#i had to fight in the trenches to make these (watch ads for each one i saved)
Text
i’ll just leave these here
#i had to fight in the trenches to make these (watch ads for each one i saved)#2023 polarr is my worst enemy#but i had to do it for old times sake yk#icons#original post#mean girls musical#mean girls musical movie#mean girls#mean girls the musical#renee rapp#renee rapp icons#reneé rapp#angourie rice#aulii cravalho#auli'i cravalho#jaquel spivey#avantika#avantika vandanapu#chris briney#mean girls icons#mean girls musical icons#mean girls musical movie icons
169 notes
·
View notes
Text
What does it mean to be a woman in this society? How many different paths lead to woman? How varied are our experiences, and what do we share in common? Isn't this the discussion we need to have in order to continue to build a dynamic women's movement? And yet, we can't even begin the examination until all those who identify as women are in the movement. It's not a definition that's going to create sale space. Definitions have created some pretty unsafe space for many of us who were born female.
Let's open the door to everyone who is self-identified as woman, and who wants to be in women's space. (Not every woman wants that experience.) Let's keep the door unlocked. Together we can plot tactics and strategy for movement-building. And we can set some good-sense ground rules for what constitutes unsafe behavior. What should the sign on the door of the women's movement read? I think the key to victory are these three simple words: "All women welcome." But in addition to fighting women's oppression, we need to recognize and defend other sites of sex and gender oppression and organize an even larger struggle. The women's and trans liberation movements are comprised of overlapping populations and goals. Perhaps the unity of our two huge movements for justice will birth a new movement that incorporates the struggles against all forms of sex and gender oppression.
If the boundaries around "woman" become trenches, what happens to intersexual people? Can we really fix a policy that's so clear about who was born "woman"? And there are many people, like myself, who were born female but get hassled for not being woman enough. We've been accused of exuding "male energy." Now that's a frighteningly subjective border to patrol. Do all women - or should all women - have to share the same "energy"?
If we were going to decide who is a "real" woman, who would we empower to decide, and how could the check-points be established? Would we all strip? How could you tell if a vagina was not newly constructed? Would we show our birth certificates? How could you determine that they hadn't been updated after sex-reassignment? dna tests? The Olympics tried it, but they had so many false results they went back to relying on watching somebody pee in a cup for the drug test as the "sex" test.
I understand that it took the tremendous social upheavals of the sixties and seventies to even begin to draw the borders of women's oppression. When I was growing up, no one even acknowledged that the system was stacked against women. But the women's liberation movement laid bare the built-in machinery of oppression in this society that's keeping us down. It's not your lipstick that's oppressing me, or your tie, or whether you change your sex, or how you express yourself. An economic system oppresses us in this society, and keeps us fighting each other, instead of looking at the real source of this subjugation.
The modern trans movement is not eroding the boundaries of women's oppression. Throughout history, whenever new lands and new oceans have been discovered, maps have always been re-charted to show their relationship to each other. The modern trans liberation movement is redrawing the boundaries to show the depth and breadth of sex and gender oppression in this society. It is this common enemy that makes the women's and trans communities sister movements for social justice.
Leslie Feinberg, Transgender Warriors.
[emphasis added]
67 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ai story concept 6
The soldiers
I had always hated war. The horror of the slaughter, the agony of the wounds, the despair of the survivors. I had been drafted into the army, forced to fight for a cause I didn't believe in. I had been sent to the front lines, where I faced death every day. I had fought on countless battlefields, witnessing all kinds of atrocities. But none of them could compare to the phantom.
He was a nightmare, a monster, a demon. He had come from nowhere, killing without mercy, without reason. He had hunted us down, using weapons and machines that we had never seen before. He had attacked us from the shadows, from the air, from the distance. He had taken our comrades, our friends, our brothers. He had skinned them and taken their heads as trophies. He had left behind dozens of them, each one marked with a different insignia, a different nationality. He had not cared about our differences, only our fear.
He had terrified us, the ones that were left. He had made us paranoid, suspicious, hopeless. He had challenged us, the ones that dared to fight back. He had found us in the air, in the tanks, in the sniper dens. He had fought us in combat, matching our weapons and tactics. He had killed us all, one by one, adding our heads to his collection.
He had become a legend among us, a phantom that haunted the trenches. We had given him a name, a name that we had whispered in fear and awe. We had called him the Predator. He had hated the name, for it mocked him. He had rejected it, making it his enemy. He had carved it into his armor, his ship, his trophies. He had made it his target, his challenge, his obsession.
He had hunted for four years, until the war ended in 1918. He had seen the armistice, the peace, the celebration. He had felt no joy, no relief, no satisfaction. He had felt only disappointment, frustration, emptiness. He had lost his hunting ground, his prey, his purpose. He had decided to leave, to find another war, another challenge, another thrill.
The Predator
He had always been fascinated by war. The thrill of the hunt, the clash of steel and flesh, the smell of blood and gunpowder. He had traveled across the galaxy, seeking out the most dangerous prey he could find. He had hunted on countless worlds, facing all kinds of foes. But none of them could compare to the humans.
They were weak, frail, and soft. But they were also cunning, inventive, and relentless. They had mastered the art of war, creating weapons and machines that could rival his own. They had divided themselves into factions, fighting for land, resources, or ideology. They had turned their planet into a battlefield, a hunting ground for the ultimate predator.
He had arrived on Earth in 1914, at the onset of the Great War. He had watched from orbit as the humans mobilized their armies, sending millions of men to the front lines. He had scanned the continents, looking for the most intense and brutal conflict. He had found it in Europe, where the humans had dug themselves into trenches, creating a stalemate that lasted for years.
He had chosen his hunting ground carefully, landing his ship in a remote forest, away from the human settlements. He had cloaked himself and his vessel, making sure no one would detect his presence. He had armed himself with his plasma caster, his wrist blades, his combi-stick, and his smart disc. He had activated his bio-mask, enhancing his vision and hearing. He had set out for the trenches, eager to begin his hunt.
He had stalked his prey at night, when the humans were most vulnerable. He had avoided the patrols and the searchlights, moving silently and invisibly. He had picked off the stragglers and the wounded, dragging them back to his ship, where he would skin them and take their skulls as trophies. He had collected dozens of them, each one marked with a different insignia, a different nationality. He had not cared about their differences, only their challenge.
He had grown bored of the easy targets, the ones that barely put up a fight. He had craved for more, for the ones that would test his skills and his honor. He had sought out the heroes, the leaders, the aces. He had found them in the air, in the tanks, in the snipers. He had engaged them in combat, matching their weapons and tactics. He had defeated them all, one by one, adding their skulls to his collection.
He had become a legend among the humans, a phantom that haunted the trenches. They had given him a name, a name that he had heard them whisper in fear and awe. They had called him the Predator. He had liked the name, for it suited him well. He had embraced it, making it his own. He had carved it into his armor, his ship, his trophies. He had made it his mark, his signature, his challenge.
He had hunted for four years, until the war ended in 1918. He had witnessed the armistice, the peace, the celebration. He had felt no joy, no relief, no satisfaction. He had felt only disappointment, frustration, emptiness. He had lost his hunting ground, his prey, his purpose. He had decided to leave, to find another war, another challenge, another thrill.
He had been the Predator, the hunter of hunters, the master of war. He had been the greatest of his kind, the most feared of his enemies, the most revered of his peers. He had been the ultimate warrior, the ultimate hunter, the ultimate predator.
```
0 notes
Text
hidden scars
pairing: john shelby x reader (requested by: @alyygx)
summary: you have been in love with john for as long as you can remember, so when he's suddenly whisked off to fight, you know you have to follow him however you can. how does he react when he eventually learns the truth?
words: 2.1k
warnings: swearing, violence/blood, mentions of war and war related trauma
a/n: let me just say thank you to aly for being so kind and extremely patient with me!! with that said, I hope that everyone enjoys, and please let me know what you think! have a fabulous day! 🥰
oOoOo
“Shelbys, I’m here!” you called out, pushing your way into number six Watery Lane, kicking the dirt off your shoes, and hanging your coat on the rack nearby. “And I’ve got dessert.” you added, hearing Finn’s excited shouts from the kitchen.
“Dinner’s just about ready.” Polly shot back. “Could you get John from upstairs?”
A rush of heat ran through your body at the question, and the stress of your day melted away into giddiness. Nursing classes were grueling, but just being near the boy you had grown up with seemed to make everything just a little bit lighter.
“Of course.” you said, already halfway up the crooked stairs.
Turning down the hall, you found John sat on his bed, staring out his window. You took that moment to admire the way the setting sun cast shadows and highlights on John’s face illuminated his cheekbones and sparkling blue eyes. For as long as you could remember, your feelings for John had been more than friendly, but knowing the Shelbys so long, you were certain John’s affection for you never crossed the platonic line.
Softly, you knocked on his door, gaining his attention. “Everything okay?” you asked, moving to sit next to him.
“Just, uh, thinking about how everything’s changing.” he told you, offering you a weak smile.
It’s true your little world had been completely turned upside down since the Great War started. Your once relatively normal lives had been thrown for a loop as hoards of men were being sent to the trenches each week, and no foreseeable end in sight just yet.
“At least we still have each other.” you whispered, gently taking John’s hands within your own.
John stared into your eyes and looked as though he was about to say something else before Arthur’s booming voice interrupted you. “Oi, the two of you better get the fuck down here before all the food’s gone.”
Rolling your eyes, you silently motioned to the door, and John followed your lead downstairs. John took the seat next to you at the table, and you felt your heart beat faster, but you pushed that aside and began to tell Ada all about your nursing class.
The entirety of dinner, you noticed that John still seemed off, not his smiling, carefree self. Even Tommy and Arthur were quieter than normal, creating a tension at the table no one wanted to address. By the time you reached dessert, Polly was the only one brave enough to shatter the silence.
“Alright, who fucked up, and which one of you is going to tell me what happened?” she demanded, staring down her three eldest nephews.
The three Shelby brothers seemed to have a silent conversation before Tommy shuffled in his seat and cleared his throat. “Well, Arthur, John Boy, and me have enlisted in the army. We ship out at the end of the month.” he revealed, not beating around the bush.
Silverware clattered against the dishes as your heart clenched, eyes instantly tearing up. Turning to the side, you looked at John, hoping this was some sort of cruel, sick joke, but he refused to look you in the eyes. “No, you can’t go.” you breathed out shakily.
“We’ll be drafted sooner or later, so it’s better we go together.” Tommy argued, watching you sympathetically, well aware of your feelings for his younger brother.
Ada looked furious and pushed away from the table, stomping all the way to her room. Polly moved to go after her, taking Finn as well, but pointed at each one of the boys. “We will be discussing this later.” she said and walked away.
“There’s no changing your mind then?” you nearly whimpered, looking between your three, dear friends.
“I’m afraid not, y/n/n.” Arthur said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder before heading to his own room, Tommy quickly following suit leaving you and John all alone.
“So that’s what was wrong.” you said, not daring to look at John, lest the tears begin to fall.
Moving to grab your hand, John forced you to look at him. “Hey, this is just temporary. We’ll be back together before you know it.” he vowed, naively.
For John’s sake, you nodded your head with a forced smile, moving to hug him. However, deep inside you knew much darker times were ahead, and you would do whatever you could to support John – no matter what the risks.
oOoOo
The day John departed with his brothers was one of the hardest days of your life. Packed shoulder to shoulder, the train station was filled with families from all over Birmingham saying goodbye to their loved ones. No one knew who would be returning, nor in what capacity, which made the send off all the more harrowing.
John, Tommy, Arthur, Ada, Polly, Finn, and yourself all gathered together, taking turns saying goodbye, nobody mentioning the tears that fell. When it was your turn to say goodbye to John, you threw your arms around him and hugged him as tightly as you could. Your heart was telling you to kiss him and let him know everything, but you held back, and settled for a quick peck on the cheek.
“Please, stay safe out there.” you pleaded, tugging on the lapels of his uniform.
John placed his hands over your slightly shaking ones. “I’ll be back on this platform in one piece as soon as I can.” he told you right before the final whistle sounded, signaling the train was about to depart.
Forcing yourself to step back, you offered one final hug to Tommy and John before holding onto Ada’s hand. Together, the remaining four of you waved off the brothers until the train was just a tiny speck in the distance.
“And when are you leaving us?” Polly eventually whispered in your ear, startling you.
Shocked, you wanted to question how she knew of your plans, but you then remembered nothing slipped past her. Sighing, you straightened up and looked her straight in the eye. “Week after next.”
Though it was an intense process, you had been working day and night to finish your nursing certification course early. If John was going to fight for his country, you would do everything you could to be the one to protect him. Besides, it would keep your mind and your hands busy until your family could be reunited once more.
oOoOo
Before you knew it, you found yourself straight in the middle of war, surrounded by death and destruction day in and day out. It was grueling work but left you feeling fulfilled each time you dropped into your cot at the end of the night. Despite the blood, the screams, and the sorrow that consumed the air around you, the most nerve-wracking part of your job was wondering if the next solider to come in the tent would be John Shelby.
So far, you had yet to run into any of the Shelby brothers, nor had you received any letters from them. It was only through Polly and Ada that you knew they were still alive out there, somewhere. However, that didn’t stop you from praying to anybody above you that it would stay that way. Seeing any of them in your tent – particularly John – would be a walking nightmare.
“y/l/n, income of soldiers, get to your mark!” you heard your lead nurse shout, pulling you out of your thoughts.
Scrambling to an empty cot, you watched as medics brought in a screaming solider, and you felt your heart stop. The solider being brought towards you had the same brown hair as John and relatively same stature. With shaky hands, you began to staunch the bleeding and assess him for injuries.
“John?” you whispered, close to tears, needing to know if it was truly him.
At your voice, the man groaned out in pain, opening his eyes in shock when you applied more pressure to his wound. Despite the situation, you felt yourself breath a sigh of relief when you noticed that the man’s eyes were green and not the blue you had come to know and love. With a renewed sense of purpose, you worked towards comforting your patient and stitching him up to the best of your ability, all the while thanking your lucky stars.
oOoOo
More days like that passed, but hope flooded through your veins for the first time in forever when the war was declared over. Cheers and celebrations could be heard throughout the camp, and you felt relieved know you were one of the lucky ones being sent home in the first wave. Waiting for you back at the train station were Polly, Ada, and little Finn, who wasn’t as little as when you left.
Seeing them and being able to hold them felt like a huge weight off your shoulder when you realized that you were home, and you were safe. Well, at least physically. You quickly discovered that the war left scars much deeper than you had anticipated with nightmares and flashbacks that plagued you day and night.
That was all quickly pushed to the side though, because much because sooner than you expected, the Shelby brothers came home. It was odd standing on the train platform again, but finally holding John in your arms was a relief. Despite the joyous reunion, you could see and feel that just like you, John was not the same person who had left all those years ago.
Instead, he was quieter and colder, spending more time locked away in his room. Day after day, you tried to get him to open up, vowing that you would never give up on him, whether he wanted you help or not. However, everyone had a breaking point, and John was closer to him than either of you had realized.
For the past few nights, you had been staying with the Shelbys to be there for John and his nightmares. Like clockwork, you heard John’s shouts of distress, and you ran to his room to help him. He was sweaty with fear in his eyes, which caused your heart to ache. “John, please. You have to let me in, I want to help you.” you pleaded, moving to cup his cheeks in your hands, but he pushed you away.
“Just get the fuck out of here, y/n.” John yelled, moving to turn his back towards you. “You wouldn’t understand.”
There was a moment where you tried you best to calm your anger and frustration for John’s sake, but he had pushed you away for the past four nights, and you had had enough. “Wouldn’t understand? I’ve seen shit too John.” you challenged, not caring who you woke. “You don’t think I have nightmares from what I saw? Praying every solider that came through my tent wasn’t you.” you continued, before you suddenly covered your mouth with your hands, realizing what you had just revealed.
John froze as well and whipped around, confusion swirling in his eyes. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.” you said quickly, trying to change the subject.
“N-no. You said you were with soldiers. Did you enlist too, y/n?” John asked, tears in his eyes.
Looking down at the floor, you tried to think of a way to get around the answer, but you knew you had to tell him the truth. Sighing, you decided to rip it off like a band-aid. “Less than a month after you and your brothers left, I enlisted myself as a nurse. I-I was there for nearly the entire wear.” you admitted, not ashamed, but sorry to cause John more heartache.
“Why?” was his only response.
You thought about your answer before shrugging your shoulders, eyes blurry with tears. “I wanted us to still have each other, and I didn’t want you to be alone.” you said, no other explanation needed.
“Oh, love.” John whispered, finally take a step towards you, resting a gentle hand against your cheek. “You didn’t have to do that.” he said pressing his forehead against yours.
“I know, but I-I love you.” you confessed, finally letting your biggest secret out into the open.
John’s breath hitched at your statement, and after a moment he leaned ever so forward and captured your lips with his. The kiss was new but reminded you of coming home and you never wanted to leave John’s arms again.
Pulling back, you dropped your head to rest it against John’s beating heart. “I love you too.” he murmured into your hair. “If that wasn’t already obvious, and I’ll be here with you for as long as you’ll have me.”
#john shelby x reader#john shelby imagine#peaky blinders x reader#peaky blinders imagine#rita writes
386 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐔𝐌 𝐈 ↟ 𝐓𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞
↠ summary: After fleeing from the regime taking over the castle, you find yourself under the protection of the renowned Blood God, Technoblade.
↠ fantasy au, slowburn romance
↠ pairing: c!Techno x fm!reader
↠ tw: blood, mentions of gore, mentions of violence
↠ wc: ~2.3k
a/n: This is actually a pretty self-indulgent thing so no characters or plotlines will really be accurate. As always, my series(es) are at the mercy of my inbox so if you have any comments/ideas/want to make a moodboard, let me know! Happy reading :)
♡ ᵍᵉⁿᵉ
The leaves crunched beneath your feet with every dragging step, your strides heavy and uneven as you clutched your side. Sticky ribbons of crimson threaded through your fingers, oozing from between your ribs as each movement sent a new flash of white, stabbing pain to echo through your body. Your toes were growing numb, and your vision was blurring at the edges.
The snow stirred pink in the steep trenches you had begun to cut into the earth. As your lungs burned with each gulping breath, you wondered how long you could make it in this state. Where had you even been going in the first place? You couldn’t remember at this point, only that you were running.
Each time you figured you could go on no longer, your body somehow managed to carry you further. The uphill incline you were now grappling with left your knees buried and the chill of hypothermia began to take effect.
Bright flairs torn open the darkness of the sky, a sign they were looking for you in the woods now. Surely, they would see the trail of struggle you had left behind and would follow you. The shrieking noise of the lights scrapped against your eardrums, adding to the intense beating of your heart already pounding against your damaged ribs.
Your ice-cold fingers reached for the trunks of the slender trees masking your identity, hoping for any signs of leverage to propel yourself forward and away from the noise of the bloodhounds and nearby circuits of soldiers and their braying steeds. The light from the flairs illuminated the scenery around you, the shadows of the trees stretching across the snow like bony limbs aching to entangle their prey.
Your teeth dug into your bottom lip as searing pain rippled through one of your legs. Tears stung your eyes as you avoided looking at the flesh now torn from your worn body as you dislodged your knee from a tree root buried in the snow. The frustration weighing on your tired body was overcoming your earlier adrenaline.
You scorned yourself as you looked down at the blood seeping from your mangled limbs and into the crystal snow. So much blood, you thought, finding it difficult to lift your head as you propelled yourself further up the hill. The dogs were nearing your location, the flairs becoming more sporadic as if they knew exactly where you were. Maybe your mind was draining as your blood further spread against your skin.
You had lost feeling in your legs, the warmth of your blood pooling in your shoes was no longer a reality check for you. Your eyelids felt as heavy as stone as your chest ached for rest, a burn of exhaustion settling in your lungs. Your knees buckled beneath you, digging into the blanket of white as your body sighed in relief at stopping. You knew you needed to move further. You needed to put more distance between you and the men, but you were so tired.
As your body began to fold in on itself, you could barely make out a figure standing before you. Animalistic eyes of panic and confusion burned into your figure. His cloak drifted against his stature in the nipping winter breeze. Neither of you moved at first, your cheeks burning from your tears and the cold. He watched you, unsure of your next move or if you even had the life force to pick yourself up enough to be a threat.
You weren’t sure how, but suddenly you found yourself staring at the night sky, your corpse cradled by the icy snowdrifts. Large flakes of translucent white flakes made it seem as if the stars were falling towards you, swirling around the tree limbs and avoiding their grasp. As the black sky began to blur your vision, your body began to feel lighter, the urge to relax becoming overwhelming as you no longer heard the dogs, only the sound of the snow hitting the ground could break through your calm as your eyelids drifted shut.
Bright light streamed into your room, burning your eyes slightly as you came to. Your mind panicked, realizing the sweet smell infiltrating your senses was completely unfamiliar to you. You hesitated to reopen your eyes, your ears picking up on a quiet scrapping noise somewhere in the room you were laying. Your body was stiff; sore even. You could feel someone else in the room. You could tell the other presence wasn’t paying you any mind, but the fact that they were there startled you. Could they be waiting to kill you? Did it matter if you were dead anyway?
You finally mustered enough courage to open your eyes, a bare wood ceiling staring back at you. You turned your head to the side, finally spotting the other person. You could tell by the broadness of his shoulders that it was the man in the woods. Images from that night flashed into your mind as you looked at him. The look of worry that had painted his features into pitted darkness was wiped clean, instead, a healthy calm settled over his face.
His feet were kicked up at the end of your bed, a book resting on his lap as he leaned back in an old chair. He held a bright green apple and a knife, lazily cutting a slice for himself as his eyes skimmed the pages like he’d read the words over and over in the past. A blush crept to your cheeks as your gaze traveled to the part of his chest peeking from beneath his open shirt. His pink hair was braided back with a hint of messiness like the escaping tendrils were planned. What wasn’t tied back hung freely around his strong shoulders.
It scorned you to think in such a way, but you figured you really were dead and some Roman god was waiting to send you to the Fields of Mourning, or, more accurately in your case, Tartarus.
As you moved to sit up, pain spiked throughout your body, joints aching with soreness and the sharpness of your wounds signaling your nerve endings. You groaned, attempting to fight through your instinct to cry. The man watched you, an eyebrow raised in your direction as his deadpanned expression surveyed your actions. He cut another piece of apple off, the blade pressing against the pad of his thumb without bother.
“You should probably hold still,” he stated, ruby irises flashing over your pathetic state. You eyed him carefully before lowering yourself back into the pillows. You reached up to touch the cut that you knew would scar from one of the men. Their blade had sliced across your cheek; a failed attempt to decapitate you. Your brows furrowed slightly as your fingers moved into your hair, finding it crudely cut near the bottom of your ears. You looked at him, mustering the panic you felt into your expression. His eyes softened in guilt. “I’m sorry. I had to hide you rather quickly after you passed out. It worked,” he mumbled the last part.
You swallowed; the dryness of your throat felt like sandpaper as you opened your mouth to speak. “Where’s my bag?” You croaked; your voice as foreign to you as the man sitting before you.
He wet his lips as he sat forward in the chair, settling his feet on the ground and his elbows on his knees. You watched his muscles flex as he moved. You could tell he was no stranger to manual labor, and by the slight dusting of sunburn painting his nose beneath his freckles, you figured he usually spent more time outside. The sunspots reminded you of your friend, Dream; a man that now helped to lead the tetrarchy dismantling the kingdom.
“I’ve hidden it. Just until I know you won’t kill me, or until you’re better,” he answered plainly. “I know what nightshade can do.” You narrowed your eyes at him slightly, your fingers curling around the soft blankets covering you. He stood, sticking the book into a spot in the array of shelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling. “I seem to be sheltering our local Locusta, huh?” He quipped.
You wet your lips. “Just because I travel with nightshade doesn’t make me an Emperor killer,” you grumbled, watching the way his shirt gave little heed to his strong frame. The curtains moved in the slight breeze swirling into the room.
The man moved toward you, dragging the chair closer to your head. “They sure went after you like you were,” he stated bluntly.
You perked an eyebrow at him. “From one point of view, it could seem like that…” you jested.
He smirked slightly, shaking his head before pulling back your covers. You almost shrieked at the sight of all the bandages twisting around your limbs. You wiggled your toes, sighing in relief that you paralyzed from the waist down. If you didn’t move, you didn’t hurt, but as soon as you angled yourself upward to lean on your elbows, your whole body protested in pain. The man skimmed his fingers along the bandages wrapping around your shin. You could practically feel the heat of his body seeping into your own.
You watched his delicate fingers smooth an edge that was ruffled from the sheets and you moving about. “This one was rather deep,” he commented, his fingers then traveling towards your side as his ruby eyes danced from yours to your bandages. Your breath hitched at his closeness, his presence commanding. “A friend of mine helped me stitch you up over here.”
“Were you the one that dressed me?” You snarked, letting your eyes travel the length of his body.
He chuckled lowly, pulling the blankets back over you and sitting back in the chair. He tucked some of his hair away from his face, kicking his feet up on the bed again. “I had to,” he answered. You chewed on your bottom lip, your eyebrows giving away your slight flirtations. You knew he was only humoring you because you were his injured little bird. “I’ve seen a naked woman before. Calm down,” he grumbled.
You smirked, tucking your arms behind your head. “Oh, you have now?” He bit into the apple he was holding, the blush creeping to his eyes not going without notice by you. “How long have I been out, oh great Asclepius?” You joshed, making him chew the inside of his cheek.
His eyes drifted towards the window in thought before slightly furrowing his brows. “Just over a week,” he replied. “Should I be concerned about your knowledge of Roman history over Greek?”
You scoffed, partially in disbelief for how much time had elapsed, partially in response to his question. “Should I be concerned of your favoring of Greek history?” The corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “Perhaps we’re just destined to be emulations of each other then?”
“Maybe so,” he concurred. The stoicism of his façade seemed to crack around you. As he smiled at you, he bore small fangs, something that seemed all too familiar to you. Your mind began to race, attempting to place his features with a name or, at the very least, a legend.
Your mind clicked, Dream’s voice flashing into your mind from when the two of you were sitting in a tavern, discussing the Blood God of the western woods. Your heart began to pick up speed as reality had settled in of how vulnerable to you in front of such a beast. Your mind ran blank and cold as you looked at him, suddenly terrified that if you dare close your eyes again, he would kill you.
You had not expected him to be so… alluring. You’d heard stories of his piglin appearance, his wild tusks, and even cloven hooves. The man before you looked like a character pulled from an ancient storybook, not someone who had torn some of your acquaintances' limb from limb. Dream always mocked a prayer to the old gods each time his name was mentioned. They told stories of the man in orphanages like the ones you’d been passed between.
Now, as you sat like a wounded animal in the gaze of the Blood God, you wondered which of the pair of you would kill the other first. “Not feeling so chatty anymore, Locusta?” He teased.
You could feel the color draining from your face. “I know who you are.” You swallowed harshly. “Why did you help me?”
He sighed, chuckling to himself. “I thought you were pretty,” he teased. You folded your hands on your chest, looking up at the ceiling once again. “I no longer live up to my legacy,” he answered.
“I’m a killer.” You turned your head to look at him, receiving his indifferent expression head-on. “I could kill you.”
He wet his lips. “I could kill you,” he mirrored. “Wouldn’t it be more fun if we didn’t, though?”
You stared at him blankly. “Is this a trick?”
He scoffed. “I would have left you out in the snow if I planned on killing you. I would have given you up when the Royal Guard came knocking down my door,” he paused for a second. His eyes analyzing you as you controlled your breathing. “I would have slit your throat at the sight of the Mad King’s mark. Trust me, I have no intention of killing you.”
Your fingers reached to brush against the branded scar on your shoulder; a triquetra knot symbolizing your loyalty to the Mad King and his sons. It set you apart from the normal guard; you were an advisor and a trusted associate of the King. After the fall of the monarchy, you’d been on the run because of it. What you’d once worn as a badge of honor was now proving to be the sigil of your downfall.
Despite your mellowing fear of him, your mind searched for answers. “Who are you if not the Blood God?” You questioned, the silence between the two of you breaking hesitantly.
“Techno,” he replied, his eyes searching your face as if he were looking for your approval.
You pushed yourself to roll onto your side, gazing at him with calculating eyes, wanting to understand him completely. “I like Asclepius better,” you whispered.
#technoblade x reader#techno fanfic#techno x reader#techno x you#techno x y/n#fantasy au#tw blood#tw gore
505 notes
·
View notes
Text
All Men Have Limits - IX
Character: Dick Grayson x Reader x Bruce Wayne
Summary: A certain bat believes that Y/N is in way over her head, that she’s too naive to act in her best interest. So, whether she wants it or not, the vigilante family is going to help and protect her before she gets herself killed.
Word Count: 2,800+
Warning: Violence, Mentions of past domestic abuse
Previously on…
A WEEK LATER...
Of course it had to be raining the night they needed to execute their plan.
Y/N didn’t know if she was shaking because she was freezing or because she was so nervous. Even with all the layers and her knit hat, she couldn’t seem to warm up.
Y/N had been walking around for half an hour. They’d mapped out her route so her face would get picked up by as many street cameras as possible. If The Court was as sinister as rumored, they’d be watching.
“Scratch your nose if you’re doing alright,” Dick said in Y/N’s ear.
The whole family had explained how imperative it was for Y/N not to speak. They had to assume that Y/N was being watched the moment she left the manor. And if her lips moved, the Talons would know something was up.
So Y/N scratched her nose and looked over her shoulder suspiciously, just like they had talked about.
“Remember: you want out at any moment, just press the distress button on your watch,” Dick added for good measure.
Y/N wanted to roll her eyes at his worry and overprotectiveness, and say, ‘I know. I know.’ But she knew better than that.
“Someone’s tracking her,” Jason spoke up in the comms. “Civilian clothing.”
Jason started calling out the identifiers to his family, and in 30 seconds everyone spotted the man that was tailing Y/N.
But this was all part of the plan.
“I still don’t like this,” Dick muttered to his family, making sure he cut Y/N’s connection off so she didn’t hear his nervousness.
“’Course you are. We’re throwing your girlfriend to the wolves,” Jason commented.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Dick muttered with annoyance.
“Focus,” Bruce chimed in for the first time.
“She’s stuck to the route we gave her,” Tim commented. “All well-lit and crowded with people. They won’t make a scene with this many witnesses.”
The family moved across rooftops, following Y/N’s path from their designated points.
Dick and Bruce both hated this plan, but they were handling it in different ways.
Bruce had become almost mute with focus. He didn’t want a single thing to slip past him. His senses were acute as ever. He was barely communicating with them because he was too busy keeping an eye on Y/N. His eyes hadn’t stopping shooting around, making sure to cover all angles.
“She’s entering the warehouse,” Damian announced.
Everyone shifted their focus and made their moves.
Y/N stopped at the computers she had set up. Or really that Bruce had hired men to set up for her.
She started typing away rapidly, not sure how much time she’d have before deadly ninjas would start dropping on her.
With one final slam of a key, she let out a shallow breath. “Signal’s been sent out. We’re live.”
“Nice!” Tim answered.
Jason started to chime in, but suddenly his voice became crackly and then the line went silent.
“Red Hood?” Y/N asked.
Nothing.
“Anyone read?”
Nothing.
Y/N felt a chill go up her spine.
She whipped around to find three Talons awaiting her attention.
Y/N quickly took a step back and pressed the panic button on her watch. She hoped The Court hadn’t somehow intercepted that signal as well.
“You were lucky with our last encounter,” a Talon stepped forward to speak.
Y/N ignored him and took out both of the guns that had been hiding in her trench coat.
He laughed at the weapons. “Have we not already tried this?”
“At least I’m not a coward hiding behind a mask. Won’t even let me see the faces of the idiots who want to kill me?”
They all ignored her attempt to get them to unmask themselves, but started stepping toward her. “Not want. We will kill you this time.”
But before Y/N could answer or the Talons could get any closer, a smoke bomb was dropped in the space between her and her enemy.
Just as it erupted, Dick dropped down from the bannister above and shoved a gas mask over Y/N’s face.
This wasn’t just any usual gas bomb that Batman and the family used as a distraction. No, this was a special formula designed to burn eyes and cause coughing fits.
One thing was made quite clear, the Talon’s masks were not used to protect them from such attacks. They were meant to hide their identity and nothing else.
Y/N smirked when she heard the sudden coughing and groans of pain. They weren’t muffled by fabric, meaning they had no choice but to remove their masks.
“Stay back,” Dick warned her before lightly pushing her behind a pillar as the smoke bomb started to settle.
Barely giving them a chance, Dick attacked the weakened Talons.
But now the three of them were unmasked. Their eyes were burned red and watery with tears.
And their faces were exposed.
Y/N’s stomach dropped as she saw Dick flip to them and attack.
But she had a job to do and started tapping away on the high-tech watch around her wrist. She was walking backwards, staying away from the fight, just as Dick had instructed.
But then she backed into a body.
“Fuck,” Y/N muttered as she froze and her eyes widened in panic.
She whipped around to find a Talon with his sword drawn.
Then other blurs were dropping down from the banisters, more were joining the fight.
Y/N reached for both of her guns and was ready to start firing – despite that not benefiting her in the slightest bit last time.
But before she could take even one shot, someone dropped in front of her protectively.
Bruce was a like a wall of shadow, blocking Y/N from the enemy.
“Run, Y/N.” He demanded without breaking eye contact with his opponent.
She knew better than to fight him on it. This was what they had agreed upon: Y/N was to be used as bait and do her job, then get the hell out.
“No matter what you hear or see, you run like hell,” Dick had told her. His eyes had been desperate and his grip on her shoulders had been tight. Y/N hadn’t been able to find it in her to do anything but give a slow nod.
Barely a second passed after Bruce’s warning before multiple Talons were on him. But Bruce was a worthy opponent and was able to distract them enough for Y/N to get away.
She ran for the nearest exit.
But the warehouse was now crawling with Talons.
Two more blocked her path, making her screech to a stop and turn around, facing Jason.
“Get down,” he told her calmly as he raised two guns.
She dove to the ground and covered her ears as Jason cleared out his ammo.
Without waiting for further instruct, Y/N jumped back onto her feet and tried to find the least chaotic route out.
Tim was using his bow staff almost like a windmill, taking out multiple Talons at a time with just a simple swing.
Y/N looked across the warehouse to see Damian and Dick fighting alongside each other. Despite Damian’s capabilities, Dick couldn’t help but look out for the boy, and he was never far from his side during a fight.
Damian slashed down opponent after opponent with his Katana sword. Meanwhile, Dick had the boy’s back, using his escrima sticks and countless acrobatic kicks and flips.
They were all holding their own, which further urged Y/N to get out of the way.
‘Run, Y/N. Run!’ Her brain screamed at her.
She spotted her opening and sprinted for it.
With only a few yards to go, Y/N felt a sting in the back of her leg.
No.
It was more than a sting. It was a lightning strike of pain that threw her to the floor.
As she sat up, Y/N looked up to see that a knife had clattered to the floor with blood staining it. Her blood.
Then she looked at the back of her thigh to see that she was bleeding from an open wound. It could’ve been worse. The knife could’ve embedded into her muscle and flesh. But she had gotten away with a graze – but one that brought her to the ground.
It all happened so quickly.
One moment Y/N was looking at the blood dripping from her leg. And the next, there was a Talon standing above her – unmasked – with his sword about to swing down on her.
Y/N winced and shielded herself as best as she could. But there was no saving her from such a blade – and a blade wielded by a Talon of The Court.
Just when Y/N thought she’d feel the sword strike her, a presence flew between them.
Y/N opened her eyes when she heard the sound of metal clashing with metal.
Bruce’s forearms were crossed into an X, with his gauntlets intercepting the Talon’s sword swing.
Y/N crawled back to get out of the way, ignoring the screaming pain from her leg.
All she could do was watch as Bruce now fought the Talon one on one. They wielded two katana swords – one in each hand.
Meanwhile, Bruce was using his gauntlets and therefore could really only be on the defense.
It was clear that he was trying to disarm them and make the fight even.
Eventually, through many complicated maneuvers, Bruce knocked one of the swords out of the Talon’s grip. He picked it up.
Y/N didn’t know why it was so surprising to see Bruce wield a katana. Of course he had been trained in sword fighting. That just wasn’t his chosen weapon. It didn’t stop her from being amazed by his skill with the blade.
But Bruce was getting tired. Y/N could see it.
His movements were still quick, but they had slowed since the beginning of this particular fight.
Y/N managed to clench her teeth and fight through the pain of her leg, slowly bringing herself to a standing position.
But just as she did so, Bruce’s sword was knocked clear out of his hands and the Talon followed it with a kick to Bruce’s abdomen and a punch to his face.
Y/N’s stomach dropped at seeing the infamous Batman get knocked to the ground.
Of all the footage she’d seen, Batman always seemed to have the upper hand. She never doubted that he was going to win a fight – and he was going to do so without killing the enemy, which as always impressive.
“Get up, get up,” Y/N hissed to herself as she watched Bruce struggle to get back on his feet.
“So much time spent protecting her,” the Talon patronized. “Such a waste.”
He landed yet another punch across Bruce’s face. A punch that was harder than anything Y/N had seen before.
And it knocked Bruce out cold.
Y/N felt it – the death in the air.
Time seemed to slow.
She was about to watch Batman get slaughtered right in front of her.
Her eyes raced around her, looking for one of the boys to call for help or anything that could be used as a distraction. But Dick and Damian were suddenly being overpowered. Tim wasn’t even in Y/N’s eyesight. And Jason was failing to shoot every Talon that surrounded him.
Then Y/N saw the katana that had been ripped from Bruce’s grip. It lay just a foot away from her.
Without thinking, Y/N picked it up.
She lunged forward just as the Talon was bringing his sword down to finish Bruce.
With just an inch away from his victim, Y/N’s sword intercepted the final attack.
The Talon gaze whipped to her. And Bruce was oblivious to his life being saved.
Y/N’s eyes widened, realizing she acted without any sort of plan. And now she had the Talon’s full attention and she had no clue how to wield a sword of any kind – or how to physically offend herself to any degree.
“You have been a nuisance long enough,” the Talon growled.
“Oh, but I’m not even done yet,” Y/N smirked wickedly.
He tilted his head to the side, choosing to amuse her instead of strike her down immediately.
“You really think I can hack the oldest and most powerful secret, but not every major news network in the country?” She asked offensively.
But then she smiled and tapped a button on her watch.
The screens in the warehouse flickered to life and their volume was turned all the way up.
Everyone ceased their fighting.
Each screen showed that every network was hacked, their signals interrupted with Y/N’s own broadcast.
It was live footage from inside the top secret base for The Court of Owls. All of its members were unmasked, either being gathered by FBI and Gotham PD or pinned to the floor, getting handcuffed.
“That’s not possible,” the Talon gasped.
Y/N tapped her watch and a tiny drone, almost the size of a bumblebee zoomed in front of his face. Then his face was being broadcasted across the world.
“Say hello to America, Calvin Rose,” Y/N announced as her face-recognition system instantly identified him and his name appeared on her watch.
Then the camera moved to another unmasked Talon in the warehouse. “William Cobb,” Y/N announced, adding his name to the screen when he appeared.
As her footage was live-streaming on all major networks, the names of each member were appearing on the screen as well.
Calvin Rose screamed in frustration.
“Detonate the bomb!” He yelled to his men.
“You mean the bomb you first threatened me with?” Y/N cooed.
He whipped back around to glare at her, not understanding her meaning.
“You really think we wouldn’t be able to find it? After you gave us weeks to track it down?” She teased. “The bomb is in the possession of the FBI, safely neutralized. But not before I helped them reverse trace a signal back to the detonator.”
They knew they lost. But they had not only lost, they had been discovered.
There would be no recovering from such exposure.
And Y/N hadn’t even told them about all the evidence she had stored that tied The Court of Owls to every corrupt act they had performed in the last 20 years.
Sirens suddenly blared in the distance.
All the boys had stopped to look at Y/N, realizing that their plan was coming together.
“You lost,” Y/N declared as she lowered the sword to her side. “And they’re coming for you, too.”
That was finally what set him off.
He growled before stomping to her.
Y/N was surprised by this new attack and quickly stepped backwards, but not nearly fast enough.
In one motion, he grabbed Y/N by the neck with one hand, lifting her off the ground with his sheer strength and rage.
Not a second later, he shoved his sword into her abdomen.
It seemed like the sound of metal cutting flesh and muscle echoed through the entire warehouse.
“No!” Dick screamed shoving his way across the warehouse to get to her.
In the same moment, Y/N was dropped to the ground like a rag doll.
Chaos had erupted around her, a new fight had begun. But she heard none of it.
Her hands warmed from the blood that was leaking from her abdomen.
The pain was something different to her.
She couldn’t even put a number on how many times her father beat her to a pulp. Nothing could ever compare to the pain of being physically hurt by the person who was supposed to love you the most in the world. This was nothing.
Y/N was just happy she’d die doing something good for the world. A final act of sorts.
Just as she was about to succumb to the tired and dark feeling threatening to envelop her, she felt a warm presence next to her.
“Y/N!” Dick yelled when he reached her side. “You’re OK.” His voice started to shake. “You’re gonna be OK. Y/N, I need you to hold on.”
Police and FBI agents flooded the warehouse as Dick pulled Y/N into his arms.
Y/N looked up to see tears had filled his eyes.
“It’s OK, Dick.” She tried to tell him. “I’ll be fine. I’m fine.”
But when she reached up to cup his cheek, she stained his skin with her own blood.
Y/N was starting to lose her grip on life.
She swore she could feel Jason and Damian’s presence move her side, and then hear Tim talking to the cops. But she could also be imagining it. She could be imagining it all. Maybe she had already died and this was just how she had wanted to go, her mind giving her that final wish.
Things went from being so loud and warm to cold and silent.
--------------------------
Part 10
I edited this really quick. And for that, I apologize.
#all men have limits 9#all men have limits#bruce wayne x reader#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson x reader x bruce wayne#bruce wayne x reader x dick grayson#batboys#batfam#batman x reader#nightwing x reader#dick grayson reader insert#bruce wayne reader insert
435 notes
·
View notes
Text
Conflicted Connections
Requested By @rc11: “Reader is drunk and calls Rosé to pick her up since she’s worried. And on the way home, the reader confesses but since she knows Rosé is out of her league she gets all sad. All fluff throughout the way, and the next day she avoids Rosé since she recalls herself confessing and is to embarrassed to face her. Gets a lil bit angst but then they somehow make up at the end.”
Pairing: Rosé x Fem!Reader
Word Count: ~ 6,505
Warnings / Misc. – Mentions Of Alcohol & Partying, Angst, Fluff
Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.
A/N: Thank you for the request! I had fun writing this one, and I really hope you enjoy it. I stuck with the gist, but I added quite a bit :) AND WHO ELSE IS HYPED FOR THE SHOW??? 🥳 I can’t wait to see our girls own that stage 😌
PS ~~ The song used is called "Baby, I Love You" by Tiffany Alvord, and it was specially requested.
🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤
With yet another steaming cup of tea in hand, Rosé makes her way back to her room, settling onto the soft cushions of the bed. Her notebook lays open in front of her, lyrics and annotations beautifully etched into the paper.
She pulls her guitar back into her lap now, allowing her fingers to glide along the strings as she strums out whatever comes to mind. Nothing makes her feel as relaxed as this; she's free to sing whatever she feels -- to play whatever feels right. If only for a little while, she can connect back to her roots and remember how she felt as a little girl; when her heart and mind were unburdened by fear of judgement.
Life isn't always easy, but she takes comfort in the fact that her love of music will always remain childlike, in the sense that there's always something new to discover or tell the world. It goes without saying that being a songwriter is much easier when you're inspired, and Rosé can attest to that. A certain someone has become her muse over the course of the past few months, and her mind is constantly filled with ideas for new material.
As another line pops into her head, she takes the page between her fingers to flip to a clean sheet. A few seconds later, thinking she found one, she begins writing. Soon, though, she discovers that this wasn't an empty page: in the upper right hand corner, a small heart is drawn, encompassing the words "Hi Rosie" and a small smiley face. Your initials are printed next to the doodle, and the sight brings a soft smile to her face. You must've sneakily drawn that when she wasn't looking one day.
Her fingers run along the markings, tracing over the lines as your face flashes in her mind for the millionth time today. The universe must've been listening, because no more than 5 minutes later, her phone starts ringing. She reaches backwards towards the bedside table, and her fingers soon make contact with the device.
"Hey, I was just thinking about you--" She starts, before being interrupted.
"BABY YOU LIGHT UP MY WORLD LIKE NOBODY ELSE--" Your voice booms through the phone as you sing loudly, nearly making Rosé go deaf in the process. She blinks a few times to refocus her thoughts before chuckling lightly.
"Y/N?"
"Rosie I'm at this really fun party, you should come hang out!" Your words come out slightly slurred, but excited nonetheless. It's a bit hard for her to hear you now over the music blasting in the background.
"Ah, I don't know…" She trails off, voice unsure. She'd much rather spend the evening writing about you than at some random party.
"Pleaaseee?" You drag out, making sure to whine for even more emphasis. "I miss you."
Rosé's heart skips a beat at that last part, now thudding obnoxiously loud in her chest. She misses you too, probably more than a 'friend' should, but she can't help it -- you're simply too amazing.
She takes a breath, knowing that she'll likely regret her next decision -- after all, hiding her feelings becomes harder every time she's around you. Regardless, she can't find it in herself to say no to you. "Alright, fine. Where are you again?"
You let out a loud cheer upon hearing her cave in, and she just knows you look like a dork, likely having that stupid little smirk on your lips that she loves so much.
After getting the address from you, she goes into her closet to find a good outfit. For anyone else, she might've just shown up in whatever was comfortable; but knowing that you're there is enough motivation for her to put a bit more effort into it.
Her signature style shines through: she dons a black crop top and jeans, paired with a long, hickory colored trench coat. She finishes the look off with her white sneakers, giving the outfit that final umph that it needed.
With one last look in the mirror, she adjusts her clothes and hair again before heading out.
-----
The moment that Rosé steps foot inside the house, her eyes widen. She's been to plenty of parties before, but never one as chaotic as this. A large crowd is gathered in the living room, making the area that was likely once spacious now appear cramped and tiny. Some people move with the rhythm, while others dance wildly to the beat of their own drum. The music was audible from outside, but inside is a whole nother story: it's nearly deafening now.
In front of her, just past the living room, two guys are fist fighting. To her left, a long hallway is filled with couples making out, likely on their way to the bedrooms. She grimaces before pushing her way past everyone and walking towards the kitchen.
The bright strobe lights from the living room still manage to reach the area, but things are definitely a little calmer here. That's not to say that it's quiet, though: people are gathered around the counters, downing shots and cheering each other on at the same time. Some stumble around, nearly falling over as their friends laugh hysterically and help keep them vertical.
In the adjacent room, two teams of partygoers are busy playing beer pong. It seems to be boys vs girls, and Rose smirks when she discovers the latter are in the lead.
She scans the rooms one more time, but you're still nowhere to be found. A pang of worry settles in her chest, but it only makes her more determined to find you.
And, 10 minutes later, she does. You're outside in the backyard, sitting near the fire pit with a bottle of wine in your hand. The flames are dying down now, long ago forgotten about -- the stars shining in the midnight sky had captivated you, stealing your attention away from keeping the fire fed.
Before she begins her journey over to you, she takes a moment to appreciate how beautiful you look. The remaining embers flicker lazily, creating a deep haze that casts onto your body. The shadows contrast with the light, making your features pop in all the right ways. The sound of someone shouting again brings her out of her daze, and Rose makes her way to you.
At first, you don't notice her. Your eyes are wide, filled with wonder as you gaze up at the sky in awe. Space has always baffled you, and Rose thinks you look adorable when you get like this.
"Y/N," she says gently, standing beside your chair. After pulling your eyes away from the sky, you meet her gaze. A light blush rises to your cheeks at the way she's looking at you.
"Hi Rosie," you slur. The words come out cutely, but she can tell that you're much drunker than you had been when you called earlier.
"How much have you had?"
You scrunch your face up in thought as the last two functioning brain cells in your head go to work. She can practically see the wheels turning, and she can't help but laugh at the look of effort on your face.
"...a lot." You ultimately conclude, taking far too long to come up with such a simple answer. "Alex gave me a couple of his special mixes earlier, I had some shots, and now--" you declare, holding the wine bottle up triumphantly, "--this!"
As soon as she heard his name leave your lips, she frowned. Alex is one of your coworkers and friends, and he's totally in love with you. You're oblivious to it, but Rose isn't and she can't stand him. On top of the fact that he's a guy, he has the audacity to like you? Well, she can't exactly blame him for those things, but that doesn't mean that she has to like him. She's civil around him for your sake, but that's all.
"Do you want some?" You ask, always willing to offer her whatever you have. Sharing is caring, and you definitely care about a certain Australian beauty.
She looks down at you before shaking her head. "No, I'm good." You swish the liquid around, peering down into the bottle as it glides from side to side. "Me too," you say, setting it down beside your chair. "Let's go dance!" You suggest excitedly, using your strength to hoist your body out of the seat. Sorely miscalculating your moves, your foot doesn't quite connect with the ground how you intended; you stumble, falling right into Rosie's waiting arms.
She was watching you carefully, having a feeling that this would happen.
"Nope, I'm taking you home. No dancing for you." You whine and pout, but Rose doesn't budge. Eventually you give up, and allow her to hold you close as she helps you walk out of the house. You rest your head on her shoulder, and she has to fight the butterflies that take flight.
As the two of you near the door, Rose spots Alex in the living room. She shoots him a cocky grin, as if to say 'checkmate' before she leads you out the door.
-----
The ride home was getting off to a rather interesting start. It took Rosie a while to wrangle you into the car and buckle you in, but she eventually managed to do it. Now, though, a new problem is arising: you're being flirty, and she doesn't know what to do with herself.
"You're so pretty," you compliment, leaning over the center console to whisper the phrase in her ear. She gulps and attempts to calm her heart down, but she's having trouble. "Shush," she commands, blushing as she lets out a little giggle. She tries to remind herself that you're just drunk -- that there's no real meaning behind your words -- but it feels good to pretend.
After a moment, you return to your seat, and she lets out a sigh of relief.
Barely 2 minutes later, you place a hand on her knee, saying gently, "You always take such good care of me. Thank you, Rose." She sneaks a glance at you, and her heart nearly melts at the smile you're sending her way. Your eyes are shining with sincerity, and she'd surely get lost in them if she weren't busy driving.
The rest of the ride is filled with more flirting and compliments from you, all of which send her into a gay panic, but she wouldn't have wanted it any other way.
----
Now, laying in your bed as Rosé rounds up some pajamas for you, the effects of the alcohol really begin setting in. You're still in the playful, teasing phase, but you know you'll have a major hangover tomorrow. Whatever Alex put in those drinks is catching up with you and running its course throughout your body.
"Rosie, do you like anyone?" You call out, toying with your fingers like a toddler. She emerges from the bathroom, washcloth in hand, just as you ask the very words she's been fearing.
She goes to respond, but you interrupt her with a drunken giggle. "Because I do. Her name rhymes with nosey." You chuckle at yourself, but she's too busy trying not to freak out to return the gesture. When you don't question her further, she relaxes her shoulders. How many more times could she get away with avoiding her feelings?
She pushes the scary thought away, instead opting to bring over your clothes and give you a minute to change. Thankfully you're coherent enough to do that on your own -- the thought of you flirting with her while half naked and self-assured sends her wild, and she knows she'd slip up and confess.
Once you're dressed, she comes back over to the bed and sits down in front of you. She brings the rag up to your face and slides it across your cheeks and neck, knowing just what you need. This isn't the first time she's done this for you, and she can't deny the rush she feels when you look up at her with those big eyes, filled with gratitude.
You sigh at the coolness, relishing in the way that it soothes your hot skin. A soft thank you slips past your lips as your eyelids flutter shut, and Rosé almost lets herself imagine that you're hers. That she just brought her girlfriend back home and now she's taking care of her. But before she can get too lost in that fantasy, she pulls away, slipping the rag into your hand so that you can use it on yourself now.
"Well, I think my work here is done." She declares, patting your leg lovingly. She moves to stand, and the action prompts you to speak up.
"Wait," you start, grabbing her wrist before she can get away. You meant to tug gently, but you must've misjudged your strength; in an instant, she's close to you again, just a breath away. Her face is right in front of yours, and you can feel her warm breath against your lips.
Her eyes are wide now, and a subtle tremble runs through her. She's never been this close to you, and although she's terrified, she doesn't want to move away. She wants to give in -- to lean forward the tiniest bit and capture your lips -- but she can't. Her breathing becomes labored as she notices your gaze move from her eyes to her lips. Do you like her back? Surely not, you're just drunk...right?
Her pink lips look so kissable right now, the gloss on them shining in the low lamplight. She's close enough that you can smell her fruity shampoo and feel every jagged breath she draws in.
"Y/N--"
That's all it takes to set you into motion. You bring a hand up to her cheek, cupping it sweetly as you press your lips to hers. She sighs at the contact, melting into your embrace, and allows herself to let her walls down. Her lips move against yours slowly, unsure -- this is new for both of you, and you're testing the waters. One of her hands comes up to rest against the back of your neck, and she pulls you impossibly closer.
After she subconsciously bites your lip - the action drawing a groan from you - she snaps back to reality and pulls away. Her lips are red and swollen, and you have to stop yourself from leaning back in. She looks like she wants to do the same, but she centers herself before she can.
"I, uh, I'm gonna go. Goodnight, Y/N." She says breathlessly, swallowing as she runs a hand through her hair. She doesn't give herself anymore time to change her mind, and soon she's rushing out, failing to even give you so much as a second glance.
Shocked, you sit back and let your mind try and piece together what the hell just happened. The kiss worked well in sobering you up, at least for the time being, but you wish it hadn't. Now, you're forced to sit alone with your feelings again, lips still tingling with the memory of hers against them.
----
The Next Morning
*ring ring*
The blare of your ringtone sounds especially loud now, making you wince in pain. Your head is pounding, and that definitely isn't helping. Quickly, you roll over and pick it up, keeping your eyes closed as you press the button and hold it to your ear. "Hello?" You ask groggily, voice still laced with sleep.
"Hey, Y/N. The girls and I are going out later; do you wanna come with?" Jennie's sweet voice asks. You rub your forehead, now opening your eyes and staring at the ceiling as you ponder your options. With a glance at the clock, you see that you've already slept a good portion of the day away.
"I'd love to, but I'm pretty hungover right now Jen." You chuckle despite yourself, grinning when she laughs back.
"Rosie told us you might be dealing with that." Jennie laughs again, but you go quiet. Did she tell them everything that happened, or did she try and forget about it? After all, she basically ran away -- surely she regrets it. You scold yourself for even thinking that someone as out of your league as Rosé could like you back.
"Jisoo whipped up her special 'hangover-reverser' drink for you, as she calls it." She adds, hoping that'll win you over. Lost in your thoughts, you forget to answer her.
Jennie takes your silence the wrong way, saying, "You don't have to come, but we'd love to hang out." She sounds sad at the thought of you staying home, and a feeling of guilt creeps into your mind. Work has kept you from hanging out with all of them recently, and they miss you. You miss them too, and quickly decide that a hangover (and the awkward situation you'll be subjected to when face to face with Rosé) aren't enough of a deal breaker to decline their offer.
"I'll be over in a few. Tell Jisoo to make a couple more for the road… I'll need all the help I can get."
Jennie laughs again, and you pep up at the sweet sound. She celebrates, and you can hear the girls clapping in the background, shouting praise at her for convincing you to come. The two of you say your goodbyes, and you begin getting ready.
-----
"Jisoo, you're a lifesaver." You confess, flopping back onto the couch. The unnie responds with a smug, "I know," from her place in front of the mirror.
You lick the remaining liquid from your lips, and Rose shifts in her seat across the room. She can't get the feeling of your kiss out of her mind, and seeing you do that only makes things worse.
"Here's the second one," Lisa says, smirking as she pats your shoulder and hands you the cup. You smile back at her and smack her butt as a wordless thank you.
"Alright, so where exactly are we going, girls?" You ask as you tuck your feet underneath your body.
"I was thinking we could shop around Hongdae. They changed some stuff since we were there last, and it looks awesome." Jennie informs.
"Sounds good to me." Jisoo replies from the adjacent room, applying the finishing touches to her makeup.
Lisa agrees as well, and so does Rosie. At the sound of her soft voice, you make eye contact with her for the first time today. Ever since you arrived earlier, you've avoided her. She's done much the same, refraining from saying much to you at all. The girls haven't seemed to pick up on the tension yet, but they're observant; surely it won't take them long.
As you replay the fateful events in your mind again, you allow your head to lull back and rest against the cushion of the couch. Last night, Rosé’s eyes were speaking all of the words she could never tell you out loud, sparkling with repressed desire. It wasn't hard to tell that she was nervous, but she kissed you like she had been waiting to for an eternity. So, clearly, your confusion at the whole situation is understandable. Why did she run away?
"Ready?" Jisoo asks, kicking your foot to get your attention.
"As I'll ever be." You state as you stick a hand out to her. She understands immediately, swiftly helping you up. A little groan leaves you, your head spinning from standing up so quickly, so she doesn't move until you get adjusted.
"Thanks," you smile, giving her a sweet kiss on the cheek. Having such good friends always comes in handy, but there's something special to the little moments like these. She hums in response, and the two of you lead the way out to the car.
Rosé watches the whole encounter as she falls in line behind you, wishing she were in Jisoo's place. Last night was a wake up call for her, unexpected in literally every way, and she panicked. Looking back now, she wishes she would've at least explained her behavior to you. The kiss awakened something within her, releasing all of the feelings she's held in for so long. She didn't rush out because she didn't enjoy the kiss; if she had any idea that that's the impression it left on you, she would've ran back in and kissed you a million times over.
Lisa notices Rosie's furrowed brow and downcast eyes, and instantly knows something's up.
Now in the car, she leans in close to ask, "Everything okay?"
"Mhm." Rosie replies, doing her best to sound like her normal self.
The years have made Lisa an expert at reading the slightly older girl, but she doesn't want to push her. If she wants to talk about it, she will.
"Okay…" Lisa trails off, coincidentally making fleeting eye contact with you through the rearview mirror. On any other day, you would've fought Lisa over the seat next to Rosé; but today, of course, is unlike any other. You're in uncharted territory now, and you have no idea when -- or if -- you'll return to normal. For now, you make do with the passenger's seat, keeping yourself busy by looking out the window. Jennie's driving is smooth, and you appreciate that in your altered state. A low pulsing still vibrates through your head every now and then, but it's become much more bearable. Jisoo truly knows what she's doing with that concoction.
----
Hongdae, Seoul -- A Few Hours Later
"Jennie," Lisa huffs out, struggling to carry everything she’s been handed. "How much stuff do you need?!" The maknae does her best to keep the bags from touching the ground, but that task is proving difficult.
"We're almost there!" Jennie says, dismissing the younger girls complaints.
A few minutes later, you're seated at the new restaurant Jennie's spent the night talking about. Seeing the girls so happy today has taken your mind off of your own problems somewhat, but sometimes the issues are unavoidable… like right now.
Though she tries to be discreet about it -- even going so far as to hide behind her menu -- you can feel Rosé's eyes on you. The waiter seated you at a booth, and of course she happened to sit right in front of you. Having her attention has always been something you enjoy, but you're so embarrassed about what happened that you can't help but shy away from it now. If drunkenly confessing your feelings for her wasn't bad enough, you also kissed her. What could be next?
Rosie's dying on the inside a little more with every minute that passes. The past few hours were filled with plenty of fun and stupidity for the lot of you, stopping in just about every store you came across and joking all the while. But the entire time, you and Rosé kept your distance. Occasionally you'd crack a joke to make her laugh or the two of you would share a look, but the air around you was always thick with the emotions you couldn't give voice to. It also doesn't help that part of Rosé is afraid you didn't even really mean to kiss her. If she blames it on your drunkenness, she doesn't have to process her feelings; she can just go back to suffering in silence. When she looks at you, though, she knows there's no denying what you both feel for each other.
"Can I get you started with some drinks?" The waiter approaches again, pen and pad ready to go.
"Do you have sikhye?" You inquire, raising your head to look at him.
"We do."
"Great," you smile, getting an idea. "I'll take one of those and a glass of water, please." He jots down your request before recording the other orders and setting off to get the drinks prepared.
In order to preserve the plan, you don't dare look in Rosé's eyes.
A couple minutes later, he returns with a big tray of drinks; it's a wonder he didn't accidently drop any on the way. Jennie and Jisoo ordered multiple for the table so you could sample them, and you smile at the gesture. They all look tasty, but one in particular catches your attention.
When he hands it to you, you wordlessly slide it over to Rosé. You know she loves it, and you did order it for her, after all. She lets out a little gasp of excitement, and you choose this moment to really look at her. Her eyes are shining again, and you laugh -- if anything is capable of cheering her up, it's something that she can eat or drink.
She beams at you while extending her hand, gently resting it against yours on the table. It's warm and comforting, and you can't help but want to hold it forever. Her fingertips brush against the soft skin of your wrist, and you almost melt at the tenderness of the motion.
Thankfully the other girls aren't paying attention, or else you'd be thoroughly embarrassed. They continue on with their conversation, leaving you and Rosé to get lost in your own world for the next while.
More time passes, in which you place your food orders and the waiter later brings it out to you.
"Enjoy, ladies." He declares before bowing and returning to the host stand.
"It looks so yummy," Rose moans, snatching up her chopsticks before digging in. The other girls agree as well, and soon all of you are eating like there's no tomorrow. The flavors go perfectly together, and you pat yourself on the back for choosing the dish you did.
"Do you wanna try some?" You ask after noticing Rose eyeing your plate. You quirk an eyebrow at her as you wait for her answer, which comes in the form of a sheepish nod.
"That's my girl," you declare with a smile on your face, happy to bring back some of your playful banter. Rosie's heart speeds up at the title, but she tries not to show it too much. Although it's a bit unmannerly, you reach a bite of your food across the table to her and grin when she takes it. Her cheeks puff out in that signature chipmunk pose, and your smile widens.
"Yah, that's delicious." She sighs, closing her eyes to allow her palate to focus on the flavors.
You shake your head at how much of a dork she is for food, but giggle despite yourself. She really is the cutest.
-----
"Good evening, everyone, this is the manager speaking. Our lounge area will open in 10 minutes, and karaoke will begin shortly after!"
Lisa looks at Jennie incredulously, her mouth hanging open. "They have karaoke, too?? How cool is that!"
Jennie smirks, knowing how good she is at choosing places to take you guys. This joint is definitely somewhere that you'll frequent whenever you're around. "I know right?" She asks, satisfied with herself.
In Rosie's eyes, the karaoke announcement was fate working its magic. She's spent the day mulling over everything that's transpired, deciding earlier that all she needed was one more sign. Now that she had that last little push, all she has left to do is gather up all the courage she possesses.
As the 5 of you finish up your meals and wait for it to kick off, she racks her brain for the perfect song to sing. She's going to confess.
---
Fully stuffed and satisfied with the amazing dinner you just had, you all follow the waiter towards the lounge area. Located in the back of the restaurant, it's complete with 1 main, corner stage, and 2 smaller ones off to the side. Plush couches and chairs stretch out in front of the stages, allowing the audience to kick back and enjoy the performances.
A small bar is tucked away in the far corner of the room, stocked with a vast array of different liquors and mixes. Strips of light line the shelves behind the bartender, giving the space its own unique style, and you take some time to admire it all. A few small disco balls hang from the ceiling, placed strategically throughout the room to allow for the most amount of ambience possible. All of the different colors of the rainbow take their turn cycling through the projector, flashing and shining around the room in their random patterns. It's a very welcoming place to be.
You're the first guests in there, so you're free to choose whatever stage you want. "Which one should we go to?" Jisoo asks, doing a little half spin as she looks around the room.
"Really, unnie? You have to ask?" Lisa rolls her eyes and scoffs; she thought her best friend knew her better than that. Obviously Lisa wants to go to the big stage. How else would she show off all of her moves while she sings?
"You're so dramatic." Jisoo grumbles, sending the maknae an annoyed look of her own as she's dragged over to the performance area. You, Jennie, and Rosé trail after them, shaking your heads at their behavior.
----
"Come on, we're going first." You bite back a laugh as you watch Lisa tug Jennie up from her spot on the sofa, where she had just sat down and gotten comfortable. Jennie tries to protest, even pointing at the drink she just got from the bar to convince Lisa to let her stay, but she isn't having it. They walk over to the kiosk built into the wall, and take their time in choosing a song to sing.
Their performance is a wild ride, to say the least. Lisa forgets the words at one point, opting to compensate by freestyling a rap and dancing around wildly while everyone hypes her up. She could've just looked at the lyrics on the stage screen, you realize, but that wouldn't have been even half as fun. Jennie breaks into the box of props sitting just off stage, pulling out a multicolored, frilly scarf and wrapping it around her singing partner. To finish off her own look, she rummages around until she finds a comically large top hat and pair of heart shaped glasses.
"Golden buzzer!" You shout out, pressing an imaginary button on the table. The girls celebrate, and your combined laughter fills the room.
Next up is Jisoo, who decides to put her charm on full display and serenade all of you. She starts off on stage, letting her deep voice lull you into a state of entrancement before she approaches the couch. She greets each of you individually, giving you separate attention just like a rock star would, and all of you go wild for her. She tries to keep up the edgy, heartthrob persona, but it fades a bit when she cracks a smile, her eyes turning into those adorable crescents that you all love so much.
As her song comes to an end, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. In order to go through with your plan -- that is, singing a song to Rosie -- you have to calm your nerves a bit first. You splash water on your face and sigh as the chilly liquid slides down your skin. A bead of it trails down your neck, soaking into the cotton of your collar the second it hits it, and you're reminded of last night. A familiar warmth runs through you at the memory of Rosé's hands on your body, taking care of you like always. She's the definition of girlfriend material, and you always kick yourself for waiting so long to tell her about your feelings.
A basket of paper towels sits on the marble countertop of the sink, and you reach forward to grab one and dry your face. With one final look in the mirror, you throw the paper away and exit the restroom.
Too busy mentally preparing yourself for the performance, you fail to notice that Rosé is already standing on the stage, mic in hand. You lift your head as you near the stage, and she makes eye contact with you; she looks nervous, so you give her a reassuring smile and move back to your seat. Behind the nervousness, you can see how excited she is; you're intrigued.
"So, this song goes out to a very special girl here tonight. I hope you like it." She announces shyly, garnering some applause from the small group of diners that have filtered their way in from the restaurant. She presses play, and shakes her hands out in an attempt to get rid of the anxiety building within her. Up until now, keeping her worries in check had been doable; though as she stands alone on stage, looking down at the object of her affection, she's afraid all over again. And yet, somehow in an instant, you take some of those fears away. You're looking at her with so much love and encouragement in your eyes that Rosé thinks she can accomplish anything.
The song -- one you're hearing for the first time tonight -- picks up, and she begins.
There are three words, & I want you to know they are true
There are three words, that I've been dying to say to you
Burns in my heart, like a fire that ain't goin' out
I need to let you know
You're unintentionally holding in a breath as she croons the words out, singing straight to you. Her soulful vocals ring out across the space, making goosebumps appear on your skin; her voice always strikes a certain chord within you, the beautiful tones sounding like Heaven. She makes it feel like you're the only two people in the room; that even the world stopped for a moment to watch this play out.
I wanna say I love you, I wanna hold you tight
I want your arms around me & I, want your lips on mine
I wanna say I love you, but, babe I'm terrified
My hands are shaking, my heart is racing
Cause it's something I can't hide, it's something I can't deny
So here I go
Baby I lo-o-o-ve you
The smile on your face can't be wiped away by anything; no natural force of the universe could get in the way of this. Your heart swells at her confession as things finally fall into place. Possessed by the love you hold for the goddess in front of you, you decide to be brave and join her on stage.
She squeals and covers her face as you approach, and the audience erupts into cheers at this. They whistle and clap loudly, and you can hear the distinct voices of the girls from behind you. Pulling her hands away, Rosé's adorable face is revealed in all its glory. She has tears in her eyes, and they let you know that the past 48 hours have been just as much of an emotional rollercoaster for her as they have been for you.
You press a kiss to the back of her hand, feeling your chest tighten at the way it lightly shakes against your lips. You take a step closer and wrap your arms around her waist as she hooks her right one around your shoulders. Her left hand holds the mic between you two, making it so that you can sing the next part together.
I've never said, these words to anyone, anyone at all
Never got this close, cause I was always afraid I would fall
But now I know, that I'll fall right in-to your arms
Don't ever let me go
I wanna say I love you, I wanna hold you tight
I want your arms around me & I, want your lips on mine
I wanna say I love you, but, babe I'm terrified
My hands are shaking, my heart is racing
Cause it's something I can't hide, it's something I can't deny
So here I go
Baby I lo-o-o-ve you
The entire time you're singing, she can't take her eyes off of you. She watches as your lips move along with the words, your face scrunching up occasionally to aid in hitting all the notes, and she even forgets to keep singing a couple times. You're so close to her, just like last night. She vows that this time will be different, though.
After you finish the verse, Rosé surges forward, closing what little distance is left between you. During the performance you had gradually migrated closer to one another, so that made her job all the more easy.
She leans into you and smiles at the feeling of your racing heart. It lets her know that this is actually happening -- that after spending so many months waiting to finally confess and have you return her feelings, it's happening.
She tastes the strawberry chapstick on your lips, and it reminds her of the time she told you it's her favorite type. You used to wear a vanilla kind… does that mean you switched to strawberry after she told you that? (Yes, yes it does).
You bring your right hand up to her jaw and cup it as you move to deepen the kiss. A soft groan escapes her lips at this, and she doesn't waste any time in kissing you back even harder than before. It's long-overdue, and she can't get enough of you.
All too quickly, though, Rosie gets lost in the embrace, and the lounge is filled with feedback as the mic drops to the floor. She jumps at the sudden noise before snatching it up, her face crimson with embarrassment. After placing it back on the stand, she turns to hide her face in your neck. You just chuckle as you wrap your arms around her again. She snuggles in close to you, and you rest your head against hers.
"Awwww, they grow up so fast!" Jisoo wails, wiping imaginary tears from her eyes.
"Cough it up, Jendeukie." Lisa smirks, sticking a hand out in front of the other girl. Jennie shoots her a glare, but nonetheless reaches to the table in front of her to grab her purse.
"Not another word, Manoban." Jennie says, shoving the 5 dollar bill into Lisa's waiting palm.
The younger girl clears her throat dramatically before saying loudly, "I TOLD YOU SO! Nobody ever listens to the maknae."
You and Rosé can't contain your laughter anymore, and neither can the girls.
Soon the two of you are back on the couches, cuddling in the corner seat as the others make kissy noises at you.
She's nestled up against your side, resting her head against your chest contently.
"I know we kinda did things out of order and all, but I might as well ask. Will you be my girlfriend?" You smile dorkily as she raises up to look at you, a playful smirk of her own tugging at her lips.
"Absolutely, Y/N." She has stars in her eyes and a dreamy expression on her features as she leans in to kiss you again.
#rosé#roseanne park#park chaeyoung#blackpink#blackpink x reader#blackpink x fem reader#blackpink fluff#blackpink angst#blackpink oneshots#blackpink imagines#blackpink scenarios#rosé x fem reader#rosé x reader#rosé imagines#kpop#kpop scenarios#kpop girl group#let-them-read-fics#jennie kim#kim jisoo#lisa manoban
626 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi, you’re writing is so beautiful, thank you for sharing it :)
Can I request a Tom x Reader where they take a mini vacation somewhere really secluded and they’re so happy to be finally spending time with eachother and they’re both just being super domestic and sweet.
Thank you! 🤍
Thank you my love! This prompt is giving me life istg, sweet and domestic Tom is my jam <3 I hope you like it (also am I basically writing what my dream holiday is? it's definitely possible)
Tag List : @mainlynonsense @cakesarecute @jinxqsu @naps-and-lemons @riddles-wifey (send me a message if you'd want to be added to the tag list!)
We are Mosaics
Tom turns to look at you and you recognise the determined glint in his eye and the set line of his lips which lets you know that a plan is forming and he won’t be dissuaded easily. “The Malfoy’s have a cottage in the Dolomites. I’ll talk to Abraxas.” He says it with such finality that you’re almost surprised before you remember that this is Tom. Tom who’s had his Slytherin cohort eating out of the palm of his hand for years, Tom who had marriage offers from a few of the lesser-known pureblood families, Tom who puts the fear of God into the hearts of most men. Of course, Abraxas would give him his family cottage.
You’re sitting on your sofa in the small flat you’ve rented above Flourish and Blotts glaring at the letter that sits innocently on the coffee table in front of you when Tom apparates through your wards. Your mood, which has been growing increasingly dark with the setting sun lifts somewhat when you see him. His jacket folded neatly over his arm and his white shirt slightly rumpled from the day, his hair, which he styles with care every morning is falling in soft waves across his forehead. In short, he looks like every one of your daydreams and you’re filled with a contented sort of triumph that it’s you who he comes home to most evenings. Your flat is small and certainly not big enough for you both to live comfortably, but he spends more time here than he does at his own, equally poky, abode.
His gaze flickers over the letter on the coffee table and you can see him putting the pieces together. “Bad news, I take it?” He asks in a slightly cautious tone that tells you he’s waiting for your imminent breakdown. You nod and sigh as you push yourself up from where you’ve been sulking for most of the afternoon. You gravitate towards him like a moth to a flame, the same way you always do, the same way you always have, and nestle yourself against him, allowing yourself to feel comforted and protected by the feeling of his arms around you.
“I just don’t understand why no one will give me a chance. I had the best marks in Arithmancy in the year,” You grumble into his chest. “Did you hear that Pearson got that Potions Mastery? He got an A in his NEWTS, Tom. Why does he get to do a Mastery and all I get is rejection letters?” You sigh because you know the answer. It’s the same reason that Tom wasn’t offered any of the prodigious jobs at the Ministry despite being the most talented wizard you’ve ever met with a resume that proves it. Wizarding society might be more progressive than the muggle world in some ways, but in the ways that matter to you and Tom, it was still stuck in the Middle Ages.
Eventually, you disentangle yourself from him and you spend the rest of the evening curled up on the sofa with him, reading and chatting idly about the stranger aspects of your respective magical theory texts. “Did you know about the coven in the Dolomites from the 1450s?” He asks, eyes trained on the page in front of him.
“Mmm, they’re the first known herders of thestrals, weren’t they?” He nods and you smile softly, “I’ve always wanted to visit there, you know? Ever since we learnt about thestrals in fourth year.”
You don’t think anything of it but Tom turns to look at you and you recognise the determined glint in his eye and the set line of his lips which lets you know that a plan is forming and he won’t be dissuaded easily. “The Malfoy’s have a cottage in the Dolomites. I’ll talk to Abraxas.” He says it with such finality that you’re almost surprised before you remember that this is Tom. Tom who’s had his Slytherin cohort eating out of the palm of his hand for years, Tom who had marriage offers from a few of the lesser-known pureblood families, Tom who puts the fear of God into the hearts of most men. Of course, Abraxas would give him his family cottage.
“The perks of having rich friends, I suppose,” You say with a small laugh and the smile he gives you in return is indulgent.
***
When Tom had first told you about Abraxas’ family cottage, you had imagined that your definition of a cottage and the Malfoy’s would be vastly different. You’d gone with Tom to one of the Malfoy Christmas parties once and had almost cried at the luxury and decadence. You’re pleasantly surprised though to find that the cottage is exactly as you’d hoped it would be: sturdy white stone, lattice windows, and a multitude of wild mountain flowers that make the place look like a fae dwelling. “This is gorgeous,” You murmur as you wander through the garden, letting the warm summer mountain air fill your lungs. “I never would have thought that the Malfoy’s would own somewhere quite so homely.” Behind you, Tom laughs softly.
“I think there’s a distant cousin who fancied herself a Marie Antoinette figure,” He says, stepping closer to you and resting his chin on the top of your head. “Are you happy?” He asks and you hum in response, bringing your arms up behind you to card through his hair. You twist around pull him closer and his hands drop to your waist as he kisses you.
You spend most of the rest of the day exploring the paths and trails close to the cottage whilst Tom sets up the wards. The worries and stresses of London seem so far away and you relish in the slight breeze against your bare arms and the feeling of long grass and wildflowers against your legs.
You think back to your childhood, to the holidays spent in English seaside resorts with your parents; when the war broke out, the holidays stopped. Your father disappeared into a trench somewhere and your mother had taken you back to her parents home and left the muggle world for good but she was never quite the same after. Hogwarts and the wizarding world, in general, offered you an escape. A home away from the sorrow of watching your family drift and sink into unspoken grief and sadness. You’d found Tom somewhere along the way, both of you finding some kind of solace and familiarity in each other. A tentative friendship had formed that had turned to a tentative romance.
You wonder sometimes, why he sticks around. Unlike the boys he surrounded himself at school with, you can’t offer him money or power or glory. You’ve had to fight for every opportunity given to you, just the same as him, and it’s still not enough. In your more anxious moments, you think about his future and your uncertainty over where you fit into it. Now, under the clear Italian skies, you think that maybe the answer is obvious: you fit together like pieces of a mosaic. Each of your broken and jagged edges finding a home next to his.
***
“You’re aware that you’re a witch, aren’t you?” Tom’s voice floats through the open doorway and you chuckle from where you’re standing on one of the kitchen workbenches. You glance over your shoulder and find him watching you with a mix of exasperation, confusion, and mild amusement. He walks over to you and stares at the pile of dough you’re kneading, his eyebrows knitting together. “I’ll get Abraxas to send one of his house-elves.”
You roll your eyes and shake your head fondly. Tom’s disdain for all things muggle has diminished since you’ve known him, or at least, he’s less likely to voice his opinions to you. “That’s not the point, making bread is meditative. Come on, here,” You gesture for him to take over and watch with poorly hidden amusement as he frowns and takes a step back. “You once made Peeves cry out of fear, Tom, you can’t honestly be intimidated by some flour and water.” You raise an eyebrow and try to smother your grin with an unimpressed expression. You’ve found that the easiest way of getting Tom to do anything is to suggest that he can’t.
As expected, he glowers and rolls his sleeves up. “I’m not intimidated, darling, I just don’t see the point in slaving away over something that could easily be accomplished with magic,” He says smoothly even as he approaches the dough and gingerly pokes it. This time, you don’t manage to hide your laughter and you cover his hands with yours and begin to guide him through the motions. A companionable silence falls upon the two of you and you relish the feeling of his chest against your back, his soft breathing in your ear, his hands moving under yours. Sunshine filters through the open window and you listen to the distant birdsong in quiet contentment.
Once the bread has baked, the two of you wander along the mountain trail that leads to a secluded lake. The water is crystal clear and the kind of icy blue that you’ve only seen in paintings. Tom leads you to a small jetty and conjures a pile of blankets and pillows that you quickly set about making a nest out of. You sit cross-legged, Tom’s head resting in your lap as he reads passages from the book he’s brought with him out loud to you. “According to legend, the Monti Pallidi used to be formed of dark looming rock face and the lakes were murky and black, but there was a princess from the moon who took refuge in the Dolomites and to ease her homesickness, the mountains remade themselves with pale stone and clear waters.”
“She must have been lonely, being so far away from home,” You murmur, carding a hand through his hair as you tilt your head to stare at the pale mountains that surround you. “You know, I sometimes think of you a bit like that, like you’re a moon and I’m a satellite in your orbit.” He hums softly, and you’re not sure if it's in agreement or contemplation. You shift slightly and reach for the food that you’ve packed: fresh fruit, cured meats, hard Italian cheese, a bottle of wine that you’d found in the cellars (no doubt worth more than Tom makes in a year), and of course, the bread you’d made earlier.
You tear off a couple of chunks of bread and pass one to Tom, who takes it and sniffs it delicately before he takes a small bit. You breathe a huff of laughter at his behaviour and he lazily reaches up to cuff the side of your head. “See, it’s good, isn’t it? This kind of thing is always better when you make it yourself,” He rolls his eyes but tears off another chunk, which you take to mean he is, in fact, enjoying it.
The afternoon fades into evening, and twilight descends upon the mountains. You rearrange yourselves so that your sat side by side, gazing up at the moon that is just becoming visible. “You know, I would do more than remake a mountain range if you asked.” Warmth settles deep in your bones despite the chill in the night air. Tom turns to watch you and you don’t bother hiding your smile. “I would remake the entire world for you.” You don’t doubt him either, Tom is a force of nature, always has been. He’s a visionary and you’re not always sure if that’s a good thing, but, years ago, he saw something in you and now he looks at you as though you are everything that he wants in the world.
You reach over and hold his hand, letting his touch ground you, “For now, this is enough.” You mean this moment, sitting here with him. You also mean the life you are slowly patching together, one mosaic tile at a time.
#tom riddle#tom marvolo riddle#tom riddle x you#tom riddle x y/n#tom riddle x oc#tom riddle x reader#minific#tom riddle imagines#tom riddle imagine#tom riddle fanfic#tom riddle fic#harry potter fanfiction#tom riddle fanfiction#prompt fill#prompt#asks#requests#request
165 notes
·
View notes
Note
I’m not sure if you have something planned for this already but wouldn’t it be the height of irony if Tooley got monched on by a starved Chris when he forgot to drug him? Just opens the door and whoops! He eaten!
CW: Whumper death, drunkenness, some dehumanization, blood drinking, bit of gore, vampirism, some very light catholicism
-
New York City, 1936
KING EDWARD VIII ABDICATES THRONE
British Monarch to Wed American Socialite Wallis Simpson
Tooley kicks at the sodden, half-frozen newspaper stuck to his shoe, grunting with the effort it takes to dislodge it. His hands are buried deep in the pockets of his thick woolen coat, and he ignores the envious stares of others whose threadbare outfits are patched, whose gloves are little more than rags wrapped around their not-quite-frostbitten fingers.
Instead, he pulls his scarf up higher, tucks his chin beneath its knitted warmth, and finally manages to send the scrap of paper with its water-stained black-and-white image of a stern-faced soon-to-be ex-king and his Baltimore lover into the street, where it sticks in a puddle and soaks clean through.
The old-timers say a heavy rain is coming, citing their aching joints and bones. It's been a wet winter already, and the absolute last thing New York needs is more rain.
Tooley plans to be holed up in his nice warm little house for the whole of it. He's sold three paintings in a month, and he can spend the next few weeks on the next one until his hands want to drop right off his wrists without having to distract himself with petty concerns like money.
The liquor bubbles warm inside him, and even with the frigid air he's broken a sweat along his back, trickling to his waistband, almost a tickle. He stumbles a little, catches himself, coughs out a laugh as the cold air burns deep into his lungs. It can't penetrate the hazy heat of the drink, though.
Mel's always has the best whiskey, and Tooley has the green these days to pay for the very best indeed. He's spent what might be a whole month's pay - if he weren't the luckiest artist in New York - in a single night.
You might say he's made a deal with the devil.
He pulls the brim of his fedora down, shielding his brow from the bit of freezing moisture speckling his cheeks. He struggles not to giggle like a child.
"Got a bit to spare for a hungry man?" A rasping voice calls out from an alley as he passes. "Help me feed my family, sir? I'm out of work, sir! Got three little ones with hungry bellies!"
Tooley ignores him.
There are crowds like that everywhere these days, always pressing for help, for a little something more and more and more. Men out of work, men in bread lines, women with tired faces and sad children. He's had just about enough of it.
They're calling it a depression, and he finds the term apt enough, considering it seems the whole country's been tumbled into a hole and can't find its way out.
He'd take his muse to Europe and paint there if it weren't for the echoing tension that bleeds over across the sea. Every nation he's idolized for their arts is trying to posture at each other. Rattling sabers while the people sigh heavily and keep washing their laundry, like always.
Tooley was a child when the Great War tore his own family apart - losing an older half-brother to the pointless trenches, a father to the mustard gas that ate his lungs to pieces, a mother to her desperate, sharp grief at her husband and stepson's loss.
The War had rendered him alone in the world before he was even twenty, though he'd been too young to hardly understand it and it had had nothing to do with him.
Wars were for rich men to send poor men to fight in, and Tooley is hoping to have enough wealth to maybe just float right past a new one, if the rumors beginning to swirl came true and Europe is going to erupt. Surely, though, no one would let a second war as horrible as the last happen.
Surely not.
Still, even so, he can simply disappear if they try to call him up to fight. He has no one left to lose, after all. No one to fight for, no one to care for. No one but his pretty little model, all locked away, his to keep.
Tooley takes a sharp left and the streets begin to change from the harsher gray of the city proper into neighborhoods, houses crammed tightly together. It's not the best part of town - Tooley's parents weren't the wealthiest, and he doesn't live like a gentleman, he's got no need to, it's not how he thinks a proper artist should live anyway. Have to keep up the image of the nearly-starving creative genius, after all.
There are still lights in some windows, despite the late hour. Tooley isn't the only one drunk at midnight and still moving.
It's a mile or so from the start of his street to where his house is nestled between two others, close enough he could reach out his kitchen window and touch the brick of the home next door. He smiles a little. His nose aches with the cold at the tip of it, but that's nothing to worry himself over.
He's home.
It takes him four tries to unlock his front door, the key jabbing into wood and brass too far to one side or the other. He laughs, breath puffing white clouds into the air, his ears burning with the cold where his hat doesn't quite cover them.
Good thing he's not with a woman, tonight, if his aim's so bad with just his hands.
The thought makes him laugh harder, nearly a guffaw, loud enough that he's sure he's woken a neighbor or two. It's not the first time.
Finally, the key slides home and the lock clicks and Tooley moves inside. The house is chilled in the entryroom, but as he slides his coat and fedora off to leave them on the coat rack and moves into the kitchen, towards the back, he can feel the warmth slowly trickling from the ticking radiators along the walls.
He's due for a coal delivery in the next couple of days, and boy, he's going to need it with the weather the way it's been.
Tooley heads for his perfect little secret, the vampire held in the backroom, once a sort of servant's bedroom for some family that had owned the home even before his own parents did. It's his studio, now, and the place where the little vampire boy is kept.
He unlocks that door, too. A key, a deadbolt, a little sliding lock at the top for added safety.
"Here, kitty kitty kitty," He slurs, and laughs again, delighted at his own little joke.
There's a scrape and a rustle, and Tooley steps back to let the vampire boy move forward, out of the freezing unheated room - Tooley only turns the radiator on in there when he himself is working, it's not like dead things care about being warm after all - and into the kitchen proper, with its little two-person table.
The boy is looking dirty - he's due for a bath, long overdue honestly. Good things he doesn't sweat enough to stink.
His hair hangs lank in his eyes, closer to dark copper than the new-penny shine Tooley prefers. There are smudges along his cheeks, marring his perfect freckles. He's draped in a sweater patched badly where his elbows have worn holes right through, pants that are tied with a rope since Tooley sure isn't going to waste money on a belt for a corpse.
"Is, did, did you, um, did you bring me food?" The vampire boy looks up at him, eyes glinting a little in the dimness, that unsettling cat-like glow-in-the-dark effect. His little fangs flash, too. "I'm... I'm, I'm hungry, Tooley."
"I know you are, bloodsucker."
"It's, it's been, um, it's been weeks, Tooley-"
"I know, I know. Shut your trap." Tooley ruffles his hair, then pulls his hand back with a grimace as he remembers how dirty and greasy it's gotten, walking away to go to the sink and wash his hands. "We'll get t'that. I met with someone very important at th' bar tonight, and first things first, you and I are going to celebrate."
The boy moves slowly, staying half-crouched - he's been hit before, when Tooley didn't want him to stand all the way up. He settles himself against the wall, head tilted to the side. His cheekbones cut sharp angles in his face, edging down to his narrow chin.
Those big green eyes follow Tooley everywhere he goes.
"Celebrate what?" He asks, and Tooley wonders just how old the ridiculous little thing is. He'd said early aughts, hadn't he, on when he was turned? So he'd be, what, in his forties really?
Funny.
Was he locked up during the Great War?
He's still a pretty teenager, but he's probably closing in on fifty. Tooley's twenty-some years younger and looks infinitely older, in his own estimation.
Tooley should look into vampirism, seems an excellent way to hold onto your looks, doesn't it? He wonders if the boy knows how to turn him. They could make beautiful work forever...
Hm.
Something to ruminate over when he's hungover in the morning.
"New commission. I'm taking a few weeks off, give us both a break, but I've got the basic details. I'll pick up a broad, get her all set up for modeling, we'll make us a mint, sweetheart." He moves to the counter, picking up the half-full bottle of gin he keeps there, taking a swig and grimacing, coughing. There's a rattle in his lungs these days he doesn't like much.
"You'll, you'll kill her?" The vampire watches him. He looks hungry, with all those sharp lines emphasized, as though he were a painting himself still in progress, with the outline still written in graphite showing through the colors. He's pale, painted in wash, not yet turned to vivid velvet intensity with oils.
"'Course. You think any of my models would stay alive anywhere near you?" He laughs at the very idea, missing the vampire's little flinch as he turns away. He pulls a loaf of bread from the breadbox, already starting to stale but that's all right, he's going to toast it over the stove anyway. The world swims around him from the liquor, and he catches the counter with one hand to keep himself upright.
The feeling brings another laugh out of him.
The little vampire smiles faintly in echo of it. He has to work to get the stove to gas, narrowing his eyes as it struggles, sputters, before finally a little flame flares up. Just enough to give off a little heat for the toast.
"Fuck. Drank too much. Or not enough." He laughs again, and pulls a knife from the knifeblock, the sharp serrated thin blade best for slicing through the heavy sourdough he buys from a woman down the block. Bit of toast, pat of salted butter, that'll get him through to morning when he can head down for eggs and bacon at Paulie's diner.
Maybe he'll even buy some extra for the hungry men who hound around the doors. He can be a philanthropist.
As he slices, the knife slips off the stale, hard crust and cuts right through the back of his hand, a long line immediately welling with bright red blood. He groans, irritated, and sets the knife down, turning to run cold water over it as the pain flares bright, but slightly muted from his drunkenness.
There's a rustle behind him, and Tooley's mind only belatedly begins to allow alarm to trickle through the warm fuzz of the gin and whiskey. He slowly turns around.
Where the vampire boy had been curled against the wall, a bundle of skinny bones and too-big clothes, there's... nothing.
Tooley glances to one side and sees the boy crouched on the floor by the edge of the lower cabinets, his hands pressed into the ground. He moved five feet in less than a second.
His eyes are flared, wide and with pupils burying the iris in black. He clicks, softly, tongue against teeth in an inhuman way.
Click-click-click-click.
click-click-click.
How'd he move so fast?
"Shit," Tooley whispers. "When's the last time I fed you?"
The vampire doesn't answer, only stares, unblinking, muscles tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing. He clicks again.
His lips pull back from his teeth and those fangs that seem so cute and little on every other day suddenly look long, like daggers, dripping a shimmering venom to the ground.
Tooley tries not to blink, too, but his eyes dry and dry and dry and eventually he can't help it. His eyes close, a fraction of a second, and flare open right away.
Not fast enough.
The vampire leaps and Tooley grunts at the impact of the small bony body against his own, his lower back smacking into the line of the counter with a flash of pain. The bread and knife both clatter to the ground.
Panic comes, but it doesn't help. He's still groping to get at another knife when the vampire's fingernails dig into his scalp, grip into his hair and jerk his head to the side to bare his throat.
"Hungry," The vampire boy hisses. "Hungry, Tooley. Hungry."
"I-I know, just, just don't blow your wig, gimmee a minute, I can get you something, just hold on-" Tooley's voice is thin from the harsh angle his neck is being held at, and he swallows, seeing in a bleary haze the way the vampire's huge eyes are focused on the movement of his adam's apple, the bob of his throat.
Can he see the blood pulsing there?
He puts his hands up against the vampire's chest to try and push him off, but it's like pushing against rock. He thinks about painting the vampire as a kind of young Prometheus for a dandy from Boston, tied naked to a rock to be pecked at by eagles, and wonders if the mythological man ever tried to push the rock itself, and if it failed as miserably for him as it does for Tooley now.
"There's blood in the shed out back, just let me go and I'll grab it for you." He pitches his voice soothing and slightly patronizing, like speaking to a whining dog. "Okay, kitten? Just two minutes and you'll be fed, right as rain."
The vampire pauses, hesitates, and Tooley feels his hands working at Tooley's hair and one shoulder, like a cat kneading into your lap before they settle. His little stray. His breathing starts to ease, his heart to slow down, the first rush of panic subsiding.
The world still spins a little, but the rush of adrenaline is settling things into something more solid, wiping away the liquor.
"I'll put you back in your room and go get it for you, it's right outside, good and cold," Tooley coos, and realizes too late it isn't what he should have said.
"There's blood right here, and and and, and, and it's living," The vampire boy says, eyes wide and inhuman, and he's absolutely gorgeous. "Your, your, yours is hot."
Tooley would paint him like this, all feral instinct overwriting the living corpse of an anonymous Irish immigrant who died dozens of years ago. A metaphor, maybe, for the way some of the children who come here lose all their European culture and get boorishly American, and-
The vampire bites down, and all thoughts of art and culture flee from Tooley's mind.
The liquor holds off the pain so long the venom hits before he even feels the way those sharp teeth have breached his skin. He goes limp, dropping in a heap to the floor. He thinks he hits his head on the loaf of bread before it knocks into the floor.
They feel about the same level of hardness.
The knife is right next to his head, lying there, shining in the yellowed lamplight, with its carved wooden handle.
All he has to do is move his hand a few inches to reach it.
Just a few inches.
He tries, desperately, to tell his fingers where to go.
The vampire sucks hard at the wound in his neck, pulling blood from his veins like a man drinking an egg cream after a long hot day's work, and Tooley groans. He can feel the press and pull without the pain, and it's the strangest thing he's ever felt. Stranger than those he's gone to bed with.
The venom makes his limbs feel like stones, weighed down to motionless. He struggles even to swallow saliva, to take a deep breath. His heart never races again with panic. He isn't able to feel it any longer.
Those sharp little fingernails dig hard into his shoulders, the weight of the vampire settled on him, straddling him. A little flirty thought - at least buy me dinner first - makes its way across his mind, barely coherent, slow as molasses.
The vampire starts up his soft rumble, the vibration filtering in through into Tooley's body. It seems like it makes him feel even more frozen, heavy as the ocean and weightless at once.
His eyes are on the ceiling, and he realizes how long it's been since anyone cleaned the corners where cobwebs have grown and grown. They need swept away.
Funny how he never noticed before. Too busy with his art.
There's a moment where Tooley is surprised to look down at himself, as if he's floating somewhere near the ceiling staring down at his own open eyes. When he needed not to blink, he couldn't stop himself, but now the body he is looking at just stares and stares and stares, unseeing, unblinking, unbreathing-
Oh.
As soon as the realization hits, Tooley's awareness of himself as a body he can observe is gone.
There is darkness, and then a point of terrible final light. He feels the grasping of bloodied hands.
And he's gone.
The vampire drinks until the blood stops pumping, until the heart beneath his kneading hand is still. Then a rough tongue laps at the wounds, finding the last few droplets there that still sing with life.
The vampire pulls back, skin flush with life, no longer white as snow. His freckles stand out, scattered like constellations of stars over his skin. The dead man beneath him has all the paleness he had before, they are switched, swapped death for life.
He wipes the blood from around his mouth and looks slowly upwards, breathing in deep gulps he doesn't need but which feel so, so good.
He moves to the stove, to turn it off, but he doesn't quite turn it off all the way. An odd smell fills his nose and the vampire's nostrils wrinkle, but he doesn't know what the scent is, and he simply pulls Tooley's coat on before he leaves, door unlocked.
A few minutes later, a man with his hands over a barrel fire looks up to see a redheaded teenager in a woolen coat far too large for him move under a streetlamp, pausing to look up at it as if surprised by how bright its light is.
He blinks, and the man squints.
The young man's mouth is open, as if scenting the air by letting it roll over his tongue. Before the man can quite understand what he is looking at, the boy's mouth closes and he turns to look at the man. As his eyes shift from being lit by the lamp to draped in shadow, though...
They glow.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," The man whispers, crossing himself hurriedly. "Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle, b-be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil-"
The boy looks right at him, head tilted. The flames of the barrel flicker, hissing a little when raindrops start to fall. His lips pull back from his teeth and there are an animal's fangs there, plain as day.
The man feels pure horror at the sight of a demon walking free and unfettered in New York City. He grabs at the cross he wears around his neck and holds it out, his voice trembling. "May G-God... rebuke him, we humbly pray-"
"I, I, I hope that works for you," The boy says, and his voice is soft, and there's almost a lilt of the old country there that the man recognizes, not quite his own but not far off. "It never d-did for, um, for me. Don't worry. I'm... I'm full. You're, you're, you're in no danger from me. When, when, when, when... when did you come here? To this place?"
The man swallows around a lump in his throat, and yet he finds himself compelled to answer honestly. "Two years past, give or take. Came with m'wife and baby girl."
"From where?"
"... Kerry," He says, against his will. He can't seem to hold back the words. "And my wife grew up in County Cork."
The boy smiles, and his horrid teeth disappear when his lips press together. He looks for all the world like any other young man, a bit skinny perhaps and in need of a good meal or three, but no danger to anyone.
But the man has seen the demon that he is, and he finds himself grateful for the fire between them and the cross still in his hand, the shield of St. Michael and the cloak of Christ Himself.
"My, my, my, my parents were from County Cork," The demon boy says, lightly. His lilt is slightly stronger. "Wonder if we're cousins, your your wife and I. Maybe so. Stay home, um, after dark. Don't, don't, don't work when the sun is, um, is down."
The boy turns and walks away.
The man realizes with a start that in the midst of a chilly December night, the boy's feet are utterly bare. He steps over ice like he could walk on water.
There was blood smeared on the back of his coat.
The man flinches as he hears a sudden boom, close enough that he feels it in his chest as well as hearing the sound. A moment later a woman runs by shouting that a house has caught flame, to call for help.
The man looks back at the way the boy went.
He's gone.
-
@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump
#whump#vampire chris au#vampire au chris#chris the strawberry blond romantic#vampire whump#vampire whumpee#escaped whumpee#runaway whumpee#vampirism#vampire fiction#vampire#original fiction#horror fiction#horror writing#writeblr#writblr#whumpblr#whumper pov#whumper death#creepy whumper#possessive whumper#captivity#blood drinking#blood tw#referenced starvation#pet whump#dehumanization tw#alternate universe#horror#monster whump
116 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ghost Of You
==============================
Pairing: Wilbur Soot x GN!Reader
Warnings: deep angst, death
Note: this was a request of someone asking a part two of ‘As Our World Caves In’ but where the reader seeing Ghostbur. I’m probably gonna make a part 3 eventually with the reader helping Ghostbur remember.
==============================
Part 1 here!
==============================
==============================
He drifted through the air alone, the quiet whistle of the wind that carried him, not bothering to move himself. It was calming just getting to drift, allowing the wind to carry him wherever it would go. He had seen so much this way, some of the coolest sights. His maroon beanie rested on the top of his head, not being effected by the wind, his yellow wool sweater occasionally lifting up when he would turn upside down due to the wind just to go back to place when he would turn right back up.
He hummed to himself, he didn’t exactly know the song that was in his memory, he barley remembered anything. He did remember something, very faintly, but it was there none the less. A f/c blur with a voice that could calm a storm, that’s what he saw when he would close his eyes. It would hold him, cry into his arms while he held them, he couldn’t understand how such a beautiful soul could hold so much pain.
Drifting through the wind, suddenly his body went through a giant tree. The ghost opened his once closed eyes confused, looking around noticing he was in a jungle, smiling to himself seeing a parrot family hiding under the branches.
Smoke had been rising in the distance of the jungle, the ghost thinking of it as no more than a forest fire. Something felt off though, he felt heavy at the sense of sadness appearing on his shoulders as he drifted closer to where the smoke had been rising.
Ghostbur finally decided to control himself and float closer to the smoke’s location, stopping at a clearing in the jungle where there was no trees and a small house was built, smoke rising from the chimney on the roof. He floated down to the door of the home, fading through the wood not having to open it.
When he had entered, he was met by the sound of quiet crying from above the stairs that led to another layer in the house. He floated through the house, stopping at a photo that laid on the ground, the glass in the frame cracked. He delicately picked it up staring at the picture inside, something inside of him warming up as he traced the wooden frame.
It was him, but also not him in that photo. His skin wasn’t tinted grey, there was no maroon beanie and he looked almost evil, yet the one beside his old self made the ghost smile. Their e/c eyes holding so much hope as their face brightened looking at the photo.
Something was connecting in Ghostbur, almost like a memory, as in he was remembering again. It was a fuzzy memory but it was a memory none the less.
Except he couldn’t remember for long, the cries from upstairs continued, breaking the ghost’s heart with each sob that left the unfamiliar voice. He put the photo back down on the ground, floating up the stairs, a torn letter outside the slightly cracked door at the end of the hall.
Ghostbur looked at the letter for a split second, it being signed by his father Philza, wet patches littering the paper and messing up the ink of the page.
The ghost had fazed himself through the bedroom door, noticing a figure sitting by the window staring outside while clinging to a brown trenchcoat, sobs leaving their lips as they cried into the trenchcoat, cursing to themselves and occasionally mentioning Philza.
“I looked up to him,” they cried, unknown of Ghostbur’s presence behind them, “he promised that he would teach me how to fight and that he would always be there for me, to never cause me pain. Yet he did the opposite.” Ghostbur listened to the person ramble, unable to see their face, “he murdered him, he murdered him, he murdered the only man I’ve ever loved.”
“Hello?”
The person sighed clinging to the coat tighter, their face dropping into their hands, “fourth time this day, I’m really a fucking mess.”
“Hello?”
The voice had repeated itself to Y/N, their blood running cold. It was usually his voice would repeat itself in their mind. They choked back a sob muttering quietly through their broken voice, “Wil?”
Their body shook as they turned, the brown trench coat held tightly to their chest as they took in the sight of the ghost in front of them. Their feet touched the cold wood on the floor, slowly walking up to Ghostbur, unable to figure out if they were just seeing things again or that this was real.
“May I?” their voice was barely audible but the ghost managed to hear, giving a quiet nod and just enjoying the sense of happiness he was feeling around the person in front of him. Y/N’s shaking handy raised up, Ghostbur watching the action intently as their hand went to his face, fazing completely through him in a quiet mist, “you’re... I-”
Tears brimmed at the edges of their e/c eyes, slightly backing away from Ghostbur unable to believe the sight before them.
“Who are you?” Ghostbur asked, his echoey voice ringing in Y/N’s ears, it sounded like Wilbur but it wasn’t. It was Ghostbur standing in front of them, not their Wilbur.
“You... You don’t remember?” they choked back a sob. Ghostbur felt guilty, how could he not remember this person, only faded memories were coming to his mind when he tried to remember this person, he couldn’t even make out a name, “Wil... It’s me, Y/N... Please tell me you can at least remember what I look like? Our song?”
Ghostbur just stared at them, his head starting to hurt with the rush of emotions and memories coming all at once.
He heard crying, after the loud explosion. It was them, they were crying again held in the arms of someone with a blade in their hands. The person holding them seemed to be shaking them, yelling at them to murder him. Ghostbur looked closer at the memory. The person shaking the poor crying person looked like him, except his eyes were almost crazed, dirty and evil.
“Kill me Y/N! Everyone wants you to do it! Look at them, the traitors Y/N, they never cared about us. I want to die, please just do it!”
“I love you!”
Ghostbur had been pulled back to reality, staring at the shaking figure in front of him crying quietly. Ghostbur looked at them confused, this had to have been the same person that was crying, their name... “Y/N, why do I know you so well?”
Silent, their crying stopped as they looked up at Ghostbur, “Wilbur?”
Ghostbur looked away, why couldn’t he just remember and make things all better for them, they deserved everything this world could offer. What did he deserve? Nothing, he was a monster, he blew up a country, terrified Y/N, what kind of redemption did he deserve?
“What have you done to me?” Ghostbur asked quietly.
Y/N’s tears stopped, their breathing returning to normal as they smiled up at Ghostbur, “you do remember me.”
==============================
Thanks for reading, don’t forget to like and maybe reblog as it really does help me out :)
==============================
Taglist: @sadassflatass @gamerboykarl @ajesterscrown @sugarsoftie @aremegay @twist3dtinkerbell
(To be added to my taglist, just dm me)
S-Tierre Taglist: @corpse-br1de
==============================
#wilbur soot#wilbur soot x reader#wilbur soot imagines#ghostbur#ghostbur x reader#ghostbur imagines#mcyt#mcyt x reader#mcyt imagines#dreamsmp#dreamsmp x reader#dreamsmp imagines
220 notes
·
View notes
Text
Here's a completely self-indulgent scene for what I hope happens in 3x12
Read on AO3
"Hey, Dr. Goodwin, does this mean I get hazard pay for being in the trenches with Bloom all day?" Casey asked as Reynolds adjusted the medicine cocktail they determined would nullify the chemical effects in his IV.
One bed over Max laughed, "Just as soon as I find place in the budget for that hazard pay."
"Casey, I'll pay you out of my own pocket after today." Lauren said, her bed on Max's other side before looking at Helen who was checking the IV hooked up to Lauren, "Are you sure Candelario was informed about Mrs.-"
"Yes, Lauren, for the third time she's been fully briefed on all the patients from the ED." Helen said, half exasperated, half amused.
"They warded some of them just down the hall, I could-"
"No," Helen and Floyd said at the same time.
"Right now you are my patient which means you don't check on your patients," Helen said as she moved to check on Max's set-up.
Iggy walked into the room, "Good news. I just talked with the biohazard team. By tomorrow the ED should be fully cleaned and cleared for use again."
"Oh, and I was kind of hoping for a day off," Lauren said.
Everyone else in the room stared at her for a few seconds, long enough for Lauren to look at each of their faces and read the disbelief there.
Lauren frowned, "What?"
"Should we page Dr. Kao?" Reynolds asked, "Could the chemicals be making her delusional?"
"No one else presented with delusions or erratic behaviour," Helen said.
"I don't need a neurologist because I was hoping for a personal day."
"A normal person might not, but you..." Casey said.
Lauren glared at him a few seconds, "You can forget about hazard pay."
"I'll get Kao," Iggy said.
A voice rang out through the ward, "Lauren!" And a slim figure slipped past Iggy and into the room.
Casey sat up to see over Max, "Isn't that-"
"Hey," Lauren's voice softened, "What are you doing here?"
She reached her hand out, Leyla taking it.
"On the radio, the news,” She was a little out of breath, “I heard about the chemical spill. They said the ED was shut down and I knew you were here and," Leyla's eyes quickly took in the set-up around Lauren, the IV, the monitor hooked up to her. "What happened? What are they treating you with?"
Lauren started giving a rundown of what happened and the medications they were using to treat it. Leyla interjected with some questions, why they'd use one medication over another, what symptoms Lauren presented with. The others in the room watched in shocked silence. Partly because Lauren made no attempt to water down any of the terminologies, mostly because here was Lauren Bloom, the Head of New Amsterdam's Emergency Department holding this woman's hand, her fingers moving in slow circles on the inside of her wrist.
"Hey, hey," Lauren said finally when Leyla started asking redundant questions out of a sense of worry. She gently pulled on Leyla's hand, "Stop looking at my readouts. Look at me."
Leyla's eyes shifted from flitting over the machines to Lauren.
"I'm okay."
Biting her lip, Leyla didn’t look convinced, "Are you sure?" She rested her palm against Lauren’s cheek.
Leaning into the touch, Lauren nodded, "I'm okay."
Leyla turned to the others in the room and after a quick scan, she stopped on Helen, "Is she? Okay?"
It took a beat for Helen to snap herself out of the surprise, "Yes. She will be. Everyone's been responding to the medication.”
“Bloom was exposed the most,” Reynolds added, “So we want to keep her overnight for observation, but she's responding well so far."
"Exposed the most?" Leyla looked at Lauren again.
Lauren gave a shy shrug.
"The pipe blew right over her head and even after we realized it was a chemical spill she refused to stop treating the patients in the ED," Casey said.
"Lauren,"
"I wasn't going to let another doctor expose themselves when we didn't know what the chemicals were."
A soft sigh, "You reckless noble fool." Leyla leaned down and kissed her and kissed her and kissed her.
"Oh," Helen said simply.
The others room reacted like a wave had hit them at once. Max's head cooked to the side and Reynolds blinked, sharing a look with Iggy.
"You just had to get hospitalized when it's your night for the dishes," Leyla said in the space between their lips, drawing a soft laugh from Lauren.
"Mariana owes me thirty bucks. I knew there was something happening," Casey said, snapping his fingers.
"You knew about this?" Reynolds asked.
"Not this," he gestured to the kissing couple, "Specifically, but that's the closet crasher Bloom was smuggling in here."
"Ah," Iggy, Helen and Max said together.
“That makes sense,” Iggy said.
"Closet crasher?" Reynolds asked.
"Dude, where have you been?" Casey looked perplexed, "You've been working in the ED."
"Yeah, even we heard about it up in psych."
“Hey, the spill impaired my vision, not my hearing,” Lauren said, shooting a dry look to the others. But the usual effect of her chilled expression was diminished by the fact she’d only shifted her attention to them for a moment, her face held in Leyla’s hands the entire time.
“So, are you going to introduce us?” Iggy asked.
“No,” Lauren answered instantly.
“Lauren,” Leyla admonished softly.
Lauren exhaled before going down the list of everyone’s name. “And, everyone, this is Leyla, my…” She hesitated, looking at Leyla, “girlfriend?” Her voice pitched up, landing somewhere between a statement and question.
Leyla’s eyes were so soft as she said, “I’d hope that’s what we are at this point.”
Casey did a small fist pump, “And that’s another twenty from Brunstetter.”
“Looks like you got your hazard pay Casey,” Lauren said, voice dripping with sardonic ire, “Good thing too because I’m going to kill you for making bets about me. Just as soon as I’m not hooked up to an IV anymore.”
“Sharpe there isn’t any chance you make my drip go faster than hers? Just so I can a headstart.”
"I would if I thought a headstart would do you any good," Helen said, chuckling.
“Can I stay with you tonight?” Leyla asked Lauren.
“You should go home,” Lauren urged, “You’re just going to watch me get drip-fed meds all night.”
“Please.”
Lauren sighed, fighting a losing battle against a smile, “Max, is it okay? I know it’s well after visiting hours.”
“Yeah,” Max said, his smile warm, “We make exceptions for family all the time.”
“Okay, in that case, dinner is on me. Only the very finest of from the hospital cafeteria,” Reynolds said.
“Oh, yes, I saw they had Cesar on special today,” Iggy said, join him.
“Hey! Reynolds get me the mac and cheese!” Casey called after them, “And with the hash brown side. None of that green shit Max forced on us.”
“Hey,” Max clutched his chest.
“No offence,”
“Offence taken.”
Helen laughed, looking away from Max, catching Lauren’s eyes. The look she gave said they’d be having a conversation about this later before saying, “Boys wait on me,” and following Iggy and Floyd.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of Medical Director getting chemical exposer from trying to find the source himself,” Leyla said, looking to Max.
“Ah,” Max gave a self-conscious laugh.
Lauren laughed, “That’s New Amsterdam.”
122 notes
·
View notes
Text
So I was thinking about Dean burying Cas in the ma’lak box and this happened.
wc: 1.6k
also on archive
“Dean, I can’t let you do this,” Sam said as Dean stepped into the Impala.
“I have to,” Dean replied, his voice was taut as he tried to hold back tears.
“No, you don’t.”
“He won’t stop, Sammy. He’s never going to stop.” Dean felt the words break as they tumbled from his mouth, shattering in the air.
“But it’s Cas,” Sam argued.
“I know,” Dean choked out as he reached for the door so he could pull it closed, shutting out Sam’s protests.
“Dean!” Sam’s muffled voice reached Dean’s ears but he paid his brother no mind.
Before he could allow himself to falter, he put the Impala in reverse and left the motel parking lot, leaving Sam staring after him.
The drive to the bunker wasn’t a long one, but it was the most agonizing thirty minutes of Dean’s life.
When he stepped outside, the world seemed to stop. There were no sounds of creatures scuffling among leaves, no calls of birds, no rustle of branches as the trees talked to each other. Everything was quiet, as if the planet were holding its breath, waiting.
Dean’s footsteps echoed loudly in his ears as he entered the bunker and walked slowly down the stairs. The main room was dim, only one light was on at the middle library table.
Dean’s mouth suddenly went dry and he had to clear his throat to get his voice to work. “Cas?” he called out warily. A shadow appeared from behind a post and Dean’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Cas,” he said as he took a step towards the shadow.
“Dean.” Cas’s reply was merely a whisper. His voice was nothing more than a rasp, as if it had been dragged across rocks and whipped by the roughest of waves. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
Dean swallowed back the tears that wanted to spill across his cheeks. “I had to.”
“And what of Sam?”
“He tried to stop me.”
Cas took a staggering step forward, bracing himself against the table with the light on. “Is he far behind you?”
Dean nearly gasped at Cas’s appearance. His eyes were sunken in their sockets, their color, once bright blue, was now dulled and drained. Blood soaked the left side of his face and coated his trench coat and shirt.
Dean forced himself to reply to Cas’s question. “He’s not coming.”
Cas nodded slowly, the motion seemed to take over his whole body, causing him to shake and tremble. “Good.” When Dean failed to speak, Cas let out a sigh. “Let’s get this over with, then.”
“I don’t want to do this,” Dean said quietly.
“Neither do I,” Cas admitted. “But I am beyond saving.”
“I thought that way once,” Dean replied as he allowed himself a single step closer to where Cas stood. “But I was wrong. There’s still time for you, we can figure something out.”
“No!” Cas roared.
And there it was, the anger born by the mark.
Dean knew firsthand how hard it was to keep that anger buried, it scratches and claws at the corners of your mind until finally it manages to break free. For Cas to have held it back this long was impressive.
“Cas,” Dean began.
“I said no,” Cas snapped. “There’s no way out of it this time, Dean. You know what you have to do.”
Dean’s tears finally fell. “I can’t.”
“You can,” Cas hissed as he gripped the edge of the table so hard the wood groaned under his hand. “And you will. You have to.”
Dean shook his head. “No, no, Cas, please don’t make me.”
“Dean,” Cas’s tone was hard yet it held the smallest glimmer of sympathy. “I’m barely keeping everything at bay. My grace is fighting the effects of the mark, but it won’t be long before the mark takes over completely. We’re running out of time, this has to be done, while I’m still in control.”
It was true. All of it was true. Cas had already killed so many during moments when he lost himself to the mark. An angel with the power of the mark was unstoppable, the world would be demolished if such a being were allowed to continue to roam freely.
“I need you to do this for me, I can’t do it alone.”
“I know,” Dean whispered into the silent bunker.
“Then take me to the box.”
Dean hesitated and Cas let out a snarl.
“The longer we delay, the faster I lose this battle.”
“Okay, okay,” Dean said, holding up his hands. “This way.”
Dean led Cas down the bunker hallway into the dungeon where the Ma’lak box waited, open and ready.
Cas stopped in front of it, eyes trained on the metal carvings and nodded. “This should do.”
Cas moved to climb into it but Dean put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Wait.”
The angel looked like he was about to argue but he only sighed. “What is it?” The barest glimpse of the old Castiel came through in the way Cas tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.
“You need to know something before you do this.”
“What?”
Dean faltered, fumbling with his hands while he tried to calm the slamming of his heart in his chest. He managed to raise his head to meet Cas’s gaze and he swallowed as his eyes dipped to Cas’s lips.
Words would fail Dean, he knew that, so he took the chance to express his feelings in action instead. He surged forward, pushing Cas back against the door and connecting their lips in a bruising kiss. Dean didn’t expect Cas to kiss back, but he did, hard and passionate.
When they pulled apart, Dean saw tears in Cas’s eyes. “Dean,” he breathed.
“I love you,” Dean said before he could lose his nerve.
Cas sighed, his eyes suddenly regaining a tiny bit of that brightness they used to always carry. “I love you too.”
“Then don’t do this,” Dean pleaded. “Please. Stay, let me figure something else out.”
Cas shook his head, sadness arresting his features. “I can’t.”
Dean’s heart broke inside him, each piece lodging itself into his chest as pain tore through him. He bent his forehead against the angel’s and pressed another kiss to his lips.
“Cas,” his voice broke and Cas reached a hand to cup his face.
“Dean we have to hurry, if we delay any longer I’m afraid I might hurt you.”
Dean took in Castiel for the last time. The set of his shoulders, the curve of his jaw, the oceans that were his eyes, the outline of his lips.
He knew they were out of time. He had to say goodbye.
“Okay,” he whispered as tears slid down his cheeks.
Cas carefully stepped away from Dean and headed towards the box. Dean moved to help him and the second that his hand landed on Cas’s back, he sensed the change.
Faced with an eternity in a box, the part of Cas that bore the mark must have broken free.
A hand swung towards Dean’s face as a blood-curdling scream tore out of Cas’s mouth. He could barely see through his tears as he blocked Cas’s blows.
“Cas, please,” he begged as he held Cas back against the box.
Cas struggled in his grip, a grin spreading across his face. “You’re no match for me.”
Dean released Cas momentarily and the angel moved to attack him again, but Dean was faster. The angel blade he’d tucked into the waistband of his jeans was in his hand before Cas could take another step and soon it was embedded in Cas’s chest.
Cas gasped as his grace poured through his mouth, destroying everything that was left of the angel the mark had made its puppet.
Cas slumped against the box, limp, and Dean collapsed beside him. The pieces of his broken heart wedged themselves deeper into his chest and he sobbed as he pulled Cas’s body onto his lap, rocking him as he held him tightly.
“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed. “Cas, I’m so sorry.”
Castiel was dead.
The thing that would soon wake up in the angel’s body would not be someone that Dean knew, it would be a twisted and soulless perversion of Castiel, and not something Dean could ever face.
Summoning as much strength as his body could manage, he lifted Cas into the box and arranged him against the cold metal.
Dean allowed himself a few moments to look at his best friend, the love of his life, in his final resting place. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Cas’s forehead.
“I love you,” he whispered over another sob.
He reached up to close and lock the box and then he called Sam.
“It’s done.”
“So what’s next?” Sam asked.
“The ocean. I’ll meet up with you after.”
****
Dean headed to the docks, where he boarded a small fishing ship filled with men that didn’t ask questions. They took Dean out as far as they could and just as he moved to toss the box over the side, Dean heard Cas wake up.
“Let me out!” he screamed.
Hearing Cas’s voice, but knowing it wasn’t Cas, drove a dagger into Dean’s already destroyed heart.
The thing inside the box suddenly quieted and a small plea reached Dean’s ears. “Dean, please.”
Before Dean could do something stupid, like open the box, he pushed it over the edge of the ship, and watched as it sank, carrying Cas with it.
“Goodbye, Cas,” he choked out.
Dean collapsed once it was out of sight. He cried so hard he couldn’t breathe, his chest was constricting and he had half a mind to tie anchors to his feet and jump in after the box.
But he didn’t.
When Dean returned, Sam didn’t try to console him, and Dean was grateful for it. He wanted to be left alone to grieve.
With Cas buried, everything looked completely hopeless. Chuck might be gone, but they were still losing to the monsters, and the future didn’t look bright. Dean wasn’t one to give up, but sometimes giving up was the only option, and Dean was inclined to accept that the end was upon them.
Without Cas there was nothing to live for anyway.
tag list, ask to be added or removed
@jellydeans @tearsofgrace @anotherdowneyfan1 @casgetoutofmyass0907
@angiecharmie @nines-in-the-tardis @fivefeetfangirl @destiels-canonahhhhhhhhhh @medusasfavoritestatue @lilac-void @wantstoflyafraidtofall @gayhuckleberryinatrenchcoat @thepixelagora @hermit-cas @thelahatiel @multi-fandom-dark-lord
#supernatural#spn#spn fanfic#spn fanfiction#destiel#canon divergent#au#deancas#ma'lak box#alternate universe#angst#death#grief#my writing#trenchcoatimpala writes#fanfic#fanfiction#supernatural fanfic#supernatural fanfiction
136 notes
·
View notes
Text
whispers of a witch (chap1/?
this is just a self indulgent fic for me to write when I feel like shit and yes it will have nsfw
info: they/them, curvy body, glasses, anxiety.
The cool wind sweep past your cheek as you squat down, fingers numbing and turning blue from the constant foraging across the forest floor to fine the herbs you require, its late winter and you have just run out of several herbs you use quite frequently for personal use and when healing the villagers. of course as always there is a catch when you need to get something done. one, you where delivering a baby a good portion of the day, then doing your normal round with the villagers, so soon night is to fall, two the Lycians have been testing there luck with the village borders as of resent, three the only place those herbs are left growing are near Heisenberg's land due to you harvesting all the more accessible ones previously. and just to top it all of duke wouldn't be able to gather a shipment until the next new moon, that being two weeks away so here you are right before dusk cut plants with frozen fingers outside of a missive chain-link fence in the middle of the woods. Gazing around, you are in a small clearing, the village is about a mile, mile and a half to the south west of here. the factory's smoke stacks just visible over the tree line. Sighing you focus on the task at hand, slowly griping the base of the plant you say thanks to the earth and pull it up root and all, listening to the birds as there song slowly drifted thru the trees. standing up you, make your way over to the next bushel of plants emerging from the thin coat of snow. suddenly all the brides stop singing setting off of several alarms in your brain knowing its wasn't you who disturbed them wiping around, franticly looking you hear and see movement all around you just out of sight in the brush you cant tell what it is. assuming it to be Lycians or and angry bear or even a stray ghoul from the castle grounds. garbing the dagger from your boot you crouch down to an defensive position slowly making your way toward the path you came from. as you take a step back slowly a few Lycian emerge from the tree line teeth bared eyes holding a burning hunger. a soft gasp leaves your lips if there are this many you know more are soon to follow
"well shit, I couldn't just go and have an easy day now could I?" you ask the Lycians sarcastically not really expecting a reply. a deep chuckle caught you off guard and in your shock you hear the swift shifting of metal. the feeling of cold steel on your ankle stealing your attention from the fast change of gravity as you are hoisted into the air, dangling like a prized fish. attempting to regain your bearings. you look around seeing the Lycian pack now completely surrounding you.
"well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in," standing clear in the path arm outstretched to hold the chain around you feet taking a step further with every word.
"a lost little bunny, who is hoping around where they should not be..." he says in a little tune with mirth in his step. finally stopping right in front of you raising you so your face is level with his shoulders you reach out attempting to swipe at him with you dagger, as soon as you weapon is revealed is ripped from your grasp and now spinning around you and the lord. a large gloved hand grips your face forcing you to look at lord Heisenberg.
"now I cant tell if that was stupidity, or bravery little bunny but I'm guessing you dont know who I am." he speaks with amusement as he examines your face and, forces you to look at him. you stop squirming long enough to stare at the round shades perched on his nose. this being the first time you have seen the lord this close ,its usually only in passing or from the shadows as to not be noticed, but now you have to admit the stubble and scars, the cocky smile, the smell of oil, pine, smoke, and Tabaco is actually not that bad.
"No I know who you are, just really dont care cause I'm a little busy" you immediately wiggle from his grasp and start reaching for the chain around your ankles. a boisterous laughter is released from behind you and suddenly your falling about a meter, back connecting with the ground a large "oof" emanating from you. Rushing to get the chain from around you ankles it fly from your hands. jumping to your feet you face Heisenberg head held high
"oh... you do know me, so it must be stupidity, that must explain why your on my land as well" Heisenberg ponders aloud." so you must either be lost or have a death wish" he says with a chuckle
"nope not lost, just need some of the herbs here and if you live in this village and haven't runaway or offed yourself you have a death wish" you reply flatly brushing the dirt of of yourself as you stand to gather your things. "now" you say turning back to him "my dragger if you'd please" extending you hand cautiously with and expectants look.
"wow, you've got some balls on you" puffing on his cigar "you better watch that attituded bunny" you are suddenly painfully aware of the small pack of hunger Lycian circling you both "and remember who the man in control is" hand still outstretched you snap back with
"listen hear 'lord Heisenbitch' I am sorry for trespassing on you land but I need 7 different herbs and at least 5oz of each, I need them before tomorrow evening, some of them for mother Miranda, as well as a women who just gave birth in the village. Now unless you wish to explain to Miranda why her healer is missing, and her people dead due to illnesses I would like my dagger back and you and your fine fuzzy companions to kindly fuck of." you knew your words where dangerous but at this point in the evening you really didn't give a fling fuck and the shock on Heisenberg's face when he recognizes you almost made it worth it.
"Wait your Miranda's prized witch, oh man this is great, how have you lasted so long, your so small bunny" this just pissed you off more you want your dagger back but he's just so infuriating. your dont have time for this
"Fine, just keep the dagger" you say shoving past him. Growling at the Lycians blocking the path they stay there ground and growl back, only to glance behind you whimper, and slowly back away clearing the path. A chain roughly wraps around you waist spinning you around and pulling you flush against Heisenberg before returning to his trench coat pocket. blowing his smoke in your face he drawls
"wow wow wow, slow you roll peter cotton tail I ain't being stingy, I just wanna talk a little" as he says this he wraps his arm around you waist slipping your dagger back into its sheath leaving his hand to rest on the dip of your hip, the other griping your chin forcing you to look up at him
"Let. Me. Go!" you hiss out never braking your gaze of his glasses
"now what would Miranda think of this, her pet of the leash, not respecting or listening to your lord" he teases not lessening his grip at all
"I dont give a scraggly rats ass, just let me go you bastard!" you spit at him, resaving a chuckle as a reply .
"ohhh I like you bunny, you've got fight not a lot of that left hear any more. but I need something from you darling, so we are gonna take a little walk back to your place, your gonna help me, then ill help you with your little situation how does that sound there bunny?" spinning you around arm still securely on your waist, he starts to walk still puffing on his cigar, quickly you realize you have no choice in the matter. the Lycians slow start to follow you keeping there distance at about 3 meters back this continues for a wile and it might have even been pleasant having company for once on the walk, you if you ignore the hungry Lycians and the fear Heisenberg will get angry or be done with his little game. slowly the forest edge and the village come in to the distances well as a small well worn foot path leading into a thick pine forest near the base of the Benevento valley
"so bunny, which way is it" Heisenberg ask moving his arm up to rest on your shoulders using the other to jester at the path ways.
"This way" you mumble out, gesturing to the pine foot path. now moving forward on you own accord tiered of being user around like a lost child. you dont make it very far seeing as soon as you start to move away he tightens his grip
"ohh come on bunny, no need to get cold feet. your getting something good out of this too, you just chill a little there thumper" he says smirk never leaving his face.
"well it sure as hell dont feel like it, this feels more like a kidnaping only we are headed to my own dwelling" you watch as the pine trees grow thicker with every passing second drawing closer to your burrow. soon a large moon gate covered in rosemary and lavender comes into a view just beyond it several greenhouses small and large soft light emanating from a few
"Now hold up thumper if you have all of these, what were you doing traipsing around by my factory? you weren't trying to get my attention were you?" he jabs at you obviously trying to get a rise out of you.
"What I was looking for I do not grow because it is local and I had a store of some, but it a since been exhausted, lots of sick ones this season." you replied tiredly seeing as dusk has passed a wile ago and you had been called out well before day brake. now you where just too tired to deal with his shenanigans. continuing forward you approach the door and tap the center of the door with the old iron key handing from your neck three times then you insert it into the keyhole and twist it three times to the right and it slowly creeks open. rushing forwards in an attempt to put some distance between the two of you you start to tend to the fire stroking the coals and adding a few logs. while your bussing your self Heisenberg makes himself at home pulling out a chair and throwing his feet on top of the table and popping a new cigar between his lips . Turning to grab your tea pot you see this unfold waltzing over to him and slapping his feet of the table
"That is mahogany" as you say this he goes to protest " no 'lord' Heisenberg you in my domain now no feet on the table" you snatch the cigar from between his lip and toss it into the fireplace "and no smoking in the main room."
"alright, alright," he says holding his arms in the air "one you could have just put it out and handed it back thumper, and second of all watch who your talking to darlin" to this you quickly respond with
"Still dont care" he gives you grunt as a response
"third of all I still have yet to disclose the nature of my visit I need you to look at something for me" and with that he stands up his chest now centimeters from your nose he reaches for his hat and sunglasses setting them on the table, tossing his trench coat on to the chair. your face quickly turning a shade of red dark enough to rival the radishes out in garden as you realize just what he is doing. pulling of his shirt with a wince. Holding his shirt in his hands, you try not to make your gaze obvious, he slowly turns to reveal a large, deep laceration very poorly bandages and clearly in the throes of a terrible infection. you immediately push all other thoughts aside concern taking its place, you recognized this wound, you where present when he resaved it .
flashback
"you stupid man child, you know nothing you should just leave the talking to the adults like a good little boy"
"shut your dame hole you bitch"
they have been going at it for 37 minutes and counting Alcina said something Karl disagrees and so the back and forth begins about 5 minutes ago Karl brought out his hammer and been waving it out in the open. tensions have been rising and your a little worried it is about to get violent. Anggie who had been watching the argument from you lap starts to vibrate with joy sensing the approaching violence.
"ooooooooohhh its aaboutttttt tooo get goooooodddddd!!!" she sings while hoping off your lap to sit closer on donnas lap seeing as you are perched by the back wall behind Miranda. and just as you both had predicted disaster struck.
"you insolent fool." Alcina suddenly cry's, swiping her hand forward as Karl turns his back to her slashing from shoulder to hip. you immediately rush forward, only to be stopped by mother Miranda holding her arm in your path.
"ENOUGH, stop the foolishness NOW!" Miranda's voice ringing out clear through the entire hall "Heisenberg my son, stand," she demands. he slowly makes his way to his feet now facing mother Miranda "your actions have been stupid and reckless as punishment, I shall leave you with this burden to care for. maybe it will teach you how much effort it takes heal rather than destroy. and what if feels like to live with ones mistakes." you hand covers your mouth as you bite your tongue. you may not like Karl that much but he still is not as bad as they say.
end scene
"BY THE GODS, how has this not healed yet!? have you been rubbing dirt in it? I knew this was a stupid lesson. I knew I should have gone against that two faced, false goddess, pretensive ass, bitch and marched my happy ass to that factor. THAT WAS TWO WEEKS AGO, this should have been gone ages ago!!!" you shout while carefully examining the laceration. quickly you pull out the char he was previously siting on out, so he could sit on it with his back to the fire and lean on the back of the chair. grabbing Heisenberg's shoulders you gently shove him into the chair. rushing around you grab several herbs hanging from the ceiling in bundles. then over to the counter you produce a mortar and pestle along with several oils and extracts
"woooow, thumper slow down, slow down," he chides calmly garbing your shoulders, your arms still packed full of items. slowly he starts to set the items on the table. "now I didn't rub dirt in it, but there might be some oil, its not healed because I have no idea how to treat a wound this large. and what's this about Miranda being a bitch and ignoring orders?" as he says this you realized just how bad you have fucked up.
"OH MY GODS, I didn't mean a word of it lord Heisenberg I meant no disrespect please I am so sorry dont tell mother Miran-" you franticly bow keeping your eyes to the floor hoping he would ether spare you make you death quick. while he clearly doesn't like Miranda or her family he was still a part of it.
"hay hay hay thumper calm down your alright. I'm not gonna go all psycho on you, and your secret is safe with me, your not the only one with unsavory views on that bitch Miranda." your slowly look up at him in shock it is widely know that he disagree with the other lords but this is a first. you gingerly make your way over to the table and start to mix together several herbs and flowers. "and thumper just call me Karl" he says with a flirtatious grin, you blush but grinding the herbs into a powder
"only if you stop calling me thumper." slowly adding some drops of oils to the mixture making a thick green salve.
"well I gotta have something to call you bunny" he say grin stretching across his face as you blush even more now
"well my name is (Y/N) ok, now stop" you say while puffing up you cheek in a pout. rushing behind him so he can no longer see your face and you can apply the salve" this is going to sting" not give him tome to proses any thing you said you rip off the bandages and start to carefully apply the salve. a shout bubbles up in his throat the second the salve touches his shoulder
"SON OF A Bitch..." he snarls" maybe a little more warning next time y/n" as soon as he growls out your name you short circuit you hand no simply resting next to his wound "y/n... y/n" he waits a couple of seconds before trying again. "y/n!" jumping a little you come back to reality " you all good back there" Karl questions
"almost done just need to finish this up, then I will apply bandages, and all you need to do is rest for a day or two" as you Finnish saying this you reach for he bandages and gently begin to properly wrap the wound "this is how you properly wrap a wound Karl" you make sure to say first his name. "go all the way around and over and around the shoulder" slowly and carefully placing the bandages showing him the movements and positions. you move around to the front of lightly wrapping his shoulder "dont go to tight when bandaging joints, it increases mobility but not lose enough to move" as you speak solely focused on you task at hand you dont see Karl staring at your face, a look of adoration on his face which he is quick to drop once you turn to him. gently patting his shoulder "now all you need is a lot of rest and a hot meal" smiling you slowly make your way over to the fire removing the teapot and hanging a medium sized cauldron over the fire. turning kettle in hand you see Karl putting on his hat and going to pull his coat on having already put his shirt on
"well thumper its been wonderful but I have to get back to my-" you cut him off taking his coat and hanging it by the door.
"oh no you don't, you need rest and real food, and not to make any assumptions but I doubt you'll get any of those in your factory" as you say this you put the chair back in its normal position swiftly going to a small spare room on the side. grabbing a thick blanket you walk to the table, and drape it over the back of the chair. patting it flat you open your arms and jester to the chair "now please have a seat food will be done shortly" you say with a smile as he just stand there slack jawed at you attempting to boss him around. slowly he take a seat and just watches as you prepare a cup of tea for you both "hear this should help with the pain" you say handing him a large mug that still looked too small in his hand. you turn and head back to the counter and start dicing us vegetables and some fish to put the cauldron.
"thank you" he mumbles quietly watching you dance about the kitchen a soft smile on his face. "so what's your story? you obviously dont like Miranda so why stay and be her little pet healer on her beck and call." Karl jests wanting to know more about you now that he has the chance with out his stupid family there
"well a long time ago I has someone I had to look out for, they needed help I could not provide it, Miranda could. So I made a deal, help her, and ill do as wish. So I comply to keep her safe and happy, if it went for her, I would have sent that false deity to her flaming grave decades ago." you finished cutting the veggies and meat depositing it in the pot, you make your way opposite of Karl at the table and take a seat. slowly sipping your tea. "now I just tend to the villagers for Miranda and visit my belladonna"
"wait who is belladonna" he askes a look of confusion overtaking his features
"my apologies, I mean donna, before Miranda adopted her and gave her her gift she was a sad and lonely child with parents too ill to save, so after her parents passing, I watched over her and loved her as my own" you say a soft smile on your face looking around the room I was the only one she let touch Anggie, she was such a kind child asking so many questions behind closed doors and always eager to learn new skills" you reminisce the old days setting your now empty cup on the table. "but now she's grown and well, and happy, so that is all that matters" you say curtly standing and heading over the the bubbling pot of stew and giving it a stir.
"so wait your telling me you the witch who raised Benevento," Karl spouts astonishment clear in his voice. "One how are you not dead yet? Two that's why you spend so much time in that spooky ass house, and three how come you aren't an old hag you dont look a day over 25?" even in shock this man some how still manages to throw in a flirt. you give a small chuckle.
"well when I struck my deal with Miranda," you make you way over to a tall cabinet and withdraw two wooden bowls and a large ladle ." donna was just become a young adult, so she new what excepting Miranda's gift would entitle, including the prolonged life." returning to the stew and scooping a hefty serving into Karl's bowl and only filling your half way. "after her parents suicided she couldn't handle the loss another parental figure, her words not mine, she refused the treatment unless Miranda changed me as well." hanging the ladle on the wall and carefully turning back to Karl and making your way to him. "I had already had my go at life and helped as many as I could so I agreed not expecting to come out alive," you say calmly sitting down in the seat acres from Karl. "unfortunately my will was to strong so hear I am now, a fail experiment serving out my end of the deal" you give a sarcastic smile and do a little jazz hands as your story comes to a close. Karl is still for moment then burst into a deep laughter, but still alarmed at your willingness to except death.
"I'm sorry bunny I dont mean to be insensitive," he attempts to suppress his chuckles. "you are really the one that raised donna?"
"yes I am I know its a little hard to believe, but yes." you say solemnly feeling a little weird everyone who knew you too be donnas nanny have long since passed.
"no no no, there ain't nothing wrong with that darlin! In fact you did fucking awesome, out of all of us monsters she has the best manners and turned out the best." he says in a panicked tone, afraid he has said something wrong.
"Karl none of you are monsters, and your ok you didn't say anything wrong" you say quickly adding " none of you are monsters! you and the other were forced into the experiments, unlike donna and I. your only a monster when you subject an enter village to a false religion just to slaughter them for her experiments under the name of a sick false family she has not love for!" you say venom and hate for that hag dripping from each word. a stern but caring look on your face as you look rights in his eyes as you say this "you aren't a monster. you where a kid with out a choice, and now you are a man surviving and your doing amazing in your situation." you cautiously grab his hand resting in the table " you are not a monster no mater who has told you that including your self" He pulls back lightly but does not remove your hand from his., allowing you to rub his knuckles.
"but I-" he starts but you dont let him continue
"nope you cant convince me other wise, I'm the village crazy witch I am all knowing and wise." you say in a cherry tone, garbing his hand with both of yours. using one to tap out a small tune on the back of his hand. that nice deep laughter made an appearance again you have to admit its nice to hear him laugh instead of ague with everyone.
"well dame bunny, can't argue with that logic now can I " A large toothy grin takes over his face little crinkles show at the corners of his eyes. shaking his head he gives a chuckle then picks up the bowl of stew and finishing what was left in the bowl in a few gulps. setting the bowl down he asks "shit that hit the spot, can I just take you home with me and have you cook for me every night that some dame good stew" he jokes. laughing a little you finish your bowl, garbing his you stand and bring them to a bucket at the end of the sink.
"no I cant come home with you every day" rinsing the plates before setting them in the bucket you continue. "but you can come over when ever the lantern on the porch is light, if its not I am either in the village with a patient, or visiting donna or Miranda, or foraging. I am a busy witch Karl, just a warning." he chuckles
"ill make a note of that expect me often that shits good." he says pointing at the pot hanging over the small flames.
"well in that case ill put some in jars so you can take it with you when you leave tomorrow" you say off handedly while making your way over to the pot fishing the leftovers out, and putting it in two large mason jars. out of the corner of your eye you see him deflate a little when you when you mention his departure tomorrow. moving over to a wall of cupboard you store the two jars "to night you can take my bed or the cot in the guest room, though I dont know if you'll fit" you say walking over to said door and opening it reveling a small room with a vanity in the back left corner to the left of the door was a small sink and counter with a basin next to it. opposite to that was a small cabinet and in the back right corner a small wooden cot about half the side of the man now standing directly behind you in the doorway. so close, when he took a deep breath you could feel his shirt brush your, and his warm breath fans across your neck. now with bright red face you make you hastily make you way to the cabinet to the right of the door and start to grab a large quilt and a pillow or two. Karl enters the room looking around taking in the new environment and casually making his way over to the cot and taking a seat. you head over to him staring at the blanket hoping that he would not see your face
"thank you, y/n you really could've just sent my packing I really appreciate it I do" he says with a soft smile resting on his scared face, 'it suites him,' you think to your self 'he should smile more.'
"well hear you go this should be think enough it gets pretty chilly in hear and I haven't fixed the heater yet so if you need more there are some in the cabinet you say gesturing to the cabinet with your head. holding the blanket and pillow out for him to take he reaches hands grazing against yours as he takes them from your hands pulling them closer"
"thanks bunny I re-" he is abruptly cut short by a sharp wine of wood under duress followed quickly by a loud snap of the cot braking a the loud thud of Karl's ass hitting the floor. "OH FUCK" Karl was now the one looking up at you. slapping a hand over your mouth to suppress the laughter about to burst from you.
"OH by the gods, are you ok" you say still trying to hold back the onslaught of giggles offering a hand for him to take
"so this is what the weather is like down here" he says jokingly as you hoist him off the ground carful of his shoulder and back. gently slapping his chest
"I'm only a little shorter than you, ya know" you say "but in light of me needing to purchase a new cot from duke, I guess you'll be sleeping in my bed tonight." he gives you a flirty look
"dame thumper if you wanted me in your bed that bad all you had to do was ask not buries my ass first" he says with a deep chuckle.
"I am not tying to get you in my bed" you say panicked face exploding with red. "I wont even be in it with you, and secondly it wasn't that far of a drop so the only thing damage was you ego and my cot obviously. now come follow me please." you say now attempting to lead him out of the room. Karl looks at you as if he was trying to figure something but soon trailing behind you like a lost puppy. you lead him through the main room down a hallway with three doors heading to the furthest down you push open the heavy wooden door. letting Karl enter first you make your way to the bed garbing your favorite pillow and a thick blanket off the bed spread "well she's all yours" you say jokingly waving your arm over the bed as a invitation dont lay on your back or shoulder" you say making your way back to the door arms now full "sleep well." and with at you turn to leave only to be stopped by a hand on your shoulder.
"wait if I'm sleeping here and I just demolished your spare bed where will you be sleeping" he ask concern lacing his voice a he turn you around to face him
"well ill go clean up the old cot and then ill just use some spare blankets as a mattress for the night." you say with out a second thought.
"no no no, I will not let you do that you have done enough for me. I'll just go back to my factory and be out of your hair." your face scrunches up.
"you say that as if I am annoyed by you, but I can assure you, you do not annoy me. next I wont let you leave this hut you need to rest and I need to change those bandages as soon as you wake." you say no room for argument evident in your voice. "and if you have such an issue using my bed but I apologies its the only one, and I wont let you sleep on the floor with that wound." you with finality.
"then I guess well just have too share it. cues I will just jump through a window to go back home" he say with a laugh. you have no idea if he was joking or not. still, gazing up at his face the smirk remained "so" he asks "which will it be will you join me or and I gonna have to practice my long distance sprint." you sigh growing tired with every passing second your long day finally catching up too you. no longer having any energy to argue.
"fine" you huff out walking over to the bed where Karl was I like the right side" climbing in you take a body pillow from the back of the bed putting it in the middle " you better stay on your half of the bed old man" you say climbing back down from the bed and heading a dresser under a large window. you produce a pair of sleep thin pants and a large think white long sleeved shirt. "I need to change so ether steep out or just dont look." to tired to care at this point you look over your shoulder and see him turned away from you sitting on the left side of the bed. replacing your dirty clothe with fresh sleep pants and a oversized top. garbing a spare pair of large sleep pants and shirt before making your way back to the bed, flopping onto it comically ,while tossing the change of clothing on his side of the bed "hear you go, this should fit" he looks down at the articles of clothing.
"well thank you bunny," undoing his belt and changing his pant, completely ignoring the new shirt. "but uhhh I dont think that shirt is gonna work though" he says smirk evident in his voice.
"and why would that be-" you ask confusion clear on you face as you roll over to face him without thinking. face exploding in color as you freeze up, now staring at his bare chest brain loosing any train of thought.
"my eyes are up hear now bunny," he says with a deep chuckle "but please dont let me interrupt your staring. as for why I never sleep with one its confining" smirk never leaving his face, as he lays down on his half of the mattress. quickly you roll over
"I wasn't staring, I zoned out. Just toss the shirt on to the top of the dresser" he gives another chuckle but says nothing. pulling the thick comforter up to you chin due to the chill, reaching over you turn the knob on the lantern smothering the flame. "good night Karl sleep well" you say without a second thought closing your eyes slowly, reality fading out as you hear Karl
"goodnight thumper sleep well" a gentleness to his tone that sends the rest of the way to sleep.
word count: 5884
ps: please forgive my horrid grammar
#karl heisenberg#karl heisenburg x reader#resident evil#res 8#res evil#donna beneviento#re8 angie#re8 donna#re8 karl heisenberg
53 notes
·
View notes
Text
Warm Beers
Taglist is OPEN! DM or comment to be added
Posting schedule: Monday, Wednesday, Friday
This story takes place before season 1
All Works Master List
Warm Beers Master List
6
Word Count: 1165
A lit cigarette hangs from McKenzie's lips as she leans over the propped-up surfboard. Sweat was already beading on her forehead before she had done any work on the board. After weeks of surfing with her friends, the gripping wax had melted beyond her comfort zone. The music plays over the outdoor system, and she sings along, swaying her hips in time.
Kenzie was alone for the morning. Her friends didn't get up before noon most days, and her dad was in the office. Sk8er Boi by Avril Lavigne blares across her backyard, drowning out the distinctive sound of the Twinkie and three doors closing.
The old, gray wax slides off her board like butter as Kenzie sings her heart out, not hearing her friends walk up the gravel driveway to her backyard. She continues to sing loudly, swinging her hips side to side as her friends muffle their laughs. They watch on in hushed tones.
JJ snickers when she trips over her own feet, trying to do a spin. Kenzie may be coordinated, but she was the clumsiest person he knew. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees four pairs of shoes as she regains balance.
With a yelp, Kenzie throws the scrapper at the intruders, not expecting her friends to be at her house this early. The scrapper hits next to JJ's head and would have hit him if he hadn't ducked. "Jesus fucking Christ, guys. You should know not to sneak up on a deputy's daughter," Kenzie berates, clutching her chest as she calms herself down.
"Well, if you were on your phone like you usually are, you'd know that we were coming over," JJ says. He walks over to her and takes the cigarette out of her hand. Kenzie shakes her head and smacks JJ's arm.
"We wanted to see if you wanted to catch some early morning waves with us?" John B. asks. "But seeing as you're working on your shortboard, I guess that's out of the question."
"I have my dad's I can steal for the day. Just let me finish this here, and I'll meet you guys down there?" Kenzie asks, taking the cigarette back from JJ. The gang agrees quickly, ready to hit some waves. Pope tosses her the wax comb and follows his friends back to the Twinkie.
JJ opts to stay behind, wanting to spend more time with Kenzie. "You don't have to stay, you know?" Kenzie states as she goes back to cleaning the board of its old wax. JJ starts on the other side with a spare scrapper he found on the floor.
"I know. I just like spending time with you. Is that a crime, Ken?" JJ asks in a sassy tone. Kenzie laughs and shakes her head.
"Yes. A crime punishable by life in prison," Kenzie retorts, focusing back to her board. JJ laughs with her before finishing off the wax on his side.
The friends dance and sing together to the songs that play over her sound system while they wax. Granted, there was more fooling around than working between the two. Kenzie squeals as JJ lifts her off the ground, throwing her over his shoulder when she tried to finish waxing her shortboard. "JJ," She yells, slapping his back playfully.
"I'm bored of waxing, Ken. Let's go surf," JJ whines, already carrying her inside of her house. Kenzie giggles and flops against JJ, making carrying her harder. She yelps again as JJ tosses her onto her bed.
She rolls off of the other side when JJ tries to lay on top of her. "Didn't you just say you wanted to go surfing, Maybank?" He groans in response and settles his hands behind his head while Kenzie finds a bikini from her drawers. "Are you just going to sit there like a pervert while I change?" Kenzie asks, eyeing the boy suspiciously.
JJ shrugs, not breaking eye contact. "You've changed in front of me before, so what's different now?" He asks. Kenzie doesn't have enough energy to fight him on this, so she turns her back, peeling her shirt off. Nothing was different, obviously. But it still felt tense taking off her clothes.
Her back flexes as she pulls the halter top on. Kezie's perfectly tanned, flawless back. If she turned just a little, JJ could see her perfect breasts. JJ shakes his head to try to clear the thoughts, but when her shorts hit the floor, JJ gets the perfect view of her ass. Absolutely flawless, he thinks to himself.
McKenzie turns back around and smiles at JJ. "Ready to go?" She asks as she pulls on the clothes she wore earlier back on. JJ, once again speechless by the beauty that is his best friend, nods.
John B. cheers when he sees the duo walk down the beach, carrying their boards under their arms. "About damn time, assholes." He yells up to them. Kenzie and JJ flip him off in unison before running down the sand to where the water meets the sand.
The group spends hours surfing the morning tide. Pope and Kenzie share a board at one point, unsuccessfully trying couple's tricks. The only one they got close was when Kenzie was on Pope's shoulders. Kenzie had made it onto his shoulders easily, but when a wave caught them, both fell into the water in a fit of giggles.
Pope hauls the bucket of water up to their sandcastle, smiling brightly as they almost finished the moat. The castle stood tall and proud, a small leaf on the top as their Pouge flag. As Pope fills up the trench, JJ sits next to Kenzie on the hot sand. "What's this?"
"A jail," Kenzie sasses, rolling her head to the side to look at JJ. "A fucking castle. What does it look like, genius?" JJ scoffs and rolls his eyes. "It's the castle of Queen Bitch and King Dumbass. They rule Pougelandia," Kenzie informs. JJ laughs with an approving nod.
"I like your story, Ken. Let me guess, I'm King Dumbass?" Kenzie shakes her head.
"Nope. John B. is King Dumbass. You're Princess Asshole."
"I thought it was Queen Bitch?" JJ asks, smirking at Kenzie. He loved how intricate her little stories would become when she made sandcastles. Kenzie sighs dramatically.
"No, you're Princess Asshole, Pope is Queen Bitch, and Kiara is Prince Charming," Kenzie jokes, leaning her head on JJ's shoulder. "I'm obviously the royal jester. Considering I'm the funniest fucker you will ever know."
Pope scoffs with a shake of his head. "So I'm married to John B., and you get to live life happily making jokes for everyone to laugh at?"
John B. soon joins them and plays along with Kenzie's story, making kissing faces at an uncomfortable Pope. Kenzie laughs at her friends' antics, teasing and mocking each other like usual teens do. Some part of Kenzie is touching JJ at all times, enjoying the physical contact she got with him.
Taglist: @gwenlovesharrystyles @x-lulu @gviosca @cognacdelights @queenofallhobos
#jj maybank#jj maybank imagine#jj maybank fanfic#jj maybank fanfiction#jj maybank obx#jj maybank series#jj maybank story#obx1#obx series#obx story#obx fanfic#obx fanfiction#outerbanks#outerbanks fanfic#outerbanks fanfiction#outerbanks series#outerbanks story#outer banks#warm beers#friends to lovers#friend to lover#outer banks series#outer banks fanfiction#outer banks fanfic#fanfic#fanfiction#love#romance#fic#fiction
28 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Little Nereid Part 16
Record of Ragnarok fanfiction
Poseidon x OC
Word count: 2,800
Dynamene, youngest of the 50 Nereids, has lived most of her adolescence as a servant alongside her sisters at Poseidon’s palace. But with her coming-of-age birthday and other developments, what she initially thought was just admiration of her master blossoms into something stronger and more passionate… and painful. Loving someone like Poseidon is not easy period, let alone as your first love. But Dynamene is young and naïve, and all she wants is a chance to be at the sea god’s side.
Categories and warnings: Romance, angst, unrequited love, coming-of-age, earn-your-happy-ending, slow-burn (ish); no sexual content. Graphic violence parts 15 and 16.
Updated regularly; will have about 20 parts total.
Edit AGAIN 9/16: Changed and added some text at the end, particularly with Poseidon. Didn’t save first time.
Violence and body horror throughout this chapter, largely unavoidable. It's too relevant to the plot. Not terribly graphic - more PG-13 than R - but it is disturbing, so be warned.
—
The prongs had completely passed through her body to the other end. Dynamene staggered backwards, her legs giving out. She opened her mouth to scream, to gasp, to make any sound, but was unable to. She brought her shaking hands up to her chest and stared as her lifewater began to drip from the punctures.
Poseidon's face turned to one of disbelief, then horror. The magic that had transformed her appearance melted away as her body began to weaken, revealing the petite girl's real form. He swallowed, pale hand clenching the trident, as he watched her stare at her chest in disoriented confusion. The silvery water that flowed was the blood of a Nereid, magic water in essence; something that could not be replicated.
"Dynamene," he whispered. "Dynamene." No. This can't be.
She looked up at him in a daze, eyes glazing over. The look of horror on his face seemed to register in her mind, and for a moment, she lifted one arm in his direction. Then her legs buckled and her eyes closed.
He removed the trident slowly, his knuckles white from the death grip. He dropped to one knee to catch her with his free arm as the prongs came loose. One hand went to her injuries, feeling the lifewater that seeped between his fingers. "Dynamene," he repeated hoarsely, commanding her to awaken. Her eyelids didn't even flutter.
It was then that the situation hit him entirely, and he grit his teeth. He tore part of the fabric off of his waist wrap and wrapped it about her chest deftly. She was still breathing, although each breathe was shallow and ragged. Time was of the essence, and he had to think fast.
Humans would not have survived such a blow, but Nereids were effectively shapeshifting ocean spirits that took a human form. Their bodies were made up of living water instead of flesh and organs, which rendered them impervious to most injuries. However, Poseidon's trident was able to harm any being regardless of body material, and Dynamene's body would begin to disintegrate from the trauma.
Lifting her up into his arms, he turned towards the doorway. There was no time to waste.
With improbable timing, he heard dozens of footsteps clamoring up the stairs, followed by worried shouts. "What's happened? What was that clamor? Lord Poseidon, are you okay?"
The other Nereids came bursting in with Actaea at the head. There was a moment of terrible silence as they took in the scene before them, then cries of disbelief.
"What... What have you DONE?!" Actaea screamed, lunging at Poseidon. Three other sisters quickly grabbed her by the arms, struggling to hold her back. "What did you do to her?!"
"There's no time to explain," Poseidon said coldly. "Don't give me a reason to hurt any of the rest of you."
"You monster! I'll kill you myself!" Actaea shrieked, yanking to get out of her sisters' grasp. Her pupils were full-blown in her rage, her steaming hair swirling angrily about her face. "How dare you hurt her! How could you?!"
Poseidon didn't let her words' effect on him show through in his expression as he looked coolly at the others. "Dynamene had magic used on her. It wasn't any power of the gods. Where might she have had access to this magic?"
The other Nereids backed away from him reproachfully, looking less and less human as their fury consumed them. One finally spoke up in a trembling voice. "Is... Is there not a witch that took up residence a few centuries ago not far from here?"
"How do you know that?" Another sister snapped back.
"A mermaid acquaintance of mine went to see her some time ago for help... She made a deal with her to solve a relationship matter. The deal wasn't much in her favor, unfortunately."
Poseidon's face darkened further. Would Dynamene really have made a deal with a witch?
Of course she would've... If it had meant being by my side. Foolish, silly, stupid-
He couldn't allow his thoughts to go any further, not when the subject of his berating was curled up limp in his arms. "Where is this witch?"
"Um... She lives in one of the deepest trenches, but I know little else..."
"Useless," Poseidon huffed. "Get out of my way." He stepped in front of the Nereids that continued to block the doorway.
There was a tense moment of defiance as the Nereids continued to stand in his way, unwilling to let him depart with their wounded youngest sister. His lip curled in outrage, and he began to raise his hand towards his discarded trident. Actaea, her expression now somber, spoke again in a defeated voice. "Let him pass... There's nothing we can do for Dynamene in this state. I don't want anyone else getting harmed." Her sisters listened, and reluctantly parted to allow him through. As he strode past, they got a closer look at their mortally wounded sister. Several of them broke out into wails and sobs.
Poseidon clenched his jaw and held the still Nereid closer to his chest. Save your mourning. She's not dead. Not yet.
Dynamene's body was beginning to dissolve. Drops of shimmering water began to fall from her fingertips and toes. She'd be dead before dawn if Poseidon didn't find a solution soon. But he was inexperienced with the concept of healing anything other than sea life; he pressed his hand against her torso, willing the bleeding to stop in vain. The liquid continued to flow.
It really had been her that sat across from him and confessed her love for him in tears. And what was his response? Gutting her like the monster everyone had warned her he was. He had messed up. It wasn't my fault, he told himself. She has no pulse. Her appearance was different. I could feel foreign magic about her. But then that led to the conclusion that he was able to be tricked by the power of lesser beings, and he found himself back at square one.
Enough. She will not die. She belongs to me. Her love for me is unconditional.
And when she wakes again, I will put an end to this chaos.
The wet sand crunched under his heavy boots. The dim starlight illuminated the surface of the ocean faintly before them. He would be able to seek the witch out with his abilities, but that would take time. He wasn't even sure what to look for, asides from a power with the same characteristics as the enchantment that Dynamene had. Time was fighting against him; a precious resource dripping through his grip like her blood onto the sand.
Without prelude, a sudden burst of light the size of a woman appeared in the shallow waves before Poseidon. The light dispersed gently in twinkles and stars, revealing the form of a woman. A faint heavenly glow emanated from her pale skin.
Aphrodite stared at him, her flawless face unusually somber. "Poseidon."
He narrowed his eyes. This was an unexpected development, and not a welcome one. "What the hell do you want? I'm short on time, if you haven't noticed."
She tilted her head, gaze flickering towards the still girl in his hold. "I know where you may find the witch you seek. If I have your guarantee that you won't harm me, I'll tell you."
Poseidon hissed, his clasp on Dynamene tightening. "Of course you would've had a hand in this. Meddling shrew. I should have known. Can none of you Olympian cretins keep to your own business?" So you were the one to guide Dynamene to that witch. Selfish, narcissistic bitch. How else would you know where to find her?
"Your guarantee, Poseidon," Aphrodite pressed.
He grit his teeth. As much as he longed to rip her head from her body and watch her golden locks stream through the air, he needed her knowledge. "Fine."
Aphrodite stepped closer.
---
Miles away, deep in her underground lair, the witch sat at her table alone. She was aware of her impending fate. Her actions could only lead to this outcome. But she'd accomplished what she'd set out to do, so she was content.
Before her, pulsing gently with a sea-blue light, was a floating orb of liquid. The Nereid's heart. She was the only person to ever see one; perhaps it would remain that way even long after her death. It was a fascinating sight. The mass continued to live in its own way, even apart from its owner. Nereids truly were interesting creatures. She might've studied it, but there was no point now. Her journey was coming to an end.
She had no regrets. Her revenge was now sealed. Hera or Poseidon, it hadn't really mattered which. Fate had truly smiled on her the day before when that little nymph had appeared at her doorstep. So unexpected, but so welcome. She had waited centuries, honing her gifts in the dark, practicing them on others, so that she would be ready for this moment. The witch was not foolish enough to think she would be able to pull one over on both of the gods. Hera would've been best, but Poseidon would do just as well. He was partially to blame for her misfortune too. Now he would suffer, and she could die content.
It was a shame about the Nereid, though. Just a silly child chasing an impossible dream. The witch clicked her tongue sympathetically. Weren't we all, once?
A shudder echoed through the cave, and she heard the water at the entrance slosh with an unseen force. He was nearly here, and she stood patiently next to the table, awaiting his arrival.
Without any further warning, the water erupted upwards like a geyser. The sound was deafening, but the witch didn't even blink. Poseidon emerged from the upsurge, water dripping from his bangs before his enraged eyes. In his arms was the nymph; poor young Dynamene. She was deathly pale and had a ragged bandage wrapped about her chest. The witch tutted.
"Witch. You have something that belongs to me." Poseidon's eyes gleamed like a laser in the dim cavern, his chest heaving with barely-restrained wrath.
"It's here, Poseidon." The witch set her hand next to the shimmering orb. "The Nereid's heart. You won't have much use for it, though. I see she's already on death's door. Returning her heart will do no good. Replacing an organ is no help when the body is already shutting down."
"You will return it immediately. I will not repeat myself." Poseidon's trident materialized in his free hand as he shifted Dynamene into the opposite arm.
"Oh? Is there finally something the mighty sea tyrant cannot do?" The witch asked, feigning surprise. "Pathetic." Her tone flattened.
"Your enchantment," Poseidon stormed on. "What did you do to her?"
"I gave her what she desired. A chance to be with you. Oh, she just adores you. I'm sure that will have changed, though. Those wounds bleeding through the wrap look an awful lot like trident punctures to me. Weren't able to tell she was the real thing without that heartbeat to listen to, were you?"
Poseidon's eyes grew even wider as he realized the witch's plot. "You planned this."
"I did." The witch shuffled back around the table, gently taking Dynamene's heart into her hands. "Do you remember when we met, Poseidon? It was at some gathering of the gods, say, three or four hundred years ago."
Poseidon's face clenched further with anger at her idling, losing his patience rapidly. "I've never met a hag like you in my life."
"I wasn't like this when we met." The witch brought her hand to her white cheek with a wistful look. "I was beautiful. I came from a wealthy and powerful family with demigod blood. Hera made a deal with me, you see. If I successfully seduced you, she would shower me with blessings and gifts on our wedding day. She told me everything about you to give me a leg up. Even about your ability to hear certain heartbeats." Her hand dropped away. "But I failed, as I was guaranteed to, and she was thoroughly upset. I was turned into this. So here I've lived, all these years, cast away from society into these deep trenches, waiting.... for her." The witch smiled at Dynamene. "The perfect opportunity. Heaven sent, even." She sighed. "It's a shame. She's still so young, but..." The witch shrugged. "Cracking an egg, omelets, all that. Just someone caught in the peripheral."
"Enough with your monologuing, you insolent bitch!" The muscles on Poseidon's arm grew more defined and taut as he aimed his trident at her. His face was contorted with murderous intent. "Heal Dynamene, now!"
"I can't. What reason did I ever have to learn healing magic?" There was no regret in her milky eyes as she shrugged once more. "And even if I was knowledgeable in medicine, it would be no use. Nereids are so rare. Only fifty, as you know. Their anatomy is a mystery."
Poseidon's gaze sank down to Dynamene. Her breathes were many seconds apart now. There was no more time to waste. He held her more firmly against him and lowered his stance to steady his aim at the witch. "Then die now."
"Gladly. I knew this would be the price to pay for my revenge. For breaking the sea god's nonexistent heart. And to think that it was as easy as this." The witch broke into a laugh that grew until it boomed off the cavern's walls.
Without further ado, Poseidon rushed her.
And with a single swing, the witch's head left her body. The pale thing rolled until it hit up against the wall, still laughing. Her eyes rotated to look back at him with their blank gaze. "Don't worry, my lord. There's still forty-nine left, after all."
Without another word, the witch's voice died off and her face stilled.
Poseidon strode over to it and brought his boot down violently. The witch's skull shattered under his heel. He resisted the urge to continue stomping until nothing solid remained. Dynamene needed his focus now; he could vent his rage later. He wiped the sole of his boot off on the rug and carried her back to the entrance of the cavern.
Lying her next to the rippling pool, he retrieved her heart from where it continued to glow, unbothered, upon the table. It felt like cool gel in his hands with a definite pulse, one that was all too familiar to him. He returned to kneel beside her and, propping her back up with one arm, he undid the makeshift bandage.
Her body was nearly hollow where he had gored her. His lips parted in disbelief. Before his eyes, her flesh was turning to liquid that ran onto the cavern's rocky floor. Poseidon quickly pressed her heart into the hollow. It shimmered for a moment, the liquid solidifying and connecting with the open edges of her body, before its light sputtered out and the pulse stopped. Just like the rest of her, it started to melt away.
Poseidon swallowed hard now, his face stiff. It was time to face the gravity of the situation. Dynamene would not be waking up.
He turned his face away for a moment, unable to look at the wounds he had made on her slight body. She had trusted him. She had clung to his side despite the warnings of everyone else. And like a sick joke, their predictions had come true. Gutted just like Adamas, a voice whispered in the back of his head. He bit his lower lip until it bled. How was it that the mighty sea god, capable of stopping tsunamis and commanding schools of fish, was unable to save one girl?
This shouldn't be happening, his mind spun. This isn't happening. She can't die. I can save her.
No, I can't. I'm the one who killed her.
His throat was growing tight, an alien sensation. She can't die. She belongs with me. A thousand years spent living in the same palace flickered through his mind. From a shy little girl to a headstrong, passionate young woman, he had watched her life; he had watched as her world began to revolve around him without his meaning for it to. And without his permission, his world began to be colored by her as well. Perhaps it had been inevitable. She belongs with me. I don't want her to leave.
He held her closer to him, caressing her damp cheek with careful fingers. The silence that rung from her body made the stillness around them all the heavier. Her face was growing sunken, her cheeks almost gaunt. He wanted to see her eyes just one more time; wide pools of steel gray that reflected him amongst the stars in their depths, as if he was the only thing that mattered. Stay with me.
And as her body released its final breath, he slowly leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.
---
Author’s Notes: Sergei Prokofiev's Romeo Bids Juliet Farewell piece is so beautifully done. The first half sounds so remorseful.
I realized that, writing this chapter in particular, Poseidon seems less like canon RoR Poseidon. I was irritated about that at first, but then I realized that he's different because this story requires him to go through character development. That's important for a love interest. I'm not as frustrated anymore lol
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
Akumatized!Adrien Agreste x Reader: “In the Name of Justice and Love”
(Non-canon Miraculous Ladybug & Miraculous Ladybug AU: Akumatized victims can stay akumatized for days or weeks and their activity is darker than what the show shows—also in special circumstances, a close loved one to the akuma victim can gain powers to counter the akuma’s/Hawkmoth’s powers.)
[This is only a work of fiction and not to be taken as non-fiction]
“Saturday night. You. Me. And an oversized bucket of buttered popcorn,” Adrian finished up your idea on what the two of you were going to do after school. “There’s a new film from oversees. American. Heard the reviews were mostly near 100 percent in the worth it category.”
“Black Panther?” you asked, remembering the French trailer that played on multiple YouTube videos as ads.
“Exacta-mundo!” Adrian smiled.
“Is it in English or French?”
“Can’t say. We can always wait for the English adaption to come out. I can wait.” Knowing that you preferred watching movies in your native-born tongue, Adrian added, “I heard there’s some other movies preceding it. Wanna check ‘em out?”
You shook your head. “Do you wanna see it?”
Adrian rubbed the back of his head and smiled meekly, blocking out the dozens of times he watched the trailers and might have fantasized a couple of fantasies of Black Panther meeting Chat Noir, being the test subject of Shuri’s experiments for an upgraded suit...
“Well, I’d be a lion if I didn’t.” Did he let that slip out?
You blinked multiple times. “Nice try.”
Adrien chuckled.
“Then yeah, lets go see it,” you bumped his shoulder with yours. “It’d be nice to see something from home, and it’d be nice to show you what it’s like there.”
Adrien nodded. “See you Saturday night. 8pm. Out in front.”
You agreed, then both you and your friend parted ways, back to your houses.
***
Mud. Grime. Stale old popcorn and sticky soda spills splattered everywhere on your back, in your hair, on the back of your neck......
.......................sweat stains, rancid-smelling drool sticky on your cheeks and swollen lips. White and clear male bodily fluids falling from trembling thighs. The memory echoes of sensations long gone but ghosting over your paralyzed body. A male. Pale, sickly, sweaty, cursing, deep nasally voice, tall. A brown beard scratching up and down your neck and cheeks. Thin, slender, and physically strong from one hand holding down your mouth from screaming and the other violently, violently stimulating himself on you by whatever means got him off...
—You explained over and over to the police officers. Their faces were grim, asking for your parents phone numbers. You told them of your foreign exchange program in return for leaving their abusive home. There was no one of bloodline to call for help.
Around the fifth or seventh time you repeated the violent rape and violent rapist, did you notice Adrien standing there. Right in front of you with wide eyes.
Words scrambled out of his mouth and towards you. And you scrambled them back to him. A mess of blurry, fuzzy scrambles.
Alya and Nino were conveniently there. And watched after you the moment Adrian pushed a police officer into his car with surprising strength. Other officers physically restrained Adrien, yelled at him warnings and more scrambles to your ears.
He fiested himself out of the officers’ grip and tasked Alya and Nino with the duty of watching over you the moment he spotted the familiar black butterfly fluttering in his direction.
To you or him? He backed out of the scene, and the butterfly followed him. You watched him leave the scene altogether.
“I’m sorry-I’m sorry this happened to you...” the whispered utterings, so frail, so soft crept into your ears, like warm milk on the tongue. Adrien held your hand with frailty. His forehead against the hospital bedside.
Your own consciousness dripped in and out of his mutterings. But it was darkness when he was there, and morning when he was gone.
No trial.
The very next day, in the morning, what lay at your doorstep was the mangled dead body of the rapist. Mangled and maimed, almost recognizable save for that rancid scent of his doused in overpriced cologne... mixed with the heavy scent of his blood.
All your emotions numbed out. The shock from last night carried over to the morning, numbing out your response. Alya, who stayed the night as a comfort support, yelped in shock for you and immediately began dialing 1-1-4.
You kicked the body, making certain of its permanent state then closed the door. You whispered faintly to Alya how you would be in your room, going back to sleep (forget school today). With the most friendliest you’ve ever experienced, Alya was accepting of your need and closed the door to your room behind you.
Two pills of sleep aid would knock you out. And so, you slipped into a deep, lukewarm sleep again. Heavy, heavy nerves as weightless as feathers....
***
The scratching at your door led you to wake up at... noon. The sleep aid carried over a handful of heaviness to your weight and starvation, but you opened the door anyways to find Adrian crouched like that of a cat and looking up at you.
...you thought you’d seen the black butterfly that causes akumatizatuions last night.
Adrian smiled up at you. Appearing averagely himself, save for his eyes. Like a hybrid of feline and human. Round, green orbs with giant black irises within them, made him look excited to see you.
“Did you like my gift?”
Instead of answering, you backed against the doorway and slid to the floor. Adrian cautiously approached you on all fours, as best he could with a human body.
“I...I heard that, males like me, after an attack like this...” he said very clearly, eyes downcast. “I can leave if you want. If that’ll make you more comfortable.”
***
On the news was the last remaining body camera video of the rapist’s last moments.
“In case you’re wondering, I took the videos he made of you. Everything in his apartment too like the computer in case... well... I burned everything else in there.”
And in that video was his torturer. A large male in all-black, fighting and fighting ferociously and more violent than soldiers in the trenches, than mercenaries on the hunt, than boxers would ever hope to reach for in the ring. Glowing green feline eyes, howls and yowls of that of a lynx.
The news accused an overzealous Black Panther fan of going too far.
“Well, a fan, yeah! What could be a better match up in partnership than Black Panther and Chat Noir, milady?” He scooted up from your lap and pressed the side of his head against your chest, and purred. He hummed in pleasantry, the soothing coo of his purrs softening. “For you, to protect you—that guy had it coming.”
Your answer fell soft on your lips. Words you tried to form but to no avail. The depths of your hiding heart knew the answer and if only Adrien could hear it echo.
And he returned his eyes to the television, resuming his comfortable cat position in your lap. You held his hand, squeezing affectionately.
***
Over the weeks, Adrian eventually stopped coming to school. You met him and found his appearance has yet changed again.
He spoke from the shadows that coated so well with him they could’ve been him, and he would’ve been everywhere under this bridge in the dark of the night. “I’ve gotten rid of a few more. For all women, men... children... for you.”
You shook your head. No longer were you in the daze of trauma. An accusing voice shouted that you should’ve stopped him that very day this all started.
“The rapists and white supremacists, two of them are hanging from the US Embassy’s flagpole. God bless America. Home of the brave enough to corrupt justice and land of free to oppress.” His outline in the shadows, you could see him on all fours, slithering closer to you in a manner paralleling a lioness on the hunt. “The rest are spelled out clear as modern truth on their pavement. Starting with the first American rapist that terrorized you—“
A vibrant and loudly attentive purr elicited from Adrien. “My friend~”
A shiver ran up your spine. His glowing green feline eyes showed complete delight towards you.
How could you have stopped him? What could you have said to the akumatized feline-Adrien in those moments? Dazed in trauma, depersonalize to reality and even your own sense of self. Then, you’ll just have to say it now as Adrien stood much taller, much bulkier, much more alive right in front of you, with his clawed fingers resting underneath your chin to lift it up.
Small simmers of memories between the two of you, hiding on the roof at school during lunch, from Nino, Alya, and Marionette, reading to each other whatever either of you had on hand and by the flip of a coin: Adrien’s fashion magazine, your “Spirited Away” graphic novel, Adrien’s “The Boy and the Beast” graphic novel, Adrien’s “The Wind Rises”, your “The Raven”, Adrien’s “Sherlock Holmes”...
Adrien chuckled, a soupy mix of harsh purr and his own lighthearted chuckles. “Around 36 Americans criminals have already been rounded up in less than three days.” His neck cracked, revealing a thin layer of a black pelt under his obsidian bodysuit. “And I haven’t even moved on to Purr~risians yet~”
“Adrien, that’s the Akuma talking, not you.”
“I let Hawkmoth akumatize me, ______, and it was all for you.” He cranes his neck and spine down, leveling eye to eye with you. The gesture would’ve been normally sweetly teasing, friendly, if not for the malice and stench of blood perforating from Adrien like cologne. Heavy in his messy, unkempt black hair where matted pieces held together by brown-crust. Stained red in his whitened-yellowing sharper teeth. And his eyes danced with delight, but all you could see was potential betrayal. “Seeing what that putrid, evil man reduced you down to, how could I have taken that? How could I, even as Chat Noir, be okay with that guy walking free?”
You blinked, confused but for a second before it clicked in your head what he had been subtly expressing. “You’ve seen him. The way he looks. Influential, charming, intelligent, and a promising college student. I looked up his background on his computer, and no way would your country have prosecuted him. Justice would not have been served, ma chérie.”
His quick switch to English with that phrase threw you off into dozens of memories from America. Flashbacks. And you said, “My friend, my best friend,” and you gently slid your hand into his, scratching yourself only slightly on his claws and feline pads. “Adrien. Just please. Let me know where the akuma is.”
In a sudden, his arms wrapped around you. His heavier and bigger body towering, entrapping you. “My best friend...” his silky, sultrier than warm milk voice slid into your ears. “I’m not Adrien anymore. That weakling gave himself to me because he knew what had to be done and what could be made.”
“So now, and forever, all there is, is Dark Justice.”
And he disappeared with the shadows helping me.
***
He barged into school, having changed more into a feline-human hybrid and wielding a sword 🗡, that had once only been a lasso at his side, pointed at Chloe Bougarais. With kind, alight feline eyes, he spoke, “Even despicable women like you will be served justice, so tell me, Chloe Bougarais, who was the male that assaulted your privates?”
It took most of the class by shock and storm, hearing their gasps and whimpers. You lowered your chin. This was too much, so much. Your rape, your best friend akumatized into a twisted justicebringing mass murderer, Chloe’s hidden sexual assault...
And with her chin upturned, lips twisted but trembling, Chloe appeared to murmur out a name. Adrien sheathed his sword and crept down on all fours, sitting like a cat would with his tail swishing nonchalantly below the desk. “Don’t worry, he will never see another daylight. As have others.”
***
Adrien coughed out spittal and obvious pain. He glared at the ground then at Hugh, who’d just ran out of the courtyard by the aid of Ladybug.
“Have you any idea what that boy has done?" Adrian gasped, voice purring-rumbling in anger. "My lady?"
"Chat Noir?" Ladybug gasped.
"Not even you will stop me from taking his life. I won't allow it. Not now," he raised his sword and charged. "Not ever!"
Ladybug and Chat Noir clashed. Sword and dodging, she was doing really well. "Adrian Agreste, snap out of it! This isn't you. You wouldn't do this! Not even if someone hurt you enough that you were in the hospital, you would never hurt anyone! You always forgave them, you always found a way to deny their evil ways in a peaceful manner!"
Dark Justice had Ladybug pinned against the wall. "I changed for my best friend over there, for my lady. So do not think I won't go to extremes to supply justice. You've no idea what legal systems let him go free despite the evidence larger than a mountain."
The cameraman was filming all of Adrian's rant. All of Paris would see this.
"He would be stopped. If not by the ones we put our faith in, then by me. That's all there is to it, Ladybug; Justice!" Adrian clipped off Ladybug's ponytail. "The right to get what is earned! The right to end evil once and for all! Aren't I just a descendent of the French Revolution, savior of Paris?! Aren't I just barging down the mansion to drag the pigs who are protecting their fellow pigs out of their comfortable, lush halls -- I am dragging them, my lady, and they don't want that but I've kept dragging them out--"
Ladybug's other ponytail fell to Dark Justice's sword. She was looking panicked. Dark Justice's moves were obviously too much for her, and she was already crippled without Chat Noir to help her -- but instead, had to fight her well-experienced partner, akumatized and fueled higher and more terrible than the sun.
"And I will slice open their bellies, I will gut them in the center for all of Paris to see at the slaughter that'll never end! Never will it end! Not by you, not by the military, not by the president of the fucking United States of America, not by my father once I find him and gut him too!"
You stumbled backwards.
You heard an agreement somewhere, two, multiple.
You heard a loud cheer somewhere outside of the school.
Adrian dominated Ladybug in power and strength. His fangs clenched, not even a smile, he was too into this, too attentive to his justice. Ladybug would have to activate her winning move -- her Lucky Charm -- as her last shot.
"Is this what you want to do forever!" Ladybug screamed.
"Until the last droplets of evil is extinguished and the pigs can no longer breed, I will be their inevitable reckoning!" Dark Justice responded, "Don't you get it by now, Ladybug? I can do something about the people who escape the system, the ones who deserve to be punished and to the ones who contiuosly cause harm to other people without mercy. All I have to do is be given a name. I will hear them. I will avenge them. I will end their tormentors!”
Dark Justice's growls increased in volume, like the growling of a tiger and a chainsaw merged as one. He grunted and arched his back as his body increased in muscle mass — and slenders of black protective silky fur spread across his skin. Dark Justice completely overwhelmed Ladybug's strength as he threw her over his head. His pants tore and a loincloth grew from the sudden belt around his waist. His anatomy now that of an anthropomorphic big cat as his face violently changed into that of the creature's, and two masses formed on his abnormally large shoulders. He hissed and clenched his fangs as the masses broke from the surface. His growls and howls of agony of the transformation as the two masses shaped into similar heads like his own and roared upon their birthing.
Adrian really was no longer there, now there was Dark Justice -- the Judge, the Prosecuter, and the Executioner.
“OUR JUSTICE.”
“OUR FRIEND.”
“OUR PEACE.”
“WILL REIGN FOREVER!” yowling from all three mouths simultaneously.
And his sword glowed a bright silvery-white and transformed into a massive Hammer of Justice.
You watched all of this, falling to your knees, and knew how far this was going. But you would get your best friend back.
(POV switches and changes)
“Adrien!” I shouted his name like a vehicle was about to run him over, but that love and warning combusted in and through my veins like fire poppers. The pressure, the height in sensation, I continued walking towards my changed friend, slowly gaining speed until I was in a sprint.
Then I collided paws with Adrien’s. Mine and his. Locked in strength. My jaws stretched open to show their gigantic, lethal lioness teeth and let out a warning yowl.
Adrien was forced back by my strength. I held the form nearly identical in stature and prowess to him, but I was a lioness. Surprise clear to see on his feline features, but then your strength held steady against his.
“I’m not going to fight you, ______. I refuse to.”
Your nostrils flared. The scent of him permeated with blood, old blood, sweat from sudden shock and anxiety, rotting flesh. You growled, "I won't fight you either."
Adrian's eyes showed recognition. "What are you doing then?"
"Doing justice.” Her teeth locked on Adrian’s neck and held. One of his heads yowled. Adrian appeared surprised. Her teeth didn’t dig too far into him but just long enough to immobilize him... and discover where his akuma was hiding.
She spotted the oddity on his loincloth. Some sort of ticket. Their movie ticket. She grabbed at it but missed. It was lodged into his side right.
In all this, Dark Justice struggled to free himself. But her lioness form was much to integral against him, and she hurried. She grabbed the ticket and punched a hole in it with her claws. Dark Justice felt as if his heart had stopped. He fell forwards into her arms as Ladybug began to purify the akuma and the damage done.
***
Adrian stayed in most days after his akumatization. He played video games with ________ and talked with only a few of his classmates. Most everyone at school was wary of him now, but he still went, he enjoyed his time on the roof with _______ and learning new things in class, staying out of the house, finishing his homework and ignoring the near constant hammering of what he had done.
________ grabbed his hand in class. He tightened his group. Soul shaken, but smiling. Things could’ve gone worse.
Thanks to the Paris-Catacomb Accords of 2015, Adrian was completely clean of any and all wrong doing he had brought on everyone, as every Akuma victim was given.
_______ and Adrian looked each other in the eye. “One day, we’ll catch Hawkmoth and make end his reign of terror.”
[This is only a work of fiction and not to be taken as non-fiction]
#miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir#miraculous ladybug#fanfiction#Adrien x reader#akumatized chat noir#akumatized adrien#akumatized Adrien x reader#dark#reader insert
174 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
cutegurls77
Cute Gurls
emperorangel
𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼
fido-tibi-sed-non-credo-1-blog
sentencje łacińskie
mihtya
Mihtya
adisphoto
Rolling Photography