabric. Adam tilted his head, trying to locate his feathered companion when a sinister shadow began to writhe from the mannequin’s silhouette.

He stumbled back, his mouth agape, as an immense, dark mass slithered around the mannequin. A long, clawed hand traced its shoulder before the figure disappeared behind it entirely. Adam retreated, his emerald eyes wide with dread, desperately trying to discern the looming figure when suddenly, the familiar imp materialized on the other side of the mannequin. Adam gasped, stepping forward as he stared at the impish being he had thought was a figment of a nightmare.

This figure defied human description, dressed in a spectral white suit with a blood-red vest, reminiscent of a macabre circus. Its platinum blonde hair, alabaster skin, and rosy cheeks were eerily enchanting yet deeply unsettling. Golden and ruby eyes glimmered with malevolent charm, and a massive white top hat crowned its head, entwined with a live golden snake that hissed and coiled.

Adam’s heart raced, fear forgotten, replaced by a strange, magnetic pull. He stepped forward, raising a trembling finger toward the impish figure.

"No nose," slipped from his lips.

The imp’s mouth twisted into a grotesque grin, revealing razor-sharp teeth. Its eyes sparkled with malicious delight as it flicked its top hat. With a theatrical flourish, the imp plucked a purple rose from the vase, twirling it to scatter shimmering gold dust across the petals. Bowing theatrically, the imp offered the enchanted rose to Adam.

As he had done years ago, Adam gasped, moving forward without fear, gently taking the rose from the imp's claws. He cradled it, his heart pounding, the first flower he had ever received. He longed to hide it, fearful Sister Sera would confiscate it.

"W-Why..." Adam began, his voice trembling. He raised his gaze to meet the imp’s. "Why did you go away?"

The imp simply grinned, its arrowhead tail swishing and brushing against Adam’s cheek and neck. Adam giggled, stepping back with flushed cheeks.

"I wish you didn’t go," Adam murmured, beaming as the imp tucked another gold-dusted rose behind his ear. The thorns didn’t prick his skin; the rose felt warm against his flesh. "I was lonely. People...aren’t very nice to me."

Hooves clicking rhythmically on the stone floor, the imp traced its claws along Adam’s hands, brushing over his bruises. Adam watched in astonishment as the golden marks vanished, his skin healing before his eyes. He stared in disbelief, never having witnessed such a miracle.

The imp then stepped back and bowed low, its golden and ruby eyes locking onto Adam’s. It slid one arm behind its back while the other extended toward Adam, its clawed fingers splayed wide in an invitation.

A prickle of familiarity twined through Adam as he gazed at the imp's fingers. He gasped and tentatively placed his hand in the imp’s, allowing it to lead him away from the mannequin in the wedding dress. However, as the imp began to turn him, Adam caught a glimpse of the mannequin, and a chill raced down his spine. Its head was missing, and crimson liquid oozed down its shoulders, staining the pristine white dress. When had that happened?

Adam’s attention snapped back to the imp when something fluttered over his head. He blinked his apple-green eyes, finding a wedding veil draped over him, fluttering around his knees. The eerie oddness of the headless mannequin was momentarily forgotten as the imp began to twirl him around the basement floor, dancing with him like a figure from his darkest fantasies.

A giggle escaped Adam’s lips. His cheeks glowed as the imp gleefully spun him, switching Adam from one claw to the other.

The imp’s gentle claw held Adam’s arm above his head, the two circling before returning to their macabre waltz. Adam giggled again as the imp placed both claws on his waist, lifting him up and then back down, like a ballroom dance from a gothic fairy tale. It was thrilling, and Adam’s cheeks burned even redder. Compared to before, when Adam barely reached the imp’s waist, he now came up to its shoulders. He wondered if next year he would match the imp’s height or perhaps even surpass it.

Still, Adam was considered one of the smallest boys at the church, which made the imp’s stature quite diminutive. Holding Adam’s hand high again, the imp had him spin once more, the wedding veil attached to his hair fluttering around him like ethereal wings.

Adam didn’t know how long they danced, but soon his legs grew heavy and tired. He still smiled, overjoyed to spend time with the imp, but fatigue crept in, and the imp seemed to sense it. With another beguiling grin, the imp came to a gentle stop, steadying the breathless human with a calm, clawed hand. The imp then led him toward the table with the parchment. With a snap of its fingers, the parchment began to rise into the air, and the imp effortlessly lifted Adam, seating him on the table. Then the imp leaped up to sit beside him.

A piece of parchment fluttered from above, laying itself over Adam’s and the imp’s lap. Adam squinted down at it, noticing the peculiar symbols lining the parchment. He brushed his fingers across it, recognizing the language from the book. As Adam noticed the similarity, the symbols morphed into a readable script.

"Luci?" he read aloud, glancing up at the imp. He noticed the way its arrowhead tail swished at the name. "Is...that your name? Luci?"

Beaming at Adam, the imp nodded with a proud puff of its chest.

"Luci!" Adam chirped. "I'm Adam!"

The imp’s eyes closed tightly in amusement as it moved closer, flashing an even brighter smile. The arrowhead tail twirled around Adam’s side, teasingly brushing his neck again, making Adam laugh and hunch his shoulders.

"I guess you already knew that, huh?" Adam smiled widely. "Luci. I like you, Luci. I'm glad you're my friend."

The imp seemed even happier at that.

"You're my only friend." Adam paused, his cherry lips tilting downward in a frown. "Are you going to leave again? Will I have to wait years to see you again?"

Luci made no sound but nudged its shoulder against Adam’s as if to say, 'Don’t be sad.' The parchment's symbols shifted once more, spelling out words Adam could read.

"You have some...important responsibilities? That you can't ignore?" Adam read, looking to the imp for confirmation. He pouted when Luci closed its eyes again and nodded with a sweet smile. "You're very busy, you must be a pretty important person then?"

Luci sent a cheeky wink at that, sparking Adam’s imagination. His mind conjured images of a king ruling over a fantastical kingdom, his heart buzzing with a newfound thrill—unaware of how close to reality his imagination was.

Abruptly, Adam heard a dripping sound. He blinked in confusion and turned to look at the wedding dress, but Luci cupped his cheek, preventing him from turning. A sharp grin spread across Luci’s face as it swirled its tail closer to Adam’s face.

Luci leaned in close, suddenly tapping Adam on the forehead. Like a switch being flipped, Adam grew incredibly tired. His eyelids drooped, and he fought to keep them open, his gaze fixed on Luci’s eyes until he finally surrendered to the darkness. His head fell against Luci’s collarbone.

The imp gently caressed Adam’s face, running its claw along the wedding veil covering Adam’s head. Luci easily lifted Adam, carrying him bridal style. It slipped off the table, swirling around with Adam in its arms. Their silhouettes matched the ancient mural on the wall behind them.

The outline of their figures perfectly aligned with the two woven into the fabric—the devil carrying its horrified human bride.

Luci’s smirk widened, eyes gleaming with glee.

~#~

The golden spikes shimmered beneath him, glittering with a sinister brilliance as Adam cautiously stepped onto them. The warmth they exuded seemed almost malevolent against his bare feet. His apple-green eyes, wide with a mix of awe and trepidation, sparkled as he hesitantly placed one foot after the other, slowly beginning to follow the foreboding path. He giggled nervously, the sound echoing eerily in the stillness—it was just like the book Sister Sera had confiscated. But what Sister Sera didn't know was that Adam had devoured its pages twice over, each word etched into his mind.

He adored storybooks—their enchantment, their whimsy, their daring adventures. But Sister Sera disapproved, her stern demeanour ensuring the books were always taken away. Yet, Adam seemed to have an uncanny knack for finding them again, a forbidden pleasure he couldn't resist.

Humming to himself, he hopped on one foot, arms outstretched like a tightrope walker. The sky above was an unnatural, sickly pink, with cotton candy clouds drifting lazily across. The sun hung high, casting an eerie glow. The air was cloyingly sweet, a fruity scent that made Adam sigh with unease.

Flanking the golden path were flowers of every imaginable hue, even shades that didn't exist in his dreary, rain-soaked England. The blossoms were too vibrant, too surreal, their beauty almost painful. The trees surrounding him shimmered with an unnatural palette of green, orange, and blue. Adam spun around, his eyes following a small bird as it flitted overhead, its chirping distorted and haunting.

It was breathtaking. It was everything he had ever fantasised about in those 'forbidden' books. But Adam shivered, knowing how furious and disappointed Sister Sera would be if she found out. He could almost feel her presence, half-expecting the stern nun to emerge from the trees, ruler in hand, ready to punish him. His heart pounded in his chest, a testament to how deeply he knew this was wrong. To long for something so beautiful, so magical, was a sin.

As Adam trudged along the golden path, an icy dread began to seep into his bones. The guilt gnawed at him, twisting his insides and making his shoulders slump. His gaze dropped to his feet, watching the glittering spikes pass beneath him. His head throbbed, his green eyes misting over with unshed tears.

His breath hitched, his feet fumbling awkwardly. He bit his bottom lip, the sharp taste of blood mingling with his rising panic. The beauty around him grew more oppressive, more accusatory. Adam kept his eyes downcast, his skin prickling as a frigid breeze gusted past, knocking him off his feet with a startled yelp. He landed hard on his backside, covering his eyes with bruised hands, pressing them into his sockets in agony. He rocked back and forth, silent apologies tumbling from his lips.

The colours intensified, becoming harsh and overwhelming. Adam's stomach churned, his throat constricting with the urge to vomit. His nose wrinkled in pain as he curled into himself. The birdsong morphed into a grating buzz, and tears streamed down his cheeks, leaving fiery trails in their wake.

Adam pressed his knees painfully into his chest, burying his face into his kneecaps as his nails dug into his exposed flesh. The self-inflicted pain echoed his thoughts: he was shameful, bad, deserving of punishment. He was a disgrace.

A sudden, soft touch on his lower back made Adam jump. His head snapped up, and he turned to peek over his shoulder, heart pounding with dread. Had Sister Sera come to punish him again? His hands still burned from the last time.

Instead, a duck stood there, quacking at him. Odd red circles glowed on its cheeks, and a little white top hat shimmered atop its head. With wide, astonished eyes, Adam gasped as the duck pushed its way into his arms and snuggled up. Tentatively, he traced his fingers over the duck's soft white and gold feathers, awe battling with unease.

With another quack, the duck nudged its beak against Adam's cheek, licking away his tears. Adam's lips twitched into a fragile smile as he gazed down at the duck in wonder. Then, he hugged the duck helplessly, feeling small beads of comfort in its presence. He released a shaky sigh of contentment, burying his face into the soft feathers. The duck raised its large white and gold wing, folding it over Adam's head as if to shield him from the outside world.

It was nice. It was comforting. It was something Adam had never experienced before. He hummed, savouring the warmth the duck gave him. Adam's eyes closed for a few seconds, and when he opened them again, the colourful fantasy world had suddenly turned dark and foreboding. The trees were barren, the flowers withered and crumbling, the yellow brick road shattered into fragments scattered around him.

Adam's breath hitched as he sat up properly. He glanced around, his eyes wide as he took in the black, empty sky stretching on, devoid of stars or moon. His heart pounded heavily, sending vibrations through his body.

The warmth of the duck turned icy cold. Adam turned his head and froze, his eyes widening even more. His spine stiffened, paralyzed with terror as he saw the duck was now covered in blood-red, snake-like eyes, all staring at him.

Adam's face grew pale, white with horror and nausea. His shoulders hunched up to his ears as the duck began to move toward him, its red-eyed face drawing closer. Adam closed his eyes, bracing for pain, but none came. Instead, a soft purr emanated from the duck, and it rubbed its strange, eye-covered face against Adam's cheek.

The tension within Adam slowly eased, his shoulders sagging. He released a breath he didn't realise he was holding and opened his eyes to meet the duck's many.

Oh...

The duck wasn't that frightening...

Adam raised a hand to stroke the duck's eye-covered feathers, a smile lighting up his lips when the duck let out another happy quack at the action, snuggling even closer to him.

Oh. The duck was cute despite the eyes.

Adam hugged the duck again, enjoying the coldness that spread over him. It wasn't an unpleasant coldness; it was nice and made him hum in enjoyment.

With a soft snuffle, Adam's sleepy eyes opened. He found himself back inside the church once more. The soft pitter-patter of rain hitting the glass eased him out of his dreams. Adam smiled meekly. It was a nice dream, even if it was a little scary at times. He rubbed his left eye like a cat and sat up, his thick brown and red hair a mess, sticking up in all directions.

Adam was fourteen when the dreams began. They were always the same, like a true paradise. The lush trees, vibrant flowers, soft grass, golden stones making up the yellow brick road Adam remembered reading about—the sky so blue and the air so very sweet. His dream was lovely until it wasn't. Until it became too much, too suffocating, and his little duck friend came to rescue him. It always ended in the same way, with the duck revealing its horrific form. It was terrifying, scaring Adam every single time! Until he found the duck beautiful either way, the red slit-eyes were mesmerising, and Adam found it fascinating.

With a sleepy yawn, Adam glanced up at the cross nailed above his bed. He shuffled onto his knees and then his feet. Even at fourteen, he was tiny, small compared to the other children. Adam stretched onto the tips of his toes, turning the cross back up again, making sure it was right-side up. Somehow, the cross would always be upside down when he slept.

Adam would go to bed with the cross correct and wake up after his dream to find the cross upside down. He always pushed it back up after one of the new sisters had screamed about it the next morning.

With another weary yawn, Adam collapsed onto his knees, his body bouncing slightly on the old, lumpy mattress of his bed. The springs squeaked with every movement, the quilts were a faded blue and white striped pattern, and the pillows were a musty yellow. The sheets, though once white, were now a dingy grey. The fabric itched against his skin, but Adam was somewhat grateful for the oversized hand-me-downs from the older kids. He could hide his fingers and toes inside his pyjamas, a small comfort against the constant irritation.

A prickling sensation crept over his skin, the unsettling feeling of being watched. Adam’s mouth went dry, and he rubbed his eyes with both hands, blinking away the remnants of sleep. He shuffled on his knees, glancing towards the other slumbering boy on the opposite side of the room.

Steve was still sleeping, blissfully unaware. Adam sniffled and frowned. If it wasn’t Steve staring at him, then who was watching him at this ungodly hour? He scratched his head and glanced around the room. For a brief, terrifying moment, his eyes brushed over a figure peering around the wardrobe. Adam's heart nearly stopped as he turned to look directly at it.

The wardrobe doors were ajar, a black mass occupying the space between. Long, clawed fingers curled around the wooden door, and a head tilted to the side, familiar glowing blood-red eyes locked onto him.

Coldness spread over Adam’s skin, tracing along his neck and down his spine. His lips parted, emerald eyes widening until they burned. His mouth opened and shut, breath trapped in his throat. He shuffled to the edge of the bed, the springs squealing as he slipped a trembling foot to the floor. His knees buckled, fear churning in his stomach, hairs standing on end.

Adam’s hands clutched the hem of his t-shirt as he continued to stare at the horrifying silhouette in the doorway. Its blood-red eyes bore into Adam’s skinny form, a swish of a tail and the sharp outline of horns materialising in the dim light.

With another hitched breath, Adam inched across the bedroom floor towards Steve's bed. He pulled the quilt up and crawled underneath, his body trembling as he curled into a tight ball. Knees pressed to his chest, eyes screwed shut, he desperately hoped the thing in the wardrobe would vanish.

Steve rolled over, grunting as he bumped into Adam’s smaller form. He opened sleep-crusted caramel eyes and glanced at Adam. “Another nightmare?”

Adam didn’t respond, only shaking more. Steve shrugged and closed his eyes again, slipping back into sleep. He draped an arm over Adam, offering a pinch of comfort. But it didn’t help much... not when Adam heard a snarling growl rise from behind him.

Nothing else happened for the rest of the night. Adam didn’t go back to sleep.

#fanfic #hazbin hotel #au #adamsapple #a03 #lucifer x adam #fanficiton #guitarduck #demon #horror

60 notes · View notes

reaveries · 1 year ago

Text

▬ risk

"I will save your life. I'll try for you."

pairings: re2 officer!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: while trying to escape the police station in the midst of the infamous raccoon city disaster, rookie police officer leon s. kennedy finds a young woman in need of his help.

content warning: descriptions of violence and gore

word count: 4.4k (estimated 21 minutes reading time)

a/n: this .... has been in my drafts ......... since april. you're finally free........

masterlist archive of our own

Revised for clarity 12/30/2023.

Leon’s gun had always been a mere extension of his arm, a tool to be honed and wielded with precision. The academy, with its spiral target walls and foam-filled mannequins, had served as his training ground, preparing him for the hopefully unnecessary evil of one day having to take a life. This unspoken burden came with the territory—an occupational hazard in the line of duty. But no amount of half-hearted demonstrations and target practices could’ve equipped him for a night like this.

Until tonight, he’d never seen a body fall lifeless due to his own hand. But if he had, he wouldn’t have expected it to stumble from its spot of decay, staggering towards him with a newfound vigor that defied everything he thought he knew about morality and his fragile existence.

Tonight has been a night of unholy firsts, and the air about him suggests it has only just begun.

The pungent metallic scent of arterial spray assaults his senses as he steps out of the shower room. His heart sinks in his chest as he takes in the sight of carnage in the westmost corridor of the police station. Uniformed men and women lie in crumpled heaps against the walls. Their bodies are mangled and torn, some so abhorrently disfigured that they’re scarcely recognizable as humans. The presence of the dead was something he was uncomfortably growing comfortable with, and yet to imagine the animosity it must’ve required to create this scene…

Well, it unsettled him, to say the least. He could’ve known them if things had gone differently.

He steps over their quiet corpses with his pistol in one hand and a flashlight raised in the other. He nudges one with the toe of his boot, aiming for their skull if they so much as twitch. But their bodies remain convincingly still, slain beyond any chance of revitalization. His grip tightens on his gun as he presses forward down the narrow corridor. If this is the result of those infected creatures he’s become acquainted with, they could be lurking ahead, waiting for him.

The rain outside stings as it pelts his cheek, dampening his uniform that’s already slick with sweat. He ignores it.

Ahead should be the S.T.A.R.S. office if the map he found is correct. Hopefully, he can find relevant information about Claire’s brother in there, something to help her find him if he should ever see her again. With a deep breath, he reaches out to turn the knob when a groan suddenly creeps from down the hall. But there’s something different about it.

It sounds alive, pained, and distinctly human.

“Is someone there?” He calls out, his voice echoing down the long hallway. The sound reverberates off the walls and fills the silence, and for a moment, there is nothing but his own breathing.

Then a low growl echoes back at him.

With an annoyed huff, he raises his gun and aims for the corner he anticipates the creature to hobble from behind. But before he can catch a glimpse of it, something moves in the darkness. It's too fast for him to comprehend, a blurring figure scurrying towards him like a feral animal. He watches in horror as it crawls along the ceiling, its movements disturbingly fluid.

As it draws closer, the moonlight catches on to the glistening texture of its skin. A grotesque tentacle-like tongue unfurls from its mouth, swinging through the air like a scythe.

“What… what the fuck?”

He fires two rounds into the fleshy matter of the creature’s head, but it makes no difference. Doesn’t even flinch. The rookie officer prepares to fire another round when the monster flings itself off the ceiling and lunges its body through the air directly toward him.

In a split-second decision, Leon throws himself into the office, his body slamming against the door before he scrambles to his feet and secures it behind him. Outside, the creature is relentless. Its wet, clobbering movements spasm through the walls. With his back pressed against the door, he braces himself as the monster rams into it with a sickening force that rattles the hinges.

It takes all his strength to keep it from buckling under the creature’s assault. The force of each blow makes his arms tremble, and he can feel his grip slipping. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple, and his heart thunders in his chest as he fights to hold the door in place.

But then, just as suddenly as it began, the onslaught ceased. Leon takes a deep breath, his heart still pounding, and listens for any sign of movement outside.

He waits a second, then slowly pulls himself away from the door.

With his chest heaving, a word comes to mind.

Licker.

He remembers the warning about these beasts scrawled on a note left by a likely deceased officer. His naive self didn’t expect to encounter one so soon.

He takes a moment to survey the room, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. The abandoned desks and personal items left behind tell him that S.T.A.R.S. personnel were just as underprepared for a viral outbreak as the rest of the city. The first thing that catches his eye is a trauma kit on the wall. He crosses the room and flips it open, finding it fully stocked. Dressings, hemostatic agents, antiseptic. A sense of relief washes over him. He reaches into his pocket to make room for the essentials, but to his dismay, finds them full of various necessities. There’s no space to carry anything in this damn uniform. With a sigh, the lid is closed and left as it was found.

“Hey!”

He nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden noise.

“Please tell me you didn’t die,” a disembodied voice says. The end of their sentence tapers off with a shallow breath. With a sharp turn of his head, he tries to place the direction it's coming from. There’s no familiarity in their voice, which is no surprise considering he’d only become acquainted with a few officers during his orientation.

“Where are you?” He calls out, raising his flashlight in search of an answer, hoping for a door or some kind of opening.

“Linen closet. Down the hall.”

Their muffled words become clear as he approaches a far corner of the office, likely sharing a wall with the room they’re in. “Did it get you?” they ask, quieter this time.

Leon takes a deep breath to steady himself before responding. “Almost, but I’m alright,” he assures them. With a glance back to the door, he continues, “Listen, I know how to get past that thing now. Just… stay put. I’ll come to you.”

“Please be careful,” the stranger pleads. Something in their voice rings as desperation, lending to the pit forming in his stomach. It’s more than likely that whoever this is is a victim of the outbreak, clinging to their last shred of humanity before the virus consumes them. The thought of putting down another person, to see the life fade from their eyes—he’d like to avoid it if possible.

With the barrel of his pistol, he cracks open the door and peers into the corridor. It’s just as he left it, but there’s no sign of the monster anywhere. He holds back a sigh of relief as he opens the door further and steps into the hall. The ceiling, where his eyes are permanently trained, is empty. The revolting shape of the licker is nowhere to be found.

He pushes forward, boots ghosting across the floorboards and pistol drawn. His breathing is slow, his muscles tensed. He’s convinced the creature can hear the blood rushing through his veins. When he reaches the end of the corridor, he halts and peeks behind the turn of the hall where the linen closet should sit.

His heart drops.

It’s there.

Of course it’s there. Why should anything be easy for him?

Perched in the corner, its sinewy body is raised on its haunches and pressed wetly against the wall. Rows of jagged teeth have overgrown the confines of its decaying jaw, and long bone-like talons sprout from fleshy hands.

He can't afford to freeze up. One misstep is all it takes, and he’ll be gutted like the rest of them. He reaches for a hook on the holster hanging at his hips, fingers trembling as he fumbles for the cold, smooth canister he's grown familiar with. This might be his only chance.

With one finger, he hooks the pin and yanks it. The sound of it clattering against the tile echoes throughout the hallway just as a cloud of white explodes, engulfing the creature as it lunges toward him. It falls to the floor in an instant, writhing in agony as the grenade pierces the air with a sharp ringing noise.

No time to think. Leon sprints to the door, feeling the hot stench of decay brush past him as he avoids the stunned beast. The door flies open against his weight, and he forces it shut behind him.

He leans against the door, panting heavily as he tries to steady himself.

As he catches his breath, a voice whispers in the darkness.

“You made it.”

His eyes dart to the corner, where a young woman sits leaning against a washing machine. Her uniform is in bad shape, torn at her midsection and stained to the hem. It looks like blood is seeping through, smearing her fingers red as she tries to stanch the bleeding. The sight of the mess has him quickly closing the space between them.

She looks him up and down as he kneels beside her.

“You’re an officer?” She asks with knitted brows. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“Leon Kennedy. I just started today,” he answers quickly, the adrenaline causing a noticeable waver in his voice.

She laughs but winces and screws her eyes shut. “And I thought my first day sucked,” she says through her teeth.

“Did that thing do this to you?” He asks, his tone gentle yet urgent, getting straight to the nagging thought in his mind.

She shakes her head, looking down at the wound with a suppressed grimace. “I thought the hallway was clear. And then, out of nowhere, it just…” Her mind seems to wander at the thought. “It came through the window. There was glass flying everywhere. It scratched me pretty good.”

Leon tilts his head to the side, trying to get a good look at the wound. Her uniform makes it difficult to see the full extent of the injury. However, the amount of blood is enough to give him an idea of the severity.

“‘Scratched’ is an understatement,” he says, looking back at her.

A dazed sort of smile finds its way to her face. “I like to be optimistic.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, or maybe precisely because of it, his smile mirrors hers. She’s not infected. Thank God.

“So do I,” he says. “Let’s get you cleaned up, alright? Then we can think about getting out of here.”

She nods and attempts to sit up straighter.

“Can you, um,” he starts to say, gesturing to the hem of her uniform.

“Yeah, I can take it off. I’m not shy.”

A blush creeps up his neck as she nimbly moves to undo the buttons of her uniform. Leon averts his gaze, suddenly transfixed by the desolate corner of the linen room. His fingers pluck idly at the skin around his nails. But from the corner of his eye, he catches her struggle to shrug off the top. It gets caught on her shoulders and refuses to slide down.

“Here, let me,” he offers reluctantly.

The room falls silent, the only sound being the soft rustle of fabric as he coaxes the shirt down her arms. She draws a sharp breath as it grazes over tender bruises and scrapes, and a strange sense of intimacy seeps in, making him feel guilty for having to undress her. As the shirt falls to the ground, revealing her white undershirt, his eyes are drawn to the dark magenta stain blossoming across the fabric.

There, at the center of it all, is a shard of glass, roughly the size of the palm of his hand. Its edges are sharp and erratic, protruding from her lower stomach.

It’s critical, he realizes.

“Sorry if it’s not the prettiest thing to look at,” she says, eyes fixated on the ceiling.

He shakes his head. “It’s not that bad,” he lies, hoping it sounds convincing.

Apparently, it doesn’t, because she looks down for the first time and sees it.

“Jesus Christ!” She exclaims breathlessly. Her hands fly to hover above the shard, afraid to touch it. “You have to take it out,” she says with certainty, clearly unable to bring herself to do it.

His medical training at the academy left much to be desired, but even he was aware of the cardinal rule when it came to injuries such as these. Under the best of circumstances, the object should never be removed, lest the victim hemorrhage and bleed to death. However, he’d wager that they were far from the best of circumstances, and the alternative wasn’t enticing. Leon takes a deep breath, then places one hand on her shoulder and the other on the shard of glass. Their eyes lock, a silent agreement passing between them.

“Stay still,” he instructs, his voice wavering slightly. He hesitates for a moment before pulling it out in one swift motion. He can feel her muscles tense beneath his hand as she reacts to the jagged edges scraping against her insides. A torrent of hushed expletives tumbled from her lips, the pain etched deeply in her features.

“There,” he says softly, immediately deciding not to let her see the piece of glass once he realizes its morbid grandeur.

He can see the relief wash over her face, but it's short-lived as her condition quickly deteriorates. The sudden change startles him. Her eyes have started to glaze over, and her head falls limply to the side. Her words are barely audible, lost in labored breaths.

“Hey,” he says urgently, reaching to cup her cheek. She responds with a groan and closes her eyes. He taps her cheek more desperately. “Hey, stay with me!”

With his other hand, he brings two fingers to the tender spot between her jaw and her neck. Her pulse is rapid but faint. Below, the stain spreads further along the cloth of her undershirt. He quickly lifts the hem, his fingers trembling as they brush against the cold skin of her stomach. Blood gushes from the wound at a frightening rate, dripping onto the floor and pooling.

His heart races as he frantically searches for something to stem the bleeding. It ends up being the closest thing: her discarded uniform. The fabric immediately darkens as he applies pressure.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

The blood seeps through, coating his fingers.

"Come on, stay with me," he pleads.

The blood flow slows a little, but only after having wholly soaked through her uniform. He undoes his vest and shrugs out of his shirt, leaving him in just the long sleeve he wore beneath. He brings the shirt to her waist and ties it tightly to keep the fabric firmly in place. As he secures it, her hand finds his arm. He looks down at her, meeting her gaze. Her eyes are glassy, and her breathing shallow.

"Don't worry, I've got you," he says, trying to sound confident.

Her fingers tighten around his arm, and she mumbles something. He leans closer, straining to hear her words.

“Don’t let me die here,” she repeats, her voice barely audible. “Please.”

He feels a lump form in his throat. "I won't... I promise."

He leans back against the wall, his eyes never leaving the woman’s face. Breathing heavily, he runs a hand through his hair. Only then does he notice her blood staining his uniform, his hands, and the floor around him. He wipes his hands on his pants, but even in the dim, cold light of the linen room, it’s clear it isn’t going anywhere.

This isn’t going to be enough to stabilize her; even someone with as little medical knowledge as him can see that it would be a miracle if it did.

But despite that, amidst the chaos and the overwhelming odds, he still clung to the tenuous belief that he could save her life. He can do what he couldn’t for the others, who’d been only slightly out of his reach and beyond saving. Saving just one person would mean this all meant something, and that he, though just one person unsure of what he’s up against, could be the catalyst for a transformative ripple, a flicker of defiance in the face of the unknown evils inside this building.

It would mean everything.

He glances at the door, feeling his stomach drop with the knowledge of what he must do. The hemostatic agents, the antiseptic—those are her lifelines. If he doesn’t act now, she will die in this small corner of the police station, and she’ll have him to thank. Acknowledging this fact sets him in motion.

In a swift movement, he picks her up in his arms, careful not to exacerbate her injuries. She stirs uncomfortably for a moment, then settles against him. Blood drips from his shirt at her waist and trickles down his arm before pittering on the tile. It’s neverending.

“Don’t make any noise,” he whispers down at her. Her eyes are screwed shut, but she nods in understanding.

Here goes nothing. He nudges the door open.

Once again, he is greeted with a quiet stillness. The corpses are still lost in a dreamless sleep, and light rain rhythmically blows in through the empty window frames. It could be somewhat comforting if he were ignorant of the foreboding presence lurking in the nearby shadows. With each soft step, he gets further from the haven of the linen room. He passes the expired stun grenade and is approaching the turn of the hall once again when she shifts in his arms. She presses her forehead against his chest, brows furrowed in an effort to stifle her pain. He can’t imagine how it must feel.

He pulls her closer, hoping to offer a modicum of reassurance. We’re almost there.

It can be said with absolute certainty that he has never moved as slowly as he did turning that godforsaken corner. And for that, he’s been blessed with a clear pathway. Somehow, the creature has not made its presence known. A thought nags at him, daring him to consider that he may have underestimated its intelligence. That it will rear its grotesque head any minute, and its mouth will pull in a sadistic grin, enravished with the idea that he could’ve fooled it once again.

But this is not the case. There, in the imperceptible darkness, inches above his head, there is a shift. It’s slight enough that he almost misses it. He doesn’t need to look up to know what it is—to know that it’s there, to know that he’s directly below it.

Somehow, he missed it.

His muscles tense, but there’s nothing left to do but continue forward.

Just a few more steps.

He places one foot cautiously before the other, careful to avoid shattered glass. The air feels thick with apprehension; every breath a calculated risk.

Then there’s a tug on his pants.

A deep, gurgling groan erupts from one of the corpses by his feet, and it pulls itself toward him. On instinct, he brings his boot down to silence it, crushing its skull beneath his heel before it can sink its teeth in. The woman gasps instantly, startled by the sudden jerking movement. Fuck.

Run.

The walls blur, and time seems to slow as he sprints down the hallway. The woman’s cries intermingle with the sound of talons scraping against the floor, padding down the corridor with a ferocity he doesn’t need to see to know.

Before it can reach him, he forces the office door open and kicks it shut behind him. He ignores the sounds of it screeching and thrashing about and hurries over to one of the desks, swiping the clutter to the floor before setting her down on the cool wooden surface. He wastes no time in retrieving the trauma kit and rummaging through it, letting items fall haphazardly to the floor.

The seconds are slipping through his fingers.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he says between breaths.

She watches him through furrowed brows, blinking slowly as he quickly removes the blood-soaked uniform from her waist. She says nothing, whether due to sheer incapability or hopeless acceptance.

He doesn’t notice either way.

His hands move quickly. He’s too lost in his efforts to see her watching him. Before the darkness creeps in, her lips form a short, one-word apology that gets lost on its way out, unheard by even her. The whisper of remorse dissipates in the air and fades. Then the world follows suit.

An uncertain amount of time has passed when she begins to stir. The room is blurred beneath the heaviness of her eyelids, but its meager contents slowly reveal themselves: plain wooden desks, some chairs, and personal belongings that confirm she’s in the room she suspects. She’d only been in this office once before when working on an intense, high-profile assignment. Even then, her visit was brief. There’s no reason she should be in here.

She pushes through the clouded haze and props her elbow on the desk to raise herself. Immediately, she’s struck with a burning fire in her abdomen, crumpling her back onto the cold surface. It felt like an electrical fire. Spreading quickly with a force that raised the hair on her skin.

Looking down, she saw the crimson stain on her undershirt, and the memory of the attack came back to her with a visceral shudder. The horrifying creature, the unrelenting pain, and the man who saved her. His name eludes her, the residual memories feeling like a half-forgotten dream. His face, too. Until slowly, the memory begins to sharpen, and she can see his face with full clarity. The young officer had been handsome, with an angular jaw and straight nose that lent him a serious, almost stoic look. Yet there was an undeniable boyishness to him, from the tousled hair falling into his eyes to the way he moved with an easy grace that belied the sharpness of his features. Yes, the stranger had certainly been an easy sight for her weary eyes.

“You’re awake.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the memory began to speak. She realized just then that it wasn’t a memory at all and that he’d emerged from a corner of the room upon hearing her awaken.

“How are you feeling?” He asks when she doesn’t respond. He’s tense, but his nervous expression seems sincere, and a strange sense of trust begins to settle over her.

“Hurts,” she grumbles. Her throat ached too. Everything ached.

His mouth flattened into a thin line, and his brows furrowed in sympathy. “I know, I’m sorry,” he says.

She notices his hands tremble slightly as they reach out to touch her, brushing warily against the exposed skin at her hip. He doesn’t seem to mind the blood staining his fingers or the hair falling into his eyes as he checks the dressing. Once it’s clear it meets his standard of approval, he looks up, and his light eyes finding hers expectantly, searching for signs of discomfort.

Then it comes back to her.

“Leon,” she murmurs absently, testing how it sounds out loud.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "That's me," he says softly.

She studies his face once again, taking in the way his features soften as he smiles, the gentle curve of his lips, and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“How long have I been out?” she asks hoarsely.

He pulls the hem of her shirt back down, covering the tender skin once again. “Not long, a few hours maybe.”

She tries to sit up once again, but her body protests with a sharp pain at her side. He places a hand on her upper arm, steadying her.

“Take it easy,” he urges her in a whisper.

With a wave of her hand, she dismisses his concerns and her pain. She pulls herself off the desk and straightens her shirt. “I’m fine,” she assures him. “I feel like shit, but I’m fine.”

“You look better,” he says, observing her closely. “You have more color in your face.”

A faint smile graces her lips. “I think I have you to thank for that. If you hadn’t found me, I would’ve been done for,” she confesses. “I’d already made peace with it by the time you got there.”

He offers a modest shrug. “I’m not sure about that. You seem like you’re made of tougher stuff, deputy.”

His words prompt her to tilt her head, inspecting his face and searching for any remnants of recognition beyond their recent encounter. But apart from that, there's nothing.

“Oh. I ran your badge while you were out,” he admits, his gaze momentarily directed toward the floor.

“Is that so…” She crosses her arms with a touch of amusement in her voice. Her inner resolve slowly finds her once again. “So was all this done to impress your boss on the first day?”

He chuckles quietly, now somewhat sheepish in the presence of his superior, in a world where such distinctions no longer hold much meaning. Oddly enough, his laughter somehow finds its place seamlessly amidst the heavy air surrounding them.

Despite the lurking horrors outside the sanctuary of this room and the even grimmer uncertainties ahead, for a brief moment, none of it matters. She stands there as a testament to his actions, breathing proof that he made a difference. Placing himself in the epicenter of this diseased storm no longer feels like ill-fated martyrdom. Within these walls and in the face of the darkness that looms beyond, they are not simply spectators to a morbid narrative; they are, instead, influential participants. All hope isn't lost.

With a smug smile, he finally lifts his gaze to meet hers.

“Did it work?”

#resident evil #resident evil 2 #resident evil 2 remake #re2 #re2 remake #re4 remake #resident evil 4 #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x you #deftones #deftones inspo

215 notes · View notes

britcision · 6 months ago

Text

And part two! So a good chunk of the reason the chapter got so long is that around halfway through this part I realized… Danny and Jason didn’t have a single scene together

And we can’t have that!

And then they just kept being adorable

So this is my promise to y’all that whenever possible, we will have at least one scene of the lads directly interacting every chapter 😁

Part 1:

—————————

The Finished Core part 2

Jason was stable, his core fully formed for a little less than a month, and they’d hung out and done ecto shots until midnight last night. Danny had no homework due, but would be starting a big project by the end of the week. His schedule wouldn’t be this empty for at least another two months.

And if he delayed beyond that. He’d either never do this, or have to explain to Jason what he was doing, because Jason would probably ask.

Jason being unavailable tonight (something big was going on with his library project, which Danny thought was just adorable) was actually why Danny had to do it now.

Because Jason would want to come with him. And, as fraught as his relationship with Bruce Wayne obviously was, Danny was pretty sure it wasn’t “have a good reaction to hearing about Danny’s evil alternate self killing him” bad.

And. Y’know. The end of the world thing.

And that Danny wanted to put him on parole.

That was all gonna be way too complicated for Danny to explain easily, so he had to go talk to Nocturn tonight. While he could do it alone.

Because maybe “here is my formerly evil alternate self” would sound so much better all the problems would just melt away.

Whatever. That was Future Danny’s problem anyway, which was okay because Dan’s timeline divergence was now very firmly in the past.

Dan wasn’t the Ghost King. He should be comparatively harmless.

Danny wasn’t thinking about how comparatively harmless he’d been when he stuffed Dan into a thermos.

Sucking in a bolstering breath, he floated up to the deceptively simple door to Nocturn’s lair and knocked.

Waiting to be let in was a formality; technically Danny could have ripped open a portal right into the heart of Nocturn’s lair and there was nothing the Lord of Dreams could do about it, but. Nocturn had done him a favour. Danny was trying to be cool.

There was a long enough wait that he almost wondered if he should just push in, show that he wasn’t fucking around either, but then the door swung open.

Nocturn was waiting for him just inside, his white jester’s mask arranged into placid servility that Danny didn’t buy for a moment. Tendrils of night curled around him, swaying ever so slightly but tucked in close. He clearly didn’t want Danny too deep in his lair, and Danny decided to respect that, coming in just far enough for the door to close behind them.

Technically, it’d put him in Nocturn’s power, if he wasn’t the Ghost King. The whole Zone was his lair if he wanted it to be.

Nocturn inclined his head gracefully, his voice smooth and impassive as he spoke.

“You desire something, my king?” He asked carefully, and Danny hesitated.

He didn’t like doing the whole… thing. Would have preferred not to need it. But if they were standing on ceremony…

It was barely a thought before the Crown of Fire formed above his head, the silhouette of the crown itself fading in before it caught with spectral green flames, that themselves were overwhelmed by creeping spires of diamantine frost.

The cape spilled down from his shoulders, its folds lit with galaxies and nebulas far grander in scale than Nocturn’s own star-speckled form. There was no weight to it, and no wind, yet it rippled and swayed anyway, plucked by solar currents.

Danny consciously cut the change off there. Any of the armour or other regalia could be taken as a challenge, and while Nocturn was just as unwilling to actually become the King personally, it’d make him cranky. And Danny needed another favour.

“Yes, Dream Lord. It’s… it is about the charge I placed in your care. The one who sleeps in the Evermoving Now.” Ancients, Danny felt like an idiot every time he had to talk like this. He was sure he sounded like a particularly cheesy “historical” fantasy, and had to consciously avoid slipping into an awful British accent.

Maybe he should have brought Jason. Jason could have made it sound cool.

Danny’s best guess at formality was “no contractions”. Jason actually knew courtly manners from the Elizebethans to the Tokugawa shogunate.

At least it wasn’t like Nocturn expected better from him. He simply nodded, his expression unchanging.

“He is still sleeping, my king.” A flicker of annoyance skated across his face, gone before it was even there. “He is… not so resistant to my power as you are, but still exerts his own demands upon what dreams he will tolerate.”

Yeah, Danny had figured. Dan had damn near Ended his universe’s Nocturn, and he’d had to give Nocturn a chunk of his own power as the King to keep him safe enough to work on Dan at all. Keeping people unconscious was not usually in the Dream Lord’s power.

Honestly, Danny had been kinda hoping that all the time just in Soup Jail… the thermos might have made Dan a little more. Well. Not nicer? But. Less fussy about distractions.

He returned the nod a little awkwardly, offering a smile that he hoped wasn’t too sheepish.

“Yeah… yes. I was afraid of that. But… I want to speak with him. Perhaps make him a little more… amenable to your gifts. And maybe take him off your hands entirely, if all goes well.”

That did provoke a reaction, an eyebrow raising as interest lit Nocturn’s red eyes. Dan must be a real pain in the ass.

“It… can be arranged,” he said slowly, scanning Danny up and down for the first time. Looking for what, Danny wouldn’t even guess, but whatever it was he had no idea if Nocturn found it.

Danny nodded again, fighting the urge to fidget.

“Great… yeah. Yes. Good. Obviously not in physical forms, given his confinement, but.” He drew himself up, thinking back to all the shows he’d been watching with Jason over the last two weeks. Not many kings, but all sorts of stuffy nobility.

He tried to call up his best Liz Bennet.

“I would have you link our dreams, so that he need not wake, and we may speak entirely in your realm. Tomorrow night. Ah… I will… let you know how it goes?” He trailed off, and Nocturn let out a huff which might have been amusement or irritation.

Danny wasn’t gonna push for an aura read to check. He didn’t wanna know.

“I presume, my king, that I need not care how it goes until you ask that I remove him from my dreams. And in exchange for this…” he let the sentence hang, not actually asking for anything.

Technically, Danny didn’t have to give him anything. He could make it a Command, with the whole weight of the Infinite Realms behind his order. Nocturn would have no choice but to obey.

But he didn’t want to be a tyrant. And he’d expected to have to give something, and he’d come prepared.

A real, not entirely nice smile pulled at his lips.

“You must be tired of being confined to the Zone, and having to spend so much of your power catering to Dan’s dreams. For your ongoing service and assistance in this matter, I will give you the power to keep one single human asleep indefinitely, and you can give him any dreams you like.”

Now that definitely got the ghost’s attention, his whole posture stiffening, outline sharpening as he leaned in ever so slightly. There was a very real hunger in his gaze.

“Did you have a human in mind?” He asked, his voice a low hiss of want.

Firmly squashing any trace of discomfort, Danny nodded.

“The Joker.”

Nocturn’s eyes widened, and then a slow and far more genuine smile spread across his lips.

If he were being honest with himself, Vlad certainly hadn’t expected to hear from Wayne again so soon. They’d gotten along delightfully well the day after the gala, right up until Daniel’s little “rescue attempt”, which was just adorable.

Of course, Wayne had insisted any reconcilliation with Timothy or Richard would have to be between them as men, which was annoying. But Vlad could be magnanimous.

Thanks to Danielle and Daniel he was at least vaguely aware of what young people wanted, although Daniel was no longer a teenager. He’d never been a rich teenager though; doubtless the Drake-Wayne boy could afford any consoles or games he desired.

He was vaguely aware that Drake-Wayne was interested in technology, fully up to date with the workings of the company he was now CEO to.

Vlad wasn’t. He didn’t much care for what human technology could do without the boost of ectoplasm; Wayne Tech largely worked in communications devices and medical technology, all of which was easily reverse engineered and improved by Vlad’s own companies to run with ectoplasm.

It would mean far too great a loss to give the boy access to an ectoplasm battery… although if Daniel were cosying up to his brother, they’d have access to ectoplasmic technology soon anyway.

A loss to his corporate dominance, then, in exchange for a gain with his godson. It could only help their relationship if Vlad could endear himself to his future sons-in-law, and perhaps be yet more proof of his good intentions.

Of course, for it to be proof, an older battery wouldn’t have done. The technology remained proprietary, and the ecto batteries never broke down or lost charge (until Vlad wanted them to), so they rarely needed replacing, so Wayne Tech would need to be doing corporate espionage of their own to have any access at all (and be able to get past the little ectoplasmic tricks and traps that continued to befuddle poor dear Luthor’s attempts to steal his technology over at Lex Corp; Vlad did so enjoy reading of the corporate disasters that marked unsuccessful attempts).

A newer model of battery would make for a better gift. And an offer of a deal, to provide more for the next generation of Wayne Tech devices for only a meagre percentage. An apology fit for a king, or the regent of one, complete with diplomatic offers for the future.

Dick Grayson was some kind of police officer. Vlad just bought his department a suite of new computers and a new espresso machine. Simple.

He’d have liked to have it all delivered before he saw “Brucie” next, yet the man had been utterly intent on coming to see him as soon as possible, barely a week after their last meeting when he got in touch. That was unusual; Vlad usually had to be much more proactive to gain access to the kind of person worth overshadowing.

Not that he would overshadow Wayne now. Daniel had staked his claim rather firmly on the whole family, and Lady Gotham was not a spirit Vlad intended to cross. Honestly he was a little surprised she tolerated Daniel cuddling up to her pet socialites, yet the boy was king. She must approve of the match.

(Vlad might wish his own opinion mattered in such a situation, but Jason Todd had provided such a delightful opportunity to prove himself to Daniel that nothing else could touch it.)

Still, it was nice to know that Brucie at least already liked him. He’d made such a touching little speech to Jason at the gala, they simply had to be on better terms than he and Daniel, and hopefully he would also be on good terms with Daniel too by now.

He’d seemed very interested when talking to Vlad and the Mansons, and Vlad had talked up all of Daniel’s best traits; now they would have travelled back to Wayne Manor together and would surely be well acquainted. The man certainly looked enough like Jack Fenton for a sentimental soul like Daniel to get attached.

A slight grimace tugged at Vlad’s face as his limo pulled up to the airport. Really, that was the only downside with Brucie Wayne; it was like hanging out with a slightly more reasonably sized Jack. Intellect and all.

That would be trying over the man’s stay, but he had insisted on putting himself up in a hotel rather than staying at Vlad’s, and if he could just keep the two apart… Vlad reassured himself that the Fentons had gone to visit Jasmine over the holidays, and absolutely couldn’t have returned to town without him noticing.

Which, of course, was a thought as sure to summon Jack Fenton as an unwise wish to summon Desiree.

A large hand clapped across Vlad’s entire back just as he stepped out of the car, making him flinch.

“VLADDIE! Lovely to see ya, buddy! You’re not heading outta town again, are ya! You only just got back!” The man bellowed, and Vlad’s eyebrows twitched.

As if they weren’t both standing in front of the Arrivals lounge.

Perhaps Jasmine was making a late return, anything to avoid sharing a flight with her parents… it certainly couldn’t be Daniel, Vlad would have sensed him long before now. The boy couldn’t help travelling with a spectral fanfare these days.

He forced a polite smile onto his face, moving firmly towards the doors and hoping to lose the man inside.

“No, Jack, I’m here to receive a friend. As you are, I presume? I didn’t realize you were already back from your own trip.” He didn’t really bother listening to the answer, glancing around quickly to see if Madeline was also here. It would be nice to see her briefly…

Jack Fenton laughed boisterously, crowding along behind him far too close for comfort.

“Ah, that’s ol’ Vladdie! Sharp as a pin! Yeah, a colleague called and asked us to outfit some big wig visiting for his first trip to Amity Park! Maddie’s got the Spectre Deflector an’ a couple other toys, he’s some big tech guy from some other city, Gotham or something?”

For a second Vlad thought his ghost sense had somehow missed Daniel; the unmistakeable feeling of ice slithered down his spine. It took a moment to actually pinpoint the cause.

Gotham.

No.

He couldn’t be.

Vlad’s life could not be this cursed.

He’d done nothing to deserve this.

He’d fucking forgotten that Daniel was Jack and Madeline’s son, and had probably given Wayne his parents’ contact information.

He’d actually stopped walking as the impending dread washed over him, Jack leaving him behind by a few paces as they reached the terminal lounge that Brucie Wayne would be entering at any second.

He’d. Tried to emotionally prepare himself. To perhaps set up a meeting between the two parties. Where he could be on the other side of town.

But no, they were all here, and there was Madeline as resplendent as ever in her teal bodysuit, her arms filled with beeping and flashing Fenton junk. His heart still gave a flood of warmth at the sight of her, but that was all.

Just his heart. Not his core, not his Obsession. That was still a bit of a relief, every time. She’d made it quite clear that they couldn’t be friends while he was so fixated on her; on removing Jack.

He caught the moment that she spotted him past the exuberant and loving display she and Jack shared, as if they’d been parted for decades instead of minutes. Managed a small but genuine smile, and settled further when she smiled back.

Reserved, certainly, especially in the wake of her obvious passion. But it was a real smile, and meant far more to him than those she’d faked for Jack’s sake at the height of his mania.

Madeline’s friendship was infinitely more precious than any notion of possessing her, and he had been so lucky to have any left to rekindle by the time he’d finally gotten control of himself. They may never be as close as all three of them had once been in college, but for Madeline he could even smile and embrace Jack.

(Which had become immensely easier when he’d been able to rationalise that Jack Fenton was simply incapable of the intellect, malice, or even comprehension to have killed him. All three of them had worked on the portal; it was simply poor luck that had him take the brunt of the accident and the ecto-acne that followed.

Or perhaps good luck; after all, he was now essentially immortal, rich beyond his wildest dreams, and powerful. He’d finally acquired sufficient leverage to have effective control over the Packers, even if he couldn’t own them outright! He even had Madeline’s son for his godson, and one day the boy might even accept him.

They had all eternity to find out.)

His reluctance waning slightly with Madeline’s company, he made his way to join the couple; he may as well stand beside them, if they’d come for the same man.

Madeline even rewarded him with a handshake, and he easily resisted the brief urge to kiss her hand or try to extend the gesture. He truly was growing and improving all the time.

“Madeline. Jack tells me you are also here for Brucie Wayne? Making sure he’s safe for his visit to our fair city?” He asked cheerfully, nodding to the pile in her arms.

It didn’t even hurt when Madeline shot a beaming smile at her beloved husband.

“Oh! Yes, and of course we simply had to get to know him. Danny’s already told us that Brucie knows about his condition, though we’re never to mention Jason’s of course,” she added sharply, giving her husband a stern look which somehow cleared the ridiculous distance to fly right over his head, then smiled back at Vlad, “but since our boys are getting along so well he’s almost family anyway!”

That was an interesting tidbit which Vlad hadn’t previously been privy to; he hadn’t known just how far Daniel trusted Brucie. Not far enough for the details on his own son, which was… interesting.

Not that Vlad would have said anything; perish the thought. One simply did not out another ghost of any description. It was rude. And would have no benefits for him anyway.

Interesting to know that the man was in on the fact that halfas existed, if not how close he was to one of course. Perhaps he could get some extra points by sharing his own secret?

That would wait until he had some idea of how discrete Brucie was capable of being. Evidence suggested that it would be “not at all”, but… if Daniel had shared his…

It seemed Vlad would need to get more out of this little visit than he’d expected.

As if specifically to disrupt his thoughts, the man of the hour appeared at just that moment, all broad smiles even fresh from a commercial airline of all things. Not even a private jet, yet he still looked freshly composed and perfect even amidst the bedraggled public.

It was frankly unfair, but Vlad didn’t have time to sulk before he had to dodge one of Jack’s massive arms flying into the air to wave, apparently recognising the man on sight as well. It shouldn’t be unusual of Bruce Wayne, yet Vlad highly doubted Jack could have recognised the man a week ago.

Celebrities that were alive were a closed book to all four Fentons, as far as he knew.

“BRUCIE!” Jack bellowed, waving enthusiastically with both arms like he wasn’t head and shoulders taller than the entire rest of the building.

Even Brucie was momentarily taken aback by the sheer size of the man, which Vlad wasn’t remotely bitter about anymore. Then he clocked Vlad beside the Fentons and that perfect, vapid smile slid across his face again.

“Vlad! Won’t you introduce me to your friends?” He asked easily, ever charming as he slid over to join them.

Maddie and Jack began sizing him up immediately, not even waiting to say hello before grabbing at his arms to lift and turn them. Vlad sighed heavily and gave a tight smile of his own, Brucie looking quite alarmed to be manhandled by such a tall man as Jack Fenton.

“Brucie, it’s good to see you again. These are my friends, Drs Maddie and Jack Fenton. I believe an associate of yours has asked them to… outfit you for your stay in our town?” He asked smoothly, not even tripping over the word “friends” anymore.

Not even when it meant Jack. It meant Madeline, and they were a package deal. He’d come to accept that, and the place she’d allowed him in their life. That he only had because Jack had never noticed how their relationship had changed.

Shaking away the thoughts, he refocused on Brucie, who’d turned that so charming smile on the Fentons and was now allowing them to fit him with a Spectre Deflector, one of their wrist lasers, and… well, he had to assume the large and oddly rigid pocket-square had to be another of their new inventions.

Very new, since Jack hadn’t showered him in its praises yet, but he was quite happily trying to sell it to the head of Wayne Enterprises entirely unaware that he’d likely have to get the Drake-Wayne boy to get any actual decisions made.

Brucie did at least look fascinated, and managed to ask just enough questions to keep Jack going. Honestly, if Vlad wasn’t careful Brucie would keep them trapped there all day… although that might not be all bad.

If he could leave the man in the variably capable hands of the elder Fentons, he could at least get some actual work done. Get the details of the battery proposal for Timothy finalized…

Brightening up a little, Vlad clapped his hands.

“Why, I have a great idea! Jack, Maddie, I’m sure Brucie would love to take a quick tour of the portal, to really see what makes our little town special.”

After all, Brucie would certainly want to take the time to get to know Daniel’s other family, and if Vlad could just ensure that all the time he spent with Jack was away from Vlad… well, he’d also have a brief reprieve from them both, guaranteed.

All three of his companions were visibly surprised by the suggestion, with just the faintest flicker of suspicion in dear Madeline’s eyes… for her alone, he gave his best conciliatory smile.

“And I can think of no one better to prepare Brucie for the delights of our little town. They are our pre-eminent ectologists,” he told Brucie, even bestowing Jack with a mostly sincere smile.

As always, he swelled with pride at the compliment, and Madeline’s face softened. She gave a very tiny nod, her approval still chasing the warmth of a summer breeze in his heart. Worth the sacrifice.

That left Bruce, surprised and delighted as ever, smiling with as much thought behind his eyes as a hamster.

“What’s this about a portal? You’ve told me all sorts of tales of ghosts in Amity Park, is that what this is about?”

A bit of a surprise to Vlad that Daniel hadn’t already mentioned it, but the boy had been…. Distracted by Jason Todd. Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising.

Vlad kept his smile bright, clapping his hands.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise. Jack gives such wonderful tours. And then perhaps once you’ve finished there and had a look around town, I could take Brucie off your hands for dinner and let you get back to work?” He asked somewhat hopefully.

Small, controlled doses of both mountainous men. That would be fine. It would have to be.

Madeline did truly hesitate, and he knew the passion for her work would be nudging at her. She was a dedicated scientist, as much as she loved their “field work”; too long away from the lab made her itchy.

Jack, of course, didn’t notice, clapping Vlad firmly on the back.

“Nonsense, Vladdie! You just come along down to Fentonworks when you’re done bustling about and we’ll cook you up a Fenton Family Feast along with our guest!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose,” Wayne began as Vlad struggled to think of an argument.

The Fentons having anything even edible in the house was no guarantee, let alone the time to prepare a real meal. He was quite sure they’d been subsisting on ectoplasm alone since before they even recreated the portal.

Unfortunately, knowing Jack, there was only one way out of it.

“My staff have already begun preparing dinner, and I would hate to put all their work to waste,” he said silkily, making a mental note to message his assistant and have her set up something suitable. He’d been planning on a restaurant, but personal plans were harder to change. “And of course if you have the time we would love to have you both over as well.”

He didn’t even have to grit his teeth to finish the sentence, didn’t even have to focus solely on Madeline. It barely even twinged. That old, hateful Obsession would have no power over him.

Proof of his own progress put a more genuine note in his smile too, and Jack beamed back as innocently as ever.

“Aw Vladdie, that’d be great! So, the portal, a tour of Amity Park, and then dinner at Vladdie’s! We can tell you some of those good ol’ college stories from back in the day!” He told Bruce enthusiastically, slapping him on the back hard enough that the man stumbled.

Part of Vlad was beginning to wonder if he should have sent the poor man a warning packet on the Fentons. But then, his boy was courting Daniel. Surely that would have been Daniel’s job, if he’d wanted the man warned.

Brucie looked between them all with that same innocent smile, clearly not following… but he must be used to that.

“Oh, I’d like a chance to get to know the town myself for a little bit… y’know, stretch my legs a bit and get regrounded after the flight. Is there anywhere I could just take a little walk, maybe a look around? This all sounds like real important stuff and if I go in all fuzzy-headed I just know I won’t make heads or tails of it,” he laughed, waving a hand self-deprecatingly.

Vlad hesitated. The Amity Park (and ancients he still hated the name but it was better than Amity Park Park) would be the obvious choice, or perhaps the shopping district would be ideal. Yet since the Fentons were already here…

This time it was his own back that Jack’s meaty paw slammed down on. The only reason Vlad didn’t stumble the same way Wayne had was his resilience as a halfa. And even then it was a close thing.

“Sure, sure! Tell ya what, Vladdie, you run along and get to all your important mayor duties,” Jack tipped Bruce and Madeline a wink, clearly indicating that they were all going to have a lot more fun, “and we’ll take ol’ Brucie down to the park! And then when you’re feeling better we’ll get you right to Fentonworks for the portal tour and some of Maddie’s famous fudge! It’s a secret family recipe, there’s nothing better for getting your noodle cookin’!”

Vlad did not sag in relief. He had far too much pride for that. Instead he looked to Wayne for agreement, only raising one perfectly poised eyebrow.

“I hope you won’t think me a poor host if I pass you off so soon…” he trailed off, not quite hinting his own preference. Certainly not obviously enough that Brucie Wayne would notice.

And indeed the man just beamed at him, giving Jack a firm pat on the back too.

“Not at all, that sounds just the thing! Just a couple minutes out in some fresh air away from that tube and I’ll be right as rain! We’ll see you again at dinner, Vladdie?” He added with that far too charming smile, immediately picking up on the nickname.

That. Was pretty much the biggest thing Vlad had been hoping to avoid. His smile strained a little around the edges.

“That sounds perfect, Brucie.”

At least he’d have a little time alone to recompose himself.

Danny… dithered. That was the only way Jason could think to describe it. He’d been in an odd mood since he’d called that afternoon, and while Jason was getting used to Danny completely forgetting to mention important things, this looked like the opposite.

And given what he’d just blurt out apropos of nothing, whatever had him opening his mouth and abruptly reconsidering couldn’t be good.

He’d texted and said he needed to talk to Jason about something important (a message that totally never caused any additional anxieties), and then called the minute his last class ended (which was so much more reassuring), but when Jason dropped by the university to pick him up… Danny insisted they go grocery shopping.

So now here they were, an hour later, and Danny was reading the full nutritional information on every box of cereal.

Finally running out of patience, Jason plucked the Frosted Berry Crunch Whatever from his hands and tossed it into the cart. Danny was already protesting as he turned, but Jason and the cart had a head start up the aisle.

“C’mon, your highness, we’re putting at least two vegetables in here and then we’re going home.”

Because see, Jason knew what decision paralysis was like. He knew what brain fog was like. He also knew what procrastinating was like, and there was only so much he was willing to put up with it.

Especially when he was beginning to suspect that the tingling at the base of his skull had less to do with Danny being accidentally ominous, and more to do with Danny possibly actually being in danger.

What the hell in Gotham could lay a finger on the half-dead king of ghosts? Malnutrition, sure, given the state of their cart, but Jason didn’t think that was it. He’d have been summoned by the contents of the dorm fridge alone if it were that simple, weeks ago.

If Bruce had still been in town, he’d have suspected that asshole was up to something, but he’d flitted merrily away to Amity Park. Which… was still concerning, but Jason figured that his magic knight sense or whatever would at least give him some sense of how immediate the danger was.

This didn’t feel distant, like something all the way in Bumfuck, Idaho. This felt close, immediate, and the way Danny was acting? Only made him more sure.

Which meant the threat to Danny was probably Danny himself, surprising precisely no one and least of all one regent of Time.

So what the hell was Jason supposed to do about it? Other than not put up with the prevaricating.

Obviously Danny wasn’t going to just take it lying down, though. He was already half a Wayne that way.

“Hey! If I’m the king, don’t I get to decide what we do!” He argued half heartedly, still following Jason down the aisle.

Jason stuck his tongue out at him over his shoulder.

“Be grateful I’m letting you pick the vegetables.”

Danny opened his mouth on what was sure to be an utterly scathing retort (not), and was immediately side tracked by something at the end of the aisle. Which he immediately snatched up three boxes of.

“Oh no way I didn’t think these were real! I’m picking these!”

Jason fielded one on its way past, and glared at the cheap cardboard box.

“Lucky Charms pancake mix? Fucking seriously?” He asked incredulously, turning the box to look for nutritional information. Because he liked horror fiction.

(And a little bit to mock Danny’s earlier bullshit.)

Danny snatched the box out of his hand and added another two to the cart on good measure.

“Hey, fuck you, I was craving the hell out of exactly these way back when you went to put Tuck’s name on the gala list! This is a gift from the universe to make up for my shitty life and I will not be denied!” He declared dramatically, even throwing up an arm in full Shakespearian declamation.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Jason scooped up three of the boxes, now turning the sceptical glare on Danny.

“Dude, if you want pancakes that bad, I’ll make them myself. This is just an overpriced marketing gimmick!” He shook one of the boxes for good measure.

Danny snatched that one back right away too and stuck his tongue out at him.

“Listen, I’ll take you up on that too, but I’m getting these! If I only wanted marshmallow pancakes I could make those myself, I need the soulless crunch of Lucky Charms!”

And alright, Jason’s aura reading was definitely still off (at least around Bruce), but he was pretty sure he was getting better at projecting specific words and feelings. Because he managed to project some combination of disbelief and garlic powder hard enough that Danny punched him on the arm.

“That was literally one time!”

“And I don’t want garlic pancakes,” Jason shot back, mildly surprised at how much the punch actually hurt.

Danny stuck his tongue out at him and went for the display of boxes again. Rolling his eyes, Jason scooped the other man over his shoulder instead, hauling him and the cart away.

“Fine, fine! Get your boxes of garbage, you fuckin’ raccoon, but you don’t need the whole stand and we’re leaving,” he declared firmly, one hand still firmly pinning a wriggly fuck and trying not to think about how optional Danny’s bones were.

Danny grumbled something unintelligible but went limp (not no-bones limp though) and let Jason carry him to the cashier. Who smiled as she checked them out, but didn’t comment on Jason unloading the cart or bagging their supplies one-handed.

Danny gave a feeble wriggle of protest, both when they reached the register and when they left, but subsided quickly back into a sulk each time.

Which… convinced Jason that there was something wrong more than calmed him. Danny wasn’t one to miss an opportunity to tussle. Lie low until someone let down their guard, sure. Give up? No.

When Danny even let himself be tossed onto the back of the bike without complaint, Jason made up his mind.

They weren’t going back to the dorms. They were going back to one of his safe houses again. If Danny noticed before Jason pulled into a garage distinctly not near the university, he didn’t comment.

Hell, all he actually said when unloading the groceries was a terribly blasé “so is this a kidnapping then?” To which Jason obviously responded “yes now shut up”.

Luckily there wasn’t much perishable in their bags, and it fit in the slightly beat up fridge that had definitely been washed since the last time he stored human body parts in it (probably).

Danny took his kidnapping with good grace, flopping onto the only slightly beaten up couch to watch Jason fuss over the fridge. In between playing with his fingers.

Because he was definitely still procrastinating.

Leaving everything that wasn’t likely to go off bagged, Jason dropped onto the couch beside him and stuck a finger in his ear.

“Now tell me what the hell you want to talk about.”

Danny hesitated for a moment, visibly torn, and Jason pointedly licked his finger and held it up as a visual threat.

“No bullshit Danny. I was a fucking Robin, I know when some dipshit engineering student is trying to lie to me.”

Danny squirmed a moment longer, but caved when Jason reached menacingly for his ear again.

“Okay, okay! It’s… it’s not actually a big deal, alright? I’m just blowing it up in my head into something it really isn’t, and yeah, being a dipshit.” He gave Jason a self deprecating grin, and Jason gave him the respect of three seconds of consideration.

Then resumed his attack on Danny’s ears.

“That’s not an answer, asshole!”

This time Danny made an actual attempt to fend him off, and Jason was a little surprised by how strong he was. Sure, Danny’d easily hauled him around plenty, but that was when he’d been cooperating.

That was very different from Danny just grabbing his arm and Jason… completely failing to even budge him. He couldn’t even twist free, Danny’s grip was immovable as a rock.

Being hot also wasn’t going to make Jason any less worried, though, so he nobly ignored the way that made his insides squirm. Sobered when he realized that Danny’s smile had faded.

He was worrying his lower lip instead, and let Jason go when he pulled away more gently.

“This is not reassuring,” Jason prodded, settling in to sit beside him.

Danny gave him another attempt at a smile, still far too worried to be convincing.

“Yeah, that’s kinda the problem. I’ve been turning it over in my head all day, and like I said, it’s really not a big deal… but there’s no way to say it that doesn’t make it sound like a big deal.”

Jason raised an eyebrow at that, but did not react further. Because he was a mature adult, who could be calm about things, even when Danny was being an ominous piece of shit.

“Maybe there’s a reason for that?” He offered sceptically, and this time Danny swatted at him with all the force of a baby kitten. Stark contrast from the immovable grip, but Jason wasn’t going to guess why.

“Oh, shut up. Look, it’s just…” he subsided into silence again.

Jason considered him, this time not just with the hyper-observant eye of a Robin, but with his aura too. He was more used to reading Danny, and Danny actually communicated his emotions.

Kinda.

When he didn’t have to use words.

Which Jason wasn’t criticizing for the obvious (massively hypocritical) reasons.

It was confused at first, tangled and muddied on the surface. Jason took a breath too, settling into the silence, and stopped pushing. Let the right feelings come to him.

Regret. Danny regretted saying anything? Regretted letting Jason know anything at all? Little shit.

Guilt. No guess there, really, but Jason knew all about randomized guilt attacks.

Reluctance. And he didn’t need any magical fucking powers to guess that one, thanks. And underneath it all…

Yearning. Fear. That, at least, was more reassuring; Danny did actually want to tell him. And the fear didn’t even catch and snarl at Jason’s core, so he… didn’t think it was a fear of danger.

No points for guessing that either. He was scared of how Jason might react to whatever the fuck he was all knotted up about. Maybe of how he was already reacting; with no fucking clues, Jason couldn’t begin to guess just how concerned he should actually be.

Or what Danny could be afraid that he’d do.

Well, statistically speaking, Danny probably wasn’t scared that Jason would just. Be fucking chill. About whatever this crap was. Because that didn’t usually freak people out, not because Jason wasn’t usually chill about pretty much everything (the Pit’s lack of chill was not his fault and totally did not count).

Taking another breath, a little surprised that it was only the second since, Jason calmed down. Forcibly. Because winding Danny up more wasn’t going to help. He tried to project calm-understanding-acceptance, although he was pretty sure just fucking do it was sneaking in too.

Danny was quiet for another long moment, not even looking in Jason’s direction let alone meeting his eyes. Which was why Jason knew exactly what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth.

“I’ll… look, I’ll tell you in the morning, alright? Promise.”

Jason rolled his eyes. Like he wasn’t an expert in exactly this kind of shifty bullshit.

“Right, so whatever dumbass shit you’re doing goes down tonight. Good to know,” he snarked back, and Danny tossed both hands into the air.

“The dumbass part is not going down tonight, I don’t even know if I’m going to be doing the dumbass part yet!” He protested. Futilely.

Jason raised an eyebrow at him, waiting a few seconds after Danny had quieted. Just to prove a point.

At least he’d admitted part of it was going to be a dumbass decision. That was a start.

“So what is going down tonight then?” Jason prodded, once Danny was sufficiently squirming.

Danny puffed up his cheeks, clearly considering another smart ass retort, and surprised Jason a little by blowing it all out with a sigh of his own.

“Tonight, I see if it’s even worth trying the dumbass part. I’m not going to be in any physical danger,” he added quickly, raising both hands and rolling his eyes like he didn’t run around the shady parts of Gotham for fun and no profit, “honestly, the worst that’s gonna happen is I have to deal with some home truths. Nothing can hurt me, I’m fine.”

Jason noted the qualifier. Nodded down the hall towards what passed for a bedroom.

“Then you won’t mind spending the night to be sure.”

Not like it’d put him out; he’d not had any plans for the night, beyond more practice on going intangible at will… and more importantly, also becoming tangible at will.

Danny grimaced at their surroundings.

“Dude, this place is a wreck. I don’t even want you spending the night here,” he joked feebly. And deflated a bit when Jason just stared at him. Sighed heavily.

“Look, it’s not gonna make any difference where I sleep, or where you sleep, cuz nothing’s going to happen! That you can do anything about,” he added almost under his breath, and Jason fought back a wave of something hot and green that felt like jealousy-anger-denial-concern-offence all at once.

Because that was different from Danny wanting to run off on his own where Jason couldn’t protect him. That was Danny thinking that Jason wasn’t capable of protecting him. And that hurt.

“So what happens if it all goes wrong?” He asked quickly when Danny flinched, clearly reading all that and more from his aura. Well, tough titties for him, Jason’s pecs were rock hard and they weren’t gonna talk about it.

For a moment, Danny was definitely about to argue. Jason could all but taste the words lining up to be said. Then he sighed and flopped in against Jason, aura a gentle apology that made absolutely nothing better.

“That’s what I’m saying, man. There is literally nothing that can go wrong. I’m gonna go to sleep, I’m gonna have a dream, Nocturn’s gonna hook me up with a favour and then we both wake up in the morning. Nocturn can’t even make me fall asleep or stay asleep, and he doesn’t want the damn crown any more than I do.”

A wry smile tugged at Danny’s lips, and he reached up without looking to poke a finger into Jason’s mouth.

“And even if he did, I can fucking take him. I kicked his ass when I was fourteen and a nobody. There’s literally no risk here… besides hearing something I don’t wanna hear. But hey, what’s life without a little more emotional damage?”

Jason considered this, reasonably and maturely, like an adult, and bit Danny’s finger. With it out of his mouth, he gave the scrawny king another gentle nudge.

He definitely didn’t believe Danny was telling him everything. But he could read enough honesty through everywhere they were touching to know that Danny did also believe everything he was telling him.

“And you’ll tell me everything in the morning?” He prodded warily.

Didn’t actually smile at the wave of relief which coursed through the whole apartment as Danny finally relaxed.

“For sure. And then I’ll decide if I do the dipshit part.”

“We’ll decide,”Jason corrected firmly.

Danny snorted.

“Hey, I’m your king. If I wanna be a dipshit I can be a dipshit.”

“You may be King Dipshit all you want, but you’re not doing it alone,” Jason shot back, reluctantly pulling out a brand new trump card Frostbite had let slip last time. Definitely not smirking as he said it. “So you’ll be bringing a brand new baby ghost into whatever brand of dipshit you’re doing.”

Tensed to argue with whatever he said (although still more playfully than he’d been before), Danny inflated for a moment, then deflated with a hefty sigh and slumped.

“Oh that’s so not fucking fair.”

“I’ll tell Lady Gotham on you,” Jason added for good measure, with a vicious triumph.

“She’ll tell you not to go with me!” Danny protested, still utterly futilely.

Lady Gotham looked after her own. Not one part of that included even vaguely discouraging them from throwing themselves face first into danger.

She’d push him in, if she thought it needed doing.

“No she won’t.”

Danny groaned heavily and lifted himself up solely so that he could flop harder and heavier onto Jason. With, yeah, all the weight of a wet baby kitten. Jason didn’t even give him the satisfaction of a huff of air, which did make him smile even if it was reluctantly.

“Alright, fuck you. Can we stay at one of your good places instead, if we’re still doing totally unnecessary slumber parties? I wasn’t kidding, this is a fucking dump. And I live in a dorm. You coulda mentioned this place when we first started sprucing up your haunt, cuz it desperately needs it.”

And listen.

Robin training.

Lived with Bruce.

Even slightly self aware.

Jason knew exactly what deflection sounded like, even when done far more expertly. It was a choice to let Danny get away with it.

But knight pact or no, Danny was his friend, not his boss. And that also meant Jason wasn’t his dad, or anyone who could actually force him to do anything.

If it actually got Danny staying overnight, he’d do it. Soothe the part of him that fretted even with Danny’s assurances, make it easier to tell him in the morning, give him a chance to try and feed Danny decent pancakes over soulless commercial profiteering? All wins.

So he shrugged.

“Hey, this one’s closest to the campus. You got any morning classes?” He’d been intending to let Danny go back to his dorm (after he talked), so he hadn’t cared that it was one of his less cared for haunts.

For an actual sleepover though? Well, they’d already had one at one of his better places, nearly had another at his actual home. They could go wherever Danny wanted.

Danny made a face like he’d said something weird (or he’d forgotten he had classes), then pulled out his phone to check his schedule.

“Nah, I got a tutorial at eleven thirty but I can probably skip it,” he said a moment later, shooting Jason a wary look. Like he knew there was a trap in Jason agreeing with him, but wasn’t sure how to counter it.

Jason raised an eyebrow at him.

“What class?”

Danny rolled his eyes right back, glanced at his phone again, and stuffed it in his pocket.

“Just Mechanical Engineering. We’ll be starting a major project next week, but I know what I’m doing already and the prof cleared it. You can just drop me off at the dorm if you’re that worried,” he added, slightly smug with this new suggestion.

Jason considered it for a moment, mostly for the theatrics. Then he shrugged. He’d never willingly skipped a class, but it had still happened more than once. But he could still call Danny’s bluff.

“Sure, I’ll bring a pillow and camp out on the floor.” He’d never been back to Danny’s room, largely because other than the bed, there was barely enough floor for Danny to lie down on, let alone someone built like Jason.

Danny’s eyes narrowed, and Jason grinned. Try and bluff a bat; they were the kings of commit to the bit. Jason could and would squish himself to sleep damn near anywhere.

Clearly unable to deny that, Danny finally rolled his eyes and flopped back against the couch cushions instead.

“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. All the groceries are in the fridge,” he added when Jason stuck his tongue out at him.

True, but not an issue. Untangling them enough to get up, Jason made for the kitchen.

“And they’ll go back in the fridge at my place.” He hesitated barely a second, but he’d already made up his mind, hadn’t he? As soon as the subject came up. “The place at the library nice enough for you?”

It was his home. Sort of. His real home, or the one he wanted to be, except that it still didn’t feel like it yet. Because he wanted to keep it nice, clean perfect and unspoiled, so he never really used it.

Having Danny over to watch truly awful sitcoms in the New Year had kinda highlighted that while all his nicest stuff was there, it wasn’t going to be a home until he’d lived in it. And having Danny there had helped start that too.

And sure, it’d be funny to use all the good stuff on Danny; give the world’s most reluctant king the royal treatment.

Little fuck was already pulling faces again, squirming on the couch.

“Man, that place is way too nice… I was scared to touch the floors.”

Which was kinda exactly what Jason had thought too. But he had to get over that part eventually; he could clean pretty much anything up. But living was messy, and apparently only more so for the half dead.

So he flipped Danny off.

“You can float. Just don’t cover anything in garlic powder this time,” he added with a snicker.

Danny flipped him off back, grinning reluctantly.

“And again, fuck you that was one time!” He protested with extra drama.

“Unless you make it a habit,” Jason shot back, restuffing groceries into bags. Danny hesitated a moment longer, then visibly caved.

Felt like agreeing to wait for morning had been the right move. They could both make concessions.

“Alright, but swing by the campus first. I wanna grab a change of clothes for tomorrow, I’m not doing another walk of shame,” he teased with a sly smirk, and Jason’s heart skipped.

For no reason.

Totally unnecessary.

It wasn’t like the memory of Danny running around in his clothes for a day was going to spark anything in him. Wait, actually…

“Yeah, you can grab my shirt too, I need it back,” Jason said with a snicker.

Danny’d gotten most of his stuff back to him within a week. Except the Soup Powered Fuck Machine shirt, which he’d worn to more than one of their adventures through the city.

Jason was well aware he wasn’t getting that shirt back. He even agreed it was much funnier on Danny.

(And, well, ridiculously oversized, which meant that once jackets and sweaters came off Danny still tended to tie it into a crop top like a country girl in her boyfriend’s shirt. It was cute.

Jason was maybe considering giving in and letting Steph get him in a crop top.)

Sure enough, Danny stuck his tongue out at him, reluctantly hauling himself from the couch.

“No idea what you’re talking about, I gave you all of your clothes back weeks ago.” The odds that Danny would bring that shirt along, just to wear tomorrow? High.

Chuckling softly, Jason grabbed the bags.

“Oh, then I must be mistaken. Clearly all of your clothes are actually the right size, right?” He asked sarcastically.

Danny nodded archly anyway, as regal as an offended cat as he flounced to the door.

“The right size is whatever size I want them to be,” he declared airily, and Jason… couldn’t argue with that. And then just as Jason had locked the door behind them and was reshouldering the bags, Danny turned back suddenly, all airs and graces apparently forgotten.

“Oh, and I need a thigh selfie from you. There’s some nerds in my class totally obsessed with Red Hood, but obviously yours are better.”

Jason didn’t quite drop anything breakable. But that was only because they hadn’t bought anything breakable.

Boxes of Lucky Charms pancakes spilled across the floor.

———————

And there we have it! 😁 our first timeskip, a couple plot beats all set up, and maaaaybe a little hope that by the end of next chapter we’ll have one less secret!

And Bruce is improving! Ish. Look how good he did though, said sorry and everything! And now he’s being subjected to Vlad and the Fentons, which can only possibly go well!

#dfdali #danny fenton dead and loving it #dp x dc #dead on main ship #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #chapter 19 part 2 #the finished core

62 notes · View notes