#<holds tightly> many routes. many routes. i am young and have my life yet to be lived.

[averlym]

"bad decisions, that's alright; look, i'm still alive"

[writingjourney]

Friday Nights at the Cinema Club | Vampire!Primo x gn!Reader

Summary: The handsome old gentleman who attends the late night showings is certainly the best part about your small town weekend job. But as the gentle attraction between you slowly begins to bloom, you realise that there’s more to him than meets the eye – and promptly find yourself chased into the woods by an unexpected monster.

Content: 14k words, vampire!primo, gn!reader, horror, violence, being hunted, harassment, men being assholes, smut (18+ MDNI, biting, blood kink/blood drinking, oral sex r!receiving, penetration, coming inside, unprotected sex)

This was originally intended to fill the “hunted” prompt for the @petrifyingpapas challenge. I am a little late but I hope you enjoy it anyway and give Primo his chance to shine! ♡

Masterlist – Ao3 link – Part 2 | Secondo's story

“This life of earth, whatever my attire, Would pain me in its wonted fashion. Too old am I to play with passion; Too young, to be without desire.”

― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust: Part 1

Now

He’s been following you for weeks.

Primo just can’t stop himself, no matter how many times he tells himself that he’s overstepping. As he watches the hurried pace you set, carrying you home in the early hours of a cool spring morning, he smells your distress like an overly strong perfume. Jacket tightly wrapped around your tense shoulders, your steps quicken whenever you leave the safe light of a streetlamp. You’re always nervous walking home alone, even more so since the incident at work. 

This is the very thought that calms his conscience – his concern is rightful, necessary even. He has to protect you because you have no one else who will. Not that you cannot protect yourself, he knows you can, you hold your own quite nicely, but why take any unnecessary risks? Four eyes see more than two, especially if two of those have preternatural vision.

Suddenly you stop, glancing around with searching eyes. “Hello?”

Primo stops as well. It’s impossible that you heard him, he didn’t make any sounds that a human ear could process. Your eyes dart in a different direction and he’s on alert immediately. A few rapid beats of your heart pass. You seem to decide that you’re alright because you continue on your journey even if your legs move that extra bit quicker, walking as fast as possible without actually running.

No, Primo knows you don’t need him. You never ask him to walk you home and when he offers, you politely decline every single time. You don’t need him. You don’t need him how he needs you, and yet it feels good to imagine that you do. That anyone does. The thought he will not entertain, however, is that his motive is a selfish one. He’s been lonely for so long that he pours all that he has into this… whatever this is. And why should he not? In all the centuries that passed since he was cast upon this earth you’re the most wonderful thing he ever had the pleasure to behold and his time with you is so tragically limited, no matter what happens. 

“Fuck,” he hears you mutter then, effectively distracting him. Again, you stop very suddenly, glancing vaguely into the direction he’s hiding in but without any real focus. “Who the fuck is there?”

Primo doesn’t sense anyone else. Possibly, you just heard a strange noise which wouldn’t be the first time since the incident. You’ve been on edge ever since and understandably so. Of course you don’t know that there is no danger of the same thing ever repeating. Which doesn’t mean you’re safe from other perils. Primo dares to stalk closer, foolishly so, because he’s too close now and you must have spotted his movements in the dark because you start to run like your life depended on it.

To his utter terror, you don’t follow your usual route home but take the shortcut through the woods. With breakneck speed, you run along the mud path that meanders through thick pine trees and mossy hills. Primo has no issue keeping up with you of course but he worries about protruding roots and sharp stones you may not see with your human eyes. 

His fear is misdirected. He’s so distracted, watching your every step, that he doesn’t notice the odd smell at first, the second strong, comparatively slow heartbeat amongst all the quiet and rapid ones of the forest animals. But this is no rabbit, no deer, no boar. When he finally notices the presence of the strange entity, the spike of panic is clouding every other rational thought.

He is after you – and he’s fast.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Four weeks ago

The man has been attending the late night showings for weeks now, every Friday and Saturday. Every week, he shows up exactly fifteen minutes before the screening starts, even though there are practically no waiting times in the small club cinema you’re working at. His attire was what drew your attention to him that first night, even before you’d seen his face, and his choice of clothing seems deliberate. Most evenings, he wears simple black slacks over expensive-looking Italian leather brogues. Tonight, he combined them with a loose white shirt with frills and an open collar that peeks out of a burgundy tailcoat with black lapels and gold embroideries. It looks old-fashioned but not out of place in the similarly dated establishment.

As he approaches you behind the counter, you’re struck yet again, despite being familiar with his almost ethereal looks by now. He must be close to eighty but his deep wrinkles only add to his effortless beauty. His most notable feature, however, is the skull paint adorning his stern face with two uncanny, mismatched eyes – one iris in green and one impossibly white. With his face framed by long blond hair spilling over his shoulders, silky and curled at the ends, he looks like a man who knows exactly how to present himself. An air of easy sophistication surrounds him as he takes deliberate steps in your direction. You’re not surprised that he shows up on weekends when your boss screens his beloved classics. At least that’s what he calls any movie that came out before the year 2000.

“So, Dracula today, yes?” It’s not a question as much as a statement, dripping with distaste. “And the 1992 one at that.”

“Do you not enjoy vampires, sir?” you ask, taking the money for his ticket. Every single bill looks pristine, like it’s been freshly printed, and again, he won’t accept the change you hold out to him, waving off with a gentle smile. Buy yourself a drink on my behalf, tesoro, he’d said once, and you aren’t questioning him anymore, you just pocket the money since there is no one you could split it with.

He regards you with interest. “I enjoy them, sì, though I never found their portrayal in cinema quite believable.”

You chuckle. “Well, perhaps that is because they’re not real.”

“Perhaps, yes,” he says unfazed. “Or perhaps it is the clichés, no?”

“I really like the movie,” you admit. “Though I wish she would just get with the vampire. I certainly wouldn’t hesitate.”

He cocks a curious eyebrow. “Davvero?”

His thick Italian accent makes you blush on any given day, even more so when he speaks plain Italian. There is something about the timbre of his voice that changes, like gold melting in the heat of a forge, the syllables fused together with a flick of his tongue.

“Mhm,” is all you can answer.

“Will you watch it as well, little flower?” he asks and you smile at the nickname he chose for you weeks ago when he caught you arranging a bouquet in the foyer.

“Oh, no, I’m not allowed to leave the register unattended. Or… well, watch movies while I’m supposed to work.”

“I see.” He smiles again, the black lines over his lips shifting so that he looks almost gentle, the severity of the paint watered down by the kindness in his eyes. “That is a pity.”

Is he flirting with you? You can’t tell. Surely, he is just being nice, a polite older gentleman. Would you want him to be flirting with you, though? No, of course not. You couldn’t even flirt back. Your boss might fire you if he found out that you even so much as looked at him the wrong way.

“Can I offer you a snack or a drink, sir?” you ask, remembering your actual job.

“You know, I will take a whisky today,” he says. “If you have it.”

“Of course we do, sir, you can choose your seat and I will serve it in a second.”

The stranger heads off towards the screening room with its soft, polished leather armchairs and moody lighting, jazz tunes wafting from the speakers. You look after him, his long hair gently swaying with every step, and the door to the backroom springs open. It’s your boss, Max, a man in his mid-forties, so unremarkable with his shaggy black hair and his blatant misogyny that he could be any man you ever met. Only that he practically owns you by way of paying for your every bill while you finish your degree. Jobs in small towns are hard to come by, decent men even harder.

“Go serve our customer, come on,” he urges. “I heard him ask for something”

“The register…”

“I take it. Move your pretty ass over, perhaps wiggle a bit when you do, the old pervert is going to love it.” 

You make to leave without wiggling, heading towards the small serving station in the hallway. “Oh, hey,” Max calls after you. “I need you to clean up tonight. Cleaning lady called in sick. Feeling faint or whatever, broke down in the supermarket if you can believe it. They say she’s anemic, that’s their excuse for everything women have these days.”

“Okay,” you reply, hoping he chokes on his tongue one of these days. “Of course, Max. I’ll clean up. No problem.”

“Be a good little thing, don’t forget to check under the seats, always tons of junk down there after the evening showings.”

You nod and try not to run into the screening room and away from him. By now, all anger towards him has been numbed by the sheer amount of obnoxious remarks but you’re never sure if he’s above trying to actually touch you one day. So far, he’s all bark and no bite, but with men like him you never know. Being the only employee who works the night shifts doesn’t help but there is just not enough demand to bring in the others.

You find the stranger in one of the top rows, comfortably seated in what is your favourite spot as well. A smile creeps onto your face. “Here is your whiskey, sir.”

The man peers up at you in what looks like ingenuine surprise, his white eye showing a glimmer of sympathy. He must have heard you and Max but is clearly trying not to show it. You wonder how – you can’t even hear Max outside right now over the jazz music. 

“Grazie mille,” he says as he takes the glass from you.

“Of course, sir. Enjoy your movie.”

“Thank you, fiore.” He smiles, always such a kind smile. “You are a wonderful host.”

You can’t help but smile back, looking at him for just a little longer than is appropriate. But Max must have started the film because the lights dim suddenly until it’s fully dark and you hurry back outside right as the title music starts playing.

Your stranger is the only guest tonight.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now 

You run. You run so fast that your lungs are burning in the cold night air. There is no palpable explanation for why you feel so panicked. For most of your way home you’ve felt almost paranoid in your constant fear of being followed. You felt like someone was watching you right from the start but when you came close to the woods your instincts just told you to run. By now, your legs carry you almost automatically despite the fatigue in your limbs. There is a tiny voice in your head that tells you you’re in danger. Big danger.

Halfway through the forest, the track gets steeper. Less feet have trampled it flat as the usual walking path ends and you struggle to keep up your pace. Unsettling noises grow louder to your right – panting, hurried steps, moans and whimpers. Two seconds later you suddenly hear an echoing growl that puts any wolf to shame. Your head whips around but before you can make out anything in the pitch dark your foot gets caught on a root. The impact is suffocating. Your lungs empty out and you think you’re choking on nothing. Only after a long moment in which you struggle for breath do you feel the sharp pain in your arm where it hit a rock, warm blood seeping into your sleeve until its wet and sticky.

Meanwhile, the steps hurry closer and even in the full moon light it’s hard to tell where you are right now. But then you see the trees swaying at the edge of the path and all you know is that you need to keep going. Everything hurts but you manage to get to your feet. As the world sways around you, you leave the safety of the trail in favour of the cover of the trees, their canopy shielding you from the moonlight and hopefully any following eyes.

But of course the creature chasing you doesn’t rely on their vision to find you. Before you walk another mile you can hear rapid footsteps and panting breaths behind you. Too scared to look around and risk another fall, you just run and jump and run even faster. The woods grow thicker, harder to navigate. You try to fish for your phone but when you finally pull it out, it slips from your grasp. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you mutter but you keep running. You can’t stop. 

A familiar boulder appears somewhere in your peripheral vision and you wonder if you’re running in circles. You’re so lost. Even if the creature doesn’t get you, you’re doomed. But the thought is distant as a branch strikes you in the face like a whip. You run but more fallen branches block your path and as you try to jump, you get caught. 

A shriek tears from your throat, so loud and drawn-out that your voice gives out before it ends. The steps are so close now that you know you’re going to get caught any second now. Cowering, trying to get as small as possible, you slowly shift around, ready to beg for mercy. An enormous shadow sprints towards you and suddenly, a bright streak of moonlight falls through the trees. You cry out again as your eyes take in the sight: Spit-coated fangs, claws, thick rough fur on what you can only describe as a giant made of muscles and the horrors of the night. Its facial features look familiar, shaggy hair falling into its cruel eyes. Whatever it is has no merciful bone in its body, that much you can tell. This is your death, you realise. This is it. 

But before you feel the fangs sink into your skin or the claws tear you open, the monster loses balance. All you can see is a vague human-like figure pushing it aside into the shadows with a strength that is impossible to comprehend, two tall silhouettes wrestling for a moment before the huge hairy creature lets out a bone-chilling scream. The giant body slumps in on itself, lifeless, silent. You breathe in gasps, swallowing air that does nothing to calm you down. You fall over, sobbing silently in short-lived relief.

The monster is dead. But you’re not alone.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Three weeks ago

“So, are you a big movie fan?” the stranger had asked you today when you served him his whiskey. He always orders something now, almost like knowing you serve him permanently changed his ’no thank you’-attitude. Whenever you bring him his order he asks you questions and you end up chatting with him for longer than you should.

“Oh, I like them, yes, but the reason I work here, if that’s why you’re asking, is that it’s one of the few jobs I can do on weekends that pays extra for night shifts.”

“So do you have a day job as well?” he asks, taking his first sip. He’s wearing all black today, black leather gloves, a black shirt and black tailcoat. The only pop of colour is a red rose that he has tugged into a buttonhole of his open jacket.

“Finishing off my degree,” you explain. “I don’t think I’ll work here after that.”

His brow furrows in surprise. “No?”

You chuckle. “No, it doesn’t pay that well. It doesn’t pay well at all, actually.”

“I see.” He turns the tumbler in his hand, the amber liquid twirling inside. “I have to say I am glad. I do not think he treats you well.”

You glance towards the door but Max seems to be busy behind the counter still. “He’s… okay.”

The stranger huffs out a laugh. “No, è un stronzo.”

The smirk that tugs at your lips is hard to shake off, especially with the way he rolls the R in the word. “Yeah, he is. But I have to pay rent and get groceries, so...”

“I understand.” Another sip, slow, barely coating his lips. “Fiore, I do wonder… what is it that you truly burn for? What would you do if no restrictive invention like money mattered?”

You take a deep breath and then you start to tell him about your real interests, your passions. He listens with the avid attention of someone who genuinely cares, who doesn’t just ask out of mere politeness. It’s addicting, the way his intense eyes are glued to your lips, how his whole body is angled into your direction. You get so lost in his gaze, in your explanation, that you forget yourself for a moment.

“Eh!” Max suddenly calls out from the doorway and you jump at the sound of his voice. “Come over for a second, will you?”

You reluctantly leave the stranger in his armchair with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. Enjoy your movie, sir.”

“I will,” he says. “Thank you, fiorellino.”

Max watches you with a scowl, roughly pulling you aside as soon as you’re within reach. “Do I pay you for chitchat?”

“No, Max, I’m sorry. I just…”

“You just what?” he snaps, clenching his jaw. “Flirting with the old men won’t get you higher tips, it only screams pathetic whore. You think he can still get it up?”

You stay silent, waiting for him to calm down enough to notice the impropriety of his words and actions. The urge to kick him is so hard to fight that you have to actively push your feet harder into the ground. Your fists ache with how hard you’re clenching them.

Eventually he simmers down, smoothing out his shirt as he clears his throat. “Anyway, you need to clean up again today. The cleaner still hasn’t shown up.”

“What happened?” you ask.

He shrugs but it’s an ingenuine, uncaring gesture. “Apparently she ran away or something. She’s been missing for a while.”

Missing? Wasn’t she anemic? Before you can ask any more questions he leaves you standing right there to start the movie. You head back to the register even though you know no other guests are going to be coming in tonight. For the whole duration of the movie, all you do is wait, scrolling on your phone from where you’re hiding it underneath the desk. No local news site is able to tell you anything about the missing cleaner other than the fact that she just left over night exactly a week ago and hasn’t been found ever since.

“Oh, did we miss the movie?”

You look up to see two men strolling into the lobby. They sway slightly, probably drunk, and smoke despite the big no-smoking sign at the entrance that’s impossible to miss. They look familiar in how unremarkable they appear, one is blond, the other one dark-haired, jeans and crumpled t-shirts betraying their status even though they move with the confident audacity only mediocre white men have.

“Yes, I’m sorry. The movie is almost over,” you say. “By the way, you’re not allowed to smoke in here, sir.”

“Are you off soon, then, sweetheart?” the blond one asks, taking another drag of his cigarette

“No, I have to clean up.”

“Ah, cleaning up… whatever, can’t be that dirty in there, huh?” He grins. “Unless… we make it dirty.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, a feisty one!” the dark-haired man says. “That’s how you treat your customers?”

“You haven’t bought anything.”

They whistle almost in unison, though their tunes are slightly off-key. This is not the first time this happens, it’s not even the first time these exact men show up here and try to harass you.

“Come on, maybe you can show us where you keep the liquor?” the blond man asks. “Have a drink with us?”

“I don’t think so, sir. If you don’t want to buy anything, I have to ask you to leave.” You try to stay polite, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Please.”

He chuckles, tries to round the counter to touch you but there is a sudden shift in atmosphere. It’s almost like all of the warmth is sucked from the room, like the charged air of a thunderstorm is crackling inside its walls. The men seem to feel it too because they suddenly stop in their movements, giving each other nervous glances.

“You were asked to leave, signori, no?”

You look up to find your stranger entering the lobby. The movie must have ended because the lights are on again and he looks so menacing that even you feel a chill running down your spine. His white eye glimmers dangerously, the other one shimmering almost red now but it could be a trick of lighting. They’re narrowed, the skull paint and severity of his features giving him the air of a predator. When the blond man takes another step into your direction, out of spite or stupidity you’re not quite sure, the stranger is on him in a second. You’re surprised by how agile he appears in his age, wondering briefly if he just looks older than he is or if you’re just prejudiced. But the man backs away immediately, joining his buddy by the door. A second later Max enters as well from the backroom, looking mildly irritated but unbothered by the weird atmosphere as he slams the door shut.

“Any issues here?” he asks, taking in the two loiterers. 

The men slowly backtrack, holding up their arms in pretend innocence. While the dark-haired one slips out the door, the blond man lingers. “No issue, no. Just had a question about your schedule.”

Max gives a dismissive wave of his hand and when the man is finally gone, he turns to you. “Were you rude to our customers?”

“They weren’t customers,” you say defensively, angry that he’d even assume something like that. “They were drunks.”

“Hmpf.” He gives the stranger another glance, still unimpressed, then grabs his bag from under the counter. “I’m off now. See you tomorrow. And hey, don’t forget to clean and lock up.”

“Yeah, see you,” you say, trying to swallow the lump of anger in your throat.

As soon as Max is gone, the stranger’s whole demeanour changes. His expression softens and he reaches out, his hand hovering right by your arm. 

“You are alright, little flower?” he asks.

You nod but it’s hard to fight off the tears. Situations like that make you feel helpless and you hate it. Being at the mercy of these men is frustrating, especially with a boss who just lets it slide instead of protecting his employees. You could have handled the situation, you tell yourself, you’ve had to handle so many similar ones before, but it just feels so incredibly good that someone cares.

“I think so,” you finally choke out. “I just… This is not uncommon and I’m so fed up.”

“I understand,” he says. “Did these men bother you before?”

“Yeah, but other people as well. Even Max treats me like a piece of meat just because I’m young.”

There is a hidden anger in his face, a barely noticeable clench of his jaw, his brow slightly pulled together. You’re not scared anymore, though. The menacing energy he exudes is directed at something else, not you, and you can’t bring yourself to wonder how he manages to command a room like that.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” he asks.

You nod and he reaches out, running a gloved hand up and down your arm in silent comfort. You take a step closer and he lifts his other hand as well, gently cradling your cheek. When a fat tear of anger falls from your eye he catches it, telling you it’s okay if you need to let it out. But you don’t cry, you don’t want to feel weak or fall into his arms like a sobbing child. Nevertheless, his comfort feels like a gentle hug, calming you so easily.

For a moment, he lets you breathe in the same air, a leather-clad thumb swiping over your cheekbone with a calming steadiness. You smile at him and he smiles back, so softly that not even the skull paint can hide the gentleness of his features.

“I have to clean up now,” you say. “Thank you for being here.”

He simply nods, slowly pulling away from you. Only when he’s gone and you smell a faint flowery scent do you notice that he’s tugged the rose from his jacket into your hair. You press it to your chest, right above your fluttering heart, and pray that he never stops coming back.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Their blood tastes like shit. 

Not literally but it’s by far the worst he’s had in a while, certainly worse than that of the cleaning lady he’s been feeding on last month. Admittedly, he did not consider that losing her would prompt your boss to just make you work longer. At the time she was just an easy victim on his way home, sweet young blood that was easy to obtain, the blue veins shining through her pale skin like they were begging to be used. But as he cleans his jaw with a handkerchief, Primo thinks that perhaps he can linger after the movies now. Any more time with you, however long, is of immeasurable value to him.

A groan. Primo looks down at the man, the blond stronzo who tried to touch you. He feels no sympathy, no reluctance. Full moon rolls around in three weeks and if they happen to die before then… well, bad luck for his partner. Though he can’t say he’s very tempted to drink from them again with all the junk in their blood – cheap alcohol, so much nicotine and other poisons. Perhaps he should just end it now, they’re at his mercy in any case. But no, they deserve to be punished for what they did and he knows bleeding out is not a very painful death.

Primo is not a cruel man, he likes to think. The nature of his being prompts him to act cruelly sometimes for self-preservation but unlike some of his fellows he finds no enjoyment in the kill. Not anymore, not after his initial lust for blood was quenched centuries ago. Nevertheless, he has to admit that his obsession with you is testing those limits in ways he’s never felt before. For you, he thinks, he could turn into a killer.

A gurgle. The second man is starting to wake up and Primo decides to leave. He placed the wounds in unobtrusive spots, never using both fangs to puncture their skin, too obvious. They’re going to think they’re hungover and move on but he’s going to find them again, slowly drain them until the next full moon is here and they’ll find their demise in a different way.

Primo is not a killer, no, but he chooses the killer’s victims.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

You’re frozen in your spot amongst the thicket, branches and rocks digging into your body, the throbbing pain in your arm slowly spreading out. The sight before you is absurd. A giant dead body, a monster, a… a werewolf? You can’t bring yourself to properly think the word and yet you know that’s what it is. Not that it matters anymore. The smell of death mixes in with the earthy scent of the woods and spreads out in the air around you. The second figure hovers above the body for as long as it takes you to gather your thoughts. Why, you cannot tell. Are they shocked by their actions? Making sure the creature is really dead? There seems to be a hesitation in their every movement as they slowly back away and move into your direction, their frame blurring with the surrounding darkness.

“Stand back,” you yell. “Don’t come closer!”

Your voice is high-pitched, unrecognisable in its trembling state, hoarse from screaming into the emptiness around you. Your fear has your senses heightened and every snap of a twig, every howl of the wind makes you flinch. The being before you now is smaller than the one before, human-shaped if your eyes don’t betray you. The canopy is so thick here, the trees surrounding you so close to one another that you struggle to see anything. And yet you can feel them moving.

“Stop,” you yell again. “Fucking stop!”

A sudden sliver of light catches their face and you can see two glowing eyes, the one that you know as a deep green shimmering red like it did in the lobby of the theatre the night the two men harassed you and the other one is still as white as bone. “It’s okay, fiore mio. You’re safe now,” he says and you immediately recognize the Italian accent, the nickname. “I’m here to help you.” 

You slump in on yourself, not quite relieved but still a little calmer.

It’s him. It’s your stranger.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Two weeks ago

“It’s nothing personal,” Max says. “But I’m losing money here.”

You nod like you understand. You do understand, just not why it has to be now of all times, so close to when you would have been done anyway. A few more months.

“Just not enough people coming in,” he continues. “And the old guy doesn’t pay that much no matter how often you flirt him up.”

Again, all you can do is nod. Your boss wants to cancel the night showings and lay you off. Supposedly, no other shifts are in need of any more people and he can’t keep you on. It’s a cheap excuse, you know it is.

“So, I’m off then,” he says. “You can manage on your own one last time, right?”

You nod at him once again, watching him whistling a merry tune and twirling his keys on a finger on his way out. The tears come only after you hear his car driving off. You have no idea how to find another weekend job for the next few months and the sheer surprise of his decision has your stomach in knots. If he’d at least given you some time to prepare…

“Buonasera, fiore. Can I… uhm…” You look up into the stranger’s eyes, trying to wipe at your tears but it’s too late, his expression has already changed into what you can only assume is pity. “Scusi, is this a bad time? Can I help you, perhaps?”

“I’m so sorry… I just… Ugh, Max wants to cancel the late night screenings,” you explain, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “I guess this is our last night here.”

“Cancel?”

You sniffle, your voice scratchy when you speak next. “Well, as you may have noticed, you’re kind of our only guest.”

The stranger takes your hand, soft leather pulling you from the desk and towards one of the run-down couches in the waiting area. He’s so gentle when he beckons you to his side, never letting go of your hand.

“He wants to fire you, sì?” 

You nod, staring at your intertwined hands against the velvet upholstering of the couch. His thumb draws lazy circles into your skin, his hand so big it almost swallows yours. You want him to swallow you as well, his whole body wrapped around yours, engulfing you with his safety – but you’re not sure that you could ask him for a hug.

“I’m sorry, it’s really not your problem. I mean, you’ll lose your weekend activities but I’m sure you can just get Netflix or something.”

“Netflix?”

You look up with a smile. “Or… I don’t know, buy a DVD.”

The stranger smiles back, squeezing your hand just a little bit tighter. “Now, my little flower, do you really think I am just here for the movies?”

When your eyes meet it’s like you’re sucked into a vacuum. You don’t know whether to focus on his white iris or the burning need that’s visible in his green eye. The decision is taken from you when he leans in and captures your mouth in a kiss. You reciprocate without hesitation and yet he’s holding back, a suppressed moan bubbling in his throat, despite the tenderness of his lips. It’s not enough, not nearly enough. You press against him, opening your lips for him, and then the moan finally spills out as his tongue vibrates against yours. His free hand pushes into your hair and settles at the back of your head, angling your face in whichever way he wants to taste you. His lips feel surprisingly cold just like his cheek as you bring a hand up to touch him. The makeup smears under your fingers, at your jaw, mingling with your spit.

And yet it’s not enough, not until you’re half in his lap, until his hands roam your body with reverent desperation, searching, exploring. The kiss never loses momentum. He sucks in a breath and you push your tongue into his mouth, running it along his upper lip until you can feel his teeth. You frown into the kiss when you feel something pointy, pulling your tongue back, but there is no time to think before he sucks at your bottom lip. A sharp sting as he punctures your flesh with his teeth. He moans as the taste of your blood settles between your joined lips, sucking whatever he can into his mouth. You allow him to drink you in, offering yourself up in a way you haven’t done with anyone else before.

There is a moment in which you think, hope, that it never ends. But then he pulls away and you gasp for air. You stare at him, traces of red blood fuzing into the grey smears around his mouth. He’s a mess, equal to how you feel, but his eyes are focused, his gaze sharp.

“Do you want to see the movie?” you ask, hoping he’ll say no, hoping he’ll just take you away.

But he just chuckles, his hands slowly disappearing from your body until you slump into the soft cushions on the couch.

“Actually, I think I have to leave early tonight,” he says. “I will see you next week, fiore mio. Please, per favore, do not worry about your job, I will set things right.”

You want to ask what he means, if he’s going to talk to Max for you, but before you realise that he’s leaving, before you even finish blinking, he’s already gone. Furrowing your brow, you walk outside and enter a clear moonless night. Your flushed face soaks up the cool air and you look around, searching feverishly, but there is no sign of your stranger. You expect to see him along the sidewalk, perhaps he’s in one of the cars getting ready, but even after a few more minutes none of them roar to life. Nothing disrupts the soft silence of your sleeping small town and you shake your head in wonder as you make your way back inside, the metallic taste of your blood still lingering on your tongue.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Primo is livid, furious in a way that he hasn’t felt in close to a hundred years. You are not part of their deal and yet this feels like a violation of conduct. Making you cry should be a criminal offense and he wants him to pay for it, in what currency Primo is not sure yet. He knows he can’t let his anger win but when he smells the creature from two streets away, even in his human form, he’s ready to sink his teeth into his throat. And of course he finds him in a nearby bar, nursing a beer while he watches football videos on his phone without a care in the world.

“You won’t fire them,” Primo spits out.

Max looks up in pretend confusion. “Huh?”

“You heard me, stronzo.”

“Your little flower?” He pouts, mocking him, then huffs out a laugh. “It’s business, man.”

“The job is important,” Primo says calmly, trying not to get too riled up. “A few more months.”

“Cry me a river. Just do with them what you want, fuck them, suck them dry. Whatever gets your blood pumping, Count Dracula.” A sardonic smirk. “Oh oops, I forgot.”

Primo won’t be provoked, not from the likes of him. “You’ll give them time,” he says calmly. “Or I have to rethink this… agreement.”

Max sighs in annoyance. “Fine. A little longer. And don’t think I haven’t smelled you on those two assholes yet. I only get to feast once a month and I expect the vampire to have better taste, that’s why I agreed to this in the first place.”

“I do have taste,” Primo says. “And we both know that’s not the reason or why are you sitting here all alone, lupetto, eh?”

Max snarls but says nothing to this painful reminder. Primo doesn’t feel bad. Their agreement serves the sole purpose of attracting less attention and would not work if Max wasn’t an outcast. Their solitariness saves them and keeps their peace intact. For now.

Primo leaves with an aching heart, hoping the werewolf stays true to his word. He comes back to the cinema only to see that you got done in the meantime and left. It’s not like he actually planned to continue what you started earlier but he really wants to catch another glimpse of you, see how you’re feeling after what happened.

He finds you two streets away, hurrying home even faster than usual. You’re scared, he can tell immediately as he hears your rapid heartbeat, the blood rushing through your body like a raging river. Since the two men tried to corner you you’ve been especially on edge. He knows it’s because you expect them to try again and he wishes he could tell you that they won’t, that he’s watching over you, that he’s been slowly draining them ever since despite the awful taste of their blood. He can handle it, he can handle anything if it’s for you. 

Only for you. 

Primo relaxes after he sees you closing the door to your apartment and your heartbeat slows down. That’s when he leaves – always. He’s promised himself that he never lingers, that he doesn’t stalk or overstep, only makes sure you get home safely after your shifts. Tonight, it’s harder to leave. He can still taste you on his tongue and what a taste it is. Never before has he savoured blood quite so sweet, quite so rich in aroma, and the violent hunger inside of him tries to keep him by your house for more. 

But the kiss was a mistake to begin with and he’s not sure yet how to proceed because he never expected you to respond quite so enthusiastically to his advances. Of course he could immediately tell that you wanted him, the smell and taste of your excitement so overpowering that it cut off any reasonable thought while it happened. He hasn’t lost control of himself like that in over two hundred years and now he set things in motion that may cost him this precious connection that he has with you if he’s not careful.

For now, however, he allows himself this small pleasure and lets the happy, giddy feeling settle in his hollow chest. If he wasn’t aware that he was a few centuries old he would promptly assume that he’s a lovestruck teenager. And he could get used to it, he realises, because with you he’s quite ready to start this empty life all over again and fill it with everything that he’s been missing.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

“You’re a vampire,” you state, twigs and stones digging into your butt but you feel to weak to stand up.

The stranger approaches you slowly like you’re a wild animal he’s trying to tame, the roles reversed now in your agitation and his calmness. “I am, sì.”

The urge to back away, to run for your life, continues to simmer in your belly but you fight it because you know there is no escape now. You want to trust him but you feel like you’re in a fever dream. It has to be a hallucination, maybe you were drugged at work today, maybe you inhaled the fume of some rare mushroom when you fell.

Your eyes meet the dead creature again. “Is he-”

“Yes, Max is dead.”

“Max?” Your shrill voice betrays your shock. “My boss?”

“Yes.” He sounds oddly calm, not like he just killed a werewolf. “Please, allow me to take you home with me.”

“Home? Your home?”

“Yes, my little flower. I want to look at your scrapes and cuts. Allow me, please.”

You hesitate, even as you see the shape of his outstretched hand, the same black leather gloves now ripped and torn, revealing slivers of his pale skin.

“I understand you don’t… trust me,” he says. “But I promise, I will explain everything to you in as much detail as you want and then you can decide for yourself. I just want to make sure you are okay first.”

You swallow, your throat still painfully sore from screaming. “Are you going to… I don’t know, drink from me? Eat me?”

“I will not eat you. And I will not drink from you either,” he says. “All I want is to look after you.”

You suck in a deep breath, ready to collapse on the forest floor. He could lure you into a trap, he could have been plotting this for weeks now, and yet you still feel the butterflies in your belly stirring at the sound of his voice, your body aching to be with his, even now in its weak state. Reluctantly, you place your mud-smeared hand in his and when he lifts you up with ease, his arms wrap around you tightly. You have no strength to lift your arms but you let him hug you anyway, slumping against his frame.

And perhaps you’ve lost your mind. Perhaps you should use the opportunity to kick him, to fight, but instead you start to sob into his shoulder. The world you thought you knew comes crashing down around you and he holds you through it, whispering that it’s going to be alright.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

One week ago

You can’t stop thinking about him.

The week passes slowly but you do get a text message from Max telling you he’s extending your employment for as long as it takes you to find a new job. You have no idea how your stranger convinced him but you never wanted to get back to work so urgently before – to thank him, to ask if there is a chance that you could see him outside of this place. 

Any thought you can spare is spent thinking back to your kiss, extending it in your mind for hours and hours, exploring the fantasy alone in your bed at night with your hand between your legs. You ignore any of the worries that this intimate moment conjured up. So what if the stranger has a bit of a blood kink and conveniently sharp teeth? You certainly don’t mind doing it again. He can bite you wherever he wants, you realise, and you’d gladly let him suck on the wound.

He’s back Friday night and you can’t help but feel relieved that he’s not ghosting you after his sudden disappearance last week. Maybe it’s because of your intense crush on him but you swear he looks more beautiful tonight than ever before. His long blond hair is shiny and smooth as it falls into his face, the paint more pristine than usual. He’s wearing his usual black slacks but today he paired it with a deep red shirt under a black tailcoat with a red pattern of embroidered roses. His tall, slender frame leans against the counter as he regards you with a smile.

“So, what am I watching tonight?” he asks.

“Hitchcock,” you say. “The Birds. Max is a big fan.”

“Hm, I haven’t watched that one since it premiered,” he says and then he removes his gloves. You watch as he slides his now bare hand over the counter until it touches yours. 

“Well, I’m afraid I wasn’t born yet back then.”

“No, fiore.” He runs his thumb over the back of your hand. His skin is cold and pale and wrinkly, the lines and bumps revealing a map of his life that you can’t wait to explore. His long fingers slide under yours, surprisingly sharp black nails raking over your palm until he holds you comfortably. They look almost manicured, his hand dwarfing yours as he closes it. “You’re such a young thing and yet our souls have found such a deep connection, no?”

You gaze into his mismatched eyes, a fondness in them that makes your heart beat faster. As if he can feel it, the corners of his painted mouth curl upwards into a smirk until you can see the crow’s feet under his eyes deepen despite the dark paint. 

“Yes,” you finally say. “Actually, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to–”

You’re interrupted by the door to the backroom opening. You jump, pulling your hand from his as you see Max casting you a curious glance. He’s been in a bad mood all evening so you’re not taking any risks tonight.

You cough. “Ugh, here’s your ticket, sir. Enjoy the movie.”

The stranger doesn’t seem offended by your reaction. Instead he smiles at you, accepting the ticket from your shaky hand. “Grazie, fiore. I will let you know if I enjoyed it.”

As he leaves for the screening room he doesn’t even look at Max. You remain frozen behind the counter, watching his elegant form with a rapidly beating heart. Mindlessly clenching the hand he just held in his, you desperately hope you get to ask your question later.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

The werewolf won’t leave earlier tonight. As he lets the movie run in the background, only vaguely paying attention, Primo listens for any signs. It looks like he has to sit it out today, though, even as his patience slowly wears thin. One more week until full moon, so Max must be getting antsy, and Primo made sure to keep the prey alive despite his protests in the bar. Every time he feeds from them, he is tempted to bite into an artery instead of a vein, watch them bleed out, not even drinking their blood. But having Max go hungry will piss him off and since he is already aware of you, Primo can’t risk not providing him with any easier targets.

After the movie concludes, Primo lingers but he doesn’t spot you in the foyer. When Max finally heads out he sees no reason not to look for you and conveniently, the only place you could be at is especially private.

The backroom houses a tiny kitchenette and two desks for computers with displays that are already black. You’re standing in front of the open door of a supply closet to gather your cleaning materials when he approaches soundlessly.

“Don’t be scared,” he says from a safe distance. “It is just me, fiore.”

You spin around, your beautiful face lighting up at the sight of him. “Oh, hello.”

“I owe you the money for the ticket,” he says. “You never gave me a chance to pay.”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry… It’s not… I’m not embarrassed or anything, it’s just that Max…”

“Oh, it is quite alright, fiore mio, I know.”

A grateful smile. You don’t flinch when he steps in front of you, taking your hand in his to press a soft kiss to your palm. How lovely you are, Primo thinks, a pure, honest sort of beauty that he doesn’t deserve but wants with every fibre of his ancient being. He could show you a whole new world of pleasure and he knows it’s always the quiet ones who are so proficient in the art of sin. 

“I was hoping I would have some more time with you,” you say and he perks up.

“Were you?”

“The kiss…” A hint of red dusting your cheeks as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “I really enjoyed it.”

Primo can’t help but smile. “Me too, my little flower. Perhaps we should try it again?”

He can hear your heartbeat quickening at his words, can feel your skin heating up with the rush of your blood. Even now he is surprised by the evidence of your returned affections, struck by how perfect you are for him, your trust just another sign of hope that you can find it in you to love him back if he allows you to.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he says and then he effortlessly pulls you into his arms. To his surprise, you kiss him first, standing on your tiptoes and melting into his body. Your mouth is insistent, soft and sweet and so eager for him. Primo’s hands explore the shape of your body, memorising your curves for eternity. Impatient now, he pulls you over to the kitchenette that consists of nothing but a mirror over a sink with a few cupboards housing a coffee machine and snacks. There is enough space for what he’s planning to do, though, and he grabs you tightly before he removes his tongue from your mouth.

He can’t see his own image in the old silvered mirror as he hoists you up but he can see the dips of his fingers in your ass as it hits the counter. You hold onto his shoulders as he kisses down your jaw and chin. He skips your neck, skips the temptation, and drags his mouth down your chest instead, ripping the button of your shirt open as he goes. No complaint leaves your lips, only soft gasps and tiny whimpers. Primo pauses to pull at his gloves and then at your pants and then at your underwear, impatient, urgent, until he can finally feel your hot skin burning against his fingertips. Goosebumps form where his cold hands touch you and you shiver against his palms.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please.”

He knows what you’re begging for and under different circumstances he might make you beg  until your voice gives out but with the smell of your arousal in his nose there is really no way he can hold back now. His hands on your hips pull you to the edge of the counter and he kneels between your thighs, placing two open-mouthed kisses that leave blotchy grey marks. Your eyes are half-lidded, hazy with lust as he gazes up at you and that’s enough to break his resolve. As he wraps his lips around your most sensitive spot, sucking gently, your head lolls back in pleasure. You’re so hot, so sensitive, reacting to even the softest of stimulations, and it’s addicting in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

You cling to the edge of the counter as his mouth works on you with violent passion, urging you higher and higher with his lips and his tongue, carefully avoiding his teeth. The taste of your arousal is so intoxicating that he can’t stop himself from moaning and he can feel a shudder tearing through your body. Primo increases his pace and you move your hips as well, following his rhythm and chasing your pleasure without shame.

You cum with a scream. Your hand digs into his hair, tugging, holding on with surprising force and it’s the most delicious pain he’s ever felt. He runs his fingers through your cum, licking them clean with a soft hum as he tastes you once again. But he needs more, he needs so much more–

“Do you want to come home with me?” you ask breathlessly as he gets up from his knees, the pain in his joints distracting him momentarily. “Spend the rest of the night?”

He looks at you in surprise but then a soft smile forms on his face. You’re so eager, so fearless. “You should be careful who you invite into your home,” he says. “You may find yourself hosting guests other’s would not deem welcome.”

You huff out a laugh. “What, like the devil?”

A chuckle and he presses a kiss to your forehead, longing to feel your warm skin on his cool lips again. “I wish I could, fiorellino, but I’m afraid my schedule is a little different from yours.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we have to do this another time,” he explains, despite the painful tightness in his pants. “Preferably, I want to invite you to dinner. I don’t like that we did this in here, it is not very… classy. Maybe next Saturday?”

“Oh, okay sure,” you say, a hint of confusion crossing your face. “Of course.”

He stands to his full height, his frame towering above yours and it takes him every ounce of self-control not to just take you right here. You’re pliant, needy for him in ways he’s only ever dreamed of, and while it tempts him to no end he suddenly becomes painfully aware of his responsibility. He needs to get your full consent before he gives in to a possible relationship with you. But right now is not the moment to tell you what he is.

“This… this is not you turning me down, right?” you ask with wide, hopeful eyes.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Oh no, tesorino, this is just the start of what I want to do with you and now that I got a taste, I don’t think I will ever get enough.”

You smile, the bliss of your high still evident on your face, and he rubs your thighs in small circles for a moment, the softness of your skin a gentle reminder of how fragile you are. Primo leans in to kiss you and fights a grin when you lick into his mouth to taste yourself. Maybe not so fragile, he thinks, maybe your hunger matches his after all.

“I will see you next Saturday, fiore mio,” he says. “I’ll be here to pick you up and we can dine at my home.”

You nod tiredly and he feels bad for leaving you like this after what just transpired. He can smell your cum on his fingers even as he waits for you to finish work and probably will for the next few days. But Primo needs to collect his thoughts. This is the start of something big, something messy, and now that he tampered with the forces there is no going back. The regret that comes with it is excruciating. He can invite you to dinner, treat you like you’re the stars in the night sky, make love to you until you both pass out in exhausted bliss – but it won’t change what he is. And what he is might scare you off. The thought pains him but he tries to cling to the small shimmering light of hope inside his heart that perhaps you can accept him.

Until he figures out the logistics of having you over for dinner without giving you the scare of a lifetime, he decides to keep away from you. The temptation is too strong now, his need, his hunger, a quickly expanding black-hole inside of him that might eat you alive if he’s not careful. 

His resolve is strong, he tells himself, and it remains strong all week. Well, that is until he sees you running into the woods a mere day before your date, chased by a starving werewolf.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

He lives in the old castle at the edge of town.

It really shouldn’t come as a surprise but as he carries you through candle-lit hallways and multiple small chambers, old is the last thing that comes to your mind. Everything looks well-kept, orderly, the old-fashioned style of his attire translating to the interior as well. You never stay in any room for too long, the castle so big that you have to climb several staircases until you reach another long hallway. Several men in black hooded robes that look like monk’s habits pass you on your way. They don’t turn into your direction as you pass, some of them carry books, some carry laundry.

“Who are these men?” you ask.

“They’re my ghouls.”

“Ghouls?”

“Mhm.”

You don’t ask any further questions but cling to your stranger’s neck even though there is no need to. You’re safe in his arms, his strength limitless, and he does not seem tired even as you finally enter a chamber that appears to be his bedroom. Big arched windows make up one whole wall of the room and a double glass door that seems to lead to a balcony. The only light source is the full moon outside, casting milky white rays through the old windows. A huge wooden bed with silky white sheets dominates the room from the centre, most of the old hardwood flooring covered by a burgundy rug with a floral pattern, two chests of drawers lining the opposite wall as well as a desk covered in what seems to be his correspondence.

“You’re safe here, my flower,” he says as he sets you down on the bed. “I promise.”

You sit, watch him as he kneels down beside you. His face is nothing but kind, so full of concern and affection, but you can’t help but feel out of place. Knowing what he is now, while it doesn’t change the core of your feelings, still circles in your mind and you have to fight your disbelief.

“You still hesitate?” he asks.

“Are you reading my mind?”

“No, fiore, I do no such thing.” He takes your hand, covering it with his broad ones. “I would not abuse your trust, even if I could. And we have trust, no?”

“I feel like I can trust you,” you admit, tears of overwhelm pricking your eyes. “But I don’t really know anything about you. I don’t even know your name.”

“Primo.”

You exhale and let the word roll off your tongue. “Primo.”

He smiles at the sound of it, a soft, recognising smile, as if he hasn’t been called by that name in a long time. “All I ask is that you let me look after you right now, sì? I will explain and we can talk in depth later, amore.”

“Amore?”

His brow softens, giving his smile a sad quality. “My affections for you have not changed. Though I do fear that yours might have.”

You shake your head at him but before you can say anything profound, two of the black hooded ghouls enter the room. Another one joins right after, rolling a big copper bathtub inside, and you don’t even question their magic when they lift their arms and the tub fills with water. One of the other ghouls lifts his hands as well and suddenly the water starts to steam. The third ghoul places a piece of soap and a washcloth on a nearby stool, then hangs a soft-looking cotton bathrobe over the edge before they all leave without uttering a single word.

Primo helps you out of your shirt and you gasp when you see the blood covering your forearm. The bleeding has stopped but the scrape is still burning, the pain a distant throb. When he sees it, his gaze hardens but he just leads you to stand without any commentary, helping you undress, radiating tension and concern.

“It is okay that I am here?” he asks when he sees you unbutton your pants.

You nod in reply. After everything that happened you can’t say that you feel very embarrassed being naked in front of him and you feel safer in his presence, safer when he helps you. 

The water is scalding and you have to take a moment to get used to it before you can fully let the heat ease the tension you hadn’t even noticed before. Primo pulls up a chair, sitting right by your head, and picks up the cloth. You watch his brow furrow in concentration when he cleans your cuts and scrapes and his eyes meet yours a few times throughout, gazing at you with barely hidden hope. You want to tell him that your feelings are the same, if not stronger, but you can’t find it in you to disturb the silence with anything other than the occasional hiss when he touches a painful spot. It feels too fresh still, too many uncertainties plaguing your mind.

Once you’re clean and the water has cooled significantly, Primo helps you out and immediately wraps the soft cotton robe around you. As you sit back down on the bed, he walks over to his desk and fetches a small brown leather bag. Inside, you find multiple small vials in different colours and an antiseptic that looks just like any modern ones. He uses a cotton pad to clean out your wound before he grabs one of the small bottles, holding it out for you to see.

“Let me apply this to your cut,” he says. “It’s a tonic, it will help you heal.”

You roll up your sleeve to grant him access. “So, are you a healer of some sort?”

“Well, I am more of a pharmacist.” He chuckles and lets a small amount of the white liquid drop onto your arm. “Not a doctor.”

“It feels good,” you admit, the cool tincture sticks to your wound, easing the pain.

Primo smiles and wraps a bandage around your arm, tight but not too tight, like he’s done it a hundred times before. You can’t help but stare at him, his eyes and his whole face so beautiful and mesmerising, barely hiding his emotions in the depths of his features. When he catches your gaze, he tugs his hair behind his ear like he’s flustered and you spot a small cut above his left brow.

“He got you as well,” you say, grabbing a new cotton pad and reaching out for his face.

“It’s nothing, it will be gone within the hour,” he replies but he still lets you clean the scratch with careful dabs. “I suppose that I am not as powerful as I need to be to truly protect you.”

“What do you mean? You seemed very powerful to me earlier.”

“I am not ugh… how do you say? In my best years.”

You furrow your brow. “I always thought vampires stayed young forever.”

“Well, you see, I was turned well into my old age. I am not as strong and agile as someone who is born with it or turned earlier in their life,” he explains. “Usually, vampires do not like old blood, they prefer the young and healthy. But mine was… very hungry and very cruel.”

You lean over and press a kiss to his shoulder. “Is it painful to talk about this?”

“No, fiore mio, this was many centuries ago.” He regards you with caution, letting his eyes roam your body for a moment. “Do you feel better?”

“I do.” You reach out for his hand again, fiddling with his long, spindly fingers. “So are we… I mean, do you want me to stay here?”

“Yes, I do.” 

“But we won’t…”

“No, I will not touch you intimately again before we speak,” he says, squeezing your fingers. “But perhaps you need some rest before we do. You can sleep in my bed, amore. The sheets are fresh.”

The exhaustion is too strong to fight for much longer, he’s right in that, and you crawl under the sheets, careful not to strain your arm. The silky material feels cool and soft against your skin but you keep the robe on for some warmth. Primo sits by your side, watching you with the fascination of a scientist observing the bacteria in his petri dish. You wonder when he last spent time with a human like this, if he was ever intimate with a human before, but that is a question for another time.

Instead you smile at him. “Do you want to join me? Or do vampires not rest?”

“Are you sure you want me to?”

“I would really like you to hold me,” you admit.

He visibly fights off a happy smile as he rounds the bed, shedding his clothes until he’s only in his pants and his white frilly shirt. Hesitating at the edge of the bed he pulls off the shirt as well and you can’t help but stare as he reveals his pale chest to you, speckled with light grey hair that runs all the way down to his waistband. He’s slender, bony around his ribs but with muscular shoulders and a soft belly, his slightly saggy skin the only real sign of his body’s physical age. You wonder how long he has now looked exactly like that. Centuries he’d said but that is a surreal thought you don’t quite grasp.

When he finally joins you in bed, you sink into his embrace, feeling his cool skin against your cheek as you rest your head on his chest. It’s odd, the quiet, the lack of a heartbeat, but with his fingers running along your spine, his nails scratching softly against your skin, you’re lulled to sleep in no time.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

You wake up in cold sweat – and alone. The bed is empty but you immediately spot Primo with a glance through the wide arched windows. He’s right outside the now open double doors you saw earlier, wearing a heavy, dark red robe, his blond hair softly swaying in the wind. You rise from the silken sheets and grab his wide shirt that lies as a puddle on the floor. The frills cover your hands when you slip it on and it’s long enough to cover you, his smell still clinging to the fabric and tickling your nose as you breathe in the fresh night air. 

The doors don’t lead to a balcony like you initially assumed but to a small garden, surrounded by the castle walls and illuminated by the full moon. You have no idea how long you slept but it seems to be the middle of the night. You don’t take the time to fully admire the garden, instead wrapping your arms around Primo and burying your face in his back.

“Oh fiore, did I wake you?” he asks, covering your hands with his.

“No,” you whisper. “I’m not tired anymore.”

“Come here.”

He wraps you up in his robe, pressing you tightly to his chest. You feel his lips ghosting over your forehead, then he presses them more firmly to your temple. His skin feels smooth and you turn your head enough to take in the surrounding area.

“What were you admiring?” you ask, your eyes caught on a plant that’s blooming despite the lack of daylight, long white blossoms opening themselves towards the night sky.

“Datura,” Primo explains. “They call it the devil’s trumpet. Highly poisonous. Many night-blooming plants are but of course they offer more to see to me than others.”

You smile. “The rose you gave me, was it from your garden as well?”

“Yes.”

He hugs you tighter and the pressure on your arm brings back enough pain to make you hiss in surprise. Primo tenses and you look up, only to find him staring at you with his brows drawn together. His anger isn’t directed at you and yet you feel a hint of anxiety. You know you won’t like the conversation you’re stearing towards.

“It’s my fault,” he says. “You’re hurt because of me.”

You raise a hand to his cheek. “No, no, it’s not. He attacked me.”

“But he attacked you because of my carelessness,” Primo says, leaning into your touch but avoiding your gaze. “I marked you. When we first kissed, I bit your lip and marked you.”

“Marked me for what?”

He swallows as his eyes finally meet yours. “We had an agreement.”

“An agreement? To… to kill people?”

“No, I don’t do the killing,” Primo says. “It is not my style. I am too old for carnage, amore. Or at least I thought I was.”

You furrow your brow, his explanation not helping you understand what he means. “So what is the whole deal with Max?”

“He was a werewolf,” Primo explains. “We ugh… we had this pact, I want to say. My victims, I don’t kill them, I just drink what I need and he… he gets the rest. He can smell me on them, so he knows who to target once he turns and loses most of his rational thinking. When I bit your lip, I must have marked you without my intent.”

You feel your blood rushing through your body now. “So what, he kills your victims?”

“He eats them, sì.”

“So the guys who…” You swallow hard, balling your hands to fists against his chest. “The guys who harassed me who never came back, the cleaner who disappeared… did you…”

“I never said I am innocent. But I did not kill them.” He takes your hand, softly uncurls your fingers before he looks at you with so much sadness that your heart shatters in your chest. “I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore now. I know it is a lifestyle you have to condemn but it is the only way I survive.”

You feel tears welling in your eyes, uncertain whether you can accept the man you love harming other people like this. Of course it keeps him alive but handing them over to be killed is not very different from actually killing them. There has to be a different way, a way without murder.

“If we… if we were together… could you just drink from me instead?” you ask. “No more innocent people?”

“Have you ever donated blood, fiore? They will not let you give it too often, half a litre every three months.” He pauses, smiling sadly as he squeezes your hand. “That is to say… you do not produce blood fast enough. I would either starve or kill you.”

“But you could drink from me? And perhaps a bit from someone else and no one has to die?”

He nods. “I can but you might not like it, you might regret agreeing to this.”

“Try me.”

Primo furrows his brow. “Try you?”

“Show me what it’s like. How does it work? You bite my neck and suck?”

He shakes his head. “I will puncture your vein and drink until the bleeding stops.”

“You won’t suck?”

“Not when it’s you. I will just drink what spills out,” he explains. “Sucking would make the wound very bad, it would hurt you more, even though it is faster and gives me more of you.”

“It’s… it’s okay if you want to suck,” you say. “I want you to do it to satisfy you.”

“No, not this time, but thank you, amore.” A deep sigh as he relents to your request. “Va bene, but if we try this we have to go inside.”

Primo calls one of the ghouls as you settle back in bed and tells him to get you some fruit and a sweet drink for later. You’re buzzing, partly with anxiety but partly with sheer excitement. You remember the intense pleasure you felt when he bit your lip and wonder if this is going to be a similar experience.

As soon as the ghoul is gone again, Primo settles in bed behind you, ridding you of your robe and pulling you between his legs as soon as you are naked. You hold onto his thighs, the fabric of his black slacks rough against your palms.

“I will stop if you tell me to,” he whispers against your ear. “We go easy, I will not drink too much, yes?”

“Yes.” 

You sink against his solid chest, unclenching your muscles. His fingers run along your neck, brushing any stray hairs aside and gently positioning your head how he wants it. A moment passes before you feel his lips trailing over the exposed skin, pressing soft kisses to the tendon at your neck that make you shiver.

“Relax,” he mumbles. “No sudden movements, amore.”

You try your best to follow. Primo positions his mouth so very carefully that you almost anticipate the bite. His fangs poke at your skin and he gently increases the pressure until you can feel them puncturing it. The pain is not unexpected but you’re still surprised by the impact, moaning softly. His hands grab at your thighs, a deep groan leaving his throat that vibrates against your skin. You can hardly feel the blood leaving you with how tightly his mouth is attached to the violated skin. At some point, you can feel his tongue swiping along the curve and his grip tightens, long fingers digging into your flesh.

The more he drinks, the more he’s stirring behind you and then he’s suddenly rutting against you in his chase for more friction. You can feel his hard cock against your lower back and you can’t help but grind back against him. Primo stops to moan, his hands roaming your form all the way over your hips and up to your chest. His cold fingers feel heavenly against your heated skin.

“I’m sorry,” he says breathlessly. “Drinking from your… from your love can be a very intense, intimate feeling.”

You hum in agreement and his tongue laps at your neck again, leaving a wet trail all the way from your shoulder to your ear before he attaches his mouth to the wound. He doesn’t drink for long before his hips buck again. Subconsciously, you follow the movements, gripping his thighs so tightly that your fingertips dig into the firm muscles.

“Can you feel it, fiore? Can you feel how our bodies long to become one?”

You only whimper in reply, your head lolling back onto his shoulder as a sick sort of pleasure tears through you, a throbbing need settling in your core.

“I want you,” he says, his voice resonating deep inside of you. “I want you, my love. Will you let me have you?”

“Please,” you whine.

His mouth leaves you altogether. The bleedings has mostly stopped, his spit and your blood cooling against your skin in the still brisk air. Primo slips out from beneath you, urgently pushing the red robe off his shoulders and his pants from his legs before his weight pushes you into the mattress. He settles between your legs, his now bare cock digging into your thigh, and you moan when his bare skin touches yours. He feels warmer now, not hot but definitely more… alive. 

“You are the most wonderful thing I have ever seen,” he says and it’s beautifully grotesque, those pretty words leaving such a feral creature after he just drank from you, his face still showing the evidence of his attack. 

Your heart clenches with unspoken love for him.

You lift your hand to his jaw, dark red blood dripping from his open mouth and onto your chest. He’s breathing heavily with his fangs bared to you, staring at you in wonder as you cradle his cheek and run your thumb over his skin. His eyes close and there is something so heartbreakingly intimate about the way he’s melting into your touch. A predator, a being who spent centuries on this earth, who hurt and fought and killed for you softens at the mere touch of your fingertips. You’ve never wanted anyone as much as you want him in this moment and you already know that you won’t hesitate to do whatever it takes to be his.

Primo shifts sideways, moving one of his hands between your legs. He probes at your entrance, slowly stretching you open until he can slide two of his fingers into you, careful not to hurt you with his sharp nails. You can see how hard he’s trying to hold back, every muscle in his face clenching. But he holds your gaze, watching your lips part as he curls his fingers, fucking into you until you’re whimpering with every thrust.

“Primo,” you whine.

He nods like understands your need for more but he doesn’t stop yet. Running your hand over his jaw you collect all the blood and spit around his mouth that you can get and reach down to find his hard cock. He gasps at the contact, more blood spilling from his lips and pooling between your bodies. You pump a few times, spreading the wetness, and he unravels, hips bucking into your hand as he moans.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please don’t hold back.”

His pupils dilate and he removes his fingers from you, gathering more blood from your chest to spread on his cock. He aligns himself and slowly pushes in, watching as he his length disappears inside of you. The stretch is incredible. You keen when he bottoms out, one of your hands fisting his hair and then he finally kisses you. The metallic taste of your blood startles you at first but then you can’t help but want more of it, pushing your tongue into his mouth. Primo won’t indulge you for long before you can feel him losing his restraint, battling for dominance over your mouth. He sucks at your tongue as his hips start to move, slow thrusts at first but he quickly loses patience. 

His mouth slips from yours as he speeds up, leaving a mess of drool, face paint and cooling blood behind. He drives himself into you without holding back, just like you wanted, his gasps and moans filling your ears over the sound of his wet skin meeting yours. You tug at his hair, wrapping your legs tightly around him to get even closer, spreading the blood all over your bodies. Primo nibbles at your jaw, not breaking the skin but running his teeth along the edge before they settle at your neck again.

“I want more,” he growls against your skin. “I need more, amore mio, please. J-just a little bit.”

In reply, you angle your head to expose your neck to him. He immediately latches on, sucking the wound back open. He was right, it hurts more this time and perhaps it’s a figment of your imagination but you can feel your blood rushing out of you in a way that is dizzying, intoxicating. Everything feels more intense now, the deep thrusts, his sharp nails digging into your flesh, the throaty moans in your ear as he drinks.

You clench around him and the orgasm hits you without warning. You cry out in pleasure, raking your nails down his back as you ride out your high with a few rolls of your hips. Primo falters, his hips stuttering into yours as he approaches his own release. His mouth leaves your neck with a pop and he pants desperately. You’re overcome with emotion when you hear his needy sounds, when you feel him twitching inside of you, so close to letting go. The last few drops of your warm blood run down your clavicle as the wound slowly closes, stopping right at your heart.

“I love you,” you breathe. “I love you, Primo.”

He shudders, his cock jumping wildly inside of you before he freezes, spilling his seed with a deep, drawn-out groan. You hold him through his high, stroking his hair and back. He gives two more slow pumps, drawing out your pleasure until he collapses on top of you.

“I love you, fiore,” he mumbles, then he props himself up on his elbow, staring into your eyes. “I love you.”

A surprisingly gentle kiss. A hand caressing your wet cheeks. Primo rolls you onto your sides and you can feel your mingled cum, blood and sweat glueing your bodies together. It’s messy and sticky but you’re not ready to let him go either. His gaze falls to your bruised neck and he frowns, grazing the skin with his thumb until you groan in pain.

Primo shakes his head in displeasure. “I am sorry, amore. I made it worse.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “I wanted it, my love, and I have no regrets.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “You want all this, fiore? You want this old man?”

You take a deep, shaky breath, your lungs burning and your head still dizzy, but there is not a hint of doubt in your mind. “I want you and all that comes with it. I’m not scared, Primo.”

“No, you’re quite fearless,” he agrees with a smile. “We will have to take care of your wound, clean up this mess, sì? But maybe we can wait a few more minutes, I am quite exhausted.”

You hum in agreement and pull him closer. He doesn’t object as his head comes to rest on your chest this time. The blood loss seems to register now because your vision starts to swim, and so you close your eyes for a moment to let the wave of dizziness pass. Your thoughts are jumbled, so many questions, so many things to consider.

“Primo?” you ask after a moment.

He hums. “Yes, fiore mio?”

“Will you ever turn me?” 

A scoff, bitter and sharp, like it’s the absurdest thing he’s ever heard. “No, amore, I will do no such thing.”

“But if I wanted you to?”

“No.”

You open your eyes to find him looking up at you and lift a hand to smooth out the stern crease on his brow. “We’ll have to talk about this.”

“No,” he says again, then buries his face in your neck with a deep hum, wrapping his arms around you tightly. A moment passes. Then another one and he seems to mull the thought over in his head. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“We will talk about it but not soon. We have many years to come before this ever matters.”

You’re satisfied with that for now, giggle when he presses a plethora of bloody kisses all over your neck and chest, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. You know he’s trying to distract you and it works. Your feelings for him flutter to live inside of you like a colony of bats and you breathe a kiss to his soft blond hair. As he falls asleep, he slowly exhales with his lips against your windpipe. You close your eyes and savour the feeling of his body wrapped around yours, thinking that if you’re lucky, this is a moment you’re going to remember for all of eternity.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed vampire primo – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Read now Part 2: Friday Nights at the Vinothek | Vampire!Secondo x gn!reader

Masterlist – My Ao3

[hpalways]

Broken Petals || Kazuha

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another one. 

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

He was going to endure this. For you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He would endure this for you. Always. 

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

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

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

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Evan’s 6✩ Inspiration: Umbrae Secrets [繁荫秘语] Date Translation (END 1: Do Nothing)

“This man before me, strong as a warrior; someone who’d been forced to face life-or-death decisions from a very young age… Maybe he wasn’t as complicated as I initially thought he was.”

*Light and Night Master-list | Evan’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *This 6✩ Inspiration has 8 Endings!! *Reblogs and likes appreciated! *Evan’s tag will be #For Night, For Revolution

After pondering for a while, I finally decided to…

✥ Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]  

I was staring so intently at the map that I failed to hear Evan’s question.

Afterwards, I suggested that we follow the route marked out on the map, going all the way into the depths of the forest.

❖☆———————————★❖

Lo and behold, much to my surprise, the marked route was by no means friendly to a rookie like me. I was deadbeat by the time we finally arrived at our intended campsite.

After Evan had finished setting up the tent, I went right in and plopped myself down, instantly falling asleep.

❖☆———————————★❖

The next day, early morning. I woke up to the melodious singing of birds.

Evan was already awake, neatly dressed and sitting on the folded chair at the entrance, sipping on a cup of coffee.

Evan: Good morning. Sleep well last night?

MC: Brilliantly! I was so tired from walking so long yesterday that I fell asleep the moment my head met the pillow.

MC: Oh, right. It’ll take quite a long time to go back where we came, so let’s eat something, pack up, and leave as soon as possible!

Evan set his cup of coffee down,

Evan: Aren’t you forgetting something?

MC: Huh?

Evan: I recall you wanting to see bamboo piths, but we have yet to see any.

I froze, awkwardly laughing it off

That had originally been an excuse to get him outside and I’d totally forgotten about it.

MC: Hehe. I’m not that adamant about seeing bamboo piths.

MC: I only said that back then as an excuse to get you out so that you can relax.

MC: I heard that you had things rather rough before that so I was a little worried about you.

He looked slightly surprised. Then, he lowered his eyes, a warm smile catching onto the sides of his mouth.

Evan: So it was because of me.

Evan: Thank you for accompanying me here. I’m certainly much more relaxed now.

MC: But considering how you were previously… Are you really okay?

Evan: Yes. It’s probably not as bad as you’re thinking. I was just thinking about some old people and old things and felt a little glum about it.

Evan: I never thought that I’d end up alarming others.

MC: Why am I “others” now?

MC: Don’t bottle your troubles up to solve them yourself. You need to remember to share them with people close to you as well!

Evan: Okay. I will keep that in mind.

I still didn’t know what he was troubled by, but I suppose this was still within my expectations.

From my impression of him, he has always been strong. It was almost as if he was shouldering a mission that no one knew about, walking down a similarly obscured path.

After finishing breakfast, we packed and prepared to leave the forest.

We idly chatted with each other along the way until suddenly, Evan stopped short while we were passing through an area.

Following his gaze, I saw a unique-looking umbrella-shaped thing growing within the shrubbery’s shade.

Evan: See? We still managed to chance upon it.

MC: Wow, are all of these bamboo piths?

We walked over together, squatting beside the small white fungi.

It had a small black cap and had grown out a long white mesh skirt.

This was the first time I ever saw a bamboo pith growing in the soil. I widened my eyes in surprise, unwilling to blink as I drank in the sight. After observing it for a while, I finally raised a finger, reaching out to touch its “skirt”.

MC: It’s so wet and soft-looking! It’s adorable! Have you seen it before, Evan?

MC: I can’t believe you managed to recognize it at a glance!

Evan: Yes. It was back during the first time I’d been driven into the forest as a child.

Evan: I witnessed the law of the jungle and escaped from the jaws of death of a snake. I felt like the forest was a place filled with danger and wanted nothing but to leave the place the faster, the better.

Evan: Then, just as I was hungry and exhausted, I saw a bamboo pith.

Evan: At that time, I didn’t know what it was and if it was actually poisonous.

Evan: Deep in the throes of despair, I thought “why not just take it, eat it, and see what my fate turns out to be”?

MC: Evan…

Evan: But guess what I saw while I was hesitating?

Evan: I saw it growing its fungus skirt. All it took was a little effort on its part, and its little skirt grew longer and longer.

Evan: I stared at it blankly, in a daze. I didn’t even notice that my legs had gone numb from how long I’d stared at it.

He retracted himself from his memory palace, turning around to face me with a smile.

Evan: It was as simple as a little young lady, capable of encouraging me with its adorability and enchantments.

Evan: It made me understand that forest, in all its gloom and doom, still has its own little interesting spots.

Evan: And that one is only capable of seeing it by living on, don’t you think?

His expression was quiet, but within those calm eyes of his, I could see that little boy who’d struggled his hardest to remain strong. I felt my heart constrict slightly at that and moved to hold his hand tightly in my own.

MC: Evan, that’s all in the past. You’re no longer that helpless little boy.

Evan: No, I’m fine.

Evan: I might have forgotten even this if we hadn’t seen the bamboo piths today.

Evan: It feels a little unbelievable when I think back on it now. It was a memory plagued by darkness, yet it still held its own beautiful moments.

I felt a pang of sorrow creep into my heart. Words of comfort were right at the tip of my tongue, yet I felt like they’d be completely helpless.

This man before me, strong as a warrior; someone who’d been forced to face life-or-death decisions from a very young age… Maybe he wasn’t as complicated as I initially thought he was.

There are many reasons why one would choose death, but to choose life? The reason was simple; just a little spark was required, and Evan was no exception.

MC: I forgot who said it, but someone once said that the meaning of existence that people spend their entire lives seeking out is actually hidden in the simple things.

MC: Evan, won’t you say that you might end up thinking similarly as well one day?

MC: You might not be able to find it immediately, but that’s fine. I will accompany you in your search for it, no matter how long it takes.

Evan fixed me with a profound look before stretching out his hand and reverently crossing it over my own.

Evan: Alright. Together we shall be.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 +3 + 4 | Choice: Call Out [呼唤] ⊹Speak⊹

END 4 + 6 | Choice: Approach [亲近] ⊹Touch⊹

END 7 + 8 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ☆Light & Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Revolution⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Prologue)

[scarofthewind]

To Build A Home || Michael Myers x Reader AU

A/N: I am drained but I live. I unfortunately have been going through a rough patch as I fear that my depression is resurfacing in stronger amounts. Therefore, I apologize for any lack of writing I may do; I doubt it but I don’t know how bad it’s going to get this time. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this. Also, if anyone is going through it, I am here to help. I have found that strangers make the best shoulder to lean on sometimes. 

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Prompt: Michael never killed his family, even though they still treated him poorly. This is a continuation (years later) of the Highschool Au I did a while back. 

It had been about a year since everything had ended and you were just barely getting back to the way things used to be. You had tried everything to keep the relationship stable, even moving in together in a cute little house after your college degree was completed. But some things just aren’t meant to last. 

The first month was the hardest. You’d just found another job and finally got settled in your lonely apartment on the other side of town. It wasn’t the days that hurt, it was coming home to no one. There was no, “I’m home,” or welcoming kisses and touches. There was a vast empty space with small traces of his scent lingering on some items, but they were fading with each passing day.

The second month, you started to bond with some colleagues and would go out with them sometimes. Still, at the end of the day, you’d go back to a one person table and make yourself dinner. Not that you really could eat when you were alone, your appetite was shot. 

The third and fourth months were blurred together in a mess of forced laughter and a few one night stands. You were promoted at work, and you managed to decorate the apartment for the upcoming holidays. Everyone asked what you were going to do and you lied, “I’m going to see my family.” You didn’t have anyone. They didn’t know that. 

The fifth month was one of the worst since the beginning. You found yourself finding volunteer opportunities at food shelters during Thanksgiving and Christmas. The small tree in the corner of your living area only brought back memories and you couldn’t bear to sit there alone. You learned that you hated the quietness of apartment so for Christmas, you adopted a puppy from the shelter.

The sixth, seventh and eighth month, you found yourself able to breathe fresh air. Your dog was your best friend and it gave you a reason to come home. You’d get up and go for walks early in the morning and often see reoccurring, friendly faces at the dog park. The sun had come out and everything seemed to have turned around. 

The ninth month you dabbled in dating but to no avail. This spurred another low in your life. You would never find someone like him. You missed him. You craved him. You still loved him.  There were many nights that you found yourself waking up in panic and fear, grasping the spot next to you on the bed to find it cold.

The tenth and eleventh month were numbing. You don’t remember much from them except that it was as lonely as ever. A dog can’t hold someone and tell them that everything’s going to be okay like a person can. 

The twelfth month you healed. 

But then you saw him and your walls that you had worked so hard to rebuild, came crashing down. 

It was a simple walk in the park, early in the morning. The same route, the same sidewalk, yet he was there. You stopped, hand gripping your dog’s leash tightly at your side and your heart aching. He was sitting under a giant maple tree, reading a book and seemingly enjoying the fresh, morning air. He was cleaned up and the scruff on his face was trimmed. His hair was cut and he looked good despite still looking scary to others. The button up and slacks he was wearing made you tilt your head in confusion. 

Your dog barked up at you, almost as if asking why you stopped. That’s when he looked up and his eyes met yours. The book in his hands fell to the ground and he stared at you with the same wide eyed expression. “(Y/N).” His voice made your eyes water and you felt all the healing you worked on, disappear. 

“Hi.” You mumbled, watching as he made his way over to you, picking up the book in the process. “What are you doing here?” You asked, watching him pause and scratch the back of his neck. 

“I work in the area.” He responded, letting your dog sniff his hand before petting it. “So this is where you’ve been. All this time.” His eyes never left yours and you felt your throat tighten. 

“You didn’t run after me.” Your heart ached as the words flew out of your mouth. “I waited for you to call or write or take me away from (Friend’s name) house but you never did. So I left town and moved here to start over.”

“What was I supposed to say? I didn’t run after you because things were over. There was nothing I could’ve said at the time that would’ve changed your mind.” His eyes searched your face for any sign of forgiveness but all he found was pain. “And ‘I love you’ wouldn’t have fixed anything.” 

You nodded, biting your lip as you felt every muscle in your body tense up at those three words. “Do you know what I’ve gone through this past year without you? How my life without you has been a constant struggle trying to find a sign of hope that things would get better.” 

“(Y/N), I-”

You held up a finger and he closed his mouth, “’I love you’ would’ve fixed everything, Michael. I needed you and you weren’t there and it nearly killed me.” You cried, feeling tears fall from your eyes. “There was never a moment when I didn’t think about calling you and telling you that I still love you.” Michael’s eyes widened and his shoulders sank. 

“Why didn’t you?” He asked, taking another step forward and watching you wipe your tears away. 

“I thought I’d get over you.” You admitted, sighing and sniffling. “But I have loved you since high school. It was just as strong in college and it’s strong now. My feelings for you have never changed.” 

“We broke up because life was moving too fast and we weren’t ready to have it hit us as hard as it did.” Michael reached down and grabbed your free hand, squeezing it gently. “You said you moved out here to start over. So,” Michael took your hand and shook it gently. “I’m Michael.” 

You smiled weakly and shook back, “(Y/N).” Your heart felt warm as a small light of hope shined down on everything. You had both been so young and in love and unprepared that when things got complicated, you shut down. Taking a year separated was something that made you realize that you couldn’t cope without him near you. 

“Nice to meet you. Would you like to get coffee with me sometime this week?” He asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. With a small nod, he grinned and it made your heart flutter just as much as it did a year ago. Everything was taking a turn for the better. 

[wolf-555-writer]

Target On My Back Part 7

This one’s kinda long xd. Oops. Enjoy, enjoy.

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6

Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow x Reader

Summary: After confessing your feelings, Natasha and you are now together. But will it last? Working as SHIELD Agents together seems to be going perfectly, but how about your personal life? The past still seems to haunt you in the nights, but will it only stay in your dreams? Can it all be fixed, or is it way too late for that?

Word Count: 5,523

Tossing and turning. Trying to escape. Trying to run away. Far, far away. A sharp inhale of air, followed by a contraction of all the muscles in your feverish body, you scare awake. Wrapped up in the sheets and the slightly oversized T-shirt sticking to your clammy back. A trembling sigh leaves your mouth, now slightly relaxing. You check your left and your eyes shift over a small picture frame on the wooden bedside table. It holds an old photo, one edge torn off and wrinkled, portraying two people in love - beyond a doubt - who both were stupidly unaware of that at the time. Eventually locking your sleepy eyes on the alarm clock next to the frame. The illuminated numbers read 3:41.

Great… Another restless night. Rubbing your sweat-stained face with your hands in desperation when a calm voice eases, “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, just a stupid nightmare”, you answer the woman who was peacefully asleep beside you but woken up by some troubled movements. Or was it a memory? You wonder. Natasha sits upright in bed and runs a hand through her messy, red hair before gently placing it on your shoulder. “Was it about…”, she strokes your back softly, “you getting shot? Like the last time?”. She hesitates a bit with the question, knowing the tension it brings. “No it wasn’t”, you grunt, making it sound more resentful than anticipated. Now that your eyes have fully adjusted to the dark room, you’re able to see her upset expression clearly, without a doubt caused by your last comment.

“If it were possible I would take it all back, but I can’t, okay”. Meanwhile the redhead had let go of you, her warm touch replaced by a cold sensation. “I have to live with the choices I made. All the things I did”. Lying down on the mattress again, she has turned her back towards you and pulls on the sheets to cover herself completely. She keeps her secrets, especially about the time in the Red Room. It’s a difficult subject for her. No surprise, judging by the information SHIELD has on the KGB-owned Academy. But you’re hoping that one day she’ll let you in. Under her breath Natasha mutters, “It’s all easy for you”, which was meant to remain inside, but managed to slip out. Unfortunately, a little too loud.

You scoff. “What is that supposed to mean?”. With a quick roll - and heavy sigh - Natasha turns to face you. “Like I said, I have to live with my choices. With all the scars I can’t erase. All you have left are the physical ones. The only reminder. But with a clear, carefree mind, pretending like it never happened”.

“Pretending?! So you think it’s all rainbows and sunshine for me huh? No horrible things haunting my mind?”, you snap. She’s got a point there though. It’s not a contest, but if it was, she would be by far the winner. All the trauma she needs to cope with. And mostly on her own. You're not the only one who has restless nights. 

“Okay, just- forget about it. Forget about what I said. I’m sorry”, you sigh tiredly and let your body plump down on the mattress next to the one you’re sharing this bed with. “I’m sorry, Nat”. Caressing your cheek with the back of her index finger as she whispers, “It’s okay”, causing a small smile to form at your features. A second attempt. “But, the bad dream. I think it was about... when I was younger. Like really young, when I was just a kid. I felt grief and-”, taking a deep breath in, “and anger. A lot of anger. A rage inside of me”.

I can clearly see that ‘rage’, Natasha thinks. Maybe a good thing she didn’t say that out loud. You look at Natasha, expecting an answer, a memory you don’t have anymore. But she turns away, deliberately breaking eye contact, and murmurs, “Just go back to sleep, it’s late”. “Are you kidding me?”. “It’s complicated”. “Complicated? Is that all?”. Oh no, here we go again…

“Well, what do you want me to say, huh? Recruited by the KGB when we were only innocent kids. Raised, trained and forced to kill in the Red Room, and after the mandatory graduation ceremony operatives at that same KGB, doing the most unspeakable things, no questions asked. Do you want to hear that?! Is that it?!”

You remain remarkably quiet, a bit blown away by Natasha’s sudden outburst of words, who in the meantime sat upright in bed again. “We’re both broken. You as much as I am. Don’t you dare deny that”. With that final statement she lays down, facing the wall and not you, tucking herself in tightly. This time there’s no turning around.

After a few minutes Natasha's breathing has become slower and more rhythmic, telling you she's asleep again. Twenty minutes of mindlessly staring at the white ceiling later, you climb out of bed and feel the coldness hit the bare skin on your legs. You really stepped out of line tonight. Did you just assume you both could pick up where you left off? Obviously forgetting about the trying-to-kill-each-other part for a moment... A splash of cold water hits your face, now in the bathroom you stare into the mirror at your own reflection, wide awake. “It’s complicated”, you mutter faintly and scoff. “No. We are complicated...”.

A true balance - that’s the key. It’s not a weakness. In fact, it even makes you a better SHIELD Agent. But you gotta admit, sometimes emotions and feelings can be damn difficult. Like right now. 

“On my way back. All the intel acquired”, you report over the communication device in your ear. “Almost at the rendezvous point, Coulson”. After a not-so-well-rested night, and plenty of coffee, a new assignment for Agent Romanoff and you was waiting in the morning. With a strictly professional attitude you managed to get through the briefing. Or so you thought, because as always you were not that good at hiding your emotions. Keeping that so-called true balance is easier said than done. Fortunately, it was a pretty standard op, also where the two of you conveniently needed to go separate ways. Maybe we’re not meant to be, thinking back to last night's heated discussion still occupying your mind. Maybe it’s better if we’d go our separate ways, because, like Nat said, we’re both broken. Some things just can’t be fixed...

Too caught up in thoughts, you almost didn’t realize you reached the intersection. Agent Romanoff is not there yet. She’s probably right behind you, as she had to cover a greater distance to get here. After 15 minutes of waiting you’re certain she missed the agreed upon meeting place. However, she can take care of herself, so the question to wait for her or to continue the mission is easily answered. You carry on. And besides, you’ll see her at Headquarters for the debriefing anyway. Right? 

“Agent (Y/L/N), how many minutes out till pickup?”, you receive in your earpiece. “Don’t wait up for me”, you inform calmly, though anyone could hear that you’re slightly out of breath. 

“Excuse me? What do you think you're doing?”

“I took a small detour. Might be a little later”. Well aware you’re disobeying a direct order, but it’s not the first time. And above all, it’s for a specific reason. You would do it again in a heartbeat, because something doesn’t feel right. She should’ve given an update about her status. “I tried her comm, but I couldn’t reach her”, you explain. Whatever goes on in your personal life can’t affect you in the field. Both of you know how to be professionals during work. She knows that. You know that. And that’s why you’re worried. It stays silent on the other end, meaning they already knew her communication device is not working. You continue, “Coulson, could you give me her last known location”. Again, total silence. “I know you can hear me. I’m going after her either way, you can’t stop me. So if you could give me the location of Agent Romanoff it would save a lot of time and the faster I’ll be- no, we will be back”. You recalled Romanoff's route from the briefing this morning, but technically she could be anywhere. A sigh is heard through the static crackling, followed by a definitive answer, “... Okay. I couldn’t change your mind anyway. Before the comm went dark she was last seen near a parking garage, 0.5 kilometers south, in the direction you’re now heading”. “Thank you, sir”.

Your gut-feeling was right, because what you encounter on the ground level is nothing good. Nothing good at all. A rush of adrenaline is taking over all of your senses as you spot them. Bodies. Scattered around. Dead. Bullet holes in concrete pillars and in parked cars that their owners safely left behind, unknowing what would happen today. But no Natasha. You’re starting to regret that fight last night more and more. Out of instinct you grab your gun from the holster and proceed with caution, following the path of destruction. You know she can take care of herself, pretty good actually, but that doesn’t mean the situation hasn’t gotten you worried. “Coulson, something has happened here. I don’t know what, but I’m gonna find out”.

How did they find me? Natasha ponders while landing a brutal elbow on a guy’s temple who thought he could easily take her. That was his first mistake, the same all the others before him made. When the ex-spy turns around, leaving the knocked-out idiot behind her, a gun is pointed at her head. “Never turn your back on enemy, makes you easy target”, he mocks with a thick accent. Then a shot is fired. The guy with accent releases his finger from the trigger and leans forward, landing face-first on the cold cement. A dark red hole in the back of his head. Natasha looks up. Standing in the distance, behind a red station wagon she spots a familiar SHIELD Agent.

“I got your back Nat. Always”. She sends a loving smile your way and starts filling you in. “I got ambushed on my way to you and lost signal on my comm, my guess they’re jamming it, so I decided to take cover here. Not so exposed and easier to conceal myself than out there in the street”. “Copy that. I figured, ran into the same problem with my comm too. And good thinking. How many and who are-”

The conversation is cut short, caused by the sound of metal colliding with metal. No time to talk. Both take a stealth position behind the red coloured vehicle and use hand gestures to make a strategic plan. At Natasha signalling ‘Go’ you both dash to a different side, Glock ready, and shoot until you’ve reached the next parked car. 

You listen to their ongoing discussion as they’ve taken cover too. Who are these people? And what do they want? They appear to be talking in a foreign language. Could it be... Russian? You fire a couple of shots and take a quick peek. Your suspicion is confirmed when you identify one of their weapons. Definitely Russian-made.

3… 2… 1, now! Natasha jumps up and slides over the hood smoothly, kicking the approaching goon in the neck without breaking a sweat. You’ve also jumped up at the rear and deliver a precise hook on your attacker's nose, hearing it crack, and follow up with a powerful uppercut on the chin, launching him backwards. Simultaneously grabbing your own guns, Romanoff and you hit the others in sight until both mags are empty. Words such as 'get that traitor' and 'who’s the other one' are echoing through the large, concrete structure accompanied by multiple footsteps. Guess your Russian remained somewhere in your brain after all. Nice. But first things first, considering you're outnumbered judging by the amount of voices, you both have to get the hell out of here. Squatted and leaning against a blue sedan, out of sight for now, you slide in a new magazine when Romanoff says, “We’ve got to do something before they pin us down”. Several rounds pierce the metal of the sedan and the windows above the two of you explode into tiny glass splinters. As a reaction you lift your arm to protect the face and slam your eyes shut. “Totally agree with you, Nat”, you shout back over the loud gunfire. “Good. Cover me”.

“I got you”, you return and steady your gun to fire multiple rounds at a shiny new BMW where the attack originates from. Romanoff runs as fast as she can and you prevent her from getting shot. Although, you can’t prevent the weapons from being fired and bullets start to snap off the concrete. Luckily, she’s able to evade those meant for her and slides the last couple of meters over the rough floor to her desired spot. Lying on her side on the ground, now shielded by a bulky, black SUV, she observes the four targets along the underside of the vehicle, positive she can hit them. And she does. Eliminating every last one of them, till her final bullet.

It’s gone silent. All the lifeless bodies, not making a single sound anymore. Struck by at least one bullet, but most of them by more. In the meantime you jogged to Natasha and she asks, “I'm out of ammo, you got any?”. “Nope, this one’s empty too”. You make a small wave-motion with your Glock and suddenly spot movement in the corner of your eye. A gun, gripped by a short guy appears from behind a concrete pillar close to the shiny, now heavily damaged car where the others came from seconds ago. Patiently waiting for his perfect moment to strike. Unexpected. Both you and Natasha dive to the ground, desperately searching for cover, knowing damn well there isn’t any. Natasha is faster though, as always, but instead reaches for your ankle, followed by two short pops and a thud, resembling a body hitting the ground. “How did you know I carry a spare gun with me?”. She gives a brief glance. Your past. Have you become too predictable? Or predictable to just Natasha? Maybe that's why you two are such a good team. As long as she doesn’t betray you that is. She has done it before, turning her back on you. No, stop it. She won’t do that. Not again, I know her. Right?

“All clear?”, Natasha sort of asks, snapping you out of thought as she sweeps the surroundings with your spare gun. “Let’s not find out and get away from ‘this’ here”. With the coast clear for the moment, you both go searching for a vehicle - one without a flat tire - and decide to split up. Unfortunately, there are not many cars in the parking lot, so you go a level higher, but abruptly come to a halt.

“Wait! (Y/N), just-”. Natasha pauses. “What’s up?”. Is there something she wants to tell you? Something she should’ve told earlier? 

“Be careful okay”. You look at her confused. Not what you expected. You can handle yourself too, she knows that. Then a smile forms. “You know I always look over my shoulder, right”. Yet your answer doesn’t seem to ease her mind. The expression she has, you've never seen before. The worry in her eyes, it’s as if she’s scared. For what? “Fine, I’ll be careful. But for you the same”. She gives a small nod but still doesn’t look convinced. “Let’s see who can score us a ride the fastest”, you challenge and sprint away.

The SHIELD Agent has found a possible getaway vehicle and smashes the window on the driver side to pieces. No car-alarm, that’s why she chose this one. Jump-starting the old pick-up truck that she is about to borrow and without making too much noise Natasha speeds away in your direction. Or so she thought. After searching for what seems to be the entire parking garage multiple times, there’s no sign of you. Only the engine sound of the truck can be heard, nothing else. No Russian-talking, no gunshots, no screams. Everybody is gone. And so are you.

I won't turn my back on you (Y/N). Not again. Never again, she pledges, clutching the steering wheel so tight that her knuckles have turned white. Already blaming herself for not warning you enough. She only wanted to protect you. Yet, this wouldn’t have happened if she had just told you the truth. Right?    

Natasha closes the door behind her with a loud bang followed by a muffled grunt. Thinking back to the conversation that just went down, if it were to be called a conversation. A lot of shouting and wide arm gestures were involved. And anger. “Are you questioning my ability? Or my loyalty?”, is what she’d said to Director Fury. Yet getting the same response back as before. No. SHIELD won’t send a team, stand down Agent Romanoff. Another grunt manages to escape. “So we are all just expendable operatives to you?”, was her last comment before the Director showed her the door.

“So, that didn't go very well I guess?”, a voice eases. “You guessed right”. She marches away, almost so fast that Barton can’t keep up. “Talk to me Nat, who were those guys again?”. “Some people I knew”. “Ah, old buddies of yours”. “That's one way to describe them”. “Not so friendly, got it”, Clint states, barely able to follow Natasha’s pace. “I need to find Coulson”, she eventually speaks. She doesn’t care about losing her job. All she cares about is getting you back. Whatever it takes.

Something in his features tells Natasha that he already knows. “Is this what I think it is?”, he asks the former spy. “Unresolved family issues”, she answers the SHIELD Agent. Maybe it's a good thing (Y/N) can't remember, she reckons while listening to Barton’s astonishment. “Wait- family?”. “It's complicated”, Natasha responds curtly and turns to Coulson again. “You know there’s nothing I can do Romanoff”, he says. “If the Director won’t approve a rescue mission, then my hands are tied too”. Natasha is about to walk away, constructing what seems to be Plan E at the moment - hijacking a quinjet and hacking every possible camera, database or whatever needed to find your position - when Coulson’s words catch her attention and make her stop in her tracks.

“Off the record, I may have the location of Agent (Y/L/N)”. “What do you mean?”. “You have to understand, we had to take the necessary precautions because of your past”. Natasha finishes his explanation, because she understands what is implied here. “A tracker”. The silent nod of Agent Coulson confirms her statement. “Great. So we both got a tracker. Just great. I’m guessing somewhere underneath our skin, around our ear maybe. Undetectable. Am I close, Phil?”. The tone in her voice is close to blame. It cuts deep. It feels like betrayal. Loyal to SHIELD, but is SHIELD loyal to you? No time to dwell on that however. Maybe even give the guy a bit of credit, now she’s at least able to find you. “I care too, you know. Very much actually. Please, just- bring (Y/N) home, okay”, Coulson says with a low tone, feeling as if he failed to protect his own Agent. His responsibility. “Good luck, Agent Romanoff”. 

“Count me in”, Barton offers as he managed to track Natasha’s sprint towards the elevator. “What?”. “Let's save (Y/N). I’m in”. “But I thought that you guys weren’t speaking, that you hate each-”. “Keep up Nat, we had some beers and what’s in the past is in the past”, Clint interjects. She stares at her friend for a moment, “...Okay”, and accepts. “Then let’s go”. The doors open and both get in. “We’ll get (Y/L/N) back”, Clint reassures as he places a hand on Natasha’s shoulder while waiting inside the elevator. “I just- I can’t lose…”. She doesn’t finish her sentence, preventing a trembling voice from being heard. “I know, Nat. Me too. But you do have a plan, right?”. “Of course I do. Plan H. Let’s pay my old pals an unexpected visit they won’t ever forget”.

Waking up. Disoriented. A sharp pain originates from the back of your neck when you try to lift your head up. Earpiece gone. Weapons gone. And hands zip-tied against the back of a firm, metal chair. Ankles secured too. Very, very tight. They’re thorough, you have to give them that. You carefully look around, a dimly lit, chilly, abandoned warehouse. The windows covering the high ceiling are barely providing any sunlight to pass through, coated by layers of filth. Seriously in need of a proper cleaning. Which basically applies to this entire grimy place. Long overdue. It’s better to just demolish the ghost property into a pile of useless bricks - with your abductors still in it. Well, one can wish. A cold shiver passes through your spine. Why not some central heated motel room of sorts? Guess that’s not how the KGB does things. Counting three grumpy, square-shouldered guards watching over you. Maybe more behind, you don’t know, they’re out of your field of vision. The eyes of the three in sight are burning right through you, definitely not thinking friendly thoughts. What do they want with me? Are they after SHIELD intel? Or do they want to settle an old score? Meaning, I’m dead.

Someone enters. An officer it seems, judging by the uniform. He appears overly confident. Full of himself. Someone who uses others to do the dirty work for him. Because he can. Though, he seems more than capable of committing horrible acts to a human being without even feeling a pinch of remorse. At the sight of him your heart starts beating faster, throbbing against your chest. A wave of pure rage flows over you. Why? Maybe it's his attitude that you don’t like, seeing that the other men are afraid of him. Or simply because he's the reason that you're here.

“Tying off loose ends? Shouldn’t have gone through all that trouble”, you mock, sitting straight up and squaring your shoulders, meanwhile trying to find a way to break free from those zip-ties that are eagerly digging into your skin. He laughs. “Kill you?”. With a small wave of his hand the now less crouchy, more anxious-looking guards lower their guns which were cravingly pointed at you this whole time. “That’s what you guys do with traitors right?”. He laughs again and a stern expression surfaces. “It hurts you’d ever think I would do such a thing to you”. To me? What the hell does that mean? You stop moving your arms. It seems as if he recognizes you, as the other men around also seem to. Not that strange considering you’ve been a KGB operative once, but you obviously don’t recognize them. Not even your own dad.

“I'm certain (Y/N) is still alive”. “How so?”. “You really want to know Barton?”, she requests over the loud mechanical humming, giving him a choice before there’s no turning back. A positive nod from Barton made Romanoff begin. As clear and concise as possible she explains her past, starting in the Red Room. “One day a new ‘recruit’ arrived, only a few years older than the rest of us girls. An outsider. Everybody would think twice before engaging. But I didn’t. We stuck together through it all, trying to survive, and became inseparable”. Clint notices the pain in her eyes. She continues and tells that after spending time together, you began to trust each other. You’d told her about the life before, because you, apart from the others, remembered. That your dad was a fierce man working for the KGB, probably the reason why everyone avoided you. Afraid of you, but especially for your dad. “I suspect that (Y/N)’s mother is the reason why she turned on the KGB later on, knowing all too well what the consequences were”. “Why?”, Barton asks, who until now hasn’t spoken a word and is listening attentively. “Well, the KGB officer didn’t deserve the-father-of-the-year award by a long shot. He was an abusive man. A monster. So one night they ran away, (Y/N) and her mom, who was a real angel in living form”. Natasha clearly has respect for the woman, yet she hadn’t had a chance to meet her. “But it didn’t last and he caught up to them. Taking (Y/N) to the Red Room Academy to fuel all the anger coiled up inside, to turn it into something they could exploit”. “Anger? What anger? You just told me (Y/N)’s mother raised her well, good conscience and everything”. “Because-”. Natasha pauses and swallows the lump that has formed in her throat. “Because the father shot her loving mom for taking his child away. Killed, in cold-blood, right in front of the poor kid”, she says as her voice cracks. “And now he learned that his lost child is somehow very much alive and well. So I doubt he’d kill (Y/N), who by the way doesn't have a clue”, she points out ashamed and thereby wrapping up the story. Clint probably has more questions, which Natasha won’t answer, not at this moment anyway. She looks outside through the small, square window. “Besides, it's me who they want to kill. At least, he wants that”. “Wh- And you're telling me this now?! The moment we're about to storm the place, just the two of us?!”, Barton shouts out. “Told you it was complicated”. Romanoff secures the harness she’s wearing and slides the door open. “It's time”.

The uncleaned glass ceiling breaks into a hundred pieces and scatters on the dirty ground below, finally letting the bright warm sunlight in. Eyes closed for protection, you hear the whirring of a helicopter. Something drops down through the roof, guns entering first, secured to a rope and accompanied by multiple shots. Well, that sure as hell is one way to make an entrance.

After mowing down the guards - of which there were apparently six of - she makes a perfect landing on the metal chair located in the middle of the room where you happen to be sitting on and unhooks the rope. Staring into a pair of green eyes you tease, “Took you long enough”. The redhead grins and moves even closer which sends a ripple of pure energy through you. “Sit still for me”, she whispers in your ear and cuts all the zip-ties with her knife in three, quick movements, freeing you. “Oh, for the record, I had it totally under control over here”, you confidently state while rubbing the red, painful skin on your wrists. “Is that your way of thanking me?”, she returns with raised eyebrows and rests her arms on your shoulders while you put yours around her waist firmly. “Nah, I actually had something else in mind”. “Hmm, that sounds more like it”. Both leaning forward, about to properly thank your rescuer, but seem to have forgotten you're not in complete privacy. “Care to do this some other time?”, Barton interrupts flatly, throwing a Glock your way as the two of you quickly got up from the chair - saving it for later. “Thanks for being here”, you say, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “Don’t mention it. You would do the same for me”. He hands you something else. “This might come in handy too”, something he and Natasha already slipped on as an extra precaution, “you already got enough scars, no need for more”. “You know Barton, I heard ex-assassins dig scars”, you reply while connecting the velcro straps of the bulletproof vest he gave you to protect your torso. Natasha grins. “Real cute”, then replaces that mesmerizing grin for a serious expression.

“I won’t ever turn my back on you. Never again, you hear me”, Natasha voices just before the action’s about to start. You send her a quick hand kiss and silently mouth, I know, while aiming at the rusty doors that are about to open.

More KGB assholes start to flood the old warehouse space from two entrances thrown open with force, alerted by the sound of broken glass and gunshots. What they don’t know is that the SHIELD Agents have taken cover, hitting the handful by surprise. A shoot-out goes down until the first men are able to reach your hiding ground. Barton and you start to throw brutal punches while Romanoff uses her widow bites, jamming her charged fists into the attackers.

“I’ll go sweep the rest of the warehouse”, Barton states after picking up a rifle from someone who doesn’t need it anymore as the three of you are currently the only people not unconscious, or dead, in this part of the building. “I’ll join and take that way”, you state and grab a new weapon too, whereas Natasha answers, “I’ll find us a vehicle. Be sure to meet me this time okay”. You grin. “I’ll do my best, Nat”.

After searching half of the unconscious, or dead men on the ground, she’s about to hit the jackpot. A set of car-keys. But before she can get a hold of it, she hears a sound. She's not alone anymore. “Natalia, so nice of you to join”, someone says, “or should I say, Black Widow?”, accompanied by a set of footsteps becoming louder. Without turning around she speaks, “Yeah I wish it were under different circumstances, like you six feet under with me holding the shovel”. He laughs. “How thoughtful of you”. “Guess your men weren’t that thoughtful, they might have underestimated me”. Still her back turned towards the person speaking to her, continuing her search meticulously. “I know they underestimated you. Something I would never do, Natalia”. The sound of a gun close to her loading up for its next shot made her spin around. Car-keys in one hand, her Glock in the other.

Someone is pointing a weapon, but hesitates to pull the trigger. Like she also had, merely one time before. “Why aren’t you doing something?!”, you shout at the KGB officer in anger, a steady grip on the gun handle. He isn’t even defending himself. The three of you positioned in a triangle, you look at the man claiming to be your dad and then to the person you love who stares at you with worried eyes. “It’s okay (Y/N). You don’t have to do this”, Natasha eases, but it doesn’t calm you down. She sees the hatred burning in your dark, dilated pupils. It’s strange, you don’t know who this man is, or what he did, but he makes every fiber in your body scream. There's so much pent-up rage. And yet, nothing happens. The trigger isn’t moving. “So? What are you waiting for?! Do something!”, you shout again, noticing the gun quivering in your hands. He shakes his head. “You’d always let emotions get the best of you. It’s weak. But I wouldn't kill my own child, you know that”, he answers calmly, looking at you. “And what about the mother of your own child?”, Natasha says accusingly. “What? My… mom?”, you speak softly, even more confused, and meet Natasha's sorrowful eyes.

He laughs once more. The evilness in it makes Natasha shiver. “Love is for children. It's pathetic. And traitors…”, in a flash of a second he grabs his pistol, “we all know what happens to a traitor”, and aims. It's not a regular weapon. Not like the ones his men were using. He probably kept the best for himself. Selfish bastard. Regardless if you remember him or not, he isn't aiming at his own child. No. Following the barrel’s trajectory your eyes stop at the sight of another barrel. A Glock held by a beautiful redhead now less than two meters away. Oh shit...  

Two shots are fired, and two people hit the cracked, cemented floor. It all happened so fast. One of them deserved it a long time ago. The KGB officer, your cruel father. Dead. And the other one… Meanwhile Barton made his way back, having cleared the whole building but freezes when he enters. With an open mouth he stares, speechless, and his eyes getting watery. It wouldn't have been a problem and led to this outcome if the now dead officer had used any of the other guns here present. Yet, the rounds from his pistol were not standard. These were able to pierce one’s body armor. Your body armor.

“Don't leave me. No... Not again. Not now. I just got you back…”, Natasha says hoarsely, fighting back tears and holding you in her arms. Her recently fired gun now next to her on the cold ground. A tear rolls down her cheek and she presses her soft lips on your forehead. After the delicate kiss she whispers,

“I love you. Till next time, (Y/N)...” 

PART 8       

Tags: @5aftermidnight​​​, @ohfuckno​​​

[allieallie]

Lovely Life by allieallie

 A breeze of cold air puffed across a young woman standing on a balcony holding letter tightly she read:

Dearest Lovely, 

I am sorry to leave you this fine day, I am sorry I haven't told you about my condition earlier. I didn't want to see your sad face every time we saw each other. All I wanted was to live the rest of my days with you.

 I remember the day we first went up on stage together with our first-ever song. I played the guitar and you were singing, with the most angel-like voice, that is when I fell head over heels for you. Every time you called my name, I had a desire to hold you close and never let go. 

 All the memories we made, please cherish them. I shall say my last goodbye, 

Please let the other bandmates know I said goodbye.

With lots of love,

Ryan.

 A tear dropping with every word. Grief filled the clouds, turning them grey. As the light rain starts, masking the tears, the lady walks back into the house only to cry some more. 

After that, she wouldn’t leave the house, nor answer the door. Feeling depressed, she lied on her bed. She lit a cigarette, although she had never done so before. As the days went by, her health started declining. Her angelic voice had disappeared, now replaced with a raspy, hoarse one. She waited for her death to approach. 

***

An old lady jerks up from her sleep, taking deep uncontrollable breaths. Her heart ached from the nightmare. As she got out of the bed, she accidentally knocked the lamp off of the side table, making a loud thud. Moments later the elderly woman saw the door slowly creaking open, followed by a voice. Thinking no-one was home, she listened nervously.

-Miss Lovely! is everything okay?

Relieved that it was only her nurse, Nila, she replied:

-Oh sorry dear, I accidentally knocked off the lamp.

The girl walks over and picks up the object in question and she asks:

-Is everything alright? You seem a bit upset.

-Oh, don't worry, I just had another silly dream. Everything is alright- Miss Lovely smiled, attempting to avoid the subject.

- Is it? You can tell me, I know you aren’t telling the truth.

- Alright I suppose I should. I- - Miss Lovely sighed - I had an unpleasant dream about my past. Years ago, I was- - She gulped, but couldn’t bring herself to continue, tears already running down her face.

- Oh, I am so sorry miss Lovely - Nila replied feeling guilty for making the old lady reminisce such a thing.- I didn't know.

- It's not your fault, it's now in the past anyway. -The elderly woman said forcing a smile to lighten up the mood.

 They sat in silence before, a knock at the front door was heard. Nila left to check who it was and Lovely stood up to get changed. A few minutes later she entered the living room and saw someone familiar sitting on the couch. The stranger glimpsed at her, noticing someone walk in, and stood up excitedly after realizing who it was:

-Lovely! Long time no see! How you been!?

-Tylor is that you?- Lovely said, in surprise.

-Yes, indeed. Is something the matter?

-Well, you look older.- Lovely said with a mocking tone.

-I could say the same to you.

Tylor used to play the bass guitar in Lovely’s band, called Moon. His signature move was the slap and a killer smile. However, the band did not last long, and they split with everyone going their merry way. He later became a successful businessman by selling his bass solo.

-I have not seen the whole town yet, maybe you could show me around? - Tylor asked as he had only arrived the day before.

-Sorry, I cannot at the moment. I have duties to tackle. - Lovely said, already drained by the idea of working.

- Oh! I can help you out and in return, you could show me around. - Tylor suggested enthusiastically.

The duties involved collecting apples and mushrooms from the forest nearby. While they were on the way, Lovely pulled out her photo album, which she had brought along, and recalled the fun memories they had while the band hadn’t yet disbanded.

-Hey, I remember that! - Tylor exclaimed, pointing at a photograph - This was our first ever performance. I remember sliding to the front of the stage on my knees to look cool and fell off!- Tylor chuckled -You guys were so mad, and later we all laughed about it.

Lovely chuckled, flipping through more pages until they opened the page where a letter was. Lovely's eyes dropped as her bright smile disappeared. Only with a glimpse of the page, Tylor knew it was about Ryan. Ryan was a former bandmate and Lovely's significant other who passed 42 years ago. Ryan wrote the letter and placed it in her memory book before passing away from cancer. Lovely never knew he was sick so it was devastating news to her and even now she cries remembering him.

 The two former bandmates walk along a path, collecting mushrooms when Lovely sees a large patch of daisies not far from where they stood so she decides to explore it. She walks over with Tylor still following, telling her about recent events in his life when they stumble upon an old fountain, which was still running. There was a bench right next to it, so they sat down for a break. As lovely places, the open photo album next to her on the bench, Ryan’s letter gets carried away by the wind and into the fountain. Tylor noticing this exclaims:

-The letter! Lovely quick take it out!

Lovely instantly turns around and sees what he had been shouting about and reaches in. Tylor also trying to retrieve the letter, tries to grab it but they both fall in.

Lovely breaking the water surface takes a deep breath but the letter was nowhere to be found. She shouts at Tylor to see if he got it but instead sees a much younger version of him. He was getting out, his clothing all wet turns to her, and is in complete awe. She has long brown locks, clear pale skin, and much taller than she used to be. The same could be said for him. He has better posture, a skinnier face, and mid-length black hair. 

-What happened to you? -Lovely says in surprise.

-What? Are we young again? - Tylor cries, touching his clear and unwrinkled face.

-Is this a dream? -The brunette questions, looking at her friend.

-I don’t know but we have to head back - He replies.

They both walk the usual route, but upon seeing the town their jaws drop. All of the new shops, roads, and buildings aren’t there. They kept looking around the town when they see a young and a very much alive Ryan walking towards them. He still had his curly blond hair and mesmerizing green eyes. Lovely couldn’t keep her emotion to herself so she ran at him and hugged him to make sure.

-You’re here!? - She exclaimed, in happiness and confusion.

-Of course, I am. We were supposed to meet here. -Ryan says cluelessly while returning the hug.

-This can’t be real - Tylor says, rubbing his eyes. Ryan looking concerned at him.

- Why is it a surprise to you guys, was I supposed to be assassinated or something? - The blond jokes, but soon realized the others found it in poor taste so he laughed it off.

The bassist took Lovely by her arm and dragged her back to the fountain and Ryan followed in confusion. When they got to where the fountain was supposed to be they only saw the bench and Tylor noticed their clothes were no longer wet.

-What is this? Where’s the fountain? - He said in shock, looking over to the couple. Lovely had an ill face but didn’t let her boyfriend see it to avoid his concern.

-What do you mean? There was never a fountain here -Ryan explained still not understanding their weird behavior.

-We should get back. By the way, what day is it today?- The girl said breaking the silence.

-It’s October 2nd, why? 

- 1976? - Tylor continued

- Um, yes. Are you guys feeling okay?- The boyfriend asks and remembers - Oh also I haven’t told you this yesterday but I got us a gig at Jerico’s. And we’re performing tonight!

-That’s awesome! - Lovely says in an excited voice.

Later that night after the performance Ryan and Lovely shared an intimate moment backstage, where he told her just how much he loved her and how much he wanted to live long enough to get old together. At that moment she realized how he was hinting at his sickness and she never bothered to give his words too much thought.

*-Ryan, I love you, no matter what happens in the future. - Lovely said holding back her tears as they embrace in a hug.*

 The morning after she receives a call from Ryan’s mother telling her he passed away. She was so devastated at the news, even though she knew he would die that night. Her heart ached but she remembered the photo album and how he was supposed to slip the letter in. She rushed to her bookshelf and went through it, in hopes it was already there but she couldn’t find it. No matter how many times she checked, it wasn’t there. Out of the worry that she had done something different for history to go wrong she called Tylor and explained her frustration. He invited her over and they talked.

-It can’t be right! The letter must have been there - Lovely cried.

-Calm down, we’ll figure this out - Tylor said, reassuring her.

-The letter is real right? I had it for so many years it has to be. You saw it too right?-She exclaimed waiting for an answer, to make sure she wasn’t imagining all of this. 

-Yes, It did exist - The bassist said, not being able to push out another word

-Are we in an alternate universe where he decided not to write the letter?-She questioned, to a point where she was driving herself insane.

-Lovely stop - He paused- I wrote the letter

-What? No, but I was sure it was Ryan. - She said with a sour expression - Why would you do that to me, lie for all these years? I thought you cared about me!

-I do and that’s why I wrote it. When I found out how much and how hard you’ve been grieving over him. It broke my heart. I was sad that he couldn’t say goodbye to you. So I dropped it off in your photo album while I was visiting a few days after. I wrote it so you wouldn’t think he didn’t love you -He said desperately trying to explain myself. 

-He didn’t love me? - She whispered through the tears, with her lips trembling.

-What? That’s not what I said - He said, shaking his head.

-Yes it is! You said, “So you wouldn’t think he didn’t love you”!- She shouted, her face turning red.

-I didn’t mean it like that! You know he loved you. He said “I love you” to you every day, every chance he got! -He barked not being able to keep his temper.

Lovely stood up and left without a word and Tylor was left, regretting telling her about the letter. Now he had to prove to her that Ryan really did love her.

Two days later Ryan’s mother invites Tylor to their house for dinner because she knew he was one of Ryan’s best friends and that his death might have affected them in a bad way. After his arrival, he roams around the house looking for a bathroom and sees an office room. He walks in and sees a lone desk and chair.  He sits down on the office chair and looks around his table. He notices a drawer and opens it out of curiosity. It had a box inside it. Just as he does so Ryan’s mother walks in and Tylor jumps up from the chair.

-Oh, I knew you’d get lost - She says -The bathroom is actually that way -She points in a different direction.

-Thank you, I was just looking at this - Tylor says pulling the box out of the drawer

- I didn’t know Ryan was going to propose so soon. Did he tell you about the ring?- She asked, the smile never leaving her face.

-The ring?-He says in confusion but soon realizes she’s talking about an engagement one- Ah yes he did, he wanted to propose to Lovely, right? -He said in hopes that it was actually for Lovely and that he didn’t have a secret mistress who he loved more.

-Yes, what an amazing girl she is - She begins before she hears the kitchen timer ring- Ooh, sounds like dinner’s ready! Don’t forget to wash your hands- She continues and leaves.

Now that Tylor had sufficient evidence to prove to Lovely that Ryan truly loved her, he needed to get her to see it. He knew it was risky but he shoved the ring in his pocket anyway and went back to being a guest. After dinner, he came over to Lovely’s house and knocked on the door. She didn’t answer.

-Lovely, listen I know you can hear me. I have proof that he really loved you! - Tylor shouted loud enough for Lovely to hear him from her open window. She knew nothing could bring her mood back up but she decided to listen to him. She opened the door.

-What is it?- She said in a monotone voice.

-See this? It’s an engagement ring. He wanted to marry you - He said proudly.

-Why do you spend so much money on something you can’t fix! - She cried in disbelief, for him to go this far with a lie.

-I didn’t buy it. I found it at his house!- He exclaimed, trying to prove himself

-His mother is staying there, I visited her the other day. She would have told me! - She shouted.

-Fine just keep this, for me -He couldn’t do anything else so he gave up. 

He handed her the ring box and waited for her to open it when he realized he didn’t actually check if there was anything inside. Lovely looked at it and opened waiting to be disappointed. Much to her surprise, it was nothing she ever expected, it wasn’t even a ring. It was a small rose gold chain necklace, which she mentioned she liked when she and Ryan went window shopping once. Her face lost the heavy expression which she had been wearing during the whole ordeal. Tylor still couldn’t see what was in the box, so he assumed it was empty; he waited to be shouted at or have the door slam against his face, instead he felt Lovely hug him. She held onto him.

-I’m sorry -She whispered, as Tylor hugged her back, not saying a word. 

After letting go of each other, they walked back to the bench and sat down.

-I guess this is it -Lovely began- We relive our lives all over again.

-At least I know my Bass-solo is going to be a success -Tylor laughed and Lovely smiled to herself.

The sun was setting and they both sat in complete silence. Lovely looked down and noticed a small patch of daisies. She picked one up and rolled it’s stem with her fingers, inspecting it. “No matter how much I beat myself over him, he won’t come back. Learning to move on is part of growing. Instead of grieving over someone’s death, I shouldn't wait for mine. I should live my life to the fullest. That's what Ryan would have wanted for me. I should embrace and celebrate what others aren't fortunate enough to have for long ”.

[chimswae]

BTS Caretaker CH7

Summary: She may think she has Bangtan Sonyeondan wrapped around her fingers. She may think it is easy to love the members equally without hurting any soul. She may think the boys wont fall head over heels for her. She assumes it is okay to show a little love and affection towards the boys, what if she gets it all wrong? What if it only brings more complication to her already complicated life? Can she survive their charms? Will she be able to resist them? What if they just wont let her go?

- Pairing: BTS x Oc ( Yoongi x OC, Jungkook x OC)

- Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst, Romance, Idol!au

- Word Count: 2,445

- Author Note: Finally update on time! i appreciate your feedback and comment, just drop in my ASK BOX :)

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Chapter 7

It was Monday again. The light from the sun illuminating her room, shrinking all her thoughts and feelings at once. She really did not want to be in the same building as Bangtan Sonyeondan again. Not after the incident that she tried hard to forget. Yet she failed to do so.

Yesterday, her mother came with bad news claiming she had requested a weekend break from the company. She told them the truth about her health condition which started to deteriorate these past weeks minus the part she couldn’t perform the job and made Seul to replace her instead. At least, she informed them about being sick. Therefore, they agreed on letting her mother work daily instead of everyday. The only change made was her work schedule but not the contract termination.

Groaning mentally, Seul wished her mother would request for contract termination instead of the change in the work schedule. Since Bighit seemed pretty lenient and understanding when it came to their staff’s welfare, she’s sure they wouldn’t force a sick old lady to work her ass off. Unless, the individual didn’t ask for it, so they might assume things were alright. Gosh, as expected who could stop her stubborn mother.

Strutting to the main door, Seul put on her black converse with heavy heart. Deep down in her heart, she hoped none of the boys would be home at this time like before. Even worse, if Min Suga was there again to ruin her day. She would not let him for the second time. Actually, Seul was still embarrassed over the kiss, after contemplating so many times, she decided to face the day as if nothing ever happened previously. She planned in her head, if she ever bumped into Min Suga, she would ignore him without uttering anything.

That would be the best thing to do, right? Maybe for now.

Walking along the street, Seul watched how the mother nature switched from sunny to cloudy in the blink of an eyes. She didn’t even realize, she dragged the time a bit due to her reluctances to tend Bangtan’s dorms today. Seul even purposely took the longer route in hope to clear her messy mind. However, upon seeing the change of weather she decided to head straight to the tiger’s den.

The journey took only 10 minutes from where she stopped to daydreaming a while ago. She entered the password to the apartment with sweaty palm. First of all, she was not ready mentally and physically to face any of the members. Her nervousness soared even higher when the main door opened. Inhaling a deep breath, she stealthily entered the den and to her relief Seul was welcomed by the emptiness and shirts scattered on the floor.

“Thank god” she heaved a sigh of relief.

Seeing how messy the place was, the boys might be barely back at home. It hasn’t even a week, and the place was awfully wrecked. She grunted at the thought of cleaning up the three days mess. It would be a long day for Seul.

Without further ado, she went straight to tend her job started with the living room and pile of dishes. She glanced at the amount of takeout boxes on the table, as she bit her lower lips feeling sympathy for them.

“They are not even eating healthily” she murmured while cleaning the leftover.

 ---------------------

“Make it quick Namjoon. We have to be there on time, you don’t want to be late” warned Manager Sejin. Namjoon dashed out of from the vehicle as fast as lightning without even bother to look back.

“I’ll be quick” he hollered as his body disappeared inside the building.

Clumsy Namjoon stumbled in between the journey whilst running for his life to get his stuff. He approached the door to their place and opened the door hastily as soon as he heard the click sound. His nose caught the smell of detergent from the other side, and he tilted his head curiously at the image in front of him. Their place was cleaned and organized in contrary to few hours ago.

“The ahjumma” his round lips broke into a cheeky smile. His head peeked at the kitchen until he saw a glimpse of shadow coming from the room that he shared with Taehyung. Seul heard a rustling sound coming from her back, and her body froze momentarily. She pulled the mask over her nose covering half of her face. Frankly speaking, her heart pounded furiously against her chest as if it might jump out from it by any seconds from now.

Panic. She shouldn’t be panic.

“Ahjumma?” Seul was taken aback by the manly voice. Who was it this time? She held onto the fibre duster tightly while holding her breath. Seul did not know how to react to that question so instead she chose to remain quiet. Judging from his voice, he didn’t sound like Suga.

Namjoon scratched the back of his head, taking few steps towards Seul “Ahjumma right?” he inquired again.

Silence.

Another silence.

It’s killing Namjoon.

“Ahjumma? Are you alright?” Namjoon decided to slide in front of Seul. There he was standing straight while eyeing the person in front of him worriedly. Seul averted her eyes from meeting Namjoon’s curious one, that guy was trying to read her.

Giving in, Seul nodded indicating she was okay. Soon after, she heard a sigh of relief from the guy in front of him. Funny thing, she found the guy has a unique face and very weird accent. His puffy cheeks and dimples were attractive. Then it hit her, this guy in front of her is the leader, Kim Namjoon. To make it worse, he was a real genius and there was no way she could lie to him without being caught.

Let’s just hope, he is only good in his studies and not that genius when it comes to reading others thought. Seul crossed her fingers.

“Wow, I didn’t expect to meet you after so many years ahjumma. Oh, before I forgot, hello I am Rap Monster, but you can call me Namjoon. I am Bangtan’s leader” he bowed out of respect with a wide smile.

It baffled her for a short while to receive such a deep bow from someone like him, considering Namjoon is older than her. Shoot that, he doesn’t know about her. All he knew was the caretaker is an old ahjumma. Nonetheless, Namjoon is a good guy with manners.

The corner of her lips was tugged into a small smile as she returned the politeness by bowing slightly. Her body went numb. Her mind had stopped working. Should she just play along? As long as she had facemask to cover her face, it should be alright.

“You look younger than I expected. You really took a good care of your skin” Namjoon said sheepishly. The older guy was confused by Seul’s action since she hadn’t uttered any words. He wondered if she was feeling ill or she was just shy.

“Oh I really want to say this since forever, I am not sure when will ever meet again. We are very grateful to have you as our caretaker. And it must be hard to clean up the place by your own considering how messy it could be sometimes. We will try to clean when we can, we apologize for putting all the loads on your shoulder” Seul softened at his sincerity. How can a celebrity like him be so down to earth and even apologize for something that is not even his fault?

Namjoon continued with a shy smile “Ahjumma, thank you for the food that you prepared. You fed us well despite all the rough years that we faced when we first debuted. The food really warmth our heart. It was one of the reasons to keep us going until where we are now” Seul brows flinched together seemed affected of his brief but meaningful speech. She swore to god, she really admires Namjoon’s kindness and humble side. It is rare to find someone like him nowadays.

“I really have a lot of things to say but I am running late. I hope we can meet again soon with others. I will try to talk it out with the management team” he clasped his hand together as his eyes glimmered with hope.

Seul eyes met his as she smiled genuinely under his mask but enough for Namjoon to see it through her eyes. Namjoon was caught at the moment until Taehyung’s voice broke the awkwardness between them.

“NAMJOON HYUNG FASTER FASTER!”

Namjoon blinked with a soft sigh “That is the cue, it is nice meeting you ahjumma. Don’t overwork yourself, I will ask the maknaes to clean up the rest. I guess I will get going now. Have a good day” he bid her farewell and stole a last glance at Seul’s small figure.

I wonder why she didn’t talk, and she does look young. It must be my mind. Namjoon walked up to impatient Taehyung who’s leaning his back against the door.

“What took you so long? Manager hyung is nagging us!” Taehyung frowned.

“I am sorry. I met caretaker ahjumma inside so-“ Taehyung squealed got Namjoon bled in his ears as he held back the excited boy back to where he stood.

The younger guy grinned like a fool “Oh my god where? Let me meet her!” he exclaimed excitedly. Namjoon only shook his head stopping the guy before he could crash inside frightening the hell of the caretaker lady in process.

“Tae, we have shows in few hours. We need to go now. I have told her what we felt, so let’s hope we will be able to meet her again soon alright? Now chill dude, let’s go” he shut the door behind him, dragging the latter using a little force.

“Man, how’s the ahjumma? Is she young as what Yoongi hyung claimed?” he pursed his lips in frustration. He continued to pry answers from Namjoon mainly on the ahjumma’s appearance.

 ------------------------

As clock strikes 2 in the morning, they were finally back at their place. Fatigue. Hunger. Mental exhaustion. You named it, it was written clearly on their forehead. Jin was the first one whom dragged his aching body to the kitchen. A smile appeared on his face upon seeing the amount of food on the table.

“The ahjumma is really back I guess” Jin yelled from the kitchen.

“I told you so” Namjoon grumbled with his eyes close, “I saw her, and she looked sick. I told her to take the cleaning slow today” Yoongi’s ears perked up, showcasing his interest. Could it be the young lady or the real caretaker now? He really had no time to think about the girl who caused chaos to his heart.

Jimin sat up “I think it comes out as habit. Cleaning the place and cook something for us. I am hungry” he got up, pulling sleepy Taehyung with him.

“Chimmy, I want to sleep. Leave me alone” he protested with a pout.

“Let’s eat first! The ahjumma prepared this for us, so show your gratitude by eating it” Jimin patted his friend’s back with a slight chuckle. He even forced Taehyung to sit down on one of the seats and as soon as his butt landed on the cold stool, he rested his forehead on the table.

Cheerful Hoseok entered the scene, stood beside Jin helping him to warm the food for them to savour. A pink sticky note on the fridge caught his attention. With a smile, he took the notes “Guys, ahjumma left us a message” Jungkook yawned loudly resting his chin on Jin’s shoulder watching the older guy doing things with the food inside the pan.

“What did she say?” Jin tapped Jungkook’s head with a clean spoon ordering him to get off him instantly. Jungkook pursed his lips, moving backwards and took a seat beside Taehyung.

“Okay I will read it aloud… Dear boys, I want to make it up to you for my absence last Friday. So here is a feast for you guys. But I seem to miscalculate BTS members, therefore there is no food for Min Yoongi. I apologize, I must be getting old already. Eat and rest well..” Hoseok gawked at the last sentences “Is this a prank?”

At the mention of his name Yoongi arose from his seat, charging towards Hoseok, snatching the pink notes from his hand. He scanned the notes diligently ensuring the notes were not a mere tease by Hoseok. His breath hitched “What the fuck?” he cussed lowly.

“Are you kidding me? Hoseok stop joking around” Jin placed the heated food on the table. Even the sleepy Namjoon and Taehyung looked at Yoongi’s direction with so much interest. Now, that was dramatic. Out of all the members why would she pinpoint Yoongi?

“She seemed to be holding grudge against you? Was it due to the last week incident?” Jimin poked his chopstick at the food in front of him, while shoving some inside his mouth.

Yoongi rubbed his temple, digesting this new information again “I am sure she is hiding something. Can’t you believe me? She is the sasaeng fan! The girl that came into our place pretending to be the caretaker ahjumma. Joon, come on you saw her earlier. You could tell if she is old or not!” he scowled.

 Yoongi believed that was the way of Seul to get revenge on him. It never dawned on him that he would hear from Seul again. This thing with Seul was driving him up the wall. Just who on earth is Seul?

“Well…She doesn’t look that old. I can’t tell much since she is wearing a facemask. But, if she really is a sasaeng, why would she clean our place? Seriously hyung. You must have done something to upset her” Namjoon crossed his arms, looking alarmed.

Hoseok rubbed the back of his head “Maybe she is sick of cleaning your messy room” earning a deep glare from the older guy.

“Okay maybe not” Hoseok chickened away and immediately settled down beside Jimin.

His tummy was screaming for food at first now he’s slowly losing his appetite. Yoongi turned to leave others for a long bath, but only to come at halt “Yah, aren’t you going to eat?” said Jin.

“Nevermind. I am full. Go ahead and eat” he ditched the kids behind and headed straight to his room. Because after all there is no food for Min Yoongi. He grinded his teeth together.

Just wait, I will expose you for sure. Yoongi rolled his eyes.

This work belongs to  Chimswae © 2020. All Rights Reserved.

[kchuarts]

Flowers in Blood

A/N: This ones a sad one I ain’t gonna hold you on that. Also the ending isn’t very cliffhangery? It will be though. It will be. 

Summary: Sometimes Jonathan Pine needs to be held in return. 

Warnings: GRAPHIC WAR / DEATH SCENE

Taglist: @lucywrites02​, @shiningloki​

Chapter 8: Black Rose 

The crime lord took a drag from his cigarette, puffing out smoke before answering. “I have my ways, you should already know that.” his lips pulled up into a smirk. Roper waved two fingers at one of his guards to bring him a glass of wine. “So I heard you and good ol’ Danny boy have met. Nasty bloke he is.” Roper takes another drag from the stick. 

“I am not here to have idle chat, Roper.” Pine looked behind him, making sure the door was still shut and Katie was hopefully out of ear shot. “Just tell me first how in the hell you managed to crawl out of the hole you hid away in and what you want from me.” His blue eyes kept glancing over to the door, debating if he should let the young woman in his flat that he had to step outside. 

Richard chuckled into the phone, taking a hold of his wine and sipping it. “I’m not going to repeat myself, Pine. You should have heard me the first time.” He took another sip of his expensive beverage before setting it down. “I’ve come to give you a ring and tell you that you’re off the hook. I’ve taken care of what Natalie wants from you within a few hours after your departure. She’s got the biggest of smiles on her face right now because of it too.” A knowing smirk touched his lips again, sinister intentions gleaming in his eyes. 

Pine huffed and opened the door for a moment, holding his phone away from his mouth. “Katie? I’m gonna step out for a smoke for a bit. I shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.” Dragging her into the mess known as Richard Roper was one of many things that Jonathan didn’t want to meddle her into. He put the phone back up to his ear, fast walking out of the flat as fast as he could. 

“Katie?” The older man mused, chuckling and pursing his lips as he inhaled from the white stick. “You’ve moved on fast if I’m assuming correctly. I thought you and Jed would have eloped after the stunt you pulled with me, shaming me for a few years.” He flicked the ashes into a tray and frowned at the memory of just a few years back. It was certainly interesting to know that Pine potentially had a new love interest. Roper noted this in the back of his mind and would ask Daniel about this new woman later on. 

Jonathan lit a cigarette of his own, taking a drag before lowering his voice as he was outside. Anger and hot smoke ignited inside the agent's chest at the mention of his past lover. “You should know that the life I lead isn’t meant for time to play romance or settle down. Now tell me what the fuck do you want. I can’t say I’m overly thankful you took care of something I had started planning ideas for.” He took another drag, eyes scanning the crowd for any onlookers that could be eavesdropping. 

“Bollocks! Come off it, Pine I know you better than that. You certainly didn’t have your finalized plan of shutting Poppy down within a fortnight, so I went ahead and took care of it for you!” Richard leaned back in his seat, staring out of his villa balcony. Like he had said, Roper had his ways of working his way back into the land of crime and managed to get his private island home back. “I’m not trying to kiss ass and earn points with you, I’m playing devil’s advocate at the moment. I did it because you have bigger problems ahead of you and Daniel was tired of waiting around for Natalie and her drug addicted squabble to actually do something. You can certainly cross Poppy off your list now because Bloodroot is now taking over.” He clicked his tongue and reached over to grab a file, “Sometimes I wonder about these Americans and their tenacity to get the job done. Feisty ones they are, I’m sure you understand just as much as I do.” He hinted at Jed once again, still sour over that whole debacle. “Oh and you needn’t worry about Natalie’s boys watching you anymore, in fact you should be more worried if Belladonna could be creeping nearby. Luckily for you, I haven’t called any of my men to keep tabs on you… Yet.” 

The Crime Lord’s slight cryptic speak was beginning to drive Jonathan crazy and he just wanted to hang up right then and there. However, if what Roper said was true then this meant he could return the call to Angela and find out what she dug up on that thumbdrive and note. “I can only wonder when that will be.” He hissed, exhaling smoke and flicking the ashes. “So you only called me just to tell me that you handled my situation but that you’re also in cahoots with Belladonna’s leader? Brilliant. What a waste of my time. Next time you even think about calling me, be sure that I don’t have your number being tracked resulting in putting you away for good.” He pulled the phone away from his ear and hung up, jaw clenched tightly. Pine knew DAMN well that Roper was up to something more nefarious than he led on. It wasn’t out of the kindness of his own cold heart that he’d do Pine a favor after what he did to him. He wanted something and whatever that something was wouldn’t be good. 

“Well?” Daniel narrowed his gaze at Roper sitting across from him. 

Richard gave a knowing smirk and nodded, “He’s suspicious but I think he took the bait.” He reached for his wine and leaned back again, sipping it. “Now we just wait for when that stupid woman sends him off to South Korea or Japan. Bloodroot is currently enroute to Tokyo?” 

The Greek man nodded, his arms folded across his chest. “They are to meet up with Wisteria and possibly Daphne if The Tigress decides to get off her lazy ass and make the trip. From there, they will be discussing new trade routes and deals now that Poppy has been taken care of.” Daniel sneered at his former English branch. 

“What of your sister? The Wolfsbane branch?” Roper raised a brow, curious as Abbadon’s area was not brought up. For as long as Richard had known the siblings, he rather liked the younger sister as she was quick and took no shit. He thought that she was better suited to be leader of Belladonna instead of her aggressive older brother. Daniel was too brash and never thought of how his decisions would impact his business after he leapt. It worked out eventually but with too many mistakes and messes. 

Amber eyes gleamed with dark fury, “What about my traitorous sister? Of course Wolfsbane is out of the question.” Daniel scoffed and gave a slight snarl. “Because of her little performance in Moscow and now with Poppy gone, we have to work even harder with just four instead of six branches.” His eye twitched from irritation. The night of the gala still infuriated Daniel as he had blindly put his trust into his sister and was played right into her trap. She knew Pine would be there and had been hiding her desire to break free of the family business until then. That is the reason why her son, Nikolai, was locked away in a cage in an unknown location in order to keep tabs on her. However, this did not appear to be enough and so Daniel decided that having two big branches was useless. “So do you have anything else to tell me, Richard?” He exhaled hotly and raised his brows. “Anything that may perhaps calm my rage? News of successful weapon sales? New whores shipped from Seoul? Pine’s new partner?” A sick smirk cracked across his tanned lips. 

“Oh.” Roper inwardly rolled his eyes at Daniel’s insatiable thirst for a perfect harem. Sure, Richard enjoyed a woman’s company from time to time but, Daniel was rather disgustingly obsessed with it. He even saw first hand that his respect of women was zero to none, hence why his wives were covered in bruises. “Well yes, I believe he mentioned her name was Katie? Don’t you have… Twelve wives already?” He raised a brow but would rather not hear the details. 

Daniel got up and clapped his hands, beaming pervertedly. “I much prefer that over Natasha. That was her little nickname back in Moscow. Mmm “Katie” yes I do enjoy that.” He frowned slightly at Roper as he heard the hint of disgust in his ally’s voice. “Thirteen is just another number, no? I have collected wives from all over! Egypt, Germany, Canada, Thailand, Japan, Korea, China, Russia, Spain, Africa, France, Australia… I need an all American girl to carry on with my little theme I have going on.” His smirk returned and a very obvious erection stood out. “Now, when you hear news of their fated arrival to the land of the rising sun, let me know and I will discuss plans to lure them to the den of The Tigress. She may be a lazy bitch, but she knows what she does and performs it well. Oh and Roper-” He turned around, smirk gone again. “Do not let me regret bailing you out or it is your head I will take as payment.” 

--------------------------------------

Police sirens blared as several cars pulled up to the abandoned warehouse out in the woods. Angela stepped out of one of the cars as she had been informed that this crime was another piece to her case. “Jesus H. Christ-” She muttered, covering her mouth with her sweater sleeve upon seeing the blood bath. 

The entirety of Poppy were currently being dressed in body bags as just hours ago, they had been slaughtered brutally. Natalie Baylor’s appearance was by the far the worst with her eyes gouged out and her mouth split from ear to ear. On each member of the drug organization there had been a Belladonna flower carved into their forearms complete with a small bouquet of the said plant. What was more gruesome was that many of the members, Natalie included, had the equally toxic berries stuffed into their mouths by the handful. 

“So I’m gonna assume this is the higher ups. God save the Queen, they’re going after their own crew.” Angela pondered, walking carefully around the corpses. Natalie’s clenched fist particularly caught the Director’s attention and she asked for a pair of gloves to inspect the late woman’s body. “Thank you dear” She took the gloves from a paramedic and slipped them on, carefully opening the stiffened hand. It had been around four hours since the discovery of the murders, so rigor mortis had already settled in. Much to Angela’s lack of surprise, there was indeed something held. The older woman removed the paper and frowned in concentration, waving a police officer away as they tried to escort her off. “I’m part of this investigation, Angela Burr? Haven’t you heard of me?” She shook her head as the officer gave her a bit of an attitude. “Bugger off.” She cursed under her breath before returning to the strange piece of parchment. What she read made her blood run cold. 

Considering that you’ll be the first here, my dear Angela, I dedicate this work of art to you. The higher ups of Belladonna have so graciously allowed me to walk a “free man” once more. All I had to do was take care of these spineless oafs for them so that your dogs could continue to sniff their way along the investigation. Take this as a warning that I am watching and should you reveal anything that this note contains, the same could happen to you. I’d like to think of this as a little game and see how long it takes before someone slips. Have a lovely evening, my dear. 

-An old friend  

It was wrong of her to do, but Angela quickly shoved the piece of evidence in her pocket and growled. She knew exactly who this was and was not happy in the slightest, “Roper.” 

---------------------------------------

The moment Jonathan stepped back inside, Katie was already in bed and sound asleep, snuggled into the sheets. Pine couldn’t help but think of how adorable the brunette looked all tucked in and cozy. He sighed deeply, figuring that now with Roper’s odd involvement it would be safe to give his boss a ring. It still puzzled Pine though with Richard suddenly appearing out of the blue and giving them some leeway. There had to be more than just this, Jonathan was certain that Roper wanted something, he would just have to find out as soon as he could. Shaking his head, Jonathan makes his way to the bathroom and tends to his nightly needs before making his way to bed. He would think more on the case tomorrow morning with a more clear and concise mind. Carefully, he peels back his sheets and slips into them without waking Katie up. Thankfully, the young woman seems to be a rather heavy sleeper as Jonathan’s arms wrapping around her body does not seem to disturb her. Pine was more than happy to have Katie in his arms and would never turn something like this down as her body molded perfectly to his. Leaning over, he turned the lamp off and adjusted his position. With the soft patter of rain hitting the window, soothing darkness, Katie’s warm body, and lovely scent; Jonathan found himself asleep within minutes. 

-flash- 

“GO! GO! GO!!” The sergeant of Pine’s squad screamed as the Taliban were firing at them. 

A younger Jonathan frantically looked around, the sound of gunfire ringing in his ears for a moment. “CAM!? CAM WHERE ARE YOU!?” He screamed for his friend, hiding behind a bullet ridden wall for cover as a pipe bomb blew. Cries of pain from his companions had suddenly become louder than the explosions and rain of fire. He was not about to leave his best friend behind to die. “CAMERON!?” Pine threw himself from out of his hiding place, only to be forced to army crawl as bullets from each side whizzed above him. He had to hold back a scream as a child soldier fell dead right in his eyesight. Anything that he had eaten that day made its way up and covered Jonathan’s front as a reaction to seeing this innocent child fall victim to war. There was no time to stop as Pine continued to army crawl, using the dust from the area as coverage. 

“Pine-” A voice moaned out hoarsely. 

What Jonathan saw next made his stomach drop. Cameron was tied to a post with a large handmade timer bomb stabbed into his hands. “N-No, Cam.” He felt breathless as he quickly made his way to his dying friend. Almost immediately, he tried to undo the ropes securing Cameron, struggling as his vision was blurred from dust and smoke. 

The brunette man gave a bloody smile to his best friend and laughed weakly. “Hey i-it’s ok. I’m gonna be ok, Jonathan.” He coughed, shutting his eyes and continued to smile through the pain. 

Jonathan began to cry hard, tears trailing down his dirt ridden face. “No! I won’t let you die!! I’m gonna get you out of here and, and patched up. Your sister is waiting for you, Cam!! I won’t allow you to die!!” His bruised fingers ripped away at the bindings as fast as they could. “I know that your parents give two shits less about you, but your sister needs you!! Katie needs you!!” He sobbed, seeing he only had less than two minutes left. If only he hadn’t gotten into a stupid argument with Cameron over a week ago, none of this would have happened. Cameron wouldn’t have stormed out for a smoke, wouldn’t have gotten kidnapped, wouldn’t have gotten beaten, and wouldn’t have to die. Deep down, Jonathan knew it was too late to save his best friend but his frantic state wouldn’t allow him to see the truth before him. 

Cameron shook his head slightly, “It’s too late. M-My legs.” He coughed, nodding down to them. He saw Jonathan’s blue gaze look at his gored limbs in horror. The terrorist group had practically severed them off down to the bone and even a bit through it. To make matters even more painful, his achilles tendons had been ripped out. 

01:00 

00:59 

“NO!! I CAN’T!!” Jonathan breathed harder and growled as he fought a losing battle in order to save his friend. 

“JONATHAN PINE!!” Cameron shouted, getting his attention. His bright green eyes shimmered in the ray of sunshine that tore through the clouds of war. “Go. I’m dying for m-my country. I need you to run. Run as fast as you can and don’t look back. Please. Live on for me and if you ever meet little fox, make sure she doesn’t get into too much trouble.” A tear slid down his bruised face as the bomb was down to thirty seconds. “GO!!” He wailed at Jonathan, watching his friend get up with remorse and look at him one last time before taking off. Cameron shut his eyes, smiling and waiting for death to take him. “Thank you, for everything.” 

BOOM!

-flash- 

A young girl with brilliant green eyes stands before him. “My name is extremely Irish, it’s corny I know. I’m Katie O’Connor” 

His heart stopped as soon as she spoke her name. So he wasn’t dreaming after all when Angela said that a “Katelyn O’Connor” would be accompanying him. This was her; Cameron’s little sister. Little Fox. 

-flash-

“JONATHAN!! JONATHAN HELP ME!! I DON’T WANNA DIE!!” Now it was Katie strapped to a pole instead of Cameron. 

Jonathan shot up, gasping for air. His hands shook as he looked at them in the moonlight. The clock read 3AM once he glanced over to see how much sleep he had gotten. 

“Pine?” Katie spoke softly, adjusting her position so that she was facing him. Around 2:30AM, Katie had been woken up by sounds of whimpering and slight thrashing from the man next to her. She had tried to wake him up, but with no success. Her brother’s name kept slipping from Pine’s lips in a panic and he even broke out into a full on sob. What had he truly seen that day? 

The dark blonde haired man froze up at the sound of her voice and turned to face her, swallowing to soothe his dry throat. “Did I wake you? I-I apologize for whatever you may have heard.” He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. It had been a while since he last dreamt of that day. How horrific war truly was and how unnecessary that mankind craved it as a means of justification. His brows knit together as he felt Katie pull him down slowly. He felt her arms wrap around him as she pulled him close to her, laying his head upon her chest. The sound of her heartbeat made Jonathan wrap his arms around her in return and start to sob into her chest. His body shook as he cried softly, not holding back his emotions. 

“I forgive you… About Cameron. It wasn’t your fault.” She whispered into his short blonde locks, her fingers gently massaging his scalp. “We still have a long way to go before I completely forgive you, but I understand now that you tried to save my brother.” She shut her eyes, feeling tears of her own burn them. One witness to Pine’s nightmares of past war was enough for Katie to forgive and let go of her false grudge against Jonathan. A sort of peace had come over her upon her words and a soft smile graced her lips to know that Cameron wasn’t in pain and that he died heroically. Katie held Jonathan a bit closer that night, with both of them succumbing to sleep shortly once more. They had a big future ahead of them in taking down Belladonna, but they would do it together as she needed him and he needed her.

[maudus1]

14 Days of DA Lovers prompts from @scharoux

Read my series on AO3!

Day 8: Patching Up

Pairing: Alistair/Morrigan

Fixing a Hole, Building a Bridge

“’Twas a foolish act, Alistair.” 

          Morrigan scowled at the copper-haired warrior sitting cross-legged in her tent. The evening beyond it was silent and still but for the low hum of insects and soft, intermittent rolling roo-roo-roo of a nocturnal bird nested in a tree nearby. And here, within the worn and weathered canvas, the panting and pained grunts of her… her… that man. 

          “That’s me, the idiot who – what was it I did again? Oh, yes.  Saved your life .” 

          “I did not need your help,” she hissed.

          His shoulders shook as he chortled, but he flinched when the arrow protruding from one of them shifted with the movement. “I think the proper response is ‘thank you’.”

          “Thank you? For accidentally getting skewered and prolonging our travel time by several hours? Perhaps even days? Unlikely. How one even manages such an injury in so much armor is beyond me.”

          En route to Denerim to restock on supplies and search the Chanter’s board to make some quick coin, they’d been ambushed by bandits. Alistair took an arrow to the shoulder, and they were forced to set up camp. Knowing they were low on herbs, she sent Leliana and the other Warden off to gather more, leaving her alone to tend to the insufferable oaf in front of her. The oaf with radiant amber eyes that all too often followed her; on the battlefield, on the road, and here, at this moment. 

          Surely, those looks were not what they appeared. How could they be? The man hated her, and she him... Yet his alluring gaze, his presence, and every rare, oft accidental, touch sent a strange, unfamiliar sensation deep into the pit of her stomach. Not quite repulsion, nor entirely unpleasant, however-

          “Who says it was an accident?” he said, interrupting her thoughts with a lopsided grin stretched across his lips.

          Morrigan knelt to the ground, muttering and rummaging through her pack. “Why would anyone purposely allow themselves to be shot? What a ridiculous notion.”

          “Oh, I don’t know. To save damsels in distress, perhaps?”

          She flashed him a withering glare. “I am no damsel. And certainly not in need of saving! Least of all by you.”

          Alistair belted out another laugh and immediately winced in pain. The imbecile. He looked ill; grimacing, left arm crossed over his torso to hold the opposite one tightly to his side lest it move too much and drive the arrow deeper. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his pallid skin, though at present she knew not whether it was merely from the effort exerted getting him here, or fever. The latter would be an ominous sign indeed.

          The knot in her gut that had formed upon the moment of his injury twisted tighter. A sense of foreboding, like that which she experienced as the sky clouded over and thunder clapped in the distance during one of her many solitary outings in the Korcari Wilds, descended. In those moments, the search for shelter was imperative. In this situation, it was not the security of her own wellbeing she desired, but his. How strange… 

          Before joining these young Wardens on their quest, she’d never known concern for others to ever exceed that which she felt for herself. One did not survive in the Wilds, or with a mother such as hers, for long without putting oneself first. Survival, that was important. Power. Not… not… She wracked her brain for the proper word, the label one would typically use. And the word that crossed her mind first was entirely unexpected. Friends. 

          She shuddered and pushed the idea far and away. Focus, Morrigan. Now was not the time to sit and wax philosophical, much less get… sentimental. Ugh. 

          “You will make it worse if you keep moving so, Alistair,” she said, her voice wavering slightly on his name. “Lie down.”

          With one hand behind his neck and one steadying the injured shoulder, she helped him ease gently down onto the bedroll she laid out when they set up the tent. He bit his lip to hold back a cry. Much as she teased and taunted, called him weak or childish, the man did have admirable stamina, skill, and a high tolerance for pain. With heavy armor, injuries such as this were usually rare, but the steel-tipped bolt had found a gap and shot straight through the chain mail beneath. And she knew not how far yet, nor how bad the damage was.

          “Drink this,” she ordered, handing him a small, clear flask. “It will… ease some of your pain.”

          “Oh, ho! Is that concern I hear?” Alistair smiled, weakly this time as his energy waned. “I’m touched. I might even cry.”

          “W-what?” Her pale cheeks grew warm. She was not one to easily fluster, but somehow the royal bastard always found a way to get under her skin. What was it about him that irked her so? “Shut up, you fool. Clearly you have lost too much blood and it has robbed you of your senses.”

          When he made to speak, she interrupted with a slender finger against his lips. “Cease your prattling and do as I say!”

          Sighing, Alistair downed the potion in one gulp, face puckering immediately after from the bitter taste, and laid his head back down. 

          “Let’s…” He paused, seemingly out of breath, and swallowed thickly. “Let’s get this over with.”

          “This will be... quite unpleasant. Here.” Morrigan produced a thick strap of leather from her pack. “Bite down on this.”

          He nodded and she leaned over him to place the leather between his teeth. She caught his gaze as it moved lazily from her barely covered chest back up to her eyes, and the crimson blush that stained his cheeks. She rolled her eyes. The Chantry boy probably would not even know what to do with a woman given the chance. 

          Unfortunate, really. He was not… bad looking. Quite the opposite. After traveling together and occupying the same camp for so many months, she’d seen her fair share of the man. Having grown up in Templar dormitories with little privacy, he was far less shy about walking about in minimal clothing than he was with seeing the women bare their skin - almost as if he did not equate the two things in his mind! She and Leliana had made a game of it recently, to see how red and flustered Alistair could get. She smirked while the memories flitted through her mind.

          Alistair growled below her. “Mmmph,” he said, voice muffled as he tried to get her attention back to the task at hand. 

          She shook her head to clear it and reached for the arrow. “Ready?”

          He closed his eyes and grunted. With one hand on the shaft and the other upon his chest to hold him down, she yanked on the arrow. It came free with a sickening squelch. The leather muted Alistair’s shout and his face visibly paled. Breathing a sigh of relief that the arrowhead hadn’t broken off within his shoulder, she tossed it to the side and immediately began working at the clasps of his armor. Opening his eyes, he turned his head and spit out the leather, panting to catch his breath. 

          “Now sit up,” she said.

          Alistair struggled a moment before propping himself up on his elbows, jaw clenched to fight back the sounds threatening to tear from his throat. He was clearly too weak. Wrapping her arms around his broad figure, she pulled him up the rest of the way and let him lean on her while she undid the buckles at his back. She had to twist herself over his lap slightly to avoid bumping the wound. 

          The sheer size of him nearly enveloped her, and had he not been sitting and hunched over, he could easily crush her with his weight alone. She breathed in the earthy aroma permeating from his sweat-drenched skin. It was a heavy, heady blend; earthy, like leather and fresh soil, salt and musk. Not at all putrid as she’d so often teased. They’d never been close enough for her to take in the various notes, nor had they ever touched so intimately. 

          Head lolling against her shoulder, he moaned into her neck, breath warm on her chilled skin. Pulse racing, heat flooded her cheeks again and gooseflesh prickled up her arms at the amalgamation of feelings their contact stirred. It had been a while since she’d been with a man…

          Focus!

          Hastening the pace of her skilled fingers, she undid the remaining clasps and gingerly wiggled him out of the armor and mail. After setting each piece out of the way, she reached for the hem of his shirt and began dragging it up over his stomach.

          “Not even going to buy me dinner, first? Or even a glass of wine?” His voice was softer than usual, its timbre lower. He chuckled feebly, lips whispering close enough to tickle the dark hair dangling at the nape of her long, slender neck. 

          Was he… no, surely he was not implying anything untoward between them. Not the shy Chantry boy. But the moment she thought that, one of his hands settled upon her bare back. She stilled. He’d lost too much blood, that was all. He was merely steadying himself. Yes. Nothing more.

          “Ugh… Enough of that. Your blathering is most annoying.” 

          “Wynne will have my hide for ruining another shirt.”

          “And I will have it now if you do not hush,” she chided.

          She pushed him off, though gently so as not to aggravate his injury, and slipped his shirt over his head before easing him back down to the pallet below. Her golden eyes drifted down his tanned body, over the sculpted musculature of his chest and abdomen, the powerful arms and shoulders built by years of dedicated physical training.

          “There really is no getting on your good side, is there?” he sighed, interrupting her train of thought yet again.

          Morrigan turned sharply away and set to work pouring water from a flask into a wooden bowl, heating it with a conjured flame. Somehow, even that warmth compared little to that which had steadily been filling her in the short time they had spent alone. She soaked a clean rag, wrung it out, and began cleaning Alistair’s wound. He hissed at the first swipe, but held his tongue thereafter, watching her carefully while she worked.

          “Let us assume that this imaginary good side exists. What exactly would be the benefit for you to ‘get on it’?”

          “I’ll settle for a smile, actually.”

          “Oh?” She smirked. So typical of a man! That was all she was good for, then. Smiling and looking pretty for his enjoyment. 

          “Not like that. A  real one.”

          “Do I not smile enough to suit you? How very negligent! Shall I bat my eyelashes as well?” 

          Placing one hand over his now clean wound, the pale green glow of magic flowing from her palm filled the tent. It washed over them both, delicate and ethereal and cool like moonlight on a snowy winter night as she channeled soothing coils of Fade energy through his raw, tender flesh to stem the already-waning flow of blood and seal the wound. 

          “Oh, come on, Morrigan. I don’t mean it like… I just want...” He hesitated, briefly met her eyes, and turned his head away to stare at the canvas wall painted with their shadows. 

          “Let me see. I would expect favor to come with a price. Perhaps you would be willing to pay a compliment? Is that too much, hm?” Undoubtedly, he’d fail to come up with anything, and this would put an end to his shenanigans. 

          Instead, he took her free hand, still damp, and whispered her name. Meeting his eyes, now on her again and heavy with exhaustion but no less bright, she paused her ministrations. The glow faded, bathing them in darkness save but for the lit candle in the tent's corner. 

          Alistair took a breath. “I think you are brilliant. Strong, and powerful… and more than a little terrifying.”

          He didn’t laugh this time. Instead, his expression shifted. Amber brown eyes passed over her slim body, kneeling in the dirt beside him, the sweat and grime and blood of their recent battle still painting her porcelain, candle-lit skin. But his expression was not one of disgust… it was the look of desire. And when those eyes returned to hers, the passion within them sent a pleasurable chill up her spine. 

          “You are beautiful, Morrigan. We may not always get along, but I wanted you to know that in case… well. You know.”

          Her eyes grew wide as she absorbed his words. He - of all people - thought that of her? That was not at all what she expected. Yet the admission seemed genuine. Mind suddenly blank, she froze until the light squeeze of her fingers brought her back to the present.

          Cocking her head, she smirked and rewarded him with a sultry and suggestive gaze. 

          “I suppose stating the obvious will have to do,” she said. He grinned back and released her hand. “Very well, then. You are on my good side. Best watch your step that you don’t fall off.”

          “Morrigan, you do realize you’re telling the clumsiest man in Thedas not to fall. How could I ever live up to such impossible standards? You’re not even giving me a fighting chance, here.”

          She rolled her eyes, but the smile remained on her lips. “You really are a fool.”

          Alistair laughed. It was a strained, pitiful sound, so unlike his usual sarcastic chuckles and boisterous guffaws. Weak and hoarse, it filled her with regret. Regret that she had not been stronger, faster. Though he had put himself in this position, perhaps if she’d seen the arrow coming, he would have never been struck. 

          Then again… that also meant he might never have made this confession. And she wouldn’t have realized not only that his feelings for her were not at all what she imagined, but that she felt a similar attraction to him. Despite her attempts to deny that the disconcerting tension between them indicated something other than mutual contempt, she had to admit he’d earned her begrudging respect… and more.

[zach-the-fox]

Frostfur Episode 2: Freshwater Springs

It’s just me and Emmy, now. We continue our trek up north, heading in the direction of where Winterhome is said to be. The both of us have talked for about an hour and few minutes and I have to say, Emmy’s a pretty interesting girl who has a magnificent background in engineering. Her story begins with being the child of a poor woman, whose struggled her whole life to give what’s best for her daughter. Emmy had worker herself a lot on the farms around in Arbury, living nearby the prestigious school of Cambridge. She had hopes of moving up, leaving a life of poverty and getting into luxury to help support her mother. How she got in, I have no clue for she wouldn’t tell me, but she was excellent in her classes that they let her become one of the best engineers of Cambridge. When news of the eternal winter approached everyone, she was selected to be one of many in building the towering generators to heat the cities of the future, being one of the brilliant minds to carry on the hope of humanity through technology. After the construction of her assignment, she returned home to her mother, gathering her and many others to head for the new city of Winterhome.

Quite impressive story for a young girl. Mine is not as majestic as hers, however. I even explain that to her, being envious and wishing I had achieved much in my life. When I was just a wee baby, my mother had given me up to the orphanage in Liverpool. Her life of pleasure had caught up with her, and she had decided to pass me on to forget her troubled past. Sadly, I never grew with a family. The orphanage I stayed in wasn’t so bad, though. Yes, we had chores, and eventually I struggled in the heat-polluted confines of the steel factory between boyhood and manhood. At the time I was old enough to be on my own, I enlisted in his majesty's royal army, learning to hold a rifle and protect my country. I did everything I could to survive, yet I was not respected too much by the folks of Liverpool, even after years of neglect. By the time the frost was coming, I was tasked with collecting the chosen for our migration north. However, unrest arose aboard our iron vessel, spreading panic around the mob, causing it to veer into the rocks and it’s descent into the cold depts of the sea. I must promise now for Emmy, and whoever else I may encounter on the journey to Winterhome, I shall not leave them behind!

My new ally and I make it up the incline, one step at a time to avoid slipping back in the snow. I feel her hooves grasp tightly around my tail, which is acting as a safety rope for her as we climb up. It’s a difficult ascension, and the bombardment of snow followed by the gushing wind doesn’t help at all. Once we’ve reached the peak of the “hill”, we stop within our tracks. Looking down from the top of where we were, we take notice of something catching our eyes by surprise. We can see distant glimmers of sun reflected on the surface of water. Unfrozen water here presence of freshwater springs. Unfrozen water?! In a world of snow and ice?! There must be a source of heat down there to keep the water in its liquid state! But what?

“What an interesting find,” says my partner. “We should stop down there to rest a little. A freshwater spring could also house a few fish in it. Maybe some fishing wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

Normally, I would protest, but I won’t since we haven’t stopped after the moment in the cave. Also, most of the food that was with me went down with the ship on my way here. I only have a few packages of rations that will only last us a day. “Very well,” I tell my companion. “We should proceed careful, however. Much like that beast from the cave, who knows what other animals may roam about.” We take our time to descend the thin slope along the rocky cliff face protecting the springs. We tread carefully, in a single file. Emmy is still clinging onto my tail, trying not to slip along the edge. One wrong step and you’re dead, for submerging in the water could accelerate hypothermia. If the season was summer, I’d see a nice dip in springs be a good idea. This kind of weather forbids that, however.

After carefully descending the slope, we make it to the base at the bottom. It’s much warmer down here than up there; the winds are not rushing past us and we’re no longer being pelted with tiny pellets of snow and ice. This place would make a great site for a home.

Emmy leans over the edge by the pool, searching around for the finned, scaley creatures that swim about. “I don’t see any fish. Doesn’t seem like they’re here. Zach, do you see anything?”

My eyes cannot make out any movement but the water. “Negative. I cannot see a single one.” As we’re searching, I hear something unusual. My ears perk up at the sounds of grunting nearby, causing me to pick my head up. “Huh?”

Emmy still scans the springs for any signs of life. “Where could they be? The water isn’t frozen. There has to be some fish here.”

“Sh,” I order her. She turns up to me and asks why I commanded her to silence. “Listen.” The warthog ceases her mouth and uses her ears, picking up the grunting tones I have heard. “You hear that?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “I do. What’s going on?”

“It’s coming from over there.” I point to the ledge across from us, which is slightly taller and obscuring whatever view we can’t see. I equip my gun and tell Emmy to stay close, routing around the pool and stepping up a small slope around the springs. When we make it to the other side, we take notice of a figure kneeling by the edge. As we get closer, we’re able to tell the figure is a woman, judging by the way she’s dressed; linen cloth covers her head much like Emmy and her coat looks more like a dress. A long brown tail sticks out from her backside. Her body is hunched while on her knees, reaching out for something across from her. I swing my rifle back onto my back and approach with ease. Emmy stays beside me. “Hello?” The woman quickly turns to reveal her face, revealing to be a brown cat with glasses. “Is everything all right, Ma’am?”

“No,” she replies. “I can’t reach my sketchbook!” Emmy and I shift our heads to see a book laying on the top of a big, lone rock in the middle of the water. “I need my sketchbook!”

I grab the lady by the shoulder and hold her back. “Ma’am, you shouldn’t do that. You could fall in and catch a cold from the spring water.”

“I need it, though!” she exclaims. “I can’t leave on without it.”

Emmy looks at the book, then back to me. I can see she’s devising some sort of plan. “I’ve got an idea. Zach, can you hold onto my tail while I reach over and grab it?”

“Are you nuts?” I ask. “You want to risk drowning or freezing in water over a book?”

“It’ll be fine, Zach. Just grab my tail.” Without any other words, I do as I’m told and hold the warthog’s tail as she leans over the edge and reaches out for the cat’s sketchbook. With a couple of swipes of her hoof, Emmy manages to bring the book closer to her, then grabs it. “Got it!” Her actions cause her to nearly slip, using her hooves as a way to keep balance. “Whoa!” Acting quickly, I pull her away, falling back against my seat and catching her in the process. She holds up the book to the cat. “Here you go.”

The cat grabs it from her hoof and hugs it tightly. “Oh, thank you so much, kind strangers! Thank you!”

I stand to my feet and brush off some of the snow that jumped on my coat. Emmy does the same. “Ma’am, might I ask why you’re here alone?”

The brown feline faces me. “I was separated from my convoy and I found this spring, protected well by the storm. I came down to sketch its beauty when I lost my grip of my sketchbook, having it end up on the rock. If you two hadn’t come here, it surely would’ve been more difficult, and I probably would’ve ended up in the pool.”

“Oh, were you with the convoy heading to Winterhome?” queries Emmy. She nods. “My friend and I were actually on our way to Winterhome. You should come with us.”

“Well, I am in your gratitude since you risked yourselves to save my sketchbook. I shall join you to Winterhome. What are your names?” We introduce ourselves to her. “I’m Carly. Pleasure to meet you two.”

“We should get going if we’re to be in Winterhome,” I utter. “I’m sure your family is worried sick about you. Emmy’s as well.” We end our consultation and proceed to follow our newest member, Carly, towards another ramp entrance into the springs. We make our ascension away from the freshwater springs. We didn’t find any food or anything else useful, but we found another survivor who joined us for our journey, and that’s good enough for me. It is now the three of us on the way to Winterhome. @carlycmarathecat​ @emmy-the-absolute-goof​

[atlantic-riona]

Short stories, i speak a barbarous tongue

Short stories is a folder with a variety of snippets from all over the place; the title’s kind of misleading, since most of them aren’t actually short stories...A lot of them have since been moved to appropriate folders, but here’s one I forgot about:

“What, exactly, is your point?” Realizing that this conversation was going nowhere, I decided to redirect it to a more productive topic. “Look, there are still soldiers on our tail and instead of being far, far away from them, I am now trapped underground and covered in who-knows-what, which is somehow not what I was picturing when you said escape.”

Dawn paused. “What were you picturing?”

I flicked something squishy off my shoulder. “Um, sunlight? Frolicking deer? I don’t know, violins playing in the background majestically?”

“Hm. I don’t think there are any deer down here.” She gasped, and I could practically hear her beam. It was probably such a sunny smile that we could have bottled it and used it to light the entire room. If you could bottle smiles in the first place. “But I could sing!”

“No.”

“...okay, maybe later, then.”

“Please do not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely positive.”

“But are you really sure—?”

“Yes.”

It’s from a draft of Briar, but has since been abandoned, because I read The Thief and realized that it was a really similar opening 😅😅 The story’s not abandoned, but I do have to figure out a new opening, and whether Briar should be written in third person instead, or whether she might work better in a different story entirely.

And “I speak in a barbarous tongue” has been answered before, but I can add a few things!

The title comes from this poem by Yeats, though I can’t remember if there was a reason for picking it beyond thinking it sounded cool....

and this is the last snippet I have for it:

Blackwell College was situated a respectable distance from the town of Oakfell—respectable, in this case, meaning far enough away to satisfy Oakfell’s mayor but close enough for students to go into town daily. (The mayor would have preferred the college to be much farther, but he was smart enough to see that having a steady influx of people coming in and out of town, buying food, clothes, and other necessities, was generally beneficial to one’s economy and he wasn’t up for reelection yet anyway, so the magic thing wasn’t much of an issue…yet.) President Blackwell had tried to get a regular coach to come to the college and back, but budget difficulties nixed that plan (the coaching inn charged hefty prices for special alterations to its routes), and so students walked instead. Oakfell was among one of the lucky towns to have been designated a stop on the newest, modern railway: an important factor in why Josephine Blackwell had chosen the town as the location for her college. It meant that students from all over the Republic could travel much more easily to the college, certainly with less difficulty than Blackwell herself had when attending Lironina (a journey of a few months at least). Today, the railway station was somewhat crowded with students; many returning from a summer at home and a good number of new students milling around aimlessly. Of particular interest, one of these new students, a young woman with faded-blue skirts and a new bonnet, embraced her parents in front of the train. “You’ll write letters?” her mother asked. “Or will they have some…” She looked disconcerted, but plowed on. “—magical way of getting hold of us?” “I’d write letters anyway, Mama,” her daughter reassured her. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you all about it.” Her father looked around with interest. “Look at how many people there are, Sarah! Can you believe it? Learning magic,” he said half-disbelievingly, shaking his head. “It’s like someone plucked a childhood dream and made it real.” His wife nodded. “Life changes quickly,” she said philosophically. She waved her hand in front of her face, grimacing, in an attempt to dissipate the smoky air. “Better get used to it, Sam.” “Don’t think I ever will,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Still, I ‘spect that’s what keeps life interesting. Minnie, you’ve got your things?” “Right here, Daddy.” Minnie grasped the handle of her trunk more tightly. “And your books?” “Here.” She lifted her other, smaller bag. “And you’ve got your tools, in case the wheels on the trunk break?” Minnie nodded furiously. She was jittery and aching to leave already, but something made her loathe to part with her parents just yet. “Never go anywhere without ‘em, Daddy, you know that.” “Good, good. Just making sure.” Sam tugged on one of her braids playfully. “Better get going, sweetheart. Your classmates are leaving already.” It was true; the station was slowly emptying out. Minnie swallowed and reached up on tiptoe to embrace her father. Then her mother, who murmured, “Love you.” “Love you too, Mama,” Minnie said, around the lump in her throat. “Give my love to everybody back home.” “Will do, honey.” Minnie stepped back and watched her parents go back into the train. Through the window, she watched her mother wave and her father grin at her; then they were gone as the train pulled away in a cloud of smoke, and Minnie Hamilton was left on her own.

may end up changing some things (for instance, Minnie being in her first year), but I liked writing it because it established Minnie as a character, and some things of the Tearan Republic (for instance, trains! they have trains and machinery! so magic is Very Different for them)

[blakescoven]

You Decided That I Was Worth Saving | 1 |

Pairing: Sojourn!Michael Langdon x fem!Reader

Chapter One (1): “As I Lay Dying”

Summary: You were driving home from work, when something – or rather someone – literally got in the way.  Against any reason, you let him into your life. Michael would make you question your entire worldview. Were your paths meant to cross? Did you two meet by accident? By fate? Or there’s an evil force behind it, scheming and plotting with a devilish purpose?  

Warnings: car crash(!), mention of injuries, different POVs, some swearing

Word count: 4.7K

A/N: Hey lovely friends! Here’s a sort of Sojourn AU-ish, since the plot starts in that particular moment of Michael’s life. Still don’t know if I’ll include witches and satanists…we’ll see. It’s gonna be a series so I guess I’ll divide it into a few chapters. I loooove angst and slow burn, so I’m sorry but there’s no smut. Yet. Also, for this chapter, I took inspiration from: the scene of Elena’s car crash from 1x11 of TVD and a song, my fav of all times, that I listened to while I was writing this chapter and that is also the song playing in Y/N’s car; Apocalypse by Cigarettes After Sex. Okay, that’s it. Enjoy and thank you so much for reading it, despite the grammar mistakes (my apologies) and the fact that probably it really sucks. (‘WHAT AM I DOING?’ was the mood while I was writing it tho.) Anyway, love you and please, let me know what do you think and what I can improve!! I’d really appreciate any FEEDBACK!! I kinda need it, because I’m not sure I’m doing this right. THANK YOU xxx ♥  

You've always thought you could describe your whole existence with a wide range of adjectives, but 'adventurous' wasn't one of them for sure. At least, that's what you thought 30 minutes before the event that would have changed your life forever. Nothing would ever be the same again; just like a hurricane comes and goes, so that day, and the following ones, would have drastically rocked your world. And mostly your beliefs.

It was late. But you were used to it. You had recently got a new job, which allowed you to move out and finally get your own place, the smallest rentable apartment on Earth. Or in Los Angeles, no doubt. This was the most stressful moment since you were born, it was up to you taking care of your own now. Mommy and daddy no more.

Shifts were endless and you often found yourself staying late at the office, to finish what you've started. This new routine was already messing with your biological clock. Every single night, you looked forward to going back home, eat and fall apart on your bed. Even today, you were already savoring the anticipation of your sadly-glorious homecoming; you were dying for a relaxing hot bath and a slice of pizza. But who are we kidding, right? A whole pizza. Then, sleepiness permitting, you would have watched your favorite TV show petting your cat. A real party girl, uh? Well, that was your life now.

You have just finished college and this was the first experience as an independent person. At the very beginning, it has been hard leaving your parents' house, but soon you realized it was time for you to go on your own way. You were so full of dreams and expectations. You hoped to achieve great goals. Of course, what you haven't taken into account was that your future weekends wouldn't have been under the banner of fun, alcohol, and friends. But instead, your crazy Saturday nights consisted of you kneeled in front of the washing machine, hands in your head and a YouTube DIY video for dummies playing on your phone, which explained all the ways to get the laundry started and what products must have been used. All your life has become a huge dumb Netflix comedy. More like a parody, perhaps. You hung out with your friends less and less; you felt deeply guilty about that, but you were way too tired to make up for it.

As mentioned before, it was a late Friday night. It was raining, pretty hard. You were driving your beloved brand-new car (THE much-demanded graduation gift) and 'surprisingly' you hit traffic. At 9 fucking p.m. TGIF, they said. Sure. Your friends were definitely having fun and drinking in some random club by then.

You, on the contrary, were running out of patience; your shiny Lexus had not moved an inch in 10 minutes, so as soon as you could, you took a highway exit. That was supposed to be a kind of shortcut, according to the navigator. The pouring rain and the cadenced motion of the windscreen wipers sounded like a lullaby. A slow-core song started playing in the background. It was quite soothing and maybe, on second thought, you should have to turn it off…or had coffee before leaving.

You could feel your eyelids getting heavier and heavier, the exhaustion slowly prevailing. Trying so hard to keep your eyes open, that they've started burning; and not to miss anything, you got a bit of a headache accompanied by a soon-to-be-wrinkle frown.

Meanwhile, you were driving down a deserted one-lane road, going a little over the speed limit in your rush, in order to make it home as soon as possible. The wheels were slipping a little on the wet pavement, but you kept the car steady. ­ You peered through the front window trying to see what was ahead of you; it was pitch black outside, with not even one dammit lamppost; only the moon's pale light absorbed by the dark green leaves of the forest beside the road. You had no idea where you actually were.

Suddenly, the annoying metallic voice of the GPS started bullshitting about recalculating a new route. "Wait what? Fuck NO NO NO…come on! You stupid thing, why are you changing direction???" you maddeningly screamed, looking at the display and trying to change the settings with your right hand. You weren't exactly paying particular attention to the road ahead. Huge mistake.

Outside the windshield, the rain was coming down in torrents, blurring your vision even more. The wipers went back and forth, attempting to clear away the large droplets clinging to the glass, but it seemed they weren't moving fast enough.

As if the universe had something big in store for you, right at that moment, something – or rather someone – came out of the dense vegetation, slowly limping while crossing the street, no concern for surroundings.

Your eyes were still glued to the GPS tracking your position; but all of a sudden, your distraction was abruptly erased when you caught a glimpse of a human shape in the middle of the road, illuminated by the car's headlights.

A goddamn person.

You had perhaps three-quarters of a second to register this.

You didn't realize it until it was too late. You couldn't have stopped all this now. The blood drained from your face. It all happened in a few seconds, but the moment seemed to last forever. The shock made you tense your muscles; your heart skipped a beat and your eyes suddenly widened. There was a scream coming from within that forced its way from your mouth as if your terrified soul has set a demon free. It was the kind of scream that makes the blood run cold.

With adrenaline flowing through your system, you slammed on the brakes. Your fists clenched with white knuckles around the steering wheel, immediately swerving to avoid the crash. Somehow you managed to not run over him, but you were going too fast to stop.

Your car rolled over and over, while clips of your life flashing like a slideshow. The vehicle has flipped so many times that you started drifting in and out of consciousness. The noise of the metal being bashed over the asphalt was deafening. When it finally stopped, you were stuck in your seat upside-down, coughing up pieces of the broken glass coming from the shattered windshield.

Then everything became still.

You could only hear the sound of rain on metal. Aware of the bloody taste in your mouth, you still weren't able to figure out if you were injured, because the seatbelt tugged on your chest was too painful. Heart pounding in your ears, you tried to scream for help, but it came out more like a gasp.

Meanwhile, the young man was still paralyzed to the spot in the middle of the road, like an unfamiliar force was holding him in a tightening grip, keeping him from leaving. For a moment he believed that that must have been another hallucinated vision. Then he slowly turned his head toward the wrecked car. An odd thought came across his mind: the driver crashed in order to not run over him. But why? Humanity had failed him so many times. He had lost the only one that truly cared about him. His Father had abandoned him and he wasn't able to understand what was his purpose, not anymore. He actually knew that a car was coming that way, but now he honestly didn't give a damn about his life. He had failed. He was utterly lost. This was the best coincidence possible to put an end to his suffering. But now, he felt something he couldn't explain, almost a need, the need to go and check if the driver was okay. Still confused about this new foreign impulse, he started to walk towards your car.

Once there, he kneeled and took a look inside, from the broken side window.

"You look stuck." he commented with an apparent childish but plain voice.

If you weren't, like literally, in that position, you'd have certainly sassed back to that dumb obvious statement. But your conditions weren't the best at all, you might have some broken bones, actually.

What, instead, came out from your mouth was stammering confused words.

"I-I-It… m-my… my s-s-sea..b-be..t" you tried to speak, holding and shaking the restraining belt tightly in your hands, while tears gathering in your eyes.

He hummed and shushed you. "Let me get you out of here." he whispered, thinking again about why he was actually doing this, it was none of his business. And yet, he stayed on.

"I want you to put your hands on the roof." You were about to obey his calming demand, but in that moment, you realized your left arm had to be broken and it hurt like hell. So somehow you managed to raise only the other one and take also your phone.

Then he closed his eyes for a couple of seconds and all of a sudden, the seatbelt mysteriously unhooked, as if by magic or an invisible force. But you were too rattled to think about it.

You fell and he gently grabbed and lifted you from the car.

"I got you." he smiled, holding you in his arms while standing up. "Are you okay? Can you stand? Is anything broken?" he questioned with a caring honeyed tone.

You nodded pointing your arm and moaning, still dizzy from the car flipping over. The stranger carefully set you on your feet, yet not letting you completely. Good, because immediately after you slipped, too weak to stand, but he caught you by the waist. Your head was spinning so fast.

"Hey hey, easy, don't force yourself, you're clearly not okay." he observed "Look at me." and he placed his thumb on your lower lip and chin to hold your head steady as he spoke. What was he feeling right now? Pity? Concern maybe? He thought he had already turned off those pointless human emotions.

You tiredly opened your eyes to meet the most beautiful pair of ocean eyes you've ever seen. Unfortunately, you couldn't focus on him any longer, neither when he run his hand down your water-stained cheek.

"Hey stay with me, don't close your eyes." he urged, just as your vision went fuzzy and your eyes rolled back. Within seconds everything went black.

You passed out into complete and utter darkness.

He caught you before you hit the concrete, gathering your limp body into his arms and walking away from the car. He abruptly stopped. What he was supposed to do now? He had literally come from the woods, after days of fasting and sleeplessness. He was covered in damn dirt. Not to mention that he had no place to go. He was too exhausted to reason. So he chose to gently lower you to the ground, kneeling, so half of your body was on his lap. He stroked your wet hair, wondering what to do with you. Just right now, looking at your face, he noticed how beautiful you were, how innocent and angelic. He swallowed and smiled. A soft side? In his evil and corrupted soul? Impossible.

It was still raining. You were both soaked and there was no shelter in the proximities. He thought he couldn't do anything more. That's when he remembered about your broken arm. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, placing his hands above your head. Nothing. Maybe he wasn't focused enough. He took your hands in his own and tried again. This time his eyes rolled black until they showed only a white surface; then he started to mutter Latin words. He lifted his head up speaking louder, but his nose began to bleed, until his vision blurred and the car suddenly exploded. He lost consciousness right next to you, nevertheless his hand still on yours.

The next thing you knew, you were on your back on the ground and very disoriented. Also completely drenched. Making indistinguishable noises because of the pain, you turned your head resting on the asphalt. The rain in your eyes didn't let you have a clear view of the surroundings, but you immediately felt an extremely warm presence at your side. You blinked twice and finally saw the boy that had helped you, laying there unconscious. Hell, maybe you had hit him with your car after all. The plot thickens.

Saying that you were confused about the whole situation was an euphemism. There was nothing for it but to try to reach your phone, almost five feet apart from your leg, hoping that it didn't break in the crash. Despite the acute ache in your arm and the burning cuts and wounds, you were able to crawl back to it, so you dialed the number and called 911. You explained everything and asked for help with a wisp of voice. You probably had a concussion.

The rain eventually stopped. You were starting to feel cold, so you found your way back to the stranger. Little droplets of water drenched his hair, covering his features, and you couldn't help yourself, you brushed a few strands from his face, caressing his sharp cheekbone. Right after your head started spinning and your vision filled with white spots, until you fainted again, against the stranger's chest.

-

You woke up in a hospital bed. It was early in the morning; the sunlight was peeking through the blinds, the constant beeping of monitors echoing throughout the room. You sighed loudly and squinted with a grimace. Luckily you were just a little sore, nothing too serious. You took a look at your arm: you had a pretty unaesthetic cast. The universe's way of telling you, "Here, take this you little bitch." Amazing.

You got up very slowly and entered the bathroom, looking for a mirror to better check out your wounds.

"Wow, nice Halloween make-up though." you muttered rolling your eyes. You had a stitched cut on your left upper forehead, a split lip and dark circles under your puffy eyes. A Miss Universe at her peak. Not to mention a great number of bruises all over your body.

You called your parents shortly afterward. Downplaying the details of the accident wasn't enough, they completely lost their minds at the phone. They were shocked and worried about your conditions, so they insisted to get on the first flight to LA, to help you. You reassured them you were fine and ready to go home. It wasn't necessary for them to come. They even offered to pay for a new car, since yours was, sadly, destroyed. You refused though; you would have dealt with the car-issue later. Even though you couldn't still get over the fact that your precious SUV has gone for good.

A truly kind doctor got to your room and, after having checked out vitals and injuries, refreshed your memory about what happened last night. Shoot! In that moment you realized you had totally forgot about the boy. You immediately asked the doc if you could go visit him. He nodded but not without first warning you. John Doe here had to be sedated because, when he regained consciousness in the ambulance, he had refused to go to the hospital and started thrashing around. Luckily, he was too weak to harm anyone.

The doctor kept saying that they had found no ID, nothing that could tell them where he came from. He was completely dehydrated in addition to previous wounds. He probably hadn't eaten for days either. For these reasons, the cheap version of Derek Shepherd wasn't sure whether he should call the police.

You were listening to his words with much more concern you thought you could feel. Well, maybe because you had almost run over him. But you felt you had to go check on him. He helped you out of the car after all. He…saved you someway? What you couldn't understand was why he had stopped in the middle of the road; he hadn't even tried to get out of the way…Oh shit. Was there any chance he wanted to, like, get killed? No, c'mon, there are way too many other – and less-painful – "methods" to do it…It couldn't be.

When you arrived in his room, you immediately noticed he was tied to the bed and carefully, you set his wrists free. After a few seconds, he woke up. You tried not to pay attention, but he was undoubtedly attractive. To be honest he was much more than that. Handsome to say the least. He seemed almost angelic. Baby blue eyes piercing your soul with a magnetic gaze, golden messy curls spread around his head on the pillow like a halo and God-given sharp features. Despite that, he was still covered in filth and wounds. But even in such a miserable state, he was hypnotizing. You wondered why no nurse took care of him yet.

"Hi!" you whispered, sitting down on the nearest chair.

"Hi." he said back, almost imperceptibly. "Thank you" he added, pointing at his bruised wrists.

"I should be the one saying 'thank you'..." you stated; he gave you a half-smile, "…you literally saved my life."

"No need to thank me, I caused your crash so.." he stopped for a second "…we can say you saved me instead." he admitted heavy-heartedly, with his eyes down. He seemed so sad and so lost, and you really felt for him.

"Well, thank God we're both still alive!" you didn't know what to say anymore. And this cringy comment wasn't helping.

" Sure " he scoffed.

What were those, tear-stains? Has he been crying?

Then an awkward silence filled the room. You were starting to feel a bit uneasy, and the continuous biting your lower lip – despite the cut on the upper one – made it absolutely obvious. You could feel something was off about him. The sadness and despair in his eyes were pretty noticeable, and you were the kind of person that can't look away.

"Uhm, are you okay?"

"Yes" he was still staring at the void. No emotion showed.

"Sorry, I don't want to be pushy…but it's clear you're not."

"Why do you care? What do you want from me?" he snapped turning his head, but his face softened instantly, as if he regretted the outburst.

You honestly didn't know why you cared that much either. It was an odd sensation coming from your guts, it was pulling you so deeply into him. He needed help, and you wanted to give it to him.

"You got anybody I could call? Your relatives or a friend?" was the only answer you could articulate.

" No.. " he mumbled, "..I have no one."

Suddenly, you felt the urge to ask him if he wanted to go home with you, to recover. You would have never done – or even thought – anything like that before. This was against all the good bits of advice your mum ever gave you. Like, don't invite in strangers that could easily kill you in your sleep?! But it was as if, deep down, you knew you could trust him. You took the risk.

"Listen.. ahem.. y-you could come home with me. I have enough space in my apartment and we could help each other until you'll feel better" you paused.

He was staring at you now, with glistening eyes. He was speechless. No one has ever shown him selfless kindness. He was in disbelief.

"I don't want your pity."

"No, wait. This isn't pity. In case you haven't notice, I have this lil problem here" you chuckled, swaying your cast in the air "I wouldn't mind a hand" you said to release the tension.

"I-I can't. Please, go. Just leave me alone." he shook his head. The fear of being abandoned or rejected again was too overwhelming for him to open up and accept some help.

"Oh," you whispered, a bit down in the dumps, "got it."

You headed for the door, but before leaving, you turned one more time "I'll leave my number to the receptionist in the hallway, in case you change your mind." you winked and smiled, leaving him alone.

He sighed and slammed his head against the pillow; he didn't even have a phone, also because, come on, what good it would do? But above all, what kind of paradox was that? Him, the motherfucking Devil's spawn, needing help? From an innocent little soul like you? No kidding. He had performed a human sacrifice and eaten raw hearts for fuck's sake. Yes, he may not know what to do, and probably he had made mistakes, but it wasn't over yet; his satanic plan needed to be adjusted. This way, he would eventually recreate the world in his Father's image and earn his trust again.

He needed to leave as soon as possible, before some stupid human being started asking him though questions.

-

You were finally home. The entire Uber ride had been silent and for that you mentally thanked the driver, because you weren't in the mood to talk at all.

As soon as you turned the doorknob, your little friend immediately greeted you purring, making you jump. He really missed you…or at least that's what he wanted you to believe. You locked the door behind you.

"His Majesty is hungry, uh?!" you said mocking your furball "Yeah, me too dude...but hold on a little longer, I need to take a shower I smell like hospital, jeez."

Only now you noticed. There was a rather unusual atmosphere when you walked in, an unsettling silence sending shivers down your spine. An inexplicable heat radiating from the house itself. It was too hot in there and you're positive it wasn't normal in the middle of November. The room seemed saturated with unfamiliar vibes.

You went to your bedroom and started to undress. Then you entered the bathroom, ready to finally wash the last night events off you.

Odd. It was like you could feel eyes on you, all the time.

Whatever. You were too worn-out to indulge your paranoid thoughts.

But the same feelings still followed you, even later when you were eating your delivered dinner, half-dead on the couch with the fluffy monster curled up on your lap.

"Maybe it's a sort of twisted PTSD." you told yourself. Yet your heart wouldn't settle. Something wasn't right there.

Anyway, you chose to ignore your instinct; it was time to get ready for bed. You reached your closet as you slowly took off hoodie and sweatpants, changing into even more comfortable clothes, just a t-shirt actually. Since it was that hot, no pants. The loose garment barely covered your bare thighs though.

You were half asleep when your cat jumped up and suddenly rushed out of your bedroom like he was possessed. You stretched and changed position, that enormous cast wouldn't let you fall fully asleep. After 5 minutes of turning and tossing you heard what sounded like footsteps. Your pulse started racing.

"It's nothing," you told yourself, "I'm imagining things."

But then the typical creaking of your fridge being opened reached up to your room. Twice.

You froze, heart in your throat. You were most definitely not alone. Someone was in the house.

But right after you shook your head, "Ugh, probably it's just that furry devil."

Being as quiet as possible, you got up and made your way to the door, straining to hear, but your heart pounded too loudly and your breathing was harsh. Moving towards the switch, but on second thought you decided against it.

Nothing. Complete silence.

It was when you were finding your way back to the mattress that you heard a white noise, a loud thud and the clear scraping of a chair against the floor. You froze again with wide eyes. You swallowed breaking out in cold sweat.

The squeaking of the cupboard followed by the tinkling and banging of glasses and dishes. You almost had a stroke.

You internally cursed yourself. You had left your phone on the couch. Fuck fuck fuck. The only option left was trying to reach the door and ask for help from the next-door neighbor. But you couldn't do it, the kitchen had a space divider, but it wasn't long enough to avoid being seen.

Weapon, your mind screamed. You needed a weapon.

A relieved smile appeared unexpectedly on your features. You recalled about keeping a knife hidden in the drawer. 'Never say never' when you live alone. Well, it seemed it had been a good idea after all.

You slid your fingers around the rubber grip, dismayed by how much your hand was shaking.

Heading down the hallway barefoot, you hold your breath and slowly approached the living room. With one motion you sneaked into the kitchen, with the blade facing the intruder, and screaming,

"I'm calling the police!"

But what you saw made your jaw drop in shock.

It was Him, the guy from the car crash.

In your kitchen.

Eating your motherfucking chocolate chip cookies.

At 01:00 am.

"Uh, sorry..." he spoke while chewing the leftovers and then swallowing loudly, "..you wanted some?". As if he felt guilty for real, with that childish expression.

You couldn't keep quiet any longer. The situation was too far-fetched.

"WHAT THE HELL?" you snapped. He chuckled at the reference.

"I can't cook. I was starving and I found these. I didn't want to wake you, but this monster here won't get off me..."

"What are you doing in my apartment?"

He tilted his head, pretty confused. "You invited me to stay here..." he remarked, with a hint of displeasure in his voice.

"Yes, I did. But it doesn't mean you can break in without me knowing." You were still a bit scared; he could be dangerous as far as you knew, and his actions had already proved it.

He didn't say anything. He stood up from the island counter, making his way to you. You were slack-jawed in astonishment, still holding and pointing the sharp surface toward him.

"Put that knife down."

"No."

"Why?" he frowned.

"I don't trust you. Don't come any closer!" you ordered.

"I can't take you seriously looking like this" he smirked pointing at your 'night attire'.

He took another step and you run to reach the handle; it turned but the door wouldn't budge.

"It's locked." you turned to look at him "Don't you remember? You did that yourself." he observed, like it was obvious.

"Then how did you get in here?"

"Transmutation."

"Tra-what?" you supposed he must have been out of his mind.

The circumstances themselves were unbelievable. But he was right, you offered him help.

Now he was leaning against the wall a few feet apart from you, locking his eyes with yours, his beautiful features veiled by a shade of dejection and misery. Suddenly, the feeling you had at the hospital came back. Trust.

"I know I'll regret this, but yes, you can stay."

A thankful smile crept across his face and if it weren't for the dark, you could swear that he was also crying.

"But if you don't behave I'll kill you." you threatened in a playful tone, but you needed to scare him a little.

In that moment he understood that he had done the right thing, deciding to take your offer. He had to pick up the pieces and get back on his feet. He couldn't have done it alone.

And mostly, he liked you. You were a warrior. There was something special in you, he could feel it. He could trust you.

"You scared the hell out of me by the way…do not do that again." you spoke as your eyes narrowed.

"I promise" he whispered.

He was kind of a weirdo, but you imagined he'd been through a lot. For this reason, you decided to place the knife on the table and get closer to him.

"But anyway, sooner or later you're going to tell me how you did it." you chuckled showing him the door. You were standing right in front of him now. He was taller than you thought.

"We haven't officially met, I'm Y/N."

In that moment – a moment you'll never forget – he vanished right before your eyes.

Then a sudden voice – that didn't hide insecurity and expectancy – coming from behind, made you turn around and left you in absolute shock.

"I'm Michael. Michael Langdon."

___________________________________________

Tagging (hope you don’t mind, in any case just tell me!) @michael-langdon-appreciation @hecohansen31 @so-langdon @emmyrosee @ladynuwanda @sammythankyou @sojournmichael @hplotrfan

[missneko-otaku]

A Little Misunderstanding (Okko Aladdin x Reader)

(Writer Notes:  Aladdin is an npc (non-playable character) from OKKO Sweet Romance: Arabian Nights Love Story (visual novel game). He is found in Sinbad route. I really do have a soft spot for my npc characters. They all deserve more love! *notes: English is not my native tongue so please forgive some grammatical errors in this fic if you have found some~ ʕ￫ᴥ￩　ʔ)

tagging: @ikigaiosamu @widzziciclesatmidnight​ @kimi00twin @destinedatmidnight

✧●♡❀∘✦∘♥❀

Summary: A short fluff for our dear Aladdin because he deserves some more attention and love! (✿人ㆁᴗㆁ)

✧●♡❀∘✦∘♥❀

In a small clearing somewhere located in the woods--not too far away from the capital--there you are, resting on a field of soft grass as you look up into the endless blue sky above. The place is quiet, only the hum and murmurs of the insects and birds everywhere can be heard. The trees and grasses seem to dance around you--swaying along with the gentle rhythm of the breeze.

It has been almost a month since you arrived in Bhagda. Sinbad found you unconscious on some road, looking lifeless. Thanks to him you have a place to stay and a job at the tavern for you to get by. Life has been good and kind to you so far yet you can’t help but feel empty and lonely. Your memories haven’t come back fully yet. You sigh again, too many times already, feeling somehow discouraged by this.

“Oh~! There you are! y/n-chan~” says by a gleeful voice you so know and familiar with, you turn around to see a young man you know, the same age as you--but looking a bit younger compared to his age-- approaching your direction. “Finally, I found ya! Sinbad is looking for you, don’t you know?”

It is Aladdin.

Amazingly, for some reason, Aladdin would always know where to find you.

You have come to know him since becoming friends with Sinbad. He is one of Sinbad’s old and very close friends, and now you are one of his friends too. He is friendly and energetic all the time--making him stand out a bit out of the rest.

“You should have told at least to me if you are going somewhere. We were a bit worried about you, you know,” he says to you with such concern and kindness as he sits beside you. Sometimes you wonder why he is too kind and caring when it comes to you. Are these just all normal for him? The way he talks and smiles at you tenderly, like right now. Sometimes, too, it feels like he is being protective of you. Maybe he cares for you? You have wondered countless times about it, yet you still can’t figure out why he does these...things that make your heart flutter.

“I’m sorry. I just came here to get some fresh air…” You say as you move from your lying position, sitting lazily on the grass.

“Why?? Do you feel sick?” worries start to cloud his face.

A faint laugh comes out from your lips, “No. Haha, you worry too much, Aladdin. Too much..”, your voice starts to trail off, then, “...too much that it confuses me.” You absentmindedly whisper.

He heard it despite your low voice, “Confuse you?” he asks, bemused, as he leans forward to take a view of your face. A curious look on his eyes.

You are taken aback by the sudden closeness of you two, just a breath away.

“Did I do something wrong? Did I make you feel bad? Sad? What do you mean?” Panicking as he waits for an answer.

A bit dumbstruck by the sudden bombardment of questions he has thrown at you, you stammer at your words, “I-- I, I just...I don’t like it when you are being too kind to me…” You pause, “It’s just that, I--I don’t want to confuse your kindness with something else…” You say, voice trailing off.

He leans back a bit from you and for a second there, neither of you two speaks. Then he smiles. A lonely smile.

Still puzzled, you timidly look at his eyes too, waiting for him to speak first. He stares back at you, eyes so gentle and tender yet sad. “I’m sorry… I---” he trails off.

Of course, you never hated it. You have always liked it how he would always worry for you. How he always makes you feel like you are special or something. Before you know it, you are falling for him.

“No. You don’t have to be sorry, I just-- umm... just forget what I said. I’m just being unreasonable…” You say, trying to ease the somehow serious atmosphere spreading around the two of you.

As You are about to stand up, Aladdin suddenly grabs hold of your right arm, his eyes still staring at yours, he speaks, “Listen to me…” his voice quivering, “I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable in some way. I should have been more thoughtful of your feelings...I know you like Sinbad...probably he likes you too.” You can hear and see the sadness in him as he says those things to you.

“I’m sorry, sometimes I just can’t control myself. I--I get excited whenever I see you, I can’t help but care too...you might find me bothersome but I--”

You are surprised. Stunned, even. It takes you a few moments for all of it to finally sink in properly into your mind.

“You what…?” you blurt out, heat rising in your cheeks. To your surprise, you find Aladdin’s cheeks flushed as well. A deep red coloring his face just like yours.

“I-- I am sorry. I--” he stammers when he saw you looking shocked.

You can’t believe it for a second. But then, when you learned his true feelings you can’t help but feel really glad. You don’t want to see him flustering like this anymore nor drag this stupid misunderstanding so when he is about to say more, you cut him off quickly.

“I like you...I like you a lot.”

“Wha--what?? Ehh..!? I--I thought...you like Sinbad??” Aladdin looks stupefied, he can’t believe what he just heard.

Feeling shy, you take a deep breath, “I don’t know exactly when but I have liked you, too, for a while. Perhaps because you are always there, always near...looking after me. And before I know it, I…” you shyly look at him in the eyes.

Before you would pretend and deny these feelings but not now, now that you have the courage to be true to yourself and him. “I have fallen for you. Will you...accept me?” you say.

Brief silence.

He isn’t saying anything. For a moment, you feel scared. What if he rejects you? What if the feelings you confessed to him is different from the feelings he has for you? What if he ‘likes’ you not as a woman but just as a sister? For a moment there, you feel like your heart is about to drop.

The hand that is still holding your arm suddenly pulls you into him, and in a heartbeat, you have found yourself already in his arms. You are on top of him as he is cradling you, and squeezing you so tightly you thought you are going to run out of air. You feel him trembling beneath you, then follows by a sudden mixture of giggles and laughter. You look up into his face and see him so happy.

“You should have said that sooner. I thought for a second there that you got mad at me, that you hated me. I got scared that maybe you’ll bluntly say to me you don’t like me being around you and that you like Sinbad more...hahaha turns out it is the opposite!”

You two are sprawled out on the grass, he is still cuddling you, holding you so sweetly. This time, you let your hands wander at his lean back. You hold him tight too, hug him even tighter as if you don’t want to part from him ever. You smell the faint of his scent along with the crisp scent of the grasses that are being crushed underneath your heavy bodies. You two stay in that position for a little bit longer.

You look up, straining your neck a bit to see his face, “Of course, I don’t hate you. Why would I?” you whisper to him as you bite your lips because you feel so warm and shy at how you two are now so close together. You remember imagining such scenarios like this before, but now it has become a reality.

With cheery eyes and a sneaky smirk, he suddenly pecks you in the forehead. Then you thought that that will be the end of his playfulness but he pecks you again, though, this time on your lips. Your face flush, you press your lips harder, feeling more bashful because of the sudden bold skinship he showed and did.

“What??” he says playfully. A teasing smile curves upon his lips, “Can’t I do that? Do you hate it?? Mm~?”

You bite your lips harder, again. It’s unfair how this man can fill you too much happiness and excitement so instantly just like that.

With a deep, affectionate sigh, you say to him, “Of course no..! dummy.” A faint blush creeping again on your cheeks.

You two roll in the grasses, snuggling close to each other like innocent kids as if you two don’t want to let go of each other’s embrace yet. Your whispers of love to one another, warm skinship, kisses, hugs, both of your sweet murmurs and giggles resound lightly--like a children’s laughter--filling every nook and corner of these woods with love and warmth.

Somehow the loneliness and emptiness you felt this morning have disappeared completely as if it never existed in the first place...only to be replaced at once with this pure and perfect bliss.

✧●♡❀∘✦∘♥❀

[smile-smile-ichthys]

Making Claude Proud - Be My Princess Fanfic

Title: Making Claude Proud Game: Be My Princess by Voltage Inc Characters: MC, Wilfred, Claude, Keith, Luke, Cathy Description: There’s a fire at the orphanage in Liberty and the little boy Mike is trapped in there. MC can’t just stand around waiting, she has to do something.

“Oh come on, I was not that bad” I laughed as Wilfred, Prince Edward and Prince Keith walked down the street together.  Of course, their butlers not far behind.

“We had to take the wine away from you for the rest of the evening” Wilfred kindly said.

“And all other kinds of alcohol” Edward piped up.

“And you still tried to get more drunk” Keith ended it.

We had just been out for a lovely meal together, a suggestion by Edward not too long ago, in order for us to strengthen ties between the kingdoms…you know, the usual ‘reasons’. But mainly to see how myself and Wilfred were doing since it was our 6 month anniversary that week. It really had been 6 whole months since we became officially a couple, 8 months since meeting him at that ball Mike threw. And I haven’t looked back since. I had made very good friends with all of the princes, but it was always difficult to set up a meet including all of them. In order to keep relationships with them, we had split meets like this, which usually meant food, especially if Prince Joshua was joining. Thank God he wasn’t, I just knew that restaurant was not up to his high standard palate. It would have ended up him complaining so much we would have gone back to Prince Keith’s Manse to have Luke just bring us food. Boring!

We’d had such a lovely time together, drinks, laughs, even Keith fully enjoyed himself with minimum arguments. Since he was hosting us this time, we had decided to walk through the town a little before Luke brought the car for us. It was his way to show off Liberty. I certainly didn’t mind, it was so nice to see what the other kingdoms had to offer that was different to Philip. What I was not enjoying was the teasing about the last time all of us had gotten together. Next time, I’d definitely watch the drinking.

“Alright, alright, I’ll make sure Claude keeps the alcohol away next time” I winked at them all.

“I would be more than happy to assist with that, miss” I glared at Claude playfully and he smirked back but his face fell when he saw something just ahead of us. I turned to look also. Smoke was rising high into the sky, thick and dense. A fire?

“Your highness” I heard Luke said from behind, suddenly next to Keith who both looked worried.

“Luke…that’s coming from” they both ran ahead and I couldn’t help but let go of Wilfred’s hand to run after them. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

We ran straight to where the fire was coming from, already hearing children screaming and shouting. Oh jeez. The size of the flames that were licking their way up into the sky was huge. It had completely engulfed the entire building. What the hell had happened? The heat was intense, I could feel my skin prickling with the burns already, and we weren’t even that close. Keith and Luke were already talking to a fire officer, sheer fear and horror on their faces. I saw Keith’s little sister holding onto a young boy not far from them.

Ignoring Claude and Wilfred telling me to get back, I ran over to Cathy and knelt down.

“What the hell happened?” I asked her.

“We have no idea! I wasn’t even supposed to be here at the orphanage today but, since my brother was out with you I thought I could just pay a quick visit, before I knew it we could smell smoke around the back and the whole place went up” she explained as I tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear.

“Is everyone out?” I heard Wilfred ask behind me.

“I don’t know Prince Wilfred” Cathy said, shock still settling into her body.

That’s when I heard Keith and Luke talking about a boy who was missing. Mike?

“Mike’s still in there?!” Keith’s voice dropped.

“He’s not accounted for, your highness, and the fire department said it’s too dangerous to go in…” I heard the dean say.

My heart sank. There was still a child in there and no-one was making an effort for a rescue?! I couldn’t stop my legs from moving even if I wanted to. Before I knew it, I was on my feet, dodging Claude’s strong arms from grabbing me and ran straight for the side window of the building. I did hear Wilfred’s strangled cries as I slid through the broken window, and I couldn’t help but internally apologise to him, however, I couldn’t just sit by idly and watch a child lose their life.

The smoke was thick and I could hardly see a thing. The floor. I remembered being taught when I was little to slump to the floor and crawl if there was a fire. I let my legs give out carefully as I dropped and I immediately felt I could breathe a little better down here.

“Mike?!” I shouted as best as I could “Mike, where are you?” I shouted again, crawling around as best as I could.

“I’m here” I heard a tiny reply.

“Mike, keep talking darlin’, keep talking so I can find you!” I shouted again.

“I’m in the playroom” I heard him coughing out, clearly struggling.

“I’m coming, hold tight” I crawled over to the playroom and pushed my way inside. He had been a good lad and closed the door as best as he could to keep the flames out. Problem was, in order to get him out, I had to open the door all the way, meaning it wouldn’t take long for the fire to reach this room. I’d have to be quick.

I stood and hugged Mike when I finally got to him.

“I’m sorry” was all he said.

“No no darlin’, no need to be sorry! We’re gonna get you out now ok?” I said. The heard a window blow out from down the hallway and several bangs of things collapsing.

“I’m scared” I was too.

“Good, it’s a good thing to be scared, keeps you on your toes, keeps you safe” I said, forcing a smile “Mike, I want you to hold onto me, keep your eyes tightly closed, do not open them ok? I promise, when I tell you to open them next, we’re going to be outside, Cathy and Keith are there waiting for you” I said sternly.

“Keepy?” he asked.

“Yeah, he’s so worried about you! Now come on, cling on tight” I opened my arms again and pulled his legs around my waist “Remember, don’t open your eyes!” I felt him nod as he hid his face into my shoulder “Good lad” I turned and quickly headed out of the room.

The heat was starting to get to me. I could feel myself panting hard to keep up with the lack of oxygen and I had only been inside a few minutes, Mike had been in way longer. I had to keep him talking to stay awake.

“Hey, do you know a song? How about you teach me your ABCs?” I asked.

“You know them” he was quiet, quieter than before. No no, don’t fall asleep.

“OK, let’s sing them together” I said, desperately trying to find a route outside. I ran as best as I could towards the front door, navigating the corridor to avoid the flames that were quickly spreading.

“Come on, A, B, C, D…what comes after that?” I struggled to breathe, my lungs burning with the smoke causing me to start coughing.

“E…F and G” he replied weakly.

“Good, keep going!” I encouraged him. There! I saw the light of outside not far ahead of me. I ran. I ran like I had never done before. The whole building was collapsing around us and if I didn’t get out now, I’d never see Wilfred again. I’d never get scolded by Claude again either. I didn’t want that. I loved both of them with my entire being, I didn’t want this to be the end. I wanted to be by their side for many years to come.

We were so close to getting out when my foot fell through the floor.

“Ah” I yelled in pain. I felt something snap. Shit. Ouch.

“What’s wrong?” Mike began to move his head to see what had happened. I pushed it back gently against my shoulder.

“Nothing, I forgot what comes after M, that’s all, remind me” I said, pulling at my foot to try and get it free, tears forming in my eyes from the pain.

“Erm…I dunno” Mike said.

“Of course you do, you’re awesome Mike! Keith tells me all about you” I said, tugging harder.

“Erm…J, K, L, M, N!” he said happily.

“That’s it! Keep going!” I yelled as I finally pulled my foot free, both of us falling forward. I clung to the small boy, bracing against the pain as he sang the alphabet. Not far. Just a few feet. Come on. My vision was swimming, vision going in and out of focus for lack of oxygen and the pain shooting through my ankle. I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t as strong as I thought I was. I’d disappointed Claude and let down Keith, Cathy, Luke, everyone. But worst of all, I’d hurt Wilfred. Maybe if I could just get Mike to run at least he’d be safe. I was about to lose consciousness when I heard voices coming from outside. I heard my name. It was Claude. Why was Claude yelling for me? Had I made a mistake in dance class again? I’m sorry Claude, I really am. I wanted to make you proud.

“Are we outside yet?” I heard Mike ask, snapping me out of my hallucination “Can I open my eyes?” Shit. I had made a promise.

“Princess’ never break promises, milady” I heard Claude’s voice in my head.

“No, they don’t” I whispered to myself “No, almost there darlin’, few more seconds” I grimaced through the pain in my ankle as I pulled myself up, clinging to Mike tightly.

I limped as best as I could towards the open door. Tears streamed down my face as I heard Mike reach the end of the alphabet. Air. Oh my God, pure air. I could feel it hit my face first before surging through into my lungs. We were outside. We’d made it.

I couldn’t help but smile as my legs gave way. The commotion was all around us and a fire officer was in front of me in an instant trying to take Mike away from me. His little hands gripped my top, refusing to let go.

“Mike, it’s ok, you can open your eyes now” I smiled down to him. His hands slowly released me and glanced around. He broke down into tears as the officer took him from me, just so happy to be outside and safe.

“Miss!” I heard Claude shout as he ran to me “don’t ever do that again!” I smiled as I looked up at him from the ground.

“Not lady like?” I asked in my raspy voice. He sighed heavily as he knelt down.

“Not really, can you walk?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“My ankle…” I said, refusing to look at it, knowing fine well I had broken it.

“Ah…hold onto me” he said, sliding his arms under my knees and around my back, lifting me with ease into the traditional princess style. I gripped around his neck tightly. “You may get a scolding from his highness”

“Not you? Maybe hell has frozen over” I chuckled but ended up coughing.

“No, not from myself this time” he looked down at me “I’m proud of my princess for doing what she did”

I blushed but smiled with happiness. I knew I’d get a heavy telling off from my prince once I had reached the ambulance, but I didn’t care, I’d made Claude proud. That’s all that mattered to me.

[vegannightschool]

Manchester Pig Save

by Connor Thomas

At 4am on a dark & crisp summers morning, the soft gentle chill of the air through my open window carries the sweet songs of the early rising winged creatures. A beautiful start to a day that we had all not been looking forward to. I make a hearty wholesome Tupperware box of porridge for each of us. It’s full of bursting blueberries and zingy ginger, a hug in a bowl for the journey down. Ben arrives at 5:05 and is greeted with an energetic loving smile by all three of the hounds I share a house with. We head to Dale’s house, pick him up and finally set off for Ashton Under Lyme on the outskirts of Manchester.

We give ourselves a small pep talk on the way down, as we drive through parts of the Peak District and witness spectacular sights of low hanging intense clouds on endless rolling hills. As we grow closer to our destination, a grey mist cushions Ben’s Mini through the higher hills. In this bubble of misty thought, we rattle our brains and remind ourselves of why we put ourselves in the spectators’ seat of such immense suffering and how we are going to devour a gigantic hearty breakfast after the vigil. Self-care and the scrupulous planning of it is so important!

We pull up on a terrace parallel to the slaughterhouse. As we take our first step out the car, I feel a sharp chill; this is a re-occurring sensation I’ve found in my own personal experiences of visiting slaughterhouse areas, even on summer mornings. To our right is a high cemented wall around 9ft high with barbed wire. To our left is the ordinary world, a simple terrace that reminds me of the old family house I previously lived in. I wonder if kids still play street football like I used to at home when I was a bairn. If so, are they aware of what happens behind these high walls?

I’ve been holding a pee for a few hours now and the moment we arrive, I quickly say hello to a few of the welcoming faces in high visibility vests before I dart along the riverside to find a secluded spot to relieve myself. Behind the woods, I hear the first sound. It is piercing. It is 8:30 in the morning and we have gone from harmonious birds to deep and fiercely terrified squeals. It is their call for help, for relief. The sound is awful, like a baby screaming in pain. You know you can’t turn your back; you must address that cry for help to alleviate the sound that we ever so naturally respond to. What shocks me most is how hard it is to tell if the cry was human or non-human. The intensity of the orchestra of screams touches every millimetre of my physical structure and I just desperately wait for a crescendo to come and end it all.

It never does. It continues.

Something occurs to me. What if within all the screams, the slaughterhouse workers also cry out for help? They work with unnatural non-human tools - a far cry from the sharpened stone on a long stick, the tools used by our ancestors in times of food urgency. Nowadays we demand workers to use tools such as carousels that rotate through pits of carbon dioxide, flamethrowers so hot they burn every hair from their skin, huge harsh knives that cut through dense twitching protective flesh and penetrating bolt guns that fracture skulls and periodically miss, leaving animals to meet the sharp blade fully aware of their feelings, fellow friends and their unforgiving fate. Do you think this sounds violent? If yes, what does this violence do to the mind of the human holding the tool? Do they ever get caught in these machines or have they become machines themselves?

After ten long minutes, I walk back to the front of the gate. I am told there has already been six trucks enter the yard since the early hours. I can see the backs of the trucks which have the name of the location the pigs have travelled from. Each and every one of them has an obnoxious picture of a happy pig looking out at the drivers who follow the trucks on their long journeys. This is a comforting image to those who have never witnessed the inside of a farm, truck, slaughterhouse or probably even something I had smiled at when I used to eat bacon and sausage. Long journeys they certainly were; each individual had travelled without water or food, packed so tightly that many of them could not lie down at the same time. It took between one to four hours to reach the pigs’ final destination, while the drivers would return within the week with another hot box of snouts.

I look left. The Manchester Pig Save banner is now out of sight, blocked by a colossal three-story high trailer, fitted with small rectangular mesh slats on each level. This sight was a shock to the mind; I had seen trucks like this on videos of American and Canadian pig saves and I had never imagined it happened in the UK on this scale. Now my nostrils are twitching, something doesn’t smell good. This nose filling scent that feels so permanent. Intensified by the heat of many bodies packed so closely together; similar to that of when you’re very ill for days, you feel you need to keep cosy and the minute you lift those covers, you smell the fever inspired body odour arise from the warm depths of your quilt. It is a smell much worse than one can describe with words. Imagine faeces from your toes, up your legs and smothered on your belly as the truck comes to a sudden halt. Your friend accidently crashes their arse into your face. Now with every breath you inhale your fellow beings’ gruesome shit scent. You have no way of getting it off your nose. This confined space is abhorrently different to the woodland you are so used to stewarding, a place where you get to enact your instinct of keeping your toilet far from your sleeping quarters and much further from your snout.

“You use all of your senses when bearing witness at a vigil”. This is what I once heard Alex Lockwood talk about on a podcast about bearing witness. To me this is key, this is reality. It’s not a video filmed by someone else, neither is it your minds ability to use what it thinks is the ‘best guess’ and imagine what the experience would be like. Ask anyone who has been to a Save Movement vigil; their words can describe it so well, yet they’ll all tell you, “you must experience it for yourself”.

Back to the gates. This first truck I see is lively. The pigs look out from their confined space with searching eyes that are focused curiously on our high visibility vests, voices and video devices. At Tulip meats, the Manchester Pig Save group have an agreement that they can spend five minutes with the animals before they enter the facility. This helps us a lot and we bring pop up stools with us so we can peer into the lowest slat that usually sits around head height - this is how we gather the footage that we want to share with people. It’s also how we get to see the individuals for who they are within their confinement. It is smallest act we can do, to share their story and show them love.

The horn of the truck blares and my body suddenly becomes tense. I feel a hollowness within this stressed structure. I feel like a strong wind could blow into me and fill this empty space to such a volume that I just blow away into the grey sky, like a balloon left unattended by a distracted child. I look around at the people I’m bearing witness with. Some are in tears; others are looking deeply into their own minds and emotions. I look for a cue from Ben or Dale to see if they would want to talk about that first truck full of curious snouts. We come together and check if we’re all alright, embracing each other in a tight heartfelt three-way hug.

As we let go and share our experience within our trio, I see a car swinging in. A mother dressed in a nurse’s uniform dropping off three young men. They head into the facility for another regular day of processing. I wonder which area they work in as this plant is huge! Do they work with the tall gas cylinders that fuel the screams? How about the kill floor a real life house of horror containing the carousel of pain that spins continuously, turning life into death? The ‘process’ in this plant takes inquisitive trusting pigs and transforms them into a commodity through a process that not many people would be willing to do or witness themselves. I, along with every activist within the non-violent Save Movement have only compassion for these people. It didn’t start like that for me though. I think of how angry I was attending my first save. I blamed the workers. I now realise that this is the wrong orientation to have. If you’re feeling stuck in this rut, remember it’s not the people we are fighting, it’s the oppressive system that Melanie Joy coins as “Carnism”. Workers, animals and our planet are all under the oppression of this powerful ideology.

Twenty minutes pass, another truck indicates its intended route into the plant. We approach the right-hand side of the truck, set up our stools to give us the extra foot we need to peer in and this time we bear witness to something different. These pigs don’t look at us; they don’t even seem to know whether we exist or if they themselves exist. All we can see are either wide scattered eyes or closed eyes along with heavy breathing, like zombies from an apocalypse film. This trailer is filled with misery. There are scratches, wounds, blood and shit all over the pigs. Most of them seem to have deformities on their bodies, they simply look either unconscious or completely unhappy and unnatural. I jot in my notebook that they seem to have no perception of anything but their own bodies, crashing around and pushing each other with their heads held low. Are they aware of what is coming, or have they come from one of the 85% of UK standard intensive pig farms? The epitome of ultimate despair.

As this truck leaves, I spot the driver hosing down the now empty insides of the trailer in the cleaning section. He departs after switching his now wet and faeces covered t-shirt. Just as he leaves, we see two other trucks flashing their indicators in the direction of the slaughterhouse gates. The first smaller truck of the two standing at two stories high drives straight in as the security must clear the busy road for the next truck, which is huge. I approach the second truck. I look up from my position at the side of the truck and see four levels of this ginormous structure. I then glance through more mesh and witness a mixture of lifeless looking bodies and frantic searching eyes in this first level.

I think of my dear friend Lesley, who has been to a vigil here before. She told me to talk, sing and vibrate with love towards these creatures who have probably never known this feeling before. Suddenly I feel a state of shock and find myself gazing into a pair of blue eyes that are looking directly back at me. Connected by this glance, I feel the urge to sing words to this individual and that’s exactly what I do. The ever so slight sense of embarrassment you may feel singing to a pig in the back of a slaughter truck suddenly disappears. Along with everything else except those blue curious eyes. It is a moment in which you realise that you are giving this pig a comfort it has never known in its life before.

The horn blares.

My chest is tight.

It’s not raining Connor.

Those are your tears.

As this truck pulls into the yard, my emotions overwhelm me due to this connection with the eyes of the individual. Those eyes I will be able to recall in every animal I meet. What the fuck can I do? I walk through the crowd of activists, straight to the riverside as the waterfall of emotions floods from my eyes. Frustration gets the better of me and I can feel the heat of anger arising. As this heat arises within me, I feel the cool calming hand of Dale on my right shoulder. Followed by Ben’s to my left. My eyes begin to dry up as we take a stroll through the thin line of woodland that surrounds the tall slaughterhouse walls.

Another six or seven trucks have come in the time we are present.

Now the worst part of a vigil is upon us. Here comes the abrupt return to reality on the other side of the wall. We came closer when you were in pain. We stayed with you when you were afraid. We wish we could watch over you, all through the night. Remember that every day, we’ll never give up the fight.

We walk from the back and head to the front. We gather our things and leave at 12:30. We’re heading straight to Manchester to fill up on some tasty delights at a rainbow beauty of a café named: Boho Utopia! We fill ourselves up on a full English breakfast and a mega chocolate, peanut butter & banana cake milkshake. We’re heading home now. What a day.

I can only try again from my own experience to describe the sensory circus that occurs when you walk to the back of the slaughterhouse. These words come to me at that moment in time, you may have a different experience:

Screams. Terror. Pain. Dominance. Burning. Crying. Witnessing. Helplessness. Hopelessness. Damage. Violence. History. Shock. Fire. Anger. Rage. Suffering.

The afore list of words is the dark side to describe the reality of a vigil. I’m going to share a different list of words now, under the title of; ‘How you feel when you talk to people who stand side by side with you at The Save Movement’.

Inspired. Committed. Fulfilled. Hopeful. Happy. Fair. Joyous. Connected. Warm. Calm. Loved. Empathetic. Caring. Truthful.

I want you to add to this list, your own words that come to mind when you think of an animal vigil. Let us tell everyone why bearing witness is one of the greatest things you can do in your life! You can simply think of these in your head or share them on Facebook, Instagram or under this Tumblr post. I’ll get you started with a few easy ones:

Tea. Cake. Coffee.