#will be haunting them every step of the way oh I’m going insane over this

[mintmentos]

There’s something delicious about the simultaneous unfolding of léo’s relationship with carfax and the tentative relationship with claire, and him being superimposed onto her in a way that makes it impossible for léo to tell them apart

[yuzurins]

# to tell you the truth

07 — you're being jealous

smau masterlist ∗ previous chapter ∗ next chapter

“sure, let’s get one for us all.”

if rin thought he was going crazy from not being able to believe what he was hearing, then you were absolutely insane for agreeing to bachira’s offer. for a person who was admittedly petty, it was way out of your comfort zone for you to voluntarily sit with someone that haunted every single one of your highschool memories. 

you could see it on his face, too. despite him trying to hide his distraught, you were able to make out even the slightest downturn of his mouth; he was really uncomfortable sharing a table.

isagi and chigiri gave each other a look after sensing the tension between you two. 

isagi cautiously takes a look at you to see if you noticed their texting, but you were staring intensely at your fingernails to even see them take out their phones.

“y/n, you’re going to get wrinkles.” isagi pokes your forehead, though he regrets doing so immediately after as he can feel rin glaring holes in the side of his head now.

snapping out of your daze, you put your hand on your forehead and frown at him. “yoi, that actually hurt!”

“yoi?” rin mumbles. taken aback by what you’ve just heard, you try and get a glimpse at his face,  but he’s averting his gaze and staring at his hands. 

“yes?” isagi answers. he’s equally as confused as the other boy.

“short for yoichi.” you furrow your brows. “what’s wrong with that?”

a frown appears on rin’s face, but he doesn’t lift his head. “nothing. it sounds like a girl’s name.”

“what! no it doesn’t!” isagi exclaims in defense. “are you saying i act like a girl?”

“i’m just saying, people would definitely automatically assume you’re a girl with a nickname like that.”

“it’s literally the first word of my given name? what do you mean by that?”

“yeah, and it sounds like a girl’s–”

“what’s the problem with that?” crossing your arms, you glare at isagi and rin, receiving a guilty look from both of them. 

awkward silence befalls the table as your remark shuts everyone up. 

it was more than obvious why rin had decided to question your nickname for isagi, but what right does he have to be jealous? does he think he still has a say in what you do with your life?  it’s not like it was a bad nickname. at least his name allows for him to have a nickname. at least he’s happy whenever he gets called a nickname. 

bachira coughs and breaks the silence. “it’s okay! i like it, yoi.” he smiles. “i should go order now.’

you wonder if he’s saying that to get out of this mess, but regardless, still nod in acknowledgement.

“oh! i should go get my food too.” chigiri chimes. he looks to the boy sitting next to him and you can tell he’s trying to improve the situation. “rin, you coming?”

“no. i’ll stay.” rin grumbles, and you roll your eyes.

chigiri shrugs. “okay… suit yourself.”

now it’s just you, rin and isagi remaining at the table, starting yet another staring contest to happen between the three of you, so you take matters into your own hands.

“itoshi, if you’re going to be jealous–” you start, but rin cuts you off. he widens his eyes and slams his palm on the table.

“can we talk about this privately?” he whisper-yells, struggling to look at you in the eye properly. 

you raise a brow, but agree reluctantly and get up to follow rin out of the store. isagi gives you an understanding look as you return an apologetic one and mouth the words, “i’ll be quick”.

the bell from the door jingles as the two of you step out and walk over to sit at the bench in front of the store. despite being ready to tell rin off in the store, the tension in the atmosphere with him alone renders you speechless. the words are right on your tongue, but it feels like his intimidating pressure constraints your throat from letting it out.

much to your surprise (and relief), rin breaks the silence. “i can’t believe you actually agreed to share a table.” he exhales, as if he is talking to himself. “you, the one who didn’t even want to sell books to me.”

you scoff audibly. “what? you’re the one who pretended to not know me first.”

he blinks in disbelief. “what did you just say?”

“what?”

“oh my god.”

you look over and rin has his head in his hands, but you’re beyond confusion as to why he reacted like this. “what??” you question, but instead it comes out like a demand for an answer.

“you know what- forget it. it’s not worth explaining to you even.” rin sighs and you’re even more confused. “go home and reflect on it yourself. now tell me why you needed to talk to me in the first place.”

curiosity clouds your train of thought but seeing as how rin doesn’t want to explain and that pressing him won’t do anything, you go on with your original plan.

“it’s obvious you’re being jealous.” you say, directly, and continue before he can interrupt. “but bachira doesn’t know about…” you point to you and rin, before shuddering and saying, “us, so i am asking you to refrain from doing so because it’s uncomfortable.”

despite noticing your disgust, rin carries on nonchalantly. “i know he doesn’t know.”

“so why do you keep acting weird!?”

“i’m just saying my true thoughts.”

you groan. “you’re so emotionally unaware sometimes.”

there’s a pause until rin retorts back. he looks away before speaking. “and you’re the biggest hypocrite to ever exist.” 

“okay, end of conversation.” you clench your fist and stand up to return back inside, because arguing with rin was like talking to a stone wall. he’s unbelievably stubborn, but so were you. 

he scoffs and follows behind you shortly after.

throughout the course of the hour-long lunch, rin was unexpectedly quiet. he didn’t speak unless spoken to, and he spent his time eating his food rather than engaging in meaningless conversation. to an outsider perspective, it could look like he was listening to the rest of his friends talk, but in reality, he was deep in thought, questioning the conversation he had had with you outside. 

he can’t believe the audacity you had to say that he was the one pretending to be strangers first when you were the one who originally ghosted him all those years back. back when rin had given up on love after his brother, back when he was at his worst after his mom’s accident, and back when simply waking up every day was getting hard for him, you were the highlight of his days. you, a mere 17-year-old high school student, who rin unknowingly let hold and dictate his everyday life. but although you had built his life up from rock bottom, that was the sole reason why it completely destroyed him when you left. 

just as rin had started to believe in love again, all that belief that had been built after sae’s desertion came crashing down, resulting in a state much worse than before. he was a fool, to experience betrayal once but to let you play him exactly the same way as he had been before.

these thoughts couldn’t stop running in his head at that small table, during the lunch he never wanted to have, with the people he never wanted to meet. he couldn’t stop thinking about all those memories you shared with him and the period of absolute loneliness he felt after them, all whilst you were sitting a foot away from him, without an inkling of worry or doubt.

though not everyone wasn’t without a worry. just as everyone was leaving and walking back to campus together, rin notices one approaching him.

“hey rin,” bachira pauses in his steps, catching up to where rin was walking behind the group. “i hope i’m not overstepping, but is everything okay?”

rin blinks. he wasn’t expecting bachira out of everyone to notice. if anything, he thought that bachira would be the one to blurt something out to try and tease him. “yeah, why?”

bachira gives him a unconvinced look. “you’ve been uncharacteristically quiet, and you looked really deep in thought the entire lunch.”

“i’m fine,” he lies. “am i not usually quiet?”

the other boy hums as he skips ahead, walking backwards to look at rin. “no, not really.”

“oh.”

“or well! usually, you’re like the passive type of quiet, but today, you were like… the sad type of quiet.” bachira notes, and rin is surprised. 

he ends up laughing at the shorter boy’s concern. “thanks, i guess.” 

bachira tilts his head at his response. “hm? why thanks?”

“nothing. i’m fine, don’t worry about me.” rin smiles. “now go back to the rest of the group, they miss you already.”

“huh?” bachira continues to question, but he gets pushed forward by rin before he can get a response. “rin, you’re scaring me!”

“i said, don’t worry about it!” 

“okay,” bachira giggles. “as long as you’re smiling now!”

notes: HII IT'S BEEN SO LONG. I'M SORRY FOR DISAPPEARING PLEASE TAKE THIS SHITTY CHAPTER AS I GET BACK INTO THE GROOVE OF WRITING !!!!!!! it's just simple dialogue i'm not going to write anything literature worthy pls

pairing ∗ itoshi rin x f!reader

synopsis — all you wanted was a peaceful and productive uni life, but despite your pleas, your plans start crumbling when the star of the football team, itoshi rin, begins to beat you in every aspect possible. as you confront the inevitable, what happens when you uncover secrets behind an unforgettable event from the past?

taglist ∗ send an ask / comment to be added or removed

@kitorin @starthz @jleijl @rintosei @strawberrypockybox @beanxiv @ode2rin @h4nman @hanmastattoos @kaitfae @idk-bro-gay @piichuu @wishiknewwhatiwasdoingwithmylife @invictax @chaosinanutshell @exatse @kirameki-kumo @heartsoji @mellozhi @certaindreampost @limerence-lu @nutsinspector @kawaii-angelanne @rroxii @saesins @anngelllla @anurst @y-sabell-a @hellothere9597 @evilenchantresss @msameikanevaeh @saesofficialwife @reiners-milkbiddies @f1yh1gh @celioderso @amenial @wooasecret @kascar-chronicle @izonoi @biaonww @blissblossom (if your name is in bold it means i can't tag you)

[sanjoongie]

𐊇𝒆𝞪r𝗹𝟈𝘴𝔰 𝘊𝒽𝒶𝛐ꜱ

🏴‍☠️A/N: this is in retaliation to space pirate hwa you threw at me and all the other 'suffer with topaz' tags missy @smallfrye 🏴‍☠️Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x Reader (f) 🏴‍☠️Au: pirate au, ghost au, historical au 🏴‍☠️Genre: smut, angst 🏴‍☠️Trope: strangers to lovers 🏴‍☠️Warnings: mentions of death, fire, strangulation > kinks: fingering (f), dom!wooyoung, sub!reader, temperature play? (woo is a cold ghost, you're a hot human), penetrative sex without a barrier, slight begging kink, slight praise kink 🏴‍☠️Rated: 18+, MDNI 🏴‍☠️Word count: 1,750 🏴‍☠️Summary: You purchase a one way ticket across the Atlantic ocean on a refitted ship to flee the ghosts of your past, only to encounter a new ghost, one who isn't looking to torture you but give you pleasure

You woke up to your entire cabin shaking. You had no idea how, since every item was nailed down on this passenger ship, but it was like your ship was being sucked into a maelstrom and being struck by lightning at the same time. Except, you were calm. Your basin was thrown across the room and smashed next to your head and still you didn't flinch. 

You sat up and wrapped the blankets around you instinctively. It was chaos reincarnated but you did not hear screams from outside of your room. It was completely, oddly, possible that this was only happening in your room. It stopped just as suddenly as it started and when you blinked, everything was back in place like nothing ever happened.

When you woke up the next morning, you listened to the other passengers talk about a good night’s sleep with the lull of the ship rocking them. No one complained about a rocky sleep or a storm. You're not exactly sure what’s going on but you believe you’re being targeted.

Each night you suffer through the same crazy night but sometimes the scenes change. You got chaos, you got carnage, you got terrifying noises that would keep any sane person up. You woke up to observe your surroundings, and to ensure your survival, but you were not shaken by what you watched happen within your cabin. You had been through worse…

The flames lick up the plush curtains, creating otherworldly colors. The hands around your throat tighten and tighten, despite how you claw at them. The light brown eyes above you swirl with insanity. “You and me forever, my love.”

A wisp of dust and light pushed through the door to your cabin and a man walked through it. Well, clearly he wasn’t a man considering the lines around him were fuzzy and unsolid, but he took the form of a man. His ruffled shirt, tight pants and high boots said he was not of the current world but the authority in his step said he was used to giving orders and them being followed.

“Explain to me why you never scream no matter what I do to haunt you?!” The man demanded, fussing with the ruffles at his wrist. He snapped his fingers and the entire room dripped of blood, as if a massacre had occurred while you slept. You stared at him with an even gaze and he rolled his eyes. “This is what I’m talking about! You’re supposed to be scared!”

“I have once lived a hell worse than this,” You informed him. 

Unimpressed eyes scanned over your form. With his tongue between his lips in contemplation, his eyes swept over the curve of your bare shoulder, down to where you held your sheets to modestly cover your chest. “What woman dare sleep in the nude aboard my ship?”

You tilted your head. “Your ship?”

“I am the captain!” The man announced, dramatically sweeping his arms out wide. “Or, I was. Until my stupid crew mutinied and gave themselves up to the navy in hopes of a pardon. They killed me in my own room, you know?” His eyes narrowed down at you. “This room.”

“Oh,” You murmured, “You’re a ghost.”

The man sighed. “A ghost? I am THE Jung Wooyoung, Fearless Chaos, the one who discovered the--” Wooyoung’s tirade stopped as you laid back down and turned your back to him. “Wait a minute, you’re going back to sleep?”

“If you’re not going to throw my things around the room, I’d like to sleep, thank you,” You responded a-matter-of-factly.

The heeled boots of the once-captain clicked across the well-worn wood floor as Wooyoung moved from the door to your bed--his bed. His cold hand held your shoulder and turned your body to make you lie on your back. “You are an intriguing woman,” He muttered to himself. 

You stared up at him patiently, waiting for his next move. Goosebumps covered your skin at his ghostly touch. Wooyoung’s eyes swept over the arch of your eyebrows and the slump of your nose and your lips and he felt something he hadn't felt in perhaps decades since he was killed: lust. He wanted to break your mask and make you show something other than cool disregard for him. He wanted you to fall apart from his touches.

“I am not scared of you,” You said with the slightest tilt of your chin. “Do your worst.”

Wooyoung whipped the blankets off your form and smirked in delight to find your entire body naked underneath. His eyes were eager to discover more of your delightful body. His cool hands traced a wonderful pattern on your skin, the texture unlike anything he has seen before… you winced as he did so, but it was not a wince of pain.

“I am not scared either,” Wooyoung admitted quietly. In fact, his fingers travel past the burn marks and move towards the junction of your thighs. 

Your eyes snapped to his face, almost searching for a mocking quality to it, but there was none to find. Wooyoung has appreciated your burns from that horrible night but he’d much rather provide you pleasure than give you pain. That was a first.

“Yeosang!” You pleaded with a strangled voice. Your fingers look for purchase to pull away his hands from your throat but he’s too strong.

The flames of the fire roaring around you and the flames of lunacy in your beloved's eyes compete with each other. “Don’t fight it,” He murmured in a quiet voice, “Let us enter the afterlife together, my love.”

Wooyoung patiently spread your legs, a hand pushing your thighs apart so that he could have easier access to your cunt. He licked his lips in anticipation. He wished he could taste what was there but at the very least, he could ease the frown between your eyebrows.

You didn't look at Wooyoung but you did tilt your hips in a silent offering. Wooyoung dipped his fingers to the juncture of your thighs and you whined pitifully. Wooyoung swirled his finger, cold against the heat of your pussy, in the slick that gathered there. “So wet,” He observed, before pinching your clit with his other hand. 

The captain ghost played your body like a fiddle. With your clit between his thumb and forefinger, he pinched and rubbed the sensitive flesh there, all the while fucking your cunt with his middle and ring finger of his other hand. The harsh line of pain and pleasure had you floating, small whimpers escaping your lips as Wooyoung gave you something you had not experienced in months.

“Please…” You panted, bucking your hips to meet Wooyoung’s thrusts of his fingers, “More.”

Wooyoung halted both of his hands, pressing one hand to your knee as he turned around to face you. “What else could a miserable ghost of a captain give a lady like you?” His words are gentlemanly but his voice is low and gravelly and sends a shiver down your spine.

You wetted your lips carefully. “Your cock,” you whispered. 

“You women are all the same,” Wooyoung chuckled, “Go on, precious, get on your hands and knees for me. Prepare yourself for my cock.”

Your body almost moved on its own, offering your ass to the ghost captain like you were all his. “Fuck me, Wooyoung,” You whined.

Yeosang, your dead husband, who had set fire to your mansion and almost killed you in the process, slowly began to fade to the far recesses of your mind. The ghost of him haunted you during the day and during the night. But the minute that Wooyoung pushed and grunted, and squeezed his way into your cunt, he dismissed the mental ghost of yours. His cold fingers dug into your hips, the slap of his thighs against your ass a welcome relief to the hotness of your body. The more cold reality Wooyoung brought to you, the further away your demons were driven. 

“Such a divine creature,” Wooyoung praised you. He raised your body so it was flush with his; his chest to your back. His fingers found the burn marks on your body and he traced them with awe. Wooyoung could find no flaw in you, especially the way your cunt took his thrusts. 

“Wooyoung,” You whispered as he kissed the nape of your neck. 

“I can give you the release you need,” Wooyoung promised, tongue sweeping along the skin behind your ear before carefully taking the lobe of your ear between his teeth. 

Wooyoung can’t come, of course, he’s a ghost, but he swore it was as if his dick was alive for you. He didn’t care if he couldn't truly feel your pussy walls clenching down on him. He could hear the moans dropping from your lips and he believed he had discovered his newfound purpose in his afterlife. “I’ll take over this ship again. I’ll make it a ghost ship with a ghost crew. And you will be my figurehead, the lady of the ship. I will bring you untold pleasure and steal all the treasure in the seven seas to drape along your body. And you will remain in my cabin, in my bed, with my head between your legs, my body for your satisfaction.” Wooyoung promised to lay the world at your feet, and after what you had endured, you found that perhaps you’d rather someone burn the world down for you then burn your world down around you.

Wooyoung continued his tirade, fucking you so well, the drag of his cock against your walls pushing you towards a release you had not known you so desperately needed.

“I'll revive the pirate era and I'll make you the queen of the pirates and all will know you for the way you are spoiled. No one would dare look at you in fear I would cut them down.” Your cries were starting to crescendo, so Wooyoung slipped his finger between your outer lips and circled your clit. “I will give you the world for simply making me feel alive again,” Wooyoung whispered almost like a prayer in thanks.

You came, and hard, finally screaming for Wooyoung. He clamped a chilly hand over your mouth so as to not alert anyone of your carnal affairs in his cabin. That secret could come out later, but not before he attempted to lick your cunt and see if he couldn't help that haunted look in your eyes leave permanently.

Special thanks once again to @starlitmark for helping me make such pretty pretty posts for my revenge month!

[fandoms-in-law]

Honey Alive

Summary: Steve asks for the convertible when hush money is being negotiated after the Battle of Starcourt. He gets a little more than expected when the car moves on its own while engineless.

Authors Note: My need to write chaos has been filled for now. This was the winning ship of my crack ship poll and honestly kinda fun to write

/\/\

Steve knew cars, and he loved them. Of course he had a good one, and his parents scoffed at the idea of ever letting him be the one to work on his beamer, but he learnt how, often did small maintenance when they weren’t in town and he could get the car out of view of the neighbours.

Now he was going to use everything he’d learnt and more, because the car Hop had given him to get the kids to Cerberus was not going to scrap under his watch.

It should, seriously, definitely should be scraped and destroyed after being driven full speed into Billy’s car, but no way was Steve letting that happen to such a gem of a car. He was going to repair it and keep it, no matter how odd the looks he got from the agents negotiating hush deals were when he requested it alongside the pay out.

Besides, it’s a 1984 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz Convertible. Steve would be insane to not at least have a go repairing such a beautiful car.

And the car even wanted him to repair it, to work on it.

That did surprise Steve, enough to almost attack with his nail bat when the car rolled after him but stopped once he turned back to it. Cars aren’t meant to move on their own, and there was no way this one should be moving since he’d already asked for the engine to be removed and taken by a local garage to check for any damage and have that repaired separately.

Steve might have some confidence in his ability to repair most of the car, but the engine was not something he’s going to chance doing wrong, especially since getting it wrong could plausibly cause the car to explode.

So when the Eldorado followed his steps it understandably convinced him that weird shit was happening again and they weren’t getting even a few months before fighting for their lives again.

But when the others got there, nothing. Nobody else got the car to react no matter what they tried, and even Steve couldn’t with them there. They checked in every way they could that it wasn’t haunted or following him still and it remained as motionless as a car without a driver should until everyone else had left again.

Then it followed Steve closer to his tool box again, light somehow flashing when he went to remove the bonnet to start smoothing it out.

He decided then to just assume some of the weird shit from the mall had passed over to the car and as long as nothing deadly began happening he’d continue repairing it. Frankly with a car that wanted to be fixed and his willingness to look up car manuals meant it went easily.

/\/\

“That’s not a BMW part. You’re going to break your car, King Steve.” The drawl made Steve jump where he was checking the part he’d found matched the part name on his list and there was the schools dealer leaning against a shelf judging him.

“Good thing it’s not for my car then. This is what I need to fix the baby I’ve got to repair now up.” He rolled his eyes, holding it up and nodding, turning to head off since he wanted to get the Eldorado repaired as soon as he could.

Eddie didn’t let him leave, following curiously. “Oh, Has daddy’s money run dry so you have to get broken second hand cars instead of buying new?”

“I’d assume not, but if you see him please say it’s been 5 months and his lectures aren’t reaching me.” Steve huffed.

“Are you trying to tell me not to ask more? Cause I’m going to ask more.” Eddie laughed, keeping pace as he headed down another aisle, checking his list for the other part he knew needed replacing.

As he glanced over to Eddie, Steve shrugged. “Brought a haunted wreck from the mall ruins. Trying to get it moving without ghostly presence now.”

“Can I use that in a campaign? You sound like a DnD NPC.”

“Knock yourself out, I guess. As long as you don’t expect me to turn up and play the character myself.” Steve side-eyed him, but dismissed the bizarre sentence as Eddie dashes off, excited in a way he hadn’t expected, only yelling a goodbye over his shoulder.

/\/\

“Steve, can we please do something else?” Robin whined from the corner of the garage she’d made him put a sofa. “Or at least play some music while I work on your resume?”

“Sure, sure. I just need to get Honey’s engine reconnected then I can put the bodywork back on. If you can hear music over that then go ahead.” He agreed absently, head buried into the car, tightening a few connections.

Robin gave him a weird look that went unseen. “I’m beginning to think you’re dating that car.” She remarked.

“Eh, Pretty sure it’s alive so might need to check with Honey whether that’s the case.” He called back, stretching his back as he stood up and blinking when the car lights flashed again. “You saw that didn’t you?”

“Yup. I think your car just replied.” She stated sounding stunned.

Steve nodded slowly, “Okay, known it to do that before but never with anyone else around.”

“I remember. Thought you were having a weird trauma reaction and Joyce seriously considered getting Murray to confiscate the car for your healing.” Robin agreed. “Why is it doing anything though?”

“It wants to be repaired.” Steve muttered, thinking out loud from the times the car had reacted. “And wants to stay yellow as it literally reversed when I thought about changing the colour. Doesn’t mind if I get a different colour leather for the seats though. Not sure Honey’s views on dating me though. Can you flash once if you want to or twice if you don’t?”

The cars lights flashed once.

Steve looked over his shoulder to share a look with Robin. “How the fuck do I date a car?”

“Don’t know, but please don’t tell me repairing or mechanical work on it counts as sex for a car. I’m not going to stay if it’s voyeuristic.” She replied, words spilling as one idea came into her head. Thankfully two flashes of lights stopped her from going into a full ramble.

Decidedly not thinking on that more, Steve had another thought that got him snickering. “I don’t think Dustin meant cars when he said I could get all the girls and more if I helped investigate that Russian message.”

That got Robin giggling along with him for a while before he returned to working on repairing his new partner.

/\/\

“Okay, Honey. I think that’s you as repaired as you’re going to get.” Steve said, patting the hood of the car happily.

Today Robin had chosen to stay home, knowing how close to finishing the repairs Steve was and having learnt that Honey had times when it preferred to be alone with Steve. She guessed that once the repair was done he’d get taken somewhere on the first drive so made him promise to keep a walkie in his car just in case.

The car’s lights slowly came on then off as if imitating eyes blinking open. It reversed and manoeuvred around until the drivers door was beside Steve which popped open when it was stationary.

“Okay Honey, you take me somewhere nice, okay?” He chuckled, climbing in and belting up but doing nothing to start driving except inserting the keys.

This wasn’t like any relationship he’d ever imagined, and frankly wondered how anyone would imagine it, but he was definitely enjoying the adventure of it and how seemingly safe it was.

[grayscale-sparks]

Hiya im the person whos been commenting on man in the mirror recently (TheSkyIsFalling) I’ve caught up with the dreamlands and oh my god PAIN, PAIN AND ANGUISH!

How could you do this to me. Next chapter is gonna kill me i swear.

Anyways i loved Egypt, the epsilon team will forever have my heart i am mourning losing them.

If i met Florence Sharp i would just combust instantly. Thank you for doing the lords work and adding butch women to malevolent.

The fucking pyramid, the motherfucking pyramid, fucking, the fucking black pharaoh, Nepren fucking ka, fucking nyarlathotep avatar, mother fuck holy gee golly goshing FUCK /pos

As you can tell i had an extremely normal reaction to that. 

It definitely didnt do anything to the Noel/Kayne enjoyer in me. Nooope not at all…

Idk if i read this the wrong way but was Nyarlathotep trapped in the pyramid somehow???? 

Did Noel let him out??!??!?!?!!? 

Going a tad insane over this, thank you.

OKOKOKOKOK THE KING 

WHAT THE FUCK

FANCY MY BELOVED TAKEN FROM ME TOO SOON 

I miss her :((

You brand Charlie? You brand Charlie Dowd like cattle? Oh! Oh! Jail for the king in yellow! Jail for longer one thousand fucking years when i get him!!

Well done i havent wanted to kill a fictional character this much in a while. 

No but seriously i hate him so much, you really hammer the point home of yeah the dreamlands are not a fun place for Charlie AND ITS ONLY YEAR 5!

Yeah, wonderful fic so far thank you very much for writing it. Its cannon to me until God (or Harlan) says otherwise <3

sorry for the long ass post

hi!! I’m glad you like the story so far, you truly make my day!

and I’m very glad you liked Egypt. That one was the toughest for me to write because of how much we don’t know. Creating places and plots and characters from scratch is something I love doing, but I don’t know how well it placed itself in a fic setting.

anyway! Kayne! Basically he wasn’t really trapped there, he was just hovering where he generally knew the Blackstone to be. It was kind of like a hope he could break through/someone could get it for him. I couldn’t really dive into it because Kayne kills every version of himself and Charlie has alot of other stuff going on.

And then there was, of course, the king. I wanted him to be well and truly evil. He’s what’s haunted Charlie since the beginning, through Adam and Egypt and every evil following his steps.

And (last thing promise) Fancy! She was a last minute addition but one I’m very fond of. She’s meant to mirror Nurse Lily for John, as well as a dancer in Adam Fry’s backstory (if I decide to write that).

five years to go! I hope you enjoy them as they come out 💛

[eurydicees]

YOU WROTE 18K BY HAND?? i am so impressed i need to ask what you are writing about. holy shit u are like a god

oh my god ok THANK YOU for asking !!! also in the time since you asked this, i have written another 1,400 words by hand. Anyways. under the cut bc this got. too long.

so this was originally for the 50k big bang project, but it was cancelled so i'm gonna go ahead and talk about it publicly now. SO.

the sparknotes summary: it is an iwaoi post-canon coming of age relationship study !! it's about iwaizumi in california and oikawa in argentina and how they navigate their friendship while long distance. it quite literally walks through every step of their journey from graduation aoba johsai to meeting again at the 2020 olympics....the sheer amount of time i'm covering is why its currently ~88,000 words LMAO.

this fic is literally my little monster. it was supposed to be 30k. then it was supposed to be 50k MAX. it is now 88 thousand words long. anyways though i'm enjoying it.

it's a slow burn get together, but it's also a break up & make up fic. the idea is that they dated in high school and then had to break up bc of the distance--but i think they're probably going to get together in the end. the middle is a whole lot of them growing up and figuring out how they can have a healthy friendship even as adults and dealing with loneliness and adulthood on their own and really coming into themselves as people by the time that they get to the olympics.

i just finished parts two and three, which is iwaizumi's years at university. here are some BANGER lines, if i do say so myself:

after oikawa's visit to california, when he has to leave again:

Oikawa smiles at him, and with that, he takes the handle of his suitcase and walks into the airport. Farther and farther and farther away, until he’s disappeared from sight and Iwaizumi is standing alone again, next to the blinking red hazard lights and the sound of other cars’ wheels on cracked concrete.  He gets back into the car. He doesn’t really want to talk to Rich right now, or any one of his other friends or teammates. He kind of just wants to be alone.  So he turns off the hazard lights and puts the car in drive and then he takes the long way home.

when iwaizumi is talking to his friends about oikawa:

“It’s not a big deal,” he tries. “We’ve both moved on. It wouldn’t have lasted while we’re in different countries anyway.”  He does not mention that Oikawa had asked him to wait. He does not mention that he is—he is waiting, and he doesn’t plan on stopping. He doesn’t plan on breaking that promise to come home.  “Ah,” Em says, subdued.

during a drunken NYE call:

Iwaizumi can hear the flinch in Oikawa’s voice. “You miss me?”  “I’m not saying it again,” Iwaizumi says, and it sounds like it’s supposed to be angry, but it just comes out tired and sad. “Of fucking course I do. You’re—” “I’m what?”  Iwaizumi takes a shuddering breath. “You’re so far away, Tooru. You’re so far away and it makes me—fuck, fuck! I shouldn’t have called. I should—” “No!” Oikawa says it instantly, desperately, cutting off any idea that Iwaizumi should go. Which is good because as much as Iwaizumi wants to escape the embarrassment of this phone call, he doesn’t actually want to hang up. He doesn’t actually want to leave Oikawa now. “Stay. Please. Stay with me.”  Iwaizumi pauses for a moment, swallowing down Oikawa’s words and turning them over in his head before saying anything else. “Okay. I’ll stay.” 

anywayssssssss!!! it's been REALLY fun to write, but it's also like. an insane labor of love. this fic was my project for nanowrimo july of LAST YEAR, and it's my project again this year. isn't that crazy. so so so much has gone into this fic its literally driving me up the wall. it haunts my every waking moment and also my dreams.

but yeah i don't have wifi where i'm living for the summer, so i've been writing everything by hand and then typing it all up when i can use a hotspot on my phone. i also have the most amount of free time in my life than i have , like, EVER had in my non-child life. so i get to spend so much time writing, which has been sooooo fun. i am begging the universe to keep me from being burnt out bc i'm genuinely having the time of my life working on this.

ok phone's about to die gotta go. thank you for asking i want to talk about this SO bad. please feel free to ask me. please enable me i'm begging you

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

A Heartbeat Away | Damian Wayne

✦ pairing — older!Damian Wayne x gender neutral!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 2.7k

✦ based off the song I Should’ve Kissed You by One Direction

✦ summary — Damian is haunted by the fact that he only said good night when he should have kissed you.

✦ warnings — light angst, mentions of pregnancy (a minor character is pregnant), mentions of food and beverages, fluff.

✦ author's note i — randomly remembered my obsession with this song and couldn’t get it out of my head.

✦ author's note ii — the parts in italics are flashbacks.

════════════════════════

Ever since he started living with Jason, Damian found himself straying away from the things that held him back.

His life would never be normal, but in hindsight, he could admit things weren’t as bad.

The fallout with his father came crashing down in the worst moment possible — Dick was dead and his relationship with Tim wasn’t the best.

As little as he knew Jason, he was sure he could trust him so he asked for his help instead of somebody else’s.

And Jason didn’t say no. Whether he had the heart to do it or not was irrelevant because he still took Damian in and helped him find a job.

He hated said job.

‘It’s a job,’ you had told him, ‘you’re not supposed to like it.’

You.

Damian rarely stopped thinking about you. Calling it infatuation felt like an understatement, and yet he couldn’t find a better word to describe the whirlwind of emotions you gave him.

He still remembered the day he met you for the first time.

Jason paced in the living room, perking up every time he heard a noise outside the apartment.

You’re driving me insane,” Damian said from the small dining table.

”Roy’s late.”

”Why are you surprised?”

Jason glared at him.

Both of them heard somebody stand on the other side of the door. Their steps didn’t sound like Roy’s.

Pulling the door open, Jason was ready to snap at whoever had knocked.

“You ordered something and gave my apartment number instead of yours. Again.”

Damian didn’t recognize the voice so he slanted his body to the side to see who it was. He couldn’t stop staring.

”I’ll make it up to you.”

”Jay,” you sighed. “I’ve told you before, you just need to tell me beforehand if you don’t want things to arrive to your apartment. My roommate could have opened it.”

Damian chuckled, a single elbow resting on the table.

Jason craned his neck. “You think this is funny?”

”I think you’re a moron.”

”Shut up and come meet our neighbor.”

Damian didn’t have to be told twice. He stood up with an eagerness he hadn’t felt since Jason texted him to let him know he had found the materials so he could build a suit and go back to patrol.

”This is my brother Damian.” Jason turned around to place the package under the table next to the door.

He knew you’d either seen him before or heard about him the moment his eyes landed on you. People always had a visceral reaction when they met him, some found him attractive, others attempted to ask for favors, and some recoiled in fear.

But you didn’t. You held his gaze and stood in the same spot you had been since you knocked on the door.

And whether it had been in a newspaper or a gossip forum, he was glad you knew something about him. There was something about the way you stared at him that screamed for him to trust you. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

“Nice to meet you,” you politely said, smiling at him.

Stunned by the fact that you hadn’t mocked him, and now assuming it wasn’t wishful thinking after all, he tilted his head. Most people did mock now that he wasn’t under his father’s wing.

Still, he said, “Likewise.”

Your smile became warmer. “I live three doors down the hallway in case you need anything.”

He felt a pang in his chest at the gesture. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Weird sensations in his chest were normal when he was around you. Befriending you was easier than he’d ever admit and talking to you became the highlight of his day.

The pangs in his chest turned into a fluttering sensation in a heartbeat. You’d make him feel breathless when you did the smallest things — when you smiled at him, when you complained about other neighbors with him, when you asked about his day.

He felt special. For once in his life for being the closest he had ever been to resemble a normal person.

And he also remembered, quite painfully, that night he let you walk away without mustering the courage to tell you —or show you�� the way you made him feel.

The deserted hallway was yet another proof of how easy it was to lose track of time around you.

Damian hadn’t expected to get back home past midnight or to skip patrol, but 1:00 AM turned into 2:00 and he couldn’t part from you no matter how many times he tried to remind himself to do it.

He hadn’t even expected to enjoy the state fair as an adult, yet he couldn’t remember a time he had more fun than that evening.

You gazed up at him, waiting for him to either do or say something. Anything other than stare at you in the middle of the hallway.

You had already thanked him for making you company, there was no way you’d say anything. And he froze.

“Good night,” he sputtered.

Your brow twitched. “Night.”

He watched you unlock your door and get inside your apartment with a heavy heart.

You moved out a couple months ago and he hadn’t seen you since then. The texts the two of you exchanged were sporadic and they bordered in formal.

He should have kissed you, he was aware of that. And to make matters worse, Jason chewed him out when he found out.

He still looked for you every morning he left the apartment as though you’d remember you had forgotten something. That you had forgotten him.

Jon said it was for the best, that somebody as sweet as you didn’t deserve to carry with his baggage.

Damian knew his best friend to be right, but how could he let go of you that easily when you made him see he was more than his mistakes and regrets?

He didn’t need anybody to carry him, he could drag himself anywhere if needed.

He simply hated the hole in the pit of his stomach every time he entertained the possibility of having to see you one day with somebody else because he wasn’t brave enough to say what he needed to let out.

The idea of being out of time was killing him slowly, so naturally, he’d sought a quick death.

════════════════════════

You gasped upon opening the door. You weren’t expecting anybody to be outside — much less Damian Wayne.

“Oh!”

“Hi,” he softly greeted.

You blinked rapidly. “Did you need anything?”

“I wanted to... Are you on your way out?”

“I’m just dropping this off for my mom.” You momentarily lifted the bags you were carrying in one hand. “She lives nearby.”

He spared a look to the reusable bags in your grasp. “Is she sick?”

“Pregnant,” you explained, playing with your keys. “It’s high risk due to her age so we take as much care of her as we can.”

Damian walked backward, allowing you to come out of the apartment and lock the door.

As you pushed the door to make sure it was locked, he asked, “Would you care for some company?”

Turning around, you gave him a small smile. “That would be lovely.”

He reached over. “Let me help.”

“They’re not heavy.”

“I insist.”

”Okay.” You handed him the bags and took the initiative to lead the way.

He reached your side immediately.

Not knowing what else to do, aware you’d let something slip if you didn’t find something, you made small talk. “How’s Jason?”

“As annoying as always.”

You still remembered when he meant those words, when he complained about Jason and how often they butted heads. His tone was different now, lighter, almost playful.

“Good to know some things never change.”

You walked the streets with an ease you hadn’t been able to in years. Growing up in that neighborhood meant which streets to avoid, and sadly, most of them were unsafe.

There were many things you could have asked or said, perhaps apologize for being cold while texting.

You were in your right to be cold and you could have just not answered, but you wanted to keep contact even though you were hurt.

Damian was great company. It was a shame you misread the entire situation and couldn’t go back to chat with him like before.

It took you a few attempts to get them to talk comfortably, but once he was able to, he didn’t look back. He even gossiped with you.

Stopping in front of the house, you looked around to make sure your mom had the windows open. Once sure, you walked up the front steps.

You withdrew a single key from your back pocket and extended your other hand so Damian would give you the bags.

The floors were recently mopped which meant your aunt had visited that day.

“It’s me,” you yelled so your mom wouldn’t get up. It was her time to be watching TV in the living room.

Carrying the bags towards the kitchen, you caught the jingle from a commercial.

You filled a glass with water and added a couple of ice cubes.

Your mom was comfortably sat on a recliner, feet up and remote control on her thigh. “Hurry back before it gets dark.”

“Don’t worry, a friend of mine walked me here.” You handed her the glass. “Do you need anything else?”

She ignored your question as she took the glass. “Who is it?”

“You don’t know him.”

“Him?” She lifted an eyebrow.

You hadn’t mentioned a guy to her in almost two years now, her surprise was understandable. “Not now.”

“Oh, so it is like that?”

Maybe it was and maybe that was the issue. She wouldn’t blame you if she knew him like you did, if she heard him laugh or saw him change his demeanor to accommodate to somebody else’s sensibilities.

You didn’t think you’d witness anything remotely close to that when you met him for the first time, but you learned really quickly that Damian was full of surprises.

“I’ll call in the morning in case you need something. I’m working ’til 3:00 PM tomorrow.”

“It’s okay.” She took a sip of water. “Did you bring anything sweet?”

“Homemade muffins and a few chocolate bars. Do you want one now?”

She shook her head. “I’ll wait after dinner.”

You kissed her cheek. “Call me, please.”

“Go, go.” She ushered you to go with a gesture of her hand. “Don’t make your friend wait.”

It was your time to ignore her comment.

Damian was sat on the front steps when you came out, looking up at the darkening sky.

“Is everything alright?” you asked in a whisper as to not scare him.

“No.” He shook his head and stood up. “I mean, yes. How’s your mother?”

“She’s good. Having fun watching reality TV.”

Damian squinted. “Is reality TV really that entertaining?”

“It’s mindless stuff, but it’s fun sometimes. You get to judge other people’s lives without feeling remorse because it’s most likely fake.”

The walk back was way shorter and you didn’t want to part. It was time to swallow your pride and your feelings for him.

He didn’t part ways with you at the building entrance. He walked beside you until you reached the elevator — Damian extended his arm to keep the doors open and allowed you to get in first. He followed suit.

You turned the lights on with Damian on your tail. He did wait for you to invite him in, but you were sure both of you knew there was no way you wouldn’t.

“I made muffins. Do you want one?”

Damian nodded.

You guided him to the dining table where a trippy vase in pastel colors rested with flowers.

He looked around the apartment as he walked towards the table. As he sat down, he fixed his eyes on the vase.

“Green or black?”

“Mmh?”

“Your tea.”

You could swear you saw him smile to himself.

“Black.” He placed his cellphone on the table. “You still have that thing,” he said, referring to the trippy vase.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He huffed a laugh. “Jason said it was ugly.”

“Jason doesn’t have the best taste in the world,” you lightheartedly retorted.

The vase was precious to you, a gift from Damian who spooked you in the middle of a rainy night and made you knock your favorite vase.

You set a plate in front of him and placed the muffin there. “Your tea’s almost ready.”

“No roommate this time?”

“Nope. I miss Lou, but I don’t miss having a roommate that much.”

“I thought the move was temporary just so you could be close to your mother...”

“It is, but there’s still a long way to go. The baby should be here next month and she’ll need help around the house.” You disappeared for a moment as you looked for a mug.

Having found one, you dropped the teabag and poured the boiling water in.

“Sugar.” You put the sugar bowl down just in front of the mug. Feeling his eyes on the side of your face, you gazed at him. “It’s brown, don’t worry.”

He relaxed and uncovered the sugar bowl. “Is the father of your mother’s child around?”

“Yeah.” You sat down on the chair closest to his. “She remarried last year and her husband tries to help, but you know, work gets in the way.”

“Tell me if I can help with anything.”

“Don’t worry, you have enough things to juggle with already.”

“What’s one more? At least let me make you company or walk you home. These streets are dangerous.”

You softly nodded. From the day you met him you knew you would never be able to tell him no — and having his company after a long day sounded nice.

“So...”

“So,” you encouraged him to go on.

“Are you seeing anybody?”

“No. I thought I was a little while ago, but...” You hoped he’d understand what you were getting at. “I guess something got lost in translation.”

“Did it? Or was he too much of a coward to show the way he felt?”

“Don’t.” You hated hearing him talk like that about himself.

“You don’t know how much I regret not kissing you that night. I—“ He sighed, twisting his mouth as he frowned. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“At least now I know you did think about doing it.”

“I did. Many times throughout the night.” He turned to the side to fully look at you. “I wanted to find the perfect moment and became overwhelmed. Sounds like a bad excuse, but I swear it’s the truth.”

“I believe you.”

Damian scooted closer and reached over to place his hand on your face. Softly, he caressed your cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

You leaned onto his touch, tilting your head. “Me too. Sorry for being such an ass.”

“It’s fine. I would have reacted similarly.”

“Similarly or worse?”

“Worse.”

You laughed, making him smile.

“May I?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Damian leaned in, placing his free hand on the back of your chair as his nose brushed yours.

His lips softly connected with yours, but the slow pace didn’t last. The two of you had wasted too much time, thrown away too many opportunities to be this close —or closer— and patience wasn’t a virtue Damian possessed.

The chair was now balancing itself in two legs, making you interrupt the kiss with a squeal.

Damian then made you stand up and wrapped his arms around your waist. His lips were immediately back on yours.

Your hands went up to rest on his biceps as he kissed you again. His arms tightened around you as he deepened the kiss and you melted.

You melted into the kiss, onto his warmth, due to the fact that he wanted this as much as you did.

Kissing him had become a mere fantasy for you, and there he was, not only making it a reality but exceeding your expectations.

Grabbing him by the neck, you broke the kiss in search of air. His breath was barely ragged and you remembered he told you he could hold it in for a long time.

You needed him to teach you just to be able to kiss him for longer.

“That was nice,” you said, still breathless.

“Yeah, really nice. We should do it more often.”

“Are you asking me out?”

“I’m telling you I want you to be mine.”

All in or nothing, of course. Jason had warned you that Damian didn’t take things lightly.

But you were okay with that.

[circadianaa]

I am in love with you (/p) for using "A Sadness Runs Through Him" for Cadaver. I fucking LOVE that song and it usually fits clones like. So well.

My personal favorite line is "As he asks me to pray to a God he doesn't believe in" in regards to clones like. Viewing Jedi using the force but not actually understanding it or really believing in it. If that makes sense

Anyways 10/10 art and banger song taste

AHHH YES THANK YOU!!! i fully agree a sadness runs through him is SUCH a good clone sonf but to me it is SOOO cadaver like……

my favorite lines (that relate most strongly to cadaver specifically) are

but here was a man mourning tomorrow,

he drank but finally drowned in his sorrow

oh he could not break surface tension

like oh my GOD to me that is so. like cadaver specifically struggles sooo much with like processing and accepting his emotions. he’s struggled with depression his whole life (it’s chemical just as much as it is about his circumstances) but refuses to acknowledge or accept that for fear that it would make him defective, so he just ignores that and ignores his struggles and refuses to ask for help. he does everything he can to work through it and just takes on more and more responsibility and work to drown it all out but he ends up suffocating under the weight of his own self-doubt and the amount of responsibility placed on his shoulders. it’s a cycle of constantly seeking out the short-term relief only for the long-term burnout to come crashing down on him and send him three steps backwards. it’s very much a form of emotional self-harm in order to distract from the pain for him.

i figure i may as well take this chance to share some of my other cadaver songs!!

“who are you really” by mikky ekko is my second biggest cadaver song. it really encapsulates the reality that clones have very little choice in their lives and that cadaver is constantly scrabbling for a sense of control over what’s happening. it also displays cadaver’s unrest with his own identity as a clone; simultaneously feeling as though he is unworthy of the same name as his brothers while also wishing for something more to belong to than a race created for the use of others. it’s confusing and disorienting for him.

so you feel entitled to a sense of control,

and make decisions that you think are your own

[…]

who, who are you really?

and where are you going?

i have nothing left to lose

‘cause i have nothing left to prove

see me bare my teeth for you, who are you?

like ugh listening to that one makes me go fucking insane. it’s so good and it so perfectly captures that “struggling to find direction in chaos” vibe

“gilded lily” by cults is a more recent addition to my cadaver song repertoire. it very much suits cadaver later in and after the war as he becomes burnt out and exhausted and bereaved. it’s so beautifully haunting and i’m obsessed with it right now

i remember when you told me it’s an every day decision

but with my tunnel vision how was i supposed to see the way?

haven’t i given enough, haven’t i given enough?

haven’t i given enough, haven’t i given enough?

always the fool with the slowest heart

but i know you’ll take me with you,

we’ll live in spaces between walls

GOD it’s just so. really sends a chill down your spine. it just fits his chronic exhaustion at the end of the war so well.

last one for now is “never love an anchor” by the crane wives. this is actually something i was talking about with a friend the other day—that cadaver’s insecurity and trauma drive him away from making bonds or positive connections with anyone outside his immediate circle (Locks is the only one he’s fully connected to, but he’s also close with the senior officers of the 501st (Echo and Kix especially, less so but still with Rex and Fives) and Tup & Dogma) which leads to the most intimate moments he has with a lot of his brothers being when he tells them he failed to save their loved ones. he becomes a grim reaper figure, never really putting a smile on anyone’s face when he walks into a room, because he believes himself incapable of being a truly good person for others to enjoy. he will always long for more, for the easy connection that flows between his brothers, but he thinks that if he ever lost someone he loved again, he would not be able to pull himself back from that dark place—so he ensures that it will never happen.

on some level i think i always understood

that these hands of mine were clumsy, not clever

and i tried to do the best that i could

but try as i might i couldn’t bring myself to hold you

[…]

it’s a secret i keep tucked inside my chest

with this heart of mine that’s guilty, not remorseful

there is love that doesn’t have a place to rest

but it would have buried you if it had settled on your shoulder

[…]

i am selfish, i am broken, i am cruel

i am all the things they might have said to you

do you ever think of me and my two hands

and wonder why they never soothed your fever?

and wonder why they never tied your shoes?

and wonder why they never held you gently?

and wonder why they never had the chance to lose you?

that got so long i’m sorry!! but if you stuck around to read, thank you so much! and as always i love talking about my ocs so if you have any other questions or want to hear about any more cadaver songs or songs for any of my ocs please send me an ask!! <3

[xjoonchildx]

greedy | myg x reader | chapter one: you like milkshakes?

summary: being a loner has never bothered yoongi until now.  until you.

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 4.3K

notes: confession, i am struggling these days with my insane attraction to min yoongi.  this guy has it all.  looks and talent and mystery and sweetness -- he’s the total package. so i really wanted to give him a story in this AU that i’ve come to love so much and i truly hope you guys enjoy it.  

i also hope you guys know how much i appreciate every single one of you. i see your reblogs and comments and likes and i try to answer every one because it truly makes my day.  you guys make my day.

i could not post this fic without shouting out the amazing @hobi-gif because honestly, if hope didn’t read it, did i even write it? and i’m sending major love to three people who are such a source of laughter and support for me, @ladyartemesia​ @ppersonna @taetaewonderland. you guys keep me in stitches.

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece! Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05

*************************

Yoongi had fucked up.

He’d misread the massive man’s approach, tracking him in one direction when the guy was actually headed in another.  That’s how the asshole managed to catch Yoongi off guard with one meaty fist to the face. 

It didn’t matter that it was hundreds of pounds of fat -- not muscle -- behind that punch.  It was wielding more than enough momentum to blow up the side of Yoongi’s face like a bomb. 

That’s the night he landed in the ER at Songdo at nearly two in the morning, pressing gauze to his bleeding face.  

That’s the night he found himself chuckling inside an empty exam room, reading triage paperwork that made him sound like some kind of war hero instead of just an idiot who got caught looking the wrong way.

That’s the night he met you.

“Rough evening, Mister Yun?” 

Yoongi had looked up from the floor just as you’d breezed into the room, tablet in hand.  That moment marked the second time he’d been caught off guard that night.

“That looks like it hurts,” you’d murmured sympathetically, eyes raking over the bloody mess on his face.  Your gaze was clinical -- professional -- as you assessed his grossly swollen eye and the half dozen bleeding cuts that surrounded it.  

But then you’d stopped looking at him -- and stepped back to really look at him.  

Yoongi had taken one look at your enormous, dark eyes and your soft, sweet face and he was dumbstruck.  He’d blinked back at you with the only eye that could still move.  

“You’re a doctor?”

“Nope,” you’d replied casually, turning to reach for a pair of latex gloves. “I’m a janitor. But I’ve always wanted to give this medicine thing a try. You don’t mind, right?”  

Your eyes had sparkled then, bright with humor -- and Yoongi couldn’t help but grin despite the pain pulsing from the left side of his face.

“Here’s the deal, Mister Yun,” you’d said, pulling on your gloves.  “I’m a resident.  And I’m more than qualified to handle the -- situation -- on your face, but if you feel more comfortable waiting for the attending, I’m happy to step back.  Good luck seeing him before sunrise, though.”

“Nah,” Yoongi had chuckled.  “I think I’ll take my chances with you.”

“Good call.”

You’d leaned in close after that, gloved fingers firm under his chin as you turned his face from side to side.  You’d smelled fucking amazing.  The light, fresh scent that lingered on your skin sure as hell beat the disinfectant odor in this place.

“What happened to you tonight, Mister Yun?”

“It’s a funny story, actually.”

“Oh, great,” you’d said dryly.  “‘Cause it turns out, I love funny stories.”

Yoongi had flinched when you’d peeled the gauze back, exposing the angry wounds to the air.  But he’d forced himself to sit dutifully still as you got to work cleaning the caked blood off his face and eye.

“Thing is, I work for the circus,” he’d started, hissing under his breath when you swiped across an open cut above his eye.  “One of the elephants got rowdy while we were practicing a number tonight and just kicked me right in the face.”

You’d stopped dabbing at his eye then, one brow raised and a cynical slant to your mouth.

Yoongi liked that you knew he was full of shit right away. 

He liked that you’d played along anyway.

“God, I hate when that happens,” you’d said with feigned outrage, cutting your eyes at him as you dropped a piece of bloody gauze on the tray at his side.  

“I know, right?”

That’s when Yoongi had won a real smile from you, wide and genuine.  That's when Yoongi made the mistake of looking at you for just a moment too long.  

He knew it by the way your smile fell away as you cleared your throat and turned your focus back to his damaged face.

“Well, I have good news for you Mister Yun,” you’d said after a while, eyes scanning the freshly cleaned wounds.  You’d run your gloved fingers gently over one particularly deep slash over his eye and Yoongi felt a shudder run up his back.  “I’m pretty sure you’re going to live.”

“Well, that is good news.”

There was that smile again.  

It seemed like no time at all before you had him all patched up -- cuts sanitized and sealed with skin adhesive; swollen eye cleaned and medicated.  Yoongi had felt a strange kind of disappointment as he’d watched you gather your supplies, pull your gloves off and drop them in the trash can near the door.

“You’re all set, Mister Yun,” you’d murmured. “Watch out for those elephants, okay? I’d hate for them to ruin a perfectly nice face.”

Then you were gone.

***************************

Thing is -- Kim Namjoon is a rules guy.

It doesn’t matter that he runs a criminal organization -- or that the men in his employ are gangsters in custom ties and suits.  He expects dirty work done clean because that’s what sets the Gajog apart.

Rotate hospitals.  Use fake names.  Pay in cash.

All of those protocols are in place to keep any one of the Gajog from drawing unwanted attention.  Truthfully, Namjoon’s operations usually run so neatly his men rarely have to seek treatment for anything beyond the occasional black eye or broken bone.  That’s why he’d rather trust his men to legitimate doctors in legitimate hospitals than hand them over to some back-alley hack.

Thing is -- shit has gotten a lot more heated of late.  

An audit of the Gajog books has turned up millions in missing won, stolen over time by street-level guys all over the city.  Yoongi and Hoseok are the ones on the front lines, tasked with confronting those men -- getting them to pay and getting them back in line.

Sometimes they play ball.  Sometimes they don’t.

Tonight is one of those nights.

Yoongi knew the moment they arrived at the crumbling warehouse in the Nowon district that shit was probably going to get messy.  Their contact was fucked up -- sloppy drunk -- and belligerent from the jump.

After that, everything was a blur.

At some point during the scuffle, Yoongi heard his hand crunch under the heavy weight of the man’s steel-toed boot. The pain was still flaring hot from his knuckles when Hoseok finally took the guy down.  

Right now Yoongi should be at Asan or Gachon or any of the other half-dozen hospitals in the city.  He should have dragged his tired ass and bloody hand across town because those are the rules.

But instead -- for the second time in a month -- he’s sitting under the sickly fluorescent lights in an empty exam room at Songdo at nearly three in the morning.

Hoping to see you. 

*************************

Yoongi is gingerly flexing his aching fingers when a light knock sounds at the door.

It was a long shot that you’d be here tonight -- and an even longer shot that you’d be the one treating him. But when the door to the exam room opens, it’s you on the other side.

Yoongi’s pulse picks up in response.

“Sorry to keep you waiting tonight Mister -- ”  you stop dead in your tracks, eyes wide on his before darting back down the tablet in your hand.  You scan the screen slowly then look back up, gaze critical.

“ -- Mister Woo.”

“Yeah, sure,” Yoongi replies casually.  “It’s no problem.”

You approach him slowly then, disbelief etched into your delicate features and Yoongi takes in every detail.

It’s like he’d forgotten how pretty you are since the last time he saw you.

You’re nothing like the flashy women who like to hang around the usual Gajog haunts.  You’re the kind of pretty that doesn’t cost hundreds of thousands of won a month to maintain.  The kind of pretty that doesn’t come off at the end of the night. 

Yoongi swallows thickly as you eye him, lips parted like you’re about to fire off a hundred different questions.  But you don’t.  

You play along.  

Again.

“Right.  Let’s get to it then, Mister Woo,” you say carefully, slipping on your gloves.  “What happened to your hand?”

“Well, you see, I’m a hot air balloon operator.”  

His mouth quirks into a smile and your eyes flash in response.  

“Wind was nuts today and the basket came down on my hand.  I think I might have broken something.”

“Hmm,” you murmur.  “Hot air balloon operator, huh?”

Yoongi winces when you take his hand between your gloved ones, gently applying pressure to each knuckle.

“Yeah.”

“That’s an interesting way to make a living, Mister Woo.”

Yoongi chokes down a groan when you press against one particularly sore spot.  You back off the pressure, turning to make a note on your chart.

“Well, I’m an interesting guy,” he whispers.  

You look up at him then, dark eyes focused and intense.  

“That you are.”

You’re looking at Yoongi like you can see inside him and the scrutiny makes him squirm.  He lowers his eyes to the floor and keeps quiet while you clean his hand and apply ointment to his cuts.

“Mister Woo, it looks like most of these are surface abrasions, but the knuckles concern me.  I’m going to have to send you for an X-ray.”

“Yeah, okay.  It hurts like hell.”

“I bet it does,” you say quietly, typing into your tablet.  “Someone is going to come and take you back when they’re ready.  I have to go check on some other patients, but I’ll be back when we have some images to go over.”

“Sure,” Yoongi breathes.

You take another long look at him before standing to leave and Yoongi wonders for a moment if he’s made a mistake. Maybe he’s misread you like he misread that brawler who caught him with the nasty punch all those weeks ago.  

You could be off to flag a security guard.  Or leaving to call the police.

He really should have just followed protocol.

Yoongi sits in the quiet of that exam room waiting -- ready -- for trouble that never comes.  Because when a knock finally sounds at the door, it’s not the Korean National Police.  

It’s the X-ray technician.

Maybe he didn’t misread you after all.

*********************

It takes hours for you to come back.

“Mixed news tonight, Mister Woo,” you say upon your return.  “You have hairline fractures in three of your knuckles, which explains the pain.  Unfortunately, that means I’m not going to be able to do much for you beyond wrapping your hand.”

Yoongi nods.  “Got it.”

“And you should probably lay off the ballooning for a while,” you say under your breath as you lay out your bandages.  “Just a suggestion.”

“Good idea,” Yoongi chuckles.  “Safety first.”

You fix him with another one of those long, indecipherable looks before getting to work on his hand.  But you don’t say anything and the longer the silence stretches on, the antsier Yoongi feels.

“So…” he exhales, clearing his throat, “... you like milkshakes?”

“Everyone likes milkshakes,” you return evenly.  You don’t take your eyes off his hand or the flexible material you’re carefully wrapping around his sore knuckles. 

“Lactose intolerant people don’t like milkshakes.”

“Lactose intolerant people like milkshakes as much as the rest of us,” you argue.  “They just can’t tolerate them.”

“What are you, some kind of doctor?”

Your lips quirk with the threat of a laugh you manage to suppress but Yoongi catches the expression before it disappears.  You seem to relax after that.  He does, too.

“Dijeoteu has the best milkshakes in the city.  Ever been there?”

“Can’t say that I have,” you admit, taping off a bandage.  

“It’s not far from here.  Open twenty-four hours.  I hang out there sometimes.”

“So you’re a milkshake-drinking hot-air balloon enthusiast,” you murmur, inspecting your handiwork closely.  “Anything else I should know about you, Mister Woo?’

Yoongi scratches the back of his neck with his free hand.

“Not really.  That about covers it.”

You hum thoughtfully under your breath as you finish wrapping the bruised knuckles.

“All done.  How does it feel?”

“Better,” Yoongi admits.  “Thanks.”

You gaze at him then, thoughtful -- expression soft with something that looks almost like concern.  Yoongi drops his gaze down to his bandaged hand.

This is the part where you’ve finished -- the part where you leave.  

This is the part where he should say something to you but he has no idea what or how.

“I would say come back soon, but this is a hospital and that seems wildly inappropriate,” you announce, voice breaking clear through his stupor.

You turn back to him just as you’re walking towards the door, and for a moment Yoongi thinks you’re going to give in and ask him any one of the dozens of questions that must be swirling around your mind.

But you don’t.

“Try to take care of that hand, Mister Woo.”

Yoongi nods.

“Thanks, Doc.”

**********************

YOU

Doctor Lee is on his Houdini shit tonight, apparently.

The ER is packed -- waiting room crowded with crabby patients -- and you are, once again, running yourself ragged to get to every last one.  Lee is, once again, nowhere to be found.

“Page him again,” you call out as you pass the charge nurse outside an exam room.  

A quick scan of your tablet confirms the toddler behind this magic door has been vomiting all night.  You shut your eyes and wish a slow, violent death on your absent attending.  Vomit is the single worst phenomenon in medicine.

“I’ve paged him three times,” Nurse Ko calls back.

“Page him again,” you repeat, forcing a smile and pushing into the room.

Thirty minutes and one change of scrubs later you are checking charts on the next patient in line.  You pat the pocket of your new scrubs and realize you’ve left a half-eaten energy bar around here somewhere.  

No chance you’ll get that back.

Lee picks this moment to reappear, back from doing God knows what.  He strolls down the hallway like a man with nothing on his to-do list.

“You paged for me?” he inquires casually.

“A few times, actually,” you mutter.  “I’m getting killed out here.”

“Relax,” Lee purrs, condescension dripping from his tone.  “We’ll get it done.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from firing back the half-dozen nasty responses that spring to mind. There is no we when it comes to Doctor Lee.  He’s always been flighty and inconsistent, but these days he’s practically a missing person.  You’re still not sure how hospital management hasn’t figured out that he’s making his resident run the overnight ER.

“There’s a guy down the hall who says he swallowed a magnet,” you say, waving a hand in that direction.  “If you can pick him up I can get to this head trauma.”

Lee sighs like it’s a major inconvenience that you’ve asked him to do his job.

“Yeah, I’ll grab it.”

***********************

It’s nearly four in the morning by the time you have a chance to catch your breath.

You walk out to scan the waiting area and to your relief, there are only a handful of patients yet to be seen.  Then your eyes land on one young man -- slumped into a chair in an oversized coat, hat pulled low over his eyes.

You freeze.  

The man in the chair must feel your stare from across the room because he straightens, giving you a better look at the face hidden under the brim of his hat.  You let go of a breath you don’t realize you’ve been holding.

It’s not him.  

It’s not the mysterious man with the fake names and the bogus stories and the insanely handsome face. You shake your head as you look back down at your tablet, silently chastising yourself for even entertaining the thought.  

You shouldn’t still be thinking about this guy and you know it.

But it’s driving you nuts that you can’t figure him out.

He’s never tried to play you for pills and that seems to be the only thing people lie about these days. But if his problem isn’t drugs it’s certainly something because no one lands in the hospital that many times, with that many phoney stories unless they’re up to no good.

So you ignore the nonsensical disappointment you feel when the guy in that chair is not the guy. 

Because deep down you know he’s either in trouble -- or he is trouble.

***********************

Your pager goes off for a second time and you silence the alert, tossing it onto a nearby blanket.

It’s not like you’re hiding out in here -- not really. 

It’s just that you’ve already had one patient cough up blood on your sneakers and another swing at you when you refused to give him narcotics, so this night is off to a spectacularly bad start.

Besides, Doctor Lee could use a taste of his own medicine.  

This week has been the worst, by far.  You’ve been seeing at least three patients to his every one and you’re exhausted.  If there’s any justice, he’s walking into the exam room where the infant with explosive diarrhea is waiting to be seen -- you check your watch -- right about now.

The door to the linen closet cracks open and you groan, hiding your face in your hands.

“What, you thought I didn’t know about your little hiding place?”  Nurse Ko asks with a grin.  “I find everyone’s hiding place, eventually.”

“Haven’t found Lee’s yet,” you gripe. 

“Yeah, well he’s sneakier,” she laughs.  “Here, I brought you something.”  

She tosses a granola bar at you and it lands in your lap.  

“Thanks,” you sigh, ripping it open.  You take a bite and Ko leans against the doorframe.

“I don’t page you for my health, you know.”

“I know,” you whine around a mouthful of dried oats.  “I just needed five minutes.”

“Well, I’ve got a guy out here who says he’ll only see you.  Doesn’t want Doctor Lee and says he’ll wait as long as it takes.”

A piece of the granola bar lodges in your throat and you cough around it, spluttering while Ko looks on, amused.  She waits for you to collect yourself.

“Is he -- ”

“ -- hot? Yes. Very,” Ko smiles.  

Your cheeks flame with embarrassment at both the observation and the fact that it’s coming from a woman in her sixties.

“I was going to say young,” you grumble, standing and dusting your hands off with a towel.

“That, too.  Come to think of it, I know I’ve seen him here before.  You have some kind of admirer, jagiya?”

You flush.

**************************

“Good evening, Mister Kim.”

You hope the air of nonchalance you affect when you enter the exam room is enough to mask your jitters.  

Your mystery patient looks back at you with those dark eyes and a half-smirk that makes your heart trip in your chest.  You take a steadying breath as you look down at your tablet.

Get it together, girl.

“What brings you in tonight?” you inquire lightly.  “Sword-swallowing accident?  Lose a fist fight with a bear?”

Your mysterious patient chuckles under his breath.  

“Where would you get a couple of outlandish ideas like that, Doc?”

You look up at him just as the teasing smirk on his face becomes a full smile and heat blooms in your chest and face.  You force yourself to tear your gaze away.

“I dislocated my shoulder.  Did you know I work air traffic control at Incheon?”

You shake your head with amused weariness as you make notes on your tablet.

“Crazy night.  One of the planes nearly slid off the runway and I threw my shoulder out trying to get it back on track.”

“Did you save it?”

“Saved it and all 227 people on board.”

“Bravo, Mister Kim.” 

“Just doing my job,” he shrugs.  

You set your tablet down on the exam table with a thump, eyeing him as you reach for a pair of gloves.

“The charge nurse says you asked for me.”

“I did,” he admits.  “You never told me what your favorite kind of milkshake is.”

You cock your head to the side as you look at him.  

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mister Kim,” you murmur, feigning ignorance. “According to my records this is the first time I’ve ever seen you.”

“Oh, yeah.  Right,” he chuckles.  

“You need some help getting undressed?”

“Yeah,” he admits, slipping one arm out of his leather jacket.  You lean in to help him pull the other side off, compelling yourself to ignore the way he smells like soap and sweat and man when you’re this close.

“It’s strawberry.”

You blurt the words out, anxious to give your brain a task that doesn’t involve analyzing this man’s smell.  Something about the mischievous twist to his mouth tells you he knows you’re flustered by his nearness.  

“I would have guessed chocolate,” he muses, reaching one hand down to grab the hem of his shirt. He drags it up his abdomen and you will your eyes to stay on his face -- refusing to give him any indication that you have more than a clinical interest in what lies underneath.

“Everyone likes chocolate,” you argue, taking over when he can’t get the shirt up any higher.  You push it over his head and carefully work it off his shoulder.  “I don’t want to be like everyone else.”

“Mission accomplished, Doc.”

He gazes at you then -- chest bare and eyes sharp beneath those inky lashes --  and you feel a bolt of awareness run the length of your spine. You pray the heat you suddenly feel all over your body is not manifesting in damning spots of color on your face.  

You remind yourself to get back to work. 

He sucks a breath between his teeth when you press gently against the inflamed muscle and tissue.

“My shoulder’s been shit for years,” he confesses.  “I screwed it up when I was a kid and it hasn’t been the same since.”

“So this happens to you from time to time?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then I’m going to have to refer you for an MRI,” you say, and he groans when you press into his shoulder again.  “There could be a lot of scar tissue in here, but I won’t be able to know what’s going on until we get some clear scans.”

Your eyes flick back to his.  

Every word that’s ever come out of this man’s mouth is a lie -- but there’s something that feels honest about the way he’s looking at you right now.  Something that makes you feel seasick, unsteady.

“Turn to the side for me,” you say quietly, and the thin paper that lines the exam table rustles as he complies.  The relief you feel when he pivots away from you with those eyes and that look is whole-bodied.  

“For now, the best I can do is probably pop -- “

Your words trail off as your eyes lock on a wound that sits just a few inches from his spine, just above the line of his jeans.  The edges are white and soft with age -- the area long-healed -- but the trauma is unmistakable.  

Textbook.  

The anger you feel as you stare at the wound doesn’t make any sense.  

But you feel it anyway.

“Is it still inside of you, or did they pull it out?”

“What -- ”

“-- The bullet Mister Kim,” you interrupt sharply.  “If it’s still in you, I promise it will come out the second they load you into an MRI machine.  The hard way.”

The muscles of his back flex as he stiffens.  Tension bleeds into the lines of his body and into his voice when he finally speaks.

“It’s out.”

Neither of you says another word.

The room feels hollow now, painfully quiet without talk of elephants or hot air balloons or milkshakes.  The two of you work together silently to crack his abused shoulder back into place.  Somehow he manages to endure that pain without making a sound.

In the end, it’s you that has to speak first.

“That should hold you for now,” you say tightly, standing to toss your gloves in the trash.   You grab your tablet to make notes.

“You mad at me, Doc?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you mutter, fingers flying over your screen.  “I don’t even know you.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re mad at me?”

You tear your eyes away from the screen to find his.  

There’s no teasing or humor there anymore.  He looks boyish and unsure like this, peering back at you with somber eyes from beneath long black bangs that have fallen into his face.

“No more stories, no more bullshit.  Tell me who you are.”

The words are out of your mouth before you can think better of them -- before you can consider how stupid it is to interrogate a complete stranger with a now confirmed history of violence.  Before you can consider that you have no right to the anger that now streaks white-hot through your veins.

“I can’t,” he breathes quietly.  “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head in disgust.

“Are you dangerous?”

Before he even speaks, you get your answer.  You get it in the way color erupts across the bridge of his nose and cheeks.  The way he looks away from you and down to his hands.

“I guess that depends on who you ask,” he whispers.

“I’m asking you,” you fire back.

He doesn’t answer.

You stand there for what feels like an eternity, waiting for him to say something in his defense. Waiting for him to pull another gag and tell just one more ridiculous story.  But the seconds tick by and he says nothing.

“A nurse is going to come by with a sling. She’ll help you get dressed, too,” you say tightly, walking to the door.

You don’t know why your heart feels like it seizes in your chest when you turn to give him one more look.

“Take care of yourself, Mister Kim,” you say quietly.  “And don’t come back.”

*****************************

Glossary:

Dijeoteu: dessert

Jagiya: sweetie, sweetheart

*****************************

Tag List!

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[hpalways]

Broken Petals || Kazuha

Note: This is a hanahaki disease Kazuha oneshot! So heads up, angst is waiting hehe

Some days, he could hear it, crawling right out of him. Other days, it would be serene as the rippling waters below him. It usually altered between the two, distorting his reality for a few while the wind tickled his ears and the trees warned him of the inevitable. He was connected with the outside world, allowing them to guide him on all aspects of his life, because he longed for freedom. But this one very thing, he shrunk away from their touch, too stubborn to rescind the very thing that kept him going.

His eyes trailed to the [h/c] locks that furled with the breeze, to the gentle smile that was locked on your lips as you pulled at the wagon through the fields. Being the small townsperson you were, you worked in the fields of Inazuma daily until you had nothing left to lose. It was a difficult life, but most had no other choice, shouldering burdens to carry a family back home. Your mother sick and your brother too young, you were the one to take care of everyone. 

But deep inside, he sensed something more from you. It was a longing of freedom, just as he did. Each time he approached you, he could hear relief in your breath -- relief from the harsh labor that always came to haunt. 

"Do you need help?" he asked quietly, extending a hand to the handle of the wagon you lugged. 

You shook your head, gratefully smiling nonetheless. "You know it's always going to be a no. Besides, I'm almost done anyway. Instead, why don't you tell me a poem like you do sometimes? That, in itself, helps me a lot."

Pondering for a second, he watched your figure for a silent moment, red hues drinking you in. That was what he always loved about you. You were so selfless, so graceful, and so beautiful. You didn't need to be a noble to show off such attributes to everyone -- you didn't need to wear silky robes to become the person everyone looked up to. Nothing you did was ever taken for granted, because you lived your life with a smile, despite never being able to achieve your true dream. 

In the dark shed, he realized how tight spaced it was. Cheeks glowing warmly to be in close proximity to you, he stayed on the side to see you shoving the large wagon back. He dug his heels into the cool dirt when you turned to him, wiping sweat off your forehead happily. "No poem today? Aw, that's too bad." Stepping up to the samurai, you pat his cheek in a friendly manner. "Your presence was enough, so that's okay. Oh... I shouldn't dirty you in my hands. I'm sorry about that." Just as you were retracting your hand, he instinctively latched his fingers onto your arm to stop you. [e/c] irises widened momentarily, bewilderment coloring your features. 

There was nothing romantic about this -- not at all rosy like the poems he made up with his thoughts on you. He let out a sigh and released your arm. "My apologies," he whispered, stalking right out of the shed before you could utter a word. "I need to get going now."

His trek back to his home was a quick one, with stealthy footsteps from all his training as a samurai. The sun was setting warmly, casting shades of orange and pinks across the skies in an ombre fashion. 

Though each step was quick, the heavier it got as it went on. 

He thought about the Vision Hunt Decree and how he would have to escape from Inazuma soon. No matter what, he couldn't stay here, not when all his aspirations were kept in his vision. After what his dear friend went through to fight against the Decree, Kazuha could never sit back and allow the officials to rob of him. 

If he were to leave Inazuma, then there was one thing he wanted to do, to wrap things up and cut clean ties.

Arriving at his home, he walked into the cold building. Just before he could go in deeper, an unfathomable pain spread through his torso. Releasing a gasp, he crumbled to the floor, clenching his stomach and curling up into a ball. Salty tears clung to the corner of his eyes, blurring his vision and setting the world on fire. He was burning along it, fireworks going off internally, trickling red, red, and more red, that soon grew black. 

His nails curled into the wood planked floors while he whimpered, the agony becoming unbearable. Getting into a fitful cough, every sound he let out wrenched at his soul, tearing it into pieces. They took their time, shoving an arm down his esophagus and cackling in joy at his suffering. 

One last cough stopped the pain. Something flew out of his mouth, daintily spinning in the air like a lone ballerina. It was a petal, coated in thick blood at the edges.

Another one. 

Numbly staring at the sight, he thought that it looked beautiful. It was almost as beautiful as you, a soft texture to its surface, yet stronger around the edges. It was almost as beautiful as you, but nothing could ever match your beauty. 

He was going to endure this. For you.

The next day, he decided he had to rip the band-aid off. Time was less on his side by the day and soon he would have to leave. 

Fortunately, today you had a day off, so you invited Kazuha out to stroll around the paths of Inazuma. Of course, he agreed to it, knowing that this was the opportunity he was waiting. 

The two of you aimlessly wandered within the stretching paths, taking in the purple petals that sat prettily among branches and listening to the song of noisy birds. How stunning it was today, causing the corners of your mouth to lift up in sheer excitement. Your eyes lapped it up like a curious child running through the fields during free time, observing every little thing that failed to be inspected as a farmer. Staring at you, his heart squeezed. There was nothing more he wanted than to be by your side. 

"The Vision Hunt Decree is growing stronger by the day," you suddenly brought up, sorrow taking over your usual face. "You're leaving, aren't you, Kazuha? I know how precious that vision is to you."

But you're just as precious to me, he wished to say. "Indeed," he said instead, glancing up to the wispy clouds. "I am being called to leave. I don't believe it will be too hard to sneak out of here."

Your eyes watered and you opened your arms to wrap him into a hug. Skin brushed silk and your fingers clenched tightly to his back, trembling in sadness. Your head leaned into his shoulder, breathing him in. He let out a breath in surprise, heart pounding at your warmth, your skin, your touch. "I will miss you so much. I will miss your poems and your comforting voice and the time we spent fooling around like nobodies."

That was when he came to a realization. He was selfish for holding onto you, for even thinking that you would come with him when so many responsibilities held you down. Your situation and his were different, leading you two onto separate routes, never to be met again. 

He didn't want to let you go. It was driving him insane. It was driving him so insane a hand plunge into his chest. 

"Sometimes I yearn for more than what I have... more than what I deserve," he muttered, pulling away from you and putting a gap to the distance from the light of his life. 

"I do too," you agreed, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. "Come visit me when the Decree is over, okay? Promise me."

How could he give you false hope like that? Even if the Decree were to be lifted, how could he ever dare face you again after such heartbreak? He knew you didn't love him the way he did you, but he chose to stay ignorant about it. And now... because he came to terms with it, it stung like hell just to be by your side. "I promise," he lied, the words slipping from his lips like slippery honey running down. Too sticky to hold on. And too sweet to ever be true. 

"I love you, Kazuha," you murmured, planting a kiss on light colored locks, the action erupting goosebumps all over his body.

Those were the words he dreamt of hearing from you. He cried because of those dreams, but he cried even more because the meaning behind them were not the kind he sought. 

Soon enough, you left, your back turned on him and growing smaller in the distance. He watched you without ever taking his eyes off of you, feeling the same pain burst into his system. He continued to keep his eyes on you when he crashed onto the ground, wheezing in raspy breath. A waterfall of tears slid down his cheeks, combining into one at the bottom of his chin, his features contorted from torment. 

He would endure this for you. Always. 

A kick to the gut sent him reeling and he doubled over, hugging himself as he coughed, over and over again. A petal flew out... and then another...

A flurry of petals escaped his mouth, sprinkling the sky of petals. This was more than what he would normally get. 

Coughing turned into hacking, succumbing him into the earth. He was being suffocated, suffocated by a love that was never his to begin with. With one last cough -- a clean petal rested on the side of his cheek, representing you. Fluttering his eyes shut, he decided that he would endure this, even death, for you. 

[cryinginthebackseat]

you’ve got more poison than sugar - part iii

part i  part ii  AO3

Fandom: Call Of Duty

Pairing: Russell Adler x Bell

Words: 6.572

Warnings: here’s where the smut tag comes into play, boy with a copious amount of power play and yeah, it’s messy af

Author’s note: after three months, a couple of brainstorming in the bathtub, delays, revisions and self-doubt, chapter 3 is finally done. i hope you'll enjoy it. also, i don't think i have to warn you what will go down in this chapter.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Fast forward to twenty-four hours since he discovers that Bell is fucking someone, Lazar drops about half a dozen of dusty manilas on his desk. Adler’s eyes sweep over them. He recognizes Bell’s handwriting etched across the memo attached to one of the folders right away.

He picks it up. It’s becoming second nature to him lately; drawing himself to her, an ineradicable magnetic force pulling his end of the pole.

A muscle on his jaw twitches.

For a moment, Adler despises her. He allows himself to really despise her. She’s started something in his head- a war; an intangible, unmanageable riot and if he lets her, she’ll rearrange him until he’s insane.

And he can’t let that happen. He’s the one holding the leash here, not vice versa.

“This is what we have on Dragovich’s activities in Yamantau,” Lazar informs him, pulling him back down to earth.

Adler stands, keeping his face easy, neutral. “Is this everything?”

“So far, yeah. Bell says she’ll let us know if she digs up something more from the archives though.”

Bell- the Bell in question- can be heard sighing, like she turns the corner and finds herself at a cul-de-sac; hunching over her desk, reading, her fingers keep buttoning and unbuttoning the top of her shirt, madly distracting (him).

She remains in her seat, for pretty much the remainder of the day. Eyes glued to the pages before her, factory-like dedication. She hardly looks up when Sims borrows her pen or when Park stands over her, sipping her coffee, inquiring about her progress behind a plume of smoke.

The only- truly time Bell ever lifts her head from her work is when Mason approaches her desk. She gazes up at him, notes forgotten, a kittenish smile etched across her face, come-hither eyes that could have time hung in motion, or held at ransom, perhaps. Mason’s own smile is full-blown, too wide, too genial, as he stalks closer and closer to her table, her whirlpool.

Adler does a double-take, like his eyeballs only functioning for the first time. He might as well be hallucinating it because no... this can’t be right, can it?

But then Mason is touching her hand, a blink-and-you-miss-it movement that was not lost on Adler and oh, she’s looking at him hopefully now.

The knots in Adler's stomach are vertiginous. Realization rings in his head like a gunshot, nearly leaving him in a daze. There’s no denying it. Not when the exchange unfurls before his eyes like a broken, warped film reel and there’s nothing to stop him from seeing it.

The thought of her and him haunts the rest of his waking hours, until there’s absolutely no telling how far he’s fallen into his own pit. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ( Alex Mason fucked her that night.

Mason was in her bed; beside her, above her, under her. Inside her. He imagines her fingers digging into the mattress as Mason rolled her onto her stomach, mouth trailing down the ladder of her spine. Their breaths intermingled in the seraphic glow of her hotel room.

Alex Mason fucked her. It shouldn't leave an acrid taste in his mouth, but it does.)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ She haphazardly reaches for the mug and takes a hearty gulp of its content. It’s not hers.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Bell says, mortified and places the mug down noisily on the desk. “I’m sorry, I thought it was mine.”

The rim of his mug is now stained with her lipstick. Adler bites down on a careful retort.

He thinks he knows now. Why he lets it happen, why he thinks of her in metaphors, why she gives him that vertigo. The answer is at the tip of his tongue- he can almost taste it, like spoiled milk or rancid gardenia. But it’s much easier to ignore it until the words grow diminuendo and disappear, that he thinks he imagined it all along.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You can’t obsess without turning around and getting lost in the middle.

Or losing a part of yourself in the process.

The idea of obsession, to obsess, perhaps is a far riskier thing for a person to have than playing the knife game, blindfolded with absolutely no telling where to start.

Yet we all do it, despite knowing the very dark flipside it possesses.

Perhaps it’s the very nature of humans, tucked deep within the pigeonhole of our minds, suffused by the very promise of bogus achievements that usually leads most of us insane, thinking that obsession is essential to living. But without it, artists are corporate slaves, slack-jawed know-it-alls moving stiffly in the middle of the hullabaloo that is our world; Paris would be just as unrecognizable today without Napoleon’s artistic legacy.

Obsession is good.

Obsession is dangerous.

The very dichotomy should have us all warded off of it.

Yet, again, we all do it. Again, and again, and again until it taints our veins. And it’s always far too late until you realize, that yes, now all you see is her, the air has been poisoned by her perfume, that her name is now forevermore engraved in your skin, like an overgild tattoo.

That you end up in downtown Berlin, out of sight, out of mind.

He finds them there, in a shoebox-sized cafe. Ill-lit, low-ceiling, coffee-stained floor that shows the wear of three decades worth of boots, pantoffels and high heels and Adler is sitting in his car, nursing a beer with but one all-consuming, perplexing thought:

Bell and Mason.

Someone told him they arrived together, about an hour ago. The cafe has become their usual haunts, his source said, ever since they’ve returned from Ukraine and Adler just can’t wrap his head around this- them. In his head, they’re wholly different entities. Two proper nouns separated by a conjunction, or a comma if mentioned in a list.

They’re the kind of opposites that he thought don’t attract, yet here they are.

Perhaps it's inevitable, both are products of brainwashing. Maybe they sensed one another, speaking in code, like detecting an RF signal from a nuclear bunker.

Then the doors to the cafe swing open. They step outside, cheeks flushed, his arm wrapped around her waist, her lips glueing on the slope of his neck. Shaded eyes watch them from the opposite street, his disgust obvious.

Now, Adler wonders how this all began. Someone must have made the first move.

He wonders if it was her. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You wanted to see me?"

Adler looks up from his desk and nods. "Lock the door behind you."

And Alex Mason, the root of all this trouble, obeys. Looking somewhat uncertain under the scrutiny of the harsh lights, and shuts the blinds. Unlike Woods, he takes a seat at the chair Adler sets up before the desk.

"What is it?" Mason asks, after a long, almost unending silence. His curiosity seeps through the room.

There is very little control when the first domino falls. Oftentimes, once it starts, it’s like crossing the Rubico n and the next thing you know, you are lying flat on the ground in some theater, 23 fresh stab wounds decorating your body and the beat of your pulse seems dim and distant, everything feels cold except your blood; warm, bright and thick like gasoline, crawling into every space until it goes into your throat and strangles you, kills you. Fini, kaput.

But then again, he's not Caesar and this isn't Rome.

Adler pushes the first tile.

"How long has this been going on?" he asks without fanfare, tight and composed as ever. Never mind the way his eyes ignite like cold blue fire behind his glasses.

"How long has what been going on?"

“You and Bell." And Mason blinks at him in surprise. Bingo. "I saw the two of you leaving for her hotel from a cafe in Downtown Berlin last night. So don't bother skirting your way around this.” Adler leans forward across his desk. He’s a man on a mission- there’s no stopping him now.

“Now, let me rephrase the question, how long have you been fucking her?"

"Hold on, hold on, you were stalking us?" Mason asks, waspish.

Adler winces inwardly. "I was keeping an eye out for my asset.”

“Asset?” Mason hisses, like Adler just blasphemed. “Jesus Christ, Russ, is that all she ever is to you? An asset? She’s your protégé, for god’s sake- a person! What is wrong with you?"

"Plenty. Or apparently, so I've been told.”

"I don't find you amusing.”

“I'm hardly ever,” Adler parries. Mason remains silent, yet the tilt of his lips translate exactly what words can't. "And you haven't answered my question."

“Bullshit. I don’t owe you anything."

"Listen, Al-"

"No, you listen to me. You may be calling the shots around here, but this has absolutely nothing to do with you. Whatever- or whoever - we're doing in our spare time is none of your business, do you understand? So you can just drop it," Mason seethes, bitter, and, much to Adler’s surprise, rises to leave. “We’re done here.”

"That's where you're wrong."

Mason has only managed to put a few paces between them before he turns around, once again stepping inside this metaphorical boxing ring.

"What?"

"This has everything to do with me," Adler says coolly. "You said it yourself, I'm the one who calls the shots here. Meaning, anything that could potentially fuck up my operation is my concern and I have the right to intervene should it needed. This, being a case in point."

Mason looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “What the hell does fucking her have to do with this whole operation?”

“Everything.” He says it like quiet resignation. It’s time to acknowledge the truth, he thinks, to that unusual idea that has been swirling in the deep recesses of his mind, that everyone’s weakness is varied.

Achilles had his heel, and Adler has her.

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to, Al. You don't even know her."

Mason gives him a level stare. "And you do?"

Adler is so hard-pressed to say 'I made her' but even he wouldn't stoop that low.

"That is beside the point,” Adler tells him instead as he turns to his vice- one of them, at least- and lights it.

“There is literally no point to this conversation.”

“The point is, stay the hell away from Bell. I'm saying this for your own good."

"My own good or yours?"

Adler does not flinch, but his hand does ball into a fist under the table, how the fingers curl and then flex.

"Don't be ridiculous. I gain nothing from this except assurance." It's a lie, it's the truth. There's no in between. He doesn’t know which is which anymore. "You, on the other hand, I'm sure the old ball and chain wouldn't be near as thrilled about hearing this if word ever gets out."

Mason is quiet for a beat.

"Is that a threat?"

"Only once I pulled the pin," Adler replies, a dangerous undercurrent in his voice.

But the thing with Mason, he'll come to realize later, is how much, like with Bell, weaving through his mind is like trying to grasp for purchase in the dark as he, once again, does the unpredicted and smile- a venomous grin warps his face, like he’s mocking him, challenging him to move his piece on the board and make this mistake.

Adler stares back, surprised despite himself.

He shocks him further by saying, "Go ahead, then. Pull the pin, throw the grenade, tell her. See if she cares."

Adler’s eyes narrow at his askance. He then drags his attention to Mason’s left hand, and something grave and familiar rises in his chest.

The absence of the metal band around his ring finger tells him why.

“You know where to reach her. If anything, I’m sure she’d trust your words better than anyone else’s. So please, do it.” And Mason’s so goddamn sanctimonious about it. He’s clearly expecting this particular reaction out of Adler. It only leaves Adler angrier.

Another long pause stretches, heavy and unkind.

"Fine. Maybe she won't mind, but I'm sure the Agency wouldn’t be as tolerant.” Adler takes one last drag of his cigarette. He has that ‘Having nothing, nothing can he lose’ look on his face that makes Mason frowns. “Not when you’ve been fraternizing with the enemy.”

"What?”

"Bell. She’s not who you think she is, Al. Tell me, who do you think is the sorry bastard we saved in Trabzon?”

Mason blinks. His face is blank with shock, then he shakes his head. And he keeps shaking it, almost manic. If he laughs, which one would come first, he wonders, the gun or his fist pummeling the side of his face?

“You’re lying.”

“And why would I lie to you about this?”

"No, no, no, Woods- he told me the guy’s dead,” Mason says, his words are shaky.

“He’s not. And he wasn’t a he."

A crease forms between Mason's eyebrows, the starting of another frown.

“Hold on, if she’s helping us get Perseus then why is she the enemy?”

"Because she doesn't know that."

"Doesn't know what?"

"That she's the enemy."

Mason holds his gaze for a moment, his expression tense, like a slingshot.

And that cold elastic band finally snaps.

“What did you do to her?” He’s openly glaring at him now, mouth tight, an icy fury that is no longer dormant and for the first time since Adler has known him, he finds the man dangerous.

Adler takes a steadying breath. “We did what had to be done.”

"You sick son of a bitch. You brainwa- You-” Mason clamps his mouth shut, trembling hands finding his head. “Shit. How could you?"

Adler ignores his colorful outburst.

“She resisted every form of interrogations we threw at her, Al. We had no choice but to implement MK-Ultra as a last resort. We needed what’s in her head.” Mason is silent in reply. Adler continues, “Look, it’s nasty business, I know, but some of us have to cross a line just to make sure that line's still there in the morning. And as much as I hate agreeing with Hudson, he’s right. We need to preserve our way of life.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to play God,” his voice is resentful and crisp. “Do you have any idea what you are doing? You could jeopardize everything, and for what? You’ve seen what this- this experiment did to me, this won’t end the way you think!”

“Lightning never strikes the same place twice.”

"You’re really willing to gamble on that?”

Adler scowls. “I don’t gamble, Mason. I calculate. And if by some chance I was given a second chance, I’d do it all over again. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Mason doesn’t say anything at first, his loaded gun stare never falters. Then, “The flag may be different, but the methods are the same.”

"What was that?”

“Someone warned me, a long time ago, about how people like you will use people like me or Bell as pawns in your own game. You’d do whatever it takes to get what you want- and my, how you get results, don’t you? But you’re actually no different than the rest of the assholes you're fighting against,” Mason tells him, like he’s spitting out acid in Adler’s face.

“Bell may be the enemy- heck, she could be the architect behind all the chaos Perseus has done, but what you’re doing to her is vile and unethical. There are many ways to make her spill the beans, yet you chose the most immoral method there is out there. I sincerely hope you rot in hell for this."

Before Adler could formulate a response to his tirade, Mason stands to his feet.

“You want me to stay away from her? Fine. Consider this as my formal resignation. After Yamatau, I’m done. I’m out of the team. And if you know what’s good for you, you stay the fuck away from me because I don't ever want to see your face again, do you hear me?” he snarls. “If you think Woods is dangerous, Adler, just remember I nearly could have killed my own president."

Then Mason turns on his heel and walks out of the room, once and for all. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The fist is very much expected, and so does the pain that follows.

"You're out of your fucking depth, shithead," Woods spits, venom lacing his words.

Adler doesn't even bother to retaliate.

He doesn’t see the point. He didn’t think it would get this far. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The garage grows quiet and stodgy with now Mason and Woods are out of the picture. Everyone settles back into their own normal rhythm, the same routine before both men set their feet here almost a week ago.

Hudson doesn’t take the news of their departure kindly, naturally. He stands in Adler’s office, pacing, fuming. Adler ignores him, trying to nurse the skull-splitting migraine he's having at his desk instead. The nasty black eye hidden underneath his glasses. A secret locked, the key thrown away.

His headache, thankfully, has subsided when Sims takes a seat on the other side of the desk, hours later after Hudson left.

"I'm not trying to cause an alarm here, but you'd better watch your back."

Adler's brows furrow but doesn’t look up from the papers before him. "And why's that?"

"'Cause I think you just pissed off the wrong beast," Sims tells him. Adler pauses, then lifts his head to look at his cohort. There's genuine worry flashing over his face.

“Are you talking about Bell?”

“Who else?”

If she's a beast, then what am I? What he wants to ask, but there's a knock at the door and he swallows the words down his throat.

"Come in," Adler says, pretending to be reading again.

The door opens and Bell, fucking Bell, enters his office. It's like watching a tiger pass by your hiding spot in near dark. Neither he nor Sims breathes a word.

Bell's gaze immediately swings to him, like a cosmic pull. She's watching him as she wanders over to the desk and the weight of her stare burns him like Greek fire.

He pushes the documents close, all the while returning her stare. He is never the one who backs out of a challenge, and at this point, he knows that she probably knows that. Maybe that’s why she initiated it in the first place.

"Bell, what is it?" Adler asks firmly, in possession of his full power in this place.

Bell produces three diskettes from her pocket. Something odd definitely shining in her eyes.

"These have been lying on Lazar's desk for hours, but he's busy, so I thought I'd deliver them to you myself," Bell says. And he's trying to work out on her angle but she is unreadable. As always.

Adler nods, frustrated and indignant. "You can leave them here. Thank you."

It is only once the woman leaves that the two agents share a dark, significant look. That was too close.

And it goes without saying, something needs to be done about this. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

March 7th. A's insistence on raising the dosage is illogical. Recent behavioural analysis indicates depression. Will monitor for the next few days. Considering lowering the dosage instead. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The elevator reeks of smoke, cheap Soviet air freshener and something far more poisonous than the devil’s spider, silky hands.

It embodies the woman standing next to him right now- this special animal, emotionless, a constant mystery wrapped with a warning sign.

Adler is tempted to shut his eyes.

Or get out of here. He doesn’t dwell well in this atmosphere, this limited space shared with her alone. He probably should have listened to Hudson about taking Bell for this mission, but she’s the only one he trusts who won’t fuck this up. Not to mention her spotless Russian has proven to help them blend in with the crowd seamlessly.

He needs her, whether he would admit it aloud or not.

But she puts his head in such a spin.

She’s been near-mute since they departed from Germany. She barely acknowledges his questions and orders, barely looks at him. She’s been treating him as if he’s another shadow on the wall.

He rubs the side of his jaw. Something does need to be done about this.

“Are you going to stay quiet forever?” Adler asks. He’s bad at this, but he can’t stand her silence for much longer. Not to mention, they’re at the Lubysnka- the fucking lion's den. If she wants to wallow over Mason’s absence or sinks into whatever melancholic feeling she’s in, she can do it later.

Bell hums, her mouth curls up like serpentine. Adler sketches a confused frown.  And she says, “I don’t know. Should I?”

And then, sudden and swift, Bell undoes the cuffs of her uniform. Beady eyes never leave his.

The sight catches him off guard. Somewhere in his mind, he curses something like ‘you’re a beast’ and ‘what the hell are you?’ at her, all in negative connotations. The effects she inflicts on him is maddening.

“What are you doing?” Adler doesn’t bother to hide his surprise.

Bell shrugs and gestures to the duffle bag at their feet. “Gearing up.”

Oh. Embarrassment wells up in him. Fucking hell, this woman will be the death of him.

Her fingers quickly move on to the buttons, still indifferent, nearly tearing them from the seams. The first glimpse of her skin and Adler can’t help but give in, openly stares at her in a way he has never imagined before. Her clavicles like daggers glinting in the lamplight.

Curiosity is a dangerous and heavy load.

He should have closed his eyes.

“Enjoying the show?” Her voice pulls him back from his musings. Her eyes still zero in on him, cutting him to pieces.

Her cleavage comes into view.

The lines on Adler’s face grow taut.

“What do you want, Bell?” He asks, intending for a bark but it ends somewhere like a plea.

“I want many things. As of right now, I want Alex’s cock inside me.” And Adler nearly chokes on his own breath. Bell, eagle-eyed as ever, caught the movement. “But it seems someone insists on being in control of everything, isn’t he?” she snaps.

Adler’s back goes rigid. Trepidation bubbles up in his chest.

Of course, she knows.

“It's not about control.” Adler turns around. He doesn’t quite know what he’s avoiding at this point, her flesh or the truth. “It’s about what’s right.”

He hears her uniform touches her floor as she laughs, mirthless, like broken chandeliers. “I didn’t know whose cock I’m riding is any concern of yours.”

“It is when he’s a member of the team,” he seethes. “What you’re doing with Alex will only lead to complications. And I can’t have tha-”

“Because this is all about you, isn’t it? It’s about upholding your precious reputation in the Agency, controlling the narrative the way you want it no matter how many characters you kill off in the process. It’s always about what you want.” Bell interrupts, not missing a beat. “You selfish motherfucker.”

"This has nothing to do with my reputation in the CIA."

She scoffs. "Spare me the crap, Adler."

Adler turns to fully face her again and holds his arms open, the way someone is facing the firing squad. “Fine. Fine, yes, I’m a selfish motherfucker. I did it because I thought it could ruin the operation. Is that what you wanted to hear? Now, what are you going to do about it?”

She says nothing at first. He silently catalogues her movements as she steps towards him now, half-naked and furious. He feels pinned.

Then, “What do you want me to do about it?”

His mouth dries at the implication. She is temptation, benediction, the coarse ice block before the carver.

How terrible it is to lose control, even just once.

A knowing, vicious smirk flashes over her face. Adler feels like he’s just shown his hand.

“You are one selfish bastard and a coward to boot, aren’t you?” Bell sneers before he has a chance to respond. “At least, Alex was brave enough to make the first move, but you…” her gaze raking up and down his figure coldly, a jeweller presented with second-grade imitations. Wind her up and this honey bee stings.

“You’ll always be the man who hides behind his shades,” she says, dry as dust, and steps back and snatches her clothes from the bag.

This is, without a single doubt, the longest elevator ride he’s ever experienced in his life. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Adler arrived back in Berlin breathing a little harder. Worry wrapped around his neck like a noose, placed by Bell herself; the judge, jury and executioner.

The knot tightens every time his mind refers to her.

The agency trained him, specifically, to keep calm under pressure. He didn’t coin the title “America’s Monster” from his colleagues for nothing. They don’t fear him because he’s hot-headed or thinks in large-scale violence— guns blazing, napalm-induced flames over the hill in the morning, bloodied knuckles and fractured jaw, blood-soaked soles tarnishing the white marble floor. Someone can point a fucking shotgun to his face and he’ll barely flinch. Only monsters remain impassive to direct threats of violence.

But there’s something about Bell that elicits this visceral, primal reaction out of him. Something strange and new; lightning about to be uncapped from its chains.

It chokes him, frightens him to the core.

How gauche is it, don’t you think, that his own mind is conspiring against him?

Now, in the garage, where it dawns on Adler that she’s probably the only person who can make him walk around the city, feeling like a fool, he decides he’s had enough. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I’ll drive you back.”

Adler apprehends Bell outside the garage. He kind of assumed she’d have a pistol aimed at his head right now, but she spins around, hands shoved deep inside her pockets and clayey mouth curls in distaste.

“Get in the car, Bell,” Adler says tightly, almost adding please.

But he would not beg.

The brunette remains rooted in her place. For a moment, a calculating look crossed her face. Always, always that sharp mind of hers turning and he wonders where it would take her this time.

“Try asking nicely,” she demands.

Adler’s eyes flash. She really is testing him. But fine, he'll play her game.

“Bell, would you kindly get in the car?” He is all but snarls, teeth gritting. Bell hardly wavers- he wishes she would waver for a change.

She does what he asked of her, finally, the shadow of a smirk on her face mocking him. Adler follows suit, teeth still clenched together, and starts the car and drives away.

It's sort of like a deja-vu, he supposes; him and her in this very same car, except that stupid krautrock music is absent this time. Neither says anything for the first twenty minutes. Everything feels heavily still.

Until he realizes she’s probably waiting for his move.

This might gloriously blow up in his face, yes, he knows this. Especially remembering the last time he was alone in a tight space with her, it had cost him his pride.

And his mind.

But he’s been here before, in the eye of the storm. He was at his calmest here. He has his cards prepared now.

Adler inhales deeply.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he utters resolutely. He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t want to. “I was out of line, I admit it. Your affair with Mason should be no concern of mine but I really am just trying to look out for you.”

It’s weak, he knows. The words feel more like an anchor than an actual apology in his tongue anyway, but Adler didn’t expect that Bell would give him nothing. Not even an acknowledging hum, a scathing retort, a scoff. Nothing.

A twinge of irritation brews in his stomach. Why does she insist on playing games?

The car comes to a stop. They’ve arrived. Adler wrests his hands from the steering wheel to say something harsh to her, but Bell is already stepping out of the car.

She stands on the sidewalk; an enigma in royal red, and her lethal, all-seeing eyes gravitate to him in the night.

There is a long paralyzing beat where they just stare at each other- which seems to be a running theme between them lately. Adler is fuming, as he is confused.

It feels like hours, centuries, eons, but, like all magic, the spell is broken. Courtesy of a stranger hailing a cab behind his car.

Bell turns and walks inside the building. She doesn’t bother sparing him the final glance or extend her appreciation for the ride back and Adler thinks to himself, this universe, god fucking damnit, nothing makes sense here.

But it is also in moments like this that the world spins, when he notices a singular, significant detail that makes his stomach roll, nearly throwing him off balance:

Bell left the passenger door open.

And he’s insane- he has to be, right? He’s looking too much into this. It doesn’t mean anything. His mind conjures an image, like a graphic guideline or something, step one: get out of the car, two: make your way around and close the passenger door, and third: zoom out of the neighborhood while your sanity is still intact, all in that order. Easy to comprehend, to follow.

Adler only does the first two steps. He’s ass-backwards doesn’t even bother to digest the third step.

He enters the hotel instead and takes in the surroundings. The lobby is pointedly bare, but warm and smoky. The concierge is reading behind the counter- a young, wiry boy with shocking bleached hair- with headphones on. It’s late, he probably doesn’t expect anyone to check in at this hour.

A movement by the staircase catches his interest. He sees Bell climbing up the steps slowly, leisurely. Adler makes his way there.

Halfway reaching her floor, Adler has the inkling that she knows that he’s following her. Also, because the next she does is glancing back at him over her shoulder. He waits for her to push him down the stairs or wrap those delicate hands around his neck. She does neither. She doesn’t want him gone.

Yet, his mind betrays him. Only because she doesn’t know what other atrocities he’s committed to her.

She stops by her door, opens it and goes in first. Adler, without waiting for a formal fucking invitation, slips in behind her.

Her room is much smaller than his. The TV is still on- a German dubbed of All the President’s Men is playing- a stack of books and meds lying haphazardly on the desk table.

The door clicks shut behind him. Bell wanders over to the table and turns off the TV. Her back to him.

She doesn’t bother turning the light switch on. The green neon of the hotel sign outside illuminates the room, bathes her in it, making her look even stranger and faraway.

He doesn’t take off his sunglasses.

“What do you want, Bell?” Adler is all but snarling. His anger comes in a bottle with a twist-off cap. “I’m fucking sick of playing your games. I apologized, I admitted I was wrong- I fucked up, but what more could you want?”

Jesus, and now he’s losing his temper over a brainwashed Russian who rarely talks. How did it come to this?

She tugs off her gloves. Once again, barely acknowledging him. Apparently, if ignoring him is an art form, she is the fucking Monet.

Until:

“Take them off.”

Adler blinks hard behind his glasses. Like he’s just stepped into a whole different earth.

His mouth moves.

“What?”

“Your sunglasses. Take them off.”

He stares at her back. Trying really, really hard to make sure he’s not hallucinating this, but then Bell turns around, a finger tapping against her arm, waiting.

Realization hits him like an uppercut in the face and nearly leaves him in a daze. He’s walked into a trap. That much is clear as day. She wants him to suffer as she does. An eye for an eye.

Adler holds no modicum of control in her domain, not unless she gives the reins. Once again, she plays the judge, jury and executioner at her own court.

But, like before, he’ll play her game.

There, the glasses are off. His eyes, bare, blue like fractured ice, meeting hers. In the dark, he feels her eyes shift to assess his bruise.  

His heart booms against his ribs.

"Kneel,” she says glibly.

He obeys, again. His legs and hands don’t shake, but his mind is much less governable than his limbs. No, the CIA didn’t prepare a manual for situations like this and he doesn’t trust his instincts to help him dance his way around this.

Nor does he want to.

The thought fucks him up to a degree.

Adler should have known that it wouldn’t take an entire nation or continent to bring him to his knees, no, no. That would have been too easy, anyway. Although history has dictated and taught him that women are never to be underestimated, Adler hasn’t expected that one woman would be able to do the deed and succeed.

But then again, when that woman is Bell, he supposes anything is possible.

When Bell approaches him, he’s unable to take his gaze from her. Her eyes spangle with determination, an avenging soul in the neon lights. Her fingers work on the sash of her coat. The line of her mouth is flat and inscrutable. The air crackles with electricity and a promise of the unsayable, the unattainable.

She stands over him now, gloveless and coatless. She’s powerful like this and he can only crane his head up at her, ceding his fate in her hands, against his better judgement. She catches that.

Suddenly, something unpleasant breaks on her face, like when one’s smelling something foul or pungent.

Bell reaches down and grips his jaw painfully in one hand, her nails digging into his skin, and tilts his head sideways. Strange that his stomach leaps at that.

“Say you’re sorry,” she spits furiously. “And say it like you fucking mean it.”

He feels, suddenly, triumphant and chuckles darkly. Eight fucking long weeks and the beast finally shows her claws.

“Try asking nicely,” Adler parrots her words from before, not a beat missed. Two can play that game, he thinks. "Or are you above niceness, Bell?”

Her grip tightens.

"You’re one to talk,” Bell says. Then, rubs the pad of her thumb over his scarred cheek and it feels like forgiveness, or the beginning of it, at least.

His confusion spikes.

Her nose skims down his jawline.

A better, sensible man would apologize. He'd squander it until his tongue burns acid, he'd beg for her forgiveness like a man asking for repentance before his god.

“Why did you do it, Russell?” Bell whispers against his skin now, baleful and raspy. Her chest rising and falling too rapidly.

But he’s a sick bastard, a selfish motherfucker, a heartless monster. All he does is hurt the people around him. He doesn’t get to take from her, not after what he's done.

Still, Adler catches her wrist. Relishing the way her wrist bone grinds under his hold. He pulls his face back to look at her.

“You know why.”  

Her eyes flick dangerously to his lips.

Desperation really can make the most vulgar things tolerable.

“Then prove it.”

So he does. As his hand reaches up to her neck, past the delicious column of her throat and with a precise swift, Adler grabs a fistful of her hair, the feminine gasp escaping her mouth is like a jolt to his groin, and kisses her.

Bell responds in kind. That little beast. She grasps his collar and drags him up to his feet, impatient with want. She laps at him, bites and sucks. His free hand snakes around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer.

She pulls away, catching her breath, and his teeth skim down her jaw, her neck. He bites her there in retaliation, on the delicious junction of her neck and shoulder, into the fabric of her shirt, making his intentions clear. Bell chokes in surprise and scrapes her nails over his scalp.

It hurts. But with pain, along comes pleasure and it’s good. It’s so good, Adler melts with a shaky breath.

His gloves come off first. Next, she pulls him free off his jacket, his sweater and snakes a hand between his legs, stroking him. He bites off a strangled ‘fuck’ into her throat. He’s worked up real fast already. Adler manages to make a short work of her shirt, unclasping her bra before he’s all but pushes her onto the bed.

Adler settles above her, capturing her lips in another feverish, hot-blooded kiss. He tugs her zipper down and slips his hand inside her pants. Her cunt’s everything he’s come to expect: wet, warm and oh-so wrong. She sucks in a breath. Her hips move against his hand. His blood sings. She throws her head back against the pillow, while his finds her earlobe.

“Has this proven my point, Bell?” he asks. His answer starts on a moan and ends with a breathless ‘yes’.

He doesn’t let her come that easily. No, he wants to drag this out for as long as he can until it drives her mad. So, Adler peels the rest of her clothes away, pulls her shoulder and turns her onto her stomach. He pins her down, hard. She gasps loudly against the white pillowcase, her hand fists into the sheets.

Adler slots himself behind her. His hand tracing along her spine, followed by his mouth, just how he fantasized once upon a time. His other hand quickly undoes the snap of his pants. Everything has been poisoned by her and her only; she is in his tongue, his veins, his mind, his lungs. She takes the centrefold of his mind and it's ridiculous.

He presses himself against her ass. His mouth falls open. Her body trembles. She’s all sin and racing hearts and sweaty flesh. She’s perfect. His now free hand slides up to the nape of Bell’s neck, reaching her throat, pressing down. She makes this high-pitched, demanding noise as she moves her hips back against him, leaving him wanting, helpless at the thought of having her right here, right now, in the warm neon glow of her hotel room.

“Please,” Bell begs. He groans in response and he gives it to her. Fuck, he’d give her anything if she begs just exactly like that.

When Adler is finally inside her, he thinks his world drops dead. He sets a merciless pace. He is not a gentle man and there is nothing gentle in the supple arch of her back, a rose bent backwards in the wind, as he pants along her neck before he pulls out, twists her onto her back again and pushes deeper into her until she comes apart underneath him (he’s made sure she begs for it- please, Russell. Oh god, Russell)

(He didn’t have to. Russell Adler is never the kind of man to fall for his dark side, but Christ knows he is only one man)

[hrina]

Something Strange

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: R WORD COUNT: 6.3k+ REQUESTED: no

uhhhh hi. so. this is my (first ever) halloween fic, ft. infuriatingly cocky ghostbuster!harry. i really hope you guys enjoy it, and just like every other writer on this godforsaken site, i’d love to hear any feedback that you might have. ok im done now lol go forth and read :)

warnings: cursing, brief nsfw content, a nasty habit of jumping to conclusions, and harry being an asshole with a secret heart of gold.

~*~

    October 2nd, 2021

Your attention is first caught by the massive, obnoxiously-coloured truck parked in Mindy and Gerald’s driveway. The entire vehicle is a shade of navy blue, though its sophistication is ruined by the neon green bubble lettering streaked across its doors.

Spooked? Call Styles’ Scares!

Beneath that, there’s a promise painted in bright pink:

Lasting results or your money back!

“What the hell?” you mutter.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and exit your car, momentarily forgetting about the groceries sitting in the trunk. Mindy and Gerald are standing on their porch, absorbed in a light-hearted conversation. When they catch sight of you trekking across the lawn, they smile brightly and offer up a pair of welcoming waves.

“Hi, there!” you call, shoving your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. “What’s all this?”

“Good afternoon, dear!” Mindy replies. She quickly descends the front steps, meeting you halfway and enveloping you in a tight hug. “How are you? It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

“You can drop in whenever you want,” you say, chuckling. “It’s not like I live very far away.”

“How have you been?” Gerald follows his wife, steadily making his way off the porch. “How’s school?”

“It’s alright.” You shrug. “Things are picking up, now, but I’m trying my best to stay on top of them.”

You toss your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing to the bright pickup truck parked in their driveway. (It really is ugly, you think. Probably one of the ugliest vehicles that you’ve ever had the displeasure of perceiving.)

“What’s going on?”

“Oh!” Mindy lifts her hands to her mouth, gazing at you with wide, serious eyes. “Our house is haunted.”

You balk. “Pardon me?”

“I know, I know,” she sighs, shaking her head. “It sounds silly. I didn’t believe it at first either, but—something keeps knocking our picture frames off the wall. And the lights! They start flickering at random intervals throughout the day.”

“Are you sure it’s not just rats?” you joke.

Gerald, who has now joined you on the lawn, holds up his hand solemnly. “We tried using traps, but they haven’t been touched at all.”

“Exactly.” Mindy nods, turning back to you. “We’re already worried about Joseph’s wedding next week, so one of the ladies at the community centre recommended Harry. That same day, Gerald gave him a call, and that was the end of it.”

“Who’s Harry?” you ask, brows knitting together in confusion.

“Er—” A deep voice sounds from behind you. “I am.”

When you turn around, you come face-to-face with one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. He’s got mossy green eyes, dark pink lips, and brown hair that curls around his temples and behind his ears. Smooth skin stretches out over high, chiseled cheekbones and a sharp jaw. He’s wearing a pair of light-wash jeans and matching white sneakers. A black hoodie covers his broad chest; upon taking a closer look, you note that the two front strings have been tied into a picturesque little bow.

Mindy wastes no time, introducing the two of you immediately. When Harry holds out his hand for you to shake, you don’t hesitate.

“Did you want my card?” he asks, peering at you curiously.

You study his expression. Beneath his seemingly sincere exterior, arrogance runs wild and unchecked. You know this man. You’ve met him a hundred different times under a hundred different circumstances, and you’ve learned to recognize a lost cause when you’re staring it square in the face.

“Not at all.” You shoot him a fake smile. “I’m just the neighbour.”

“Right.” His lips twitch. He steps back, rolling his shoulders and lifting his chin in the direction of the house. “Well, I should probably get to work. It was nice meeting you, babe.”

Your nose wrinkles as the pet name sinks in.

When you turn back around to resume your conversation with Mindy and Gerald, they’re gone. Your eyes bounce to the right, where you find them guiding Harry up the porch steps. Mindy has one hand on his bicep whilst gesturing animatedly with the other. Gerald opens the front door and holds out his arm, welcoming Harry inside.

You scoff, shaking your head in disdain.

“Ghosts aren’t real,” you mumble as you make your way back across the lawn. The trunk of your car squeaks when you pull it open, and plastic bags rustle as you gather your groceries into your arms.

Ghosts aren’t real. And Harry is obviously a scammer, based on…well, based on everything. The tacky design on his truck. The unprofessional wardrobe. The self-assuredness emanating from every cell in his body. Babe.

But Mindy and Gerald truly believe that their home is haunted. Trying to change their minds without a shred of physical proof is pointless. You blow out a soft sigh, accepting the grim reality of your situation.

Your neighbours are gullible, trusting people. And for the next few days—whether you like it or not—Harry is here to stay.

      October 5th, 2021

You’re approximately two seconds away from chucking your textbook against the far wall.

You’ve been trying to finish this chapter for the past hour. And though you pride yourself on being tolerant when it comes to petty annoyances, your patience is wearing thin. A quick glance out of your bedroom window reveals Harry’s hideous pickup truck parked—yet again—in Mindy and Gerald’s driveway.

You roll your eyes. Of course.

The piercing, raucous whirring starts up again; you release a frustrated yell, slamming your book shut and leaping off your bed. You’re muttering obscenities under your breath as you stalk down the hall, stopping briefly to slide on a pair of fuzzy slippers. When you yank your front door open, the chilly autumn air settles into your bones.

The clamour grows louder as you stomp across your shared lawn. When you knock on Mindy and Gerald’s door, the commotion is nearly unbearable. A few seconds go by, during which your presence remains unacknowledged; you rap once again on the wood, hoping that the sound will be conspicuous enough amidst all of the background noise.

Sure enough, everything goes quiet. Your shoulders slump with relief just as the door opens. Mindy greets you with a friendly smile.

“Hi, dear,” she says kindly. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi.” You force yourself to mirror her affable expression, hoping that she can’t see the pained exhaustion brewing in your eyes. “Could I just—could I speak with Harry, please? It won’t take long.”

“Of course.” She nods before peering at you anxiously. “Don’t tell me that you’ve got ghosts, too.”

“No.” You shake your head. Ghosts aren’t real, you want to say, but you hold your tongue. “No, I just—I just need to have a quick word with him, that’s all.”

“Alright. I’ll go fetch him.” She turns around and totters away.

You hear her call his name, followed by the telltale sound of shuffling. After a few long moments, he’s there, leaning against the doorway with a bemused look on his face.

“Evening, babe,” he says coolly. “What’s up?”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, folding your arms over your chest.

Harry’s eyebrows shoot upward. He hadn’t expected you to greet him with such animosity, you suppose. His outfit is nearly identical to that of the other day, save for the red bandana perched atop his head. He buries his fingers into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging nonchalantly and pinning you with a blasé, unimpressed gaze.

“Noted,” he says. The corners of his lips curl up into a crooked smirk as he repeats, “What’s up?”

“You need to keep it down,” you say flatly. “I don’t know what kind of fake ‘exorcism’ bullshit you’re trying to pull off, but the noise is driving me insane. I need to study.”

“‘Fake’?” Harry parrots. “You don’t believe in spirits?”

“No,” you deadpan. “I don’t.” You narrow your eyes, studying the subtle movements of his face. “And if I had to take a wild guess, neither do you.”

“Really,” he says, chuckling softly. It isn’t a question.

“Really.”

Harry watches you, tickled by your obvious exasperation. “I get the feeling that you don’t like me very much.”

“Look at that,” you say, rolling your eyes. “He does have a brain.”

“You’re so judgmental.” He laughs, shaking his head. “How can you dislike me when you barely even know me?”

“I know enough,” you reply, scowling. “I know that you’re a fraud who takes advantage of people and their fears. And for what? Just so that you can take home a paycheque at the end of the day?”

“Ouch.” Harry feigns injury, placing a large hand over his heart. “That hurts, babe.”

There it is again. Babe.

“You know what?” Your nostrils flare. “Forget this—it’s like trying to explain rocket science to a toddler.”

He grins. “Yeah, I suppose. I’m much cuter, though, don’t you think?”

You scoff, pedalling backward. “In your dreams.”

His delight only seems to grow when your retort sinks in. You whip around, descending the porch steps and storming back toward your house. When you chance a glance over your shoulder, Harry is still standing in the doorway, a shit-eating smile stretched wide across his cheeks.

“Just keep it down, okay?” you call irritably.

He raises two fingers to his temple in a mock-salute, and you march away without another word.

      October 8th, 2021

“You’re sure?”

You laugh. “Yes, Mindy, I’m sure. I promise.”

“Alright,” she assents, blowing out a quiet sigh through the phone. “I went grocery shopping today, so our cupboards are fully stocked—help yourself to anything you’d like. Also, when you flush the downstairs toilet, the water may look like it’s rising, but it goes down after a second or two.”

“Noted.” You snicker. “Anything else?”

“That’s it,” she says. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” you reply. “Tell Joseph and Amy that I said congratulations, yeah?”

“We will! See you later, dear.”

“See you later.”

      October 9th, 2021

When Mindy and Gerald get back tomorrow afternoon, you’re going to wring their necks.

Agreeing to housesit whilst they celebrated their son’s wedding a few cities away? Sure. Fine. You had a long night full of nothing planned—sitting in front of the television, munching on some snacks, relaxing for the evening and trying to forget about all of the schoolwork waiting for you at home. You were in the middle of watching a Golden Girls rerun when, suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

“Coming!” You stood, setting your bowl of popcorn aside. The knocking continued as you made your way to the front entrance, wiping your buttery fingers against the dark leggings covering your thighs.

“I’m coming,” you said exasperatedly. You opened the door, ready to shoo away whoever it was—a salesperson, probably.

Instead, you came face-to-face with Harry.

And now, you’re here—slumped on the couch, angrily shovelling popcorn into your mouth. You keep your gaze trained on the television, trying your hardest to avoid the man who is setting up his “equipment” in the middle of the room.

“Can’t you do this in the kitchen?” you deadpan.

He flicks a switch on his machine—it looks an awful lot like a standard centrifuge. What a fraud.

“Spirit energy’s strongest in here,” he grunts. His knees scuff against the carpeted floor.

A derisive laugh falls from your lips. “Mindy and Gerald aren’t here—you can drop the act.”

Harry glances up at you, his pretty green irises glimmering. “What act?”

You roll your eyes and look away, fixing your attention back on the grainy screen.

Neither of you say anything for the next few minutes; tension builds, saturating the air and making it hard for you to breathe. Eventually, Harry breaks through the awkward silence. You want to scream.

“Er—” he starts, expectant. “Do you mind stepping out for a second? I need the room.”

Your nostrils flare. “Excuse me?”

“I need the—”

“I heard you,” you say, sitting up straight. “You don’t need anything. What the hell are you playing at?”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean, babe.” His tone is genuine, but you can sense the mirth simmering just beneath the surface. His lips twitch, and your frustration boils like water over a stove.

“Stop calling me that,” you snap, folding your arms across your chest. “And stop playing dumb. Other people might put up with your pseudo-spooky bullshit, but I won’t. Ghosts aren’t real!”

The lights go out.

You gasp, straining your eyes in an attempt to regain your bearings. Slowly, blurry shapes and shadows materialise in front of you. You fumble around for your phone, picking it up and tapping the screen. A moment later, the device’s flash lights up the room. You shine it from side to side, eventually settling on Harry, who is looking up at the ceiling in complete and utter bewilderment.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “Now you’ve done it.”

“Done what?” you squawk, glaring at him. “The power went out. Big deal.”

The lights flicker fleetingly, and then the room is dark again. Your eyes drift over to Harry; he’s smirking.

“This isn’t a ghost,” you say stubbornly, waving your phone around. The bright light bounces across the walls before you steady yourself, positioning the beam back on him. He stands, sinking his hands into the deep pockets of his sweatpants.

“And how would you know?” he teases, cocking one eyebrow challengingly.

“Because,” you scoff. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

Something crashes to the floor. You yelp in surprise, your head snapping to the right. When you shine your light in the direction of the noise, you find a shattered picture frame lying on the ground.

“What the fuck?” Harry murmurs, advancing toward the mess.

“Careful!” you say, holding up your hand. He stops in his tracks, peering over at you in confusion. “There’s glass, idiot,” you explain, climbing to your feet. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

He shoots you a crooked smile. “You do care.”

“I don’t.” Your response is curt. “I just don’t feel like driving you to the hospital so that they can remove fragments from your foot.”

Harry chuckles.

You sigh, squinting at the fallen frame. “We can clean it up when the lights come back on,” you say, mostly to yourself. “I don’t want to risk anything.”

He nods and yawns, stretching his arms out above his head. “Suit yourself, babe.”

“The next time you call me that, I’m going to—”

“What?” he asks, padding over to the sofa. You watch him approach with a deep scowl on your face. He collapses onto the couch, slouching and spreading his legs obnoxiously wide. “You gonna beat me up or something?”

You shake your head in disbelief, stepping away from him. “You’re a piece of shit.”

“So you say,” he replies, unbothered.

“You’re so—”

You break off, producing an angry noise in the back of your throat. Harry winks at you; in response, you whip around and storm away, carving out a path from the living room to the kitchen.

You shine the light from your phone across the cupboards, making a beeline for the fridge. When you pull it open, the cold compartment is dark. Squinting, you reach for one of the many water bottles stacked on the top shelf.

Stupid Harry, with his stupid smile and his stupid eyes and his stupid attitude and his stupid bogus business. You can’t believe that Mindy and Gerald were naïve enough to fall for his bullshit. You need to have a long talk with them when they get back, you think—to ensure that they never swallow a pill this big ever again.

“Thirsty?”

You nearly jump out of your skin, pointing your phone toward the kitchen’s exit. Harry is standing there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest. You bring one hand up to your sternum, trying to calm your racing heart.

“Jesus Christ,” you hiss, shaking your head. “You scared the shit out of me!”

He snickers lowly. You turn your attention back to the fridge, grabbing a water bottle and uncapping it quickly. Through the darkness, Harry watches you gulp down the cool liquid; you pretend not to notice.

“Can I help you?” you finally ask, wiping your mouth with the heel of your palm.

“No.” He shrugs. “Just…looking, I guess.”

“That’s creepy,” you reply flatly. He laughs.

“May I steal a bottle?” he says, padding across the tiles. “I’m parched.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “I—sure. Whatever.”

And though you try, you can’t seem to tear your gaze away from him. He hums as he opens up the fridge, leaning forward to get a better look inside. You play with the hem of your sweater, standing behind him awkwardly. When he peers over his shoulder, you quickly look away, feigning interest in the marble countertop next to the sink.

“Er—” he starts. He fixes you with an inquisitive look, glancing down at the device in your hand. “Would you mind? I can’t see anything.”

“Don’t you have your own?” you ask.

“Yeah, but you’re already holding yours. Come on.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

You draw nearer, lifting your phone and shining its flash into the fridge. Harry hums, plucking a water bottle off the top shelf with a satisfied smile. When he turns to face you, a puff of air catches in your throat; he’s awfully close, his torso brushing almost imperceptibly against yours.

You stare up at him, stunned. There’s a small mole beneath the left corner of his mouth. Part of you—an insignificant, microscopic part—fights the urge to reach out and run your thumb over the mark.

“I’m sorry for calling you a piece of shit,” you blurt.

He inhales deeply, chest expanding and fitting a bit more firmly against your own.

The contact snaps you out of your trance. You retreat, backing up against the counter to maintain your balance. Harry clears his throat and glances away.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice hoarse.

Unable to find the right words, you simply nod.

The two of you stand there for a long moment, sinking into a pool of uncomfortable silence. Just when you think that you’re going to choke on the invisible tension, a faint buzz resonates through the air. Less than a second later, the power returns, illuminating the kitchen in a wash of warm, brilliant light.

“Thank God,” you mutter. You shut the flash on your phone, sliding the device beneath the waistband of your leggings.

Harry blinks rapidly, disoriented. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

He waves your question away. “No, it’s—it’s nothing.”

And you don’t really feel like pressing the subject, so you let it go. A tired sigh falls from your mouth as you scan your surroundings.

“Help me find a broom,” you tell him. “We need to sweep up the glass in the other room.”

His lips twitch. “What’s the magic word?”

There he is. The same insufferable man who has been pushing your buttons all week. You scowl, shooting him a displeased glare.

“Forget it.” You drag your fingers down the left side of your face. “I’ll do it myself.”

~*~

“You sure you don’t want my help?” Harry calls, kicking his feet up onto the sofa.

You grunt, crouching next to the shattered glass on the floor. “Positive.”

The broom and dustpan that you’ve acquired from the laundry room are old and frail, but you suppose that they’ll get the job done. You set the dustpan down on the ground, wrapping your fingers around the broom’s handle and trying to maneuver it in an efficient way. It’s no easy feat, but eventually, you manage to create a small, compact pile of shards. Gingerly, you reach for the picture frame, plucking it up from the ground and setting it off to the side. Next, you take your time sweeping all of the fragments into the dustpan, inspecting the floor for any lingering bits.

“Struggling over there?” Harry asks.

You grit your teeth.

“No,” you counter in a matter-of-fact tone. “I think I got it all, actually. No thanks to you.”

You throw the last part over your shoulder, coupling it with an accusatory frown. Harry holds up his hands in surrender, suppressing his amusement.

“Shouldn’t you be exorcising spirits?” you ask. Sarcasm drips from your words.

He chuckles. The couch squeaks as he shuffles around; a moment later, the sound of approaching footsteps reaches your ears. You stiffen when he stops next to your squatted form.

“To be quite honest,” he begins, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice, “I’m having a much better time watching you.”

“Creepy,” you say. “Again.”

He laughs, lowering himself to his knees. In the periphery of your vision, you watch him pick up the abandoned picture frame, turning it around and studying the photograph inside. His cheeks lift with the slope of a familiar smile, but somehow, this one is different from the others that you’ve witnessed.

It’s real. Sincere.

“Nice, don’t you think?” Harry asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

He extends his arm, revealing the photograph. Mindy and Gerald’s beaming faces stare up at you, a balance of bright grins and crinkled eyes. Subconsciously, your lips curl upward, and you take the frame from Harry’s hands.

“Yeah,” you murmur, running your fingertips over the photo. “They look happy.”

“How long have you known them?” he asks. There’s no malice behind the question.

“Since I moved in,” you say absentmindedly, admiring the ornate frame around the picture. “A few years, now.”

He hums in response. “They talk about you a lot.”

“All good things, I hope.” You cast a wry look in his direction.

He chuckles and nods. “Yeah. They look out for you, it seems.”

“I try to look out for them, too.” You sit back on your haunches, groaning quietly. “Which is why I was surprised that they didn’t come to me when they first thought their house was ‘haunted’.”

Your intonation changes on the last word; you still don’t believe that your neighbours are being plagued by spirits, despite the plethora of peculiarity that you’ve witnessed tonight.

“Maybe they didn’t want to worry you,” Harry suggests.

You roll your eyes. Even now, he refuses to drop the act.

“Sure,” you say. “So, hiring a spirit exterminator—or whatever you pretend to be—was a better move?” You snort softly, climbing to your feet. “How much are they paying you, anyway?”

He purses his lips. “They’re not.”

You freeze.

A beat of silence drags out, during which you swallow your shock. You clear your throat and lift your chin, staring down at Harry banally.

“You’re lying.”

“Nope.”

“You are!” you insist. A short, incredulous laugh tumbles off your tongue. “You are one hundred percent fucking with me.”

“I’m afraid not,” he says.

“Your truck, though...” you say. “‘Lasting results, or your money back’?”

“I’ve got to make it look legitimate, don’t I?” He smirks. “But it’s cute that you remembered.”

Your eyes lock with his, and suddenly, it’s almost impossible to breathe. His gaze is deep, open, and honest. Your lips part, but no sound comes out. Instinctively, your legs carry you a few paces back, veering toward the sofa. You plop down onto the plush cushions, clutching the picture frame tightly between your fingers.

“Then, why—?” you break off, shaking your head. “Why would you—?”

“Peace of mind,” Harry shrugs, still rooted to his spot on the floor. “Ever heard of the placebo effect?”

“You admit it, then,” you say, sitting up straight. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

He nods, blinking languidly. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“So,” you start, trying to make sense of the situation, “you let them believe that you’re actually cleansing the house—for free, too—just to—?” You glance around the room, searching for the right words. “—just to put them at ease?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s…”

Sweet. Thoughtful.

“…ridiculous.”

Harry chuckles. “Thanks.”

“I—” You hesitate, depositing the photograph next to you on the couch. “This whole time, I thought you were just…”

“A con?”

You bring your fingers up to your mouth, nodding silently and studying him with big, rounded eyes.

He shrugs.

“I mean, I never really got the chance to explain myself. You’d already made up your mind about me, hadn’t you? So, I thought I’d just let you stick with your assumptions—it didn’t bother me much.”

“I’m a horrible person,” you say, mostly to yourself.

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “No, you’re not. You’re just a bit judgmental, that’s all.”

“You’re right.” You nod again, bowing your head in shame. “I am. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, babe, really.”

You stand abruptly, abandoning your spot on the sofa.

“I should finish up,” you state, embarrassed beyond belief. Harry watches you closely as you approach. You crouch down next to him, reaching for the dustpan with shaky hands. A few small shards of glass are littered at the brink of the collector; you nudge them away from the edge, trying to be as careful as possible.

“Ow!” you suddenly hiss, retracting your arm quickly. You twist your wrist, fixing your attention on a thin cut engraved into the pad of your index finger.

“What happened?” Harry asks, leaning forward.

You shake your head, waving away his worries. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just got nicked, that’s all.”

“Let me see,” he requests, holding out his own hand.

You pause, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and stealing a quick glance at his face. His expression is concerned, but neutral. Your hesitation is silly, you think—he may be a bit of a jackass, but he’s not going to hurt you. You’ve already condemned him once before, and you were wrong.

You don’t want to make that mistake again.

After a brief moment, you give in, sliding your knuckles into his open palm.

“It’s alright, really,” you say, speaking around the lump in your throat. “The piece was tiny—it hardly broke the surface.”

Harry inspects the laceration closely, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

It’s not that serious, you want to tell him, but you refrain from letting the words escape. Part of you is enjoying the way your hands fit together so perfectly. You don’t want it to end—not yet.

“You’re bleeding a bit, babe,” he announces faintly, brows cinched in concentration.

“I am?” You try to tug your arm back, but he keeps a firm grip on your wrist. A low, confused noise echoes in the back of your throat; Harry peers up at you, his features unreadable.

“It’s just a spot,” he murmurs. “Let me.”

And before you can say or do anything else, he’s taking your finger past his lips and giving an easy, gentle suck.

You squeak.

The sound snaps Harry out of his trance; he releases your hand and recoils hastily. You exhale, driving out the stale air gathered in your lungs. When you peek up at him from beneath your lashes, he’s already watching you, shoulders taut with anxiety.

“Sorry,” he stammers. His nostrils flare. “That was weird—sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, shaking your head. “Er…thanks.”

“No worries.” He swallows.

“Alright.”

Awkwardly, you wipe your clammy palms against your thighs. Harry seems to be looking at everything except for you; his gaze flits to the ceiling, then to the couch, then to the floor. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek and push yourself up off the ground. The room is painfully quiet as you slowly slink back toward to the sofa.

“I should probably put this somewhere safe,” you mumble, picking up the forgotten picture frame.

Warm air floats over the nape of your neck. You gasp and spin around, nearly toppling over in your haste. Harry’s hands find your shoulders, steadying you and crowding you closer to his chest. You glance up at him; your shallow breaths mingle together in the narrow space, noses only inches apart.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice no higher than a gruff whisper. “Tell me. Please.”

In response, you fumble for one of his hands, grappling at his wrist; he loosens his hold on your arms, confused but willing. He’s motionless as you lift his knuckles up to your mouth. You glance down, tilting your head to the side and studying them carefully. Harry says nothing when you press a soft, feathery kiss to the pad of his index finger.

But then you’re dipping the tip of the digit between your lips, and suddenly, he’s undone.

“Fucking—”

He grabs your face in his palms and seals his mouth to yours.

The two of you stagger backward, tumbling onto the couch. Mindy and Gerald’s picture frame slips from your grasp, landing on a neighbouring cushion with a faint thud. Reflexively, your legs part; Harry takes his rightful place between them, slanting his body accordingly. When he applies the faintest hint of pressure, you moan.

“Fuck.” He draws back, his warm breath wafting over your chin. “Don’t.”

“‘Don’t’ what?” you ask, puzzled.

He shakes his head. “Don’t make those noises. It’s—you’re—I’m—”

He curses quietly and reaches for one of your hands. You allow him to guide your palm lower, inhaling sharply when you feel the slight bulge protruding from his trousers. Instinctively, your fingers close over the subtle ridge of his cock. His shoulders stiffen, and his eyes squeeze shut.

“You’re hard,” you murmur, as though it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Not fully.” He swallows. “But I’m getting there.”

“Because of me?” you ask, peering up at him innocently.

“Yeah.” Harry expels a wobbly, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, babe—because of you.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as the familiar moniker falls from his mouth. He notices your unusual reaction, mouth curling into teasing smirk.

“What?” he says, lifting one eyebrow. “No nagging, this time? I thought you hated that nickname.”

You grip the collar of his sweater and give a gentle tug, guiding him down for another kiss. When the two of you finally break apart, you shrug. “It’s growing on me.”

He smiles.

“Do you—?” you pause, pursing your lips. The question sounds silly—presumptuous, even. Rather than finishing your sentence, you lift your chin, gazing up evenly into Harry’s green eyes and declaring, “I think I want to sleep with you.”

His cheeks dimple with a wide grin. “Is that so?”

You nod.

“Right, then.” He kisses your nose and pulls away. “There’s a condom in my wallet, but…I may or may not have left it in my truck.”

You groan, allowing your head to fall back against the sofa with a heavy thump. Harry chuckles at your theatrics. After a brief moment of contemplation, you compose yourself and sit up quickly.

“That works, actually,” you say, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Grab your wallet, and then we can go to my place. I don’t think my neighbours would be very happy if we fucked on their couch.”

He laughs, climbing eagerly to his feet and shooting you a smug wink. “You got it, babe.”

      October 10th, 2021

It’s nearly half past noon when you step out onto the porch the next day. You yawn, squinting up at the sun shining brightly in the sky. There are no clouds in sight; the slight chill of the autumn air tickles your exposed arms. You tug on the waistband of your sweatpants, keeping the material seated firmly on your hips.

“Good morning, dear!”

You jump, head snapping in the direction of a familiar voice. Mindy and Gerald are sitting on their veranda, nursing twin cups of coffee and looking awfully cozy. Gerald smiles at you, folding up his newspaper and setting it on his lap.

“Good morning!” You wave before re-evaluating your words. “Well, it’s technically past twelve, so good afternoon.”

Mindy laughs.

“How was the wedding?” you ask, approaching the side of your deck. You lean against the thin metal railing, combing your fingers through your messy hair. “I wasn’t expecting you to be back this soon.”

“We woke up early,” Mindy explains. “And the wedding was fabulous. Amy wore the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” You grin. “Do you have any pictures?”

“Of course! Just let me run inside and grab my phone—”

“Mornin’,” a gruff voice says from behind you.

You gasp and spin around, bringing a hand to your chest. The sight laid out before you has your heart speeding up, galloping wildly and battering against the confines of your ribs.

Harry’s wearing that same hoodie from last night. Your gaze trails lower—he’s also sporting a pair of grey boxers and white socks. There’s a mug nestled in each of his large hands, his spindly fingers wrapped around the handles comfortably. Your eyes lock with his sleepy ones, and your breathing hitches in your throat.

“Morning,” you whisper, unable to muster up anything louder.

“I—” Harry clears his throat, stepping closer and extending his left arm. “I, er, took the liberty of making us some tea. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, it’s—” You swallow as you accept one of the mugs, suppressing a giddy smile. “It’s completely fine. Thank you.”

“Of course.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Sleep well?”

“Mhm.” You nod shyly.

He chuckles. “Good.”

His gaze wanders over your shoulder, and it’s then that he notices Mindy and Gerald sat on the neighbouring porch. Without even batting an eye, he lifts his hand in a friendly wave. “Morning, you two. How was the wedding?”

You turn back toward the couple, a sheepish look on your face. Mindy is beaming, and Gerald is trying to hold back a laugh. Heat creeps up your neck; you wish that the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

“It was wonderful!” Mindy trills. Her enthusiasm has skyrocketed. You pinch the bridge of your nose, utterly mortified.

“Yes.” Gerald finally pipes up, smirking knowingly. “It was great. What about you, though? How was your night?”

“Fine,” you blurt before Harry can respond. “It was fine.”

The duo share a look, and then Mindy giggles girlishly. You bring your mug up to your mouth, taking a long sip and groaning into the cup. Harry’s arm snakes around your waist, making you jump. You steal a glance at him out of the corner of your eye; he’s fighting a smile.

“Well—” Gerald clears his throat, plucking his folded newspaper from his lap and rising to his feet. “I think I’ll be going, now. Need to catch up on those few extra hours of sleep.”

“Me too,” Mindy says, nodding fervently. She directs her next words at you. “If you pop by later, I’ll show you those photos, okay?”

“Okay,” you croak.

She shoots you one last grin before disappearing inside.

“God,” you say immediately, hanging your head. “That was torture.”

Next to you, Harry laughs. You aim a weak swat at his chest. He snickers, catching your palm and ducking down to drop a gentle kiss against your knuckles. You exhale shakily, twisting your body around so that you can face him.

“Your hair’s a mess,” you murmur, running your free hand through his dishevelled curls.

He cocks one eyebrow. “And whose fault is that?”

You scoff. “Shut up.”

He chuckles quietly and steps closer to you, holding out his mug. You smile in assent, mirroring his movements and clinking your cups together.

“So,” Harry starts, sipping his tea casually, “you gonna let me take you out on a proper date, sometime?”

“That depends,” you say, trying to ignore the flurry of butterflies flapping around in your stomach. “I’ll go—but only if we take my car. I refuse to drive around town in your tacky truck.”

“It’s not that bad!” he protests.

“It’s awful,” you tell him, shaking your head. “It looks it was decorated by a preschooler during arts and crafts.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes playfully, giving in. “Any other requests?”

You pause, lost in thought.

“One more, actually,” you say, fixing him with a challenging stare. “You need to come clean to Mindy and Gerald.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Alright.”

“Really?” You balk, taken aback by his compliance. “That’s it? But I—I had a whole speech prepared.”

Harry laughs softly, cradling your face with his free hand and kissing you slowly. Your fingers tighten around your mug. When the two of you break apart for air, he shrugs.

“I started considering it after everything that happened last night. Keep your speech, though.” His lips twitch. “You’ll be needing to scold me again in no time, I’m sure.”

Your shoulders shake with a silent giggle. “You’re probably right.”

“Also—” Harry clears his throat, soothing the ache with another sip of tea. “You may want to suggest that they hire an exterminator.”

“An exterminator?” you repeat, blinking in surprise. “But…they don’t have rats. Gerald said that the traps hadn’t been touched.”

“Not rats,” he hums. “Squirrels, I believe. Living in the walls.”

“And how did you reach that conclusion?”

“I’ve been doing this for a while, babe—I’ve seen my fair share of pests. Plus,” he clucks his tongue, “they like to chew on wires.”

“Really?” You sigh distantly, pinching your bottom lip. “God, that sucks.”

“It does.” He nods, wrapping his fingers around your forearm. “But you can tell them later.”

“Later?” you say, brows knitting together. “Why not right now?”

“Because,” Harry grunts. You squeal when he crowds you up against your front door. He cups your jaw and tilts your chin up with his thumb, handsome face splitting into an easy, salacious grin.

“Right now, I’m taking you back to bed.”

~*~

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed this piece, please consider donating to my ko-fi! and as always, don’t forget to share your thoughts. thank you bunches <3

[britishassistant]

When Villain!Yuu manages to return to their dimension and finds out their minions did, it’s one of the few times that the Supervisor has lived up to their title as heir. The next day the head of the minions of the attempted murder squad was found battered, covered in bird poo, and tied in front of RSA. If Crowley asks, Yuu makes the excuse that they are simply following one of the rules of villainy. If a minion steps out of line, don’t correct, make an example out of them.

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

Warning for dark under the cut.

There are three items on the desk.

One is a cellphone. It’s a compact, black brick of a thing, the sort that could survive a drop from a window a story up. Its screen is currently dark and silent. It has not buzzed or vibrated, or given any indication that it’s even on.

The second is a glass of clear liquid. The glass looks pretty standard, no fancy plane designs or rectangular shapes. Just a squat round cup with a round lip and clear liquid an inch or so from the top. There are small bubbles forming in the bottom, the longer it remains undisturbed. It doesn’t seem like those are the results of carbonation, or some other nefarious properties.

No. If anything, the cup is there for the third object on the table.

A pair of two pills are sitting innocently by the cup’s side. One is larger, pale pink, and lozenge shaped. The other is smaller, a capsule that’s colored dark green and blue.

The minion swallows. The phlegm feels like it’s lodged in his throat.

There’s a sigh from the other side of the table.

The Supervisor leans forward. The supervillain’s features are slightly drawn, like they’re preparing to undertake an unpleasant chore.

The minion has the insane urge to giggle at the sight.

“So…” The Supervisor splays their hands. “Unfortunately, following reviews of your recent performance, we have found that you are…not a good fit for this business. It’s been determined that it’s in everyone’s best interests for you to be terminated from your current position effective immediately.”

The minion—or rather, ex-minion—gives a shaky nod.

The Supervisor tilts the brim of their top hat up, so they can better make eye contact with him. “You have two choices for your…ah, severance package.”

One hand gestures to the glass and pills. “Option one: you take these. The pink one is a sedative, and it’s up to you whether you take it before or after the other. It’s pretty fast acting, so it shouldn’t matter so much either way. All you’ll know is just falling asleep.”

The other gestures to the phone. “Option two: I make a call to Dr. Crewel. You’ll be transferred to his department. But in the, ah…volunteer capacity. Instead of the minion one. Do you have any questions?”

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

“W-what?” The ex-minion stutters. “B-but…I, I don’t understand?”

“What don’t you understand?” The Supervisor asks, patience in every line of their posture. Like they were an adult helping to explain something complicated to a small child.

This, in spite of the fact that the ex-minon was a decade the supervillain’s senior.

That helps the ex-minion order his thoughts somewhat. “I-I thought the rules for g-getting fired were that the min-minion in question would be turned over to the police for arrest. Or to the local sup-superheroes.”

The Supervisor nods. “That is what happens in most cases, yes. However, in those cases, the termination is contingent more on minion incompetence or betrayal. You and your…friends, regrettably, fall outside that purview.”

The ex-minion’s mouth moves soundlessly. “But…I don’t understand. Isn’t this for betrayal? That I betrayed you?”

The Supervisor’s mouth tightens, even as the rest of their face remains impassive. “That…is another crime you committed, and one that was taken into account when making this decision. But it is far from the main motivating factor behind all this.”

The ex-minion wracks his brain. “But, what…?”

“You attempted to murder a child.” The supervillain exhales, some dark, wounded emotion entering their eyes for the first time. “Another version of myself, true, but an injured, defenseless child. One who had never done anything to you, or anyone else in this world. Who had no involvement in whatever quarrel you have with me. Who nearly bled to death on my roof due to the injuries sustained as a direct result of your attempted murder.”

The Supervisor shakes their head. “And that would be bad enough, especially as I was under the impression that they would at least be cared for in my absence. Except this? This was not an isolated incident, was it? Looking over the behavior of the perpetrators, it’s become clear this is only the culmination of a dangerous trend I should’ve seen and put a stop to ages ago.”

The ex-minion doesn’t think he can breathe.

“The first endangerment of Miss Elena Blackwood back at the bank. The repeated suggestions of attacking elementary, middle or high schools or public playgrounds to divert heroic attention during heists or schemes. The inclination to ignore my orders when I specified that children were to be released immediately if caught up in a hostage situation we organized. The attempted hostage taking of Mr. Cheka Kingscholar while he was my guest.”

The ex-minion tries swallowing again. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “I thought you didn’t know about that.”

He winces at the mindless admission.

The Supervisor’s eyes narrow at him, and fury rolls off them in almost visible waves. There is no doubting the Night Raven’s genetics were used to make them like this.

“I have my ways.”

The ex-minion quails under their glare.

The Supervisor sighs, scrubbing a hand over their eyes. “Do you understand now? You are not being fired for betrayal. You and your cohorts are being terminated for repeated and willful perpetuation of un-villainous crimes of one of the highest orders, in accordance with League Statute A55. So, what’ll it be?”

“Sh-shouldn’t there be a hear-hearing, or, or an appeal, or something?!” The ex-minion begs desperately.

“If you wanted forgiveness, you should have applied to the Royal Sword Association.” The Supervisor rattles off blandly. “We here at Night Raven Corporation specialize in putting the super back into supervillainy.”

The ex-minion slumps. “…I always hated that slogan.”

The Supervisor pulls a commiserating face. “Not some of Dad’s best work, I’ll admit.”

He stares at the pills and at the phone.

“…Which did Miette pick?”

The supervillain pointedly glances towards the glass and its companions.

He snorts. “Naturally. She’d rather be dead rather than be something monstrous like you.”

The Supervisor inclines their head but doesn’t deny his words.

He considers it some more. “…Would I still receive a paycheck? As a volunteer?”

The Supervisor shrugs. “One that’s considerably reduced from what you currently earn, but yes. You would be compensated for your services. And your current life insurance will still be maintained and paid out to those you specify in the event of an accident under Dr. Crewel’s care. Or, indeed, if you take the other option.”

Like he has anyone he wants that money to go to.

His eyes dart between them.

The choice is easy in the end. Miette can call him a coward all she wants beyond the grave, but he’s not letting this thing be the last sight he sees.

“Make the call.”

The supervillain nods, and picks up the phone.

It’s screen lights up as they lift it towards their ear, pressing a button. “Dr. Crewel? Mr. Aston Michaels has expressed his consent to be transferred to the volunteer department. When can we expect pickup? Five minutes? Yes. Yes, this is the last one. Well, thank you for your help. Have a nice day.”

They hang up, and set the phone back down on the table.

Something flickers across their face— distaste? Weariness? Regret? Whatever it is, he hopes it haunts this thing’s nightmares for the rest of its miserable existence. It’s the least it deserves.

The two of them sit there in silence. Then there’s a knocking behind him, and light spills over him as the door is opened.

A pair of minions in impeccable suits step through, nodding to the supervillain, who nods back. Each one of them takes one of his arms and gently pulls him up from his seat.

“I’d say you’re going to be dammed to Hell for this.” He says, almost cheerfully, before they can turn him away. “But I’m pretty sure you need a soul to go down there, and things like you don’t have those.”

There’s a subtle intake of breath from the suited minions on either side of him. He ignores them, his glare fixated on his now ex-boss.

The Supervisor smiles grimly back at him. For some reason, that kind of pisses him off.

“Oh, believe me, Mr. Michaels. I know.”

[fearfully-fiction]

St. Albans pt.5- Dakota Laden x Reader (finale)

word count: 2110

warnings: fluff, language, THE FINAL PART!

summary: based on season 1 episode 4 of DF, so all credit to the crew, the show, and the channel! the night begins to come to an end and morning comes. Reader and Dakota share in the joy and pride of making it through the night. and it’s time to move forward. 

thank you all so much for reading these parts it means so much to me. I’m new at writing for Destination fear and getting the love I’m receiving is amazing. it gives me more motivation to continue! I can’t wait to write more for all of you! I hope you enjoy the last part!

(not my gif!)

 Silence hung over you both for a few seconds, before his walkie went off. You both jumped and you let out a yelp. “This is for scaring me…” Chelsea came through. You let out a small laugh. 

“You just scared the shit out of me.” He responded to his sister. You could just tell she had a smile on her face. You laughed a bit, trying to hold it back so as to not be too loud. He looked over to where you were. The flashlight illuminated your face as you grinned and bit back laughter. It made a small smile etch onto his face. “Oh, you think this is funny?” he asked you after his sister finished speaking. You muffled your laughs and covered your mouth before shaking your head no. “No, of course not.” your voice strained to keep from letting out a laugh. 

“You’re cruel, you know. You got scared too, do you see me laughing?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. You shook your head with a small smile. “Exactly now, stop laughing at me,” he instructed playfully. He knew damn well that your laugh brought him back and made him forget for a split second that he was in the basement of a haunted abandoned building somewhere in Virginia. 

“You know you love me,” you said before leaning over to kiss his temple. “Sadly, you are correct.” he jokingly said. 

--

Some time had passed and Dakota and you were lying down in silence. Nothing else had happened so far and it calmed your mind in the very slightest. Your fingers interlocked with his and you could hear his breathing. It was about enough to make you fall asleep when all of a sudden a loud crash happened and you bolted upright.

“What in the fuck?!” you exclaimed. Dakota flashed his light around the area hurriedly. 

Little did you know that Chelsea had heard the same thing that you guys did. 

You decided to go ahead and ask seeing as the noise was extremely loud and it could’ve been heard by her too. 

“Did you hear that? It was like the really loud metallic noise.” Dakota described what you heard.

“Yeah. Dude, I fricking heard that” She responded sounding just as freaked out as you were. 

“I’m having a panic attack. I am so scared down here.” your boyfriend reveals. You rub his back in a comforting motion. “I am so scared,” he spoke once again, making you cringe at the fear in his voice. Your brave Dakota being so scared, it hurt you seeing him this way. 

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m sleeping,” she said. 

“I don’t think we will be either.” you sighed. 

“Honestly, I don't know how we’re going to do the rest of this night,” you said.

--

The rest of the night was just silence and it wasn’t comforting at all, the only reason you weren’t breaking down was because Dakota was with you. If he hadn’t been there you would’ve been a complete mess. 

The sun was coming up and it was finally time to leave the building.

You looked at your boyfriend and smile widely. You grabbed his hand and pulled him off of the floor and off to the side. He looked at you in confusion, “What are you doing?” he asked curiously. 

“We made it through the night. You did it babe.” you smile brightly at him. A big smile came across his lips and he chuckled. “Yeah, we did it. I did it.” he breaths out, relief and joy in his voice were crystal clear and it made your heart skip. You reached out and wrapped your arms around him holding him as closely as possible. He did the same to you and he all of a sudden felt tears on his shirt. He pulled back a little bit and looks down at you. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked you and placed his hands on your face. You looked up at him and let out a small broken laugh. 

His eyes filled with confusion, “I’m so proud of you. You did it, and I know you’re exhausted but look at you. You did it. You did that. I am so proud of you Dakota.” your voice broke. “It wasn’t just me babe. We did it,” he said and pulled you in close again. 

“I love you, Dakota,” you said and he looked down at you, your head was buried in his chest and he kissed your head. You looked up at him with a watery smile you let out a giggle and he leaned down to press his forehead against yours. 

He placed his hands on your hips and you moved yours to his cheeks gently. He leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. It was short and sweet and so he went to pull away but you kept him in place and pulled him back down to kiss him again. He brought his hands up and slightly made your shirt ride up his touch made you sigh and relax against him. He smiled against your lips and felt your hands move to drag through his hair. Your lips moved in sync and soon enough you were as close as possible. His tongue dragged lazily along your bottom lip and he felt your lips part sighed into your mouth when he felt your tongue tentatively touch his. He took a chance to let his tongue explore your mouth. The taste of the gum you always chewed lingered in your mouth and it made your heart race knowing he wanted to be this close to you right now. You and he were sharing one breath, and it was like a current of electricity shot through you every time his hold got more firm. You could feel that sense of relief and comfort knowing that you were both there and you were both ok. You pulled away slowly, your breathing was just as heavy as his was, and he opened his eyes to meet your (e/c) eyes. You let out an airy giggle and he did too. “Well, that was unexpected,” he said and you nodded with a big smile. 

“Yeah it was, wasn’t it?” you said and you pulled away from him a bit. You stepped away and chuckled. “It was well deserved though,” you said and smiled at him. 

“I’ve been dying to do that for days.” his lip quirked into a smirk. “Oh have you?” you questioned playfully with a quirked brow. “I have,” he said and walked closer to you. He stood right in front of you now. “Well there are many things I’ve been dying to do, but you know RV’s aren’t the best settings for the things I want.” you winked and turned to gather your things. He looked at you with wide eyes and crimson cheeks. “Damn it… she’s gonna kill me I swear,” he mumbled to himself before following after you. 

“Let’s get out of here babe, I know you’re tired,” you said with a genuine sympathetic smile. “In all seriousness Dakota, I’m here for you, I’m here to take care of you whenever you need me. I know it has been a rough time, and things aren’t going to settle down in your mind for a while but I’m here through all of it. I’ll take care of you I promise.” you spoke with the utmost sincerity. He looked at you with love-filled eyes. He walked over and kissed your head softly. “You know I’m going to do the same to you. I love you (y/n),” he spoke softly. 

--

 You and your boyfriend quickly went and gathered your things before heading back up the stairs and meeting with everyone else. You bid everyone a good morning and you all packed away your equipment and headed for the door. 

Once the door was opened the sunlight came streaming in and you took in the fresh air. Finally, you were able to leave the place that had affected you all, especially Dakota so badly. You were so proud of everyone for overcoming that fear, but you knew for damn sure you never wanted to see that building again. 

All of you sat your things down on the ground and took seats on the steps. You sat one step above Dakota letting your fingers run through his hair comfortingly. He smiled up at you and took your hand and placed a kiss on it.

“That was crazy,” Chelsea stated and you vigorously nodded in agreement. “Yeah that was pretty insane you guys.” you jumped in. 

“I’m honestly glad we went back, but I am really glad we never have to come back,” Tanner said. 

Chelsea turned her camera and attention toward her brother. 

“You had a really rough night.” she pointed out. 

“I know,” he responded. 

“Yeah. You had a horrible night.” Tanner once again stated the facts. 

“I couldn’t sleep. I showed fear. I showed a lot of fear, and I shouldn’t have. That’s like the rule number one and I totally broke it.” he sounded disappointed in himself, but you were so proud he got through it. 

“We did it though you guys. You faced your fear Kota, and look where you are now. You completed the night and I am so proud of you. Of all of us.” you said and smiled at them all. 

“Me too, and you told me before, that I used to scare you, like, when you weren’t scared. You had that effect on me tonight.” Chelsea described to her brother what she felt. 

“I was scaring you?” Dakota asked.

“Like, you scared me. Like I…” she cut herself off. “You freaked me out,” she stated. 

You looked down at your boyfriend and continued to run your fingers through his hair knowing that it was a comfort to him just knowing you were there. 

“Well, I think we should never come back here again. Cause it fucking sucked.” you blatantly stated and earned a laugh from the people around you which brought a smile to your face. 

“I will second that.” Tanner said, “I agree.” Chelsea nodded with a smile. 

--

“So tonight was one of the worst nights I have had so far on this road trip, and just by far in my life. I have seen my friends and my boyfriend scared before but seeing them like this was incredibly difficult. Dakota was hit so hard last night in the bowling alley, it hurt to see him like that, I’ve never seen him that scared before. I don’t ever want to see him that scared again, I don’t want to see any of them as scared as they were last night. I’m just so proud of us for pulling through. I’ll have to make sure to keep a close eye on Dakota right now because I know he isn’t feeling like himself. Hopefully, a little tender love and care will help patch him up a bit. 

I’m just glad we never have to go back.”

--

You finished your ending monologue and walked over to put your camera away.

The RV pulled around the corner and you gathered your gear to put away after you had filmed your solo shots.

 Suddenly you felt arms wrap around you from behind and a kiss being placed on your shoulder. 

“Hello, my love. How are you feeling right now?” you ask and turn to face him. He looks at you with tired eyes and a sleepy grin. He looked so drained and it upset you to see him this way. 

“I’ll be ok. Just not feeling great right now. How are you?” he asked. 

“Well, I’m doing alright, I’d be even better if you’d get some rest and let me take care of you until you feel a bit better though,” you said and reached up to move the strand of fallen hair that dangled above his eyebrow. 

He smiled shyly, “I think I can manage that.” he said and kissed you before dragging you into the RV. you smiled as he sat down and pulled you into his lap letting his face rest in the crook of your neck so he could place a small kiss on your soft skin. You sighed in content and leaned into him. “Shouldn’t I be the one holding you?” you ask jokingly. “I want to hold you so hush and let it happen,” he mumbled against your skin. 

“Whatever am I to do with you Laden?” you asked with a smile. “Love me,” he whispered and held you tighter. “Now that is something I am lucky enough to do.” 

--

Taglist:

@jaziona92

@beautybyfire​

@thefandomthings​

[poptod]

hey there ☺ do you think you can write a soulmate au with ahk where you hear each other's thoughts? and ahk thought he didn't have one all these years only to hear you while he's at the museum and then you try to find each other?

notes: wonderful idea. also i noticed my method of doing requests is do it almost immediately after i get it or wait four months before i get it done so sorry about that, but i hope you enjoy this!

WC: 1.5k +

There are many versions of yourself, all talking over one another in an attempt to control your mind for once. Sometimes it's hard to decipher if your actions are the result of someone in your head tugging you in a different direction. There is the person you believe yourself to be––what you imagine you come off to people as. There is also the person you truly are, and what people actually perceive you to be. So despite there being several voices, they are all reiterations of yourself in some way.

Except for one.

One of them speaks in a voice that is not your own, in a voice you've never heard anywhere but echoing in your skull. Since you despised asking questions as a child, it took you until you were twelve to realize that no, you weren't insane. It was someone who would love you, who had the potential to grow close to you simply by the strings of fate. Your soulmate. 

Someone who gave you nightmares for years.

'Get me out of here!' He would scream, sending your heart pounding while you tried to sleep as a child. 'Please, please, I need to see the stars,' he sobbed, 'I did nothing to deserve this!'

Once you grew old enough to deal with the screaming beyond what you thought was a schizophrenia disorder, nighttime brought a deep sadness to you. For some reason, your soulmate would never think during the day––which was incredibly odd––and during the night, the only time he was awake, he would scream and beg and cry until you could feel the hoarseness in your own throat. For your entire childhood, you stared up at your ceiling at night, eyes burning as you tried to calm the screaming.

It was all you could think about, as though the screams had muted your connection to him and strengthened his connection to you. Every now and then you would try to think, try to calm him down, but he never quite heard.

Then, one evening in winter, it stopped.

You were lying in bed, rolled onto your side as you once again listened to the man's yelling thoughts. But then he stopped, and both your hearts skipped a beat, followed by an incredibly clear thought: Thank the Gods, blessed Ra and Khonsu.

That evening you darted out of bed, jumping to your desk where you typed in with slamming, lightning-fast fingers, "khonsu." Ra you already knew––everyone knew Ra, and by connection Khonsu would probably also be a God. The only question you were left with was why you were hearing the thoughts of someone who worshipped Egyptian gods two thousand years after that civilization died.

As you continued your research, his thoughts continued.

They took my tablet?

Who are these people?

This man has no idea what he's doing, does he?

Why is he screaming at the Hun?

He's got my tablet.

About halfway into the night you gave up on your research, instead listening intently to the thoughts. With you entirely absorbed in your soulmates thoughts, you had little room to send your own words to him, which unbeknownst to you, would've reached him if you tried.

You weren't quite sure what to think of him for the following couple weeks. At first your assumption was that he was the insane one projecting his insane thoughts to you, but his quieter thoughts led you to believe there was something different in him. It is true what they say––geniuses are often tortured minds, and though you wouldn't classify your soulmate as a genius, he was clearly a knowledgeable philosopher of sorts.

He thought often of the human condition––the rise and fall of civilizations, the cruelty and the mercy of men that began the stories of bloodstained battlefields. Most of the time you just listened. Now that he wasn't screaming, his voice was soft and more of a comfort than you ever thought it would be.

Sometimes he got very sad. After a while you learned to not question the logic of his thoughts. Instead, you simply tried to understand what he meant, accepting him for where he was in his life.

I miss my brother.

I wonder what happened to my best friend.

I didn't think I would ever be this far from the Nile and the sun.

I abandoned my people, didn't I?

If only I could find where my sister was buried. Would that even make me feel better, though? What closure will I gain from seeing her tomb?

... if she even had one.

There's a melody going on in his head, right now. Something that could put you to sleep if you weren't currently working. It's nothing you've heard before, that you're certain of, and judging by the tone of it and your soulmate's previous thoughts, it sounds Egyptian.

Despite the museum being closed, most of the lights are still on. One of the night guards had a very strange insistence about it, but wouldn't tell you why. Oh well––questioning people is above your paygrade, since you aren't getting paid for this. It is volunteer work. Not that you mind; ever since realizing the voice in your head was Egyptian, you've gotten a palate for history. Currently, however, you're dealing less with history and more with files. The curator at this museum asked you to sort through the records of all the different exhibits that are here, or were once here at some point, which made a very large collection. Massive, actually––you're only sorting through A, and it's going to take you a couple weeks.

He's humming softly to himself. The tune carries into your work, and you allow yourself to enjoy his voice as you sort, going over every record to look for exhibits no longer displayed. For this you have a chart in your other hand––a log of all the exhibits currently public in the museum.

Although you're supposed to be concentrated on your sorting, you find yourself more entranced with the melody in your head, and the clearest thought that rings in your mind is, 'that is beautiful.'

The humming stops. Dead in its' tracks, about to reach its' peak, and it stops.

'My mother sang it to me,' he says, 'before I slept as a child.'

"Holy shit, are you talking to me?" You say out loud with bulging eyes before you can stop yourself. The moment you realize what you said, a bright blush coats your cheeks and you slap your hand over your mouth. But he doesn't seem to mind––actually, he laughs, and it's sweeter than summer sugar.

'You must be my heart,' he says in an astounded tone, and you can practically see his dream-filled eyes. You sit puzzled for a second before replying.

"Do you mean your soulmate?"

'Well... I suppose yes, that could be one of the names,' he says, and it only adds more onto the lists of questions you have for him.

"What is your name?" You ask first, hardly realizing you're still talking aloud to yourself.

'My name is Ahkmenrah," he tells you, and it takes less than a millisecond before the dots connect in your head. Instantly your eyes dart to the sheet in your hand, and near the top of the list, there it sits––Ahkmenrah.

'I know this must be confusing for you,' he continues, 'but I am from another time. While I lived then, I dreaded that I didn't have a heart, as I heard no voice. That fear has carried on into my next life, but now that you're here –'

"Oh I'm here alright," you say, unbelieving of both your circumstances and your unblinking acceptance at them. "I'm, like, two floors below you."

"WHAT?!"

A voice from above catches you, but as the same word rings in your mind, you realize with great glee that he instinctively yelled 'what' without thinking. You laugh, and the thought of your laughter reaches him.

Less than a minute later you can hear footsteps pounding down the stairs, landing at the closed door before the handle wrenches open. You quickly move to your feet, facing the man whose voice you know so well, who haunted your childhood and enchanted your adulthood. You can barely hide the grin that spreads across your face––whatever magic has brought you to this moment, you thank everything you can for it, your attention ensnared by the soft features of a 4,000 year old Pharaoh.

He pauses once he enters the archive, eyes finding yours immediately. His mouth hangs open slightly as he scans you, absorbs every feature on your body and face, and barely moves even to breathe for a good minute or two.

"I – I'm sorry, I j – I just realized I didn't ask your name," he says quietly, a small, ginger smile growing on his lips.

"(Y/N)," you say, but you don't quite know how your brain worked to make the word. You certainly didn't consciously choose to speak.

"I have waited thousands of years for you," he says, impossibly softer as he steps forward. He's really quite harmless, you realize––for all the fear you had of him as a child, he's nothing but a sweet-faced boy.

"Was it worth it?" You ask, and your voice cracks ever so slightly.

"My heart," he breathes out, affection lacing his name for you, "it was worth every second."

[going-dead]

Phasmophobia

Danny was very sick of tourists coming to explore Amity park. Like very sick of them, especially the ‘ghost hunter’ ones. In the end they just caused more problems than the actual ghosts, getting in the way of the fights causing Danny more stress and injuries than normal. Not to mention they sucked at their so called jobs. He was pretty sure even a single elementary schooler of Amity was a better ghost fighter than all of the tourists combined.

But at the moment it was the dead of winter and probably one of the coldest weeks of the year. So only the stupidest of self proclaimed ghost hunters would venture out to hunt ghosts in weather like this. While it was nice not having to worry about danger prone tourists Danny still was miserable, he could deal with the cold just fine in fact he preferred the cold. The problem was that It was the holiday season, the worst time of the year. At least the ghost attacks were less frequent as they all prepared for the Christmas truce party.

Still he supposed it could be worse. His parents weren’t fighting as much this year, though that was probably due to the fact they were still treating him like he was made of glass half of the time after he told them about the whole half dead thing. Danny figured that was due to the fact they blamed themselves for the portal incident, causing them to coddle him to an almost tortuous degree. It was as if they expected him to disappear if he was so much as bumped in the wrong way. It had gotten a bit better at this point at least, if things continued as it did at the beginning Danny was pretty sure he’d rather have them still be shooting at him. Now they only tensed up when he left the house instead of not so subtly stalking him all day.

At the moment Danny was sitting on the counter in the kitchen with his mom while she was cooking dinner. “Danny dear get off the counter that’s where the food goes not you.” Maddie said shooing him off the counter with a spatula.

Danny floated off in a huff, “This is ghostphobic mom. The counter is a perfect seat.”

Maddie rolled her eyes, “The term would be phasmophobic, and no it’s not it’s; I don’t want your butt all over where I’m making our dinner-phobic.”

“Fine transphobic then.”

“How about asking you to set the table? What would that be?”

Danny mulled it over for a few seconds. “A reasonable request I suppose.” He phased his hands though the cabinets grabbing the plates. Honestly he could have just as easily grabbed them normally but he was still trying to get his parents used to him having powers. “Oh by the way Sam, Tucker, and I are hanging out tomorrow to celebrate winter break starting and school being out for two whole weeks.” “Alright sweetie, but be safe okay?”

“Of course I will be mom.”

“I mean it Danny, please.”

Danny sighed “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to text you regularly to let you know I’m safe. I’ll be fine and stay out of trouble, I promise” Maddie nodded seemingly plated at least for the time being.

The next day Danny was really regretting making that promise. The day started out so well too. Danny, Sam, and Tucker were walking along the park trail. Danny was walking a few steps in front of the other two, subtly making the path easier with his powers. The only people out insane enough to bear the cold were people who had to go to work and teens who were bored out of their minds.

“All I’m saying Danny is that if you want to choose that class you should choose a race other than human for once. Hellspawn would be the best option in your case.” Tucker argued.

“Says the dude playing the race for furries.” Danny shot back turning his head to look back at his friend.

“Hey! The beastmen race is a perfect fit for my class, they have an exp boost for trickery and magic skills  it’s the best for playing a character who mains in ambushing with traps.

“Boys boys stop arguing. Danny will be fine playing as a human he’s just gonna have to spend more time grinding. Also he’s right, beastmen are so the furry option.” Sam cut in.

“Whatever, I just don’t understand why he always plays the most boring race in every game he plays. I mean why would you want to play as a human when you could be a fantasy race like an elf or something.”

“Well that’s easy for you and Sam to say you both are still hum-,” Danny was cut off mid sentence by his ghost sense and a glowing red circle surrounding the group. He hardly had a chance to go ghost before being fully enveloped by the light.

When Danny was finally oriented enough to open his eyes he vowed to never complain about getting motion sick while his dad was driving again if it meant he would never have to go through that awful experience again. It felt like getting sucked into the Fenton Thermos if it was the size of a straw and being spun in a blender all at the same time. He looked around seeing if his friends were brought along with him. And just his luck, of course they got pulled through whatever the hell that was too.

“Ugh, you guys okay?” He closed his eyes again and focused on stabilizing his core and getting the last of the nausea to leave.

“Bleh I think I’m gonna hurl.” Sam groaned from beside him.

Danny heard Tucker shift beside him. “Yeah I’m good, I guess all that time staying up late playing VR games kinda helped against motion sickness. Landed on my arm though so definitely going to bruise later. Where are we anyway?”

That actually was a good question, Danny lifted himself off the ground literally, using legs to stand was lame anyway. The sight he was met with was both confusing and surprising. Looking down he saw that the three of them were in some sort of red magic circle or something, with candles lit around it. Looking past that was the part that was surprising. He was expecting this to be the work of a ghost but standing in a circle around the three of them were six  humans in different colored robes. He couldn’t recognize any of them though, they must have been from out of town or just total shut ins. He was pretty sure he recognized where they were though, it was the basement of an abandoned building next to the mall, Sam was super into urban exploring the year before and it was one of the first places she dragged the two boys to.

“Haha uhh hey didn’t know there was a costume party going on, I would have dressed up, looks like you got all the colored robe thing going on though. Would my hazmat suit work instead of a robe?” Danny looked at the group around him and cracked an uneasy smile. Maybe it was some sort of accidental ghost summoning or something, it wouldn’t be the first time. Though the fact it brought his friends along pointed to it either being on purpose or something much more powerful, or both.

The man in the black robe turned to a woman in a white one. “Why did the spell bring two kids along with it .”

Danny tried to ignore being called an ‘it’ not like his parents didn’t do it before they knew about his identity. “I’m not the murder clown and I do have a name you know.” But his words seemed to fall onto deaf ears.

“I did the calculations right if that’s what you’re trying to imply, as you can see the subject did appear in the circle as planned. We probably just underestimated how much power the sacrifice would provide with the addition of the solstice.” White robe snapped. Great, this was totally just what Danny needed at the start of his winter break. Not only did they seem like ghost hunters they were the crazy obsessed culty ones.

“Either way the goal was achieved in the end, we have the ghost boy.” Black robe pointed to two men, one in yellow and one in blue robes. “Take care of the two bystanders, but don’t kill them. After all we shouldn’t kill our soon to be followers.” Yeah that wasn’t concerning at all Danny thought.

The one in the yellow grabbed Sam and the one in the blue grabbed Tucker at the black robed man's command. Danny assumed that probably meant the black robed one was the one in charge here. “Hey! Get your hands off me you freaks!” Sam yelled, struggling against the man’s grip.

But Danny’s friends didn’t have a chance against people twice their size. Before either of them could struggle more the two men slammed their heads to the ground in almost unison, knocking them out almost instantly. It happened so fast all Danny would do is watch on in horror. He felt like he watched their now limp bodies for ages, their chests shallowly rising at least giving him the relief of knowing they were still alive. But the sight of small puddles of blood forming around their heads snapped him out of his horror and into a rage.

Danny placed his feet to the ground turning to look at the two in the black and white robes. “Why?” He seethed, “You said they were accidentally brought along when you were trying to get me here. Technically in a way this falls onto me. So tell me, why?”

The man in the black robe seemed taken aback from being confronted so suddenly. The woman in white didn’t seem to have the same problem, maybe they both were in charge? Honestly though Danny didn’t care at this point. “We will take over the little town you haunt. After we do that we will find out where all the ghosts are originating from and then make them into our soldiers so we can take over the country and then the world. To do that we obviously needed you out of the way since you seem to be the only one capable of combating the other ghosts that come into this world. Or you would just defeat our pawns before they could take true action. So we found a way to summon and trap ghosts, then brought you here so we could get you out of our way.”

Honestly Danny was disappointed hearing that more than anything, his rage almost completely disappeared after hearing the plan. “Hold up that is the stupidest plan I have ever heard.” And that was saying something seeing as he dealt with Vlad's plans on a weekly basis. “First off you do realize it would be very hard to get or even force ghosts into your service if you don’t offer them, anything in return. Not to mention how some ghosts have almost godlike powers and you expect to overpower them? Also I am not even close to the only one who can fight ghosts. Everyone in Amity Park has at least some know how when it comes to ghost fighting. They sell basic ghost protection equipment at the supermarket. I just happen to be better suited than everyone else because I y’know can like fly and go intangible when chasing them. Using ghosts to take over the world is so stupid do you even know how to properly catch a ghost? Seriously this is like next level dumb, not to mention how did you even know the summoning would work if it didn't you’d just all be standing in a darkly lit room looking dumber than you already do.”

That seemed to anger the white one a lot. Apparently she didn’t like her intelligence questioned. “Why you little-.” She stomped her foot. “This plan was thought through down to the smallest detail. You want to know how it worked huh? How about asking your friend over there. I wonder what happens when the dead are killed? You will find out soon enough.”

Danny looked over to where we gestured and his refound taunting attitude vanished. Laying over in the corner inside a smaller less complex looking circle was a ghost or the ectoplasmic remains of one at least, the core was completely destroyed. Judging by the fact that the ectoplasm was red it probably had a fire core before it was destroyed. From the lingering ecto signature Danny doubted the ghost was even sapient. It was most likely the remains of something like a blob ghost or the ghost of an animal or even a weaker ectopus. Still all he could do was stare at the remains in horror.

“Of course summoning you was harder so we used that thing for its ghost energy to help power the circle. Instead of chalk we used it’s ectoplasm to ensure the strength and longevity of the seal to hold you in the circle.” The woman smiled as if she achieved something great. Achieve something she did indeed, but it certainly was not what she intended.

The rage Danny felt before came back in full force. Before with his friends he at least knew they would recover, all three of them got injured fighting ghosts more often than they should. But to injure a ghost to the point where not even their core remained was something so taboo that only the most despicable ghosts would do. Even Skulker kept the cores of his prey stable enough not to fade away completely. A ghost's form could be completely destroyed but as long as their core remained they would reform back where they first formed in the Ghost Zone. The only ghosts Danny could think of who would go out of their way to destroy a core were some of the ancients like Pariah Dark or Nocturne.

Danny finally managed to tear his eyes away from the ghost's remains to lock eyes with the woman. She and the black robed man took a step back out of instinct. Looking into his eyes they felt the feeling every animal of prey felt when it knew it was being watched, being hunted. The temperature in the room dropped and frost started to crawl across the walls. Danny took a step towards the two leaders before pausing to reconsider and turning and starting towards the two men standing above his friends.

Then men in yellow and blue robes looked to the man in black for guidance, unsure of what action to take. He looked uncertain as well but shook his head. “There’s no way it can pass through the seal, we tested it.”

Danny's eyes flicked over to the man then back to the two who hurt his friends and gave them a predatory grin, his teeth now looking slightly sharper than usual. He made no sound as he stepped over the circle with ease closer and closer to the two men. They both reached for their weapons, small bats, apparently they were the muscle of the group, and swung at the approaching ghost. Danny simply went intangible causing the two to overswing and hit each other instead, knocking the wind out of them both and causing them to drop their bats. While they were catching their breath Danny grabbed them by their hair and knocked their heads together. Their bodies crumbled to the floor just a few inches from the teens they did the same to just minutes before.

The one who had yet to say or do anything, dressed in red, made her way towards Danny while his back was towards her. Just as she got within arms reach of him she slipped and fell. The temperature had dropped even more at this point causing the ground surrounding Danny to ice over. Danny hardly acknowledged the large thud behind him simply trapping the fallen woman up to her neck in ice as he walked past and headed towards his final two targets.

When first summoned by the group Danny could, within reason, probably be passed off as a weirdish looking human excluding the glow around him. But now as he stalked towards his prey that was no longer the case. His chest no longer moved like it was breathing. His feet made no sound as they made contact with the ground. His eyes, non-blinking, no longer had pupils or even whites to them just a void of endless ectoplasmic green. His ears were pointed almost bat like. The tips of which, along with his lips, were tinted blue. His hair, normally white like snow, now was just the white that came from complete absence of any color. The hair was defying gravity almost as if it was underwater while smoke like wisps trailed off from his hair as he moved. His mouth was twisted into an emotionless smile splitting through his cheeks showing needle like teeth all the way back to where his molars would have been, there was no tongue or throat behind them, just another endless green void. The skin of his neck that was showing past the hazmat suit was marked with lightning like scars. The glow around him seemed to absorb all the light in the room.

The man in the black robe looked between the approaching horror and his partner before running towards the exit. Danny moved so fast it was almost as if he materialized right in front of the man. The man stumbled back falling down in shock but still tried to scramble away from him crossing his chest as he did so. Just as Danny started to raise his arm towards the man he paused and lurched back.

He looked down at his chest where an ornate knife was now lodged. Holding onto the hilt was the woman, she gave the knife a final twist before letting go and herding her partner into the corner farthest away from Danny. Danny showed no pain as he grabbed the knife and pulled it out, the blade was dripping with ectoplasm, and dropped it on the ground. The wound in his chest already healing, filling with more ectoplasm to replace what was lost.

The smile that was marring Danny’s face was replaced with a scowl as he made his way towards the corner where the two were cowering. Placing a hand on their necks he lifted them both up against the wall and started slowly burning their skin with an ectoblast. He let them go, letting them fall to the ground only when their screams of pain turned silent as crushed vocal cords and burnt throat muscles took their toll. Both cult leaders looked up at him in horror faces pale. "What's wrong?" Danny smiled, "It looks like you've seen a ghost."

The woman looked at him in fear as she grasped at the raw skin of her throat, which now was covered in blisters and charred in some of the worst places. “Wha-, what, what are you?” She managed to rasp out before coughing up some blood.

Danny let out a dark chuckle, his voice echoed over itself. “I-,” he snarled, “am a Phantom .”

After Danny sent an anonymous tip to the police about the cult, he brought his friends back to his house. Of course his mom freaked out after he stopped responding to her texts and even more when he phased into the living room with an unconscious Sam and Tucker. He was pretty sure she was about to break out the BOOmerang if she didn’t hear from him for much longer. She was more than willing to take the two of them to the hospital to get them checked out.

Danny made a quick stop into the ghost zone to tell Clockwork to spread the word to other ghosts to be on alert and that there were humans that were trying to summon and capture ghosts. After telling Clockwork what happened, in much more detail than the briefest summary he gave his mom, including how he probably went a bit overboard with dealing with the cultists. He also admitted he didn't regret it even if he did go overboard. They hurt his friends and caused a ghost to completely fade, and in Danny’s opinion they deserve whatever came to them. The whole story caused Clockwork to also start fretting over him making sure to let Danny know that his reaction was a completely normal response to someone threatening something that falls within his obsession especially since it happened in his haunt of all places. Danny swore that his ghostly mentor could be worse than his own parents sometimes especially when it came to reassuring him about his more ghostly tendencies.  

Luckily after being released from the hospital it turned out the worst Sam and Tucker suffered were concussions that would heal in a decently short amount of time. That didn’t mean they weren’t complaining about it though.

“Stop laughing about my suffering Danny! I won’t be able to start playing Fantasy War Online VII until my two week tech restriction is lifted by my doctor. It was bad enough I had to go to a hospital but to be taken away from my lovely devices as well is just too much.” Tucker lamented.  

“Quit complaining and suck it up. I’m on the restriction too Tucker.” Sam pointed out.

Tucker huffed. “Yeah well you’ll probably manage to catch up to all the people who are getting it on release day easily, since you’re scarily good at MMO’s.” He flopped back onto Danny’s bed. “Hey at least this gives us more time to convince Danny to play something other than a human for once in his life. Like I said before the hellspawn is the perfect race for the build you’re going for.”

Danny just rolled his eyes. “And like I said before, I like being a human.” “Whatever dude just don’t complain when I utterly beat you if we end up fighting because you wanted to be the lamest most boring race ever.”

Danny shrugged. “Somehow I’ll cope, I just think it’s nice to be seen as normal and not scary.”

Sam laughed. “Danny you are the least scary person like to ever exist. The only things scary about you are your grades and your wacky parents. I doubt you could be scary if you tried.”

Danny looked out the window watching the stars as they started to appear in the sky. “...Yeah I guess you’re right.”