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captain039 · 7 months

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Devil in training

Raphael x devil!reader

Warnings: age gap, swearing, devil things, tension, sexual, possessiveness, smut, teasing, jealousy, brat reader, 18+, self touching, self exploring, reader has just been made, but is an adult and knows stuff lolol, innocent reader

Your surroundings were hotter than usual, your body was hotter than usual. You opened your eyes staring at the deep red ceiling with intricate patterns adorning it. You tilted your head in confusion, where were you? Who were you? You sat up glancing down your body, what were you wearing? A beautiful dress.

“So you’ve awoken” you jolted at the sound of a voice something behind you shuffling. You frowned glancing behind you seeing two red bay like wings.

“They’re wings little mouse” the devil in front of you said, devil? How did you know things and not know who you were?

“Who are you? Where am I? Who am I?” The questions tumbled out and the devil rolled his eyes.

“So my father just gave you knowledge of everything else, but a name?” He scoffed, father?

“Oh delightful” you frowned seeing another devil behind him, one wearing a lot less making you gulp. He held a smirk looking extremely similar to the well dressed devil.

“A new play thing” the almost naked one said.

“No” the nicely dressed one said sternly.

“No fun” the almost naked one sauntered over and you backed up.

“Back off” you snapped wings flurrying in response.

“Oh, feisty I do so love the feisty ones” he chuckled before the devil behind him snapped his fingers and the other devil was gone. You stuttered seeing some smoke left in his place.

“Raphael” he said bowing slightly.

“Uh” you gulped trying to flicker through your mind for a name before you said it.

“Hm, come up with that just now?” He chuckled and you glared.

“I had no other choice!” You snapped as he repeated your new name.

“Good” he said and you felt a tingle go up your spine.

“Now, why are you here little mouse?” He asked, did he just ignore the fact that you now had a name?

“How am I supposed to know?!” You yelled and he raised an eyebrow.

“Loud aren’t you” he sighed.

“I have every right to be” you said huffing as you finally crawled off the bed wincing when you squished your tail? You frowned glancing behind you seeing a tail moving.

“That’s a tail dear” he commented.

“Yeah no shit dumbass!” You said.

“I don’t appreciate your tone little mouse” his tone lowered and you looked back to him, his eyes stern. You gulped slightly muttering an apology.

“Good, at least you’ll be easy to train” he said and your mouth hung open.

“Train? Excuse me I am not a pet” you put your hands on your hip and huffed and he chuckled darkly.

“Oh but you are, the sooner you accept that, the easier this will be” he said and you froze, what is this?

“What exactly is this?” You asked hesitantly and he smirked.

“Hell” he said.

The devil, Raphael had not been lying when he said this was hell, you were literally a slave, doing his dirty work, not like he had real slaves around the house to do all of it, no he wanted to make your life a personal hell. You didn’t even get a chance to find out about yourself who you were, you sometimes go glanced in the mirror, an odd face staring back at you, horns on your head, fangs in your mouth and black filled eyes with colour in the middle. Your wings and tail were difficult, you had trouble controlling them, you assumed it was like your other limbs that seemed to be working just fine, but no, you knocked things over very often and Raphael would sigh or roll his eyes making you clean whatever you knocked over up. You had your own room thankfully, a big bed, a fire place, not that hell really needed more fire. You often spent nights reading whatever books you stole from his library or journaling so you might make sense of who you were and how you knew everything, but yourself. You read about humans, elves, gnomes, teiflings, Dragonborn’s whatever races were in the mortal plain, it fascinated you, you wished to go there to explore learn about their ways and customs. Though if you even hinted it to Raphael he’d snap harder than a belt and send you to your room like a child. You were an adult, physically, you had the body of a woman, you’d stare at yourself sometimes, unsure of what it all meant. You’d touch yourself, run your hands down your hips, your arms and legs, over your chest, only over your chest it felt different, especially over your nipples. It was like a light tingly shock went through you and your lower stomach would clench. You’d explore lower running your finger through your folds and how that same tingly feeling ran up your spine and made you feel good. You focused on one point of your body, rubbing slowly at first with light pressure before building and building till your body shook and euphoria filled your body. You chased that feeling often, enjoying how it made your body shake and jolt, problem was, you only knew it felt good, didn’t know what it meant.

You sat idly in Raphael’s office fiddling with your wings, you found they were also sensitive, making your thighs clench together.

“As much as I enjoy watching you pleasuring yourself we have business” Raphael said and you looked to him as he stood.

“Pleasuring?” You asked and he gave you a questioning look.

“What’s that?” You added and he chuckled lightly.

“So you didn’t come fully aware of your body” he said and you frowned as he walked to you and stood in front of you.

“I can hear you at night, your little gasps and moans, exploring your body” his claw gently traced down your cheek and hooked under your chin, you felt your body shudder and the facial or clench of excitement in your stomach.

“Feels good doesn’t it?” He leant down face inches from yours as you forgot how to breathe. You simply nodded and he smirked, his fangs showing.

“Perhaps when you ‘sneak’ into my library you should look over some romance novels” his claw left your chin and he walked to the door leaving you breathless. Wait he knew about your library stealing?!

You quickly followed him to the soul pillar room as a rune began to glow on the ground.

“I promise I put the books back!” You said as he chuckled.

“Little mouse, I know all about your sneaking around, I know everything that happens in this house, I let you do it” he grinned as he began to mutter some infernal words. You groaned quietly and cursed yourself tail swishing relentlessly behind you.

“Come here” he ordered and you did.

“What’s going on?” You asked as he suddenly waved a spell on you. You froze looking down at your body, no tail, no wings, you felt your head, no horns.

“What did you do?!” You yelled and he winced glaring at you as he changed his form also.

“Making us human” he rolled his eyes as he dragged you into the circle. You almost screamed and closed your eyes tightly as magic pulsed around you and stopped.

“You can open your eyes” Raphael tsked and you let go of your breath and opened your eyes. You frowned at the rather bright interior of whatever house this was.

“Where are we?” You asked curiously as you looked around.

“The devils fee” he said and you raised an eyebrow laughing slightly.

“You’re always childish, Baldurs gate, Faerun” wait, did he say Baldurs gate? You were in the material plain?

“Where in the material plain?” You squealed and he growled making you stop instantly as someone opened the door.

“Raphael what a surprise” a halfling woman said and you stared at her in awe.

“And you brought company, why is she staring like that?” The woman frowned. Raphael clicked his fingers in front of your face and you jolted thinking he cast a spell, but he didn’t.

“Let’s just say she’s been alive for two months” Raphael rolled his eyes and the woman frowned again.

“Alright, come on down” she said walking out the door, you and Raphael following. Your mouth hung open the whole way down the stairs as you began to inspect every skull and trinket she had in her shop before you spotted outside. You stared in awe looking at the clear blue sky and yellow, extremely bright! Sun. You winced and looked away as you saw some people walking by, you stared and walked after them grinning from ear to ear. They walked off quickly, but you got distracted by the walls, the crates, the grass and puddles. You found yourself caught up in a crowd hearing chatter upon chatter, nothing like the house of hopes. You saw a little boy holding up some paper and walked over.

“2 gold ma’am, lasted stories!” He said and you frowned, you didn’t have any gold. You could just take it from him, that wasn’t among human custom though, you think. You smiled and left as you wandered the streets before an angry Raphael appeared in front of you.

“Did I say you could run off?” He said eyes angry.

“You can’t expect me to not run off” you said hands crossing over your chest as he gritted his teeth.

“If you don’t behave I will send you back home” he said and you tensed.

“Fine, but you-“ he raised an eyebrow and you shut up before following him quietly. You wandered the streets your grin coming back as you glanced in buildings the best you could and looked at all the people. You saw some overly large steel beings also, nothing with a soul, just huge things with swords following around armoured men and women, fascinating.

You crossed a bridge heading to another part of the city, you chuckled softly peering over the edge wondering if you could just fly off it only to be pulled back by an angry Raphael.

“Focus” he said and you pouted, but continued to follow him. You finally entered a building, sharess caress, you smiled as you saw people everywhere.

“Welcome back” the older woman smirked behind the counter.

“Oh and you’ve brought company” she winked at you and you smiled.

“Don’t get any ideas” Raphael growled in warning making you frown. The woman laughed and you tensed slightly, but Raphael did nothing.

“Of course, off you go” she shooed you away and you followed Raphael through the building and up the stairs. You frowned walking past doors hearing moans coming from inside.

“No” Raphael said as your hand reached for the door. You groaned and followed him to where he had stopped.

“The devils den?” You questioned seeing the sign.

“Get in” he said and you put your hands up and went inside. You stopped slightly seeing the lovely room. A big bath to your left, fancy rosewood furniture and a large bed at the end on a round platform with petals on the floor.

“Why’re we here?” You asked curiously as you looked through the room.

“We are going to make some deals” he said and you froze.

“Devil deals?” You said.

“Yes” he said apparently unbothered.

“I am not-“ you struggled, you were a devil, you were not a dealing devil.

“A dealing devil!” You said and he raised an eyebrow at you.

“Thats your job! Isn't it?” You gulped finding yourself slightly unstable without your wings or tail.

“This form feels funny” you said glancing behind you, seeing no tail or wings.

“You can’t wander around the city as a devil little mouse, a cat will get you” Raphael said. You frowned slightly hearing a cry next door, you glanced to Raphael who only smirked.

“Should we help them?” You asked gesturing to next door and the devil laughed.

“They don’t need any help my dear” he laughed sitting down on a plush red chair.

“Come” he patted his thigh and you raised an eyebrow in question. The devil gave you a hard stare and you walked over till you were standing in front of him.

“Sit” he gestured to his lap and you hesitated.

“I can grab another chair” you pointed to the wooden one by the desk.

“I said sit” he ordered and you gulped and climbed into his lap. You didn’t put any weight on him, you sat awkwardly on your knees as Raphael looked up at you, head resting on his hand.

“Little mouse how many times must I repeat myself” he said annoyed as his hand rested on your hip and forced you to sit on him. You froze in place arms huddled to your chest as your body ran hotter than normal.

“Good girl” he said and you stared at him wide eyed, your lower stomach clenching.

“Why am I sitting here?” You asked hesitantly as he smirked his hand still on your hip.

“I thought we were devil dealing” you mumbled unable to keep his stare.

“We are” he smirked.

“I’ve read about it, this isn’t how we deal, there’s contracts, manipulation, lying-“ he cut you off with a pointed look and you silenced yourself.

“This isn’t in the books” you mumbled.

“This is in books you haven’t read, little mouse” he said his hand slipping under your shirt. The contact made you gasp quietly, strange to have someone else touch you.

“What books?” You asked hesitantly and he chuckled devishly.

Next part ->

#Raphael x reader #x reader #devils #bg3 #Raphael bg3 #cambion reader #brat reader #dom/sub

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onedaughterofman · 2 years

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Prime Mover (Papa Emeritus x g/n reader)

Summary: The ceremony to welcome you as the new Prime Mover is scheduled soon, but you’re still a bit insecure about it. Papa finds interesting ways to reassure you. Tags: +18. Any Papa you like, mirror sex, a bit of praise kink, body worship, light dom/sub dynamics, some fluff. Discussions of rituals. I use "Prime Mover" as "Papa's right hand", so it's gender neutral.

It’s late at night when you go search for him. A small call on his door, your fingers tapping the cold, old wood. That’s all it takes to hear his voice from deep within his personal chamber, accepting your visit.

Papa never sends you away, no matter how long the day was, no matter how tired he is. Tonight marks almost the end of a week full of services and intricate rituals, of preparations for what’s to come.

The designation of a new Prime Mover. And that’s you.

You’d be lying if you said you aren’t both honored and terrified. Time ago, the Prime Mover was supposed to be the chosen nun to bear the Devil’s child, the one who would give birth to the Antichrist. Now, it has become a position of power, the one who’s Papa’s right hand, a confident and advisor.

Still, the responsibility sits heavy over your shoulders. And that’s not everything. Something that’s been bothering you these past days is the fact that the big ritual will end up in an orgy, with you and Papa as the protagonist.

It’s not like you two haven’t had sex before, or you haven’t participated in another orgies with the rest of the Siblings in the past, but now you’ll be in the center of it, right in the focus. It’s a lot of pressure to perform, to let your inhibitions go as the sex energy transcends the bodies and honors the Dark Lord.

This is going to be a big, important ritual and you’re terrified of messing it up, or proving to everybody that it has been a mistake to choose you.

Papa is sitting in front of the old vanity table. The dim candlelight makes his face look sharper, maybe even gaunt as his piercing gaze focuses on your figure through the mirror. He calls your name, voice full of that adoration he seems to only use when it’s just the two of you.

If this is love, or just bewitchment, you don’t care.

Walking the steps that separate you from him feel like balancing on a wire. There’s no need to feel nervous, not with him, but tonight the insecurity clings to your throat, fingers tight around your neck. He can tell something is wrong, it’s obvious from the way his eyes darken and his brows furrow.

“Talk to me.”

When Papa speaks, it’s impossible to deny him. And so, like a cascade of turbulent water, the words fall from your mouth. You confess to him, falling to your knees and clinging to his robes, baring your soul with no reserves. It’s only natural, only right when it’s with him. As always, he listens without judgment, without any comment.

The pressure on your chest has been lifted a bit when your mouth shuts, eyes glued to the floor. It’s hard to admit it, but you feel stupid, so dumb. Papa has been so busy planning everything, he’s been so insistent to the higher-ups and the Council, he has vouched for you on many occasions and here you are, questioning all the hard work and all the support.

“Do you want my opinion, or do you just need to let it out?”

That wisdom and patience surprises you. Sometimes you forget it’s there, behind all those sex innuendos and crude language, behind the stupid dances and the eccentricity he has on stage. He’s the head of the Clergy for a reason, someone who has studied the occult practically since birth.

“Please, Papa.” The voice is full of air when you begin. “Just guide me. Tell me what to do.”

For a long moment, he nods absentmindedly, hand darting up to pat your head. You let your cheek rest on his thigh, feeling the warmth emanating from his body.

“I can advise you, if you want me to,” he replies. “But I won’t tell you what to do. A Prime Mover is supposed to walk by my side, not behind me.”

There’s no anger or harshness in his tone. Your fingers cling to the material of his robes, nails softly digging on his flesh. “Right. Sorry for wasting your time, Papa. Maybe I’m not… the right one for this.”

This time, Papa’s hand stops abruptly, moving down to grab your chin and lift your face up. The gloves are soft, a bit cold on your skin. “Do you think I’m wrong about you?”

“No, it’s not that…”

“Then?” When there’s no answer, and your pupils go back to the ground, he continues. “What if you let me show you the way I see things? Would that reassure you?”

Yes.

The word never comes out from your mouth, it dies on the tip of your tongue but he can hear it anyway. His fingers cling to your wrist when he helps you to your feet, placing your body right in front of the table. The candlelight allows your reflection to be seen in the mirror, shadows casting over your face. It’s been a while since you have stared at the mirror, and a deep, doubtful part of you wants to immediately look away.

Papa doesn’t let you. His fingers grasp your chin, gently forcing your head back to the front. “You’ll have to be good and keep looking there, no matter what. That way, you’ll see what you’re searching for.”

Nodding, you lean to the side without breaking eye contact with the mirror, in a way to give him easier access to your neck. Papa starts slow, uncharacteristically so, but it doesn’t take much for him to begin to test the waters with a few sucks and bites under your ear and over your collarbone. You can feel his warm, moist breath over your pulse, sending chills up and down your spine.

Back arched, you come into full contact with his body. He’s hard already, fierce in a way you have learnt to love like the air you breathe. Those deft fingers work on your robes, letting them fall to the floor with ease. Through the mirror, you catch the fire in his eyes, the unspeakable hunger trapped in those pupils.

The aftertaste of alcohol is strong when he kisses you, bleeding into your mouth. You can’t resist it, the call of the darkness, the yearn for sin. You like this, like it a lot, and can’t stop.

Won’t stop.

Slowly, as the air leaves your body in a deep, loud moan, your lids close and you let the dark embrace every inch of you. The click of his tongue and the brush of his teeth on your neck is enough of a warning.

Keep those eyes opened. Look at yourself. The rules are clear.

In the mirror, Papa’s hands move, fingers exploring your chest and stomach, tickling over your ribs and hipbones, tracing patterns on your thighs. You want it, want it so bad. Your muscles clench on their own, making your insides feel empty and cold. The core of your guts is ice, begging for his heat.

Papa is a tease, as always, but he’s bleeding in need as deep as you are. His robes join yours on the floor, leaving him only in his inner cassock. The greed fills you almost at the same time as he does, forcing your back to arch and to almost beg for more. It scares you, the effect he has, the charm and raw sexual energy that emanates from his pores.

Is this love?

Oh, is this a raw, primal want?

Maybe a bit of both.

Time seems to have stopped. Papa doesn’t move, and his gaze is frozen on you. It makes your face burn with shame, but you obey and maintain eye contact through the mirror. “Do you see it?” Papa whispers in your ear, hot air hitting your skin. “Do you see how beautiful you look?”

Lies, you don’t say. He seems to realize your doubts, your inner turmoil, because he grabs you hard by the neck, fingers digging in your jawbone. “It’s deliciously sinful, a work of art. Can I tell you a secret, something for you and me only?”

Papa’s nose tickles over your veins when you nod. Your neck is covered in red spots, in promises of bruises that will become true in the morning and in white and black paint. “I’m looking forward to the Prime Mover ritual. You’ll look so unholy, so divine under the light of the black candles, hugged by the shadows. I want everybody to see us, to see you.”

As your throat muscles constrict, the air feels so scarce. Your lungs scream for oxygen and your skin is on fire, stomach tense and core tight. He can probably feel you, judging by the way a grunt escapes his lips. “You’ll be hypnotizing, paralyzing, a sight to behold for all eternity as we come together for Lucifer's son,” Papa continues, finally beginning to move.

It doesn’t matter how much you want to turn your head and kiss him, his gloved hand never leaves your neck. He’s squeezing hard, not enough to hurt for enough to feel it and yearn for more. “Do you see it? My Prime Mover, mine alone. I’ll never let you go, you’ll hear me calling for you forever.”

This time, you nod eagerly, biting your lower lips hard enough to draw blood. Oh, it’s difficult to keep your composure when Papa looks at you like you’re a deity, someone sinful and unholy who rose from Hell to bless him; a twisted, evil black guiding light in his way.

“I see it,” you confess, at last, voice trembling and lungs fighting for air. “I see it, Papa. I do.”

The answer satisfies him. Full of fire, he moves faster, hitting it from behind in a rhythm that he well knows you love. The wood of the vanity table digs on your flesh with every thrust, making the piece of furniture shake. One of your hands presses over the mirror for support, and the heat from your body causes the surface to fog around your fingers.

Fuck. You never want to let this go, to forget the facial expression on your reflection, the rush of blood on your face and neck or the way your chest heaves with every open mouthed gasp.

It’s beautiful, divine, but it can’t compare to the expression that overcomes you when you come, or the one he makes when he follows you shortly, grunting and pressing his mouth on the crook of your neck.

Papa takes his sweet time before letting you go, body falling against the furniture. The old wood is cold, so freezing and hard, but it helps to keep you awake. Your legs shake and muscles vibrate, core still clenching around nothing.

Letting himself fall on the chair, Papa breathes too. His chest rises and falls as he pulls on his inner cassock in an effort to dispel part of the heat that clings to his skin. “If you need me to show you again, I’m going to need a few minutes.”

A short chuckle comes to you. Papa pats his lap, prompting you to sit on it and you obey. The paint on his face is all smudged, almost ruined, and a few droplets of sweat rest on his forehead.

“You’ll be fine,” he says, when you feel like you’re about to fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. “I’ll be right there.”

Leaving behind all those doubts, you nod. Papa is right, and he’ll always be willing to reassure you, any time you want.

PD: I started writing this thinking about Terzo, but Secondo won in the end. Take it as an apology for that Viagra post.

Ask box is open if you want to say something!

#ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus iv #ghost x reader #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus i #papa nihil #ghost band #ghost bc #papa emeritus ii x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #papa terzo #papa secondo #papa primo #papa copia #my writing #my fic

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antimonyandthyme · 9 months

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martian inception au

In Seb’s notebook, in his scratchy scrawl Mark has grown very accustomed to reading:

Side effects – no dreaming

That’s it, no dreaming. Seb doesn’t write, Failure differentiating reality and dream, because any dreamer worth their salt should know which boundaries they strictly do not cross. They create and shatter worlds in their heads and the one thing they give up is the ability to do this without being hooked to a PASIV. That’s not too bad, considering.

But if you bothered to flip the page:

Sub side effects

Entire paragraphs dedicated to specific complications for each role, extractor, chemist, architect, point man. Under forger:

Loss of self

The first time Mark realizes it’s happening, Seb walks by him in a dream. Seb walks by him and ignores him, as if Mark were merely a projection of the dreamer.

Bewildered and irrationally hurt, Mark goes, “Seb?”

His voice is the safety click off a gun. Seb flinches and looks around wildly. Projections aren’t supposed to speak.

It takes a moment before Mark looks down at his hands, and realizes they’re the wrong ones. He turns his back to Seb, and changes to what he assumes—hopes—is the appearance he should be wearing.

“There you are,” Seb snaps. He only gets like this when he’s worried. “I couldn’t find you.”

Mark makes up some ridiculous excuse. Got turned around in the maze, or something like that, as if any of them would ever get turned around in a maze.

Seb looks at him. “Don’t let it happen again.”

Mark doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t make promises he can’t keep.

Ironically, it’s Seb who notices last. He’s not being careless. His faith in Mark is just so unshakable that he doesn’t look back when he hears the fall of Mark’s footsteps behind him. Among the hardest things to forge is a person’s gait. Distributing weight and sound according to the target’s walking habits is an intricate and tedious task. Seb can always tell it’s still Mark, even when he wears a different face.

So Seb doesn’t look back.

Jenson does, though. Coming out of a dream, all of them nearing the final kick, and Jenson looks back.

Mark is wearing a stranger as his skin.

Jenson waits until Seb’s gone on ahead. And then he punches Mark so hard Mark will probably feel it for a week in reality.

“Are you trying to break his heart?”

Mark looks down at his hands again.

“Get your shit together,” Jenson demands.

Mark shifts back, and when he wakes, he places two fingers on his own face, and is surprised to see them appear correct.

He forgets his totem once. Forgets it, because the last person he was forging doesn’t have one. So he leaves it behind when he goes to get groceries. Chocolate chips and bananas, because Seb wants to make chocolate chip banana bread.

When he gets back, Seb is waiting for him. He has Mark’s swiss army knife cradled in his hand.

Seb knows every stitch of Mark’s totem. Seb helped create Mark’s totem, reasoned that they could custom the knife so elaborately that no extractor would be able to recreate the exact version which belonged to Mark. Sometimes Mark thinks his totem is better off residing in Seb’s hands. These days he shifts so often he doesn’t need it any longer. In reality his hands stay the same. In dreams, his hands change shape and size and colour.

There, no totem needed. Seb doesn’t even need to worry.

“Mark.” Seb’s voice is wobbly. He’s gone and figured it out. Because of course he has.

Mark places the grocery bag on the table. The veins running atop his hand are as unfamiliar as the hundreds of dendrites splitting out from the Indus River.

“Side effect,” he says.

“No more jobs until this stops,” Seb says. Mark can hear him trying to be authoritative, brave. Seb comes close, and wraps Mark’s fingers around his totem. “Don’t ever leave this behind again.”

Seb’s hand above his. Mark tries to memorize the image, but he’s not sure if it’ll take. Almost trickier than an Inception.

Jenson puts his research skills into good use, and finds an island off the coast of Victoria that houses a population of zero. He arranges transport and food and beer to last Mark a month at least. Mark spends the first two days drinking his way through the supplies, and considers radioing Jenson to send more.

He holds up his hand to the sun. It’s gotten severely tanner. Jenson forgot sunscreen. But the shapes are good. The knuckles aren’t sewn together by someone playing at god. The angles won’t cut him open.

Mark drinks away the sting of abandonment. The team’s in Toronto for a job. He wonders who their forger is. He drinks some more.

In the third week he dreams.

Real dreams—they’re confusing. There’s no story, no plotline. There’s no job. There's no point. Mark’s falling down a chasm of mirrors. The faces reflected back are not his own. Mark’s smashing every mirror with his bare hands. Mark’s watching the blood run down in rivulets, real enough to taste.

On second thought, maybe these dreams are the ones that make the most sense.

Even after an alcoholic induced state lasting three and a half weeks, Mark’s still capable if he wants to be. He finds a way to get off the island. And then he goes to find them.

More specifically, he goes to rescue them from some botched mission.

“I leave for one month,” Mark says. He’s allowed to be dramatic, and a little smug. He pulls them out of the third layer, and then the second layer, and then the first. Each time with his own goddamn hands. It’s as if he has the strength to bend steel.

Seb doesn’t let go. Refuses to let go even as they exit the dream. Mark looks down at their joined hands. Seb’s hand fits perfectly in his, as it has always done.

Yeah. That looks just about fine.

#athy texts #fanfic #rpf #martian #happy martian monday

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moongurl95 · 2 months

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Chapter 9 – Secrets of the Restricted Section

It was a sunny day that afternoon in early September, though the breeze coming through the Black Lake made the air cool and the gentle waves that could be heard lapping at the nearby Boathouse almost managed to lull Beatrice into a nice nap following her rather eventful morning and the hearty lunch she just had from the Great Hall—

“Enjoying ourselves, aren’t we?” Came the teasing tone from her companion, to which Beatrice could only hum in acknowledgement as she let her eyes close a moment too long before she could respond, “I quite like this view, Sebastian, thank you.” It reminded her of days back in the convent when she’d sneak down the cliffs to swim by the sea…

“I’m curious though…” Sebastian’s voice had her blinking past her drowsiness as she leaned back onto the gazebo’s railings, tucking her legs beneath her on the stone bench where they sat, the open book on her lap failing to hold her attention for much longer.

“About…?” She’d rested her chin on her hand in an attempt to stifle a yawn, finding amusement instead in having had observed how Sebastian scribbled away at his Charms homework, the tip of his tongue peeking out in concentration just moments ago. There was something charming about him, truly. Beatrice just didn’t know what to make of the Slytherin as this was, by far, the longest time she’d spent in the company of any boy her age. Mother Superior would have surely scolded her ear off had she seen her now, unchaperoned, no less.

“You mentioned your… Nana, being the one who raised you to be aware of Magic— does that mean she was in Ravenclaw too?” Sebastian’s question seemingly chased away any thought of rest from her sleep-addled mind as Beatrice weighed her next words.

“I— assumed she was… She— never really talked much about herself before marrying my grandfather. I actually only have this to go by…” Beatrice then slowly pulled out a simple bronze locket, the eagle intricately engraved on its face seemed to be enough evidence to her claim. She never dared to wear it before though, only kept it close to her person in fear that any of the Sisters might catch a glimpse of the enchanted moving photographs inside…

“May I?” Sebastian had asked, clearly intrigued as he held a hopeful hand out. Why not? She supposed there was no real reason now to hide any magical object in a Wizarding school, after all. In fact, the only thing she had to keep from doing right now was giggling at Sebastian’s poorly concealed attempt to try and find any similarities she shared with the only photos she had of her Nana and mother.

She remembered her Nana having a sternness to her features, while fair for her age at the time the photo was taken, was held back by her hair always kept in a tight bun. A sharp nose only accentuating what Beatrice would recall to be a mostly solemn pair of blue eyes, that looked out from the monochrome photo— no trace of a smile but just tilting her face towards the camera.

Beatrice had sometimes caught a far-away look cast upon her Nana’s face, though she was never privy to her past in the Wizarding World, she doubted the older witch was anymore aware of such a thing called Ancient Magic... Her mother however was a curious case.

A young lady, no older than Beatrice, smiled gently back from the photograph, Roséline Hayes had a calmly face which was softly framed by pale wavy locks of hair— Beatrice had nothing to go by other than this photo, but she found her mother to be quite pretty. Nana had also once remarked with a wistful smile, how her mother took mostly after her grandfather, and seeing how Beatrice didn’t seem to have inherited the fairer features from her maternal side of the family, this only cemented the fact that she might have taken more after her faceless sire, only adding to her Nana’s additional grief.

“Have you tried asking your mentor about her? They may have been contemporaries during their time at Hogwarts?” Sebastian had asked further, turning the locket over as if he’d find any more than what only the pictures offered.

“Professor Fig doesn’t recall of an Aileen who looks like my Nana. Although admittedly a first name is not much to go by if I have no idea of the maiden name she used to carry before then…” She trailed of as if in afterthought, “But enough about me, what about your parents? Was any one of them sorted into Slytherin?” Beatrice hastily chose to change the topic then, reaching for the locket in Sebastian’s hands as she carefully pocketed it.

Her companion thankfully let the matter focus on him instead, almost bashfully rubbing at the nape of his neck before he responded, “Only my uncle actually. My father was a Gryffindor and mother was a Ravenclaw, wasn’t the least bit surprised when the Sorting Hat gave us options.” He paused then, as if hesitating what to say next, “But like I said, Anne made the decision for both of us when she decided to befriend Ominis and I followed suit. I garner it’s the same for your case?”

“Likewise. Though what you said about the Sorting Hat giving you options, had it also mentioned anything about Hufflepuff?” Beatrice did wonder about the fourth house decked in vibrant yellow.

“Ah, our friends who are loyal to a fault, with patience being their virtue. The Sorting Hat may have also mentioned something along those lines to me before…” Sebastian had chuckled as if in remembrance before casting her a teasing look, “But the way I see it, ironically goes against what we’re planning later tonight…”

Beatrice awoke to the insistent chuffs from Hermes as he pulled at the strands of her hair, she had to quietly wave him away as she blearily tried to make sense of how much time had passed when she looked towards the hourglass by her roommates’ side of shelves— thankful that it was a quieter way to track time as she mostly heard Constance’s and Samantha’s soft snores of sleep.

Stroking the heart shaped down that lined Hermes’ feathered face, Beatrice gave him his treat for dutifully waking her up as she had instructed him to, before she quietly pushed open her bedside window to let the barn owl fly off into the night. Casting one last look at the journal entry she’d made about the day, Beatrice silently slipped on her school robe as she carefully made her way out of their dorm room…

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Keeping her footfalls light as she made her way up the wooden stairs and into the Common Room, Beatrice had only just passed by the armory guarding the staircase to the girls’ dorms when she’d then heard footsteps coming down from the stairs behind her. Thinking to back away further into the adjoined room by the fireplace, Beatrice held back a gasp as a hand came out to cover her mouth from behind, gently guiding her to crouch by a wooden trophy case beside the entryway curtain.

It wasn’t until the dim lighting had shown who it was did Beatrice try to even out her breathing, nodding as the other had raised a finger to his lips, motioning her to keep quiet before he’d let go of her as he stood straight and acted like he was just about to round the corner meeting the approaching footsteps, “Larson, all clear here?” Beatrice now recognized the haughty voice that spoke up first.

“Yes, and I’d also checked outside for anyone who couldn’t answer the riddle before curfew.” She saw Andrew reply lightly from her vantage point, not risking to confirm the identity of the other boy he was talking to.

“Can’t have the moonminds costing us more House points, after all.” A scoff, before the other had continued, “That gives me an excuse to use the Floo Flames then, you’re sure you aren’t coming to the Prefects’ Bath tonight? I heard some ladies were actually expecting you.” Beatrice couldn’t help but raise her brows in intrigue upon hearing the last part being said.

“I’d rather not, Fawley. Someone needs to wait for our Housemates to get back from their Astronomy class.”

“Suit yourself. Got the pick of the crop yet you’d rather be the nice lad that finishes last.” Their upperclassman left with a taunting laugh before the whoosh of the Flames had signaled Fawley’s departure.

Beatrice had watched Andrew’s tense posture slowly relax before she’d slowly straightened from her hiding spot and moved closer to him, “So… Popular with the ladies, I hear.” She’d tried for a lighter approach, but Andrew only frowned further as he shook his head, “It’s like an initiation for the new Prefects for the year actually, not quite the type of crowd I’d find myself fond of, really.”

It was his turn then to raise his brows, “But don’t think I’ll let you off the hook too easily.” Crossing his arms, Andrew now regarded her fully, “Please tell me you aren’t off to another Hidden Corridor or whatnot for the sake of another’s trivial sense of worth.”

“I see you’ve also heard about that then…” Beatrice may have caught wind as to what happened after she’d given Duncan his “proof of courage”, though the bespectacled boy had been wise enough to steer clear of her after making such comments about Blood statuses of all things.

“Turned him into a right prat, that he did— all bark and now would probably bite too. Will most likely have to intervene these days once Everett decides to snatch that damn leaf out of Hobhouse’s pillow.” Andrew rubbed at his temple, clearly looking troubled with the situation that Beatrice now felt quite remorseful, she had unwittingly caused it after all.

“I’d have to apologize Andrew, but I really need to go tonight, it’s… actually for myself this time— I promise to make it up to you in some way… Please?”

“I see, well...” He gave her a look as if in utter concentration before sighing, “Would it trouble you to grace me with your time this weekend on a trip to Hogsmeade then?”

That made her blink, she had already made plans to go there with Sebastian this weekend, so it definitely wouldn’t hurt to bring another friend along, “Of course, I’d be happy to.”

“Great! Then might I suggest using the Floo on your way out?” She watched as he gave a quick glance to the nearby grandfather clock before decisively saying, “Drop by at the one near the Divination Classroom and carefully make your way down the spiral staircase once there, it’d be a safer way to get to the Central Hall from here.”

“What—?” Before Beatrice could question how exactly Andrew would know where she was planning to meet Sebastian for the night, the blond was already quickly guiding her towards Ignatia Wildsmith’s bust, his last words of advice only intriguing her more before the Flames had engulfed her.

“And Beatrice, try to put your trust in people more, alright?

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Trust. Sebastian had really found it surprising that Professor Weasley had entrusted him with escorting his new classmate only yesterday, but then again, wasn’t it Beatrice herself that requested his company? And here he was again, having been the one she first thought of to ask in accompanying her in this curious search… He wondered what it really was she’d be looking for down there in those dusty shelves of books— most of which Sebastian himself had scoured over in his search of a possible cure for Anne’s curse.

It was obvious Beatrice was keeping something big from him— no matter how confused she was on casting that powerful blast of magic yesterday, Sebastian was sure it somehow related to why that goblin had Rookwood chasing after them in The Three Broomsticks. He’d risk assuming that Beatrice saw him as someone reliable at this point, but he needed to give her a reason to trust him with her secrets…

Sebastian thought this through silently as he just about relaxed his arms on the balustrade behind him when a flutter of robes caught his eye and there, silently making her way down towards him, was the subject of his current dilemma— the dim light silhouetting her form seemed to give her an even more enigmatic approach to which he’d felt his heart skip a beat, again. Sebastian tried to brush it off by smiling teasingly her way as he raised a finger to his lips, motioning for Beatrice to quietly come over to where he stood, “See there? That’s the door that we need to reach.” He nodded towards the Library’s left entryway, “And those annoying prefects would love nothing more than to rat on us to Scribner, so don’t let them see us— understood?”

“I can be sneaky. Let’s go.” She’d responded with such contained enthusiasm that Sebastian had to hold back a chuckle.

“Hold on now. There’s a spell you should know— the Disillusionment Charm. Good for getting places you’re not supposed to be. Cast it, and you’ll appear as little more than a trick of the light. Just as long as you keep your distance and stay quiet.”

“You mean I’ll actually be able to turn invisible?” Her eyes seemed to gleam like emeralds now as Sebastian watched her excitement form.

“Something like that. It’s not as foolproof as a cloak, but those are expensive. And spells— spells are free. Give it a try.” He wasn’t sure if this was one of the spells Fig had at least taught Beatrice over the summer, but Sebastian made sure to slowly show her the proper wand movement before he’d cast the Disillusionment on himself.

And while Sebastian wasn’t surprised at her getting it at the first cast, he had raised an eyebrow— or two— at observing how easily Beatrice even incorporated the use of Basic Cast to distract the prefects away from their respective posts. She really is good at being sneaky… He’d thought in amusement though remained quiet as a Jobberknoll following after her down the stairs leading into the Library.

It wasn’t until they entered though that Sebastian kept himself from bumping into Beatrice, “Blast. The librarian’s still here. Quick, behind the bookcase.” He’d grabbed at what he assumed to be part of her sleeve but was momentarily shocked to be met with the warmth of her hand, but he instinctively held onto her tighter as he pulled her into hiding before they’d cast off their Disillusionment.

“Damn.” Sebastian couldn’t help but curse quietly as he looked past the bookcase’s corner.

“You told me the librarian would be gone by now.” Beatrice hissed anxiously at him.

“I said ‘usually’, but it’ll still be all right. Do you see her desk behind me?” At seeing her terse nod in response, Sebastian had calmly continued instructing, “The key is in the drawer of that desk. Now, here’s what we’re going to do: I’ll create a distraction to draw her away, while you focus on getting the key. I’ll meet you outside the Restricted Section.” He’d finished, nodding over to the fenced-off area of the Library.

“Wait, why do we need a key? Isn’t there a spell for this?”

Sebastian met Beatrice’s obvious question with an almost sheepish look before answering, “Alohamora? That’s how I always used to get in, but the librarian twigged that I knew the spell and cast an Anti-Alohamora charm on the lock. So now it’s just this key.” Shrugging as he met Beatrice’s troubled look, he quickly tried to alleviate her worries, “But don’t worry. I said I’d get you in, and I always keep my word. Trust me.”

He felt her hand squeeze his back in understanding after he’d assured her, only now noticing that he’d been holding her hand all this while, “You distract; I get the key. Understood.” The way she’d gazed back into his eyes had him quickly pulling his hand away from her, hoping he’d cast his Disillusionment fast enough that she hadn’t noticed the way his face seemingly burned up. Sebastian attributed his racing heart to adrenaline as he quickly searched for a way to lure Scribner away from her desk, focusing on a chair as he quietly murmured Confringo to blow it up into smithereens.

“Is someone there? Is that you, Peeves?”

Now sure to have caught Scribner’s attention, Sebastian hastily drew away from the mess he’d made and anxiously waited for Beatrice by the locked entryway to the Restricted Section, hoping she really was as sneaky as he first observed her to be— “That wasn’t so difficult after all.” He relaxed somewhat upon glimpsing Beatrice’s shimmering silhouette cast in Disillusionment, quickly but quietly unlocking the gate, “Now, to find that book.”

Upon entering, Sebastian curiously observed as Beatrice’s silhouette quickly pilfered through a chest by the corner of the staircase after she’d murmured Revelio, only stopping her when she’d tried to reach for a book on their way down, “That one’s charmed to look more useful than it is. It’s fooled me twice. Never judge a tome by its cover, I say.”

“A tome had floated out of Scribner’s desk when I was getting the key. Thought for a moment it’d scream bloody murder when I saw my name on its page.”

“Ah, that would be the Book of Records, keeps every borrowed book in check— even the Restricted ones. Did you ask it for the title you’re looking for?”

“I actually don’t—"

Sebastian had to interrupt Beatrice as he quickly pulled her back towards him before they rounded the corner on the next floor down, “Ghost. Don’t let her see you.” He’d whispered, only then inadvertently realizing he’d grabbed her by the waist as he tried to get his mind to focus on making a distraction, but Beatrice beat him to it by casting at an armor across the room. He didn’t have time to wince at the noise that might even attract Scribner’s attention from upstairs, because Beatrice had now grabbed him by his hand and was swiftly leading them past the ghosts.

“Should be in the clear now. No need for us to be skulking about.” He’d huffed out a breath as they descended, casting off his Disillusionment before Beatrice followed suit, a dazzling flush evident on her cheeks as she smiled at him with barely contained excitement from their shared rush of adrenaline.

“So… What is it you’ve been looking for?” She’d asked in a hesitant tone as they continued their way down the stairs, seemingly not wanting to prod, but Sebastian had by now expected her to ask him that at one point. He thought on his response though, not wanting to see the usual look of sympathy being cast his way, especially from her who he felt the need to impress…

Waiting after she’d murmured a Revelio upon the section they’d just entered, Sebastian settled on giving her a vague but truthful answer, “I’m looking for a cure to help my twin sister, Anne— so that she can return to Hogwarts. Because Merlin knows everyone else has given up.” He’d waited then to see how she’d respond, dreading she’d only look back at him with pity evident in her green gaze, but instead she’d looked up from her Field Guide to cast him a look of confusion.

“Why do you think you’ll find a cure in the Restricted Section? Does the Hogwarts matron have nothing that can help Anne?” This was a start. She hadn’t dismissed his plight with baseless words of comfort, in fact, she even sounded like she’d taken his words in disbelief as she continued to search the area they were in.

“No. We’ve tried everyone from Nurse Blainey to St. Mungo’s.” He tried to explain, watching with a hint of curiosity as she’d pulled out a jangling pouch of what looked like Galleons from a chest she’d opened, “But I can research on my own. No need to concern yourself with that right now. Let’s focus on what you’re after. Which is what, precisely?” Sebastian pushed the pouch of coins back towards her as she tried to offer it to him in full.

“I’ll know it when I see it.” She’d countered just as vaguely, counting the pouch’s contents before she seemed to pocket a portion of it then insistently pushed the rest into Sebastian’s hands.

“You’re being awfully cryptic.” He’d caved, not wanting to push back but equally just as frustrated, despite having accepted the pouch of coins she’d offered.

All Sebastian could do for now was silently watch over Beatrice as she gleaned pass books, skimming through titles and tapping on the ones he’d assumed might have caught her interest— the latest causing him to raise an eyebrow, “Secrets of the Darkest Arts? I’m impressed.”

He caught himself from saying more though as he carefully eyed Beatrice’s reaction to his comment— half expecting a disapproving look from her— yet she only stared at the tome a second longer, expression unreadable, before moving away. Interesting was one thing, but now Sebastian had to wonder just how open Beatrice was to learning a few darker spells— something told him she’d need it…

Entering a door in the backmost part of the room, Sebastian kept his eyes about, he always thought this area to be just a place of storage for the whole Library, he’d doubt Beatrice would find anything worthwhile here. Though he began to second guess himself after she’d cast another Revelio upon the room, before heading towards what looked to be a chest just inconspicuously placed on a tabletop.

More miniature than the previous ones he’d seen her pilfer through, Sebastian couldn’t help the look of disbelief on his face upon seeing the wand handle Beatrice had pulled out— there illuminated by the nearby desk lamp was a handle that looked to be exactly like his own! “Would you look at that… might just as well be the original piece, don’t you think?” He’d murmured, still not quite sure himself.

“I didn’t think I would take you seriously the first time you mentioned these wand handles back in Hogsmeade, but this is my 4th find, so what are 38 more? Might as well make space for this collection, won’t you agree?” Beatrice’s lighthearted tone only left Sebastian more flabbergasted.

“I’m sorry, did you say 4th? Wherever did you find the previous ones, if I may so ask?”

“I found my 2nd one in a similar chest much like this in Professor Fig’s classroom, though the other two were given more as thanks from Cressida Blume and Zenobia Noke after I’d— well, assisted them in recovering some personal belongings of theirs…” She’d replied almost sheepishly.

Before Sebastian could ask her more about it though, he was quick to pull Beatrice behind him as a nearby hanging armor came crashing beside them. The thunderous clashing of metals was enough to make them hold their breaths as Sebastian waited to expect the worst, their shaky exhales the only thing that could be heard between them. He waited seconds before deciding to cast Reparo but was all too suddenly interrupted by a malignant entity popping through the bookshelf right across from them.

“Who have we here? Sebastian Sallow and his new little friend, out exploring where they shouldn’t be!” Came the shrill voice, mocking them by even waving a finger in front of their faces, “Naughty naughty, you’ll get caughty!”

“Peeves, don’t you—” Sebastian’s voice was merely cut off by the nasty poltergeist’s incessant yammering whilst floating away, “I’m going to tell! I’m going to tell! I’m going to tell!”

“Blasted Peeves. I’ve got to stop him, or at least get to the librarian with a good excuse for all of this.” He grumbled, pulling away from his hold on Beatrice as he was about to hunt down the annoying fiend, when he felt a firm tug on his robe sleeve.

“Wait. I— don’t want you getting into trouble for me.” She’d look at him then, a troubled expression clear on her face as she gazed up at him, seeming unsure. Did she doubt he’d be able to handle this predicament or maybe she was wary that he’ll blame this all on her?

“I have a way with the faculty when it comes to disciplinary matters. Besides— I like having friends who are in my debt.” Sebastian chose to teasingly assuage her on both accounts, “Now, go. Good luck with your search.” He offered her an encouraging smile before turning away, off on a search of his own as he couldn’t help but grumble, “Now, where has that damned poltergeist got to?”

If his memory served him well, Sebastian did hear Peeves boisterously chanting about being trapped and confined in a jar once, and while he might be tempted to do just about that to the poltergeist, Sebastian dreaded the thought that he’d ultimately get expelled from Hogwarts after the chaos it’d most likely cause. He doubted even Ominis could save his hair after that— and although he had an inkling his friend knew where Sebastian was off to again, the sightless blond had absolutely no idea that Sebastian would not be going alone tonight on another trip to the Restricted Section.

Having found it already suspicious that even the couple of screeching ghosts were now gone from their posts on his way up, Sebastian thought it wise to keep himself under his Disillusionment as he maintained a peripheral view of the Library from the upper floor. Choosing to position himself away from The Old Librarian’s portrait, Sebastian crouched by the balustrades’ edge as he mulled over the most effective Silencing Charm he could use on Peeves— he had doubts if Oscausi would work on making an incorporeal being’s mouth disappear, but perhaps a simple Silencio might work—

“Guess who’s in the Restricted Section, asking for another round of detention? Of course, it’s none other than Sebastian Sallow, but can you guess the other fellow?”

Damn. Sebastian watched with growing dread as he saw Peeves finally come out of hiding, trying to catch Scribner’s attention, though since the garishly dressed ghoul was more known for his penchant for causing mischief and mayhem, the old witch hadn’t paid Peeves much mind at first. Thinking fast, Sebastian cast at the nearest object between the Library’s shelves on the lower floor where the poltergeist was weaving through— he needed to stall Peeves there long enough to shut him up.

Swiftly but silently taking the spiral stairs down, Sebastian kept a mocking interval of casting on random objects to make it sound like Peeves was the one causing all the ruckus, while also keeping the poltergeist distracted enough away from Scribner.

“What mess are you causing again now, Peeves?!” Scribner’s shriek sounded close enough that it jolted his focus from his Disillusionment and caused Sebastian to miss casting the Silencing Charm on the poltergeist by a mere good millimeter, which only resulted with Peeves weaving around him mockingly before—

“Sneaking in the Restricted Section— again!” Scribner now shrieked from behind Sebastian as he turned to face her, “I had thought we were through with this mischief. Clearly detentions are insufficient. I’m afraid I must take this to the Headmaster.”

Sebastian felt his blood chill then, about to make her see reason, “But—”

“That being said, Peeves informs me that you didn’t come alone tonight.” Scribner interrupted him, not wanting to hear any more excuses as she set a piercing look on her weathered face, “If someone has coerced you, I would have you tell me.”

For a moment, Sebastian glared at Peeves’ gloating smile before trying to meet the Madam’s stare, though he quickly had to look down in fear that she might notice his worried expression wasn’t exactly for himself but for someone else’s safety…

“You’re a bright boy. Don’t waste this.”

He remembered Beatrice’s almost searching gaze as she looked up at him, unsure, before they’d parted ways. Sebastian just realized what had crossed her mind then, but he now knew how he was going to answer if he was planning to win Beatrice’s trust. “There was nobody else. I came alone.” He’d met Scribner’s gaze then, straightening his shoulders as his voice answered with clear certainty.

“Oh, Sebastian.” The expected look of disappointed on her face came as no surprise to Sebastian as she tutted at him, “What will your uncle say?” The mention of his uncle as Scribner walked away made dread settle in the pit of his stomach, enough to not even care as Peeves blew a raspberry to his face.

Just as he was about to follow the librarian out to be escorted by the Prefects back to his Common Room though, Sebastian spotted the telltale flutter of cobalt blue robes moving away from a lower bookcase. He was glad to know Beatrice would get out of here safe, especially is she used the Library’s Floo Flame back to her tower, Sebastian just hoped she didn’t get into more trouble after this…

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next chapter ⤜⤏

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy oc #hl mc #hl oc #beatrice hayes #hogwarts legacy characters #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow #andrew larson #hogwarts legacy andrew larson #sebastian x mc x ominis #hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts legacy fandom #hogwarts legacy fanfic #writing in progress

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phantomspiderr · 1 year

Text

New Year

Pairing: Marc Spector x gn!reader

Word Count: 2.5k+

Summary: Layla invites you to her New Year's Eve party where you get the chance to meet her ex-husband

Warnings/Tags: mentions of drinking and partying, kind of want drunk Layla around now, Marc maybe being just a little creepy, he really doesn't know how to act around people sometimes, fireworks are mentioned too, again no real mentions of readers appearance or gender(I tried to use they/them so it's a little more neutral), Steven gets a lil mention, a little swearing too. As always if I've missed anything please let me know!

a/n: Thank you, thank you all so so so much for making this year better. If you're a casual follower of my very infrequent posting or this is the first time you've come across my work, I thank you. Being able to express myself in this way has been freeing, and stressful but I'm glad I could bring any amount of joy to even one person. Thank you for every like and every reblog and every comment. I wish you all the best for this new year, may it come with happiness and joy and hopefully more really good fanfiction to read. Sending you all a little bit of love🤍

･☆: *.☽ .* :☆

Music blares throughout the flat as you weave around the people littered through the hallway. Parties definitely aren’t your favourite place to be but for your friend, you’d do anything she asked, plus it’s New Year's Eve so you thought why not. You may not have recognised a single person since you’d arrived but this is fun, this is what you’re supposed to do at your age right? Before you have any more time to fret a squeal sounds from behind you, your name quickly following, “you came!” When you turn Layla is quickly coming towards you with her arms wide open, a few people looking in your direction now because of the noise. You only manage to squeak out a hi before you’re encompassed by Layla, her arms tight around your shoulders, the force of her body against yours knocking the wind out of you. She pulls back only a little to cup your face in her hands, “I’m really glad you’re here.” You can tell by the tint of red on her cheeks she’s already a few drinks down which apparently makes her a bit more affectionate.

“Layla!” A small group of people enters the room immediately drawing the attention of the beautiful host to them, her hands dropping down to yours and she squeals again. Quickly turning back to you for just a moment, “I’ll come find you later! Have fun! Enjoy!” And just like that, she’s off running to greet more of her friends.

You wander around the decently sized flat for a while after that, finding a drink in the makeshift bar set up in the kitchen along the way, briefly chatting to a few people around, and then of course you find yourself a quiet corner. Looking amongst shelves filled with treasures and memories of Layla’s many adventures, she’d told you stories over casual lunches, even invited you on her next one. Still, even after being friends for very nearly a year, there’s still so much mystery that follows her everywhere she goes. You eventually come across a picture of someone you recognise, Layla’s father, the one person she was more than fond of talking about. She’d told you many, many tales about her father, about all the places he’d been, the things he’d discovered, and about how she wanted to be just like him. You admire the picture in its intricate gold frame, a small pendant hangs on a chain over the top of the frame, something you’re sure is a treasured possession. Your hand moves upward, fingers extending to the pendant just to get a better look at it-

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” your hand retreats to your chest so quickly you almost knock the drink out of your other hand. The person who spoke much too close for your liking, and then the chuckle that follows your gasp is short-lived as you turn to the source of the warning. You’re met with an incredibly good-looking man, his hair loosely slicked back and an amused smirk gracing his really handsome features. If he hadn’t just creepily snuck up on you you’d maybe be interested in talking to him and your expression clearly shows that when you turn back around in hopes he’ll just disappear. He doesn’t. “Sorry, it’s just that she’d be devastated if that went missing.”

“I wasn’t going to steal it.” You snap a little too harshly but then again you think he’s insinuating you’d steal from your friend. You’re increasingly becoming more frustrated the longer he stands over your shoulder, his presence is too much for you.

“I didn’t say you were. I’ve met a lot of thieves, you’re definitely not built for that.” You’re annoyed now, scowling at this complete stranger when you turn back around.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Just as the man opens his mouth to reply Layla appears again, her arm hooking around your waist to pull you closer and your face instantly changes, smiling at your ever-so-happy friend. Your own arm wrapping around her, glad for the interruption, she scrunches her nose as you exchange cute little hi’s.

“Are you having fun?” The people pleaser in you manages to get out an 'mhmm' and force a fake smile, not that Layla would notice right now. You’ve only seen her in this state maybe a handful of times, she’s less observant and much more carefree. Your eyes flicker back to the stranger still lurking across from you, Layla only now registering his presence, “ahh Marc! You met Marc!”

Marc? That’s Marc?!

Layla had told you all about Marc and even tried to set you up with her ex-husband. What kind of friend tries to set you up with their ex-husband? That is exactly what you’d said to her before changing the subject, every time she tried to bring it up. You’d somehow managed to miss every opportunity to meet most of Layla’s other friends, lots of them living in different countries and only coming to visit for short periods of time but you knew Marc had lived here and you’d personally avoided trying to meet him, not wanting to make things awkward. You knew Layla’s type for partners, they were all extremely good-looking and in your opinion way out of your league and you just didn't feel like having another unrequited crush.

“This is the husband?!” You finally manage to get out with confusion etching your features as you look between the pair.

“Ex! Ex-husband!” Marc is a little too quick to correct. You’re sure you hear a ‘smooth’ and when you look at Layla she’s grinning. Marc only gives her a grumpy look before quickly excusing himself from the conversation.

“Soooooooo,” Layla draws out as she turns to face you, her hands slipping into your free one, “what did you think?”

“Of Marc?” Your face scrunches, to which Layla just scoffs, “you didn’t tell me he was a creep.” She scoffs again, this time giggling a little.

Layla leans in as if to whisper, she even has the audacity to lift her hand to the side of her mouth but the alcohol in her system inhibits her from being able to lower her volume, “he’s just nervous to be around you. He gets weird like that around people he likes!”

“Excuse me?!” You go wide-eyed, did you hear her right? But of course, before she gets a chance to reply someone calls her name, and her head whips around, your conversation was completely forgotten to her now.

“Oh, come on they're playing beer pong!” Layla tugs at your hand, a disappointed pout appearing when you shake your head and begin to decline, “please, please, please.” She begs in the way she knows you can’t say no to and so you let her drag you toward the kitchen, still thinking about the short conversation you'd just had.

It’s almost midnight when you stumble out of the kitchen, many games of beer pong down and an even drunker Layla staying behind to do shots. Drunk Layla has exactly no inhibitions and is definitely more affectionate than normal Layla. Now you’re in need of some fresh air, all of the laughter and closeness in the kitchen is proving a bit much for you. Luckily you can see no one has made it out to the little makeshift balcony so you awkwardly climb through the window. Once outside you feel like you’re able to breathe again, you truly hadn’t realised how stuffy it had been inside. You manage to take in a deep breath before the cold hits you hard, and your body immediately reacts. Your arms wrap around your body, hands rubbing along the tops of your arms to create some warmth.

“It's cold out.” You jump again at unexpectedly hearing Marc’s voice, turning on your heels thinking he’s behind you only for no one to be there. “Up here,” you look up to the side when he talks again, there he is perched on top of an old chimney, giving you a shy wave.

“You know you have the whole creepy stalker thing down,” you speak half-heartedly but still he chuckles.

“Hey, you came to me this time.” He raises his eyebrow and shrugs his shoulders.

“You are the one sitting alone like some bird on the rooftop,” your arms fold over your chest now and Marc mumbles something you don’t quite hear before he effortlessly slides off of the chimney and casually walks down the slight incline of the roof like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“I’m not really one for parties,” you watch as he shrugs off his thin jacket, leaving him in just a t-shirt and you wonder how he isn’t freezing out here and why he's even taking his jacket off, to begin with. “Y’know it’s December, you really shouldn’t go out without a jacket,” he holds the material out to you which your confusion-clouded brain takes. Then he turns away to lean his elbows down on the balcony railing, looking out onto the lively streets of London. You feel yourself soften a little, maybe you were a bit quick to judge him and brand him a creep.

“Me too,” you pull the jacket on and join him next to the railing, watching people in nearby streets celebrating.

“So, how come you’re here?” Marc twists his head to the side so he can just look at you.

“Layla,” Marc hums in agreement, “said she’d disown me if I didn’t.” That makes Marc laugh which turns out to be a pleasant sound when you don’t think he’s trying to be some kind of perv.

“Sounds like something she’d do.”

“She didn’t actually say that, it was more like,” you think for a second, preparing yourself for your best Layla impression “‘please you always miss my parties, I want everyone to meet you!’” Your hands had somehow gripped onto his bicep in the process, exactly how you remembered the conversation with Layla going.

It all makes Marc laugh again, “that sounded nothing like her!”

“Eh, close enough,” you lean your elbows against the railing, mirroring Marc’s stance now. The balcony is so small that you have no choice but to stand a little too close to him. There’s a little pause, Marc’s laughter dying out but the sound of the party still flowing through the window. “So, how come you’re here?” You nudge your shoulder against his arm to draw his attention.

“Uh, something similar.” Suddenly he’s acting a little hostile, his body goes more rigid and his expression hardens a little. Then there’s an awkward silence and you just try to focus on some passersby on the street below. “She was a bit more like ‘please! I want you there and you need to leave the house. Plus I know you want to meet a certain person and I promise to make sure they’re there!’” You lock eyes together for a quiet moment before both bursting into laughter.

“That was terrible!” You choke out between laughs and before Marc has time to reply, loud calls draw your attention away. Everyone inside seems to have crowded around all facing the tv and all shouting along with the countdown appearing on the screen.

“Hey look out right over there, between that gap in the buildings.” Marc points out off to the side, stealing your attention back and you look hard for what he’s trying to point out. You can only see the hue of light coming from buildings and street lamps, nothing else.

“There’s nothing-“

“Just wait,” you look at him confused for a moment but his eyes are transfixed on the horizon and you can just hear him whispering along with the loud countdown coming from inside.

3…2…1…

The sky explodes into colour in front of your very eyes. Fireworks light up the night sky, far enough away that the bangs aren’t too loud but the view is still spectacular. You can hear cheers all around, from inside Layla’s flat to the pubs down the street. Marc’s face glows with the colours in the sky and he’s smiling while he watches the fireworks. He almost looks childlike like this, like he’s never experienced it before and he’s captivating.

“Happy New Year then.” Marc straightens suddenly, catching you completely off guard, almost like he’d just snapped back into his body and he just holds his hand out toward you. Slowly you raise your own hand into his, replying with a simple, “happy new year.” You both shake hands, probably the weirdest way someone has ever wished you a happy new year.

“Oh come on!” You both turn to see Layla on the other side of the window, the look on her face one of exasperation, and her eyes lock with Marc’s, “if you don’t kiss them now then I will!” Immediately you snap your head back around to look out at London, trying desperately to hide the flustered look you’re sure is showing on your face right now. Sober Layla definitely isn’t that forward.

Just for a second Marc’s accent changes as he starts spitting out apologises on your friend's behalf, "I-no-we don’t have to-" he pauses for a second as if he’s centering himself, takes a deep breath, and talks in his normal voice again. “I think I’m just going to go sober her up a bit.”

“Yeah good idea,” you try to suppress the laugh at Layla’s disagreement to be sober and the way she runs off to hide as Marc tries and fails to catch her arm before she can disappear. He lets out a big sigh before climbing back in the window, leaving you to your own devices for just a second before his head pops back out the window.

“Don’t- uh, don’t leave yet okay?” His face contorts a little like he doesn’t know what to do with it before he gives you an awkward smile.

“Okay,” you chuckle out, immediately pausing when he smacks his head off of the half-open window, "oh-oh my- are you-"

“‘m fine, it’s fine.” He holds onto the back of his head, eyes shut real tight for just a second and he just awkwardly turns away and back around, lifting his hand almost like to wave before dropping it again, "okay I’m just-" he turns and walks away. You move to stick your head through the window into the flat just to make sure he’s okay and you only just hear him mutter, “for fucks sake Steven.” Steven?

You retreat back out of the window and only then do you realise you’re still wearing his jacket. Quickly you peer back into the flat to try to catch him, “Marc-“ your eyes scan across the room, “and you’re gone.” You sigh before moving away from the window again, surely him asking you not to leave meant he wanted to see you again, or something like that, right?

You pull your focus away from your thoughts, instead looking back out at the night sky. It’s rare to see any stars in the London sky but littered around are little white dots accompanying a beautiful half-moon. Maybe this year wouldn’t be so bad after all.

#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector fanfic #marc spector fic #marc spector #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #moon knight fluff #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marc spector fluff #marc spector fanfiction

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random-yandere-fandom · 2 years

Note

If your requests aren’t open, please ignore this. What do you think would Gakushu do if his darling (who is usually a very intelligent student) suddenly writes worse grades with the goal to join the class 3-E? They’re friends with one of the students there and after visiting the class once, have realized how nice and relaxing it is down there in comparison to the pressuring main school where they are constantly being pressured and where arrogant and mean students are everywhere. As a little extra (you can leave it out of course) the s/o also wants to get away from Gakushu for a bit since they’ve had enough of his manipulative behavior.

They are open, no worries! This idea is wonderful! I tried to characterize the reader a bit different this time for fun.

Yandere Asano with a darling that wants to get into 3-E

The rustling of trees, the smell of freshly cut grass lingering in the room from the window that was just closed, the few students still remaining chatting in small groups or calmly writing into their notebooks. The atmosphere was so calm, so incredibly inviting that it had been etched into your mind. You did your best to fight the sigh building up, stress that had accumulated in your body trying to find a way out in some way.

Once again you let the pen glide over the paper, much slower and more scrabbling than writing as you answered the question on the test. The pressure in the room was palpable, everyone doing their best to get what they know onto the paper and the sound of clicking pencils and quiet sobs that made you feel pity only worsening the mood. Focusing on the room instead of the obstacle on your desk was a death sentence though, not for nothing were you a part of the famous class 3-A that had competitions left and right. But oh well, you had made your decision, and there was no one to stop you as you knowingly left a few blanks and made the rest look like panicked scribbles.

It was a day after that that Asano approached you, his infamous smile almost making you want to hurl at the sight. His grip on your shoulder was tight as he pretended to be concerned, asking you about your grade, the sudden drop in all of them for a fact. He had already offered to tutor you before but you had refused, and now even his father was worried about you(r failure). You put on your best smile, telling him that it was a small slip up, that you would be fine on your own and that he (should fuck off) needn’t spend any time on worrying about you. It was your indifference to the threat that made anyone else gasp in horror, that you’d be demoted, maybe even put into class 3-E, that finally tipped him off, confirming his suspicions.

You simply walked of as he stood there, watching, having to entertain some students that decided to talk to him. This was not how it was supposed to be. You were always in the same class, he had seen how much effort you put into your studies, how hard you worked to get to your rightful place. He had observed all your little quirks, memorized the way you held yourself and done his best to make sure you were his, playing the charming, kind and smart classmate that you were sure to fall for. But not only did that not work, now you were even leaving him for some damn classroom full of people not even worth the dirt under his shoes.

His father had already given him a warning, either you get back on track or he will have to stop his interest in you. As if that would work. So, Asano tried everything he could think of to get you to stop your childish antics. He contacted your parents, terrorized those from 3-E, talked to you on multiple occasions. Nothing worked and while he had to admit the challenge was a bit fun at first, giving him an excuse to spend even more time on you, it was growing annoying. You simply were not bothered, your one goal to escape his grasp and study on that hill clearly outweighting everything else he had to offer.

None of his other plans had worked, no matter how intricate they were and some part of him was proud, of course you, the only person he actually liked, were smart enough to get what you want, even if your opponent was he himself.

Either way, he was slowly getting desperate, no matter how much he hid it. Your transfer would be all too soon, the only reason you were still in his class, within his reach, was his doing, but even that would not work much longer. Asano is no fool, he knows that you dislike his manipulativeness, that you could read him as if he was an open book. Even if that was what made him interested in the first place, it was ironic that this would be his downfall. As a last effort he once approached you openly, dead set on being sincere in hope that it would somehow get you to reconsider your actions. But before he could start you had already shut him off, tired of his constant clinginess the last few days, always hovering around you and trying to manipulate you to his whim.

It’s the last thing that really sets Asano off. Fine, you want to join 3-E, change your environment a little, be closer to your friend? Then do so. It will only be a few more months until the year ends either way. What are you going to do after that? Asano is in this for the long run, practically planning out your entire future by his side. There is no way he won’t get you back, whether you want to or not. He will make sure that this is the last time you defy him. To think this all could have been avoided, that you could have stood on equal footing? There is no going back now and so you better enjoy the next few months away from him, they are going to be the last.

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere assassination classroom x reader #yandere assassination classroom #yandere assassination classroom x you #yandere assassination classroom asano #yandere asano #yandere asano gakushu #yandere asano x you #yandere asano x reader

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euphoricfilter · 2 years

Text

Devil That I Know (Part 8)

~ What Year Is It?

Pairing: Demon! Jungkook x Human! Reader

Genre: (Inaccurate) Historical AU || Strangers to lovers AU || Supernatural AU || Smut || Fluff || Angst

Summary: Jin brings a little more clarity into your life, only to step out of line when he finally brings up your situation with the demon that plagues the palace.

Word Count: 6k

Tags/ Warnings: mild angst, manipulation, unhealthy depiction of a relationship (jungkook is obsessed and it’s getting out of hand), a lot of lies but whats new, mentions of death, mentions of blood (brief), briefly mentioned arousal but nothing happens, the m/c is finally getting somewhere, mention of weapon/ implied use of said weapon.

Notes: it's back! finally! it took me a while because i honestly wasn't sure with the direction of this story but now i have up to chapter 13 fleshed out updates should hopefully be more often! maybe i won't promise a schedule if i can't keep up with it but this series is my main focus as of now so hopefully we can get through a decent chunk of the story! as always, feedback is welcome, encouraged even so feel free to tell me what you think! i did edit this twice but i honestly don’t know if it saved so if there’s mistakes, no there aren’t :’)

extra note: a lot of themes throughout this story are going to be repetitive, thoughts and feelings will be brought up throughout multiple chapters because the m/c’s memories will continue to get lost and so her thoughts/ feelings will often repeat as she repeats certain aspects of her life.

My full Masterlist

Devil That I Know Masterlist

+ + +

Memories are more often than not, volatile. Fragile like your grandmother’s favourite piece of fine china, where all it takes is one careless arm being swung to send it flying. Where shards scatter across the floor, shattered into more pieces than you can think to pick up. Little chips of forgotten ceramic hidden under furniture, only to be swept up and thrown out, never to be found again.

What was once a beautiful piece of art, never really fitting into one again; never truly whole.

A little like lost memories that had been forgotten in the abyss of our minds. A dark place that chews up memories that our conscious carelessly throws up; sweeping up space for new experiences, better ones, to over-shadow the bad that threatens to tickle our brain the wrong way.

Lost memories can be trailed back to several things, and in this odd instance, the four-armed demon who currently pulls a shirt over his head, as you watch from the chair on the adjacent side of the room was the one to blame for your predicament.

“You sure you don’t want to run with me?” Jungkook asks, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder at you, before he bends down to tie the laces of his shoes; expectant that you’ll brush him off. You never had been into running he supposes, and no matter how many times he had bugged you about maybe trying even the easiest of work-outs—your health his top priority—you’d always just laugh it off. And that feathery light laughter always seemed like enough for Jungkook to stop whatever little argument he was trying to have with you.

You shake your head, even if your demon-friend wasn’t looking at you, “I’m okay. I think I might sleep a little more” you tell him, eyes flitting towards the leatherback notebook that you’d slung on the bed. Beside it, a pocketknife with an intricately carved handle that glimmers in the morning sunlight, that spills into the room through the open window; warming your toes in liquid gold. But even as sunlight pours into the room like Midas had touched the sky, you find yourself pulling the soft blanket tighter around your body, unusual chill titillating the skin of your arms towards the back of your neck.

“I can stay here, Doll” Jungkook turns to you, eyes swimming with worry. And emotion that had been etched into his features as of late. From the moment you’d woken up in the palace Jungkook’s brows had been creased in unease; but you hadn’t bothered to ask why. If you didn’t know then you wouldn’t have to worry about it. That, and you were more than aware of Jungkook’s habit of brushing you off when it came to his own emotions.

You doubt you had enough fingers to count each time you’d asked him what was wrong. Only for him to laugh it off like his eyes weren’t drowning in heavy emotions that tug at his shoulders, emotions that you believe no person should feel alone.

Jungkook liked to give more than he liked to take.

He liked to sit and listen to you tattle on for hours about the little worries you had in life, insignificant doubts morphing into you baring yourself practically naked before him, as you spill each and every insecurity you’ve ever had. But he never liked to sit down and talk about his own worries. Nor did he seem to find any sort of joy in being taken care of like he does for you.

Jungkook liked to tuck you into bed of an evening, sitting beside you to ward off any bad dreams that may slither into the room and plague your mind. But he never let you do the same for him. Maybe that was a bad example, because Jungkook didn’t need to sleep but you feel as though your point still stands.

Jungkook liked to feed you from his own spoon. Liked to pull you over his lap as he eases your lips open with a thumb, easily slipping a mouthful of food into your mouth on those mornings you feel a little too hazy to eat on your own.

Jungkook liked to hold you between his thighs after a shower, delicate wooden comb held between soft fingers as he combs through your hair with practiced ease; careful not to tug too hard. (And when he accidently would tug on a knot, you can only pray he wasn’t aware of the sticky arousal that coats the insides of your thighs).

Jeon Jungkook was an enigma. A little like an onion with too many layers to peel away before your eyes begin to sting and you have to sit back, deciding that maybe your meal would be just as good without the root vegetable. Because no matter how badly you wanted to add that onion into the meal, the pain just doesn’t seem all that worth it, so it feels as though you have no other choice than to just take a backseat while master chef Jungkook does all the hard parts, slowly, painfully revealing each layer he has in his own time.

Where each movement is calculated, planned before you can even think to ask him what you’re curious about. Jungkook was always trudging before you, a little too far away on a foggy day that you can’t quite see where he was heading, but you still blindly follow: because Jungkook looks like he knows what he’s doing.

You suppose it’s stupid, to sit around, oblivious. A little silly of you to just nod your head whenever he opens his mouth. Even on days like today when everything feels a little… off, you stay. Because what more do you have? Not much apart from the clothes on your back, that Jungkook had bought for you. And the room you’re stay in, Jungkook shared with you, or the food in your belly, that Jungkook always pays for. It seems a little silly to try and bite the hand that feeds you. A little selfish on your part, but anything to survive you suppose.

Jungkook. Jungkook. Jungkook.

All your mind could seem to fully comprehend was Jeon Jungkook. Perfect Jungkook who could never seem to do anything wrong in your eyes.

You don’t remember passing out. You don’t remember a new king. You don’t remember the hanok burning down to nothing more than a pile of ashes.

Just Jungkook.

He was there, from the moment you’d stepped into the Hanok. Every recent memory you had, Jungkook was there. Sweet Jungkook who could do nothing wrong. He had never hurt you; and you trusted he never would.

Jungkook always gave more than he took. He gave you so much, how could you doubt him?

You watch the worry in Jungkook’s eyes as he runs a hand through his hair. And you think maybe this odd feeling is guilt. You feel guilty, because for a split second you’d assumed the worst of the only person that has bothered to stay by your side like this. Jungkook always had had your best interest in mind, so why were you worrying so much?

“I’ll be fine” you wave him off, not wanting to take anything more away from him. Even if it were only a morning run, something you knew he enjoyed.

“If anyone knocks at the door, use that” he points at the pocketknife, “Actually, don’t even open the door” he points a finger at you, eyebrow raised, and you nod.

You watch as he cracks his neck, long legs carrying him towards the door in ease, “I love you”

You blink slowly at Jungkook, reminding him a little of a cat; echo of his voice bouncing around your mind. Love. The word leaving an awful tang on your tongue, prickly like the thorns of a rose. And maybe that was just love; a rose that looked elegantly beautiful, until you carelessly grab it by the stem and your hand bleeds the same red as the flower’s delicate petals.

Your lungs constrict, a phantom snake squeezing your organs as you forget to breathe for a moment.

“I love you” you call out when Jungkook opens the door, his smile unnerving as he blows you a kiss. When you hear the door click shut, the clutch the snake had on your insides evaporates into the air that now fills your lungs; shaky breath ricocheting up your windpipe.

‘These are yours’ is what Jungkook had said when he’d placed Taehyung’s leatherback notebook into your lap, pocketknife delicately placed on-top. You’re unsure of the sudden shake in your fingers as you had gently picked the knife up, what felt like a ping of lightning pricking the tips of your fingers as you trace the intricate flowers that wound up the handle.

‘Mine?’

‘Yes, don’t you remember? We planned to see all the things Taehyung couldn’t, the ones he has written in that book’ he’d pointed at the offending object, thin stack of papers bound by leather feeling more like a block of lead in your lap.

‘And this?’ the pocketknife.

‘I gave it to you just in case, remember?’

You didn’t remember. And that irked you a little, like an itch under your skin that you couldn’t get rid of, or wet feet in the freezing cold where your toes were numb but too sensitive all at once; hurting with each light step you take to the salvation of a warm home, that seemed to move one step back when you took one step forwards.

Whenever you felt like you were finally getting somewhere, finding your footing, the carpet was ripped from under your feet, and you fell back to square one.

You’d lied to Jungkook, laughed off his worry as you told him that you must still be sleepy. How could you forget a gift from your friend?

But now as you stare at the knife, your palms feel clammy, specks of blood coating your hands when you look down at them. When you blink, it’s gone, no traces of any blood on your hands; and you swallow thickly, wondering if maybe you really did need that nap, you’d told Jungkook you’d have.

You leave the weapon where it lays on the bed, creasing the freshly tidied sheets that Jungkook had tucked in an hour ago when you’d finally pulled yourself out of bed.

Instead, your fingers take a hold of Taehyung’s notebook, the familiar worn leather a comfort in your distress. This, you do remember. You remember the night you’d tripped over the painter’s bed and found the unfinished book. It’s a shame the Hanok had burnt down, although it would have been a breach of his privacy, maybe you could have scoured the rest of Taehyung’s books for more clues towards your hazy memories.

You weren’t sure what was wrong with you this morning, something crawling under your skin when you’d woken up.

You doubted it was a nightmare, Jungkook usually woke you up during those, holding you until he knew you weren’t going to sob into his shoulder. This wasn’t the feeling of a lingering nightmare, it was scepticism, something foreboding that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

And maybe it was the unease you felt being in the palace where Yoongi had eyes on you all the time. You could only assume that even now, in the four walls of yours and Jungkook’s bedroom, someone must be peering through the open window. Mind reeling with information that they’ll babble about to Yoongi this evening over his feast of a meal. A true king sat comfortably on his throne, an undeniably cunning king at that.

You flick open Taehyung’s notebook, any lingering scent of your old friend now musty, page of the book curling at the corners like it were decades old, having sat through numerous winters and damp bedrooms where mould acted like vines that claw up the walls, trying to devour any open space in its wake.

You flick past pages of notes, Taehyung’s handwriting messily scrawled across multiple pages with little insights of his mind. A window into Taehyung’s soul. Your fingers skim over lines upon lines of words you don’t bother to try and read.

Goosebumps prickle your neck as you turn each page, wondering if maybe Taehyung was flitting around the room as you read through his mind. His hand gently brushing the back of your neck when you turn onto a particularly detailed page, one Taehyung had spent hours pondering over the right words that he wanted to stain the paper with. Some with you in mind while he let his hand glide across the page, thoughts about you coming easier than most once the young painter had met you.

When you get to the last page that had writing on, you notice the change in handwriting, equally as messy but a lot less eloquent. A little harder to read each individual letter, unlike Taehyung’s cursive writing where each letter melts into one another like the sea when it meets the sand.

And as if it were muscle memory, your fingers trace each letter on that last page.

Ah, that was your handwriting.

You flick back a page, eyes scanning over Taehyung’s handwriting and then your own. You were sure that they had been written in by two different people, even the ink was different. The writing from the newest page having seeped into the other side of the paper, writer clearly inexperienced as they pressed a little too hard compared to Taehyung’s pages; ink sat perfectly on a single side of the page.

‘1865’ ‘One: Hope’s Inn’ ‘Two: Paradise Inn – the capital’

Jungkook had mentioned visiting the capital, hadn’t he?

Your eyes flit towards the garden when you hear footsteps, gravel crunchy under heavy feet, probably clad in heavy boots.

“Seokjin!” you call, dropping Taehyung’s notebook carelessly to the wooden floor as you scramble towards the open window. The king’s aide startles at the sudden call of his name, jumping a little like a jittery cat as you reach the window. His eyebrows crease in confusion as he looks at you from over a small bush.

“Wait there, I’ll come outside. I need to ask you something!” you tell him, and Jin only nods, confused as you scuttle back into your room.

His feet stay glued to the ground, head tilting to try and get a better look into yours and Jungkook’s room. Curious about the hidden part of your lives that no one around the palace had seen. Or anyone that he knew of.

The two of you good at keeping in your own little bubble without the input of outsiders ruining the little thing the two of you had going on. Jin knew you weren’t married, although the sight he saw in the bedroom last night would suggest otherwise, it’s not common for a man and a woman to be so… intimate out of wedlock. But Jin doubted a human would settle for scum like a demon.

Especially Jungkook.

Your footsteps echoing down the hall as you run into the gardens, leatherback notebook held tightly in your hand as you haphazardly bow at a few of the staff that duck out of your way as you barrel towards Seokjin. Each of them narrowing their eyes at your outlandish behaviour.

“You’re not busy, are you?” you ask, worried that maybe you had kept him for too long already. You weren’t sure of what the aide of a King does, but you could only guess Seokjin was a busy man.

Jin shakes his head, “No, I was just out for a walk” little white lie tumbling off his tongue with ease, and he has no time to feel any guilt as you smile at him so brightly. And it leaves Jin wondering if he had ever seen such a radiant smile anyone’s face.

You peer around the gardens, “Is there somewhere we can sit down?” you ask, “Preferably a little quieter”

Jin looks around at the staff that move like a colony of ants around the garden, beady eyes all staring at you as you stare up expectantly at him.

“Yeah” he nods, “Follow me” he tucks his book under his arm, poised to perfection as he wanders down the path towards the back of the palace where he knows no staff would be milling around.

You take a moment to look around as Jin leads you towards a shaded area underneath a tree. The gardens at the back of the palace were just as well kept as the front, a little pond full of fish of every colour, water looking as though it were reflecting a rainbow. The sun glistened on the water like little specks of golden nuggets, reeds caressing one another in the gentle morning breeze.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen such green grass, well-kept and probably fed with specialized fertilizers and watered daily. With flowers lining the walls, some you didn’t know the names of, and you wonder if Taehyung would have known. He’s the one that had taught you all about watering plants when you used to help him at the Hanok.

“Is here, okay?” Seokjin asks, kneeling before he comfortably sits on the grass.

You simply nod, eyes scanning over the expanse of the garden once more, “Have you seen Jungkook this morning?”

Jin hums, “He was heading towards the front gate the last time I saw him”

You nod at that, “I see. This will only be quick” you take a seat opposite Jin, crossing your legs before placing Taehyung’s notebook into your lap gently, wary that the bindings weren’t as strong as they used to be, especially not with you carelessly dropping it to the ground when you’d chased to catch Jin.

You flip the notebook open to the page that has your messy handwriting scrawled across the page, “Do you know a place called Hope’s Inn? I don’t think it’s in this area” you ask, eyes flitting across Jin’s face as he brings a hand up to trace his lips. Your eyes following the motion, swallowing thickly as his tongue peeks out to wet the rosy petals of his mouth.

“I don’t think I do, no. I’ve only ever lived in the capital” he shakes his head, “Why? Do you need to get there? I’m sure his highness would allow you to take a carriage there if you asked.”

You shake your head, “No, nothing like that. What about Paradise Inn?” you ask, a little more hopeful.

“Ah” Jin nods, “I haven’t heard that name in a while. It was closed due to bankruptcy 10? 11? Years ago, maybe”

You blink, eyes trailing down to the page you have open. “11 years ago?”

Seokjin nods, “Maybe a little more, I do know it’s been a while.”

You slam Taehyung’s notebook closed, dull thump ringing in your ears as you lean forwards. Hands sinking into the plush green grass as you gravitate towards Seokjin. Said man leaning back on his hands, coughing slightly to cover the faint pink that dusts his cheeks as your eyes flick across his face.

“What year is it?” you ask him, making no move to sit back away from the aide, unaware of his flustered demeanour.

“What?” Jin asks, bewildered. Forgetting about the red that coats his cheeks, like rosy blush made from flower petals. Gently ground petals, forming a dust, where faeries kiss your cheeks with red dusty magic.

“What year is it?” you repeat like a broken record.

“1898?”

You fall back onto your bottom, pulling open the notebook so fast the bindings pull taught at the force.

“Holy shit” you mutter, ignoring Seokjin who grimaces at your crude language. A reminder that you hadn’t been trained for proper etiquette that a woman should uphold; and perhaps Jin should ask the King to put you in a few classes while you stayed in the palace.

“Is everything alright?”

You look up at Seokjin, your face void of any clear emotion, “Perfect actually, thank you for your help” you nod, “I should get back before Jungkook finishes his run” you throw a finger behind your shoulder before you push yourself off the ground.

“Is everything okay? With Jungkook I mean?” Seokjin follows, pushing himself to stand, hands hesitant by his side as he looks down at you.

“Yes?” you tilt your head, clear confusion veiling your eyes as you look up at Seokjin through your lashes.

“I mean—” Seokjin runs a hand over his face, exasperated, “I mean he’s not human”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you laugh, “So what?”

“Well, is he hurting you in any way? If you need help, I can try and—”

“What?” you cut him off, incredulous look on your face and Jin swallows thickly at your harsh tone. Never having expected you to seem so… offended by something truthful.

“He’s a demon, Ms. Y/n. Surely you aren’t there out of free will?” Jin reaches out to hold your arms, hoping to comfort you, and then maybe you would confess, but you pull back.

“Thank you for helping me but I don’t this is any of your business” you shake your head in disbelief.

Any lingering feelings you had of this Seokjin, the ones where you secretly believed that maybe, just maybe he was just like your Jinnie had melted like the sea does the sand at high tide, before pulling away, the land empty until the moon rises once again.

“Y/n!” he calls you when you turn your back on him, each dull thud of your footsteps tugging on the invisible strings wrapped around his heart.

You feel like sand slipping through his fingers as you wander from the back of the garden, Seokjin clenching his fists, trying to clutch onto anything that would make you stay.

He wonders why his heart beats so quick whenever you’re around, thumping like his majesty’s horses’ hooves do when they race. He wonders why he hates the sight of you, when neither of you had met until yesterday. He wonders why his head hurts when he thinks back to your first encounter, how sad you had seemed when he had asked if he knew you.

Seokjin hated you because you interrupted the peace of the palace. Each corner now filled with whispers of you, and his highness asking about you every hour when Jin believed he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Jin hated the way you smiled; it made his heart feel heavy. He hated the way you stood beside that demon like it were your place. Like you were nothing more than his little plaything.

Jin hated that he wanted to help you. Wanted to give you the clarity you needed to leave the scum that you call a friend and let Jin get rid of him; burn him to nothing.

“Wait!” he calls out, surprised when you stop; turning to face him with almost a bored expression. No light in your eyes as you look at his face, the hope you held now null as you maintain eye-contact; any shyness now gone as you stare at him like nothing more than a nuisance.

“Yes?” you dare to ask, because even if he had said a few mean things about Jungkook you still felt rude ignoring Seokjin.

“How about I take you to where Paradise Inn used to be?” he offers, apprehensive as you stay silent. And he thinks he can see the cogs of your mind start to who’d to life.

“Why would you do that?”

“You seemed a little troubled earlier.” he coughs, “And… as an apology for stepping out of line. I didn’t mean to offend you, sorry” he swallows thickly, breath getting caught in his throat.

You still look at him unamused, “Next week. But don’t mention it to anyone, okay? I’ll tell Jungkook and I’ll meet you at the gate this at this time next week, okay?”

Jin doesn’t mind that you don’t wait for a reply, simply watching as you wander out of the garden. A small part of him annoyed that you were going back to Jungkook, but the excitement of seeing you in the coming seemed to overshadow that fact.

+ + +

You curl back up on the chair, head pounding as you think back to your conversation with Seokjin.

You had so many questions, but no one seemed to know the answers to.

Except Jungkook.

Speaking of the devil, the door slides open. Jungkook’s shirt soaked through with a thin layer of sweat where he’d spent most of the morning in the sun. Skin looking as though the sun had dropped from the sky and kissed him in places you had too.

Your eyes rake down his body, unfazed as one his hands tug at the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead; toned stomach flexing.

“Nice nap?” Jungkook asks after he closes the door. Noticing how the bed was still made, untouched by you.

You just hum, fingers toying with the ragged string holding together Taehyung’s notebook under the blanket that drapes over your shoulders.

“Kookie?” you call him as he pulls his shirt over his head.

As if he knew you were to utter his name, Jungkook’s attention is on you within a split second.

“What’s wrong, doll? You sound troubled” he frowns.

“Can you come here?” you ask, holding your hand out as if to ask him to hold it.

“I’m still sweaty, lovely” he grins, knowing you weren’t all that fond of him smothering you after he’d had a full work out.

“I don’t mind” you wave him off.

Jungkook obliges, never one to deny you of anything. He kneels before you sat on the chair, hands landing on your knees, veiled by the soft blanket.

You loosen your hold on the cover, bending over in the chair to place your ear to Jungkook’s chest; his heart beating lazily, calm like a domesticated tiger, confined in his ribcage.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, hand running through your hair as you wrap your arms around his torso, moments away from slipping out of the chair.

“Yes” you whisper, “I love you”

“I love you too, baby. But you don’t seem alright.” he prods, fingers digging into the tight skin of the back of your neck.

“You wouldn’t ever lie to me, right?” you ask, wondering if you’re imaging Jungkook’s heart rate pick up.

You pull you head away from his chest, anticipation swimming in your eyes as Jungkook meets your gaze.

“Never” he shakes his head, and you think you believe him, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

But maybe you were never as good at reading people as you thought you were.

“Jungkook, what year is it?” you ask, any faith you had in your demon friend slowly dwindling the longer he kept his mouth shut.

“I’m not sure” he shakes his head, mouth falling open to say something, but he evidently decided against it when he closes his mouth again.

“I do” you tell him, and Jungkook feels his mouth go dry at the solemn look on your face. “1898. It’s 1898 Jeon Jungkook”

“Okay?” he asks, happy you don’t flinch back when he places his hands on your thighs.

You fiddle around with the blanket in your lap, Jungkook’s eyes narrowing when you take a hold of Taehyung’s notebook.

You press a finger to Jungkook’s lips when he opens his mouth, and you ignore how your heart rate picks up when he presses a delicate kiss to the tip of your finger. Now wasn’t the time to let him fluster you when you had a point to make.

You flick open Taehyung’s notebook, shoving the newest page in Jungkook’s face; said man pulling back to get a proper look at the page, words jumbled from where his eyes had zeroed in on them.

“1865?” he asks you, peering over the notebook to look at you.

“I didn’t pass out, did I?”

“Huh?”

“Tell me the truth. What really happened?”

Jungkook thinks you look tired, not that you’d slept particularly badly last night. Sure, you were a little restless, but you had always moved around a lot while you slept so Jungkook thought nothing much of it. Only choosing to card his fingers through your hair to try and settle you when the moon was high in the sky, watching over the two of you as the rest of the world sleeps.

You watch Jungkook’s shoulders fall, body curling in on itself as you sit up straight. Your eyebrows furrow at the loss of warmth when Jungkook’s hands slip from your thighs, eyes refusing to meet your own.

“Technically you did pass out” he whispers, “When we got back from the capital, I already told you but, a group of humans had trekked up the mountain.”

You nod, even as Jungkook keeps his head bowed, eyes downcast as he opens his mouth to continue.

“We were settling down for the night, you were tired from traveling. We’d been in the capital, and I was reading” he continues, “we both heard something, it sounded like it had come from Taehyung’s room so, I went to go and check what was happening and left you in the bedroom”

“And then what?” you prod when Jungkook goes quiet, gathering his thoughts.

“I didn’t know they planned to burn our home down. While I was checking Taehyung’s room I heard more shouting, and had an… encounter with a few of the village men”

You slip onto the floor in front of Jungkook, your knees touching his own. Jungkook looks up at you, and you frown at the tears that threaten to paint the soft skin of his cheeks, gathered, ready to leak like a broken bucket.

“By the time I’d dealt with the village men, I ran back to the bedroom, but they’d gotten to you first.” Jungkook swallows, and your hands come to cradle his cheeks as the first wave of tears cascade down his cheeks.

You watch as tears spill down like little waterfall as his eyes meet your own; and you push yourself up to kiss away the first influx of pearly tears that glisten against the ledge of Jungkook’s sharp cheekbones.

“You were really hurt, just lying there in bed. I thought maybe you were asleep, but your breathing was too shallow. There was so much blood, baby” he heaves a breath, and you wrap your arms around his neck, “I thought I was going to lose you, I was so scared” his voice cracks.

You feel Jungkook’s body shake as you hold him, wanting to tell him that it was okay; that you didn’t need to hear the rest of the story. But you let him continue after he takes a shuddering breath. Because you were selfish and you wanted to know what had happened to you, and why Jungkook had kept a secret so big from you.

“They left after they’d set alight to our home. I didn’t want to lose you, so I—“

Your fingers thread into his hair, lump in your throat making it hard to breath as you try and piece Jungkook back to together with nothing but your tight hold of his shoulders. Heart shattering like glass as he shakes in your hold, arms refusing to hold you as he sobs. Scared you were delicate, memories of the past flooding in and scaring him, with what the future may hold, what you’ll think of him now that you know the truth.

“I used magic to save you. I know I should have asked, but there was no other way. I’ve never used a healing spell before, maybe that’s why you were out for so long. But every day I prayed you would wake up”

“Why the palace?” you whisper, your own tears dipping into the caves of Jungkook’s collarbones, but he doesn’t berate you for it.

“I didn’t know where else to go. Demons aren’t worshiped like they used to be, and I couldn’t keep you on the streets now that we had no home”

“What if I hadn’t woken up?” you dare to ask, regret washing over you as Jungkook outwardly sobs, all four arms now wrapping around your body to pull you into his lap.

“Don’t say that” he cries, fists balling into the back of your shirt.

“Sorry” you snivel, “I’m sorry I assumed you’d done something wrong when really you were just helping me”

“I told you I’d be here no matter what”

You hum at that, head resting comfortably in the nook between his shoulder and neck as your breath hitches with each new wave of tears that glaze your skin.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you” Jungkook breaks the silence, voice hoarse from crying, tears slowly dwindling to nothing more than short wheezes of breath and pitiful snivels.

“It’s okay, you meant well” you rub your cheek against the bare skin of his shoulder, and Jungkook’s reminded of your snobby cat that used to do the same. “Thank you for saving me”

“I’ll always save you”

And you believe him. How many times had Jungkook saved you?

“Are my lost memories because of the magic?” you slowly start to connect the dots; little pieces of lost information slowly being mended together. And maybe you were finally finding some sort of clarity.

You should have just asked Jungkook from the beginning. You should have known he would have never kept anything from you if you had just asked him. Because Jungkook would always be on your side like you would always be his.

It was nice, freeing even to know you always had someone that would be on your side, knowing that you’ll never have to be alone, scared. Because you had a partner, someone that your heart was starting to open up to with each moment you spent with one another.

“I think so. Honestly, I’m not sure. I’ve never used magic of this scale before. But I was willing to take the risk if it meant saving you.” Jungkook places a feather light kiss on the crown of your head, a silent promise that he would scour the lengths of the world if it meant keeping you alive.

“I’m sleepy” you yawn, Jungkook laughing as he easy lifts you into his arms.

“Didn’t you just take a nap?” and you can hear the smile in his voice, not questions asked about the tidy bed.

You just hum, knowing that if you were to lie to him then Jungkook would surely pick up on it.

“Just a little sleep” he tells you, gentle as he places you on the bed. You stare up at Jungkook’s face from where your head rests on the pillow, his eyes red-rimmed from crying; but no less handsome.

Jungkook pinches between his eyebrows when your breathing evens out, sleep consuming you.

Forcing out a few fake tears had never given him such a big headache. He stares down at you, any guilt he had about his little lie vanishing at the sight of you resting beside him; cute in the way your hands hold onto the fabric of his trousers. Scared that if you were to let go, he would vanish.

It irked him that he didn’t know everything. Like how you managed to figure out what year it was, toeing the line of the truth that he’s worked so hard to keep from you.

If Jungkook didn’t love you much, he may have been a little more than mildly pissed that you wouldn’t just stay put. You didn’t need to lift a finger if Jungkook was there, you didn’t need to worry about trivial things like what the year was or how you got to where you were. All you had to do was sit pretty and Jungkook would do all the hard work.

His eyes travel over towards Taehyung’s notebook, surprised that even with two locations that were outside of the Hanok being presented to you, you still seemed to have no clue about the little trip you’d taken. And Jungkook supposes that helps him a little in all of this.

He didn’t have to worry about any lies that Namjoon had tried to weasel into your mind, and any hesitancy you’d had in the last few days of your trip had been diminished. Now, all Jungkook had to worry about was you being a little nosy and sticking your nose into places it shouldn’t be.

Truthfully, Jungkook didn’t mind all that much. It just meant he’d have to keep an even closer eye on you from now on, and make sure you remained his. And only his.

161 notes · View notes

wh3nturtlesfly · 1 year

Note

15 K? Your writing is very good very entertaining:))

Thank you! :)

15, K: Where no one else goes, “Play along or they may take us both.”

CW: Suggestive

Hero ran the mission again through their mind as they fled from the presence of bright lights and pleasant conversation. The masquerade still echoed in full swing from behind them. Seventh room down the hall, brass key in the fourth drawer down, safe hidden away in the closet. It was their last chance, the only lead the agency had and the only hope of keeping the city from falling to shambles. The fate of everything laid on a single manilla folder, and it just so happened that said manilla folder was stashed away at the venue of one of the largest parties of the year.

A thin sheen of sweat graced Hero’s brow, though their skin was all chills. They had managed to slip past the crowd after what had been a most exhausting dance, but they only had a few minutes before the hustle of skirts and waistcoats gave way to the Supervillain’s toast. When that came, they would have to be long gone.

The hallway was deserted when Hero stepped inside, no eyes to bear their witness aside from the intricate paintings that hung on the walls. Supervillain sure was one for expensive tastes; much to Hero’s misfortune as they hated the way their collar itched and their toes pinched in shoes much too tight.

It was overwhelming, the swell of bodies. Hero had longed for hours to escape the endless chatter and hands, grasping, pulling. They despised the grip of fingers upon their waist, greedy as several of Supervillain’s guests had paraded them across the dance floor. Only they were required to play along. Their own comfort wasn’t worth risking their cover, the agency had made that quite clear.

Now as their shoes echoed across the tile floors of the dim hallway, Hero took a deep breath. Seventh door down the hall. Hero counted, a breath for each step. They rolled up their cuffs to allow for better movement. One, two, three.

The seventh door was by far the most plain of the corridor. It was as if it were trying to appear unimportant, though its lack of gold detailing and shining brass handles made it stick out like a sore thumb. Hero grinned at the sight of their target, hands already slipping to the lock picking kit they had strategically stowed away.

They made quick work of the door and slipped inside without a word. It took but a moment to scan the area. It was a study of sorts. Books lining the walls, dark cabinets, a closet, and tucked into the corner of the room lay a grand cherrywood desk. The wood grain swirled across the surface, adorned with a gloss finish and several brass knobs.

Feet padding across the carpet, Hero prayed they wouldn’t make a sound. They slipped on a pair of leather gloves, should anyone look for fingerprints they wouldn’t find any. Hand trailing down the drawers, Hero settled on the fourth.

Upon opening the drawer they were greeted with a cloud of dust and the scent of old paper. Their nose was tickled from the dirt and against their greatest efforts Hero sneezed.

“Bless you,” the voice came from seemingly nowhere. Hero flinched and snatched up the key as they whirled around. Sultry eyes met their own and Hero would have reached for their weapon if they hadn’t been so surprised.

In two steps Villain crossed the room. They two were adorned in formal dress, including a black mask that rested just on the bridge of their nose. Sequins fluttered to the floor as they slipped the mask off their face and placed it in their pocket. “If I had known any better, I would say you aren’t supposed to be here.”

Hero’s grip tightened on the key until they could feel the brass biting into their palm. It was cold between their fingers, but a solid weight to remind them of the mission at hand. “It’s not as if you’re welcome here either,” Hero said. “Since when does Supervillain invite you to their parties?”

“They don't, haven’t since I made the last one an absolute spectacle,” Villain stepped closer and the Hero in turn took a step back. The drawer pushed closed behind their knees. “After they took my glory, well… I figured I should take something of theirs.”

Something in Villain’s eyes screamed of revenge. Hero was almost certain the Supervillain had caused more than a little embarrassment over a party. This glory Villain spoke of was hardly broken easily.

Still, Hero was not here to help their enemy redeem their injured pride. The key in their palm was gripped tightly. They slipped it into their pocket, just as Villain’s eyes trailed to their hand.

“You’re trying to hide something from me aren’t you?”

“I’m not hiding it. I’m simply protecting it from you”

That drew a laugh from the Villain, “I see. You want what I do, only you’ll take it for some stupid reason. Saving the world or something hopeless like that.”

“Keeping people alive is not hopeless!” Hero drew the key from their pocket and instead clutched it to their chest. Hidden in the closet. The safe was hidden in the closet. Just a few more steps and they could finish the mission.

“Oh but isn’t it darling?” The pet name spurred Hero from their thoughts. They hadn’t noticed how Villain crept closer, nor the finger that trailed down the desk, a mere inches away from Hero’s form. And yet, not a single fingerprint, Villain had worn gloves of their own to ensure that. Ensure no one would ever know. “You work all day and all night to stop a lot of things my dear. Supervillain, me, do you ever think we’ll stop?” Their breath ghosted the shell of Hero’s ear, “You’re better off just to take care of your pretty self.”

Just then the Hero felt a gentle tug on the key. A flick of their eyes revealed Villain had reached for it during their speech. Now discovered they tried to pull it from Hero’s grip.

It was a dance of sorts. One moment the tension built as the two locked eyes, both of their hands enclosed around the single item of brass. The next was a blur of movement that erupted in something truly musical.

Villain had managed to knock the key from Hero’s fingers and caught it out of the air. Before Hero could grab it back they had jumped away, holding the possession like a prize.

“Such a shame, the Hero wasted all their precious energy in the ballroom.” As if to accentuate their point Villain spun, avoiding the heel of Hero’s boot by an inch.

They locked eyes across the desk, two pairs of hands settled on the table. Only one holding the key. Hero steadied themself. One, two, three…

Hero thrust forward, grasping at the Villain’s wrists. Their feet shuffled towards their nemesis, quick to cover ground. They were inches apart, but a breath between their faces- only to be torn apart again as the Villain stumbled.

That was thanks to Hero who had swept the criminal’s legs from beneath them while they had focused on keeping hold of the key. Now the brass trinket dropped to the ground and landed with a soft thud on the carpet.

Hero lunged for the key, ignoring the sharp burn that came as their skin slid across the floor. Their rolled sleeves threatened to slip down their shoulders and their hair was disheveled. It tumbled in front of their forehead in thick dark curls, nearly covering their icy gaze. They scrambled to their feet just as Villain regained their senses.

The Hero tried to tuck the key into their pocket as they had done before though the Villain clutched the back of their shirt in their fingers, yanking them back. Hero stumbled and banged their hip hard on the corner of the desk. It was sure to leave a bruise in the morning.

On and on they fought, slowly becoming less aware of their surroundings. Carpet twisted under their heels and papers flew from where they had been neatly stacked on the desk. Thrown punches left pens scattered across the floor while well placed dodges made dents appear in places they definitely shouldn’t be.

Hero had nearly reached the closet, key in hand before they felt a pressure around their wrist. It yanked back with a sharp force and they were left pinned against the desk, Villain’s arms bracing either side of their hips.

Neither side had realized how long they had been fighting. It was almost a surprise for Hero to gaze into Villain’s eyes, sweat dripping down their temple. They were panting, cheeks flushed from the fight and yet their eyes still remained intense, trained on the Hero with a fiery gaze. Beneath their rumpled shirt Hero could now catch a glimpse of their collar beneath and the skin that shone with a thin layer of perspiration.

“What do you say we end this game, hm?” Villain’s voice was lower than before. They were utterly still, not so much as a hair shifted as their voice dropped to a mere whisper. “Give me the key.”

Hero tensed, “And if I refuse?” Their fist closed tighter until they could feel the key’s imprint sharp in their palm.

“Well then,” Villain raised a brow, “I suppose I would have to take it from you.” Their hand rose from where it had been braced on the desk. It shot towards Hero where their fingers slid around the crime-fighter's wrist just as the door latch clicked open.

Panic shot through the Villain’s eyes, merely a sliver of fear, before the hand constricting Hero’s wrist shot to the back of their neck and dragged them forward.

Their lips collided, Villain suddenly feverish as they trailed kisses across the Hero’s face. Hero didn’t have time to think, though everything erupted around them, a swirl of emotions. They tried to pull away, this was wrong, this was so very wrong- Villain’s grip was like a vice, keeping them pinned in place. Their mouth drifted, brushing lips along Hero’s jaw, “Play along or they might take us both,” they breathed.

Hero obeyed, arms slipping down from where they had pushed against the Villain’s chest and instead settling on their hips. From the corner of their eye Hero caught a face, pale white as it observed from the doorway, but still present. That just wouldn’t do.

Without warning, Hero fisted the front of Villain’s shirt and deepened the kiss. Villain gasped and Hero captured it, smirking a little as they did so.

Though it had seemed to be ages, the door finally clicked shut and the two nemeses were left alone again.

Hero broke away first, hands slipping back tightly to their sides. The key was still in their palm, they had refused to let go no matter what. When Villain gained their bearings, they almost seemed shocked. If they had looked even a bit presentable before then they sure didn’t anymore. Eyes widened, their face was a deep crimson, though now Hero believed it wasn’t just from the fight.

“You never told me you could do that,” Villain breathed.

“Pardon?” Hero had the nerve to look surprised. Of all people to say such things, it had never crossed their mind that Villain-

The hands returned to the sides of the desk and Hero was again trapped. Something yearning resided in Villain’s gaze, though with it there was also a hint of curiosity. “Did you mean it?”

“What? The kiss?” Villain nodded slightly and Hero nearly exploded. “You told me to play along! If anything I saved us from getting caught!”

“Oh we were caught, just not in the way you may have intended.” As Villain spoke, Hero's eyes swept across the floor. Flung papers and toppled items- oh god, what they must have thought the two were doing-

Villain’s hand caught Hero’s chin, drawing their gaze up, “Don’t look so frightened, you’ll spoil that pretty blush on your cheeks, unless of course it was a lie all along and that passion I felt from you was nothing more than a falsehood.”

“I-” The Hero was speechless. Of course it was a lie, they had panicked. It had been the only way, the only chance of not getting spotted. There were no other options, nothing Hero could have done-

And yet as Hero gazed into the eyes of their enemy they felt something flutter within their chest. Maybe they had felt something, a fleeting sensation just as they always seemed to fluster around the Villain. The same way the banter they shared brought a heat to Hero’s cheeks. Normal, it was completely normal for their ears to redden at the sight of Villain’s face or for their gaze to linger just a second longer on the curve of their jaw.

“Your silence concerns me,” Villain leaned close, “Almost as if you’re questioning yourself.”

“I’m not, I would never. You’re evil.” Hero tried to look away, to think about anything else.They had to get to the safe. Supervillain’s secrets, they had a mission to uphold.

The hand gripping their chin slid down their neck and settled on Hero’s shoulders. It drew a gasp from them as they felt the leather of Villain’s glove against their skin, circling where their collar had become undone. “With the display you just put on my dear, I believe you’re just as capable of doing evil things.”

The words were stolen from Hero’s throat. This was treachery, against everything they had lived for. Even the mere mention of such things had to be some kind of crime. They needed the Villain to stop talking. They did so the only way they could think of.

Their lips crashed together and for a moment Villain was shocked, though they soon understood. It was intoxicating. Villain’s hands had started on the corners of the desk though they didn’t stay there for long. One tangled in Hero’s hair, playing with the curls and jerking their head back so they could trail kisses down their throat. Everything about this screamed wrong, though Hero couldn’t find the motivation to stop.

Their own fingers gripped the Villain’s forearms, thumbs brushing delicately over the skin on the inside of their wrists. It left the Villain in ruins, so much that they ducked away for a moment only to tug at their gloves. The key was long forgotten, falling to the floor without so much as a second glance.

“Villain- fingerprints,” Hero whispered.

“Who’s to say I don’t want Supervillain to know we were here?” Villain murmured against the shell of their ear just as their hands slid down Hero’s waist, cool to the touch. It made Hero shiver. “I say it's about time this party became interesting.”

Villain was silenced as Hero kissed them deeper and they were left within the shadows of the study. The mission drifted to the back of Hero’s mind, an afterthought. As the night drew on they drank in the feeling of Villain. It was likely that they would never feel such a thing again. It was quite forbidden after all.

Only as the sounds of distant chatter faded did they begin to separate. Still, each inch apart was compensated by a gentle press of lips, an embrace that lingered a moment longer, hands that squeezed tightly, a goodbye with a promise that maybe- just maybe it wouldn’t be the last. Hero sure hoped such things were true.

In the morning, Supervillain would come to find the room unlocked. They would frantically rush to their safe and find that too had been opened, the manilla folder inside nothing more than a memory. And on the floor would be a single brass key, glimmering beneath the cherrywood desk, which after rounds of testing would reveal two sets of fingerprints and a very infuriated Supervillain.

#turtlewrites #hero x villain #heroes and villains #ask event #writing snippet #snippet #writing #villain x hero #suggestive

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briebysabs · 1 year

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PH ~Complaints~

This is the first of several pieces I will be making about this series. Reading Pandora hearts was an experience to say the least and I wanted to organize my thoughts into separate categories, because it’s too much to post out normally. Also I’m insane and I think it’ll be fun for me at least. These posts will contain spoilers but maybe it’ll spark people’s love for the series. Maybe it’ll get people to buy the manga volumes. Maybe the stars will align and it manifests an anime reboot (delusional).

With that out of the way, we will start with my complaints and nitpicks of the series. Which isn't a lot but there will be explaining to do here. As a disclaimer, these are things that I found worth mentioning and may not be any issues you had reading. I am going off my initial reading of ph too so if I miss anything, don’t come at me lol.

-> The most notable complaint I need to talk about first is early ph. But I bring it up because this is the main thing that can turn people away from the series. “The early chapters are slow” is a complaint I heard before starting ph. Upon looking back, it wasn’t necessarily slow for me and I enjoyed those parts. But when reading, it was chaotic and felt like nothing was moving. It felt like we were rushing to nowhere. I took several breaks because it was so overwhelming. And I wasn’t reading them physically but off of sites, I know a lot of you remember Bezarius, Liam, Shalon lol. The wonky translations in the early chapters aren’t mochijun’s fault of course, but it didn’t help matters for me.

So much information was jam-packed with an already intricate story. And granted, later on in the 50s-60s chaps, the world makes more sense. But when you haven’t gotten to that point, it’s a lot to take in. You can compare early parts of ph and vnc to see exactly what I mean. VnC’s introductory chapters are much more polished. And some stories work better that way but in ph’s case for me, the direction wasn’t clear. I mean you know the objective, finding Alice’s memories but after that it was just a bunch of “huh???” It wasn't until we met Elliot and Leo, eventually Rufus that everything became more coherent. And you can argue, “yeah you’re supposed to be confused” which is valid but it was a bit messy for me, and I know it's inspired by Alice in Wonderland.

But not only was it confusing and can be perceived as slow (though again not for me), these chapters are long. Certainly not a complaint, I loved having long chapters. But if you’re confused af, you feel as though the plot isn’t moving, and you have these long chapters to add. I see why people may drop the series because “it’s too convoluted and the author doesn’t know what they’re trying to say.” I don’t agree with that but I understand if they weren’t able to go past chapter 35 or something. But we all must remember this was mochijun's first real series. So I understand as well why its beginnings aren't that grounded and can forgive that.

->The second complaint is that there wasn't enough characterization of the Baskervilles squad (as in Lottie and her gang I'm excluding Zwei here) as individuals. What do I mean by this? You can say “well they weren’t that important” which I kinda disagree with because they were the antagonists we were worrying about for half of the story as they searched for their leader Glen.

We got depth given to them as a group, we see that there is a genuine, familial bond. I wanted to know their past or backstories and the most we got from was Lily. You can say we got Lottie too but I don't know I was left wanting more. We know Doug and Fang got Lily’s tattoo in solidarity which is my favorite moment from the squad. But who are they y’know? Fang had such a cool design, how did he join the Baskervilles? Doug is a nothing character. I haven’t read the light novels so these questions could be answered there but having read the manga, we should’ve gotten more.

-> Going from that, the whole Glen thing. Again, might be explained more in the light novels but from manga content, I wish we got more explanations and lore. Who was the first Glen? Who is Levi? He’s someone who we deserved more insight into and what made him so detached.

-> I wish we had more chain on chain fights. I read somewhere that mochijun had struggles mapping out action scenes so they were kept to a minimum. But I think due to that, we don't get to see the true extent of these chains' powers. And yes, Break's condition prevented him from using his chain much. But Break and Vincent's dynamic was great, a final showdown between them with their chains would've been so cool. Mad Hatter vs. Demios we were robbed...

-> Isla Yura in general. Not gonna lie, I forgot he existed. I can respect the role he played, especially knowing now mochijun based Dr. Moreau off him. He was a worthy threat and his obsession with Jack makes sense. But his personality just wasn’t it and rubbed me the wrong way. Stereotypical queer antagonist from the 2000s, we did not need this.

->This might be a biased one but Cheshire should've been a prominent character. We see he’s important to Alice but we got a whole mini-arc with him in the beginning, him appearing in the Break backstory and then he's gone until the final 8 chapters. I also wish he behaved like the cat he’s inspired by. Sassy, mischievous with a dash of dark humor. (though now I say that, Oz does have some of that). There was just so much potential that we simply didn’t explore with him.

-> Speaking of such, Sharon and Ada were so underused. I was expected more from Sharon’s arc and her Eques chain is so cool but that didn’t happen. Every moment with Ada was fantastic but she’s mostly put to the side which sucks. Her relationship with Oz was lacking for me, he comes back from the Abyss and we do not see him think of Ada until 15 chapters later? Her overall reactions to Oz dying essentially after the finale, learning her father’s death, none of this is there. These two had potential, Sharon even being part of the main five, that wasn’t delved into.

-> Vincent and Ada. Okay, lemme break it down. I kinda love them, they didn’t get together which was sad but was the best choice to make. But I do question why this relationship exists. To be honest, until the last 14 chapters I thought she dropped them completely. I was wondering what was the point of making them a whole thing and having read to the end, I still kind of think that. We got two or three main interactions with them and then we just never got back to Vince/Ada until the finale. It was as though the plot simply couldn’t make time for them, it was tightly knit at this point and everything was heading for utter insanity. But then, we get the emotional climax of Vincent’s character. We get Ada telling Vincent “I forgive you”. It hits hard because Vince is a top 5 character for me. But in terms of their relationship, it didn’t feel earned. I don’t think it was developed enough to get such a heavy moment like this.

Their last encounter from what I remember was in the headhunter arc, Ada telling Vince she’ll always be by his side. And while we see he cares about her safety then, I don’t think that means what they have is strong enough to break the self-hatred Vincent has built up for years. Why did it have to be Ada? I know Gil wasn’t getting through to him but if he told Gil what’d he had done. That he indirectly caused the tragedy of Sablier, and Gil really said fuck it, held him down and screamed “I forgive you! The outcome might’ve been the same. Vincent respected Elliot. Vincent looked up to Jack. Vincent grew to care about Ada. But to me, the only person he loved in this world was Gil. And in his last moments, that is all he had. So this whole Vince/Ada thing, while I enjoy them and definitely needed more, at the end I doubt how necessary it was for either of their characters.

->At last, the ending. I love the ending, let’s get that out of the way. Two things I need to say though. One, it did conclude faster than it should’ve. It’s not to a degree where it significantly brings it down but we could have used 5, 6 more chapters. Chapter 104 should’ve been cut in half, 104 ends with “see you later Gilbert” and 105 is total epilogue. That way, the events of 104 get to sink in with the reader. Second, and I know you saw this coming, Reim marrying Sharon. This is the one thing I see most fans have an issue with for the ending and I completely agree, this did not make any sense. It felt like the biggest last minute decision. I think mochijun and the magazine had reached the end of their rope because no one got together in the end. Oz and Alice didn’t become canon really, Gil is too gay, Elliot’s dead so we couldn’t even get elleo implied canon.

(Though you can make a whole other thread arguing how their entire relationship already was from how intimate they were) We all knew Rufus wasn’t gonna marry Sheryl, Vince and Ada went their separate ways. So it was just “alright, um….someone’s gotta get with someone.” And from what I know, there’s no artwork or moment in the series that hints in the slightest that this would happen. We never get a teasing moment from Break about them, Reim and Sharon are friends but the main connection between them is Break. I don't buy the whole "Break's death affecting Sharon deeply and she found comfort in Reim who shared her pain" because you don't have to marry someone who understands your grief. They can just be there for you as a friend. And there was no signs of romantic attraction AT ALL.

Which makes me doubt mochijun planned or even wanted to do this. Her hands might’ve been tied by higher-ups and she had no choice but to include this to deliver the finale she had in mind. This is pure speculation so I could be wrong but with that, this essay I guess, wraps up. There’s other stuff I may not have mentioned, like the jury thing is so absurd but I want to reserve that for my mochiverse theory. When it's all said and done, Pandora hearts is still an amazing series, mochijun has definitely improved as an author. My vnc-ph comparison post which may be after this one will elaborate on that in more detail. Thank you for listening to my rant. What are some complaints or nitpicks you had with ph?

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bluevaractyl · 4 months

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So I wrote a thing. I was not expecting to write a thing, and it turned out a lot angstier than I planned, but I think I managed to wrangle it into something readable. I promise there is comfort at the end. It's also on Ao3.

Warnings: canon-typical blood and violence, if you have arachnophobia you should probably skip this one. Let me know if I need to add something.

Don't (forget to) look up

The forest flew by. Wild sprinted ahead, leaping over a fallen tree. All too soon his stamina gave out and he stumbled to a walk, gasping as he tried to catch his breath. Ahead of him, the tail of the black lizalfos whipped out of sight. He clenched his fist and growled in frustration.

The clanking of weapons against armor and hurried footsteps heralded the arrival of the rest of the group as they caught up. Wild sighed and turned to face them.

“It got away,” Warriors said once they were close enough. It wasn’t a question, but Wild nodded. Rested enough, he bounced on the balls of his feet, ready to take off running again. A hand on his arm stopped him. He looked up at Twilight.

“Now hang on, don’t go haring off again. Now that we’ve lost him there’s no point, and we need to stick together, anyhow.” The older hero gave Wild a firm look, hand still on his bicep like he thought Wild would dart off if given the chance. To be fair, Wild had given him good reason to think so.

Wild sighed and nodded, resigned. The lizalfos was too far ahead by now for them to hope they could catch up, and even he could admit that taking it on alone would have been risky. It had already proven a far cleverer foe than any other monster they’d encountered. Twilight stared a moment longer, then released him and stepped away. He turned to Time, who was frowning in the direction the lizalfos had disappeared in.

Time seemed to come to a decision. “Let’s keep going.”

Twilight looked surprised but closed his mouth. Time continued walking, and after exchanging curious looks, they all followed. A few moments later, a strange, familiar sound reached Wild’s ears. They stepped into a clearing and stopped as one.

In the center of the clearing stood another gate. The intricate arch glowed an eerie purple, its depths swirling and dark. Looking at it too long made Wild feel dizzy.

“Looks like we might catch up to our slippery friend after all,” Warriors declared, hefting his sword with a savage smile. Time was still frowning, but he shook his head and addressed them all.

“Alright. We don’t know what we’ll find on the other side, so be prepared for anything.” With that, he stepped forward and entered the portal, his form wavering and vanishing.

Wild tightened the straps and checked that his slate was securely attached to his belt. Around him, the others did the same, checking weapons and bags and then following Time through the gate. Wild walked through just after Wind.

The feeling of moving between worlds was just as strange as the first time. It felt a bit like swimming against a strong current. Pressure built in Wild’s ears and against his closed eyes until abruptly disappearing as he stepped out onto solid ground. He took a breath as if breaking the surface and opened his eyes.

The gate led to a forest not unlike the one they had just left. Tall trees obscured the sky. Time, Warriors, Legend, and Twilight stood in soft conversation. Wind was turning in circles looking around. Behind Wild, Hyrule and Four exited the gate, followed by Sky.

“Where are we?” asked Sky, tilting his head back to peer through the canopy.

The others’ conversation paused. Time explained, “We aren’t sure yet. Do any of you recognize it?” Everyone shook their heads. Wild checked his slate, but the map was nothing but static, as usual. Wherever they were, it wasn’t his Hyrule.

Time didn’t seem surprised. A forest was a forest, Wild supposed, so without any sort of landmark, it could have been anyone’s – or even none of theirs. “Let’s get settled, then. It will be getting dark soon,” Time said. The group moved away from the humming gate, looking for a suitable place to spend the night. It was an unspoken rule that they never camped too close to a portal. The strange magic emanating from it made them all uneasy, not to mention the danger of something coming through while they slept and taking them by surprise.

They didn’t have to go far. Half an hour later, they were moving stones and setting up a fire in the middle of a clearing. Wild crouched by the firepit and started removing ingredients from his slate. He still had some goat butter and rock salt; maybe he could make risotto tonight.

The rice was cooking and Wild was dicing mushrooms when a hulking figure suddenly crashed through the trees, bellowing. Everyone leapt to their feet. Wild’s cutting board flipped over as he jumped up, yanking his shield onto his arm and drawing his sword. An armored, snub-nosed monster wielding a spear was attempting to skewer Wind, who used his small size to dodge and slash at its ankles. Two more of the monsters emerged from the trees and joined the fight. Wild wasted no time moving to engage.

Ducking below the spear, Wild stabbed upwards and was dismayed when his sword skated off its breastplate with a screech of metal. Backflipping away, he spared half a second to assess its weaknesses. While its torso and upper legs were well protected, its head was bare. It snarled at him, long canines protruding from its lower jaw, and jabbed the spear at him. He easily leapt to the side and yanked at the spear as it passed, hoping to pull the monster off balance. It was stronger than he’d anticipated, though, and stayed firm. Before Wild could recover, it had swung the haft into his midsection, throwing him back. He hit the ground hard with the air knocked from his lungs. Pain sparked through his head and back where they impacted.

Suddenly Hyrule was there, jumping impossibly high into the air. Sword pointed down, he fell upon the monster’s head, killing it instantly. It dissipated into purple smoke.

Hyrule approached where Wild was still on the ground trying to breathe. He held out a hand and pulled Wild to his feet. Then they both silently surveyed the battle.

Monster parts and a fallen spear suggested one of the bulky beasts had already been taken care of, but more must have appeared while Wild was focused on his, because now there were four facing off against the other heroes. Though outnumbered, the monsters were firmly on the offensive. Wild watched one thrust its spear towards Legend. Legend barely raised his shield in time to block and was pushed back several feet by the force.

Wild unslung his bow and nocked an arrow. Shifting his posture, he drew the string to his cheek, carefully aiming between the monster’s eyes as it advanced again. Just before he released, Hyrule yelled, “Wild, behind—”

A heavy weight slammed into Wild’s shoulders, knocking him to the ground again. Something sharp sank into either side of his neck, and he screamed in a mix of surprise and pain. Writhing, he tried to roll over or shake it off, but the creature only dug in harder. Tears sprang to his eyes. He twisted to try to reach his bag or quiver or anything to defend himself with, but instead his hand brushed something hard and segmented that moved at his touch. Panic gripped his chest, making it harder to breathe.

“Hyah!” a voice directly above him cried, and suddenly the monster released him with a screech. The weight disappeared. Wild immediately rolled over and scrambled away, dizzy from fear and relief and something else, probably. The world swam. He put one hand to his neck and felt a dull throb. Pulling it away, he found his palm red with blood. Oh, he thought muzzily, that’s not good.

Hyrule killed the deeler with a precise stab before it could attack again, then turned to make sure Wild was okay.

Wild was not okay. He was sitting propped on one elbow and staring at his other hand, which was dripping blood. He didn’t seem to notice Hyrule approach.

“Wild…?” Hyrule said uncertainly, a moment before Wild’s eyes rolled back and he slumped backward.

“Wild!” Hyrule skidded to his knees next to the champion and hovered uncertainly. There was a lot of blood, most of it coming from the deep puncture wounds on the back of his neck. Hyrule covered the wounds and applied pressure. With his other hand, he shook Wild’s shoulder, gently at first, then harder when he got no response.

Wild’s eyes opened and he blinked slowly. He grunted, “Mmf. Leave m’ ’lone, ‘Rule.” Hyrule let out a relieved breath.

Suddenly, Wild’s eyes widened and his breathing became faster. His legs kicked weakly at the ground like he was trying to get up. “’Rule, c’nt move,” he mumbled, sounding distressed. Hyrule’s heart sank.

Deelers used venom to incapacitate victims. Usually the paralysis was very limited and faded quickly, but Hyrule had never been bitten for more than a second or two. Wild had had the deeler on him for far longer, and it was showing. Hyrule scanned him with a worried eye. His entire upper body seemed to be affected already. He was looking less alert by the second, and his breathing was slowing again. A terrifying thought occurred to Hyrule: what would happen if the venom reached his heart or lungs?

He could use Life to heal Wild’s wounds, but the venom would still be in his bloodstream. Even a potion wouldn’t stop it, and Wild would have to be awake to drink it anyway. Maybe a fairy? Deelers were undeniably dark creatures, and this one had been infected, so it seemed possible that a fairy’s magic could neutralize the venom.

Hyrule didn’t have any fairies with him since the ones in his world didn’t like bottles. He grabbed for the bag hanging from Wild’s belt and dug inside it, but no fairies appeared. Desperate, he looked around. The others had almost ended the fight. As Hyrule watched, Time’s massive sword came down and snapped the last moblin’s spear in half. Sky finished it off with a swift strike to its neck. It went down.

Hyrule looked back down at Wild. His friend’s eyes were half-lidded and unfocused, and only the shallow rise and fall of his chest showed he was alive. They were running out of time.

“It’s going to be okay, Wild, just, just wait right here. It’s okay.” The words came out rushed. Hyrule couldn’t tell if Wild had even heard. Standing, he backed away and ran as fast as he could to the others.

As soon as he was within hearing range, Hyrule barked, “I need a fairy, now!” He skidded to a stop by Time, almost running into the taller man in his haste.

Time put his hands on Hyrule’s shoulders, steadying him. “What’s happened? Who needs a fairy?” Before Hyrule could answer, Twilight looked in the direction Hyrule had come from and paled. Without a word, he took off running.

The words spilled out of Hyrule. “Wild got bitten by a deeler, and usually the venom’s not so bad, but this time’s worse, and I think he’s going to—we need a fairy, quick, who has a fairy?”

Warriors’s gaze hardened and he started jogging over to where Hyrule had left Wild. They all hurried to follow.

Twilight was knelt at Wild’s side, cupping the back of his neck in one hand and holding his lax wrist in the other. Warriors immediately bent down to examine him.

Since Hyrule had left, Wild’s eyes had closed again. The pool of blood around his head had spread. It didn’t look like he was breathing. Hyrule’s heart skipped a beat.

Legend hesitantly asked, “Is he…?”

Warriors didn’t answer for a moment, fingers pressed to Wild’s neck. Finally, he said, voice tense, “Nearly. Hyrule—” Hyrule jumped at his name “—why a fairy? Why not use your spell?”

Hyrule stumbled to explain. “The venom—the spell wouldn’t stop it, and so he might die anyway, and then I wouldn’t have enough magic left to save him—but a fairy—it’s, they’re creatures of light, right? So I thought—I thought maybe—” He took in a gasping breath, helpless panic filling him. He looked from one face to another, but if any of them had a fairy with them, they would have said so.

Wind voiced the question they were all thinking. “What do we do?” He suddenly looked his age, frightened and unsure.

Warriors stayed crouched by Wild, but he looked up and said in a steady voice, “Wind, Four, Time, Sky, split into pairs and search for fairies. Even better if you find a fairy fountain—”

Hyrule interrupted, “There aren’t any. The fountains are gone.” At Warriors’s questioning look, he explained, suddenly horribly certain, “This is my world. You might be able to catch a fairy in the woods. Look out for deelers in the trees.”

Warriors accepted this with a nod. “You four, look for a fairy. Watch each other’s backs. Go.”

Wind immediately seized Time’s hand, and Time allowed himself to be pulled into the forest. Sky and Four set off in the opposite direction, clearly relieved to be given some sort of instruction.

Warriors continued, “Twilight, stay where you are and keep pressure on the wound. Legend, I need clean water and bandages, and potions if you have any. Hyrule…be ready.” His voice wavered on the last word, and he cleared his throat and turned away.

Cold washed over Hyrule as the meaning sank in. Unless the others returned with a fairy or Wild’s body broke down the venom in time, his heart would stop beating, and then Hyrule would be their only hope.

Legend gave a soft “aha!” from where he had been digging in his bag and withdrew a roll of cloth bandages. He handed the bandages and a bottle of water to Warriors and resumed searching his bag.

Warriors had Twilight carefully roll Wild onto his side so he could access the wound. He poured some of the water over the punctures to clear the blood away, then dabbed at them with a cloth. They were still bleeding steadily, but not spurting, at least, so probably nothing too vital had been hit. Hyrule tried to put what-ifs out of his mind.

Warriors frowned and began wrapping the wound. Hyrule watched, feeling as dazed as if he’d been the one bitten. Legend placed a single red potion on the ground in arm’s reach of Twilight. Then he came to stand by Hyrule, twisting his hat in his hands anxiously.

Warriors finished with the bandages and lay Wild down again. He felt for a pulse again. After a long moment, he leaned over and placed his ear over Wild’s chest. When he looked up again, his expression was solemn. “We can’t wait any longer. Either the venom has run its course, or it hasn’t. Hyrule, he needs your help now.”

Hyrule stepped forward, taking Warriors’s place by Wild’s side. All of his previous panic had been washed away by a calm focus. He gathered his magic to his fingertips, placed them on Wild’s chest, and cast his Life spell.

Of all the spells Hyrule knew, only Thunder required more magic than Life. He’d only used a little for Jump earlier, but it had been a long day. Almost immediately he could feel exhaustion tugging at him. He grit his teeth and put all of his focus into coaxing Wild’s damaged body to heal itself.

He directed the spell to the wound at Wild’s neck, then let it spread, moving up his head and down along his spine. He could feel it working, repairing and revitalizing damaged tissues. It wasn’t enough, though. Determination surging, he poured energy into Wild’s failing body, urging his heart and lungs to move as they ought to.

Beneath Hyrule’s hands, Wild suddenly shuddered and took a deep, gasping breath. He tried to sit up but fell back, gulping air and shaking like a leaf in a storm. Hyrule sat down hard, dizzy with relief and exhausted beyond belief, and watched Twilight put an arm around Wild’s shoulders and guide him to lean back against his chest.

He’d done it. Wild was going to be okay.

Hyrule let his eyes fall shut. He felt as if he’d just taken on Ganon a second time. His whole body ached from how tense he’d been, and his magic was wrung dry. A nap sounded like the best idea in the world. Safe in the knowledge that his friends could handle things from here, he let himself fall asleep.

Wild awoke with the terrible certainty that something was wrong. He couldn’t remember what had happened, but his heart was pounding like a galloping horse and everything hurt. Adrenaline was rushing through him, urging him to act. His chest was burning.

He tried to get up, certain that there was danger nearby. Immediately, every muscle in his body protested loudly. He let his head fall back to the ground with a dull thud, still gasping for air. What in Hyrule happened to me? he thought in bewilderment.

Suddenly strong hands were supporting his back, helping him to sit up. His head lolled to the side. He was leaned back against something warm and solid. A familiar voice asked by his ear, “You with us, Cub?”

Wild dragged his eyes open. Blurred colors resolved into the vague shape of someone leaning over him. The bright green and deep blue told him it was probably Warriors.

“Wha’ happ’n?” he managed. His tongue felt thick and clumsy in his mouth.

Warriors responded, voice oddly careful, “A deeler got you. How much do you remember?”

Wild pondered that for a moment, letting the words pierce through the fog in his brain. A deeler? He didn’t know what a deeler was. He absently reached up to scratch the back of his neck. His fingers met bandages, and all at once, panic was sweeping through him as he remembered the awful feeling of a creature’s fangs buried in the flesh there.

A hand captured his and pulled it away from the bandages. A low voice prompted, “Just breathe, Wild. It’s alright. Hyrule took care of it. Breathe.” Wild obediently sucked in a breath, choked, and tried again. He let out an involuntary whimper, overwhelmed.

Someone was rubbing soothing circles on his back. Wild tried to focus on that instead. Gradually breathing became easier, and he sagged back. Fur tickled his cheek.

“Twi?” he asked, finally realizing what—or who, rather—he was leaning against.

There was a puff of air against his ear as Twilight chuckled. “Yeah, Wild, it’s me. How are you feeling?”

Wild sighed, “Tired. ‘verythin’ hurts. M’ heart’s beatin’ real fast.”

Cool fingers pressed against his throat. His eyes shot open again, and he could just make out Warriors apologetic smile. “Sorry, just checking. Hyrule might have overdone it a bit.” Apparently satisfied, Warriors drew back and bent over someone else.

“Hyrule! Is ‘e ‘kay?” Wild struggled to sit up more, trying to see the traveler. A green and brown lump sat slumped against Legend, who so far hadn’t said a word.

Twilight shushed him gently. “He’s fine, Wild, just sleeping. That spell wore him out.” The rancher carded his fingers through Wild’s hair, pausing when Wild winced. The back of his head felt sticky.

Before Wild could fully process why and freak out again, pounding footsteps approached. He jerked upright and twisted around to look, then lost his balance and would have tipped over if Twilight hadn’t quickly wrapped an arm around his chest.

Wind and Time were hurrying toward them. Something small and glowy was following them. Wild squinted, but his vision was still messed up, and he couldn’t tell what it was. Wind jolted to a stop and then dashed forward faster than Wild could track. With an oomf! Wild suddenly had an armful of sobbing teenager.

Wind cried into his shoulder, “I thought—I thought we took too long and we would—hic!—we’d come back and you’d be g-gone!” He hugged Wild tighter. Wild did his best to reciprocate. Eventually the tears slowed, and Wind sat back. He scrubbed his face with his sleeve.

Time bent down and put a hand on Wild’s shoulder. To Wind, he said, “Let’s give him some space, alright?” Wind nodded, breathing shakily. He scooted back a little.

Suddenly the glowing light bobbed into view right in front of Wild. Up close, he could see it was shaped like a very small person with delicate wings. It must have been a fairy, though he had never seen a fairy like it before.

The fairy flew right up to his face, making him go cross-eyed. It gave a distressed chime. Then it darted upward and zipped in shimmering circles above him. Wild relaxed as the pain faded and the world came into clearer focus. He hadn’t realized quite how awful it was before.

He looked up at the fairy, who was still hovering anxiously, and said gratefully, “Thanks.” It chimed in answer, then swooped down over Hyrule and did the same. Satisfied, it flitted away into the forest.

Wild yawned. The frantic energy that had been thrumming in his veins since waking up was finally gone, replaced by tiredness. Sleep dragged at his eyelids. He thought he heard the smithy’s voice, but then Twilight rumbled something soothing, and he drifted off.

Time watched Wild’s breathing even out into true sleep. As soon as he was sure the champion wouldn’t hear, he turned to Warriors and demanded, “What happened while we were gone?”

Warriors sighed and motioned for him to sit. Time, Sky, and Four all joined the loose circle on the ground.

Warriors glanced over at Hyrule as if checking he was still asleep, then stated flatly, “It was really close.”

Time had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed made him glad he was sitting down.

Warriors continued, “We did what we could for the wound, of course, but Hyrule was right that it was risky to try to heal him with the venom still circulating, so we waited to see if his body could deal with it fast enough. His breathing was too shallow, though, and his heartbeat just got weaker, so eventually we couldn’t wait any longer. I asked Hyrule to heal him.”

Warriors paused and shook his head with a breathy laugh. “Our traveler’s really something. I didn’t think it was working, but he doesn’t know the meaning of giving up. Suddenly Wild was awake and breathing again. The fairy took care of the rest of it, and after a bit of rest, they both should be fine.”

Time let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. When he had left with Wind to search for a fairy, some part of him had been convinced they would come back to find the champion dead. He had only agreed to go because watching helplessly was worse. He truly hadn’t expected they would find a fairy. Convincing it to help hadn’t been hard, in the end; the traveler’s world may have been scarred by hatred, but it still held kindness too.

Returning to find Wild upright and alert had calmed the torrent of pain and dread his injury had wrought. Looking around, Time could see his own feelings reflected in the others’ eyes. Wind was sniffling again. Sky pulled him closer, wrapping his sailcloth around them both.

Time cleared his throat and said, “We’ll camp here tonight.” He stood and went to restart the fire. As he passed Warriors, he clasped his shoulder and murmured, “You did well, Captain. Thank you.”

They all set about preparing to settle down for the night, voices kept low so as not to wake the two sleeping heroes. Sky retrieved rations from his bag and passed them around. Four gathered firewood to keep the fire going. Twilight carefully lifted a still-sleeping Wild and carried him to his own bedroll, laying him down and tucking the blankets around him. Time did the same for Hyrule. The traveler shifted as he was laid down but settled easily when Time hummed a few notes.

The sky was dark by the time Time sat down on a log next to Twilight. The younger man was gazing into the fire, his expression haunted. The day had been a shock for all of them, but undoubtedly Twilight especially.

“He’s going to be okay, Pup. I know that wasn’t easy, but it’s over.” He reached over and put his arm around Twilight’s shaking shoulders, pulling him to lean against Time’s side. In the morning, he would have to talk to Wild about working as a team and staying aware of his surroundings. He would have to check that Hyrule was recovering from the stress of holding his brother’s life in his hands. But for now, all was as it should be. “It’s over.”

#inspired by my hatred of the deelers in AoL #if anyone is curious the forest they are in is east of the town of Rauru #okay time to go to sleep #linked universe #blue writes #spiders tw #kinda

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flusteredtuna · 4 months

Text

On Your Knees // Ch.2

Loki x !fem! sorcerous

Words: 1k+

Warnings: forced proximity

Summary: After making a deal you take a tour of the palace and get yourself situated, you find out how exhausting Loki really is.

this was made with the help of Character AI Loki made by @Skullbright. The opening dialogue from Loki is provided by them.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter3

A tour was in order, indeed. He shows you every worthwhile part of Asgard’s Palace and you admire the scenes in awe. The true perks of pretending to be the mischievous lord’s lover didn’t sink in until you saw the real beauty of the place.

Loki describes every part of the place in gorgeous detail, every area has a story. As time passes you notice how soft he is under all that mischievous exterior. The glorious act seems to be a front.

The tour ended with him showing you, your chambers.

“I have prepared the most spectacular room for you of course,” he winks seductively and it makes you tingle a bit, but it’s probably out of cringe.

You both approach a wooden door. Aged and dark wood with a lovely silver doorknob, “I’m sure you will enjoy it immensely, my beauty.” He opens the door and not to your surprise it’s green. It could be a normal amount for a forest elf, but for you, it’s…not ideal. It’s not overpowering, but not extremely tasteful either.

You wrinkle your nose at it a bit and turn to him, “It’s a bit green…mind if I redecorate?” He looks a bit shocked but then nods his head. Although you are surprised he’s trusting you with that request you take the opportunity as swiftly as you can.

You flick your hand and the greens shift into soft and dark plumb purples, and some faded yet vibrant blood-orange colors. You decide to keep some of the emerald greens out of respect for his hospitality. Now that he’s shown you a different side of him. The room balances out quite nicely.

“That’s better. Thank you kindly,”. He smiles, “You’re very welcome.“

Entering further into the room, Loki walks over to the once pine-green armchair that is now a deep dark purple and traces a finger on the edge of the arm. “You aren’t afraid of taking control in situations are you, Y/N?” He smirks looking at you as he lingers by the chair.

“Only a bit in the bedroom,” You realize what you said can be twisted, “That’s too much information though.”

Loki raises a brow and his smirk grows, “a bit in the bedroom?” He chuckles. “wonder what that would entail.” His grin is so mischievous, that it sends a shiver down your spine. You shake the feeling off, “Nothing for you to know.” And it would be nothing because you brushed away that shiver he gave you.

“This is just a deal, nothing more.” Trying to not watch his hand trace the top of the chair, wondering what it felt like.

He laughs softly and nods his head at you. “Yes…our deal. I supposed I shouldn’t get ahead of myself then.” He straightens up his posture and huffs a breath, making his way back towards the door.

You notice every movement Loki makes. “I’ll leave you to it then, dinner will be in two hours”. He smiles, and grabs the handle of the door, winking as he closes it so gently behind him.

You take a deep exhale, from the release of tension that once filled the room. Again, ignoring it all and how it made you shiver. The only thing you can try to do is shower it all away, trying to be rid of the thoughts of him touching you like he did the top of that chair. The tip of the stained wood, and the back where it meets the velvet.

He’s just such an egotistical man, it’s impossible to think he had such a way with words. You shut your thoughts down as they come through, and start to wonder if he’s putting them in your head, but even that is impossible.

It’s dinner.

The dining room is large, with a long table set at just the very end. The walls were adorned with intricately wrought gold and platinum, the flooring a rich amber marble inlaid with silver and ivory. The table was set with fine china, sterling silver cutlery, and crystal glasses. Candles burned brightly, illuminating the entire room with warm, golden light. The whole space was a masterpiece of decor and artistry, a sight to behold. The opposite end that you entered to.

The God of Mischief is sitting back, wine in hand, legs crossed, with that devilish smirk on his face. “My fair witch, please join me” he raises a glass.

Rolling your eyes you make your way to the head of the table and sit at the side, trying not to look like you enjoy any part of this other than maybe your large glass of red wine.

“So, it seems our little arrangement is working out quite nicely.” Loki raises a brow. He takes a sip of wine and leans back in his chair, “How are you enjoying me so far?”.

You chuckle at his ridiculous remark, “You as in your home? Is splendid, thank you,” that was your best attempt at dodging the real question. He nods his head, clearly pleased with your answer, “I pride myself on the fact that I am an immaculate host.” Loki looks deeper into your eyes, “And you, my witch, are rather charming to look at.“ he twirls his wine cup in his hand, still staring deeply.

Humming at his compliment inquisitively, you look from his wine to his face. Loki is grinning ear to ear, leaning closer yet again.

His eyes have become dark, as they stare further into you, “What is it about me that is so intriguing to you, my witch?”. You snap to respond “What makes you think you can twist me around your finger so easily, Loki of mischief” You say with a deeper tone, deep like the color of the wine in his glass. Twirling like a whirlpool.

“Oh I don’t think I can,” he smirks and lowers his voice “I know that I can. And my fair witch of trickery, I promise you, I will charm you.”

Why does he have to call me that?

Your face grows red and flushed with annoyance. “How many times do I have to tell you to not call me a witch?”. He places a hand on the table, almost reaching out for you in a subtle manner, “And what should I call you then?” He takes a deep breath and his expression is even more devilish. “Anything else that’s less, degrading.”

Your face is twisted in a scowl, eyes narrow and nostrils flaring. You want to rip him apart with your bare hands, tear him to shreds with your words.

The way he scoffs makes you want to crawl out of your skin. “Is that so? My darling…” You try your best to hide any hint of enjoyment with this exchange as the words tickle your skin, making the hair on your arm stand. Your body feels as if it’s being consumed by the gaze of those vexatious eyes. Their hypnotic gaze dances down your body, drinking in every detail. Even the way Loki looks at you feels like a form of indulgence as if you were a delicious delicacy to be savored at their leisure.

The Trickster God’s facial expressions seem to shift wildly, going from amusement and flirtation to a darker look of lust. He thinks he has you so easy, sitting there like acting like a fool.

“You are such a prick”. Loki is caught off guard by the sudden boldness and authority in your speech. But he is clearly entertained.

You stare at each other, a sense of rivalry between you both growing. He laughs softly as he raises a brow, “My my, darling you are feisty. But I shall tell you, I have no intentions of backing down.”

You shake your head in disbelief at the ignorance and stupidity of the words that just came from his mouth. Although the fire he has lit under you, makes your heart race.

“Fine.” You clench your fists. The way that name sounds coming from his mouth makes you feel so guilty.

“Charm me all you want. I won’t break,” You stand up and head to the door. Anger steaming out of your ears, “I’m headed to bed, these games exhaust me.”

Before you can reach the door frame, Loki gets up from his chair and walks in front of you, blocking the door. Towering over you, “My darling… This is only the beginning. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

His expression is dark again, as he stares down at you, challenging you. And not moving an inch.

“Move.” You say sternly, looking straight on.

He stays put, “Oh no, I don’t think I will, witch.“ The anger brewing inside you is bubbling past your brim. I hate that name. You’re trying hard to keep yourself grounded, but there’s this overwhelming feeling of emotion coursing through your veins.

With a flick of your hand, you move him to the side and walk past him

“Goodnight, Loki,”.

His cheeks are red out of anger and slight embarrassment. He stares as you exit, and says just loud enough for you to still hear, “Goodnight, my lovely witch.” Making it down the hallway, you catch a smile creeping onto your face.

The door makes a click as it locks. Finally.

#loki x reader

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