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dreamersbcll · 7 months

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The Nothing After Death

a scream x the haunting of hill house au

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Being the eldest child, Sam always knew a few things.

That, no matter what, she was the protector of her sister. Even when scared or tired, she was still the watchful eye, the secondary caretaker. The older one always ensured the younger one was alive and well.

Sam was no stranger to this. But it wasn't easy when she and her sister were so different. Both struggled with their past and fought in the present, but the depression and manic swings Tara went through were one of the starkest differences between the top.

She doesn’t quite know if it’s because she’s the eldest or just the most aware, but Sam has her differences from Tara. Some called it a feeling, some called it a gift, but to her, it would always be her mother’s definition.

Heightened Sensitivity. That’s what her mother called it, anyway. Supposedly, Sam got it from her grandmother, who passed it to her mom, who passed it to Sam. That’s what her mother said after Sam made the mistake of touching her.

In reality, what Sam feels when she touches any object or person is empathy. She calls it her ‘little doorway into the soul’ when she’s feeling cheerful, but most of the time, it is a ‘little window to hell.’ Around the fifth moment of terror, Sam starts to realize that she picks up on the emotions of other people and things as if it was her own emotions.

At first, it’s a gift.

(She thinks it’s a gift anyway after the night she drunkenly speaks of it to her latest midnight friend).

She can excel in life- or, in her field of study, she should say- by having a cheat code into other people's heads. In undergrad, she picked Psychology as a major. She will bring it to the grace that it was to be the best psychologist ever, but really, it was just to understand her family better and dissect her past.

And it goes well. She gets her masters, and gets a job at a powerful child psychology team that will stop at nothing to help the kids they see. If Sam was honest, she wasn’t very sure about working with kids. She wanted to see adults, but after the first session with a sexually abused six-year-old named Felix, Sam understands. She understands that her gift was a tool to help kids, to help the little kids that remind her so much of Tara and her. Sam then makes it her mission to help kids who need someone to stand up for them.

It was going well. Sam hadn’t met a kid she couldn’t help. One handshake, or hug, or high fives, and Sam knew how to help. Sure, she felt guilty at times for, in a way, invading these kids' emotions, but to see them get the help they were dying for made it all worth it. She develops a routine, work, dinner, club, and one-night stand. It was going so well.

Then, her little sister starts calling again.

Sam never truly knew what was up with her little sister. Tara Carpenter was once a bubbly child. If Sam closed her eyes and focused hard enough, she could still see big brown eyes staring up at her, asking if Sam would play tea party with her.

Sometimes, Sam finds herself negotiating with her baby sister- Maybe we can play outside instead?

But Tara doesn’t respond.

After, well, that night, Tara morphed into a peculiar child. Once the media circus started and their mother’s obituary was finalized, Tara was different. She was withdrawn, soft-spoken, and a little too brooding for her good. Gone were the days of games and dances; now, there was just a shell of a little six-year-old that sometimes followed Sam around.

There was only so much Sam could do between holding herself together and trying to deal with their incompetent father. It wasn’t all her fault. Her gift was more sensitive, and she was falling, too. How was she expected to protect Tara if she couldn’t protect herself?

So Sam lost Tara. Her little sister drifted, too far away to touch but close enough to feel her presence, her shadows. Tara stopped living in Sam’s life, only lingering. She ghosted through Sam’s apartment and place of work from time to time but is only truly present in her own head.

And then came Arthur Vance—sweet, kind, and patient. He was always loving Tara despite her flaws, always keeping her afloat. From the times' Tara brings Arthur around to her home, Sam could instantly sense that this was the one.

Sometimes, she closes her eyes and relives the wedding that took away the one physical thing that made Tara Sam’s.

——-

Tara Vance.

That was a strange thought. No longer a Carpenter, but something else. Something that wasn’t connected to Sam.

Even throughout her latest wedding hookup, she couldn’t get it out of her mind. She was still thinking of the broken connection when she exited the bedroom.

(In her defense, the Maid of Honor came up to her. Who was she to refuse?)

Instead of making her way to the reception area, she bumps straight into her little sister. Tara, all dolled up in her pretty white dress, looked shocked as Sam bumped into her.

Big brown, shocked eyes met Sam’s panicked ones, and neither moved for a second.

“Uh? What?” Sam asks, trying to sound nonchalant about the whole thing.

(Who sleeps with their little sister’s Maid of Honor anyways?)

She braces herself for the rejection, the final severed cord between the two. Sam believes that she can handle a new last name for Tara, but homophobic disgust wouldn’t fly. She straightens up, sets her jaw, and breaths out steadily.

Instead, Tara’s grin is wide enough to swallow Sam up whole. Her little sister opens her arms, squealing a bit. Shocked, Sam lets herself be hugged by her gorgeous (and confusing) little sister.

Tara’s voice rumbled against Sam’s shoulder, her height still permanently stuck in sixth grade.

“I love you so much, Sam,” she whispered, gripping Sam like she was six years old and scared of the dark again.

Everything in Sam screamed to let go, not to touch. The skin on skin was bad, and though Sam wore sweaty gloves, she could still feel her anxiety of being assaulted with emotions ramping up. She needed to let go.

But she didn’t. She let herself be held and comforted. She wasn’t ashamed of her sexuality, but she couldn’t deny the fear of being too open with people she didn’t honestly know. Yet her little sister loved and accepted her no matter what, even through their years of turmoil.

So Sam hugs her back, squeezing her tight. She protects her little sister from the monsters of her wedding day and holds her hand all the way to the reception area.

And Tara doesn’t let go until Sam does first.

——

That’s the last time Sam remembers touching Tara before today. A little over two years ago, Tara was alive and gripping onto her shoulders like her life depended on it.

Now Tara lay dead on the examining table, a sheet pulled up to her chest, her pale eyes closed. Sam doesn’t remember if Tara actually looks like that or if that was all due to the makeup they had caked on. Tara isn’t smiling or even brooding. She’s dead.

She's dead and Sam doesn’t know why. The cause of death was officially ruled a suicide. But Sam can’t accept that. She needs to know why. She needs to understand.

Tara had been struggling for years. Depression was a ribbon that lived in Tara, always twisted around her organs and squeezing her brain. Sam knew that Tara struggled with it and often couldn’t function like she could. Sam also knew it was a side effect of their traumatic childhood, but it was also genetic and came from their mother. But Tara had never attempted before.

Why now?

The authorities tell her they’ll never know. They’ll say that this happens to those struggling and that Sam has to be at peace with not knowing.

And Sam can’t handle that. She can’t handle not knowing why Tara decided to end it.

So, on the nights leading up to the funeral, Sam finds herself breaking into the room where Tara’s little dead body lied on the table. She didn’t really know what she expected, maybe a sheet covering her face, but she was glad the body was covered. She couldn’t handle seeing the damage her little sister caused to her own body.

Sam breathed deeply, closing her eyes. She removes her gloves and hovers her hand over Tara’s forehead. She tries to listen for her sister, tries to hear Tara say her name. Sam. I’m here, Sam. But she doesn’t hear anything.

As she lays her hand down on Tara’s forehead, she braces herself for images of death, the fall pout, the gushing blood, and the snapping of bones.

But she doesn’t expect The Nothing. She doesn’t expect her mind and emotions to shut down, her worldview instantly dull. There was no warning for the curtains being drawn. Nothing had meaning anymore. There was no value in life. It was all pointless. She was worthless. There was nothing when she died. There’s no next step or next place. There is only cold and empty.

Nothing.

Sam rips her hand from Tara’s head, scrambling backward. She trips and falls into a table, her head smacking into the side. It doesn’t matter.

A blood-tingling, organ-shredding guttural scream leaves her mouth. The sound makes her cry, tears her hair out of her head, yanks her teeth out of her mouth. It was painful. It should be painful. She was involuntarily putting everything into it.

But she doesn’t feel a fucking thing.

And she understands why Tara kills herself.

#scream #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #carpenter sisters #new au!!!!#AU: Cup Of Stars #nell crain #theo crain #haunting of hill house x scream

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goryhorroor · 7 months

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day 17 of horror: the screams of horror

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multimuseficreblogs · 7 months

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i have reached 900 lovely readers so i’ve decided to do a poll in light of this. this is a little late to be halloween themed but i figured we can binge read together the night before halloween. that being said, this is only going to be open for 24 hours and i will get started on the reblogs asap.

side note #1: these may not be everyone’s cup of tea who already follows me (specifically the slashers/horror) so i will put unique tags with said fic reblogs (which are listed below) so you can block the tags. there will be a lot more reblogs than usual at once as i want to get these out to you as soon as possible so if you don't want to see them all, block the tags i've listed below. side note #2: be mindful of your own triggers with these!! these ones include very heavy topics including violence, blood/gore, cannibalism, torture, smut with serial killers/paranormal entities, non-con, murder, ect. some of these fics may not have proper warnings listed so just be mindful of this!

tags to block #halloween binge - for all the fic recs i will be reblogging over today/tomorrow/the 31st (there will be a LOT) #slashers - for all the slasher fic recs #zombies - for all the zombie fic recs #paranormal - for all the paranormal fic recs

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ahsgotham · 1 year

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somebody had requested a masterlist but i lost my draft as a response for it, so i’m gonna write it out here and hope they say it. these are my main interests and what characters i’ll write for, there are still tons of things not mentioned i’ll write for (such as, i’ll still write for ahs and gotham.)

i primarily write smut now, which is why i post on ao3 more, but i’ll still write sweet stuff, sad stuff, etc.

DEXTER

- dexter morgan

- debra morgan

- joey quinn

- angel batista

- rita bennett

- brian moser

- miguel prado

- travis marshall

- oliver saxon

PENNY DREADFUL

- ethan chandler

- vanessa ives

- sir malcolm murray

- dorian gray

- victor frankenstein

- brona croft

i’ve only seen up to the end of s1 so far, but i will write for dracula and jekyll in the future <3

PREACHER

- jesse custer

- tulip o’hare

- proinsias cassidy

- eccarius

- jesus

AMERICAN GODS

- shadow moon

- laura moon

- mad sweeney

- bilquis

- mr world

- tech boy

- mr wednesday

STAR WARS

- originals (han solo, luke skywalker, leia organa, boba fett, lando calrissian, darth vader)

- prequels (anakin skywalker, obi-wan kenobi, padmé amidala, bail organa)

- sequels (finn, poe dameron, general hux, rey skywalker, han solo, d.j.)

- stand-alones (cassian andor, bodhi rook, han solo, lando calrissian)

- shows (din djarin, cobb vanth, cassian andor, syril karn, obi-wan kenobi)

HORROR

for these ones there’s too many characters i’d write for to list off, so just request someone and see if i’ll write them. if not i’ll tell you.

- the scream films

- the final destination films

- the evil dead films/ash vs evil dead

- interview with the vampire (1994/2022)

- fright night (2011)

- twin peaks

- the mike flanagan-verse

HBO SHOWS

same deal as horror, rq someone and i’ll let you know

- true blood

- boardwalk empire

- six feet under

- the righteous gemstones

- band of brothers

- the sopranos

- succession

- veep

- true detective (only seen s1 so far)

MISCELLANEOUS

- anything i’ve written for previously

- sons of anarchy

- the magic mike films

- you (tv show)

- the top gun films

- scoot mcnairy characters

- mozart in the jungle

- ray donovan

- workaholics

i’m sure i’m forgetting some things, but here you go !! <3 rq and i’ll get to it. some things i might post on my ao3, ianmckinley.

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texaschainsawmascara · 1 year

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for the ones who don’t have great sibling relationships all those other posts talk about

Clive Baker / Succession / Joshua A. Krisch / Cain Kills Abel / Natalie Diaz / Shameless / Richard Siken / Sharp Objects x / Jenny Han / The Other Boleyn Girl / Jane Mersky Leder / The Haunting of Hill House x / Succession x2 / Silver Linings Playbook / Boy Meets World / Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 / Ginger Snaps / Scream 4

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possession · 1 year

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Psycho (1960) The Shining (1980) Possession (1981) Twin Peaks: Beyond Life and Death (1991) Scream (1996) I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997) Hereditary (2018) The Haunting of Hill House: Steven Sees a Ghost (2018) X (2022) Pearl (2022)

SCREAM QUEENS IN FILMS AND TV SHOWS

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catfern · 7 months

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1 MILLION SUBSCRIBERS SPECIAL

pairing: ghost hunter!ellie x afab!reader (feminine pronouns used)

music: eyes without a face - billy idol

word count: 2.3k

summary: ghost hunter!ellie needs a new assistant to help film her 1 million subscribers special in a supposedly 'haunted house'. good thing you'll do anything she says.

warnings: SEXTAPE, oral (r!receiving) fingering (r!receiving), ghosts? spooky business, ellie is a shitty clickbait youtuber

an: heyyy this came to me in a dream. nothing much else to say. get ready to fuck dirty while ghosts watch idk. this is probably gonna be my only halloween fic while we're still in october. got some other ideas tho so get ready for a spooky november

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“come on! come on! it’ll be fun! something memorable on halloween.”

“jesus, ellie, you know I don’t believe in that shit.”

it’s a coy laugh. your fingers dance over your phone, unsure what to do. you didn’t believe her when she jumped and screamed, bolstering about her 1 millionth subscriber.

‘The Ghost Detective.’ her youtube profile was almost as shoddy as her Mr. Beast-esque clickbait video titles.

“then it doesn’t matter!” she had a hold on your forearm, intermittent squeezing begging you to fold, “please? the last girl I had thought her dead mom was talking to her and ran off.”

she had an almost pitiful look in her eyes, her eyebrows screwed together as she pleaded.

fucking hell. you were convinced if you hadn’t met ellie, hadn’t started falling behind her like an obedient dog, you’d actually submit most of your assignments on time.

“fine.”

it wasn’t that your tiny town was particularly superstitious, or religious, or any other ‘-itious’, but it was in unspoken agreement that there was something inexplicable here, on the hill that looked over the lights of the suburbs. a decaying prairie protrusion built god-knows-when, the moon shone high in its fullness through the rotting foundations, casting its shadows over the dead grass, falling at your feet with the cool of the wind.

the whisper in her voice ran up your spine, “gettin’ scared yet?”

ellie seemed all too giddy to be here, a wicked smile and a laugh in her throat. her hair was pulled back from her face, and you could lightly see the ghost of freckles across her cheek in the night.

“what? no, no. i’m just tired.”

“right,” she was poking fun, the words dripping from her lips like electricity. she dumped her arms-full of equipment in your arms with a huff, before digging around in her backpack. “here,” cold metal in your hand as she took back her stuff. redbull, “we’re gonna be here all night.”

you don’t know how she did it. even as a certified non-believer, the engulfing emptiness of the house, the darkness that settled in the cracks and corners caught up with you, something unsettling pricking the hairs on the back of your neck.

but here she was. she brought a lawn chair from home, said it was her dad’s. equipped with the built-in beer holder and everything, she was relaxed. her elbows settled on her knees, her hands fallen limp in the space between her legs. she had something in her eyes, a glint. something determined, charming as she stared you down. well, the camera.

but you were staring at her right back. memorising what little detail echoed through the lens of the shitty 2008 sony camcorder.

she said it was for the ‘found footage look’. you know it’s just because she’s broke.

“now, legend has it, ladies and gentlemen, that the last owners of this iconic hillside property were satan .. worshippers. and that this house, this very house that i’m sitting in right now, is actually an active portal. to. hell.”

you’ve gotta give it to her. she had a talent for drama.

“i’ll just point to you when i need you to do like, i dunno, a little camera pan or something, yeah?”

ellie was explaining it to you like you hadn’t just been at home binge-watching her channel for the past few days, meticulous research, you called it. to make sure you did a good job as her assistant. not like the blur of her messy hair and her face in the ghoulish green light of the night vision camera did anything to you.

you knew her video structure. front room first, then five minutes in a spooky hallway, then some time left to freak out in one of the bedrooms, find an old haunted toy that definitely wasn’t planted, and then a quick exit with a lot of swearing, screaming and camera shaking.

“right, you ready?”

you nod.

the front room was, unsurprisingly, boring, although ellie put on her best shiver-me-timbers face, as she calls it. something for the fans.

but when you got back into the hallway, something in the air had changed. you looked to ellie, and you couldn’t tell if what she felt was real, or fake. she just kept looking at you through the camera, the same dramatised ‘concern’ written all over her face.

everything ellie does is scripted. fake.

if there was something wrong, truly wrong, here, you would leave, right?

the feeling was violently oppressive, pushing down on you. run, run, run. a gush of something ran across the back of your neck.

“fuck! what was that? did you feel that?”

“hey, hey,” the sudden normalness of her voice felt misplaced, “just keep the camera on me, okay? eyes on me.”

you could barely see her fucking eyes. the imposing and suffocating darkness of the house seemed to wrap around you horribly tight, the only thing keeping you tethered to your sense of sanity was the sound of ellie’s breath, so close you could feel it wisp around your cheekbone, warm and inviting. the only comfort fighting the cold in the air.

slowly, your sight adjusts to the dark, and you could barely make out the outline of her face in the dim light of the moon. she was watching you, her eyes lidded, flickering over the shadow of your body. your own breath was quick, adrenaline laced, something sore and deep. you feel a slight graze against your arm and you jump, ellie catching your shoulders in her arms, pushing you upright,

“careful, it’s just me,”

there’s a closeness now, a beat. her grip is strong as it soothes the shaking, the fear, the absolute buzz that you’re convinced is the only thing keeping you alive. you quickly become obsessed with the design of her, you’ve never been this close. suddenly, you recognise the way her hair falls on her face, the look in her eyes, the shine as she looks at you. she clears her throat, and her hands drop, coarsely, from your shoulders,

“come on, you’re alright. let’s keep going.”

yeah, yeah. you fumble your hand back through the strap of the camera, a slight twitch in your hand as you press record,

“fucking hell,” her voice was raspy, deep, a soft but commanding whisper, “the spirits sure are stirred up here… i wonder what happened.”

stay close to me. it’s barely a breath, something not meant to be heard, but her voice is luring, and you nod.

your footsteps were a heavy echo against the aging wood floor, the creaks spreading through the house like a warning. to you, or to others, you don’t know.

the bedroom wasn’t far. you had to hike up a flight of decaying steps, but as ellie talked to the camera, she held a hand firm on your back. she wouldn’t let you fall.

the room obviously belonged to some kids, however long ago. abandoned toys and rotted posters littered the floor, and it almost felt painful to see the life that was once in this house. but why did they leave everything here? kids drawings, toys, a closet full of half-eaten, moth-ridden clothes.

what made them just get up and leave?

wind rattled against the window, it felt like it was rocking the house. something was uneasy here, unnerving. you tried to focus your thoughts on ellie, her dramatic storytelling and perfectly practiced ‘scared’ body language, but there was something here. and it was watching.

one final gust of wind surged against the rocky foundations of the house, and the closet doors flung open, an old wooden puppet flying out to your feet.

you were never a screamer, never. which is why, when you heard a blood-curdling shriek rush through the house, it felt like an out of body experience. something foreign. you fell back and tripped over your own feet, desperate to put as much distance between you and whatever was in this house as possible.

luckily, ellie’s fear is fabricated. she’s quick to respond, stepping in to steady you with kind hands and a charming smile. your heart rate was so intense, it rocked the both of you, chest to back, intertwined something fierce. your breath settles against her chest, and you meet her eye,

“thought you didn’t get scared,” she was being a tease. her hands ghosting over your body gently, carefully, thinly veiled under the guise of simply holding you, caring for you, she was keeping you safe. it was a little self-indulgent.

“i’m not,” you steel yourself, stubborn girl, although a soft laugh bubbles in your throat. there’s something unreal about the steady feeling of ellie’s hands, the roughness of her palms pushing through your clothing. you turn, and she’s smiling, the glint of her teeth in the soft light, mischief an echo on her face. her voice was low as she leaned in, tickles of her hair just brushing the apple of your cheekbone,

“really, baby? i don’t think you would even still be here if it wasn’t for me.”

“you think i’m here for you?” she’s so close you can feel your breath swirl with hers, heat brushing down your jaw and dripping onto your neck. her grip on your waist anchors, and you feel her settle in the crooks of your body, the corners of your skin, like she’s home. she’s looking at you, something jokingly fierce, but unsure, and her gaze falls on your lips,

“mhm,”

you’d think she’d been starved. restless, choked breaths fall between you in gaps as she pulls you in, heavy, her lips on yours in fervour. her hands are everywhere, tracing themselves in your hair, down your neck, feeling their way blindly along the softness of your skin. god.

her lips draw from yours, dragging a mix of spit and lip gloss down your chin, along the ridge of your neck, a trail glistening in the edging darkness.

“fuck, ellie.”

you barely register the weight lifting from your hand, only a visceral whine as she pulls from you, walking a safe distance to gently place the camera down, out of the way.

ellie finds herself back in the crook of her neck, dragging your skin through her teeth, soft groans rumbling from her throat as her hands pull their way down to the waistband of your skirt,

a skirt? really?

had you planned this?

“come on, sweetheart,” she’s barely audible against your skin, vibrations dripping down your torso as her hands dive under your shirt, lifting it to bounce above your tits, “that’s it.”

her palm cups the base of your tit, dragging soft moans from your pretty lips as she squeezes.

under her breath, she’s praying. vulgar, tenacious, she can’t control herself, lost in the dream of your body as she presses you against a wall she hopes won’t collapse.

fuck-god, fuck, jesus, baby.

if you’re who she’s praying to, it falls on deaf ears. you’re no god, you can’t help her, but fuck, she feels like she could worship you. properly, forever, falling to her knees and cupping her palms behind your thighs, it’s like she’s pleading,

“can i?” she’s soft, her cheek resting on the inside of your thigh, you’re her altar, “god, say yes.”

her nose just graces the wetness of your underwear and you flinch, “yes! ellie, f-fuck-please.”

she loops her pointer fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your thighs, almost too rough. she loses herself in the heat, the slick dripping from your pussy.

heat poured over your body like molten gold, the feeling of her tongue inside you, raw, animalistic, sending pulses sliding up the ridges of your skin. she hums against your clit, her hand coming down to pull your velvet slick from the rim of her lips.

you convulse, clenching around the encroaching absence of a feeling, of something you didn’t know you needed.

her.

“fucking hell, sweet girl,” deep, ragged breaths shadow your thighs. she needs air, but its not like she wants it. fuck, she wants you, she needs you. your taste on her tongue is metallic, a memory she’s chasing like a quick withdrawal. her tongue finds your clit and presses, a murmur leaving her drowning lips and echoing through your veins as you moan, desperation clawing through your hands and in ellie’s hair, binding.

“please, el-f-shit, i need you. i need to feel you, fuck!”

you didn’t need to ask twice.

fuck, you wrapped around her like you were made for her, godsent, a gift for her devotion. she stretched you, opening you with her fingers and you nearly melted, ellie’s arm wrapped around your thigh the only stability offered for your spent body. your head threw back, digging into the old, rotting wood of the wall, and if ellie looked up, pulled away from her firm spot between your legs, she would have seen you and completely unravelled.

she wasn’t gentle, the way her fingers moved inside you. desperate and completely unforgiving, she needed everything that you were willing to give her, her pace rough, fast, world-destroying.

and there she was, a lazy grin bearing her teeth against your clit, pussydrunk and delirious, tasting you and content enough to die.

she supposed she wouldn’t mind haunting this house, if you came to visit her.

low warbles against your cunt, you couldn’t hear her, even if you were listening. drowning in the push and pull of her touch, in the warmth of her, your head felt like molasses, your body something soft, mouldable to her design. ellie laughed against your walls, sweet and desiring, and you collapsed.

your vision bleary, you could just feel the tips of ellie’s fingers brushing through your hair, smoothing your slick across your skin. your head fell against hers, and you could just make out something blinking in the foggy distance,

the camera,

“hey, el,”

she sighed, heat in the crook of your neck, “yeah?”

“does the red light mean it’s on?”

A few days later, the thoughts of ghosthunting weighing heavy on your mind, ellie texts you,

thought you might want a copy <3

my subscribers will love you

attachment: hauntedhouse.mov

taglist; @whore4abby

dm me to join my sad lil list <3

#ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams fanfic #ellie x fem reader #ellie x y/n #ellie x you #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou

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herlondonboy · 1 year

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7:3

Pairings: Wednesday Addams x platonic!reader / Enid Sinclair x platonic reader / Larissa Weems x platonic!reader

Summary: 7 reasons to go, 3 reasons to stay

Warnings: suicide, suicidal thoughts, vent fic I guess, so uh, like bcos I need validation 🫶 pure, unfiltered, angst. (Part two here) (Tagging: @lxtins @allisonsblog @wednesday-l0ver @capryuk @smolgayhooman @elduster because they said they’d read it x)

Word Count: 1.1k

Seven reasons to go, three reasons to stay. It honestly seems like such an easy answer, but if you add a zero onto the end of both numbers it becomes harder. Seventy reasons to go, thirty reasons to stay. You sat atop of this hill, resting your back against the oak tree. Weighing the reasons in your head made the pit in your stomach grow, but it needs to be soon.

1. You have no family.

In a fit of blind rage at eight, you set your house ablaze. The fire started in your parents bedroom where you, your mother and father and your little brother were. Larissa Weems, a family friend, was quick to aid you. She brought you to Nevermore and raised you like her own. It was abnormal for normie families to have Outcast children, but that just meant the Outcast gene laid dormant for a few generations. You didn’t speak to anyone for seven years after the incident.

Though Larissa was the closest thing you had to a family, she wasn’t your family and the kids at school liked to remind you of that.

2. The overwhelming anger.

Your nostrils flared as you watched the boy, whose name you never bothered to learn, called you an orphan for the umpteenth time that day. You clenched your fists, digging your nails into your palm until you felt blood rolling down. Pain makes you human, Larissa had said to you. Why wasn’t it working? A wolf pushed you and you struck him with flame covered fist. Your hand was burned onto his face and he hand to live in humiliation with that scar for the rest of his life.

The kids around you immediately dissipated and ran away from you. Then your roommate asked to switch dorms

3. People would finally care.

They don’t care until it’s too late. You knew this now, throwing the noose end of the rope over the highest branch that you could reach. You couldn’t even cry. Why would cry? Crying for the people that never even batted an eyelash at you. For he people that saw your pain and laughed in your face, dancing on what was left of your happiness, hoping to ruin it all for you. You can imagine the people that pushed you to this crying in each other’s arms as your body was lowered into the ground. Who do they think they are?

4. You hurt everyone you touched.

Larissa had pulled you into a hug when you came to her office sobbing. You were hesitant to accept it, but you did in the end. You remember her scream and push you away. It haunted your nightmares every. Single. Night. You looked down at your hands and your eyes widened at the melted fabric on your palms. She told you that it was all right and that she was just shocked, but you didn’t believe her.

You began using weird techniques you’d read about in books from the library; sitting in the kitchen’s walk in freezer for as long as you could, taking ice baths, letting your anger out in a controlled environment.

5. The dreams.

Waking up drenched in sweat and covered in a crisp duvet was not your forte. In fact, waking up wasn’t your forte. Your family coming back from the dead to berate you, blame you. They wanted to kill you back. Your brother showing you what could’ve been, what would’ve been, what should’ve been him. A dashing you man, your mother had said before casting her eyes over you in disgust. You wanted to apologise, but that didn’t deserve it. They should have to beg you for forgiveness. The world should have to beg you for your forgiveness. And it would have if you really wanted it to. You had the power to burn the world to ash.

6. You’d stop being a burden.

Larissa Weems already had a whole school of children to deal with. And, though she didn’t say it, you knew having you in her office for breakfast, lunch, and dinner was bothering her. You didn’t want to admit it, but you grew to like her presence, so instead of staying cooped up in your room, you stayed cooped up in her office. You’d get short, curt answers when asking something and you took that as a hint.

7. Eternal peace.

You’d be free from all your suffering. You’d be dead, you’d be gone. There’s no analogy for this reason. It’s just a fact. You wanted to be gone, that’s all.

But now the reasons to stay.

1. Your Larissa.

She really was your family. The reason you were still alive right now, but it was proving not to be enough. You just hoped that she didn’t blame herself for this. She had saved you and protected you for as long as she could, but now it was down to you. You had to make a decision and it led to you tightening the rope around the trunk of the tree.

2. The people that liked your company.

You had met Enid Sinclair in your fourth year of solitude since you’d come to Nevermore. She walk talkative and it was nice for the both of you. She liked having someone that listened to her ranting and you liked listening to someone talk to you without belittling your feelings. Then you met Wednesday on your 16th birthday, three years later. She was Enid’s roommate and you were scared that Wednesday was going to take her away from you. But that’s not what happened. Soon in days where you waited for Enid in her dormitory, you found yourself enjoying the silence between you. It wasn’t that Enid’s rambling was annoying, but silence was nice every once in a while. Lastly, you met Eugene. He reminded you of your little brother, predominantly the good parts of him. He was a perfect mix of Wednesday and Enid. You loved hearing about his bees and how his mom’s were doing. You adored reading books with him in the library. He helped you get over your fear of yourself.

3. Life.

Sure, you hated life. But there were fun times like when you were five, on your father’s shoulders as he ran through the forest by Nevermore. Or on your fifteen birthday when Enid and Larissa threw you a surprise party in your dorm where’re the three of you danced the night away. Not to mention when you made Eugene laugh. A smile graced your face the whole day after hearing him cackle at a note you gifted to him. Even if it go you kicked out from the library.

It was moments like that that you craved.

But you didn’t get much more because here you were, standing on a stool as you put your head through the noose. Just as you strained to kick the stool away, you heard a scream.

“No!” They said, but it was too late.

Wednesday was too late.

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keeksandgigz · 7 months

Text

in the wind and in the water

eddie munson x reader

a/n: This came from my headcanon that Eddie is a Sagittarius close to Christmas and hates his birthday so uhh enjoy (can be read as being in the same universe of one breath in, three breaths out) for context, you and Eddie have moved out of Hawkins and are now going back for the holidays.

cw: 3.2k words, sad language, mention of parental death, mention of alcoholism, mention of PTSD, some fluffy bits, mention of younger Eddie being sad (that deserved a tw), just overall angst with a happy ending, no y/n, no physical description of reader

baby taglist: @kellyxo1, @cryingglightningg, @tlclick73 (do let me know if you wanna be tagged in any future works!)

inspired by chemtrails over the country club by lana del rey

please like, comment and reblog! feedback is always appreciated and my ask box is always open <3

December 21st, 1990

The snow is unforgiving. Much like the passage of time. He turns 24 today.

He's alone in his bed. The heating in the trailer hasn't been working properly for years, he shudders in the layers he wore to sleep, in the mountains of blankets Wayne had given him once he'd decided to retire for the night. His uncle had even offered to give him his heater, Eddie declined.

You'd arrived in Hawkins early in the afternoon, Eddie's van once again withstanding the drive to your parents' house, where he'd dropped you off.

He'd been offered to stay, but the thought of Wayne being alone even if he was in the same town made his heart shrivel like the gray leaves in your pretty front yard decorated for Christmas.

You'd asked if he needed you to stay with him, in case of any night terrors, but he'd refused. He didn't want to put you through the arctic temperatures of his room in the winter. Once he'd dropped you off with your family he drove off towards Forest Hills.

That place felt haunting during Christmastime. Not that it was any less creepy all- year round, but there was an eerie feeling in the dirty, grey snow, the holiday spirit that attempted to come alive over their side of town felt more like the last dying breath of Father Christmas.

The flickering colorful lights, empty, barren Christmas trees. He saw a bunch of kids playing in the dirty snow.

He prayed there weren't any glass shards from the bottle of some drunken father, coming home to screams and cries. He still remembers the feeling.

He'd eaten crappy TV dinners, missing your warm stews and soups you'd make around this time. Wayne had insisted he took the armchair. He sank into it with guilt overtaking him.

The only part of Hawkins he'd never wanted to leave behind.

He gets out of bed, carrying a makeshift cape made out of a blanket. He smiles to himself, his mom would've called him Superman, and he would've started running around the house with his fist straight in the air.

But today there's just him. Him and a fancy cupcake with a candle stabbed in it Wayne must have spent at least $30 on. A sticky note reads 'In the next town over for a job, will be home by 6. Happy Birthday, kid'

He exhales, he's tempted to drive over to you, but it's still too early and you, ever the late bird, are still asleep.

He pictures you in your small twin bed in some silly pajamas you found in your drawers, happily snoring in the warmth of your home. He misses you in the kitchen making coffee, dancing around to some jazz record you found in his pile.

He runs in his room, grabbing a lighter from his old weed stash, which now contains a dirty bong and a broken glass pipe and a yellow lighter with barely any fluid in it. He grabs it and goes back into the kitchen, lighting the candle on the small chocolate cupcake.

Make a wish! his mom would have said. Make a wish, Eddie!

His mind scrambles to find something. A do- over. To do his life again. Choose a better dad. Let his mom live. Be able to see his mom's smile again.

The wax falls over the white frosting while he ruminates. What good is a wish if it never comes true?

He blows the candle. "Happy Birthday to me" he's sarcastic about it. There's nothing happy with the way the Christmas tree in the corner seems to be staring back at him, as barren and as empty as his mind.

The white smoke from the candle envelops the kitchen as he sets it back down on a plate. He'll share it with you later.

Then he goes back into his room and lays on the floor, enveloped by three quilted blankets, and just stares at the ceiling.

Nobody ever remembered Eddie’s birthday. Except his mom.

When he turned six she took him to get pancakes. She made sure they were extra special for him, a smiley face made out of chocolate chips adorned his breakfast as he drowned it in maple syrup. December 1972, there’s a polaroid of the two of them from that day he’d kept in an old run- down copy of The Hobbit. The one she’d gotten him that same day.

When his mom died and he went to live with his dad, December 21st, 1973 was the year his birthday began to cease existing. “What do you need a birthday for, Junior? Christmas is right around the corner” his dad bellowed over a cup of spiked hot chocolate that was more whiskey than milk.

Christmas 1973, Eddie's dad taught him to pick locks as a gift.

Sometimes, his dad wasn’t even around for his birthday. He spent his day cooped up in his home, scrounging for whatever he could eat. He’d learned to hate Christmas. And his birthday.

One December, after being left at home for a week, on Christmas day, Wayne came to visit. He came to wish Al and Eddie Merry Christmas, bringing some socks for the kid.

When he opened the door, Wayne found Eddie on the couch eating stale cereal dust.

“Where’s your dad, kid?” Wayne had asked. Eddie just shrugged.

“He’ll be back.” Christmas 1975.

Wayne looked around the house. Eddie had learned to use a stove, but not to wash the dishes. A pile of them sat precariously in the sink, the odor emanating from there made the man assume Eddie had grown nose blind to it.

He’d also not been taught to shower regularly, as he found a ball of matted hair in the back of Eddie’s skull. Grown nose blind to his own smell, too. He sighed.

“My mommy would brush my hair for me” the kid protested.

After many wails and I hate yous, Eddie was brought back to Wayne’s trailer, where they spent the rest of Christmas day trying to get rid of the matted hair.

After a couple hours, Wayne had grown tired, seeing little to no progress. As a man of not really much patience and resources, he’d grabbed his razor and some kitchen scissors and shaved Eddie’s head.

Christmas 1975, the year Eddie got a buzz cut as a present.

He'd kept that same buzz cut all through the end of elementary until seventh grade. "Good for lice," Wayne explained.

Eddie had mentioned in passing that his dad always forgot his birthday. Wayne’s ears perked up.

“When’s your birthday, kid?” he’d asked, leaning forward on the armchair while Eddie was playing with some sort of action figures he’d drawn on paper.

“Oh, December 21st” then he went back to his game.

Wayne ran to the calendar he kept hanging on the kitchen wall and scrolled through the pages. He grabbed a pen and wrote Eddie’s Birthday in bold red letters. He never forgot another one.

So when you came around, after everything that had happened in Hawkins, his birthday was the last of his problems. You'd met in one of the makeshift infirmaries spread throughout the town. He called you his 'cot buddy.' After the summer, you both were able to move back into your houses.

You hung out pretty much almost every day, not really bothering to put a label on whatever it was that was happening between the both of you. Enjoying and reveling in each other's company, healing. Also kissing.

Unprompted you’d asked him “So… what are we doing next week?”

The hairs on his neck stood straight, in fear he’d forgotten a date.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I don’t mean to be stupid, but what’s next week?” he’d asked, sheepish, scared you were gonna get mad at him.

“Your birthday, silly. I asked around. Tell me why Dustin had to hack into your old student files to get that information. Nobody knew when your birthday was” you laughed “I literally asked everyone. It’s like you’ve never been born” you said.

He thought it was irrelevant. All his friends would go on winter vacation after final exams, there was no one to celebrate his birthday with but Uncle Wayne. He’d take him to see a movie, use his savings to treat him to something that wasn’t TV dinners or Spaghettios.

After that conversation you two had, you’d made it a tradition to bake him a cake. Chocolate with cream cheese frosting. You’d put together a party for him at your house. Invited all his friends. You’d get him two presents. One for his birthday, one for Christmas.

On Christmas day you’d handed him a box, he looked at you confused.

“What’s all this about? I already got my gift, hon. Literally four days ago, that new vest was really cool, see I’m wearing it right now” he said, pointing at his new denim battle vest.

“That was your birthday gift, Ed. This is Christmas” you smiled at him.

He’d never felt more loved before. His friends pitched in and had gotten him a new record player as both a birthday and Christmas present. You’d gotten him a bunch of new records. Megadeth, Anthrax, Slayer.

His eyes did light up like a kid on Christmas day.

Christmas 1986, the year Eddie got a girlfriend. And some sick presents.

A knocking startles him. He’d fallen asleep on the floor, wrapped up in blankets.

He looks at his watch. 2:00 pm.

Groggy, he stands up and slides his hands in the pockets of his sweater and goes to see who it is.

“Ed!! Ed, c’mon open up! I'm freezing out here” it’s you.

He opens the door and you run in, seeking refuge from the snow. You’re holding a small box. You look so pretty, face bitten by the cold, making the tips of your ears and nose a pretty blushy shade.

"Took you long enough" you huff "I was about to get hypothermia"

“Why’d you drive all the way here, hun? That snow looks pretty bad” he says, rubbing your coat to get the snowflakes off of you.

“Well, yeah, but it’s your birthday! I made a cake” you gesture towards the white box in your hands.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t have to” he smiles, and pressed a kiss to your cold forehead, riddled with snow. You never have to. The fact that you want to do such nice things to him is still something he struggles to wrap his head around. He helps you out of your puffy coat, grabbing you a warm blanket from his room.

"Why'd you bring it here? I thought we were gonna go to your house?" he said as you shed the layers you'd wrapped yourself in.

"Too much family at my house, we have my aunt from Virginia staying with us, and my grandparents. You don't wanna meet 'em, trust me" you laugh.

"You told everyone to meet here? You could've told me, baby, the trailer's a mess" he scrambles to pick up some dirty mugs from the coffee table.

"It's okay, Ed, I'll help you. Come here for now" you circle the counter to put the cake down.

He huffs, giving you a kiss on top of your head.

“So, what have you been doing here, birthday boy?” you nudge him, opening the cake box.

“You know, the usual. Despair about the passage of time, be sad about my mom, be sad about my dad, blow a candle and make a wish” he smiles half-heartedly. It makes you sad that he’s never able to fully enjoy his birthday.

“I’m sorry, Ed. I know your birthday is never an ideal date for you. Anything I can do to help?” you quip, smiling at him from the counter.

“The cake you made looks like it could be a good contender,” he smiles. You open the box, a simple chocolate cake with frosting says “Happy Birthday Eddie!” in bold chocolate letters. His heart feels like it's doubled in size since he woke up.

He gives you a kiss on the crown of your head as you reach into your purse, a packet of candles in your hand.

“Do you have a lighter?” you ask, kicking yourself for forgetting it. He tosses the almost- dead yellow lighter at you.

You stab the cake with the candles. You’d bought 24. He smiles, no one had ever done something like that for him before you.

You sing to him. The lights of the candles hitting your cold bitten face, making your eyes look shiny, like you had the sun from within.

Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday dear Eddie.

Happy birthday to you!

He breathes in, then blows out the candles while you clap contentedly, the white smoke of the candles dissolving into the air between the two of you. Setting the cake down, he gives you a kiss.

It's a soft kiss, full of gratefulness. Full of the thank yous he'll never get to tell you, just because you'll jokingly roll your eyes with the amount of times he'll say it. It's a sad kiss, a kiss that makes you remind him of his mom, the softness and gentleness with which she'd hold him. The kindness she'd show him, the same kindness you gave and continue to give him.

The kindness he wasn't allowed to have throughout his life, with the names and the threats and the beatings.

A whole town turning on a twenty year- old kid.

The kindness his dad had never given him, coming back whenever he needed money, or a place to hide. His rainy day funds raided, with no trace of Al Munson in sight.

Your kisses taste like summer, summer of '86, when he kissed you for the first time. High and clumsy in the back of his van, being too much of a pussy to ask you if you wanted to be with him.

His eyes become watery, almost like his thoughts materialize in the reflection of your eyes, where he can see himself. Tall, sad, Eddie the freak. Eddie the freak who just wanted to be loved, who wanted to be accepted.

He isn't a religious guy by any means, but your kisses feel like a baptism. Everything has been washed away by your love, forgiven for things he's never done. Sins he'd never committed, absolved by the taste of your lips, the feeling of his hands holding your waist, as if to never let you go.

The way you hold his face, cold, shivering hands against the feel of the slight stubble of his jaw. He'd manipulate the weather so you'd never feel cold, he'd bring down the heavens and hell to not make you feel any pain.

A tear falls down his cheek, too many emotions, too many thoughts. It collides with your thumb, you break away from the kiss.

"You okay, Ed?" you press your lips to his cheek, kissing the lone tear away.

He's okay, he just gets overwhelmed by all the love you have for him. He nods.

"Just miss my mom, 's all" he sniffles, then smiles.

"I'm sure she would've been so happy to see her baby turn twenty- four" you reach for a knife to cut the cake.

"No, split this with me" he says, showing you the small cupcake "Save the cake for when everyone gets here, Wayne probably spent a fortune for this one single cupcake" he chuckles.

You cut the cupcake in half, clinking the two halves together as one would two overflowing cups of champagne.

"They'll be coming in a couple hours. I already took care of food and everything, but I came here 'cause I wanted to give you my gift" you say, it never gets easy, getting him gifts. He's so tight lipped about needing things sometimes you just don't know what to get him.

"You didn't have to do that. The cake and the party are enough, sweetheart" he whispers, giving you a soft kiss between chocolate crumbs.

You reach for your bag on the counter, extracting a small black box from it.

"Happy Birthday, Ed" you say, nervous he might not like it.

Words become hard to fabricate, so he gives you a tight smile, almost embarrassed, guilty, you did this for him.

He opens the small, square box. He's not really sure what it is at first, but the nylon and cotton feeling feels familiar. The leather ends, with a loop in between. The red stitching. It's a guitar strap.

He gingerly takes it out of the box, bated breath, holding it horizontally.

The red stitching on the strap says Corroded Coffin, with a red border. But his favorite thing is his initials and yours on the end of the strap, right above the leather bit. He smiles. A smile so wide that you could have been blinded by it.

"I didn't know what to get you, just everything felt so, like, obvious and cliche. I had my mom help me" you rambled timidly.

"It's perfect, honey, thank you" he goes to hold you, guitar strap still in hand. As if it held the fabric of time and space itself, he refused to let it go.

Once he lets go of you, muttering thank you, baby's and i love it, it's so perfect's he grabs his guitar, crackled red and black paint chipped by the passage of time. He changes the straps and plays a few riffs, deft fingers moving across the fretboard, the sadness of the twenty minutes before seems to have vanished, as he spends the rest of his afternoon playing around with his guitar.

You clean up, and at around 6, Wayne comes back with the food you'd requested him to go pick up. All of Eddie's favorites from the diner he'd used to go with his mom. The smiley pancakes, the spaghetti and meatballs, the little sausage and eggs and pizza pockets. His smile is as wide as you've ever seen it, thoroughly shocked that you'd remembered everything he'd told you.

At 7, all his friends start to arrive, bringing him baskets of sweets, cookies, presents. The parties the years before had never been this large- scale. Or maybe the trailer is just small.

Everyone goes outside, wrapped up in their winter clothes that quickly become too hot as they play with the dirty snow, checking for glass shards in every one. In the lights of the shitty street lamps, Eddie is throwing a snow ball at Steve, and Robin throws one back at Eddie. You have a video camera in your hand, documenting every single moment of Eddie's night. His night.

He's frost bitten, his nose and the tips of his ears sticking out from the knitted hat Nancy had gotten him. His smile infectious as he hides behind a car after having thrown a ball at Steve's team. Everyone's on a sugar high, giggly and happy, reveling in the snow, the looming holidays making everything feel a bit lighter.

He opens up birthday presents and eats pancakes until he feels sick. But he's never felt better.

Everyone leaves at the late hours of the night. You decide to stay over, albeit the bite of the cold that forces the both of you to huddle close for warmth. Neither of you complain. Your house is too crowded anyway.

December 21st, 1990. Eddie Munson has had the best birthday of his life.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson angst #stranger things au #stranger things fanfiction

168 notes · View notes

trashmouth-richie · 7 months

Text

pt 1: flicker

summary: Hawkins Annual Halloween Festival is in town, and this year you and your friends were lucky enough to work the event. But when some of your co-workers are missing, and a trail of blood leads to the woods behind the festival. Your friends work together to find out what’s going on. A killer is on the loose but who could it be? Or is it the town’s spooky secret of what really happened at Hawkins Lab?

[tickets] [flyer] [clipboard]

pt 2: A SCREAM AND A SLICE

summary: the day is finally here and our joyful crew arrives to get their assignments for the work day.

tw: 18+ only goodbye minors, billy hargrove smut, billy hargrove being a disgusting human being, mentions of drinking and drugs, character death x 3, hallucinations, drunk behavior, etc childhood background stories.

The air is cool and crisp, fluttering an ombré of red and orange leaves all over the carnival. Staff was to arrive no later than 8 o’clock, sporting burnt orange Hawkins Haunted Carnival shirts with red hems on the neck and arms. “STAFF” printed on the back in black bold letters.

Robin's hair and makeup looked exactly like it did last night, a little smudgy and unkept, the style suiting her personality and image to a T. She was holding onto Steve’s arm while picking gum from the bottom of her dirty converse.

“Fuck I hate kids,” she grumbled, wiping the last bit of the pink wad of bubble gum on the grass.

Argyle, Nancy, and Jonathan stood and watched. Nancy with her hair in a perfect pulled back ponytail showcasing her bone structure and light makeup, was wide eyed and bushy tailed, making up for the lack of enthusiasm everyone else brought with them this morning.

Argyle’s long pin straight hair is braided down his back, and he looks almost half asleep, or maybe he was just high, but more than likely that was just him in general.

You yawned loud behind your hand for the second time since racing into the parking lot, Eddie poked you in the ribs and shook his head, he had wanted to stop at the gas station for some badly brewed coffee this morning upon finding out that your apartment was lacking any sort of caffeine, but you were already going to be late and Mr. Creel’s speech last weekend about not being on time, would scare anyone straight.

That is unless you were Billy Hargrove.

Billy rolled in a full thirty minutes past the time all staff were expected to be dressed and ready to go. A cigarette hung lazily from his mouth and the hickies on his neck were splotchy and fading yellow on the edges. He was clutching a can of beer upon walking over to the group, finishing the contents and tossing it behind his shoulder.

His chin nodded to Eddie in that douchey dude type of greeting. One he reciprocated with flared nostrils and tense shoulders.

Billy and Eddie used to be as thick as thieves, running like hellions through the trailer park, with you trailing behind them, trying to keep Eddie out of trouble. They had disturbed any little sort of peace that the tenants ever found there. They tormented the occupants of Forest Hills by egging their houses or lighting bags of dog shit ablaze on their steps.

But the boys were left to their vices much like their parents were. Neil and Al knew each other from high school, oftentimes spending nights at the Hargroves kitchen table laughing after many beers about the cars they’d stolen and the broads they shared. Hands around their chests like parentheses to emphasize the breast size of one in particular.

Billy’s apple didn’t fall far from Neil’s tree, a ladies man but rotten to the core. However when it came to Eddie and Al, it was almost as if Eddie’s apple was from a different tree entirely, rough on the edges and a little banged up, but the inside was sugary sweet, much tastier than the sour bite Billy’s had to offer.

You never forgave the blue eyed boy for pushing you off your bike, a scar still etched into your knees, or for chasing you around with a snake he caught by Coolwater Creek.

Eddie wiped your tears when you cried to him about how mean Billy was. His own brown eyes welling seeing you so upset. He convinced him to leave you alone. And since that day, you were the driving wedge between them at 8 years old and you stayed there up until last year, when the tie that bound them together was ripped apart.

“You’re late Billy-boy,” Mr. Creel sneered, the pierce of his blue eyes shining like heated crystals, “do you not own a watch?”

“Just got in,” Billy said with a yawn, his muscular arms stretching over his head and showcasing his abs when his shirt rode up.

“I guess I wasn’t aware you had another job.”

“Oh I’m not paid for this type of manual labor, I do it for free.” He glances over at you and shoots you a wink. And the shiver that shook through you was anything but pleasant.

Steve rolls his eyes, pulling Nancy into his front and resting his chin on the top of her head.

Eddie shifts to the side of you that billy is closest too and blocks his view. He made your skin crawl like it was infested with bugs.

You didn’t like him anymore than he liked you, Heather Holloway was one of the sweetest girls you’d ever met, and to this day you couldn’t figure out why she fell in his traps. He didn’t care about her, only used her to keep his bed warm when he was out doing God knows what with God knows who. His dick was dirtier than a pile of laundry, and he was out of detergent.

“Let’s not make this a habit, we have a festival to run, and you,” Mr. Creel says, thumbing through a clipboard, “… are on Corn Maze Duty until sun down, then you’re driving the Haunted Hayride like we discussed last week.”

“Munson, you and Pebbles? Is that a real name?,”

“no,” you say with a laugh, nudging Eddie in the ribs, he was the only one called who still called you that after your moms had decided to dress you both as Pebbles & Bam Bam for Halloween one year, for Eddie, the name stuck, “it's a nickname from when we were—

“Don’t care.”

“You two are on rides, Hairyten—

“It’s Harrington,” Steve interjects but Mr. Creel doesn’t stop.

“.. will take over for you at sundown and then your ‘band’ takes the stage.”

Billy scoffs around a lit cigarette and Eddie puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you from reaching around him to slap the mustache off his face.

“Girl Wheeler and R-guy-el are on games… Buckley, you and Hairytoes will be working the ice cream stand, Byers you’re in charge of taking promotional photos. Please make sure the children are smiling. I don’t need any snot nosed little brats blubbering while getting their face painted like a clown, it will drive down sales.”

Jonathan nods with wide eyes, checking his bag with fumbling fingers making sure he had extra lenses and plenty of film.

Nancy stands at attention, flipping through her binder full of the game rules, she had been studying it all week, not wanting to give Mr. Creel any sort of assumption that she wasn’t taking her position seriously.

“Relax Nance,” Steve purred, a little louder than a whisper, “you’re gonna kick ass at this.”

You didn’t know Steve Harrington was capable of being supportive of another person until Nancy came along. When they first started going out Eddie and you took bets on whether or not it would last. Nancy wasn’t anything like the other trashy girls at your school throwing themselves at King Steve any and every chance they got.

She was reserved and shy. Pretty in a classy way, minimal makeup needed on her cherub features. And Steve fell hook line and simp er for her. He lost friends, lost his title at school but he didn’t care. He felt unstoppable with Nancy on his arm.

It made you wish you had a love like theirs, minus the breaking up part, you had dated before but nothing that would last.

You remember spending a very drunk night with Eddie once on the roof of his trailer, begging him to tell you who he thought was the hottest girl in school. Going through every grade, every single girl from the mathletes to the athletes, the teased hair of Tina down to the short bob of Barb, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Come on, Eddie .. that was every girl in the school besides Shit teeth O’Donnell.” you laughed and rolled into his chest, spilling beer onto his shirt, your chin sitting on his sternum as he looked at you with a serious stare.

“Not every girl.”

“Yeah huh,” you poked at his ribs and his armpits only for him to overpower you completely and pin you down, the ends of his hair tickling your cheeks had you squealing.

“Say uncle or I’m gonna make you piss yourself.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

The dark glint of mischief in his eye wasn’t lost on you,

“D’ you know me at all?”

The night ended with your jeans and underwear in Eddie’s washing machine, his boxers on your waist after you took a shower and used all of his conditioner. A $3.00 payback for him actually tickling you until you peed yourself, you were just happy Wayne wasn’t home when you waddled through the Munson trailer with wet pants and a hyena laughing Eddie behind you.

Diversion was his best game, because he never answer your question.

“Remember.” Mr Creel said pointing to you and Eddie, “two minute rides if there isn’t a line, one minute rides sounds perfectly fine, three minutes and they’ll puke on the floor, 4 minutes and you’re at Satan’s door.”

He recited the creepy poem without blinking, simply looking from your face and back to Eddie’s, a grim smile on his Curt lips. When he was through he turned on his heel and walked away, snapping at Heather and Chrissy to get to the face painting station.

“Well that wasn’t weird at all.” Eddie said, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised into his frizzy bangs, clearing his throat.

“Yeah no shit,” Steve grimaced, “such a weird mother fucker.”

Nancy shut her binder and spoke to you, “sorry about last night— I think I’m just a little stressed.”

“No worries, Nance, Eddie ended up staying at my place and we smoked a bit and went to sleep.”

“Don’t forget about that weird shit with the streetlights,” Eddie chimed in.

“Streetlights?” Jonathan asked you, “what about ‘em?”

“Nah man it’s cool,” Eddie chirped in, lighting a cigarette and offering it to Jonathan, “Pebs and I smoked a little too much, thought we saw some weird shit, that’s all.”

“Well, my lights went out last night, went outside to check it out and the whole street was dark.”

Maybe you weren’t high as fuck lastnight on Rick’s Redrum. What if there was actually something strange going on.

“Did they turn red and explode?” you ask him, trying not to seem too alarmed that someone else who wasn’t high and on the complete opposite side of town experienced the weird lights.

He picks a scab on his arm between blunt fingernails, uninterested in the conversation, “no idea, just noticed they were burnt out..didn’t see anything else, but hey, I’ll see you guys later okay, I forgot my wallet.”

With that he turns and leaves, holding his satchel close to his body so the expensive camera attachments don’t break.

Steve and Nancy kiss each other goodbye and Argyle steps forward to Steve batting his eyelashes, “what about me handsome?” He laughs before Steve can smile awkwardly and walks beside Nancy, asking about her new Reeboks.

“Six months since we played truth or dare at Munson’s and that guy won’t let it go,” Steve says, shaking his head, “see ya later, don’t have too much fun,” with that he grabs Robin’s elbow and directs her towards the Scoops Ahoy stand.

Eddie laughs at the memory of a peachy cheeked Steve leaning in to press his lips to Argyle’s. A dare that had Nancy in tears, and had you comforting her for an entire week.

It was the same night that you had drunk almost an entire handle of vodka and woke up naked in Eddie’s bed, next to Jonathan.

To this day you don’t remember what happened.

You left in a hurry when you woke and realized the sleeping body next to you was not only naked but belonged to Jonathan Byers, and you didn’t have any panties on.

Grabbing your clothes and shoving your feet into your shoes, you stepped over Argyle’s cocooned form in the hallway— using the bathroom rug as a blanket.

Tiptoeing over the squeaky parts of the linoleum floor you made a glance to the living room and saw that Eddie was sawing logs in Wayne’s recliner.

You felt dirty, full of shame and guilt as you looked at him forlornly, not able to nail down why you had felt that way. Eddie and you were friends, nothing more than that.

The door shut behind you in a quiet creak and you sped home as fast as you could, bleary eyed and confused.

Thankfully, Jonathan wasn’t upset when you told him the next day that you didn’t remember what had happened, and he was relieved, chuckling with a hand on the back of his neck, because he hadn’t remembered that night either.

You vowed to never tell a soul about that night, and you waited for Eddie to ask you about it, to make some crack about him finding your panties in his room, but he never spoke a word of it.

You stifle a nervous laugh, “yeah that night was crazy.”

“yeah no shit, Wayne’s still mad that I ruined his cowboy boots.”

You smack his chest with the keys, laughing at the memory of his white ass and wild hair running down the dirt road, wearing only Wayne’s boots and his cowboy hat to cover his dignity, the first dare of the night, “c’mon, Munson, I’ll race ya.”

The day flew by, people came from all around to shove their asses into the metal seats of the rides you and Eddie were in charge of.

Kids of all ages ate melty ice cream and got their faces painted into princesses, witches, pumpkins and spooky ghouls and goblins.

Eddie’s little gaggle of DnD buddies from high school ran through the carnival like they owned the place. Hootin’ and hollerin’ making themselves look like a bunch of assholes, and you wondered if he sometimes missed that part of being in school.

Steve and Robin were fending off Erica Sinclair and her many attempts at getting free samples, but realizing if they did give her what she wanted, they’d run out of ice cream and have to close up earlier than expected. Erica Sinclair would later leave the carnival with a sugar high and a stomach ache.

Argyle gave away the giant stuffed bear on the first ring toss game, earning him a psychotic look from Creel and whiny kids all day not having anything to look forward to when they won, but nothing a few coupons to Surfer Boy Pizza wouldn’t fix when the parents got involved. Nancy was almost in tears at the way Argyle didn’t follow the rules and his dude-like approach to the day's events.

—

Robin was in a mood, her normal chaotic rambling mouth self was eerily quiet today. An abnormality for the freckled face girl. And Steve was doing what any normal best friend would; hounding her on what the hell was going on.

“Drop it pretty boy, I mean it I am fine!” She tossed the ice cream scoop back into the carton container and slammed the freezer door, huffing and lighting a cigarette.

He saw the way her demeanor changed when Vickie showed up to the carnival with her boyfriend. The same boyfriend who Vickie had promised Robin that she had dumped months beforehand.

Steve watched as Robin’s eyes flashed with hurt and anger as Vickie sauntered up to the Scoops Ahoy booth, no look of guilt or shame anywhere on her porcelain features, she acted completely oblivious to Robin’s behavior, like she had never even met her before.

“She’s a bitch Robin,” Steve jabbed, hooking a thumb over his shoulder and wiggling his keys, "I'll go run her over with my car right now if that’d make you feel better.”

She had to admit, watching the light leave Vickie’s eyes might make her feel better. The crushing of her bones would play like a symphony in her head. She wanted her to hurt just as much as she was right now.

“Nah,” Robin says shaking her head, “not worth it, let’s just get day drunk instead, or better yet,” she pushed her ass onto the counter, and swung her hips out to the opening, her long legs hitting the dirt and crunching beneath her converse, “is Argyle still working games with Nance?”

—

“That’s what I’m sayin’ man, fuckin’ aliens and shit,” Argyle says with blood shot eyes, “this town, it’s crawlin with em, you’re not one of them are you, Byers?”

Argyle was on one of his many pot induced tangents about aliens and monsters. It was hard to tell if he was just high or if he truly believed in multi dimensional beings that walked the same paths we did but were hidden from us by the government.

“I think,” Jonathan says, adjusting his camera around his neck and holding it to eye level, “that you spend too much time with Munson,” he angled the camera just right and snapped the shutter button. Capturing candids of kids throwing softballs at steel milk jugs set into a triangle.

Argyle wipes his upper lip and throws a braided lengthy lock behind his shoulder, “and how do you know Eddie is wrong? M-Maybe Dungeons & Dragons is real. And the dice is like, the days we have left,” his eyes widen further as he licks at his lips absentmindedly, rambling on, “Eddie’s putting us all into little situations, so he’s like a- a god or a master! Like figurines and shit…”

Jonathan tries his best to drown out Argyle’s stoned ‘epiphanies’ knowing all too well the rabbit hole he’d fall down and wouldn't be able to see the light of day until the lasting effects of purple palm tree delight subsided.

Argyle’s eyes go wide, “…yeah I hope I got a long sword or something, I’ll definitely need it.”

“DnD isn’t real,” Jonathan huffs in annoyance, “it’s a fantasy game, one designed to make you think outside of normal everyday life, at least that’s what Will says.”

“Will the Wise,” Robin calls from behind them, her long fingers tangled in her hair, trying to put her short cut into two little ponytails, “isn’t that what they call him?”

Jonathan nods, “yeah, yeah it is.” A smile of appreciation on his face, “how’s ice cream going? I saw Vickie… sorry.”

“Love that kid, and yeah that’s why I’m here, need to forget,” she says leaning against the softball toss, the toe of sneaker catching the knee of Argyle’s colorful pants, her forefinger and thumb up to her lips, “you carrying today or do I actually have to pay Munson?”

“Nah little birdy, I’m all out,” Argyle says with eyelids half closed, “but I heard Rick’s runnin’ some new shit, kinda psychedelic like.”

—

By six in the afternoon, Eddie was crabby and ready for Steve to take over. His hair was sweaty and a bandana was tied around his head. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, showing off his muscles and the tattoos on his arms.

“Take it easy with this shit, ‘m serious,” Eddie says passing Robin the joint and pocketing the cash, “we saw some weird shit last night after smoking, just go to the woods or somethin where no one will see you.”

Robins fingers clasp the paper of the joint and hold it into a loose fist, she bows and salutes Eddie, “Aye aye cap’n, I promise, I’ll be good.”

He watched her leave and shook his head. He didn’t know the entire ins and outs of Robin’s relationship with Vickie, but he knew enough that Robin was hurt more than she was happy, and he felt bad for her.

At least Robin was brave enough to be her true self. Eddie couldn’t even tell the girl he had a crush on for years that he liked her.

“These kids are fucking assholes,” he said to you when you brought him a lemonade and bummed him a smoke, “yeah I’m talking to you Mayfield, shouldn’t even be on this ride with two broken arms but what the hell do I know?”

The redhead flipped him a double bird and yelled out, fucker! as her basket on the Zipper spun faster and faster.

“Were we like this sophomore year?” Eddie asks you around a puff of smoke.

“Oh absolutely not,” you said matter of factly, “we were worse.” A smile breaks from your lips and Eddie returns it, only his crinkled out your favorite dimple.

“Fuck man,” he exhaled, hitting a random button on the ride, and raising his eyebrows when it beeped back at him and shook the baskets loudly, “this whole town still thinks I did that shit to Higgin’s dog.”

It wasn’t a secret what had happened. And as much as everyone swore it was Eddie who did that heinous crime, he was with you that night, stealing cartons of cigarettes from the gas station while the attendant was busy trying to get your number and look down your shirt.

You knew Eddie was innocent but the town wasn’t convinced, even Wayne questioned him for a while about it. But Eddie wouldn’t squeal on you, knowing that you were just as guilty as he was, and he wouldn’t tarnish your squeaky clean reputation. Not even to save himself.

“We know the truth, and that’s what matters,” you breathe, stealing the cigarette from his hands and placing it into your mouth.

Eddie shakes his head, “yeah I know, just wish we knew who did do it.”

“Ri runno Raggy,” you said using your best Scooby Doo impression, “rits a rystery.”

Eddie chuckles and shows you his dimples again, a pretty blush painted on his cheeks, “you can always get me to laugh, even when I’m pissed the fuck off at some little shits.”

He plucks the rest of the cigarette from your lips and takes the last drag between his thumb and forefinger before flicking it off into the dirt.

He brushes an eyelash from your cheek with his knuckle, and he holds it there for a bit, unconsciously licks at his lips, “That’s why you’re my favorite,” he admits for the one hundredth time, but it still felt good to hear. Still made your stomach somersault and the glittery butterflies flutter.

Before you can say anything the kids on Eddie’s ride start screaming to get off, having been spinning upside down for over the time limit. Satan’s door according to Creel.

“Shit,” he mutters before turning the ride down, the heat on your cheeks and the burn from his finger still there.

—

“c’mon I know you wanna,” the clink of his flask unscrewing followed by the chugging slurp from his throat burned her ears, but not more than the red pock marks on her forearm from his cigarette ashes.

She didn’t want to lose him, she knew how lucky she was that he tolerated her and kept her around. After all he only fucked the other girls to piss off their boyfriends. But she meant something to him. Right?

“Are you sure no one will see us?” She was used to the thrill of being with Billy, mistaking the fight or flight feeling for adoration, the crazed look in his eye for lust.

He was everything all the other guys in Hawkins were not. A legendary bad boy. All leather jackets and tight jeans, the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen, a fast car that smelled of musky cologne, cigarettes and sex on Friday nights.

He had shown her things only seen in movies, hickied her up in spots that only he would see, and fucked her in places that would make Satan himself jealous.

Heather Holloway was completely wrapped up in everything Billy Hargrove brought to the table, only to be leaving starved for more.

“Who fuckin’ cares,” he grunts, lighting a cigarette and blowing it towards the orange painted sky, “ain’t nothin’ they haven’t seen before.”

She obeyed like she always did, a simple okay Billy and she was on her knees in the soft upturned soil, nothing but a single row of pale yellowing corn stalks behind her, rustling against the breeze and knocking against one another in a broken violin screech.

She adjusts her dark curls away from her face, and waits with an eager mouth for what he has to offer. The teeth of his zipper purr as he undoes his pants, holding a thick meaty cock up to her pretty lipgloss smile.

He’s putty in her hands, rocking his hips up to shove himself further into her mouth, and he groans when he falls into her wet throat.

Fuck Heather, that’s it.

He doesn’t hear the scraping of the corn leaves on a quiet shoulder, or the way the dirt crumbles underneath footsteps. He’s high above it, drunk on the feel of his dick in Heather's mouth, and the slight graze of her teeth against his shaft.

The blade is dull, taking much effort to slice through the muscles of Billy’s back and angling upwards beneath his ribs into his lungs.

Billy gags and gurgles on his own blood, noises that could be easily mistaken for pleasure. The knife is unsheathed and slid across Billy’s throat in a fluid motion spilling claret colored blood down the front of his shirt, he’s dead before he hits the ground.

Heather is frozen with fear, she lets out a scream that’s stopped cold by the blade puncturing her temple, her lifeless body falling to the soft ground with a thud.

The blade is wiped clean. Any blood splatters are left on the mask and hidden in the tree line, their lifeless bodies are stuffed further into the corn maze, vacant expressions on their cold faces.

—

“… Jesus Christ.”

“Beautiful isn’t it?”

Standing 10 feet tall and brandishing slick, gray translucent skin, the flower head shaped monster screeched at the sight and smell of blood pumping, racing.

“Exactly how he described, I can't believe the tunnel leads here.”

“The tunnels are all over Hawkins, he designed it, just like they said he would. Now c’mon, sun is about to set and I need help figuring out this code, son-of-a-bitch wrote it like a damn puzzle.”

—

Eddie wasn’t kidding, the strain was powerful. Robin was walking in a dream land of brownie covered ground and licorice grass. She was seeing things; beautiful, ominous, things she wouldn’t be able to describe.

And she knew she was high when she heard a high pitch scream from the corn field on her right— damn this shit was good.

Her face was sticky and so were her hands, the sky spun above her as she laid flat on the cake bed ground, watching the tangerine soda sky as it shifted above her like a kaleidoscope.

But no matter how many times she blinked her eyes, one piece of the dream never blurred away. A figure standing straight in the air below a tree branch.

Upon further eye squinting, Robin realized she recognized it to be someone she knew very well.

She had seen those eyes before. She had felt those hands on her skin. And the gold ring on the delicate middle finger looked way too familiar to just be a coincidence.

But there wasn’t any way that this could be real, just a prop for a good gag right, or the everlasting effect of the funny smelling joint from Eddie.

Because why was Vickie standing stone still..? With a large knotted necklace around her pretty neck, covered in red paint, and why wasn’t she moving?

♡ thank you for reading, please consider a rb, or dropping a comment below, I would love to hear from you and your thoughts on this chapter.

♡ currently receiving messages in my askbox on who you think the killer is

part 3: THE ROCKSTAR AND THE REDLIGHTS

♡tag list: @dashingdeb16 @emxxblog @mopeymopeymouse @pretendthisnameisclever @mommybaby-witch @eddies-acousticguitar @tlclick73 @figmentofquinn @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @whenshelanded @micheledawn1975 @3rd-conchord * @leelei1980 @mopeymopeymouse @browneyes8288 @emilyslutface @mmunson86 @josephquinnsfreckles @eddiesxangel @elegantkoalapaper * @str4ngergirlw0rld * @corrodedcoffincumslut @nailbatanddungeon @katethetank @munsons-mayhem28 * @mandyjo8719 @joannamuns9n @littlebookworm86 @hunnybuns-world @littlegingerbat

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #stranger things #Steve Harrington

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simp-ly-writes · 3 months

Text

Chapter Six: Heavenly Stars

Can be read as a standalone: Personal Hell Series (pt.7)

Pairing: (Hazbin Hotel) Lucifer Morningstar x demon overlord!Reader

Summary: You wanted to be alone, to hatefully survive in the hole you found yourself in but when answers come knowing at your door, will you listen to their call even when it goes against everything you have established for yourself in this home?

Warnings: 4864 words, mentions of blood, gore, injury, metal health subjects, drowning, death, and emotional angst.

A/N: Apologies for the wait my Lucifer darlings! But *rubs hands together* we gain answers now.

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

The grandfather clock ticking away down the hall is the only sound found within the home besides your paint strokes against the canvas. You are multicoloured, covered in paint from head to tone in various shades and hues as you step back and observe the piece you had been working on.

How long have I been here for? You think to yourself, muscles sore as you stand and move to get a new cup of water for your paint brushes. Since your time in the Gardens and you haven’t been able to sleep since, you cringe while catching a glimpse of your reflection in a window. The usual ringing in your head was all long gone from your past days without rest now your body feeling more energized than ever as you kept yourself busy with old hobbies in this newfound time.

The sink whines open, a few droplets drip once you close the tap and find your way back to the balcony, overlooking hell's outer rings. That once cure you had found eons ago had come to fruition, now a vast scape of rolling hills and mature trees breathed with life as you felt jealousy stir within your bones, outlining another tree to your composition. Only accompanied by seemingly endless amounts of time, you felt more and more lost in this old and empty house. As if being sat with your old self that stared you down through each object left for dead in this place. It was equally comforting, being near death’s door again, that old self, but that cold loneliness haunted you more than the screams that plagued the back of your mind.

Just know that when you wish to dream- you will find me here… waiting. Shaking your head of these thoughts you pack up your supplies and go to the kitchen in search of sustenance. A bowl of pristine red apples glowed in your face, begging for attention, for you to take a bite as you stuck your head into the cabinets and finished out the supplies to make a fresh loaf of bread.

In between paintings and trying your hand with an old shotgun to hunt for food, you would be found harvesting the overgrown crops of your greenhouse. It felt connecting, taking the time to watch your harvest grow, you had forgotten the wait, the patience of it all in recent times, just observing before going in for the grab. You had started journaling once more, keeping track of your sanity, allowing yourself the possible freedom of finally letting it all go….

You wipe the sweat from your forehead, setting the bread to rest on the windowsill as you look out towards Heaven and its sun-like quality in the red sky. You still do not feel tired, the wood of the structure groans, begging for you to rest like a casket but you clutch at the walls, silent tears falling but you cannot escape. You are forced awake, you cannot dare to dream of a life outside of this, finding yourself wearing the same clothes, his jacket resting against your body, a ghost of a hug that has your heart aching no more than your desire to finally burn that bridge for good.

His voice haunts you. You can imagine his comforting words, his touch, the ghost of his breath falling upon your neck as your hands trail the various seams and buttons along the coat. You do not realise yourself to be smiling through these tears. You do not know yourself to be in the right or wrong- just horridly conflicted with past and present, vice and virtue. Morality calls to not be in vain, you grip your hair, immortality is a silent scream much to your own, crying out for you to be more. I just can’t seem to find a place to start…

After an awkward call to heaven, Lucifer leaves the hotel with a seedling of hope that has yet to be watered. A few guards bow to him as he passes down the mirrored maze of hallways and never ending staircases towards your office where he throws himself to the floor. His breathing is ragged, he watches possible futures flicker through his eyes. Blood and tears mix between songs as he brings his knees up to his chin.

Throwing off his hat, he listens as the gold of his crown scrapes against the hardwood floors before the snake slithers its way over to him, wrapping its way around his throat, he reaches upwards to it, begging for it to release as his body directs him towards the shattered crown before him. He shakes his head, boots scraping against the floors as voices yell out from behind the closed doors.

In a few hours, Charlie will be in Heaven, in another few days, your general will still not be there, The King thinks to himself as he cries, forcing himself to stand and lean against your desk as his hands grasp over the various maps and journals. The snake slowly lessens its grip as he takes in deep breaths, trembling fingers drifting over your handwriting.

He feels pathetic, smaller than he knows himself to appear. His mind keeps flickering to those last few moments with you, holding your hand, voicing his love for you to only watch you disappear and be set with the ghosts of you in these rooms and down these halls. He swears to hear your feet are running up to him with grand news or a mere correction to the weather report but nevertheless he ears strain to remember you voicing his name once again- to know that you call out to him. Yet he fails to dream any further as he sips cold tea and places signature after signature on the various reports left unfilled.

A tapping at the window has you falling off the couch as your hands feel under the coffee table for your shotgun. Bringing the handle up to your chest, you stalk your way around the archway and make haste towards your front door. Looking through the peep-hole, not a single soul is present- your shoulders only tense as you raise the barrel and twist the door handle. Rushing outside as you check every corner only to hear a squawk, eyes darting downwards to see a Raven dancing its way from being stepped on by your black boots.

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, the bird flies up, resting on the barrel as it presents a wax-sealed envelope with your name written in glitter. Shaking your head, the raven transitions itself onto your shoulder as you take the letter from its beak and drop your gun on the coffee table once more, knocking over a stale cup of coffee as it stains the recent newspaper you snuck out to steal from the nearest village.

The bird chirps in your ear, presenting its neck for a scratch as its wings flutter happily to your physical praise. Filling a bowl with water, you tip your shoulder down to the counter and watch as the raven dips itself inside and takes a drip. Ripping open the letter using a claw, your fingers trace over the Princesses signature, resembling much of the same qualities of her father. A common pattern of letters that you forged oh so many times in Hell's past.

Your eyes drift over the shaken handwriting as concern etches its way into each wrinkle upon your face. The paper is stained with tears and a droplet of golden blood that has you seeing red- motherfuckers, you spit out, flipping to the next side that houses a simple request. “...I don’t know where else to go, but I need to be away from everyone, could I come stay with you?”

Obvious wear of the page signifies that this sentence had been scrapped and rewritten a multitude of times as you hum out in thought. You saw echoes of yourself in her words and actions, taking the chance to run for a moment, to find freedom from all the decisions that wear a person down overtime. The raven’s eyes pearce through your own that have started to shimmer a yellow hue in the moonlight. You rip a page from one of your journals, listing a simple yes with a request that the bird be the only one who shows her the way here.

You open the kitchen window, watching as the bird flies up, becoming a mere black speck in the bloodied sky as you lean against the counter, observing your home and omitting a sigh, looking down to your hands. With a singular clap you listen as each scattered object finds its place upon shelves or in the sink beside you. Shoes walk their way towards the closet as your shotgun polishes itself back into its display. Small golden specks flicker and fall towards the floor, lost without a trace alongside the dust between the floorboards, the magic you used now settled as your blood becomes warm- happy that you made use of it.

You can only roll your shoulder, the jacket appearing to dwarf over your frame as you shimmy it off, resting it against the back of the couch as you make your way upstairs, fighting mentally to come up with a nice outfit to greet the Princess with- Charlie with, your brain corrects you. Hands fly to button up a new shirt as you iron your pants and choose a clean pair of workboots and gloves. You bring up a bottle of wine from the cellar, eyeing the date with a laugh, gods I really am ancient. You think to yourself, this bottle was practically double Charlie's age and you could only reminisce of the sentences Husk would string together at the mere mention of such a luxury bottle of liquor.

Popping off the lid, you lean your head back on the white jacket, an arm falling onto your shoulder as you swirl your glass, watching as the liquid falls from the walls, clashing back into itself. You can imagine these waves roaring, clashing and becoming one in the end- a pointless battle in the grand scheme of things to only be interrupted by the ringing of a doorbell as a distressed blonde collapses into your arms, their black mascara staining your fresh white gloves as you cradle their head.

Charlie's glossy red eyes peer into your own as you still, at a loss for words. You had never seen Charlie so down, so utterly miserable as you squeezed the girl that bit harder and picked her up. Flicking your hand for the door to be closed behind you both and led her towards your living space. She looks up as you place her on the couch, conjuring a fresh plate of tea as you extend your hand, offering physical support as she latches on, nails digging into your palm as she sobs out, tears and snot choking her next words as you lean in to hear better.

“I-I was so excited and then… it all goes to shit. I should have listened to everyone, to you, my dad… my mother…” You open your mouth, about to comment before she continues, eyeing up your glass of wine. “I understand the pain my father went through, now more than ever.”

“Charlie…” you breathe out in concern as you pull the hair from her tear stained cheeks, offering her your handkerchief as she dabs her eyes, looking up towards your vaulted ceilings. “I should have never gone to heaven, held these ‘loft dreams,’” she quotes in her fingers, dropping your hand as she exhales frustration, going to grip her hair, head falling between her knees. “I wanted so much then and now I feel the consequences. Vaggie is not the person I knew her to be- she's an angel and to even think that I admired heaven when these are the tricks they pull!”

“Charlie-I-”

“No! It's not fair, and now that motherfucker Adam!”

“Language,“ you state as Charlie flips you the finger, “okay dad/mom,” she states back, picking up her head and showcasing an eye roll as you pull her closer to you, resting her head under your own as you breeze past the title. “I remember Adam,” you state as Charlie looks up at you curiously, “did he declare to come and kill you first too?”

“Actually-” you start to say while scanning through your memories.

“You’re joking,” Charlie deadpans just as you shrug your shoulders. The Princesses face falls again soon after as she picks at her nail polish, “I am just as bad as the cruelest list of overlords in hell-”

“No you are not!’ you stand, anger filling your voice as shadows soon emerge from the floorboards before you gain a hold of yourself witnessing the terror starting to rise in Charlie's eyes as you drop to your knees and apologise. “You are not cruel Charlie, you are kind as you are strong. Any overlord in hell… misses those feats,” you state, wrapping her fathers jacket around her frame and pressing a cup of tea into her hands.

“Now I know better than anyone that all these thoughts lead to nothing but more self wallowing,” you say, taking a sip of your drink before leaning against the arm of the couch opposite of Charlie as she raises an eyebrow.

“Isn’t that why you are here?” Charlie questions, sneaking a sip of your wine with a small smile starting to form, knowing she caught you there. “Well as I have stated before, you are better than me in many ways,” you retort, shifting the fabric of your shirt to position itself on your elbows as you lean down to pick up a tea cup.

Charlie laughs out softly, a ping of pride emanates from your chest in managing to cheer her up slightly yet both of your positive reactions soon fall as you summon forth your spear, horns growing out of the top of your head and through your healing hair with the information she presents you. “But that is all besides the point, I need people to fight this battle with me, I need you and I have already made deals-”

“YOU DID WHAT?!” you coldly ask, head tilting, your eyes now slits as you demand answers from the princess. Rank falling from any traditions you held, even with her fathers coat on, you stand at nothing but their utmost safety, even when it comes with disrespect to their pride filled backgrounds. “I made a deal with… well more like through Alastor. He said that I could only accept when I was sleeping so I got him to put me to sleep before coming over to you,” her words come out in waterfalls, spewing at a gallon a minute while you stab a hole into your floors as she continues her story. “A-and I was put in this space with water and a guy who looked a lot like my dad, but he wore these white clothes and called himself the Creator out of all things- I mean I have seen god and god is not him I shall have you know, anyways I-”

“Woah, woah, woah, WAIT!” You comment, racking your brain as horror coats your features, your spear clashing against the floor as you place your hands on her cheeks, moving her eyes to your own as you ensure the seriousness of your next question, “You have met THE god?”

“He was there for my birth and well… the day of your death. I was too young to remember anymore, you would have to ask dad but…” Charlie conines to ramble, you fade out of reality, feeling your socks becoming yet, clouds flickering in Hell's skies before you drop your hands from her face and grip your head with stress. Becoming out of breath, Charlie soon slows her speech as you pick up on what she has to say once more, “...so I made the deal and now I owe him my dreams till Adam is dead.” She finishes as you grip the back of the couch, eyes starting past her head and into the kitchen window where heaven sits gleaming mockingly in your face.

“I think it's time for you to catch some rest, I will be there with you in a moment… there's a few words I wish to share with your dealmaker,” you state with vice as Charlie swallows, nodding her head a few times just as the raven flies in through the still opened window, staring between the two of you before making your way upstairs and showing her to your guest room. Charlie clicks her hands together, suitcase flying its way into the room and on her bed as she yawns out, “thank you for letting me stay here,” she says in a small voice while looking down at her feet.

“Thank you for coming to me when things like this happen,” you reply, pulling her in for one last hug just before you exit your room, once hearing the door close, you exhale a soft breath, a hand of your own trails from your waist, upwards you chest and rests upon your neck- grazing over the golden scar. You step towards your room, hands moving over your journals as you recount each conversation, preparing yourself to enter the dreamworld once again.

You walk towards your washroom and run a bathtub, knowing you would be unable to sleep in normal ways. Your breath hitches as the tap squeals shut, the bird now taps rapidly against the glass window above your head, beckoning to be let in just as you undress, submerging toes to shoulders in water. You watch the water ripple to intake your form, your hands begin to float in the water as you gradually sink your back deeping into the warm waters.

Snapping your fingers, bubbles fill the tub, flying off towards the window, gleaming in Heaven's light, creating the only natural rainbows to be found in hell. Water now just up to your chin, you take in one last small breath before submerging your head. Your body unconsciously kicks, trying to force more air into your system but you stay, your feet twitch, your lungs scream and just as your nails ding into your skin and a droplet of pain enters your system- you are transported to the otherside.

Your body is wrapped in fine cloth garments, silver patterns are sewn into the fabric in waving lines as you stand at the foot of a bed that houses a sleeping Charlie. You start to move to the side of the bed, raising your hand, just hovering over to tuck her in just as a hand is placed on your shoulder. You stand back upright in an instant, hand dropping and becoming covered in your robes once more as you face forward. Staring off into the horizon as sunlight fades and blues arise from the sea, coating the sky.

Greetings, the deity calls to you, you feel the warmth of their breath on your skin as it crawls into your ear, making a home in your senses as you become senseless to their powers taking over your form just as the last. Why have you come to the Creator on this fine evening? A smile starts to form across their features, their rosy cheeks taking over your eyes as they expand to hold every pointed tooth in your eyes.

Why speak, why even think if you already know the answer? You strike back, a hand of theirs now drifting from your shoulder down to your back as they lead you away from Charlie, your feet moving on their own as they spread the very water before you and towards a tea set primed for the occasion. A singular snake following in your robes, teeth latching on to a sleeve as it becomes lost under the waters. You feel its tug but cannot look back as you take your seat beside the deity, their hand now on your knee as they pat it thrice in contemplation.

Where is the fun, immoral one when another can already speak for me? You roll your eyes in response as the snake now catches the corner of your eye. Its white scales disappear in your garments but hiss towards the man beside you, warning of what you have yet to discover. A question for a question, both never to be answered, you say, gaining control of your head the longer you sit in the waters. The deity still faces forwards, watching Charlie breath, your heart slows realizing the water had been rising but you kept on breathing.

A choking sound can be heard, you feel yourself thrashing in the bathtub just as Charlie emits a silent scream in her dreams. Stop this, you state, the snake now slithering to rest its head in your hand as your knees begin to shake, you have to stand but their hand still rests on your knee. Their eyes flicker to gold coins, a scoff coming up from the back of their throat. It does not serve you well to beg, dearest, they tut out towards you just as your body shakes in anger.

You will stop this cruelty this instant, she is young, unknowing in many of the wicked ways we have lived through. You speak, starting to stand, pushing up against the currents as fish swim around our eyes, finns swatting in your face. And just how would you know what I have lived through? They deity questions.

How do you know yourself to be the Creator when Creation itself happened to make you? You question back, their head tips over to you, neck cracking as the night had finally come, the once rosy pinks and orange waters now rich blues mistaken to be black and soulless. Bubbles rise when they laugh, they create waves as Charlie uses these air pockets to breathe. Her arms reach out to you even when she is unable to open her eyes. Her fingers flex and bend in search of comfort and you become distracted. The snake bites into your skin as you hiss out in pain, droplets of gold now rising towards the unseen surface, it glimmers in contrast to the depths of the ocean.

The snake bites you again, more droplets emerge as they rise above your head and they sliver away with them. Looking upwards, you watch as the snake curls into itself before bursting into the brightest light yet, the supposed god cowers in the display. You take a deep breath in at the sight of the patterns that your blood has created in the darkness you once emerged from. Constellations shown from earth's surface come into view, Orion’s sword and shield fall from the sky and into your hands as you slam the two together. The deity flies backwards from the impulse as you sprint before extending your legs, jumping and crashing into their awaiting fists as the water parts, Charlie falling behind you as she chokes up water.

Her eyes open, she screams out in warning as the brother rushes up to you, clouds now battle axes as each connection of blades groans on impact. Your muscles ache, your lungs filled with frustration as you fight. Blood drips from their teeth, your smirk seeing their pain as Charlie stands back in horror seeing you so far removed from yourself. She thinks back to the tales her father told her, the depictions of the townsfolk when their version of self emerged in protection of her mother, her father, and now… her.

Charlie ducks as an axe swings over her head, she watches as your back dips, the blade caressing your chin just as you kick his knee, making him tumble for balance as you place a cut to his arm and later to his chest. Gold pours out in vats as you cry out, cutting through fabric and skin down to bone. Exposing the dead-skin that laid underneath yet you paid no mind to it, even when an emptied hand came to hold your chin as your blade rests under their own.

You are stunning like this dearest, a true waking dream, their last word echoing as the sky crashes down upon you, sun rises and drying any trace as the ground begins to crack- a desert forming in response to your aching bones as they lay before you, barely able to move. Charlie views the grey skin you had unleashed to the sky, it is a mere replica of the ground she now walks upon, removed of any prior life as fish flap around helplessly at her feet.

You continuously speak about creations, fate, and now dreams. What are you, for the only object I see now is failure before me. Their eyes close, basking in the light rays just before golden eyes sparkle on their own. They do not show any greed, and promise for truth yet their lips move on their behalf, “I am the spirit of dreams, a heavy branch from the father himself. I twist fate in the most gorgeous of affairs, I bend time on a whim just as I destroy. I can revoke happiness, I can tempt death, I can so I do… until now, until you…”

Your blade still holds strong against their throat, itching to make the same cursed line to match your own, their hand still rests upon your face, that once comforting feeling now a hollowed caress as they hum out peacefully in thought of their next words. “I have called myself the Creator so as to not confuse you with the many renditions you were before this. We have had a long relationship, a changing one two, you were once my greatest friend, a confidant and even lover…”

A sickness plagues your mind, you don’t recognise the plethora of visions that coat your memory, not feel as your blade shatters against the ground as Charlie moves to hug you, pleading for your return as you stare lifelessly off into the horizon.

You wake in a distant memory. You find yourself in similar robes as you walk along the cosmos, galaxies are your furnishing as they are your being, you drift between them with grace as the stars twinkle and black holes bend to make way for your presence. A hand emerges from the darkened veil of space, a white glove pulls you through and into a home lost to time as a grandfather clock ticks in the background, the hands left unchanging yet it sounds just the same. Teeth smile into your neck, their hands on your waist as you drift between one another and you awake once more.

“NO…” you state, coming back to cruel realities as you hold Charlie's head, comforting the girl by unknotting her hair with your claws as you yourself need to be grounded in some semblance of the current life you live. “Your greatest dream was to always have more time, dearest and I could never deny you of anything in my power. I paused the clocks as long as I could before father came knocking at my door and when the earth went to dream again, I didn't have you to join me. In this all, I had yet to discover my hatred for my brother truly, it was only when I saw you with that ‘King of Hell…’” he speaks the table to such spite as his wounds begin to heal and he stands to full height, hands extended towards you as Charlie blocks their touch with her body. “...I grew that hatred, that jealousy and revoked his dreams. I pleaded for your return and even when I received it… Lucifer always found a way to claw you back into hell, he gave you that extra time when I was unable to...”

“You twist your words…” you say, shaking your head in disbelief as the Spirit of Dreams smile fades to that of a smaller one as their hands drop. “Only when I must, but now I see that there is no longer a need for me to do so,” they say as their eyes drift over Charlie's blonde hair.

Your eyes begin to feel drowsy as you emit a yawn, feeling exhausted for the first time in weeks and cannot help but feel giddy at the feeling. You watched relaxed as his robes drift off like clouds in the sky once more as a sunset rises from behind you all, an array of reds reminding you of Hell. They chuckle out lightly, their eyes flickering knowingly to your current state as they speak in mere whispers, your eyes fluttering closed. “You are due to wake up any moment now dearest.”

He nods once towards Charlie, her eyes soon closing once again as she lets out a peaceful sigh, resting on your shoulder. “I am sorry for not dreaming enough for the two of us…” You shake your head at this, starting to fall slowly back into the tub as their voice softly shuts closed their domain.

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

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wongyuseokie · 2 years

Text

Mine | JJK

Summary: Jungkook really shouldn’t have ventured into the house that no one else did, and he really should have seen the warning signs, but something about you drew him in, and now, he was in and never getting out.

☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ☁︎ angst | ♕smut | ♥ completed works Word Count: 5647 words

Age: 18+ Pairings: Jungkook x Demon! Female Reader

Genres/AUs/Tropes: Smut, Angst, Horror

Warnings: Unprotected sex, OC is much more than someone who manages a haunted house. Keep reading to find out. Squirting, deception, and revenge at its finest. Mentions of blood and Koo falls over and scrapes his knee. Multiple orgasms, and oral male and female receiving, call it a sinister Pokémon hunt?

Author’s Note: Kinkotober? Halloween smut is based very (EXTREMELY) loosely on the Haunting of the Bly Manor. Also, lowkey based on Taylor Swift’s Blank Space MV, the last scene, where she kills the guy and then gets ready, a new guy shows up at her door again, and the music restarts. You’ll get it later 😅 Authors Note 2: I wrote this fic some time ago, and I wanted to revive it (GET IT) for Halloween. This is my contribution to The Nightmares of Mystic Manor collab hosted by BTS Dream Court and BTS Carnival Net Authors Note 3: I didn't think I'd revive a fic, much less this one, but I could not have done any of it without my lovely friends who took time out of their days to hear me yell about banners and content for so long, thank you @shina913 and @here4btsfics for taking the time to read through this and give me feedback and help beta this! I adore you both endlessly!! 💕 Banner Credits: @classicseffects Cross Posted to AO3 © playmetheclassics 2022. All rights reserved.

Jungkook loved Halloween.

It was the perfect time to play jokes and scare the shit out of people and the perfect time to encourage his “no fear, and YOLO” agenda. But tonight, he had different plans. He was going to do something that no one would dare, and for that very reason, Jungkook had to do it.

There was a mansion on Hill Street. It was rumoured to be haunted. Once upon a time, it housed a mob boss. Anyone who ever crossed him was met with a long and torturous death. He often took care of business at home. People have said that the manor’s walls had witnessed brutal murders. Decades later, the ghosts of the mob boss’ victims continue to roam the halls, wailing and screaming for mercy. and The story was that anyone who walked into that house never came out, and every Halloween, some idiot would venture into that house to never be seen again.

Jungkook laughed at all the rumours, but he was about to become that idiot tonight.

“Dude, just keep your location on, okay? Once you get to the house, just send me a message, and if your ass isn’t out by tomorrow, I’ll call the police,” Jimin warned. He was exhausted from trying to reason with Jungkook.

Jungkook could be as stubborn as a mule, and he nodded, seeing how Jimin finally gave in which made him so happy. “I’m fucking serious. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll kill you before whatever resides in that house kills you first!” Jimin said, and Jungkook nodded, this time taking the words of his friend thoughtfully.

“Noted! Now, I shall see you tomorrow if the house hasn’t killed me before that,” Jungkook jokes, making Jimin glare at him.

God, how he hated Jungkook’s adventurous streak and wished that he could tie him to a chair until Halloween was over. Jimin knew, Halloween or not, Jungkook would still venture into the house, regardless. Might as well let him do it once, get spooked and never try again, Jimin rationalised as he glared at Jungkook, who excitedly packed his bag and laced up his boots.

“Alright, see you never, Hyung!” Jungkook said as he headed towards the door, earning a smack upside his head from Jimin.

“Just go on and get your adrenaline fix! I will see you later, you brat!” Jimin nearly yelled, and Jungkook nodded, giving Jimin a tight hug before leaving.

“Damn!” Jungkook said as he reached the edge of the forest, where the manor was. He couldn’t lie to himself–it was eerie! The entire journey here was right out of a horror movie. It was dark and foggy and oddly quiet. It was just an old house, according to Jungkook, nothing else. Just a stupid old place with horrible rumours.

Jungkook would merely step inside, take a selfie and possibly say hi to a non-existent disembodied soul and then leave. And then brag to Jimin about how he was invincible and how Jimin was too worried for his own good.

However, despite how brave Jungkook was, he couldn’t ignore the feeling that he was being followed or watched as he got out of his car and approached the manor.

Jungkook always had a terrible habit of walking with his head held too high. Often, this meant he would miss a step and trip, and that’s precisely what happened as he approached the manor. He tripped and scraped his knee. He hissed in pain as he got up on his feet, only to jump in fear when he felt a hand on his back.

“Hi,” a small voice spoke from behind him. The voice filled the silence of the forest, and Jungkook swore his heart nearly stopped. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“Fuck- what the hell,” Jungkook gasped, panting hard as he placed his hand over his chest to steady his erratic heartbeat.

“Jesus, who are you?” Jungkook asked you. There was something about you, he thought, something ethereal and angelic. It was almost as if you were glowing. However, he didn’t dwell on it for too long. It was a forest, and it was foggy, it could have just been his eyes.

“Y/N,” you said, and Jungkook nodded slowly. “Are you following me or something? Who else would come to the Hill Manor?” He asked, staring at you, and you let out a soft laugh that Jungkook could have sworn sounded like music, like a choir of angels singing. But there was an underlying hint of something more sinister behind your laughter. But again, he didn’t dwell on it for too long. After all, ghosts didn’t really exist for him.

“I manage the Hill Manor, so I feel like I should be asking you what you’re doing here? Anyway, what’s your name?” You asked, moving your hand away from Jungkook’s back. And he swore that he felt the part that your hands were just on tingle. It didn’t hurt, but it felt funny.

Again, he didn’t think anything of it.

“Jungkook,” he said, smiling softly at you.

“Fuck, aren’t you nervous to, like, live here? Aren’t there ghosts and shit inside?” Jungkook asked, making you smile. The sweetest smile ever, he thought.

“Ghosts don’t exist, but I’m guessing you’re an adrenaline junkie. Here to prove something to your friends?” You questioned him, and Jungkook nodded shyly.

“Well, it’s a good thing I caught you. Most people try to break in and then run away when they hear my footsteps approach the front door,” you joked, making Jungkook smile.

“Come on, why don’t you come in? Your cut looks pretty deep and needs to be cleaned out. I have a first-aid kit inside and we can bandage it up, then afterwards, you can take as many selfies as you want,” you offered, and Jungkook nodded as he followed you towards the manor.

Jungkook could have sworn that the blood loss was affecting him more than usual. Your movements were so lithe…which made it really strange since the path to the manor was unpaved and uneven. Any normal person walking through this area would be staggering around. But you weren’t walking. You were floating. Your feet never touched the ground, but he thought that maybe he was starting to hallucinate due to blood loss, and again, the forest was foggy.

People don’t float. At least…not normal people.

“Holy shit,” Jungkook breathed out he entered the manor, and you closed the door behind him.

“What? Did you expect bodies and carnage?” You asked, and Jungkook shrugged, making you laugh.

“I manage this house, so I make sure to clean, and care for it. Besides, why would I want to make it look less appealing when my job is to get this place sold?” You explained, and Jungkook nodded as he looked around the house.

“Wait, you actually have buyers interested in this property? I thought the scary stories would have put them off?” Jungkook asked, and you smiled at him and shrugged.

“Well, I guess. I’m banking on finding one of those eccentric buyers that think living in a rumoured haunted house is cool,” you joked, making him grin at you.

“Why don’t you sit down? I’ll grab that first aid kit for you,” you suggested, and Jungkook nodded as he sat down in the living room. Everything looked modern, but what really caught his eye were the oil paintings on the wall. They were portraits, and he could have sworn one of the faces resembled yours. But again, he didn’t give it much thought.

“I can’t take these down. It adds intrigue to the house,” you said as you found Jungkook eyeing the paintings.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that one looks a lot like you,” he jokes, pointing at the specific portrait, earning a smile from you.

“Now, wouldn’t that be crazy?” You said, laughing and Jungkook nodded, agreeing.

It would be fucking crazy.

“I thought you were grabbing a first aid kit?” Jungkook asked as he saw a wet washcloth in your hand and disinfectant in the other.

“My grandma taught me old school methods. She said it’s always important to learn how to treat injuries without relying too much on modern medicine,” you explained, making him nod.

“Will I still get a band-aid?” Jungkook jokes, and you smile, nodding.

“Of course,” you answered as you sat on the couch next to him.

“Lift,” you said, nudging Jungkook’s thigh, and he hesitated. You rolled your eyes and slid off the couch to sit on your knees in front of him.

“Oh no, I can lift my leg,” Jungkook replied quickly, feeling bad for making you sit on the floor. You smiled, shaking your head at him.

“Lean back, let me clean your knees. You have tiny pebbles and dirt on them,” you offered, and he nodded, leaning back.

Jungkook winced when you dabbed his knee with the disinfectant. “Ow!” Jungkook whined, earning a soft chuckle from you.

“I thought a man covered in tattoos would have a higher pain threshold?” You joked, earning a scowl from him.

“That was voluntary pain, this is not,” Jungkook argued, and you shrugged.

“You decided to visit this manor. Despite everyone telling you not to, I’m sure. So… this counts as something pretty voluntary to me,” you said as you dabbed a salve on his wound.

“Are you always this sassy?” Jungkook asked, and you smiled at him.

“It depends on my mood,” you answered.

“And what has gotten you particularly sassy this Halloween evening?” He asked, and you sighed.

“Well, I used to throw Halloween parties here, but we had an incident some years ago where this family decided to bring their toddler. Needless to say, she got spooked. Word got out and we got some bad press. Since then, Halloween has become quite lonely,” you explained, and Jungkook nodded.

“Until you tripped. I was taking a walk, and as I was heading back, I saw you were first staring at the house and then fell over,” you explained, earning a glare from Jungkook.

“You saw me fall and didn’t help?” He asked incredulously.

“I’m helping now, aren’t I?” You spoke, and Jungkook nodded. You smiled, wrapped bandages around his injured knee and stood up.

“Thanks,” Jungkook said.

“Uh, any way I can repay you?” Jungkook asked as you sat on the coffee table across from him.

“I’d suggest joining me for a drink, but I’m assuming you drove here?” You asked and Jungkook nodded sadly.

“Ah, yeah, I’m sorry,” he scratches his neck.

Just then, as if by some force of God or magic, the wind started to howl outside, followed by some lightning and a loud thunderclap, making Jungkook throw his head back and groan.

“Welp, I guess I’m here until that dies down. I hope that’s okay?” Jungkook asked, and you nodded.

“More than okay. What’s your poison?” You asked, and he stared at you strangely.

“I feel like that’s a terrible thing to ask someone in a haunted house,” Jungkook jokes, and you laughed, leaning forward as you stood up.

“Do you scare easily?” You asked, and he looked up to meet your gaze.

“Nope! And I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Jungkook said confidently, leaning back into the couch, making you smile at him as you wandered off to the kitchen to fix him a drink.

A few moments later, you return and present him with a glass of amber liquid and ice. “Here you go!” Jungkook mouths his thanks as he accepts the drink. He took a sip of it, then immediately grimaced at the intense, burning feeling that went down his throat.

“Fuck, what is that?” He asked. He didn’t exactly hate the taste, but it certainly didn’t feel like anything familiar that he’s tried before.

“Whiskey, but it’s kind of an old treasure from this house. One of the previous owners had it, and well, I guess it got stronger over time?” You chuckled.

Jungkook’s eyes widened in awe. “So…we’re drinking a dead man’s liquor,” he laughed, “That’s got to be a solid reason to haunt you!” You roll your eyes at him.

“Why are you so damn convinced that this house is haunted?” You asked, and Jungkook shrugged.

“Where there’s smoke, there’s usually fire,” he said wisely, earning a chuckle from you.

“Alright, ghostbuster, would you like a tour of this manor?” You asked, making Jungkook’s eyes light up, nodding enthusiastically. “Finish your drink, and I’ll show you around. When we’re done,I’ll leave it up to you to decide whether or not this house is haunted,” you said, making him smile.

“Deal, but I do want a selfie with a ghost,” Jungkook jokes. You stifle a smile in response as you watch him down the rest of his drink.

“Oh, wow- I can see why this place would scare someone though,” Jungkook gasped as he followed you up the grand staircase that led into the hallway where the bedrooms were. “So if I opened the door to one of these rooms, would I see a spirit?” He asked playfully, earning a nudge from you.

Just as Jungkook laughed, a flash of lightning illuminated the second floor of the manor. He swore he saw someone behind you, just a shadow, but it wasn’t yours.

He immediately dismissed it.

“Scared yet?” You teased, making Jungkook glare at you.

“Here,” you said, handing him a bottle of liquor. “Take another sip of courage.” Jungkook grabs the bottle from you and takes a long swig, making him shudder. He would never get used to that burning sensation but at least it soothed his nerves.

“Okay, I’ll say this- this place is quite creepy,” Jungkook said as you guided him along the first floor and to another set of stairs.

“Come on, we haven’t even gotten to the best part,” you said as you climbed up another set of stairs, only for Jungkook to grab your wrist slowly.

“Wait, can I walk ahead?” He asked–showing off a bit–, waiting for you to tease him, but you just smiled at him.

“Are you scared?” You asked. There was no humour in your tone. You were honestly concerned.

“Spooked,” Jungkook admitted, and you smiled at him.

“Sorry. Why don’t we take a little break? We can relax in my room. It’s a lot less creepy,” you said, making him nod.

There was something so eerie about the hallways in this house, almost as if someone was lying in wait, ready to pounce at any point and drag him into the shadows…where he would meet a slow and painful death.

Jungkook’s grave thoughts are interrupted when you grab his hand and guide him to your room. He flinched at the contact because your skin was painfully cold to the touch…but then again, the entire house felt frigid. He thought that maybe you needed to sit in front of the fireplace or something to warm up but judging by the light clothing you had on, it looked like you were already used to the house’s arctic nature. You did live here, after all.

“Here,” you said, letting go of Jungkook’s hand as you opened your bedroom door. You let him in first and turned around to close the door behind you, not bothering to lock it.

“Yeah, this room is a lot more, I guess, bright?” Jungkook said, not knowing what to say. He wanted to say that this was the only room in the house that didn’t look insidious or scary. You walked closer to him, placing your hand on his back. He recoiled slightly but relaxed when he turns to face you.

“It’s okay to admit that you’re scared. I wouldn’t judge. Not at all. My first three months in this house, it was hell. I’d stay awake all night and wait ‘til broad daylight to get some sleep. But you get used to it, you know,” you shrug Hearing that gave Jungkook a small sense of comfort.

“Why don’t you sit?” You said as you guided him to your bed, and Jungkook nodded, kicking his shoes off and sitting on your bed, wincing slightly when his wounded knee grazed your mattress.

“You okay?” You said, approaching him and standing in between his legs. Jungkook nodded, smiling at you.

Jungkook didn’t know what exactly it was, but there was something magnetic, practically hypnotic, about you. He first felt it when you touched his back when he fell, and it never went away. You were drawing him in, and for some reason, Jungkook felt at ease. It wasn’t like you had wings, devil horns, or fangs. You were just a person…with a strange job.

“I’m just going to change into something more comfortable, but why don’t you make yourself at home?” You suggested, and Jungkook nodded as he settled further into your bed, allowing the soft sheets to caress his skin.

Jungkook fished out his phone to message Jimin and update him. He did breathe out a sigh of relief when he saw that his phone hadn’t mysteriously died upon setting foot into the house. That would usually happen in all horror movies.

Jungkook shot Jimin a text with his location, replied to a few other messages, and sent Jimin a selfie and a quick note about how you helped him out. Jimin replied, ‘use protection,’ making him chuckle as he placed his phone on your bedside table.

When you emerge from the bathroom, Jungkook nearly chokes at the sight of you.

“Y-you’re glowing…you know that?” Jungkook stutters, and you smile at him.

“What?” You asked, laughing as you climbed into the bed sitting inches away from Jungkook.

“You have this glow around you. Literally, like an angel, a halo if you will,” Jungkook said, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“I’m guessing that yo’re single? Your pickup game is pretty weak,” you teased, and Jungkook pouted at you.

“Hey!” He scoffed.

“It’s true, I am single, but that wasn’t a pickup line! I was merely stating a fact,” he said, and you smiled, inching closer to him.

Jungkook was painfully aware of the fact that your version of changing was simply removing your hoodie, leaving you in your tight tank top and leggings that hugged every inch of your legs. You weren’t wearing a bra, he could tell.

He tried to be a gentleman, but he was only human. Your hardened nipples were poking through your shirt, and Jungkook wanted to latch his lip around them while his hand played with the other.

“Then tell me…what is your game like?” You asked, your voice low, and he smiled at you.

“I don’t talk a lot. I prefer to show,” he said, staring directly at you, making you smile at him.

“Show?” You cocked an eyebrow, playing along with him.

“I can demonstrate…if you like?” Jungkook asked, and you nodded.

“May I?” He asked, and you nodded, yelping slightly as Jungkook wrapped his arm around you and pulled you onto his lap. “You’re so cold,” he said as he wrapped his arm around your waist, his fingers moving to inch up your tank top slightly and settling on your skin.

“I guess you’ll have to warm me up?” You said, making him smirk.

“And here you are saying my pull game is weak?” Jungkook teased, earning a playful frown from you, and laughed.

“Fuck, Y/N! If I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop,” Jungkook said, and you smiled at him.

“Then don’t stop,” you whispered, and Jungkook groaned as you moved to place a soft kiss on his neck.

“Fuck- shouldn’t I at least take you out on a date or something first?” He asked, and you smiled, sitting on his lap.

“You wanted to pay me back for fixing up your knee? This can be it,” you said, and Jungkook grinned.

“Fuck, I came here with the intent of taking a selfie with a ghost,” Jungkook joked as he pulled you in closer, and you laughed.

“Well, just say you fucked one,” you joked as he laughed along with you.

“Come here, let me show you how grateful I am,” Jungkook said as he pulled you in for a kiss, and you moaned, immediately kissing him back with his lips gently massaging yours. He moved away when he felt you tug at his shirt and lifted his arms, allowing you to take off his top.

“So good,” you mewled as you took in his body. His abs seemed to trail down endlessly. Jungkook smirked before pulling you back in for a kiss, this one more desperate, making you moan. He took it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

His hands moved to the hem of your tank top, and he yanked it,off your body, exposing your breasts to him.

“Fucking hell, your tits are amazing,” Jungkook moaned in approval as he wrapped his lips around your hardened nipple, while his other hand massaged your other breast.

“May I?” he asked, as his hand slithered down to your cunt.

“Fuck- Jungkook, please,” you begged, and he shamelessly smirked at your state. He pushed you off his lap and onto the bed, laying you on your back. Jungkook’s hands went to your leggings and pulled them off along with your panties, groaning and moaning when he felt how wet you were.

“Fuck, all this for me?” Jungkook asked, making you sigh in pleasure. His hands trailed up your thigh and stopped, spreading your legs apart further, laying down between them. You could feel his breath on your cunt, and it didn’t help that he gently blew on your cunt, making you buck your pussy into his face.

Jungkook gripped your thighs tighter and pulled you close, his nose hitting your clit making you moan at the touch.

He moved his mouth to wrap around your cunt, sliding his tongue up and down your folds. He was listening to your moans, waiting to see when his tongue would meet the spot that would have you cumming. Your thighs started thrashing in his grip, and he figured that he found the perfect place.

He moved and wrapped his lips around your clit, his tongue jutting out and harshly flicking at your clit. Your hands went to his hair, knotting themselves in his soft curls. Jungkook slipped two fingers into your cunt, moved them in and out of you making your walls tighten at the onslaught.

“Fuck- Jungkook! So good,” you breathed out. Jungkook hummed into your pussy, the vibrations making you clench even tighter. He enjoyed the praise, always eager to please. He kept moving his mouth, sucking and flicking your clit, while his tattooed fingers continued to pump in and out of your pussy.

You felt something snap, and you pulled at Jungkook’s hair. You fell apart on his tongue and fingers. He wasted no time lapping up your release.

It was almost inhuman how quickly you undid Jungkook’s trousers and shrugged them off. Within seconds your lips were wrapped around his cock.

Jungkook was thick, and your hands wrapped around the remainder of his length as you took him and started to suck him. He let out a sound that sounded like a mix between a low growl and a strangled whimper as you continued to suck him.

You grazed your nails along his thighs and he let out a shaky breath, bucking his length into your throat, making you gag slightly. You hollow your cheeks and bobbed your neck up and down his length, sucking and licking until you felt him still, releasing in your mouth.

Jungkook couldn’t get enough of you. His eyes drank you in; his mouth was desperate to taste you again. He approached you and lifted your legs, placing them on his shoulder, his mouth immediately finding your cunt.

Jungkook dove straight in, his thick tongue flicking against your swollen clit. Your hands made their way into his hair. He pushed in three fingers this time and it didn’t take much before you came on his tongue. Jungkook lapped at your release while you whimpered in oversensitivity.

“Let me kiss it better?” Jungkook offered.

You rolled your eyes at him, “Just fucking do something.”

Jungkook smirked as he dove straight in. Again. He started by running his tongue along your folds, moaning at the taste. He gently grazed his teeth against your clit, making you buck your face against his mouth. He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked while his tongue constantly ran over your swollen clit.

“More,” you begged as your head fell back into the bed. Jungkook complied and slipped three fingers inside you as you moaned at the stretch.

Jungkook moved his three fingers against the inside of your pussy and kept hitting against the rough patch of the skin. His tongue kept running over your clit while his three fingers thrust in and out of you at a fast pace.

“Fuck! Jungkook, I want to cum,” you whimpered as he kept fingering and licking you. Jungkook moved his fingers faster, and you felt your orgasm wash over you, your thighs threatening to snap shut around Jungkook’s head.

“Mm?” He looked up and smirked when he saw how fucked out you looked. Jungkook helped you ride out your orgasm with his fingers and tongue, and you were practically mewling as you tugged on his hair. He loved knowing that he could do that with just his tongue.

Jungkook rubbed his cock against your wet folds several times and then pushed in. “Fuck,” you hissed. “Fuck you’re tight,” Jungkook groaned.

You hissed as the stretch was quite intense after three orgasms, but he felt so good. “Move,” you whispered, and that’s all it took for Jungkook to lift your legs and place them on his shoulders, allowing him to hit deeper inside you.

His thrusts were rough, and each time he would withdraw only to push back harder and deeper.

Jungkook’s thrusts started to get more uneven as he closed in on his orgasm. He reached down and rubbed at your swollen clit, making you cum around his cock. Not long after, he came inside you, making you moan at the feeling of him pulsing and spurting into you.

He removed your legs from his shoulder and moved down your body. Jungkook’s mouth found your cunt, as he licked his cum out of you, making you orgasm yet again. You whimpered, tugging at his hair and pulling him up to hold you.

You came around his tongue whimpering in pleasure, but Jungkook wasn’t done. He got off his knees and pulled you into his arms. Your back was pressed against his chest, and he spread your legs wide open as he trailed two fingers down to your cunt.

He slipped his fingers into your cunt and started pumping. Jungkook wasted no time. He had one goal: to make you cum as many times as humanly possible.

“Fuck,” you whined as you grabbed his tattooed arm. Jungkook moaned as he sucked on your neck. You felt your vision fade as you came hard and practically snapped your legs shut and curled into Jungkook’s embrace.

“Fuck, that was-” you stopped speaking when you saw you had squirted all over his hands. “That was fucking hot,” Jungkook said as he pulled you closer to him.

“Happy Halloween, I guess?” Jungkook said, laughing, making you smile as he pulled you into his arms. “Fuck- so good,” you said, curling into his chest and placing soft kisses on them.

Jungkook found your kisses intoxicating. They were making him dizzy, but maybe that was just a testament to how good your kisses were. You smirked triumphantly when you noticed that he, like many, fell into a deep sleep when you pulled your lips away from him.

And he would stay that way for a while.

“This fucking moron,” Jimin cursed as he got out of his car. It had been a day since Jungkook left on his stupid adventure. He hadn’t called or returned home since telling Jimin that he was with a female who kept him occupied.

The fact remained, he willingly entered an alleged haunted house. Anything could have happened to him…

Jimin stepped out of his car and glanced at the manor suspiciously. Why would anyone in their right mind ever venture into this house that was beyond eerie and looked like it was straight out of the multiple horror movies Jungkook frequently watched.

The thick fog made it hard to see, but he swore that the ground he was walking on was smooth until he tripped. While Jimin was prone to falling off most objects, the ground was even, so why did he stumble and graze his knee, and why did it almost feel like he was pushed? He looked around but saw no one.

Jimin shook his head, cursing when he saw his knee bleeding. He hissed in pain as he got up on his feet, only to jump in fear when he felt a hand on his back.

“Hi,” a small voice spoke from behind him, the voice filling the silence of the forest, and Jimin swore his heart nearly stopped. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, and perhaps he could go on with the rest of his life without wondering if Jungkook was fucked and killed by a demon.

“Fuck!” Jimin yelled, panting hard as he placed his hand over his chest to steady his erratic heartbeat.

“Jesus, who are you?” Jimin asked you. There was something about you, he thought. Something ethereal and angelic. It was almost as if you were glowing. However, he didn’t dwell on it for too long. It was a forest, and it was foggy. It could have just been his eyes.

“Y/N,” you said, and Jimin nodded slowly.

“Are you following me or something? Who else would come to the Hill Manor?” Jungkook asked, staring at you, and you let out a soft laugh that Jimin could have sworn sounded like music, like a choir of angels singing. But there was a hint of something more sinister in your laughter. Again, Jimin didn’t dwell on it for too long. After all, ghosts didn’t exist for him.

“I manage the Hill Manor, so I feel like I should be asking you what you’re doing here. Anyway, what’s your name?” You asked, and Jimin smiled, replying.

“Jimin.”

You smiled, blushing.

“You must be Jungkook’s friend. Jungkook described you so well and spoke about you nonstop,” you lied.

“He’s- uh, recovering. Why don’t you come in, and I’ll get you a band-aid for your knee?” You suggested continuing your lie, and Jimin nodded.

You seemed harmless, and you smirked as Jimin followed you into the manor. You did the same thing with Jimin, flirted, fixed his grazed knee, and planted a soft kiss on his cheek, saying how good of a friend he was, and that was enough.

If a man kissed you, they’d be fine. But if you initiated the kiss on any part of their body, that was when they would fall under your spell, enraptured, bound, and kept.

The first step was to establish some physical contact, and you did that by pushing the men down the minute they stepped towards the manor.

Then you would appear. Act as a regular Florence Nightingale and try to heal their wounds, and then, once you are done, you would make them fall deeper with each touch.

And with every touch, the poor souls would forget why they were ever in the manor to begin with.

All they’d know is that they wanted to spend their time in the manor ravaging you, and you would let them, gladly.

And when you were done with that, you would kiss them. A final kiss, a kiss which had the magic to put them to sleep as you moved them into another room.

A room where all your lovers and conquests would stay, be well fed and taken care of. But they could never leave, and if they tried, then you shuddered to think what would happen. You hated to ever kill one of those handsome, gullible men.

Which is precisely what you thought when you moved Jimin to his private room. He could never leave, but only you could enter. There were seven rooms in the house for this purpose, and you would take your sweet time filling them.

It made you laugh at times. All the signs were there, the old whiskey, the portrait that had your face on it.

It was your manor. You ruled it and haunted it.

You were left heartbroken by a man once—well, several centuries ago. But with the perks of being an immortal and a succubus, you decided that you would get rid of the wings, and the tail, and adopt a more modern look and lure men in.

No man was ever going to leave you, you’d ensure it. You smirked as you locked Jimin’s door and checked in on Jungkook as he was still sound asleep. You knew he had five other friends, and one by one, you will capture them all and keep them.

Had they been wise, they would have paid attention to the rumours because, indeed, there was no way to leave once you entered this house. They were all yours.

“All mine,” you said, caressing Jungkook’s soft face as you closed his door and took his phone to message his friend Taehyung. And once he texted that he was once his way, all you had to do was quietly wait by the forest, trip him up, and you’d have another one.

In the end, you could say, “Finally, they’re all mine.”

#jungkook #jungkook x yn #jungkook x you #jungkook oneshot #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #indigo writes #mine: jjk fic #jungkook imagine #bts fanfic #bts smut #btscarnivalnet #bts fanfction #bts imagines #bts one shot #nightmaresofmysticmanor

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goryhorroor · 10 months

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favorite 31-60 horror movies + quotes

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starlingflight · 14 days

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15 questions for 15 mutuals!

Thank you for the tag @themaraudershavethephonebox 🥰

1. Are you named after anyone? This story is going to tell you everything you need to know about my parents: my maiden name is Scottish and begins 'Mc' - my parents couldn't think of anything to go with it until Die Hard randomly came on the TV and they decided that 'Holly McClane' had a ring to it, and that's how I was named Holly.

2. When was the last time I cried? Two weeks ago my husband and I had a fight, and I, as an only child, obviously can't handle conflict and started crying in the car lol

3. Do you have kids? No, I'm a grown woman who cries in the car

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Me? No, never

5. What sports do you play/have you played? I was never into team sports. I swam as a kid and I did ballet and tap dance into my mid-teens! Now, most of my exercise is in the form of dog walking

6. What's the first thing you notice about other people? Hair - you can tell a lot about a person's vibe from their hair imo

7. Scary movies or happy endings? Scary movies with happy endings! My favourite film franchise is scream (current terrible decisions not included)

8. Any special talents? I'm a qualified lifeguard, so I can save your life, if required, does that count?

9. Where were you born? Yorkshire, England

10. What are your hobbies? Writing (obviously), I'm also trying to learn embroidery but I'm bad at it lol

11. Do you have any pets? 3 dogs & a cat

12. All time favourite piece of media? The Haunting of Hill House - it's a masterpiece from start to finish

13. Fave subject in school? I have a degree in history, hands down my favourite!

14. Dream job? Literally everyone tells me to quit my job and become a travel agent/planner. I love planning trips, if you tell me you want to go on holiday, I will drop everything to find you the best deals and make you an itinerary. Sadly, my current job pays better 🥲

15. Eye colour? - Brown, which I hated as a kid but if it's good enough for Ginny Weasley, it's good enough for me 😂

Tagging: @lanaturnergetup @solongdaisymayy @merlinsbudgiesmugglers @artemisia-black @ginnyw-potter @sophie-hatter-jenkins @thelighthousestale @my-patronus-is-a-champagne-glass @corneliastreet28 @corneliastreet28 @ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey @pitchblackveins @takearisk-x @fizzyginfizz @pocket-lilacs

#tag game #idk if everyone i tagged is even a mutual #15 people is a lot okay

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stayarmytinyzenmoa-l · 8 months

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NCT Spooky Season [Day 1]

The Hill House

TW: Ghosts Genre: Romance Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x Reader YN Pronouns: Not specified Word Count: 1.3K Prompt: Even in death, they did not part.

[NCT Masterlist] | [NCT Spooky Season Masterlist] | [Tomorrow] [Ao3 Link] | [Wattpad Link]

Notes: Spooky season is officially here! And since I skipped 20 days of NCT for Christmas last year, what the hell, why not do spooky season instead? Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in these actions. The idols mentioned in this work are meant to be seen more as face claims rather than the actual idols themselves.

Feedback is greatly appreciated!! Thank you for reading!

“Haven’t you guys heard of the ghosts of the house on the hill?” Mary’s voice had a telltale tone. She turns on the flashlight beneath her face and her friends gasp in surprise, two of them holding hands and the other rolling her eyes.

“Don’t be so scared, it’s just a story our parents tell us so we don’t play there, it’s dangerous!” Stacey grumbles.

“Whoa, what story are you talking about?” Mary huffs. “The one I know is so different. I heard they’re a husband and wife!”

“Ghosts are still scary!” Jesse shakes in his spot.

“No, no! We have to see them! They only come out on the full moon! What better than now in October?” The girl grins. Jesse sinks into his seat and Helena covers her eyes.

“No way! Too scary!”

“Let’s go!”

“No!”

“My mom is going to kill me,” Jesse holds the flashlight for Mary, who is now trying to pick the lock with a stick she found. Somehow Mary had convinced them all to go to the house on the hill but, shockingly, it didn’t look all that haunted. It just looked like a house. The walls were painted a soft blue with white trimmings, and the dark wood rooftop seemed to be the only thing that would make the home scary. Even the windows all had light curtains on the inside of them.

“Are you sure this place is haunted?” Helena asks.

“Yes, shh!” Mary waves them off. Helena and Stacey stood behind them, waiting with baited breath and soon the lock clicked.

“Got it!” Mary grins.

“Hello?” A voice speaks above them and the four children start screaming. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what’s wrong? No need to be afraid!” You bent down to their level. “It’s a bit early to be trick or treating,” you chuckled.

“We’re here to see the ghosts!” Mary exclaims and your eyes widen slightly before your face relaxes into laughter.

“Ghosts, huh? I can’t say I’ve met any since my husband and I have moved in here,” you looked behind you. “Say… did you want to have an investigation?” You nudged your head inside and the kids excitedly nodded. You stood up and opened the door wider so they could run in.

“Ghosts! Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Mary sings. The house, surprisingly, didn’t look haunted at all. Maybe straight out of the past, but definitely not as scary as the adults put it.

“They’re not going to appear if you’re loud like that,” Stacey shakes her head. She looks into the old mirror for a while, watching her friends run around the foyer through it, but shakes her head after a while.

“Maybe they like to hide,” Helena looks under the table, picking up an old newspaper to look between them.

“Hey, where would you look for ghosts?” Jesse turns behind him toward the door, but you weren’t there anymore. A chill rushes down his spine and he runs to catch up with his friends. “I don’t like it here, let’s go!” He tries to tug Mary’s sleeve.

“It’s fine, stop being a baby!” She groans. The four stop in front of an office room, seeing a man seated at the desk. He looks up from his book and adjusts his glasses.

“Now what do we have here?” Jaehyun leans forward on his elbows and the children stay frozen in place. “My partner taking in strays again?” He says with a soft smile.

“Oh, don’t be like that, they’re investigating the ghosts in our house,” you said behind them. The kids turned quickly, with Jesse jumping in his shoes and grabbing onto Stacey.

“Let me go,” she shrugs him off.

“Ghosts? That’s not good, I wouldn’t want them in my home,” Jaehyun shakes his head, now standing at the other side of the kids. “Take your time, then, let me know if you find any,” he says.

“Yeah!” Mary pumps her fist in the air.

“Why I don’t I make you food while you investigate? All that running around is bound to make you all hungry,” you offered.

“Yes, please!” The four smiled.

The four stuck together in the home, looking through every nook and cranny and investigating anything that looked suspicious but, still, no ghosts. Maybe a couple of old pictures of you and your husband and a few keepsakes of yours but nothing to indicate ghosts, that’s for sure. And the house still didn’t look haunted either! All the wood was polished and the furniture dusted off, there was no way ghosts could live here at all.

“Golly…” Mary sighed at the dinner table, sadly biting into her sandwich. “No ghosts.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing,” you walked in with your husband and sat at the front of the table. He presses a quick kiss to your hand and a chorus of “Awws” and “Ewws” resounded. “Where did you hear of these ghosts anyway?”

“Our parents,” Stacey shrugs. “But I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Really?” Jaehyun sounded surprised.

“Nope,” Stacey shakes her head. “But these scaredy cats do,” she looks at her friends.

“Aren’t you going to eat too?” Helena asks quietly. You and Jaehyun look at each other and shake your heads.

“Oh, don’t worry about us, hon, we just ate before you came in,” you nodded. Yours and Jaehyun’s hands were folded on top of each other while the kids conversed. “Say, Mary,” you waited for the girl to look at you.

“Yeah?” She says with the sandwich in her mouth.

“How’s your grandpa?” You ask her, head resting on one hand.

“Grandpa Mark? Oh, he’s good,” she nods.

“And Jesse, how about your grandpa?” Jaehyun asks.

“Grandpa John or Grandpa Leery?” He asks.

“John.”

“I think he’s good, I haven’t visited in a while,” Jesse kicks his legs.

“Oh, and I know your grandmother’s business is doing well, right Helena?” You asked her next and she responded with an exaggerated nod.

“And how about your grandmother, Stacey, is she well?” Jaehyun asks. Stacey narrowed her glance and took a suspicious bite of her sandwich.

“Yeah… she’s fine,” she answers, somehow being the only one to catch onto whatever game you were playing. Then the chimes of a grandfather clock resounded.

“Oh, that late already?” You looked out with window. “You all should go home now, your parents will be worried,” you ushered them to the front door. “Thank you so much for visiting us,” you smiled.

“Yeah! It was really fun! Too bad there’s no ghosts though,” Mary kicks aside a branch on the porch.

“Do come visit again,” Jaehyun says behind you.

“Aren’t you guys weirded out?” Stacey speaks so that only her friends can hear.

“I think they’re just really nice,” Helena responds.

“What do you mean? We never told them our names!” Stacey nearly shouts. Then they heard the door slam shut. And, out of pure curiosity, Jesse turns around and feels his heart freeze, and his gasp is what caused the other three to turn around.

Behind them, the house was in shambles. The roof had caved in and the windows were shattered, the door was even boarded shut with the words ‘Do Not Enter’ spray painted on it.

But, through the only intact window, they could see you and your husband inside, a fireplace glowed next to you both, and a muted song played while you both seemed to float around the foyer. You both caught their glance and raised a finger to your lips before a gust of wind rustled the tree's leaves over the window, blocking it from view and once it had settled, there was only a dark room inside.

General Tag List: @stopeatread @bat-shark-repellant @raeincitizen @umbralhelwolf @yangsrose @kazooms @sadcoffeecritic

NCT Tag List: @cherrylovr @minjiville

If you want to be added to either tag list or removed just send me a reply to this post, and ask, or a DM and I’ll add you as soon as possible!

#nct #nct x reader #nct x you #nct x yn #nct u #nct u x reader #nct u x you #nct u x yn #nct 127 #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 x you #nct 127 x yn #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun x you #jaehyun x yn #my writings #nct spooky season

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historianthesecond · 10 months

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Who Came in With the Sea [VI]

FINALLY! 😭😭 <33 This chapter took so long to come out and I don't even know why lmao

Let's ignore that the chapters are just getting longer 💀 anyway, I hope you like it ^^

Nikolai Lantsov! (Sturmhond!) x Fem!Mermaid! Reader----4.3K---SFW**

> M A S T E R L I S T <

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Synopsis: When you’re rescued from a slaver ship by a privateer and his crew, you have to get used to life aboard the Volkvolny as you try to uncover how to avenge your capture and those who you left behind--just as your place in this new world where there seems not to be a home for you anymore.

Chapter Summary: Every day you get closer to Rakva, the land once you called home and that now only brings back haunting ghosts. Though you aren't alone as you think you'd be, once it's time to face the nightmares.

You could never remember the name of your hometown. A Saint fisherman whom the humans had called it in honor of. It was around forty minutes waking to the nearby city, much more secure of the sea's sudden rage by some hills in which the farmers harvested the sweetest apples you'd ever had, the biggest potatoes your mother used to serve in her fish tomato soup.

Perhaps the humans had believed your kind was sent by the Saint himself to aid them, when the merfolk appeared in a cave near the nearby docks, many, many years ago. The mermaids would change the course of devastating cyclones, help the humans with bountiful catches, using the pirates coming to raid the village as their offerings to the Depths. Even when they disappeared, their Gifts to the town remained.

Your kind had learned to shapeshift, giving the Depths offerings rich in flowers and fruits, in animals and human possessions that ended up abandoned or lost on the beach.

While in disguise, the humans gave your kind a home in which you had the ocean on your porch, the Depths so close to you that your instincts wouldn't be screaming to return to the waves. In exchange, because you people were so used to deals like these, you’ll protect them from being attacked, and they gave you the land in which you wouldn't be hunted. A delicate, centuries-old treaty that ought not to be broken.

Until one fatal day.

It always started with the smell. The distinct odor of gunpowder permeated the air, and then, the following, logical, burn of wood. The wooden boards of the port collapsed, doing the same wailing noise as the pitched roofs of the houses along the coast.

Incredibly early in the morning, when the sky was still gray, some streaks of orange peeking from between the mist that hung in the ocean like a veil tearing with the shapeless shadows of approaching ships.

The flares of their cannons made the earth tremble, making you jump out of bed, senses heightened when the air filled with smoke as if you’d been trapped in the ghost realm.

Soon enough, all that would be left would be ghosts.

They weren't truly pirates—wearing uniforms and using fancy rifles instead of pistols and blades. They burned everything in their way, all the obstacles. Searching, hunting, killing.

Hunting your kind. Killing them to collect their blood on vials that would get auctioned overseas.

They knew you were there, that mermaids had made a living among humans as was foretold by those silly fairytales people tended to forget reaching a certain age.

A secret that shouldn't have gotten out of the small bay of the fishing town, not when the mermaids had been sent by the patron Saint to aid the working people to have plenty of catches, pleasant weather, and an active link to their faith.

A belief that wasn’t enough against tragedy.

Someone had told the hunters, and for sure they weren’t the people whose voices screamed, bleeding as the red rays of sunlight filtered through the grey, tinting the waves of the same crimson hue, flicking reflections of the flames consuming any life left.

Your parents and friends were outnumbered, because the humans had made tools whose only purpose was to destroy, and they did it very well. Bullets pierced their way through the skin, and not even open contact with the sea could heal it quickly enough before another wound bloomed open.

They had told you to run, but there was no escape, and inland would only drive you crazy without the presence of the Depths. So, you followed them in a futile attempt to help, to even surrender with them if things went awry. To welcome the sea and become one with it.

You had read in a fairytale that mermaids didn’t have a soul, so they enjoyed chasing humans down in search of one. It wasn’t true, of course. The merfolk chased them as a gift to the Depths, as an exchange for power.

But taking giving too much to the Depths pushed their hunger for more into something sinister. It corrupted as all power did. Breaking once the beauty that many legends had praised to the mermaids; all that would remain would be black, bottomless eyes and shark-like teeth, a tail like a tangle of algae, grey skin with amorph scales.

They would become like the Depths, a reflection. Their closer Daughters and Sons. Powerful, but with an insatiable hunger that would make them commit atrocities just like the one that pinned you to that sand cliff, with only your toes tethering from the darkness, the salty taste of the water mixed with metal and the acrid of burned things. Decay.

When the hunters got you, you were about to sink into the abyss. But you saw it.

You saw them.

Pale, ghostly figures hovered between the black water, one gifting the bodies to the Depths, the other watching as the killed merfolk became sea foam that was swept by the currents as if they and their familiars would have never existed.

You could read the disgust on their faces, teeth bared in a scowl.

The traitors of the Depths don’t deserve the gifts It brings us. And such gift included life itself.

Being on the surface, you would have felt the wet streaks of tears staining your cheeks. Alas, all you got was the burning of the poisoned harpoon clung to your side, fire traveling in your veins that was more fury than pain.

You would make them pay. You must make them pay.

The hunters dragged you to the surface then, and your jaw clenched at seeing the sirens disappear down the abyss, leaving the humans to leave despite the sirens’ raw instincts to kill and feed the Depths, of gaining more power with each silhouette sinking to the bottomless dark.

But they couldn't kill the ones making their dirty deeds, as it was forbidden to cause harm to another of the Depth's cherished creations—you were a family, after all. Or once had been.

You remembered your mother’s words about going swimming alone. That there were more dangerous things roaming in the water than greedy humans.

The chilly air made you realize something, seeing the blurry image of your hometown torn in ruins, with smoky serpents ascending to the sky, wood calcinated, and blood splattering the golden sand. You’d become one of those things your mother feared and loathed so much if you wished to lay to rest the ghosts that will be following you in each look toward the past.

In each nightmare that ended bathing you in a cold sweat, ghostly fingers paralyzed your being with pleads, with screams.

You should have come down with us.

*~*~*~*

Nikolai felt the mattress dipping, the pair of legs next to him shaking as if the two blankets thrown on top of you both weren't enough. It made him remember his time while serving in the army, when in the middle of the night, laying in the worn-out cot before entering the battlefield, he would lay awake hearing the nightmares plaguing the other soldiers’ minds—they who had been brave enough to go to sleep in the first place.

But he wasn’t in the border fronts anymore; winter nights where the wind howled, carrying away the screams of the ghost of the war, the ground covered in ice that creaked like broken bones with each stride of his boots. He could feel the gentle sway of the sea, the humid air clinging to his hair.

His eyes took a couple of seconds to get used to the darkness inside his quarters, the greyish light of the upcoming morning sheepishly entering the edges of the window.

Nikolai looked at the ceiling, from the corner of his eye taking count of your figure, which confused him for the spare moments in which his mind was calmed and empty. Then, the memories came rushing in like a flood.

Like the flood that would occur in the Volkvolny if he couldn’t repair it before the ship could enter another storm.

Focus. The sound wasn’t a dream, was it?

He heard a whimpering sound, the cry echoing in the still room in which the only thing brewing a tempest was your mind. Your body shivered against his, hands clasping the blankets so hard he knew you’d wake up not feeling them at all.

Even with the poor lightning, he could see the wet streaks running down your cheeks.

What to do? It had been so many years since he got to wake up someone from their nightmares. Back then, he would sit at the edge of Dominik’s cot, gently shaking him by the shoulder, whispering his name to not wake up the rest. But where his friend would thrash under his grasp, you huddled in closer.

He called your name, so many times that at some point it became a prayer.

You opened your eyes in wide, naked terror, looking at something that wasn’t there.

“I should have gone with them,” you said in a broken voice, strained with tears.

He held you by trembling shoulders, trying to make his touch ground you out that memory—because no dream could ever be this vivid.

“Breathe. Look at me.” He searched for your eyes, but they were blurry with tears Nikolai dried off with the pad of his thumb.

“Why am I still here when they’re gone?” you said, his heart breaking, mind returning to those first nights without Dominik. An empty cot next to his. A funeral he couldn’t aid to. A friend he couldn’t save.

It should have been me.

The wounds made hours before were gone when he scooped closer, your body covered in a cold sweat, seeping into your bones with each trembling jerk of your legs and arms. Even if you wouldn't have been akin to helping him, Nikolai knew he would be still here, with his arms hugging you when your whimpers broke into full sobs.

“Because they knew you’ll do great things in their place,” Nikolai muttered, even if some days he couldn’t believe it himself. “That your purpose is yet to come, while theirs… well. They know you can do it on your own,” he added, his shushed tone moving the hairs atop your hair. You smelled like the sea, the marine breeze that came to port in the summer, the ones he loved to walk under along the beach. “Sometimes it’s just love. One can’t possibly stand to see our beloveds die without at least trying to save them.”

Your fists left the bedsheets, curling around his back as if trying to ground yourself. “I don’t think I can do it,” you replied, voice barely above a whisper that still carried out your broken heart. “I hate sacrifices.”

He rested his head atop your head, allowing you to curl around him, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck, here where the haunting smell of burning powder faded into musk and books and brandy. Not a ghostly memory, but a solid person whose heart lulled yours into calm.

“Me too, angelfish,” he said, knowing full well he was more than willing to die for any of his friends. For you, even. His hand brushed your hair toward your back, and he was glad you couldn’t see his sad smile when he replied: “You’ll have me here to help you, angelfish. If you’d have me, that is.”

Between your shaking sobs, you nodded slightly. “I want to. Please.”

Nikolai stood very still, just holding you as if you were made of glass despite having seen you outlined in the grey veil of the storm, in the blue of the waves the ancient power of the deep sea seeped into your eyes.

“Do you want to hear a story?” you said, and he hoped you wouldn’t notice the goosebumps your breath drew all over his arms. “A mermaid story.”

“I would love to.” He nodded, thinking that perhaps, someday, you would like to hear a soldier’s story, too.

*~*~*~*

You were looking out at the sea when the music started floating around the Volkvolny’s deck. Just like the clear evening, it sounded cheerful and light, contrary to the dread that settled on your stomach with every passing hour.

Ever since the incident with the foreign ship, you had started to avoid the water. Your friend the squid was gone, too. Because it could sense that it wasn’t safe anymore.

Soon, you would be able to see the outline of the coast, familiar hills covered in green contrasting with the gold dunes along the beach, and houses dotted on the horizon.

Rakva. Your home—or what it was supposed to be your home, before.

They were waiting for you there, you could sense it in the way the water felt still, of something roaming underneath the ship. You couldn’t even talk with Sturmhond about it, promising in your mind that you’ll get it covered like you did yesterday.

Because it wasn’t fair for you to drag him into your situation, even when you had told him the whole story. Something that you wished to regret but couldn’t.

He had hugged you, making you look into his eyes as his whole presence grounded you. For a moment the past didn’t bleed out in the tears sieging your eyes, the future wasn’t the amorph shadow of a tragic ending. It was just you in his arms, seeking a refuge where you could turn once the sea had become too stormy to keep navigating.

Just another everlasting hug that made you want to freeze time.

Now you looked at Sturmhond, his figure tall but nonchalant, talking with his crew as they were surrounding the table with uneven legs that Tolya had brought from the gallows to play cards. The promise you made to him still weighting in your mind. Of staying.

You wanted so badly to join them, to have a smile to give them, and just seek out a brighter future, but things weren't so easy. You still had to find your revenge, hoping that perhaps it would bring you peace because nothing else had.

Your hands grasped the rail, making the wood creak. Because even if you loathed sacrifices, you were willing to make one to keep them all safe. To keep him safe. After all, they were just trying to save you back then, too. The least you could do was do the same.

You gazed at the waves until they became ink black under the shine of the moon, a vivid orange hue coming from the deck where Sturmhond’s crew and the new passengers were chatting and laughing, the rhythmic sound of their footsteps as they danced echoing on the deck, all celebrating to have returned home alive.

The gloomy part of you wished you hadn’t.

No. You thought, breathing deeply, feeling the pressure of the humid air starting to get heavy and charged around you. Calm down.

Sturmhond was right. Your family wanted you to escape from the love they had for you, not for duty. They didn't plan for you to hunt down the sirens that sought the treacherous merfolk who dared to live among humans and not bring them to the Depths. They just wanted you to live.

“I can’t do it,” you muttered, feeling a knot in your throat. You felt that rage was the only thing keeping you pushing forward. If it evaporated, then what? Who would you be?

I wanted to invite you to stay with me, your mind remembered, making your cheeks hot. Could you?

I would miss you if you left, Sturmhond had said. You looked back at them, all happy and bright like the stars on a clear night. And among them was the brightest, at least, to you.

He caught you looking at him, smiling goodbye to his crew to join you in your lonely corner.

I would miss you, too, you admitted, his steps echoing on the wooden floor.

Sturmhond extended you his hand that wasn’t holding a glass of brandy, the amber liquid catching your attention for the way it reflected like honey against the lamps. “Do you want to dance? It’ll help you warm up against the wind,” he told you, settling next to you against the rail.

You hadn't talked that much after what you told each other last morning, that you both had lost a lot of things—or rather, that he hasn’t had them in the first place. That he had forged his place in this world aboard this ship, a thing that part of you thought you couldn’t do.

Perhaps you only needed help.

“I don’t dance,” you said, looking at a growing smile curving his lips. “What’s so funny?”

“I can’t believe you. You surely went to festivals and danced the night away with someone lucky enough to be your dance partner,” he chuckled, looking around before saying: “Unless you can’t dance because you’re bad at using your pretty legs.”

You frowned. “I’m very good at using my legs, thank you for your concern.” You could run and jump and climb trees, but dancing had never been an interesting activity for you, even if your parents taught you from a tender age.

“Then concede me a dance, my lady,” he said. “I won’t disappoint you—in fact, I’m quite an excellent dancer.”

"At this point, you're just utterly perfect," you replied, not without a hint of sarcasm in your voice.

“It makes me very happy you’re finally noticing, love.”

The cold breeze of the ocean didn’t help to cool down your hot cheeks. You didn’t say anything, thinking that perhaps he would leave. But he didn’t. He had been used to your silences during your night watches, lending you comfort by his presence alone.

“I wanted to tell you that my offer still stands,” Sturmhond muttered, his fingers playing with the glass. He turned to look at you. “You can stay here. This could be your home, just as it is for many,” he said, looking at his crew.

As it is for me, hung in the air.

“I…” you said, fingers tapping along the rail, feeling the soft surface, being brushed over for who knows how many hands through the years, against the rain and the sun, the wind. You wanted to be as studier as this piece of wood. “I have to… finish some business I left behind.”

His eyes hardened, knowing the risks your vengeance would bring onto you. “Let me help you.”

“I can’t.” You couldn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t want to lose anybody else.” Much less you. But you couldn’t say that, because the sea was listening, just as the creatures lurking beneath.

You looked at him with a faint smile, your hand covering his with a fleeting weight. “I think I’ll concede you this dance, my lord.”

Sturmhond chuckled, and for a moment you thought he would keep insisting, not letting you slip away with such a ridiculous distraction. But pressuring you wasn’t the way either.

He put the empty glass over a cargo box nearby, his other hand tugging yours to keep you half-hidden from view. Your frown must have been amusing to him because he passed his thumb over the crease.

“Wouldn’t be as special if we have a big audience, don’t you think?” he said, his hand finding a comfortable spot on the curve of your hip. “I’m dancing with a beautiful mermaid, after all.”

The music sounded muffled, shadows elongated around the corner you had claimed as a personal ballroom, barely illuminated by the moonlight peeking between the clouds and the ghostly orange hue of the lamps reflected in the sails.

Still there in the semi-penumbra, you saw his golden hair glow, and his bright smile made your stomach feel too light, just like your feet as he twirled you around. A giggle escaped from your lips as you felt the breeze enveloping you.

It made you go back to the docks, your figure steeping on the edge of the wooden planks, ready to transform into your mermaid form to join your family on the water.

“Isn’t your smile so lovely?” he commented, cradling you into his arms after the turn. So awfully close to being considered proper, but you didn’t mind, so his shoulders relaxed when you put your free hand above one instead of placing it into the inner curve of his elbow.

“I still think it’s the mermaid charm,” you commented, biting the inside of your cheek to stop you from smiling even more. “I’ve been lulling you at night with my voice, after all.”

You were swaying in a slower rhythm than the cheerful melody floating in the air, cast away in your little world—the same one from his chambers after dark, where you would lay next to him and just talk, unsteady whispers of flicking stories about mermaids collecting shells for the kids, about a young boy learning how to sail.

Sturmhond smiled. “The best sleep I’ve had in so long.” He squeezed your hand taken in his, leaning down his head so slightly that all you could see was him. “So much that in the morning, when I wake up and see you, it still feels like a dream.”

“I—, you’re just saying that” you breathed, wondering if he could hear your heart pick up speed.

“I’m prone to be shameless, but I’m speaking with my heart here, angelfish," Stumhond called your name in a mutter, like a secret he would like to treasure within his heart forever, and you couldn’t deny him from letting him see your eyes boring into his. “Tell me how foolish it is for a ship’s captain to want a mermaid as much as I want you. I need to hear it—though I can’t promise your answer will change how I feel.”

You stood there; lips pressed in a thin line that already felt like rejection to him.

“I can’t promise you any more things,” you said softly, the dance ending abruptly but not so your closeness. “Things that perhaps I won’t be able to fulfill.” You looked away for a moment, your gaze fixated on the waves. "What if I can’t come back after… that? What then? I don’t wish you to hold onto the ghost of a broken promise.”

“Better a broken promise than the eternal regret of things left unsaid.”

“You’re too deep to be just a privateer,” you joked, but you couldn’t make him laugh. Shrinking slightly, you muttered: “I think it’s very foolish of you.”

He arched his eyebrows, hands still on your body as if trying to memorize it in those flicking moments before falling asleep when you held onto him to climb onto the deck after your swims.

“But I think I’m a little bit of a fool, too,” you whispered, your head tilting upwards so your words could be heard amidst the growing noise of the waves leaping against the Volkvolny’s hull.

Sturmhond chuckled. “Luckily for me,” he said, his breath tingling your cheeks, eyes drawn to your lips. You were so close you could taste the brandy from them.

A drizzle started falling, icy rain quickly seeping into your clothes as Sturmhond tried to cover you with his jacket without much success.

He looked at the sky, lead clouds covering the moon in thick overlays. The ship had just started entering a storm. “Perhaps not so much today, it seems,” Sturmhond added with an annoyed pout, which made you smile.

The sways of the waves increased, but that wasn’t the reason you leaned in against him in a hug, head buried against his chest. On your tiptoes, you gathered the courage to settle a shy kiss on the outline of his jaw.

You felt him stiffening, his hand returning to your waist to give it a fleeting squeeze. “You should do that again, angelfish, once we get out of this storm.”

“Captain!” you heard someone shout from the crow’s nest. “It seems we should deviate the route.” The man let fall the spyglass into Sturmhond’s grasp. “There’s a cyclone ahead of our original course.”

He frowned, and you could read his mind. This wasn’t a tropical cyclone’s zone, much less in the starting months of winter when both the air and the water became colder.

“I’ll take the helm, then,” he said, his eyes warmth, hands putting the jacket over your shoulders to keep whatever speckle of warmth was left. “You should go inside.”

“I’m going to fetch raincoats," you answered because there was no way you would let him alone navigate amidst the tempest, no matter how many times he had done so.

Maybe you could even make the storm weaker, even if it was another trap you’d be willingly falling into.

“You don’t have to, angelfish,” Sturmhond took your hand before you could slip away, almost a plea for you to refuge inside his chambers, where you would be safe.

“I want to. I’ll help you. If you’d have me,” you said, hearing the rumble of thunder growing closer.

His bright eyes crinkled in crescents when he grinned, a boyish smile that ended with a strained laugh bubbling out his chest.

“Completely,” he muttered, letting his hand trace the curve of your cheek, the warmth of your skin soothing against the freezing rain. “Endlessly.”

You smiled sheepishly, feeling your cheeks boiling despite the drop in temperature with every league the Volkvolny approached the storm’s heart.

“Then I’ll be back,” you called, letting go of his hand to run toward the latch and down his chambers. Along the way, you couldn't stop thinking that even if there were some promises that you couldn’t keep, that wouldn’t mean you won’t try.

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov x you #shadow and bone x reader #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai lanstov x you #shadow and bone x you #nikolai lantsov imagine #shadow and bone fanfiction

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