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meetmyothersouls · 2 years

Note

so hi! in Celtic Mythology, there is a belief that by leaving a graveyard in a different way than you've entered, a spirit can exit with you. idk but I think you can write an incredible timotay fanfic based on this myth. Maybe Timothee sprints through the graveyard and the reader exit with him or it can be the other way around. Anyway, you can do whatever you like and you can put anything you want, and if you decided to write about this, please have fun and know that I am already excited about it ♡☆♡☆♡☆

Oh my good god I love this!!!! Hope you enjoy and sorry it’s taken so long ❤️

Cemetery Gates

Warnings: dead reader, graveyard, Halloween/Halloween themes, not proof read

You’d seen a lot since Death appeared and led your soul out of your body. You thought Death would lead you to a stairway to heaven, or a hallway filled with doors. And maybe he would have, but you ran before he had the chance to. You were already dead, so he didn’t come after you. He let you run. He watched and he probably laughed, because as it turns out, running was a mistake.

Since you didn’t follow Death to your next chapter, you remained bound to your body. It lays in a coffin in an old cemetery in New York City. And if you thought a mortal existence sucked ass, imagine having to spend every day existing (but not really) in a graveyard. Nothing pleasant ever happens in a grave yard, that is until he walked in.

You weren’t sure when you died. I mean, your gravestone has a date on it, but you weren’t sure how long ago that was. All sense of time was gone. It was just one long on going monotonous series of events. So when he made his way into the cemetery, everything stopped for you.

You don’t normally see too many single visitors. That’s the thing about the dead. Eventually you forget them. Visits become less frequent, flowers left on headstones wither away and we’re just…left here. The sound of the dead floats through the wind, like a faint harmony of many cries. You’re not sure if anyone else can hear it, but this man who walked in seemed keenly aware of his surroundings. He walked eyes full of curiosity as he looked around and just as you decided him seeing you was a ludicrous though, his eyes seemed to land in the spot your spirit hovered. If you could, you’d gasp. But no, he can’t see you. You followed him, wondering who he was here to see. He carried a pail and various cleaning supplies, which you found odd, but still you followed.

He walked, peering over at various graves, but ultimately walking over them until he landed on yours. Again, if you could gasp you would. He kneeled down in front of it, setting his supplies down. Your spirit saunter over to the other side of his grave. You crossed your ghostly arms over the top do your headstone and rested your cheek on your arm. What was he doing?

He took a small broom lien contraption and swept off the bottom most piece of your grave and revealed your name.

“Y/n” he said out loud.

Again your world, or your spirits version of the world, stopped. No one’s visited your grave in a long, long time.

He sprayed down your headstone, and it was then you realized that he was cleaning it. If you had a heart, the action would have warmed it.

“What’s you’re name?” You asked, knowing he couldn’t hear you.

“I’m, Timothee, and I’m going to clean you up today.”

Wait. Can he hear you?

You made your way over to the other side, watching him as he worked. He scraped years worth of moss and dirt off of your stone. The sprayed a soapy concentration over it, revealing words that were chosen that didn’t really matter any more.

“Why are you doing this?” You asked.

Timothee stopped, turning his head quickly and you instantly felt bad for scaring him.

“I feel bad for those of you forgotten. Makes my heart hurt.”

Your essence travels over to the other side of him and you saw the chills pepper the back of his neck.

“Someone here with me?” Timothee asked, rubbing the back of his neck to warm it. “Y/n, is it you?”

He’s talking to me you think to yourself.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, standing up. “I chose your grave to clean. You seem so lonely over here.”

Your grave is separate from a lot of the others, which has always made you think that you’d been here a lot longer than they have.

“I don’t mind, thank you.”

You watched as his eyes moved, as if he was listening for a response on the wind. Breezes carry spirits cries, after all.

He smiled, nodding his head, until a loud yell makes him jump.

“Hey! What are you doing!? You can’t be in here with that!”

Timothee grabbed his supplies, tripping a little before he ran. You follow him, one good part about being a spirit is that you can keep up with jusy about anything. One time, you followed a cat through the entire cemetery as she ran after several mice.

The man called out after Timothee, shaking his fist in the air angrily and instead of turning around the leave the way he came, he took the back entrance, few people knew about this one. Timothee flung open the gate and you stopped, knowing you wouldn’t be able to go any further. You tried many times, the farthest you were able to make it was the stop sign, about 5 steps away from your cemetery, this time would be no different.

“You might be able to follow him,” you heard another spirits voice, belonging to Gerard. Gerard was one of the oldest spirits in the cemetery.

“I’m not sure, I’ve tried to leave many times. It never works.”

“Ah yes, but did you notice he left differently than he came?”

“Yeah, he left the back way.”

“And you’re unaware of what that means?”

You shrugged, earning a sigh from Gerard. “There’s an old belief, that if one of the living exists a graveyard differently than how he entered, a spirit may exit with him.”

You’d never heard of this. “Is it true?”

Gerard shrugged this time. “We can test it out, can we not?”

You peered over the cemetery gates, you could see Timothee, bent over with his hands on his knees as he worked on catching his breath. You nodded, making your way through the gate. Your spirit arrived to the stop sign it always arrived at, but this time it felt different. There was no pull in the opposite direction. Timothee was a few steps ahead of you and you pushed in his direction and latched onto him as he made his way into a cab.

“31st street,” you heard him say as the cab lurched forward.

You weren’t sure what your plan was, where you were headed or what the fuck you were going to do when you got there, but you were out of the cemetery. And you were riding in cab with a man you didn’t know, and you were dead.

What the fuck?

“It’s so cold in here,” Timothee said, his teeth chattering hard.

“That’s my fault, sorry,” you say, unsure why. It just felt weird to…not talk.

He looked in your direction, as if he heard you and it made you shiver. This was weird.

The cab stopped in a busy street and you made your way out with Timothee, almost losing him in the process. You were in awe, having not seen the city in a long, long time. You latched back onto him, making him colder than he was before. You felt bad.

You watched as he jogged across the street and made his way into a tall building with lots of windows. You let go of him when he walked through the threshold of an elevator and again his eyes seemed to land on you. It was silent as he pressed the number ten button. Silent as a few other people entered. A little girl holding her mothers hand hopped on and she made eye contact with you. You smiled at her. Little kids could always see you. She smiled back and waved before her mom jerked her hand back.

“Who are you waving at?” She sounded annoyed.

You rolled your eyes, and the little girl laughed. You looked back at Timothee, his eyes again seeming to be pointed at you. The elevator stopped on the tenth floor and Timothee made his way out, you followed close behind. He walked down the hall, turning once before he slid a card into his apartment door, unlocking it.

You sauntered in before he had the chance to lock you out. He shut the door and locked it from the inside. He turned around and let out a deep sigh before speaking.

“I’m not sure if you’re here with me, y/n. I hope you are.”

“I’m here,” you said.

“It feels about fifteen degrees colder in here so…I hope that’s a good sign. I didn’t want to overwhelm you in the cemetery.”

Overwhelm you?

“I miss you so much, and you probably don’t even remember me. But I’m going to bring you back.”

He set his phone down on the counter, revealing a photo of you and Timothee. He was holding your hand, gazing lovingly down at you in your white dress.

You were…married to him?

Your attention was back at him as he started talking.

“And if I can’t bring you back, I’ll join you.”

Tags: @imnotoverlyobsessive @dayafied @soulofendlessbook @fashphotolife @chicchanelcigs @scentedkittenperfection @weasleytwinscumslut @timotheel0ver @mxciscastleintheair @marvelmaniac2000 @lovelyrocker @divine-1 @louievr @love-poems-only @starberry-cake @inlovewithphantasy @alexagirlie @misswestfall @softhecreator @livresjaunes @timmymyluv @inannamoon @harrys-thick-thighs @s-we-e-t-t-ea @timolaurence @its-schmackin-dude @justagirlwhoneedshelp @gatoenlaciudad @patronsaintofthetwinks

#timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet #writing #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet x you #timothee blurb #timothee chalamet imagine #timmy chalamet #Halloween #happy Halloween #Halloween special

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sochilll · 2 years

Text

October 10 - Scars

Day 9 Day 11 All Days (Prompt list)

“Stop moving.”

“It’s taking so long.” Evan whined.

“Because you won’t stop moving.” Jared snapped. He grabbed Evan’s chin and shoved it upward again.

Evan’s neck felt like it was going to give out. He’d been at this angle, staring at the ceiling for nearly an hour. His tailbone hurt from sitting on the bathroom counter too. But Jared was intently focused on his work, oblivious to Evan’s suffering.

“How much longer?”

“Quit talking.” Jared said, dipping a brush into his red body paint.

Evan groaned until Jared flicked him.

“Okay.” Jared said a few minutes later. “Look at me.”

Evan lowered his head. It hurt. His neck was stiff and sore.

Jared studied him. “It looks pretty good.”

Evan turned around to look in the mirror. Across his neck was a large fake scar. Jared had used a mix of scar wax, body paint, fake blood, and a pack of cheap Halloween makeup. To be fair, he’d done a pretty good job for having no makeup experience. It really did look like Evan’s throat had been slit.

“Wow.” Evan touched the fake gash lightly. “It’s really good.”

“I know. I’m incredible.” Jared picked up the scar wax. “Turn around. I need to add some on your face and do a little bruising.”

Evan sighed but did as he was told. He was only letting Jared do this because they’d signed up to work in a haunted house for a little extra money and Evan certainly wasn’t going to attempt his own makeup.

Jared titled Evan’s face toward the light. He smoothed the wax out on Evan’s cheek with the tip of his finger. Evan closed his eyes because if they were open he just had to stare at Jared’s face and that made him fidgety.

“Oooh. That’s good. I’m so good.” Jared hummed, leaning back.

Evan felt his fingers prodding again, this time near Evan’s eyebrow. Then a brush, cold and wet, running over each spot.

“Open your eyes.”

Evan opened them.

Jared studied him. “It looks good. But you don’t look dead enough.”

He picked up the cheap three-dollar eyeshadow pallet he’d found at Spirit Halloween and rubbed his finger into a gray and then into a light blue.

“Look up.” He instructed.

Evan lifted his chin again.

“No stupid. Just your eyes.” Jared tilted Evan’s head back down and then started smearing the powder under his eyes. His touch was gentler than Evan had been expecting.

“Are we done after this?” Evan asked even though now that he wasn’t craning his neck, he didn’t mind so much.

“Art is never done.” Jared muttered, tilting his head to see if the eye bags were even. “It’s closer.”

He leaned closer and suddenly Evan could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He knew that Jared wasn’t going to kiss him but Jesus Christ did it feel like he was going to for just a split second.

Jared leaned back. “Needs more on the left.” He picked up the pallet again.

Once he was satisfied with Evan’s eyes, he returned to the scars, adding fresh fake blood to “spruce them up.”

Evan groaned and hung his head as Jared reached for the body paint again.

Jared tilted his chin up slightly. “Stay still.” He said softly.

Evan ignored that request. He leaned forward, just a little.

“That’s not staying still.” Jared said, and then he kissed Evan.

Evan pulled Jared closer, which made him realize how close Jared already was. Why was he standing so close in the first place? How did he expect Evan not to try and kiss him?

There was a soft thump that Evan ignored because he was preoccupied with the fact that he was still kissing Jared. Still tugging at his collar and still feeling arms around his waist.

“Work.” Jared said suddenly, pulling back. “We’re-we have work. We have to leave in like five.”

“Right.” Evan looked down and identified the thump he heard as Jared dropping the body paint onto the floor. For some reason that made him feel very satisfied. “So I’m done?”

“You’re done.” Jared patted his knee.

Evan hopped off the counter. He looked at himself in the mirror. He did look dead. Mostly.

“You need to look paler.” Jared commented, grabbing his mask from his desk. He’d lucked out in that department. No makeup for him.

“I don’t know if you know this,” Evan said, slipping his shoes on. “But I do not control the paleness of my skin. Besides, I’m pretty pale already.”

“No you’re not.” Jared looked back at him, grinning. “You’re blushing.” He grabbed Evan’s hand and pulled him to the stairs. “Come on. We’re gonna be late on day one.”

#tw gore #it’s fake and not too detailed but just to be safe!#anyway! Jared using Evan as his special effects guinea pig rights!#deh #Kleinsen #my writing

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gentrychild · 3 years

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the au ask: uh, not sure how this works, but, let's say an au where the slime incident never happens?

Anon, no! I have about five AUs for that! You could at least tell me if you want it to be angst or crack!

More seriously, it's such a fun prompt because it avoids All Might telling Izuku he can't be a hero without a quirk, which is the start of so many vigilante/villain/quirkless Izukus.

But since I am a benevolent writer, I will not talk about the AU where Tsuyu and Mineta dies, then Iida, then Kota, then Mirio, Eri isn't saved, and so on.

Okay, it got really long so it's under a Read More.

All Might arrests the Slime villain before he gets in the sewers so neither Izuku nor Bakugou are attacked by him. The problem is that it also means that All Might never meets Izuku, never break his little heart, and Izuku never has the chance to prove his worth to All Might so no OFA.

Life goes on. Izuku still wants to become a hero. However, since his homeroom teacher told his entire class that he wanted to go to UA, his entire class, led by Bakugou, has decided to make his life a living hell over it. Constant taunting and people laughing at him.

It takes its toll on him.

He still doesn't doubt that a quirkless hero can exist but the more days, weeks, months pass, the more he keeps thinking of how easier it would be if he had a quirk.

A dangerous thought. One he usually doesn't allow himself to think because why whine about what is impossible to have? But one boy can only take "What a useless quirkless Deku like you do?" before he starts to get haunted by strange thoughts. Cough... urges... Cough.

It also makes him eager to prove himself. Maybe that's why he intervenes that evening when he sees a villain trying to hurt someone. Except that once the civilian he helped is running to call a hero, he is reminded that he is a smol child made of only skin and bones and that the guy in front of him is about to bash his head in.

He tries to protect himself, his hand grabbing the villain by the head and in this moment, as he is sure that he is about to be killed, he thinks the one selfish thought that he ever thought:

"It's unfair... that this quirk belongs to someone like you... instead of me."

And just like that, Izuku takes a quirk for the first time.

The villain runs in terror and Izuku runs (in the other direction) in confusion. Soon, it's pretty clear that he apparently had the ability to take and give quirks (thank you, Mom, who has volunteered to try the villain's quirk. Though it's strange how she keeps trying to call someone on her phone these days. But it's probably not important.) Which is a very cool quirk.

Izuku now has to pass from "No quirk at all" to "Can have whatever quirk he wants", which is quite dizzying.

He is so fired up for the UA exam, five months from then. Ridiculously happy bean.

Meanwhile, Mirio gets OFA because no successor showed the self sacrificial spirit that could have inspired All Might and both GT and Nighteye kinda pressures him into choosing a successor ASAP.

This has disastrous consequences as OFA is way too powerful for Mirio and starts to put an insane strain on his body. One month later, while fighting a villain (he has his hero license), he collapses on the side of the road, black lines all over his body as the quirk is killing him.

Izuku finds him and calls an ambulance ASAP but Mirio is is really bad shape. He asks him what happened and Mirio, half delirious, tells him that his quirk is killing him.

Izuku is very "????" but he can help! He can take the quirk away! But Lemillion would be quirkless! He can't take this decision! But Mirio can so he asks.

Mirio is half conscious. Completely in pain. He didn't even want that quirk. He likes Permeation. So, half delirious as he was, he might have mumbled something like "Take that thing out of me."

Izuku does, realizes that Mirio has two quirks so he leaves him the one that doesn't feel as heavy as a freaking dwarf star. Lemillion immediately starts to stop looking like he will drop dead any moment from now and the ambulance arrives, taking the hero student away.

Since Izuku doesn't have the All Might telling him that OFA is a good quirk, he acts like a sensible person: this quirk doesn't feel normal and it apparently kills its user. So he waits about 20 seconds before getting rid of it. He finds a nice and sturdy lizard, who, unbeknownst to everyone, becomes the 10th user of OFA.

The quirk comes back to Izuku.

Quirks aren't supposed to do that.

The freaking quirk is cursed. Izuku accepted a cursed quirk.

I cannot begin to describe how Izuku doesn't trust OFA in this AU. He doesn't use it. He intensively dislikes it. He tries everything and more to get rid of it but no matter what living organism he selects, the damn thing keeps coming back.

Meanwhile, Mirio wakes up from the hospital alive :) then remembers he gave a host-killing-quirk to a smol child. O.O

Panic ensues.

All Might realizes that whoever took OFA put his hand on Mirio's head, the same way AFO does. So it was probably AFO with a fun new shapeshifting quirk.

More panic ensues.

Meanwhile, AFO, alive indeed and who has been watching Mirio wastes away and enjoying the hell out of it (though he would have preferred it had happened one generation sooner) is furious that Yagi 2.0 isn't dying anymore because it means OFA passed to someone else! And since everyone in the OFAteam is quite panicked, they apparently lost the quirk he gave his little brother!

He gets so upset about it that he somehow misses the hundred of phonecalls from his wife.

So AFO and All Might alike are looking for someone with OFA but since Izuku just isn't using it, they aren't finding it.

Meanwhile, the Vestiges went from "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH, SOMEONE WITH AFO!!!! AHHHHHH!" to "What do you mean: You don't want to use us? We're not good enough for you???"

So OFA is doing the quirk equivalent of a cat purring and showing its belly so it can get some pet.

Izuku: "You know what? I know it's a trap but since I don't want to outright call a quirk evil, I will give you one chance to prove to me you're not a cursed power that wants my death."

Cue two broken legs.

Well, that's it. Izuku gave that nasty quirk the benefit of the doubt. He is never using it again. And since the damn thing is trying to contaminate his other quirks, he is vaulting it forever!

The irony is not lost on First.

The day of the entrance exam arrives and Izuku does quite well with his good, non cursed quirks, thank you very much.

And as he is leaving, he sees Lemillion! He is happy to see him in good health! He waves at him!

Meanwhile, Mirio spent the last five months trying to find that awful quirk he lost. He was half convinced he had given him to the Symbol of Evil and had trouble seeing the problem because if OFA would eat AFO, where was the problem? He is wondering if he condemned a kid to death. He Is Going Through A Lot.

He wants to say so many things, ask so many questions. And the one thing he manages to blurt out is "GET HIM!"

Tamaki and Nejire immediately shoulder slam a small child. They didn't even hesitate.

That's the story of how the Mighty team found OFA again.

Izuku loves hanging out with All Might but not even him can convince him that the quirk isn't cursed.

#This got slightly longer than expected #ask game #bnha au #closed ask game #bnha spoilers #cursed quirk au

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stariwrites · 3 years

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Please

Pairing: Sukuna x GN! Reader (The reader is AFAB)

Warnings: Dubious Consent, Oral (Reader! Receiving), Mind break, edging, denied orgasm, monsterfucking, corruption kink, dirty talk, mean dom to soft dom Sukuna, use of little one and little sorcerer as well as pet (only twice though), forced submission just to be safe

A/N: I had so much fun writing this and this is for @seita “Corrupt a Virgin Collab!” Thank you so much for letting me participate! All characters are 18+ and as always Minors DNI and if you do or if you’re a nameless blog I will block you instantly.

Word Count: 2.6K

Summary: Megumi, Itadori, Nobara, Gojo, Nanami...I’m sorry. I wasn’t able to keep my promise and protect all of you.

Debris settled over the city. You coughed, cringing at the blood that spilled from your lips at the hit you had taken. You looked around you, watching as more buildings collapsed, people screamed causing it to echo. You couldn’t find anybody no matter where you looked. Your heart raced inside your chest.

How much longer would you be able to pull this off? Ever since Sukuna and Itadori had been separated he caused nothing but destruction.

You watched the curse you were currently fighting rush towards you. It’s green spindles shot out only for you to dodge it in the nick of time. The wall where you had been standing in front of was nothing but a hole. You cringed. That could’ve been you.

Before you had time to recover it focused it’s sights on you again, the eight purple eyes stared directly into yours. You tried to get up again only to be met by an explosion of pain. You glanced down at your hand nursing the wound on your stomach only to see crimson seep through your fingers. Shit.

It let out a wicked shriek, leaving your ears ringing. It charged at you again. You closed your eyes.

Megumi, Itadori, Nobara, Gojo, Nanami...I’m sorry. I wasn’t able to keep my promise and protect all of you.

“Protect me?” Gojo’s voice was incredulous as he tossed his head back and laughed. It had been a busy day filled with killing curses and saving people, but at the end of it all of you were able to spend time together and watch the fireworks. “I’m the strongest there is, if anything it would be me protecting you.”

Nanami huffed at his response, proceeding to whack him upside the head. He whined, turning to Nanami no doubt to start playfully fighting him which would end in Nanami sighing in disappointment.

You could only shake your head at the two of them while Nobara scoffed, nudging your arm with a grin. “Yeah, and besides we’re all going to get stronger so we don’t need to be protected.”

Megumi nodded with a small smile which caused you to huff.

“It’s not like that!” You clenched your fists beside you, before lowering your voice. “It’s just that all of you are precious to me and I’ll do whatever it takes to not see you hurt.”

They were all speechless at your response until Itadori’s face lit up into a bright smile. “Let's do it!” He cheered, jumping into the air. “We’ll be the best group of sorcerers out there you’ll see! Let’s all protect each other.”

The six of you looked at each other with matching soft expressions, a silent agreement that you’d all make it to the very end when the first explosion fired off. Itadori shrieked at the unexpected boom that echoed in the sky causing your laughter to break the silence between each firework.

You smiled looking back on the memory. It was fun. The people you met, the friends you gained, you wouldn’t have traded it for the world. As you anticipated the final blow one last thought flashed through your mind. You had no regrets.

An explosion of light flooded from behind your eyelids, you braced for impact but none came. Slowly, you cracked an eye open only to have your breathing hitch. Standing where the cursed spirit used to be was-

“Sukuna,” your own voice surprised you. The demon turned to you with an unamused expression.

“Think you can just die like that?” He sneered approaching you. “You fool.”

You tried to get up, all your senses screaming to fight but you only managed to straighten your posture before wincing in pain. Broken ribs, you assumed, if not worse. “What do you want?” You managed to croak out.

Standing above you, his eyes were filled with venom. You swallowed silently wishing the destroyed cursed spirit had taken you out. You refused to break away from his gaze while his hand moved to cup your cheek. You flinched from his touch expecting him to rip your skin away with the swipe of his talons, but instead he clicked his tongue at the action.

“Make no mistake little one, If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.” His voice sent shivers down your spine, but your body relaxed at the words. You wanted to shake your head. How could that even be remotely comforting?

You couldn’t dwell on it for long because the next thing you knew you could breathe properly again. You took a deep breath in, almost choking on it. You removed your hand from your stomach only to gape in shock.

“You,” you looked up at the demon with wide eyes. “You healed me?”

He rolled his eyes. He couldn’t stand the way humans interacted nor did he want to. He craved the chaos he created and only wanted to see more of it, but one sorcerer managed to get under his skin, you.

You were an enigma, your cursed energy was strong, that was for certain and as obsessed as he was with Megumi there was something about you that drew him to you. Maybe it was the way he could tell you were a virgin. You had so much experience but none with another person’s touch. He thought many times about you being tied up and at his mercy while he edged you for hours causing you to cry out pleas along with his name.

Unfortunately there was no time to act on what he wanted with him still being inside the brat, but now, now was the perfect time.

“Why?” The question left your mouth before you could stop it. He wanted to laugh at your perplexed expression paying close attention to your lips. You didn’t realize it, but you backed yourself into a corner.

“Oh Little Sorcerer,” he crooned mockingly. A sinister smile stretched across his face reminding you just who you were dealing with.

Squatting down to your level, he let his eyes rove over your body, paying close attention to where your uniform was torn and wrinkled. Instinctively, you covered yourself to the best of your ability which only made him lick his lips.

“You didn’t think I did that without a price,” his voice dropped an octave, “did you?”

Your heart stuttered in your chest while you gasped. There was no way, but noticing the hunger in those eyes that held a predatory gleam you understood what he meant. You couldn’t-

“Get away from them!” Megumi shouted. His footsteps raced towards where you were. Itadori and Nobara were fast at his heels shouting for you. A ghost of a smile fell onto your face. They were okay. From what you saw the only wounds were some scratches and bruises. They would be okay. The relief quickly faded when a talon turned your chin to make you look at him once more.

His teeth were on full display. “Let’s make a contract, shall we? I won’t hurt your friends as long as you do what I want in my domain.”

You raised an eyebrow skeptically. “And what would that be?”

“I get to ruin you.”

You knew you could stall, could buy time until they could help you, but the more you waited the more people screamed.

“So little one, what will it be?” Sukuna’s voice rang heavy in your ears. You could either go with him or more people would be hurt. You purse your lips, you had two choices: either allow Sukuna to take you and buy your friends some time or wait for them and risk more people dying.

With a deep breath you faced the demon. “If I go with you, you promise that no person, that includes jujutsu sorcerers and civilians will be harmed?”

“Of course.”

Part of you didn’t trust him, but you mulled over the deal, searching for any loopholes. Megumi, Itadori and Nobara were getting closer.

“Time’s running out, have you made a decision?”

You looked at your friends one last time as they screamed in horror running faster. With a final breath you focused back on the king of curses.

“I accept.”

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

“Such a pretty little thing aren’t you?”

Obscene sounds echoed throughout the domain as you grinded against Sukuna’s tongue that resided on his abdomen. Small whimpers and broken moans spilled from your lips. Tears slid down your face while the appendage was lapping at your folds, flicking at your clit every now and again. Each grind down had your toes curling. You tossed your head back.

“Shut, ah, shut up!” You tried to shout, but it held no mirth to it.

Sukuna smirked at your reaction. Still so fiery even after he edged you, you were a fun one that was for certain.

He’d envisioned this moment many times before, but nothing beat the real thing. He kept your arms stretched above you with one of his hands while the other he used to cup your cheek. He lived for your expression, the way your eyelashes were grouped together with tears as you were forced to keep taking what he was giving you, completely at his mercy.

“What’s wrong little sorcerer,” he snarled. “Can’t take my tongue?” He couldn’t help but grow addicted to the breathy pants you let out as you clamped down at his words. His eyes widened, peering at you with an expression that almost looked impressed.

“Who knew you could be such a slutty pet. Nobody’s ever touched you like this before and you’re already so fucked out, I wonder what will happen when you cum, hm?”

“Fu-fuck you,” you managed to get out between moans. You refused to give into him, wishing you had more strength in you to glare. You needed to put up a fight.

He raised an eyebrow with a laugh. “Brat,” he dug his nails into your hips, there would be indents there for days, but he didn’t care. “You try to put up such a front, wouldn’t it feel better to give in rather than fight me? You’re so wet and you’ve been so good, so pliant for me are you sure you don’t want a reward?

The familiar coil in your stomach was about to break causing you to thrash your head back and forth. The burn was becoming painful, you didn’t know how much longer you’d last if he kept denying you. Sukuna noticed, forcing your hips to grind faster.

“Oh? Is the little sorcerer close? Tell me, do you want to know what it’s like to cum from somebody other than you, hm?” He hummed keeping the brutal pace, watching as you heaved for breath, your eyes glossy and almost rolling back. A twisted grin morphed onto his face at the sight.

“Don’t tell me I’ve fucked you dumb already,” he bit his lip to keep from groaning out into the domain. The reflection of the water only made you look more wrecked. “Tell me, is this what you’re going to look like when you're stretched out on my cock?”

The image alone had your toes curling. You couldn’t fight it anymore. You needed release. “M’close. M’so close. M’gonna cum. Gonna ngh gonna cum Sukuna. Sukuna,” you babbled, slurring your words.

You were almost there all you needed was one more extra push.

Before you had time to process what was happening your hips stilled. A loud sob ripped it’s way from your throat. You couldn’t handle being denied anymore. All you could do was struggle in his hold and curse the king in front of you for torturing you like this. That’s when it registered, he was going to kill you like this. That must’ve been his plan all along.

You were about to speak, to tell him to just kill you already when he leaned closer towards you. His lips ghosted against yours. Without thinking you leaned in, desperate to feel his lips against yours, but before you could he pulled away and gazed at you.

You could see your reflection in his eyes, the way you were drooling for him, you were a mess, your eyes glossy from crying, you didn’t recognize the person staring back at you. You couldn’t remember how many times he edged you, but it was unbearable.

“Beg me.”

Your breath caught in your throat even though you’d been expecting that. Part of you, the desperate want that curled itself into your skin and set your heart aflame wanted to cave in. Wanted so badly to finally get the release you��ve been craving all this time, but rationally you looked at the demon and whispered, “I, I can’t.”

As soon as the words were out you wanted to take them back, disappointment swam within you. You wanted to know what it was like, but the sorcerer in you couldn’t yield. You reminded yourself that you were doing this for them, but that would’ve been a lie.

You expected Sukuna to tear you to shreds or leave you like this but instead he shushed you.

Your eyes snapped open, not even remembering when you closed them. He only rubbed your back with one of the hands that was on your hip while the other hand holding your arms set them down.

“Such a brave sorcerer, aren’t you? Even when you’re so desperate you still hold so much strength, but don’t you want to be ruined? Don’t you wish you would just be able to let go and have somebody else take the reins?” His voice was uncharacteristically soft like he was talking to something fragile, something that could break.

“I-”

You couldn’t deny that it sounded nice, to be out of control for once, to just let yourself be ruined by Sukuna. You craved release so bad it hurt. You shuddered against him at the thought of finally being able to lose yourself in pleasure while the cool air of the domain caught up to you.

Without hesitation, Sukuna embraced you in his arms, bringing you close to his chest. You imagined that if he was human, you’d be able to hear his heart beat pressed against him like this. He caressed any inch of your body his hands could reach as he placed a chaste kiss to your temple. You settled in the warmth.

“Shh, just let me take care of you little one,” he squeezed you close before placing two set of his hands on your shoulders to pull you back. It took everything in him not to smile. He had you, he knew he had you judging by the way your face was going from conflicted to completely lax.

“I’ll ruin you for anybody else,” the hands on your shoulders dropped down to barely touch your waist, tickling you. He began to kiss down your jaw, moving to your neck. “You could rule by my side and stay with me in this space forever, you wouldn’t have to worry about curses,” he sucked a mark causing you to whimper. “Or saving people,” his other hands moved to play with your nipples. “Or those pesky sorcerers.”

Your mind was reeling, unable to concentrate on any coherent thought. The difference from being so rough to being soft was messing with your head. You were losing yourself, but still tried so desperately to hang on, to not give in. You had friends you needed to protect, but all of that was fading away.

Sukuna noticed and as he sucked on your earlobe, he used the hands tickling you to meet your hips, positioning you over his cock. “All you have to say is-”

“Please.”

#[ 🎞 ] — anihaven #starithirsts #sukuna x reader smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna imagine #jjk smut #jjk imagine #tw monsterfucking #tw mind break #tw dub con #tw forced submission #tw dumbification #tw degradation #tw corruption kink

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nightowlfandom · 3 years

Text

Possesive! Jeon Jungkook- Only Mine....

HEY GUYS!

SO ANON ASKS

Your new promp list had me 🥵🥵🥵 if it’s ok can I request numbers 1, 3, 34, 79 with jealous best friend JJK snapping after seeing you around boys all the time? You can choose if you want it noncon or dubcon 🥵

OMG I GLAD YOU LIKE IT! OKAY LETS GET RIGHT TO IT! (Also since I don’t do non-con, I’ll make it consensual. Just a heads up)

1- Look at me when I fuck you!

3- I said FUCKING BEG!

34- I feel like the angrier you get at me, the harder I fuck you.

79- Stay the night with me…I don’t care if it will ruin our friendship.

CHECK OUT MY MASTERLIST HERE!

LEGGO!

...

“Kookie!” You ran up to your bestie as he walked out of the airport terminal.

“Y/N!” he practically dropped his duffel bag as he wrapped his arms around your wait. He hoisted you off the ground. He buried his head in the crook of your neck. “My Y/N, I missed you.”

“I missed you more.” you laughed as he tightened his arms around you.

“And I get you all to myself- he began.

“Y/N!” you heard an onslaught of voices. Taehyung, Hoseok, Seokjin and the other guys all crowded around you. You were pulled out of Jungkook’s hug into Namjoon.

“Guys!” you smiled. “I missed you all too!”

“Damn, you should’ve seen Jungkook! He bolted out of the plane!” Hoseok laughed.

“Maybe because I wanted to see my Y/N.” he grumbled in reply. “Give her back!”

“No way!” Yoongi scoffed. “You can have her back after we get dinner.”

Jungkook glared as his friends. How dare they just take you from him?!

“You guys!” you laughed. “We’re making a scene!” you said as their fans caught sights of you. They all seemed infuriated. “You’re fans are gonna-”

“Our fans aren’t gonna do shit.” Jungkook glared into the crowd. “Let them try.” he seethed. He snatched you back into his embrace. “I’ll protect you, love.”

You nodded shyly as Kookie led you to the front of the airport.

...

“Okay weirdos! Dinner is served!” you held the giant box of takeout. “Noodles for Yoongi, Taehyung! Rice Cakes for Seokjin, Namjoon and Hobi. For Jimin, some Extra Spicy Tofu Stew. and For Jungkook and I, fried rice!” you put the box on the coffee table.

Jungkook smirked, of course he went out of his way to make sure no one ordered the same thing as you. He made sure you had ordered last so he could order the same thing.

“Shit, they gave me way too much Bulgogi.” Namjoon seethed. “Y/N, wanna split with me? I don’t think I’ll be able to eat all of this.” Namjoon looked at you who had already settled.

“Oh. Sure!” you smiled.

Namjoon shot Jungkook a mean spirited smile. “In your face, asshole.” he said with his eyes, even though the words never escaped his lips

DAMNIT! Jungkook felt his fist clench. He rolled his eyes. “Hey! Y/N! Pass me a napkin will ya?”

“Oh. yeah.” you threw a napkin his way before resuming your conversation with Yoongi.

Jungkook watched as Yoongi traced his fingers on your wrists as he spoke to you. His face hardened into a glare. Everyone knew he liked you, but until he made his move they wouldn’t care.

...

To say he was pissed was an understatement. He was practically steaming at the ears.

“Why were you with Hoseok?” he asks as he stormed through his room door, a hand tightly wrapped around your wrist. Surprising but not painful.

“He needed help shopping for an outfit for a photoshoot?” you raised a brow. “Why?”

“Don’t bullshit me! You were on a date!”

“Okay first of all even if I was, what business of yours is that?” you crossed your arms. “You’ve been acting pretty weird these past few days and I don’t like it!”

“I DON’T LIKE YOU PARADING YOURSELF AROUND LIKE A-”

“I dare you to fucking finish that sentence.” you warned. “You can forget you had a friend if you do.” You backed towards the door.

Jungkook grew more and more agitated. “Y/N I’m sorry.” he ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Why are you acting so weird?” you sighed. “Do you not like me anymore?”

“No!!” he looked at you as if you had lost your mind. “Y/N I LOVE YOU!” he blurted out. “I’ve loved you for five fucking years ever since we met!!” he spilled his heart out. “and y-you’re putting me in an uncomfortable position!”

“Huh?” you could barely register what he said before he stormed up and captured your mouth is a kiss.

‘Kookie!” you were surprised to say the least. “You just- Hmm.” he didn’t give you time to talk as he kissed you again, wrapping his arms tightly around you. He ran his fingers down your spine, holding you close.

You would have been over cloud nine...if you weren’t so angry.

“WAIT A MINUTE.” you forced yourself to step back from him. “FIVE YEARS?” you exploded. “FIVE FUCKING YEARS AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME! YOU LET ME BELIEVE YOU ONLY SAW ME AS A FRIEND FOR FIVE MISERY FILLED-...”you began pacing back and forth as you lashed out on your friend.

Jungkook just watched as you drug him for filth, calling him every name in the book.

“YOU ASSHOLE! I’VE BEEN TRYING TO HIDE MY FEELINGS AND YOU JUST COME OUT THE WATER AND TELL ME THAT- OH YOU PEICE OF-” Jungkook finally had enough and cornered you against the nearest wall.

“...I feel like... I feel like the angrier you get at me, the harder I fuck you. “ he mused aloud. “You’re in love with me? And you didn’t tell me?” he raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that somethin-”

"I am still mad at you.” you sneered. “After tonight you are dead to me.”

“Am I ?” he cooed. “So you don’t want me to...” he began fumbling with your jeans, unfastening the button with one hand.

“What are you doing?” your eyes widened. You were now more shocked that angry. “Don’t you dare-...” you felt the pads of his fingers along the line of your clothed slit.

“What? Was that a moan I just heard?” he smirked. “Come on Y/N I know you can be louder than that. Maybe if you beg enough, I’ll make you cum.” he creeped into the waistband of your panties. “Come on...beg me honey.”

“I refuse.” you looked away. “Y-you can go fu-fuuuhh-” you felt the pads of his fingers.

“I said fucking beg.” he sneered, pressing his body up against yours. “Stop being so damn stubborn. Let me hear those sounds you think nobody hears when you finger yourself in the bathrooms at midnight.”

“How did you-”

“You stink at being quiet.” he bit his lip. “Come on.” he spoke in a babyish voice, rubbing your clit. “This is how you do it to yourself, right?”

“J-jungkook.” you whimpered. “W-what are you-”you cut yourself off as you felt his fingers slip into your wetness. A loud moan erupted from your lungs.

“Yeah, that’s it. That’s fucking it.” he growled. “Moan like that some more.” he slowly thrust his fingers in and out of you. “Are you thinking about me when you thrust those pretty fingers into that-”

“Don’t say it! That’s a dirty word!” you warned, while ironically mewling like a little kitty cat.

“Don’t say what? That pussy? That cunt? That soaking wet womanhood you got down there. The same pussy that’s asking me to shove my dick in there?” he smirked as he spoke.

“You d-dick!” you leaned forward, your head falling on his shoulder. “S-such as asshole.”

“ Look at me when I fuck you with my fingers.” he demanded. “Or I’ll stop completely.”

You shyly lifted you head. Jungkook thought you were so adorable and truth be told he wouldn’t have stopped. To know that you obeyed anyways was so relieving.

“Shit, I needa taste you real quick.” he moved his fingers from you and yanked down your jeans. “Kick those off for me.”

You instantly obeyed, throwing your jeans and panties off to the side. He lowered himself to his knees. “Shit, look at that.” he wasted no time in driving his tongue into you.

“Hey Jungkook!” there was a knock on the door. Jungkook had pushed you against the door, stopping anyone from opening it. You heard Jimin’s voice.

You glared down at Jungkook with warning. You knew what was gonna happen, but you were scared anyways.

“Hmmm!” he moaned loudly, driving his tongue deeper into your slit. He sucked at your clit, causing a loud cry to escape you.

“Umm is Y/N in there with you?” he called. “IS SHE HURT?!”

You tried to talk, but Jungkook had hooked your leg over his shoulder. “Come on, answer him.”

“I-I’m okay!” you found it in yourself to talk. “I’m just...a little busy!” you clenched your fist to focus on something, anything else. “Doing things!”

“Like what?”

“LIKE BEING FUCKED BY ME!” Jungkook yelled back as he rose to his feet, pants dropping around his ankles. He hoisted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. You felt his cock slip into your heat. “COME BACK LATER!”

He didn’t wait for an answer as he carried you to the bed, setting you down along with himself. He slowly thrust himself into your wetness. “Damnit Y/N.” he seethed, sucking in a harsh intake of air. “Shit.” his jaw went slack.

“F-fuck.” you whimpered. “Kookie.” you whimpered.

“Y/N.” you could see the tears of pleasure forming in his eyes. “You feel so- So fucking good. Look at me, p-please?”

You didn’t tear your eyes away from him. You found it hard to. “Jungkook! I- Uh..” you were now a load, crumbling mess.

“I want to kiss you, come here.” he grabbed either side of your face and gave you a slopped kiss, shoving his tongue into your mouth instantly. “Y/N, I’m gonna cum. But I don’t want to until you cum first. So I’m gonna go faster okay?” His eyes bore into yours, noses touching.

You shyly nodded, feeling his thrusts increase. You were hella sensitive, and in love with it. “Jungkook.” you moaned. “It feels-”

“I know.” he kissed you again. “Fuck, cum for me...cum for me please~” he mewled through thrusts.

He didn’t have to tell you twice. A string of curses he had never heard before along with his name spilled from your lips. Jungkook was next to cum, yanking himself from you. He spilled his cum practically all over the place. He collapsed next to you, leaving you both to stare at the ceiling.

“...I should go.”

“ No...Stay the night with me…I don’t care if it will ruin our friendship.“ he breathed out. “Y/N...I-..I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“You should be.” your breath hitched. “Probably would have gotten this out of the way a lot sooner.”

Your grumpy words made him laugh a little. He lazily threw an arm around you and pulled you towards him. “I love you, for real.”

“Promise?”

“Of course. You’re mine. Only mine...”

...

I STILL GOT IT BITCHESSSS

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bookishdream · 3 years

Note

can you do a one shot where kaz keeps saying he doesnt like nor does he care for the reader; she overhears him, and goes out into ketterdam but ends up getting seriously injured; also if it too much to ask, can i also add that he does end up giving her a hug but he hesitates at first —this corresponds with the fluff (angst and fluff at the end please ?)

thank you for a request! i hope you're okay with my slight change, enjoy xx

TW: blood, death, disgusting men.

kaz brekker x fem!reader

You were standing, leaning harder against the door of Kaz’s office. You wanted to talk to him about your next job, since you had to buy some bullets and a new knife for Nina and yourself. But what you overheard made your heart shatter into little pieces.

“I don’t care what happens to y/n, she’s another member of the Dregs. I can easily replace her if something happened to her,” bastard’s words were like daggers, cutting your skin and making their way into your heart. You were so stupid falling for him. “Now, Wylan, go and build a bomb or should I replace you as well?”

You heard Wylan’s huff and his steps. When he got out of Kaz’s room and noticed you, his eyes got wide. You sent him a crooked smile and made your way into Brekker’s room.

“I need a list of what you want for the job.” You said, voice steady even though you wanted to fall apart.

“On my desk.”

He wasn’t looking at you, busy with counting his money, you rolled your eyes and took a piece of paper from a wooden desk. You made your way out, not saying another word. Your heart clenched, you wanted to punch yourself for feeling even the slightest emotion for him. You should’ve known better than that, you should’ve known he wouldn’t feel nor show you any kind of emotion except hatred or disgust.

You got out of the club onto Ketterdam’s streets. You loved the city, even though it was dark and dangerous, you felt this was your home. You came here from northern Ravka, before your parents made you to join the First Army. You ran away from them and from the responsibility to protect your country, but you hadn’t felt bad about that, those two years ago and certainly you didn’t feel bad then.

You walked to the best shop with knives you’d known. You bought your first dagger there and you were sure about the quality of blades that were sold in the shop. The old Fabrikator was working there and when he learnt you were from Ravka, he started treating you as his daughter, selling you everything you need with lower prices.

“Hi, Milosh how are you feeling today?” you asked, entering the small shop, the older man smiled seeing you.

“Hello darling, I’m doing great,” he replied, eyeing you and noticing your dark circles underneath your eyes. “You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”

You only nodded, didn’t answer his question further. You gave him the list and when he was looking for the items, you looked out of the window. You noticed three Black Tips but you didn’t pay them more attention. You looked away and focused on Milosh. He had fair hair, probably after his father who were Fjerdan. Few months ago, when he’d found you wandering around Ketterdam, he’d asked for you to come with him to this shop. He’d given you hot cocoa and had told you some stories and myths from both Ravka and Fjerda. He’d told you about his father who once had come with a wolf and the wolf had stayed, about his mother who had been the warmest woman alive, especially when she’d made him a warm bread slice with butter and then read him stories. He was your spirit connection to your mother country, so you knew every legend, every myth and even the story about the Fold.

You heard a door bell ring and you looked behind you only to see those three guys from Geels’ gang. Your spine straightened, your palm subtly went to your belt in order to take out the knife if needed. You looked at them, but they were already looking at you with smirks on their face. You cursed under your breath, knowing it’d be troubles and you didn’t know how it’d come out.

“Who we have here boys? Brekker’s girl.” One of them said, making his way towards you, eyeing you up and down.

“I’m wondering if he got some, she’s even pretty.” The other one came behind you, grabbing you roughly by your arm. You tried to free yourself, but his second hand quickly found its way to yours, cutting your only way to defend yourself.

“I have what you needed, darling,” Milosh came out from the small room, closing the door behind him, when he noticed your position he closed his mouth, forming a thin line. “I think you should leave her.” He said to the guy who was holding you. You clenched your teeth, praying for Milosh to back out. You knew Black Tips, they weren’t the smartest, but they were first to kill and you wanted your friend safe.

“Milosh, get away from here.” You ordered, trying to shake off the hands holding you, the Black Tip only hardened his hold and pressing you to his body.

“And leave you? They should leave, not me.”

“Listen, grandpa, the girl’s right. You leave and we’re going to have some quality time with her,” disgust twisted your face, you wanted to kick him, but you knew they would outnumber you.

Milosh only looked at him and from behind him, the knives started to levitating, he used his powers to push them forward, targeting an opponent’s chest. One of the knives hit him in his neck, killing him. The guy behind you let you go and you quickly turned around, placing your dagger in his crotch. He screamed making you cringe.

“This is why you shouldn’t touch a girl without her permission.”

You looked at the third Black Tip, but he took out a gun, targeting Milosh. You threw a dagger at the same time he pulled the trigger. Knife stuck at his neck, making the pistol fall out of his hands. You looked at Milosh to check on him, but you saw a pool of blood and the man laying on his side.

“No,” you whispered, stumbling against your own legs. You fall on your knees, seeing the shot wound was on his chest, that still was slowly rising. “Milosh, please, stay with me.”

“Y/n, my dear, Saints are going to keep me safe,” he said, making your eyes water. “But you have to let me go.”

You shook your head, placing your hand on his chest, trying to stop the blood from leaking. You felt the hot tears streaming down your face. He was like your father, he couldn’t leave you. “Please.”

But his eyelids closed, making your heart break into pieces. You hugged Milosh, messing your shirt with his blood, but you didn’t care. After what felt like hours, you stood up and went for items you had come here. You felt guilty, you should’ve gone to a different store, you put Milosh in danger.

You walked out of his shop, closing the door gently. The Stadwacht would be there the next day, perhaps someone would four dead bodies, laying on the floor. Your hold on the bag with bullets and a dagger, grew tighter. You tried to calm yourself, but tears still were threatening to pour out of your red eyes. You didn’t want to show how miserable you were, you tried to wipe them off, but you didn’t notice the blood on your sleeve. Now, with blood both on your shirt and face, you looked like a psycho.

You entered the Club with the back door and you go to Kaz’s room, hoping he’d be there. You knocked and instantly after, you let yourself in. He was sitting in his chair, but when you came in, he looked up, his eyes widened at the blood which was everywhere.

“What happened to you?” he asked, getting up and making a step towards you. But like he thought better of it, he stopped, placing one of his hands on his desk. “Are you injured?”

You wanted to say something, but when you opened your mouth, only a sob came out. Kaz seeing how you barely could stand on your legs, took your arm and gently led you to the chair next to his desk.

“Y/n, I need to know if you’re wounded.” He said, looking at you, his eyes soft.

“It’s not my blood,” you whispered, making him let out the breath. He felt better knowing you were not bleeding. “It’s my fault he’s dead.”

Kaz’s head snapped, he tried to understand who you were talking about, but you only looked dead into his eyes. “I killed him, Kaz.”

You were never a person who cried after killing someone from another gang, he knew it had been hard for you since the beginning, but he had never seen you crying. He felt his heart clenched at that sight. “What happened?”

You started playing with your fingers, trying to avoid this conversation, but you knew he had to know. “Do you know who Milosh is?”

Kaz frowned, trying to put a face into the name, he nodded his head when he recalled the old man working in the store, where you bought your weapons. “He was like a father to me,” you wiped off the tears from your cheeks. “Even though I still have one, he acted more like my dad than my real one,” you laughed, but the sound was dry and humourless. You told him everything that happened. About the Black Tips, how Milosh wanted to keep you safe but he failed. How that one Black Tip was still lying unconscious on the shop’s floor. Kaz’s jaw clenched, he wanted to kill this man. You looked up at him and slowly got up. He made a step back, letting you.

You walked to the door, eyes dry and you placed your hand on the door knob.

“Wait.”

You turned around, facing Kaz who was slowly walking towards you. One minute he was beside the chair and the second one his arms were around your back, gently hugging you. You were shocked, but after a second, you hugged him back, tightening your arms around his waist. You heard him taking a breath, and you wanted to let go, but he only held you closer.

“Are you okay with that?”

“I’m great.”

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #shadow and bone #the grisha trilogy #grishaverse #six of crows #crooked kingdom #soc inej #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #milo the goat #nina zenik #soc kaz #soc wylan #soc jesper

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magickastiel · 2 years

Text

✨ B&B’S CHRISTMAS ADVENT CALENDAR ✨

17th December - baby, it's cold outside

I am, once again, attempting to write one story through different prompts. I really enjoyed it last time so let’s see if I can do it through December!

check out the other days | now on ao3

Summary: Just a month after defeating Chuck, Sam & Dean are faced with their first real Christmas. Eileen, Jody, Donna, Claire & Kaia descend on the Bunker for a Christmas celebration like no other. But for Dean, Castiel’s confession still weighs heavy. It might be easier to deal with if Cas was actually around to talk to but he and Jack are busy in Heaven. Surely they don’t have time to come home for Christmas…do they?

🥶

Dean can’t sleep.

It’s gone midnight, technically Christmas Day, and while everyone else is tucked under their blankets, Dean is under Baby’s hood.

The familiar smell of oil and metal calms him a little, even as he shivers in his pyjamas in the cold garage.

Everyone had gone to bed in high spirits but Dean can’t shake the thought that something’s wrong. There was something in Sam’s face, a split second of unconcealed panic, before he quickly shrugged it off.

It does occur to Dean that he’s being paranoid.

After Chuck played with their lives for so long, it’s sometimes hard to believe that they really are free. That no one’s operating his strings and making him dance. So he gets paranoid. Not all the time, not about everything, but it does happen.

It’s easing slowly. Having more family around helps - stops him from overthinking like he usually does.

So now, he can’t tell if he’s overreacting or if his gut is telling him something.

He’s trying to push his suspicion away but he can’t quite get past the horror on Sam’s face, the tenseness of Cas’ shoulders or Jack’s words. ‘What if we’re not all together next year?’

What if, what if, what if.

“Dean?”

Dean almost knocks his head on the hood, wrench clattering to the ground.

“I’m sorry.” Cas is at his shoulder, peering at him with those blue eyes. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“S’fine.” Dean wipes his hands with a rag.

“What…” Cas trails off, head tilting. “This isn’t your usual music.”

“Hmm? Oh, no.” Dean feels strangely embarrassed. “Christmas radio station - put it on for Jack when we went to the store. Haven’t got round to changing it.”

Actually, he almost had. But he remembered Jack’s gap-toothed smile and his legs bouncing along to the music and he’d decided to leave it on.

I really can’t stay

Baby, it’s cold outside

As soon as the song begins, Dean tries not to listen.

“Are you alright, Dean? I saw the light and came to check if there was an intruder.” Cas’ eyes study him and he resists the urge to squirm under his intense gaze.

“Yeah, fine. Just…couldn’t sleep, I guess.” He turns back to Baby, pretending to tinker with the oil. He’s starting to realise just how alone they are and his whole body is alive with energy.

“Is there something on your mind?”

“No.” Dean answers automatically, forcing himself to keep his back to Cas. If Cas looks at him he knows he’s gonna see everything.

“Oh.” Cas sounds dejected. “I’ll…leave you, then. I don’t want to intrude.”

Soft footsteps heading to the door match Dean’s heartbeat. He should let him go, let this moment pass like all the others.

Beautiful, what’s your hurry?

“Cas, what’s going on?”

The footsteps stop and so does Dean’s heart.

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

Dean turns to face him and instantly knows he’s right - something is definitely wrong. There’s that guilty look, one he knows too damn well. Knows it from the ring of holy fire, knows it from Purgatory, knows it from running off with the Colt. Knows it from coming back to life when he thought he’d be dead forever.

“You do.” Dean pushes, invigorated with renewed confidence and frustration. “What’s going on? What ain’t you and Sam telling me?”

Cas huffs. “Dean, I…” He lets out a long sigh and Dean waits, still hoping he’s wrong. “It’s difficult.”

“What is, Cas? Please, man, c’mon. It’s driving me nuts, what’s goin’ on?”

Baby, it’s bad out there.

Cas looks skyward and closes his eyes. “We think we may have found a solution.”

Dean blinks. “Ok, great. To what?”

“Jack being God.”

“Uh, ok.” Dean’s mind whirrs, trying to work out how this all fits together. “Is that something that needs to be solved?”

Cas sighs again, wandering closer. “Not cosmically, no. But Jack is four years old. And while he certainly isn’t a toddler, he’s still very naive. And he wants to live a more normal life. I think he deserves that. I want that for him.”

“Yeah.” In theory, Dean can definitely get behind that. “Makes sense - Jack wants me to show him how to cook.”

“Yes.” Cas totally softens for a moment, close enough for Dean to see the blatant affection radiating from him. “He told me that.”

Your eyes are like starlight now.

“How - ” Dean swallows and tries again. “How would it work? What would he have to do?”

“We have made plans for a council, of sorts. Shared power, shared responsibility. It would require transferring part of Jack’s powers to several different angels on the council. He would still keep some of his powers but they would be more manageable.”

“Thought most of the angels were gone?”

“Jack’s been making more.” Cas nods, looking proud. “He’s doing very well.”

“Huh. Ok, cool.” Dean is still waiting for the other shoe to drop. “So, what’s wrong, why couldn’t you just tell me this? Sounds good, like you and Jack might be able to leave them to it at some point.”

Cas looks away and Dean knows there’s something big coming. Cas always looks him in the eyes, even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when it’s too much.

“Jack wants to give me the power too. He thinks I should be one of the angels on the council.”

“I-I guess.” Dean can see the logic in it even if he doesn’t like it very much. “Do you want to? I mean, you’d have a lot more power right?”

“In every way but name, I would be an archangel. I would be very powerful and I would have full use of my wings again.”

“Oh, ok.” Dean forces a smile because he knows how much Cas would love that. “Well, it’d be easy to drop in on us pretty often, right? No more driving everywhere - ”

“I would have to stay.” Cas says quickly, still not meeting Dean’s eyes. “In heaven. Forever.”

I really can’t stay

But baby, it’s cold outside

Dean feels like the garage floor has just tilted and someone’s drained all the colour from the world and all the blood from his body.

“What? You mean - ”

“I would never travel to earth again.” Cas takes a deep breath that he doesn’t need. “I would never see you again.”

Dean tries to process it but his mind keeps rejecting it over and over like a maxed out credit card at an overly full checkout.

“Are you gonna - ”

“I don’t know. I haven’t decided. That’s why we came back. We thought some time away would help us work it out.”

How lucky that you dropped in.

“Right.” The void in Dean’s chest is quickly being filled with anger. “And you told Sam about this already?” Cas nods, a wary expression on his face. “We’re supposed to be…” He trails off, eyes stinging and cheeks getting a bit warm. “We’re supposed to be best friends, Cas. You’re meant to tell me stuff like this! You can’t just ignore it.”

Cas looks up, glaring hard enough to make Dean take a step back. “You are not the one to lecture me about that. Every time I have tried to talk to you over the past few days, you have dismissed me.”

Guilt slugs into him like a gut-punch.

“It’s hard for me to confide in you when you won’t let me speak to you.”

Before Dean can say another word, Cas storms out of the garage and back into the Bunker, door slamming closed behind him.

Cold and empty, Dean sits down on the garage floor and cries.

But don’t you see?

How could you do this thing to me?

#b&badventcalendar #destiel fic #destiel #spn fic #spn #supernatural #mine

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admirableadmiranda · 3 years

Note

People are really out here comparing ONE instance of WWX torturing WC and WLJ (something that is framed as wrong) to YEARS of JC tormenting suspected demonic cultivators and then brushing off JC’s actions. ?????

Yes, sadly. This is a take I have seen multiple times from different people, and it frustrates me every time it comes back around.

I also want to note on Wang Lingjiao, that while yes, she is tortured by Wei Wuxian in that he reverses all the talismans in the area and sends the spirits after them, he does not lay a hand on her personally at all. To him, she is part of the Wens to be taken down, not as personal as Wen Zhuliu or Wen Chao. In addition, no one ever mentions that Wei Wuxian leaves her body as is, but Jiang Cheng when seeing it, shoves the stool leg down her throat till it's in her entire body.

And yes, to an extent what Wei Wuxian does to Wen Zhuliu and Wen Chao is treated as wrong, but it is also treated as what they deserve for what they in particular did to him and Jiang Cheng. I almost get the feeling that Wei Wuxian's particular target of ire is actually Wen Zhuliu, who crushed Jiang Cheng's core and was at the fall of Lotus Pier, as well as made Wei Wuxian fail in his duty to Madam Yu and Jiang Fengmian (he is busy fulfilling debts he does not owe, but that was a whole post by itself), so what he does is the same thing that Wen Zhuliu did to him, break his ward and leave him helpless to do anything to change it. Jiang Cheng breaking Wen Zhuliu's neck and taking over the situation changes the feeling of it from Wei Wuxian's exacted vengeance to Jiang Cheng's hunger to hurt.

One thing these takes rarely mention is that when Wen Chao is tortured to death is that Jiang Cheng is right there too, goading on Wei Wuxian and actively participating. This is not something where Wei Wuxian is doing it all by himself, his sect leader stepped in and took command of the situation and decided that they would torture him to death together. What we can take from this situation is that Jiang Cheng already has no problem with the idea of torture. He could have let Wei Wuxian do his own thing, he could have stopped it, but instead he chooses to do it with him and takes pleasure in it.

I could go over all the lines that prove that Jiang Cheng tortures people both off and on screen on very little pretense, he's certainly excited about getting Jin Ling to feed Mo Xuanyu to his dog long before he ever knows that he's actually Wei Wuxian, but people better at metas than me have covered these already.

For me, the part that matters the most to me is intent. With Wei Wuxian, he targets two very specific people and stops after that. The only other torturous act he does is right before the battle of Nightless City where a bunch of people right after the death of the Wen siblings are talking about killing him and the people he protected again in violent ways and there is officially no more time or hope, their last attempt to soothe the mob mentality of the sects failed, and what he does is summon heavy ghosts to crush them on the ground. In contrast, pretty much all of the torture Jiang Cheng does is in peace time, after Wei Wuxian is dead, regardless of innocence or reason, yet for some reason does nothing about Xue Yang, is not even mentioned to speak up. It is contrasted as an action he wants to take, there's no pressure of time or honor to be reclaimed.

I don't know. With some of these fans, you can quote passages from the novel until you're blue in the face and they will still tell you that there's no basis, it's only rumor, Wei Wuxian did it just as bad. It's an exhausting feeling some days to have to hear this and I understand your frustration, anon! What matters to me is that no matter how loud they yell and how much they complain about me using the tags that I do is that this is still a fantastic book, with adaptations that bring in new people every day and this is over all a fun fandom to be in.

The wheel turns, perceptions change, I doubt these opinions will fully disappear, but the stranglehold of them is already loosening. Don't lose heart, anon. We're here and listening too.

#mdzs #jiang cheng #canon jiang cheng #cw: torture #wei wuxian #there's a lot of differences in their actions #in what they do; how they do it; why they do it #to lump it together is a disservice to Wei Wuxian #long post #mdzs meta #ask #anon

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buckttommy · 3 years

Note

If you could write one S5 scene for 9-1-1, with a song playing in the background, what would happen in the scene and what song would be playing? (also, hello!)

hiya!

in the spirit of us allegedly getting the scene of eddie crying tonight, i do actually have this scene in my head (that includes a lot more swearing) where eddie is standing in the locker room, changing out of his clothes for the day.

his movements are short, jerky, fingers fumbling over the buttons on his shirt. he's angry, but when isn't he these days? it seems like it takes nothing for latent fury to rise up in his bones. most of the time, it never goes anywhere, always rising just to fall again, but this time, eddie's anger has a source.

a tall, stubborn, annoyingly attentive source.

buck stands at the door of the locker room with his arms crossed over his chest. eddie doesn't even have to turn around to know he's there. of course he's there; eddie's so attuned to buck's body he thinks -- knows -- he could pinpoint his location just from the way his hair stands on the back of his neck, the way buck's gaze on him feels like a warm hand stroking down his spine.

it's comforting, most times. especially when they're out in the field. tonight, it just makes him feel exposed.

the locker room empties out one by one until it's just him and buck, and the silence that descends upon them is thick and charged. eddie remains turned toward the lockers.

"what do you want, buck?"

"i want you to talk to me."

talk to him, he says. eddie almost laughs. like it's that easy.

"there's nothing to say."

"bullshit," buck hisses. "you had a panic attack at work. when the helicopter--

"i know what happened," eddie says quickly. too quickly perhaps, if the annoyed little huff buck gives behind him is any indication. seeing that chopper go down brought up enough bad memories to last a lifetime.

"you know what happened," buck says, voice flat. then, "jesus christ," he mutters.

eddie hopes, perhaps foolishly, that that's the end of it. that buck will be so angry, so disgusted with him that he'll just walk away and let the conversation drop until the next time it inevitably comes up again, but eddie should know better, really, because buck's never been a quitter even when he should be.

buck steps fully into the room, and it's like every molecule of energy between them comes alive. eddie almost imagines he can feel his warmth.

buck stands in his peripheral vision. "you don't get it, do you? do you know what this is like for me? do you get that? seeing you walking around every. fucking. day like nothing's wrong, when i know you're dying inside?"

"i'm fine, buck."

"you're not fine!"

eddie freezes. it's the first time he's ever heard buck raise his voice like that. they've argued, brutally, but he's never heard that note to buck's voice--shaky and desperate and infuriated and... scared, yeah. there's a whole lot of fear there too. he doesn't know what to do with it.

"you're not fine," buck continues. "or did you think i wouldn't know that you haven't slept in two days. yeah," buck says when he catches the startled look on eddie's face, "you can thank christopher for that little tidbit since he called me yesterday past midnight wondering if a person could die from not getting enough sleep. that was a fun conversation to have."

eddie sharply turns to face buck. fuck. he'd thought--he'd thought he'd been keeping it together, thought that he'd been keeping himself in check so that at least chris didn't have to see. especially not after the suit shopping thing.

he swallows hard. "what did you tell him?"

"i told him that he had nothing to worry about. that i'd be over this weekend to make sure you were getting your rest."

it's a non-answer but it must have been enough to assuage chris's worries.

eddie clears his throat. "i--thank you. i didn't--know he'd been... worried."

"he's not a little kid anymore. he sees more than you think he does."

"yeah."

"and if he knows you're not okay, why don't you?"

it's the wrong thing to say.

eddie can't say why it's that little sentence that does it. even later, when he thinks about it, he can't say for sure--whether it was the inflection in buck's voice, or the fear behind his eyes, or the disappointment eddie was sure he must have felt, or maybe just a miserable combination of all three. but one minute eddie's standing in front of his locker -- their locker -- waiting for buck to say his piece so the conversation can end, and the next...

the next he breaks.

eddie slams the locker door shut. "is that what you think this is? you think i don't know that i'm not okay?" he can hear the note to his own voice -- flat and cold and numb all at the same time. "you think i don't know i haven't been okay since well before the shooting, or the tsunami, or hell, shannon? jesus christ, buck, it's all i know. i wake up every morning surprised that i even woke up at all. it's like i can't even breathe without thinking something's going to kill me, whether it's this... this fear i can't shake, or the job, or something else. every morning i wake up and i'm surprised that i get to see my son one more time. my son, who i can barely let my son out of my sight, by the way, because every time he leaves the house, i don't know if it's the last time i'll ever see him. and then once i get started on that train of thought, it's like i can't stop. what's the last thing i said to him? if something happens, does he know i love him? and sometimes i'm right, and i do good, and the last thing i said is 'i love you' but then other times it's 'don't forget to tell your teacher you have a dentist appointment friday' and i feel sick because the last thing my kid will ever hear from me is nothing that tells him how much i adore him, and how proud i am of him, and how he's saved me in more ways than he knows by just existing."

eddie's eyes burn hot with tears. it's like his brain has detached from his mouth, but the words keep coming and he's powerless to stop them.

[this song starts playing]

"but i'm fine, right?" he continues. "it's fine. i'm not going to be that dad who keeps my kid caged in a house because i can't control my fears, so i let him go to school, and hang out with his friends, and maybe if i'm lucky, both of us are going to survive the fucking day. and then i get to work, and it's like it all starts over again. hen's late, and the first thing i think is that she's dead in an accident. chim comes in looking exhausted and upset, and i think, oh god something's wrong with maddie and the baby. and you--" eddie lets out a dark laugh. "goddamn you. i let you out of my sight and it's like my heart fucking stops until i see you again. i let you out of my sight, and i think the next time i see your face, it'll be covered in blood, or the next thing i hear will be you scream in pain, and it scares me because i don't know who i am or who i'm going to be if i lose you. and it never stops. it never fucking stops. all the voices, and the pain, and the fear, it's all there, and it's choking me. so no, buck, i'm not okay. i'm not fucking okay, and i need help."

his voice cracks on the last word, every bitter fear and anxiety now spilled into the open, and there's a moment, just a moment, where all buck can do is stare.

he feels torn open from skull to sternum, eddie's pain is so sharp visceral he swears he feels it mirrored in his own body. swears that if he looks down, he'll see nothing but a mess of blood spilling from all the open wounds in his flesh, and it feels like death.

so there's a moment, where buck stands and he bleeds and he dies.

but then. then, he grabs eddie into his arms. it's almost violent, the way he grips him -- too rough and too tight and too fierce, but eddie grips him back just as tight, face buried in his neck.

"it's okay," buck chokes, "it's okay, it's okay, we'll get you some help, it's okay, we're okay, you're not alone, it's okay" and he presses his lips to the top of eddie's head, to the side of his face, anywhere he can reach, just so he can touch and soothe as much of him as he possibly can. and they just stand there holding each other, shaking apart in each other's arms until the scene fades to black.

#this got longer than i meant for it to!#oh well #jack answers mail #i know you sent this yesterday but i didn't have time to write all this yesterday lol #my fic

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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

Text

Winner Takes All (Adrenaline Junkie Part 15)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16 Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: blood, the Warden (that thing needs it’s own warning), gore, violence, swearing, stitches, death (?)

Word count: 2,442

You crouched against the wall as the slow thundering footsteps got closer and closer to you. The footsteps came closer and closer, nearby puddles of water rippling in succession. Despite the swirling fear and anxiety threatening to take complete control of you, you felt overwhelming anger at the creature. This thing set your life back for years on end! It was a ruthless killing machine that deserved no mercy; there was no way of telling how many it killed. How many other lives it ruined.

You hovered a hand over the TNT launcher on your hip and anticipated the creature’s presence soon. You took out some flint and steel and placed it in your pocket in an impromptu Plan D: blow this place to smithereens when all else fails.

When the footsteps became louder, you took out the launcher and cocked it, the whirring of redstone waiting to fire sounded throughout the cave. The sculk blocks writhed and glowed, casting a green glow through the darkness. The footsteps grew faster and you fully extended your wings ready to take off in a moment’s notice. You took aim and your finger twitched on the trigger. Adrenaline was coursing through your veins and you languished in the feeling. It was what kept you on your feet and going.

The second the thing came into your line of sight, your finger pressed down onto the trigger. You slid backwards slightly at the recoil and watched as the TNT shot through the sky and exploded on impact. The creature stumbled backwards with a small grunt.

Oh dear Ender, this thing was massive. It was now (if you were to estimate it) at least twenty feet tall if not taller. If you were to stand next to it, you would barely be taller than it’s leg. The sculk stalks sprouting from it’s wide head were a foot or two shorter than your full wingspan with vines and moss drooping from the protrusions. If you thought this thing was terrifying when you died for the first time, then this thing was a being from your worst nightmares. It was like this thing wasn’t real; the sheer size of it alone was overwhelming.

The TNT did absolutely nothing to it. The stalks on its head twitched and the sculk blocks thrashed and glowed. You stayed absolutely still and held your breath praying that it wouldn’t notice you. When it started to unexpectedly run at you, you yelped and shot into the air flapping your wings as fast as they could go. You reached the ceiling by the time it got to you. You stayed there hovering for a moment trying to figure out how the hell it knew where you were. You panted as you hovered over the cave floor and watched it look up blindly at you, it’s stalks twitching.

You were completely still, you made sure of it! So how did it know your position? The only possible reason could be if it heard your heart beating out of your chest because you certainly did. Or the blood surging through your body and roaring in your ears. Maybe you were shaking? That doesn’t matter, it could always hear you no matter how quiet you think you’re being. It made sense; if this creature lacked eyes then it had to have an extraordinary sense of hearing and navigation system. If Plan A was destroyed before, then it was completely out of question now.

It stood unmoving under you as you hovered over it. The permanent gaping frown dripped with drool onto the floor endlessly, the bioluminescence disappearing after a bit of being on the ground. Your mind flashed back to what you read about it; the adults are more calculating while the juveniles are more brash. It knew you were too high for it to reach so it was saving its energy.

You could hear an endless stream of whispers from the spirits entrapped in it’s chest:

“Run while you still can”

“Wake up, we need to get you out of here”

“Don’t leave me”

“Free us”

They sounded like they were in agony. Their voices were very diverse ranging from masculine to feminine, young to old, familiar to unfamiliar (for some reason that you didn’t have time to ponder. You just chalked it up to your mind playing tricks on you). Hugh was in there somewhere. You were going to set his soul free. You were going to set all the souls free.

You set your jaw and reloaded the launcher. You pointed it and fired. The creature did nothing to move away from it, getting hit in the face and not reacting at all. This thing was seemingly unbeatable. You grit your teeth and kept firing at the creature. By the tenth time, it was still unscathed. The rage you felt at the creature overpowered all rational thought. You needed it dead and you were going to stop at nothing to achieve your goals.

By the time you fired at it for the fifteenth time, the back of your head smacked against something making your vision blur and dazing you. You stopped flying for a second with a gasp and wide eyes, feeling yourself start to fall. You heard it move quickly under you before you steadied yourself in the air once more and flew closer to the ceiling once more. If you looked behind you, a large stalactite met you. You quickly remembered that every single time you shot the launcher, the ricochet would’ve pushed you further and further upwards closer to the ceiling. This was something you mentally kicked yourself for. You needed to be more diligent.

You remembered what the book said about it’s weak points being the open chest and the heart. You needed to fly closer to it in order to aim for it’s achilles heel. It was the only way you had even the slightest chance at beating this thing.

You swooped downwards and fired at it’s chest, grinning in triumph when it grunted and almost fell over. It ran at you, but you were quick to maneuver your wings so that you swooped back upwards. It was working, it was doing more damage than previous attempts did.

You continued your dive bombing and it was quickly realizing your pattern, dodging things faster and getting dangerously close to setting off the TNT you planted. You need to lure it away so you don’t accidentally blow yourself up. You darted to standing forty feet away from it on the ground and started to run.

“COME AND GET SECONDS! GET EM WHILE THEY’RE HOT! LIMITED TIME OFFER!” You shouted over your shoulder and heard it run after you, catching up quickly with it’s long legs. You started to fly, tucking your legs in close to your body and darting parallel to the stone and dodging stalagmites that sprouted from the ground. You were about five feet off from the ground, these stalagmites were getting hard to dodge. You weaved through the protrusions, twisting and turning your body. You could hear them crumbling behind you as the Warden stepped on them, reducing them to nothing more than dust with very little effort.

When you glanced behind you, your mind flashed back to the moments before your first death; the Warden was chasing you with it’s clawed giant hand that was as big as your entire body was outstretched ready to grab you. This time it was more sure of it’s movements, not blindly flailing its arms around and now reaching out straight for you. Your body was jerked to the right as you turned around only to be face to face with a stalagmite racing towards your face at a fast pace. You shrieked and brought your arms up to protect your face before you collided with the stone.

When you did, you felt something crack in your forearm and grunted when you fell to the floor a few feet below you. You could hear the booming footsteps behind you get closer and closer. You quickly glanced at your metal wing. It was completely busted, bent in places where it should be straight and the metal feathers crumpled. So that leaves you with Plan D, there was no out running this thing on foot.

You pulled out the flint and steel and lit a spare torch before it finally got close to you. It’s hand wrapped around your lower body and it brought you up to its grotesque face. You threw the torch over to the nearest cluster of TNT and grinned wickedly at the sound of it starting to go off. It brought your head up to its mouth, but you didn’t struggle; your job was done here. You cackled and felt a tear escape your eye, “see you in hell, motherfu-” Just as it’s jaws snapped shut, an explosion sounded and everything went black.

...

“(Y…”

“(Y/n)...”

“(Y/n) please wa…”

You could hear a faint whispering? What the hell, you were on your last life, so why could you feel yourself breathing? Why did everything hurt? Your entire body was in agony. You split your eyes open and the sight of the cave ceiling met you? Just what was going on here?

Green and white flashed in your vision before you felt yourself being lifted up. You cried out weakly as you felt your ribs grind together. “I know, I know. We’ll have you out of here in no time. Don’t close your eyes.” Philza?

“Dad?” Your breathing came out in a series of rapid short, desperate attempts to get air in your lungs. It sounded awful; every breath you took was accompanied by a soft moaning sound coming from the back of your throat with the occasional mixture of a gurgling and rattling noise escaping you. You couldn’t imagine what it sounded like to Philza.

You whimpered when your body was jerked as he took flight. “Yes, I’m here. Don’t talk, focus on staying awake kiddo.”

“Warden… Run.”

“It isn’t around here right now. I-I don’t know where it is, but we’re leaving the cave. We’re gonna go home, patch you up, and you can show me what you’ve been working on with that TNT launcher.” You furrowed your brows and looked up at his concentrated expression. You had two of them, the portable one and the stationary one. Besides, he already knows everything about both of them. “Which one?”

He glanced down at you before his eyes flickered back up. “There’s… there’s only one and you’re not done with it yet.”

“No… that’s not right. There’s the portable and stationary ones. I have patents.” You said between wet breaths. He said nothing, only flying faster through the cave. You could feel something warm dripping endlessly from your back, a vast contrast to the coldness of your skin on different areas of your back. The entirety of the base of your nub felt uncomfortably hot. You reached around with your left hand and felt for your metal wing. It wasn’t there.

“Didja take my wing off?”

“No.”

“Metal can be fixed, just gotta blacksmith it. Go grab it, it was hard to make” You felt your eyes burn from forgetting to blink, so you closed your eyes for a bit before you were shook. “Keep your eyes open, we’re almost out.”

“Where’s Arthur? Did you leave him alone?” Your speech was growing more strained as you went on. It was getting harder to breathe.

“Stop talking.” You saw light enter your vision. The dull blue sky met your vision. It was half past midnight when you left, were you passed out for that long? Why didn’t the Warden kill you when it had a chance to?

You felt fresh air work it’s way around your body and through your hair. You hissed when air met with the wound on your back. Blood was dripping into your eyes and down the side of your head dripping down to the ground several feet below you. You reached up and wiped the blood out of your eyes before a cough shook your entire body. When you pulled your hand back, an alarming amount of blood was splattered on it. You could feel more drip out the corner of your mouth. You could feel Philza’s breathing pick up and watched as he glanced down at you. His eyes widened at your bloodied mouth and hand, “fuck. Stay awake. Just please,” his voice cracked, “stay awake.”

“Am I dying again?”

“You aren’t dying,” he set his jaw and his face hardened in determination, “you aren’t dying. You’re gonna live.”

“This isn’t what it felt like the last two times. I-I feel… at peace. More calm. Is this what losing your last life feels like?”

“We’re home, can you see the house?” He impossibly flew faster. Before you knew it, you were being carried inside and set on the dining room table on your side. You felt Philza put pressure on your back and cursed under his breath, muttering something about an infection. You shrieked in pain, the hoarse, ear splitting noise ripping itself from your throat. You could hear several footsteps thud on the ground before your three brothers appeared in your vision. They immediately paled at the sight of you lying broken on the table with gurgles and rattles coming with every painful shallow breath screaming in pain.

“Techno, healing potions and golden apple. Wilbur, needle and thread. Tommy, bandages and alcohol.” They did nothing but stare at you weakly writhing on the table. “NOW.” They sprung to action grabbing the necessary supplies. You screamed when you felt a sudden stinging hit your back and the edges of a wound being pushed together. Hands held you down as you felt a needle pierce your tender skin repeatedly. You begged and pleaded for them to stop, you were already dying. You looked up to see Wilbur and Tommy holding you down on the table.

Tommy was avoiding looking at your face, instead watching them stitch your back up. Wilbur was looking down at you with the most heartbroken expression you’ve ever seen on a person. His eyes were glassy behind his skewed glasses and his hair a mess. When he saw your eyes focus on him, he leaned down to put a soft kiss on the tip of your nose (which was probably the only place on your face that didn’t have blood on it). That was the last thing that you remembered seeing before you passed out from the pain when more alcohol was poured on your wound.

(A/N): tell me, what do you think?

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@acecarddraws @ravennightingaleandavatempus @dirtydiavolo @yeiras-world @immadatmostthings @hee-hee-haw @jackalopedoodles @m1lkmandan @vanhakirja @im-a-depressed-gay @coolleviauchihadreamerlove @questioning-sanity @camisascam @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @kakamiissad @jayistrash4 @lifestylesleep @speedymaximoff @sun-shark-tooth @appetiteofapeoplepleaser @lestrangenymph @kinismanditory @dragons-lurk-here @rinzyx05 @the-wandering-pan-ace @angelic-scent @shinipii @dont-hug-me-im-a-fander @izzydimensional @used-avocado @wing-non @lovely-echoo @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @mysteryartisticwriter @momo-has-a-gun @misfortunatem00n @w-0-r-n-n @v-kouya @kusuinko @cheybaee @dulcedippers @jaciahbabes @prlan @hummingbird-lightningstrike @pog-sad-muffin @prickypearpropaganda @thegeekisheere

#sbi x reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois inc x reader #philza x reader #technoblade x reader #wilbur soot x reader #tommyinnit x reader #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #tw: blood #tw: swearing #tw: injury #tw: gore #tw: death #tw: the warden #tw: violence #tw: stitches

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white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen · 3 years

Text

Future

A/N: Yikes. I cried several times writing this. I'm very proud of how it turned out - I think it's one of my strongest pieces on the entire blog - but be warned: bring tissues. Also, Mozzie's quote is originally from Abraham Lincoln. Requested by @ladykeqing

Summary: In the wake of Neal's death, a regret haunts you.

Word Count: 1,964

Peter sat you down and told you in his home. Well… just June’s home, now. The way Mozzie had trailed behind him, for once wordless… His face looking ashen… A part of you had known even before Peter asked you to sit down.

“He told me to say he’s sorry,” Peter said, barely more than a whisper that somehow felt deafening to your brain. “And that he loves you more than you know.”

The room was suddenly stifling. It was more than just the emotions in the air, layering over each other into a thick, caustic fog. It was the darkening of shadows that stretched in from the glass doors, and the silence of the record player that drove deep into their eardrums to muffle the little sounds of life coming from each other. The penthouse was, in an instant, so tiny and deathly empty, and you wished so dearly that you’d been at your own apartment. Staying the weekend had seemed like such a great idea before you abruptly became the only resident.

For a few seconds, you had a mind to just stay put and let the shadows come and take over. To let the agonizing ache of loss engulf your entire heart and continue expanding until it was bigger than your body and you disappeared forever. All so you wouldn’t have to keep looking at the records Neal would never again play and the table he would never again sit at. So you would never have to spend a last moment in the home of your lover before turning your back on it and, by extension, him.

Without him, there was nowhere to turn. The prospect of your remaining lifetime without your partner made your chest and throat tighten with another round of sobs. It all felt so dim. You tried to hold it back, but couldn’t last long before your hands were to your mouth and a strangled whimper was breaking from your lips.

Mozzie could have fooled you into thinking he hadn’t heard, so resolute he was in boring a hole into the rug with his stare. Peter looked towards you with deep brown eyes, solicitous and pleading at the same time. He was as stunned as you were – but where you were being crushed under the weight of isolation, at least Peter got to go home to El. You didn’t have anyone to go home to anymore. Hell, without Neal, did you even have a home at all?

You envied Mozzie. Really, you did. His Buddhist leanings might be a comfort to him, able to think of Neal’s absence as temporary, or his spirit as remaining around them in some way or form. But when you tried to imagine you could feel him still there, the encroaching shadows and silent record player and empty bed all drew together at once until you were drowning in the lack. It was as if your haywire senses were punishing you for thinking even for a moment that you could feel your loss as anything less than absolute. He was gone and the world was permanently less wonderful.

A gunshot. Neal hated guns so much. Maybe this was why.

Wait. No. Time didn’t work like that. Right? He couldn’t hate something for a reason that hadn’t happened yet.

Laughter that bordered on hysterical bubbled out of your throat as you anxiously covered your face, waiting for the mania to pass. Laughter was easier than sobs. It physically hurt less. Emotionally it was so much worse. You could feel the concerned eyes on you while you waited until your desperate giggles died, just like your partner.

“I never said,” you said, wresting the words out before cries – or worse, more laughs – forced themselves out instead. You looked down with shame and guilt. His last words to you were almost cruel. Tender in their meaning, but cruel in consequence – he would never know how deeply you cared for him. You hoped he did. Didn’t you show it all the time? But that was different from hearing the words out loud, and now not only were you going on without Neal, but you were going on carrying the burden of knowing you hadn’t been able to offer him the comfort of certainty in knowing he had been loved in life and would be grieved in death. “I never got to tell him I love him.”

The mere look that Peter gave you in response would have broken your heart if it hadn’t already been lying shattered somewhere between your stomach and the floor. It was as if he were imagining for himself not getting to tell Elizabeth how he felt, or worse, imagining how alone or afraid she might feel if she didn’t know there were somebody fighting for her and remembering her every day.

Sobs would come any moment now. Your throat was tighter than a string on a violin, and any minute you’d stop being able to breathe. In, out, you reminded yourself. Keep it together just a moment more. And then another moment after that. You couldn’t break down until you were alone. You didn’t know why you couldn’t break in front of Neal’s family, but didn’t have the energy to question it, either, not when you barely had the energy not to scream and weep into your hands.

“He knew.” Mozzie’s words were quiet but startling and said with all the confidence of Neal himself. “You didn’t have to say it.”

“But he deserved to hear.” Knowing it and hearing it were different games and Neal, for all his faults, deserved to hear it, too. “He deserved to come home. I don’t…” You lost your train of thought. Why were you talking about yourself when you weren’t the one whose brilliant life had been stolen? After a small shake of your head, you sniffed and shakily breathed out. “We had an entire future. And now there’s nothing left.”

You could see it passing in your imagination, all the little milestones that you’d come to anticipate. Content days at home, interspersed with adventures to his favorite places around the world, marked by marriage and birthdays and achievements and anniversaries. You’d never articulated them out loud, never even realized fully that you’d started to await those days, but now you saw them vanishing and you realized not only were you having to grieve for the best man you’d ever known, but you’d also have to grieve for the missed experiences and joys that he had lost, and the shared life that you had to give up on, as well.

Mozzie finally looked up to you and you noticed that his eyes were puffy and red behind his glasses. You didn’t even know someone could cry that silently. “The best thing about the future,” he quoted, slow and weighty, probably to keep his own voice level. “Is that it comes one day at a time.”

The comfort was meaningless to you. One day at a time was worthwhile when it was endless days of love and companionship. When that was gone, it was just day after day of being adrift with nothing to hold onto.

You sniffed again and replied in a surprisingly even voice, “My future is laying in the morgue.”

~Future~

Leaving Y/N was one of the hardest things Mozzie had ever done, and he had a lot of challenges and dubious decisions in his past. Leaving her to wallow and suffer rubbed him in every wrong way possible, except for the one where it meant – at least for now – that she would be safe. He didn’t think, if he stayed, that he would be able to hold back from blurting out the truth. He couldn’t even look at her for fear of spilling. Not once her tears started. He couldn’t watch his friend, and his best friend’s love at that, weep with agony she didn’t need to feel.

Neal begged to differ, though Mozzie knew that it tore his heart in two to hear her voice over the long-distance connection. When Mozzie was sure the suit was out of earshot, and that Y/N and June had both stayed inside, he lifted his phone from his pocket and breathed heavily in the cold December air that seemed to burn his lungs.

“Did you hear all that?” He asked, impressively steady and managing to get his criticism and support across with his tone simultaneously.

He took off his glasses, thankful Neal couldn’t see that he, too, needed to wipe his eyes dry. Alive was good. Alive but far away and unreachable – at least for the foreseeable future – was still painful.

“I did,” Neal confirmed, voice and heart both heavy somewhere at least a thousand miles away. “I wish…” Neal trailed off, and Mozzie wholly believed that he also needed a moment to compose himself. Why either of them bothered pretending not to cry, he didn’t understand, but they had already dedicated themselves to the farce. “She’s safer this way. If she looks for me, we’re all in danger.”

“If you let this go on, she will never forgive you.” Mozzie warned, thinking about the broken look on your face. It had been like watching a dropped plate shatter in slow motion to see the cracks begin to appear before your very spirit seemed to splinter. Then he thought about how desperately you wished Neal knew you loved him, and he thought maybe there was a chance that desperate love would override the anger. He amended, “Or, if she does, it’ll never be the same.”

“I know.” Neal agreed readily but with a quiver to his voice. “I want to come home, but not if it means visiting her grave.”

“The cautious way it is.” Mozzie put his glasses back on his face, bravely shoring up his willpower. “I can’t know where you are, and she can’t know you’re out there.”

“Keep an eye on her for me.”His voice was full of sorrow and longing.

“Of course.” Neal didn’t even need to ask. If there came a time when the Panthers were dealt with and Neal could – well, if not return home, at least be reunited with Y/N somewhere without an extradition treaty, Mozzie would be the first to set it in motion. “Be well, mon frére.”

“You, too, Moz.”

The line went dead.

~Future~

Approximately four thousand miles away, on a windy beach, Neal stood barefoot in the dark, watching the light from the moon reflect off the choppy, shallow surf. The breeze drifted through his hair and bit across his face with the sting of northern weather.

He looked down at the open phone in his hand, fighting every feeling in him to turn it back on and beg Mozzie to take the phone back up to his former penthouse. Or, worse, to turn his whole body around and get on a ferry to the mainland, and fly back to New York as fast as possible to hold you in his arms. The heartbreak in your voice had been almost too much for him to bear. It would have been, if not for his terror of being reckless and selfish and letting you pay the price.

He had known you loved him, and because he loved you so unbelievably much in return, he couldn’t go home. Not yet. He would work on it from afar, where no one knew he was breathing, much less could trace him back to his darling. One day, if he were incredibly lucky, he could come home and you would still have space for him in your heart and mind. For now, he would have to settle on replaying your words in his head.

I love you, too.

Neal hurled the phone out into the ocean.

#white collar #white collar x reader #lawmen and conmen #neal caffrey #neal caffrey x reader #fanfic #fic #oneshot #future #hurt #angst #sad #requested #drama

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heliads · 3 years

Text

Second Best

Based on this request: “a Zoya Nazyalensky story where she and the reader are friends and one night they get into a fight and Zoya confesses her love?”

masterlist

The task before you is simple. All you have to do is use your abilities as a Grisha Squaller to pick up the metal spear before you and launch it across a clearing into the awaiting target. It’s almost offensively easy, something you’ve been training to do since you arrived at the Little Palace all those years ago. It’s very simple, although the fact that you’re now next in line to complete the task makes it seem strangely harder.

However, the eyes of the rest of the Squallers are upon you, so you can’t exactly back down now. You step forward, lifting your hands in the traditional gestures used by the Etherealki whenever they have it in their minds to do something particularly interesting, and the spear lifts before you. You let it hover there, suspended in the air for a second, and then you fling your hands forward, palms facing the target. The spear flies in unison with your movement, burying itself halfway through its length in the target. It’s almost a perfect shot, maybe off by a hair’s breadth. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

You can hear applause from behind you, the usual aura of surprise that comes with the feat you’ve just accomplished. With a casual gesture of your fingers, the spear yanks itself out of the target, with only a few sparse pieces of straw falling to the ground as any sort of damage. Well, that and the gaping hole in the center of the target, although that is quickly mended by the Fabrikator kept on hand. You can’t help but grin to yourself as the spear returns to your hand. Let’s see anyone else match that.

You may have spoken a little too soon- seconds after you’ve returned the spear to its awaiting position near the front of the courtyard, it’s hurled again through the air, shooting with the precision of an arrow to land in the direct center of the target. You thought it might be impossible to improve upon the slight difference in your shot, but this latest Squaller has managed it with ease.

Normally, any other blue-garbed Etherealki would be looking around in horror and dismay, upset as to what would cost them the first place spot in the class and curious as to who could land a perfect shot such as that. You, however, are somewhat used to this now, and just keep walking with a grin. You can hear footsteps approaching behind you, and don’t even have to turn around to acknowledge the girl now matching your strides.

“Nice one, Zoya.” The girl beside you smirks. “I should hope so. If I so much as missed the center by a hair, you wouldn’t let me forget it for a week.” You laugh. “Of course not. How could I let go of the chance to not tease Zoya’Best In Class’ Nazyalensky? It would practically be a crime.” Zoya nods, pretending to be serious. “Absolutely. The Saints might invoke their wrath upon you if you didn’t act upon such an opportunity.” You fling your hand over your heart dramatically. “Here lies Y/N L/N, dead after the Saints wanted to see her make fun of her friend and she let them down.”

Zoya snorts graciously as you pretend to faint on her, shoving your mock limp body aside. “Oh, you consider us friends?” You catch yourself easily, rolling your eyes. “Zoya dear, I know it would bring you no greater pleasure in the world to consider yourself a lone wolf, forever at the front of the pack, but I thought you’d realized by now that you simply can’t get rid of me. We’re friends.”

You can hear Zoya grumbling, but when you glance over at her, there’s an ill-concealed smile dancing behind her eyes. “That’s an interesting way to convince people to like you, annoy them and make sure you don’t ever leave you alone.” You raise an eyebrow at her. “And did it work, yes or no?” Zoya huffs. “It did, but we’re not talking about that.” You grin. “Of course we’re not.”

You pause by the halls of the Little Palace, ready to part ways as usual. Although the Etherealki and Squallers specifically all have their quarters around the same area, Zoya’s rooms are a ways away from your own. This is typically where you split up, where you go your way and Zoya returns to her own devices, where she’ll most likely plot how to take control of the next lesson and prove herself the best of the students yet again.

However, Zoya shakes her head, continuing to walk next to you. “There are too many people waiting by my doors. I’m staying in yours instead, if that’s alright.” You nod, unable to keep a teasing grin from your face. “Of course it’s alright. It must be so hard, having to deal with suitors and fans so often. I imagine it to be simply exhausting.” You’re expecting Zoya’s vexed scowl and smack on the arm, so you’re able to duck out of the range of both.

This is how it is to be close friends with Zoya Nazyalensky, after all. You laugh with her, develop a thick enough skin to stand the constant scathing remarks that must of course be exchanged, and do your best to keep up with the neverending flow of power and possibility that always seems to come her way. That’s how it has always been, and how it will always be.

It’s not that you mind this, of course. You learned early on that no matter how hard you try, she’s always going to come in first in the class competitions and Grisha displays of strength. Being second out of so many Etherealki is pretty damn good for you, and you can tell that there’s a slight sigh of relief in Zoya’s eyes when you never seem to mind her showing off or ruining what might have been a first place finish for you. Hey- you never came to the Little Palace to always be the best, you came to learn and laugh, and you do that with Zoya. You would never trade what you have with her for fierce competition, even if it meant that you’d start besting her in contests.

This isn’t to say that you wouldn’t change slight aspects of your friendship, of course. For some reason, your heart decided to join the scores of other Grisha and even otkazat’sya that were foolish enough to fall in love with Zoya, and you’re just as hopeless as the rest. It’s just the way that she laughs when she wins, the glimmer of competition and spirit in everything she does, the undeniable thrill in your chest whenever you spot the familiar blue-clad silhouette heading briskly your way. No, you don’t think there was ever a way that you wouldn’t fall under her spell, even if you tried your hardest to fight it.

You could have told her you loved her, you think. You could have mentioned it to Zoya at any point, but you don’t. You’ve seen the way she watches potential friends for their weaknesses, having to always second-guess why they’re talking to her. Is this latest Corporalki approaching her because he truly wants to be her friend, or is it because he instead desires the secrets of her skill in Grisha abilities or as another girl in his bed? For anyone else, you think the constant doubts would drive someone mad, but it doesn’t for Zoya. She’s able to tuck it inside herself, bury it until you wouldn’t even know it was there at all.

She told you once, when the night was dark and long and Zoya couldn’t stop herself from having slightly too much kvas after a hard mission, that she sometimes terrifies herself over the fact that she might always be alone. You can still picture her there, curled up in a chair by your fire, the haunted look in her eyes. You know something happened before she came to the Little Palace, something that made her never trust another soul unless they worked to prove it, but it’s hovering in the back of her mind right now.

So, you nodded at her, and gave her another one of your sapphire blankets to help the way that she won’t stop shivering, and you listen. When Zoya looks up at you again, as if expecting to leave like the others or at least shoo her from your rooms, you simply offer for her to stay the night and not have to go back to her empty quarters. You think that was the moment when she finally accepted that you weren’t going away, when she really started to trust you.

This is precisely why you cannot say a word about how you feel- if Zoya finds out, she’ll begin to wonder if your entire friendship was just borne of a lie, the same as any of the other heartstruck Etherealki who think themselves brave enough to tame Zoya. So, you make sure to direct your lingering glances towards the woods and the scenery around you instead of her, and you force a joking smile instead of a soft look. She would know what you meant if you didn’t hide your heart, so you must do your best to deceive her.

You’ve arrived in your rooms by now, tossing your outer coats to the side and warming your hands by the fire in the corner. You talk for a while about the class and the other students and the way Marie won’t stop staring at Sergei, a Corpoalki who she most certainly should not be associated with. Zoya stays until the candles burn low, and then she says goodbye with a smile. You return her smile. You always do.

You have a most interesting conversation over the next week. It’s not with Zoya, as it turns out, but General Kirigan. Truth be told, you weren’t expecting it at all. He’d caught you unawares in the library one night, while you were studying the particulars of the making at the heart of the world for a class lecture the next day. He hadn’t been there one second yet appeared the next, looming over your book with a shadow that seemed too tall and menacing to be real.

You had looked up in surprise, but he held up a hand, quelling any doubts that you’d accidentally done something wrong. He spoke to you about a regiment of Grisha in one of the backwater towns, some part of the Second Army that was asking for far too many supplies in exchange for the lackluster job they were doing to protect the potential Grisha in the city. For some reason, he asked your opinion of what to do about them, and you gave it. He thanked you with a smile, then left.

This happened twice more. All three times, he showed up, talked with you for a little bit, and asked a question on what you thought of a particular issue. Sometimes, it was still with the Second Army, and sometimes it was with the opportunities presented to the Grisha at the Little Palace itself. He seemed intrigued to hear what classes were like, saying how he had heard you were one of the best Squallers there were. You had smiled at that, and his eyes had glinted like a hound about to take down his prey.

That was the third visit, the most recent visit. You’re walking back to your quarters now, unable to keep a slight grin from your face. This is it, isn’t it? This is how you make your way from the classrooms of the Little Palace to the battlefield, to a real chance to do something different. When you open your doors, Zoya is propped up in an armchair inside, although this does not surprise you. You’ve long since given her free reign of all that is yours.

She looks up at you, a question already bubbling up in her inquisitive glance. “What’s got you so excited?” She’s never been able to miss a detail, has she? You can’t seem to tuck your smile away. “I’ve been speaking to General Kirigan, three times now. I think he might be on the verge of offering me a job in the Second Army.” You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting from Zoya- an expression of surprise, maybe some congratulatory words. Whatever you thought might happen, you were certainly not expecting her to stand up, face twisted in something that looked almost like fear and anger.

“You can’t do that. You should avoid him as much as possible.” Your feet stall from where you’d been crossing the room to her. “What are you talking about?” Zoya shakes her head, almost manic. “You should stay away from him. What did he tell you?” This, coming from your closest friend when you’d been so excited, is enough to make your happiness start to leach from you, replaced by a cold bewilderment and betrayal. “What does it matter? Zoya, this could be my future.”

Zoya seems unwilling to hear you out. “Tell me what he said, Y/N. You can’t trust a word he says.” You scoff. “I’m not a fool, Zoya. I know what he said, and none of it was a trick. He spoke to me like a friend, and last time he talked to me about potential openings within the Grisha ranks. I could have a position. Isn’t that excellent?” Zoya shakes her head once more. “It’s a trick. He won’t give you anything. Don’t tell me you’re actually going to believe what he says?”

You draw back from her now, all traces of excitement gone from you. “Why are you saying this? Maybe I don’t know if he truly means it or not, but you don’t know anything about this. Saints, I thought you might actually be happy for me.” Zoya almost winces at that. “I’m not- I would be happy for you if I thought this was something real, Y/N, but it’s not. Nothing is with him.” You can feel yourself rising up in anger. “Oh, and you would know about that, wouldn’t you? From all of the time you spent with him? Are you truly doubtful, Zoya, or do you just not want me to be involved with him because you don’t want me to have anything that you hadn’t had first?”

The words are coming out faster now, one after the other. Truth be told, it’s almost good to hear them aloud after so long keeping them inside. “I never had a problem with you being first in class, first in everything. I never will, but I assumed that you would extend that same courtesy to me. Why is it that we’re friends in everything, but the second I seem to get some sort of headway, you have to prove it wrong? Can’t I have anything that isn’t yours already?”

Zoya draws back as if you’ve slapped her. “That’s not how I feel. I’m just trying to keep you safe.” You want to laugh. “This is how you keep me safe? By taking everything away from me until I’m only in your shadow and nowhere else?” Zoya flings her hands in the air. “If it means he doesn’t get his hooks in you, yes! I would rather have you stay here forever than lose you.” You look at her, unbelieving. “And why is that? Because we’re such good friends that you’d trade my future for my complacency?”

Zoya’s voice is soft now, barely there at all. “Because I cannot stand to lose you. Because I love you, Saints damn it, and I’d rather have you hate me than never have you at all.” You stand there for a second, then another, then another. Your breath is sharp and harsh in your chest, but you cannot seem to say a single word. You try for a few, anyway. “You love me?” She nods once. “Yes.”

You do laugh now, incredulous. “Why didn’t you say so, you idiot? I love you too.” She looks almost surprised. “I thought- I thought you just wanted to be friends.” You shrug. All of your anger is receding away from you now, washing back into the banks after a flood. “I did, because I thought that’s all you wanted. I didn’t want to make it seem like I was only your friend because I had feelings for you.” Zoya stands there for a moment, then something almost like a sigh comes from her and she steps forward, wrapping her arms around you. “You generous, impossible fool. I can’t stand you.” You laugh, returning her embrace. “Of course not. You love me.”

requested by @villnella

grishaverse tag list: someone who would be my squaller bestie @underc0vercryptid, @darlinggbrekker, @cameronsails, @aleksanderwh0r3

#zoya nazyalensky #zoya nazyalensky imagines #zoya nazyalensky x reader #zoya nazyalensky oneshot #grishaverse #shadow and bone #grishaverse imagines #shadow and bone imagines #grishaverse oneshot #shadow and bone oneshot #sab #sab imagines #sab oneshot #zoya #zoya imagines #zoya x reader #zoya oneshot

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moonlit-jeno · 3 years

Text

evanescence (m.)

pairing: kim jungwoo x fem. reader

genre/warnings: ghost au, explicit sexual content, angst, fluff, mentions of death, some graphic violence/ gore, character death, brief mention of heights, i swear it’s not as bad as it sounds

word count: 7.8k

summary:

evanescence (n.): the quality of being fleeting or vanishing quickly; impermanence; i.e the evanescence of dreams

song to listen to: me & your ghost- blackbear, faded in my last song- nct, trampoline- SHAED, lonely heart- 5 seconds of summer, dreaming with a broken heart- john mayer

notes: evanescence i.e not the band who wrote my immortal <3 part of the almost collab!

The thing about fear is that it’s irrational.

Of course the doll in the corner of your room won’t suddenly come alive and kill you. Of course the spider on your ceiling is actually harmless. Of course nightmares won’t come true and haunt you in your daily life, won’t do more than bother you for a few minutes when you’re asleep. Knowing that doesn’t make it any less scary. Doesn’t stop the shivers from crawling up your spine, doesn’t ease your breathing when you curl into yourself in an attempt to hide.

Some people find comfort in crawling under their blankets, hiding themselves from the rest of the world as if the thick cloth will protect them. You don’t have that luxury. Because the thing you fear isn’t some axe murderer breaking into your house, or some mutant spider wrapping you up in a web. It’s not ghosts or ghouls or demons.

It’s sleep itself.

You used to love sleeping. Naps were considered a favorite hobby of yours, a way to escape from your obligations temporarily or lift your spirits during a bad day. But the line between like and dislike is thin, and the peaceful dreams you were accustomed to transformed into terrors that torture your nights and leave you shaking and sleep deprived when you wake.

Coffee becomes your best friend, the drink becoming a crutch that you use desperately to avoid reliving the nightmare that haunts you every time your eyes fall shut. It’s always the same scene: a basement, a young man being tortured by a masked figure. Punched, strangled, stabbed. It’s always in that order, with the exact same amount of punches and stabbings each time- six. It’s worse than any movie you’ve ever seen, worse than anything that you can imagine. And yet it doesn’t get any less horrifying as time goes on, as you relive the same thing over and over again.

The only thing that changes is the point of view. Sometimes you can see it from his perspective, begging for mercy from an expressionless figure whose ears fall deaf to the boy’s pleas. That’s the worst, you think, because you can feel everything. It leaves you frantically checking yourself for wounds and marks and bruises, the vividness of your dream leaving you shocked when you find your skin unmarred. Sometimes you watch from the corner of the room, able to see everything yet unable to help, your voice stuck in your throat when you attempt to cry for help. And sometimes, you’re the killer, repeatedly delivering blow after blow in a body you can’t control.

Tonight’s different. Instead of the boy strapped to the chair, it’s you.

You shake and cry out, trying desperately to free yourself of the restraints. They aren’t strong, and yet your limbs feel like jelly and you can’t break free of them. A shadow looms over you and you look up, expecting to see the killer, but you don’t. Instead, the boy stands over you.

His features are softer like this, not scrunched in pain or splattered with blood and bruises. He smiles gently at you.

“Hello,” He says, kneeling down in front of you. One hand lands on yours and the restraints fall away, your limbs now free. “I’m Jungwoo.” You just blink at him. “I’ve seen you in my dreams.” Jungwoo’s smile falters a bit, and he huffs a humorless laugh. “That… yeah. That’s less of a dream and more of a…” He trails off, shrugs. “Memory.”

It takes a moment for it to process fully. Memory? If that’s his memory, then that means that he had to go through all of that. “I’m- I’m so sorry. Who put you through that?” He shrugs. “Dunno. But I wouldn’t pity me too much.” There’s a tight lipped smile on his face. “I’m the one that’s made you go through it, too.”

You blink once, twice, and feel the sympathy in your bones turn to fury. “Why?” You ask, tears brimming at your eyes. “I didn’t do anything to you! And you still tortured me, every night. Do you know how terrified I was? I am?”

“I’m sorry.” Jungwoo says, eyes downcast. ��I didn’t even know I was projecting onto you at first. I would just get so consumed with what happened that night, and I guess you would relive the scene with me.” He takes a slow step towards you and raises his head. “I never meant to hurt you, I’m sorry.” You nod, because what can you say? Jungwoo doesn’t seem to know either and he stands there, shifting from foot to foot, looking everywhere but at you. “So.” You start, head tilting to the side curiously. “How does this work?” “How does what work?” Jungwoo seems surprised, but whether it’s by your question or by the fact that you’re able to string a coherent sentence together is lost on you.

“I dunno. This. Like are you a ghost? Do you just like, live inside my head now.” “Yeah, I mean I’m dead so I must be a ghost. Haven’t had much time to talk to people and ask.” It’s not meant to be funny, but you can’t stop yourself from laughing. You clear your throat to cover it, trying to focus your energy on your next words. He doesn’t look too hurt at your amusement, though. His eyes are twinkling.

“Hmm let’s test it. If you live in my head, you should be able to hear my thoughts right?” Jungwoo stares at you, bringing one hand up to stroke his chin thoughtfully. Finally, he snaps his fingers. “Got it! You want pizza.” “Nope! I want you out of my head.” Your smile is sickeningly sweet. Jungwoo rolls his eyes, tongue sticking into his cheek briefly before laughing.

“Well, I want to be alive but here we are. Guess we’re at a standstill.”

Guilt fills you and you open your mouth to apologize, but Jungwoo disappears right before your eyes. You try to call out after him but it’s too late, the dream’s over. The annoying beep of your alarm replaces his soft laughter and you groan, fumbling with your phone to turn the sound off.

Classes pass quickly for once, although you’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t register any of the material. You’re done for the day before you know it, finding yourself at a cafe with Johnny. “You’re in a good mood.” He comments, looking at you with his eyebrows furrowed. “Did you get replaced by aliens?” You roll your eyes. “I can be in a good mood, Johnny.” It’s rarely true because you’re normally running off of approximately six minutes of sleep, but hey, it still counts.

Johnny raises his eyebrows. “Y/n, you’re never in a good mood. Not even when your best friend is here.”

“My best friend is here? Where?” Johnny gives you a deadpan expression and you laugh, popping a grape into your mouth. “Kidding, you know I love you. But guess what: I actually slept last night!” He gasps so obnoxiously loud that he inhales the chip he was holding and chokes around it, slamming his hand down on the table and hacking his lungs out. You put your head in your hands until he finally recovers. “You slept? You actually slept? Holy fuck, you did get replaced by aliens!”

“No aliens, John. No nightmares either.” Johnny, though he’s your best friend, doesn’t know the details of your dreams. He knows that they’re bad enough to make you cry and curl up in his arms from time to time, knows that you chug energy drinks to avoid sleeping, but that’s about it. No gruesome murders in sight for him.

“Holy shit, that’s great! We should celebrate.” Johnny reaches across the table to high five you, grinning from ear to ear. “Wanna come over and crack open a few cold ones?” He bites his lip and you know that it’s taking all of his effort not to finish that sentence.

You appreciate it, but you shake your head. “I’ve got a lab report to finish plus like two papers due. I really don’t have time.” That’s only slightly true. Yes, you do have homework, but you normally wouldn’t let that stop you. The itch to see Jungwoo again, however crazy it may sound, is driving you crazy and for once in your life, you can’t wait to fall asleep. Seeing Johnny’s expression drop makes you feel a little bad for bailing on him with a ghost. “Maybe this weekend?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Johnny grins again. “Hopefully you get to sleep tonight.”

The nightmares seem to go away permanently after that. Your dreams always take place in that one room, but Jungwoo’s always there to greet you. A month passes and you learn a lot about him, almost to the point where you see him as a friend. Almost. Because you can’t really be friends with someone who isn’t alive, right? But he feels real. His spirit is still alive, to the point where you forget he’s a ghost who you can only talk to in your dreams, and that’s what matters. Except tonight when you fall asleep, you open your eyes to sand and salt water, gentle waves calmly lapping at the shore. Strange. Jungwoo sits with his back facing you, knees drawn up to his chest. He doesn’t look up when you sit down next to him, but he does speak when you say his name softly.

“I think I figured out why I came back.” Jungwoo says, eyes concentrated on the water. “My brother’s in danger.” His head drops to rest on his knees and you pat his back, not knowing what to say.

You don’t learn what Jungwoo meant until the next night, the man so distraught that he isn’t able to form words before your time’s up. The scene is different again this time, a playground replacing the beach from the night before. Jungwoo sits on a red plastic swing, his feet dragging on the ground sadly.

“Hey Jungwoo.” You call out the greeting gently, taking a seat next to him. “Are you okay?” He nods, laughs a little. “Yeah, sorry for freaking out last night. It’s just. It’s a lot.” “Sounds like it is. You wanna talk about it?” You pat his knee comfortingly and he stares at your hand for a long moment before covering it with his own.

He tells you about his brother first, about how much he misses Mark, about how bad he feels for leaving him on his own. Mark’s younger than him, but only by a year, and he was nowhere near as good as him at FIFA. He tells you that he doesn’t remember who killed him, but that as soon as he was transported to the beach, he knew his brother was in danger. There’s no explanation on how the beach told him that, but you have no place questioning the afterlife. You listen patiently throughout the whole story, and it seems to help Jungwoo, his shoulders sagging with relief when he’s done.

“So whoever killed me,” Jungwoo squeezes your hand, stares at the woodchips dragging around. “They’re going to kill my brother next.”

“So we find your killer. Easy.” You squeeze his hand back. “Mark’s going to be okay, Woo. I promise.”

Tonight’s dream takes place on a rooftop. There are lights strung up that lead you straight to Jungwoo, the man facing you with a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. His arms are outstretched and you walk into them, sighing softly when he wraps you in his embrace. Lips press to your forehead and you swear you’ve reached heaven. “Dance with me.” He whispers it as if you have a choice to disagree with him when he looks this good. You nod and bury your face in his chest, swaying with him under the stars. There’s music playing now, music that you didn’t hear before, and he hums softly to it as you dance. A squeal leaves you when he spins you, dipping you down before pulling you close, your back to his chest. His lips graze your ear and he laughs before spinning you back around and pulling you into a kiss.

It feels so good and you find yourself getting lost in his touch. The warmth of him against you, the solidness of his chest under your palms. It’s so nice, so comforting, so… real. But it can’t be real. Because this is a dream, because Jungwoo is dead. The thought is enough to jolt you out of your haze and you try to pull back, need to pull back, but the hand on the back of your head holds you still and it feels so good that you almost don’t want to pull out of his embrace. “Jungwoo,” you mumble his name against his lips, not wanting to pull away from the kiss but needing to know the answer to your question. “Jungwoo, are you real?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Jungwoo chuckles, pulling you back for more. “Don’t I feel real?”

A gasp leaves you when his hand slips lower to your ass, squeezing before slipping between your thighs. He finds little resistance, easily reaching under your dress and past the thin panties you’re wearing to swipe through your folds and enter you, stretching you out deliciously well. You cling to him as if he’s your life line and not the other way around, letting him take you apart with his fingers. His name leaves your lips in a sob and you press your face against his neck, clutch at his shoulders. “Please, Jungwoo, please.”

Both of his hands slide to your ass and he picks you up easily, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically. He carries you over to the ledge of the roof, setting you down on the cool stone. He barely gives you time to take in what’s happening before he’s dropping to his knees in front of you, his eyes dark and so intense that you can’t look away from his gaze as he attaches his lips to your thighs. You slide one hand into his hair and he moans into your skin, the vibrations traveling through you as he kisses his way up your thighs and to your core. A sigh leaves you and you put your other hand behind you for balance, your heart dropping to your stomach when your fingertips wrap around the edge of the balcony. “Jungwoo!” You yelp immediately trying to stand up when you look behind you and see the darkness below you, decorated with lights from buildings so far down that they’re almost as tiny as the stars above you. “Jungwoo, I’m gonna fall. Ohmygod I’m gonna fall, Woo-”

“Shh,” Jungwoo hushes you, rubbing your thigh soothingly. He reaches for your hand and laces your fingers together, taking a moment to press his lips to the back of your hand. “Look at me, y/n. You’re not going to fall, okay? I’ll always be here to catch you if you do.” Something in his eyes looks so honest, so sincere, and you find yourself nodding slowly.

“Okay.” Your voice comes out as a whisper, too scared to raise it any louder and break the moment between you. “I trust you.” Jungwoo smiles up at you one more time before lowering himself down to your core. His free hand lifts the edge of your dress up and he takes his time rubbing slow circles into your clit, sighing out praises about how good you are when you shake from the unbearably intense sensation. His eyes stay on yours the whole time, even as he lowers his mouth to your pussy and eats you out like a man starved. It feels so good that you can barely process it, squirming against him and letting your eyes roll back.

“Fuck, Jungwoo,” You whimper, feeling your orgasm build up in the pit of your stomach. “Shit, c’mere.” You use the hand buried in his hair to tug him up, pressing his lips to yours for a sloppy kiss that feels way too good for the moment. He rubs messy circles into your clit that have you clutching him tight to your chest, crying out his name so loud that you’re sure the entire city can hear you. “You like that?” Jungwoo asks, although his voice is so cocky that you’re almost entirely sure he knows the answer. “Fucking love it,” You pant out, orgasm so close you can taste. “Love you, ohmygod.” The end of your sentence cuts off with a whine as you come so hard you nearly black out, holding onto him so tightly you’re sure you would’ve broken at least one of his bones if this were real.

If this were real, if he were real. If this wasn’t a dream with a ghost. The realization washes over you like cold water and the dream disappears before you in a flash, leaving you trembling and empty in more ways than one. Your hand is tingling and when you look at it, you realize that Jungwoo didn’t let go the entire time.

You’re not in your bed when you wake up. It takes you a moment to realize it, the weight of your dream still heavy on your mind, but then you open your eyes and process your surroundings and realize that even though you’re awake, you’re back in your nightmares.

A scream leaves you and you jolt out of the chair, falling flat on your ass. You scramble backwards a good few feet before relaxing, realizing that your mind was just playing tricks on you. This is no nightmare place, it’s just your basement. Except…

That chair is definitely the chair from your nightmares- or well, Jungwoo’s murder. You’ve never seen it down here before, but then again, you never go into the basement. It’s been years since you’ve been down here, the room always giving you the creeps. And you’ve never sleepwalked- you can’t fathom why you’d be down here.

“Jungwoo?” You whisper, not even flinching at the gust of cold air as he materializes next to you. “Why am I down here?” “This is where I was murdered.” Jungwoo murmurs, his gaze distant, cloudy. You furrow your eyebrows.

“Here? Are you sure?” He nods strongly, not an ounce of hesitation on his face. You get to your feet and watch him pace around, tentatively poking at objects. A violent shudder runs through him when he touches the chair. “Jungwoo, this is my house.” He freezes. “This is your house? Then you must know who murdered me.”

There’s a long second where you just stare at him, not knowing what to say. Thoughts abandon you and your mind goes blank, leaving you to shake your head and stutter out objections. “W- No, Jungwoo, I can’t-” A deep breath, a heavy exhale. “No one ever comes down here, and I can’t remember the last time I even had people here.”

“Well someone had to come down here!” Jungwoo presses, motioning at himself. “Y/n, I’m dead. You could help me find who killed me.”

You spend hours thinking through every person you know, mulling over all of your friends and anyone else who has ever been to your house. Parents are ruled out immediately- they live across the country, first off, and your mom nearly cries whenever she so much as swats a fly. Jungwoo tries to help, but he doesn’t know anyone the way that you do, and he’s a tad bit negative.

“Okay, but how do you know they’re not killers.” He asks, tone flat. “I mean, do you have hard evidence? Because somehow none of them are killers, and yet…” He smiles humorlessly and holds his arms out, doing a twirl for you. “I’m dead.” “I’m trying.” You say tiredly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s just hard. Literally no one ever comes over, and I can’t picture my friends as killers. Plus, no one has access to my house except for me.” You purse your lips, staring at your sad little notepaper list with dozens of names scratched out. “Is it possible this happened before I lived here?” Jungwoo shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.” He doesn’t look convinced.

You purse your lips, groaning in defeat when your mind stays blank. “I’m sorry, Woo. We’ll figure it out eventually, I promise. I just can’t think right now.” “Hey, it’s okay. Thank you for helping and not like, I don’t know, calling an exorcist.” Jungwoo presses himself to your side, poking your cheek when you laugh, and his presence is so comforting that it’s easy to forget that he’s not really there. You swat at him good naturedly, your laugh cutting off early when you realize that he’s disappeared. You call for him a few times, panic racing through your mind, until he manifests again a few feet away from you.

“Ohmygod, I’m so sorry! Did that hurt you? I didn’t know that would happen!” You jump to your feet, reaching out to him on impulse before thinking better of it.

Jungwoo laughs softly, but his form flickers. “It’s okay. I guess you can only touch me in dreams.” He smiles, but it’s with his mouth closed tight. The chair becomes visible through his form as he flickers again.

The mention of touch jolts your memories and you scratch the back of your neck nervously. “Wait, Woo, I meant to ask.” He looks at you expectantly, humming for you to go on. “Last night, in the dream. Was that like, was that really you?” “Hm? Are you asking if it was real or not?” Jungwoo asks. You nod, unable to look away from his gaze. “It was me, y/n. I’m real.”

You nod, lips pursed as you think it over. Jungwoo smiles though it’s hollow, hard to see the usual light in him when he’s nearly translucent again. “I’ll see you tonight?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before vanishing, leaving you alone in the cold basement.

“Yeah.” You whisper softly, a dark cloud hanging over your head.

“What’s in the bag?” Johnny asks you, nodding towards your bookbag. It’s normally empty, save for a notebook or wallet, but today it’s stuffed full of newspaper clippings and binders.

“Nothing.” You shrug. “Just some old articles.”

Johnny thumbs through a stack of the papers before looking up at you, his forehead creased. “On murders?”

“Yeah. They’re interesting. Figured I should know the history of the town I live in, right?” You take a sip of your coffee, hoping you don’t look as insane as you feel. It’d taken you hours of searching to find those articles, digging through the library archives and reading murder after murder to find ones that seemed similar to Jungwoo’s case. They were unsettling, to say the least, and the fact that someone had taken a life under your own roof left you jittery. “I mean, I guess?” Johnny shakes his head and thumbs through a few more, hesitating at one of the clippings before shoving them back in your bag. “Kind of an appetite killer.” He says, pausing after a second and laughing. “Hah, get it? Killer…” The cold stare you give him has him sobering up quickly. He clears his throat. “Anyways. What else have you been up to? You’ve been kinda distant lately.” Have you been? Probably. “Sorry.” You shrug. “Caught up in my work, you know how it is.” Johnny wiggles his eyebrows. “Seeing a new man?” You shoot him a withering look. He throws his hands up innocently. “Woman? Person?”

The word ‘ghost’ is on the tip of your tongue, but that sounds insane even to you. You can’t be seeing someone whose body fades out of existence when you so much as blow air on him too strongly. “No, Johnny. I’d tell you if I was dating someone.” “Promise?” He asks. You hold your pinky out to him, interlocking the digits and offering him a smile. He grins back. “Good. You wanna come over tonight? Play some video games, order some pizza?”

It sounds good, and you really don’t want to be alone at your house after discovering it was the site of a murder, but you don’t want to leave Jungwoo. He’s kind of counting on you for something big, plus you have all those articles to show him…

At your hesitation, Johnny pouts. “Come on, I feel like I’ve barely seen you for like, a month. Please? It’ll be just like old times.” The promise of old times has your resolve fading, and you give into his whining. He cheers and knocks your coffees together, dramatically complaining when the liquid splashes onto his sleeve.

Taking a nap had seemed like a great idea when you had gotten home from lunch, but it’s the first time you’ve dreamt without Jungwoo in your dreams, and all of the nightmares were so genuinely disturbing that you wake up sobbing. Every room seems so foreboding that you can’t bring yourself to sit in the house any longer and you run out the door without any further thought. The rain soaks through your thin sleep clothes and you find that you have three missed calls from Johnny, but you don’t bother to call him back. You’ll be at his place soon enough, and the rain is starting to blue the screen too much for you to see. Or maybe it’s your tears, you can’t be sure, and you really don’t care.

You knock on Johnny’s door, stepping back and impatiently shifting from foot to foot before stepping forward and knocking again. Exhaling harshly, you raise your fist to knock again. The door opens.

A very disgruntled Johnny stands before you, one hand wiping at his face. His hair is disheveled and you have the conscious thought that he must have just woken up, but your brain is flying a million miles a second and you don’t have time to spend worrying about if you’ve interrupted his beauty sleep. “Y/n?” Johnny yawns out, opening the door wider. “You were supposed to come over like 3 hours ago.” His sentence goes unfinished as you push past him, grabbing his wrist and dragging him to the living room. With your hands on his shoulders, you push him down to sit on the couch. He looks less tired and more confused now, which makes sense considering he’s never seen you act like this- you’re not even sure that you’ve ever acted like this- but he keeps silent, trusting you enough to tell him what the fuck is going on. He patiently puts his hands on his knees, watching you pace around the area.

It takes you a while to formulate exactly what to say to him. How exactly do you tell your best friend that you’ve been helping a ghost solve his own murder without him attempting to send you to a psych ward? After a few moments of pacing, in which you accidentally leave a trail of muddy footprints on Johnny’s carpet, you pause.

“This is going to sound insane.” You start, facing Johnny. He nods encouragingly, motioning for you to go on. “I need you to believe me. Promise me that you’ll hear me out until the very end.” Johnny nods. “No, I need you to promise me.” Maybe it’s how frantic your voice sounds, or the fact that you’re soaking wet and still breathing heavily from your run, but Johnny promises without hesitation. His voice is soft and his eyes are wide and you thank God for giving you such a good best friend. You search his eyes with your own, and finding nothing but encouragement and trust, you begin.

“Okay, so. You know those nightmares I’ve been having?” A nod. “Okay, so apparently there’s a ghost living in my house that’s been like, projecting their memories onto me.” Johnny blinks, not even trying to hide the skeptical look on his face. “Before you say anything, I know it sounds crazy. But ghosts are real. Jungwoo- Jungwoo’s real.” Johnny inhales sharply. “His name is Jungwoo?”

“Yeah. He was murdered 4 years ago in my basement. My basement, Johnny.” You take a deep breath, shuddering. “Whoever did it is still out there, and Jungwoo thinks that his brother might be in danger.” You shift anxiously from foot to foot, hands wringing together in front of you until Johnny takes them into his own, thumbs rubbing over the backs of your hands to calm you. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but can you help me find him? I just need to make sure that he’s okay, and I know it’s silly that I promised a ghost but-” “I’ll help.” There’s a reassuring smile on Johnny’s face when he interrupts you, and you breath out in relief. “It’s okay, y/n. I believe you.”

You launch yourself forward into his arms, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I don’t deserve you.” Johnny laughs. “Yeah, you don’t.” He pulls back from the hug long enough to look you in the eyes. “For right now, let's go to bed, yeah? You really look like you need some rest.”

“Okay, so here’s his address. I mean, I think it’s his address.” Johnny looks over your shoulder at the satellite image of Mark’s house, nodding. “We can get there in about two hours.” Johnny hums, stepping away from the computer. “I can get us there faster than that, don’t worry. C’mon, let’s have some coffee and then we can go.” He makes sure you eat something that actually has nutritional value before you go, even going as far as to pack a bag before you hit the road. Johnny does his best to reassure you throughout the drive, but you’re a nervous mess. You compulsively take sips from the water bottle Johnny had forced you to take with and it’s empty in no time, leaving you to drum your fingers along your thighs and squirm with a full bladder.

The house looks so much bigger, so much more foreboding in person. Johnny gives you a reassuring look and after a deep breath, you knock on the door. It takes a few seconds before it creaks open to reveal a man around your age peering at you through black-rimmed glasses that sit crookedly on his face. “Hello?” “Hi, Mark?” he nods, looking you up and down. “Do you have a moment to talk? I just have a few questions, it w-” He’s already moving to close the door before the sentence is even out of your mouth. “Wait, Mark!” You manage to wedge your foot in the door before it closes and he groans, rolling his eyes.

“Look, I’m really not in the mood to buy anything, so if you could just please-” He tries again. “It’s about your brother!” You exclaim, finally succeeding in getting Mark to listen. He freezes and stares down at you dumbly. His eyes stay on you for a little too long before lifting to look behind you.

“Johnny?” Mark asks, eyes widening. “Is that you?” You look over to find Johnny standing behind you, a soft smile on his face. “Yeah, it’s me. How you doin, kid?”

Mark lets you into the house after tackling Johnny into a hug, offering you tea and a seat on the couch. “I didn’t know you knew Jungwoo,” You whisper to Johnny, watching Mark grab cups from the kitchen.

Johnny shrugs. “Never had a reason to bring him up.” He definitely could’ve brought him up earlier, like when you mentioned you were seeing his ghost, but you brush it off as nothing. Maybe he didn’t want to upset you.

Mark returns, offering you each a cup of tea before taking a seat on the couch opposite you. “Wow, it’s been so long.” Mark laughs, clutching his tea for dear life. “It’s so good to see friends of Jungwoo’s again. It’s like, it’s not the same as seeing him but. It’s nice.”

“Good to see you too, Mark.” Johnny smiles. “I looked all over for you after Jungwoo’s death, but I couldn’t find you. When did you move?” Mark sniffs. “Um, I think like a month after it happened. They arrested the guy that killed him and I dipped. It was too painful to see all those little reminders of him everywhere.” Mark sniffs again, and wipes harshly at his eye. It makes you tear up a little too, thinking about how fondly Jungwoo talked about his brother, how unfair it is that they got ripped apart so soon. One phrase sticks out to you and you manage to reel yourself back in before you start crying too hard.

“Wait, they caught the guy? Do you know who killed him?” You side eye Johnny because he must have known that the killer was caught already, and it doesn’t make sense that he didn’t tell you considering that was the sole reason for this trip.

“Um, well. Jungwoo uh, he had a sort of accident.” His hands are shaking, you notice. Some tea spills onto his leg. “He used to go out to all these parties and he swore he’d be safe but I guess he slipped up this one time.” Mark takes a deep breath and his voice cracks. “He was driving home from a party and he probably thought he was fine but he was way too drunk and he hit a pedestrian. He drove away but her boyfriend saw the whole thing and followed him.” Mark drops his head down and sobs a little.

Johnny moves to comfort him and Mark calms down after a few moments, skillfully changing the topic away from his dead brother. All the water that you drank in the car finally catches up to you and you excuse yourself for a second. Mark’s laughter rings clearly from the living room and you can’t help but to laugh too, smiling at Johnny’s ability to make everyone happy. You fix your hair in the mirror, a little spring in your step at the thought of being able to fulfill your promise to Jungwoo.

You wish he was with you right now as you walk down the hallway back to the living room. There are so many pictures on the walls, Mark’s accomplishments framed proudly. It sends an ache through your heart that you’re here to see all of this by yourself. It’s only then, when you’re picturing Jungwoo exploring the house with you, that you realize how quiet it’s gotten.

Frowning, you call out Johnny’s name. You get no response and call out again, finally catching movement out of the corner of your eye. “Johnny, why’d you sneak up on me?” A laugh leaves you when you turn to fully face him, cutting off only at the flash of color that slowly fades to black.

Your head is throbbing when you come to, vision taking a few seconds to clear up. A groan leaves you and you shake your head softly, coming face to face with Mark. A Mark whose mouth is covered with duct tape. You freeze, eyes widening, then look down to find that the rest of him is bound, too. “What-”

Panic surges through you when you realize that your hands and ankles are bound too, and you jerk your head to the side, frantically searching to make sure that Johnny’s okay. You don’t find him. It’s only you and Mark in the room. “Johnny? Hey, whoever the fuck has us down here better leave Johnny the fuck alone!” You might currently be tied up, but the fact that your best friend is missing and potentially hurt overtakes any concern you may have for yourself. Mark’s eyes widen and he shakes his head frantically. You furrow your eyebrows and go to ask what he means, but you don’t get the chance.

“Oh, don’t worry. Johnny’s just fine.” The sentence comes from the man himself, standing right in front of the door. Relief fills you, turning to dread the second he closes the door and flips the lock. “You however…” “Johnny? What are you doing?” You ask, watching as he rolls his sleeves up to the elbow.

He tips his head to the side, looking at you with confusion. “Isn’t it obvious?” The glint in his eyes matches the knife he picks up, the dim light catching on the shine of the blade. “For someone who apparently experienced Jungwoo’s death dozens of times, you should be able to figure it out.”

You blink once, twice, and then your eyes bug so far out of your head you worry they might fall out. A soft wheeze leaves you as your chest constricts, panic blooming in your gut. Johnny wheezes too, but his is a wheeze of laughter. He’s amused.

His eyes slide down to Mark, whose eyes are glimmering with fresh tears. “Did you know it was me Mark? Did you know it was me who killed your brother?” The boy shakes his head frantically, tears free-falling down his cheeks now. There’s some muffled cries that you think sound like no, but the tape traps them and makes him incomprehensible. “Really?” Johnny asks, stepping forward until he reaches Mark and then squatting down in front of him.

“Liar.” Johnny whispers, dragging the syllables out. The point of the knife presses into the boys throat, and while the noise Mark makes is barely audible, you can feel his suffering. There’s a tense moment as Johnny increases the pressure, Mark leaning backwards as far as he can to get away, before Johnny pulls it away. Mark exhales strongly, relaxing a little bit. He’s still crying. “It doesn’t matter, though.”

Tears would probably be rolling down your cheeks if you could process what was happening. But shock has taken ahold of you, and you can only watch helplessly as Johnny turns to glance back at you. “Thanks to y/n, now you’ll never get the chance to tell anyone.”

Johnny whips back around in record speed and slices the knife right through Mark’s throat.

A scream leaves you and you fall forward, unable to do anything but watch in horror as the line in Mark’s neck wells with blood, the poor boy convulsing in horror. A wretched gurgling noise leaves him as he chokes and frantically gasps for air, made even worse by the duct tape over his mouth. Johnny sets the knife down delicately and uses that hand to pinch his fingers over Mark’s nose, effectively shutting off his air-flow. The fight drains out of Mark’s body along with his life, and it’s just a few more seconds before he stills completely.

You can’t think of anything to say, can just gape at Mark’s body as Johnny lets go of him and the boy hits the floor. Johnny turns to you next, picking the knife back up.

“It’s a shame you’re always so curious, y/n.” Johnny sighs, shaking his head. “You’re my best friend, I’m going to miss you.”

There’s the faintest breeze against your cheek bone, your hair blowing to tickle the back of your neck. You try your best not to shiver when it starts blowing against your wrists. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s not a draft from an open window, but it’s Jungwoo. He’s not visible, probably because he’s focusing his energy on freeing you. If Johnny notices anything wrong, he doesn’t say anything. Your wrists aren’t free yet, but you can feel the rope loosening. If you can buy yourself some more time…

“Why are you doing this? Why did you kill Jungwoo in the first place?” Your question obviously catches Johnny off guard and he stops walking, glancing off to the side and sighing softly. He seems to have an internal debate but then he shrugs, settling down on the floor across from you. It calms you a little to have him seated instead of looming over you, and you try your best to stay absolutely still.

When Johnny speaks, there’s a hint of regret in his voice. It’s hard to tell if it’s manufactured or not. “Jungwoo and I were best friends. We always had each others backs, always told each other everything. Ride or dies.” His eyes lower to his knife and he smears the blood around the blade with his thumb. “I was the one who hit the girl. I was drunk and it was stupid, but when I called Jungwoo to help me get rid of the body, he refused. He wanted to call the police, y/n. The police.” His eyes are brimming with tears now, and he looks up at you with an urgency that tells you to believe him. You don’t of course, and you can’t tell if he’s trying to convince you of his innocence, or himself. “My own best friend wanted to turn me in, y/n. I couldn’t let him do it.”

“How did you even get into my basement?”

“You were at a training retreat in the mountains for that job you ended up hating that weekend. I knew that your house was empty and where the spare key was, plus I knew that no one ever went into your basement.” Johnny shrugs. “His body’s in the backyard, in case you were wondering. Buried him under the dahlias.” The red dahlias, your mothers favorite plant. How many times had she gone out to water and tend to the flowers, unknowing of the poor boy who lay beneath? Your breath catches in your throat and you finally can feel tears pricking the back of your eyelids.

“You’re sick.” The sentence is barely above a whisper, but it carries enough weight with it. Johnny’s entire demeanor changes, his face twisting into an ugly scowl.

“I’m sick? I’m not the one that was going to betray my best friend by letting him rot in jail! How fucking dare you.” The ropes fall off of your wrists and you grab onto them to prevent them from hitting the ground and alerting Johnny. All that’s left is the rope on your ankle, and then you can make your move. “Yeah? Aren’t you betraying your best friend right now? Just like you did last time?” “I should’ve used the duct tape on you.” He murmurs, tightening his hold on the knife.

There’s enough give in the ropes that you can wiggle your ankles. You just need a few more seconds. “Why didn’t you?” “Ran out.” Johnny breathes, lunging at you. You squeak and roll to the side, groaning when your legs refuse to function. Sitting on them for so long made them feel like jelly and they tingle as the blood rushes back to your limbs. “What the- you little bitch.”

Johnny attacks again and you dodge yet again, doing nothing but rolling around and avoiding him. You definitely can’t beat him in a physical fight, but you can probably beat him in other ways.

Johnny’s breath catches in his throat. “J-Jungwoo?” He stops moving, obviously trying to process how someone who is clearly dead can stand in front of him. Unfortunately, his body doesn’t quite get the memo, and he trips over Mark’s form. A sickly thud resonates through the room as he falls, followed by a deafening silence.

When Johnny doesn’t move for a few seconds, you step closer to examine him. The first thing you notice is that there’s a little stain under his chest that’s steadily getting bigger, contrasting starkly against the wooden floor. The second thing you notice is the acrid stench of blood, too strong for the small room you’re in. Third is the tip of the blade sticking out of his back. After checking his pulse and finding nothing, you roll him over. You find the hilt of his knife sticking out of his chest and your breath catches in your throat. He must’ve landed on it when he tripped. You slump against the wall and try to catch your breath, staring at Johnny’s limp body and waiting for him to lunge at you.

He never does. You look up to say thank you to Jungwoo, but you don’t get a chance. He looks right at his brother’s limp body and disappears, leaving you alone in the room.

You sleep as much as you can, hoping that Jungwoo will pop up in your dreams again. You cry when you sleep and you cry when you wake, until you get to the point where your eyes burn and your face swells and you can’t physically cry anymore. You cry until you’re exhausted and yet you can’t sleep, can only frustratingly toss and turn and scream silently through your raw throat, praying to a god that you don’t believe in to let you see Jungwoo, just one more time. That’s all you need. Just one more time to say goodbye.

Promises are mumbled into your pillow and chanted in your mind but there’s only so much you can do to keep them. You swear to never forget Jungwoo but the words are meaningless and do nothing to stop his face from fading. Slowly, his features become less clear in your mind, his laugh blending with countless others until you can’t differentiate them. You get him a proper grave in a cemetery, and you go from visiting his grave every day to going every few days, until weeks pass before you remember you wanted to leave flowers for him. The flowers last even less than your promises, wilting and rotting on the stone, becoming a sadly unrecognizable mess. You do your best to clean it, and you cry so hard the first time you see the mess that you almost black out, but it’s now a sight that doesn’t even phase you.

Time doesn’t stop to wait for you. It’s not long before you finish grad school and get a job offer in a city 1500 miles away, much different from this one. Your sister drives down to help you pack, easily helping you throw things that you need into a suitcase and counteracting your hoarding tendencies. Something catches your eye just as you’re leaving and you pick it up, frowning at the little resin flower.

“What’s that?” your sister asks, leaning in over your shoulder. “Is that a dahlia?”

“I don’t know.” you furrow your eyebrows, trying to place why it seems so familiar, before shrugging. It makes a hollow sound when you toss it into the trash that seems to echo much too loud for such a tiny object.

She heaves your suitcase into your arms. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

You don’t look back.

#jungwoo fic #nct fic #jungwoo smut #nct smut #nct angst #kim jungwoo angst #nct 127 angst #nct 127 smut #jungwoo angst #nct 127 fic #kpop smut #kpop fic #kpop angst #nct: almost

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love-and-monsters · 3 years

Text

Fake Dating pt. 2

M Faerie X F human reader, 6,405 words

This is a part two to this story. Elwain and his human are safely in the human world, dealing with things far more mundane than an assassination attempt. Both of them are adjusting to the new life and to each other. Very fluffy, with some caretaking. I was in a very romantic mood while writing this and I think you can tell.

Content notes: mentions of parents trying to kill their child, descriptions of minor illness.

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen. Why do humans like this?”

You repressed a snicker. “You’re watching it.”

Elwain didn’t even look away from the screen to reply. “You put it on.”

“I just turned on the TV. You’re the one who started watching.” Elwain made a noncommittal noise. You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile. “I can change the channel, if you want. There’s a documentary on that I wanted to-”

“No, this is fine,” Elwain said. He hopped onto the couch next to you and curled up. “Ugh. These people know that expensive doesn’t mean good, right?”

You covered your mouth with a hand. Elwain actually, legitimately enjoying trashy reality shows was by far the best thing you’d learned about his personality since you’d started living together. The worst thing was probably that he’d grown up with servants and had no comprehension of household chores. It had taken a few weeks to get him to put his food back in the refrigerator when he was done with it, and you weren’t sure he was ever going to get the hang of doing dishes. Still. He was getting better.

“You’re still going to need to vacuum later tonight,” you reminded him. Elwain groaned.

“I spent all day at work!” he said. “I should get a day off.”

“You only had a five hour shift today. I worked seven. Plus, I have school. You don’t get breaks on household chores. Doesn’t matter how much you worked, they still have to be done.” Elwain looked away sulkily. That was an expression you were getting uncomfortably familiar with. “And you’re not allowed to do magic for it, either.”

“What? Just because you can’t use magic, there is no reason for me to be forbidden!” Elwain said.

“Yeah, sure. You remember what happened last time you used magic to clean the apartment?” Bright pink spots appeared on Elwain’s cheeks. He glared down at the couch, expression screwed up in irritation.

“I fixed that.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. You fixed the apartment. What you’re never going to fix is my trauma from walking into my apartment and finding everything covered in spiders!”

“I apologized!”

“Look, the next time you decide to enchant a bunch of bugs into doing household chores, just. Don’t.”

Elwain huffed. “They weren’t even venomous to humans! All of you are so easily frightened. They weren’t going to hurt you.”

“I think the heart attack I had upon entering my own apartment could be considered as hurting me,” you muttered. Elwain looked sour, but didn’t respond, apparently returning to his TV show. Elwain’s adjustment to the human world had been… difficult. He had no real understanding of conventional social norms and obviously still expected everyone to treat him like a noble, despite working a minimum wage job at a fast-food restaurant. Not to mention that he seemed to have very loose morals when it came to enchanting mortals. As far as you were aware, he’d never done it to you, but he didn’t seem to have any sort of restraint when it came to anyone else. Before he’d gotten his job in customer service, he’d made all of his money by charming random people off the street into handing over their wallets.

Admittedly, his skills had come in handy. You didn’t feel particularly good about it, but he had charmed the landlord into giving you the apartment for significantly less than the going rate. In your defense, there hadn’t been many options. You couldn’t stay in your parent’s house with a Fae hanging around, and even with both of you working, there was no way to afford an apartment otherwise.

It did not help that Elwain apparently found your moral crisis very funny.

“You all live by such dumb rules all the time. If you really wanted, I could probably charm someone into giving us their house, or just letting us stay there.”

“That feels morally dubious,” you said.

“Ugh. You won’t let me steal anything, you won’t let me charm people into letting us use their things without stealing them, you won’t even let me charm people into handing some things over!” Elwain flopped across the couch. “So now we’re living in a garbage apartment and I have to work at a greasy food place where customers yell all the time and-”

“It’s a nice apartment, especially considering what we’re paying for it,” you interrupted. “And if you use magic too often, people might start figuring out that something weird is going on.”

“I doubt it. Mortals are stupid.” But Elwain didn’t protest, and went to his job as usual, and didn’t steal, which was more respect for your rules than you were worried he’d show. And, really, you were glad you’d instated the ‘no magic’ rule at large, given how unpredictable the results could be.

Elwain sprawled across the couch. He had a tendency to take up ridiculous amounts of space, pushing you to the edges of the couch to avoid contact. Eventually, you got up.

“Where are you going?” Elwain asked as you walked out of the room.

“I’m going to study for a bit before bed,” you called back. “Enjoy your show.”

He stared after you until your door clicked shut. Weird. He’d seemed almost annoyed about you leaving, even though it meant he could watch his shows for longer and you would stop bugging him about vacuuming. Whatever. He’d been acting weird recently, though. Maybe you should talk to him about it. He’d seemed fine for the first month or so after leaving his home and his parents trying to kill him, but maybe he was having some sort of delayed reaction.

You buried yourself in your textbooks for the next few hours, trying to get a solid start on one of your papers. The back of your mind seemed to be focused on the little noises in the apartment, though. Every sound of footsteps or things being moved pulled your attention back to the rest of the house. Eventually, you heard the sound of the vacuum running for a while before Elwain headed into his room.

He never went back into the main area of your apartment and, buried in work, you were soon thoroughly distracted. Gradually, as you worked, your mind grew less and less focused until you were face down in your books, dead asleep.

“Wake up!”

You bolted upright. There was a piece of paper sticking to your cheek from a stream of drool. You hurriedly pulled it off. “What? What’s going on?” You blinked, focusing on Elwain’s fine face in front of you. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Your alarm was going off. I can’t believe you didn’t hear it. It woke me up.” Sure enough, your phone, which was still sitting across the room from you, on its charger, was ringing furiously. You weren’t surprised that you hadn’t noticed it, though. Your head felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton.

“Oh. Sorry.” You rose a little unsteadily and turned the alarm off. “Thanks for waking me. Probably would have slept right through it if you hadn’t.”

“Uh huh,” Elwain said. “Did someone curse you?”

You blinked at him. He seemed dead serious. “Uh, no. I doubt it. Unless you know something I don’t.”

“If you’re asking about my parents, I would assume they are no longer concerned about me,” Elwain said. His voice was clipped, like it always was when he talked about his parents. “I don’t think they would bother to curse a mortal. If they had the means to lay a curse on someone, it would be far easier and more effective to just curse me.” He paused. “I was only asking because you look terrible.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

“You do. Why didn’t you sleep in your actual bed last night?” he asked.

“Because I fell asleep at my desk by accident. Are you going to stand here and just insult me or-” You broke off into a round of thick, hacking coughs. Elwain took a step back, alarm crossing his face.

“What is happening to you?” He lifted his arms in front of him, like he was trying to ward off some kind of evil spirit.

“It’s a cough,” you said. “Have you never seen a cough before?”

Elwain lowered his arms, still looking at me like he thought you would start convulsing at any moment. “Fae don’t do that.”

“They don’t cough?” You rubbed at your chest. A significant amount of phlegm had settled there. God, your body really had to pick the worst time to get sick.

“Not like that,” he said. “What’s the matter with you?”

“I’m sick,” you told him.

He nodded slowly. “I’ve heard of that. A mortal thing. Your forms are weak, so you occasionally fall ill. It is a sign of your small, failing lifespans.”

You considered correcting him, but decided that you had better ways to spend your morning than trying to explain germ theory to a Faerie. “Yeah. Sure. Well. I’m sick. So that’s why I’m coughing. It’s just a cold. I’ll be fine.”

Elwain narrowed his eyes. “Hmph. Well. I have work. Don’t die while I’m out.”

“I’m not in any danger of dying,” you told him. “Go head to work. Have fun.”

“That’s unlikely,” he muttered, but he left your room without protest. You closed your door after him and set about getting ready for your day.

The cold had settled into your head and chest and you could tell it was going to be bad already, even before it had come on fully. God. You could not afford to get sick.

Elwain was eating breakfast when you shuffled into the kitchen. You’d needed to absolutely cake your face in makeup to look presentable, and you saw his brows rise as he looked at you. Fortunately, the Fae at least knew how to keep their mouths shut. He just looked back at the frozen waffles he was toasting.

You snagged a granola bar and headed for the door. “Have a good day at work!” you called over your shoulder. Elwain grunted in response. The door swung shut behind you.

Work was exhausting, as per usual. It was better than Elwain’s job by a long shot, since you were working in a local candy store run by a sweet older couple, but between keeping an eye on any batches of candy being produced, sorting out customers, and having to deal with the requisite child-throwing-a-fit-for-not-getting-sweets, it was tiring. Trying to look bright and perky while being weighted down with a cold was awful.

As soon as work was off, you had class. Dragging yourself through it was a slow, painful slog. By the end, your head was fuzzy and you felt dead on your feet. Slowly, you hauled yourself on the bus and fell asleep.

Naturally, you missed your stop.

About an hour after you were supposed to be home, you dragged yourself in through the door. Elwain practically slammed into you. His hands clapped on either side of his face and he peered intently at you. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you! I thought you were dead!”

You pushed him off you and bent to one side to cough heavily until you were nearly sagging to the floor. Elwain stared at you. “Sorry,” you rasped when you’d stopped. “I fell asleep. And then my phone was on low battery and I wanted to make sure I had enough battery to use my GPS to get home.”

“You couldn’t have texted me?” Elwain drew himself up, hands on his hips. The entire situation reminded you, ridiculously, of your mom when you came home after a night out. “I was worried! I didn’t know where you were, and mortals are so ridiculously fragile-”

“Aw, you’d have been fine,” you said. “If anything, you’d be able to do more without my stupid mortal morals.”

Elwain’s expression went strange for a moment. “Are you feeling well? You seem… off.”

“I’m not feeling well. I’d like to lie down, actually.” You coughed again. “That okay with you?” Elwain was still frowning, but he stepped aside, allowing you down the hall and into your room.

You went down into your bed face-first. Almost as soon as you hit the pillows, your mind faded into sleep. Sleep came to you in fitful waves. You kept waking, coughing, rolling over and falling asleep again. When your alarm pulled you back to full consciousness, you felt thoroughly awful. The cold had settled firmly into your chest and head, gumming everything up. Your chest rasped every time you breathed in, prompting heavy coughing fits, you shivered even when you were wrapped in blankets, and your head felt full, achy, and cloudy.

The cold had apparently decided to upgrade to a full-blown illness. Slowly, you shoved yourself upright. It was hard to breathe through your nose and your mouth. Your throat stung with every inhale. Every cell of your body just wanted to pop some of the cold medicine that made you sleep and hopefully you’d wake up when it was all over.

Just as you were standing up, someone knocked on your door.

Well, you knew who. There was only one person who it could be. Grimacing, you walked over to the door and pulled it open. “Elwain. What?”

He stared at you. “I was- are you okay?”

“I’m sick. You remember the discussion was had yesterday?” you said. “Anyway. You needed something?”

Elwain looked you over. You hadn’t looking into a mirror, but given his expression, you probably looked terrible. He seemed to think you were five seconds from crumbling into a pile of ash, like a vampire exposed to sunlight. “Do I need to call 911?” he asked.

“Uh, no. It’s a cold. I don’t need an ambulance. I need to sleep for a while. Why are you knocking on my door?” you asked. Elwain’s mouth moved wordlessly. Whatever he had wanted to talk to you about, it seemed to have been completely derailed.

“I… er.” Elwain’s gaze flicked over you again. “Well. I wanted to see how you were doing. You went to bed right after you got home last night and I never saw you again. And you seem to be doing… poorly.”

“Yeah. I’m not doing great. I really just want to go back to bed.” You rubbed your hand over your head. “I feel like shit.”

Elwain hesitated. “Do you need me to do something?”

“Just go about your day. I’ll try to keep my gross self out of your way.” You slouched across your room to your bed. “If you don’t need anything else, I’m going to try to get a little more sleep.”

Elwain lingered in the doorway for a few moments longer. Finally, he turned and headed into the kitchen. The door remained open behind him, and you couldn’t be bothered to get up and close it again. Instead, you buried your head in your pillow. Sleep claimed you again within moments.

Less than an hour later, your alarm went off again. You slapped at it balefully until it shut off. Somehow, it felt like you gotten negative sleep, like sleeping had made you even more tired. Slowly, painfully, you pushed yourself upright. Shivers wracked your frame. How had sleep made everything worse?

You threw on the first clothes that you could get your hands on and shuffled into the kitchen. Elwain looked up from his breakfast. His mouth opened slightly. “Good lord. Maybe you have been cursed.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled. “I don’t look that bad.” You did, but you’d slathered enough makeup on your face to cover most of it. Then again, maybe that wasn’t enough to hide from Fae eyes.

“You look like a walking corpse,” Elwain said. You collapsed in the seat next to him and coughed into your fist. The force of the motion made your head throb. Elwain curled his lips back from his teeth in a grimace. “Are you certain you don’t need me to call 911?”

“No. It’s a cold. I’m-” You dissolved into a fit of coughing so severe it was difficult to catch your breath. Elwain stared at you, eyes wide. “I’m fine,” you croaked.

Elwain narrowed his eyes, but returned to his phone. You didn’t know where he’d gotten it from, because he certainly hadn’t purchased it, but you’d decided you weren’t going to ask. You ate slowly, mostly because your stomach felt tender, and you couldn’t finish even half of your normal portion. After a while of picking at your food, you dumped your dishes in the sink and started gathering your items to head out.

“Where are you going?” You startled. Elwain had appeared at your shoulder, completely silent. You might have chalked up not noticing him to your cold-dulled senses, but he could sneak up on you no matter how well you were feeling.

“Work,” you said.

Elwain looked back down at his phone. “You are not supposed to leave the house if you’re sick.”

“It’s a cold. I’ll be fine,” you said.

Elwain kept looking at his phone. “If you are sick, you are supposed to stay home, both so you can avoid infecting others and so you can recover.”

“Are you reading that off a website? Where are you reading that from?” You tried to grab his phone, but he gracefully slipped out of your reach.

“I searched about human illnesses on the internet,” he said. “Your symptoms are consistent with the common cold, but they are also consistent with pneumonia. It says you should sleep and drink water until you are recovered.”

“Look,” you said. “I’m fine. It’s a cold. I’ve had them before. I will have them after this one. I know how to handle them. I’ll pop some cold medicine and I’ll be fine.” Elwain stared at you. His expression was hard to read. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll live.” You sniffed and blotted at your face with a tissue. “I’m going to leave now. I’ll see you later.”

You swept out the door, giving Elwain a wave. He stared after you, not moving until you slammed the door shut.

It was a long, slow, awful day. You could barely keep your head together. By the time you got home, your limbs were heavy with exhaustion and your mind was swimming.

You dragged yourself through the door. Your body felt like you were wrapped in a massive, thick blanket. Everything was warm and it was hard to move, like everything was stiff.

Elwain stared at you as you pulled yourself into the kitchen. “You look like death warmed over.”

“Fine,” you mumbled. “’m fine.” You slouched over the counter and leaned against it. Elwain stood, stepping closer to you. “I’m good. I… I’m good. Just… Tired. Tired. Need to nap.”

“Perhaps you should nap in your room,” Elwain said. “Not on the counter.”

“I’m fine here.” Your words were getting mushy. Why weren’t your lips moving correctly? “I’m good. I just, um. Need. Something…”

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Here, hold onto me. I’ll-” Elwian’s hands were on your waist, on your back. You felt boneless, mushy. Your limbs weren’t moving the way you wanted them to. The only thing you could feel were Elwain’s hands supporting you. Was he carrying you? Maybe. You felt like you were floating. Your head was disconnected from your body, floating. Someone was speaking to you from far away, a soothing voice. It was so soothing. Maybe you could just sleep for a bit. Just sleep. It would be nice to just sleep.

Dimly, you came back to yourself. You blinked your eyes open. The ceiling was unfamiliar, at least as ceilings went. Not that you were familiar with many ceilings, really. Looking down at yourself revealed why the ceiling was so unfamiliar. The bed was covered in heavy, dark blue sheets. Elwain’s sheets. You were in his bed.

Slowly, you pushed yourself upright. You still felt bad, but less bad than you had been feeling. A raking cough escaped your chest, thick with phlegm.

“You’re up!” Elwain appeared in the doorway. He looked… frazzled? You weren’t sure the Fae could look as frazzled and unkempt as a human could, but he didn’t look as ethereally beautiful as he usually did. He looked sort of ruffled. “I was considering dragging you to the hospital, but the internet said that maybe ginger tea would actually be better, so I got you some of that.” He indicated the cup in his hands.

“You have got to stop getting all your information from the internet. Or at least I need to give you a media literacy course on identifying good sources,” you croaked. Your voice sounded bad, but it no longer hurt to speak. It just felt uncomfortable.

Elwain gave you a bewildered look and held the cup out toward you. “Drink it.” You took it obligingly and took a sip. Elwain must have dumped half a bottle of honey in it, because it was so sweet you almost couldn’t taste the ginger. You swallowed it carefully.

“Thank you,” you said when you’d finished the cup. “What, uh. What exactly happened to me?”

Elwain sat on the end of your bed. He was wearing his old cloak, the one he’d taken with him when he’d fled from Faerie. He tucked it tighter around him, fingers fidgeting at the hem. “I was hoping you could inform me of that, actually. I was quite frightened when you collapsed like that.”

“Oh, yeah,” you said. Vaguely, you remembered passing out. “How long was I out?”

Elwain glanced at the clock. “Mn. Less than an hour? You were in and out for the first ten minutes, mumbling a lot.” You had vague memories of Elwain leaning over you, expression panicked. Must have been from then. “Once I got you into bed, you fell asleep. I wasn’t sure if I should wake you or not.”

“It is,” you said. “Probably a good idea to let me sleep. Though if I ever do collapse again, please call 911.” You considered. “Well, I guess don’t call 911 unless I’m actually dying. I can’t afford the ambulance.”

Elwain nodded, even though he looked politely confused. “Is your illness getting worse?”

“Maybe,” you said. “It’s hard to tell. I think I have a fever now, so that sucks.”

With absolutely no warning, Elwain leaned forward. His face was abruptly so close to yours, close enough to feel his cool breath tickling your skin. The hairs on the back of your neck lifted. Suddenly the only thoughts in your head had to do with his lips pressing to yours, his cool mouth meandering along your skin-

His forehead touched yours. His eyes closed, a little furrow appearing in his brow. “You’re warm,” he said. “Very warm.” He sat back.

You blinked. “Uh. You can do that with your hand, you know.”

“Oh? I saw the forehead one on the internet,” Elwain said, but he reached up and cradled your face in his hands. With a soft, delicate touch, the back of his hand brushed against your forehead and down your cheek. The touch made something in your chest tighten and your breath catch. “You still feel warm.”

You moved your mouth, trying to get your brain back in gear. “Uh, yeah. Fever! That’s, uh. Bad. I need, um. You remember that pill bottle in the bathroom I showed you? The one with the little red pills?” Elwain nodded. “Get those and a glass of water. They’ll bring the fever down.”

Elwain vanished for a moment and returned with a tall glass water and the bottle of pills. He watched as you downed them and sank back into bed. His sheets were softer than yours, his bed even more luxuriously plush. You weren’t sure where he’d gotten the sheets from, or if maybe they were the sheets you’d bought him, just augmented with magic. “Why did you put me in your bed, anyway?” you asked. “My bed’s not that much further away.”

“I wanted to keep an eye on you,” Elwain said. “And you do not like me coming in your room.”

“I don’t like you just walking into my room whenever you feel like it, but you can come into my room,” you said. But you were pretty glad he’d put you in his bed. Everything in his room smelled faintly floral and herbal, a smell that relaxed you. Everything was cozy.

“I am not familiar with how to deal with sick mortals,” Elwain said. “Do you need anything else?”

“No. I just need to rest.” You paused, looking toward the window. “I should probably head back to my own room, actually. You’ll probably want to sleep here tonight, right?”

Elwain shook his head. “Stay. You need to rest. I will sleep elsewhere.” He swept out of the room, cloak fluttering behind him. You stared after him for a moment before sinking back into bed. Despite just waking up, your head was already muddy again. Maybe Elwain had gotten you the pills with the sleeping medicine in them. Your eyes closed. Within moments, you were drifting away, fast asleep.

You dreamed of strange things, of hands on your face, cupping your cheek, of soft lips pressed to your neck, of kind eyes and strong arms carrying you around. When you opened your eyes to see the same kind eyes staring down at you, you were half-convinced you were still dreaming.

“Hello,” Elwain said. “You have been asleep for a while.”

You blinked. Your body did have that foggy heaviness that came when you’d been sleeping deeply. Even your discomfort from the illness seemed far away and dim. “Elwain.”

“Yes. I’m right here.” He said it more gently than a simple statement of fact, almost like a reassurance.

“How long was I out?” There was bright sunlight streaming in through the window and across the bed. You lifted a hand to clumsily shield your eyes.

“Over twelve hours. I thought you should probably sleep. That’s what the internet said.”

“Oh, man, we are going to need to get you some better resources than just ‘the internet,’” you said. “But you were right. Thanks for letting me sleep.” Slowly, you shoved yourself up into a sitting position. “What’s that?”

Elwain held a bowl out to you. “I was told that soup was good for mortal illnesses.”

You took the bowl of vegetable broth. Elwain’s cooking was usually pretty hit or miss- he could follow recipes just fine, but he also had a habit of deciding that he had a better idea than the recipe and going completely off the rails. The soup just seemed to be broth, though. You took a cautious sip. It was watery, but tolerable.

“Are you feeling better?” Elwain asked. You nodded, glancing over at the clock.

“It’s past nine,” you noticed. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I called in sick. I wanted to stay home to make sure you were all right.” Elwain looked completely serious.

“It’s just a cold. I’m fine.”

Elwain’s eyes narrowed. “You collapsed.”

“Well, yeah, but…” You trailed off. There wasn’t much you could say in response to that. “Fine. But if you get fired for this, I’m going to be pissed.”

“I will not be fired. My boss loves me.” Elwain gave a superior little sniff, nose stuck up in the air. You laughed into your bowl of broth.

When you were finished, Elwain took your bowl back into the kitchen, returning only a few moments later. “Do you need anything else?”

“I think I’m okay,” you said. “You really didn’t have to stay home to take care of me. There’s not going to be a lot to do. I think I’m mostly going to sleep.”

“Regardless. I think it is better to be safe.” Elwain looked at you from the doorway for a moment longer. “I need you.”

He left the doorway. You could hear his footsteps retreating into your apartment, perfectly steady, like what he said hadn’t made your chest tighten intensely. You sank back into his bed. His scent wreathed around you, gentle and reassuring. Oh, god. Warm feelings were fluttering up in your stomach, swelling through chest and trembling in your lungs. Worse than that, they felt familiar. How long had these feelings been lingering in the background of your mind? And now they had surfaced and you didn’t know what to do with them. Naturally, you would have some kind of emotional crisis when you were sick.

You faded in and out of dreams where Elwain’s scent wreathed around you and his gentle hands stroked your forehead and cheeks. You woke up feeling oddly melancholy.

The sounds of the TV drifted through the open door. Shaking some feeling back into your heavy limbs, you hauled a blanket over your shoulders and headed into the living room.

Elwain was draped over the couch, staring at the TV. There was some soap opera on with a woman and a man hysterically throwing themselves at each other. Elwain looked up as you padded into the room. “Is it okay for you to be out of bed?” he asked.

“Yeah. I feel better, actually.” The sleep had helped quite a bit. You still felt foggy, but the pain in your head and chest had faded. Elwain sat up, drawing his limbs in closer to himself so you could sit next to him.

“You look less… corpse-like,” he said. Before you realized what he was doing, he took hold of your face in both hands and pulled you closer to him. “You are still warm.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m getting better.” You reached up and carefully pried his fingers off your face. You were overly aware of how your fingers lingered together. “How’s your day off going?”

“Human TV is still strange,” Elwain said, turning back toward the screen. “I can’t imagine any humans really behave like this. I have never seen it.”

“No, it’s a soap opera. It’s supposed to be deliberately over-the-top and crazy. That’s why they’re fun to watch.” Elwain rolled his eyes, but there was amusement in his expression.

“Is there anything you want to watch?” he asked.

“No, this is fine.” You settled into the soft cushions, staring at the TV. As much as you were looking in the direction of the TV, most of your attention was focused on Elwain. His gaze kept flicking toward you, as if he was unable to focus on the show either. After a moment, he reached out toward you.

One of his hands settled on your head, the other on your shoulder. Before you realized what had happened, he pushed you so your head was resting in his lap. You stared up at him as he, apparently unconcerned, started weaving his fingers through your hair.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“You did this for me when I first came here,” Elwain said. “It was soothing. I thought you might like it as well.” He paused. “Was I incorrect?”

You considered for a moment. His fingers were still carding through your hair, twining strands around his fingers. “No. I don’t mind.”

Elwain continued to stroke your hair. His nails scratched lightly at your scalp. The feeling of being touched made something tremulous swell in your chest. It was a pleasant feeling, but one so sharp and overwhelming that it almost made you cry.

You lay with Elwain for a while, his hands absently playing with your hair and trailing along your head and neck. He seemed to be paying far more attention to you than to the TV. “You should take better care of yourself,” he said, stroking your bangs back from your forehead. “If you were to die, I would be alone in the mortal world.”

“You’d manage,” you said.

“Perhaps.” Elwain removed his hands from your hair and hesitated for a moment. He seemed to be struggling to speak. Then he sighed. “But I would prefer it if you were with me.”

You looked up at him. He was staring deliberately to one side. There was a faint pinkish color to his cheeks and his eyes were narrowed. “You could have left, once our deal was up. I only asked you to stay with me for the night. And yet, you helped me. There was no reason to. I no longer have my connections or any particular Faerie skills. Even the few powers that remain with me, you don’t like me using. You have gained nothing from this deal and you help me regardless.”

“Of course, I did.” Thinking about that night only brought one image to your mind. Elwain, who had nearly been killed by his own parents, looking lost and confused and abandoned. He had been cocky before, but in that moment, he had just looked forlorn and upset. He had just looked scared. “I wasn’t going to just leave you on your own.”

“You could have,” Elwain pressed on. “Easily, you could have. You could have justified it, even by mortal morals. There’s not a lot here that could kill me. As you have pointed out, I would be fairly fine on my own. But you stayed with me regardless, for no other reason than just helping me.”

“You’d just almost been assassinated. I couldn’t leave you,” you said.

“You could have. But you didn’t. And, at least so far, you have asked for nothing from me in return. To be quite honest, you’ve been almost annoying with how little you allow me to do.”

“I try,” you said. Elwain snorted. It was an inelegant noise, but somehow also incredibly attractive. “Where are you going with this?”

“I’m trying to explain to you that I care about you. I want you to be well and safe and healthy because you saved me and you didn’t have to and I appreciate it.” Elwain’s cheeks flamed red. “That’s what I’m trying to say.”

You reached up slowly and let your hand cradle the side of his face. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing. “It’s strange. I’m not used to this,” he said. “My parents loved me as far as they could use me. It’s how Faeries are. But you have used me for nothing, gained precious little advantage from having a Faerie living with you. And I wasn’t used to it. I still think I’m not used to it. But I am so… so… happy. For this. For you.” He blinked his eyes open. They were hazy with emotion. “Thank you.”

It was an impulse maybe you could have resisted if you were feeling better, but you were overwhelmed with feeling and not in the mood to fight with yourself. The hand on his cheek shifted position toward the back of his neck and pulled him down on top of you. His mouth pressed into yours, tense and unyielding, then softening as he realized what was happening.

There was a moment of fumbling, while Elwain registered that you were kissing. You broke away from his mouth, but he was pressing into you again, pulling you close to him and meeting your lips over and over with his own. His tongue brushed your lower lip and his moan sounded against your mouth.

You weren’t aware of how it happened, but suddenly you were lying back on the couch with Elwain on top of you. He was kissing you furiously, his hips flush to yours. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pushing him as close to you as you could get.

One of your gasping breaths caught in your chest, triggering a coughing fit. You rolled over, trying not to cough right into Elwain’s face. He sat back. His lips were already slightly kiss-swollen and he looked a bit rumpled. “Right,” he said, trying to finger-comb his hair back into a presentable state. “You’re still not feeling well.”

“Hold on. Give me a minute, we can keep going,” you said between coughs. Elwain pressed his lips together, but they were twitching toward a smile.

“You are admirably determined, but I think it would be better for you to rest,” he said. There was a pause. Elwain tugged on a few of the longer strands of his hair. “I take that to mean you feel the same way?”

“That I like you? Yeah.” You pulled him down so he was laying across your chest. He looked at you, eyes surprisingly wide and innocent. “When I first met you, I thought you were kind of an asshole. And you are kind of an asshole. But you’re also charming and endearing and you try to follow my rules even when you totally don’t have to. And you’re willing to take care of me when I’m sick.”

“You took care of me when I had lost everything,” Elwain said. “I only wished to return the favor.” His fingers wandered over your stomach, tracing absent patterns on your shirt. You could feel his warmth against your skin. “Usually, that’s how it works, with Faeries. Favors are given because giving means you can get something in return, and you’re always trying to leverage the deal to get more than what you’re giving.” He closed his eyes for a moment, brows furrowing. “But when I saw you were sick, I wasn’t thinking that I needed to pay you back. I was only thinking that I wanted to help you.”

You stroked your fingers through his hair. “That’s what love is.”

“Mortal love,” he sighed. “I always thought it was flimsy and weak and short-lived.” His eyes opened again and he nestled into you. “It’s much stronger than I thought. So much more than I believed. It almost hurts, but it’s a good hurt.”

You started coughing again. Elwain swung himself up and gathered you into his arms. “I’ll take you back to bed,” he said. “You need to get better. I want to continue this.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. You rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes. His heartbeat thudded against you, slow and steady. The feeling of him holding you swelled and ached inside you, a pleasant ache. You clung to him as he eased you into bed and settled in next to you. Your illness was all but forgotten. Everything was soft and pleasant under a heady wave of love.

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