#and he has to stand there in horror as it slowly dawns on him that there's nothing he can say to defend himself

[storm-driver]

kh4 fanfic scenario where roxas somehow manages to meet up with subject x and she calls him ventus over and over, but every time roxas tries to correct her, she sinks a little further into denial, insisting he must remember his past and the sacrifice he made for them.

and roxas, not really knowing who ventus is besides having a close tie to sora, has to start putting pieces together himself since the wayfinder family is in the realm of darkness

[incognit0slut]

DARK DESIRES

Last part of kinktober | main masterlist

ghostface!spencer x fem!reader; dubcon, knife play, sensory deprivation, dacryphilia, forced orgasm, rough sex

A twisted encounter with the masked killer roaming in your neighborhood had you questioning your morals because as it turned out, you were more attracted to him than you let on.

words: 6335

a/n: this fic might not be everyone's cup of tea. IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU, DO NOT ENGAGE. Anyway, thank you for the amount of love everyone has sent me through this short series. I appreciate it❤️

THE FIRST ENCOUNTER you had with the masked killer was at home. You were in your living room, absentmindedly flipping through the channels on the television until the news captured your attention. You watched with a mix of fascination and horror as the unfolding report detailed a series of gruesome murders, each committed by a mysterious figure concealed behind a chilling mask.

"The armed suspect remains at large as law enforcement intensifies efforts for apprehension," the newscaster's voice declared. "Victims have sustained multiple stab wounds, with survivors recounting a chilling detail of a mysterious call from an unknown number before each attack. Citizens are urgently requested to report any suspicious phone activity."

As you sat there engrossed, a sense of dread began to coil around you. The details of the gruesome murders had been haunting enough, but a chilling realization gripped you as the camera panned across the crime scenes. Your eyes widened as the news footage revealed a recognizable building. That was the local library a few blocks away from your house.

A shiver went down your spine, and a cold unease settled in the pit of your stomach, as you realized that one of the victims was the young teenage boy who volunteered at the town's library every weekend. It then dawned on you with chilling clarity—a serial killer was lurking in your neighborhood.

The second time you saw the masked killer, his face was plastered around town. Ghostface. That was what they called him. The once-anonymous menace had transformed into a chilling icon that echoed through hushed conversations and whispered warnings. His mask, a pale and expressionless countenance with hollow eyes, exuded an unsettling aura of anonymity. It was what you saw in every corner; materializing on posters, shop windows, and even billboards.

Beware of Ghostface!

It was ironic. For someone who was murdering people with his bare hands, your community was giving him too much attention. It wasn't until you saw a group of well-dressed people, who clearly weren't from around here, that you realized how serious this situation was.

When the FBI arrived, you knew it was no longer a local matter, but a national concern. There was reassurance in their presence, in the sense that the full force of specialized agents was now focused on apprehending the killer that haunted the streets. But despite their formidable presence, against all expectations, the masked killer continued to pursue more victims.

You couldn't help but wonder every time someone you knew was reported dead—were these people even doing their job right? What were they doing here when they couldn't arrest one person when they came in a full pack?

You never really noticed these agents, although you did sometimes see them lurking around shops and houses to ask questions. You didn't really give them much attention, until that one night when you walked back from work and saw a figure leaning casually against a sleek, black SUV adorned with government markings.

He was standing alone, arms crossed and eyes focused on you as you slowly stepped closer because the only way to your house was to pass this street. He was clad in the quintessential FBI vest over his dress shirt and tie, his sleeves rolled up along his forearms. His height commanded attention, casting a subtle shadow that seemed to stretch into the surrounding darkness.

A cascade of curly, unruly locks framed his face, falling in a chaotic dance that obscured much of his features. But even in the dark, you could tell he was handsome, and the messiness of his hair added a touch of his disheveled charm. Yet, it was his eyes that held you captive. Stark and penetrating. Instead of finding comfort in the presence of an authority, you felt an unsettling chill crawl down your spine as his stare lingered on you.

"You shouldn't walk alone at night with a killer on the loose," he stated abruptly, his voice cutting through the silence.

Caught off guard, you stammered in response, "I, uh, my house is right around the corner."

His eyes, still fixed on you, held an inscrutable intensity. You shuddered. Without thinking much, and fueled by a sudden surge of unease, you briskly left his side.

People say the third time's a charm, that the idea after two unsuccessful attempts or failures, the third attempt is more likely to be successful or fortunate. However, in your case, you didn't know what to make of it when you encountered the masked killer for the third time.

It started with a call.

At first, you didn't bother the unknown number flashing on your phone, especially when a killer was roaming around town with its known trademark of calling his victims before his attack. So you ignored it and continued to prepare your dinner. But then it rang again. Once. Twice. Three times. The fourth time it constantly rang, you realized, that whoever was on the other line wasn't going to stop until you answered.

"Hello?" you nervously greeted.

"Hello there. Took you long enough," the voice on the other line replied. It was soft, distinctly masculine, quite disoriented, yet it carried a mysterious familiarity that you couldn't put your finger on.

"Who is this?" you pressed.

"A person."

You scoffed, a mixture of frustration and disbelief coloring your response. "Charming." With an eye roll, you dismissed the call, attributing it to nothing more than a prank. "Goodbye."

"Wait—no! Don't hang up!" The urgency in the voice pleaded, catching your attention before you could close the connection.

Frowning, you hesitated, the nagging sense that you had heard this voice somewhere before lingering in your mind. "No, really, who is this?"

The voice, now veiled in a playful tone, responded with, "A secret admirer." 

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched across your face. "I doubt it," you said, leaning over the kitchen counter. "No one has ever had a crush on me."

"Well, I do."

"Tell me who you are then," you challenged.

"But it won't be a secret anymore."

You paused for a moment, the wheels of curiosity turning in your mind. "You really know me?" 

"Of course, I do."

"Do I know you then?" you asked.

"Maybe," he answered, a playful ambiguity threading his response. "So, you got a boyfriend?"

"Why?" You laughed, the unexpected question breaking the tension. "You wanna ask me out on a date?" 

"Maybe," he responded again, maintaining a hint of mystery. "So do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"That's a pity," he sighed, his tone taking on a flirtatious note. "You look too good in that shirt without a man appreciating it."

Your heart quickened at his words. Was he... you looked around your house, your eyes traveling across the many windows adorned in your personal space. A mixture of shock and discomfort settled in as you considered the possibility of being observed.

"W- What did you say?" 

"You look too good in that white shirt," he repeated. "Doesn't leave much to the imagination." 

You looked down at yourself. The shirt he mentioned was actually a tanktop you decided to wear for bed, but you weren't wearing anything else under it, so true to his words, this piece of clothing didn't leave much to the imagination. The hemline hung low on your chest, leaving a perfect view of your cleavage. The cold temperature of the room managed to make your body react, which was why your nipples were pressing hard against the material.

"Hello? Are you still here?" Sensing your silence, the voice on the other line held a sudden edge of urgency. "Wait—don't you hang up on me—"

You quickly ended the call. Feeling a sudden need for privacy, you hastily closed the curtains, shutting out the view from the windows as you clutched your phone in your hand. Your heart raced, and a wave of dread engulfed you. The unsettling possibility that someone might be targeting you, and not just anyone, but the masked killer, cast a chilling shadow over your thoughts.

The phone rang again. You hesitated, a part of you urging against answering, but somehow, almost involuntarily, you found yourself pressing the phone against your ear. The adrenaline of fear seemed to override your rational instincts, forcing you to engage with the source of the unease, even against your better judgment. 

"I told you not to hang up on me," the man greeted you, but his voice lacked the soft, friendly tone it had before. Instead, it had morphed into something more sinister, a deep resonance that reverberated through the air.

"Wh-who is this?" you asked, your voice quivering with a blend of fear and frustration. "What do you want?"

"To volunteer. Let me appreciate how good you look tonight."

You were desperate now. The urgency in his voice propelled you into action. Your feet guided you to the front door, and you locked it securely before quickly running up the stairs. Panic seized you as you checked and secured all the windows, the sense of vulnerability amplifying with each lock turned.

A sudden sound of laughter filled your ear. 

"What you're doing is useless," he taunted, the malicious glee in his voice sending shivers down your spine. Then, with a sinister tone that cut through the air, his next words had you stopping in your tracks.

"I'm already inside."

The air in the house thickened with dread as his words hung ominously. Panic set in, and the once-familiar surroundings now felt like a trap closing in around you. Every creak of the house, every flicker of shadow, became a sign of impending danger.

He was the one to end the call, and you looked down at your front door from the top of your stairs. You calculated how long it would take you to escape your own house as you slowly descended down. But then, the closet door by the front, the small room where you kept your coats and unused items, suddenly opened.

The creak of the door echoed through the silence, and your eyes fixated on the widening gap. Your escape route seemed to diminish and fear paralyzed you. The once-familiar confines of your home now held an intruder, and as you stared at the ominous opening, a figure emerged from the shadows.

Your eyes widened, because right in the flesh was none other than Ghostface, stepping out of your closet with a knife in his hand. The chilling reality gripped you, and time seemed to slow as the masked intruder stood before your eyes. The pale, ghostly visage stared back at you, obscured by the haunting mask that concealed any trace of humanity.

You moved on instinct. You turned on your heels and ran back up the stairs, even when you were aware there was no escape unless you jumped out of your window. But it was a better plan than running right into the arms of a killer, so you picked up your pace, sprinting as fast as you could down the hallway.

But he was fast, unnaturally so, and suddenly you felt a vice-like grip around your waist. His hand urged you with brutal force before slamming your back against the wall. The impact reverberated through your body, and a gasp caught in your throat as the cold surface of the wall pressed against you.

His presence loomed, the masked figure inches from your face. The hollow eyes of Ghostface bore into yours through the chilling mask, and the glint of the knife in his hand reflected the cruel intent that hung in the air.

Panic engulfed you as his other gloved hand circled around your throat. "Pl-Please.." you chocked, struggling against the force he pressed on your neck. "...don't—don’t kill me."

The air felt constricted, and the desperate plea escaped your lips in a struggled gasp. The gloved hand tightened its grip, the leather cool against your skin, as Ghostface's masked visage remained impassive. 

"Kill you?" he asked, an eerie edge in his voice. "That's the last thing I want to do right now."

You desperately placed a hand on his wrist as you let your phone hit the ground.

"Don't move," he warned. But you kept on thrashing around, the primal instinct for survival overriding reason, and he tightened his grip on you. "If you keep struggling, I might have to gut you out like a damn fish."

That made you stop. Satisfied you were listening, he finally let go of your throat. The release brought a gasp of air, and you stumbled back, leaning against the wall. 

"I'm not here to kill you," Ghostface declared, the chilling mask betraying no emotion. "But I do have something else in mind." 

He responded by caressing your face and pinning you against the wall. The cold, gloved hand traced a chilling path across your skin, and you felt the sharp contrast between the mask and the vulnerability of your flesh. He tilted his head as he saw the fear in your eyes, tears welling at the corners.

"Aw, come on, don't look so scared," he murmured, a perverse tenderness in his voice that clashed with the situation. His sharp blade went to your throat, the cold steel sending a shiver down your spine. He forced you to stare into the hollowness of the mask.

"Let me have my fun."

You felt the blade on your skin as he dragged the weapon along your body. He smiled when he noticed you tensing, trying to avoid the sharpness of the blade from grazing your skin. Through tear-filled eyes, you looked up, struggling to catch your breath. Fear still consumed you, a chilling grip on your senses, but alongside it, an unexpected emotion stirred. Curiosity.

As you gazed at the masked killer looming over you, a strange sense of intrigue took place. It was a baffling response, the surreal proximity to the infamous Ghostface left you grappling with a mix of terror and fascination. The sheer scale of his presence seemed to stretch into the shadows, and you couldn't help but wonder—was he actually this tall?

A sudden movement caught your attention as he took a step. He moved underneath the black cloak he wore, and you felt a shiver run down your spine as he slipped a leg between yours. The confined space of the hallway seemed to shrink further as his presence pressed in on you.

And then there was silence. The air hung heavy with anticipation, and you sensed a deliberate slowness in his actions. It was as if he offered you a chance to resist, to push him away. But you didn't move. Instead, you held your breath, the rhythmic pulse of your heart echoing in the quiet.

"You've stopped struggling," he hummed to himself, trailing the knife over your shoulder. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

There wasn't time for you to reply as he hooked the blade under your top and ran it along the fabric, watching it snap under the sharp surface. The cool air hit your skin as you were suddenly exposed to him. Without warning, his other hand moved over your breasts, squeezing them roughly, earning a gasp from you. Your heart pounded with something akin to fear, or perhaps, it oddly felt like… excitement?

"Of course, you are," he muttered, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You could feel the cool touch of his gloved hand over your skin as he brushed his thumb over your sensitive bud. "Knew you were a fucking slut."

What was happening? It was wrong, morally twisted, yet you found a strange sense of anticipation as he continued to touch you. Your body was shaking, not just from fear, but from something else. While your rational side recoiled at what was happening, your body seemed to betray a darker truth.

You hated yourself. You loathed how easily you were giving in. You kept on reciting how wrong this was in your head, but when you felt the blade cut through the fabric of your shorts with ease, you didn't mind as much. Then your breath hitched when he quickly ripped your panties with his knife, and somehow you were now naked with his leg placed between your thighs.

"Would you look at that?" He taunted, his leathered hand moving over your curves. "You're dripping."

You let out a small, shaky sigh as he dragged his fingers up your thigh, stopping just before his fingers brushed over your heat. The touch was so faint it shouldn't have even had that much of an effect on you, but it did. It fucking did.

This was so unlike you, you weren't the kind of person to let someone you barely knew touch you. You even disliked the idea of a one-night stand. Yet here you were, legs wide open as you let a murderer touch you, and the messed up thing was, you wanted more.

He began carefully moving his middle and forefinger in a gentle circular motion, rubbing your clit teasingly as if to test your reaction. You bit your bottom lip, stopping yourself from moaning aloud, your eyes fluttering closed as he played with your clit skillfully.

He was far too good at this, you found yourself thinking. Your body jerked as he increased his pace and you knew he had a goal in mind—to make you fall apart. The fast pace of his fingers had your brows furrowing as you chewed your bottom lip, desperate to keep quiet despite the way your hips bucked and rolled against his hand. He let out a chilling laughter.

"Stop acting like you don't want this," he said, increasing his pressure on your clit. Your eyes screwed shut, and you focused on that touch alone, the leather sliding over your wet skin. "Let me hear your pathetic voice."

You shook your head furiously.

"No?" He mocked. "You wanna bet how fast I can make you scream?"

His fingers moved from your clit, dragging down your slit and collecting your juices, briefly stroking you, earning a muffled cry out of you. Your chest began to heave, your hips unconsciously bucking against his hand as he worked over you casually. He laughed again.

"I'm going to make you scream so loud your neighbors will know how much of a slut you are."

And then he pressed the edge of the blade on your throat at the same time he plunged two fingers inside you. Your eyes rolled back as your mouth fell open and a loud squeal left your lips, the sound distorted by the vibrations surging through your body. He hummed in satisfaction at how fast it was to earn that moan from your lips, and surprisingly, he loved the sound you made.

It didn't take long for him to force more sounds out of your pretty mouth. You felt the coolness of the wall behind your back, the pads of your fingers brushing over the concrete in a pathetic attempt to get a hold of something, anything that could keep you steady while his fingers kept pumping in and out of your throbbing cunt with a wet, squelching sound.

Adrenaline surged through your veins, saturating every cell of your trembling body. The electrifying rush heightened your senses, amplifying the surreal nature of the pleasure. You wriggled your hips under the pressure of his body that was keeping you pinned against the wall, feeling so fucking embarrassed by the wetness dripping out of you.

"Fucking filthy, letting a murderer touch you." He then dragged his fingers out of you and started to rub your clit in tight, rapid circles. You practically cried out and quickly bit your lower lip to subside another embarrassing moan. "You know how many people I've killed with this hand? The same hand touching your sweet little pussy?"

Your thighs tightened around his hand, trying desperately to push him away. He responded by sinking three of his fingers inside you and groaned at the way you were clenching around him. "Look at you taking my fingers so well."

The leather slightly burned your skin, and somehow, it only heightened your pleasure. The heel of his palm pressed against your clit hard as he continued to curl his fingers. You gasped as your eyes fluttered open, looking up at him while his fingers pushed deeper into you, touching a spot you had never been aware of. The sensation brought an unusual feeling to your senses. You looked at him in confusion, your eyes widening.

"Pl- Please, stop," you begged out of fear of the unknown. The tickling in your abdomen was becoming almost unbearable, and you clasped your thighs together and involuntarily bent your knees a little in an attempt to make his fingers slip out of your wet cunt.

With a feral growl, he suddenly threw the knife on the floor before wrapping his hand around your throat, pinning your head against the wall.

"Take it," he hissed and tightened his grip, making you jolt forward. You helplessly part your legs and whimpered as his palm brushed over your clit with every thrust, his hard cock rubbing against your thigh as he held you in place. "Fucking take it."

The sensation was overwhelming to the point tears began to trickle down your face, and you tried to desperately blink them away as they hindered your vision.

"Oh, you're crying now?" He cooed, still rocking his fingers violently inside you. "Pathetic."

Before you knew it, your hips were bucking, distraught cries escaping you. Your body shuddered as if it were under his control, forcing out your orgasm like it was effortless as his fingers curled inside you, continuing to stimulate you even after you begged him to stop.

It wasn't long before he was bringing you back up again. His pace turned into a more intense speed that, to your surprise, the familiar contracting of your pulsing walls was followed by the splurge of weird liquid coming out of you. Your mouth fell open as you writhed against him, your sensitive cunt almost numb to the sensation as he pressed you for more.

You were so numb you could no longer feel his fingers buried deep inside your convulsing walls, squeezing around his digits as you shook in the tremors of your release. When you looked at him in shock, cheeks burning crimson and chest rising and falling heavily, a pretentious laugh left him. With a vulgar squelching sound, he slipped his fingers out of your pussy.

"Squirting like a pathetic slut,” he spat, his other hand still wrapped around your neck. "Told you I'd make you scream."

Your body turned pliant as you gave in and sank against the wall. You watched him lean down through your half-lidded eyes as you tried to ground yourself, his movements deliberate and swift, grabbing your wrecked shirt from the floor. You watched in confusion as he pressed the flimsy material together before firmly shoving it over your eyes.

Panic surged through you as the sudden darkness enveloped our vision. Although you couldn't see him, you heard him very well. His muffled breathing behind the mask, the soft rustle of fabric as he adjusted the material at the back of your head. Your other senses were heightened when you were robbed of your vision that you could even smell him.

The sharp scent of sweat and a faint hint of earthiness clung to him, as though remnants of the ground followed his presence. Yet, amidst the rawness, there was a surprising note of sweetness, as if a subtle cologne lingered beneath the surface.

God, he was so close. His chest was now pressed against yours, and then suddenly, almost forcefully, you felt warm hands grip your jaw. Your mouth fell open.

He took off his gloves.

Goosebumps rose on your skin when a sudden breeze of air brushed across your face and you gasped. You could barely think clearly, and you could barely even brace yourself when harsh lips captured your mouth desperately. You couldn't believe what was happening, because holy fuck—you were kissing Ghostface.

There was nothing remotely gentle about the way he kissed you. A deep shuddering groan rippled through him as he continued to assault your lips. You were too stunned at the way he pushed his tongue inside your mouth, tasting you in a way that had your body trembling at the sheer force of intensity traveling through your veins.

And when you finally felt his bare fingers grazing along your drenched core, going up and down your swollen folds, he captured the moan falling through your lips with a groan.

"So fucking filthy," he whispered against your lips as he continued to tease you. His voice, once muffled, was now very clear. The tones were distinct, carrying an inexplicable familiarity that tugged at the edges of your memory. But before you could even try to recall where you had heard it before, he surprised you by increasing the speed of his fingers.

"You want more of this, don't you?"

You shook your head, but your body was saying otherwise. Your hand gripped his arm as he started to play with your clit again, and your knees buckled pathetically. His other hand fell on your waist to steady you while he pressed a kiss on the hollow point of your throat, traveling further up the skin till his teeth nibbled on your ear lobe.

He then grabbed onto one of your legs and hiked it around his waist as he pushed his hips into you. You could feel the outline of his hard cock behind the cloak he was wearing and you let out a whimper when he started rolling his hips.

"Is this what you want?" He rasped out at the shell of your ear. You felt strong hands grip your wrists before he pushed them above your head, pining you against the wall. "You want me to fill you up with my cock?"

You shook your head again, attempting to anchor yourself. The struggle was evident in the tension of your muscles, each fiber resisting the pull toward surrender. You should push him. You should cry for help. Yet here you were questioning your sanity as you slowly, almost desperately, grind your hips along with his, yearning for more friction.

"Dirty, dirty slut," he muttered against your lips before kissing you once again, swallowing your whimpers as his hips snapped into you. "I bet you feel so tight around me."

Desire roared fire in your veins, and you whined. He leaned over and captured one of your nipples in his wet, warm mouth, and you moaned again before he let out a satisfied hum. You could practically feel the smirk curling on his lips as he taunted, "You react so well. I might have to keep you."

Goosebumps rose along your skin. Then in a swift and forceful motion, he yanked you, abruptly pushing you to the ground. The impact was sudden and jarring, leaving you landing on your knees.

As you tried to make sense of what was happening, a hand pushed against your back, and you toppled forward, landing on the ground face-first, finding yourself on your hands and knees. A sharp smack hit your bare ass from behind and you jolted in surprise.

"Spread them wide for me," He murmured, gaze skipping over your nakedness. He marveled at the sight before him, the way you shamelessly arched your back at his command. Yet when he noticed you hesitating, he dropped his voice in a lower, sinister tone.

"Don't make me use my knife."

You quickly did as you were told, your hands traveling behind you, spreading your sticky thighs in a languorous stretch, and you shuddered under the weight of his eyes. You whined at the feeling of the cold air hitting your exposed skin and a trickle of your arousal ran down your thigh, much to your utter embarrassment. "Look how pretty you are."

Heat blossomed in your chest. Then the sound of a belt being undone had you whimpering, and you moved instinctively, arching your back even further. One of his hands landed on your ass again with a sharp smack before he gripped a firm handful of it. You could hear more rustling and a slight soft thud behind you. The lack of vision made you overly sensitive and you found yourself waiting with bated breath for his every move.

With a sharp tug, he pulled you back by your hips before one of his hands landed on the back of your neck. You felt him push down hard and you obliged, lowering your face and upper body to the floor as his other hand remained holding your hips up in the air. And then you felt him—pulsing warm right at your entrance.

A pitiful groan escaped your lips as the tip of his cock swiped back and forth along your folds. He moaned out a deep, pleasure-filled noise that reverberated around the small space at the feel of your arousal coating him. And then suddenly, without warning, he abruptly plunged inside of you. He thrust straight into that spot deep inside that stung so good a sharp cry slipped out of you. It was painful, his sheer force of girth stretching you apart, though that cry quickly became a low moan of pleasure.

The man behind you showed no mercy, thrusting his hips into you with force and purpose, so hard you felt your body inching across the hardwood floor with each stroke. Your mouth fell open when one of his hands released your neck before you felt him grabbing a fistful of your hair, just at the base of your skull, and sharply pulling. A high-pitched, breathy noise of pleasure tore out of you and he repeated the gesture, the tug on your hair even rougher.

He held himself there as he used the grip on your hair to haul you backward to him. Your back was arched, his cock still buried deep inside of you as you fell back into his chest. For a few moments, it was almost uncomfortable, but then, surprisingly, you felt even more aroused than you already were.

You pushed your ass even higher, arching your body in search of more of that delicious sensation. It felt like electricity shocked your entire body, triggering intense waves of pleasure that repeatedly spread wildly from your core as you focused on the pleasure building between your legs, the burning sensation filling you to the brim.

It was maddening. Frustrating, even. Because you didn't even care anymore, you didn't even care if you exposed for him, you didn't even care if your knees ached from the hard friction of the floor because any shreds of sanity and pride had long since been destroyed. You wanted more. You needed more. 

It was so twisted. You longed to be broken by him. You longed to be ruined by him.

You had never imagined being in this position, kneeling on the floor with a murderer thrusting himself into you, yet here you were, whimpering at the sensation of doing the forbidden. Your mind turned delirious he released the hold on your hair, his hand snaking around your front to grip your throat.

You continued to meet his savage thrusts with your hips, slamming into you as your wail turned into a ragged scream. The sensation, though pleasurable, became too intense to handle. You attempted to move away from him, stealing his breath as your inner walls clenched around his cock. His firm hand gripped your hips tighter, preventing you from pulling away as he held you in position, thrusting his cock into your throbbing pussy.

A helpless sound trickled from your throat as your body jerked, and he mercilessly fucked you through it. Everything was so intense your mind was struggling to comprehend what was happening as he pounded into you roughly. You tried to breathe through the incredible pleasure surging through your body but you were too overwhelmed. "T-Too much."

"T-Too much," he mocked. A sinister laugh sliced through the darkness, sending shivers down your spine. "Fucking. Take. It."

His words were punctuated with every snap of his hips. The insistent thrust made you thrash your head as your body convulsed, dragging it out and heightening it to a point where you could only wail. Your breath came in harsh pants; his breathing was as rough as he urged you on, and you gave yourself over to the wildfire consuming your body. You whimpered, head rolling back onto his shoulder.

"That's it, taking me so perfectly," his voice, now a sinister whisper, slithered into your ears. "Knew you were special the moment I saw you."

A gasp escaped you, the weight of his words settling with an unsettling realization. Amidst the darkness, you felt the contours of his laughter.

"Don't act so surprised. I'm your secret admirer, remember?" You felt his hand leave your hips before it trailed toward your front. You knew what he was about to do and you clenched him involuntarily, already anticipating what was to come. 

"Fuck," He hissed. "You feel so tight around me. I really do have to keep you now."

The coil inside you was dangerously close to snapping and he growled as your cunt clenched around his cock.

"Oh, you liked that. You like the idea of me using you? Fuck you whenever I want?" He questioned, his fingers moving to your clit as he pressed messy circles against the sensitive nub, twisting it beneath his calloused pad. You bit down on your lower lip, feeling the coil in your abdomen tightening at his sharp movements, your hands moving to his wrist as you tried to ground yourself.

You gasped when you felt him tightening the grip on your throat, the skin tingling as he repeated the motion. "Filthy little thing, aren't you?"

"I-I—" You spluttered, feeling your legs going numb. You squealed when you felt him pick up his pace on your clit, rubbing messy circles against it as your back slumped against him, mouth parting, your tongue slipping out between your lips.

It was too much. You felt like you were about to explode. Your mind went blank. Your body felt numb. There was nothing else you could do but to give into the force of pleasure consuming you as he fucked you roughly, his hips hitting you in harsh motions.

"You gonna cum now?" He grunted, pressing his mouth at the shell of your ear. You helplessly nodded, not able to make out any coherent words anymore. He groaned between thrusts, keeping a firm grip on your ass to keep you from squirming. "Go on then, cum on my cock like the filthy whore that you are."

As if on command, your body spasmed involuntarily. It started with a prickling of your skin creeping up your body, over your breasts and face, inner walls tightening around his cock, and you came hard. You squirmed uncontrollably as all that pent-up pleasure welled up in your core. Your heart was pounding erratically against your heaving chest you could even hear the pounding in your ears.

Your mind was in a drunken haze as the pleasure continued to flow through your veins, his fingertips languidly brushed against your clit. But despite the desperate spasms of your pussy, he continued to penetrate your body. Every thrust hit more intensely than the last, wetness flooded from you as reality slipped away, and all you could do was burn, vocally urging him on as he moaned darkly behind you.

You were very far from sanity from everything consuming your body. You felt him everywhere. His grinding cock, the press of his fingers as they moved to toy with your clit, and his blunt nails cut around your throat. Your cunt continued to possessively grip his cock as you wailed breathlessly.

Heat traveled through you, body quivering and going boneless, the warm ripples of release dulling the sharp edges of your mind as he drove into you and finally chased his own high. The filthy feel of him emptying inside you, your shimmering release, and his hands decorating your skin with fingerprint bruises, was all you could focus on.

Until the distinct sound of sirens echoed in the background.

Your mind went hazy as you tried to anchor yourself and you heard him chuckle in amusement. "I guess you really woke your neighbors up," he said, letting go of his grip around your throat. You let out a breathless sigh when you felt him slipping out of you, surprisingly feeling empty.

He groaned as his eyes traveled down, watching the way his release dripped out from your convulsing pussy, traveling down the length of your thighs. “It’s a pity I have to cut this short.” Then you felt his lips near your ear. “Until next time."

"W- What?" Your head snapped up, disoriented in the darkness, as you tried to discern his voice. "You'll come back?"

"I'll be here when you least expect it." Then the unexpected happened. He surprised you with a gentle kiss on your shoulder, a stark contrast from everything that had taken place. The contradiction sent shudders through you as you felt his grip on your hips tightening. "Keep your doors unlocked for me."

A sudden emptiness enveloped you as he withdrew from your personal space. Your mind, still reeling from the inexplicable events, struggled to make sense of what happened. And now the realization that he wasn't behind you anymore prompted your hands to instinctively reach for the makeshift blindfold, swiftly slipping it off your face.

Blinking in the sudden light, your eyes adjusted to the surroundings. Your eyes caught his figure standing tall at the top of your staircase, back turned, a fleeting glimpse of brown curls disappearing beneath the mask he hastily put back on. 

Abruptly, he turned to you, the hollow visage of Ghostface now fixed in your direction. The tilt of his head sent a shiver down your spine as he looked at you for another fleeting second, as if he was giving you a silent promise as the faint sound of sirens continued from the distance. You stared back at him, heart thrumming in your chest.

And then he was gone.

[scoutswritingcorner]

I love Rosie and Alastor, Love'em. i was wondering if you could write a Rosie x Alastor x Reader, y'know a throuple that eats and gossips together, stays together. Also, love the horroresque spin you've been doing, can you add a smidge of that?

The Chase

RadioRose x GN!Reader

(Alastor x GN!Reader x Rosie)

TW: Has elements of horror! Alastor being Alastor and chasing Reader around the place. Talks about cannibalism, anxiety and paranoia that comes with being chased. 

A/N: IT BECOMES WHOLESOME I SWEAR! Also a big thank you to my lovely @kurosstuff for helping me get this idea going!! Also Alastor's dialog will be in bold.

Your day had started like any other day, wake up, get ready and go do what you needed to do for the day. But something felt off about the whole day like you were forgetting something in the back of your mind. Either way you continued on with your day trying to remember what you had forgotten ignoring how the hair on the back of your neck started to stand. 

Something was wrong. 

After some time you went around looking for Alastor, he promised he’d come along with you to see Rosie. You grumbled as you walked into the foyer, “Husk? Have you seen Alastor anywhere?” You asked, watching as Husk shook his head and continued to clean a glass, then it hit you as you watched a familiar shadow disappear out of sight. He was upset but about what? You quickly tried to follow the sneaky shadow but failed as it disappear down the ominous dark hallway. As you walked down the hallway, which seemed to go on forever, it dawned on you that the figure at the end of the hallway was none other than the man you had come to love and cherish. But it felt wrong- no no he felt wrong. His smile was way too wide and his eyes were unmoving as he stared at you. 

You needed to run.

Turning on your heel, you sprinted down the hallway passing by Husk and Angel at the bar and reaching the front doors of the hotel. His footsteps where getting closer, why did he walk so fucking fast? You took a glance back over your shoulder seeing he had already made it to the end of the hallway as you swung the door open and ran out of the hotel. You had no idea where to go so you just kept running, dodging cars and random demons on the street as you duck and weave through the nastiest allies you could find. Looking back over your shoulder every once in a while to only see him still calmly chasing you. 

You looked back in front of you narrowly dodging a demon who stepped in front of you, which made you fall to the ground. The demon cursed you out as you scrambled to get up and continued to run despite your legs begging you to stop or slow down. You looked around before diving into a random shop for a moment to check out the damage done as you caught your breath. You carefully rolled up your pants leg to see a bruise forming on your leg as it was bleeding. Fuck you scraped it up badly, your hands shakily grabbed a handful of napkins and cleaned up the blood as best as you could, you’d have to ask Rosie to help clean you up later.

Taking a deep breath you rolled your pants leg back down as you moved to stand up to your full height but stopped feeling your back hit what seemed like a wall. You prayed to Lucifer that it was just some random demon standing way too close for your liking and not him, carefully you reach your hand behind you to feel the fabric of a familiar coat that made your stomach sink and panic rise up in your chest, you turn your head to see his ruby red eyes staring back into your with a hint of softness in them. Slowly backing away from him watching as his eyes followed every step towards the other entrance on the side of the shop itself, his neck cracking as he tilted his head. 

He was giving you another head start. 

Without a second thought you took it, rushing out of the door and pushing demons out of your way as you ran further down the street. As he slowly followed behind you, his shadow easily kept up with you guiding you closer towards your ‘haven’. He had led you towards Cannibal Town and towards Rosie. Now, no cannibal would dare harm a single hair on your head unless they had wanted a death wish from him and to be cast out by Rosie herself, that is another slow and painful death all together. You ran past cannibals, who either nodded or smiled at you. You tried your best to do so back, you really did but when you're being chased by your lovely boyfriend it’s quite different.  You quickly ran into Rosie’s boutique, your heart pounding into your chest as you tried to shake off how terrified you were.

Coming to a stop near the counter, you felt fingers grip your chin lifting your head up as your eyes met with Rosie’s her usual grin gone- replaced with a worried smile. “Oh Dear, you look absolutely distraught.” You cooed bringing you closer as you tried to look behind you, Alastor had to be closing in on you now but yet your head stayed still in her grasp. Her thumb pressed against your bottom lip as you finally caught your breath, “Alastor..” You huffed out making her click her tongue before she leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

The door chimed making you freeze up as you heard the familiar sound of his humming. Speak of the Devil. He swiftly closed the gap between you and him as he leaned down placing his chin on your shoulder. “Now now, Alastor. What have I talked about chasing them around the city?” Rosie chided him watching as his grin widened, before he had placed a gentle kiss upon your cheek. “I’m sorry, Dear. They just looked so adorable trying to get away from me~” He hummed out watching as you slowly relaxed, “Almost like they were good enough to eat.” His voice was missing the normal radio effect it always had and was replaced with his deep southern drawl that made your skin crawl in the best way possible.

 His teeth grazing against your cheek, reminding you that he could tear you limb to limb if he wanted. Rosie smiled, tilting your head up once more to capture your lips into a soft kiss. “I must agree with you on that~” She growled out against your lips making you softly whimper. “You can’t tell me you don’t love the hunt, Dearest.” He watched as Rosie leaned back to fix your shirt that had been messed up during the rush here, the radio effect returning to his voice as your lips were smeared with her black lipstick.

He snapped his fingers as a chair appeared behind you, “Sit sit, let me see that leg of yours.” He crouched down as you sat in the chair, Rosie quickly rushing off to go find the first aid kit. “It’s not that bad, Al..I’m fine.” At that he only waved his hand at your concern and carefully helped you get your pants leg up. As soon as Rosie got back with the medical supplies, Alastor had swiftly cleaned up the cut on your leg before wrapping it up. You gently cupped his cheek and pressed a kiss to his lips, making his ears pop up as he stared wide eyed at you before they flicked happily and his grin grew wider. His tail was surely wagging.

The two most feared Overlords were wrapped around your finger and they wouldn't have it any other way~

[rogueddie]

Eddie shows his affection in a sort of aggressive way, which isn't surprising considering everything else he has going on. Dustin wasn't surprised when Eddie started shoving him a little when they started to actually become friends, wasn't surprised when he started ruffling his hair the way Steve does- but a little rougher.

But he is surprised to see the different way his affection comes out with different people.

With him and the other "little sheep", he pushes. It's a rough gesture of affection, but it's considerably gentle. A little shove, pushing them around a little. It's playful.

But with Nancy and Robin, it's crushing hugs. He'll throw his arm over their shoulders, pull them close enough that they'll wince and shove him off them. He just laughs, increasingly familiar with the response, but continuing to hug the same anyway. He grows to expect the shoves, trying to squeeze them and duck out of the way before they can. It's like a game.

Will and Jonathan both like their space- with most people anyway. Eddie respects that. His affection with them is more... kicking. Nudging them with his feet, trying to wiggle his toes under their legs, pressing cold feet up their pants in the winter.

It's like he's trying to play with them, an overexcited puppy, but keeps forgetting his own strength. And Dustin loves that... usually.

With Steve it's... different.

A lot of the gestures are the same. A hand in his hair, manhandling, tight hugs... but they linger. It looks more like he's brushing his fingers through Steves hair, his hugs never leave Steve wincing- rather, looking happy and content.

It's the way he manhandles him that first clued Dustin in.

The first time, Eddie had grabbed Steve by his belt and tugged him around until he was stood by his chair. It wasn't rough or pushing though. It was tugging, a coaxing pull, leading him to his place. It wasn't playful. It was careful.

The second time was worse. Steve had been standing back a little, squinting to see the board. Eddie had curled an arm around his waist, tugging him a few steps forward so he could see better. But his hand stayed there, lingering on his hip. It wasn't until Eddie noticed Dustin staring that he pulled away, blushing.

The third time had Dustin rethinking his assumptions about Steve.

Because he's always been a bit... particular. And if he doesn't want to do something, he won't. It takes a lot of bullying and peer pressure. Even then, he probably wanted to do it in the first place or he's given no choice.

But it makes Dustin suspicious when Eddie pulls at Steve, tugging until he lays on his side. He spends the rest of the movies time with his head in Eddies lap, falling asleep with his fingers brushing through his hair. Eddie kept looking down at him, smiling, the whole time. Steves little smile looked just as soft.

When they finally come out, finally tell everyone that they're dating, Dustin is relieved.

"Oh thank fuck," Dustin mutters, pressing the heel of his hands to his eyes.

"Excuse me?" Eddie asks, incredulous.

"If I had to watch you dancing around Steve like a peacock one more time, I was going to lose my mind."

"What? Hey- that- I wasn't-"

"You were," Robin cuts in with a tight smile. "It was really obvious."

"What? Why didn't you tell me?" Steve gently slaps her arm.

"I thought you were straight, dingus!"

"You honestly thought Steve is straight?" Eddie snorts.

His hand curls around him, just the same as before, pulling him close with his hand lingering on his hip. But, this time, he rubs his hand up and down his side. It looks like he's trying to pet Steve the way he would a dog, but Steve is smiling, leaning into him.

It makes the real horror of the situation truly dawn on Dustin. He realizes, slowly, that they must have been hiding whatever thing they had for a while. They must have been holding back.

They're going to be more affectionate than ever, Dustin realizes. And, as happy as he is to see them both so happy and relaxed and in love, he wants to gag at the thought of them being so openly affectionate all the time.

He just hopes they won't be as bad as Steve was with Nancy- he'd only seen them from a distance and that had been bad enough.

[adventuringblind]

All too Real

Norstappen x Reader

Genre: Smut and Horror (if you squint)

Summary: Max was supposed to be gone, so why is he here? More importantly, why does his hand on her mouth forceful movements have her bothered?

Warnings: Consensual non-consent, Knife play, Impact play, choking, Corruption, Bondage, Mean Dom Max, Sub Lando and Reader, PinV, Anal, Minor blood, Marking, Sensory deprivation, Max is really sweet in this I swear but it's really dark during the scene.

Notes: For the requester who sent me this, I didn’t think I was gonna be able to do it. Be proud of me please! T_T

Side Note: I appreciate everyone who sent me ideas! I can't wait to explore this dynamic more!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

The moon illuminates the sky of Monaco. It’s past midnight; a time where people should be asleep.

Her and Lando sleep on Max’s side of the bed. He’d left earlier this evening to head back to Redbull HQ. He’d not specified what exactly they needed from him. Only that it was urgent fenough for him to get on a plane that same day. Not much of a hassles considering he has his own.

Max had promised he’d make as quick as he could and might even be back the following night. Still, it sucks not having him around at night. He has a way of making them feel much safer when he’s around. Which might just be because he looks intimidating despite being the embodiment of a teddy bear, but who is she to say?

He’d never hurt them. Is even picky about it during sex. Like he’s afraid he’ll shatter them if he lets go enough.

That could be why the hand clasped around her throat and palm over her mouth scare her into compliance. Being met with familiar eyes in this situation is not something anybody wants.

Her heavy breaths are muffled against Max’s hand. The menacing glint that over takes cerulean blue is something she’s only seen when he gets competitive.

The hand around her throat comes off slowly and fishes something from his pocket. A piece of cloth makes its way to her mouth. He slips it in underneath his hand, gagging her and stopping her from forming any coherent words.

She complies with his harsh movements. No point in fighting him, he’s too strong for that. He pulls zip ties from somewhere - probably his pocket again - and wrangles her wrists behind her.

The adrenaline coursing through every fiber of her being only gets worse when he tosses her onto the floor and repeats the actions for Lando. A bit different. A hand over his eyes instead of around his throat.

the Brit fights back more then she did. He’s unable to see who it is he’s fighting, making things more difficult for Max. The inkling he might win out is soon discarded as he is pinned to the bed underneath Max’s weight.

The sweats and boxers come down with ease, leaving the Brit entirely bare. Max leaves him there, only able to yell into the cloth and thrashing around trying to escape. A bit useless without his hands.

Max pulls her upward, back onto the bed next to Lando. He stand at the edge and pulls his own shirt off. “So pretty and helpless, all for me.” The sound of the switchblade opening has her eyes watering. He crawls over her, the moon glinting off the metal as he moves. “Innocent and ready to be broken by me. Only, for me.”

The flat of the blade runs against her skin. “Would you like that? I’d keep you safe, tucked away, only for me to play with. All mine.” The knife tip presses into her skin. She sucks in through her teeth, far too aroused by this new side of max. He gently drags the sharp point against her. It dawns on her that she wants this. She craves Max marking her.

Max slips the knife under where her panties are resting her hip. He cuts away the dainty piece of fabric. “What do you think Lando? Which one of you should I break first?” He flips Lando over onto his back. Both of them being eaten alive by his gaze, like a hunter who has successfully captured his prey.

She’s glad to see she’s not the only one aroused. The hard-on Lando is sporting has Max licking his lips. He’s whining and whimpering into the gag. He teases Lando’s aching cock with the dull end and His back arches off the bed. His spine bending him further into the sensation.

Max pulls away, leaving Lando writhing. He grabs her by the ankle and pulls her level to Lando’s crotch. Instinctively, she opens her mouth. Which is a great decision as he shoves her head into Lando. Choked by surprise and unprepared. He grabs the back of her head and holds her there. “Do you want to breathe, schat? Or are you being pliant because you’re just that much of a slut?”

The bit of air she had in her lungs starts to deplete. The lightheaded feeling has tears running down her cheeks. Max doesn’t pull her off until she’s frantically trying to pull herself off. He keeps his hand on her, not letting her go far. “Big breath for me.” She inhales as deep as she can and he solves her back down.

Large hands - Max’s hands - force her legs apart. He slips two fingers in her and aggressively pumps them in and out. “Awe, still so tight but so. Fucking. Wet~” Each word punctuated with a progressively harder thrust. er body moves back and forth according to Max’s will helping her make Lando get some relief.

In a few quick movements, he has rid himself of the rest of his clothes. He climbs back on top and throws on old her legs over his shoulder. He doesn’t giver her time to think about it. “Fuck, you feel so good for me. Look at you! You’re crying for it!” The pace he sets is unrelenting. Each snap of his hips has her choking further on Lando.

She can feel Lando trying to rut his hips and the sharp sound from Max’s hand hitting his bare skin. Lando shrieks in pain and stops his moving. “You get what I give you. You are mine, remember? Or are you already fucked dumb because of her pretty mouth?”

Curse Max and his good stamina. She’s helpless to push him off her, struggling to breathe, the knife now pressing into her hip. The first cut is quick and clean. A light little thing that barely stings. The second one is harder. Same for the following ones; each more drawn out then the last despite being relatively the same size.

She’s wailing, crying, the lines between pleasure and pain have faded into each other. She finished at some point but Max hasn't stopped. In fact, he's going harder.

His voice is surrounding her. It's falling over her despite both their desperate cries.

Everything stops far to abruptly. Max pulls out of her and drags Lando away. The crying starts when she doesn't know where either of them are. Lost in all the mixed feelings; the adrenaline, pleasure, and pain.

The blood running down her thigh is warm and think. She wonders, briefly, if it's staining the sheets beneath her.

"Come on schat, you can take it." Make coos it so gently despite the despite monas coming from behind Lando's gag. "Or do you need more? Is that what all these desperate noises are for? You're a slut who needs it all?"

Max is the puppet master and her and Lando are attached to the strings. The Brit is shoved between her legs. Neither of them standing a chance.

Her overstimulated pussy is once again subjected to the brutality of Lando. More Max, with the way she can see Max pressed behind him, snapping his hips.

Lando is screaming into her shoulder. She's to fucked to even think about Max and the fact he's not even supposed to be here.

Max stutters. Lando finished ages ago, She counts three. Hers started blurring together and just didn't stop.

The silence as Max slows down is to much. She need him to talk, she'll except anything at this point.

The blood from Lando's thigh is sticking to her. They match now and she isn't even sure when it happened.

Max doesn't pull out of Lando, he runs his fingers across Lando's skin and pulls his blindfold off. Next comes the gag, hers and Lando's. Neither of them can say anything.

No, the tears start instead of the words. Max scrambles to get them situated comfortably on the bed and turns the lights on. He leans them against his own body, whispering to them about how good they did.

"Was that to much? Did I take it to far? I tried to hit everything you said and I think I did-"

"Good, overwhelmed, scary." Lando pants against his skin.

She tries to get Max to pet her head. He gets the hint and complies. "You went to the Milton-Keynes. Did you plan this?"

"I've spent the last two months researching, preparing, and planning. Mostly because Lando said that I wouldn't do it."

"I said you thought we were fragile and you were to scared to actually do it."

"And do you still think that?" Lando shakes his head. The blush on his cheeks evident behind the tear tracks.

"Max-" she whines. "-The sheets ae red now."

"I know love, just wanted to calm down before I moved you two anywhere. First I'll get you patched up, which I already have the first aid ready. Next is a bath and I will change our sheets because I purchased new ones. Then food and water and me showering you in my affection."

Her and Lando look at each other and both of them break out into smiley giggles. "Max, did you know that we love you?"

"The fact you're not trying to run the opposite direction of me makes me think that." Max carries them one by one to the bathroom counter. "I actually thought I went to far the second Lando started fighting me."

"Then I heard your voice and got hard." Lando proudly points out. His attempts at reassuring the dutchman that he had a good time.

"Next time, I'm ditching the blindfold."

"This implies there will be a next time."

"If there is, can we maybe not bite my dick off?"

She looks away, embarrassed at the act of trying to cannibalize her poor boyfriend.

"Do you two know how long we went for? Lan, she had her jaw like that for over a half hour."

Lando gapes at him. "I owe you a jaw massage... but please, I would like to keep my best asset attached."

Her and Max roll their eyes. Her delirious laughs fill the space as Max runs the bath. "Nah, your best feature is your mouth."

"Is that because of my tongue?"

Max glances over his shoulder. "No, it's because it's big, loud, and creates these scenarios."

Not like she can complain. She did want it and so did Lando. And with the 'MV' now plastered to their thighs, she can't help but think Max enjoyed himself a little too.

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve was going to kill Jonathan. 

He had to save the guy’s life first, but once he did, Jonathan was a dead man. 

Skidding around the corner, eyes wild, Steve only slowed down when he could visually confirm that he had in fact, made it in time.

“Whoa, hey.” Jonathan said. startled as Steve nearly crashed into him, dropping the paper plates he was carrying to his backyard. “What’s wrong?” 

“You-” Steve huffed, breath coming out in sharp bursts and man, wasn’t that a sign that he’d been slacking lately on his workouts? “You need to--”

“What’s happening?” Will interrupted, sensing trouble-- and running immediately towards it as always, El trailing behind. “Are you okay?” 

“No.” Steve growled, hands on his knees, glaring up through his hair. “No, I am not okay. Jonathan won’t be either if he doesn’t go inside and stay there for at least the next twenty minutes.” 

He slowly stood, his general fitness allowing him to regain his stamina quickly even if he had been neglecting it. 

‘I’m sorry I ever stopped going on bi weekly runs.’ 

“What?” Jonathan asked, at the same time Will and El said;

“Why?” 

Steve turned his attention to Will, startled to find the kid was almost taller than he was. That was  a train of thought for a different day, because right now he was still focused on keeping Jonathan living and breathing. 

‘The shit I do for these people.’

“You guys remember Gareth?” He said, staring pointedly at Jonathan. 

Ah yes, there was the little wince he was looking for. 

“Gareth?” El asked, voice soft as Will stiffened visibly besides his brother. 

Steve nodded, still glaring Jonathan down. “You know, Gareth. Skipped a grade, Brown hair, part of the Hellfire club, got his ass kicked by Carver’s asshole buddies because he’s super close to Eddie?” 

“Steve--” Will started, staring at him and not at his brother's hunched shoulders, the very first sign of guilt in a Byers. 

(Among many other things, but Steve knew Jonathan better than he knew Will, and those? 

Those were guilty shoulders.) 

“Your brother,” Steve interrupted, making sure the sheer annoyance in his tone came through, “--decided to have a talk with Gareth.”

He  put his hands on his hips, doing his best to communicate ‘you done fucked up’ with his own face. “Eddie found out and is on a rampage.” 

A fact he had been alerted to by Gareth himself, after the poor kid had called him from Eddie’s shiny new government supplied house, begging Steve to stop Eddie before he made the situation worse than it already was.

(Considering Eddie’s paranoia and general protectiveness was still ramped up to a hundred even now, six months after all the Vecna bullshit, Steve didn’t blame Gareth for calling it like it was. 

Eddie absolutely would make things worse.)  

There was a very long pause, in which Steve got a front row seat to several different Byers expressions. 

First was confusion, followed quickly by realization, and then the slow dawning of horror as Will cued in to exactly what his brother had done. 

Meanwhile; Jonathan’s hunched, guilty form took on the look of something a bit more pinched. 

Like a soccer player who had clocked that the ball was in the air, hurtling dead towards his face, and all he could do was stand there and take the hit. 

“Oh.” El said, her head tilted comically, correctly reading her brothers faces. “Gareth is the boy Will has a crush on.” 

She turned to peer Jonathan, Will’s face managing to somehow go redder at his sister's words. 

“The talk Jonathan gave him was like Jim’s talk to Mike.” 

Implied: That talk broke the two of them up. 

Implied: Said talk was now firmly rooted in El’s head as a bad thing. 

Implied: Jonathan was screwed. 

“That’s not good.” She finished calmly, as Will whipped around to confront his brother. 

“What the hell!?” He shrieked, voice cracking right in the middle as Jonathan raised his hands defensively. 

“Look, you’ve been through a lot, and-” He started, only to be immediately interrupted by a furious;  

“That’s not an excuse!” 

Will advanced on him, sticking a pointed finger in Jonathan’s face, a whole tirade of words pouring out of his mouth. “I can’t-I can’t believe you! I told you about Gareth in confidence! You told me I could tell you anything, Jonathan!” 

Steve raised an eyebrow, impressed to find that baby-Byers could actually be intimidating when he wanted to be. 

He was pretty sure it was the height. 

“Scream about it later, get inside now please.” Steve said, trying to cut Will’s attempt on Jonathan’s life off. 

Personally he didn’t care if the guy’s own brother murdered him, he just didn’t need Eddie to catch a charge.

Again. 

The very thought coincided with their time ending, as a furious screech of wheel’s and muffled metal roared into the Byer’s driveway. The car wasn’t even off by the time Steve heard the door slam, Eddie’s stomping footsteps loud enough for Steve to track him as he came around to the backyard. 

“Hey, El?” He said, as he turned to face down his furious boyfriend. “Tell Will I’m on his side for this one, would you?” 

El nodded politely, a smile overtaking her face as she watched Steve match Eddie’s stride, aiming to head his boyfriend off. 

Kid probably knew what he was going to do before he did it, the little shit. 

“Get out of my way, Steve-!” Eddie bit out, stopping only so he could point to where he wanted Steve to move to. 

Sadly for him, Steve had a different plan.

Instead of slowing down, he simply bent at the knees, wrapping his arms around the back of Eddie’s thighs and putting his shoulder firmly in Eddie’s torso. He had to withhold a grunt to do it, the step- to kneel-to carry was not as smooth as it used to be when Steve was in proper shape and throwing girls around like footballs, but he managed to get Eddie over his shoulder anyway. 

“Hey!” His boyfriend squawked, as Steve smoothly continued walking, right back out of the Byer’s backyard, Eddie hanging over his shoulder. 

“Steven Reginald Harrington, put me down right now!” Eddie shrieked, the words only slightly tangled with Will’s own;

“You’re DEAD Jonathan!” 

(and Els’ gentle laugh, of course.) 

[daphnefisherofficial]

bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Avatar Fem!Reader

masterlist | previous | next chapter

(A/N: This update took a lot longer than expected, because I really wanted to flesh out Darius Carter's character here. As we discovered in the latest chapter, he is the avatar of Anubis and the past life of our moon boys (Marc, Steven and Jake). I can't wait for you to finally meet him and discover how he first met our beloved Mira (you) and became an avatar. Sooooooo, I will no longer keep you waiting. Enjoy!)

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE - LIEUTENANT DARIUS CARTER

The year was 1914, and the world was on the brink of an inferno. The scent of gunpowder and the sound of marching boots echoed through the continent, war slowly rising on the precipice as the entirety of mankind braced itself for a conflict of an unprecedented scale. As the avatar of Mayari, the goddess of the moon, your immortality has not shielded you from countless conflicts that you have witnessed over centuries. But something about this one felt different.

As the majority of Europe has been set ablaze with the flames of war, you found yourself walking on foreign soil, far from the shores of your own homeland. Leaving the tranquil halls of Harvard University where you had just earned your medical degree being a pensionada, you have answered the call of duty in the first world war as you were dispatched to the epicenter of battle.

Not as a warrior, but as a healer.

It was a time of uncertainty, and your only duty was to save lives and alleviate the suffering caused by the horrors of war. It was a daunting task, but you were determined to do your part.

It was in a military outpost in France where you crossed paths for the first time. The air in the barracks was thick with anticipation and a hint of apprehension as fresh soldier recruits started to fill the encampment, their faces a mix of youthful enthusiasm and the dawning realization of what lay ahead. 

You stood among the medical personnel sent by the American Red Cross, observing the nervous yet determined faces of your comrades as you were being introduced to one another and your regiment officer. Your crisp, white medical uniform felt heavy with responsibility, yet you bore it with the quiet strength of someone who had seen far more than her youthful appearance suggested.

It was here that you saw him for the first time.

His towering stature caught your eyes immediately, standing tall and proud among your peers as his striking hazel brown eyes seemed to pierce through the haze of bodies and chatter. He stood out, not just for his imposing presence but for the way he carried himself—confident, yet with an air of humility.

His olive brown skin was littered with nervous sweat as he saluted, his military uniform crisp and new.

"Lieutenant Darius Carter, reporting for duty," he said, his voice steady and confident.

“At ease, Lieutenant”, the regiment officer said, patting the young soldier’s back encouragingly before his eyes fell on you and your colleagues. “You will be in charge of this unit, together with our friends and allies from the American Red Cross. Why don’t you introduce yourselves?”

It was there, amidst the sea of young, eager faces, that your eyes met for the first time. Darius found himself tongue tied as you stepped forward, his heart pounding loudly in his chest as he witnessed you raising your right hand to salute before introducing yourself to your superiors and your fellow army recruits altogether. 

“Myrna Katigbak, reporting for duty,” you spoke, managing a polite smile despite yourself as you felt a hundred pairs of eyes on you. And yet, Darius's gaze stood out from the rest of your comrades, his eyes sparkling with bold admiration as he felt a strong connection in that moment, an inexplicable pull towards you that he couldn’t possibly ignore. 

Something about your enigmatic presence drew him in. Having grown up in a family with a deep connection to Egyptology, you were like an undiscovered pharaoh’s tomb to the young lieutenant waiting to be unravelled. And like any archaeologist and Egyptologists he has known his whole life, he has made it his first mission to seek you out and fulfill his quiet curiosity.

The next time you saw Darius Carter, it was in the makeshift soup kitchen. The scent of broth and bread filled the air as you ladled portions into bowls, your hands moving with practiced efficiency. Your fellow medics and soldiers, both weary and hungry after their intensive training, lined up at the long table with gratitude etched on their faces as you started to distribute lunch.

The young lieutenant was but a few steps away from the long table as the line progressed, almost chickening out as he neared. As he slowly approached, you looked up and met his gaze fully for the first time. Handing him his bowl of soup and a half loaf of bread, you noticed him trying to linger, his eyes bright with a mixture of hope and shyness as he struggled to find the words to speak.

“You can come back for seconds later, Lieutenant Carter”, you smiled, amused by his poor attempt at small talk which you find endearing.

“Right, thank you, Miss Katigbak”, he stammered as he ended up butchering the last name of your latest alias.

“You can just call me Myrna”, you corrected with an amused smile, bidding him goodbye as your attention shifted to the next man in need of sustenance. “I don’t expect everyone to get my last name right”

Darius internally groaned as he mildly shook his head, managing a soft chuckle despite himself as he continued moving forward and out of the lunch line. He found himself sitting at a nearby table, still gazing longingly at the long table where you were as he started to eat. As the hours slowly progressed and the early afternoon finally made its way, the number of people in the soup kitchen slowly dwindled until the only ones left were him and you.

This time around, Darius no longer allowed his nerves to get the best of him. With careful steps, he approached you once again, his eyes emanating the same spark from when he first laid eyes on you. 

“Excuse me, Miss Katigbak”, he asked, finally pronouncing your last name correctly with his rich, baritone voice that resonated pleasantly in the empty vicinity. “May I help you with anything?”

“You got it right this time,” you nodded in his direction as you started preparing your workspace for your upcoming chore. “And yes, you can help by carrying those empty bowls from the lunch tables and I’ll wash them here.”

He eagerly obliged, his movements careful as he balanced multiple trays of empty bowls on his hands. As soon as they piled up, he worked alongside you and shared your dishwashing workload. It was a mundane task for a soldier like him, but it didn’t matter as he had you to keep him company.

Besides, observing you from afar was becoming his favorite pastime. Your smooth and flawless skin was the first thing he noticed, a warm, sun-kissed brown with golden undertones that radiated health and vitality. Your hair, ebony-black and rich, fell in long, soft waves around your shoulders, framing your face perfectly. Your facade possessed a delicate heart-shaped contour that added a touch of youthful charm, along with high cheekbones and small, slightly upturned nose that accentuated your femininity. Your lips, full and naturally mauve, curved into a smile that reflected the warmth of your spirit, a genuine expression that made him feel at ease.

But it was your eyes that truly captivated him. Almond-shaped and chestnut brown, they glistened with warmth and mystery, capable of conveying joy, sorrow, and strength in a single glance. Framed by long, thick lashes, your gaze had an intensity that made those who met it feel uniquely seen. Your naturally arched brows added depth to your expression, giving you a look of quiet confidence.

“You never did go back for seconds, Lieutenant Carter” you spoke out loud, slightly startling Darius from his own reverie.

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked, his voice warm and earnest as you ended up laughing at his amusing response. 

“I meant you could go back in line earlier after finishing your meal to get a second serving of soup and bread”, you ended up explaining in which Darius sighed with pure relief. “I was waiting for you”

“Oh, right”, he seemed to relax at your friendly tone. “I’m too shy, unfortunately, so I will most likely die of hunger before I ask you for seconds, Miss Katigbak”

“You can just call me Myrna”, your amusement grew as you observed his quiet awkwardness which you find endearing. “Miss Katigbak is too formal and besides, it’s only the two of us here”

“Myrna it is”, Darius nodded, testing your name in his lips. “And please call me Darius, Lieutenant Carter is also too formal”

“Sure, Darius”, you obliged, prompting a warm smile from the lieutenant. “And now that introductions and our collective nerves are out of the way, care to tell me why you’re really here?”

"Well, to be honest, I was hoping to engage you in a conversation since we’ve first met”, Darius scratched the back of his head, his gaze locked onto yours. “I've heard that you're a medical graduate, and I thought I might pick your brain about a few things."

"I'm happy to help, but I have to warn you that I'm not the most exciting conversationalist”, you laughed softly. “I spend most of my time tending to wounds and doling out soup."

“That’s quite all right”, Darius's eyes sparkled with interest. "In fact, I have a penchant for Egyptology. Did you know that the ancient Egyptians were pioneers in the field of medicine?"

“Egyptology, you say?” you couldn't hide your surprise. "That's an unexpected interest for a soldier. But I must admit, it's a topic I find intriguing as well."

“I could spend all day talking about it if you’re interested”, Darius started, his positive energy overflowing at finding an outlet to share his interests. “I came from a family of archaeologists and Egyptologist, hence my knowledge”

As he started going on about his recent discoveries in the history of Egyptian medicine, you slowly fulfilled his curiosity by answering his questions in correlation to your current expertise, marking your longer interactions with the young lieutenant. He didn’t keep the conversation one-sided and challenged your insights, asking about your journey from America, your studies at Harvard, and your impressions of the war. You answered every question with polite brevity, finding his earnestness both charming and amusing as the two of you find companionship amidst the harsh reality of the ongoing war.

Your paths crossed once again in the crucible of battle. The frontlines were chaotic and brutal, the air filled with the deafening sounds of gunfire and explosions, serving as a constant backdrop to your work as a medic. You and Darius found yourselves deployed and stationed together with him as the commanding officer of your sector. As a medic, you worked tirelessly to fulfill your duty to save as many lives as possible and tended to the wounded from your unit, often under fire. 

It was during one of these intense battles that you truly began to see the depth of his character.

Darius was brave, almost to the point of recklessness, always throwing himself into the fray to protect his comrades. It was after one such skirmish that he found himself injured, and you were the one to tend to his wounds. As you worked, he watched you with a mixture of pain and admiration.

"You have a steady hand," he remarked, his voice strained but appreciative.

"Years of practice," you replied, focused on your task. "Hold still, this might hurt."

He winced but remained silent as you cleaned and bandaged his wounds. When you were finished, he looked at you with gratitude. "Thank you, Myrna. I don't know what I'd do without you here."

You smiled softly. "It's my duty, Darius. Just as it's yours to fight."

In the days that followed, your interactions grew more frequent and meaningful. You shared stories, hopes, and fears, finding solace in each other's company amidst the horrors of war. Your connection deepened, and it became clear that Darius's feelings for you were more than just admiration.

One fateful day, your barracks were under siege, almost overrun by enemy forces. The chaos was overwhelming as German soldiers started to storm the base. Recognizing the dire situation, Darius Carter ordered your unit as its commanding officer to evacuate.

“Myrna, take the others and head to the trucks”, he said, handing you a slip of paper with coordinates. “You and the rest of the surviving sector will be taken to the rendezvous point.”

“Understood, Lieutenant”, you nodded, saluting Darius as you started to help your fellow medics and other soldiers escape first, ensuring they reached the safety of the military trucks stationed on the outskirts. As the alarm sounded, signaling the order to retreat, you urged the remaining few of your comrades to make haste, barking orders left and right as you refused to leave anyone behind.

“Darius, you need to go”, you shouted amidst the chaos around you, seeing the lieutenant fought bravely as he clutched his rifle close, firing shot after shot at the advancing German soldiers merely a few feet away.

“I’m not going anywhere without you, Myrna”, he declared, his voice firm with resolve.

“I’ll be right behind you”, you insisted and started to push him away to safety, but he held his ground unwavering. 

“No, I’m not leaving you!” he shouted, his eyes locking onto yours with pure determination as his tone left for no argument. “We’re in this together”

You sighed in defeat, allowing him to stay by your side knowing there was no time to debate. The situation grew more perilous by the minute as it became clearer that the enemy was closing in on the barracks. But you and Darius continued to stand your ground, determined to aid your fellow comrades and guide them to safety.

Together, you fought your way through the turmoil as the chaos and destruction intensified, dodging bullets and explosions while glancing left and right to ensure each other’s safety. The moment of truth came when the last of the military trucks departed, and the two of you finally decided to make your escape. 

The barracks were in shambles, and you could hear the sounds of enemy soldiers drawing nearer. The two of you made a run for it, racing toward the outskirts where an abandoned motorbike was stationed.

But fate had other plans. Just as you were about to reach the vehicle, a group of German soldiers appeared on the scene, hot on your heels. They spotted your position, and before the two of you could react, shots rang out followed by a sharp crack that rang out. Darius staggered as he cried out in pain, clutching his shoulder where a bullet had struck. You watched in horror as he fell to the ground, the world seeming to slow down around you.

Panic coursed through you as you knelt beside him, trying to assess the situation. The German soldiers closed in, their weapons trained on you both. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest as you let your own instinct take over. There’s no way in hell that you will let him die on your watch.

Without hesitation, you drew upon the ancient powers bestowed on you by your patron goddess Mayari, summoning her very essence that lay dormant within you all these long years until this precise moment. In a blinding flash, your form shifted as the ceremonial armor slowly materialized in a shimmer of moonlight, replacing the former medical uniform enveloping your body.

You, Myrna Katigbak, a simple medic, began to change before Darius’s wide eyes. The initial shock and disbelief he felt witnessing your transformation slowly turned into awe, marking the beginning of your intertwined fates being woven together.

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

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[alissasrandomstuff]

Echoes of Starcourt: A different fate

Okay, so this is my first post here on tumblr. I've recently been rewatching Stranger Things and I'm not ready to deal with Billy's death at the end of season 3 once again... So I decided to write this little thing to make this more bearable for me... and maybe you as well :) English is not my first language, so please be kind and ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes! Word Count: 2.5k Content Warning: angst, blood, description of blood and injuries, violence, language

Plot: You know about everything regarding the Upside Down and its creatures. But when you see how Billy wants to sacrifice himself to save Eleven, you simply can't let him do that and decide to step in.

The last thing you remembered was Billy hitting you hard enough that your head hit the wall and knocked you out - just that it wasn’t Billy, he was possessed. Possessed by the Mind Flayer and forced to work for the Spider Monster, the thing that attacked you and your friends only a few minutes ago inside of Starcourt mall. You were with Mike, Eleven and Max, trying to escape Billy that had found you.

It took you some time to regain consciousness, you sat up only slowly, leaning against the wall behind you. Your head hurts, the spot where Billy’s hand had hit you still feeling a little numb. Someone kneeled next to you and when you look up, you recognize Max, with a small bruise on her cheek as well. She looks at you worried.

“Are you guys okay?”, you instantly ask. You take a deep breath to regain your composure and focus on the situation.

“We’re okay, what about you?”, Max asks and makes you look at her. You quickly nod and brush a strand of hair from your face, when you notice that neither Eleven nor Billy are still around.

“Where is Eleven? And Billy?”

“He must’ve taken her with him, to bring her to the Spider Monster. The Mind Flayer wants to eliminate her”, Mike tells you and your eyes widen.

“Shit, we need to save her!”

With that, you get back on your feet and tell the two kids with you to follow you. The three of you run back the hallways, looking for a sign about where El and Billy went. When you reach the main hall of Starcourt, you are greeted by a scene of horror and only just manage to avoid attracting attention and hide behind one of the store's platforms. Shocked, you watch as Billy stands behind the floored Eleven and simply looks up at the Spider Monster, who has come back to get El. Just as the monster is about to attack Eleven, fireworks are suddenly set off to distract the monster. The rest of the troupe, split into groups, throw fireworks from the 4th of July downwards at the Spider Monster: Lucas and Will on one side, Steve and Robin on the other and Jonathan and Nancy from yet another side to cause as much chaos and confusion as possible. Eleven tries to seize the moment and crawl away, but Billy gets hold of her and drags her back. He holds her forcibly on the ground and stares into her eyes, from a distance you can only just make out that the girl is talking to him.

You are in shock, for the moment you can only observe what is happening, but at some point... at some point the fireworks stop again. Billy slowly straightens up as the Spider Monster turns back to Eleven. Your eyes widen as you realize he's trying to stop the monster, see that the old Billy is back. Eleven has somehow managed to stop the Mind Flayer's possession of Billy.

The monster opens its mouth and finally tries to grab Eleven, but Billy grabs the tentacle and struggles against it with all his strength. Both you and Max pause in shock, paralyzed for a moment as this happens.

"No... No, no, no..." you mutter to yourself, and as you see the monster slowly spinning off more tentacles from its fleshy arms, it dawns on you what Billy will face if no one does anything. Your body switches to autopilot, you simply react instinctively.

"You grab Eleven as soon as you can," you say in a surprisingly firm voice to the two kids next to you.

"What are you going to do?" Max asks immediately, but you don't wait any longer, every second counts from here on in. The spider monster wants to sink its claws into Billy, while you now climb out of your cover and simply sprint off. Behind you, out of the corner of your eye, you can see Mike and Max doing the same, but unlike you, they run straight to Eleven and help her get to safety. You, on the other hand, sprint straight towards the danger, your eyes focused solely on Billy. The spider monster seems to notice you, but just as it is about to stab Billy, you finally reach him. Using all your physical strength, you throw yourself against Billy, pulling him with you and out of the tentacles' field of fire. Not a second too soon, the spider monster misses Billy by a hair's breadth.

It doesn't hit Billy, but it does hit you in the shoulder. A searing pain jolts through you as you fall to the ground with Billy, and you immediately feel the blood from the wound start to run down your arm. Nevertheless, it is more important for you to get to safety with Billy, at least for the moment. You crouch down behind a large pot of flowers, both completely out of breath, and press your bodies against the cool material of the pot.

“What the hell did you do, Y/L/N?”, Billy asks and you look at him. For the first time for hours, you can see his normal skin again, not covered in black veins anymore.

“I saved your ass, Hargrove”, you reply and take a first, brief look at the wound on your shoulder. It doesn’t seem to be that deep, but still, it bleeds more than expected.

“Fuck”, Billy curses under his breath when he sees your wound as well, but you’re quick to shake your head.

“We can deal with it later, for now we have to survive this”, you say and look around for a way to escape. Suddenly, you feel something on your leg, and when you look down at it, you see one of the Spider Monster’s tentacles wrapped around it. Your eyes widen, when the monster already pulls you out of your hideout and right into the air. Billy tried to grab you, but he wasn’t quick enough, so now the Spider Monster got you instead of him. It guides you towards its mouth, and you panic once you realize what its about to do. You look around, franticly looking for something to either hold on to or defend yourself with.

Your eyes lock on a flagpole, the flag of the United States ripped apart almost completely. When you reach out, your hands only get ahold of the flag, and it’s quick to rip apart completely, making you yell in distress. Luckily, Steve was quick enough to figure out your plan, he yells your name.

In the next second, he throws a broken flagpole your way, luckily far enough for it to be in your range. Your breath is rapid, and you try everything to wait for the right moment once you caught the pole. You can hear your friends screaming for you to do it, but it’s not the time yet. Right when the Spider Monster opens its mouth to let out its biggest tentacle, you take all of your strength left, ignore the tremendous pain in your shoulder, and sling the pole right into the mouth of that monster, throwing it like a spear. When the broken tip of the pole hits the mouth, the monster roars out a horrifying scream, lets go of your leg and stumbles back, obviously in pain. You fall down onto the ground, screaming in pain yourself when you land right on the wound of your shoulder. Still, you’re quick to turn back around and you see how the monster stumbles right back at you, threatening to tramp you down. In the last second possible, you throw your body to the side, trying to use your injured arm now as little as possible while still escaping this situation. You hide behind one of the pillars supporting the second floor of the hallway, looking through the main hall, breathing heavily. Your eyes lock with Billy’s for a moment and you realize that he made it to where Max, Mike and El are hiding, before you look back at where the Spider Monster is still faltering around. It’s still screaming, but it turned into a scream of frustration rather than one of pain.

You watch as the creature trips and falls, flinching every now and then, before finally becoming quiet, its limbs completely slack. Silence takes over Starcourt, nobody dares to say or do anything, nobody is sure whether it’s over or not.

A few minutes later, the military barges in, securing the area and the body of the Spider Monster. Afterwards, they escort everyone out of the mall, closing it for good. Outside, various ambulances and firetrucks are already waiting, paramedics immediately taking care of everyone visibly injured. You sit down in one of the ambulances and they take a look at your shoulder, making sure nothing is either infected nor are any bones broken from your fall. They put your shoulder in a bandage and your arm in a sling so you don’t move it anymore. It’s obvious that they wanted you to go to the hospital, but you’re quick to decline, wanting to know whether all your friends are safe. So, they reluctantly let you go, insisting that you go to a doctor if your pain gets worse. You only nod and leave the ambulance again, looking around for your friends. You’re quick to find Max, the bruise on her cheek was the only than that had to be checked on, and when she sees you, she quickly runs over to throw herself into your arms.

“It’s alright Max, we’re all okay”, you whisper to the young girl and return her embrace with one arm, feeling how she relaxes again.

“Thank you. For saving Billy, I mean, and for still being alive”, she quietly says and looks up at you, to what you only smile and nod. You always got along well with the small Mayfield, she always told you how she sees a big sister in you, so you can only imagine how relieved she feels that her ‘big sister’ is still alive. And saved her big brother.

You look around for Billy, but can’t find him in the crowd, instead, your eyes land on Eleven. And she looks sad.

“You should go and look after El, something’s wrong”, you say to Max and gesture towards her friend. Max looks at Eleven and then back to you, before nodding and running off to Eleven. You look after her, taking a deep breath.

Suddenly, someone gently puts a blanket over your shoulders, careful about not hurting your injured one. You look to your left, kind of expecting Nancy, but when you see Billy, you raise your eyebrows. He looks a lot better already: his eyes got back this sparkle he always had, his skin looks a lot more rosy and human again, no sign of those black veins left. He doesn’t sweat much as well, he looks healthy again.

“You risked your life back in there for me”, he states after looking at you for a moment, as well. He points at your bandaged shoulder.

“Got hurt because you didn’t want me to die.”

You shrug one shoulder and smile gently.

“Of course I didn’t want you to die. Nobody deserves to die, especially not in a brutal way like this”, you reply and look back front for a moment.

“I was an asshole, to everyone, to you as well. I never treated anyone good, I even hit you there in the mall!”, he tries to argue, but you shake your head.

“That wasn’t you, Billy. It was that thing, it made you do things you didn’t want to. So don’t worry”, you reassure him and look into his eyes calmly. You can see his confusion, his guilt and most of all… fright.

“I can explain you everything you want, but we can do that later. You’re scared, I understand and it’s completely normal. For now, we can be happy to all still be alive, it’s alright”, you say in a soft voice. When you found out about the Upside Down and everything around it, it was a lot for you as well, but Billy was thrown into the picture in a completely different way, a way darker one.

“I can help you, a little at least. If you want to, of course”, you offer and wait for his answer. Billy being Billy, he’d be too proud to accept any kind of help, but maybe… maybe this time it’s different.

Billy is silent for quite a while, averting his gaze from you, clearly thinking hard. Finally, he turns back to you and looks you in the eyes, real and honest.

“I did a lot of bad things, both before and during this… possession, but… if you’re really willing to help me- I’ll gladly take your help”, he answers and you raise your eyebrows, a little surprised at how easily he gave in. But then, you smile gently at him.

“Of course, Billy. I’ll help you.”

He looks at you, his eyes never leaving your face. You look right back at him, seeing something else in his eyes, something you’ve never seen before: Gratitude.

“Thank you. Nobody ever saved my life before. Let alone risked their own life for it.”, Billy whispers and leans in a little closer, making you gulp with both his words and his actions. He’s close, you can already feel his breath on your skin, and instantly, you feel hot. It’s not that you’re inexperienced or too innocent for a kiss, it’s rather… Billy’s history with women and how he treated them. Billy seems to notice about your hesitation, a gentle smile appears on his lips and he brushes a strand of hair away from your face.

“I know what you think, but it’s nothing like that. I’m grateful for what you did for me, and I want to give you at least something back.”

He examines your whole face, a softness in his gaze you never saw before. Billy never acted like this.

“So, can I kiss you?”

You gulp again, taking a deep breath.

“Play with my feelings and I might just kill you myself”, you say, the threat in your words at least partly serious. Billy laughs softly, nodding.

“Understood, hot stuff. I won’t play with your feelings”, he assures you and gently wraps an arm around your waist to pull you in closer. You take a deep breath and nod, finally giving him the signal he wanted. He doesn’t waste another second, leaning in and softly kissing you. His lips feel soft and gentle on yours, not like you always thought they would. Billy’s whole body language speaks nothing truth and affection, he really is thankful for what you did for him. And it makes you just all the more attractive for him. Way more than you already were before.

And he really means it this time.

[taevbears]

Magic Shop - 13

Every coin has two sides

⤑ pairing: OT7 x witch!reader, Namjoon focused ⤑ genre: magic au, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, found family, domestic/slice of life, action/adventure ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 10.3k ⤑ warnings: descriptive violence, body horror, near-death of a main character, prejudice and oppression of mages, heavy angst. ⤑ note: lol bc last week, i had already written out the entire chapter and just meant to edit and post it last weekend. but then another idea struck me while i was at work, and even tho i meant to just change ONE scene, it started leading to a completely different ending. so lol here i am, one week later, after rewriting half this chapter 💀 this chapter is also heavily inspired by "A Village Under Siege" and "The Attack at Nightfall" quests in Dragon Age: Origins + the world of necromancer bells from the "Old Kingdom Series" by Garth Nix

Chapters: Series Masterlist | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

From the distance, an old windmill is spotted over a hill. Its turbines spin slowly with the breeze, and the weathered bricks keep it standing tall after all these years. The distinct landmark signifies one thing.

Hawthorn Village. You’re finally here.

And it’s just as Namjoon remembers it.

Nostalgia hits him as you all cross the bridge that leads into the village. Thatched roofs and walls made of stone and wood. A large well near the center of the square where he used to make wishes upon as a kid. The elementary school he went to, the old church that his parents religiously attended, and the farmlands with livestock and crop mazes.

Much to his dismay, the aftereffects of the nightly terrors have taken its toll on his beloved hometown.

People are trying their best to get through another day, distributing produce to feed the hungry and burning the dead. A blacksmith with tired eyes insistently pounds iron with a hammer to make new weapons that will give them a better chance against the enemies. A militiaman tries to keep up morale, although most of the remaining men are just farmers and workers – none of them trained to fight. Survivors step out of the infirmary tents, wrapped in bandages but still in pain. A small child cries, looking for their parents.

Doom hangs in the air. Haunted and defeated are the faces of Hawthorn’s residents, as the looming threat of another unsettling fight is set before them.

“What’s happened here?” Seokjin asks one of the villagers.

A middle-aged man’s light up when he sees your group. “I haven’t seen you folks before. Have you come to help us? Did our notices finally reach someone?”

It isn’t long until the group is ushered to the local church. Gathered by the altar is the mayor of the village. Dark circles are under his eyes from sleepless nights, but he looks at you all with hope as the villager announces you’re all from a guild. Then, he explains to your party their dire situation.

Decomposing corpses return to life at night with the hunger for flesh, and they have been attacking this small village for the past few nights. From dusk until dawn, these attacks on Hawthorn are relentless. Each night, they come in greater numbers. Due to the necromancer and dark magic being involved, no one has been responding to their urgent calls for help. The local hunters have been summoned to the capital, and guilds often overlook their tiny settlement when they pass by.

All of Hawthorn fears that tonight will be the worst attack yet.

“You’re our only hope,” the mayor pleads. “Hawthorn won’t stand a chance otherwise.”

The Oathkeepers look at Seokjin, but his eyes are on Namjoon. He feels the rest of you looking at him too. As if it’s up to him to decide whether his hometown is worth saving, or if the quest at hand is deemed too dangerous to assist. Allowing him to back out now before they’re obligated to see things through, no matter what the risk.

“Of course we’ll help,” Namjoon decides without hesitation. “Tell us what you need.”

Tonight, things look pretty grim.

Morale within the village is at its lowest. After multiple perilous nights of terror and gruesome deaths, the ones still alive are worried they’ll be next. That nothing will remain of their beloved Hawthorn once the sun goes down.

“Someone has to know something about the necromancer. We have to find out who is terrorizing the village and what their motive is,” Namjoon concludes as you all gather outside the church to debrief. “We also need to help the residents prepare for tonight’s battle: teach them how to properly hold weapons, encourage every able-body to help with the fight, and inspire them to defend the land and their community.”

“Leave the villagers to us,” Seokjin offers, gesturing at himself and the members of his guild. “We’ll do our best to get everyone ready before sundown. You just focus on finding that necromancer.”

“Taehyung and I are going to look at their resources,” Hoseok informs, surveying the infirmary tents. “I might be able to make something for the injured.”

“We’ll check on the blacksmith,” Yoongi says, putting a hand on your shoulder. “He was in rough shape when we passed by. Half of the villagers aren’t wearing proper armor and are carrying broken weapons. Repairs need to be done if they want to stand a fighting chance.”

“Taverns are a great source of information,” Jackson mentions as he eyes the local pub. A smile touches his lips as he wonders out loud, “Maybe I can even convince the owner to give out free shots of courage to the fighters.”

“Then Jungkook and I will talk to the farmers,” Namjoon decides as he looks at his familiar, who nods his head in agreement. “The notice mentions that they’re the ones who suspect dark magic is at hand. Maybe one of them saw something that can give us a clue to where our necromancer is.”

With a solid plan set, the party breaks off to their assigned tasks.

Tonight still looks grim, but there’s hope.

With success, they might be able to turn everything around before nightfall.

“Any luck?” you ask when you see Namjoon and Jungkook circling back to the village square after a while.

“Not really,” Namjoon mulls with a sigh.

“They said the horde comes from all around the village. One night, they’re skeletons from the village’s graveyard. Another night, they’ve come from the nearby lake or from the thickets of the woods,” Jungkook explains with a frown. Whoever they talk to seems to have different descriptions of the undead creatures. “Most of the villagers are too busy trying to stay alive to keep track of what’s been causing the dead to rise.”

“They did confirm one thing, though,” Namjoon adds before he throws a glance at his familiar. “They heard the sound of bells.”

“Bells?” you echo, looking between them.

“It’s how the necromancers summon the dead,” Jungkook simply explains. “Without them, they’re just like any other mage.”

“Good to know,” you mutter, shivering at the thought of hearing strange bells in the middle of the night. At least, if nothing else, you’ll be able to take away their advantage.

Still, a mage that has the skills to control the dead must be incredibly powerful.

“How is everything here?” Namjoon asks as he looks around.

“Good. Jin is a natural at raising morale,” you reply, looking over to where a small crowd chants Seokjin’s name. The others in his guild have been teaching them how to use their weapons, and although they’re still clearly unskilled, their progress is still quite an improvement from before.

“Hoseok-hyung looks like he has things under control in the infirmary,” Jungkook points out. The nurses and patients around him are in awe at the simple potions he had given them, claiming that he must be a miracle doctor. They also look smitten over Taehyung, who’s soothing voice calms and comforts the bedridden a bit.

“Yoongi-hyung, too,” Namjoon notes when he looks at your familiar, sitting over an anvil and helping the blacksmith craft weapons of steel. With assistance, it seems like the blacksmith will be able to get repairs done in time after all.

Shouts and cheers from the tavern show that Jackson, somehow, persuaded the bartender to give out free ale to the villagers. Although tipsy, their spirits are high, and they seem eager to fight after a round of complimentary drinks.

“I’ll help Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook states, interested in what they’re doing. He approaches the blacksmith, who seems elated to have additional assistance.

“We should probably check on Jackson. Maybe he’s heard something,” you suggest, turning toward the tavern. But Namjoon grabs your hand and pulls you back.

“Actually,” he starts, suddenly a little nervous. He takes a deep breath before he tells you, “There’s something I need to do first. Before it’s too late.”

At age thirteen, Namjoon awakened the power of magic. The feeling of bestowment is like fire. The initial spark of energy courses through his veins and spreads within him. Mesmerizing, alluring, and dangerous. No matter how much he reads and tries to understand his abilities, there’s always something new to learn, to incantate, and to master through his connection to the Veil.

Magic is both a blessing and a curse. Two sides of the same coin.

At first, Namjoon hated what he was. He hated that he became a mage.

Every night, when he was locked away in Alterwood Keep or WIndshire Tower, he questioned what he had done to be damned with such misfortune.

Magic is what burned his family’s home to the ground. Magic is what got him taken away from his parents, his friends, and his village – everything he knew. Magic is what lured the hunters into killing Ignis, turned Adriel into a beast, and shunned him from his home for so long.

The same home he stands before now.

“This is it,” Namjoon tells you, looking at an ordinary-looking house.

It’s been rebuilt over the years. Shabby, but somewhat similar to what it used to be. The curtains are identical to the ones his mother had put on the windows, down to the same shade of color. The front has pots of flowers that she liked to grow, and as the weather warmed, she’d smile as they began to bloom. Inside, Namjoon is certain he’d find a small collection of books his father would’ve read, and upon his favorite chair, he used to emphasize the importance of education and the pursuit of knowledge.

Your fingers thread through his. “Are you ready?”

He looks at you and nods his head.

At age nineteen, shortly after he was transferred to Blackstone Castle, he finally started to see magic as a positive force in his life.

Magic is what brought you all together, intertwining your fates with each other like red strings of soulmates. Magic is what makes the ordinary, unassuming shop at New Haven come to life and keep you all safe and happy. Magic is what brings him back to where it all started, with you by his side.

Years have passed since that fateful day he was taken from his parents. He’s started to accept that magic is a part of him. For all its wickedness and destruction, and all its serenity and wonder. Two sides of the same coin.

He just hopes, as he raises his hand to knock on the door, his parents will accept him as well. Magic and all.

The door swings open. An older woman stands on the other side. “Yes, can I help you?”

There’s a polite but cautious smile on her face, and deep dimples on her cheeks that match Namjoon’s. The resemblance between them is unmistakable.

“Hi Mother,” Namjoon greets her with his own nervous, dimpled smile. His hand squeezes yours for assurance. “It’s me. Your son.”

Confusion turns to recognition, which turns from surprise to disbelief. You watch as the woman looks at Namjoon like he’s a ghost.

“Y-You. You shouldn’t be here,” she stutters, lip trembling as her eyes water. Her hand is pressed to her heart as she steps away from the door. 

An older man notices his wife’s distress and comes to the door as well. He puts an arm around her and frowns at you two, not seeming to recognize the young man who has his height and strong build. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Father, it’s me,” Namjoon tries to say, but his voice is small. He’s starting to think that this is a bad idea. “Kim Namjoon. I’m your son.”

Like the woman, the man is initially shocked by the news. But then, his eyes narrow at Namjoon angrily. “What are the likes of you doing here, boy? Don’t we have enough to deal with?”

Namjoon visibly stiffens at the harshness in his father’s voice. “I’m here on a quest. I’ve come to learn that our village is under attack.”

“My village doesn’t need your help!” his father yells, spit flying as he holds his wife protectively. “Magic is what got us into this mess! Magic will make things worse!”

“Let’s get out of here,” you quietly urge, frowning at their hostility.

This is like his nightmares. Their looks of hatred and disdain burn under his skin, searing themselves into his memories. It’s hard for him to breathe, it’s hard for him to think. Suddenly, he feels so small. Like he’s a child again, standing before the fires that destroyed his home and took everything from him.

“Get away from him if you know what’s good for you, little girl,” the man warns, finally noticing that you’re there. “He’s something Wicked. His magic put us all in danger and ruined our lives!”

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon chokes out. The words that he wanted to tell his parents after all these years. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Get out! Do not come here again!” his father interrupts as his mother bursts into tears, burying her face into her husband’s shoulder. He grabs whatever is closest to him and waves it in a threatening manner. “Get away from our house before you destroy it!”

Namjoon obliges, stepping away from the door. He looks deeply hurt as he tries again. “But Father—”

“Do not call me that!” he barks as he gives him one more hateful glare. “We don’t have a son. Not anymore.”

Then, he slams the door shut.

“That went well,” Namjoon comments, sarcasm thick in his voice. He sits on a broken crate in the alleyway the two of you end up in and sighs. “I feel like an idiot.”

Part of him had known that, maybe, his parents weren't going to give him the warmest welcome. Part of him even thought that, perhaps, his parents wouldn’t recognize him.

Still, it hurts.

It hurts that he had expected otherwise. That he had hoped his parents would listen to him and forgive him. That they’d come to accept him.

But they’ve made it more than clear that Hawthorn Village and the house he grew up in is no longer his home. And that the parents who raised him are no longer his family.

Namjoon always knew this scenario could’ve been a possibility. And yet, he foolishly wanted to be wrong.

“Joon…” Your voice calls out from behind him, but you seem at a loss of words.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes, feeling incredibly dejected as he keeps his back to you. “I shouldn’t have bothered. I should’ve known it’d be a waste of time.”

And it hurts. It hurts so badly.

Knowing that all his efforts to return home — and all the punishments he took for running away — were fruitless. That no matter how hard he tries to be good and understand his magic, nothing will change.

In the end, Ignis really died for nothing. And that’s probably what hurts the most.

Namjoon half-expects you to scold him for dragging you along. For you to comment how you knew this was a bad idea, and that you both have other important things to worry about right now.

Instead, you approach him and gently wrap your arms around his neck. Your body is pressed against his back, hugging him from behind. Neither of you speak as he stiffens under your touch. But he places his hand over your arm in a wordless request to stay.

And you do. You stay with him, kissing his tear-stained cheeks and wishing you could do more to comfort him.

But to Namjoon, this is enough. Being with you is more than enough.

When the sun goes down, the dead awakens.

Villagers of Hawthorn scramble indoors, locking themselves inside and barricading the doors and windows. The church bells are quiet, not to be rung until morning light. Everywhere is an eerie silence, and those left to fend off the inevitable enemies swallow their fears as they train their eyes on the horizon.

There, a green fog mixes with the misty air, and the putrid stench of rotting flesh slowly advances toward them. Death is coming, and with it, alarming numbers of the undead.

“All right, everyone!” the mayor begins, taking command of the last line of defense. The odds are heavily against them, but he has to keep up what little morale they still have left. “We’ve driven off this evil before. We can do it again for one more night. We fight, or we die trying!”

With that said, the villagers charge in. Battle cries ring out as they use their pitchforks, shovels, and scythes to attack the incoming herd.

But they only get so close before the fear sets in.

Death looks them in the eye. Corpses with lifeless, glowing eyes, flesh rotten and decayed, and bones visible as they unhinge their jaws and let out an unsettling groan.

Some of them flee the opposite direction, running away from their foes. Some stand frozen, panic seizing them in place. Some, unable to stand the horrid smell, drop their weapons and retch out their stomach’s contents.

The villagers don’t stand a chance.

Then, they begin to hear it.

In the dark, rural farmlands, the sonorous sound of bells toll. Yet, when their eyes gaze to the local church, the large brass on the tower is completely still. If it’s not from the church, where are the bells coming from?

A scream pierces the air. The mayor turns to see a woman swinging an axe around violently. Her eyes are wide with terror, fixed on something before her, but there isn’t anyone around her. She continues to scream at something to get away from her as she slashes the air.

Two friends suddenly turn on each other. The two men have been buddies for years, and it’s like they don’t recognize their friend. They have that same, wild look in their eyes as they grab each other and raise their weapons.

The mayor’s heart hammers in his chest as they turn against each other, mistaking alley for enemy. “Men, what are you doing? Stop it!”

But it’s too late.

Blood splatters. Followed by cries of agony.

Horrified, the mayor gets away before they try to hurt him as well. As he runs, he grabs a woman’s shoulders and tries to warn her not to listen to the bells. But when she turns to face him, her face is completely disfigured. The flesh looks like it’s melting off her skin, bone and muscle peeking as she smiles wickedly.

“What’s wrong, mayor?” the woman asks, but her voice sounds off. Another voice is layered over hers – deep and raspy, almost demonic – that clearly isn’t her own.

The mayor lets her go and shrinks back in fear. As he looks around, he sees that the undead have somehow surrounded him. They stand there and watch him with their lifeless eyes. Their rotting flesh. Pitchforks, shovels, and scythes in hand.

Mysterious bells continue to echo, drowning out his screams.

“Do you hear that?” Hoseok asks from beside you. The two of you are stationed a little away from the village, near a part of the woods that locals claim was one of the spots the dead have risen from. It’s foggy and creepy, and you’ve been eyeing the thicket and expect a horde of undead to stumble from beyond the trees.

But it’s been dead quiet.

Even as you hold your breath and stand perfectly still, you can’t hear anything.

“What is it?” you ask, your voice a whisper.

Hoseok glances over at you with a frown. “I hear the ringing of bells.”

The sound of footsteps crunching on leaves and twigs catch your attention. Seokjin calls out to you and Hoseok as he and Namjoon appear from the fog. “We need to regroup. Something is happening at the village.”

“What do you mean? Are they under attack?”

Neither of them answer you. The concern on both their faces only makes you worry more as you and Hoseok follow them toward the old windmill where the rest of your party is waiting. It’s a little closer to the heart of the village, and you can hear some commotion going on, like the villagers are in the throes of battle.

You spot Taehyung in his raven form, flying from the direction of the village and landing before you and Hoseok. When he transforms into his human form, he reports, “The recently deceased have risen, but they’re not the biggest problem.”

“Then who are they fighting?” Namjoon asks, eyebrows furrowing together.

Taehyung leans against Hoseok for support, bringing his palm against his forehead like he has a migraine. “They’re fighting each other.”

Silence follows the unsettling news.

Seokjin is the first to break it. “What the hell is going on?”

As if to answer him, you all hear it too.

The haunting, sonorous sound of bells in a nearby distance.

Hearing them sends a chill up your spine. And knowing that they’re beckoning death makes them even more terrifying.

“We need to get the bells,” Jungkook reminds you, turning away from the village to look you in the eye. “It’s the only way we can stop their madness.”

“We’ll have to be quick,” Namjoon agrees. “Or Hawthorn won’t make it to sunrise.”

There are seven necromantic bells. Each is more difficult to wield properly as their size and power increases. And, without proper care, the bells have a negative effect on the ringer that could backfire to certain death.

As you and the others approach the village, you hear the chime of the first bell.

It’s been a long day. Traveling the long roads to the village by carriage and on foot. Helping the residents prepare for the gruesome attacks tonight. Getting ready to face a powerful mage hiding somewhere nearby.

Sleep. The first bell sings. And you’re hit with a wave of drowsiness.

Yoongi catches you before you collapse on the ground. His eyes are tired, as if he hadn’t slept for days. In a slurred mumble, he commands, “Stay with me.”

The others aren’t faring any better. Long yawns and slow steps plague your group. Some of them look like they’re about to slump over and fall unconscious. You and the other mages ignore the lull of the bell and stay awake and alert. With tired eyes, you try to scan for the source of the sound and see a shadow slip into a building.

“There,” you point out, readying your wand. You follow after it with half your party close behind you. Seokjin stays behind with his guild, promising to catch up. Jungkook looks lethargic as he kicks open the entrance a few times before nearly tumbling inside.

A home abandoned is what you’re met with. The people living here seem to be gone, hurriedly leaving in the middle of making dinner. Flies swarm the rotting food, but it doesn’t look like anything else has been touched.

“Be careful,” Jackson warns, going further into the house. He uses his wand as a light, cautiously going from room to room to make sure the coast is clear.

It looks empty. But you know it isn’t.

You feel someone watching you all from the shadows.

When you turn to face the main room, your eyes widen when the figure emerges. Shrouded in tattered robes and carrying a bandolier of old bells is the necromancer. Deathly pale as a ghost, thin and bony like a skeleton, and decayed like the very creatures they summon. 

The necromancer — a truly Wicked creature — isn’t human at all. It’s a phantom.

It towers over you, face covered in darkness. In its hand is the second bell, which rings and beckons the dead with every step it takes toward you.

A burst of flames comes from your wand, aiming right at the necromancer’s face. Fire catches on its robes, but the necromancer seems unphased. Even as it’s burning alive.

Behind you, wooden boards split and break, and arms of the dead reach through the window to grab you. A startled scream escapes your lips when something does.

You’re pulled tightly to Namjoon’s chest as he leads you away from the doors and windows. He keeps a wand pointed at the necromancer as he holds you protectively. From your peripheral vision, you see Jackson, Hoseok, and the familiars trying to keep the horde out.

Distracted, you don’t notice the necromancer tucking the second bell away and taking out the third one from the pouch. With two hands, it rings the bell – up, down, left right – each toll causing different sounds from one bell, but they make a dancing tune that compels your legs to move on its own.

“Namjoon!” you gasp, trying to hold onto him. Mechanically, one foot marches over the other. Against your will, you leave his side. Neither Namjoon nor the other boys could stop you as their own feet seem planted in place, unable to move.

By its command, you spin around and start to slowly head straight toward the window, into the reaching arms of the undead. The boys call out to you, and you try to resist the magic. Every fiber of your being tries to hold you back from being torn apart by their greedy hands and mouths.

But your body won’t listen. You continue to march forward.

With all his willpower, Namjoon leans as far as he can and reaches toward you. His fingers grasp the back of your clothes and he yanks you backwards. You stumble a bit, but you reach back and cling onto him, anchoring yourself as he pulls you closer.

“I got you, baby,” he assures you, wrapping both of his arms around you.

Relief washes over your face, even as your legs continue to move on its own, you and Namjoon hold onto each other. With the wand still in your hand, you manage to point it at the necromancer and cast a spell of frost, just as it takes out two more bells.

The necromancer freezes. Icicles form around it for a few seconds before it shakes it away. Namjoon’s eyes widen when he realizes something.

Magic is very effective against the necromancer.

Just as he realizes this, the phantom necromancer starts to rapidly swing the bell in its left hand.

Whispers from beyond the grave seem to float around the room with the fourth bell, disembodied and ambiguous. The voices are in every direction, layered with the quick and steady rings. And Namjoon swears one of the voices is calling out to him.

His eyes look for who is calling him, and his gaze turns toward the crowd of undead by the window. Then, his eyes widen when he hears the chime of the fifth bell.

One of the skeletal remains starts to look familiar to him. The clothes are tattered and weathered, but the scraps of what’s left are the same from that day, slightly charged from when the hunters burned him. Flesh and muscle start to form around the skeleton, bringing back the teenage boy Namjoon once left behind.

Impossible.

Ignis, alive and well, is among the horde. His first friend since he’s become a mage.

“Namjoon,” Ignis calls out to him again. His voice is echoing and weak, but it’s still very much the same as he remembers.

Hoseok, and Jackson are looking in the same direction, stunned. Namjoon would’ve thought they’re also seeing Ignis until he hears the names they call out.

“Mina?”

“Adriel!”

A sense of confusion draws Namjoon out of the spell. He doesn’t see Adriel or Mina in the crowd, but he sees Ignis. Are you two seeing someone different?

Taehyung grabs both Hoseok and Jackson before they could step closer to the window. “Don’t. You’ll get hurt.”

Yoongi and Jungkook block the window as well, trying to keep you and Namjoon safe. He doesn’t realize it, but Namjoon’s grip loosens around you from the shock. The spell from the third bell still lingers, causing you to move away from him again, but Yoongi easily catches you this time.

“Is that—?” you begin to ask, but Yoongi shakes his head.

“It’s a trick,” he says as he tightens his hold around you. “Whoever you see isn’t there.”

Namjoon’s heart drops a little when he realizes the fourth and fifth bell must’ve brought back memories of a deceased loved one. An old friend to each of you that had passed on. Their voices. Their likeness.

“Hyung, you have to get the bells, Quickly,” Jungkook reminds him as he glares at the phantom necromancer. “Before it uses the seventh one. That’ll cause death to everyone who hears it.”

That means there’s only two more bells left, and the last one is deadly. If there’s a chance to stop the necromancer, it has to be now.

The necromancer tries another combination. It exchanges the fourth and fifth bell for the second and sixth ones. With the second, it’s able to summon the dead, beckoning them to come to it from beyond the grave. And with the sixth, it has complete control over them, binding them to its will. Within its shrouded face, its eyes begin to glow an eerie yellow the moment it wields the sixth bell.

Namjoon casts a bolt of lightning from his wand, but the necromancer vanishes before it hits. The bells ring somewhere that he can’t pinpoint, and he sees you and the others regain control of your bodies and try to look for the necromancer all over again.

“It couldn’t have gone far,” Namjoon reasons, scanning around. All of you are on high alert, wands ready to strike the moment the phantom necromancer appears.

Then, he hears the sound of wood breaking. More reinforcements join the previous herd and start to come inside. Namjoon completely loses sight of you and the others, using gusts of wind to blow the undead back and knocking them against walls and furniture. He calls out to you, but the disembodied groans, the stench of rotting flesh, and the sight of disfigured creatures keeps him from looking for you.

One of the creatures he comes to face is Ignis. Or at least, what looks like him.

“Stop. I don’t want to hurt you,” Namjoon says, pointing his wand at him. It feels like his Harrowing all over again. Being forced to face his biggest regret.

Ignis has his wand pointed at him as well. It’s a broken stick. The old, dirty clothes that he wears barely covers his chest and waist, but there’s a deep wound where the hunters have stabbed him through the heart. There are burn marks from when they had set him on fire.

Namjoon feels a burst of hot air as a fireball flies past him. He counters it with a water spell, dousing the flames before it hits him. The two elements collide as steam fills the room, causing Namjoon to lose sight of his old friend.

Sparks of lightning flash to his right, and he barely dodges an electrifying bolt. The attack hits a picture frame behind him, and the glass shatters as it falls on the floor. Wind sweeps up the broken glass and hurls it toward him, and Namjoon levitates the broken boards in front of him and uses them as a shield to protect himself.

Spells after spells become a dance between offensive and defensive attacks between Namjoon and Ignis. He can feel himself getting tired. The overuse of magic is causing his hands to blacken. He’s breathing heavier, and pain shoots from his arm when it got hit with a critical ice attack.

But Ignis is slowing down too. He’s proven to be an incredibly difficult opponent. But like Namjoon, Ignis is panting for breath and from the tips of his fingers down to his wrist is inky black of magic overuse. The wound on his chest expanded, bleeding heavily, yet he still stands. Stubbornly, he continues to point his wand at Namjoon, still wanting to fight.

However, Namjoon knows he needs to end it now.

While in battle, it seems like the others have taken care of the undead herd, but the necromancer’s whereabouts are still unknown. He can hear them shouting at him, but he doesn’t know what they’re saying. All he can focus on is the opponent before him.

Needing to end the fight, Namjoon tries a new spell.

Keeping his eye on Ignis, he slowly crouches and puts his hand on the ground. The earth moves beneath his fingertips, and covering the house are thick vines. They come from one side of the house, through the window, reaching across the floor and ceiling, and finally snagging Ignis. He seems surprised when they wrap around his wrist and disarms his wand, and around his ankles to immobilize him. 

The surprise turns to worry when one of the vines wraps around his neck.

Then, they begin to tighten.

Namjoon tries not to react as he watches his old friend die by his hand once again. He feels the sting of tears threaten his eyes as the wand falls on the ground and Ignis begins to choke.

As much as Namjoon wishes he could go back in time and undo his old friend’s death, as much as he’d like to think this is the real Ignis and not some undead creature wearing his skin, he knows his friend is long gone.

He points his wand at Ignis, the tip of it heating with a fire spell.

But before it’s cast, Namjoon is knocked to the ground. As he comes to his senses, he realizes three horrifying things.

First, the phantom necromancer had been there the whole time. It’s been ringing the bells, conducting them like a puppeteer. And Namjoon is its puppet with strings.

Second, it isn’t just Namjoon that was being controlled by the bells. His party has been immobilized, forced to watch as Namjoon fights Ignis. But Jackson – who was standing closest to the phantom – manages to break from the spellbound restraints, covering his ears to block the sound. Out of willpower and determination, he puts one foot over the other to sneak up on the necromancer. Until, finally, he yanks the hoister of bells before the necromancer has a chance to grab the seventh and deadliest one.

Third, the moment that the necromancer is no longer in control, Yoongi lunges at Namjoon with his hand curled into a fist. Jungkook manages to grab Yoongi’s waist, but they both topple over and knock into Namjoon. The three of them are on the ground, and Namjoon realizes that Hoseok and Taehyung are yelling at him too, but their voices are where Ignis is.

Or what he thought was Ignis.

It isn’t an undead creature caught in the vines of his spell.

It’s you. This whole time, it’s been you.

“Let her go, Namjoon!” Hoseok screams, trying to yank the vines away from you. Every time he pulls one away, another takes its place. They start to tangle around him and Taehyung as well. He can feel it grabbing his ankles and see it wrap around Taehyung’s hand as he tugs on the one around your neck.

Fuck, he doesn’t even know if you’re even breathing. Your body looks lifeless as they continue to constrict your chest and your neck.

Taehyung curses and tries to shake off the vine that’s spreading up his arm and toward his neck. Hoseok’s mind is spinning, wanting to use a fire attack to burn the vines, but afraid that it’ll hurt you and Taehyung. And Namjoon is still dazed from the effects of the bells.

Seokjin finally catches up after helping the surviving villagers. His eyes widen when he sees what’s happening and immediately rushes to you with his sword at hand.

“Hyung!” Taehyung exclaims as Seokjin carefully cuts the vines to free the three of you. Hoseok immediately catches you, and to his relief, you’re still alive. You’re still breathing, but barely.

“Is she okay?” Seokjin asks, his hand still around his sword. The Oathkeepers have jumped into battle with Jackson, trying to take the necromancer down with standard magic spells now that the bells are not with it.

“She’ll be fine,” Hoseok says as he sees Yoongi rush toward you. He hands you off to him. “Watch over her, hyung. We have to help Jackson.”

Yoongi merely nods. His hands are trembling a little as he holds you in his arms, taking you somewhere safe from the fight.

Namjoon finally snaps out of it when he sees Yoongi passing by. He catches a glimpse of you too, but Jungkook shakes his shoulder and urges, “Hyung, come on, let’s go. They need us.”

Slowly, Namjoon stands and his eyes narrow at the necromancer. The spells are aggressive as it targets Jackson, trying to get its bells back. The Oathkeepers surround him, protecting him as they use their weapons against the powerful mage.

“Push it toward the vines,” Namjoon instructs, and they do. Each swing of an attack that the Oathkeepers land, and each spell cast from Hoseok and Jackson causes the necromancer to step closer and closer to the vines where you were.

One of the vines manages to snag the necromancer’s ankle. Another starts to wrap around its arm. Everyone watches as a being associated with death struggles to free itself from the plants that are full of life. But that only tangles it up even more, constricting it until it can’t move at all.

Then, Namjoon stands before the necromancer. He still has a bit of magic in him, and with it, he unleashes a small fire. Just like he had accidentally casted all those years ago, when he first awakened his power.

This time, it’s with purpose as the flames engulf and destroy everything before him.

There’s an unnerving feeling that settles throughout the remains of Hawthorn Village.

All night, the Oathkeepers gathered everyone they could find and brought them to the church. They figured it would be easier to protect everyone if they’re all in one place.

Priestess and the faithful Devoted clasps their hands so tightly in prayer, their knuckles turn white. Mothers hold their young children close, comforting them as best as they can. Men guarding the inside of the chapel anxiously pace with their hands hovering over their weapons, anticipating that they’d be the last line of defense if your party fails to stop the necromancer.

It’s been a long night.

The fighting and shouting beyond the church door lasts for hours.

But beyond the horizon, there’s a silver lining of hope. Dawn breaks, and a new day begins. As the sun rises, so does their salvation.

Word spreads of what you and the others have done. How you all saved the village. How Namjoon defeated the awful creature that’s been terrorizing them.

“Didn’t you have a son named Namjoon?” one of the villagers asks, but Namjoon’s father shakes his head and denies it. There’s a frown on the old man’s face as others have gathered to talk about the news.

It’s finally over. Their village is saved. They’ve survived those perilous nights. And it’s all thanks to the guild that came to help them.

Stepping outside, the morning light greets them. Fighters return to embrace their loved ones after the long battle. Children cheer with joy for their heroes, and tears are shed from relief between reunited families and partners.

Among the fighters, there’s Namjoon and his group.

One of the boys – the one with a slender build and a sharp face – has you on his back. The others are worn and exhausted, but seem okay from the distance as they help support each other back to the village. And Namjoon, with two of his comrades holding him up, keeps trying to disregard his own injuries as he worries about yours.

The concern on his face, the remorse and sorrow in his expression – it’s just like when he was a kid on that fateful day.

“How do you reckon they did it?” another villager asks him, looking at the direction that Namjoon’s father is staring at. It would be easy to reveal the truth. That Wicked mages are among them, and the entire village would be full of distrust and anger toward them.

“Who knows?” the old man says instead, and turns away from the group with a frown.

Magic may have gotten them in this mess, but in an ironic twist of fate, magic is what saved them.

For the first time in days, Hawthorn Village is promised a good night.

The mayor and the surviving villagers hold a small ceremony to honor the deceased and to hail your party as heroes. It will take time for their tiny village to recover. Even with the threat of the necromancer gone, there’s still fear of the night and what it could behold. But the mayor is confident that they can rebuild.

You’re then taken to Hawthorn’s inn to recover. Luckily, no one else is severely injured, but you and Namjoon have the worst of it.

Hours pass, and you’ve yet to open your eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” Hoseok reminds him, wrapping a cloth bandage around Namjoon’s arm. “That necromancer made you guys attack each other.”

It doesn’t make Namjoon feel any better.

“I nearly killed her,” he laments. At Blackstone Castle, Hoseok once swore that if Namjoon ever hurts you, he’d kill him. Truly, this warrants his friends to turn against him like others have done before.

But somehow, they don’t.

Hoseok finishes up and examines his work. “To be fair, she did a number on you too.”

Namjoon is told to rest, but he can’t bring himself to let his guard down. He keeps thinking there must be a catch. That, perhaps, the others are still angry with him and are starting to resent him.

“Namjoon-ah, come eat,” Seokjin calls out for him, gesturing for the mage to sit at the table. He serves him a bowl of stew the innkeeper made. “Be careful. It’s still hot.”

“Hyung, are you healing okay?” Jungkook asks again – probably for the fourth time that hour alone. He frowns at the bandages Hoseok put on him, and there’s genuine concern in his big, doe-shaped eyes. “If you need anything, let me know. Got it?”

“Be careful, hyung. You don’t want to hurt yourself again,” Taehyung scolds when Namjoon nearly bumps into something. It’s the closest any of them have been stern with him all day, yet Taehyung frets over him like he does with you and the others.

Even Yoongi strikes up a casual conversation with him, flipping through a book of Devoted scriptures he’s found. “What is this garbage they’ve been teaching you?”

Namjoon frowns. “Hyung, what are you doing?”

“There’s nothing else to read,” he states with a scowl.

“I mean, why aren’t you angry at me?” Namjoon asks, his heart still full of guilt. You mean so much to all of them, and what he did is unforgivable.

“You didn’t mean to hurt her,” Yoongi simply replies.

“But I did it,” Namjoon protests, feeling a bit frustrated. He doesn’t get it. “Why are you all so nice to me after what I’ve done? Why don’t you hate me?”

Isn’t this how it always goes? Why is it so different this time?

“You’re family to us, Namjoon,” Yoongi tells him. “We could never hate you.”

Namjoon wants to believe that, but he doesn’t feel like he deserves to. Not after what he did to you.

Whenever he feels overwhelmed and stressed, Namjoon likes to run to clear his mind. Usually, it’s along the river near New Haven, where he can relax beneath the shade of a tree he liked afterwards. But as he lets his feet take him somewhere, he finds himself by the Hawthorn Lake.

Most of the villagers have gathered here as the late afternoon sun colors the skies with reds and oranges of twilight. To honor and mourn the lives that were lost the past few nights, they’ve decided to hold a small ceremony for them. And standing a short distance from them is a familiar face.

“Where’ve you been?” Namjoon asks, walking up to him.

Jackson is quiet as he watches them. The villagers pray and hug each other, and some sing hymns and play instruments by the shore. Paper lanterns are lit and sent off into the water, representing both hope and remembrance, as well as grief and loss. With the setting sun hitting the water’s surface, it matches the small flames being carried across the lake.

It’s a beautiful ceremony.

“I wish we could’ve done something like this,” Jackson quietly confides without looking at Namjoon. “For Adriel, Mina, and everyone else we lost at Blackstone.”

“We still can,” Namjoon tells him, facing the lake as well. It might be difficult now, but maybe when things settle down with the hunters, they could go back to the lake by the castle and hold a memorial for them one day.

Silence passes as the sun continues to sink. For once, it’s a peaceful evening. And the somber songs start to turn to ones of celebration as a relief washes over them. Tonight, they no longer need to fear the dark.

“You know, I wanted to take up this mission so I could bring them back,” Jackson confesses. “Adriel sacrificed himself to give us our freedom. I’ve been trying to enjoy the gift he gave us, but it isn’t fair that he’s dead while I get to live outside the prison he desperately wanted to escape from.”

Namjoon frowns. “Necromancy is dark magic, Jackson. What if it backfired?”

“I didn’t care. I would’ve used whatever they had to bring them back: bells, tomes, ritual circles,” Jackson lists as he looks at the stash of bells he’s been carrying with him. “Whatever it took. Wouldn’t you want to do the same for that old friend you told us about? The one you saw during the fight?”

Ignis.

Immediately, Namjoon thinks of how the bells convinced him that his old friend had come back. How it took his shape and form, and how it used his voice.

“If I did, he wouldn’t have been the same.” He’d probably be no different from any of the other undead they saw last night. A shell of a human with its spirit gone. A mere illusion of what he once was.

“I probably wouldn’t have been the same either. Had I tried, I would’ve lost a sense of who I am and become a monster like that necromancer phantom,” Jackson concludes with a frown. “That thing we fought… it wasn’t human. It was truly Wicked.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. The necromancer felt like it had lost its humanity a very long time ago, and now just wanders into towns and villages to torment and cause chaos.

“Here.” Jackson holds out the bells to Namjoon. “Make sure to destroy them.”

Namjoon takes it, and he can feel the weight of its power in his hand. “What’s your plan now?”

“Don’t know yet. But I’ll figure it out,” Jackson replies with a small shrug. “I might stay here for a bit and help them rebuild. The guys at the pub really liked me.” 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep.

For a while, you drift in and out of consciousness. You feel the warmth of Hoseok’s healing magic before he applies an ointment to your wound. You hear the sweet tune of Jungkook’s song as he sings to you. You feel Taehyung brush the hair away from your face and press his lips against your knuckles. You hear Seokjin bargain with you – a kiss from your handsomest boyfriend if you open your eyes. When you do, you see Yoongi sleeping on a chair nearby, and you’re certain he hasn’t left your side since you were brought here.

But you don’t see or hear from Namjoon. You force yourself to sit up as the memories of last night come back to you.

In all the years you’ve known Namjoon, he’s always been a strong person. He has thick skin and a level head, and is eloquent and witty with his words. He shoulders a lot of the hard work so you and the others don’t have to. Whenever you need advice, comfort, or someone to rely on, he’s always the first person that comes to mind.

But Namjoon is also human. He can’t always be strong.

And while the details of the fight are still a bit foggy to you, there’s one thing that haunts your mind. The absolute horror on his face when Namjoon finally realizes it’s you he was attacking.

Yoongi stirs when he senses you’re awake. “Where are you going?”

Caught halfway to the door, you stop mid-step and ask, “Yoongi, have you seen—”

Just then, the door opens. Jungkook blinks in surprise when he sees you out of bed. “Oh? You’re awake?”

The others start to crowd in when they hear you’re up. You’re met with relieved sighs, lingering touches, and questions about how you’re feeling from all of them. But as you look around, you notice someone is missing.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

The boys look at each other, exchanging glances as if they don’t know what to tell you. Then, Jungkook speaks up. “He went to get some fresh air. He feels really bad about what happened.”

“I should talk to him,” you decide, determined to find him. You want to look for him anyway. “Do you know where he went?”

Soon, all of you are outside the inn. It’s incredibly empty by the square, and you learn that it’s because most of the villagers have gathered by the nearby lake. From what you’ve heard, it seems Jackson and Namjoon heeded over there as well.

“You’re the girl that was with that boy, aren’t you?”

For a second, you almost didn’t realize someone was talking to you. Then, you turn to see a familiar face. A woman that looked at you with terror and coldly slammed her door at your face yesterday. Namjoon’s mother.

“I am,” you answer, honest but a bit guarded. Now that you have a good look at her, you can see how much Namjoon takes after her appearance. He has the same high cheekbones, the same shape of her eyes, and the same deep dimples in his smile. She stares at you as well, but she doesn’t say a word. Self-conscious, you ask, “Is… Is something wrong?”

She blinks and shakes her head. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to stare.”

You don’t sense any hostility from her this time. Rather, you feel like she’s genuinely curious about you. Perhaps, after the battle and hearing people talk, she had a change of heart about her son.

“That’s all right. I must look terrible.” 

You laugh awkwardly, trying to dust off any dirt from your clothes and fix your hair. Magic helps make you look presentable enough to go out, but you’re still exhausted from fighting all night. Your spells are still weak from overuse, your current clothes are battle-worn, and you’re in a dire need of a bath.

“Actually, you’re quite beautiful,” she quietly admits, and you’re taken aback by the compliment. She looks away from you. There’s a sadness in her eyes as she asks, “How do you know him?”

She doesn’t need to name him for you to know who she’s talking about.

“We’re…” Friends? Lovers? Housemates? Family? “Together. He’s my partner.”

She still doesn’t look at you, but you can see the frown form upon her lips. “And you know what he is?”

“That he’s a mage? Of course I do.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

You blink at her, confused. “Why would it bother me?”

Her gaze lifts to meet yours, and she stares at you for a long time. It begins to occur to you that, although she knows that Namjoon is a mage, she doesn’t know that you’re one as well. To her, it seems outlandish that a human would willingly love a mage.

“He’s a monster. At least, I believed so,” she finally tells you. “I blamed him for ruining our lives. Don’t you know how shameful it is to have a child cursed with magic? The whole village shunned us for years.”

“Perhaps that’s a problem with your village’s beliefs and not your son,” you retort with a scowl. “His affinity to magic isn’t the only thing that defines him. He’s a good man with a kind heart, and while he’s many things, a monster is far from it.”

Remorse flickers on her face. “Forgive me. It seems you care an awful lot about him.”

“Of course I do,” you tell her so earnestly. “Whether he’s a mage or not, he’s still Namjoon. And I love him.”

Again, his mother stares in silence. She seems baffled, and, perhaps, a bit guilty. For a moment, she hesitates, and just when you’re about to walk away, she asks, “And… is he happy?”

You glance back at his mother. “You can always ask him yourself.”

“No, no. It’s too late for that now. It’s better that he doesn’t know I talked to you,” she backtracks, but there’s a small hint of relief to know what’s become of her son after all these years. “Thank you for indulging an old, shameful woman. I’m glad that he has someone like you who loves him for all he is.”

Night has fallen over the village of Hawthorn. But for once, it’s met with laughter and festivities of celebration. Jackson spots his new friends from the pub and introduces them to him. A guy named Mark invites them both for a drink and to hang out as the lantern ceremony continues.

The moon shines brightly as its light reflects against the lake’s surface, and the glow from paper lanterns being carried across the water is a breathtaking sight.

“Namjoon.”

But despite all the people and festivities around, all you see is him.

Namjoon leaves Jackson and the others and sprints toward you, but stops himself before he gets too close. His hand reaches out to touch you out of habit, but he holds it back. He swallows the fear and hesitation building within him before he plasters a nervous smile. “Hey, baby.”

You look him over, not saying anything at first. Your eyes seem fixed on the bandages he has around his arm. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

His smile fades. A short chuckle of disbelief escapes his lips. “How is that the first thing you ask me when I’m the one that hurt you?”

“You didn’t know.”

“I could’ve killed you!” His voice raises, causing a couple passing by to look at you two. He steps a little closer and frowns. “I’m sorry, baby. I swore to myself that I’d always protect you, and I put you in danger. I don’t ever want to put you in that situation again.”

“Namjoon…”

“So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

You seem to know where this is going. He could see the shakiness in your breath and the way your eyes water. “Namjoon, stop…”

“I think it’s better that I stay here at Hawthorn.”

This decision didn’t come easy. But after hearing that Jackson planned to stick around, he figured he’d stay with him. Help the villagers rebuild. Reconnect with old friends and maybe even his parents. Make this place feel like home again.

It seems like a reasonable idea, but the hardest part is leaving you, the family you brought together, and the shop that became your home. As Namjoon stands before you, he knows he doesn’t deserve any of them. Not you, not the others, not the shop.

“You don’t mean that.” You’re crying now, and even as you wipe your tears, you can’t bring yourself to stop.

In all the years Namjoon has known you, you’ve always been a strong person. You carry an admirable confidence when it comes to your magic. You’re as kind as you are protective of the people you care about. You’re capable of handling yourself when faced with difficult situations.

Before he realizes it, he reaches out to you again. His hand cups your face and his thumb gently strokes your cheek, wiping your tears away. “I’m so scared of hurting you again.”

“And I’m scared to lose you.”

But you’re also human. There are times when you’re not always strong.

It dawns on him that you, like him, are terrified that your magic has hurt him. That you think the reason he wants to stay at Hawthorn is because you attacked him.

“You’ll never lose me,” Namjoon promises. Because he knows, even if you’re far apart, he’ll always think about you. In his dreams, in his thoughts. You’ve already claimed every part of him like a fire. “I love you.”

“Then don’t stay here,” you tell him. “Come home. With me.”

And it strikes Namjoon that this is what he’s been searching for his whole life. All the times he’s tried to return to his family, and all his efforts to understand his magic were to get what you’ve given him all along. Acceptance, trust, love. 

Namjoon nods his head, swallowing back his own tears. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, smiling with relief. And on that beautiful night, with the moon shining brightly and the paper lanterns glowing in the water, he kisses you.

Hawthorn is just as Namjoon remembers it.

The small, farming village with a tight-knit community. Every morning, the villagers rise at the crack of dawn, tending to their animals and crops, fishing by the nearby lake, and selling their produce at the marketplace. His parents still live here, and so do many of his childhood friends and their families. And when he looks around, he sees the familiar buildings of the old windmill, the local church, and homes made of thatch roofs and mud and stone walls.

Even when he was forced away, he couldn’t imagine anywhere else could be his home.

Years later, after finally returning to the village, Namjoon realizes he couldn’t be any more wrong. He had once thought – while trapped in a tiny room in Alterwood Keep – if he ever made it back here, he’d never want to leave. That this place was his village. This place was and will always be his home.

“Ready?” Hoseok asks, looking at you, Namjoon, and Jackson. The three of you nod as all wands are drawn over the necromancer bells.

With the power of four mages, the powers are sealed away and their tempting call to beckon the dead is nearly silenced. They look like ordinary bells, but should anyone try to ring them now, it’d be muffled and mute. Its effect is significantly weak with the magical seal intact, and the bandolier of bells tucked away in Jungkook’s pack.

“Let’s get out of here,” Seokjin decides once the spell is done. His hand slips around your waist protectively, weary eyes double-checking that none of the villagers have seen you guys use magic.

“It was nice seeing you guys again, man,” Jackson says, hand clasping Hoseok before he pulls him into a quick hug. He does the same to Namjoon and adds, “I’m glad you changed your mind. It doesn’t feel right to separate you all for some reason.”

Namjoon smiles a little at that. “Feel free to stop by at the shop anytime, Jackson.”

“I’ll know where to find you.” There’s promise in his voice that he’ll keep in touch.

Your party heads out of the village, receiving final thanks from the mayor and some of the other villagers for your help. Namjoon pauses when he sees his parents among them. His father merely nods at him and says, “Take care of yourself, Namjoon.”

“Thanks. You too,” he replies, a bit stunned. His parents leave it at that, shuffling away as Hoseok calls for him not to fall behind, but for Namjoon, that is more than enough.

When he catches up to you, you’re at the bridge that enters the village. He pauses and takes one more look around at the old windmill, village, and the farmlands. It really hasn’t changed that much since he was a child.

But Hawthorn no longer feels like home to him.

“Ready?” you ask, offering your hand to hold.

Around you, the others state how they’re looking forward to going back to New Haven. Yoongi complains that he needs a bath and a long nap. Jungkook wrinkles his nose at his muddy pants and mutters how he’s eager to start his meticulous laundry routine. Hoseok and Taehyung invite the Oathkeepers for food and drinks at the shop once you’re all back, and Seokjin complains how he’ll end up doing the majority of cooking.

Namjoon smiles fondly as he watches you all. Then, he nods and takes your hand.

These days, home to him is a small, ordinary, and unassuming shop in a bustling trading town. It’s a building that’s much bigger and more extraordinary on the inside than it is on the outside, with a tavern, a parlor, a mysterious door by the entrance that fulfills a person’s greatest desires, and bedrooms on the upper-floor curated to their residents’ tastes and styles.

Lately, home is waking up to bread baking and coffee brewing when Seokjin and Hoseok wake up early to start the day. It’s afternoons when he’s reading a book and listening to Yoongi playing the piano in the parlor, or Taehyung and Jungkook giggling as they play games with each other. Home is evenings when Jimin stops by with a bouquet of flowers for you, and all eight of you are gathered together for dinner as the weariness of the day melts away in each other’s presence.

To him, home is picnics by the river with you, basking beneath the sunlight of a gorgeous day. Home is debating what fruit is the best at the marketplace, and ending up taking home both of your favorites anyway. It’s childishly teasing each other with pranks and mischievous spells, and then finding ways to be in each other’s arms by the end of the day.

Home is with you.

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

[justins-1-justan]

Doing spooky activities with total drama characters!

It's spooky season! ^=^

Dj!

Horror movies?

Hahahahah. No ♡

You both stay in and cuddle while watching the Simpsons Halloween specials while eating candy.

You also wear matching halloween pajamas!

The moon has long been in the sky this Halloween, younger trick or treaters had already gone home and the older ones which stayed were met by the cold autumn breeze. But bundled up in soft throw blankets, wrapped in each other's arms as the fire roars, is you and Dj. An old episode plays, you feel your eyelids grow heavy, you rest your head against DJ's shoulder as you slowly drift off to sleep.

Geoff.

You can probably already guess,

Of course you're both going to a Halloween party, if not throwing one yourselves!

Matching costumes!! This year you're the grim reaper and a ghost! Geoff is the ghost & you're the reaper ofc!

Laughter, music, and a cheerful energy paints the party. The flashing lights reflect in his blue eyes, he twirls you as the monster mash booms on the speakers. The two of you party all night, for a holiday that's supposed to be scary, it made such joyful memories.

Izzy!

You both scare the daylights out of trick or treaters.

Your job was to stand on the porch with the candy bowl, candy bowl which is filled with fun sized candy bars disguised as full sized ones.

Izzy's idea of course.

Meanwhile Izzy would hide in the bushes in her 'franken-izzy' costume waiting to jump out at trick or treaters.

You successfully made six kids, three teenagers, and one adult man cry. Congrats?

From your peripheral vision you can see a child in the horizon approaching, you stand in position on the porch. The child, dressed like a minion, steps onto the porch. Per Izzy's instructions you hand them the 'full sized' candy bar. They smile happily and thank you and then.... "BOOOO!!" Izzy yells out at the child. After causing the child to subsequently drop their candy, earning a glare from the child's parents, Izzy practically dies of laughter while holding onto your shoulder.

Scott.

Hehehahaha, he took you a grave yard.

Yep.

A grave yard.

The scheme is that you'll get so scared you'll fall into his arms.

.. Let's just say that doesn't go as planned.

The moon shines brightly down upon you and Scott walking hand in hand in this abandoned graveyard. Boredom creeping over you, an idea dawns. Holding back giggles, you loudly let out a piercing howl like scream, causing Scott to quickly jump and whip his head back towards you. He glares at you and let's go of your hand when he realizes you're fine, he continues the pace of walking you were formerly at, you quickly chase after him and grab his hand, giggling with murmurs of apologies.

Area fifty~one alien Cody~Clone from S3 EP15 & briefly S5 EP7!

Breaking him out of area 51 for the holiday wasn't as difficult as you would think!

After convincing the guards you were a trick or treater, they left to go grab something to give you, then you simply walked to where he was being held and busted him out.

Since he had been in a government facility for years, he's never seen a scary movie before! Oh no!

So you decided to take him to the local AMC and see the latest horror movie.

You bought him popcorn and a slushie.

The two of you sat in your seats, interlocking your hands as their movie starts. The first jump scare happens and instinctively, you grip his hand tighter. Only to hear him let out a whaling scream. You turn towards him and your face pales as your boyfriend's arm turn completely into green goop.

Bridgette!

You both go pumpkin carving!

She carves a sailboat meanwhile you carve a classic jack o' lantern.

More matching costumes!! She dresses as a mermaid meanwhile you're a prince/princess!

The smell of pumpkin surrounds the kitchen you are both sat on the floor of, you look up from carving your pumpkin to see Bridgette dead focus on carving the perfect pumpkin, to the point she doesn't notice the pumpkin guts on her cheek. Giggling to yourself you wait for the next time she's turning her pumpkin around to scoot closer to her. You wipe the pumpkin guts off of her cheek, she turns her attention towards you for a brief second and you take the opportunity to sweetly kiss her cheek. Successfully catching her off gaurd.

[thatsafuckeduptale]

I CANNOT KEEP FORGETTING TO UPLOAD THIS SO HERE IT IS

This is a fic based off of @pancake-shmamcake's bad end pacifist AU, please note the fic is not proof read, beta read, or even written that well considering it was written at 1am while I was super tired.

The fic has been done since the 20th and I've been hoping that I would get the inspiration/drive to rewrite it or proof read it but unfortunately that has yet to happen <:( So please do not critique my writing as I am already aware of all of the problems it has.

This fic has character death and body horror in it! It also contains some spoilers for the Pacifist ending for undertale yellow. Link to the AU post here and a link to the Amalgam's design is here.

Ceroba couldn’t breathe. The air surrounding her was suffocating and heavy with regret. Her SOUL burned within her chest, screaming at her that she’s made a mistake. A mistake that would haunt her for the rest of her life. How could this go so wrong? How could she have known that this would have been the end result? The fox monster wanted to scream. She wanted to scream and curse and swear at the world for being so cruel; but she couldn’t. She was stock still as she watched the shambling child shaped mass regain its balance on shaking legs. She watched as the mask that bore her daughter's resemblance slip and fall from its face, revealing a gaping hole.

Ceroba wanted to cry out her frustrations… but she was scared. Not scared of the security bots nor the royal scientist she had knocked out, but scared of the being she had inadvertently created. A fusion of her fallen down daughter… and the human she slaughtered mercilessly to obtain her goal. Ceroba watched as the amalgam bent down, searching the ground for the mask it had dropped. The fox waited with baited breath as it clumsily moved, shambling slowly towards where the mask lay. When the amalgam had finally located the mask it held it gently, before placing it back upon the gaping hole. Ceroba felt her magic run cold as the fusion of her daughter and the human looked at her. The cold, unfeeling eyes of the mockery of her sins stared through her. Instead of reacting to her, though, it instead focused on the torn and burnt cowboy hat lying a few feet in front of her. It reacted in excitement, a gurgling noise erupting from behind the mask as it limped towards the hat. The amalgam excitedly picked up the hat, far faster than it had lifted its own face, and gently put it upon its head. The face of Kanako remained unmoving. Unchanging as it adjusted the hat to its liking.

Then it looked back at her; and Ceroba wishes she could reset and go back. The expression on the mask was one she knew… the one she saw on her daughter before she fell down. Agony. Ceroba desperately cursed whatever higher being was out there. Whatever higher being was punishing her. This was beyond cruel. This was beyond penance. Had she not paid for her crimes already? Could she not have a happy ending? Her thoughts were ripped from her when she heard her name being yelled. The amalgam standing across from her perked at the voice, recognition dawning on it immediately. No. No no no no no no no. Ceroba wanted to stand up, to ward off her best friend from seeing what she had done. Yet the shock from what had happened chained her down. Kneeling on the cold tile of the Royal scientist’s secret lab.

“Ceroba! You can’t-“ The sheriff’s voice died in his throat as he entered, not even making it a few feet before he froze. Ceroba couldn’t stand to turn and face him. Even if she could, she knew the expression on his face would kill her inside. More footsteps followed from behind him and a cacophony of voices frantically tried to convince her to drop her plans. As soon as the others entered the room though, all their cries had died. Ceroba could hear Martlet and Moray gasp, Edward had choked on his own voice, she could even hear Mooch’s claws catch on the sleeve of Ace’s coat. Ceroba wished her body would cooperate. She wished she could stand up. Explain this horrible tragedy away. Instead, someone else spoke up.

“Un…cle… st…arl…o…” Ceroba could feel the bile rising in her throat. The voice from the amalgam was an echoing fusion of the human’s voice and her daughters. Overlapping and twisting into a horrible chorus she would give anything to forget. Ceroba flinched when she heard the thud behind her. Someone had passed out.

“No…” Starlo’s voice was strained. The fox monster didn’t need to look behind her to know how he looked. The expression of horror and realization. “Ceroba… you…” please don’t. I’m sorry. She willed her voice to work. She willed her body to speak.

Instead, the world decided it wasn’t done with her yet. Sharp bullets sliced through her as she was knocked back by a force of wind. The shock was enough to shake her from her stupor, and she stared wide eyed at her attacker. Martlet stood above her, snarling as best a bird with a beak could. “What did you do.” It wasn’t a question, not an optional one.

“I’m sorry.” Ceroba choked out the words she knew would do nothing. Closing her eyes as the royal guard member flicked her wing, sending a cascade of feather shaped bullets into her body.

“Sorry? You’re SORRY?!” Martlet’s voice was rising, anger and grief lacing every word. “You KILLED Clover! You hurt your own daughter! That wasn’t enough for you!? You had to do it again?!” Ceroba choked on her sobs. Her body aching and stinging from the cuts the feathers had left. She blinked back her tears as she gazed upon the royal guardsman. Angry tears filled the bluebird's eyes as she glowered back. Before the bird could attack again massive arms picked the bird monster up.

“Hey! You need to calm down!”

“How could I calm down! You see what she’s done? She deserves this! She-“

“You’re scaring the kids!”

Both Ceroba and Martlet froze. Their heads swinging back to the amalgam, who was in the tight embrace of the sheriff.

He held them tightly, mumbling apologies and sobbing between every word as he comforted them. The amalgam gurgled as it pat and rubbed his back, a feeble attempt at comfort. Ceroba couldn’t hear what he was saying from where she laid on the floor, but she knew it was probably apologies for how she had acted; and apologies for what she had done.

Her attention turned to the other three in the feisty five. Her heart sank when she realized it was Moray who had collapsed earlier. Their head laid on Mooch’s lap and tail as Ace attempted to heal them with green magic.

…this was all wrong. It shouldn’t have gone this way. It was supposed to go how Chujin predicted. Kanako was supposed to be healed and break the barrier.

A loud sob dragged Ceroba back to the tragedy before her. Martlet and Edward had joined Starlo with the amalgamate. The bird hugged them tightly as Starlo and Edward hung back. Martlet sobbed out apology after apology to the twisted fusion, to which it replied by patting her head and gurgling. To her surprise, it was Edward who approached her.

She stared up at him, as he stared down at her. “…you know what’s going to happen… right?” His voice was quiet. Ceroba glanced away, anxiety bubbling in her gut. “The king’s going to find out about this… and you’ll be punished.” She knew that no matter what she’d be punished by the Crown. Why bother reminding her of what she already knew? “… and Kanako and Clover are going to be experimented on.” That got her attention.

“No-!” She tried to sit up, but cried out in pain and collapsed back on the floor. Everything hurt. Her body, her SOUL, her mind. She hadn’t even considered that! Success or not, the king would probably want Kanako studied regardless! Ceroba gasped for air desperately as she clawed at the tiles furiously. She couldn’t- wouldn’t let them rip her daughter away from her again! Edward’s gaze held pity in it. Pity that made her want to rip it from his expression and beat him with it. Ceroba wouldn’t lose her daughter again! No-!

“Ceroba… it’s time to give it up.” Her body froze as Starlo’s voice cut through the air like ice. He had never spoken to her like that before. “I think you’ve done enough damage.” Ceroba desperately looked at him, but he avoided her gaze. His hat hid his expression as he knelt next to the amalgam, next to Martlet still holding onto them for dear life. “I… I know you just wanted to help Kanako… but gosh darn it, Ceroba!” His voice broke as he held back a sob. “You really messed up this time… I tried so hard to help… to make you happy, but… but I can’t help you now.” Starlo’s body shook. “I… you…” Ceroba watched with guilt as he lifted his hat to furiously wipe at his eyes with his sleeve. The amalgam noticing and reaching out to him in an attempt to comfort and console him.

“You ruined two lives trying to fulfill Chujin’s legacy… you couldn’t just let his legacy be helping others with a smile on his face… you had to-!” Martlet’s wings flew up to her hair as she stood and swung her body to face Ceroba. “You had to corrupt it! You had to turn his legacy into this!?” Edward quickly rushed to Martlet’s side to stop her from attacking the fox again. He wrapped her into a tight hug, pinning her wings to her side to prevent another hail of bullets.

Ceroba could feel her adrenaline fading. The stress was finally catching up to her. The anguished cries from Starlo as he held the amalgamate and the rage filled screams from Martlet becoming white noise in her head. All she could see once she closed her eyes… was the blood stained body of Clover, and the soulless expression of her daughter’s mask. 

[fallenclan]

// ⚠️ TW • this fic contains child death.

Shrewkit has the brilliant idea to sneak out. Sorrelstem wouldn't even let them out of the nursery earlier, the thought of going into the snow scared him.

"There's this tunnel behind Maplestar's den," Shrewkit eagerly said, her paws shuffling the moss. "We could totally get out through there!"

He glances at their mother's empty nest. Sorrelstem was out on patrol tonight. Waspkit and Owlkit kit softly snore in the empty space, while Salmonkit, on the other end of the nursery, snores loudly. Antkit occasionally flicks an ear but doesn't do anything. He would dismiss noise as Salmonkit being hyper at the wee hours of dawn.

"Sorrelstem'll be back soon, then we'll never get to leave!" Shrewkit exclaims, prodding his nose. "Moosekit, please?"

"It's too cold," Moosekit says. "And we're too little to leave camp."

"We're almost six moons! Wouldn't it be cool if our mentors took us out to the territory and we already knew where everything was?"

Moosekit, for all his Responsible Older Sibling instincts, can't deny that the nursery is boring. And Sorrelstem coddles them all to death; when she returned they'd be holed up in the cave for the next quarter moon.

"Fine. But if it gets too cold we're turning back!"

It starts snowing as soon as they get off the rocks.

"Maybe we should go back," Moosekit says, glancing towards the entrance that Pinefrost stood guard at.

"No way! We've made it this far!" With those idignant words, a snowflake lands on her nose and she sneezes.

They slowly walk down the slope, leaving tiny paw prints in the snow. He shivers.

(In retrospect, he should have stopped her. He should have woken up Lightningtail, or Blizzardfang, or told Pinefrost--)

The snow gets heavier, and soon they're backed against a tree, waiting for the whipping winds to settle. The tree tilts precariously above them.

Shrewkit shivers, and presses into Moosekit. "I'm sorry!" She wails above the storm, her voice high with panic. "Mom! /Mom/!"

Moosekit feels his fear rising. It's /cold/ and Shrewkit is /cold/ and his fur is puffed uo but it won't stop the snow from piling around them.

Shrewkit stands, and signals for him to bite her tail. Like some horrible life and death game of follow the leader through the snowstorm.

They settle against a rock, one that provides shelter against the storm but is slanted a bit. It's not high up, but Shrewkit misses the first jump and he has to nose her up the rock.

"I-it's gonna be okay," Shrewkit says, her teeth chattering as she shakes. "We're g'na be fine. Mom and Teddyfluff will come find us, then we c-can go play with Salmonkit and Lionkit and Mosskit and..."

She trails off, her words dying down. Every sense is overwhelmed with snow and wind and shivering, and he curls up, giving up on blinking away his sleepiness.

Shrewkit is not there when he wakes up.

He glances down, and around him. "Mom? Teddyfluff? Waspkit? Owlkit? Salmonkit? Lightningtail?"

"Mom?"

He stumbles off the rock, crashing facefirst into a snowy bush. He stands up, turns around, and spots a flicker of pale ginger.

Shrewkit looks very peaceful, in the snow. Her eyes are closed, she's not madly shivering like he is. Like she was asleep.

"Shrewkit, why're you sleepin' in the snow?"

He prods her. "Shrewkit? Shrewkit? Shrewkit?"

She is completely still. He pushes his nose onto her freezing cold cheek. "Shrewkit wake up, we gotta get back to camp."

A rustle in the bushes behind him.

A black cat with a trademarked ginger spots over his eye pelts through the bushes. Behind him, a black cat with white markings and a gray and white fluffy she-cat.

"Crowflame?" He briefly recognizes Willowsplash and Pinefrost, but Crowflame is here. He knows Crowflame, he totally saved Owlkit. He would save Shrewkit too.

Crowflame stares at him, with a distant look of anger. Then he looks at Shrewkit, and the look of anger slips into one of horror.

"Oh, stars," Willowsplash whispers. Pinefrost is unreadable, but the way the fur on the edge of her spine stands tells him all he needs to know.

"Shrewkit's sleeping," Moosekit says. He's not sure if he really believes it anymore. "She's sleepin' in the snow," he repeats. His eyes are foggy and his voice shakes.

Crowflame stares at him with a look of distant sadness. "Moosekit, how long has she been here?"

"I'uno," he mumbles. "I woke up and she was here."

Crowflame presses his nose to Shrewkit's still flank. "May the stars guide you to their skies," he whispers. Then, he picks her up by the scruff. "Willowsplash, go find Maplestar's patrol. Tell them we found them. Pinefrost, you go find Teddyfluff's. I'll take them to camp."

Pinefrost, with a look of shock, pads across the brief swath of trees. Willowsplash stares numbly at her paws, but follows.

"Moosekit, come with me."

He follows Crowflame. Crowflame knows what to do. He's Crowflame. He's smart and thoughtful and--

"Why did you sneak out?" He says, voice muffled through Shrewkit's fur. "It was too cold. You should have had some warriors escort you if you wanted to go play."

"We're almost apprentices," Moosekit bites out. "We were fine until the storm!"

"You clearly weren't," Crowflame growls, but seems to bite his tongue, because a long pause passes. The only sound is the crunching of snow under his paws and the distant squawking of birds.

"I'm sorry," Moosekit quietly says.

"I know."

He stares at Shrewkit's limp form dangling from his mouth. And that's when it hits him. Shrewkit wasn't asleep, or pretending, or just really tired.

She was gone, like Henryclaw was. Dead.

"Mom? What happened to Henryclaw?" He'd asked. It was when the vigil was happening.

"Sometimes we try our hardest, but cats still get hurt," Sorrelstem said. "Henryclaw watches over us from the stars now."

"Shrewkit's in the sky," he whispers. "Her body's still here, but she's actually in the stars. Do you think she's in the stars?"

Crowflame hums, muffled through the pale ginger fur in his jaws. "I think Shrewkit's in the stars, with Goldenstar and Henryclaw and Mistyfish. She's in the stars, and if you look really closely tonight and one shines brighter, that's how you know she's looking for you."

Moosekit nods along, but he's not really listening.

He is confident he will never forget the shrill wail of his mother when Crowflame gently set Shrewkit to the ground. She sobbed the whole night, ranging from near silent tears to full blown wails and screams that nobody could calm.

Waspkit and Owlkit stare at him with wide, scared eyes, and he brushes past them to collect Shrewkit's trinkets. Shiny rocks, tiny flowers. A pretty feather that Teddyfluff gave her.

He stares at the empty nest. Soon, Silverbelly would come and take it, and he'd never see it again. Soon, Salmonkit and Lionkit and Mosskit and Antkit would stumble into the nursery with wide eyes while Lightningtail and Blizzardfang attempt to explain death to three moon old kits.

His apprentice ceremony is in a half moon. There were supposed to be four new apprentices in a half moon. Now there will only be three.

He should have stopped her. He should have woken up some other cat to escort them to explore. And because he wasn't responsible, he would never talk to her again, would never play moss ball, would never go play in the snow that killed her-

He stares bleakly at his paws. They were supposed to be apprentices together.

It wasn't fair.

-🍭 (im very sorry)

AUGHHHHH AUGHGHGHAU GHGH MY HEART DUDE THIS IS AGONIZING. and yet SO fucking good holy shit. lollipop anon you have just wrenched my damn heart out and stomped on it <3 holy fuck

[nevvaraven]

Home Videos

From @jegulus-microfic’s prompt - camera (752 words)

“So that’s….a camera.”

“Yes I can see that,” Sirius grits out, a look of pain coming over his face.

“It’s not what it looks like!” James rushes out, cringing slightly because it’s exactly what it looks like.

“Really? Cause it looks like a video camera pointing directly at the bed you share with my baby brother.” Sirius wrinkles his nose as he speaks, choosing to look up only at the ceiling as he breathes out a frustrated sigh. 

James begins to protest but with the glare Sirius sends him as he opens his mouth he opts instead to hang his head shamefully and shuffle over to move the incriminating camera away, “ok it’s exactly what it looks like, but in my defence I told Regulus to put the rest of it away before you got here!” 

“The rest of it?” Sirius asks slowly, narrowing his eyes as James halts all movement.

“Um…well…you see..” James swallows roughly like a deer caught in headlights, fiddling with the buttons off the camera as his eyes reflexively dart towards the bedside cabinet where they keep their other….toys.

Sirius’ head instantly snaps towards where James’ guilty gaze falls, his eyes darting rapidly between the bed, the camera, and the locked drawer, all whilst James struggles to find the button to unhook the camera from the stand. 

It’s obvious when Sirius connects the dots as the scandalised gasp that falls out of his mouth is enough to make James squeeze his eyes shut and just hope the ground swallows him up before he can do any further damage.

“Eurgh! Fucking hell- alright just, stop talking before this gets any worse.” Sirius says rubbing at his eyes. 

“Oh come on Pads it isn’t that bad-“ 

James’ words are cut off when his thumb swipes a random button and the sound of Regulus’ moans begin to blare through the room. 

James and Sirius can only stare at each other in open mouthed horror as the reality of the situation dawns upon them and the chance of escape dwindles to nonexistent. 

“Fuck!” Regulus’ shout blasts out at volume startling James into action as he fumbles and fails to turn the blasted video off, whilst Sirius seems to fall into a catatonic state of simply staring straight faced at the mess James makes of the camera as Regulus’ voice fills their unwilling ears, “James, please, just- oh. oh!” 

It’s as the sound of Regulus’ orgasm from the previous night continues to blare through the room and Sirius is yet to make any humanely movement in response, that James decides he’s had enough and simply picks the stand up, camera still attached, and throws it directly out the open window. 

The sound of the camera crashing in the back garden lingers painfully in James’ ears as he and Sirius proceed to stand in the room, for who knows how long, in the most prolonged and awkward silence he has ever known, with Sirius still doing a flawless imitation of a traumatised sort of statue and James unable to meet his eyes for fear of getting punched. 

“So-“ James attempts to break the silence.

“Unless you want me to be the next thing that flies out that window do not say one more word.” Sirius grits out still not able to meet James’ eyes. 

James can only nod in response as he fights the urge to start word vomiting in response to the nerves now overcoming his body as he rocks back and forth on his heels.

Sirius shakes his head after a moment of more torturous silence and gestures lightly for James to follow him. “Come on, let’s just go downstairs.” He breathes out. James follows quickly but stops in his tracks when a sudden thought comes to mind.

“Pads,” James starts as Sirius halts at the doorway, “Could you just do me one favour and promise not to tell Regulus? I think he’d kill all three of us if he found out you heard….that.” James asks, cautious with his choice of words. 

“Yeah at this point I wouldn’t really be so opposed to that,” Sirius says leaning his forehead against the doorway, “but yeah I agree, Reg should never know.” 

James breathes out a sigh of relief at that, making a move to follow Sirius out the door when the new sound of Regulus’ not so happy voice trails up from out the window. 

“JAMES! WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO THE CAMERA?!” 

…

“Shit.” 

[blueflyingturtleontheway]

As your royal guard but also as your friend

A collection of little moments and a slowly breaking barrier.

Fandom: Elena of Avalor

Characters/relationships: Elena Castillo Flores & Gabriel "Gabe" Núñez

Words: 2,390

Tags: Mid-Canon, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Retrospective

No warnings, Gen audience, oneshot

It took them quite some time to find the balance between the guarding and princessing and simply being friends.

The first time Gabe accompanied her to an official meeting outside of the palace (it was somewhere in the very centre definitely. Maybe something to do with trading guilds and taxes or import laws?) she noticed him hesitate before the threshold. The whole day he has been trailing her like a shadow, as if leaving her side for even a moment would immediately put her in danger. This simple wooden frame however seemed powerful enough to make him stop and allow the distance between them to grow to a whole 2 meters. He glanced between the carriage and the entrance to the house and she almost heard the clogs turning in his head.

"Can I go with you?" Elena couldn't help but snort when he revealed the reason for his turmoil.

"I'm really tempted to say 'no' and finally have some breathing space."

Gabe huffed and repeated for what seemed to be the hundredth time since she met him those few weeks ago:

"I'm your guard, I'm supposed to protect you, and I can't protect you if I'm not with you." But then, with far less confidence he added, "But I don't know if I can come with you now. I mean, this meeting is probably confidential, or something?"

Her mocking smile unwittingly softened, when she saw him so uncharacteristically unsure. She decided not to bully him this time.

"Well, you're not exactly 'with me' if you're standing somewhere on the street while I'm getting kidnapped in there, or something like that." She chuckled again, seeing the horror on his face as such a possibility dawned on him. "Besides, it's not anything that confidential anyway, I'm sure all the newspapers are going to know about our decision before tomorrow morning."

He exhaled audibly and jumped up the few steps to join her at the door to the big city house.

"If they do, that definitely won't be from me," he said seriously, but with such a grin that she couldn't help but tease him a bit.

"Oh really? You're not one to gossip, Gabe?"

He laughed and raised his brows in a fake pout.

"Princess, how am I supposed to gossip, if I won't even understand a thing from what you'll be talking about."

That was the first time Elena believed that Gabe actually had a sense of humour. Still, it was whole months before she saw him be anything close to "relaxed" when on duty.

It was some party in an out of town villa. There were important conversations at the dinner table of course, but it was obvious that the whole event served more as an opportunity for the currently most important of the nobility to meet the new crown princess - and for Elena to establish her position as such.

It was after a third or fourth hour of constantly feeling his eyes on her back that she finally approached him. Gabe was standing in the exact same spot where she left him, by the door but close to a window.

"I see you're not enjoying the party," she said casually taking a sip of her punch.

Gabe's shoulders lost the tension they gained when he saw her approaching and he shrugged.

"I'm not here to enjoy it."

Elena sighed into her glass. Sometimes she wondered why she even attempted to have conversations with this guy.

As if summoned by this internal complaint, her mind reminded her of the times Lieutenant Nuñez revealed that he is actually capable of a winder range of human emotions than stone faces and stupid grins. Holding onto those memories and feeling her own stubbornness forbid her from letting him blow her off so easily, she continued to push.

"Which doesn't mean that you can't." She punched him lightly in the arm. "Come on Gabe, relax a little, get a snack, talk to somebody. There are tons of boring guys with swords here, I'm sure you'll make a friend in no time."

Gabe rolled his eyes.

"This is relaxed." He addressed only the first part of her offer. He raised his brows to show her just how unimpressed he was with her attempt to make him leave his self appointed post.

"You're at ease, I'm pretty sure that's different." She graced him with an equally sarcastic glance. And when she sighed, it was only with a dash of dramatics. "Alright, I suppose mister guard of the year just doesn't like to have fun."

Gabe huffed out a laugh.

"Of course I like to have fun," he crossed his arms and she could finally see a teasing spark light up in his eyes. "But I'd hardly call four hours of talking and eating to be the best party I've seen."

"Oh yeah? Somehow I find it hard to believe you're such an expert on parties." The competition was on.

"You'd be surprised, Elena, I have my experience." Gabe scoffed. "But it doesn't take an expert to know that music is supposed to be danced to and not just played for the sake of it."

Elena cringed but had to admit that he had a point. The mediocre string quartet must've surely been hired as a simple backdrop for the conversations. They were torturing the same piece for the twelfth time today. Her mind has become numb to it after the first half an hour, before he drew her attention to it again.

She groaned.

"Fine, you win this round, Señor Fiesta." Gabe puffed out his chest, resembling a giant peacock. Even the colours almost matched. "But I still won't believe it until I see it."

"Sure. The next time there's a real party, I'm all yours."

And he sent her another of his stupid grins.

She absolutely didn't miss them once he finally stopped with them a few more months afterwards. She didn't even notice at first. It must've happened gradually after all, from one ancient magical foe to another and with all the other trouble they got into in between. One day she just realised that she's grown fond of having a reliable companion wherever she went, especially once she discovered that under a thick layer of bravado and perfectly practiced plans, that companion can actually crack a joke or hold a conversation about something other than his muscles.

That's probably why she didn't hide the disappointment in her voice when he suggested, that this time, maybe he wouldn't go to the next event with her.

"You're really leaving me alone?" Her words were punctuated by a frown of a kicked puppy.

"You're really asking me to sit through another boring meeting?" He matched her pleading tone. "I don't even understand half the things you discuss in them."

He had a point. She had to go bigger.

"But what about my safety?" she pulled out his favourite argument.

"Come on, I doubt you'll get kidnapped in there while I'm the whole time right outside anyway." She internally cursed the moment when he stopped being such a stickler for the rules. "Besides, I doubt you'll have to face anything scarier than Doña Paloma in there."

Elena's eyes darted towards the door to the building in terror.

"You don't think she managed to invite herself to this one too?"

Gabe just raised his hands, waiving the responsibility.

"It would be the third one today! Out of four!" Elena threw her arms up. The cruel skies however didn't listen to her frustrations and didn't seem eager to strike the businesswoman for the crime of being a pain in the side. In fact, they were annoyingly clear, in the perfect shade of summer afternoon blue. "And we've been at this since morning."

She raised her hands to her face and exhaled slowly.

"I wish I could just take a break."

"From Doña or in general?"

"Both," she groaned. She finally let her hands fall to her sides and heaved a sigh. "But of course you don't have to suffer with me, you wouldn't really have anything to do there anyway."

He put a hand on her shoulder. The corners of his mouth raised in a small smile when he lowered his head to look her better in the eyes.

"You can do it. If you've survived the chancellor's endless lectures, you'll survive anything." When she snorted at this comparison, he added, his smile widening, "And I can always gracefully interrupt this whole charade and say that you've been called for an urgent crown princess business and have to leave this, definitely fascinating, conversation."

Her eyes sparked with hope again and she punched him in the arm.

"Lieutenant Nuñez, you'd really risk lying on duty?"

"Who said anything about lying? Maybe I'll..." His eyes searched for something for a moment and finally stopped at the carriage beside them. "Maybe I'll set the carriage on fire, or something."

Elena punched him in the arm even stronger, as she erupted in laughter. "And I'll spontaneously grow wings and fly away."

Gabe finally dropped all pretense of seriousness and joined her.

The bell tower signaled the arrival of the full hour.

Elena sighed and straightened her dress, as if to sweep out the remains of laughter from its ruffles.

"Alright," she turned to Gabe with one last pout, though without much effort behind it.

"I'll see you in an hour." Gabe saluted casually and started backing off to the carriage.

"I wish it was just an hour." Elena shook her head but she answered with a wave and finally left through the big, wooden door.

The session went about how she expected and of course Doña Paloma was there. After the initial introductions and overly courteous pleasantries, it was time to sit down and listen to the whole litany of problems that the fabric merchant guild was struggling with and that only she could fix.

She tried to focus at first and then she tried to at least look focused. After the fourth meeting in a day, all of them relating to commerce in one way or another, all of them full of people she's met only once before or not at all... She found herself thinking about her family, the comfortable sofa in the drawing room and a warm cup of té de manzanilla. All the things she was still three meetings away from.

The bell tower announced the arrival of the next hour. She counted the muffled strikes of the large bell outside and the melodic chimes of the clock in the room, and when they reached four, she let her shoulders slump just a little. She finally admitted to herself that she might have actually hoped that she would really get to leave this room after an hour. Though (she hid her smile by resting her chin on her hand) at least it meant that Gabe didn't set the carriage on fire.

Exactly at this moment her thoughts were interrupted by knocking on the door. Whichever of the representatives was currently talking (Señor Carreras? Carrera? Zanahoria?) trailed off, as a familiar blue and red uniform stepped into the room.

"Your highness," Gabe addressed her and clinked his heels. "I am sorry for interrupting, but you are urgently needed elsewhere."

Elena stared at him with wide eyes. Am i a telepath now too, crossed her mind before a sharp voice to her right pulled her back to earth.

"Can't it wait?" If the tone of voice was reflecting appearance, she'd be sitting next to a lemon now.

"I'm afraid not, Doña." Gabe inclined his head to her and then added, looking back at Elena, "It's an urgent crown princess business."

Elena finally understood his hints. She cleared her throat, putting aside all her questions and simply grasping the occasion when it arised.

"Forgive me, but it seems like I need to leave." She sent everyone apologetic smiles and assured them that she'll deliver her decisions to the board in writing, and not more than a minute later was finally safely behind the door.

She let out a long, relieved, dramatic sigh.

"So does that mean that the carriage is on fire?" She asked when they were descending the stairs.

Gabe laughed.

"Something better."

He winked and held the door for her.

Elena sent him an intrigued look but let him lead her to the side of the building (the opposite one to the meeting room) and sure enough, the carriage was parked there, safe and unscorched.

Gabe opened the door and dove inside, then turned back to her, holding two big paper bags in his hands. He passed one to her and she immediately felt that it was warm. Not getting any answers from his self assured smirk, she finally looked inside.

A gasp escaped her lips. In a moment she already had half an empanada stuffed in her mouth and could only hum in pure bliss.

As soon as she swallowed, she asked, "Are those from your parents?"

"You bet," he bit down on a taquito, "The best in the whole city."

Elena could only nod her head as she was finishing the other half of her empanada. Then she realised.

"So you had it all planned, huh?"

"Not really, I only came up with everything on the way here." He averted her eyes with a sheepish smile. "And I wasn't sure if my plan is even going to work, so I didn't want to make false promises."

He stopped for a moment and fished out another taquito but played with it a bit in his fingers.

"But I saw how tired you were already and there's still a few things to do in the day." He took a bite and shrugged. "You deserve a break from this whole rush, you know."

Elena bumped his shoulder lightly with hers.

"We both do. Need I remind you that you've been rushing with me this whole day too?" She leaned on him and felt him relax against her. With a bag of warm, delicious food, unexpected free time and a friend by her side (both literally and figuratively) she felt herself relax too.

"Thanks, Gabe."

"Anytime." She heard the smile in his voice. "That's what friends are for."

They continued their late lunch in silence and let the minutes pass, slowly.

[andreas-river]

Little Touch [Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader]

Summary; You find out that you feelings for Simon are strong, more than you think.

Warnings; blood, wounds, gunshots, near-death experience, a little bit of humor, fluff, a bit of sadness.

Word count; 800 ca.

Disclaimer; I do not own any Modern Warfare characters.

A/N; english is NOT my first language, so any advice, correction, ect. are welcome. Enjoy this “thing”, or whatever is this.

¤

How can anything end like this?

You never thought about it until now, you have always lived every day to the fullest of possibilities, because the today we know will be only in the past.

And now, as it all begins to dissolve, you start to ask yourself: have I really lived my day as if it were my last?

~

[20 minutes before.]

You get Hassan’s attention again, trying to cover up Soap for a while longer.

He has the controls in his hands while he’s on the other side of the room. Hassan’s right in front of you, looking for you, knowing he’ll find you.

One wrong move, and you’re dead.

The wrong action, and everyone dies.

Everyone you know, who you’ve grown attached to, who you’ve... fallen in love with.

Ghost.

Actually, Simon.

His name echoes in your mind, his voice is like a soft whisper behind your back.

He is a puzzle.

One of those made up of thousands of pieces, pieces you can lose if you’re not careful.

It was only yesterday that despite the rain, Graves and his Shadow on your heels, you were giggling because of the jokes that Soap and Ghost were exchanging, terribles jokes that you could not not laugh.

But now, Hassan, turned around, was your opportunity.

Holding your trusty knife in your hands, you make your choice, because it is the mission.

Hassan is the target.

And you want him dead.

You run towards him, he can’t see you, you know you have the advantage.

The blade pierces his arm and he drops his rifle, a wave of satisfaction loads you with adrenaline.

He try to hit you, turning with rage, avoiding his fist.

But you don’t notice the gun in the other hand.

How..!

You feel the bullet going into your chest, you can’t tell if it’s at the heart, or the lungs, it’s happening so fast, but you feel everything amplified, the pain, the blood wetting your shirt.

You try to move, just to see Soap on the floor, Hassan is on him.

“...you think you can stop me..?”

No. No no no. It can’t be. Not him.

You are powerless, in front of that scene. Soap is still on the floor, his eyes half closed, injured like you.

It can’t be...

“We are not attacking...”

“We are invading.”

Hassan lifts Soap to his feet as you watch in horror the most painful scene of your life.

But what you think doesn’t actually happen.

The noises are muffled, you feel under you a pool of your own blood.

Someone calls your name, but your eyes are too heavy, the sounds too distant to be heard.

Your mind produces one last thought: Have I really lived my day as if it were my last?

~

[The next day.]

Regular beeps slowly fill your ears, the sound cradles you hypnotizing your mind.

“... Soap was freaking out. Damn, there was too much blood...”

That voice.

Shit.

The quiet beeps you’ve been hearing so far become more frequent, overhanging the silence that was created.

You slowly open your eyes.

The room is poorly lit, it looks like dawn.

You’re on a hospital bed.

Alive.

Instinctively you turn, the skull mask of Ghost welcomes you, noticing in his eyes something different, something new.

“Did you sleep well?”

You blink a couple of times, it doesn’t feel real.

“How is poss.. -” the voice comes out hoarse and weak, you try to clear it as best as possible.

“The bullet hit a rib, no organ was hit. That’s how.”

“Oh.”

The room falls again into silence, you feel pure embarrassment, your cheeks are on fire and that stupid machine keeps monitoring your heart-

“Though we lost you.”

Is voice is soft, it awakens something you haven’t heard in a long time, a warmth in your chest that makes you feel... more than good.

You look down, embarrassed. You can’t stand his insistent look, his eyes going through you like butter- and his hand is over yours.

Okay, now you feel too hot.

He gets up, but against all the expectations his face is a few inches from yours, covering the distance between you.

He touch your lips, feeling her lips through the soft fabric of the mask.

His eyes shine, you notice folds on them, you know he’s smiling.

He leaves the room, your hands tremble, the fingers touching your lips, now smiling too.

[akasalv]

Really excited to present 'I'm waxing poetic about missing your smile' a fic for Angelicrose00 (@generalkittenwhispers).

Written for the @steddiesummerexchange using the prompts: happy ending, secret relationship, single-parent (sort of), and high school reunion (sort of).

Read the preview below, and the first chapter of the fic on AO3 here.

***

The Greyhound bus from Columbus to Chicago is a welcome anonymity for Eddie after a summer on the road, touring with metal bands. The last few years, he’s spent most of his time as a roadie, and less time than he expected as a tour guitarist than he would like. The experience of traveling the country with his childhood heroes was bittersweet - it was months of fitful sleep, sore muscles, but also experiences he wouldn’t trade for the world. 

Pulling his hat down low to block out the fading sun through the window, though, Eddie can be honest about the sense of relief he has now that it’s over. Free to go wherever he wants instead of where the tour manager expects him to be. He slouches low in his seat and tries to let the rumble of the engine and his bone deep exhaustion lull him to sleep. 

He wakes up in Chicago, the sky dark and starless from the city congestion. It’s a dreary drudge from the bus station to Jeff and Gareth’s apartment where he’s staying - hauling his guitar, and a hiking pack of dirty clothes. He’ll have to find the laundry room in the building, as soon as he’s done crashing face first on the couch. 

Normally, Eddie finds his way back to Hawkins after a long tour, crashing in on Wayne and letting the old man take care of him for as long as he can stand staying in one place. But Jeff and Gareth are out of town - in fact they went back to Hawkins for the 10 year reunion. And Eddie bailed - on the reunion and visiting with Wayne - offering to watch their cat instead. 

In the morning, Eddie trudges up from the laundry, waking up at dawn from a dream of being late to final’s in Ms. Click’s class, but blessedly the only one in the laundry room. He is able to chill, reading the tattered paperback rolled up in his hand as the dryer rattles away, making quick and quiet work. Before too long, he has a basket of clean laundry and he’s having to fumble his keys for the one that fits the lock. 

He’s just about got it  when he hears two voices coming down the hall. 

“Can we go ride horses?” A small voice asks. 

There’s a laugh, deep, and familiar and it tickles at Eddie’s brain. He thinks he should recognize it, and his gut turns. He feels like he needs to get inside or hide before that voice turns the corner. He worries for a moment that it’s a bully from Hawkins High, but. 

“I don’t know where there are horses in the city, George - “ 

“I want a big, gray one! With a braided mane!” 

There’s that laugh again and ‘oh, no,’ Eddie thinks. He knows exactly who is approaching. Like peeking through your fingers at the next gruesome moment of a horror movie, Eddie slowly turns to check over his shoulder - just to be sure.

And there’s Steve. He looks the same - not really, time and changes in style of course, but to Eddie, to Eddie’s *heart* - he’s the exact same. He’s thrown back in time and he’s looking at Steve in a yellow sweater, and the growing frown of confusion is set to the backdrop of Skull Rock. He’s saying, *‘is he a vampire?’* instead of standing here in a fluorescent lit hallway in a Chicago apartment building. Where Steve shouldn’t be. 

“Steve.” Eddie doesn’t mean to say his name. It jumps past his lips against any judgment. But then it’s out there. The frown smooths out, those big brown eyes go wide and his eyebrows are heading for his hairline.  

Steve opens his mouth. Eddie’s name hangs on the air, unsaid because Steve has stopped. And the little kid beside him is startled by the sudden stop. With a soft hmph, she starts pulling at Steve’s hand. 

There’s a mop of curly hair on the little girl’s hair and Eddie can’t tell age, but she’s barely up to Steve’s hip. When she turns her head dramatically to look between Steve and him, she’s got these huge, brown eyes and oh. Eddie’s heart stops as he realizes. She’s the image of Nancy and Steve. 

“I didn’t know you lived in Chicago.” Eddie hates that that’s all he could think to say. “Jeff and Gareth didn’t tell you?” Steve asks. It makes so little sense to Eddie as a question, he didn’t even know they knew Steve. 

“We’re neighbors,” Steve says. He makes a gesture with his thumb, indicating down the hall. “I knew they were heading down to Hawkins for the reunion. George and I were going to check on Percy.” 

“I’m cat-sitting,” Eddie says. He wants to stuff one of his rolled socks into his mouth to shut himself up. 

“So you’re not going to the reunion?”  A smile breaks across Steve's face, and it feels like being hit with a ray of sun. “Too cool for it?” “I’m afraid they would be too star-struck,” Eddie quips, as if he doesn’t still wake up in the middle of the night, fear gripping his throat and it has the face of Jason Carver. He doesn’t need an auditorium full of Hawkin’s High green to send him into a panic attack. 

“STEEEEVE!” There’s the stomping of little feet in little boots, and little balled up fists. “Don’t ignore me.” There’s a hint of a sniffle in the little voice and Steve is pulling his attention toward. Leaving Eddie a little cold, even if he’s embarrassed to be jealous of losing Steve’s attention to a child. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Steve says. He’s knelt down, petting one hand over the little girl’s curls as he carefully un-balls one of her fists. “I was talking to Eddie, baby. We haven’t seen each other in -” his eyes cut to Eddie. And Eddie has to swallow back the memory of the last time they would have seen each other. It feels a thousand miles from Wayne’s trailer. The smile Steve gives him is the same small, shy thing though.

“It’s been a long time,” Steve lands on. 

“How long?” The girl asks with a sniffle. 

“Long, long time,” Eddie chimes in, saving Steve. She looks at him, rubbing one hand against her eye. She sniffles, dramatically. On her cheeks are moles just like Steve, which is confirmation enough. 

“That's not a number,” the kid says, mouth stumbling over the words the way kids that age do. “Mommy says vague answers are for fibbers.” She says ‘vague’ with a ‘b’ - bague - but she sounds so matter-of-fact about it that Eddie can picture Nancy saying that perfectly. 

“Mommy also says not to yell when we can use our indoor voice,” Steve says. 

“Sorry,” she says, quickly. Then she looks to Eddie without prompting and says, “Sorry, Eddie.” and Eddie can’t help lifting his hands in surrender, waving the apology off. Almost feels like he has to admit that he yells all the time. But instead he watches Steve with his kid, and can’t help thinking of Steve talking to Nancy about little nuggets - both of them so unaware of the way Eddie was holding his breath to stay unnoticed as he sat pressed back to the driver’s seat. 

“Can we come in and see Percy?” George rubs one eye with her fist as she asks. And it fills Eddie with fear that the kid will cry if he says no. 

“Another time, sweetie,” Steve replies, saving Eddie. He rubs George’s head gently and then turns to steer her away. “Let's leave Eddie to settle in.”

“Promise?” 

Eddie is staring at Steve and doesn't immediately realize the question is directed at him. It takes the stomping of a foot and a waving of a little pinky in his direction. 

“Uh yeah, of course kid. Cross my heart … “ Eddie stops himself from saying ‘hope to die,’ but barely. He kneels down to complete the pinky promise. Horrified momentarily that George's hands are so small. 

Above them, Steve is smiling. And it makes Eddie want to skitter away and hide. His chest his hot and his throat feels strangled, and he wants to run away and kiss Steve at the same time. All of it life or death, flight or flight, levels of yearning need. 

“See you later, Munson,” Steve says and it rings in Eddie's ears long after he's gone.  

Eddie hides in Jeff and Gareth's apartment the rest of the day.

READ THE REST HERE ON AO3.