#Mans got some of the coldest lines in the game | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

houpss · 1 month

Text

SKZ have a crush on you

you can come up with the ending yourself...whether the reader will be with the member or not is up to you!

light angst, a little fluff, uncertain relationship

Bang Chan

oh...this man talks about his feelings openly and without fear.

He literally phrases: "I'll steal and fuck your girlfriend while you're not looking."

He has a huge amount of female and male attention, but...

But it doesn't work out that way with you...

You were out of his reach.

You were too beautiful, too sweet, too good...he wasn't like that.

Chris is the one who will call you his muse and write romantic songs for you, some of which have been published.

His love is manifested in acts of care, he is always there, he is more tactile with you than with others.

He will give you whatever you want, just ask.

Chan has 8 members so he is like a dad...he protects and cares for them

And he also wants to take care of you.

He wants to love you openly.

But you didn’t notice his feelings.

Although...you loved Chris. Literally loved to the moon and back.

For some reason, it seemed to you that Chris only saw you as a friend or family member, just like his Members.

Yeah...close friends....

He will say exactly the same phrase to you:

"You came..."–"You called"

It seems you are both fools.

Maybe he's too soft with you? Maybe he needs to leave?

He won't be able to give up on you.

I will kill myself, I will destroy my soul, but I will be with you.

But i'll wait for you

I love you to the moon and back

기다려 여기 me and max

서운해해도 don't be mad

너한텐 할 수 없는 game (Bloo-But i'll wait for you)

Lee Know

How could Minho let this happen?

Lee Minho was head over heels in love with you.

No one has seen his loving eyes, no one has ever felt his gentle touch.

How did he allow himself to fall in love with you?

This is a completely crazy idea, he didn’t love to love.

But you turn his world upside down, he is literally lost in you.

You clearly feel like Minho hates you.

Minho is like cold winter, he is like snowy weather, he looks like frosty weather.

And you were in summer, you're complete opposites.

But even after the coldest winter, love comes.

He calls you the most beautiful adjectives, it’s like he’s trying to silently scream about his feelings.

He speaks directly and harshly, he loves the truth straight forward.

"And you will be obsessed with me, I will be everywhere: I will be in your favorite songs, I will be between the lines of books, I will be in every passerby... I am your addiction"

Lee Minho couldn't fall in love, but he wanted to love.

All the pretty stars shine for you, my love

Am I the girl that you dream of? (Lana Del Rey–Pretty when you cry)

Seo Changbin

He loved and hated you at the same time.

Oh.. Seo Changbin can hate?

Yes, he did it with you. He loved you so much that he hated you for it.

You were everywhere, you were ingrained in his existence and mind.

He was very sweet and friendly and loved people.

It didn’t work out that way with you, it was as if he deliberately didn’t want to have much contact with you.

He loved you silently, probably without asking for anything in return.

Before he even notices, he begins to pay attention to you... be it small acts of attention or dialogues with you.

"You can take Changbin out of first love, but not first love out of Changbin."

Again, it was like you were different, you weren’t like anyone else. He noticed you immediately when he met you.

He seems upset that you will never be his.

Oh...the boy is gloomy. The boy looks like a thunderstorm.

Conquer your lonely heart, get used to the emptiness.

When you ran your fingers over your lips

I bought it from glossy magazines

Everything you asked for and even what you didn’t ask for

How can you be so terribly beautiful? (Rocky-WITCH)

Hwang Hyunjin

Oh yes, you and Hyunjin have been friends since childhood.

It even got to the point that you are idols in the same agency. No wonder Hyunjin adores you, he's obsessed.

Fans loved your interactions, they were sure there was something between you and Hyunjin.

Hyunjin wants to get into your soul, he wants to take your heart into his cold hands.

You were the forbidden fruit, and forbidden fruit is always sweet.

It’s as if you’re chasing him, you’re everywhere, he feels you everywhere.

But you're just his friend, his sweet best friend.

It was normal for you to peck Hyunjin on the lips, naturally in private or during greetings (while no one was looking). Hyunjin feels addicted.

You are worse than drugs, you cause an addictive effect. You are his absolute delight.

The boy will paint your portraits, he will exalt you like a goddess.

So why do you only see him as a friend?

Hwang Hyunjin doesn't deserve to be your friend, he wants to be your boyfriend.

The boy loves to hurt himself, he loves hardcore. He loves pain and whines a lot.

He just replaces you with pain, it helps.

Touch me, yeah

I want you to touch me there

Make me feel like I am breathing

Feel like I am human (The neighbourhood–A little death)

Han Jisung

You never paid attention to Jisung.

But Jisung was so loud and cheerful that he started to annoy you.

Jisung did this on purpose, he liked you.

The boy will notice you immediately, you immediately fell into his soul. So cold and inaccessible.

He wants to melt the ice on your heart, he wants to become your sun.

Every day he fell more in love with you, the cold intensifying his desire.

“Your love is addictive” – your words

He is very kind and cheerful with you, he is so easy to talk to.

He won't give up to get you. Even when you send him the rudest obscenities

I'm your boy.

He will sing to you, and you will ask him to shut up. You secretly love it, his voice is so beautiful.

But you should hate Han Jisung because it's the right thing to do.

You would get closer to him, but...

No.

"Is it fashionable to jerk off to him?"

"hit of the season"

Lee Felix

It was impossible not to fall in love with Felix.

everyone loves Felix!

And he loves you.

This sunny boy literally drowned in his love for you, it completely absorbed him and did not allow other feelings to pass through.

But you don't seem to notice him.

Felix dreamed about you, you are in his thoughts. The first thought in the morning, a relieving thought when he is busy and the last thought before going to bed.

He's trying to get as close to you as possible

He will become your best friend.

Felix is too good, he is an angel in a human body.

The world is not worthy of Felix, so why did he love you?

Every day, like a painful melody, this unrequited love sounded in his heart. He experienced all emotions - from boundless happiness to deep sadness - alone

He couldn't imagine life without you

If you leave, there will be no point in living.

He writes you poems, he gives you the most expensive gifts, he just wants you to love him. Love him at least a little.

Perhaps his efforts will remain irretrievably lost in time. But one thing is certain: he will continue to love you, deeply and truly, even if he never hears your answer.

Come on scratch my back

So as to reach the heart

Both you and I want this (ЩЕНКИ–dirt)

Kim Seungmin

It's like he's afraid to get close to you.

On the contrary, he moves away. Every day it gets stronger, he loves you so much and doesn’t want to see you so much.

Seungmin took this step not because of a lack of love; in fact, on the contrary, he was struck by this love.

In every breath you took, every word you said, he found the perfect embodiment of his dreams. You were his sun, his muse, his everything.

But he knew he couldn't be with you. He saw how disappointed you were in your past love, how your trust and heart were damaged. He couldn't afford to repeat the same mistake. He couldn't risk their relationship knowing that the end could only be pain and disappointment.

It hurts so much to give up on someone you love.

He deserved happiness, he deserved love, but he couldn't have it with you.

He didn't want to ruin your life or be the source of your pain.

He will go away and it will be easier for everyone.

He will disappear from your life as suddenly as he appeared.

He will never forget you, he will never stop loving you. But he knows that sometimes the best decision is to let go of the one you love. This is exactly what he did because to him, your happiness was much more important than his own.

He looks at the dawn and remembers you.

Your nose is covered in cocaine, you can barely stand

I am the secret that you cannot hide

I think about you too much (Pharaoh-unplugged 2)

Yang Jeongin

You are his first love.

He sees a future with you, he sees stars in you.

It was the first time he felt such strong feelings for someone.

Oh, he is just learning about love, but it can hurt or beat sometimes. Love can completely break the psyche.

But he doesn't care as long as you exist.

Jeongin will turn to the Hyuns for advice. how to get your attention and make you fall in love.

He will be so romantic...he will be so gentle with you.

He is afraid to do something wrong so as not to scare you away

He will be a gentleman and will wait for the moment until you fall in love, he will do everything for this!

He will wait for you all his life if necessary, but I am sure that you will fall in love faster.

“He replaced my home, love and friends. He is my everything.”

Jeongin is like warm weather, everyone is waiting for him and wants him.

Feeling so lonely, 'cause it's not enough

Missin' you only ever since we fell in love (Ciggarets after sex–Touch)

536 notes · View notes

kazimakuwabara · 8 months

Text

Meet My Dad

Summary: Kuwabara's friends meet his father. His friends are amazing. (angst, shitty!dad, friendship) ((i might turn this into a long fic, or do another series of drabbles. I am thinking about it)

***

It's a lazy sort of day.

It's hot outside, there's no work, no school, no worries. It's the perfect kind of day for Kuwabara and Yusuke to lounge around Kuwabara's living room and play some video games. Kurama reads a book in the chair, idly commenting every so often when Yusuke and Kuwabara get stuck on a level. Hiei is sprawled on the couch forcing Yusuke and Kuwabara to play on the floor. Hiei watches their struggle with their game with one eye open, pretending he's not interested.

It's a damn good day.

The doorbell goes off, and Kuwabara opens his mouth to plead with Shizuru to get it.

"Don't you dare shout!" Shizuru warns as she glides past the living room, "I've a terrible hangover. I've got the door. Don't you fucking breathe a word or make a sound!"

Kuwabara snaps his mouth shut, and Yusuke giggles and elbows Kuwabara. Kurama and Hiei are also making soft snickering sounds, charmed as ever by Shizuru's display of sibling affection.

A few seconds pass, and then they hear a door bang against the wall, and Shizuru's shout of, "Get the hell out of my house!"

Kuwabara freezes as he recognizes that voice, his head snapping to the hallway. Kurama and Hiei are already getting up, Hiei already zipping towards the hall, a hand on his sword. Hiei is brushed past when a thick hand presses itself to Hiei's chest, and shoves him back. Not rough, nor threatening, but strong enough to push an S-class demon aside. Hiei's expression is surprised, but it's not at the touch. It's at the face of the one who moved him aside.

Kuwabara gets on his feet, dread curling in his belly.

He and his dad look so alike, his father may as well be his older self. His dad is aged so well, that they could be siblings. Twins even.

Kahoe Kuwabara pushes his sunglasses up on his head, and snaps at Kuwabara, "Kazuma. Let's go. You've been summoned."

Shizuru slides down the hall, her nostril's flaring and jaw set. She puts a hand on Hiei's shoulder, who now recovered from this older man's appearance, looks like he had been about to draw his sword. Kuwabara wishes Shizuru would let him.

"You're not welcome to come and go as you please-" Shizuru hisses.

"Shizuru, not now," Kahoe says, his eyes on his son, "You've been summoned to the mountain. Let's go."

"He's not going anywhere you fucking asshole!" Shizuru shouts, her low voice pitched high with her anger.

Kuwabara's neck and ears are blazing hot. He's embarrassed for reasons he doesn't even fully register, but he feels Kurama anxiously looking at him, and it's a slap of cold reality. His friends are meeting his father. They are going to know.

"Pops, get outta here. I ain't gonna do anything with you, Granddad, the shrine, or that fucking cursed mountain."

Kahoe slaps him with the back of his hand, and Kuwabara closes his eyes and inhales. It barely hurts. His father's hits stopped hurting when he was eleven; he had outgrown his father's strength then. But Kuwbaara aches with a different kind of hurt, a shame that his sister is always telling him he doesn't need to feel. But he's more than embarrassed, and he's ashamed even if he knows this isn't his fault.

Of course, his friends had to be here to see this.

He opens his eyes, and the ugly feeling that had been curling around the back of his neck fades at the sight.

Hiei has Kahoe Kuwabara backed up against the wall, a blade pressed to his throat. Hiei is not holding back, nor is his threat empty. A line of blood is trailing slowly down his sword, as he keeps his hand steady. Yusuke is up in front of Kahoe, his chest puffed, and his yoki ominously pressing the man back. Kurama has a hand on Yusuke's shoulder, clearly restraining Yusuke, but also himself as he levels Kuwabara's father with the coldest of glares.

Shizuru reaches Kuwabara's side, and curls her arm around her brother's foream, before turning her glare to their father.

"I told you after last time, not to presume you could walk around here and bother us," Shizuru spits acidly. "You can't speak to us, or our friends as if you're just... just part of our lives. You're not."

Kuwabara takes his own steadying breath, "Real charming dad. Great first impression with my friends."

"You're acting childish! You've been summoned. A man does his duty," Kahoe says, his Reiki, an impressive staggering amount, spilling into the room.

It only sets Kuwabara's friends more ill at ease.

Kuwabara's chin trembles, and he feels a thousand different things swirling inside him that he could hurl at his father. But there's so much to say, Kuwabara can't find the words.

"Only a man should lecture Kazuma Kuwabara," Hiei says slowly, "I see you don't fit that description."

"So watch your fucking mouth!" Yusuke hisses.

Kahoe tries to ignore Kuwabara's impressive friends, as he always ignores everyone until he needs them. He stares at Kuwabara, the two at last the same height. Kuwabara doesn't find the man so imposing now that he doesn't have to look up at him.

"You've been summoned. You're strong enough to take care of the mountain. The shrine needs your strength," Kahoe says, voice plain.

"I'm not going. The shrine, the monks, Granddad, and you can all rot in hell. Go catch fire on the mountain. Go die trying to save it," Kuwabara spits.

Shizuru slides her hand into her brothers, and she can feel her pride.

"You're not my family, and neither are they. Get out of here," Kuwabara orders again.

Kahoe levels his son with a stare and he knows his dad is going to attack his conscience.

"And if innocent people die, it's on your head because of your refusal, Kazuma. They'll have all died because of your petty discontent towards your father."

Yusuke palms Kahoe's face and he slams the back of his head into the wall. It is with a real effort he doesn't put the man's head through it. He overpowers Kahoe's Reiki with his own Yoki, a staggering force to be reckoned with. For good measure, he puts his reiki on top of his Yoki so Kahoe can feel just how mighty he is.

"Alright asshole, you're done," Yusuke snaps.

"I-" Kuwabara's father tries, but Yusuke squeezes the man's skull like he could pop his brains out through the top of his head.

"You're not wanted here. And whatever you want Kuwabara to fucking do, he ain't gotta do shit for you if he doesn't want. In fact, I'll be damned if I even let him feel tempted to help you. You're not his family. We're his family, and I don't recognize you!"

"I'll get the door," Kurama says smoothly, breezing down the hallway.

Yusuke drags Kahoe out.

Hiei wipes his sword before he sheathes it, and looks at Kuwabara. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't even have a question in those eyes. Kuwabara shrinks away anyway, sits back on the floor, and picks up the remote control.

"He's gone," Kurama announces when he returns.

Kuwabara can hear his friends gather around him. He holds up Yusuke's controller, "You want to play another round or what?"

When no one responds, Kuwabara resumes the game, "Fine, I'm just gonna kill your guy then."

Kuwabara's vision goes blurry as his character wins on screen. Yusuke drops next to him, his arms slung over Kuwabara's shoulder, and his hand buried in Kuwabara's hair, ruining his pompadour. Kuwabara feels shame when his breath catches, and Yusuke pulls him into a crushing hug.

Yusuke and Kuwabara hug in silence, while Kuwabara's eyes squeeze shut as he fights off a wave of disgust, repulsion, and guilt all aimed at himself. When Kuwabara opens his eyes, Yusuke is still hugging him, Hiei and Kurama are sitting on the coffee table watching them both closely. Shizuru has her arms crossed, and her eyes shine as she looks at the group.

Kuwabara shudders, "So... that was my dad."

"I'm surprised. There is hardly any resemblance," Kurama says, and his words sound so honest Kuwabara laughs, and he has to bat away some more tears.

"Well... there's some resemblance," Kuwabara admits, knowing full well he and his old man look pretty damn similar.

"Not anything where it matters it would seem," Hiei drawls. "Are you attached? I could kill him."

Kuwabara doesn't answer, and Shizuru mutters, "I might take you up on that if he shows back up."

"Kuwabara?" Yusuke says, hand on the back of his best friend's head, "You don't gotta tell us what all that shit was about, but if he tries to bring any sort of trouble, you know you an rely on us, right?"

Kuwabara shudders, and he laughs bitterly. There's a lot about his family he hasn't told his friends, but then again he stopped considering his Dad and those linked to him, his family a long time ago. It was him and Shizuru, just those two against the world. Had been for a while.

Had been sine he was born.

"I know I can rely on you guys... I... I just never wanted you to meet him," Kuwabara's words crack, and he closes his eyes.

The group hug he feels curl around him, breaks him, and he chokes on a sob, as he keeps fighting to keep it all in. He never wanted them to know, and he still doesn't think he can tell them everything.

But God, Kuwabara's friends are great.

#Kazi fanfic #yyh #Kazuma Kuwabara #hiei #yusuke #yusuke urameshi #kurama #friendship #found family #shitty!kuwabara dad #hurt/comfort #kuwabara

33 notes · View notes

puckrph · 1 year

Text

SHIT MY FRIENDS HAVE SAID PART 5

feel free to change pronouns, etc.

“i’m serving only the coldest, stalest opinions in this chilis tonight.” “this man is girlbossing WAY too close to the sun right now, which is bad, because he’s a vampire.” “he looks like if they peeled the grinch.” “i wish desolation row gerard way had me by the throat for real” “absolutely insane in shows and movies when people don’t have their window screens down. you’re just raw dogging life like that?” “it’s not sadistic if your players can take it.” “i’m doing this all in the service of the christian god, so it’s fine.” “wine-horny is what the fuck or die trope is about.” “it’s hot gay serial killer vampire summer” “[in a yoda voice] MMM. CUNT, THEY ARE SERVING.” “boytoy, enable kill mode.” “your father eats tomatoes like a beast of a man.” “you fool. my muppet-like behavior has blinded you to my competency.” “you people need to calm down.” “you know it’s a good joke when i start whimpering like a hurt dog.” “i’m insulted to my core. are you questioning my patriotism? my dedication to this country? my belief that the american dream is witnessing two f-150’s making passionate love on 690? i’ll have your badge and your head, [NAME].” “your influence is both vast and perplexing.” “putting your blood through a brita filter is discount dialysis.” “people is like sauce: more is better.” “hell would be more fun than this, i think.” “hard to believe the same studio made two games where you get to run around, steal vehicles, and be an asshole, if you want.” “pda stands for people doing atheism.” “first of all, through the power of keanu reeves all things are possible, so jot that down.” “i don’t feel like his name should be david. i feel like it should be… giancarlo.” “you aren’t laughing or loving this, and soon you won’t be living either!” “did i ever tell you about the dream i had where baljeet from phineas and ferb got lightning powers and fought in the clone wars.” “everyone is bullying so much about cooking meat that i simply must become vegan.” “i’m gonna deep clean you out of my life.” “the only difference between a twink and a frat boy is a limp wrist.” “he’s right, of course, i am going to do that. but still.” “what is a roommate if not blorbo from your house?” “i just realized that i’m going to medieval times for the first time on the destiel putin election anniversary. none of those words are in the king james bible. how am i going to cope.” “body dysmorphia? yes, but you can hang dong like nobody’s business.” “he can’t do anything wrong, he’s too cute.” “so many people eat an orange normally. isn’t it better, really, to do it like a weirdo?” “i’m probably in the top 98th percentile of pez dispenser information knowers by the way. most don’t know that about me.” “there is always further to fall from god’s grace.” “jesus is rizzin’?? amogus???” “you think i could gauge the emotions or feeling of any human beings in high school?” “sorry, the coffee never actually kicked in so i’m stupid now.” “the bar for men is so low. just be fun, slay, and be a little fruity!” “i feel like JC probably has some hilarious lines in the quran.” “side note: does anyone else initially read FMA as ‘fuck my alchemist.’” “astigmatism is when you have an eye issue and stigmata is when you have the wounds of christ, right? because i was at the eye doctor and he said ‘looks like we need to correct a stigmata in your eye’ and i was like come again?” “surely the micro plastics and lead cancel each other out, you’ll be fine.” “schrodinger’s sports call: the call exists in a quantum state of correct and bullshit until i figure out how it affects my guys.” “oh, tom waits makes some good songs. he just sounds like a gravel beach got a wish to become a real boy.”

#sentence starters #rp sentence starters #rp memes #askbox memes

19 notes · View notes

peakyblindersxx · 3 years

Text

whiskey business - john x reader (part 3 of ?)

gif by @michaelgreys but i cropped it cause god daMn 👀

read part one and two! | my masterlist

a/n: this one goes out to all my john bitches!! i know it's hard out here, we get no new content but this part is steamy as hell. its not over yet, though! i'm a sucker for happy endings, ok? i hope you all like it, i'm still working on requests as i go :) much love to @stxdyblr-2k for ghostwriting on this series, she has the most amazing ideas in the world 🖤

love, abi xxx

tagging: @datewithgianni

prompt: john's been ignoring you and you want to know why.

warnings: fluff, angst, nsfw!! smut, cocky john, just straight up porn at the end but can you blame me

John hadn't spoken a word in your direction for a week. Despite constantly seeing you glued to Ada's hip, he’d barely acknowledged you since the wedding. He didn’t even bother looking up. Instead his jaw tensed, taking longer inhales of smoke, constantly examining the pocket watch dangling from his right hip. You were the last person John wanted to see right now. He couldn’t get you out of his head, the flush of your cheeks as you had moaned for him imprinted in his memory. You were fucking picturesque writhing around in his lap, a mess for him, and only him. He’d never felt like this; never wanted someone so badly it hurt. Usually, he drowned what little emotions he had in the nearest bottle of whiskey. You, however, were igniting something inside him he’d never felt. Lust, yes, but it was more. A yearning, a need, to see you smile at his crap jokes for the rest of his fucking life. God, you were getting to him.

His coldness and distance towards you hadn't gone unnoticed. To John’s embarrassment, his brothers regularly referred to it as "a little tiff", usually when you were within earshot, as they loved embarrassing his brother. They were blissfully unaware of the full story, assuming his cockiness had put you off him. He sometimes wondered the same; even though you remained polite by greeting him despite the minimal nod he responded with, you seemed ashamed. John only hoped it wasn't because you were ashamed of him. The truth was, he couldn't get the intensity between the two of you off his mind. Whenever he so much as caught a glimpse of you, he remembered how pretty you looked begging for him, then the embarrassment of having to reject you out of family loyalty. You admitting you wanted to have sex with him, him getting fucked off at you because you were off your face, complicating everything. Yet, every night, he held your words close to him, trying to decipher them.

He knew his brothers wouldn't get it. They wouldn't understand how tragic it was; they'd think it was funny that Ada's best friend wanted to fuck him. Either way, John would always rather put himself in the firing line of his brother's jokes than risk your reputation being blemished. He just couldn't look at you without a wave of guilt and sexual attraction flowing through his veins, causing his jaw to clench and his shoulders to stiffen, his suit jacket expertly covering strain on the crotch of his trousers.

A full week had passed since the wedding, of a man Tommy had recruited in an assassination effort. It was embarrassing how his family used money to attempt to push the trauma they created under the carpet. He knew he didn't have room to talk, but fuckin’ hell, a wedding? Maybe Tommy should've just not hired him to blow the brains out of his own father. Well, it was one way to get rid of the police commissioner who got too nosey, John guessed.

He had hoped that you were a passing phase of infatuation. He’d had many before; he’d been notorious around Birmingham for his conquests. Sure, it was possible he had just gotten overly excited and intoxicated around a beautiful girl. Yet, in the quiet moments of his life, in between his kids and business, his mind was only on you. You, straddling him in that booth, the way you grinned at him as he approached you at the wedding party. Sometimes when he was driving home, his mind would drift off thinking of the feeling of your figure pressed against him, the feel of your lips, your laugh, the sound of your heaving breaths against his ear. You haunted him the most at night, visions of you with his name on your lips in his silk sheets. You were his forbidden fruit, dangling barely out of reach.

***

John was at his desk, paperwork long abandoned in favour of whiskey and a cigar, lost in his own thoughts. The loud tapping of rain and the wind of the storm outside shook the windows, yet John felt somewhat at peace; a temporary peace, but he could unwind. Just his desk, the moonlight, the gas lamp illuminating his empty glass and the heavy English rain for company. He found far more joy in the simplicity of life than his brothers, who reeked of new money. He liked his things the way they were, it all worked, but he had to admit he was a sucker for a good suit. The kids were long in bed, the nanny to comfort their nightmares. It made him feel like a shit father, and he didn't want to be like his useless dad. He had started resenting the life Thomas was forcing him to live; the booze, the partying, the Tokyo, the fighting. It was wearing on him. He needed a break from everyone in this town, he reckoned.

However, a certain unexpected guest was always welcome to him. You had just drifted across his mind when a firm knock at the door caught his attention. He straightened his tie, leaving his legs outstretched and crossed on the dark oak desk, calling for the visitor to enter.

There you were. Dripping from head to toe, but still as beautiful as ever to him, despite your damp hair and slightly smudged makeup. You had caught him off guard, and in his surprise, he couldn't suppress the cheeky grin which spread across his face.

"Got caught in the storm, eh? I'll put the fire on and pour you a drink yeah? Warm you up." He slurred slightly, springing into action, lighting the fire and going to fill two glasses with whiskey, which you politely refused.

"I'm not drinking tonight, Mr. Shelby."

He decides he won't either. He tried to ignore your piercing gaze, motioning you to sit across his desk from him, reaching to put the whiskey in his drawer. "That's not like you. Where you headed, love? That lecture with Ada?"

"I came to see you."

He noted your firm tone, the flirty smile, the coy eye contact.

"What's the occasion?"

"You've been avoiding me." You told him bluntly, his cheeks reddening, eye contact breaking momentarily.

"Yeah, I know." He took a draw from his cigar, rolling the smoke from between his lips on the exhale. "M’sorry."

You watched him for a moment and he met your eyes, suddenly softened from his usual icey blue inquisitive stare. To shame, he looked so vulnerable right now. You could feel yourself falling for him again. This is what you hung around for, the fleeting glimpses of the authentic John Shelby. The lad you'd first giggled about in the girl's bathroom at lunch, barely knowing what sex was. Barely understanding power and politics. Unaware of who you'd both end up as.

"You're fucking soaked to the bone. Come on, I'll put your clothes to dry by the fire. And don't give me that look, I'll give you my coat to save your modesty, lass." He teased. You ignored the way his muscles flexed as he reached for his woolen jacket, some outrageously expensive tailored affair from some London boutique, his large rough hands brushing your fingers. "I'll turn around."

You grasped the coat, heading to the fireplace and warming up for a moment, checking that you were far from his line of sight. This was a dangerous game for you both. You wished he'd grab you, take you on his desk and finish what he started, but the way he absentmindedly drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited indicated that he was restraining himself.

You'd rid yourself of your thin jacket, bought from the market stall last week, effortlessly trendy but an imitation of the pricey stuff Ada and the blinder wives and girlfriends you knew. You were jealous of their fur coats, they were always warm and glamorous looking even on the coldest winter night in Birmingham.

You glanced across the room to John. He was staring intently at the wall lost in thought, teeth gritted.

"John? Could you unzip me?" You asked, purposefully making your voice sound as neutral as possible, looking at him over your shoulder.

He paused, bringing his fingers to rub circles against his jaw. You caught a glimpse of white teeth and dimples as he glanced at you out the corner of his eye and you can't help but match his coy grin. He pushed himself off the desk and quickly closed the small distance towards you, his hand finding first your shoulder then the zip at the nape of your neck, your breath hitching as he pulled the zip to your waist. You could feel his eyes tracing the curvature of your spine and hips. You both hesitated for a moment, before John’s warm fingertips grazed your waist, lips pressing into your hair affectionately. His mouth found his way to your ear, cheekbone, jaw and then neck, encouraged by the way your left hand cradled his head as you pressed your body back into his and how your eyes drifted shut at his touch.

"Sweetheart, why did you come here?" He muttered into your ear, his words and casual affection causing your core to swell in response.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you. I've barely slept in a week, feel terrible. Then you've been ignoring me-"

"It isn't personal, Y/N. You know this isn’t how I want it to be." His hands found their way to your waist, gripping lightly at your hip bones, sending a shiver down your back.

"Well this is how it is, John. It's never going to be any different. So, what are you going to do about it?"

"What are you fucking on about, love?"

"I reckon that just once can't hurt, nobody would know but us. Then we can both move on with our lives..."

John hesitated, "What about Ada?" His head rested on your shoulder, the scent of your sweet perfume causing him to want you even more. Jesus, he was too far gone.

"We were so close the first night I got here and we didn't. No one caught on then, why would it be different now?"

He wanted to trust you so badly, it ached inside of him. He wanted to feel you around him, make you cum for him again and again, for you to be breathless and shaking under him. He wanted to give you everything he could, even if just once. But he couldn't.

"She's my sister. Family is everything; if I don't have them, I’ve got nothin’." He stated firmly, yet his palms lingered on your hips, the liquor destroying his perception of the distinction between friendly touching and actions that made you swallow deeply and pray for relief.

"You have me for tonight." You pulled away from him, ignoring the groan that escaped from his lips at the loss of contact. You locked your eyes with his blue ones and pushed the straps of your dress from your shoulders, allowing the damp material to pool around your feet, standing in front of the man you'd wanted for years. It was now or never.

He stayed silent, watching you, eyes not leaving yours, challenging you for a brief moment before his eyes flickered over your figure.

"Is it such a crime to want to fuck you?" You asked, the silk of your skimpy underwear forcing John to wipe the corner of his mouth absentmindedly as he drank you in, mumbling profanities under his breath. Yet, despite the glances and his sudden frustration, you could tell you had him. His eyes were feral and hungry, daring you to keep pushing him. His shoulders were squared, he was ready for action. The crackling firelight illuminated you beautifully; you were irresistible to him.

"It's not a crime. Where'd you get this backbone from?" He asked, reaching for you but you stepped away, teasing him.

"University up north does sommet to a woman."

"You can fuck off or fuck me with that attitude."

"The latter if you behave yourself, Mr Shelby."

He smirked at you, holding his hands up in mock surrender, before wrapping his coat around your shoulders, pulling you towards him by the back of the collar. "You've got a mouth on you, love. You gonna put it to good use?"

"I was told months ago that you'd sort me out, John-" Your speech was interrupted by a small squealing giggle as he tugged at your hair lightly for mocking his voice, his eyes bright and crinkled at the edges due to his grin. "I'm disappointed with these delays, especially from the Shelby Company."

"Well, as the boss, I'll sort it for you, personally and immediately. Let me make it up to you, lass," John crooned, his lips meeting yours once again, fingers pushing your thighs apart, still clad in your black stockings and garter belt. "This is where we got up to last time, yes?"

"Yes Mr. Shelby, I believe so."

He pressed his lips and teeth against where your jaw met your neck, tracing his index and middle fingers over the silk of your underwear which covered your slit. You couldn’t help but lean into him, a slight hiss escaping your teeth.

"You like that, huh? You're fuckin’ soaked for me already, love," John muttered against your neck, lifting your left leg to hook around his waist, easily lifting you onto his desk, scattering loose papers and heavy accounting books onto the floor in his urgency to feel your bare skin on his. "They teach you how to push a bloke over the edge at that fancy university?"

"No, I figured that out on my own actually."

"Always knew you were bright," He smirked, quickly ridding you of your flimsy panties, the pads of his fingertips hot against your thighs. "Always going for the ones smarter than me, Tommy reckons it's not difficult."

"Your brother's chatting shit, he's not the one ‘bout to fuck me on his desk, yeah?" You shot back, opening your thighs to encourage him, your cunt exposed, cutting off John’s laugh. He couldn’t help but stare, eyes glued to your dripping cunt. "You're my favourite brother, always have been. If you tell Finn, I'll kill you," You teased.

"Come off it," John grunted in reply, unable to restrain pressing kisses to your inner thighs, your head tilting back, fingers desperately clutching at his hair. “Need t’get a proper taste of you, yeah? Look so fuckin’ sweet for me.” His mouth reached your core, slowly dipping his tongue into you, causing your mouth to fall open in ecstasy. God, his lips were even softer than they looked. His movements switched from light and teasing to purposeful and focused, his fingers curled and pumping inside you, tongue and thumb attacking your clit. He'd gotten on his knees, your legs wrapped around his neck as he groaned into your cunt, causing you to buck your hips wildly at the sensation, moans falling out of your mouth.

“Fuckin’ christ, John,” You swore, feeling yourself pulsate and twitch around his nimble fingers, crying out into the empty office building. You were getting so close, your hips jerking independently, chest heaving as you gasped for air. You were quickly getting overstimulated, you were so close. Before you could finish, John raised his head back to yours, letting you taste yourself on his mouth, his hands moving from your cunt to your tits, finger tips tracing the outline of your nipples through your silk bra.

"If we get to do this once, I want to feel you finish on my cock, doll," John grunted in a hushed tone, pointedly moving his lips to your collarbone when you opened your mouth to argue back to him.

"Then I get to ride you." Your statement took him by surprise; most women he'd slept with seemed fairly passive in bed. Sure they enjoyed themselves, but they never took control. He could feel himself swell in response to your words. He'd never been put in this position; he was a stranger to it, but the idea was thrilling and wickedly seductive. Especially from someone who was the epitome of "girl-next-door" as they were growing up.

"Polly reckoned you'd be trouble since Ada told us you'd returned. Don't mind getting into trouble with you, though," He teased, his plump mouth dipping to your cleavage, unclasping your bra, tongue circling your hardening nipples.

"John, fuckin’ christ, need you to finish me off, yeah?" You begged, voice shaking, much to his amusement, his fingers re-entering you roughly. John pressed open-mouthed kisses to your neck, soothing your body from the sharp sensation, the slight pain exacerbating the pleasure arising from his mouth and fingers.

"I've barely started with you, and already you're begging for me to fuck you." He muttered into your skin, as he watched you writhe and lift your hips, reacting beautifully to the feelings he was reawakening within you.

"John, m’not fucking about, yeah? I need you," You whined, hand resting on his inner thigh, fingers grazing the fastenings across his groin, gazing up at him from your seat on his desk. John hated waiting for relief, he had very little patience, and almost immediately he gave in and collapsed into his large armchair, pulling you on top of him, letting you pin his wrists to the chair and grind against him as your mouth found his, then his neck, removing his waistcoat, shirt and tie, revealing his muscular chest. The bruising kisses you pressed to his skin left him breathless and needing more, helping you unbuckle his belt and push his suit trousers down his legs. You couldn’t help but take him into your hand, moving it up and down his sensitive shaft.

“Christ, you’re too fuckin’ good at this,” John groaned as you spit on your palm to better move your hand up and down his cock, teasing the sensitive tip with your fingers and tongue. He couldn’t help but watch you, keeping eye contact as you toyed with him, blue eyes heavy with pleasure and lust for more.

You angled your hips above him and he adjusted himself, using his hand to better push himself inside you. You yelped lightly as you adjusted to his girth, his mouth distracting you by pressing kisses on your shoulder and tangling his hands through your hair, trying to control his breaths as you adjusted to him, soft moans falling from your mouth, your tight cunt gripping his cock.

“S’fuckin’ perfect, like your pussy was made for me,” he groaned, breath growing heavier with the sensation of you grinding against him. Pushing his hips up into you, he couldn’t help but grab at your hip bones, grip burning into your skin, bouncing you on his cock, mouth slightly slack, groaning as he grasped at your flesh. You’d imagined hundreds of times how fucking irresistible John would look underneath you, but it was nothing compared to the real thing.

The thrill of having John Shelby with his trousers down in his office, quickly dissolving into a moaning and grunting mess with every rotation or twist of your hips, in the midst of a stormy night while the thunder echoed around the empty streets below was almost too much to take. You should be home right now, curled up in that empty unheated flat, behaving yourself. Even on a date or fucking someone else. But instead you'd gone to him and now you were riding him. You wanted the moment to last forever, right now everything felt so right, you knew when it was over the guilt would hit. But you couldn't avoid it, you could feel your legs start to shake.

“Look so god damn pretty ridin’ me, love. Makin’ me wanna cum inside you.” John growled, panting, struggling to keep pace as you moaned on top of him. Your fingers found his jawline and guided him to look up at you, craving to see how his face looked when he finally came undone. He reached between your legs, torturing your clit with his fingers while he slammed into you a few extra times, using up the rest of his energy. The extra stimulation pushed you over the edge, crying out John’s name as you felt yourself release. Watching you whine his name was the last straw for him, spilling into you as your dripping cunt squeezed him, reveling in the image of you a mess for him.

***

You finally came back to your senses, catching your breath, John clutching you to his chest protectively for a minute or two, enjoying the tranquility and post-sex clarity. He checked his clock, sighing and lifting you from his lap to his desk, running a towel under the sink in the corner of his room and passing it to you to clean up between your legs with.

"Charming," You smirked, tired but satisfied. "No wonder the ladies always come back for more."

"Not you though, aye? One night only exclusive, this." He matched your playful tone, but his eyes were dull with exhaustion and he looked almost upset. He was probably just knackered after working all day and then going overtime just to please you.

"Make yourself useful and grab my clothes for me John-lad." You teased, thankfully changing the subject. He rolled his eyes in the waning firelight, locating the clothes the two of you had left scattered around the room. You quickly dressed, not caring how he watched you silently, as though trying to memorize the image of you. Your clothes were far drier than earlier, the last remaining remnants of damp clutching to the fibers and freezing you all over again. Yet before you could even comment, John's wool coat was wrapped back around your shoulders.

"Because you're cold, not because you look fuckable in it." He said pointedly, smirking slightly, the edges seeming artificial.

"Remind me not to fall madly in love with you. Won't be able to help myself if you keep talking like that, Mr. Shelby." You retorted sarcastically with a grin, earning a gentle dig to the ribs.

"It's Mr. Shelby if you're trying to fuck me. John is between friends and family, right?"

"Someone better inform Mr. Solomons of that distinction, then," You paused, "Mr. Shelby."

"Don't be a fucking cocktease." He scolded with a small grin, grabbing his car keys and hat from the door. "You want a lift then? Don't dick about being polite, Y/N, it's fucking midnight, just accept it."

"Since you asked so nicely."

"You know you've got worse since you've been at uni? Too fast for us lot now." He teased, half serious, as he led you to his car. He couldn't believe the beautiful woman in his passenger seat was the girl with pigtails who'd chase Ada around the canal with their girl gang for hours, the pretty teen who read for hours in his sister's bedroom, comparing notes together. No one was surprised you got a scholarship to university, despite your gender and class. You'd been incredibly lucky. Yet, you'd seen the world and had come back to Birmingham and picked him.

Shame you could only pick him once.

#john shelby imagine #john shelby x reader #john shelby smut #john shelby fluff #john shelby #peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders x reader #john shelby masterlist #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders masterlist

776 notes · View notes

slasherholic · 3 years

Text

synopsis: you reflect on a few incidents in your relationship with asa that really should have tipped you off as red flags while you wait for him to come back and torture you some more.

contains: gender neutral reader, graphic depictions of violence and torture, psychological torture, death, kidnapping, rib trauma, referenced abuse, current abuse because it’s fucking asa, I’ll throw in manipulation and gaslighting just to be safe.

note: quite a few scenes and tidbits in this were heavily inspired by a chat I had with the brilliant and lovely @sanguine--honey, so thanks again for letting me include those in this fic c:

word count: 4k

(Part One, Part Two)

Asa Emory / The Collector x Reader | Loose Ends | Part Three

When he finally unchained you from the pole he dragged you violently up several flights of steep stairs. His strength seemed tireless no matter how much you struggled.

You were bruised and battered and smearing blood on the floor behind you when he got to where he was taking you. He ignored the desperate way you were still screaming at him and threw you violently in a black trunk in a room with bright white lights and steel lab tables. He had slammed the heavy door shut so hard the force of it knocked a painting off the wall. Many locks turned on the other side. You clutched your stomach with both hands and doubled over and began to dry heave.

You sat crying in the dark. When the tears wouldn’t come out anymore, you looked for a way out. Tried to feel around the edges. Your arms burned terribly and you could smell your own body fluids lingering among the overwhelming smell of disinfectant loitering in the air. Your face ached from where he’d held your mouth to silence you when he plunged the needle in. There was a perfectly round hole in the side of the trunk, the size of your pinky nail, that appeared to have been made with a drill. An airhole. Or a peephole.

But the trunk itself was locked up tight. There was no getting out.

You studied the room through the peephole. There were four other trunks sitting upright on the floor to the left of you, at least that you could see, lined up one after the next to form a semicircle. Each was a different color—red, blue, green, brown, in that order.

You called out very softly and asked if anyone was there.

Silence.

Sniffling again, you sat with your knees curled tightly into your chest, and allowed your mind to romp.

There had been signs, red flags abound, and you had ignored them, made excuses for him in your head, filed every uncomfortable incident away to be rationalized at a later date. You might not have known until the very end that he was this. But you had known enough. Asa, beneath his carefully manufactured charm and suave, was the coldest man you had ever met.

So you arrived at the crushing conclusion that you had nobody to blame for this but yourself.

There had been one instance, close to the start of your relationship, or whatever it was you had with him, where you found yourself very inebriated in his expensively furnished living room.

Asa had implied over dinner that he would like to go upstairs and have sex after you were finished, and he’d cleared the plates off his dining table nearly twenty minutes ago. You challenged him to arm-wrestle first.

“Please?” You spread your legs out on his blue persian rug, intent on staying awhile.

Asa sat across the room from you in the cushioned chair closest to the hall, his hands folded in his lap. The look on his face was growing rather unamused.

“I already said no. Can we move along?”

“Come on, have a little fun.”

His expression grew more dour still.

“You’re drunk. Very drunk. I thought I told you to go easy with the drinking.”

“You, Dr. Emory, are being a total stick in the mud.”

You pestered him about it until he humored you.

He took you by the hand and set your arm up on his nice coffee table which he had cleared delicately of a stag beetle specimen in a spotless glass display.

“Count of three.” You slurred, a smile growing in your eyes, one he didn’t care to return.

“One.”

He adjusted his grip dexterously around your fingers. His arm was bigger than yours by far.

“Two.”

The thick tendons in his wrist jumped out. It would be no contest. You wanted to try anyway. You thought it would be fun.

“Three.”

You fought against his hand with everything you had. You laughed. Asa let you struggle against him for a few moments, regarding you with an utter lack of concern on his face. For all your efforts you couldn’t budge his wrist by a centimeter.

Then he smashed your hand so quick and hard into the coffee table your knuckles throbbed and you yelled.

The laughter fell from your face like a stone. You jerked in his grip. His hold moved down to your wrist where he held you tightly and didn’t let go. Suddenly, you didn’t like the way he was looking at you.

Asa, leaning forward, spoke to you very slowly, and made you linger on every syllable, as if you were stupid.

“Are you finished? Shall we move on? Or would you like to go again?”

He squeezed your wrist a bit harder. You could feel the pulse in your arm quickening, throbbing in his grip, which was getting tighter every second.

You let him take you upstairs without suggesting any more games.

In the morning, you hardly remembered the sex, but your hand was bruised. Asa didn’t mention anything to you about it as he got ready for work. It was the last time you had ever been drunk around him.

You jolted awake in the trunk. Your arms burned in a way that sent vicious chills through your extremities. There was a wet stain on the wall where you must have fallen asleep at some point. Resting a hand on the trunk, you stared cautiously through the peephole.

Asa wasn’t there. But the painting that had fallen was back in its place on the wall.

Your stomach sank. You thought some more to try and distract yourself from the pain in your arms and your aching body.

There had been that one night in the park. The night you stayed awake many sleepless hours trying and failing not to remember what you witnessed.

The sunset had dissipated and the only light remaining in the park was what filtered down from the black street lamps towering like spires all along the sidewalk. Asa had touched something on the bench he didn’t like, and had gotten up to wash his hands in the nearby bathroom.

You watched a pair of moths fluttering around each other near the lamp across the path and noticed someone approaching from the corner of your eye. Assuming it was Asa, you turned to ask him what species he figured they were.

It wasn’t Asa.

The mugger shoved you forcefully off the park bench. You spilled onto the cold sidewalk, knocking your head on the concrete.

“Give me the fucking wallet.”

The man must have thought you were alone. He wore black jeans and a grey t-shirt. He brandished a short switchblade at you which you stared at with wide terrified eyes. You were shocked to silence, frozen in place.

The mugger made a grab for the wallet in your shaking hands.

And Asa had tackled him from behind with such force that both men went spilling into the grass on the opposite side of the path.

He was back on his feet by the time the mugger was still clambering to his mud-stained knees. You watched Asa’s hand go somewhere beneath his olive jacket as he pulled out a knife you hadn’t known he carried. He flipped it in his grip and held it with the blade angled down toward the grass. His face had become profoundly unreadable.

His movements dripped with practice and polish as he sized your mugger up. The muscles in his legs were spring-loaded as he stalked back and forth along the grass. Every step had a purpose.

He dove in for a slash across the man’s stomach. You saw blood spray in a wide arc and heard the man make a painful strangled sound. Asa ducked beneath a clumsy swipe for his face, stepping away again. He passed his knife from one hand to the other; now, he was circling the man. Not adjusting his stance. Circling him.

The man lunged at him with a grunt. The switchblade raced for his chest. Asa caught his wrist and slashed him deep across the thigh.

You’d always known his reflexes were astonishingly quick. Once, you dropped your expensive camera while photographing the exhibits at the museum, and he had grabbed it before it hit the ground, lecturing you in a more-or-less jesting manner about getting a lanyard for it as he stood to hand it back to you, an incident which at the time had made your cheeks warm.

Asa planted his shoe squarely in the man’s abdomen and kicked him away hard. The man made a guttural sound as he tumbled back on the grass, gasping for air, and Asa let him clamber to his feet again, still circling. The look on his face was no longer indifference. It was something far more intense.

The man turned, staggering, and tried to run.

Asa was faster. He tackled him again, wrestled him brutally to the sidewalk. The man swung blindly, got lucky in his desperation—and clipped him across the shoulder.

Asa snarled. Not a grunt, it had been a snarl, low and throaty, like an animal.

He slashed violently at the man and his knife flashed sharply in the lamp light. Blood erupted from the cut in a heavy mist. The man fell back on the ground, dropping his own blade, clutching his throat. Asa straddled him on his knees, and grabbed him by the face, wrenching his head up. You heard the crack of the man’s skull meeting the concrete from where you sat.

The man started shouting desperately for help.

You watched Asa raise his knife. His arms and shoulders flexed and strained the sleeves of his jacket. You knew by the look on his face alone that you were about to witness a murder. Before you knew what you were doing, you were yelling at him to stop.

Asa didn’t hear. Or he ignored you.

He drove the knife hard into the man’s stomach.

The man made a wet strangled sound, bringing up his arm to try and block the onslaught, because Asa was already raising his arm again.

He stabbed the same spot. Every stab that followed was faster. The man’s yelling became screaming and you saw Asa’s hand shift to cover his mouth. The man’s muffled screams fell to thin whining. Then ragged wheezing. Then, stopped.

A cricket chirped beyond the reach of the street lamps. The moths fluttered near the bulb across the path.

Asa straightened up his posture. His nostrils flared heavily with breath. He seemed to take in the gored body on the concrete beneath him, which had gone motionless.

Five seconds hardly passed before he stood, slowly, rising to his full height, carefully side-stepping the body. The man’s blood trickled off the tip of his wet knife and dripped on the concrete next to his black dress shoes. His jacket sleeves and the sides of his charcoal pants across his thighs were stained with long dark swaths. He rolled his shoulders. The breeze tousled his disordered hair.

There had been a few moments you could recall when it really occurred to you how big Asa was.

He wore flattering clothes often, and your eyes were sometimes tempted towards the wide muscles in his chest, but the way he talked to you was very ensnaring, as he always seemed to have something interesting or intelligent or just plain sarcastic in a dry but not-to-be-taken-seriously way to say; so when he spoke, you found it difficult to look anywhere but at his handsome face. You only really witnessed the scope of his strength when you slept with him. The ways he was able to handle you when he wanted made you feel, at times, incredibly vulnerable around him.

Asa had turned his whole body toward you when he considered you where you sat huddled on the sidewalk, reigning in the hot breaths which broadened his chest and spiraled into the chilly night. The man’s blood had gotten on his cheek. You started to shiver. He regarded you with a look that read staggering disapproval, as though this, and what would inevitably follow, was not worth his time, as though it might as well have been your fault, as though he was currently considering very strongly doing something about it later in private.

“You should call the police.”

Before you knew what you were doing or why you were really doing it you scrambled for your phone in your pocket and tapped on the screen with very shaky fingers, “9-1-1.”

The ambulances pulled up to the street corner first followed shortly by two squad cars. Asa stood up slowly from the green park bench to meet them, and you stayed kneeling on the cold sidewalk.

He introduced himself to the officers as Dr. Asa Emory and dealt with their questions very professionally. At one point, he had pulled a neatly folded paper out of his wallet, which the questioning officer took, shined her flashlight at, and returned to him, nodding her head. The story was very apparent: a couple walking in the park had been assaulted at knife-point, and a registered concealed-carry weapon had been used to dispatch the aggressor.

The officers came over to question you. Asa, standing off to the side, removed his bloodied jacket, which he hung neatly over the park bench. He watched you closely. The look on his face was like the prick of a thorn.

You diverted your gaze away from him and nodded at the officer’s questions dumbly, staring at the medical workers as they bagged up the body on the sidewalk. An EMT was called over, who concluded that you were in moderate shock, and that you should go to the hospital.

“I won’t be riding along with you.” Asa was down to his tan sweater, rubbing his newly cleaned fingers together at his side, which he had been given bottles of water to wash off at his request. The indifference on his face didn’t lift as they strapped you down to the gurney.

“The officers have a few more questions, so I’ve agreed to go with them down to the station.”

His words were factual and rhetorical, as if your input on the matter wasn’t at all needed, so you didn’t say anything back to him.

It was the last you heard from him until he showed up in your hospital room several hours later. Your stomach lept a little when the door opened and he came in.

He was wearing a change of clothes, his hair groomed back into place, looking very much the part of respectable Dr. Emory again. He had brought you dinner from the lobby downstairs.

He sat in the only chair in the room as you picked at the warm mashed potatoes in the black tray, and made conversation about how you were handling things, and if there was anything he could get you, and though it all felt very shallow and obligatory you found yourself playing along as best you could, because sitting in the room alone with him was giving you very obvious goosebumps.

Asa drove you home later that night. You got out of his car without a word, went to your door, and quickly did the lock behind you.

After falling into bed, you were afraid of him. You couldn’t bring yourself to admit it then; you tried to cling tightly to the parts of him you still thought you loved. But from then on, you were, genuinely, afraid of him.

What made it worse, you suspected he saw it, too.

His holds on your wrist when you turned away from him before he had quite finished lecturing you about something very irresponsible or just plain ignorant you had done were firmer. There was the way he moved his jacket occasionally when he shifted his posture, and you caught a glimpse of his holstered knife for a moment too long. And how, when he asked you a question—one to which you didn’t immediately have an answer—he turned all his attention on you, and began to approach you, boxing you in, cutting off your escape, slowly repeating the question.

He’d known. Without a doubt, he had known.

Sobbing started in the trunk next to you and it jolted you harshly out of your thoughts.

It sounded like a man. A younger man. You tried to talk to him.

“Hello?”

Sudden silence fell. You repeated yourself.

“Is someone there?”

“-Yes.”

The voice came out very quietly. For a moment, you didn’t say anything. You didn’t know what there was to say.

“What’s your name?”

Silence for another moment.

“It’s Noah.”

There was rattling as Noah shifted in his trunk.

Noah told you he’d been taken on a Tuesday. A horrendous sinking feeling settled in your stomach at that.

Tuesday was six days ago. Asa had come back very late that night smelling strongly of disinfectant and nitrile, as he did sometimes. You figured he'd stayed past closing hours at work for something important but asked him about it anyway, in the name of making casual conversation, an occurrence which had been growing steadily more reclusive between the two of you. His response had been clipped and curt. You didn’t ask him any more about it.

Noah seemed to hear Asa coming down the hall before you did.

“Stop. Stop talking.” His voice was suddenly desperate, laced with terror. “He’s coming back. He’s coming back. Please don’t talk. Don’t say anything.”

But that wasn’t part of the plan.

The locks clicked open on the other side of the black door.

You started pleading at him with your raw hoarse voice the second he stepped into the room.

“Asa, please! You know I didn’t tell anyone! I’ll do anything you want, you know I will! Asa, please!”

You weren’t even sure what you were begging him for. Please let me out. Please clean my arms before they get infected. Please don’t hurt me anymore.

He shoved your trunk so violently as he walked past that your head knocked against the wood and everything went dizzy for a moment.

Through the airhole, through your fresh, blurry tears, you watched him squat down, and unlock the brown trunk next to yours, the one the young man was in.

Noah couldn’t have been older than his early twenties but his face was exhausted and gaunt. His shirt was gone and his red sweatpants were soaked through with sweat or something else. The shackles around his wrists and ankles rattled as Asa’s arm darted into the trunk.

He wrenched the young man out by his tangled brown hair. Noah made an anguished sound, but didn’t struggle much as Asa hauled him swiftly towards the operating table.

It occurred to you then what Asa had drilled the peephole in your trunk for.

The young man begged desperate things while Asa locked his shackled wrists and ankles down to the fixtures on the table. No. Not again. Stop. Please don’t do it again. You looked closer, noticing the long row of stitches running down his side, the skin around them still red and puffy, and thought you might be sick.

Asa grabbed him roughly by the face, and leaned in very close, settling his hand on his bare abdomen. He said something next to Noah’s head too quiet for you to overhear. Noah’s chest heaved rapidly. Asa stood again, and gave the side of his ribs a light stroke before he walked away.

The young man on the table had paled fast. He lay staring at the ceiling with huge unblinking eyes, trembling, looking very much in shock at what he had just heard.

Asa took his time choosing the surgical tools from his cabinets. You watched him prepare the room, too afraid to look away. Maybe it was all a bluff. Please god let it be a bluff. He laid out two separate trays on the stainless-steel countertops, putting his tools in one, and set an extra out near the sink.

It wasn’t a bluff.

Noah was very awake when Asa began to cut his chest open.

His body obscured your view of the table but you knew the exact moment the scalpel sank in because the young man made a horrible screeching noise and began thrashing violently in his chains in a huge clamor. His body seized and his eyes rolled back in his head. He seemed to try to vomit; nothing came out.

Asa did not carry out his work hastily. Finished with the bloodied scalpel, he set it in the tray adjacent to his clean tools. When he turned away from the counter, you glimpsed his face.

The look of steady concentration he wore was no different from the times he’d let you watch him process an important specimen or sketch or paint. He clamped Noah’s skin back with pairs of forceps, and peeled off his wet black gloves, beneath which he was already wearing a fresh pair.

You took in the sight on the table while Asa went to the corner of the room to discard the gloves. Noah’s wet red ribs glistened beneath the long hanging lights and you could smell the slippery viscera from where you sat. You watched them expand as his lungs inflated with tortured breath, which was no longer anything but a bloody gurgling deep in his throat.

Asa came back, going next for the surgical pliers, ghosting his hand along his options until he seemed to settle on the proper one. When he looked up, pliers in hand, he was deliberately, unmistakably, casting his gaze across the room at your trunk. As if to make sure you were still watching.

Your heart nearly stopped. Air wouldn’t come in.

Then he returned to his work and started clipping Noah’s ribs off.

You could hear the bone snapping every time. The young man passed out more than twice on the table and that was the only time there was silence in the room.

Asa deposited the rib clippings in a third tray, and went to wash them free of blood and tissue in the steel sink while the near-corpse on the table made awful rattling noises, struggling to breathe; Noah seemed to be watching Asa, too, trying at least, but the immensity of his struggle had burst capillaries in his eyes.

Asa laid the ribs out on a pristine white cloth, organizing them from shortest to longest, toweling them individually off, and went about measuring them lengthwise with a yellow tape, then again around their circumference. He placed them gently in a bin, sealed the lid tight, went for a pen, and wrote something in his neat handwriting on the label.

You watched him take a curved needle and load it carefully with fine black suturing thread pinched delicately between his finger and thumb. Noah screamed and squirmed weakly with all he had left as it went in, which wasn’t much at all. Asa pulled the needle in and out, bringing his skin back together until his gaping chest was shut again.

The young man was still alive when Asa hauled him back into the trunk, a fresh row of black knots holding his ruined flesh closed.

Or at least he was still twitching, blinking, drawing shuddering agonized breaths through his wide-open mouth from which there ran an endless trickle of saliva and blood. The bottom of his stitched-shut chest was concave where his lower ribs used to be. He didn’t look like he’d live another hour. You hoped he wouldn’t.

Asa shut the lid and did the latches.

He went back to the counter for the ribs, taking an indirect path around the table, which carried him right towards you. You scrambled back from him as fast you could. The trunk didn’t let you get very far. You felt his fingers rap along the lid from one side to the other and couldn’t choke back your broken sound.

He left through the heavy door, doing up all the locks, and this time, you heeded Noah’s advice. Your mouth stayed utterly, obediently, shut.

After a few minutes of hopeless wheezing, Noah fell silent in the brown trunk, and never made another sound after that.

#asa emory #asa emory x reader #the collector #the collection #slashers #horror #slasher x reader #reader insert #writing #fanfic #darkfic #tw: torture #tw: abuse

189 notes · View notes

timextoxhajima · 3 years

Text

The Boyz as things and feelings (just cause)

this is a small thing @haechanhues needed help with so i decided to make it an actual post uwu [this is gonna be pretty long cause i might write little scenarios]

[THE BOYZ AS THINGS AND FEELINGS]

SANGYEON - MIRRORS AND PILLOWS

mirrors make a place look bigger than it really is - i feel like sangyeon has that ability to make you feel like you’re more important on your worst days

the things he’ll do just to make sure you’re alright, even when he knows you’re not

he also has the ability to reflect what you need: sad? he’ll come and hug you and let you cry or talk about your shitty day. happy? he’ll joke about the way you snort while laughing then he’d probably do something dumb to keep the energy up there

mirrors also feel very private and at-home, and that exactly how i feel he curates an environment

pillows are self-explanatory ig, smth to cry into, smth to fall asleep with while hugging, has the best homely scents ever, very comfortable

i imagine going home after a long day and finding your partner also tired, but he’s cooking or like in the couch watching tv and he just invites you into his arms uwu

“tell me about everything! whatever that makes you happy or sad and i’ll try my best to be who you need at that point of time!”

JACOB - FLOWERS AND MUSIC

ok like jacob with a guitar is just a stellar sight to behold, he looks like he was born to hold one, and his vocals are super underrated imo, most of tbz’s discography doesnt really suit his voice - i really wish he had a chance to have more lines in more ballads or maybe even a solo thing

he would drag you out to go on walks after he knows you’ve buried yourself in your work the whole day, and he’d be the kind to stop at a pretty flower and contemplate plucking it but he wouldn’t cause he’s a fairy and wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less a pretty flower

would probably play a piece in the background while you’re stressed w work and hum a tune so the singing wouldn’t distract you

would stop when he notices you stopped working and your sad ass is probably crying lmao

he’s a very soft and gentle man imo

he’s the innocent daisy amidst other bright colored, flamboyant flowers but he still stands out

“i’ll grow you a rose bush in the yard so i don’t have to be sad about plucking flowers next time.”

YOUNGHOON - WINTER COATS AND COFFEE AND PASTRIES

he definitely radiates tsundere vibes on first sight, but when you get to know him, he’s obviously the opposite: a crybaby

but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t keep up his model-like appearances when he’s outside - in fact, he’d be the one to influence you into caring more about how you look (of course not materialistically, but more into actually caring about making yourself feel good with your fashion and appearance)

i chose winter coats as a symbol of coverage - he doesn’t show much of himself unless he’s close to you (like when you wear winter coats to keep warm, he’s a burrito because he doesn’t bother too much about sharing his feelings), but when he does, it feels like he has the ability to keep you warm and comfortable, even on the coldest days, even if his inner savage comes out

it’ll be like he scooped you into his coat and has you warm in one of this inner breast pockets

i see him as the kind to get regular coffee and like, a tart or something, at a cafe. it adds on to the warmth, when he remembers what you like. the details. maybe you like your coffee with cinnamon or less sugar or something, but then he tops it up with a muffin and he knows you like it heated up so he specifically asks for them to do so

ok but he’s defo the kind of guy that catches people’s attention at public spaces so every now and then when he’s laughing or smiling, some girl would gawk at him and he would be embarrassed about it, but lucky for you, you’re already wearing matching coats so they know the man’s taken uwu

“if only they knew how long it took to convince you to wear that coat.”

HYUNJAE - CONCERTS AND CONVENIENCE STORE DATES

classy but calm. dream-like but realistic.

i say concerts as in the instrumental, ballad kinds. he loves it and he knows you probably need the sleep where you have that kind of background white noise/music that provides you the best quality of sleep there is. but when you’re not dosing off, he’s admiring how much time you’re willing to invest into being at something he loves

of course, in turn, he doesn’t complain much when you’re hungry and you meet him down the street at the nearest convenience store for some instant noodles and potato chips with a coke and he lets you ramble about your day

he would probably buy you an ice cream just so you’d feel better, then regret it when you get a stomachache later cause it was like 2am in the morning

you probably have like 5 of his hoodies at home that you refuse to wash cause his scent is tainted all over it and the only time he gets to take them home is when he stays over or visits and he sneaks one into his bag when you’re in the kitchen making tea or a bowl of noodles

then you’ll get it back without even knowing it was gone

the kind that would probably surprise you after a day of work with a casual date idea to the movies, and i mean showing up at your place, impromptu, after he knows you’re home with two tickets

“act like my girlfriend for once and go on a date with me, would you? your work isn’t going to be there with you when you die at 90.”

JUYEON - STARGAZING AND VR GAMES

as dumb and sometimes bimbotic as he seems he is, he’s gotten most of the visible constellations memorised and he would not hesitate from telling you all about his childhood with his family when they would travel and try to spot every single constellation they can remember

which brings me to the point where he remembers what you like, but... backhandedly. he doesn’t remember what you like but he remembers what you hate instead, so you don’t ever have to worry about getting that licorice flavoured jelly bean

he would offer a midnight walk to help you relieve your stress, cause he knows you just like seeing the nightsky amidst the peace and quiet while he rambles on for his own satisfaction. not everything has to be so emotionally attached and shared. you can share blissful moments without being the reason for each other’s and that’s totally fine.

juyeon is kind of a scaredy cat in the sense that he isn’t really into horror movies or games but he’s always had that dream to become a pilot and so for his birthday, you brought him to a vr game arcade where he played some plane simulator and ever since, you’ve been taking turns to surprise each other with a new vr arcade spot or adding on to the vr game console set you have at home

“maybe i should digitalise you so i can see you in the vr game”

KEVIN - KARAOKE SESSIONS AND NEON LIGHTS

the best-friend kind of partner you would come across once in a lifetime

a billion film shots of you after he drags you to the karaoke and he beats you at super intense songs like the bohemian rhapsody just cause he can hit those high notes and solely because he was screaming on the floor when he did it

almost left his film camera behind

absolutely LOVES those walks along streets where there are a million neon lights

would come across that one sus neon light signs that indicate a sex toy store and he would give you that sly smile and probably joke for you to go in

kevin has a moon neon light in his room and you have a star or something (whatever you want)

corrects your grammar and pronunciation, only for you two to bicker about it even more when you use google translation and there are different pronunciations depending on where/what accent you’re using

he really is your light in the dark, even if he’s known to be introverted. once he’s comfortable enough with you, he makes you feel like the most important person in the world

has one of those portable speaker microphones at home and he drones on and on and on with some billie eilish song until you hurl a pillow at him

“so you’re the tough girl, like it really rough girl, justcan’tgetenoughofkevingirl, chest always so puffed girl”

CHANHEE - DUETS AND STRAWBERRY PICKING

(i could not find a more candid, softer aesthetic pic for chanhee rip)

his entire wardrobe fits you - the only problem is that he’ll never let you wear it in fear that you’d stain or tear something

shared playlists because that’s how similar your taste in music is, and so sometimes when you have your earpiece in and you’re humming the melody of that song, chanhee picks it up immediately despite not hearing that song, and ends up harmonising with you

got kicked out of the library once or twice because it was exam period and the two of you won’t shut up

ironically doesn’t sing that much if you’re not around

chanhee is a true blue introvert - which is a miracle that you’ve managed to tear through that barrier of his and find out that he giggles at every stupid thing you do: he’s having a bad day? trip over the pavement. he’ll laugh. it works

dragging him out to go strawberry picking was so difficult - but of course chanhee isn’t safe from how beautiful and enticing the fresh fruits were.

didn’t touch anything strawberry flavoured OR any strawberries for the next month or so

his straightforwardness comes with the breakdown of his barrier - but that’s what brings you comfort. he will never lie, he will only be sarcastic and even then, you’d know it’s true

i used duets as a symbol of harmony and being in-sync, though never really exactly the same, and that’s how it is with chanhee. your thoughts are very similar even though he’s much more introverted than you, but that’s what binds you

“i’m gonna tell the librarian i don’t know you if we get kicked out again.”

CHANGMIN - CITY TOURS AND MATCHING OUTFITS

city tours - the kind that you already know inside out and yet you STILL travel the area as if you were a tourist

that’s exactly how it is with changmin: you know him inside out, after being friends for so long, but it never gets old

you’re used to him biting your hand out of nowhere and yet it startles you all the time. that stupid chucky doll in his living room? old, but it never fails to scare you

he doesn’t ever talk about it that much, but he loves it when you co-ordinate outfits

no, it doesn’t mean you wear couple tees, but it’s aesthetically pleasing to changmin that if he wears cool tones, you would too

he’d be reserved about his thoughts and feelings sometimes but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think or feel them

there’s a strange sense of familiarity with changmin, because you kind of know what to expect but then you’re never disappointed, you know?

“i got you this white pigeon cause it looks like the one i already got... you can give it back to me if you don’t like it though-” /he takes it before you can accept it/

HAKNYEON - STAND UP COMEDY SHOWS AND RUNNING ALONG THE BEACH

there’s something about ju that makes it very casual and easy-going

he hates horror genred themes so fuck that, he would queue online just for the latest ali wong comedy show, even if it’s an online show, and he would laugh until he cried

sometimes he’s a drama queen but that makes it alot easier for you to know what he’s thinking or feeling - it makes communication alot easier

that means a lack of arguments

he’s also very empathetic but straightforward, exactly like how comedy shows are - because they are relatable, they are funny because they bring out the irony and sarcasm and all the dumb things in life that people are sometimes afraid of talking about and hak just says whatever he wants to say, even if he knows it might be hurtful or upsetting

he prioritises truth and honesty over anything else

it makes you a better person, honestly

beach walks - very calming, very liberating. he lets you yell and scream and kick sand back into the water because you can, and he does it with you

tries to teach you how to skip rocks but you suck and you can’t so he just pulls you away from the pile of rocks you amassed

“flick your wrist like that, not like you’re meowing!”

SUNWOO - SOCCER FRIENDLIES AND STUDIO SESSIONS

he will NOT go easy on you in a friendly match: you might be one of the fastest players of the female team but he’s ruthless in his ball-stealing, so even if you were fast enough to keep the ball out of his reach, he’d still be able to snatch it right out between your feet

very, very competitive and does not like to lose

you would always play the ‘ladies first’ card but then he’d throw the ‘feminism’ card back at you

sometimes you act more like siblings than anything else

the only time when he isn’t fuming with competition is if you’re injured because he accidentally tackled you - he’ll gracefully give himself a yellow card before absolutely trashing you in the next match

has one foot into the production game recently - likes to play with the beat board and mixing tunes, and since you’ve had your hand in doing music remixes for a deejay job before, you’re there to identify which songs have the same bass line or beat counts for easier mixing

would make you a playlist of remixes but wouldn’t admit that he spent a whole day in the studio without you just so it would be a surprise

a soft boy stuck in the wraps of an egoistic man

“a day? please. i illegally downloaded half these remixes off the internet cause i’d think you’re too internet-dumb to find them.”

ERIC - BAKING AND SKATEBOARDING

full of impromptu, casual ideas to hang out

baking is a fucking mess - why did he suggest it when he doesn’t even have the right ingredients?

wanted to replace eggs with water - like ok thats supposedly healthier, but why????????????

he likes cleaning so that was the only fucking bonus in baking - had to call his mom for help halfway through because the cookies looked more like goop than playdough

gave up in the end and he repaid his debt by helping clean your kitchen

tried to teach you how to skateboard, but he ended up falling off his own in the process and now he’s got a grazed knee

the kind of person you’d have so much chaotic fun with, he’s that friend your mom told you to NOT hang out with that much if not you’d get run down by a car

has the most fucking random pieces of clothing in his wardrobe, like where did he even get that pink coat from?

“no you have to do this and like lift up your leg and then kinda rest your weight on it before flicking your ankle and like- whOA- OH OW OHNO OHOHOH OW”

194 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

Would lowkey kill to see Kauri attempting to write poetry in his relationship with Jake era (omg Jake helping him/being the one to write it down) I always forget that he was a writer and loves poetry and I love him 10 times more every time I remember

CW: Some references to past trauma, forced illiteracy, some brief internalized victim-blaming/slut-shaming, Kauri’s low self-esteem

Takes place after Worth the Risk and Kauri’s first glimpse of his own past

“This is fucking stupid. I can’t fucking do this.” Kauri picks up the notebook, hard-backed blue with little golden stars twinkling on the cover, and throws it full-strength across the room until it smacks into the wall and drops to the ground, open to his own scrawling, struggling handwriting.

Chris, wrapped in a big fuzzy blue blanket and curled up in an armchair playing a game on his phone or texting Laken or maybe both, flinches and looks up. “Kauri?”

Kauri looks away from the earnest concern in those huge green eyes and kicks ineffectually at the coffee table, hissing when he doesn’t actually miss and his toes connect with the hard wooden leg. “Fuck. Fucking-... bullshit, I’m an idiot trying to do this, just-... god damn it. I should know better.”

There’s a silence, and then Chris asks, softly, “Know better than, than... than to what? What were you, um, you doing?”

Kauri’s jaw is set and for a second he considers lying. He’s a good liar, after all, and Chris is always so ready to believe him, he wouldn’t even question it. Safer to lie, hide the ideas inside his head, talk instead about something soft and surface-level.

Safer to be stupid, always.

But he’s trying not to do that anymore.

He’s trying.

“Writing,” He says, finally. “I was... trying to-... write something.” The words are ground out of him nearly against his will. He glares at the notebook lying open on the floor, the scrawling handwriting of the fucked up slut still thinking he can be anything else. Looping and childish, too big almost to fit within the lines.

“Oh.” Chris pauses, and then brightens, setting his phone aside and straightening up. “You, you sad you think that you used to, to, to, to write, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Kauri’s head hurts, a sharp punishing ache. How dare he think in metaphor and simile, how dare he try to build the villanelle, how dare he remember vaguely arguing with someone in a coffeeshop over old poetic forms being superior to poems that don’t even try to fit within a rhythm, and he just-

This is so-

He’s so stupid, thinking he could just pick it up again like it hasn’t been a decade or close, like he’s still whatever stupid shit lived in his body before he-

signed up for this-

followed a fucking hot guy outside in the dark and got thrown into a van and made into Kauri.

“Well, my... my professor for, for, for, for Playwriting says... says writing is a muscle. You, you have to exercise. And you can’t do the, um, the, the, the-the heavy weights until you start with, with small ones.”

Kauri snorts, derisive, but it’s not because Chris is wrong - of course he’s not wrong. Part of Kauri knows it, too, that he used to write all the time, around the pounding inside his skull he knows that he used to scribble lines on napkins and paper towels and the margins of his study books, bringing together the poem itself only later, usually alone or with a boyfriend on the other side of the room. He used to be able to do this.

He used to do this all the time.

“I wish Owen had wanted someone who could write a fucking poem,” Kauri says, voice breaking on the tears that threaten. “Maybe then I’d still be able to.” He pushes himself to his feet and stomps over to scoop up the notebook almost violently. “Why are you taking Playwriting, anyway? I thought you wanted to do set design.”

“I, I do.” Chris shrugs, eyes on Kauri, watching him walk back towards the doorway that leads to a hall and then to the kitchen. “But I thought-... I, I, I figured-... maybe if I learn how to, to write a play, it would help... visualize. For, for, for set-building. You, um. You know?”

Kauri exhales, slowly, and then nods. “Yeah. I get it. That’s a good plan - I mean, not that I would know, I’m a college fucking dropout, right?” He laughs, bitterness in every word, in every sound.

“No,” Chris replies, simply. “You, you were... abducted. We were, um. We, we, we were stolen. Your words were, um, were stolen, too. That’s what Dr. Berger-”

“Fuck Dr. Berger,” Kauri snaps, and leaves the room before Chris can make any more sense and possibly break apart Kauri’s determined self-loathing while he still wants to soak in it.

Hating himself for what he can’t do - or what he’s been told he can’t do - is so much easier than trying to do it anyway.

Everything was easier than trying to get better.

So why is he still trying?

Notebook clenched in white-knuckled hands, Kauri climbs the stairs like a man moving to the gallows, one by one, his thoughts a swirling morass of self-hatred, and then he moves into the bedroom he shares with Jake here and stares at the rumpled covers on the bed.

He sleeps here every single night, wakes up to the same face pressed red on one side from the pillow, hears the same deep voice rumbling good morning, feels the same arm slide over his waist, the same scratchy stubble rubbing his jaw when he’s kissed.

I have generally found, in my work, the fucking therapist’s voice echoes inside him, that when you begin to do the work to rebuild, you will find yourself dedicated over time to reconstructing not just a room, Kauri, but the entire city that was once leveled. Does that make sense?

He’d told her it didn’t.

Kauri spent years dodging therapy whenever Nat didn’t talk him into it, and he hates going. He hates having to spill all the darkness inside him to someone who never stops being so goddamn calm.

But the first time she’d said, have you ever heard about the effect that solitary confinement has on the human mind? He had told her he didn’t know, but he’d started crying, too, and hadn’t been able to explain why.

Part of you knows, Dr. Berger had said gently. Part of you always knew.

He had never really wanted to know the person who had inhabited this skin, or try to be him again. But standing here looking at the evidence of the life he is slowly building - his clothes in a crumpled heap on the floor by the bed, his toothbrush in the little cup in the bathroom, a picture of he and Jake in a frame by the bed now, the very small silver ring he wears sometimes even though they’re not and they probably won’t but it kind of feels good to wear it sometimes...

He wonders if Liam Harker wanted a life like this one.

---

“It’s really dumb,” Kauri mutters, pulling the pillow over his face, burning red with embarrassment. “I didn’t even really mean for you to see it-”

“It’s not dumb,” Jake says, gently. Kauri feels the dip in the mattress as he sits down, feels the warmth of his hand resting on Kauri’s thigh through the blanket. “I’m sorry I read it. I didn’t know what I was looking at. If it was supposed to be a secret-”

“No. I didn’t. I forgot I left it out on the dresser. It’s not your fault. It’s so fucking stupid. I don’t know why I even-”

“Kauri.” Jake’s voice sharpens, a little. “Stop. Stop calling yourself stupid. You’re not, and you never were, and you don’t have to repeat what that asshole told you about yourself anymore, remember?”

Kauri swallows, hard, a lump in his throat he can’t quite breathe around. “When does it stop being his voice,” He asks, muffled, “and start being my own?”

“When you let it,” Jake says, rubbing his leg soothingly. “Just like my dad’s voice. You’re not stupid. You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met in my life. I’m sorry I read it, but that’s because it wasn’t mine to read, not because it was dumb, or bad. It wasn’t.”

Kauri hesitates, then pulls the pillow to the side, looking at the sincere affection in Jake’s face, his slight smile. “Yeah? You’re not just-”

“Saying that? No, I’m not. I mean, I’m not, like, a poetry person-”

“It’s not even a real villanelle, anyway.”

“I have no idea what that means. I just... I thought it was pretty good, actually. When I realized-... I put it down when I realized you were writing about-... you know. Yourself.”

“Liam,” Kauri says, hoarse, barely able to pronounce the name. “I wrote-”

“Yeah.” Jake takes his hand, pulls it to his lips, presses a kiss to Kauri’s knuckles. “I know. It’s really good, Kaur. You should keep writing. I promise I won’t look at any stray papers I find anymore, yeah?”

Kauri takes a breath. He feels almost dizzy, in a way that is both terrible and wonderful. The way you open yourself to the people you love is a horrible, amazing risk. The way you spill the darkest parts of yourself, not things you’ve done wrong but the things you are afraid of allowing back into the light, in case it washes them all away again.

But the light he lives in now isn’t cold, and it isn’t taking him away from himself. The light he lives in now is sunlight.

“What?” Jake’s eyebrows raise slightly. “What’s that face for?”

“Jake. What if-... what if I ask you to? Read them?”

Jake’s lips press together, and he nods, smiling slightly, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against Kauri’s hand. He’s always warm, Jake, even on the coldest days. He’s always warm. “I’d be-... be fucking honored, or something that sounds less bullshit than that, but I mean it. I’d be... I love you, Kauri. Seeing inside your head is what I want to do for-... for forever.”

“Maybe I’ll ask then,” Kauri says, and pulls Jake’s hand and then Jake himself, the taller, larger man settling on top of him, holding himself up on his elbows, careful not to rest all his weight. “I love you, too, you know.”

“Yeah.” Jake kisses the tip of his nose. “It’s pretty fucking great.”

Kauri’s eyes glimmer, but he closes them so Jake can’t see, and kisses his forehead. “It’s nice to think that I’m lucky and mean it.”

“I think you should read your poem to Dr. Berger,” Jake says, and when Kauri groans, he pulls back. “I mean it. She should know.”

Kauri wants to argue, but he looks into Jake’s eyes, and sighs, and says he’ll think about it.

---

AN APOLOGY

I am built from the hollow air left after your heart stopped beating

Your hands still gripped tight to the life they were ending

I know you thought of home but I don’t know where your home is

The sound of my voice is a green valley that only sends back screaming

Covered in smoke and dust that I told myself smelled like cologne

Pathways that remember your laughter silent in the years that followed

Have I done enough to build a life you would have enjoyed living?

I am built from the hollow air left over when your heart stopped beating

The heat of their hands as inevitable as a river tore down every foundation

Their cruelty buried you so deeply that only I remain

I don’t deserve the love that should have been yours to receive

The sound of my voice is a valley echoing back your screaming

I owe you an apology for walking around inside you

Crumbling ruins with my touch and calling it preservation

I’m sorry for every blade of grass growing through our bones

Am I nothing but hollow air from when your heart stopped beating?

Wildflowers grow inside me from soil windswept over ash

Is that life worth everything not quite dead so deep below?

Is Kauri Grant good enough to make up for Liam Harker’s loss?

In the valley of my body, does anyone but me still hear you screaming?

I owe you an apology and have to hope the life I live provides it

I wish I could ask for forgiveness from the shape of you

We’re both ghosts, in the end, mosaic pieces shattered in shadows

I’m sorry that I’m all that’s left.

I built myself from hollow air in the shape of a heart still beating

The sound of my voice will always carry the echo of yours screaming

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @orchidscript @cubeswhump , @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @moose-teeth @whumptywhumpdump @wildfaewhump

206 notes · View notes

moonlit-raven-haven · 4 years

Text

The Past II

Where the reader and Harry no longer speak.

This is unedited!

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: angst, car accident, mentions of blood, hospital environment

A/N: Here’s part two! I hope you guys enjoy it :) I’ve decided to make this a mini series with maybe four parts, so stay tuned! There will be information at the very end regarding tag lists.

This series is inspire by the Instagram edit below :)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by 𝕤𝕜𝕪 (@stylessr1) on Oct 2, 2020 at 3:19pm PDT

instagram

“Oh don’t worry ‘bout it hun, I’m just glad ya got here safely.” Y/N hears Anne’s voice comfort him as she hears wheels slowly being dragged across the floor and the closing of the door. Y/N felt frozen, unsure of what to do. Five years with no contact with the man that was speaking to his mum and sister in the living room they once used to spend hours talking in. Now they’re strangers, perhaps she was more of a stranger to him; the tabloids don’t exactly keep track of everyday people.

“I’m sure you’re hungry, there’s some leftover food in the kitchen from dinner.” Anne says, a smile evident in her voice as Y/N hears two steps of footsteps walking towards the kitchen. Her heartbeat increases more, this time the change is noticeable as she hears the uneven rhythm in her ears.

“Finish setting up the games for us Gem!” Anne calls out to her daughter as she steps into the kitchen, Harry trailing only a few steps behind her. Y/N has her back turned to the entrance of the kitchen, not finding the strength to turn around, although she knew it would be necessary eventually, but the longer she could avoid it, the slightly more at ease she felt. Her hands are gripping the edge of the sink, her knuckles white due to the pressure. She finally hears Anne’s light footsteps, followed by slightly heavier ones and a small gasp.

As Harry walked into the kitchen, looking up in the direction of the sink, where the refrigerator happens to be, he can’t help the small gasp that escapes past his lips as he sees the girl hunched over the sink, her hands gripping onto the edge of the sink as if her life depends on it. He hasn’t seen or contacted her in five years, and she never tried, having changed his number and blocked her out of his life in a slow but obvious manner. Suddenly the winter coat he’s wearing over his hoodie feels a lot warmer than usual, and his hands become clammy. The guilt is eating him up, but happiness is right next to the guilt, happiness to see that she’s okay, happiness that they’re in the same room after five years.

“Y/N?” His voice is like a sweet melody to her ears, being able to hear it more clearly she can hear the grogginess to his voice; the way it would sound every time he came home after a long flight. There’s a hint of shock, happiness, and something else she can’t quite put her finger on. And despite still feeling frozen in place, the grip she held on the sink counter loosens as she takes a deep breath and turns around, still hearing her heartbeat in her ears.

It was cheesy really, feeling like your breath is being taken away after seeing someone for the first time, or seeing them for the first time in years. But that’s what she felt in her chest, the air leaving her lungs, much like when Harry would return home and go to her house, embracing her so tightly she could no longer breathe. Y/N had seen pictures of him online and magazines, but having him in front of her didn’t compare. His face has matured more since she last saw him five years ago, stubble adorning his face, completing the medium length of his curly, chestnut hair. His legs are covered by black skinny jeans, and his feet by black Gucci boots, a signature look she had seen over the past several years in magazines. He wears a gray hoodie, a black jacket over it to keep warm in the cold weather, and her heart beat seems to quicken just a little more, it’s the jacket she had gotten him years ago, and the memory is crystal clear.

“Harry! Would you please wear a jacket?!” Her tone was serious and worried, fearing that he would get sick. They were going out for dinner at the local diner around the corner from their flat and to say it was cold out was an understatement.

“Okay mum.” Harry had rolled his eyes at her playfully, heading over to their shared closet and pulling out a gray hoodie, he pulled it over his body and headed back to the living room where Y/N was patiently waiting for him, despite her stomach growling.

“There, happy?” Harry asked her, his voice sounding like one of a snappy teenager who had to do something against their own will. Y/N shakes her head.

“It’s the coldest day of the year, and you’re wearing a hoodie that’ll barely keep you warm...you need a winter coat Harry.”

“I don’t have one.” Harry responded to her, causing Y/N to raise her eyebrow at him.

“You live in the UK and don’t own a winter coat?” She had questioned incredulously.

“Correct.”

“You’re unbelievable Styles.” Y/N had said with a shake of her head and a small laugh. They walked over to the diner, and as she suspected, Harry was shivering once they got inside, sitting next to her in the booth. It was unusual for them to do so, preferring to look at one another directly, rather than having to turn their heads when they spoke, but in that moment Harry needed to return to his normal body temperature. Y/N had hummed a soft “living in the UK without a winter coat” under her breath, causing Harry to laugh softly as their food was brought to them and they began to eat.

The day after, Harry had one final meeting with management and the boys, the one calling the official end of One Direction. So Y/N had taken it upon herself to go shopping to find a winter coat for Harry, her idiotic best friend who did not own a winter coat, plus, she hoped it would be able to boost his mood a bit. She had settled on a long black coat, simple but stylish and fitting whatever outfit he might have chosen to wear. She headed home with the coat in its own zip up bag, she could have put it in a gift bag, but she had felt it wasn’t necessary; the coat was more of a necessity rather than a gift. Harry had not come home yet, so she hung the coat on their bedroom door and then began to cook dinner.

When Harry returned to their shared flat, they had embraced, and Y/N smiled up at him, her attention temporarily away from the food on the stove.

“I got you something, it’s in the room.” She had said, the smile adorning her features made his heart beat a little faster than usual, something he had noticed but chosen to ignore, telling himself that he was excited for the item she had bought him and nothing more. He had walked over to their room, grinning from ear to ear as he unzipped the clear plastic bag and ran his fingers over the slightly rough material. Harry unsheathed the jacket from its bag and hanger, shrugging it over his body. He walked out into the living room with a smile on his face, doing a little twirl and posing with a hand on his hip once he faced her.

“How do I look?” Harry had questioned as he watched Y/N place their plates of food onto their table.

“Absolutely dashing, as usual.” Y/N had complimented as she walked over to him and fixed the collar, she gently patted it in place before looking up at him with doe eyes. He was mesmerizing to say the least, the way his hair was tied back in a messy bun, and his green eyes looked directly at her. Unconsciously they moved closer to one another, Harry’s breath fanning gently over her face.

“Thank you, love…really needed a winter coat...and a little mood booster.” Harry had said, his tone sincere, because he genuinely did appreciate her actions.

“O’course….plus you had gotten me that satchel...had to make up for it somehow…” Y/N had said with the smile that Harry had grown to love. He couldn’t deny his feelings anymore, he loved her.

He had leaned in closer to her face, but Y/N had moved away, her heart beating rapidly as she cleared her throat.

“We should probably eat before dinner gets cold.” She had said rather nervously.

“Oh right, yeah, o’course.” Harry replied, his throat was dry, and his heart had felt more heavy than it ever had.

They made their way over to their table, where they sat down and quietly ate dinner. They weren’t laughing and talking like they normally did, but instead there was a heavy silence weighing over them, and Y/N knows it’s her fault. She had wanted to kiss him, but she was unsure if she could really cross that line. Her doubts and worries had gotten the best of her. What if things didn’t work out and years of friendship went down the drain? But little did she know that would happen eventually. After that day, Harry began to keep his distance from her, it was slow, starting off with leaving the house often, to coming home late for dinner, often returning once she had gone to bed. Then he moved out, saying that their flat had gotten too cramped, which wasn’t a lie, it had gotten cramped with tension that had become unbearable. Eventually he stopped visiting her, and the calls completely stopped, and the texts had come to an abrupt halt. And then he changed his number, his address was unknown to her as he had said he wanted to keep it a surprise for when she came over the first time, but that day had never come. She had tried hard to contact him, even asking Anne and Gemma to talk to him, but it was no use. Harry had slipped from her fingers, and she couldn’t even try to get him back.

So caught up in the painful memory, Y/N didn’t realize that a tear fell down her cheek, or that Harry moved closer to her, his face full of worry as Anne left the room, saying something about the food being in the refrigerator and to heat it up.

“Hey Harry.” Y/N finally replies, wiping the stray tear off of her face, and she feels an urgency to leave, not sure if she can handle being around the man she called her best friend for so many years, the man she had loved but refused to go further than friends, afraid she would lose him.

“Um...I should really get going, especially since they’re expecting a storm.” She says, refusing to make eye contact with him as she moves past him, shrugging on her discarded coat and swinging her satchel over her shoulder.

“You kept it.” Harry states, although it sounds like more of a question as he looks at the worn down satchel hanging on the side of her body.

“You kept the coat.” Her voice falters in the slightest, but it’s enough for Harry to notice. At the mention of the coat he tenses, his mind briefly wandering to the day she bought it for him. He wants to tell her that he’s an idiot, and that he should’ve talked to her instead of running away like he did, but he can’t bring himself to do it, scared that he’ll mess things up even further.

“Um...like I said, I should really get going…” She mumbles softly, finally looking up at him and looking directly into his eyes for the first time in five years. They look their same vibrant green, but tired, perhaps from the long flight, or maybe the emotional exhaustion he surely felt the way she did in this very moment.

“You should stay...haven’t talked in awhile…I could make us some tea.” Harry offers, it was almost as if he wants to restart that tradition they had all those years ago, but Y/N shakes her head and makes her way to exit the kitchen, seeing that Anne and Gemma had begun a game already.

“Storm is starting, I should really get going…” Y/N says, her voice is no longer a whisper, but the various emotions can be heard, her eyes tearing up. The rain can be heard hitting the window, it’s soft, but she knows that in time it’ll get harder, making a dangerous ride home. She tells herself that she needs to leave for her own safety, rather than needing to be away from Harry. She had spent nights with Anne and Gemma when stoma would occur, so he excuse was lame, not thought of thoroughly.

“Please stay, love…” Harry’s voice is pleading, he wants to fix things, talk it out, explain himself and why he had acted the way he did. Y/N feels her heart ache, the dull pain gone, now replaced by the painful pang she had learned to ignore; overcome by emotion, she snaps.

“You don’t have the right to call me that anymore Harry! You left me, couldn’t even explain yourself...couldn’t even talk to me ‘bout it. I tried to contact you, but you pushed me away like I meant nothing, Harry! Absolutely nothing…” Y/N voice starts off strong, but cracks as her body shakes with emotion and tears begin to fall down her face. Harry is stunned, the guilt is now coursing through his body, realizing how badly he has hurt her. He moves closer to her, attempts to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she moves away from him, her eyes getting a slight red tint to them as she shakes her head.

“I need to go…” She murmurs, walking away from him, and as she walks into the living room she sees Anne and Gemma looking at her worriedly, the words Y/N had said moments before were enough for them to get a glimpse into the untold story that ended Y/N and Harry’s friendship.

“Sorry Anne and Gemma...can I get a rain check on game night?” Y/N asks with a sad smile as she walks over to the women and embraces them.

“Of course, Y/N. Are you sure you’re alright to drive? The storm seems to have finally picked up.” Anne says worriedly, and Y/N finally hears the rain pelting down against the window, and while she knows it probably isn’t safe for her to drive, especially with her heightened emotions, she refuses to stay another minute in the house where Harry would try and talk to her.

“I’ll be alright Anne. Thank you guys for dinner.” And with one final wave Y/N is out the door, gripping onto her coat and satchel as the heavy raindrops call against her clothing, becoming soaked in a matter of seconds. She runs to her car, pulling the keys out the satchel and unlocking it before climbing in, shivering at the cold clothes that now clinged to her body. She shrugs the satchel off and puts in the passenger's seat, putting her keys in the ignition and turning it on, waiting for the car to heat up before turning the heat on. She sees Harry run out of the warm house, his hair clinging onto his face as his hoodie takes on a dark gray color from the rain, it was rather really cinematic really.

“Y/N! Please!” She hears Harry shout, his voice muffled by the loud rain and comfort of her car. Y/N shakes her head and drives off, her hands gripping the steering wheel the same way she had done with the counter of the kitchen sink minutes before. Her mind is clouded with thoughts and memories, her eyes becoming heavy with tears, blurring her vision. I should pull over, compose myself. She thinks to herself, but decides against it; the quicker she got home the quicker she could break down in the comfort of her flat.

Her mind keeps wandering to the scene that played out at Anne’s house, causing the tears in her eyes to finally fall down her face, and she wants to stop crying, but she can't. Y/N’s vision becomes more blurry than before, and her mind is elsewhere, not truly focusing on the road in front of her, which is why she doesn’t notice the traffic signal she ignored, the red light now barley processing in her mind as a car crashes straight into the passenger's side of her car. The impact takes her by surprise as she’s suddenly very aware of her spinning car, and she grips the steering wheel, trying desperately to gain control of her car again, but it’s of no use as she crashes into the traffic light, the impact isn’t as hard as it should’ve been due to her breaking, but the traffic light still flickers, going black just like her vision.

-*-*-*-

Y/N’s eyes strain open, bright fluorescent lights filling her vision before adjusting, finding herself in a hospital room. She hears the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the soft click of the IV drip, oxygen being pumped into her lungs in a small steady stream.

“Hey you.” She hears a soft gruff voice next to her, the voice she recognizes as Mark’s, her boyfriend of two years.

“Hey babe.” Y/N says with a weak smile as his hand finds her, slowly bringing it up to his lips and kissing her knuckles gently.

“Was worried ‘bout you when I got the call, thankfully nothing too serious, just a sprained wrist on your other hand and a small cut to your forehead…but why didn’t you stay at Anne’s like you normally do when there’s storms?” He questions softly, concern filling his orbs as he squeezes her hand gently.

“Um...just wanted to get home…” Y/N lies to him. Despite being together for two years, Mark knew nothing of her past with Harry, or why she avoided talking about him whenever Mark would bring up some new headline about Harry and his success. As far as Mark is aware, Harry is another celebrity out of reach from their lives.

-*-*-*-

Anne received a call minutes after the accident, being one of Y/N emergency contacts. Harry was in the living room, his face between his hands as Gemma tried to comfort him while scolding him for messing up such a good friendship all those years ago. But when Anne walked in with a serious look on her face the two looked up at her worriedly.

“What happened?” Harry was the first one to speak up, removing his hands that had once been covering his face.

“It’s um...it’s Y/N...she’s been in a car accident.” Anne said quietly, and upon seeing Harry’s face become anguished, she quickly followed her statement with an urgent, “She’s okay.” And Harry’s face is washed with relief.

“We should go.” Harry says, his clothes were still drenched when he got up from his spot on the couch, leaving a wet spot from where he sat.

“You should change first hun, don’t want you getting sick, or have people recognize you.” Anne quickly chimed in before he could have walked out the door. Harry had nodded, quickly understanding the second part to her statement. He was wearing the same clothes from the airport, making it possible for someone to recognize him easier. He hums a “I’ll be right back” before disappearing upstairs with his luggage.

-*-*-*-

Upon arriving at the hospital after a rather treacherous and slow car ride, they all climb out of Anne’s car and head towards the entrance of the hospital, umbrellas in hand. They receive guest passes before making their way up to the second floor of the hospital. Harry is anxiously biting his lip, because despite not talking to Y/N for five years, he still cares deeply for her, only worsening his guilt about the whole situation.

They finally reach her room number and Anne opens the door quietly, making Y/N and Mark’s quiet moment watching television come to a halt.

“I’ll be back in a bit to give you three...four...some privacy.” Mark says to the group, planting a gentle kiss on Y/N’s forehead. He leaves the room, his brows slightly furrowed at the sight of Harry Styles in the room, visiting his girlfriend, throwing him in a loop. And as he makes his way down to the cafeteria for a coffee, the pieces slowly start to assemble in his head, the reason Y/N didn’t like to talk about the famous star, and why she probably hadn’t stayed at Anne’s house like she normally did; the two have history.

Harry closes the door gently once Mark exits the room, his face scrunching up slightly in distaste at seeing Y/N with another man who wasn’t him, even if her and Harry were never truly together, it still hurts. He recalls when he came home after his first solo tour, he was having dinner with Anne and Gemma, the topic of Y/N briefly coming up.

“Oh Y/N is so wonderful darling! It’s such a shame you two stopped talking.” Anne had commented over dinner.

“Yeah, she’s wonderful...deserve the whole world.” Harry had replied quietly, a small smile coming onto his face at the mention of the girl.

“She’s got a boyfriend now, his name is Mark...seems serious if you ask me.” Anne added as she had taken a sip of her wine. Harry had felt a pang in his chest when he heard the word boyfriend, wishing that it was him and not some other bloke. But Harry had foolishly run out of Y/N’s life.

“Does she seem happy?” Harry had asked seconds after, a hint of jealousy to his tone, a hint of jealousy that he truly had no right to have.

“Yeah...seem a bit tense there, Harry, almost jealous…” Gemma had finally chimed into the conversation. Harry had simply laughed at her comment, shaking his head as he denied the claims of jealousy, carrying their conversation elsewhere as dinner continued.

That was two years ago now, she has been with Mark for two years. Mark is the one making her happy, kissing her, taking her out, buying her gifts, making sure she’s treated properly, not Harry. He no longer has a place in her life, at least he thinks he doesn’t. So lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realize that Anne and Gemma had left the room, leaving Harry and Y/N alone. Harry clears his throat.

“Where are Gemma and my mum?” Harry asks Y/N, his voice a bit hoarse.

“Went to the cafeteria, said that we should talk…” Y/N says as she looks up at him from her position on the bed, and for the first time since entering her room, Harry looks at her, wincing at the cut on her head, part of her hair dried with blood, and her wrist wrapped in a bandage. And he can’t help the bubble of guilt within him that seems to grow more; it was his fault she was on the bed, if he had stayed quiet, she would’ve probably gotten home safely, or been willing to spend the night at Anne’s house.

“You okay, Harry?...” Y/N asks quietly, noticing his lack of words or movement, and the tears that fell down his face. She is still mad at him, but above all, she is hurt, but she still can’t stop herself from caring about him. Harry, finally noticing his tears he shakes his head and sniffles, wiping his face clean with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“‘M okay lo- Y/N...thank you for caring.” He says softly, quickly catching on to the mistake he almost made once again.

“I should get going…” Harry says softly. He knew Anne told Y/N that her and Harry would need to talk to fix things, but her willingness to do is what makes him head for the door.

“Harry! Wait...I reckon we really do need to talk.” Y/N calls out after him from her position on the hospital bed.

“Uh...yeah, just not right now Y/N. I really should get going…” He catches himself trying to run away again, and quickly stops himself. “When do you get discharged?” He questions, still standing by the door as he turns to face her.

“Tomorrow morning.” Y/N states with a small smile, one that almost manages to make him feel better in an instant, but he doesn’t allow himself to feel better, he deserves what he’s feeling after having been the cause of her emotional turmoil, the reason she’s in that bed.

“Dinner tomorrow? My place? 7’oclock. We could talk and catch up.” Harry proposes, fiddling with his fingers nervously.

“Dinner tomorrow, your place, 7’oclock.” Y/N repeats softly, perhaps they could try and go back to normal, be as close as they once had, as best friends. Harry hums in response, nodding his head before opening the door and gently closing it behind him, leaving Y/N with a gentle smile on her face and a heart that no longer aches as much.

-*-*-*-

A/N: I will be making a two master lists for Harry Styles content! :) One for ALL Harry Styles fics I will do in the future, and one for JUST this fic. Comment “All Harry fics” or “Just this Harry fic” if you would like to be added.

309 notes · View notes

sasa-gay-yo · 3 years

Text

Just Us (Chapter Six: Knight)

← Chapter Five

“Elias, you need to put your hat over your ears or they’re going to freeze.” I pulled the little boy’s hat down more trying to convince him to keep it there.

“But I want to wear it like Jo Jo is,” he whined and pointed to the older boy standing next to him. Jonas was wearing a hat in a way that he said made his hair look good. He’d be better off just not wearing a hat if he didn’t care about his ears freezing.

“Tch.”

“Did you just tch me?” I stood up and tried to pull his hat down, too, but that was impossible because of our height difference. He stepped backwards and had to catch my wrist so I wouldn’t hit his face.

“Elias, don’t be like Jonas. Everything he does is because he wants girls to stare at him.” June laughed, knowing the secret she had spilled to me months ago and so did Elias. Jonas just glared at me for a bit and straightened out his coat. Elias grabbed my hand and pulled me to the town square. The festival was in full swing and I made the two children wait for me to close the store before we could go. He didn’t even want to open his presents before we left.

“Rules before we get there because I lied to your parents and told them you two were helping me and if I lose one of you it will be on my head. We use the buddy system. If you want to run off and do something, Elias, then you have to go with one of us.” He let go of my hand and grabbed Jonas’s.

“I pick Jo Jo.” Jonas groaned at his nickname and knew that he wasn’t going to pick up any girls with a kid attached to his hip. I didn’t care since he’d be out at the bars tonight when we take the kids home. He said it was his goal to have a girl in bed every year-end so he could start the year off right. Disgusting.

“You can stay with me then June.” She smiled up at me and we locked elbows, happy with how the straws were drawn. I knew she wouldn’t drag me along to every stall, but she could go to what she wanted since we liked the same things. That also means I wouldn’t have to spend my money on all the treats Elias wanted either. It was a great arrangement.

Once we got to the town square, Elias dragged Jonas to a toy shop and June and I kept walking. We both wanted to get a warm drink before our hands fell off. This year-end was definitely one of the coldest I’ve experienced.

“Eva, the Scouts are here too. Look, it’s the commander guy.” She pointed out Erwin who was talking to the head of the Trost Garrison in the center square. They were extra security for the influx of people coming in from Wall Maria. I really wanted to look around for Levi, but I knew he was going to be somewhere on the roof tops monitoring with his ODM gear.

“Isn’t that the boy you like, June?” I leaned down and pointed out a specific blonde haired boy who was with a few of his friends. They were at a game booth wasting their money to get a prize. She blushed when I pointed him out.

“Come on,” I pulled her over to the booth and had to work hard because she didn’t not want to go over at all. If anything, I wanted to help her, and I hope she knew that as I pulled out a few bills to play the game right next to them. She had a chance to talk to him that seemed organic. I was a perfect wingwoman.

“If you get three balls in, you can get one of these small prizes.” He handed them to me and I knew instantly that I was going to lose. I had bad aim and I knew the bucket didn’t have circular openings. Still, my determination to get June to talk to that boy was at an all time high. I’d take my time with this game to make it look like I was actually concentrating on it.

“June, hi!” I looked behind me and she had both hands behind her back, one toe drawing pictures in the dirt.

“Hi, Finn.” He smiled which made me feel like I had succeeded. Maybe it’d eat a few more notes so that she can talk longer.

I tossed the balls and completely missed two but hit the bucket on the last one. It didn’t go in, but at least there was a little hope. Damn, this game seems so simple, too. That may have added to the reasons I handed the man another bill. This time I’d have to throw it with more arc.

“Oh! Better luck next time! Do you want to play again?” He held out his hand and I couldn’t resist the urge to pull another bill out of my pocket and did it over again. This time when I made one ball in I shouted and made the other boys with Finn turn.

“Whoa! You actually got one in Miss!” I smirked down at them, accomplished. Getting pre-teen boys to compliment you was a feat and I was going to take it.

“Do you want to play ag-” He came from the back of the booth and we locked eyes. He wasn’t wearing a coat like the Scouts on the ground and this was the first time I had seen him in his full gear. How does he look so good with a hunk of metal attached to his sides?

Over the past week and a half, I had come to terms with my feelings for Levi like an adult should. Hours of pounding dough gets the annoyance of falling for someone like him out in no time. At first I was annoyed at myself because I knew that to get him to talk or even acknowledge any emotion was never going to happen. If he can’t tell me when he’s sad, how is he going to say he has feelings for me if he even has them. For the time being, I was okay with being quiet about how I felt because I didn’t want to ruin his almost daily visits to the café. Even yesterday, while my heart was literally beating out of my chest, he helped me make sourdough loaves for hours. Watching him kneed dough with his sleeves up, a concentrated look on his face, and hair tied back just did something to a girl.

So, even if I was being a big girl and dealing with my feelings, I was also nervous as hell to even let him know about it. A single slip and I have completely lost this game of pretend we had. If he knew, we couldn’t pretend anymore and I think that’s the whole reason he hangs around me in the first place.

“I couldn’t stand watching you lose over and over again, so I came to win.” I raised an eyebrow and was secretly satisfied he was watching me from above.

“It may look simple, but it’s hard. I usually have a good aim.” A lie. He rolled his sleeves up again and the shirt that he was wearing was a copy of one I had stolen from his bedroom dresser. He had so many because it was his uniform, that made sense. What didn’t make sense was that fact that in these freezing temperatures he was only wearing a cape.

“Give me one try.” He held his hand out to me and I just stared at it.

“Wow, Captain Levi! Are you going to play?!” The kids, including June, had crowded around us which definitely fueled Levi’s desire to win.

“Why are you holding your hand out? You have to pay to play.” I pointed to the vendor who was just staring at our interaction.

“Do you think I carry money on me while I’m doing a mission? I’ll repay you by winning.” I rolled my eyes and found his determination in front of the kids cute, so I obliged and paid to get him three more balls.

“Watch and learn, brats.”

With the kids staring, and no doubt some Scouts above, he stood behind the line and ever so easily threw the balls in one right after the other. It made me annoyed that he did it so flawlessly, but we were talking about Levi. The kids cheered around him, which definitely made his ego inflate even more, and when he was handed the stuffed rabbit, he took one glance at it before giving it to me with one arm.

“Repayment.” When the kids started asking him questions, he just walked away wordlessly and before he pressed whatever button it was to launch him back up on the buildings, I called out to him:

“When are you picking up the desserts?” He just turned his head around, not stopping his actions, and answered as he propelled off the ground.

“Nine.” He went flying through the air criss-crossing around buildings. He did look really cool doing that like it was nothing. I could see the blank look on his face as he advanced forward and finally found a roof to land on. I smiled at him, as if he could see me, and stuffed the rabbit under my arm.

“Miss Eva, you know Captain Levi?!” It was Finn who was asking and I couldn’t disappoint my girl.

“We’re friends. He comes to my café sometimes, so you might see him again. June knows when he comes, you can come with her.” They looked at June and she blushed at their stares. I looked up at Levi, but his back was turned to look at another half of the festival. Standing on that roof, he did give off Humanity’s Strongest vibes.

“We’ll see you boys later. June and I want to get something to drink.” She put her arm in mine again, probably glad that her anxiety ridden interaction was over with Finn, and we walked off.

“That was cool of Mister Captain Levi. He even won you the rabbit.” She pointed to it and I nodded. And I was keeping the damn thing if he ever asked for it back to be petty.

“I’ll name it Levi, how ‘bout it?” She nodded in agreement and we met up with Jonas and a candy-filled, bouncing Elias.

The festival went on like that, us as a group and then using the buddy system. We played a few more games and Jonas won Elias a spinning top. June had gotten a mug with her warm cider and gushed to Jonas all about how Mister Captain Levi had come down from the skies to win the game for me. She even pointed out Levi, the rabbit, which got Jonas fuming. He claimed that if he was there, he’d win the game easily too. Elias had to remind him it took seven tries to get the spinning top and that sent the boy running back to the café, a lollipop in his mouth. At least he’d be tired out for his parents.

“Now, you three, here are your gifts. June, Elias, and Jonas. Open up.” I made sure mine was last to open. Elias and June came together and made Jonas and I both homemade snow globes with our initials in them. Jonas had gotten me a new recipe book and the kids both books, to which Elias had to really work to fake his happiness about it. It was a good laugh for Jonas and I as we asked him question after question about him liking the book. However, I was happy with myself knowing I took first place over Jonas, because last year I had lost to a red ball.

“Oh, thank you Miss Eva! It’s so pretty!” She held up the dress to her body and spun around. Jonas was the next to react when he saw the hair gel I had gotten him to pull off those ridiculous hairstyles he liked so much. Lastly, I looked over to Elias who was staring down with large eyes at his toy. He was the reaction I was anticipating the most. I had to tell Levi if he made the eight-year-old’s dream come true.

“June, look!” He held up the horse, his eyes still wide. While she had no interest in toys, she still admired it.

“That’s really cool, Elias.” He held up the soldier next, his arm stretched as high as it went.

“And there’s a matching Scout, too!” Jonas and I both looked at each other confused, knowing there was nothing on that soldier to indicate it was a Scout or even in the Royal Military. It had to be because the only soldiers he constantly sees on horses are the Scouts. To me, it wasn’t that bad that his new favorite toy was turning into a Scout. Maybe I should tell him a Scout bought it for him, too.

“Miss Eva, I like it so so so so so sooooooooooooooooooooo much!” He put the box on the floor and ran over to hug my leg that was dangling off the counter. My heart filled and I patted his head, leaning down with one arm to hug him. Levi would like his reaction, especially the Scout part. I think Jonas was a bit annoyed at Elias’s playing, so he looked at the clock and announced it was time for the kids to go home. I had to stay here to hand out late orders, so I ushered them out.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow! Don’t stay up all night reading, Elias!” He stuck his tongue out at me and I did it back. Both kids walked ahead of Jonas who stayed back at the door.

“Thank you for your gift, Ev.” I smiled back.

“You, too, Jonas. You’ll be the first one to try out something I make from the recipe book.”

“Can I suggest the cinnamon rolls?” I nodded and insured him I’d make them for him on Monday. He still stood there watching the kids walk their way down the street. He wasn’t going to..?

“Is there anything going on with you and Levi?” I almost choked on the air. Gods, I wish.

“No, Jonas. He just comes in for tea after an expedition.” That didn’t satisfy him.

“And takes you to the capital, and helps you make bread, and wins a game for you at the festival.” He sounded like a child having a temper tantrum.

“There’s nothing going on between us, Jonas. We’re just budding friends and I make things for the Scouts from time to time.” He narrowed his eyes and pointed to the box on my counter. This astounding common sense was getting annoying.

“Then who’s that gift for?” I had to come up with some lie quickly. If I told him it was for Levi, he’d never leave.

“The candy shop owner. He gives out so much free candy to those two on my request, I felt I needed to get him something.” He lowered his gaze and kicked a rock.

“I’d never think you’d lie to me like that, Ev.” My heart caught in my throat. That made me feel like shit. Especially since Levi was probably going to propel down from one of these buildings in a few minutes.

“The kids are going to get home before you can get to them. You should go.” He looked up at me and gave me one of the most heart wrenching looks. Ouch.

“I still like you… from that one time I told you when we were drunk. That wasn’t a lie. I’ll believe you for now… but I don’t think you’re telling the truth.” I was telling him the truth though. I left some things out, but there wasn’t anything between Levi and I. Did it frustrate me that there wasn’t anything? Yes. But I still wasn’t lying to Jonas. And now this unwarranted confession was making things worse. If Levi wasn’t here, Jonas wouldn’t have said anything and it wouldn’t be awkward between us now. I could live with knowing it from June, but now that he told me, it changed everything. I didn’t want that.

“I hope nothing changes, Jonas. I like babysitting the kids with you and talking to you when you come in to deliver things. Even if we do stay friends in the long run, I-” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up at the kids who had stopped walking when they noticed he never started.

“Friends friends or Levi friends?” This time I glared at him a bit, but he wasn’t looking at me. I knew if he stayed any longer, we’d get in a fight, and he’d get more disappointed if Levi decided to drop in in the middle of it. It was better to send him off now and fix it later.

“Goodnight Jonas. Happy year-end.” He just nodded once and took off after the kids. No goodnight, no year-end joke. I hoped I didn’t have to wake up to someone dragging him to my café drunk like last year.

Oh.

When he was drunk last year. That’s when he told me. He was making a tradition of it. He had just thrown up on the sidewalk when the people carrying couldn’t put him through the door and I was wiping the sweat off his forehead.

I closed the door, making sure it wasn’t locked, and went to sit back on the front countertop. Swinging my legs, I replayed the conversation in my head.

“Ev, you’re so good to me,” he slurred.

“Well, Jonas, you’re drunk on my doorstep. I can’t just leave you here.” He smiled and looked like he was going to throw up again. I backed up, but kept the wet rag on his forehead.

“When you’re done throwing up, you can come upstairs and I’ll give you some water.” He burped and I grimaced. Wasn’t he supposed to be having sex at his house with some random bar girl? Why was he so drunk and here?

“I’ll like that. Your couch is comfy.” I laughed a bit.

“Why are you so drunk? I thought you had a tradition of taking someone home.” He shook his head really fast, which was a horrible decision, and held it in both of his hands to try and stop the dizziness.

“I don’t want to bring anyone home but you,” He pointed to me and I gave him a confused look. He smelled so much of alcohol.

“I come to your house sometimes to pick up orders, Jonas.”

“No, no, no, no, no. Like. I want you to come so I can kiss you.” He turned over his left shoulder and threw up again. I patted his back and just nodded. Very, very drunk.

“Can I get my pastries or do I need to wait for you to stop daydreaming?” I jumped and looked at the uniform clad man in front of me. He didn’t even knock.

“Oh, sorry. They’re cooling right now. I baked them in the last hour.” I also timed it just right so that he’d have to stay a few minutes and open his present, but he didn’t need to know that. I just sat there and drank in his uniformed look. It was much better than his usual black slacks.

“Is that the cape I wore?” He grabbed a chair and sat down right in front of me, back of the chair leaning on the table. He assumed his lounging position.

“Yes, you also left it crumpled on the floor. Don’t think I didn’t notice you stole one of my shirts, too. I woke you up, didn’t I?” He rather rudely ripped the covers off of me and kicked the bedpost three times, yes I do recall. It really ruined the ruse of the dream I had of him that night.

“Do you want it back? I’m sure the other fifteen are missing it.” He squinted his eyes.

“I’ll have you know if anyone finds out a civilian has my issued military gear with them, I’d get in trouble.” Oh, so we weren’t pretending right now.

“The military counts your clothes?” He sighed and switched his lounging leg. I looked to the side at the medium sized box wrapped in red fabric. I guess it was now or never.

“I have your gift,” I picked up the box and hopped off the counter. He stared at it for a few seconds before taking it and just sitting it on his lap. Was he not… ?Does he not know… ?

“Open it,” I waved my hand at the gift and he hesitated.

“I want to give you my gift first.” That really set the butterflies off in my stomach. The stoic, mean, scary Captain Levi actually got me a gift like he said and it wasn’t a lie to go to the capital with me? I was buzzing with warmth. I closed my eyes and held my hands out.

“What are you doing?” I could tell he didn’t move. Does he really not know how gifting works?

“My gift, Captain.” I wriggled my fingers.

“Oh, yeah.” This time he moved and I felt him place a circle in my hands. It felt similar to the shape of Jonas’s hair gel. He didn’t get me hair gel, did he? I felt it with my eyes closed again, taking a good guess.

“Is it… candies?” He groaned like this was taking too long.

“Just open your eyes, I don’t have all night.” I opened them and looked down at the jar in my hands. It was quite thoughtful of him and a very practical gift. It made my heart sing and I couldn’t hide my smile.

“S-some... Scout, he, um, he recommended it after I asked how to get rid of dry skin. They said this was the only thing that worked for them. A-And I know you’ve been looking for something… So…” I opened it right away and put it on my hands. Wow, this felt really smooth and it smelled like roses, “D-Do... you like it?” That statement made his voice raise up a bit. He didn’t want me to know that he definitely wanted to feel good about his gift.

“I love it, thank you, Levi. If it really does get rid of the cracks in my skin, you’ll have to thank that Scout too. Now open yours!” I waved my hands again, rushing him as I stood in front of him. He slowly undid the tie that held the fabric on the wooden box and it was almost like he was looking at a bomb when he went to open it. Slow and controlled. Did he think I would buy him something that popped out at him?

When he opened it all the way, he just stared. This made my smile drop. Great. Who was I to expect a big reaction out of this man? He could be screaming in his head right now and I would never know.

He picked it up out of the box and ran his hand along the simple blue design. When he looked up at me, there was just a little shred of emotion in his eyes, I’m sure I saw it. Something that wasn’t indifference. It just wasn’t there long enough for me to get a real good look at it. I just wanted him to say something so I didn’t have to prompt him into a lie. He took out the cup next and did the same thing, inspecting the design and the porcelain.

“How much did you pay for this?” Well, that was an annoying first reaction. No “thanks, Eva” or anything.

“It doesn’t matter. I saw it and thought about you. You probably have a lot of tea kettles and cups at HQ, but I guess if you ever get peppermint tea you can use-”

“I… I like it. I like it a lot actually. I only have one set at the HQ and it’s from the Underground. This one is… much better.” That was good enough for me. It brought my smile back and I clasped my hands together. I think I was more excited than he was about the gift.

I clapped my hands and he looked up at me again. There it was that same shred of some type of Levi emotion that I couldn’t put my finger on.

“Well, I think the desserts are cool if you want to take them.” I turned around to go and put the Scout’s treats in a nice paper box but he grabbed my wrist. I swear I made a noise out loud which was me reacting to Levi touching me for one of the first times. Damn, how did I hide this a few months ago? And if he came up to my apartment later, how was I going to handle that? In all of his visits the past week, he always had to get back to HQ, but I knew that after his security detail wasn’t needed, he would come to the café and stay one night. What was I going to do then?

“Can you make me tea?” I slowly looked up from his grasp on my wrist and smiled at him.

“What about your party?” It’s not that I wanted him to leave, it’s just if he kept looking at me with those eyes I was in trouble.

“They can wait. Dessert isn’t till they’ve all drank themselves to death.” He’s a hard bargainer, I guess he has to stay for at least a cup.

“Okay,” I took the tea set from him and set it up on the stove. I pulled out a cup for myself too as the set only had one. He didn’t say anything as I made the peppermint tea, he just watched me from his chair. The stare this time was almost overwhelming. I had just given him a gift, he liked it, and he asked me to make tea with it. There also had to be something said for him not caring enough about the officer party to stay here. I most definitely kept my back to him so he couldn’t see the harsh red that painted my face. It didn’t help that I could feel his stare from behind me.

“Do you not drink much?” I broke to silence because I was going to go crazy or have a heart attack. He shifted behind me.

“I drink, just not with people I don’t like. The Garrison Officers are also attending.” I nodded and noted the one Captain who comes to my café on his morning shifts. I wouldn’t want to drink with them too.

“I don’t blame you. They come in here sometimes. Loud.” He hummed in agreement and I just watched the tea brew. It felt like these minutes were taking hours.

“Why do you ask? You want to drink with me?” I finally turned around and put my hands up; the same way I did when we had the bed misunderstanding.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I was just asking that’s all. I-I mean I’m not against it, if you’re asking just in general. I drink too. Not a lot because I’m working, but I can if I want to, yeah.” I turned back around and cursed at myself. Great at hiding that. Now Levi was gaining points in my game.

“Sure, I’ll drink with you sometime. I can probably drink you under the table.” Man, everything had to be a contest. Such a competitive boy. I finally gained composure to turn around and join him and the table with the tea. Thank gods I closed the front windows.

“I don’t know. I can outdrink Jonas on a good day.” He rolled his eyes and took his first sip out of the new cup. It looked like it fit his weird grip well.

“I’m sure anyone can outdrink that idiot.”

“You don’t even know him and you’re calling him an idiot. In fact, he has great common sense.” He smirked and took another sip, probably to stifle some insult he had lined up.

“Usually when they say you have common sense, they mean you’re an idiot.” Nope, it was not stifled. It was just simmering. I couldn’t disagree with that statement.

“Did you enjoy the festival?” He shrugged and switched legs again.

“I was having an okay time watching from above when I saw this one girl losing terribly. I had to go save her from that fate.” Levi, the bunny, was still sitting on the counter too.

“What a damsel in distress! I’m sure she’s glad you saved her from the judgement of prepubescent boys. You even got them wanting to come to the café.” He tched again.

“Why were you with them anyways? The girl looked uncomfortable.” I set my cup down on the table and rested my elbow on the table.

“That girl’s name is June and she likes one of the boys in that group. I was just teasing her. You helped her cause too because I told the boys to ask her when you came to my café. You might have them at your ankles the next time you come.” He groaned and put his cup down too. It was still half full, which meant he wasn’t leaving yet.

“So you get a stuffed animal and I get a bunch of brats at my neck. That’s how the damsel in distress thanks her knight.” Maybe he didn’t mean it, but when he said her knight, as in possessive, I read into it a bit too much. I’m sure he meant nothing by it.

“Well I gave you the tea set so it evens out.” He shook his head, tapping the table.

“No, you got the tea set before you even knew about this game. You can’t opt out.”

“Hey, hey, hey who paid for you to even play that game to begin with? Me.” He shook his head again, adamant about his equal exchange.

“Exactly. You paid, I gave the rodent. You gave those brats my location, I’ve gotten nothing in return.” It was my turn to tch him as I leaned more forward, head resting in my hands. He did the same, but just one elbow and he wasn’t sitting crisscrossed.

“They aren’t brats, they’re kids.”

“Same thing.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Arguing with him was so fun to do. It was a weird thing to like, but it was fun. It wasn’t arguing, but bickering. Maybe it would seem annoying to the people around us, but trying to prove Levi wrong, the person who thinks he’s always right, was a feat I was happy to take on.

“Are you falling asleep on me?” I shook my head, eyes still closed.

“Just thinking.”

“About what?” You.

I took another deep breath trying to silence my heart. My eyes snapped open.

“Cedar.” That was the third one. Mint tea, lemon soap, and cedar. I had gotten close enough to him to figure it out. It had to be the countless ODM trainings in the trees.

“You’re thinking about trees?” It was the way his breath hit my face that I knew he was close. I didn’t want to look over and lock eyes with him because I knew if I did the heart that I worked so hard to silence would start up again. No, Levi, I’m thinking about you, but I just can’t come out and tell you that.

“Yeah.” He huffed, air again hitting my face, and I just stayed looking at the tea set. This time, I was even nervous to look at him. Not a lot of things flew past Levi, so if he saw how I reacted to our closeness he would think something was up. I wasn’t ready to give this up yet… or was I?

I mean I said that I sorted out my feelings. And if I was going to not act like a schoolgirl, like I had promised myself, then I could look at him and not get starstruck or anything. What was any different from a few months ago to now? He’s been in my house multiple times and I’ve slept a few feet away. What was the point of being meek about it? Yeah, I was going to do it.

When I looked at him, he had his eyes closed. Damn, there goes that pep talk. It was like he was sleeping. Peaceful. No harsh lines. Everything was calm and serene for him. He looked so handsome just sitting here like that. The moonlight casting down on his face from the side window didn’t help my feelings. Nor did the fact that he was staying here with me and not with the officers. Or the fact that he had swoop down and been my knight at the festival… This man was trying to kill me.

I leaned in. Apparently, we had lost all self control in those few moments looking at him, but, come on, how was I supposed to control myself when he was looking like that? I didn’t know what I was even doing kissing him like that because I knew he wouldn’t react any other way than he did. I set myself up for failure.

His lips were soft and tasted like tea and I only got to kiss them for maybe two or three seconds before he realized what was going on. He didn’t kiss back and I think he just opened his eyes, studied the situation, and sat back when he realized. I didn’t look up at him after. I just closed my eyes and positioned my head to the ground. Him pulling away like that was telling enough. I’d lost and ruined the game we were playing. There was no way to pretend now and Levi only wanted to pretend. Nevermind my racing heart.

“D-Do, um, do you have the, um, what are they called? The pastries? For the party?” His voice was low and I swore at myself that I didn’t just give them to him before and let him go. He was the one who asked for tea.

“Yeah.” It was breathy and I didn’t look at him when I stood up and went to put the turnovers in the paper box. I even labeled it To the Officers of the Scouts. Now I felt so stupid in doing that. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

I shouldn’t have kissed him.

I handed it to him and he didn’t say anything. The door closed, signaling that he was gone. I let out a long groan and sank down behind the counter hoping I could hide from everything. The chairs and the tables saw it. They were laughing at me. I really thought I could kiss Captain Levi and get away with it. The man who doesn’t even know what emotions were was going to sort them out in time to kiss me back? No.

I guess it was six months. That’s how long it took till the Captain didn’t come back.

Chapter Seven→

Chapter Masterlist

A double update for you all :) What do you think’s going to happen to them? Hehe.

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x oc #levi x reader #snk levi #levi attack on titan #levi x oc #aot #aot levi #snk #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyoujin levi #levi heichou #captain levi #original character

54 notes · View notes

dreamer213 · 3 years

Text

Broken machines: Lights the dark

Chapter 2 Beautiful Night

In dark quiet room a young man sits atop his bed waiting. The room itself is opulent and pristine, a queen size bed with silk sheets, oak wood floor, a gorgeous antique armoire full of designer clothing, a full length mirror, silver trend curtains, an ornately detailed desk, bookshelf filled with materials on business, culture, and the arts and even a bath en-suite. Truly a scene ripped straight from a magazine with it’s presentation and uniform coloring. Nothing but dark blues, grays, and whites as far as the eye could see, it gives off a very chic and vintage feel but such a cold color scheme leaves little room for light to enter. With darkness of night sky peeking through the window It is as though the room itself becomes like snow, beautiful and magnificent in appearance but cold and devoid of life. The same can be said for the boy, smooth white hair set neat and tidy in a simple but elegant cut, a long and slender figure with good posture and a gorgeous face with high cheek bones, full lips, a perfect jaw line, long lashes, and beautiful deep blue eyes. But behind those beautiful eyes lays a cold and empty stare, no youthful joy or warmth to speak of, just the cold stare of empty soul. If not for his breathing and movements he could be mistaken for a porcelain doll, left in it’s display never to be moved or play with but to be held up and admired. But that is not important right now. No, what matters right now is if Weiss’s found the back doors they left open for her and made her escape yet.

It’s been a while she should be long gone by now, if she hasn’t left yet it won’t be long before Father finds her then Gods know what he’ll will do. I mean getting caught trying to escape the city after nearly killing a defenseless woman at a public event over some unkind remarks. Cleaning up this mess is going to be hell on its own but if Father finds her trying to run away He’ll-

Whitley tenses up and grips his biceps through his sleeves, there’s a dazed look in his eyes. He closes his eyes, takes some deep breath, and calms himself.

No, I can’t think like that now. I have to believe that she followed through, that she ran away pre her usually sanctimonious behavior. I mean what did she think she was going to achieve by acting like that. Did she think that was going to change their minds? Did she really think that screaming like a child and losing control of her powers was going to do anything but cause chaos. If General Ironwood hadn’t been there we all could been killed by that monster. But no, even after fighting Grimm and seeing how terrifying they are first hand, she still never once gave a thought to what the consequences of her actions would be for anyone but herself. But then again that just might be who she is now. Doesn’t matter if she to her if she’s right or wrong, if she feels attacked she’ll just lash out either physical or verbal. With all her talk of restoring our family name I never thought she would do something like this. I never thought she would go this far but then again I never thought she’d treat me like an enemy. I try my best to engage with her whenever I could and she accuses me of wanting to her get disinherited and acts like I’ve stolen her role away from her. Really? She thought I would want the life both she and Winter ran away from the first chance they could. Seriously? What do I gain from her failure, living at home with a drunk for mother, a tyrant father, and a staff of people traumatized from working with them. Having my every move monitored and commanded by a man who cares more about money than human life. The enormous amount of work that comes with preparing to take over a company of such great magnitude and whatever grunt work Father doesn’t feel like doing. OH! Let’s not forget the fact that you’ll never truly be in charge as Father will surely keep you trapped under his heel until the day he dies! A life as puppet to a man whose dragged our family name through the dirt trapped in a house colder than the coldest of blizzard. Yes Weiss, I so desperately wanted you to run away to live your dreams so I could live your nightmare.

“WHERE IS SHE!!!” “WHERE DID THAT WORTHLESS BRAT GO!”

Whitley hears his father screaming down the hall, the screaming continues for almost an hour until it’s becomes clear that Weiss has escaped. For moment everything’s quite as though the entire manor has become frozen in time. But not long after the silence there’s a crash then another and another. The commotion grows louder and louder with every passing second until the shirks of manor staff become just loud as the havoc Jacques Schnee is wreaking.

Whitley: Looks like it’s time to clean up the mess.

Whitley gets up and walks out of his room towards the commotion. As he gets closer and closer as follows his father’s path of destruction. Broken glass, fallen paintings, and décor pieces smashed and scattered across the floor the halls are in shambles. When he finally reaches his father the situation is much worse than he expected. Jacques has completely lost his composure, he’s throwing things, screaming wildly, his face is beet red and his eyes are bulging. The servants are trying their best to calm down while trying to avoid getting hit. They try and try but nothing they do seems to calms him. As this struggle continues Whitley approaches them, he quietly walks up behind them. He stands there waiting for an opportunity to grab his father’s attention.

Jacques: AFTER EVERYTHING I’VE DONE FOR THAT UNGRATEFUL BITCH SHE DARED TO DEFY ME LIKE THIS!

Whitley: Father please, you need to calm down the stress isn’t good for—

Before he can get another word out an object goes flying past Whitley’s head. It was a small antique clock a gift from a business associate. His father Jacques Schnee, who was now facing him, had thrown it within an inch of his own son’s head. Jacques stalks over towards Whitley, getting closer and closer until he is standing over his son and stares directly into his eyes.

Jacques: What did you say?

Whitley: Stay calm, stay focused, you have to see this to an end before things get worse. I said you should calm down you shouldn’t be stressing yourself over such a minor issue. It’s not good for your health.

Jacques: And do tell me Whitley, how is your sister running away a “minor issue”.

Whitley: Well she’s already been disinherited and made a public spectacle of herself, there’s no real need for her to be at the manor anymore. That and when people ask about her and how she was punished you can say she was kick out and thrown to the streets for her awful behavior. For most that were present at that party the very idea of being cut off is the stuff of nightmares, hearing that the heiress to Schnee dust fortune got herself thrown out for her reckless mistakes should help calm the ruckus Weiss created.

For a moment everyone pauses, they hold their breath waiting for the elder Schnee’s reaction. After what feels like hours Jacques puts his hand above Whitley’s head. He brings it down and begins to slow pat his son’s head.

Jacques: Good job Whitley, you always have your mind in the right place when I need you to.

Whitley: Of course Father, I’m always thinking of what’s best for the Schnee legacy.

Jacques: Good, now then get this mess cleaned up I need to go have a talk with Klein. I just know that dog had a hand in this.

Whitley: Yes Father, I’ll have the staff get this up right away.

Jacques gives an approving nod then walks away. As soon as his step can no longer be heard and he is out of earshot the servants all breathe a sigh of relief and start cleaning up. Whitley walks down the hall, searching for someone. After roughly half an hour up and down the second floor Whitley finally finds the person he’s been looking for, Mary Shellor.

Mary Shellor has been working at the Schnee Manor for several years. When she first arrived no one expected her to last very long but to their surprise she acclimated to the environment rather quickly. She was also a very diligent worker, never making a mistake more then once. And because of her skill, not long after her hiring Mary was promoted to one of the most important and most difficult positions in the manor, Willow’s personal maid. She’d become Willow’s shadow following and serving her wherever she may go unless dismissed. During her first year as Willow’ maid also sought out and obtained another role, or rather a long term investment. You see after observing the family for a time it became clear to Mary which child would inherit the family fortune. The children, Winter, Weiss, and Whitley, had been raised quite incorrectly for their natures. Like wolves raised as show dogs ,they were trained to be obedient, intelligent, and outstanding but because of their strong willed and fierce natures they could never truly be tamed. First and second born were allowed enough freedom to want for more and seek an end to their captivity even if it meant losing everything. Eventuality they were able to beard their fangs and break free of their chains. But the third born, the son, was not allowed such opportunities, No Jacques had learned from his past mistakes he wasn’t letting this one get away. Whitley was kept closer, his chains made tighter, and cage made much smaller then his predecessors. And yet Mary could still see the wolf in him, though different from his sisters it was still there. Unlike his sisters he couldn’t attack or run from his situation so the boy did the only thing he could and did it well, he played along. He played the role of Father’s loyal dog so well that even his sister believed the act without question but unbeknownst to her or their father beneath that mask Whitley’s fangs were growing strap, he was waiting. Whitley knows when he’s at a disadvantage he knows when to act and when to retreat, he knows how to play games, the game of Atlas politics, his father’s games, and the games of the business world. The day Whitley would strike would be the day everything would be returned to a true Schnee, one who knew how to survive in this world, who knew the mistakes of the past and how not to repeat them. Mary wanted to be on the right side when that day came and so she became Whitley’s eyes and ears in and outside of the manor as long as he promised to keep her in mind when the time came. That was their argument one Mary never doubted would play out in her favor.

Whitley: Mary where’s Mother?

Mary: The Mistress has retreated to the library. After the shouting started she ran inside and hid. I asked her if there was anything I could do and she dismissed me.

Whitley: Thank you Mary, stay here I’ll be back in a moment.

Mary: Yes, Young master

Whitley walks pass her towards the library, once at the doors he pulls them open only to find that the lights are off and the scent of alcohol is heavy in the air. Whitley follow the scent deeper and deeper into the library, gagging slightly the closer he gets, as he draws nearer to the source he finds a trail of wine bottles.

Whitley: They’re all empty, she’s close.

He picks up the bottles as he follows the trail until he finds a blanket covered figure sitting on the floor tucked into a corner. Whitley puts the bottles down and slowly approaches the figure, small sobs escape it as he drew closer, he kneels down in front of them with his hands on his knees. He then gently pulls the blanket off the figure to reveal his mother Willow Schnee, sobbing and trembling beneath the blanket she’s wrapped herself in.

Whitley: It’s over Mother, Father’s gone back to his office. You can go back to your room now he won’t be coming out for some time.

Whitley holds out his hand towards Willow, with a shaky hand Willow grabs onto her son. Whitley grabs onto tightly, wraps his free arm around her shoulders and pulls her up. He steadies her as she gets on her feet, and guides her through the darkness and into the hallway. Once they’re out out of the library he hands Willow off to Mary.

Whitley: Take her back to her room she can barely walk, make sure to leave a bucket by her bed. And don’t let her have anything else tonight she has too much in her system already. She’s also left a good amount of empties on floor again, have someone clean those up before Father’s next reading hour.

Mary: Of course Young Master, we’ll have everything clean and in order before Master Jacques get up for breakfast.

Whitley:Thank you Mary , that will be all for tonight.

This was why Mary chose to put her faith in the boy, for as cold and defensive as Whitley was he was also incredibly loyal. Whenever the Master flew off the handle the Young Master would do everything in his power to calm him down and keep him calm for as long as possible. At first Mary thought this was more his loyal dog act but after a few more incidents it was clear what he was doing. Whitley would never sacrifice another’s safety for his own. His true purpose for playing the Master’s game was not to obtain power but peace and freedom from the chains that bind this manor and the people in it.

With that Mary and Willow depart towards Willow’s bedroom while Whitley retreats his own. Once there he closes the door behind himself and pressing his back against the door. He takes a deep breath then slumps down the door, gets into the fetal position and starts to sob. He cries and weeps for a long, long time, until his face is red and his voice horse. Once he finally he stops Whitley gets up and goes to his ensuite to clean himself up. After a long bath he puts on his sleepwear and lays down on his bed, he stares up at the ceiling until he finally succumbs to his own exhaustion and falls into a dreamless sleep.

#whitley schnee #broken machines #rwby #rwby fanfiction #fanfic #Someone hold this baby #sad #fanfiction

16 notes · View notes

rhysismydaddy · 4 years

Text

Naughty Neighbors pt. 4 (Elriel)

I’m thinking there’s going to be two/three more parts to this. I know it’s longer than what I usually put out, but I did mention it’s a slow burn, so... Idk. I really like it and want to keep writing it.

DRUNK NOTE: thank god I wrote this earlier because i’m too far gone to do much editing hahah sorry if there’s errors also sorry it’s short

__________________________________________________________

~Elain~

For exactly three horrible seconds of Elain’s life, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t so much as breathe as she stands there, holding him to her, mouth pressed against his.

It’s absolutely horrifying.

But then he pulls back just enough to murmur, “Holy fuck, Elain.”

And then he kisses her.

Walking forward, he presses her against the wall, sheltering her with his body and caging her in.

She’s quickly becoming addicted to the way his chest is pressed against hers, hard muscle dragging against her now-heavy breasts in a way that makes her pant.

But that’s nothing compared to the addiction she was forming for how he kissed her.

It’s deep and heavy and so seductive her knees go a bit weak. He--Azriel--seems to notice and slides a knee in between her legs, which helps keep her upright but does absolutely no favors for the growing ache at the apex of her thighs.

Gods above.

Elain shoves her hands in his hair to keep him close to her, and his go to her hips, then slide around to her backside, then run across her waist. He’s everywhere, hands and body surveying every inch of her, but his mouth moves consistently slow against hers.

She feels like he can’t get enough of her, like she's driving him crazy. And she fucking loves it, because she’s never felt like this before.

Never... been kissed like this before.

He moves to her neck, then down to the top of her breasts. “Azriel,” she moans. Or maybe begs.

His head snaps up, eyes meeting hers instantly. His usual honey and moss colored eyes are dark, lined with urgency and desire and maybe just a little crazy. “That’s going to be the fucking death of me.”

Before she can analyze that, they’re kissing again, and Elain can’t stop herself from running her hands over his chest and abs, then pulling him even closer.

Azriel presses his hips into hers, and she gasps into his mouth, making him smile. She reaches behind her to open the door and take him inside, but he stops her with a hand on her wrist.

“Elain.”

Still a little breathless, she whispers, “What?”

Taking a healthy step away from her, he shakes his head and says, “We can’t... I’m not going in there.”

“What?” she repeats, beyond confused. She’d thought he’d wanted to... and his body had definitely wanted to...

“I’m not taking you to bed while you belong to another man, Elain.”

“I don’t belong to anyone.”

“Maybe not your body,” he agrees, placing a wide hand on her chest, right above her heart. “But I want this to be mine. And you’re going to give it to me.”

Her mouth is open, probably grazing the floor, but she just stares at him in disbelief. Azriel smiles softly, runs a thumb over her bottom lip, then kisses her cheek. “Goodnight, Elain.”

Then he turns and goes inside his apartment, the door shutting between them with a deafeningly quiet click.

~Azriel~

Yeah, I’m one dumb motherfucker.

I had the girl I’d been pathetically pining for finally kissing me, finally admitting she wants me, and I told her I wasn’t going to have sex with her.

And where does that leave me? With a fucking painful erection and the urge to put my fist through a wall.

I head straight for the bathroom and turn the shower to the coldest setting possible. But even as the ice water runs over me, my blood continues to thrum.

Good gods, I want to kiss her again.

I want to kiss her all the time.

Her full mouth fits mine perfectly, and the way she kissed me... no cold shower is going to get me to forget that. Not to even mention the way her body felt under my hands, the soft curves practically begging to be touched.

Shoving my head against the tile, I try to ignore all that. But it doesn’t do an ounce of good, because then I think about the way she said my name.

It was so natural for her, even though she’d learned it ten minutes before. She’d said it like it was everything to her, like a precious gift she’d never return.

By the time I cut the shower off and flop in bed, I’m exhausted, so when the phone rings, I ignore it and shut my eyes. But it rings again, and I see that it’s Mor, so I answer. “What?”

“Wow, thank you for that heart-warming greeting,” she teases. “Bad night?”

“No, I’m just-” thinking about Elain and don’t want to talk to you at the moment, “tired.”

Thing about Mor is, she can always tell when I’m lying.

“Something happened! What happened?”

“She kissed me,” I tell my best friend, smile on my face.

Mor howls on the other end of the line, making me laugh. “I told you making her jealous would work!”

“Yeah, yeah, you were right. It worked. She wanted to...” Cursing, I cut myself off. She doesn’t need to know everything.

She, apparently, doesn’t hold that belief. “And did you?”

“No, we didn’t. I want her... I want her to love me first, Mor.”

She’s quiet for a few moments, but then she says softly, “You really like her, huh?” I stay quiet, but it’s answer enough. “Then make her fall in love with you.”

“Oh, I plan on it,” I chuckle, because it’s true. Now that I know what I’m missing, I don’t want to waste another minute without it. “But I have to be well-rested to trick fair maidens into loving me, so goodnight. Love you.”

“Love you too, stupid.”

I hang up and stare at the ceiling, still smiling like an idiot.

My very helpful brain thinks about Elain on the other side of that wall, lying in bed doing the same thing, thinking about me.

I tell it to shut up and go to sleep, but the stupid bastard doesn’t listen.

The last thing I think before finally falling asleep is that I can’t fucking wait to see Elain tomorrow.

Elain doesn’t go to work all week.

I know because it’s Friday, and I’ve been by the store every single day since Monday. Some girl named Christine has been there, and she gives me a weird look every time she notices me peeking in.

Honestly, I don’t get it.

Last time she tried to avoid me, she was embarrassed and knew I’d tease her. This time... I didn’t do anything wrong, right?

Maybe she’s sick.

Or maybe she just feels guilty. That’s probably it. I haven’t heard the boyfriend come around this week, and she’s not the kind of girl to dump someone over the phone. So maybe she’s waiting until she sees him and ends things to see me.

The thought makes me smile, drawing a raised eyebrow from the guy I’m currently tattooing.

“You look like you’re thinking about a girl,” the old biker-looking man remarks with a gruff. I can’t help but grin and shrug and he sighs. “Just don’t fuck up my tattoo.”

I nod and focus, shoving all thoughts of Elain into a small box in the corner of my mind.

But the damn box won’t stay closed, and by the time I leave work that night, I don’t care if she’s trying to do the right thing and avoid me. I have to see her.

Even if nothing happens, I have to see her.

The week’s been boring without her soft smiles and cute little dresses, and I want to hear what she’s been up to, cooped up in that apartment.

I practically run up the stairs and down the hall to her door, already smiling as I knock. It takes a few minutes for the door to open, but when it does, the smile falls away and takes every last drop of happiness with it.

She looks awful.

I mean, she’s always beautiful, but she looks like she hasn’t slept or eaten since I last saw her. Her hairs a dirty mess, she’s in a raggedy sweatshirt and sweatpants, and there’s dark circles under her big brown eyes.

Eyes that don’t hold an ounce of happiness to see me. “What do you want?”

The question throws me, but I answer honestly. “I wanted to see you. Are you alright?”

Elain doesn’t answer, just stands there for a minute. Then she says, “Leave me alone.”

The door swings towards me, but I jut a hand out and stop it from closing. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

Because like Mor’s told me for years, it’s always the man’s fault. Even when it isn’t the man’s fault, it’s the man’s fault.

Whatever it is, I’ll apologize and smile and tease her until she’s smiling, too.

“Did you do something?” she repeats in a small voice, eyes going a bit misty.

The sight hits me hard, and I take a step forward, but she shoots out a hand and shoves me back. “Stay the fuck away from me.”

If it wasn’t the unusual curse that stops me dead in my tracks, it’d be the way her voice sounded as she said it. None of the usual warmth, no soft laughter.

She sounds... she sounds like she hates me. And I can’t take it. “Elain, what the hell did I do?”

~Elain~

Is he serious? What did I do?

The genuine confusion on his face makes the carefully-crafted dam she’s been building around herself burst. “What was this to you? Some sort of sick game?”

“What are you-”

“You tried your goddamn best to drive me crazy, and like a complete idiot, I let you! How stupid could I have been...” She looks up at the ceiling as if that will give her the strength to face him, to say the words. “To think you wanted me.”

His eyes go wide, and she lets out a humorless laugh. “Elain-”

But there’s no going back now, and there’s no stopping the words from coming out.

“Oh, save the bullshit. You got what you wanted. You proved I’m a horrible girlfriend and an even worse human being, so just leave me alone.”

Before he can respond, she demands, “And what was that crap about wanting my heart? You’re a pathological liar. It’s just not enough for me to cheat on Lucien with you, is it? You want me to fall in love with you.”

His jaw is tight, hands bunched into fists, but he stays silent.

Tears are streaming down her face, but she forces herself to glare and say, “That will never happen. I’m not stupid enough to love you.”

She slams the door in his face, then drops to the floor to cry. Pressing a hand to her chest, she tries hopelessly to ignore the voice in her head telling her if that were true, this wouldn’t hurt so damn much.

____________________________________________________________

Uh, can I just say right now that I’m sorry? Hang in there. I TOLD YOU IT’S A SLOW BURN. Part 5

@bamchickawowow @astreia-oniria @keshavomit @elrielllll @januarystears @zukos-simp @whimsyrhys @lameomclameo @wineywitch202 @thedarkdemigod @captainthefangirlofhp @elriel4life @queen-of-glass @courtofjurdan @nessiantho @texas-shaped-waffle-maker @stardelia @myshadowsingeraz @tswaney17 @illyriangarbage @nicerhero @fancycrowncat @sjmships @poisonous00 @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @a-bit-of-a-cactus @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

#elriel #elriel fanfiction #elain #elain archeron #azriel #elain x azriel #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acofas #acotar fanfiction #acotar fandom #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight

157 notes · View notes

derireo · 4 years

Text

a3! volleyball au

Professional Volleyball League. Not high school. Also, this isn’t a Haikyuu crossover or anything.

NARA PREFECTURE – Famous area for cherry blossom viewing.

Sakuya Sakuma: Power > CAPTAIN

Itaru Chigasaki: Setter

Masumi Usui: Middle / (weird assignment, but trust me)

Tsuzuru Minagi: Middle

Citron: Power

Chikage Utsuki: Setter/Right side

"Okay, but do we really want to win?" Itaru sighed and readjusted his headband with a sulking look. Sweat was beading down his neck; having been exerting much more energy than he wanted.

Some of the others looked back to take a glance at the scoreboard. It looked like it was going to be an easy win.

But Itaru brought up a good point during this timeout, and it left his teammates pondering.

Masumi pursed his lips and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. "Don't really feel like travelling outside of the prefecture."

Chikage nodded in agreement to Masumi while Sakuya and Tsuzuru both looked at each other with exhausted frowns weighing at their mouths.

It's not like they wanted to lose either, but even if they won, there were still some problems they'd need to work through.

"Travel fees and hotels are expensive."

And well, really, Itaru was just worried about his gaming time, but their captain and the middle had a good point.

"We can hold fundraisers and help around the neighbourhood." Citron suggested, voice still in its usual tone as if he hadn't just run across the court to save their shanked ball a few minutes ago.

"Kasumi-san said he was willing to shoulder the expenses we wouldn't be able to pay." He added on to which Sakuya and Tsuzuru sighed.

Out of relief? Who knew.

"Hey, let's win the tournament first. Worry about the expenses later." Chikage fiercely clapped his hands to get the rest of the team back on track, sending a quiet, but reassuring glance to the worried pair.

If anything, he was going to shoulder the fees with Itaru in the first place.

"Haru on two!" Sakuya bellowed once he pushed aside his worries and the whistle blew.

Everyone put their hands together in the centre and hooted, gathering into a tight circle as they counted.

One, two—

"Haru! Ikuzo!"

"Let's go feed the deer to celebrate!" Citron shouted cheerfully as they began to walk back onto the court, grinning his charming smile when Sakuya shouted his agreement.

And they did.

Now they were going to have to get ready for Nationals.

OITA PREFECTURE – Has the highest number of hot days.

Tenma Sumeragi: Power > CAPTAIN

Yuki Rurikawa: Power

Muku Sakisaka: Setter

Misumi Ikaruga: Setter/Right side

Kazunari Miyoshi: Middle

Kumon Hyodo: Middle

"Misumi, you've got to be more careful." Tenma scolded the smiling man with a frown and a push to his shoulder.

Misumi looked like he wasn't tired at all as the rest of the team looked at him with worried eyes, but he shrugged and slipped his fingers beneath his headband to fix it.

"I wasn't just going to let the ball drop." He laughed, much to the concern of Kazunari and Kumon who were checking to see if he was hurt anywhere on his arms or legs.

Kumon had accidentally received the jump serve with his shoulder, shanking it far off the court to the point where even Muku would have struggled to run after it.

Fortunately for them, Misumi had anticipated for something like that to happen, considering everyone was on high alert with how close the final set was. They needed to win a point to gain the upper hand again.

"Shoot. Misumi, careful!" Both Kumon and Kazunari had shouted when they saw the setter absolutely floor it towards the benches, just barely getting to the ball in time as he dove towards the floor and punched the ball back into the air with the side of his fist.

And Yuki, being the godsend he was, managed to track the ball, bringing it over the net with a mean little bump towards the attack line where the other team failed to cover.

Hiro called a timeout once they had won the point, keen on quickly taping Misumi up before their two minutes were up.

"Let's win this already. The back and forth is annoying." Yuki sighed and ran a hand through his sweaty hair, already shoving his head into their half-assed triangle assembly while the whistle blew.

"You've got this Muku." Kazunari encouraged Muku who timidly brought his hand into the group.

The pink-haired boy nodded, took a deep breath in as Tenma called for their cheer and shouted with everyone as he resolved his inner turmoil.

"GO NATSU!"

KYOTO PREFECTURE – Houses Tofukuji Temple, a place to view autumn leaves

Banri Settsu: Setter/Right side > CAPTAIN

Juza Hyodo: Middle

Taichi Nanao: Power

Omi Fushimi: Middle

Sakyo Furuichi: Setter

Azami Izumida: Power

"Oh, now you're talkin'!" Banri whistled with a laugh when Azami easily picked up a float serve, giving the ball just enough height and time for Sakyo to take a few steps under it, Banri jogging just outside the court.

Taichi mirrored Banri on the other side, shuffling towards his own position while Omi side-stepped towards the attack line with bated breath as everyone called for the set.

Even Juza, usually quiet and letting the others take their hits was loud in the back row, had the adrenaline running through his veins. They were only a couple of points away from winning the second set, after all.

"Give it to me, baby!" Banri howled as he noticed the slight arch in Sakyo's back and slowly made his approach, large step turning into a quick one-two as he vaulted himself into the air.

And despite the quick whip of his arm once Sakyo volleyed the ball into his reach, the team dug it up due to his practiced swings always hitting the anticipated spots. Easy.

"Shit, that was a good dig." Azami hissed under his breath as he got into his position outside of the shadow of the block that was getting set up by Omi and Sakyo, Taichi covering part of the attack line and pot.

The rival team used Omi's block as a tool, knowing how high his blocks could be during a heated rally. The two older players cursed under their breath when the ball bounced off his fingers, but Taichi was quick to dive to the floor, slapping the ball back into the air.

And it felt like the air had gone ice cold when a voice came from the back row.

"PIPE!" Juza roared, adding a little hop to his step to delay his approach, giving Sakyo enough time to set the ball at Juza's preferred height.

The young man glided in the air, jersey flapping in the air with how quick he had jumped in the air, and with a deafening slap, slammed the volleyball as hard as he could between the five and six spot on the court, his golden eyes sharp as his breath was forced out of his lungs.

And with a cheer, Zen threw his clipboard to the ground, the scoreboard showing that they were now at game point.

"Atta boy! Let's go, ya bastards!" He shouted, much to the excitement of the rest of the team.

Nationals was in the bag.

HOKKAIDO PREFECTURE – Coldest city in Japan.

Tsumugi Tsukioka: Setter > CAPTAIN

Tasuku Takato: Middle

Hisoka Mikage: Setter/Right side

Homare Arisugawa: Power (also questionable. trust me.)

Azuma Yukishiro: Power

Guy: Middle

"Ah, can this rally end already?" Hisoka griped quietly as he jogged back to the front row, Homare picking up the tipped ball with ease as he stood in the exact spot Syu urged him to stay in during rocky plays.

It was tiring, the other team just as good at digging up their hits as they were at receiving theirs.

This rally was longer than anticipated though, and the team was growing more and more tired as it persisted. Even Tsumugi was having trouble shouting out calls, his legs feeling weak with how many times he'd gone to approach for a hit.

The air in the gymnasium was stifling, thick and hard to breathe in as the adrenaline was running through the team as their last spurt of energy came to be.

"Fuck, just give it to me!" Tasuku growled, exhausted at the endless back and forth and motioned at Hisoka from the back row, Guy turning his head slightly to see how far Tasuku was going to take his approach.

Guy stayed a foot away from the net to give Tasuku some space, but still far enough just in case the team's block was successful.

Homare watched for the angle of the block while Tsumugi and Azuma kept a step away from the attack line, already knowing that Hisoka was going to set Tasuku.

If anyone was to end a rally, it was Tasuku.

With bated breath and bouncing feet, the back row watched as their middle launched himself in the air right before his feet met the attack line, eyes glaring at the ball as he wound his arm back.

And with a resounding smack, the ball was darting straight down onto the other side of the court, one of their players messing up the receive by stumbling one step early.

The pass was an overbump, and with Homare and Guy's height, they were able to assist Tasuku in ending the rally by blocking the over pass.

The whistle blew as they won their last point, Tasuku and Tsumugi turning to each other as they shouted with aggressive joy at the top of their lungs, Hisoka and Azuma falling to their knees as Homare and Guy grinned at each other and fist bumped.

Quietly, Syu nodded in approval, but whistled at the team to call them back in for their end game huddle.

The powerhouse was heading to Nationals.

#a3!#a3! act! addict! actors!#a3! headcanons #harugumi #natsugumi #akigumi #fuyugumi #hinamori kasumi #hyuga hiro #kuryu zen #otomiya syu #finally i can go to sleep wtf

75 notes · View notes

slasherholic · 4 years

Text

chapter synopsis: Michael kills again. Luckily (or unluckily) for you, he seems to be saving the best for last.

chapter warnings: graphic depictions of violence and death, Michael being a mean bastard

Chapter One

Chapter Two

End of the Line | Michael Myers x Reader | Chapter Three

Sometime before Wendy’s hysterical wailing stopped and after the stench of bile dissolved into the background, Travis cut Ashley’s body down.

You shouldn’t touch her, Diane had warned him, but Travis insisted on it. He said he didn’t want to look at her eyes anymore.

You hug your knees against your chest and stare over at where Ashley lies face-down in a heap on the floor, a streak of blood mapping out the path where Travis dragged her by the armpits out of the dark red puddle, depositing her on dryer land, and you cannot say you blame him, not at all.

Ashley’s lids are not shut all the way. One of her eyes still peeks out from underneath long eyelashes, glazed-over and sightless, looking at nothing.

I’m sorry, you feel obliged to tell her out of courtesy; but you aren’t entirely sure what you are apologizing for, and the apology feels empty anyhow. Maybe Michael's heartlessness is contagious.

Or maybe it is because every fiber of your lizard-brain is screaming in hopeful unison, better her than me. Better her than me. Better her than me.

The group sits now in a tight huddle on the floor at one corner of the dusty court. Travis holds Diane in his arms and stares blankly at the nearest basketball hoop. Diane clutches big handfuls of Travis’ shirt in both her slender hands and can’t seem to peel her eyes off of Ashley. Wendy, no longer sobbing, is the only one not sitting—instead she mills around aimlessly in front of the bleachers, pacing back and forth, following alongside the white out-of-bounds line. Sometimes, briefly, you turn and watch her pace.

Then you look away again and return to vigilantly scanning the unlit corners where the flashlights do not reach. You scan for movement; for an out-of-place shadow; for a shape creeping steadily closer.

Michael hasn’t left the room—not after what he did with Ashley’s body.

Like a hunter mounting a prize buck, he has taken meticulous care to display his kill. He knew that you would find it. He meant for you to find it. Now, you’ve given him the pleasure of observing your individual break-downs.

Of listening to Wendy sob and blubber, of seeing Travis clutch at his long hair and swear and punch the bleachers until his knuckles bloodied, of seeing you keel over and wretch on the ground. You are terrified. All of you. Michael knows this—he is lurking somewhere in those reaching shadows, unseen and unnoticed, drinking in that terror like a favored television channel.

You are entertainment.

To your left, Josh lifts his head out of his knees with a little sniffle, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. He licks his chapped lips before speaking.

“Why’d he do that to her?” He asks in a whispery croak, talking to nobody.

You glance at him. Travis and Diane do too.

“Why’d he string her up like that? Why the fuck would he do that man?”

Because he’s playing, comes your internal response, as quickly as if you were reading from a script—because Michael’s actions are play. Because he’s trying to scare you shitless and it’s working. Because it’s fun and he’s getting off on it. Because he’s sick and twisted and evil and just not right; and so are you for needing him.

Diane shifts suddenly in Travis’ lap. She pulls away from his embrace and sits upright.

“It was a pattern in the Haddonfield murders.” She explains softly, absently tracing a pattern with her pointer finger in the dust on the floor.

“The bodies, see, they were all moved around from their places of death, and—and, um, displayed. It’s been happening all around the state, wherever there are mass killings. So that’s why people think Myers is behind all of them.”

She continues to trace her pattern and goes silent. The silence is contagious.

Near the bleachers, Wendy is still pacing. You doubt she even heard Diane’s statement. It’s probably for the best.

“Why don’t you siddown, Wend.” Travis suggests.

You watch Wendy walk over to the bleachers and sit. Then, as if the bench were crawling with ants, she shoots to her feet again—climbing up nine steps—plopping down onto the tenth. She stares at her knees and doesn’t move after that.

“Hey. You.”

You glance over your shoulder at Travis. His eyes are glassy and dull. He’s staring at you.

“So what’s your deal anyway, huh?” He questions, flatly. “Are you, like, some kinda adrenaline junkie? Exploring a place like this alone at night without a flashlight?”

His eyes glint with something bordering on suspicion.

“And you just… ran right into Myers?”

Josh and Diane turn their heads and look at you, too. You glance away from their eyes without meaning to and stare at your shoelaces. Shit; you’ll have to tread carefully here, very carefully; the truth will not keep you in these people’s good graces.

You breathe in deeply, slowly, before speaking.

“Believe me, it wasn’t by choice.” You begin, bundling your arms around your knees, tugging at your shoelace. “It happened so fast—I got home from the store, I got out of my car, I walked up my driveway. The next thing I know, I’m being grabbed and locked in the trunk.”

You shut your mouth quickly. It’s not a lie; it’s just not the whole truth.

There’s another moment of silence. You can’t look the others in the face. For a frightening moment, you can’t tell if they’ve bought it or not.

Then, Josh pipes in.

“How’d you get away from him?”

“I didn’t get away. He let me run. I think he wants a chase, before he…”

Your voice trails off. You glance up from the floor and make eye contact with Josh. His gloomy look tells you that you don’t need to say anything more.

From the bleachers, Wendy murmurs something under her breath.

“We can’t hear you, Wend.” Travis says.

You watch Wendy lift her head from her knees, staring right at you. Her face is an unhealthy color and her cheeks are streaked with tears.

“I said, maybe he just wants her.” She repeats with a sniff. “Maybe if he gets her, he’ll fuck off and leave us alone.”

Your stare-off with her lasts for an uncomfortable time. Wendy sniffs when the snot runs too far down her nose. You pluck agitatedly at your shoelace.

She’s right, in a certain way, your inner-voice chimes in. Michael does want you.

But some bitter part of you wants to tell her, He wants you too. He wants you Wendy, and he is going to get you, and once he’s caught you you’re going to beg him and cry until the tears won’t come out anymore, and guess what Wendy? If you’re lucky he’ll kill you quick—and if you’re not, he’ll do it slowly. If you’re unlucky, Wendy, Michael will kill you over the course of many long months, and it will hurt far worse than that knife would have, because by then you won’t just fear him, Wendy, but you’ll love the sick evil bastard too, he’ll make sure of it—and when your time comes those tears won’t just be terror and fear, Wendy, they will also be the coldest, loneliest heartbreak.

You are so lost in your spiteful fantasy that it takes you a moment to realize the room has gone deathly quiet. As if Wendy’s suggestion is a cool and logical point and not-at-all the desperate petitioning of a girl terrified for her life. As if offering you up to Michael like a sacrificial lamb is a perfectly sane thing to do.

But no, it’s really happening—you can tell by just their stern and guilty faces that the people huddled around you are seriously considering it.

You speak up for yourself before they get to thinking too hard.

“Alright, maybe he does just want me” You tell Wendy. “But what if you’re wrong? What if I die, and he just keeps coming? Wanna know what happens then?”

Wendy sniffles. She makes a face like you’ve kicked her in the stomach. Her eyes scrunch up like she’s about to cry again. You don’t care.

“If I’m dead, and you’re wrong, then you’re gonna be next.”

Wendy makes a choked sound and now she’s crying again. She buries her head in her knees and her body heaves silently.

At your exchange, Diane shakes her head in frustration. She clambers out of Travis’ lap and rises to her feet like there’s a fire beneath her ass.

“Alright, come on, everyone up.”

An awkward moment passes where nobody moves. She snaps her fingers in a huffy way.

“Come on, I’m dead serious! We’re gonna tear out each other's throats if we stay here. We need a plan to get out.”

You gaze solemnly up at Diane, and some defeatist part of you says that it isn’t even worth trying. Michael will get what he wants. Michael always gets what he wants. It’s in his nature and he’s very good at it.

You clamber to your feet anyway, because Diane is right—wherever Michael is lurking in this vast, empty room, it is only a matter of time before he grows bored of watching.

And no matter how much your rational brain has accepted it, you do not want to die tonight.

One by one the others follow your lead, clambering languidly to their feet. Travis first, then Josh. Only Wendy doesn’t get up—from the bleachers, she murmurs that she can hear just fine from where she is.

You get to planning. It turns out that Travis is some kind of urban explorer, and he’s been to the school before. According to him the only exit (and entrance) that hasn’t been blocked off or boarded up over the years is the one they all came in through. The same exit that Michael drove you in through.

“That’s the way we gotta go.” Travis says to the huddle-up, like a football coach giving a pep-talk before the big game.

“We can get out of here—he’s just one guy right? I mean yeah, this is one sick motherfucker we’re dealing with, but he isn’t some boogeyman. Here, look.”

Travis bends, reaching for his hunting knife where it rests in his ankle holster, drawing it out, holding it in the air to enunciate his point.

“If he finds us, I’ll cut him. And then we just run and we don’t look back. Wend, come on. We can’t stay here.”

In your periphery you watch Wendy slowly untangle herself from her knees, rising off the step as though waking from an unsatisfying nap. She begins descending the steps.

Then she trips.

Her scream is jerked out of her as if yanked by a string. She topples in an instant, falling hard, the sharp clank of her head meeting the bleachers echoing in the vastness of the room.

Every head whips.

For a second it seems as though she’s only lost her balance. Then, every flashlight is trained on her like a spotlight. Your blood runs colder than ice water.

Beneath the bleachers looms a dark and imposing figure. The figure’s white face is ghastly in the harsh yellow beams.

Michael has been lurking beneath Wendy the entire time.

His dangerous hand penetrates the space in the steps, clamping like a vice around Wendy’s ankle, tugging with all his immense strength as Wendy screams and kicks at him, trying to pull her down through the gap. Wendy won’t fit.

She aims another frenzied kick at Michael’s hand. This time, the strong fingers are dislodged.

Wendy is on her feet again incredibly fast, pulling her leg out of the gap. She starts frantically down the bleachers, limping.

“Go!” Travis screams, at her, at everyone.

You go. It is a mad scramble for the far door. Travis half-carries Wendy, the two of them lagging behind.

You burst through the exit doors and Josh and Diane are in your wake. Behind you, Travis screams to hold it open, hold it open.

There is a single moment where you gaze back into the dark court and see The Shape approaching, cutting through the darkness like a ship gliding through water, utterly unstoppable.

Travis and Diane collapse through the doors. Immediately Diane swings them shut. She throws her body up against the wood.

“Hold them! Hold them!”

Everybody braces against the doors. The squeak of Michael’s bootsteps over the court booms thunderously, closer and closer, and then—

He kicks.

Your temple slams against the wood. The doors rattle horribly.

He kicks again. His force is explosive. Monstrous. Unbelievable. He does it again. And again. The onslaught does not stop or slow. Wendy screams. Josh is crying. Your combined weight won’t be enough—with every kick Michael is opening the door a few inches further.

Head whipping around, you scan the dark hallway frantically. When you see your saving grace you can hardly see it—the flashlights all hang in occupied hands—but squinting, you know that it is there and not some figment of your desperate imagination. Against the base of the opposite wall lies a thick slab of wood.

You scramble away from the door. Somewhere behind you Travis yells at you to “get your ass back here.” Plank in hand, you scramble back.

Michael kicks again. This time the doors open a little too wide, wide enough for his vicious hand to shoot through the gap. The hand closes around Josh’s hoodie and yanks him violently upward, sweeping him clean off his feet, into the air, effortless. Josh flails and screams.

Travis cries out and swipes at the hand with his knife.

The hand lets go, bloodied now, retreating through the gap again.

“Just a little longer!” You scream, and jam the plank through the handle bars. A tight fit.

Everybody scrambles away from the door. The thunderous kicking on the other side doesn’t slow—it picks up furiously, the doorframe trembling, the walls shuddering feverishly, and for a moment you are sure that Michael in his hideous strength is going to bring the very building down around you. You hold your breath.

But the plank holds dutifully. And the doors do not open another inch.

All at once, the kicking stops.

Everybody drinks in big gulps of air, and nobody moves for a while. Waiting for the dreadful moment when it all starts up again. Waiting for Michael to kick harder this time and deliver the final blow that will twist the doors clean off their hinges. Wendy makes little pained sounds from her heap against the wall. Josh whimpers and shakes like a leaf. Your hands are balled into white-knuckled fists.

...but the silence prevails. The kicking is over. Michael is gone.

Travis is the first to shake off the thick stupor.

“We have to move.” He says, gripping his knife. “He’s just coming around the back. We have to move.”

Wendy sobs in pain as Travis dips down and scoops her up beneath her armpit, dragging her hastily to her feet.

You run again—not alone this time, you think, but as a herd, a herd of terrified animals, barreling through the blackness as fast as Wendy’s injured ankle will allow.

Josh has a breakdown as you run.

“He was in there that whole time.” He keeps repeating, a skipping record-player. “That whole goddamned time, he was just watching us that whole goddamned time.”

“Stop it.” Travis pants between deep, gasping breaths. “Just stop it. I can’t take that anymore. He can’t catch up. We’re gonna be fine. As long as we just. Keep moving.”

All at once there is no more hallway. You’ve reached the end. You double over in a pant, planting your hands on your knees.

Travis was right—there is a door here. Diane shines her flashlight up at it, illuminating the glass pane, and through it you can see the hallway on the other side. Your eyes go wide in recognition.

There, beyond the door, down the hallway, you can see your car, and the pale moonlight filtering in. Your heart leaps into your throat. You can see the exit. Then, you look a little harder and your heart sinks again.

On the other side of the door a blockade of desks and chairs is piled high, a cruel barricade.

Travis shrugs Wendy onto her own two feet, who grimaces as her ankle grazes the floor. He lunges for the door handle, pulling back and forth savagely, as hard as he can.

There’s no give.

He pounds his flashlight hard against the glass in frustration.

“Fuck!” He shouts, his hot breath fogging over the glass. “Fuck! This wasn’t here last time! Fuck!”

“Are we stuck?” Wendy sobs.

“Most of the classrooms have two entrances, don’t they?” Diane asks. “There are open hallways on the other sides of all these rooms, right? Travis, isn’t that right? We can cross through one! They can’t all be blocked!”

Travis locks his hands together on top of his head, shaking it profusely.

“No, no. Most of the classrooms are locked up.”

“Wait.” Josh’s voice trembles, hoarse from crying. “Wait, I think I saw an open one.” He jerks his thumb into the blackness behind you.

“Back there.”

Josh is right; you saw it too. It was a blur, it happened so fast, but yes, you’re sure of it—one of the classrooms had been wide-open.

“You think?” Travis asks. “Or you know? Because “think” isn’t gonna cut it right now, man!”

“He’s right.” You interject. “I saw it too. It’s maybe three-hundred feet back.”

Travis looks from Josh to you. Then back at Josh.

“You guys are positive? Totally positive?”

Both of you nod.

“Okay. Okay, let’s move.”

Wendy, supporting herself against the wall, utters a thin little cry, as if the thought of that is too unbearable to even imagine.

“No! We can’t go back that way! He’s down that way!”

Travis ignores her as he scoops her up beneath her armpit again.

“Jesus Wendy, look around! We’re trapped if we stay here!”

Wendy blubbers in response, her face a red, snotty mess. But it is enough to get her moving.

Your dash back down the hallway is even madder. The flashlights swing about the hall, strobing in the dimness. Your lizard-brain screams obscenities at you as you run.

Predator this way, danger this way, wrong way, turn around, turn around!

You shove each and every one of them aside. Just run.

“There!” Diane yells, jamming a finger out in front of her. Twenty paces ahead, to the right of the corridor, sure enough, there it is.

One classroom door is wide open.

You reach it. Immediately you notice what you hadn’t in your dash up the corridor: the door isn’t just open, it’s ruined.

The shabby thing hangs uselessly on its hinges. The metal all around its frame is twisted and warped. A dreadful feeling settles like a suffocating blanket.

This isn’t right.

“Woah, careful.” Diane says, shining her flashlight into the room. Peering cautiously inside, you know in an instant that it’s some kind of science classroom. The black lab countertops are covered now in a thick blanket of dust. Chairs and upturned desks are strewn about the ground like warzone debris, their metal legs jutting out like bayonetts at every angle.

“Take it slow.”

Travis shuffles into the room first with Wendy attached at his hip, helping her step carefully around the minefield.

“Travis?” You ask after him in a breathy pant, still hovering at the edge of the room.

“What.” He says flatly, out of breath himself.

“All that shit blocking the door back there, none of that was here last time?”

“No, it wasn’t. Can we focus please?”

You ignore him, the gears in your head cranking.

“Okay, okay. So there’s only one hall that still leads to the exit? And it’s on the other side of this classroom?”

Travis has already crossed half the room. Josh and Diane follow close behind, trailing at his heels like ducklings.

“Yeah,” He calls back over his shoulder. “Look, I’ll tell you all you want about this place as soon as we’re ten goddamn miles away, now are you coming or not?”

No, this isn’t right. None of it is. The barricaded door is not right. The broken lock just isn’t right, dammit, it's too convenient. Too…

Oh. Oh. Ice water floods your gut.

It’s too deliberate.

The pieces fall into place.

This is Michael’s doing. All of it. He’s been to this building before. He’s been tampering with it.

This classroom is not a lucky break, not even close—it’s a choke-point. An ambush.

It’s a trap.

You open your mouth to scream. Travis and Wendy step through the doorway at the opposite side of the hall.

Out of the shadows, the black shape lunges.

You watch the ambush from the opposite side of the room, a useless, frozen statue.

Michael’s knife catches the beams of the flashlights and the gore there gleams. He swings it in a powerful arc through the air at Wendy. Denim rips harshly.

With a piercing scream Wendy falls forward into the hall. Travis sprawls backwards into the classroom, unbalanced himself, but springs up again like a cat, pulling his knife from his ankle-holster as he stands, lunging at Michael, swinging blindly.

Michael’s hand strikes faster than a cobra. He catches Travis by the wrist and shoves him with ghastly strength. Travis flies backwards, skidding on the floor, his head colliding with the nearest desk in a heavy thud.

Michael’s bloodied hand closes around the doorknob. He yanks down on it savagely. The knob strains for a moment—the metal around it whining and groaning—then snaps clean off. His red fingers grip the side of the door, and with a lunging step back into the hallway, he slams it shut behind him.

On the other side, Wendy screams hideously.

Travis is on his feet again now, scrabbling madly at the door, trying to pry his fingers between the metal frame to wedge it open. It won’t.

He pounds his fist hard on the glass and yells,

“Run Wendy! Just run!”

You watch through the glass as Wendy clambers painfully to her feet, limping away from Michael.

Michael, vanishing back into the blackness, takes the chase.

Travis begins a mad dash back out of the room. He leaps over table legs and pushes past you in a blitz, erupting into the hall.

“This way!” He screams behind him, already sprinting. “Come on!”

Josh and Diane lap at his heels. You follow orders as blindly as a soldier in a warzone.

Travis takes a sudden right, skidding around a corner. Then, windmilling his arms to stop his momentum, you see him screech to a halt. As you catch up, you can see why.

It’s an intersection.

“Which way?” Diane gasps, doubled-over in a pant.

Josh points his flashlight at the floor.

“Fuck. Oh fuck.”

You follow the light of his beam and see the blood, a shuddery trail of heavy droplets. Wendy’s.

Travis flicks his light down the corridor to your left. On the wall is a sign that reads “POOL” in big blue letters.

“Down here!”

Travis is off again, following alongside the bloody trail like a hound. Diane bounds after him.

Josh does not. He stands frozen in place, his chest heaving rapidly with lack of breath, gazing down the hall after the retreating figures. He glances at you. You make eye contact for a split-second.

Josh turns on his heel and starts sprinting away in the direction you just came. His footsteps get fainter. Then they are gone.

In an instant, you are alone again. All alone in the dark. Alone and rooted in place. Your feet won’t move.

Get out, says the lizard-brain. Get out now while he’s distracted, run back to your car, drive away into the night, keep driving for a long time, don’t ever look back, live in a new state, run away from him, survive, survive, survive.

A tightness blossoms in your throat. You feel about to cry again. You can’t leave; you couldn’t even if you wanted to. This place is a labyrinth in the dark and you do not have a flashlight. If you dash back into those barren halls, you will be blind again. Stumbling and helpless again. Easy prey.

Travis knows the building. Travis is your only chance at escape. Travis is your single hope of living to see the sun come up. The lizard-brain considers these possibilities, ignoring the defeatist chanting of your rational brain <no point all over Michael is going to kill you> turning them over and over, before demanding all at once that you un-stick your feet and dash after the lights bobbing down the hall.

Run, now. Before they fade into the black, gone. Run. Go.

You turn on your heel and run like hell.

For every ten limping strides she takes, Wendy’s next step is a stumble.

She sprawls on the floor and skins one knee bloody.

She gets up again, but oh God, her hip is on fire. Ahead of her is swallowing black nothingness and behind her is death. Every gulping wheezing breath sucks stale moldy air into her lungs but she’s too numbly frightened to care.

The pounding footsteps echo behind, and oh, please no, he’s still coming. Her body is strong and her legs are thick and powerful from a lifetime of athletics, but the pain, she can’t take it. The painful thudding in her ankle will not bear weight.

Why is he still walking? Why won’t he just catch up? She’s sure that he could if he wanted to.

Is this another game?

Now she sees a faint light up ahead, seeping through a door. She swerves left across the hall, falling as she leaves the support of the wall, crying sharply as she falls, picking herself up again in a flurry of arms and legs—she pushes through the doors.

Beyond them is a pool. A big bright moon dances on the surface of the stagnant black water. She looks up. There, she sees the stars. The building has a glass roof. She takes a gulp of air and gets a whiff of a dank, sour smell, so much worse than the hallway. Rancid.

Limping forward again, she moves quickly to the nearest door in the wall. Reaching the door, she yanks on the handle and steps through, and—

Oh, why her? What did she ever do to deserve this?

It’s not another room at all. It’s a stairwell.

Behind her, the doors clamor violently open. Her head whips around. At the sight of him, she is nearly frozen in place—that black looming silhouette, the hideous white face—this is a nightmare, Wendy thinks, it must be, because boogeymen aren’t real.

Doesn’t matter, the nightmare is getting closer. She shakes off her daze and begins to climb.

The stairs are steep and she winces hard at every slam of her foot down on the cement steps. Up one flight she goes, around the sharp bend, up another. Her busted ankle knocks against the cement which triggers an explosion of pain up her leg. Her hands are cold and clammy now, just as clammy as the railing. She is pulling herself more than climbing. Below her, she hears his boots on the steps, climbing after her.

She’s reached the top, and here is another door. She collapses through it.

She must have done something really terrible in a past life, she thinks, staring out at the space behind the door. She must have done something downright wicked to deserve this. God must be punishing her for it.

It’s just the stadium seating above the pool. Three meager rows of three bleachers and a rusty metal handrail. No other way down, except over the edge. She’s trapped herself.

Oh, but she has to keep moving. He’s coming up the last flight.

She huddles into the far corner and presses flat against the handrail. Leaning on the cold metal with her hip, it stings her bloodied skin like dry ice. She turns around, eyes rotating wildly, and watches the dark figure stepping out through the door.

Death stares her in the eyes, towering and faceless.

The Shape approaches.

Ten seconds behind Travis and Diane, you erupt into the pool building. Inside they stand fixed in their places, gawking up at some unseen thing.

Joining them, you see what they are gawking at. You gawk too.

Jutting out from the wall above the pool is a platform with rows of seats. Cowering at the far corner of that platform, gripping the railings, dread setting her face like a stiff, pale, gaping corpse, is Wendy.

Michael is closing in fast.

Travis and Diane scream at her to jump. Jump into the pool, they yell, in desperate chorus.

Wendy looks frantically over the railing—the drop must be thirty feet. But they are right; it is her only chance. Michael will be on top of her in seconds.

You watch in cold horror as Wendy scrambles desperately up the side of the railing, rising to a stand on the top bar, preparing to jump—

—she slips. Her foot slips on her own blood. The railing is covered in it.

Her hands fly open and snap shut again, grabbing at the air, scrabbling for purchase at nothing. Diane utters a sharp scream of surprise.

Wendy plummets like a stone; straight down to the cement.

The crack is sickening. You see a piece of bone erupt through her shin. Your jaw is slack and your eyes are round. Her wails are agony. She writhes on the cement and you can’t look away. You wait for Travis to go to her, to do something.

He doesn’t. He’s white as a sheet.

From the stadium above, Michael peers over the railing at Wendy. He watches her for a moment as if inhaling her fear. Devouring it. Then he turns, disappearing back down the stairwell.

He reappears at the bottom of the steps to stalk slowly toward Wendy.

Wendy sobs and screams as he approaches; she tries to crawl away from him, still trying to reach the pool. You can almost hear her fingernails scraping over the cement, the meaty squishing of her ruined leg dragging awkwardly, uselessly behind her.

You are about to see it, you realize all at once—you are about to witness with your own two eyes just what kind of monster Michael is.

Michael reaches Wendy and his shadow consumes her. Stooping down, he seizes Wendy by her hair and sweeps her with ghastly ease to her knees.

The world around you has melded into a dizzy haze and you feel like you are underwater. You can see—but not hear—that Wendy’s mouth is moving, begging and screaming. There is a grotesque moment where Michael lets her scream, and you think that the world has stopped turning and frozen on its axis. It is just Michael and Wendy, now; just the monster you despise and fear <and love and need>;

and the girl he is about to slaughter.

The world starts turning again as Michael plunges the knife through Wendy’s throat.

The steel erupts out her skin on the other side along with a geyser of blood. Wendy gurgles and bubbles, coughing, but not really, it can’t even be called that anymore; it is a wet meaty wheeze, a deathrattle.

The light is gone from her eyes as she falls limp.

Michael pushes the back of her head hard. He shoves her carelessly forward. She slides easily off his knife, collapsing. The red spreads quickly out around her on the cement.

Michael studies his kill. His shoulders rise and fall slowly, inhumanly steadily. Fresh glistening red drips off the tips of his fingers as easily as water.

Suddenly, he turns. His white visage peers across the room. Your heart pumps away in your throat at a hideous speed.

Michael is looking at you. Not at Travis. Not at Diane. You.

The mask is hideously penetrating, devouring. You watch him back and your mind is silent. Your body is paralyzed. You wait for something within you to change—perhaps for the hole in your chest, the hole that needs Michael, to knit suddenly shut. You wait, and drink in the evil staring back at you, the dark shape that looks human, but on some level is not.

There is no change.

With a broken, savage scream, Travis shatters the silence.

Michael’s head turns. When his eyes are gone from you, you start to breathe again. He seems to study Travis intently, observing the outburst as if transfixed, fascinated.

Almost contemplatively, Michael looks back down at Wendy’s body on the floor.

Then, lifting his boot, he wedges it beneath her side.

You look on in stunned silence as Michael kicks Wendy’s lifeless body over. Rolling her closer to the pool.

It is obvious to you what he is doing, bitterly obvious. You’ve been on the receiving end of that behavior more times than you can count. It is sport, yes; play, yes; but it is not just play. What Michael is doing is far, far more heartless, far more deliberately, calculatedly cruel—

—this is taunting.

This is rubbing salt in an open wound. This is pettiness for pettiness’ sake. Michael is taunting Travis like a schoolyard bully.

And Travis takes the bait hook, line and sinker.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HER! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU! DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING TOUCH HER!”

Deaf to his screams—or more likely saturating himself with them—Michael does it again. He shoves his boot beneath Wendy’s back this time, disgustingly gentle, as if she were a glass figurine, and flips her on her stomach. He flips her again, onto her back. Again, onto her stomach.

He rolls her to the lip of the pool, and Travis only rages harder.

Wendy’s body teeters on the cement ledge. Her arm flops limply down, wrist dangling in the murky water. Michael, planting his boot down on her side, lifts his head again. The awful white mask peers across the way at Travis—screaming, raging Travis—who shreds his voice raw with every spitty syllable.

With a final, lazy flick of his boot, Michael sends Wendy spilling over into the filthy water.

The body lands with a plop and a splash. It bobs for a moment, sinking then, slipping beneath the grime, gone, except for the ripples spreading out, disturbing the stagnant surface.

In Michael’s hideous stare, you can feel his wordless goading.

“Look; she made it.”

Travis collapses to a heap on his knees and beats the cement.

Michael watches intently. A shudder travels the length of your body—even without seeing his eyes, you know that look. It is vicious predatory amusement.

Then, all at once, as if compelled by some invisible force, Michael’s head whips around. Glancing over his shoulder, he goes rigidly still.

Your jaw clenches up tight. He’s heard something. He’s listening, picking up a fresh scent.

As if forgetting about Travis in an instant, Michael turns. You watch the dark figure stalk around the side of the pool, disappearing through the doors at the opposite end. Gone again.

Travis rages. He screams at Michael to come back, because he is going to kill him. He screams all sorts of obscenities and his voice has begun to crack. Diane watches, hugging herself tightly, crying without sound.

Eventually, his screaming peeters out. Travis falls into silence, spent.

Nobody moves for a while. You watch the ripples in the water until they stop. All is still and quiet again.

Diane looks up at you. Her cheeks are streaked with tears. She looks at you longer, and something changes in her eyes, some jarring realization; then, with huge and frightened eyes, she looks past you, out into the hall, and glances all around her.

“Travis?” She says, the panic rising in her voice.

“Where’s Josh?”

#michael myers #michael myers x reader #slashers #writing #horror #fanfiction #slasher x reader #halloween #end of the line

290 notes · View notes

blackypanther9 · 3 years

Text

Part 21 - Let's be real for a moment...

Your POV.....

I already was at Stark Tower. I waited 30 seconds more and Tony was flying next to me. We need to stop this machine before it opens the portal for the Chitauri. These brainless idiots can't even open a box, without shooting at it.... The Chitauri are a very strong group...but they don't own a brain for thinking. They can nothing but destroy. Loki got the most useless people of the whole Universe. They can't even speak ! Pathetic. We saw this... Selvig guy on the machine. Tony spoke....

"Shut it down, Mr. Selvig."

"It's too late ! It can't stop now. It wants to show us something ! ....a new Universe.", he said.

I snorted.

"You mean more, a new enemy with death. A new Universe is a whole new Timeline, idiot. What you mean is a new race of something. It's bullshit !", I said.

"You don't see, what we see..", Selvig said.

"Okay then...", Tony said.

He aimed....

"Stark DON'T !!!!", I yelled.

....and shot at the machine... A shield or something blocked it and threw a hard explosion around itself. The machine didn't even had a scratch. We flew backwards and Selvig got unconscious. I stared at Stark with a death glare and listened to JARVIS.

"The barrier is of pure energy. It's unreachable."

"Alright then...plan B.", Tony said.

Tony looked down and I followed his stare.

"Oh.....shit. Plan B is....what ? Kick Loki until he falls unconscious ? Heh...yeah...that won't work...", I said.

"Just trust me.", Tony said.

"Have a hard time to do something like that....sorry."

He landed on some weird platform. That thing took of his robot uniform. While he walks. Loki walked to the stairs.

"What are you doing ?", I asked.

"Trust me.", he said.

"Not until you tell me what the hell you think you're doing ! He can kill you, by just throwing you out of the window !"

"Just play our little game with."

I huffed and went with Tony inside. Loki was already and started babbling.

"Please tell me you're both going to appeal to my humanity."

"Uh...actually we're planning to threaten you."

I looked at Tony, then at Loki.

"You should have left your armor on for that.", Loki said amused.

"Yeah.", Tony said.

Tony walked with me down the stairs.

"It's seen a bit of mileage and you got the, uh, glow stick of destiny.", Tony answered.

Loki looked at his scepter in amusement.

"Would you like a drink ?", Tony asked Loki.

Loki still looked amused.

"Stalling me won't change anything.", Loki said.

Tony went to his bar of drinks. He turned to him and said...

"No, no, no. Threatening."

Tony turned to me.

"Do you want a drink...Lucie ?"

I nodded my head. Tony nodded and took a glass with something in it. He looked at Loki again.

"No drink ? Are you sure ? I and Lucie are having one."

He took two glasses. Loki looked outside and went to the window.

"The Chitauri are coming. Nothing will change that.", Loki said.

"Boah ! You are funny. Just because we ask you if you want a drink, doesn't mean we are friends now.", I said.

Loki looked at me.

"I wasn't finished, Mortal."

"I don't care, Frosty. The Chitauri are a bunch of losers. When will you see that ?"

"Liar. You played like you were Luciella first, but you are nobody. You are not her and you are just some stupid, ugly Mortal, who thinks that playing with a God is funny."

"I am not what you say. I know who I am. You don't ! So watch you Silver Tongue ! Or else..."

"What have I to fear ?", Loki asked me with a grin.

"The Avengers.", Tony answered.

Tony looked up at us, I smiled and Loki looked at him confused as fuck. Tony shrugged.

"That's what we call ourselves. We're sort of like a team. ' Earth's mightiest heroes'- type thing", he explained.

"When do I get my drink ?", I whined.

"Any second. Come here.", Tony answered.

I went to him and stood next to him. I looked at him with excitement. He filled the liquid into the second glass and gave it to me. I took a sip. Yummy.

"Yes, I've met them.", Loki said amused.

Tony and I smiled back.

"Yeah.", we both said.

"It takes us a while to get any traction, I'll give you that one. But let's do a head count here. Your Brother, the Demigod."

Loki looked away maybe...disgusted or more angry.... While Loki looked away, I saw Tony putting on some Wristbands.

"A super soldier, a living legend, who kinda of lives up to a legend. A man with breathtaking anger - management issues, a couple of master assassins, maybe a second demigod with more powers then Thor. And you, big fella,"

Tony pointed at Loki, who looked now really amused.

"you've managed to piss off every single one of them."

"That was the plan.", Loki said proud.

"Not a great plan. When they come, and they will, they'll come for you.", Tony told Loki.

I took another sip of my drink. Loki looked annoyed.

"I have an army.", he said.

"We have a Hulk.", we both said.

"I thought the beast had wandered off."

"You're missing the point. There is no throne. There is no version of this where you come out on top. Maybe your army comes and maybe it's too much for us, but it's all on you."

Loki looked at Tony, angry now.

"Because if we can't protect the Earth, you can be damn well sure we'll avenge it.", Tony added.

Tony and I took another sip of the drink. I drank it now empty. Loki walked to Tony dangerously closely. With a look, that would scare anybody, but not me and Tony.

"How will your friends have time for me, when they are so busy fighting you ?", Loki asked.

Loki raised his scepter, it glowed and blue magic danced around it. He touched with the top of the scepter Tony. .....nothing happened, just a cling was to hear. Loki lost his smile and tried again. ....Nothing. Loki looked at his scepter confused.

"This usually works..."

"Well, performance issues,", Tony grimaced and shrugged, "it's not uncommon."

Loki stared at Tony.

"One out of five -"

Loki grabbed Tony by his throat. He threw him on the ground, near the windows.

"TONY !", I screamed.

"JARVIS, anytime now.", Tony spoke.

Tony stood up and Loki grabbed him again by the throat.

"You will all fall before me.", Loki said.

"Deploy !", Tony called.

Loki lifted Tony up, still by the throat.

"Deploy !", Tony called again.

Loki threw him out of the window.

"TONY !!! NO !!", I screamed.

I heard a sound. I turned, Loki did also and Tony's Iron Man suit flew out. It hit Loki and flew out of the window in full speed. It was also more fixed. 30 seconds or so later and Tony was there again. Loki just stood up again.

"And there is one other person you pissed off. His name was Phil.", Tony told him.

Loki wanted to use the scepter and shoot at Tony, but Tony was faster and shot Loki. It hurts to see Loki get shot, but it's the only way to make him stop. Loki fell and lost the scepter. I felt something...bad happening. I saw a line of blue, reaching in the sky. The portal...it's open !

"Tony the portal !!!"

He looked up. The Chitauri came through the portal.

"Shit...", I cursed.

"Right. Army."

With that he flew away.

"And what about me ?! What are my orders ?! Babysitting the demigod, Lokster ?!", I screamed after Tony.

I saw the Chitauri shooting at Tony, but missing and Tony shooting and destroying the most of the Chitauri. I stared at Loki, who was smiling at me. I gave him my coldest death glare of the world. I went to him and slapped him across the face. Hard. He had a red mark and fell back to the ground groaning. He stared at me.

"What did you say, years before ? We are friends no matter what ? Guess what, you are wrong ! And what did I once say to you ? No matter who you are or what you do, I will always like you, no matter what ? Guess what again....I WAS A FOOL TO SAY THAT !", I screamed at him.

"You are not her ! Stop pretending that you were !", he yelled.

"Well, maybe you should turn on your God for saken brain and realize that it's me !!! It's my soul in another body you complete Moron !!! I grew in my exile too !! And you know what ?"

"What ?!"

"I am disappointed in you. Frigga and I hoped that you will find a way out, that you are fine and return to us. We BELIEVED in you ! We both cried over you ! Thor didn't do much anymore and Odin looked more shitty then you can imagine ! And now...look at you ! The oh so mighty depressed demigod, Loki destroys his chance of getting hugs and 'I missed you'-s ! I really was worried, you know ?! I was afraid he killed you !! Instead I see this thing here before me ! I can't even call you a person anymore ! You were my best friend and always knew what is right and what is wrong ! You always found a way out ! And now ?! MY Loki is gone, right ?! Did you forgot what you said ?! You never wanted the throne, you only wanted to be Thor's equal !"

Loki stared at me.

"You...are really....here ? You...you...are against me ?"

"I- Loki look around ! Of course I am now against you ! You are destroying New York !! You tell bullshit about 'The Tesseract opened my eyes and horizon.' ! What the fuck Loks ?! He is using you, like in Asgard Thor's friends do !! Wake up Loverboy ! This is another illusion, a lie he is feeding you !! I know him better than you do ! He won't keep his promise ! He just wants you to fulfill 2 tasks and both aren't your business !! They never were ! But you don't see it anymore !! He fooled the God of fricking Mischief and Lies !! Who are you again ?! The God of foolness ?! The God of 'I am too stupid to see a trap, even if it's right in front of my eyes' ?! You messed up, Loki !!!"

I had tears in my eyes and some ran down my cheeks.

"I was worried sick ! I always tried to contact you again, but it didn't work !! I just could wait and hope to God that you are fine and I will see you again !! Now I see you here, but as an murderer !! Tell me how am I carrying the fucking consequences for you ?! I loved you as a friend !! I- I saw you as a big brother ! I- !!"

I looked at him. He stared at me, with an apologetic look on his face. My tears streamed down like waterfalls. He came closer while I talked, I backed away. I looked behind me and....jumped down. I jumped out of the window and flew. I looked at him one last time.

"You don't even care. Why did I tell you this ? You don't even care..."

He wanted to say something, but I already flew away and into the fight.

'I am sorry...' - Loki

'I hate you. Get out of my head.'- You

'He really messed up.' - Heiko

'Can I kill him ?' - Ratchel

'No. Asgard will punish him.' - You

'Can I hurt him at least ?' - Ratchel

'Maybe. Darko is out for a few days...Mimi ?' - You

'Yeah ?' - Mimi

'Stop hurting my heart. Crying won't solve anything.' - You

'I-I try...' - Mimi

'Thanks.' - You

'Let's kill some dumb Chitauri.' - Ratchel and Heiko

Part 22

Masterlist with all Chapters of this Story click here !

#Loki Laufeyson #Loki Odinson #Marvel #Thor #Loki x Reader

6 notes · View notes

inorganicone2230 · 4 years

Text

Time and Time Again (Prologue) 1930′s Yandere!Overhaul x Fem!Reader

Part 1

Summary: An accident that should have killed you has instead left you stranded decades in the past with no apparent way to get home. You are saved and offered assistance by Kai Chisaki, a charming young man at the head of a powerful yakuza organization, who oddly enough believes your story. But Kai seems to have more on his mind concerning you than simply lending a helping hand, and as the days turn into weeks, you begin to wonder if he’s ever going to let you leave.

Warnings: None for this chapter. Warnings and tags will be updated as the chapters progress.

Side Note: I do NOT and never will condone the actions committed in this and future chapters, please be mindful and respectful of the fact that all of this is purely fiction.

And as always, I want to give a BIG thank you to my amazing friend @talpup for all the brainstorming and encouragement on these stories! I’m sure I would have given up on this blog a while ago if it wasn’t for all of their help. I highly encourage anyone who takes the time to read this to go over to their page or their AO3 account under the same name and check out their works, especially Chaos and Erase The Shadow. They are two of my favorite BNHA fics of ALL TIME!

There were both pros and cons to living so far up in the wooded mountains, secluded away from any and all people most of the time. There was the wonderful feeling of freedom that came with not having to worry about the goings on of civilization and the people that went along with it, but there was also a sense of isolation that caused the stirrings of cabin fever every now and then that forced you to make a run into town for groceries and other such necessities to avoid going completely stir crazy.

Living off of a modest inheritance left to you by your deceased grandmother as well as living in the cabin she left you, combined with your gig as a freelance nature photographer allowed you to live the kind of quiet life you’d always wanted and there was very little you cared to change about it. The only time living in the refurbished cabin became a hassle was when winter would roll around and you’d have to start planning for your long months of isolation, like right now for instance, but you've been doing it for a few years so far and by now it felt less like a hectic scramble and more like a chore.

Some people had spring cleaning every year, well, you had winter prep. The roads were practically inaccessible once the snow started falling and even when they were cleared of it, they were still so icy that you wouldn’t want to chance driving on them unless the situation was a life or death emergency, so making sure you were well stocked up on whatever you may need over the coming months was a must.

Plenty of non-perishable food in the pantry and deep freeze along with other household/medical necessities? Check.

Lots of wood for the stove and fuel for the generator? Check.

Winter clothes and snow clearing equipment all pulled out of storage? Check.

“Alrighty, I think that’s everything!” You cheered, happy to finally be done with that tiresome chore.

There really wasn’t much else left to do after making sure all of that was done. Now it was just a waiting game to see when the snow would finally start falling. For the time being though, the mountain was still wrapped in the colors of fall, with rustling leaves in different shades of orange and red littering the forest floor to create an almost hypnotic sound as you walked the trails you knew like the back of your hand and you felt like today would be the perfect time to go out and snap a few pictures of the shifting seasons.

The nature blog you ran was starting to get a lot of traffic and editors from different magazines and other such places were beginning to take notice of you, allowing you to make a fair amount of money by selling your photos off to them, and since you worked independently and weren’t contracted with anyone, it also allowed you to sell to multiple different buyers, thus garnering you a few more payments then usual.

Photography had always been a passion of yours and you were very happy that it was now your career of choice and you could make a living doing what you loved. You had originally only intended to stay in this cabin for a year or two, just long enough to save up some money to purchase an apartment and a photography studio in the city, but the more time you spent in the quiet of the woods made you appreciate just how much the undisturbed solitude meant to you. Now, five years later, you were more than happy to call the quaint little place your forever home.

Bundled up in some warm clothes and a pair of stylish hiking boots, you left the cabin, locking the door behind you just in case. It was a beautiful day out, with endless blue skies and streams of sunlight shining through the shedding tree as you walked the trails near your home. You would stop every few minutes to take a picture in the right light, sometimes even catching a few of the woodland critters in your shots. There was a particular raccoon with a scar across his nose that you recognized as being the one that likes to hang out in your shed during the coldest part of the winter, he was so comfortable around you that he would sometimes even eat out of your hand and let you pet him.

You had been walking for the better part of an hour now, the makeshift trail gradually getting less noticeable as you continued along it. You had an extensive knowledge of the area, but you rarely ever left the trails or walkways through the trees to avoid getting lost, but just as you were contemplating turning around and heading home for the day, you spotted something that you hadn’t ever noticed before. There was a gap between two large lilac bushes, and through said gap was an overgrown pathway that led further into the canopy of trees. You had never noticed it before, most likely because of how narrow and and tightly woven into the trees it was, a deer or bear must have walked through at some point, splitting open the space between the tangled foliage and revealing the path.

You debated with yourself for a moment on whether or not you should follow it to see where it led, and in the end, your curiosity and the desire to get some shots of this new area got the best of you. Besides, it was still early in the day and the sun wouldn’t be setting for at least another five or six hours, you had plenty of time to walk the fading trail and still make it back before it got dark out.

With your mind made up, you began to walk, making extra certain that you were paying attention and not wondering off the path. It really was overgrown with grass and other debris, sometimes almost seeming to disappear and end all together. The last thing you wanted was to accidentally get yourself lost because you failed to take proper note of your surroundings.

You had been walking for a good hour by this point and had managed to get a lot of really good pictures though, the area was lovely and you couldn’t wait until spring/summer rolled around again so you could get shots of all the little fields filled with patches of wildflowers. You always got so distracted behind the camera, and because of that, you almost missed the faint sound of rushing water nearby. Curiously following the sound, you eventually found where the hidden trail led too.

Stepping out of the tree line, you realized that the path ended at the top of a cliff overlooking a small valley and a 100ft drop into a raging river. It was a gorgeous view, the forest below stretching out for miles in all directions and bathed in the colors of autumn as you took a step closer towards the edge to get a few shots. Heights had never been much of an issue for you, so you figured that as long as you didn’t get too close to the edge then you should be in the clear.

The sound of the water was like the perfect white noise and a gentle but chilled breeze blew through the air and you knew that you would have to come back here once the weather warmed up again. It would be the perfect spot to set up a blanket on a nice day and read a book or sort through the pictures you would send off to magazines and other buyers.

Satisfied that you now had enough material to last you at least a few weeks until the seasonal change shifted to winter, you turned away from the breathtaking view to head back the way you had come but stopped short when you heard a bone chilling sound.

Crack…

Before you had time to react, the ledge you were standing on crumbled and split from the rest of the cliff, sending you falling down towards the foaming waters of the river, your scream lost to the solitude of the mountain as you quickly lost conscience.

Not a whole lot of excitement in this one, but I promise, our golden eyed hunk will make his appearance in the next chapter! You can find the link up-top under the title.

#yandere!overhaul #yandere!overhaul x reader #kai chisaki #kai chisaki x reader #fem!reader #reader insert #1930's au #time travel #no quirks au #yakuza #the beginnings of yandere behavior #typical yandere behavior #yandere bnha

73 notes · View notes