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amor-immortalem · 3 years

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Everything Undesired

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings: dead dove: do not eat, heavily implied rape, gross misuse of a pact, dissociation victim blaming

Summary: not all pact masters use their pacts judiciously or in a positive way. What happens when a pact is misused in one of the worst ways possible?

A/N: so a while back I did a comic by the name of ‘Meet Me Under the Azaleas’ I’m no longer happy with the writing I put into it originally so I wanted to rewrite it using the same plot line and adding some extra scenes that weren’t in the original comic which I’ll be taking down tonight. It should work better as a fic anyway.

Chapter 1

“You are ours. We own you.”

Those words rang in his head over and over as he stumbled his way into his room, overstimulated, exhausted- a mess. He knew it was a mistake to answer the call of those witches tonight. The thoughts of what they did, how their hands ran over his body, what they had taken away. It made his stomach churn and tie itself in knots with guilt and shame. It burned just the same as the rope marks on his wrists and ankles- wounds that would heal within the hour.

“You won’t breathe a word of this to anyone- this we command of you, Avatar of Greed.”

Those women -no, they were monsters- abused the innate trust that comes with a demon who enters a pact with a human, multiple in this case. They had violated the boundaries he’d put in place the day he started dating his human. Oh God, what would she think if word ever got out? He had no way of speaking out- to scream the truth until his voice was raw.

He needed to shower, to get the stench of sex and sweat off of him. He had to get their scent off of him. As he entered the bathroom, Mammon tore off his clothes as he started the water. The lights remained off as he couldn’t bare to look at himself after what happened. Not after how he just let them use him like that.

He stepped under the boiling water and just let it run against him. The falling water did nothing to drown out the deafening voices running rampant in his mind.

“Disgusting!” They roared, “Useless! Pathetic! Weak! Whore! ….. Scum!”

He falls to the floor of his shower, hands gripping at his hair as he let out a whimper that eventually turned into quiet sobs. The steamy air making it harder to breathe. Why didn’t he fight against them harder- against their orders. No, he just laid there and took it.

He grabbed the soap and a wash rag and scrubbed his body until every bit of him was raw and even then he wouldn’t stop. It was only when he saw the blood swirling around the drain that Mammon realized what he was doing to himself- how bad the water burned the exposed skin. It felt like hellfire raining down upon him.

He felt horrible as he reached up and switched the water off. He could still hear it in his head as he reached for a towel- all the crying, screaming, begging for them to stop.

He was a pathetic, sorry excuse of a demon, he thinks as he wraps the towel around his waist and travels down the his stairs quietly. It’s early morning now. There was only a few hours left before he would have wake up for school. He contemplated just skipping the entire day. There would be know way he’d be able to function. He could always say he feels sick- its not that far from the truth. He would decide in a few hours, he thought as he crawled into bed. It didn’t take long for her to move closer to him. His naturally warmer body temperature was what drew her to him. His body involuntarily tensing as she nuzzled into his chest, arms slipping around his body. He would only tuck her head under his chin and drape and arm over her side as he let the scent of her shampoo relax him enough to fall into a light sleep.

After a short while, someone's alarm blared among the sheets- whether it his or Arella's, he couldn't be sure. Mammon patted around for the offending phone, just wanting to get five more minutes of shut eye. He eventually succeeded but not without waking his partner.

"Morning, Love," Arella sighed, her voice still laced with the grogginess of sleep.

"Mornin', Treasure," The demon yawns as he curls back up, pulling her closer to his chest. "Sleep well?"

"I did. What time you get back last night?" Arella's voice is soft as her hand slides under his shirt, rubbing gently along his side.

"5 this mornin'." He says as he tries to hide the way his body recoils from her touch, a pang of guilt strikes his heart as she notices. "Sorry... 'm not really feelin' all that great right now..."

"No, that's alright." She removes her hand from his side, choosing instead to rest it against his cheek as she readjusts herself so she's eye-level with him on the pillow. "How selfish of those witches to keep you out so late on a school night..." Its at this point she notices the puffiness and how red his eyes are. "You look like you've been crying... Is everything alright?"

He just shakes his head. Mammon wants so badly to tell her what happened to him the night before- the real reason he got home so late, but unsurprisingly, no words come out. He just closes his eyes, letting himself relax under her gentle touch. "I'm jus' really tired s'all."

"I believe it. You only got a hour and a half's worth of sleep. Would you like to just stay home all day, just the two of us?" Arella moves him so he's resting with his head on her chest.

"That's sounds.... nice," he hums quietly, so close to falling back into the clutches of sleep.

"Alright then. Go on and go back to sleep," She kisses the top of his head, carding her fingers through the soft, fluffy locks the other hand rubbing small circles in the center of his back. "I've got you."

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This carried on for months. The witches would summon him and as long as he complied with their wishes, they would hold his secret. By the third time, he would check out- let his mind escape to anywhere but the present until it was over. It became a vicious cycle. They would call, he would go to them, and then he would crawl into his bed for maybe an hour or two before forcing himself to get up for classes that he often fell asleep in. After the tenth, once they had finished with him, he asked why they were doing this and they told him.

“We desire something to bind you to us for the rest of our lives.”

“A child.”

The demon’s eyes widened at that. Never in his life had he been so opposed to the idea of having children. In fact, just before all of this happened he had been daydreaming about what his children with Arella would look like if they were ever so fortunate to have any but a child with one of the witches? It made him sick. A half-demon born from a demon of his status had a high probability of killing its mother- one who he would then have to raise. How could he explain that to his brothers- to Arella? The very thought filled him with dread. How could he ever bring himself to care for a child conceived from a crime? A child that would always be nothing but a constant reminder of the worst nights of his life. They didn’t deserve a life like that.

And so Mammon did the only thing he could think to do: he fled. He ran back to the Devildom, back to House of Lamentation as fast a his legs would carry him. He crashed through the doors of the house. Never had he been so greatful to be the first one home. As he climbed the steps up to his room he vowed to himself never again. He wouldn’t give them what they wanted, consequences be damned.

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It had been six months since his last encounter with the witches. There was nothing on their end- absolute radio silence. Part of Mammon wondered if they'd gotten what they wanted from him after all. Everyday was filled with the anxiety of not knowing. His nightmares had gotten worse. Most of them were based around those nights he'd spent with them, others involved everyone finding out a one-sided version of what had happened, all spun in the favor of the witches. He dreamed of Arella leaving him, heart-broken from the implication that he would stray from her and running into the arms of one of his brothers. The worst ones- the ones he would wake up from covered in a cold sweat in the dead of night- consisted of him standing in the witches' home, the sounds of screaming, the smell of blood, the piercing first cries somewhere between the call of a demon and the screams of a human baby infecting his senses. It all felt too real. It felt like a crushing weight on his chest.

Over this time, Mammon had grown distant from both his brothers and Arella, hardly spending anytime with them. He fell apart. The grades he worked so hard to pull up had taken a nose dive, he was hardly eating- choosing only to consume just barely enough to sustain himself. He no longer slept for fear of the nightmares and he instead threw himself into side jobs that would keep him out of the house well passed curfew as well as earn him plentiful amounts of grimm. He couldn't go on like this much longer.

Everyone was worried for him. None of them had ever seen the Avatar of Greed in this manner and the gradual change in his demeanor alarmed them. Despite everyone’s best attempts, Mammon hardly smiled anymore. He just simply didn't seem to enjoy all of the things he once did. They all knew something was wrong but when asked the white haired demon would shrug it off, say he was fine when he very obviously was not. Everything came to a head the night Mammon collapsed, finally falling victim to exhaustion and hunger.

It was after this that Lucifer called the family to a meeting while Arella sat with Mammon in his room as he slept fitfully.

"What do we do, Lucifer?" Asmo seemed distraught with fear. "Our brother is suffering from something and we don't even know where to start in trying to help him."

"We have to get him to talk somehow," Satan quipped, "Perhaps Arella can-"

"If this were any other situation, I would suggest it but right now, I don't think that's a very wise move. If she forces him to talk it could very well damage the bond they share." For the first time in thousands of years, Lucifer didn't know what to do. Whatever was causing this shift in personality was eating away at Mammon. "We'll try to think of a way to fix this- to find out what happened to our dear brother. So let's start at the beginning of all of this. What do we know about what he was doing before this happened?"

"Well, Levi started, "He was getting called up by those witch sisters with more and more frequently. I heard him come home super late- like early morning hours late..."

"And after that is when he practically stopped eating." Beel chimed in.

"And he was having nightmares almost nightly, afterwards." Belphie nodded. "I did my best with my powers to look into them but there were so many mental blocks that he subconsciously put up, I couldn't see or hear anything very well and what I could see didn't make a whole lot of sense. They weren't very clear, but they had something to do with the witches... and I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt associated with them."

"Then obviously something happened while he was with them," Satan said, brow furrowed. "But what that may be, we won't know until he talks."

"Asmo, I see the look on your face." Lucifer called out to the Avatar of Lust. "Is there something, you'd like share with the group?"

Everyone's eyes were locked onto Asmodeus as the demon sat with a contemplative look on his face. He was very slowly starting to piece together what had been going on.

"Not yet, but I may have a hunch." He finally said. "Mammon has a pact with these women, correct?"

Masterlist 2

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may-fanfic · 3 years

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Don't Take My Sunshine

summary: love like yours was forbidden in the time period, afraid of ridicule that you both could face, you and wanda remain a secret.

warnings: mentions of old fashion punishment

word count: 2,330

masterlist

a/n: thank you for 500 followers! I've had such bad writer's block for the past couple of days but I hope you all enjoy this story.

((feel free to send in any request you may have 💕))

------

She was the sun, bright and warm whenever she wasn't around; your life felt dark and dull. You cherished moments spent with her, even if they weren't long. You knew she was constantly busy; even a second of her time was precious. When Wanda announced in a letter that she'd be around much longer this go around, you were excited when her letter read that she wanted to enjoy every wakening second with you.

Wanda showed you that she loved you in many ways; although the girl never spoke a word of it, you knew the feeling was there. It was too hard to ignore the chemistry that poured out over the two of you when you were around; it was impossible to ignore the pound and burn of your hearts when near each other. Love was a simple thing when it came to Wanda; she showed it in the way she looked at you, held you, and even sent gifts to ensure that you'd known that you were in her thoughts. Even when she was away, Wanda was determined to make sure you understood and remembered the inevitable feelings that you both had for each other.

Wanda often feared that if she had not been around long enough, your feelings would disappear during all the lonely days you'd have to spend without her, so she always went out of her way to make sure you knew how she felt. Words were never enough for her; she could never imagine the words that would seep past her lips could give her feelings justice, so she never tried. She never dared to let her feelings mutter past her lips in fear that you'd think she was being foolish.

You were the only one who truly understood her; she was only herself around you; god forbid anyone found out about her secret, she'd be burned at the stake, but you swore to keep her secret buried deep inside you till the end of time. She trusted with everything she had that you would keep that promise.

When the carriage arrived, you could feel your heart thump against your chest, all the time you spent longing for the woman, and now she had only been a few feet away. You hoped she meant every word she wrote in the letters; the purest form of hope was set upon your shoulders as you waited anxiously by your family's door. You anticipated for her to step out of that damn carriage, nibbling on your lip. You were excited to spend every moment you two had left together, hand in hand as she promised.

But, when Wanda stepped out, she was arm and arm with a man; he looked important enough, he looked expensive. The dress Wanda wore must've cost a fortune; you had never seen such luxury up close. Wanda's lips were painted red; they held a smile until she watched the way yours dropped. You felt like a fool at that moment, staring back at the young couple who stood tall. You couldn't understand the meaning behind all this, so you turned back into your family's home, leaving Wanda and your family to greet each other as you raced to your bedroom.

You were alone, drowning in your thoughts for a moment before a soft knock sounded by your door. You yelled for the person to go away, but they had not listened; instead, they pushed open the door. Your breathing was sharp when you met her gaze, your frown deepening.

"My love, what's troubling you?" she questioned, her voice sweet and gentle. There was a moment when all your anger melted away, and all you could see was her, dressed up all lovely. "what's troubling me?" you scoffed, your eyes watering and your lips quivering as you took a step towards her. "that man!" your voice raised as bitter tears leaked from your eyes.

"darling," she hummed quietly, her hands coming up to hold your cheeks. "It's not like that with him." she smiled down at you, her hands caressing your reddened cheeks, wiping away the droplets that pooled over and damped your cheeks. "He's like us," she reassured, causing the pound in your heart to subside. "oh." you breathed out; a soft giggle burst past her lips.

"I can't exactly travel alone." you knew that women couldn't take a trip without the assistance of a man; you hated that it never crossed your mind; you should've never assumed the worst. "I could never cherish another," she whispered before you could utter out anything else; the woman leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips. It silenced all the nagging thoughts that made your head spin; all you could feel and focus on was her.

Wanda relentlessly broke the kiss, her hands caressing your face for a moment longer before she ultimately moved away, a tender smile taking over her kiss bruised lips. "We can't stay long; the others would wonder." you stood tall on your tippy-toes, catching her lips in a shorter kiss. It was almost painful to break away from such pleasures, but you knew deep down, wanda was right. You feared the idea of your family finding the two of you; you knew you'd be ridiculed for committing such acts.

----

Your mother was determined to find you a suitable man to marry you off. No matter the number of times you fuzzed and yelled at her that you weren't ready, she never listened. She was prepared to find you anyone to pass you off to, which is why the meetings and dinners occurred. You figured with Wanda as a guest, she'd push aside the thoughts of marrying you, but the idea that wanda found herself a man only encouraged her to find you someone quicker. It'd be a shame to the family name if she were unable to find you a partner.

The man was sweet enough; he was charming even. You knew deep down that he wasn't the problem, but you felt emptiness as you looked at him. It felt like nothing, unlike the swirling fits of emotion you felt for Wanda.

"I would like to marry you." he reminded, a grin taking over his pink lips; you cringed at the thoughts of being his wife, the mother to his children. You recoiled at the idea of having to spend every night of your life sleeping next to him. "I wouldn't." you spat out, giving him a sarcastic smile before taking a sip of your piping hot tea. It burned the tip of your tongue, and as you swallowed down the flavorful liquid, it stung your throat. It brought some form of comfort, the remainder that you could still feel despite the void you felt engulfed you like the black hole.

"Why not? I could give you the life women could only dream of." you could roll your eyes, he had nothing to offer you, and no amount of fortune could ever fulfill you. "I'm in love with another," you stated bluntly, shrugging when you watched the smirk on his lips disappear in the blink of an eye. He could be a devilish shapeshifter with how quickly his emotions alternated.

"So why am I wasting my time then?" you did not have any words for him as you showed him out, grinning to yourself when you were alone. The silence was so pleasing, you could finally hear your thoughts, and they screamed so loud for Wanda. She was all you could think about; you dreamt of her every night, the concept of running off to live with her somewhere filled you with euphoria.

Your mother's nagging soon followed the silence, but you drowned her out, your mind so far away that you could hardly snap back into reality; you were happy in your head. There were no troubles in the paradise that lived within your thoughts.

------

Laughs filled the crisp wind as the two of you walked hand in hand around the field of wildflowers. Nothing could disturb the sanctuary that had been built around you and Wanda. The town was nosy; anyone could spread the news that you found love in a woman, but at that moment, you couldn't care. Wanda turned to you abruptly, her hands laced with yours. You leaned up against your favorite tree, one your great-granddad built in honor of your birth, and smiled up at the woman.

"I could die today and feel so complete knowing I have you." her words filled your ears like music, all too rich. You squeezed her hands, staring up at Wanda with adoration. "I love you." the words seeped past your lips; you had written it out to her so much before, but you never spoke of it.

"I love you a million times more." her words left her lips almost as a promise, a commitment for eternally. You reeled the woman closer until she was only a breath away, catching her lips in a passionate kiss that would undoubtedly leave you both gasping for air. Your jaw would ache, and your lungs would burn, but your heart would fill so full.

A gasp sounded, causing the both of you to break apart abruptly, your heart pounding against your chest, your eyes wide, and your breathing uneven. "Your mother told me to fetch you." the stranger stated, his gaze moving between you and wanda. "I was not expecting to see such heinous things; your folks will be hearing about this," he swore with a look of disgust; you could feel your heart in your stomach when he turned away and began storming back in the direction of your home. You called out for him, moving to chase after him to stop him in his act, but wanda caught your hand, preventing you from leaving.

"It's no use, my darling." she frowned, her hands lacing with yours. "We must try something." you cried for her to figure something out, fix this for the both of you somehow, but by the look on her face, she could not think of anything. The truth was out, and now you'd have to face the consequences of it all.

You dreaded the idea of having to walk into your home and face your family; you knew it would end so terribly. You swallowed hard; your hands shook; it was fear that washed over you; you were bound to face your certainty. You knew you would be told that your freedom to see Wanda was revoked, and they'd force you to marry a man of their choosing, or worse, the two of you would be burned for expressing your love for each other in public, none of this would end well.

The house was quiet, and for a moment, you could've been fooled into thinking the man had never returned to your home and spoke a word of your affair with Wanda. "It'll be okay, dear," she whispered into your ear, but then your father stern voice boomed through the quiet residence.

"What is this nonsense I've heard?"

"Father, I can explain." you tried, dropping the woman's hand and entering the home completely. You felt small under his gaze; you wish you could melt away into the floor and disappear from your father's glare, but you couldn't; you could only stand there in horror. "Wanda, you must leave," he uttered, you snapped your gaze over to look at wanda from over your shoulder.

"I'm not leaving without my beloved." she crossed her arms, standing tall and bold. She had not been afraid of the man; she was not frightened of anything. She'd never let anything stand in the way of her loving you.

"She's not yours to love," he growled; the woman huffed, taking steps forward to grip your wrist. "She's all mine, sir."

"If you do not leave this instant, I will notify the authorities." she scoffed.

"Call who you want; it won't change the fact that I'm in love with your daughter, and I will be until the end of time," she argued, her hand tightening with yours before she pulled you closer to almost protect you from him. "You can't,"

"I can, and I do," she stated bluntly, rolling her eyes when he turned and left the both of you, giving her one more warning to leave. You knew she wouldn't go, but you needed her to leave; she couldn't be here. She could be hurt or killed, and you'd never be able to live with yourself if something happened to Wanda.

"You must go!" you shouted, ripping your hand from hers, watching as pain washed over her expressions. "I will not,"

"He'll kill you," you yelled, causing her frown to deepen. "I'll be happy to die for your honor."

"Go, Wanda! Gather your things and go!" her eyes clouded with tears, and her plump lips quivered. Nothing could ever pain her more than leaving you behind with such troubles.

"But I love you."

"And I do you, but you must go." you reached up, your hands cupping her cheeks softly. "Go for me, my dear." The powers that Wanda tried so hard to conceal had been bubbling up inside her veins, but then you leaned up and left her with a chaste goodbye kiss, and it soothed her long enough to prevent anything from escaping.

"I'll write to you every day," you reassured, wiping away the stray tears that escaped her bright eyes. "That will never be enough."

"It has to be for now."

Watching Wanda leave stung, it felt like a part of your soul and heart had been ripped from you, and now you felt nothing but emptiness; you were alone. Wanda was the sun, and you were a flower; you could never survive without the comforting warmth and brightness that the girl provided; you were nothing without her, and every day until you could see her again, you'd feel as if you were already dead.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximov #wanda marvel #wanda x y/n #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff x you #wanda #marvel #scarlet witch x reader #wanda maximoff angst #wanda x reader #wanda mcu #scarlet witch x you

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

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I Scream a Truth, You Hear a Lie - part 1/ 5

This is a gift for the most amazing @ban-aard <3

pairing: Geraskier

summary: When some bigoted man insists that Geralt can’t feel love, Jaskier blurts out that they are married - which they very much aren’t. So naturally, Geralt and Jaskier have to pretend to be husbands to convince people that Geralt is lovable, though no one doubts that more than Geralt himself.

word count:~3k

content warning: some self-deprication

read on AO3

Alright, so it hadn’t been Jaskier’s most brilliant idea. One might even go so far as to say it was one of his worst ones, but in his defence, he had been tired, a teeny tiny bit drunk and majorly pissed off.

All throughout the evening Jaskier had to listen to stupid comments about witchers. No matter how many tales of Geralt’s heroic deeds he sang, Erik, the man who had given Geralt the contract he was currently risking his life on, kept insulting witchers, the fucking hypocrite.

Throughout it all Jaskier was forced to clench his teeth and continue singing. The most he could do was through death glares at the man and hope he choked on his ale. It wouldn’t do to disrupt his performance, not when they still needed the money to rent a room once Geralt came back, even though it made Jaskier’s blood boil to know people still spread lies about his friend. He came far too close to just stopping his performance and call the contractor out on his lies in front of the entire tavern.

As luck would have it, he didn’t need to.

Just as Jaskier’s last song came to a close the doors opened and Geralt came in, heading straight to the bearded man whose eyes grew wide as he took in Geralt’s black eyes and blood-splattered skin.

He must have been too scared to protest or swindle Geralt into giving him less coin.

Jaskier watched on in smug satisfaction, though he couldn’t pretend not to feel a pang when Geralt didn’t even spare him a single glance before leaving the tavern. As the doors fell close behind him Jaskier hurried to follow him, but he stopped dead in his tracks when the hated voice chimed up once again, louder now that Geralt had left the room.

“Thank the gods we’re rid of him now. Gives me the creeps.”

Jaskier whirled around and fixed him with a raging snarl. “Maybe next time, he should just stay out of this town and not help you when your people are dying then?”

The man scoffed. “You know that’s not what I mean. I don’t mind his kind, but I don’t want them here for Marijan’s Day. No one does.”

“He just risked his life for you. If anything, you should be throwing a feast in his honour. The least you can do is not be arseholes and let him stay for your festival.”

“Listen, bard, this is a celebration of love. What does someone like him even want there? Everyone knows those mutants don’t –

“Finish that sentence, I dare you.” Jaskier’s eyes narrowed and he prayed Geralt was already far enough away to not hear any of what the man was saying.

“It’s true though isn’t it? Witchers don’t feel and no one would love them anyway so what would be the point?”

“Excuse me.” Jaskier’s voice became deadly cold. “Geralt is living proof that that’s a load of bullshit.”

Erik took a swig of his pint and fixed Jaskier with an almost pitying look. “Sorry to tell you, lad, but just because it’s painfully obvious that you adore the mutant like a loyal puppy doesn’t mean he feels anything for you.”

Jaskier could barely stop himself from flinching back. Those words hit too close. They were too true. How many nights has he lied awake wishing it were different? Maybe it would have been easier if it were true and witchers really didn’t feel. Then at least it wouldn’t have been Jaskier’s fault that Geralt couldn’t love him.

The thought hurt and it set his blood on fire and it made him lose all control over what his mouth was saying.

“Are you telling me my husband doesn’t love me? Is that what you’re saying?”

A wheezing sound left the man as he choked on his drink, but the small amount of satisfaction Jaskier got from it was short lived. “Your what?”

“My husband,” Jaskier said, firmer this time, consequences be damned. It’s not like sticking with what he had said would make this mess any worse. “And I will take him with me to your oh so wonderful festival and you can all see just how loving and brilliant and lovable he is!”

As soon as the words had left him, he regretted them. This could only end in disaster.

Convincing Geralt to accompany him to a celebration was hard enough, but with what Jaskier had just said? Geralt would rip his head right off when he found out. But like hell would Jaskier let these people continue slandering Geralt. He would do what he could to make them take back their poisonous words and if it tore his heart out in the process, so be it.

Geralt kept his head down as best he could as he entered the tavern. He had heard the whispers as he had approached and he felt his chest tighten as they all came to a suspicious halt once he entered the room. He didn’t need to smell the fear to know he wasn’t wanted here. Bitter guilt rose up in him. Only moments before, Jaskier had put on a performance and captivated the audience and now all eyes were on Geralt, no one caring about Jaskier the way they should.

He hurried to get his money and leave. It took all of his will power not to look at Jaskier. The thought of him waiting for Geralt’s return had gotten him through the fight and coming back to him was the best part of any contract.

And yet, despite all the times Jaskier had seen him dirty, with torn clothes and the toxins pumping through his blood, he couldn’t look him in the eyes now. Not in front of all these people. It was different when it was just the two of them in a room far away from prying eyes, but with everyone looking at Geralt … Jaskier wouldn’t want to be associated with the sight of him like this. It would expose any lies he told about Geralt’s valiant character.

So he left without chancing a glance at him, though he felt Jaskier’s eyes burning into his back.

Leaving the crowded tavern and the disgusted stares behind was freeing, though there was an insistent part of him that told him to go back. He didn’t, but he couldn’t stop himself from lingering just outside the door. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would get to hear Jaskier strike up a new song, would hear the excitement in his voice as the rush of a performance overtook him.

What he heard instead made his heart sink like a stone.

“Thank the gods we’re rid of him now. Gives me the creeps.”

Of course. What else could he have expected? Geralt was used to hearing such things, but it didn’t make them sting any less. For years he had been able to just lock those comments away and pretend they didn’t bother them, but ever since travelling with Jaskier this seemed impossible. Because one could only hear so many times that the man they travelled with was a monster before starting to believe it themselves. One day, Jaskier would begin to doubt. He would realise that if so many people agreed on what Geralt was, maybe he was in the wrong saying that Geralt was anything better.

With a bitter taste in his mouth and a painfully tight chest he listened to Jaskier defend him. It eased something inside him, dislodged a strangling heaviness in his lungs that made it hard to breathe.

Until –

“It’s true though isn’t it? Witchers don’t feel and no one would love them anyway so what would be the point?”

Geralt staggered backwards. He couldn’t think, he just left -fled – those words ringing in his ears. He couldn’t stay to listen what Jaskier would say, if there even was something he could say.

For while the first part couldn’t be more untrue – the pangs shooting through Geralt’s heart all the proof needed that witchers could feel – no one, not even Jaskier who stood up for witchers where he could, could argue with the second part. Not when merely a minute ago Geralt had stood before him, his black eyes and unnaturally pale skin an unmistakable reminder of what he was. Not even Jaskier who was so full of love to give every one – everyone but him - would ever be able to love him.

For a sick second Geralt was almost grateful for hearing those words that had been said with such condescension and conviction. He had needed to hear them, needed the reminder. Too close had he gotten to letting himself forget. Too close to letting himself hope that Jaskier could –

He shook the thought off before thinking it fully and entered the inn, storming off into their room and shutting the door much louder than he would have if Jaskier had been there.

The loud bang of the door snapping shut did nothing to disrupt the thoughts still swirling in his mind. Even now with distance and walls between him and the venomous words he couldn’t shake them off.

What would be the point?

He scoffed into the silence of his lonely room. Yes, what was the point of all of it? Of letting Jaskier travel with him, of relishing every laugh shared and every moment spend together as if he could keep Jaskier in his life, when he knew that he didn’t even have him – would never have him. Not in the selfish and impossible way that he wanted.

His mind still hadn’t quieted down when the door opened again and Jaskier peeked into the room. Geralt’s heart skipped a beat at how carefully quiet Jaskier was.

“The potion’s still making everything too loud?” he asked softly.

Geralt grunted in denial.

Jaskier let out a relieved sigh and went over to him, sitting down on the bed. Geralt’s chest grew tight when he saw how much space Jaskier had left between them, how he avoided Geralt’s eyes and how his hands never stayed still. Geralt wanted to reach out and lay a hand on Jaskier’s to calm his fidgeting. Instead he balled his hand into a fist at his side.

All he had hoped for was some peace and quiet. Some rest, with Jaskier talking about his day while Geralt let his voice lull him off into sleep.

Now though it seemed he would get none of it. Jaskier was obviously nervous and uncomfortable with Geralt around. The words of hate and bigotry had finally seeped into Jaskier’s mind now that he hadn’t been able to find any plausible reply to the claim that witchers were unlovable.

“So,” Jaskier said after a long stretch of uncomfortable silence. “there’s a festival in a couple of days.”

Geralt grunted. Of course he knew about that. As if the bustling preparations hadn’t been enough to tip him off, Jaskier’s unceasing rambling about the festival and its renown that had people travel from neighbouring countries just to see the festivities made sure that Geralt knew about it. The knowledge that the festival was threatened by the presence of the monsters Geralt had been told to get rid of had only made him more determined to finish the contrast as fast as possible. There was nothing as motivating as the excited way Jaskier was grinning when he spoke of something he was looking forward to and Geralt hadn’t been able to risk the festival falling through.

“And – as I’m sure you can imagine – I would very much like to go.”

“Then go,” Geralt said, though his heart clenched painfully. “I won’t bother you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I- what? Of course you won’t bother me. You never do. I was just… you see the thing is…” Jaskier’s voice trailed off uncertainly and his eyes flickered over to Geralt for a brief moment. It was enough to see the hints of anxiety in them.

He had never been afraid of him. Not until now apparently.

“You don’t have to explain. It’s all quite clear,” Geralt said and turned his face into the impassive mask that he had hoped he wouldn’t need around Jaskier anymore. “You want to have a good time at the festival and me being there would make that impossible.” When Jaskier opened his mouth to protest, Geralt added, “I heard what that man said. I’m not wanted there. Or in this town at all. So I’ll leave.” I won’t ruin this for you, he didn’t say.

Jaskier’s brows pinched together and he turned to face Geralt completely, suddenly sickly pale. “Geralt….how much exactly did you hear?”

Geralt shrugged, though his throat had gotten tight. Don’t make me say it. Don’t make me say out loud that you can’t love me.

When he didn’t receive a satisfactory reply, Jaskier huffed. “Because I think you missed a crucial part of that conversation. Yes, I want to go to the festival – one might even say I need to – but I can’t go alone.”

Geralt huffed. “Because it’s a ‘celebration of love’? I didn’t think finding a partner would be a problem for you.” The words came out more bitter than he had intended and he risked a look at Jaskier, praying that he hadn’t noticed.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Very funny. If you need to know, there were in fact at least three lovely people in that tavern who I’m sure would love my company for the feast.”

“Go ask them then.” Geralt forced the words out from between his teeth. There went all hope of having a restful sleep that night. How could he sleep when he knew that other people needed to do no more than look at Jaskier to gain his heart?

“I’m afraid I need you specifically to come with me.”

No matter how much his heart ached or how much Geralt fought against it, he couldn’t keep the smirk from tugging at his lips. “Have you somehow managed to piss off someone already? Jaskier, we’ve been here for two days.” The smirk grew wider when offended noises left Jaskier’s lips. “And I told you I’m done playing your bodyguard. That was a one-time thing.”

Jaskier perked up. “Well, then it’s a good thing it’s not me we’d be protecting.”

Something sharp and ugly reared its head inside Geralt. “No,” he said, voice hard. “I am not going to protect one of your dalliances. Who you decide to bed is your business, as is what happens to them.”

Don’t ask this of me. Don’t make me watch you flirt and kiss and be happy with someone else, even if only for this one day.

And yet, even as Geralt said it, he knew he would do it if Jaskier asked again, if he shifted closer and his eyes took on that pleading look that Geralt wasn’t strong enough to withstand. If Jaskier looked like he really needed this of him, he would give it to him like the fool that he was, even as it would tear into his heart like the claws of a beast.

Jaskier let out a frustrated sigh and shut his eyes tightly.

“I need you to be my husband.” The words were rushed and quiet, as if speaking them like this would make Geralt miss them.

Geralt’s thoughts came to a screeching halt and his mouth went dry. He couldn’t have heard correctly. All of those stupid wishes and hopeless dreams must have made him mishear.

“Jaskier?” He couldn’t say more than that. Anything but that one name might show the whirlwind of emotions inside him. He feared the name alone could have been too much already.

“Not really, of course,” Jaskier added hastily and rubbed his fingers together. “I… please don’t be mad at me, Geralt.”

Geralt’s brows knitted together and his heart sank. “What did you do?”

“I – I might have said that we were married.”

“Us married?” Geralt let out a sharp laugh that held no mirth. “Us married. I thought you were a master of words, how can you come up with such an obvious lie?”

The words stung as he spoke them and the dagger they plunged into his chest twisted when Jaskier winced. How else could Jaskier react, having thrown his stupid lie back in his face, probably only just now realising how horrible being married to Geralt truly would be.

“You said you wouldn’t be mad.” Jaskier’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Geralt raked a hand through his hair, frustration eating at him. “I never said that. But I’m not. I just don’t understand why you would do such a thing.”

Jaskier’s eyes blazed. “Because they were being arseholes!” His voice got louder with each word. “No matter what I did, no matter how often I told them about how good you are, they just kept saying things and I – I’m sorry, but I panicked and the words just slipped out.”

Just slipped out. As if the sole idea of them being anything more than friends wasn’t enough to drive Geralt mad. But saying it out loud, letting the words just slip out, as if it wasn’t something earthshattering…

“That won’t change anything,” Geralt said as evenly as he could. “Just because you said that doesn’t mean you’ll have to take me to the festival. I’m sure you’ll come up with some excuse as to why your husband isn’t with you and you can still have your fun.”

“That’s not what –“ Jaskier bit his lip and a hint of red tinted his cheeks. “It’s not about me having fun. It’s about proving to them that you are not what they say you are.”

Geralt was almost tempted to ask him what exactly that was, to hear Jaskier say the words that dug into Geralt’s chest out loud, but Jaskier looked so crestfallen, as if the thought of what people said physically pained him.

And why wouldn’t it? The wonderful idiot had made it his life’s work to improve Geralt’s reputation, and out of all the things that could be said about Jaskier, he was stubborn beyond compare – likely the main reason why he was still suffering Geralt’s company after all these years. Of course Jaskier wouldn’t like hearing people slander the thing he had dedicated his life to. Though those insults and scoffs were aimed at Geralt, they too hit Jaskier, told him he wasn’t good enough at what he was doing.

Geralt sighed. “Jaskier, you don’t need to do something that would make you uncomfortable just to proof something to them. They – it’s not worth it.”

“It is.” Jaskier’s eyes were determined. “Geralt please. Just for the festival. Please pretend you’re in love with me.”

Geralt’s breath hitched. There were reasons why this was a horrible idea. There were consequences that would surely come off this.

But the thought of being allowed to show even just a fraction of what he felt for Jaskier, even if just for one day, overshadowed all rational thought. It would hurt, it would break him, but just for that one day it would be worth it if it meant knowing what it would be like to feel that look that Jaskier gifted everyone else on him.

Afraid of the emotion that he wouldn’t be able to hide if he opened his mouth, Geralt only nodded.

Jaskier beamed at him and Geralt’s stomach clenched uncomfortably. He was not going to make it thought this with his heart in one piece.

But he could do it even if it was torture. It was just one day.

#geraskier #fake dating #fake marriage #witcher #witcher fanfiction #fic #my writing #I scream a truth you hear a lie #gift for a friend #geraltxjaskier #mutual pining #geralt #jaskier

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baepsaesbae · 4 years

Text

Heal Me, Kill Me Ch.4

Pairing— Kim Taehyung x reader

Genre— Vampire!Taehyung x Vampire Hunter!reader, ANGST, mild smut +18, comedy (i tried), fluff in this chapter

Warnings— Unprotected explicit sex, fingering, blood mentions, death,

Word Count— 6.9k (nice)

Summary— You’re one of the best vampire hunters in the world. That’s to be expected when your parents are the best of the best. Your life had solely revolved around ruthlessly killing vampires, making you a cold blooded machine. However, things take a turn once you meet Kim Taehyung, your latest target.

A/N— Huge shoutout to @dee-ehn for this beautiful banner! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, please let me know what you think! Things are starting to get spicy~

The chilly crisp air that once gently kissed your cheeks had transformed into a biting cold that gnawed at your bones. Dread began to settle in as Taehyung led you by the hand, blissfully unaware of the daunting job you’ve been tasked with. You knew you should have killed him right away, but you couldn’t help yourself. You were well aware of the consequences, and now it is time to face the repercussions.

Your jewelry was prepped and loaded with your special poison that consisted of neurotoxins from the deadliest animals. Pufferfish, scorpions, and king cobras were among the lethal mix. You had also laced your anointed silver dagger with the poison, as you would need every advantage you could get to combat Taehyung's strength.

“Would like some tea to calm your nerves, darling?” Taehyung asked sweetly.

“Yeah, that might help,” you shot him a meek smile.

Taehyung nodded and kissed the back of your hand before leaving you to make the tea. His sweet gesture made your heart sink. How could you possibly kill this man? The one and only person you’ve ever loved in your life? Well, even though he was not technically a person, no one had ever made you feel so loved before.

Taehyung quickly returned with hot tea and you gratefully let the cup warm up your hands. He pressed his cold hand against your forehead to check for any sign of illness.

“I’m fine, Taehyung,” you assured him.

“The air is getting colder. This is the opportune time for pestilence to strike,” Taehyung chided.

“Ok dad,” you rolled your eyes at him. God, you’re gonna miss this silly banter.

“I thought girls address their significant others by ‘daddy’ now?” he innocently asked, causing you to nearly spit out your drink.

“Some girls yes, but not in this instance. It’s more of a kink,” you explained.

“So was Freud correct in his reasoning?” Taehyung questioned.

“Well, yes and no. I don’t know. His theories are stupid and sexist. I hate that guy,” you concluded.

“I’m inclined to agree, he was rather odd,” Taehyung nodded wistfully.

“You act as if you actually knew him,” you scoffed, knowing damn well that he probably did meet him at some point.

“Of course not, that would be impossible. How old do you think I am?” he tried to joke with you. The subject of time and age always seemed like a touchy subject for him (and rightfully so).

“We’ve been over this. You’re probably centuries old or some shit. You always talk like some old timey character in a cheesy period film.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not necessarily,” you smiled at him.

You really should stop dragging this on. It’s only going to cause more pain. Well, maybe spending just one more day with him wouldn’t be too bad. Nothing you do now is going to avert the pain. You might as well make this final day count.

“Darling?” you asked after a moment of silence.

“Yes, my love?” Taehyung gazed softly at you.

“Can you cuddle me all day? And make me feel like the most loved girl in the world?”

“My darling, you are the most loved girl in the world. Nothing in this realm can ever diminish my affections for you,” Taehyung tightly embraced you.

His kind words made you shed a silent tear. You will cherish every last second you had left with him. And that you did. The rest of the day was spent bundled up together under the warm covers of his bed watching Peaky Blinders. You insisted that he finish all of the episodes that day (which was a silly notion to him, but he obliged nonetheless).

It was late afternoon by the time the show was completely binged, and now your stomach was growling relentlessly.

“Hungry?” Taehyung chuckled.

“I believe so,” you clenched your stomach.

“I’ll go whip up some quick sandwiches then. Would you like some tea as well?”

“I can make the tea, you just handle the food,” you ordered.

“As you wish,” Taehyung complied.

It was time. You brewed the tea as you normally would, making sure you acted as if everything was okay. Just like you did before, a quick motion was all it took to pour a lethal dose of your special concoction into Taehyung’s tea.

There was no turning back now. Taehyung happily brought the sandwiches to the table. You smiled at him, fighting to hold back tears. At least your last memory of him would be pleasant.

“I love when you make the tea, it always tastes better than mine,” Taehyung praised you as he brought the cup to his lips.

Your breath hitches as he takes a sip. Immediately his face contorts with disgust and he looks at you with hurt betrayal in his eyes. Your heart breaks as you hesitate for a second; your hand is gripped around the hilt of your poisoned dagger.

With tears streaming down your face, you lunge at Taehyung. He quickly evades you, your blade narrowly missing his neck. Just a scratch of your blade would spell out his doom. Taehyung coughs out as much of the poison as he could.

Again, you propel yourself at Taehyung, zeroing in on his neck. He grabs you by the back of your head and effortlessly flung you across the room. You crash into the wall, the impact knocking the wind out of you. In a split second, Taehyung was in front of you, pulling you up by your hair.

You tried to stab him, but your efforts were futile. He grabbed your wrist with such force that it felt as if it was about to shatter. The dagger falls to the floor and his hand moves from your wrist to your neck.

The pain in his eyes was too unbearable to look at. Tears welled at the bottom of his eyes as he opened his mouth to speak but couldn't find any words to say.

“I could kill you right now,” is all he managed to say.

“Then do it,” you say without any hesitation.

“Go to sleep,” Taehyung demands, his words laced with the most potent magic you’ve ever encountered. In an instant, you were in a deep slumber.

You wake up in an unknown amount of time later. Your hands and legs are tied up to a chair in the middle of Taehyung’s living room. The restraints are so tight that you couldn’t even squirm your wrists or ankles.

Taehyung was rapidly pacing back and forth in front of you. His puffy eyes indicate the waterfall of tears he must have shed while you were knocked out.

“Tae--” you tried to call out.

“Don’t,” Taehyung snapped at you, instantly shutting you up.

He was using his magic now, and there’s nothing you can do to combat it. You had no choice but to sit helplessly as you waited for Taehyung to speak again.

“Why? I thought we had something real. I would have never hurt you. Did I not show you that I am harmless?” Taehyung finally said as he imposingly stood over you, “You may speak. Tell the truth.”

“I was ordered to exterminate you by the VEC. Taehyung you have to believe me when I say I love you. That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I regret ever doing it,” you cried.

“Why should I ever trust you again?” he scoffed.

“If I didn’t kill you they would just keep sending more and more agents. You already encountered some before me,” you kept trying to explain.

“I tried to tell the vampire hunting couple that I have not done anyone harm in centuries. I’m sure you’re curious as to how I satisfy my peculiar craving. I pay a very handsome sum to the local hospital, and in return they supply me with endless blood donations. No one is harmed in the process. But those people refused to listen to me. I didn’t want to hurt them, but they gave me no choice,” Taehyung recounted.

“Those people were my parents,” you said softly.

Taehyung’s harsh gaze softened. He didn’t know how to react. He reasoned that avenging your parents may have been a justifiable reason to kill him.

“I’m terribly sorry, ___. I did not want to hurt them, but they were belligerent. I did not have a single moment of peace while they were pursuing me. You must have thought I was a monster this entire time,” Taehyung’s voice cracked, and he turned to hide his face from you.

“No, Taehyung, not at all. I love you. I never really knew my parents, so as awful as it is to say, their deaths didn’t really affect me. I treated this mission like any other, but curiosity got the better of me. Taehyung, I’ve never felt more human than when I’m with you,” tears began to cascade down your cheeks.

Taehyung remained silent and refused to look at you.

“I foolishly thought that the least I could do was give you a quick painless death. I didn’t want you to suffer,” you continued.

“___, I have never known a greater pain than this betrayal. I was willing to give you the world,” he finally turned to you, revealing that he too was crying, “And I still am. I have not been so enthralled by another for as long as I can remember. I do not know what kind of spells you used on me, but I fear that they are unbreakable.”

“Neither of us used any magic on each other before this, Tae. I wish you killed me on the spot when you first saw me,” you wailed.

“And ruin the single most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen? I couldn’t bear to think of it,” Taehyung said softly, gently caressing your wet cheek with the back of his hand.

Taehyung picked up your chair with one hand and brought you to the dining table.

“I’m going to untie you. Please do not try to run away or kill me again. We both know you are no match for me,” Taehyung said sternly.

You nodded quickly, eager to get the restraints off. You obediently sat still after he tore off the rope that bound you to the chair. Taehyung took his place opposite of you. Silence filled the air as tension built. Finally, Taehyung slid his poisoned tea to the middle of the table.

“Since peace does not seem to be an option, I believe it would be best for one of us to die,” he stated.

You stare blankly at him.

“Or perhaps, we could run away together and never look back. I can forgive this little infraction if you can forgive me for my deceit. We were both keeping secrets, and in the end it only harmed both of us,” he continued.

“We both know that can’t happen. The VEC would hunt us down relentlessly,” you disagreed.

Before he could react, you grabbed the cup and consumed its contents in the blink of an eye.

“___! What are you doing!?” he yelled at you, leaping across the table to smack the cup from your hands.

“I have a tracker in my bloodstream, Taehyung. They’ll always be able to find me, and we will never know peace. At least this way, you can flee and continue to live out your life,” you smiled weakly.

It won’t take long for your body to become paralyzed. After all, this was meant to kill vampires, not humans.

Taehyung cradled you in his arms, clutching you close to his chest. He wept over you as your body began to stiffen. Your cognitive abilities will remain intact until the very end. You watched as Taehyung’s heart broke for the second time that day.

“You fool. I don’t care if they keep coming after us. It would all be worth it if it means that I can have you by my side,” he cried as he cupped your cheek.

It was evident that the poison had begun running its course. You couldn’t reply nor could you move any part of your body. Only your eyes could convey your sorrow. Taehyung leaned down to plant kisses on both cheeks before gingerly placing one more on your still lips.

He picked you up bridal style and headed for the door. He walked along the trail on which you used to skip alongside him. The chirping birds that once greeted you were eerily quiet now. The evening dusk hour made the trees cast long spooky shadows along the path. The lake comes into view, but now it looks menacing as fog rolls along the water.

“I wish I didn’t have to do this, ___,” Taehyung said somberly.

You couldn’t say anything, but your eyes expressed your deep heartache.

“Don’t look at me like that, love. It’ll only make this harder,” Taehyung set you down gently on the edge of the dock, “I loved you, you know. I trusted you.”

Taehyung bent down to give you a final kiss. You could feel his sorrow as his cold lips pressed against yours. After parting, Taehyung began to sing. Tears began to roll down your cheeks. Of course, you were crying because you didn’t want to die, but also because you loved Taehyung’s voice so much. It was probably the one thing you’d miss most from this world. Besides Taehyung himself, of course.

“Have I lost myself? Or have I gained you?” Taehyung’s beautiful voice carried through the air.

Taehyung placed you into the lake on your back. You floated for a few seconds before your legs began to dip deeper into the water. Now completely immobile due to your poison, you had no choice but to drown peacefully.

“Please don’t say anything. Reach my hand out to cover the mouth,” Taehyung sang, his eyes never leaving you.

The water engulfed you as your head finally sank below the surface. Taehyung’s voice began to fade away as your lungs filled with water. Is this what your dreams have been warning you about? Have you already seen your own demise? None of that matters now, as the dull light from above the water gets further and further away.

Everything fades to nothingness as the water swallows you whole. Your vision, hearing, and consciousness slip away. Nothing but the frigid lake can be felt now.

Is this really how you’d go? Maybe you deserved it. You did attempt to kill the love of your life. You couldn’t help but be thankful for the time you spent with him.

Water fills your lungs, and you’re certain that your time has finally come. For being raised as a vampire hunter, you managed to stretch out your life expectancy. You closed your eyes for the last time as you sunk further towards the bottom of the lake.

Suddenly a warm light caressed your cheek. Your eyes fluttered open as you desperately gasped for air. All of your senses flood back and it’s incredibly overwhelming. There’s an unbearable white light that temporarily blinds you. Loud indiscernible sounds cause you to crumple to the ground. Soon the loud noises turn into a muffled tone that you can’t quite make you. The light begins to fade away as well.

You finally open your eyes once again, and are shocked by what you see. You’re in a lush garden, surrounded by gigantic trees and beautiful flowers. Birds can be heard chirping overhead.

‘Is this heaven?’ you thought to yourself.

“Not quite yet, child,” a voice boomed from above.

The sudden response made you jump. You looked around to try and find who responded, but to no avail.

‘God…?’ you thought.

“You flatter me, little one,” the voice chuckled.

The voice wasn’t as loud, but was now much closer. It honestly even sounded a little familiar. You turned around to see a giant figure looming behind you. Flowing golden robes elegantly wrapped around the figure. As your eyes focused on it, you saw a familiar face smiling down at you. Wait what the hell? It looked and sounded exactly like Yoongi.

“Let me speak before you ask any more questions,” the faux Yoongi said, “Welcome to Purgatory. You are neither dead nor alive nor undead. Your soul is temporarily in limbo. You must be a rather peculiar human. Most souls merely pop in here for an instant before their fate is decided or they are pulled back into the mortal realm. I have been instructed to converse with you,” the being explained.

“Y-yoongi?” you stammered in your confusion.

“Ah, I am not Yoongi, though I’m sure I resemble that fellow. I am perceived as any being who is held dear by those who gaze upon me. Usually I appear as a lover or a parent. Forgive my curiosity but under which category is ‘Yoongi’ to you?” the being sat beside you.

“Neither. But he’s probably the closest thing I have to a parent,” you shrugged.

“Interesting. Do you have a lover?”

“I think I did before I fucked everything up. What happens now?” you asked. You didn’t want to ponder on why this strange being did not take the form of Taehyung. Surely you held Taehyung more dear to you than Yoongi.

“You get to choose,” the being replied, “Also, I am not a god, upper or lowercase. You can think of me as sort of a cousin to Death. I am inevitable, but much less known,” it must have sensed your eagerness to figure out what it was.

“Do you have a name?” you inquired, now looking at it in awe instead of fear. If you didn’t know any better, you would think you were sitting with the real Min Yoongi. However, this being’s powerful aura easily gave it away as an imposter.

“Names are powerful things,” fake Yoongi tsked.

“Surely you know mine. It’s only fair for me to know yours,” you replied, “And I keep calling you Fake Yoongi in my head.”

“You may call me Lethe, as some have called me before,” it said after a long pause.

“Cool. Nice to meet you, Lethe. So what is this choosing business? Whether I live or die?”

“Of course,” Lethe said as a matter of factly.

“Wouldn’t it be obvious that I’d want to live?”

“Do you?”

That question filled you with doubt. What happens if you go back? How would you face Taehyung? Would it even be possible to talk it out and pretend like it never happened? Or would you need to go through the ordeal of attempting to kill him again?

“Those are all valid questions,” Lethe nodded.

“I forgot you can read my mind,” you said with surprise, “How long can I stay here?”

“Time does not exist here. But I suppose for your feeble mind to comprehend, I’d say about 2 more hours. At least, that’s what it’ll feel like to you. You can converse with me for the time being,” the immortal sat beside you.

And so it went. Lethe helped you weigh out your options. Lethe taking Yoongi’s form helped you open up. This was the closest thing you’ve ever had to a real heart to heart with a parent. Perhaps Yoongi was more important to you than you thought.

Lethe had already known every detail of your life, as they do with all those who pass through their domain. It was clear that you weren’t ready to die. You were just lost on what to do when you go back.

“Time is nearly up, little one,” Lethe softly said, “Have you made your decision?”

“Yes. I want to go back to the land of the living,” you smiled.

Lethe returned your smile as they began to wave their hands above you, making you instantly sleepy.

“I’ll be happy to see you again when it’s finally my time to go,” you managed to make out before letting out a yawn and shutting your eyes.

“That would be nice, little one. But no one ever remembers me,” Lethe said in a bittersweet tone as they sent you back to the mortal plane.

“___? ___! ___ wake up!” you heard muffled yells.

Your eyes opened slowly, but it was too dark to see anything. Your entire body ached. Bitter chills began to set in as you realized you were sopping wet, making the wintry air even more unbearable.

You drop back into a state of unconsciousness, but you swore you still faintly heard someone calling out your name.

“You didn’t have to come here yourself.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I lost her parents. I can’t afford to lose her too. Why the fuck didn’t you step in immediately?”

“You ordered me to observe her, and that’s exactly what I did. She would be dead if it weren’t for me.”

“I’m gonna kill that bloodsucker myself.”

“...Yoongi…?” you weakly called out, your eyes still closed.

“___?!?” you heard the men scramble to your side.

The sheets you were wrapped in were warm. The biting cold that hurt your bones had faded away. Your body ached beyond belief, and you didn’t have the strength to sit yourself up.

“___, are you okay? I’ll get you some water,” a familiar voice said. It must be Jungkook.

“___? Are you awake?” Yoongi’s voice was much closer now.

“Yoongi?” you repeated while your eyes slowly opened to adjust to the light.

“Oh my god. Thank god you’re okay,” Yoongi pulled you in for a tight embrace.

“We really thought you were done for,” Jungkook handed you a glass of water.

“I thought I was too. I really think I died for a little bit. I can’t remember exactly what happened, but all I can recall is a bright light and maybe a forest? I think Yoongi was there?” you replied in a daze.

“Well, I was the only person with you until Yoongi showed up so I’m not sure about that. Unless you mistook me for Yoongi, which I take offense to,” Jungkook half smiled before taking a serious tone, “I saw him dump you in the lake. Why didn’t he drain you first?”

“Extremely tactless of you, Jungkook,” Yoongi admonished.

“He hasn’t harmed a living person in a long time. Well, except for my parents,” you softly answered.

“Come to think of it, he didn’t drink your parents’ blood either,” Yoongi stated.

“Please don’t hurt him. Please leave him alone. He won’t hurt anyone,” you begged.

“He hurt you, ___. For that, he needs to die,” Yoongi said sternly.

“I poisoned myself,” you admitted.

“What?” Yoongi and Jungkook said in unison.

“I...I love him. I told him to flee and live in peace after I sacrificed myself,” you began to cry.

“Are you stupid?” Yoongi asked in disbelief, “That thing killed your parents!”

“In self defense! They wouldn’t leave him alone after he told them numerous times to back off!”

“How do you know that? How do you know he wasn’t lying?” Yoongi argued.

“I can tell! You of all people should know that a vampire hunter doesn’t survive for long unless they can detect deceit in any and every form.”

“Sir, pardon me, but I think she’s telling the truth,” Jungkook interjected.

“Unbelievable. You too, Jungkook? Are you in love with the vampire too?” Yoongi scoffed.

“No. I just believe in her. When has ___ ever deviated from a mission? She’s your top agent. I don’t think she’d let herself get swept up by seductive charms,” Jungkook reasoned on your behalf, “I spoke with her yesterday. There was no trace of magic on her. Hopefully my word as your second highest agent means something. Plus, I’ve seen her express more emotion this past week than I have her entire life.”

“Jungkook,” you gratefully smiled at him.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do then? Just let him go without any consequences? I will not let your parents’ deaths go unavenged,” Yoongi crossed his arms.

“Let me talk to him,” you requested.

“What are you gonna say?” Jungkook joined you on the bed.

“I…” you trailed off.

What can you say to him? For one, he thinks you’re dead. You can’t imagine what he must be feeling right now. Anger? Sadness? Maybe he would be temporarily happy if you returned to him. However, it wouldn’t be long until your betrayal hurts him again.

“I just want to see him,” you finally say, “I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

“Absolutely not,” Yoongi shook his head, “I’m not sending you back without a plan.”

It took three days before you fully regained your strength. Yoongi and Jungkook took turns taking care of you. Jungkook offered to help you bathe, but you turned him down with a glare.

“Can HQ function properly without you?” you asked Yoongi in the kitchen.

He turned around quickly, surprised that you’re out of bed, “___! Sit down, don’t strain yourself.”

“I’m fine, Yoongi. I’ve been in bed for too long,” you shooed him away.

“I guess we can all have dinner together at the table tonight. I made fried chicken,” Yoongi said triumphantly, “Also, I haven’t had a day off in years. The VEC can handle itself for a little bit longer.”

“The chicken smells amazing, Yoongi. I’m gonna take a shower because I feel and smell disgusting.”

“You sure you don’t want my help?” Jungkook materialized out of nowhere.

“Sure, you wanna help me take a shower?” you peered up at him.

“Are you being serious?” Jungkook’s doe eyes widened.

“Yep. The only condition is that I’m going to kill you afterwards,” you deadpanned.

“Mm so you’d still want to take at least one full shower with me,” Jungkook teased.

“Shut up, bunny boy,” you rolled your eyes.

You could hear Yoongi chuckle to himself behind you. It must be a relief to see you back to normal and bickering with Jungkook as if nothing happened.

Flashbacks of your last encounter with Taehyung filled your head as warm water cleansed your body. You didn’t know what you’d do, but you made up your mind. You needed to see him. You wanted nothing more than to be in his arms again. You longed to feel his soft lips on yours.

Dinner was full of smiles and playful banter. The food was delicious (fried chicken was Yoongi’s speciality) and it tasted even better since you hadn’t been able to eat solid food in days.

“So, what are we gonna do now that ___ is feeling better?” Jungkook questioned with a mouth full of food.

“I’m going to go talk to him,” you affirmed.

“Again, what are you going to talk about?” Yoongi raised his eyebrows.

The rest of the evening was spent devising a plan. It took a lot of convincing by both you and Jungkook, but Yoongi finally gave in. It seemed like even Jungkook was hesitant about the plan, but backed you up nonetheless. Jungkook and Yoongi would be your backup in case things went south.

The next day you drove to Taehyung’s home. The drive that you once happily made now brought you dread. You had no idea how Taehyung would react. You just prayed that he wouldn’t kill you on the spot.

It was now well into the winter season. Snow covered the ground and frosted the windows of Taehyung’s weathered home. Knocking on the front door may not be the best move, but it’s what you decided to do. There was no answer. You tried to turn the knob to find that the door wasn’t locked at all.

You snuck through the front door, cautious not to make any sounds. Something was amiss. Someone as cautious as Taehyung would never leave their front door unlocked. The house was eerily quiet.

He was nowhere to be found on the first floor. You journeyed up to the second story in the hopes of finding him. A rustling from his room was heard.

You tiptoed to his room, the door was wide open. Taehung was staring out of his bedroom window. The world seemed still for a moment. You quietly walked into the room, and realized that the room was filled with bouquets. Flowers ranging from lillies, chrysanthemums, carnations, and roses made the room smell sickly sweet.

“Taehyung,” you called out to him.

He turned to you to reveal his tear streaked face. His eyes were red and puffy. He cast a disinterested gaze at you before he shooed you away with one hand.

“Go away. You’re not real. When will this hell end?” he sighed.

“Tae, my darling, I am real,” you approached him slowly.

“My own imagination won’t let me live down my guilt, huh? I suppose I deserve it,” he replied sadly, turning back to face the window.

“Taehyung, I’m right here, dumbass,” you say with more conviction as you hug him from behind.

He jumped at your touch, whipping around to face you with inhuman speed. His cold hands gently cupped your face, as tears began to fall from his eyes.

“How? There’s no way you can be real. There’s no way that you’re ___,” he cried out, hugging you tightly.

“You better believe it, Taehyuung. I didn’t come back from the dead to be ignored,” you tried to joke, but your voice gave you away.

It was a bittersweet reunion. Tears freely fell, wet kisses were shared, and best of all, you were in each other’s arms again. Any fear you had regarding awkward tensions had dissipated.

Taehyung held you in his arms as you recounted the past few days. You came clean to him about being a vampire hunter, and about how you were the VEC’s top hunter. You started to cry again as you told him about the inner turmoil you struggled with ever since you met him. Taehyung listened intently to everything you said, clutching you closely the entire time.

“The President of the VEC knows that you’re here?” he asked after you finished.

“Yes,” you answered.

“Is he going to kill me?” he seriously inquired.

“He may try, depending on the choices you make today,” you replied.

“What choices do I have? I’ll receive any consequences you deem fit,” he kissed your forehead.

“How do you feel about working for the VEC? It took a lot of arguing, but Yoongi agreed that if I can keep you in check, you would be allowed to work with me. However, one slip up and you’re dead. Those were his words exactly,” you explained.

“What exactly does a ‘slip up’ entail?” he questioned.

“Killing and/or eating any humans. You would only be allowed to kill vampires. The VEC would ensure that blood will always be provided to you to avoid any hunger killings,” you laced his fingers between yours, as if this was any normal casual conversation.

“My ultimatum is that I either work for the VEC to kill my own kind or to die? Is that correct?” he clarified.

“That sounds pretty harsh. But yes, those are your only options.”

“What if I kill all of you instead?”

“Okay, you have three options then.”

“But only one of them will allow me to spend my life with you,” he replied gently.

“You’ll do it? You’ll work with me at the VEC?” your eyes lit up.

“If it means I get to be with you, of course. Vampires are solitary creatures anyway. I have no remorse for my kind that resort to needless violence,” he planted a tender kiss on your lips.

“In that case, I have one more condition. This is a personal request,” you whispered.

“Anything for you, my darling,” Taehyung cooed.

“Turn me.”

Taehyung’s eyes widened, stunned by your request. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I finally found a real reason to live, and it’s you. I had just been going through the motions until I met you. Please, Taehyung. I want us to stay like this. Forever,” you pleaded.

“Do you know what you’re asking, ___? You’ll be dead, just like me. You’ll be dependent on feeding on human blood. I’ve had countless years of practice, but the hunger can sometimes become uncontrollable,” Taehyung tried to reason with you.

“I would have you to help me through all of that,” you stroked his cheek.

“What if the VEC decides to hunt us down?”

“Then we can flee together. Or we can fight them. I don’t care, as long as we’re together. You don’t have to do it right now, but just know that I want it,” you say in a defeated tone.

“If you’re sure,” Taehyung gripped a handful of your hair and tilted your head back, “I’ll do it.”

“Then do it. Bet you won’t,” you teased to hide your nervousness.

He chuckled at your response. He peppered gentle kisses along your neck, before licking a long stripe along it. The tingling sensation made you moan. Taehyung’s hand found its way between your thighs. He slowly began to rub your clit while seductively whispering in your ear.

“I’ve been dreaming of doing this since the first time I saw you,” he growled.

You took off your pants to grant him easier access to your intimate spots.

“Good girl,” he praised, slipping a finger into you.

You moaned as he added another one. You felt your body clenching as he brought you closer to your climax. His fingers curled perfectly and his pace quickened. He had simultaneously been kissing your neck the entire time.

“You smell so fucking good, darling,” his deep voice resonated in your ear, “I can’t promise that this won’t hurt. But I do promise to fuck your brains out after.”

He didn’t give you time to respond. You had been holding out long enough. You reached your high as his sharp fangs bit into your neck. The initial puncture hurt, but it began to feel better as soon as Taehyung lapped up the blood. Taehyung suckled your neck as his fingers played with your clit.

“T-tae t-that’s too much,” you struggled to say.

“Don’t act as if you can’t take it, darling,” Taehyung growled in response.

He threw you on your back. He let you have a second to catch your breath, as he tore off his blood stained shirt. He dove right back into feeding from you, but now his hard crotch was grinding against your wet exposed core.

“I have to warn you, this next part may be a bit unpleasant for you,” he stated as he licked the blood off of his lips.

This sight of a bloody Kim Taehyung was oddly erotic. Knowing that it was your blood on him strangely made it even more hot.

Taehyung bit his own wrist. He held his bleeding wrist over your mouth.

“Drink,” he ordered.

You did as you were told, hesitantly licked his wrist. The metallic taste caused you to cringe.

“It won’t work if you don’t do it,” he scolded.

You grabbed his wrist and brought it to your mouth. You sucked on the wound hard, swallowing as much as you could. Taehyung groaned, the sight of you feeding from him turned him on more than he could imagine. You couldn’t take it anymore after a few minutes. You stopped to get some air.

“That should be good enough, darling. Well done,” Taehyung kissed your forehead.

“How will I know if it worked?” you asked.

“It takes a little while for my blood to circulate throughout your body. It’ll happen, don’t worry. For now…” his voice trailed off as his hand returned to your pussy.

“Do you want me to make you feel good again?” he teased, his fingers lightly tracing your lips.

“I thought you promised that you’d ‘fuck my brains out’?” you deviously smiled.

“I do intend to make good on that,” he returned your sly smile.

He flipped you onto your stomach, and propped your ass up. He gave it a good slap, one that stung for a few seconds afterwards and immediately turned your ass red.

He ran his length along your pussy, coating himself with your juices. He teased you by slowly putting just the tip in before coming back out. You didn’t have the energy to be your normal cheeky self. You patiently waited for him to ease into you. His hand came around to grip your neck, forcing your head upwards.

“You’ve been such a good girl,” he growled, as he finally gave you his entire length.

His hips bucked into you ferociously, his grip still firmly around your neck. Your neck was still sore from being bitten into, but at this point you didn’t care. You were still sensitive from your last orgasm, and Taehyung was drilling directly into your g spot.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he panted.

“Please fuck me as hard as you can. I really can’t keep up with you much longer,” you managed to say.

“Sure thing, darling,” Taehyung obliged.

He pounded into you harder with speed that you couldn’t handle. He let go of your neck, allowing you to collapse onto your chest. His hands gripped your ass instead. His strokes became sloppier, indicating that he was now close to his limit.

With a sudden grunt, Taehyung released his load into you, his hot semen filling you up. He leaned over to you, and you thought he was going in for a kiss, but he licked your neck instead. You didn’t realize that you were still bleeding. You turn to the side to give him better access. After the bleeding stopped, he cuddled you, pressing his chest against your back.

“You have the sweetest blood I’ve ever tasted,” he kissed your ear.

“Thanks I guess? Have you ever tasted a diabetic? That might change your opinion,” you laughed.

“I can’t recall. I just know that no one has ever tasted better,” he squeezed you tighter, “Also creeping thistle.”

“Huh?” you turned to look at him in confusion. Was he speaking in code?

“You asked what kind of flower I thought you were before. I believe I can give you my answer now,” Taehyung replied thoughtfully.

“Okay I’ll bite. What does a creeping thistle look like?”

“You know those tall purple flowers you see on the sides of the road? Those are creeping thistles,” he answered. You paused to recall driving past them.

“Wait, those are weeds!” you cried out in disbelief, “You think I’m a pest like a weed?”

“They are weeds, yes. They are resilient, persistent, and can hurt you if you’re not careful around them,” Taehyung chuckled.

“Those don’t really sound like compliments--”

“But they also produce beautiful purple flowers that go unappreciated. Purple is my favorite color,” Taehyung interrupted you.

“Fine, I’ll take it since you said they’re beautiful or whatever,” you playfully rolled your eyes, but you were touched by the thought that went into his answer. You noticed you were growing colder by the second, and snuggled closer to Taehyung to try and produce some body heat. He noticed this and helped you get under the covers before cuddling with you again.

“You’re going to die tonight. Don’t worry, that’s part of the process. I’ll be by your side the entire time. You’ll be like me in the morning,” he kissed your forehead.

“Will it hurt?” you asked, slightly scared.

“The worst is over. The most excruciating part is when my blood begins to circulate in yours, but I think I successfully distracted you from that pain,” he smirked.

“Oh I’m sure that was the only reason you dicked me down senseless. Thank you for your generosity,” you laughed.

Your body began to feel heavy yet weightless at the same time. Panic began to set in. The feeling was similar to when you drowned in the lake. Your breathes became more strained as you struggled to inhale sufficient oxygen. Sensing your distress, Taehyung held you tighter and whispered a single word into your ear.

“Sleep.”

“You look pretty harmless.”

“I try to be, for the most part.”

“Jungkook! Get away from him. Don’t talk to him. Taehyung, if that’s even your real name, you’re on thin fucking ice. If ___ doesn’t wake up when you say she will I’ll put your pretty little head on a spike.”

“You think he’s pretty?”

“Shut up Jungkook.”

You slowly opened your eyes after hearing the men bicker. You woke up to find all three of them standing in front of the bed. Jungkook had an uncharacteristically somber look on his face while Yoongi looked gloomier than usual. You could tell that Taehyung had reverted back to his reserved state in their presence.

“Yoongi? Why are you here?” you questioned. You started to panic. Did Taehyung admit to turning you? You hadn’t even thought about how to break the news to Yoongi. If you weren’t dead now then you’d surely be dead after Yoongi found out.

“Your phone rang. I answered “Yoongles” who had some rather choice words for me. I told him that you were fine and resting. He barged in immediately after that,” Taehyung explained.

“Yoongi I told you that I would--”

“I’m beyond relieved that you’re still alive. I only called because it was urgent and--”

“The VEC was attacked,” Jungkook butted in.

“What?” you were shocked.

“We’re the only ones left,” Yoongi stated.

#bts smut #kim taehyung smut #bangtanarmynet #bangtanshadowfamily #btswritingcafe #ksmutclub #bts vampire #bts angst #vampire taehyung #taehyung angst #kpop fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fluff #kim taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic

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skvaderarts · 3 years

Text

Devil May Cry OC Week Day 4!

I’m actually really excited for @dmc-oc-week day for because it gives me the opportunity to talk about Sirrus without delving into spoilers! Yay loopholes!

This contains slight spoilers, but nothing super important. Just keep that in mind. it won’t effect anything, but if you want to go in totally blind, tread carefully.

Dislikes:

Note: if your wondering why I did dislikes first, it’s because that’s just how Sirrus is lol! He’s not a downer, but he likes to think of himself as a realist, but he’s slightly closer to being a pragmatic nihilist, and that lack of optimism lingers in his day to day life because he’s naturally going to have his guard up at all times. He can’t be disappointed if his expectations are nonexistent. Big mood, Sirrus.

1. His father. As previously mentioned, Sirrus is not on good terms with his father. At all. In fact, he’s actively waiting for his father’s hubris to catch up to him along with some of the enemies he’s made along the way so that he himself doesn’t have to confront him and possible end him because he knows he has it coming, but he doesn’t have it in him to do it himself. He’s probably powerful enough, but he just doesn’t have the heart. Despite everything, he’s still got a small ounce of compassion in his heart towards his father that he can’t let go of, something that he loathes about himself. It’s pretty unhealthy.

2. People that abuse power, authority, or social standing. This is actually a large issue in his own immediate family, and that’s part of why his dislike for it is so powerful. He genuinely believes that you should positively contribute to the lives of others if you have the means to, and if nothing else, that you should not detract from them. As a result, he’s developed a dislike of a large portion of people in power because, I mean, fair enough. But his family does not escape this designation, and that’s a large part of why he does what he does. Not because he believes he has superior judgement or standing over others, but because he cannot solve a problem that he does not understand. So as a result, he has to go out into the field and learn from those his work effects. Assuming that he knows what’s best for everyone while simultaneously never having met those people is literally what he hates most about most people in positions of power, and he strives to not do the same. Being powerful doesn’t mean that your smart, and he knows that first hand. I feel like Sirrus would be into the “eat the rich” thing if it was a thing in the DMC universe. Very into it.

3. His mother. I feel like this one may come as a bit of a surprise to some of you who know more about him from the fic since he’s literally only mentioned her once, and doesn’t speak of her in any broad sense, but Sirrus isn’t on the best of terms with his mother, either. He doesn’t harbor any negativity towards them for splitting up when he was young. In fact, he considers it the best thing that either of them has probably ever done. But he has his reasons for not being on good terms with him mom. Day 6 will cover family and background, so I’ll get to go in depth on that day! For now, lets just put it under the broad but totally accurate category of “extremely toxic and codependent relationship” and go from there. Maybe I’ll make a family tree you you can see how messed up everything is! Yea, that would be fun! Would you like to see that?

4. Extreme heat and sun. In truth, while he does in fact become more powerful in bright sunlight, he still hates it. Why? Simple. It gives him migraines due to one of his existing (but not yet disclosed) abilities. And he just hates to be hot. He’s on the pale side (Ok, he almost makes V look like he has a tan.) so he gets sun burned. And because he’s used to a cooler climate, hot places drive him NUTS. I suppose you could say that “Discomfort” is a dislike of his, too.

5. Desk work. This one probably seems pretty random, but as an adjudicator, he actually has to occasionally file reports, and he ABSOLUTELY HATES EVERY SECOND OF IT. He’s good at what he does, no question there, but it’s kind of like being good at sending corporate emails when you hate the fake corporate politeness that you have to maintain, and you basically despise half of the company you work for. Why does he keep the job? Simple. Because no one can abuse the power of the position he’s in if he does it himself. And for him, that’s worth hating a large aspect of his job,

Likes:

1. V. Yup you read that right. Sirrus absolutely adores V, something that he himself is not used to. At this point, he’s not entirely sure what he feels towards him since they haven’t known one another for very long, but he does realize that he means quite a bit to him. After V saved his life in the fic, he really started to pay more attention to him. Before, they were friendly and he had to admit that he actually did find both V and Nero (and Nico, for that matter) really cute, but that was about it. And then as they started spending more time around one another, Sirrus realized that perhaps he liked being around V for a reason. He’s still working on understanding what he feels, but with everything going on in the fic, for now he’s just there to help and figure out what’s going on so that everything turns out alright. Then he can worry about everything else. But for now, he’s just working it out as he goes and trying to distract V from everything going on in the fic. He realizes that he’s got a lot going on, and he genuinely just wants him to be happy for a few damn minuets.

2. Being around equally strange people. Sirrus feels like an outcast most of the time, so as a general rule, he tries to associate with people as little as possible. That being said, the DMC crew makes him feel right at home, and the supreme otherness that he feels much of the time dissipates when he’s with them. It’s a welcome feeling to be sure.

3. Wine. Sirrus actually enjoys wine quite a bit! It’s something he likes the taste of, and due to his biological inability to drink, it’s something he can basically enjoy without consequence. That being said, his favorite wine is absolutely disgusting to basically everyone who’s ever tasted it (aside form V, much to his surprise) and that may be because of a certain added ingredient that was put into it for flavor. What can I say, he has unorthodox tastes!

4. Cooking good food. Sirrus doesn’t actually need to eat, but he does like to entertain those around him. If he likes you, he will cook for you. It’s that simple. It’s something from his own culture that’s been instilled in him; the idea of taking care of those that show kindness to you. And believe me, that doesn’t happen to him very often. He’s largely ostracized in most social interactions despite the fact that he says and does nothing to cause this. Its a key reason as to why he doesn't talk about what he is. It makes people... uncomfortable. And to add to that, he has a sort of aura to him that unnerves people. The way he tends to look at people at though he’s looking through them instead of at them doesn’t help.

5. Fine arts. Something that doesn’t come up much in the books is that Sirrus has hobbies. And a love for the fine arts. All of them. The more unorthodox, the better. Sirrus is that person who is dead inside and will stare at a piece of artwork for ridiculous amounts of time, pondering it’s meaning. Not in a pretensions way, but in a “what the hell am I doing with my life” sort of way. He’s a walking essential crisis, but he’s nothing if not self aware. But in regards to the arts, if it’s a form of expression, then he’s all for it. And he will probably ask you to teach it to him or become a financial patron to your work. He thinks that art and the people that make it are under appreciated, and the idea of art dying out genuinely scares him to death. He doesn’t think a world without art is worth living in. As an extension to this, he loves history. He considered much of it distasteful, but he recognizes it’s importance.

Bonus: Sirrus likes to send extravagant gifts. This is partially due to the fact that he has a very large sum of money and nothing to spend it on. It’s a regular occurrence that you will mention liking something in passing and then end up having it sent to your house out of nowhere. Sirrus did this to V with basically an entire house of furniture, and V is still trying to process it. But this isn’t the only time he’s going to do something like that. Not by a long shot.

Let me know if you have any questions! I love answering them :D And if you have any input, I’ve love to hear that, too!

#dmcocweek #Sirrus #My OC #Devil May Cry OC Week Day 4 #DMC #OC #Devil May Cry #My Devil May Cry OC #My Post Devil May Cry 5 OC #Fic

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eveningcatcher · 4 years

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Julian/Lucio/Muriel/Vulgora/Valdemar picking MC up after they had an argument

Julian:

Lately MC and Julian couldn’t see each other eye to eye. It seemed that they argued just about anything. Last week they argued about the way one makes the bed, three days ago about the amount of money they spend. It was never enough to make them way too angry at each other, but the consequences could be felt. There was always a tension between them as if they were waiting to start arguing about something else.

All of this resulted in them trying not to do much in each other’s presence, thus not making any topic they could argue about. Today, it happened again. MC was cleaning their shop, trying their best to somehow please Julian as they went over his leech collection. They organized it how they saw Julian do it, thinking they are doing it the right way. Unfortunately, they were wrong, so the act of kindness they wanted to show Julian resulted in him getting irritated even more. The day had already been way too stressful for both him and MC, and all of this seemed to be a cherry on the top.

“You can’t just move my leeches wherever you want!” Julian said, taking a couple of jars filled with leeches.

“Julian, those are leeches,” MC said, annoyed, “Does it really matter how you organize them?”

“It does,” he insisted as he sorted them on his cupboard, “Leeches have different purposes!”

“They all do the same thing – suck blood.” MC said as they watched him organize the jars, “So, how much different is your organization than mine?”

“This leech,” he started explaining as he raised one of the jars, “Is much older than,” he tapped on the other jar, “This leech. And you put them together!”

“So? They both suck blood just fine.”

“Yes, but I can’t give people any leeches. It’s a long pro-”

“Why do you give people leeches at all? I bet that a nap helps the patient better than those,” they gestured at the jars in disgust.

“Of course not!” he protested, “If they weren’t good for the patients, I wouldn’t give them leeches at all!”

“You know what?” MC said, frustrated. They’ve had enough,” Fine. You’re right about everything. So now, Mr. know-it-all, pack your leeches and all other things and get out.”

“Fine!”

MC expected that Julian would start collecting his jars, leaving MC for good. Just the thought of that made something in MC break. They didn’t want Julian to leave. Just when they were going to beg Julian to stay, he grabbed them, nearly throwing them over his shoulder.

“What do you think you’re doing?” MC asked as they tried to get off.

“I’m getting what’s mine,” Julian said with a dumb smile as he locked MC’s door, going his place.

MC blushed along the way, trying not to make any eye contact with the people passing by. Julian, on the other hand, didn’t seem to give a flying fuck about the glances he got. He happily unlocked the doors of his home, putting MC on one of the sofas, giving them a quick peck on the lips.

As soon as he pulled away, MC said, “I’m sorry for-”

“I know,” he interrupted them, gently smiling as he leaned closer, slowly as if he didn’t want to scare MC away. MC, on the other hand, got tired of waiting as they grabbed his suit, pulling him closer, but just before they could kiss, their noses bumped, making them pull to move away from one another, gently holding their noses. After a moment they looked at each other, then at their red noses, laughing at how dumb they are. After they’ve calmed down a bit they leaned again, this time, kissing properly.

Surprisingly enough, their kiss was soft, almost as if they were just brushing each other’s lips. Then, MC decided to spice things up as they bit Julian’s lower lip, gently pulling it, impatiently waiting for Julian’s reaction. He irked up a bit, not expecting MC to be so rough, however, by the way his blood rushed all the way to his cheeks, it was obvious he was enjoying it. MC didn’t stop there, their hands gently tracing over his neck, then playing with his ginger locks of hair as they took off his eye patch, tossing it on the floor. Now that was out of the way, MC pressed in further, on their tiptoes as they tried to pull Julian down. Once they’ve pulled away they stared at each other, appreciating the moment, feeling like they’re the only people in the Vesuvia.

Lucio

“You’ve been spending way too much money,” MC commented one time in the shop,” Please, please, get a grip.”

“Don’t worry,” he responded, gently petting MC’s head,” Our coffins are filled with money!” he continued bragging.

“But what if they become empty tomorrow?” they pressed the matter further,” What would you do then? What are you spending all that money on?!?”

“Dear, just,” he stopped for a moment, trying to think of what to say,” Don’t think much about it.”

“How can I not think about it? Lately, you’ve been spending way too much money on everything!” they said, staring at him with clear worry,” Do you really believe you need golden mirrors?”

“Of course I do!”

“I…” they looked at him in disbelief. He can’t be serious, can he? ” Look, you need a wake-up call,” they said, completely serious,” Please, if you truly do want to keep up with constantly spending money for no reason, leave. Just, take your unreasonably expensive stuff and leave.”

“I was just thinking about that!” he said with a smile plastered on his face as he picked MC up, walking out of the shop as he carried MC bridal style.

He noticed how MC stared at him in shock, so he proudly said, “Don’t mind me, I’m just taking what’s mine~”

MC stared at him in disbelief, blushing like mad. Once they were back at the palace, Lucio gently put them down. For a moment he admired MC’s figure who just laid on his bed, their cheeks still flushed from Lucio’s small act. He smirked as he bent over them, not even trying to be discrete as he stared at their plump lips. His head was so close to MC’s that he could feel their breath brush his cheeks. Just when MC thought that he was going to kiss them, he stopped, admiring MC’s face one more time, then, with a smug smirk, he leaned in closer, sealing his lips with MC’s.

The passionate kiss he gave them was rough, filled with emotion, just like the first time when he kissed them. MC was addicted to the feeling as they pulled Lucio closer, trying to deepen the kiss, holding his face firmly. Even though he enjoyed all of this, he hadn’t had enough; he needed more thrill. And so he granted his own wish as he grabbed MC’s exposed collarbone with his cold golden hand, making MC shiver below him.

MC’s lips formed a small curve as they played with the loose strands of Lucio’s hair, not even thinking about breaking the kiss. They decided to tease him back, touching Lucio’s exposed chest, tracing his abs with their nails. Lucio tried his best to suppress the gasp, frowning once MC pulled their hands away. MC is such a tease, always pulling away at the best part…

“Lucio,” MC gasped for a moment, not taking their eyes off of Lucio’s lips, “While I do appreciate all of this, your problem with spending enormous amounts of money still stays.”

He knew how stubborn MC can be, but he also knew that MC never did anything with ill intent.

“Fine. I’ll sort out anything unnecessary and sell it off,” he said, pouting.

“Thank you, my love,” MC said with a smile as they gave him another kiss.

Muriel

MC and Muriel have been walking together in the forest, looking for some mushrooms. The two of them happily walked on the trails known only to them, trying their best not to disturb any forest animal along the way. Sure, MC wasn’t used to walking on the dirt-covered in grass and wood roots, so they found themselves, slipping and falling quite often. This never stopped them, as they would stand up quickly, brush the dirt off as they laughed with Muriel at how clumsy they are.

Finally, they found themselves in a small field filled with non-poisonous mushrooms. They collected them together, taking small breaks in between, playing with some rabbits passing by, as well as trying to approach deer who didn’t mind the two of them at all. Overall, they had a great, as well as a rather productive time since they were able to collect enough mushrooms for the whole winter.

They returned to the hut together, making some jokes about how they are better prepared than squirrels along the way. It was only when they were in front of the hut that MC had a feeling of sadness wash over them. Muriel lived in a small, minimalistic hut, having enough just to survive. For God’s sake, he didn’t even have spices for his food! All of this made MC feel terrible.

“Muriel,” they started talking as they took all of the mushrooms out of the basket, cleaning them in one of the buckets Muriel kept outside,” I’ve been thinking a lot lately and I would love it if you would move in with me.”

He turned to them, taking a glance at them then at the doors of his tiny hut. After a moment, he responded with a shrug, “No.”

“Why not?” MC asked them.

“Because I enjoy it there,” he said with a smile, looking at his hut once more. Sure, he didn’t have much, but he had a warm place, a roof over his head, food and most importantly, MC; what else does he need?

“But, but you don’t even have a bathroom.” MC noted with a frown as they prepared to grill some of the mushrooms for dinner,” Don’t you think that you should live somewhere with minimal living conditions?”

“I don’t care,” he said with a slight puff. This conversation started to annoy him,” I’d rather be in my hut than in your busy shop,” he stopped for a moment, realizing that this sounded a lot harsher than how he intended to say it.

“Is that how you feel?” MC responded, offended by his words,” Then what does my shop have that your hut doesn’t?”

“Peace,” he simply responded, hoping that MC would drop the topic.

“What are you talking about? Both of us know that apart from the customers there are no people! It’s pretty damn peaceful!”

“It’s not the same, though,” he insisted, not wanting to make eye contact with MC.

“How?!?”

“It’s just…” he stopped for a moment to think,” I don’t know how to explain it, it’s not the same as in here.”

“You know what?” MC asked him, knowing deep down that they were overreacting,” If it’s so much better in your hut than in my shop, then why don’t you take your things and live in this hut for the rest of your life?!?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he said with a smile as he grabbed MC’s waist, picked MC up, staring at them directly in the eyes because he knew that if he stared down he wouldn’t be able to hold in his laughter. The height difference between them was just too funny to him sometimes. With a small smile forming on his lips, he went back into the hut, putting MC on the bed.

“I don’t think I’ll need anything else from your shop,” he said as he took a glance at MC’s flushed face as he went back outside, being proud at how smooth he was. Not long after he returned with some wood, starting the fire, then grilled the mushrooms. He walked back to MC, sitting right next to them, handing over the food.

“MC, I didn’t mean anything bad,” he said, snuggling closer to MC.

“I know,” they said as they finished the meal, standing up so they could kiss Muriel’s forehead, ” I overreacted,” they said as they took Muriel’s plate, going to the other side of the hut. They gently put the dishes into the bucket filled with water and started washing them. At that moment, as they washed the dishes in silence, they understood what Muriel was talking about not so long ago.” I have to admit it, you do have a point. It’s much more peaceful here.”

Vulgora

“MC LOOK!” Vulgora said one fine morning as they walked into MC’s shop without even knocking, holding a skeleton’s arm proudly in their hands.

“Eek!” MC screamed at the sight, jumping back which resulted in them accidentally breaking an empty jar.

“What’s wrong? Why so scared all of a sudden?” they asked, confused.

“Vulgora…” MC said as they stared at them from the safe distance,” Is that a hand?”

“Yes,” they said with a smug smirk, puffing their chest out,” It’s an old trophy of mine,” they said proudly,” Thought I should clean it.”

“Well I think you should throw it away,” MC said with a frown, cowering in fear. How did Vulgora get an arm?

“What?!?” they turned their head to MC, not believing what they were hearing,” NO WAY. DON’T YOU KNOW WHOSE HAND THIS WAS?!?” they said as they lifted the hand.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” MC said as they backed off a little,” Just get it out of my shop.”

“BUT THIS WAS A HAND OF ONE FAMOUS GENERAL!!!” they started explaining as the memory of them cutting off the hand of the man who begged them to spare their lives in the middle of the battlefield. Those were great times. They still couldn’t believe all of that happened 130 years ago. They remembered it as if it happened yesterday… Then, they got out of their trance, remembering where they are and what they were doing. Right, MC dares to disrespect this fond memory of theirs, ” YOU HAVE NO CLUE HOW MUCH PEOPLE WOULD PAY JUST TO SEE IT!”

“Well you have no clue how much I’d pay to throw it away,” they said as they couldn’t take their eyes off the skeleton hand.

“What?!? NO.”

“Please, just, just get it out of my sight…” they begged, feeling hopeless.

“No way!” they kept arguing, however, they felt like their anger started to wear off. They just couldn’t be mad at MC for long periods of time,” I wanted your help with cleaning.”

“Why would you need my help with it?!?” they asked with disgusted. They aren’t going anywhere near that thing.

“You know, for ‘bonding’” they said as they made quotation mark with both of their hands, still holding onto the skeleton,” And other bullshit humans believe in.”

“Couldn’t we just… I don’t know,” they said sarcastically as they shrugged,” Not clean the fucking skeleton?!?”

“But it’s all dusty!” they said as they extended the skeleton’s hand to MC.

“Vulgora,” MC said with a sigh as they massaged their temple,” Why do you have to do so many gruesome things?”

“SINCE WHEN WAS CLEANING GRUESOME?!?!”

“You know what… just…” MC said with a sigh, tired of everything,” Take that hand and any other ‘trophy’ of yours and leave. Please,” they gestured at an animal right above the entrance doors of their shop,” I can’t bear to look at that poor deer’s head anymore.”

“But you were the one who killed it!”

“Yeah and I cried because of it,” they said, remembering how sad, the deer’s eyes looked at MC.

“Weren’t those tears of joy?!?”

“NO!”

“Ugh, fine,” Vulgora said, feeling like they got tired of the argument themselves,” I’ll take what’s mine and go.”

They carefully put the hand in their pocket, then picked MC up with only one hand, like an absolute madman chad that they are and went back to their estate as if nothing happened.

“What are you doing?” MC asked, trying to get off.

“Exactly what you wanted!” Vulgora said, getting a bit frustrated at how difficult MC was to please.

Just before MC was about to tell them they never told them to do any of this, they realized what Vulgora meant, leaving them like a blushing mess all the way to Vulgora’s estate. As soon as Vulgora set a foot into their mansion they put MC down.

“So… this means no more deer hunts?”

“At least not with me,” MC said, looking down, trying to hide their flushed face away from Vulgora.

“That sucks,” they frowned, not noticing how embarrassed MC was,” It’s always more fun hunting with you…”

“I fall off my horse nearly every time. I can’t even hold a bow properly,” MC explained, naming just a few things at the top of their head.

“That’s exactly why it’s so much fun.”

MC rolled their eyes, letting a chuckle escape their lips, however, they stopped as soon as they saw Vulgora take out the hand.

“I want to never, ever, see that again,” MC said as they pointed at the hand.

“But-”

“No buts.”

“Ugh, fine,” they groaned, rolling their eyes,” I’ll hide it somewhere you won’t find.”

Even though MC would have much preferred that Vulgora would just throw the hand away, they knew this was the best solution they could get, “Thanks.”

Valdemar

“My dear, don’t you worry, this is just a usual protocol,” Valdemar said with a grin as they cleaned their scalpel.

“Are you, are you sure?” MC asked, a bit worried. Was a scalpel necessary for this wound?

“I have centuries of experience,” they said, not breaking eye contact with MC,” I’m sure.”

Half an hour later, MC stared at their patched arm. They were grateful for what Valdemar did for them, but was it so necessary for the process to be this painful? Once they took a glance at Valdemar happily writing down in their notebook, they got an answer. This was just another attempt to further their research. MC groaned in frustration,

“Oh my, guess I’ve carried it a bit too far, hm?” they asked as they walked back to MC, checking the wound once more.

“You think?” MC asked, annoyed.

“Come on now, my dearest,” they told MC as they checked to see if MC was hurt anywhere else,” It was just a little research about muscles. It’s nothing too much.”

“But you promised that it’s not going to be extreme.”

“Please, don’t make too much of a drama, I’m just,” they stopped for a moment, trying to find the right word,” Enjoying the moment.”

“Well, I’m happy for you, but this makes me uncomfortable…”

“I can assure you, you’re in…” they stopped themselves from saying ‘in good hands’ since they knew they had questionable morals,” Hands of a professional.”

“You do realize that I don’t want to, nor have to be in the hands of a professional, I just want to be in the hands of someone who won’t perform an experiment on my wound.”

“Why my little MC,” they joked as they checked the rest of MC’s body for any other wound, “If you minded me getting a better look at your body, you could have said something.”

Even though Valdemar gave them a reassurance, MC still felt uneasy, like their words weren’t enough, “It was that easy?” they asked, to which Valdemar only nodded, “Why do I feel like as soon as something else happens to me, you’ll be back on using the opportunity to further your research?”

“You worry too much. I stand behind what I said.”

“Right… just like when you promised Vlastomil you won’t lay a hand on his worms, or when you reassured Lucio that his peacock is in safe hands.”

“Oh please-” they wanted to add another remark, but MC interrupted them.

“If you can’t keep your word to them, then how do I know you’ll keep your word now?” they didn’t even bother to let Valdemar say anything else as they continued on with their rant, “Honestly… sometimes I feel like the same thing will happen to me. I think it would be best if we…” they stopped for a moment, feeling guilt choke them. They didn’t want to break up with Valdemar, “… Just take your things out of my shop. I need to think about all of this for a while.”

“Why would I go all the way to the shop when all of my things are right here?” they mused as they picked MC up, to which MC started kicking and demanding to be put down. Valdemar only sighed as they extended their arms, being at a safe distance from MC.

“Put me-” they couldn’t finish their sentence as Valdemar gave them a gentle, playful shake.

“Please be silent for a moment. You don’t want me to drop you accidentally, no?” they simply responded as they took a walk back to their estate. Once there, Valdemar put MC down, leaning closer, “I’ve taken what’s mine. What now?” they asked with a grin.

MC stared at them for a moment, trying to calm down from all of the kickings. Once they comprehended what Valdemar wanted to say, they started blushing like mad.

After a moment, Valdemar got impatient, so they simply stated, “As I said before, you could have just told me you’re uncomfortable. I can assure you that nothing bad will happen,” they repeated what they said in the dungeons, giving MC a gentle pat on the head, “So tell me now, my little guinea pig,” they said with a wide grin, “Would you like some tea?”

#the arcana #The Arcana Game #the arcana julian #the arcana muriel #the arcana lucio #the arcana vulgora #the arcana valdemar #julian #Muriel #lucio #the arcana headcanons #valdemar #vulgora #julian devorak #count lucio #courtier #quaestor valdemar #the arcana quaestor valdemar #pontifex vulgora

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heli0s-writes · 5 years

Text

IV. I’m in the mood for love

Summary: Beyond the sass and the crass lies a tender moment Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes A/N: Maybe I wrote myself into a pickle? Idk but I teared up a little at the end. Also this is the most politics I’ll ever put in my work-- let’s keep it civil and chill if we disagree.

Foot in Mouth Syndrome Masterpost

It’s a miracle that you had worked up the courage to trot downstairs to return the only covering that separated two bare-ass naked men from your eyes. And not to mention yourself, who was only covered in a towel, too.

You make Steve stand so far around the corner of the doorframe that all he can do is stick out his hand. Bucky rustles the shower curtain impatiently and makes a comment on how “non-hyperverbal” you’re being and you’re too nervous to even respond back. When Buckyeye starts looking at you and the swinging white hem at your shins, you shoo him up the stairs before he gets any other bright ideas.

“Didn’t know you were such a prude.” Bucky comments later as you fiddle around in the kitchen, “But I guess it makes sense-- you still have those stuffed animals on your bed.”

You bristle and glare at him, “Just because you didn’t have a childhood doesn’t mean I can’t.”

It’s a little too mean, and you hear the venom that shoots right into him as soon as it leaves your mouth. “Sorry.” You comment. Damn it. He grew up in the fuckin’ Great Depression where everything was dusty and shit.

“Not all of us can travel the world eating caviar at the ripe age of four.” Bucky snarls. Ugh. Why’d he have to do that?

“Oh, fuck you.” You retort the same time Steve sharply calls Bucky’s name to reel him back in. It doesn’t work, as Steve knows, because when you and Bucky get into it—you get into it.

“You wish, princess. Wait, you’re such a goddamn prude, anyway--”

All Steve can do is cross his fingers and bark, “Buck!”

It’s too late. You’re across the room before Steve can say much else and you’ve launched yourself over one empty couch and straight into Bucky sitting on the other. The force knocks it slightly and it teeters before flopping back with a muffled thud.

Buckeye begins to run around in circles, unsure of the kind of play this particular moment is.

You have no idea what you’re doing, and you doubt you even want to—or can-- hurt him in any way, but you are so finished with his bullshit. You death-grip his hair as you jab both knees into his abdomen. Bucky moves to rip you off, but you clamp your teeth over his wrist and he yelps.

“Fuck you!” You scream, “fuck you so much! I—ow! I fucking apologized, you—Ugh!”

Buckeye, ever the perfect audience member, begins to bark to the rhythm of your screeching and aggressively nudges Bucky’s foot with his snout.

Soldat’s metal hand pushes your face back until its tilted up to the ceiling and further beyond, precariously suspended. The only thing keeping you from cracking your skull on the coffee table is your clinging to his hair. Steve’s concerned expression is upside down and his arms are outstretched, trying to determine the right configuration to pry the two of you apart. “Get that fucking! Aluminum foil finger the fuck away fr---”

“Shut up!” Bucky’s palm smashes against your mouth as his legs wrap around your back until you’re a squished human pretzel inside of him. You’re too crushed even to make any sounds and behind you Steve is sputtering vowels and consonants but not stringing together any real words. Finally, he nearly shrieks,

“Bucky! Jesus! You’re gonna actually kill her!”

Yep. This is how you’re gonna go, you think. The Winter Fucking Soldier has officially had enough of your bullshit, too, and he is going to bear-hug you to death. Who would have thunk it? Your fingers disengage and fall uselessly over his arms.

When time begins to slow and your soul starts to yeet itself from your body, Bucky blessedly lets go. “You’re bluer than I was in cryo.” He sneers.

Steve gasps, scandalized by the comment. For whatever reason, he’s covered Buckeye’s ears, too. You would send him an incredulous look, but you can’t feel your face.

With a pathetic whistle of air, you flop backwards and hang upside down over the couch, thighs gripped tightly by Bucky, heaving deep breaths until your lungs feel like they might burst through your rib cage. No wonder you are not a superhero—fuck the hubris, you are physically not built for this shit.

“I think I’m gonna vomit.” You mutter when Steve’s face begins to spin alongside your dog who slobbers all over your nose. Bucky yanks you up by the front of your shirt and the cough that blasts from your mouth goes right into his face. His smug expression twists into one of disgust and you take the moment to waggle your eyebrows suggestively.

Your sour mood has fled and now that you’re absolutely sure you cannot kick his ass—you return to the one thing you do know you’re capable of:

“Hey, baby. Is that a glock in your pants or are you just really happy to see me?”

To drive your point home, you bounce on his lap with a wide grin, wiggling your butt in exaggerated motions.

“Okay! That’s enough!”

Steve scoops you up and plants you back on the other side of the coffee table. “That’s too smart! Too smart!” He scolds as you pat your bottom and then curtsy. Bucky only huffs and crosses his arms, refusing to meet your gaze. Ha-ha. Winter Soldier, meet your match—Ass Woman. No, that just sounds like a porno.

“Alright, fuckers.” You declare, stepping over to the built-in bookshelf around the flatscreen and retrieving a leather-bound copy of The Wizard of Oz. “Ready for chili?”

They watch you open the front and stick your hand inside the false pages and retrieve a roll of bills. “What?” You ask nonchalantly. “Oh—shut up, Barnes. Like you guys really need me to pay back the vet fees. Technically, my tax dollars pay you.”

Steve shakes his head no. So, you casually toss him the roll of cash and then pull out another one.

“Jesus! Will you put these back?”

“Look,” You say, “For every month I don’t come home my mother puts another wad in this box.” You show them the pile of rolled bills, each encased in varying sizes of rubber bands. “She thinks it’ll ensnare me, but joke’s on her, the more I’m away the more there is to spend. She’s not very smart—a consequence of never having to think for herself.”

“And you’re fine with spending it?” Bucky ponders. The relationship you have with your family grows more confusing the longer they spend in your parents’ house. The memorabilia littered in your childhood bedroom seems to suggest that you aren’t completely detached from your family or your childhood. The way you respond to being home is paradoxical, too—disgusted at the excess one minute, reveling in it the next.

“It’s just fucking money. They make so much of it. I couldn’t bankrupt them if I tried. My father has offshore accounts in the fucking Caymans. I literally could not.”

They both pause before Steve speaks up, “Are you an only child?”

You frown. “No.” Then you aggressively push him by the shoulder and toward the exit, motioning for Bucky to follow. “It’s fucking Skyline time.”

Suddenly, you pause at the door and turn around to put both your hands on your hips. Looking both of them up and down, you shake your head impatiently. Steve is wearing his civilian Captain America outfit again. And Bucky, honestly, Bucky looks like someone cosplaying Bucky.

“Who dressed you?” You demand, exasperated, “You guys like, do spy stuff? It’s baffling to me that you don’t get caught immediately. Steve—khakis?”

Upon being admonished, he scoffs and looks around, “What’s wrong with my khakis?”

“Will you please tell him something?” You ask Bucky, who only rolls his eyes as if to say, you’re fuckin’ telling me. When it’s obvious that Steve’s poor choices are solely the result of him being an old fuck with no fashion sense, you mumble. “At least switch shirts. I’m going to take Buckeye out… please… fix this.”

When you come back, the sight of Steve wearing black and Bucky wearing light blue is so discomforting you cover Buckeye’s eyes. “It’s okay, boy.” You whisper loudly. Bucky flips you off but fixes the hem of the shirt he’s sporting. Steve—for whatever inexplicable reason, has decided to tuck… You quickly yank his shirt from his waistband and shake your head. “Christ, why are you like this?”

Untucked and uncomfortable in black, Steve looks at the menu as if the letters on it were runes from an ancient past. He doesn’t understand at all what Skyline Chili is or why it is. They’re coneys—this he does understand. But the rest of it—nope. Why would anyone ever need that much cheese? Bucky mirrors his sentiment by shutting the menu and crossing his arms.

The small bowl of oyster crackers in the middle of the table is being torn apart as you shovel handful after handful into your mouth. There is an inordinate amount of hot sauce sprayed on the top of the crisps, and you wipe your hands haphazardly on a napkin when you’re finished.

“Okay. You feelin’ spag or nah?” You ask, not even looking up. “Spagbol.” You continue, “Spag-y. SPAGHETS!” Then, in a terrible and very offensive Italian rendition, you pinch your fingers together and enunciate, “Its-a-spha-ghetta!”

Bucky slumps down into the booth until you stop. Steve puts his hand over his eyes.

“Why would you put chili on spaghetti noodles?” Bucky hisses.

The waitress arrives right after his question and you reach over to take his hands into your own— still reeking of peppers and vinegar from the hot sauce. “Shh,” You say almost tenderly, “Adults are talking now.”

“I hope you rub your eyes with that hand later.” Bucky snarls.

“I’ll cup your balls with it, instead.” You respond.

The waitress whimpers at the conversation she’s just stumbled into.

Six coneys arrive and as well as two plates of spaghetti. You explain to the boys that the Skyline specialty is steamed buns, mustard, special secret spice chili, raw onions, and hella shredded cheese. The noodles come with the same, sans mustard, and if you’re feeling extra frisky— beans. One plate is extra frisky today. Then you unscrew the cap to the hot sauce and shake the shit out of it onto everything.

They are bewildered at the sheer excess of American consumption as you shove almost half a coney into your face. Cheese flops down onto your plate.

“I think I’m gonna vomit.” Steve whimpers.

“Big baby, wimpy, Stevie can’t eat the cheesy?” Between mouthfuls, you’re still a dick. “Just try it! What are you, six?”

He glares at you and then sends a puppy-dog look to Bucky who already is lifting a coney to his face. You take another bite and watch them do the same.

Immediately, Steve coughs. Bucky starts laughing so hard he drops the pile of shredded cheese all over the table. You tuck into the overflowing plate of spaghetti, hot noodles melting the cheddar on top into an amalgam of gooey yellow. “I can’t do it.” Steve groans, “This isn’t right. This isn’t what God wanted.”

“God is dead, bitch.” You reply, “There is only Skyline Chili.”

“So what’s your deal?” Bucky asks from the couch.

The three of you have returned back to the house, winding down for the night. It’s eight now, and you’ve driven them around the city just to show them the sights. The gentrified downtown with its bustling crowd of young, white party-people interspersed with streets of dilapidated buildings and homelessness. There’s a bitterness to your voice when you talk about the changing scenery—but a kind of sadness, too. You admit you don’t really know the solution. The business brings in money to the city, but all the people left behind are really getting left behind.

You show them the more relaxed areas, like Over the Rhine and point out its massive brewery. You promise to take them there soon. There’s also the famous Cincinatti Zoo, and King’s Island, where you swear is better than where Steve wanted to go- Coney Island #2. There’s no point in taking him there, you declare when he starts to sputter, because he only wants to go to shit all over it, and because King’s Island is way cooler.

“What do you mean?” You ask back, flipping through the stations with your feet propped up on the coffee table. Steve and Bucky are sitting side-by-side under a blanket. There is a bowl of chips and hummus shared in their laps since Steve refused to eat during dinner and is now very cranky.

“All of this. Excess. Money. And then... you.” he waves to the house, then to you, sprawled out carelessly on a leather couch in mismatched pajamas. Buckeye’s head is faithfully in your lap, big eyes peering up at you, as if he’s waiting for an explanation too.

“You hating on my penguin top and pumpkin bottoms or what?”

“C’mon...” Steve beckons, knowing that your deflection is just another cop-out.

So, you groan, because they’re teaming up on you and after almost three months it’s bound to happen. They’ve told you so much about themselves already. You’ve learned all about the personal lives of the Commandos, the war stories, serums and experimentations, the cryo, the trial after the Triskelion... the blood, and sweat, and all of Steve Rogers’ tears.

“Well... it’s not as exciting as you think it is.” You mutter, tugging on Buckeye’s ear, finding the texture comforting under their persistent gaze. “Just a dumb girl born into an obscene family.”

But you tell them, truthfully and genuinely. Your family has old money- oil, or steel, probably both. As a result, you grew up in the lap of luxury, private schools, language programs, singing classes, dance lessons, horseback riding, trips to Europe and Asia, enormous birthday parties and a line of suitors as soon as you started growing breasts. The worst part, you admit, is that you loved it.

The picture they picked up in your room was from junior prom, and the date was a boyfriend- family friend- you’d been with for about six months, and he already planned on proposing. That was just how it was. Rich people marrying other rich people continuing the line of one-percenters.

Really, you say, your family was maybe the 10 percenter-range. As rich as maybe low A-list movie stars, not quite Jeff Bezos. But you know him, too.

“What changed?” Steve wonders out loud for both him and Bucky.

“Living in New York.” You half-smile at the memory of Union. “After Ohio State, I went to Union for my graduate studies and it blew my shit wide open. But that’s what happens when you start opening yourself up to other realities.”

You tell them about the immense struggle the first year at Union, feeling ostracized and realizing that your life is nothing like most peoples’ lives, and then beginning to frame your understanding of the world in a different way. You tell them you got mugged once and you felt like you probably deserved it.

“Then the election happened.” You sigh, and they both groan at the reminder. “As you know... it’s just been downhill and fucked. We had a big falling out here over Thanksgiving holiday.”

You didn’t come home in almost two years. You took out loans, you worked two jobs, took a full course load and wrote a thesis, and then went on to your Doctoral program. Your parents reached out to you and you eventually came half-way back into the fold.

“And spending their money?”

Most of the money you get you give to the local shelters. “That’s just direct action, baby.” You laugh. “We go at it, all the time. But you know, I figure... If I have to live in this shit world, might as well be a bastard about it.”

That earns a hearty chuckle from both your guests. “Jesus, that explains a lot.” Bucky grins as you nuzzle Buckeye and plant a kiss on his wrinkly face.

It feels so much better now that you’ve aired all the dirty, 1000-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets.

Steve hops up from the couch and runs downstairs, “Be right back!” He yells. You and Bucky narrow your eyes at the trail he’s padded into the carpet. In the distance, you can hear his rummaging and then thumping footsteps back up into the living room. He’s perfectly in one piece, because he’s Captain Damn America and nearly flying up a flight of stairs ain’t shit.

“I figured this would happen.” He grins, holding up a metal flask. “It’s time to break out the Asgardian mead.”

The three of you are drunk on whiskey and space-juice, tumbling around the downstairs living room. You are banging on the piano keys, tapping out a stuttering and off-kilter rendition of The Magic School Bus theme song while they wrestle. Why is it that no matter how old boys get, they still love to wrestle? Around their legs is Buckeye, running around in circles and panting, like a racecar at the Indy—only making left turns, having the time of his life.

“Get a fuckin’ ROOM!” You scream, throwing another shot down.

“You mean your room?” Steve laughs back, head under Bucky’s arm, tapping uselessly on his ribs.

“Captain America, fuckin’ in my room. Carve that on my grave, baby.” You mutter, as the piano lid slams down and you take a bow, knocking the bench over with a crash. “Oops.”

“Thas direct action, baby.” Bucky parrots you, “You’re so fucking lame.”

Buckyeye leaps into the air and licks him on the face. “Fuck!”

“Yeah, defend my honor, Buck!” You whoop. “Not you!” You point to Bucky, who flicks you off with a cackling laugh. The sound of it flutters into your ears like a ghost- leaving cold trails down your back. Suddenly, you get an idea.

“Hey-- you guys on Twitter?”

They sit crosslegged on the floor flanking you as you scroll determinedly through what seems to be endless tweets. There are other tabs open, too, of compilations of these. Thirsttweets, you explain. The internet loves and wants to bone the hell out of Captain America. Some of them want the Soldier there too—just watching, apparently.

Steve is seventeen shades of red and a little bit of purple. Bucky keeps cursing under his breath and at one point, you think, is reciting Hail Mary. It’s a million times worse than your playlist.

Who’s Got the Biggest Dick in Baseball is nothing compared to captain america could spit into my mouth and id say thank you

“I would never!” Steve gasps. “Or that!”

The tweet in question says: ruin my life big dorito daddy

“What does that mean?” Bucky groans, a little ruffled by all the lewd attention Steve is getting.

“His back is shaped like a Dorito, duh. Don’t get jealous, big boy. You’re next.”

For whatever reason, Bucky’s tweets are way worse. Maybe it’s his persona—that redeemed baddie type of thing. People eat that shit up like chips and dip—and apparently want to eat him too.

As long as I have a face, Winter Soldier has a seat rearrange my guts, Sargeant Sexy When will James Buchanan Barnes put his fist in me? WHEN? I didn’t know I was into getting choked until I saw that metal arm.

You snort whiskey into your lungs in the middle of reading one out loud and spend the next five minutes with your insides on fire. Steve has his head in Bucky’s lap and there are tears coming out of his eyes both from Bucky’s clenched jaw and you, crumpled into a heap spewing amber.

A jazz tune belts out from the surround sound system. Steve has picked a Music Choice station from the seemingly endless list of cable possibilities and of course, being a nostalgic thing, chose Swingers — wait, Singers and Swing. Your brain is loopy with joy.

“Didn’t you say you took dance lessons?” Steve asks nonchalantly.

“Uh-huh,” you sigh on the floor, legs crossed over Buckeye as you pull him down on your tummy. Rolling side to side with you, your dog begins to groan and flop, aggravated at your antics.

“You know, Buck used to dance.”

“Uh-huh, you sure did, didn’t you, big baby?” You kiss Buckeye on the nose.

“Bucky. Bucky, not Buckeye.”

He returns from the restroom with his hair pulled away from his face, changed into a long sleeved soft shirt and sweats. “What?”

“You used to dance!” Steve urges with a flick of his wrist, “Get on out there!” He waves his finger to the carpeted living space where you are spread-eagled, trying your best to keep your dog next to you. Damn it, you want cuddles!

“You want me to lead her? Stevie, I couldn’t lead the girl to water if she were a horse.”

“I am not a whore!” You cry indignantly, shooting up from the carpet and knocking Buckeye over with a yelp.

“A horse! Jesus H. Christ, ya deaf!”

You probably are, you think, as the music slurs itself into one long whine. Bucky grabs you by the hand anyway, determined to prove some point to Steve. He turns you around until you face him and takes a second to start on the right beat.

It’s like a switch has flipped and he becomes all step and sway as he moves to the music, leading you, too. Some vestigial memory digs its way out of your muscles from all those damn dance lessons and your feet point and tap along with him, hips rocking when he spins you around and pulls you back. A grin slowly breaks across his face, big and lopsided, all teeth.

You feel like a little puppet in complete submission to him as he expertly uses the perfect amount of momentum to change your course.

Laughter bursts forth from your mouth as you whirl dizzily around Bucky, hands clamped tightly in both of his. The room is a blur of colors and the blue of Steve’s eyes, watching.

At one point, you stand hip-to-hip side-by-side and kick your feet together before he takes you by the waist and dips you low. You’re breathless as he laughs, mirroring your puffs of warm air from above, wild with motion— his hair slipping from behind his ear to hang over your forehead.

“Holy shit you got moves.” You proclaim as the song finishes and he tugs you up with a satisfied chuckle. A slower melody comes on and you move to return to the couch where Steve is sitting with Buckeye, but Bucky tugs you again, closer.

He places one hand behind your back, resting on the ridged thread-bare waistband of your pajama shorts, and the other one he holds up to his chest. You blink away the fuzzy spots from your eyes and peer at him, looking so far away even though he’s just inches apart. His expression has changed, dropping into something distant and removed and staring straight through you.

You see it now. He’s not Bucky anymore.

It hits you like a bag of bricks, that this is James Barnes, in all his glory as a beautiful Brooklyn boy. Out dancing with a girl. Laughing, just like this: bristled, square-jawed and cleft-chinned. Wide, pouty lips. Bright steel eyes. Before he was a soldier, he was just a boy.

Before he was The Soldier, he was just a boy.

His chest rises and falls slowly as he takes a deep breath. The crooning in the background is tender, melodic, with the singer’s sweet voice pining for her loved one accompanied by delicate plucks of a piano.

Once, too, he pined.

The tears in your eyes spill over when you press your mouth to his. Bucky lets go of your hands and you catch his face with them, instead, holding onto his head, fingers grazing his ears and neck and brushing away his hair. You kiss him as if he might be shipped out to war tomorrow. It hurts even more to know that he probably had a night just like this, in the arms of a girl he loved, right before his entire life changed.

And then, you tear away and look at the couch where Steve sits, chewing on his lip, red-eyed too. You sob uncontrollably when you rush around the table and into his arms. He wraps them around you, pushes his face down into your shoulder.

“I love you guys.” You whisper, curled up in Steve’s lap, because the story of Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter was never explicit in the history books, but you know it too. “Oh God. I’m so sorry it’s like this. I’m so sorry.”

Steve forgets sometimes, that they were ripped out of time. He forgets the torment and tearing of Bucky’s entire being. They busy themselves in tomorrow and moving forward so much that they bury how the things that made them also broke them.

You are clinging onto his shirt, crying for him now, for both of them. Two handsome soldiers, living, dying, resurrected again. Having only each other to know and hold.

Sergeant Barnes of the 107th closes his eyes and presses his lips together. When he opens them, he is Bucky Barnes of the terrible, modern age once more. He crosses the room quietly, as he always does, as he was made to do. He sits down next to Steve as you look up at him with love and sympathy and so much sadness he can’t stand it. He links his hand in yours and smiles in a way that cracks your heart right open.

“Don’t get weird, kid.” Bucky whispers with moist lashes. Your laugh is strangled when it escapes your throat, all wet and whine as you squeeze his fingers tighter.

“I love you. You don’t understand.”

Steve breathes a sigh into your shoulder and rubs his damp cheeks on the penguin print of your sleeping shirt. From next to him, Buckeye looks up quizzically and gives his arm a long, slow lick.

“Yeah, yeah,” He mutters, swatting at your dog’s snout lovingly, lips pressed into your collarbone. Then, he kisses you too, tipsy and torn open. In the background, Julie London sweetly croons:

If there’s a cloud above and it must rain, we’ll let it.

But for tonight, forget it.

I’m in the mood for love.

Next Chapter

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky #self insert #fanfiction #FiMS

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

Note

I saw that you do headcanons now. What are some kinky headcanons you have for Jask? I’d really like to know. I absolutely love your fics that delve into the d/s stuff. They’re brilliant and so well done.

Ooh good question! I’m borrowing this alphabet format from Joz in an attempt to be thorough

Disclaimer: these are just my headcanons, my opinions, they do not reflect the fandom at large or canon

A - Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Caring and nurturing. He provides some form of aftercare after sex even if it wasn’t kink related at all, making sure they’re cleaned up and comfortable. Most of his partners haven’t been ones where they or he could spend the night but he still tries to make sure he leaves them satisfied in every way. I think he’s very tender in general and if he isn’t too tired out he pens some notes down for his next song.

B -Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I mean, listen, if he doesn’t really enjoy his chest and its abundance of hair he has a funny way of coping with insecurity so I’m gonna say he likes it. I think his favorite part of his partner changes with the partner (he enjoys finding little unique things about each person whether it’s freckles or an interesting birthmark or scar etc.) but I see him being a fan of a nice ass and a pretty mouth on any gender.

C - Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He tries not to come inside of his partners for obvious pregnancy reasons with uterus-possessing partners and also because it feels too intimate for his casual dalliances (even though yes he loves them he also feels that’s just not really a thing you do unless that is Your Person). He likes to finish on his partner both to spare the sheets (easy cleanup and easier to hide from jealous husbands) and because he does like how his partner looks when they’re panting, covered in sweat and come. He swallows.

D - Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

On one very memorable day he slept with both a person and their parent in the same 24-hour period. Separate, not together (ew) and neither party ever found out and he intends to keep it that way

E - Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Jaskier is sufficiently experienced but always eager to get more practice in. He is very adept at pleasing many different bodies but that doesn’t make him cocky. He sees each partner as a new experience and doesn’t assume he knows how to please them just because he’s pleased others. This is one of the reasons he is such a very good partner.

F - Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Strongly swayed by what his partner likes but I see him enjoying the humble missionary position. Not as kinky as people may expect but he likes the intimacy and the ability to look into his partner’s eyes.

G - Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He weaves between the two. He knows that sex is a dialogue and he follows it as it goes, staring deeply into someone’s eyes one moment and giggling with them in the next.

I - Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

As I said, Jaskier really enjoys intimacy. He likes to focus on his partner and get lost in the feeling without thinking about consequences (hence the courtly reputation)

J- Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

I don’t picture him doing this much. He’s on the road a lot and Geralt has that damned witcher hearing. Also I think Jaskier enjoys another person’s body more than his hand and he is cocky enough to know that he can get that companionship if he wants it. He has been known to enjoy mutual masturbation.

K - Kink (One or more of their kinks)

While Jaskier is a romantic I think he also enjoys being dominant. Those two things are opposing roles by any means but I guess I’m just saying it’s not all rose petals and it’s also leather paddles ya feel?

L - Location (Favourite places to do the do)

He enjoys getting to do it in a bed because I think usually he just gets what he gets where he gets it (again thinking of jealous husbands/courtly reputation) but he also enjoys getting creative. It’s like a brain puzzle. We’re in this barn and I Must Have You and sure we could do it on the ground but what if we stacked those haybales just so…

M - Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

A stiff breeze?

But actually, I think Jaskier gets really turned on by competence. A person can be lovely but if they’re lovely AND adept at something (even something not having anything whatsoever to do with sex) he really likes that. And the show off in him goes “well let me show you what I do!” Also wit. He trades in words and enjoys some banter.

N - NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I don’t think there’s much he wouldn’t do. I don’t see him being into degradation with his partners, giving or receiving. I also think he is decidedly against knife play after the Djinncident

O - Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Jaskier loves to go down on his partners. It’s an understood thing that it will be a part of sex unless his partner doesn’t want it. He also really enjoys receiving but I think giving just edges it out in preference

P - Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

All over the board. Usually sex with Jaskier is going to go through a few speeds unless pressed for time or intentionally stretching things out to tease his partner.

Q - Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Jaskier is the undisputed master of the quickie thanks to experience but he prefers to take his time.

R - Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Absotively Posilutely

S - Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

I think he has decent stamina and if he has the time to go more than one round during the refractory period he’s still doing something with/to his partner even if it’s just a massage or making out

T - Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Slipping into Modern!AU here because of course they had toys back in the day but I’m horrified at even the potential concept of splinters There. Yes, Jaskier enjoys toys and uses them on himself and on his partner and has toys his partners use on him (I’m talkin’ ‘bout the strap, lads). He invests a decent amount in quality toys and has a good sampling, some for more special occasions and some used regularly. He has some toys that are like his staple ingredients he will make sure to stock back up on when it dies (a good clitoral stimulating vibrator, for example). Also he has strong opinions about what you do and do not use to tie people up. You do not use handcuffs which can cause actual damage. Instead you use bondage tape or rope designed for it. Perhaps a tie, though that’s still not ideal.

U - Unfair (how much they like to tease)

So Very Much

He is a cheeky little bastard and he loves to make you beg for it

V - Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

I think Jaskier is quiet, mostly whispering and muttering under his breath through most of it (again, somewhat learned through necessity) but he can be provoked to be louder if someone really works at it and he feels safe

W - Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Jaskier never asks his partner to do something he wouldn’t do and he won’t do anything to them that he wouldn’t want them to do to him in return unless they have a specific fetish he isn’t about but is willing to engage with

Y - Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Maybe a controversial opinion but I think our boy is a bit of a sex drive camel. He goes decent stretches sometimes without having much opportunity for it and I think he can be sustained for a bit after a really good night. He would prefer to do it more often but it’s not something that drives him to distraction, if that makes sense.

Z - ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I think Jaskier stays awake until his partner falls asleep, or at least tries to just in case they need something.

#Anonymous #Jaskier Headcanons #Jaskier Kink Headcanons Pt II #reader request

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psychopomposo · 4 years

Text

What the fuck is in the pot?

Jingle watched the fae queen with a piqued interest, and also with a somewhat disgusted expression at the contents that were tossed into the cauldron. He was having a mental conversation with himself about how he was going to cope with probably drinking whatever poison she just brewed up. Though, that mental conversation was tossed out the window with all of the water being released from the cauldron and steaming up his glasses. He was silent for the most part while he wiped off his glasses and considered what in the actual God Damn Edea was doing.

He watched her pace around the pot, studying it with that curious candle of hers, then perked up at the possibility of getting Cath back- that is before he felt her gaze fall upon him with suspicion. He didn’t shrink but he narrowed his eyes right back at her, what about him was so interesting? He was just a guy. A guy constantly surrounded by the fates of folks young and old from any walk of life; it made him very hard to read as to someone who also could sense the presence of spirits couldn’t pick out which soul could possibly be his.

Even though he considered her untrustworthy, he followed her as silent as the wind, his hand still entangled with Kay’s tightly to comfort him and himself in the same act. He observed the surroundings with a surmounting amount of respect, Autumn was his favorite season after all. Be it because he could spend time with some of the spirits he had grown fond of or because he just loved the sense of magic and horror. He intended to inquire how they were going to steal some of Winter’s power but was cut short by the interest of what she was digging up. He was hoping to God that it wasn’t going to be a dead animal and she was going to fling it at them for laughs. The fae could be cruel sometimes, he had no idea what to expect!

Jingle stared at the box and stared dead on at Edea, “I’m willing to give whatever I can, but if there’s a dead cat in that box I think I might puke on your shoes.” He gave a wide shit eating grin, though his tone was serious. His smile quickly fell however as he looked back down at the box, his expression falling soft as he snaked his arm around Kay’s waist now, hugging him close. “I just want him back, in all seriousness I’ll do what I can but if you, and I mean YOU yourself and not the consequences of our actions put us in any danger I’ll also do whatever in my power to fuck your shit.” He pointed an accusing look at her, he always wanted to make sure any strings attached to the fabric of a deal were clear. The stitching of a deal was always shitty and visible, but that was important as any hidden threads could hide hidden threats.

#animal death//#religion m/#implied character death//#plot post;#ooc posting;#emeto m//#heavensrot #lunareficio

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gothsic · 4 years

Text

LITTLE CHARACTER THINGS

Just a fun little character game. Fill in the below categories with 3-5 things that your character can be identified by. Repost & tag away !

tagged by: @citialiin suplexes you into the sun bc i luv u tagging: whomever wants to !!

EMOTIONS / FEELINGS:

001. DISGUST – Filth, filth, it’s all filth. Everyone is squirming underneath his boot heel, and they’re doing it with a smile. How awful. And yet, he can’t help but smile right back at them. So delighted that they understand their place. If only he could sleep, he might very well get some god-damned peace...

002. ISOLATION – Why is it that looking at the sea reminds him so much of the things that he’d lost? Maybe that’s why he spends so much time sitting out there in the sand, looking out at the ocean as it ebbs and flows, leaves behind the darkened, wet sand. Sometimes, he planted footprints there, and watched them vanish as the water took them away. And no, it wasn’t a comfort. It was, maybe, some sort of reminder to himself.

003. ENVY – WHY does it always have to be that way? Smiling faces admiring another’s work - someone younger than him... he wants it all. He’ll take it for himself if he has to. Why can it not be him at all hours of the day? Always worshipped, always admired. Look at his talent, bask in it... but why do they all head the opposite direction? Could it be that... he’s losing relevance? No, it couldn’t be. And yet, that pain in his stomach simply won’t go away...

004.YEARNING – He has always had a habit of grabbing at things he can’t have. If he can’t have it, he only wants it more. Once he has it, he holds onto it as if he had been utterly fulfilled every which way.

005. RAGE – Always seeing red, always wanting nothing more than to tear at those that denied him a chance at success. Claws that have grown over the years, from frustrated, suppressed anger that originated from the time he was born, perhaps. Now, they slash at whatever they can find; not enough to kill, but enough to leave a scar. A wound. A reminder that he was there once.

GREETINGS:

001. A sarcastic remark, a seemingly chatty man. He seems to have opinions on everything, no matter what the subject. He seems remarkably interested in you, but only insofar as to how involved you are in the subject at hand.

002. He offers you a half-smile. A laid-back appearance. Extends his hand to meet yours to greet you. When you shake his hand, you make note of how strangely callous his hands are. How cold they are, made even colder by the metal rings on his fingers that brush uncomfortably against your skin.

003. He pokes fun at you, makes jokes. But they’re never meant to necessarily harm you. That would be rude, oh no. He can be a bit much, but he only means to make you laugh. But there’s still a strange distance to him. You can’t seem to penetrate him, necessarily - no matter how you may retort. But maybe, if you say something right on point at the right moment, he might just remember you.

004. After an exciting conversation, he asks for your number. Or your contact details. Anything to potentially arrange another meeting down the line. It’s a sign that you’ve attracted his attention in some way. Maybe he’ll contact you down the line.

005. Perhaps, after some time of meeting, if you’re lucky, he’ll show you his genuine smile rather than his half-smile. Right then, you realize that the man you met way back when may actually have more secrets than you could have ever comprehended - if his smile was fake, what else is fake?

COLOURS:

001. Pitch black, of course - the color of choice for the ex-goth.

002. Crimson red, the color of beating hearts and throbbing flesh.

003. Forest green, the color of D.’s forest before it began to rot as a consequence of his deteriorating psyche.

004. Murky blue, the color of the ocean at midnight as the moon is hidden in the Los Angeles smog. It seems endless the more he looks into it.

005. Earthy brown, the color of Annie’s sweater the night she vanished into the darkness forever.

SCENTS:

001. A consistent reek of cigarette smoke on his clothes, his breath, his every word.

002. A faint scent of hair gel and mousse - faintly applied, to keep his hair as voluminous as possible.

003. The equally as faint trace of after shave after he’s taken care of himself. Though there is a stronger smell of hair dye, as he obsessively covers every white hair that may emerge on his head.

004. The strong smell of permanent marker, inking pens, and lead from his furious sketching.

005. Then, there’s his own natural smell - cinnamon mixed with a musty pine; it’s a bit like the smell of a forest filled with pine trees after a heavy rain. Overwhelming, powerful, and stuffy.

CLOTHING:

001. Three skull rings on each hand, on your index, middle, and ring fingers. It’s perfect symmetry, and they shine against whatever light might hit it. But they are always so very cold to the touch.

002. Black, black, and more black - but the occasional muted green or brown enters the palette. Never any colors brighter than those, however - it would be far too much of an eyesore for someone like him.

003. Three gold and black earrings on the top of his ears. Again, symmetry is key. Keeping that image of control and collection is exactly what he wishes above all things; that alternative look.

004. Combat boots, black and laced up to the top. They’re impeccably buffed and shined, though the soles look a little worse for wear. It must be all the walking he does at night when sleep simply won’t come.

005. Baggy shirts and sweaters, occasionally dress shirts, that hide his figure. He’s disproportionate, far too thin; the longer the clothes, the better he can hide how odd and lanky he truly is from his point of view.

OBJECTS:

001. His drawing tablet, always sketching something idly while at home and daydreaming. There are hundreds of random sketches collected on the pages, though some consistencies are quite visible if one took a closer look.

002. His collection of various statuettes and figurines. He has placed them in detolfs for everyone to see, fawn over, and be amazed by. If anyone so much as looks incorrectly at his more precious ones, he will have a close eye on them in fear that they will somehow break merely by being looked at.

003. Signed copy of one of the few produced vinyl records of Oingo Boingo’s Forbidden Zone hanging on his wall. It’s framed, and he’s very proud of it! Often shows it off, in fact. He’s a big fan of theirs.

004. A safety deposit box filled with his biggest secrets - specifically a thumb drive filled with Annie’s e-mails to him. He backed them up there so he can read them on occasion and not have people discover them on his actual computer - he’s quite the paranoid man.

005. Post-its on the walls of his workroom. There is literally no more space for plaster, only post-its of notes and ideas that he has while he conducts research for his next project.

VICES / BAD HABITS:

001. OBSESSIVENESS - Look at him, so utterly fixated on someone who will never love him back. But what he feels isn’t love, oh no. It’s rather a completely unhealthy adoration and veneration of someone he felt understood him. But it is arrogant, of course, to assume that you are so complex as to feel as if there are only a select few who understand you ( in his very unfortunate case ). He has gone to horrific lengths to keep tabs on Annie, and does so as covertly as possible. Nowadays, he uses his intelligence to fuel his obsessive tendencies.

002. LYING - Covers the truth up with layers and layers of sarcasm and lies so that he, or rather his true self, can never be discovered. The result is that he keeps people in a web of extremely elaborate deception, the likes of which they can never escape. But there are cracks in the facades occasionally, they just have to be found.

003. COVETING YOUTH - He is so obsessed with youth that he cannot handle anybody or anything maintaining the status that he had when he was their age (20s, in other words). He especially applies it to himself, though no amount of primping and covering up the blemishes on his face can ever erase the fact that he’s slowly growing crow’s feet around his eyes, made even worse by the bags under them - and my, they’re growing a fine mixture of blue and purple, like fresh bruises.

004. UNWARRANTED SELF IMPORTANCE - He is completely self centered, and thinks of the entire world on his own terms. This is how he’s been wired ever since he can remember, and he always puts himself and his survival first. He makes friends and connections based on this principle, and has a great amount of pride because of this. It is unfortunate, but it is one of his biggest flaws and ultimately what has led him down the slippery slope to irrelevance and isolation.

005. LACK OF EMPATHY - On top of being self involved, he struggles to feel for the plight of others. In fact, it can be said he struggles to feel much of anything, as he worries far more for his current predicament rather than for the difficulties of those in his life. He will only assist or even understand if he can relate in some way from personal experience, or if it benefits him and his career. There is very rarely an instance he will help someone or something because he feels it is the right thing to do.

BODY LANGUAGE:

001. The aforementioned half-smile - the Jonathan trademark, something he has rehearsed ever since his career started to take off. Perhaps even before then, while he was still in high school. It is boyish, youthful, playful - and it is always followed by a sarcastic or joking remark.

002. Hands in pockets - The sign of deceit, hiding something, keeping his distance from you. He is very secretive at all times, and often feels uncomfortable in social situations, and feel better as long as he has his hands in his pockets. That said...

003. Wild gesticulations - When passionately discussing something, he has a tendency to make hand movements of all kinds. Circling his hands, stretching his arms out, pointing, doing anything and everything to get his point across. He becomes expressive in a rather charismatic way. It’s truly odd, considering how often he keeps his hands in his pockets.

004. Hunched over - Slouching half the time, his true height is hidden by this decision to constantly look as if he’s three inches shorter than he is. Rather it is a symptom of his insecurity over his appearance ( he does think he’s weird looking to begin with ), or from a life of leaning over a desk, he certainly rarely stands up straight.

005. Leaning on his right foot versus the left - When standing, and talking to someone, he always puts all his weight on his right foot, and leans to that side. It’s his dominant side, and it gives him his lackadaisical appearance. This likely helps people approach him in many ways.

AESTHETICS:

001. BIOMECHANICS. - Feeling flesh on metal is one of the most skin-crawling sensations, but Jonathan is fascinated with it. He draws it, he lives and breathes it, one of his favorite films of all time is Tetsuo: The Iron Man. Not because he himself would want to put metal on his body, but the very idea is where he believes humanity is headed in the next decade or two. Biomechanics, while cold, is something that gives Jonathan some sense of comfort - that there is a way to marry technology and flesh. Maybe he, too, can be a biomechanical humanoid - so he fantasizes.

002. GOTH ( AS IT SHOULD BE ). - A goth since his teen years, Jonathan knows the fashion and subculture inside and out; or at least, he did once. Though an ex-goth from his early 30s, he still maintains some interest in the culture all the same. He may have stopped dying his hair and wearing “goth” accessories and clothes, but he enjoys the lifestyle and still generally keeps it close to his heart. Just don’t call him Goth Bomb.

003. BODY HORROR. - Flesh mutating and intermingling with itself, a David Cronenberg nightmare that he experienced firsthand in his own dreams. Eyes in places they shouldn’t be, hair where it should never grow... the list goes on and on. It, like biomechanics, sends chills running up and down his spine in a way that excites him. Perhaps he is like Tetsuo, a man who finds a grotesque fascination in manipulating the flesh with the unnatural. But in this case, it’s how naturally manipulation can occur without the introduction of foreign objects, to word it somewhat scientifically...

004. SCI-FI HORROR. - The darkness of space, it’s vastness. It’s quite horrifying, the more he thinks about it. But it’s exciting too. All the possibilities that lie in the stars, all the worlds he could visit as someone quite tired of Earth... but what horrors await behind each planet, each moon, even within each star? They would simply jump at the chance to devour an unimportant human whole, and Jonathan is unsure if he wants to take that chance. All the same, he dreams of that world, hoping that one day he may get to experience it - but, perhaps, from a distance.

005. DEEP COLORS IN CINEMATOGRAPHY / CHIAROSCURO. - Intense lighting, mood lighting, anything that brings out the terror or intensity of a scene is something Jonathan imitates in his works. By deep colors, it is meant that he adores the use of intense reds, blues, and purples in cinema - these often pop up in his work as mood lighting for his set pieces. They signal to him a fantasy world that is not our own. Chiaroscuro simply refers to the film noir technique that he grew to adore from a young age. The harsh black against white, signalling mystery and evil lying behind every corner entranced that young and intelligent mind, sparked his terrified imagination to what monsters could hide in the faces of his favorite noir protagonists...

SONGS / PIECES:

001. montezuma ── fleet foxes

002. little lennon ── asian kung fu generation

003. sabertooth tiger ── cage the elephant

004. controller ── oingo boingo

005. dark entries ── bauhaus

#DRAWN SO FAST I FORGOT I HAD IT IN MY SKETCHBOOK. - DASH MEMES.#( this took way longer than it shoULD HAVE GKDMKSLAD )#( i have a few things to do for tomorrow night and monday so i'll do them then!! )#( that includes starters ask memes and replies. )#( 4 now have this infodump on why jonathan vastielle is a horrible person )#( but also why he is i hope a tragic horrible person )#( he made the choice to be complicit )#( sad. )

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biidovah · 4 years

Text

Sexually pleasuring a drunk and mentally abusive alcoholic isn't validated by saying "but he has such a genuine laughter".

Stealing money from others in the family for alcohol is not acceptable.

Threatening your partner with a knife and telling them to write you a will because they told you you needed treatment, consequently making your child, hiding in the other room, call the police on you, is not fine.

Weaseling your way out of a psychiatric hospital repeatedly and then telling your kids you were disappointed by the lack of their visits is horrid.

Telling your family they embarrassed you with the police call is your own damn fault.

Comforting your distraught daughter by telling her not to do anal too soon is not helping. This wasn't about relationships or sex, so why bring it up?

Forbidding your daughter from driving the car after she got her license just for her to be driving home alone a month later because you got so drunk in an hour you were foaming in your mouth, not conscious, had deadly amounts of alcohol in your blood and needed an ambulance ride to the hospital, is traumatising.

Pressuring your daughter to find a male partner and have grandkids before she's even out of highschool is not justifiable. Suggesting she date a 30 year old man and saying it's just the right age gap is sickening.

Being angry at your daughter when she tells you she won't invite you to her future wedding out of fear of being embarrassed and degraded, and when she tells you if she ever has children she won't trust you with them, is the result of your behaviour.

Slapping your teen child in the face and telling them their life is not theirs after they tell you about suicidal thoughts is not tolerable.

Scaring your child while their hands are in a max heated oven making food is scarring.

Ignoring your child is on the spectrum and telling them to just get over their food pickiness helps noone

Telling your child to get over their best friend's horrible death already right after they learned new graphic details from someone that was on the scene of the accident is mortifying.

Your daughter's arguments on bad treatment don't get missproven by you telling her "my Muslim friends are constantly telling me to [forcefully] have more kids till I have a son, but I'm a good person because I don't do that."

Spending almost half of household income on cigarettes for yourself is lowering your family-of-4's living standard when they can't get any more subsidies. Now add the additional alcohol costs...

Overtaking on a highway while smoking a cigarette and swerving, while also being under the influence of drugs that prohibit driving and endangering your whole family in the process, is petrifying.

Slapping your daughter's thigh and telling her she's thick just like her mum is disgusting.

Telling your daughter her whole life she'll never be more than a cleaning lady and you'll kick her out at 18 is inhumane. Being surprised at her low self esteem and wish to leave when she turned 18 is moronic.

But I just have to play happy family.

I can't leave and be happy, while hurting my whole family financially and emotionally.

I can't leave because I've been denied all financial independence.

I can't leave because I'll be stripped of everything I have.

#i don't know anymore #I'm definitely not gaining enough points to enter the collage of my choice and leaving for a dorm.#I'd still be dependent on their money #I'm not let to learn how to take care of myself #I'm not allowed to bring friends home #when I am I'm too ashamed #abuse #parenting #help #bad mental state #feeling unimportant #feeling unlovable #feeling unwanted #feeling ugly

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itsediadmlove · 5 years

Text

Reconciliating Westerosi fandom

Alright folk, first of all I am writing this post for 2 reasons: first of all because I’ve come to like this kind of shit (I thought it to be a nuisance 1 year ago), secondly because I’ve had enough of Reading 3 kind of posts this week; post saying the episode was shitty, posts saying Daenerys is a bitch, posts saying Sansa is a slut. I’ve had enough of people being biased or judging the episode from a ship perspective. Dame of Thrones and D&D don’t give a fucking damn about wich ship we stand or our expectations, we are going to watch the whole season anyway. And them giving us the chance to come here every day every week since the beginnig of the season, being unsure about the outcome, speaking to each other, arguing with each other because we expect different things how everything should end is amazing enough. And being wrong about where the story is leading doesn’t make the deliverance any less majestic.

Episode 4 was amazing, shit is hitting the fan and the fans and we are back to what game of thrones should be: ‘bout the game of thrones. This season is being far superior to season 7, which in comparison felt plain and predictable (even Starkbowl being a fake was predictable). I have previously wrote a post about this episode in particular and I am going to take my time explaining why both Sansa and Daenerys were awsome this episode. Maybe I’ll repeat myself at some points, but I want the people to stop shitting about what other people believe to be right and take some serious insight on what those characters are doing.

The last thing I want you to keep in mind before I get started is that I’m pretty aware that I am not a native speaker, and my english can be messy. So if anyone feels like wanting some kind of deeper explanation about what I mean at some point, I invite them to talk with me whenever they want, no matter the ship they stand or whatever; this is not about ships this is about characters understanding so we can enjoy the show without biased or shitty mindsets. I am also aware that I am not a great writter and I believe there is people around far better at exposing themselves.

- Daenerys: Amazing episode, the Dragon Queen is finally playing the game herself. Personally I reconciled with her this very episode. I doubted she was able to play the game, this very episode prove me wrong. First we got the Gendry legitimation; clever, as Tyrion pointed out it provided her a loyal (at least theorically) lord of Storm’s End, but it also allowed her to send a message to Sansa Stark about her claim to Winterfell which she could at least jeopardize just by doing something as simple as that. The chamber’s stuff was another amazing display. It allows us to see her concern about Jon’s claim to the Iron Throne. Being fair to her she was right about almost everything. Jon not wanting the throne doesn’t matter at all; even if he never pushed his claim, it will always be an excuse for every single lord around to contest her right to rule over them forcing her to take action making her a tyrant. She was right on the crypts as well (ep2); Jon’s right to the IT will always be shitty, his only prooves are his brother visions and a book anyone could have written, but it doesn’t even matter if it is true. Remember Stannis people, he was right all along about being Robert’s heir, and yet no one gave a damn just because they never wanted him as King. Now we got to the controversial part, her badmouthing Sansa. Yes It is true, but well, there is a throne at stake. For me at this point Daenerys has been thinking about the parentage reveal consequences and being true, the only way to prevent all the shit to come through is having Jon murdered, because even as looking for a way out, once she doesn’t need him anymore and Cersei is done for, she would have to spend all her life out of fear that someone learned the truth. I really believe she loves Jon. During the war council she was in a rush to leave, and I believe that she is actually trying to prevent Jon to tell his family and not because she gives a fuck about her people, after all, she is the very same person that in the books had a huge amount of ill people under her protection in Meereen just because they needed it. In all she is trying to manipulate him while lying herself. Before people start splitting on her (or me) because of it, if at some point you have been invested in Pol!Jon theory it seems unfair towards Daenerys to blame her to do exactly the same thing to him. Because what she is really trying here is to keep him safe. As I said before, at this point she should have already contemplated the possibility of murdering him, but she doesn’t want this to happen. Yet, we have to admit that she has already invested to much in Westeros, she has already sacrified to many things and people in her quest, to just back off. She has a responsability to all that people who have died in order for her to get there, and if she risked just because of a hot guy, it would feel to me as a betrayal to all those people, Friends and lovers she has sacrified, she wouldn’t deserve to be a queen while killing Jon would turn her into an usurper. Maybe I don’t like her as a Queen, yet I admire the character, it would be shitty for her to turn mad just because she wants power. If I should describe Daenerys in just one Word it would be passionate; in her way to fight, to rule, to believe on herself and, finally, to love. I don’t know how it is all gonna end, but, if she had to turn Mad, I would feel very displeased if she turns so just because she is ‘’POWER HUNGRY’’, it should be because of love. At some point Daenerys has to stop lying to herself and accept she can’t protect Jon, each death she suffers should push her to the edge, not because she is too sensitive, that woman has crossed the world fighting her way out doing great and terrible things, she isn’t weak, but because she has a duty to all those who believed in her, and for a queen, let a man just take it all away, even the very risk of it happening, should be out of question. And the more she lose, the more she feels endebted to her people and the more she understands, that at the end, she will be forced to kill the man she loves, admires, trusts and considers worthy of being a King. It should be heartbreaking, unfair, saddening and Shakespearian.

- Sansa: As always since the sixth season, her character was brilliant this episode. It is true that this episode was far more focused on Daenerys and yet Sansa always get the chance to be outstanding. I loved the political dance between her and Dany this episode. I will go straight to the point; the battlement scene with Tyrion. Sansa isn’t happy there, so much is evident. For some episode now she had been shown around people that were essential in her past (Theon, Tyrion, Sandor). All of them are people that tried to protect her one way or another, the problema is that all of them are related to some piece of her past she doesn’t want to remember. The only reason why Dany made reference to her in her convo with Jon is because she has realised how important he is for her. Everyone can believe if there is any romantic feeling or not, I’m not here to talk about what you all should believe, bute ven if it is just platonical sibling love, Jon is the only male character related to all of her good memories; from her childhood in Winterfell to the present, while being innocent or unrelated about all the bad ones. This means he is very important to her, important in an extent that is even hard to understand. It is true that he asked something from her and she betrayed such trust; and so? You all antis go around speaking about how she betrayed him without giving a thought about why she did so. Right now, denying Sansa being one of the smartest characters around is just plain and simple denial and her scene with Tyrion was key this episode. There are two emotions in her in such scene: anger (for Jon to leave south) and fear. Anger was pretty easy to get, Tyrion realised, she was unhappy, now, fear shows u when Tyrion ponted out Jon not being a Stark, because this is the very reason that makes him going south dangerous. Sansa is brilliant and she has been thinking ‘bout the parentage reveal as well. And her conclusion is just the same as Daenerys: Jon is going to die because Dany needs him to die. Why she broke the promess: as I see it she has gotten the picture, Dany can’t kill Jon yet, as long as Cersei remains in the throne she needs him to keep the North and the Vale, so if she is going to do something about it, it needs to be now, so she plaid her move, not because she is power hungry, but because she wants to protect him just as much as Daenerys.

It would be nice for us to be able to stan a character without disrespecting others, or at leasst other fans. The last thing that I want to tell all of you is that I had enough of people throwing the mysoginist bullshit over other people. I really believe GOT is full of amazing females characters to putt he blame on that. Sure, the world of ASOIAF is unfair with women, welcome to middle age fuckers. If it wasn’t like this we couldn’t relate to such a period. Yet a pretty lot of people needs to defend their faves by pushing the mysoginist bullshit over others, it is pittysome and annowing, the very fact that such a large extent of our faves are females you speak against D&D being such a thing; females characters are amazingly complex here. The very same persons needing to pull such a vague and wrong reasoning over others are the very same people that go saying this or another female character is ‘’POWER HUNGRY’’. I will tell you a secret both Daenerys and Sansa are ambitious (fuck what a revelation) and I find it disgusting that is have to be a guy like me who has to tell you that women being ambitious (doesn’t matter it being Sansa or Dany) is perfectly right thing and they don’t have to love each other just for both of them being women.

#got #Sansa Stark #daenerys targaryen #jonsa #jone #jonerys

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your-iron-lung · 5 years

Text

No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross 10

aka ‘The House That Dripped Blood’; available to read on AO3 HERE

Story Synopsis: Some weird low-key occult parties start popping up that Steve can’t in good conscience ignore and takes it upon himself to investigate. Billy gets caught up in the consequences of his meddling, and isn’t it funny? For all the strange things the Upside Down has thrown his way, it’s werewolves that Steve has trouble accepting exist.

Chapter Word Count: 7927

Pairings: Eventual Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington

Genre: Supernatural/Drama/Horror-ish

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

Next Chapter: 11

Notes: if you follow me you may have noticed i havent posted in a while- this is bc i spend all my time playing ffxiv instead of setting aside determined amounts of time to spend on writing/drawing and i have a bunch of artist alleys coming up that im ill prepared for and im terrible at budgeting UH YEP bad excuse but WHAT CAN YA DO here we are

(ive also set up a ko-fi account if you want to give drop me some tippy tips if u enjoy the word things i do) ((no pressure tho))

"Bigfoot."

Hopper leaned back in his chair; let it creak and groan under his weight until he knew it was at its limit, and then pushed it a little more. He studied the no-nonsense expression on the hunter before him, and intrinsically knew that the man was speaking truth.

"Bigfoot," the old man said again, speaking a little sterner than he had before once he recognized Hopper's amiable expression of disbelief. "I seen't him out in the woods just the other day."

The aging man had lumbered into the police station almost immediately after Hopper came in, bundled in some worn hunting gear that looked almost as old as he was. The deputies had offered to speak with him after hearing his initial claim, but they'd been refused when Callahan couldn't stop smirking. The old hunter had insisted on speaking with Hopper, who leaned forward now, taking the stress off of his chair to take a sip of the coffee Florence had brought in for him. He didn't look at the old man as he drank.

"So let me get this straight," Hopper began, setting his coffee aside to rub at his forehead, "you came in first thing in the morning worried about a missing friend of yours, but now you're telling me you're worried about Bigfoot."

"You know me, Jim," the hunter said, a slight hint of pleading desperation edging out of his voice. "You know I ain't some crazy old coot. I ain't seen Lamm in a long while, and yessir I'm worried 'bout him, but when I went out to his cabin to check on him I seen it: I seen Bigfoot!"

As incredulous as the claim was, Hopper believed him- not about it being Bigfoot, exactly, but he believed that the man had seen something out there in the woods, and it had the possibility of being that something he'd spent the last two weeks fruitlessly searching for.

Regardless, he didn't want to let the old hunter know he was taking him seriously. The last thing he needed was for his community to think he believed in this sort of nonsense, but people in town were going missing, and people he knew were getting hurt: if his only lead should turn up in the form of an old man believing he'd caught sight of an urban legend, then so be it. He'd follow it through, but he'd be subtle about it.

"You sure it wasn't just a trick of the light or something, Wes? You know your eyes aren't what they used to be," Hopper remarked casually, softening his voice to let him down easy. "And this isn't the first time Lamm's gone missing; you know he's one of those types of shut ins. Remember those weeks he was gone hunting 'vampires'? He's the kind of guy who lives in his own head more than he lives out here, he'll turn up again on his own time."

The hunter's lips twitched into a frown. "Alright, maybe Lamm is a little off kilter," he relented, averting his eyes for a second, "and maybe it weren't Bigfoot, but the tracks it left were huge 'n mighty, by God, and I ain't seen nothin' else like it before. If it weren't Bigfoot, then at the very least it had big feet, Jim, and I ain't never seen feet quite like 'em."

Interest piqued, Hopper became more attentive. "How's that?"

"Well, they was stretched out lookin', for one." The hunter paused, tilting his head slightly as he tried to recall the details of what he'd seen out in the woods. He held his hands up, spaced apart in an approximation of how long the prints he'd found had been. "Human lookin', almost, which is what had me thinkin' it coulda been Bigfoot. They weren't the tracks of somethin' native 'round here, and I only caught but the barest glimpse of it, but it was tall, Jim; taller'n you or I."

That sounded right; the prints he'd found and unsuccessfully tracked were, as the hunter said, 'huge 'n mighty' and matched the description of what he'd just been told. It didn't take an expert's opinion (though he had consulted one) to discern that the markings just weren't natural. Hopper set his mug of coffee aside and pulled out a notepad from one of his desk drawers. He uncapped a pen and held it to the page for a moment before writing down a few preliminary notes for himself on the top line.

The hunter cocked his head and leaned forward to look at what he was writing and said, "That don't look official."

"Because it's not; this one's just gonna be between us, alright?" Hopper said, looking up to meet Wesley's blue, watery eyes. He held the stare long enough to get his point across, waiting for a sign of affirmation before looking back to the notepad and pressing the tip of the pen to the paper. "Tell me where and when exactly you saw this 'Bigfoot' of yours."

The day was cold and grey at its start, with harsh, biting winds ushering in thick clouds that blocked out any hope of the sun ever making an appearance. Steve eyed the sky apprehensively as he made his way back to his car, wary of the way the clouds looked as though they might start dropping hail on him at a moment's notice. Billy feigned disinterest as Steve opened the rear passenger door and leaned in to shove the box of things he'd bought at the Hunting & Camping store into the backseat. Even with his vision obscured in part by the sunglasses he'd elected to wear, he didn't miss the strong look of annoyance that graced Steve's features when he came around to the driver's seat and entered the car with a pout.

"That guy give you a hard time or something?" Billy asked as Steve buckled in and put the BMW into reverse, turning in his seat to hastily jerk the car out of the parking lot. "Why do you look like someone shit in your cereal?"

Steve clicked his tongue. "He just kept asking what a 'kid like me' needed with a bunch of chains and rope and shit. My god, he just would not let it go, like he thought I was trying to build my own sex dungeon or something. Fucking annoying."

"You mean that's not what we're doing?" Billy asked, grinning a bit at the way Steve's face pinched up in disgust. "What'd you say?"

"I told him the truth; said it was to tie up a werewolf. 'It's a full moon tonight, y'know? Gotta tie 'em down or they go all crazy on you', I said to him, and you know what he said to me then?" Steve asked, speeding out of the little downtown shopping area Hawkins played host to and sounding every bit as gossipy as Carol did when she caught wind of a scandal.

"How the fuck would I?" Billy drawled, turning away from the conversation to watch the scenery pass by disinterestedly.

"He said, 'Damn fool kids will never learn'," Steve said, ignoring him. "'Damn fool kids will never learn', like, what the hell does that mean?"

Billy shrugged. "Who knows? As long as he accepted daddy's plastic then what does it matter?"

Steve clicked his tongue again in annoyance and rolled his eyes. "Fuck you."

Feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on, Billy declined to retort. They rode on in silence, the chains in the box Steve had bought clinking together softly in the backseat before the radio was finally turned on to mask the sound.

Regardless of whether or not Steve actually believed something was going to happen to Billy that night, he couldn't deny that the whole day leading up to that evening just felt… off. From meeting up with Billy earlier that afternoon to go by the camping store, to grabbing lunch together before heading over to the Henderson's house, it all felt wrong.

It was something Steve had difficulty pinpointing the origins of, but as they began work on clearing out enough space in the cellar for Billy to do whatever it was he thought he was going to do, he soon came to realize that the feeling of wrongness seemed to stem from Billy himself.

Few words could better describe Billy than 'annoying' or 'smart-mouthed', but he'd been uncharacteristically tight-lipped all day. He'd become a remarkably dull version of himself, and Steve wasn't sure quite how to handle that.

Usually one to argue and bite back at everything Steve said, when he'd begun dishing out instructions on how best to clear out some floor space in the cellar, Billy hadn't talked back to him a single time; merely lit a cigarette and blinked at him slowly, silently acknowledging what had been asked of him before getting on with it.

It was unsettling. Steve could almost say that he hated how submissive Billy was because of how used he'd gotten to the back-talk and smart-ass remarks Billy usually had ready for him, and though, yes, there were times he had wished for this kind of attitude from him, the silence and absolute subordination coupled with all of the other behavioral changes Billy was exhibiting were enough to set Steve on edge.

Billy kept tonguing the gaps in his teeth where they'd fallen out over the course of the week, and he never seemed to realize he wasn't alone. Sometimes he'd jump at the sound of Steve's voice, or shake his head and crease his brow in confusion when he turned around to see Steve moving stuff somewhere behind him, but arguably the worst part of it all was that he stank.

He'd tried to mask it with an overabundance of cologne that had nearly suffocated Steve when they began working in closer quarters, but buried beneath that was a hint of something that smelled awfully rotten. If he had to, Steve could liken it to the stench of the monster they'd encountered in the woods, but he chose not to, instead chalking it up to a severe case of nervous b.o. or something. The implications that the scents could be related bothered him too deeply to believe, and even then he wasn't sure he really wanted to know what the source of the smell was.

The stench of decay emanating from Billy's person was worrisome enough on its own, but with so much to do in order to get ready before sunset, Steve had a hard time figuring out where to primarily apply his focus: there were simply too many things going on for him to worry about one thing more than another.

The giant hole in the wall that Dart made to tunnel out of the cellar was his immediate concern, but Dustin had done a good job of hiding it from his mother by placing a tall shelf in front of it, essentially blocking it off. That didn't mean it wasn't entirely inaccessible, but Steve wasn't sure what more he could do about it. In all honesty, he'd forgotten about it until he'd tried to move the shelf aside and then found himself peeking into the eerie tunnel. He'd knocked over several things in his haste to put the shelf back in place, but Billy hadn't seemed to notice it, and if he didn't, maybe he wouldn't think to use it if- or when- he lost himself to whatever supernatural effects he was experiencing.

"Big if, though," Steve muttered aloud to himself. Turning away from the shelf, he looked over to where Billy was inspecting some old power tools, turning a nail gun over in his hands before setting it back in the box he'd pulled it out of. "So, are we good or what? This baby-proofed enough for you?" Steve asked, startling Billy out of whatever ruminations he'd been lost to.

Billy looked at Steve blankly, face impassive and emotionless. He frowned, and then looked around himself as though he'd forgotten where he was. When he spoke, his voice was monotone and devoid of his usual arrogance as he said, "I don't know, Harrington; is it?"

"You tell me, man, this was your idea." Steve watched as Billy returned his focus on the box of tools he'd originally been rummaging through. Picking up a hammer, Billy balanced its weight in his hands before gripping the handle tightly. Steve distrusted the look in Billy's eye as he held it. "What are you, a child? Quit rifling through their shit, put it back," he said.

Billy didn't reply or even acknowledge that he'd heard him. Ignoring Steve's demand, he stepped up to the abandoned work bench to splay his left hand out over the wood and lifted the ballpeen up.

"What the fuck are you doing? Put it down," Steve said again, his voice rising slightly in pitch when he understood what Billy was doing. He started towards him in an effort to stop him, but halted when the hammer was brought crashing down.

It missed his hand, but the force of the impact splintered the wooden table's surface. Steve gaped as Billy turned around, a cocky little smile turning up his lips.

"Someone could get hurt real bad down here if they weren't careful, huh, Harrington?" he said, a fierceness that Steve hated to admit he'd missed charging his voice. "But we've been real careful cleaning this shithole out, haven't we, pally?"

"You sick piece of shit, give me that," Steve snapped, snatching the hammer away from Billy's pliant grip. "Fuck you, Hargrove; you could've just said you wanted to move this shit out of here."

"Had you pegged as being more of a visual learner," Billy sneered as Steve threw the hammer back into the box of tools. "Your concern was touching, though, really."

"You're the one who came asking me for help, fuckface. Begged me, almost, if I'm remembering right. 'Oh, Steve, help me, I'm so scared of fake movie monsters!'"

Steve hadn't meant to rise to the taunt, but Billy's insufferable attitude had him stooping to his level as he hoisted the hefty box of tools in his arms and lugged them over to the stairway. Billy laughed dryly at Steve's mocking tone.

"We both wish that fucking thing had been fake," he said as Steve placed the box on the ground at the foot of the stairs beside the box of supplies he'd bought earlier. They were both quiet for a moment, their attempt at a conversation dying as quickly as it had been brought on.

"Only one thing left to do then," Steve said morosely.

Billy blinked and turned to face the stairway, eyes rising slowly up to where the cellar doors were propped open wide. Steve felt the guilt of having to lock him in prematurely and had to remind himself that he wanted to be locked in.

"Better hop to it then, Harrington," Billy said lowly, lips curling back into a familiar grin, but without all his teeth in place to flesh it out, Steve found the display to be more unsettling than annoying. "Let's get this sex dungeon set up."

Steve grimaced. "Not even in your wildest dreams, Hargrove."

"Nothing's off the table in my dreams, pretty boy." Billy breathed out a small laugh at the disgusted look on Steve's face, but the grin he'd been displaying slowly fell away. "Is it getting dark yet?"

"Uh, kind of, but the sun hasn't set yet," Steve replied, stepping up into the stairwell to check the status of the sky. It was as dull and grey as it had been all day, the overcast weather acting as a harbinger for the snowfall the local meteorologist had foretold was coming. "If you took off those fucking sunglasses you'd be able to tell."

"These are for your benefit as much as mine," Billy snapped, frowning suddenly.

"Yeah, okay, whatever that means," Steve said dismissively as he began to fish out the cords of rope from the box, letting them spool out onto the ground before gathering them into his hands. "How do you uh, how do you want to do this?"

"Aw, is this kitten's first time tying someone up?" Billy purred, not moving from where he stood in the middle of the cellar, directly under the light. "Who knew 'King' Steve's favourite flavor was vanilla."

Steve rolled his eyes as he brought the ropes over, wrinkling his nose at the mixed smell of rot and cologne that got stronger with proximity. "I've dated girls kinkier than you'd know what to do with," he retorted as he gestured for Billy to hold out his hands.

"Oh please," Billy said with a snort, "there are no kinky girls in Hawkins or I would've found them by now."

"You're obviously not looking hard enough," Steve muttered in response, gesturing again for Billy to hold out his hands.

Shrugging out of his leather jacket and tossing it over the work table he'd splintered, Billy held his hands up obediently and watched stoically as Steve wound the rope around his wrists, binding his hands together roughly.

"What's should our safe word be?" Billy teased, smirking as Steve wound another, longer length of rope over the original knot.

"There is no safe word because this isn't a sex thing!" Steve insisted angrily.

Flustered, he sighed irritably as he wound the long part of the rope around Billy's waist, hating how close he had to get in order to make sure the rope was tight enough, though Billy seemed to be enjoying how close he'd gotten. He kept shifting his weight around, trying, it seemed, to get Steve into a more compromising position. Annoyed, but determined to finish, Steve did his best to ignore Billy's constant movement and the disgusting, rotten musk that was wafting off of his person to finish tying him up.

"Why do you fucking stink so goddamn badly?" Steve finally asked with a scowl, repressing the urge to gag as he tied the ropes off into a clumsy knot. He stumbled away from Billy, reaching up to pinch his nostrils shut so he wouldn't have to smell the rot anymore, but the rancid scent seemed to have lodged itself deep into his nose. "You smell like a dead Calvin Klein model or something, holy shit, did you use a whole fucking bottle?"

The amusement Billy had held while taunting Steve left his face. His smirk shrunk into an awkward grimace as he looked away in embarrassment.

"I don't know, alright?" he admitted bitterly. "It doesn't matter how much I bathe, and between that and my eyes I have no idea what the fuck's going on with me."

"What about your eyes?" Steve asked hesitantly, unsure if he really wanted to know the reasoning behind why Billy had insisted on wearing sunglasses all day.

Billy faltered for a moment, hesitating briefly before reaching up and plucking the sunglasses off his face. With both hands bound together, he awkwardly folded the legs against the lenses and tucked them into the collar of his button up. He turned his gaze to Steve, who couldn't help but suck in a slight breath of surprise.

His eyes were so bloodshot they looked ready to start bleeding straight out of the sockets. There were hardly any whites left in the sclera to be seen as Billy winked at him, looking immensely uncomfortable at the way Steve was gaping openly at him.

"Do they- hurt? Or whatever?" Steve asked, unconsciously taking a few steps forward to get a better look. In the dim lighting of the basement, even the blues of Billy's eyes looked reddish.

"What's it to you if they do?" Billy snapped, suddenly irritable. He squared his jaw and looked away, unable to face the amount of concern Steve was showing him.

The worry Steve felt for the both of them in that moment grew stronger as he backed off, letting the matter of the changes in Billy's physicality drop, despite how alarming they were. "If I don't hear anything an hour after the sun goes down, I'll let you out," Steve said abruptly as he walked backwards towards the stairwell, grasping for the hand rail behind him blindly, unsure why he was so reluctant now to let Billy out of his sight. It was what they'd agreed upon earlier, and he said it meaning for it to sound reassuring, but the way Billy's lips twitched made it apparent he didn't interpret it that way.

Billy didn't respond.

"Well, uh, I guess that's it then," Steve said as he bent down, placing his box of chains atop the box of tools Billy had been messing around with before lifting them up together to carry them up and out of their man-made dungeon.

The cellar doors shrieked loudly as they were closed, a high pitched agony that erupted when the metal grinded against itself uncooperatively. Steve didn't mind that so much as he hated the sound the chains made as he wove them through the door handles, reminding him of what he was doing and who he was imprisoning as the steel rattled sharply against the doors. He winced at the commotion, but continued to loop them through the small door handles until no more could be fit between them. He tested their sturdiness by attempting to pull them open, and to his pleasure, they remained shut. The doors were secured; the cellar, as far as he was concerned, was now a suitable prison. All that was left of him now was to play the role of the jailor appropriately.

He stared down at his handiwork for a moment before the cold, blowing winds prompted him to seek shelter. Already a few snowflakes were fluttering out of the sky, flying into his cheeks as he turned away, re-gathering the box of tools in his arms and headed for the door Dustin promised he'd leave a key for.

Searching under the backdoor mat, Steve found the promised key, and true to the rest of Dustin's word, the entire home was empty, save for the cat that chirped a greeting for him from atop the kitchen counter. With a deep intake of breath Steve glanced at his watch, stepped inside, and shut the door behind him, wondering if he really was prepared for the worst. In the trunk of his car his bat waited for him, ready to be put to use just in case shit really did hit the fan, but he found himself questioning if he'd really be able to use it; bludgeoning monsters to death was one thing, but turning it on a boy he knew was only a monster figuratively was something else entirely.

For both his and Billy's sakes, he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Shrugging out of his thick coat, Steve set it down beside him as he took a seat on the Henderson's couch. He glanced at his watch again, dismayed by the fact that time wasn't progressing as fast as he wished it was and sat in anxious worry about what the rest of the night might have in store.

But at least he was comfortable and warm.

The cellar was not.

It wasn't the cold that Billy minded, so much as it was the anticipation: when would the transformation start? Exactly at sundown? A little before? A little after? Would he actually end up transforming? And why the fuck did the word 'transform' make him so damn uncomfortable? The unknown factors surrounding his circumstances were almost worse than any of the physical symptoms he'd been experiencing as of late, and he'd been experiencing a lot.

Anxiety wasn't something Billy had a lot of experience with, but it was the only thing he could think of that explained why his heart had been beating oddly all day. It was running at a notably higher rate, as though he'd been playing basketball or working out extraneously, and brought on palpitations he wasn't used to dealing with at the elevated speed.

In short he felt terrible. His whole body ached like it was going through puberty again. Both his arms and legs were sore in ways that mimicked the aches that came with growing pains when he'd had them, but he couldn't understand why he would begin to hurt in that way again. He hadn't had the energy to work out in two days despite eating practically anything he could get his hands on, so the soreness in his limbs was unwarranted. Either his body was preparing itself for the coming night, or he was having an incredibly drawn-out heart attack.

Standing at the foot of the stairwell, Billy felt the cold permeating in through the closed opening and moved away to find a better spot to wait. He wanted rub his arms to bring some warmth into them, but couldn't with the way they were bound. Already the ropes were beginning to dig into his wrists, rubbing uncomfortably against his skin as he realized he wasn't actually that cold anyway, despite the frigid weather; his body temperature had been on a steady incline leading up to now, leaving him with a rosy complexion and a near constant fever, the long-term effects of which left him feeling severely disoriented.

He could barely remember meeting up at Steve's house only a few hours ago to carpool to his kid friend's house, riding with the windows down in spite of the severe wind-chill as they went into town to get lunch and buy rope. Even though they'd ridden together, he couldn't remember now if they'd actually talked about anything or not. All he could remember were the low tones of the radio and the resonating throbs of the wind as it swooped in through the open windows, rushing to fill the audial space between them. It was as though his mind had been steeped in a fog, and he couldn't accurately think through it: everything was clouded over, incomprehensible, like waking up the morning after a bender and being unable to remember everything he'd done the night before, but knowing all the same that he'd taken part in some memorable shit.

Would there be pain, he wondered, and would it come on as suddenly as it had to the character in the movie he'd made Steve watch? Even though 'American Werewolf' was just a movie, stories like that had to spawn from some sort of truth, didn't they?

The dim little lightbulb that hung overhead flickered briefly, drawing Billy's attention to it as he took a seat at the work table's bench, wishing his eyes weren't a dry and sore as they were.

Coming from above, he could hear the muffled sounds of a TV show permeating through the cellar's ceiling. He couldn't help but think ill of Steve in that moment, but if their situations had been reversed, he probably would have been doing the same thing; he couldn't fault Harrington for finding a way to pass the time, though he wished he had something similar to do for himself. There was nothing interesting to hold his attention, and time passed at a dreadfully slow rate.

Stretching out on the bench, he laid himself down slowly, mindful of which parts of his back hurt the most, and gazed up at the cement overhead disinterestedly. He listened to the muffled sounds of the distant television, trying to conjure an image in his mind that corresponded with what little dialogue he could hear, but the rapid beating of his heart overpowered the noises coming from the TV. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing in an attempt to lower his heart rate, but it just kept going, pounding in a determined rhythm that seemed to be quickening with each passing minute. A bead of sweat trickled down from his scalp and over his ear as he wondered if the tingling he felt in the tips of his fingers was because of the cold or from the ropes being tied too tight.

He flexed his fingers, opening and closing his hands into a fist to try and bring sensation back into his fingertips, but to no avail. They remained numb, and the cause of which eluded him.

Frowning, Billy stiffly sat up and began to pinch at his skin, belatedly realizing that the numbness was spreading slowly down the lengths of his fingers, a sensation that sent a chill running down the length of his spine.

"Oh," he said. "Oh shit."

The pain, when he finally did begin to feel it, started in his feet. There were still thirty minutes before the sun went down.

Billy licked his lips nervously as he tried to get his boots off, his numb fingers and bound hands fumbling uselessly with the laces as the pain centralized in his toes and grew in sudden intensity. He was no stranger to pain, but this was unlike anything he'd ever felt before: it was sharp and stabbing, with each throb of pain stemming from the bones in his toes, as though they were growing more pointed in an attempt to pierce their way through his skin as they elongated. He could feel them cracking; each joint slowly popping free of itself as the bones began to push themselves forward.

"Oh, shit," he repeated, and could hear the muffled sounds of a laugh track from whatever sitcom Steve had turned on upstairs roaring in delight as he struggled to finally pull his boots off.

The stabbing sensation didn't relent, even once his shoes lay discarded by his feet. He peeled away his socks with shaking hands and stared down at his toes.

They'd turned a bright, beet red and were bulging like they might burst apart, his skin bubbling up around toenails that were already starting to peel off. He couldn't help the whimper as he tentatively felt them, a pain like touching a freshly popped, skinless blister causing him to draw his fingers back.

It was real. It was happening.

Sweating freely now, he reached away from his feet to brush his dampened hair away from his forehead as sweat rolled down the sides of his face. He paused when he felt his hair pull free from his scalp, clinging to the back of his hand stubbornly. Billy stared at the loose, curly strands with a horrified expression and reached up with a shaking hand to grab more. When he pulled, a handful of his hair came away easily, eliciting another whimper from deep within his throat. Disgusted and frightened, he threw his hair away to the floor.

Breathing quickly, he hastily rubbed his hands free of the loose strands in a panic and tried to calm himself. His whole body trembled as he breathed in deeply through his nose, wondering if he should try to call out to Steve to alert him that the worst case scenario was indeed unfolding. Another laugh track from upstairs came through the ceiling as he felt a sharp, sudden stab of pain in his ribs, prompting him to gasp loudly and curl forward over himself. He could actually feel some part of his ribcage shifting inside his torso as he tucked his arms in to his sides. Any lingering thoughts of trying to remain calm left him as he transitioned from panic to full on fear.

He stood up not knowing what he was going to do, but regretted it instantly: as soon as he put weight on his foot, his ankle collapsed in on itself and brought him to the floor. A shout almost came out with his fall, but he managed to internalize the pain as he was used to doing and grit his teeth as his foot essentially broke itself in half.

The central part of his foot that arched snapped without warning. Billy swore loudly and reached for his foot instinctively, wanting to hold the break in place, but he couldn't bear the agony that came with the contact. Warm tears leaked from his eyes, and when his other lateral arch also split in half, he couldn't help but cry out.

From up above, the noises coming from the television ceased. Steve must have heard him and was listening for him now, trying to gauge whether or not he should intervene. Billy clenched his jaw tighter, determined to keep quiet, but gasped loudly when two of his molars gave out under the pressure, snapping to the side and coming loose of his gumline. The copper taste of blood filled his mouth as he spat the teeth out, shuddering uncontrollably when he felt the vertebrae in his spine begin to pop, one by one, pushing up against his skin that was quickly beginning to feel too tight.

Huffing in great breaths of air, he panted heavily as the bones of his tones finally pierced through his skin, causing most of the flesh surrounding them to burst open like little balloons. Blood splattered across the floor in gruesome, miniature arcs and Billy finally, finally became undone. He shrieked, unable to keep silent any longer as new appendages could be seen inside the flayed bits of bloody skin, slowly growing outward, already a part of him.

Warm tears of pain streaked down his face in thick lines as the skin of his feet continued to be ripped apart, making way for more muscle, new flesh. He wiped at his eyes helplessly and thought he could hear Steve's voice distantly calling out his name, asking if everything was alright.

He blinked, his vision blurred by the tears that would not clear away as he pulled himself over to the stairway.

Shaking wildly all over, Billy stretched out on the floor, realizing belatedly that the waistband of his jeans was growing tighter and tighter. Hissing sharply, he cursed himself for not having the foresight to undress himself as he hastily tried to undo his belt. A pain similar to the initial agony he'd felt in his toes was beginning to manifest itself in his fingers as both of his hands slowly began to turn red, swelling up under the bonds of the rope as he fumbled with the buckle, desperately trying to get it to come free.

"Fuck!" he shouted in frustration, his clothing growing ever tighter as his body continued to bloat. He felt like he was being pinched in half with his belt acting as an unneeded tourniquet. "Fuck! Fuck!"

"Hey! Talk to me Hargrove, what's going on?"

Steve's worried voice trilled down through the cellar doors as he continued vocalizing his frustrations. Billy felt an organ in his abdomen shift out of place before popping, prompting him to groan and curl in on himself before he threw up. His couldn't undo his belt as his vision began to darken.

"Hargrove!" Steve shouted, banging a fist against the steel door. "What the hell's going on? Talk to me!"

"Fuck you!" Billy screamed, unable to articulate anything else as he tried to rub the blackness out of his eyes, but the more he pressed his fingers to them, they more they began to hurt.

A pressure was building up behind them the more he rubbed, and as it increased, his vision grew ever darker. He kept blinking, over and over, feeling his eyes bulge out of their sockets and against his eyelids, trying now to keep his eyeballs in place. He was hyperventilating when he finally went blind, the pressure behind his eyes becoming intolerable eyes before it finally came too much, and his eyes popped free.

He felt them slide out onto over his checks and onto the floor, the slimy, blood-slick nerves leaving tracks of blood on his face as he became totally and completely blind.

"No," he whispered to himself, retching again on the floor as he scrambled across the cement, trying to find the stairs, unable to see. "No, no! This isn't real!"

Beyond the cellar doors, Steve had his ear pressed against the slight crack between the panels, desperately trying to understand what was going on. He wasn't sure what to make of the noises he was hearing, unable to determine if Billy was just trying to mess with him or if he was in actual distress.

"Hargrove," he said impatiently, turning his head to try and peak in through the crack to get a glimpse of what was going on, "you gotta start talking to me, man; what the hell's going on down there?"

"I'm fucking blind," he heard Billy shout, his voice rife with fear. "I can't see anything!"

His voice was shaking as he spoke, and Steve knew then that whatever was happening was legitimate; Billy wasn't one to openly show weakness.

"Okay, stay calm," Steve stammered, but he wasn't sure if that was actually sound advice or not. "It's- it's going to be okay, okay?"

Billy howled, and Steve understood that the pain that carried with his voice must have been terrible to get him to shriek like that. He licked his lips anxiously, not knowing what support he could possibly offer him. He continuously opened and shut his mouth, words of encouragement dying on his tongue before he could manage to speak them.

And then, all at once, the cacophony of agony ceased.

Steve couldn't hear anything over the rapid sound of his breathing for a moment before he finally spoke: "Hargrove? Is… are you okay?"

"Hurts." Billy's voice, quiet, strained, and barely audible over the sounds of things (flesh, fabric) slowly tearing, sounded disconcertingly like he was speaking with a throat full of water. It was gargling and grotesque; completely unlike the smooth, honeyed voice he'd become known for.

"Okay, what, uh, what… what hurts?" Steve whispered in response, fear quieting his previously urgent tone.

"Everything."

"Shit," Steve said to himself, backing away from the cellar door panels as the sounds of something large and heavy being knocked over made him jump. "Just, uh, stay calm," he said, though he wasn't sure if he was saying it to himself or Billy. From down below, he heard Billy groan loudly before going silent again.

Steve's heart was pounding as he hesitated, unsure of what to do. All the details of Billy's haphazardly concocted plan fled his mind as he tried to think back on what they'd agreed to do if something ended up happening, and his first instinct was to open the doors to go down and check on him. He looked at the chains wrapped tightly around the door handles and bit his lip before crouching down and pressing his eye to the crack.

The overhead light wasn't bright enough to reveal much, but at the base of the stairwell there was a small circle of illumination. Steve squinted, ignoring the cold of the steel as he pressed his face against the door, trying to see all that he could.

Blood stains. Torn bits of… something he couldn't quite make out. Dark masses on the stairwell; lots of evidence that pointed towards Billy transforming, but no trace of Billy himself.

"Hargrove," Steve whispered, and then shook his head to clear himself of his cowardice. "Hargrove," he said again, louder and with more emphasis, "dude, you have to talk me through what's happening down there."

He waited, unconsciously holding his breath as he waited for a reply. It was steadily growing darker as the sun slowly sank, making it all the harder to see into the cellar from the tiny slit. Frowning and unable to see anything, Steve turned his head and pressed his ear against the door. From somewhere in the depths of the cellar he could hear something breathing heavily. It was moving, too; he could hear something shuffling, moving around the floor space cautiously.

When he turned his head again to see through the crack, he caught a glimpse of... something large and hulking cross under the light, tall enough to set the lightbulb swinging. He couldn't help but suck in a sharp breath of air, his lungs and throat burning with the sting of the cold weather. The thing- whatever Billy had become- halted just outside the rim of light. Entranced, Steve found he couldn't move as it emitted a low, threatening growl that sounded more like a man impersonating a dog than an actual beast.

From his limited viewpoint, he couldn't see the way the muscles in its legs were tightening, or how it had begun to crouch; he didn't have time to react as it sprang forward, jumping up the stairs in a single leap to ram itself against the doors.

The chains held the doors shut, but the sudden impact smashed the metal against Steve's nose and soon all he could smell was blood as it drained out of his nostrils. He fell backwards, holding his nose as the Billy-creature growled again. Horrified, Steve could only sit in the snow and watch as the doors lurched forward when Billy rammed against them again, trying to escape. The second impact loosened the restraints, and all Steve could do in that moment was watch as they rattled uselessly in place, beginning to slip through the handles as they hadn't been properly locked into place.

Cursing to himself, staggered to his feet and rushed to grab the chains, but as Billy threw his body against the doors again it soon became obvious that even if the doors stayed shut, they were about to pop free of their hinges entirely. Blood dripped down over his lips and onto the metal panels as he tried to think of what he could possibly do to counteract the damage Billy had done. In an act of desperation, he threw himself against the steel and hoped that his added bodyweight would be enough to keep them in place.

If it managed to do anything, he couldn't tell. Almost immediately Billy was throwing himself against the doors again, nearly bucking Steve off.

"Stop!" Steve cried out, grasping for the chains to hold them in place. His fingers scrabbled against the cold steel links even as Billy let out another deep, throaty growl. With the doors as loose as they were, Steve was almost certain the doors wouldn't survive another body-slam. "Give it up, Hargrove!" Steve said again, desperately. "Just- fuck, Billy, stop!"

He braced himself for another impact, but it never came. Eyes closed in anticipation, Steve blinked them open and exhaled shakily, his fingers trembling as he let the chains go. Crystalized air puffed out in front of his face over and over as he rolled off the doors and stood up unsteadily, trying to wipe away the blood that had already frozen over and turned to crust on his upper lip. Somehow, miraculously, his pleading had worked, but before he could take comfort in that fact, other disturbing sounds began to creep back up to him from down below.

Things were being tossed around; the metallic clang of old paint cans being bounced off the floors and walls mixed with the hoarse, angry vocalizations of the creature Billy had become made his blood run colder than the air currently was. The noises Billy was making were at once both animalistic and human, deep and throaty and more akin to the bellows of a moose than a man or wolf.

Steve stood in front of the cellar doors not knowing what to do. Already their plan was falling apart, and he was quickly becoming aware of how vastly unprepared he was to handle the situation. He wanted the security of the bat in his trunk, but didn't trust himself to leave the doors unattended for the length of time it would take him to run back inside and grab his keys to get it, but he felt so weak without it.

Another loud, crashing noise came from within and Steve stilled, listening intently. Faintly, he could hear Billy snuffling about, and after the sun finally completely descended, all was quiet. His nose was throbbing as he stood attentively, but when nothing more could be heard, his stomach sank.

With trembling hands and his mind screaming at him to stop, he knelt by the doors and slowly unwound the chains from the handles. The fact that he couldn't hear anything coming from within didn't sit well with him; he had to make sure Billy was still down there.

He tried to shift the chains as quietly as possible, but with how nervous he was, he had a hard time keeping his hands steady. They rattled noisily against the door, grating on his already frazzled nerves as they slid free. Heart pounding madly, Steve carefully pulled the doors open and took the first step down into the cellar.

It was silent. He couldn't hear anything as he hesitantly took a second step, mentally berating himself over and over for being stupid enough to walk defenseless into the lion's mouth. He had no idea what Billy was capable of now, or if he'd even recognize him enough to (hopefully) have enough sense to not harm him. The lightbulb that dangled freely from the ceiling was swaying, throwing its light around erratically, showing him glimpses of the gore that lined the steps.

Eyes wide, Steve gagged at the sight of the flayed strips of bloodied skin that were splattered near everywhere. He had to avert his eyes as he took another step, making slow progress as he was careful not to step in any of the mess. At the bottom of the stairs he warily peered around the walls, hoping he'd only stuck his head into the lion's mouth figuratively. To his immediate relief, but long-term dismay, there was no trace of Billy to be seen in the space of the cellar.

Exhaling deeply, Steve tried to even out his breathing as he came to stand in the middle of the room, looking around to assess the damage. As the swinging lightbulb steadied, he turned towards where the shelf that was hiding the tunnel had been and found it on the ground, knocked to its side and several feet away from where it had originally been positioned. His shoulders drooped at the realization of Billy's escape.

He went and stood before the opening of the tunnel and felt all hope of remedying the situation vanish. A numbness overtook him as he recognized his responsibilities of keeping Billy captive had changed; he was the only one who knew about Billy's circumstances, and he was the only one who could do anything about it now. Distantly, and much further away then he would've liked, he could hear the muted, labored sounds of Billy's breathing as he escaped confinement through the underground system.

The burden of his responsibilities threatened to overwhelm him in that instant, but instead of letting himself be overtaken by despair, Steve took a deep, steadying breath and rolled his shoulders back. He hesitated for only a minute before he took charge and ran in after him, disregarding his urgent need to turn back and get his bat out of the car. There was no time, he thought; no time to get a weapon, no time to get a flashlight. If Billy was now as the werewolf in the woods was, then he was capable of speeds greater than Steve could muster, and every second mattered. If he lost his trail now, then it would be lost to him entirely. There was no time; he had to go now or he wouldn't go at all.

Alone and unarmed Steve ran, chasing after Billy into the dark, cold tunnel, hoping he would be able to catch him in time, and dreading the repercussions that would come if he couldn't.

#harringrove #harringrove fic #billy hargrove/steve harrington #billy/steve #steve harrington #billy hargrove #werewolf!billy #slow burn #long fic #stranger things #stranger things fic

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