#but the real shape of his head will remain a mystery

[attichoney4u]

Anyone else wondering how Pericles' head might look under his iconic helmet?

[chaotickimchi]

Killing Your Darlings - A guide on writing death

(Inspired by some writing tips I saw on pinterest. I decided to try my hand at a “writing death” guide. Small disclaimer, these are suggestions or things to consider, there is no rule book on writing death and your story/characters will ultimately play a role in the shape and shades you colour in your scenes with.)

SHOW DON’T TELL?

How does your character discover the death? Is it really necessary to show the body to the audience? 

Consider this, which will have more impact on your character, watching someone die or getting a phone call and hearing the news from afar? Depending on your story, it could be more gutwrenching if your character isn’t there to say their final goodbye. Sometimes not showing the body can be more devastating. Don’t underestimate your readers empathy and imagination, if your characters have a very strong bond, severing that tie from a distance can be incredibly impactful. Just because your character dies, doesn’t mean you have to show the body. If that’s the case for you, then you don’t have to worry about describing the “death scene” at all. 

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

Writing a murder mystery or a battle? Well, I suppose your character will see a lot of shit, time to describe the Dead Darling. 

Corpse. Cadaver. Body. Remains. Carcass. The Deceased. 

Several words refer to a dead body and they aren’t all created equally! You wouldn’t call your character’s dear old granny a “carcass” for example, and how many of us use the term “cadaver” to describe human remains in a casual setting? Consider the context, who is speaking, what is their relation to the Dead Darling? The use of a particular noun can change the weight and mood of the scene, there’s a reason your local funeral director doesn’t go around saying “CARCASS” to grieving widows/widowers, it sounds harsh and nasty. Maybe your character is in denial and doesn’t even describe the Dead Darling as “dead”, instead they view them as “like a doll” or “impossibly still” or looking like they’re asleep. 

Context matters, so consider the relationship between the Dead Darling and the character and also the situation they are in. Take the following as a rough example; 

Detective Mc Dude has been called to a scene, he’s given a rough description of the victim over the radio as he drives to the scene. He arrives and to his horror, he recognises the body as that of his secret lover. His colleague joins him and fills him in as Detective Mc Dude tries to gather himself.  “Detective, the remains were found this morning by a jogger. We’ve yet to make an I.D …” Detective Mc Dude’s mind is reeling as he wrestles against his inner turmoil and the need to maintain his composure and act professionally. Later, he goes to the coroner to discuss the autopsy results. The coroner describes the injuries they have discovered on the corpse. Detective Mc Dude begins to build his case. 

While the example lacks a lot of detail and flourish, I do hope it helps illustrate how the weight shifts around with the use of different nouns throughout the example. The coroner in this example feels no attachment to the Dead Darling, this is their job, they see a corpse and try to gather evidence. Detective Mc Dude recognises her body, whereas his colleague sees the remains. Do you see the difference there? Mc Dude sees the person, her body, his colleague doesn’t know who she is or what her story is, he has less connection to her and he sees the remains, it feels more distant and impersonal compared to Mc Dude. 

This might be a bit of a head scratcher, the differences are very subtle but can become really pronounced when weilded well in a scene. My advice is to pay attention to discussions of death in real life or books/tv/films etc. Read your paragraphs out loud and see how they feel, sometimes you can intuit what fits and what doesn’t. You may notice things that surprise you, for example, news readers often say “a body has been found” or “the remains of a man/woman were found”, whereas you and your friends/family are more likely to describe a deceased loved one with “his or her body”. 

A detail as small as using personal pronouns can carry significant weight, likewise, the type of language used can convey a lot of emotion. His/her body can be used to create a sense of closeness or sympathy, corpse can suggest a clinical or distant view, carcass or remains could indicate a hint of barbarism or malice. That's not to say that “corpse” can’t be used sympathetically or that “body” can’t be used to convey malice, it’s worth experimenting with which types of nouns you want to use. 

YOU LOOK LIKE DEATH WARMED UP- OH WAIT

Death comes in many shapes, sizes, colours, smells, and forms. A character sitting at someones sickbed watching them fade away will have a completely different vibe from Detective Mc Dude discovering a stomach-churning murder scene. Unless the dead body randomly falls out of the sky, chances are your character might notice some context clues or details in the environment before we get to the body. This could be anything from the beeps of machines and the sterile hospital smell, or maybe there’s a blood trail on the floor and the sweet stench of death clings to the air. It’s rather likely you’ll set up a scene before you zoom in on the finer details of the body, what kind of things would catch your character's attention? 

Now your character has come across a body… What do they see? The glassy dead-eyed stare, mouth twisted in a painful grimmace, the massive gaping chest hole where the facehugger popped out- Wow, that escalated quickly… 

Think for a second, what might your character notice first; look of terror in the victims eyes or THE MASSIVE FUCKING WOUND IN HIS CHEST… I know, the blue lips and glassy eyes might feel like a great place to start, but I’m willing to bet a massive pool of blood would catch your character's attention first, they’d probably have to get closer to see the look of terror in their eyes! Consider the larger details if your character is further away and hone in on the finer details if/when they are closer.

Not all deaths are quite so … gruesome. Maybe someone died peacefully, closed their eyes, smiled, and slipped away in a dream. Describing the “look of death” doesn’t have to be all that far removed from how you write regular emotions and expressions, except in death these expressions get locked in or frozen in time. A dead body isn’t all that different from a living one when you think about it, so why would you reinvent the descriptive wheel? A living or a dead body could “wear a painful grimace,” let your character read whatever expressions they can uncover when they find the Dead Darling. 

Smells, sounds and other sensations. You don’t have to go ham with descriptions, sometimes less is more, it really is down to you, but another thing you might want to consider are the smells, and sounds going on around them. Maybe your character disassociates a little and you forgo the visual stimuli entirely and need to express death using other senses, maybe it happens in a very dark room, or maybe you just want to draw in other descriptive elements into your death scene. 

Sounds: Siren blaring and alarms bleeping, the faintest little ‘huff’ as they draw their final breath, the ominous death-rattle cough, piercing shrieks suddenly cut short, a gutwrenching crunch-squelch, the click of a switch and the poignant silence of the life support machine ceasing. 

Smells: bleach/disinfectant, latex gloves, blood/gore, rot and decay, sickly-sweet or vomit-inducing, smog/smoke and fire, the smell of the Dead Darlings perfume, the environment (e.g. outside perhaps the smell of death is swept away by the powerful salty-sea spray or masked by the stink of the sewer the body was dumped in…)

CONCLUSIONS

There’s still a lot to explore, but I hope this has given you some food for thought when considering death in your stories. There’s more to explore, such as what happens after death (funerals, burials, anniversaries), writing scenes where your character murders/is murdered, the various ways characters can die… Faking character deaths … like there is a WHOLE LOT but this just covers a few things I find helpful to consider or at least think about when I read/write stories or generally listen to how language works around me. 

Good luck killing you Darlings ;)

[konigbabe]

like real people do

Pairing: ID!Leon Kennedy x fem!teacher!reader | single dad AU

Word count: 5.8k

Tags/warnings: no y/n; fluff; eventual smut; p-in-v; slice of life; gendered female reader; gendered female anatomy; original kid Kennedy character

Summary: He's the sun, and you're the earth, drawn into his orbit; yet, he's your student's father. Handsome. Confident. Alluring. But off limits–at least he should be.

a/n: Inspired by @yeyinde’s ask. Also, canon ID!Leon is around 29 but Leon in this '"universe" is aged up to be in his 30s (age won't be specified but I imagine him to be in his mid-to-late 30s).

divider by @benkeibear [source]

series masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

The voice in your head keeps telling you to be professional, the thought of spending an evening with this man hard to resist; his confident, easy-going demeanor, the way he doesn’t give up easily– “So? It’s just dinner.”

The innocence of children always manages to brighten up even the darkest of days, their smiles and eagerness to learn contagious; filling your heart with positivity. It's a feeling that's hard to come by as an adult; life's challenges tend to chip away at your soul and slowly rob you of that childhood magic.

As the clock strikes five and your shift comes to an end, the school falls into an eerie silence. A lingering sense of relief washes over you when leaving the building; you've done your part in shaping young minds.

Walking out the front door, the warmth of the sun caresses your skin, its rays sliding around your bare arms like silk.

Twisting the key in the lock, your eyes catch a glimpse of slight movement from the corner of your vision. Turning your head, you see a little girl perched on the concrete steps below, her delicate features illuminated by the warm glow of the sun.

Her hair, a cascade of light brown waves, frames her chubby cheeks and the crown of her head is adorned with blonde highlights that shimmer like golden threads.

She turns to you when you address her, slowly stepping down to her level.

"What are you still doing here," you sit down, her small backpack creating a wall between your bodies.

As you sit side by side with the little girl, basking in the comforting embrace of the sunlight, she kicks her legs up; eyes up front, both of you watch the cars pass by on the street.

The Washington Spring air’s filled with the sweet scent of blooming cherry blossoms, carried on a gentle breeze that rustles through the trees. The distant sounds of children playing in a nearby park mingle with the honking of cars and the chirping of birds, creating a symphony of noise that signifies the arrival of spring in the bustling city.

"Waiting for daddy," she says with a hint of excitement in her voice.

The little girl looks up at you, her eyes full of wonder and innocence. You can't help but wonder about the mysterious Mr Kennedy and his absence; an enigma surrounding his name.

Like a forgotten toy left on the shelf, the girl's father remains absent from any involvement in her education. Despite several months passing since her admission to your class, there has been no sign of him. No parent-teacher meetings, no Father's Day celebration, nothing.

An enigma.

"Speaking of," your voice trails off for a moment, "How’s your daddy doing?" you question her. You shouldn’t; it goes beyond your job description to put a kid in situations like these. But still–

Her eyes, a vivid shade of cerulean, sparkle like sunlit water as she gazes at you; smile wide upon the mention of her father, the young kid toys with the straps on her bag.

"He’s busy."

A pang of understanding pinches your heart.

–his presence (or rather the absurd lack of it) keeps gnawing at your brain.

"He fights monsters," the girl adds after a moment of silence; her tone more serious. It's as if she's describing a mythical hero, fighting off beasts in some far-off land.

"He seems to be busy quite a lot," you smile to ease the topic; well aware that the girl, as bright as she is, surely catches on as you keep asking the same question every week, "is your mom coming to the parent–teacher meeting?"

The girl shakes her head before she speaks, "I don’t know my mom."

Oh.

You know you shouldn’t push more; well aware of the unprofessionalism you’re displaying.

"The woman who picks you up–"

"–aunt Claire," the kid corrects you, "I’m sorry for interrupting, miss teacher."

You smile, trying to put her at ease. It's clear that she's been brought up with good manners.

Lost in how to answer her, you almost don't hear the sound of a car approaching. The girl jumps up, her face alight with excitement. A low rumble reverberates through the air as a sleek black SUV glides up to the curb, its shiny exterior reflecting the warm rays of the sun.

The tinted windows obscure the view inside the car, adding an air of mystery to the vehicle. As the car comes to a stop, the quiet hum of the engine fades to a gentle purr, and the driver's door swings open.

The girl grabs her backpack at the same time a man steps out of the car; you’re able to only see the light brown hair decorating his head.

"Daddy," the girl yelps in excitement. You stand up, dusting the invisible dust from your jeans.

He stands tall, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of the crisp white shirt, tucked tightly into the blue dress pants. A single button undone on his collar, revealing the curve of his clavicles. The sun glints off his aviator sunglasses, hiding his eyes from view. He approaches the little girl with a warm smile as she runs into her father, you presume; standing still, watching the situation unfold before your eyes.

Lowering himself to her level, he extends his arms, inviting her in. She eagerly accepts, wrapping her little arms around his neck in a welcoming embrace.

"Hey there, pup," you manage to hear his voice; low and soft. Gentle. "Sorry I’m late; got held up by paperwork. Y’know the drill."

The kid chuckles before pulling away, a sound so pure and innocent it brings a smile to your face.

Standing back up, his face turns towards you. You're struck by his imposing presence, the way he commands attention without even trying. His chiseled jawline is dusted with a light stubble, giving him an air of ruggedness. He moves with confidence towards you, one hand enclosed with his daughter’s.

The girl tugs at the sleeve of his shirt, introducing you before he even reaches your standing point–to which he smiles gently.

"Well, nice to meet you," his hand extended in greeting, "I’m Leon Kennedy. Her dad," he nods towards the girl.

"Mr Kennedy," you murmur, taking his hand in yours; noting the callouses on his palm.

As your eyes travel up his arm, they catch sight of a fresh bandage peeking out from under his slightly rolled up sleeve. But it's not until you look up at his face that you see the true extent of his weariness. Small scratches mark his jaw, subtle hues of purple and yellow decorate his cheekbone like a watercolor painting.

It’s clear that he's been through a rough patch. Makes you wander back to the girl’s words–

("He fights monsters.")

–and maybe he does. In some twisted sense.

"I actually wanted to speak with you," you release his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin lingering on your fingertips., "are you free next Tuesday? Around one PM?"

"Am I in trouble," he chuckles; the stretch of his lips exposing a slight scar on his lower lip.

The girl tilts her head, eyes studying you intently. You can't help but notice the slight beauty marks across her neck, the softness of her features, the way she looks up at her father with curiosity.

"Not really; I just need to discuss some matters with you."

"Okay," he responds, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, yet he remains stoic. Posed. "Sure."

"I’ll see you then," you nod and take your leave, but not before stealing a few glances at his back as he turns away from you. It’s impossible not to notice how his broad shoulders strain against the fabric, or how his hair cascades over his forehead; tousled yet somehow perfectly in place.

The weekend flies by, the days blurring together until suddenly it's Tuesday.

Despite his daughter's reassurances from yesterday that he'll be here, the uncertainty of whether he'll actually show up still grips you tightly.

A knock on the open door disturbs your grading.

"Mr Kennedy," you remark upon his arrival. The pen falls onto the desk with a clunk; back straighten, you invite him to sit on the chair prepared for him beforehand.

He’s dressed more casual–the black, expensive looking leather jacket squeaks against the wooden chair as he sits down after a simple "Hello". The faint but distinct aroma of sharp, citrusy notes wafts from his collar; the refreshing and invigorating aroma that catches your attention before your eyes trail to the bandage on his wrist.

Clearly seeing the way your eyes subconsciously linger on the piece of medical tape, Leon puts his other hand over it, shielding your view. Silently focusing your attention back on his eyes; the same blue hues as his daughter’s.

Sitting before you, legs spread apart, the undeniable similarities between him and his daughter are glaringly apparent. The way he holds himself commands respect, his posture erect and confident.

"Mr Kennedy, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you in person."

Fingers interlocking as you lean on your elbows, his gaze following your every movement like a predator stalking its prey; almost as if he’s sizing you up. His eyes watchful.

"Okay," he responds casually, a hint of question behind the simple word.

You clear your throat before continuing. "Your daughter is a remarkable child," a small smile accompanying your words. "She's well-behaved, intelligent, and often surpasses her peers."

Leon nods, lips pressed together.

"Got that from her mother, probably," he remarks. Almost bites back. Jaw tightening.

Leaning back, your fingers drum a quick rhythm against your desk.

"But we’re not here to evaluate your daughter; but you, actually, Mr Kennedy."

Leon’s brows arch up, highlighting the soft surprise that flashes across his face. The subtle shift in his expression does not go unnoticed by you.

"Didn’t know I was being evaluated," his voice trails off.

You nod in acknowledgement, sensing the man's confusion.

"You’re aware of our school assemblies, right?"

His face remains stoic, so you continue.

"Father's Day, parent-teacher meetings, career days, sports day," you list a few, hoping to spark the idea in the man’s mind.

"So," he leans back against the chair, arms folded on his chest.

With an exhale, upon your failed attempt to make him take the hint, you resolve to explaining the school rules to him.

"Our school mandates that the child’s parent or legal guardian be present at at least three of those assemblies per school year. You haven’t been present on any of them, not even last year."

He lifts his chin slightly and raises his eyebrows, eyes fixed on you with a look that suggests he's waiting for more information or an explanation.

"There’s actually a policy within out school that allows teachers to prohibit the child from participating in certain activities or events if a parent is not present–"

"–you’re kidding," Leon interjects, his tone laced with disbelief.

Raising your hand, you stop him from continuing, "and your daughter is a great student, so I don't expect that to happen to her. But with your continuous absence, she's at risk of being excluded from certain activities."

"My job keeps me busy. And I don’t really have a say in it," Leon retorts.

Arms still folded across his chest, his brows furrow in frustration. Defence sets inside his flesh; jaw slightly twitching, his eyes bore into yours.

"Maybe her mother could–"

"–not an option," he stops you before you manage to finish the sentence.

You nod in understanding. Leaving forward, you hope to appeal to Leon’s sense of responsibility a little more.

"In that case; we’re having a sports day this Friday. If you could just show up to support your daughter, I could mark it as you being present."

Leon chuckles, his voice smooth. Looking out the nearby window, he stares into the field right next to the school for a moment, deep in thought. The sunlight filtering through the window casts a warm glow on his sharp features, highlighting the intensity in his eyes.

Silence passes before he speaks up, "Wouldn't a dinner suffice instead?"

You clear your throat and try to compose yourself, feeling your heartbeat pick up at the unexpected request. "That's not very appropriate, Mr Kennedy, " you say softly, attempting to hide the fluttering in your chest. "Let's see each other at the soccer match."

"Sure. I’ll see what I can do; is that all?" he asks, head turned to the side. You gaze upon the now exposed wound on his jawline, vaguely resembling a cat’s claw scratch. The bruise colors on his cheek faded over the past few days.

"Yes," you assure him.

"Y’know, this whole thing could’ve been an email."

You smile wryly, "Would you react to that email?"

Looking back at you, there’s a flicker of mischievous dancing in his eyes. Leon's gaze holds yours for a moment longer, and you find yourself drawn to the subtle crinkles at the corners of his eyes, evidence of his amusement.

"You got me there."

The sun blankets the field in gold, casting elongated shadows of the children as they scamper around in pursuit of the ball. It’s still quite early. The air’s crisp and fresh, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and; sound of excited cheers and shouts echo throughout the surrounding area.

It’s comforting. Soothing in a way.

With a group of teachers, you watch the little girl darting across the field, her movements resembling that of a graceful gazelle as she expertly maneuvers the ball. She weaves in and out of the other players, a look of determination etched on her youthful face.

A chorus of her name echoes across the field, drifting like a wispy trail of smoke. The other kids cheer her on as she makes her way towards the goal, her tiny frame seemingly defying the laws of physics with her quick and nimble movements.

A round of applause erupts when the ball meets the back of the net. You watch as the little girl’s teammates rush to congratulate her.

"And who is that," a woman’s voice tears your gaze away from the cheerful moment, hands stopping mid-clasp.

Curious, you look at her. The other teachers already gazing to your right. To the parking lot.

Leaning against the sleek car, its design demanding attention; even from further away, he exudes an air of quiet confidence that's impossible to ignore. Eyes covered by another set of sunglasses, the same leather jacket strains against his folded arms.

Mr Kennedy.

Leon Kennedy.

Something about him always seems to draw attention; to captivate anyone who catches a glimpse of him.

It’s odd. Uncanny–

You should know better than to think in such a way about your student’s father.

–and you wonder if it’s just you who feels that way.

As the group of teachers chatter, a voice pipes up, "Is he someone's father?"

"He has to be," the conversation carries on, "or he wouldn’t be here–"

"–or he’s a creep."

Turning to face the person who said it, you scoff at the teacher before speaking up.

"He’s her dad," You nod in the direction of the girl with a beaming smile on your face, as she energetically waves at Leon. His response, though polite, is less enthusiastic, evident by the restrained movement of his hand.

Escaping the gossip, you follow the white boundary lines of the field towards your target, the soft grass crunching beneath your feet. Leon's eyes are fixed on the field, his sharp features softened by the spring glow.

But he's quick to notice your approach, turning his head ever so slightly to the left. It makes you feel naked as he shamelessly watches you coming closer.

"Mr Kennedy," you greet him.

As you approach, the warm spring breeze ruffles your hair, the sweet scent of blooming flowers mixing with his heady aroma. Posture relaxed, his broad shoulders almost blend with the darkness of the car behind him.

"Just call me Leon."

Eyes back on the field, a tinge of carelessness in his voice, a small tug on his lips. Hesitating momentarily, you put your hands in your pockets.

"I’d rather stick to being professional."

It makes him chuckle; voice rumbling with amusement–

"You’re making me feel old," he teases.

–making your chest tighten. His words brush against your ears like the gentle rustling of leaves on a cool autumn breeze.

The lightness in his tone, the hint of playfulness, stirs something deep within you.

It’s your turn to return the light laugh. The sound mingling with the chirping of birds in the distance.

"It’s good that you’re here. Your daughter seems to appreciate it as well."

Leon's eyes flicker to his daughter, still surrounded by her teammates; a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

"Yeah," he says, the warmth in his voice evident, "she’s been talking about this game for a week."

"She’s really talented in sports."

A cool breeze brushes against your skin as he removes his sunglasses. Eyes reminiscent of the clear waters of a mountain lake–the color seems to deepen and intensify as he looks at you, drawing you in.

"That she got from me," the corners of his mouth curve up into a charming smile. His voice deep and smooth, like a glass of well-aged whiskey. You can sense his confidence, the way he carries himself with ease, and it's hard not to be drawn in.

It's alluring. The way he exudes a sense of self-assurance.

Smiling lightly, hand resting on the cool hood of his car, you both watch the children race each other. Cheers fill the soccer fields.

Even in momentarily silence, it’s comfortable–

"Well, she certainly inherited some good genes, Mr Kennedy."

–there’s no awkward cluster around the two of you. It’s natural.

It draws Leon’s attention back to you. Arms folded, his fingers sneak around his bicep, gripping gently as he shamelessly looks at you. His face a canvas of chiseled features and sharp lines. reminiscent of a Greek statue carved out of marble. A faint scent of musk and cologne lingers around him, blending with the sweet aroma of blooming flowers in the air.

"Just so you know, miss teacher," his voice soft melody that lingers in your mind, "the dinner invitation still stands."

It’s tempting.

The words hang in the air, tantalizingly close.

A whistle cuts through the sounds of the soccer field, interrupting the moment. Leon’s attention briefly flickers towards his daughter, checking as the little girl sprints towards the two of you, before returning to your face.

"And I should remind you, Mr Kennedy, that it’s not very appropriate to ask your daughter’s teacher out."

The voice in your head keeps telling you to be professional, the thought of spending an evening with this man is hard to resist though. His confident, easy-going demeanor, the way he doesn’t give up easily–

"So? It’s just dinner," his tone is almost conspiratorial, as if he's sharing a secret with you.

–it makes you feel alive.

(Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It’s not strictly forbidden.

Only frown upon. Harshly.)

It's like he's the sun, and you're the earth, drawn into his orbit.

"Daddy," his daughter doesn’t hesitate, jumping straight into her father’s arm; yet Leon isn’t phased at all, hoisting her into his arms, "Did you see my goal?"

"I did, pup," arm sneaking underneath her knees, you notice the bandage gone, "you killed it."

"Miss teacher," the kid addresses you, hand sneaking into her dad’s hair to hold him tightly while looking up at you with bright, curious eyes, "Did you see me? Did you see my goal?"

"Of course," you answer with a warm smile, "you did great. Seems like you got good genes for it."

The little girl beams with pride, hugging her father even tighter. Leon chuckles, the sound low and rich, and nods his head in agreement.

"I’ll see you on Monday then; pleasure seeing you, Mr Kennedy," as you turn to leave, you can't help but feel a twinge of regret.

The low hum of chatter fills the air, punctuated by occasional laughter and the clink of glasses. The dim lighting casts a warm glow over the wooden booths and bar, giving the place a cozy feel. The smell of fried food and beer lingers in the air, adding to the ambiance of the traditional American pub.

From a corner, a live band plays classic rock tunes, and the patrons nod along to the rhythm, singing softly under their breaths. It's a perfect spot to unwind after a long workday, catch up with friends. Or even make new connections.

Your little freedom.

Away from responsibilities. From the stress of daily life.

This is your escape, your sanctuary, where you can let loose and just be yourself.

Coming to the bartender, you order another round for the group you’re with, only to be taken back by a familiar voice saying your name.

Turning to look at the man by your right, the white stripes on his jacket contrast against the dim, warm ambiance of the room. Fingers tapping on the rim of the glass of whiskey, he takes a sip, his gaze fixed on you; the amber liquid catching the light, casting a glow across his features.

"Mr Kennedy," you exhale, almost in disbelief by the sudden situation.

Mind whirling with surprise and curiosity; the bar is chill against your exposed arm as you lean onto it, turning to look at the man by your side.

"Wouldn’t expect a teacher to be in a bar on Friday night," he smirks, the corner of his lips curving up in amusement.

"We’re not as frigid as people have us to be," you replied, feeling a smile tug at the corners of your lips.

Voice like a smoldering flame, waiting to be ignited, he tilts the glass towards you, "Oh, really."

The allure of his presence tangible.

A gravitational pull.

"Well, Mr Kennedy," the words roll off your tongue smoothly, "I suppose we all have our ways of letting loose after a hard week."

He chuckles, the sound deep and throaty; making your pulse quicken, heartbeat pick up. "I couldn't agree more," he says, taking another sip of his drink.

You study him for a moment; taking in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, how his hair fal across his forehead in a disheveled yet stylish way. There’s something undeniably attractive about him, something that draws you in against all odds–

–like a moth to a flame.

Life has a funny way of working out.

You should stop.

But ‘should’ doesn’t exist in the moment of impulse. In the realm of desire. Pure, unblistered passion. The temptation to follow desire is too strong–

The world falls away.

–and all thought of 'should' dissipates.

Leon's hands slide around your thighs, gripping the flesh firmly as his body pushes against yours. Pinned to the wall; his lips trail the pulse of your neck. The tip of his tongue leaving wet patches on the heated skin.

The sudden intrusion of reality makes you gasp,"What about—".

It’s Leon’s hand on your breast; squeezing, teasing the clothed flesh through the thin material, thumbing at the erect nipple, that earns him a moan. His daughter’s name spilling over into a sound so soft. Inviting.

Like a hummingbird.

A content hum echoes in his chest; pressed tightly against yours. Feeling the muscles contract beneath you, respond to your movement; to the way your hips press against the growing bulge in his pants.

"—she’s stayin’ at my friend’s," he mumbles against the curve of your collarbones, teeth grazing the firm area.

With a strong grip, your fingers entangle in his hair. The texture soft and silky, like running your hands through fine threads of spun gold.

"Isn’t she young for sleepovers?"

It makes him look at you. Eyes glazed over; hungry. Primal–

He pulls you into an embrace, arm wrapping around your back, his palm cupping your ass. The heat of his body seeps through your clothing, searing your skin with its intensity, his breath ghosting over your lips as he whispers, "I really don’t wanna talk about my kid right now."

It’s a command rather than anything else.

Followed by your clothes.

He has you bare before you make up your mind.

–causing your skin to crawl.

With every touch, every whisper, every breath, he leaves you feeling more exposed, more vulnerable.

Limbs tangled together, lips pressed against each other; there’s no beginning and no end. When one begins, the other follows, like an unbroken circle of passion and desire.

Utter consumption by the fire inside you.

Leon’s hands feel scorching. Each stroke branding your skin.

He splits your apart, fills you to the brim. The head of his cock kisses the innermost parts of you as you stay seated on top of him. Nails scratching the firm muscle of his breastplate; he grips your sides. Digs his fingers into the soft, plump flesh there.

Teeth nip at your chin. Gently nibbles accompanied by your hips circling on top of him.

Cascade of groans, grunts and moans echo throughout Leon’s bedroom; each sound building on the other to create a crescendo of pleasure. The mattress beneath you creaks and strains under your knees.

Lost in the feeling.

His words a salacious melody; sung in a sultry whisper followed by his teeth, nibling at your earlobe; securing your grip on his shoulders feeling the strength of his muscles as he guides your moves.

Up and down. Up and down.

Circle your hips when your pelvis meets his. When your ass touches his thighs; when his fingers dig into the round flesh.

The rhythm builds, the tension mounting with every breath. The ache of desire deep inside, a longing that can only be sated by him. With each movement, you feel closer to the edge, your body aching for release.

Leon whispers encouragement, his voice like a caress against your skin. Head buried in the crook of your neck, your arms tighten around his shoulder. Face buried in the top of his head, the scent of him fills your senses; a heady, intoxicating aroma that envelops you in its warmth.

You breathe him in, savoring the subtle notes of bergamot and spice, the rich undertones of musk and earthiness.

Leon’s name leaves your lips in a soft, breathless moan, a prayer to the god of pleasure.

His lips brush against your collarbone, lingering there for a moment before trailing lower, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Skin erupting in goosebumps as his breath tickles your chest, your body bows like a taut bowstring, a supplication to his touch. Offering yourself up to him completely.

Hands roam over your body, tracing the curves and planes of your skin with reverent fingers. As if he knows just where to touch you.

With a strong pull and push, your back meets the hard mattress. His hands move over you like a painter's brush, each stroke bringing out a new hue of pleasure. Hips grinding against yours.

Pressing your body closer to his, chest to chest, he rocks against you. The intensity of his movements leaves you gasping for air, a low moan escaping your lips as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge. His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your skin as he continues to rut into you.

Long lost is the slow motion–

Your pelvis meets his in a harsh, demanding thrust.

–now he’s chasing his own high. His own release.

His hand slides to cup your jaw, grip your shoulder, eyes boring into yours; intense and unwavering, as if he’s trying to read your thoughts through the depth of your eyes. Consumed by the heat of you.

Head thrown back, you close your eyes; unable to match the fire in his as he grinds against you; his breaths ragged gasps, the only sound in the room the soft rustling of sheets and the slapping of skin against skin.

Leon knows he won’t last long. Not with the way your mouth remains agape, nails digging into the firm tendons of his biceps; heels digging into the flesh of his ass, pushing him deeper. Demanding him to go harder.

You just look so pretty underneath him.

Fingertips trace the warm flesh of your curves. They move slowly, mapping the supple contours of your body with precision; each touch deliberate, a way of committing the curves of your form to memory.

The sensation is electric, every nerve ending on high alert.

His thumb finds your clit, circling it with teasing precision, a feather-light touch. Pushing your hips into his, he obliges your silent demand – adding a bit more pressure with each pass. The slow, steady rhythm of his touch in bright contrast to the sharp thrusts.

Building the tension inside you, until you feel like you might burst. But he doesn't let up, not yet. He's savoring every moment, enjoying the way you writhe beneath him.

Your breath hitches, body tensing as he works you with an almost clinical precision. The ache between your legs grows, spreading through your entire body. He watches you, gauging your reactions, and adjusts his touch accordingly.

The way he focuses on you, with a singular, unwavering intensity, is both thrilling and terrifying.

As for Leon, every movement, every sound, is calculated. He wants to make this last. He wants to make you lose control.

His muscles tense as he drives into you, each thrust bringing him closer to the edge. His breaths come in short gasps, matching the rhythm of your moans. The heat between you intensifies, a physical force that binds you together.

With one final push, final flick of a thumb, he takes you over the edge, his name on your lips.

Clenching around him, walls fluttering, his thrusts grow slow. Leisurely.

As if he’s tantalizing himself. Savoring the feel before he lets go with a groan; a guttural sound that echoes through the bedroom; body spasming. The two of you entwined in a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

There should be some sort of regret.

Standing by the foot of Leon’s bed, still searching for your clothes amid the scattered chaos of the apartment, covered by a random shirt you’ve found on the ground (that’s definitely not the one you’ve come with), you can’t help but be drawn to the sleeping man lying before you.

The sheets barely cover the curve of his lower back, and even in slumber, the muscles of his back remain visible; the outline of his physique remains defined and sharp, even in relaxation. The memory of his back muscles beneath your palms lingers on your skin, as if he were still present with you in that moment.

There’s no regret.

Exiting the bedroom, you walk past the kitchen into the hallway. The emptiness of the space is palpable, with nothing adorning the plain white walls; no family photos or decorations to add personality. Only the essential pieces of furniture remain. The floor creaks beneath your bare feet as you open the door closer to you–

(It’s almost like he doesn’t have anyone.

A sense of desolation creeps in you.)

–and are met with a blinding contrast to the rest of the apartment. Rainbow colored sheets neatly tucked into the small bed, pillows in shape of various animals. Light furniture covered in school supplies; and a photo decorating the nightstand.

You pick it up, immediately recognized the two people. It might be the first time you’re seeing Leon actually smile, wide and bright. Happy; with his daughter tightly wrapped in his arms. Faces pressed together, smiling at the camera.

"I hope you're not trying to steal anything," Leon's voice interrupts your reverie; low and husky, still laced by the morning sleep, "I don't have much, y’know."

As you pivot to face him, you can't resist noticing how his bare feet stand out against his fully-clothed form. Hair tousled and messy, only adding to his rugged appeal.

An irresistible wave of attraction washes over you as you scrutinize his appearance, and his playful tone only adds fuel to the fire.

"Don't worry, I'm not after your prized possessions," you reply with a smirk, feeling emboldened by his proximity.

Leon's eyes twinkle mischievously as he steps closer to you, his warm breath brushing against your cheek. "Well, in that case, what’re you after?"

"I was just looking for a bathroom."

Leon's gaze lingers on you, lips curled up in a half-smile. "The bathroom’s down the hall to the right," he points with a nod of his head.

You nod back, trying to ignore the electric sensation that courses through you at his proximity. "Thanks," you say, stepping past him towards the direction he indicated.

As you walk down the hallway, you can't shake off the feeling of emptiness that you felt earlier. It's clear that Leon lives a minimalist lifestyle, but the lack of personal touches leaves you with a sense of melancholy.

Entering the bathroom, you take a moment to splash water on your face, trying to compose yourself before facing Leon again.

His voice echoes through the small apartment as you make your way towards his voice, entering the kitchen; you're struck by how immaculate it is. Everything’s in its place, and there isn't a single dish out of place. The countertop is spotless, the sink free of any debris, the stainless-steel appliances gleam in the light.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the air with the morning sun streaming through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room.

"I’ll pick her up in an hour," Leon stands in front of the refrigerator, two mugs in one hand, bare feet making a soft thumping sound against the linoleum floor. His hair’s still tousled from sleep, his t-shirt is wrinkled, clinging to his muscles as he holds the phone to his ear.

There’s a certain charm to his disheveled appearance that you find appealing.

Looking at you, he makes no effort to stop the call, instead a playful undertones his voice as he hands you a mug and motions towards the coffee machine, "yeah, just woke up. Had a long night."

Shaking your head at his words; he watches you with a small, amused smile, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.

"See you then. Bye, Claire,” he ends the call, turning his full attention to you.

"Y’know, miss teacher," he pours himself a glass of water, "if you just wanted to skip the whole dinner thing, you should’ve just said."

[reotheworld]

hi, don't really know about your rules so feel free to ignore this! I was wondering if you could do how yan!merman! Kaiser would be with his darling, how does he act, interact, etc. (maybe a little bit suggestive if you can?) have a lovely day!

part of your world

❝ from head to toe, you are mine ❞

➜ yandere!merman!kaiser with a human!fem!darling

➜ fem!reader

sugar level: 20% | suggestive at the end!

fairy tales are merely short yet magical stories mothers tell to their children to help fall asleep quickly. such stories typically feature mythical enchantments and fanciful beings, never meant to believe in. but what happens when the line between real and not blurs?

just like a blue rose, they are only works of imagination, a good work of fantasy yet it's mysterious allure is what makes it unattainable. what happens when the impossible becomes possible?

michael kaiser is the merman every mermaid mother want their daughters to marry because of his good looks, excellent controlling nature and many more. however, be that the case, he's not the least interested in mermaids.

he craved for something that could challenge him, someone who is beyond his reach. have them be a part of his world.

the day he decided to admire another world by the shore is the day he caught sight of your wandering figure, crouching down on the sand, one bucket in hand while the other picked up sea shells and colorful sea stones.

he knew that humans and mermaids aren't supposed to come into contact together, to remain their kind a secret but the sight of you oh so carefree, beautiful and enchanting had him speechless. his heart fluttered, something he never thought he could experience until now.

you who is a refreshing and mesmerizing view. you who is exactly beyond his reach. either way, he'll make you submit to him.

he spent the rest of the mornings watching and observing you, when you wouldn't collect shells and stones, you'd take a walk all by yourself or build sand castles. and as each day passed, he didn't cared if he could expose his kind, he wanted to have you.

"if you want a variety, i can help you with that."

"ah!"

slowly, kaiser treads through the water to come closer to you, his eyes never leaving your figure.

"do you not get lonely too?" he asks, finally stopping right in front of you, upper half of his body exposed to you.

you gave him a small smile, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "why would i be lonely?"

"i always see you every day and at the same time, all by yourself." he tells you, excitement rushing through him as he is finally talking to you.

"so you've been watching me." you respond, slowly sitting down on top of the golden sandy shores. "i'm not lonely anymore, i have you now."

his eyes widened at the response you gave him. heart thumping wildly as if it would burst out of his chest. a human acknowledging his presence. that response alone had him fallen completely in love with you.

"in what grounds do you think i could be a good company to you?" he asks, an impressive grin painting his lips.

"i just know" you reply, smiling to him.

oh how you wish you could take those words back. the words you gave to the very first you meet him, the words you wish you knew what it would mean to him.

you're now in the palm of his hand; finest pearls weaved into a necklace or earring, abundant sea shells enclosed around a large clam shell, miscellaneous trinkets that can only be found in the deepest crevices of the sea are now in your rightful possession.

no other person on land has these finer treasures apart from you. such luster, shape and consistency would have heads turning to look your way.

"there's no need for you to go back to that world, darling." he'd whisper into your ear as the two of you watch the sunset, his arms wrapped around your colorless figure. "the sea will welcome you with open arms."

"you'll love it when you're a hundred feet deep, i'll be your guide getting in, i won't let you drown. you trust me, right?" he asks, whispering in your ear as his fingers held your chin, turning your head to look at him.

trusting him is your choice. but it's kaiser that used that choice into something cynical.

shifting positions to have you seated on top of his waist, he pushes your bodies and kaiser had never felt so pleased with the skin to skin contact. admiring your figure clad in a yellow bikini, a sight he'll always remember even with eyes closed.

and not a moment too soon, he finally press his lips on yours. kissing you deeply and passionately; one hand cupped around your left cheek and the other on your waist, slipping between your legs. squeezing your warm pussy before rubbing your clit, tongues intertwining and dancing.

abandoning his common sense, his arms gripped around your figure, diving down into the water but with you this time.

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter Seventeen: Don't Forget Me

Gates Of Hell

Word Count: 9.2k

Warnings: mentions of death, violence, claustrophobia, lotsssssss of angst - i am the real monster, gun use,

steve is adorable as usual and y/n is... she needs help, my girl is going through it

[A/N: It's 3am and I thought it was a great time to rewrite the ending so if it's bad, that's why. In all seriousness, I am so thankful to everyone who has an insane amount of patience. I am currently on my last few months of uni so it's been hectic but I do still love writing this fic, I just haven't had time :( I hope the weeks of waiting were worth it?

To sum up this chapter... I have officially decided I am incapable of happiness... anyways, enjoy!]

Don't Forget Me

The pattern is me. The pattern is me. The pattern is me. The pattern is me. The pattern is me. The pattern is me. The pattern is me. The pattern is me. The pattern is me. The pattern is me. The pattern is me. The pattern is me. The pattern is me. The pattern is me. The pattern is me. The pattern is me.

Ever since those words slipped from your mouth, the realisation was striking the remaining tethers to your sanity.

The radio had cut out a while ago, leaving a long strand of frustrating static in the air. You couldn’t find yourself to care about that right now. Something wants you here. Why?

As it turns out, you weren’t the only one wondering.

“This monster is running around making gates, and following you? Why you?” Steve had attempted to reclaim the radio signal once it had blared incomprehensible static, but he had no such luck. Instead, he turned back to you, feeling sick at the haunted look on your face.

“I don’t know.” You say quietly, staring down at the damp map lying on the rocky floor in front of you.

“It doesn’t make sense.” Steve states, squinting at the small building your finger currently rested on.

“I’m aware of that.” You sigh, rubbing your temple.

“But you still think you’re the pattern we can’t quite figure out?”

“I don’t know, Steve!” You suddenly snap before the colour drains from your face. You didn't mean to do that. “Sorry. It’s just… it’s too specific to only be a coincidence. I just don’t know why.”

Steve slowly nods, cautious of the way you were tucking your hands into your sleeves, obviously trying to hide their uncontrollable shaking.

“Is it to do with the virus?” He asks, the question tasting like poison on his tongue.

The virus is almost covering you now, creeping up your jaw. You couldn’t hide it if you tried, and Steve had already seen it. Already the venom was influencing you more than you had expected.

“I don’t think so.” You shake your head, mindlessly flexing your fingers.

“Then what’s different?” He looks at you with a soft frown, a look you’ve seen more in the past few days. “If not the virus, what else could it possibly want with you?”

You start to shrug, conditioned to feel like you were in the dark. Since finding the others in the lab, it had become increasingly clear that you were an outsider to their heroic group. You weren’t there when El was first discovered, completely unaware that the small girl adopted into your family was a superhero in her own right. You didn’t fight a demogorgon, or protect the kids from danger, and you especially didn’t save the world.

But this wasn’t about them anymore. This was about you. Your connection. And with all you’ve been through in the last month, you’re the only one who could solve this mystery.

Your breath catches in your throat and Steve finds your eyes, questioning.

“The dust…”

The giant shadow of a monster you had seen before was looming over what used to be the police station. It didn’t have eyes, nor even a face, but you knew it was looking directly at you.

And you felt paralysed.

You watched as it held out an arm… or was it a leg? Whichever, it pointed at you, something fluttered around its shape. Some kind of dust. Black dust.

Everything in you told you to run, but you couldn’t move even if you wanted to. The dust approached closer, slithering along the ground like vines. And you stared, heart jumping into your throat…

Wisps of wind trailed past your ears, unheard from the heartbeat thrumming against your eardrums until it became louder. It wasn’t just wind… it was voices. Incomprehensible murmurs swirling around you.

Until it wasn’t so incomprehensible any more.

“Tell her”

“Dust?” Steve frowns, tensing his shoulders. “You mean the Mind Flayer?”

“That night the shapeshifter separated us.” You start nodding, absent-mindedly moving closer to him. “I remember escaping the arcade and then…”

“Then?” He prompts, a hushed tone to both of your voices despite the privacy of the rocky ledge.

“I saw the Mind Flayer.” You say and he feels a chill run down his spine. “It- I couldn’t move. And these, like, scary images were in my head before I had this really intense nightmare. The next thing I knew, you were there and I wasn’t stuck anymore.”

“You were in some kind of trance. It took me a while to get you out of it.” He recalls, nodding slowly. Even the memory made his stomach clench. “What did you see? The images?”

“Hawkins.” You lower your eyes, slumping back against the hard rock, “It was… it was like it was on fire. Nothing looked the same. There was this giant gap and-and so many monsters. People… bodies.”

“An apocalypse.” Steve finishes for you and you nod your head, eyes squeezed shut.

“If we don't stop whatever it is opening these gates, Hawkins is going to burn.”

Your words struck a chill down his spine, the fear in your eyes evident even as you try and avoid looking towards him. There was a scared determination in the way you started down at the map. It was almost as if Steve could feel the waves in your brain radiating with an idea.

That's cute, Steve thought as you bit your lip in concentration. Adoring you felt better than the dread of an apocalypse.

“I'm going to the motel.”

Steve’s head almost snapped off his neck in the miniscule amount of time it took him to react, staring at you like you were crazy. You are crazy.

“Are you crazy?!”

He expected some sort of retort, or an ounce of an amused grin on your lips. But you only nodded.

“We know this thing is there. If I can catch it, kill it, whatever, I can save whoever is left. This is my chance to stop it.”

You were being reasonable, offering a calm take on the situation with a decision you were ready to face. Steve, on the other hand, took your proclamation as an act of war.

“If you think for one second I’m gonna let you get yourself killed, you’re outta your mind.” He says with a stern face, prompting your brows to scrunch together.

“Funny, I don’t remember asking for your opinion.” You shot back and he shakes head in disbelief.

“Y/n, this isn’t just some fun little holiday where you can do whatever you want. You’re gonna walk into a literal death trap!” He didn’t mean to raise his voice, but the panic was already settling in and taking control.

“There is something there that’s been following me, following us! Don’t you want to figure it out? End all of this?!”

“Whatever it is has been managing to rip a gap between worlds with its mind! It’s mind, Y/n!” He stressed, expressing himself with his hands, “I don’t want to be on the receiving end of that and neither do you!”

“What does it matter? I’m dead either way!”

You can see him pale in front of you, sucking in a breath.

“Don’t say that.” He whispers out, a quiver in his bottom lip and you hate yourself. Why did you have to hurt the people you loved?

“It’s true, Steve. I’m already out of time.” You tilt your head, a clash of lightning above illuminating the veins that slithered along your jaw. “I want to find whatever it is poisoning our town and I want to destroy it before…”

“Before what? It spreads to other towns?” He frowns, running a hand through his hair. “It’s made it pretty clear it only wants Hawkins-”

“Before it gets you.” You finish, staring up at him. If you looked in his eyes any longer, you would see your reflection, a reminder of what he was scared to lose, but that you were willing to sacrifice.

“We know there’s a pattern. And now we know it’s me. And… and I don’t know why, but it wants me. This virus is barely hours away from reaching my brain and honestly now is the perfect time to finally figure all this shit out and face it.”

“And if you get killed?” His voice cracks and you bite your lip, pretending like you didn’t know the answer when all you could think about for the past three weeks was the inevitable.

“Like I said,” You gulp, forcing yourself to hold eye contact. “I’m already out of time.”

“What about your dad? Robin? All of those little shitheads who clearly adore you-”

“They don’t need me, Steve.”

“I do.”

“No you don’t.” You shake your head, tears pooling in your eyes. “You’ve been doing this shit long before I was ever in the picture. If anything, I’ve just ruined it-”

“Why do you do that?” He cuts you off, flickering between your eyes with a look of concern. “Act like you aren’t someone important, when you most definitely are.”

“Steve-”

“No, I wouldn’t have survived this thing without you here. Neither of us would have survived...”

When his voice trails off, you watch him scrunch his face and take a deep breath. He walks away from you, running a hand through his hair. He was thinking, struggling to make a decision. But he always did, and it was always the right one.

“You’re not going to listen to a word I say, are you?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder. You silently shake your head, seeing no reason to prolong this fight. “Fine.”

“Fine?” You repeat, unsure you heard him right.

“I can’t stop you.” He shrugs, sniffing back the emotions lingering at the back of his throat. If he couldn’t convince you, he would just have to make sure you knew you weren’t alone. “But I can help.”

“Wait, no-”

“What? You want me to just sit around on this rock wondering if my girlfriend’s gonna make it back alive or if that’s the last time I’ll ever see her?” Steve lets out a breathy laugh, clicking his tongue. “No, I’m going with you. We do this together or there’s no point doing it at all.”

A flash of surprise hits your face as Steve breathes heavy, not giving you another second to try and convince him to let you go. You had to understand that he couldn’t. He couldn’t let you go. No matter how many times he lived through that scenario in his head, replaying the scene as if you disappearing would leave his heart intact, he just couldn’t do it. Steve knew it was foolish to expect a different ending, but surely he was allowed to have hope.

Was it hope?

Or was it something he refused to see for what it truly was?

A delusion.

“If this thing is really opening the gates, why don’t we, like, make it open another one?”

Steve’s question hangs in the air when he shakes the thought away, realising the obvious answer before the last word even left his lips.

The ground coughed out a soft crunch beneath your footsteps, trailing beside Steve through the twisted crops of Merril’s farm. Even in the Upside Down, the field didn’t differ visually from the real thing. You remember when the crops started to degrade, Merrill grumbling about his neighbour poisoning them. The dispute had been entertaining to you. But now you knew the truth, it didn’t seem so funny anymore.

“Shit.” You curse under your breath as you trip over a vine, managing to regain your balance.

“What’s wrong?” Steve is by your side at an instant, brown eyes laced with worry scanning you.

“Nothing, just tripped.” You dismiss, frowning at the vine behind you. A shudder rolls down your back when you think you can see it moving, but the clash of lightning above was probably playing tricks with the light.

As you go to take another step, your vision blurs. You try and blink it away, rubbing at your eyes. There’s an unsettling rush of heat beneath your skin, scorching your nerves. It should be cause for panic. But you’ve been through this before. Your only fear was knowing you weren’t hiding it anymore.

“Woah, woah, woah.” Steve quickly grabs onto your shoulders and you blink as he catches you before gravity took you victim. You didn’t even realise you were falling. “Hey, you okay?”

No. Steve already knew that. How could you possibly be okay when the virus was slowly closing in on you?

“Just… give me a minute.” You catch your breath, trying every technique to stabilise your heart rate as you fall into a squatted position. You hated that this thing was slowing you down, and you hated being out in the open like this, knowing that because of you, the both of you were going to be in more danger than necessary.

Steve stands by your side, slowly sliding the bag from his shoulder to fish out his bat, hand wavering over the metal weapon resting below. No. That was for emergencies. This was just his paranoia setting in.

“Nice day, huh?” Steve offers when the silence became unbearable, making you laugh. He smiles. He loved making you laugh.

“I’ve seen worse.” You reply, standing back up and taking another breath, slow and easy. “Okay, I think I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“M-hm.” You nod, a small smile gracing your face as you adjusted your bag and found rhythm between your footsteps once again.

It was getting scarier, the time between your virus lapses decreasing more and more. You weren’t ready to turn into one of those things. No one could be.

How would I stop myself from killing?

Your eyes drift over to the boy next to you, his admirable determination guiding you both through the farm like it was his life’s mission.

What if you took his life?

You snap your head away, focusing on your breaths. One breath in. Hold. One breath out.

Will I have to watch myself murder innocent people?

One breath in. One breath out. One breath in-

“Y/n?”

Sometimes the dim light of the Upside Down was a blessing. The low exposure shielded you from seeing the way he looked at you; with concern, sadness, pity. You found it hard to be so vulnerable like this. You didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. You barely allowed yourself to be perceived unless it was for all the wrong reasons.

It was a stupid stupid habit to bear such hatred towards yourself for feeling. But this is how you been for years now. You weren’t sure how to be any other way.

“You’re suspiciously quiet.” Steve comments, attempting to lighten the dreary mood. “Not that I’m complaining. Finally, some peace.”

“Rude.” You reply almost instantly, unable to resist the smile pulling at your lips.

Steve hated how dark it was in the Upside Down. Without much light, he was unable to study your features in times like this, to watch the joy return to your eyes after weeks of torment.

But even in the dark, he knew exactly how much hurt you were hiding beneath that worn-out mask of yours.

“Seriously. What’s on your mind?” Steve asks you as he scrunches his face in disgust as the tip of his shoe brushes against the pile of inedible black mush that once was a pumpkin.

“Other than monsters, the apocalypse, and my general state of being?” You smirk at him, but he already sensed your hesitancy.

“Yeah, the important stuff.” He shrugs with a chuckle.

I’m scared if you don’t run away, I might hurt you.

You shake your head free of intruding thoughts, focusing on the ones that sparked unusual butterflies in your stomach.

“What? You want me to just sit around on this rock wondering if my girlfriend’s gonna make it back alive or if that’s the last time I’ll ever see her?” Steve lets out a breathy laugh, clicking his tongue. “No, I’m going with you. We do this together or there’s no point doing it at all.”

“Um, you said something earlier. Back at the quarry.” You force yourself to keep walking, trying to hide the smile in your voice.

“Like what?” He blinks innocently. A jolt of anxiety rushes through your brain.

Oh god, what if he didn’t mean it? He could have just gotten confused, or caught up in the intensity of it all and you were about to embarrass yourself for ever thinking differently.

As painful as it is, that option was probably the best one. Maybe then it’ll make it easier when the virus destroys you.

“You, um… you called me your… girlfriend.” You almost cringe trying to finish what you started.

Steve almost trips, looking like a deer in headlights.

“Oh. That.” Steve lets out a nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I, uh… you know, it was just, uh…”

“Heat of the moment?” You offer quietly and he clears his throat.

“Yeah, right. Heat of the moment.”

“Yeah, of course. That’s- that’s what I thought it was.” You shake your head, wanting to move on from this subject as quickly as you could. “Just wanted to be sure.”

“Would it… would it be so bad if it wasn’t just the, uh, heat of the moment?” Steve suddenly asks.

You go quiet. Too quiet. And Steve clicks his tongue.

“Oh.”

“No, I didn’t mean-” You scrunch your eyes shut, footsteps slowing to a complete stop. “It just doesn’t feel right to say it.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Of course it does. Nothing has ever felt more right in my entire life, you want to scream, seal it in stained ink. But you had to look at the reality. You were going to die. You just wanted to make it as emotionally painless as you could.

“We’re not… we aren’t meant to be together, Steve.” You lie straight through your teeth, avoiding his eyes.

Steve scoffs, a hand on his hips as he looks at you in disbelief. “Yes, we are.”

“No. We’re not.” You say with a little more conviction, shaking your head. “This. Us. It’s not… how do we even know it’s real?”

When you avoided his eyes for a little too long, his hands find your face, cupping your cheeks to gently tilt your head to look at him. You just softly take them away, but he never lets go of your hands.

“If the gates hadn’t opened that day in detention… we never would have even looked at each other again.” You say, sadness coating your voice.

“But it did happen. And I’m looking at you right now. We got through it. Together.”

“We survived together. We- we relied on each other because we literally had no one else to.” You frown, shrugging it away as if your own words weren’t hurting you. “We went through literal hell and that’s what we bonded over. We don’t- How can you say this is real when we’ve been faking it all since day one? Let’s just be honest, it’s not gonna go any further so let’s save us both some time-”

“You’re doing it again.” He interrupts, his gaze on you unwavering.

“I’m not doing anything-”

“You’re pretending like you don’t care.”

You don’t respond.

“I care. A lot. Probably too much for it to just be a- a survival bond or whatever you said. And it’s definitely not fake.” He lets out a soft laugh, heart racing faster. “Actually… I’m pretty sure I’ve never felt something so real with someone before. It’s like- like breathing. You know? I can’t breathe without your stupid cute little face in my head or your annoying voice making me feel calm, or-or even this right here, your delusional belief that someone can’t possibly be in love with you which makes me want to just shake it out of you because it’s true, Y/n. It’s real. I’m in love with you, okay?”

Your mouth parts in silence, just looking at him, stunned. You were only trying to convince some excuses, to try and make it easier when it all inevitably ends. But you hadn’t really taken into account how much you both felt. And now everything was going to be so much harder.

“So, uh, yeah.” He clears his throat, releasing you from his hold and shrugging. “Just accept it.”

You both stand there for a moment, reliving his words. I’m in love with you. Steve doesn’t regret it, but he starts to feel nervous the longer you don’t say something.

“Can you… can you promise me something?”

Steve holds his breath. He knows what you’re going to ask. And he knows that no matter how many times he runs through that scenario in his head, he never pulls the trigger. He won’t take your-

“Don’t forget me.”

It wasn’t the promise he was expecting, brows furrowing with the intention of your words. He just wants to hold you, yell at you until you understood he couldn’t leave you behind, he wouldn’t let the virus take you. He’d find a cure, make one if he had to.

But he didn’t have time to figure out where to start because he was suddenly very aware you were both out in the open. And something was rustling the leaves, watching.

He quickly raises his bat, eyes focused. He can just make out a shadow, making him squint. Probably just another demodog, nothing he hadn’t dealt with before.

Except it’s taller. Almost… human?

And then he sees the glowing eyes, the gaping mouth. It was the screaming monster from the Radio Shack.

“Steve?” You frown once you catch it too, looking at him, waiting for his call.

“Once it screams, we run. Every monster and their mother is gonna hear it, and we need to get out of the open, fast.” He hisses between his teeth as he watches the creature weave its way through the trees, drawing closer.

“And lead them all straight to the motel?” You whisper back at him, and his face pales. There goes that plan.

“Shit.”

“What about that house?” You suddenly ask, tilting your head to your left. “The huge one on that hill? It’s the opposite direction from the motel and the closest thing-”

“Oh, god, no.” Steve breathes out, shaking his head with determination. “Remember what Robin called it? You do not enter a house called the murder house. Especially when you’re being chased by murderous flesh-eating monsters!”

“It’s pretty much our only choice right now.” You stress, the small hairs on your arm prickling the closer the creature gets. “We run through, slip out the back, and tail it to the motel before it’s-”

If Steve had any objections, you never heard them. All you heard was the terrifying scream rippling from the unhinged jaw of a ghostly woman.

“Run, run!” You yell, already feeling the effects of an ear-splitting pitch.

Steve immediately grabs your hand and you run, blindly trusting the boy you had assumed your enemy for 4 years of your life.

He wasn’t sure if you’d both be able to get inside in time, fully away of the hoard of monsters emerging from the shadows and chasing you down. It was a risky bet, this house. But you were right. It was the only option.

If Steve wasn’t so adamant on moving fast, he might have felt the soft tug of your arm as your body struggles to keep up, the stretch of the hill proving the laws of physics were never your friend. As long as your hand was in his, you were going to be fine.

The harsh creak of rotten floorboards as Steve barrelled into the room echoed menacingly in his ear. He quickly dropped your hand, pulling you behind him and making haste of tugging a tall and heavy cabinet down so it blocked the entrance. It wouldn’t hold forever, but it would give you both enough time to slip out unnoticed.

“That should keep them back, we gotta-”

Steve expected to find your hand as he reached back for you, but the space was bare. He spins around, stomach lurching when he finds you’re already sat against the wall, looking worse every second.

“No.” He drops to his knees and cups your head in his hands when you struggle to keep it up, swallowing his anxiety, “No, hey, sweetheart, hey. Look at me.”

Your weary eyes meet his and his breath hitches. The black veins were now creeping up your cheeks, spreading quicker in the past few hours than they ever had before.

A sudden chorus of thumping snapped his attention, the barricade against the front door almost shattering under the weight of its attackers. It wouldn’t hold much longer. He knew you weren’t in any state to run to the motel, and he had to think fast.

Steve loops his arm around you and pulls you to your feet, muttering a string of apologies as you wince. His eyes catch the bleeding moonlight from above, enticing an idea.

It felt like your whole body was on fire, any movement contracting your muscles to pain until you could nearly faint. But you had to try, you had to move. For him.

He could sense your determination as he moved you both up the staircase, your legs wobbling but making it to the top in a timely fashion. His admiration would have to come later. Right now, he needed you both safe.

The hallway was long and dusty, Steve’s eyes barely adjusting to the darkness. He’s unsure where to go next, a lengthy display of doors scattered either side of him as he helps you walk further into the house. Maybe there was another-

A giant crash echoed out in splintered waves, dread flooding his body.

They were here.

Picking the closest door, he drags you both inside and takes care to shut it as quietly as possible, knowing one loud sound could be the end. His nerves were on high alert, struggling to make the life-saving decisions his friends usually expected from him. But the stakes were different this time. There was no one to bail him out if he makes the wrong move, no Nancy or Jonathan to come save the day. It was just him, protecting you.

The door had apparently led to a bedroom, his eyes scanning for a chair or a dresser to block- No. No. That would just make more noise- But what if they got in?

Hide. You need to hide.

Pulling you close to him, he spots a large closet on the other side of the bedroom. That would have to do.

It omitted a soft creak, making him grimace. He carefully lowers you down, noting how you were forcing yourself to breathe in even intervals. You were fighting it as best as you could, and that was all he could ask for.

As he joins you, he manoeuvres you so you were situated between his legs, knowing this would be the only way to ensure you both fit in the small space. His bat is digging into his side as his arms are wrapped around you, his back pressed against the side of the closet as he watches the bedroom door through the crack of light, holding his breath.

He couldn’t hear anything, but that was the scary part. He had hoped to hear the creatures crash through the ground floor and somehow be tricked back outside, relieving his mind with the knowledge he made the right decision.

The space was becoming all too small, even with the door cracked open. And that’s when the fear came creeping in.

What if a demogorgon found you?

What if it tracks your scent, follows the trail up the staircase, opens the third door on the left?

What if it stalks into the room and starts listening closely, hearing his quickened breaths of panic?

What if the last thing Steve saw was the thing ripping open the closet doors, a set of giant claws caging you in, knowing there was no escape?

What if you both died in here?

He exhales a long breath, fading back into reality when he feels something gently squeeze his hand. Your hand. You had intertwined your fingers with his, head laying back against hisshoulder, sensing his anxiety.

Steve had known he was claustrophobic for a while now. As a little kid, he remembers when he and his friends would play in the woods, a hollowed tree trunk on the ground marking the final destination of their adventure. That was the first time he felt fear, he thinks, curled up halfway through the tight space as his shirt was caught on protruding bark. He remembers his friends laughing and leaving to go find his parents when it became all too serious, assuming they had abandoned him there.

The tunnels were far worse than his 7 year old self’s nightmares. When the demodogs came barrelling towards them, his sudden realisation that he would be dragged back into those tunnels and left for dead, he had never felt so hopeless. He couldn’t even fight, not really. He could only attempt to shield Dustin with his body, and pray they made his death quick.

He never really knew how to get himself out of these situations. His parents had enticed him out with harsh words and false promises, eventually dragging him out by his arms when his mind couldn’t stop imagining the tree collapsing in on him. The demodogs hadn’t attacked in the end, sparing them with pure luck and giving him no time to reflect on his darker thoughts, the kids needing him more than he needed closure from himself.

But one single touch of your hand changed everything. No words, no rush. Just a reminder he was still here. And you were here with him.

He felt your body tense the moment the floorboards out on the hallway creak, just quiet enough to let him know the creature was trying to be silent. Something was looking for you.

The virus had taken its toll on you, the past few minutes of your life flashing by in a blur. You don’t even remember climbing into the closet, waiting in suspenseful agony for a sign that the coast was clear. But all of a sudden, you had finally returned to reality, feeling Steve’s erratic heartbeat on your back.

You almost flinched when you heard something bang against the bedroom door. It was sudden, ricocheting an echo of vibration through the floor. And then it was complete and utter silence.

You must have been shaking because Steve holds you closer, forcing you to take a few quiet breaths. You’d be okay. It will be okay.

Another sharp crash blares out, but it’s further this time. Whatever it was outside of that door was leaving, finally. But that didn’t stop you both from sitting there for a little while longer, afraid to move from the safety of the wooden walls.

It was you who made the first move to leave, shifting in his arms and pointing to the door. You had caught your breath now, shaking away the virus’ side effects with strength Steve could only respect.

Steve pushes the closet door open and you are finally back on your feet, offering a hand to pull him up with you.

“That was close.” He breathes out with a nervous chuckle, running a hand through his hair. He retrieves his bat from the wardrobe and turns around to see you’re stood still with a guilty expression on your face.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper out, shaking your head. “We could’ve- it’s my fault.”

“What? No.” He crosses the room and pulls you into a hug, one you definitely needed. “No, it’s not your fault. None of this is.”

After a moment, he pulls away, sucking in a breath. “Now let’s get the hell out of here because this place is giving me the creeps.”

You nodded to his words, shivering as you observed the room you stood in. It looked like a master bedroom, possibly decorated for a couple to reside in. Everything was either covered in dust or cobwebs, a pang of sadness hitting your chest.

You knew the rumours of this place; a man going crazy and killing his entire family, their ghosts now haunting the place ready to collect more victims. But right now, you didn’t feel haunted.

A family had died here, the home clearly decorated with care and love from the people who never got a chance to live in it. And it has just been left like this, to wither and rot away.

Steve poked his head out of the door and listened out, making sure you weren’t just walking into a trap. He did the same as he leaned over the banister, clocking the wide open front door, now adorned in malicious claw marks.

“Fastest route?” He asks as you join him at the back of the house, squinting into the horizon.

There were only two options; along the road and out in the open, or through the woods with little to no light. You tried to think back to when you originally thought of the plan, retracing your steps.

“I’m thinking, uh…” Your voice suddenly cuts off and you turn to stare at him, a hint of a smirk on your lips. Steve frowns. “Do I remember you calling me sweetheart earlier?”

Heat rushes to Steve’s cheeks. “What? No. That would be weird. I don’t have a pet name for you. Or any name, actually. Other than your actual name. Maybe ‘asshole’. Not- not sweetheart- right, we’re cutting through the woods this way.”

He marches off before he becomes any more of a mess than he already is, hearing your laughter as it trails behind him.

“So… where the hell is this mysterious gate maker gonna be?”

You were both stood in the parking lot of Motel 6, eyes scanning each room as if a source of light would illuminate the monster you were hunting. If your theory was right, and it was all originating from here… how long has it been right under your noses?

“Maybe it’s like the gates.” You offer, shrugging. “What did Dustin say? In the heart, or something. The middle.”

“I hope not.” Steve states and you turn to where he was suggesting.

The heart of the hotel wouldn’t be one of the rooms, nor the office. And you had a suspicion Steve had thought correctly.

The basement.

Staring down at those two daunting metal doors, you feel your skin prickle. You take a glance over your shoulder, frowning.

In all three weeks you’ve been down here, you’ve never encountered a single monster at the motel. It had been a last minute resort for safety, ensuring you weren’t followed, picking room 303 as if it mattered. You were pretty good at sneaking around the place, but you never realised how truly odd it was that no monster ever followed you.

Maybe that answer was waiting for you behind those basement doors.

“Wait,” Steve gently places a hand on your waist as you move towards it, staring down with brown eyes of deep concern. “Are we sure we really wanna do this?”

“There isn’t another choice.” You say, yet you were still hesitant as you walked up to the doors, forcing each step you took.

No locks, no obstacles. Just a pair of metallic blocks on hinges. That felt worse somehow.

“If I had a nickel for every time I had to go down into a cellar to look for a monster…” Steve sighs to himself, catching your curious look. “Uh, I’d only have, like, two. But still. That’s two more than I should have.”

You can only nod in agreement, your breath caught in your throat.

Are we sure we really wanna do this?

The unsatisfying creak of metal echoes across the parking lot, Steve letting out a low whistle as he stares down into darkness.

“I’m sure this won’t be creepy at all.” He comments, taking the first step down before you had the chance. You’ve noticed that about him, always the first to enter an unknown room. A protector.

Light bleeds through a small window on the other side of the cellar. There was more space than you were expecting, but the strangest part was the fact there was nothing in here. Like it had never been used to store anything.

“It’s empty.” You announce, stood dumbfounded in the middle of the room.

“Maybe the landlord kicked it out.” Steve shrugs, silently relieved. He catches your fallen expression and places a hand on your shoulder. “Look, we’ll find another way.”

And then the basement doors swing shut, the sound rattling through the dark cellar at an alarming pitch.

“Shit!”

Steve drops his bat and rushes back up the steps to push against the metal doors. Nothing. He drives his shoulder into it. It doesn’t budge.

“How is it locked?!” He grunts, giving it one last try before backing away, shaking his head. “There wasn’t any lock on it!”

Your stomach drops.

You both freeze, turning once again to the singular door at the end of the hallway, a snarl vibrating through the wood of it.

The door you had walked through swung itself closed with a loud bang.

Spinning around with no intention of being here any longer, you reach out and pull the handle towards you.

It didn’t budge.

You grab the other handle in your spare hand and pull harder, the doors rattling under your force, but never opening.

“Billy!” You yell, but he’s already pushing against the doors, eyes wide. “It’s locked! How is it locked?!”

“Shit!” He hisses, turning to ram his shoulder against it for extra strength, but he couldn’t keep it up forever.

It was all happening again.

You had just walked into another trap.

“It’s here.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Steve is on high alert, frantically looking around the basement. But it’s still empty.

“Nothing is here, Y/n.” He frowns.

“Not on this side.” You gasp when something suddenly echoes in your ear. You look at Steve, startled, but he doesn’t share the same expression.

“What?”

“You didn’t hear that?”

“Hear what?”

You start moving around, trying to find a spot to make the incomprehensible whispers clearer. Steve’s heart is pounding louder.

“It’s that voice again.” You mutter to yourself.

“Voice? Y/n, you’re scaring me.” Steve manages to catch you for a split second, and you meet his eyes. His face drops.

The veins were creeping up your face, laying just beneath your eyes. He places a hand on your forehead. You’re burning up.

“Y/n, you don’t look so good.”

“It has to be here.” You shake your head out of his hold, stepping back. “The map- it has to be here!”

And then you hear it again, the voice. Except, this time, it’s so much clearer.

“Tell her”

You suddenly stop, letting out a gasp and Steve’s anxiety is sky-rocketing. You were both trapped inside this basement with something he couldn’t see.

He tries the doors again, thumping his fist against it like it would dislodge something. Nothing. Glancing over his shoulder, he clocks the window. Maybe…

Steve sprints over, dropping the bag off his shoulder and onto the floor beside him as he fumbles around for some kind of latch. Something rattles and he smiles. Bingo.

“Hey, we can get out through the window. Wasn’t rocket science, but I’m still a genius.”

He turns back to look at you over his shoulder, smiling. You’re currently near the far corner, your back facing him. You don’t seem to have heard him, breathing in odd intervals as you stare down at your hands.

“Y/n.” He tries again, louder. Your head twitches. Steve releases the latch on the window, fear flooding his entire body.

That same familiar feeling starts twisting in his gut, the same he always had when something is really really wrong. He never ignored it, never wanted to, because it was always right. But he didn’t want to believe it this time.

He slowly steps away from the window, his eyes permanently glued to the back of your head, feeling like he couldn’t breathe.

Trying again, his voice cracks under the pressure of speaking your name like it would warp the vicious reality he was living in.

“Y/n?”

You snap your head to him, and the colour drains from his face.

“No…”

He lost you.

The world bled to grey as tears start trailing from his eyes, staring into yours. Except, they weren’t yours. They were darker, soulless. Black blood was dripping from your chin, staining your lips.

Lips he had once kissed.

Lips he would never kiss again.

“Don’t do this.” He begs, unable to find the force to speak louder than a whisper. “Y/n, please. It’s not- I can’t hurt you. You know I can’t hurt you. Y/n...”

You snarled at him this time, your mannerisms unnerving. It wasn’t you anymore.

His eyes slowly drift to his bat, making him clench his jaw. It was closer to you than it was to him. He wouldn’t be able to reach it in time.

But he knew he wasn’t completely defenceless. He just wasn’t sure if he had the strength to use it.

You suddenly lunge at him and he instinctively dives for his bag, rolling away from your attack in the last second. He unzips it, staring down. He couldn’t do this.

Snarls and hisses spit from your mouth as you scramble up from the floor, blinking rapidly as you search in the dark.

Click.

Your whole body snaps to him in one sharp movement.

With a shaking hand, he stares directly into your eyes.

“Y/n, please.” He sobs, “Please, you have to be in there.”

Not even the mournful pressure against his chest felt as heavy as the gun in his hand, tears rolling down his face.

It was your idea to take a pistol from the cabin, knowing you couldn’t use it unless it was in moments of emergency, afraid the rippling sound of the bullet would alert every monster in the town. You both swore you’d never have to use it.

And here he was, pointing it directly at your head.

“Steve?” Your small voice prickles his hearing and he moves his gaze from your hands to your eyes, darting between the pupils in silent study. “If I… if it-”

“No.” He immediately shakes his head and you could almost sob. For what felt like days, you’ve been trying to have this conversation with him, but he always shuts it down, pretending like it wasn’t needed.

“You need to listen-”

“I am not killing you.” He says with conviction, and he feels your fingers slip out of his reach. “That’s not happening, Y/n, you can’t expect me to-”

“And what then?” You cry, standing taller, making his head crane to look up at you as you wrap your arms around your torso. “You’re just gonna watch me turn into a monster and let me stay that way?!”

“This isn’t just some sort of favour you’re asking for!” He frowns, shaking his head. “You want me to kill you. To end your life!”

He knew this was coming. You knew this was coming. You’ve been trying to warn him for weeks now, pleading to him. And he never listened. He never wanted to.

Three weeks ago, Steve would have shot you in that school hallway if you had turned after the bite, the memory bitter but his heart still intact.

Three weeks later, Steve would rather shoot himself then live with the memory of putting a bullet between the eyes of the girl he was in love with.

It can’t end like this. It can’t.

“It’s me.” He tries again, hoping his voice could break you free from the virus. “It’s me. Steve. Remember?”

He should have known hope was never his friend.

A voice completely alien to you rips out a screech from your throat, and hell comes to bludgeon him with the worst it had to offer.

Steve watches in horror as the skin starts peeling from your face, tearing it into pieces like a flower and its petals.

Like a demogorgon.

It was too late. You weren’t coming back to him.

You run at him, sharp teeth bared, mind forever gone.

Steve’s eyes shut…

… and he pulls the trigger.

“STEVE!”

Your throat was sore from relentless screaming, sobbing with your entire chest.

Steve had rushed over to the window just after you heard that voice. You had turned your back on him, distracted by what you thought was a shadow hiding in the walls.

You heard him call your name. But when you turned around…

His eyes were rolled back, stood deathly still.

“Steve! Wake up!” You keep trying to shake him out of his trance, watching as a trail of red bleeds from his nose. “No! No, wake up! Steve!”

More and more whispers echo around you, building up until all you heard were the same repeated words.

“What do you want?!” You scream into the dark, cheeks stained with relentless tears. Steve was dying, and you couldn’t do anything about it.

In a desperate attempt for help, you crouch down by the window and start rifling through his bag, batting the gun to the side to grab the radio.

“Hello?! Is anyone there?! Please!!”

You cry out in frustration when all that responds is the piercing static.

“That won’t help you.”

The radio slips from your hand in shock, clattering against the concrete as your wide eyes fixate on the image in the corner.

Something was forming from the shadows, pulling together pieces of the dark like it was dust. Your body floods with ice. The basement had never been dark. You were just surrounded by the same black dust that haunted every single nightmare.

Your shaking hands swipe the bat from the ground and grip it tight, shielding Steve’s body with your own. You hear his breaths become shallower.

“You were never meant to find me.” It spoke in a dark voice, fading in and out like a weak connection.

A gasp slips from your mouth when the particles build its final form. A silhouette of a man, featureless yet distinctive. Of all the creations you had envisioned, you didn’t expect the monster to be so… human.

A man.

“What do you want?!” You yell at it, raising the bat like it would scare it away.

“I tried time and time again to get you to understand.” He spoke, drifting closer to you. “I gave you the future. Visions. A simple task.”

Something like a sob escapes Steve’s lips and you whip your head to him, feeling completely and utterly helpless. You weren’t going to defeat the monster like you said you would. And now you were going to watch him die, knowing you were the only reason he was down here with you.

“It was the only way to make sure you listened.”

You turn back to the monster, a scowl twisting onto your face.

“Let him go.” You warn, but you knew your threat was meaningless.

“You have no power here.” He states, and you could almost feel the shadow smiling at you with malicious intent. “I make the rules.”

Goosebumps return to their path along your skin, trailing up your arms and prickling at your neck, making you shiver.

“I will let him go… Once you carry out one important task.” He nods, closer once again. You shift your body protectively in front of Steve, holding your breath.

“What…” You blink away tears, feeling suffocated by his presence.

You understood why the other monsters were so afraid of the dark.

Your arms didn’t feel attached to your body when they suddenly start to lower themselves, a shadowed hand reaching for your face.

“Bring me the girl.”

You frown, shaking your head. Girl?

As if he heard your thoughts, he leans close to you, speaking one word.

“Eleven.”

“El?” You gasp, and he steps away from you, observing. “Why- what do you want with her?”

“Bring her to me, and I will let him go.” The figure doesn’t answer your question, tilting its head. “Once you leave this place, you’ll find her, and you’ll bring her to me. That is all I want.”

“And if I don’t?” You raise your chin, regaining the feeling in your arms.

He slowly raises his hand, pointing it to the boy behind you. At first, nothing happened. And then you watch in despair as Steve’s body starts to slowly lift from the ground, a strained yell of pain.

“Stop!” You beg, and the shadow obeys, Steve’s feet touching the ground.

One little action and it was so simple it was terrifying. If you don’t bring El to him, he’ll kill Steve.

This monster knew you. It had been following you around since the dust you encountered, observing the things that made you tick, the things you loved, hated, needed. He knew exactly what would make you listen to him.

He was the Voice that had been haunting you for weeks.

You look back at Steve, almost crying out when you notice he’s lost more blood in the time you’ve taken to decide. You couldn’t do that to El.

But you also couldn’t watch Steve die.

“Fine.” You sob, nodding. “Just let him go.”

“You’ll know where to find me”

And then the shadow is thrown back into the darkness, hitting a wall and sinking back into it, dispersing the dust in scattered patterns on the surface.

Steve gasps behind you, and you spin around to catch him as he stumbles forward.

“Steve!” You cry in relief, wrapping your arms around him as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Y/n?” He sounds surprised, almost sad, observing every little detail of you as if he couldn’t decide if you were real. “Wait, you’re… what happened?”

“I-”

You try to reply when a loud hum starts building behind you, your attention needed elsewhere.

The middle of the wall starts to burn away, splitting apart and blackening at the edges. The humming only became louder, a dark red hue casting your shadows.

The Voice was creating a gate. For you. To pawn your sister’s life for Steve’s. Once you stepped through it, you’d be signing a death warrant.

If you stepped through it.

“What the fuck is happening…” Steve blinks at the gate, aware of the tightened grip your hand had on his.

In his vision, he had shot you. He had committed the most unspeakable act he had time and time again refused. The worst part of it, was he thought it was real. He made that decision.

But it was all a lie, and you were here, holding his hand with a look on your face he couldn’t decipher.

“You have to go.” You say to him, your words hazy to his ears. He still wasn’t entirely sure he was back in reality, struggling to make sense of the walls around him. “Steve, listen to me. You have to go.”

“No.” He shakes his head, trying to focus. “What about… what about you?”

A booming chorus of thumps against metal suddenly arose from the basement doors. Your stomach dropped.

The creatures weren’t afraid of the dark anymore.

When the gate had spread into a human-sized portal, you start pushing Steve towards it. His sneakers were just touching the edge before he realised what was happening.

“Hey, hey! No!” He stops, and you’re not strong enough to overpower him.

“Steve, you have to go! They’re gonna break through any minute!” You cry, watching the ever-growing dents in the metal above the staircase. “Please, you have to go!”

“I’m not leaving you, Y/n!”

“It’s already too late.” You sob, wiping away your tears. Tears that felt hot, burning against your skin.

The skin littered with black veins.

“I’m gonna turn any minute now.” You place your hands on his cheeks, making sure he was listening to your every word. “And I don’t want my last memory to be crossing back into our home knowing I won’t make it 5 steps before the virus kills me. Okay? So, you’re gonna go through the gate and you’re not ever gonna look back. Please. Don’t come back for me.”

“I can’t-” He cries and you bring his forehead down to rest on yours, nodding.

“I know.” You whisper, leaning forward to leave a feather-light kiss on his lips.

His eyes are still closed when you pull back, studying him one last time.

“Which is why I’m sorry.”

Steve’s eyes snap open just in time to watch your hands find his chest and shove him as hard as you can, his body ripping through the gate faster than he can experience.

His back hits solid concrete, making him groan. It takes a second for him to blink away the dots in his vision, slowly sitting up. He can see your figure clearly, your sad eyes, the smile gracing your lips.

And then the gate starts to sew itself shut.

Steve scrambles to his feet, tugging at the dangling pieces of membrane to try and stop the process.

“Y/n!” He yells at you, the unwelcome fear striking his nerves when he hears a loud crash from the other side.

Judging by the look on your face, it was exactly what he thought it was.

“No! No! Y/n!”

The gate is getting smaller, but his screams are only getting louder, fingers desperately trying to pry it open like a set of doors. But it was useless.

He can just make out a rush of silhouettes, your retreating form.

And then he was clawing at a concrete wall, body shaking with the intensity of his tears.

“No, no, no, no!” He yells in rage, his fingers scraped and bloodied.

For the last three weeks, all he wanted was to be on the other side. And now he was here, without you, it felt worse than hell.

He barely heard the creak of metal doors open behind him, or even saw his shadow suddenly cast onto the space he lost you forever.

Steve didn’t notice anything until a voice calls out behind him, causing him to turn and squint against the beaming light.

“Steve?” Hopper frowns, squinting. “Steve.”

He rushes down those steps and drops the flashlight, both hands on the boy’s shoulders.

“Hey, kid, you alright?” He asks, but Steve can barely speak. “Kid, look at me.”

Steve looked at him, a torn and broken version of the boy Hopper had seen last. He can feel Hopper’s hands tighten, a look of horror clouding his eyes.

“Where’s Y/n?”

Don’t forget me, you had said to him. A bittersweet promise of a memory.

Steve wasn’t ready to make you a memory.

“She’s still back there.” He finally said, swallowing the bitter lie that was about to coat his tongue. “We got separated.”

He lowered his eyes, unable to look at him, trying to ignore the guilt eating away at his chest. It was cruel, to lie to a father so desperate to get his daughter back. But he was afraid the truth would show you were like your father in more ways than one.

Steve needed to do this. No matter the consequences.

“She wants us to find her.” He finally says, nodding. “She wants us to bring her back.”

To be continued...

[A/N: GOH will return for yet another installment! I'm separating the story into parts so I can trick my stupid brain that only gives me writers block into thinking it's only a short story. I honestly plan for this to last forever. Or at least until I run out of ideas lmao.]

taglist:

@toomanyfandomsimfanvergent . @sheisjoeschateau . @kthomps914 . @curled-hair-red-lips . @nix-rose .

@palmtreesx3 . @kryztalglear . @sattlersquarry . @hey-barnes-stole-a-jeep . @sadslasher13 .

@iliveonteaandbooks . @innercreationflower . @newyorkangelbaby . @totally-bogus-timelady

[ystrike1]

The Blood Moon - By Ruru (8.5/10)

There's a bloodthirsty cult in the north! All of the wives that get sent up end up dissappearing. Our protagonist is their ideal prey. She's the gorgeous but unwanted daughter of a merchant. She gets sold for a price, never to return. Luckily for her one of the monsters hasn't been initiated yet, and he's willing to betray his family for her.

Linnea is kinda weak. She's the weakest part of this story. Just being honest.

She starts out tough and willing to do what is needed to survive, but then she cries, and then she continues to cry. She cries alot.

Linnea must wed the northern Count Mattei. He's on the old side, but he's a perfect gentleman. She thinks she'll be ok. She's never had a real family. The merchant who took her in was just a distant relative who always planned to marry her off for cash. She's a practical lady. Her husband is an aristocrat. She thinks she's lucky.

Count Mattei introduces Aleksis as his son. There's a pregnant moment at the altar. Aleksis and Linnea both feel attraction right away. Aleksis more than her. He is conflicted about the marriage, and he's too afraid to name his feelings.

Aleksis is kind of a coward for a while, which makes him interesting.

Things get bad for Linnea....slowly.

She wants to hang on. She wants to be a Countess, but he's crazy religious. Count Mattei doesn't want a wife. He seems to want a nun. He won't sleep with her, visit her or touch her. He spends all day in a mysterious temple, conducting sermons on religion that Linnea doesn't really understand.

He even whips her, when her soul isn't deemed pure enough.

Strange stories run through the manor. The Mattei family gets special privileges, because the first head of their family helped establish the country. The legends say the first Mattei was a monster. A man shaped thing that ate blood and killed with his bare hands. He made a deal with the first king. The monster offered the king the throne, in exchange for sanity. The ability to live without constantly lusting for gore. The king agreed, and the king created rituals and objects to seal the monster. The monster retained only a fraction of his power, but he was capable of living without killing. His children are the Mattei family. Basically, all of the Mattei's can become real vampires. They have to use The Blood Seed Ritual to remain reasonably sane and human. Becoming a True Vampire is Not A Good Idea. It's torture. Being a vampire for real is too much power, and you're basically nuts forever.

Linnea is one of many wives. She is a sacrifice. Only "pure" women can be used as Blood Seed Sacrifices. It only takes one. The Mattei family is pretty big. They must sacrifice one woman for every vampire of age, or that child will become a real vampire and commit endless killings.

It's a necessary sacrifice, oh...and most of the Mattei family still enjoys torture and blood. They just don't have the insane thirst. Don't feel bad for them. They're assholes.

Linnea isn't actually a "wife" at all. Aleksis doesn't know that, so he tries to defend her when the maids treat her like trash.

Aleksis doesn't know much, but he was also in denial. He never questioned what happened to the wives until he fell in love with one.

Linnea is his Blood Seed.

He doesn't accept it.

He drinks her blood and he saves her instead.

Aleksis transforms and he kills one of his relatives. The story is not yet complete. A promo was released that reveals alot of spoilers. It is what confirms the yandere element of the story. Aleksis starts out more mousy. Struggling with the idea of stealing his fathers bride.

In the promotional spoilers he is much crueler, and he's constantly desperate for her blood. I'm going to assume she has the role of Blood Seed, but she's alive so he must drink from her or face life as a complete monster. The promo chapters also indicate their relationship is incredibly twisted.

After Aleksis transforms Linnea is his excuse. Every bad thing he does is for her. He loves her. He wants her. He wishes nobody else would look at her. He can no longer rely on his family. He's stronger than them. They're idiots willing to harm Linnea, to keep the status quo.

To be clear the cursed members of the Mattei family are powerful. They are still a threat to him, and especially Linnea, but he has a strength boost due to transforming into a true vampire.

He's a mess. He feels guilty because the Mattei line has killed many women to create Blood Seeds. He is clinging to his love for Linnea. He needs it to feel like a good person.

The promo is incredibly interesting. It implies that Aleksis killed Count Mattei, and he is covering up the murder with Linnea as an accomplice. Linnea is attending balls as the Countess, but Aleksis (her stepson) is the one escorting her. The other nobles are not stupid. They behave like a married couple. There's alot of tension. It's great. Most ballroom scenes are boring, but our protagonists really feel morally grey.

The situation is hard.

The Mattei family has produced alot of the countries strongest Knights. The vampire thing makes them dangerous, but it's likely that the government sees them as a necessary evil. Prominent figures immediately notice the discord in the Mattei family, and the fact that Aleksis has white hair. His hair was originally black.

....the original Mattei founder had white hair...

Uh oh.

Linnea dances with a mysterious blond man who hasn't been introduced properly yet. He's someone who knows most of the vampire secrets. He wants to free Linnea fron the cursed north and all of its vampire drama.

There's also some lines that imply Count Mattei might not actually be dead. He could just be incapacitated in his own home. Aleksis and Linnea could be keeping him alive. We don't know, but Count Mattei is most definitely an enemy. He's a hyper religious maniac who enjoys the Blood Seed tradition.

Linnea cries in the middle of the ballroom, because she wants to be free. The blond man offers her freedom, and she wants it, despite her feelings for Aleksis. Linnea cries wayyyy too much, but I respect her desire to survive. It's clear that she doesn't want to live near the Mattei family.

Aleksis promised to protect her.

What if that means he has to let her go?

She is a commoner woman, after all. Not a noble with a stake in the future of the country. She suffers horribly in the Mattei house, despite Aleksis. He is never strong enough to protect her, no matter what he sacrifices.

Their relationship appears twisted beyond repair, despite their feelings.

It's great, but Linnea has to quit it with the water works. I'd rate this a 9 otherwise, but her character needs to be expanded upon. Aleksis gets lots of development and vampire powers. Linnea feels a little too boring in comparison.

[katyawriteswhump]

the power of love, part 3 (steddie, stobin, steve whump fic)

Steve has a habit of surviving near death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part one Part two Part four Part five Part six Part seven Part eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve

Chapter Three

Eddie POV

“You wanna thank me for saving your life, Munson? Then stop trying to ditch me.” 

Steve sinks a little deeper into the couch, and his eyes flutter closed. 

“Steve?” Eddie flails, then, before he knows it, he reaches out, brushing Steve’s hair from his clammy brow. He cups his face and gently jostles him. “Steve! Shit, you with me?”

“Stop hassling me,” Steve mumbles. He’s turned a shade paler, if that was even possible.

“Oh my God, what happened?” Robin finally returns with the bandages. “Steve?”

“Jesus, will you both stop yelling?” Steve moans softly. “Just… gimme a minute, okay?”

“Okay. I’m gonna try bandaging him up,” says Robin to Eddie. “Go find a blanket. You didn’t notice he’s massively shivering?”

Telling her how Steve took a turn for the worse real quick feels like a weak excuse. “Yeah. Blanket. Right.”

“Oh, and clean clothes. For both of you. Something for me, too? And… Oh my God, I guess we need supplies for a road trip.”

Eddie grabs the cover from Steve’ bed, some clothes already laid out, and delivers them downstairs. Steve mutters his thanks and drags the pants on, while the others avert their gazes uncomfortably. He collapses back down onto the couch. 

He’s stopped bitching. It must be bad.

Robin places a dressing over Steve’s wound, unfurls a long bandage. Eddie has to admit—he’s astonished by how collected she is. Granted, like earlier, she pulls a spectacular spectrum of grossed-out faces. Eddie sees how tender she’s trying to be, as she helps Steve to sit, starts winding the bandage around his midriff. And he gets it.

Dammit, how did some guy he loved to hate, turn out to be so easy to like?

Still jealous, Harrington.

Also, though the poor guy is struggling to remain conscious, Eddie still struggles not to ogle that body. Steve’s chest really is mega-hot. And how the heck can somebody’s wet hair retain so much shape and volume?

“You gonna go get those supplies,” asks Robin, “or stand there and gawp till Vecna swallows Hawkins whole?”

Eddie snaps his mouth shut, scurries off.

Rifling through Steve’s stuff feels totally audacious. While Steve’s bikini girl posters are not to his taste–cringe!–he’s not un-enjoying himself. He literally breathes in Steve on everything—his premium-brand clothes, the bedding, the whole room. And woah, what has his life come to when Eddie Munson is intimate enough with Steve Harrington to dig his scent?

He drags off his ruined Hellfire Club t-shirt over his head—not without a pang, because all the scrubbing in the world’s not gonna save that pretty baby. He catches a glimpse of himself in a mirror, and staggers back into the bed. Woah!

His hair is a car-wreck, his torso a mass of red wheals and scratches. Yet that truly is all his injuries are. They scarcely overshadow his ink. He sorts out his hair, for which Steve possesses some truly excellent tools of the trade, and then discovers Steve owns a thick leather belt with a chunky silver buckle that isn’t entirely un-metal. He looks weird and almost preppy in Steve’s clean, crisp clothes, but…

… you’re still gonna stick out like a long-haired loon’s sore thumb. 

He locates a roomy woolly hat, bundles his hair up beneath it, and grabs the rest of the supplies.

Downstairs, Robin fiddles to tie the ends of Steve’s fresh bandages. Steve, meanwhile, lies partially beneath the blanket, his arm flung across his face. Eddie’s alarm spikes, though he tries to keep it light: “For a self-confessed hater of bodily fluids, you are smashing it outta the stadium today, Buckley.”

She glances up, a portrait of anguish. “He’s getting worse.”

“Stop worrying,” mumbles Steve, sliding his hand from his eyes. Then his head flops limply to one side.

“Steve!” Robin shakes him. “Eddie, he’s out for the count! What do we do? Henderson just radioed, and there’s like, army guys in town, going house to house. He’s heard your name and Steve’s in radio chatter, which means Steve is right. They know he’s been helping you, probably me too. It’s only a matter of time before…”

Eddie tunes out, in order to control his own ballooning panic. Then he puffs out his cheeks, steels his resolution. “You two should stay. He needs help, and he’s in no way as much trouble as I am.”

“Steve really, really doesn’t wanna be arrested. He thinks we should stick together unless there’s absolutely no choice, and… where he goes, I go.”

“Seriously?”

“I made a promise! Oh, and obviously, going on the run with two guys riddled with possibly rabid bat-bites has always been a dream of mine.”

While he searches for car-keys, Eddie considers making a solo run for it. Astonishingly, though, he simply can’t do it. “Eddie the Banished might be back,” he mutters to himself, “but he doesn’t flee from friends in need anymore.”

They haul Steve up between them, each hooking an arm over their shoulders. In the garage, they manage to wrangle him into the backseat of a Lincoln Continental that JR Ewing would be totally proud of. Like most of the Harringtons’ possessions, it makes Eddie wanna hurl. They shove the supplies in the trunk, fix a couple of bikes to the roof.

“You sure you can drive this thing?” Robin slides into the backseat, awkwardly manoeuvring Steve’s head and shoulders in her lap.

“No sweat.” Eddie beams at her, like he means it. “One issue—how does this colossus start when you don’t have to hotwire it?”

After a few minutes, and a helluva lot of grinding in the gearbox, Eddie pulls jerkily off up the driveway. After that, they barely go a block before hitting trouble. Flashing emergency vehicle lights blind them at every turn, army trucks roll by, and the quickest routes out of town have been ruined by the earthquake or roadblocked anyway. Eddie performs a clumsy U-turn and heads back the way they came.

“Shiiiiit, what we gonna do?”

 “Eddie, he’s awake, but he’s gone really cold. Steve? Steve! He’s trying to tell me something.”

“Drop him off at the nearest hospital?”

“He made me promise,” hisses Robin, though she sounds more doubtful than ever. Then, to Steve, “Shhh, take it easy. Don’t try and… huh?”

Eddie drives randomly, avoids another roadblock, where the earthquake has swallowed a whole street. Robin says, “He wants us to go toward Lover’s Lake.”

“Whut? Oh, screw it. Why not? I’ve got a creeping suspicion this is gonna end in disaster, whatever we do.”

As they drive, several more emergency vehicles tear past. Each time, Eddie’s heart lurches to his mouth, and he further trashes the Lincoln’s gearbox. Somehow, though, they reach the wooded road that leads toward the lake. Robin is in full-on panic mode: “Eddie, he’s barely breathing.”

“Okay, okay, keep calm.” Eddie’s instructing himself every bit as much as her. “We’re nearly there. Nearly there, ’kay?”

When they pull up on the closet verge to the lake, he realises they’re screwed. Searchlights streak the forest. Clearly, manpower is pouring into Hawkins from all over the State, for disaster search and rescue… and to capture and destroy satanic ol’ me. Oh, and Steve Harrington, my unlikely henchman.

He twists to where Robin is desperately cuddling Steve to her.

“Robin, there’s no way we can get him to the lake without—”

“He seems better,” she says. “He’s breathing evenly again, like he’s sleeping rather than…”

…dying? A thick lump clogs Eddie’s throat.

“…than wheezing and gasping,” she finishes. “He’s getting warmer again, too.” A flashlight streaks the hood. “Oh shit, shit, shitbirds! They’re getting near! What do we do?” 

Somebody is indeed getting waaaay too close, and Eddie is at last on a relatively clear road out of town. He makes an executive decision, presses the pedal to the metal, and drives hard into the night.

Part 4

(also on AO3 here and as part of my steve whump fic series)

tags: @estrellami-1 (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know :) Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :) Thank you for reading so far.

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

A Khan By Any Other Name

a prequel to Star Trek: Into Darkness

mystery, suspense, danger ~ romance & NSFW material to follow

summary: Seraphina DiPietro is wise in the ways of the world; she has to be, as she travels the California coast as a torch singer in pubs, bars, and nightclubs. She knows how to take care of herself and stay out of trouble--most of the time. When trouble comes, it's usually because she lets her kind heart overrule her common sense. Stopping to check on a handsome stranger stranded roadside in the Mojave Desert, her curiousity is piqued as much by his classic, mint-looking Mustang, as by its driver--a tall, dark, mysterious drink of water, whom she quickly learns is so much more than he appears.

characters: Khan Noonien Singh (aka: John Harrison), Seraphina DiPietro (OC)

words: 1.9k

Chapter Two

“Drop it now,” he repeated, with the sure authority of a man accustomed to having his orders obeyed, “And I promise I will not hurt you.”

Despite his iron grip, Seraphina struggled to pull her arm away, hissing through teeth gritted against the pain, “Won’t hurt me?  You’re hurting me now.”

Harrison’s hold on her arm loosened some; she was still tightly caught, but the pressure of his grasp, the pain, had receded a fair bit—although she knew she’d find dark, finger-shaped bruises there in short order.  If she even lived that long. “Forgive me,” he told her, his voice low and even, “I’d forgotten how fragile your bones can be.”

What an odd thing to say, she thought, straining for release from his clutch and realizing it was all too impossible; she was no match for his strength, and even if she could manage to trigger the mace, she had no sure way to aim it properly.  She felt desperate, frightened tears well up in her eyes, but squeezed her eyes shut against them—for she would not give her assailant the satisfaction of her despair, nor would she beg for mercy.

He must’ve read that quiet resignation on her face, for he tugged her fist close and covered it with his free hand, urging her to see reason, “You cannot win this struggle, Seraphina.  Your resistance is futile; surely you understand this?”  Harrison’s voice was silk persuasion, rich and dark and seductive—at complete odds with the very real threat he presented.  “I could easily break your wrist and prize your little weapon from your fingers—but I honestly have no desire to hurt you. Just let it go.”  And then, to her great surprise, he added, “Please.”

Blinking through the tears that fell against her will, tears that betrayed weakness when she wanted to be strong, Seraphina met his eyes again.  His beautiful, deadly eyes—and saw in them an unexpected sincerity that matched his gentle “please”.  She bowed her head and opened her fist, leaving her key and the can of mace to fall onto the passenger seat.

“There—that wasn’t so difficult after all, was it?”  Why was his voice so soothing?  Fear of what he might do to her next coursed through her veins, yet Seraphina thought she could easily crumple to the ground, curl up into a fetal ball, and let his voice see her into untroubled darkness.  The heat, the fear, the adrenaline, the struggle—all of it had sapped her of the will to face whatever might come next.  She’d always believed it wasn’t in her nature to fall apart so quickly, but she felt that way now, all the same.

True to his word, Harrison released her arm, but Seraphina remained in place, braced against the passenger side door, shaking in the aftermath and considering her very limited options. She might try to make it to her hovercraft, but the stranger now held her key; and even if she had the strength to run and the speed to outpace him, to flee into the desert at her back would be equally as brutal as anything he might do to her. She'd have to make her stand right here, then--and though she was no match for his size and strength, she knew enough to leave him hurting before he took her down for good.

Taking stock of her condition--mentally preparing to fight him off as best she could--Seraphina flexed her left wrist carefully, wincing as she explored her tender forearm with cautious fingers. Nothing broken at least, though she felt a bone-deep ache; but it would not be enough to hamper any effort to defend herself.

Strangely, Harrison was ignoring her at the moment; having retrieved her keychain, he had torn the can of mace free with no effort, before hurtling it carelessly into the desert. Seraphina had a vivid image of her own broken, half-naked body flung just as easily and left upon the sand for carrion-eaters to feast upon. She shoved the idea down deep, knowing such fear would only cripple her--and was immediately dumbfounded when he held the key out to her.

"Did I not say I have no wish to harm you?" Harrison's eyes bored into her own, searching for calm and reasoned understanding. "In spite of how it appears, we are equally vulnerable in this place and situation. We must find a way to trust one another. " Sera only continued to regard him warily. "Take this," he insisted, "If I judge you correctly, simple concern for a traveler in need motivated you to stop. And in keeping with your nature, I believe that you will not deny me the help that I need."

Sera studied his face, looking for signs of deception, skittish to trust him but accepting his peace offering nevertheless. "You lied," she said, defiant yet holding her anger at bay, "This car isn't yours..."

Harrison nodded, his full lips pressed together against a small placid smile, "I never claimed that it was..."

"It's stolen," she fumed, irritated with herself for allowing him to so easily mislead her when her first instinct had been correct after all.

"An act of desperation, I assure you..."

"Just as this was," she exclaimed, extending her bruised forearm to him, "I have to wonder what happens to people who truly stand in your way, Mr. Harrison. "

Unruffled by her outburst, Harrison closed his eyes a moment and breathed deeply. When he looked to her again, he was the picture of patience. "I swear I have no desire to cause you--or anyone else--harm. But you must understand, I am in dire straits and as we linger here, my family is in imminent danger." He paused, weighing the effect of his words upon her. "Such a thing will make a man act beyond the measures of polite society."

Seraphina narrowed her eyes, skeptical of his revelation of a family, but suspending her disbelief for the moment, "How then? What sort of danger is your family in?"

"Their very lives hang in the balance, threatened by a powerful man who seeks to manipulate me into working for him." Embers of hate flashed in his eyes, and he gave a bitter huff as he added, "Forcing me to work toward the most nefarious of purposes."

Sera shook her head, clearing the double vision that had crept up on her; she cupped a trembling hand against her forehead, which came away slick with perspiration. It was the heat getting to her, obviously. She felt parched, although the thought of putting anything into her roiling stomach left her feeling even more nauseous, and her head was pounding in time with her racing pulse. She needed to get out of the goddamn heat before she collapsed from heat exhaustion--while the man before her looked completely unaffected by the desert climate. "And...and I suppose this mysterious man is so powerful that you can't seek help from the proper authorities?" Sera leaned all her weight against the car door, wondering if Harrison had noticed her current state of distress.

If he did, he gave no sign of it, a mix of pain and rancor coloring his strikingly handsome features. "So powerful that it would be in your best interest to remain ignorant as to his identity and position." Anticipating her next question, he warned her, "Do not ask--for I cannot reveal that information."

Though stymied by his vague replies--and sensing a much more complicated tale behind what he'd already admitted to--Sera read blunt honesty in his voice and body language. And the fact that he had willingly returned her key while asking for--rather than demanding--her help, seemed a testament to some underlying truth. She realized that she likely had only a few more minutes until she passed out, leaving her completely at Harrison's mercy. "Then how...how did you end up here, stranded in the Mojave," Sera asked, panting softly, "How does any of this help your family?"

He was watching her closely now, so that he had to aware that she was fading fast. "That is a rather long and complicated tale, Seraphina." His voice had again taken on a lulling pitch. "One which I believe would outlast your capacity to remain on your feet."

She held on to the window frame, white-knuckled but determined to remain upright long enough to learn his hidden agenda. "I'm fine...I...I'm just a little light-headed..."

"Step aside now, Seraphina." Again, that tone of a man whose orders were obeyed without question. "You have little time left before you lose consciousness." His hand was already on the door handle, and she stumbled back in time for him to swing the door open.

Then he was looming over her, a tall, cooling shadow, reaching out to brace her. His touch this time was firm, while surprisingly gentle. "We need to get you out of this heat." Unexpected concern in is stunning eyes, calming concern in his voice. The man was a beautiful enigma.

"No...please...tell me. If...if you want me to trust you..." Her world was darkening around the edges, narrowing so that only his face remained in her field of vision. "If you want me to help...I need...I need to know..." Seraphina felt herself going, and as her consciousness fled, so did her fear and curiousity; only one need remained. She sobbed against him as he scooped her up into his arms, "But you promised...you promised not to hurt me again..." Her eyes fluttered shut as she slipped away from awareness.

Harrison strode swiftly towards her hovercraft, cradling her as softly as he could, knowing that the cool, dark interior was the quickest remedy at hand for what ailed her. "Oh, pretty little Seraphina," he murmured, brushing his lips against her dampened hair, inhaling the sweet scent of jasmine and honey, relishing how light and easy she felt in his arms. "Hurting you is the least likely thing I have planned."

(to be continued)

If you enjoyed this, please reblog ~ it's the only way others can see this work.💟

tagging: @icytrickster17 @ironstrange1991 @strangelockd @groovy-lady @aphroditesdilemma @stewardofningishzida @battledress @mousedetective @dearmrsstephenstrange @lorelei-lee @mckiwi @shinebrightlikeafanbase @cumberbatchitis @doctorhelm @strangeflashholmes221 @prulock @stargirl-designs @hajile10 @dancingmushu @iloveavengersblog @fireonmybones @osugahunnyicedtea @brayleigh14

(There were a few more blogs that I tried to tag based on the response to chapter one, but tumblr's messed up url search function kept telling me 'no blog found'🤨)

[kaeyas-beloved]

Class 1-A with reader who's a high school detective? Or rather, UA's secret high school detective? Kinda like with Detective Conan! She helps the police solve cases, which she always gets right not through any Quirk but through logic and smarts. It's possible that she has a lot of excuse notes if she's ever late for school, or if she has to leave early to help with an extremely serious case. I bet a bunch of kids will be jealous until they figure out the reason behind her absences,

Characters: Class 1A

Genre: General/Humor/Fluff + Fic/Bulletpoints

CW: gn!reader (you/your/they/them)

a/n: 1) I've never actually watched Detective Conan (yet)! Is it any good? 2) This idea kinda grew on me when I started writing this, I think it's a really cool idea. Thank you for requesting anon, I'm really sorry for the long wait and I hope you enjoy! (and sorry for any OOCness, it's been some time since I watched BnHA but I still wanted to finish this)

Class 1A w/ a Secret Detective Reader

"Heyyyy it's (L/N)! On time for once are ya?" instantly your head snapped up at the cheerful call, blond hair with a streak of black catching your eye. Finishing off a note within the margin, you straighten and stretch for the first time in what felt like weeks. Both hearing and feeling that oh so satisfying pop you relax, offering the male and the group behind a tired smile. Briefly, you couldn’t help but wonder how Kaminari (and honestly everyone else) had so much energy this early in the morning. Though, upon remembering that they don't spend hours pouring through case files you brush the thought away quickly.

"Hmph, that's a first," the spiky, rough-around-the-edges ash blond tuts. You pay his comment no mind, something between a tired huff and a laugh passes through your lips, it's not like he's wrong.

"Heh, the world must be ending." Though you spoke in nothing but a mutter most heard your follow up. Good natured laughter fills the room, you included in its chorus.

It’s no secret that you're tardy more often than not. At the beginning, most didn’t know how to interpret your routine of a flimsy excuse notes in hand and a rushed apologizing. Were you not used to early morning classes? Traffic hold you up? Are you late on purpose perhaps?

“No, no and no,” you reassured one afternoon. Then why? someone asked, to which you left them with a flamboyant “I'm saving the world!” Everyone was quick to drop it back then - not out of respect, but because they knew if they're getting a dumb, zealous answer like that then they can kiss a real answer goodbye.

Of course, behind the scenes many were dying to know your real reasons. They theorized, sharing their thoughts with one another when you aren’t around. Hell, Kaminari, Mina, Sero and a select few all going as far as to make a post it board, red sting tying info together and all. After all, if Aizawa is always there, ready to deliver a quick and light scolding the second you try to sneak to your seat mid-lesson, it can't be that bad, right? Unfortunately, to this day your secret remains shrouded in mystery.

Your sly joke from mere moments ago sparked a large, seemingly never-ending conversation with the class. In your defense, you did try to stay on task, but really, how could you not spend some time with your friends? Not to mention that it's been far too long, the police and UA keeping you busy. A break is just what you need to stay in tip-top shape.

Attention pulled far from your gloomy detective work, the atmosphere felt light, carefree within the room as everyone talked and had fun. A welcomed change.

The rolling of the classroom doors puts an abrupt stop to the merriment. Being around long enough to know the routine, every teen made their way to their respective seats.

Aizawa said nothing at first, standing dead in his spot in the doorway. No one dared to whisper their concerns about if something happened, but it was safe to say everyone felt on edge.

Finally, he speaks, "(L/N)."

At once their world came to a screeching halt, twenty pairs of eyes darting between yourself and the teacher. Other than when you're late, you never get called out right off the bat, never mind the tone used.

Silence stretched on for several agonizing seconds, not one soul making a sound. Tension only rose when a few caught sight of the police chief out in the hall, additional officers on either side.

Shock morphs into fear. What's happened? Are you in trouble? Have you done something wrong? Got mixed up with the wrong crowd? With each new thought that pops up in their minds a disgustingly familiar feeling grows, threatening to consume them whole. Just as a group of students open their mouths to finally say something, defend your innocence, demand answers, the squeak of your chair being pushed back cuts it all off.

…How are you so calm?

Clear as day you appear unbothered. As if it doesn't appear that your arrest is upon you. So, is it just a cover? A way to hide the fear pumping through your system?

As you stand and walk further and further away from them all, Aizawa hot on your heels, the class is left to wonder if history is repeating. Are they about to be so paralyzed that they'll fail to protect a friend once more?

"Don't do anything stupid. We'll be back shortly," Aizawa's gruff voice says and the door shuts.

-- --

They're already planning your prison break, the sweethearts <3

Most rationale has left the room since no explanation makes sense other than worst-case :/

It's Bakugou - who just so happens to sit next to you - and all his smarts that loudly demands everyone to "calm the hell down", quickly adding that "they're not going to jail you cry-babies, they work for them."

Of course that does nothing to remedy the situation. What does Bakugou know? It takes the ash-blond shoving your discarded case documents into everyone's unsuspecting faces for them to believe him.

Cue a loud chorus of "THEY'RE A DETECTIVE!?" Which is true, you are in fact a detective. Or, a part-time one at least, if the scrawled Detective Work in your writing was anything to go by. Safe to say some of your closest friends are somewhat hurt you didn't tell them. Don't worry they get over it quickly, they've plenty of time to harass you, seeing as you’ve just walked back into the room.

And seeing how everyone is staring at you, multiple papers scattered between the group it's not hard to piece things together.

"The cat's outta the bag I suppose," you get ready for the storm that's coming your way, sitting back down and taking a deep breath.

No teaching was done that day.

Like most reveals that happen, things settle back to normal after a week. Now instead of getting asked why you were late your friends are asking for all the juicy details of your case (none of which you can actually tell them). Doesn't stop some from asking every time though,,,,

Feel free to talk to them seriously. You might not be able to tell them much, but if you're in a slump and need to talk it out with someone they're more than willing to listen. You'll either figure it out on your own or they'll end up saying something that makes everything click :)

You're no longer just UA's detective but Class 1-A's personal super sleuth now. Something's missing? Better call Sherlock Holmes. And with this bunch, you're going to get called a lot. You could make a profit if you started to charge them :|

I can definitely see them bringing you snacks/meals and something to drink if you're stuck working long hours or late into the night <3 Like they'll see your light on and they'd make sure to stop by the kitchen just so they can drop off something for you on their way back.

Stressful or upsetting case? These guys are the best at distracting you. Bakusquad will drag you out to play some video games in one of their rooms or at an arcade. If that's not something you're into or you're not in the mood you can always train with someone and let out some steam that way. Or or or the girls will gladly take you out shopping with them!

Many are more than willing to help you catch up on classwork. They understand that balancing class, being a detective for the school and an internship is no easy task

If you're ever gone for a long period of time because your work takes you out of town or something be ready for a warm welcome back and hugs the moment you walk through the door :)

Oh, and you're absolutely right Anon, no less than 80% of the class is jealous you get to leave early and they remain that way even after learning why lol. "Oh to be a detective and get to leave early!" Literally all of them at one point or another with their own way of saying it.

Tag list: @tickotaku // @decora-peaches // @dorkylittleweirdo // @thylocalcrackhead // @that-enby-alien // @xenuuu // @unidentifiedzombie // @lordbugs // @akiria12167

. . .

Wanna be tagged in future works? Consider filling out this form! And if you want to be removed just DM or send an ask into my inbox!

[adelinevw7]

the only flower that blooms in hell

This was a legend far, far older than she was. Its origins were lost to time and repeated telling had muddied the details, but she could attest that most of it was real—after all, Sakura Haruno had contributed to its unweaving.

Because now, nothing remained of all the legend’s mysteries. Now, she slept in the tender embrace of an erstwhile terror, marveling at him: the way the light of dawn settled softly on this shapely mass of dreaming man, whose legs were tangled up with hers under the covers of their marriage bed.

She had conquered the beast, and the spoils were all hers.

Sakura could scarcely believe it, but here they were: released from the snare of enchantments, free to embark upon the rest of their lives unstoried.

But first there was the tale, the terrible tapestry before her touch had unraveled it. Thus we return to the beginning.

***

Once upon a time, a tyrant king ruled over his lands without mercy. He was as beautiful as he was cruel, with eyes clear and dark as a winter’s night, and pale unblemished skin. His stature was likewise unmatched. In all the land, there was no one who stood as his peer in strength and agility—who could mount a horse and wield a sword as well as he did.

The monarch’s name was Sasuke Uchiha.

All those who lived within his domain were compelled to bend to his will: from the lowliest peasant to the wealthiest noble. So absolute was his power that nothing mattered save what he wished—not even the most heartrending plea could move him, nor the most meritorious display of skill.

Or so the stories held.

But there came a time when an old sorceress knocked at the doors of his castle, seeking shelter. On a whim, the king allowed the crone entry, but soon turned her out upon seeing her face. She had given no name, but he thought he recognized her features—wasn’t this hag of the Senju, the ancient enemy of his house? So Sasuke sent his knights to whipping her, until her back was bloodied and shredded into ribbons. Then she was thrown out onto the road, to fend for herself against the king’s own hounds.

“Away with you, Senju scum! The likes of you have no claim to my hospitality!”

The woman met the despot’s gaze with a slippery smile, her eyes gleaming with foreknowledge.

“So be it, brat. But you will regret this.” Her tongue slid across her bloodstained bottom lip, erasing the red. She bared her teeth at Sasuke, and despite himself, he shivered in the face of her stare. “Your rottenness will become manifest, Uchiha boy: on your form and in your mind. You will wish, very dearly, that you did not cross me—oh! And you will find no salvation on your own!”

She laughed, sounding younger and more hale than her appearance suggested. The king and his guard knights stood frozen to the spot as she went on, “Nothing will ease your suffering henceforward… except if you find yourself a flower that willingly blooms in hell!”

The crone vanished after that, seemingly into the mist. As soon as she had gone, the king sank to the ground, bent by a sudden affliction. A yell tore itself out of his mouth as the cracking of bones commenced, twisting his tall frame into a wretched hunch. His fingers curled into his palms as he fought the urge to scratch at his skin, which was slowly being covered by coarse and wiry fur. He threw his head back, eyes flashing open to reveal the blood-red irises of a predator, framed by ghoulish yellow sclera.

“Damn you, Senju witch!” The sound that burst from his throat hardly sounded human. Sasuke thrashed and growled as his robes gave way to burgeoning flesh. Even the stoutest of his knights shrank back from him in terror.

“Damn you!”

The curse had begun.

.

.

.

.

.

read the rest of it here:

[bg-brainrot]

WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 16: More than Friends Pt. 2

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence, death mentions/violence, a metric shit ton of exposition, lots of feelings

WC: 7.9k words, 16/?? chapters

Summary: After talking through the previous night's tryst, emotions are confused, pasts are divulged, and everything comes to a head when your heart and soul want different things.

A/N: I know I put this warning in ch 1, but warning that the smut is always going to be more about their ~feelings~ than actual smut, so like, be forewarned and don’t expect too much 🔥!

Ao3 | [Ch15][Ch17] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

You wake up for your eighteenth day with Astarion noting the distinct lack of Astarion at your side.

Where he had been laying last night, you only see the vague outline of his shape in the sheets. The sight is enough to sink your stomach to the ground as the morning clarity hits.

Gods below, why did we do that? you think to yourself, gripping your face between your hands.

It had been too much too fast. Everything had happened so quickly, so desperately, that you can’t recall anything outside of his single-minded drive to devour you. You yourself had been in such a frenzy to forget, that you haven’t the faintest how Astarion might be feeling right now.

You knew going into this that he might never feel any love for you at all, romantic or otherwise– That was a risk you had been willing to take. Last night was just another risk you had been willing to take... Right?

But hells are you afraid that that risk came at the cost of all of your efforts thus far. You're a grown adult, you made your choice in the heat of the moment, but is it so bad that you regret it in the stark light of day?

And what a moment it had been– like nothing mattered except feeling alive in his arms. It was enough for you to lose yourself, feel like someone you weren’t and could never be. But you fear that it's gone a step too far this time. You hadn't even determined if you loved the man. Did you?

You sit with that question for a few minutes, staring off into space.

Eventually your stomach grumbles, and, after not having eaten at all the day before, you know you need to get up.

What am I going to say to him? you wonder, getting out of bed and heading to your wardrobe. You notice the previous day’s robes strewn across the floor haphazardly and your mind swims with images of last night.

What if he regrets it completely? Am I ready for that? you think, trying your best to shove down all images of his beautiful pale face, shiny with sweat and overexertion.

Your body aches and you notice marks from Astarion's bruising lips littering your body in trails– yet more proof of what you'd done. Will he even want to talk to me?

Dressed, spells readied, and stomach screaming for relief, you leave your room for the kitchen. You decide that if Astarion joins you, you won't avoid him, but you're not quite prepared to seek him out just yet.

When you open your door, you find the man waiting for you, leaning against the opposite wall with a book in hand.

The book snaps closed. "Good morning," he says, a cheery tone betraying none of his real emotions. "Mortal meal time is it?"

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. 

The air is awkward, the previous night all but playing on loop in your head as you follow him to the kitchen. Astarion's posture remains straight, his eyes forward as he walks, and you wonder what he's thinking. If his thoughts are as lurid as your own.

The silence continues as you enter the kitchen.

It persists even as you prepare your meal.

You sit down after putting together your breakfast, unsure if you should be the one to break the silence or he should be.

After what feels like an eternity, he does so. “That was a mistake, wasn’t it?”

You knew this was a possibility. That Astarion wasn’t in his right mind when faced with loss. But it still doesn’t make your insides churn any less. It doesn’t twist your heart any less. “It might have been,” is all you can offer in response, distracting yourself with a spoonful of eggs.

Astarion considers you for a moment, as if he hadn't expected you to agree that easily. He clears his throat and continues, “We just were caught up in the moment.”

“We were,” you offer numbly, thinking of how the moment practically picked you up and threw you over its shoulder– at the very least of how Astarion threw your leg over his shoulder.

He watches you shuffle the eggs about your plate, waiting for you to say more. When you don't, he sighs and continues, “I was mad and I took it out on you. Mind you, I am still quite upset at you.”

Oh good, you think. Not only is he crushing every piece of my heart, but he’s also planning to blame himself and lecture me. You only focus on the blame, “You didn’t do anything of the sort.”

You don’t look up to see his expression, but if his tone is any indication, he’s getting frustrated. “I think we need some time to sort out… well, all of this. Should we take some time apart today?”

“Perhaps," you say, finally looking up from your plate to see his rich red eyes as conflicted as you feel currently. You half expect him to protest his own suggestion, to change his mind, for something to happen here–but it doesn't. He simply scoots his chair back.

“To be entirely honest, I don’t really want to.” He chuckles humorlessly as he gets up. “I’ve gotten quite… used to you being around. Though I don’t suppose ‘used to you’ is what you want to hear?”

“Not particularly,” you admit, though you're not certain what you do want to hear either.

He gives an uncomfortable nod and turns away from you. “I shall see you later then?”

“You shall,” you agree. You find that you don’t have a lot of words for him– Nothing that would make either of you feel better at least. All you do find is an ache deep in your chest, an ache comprised of regret and fear.

That's how you finish the rest of your breakfast alone, lost in thoughts ranging from the feel of his tongue tracing your body to how royally everything has gone to the Nine Hells.

You spend the rest of the day holed up in your room, practicing your magic, cursing yourself for falling into such a vulnerable position. To destroy everything you'd built with Astarion with your weakness was a sin you may never fully atone for.

__

On your nineteenth day in the house, you expect Astarion to avoid you again. After all, for you a single day apart had only led you deeper and deeper into a pit of guilt.

For Astarion, one day was clearly more than enough.

"Good morning, darling," he says, as you open your door. Unlike yesterday's cheer, this one seems genuine. "Right as rain now, aren't we?"

You raise an eyebrow at him, sure that you don’t look right as rain. You likely look like someone who couldn’t fall into their reverie all night and subsequently spent it cleaning clothes, foot by foot, with the Prestidigitation cantrip. “Are we?” you ask him, disbelieving.

“I certainly am,” Astarion says with a fanged smile. “I’ve taken some time to myself. To, ugh, think about things.” He gives a dramatic little eye roll, but you note a gulp run down his throat– he’s nervous.

Gods above, you think. This is it. The final blow he delivers as he tells me to leave and never return.

“While I won’t lie and say something saccharine about how much I love you, I think I know what I can do,” he says, giving you a sad, anxious little smile. “Can I come in?”

You nod, surprised at the turn in conversation. Why is he so nervous? You allow him past you into the room. Trying your best not to think about the last time Astarion was in this room, you follow. 

Luckily, you’ve cleaned the room thoroughly, folded all of your robes, even laid the Sending Stone on top for its return to Dalyria. If you didn’t know any better, nothing at all happened in this room a few nights ago. You sit on your bed, turn to him, and say, “So what exactly did you have in mind?”

"Yes, well, I've decided I know what I need to do to help me… move on," he says, expression uncertain despite his words. You distantly recall a memory of Astarion and your past-self making love on his grave, and you're momentarily horrified at what his idea might be. Seeing the look on your face, he clicks his tongue and says, "Stop that. Whatever you're imagining is certainly not it."

“Okay,” you start, moving over on the bed to make room for him, patting it as an invitation. “What did you have in mind?”

Astarion takes the spot next to you and says, “I think I need to tell you how your past-life died. To… process it in a way.”

You think you must have heard him wrong. Surely he isn’t about to answer the question you’d asked him nearly two weeks ago, the one that all but stabbed him in the heart? But he is, because he looks at you, eyes clouded over with sadness and perhaps a few tears. You can feel the determination in his gaze.

“I would really appreciate that,” you respond, honestly, but not too eagerly. “Whatever you can tell me.”

He settles in and you see his mouth work, as if tasting the words on his tongue before he commits to them. Eventually he says, “They died an early death, as you know.”

You know, but you also don’t plan on rushing this conversation, so you nod along. You debate holding his hand as a means of support, but decide against it, simply leaving your hand between you in case he needs it.

“They were… getting something,” he continues, and you can feel the hesitation as he gets the words out, red eyes darting toward you and away again. You can’t help but wonder how much of your day apart he’d spent trying to prepare for this. How much pain he had rehashed to try to right things between you.

“What were they getting?” you ask, tentatively. Something about the way he holds back makes you wonder if it’s because he finds it difficult to talk about or because he simply doesn’t want to offer the information.

“Does it matter?” Astarion replies, with a little wave of his hand. “All that matters is that they wanted it more than anything. Certainly more than I did.”

His voice turns bitter toward the end, and you regret prodding. Perhaps, at least while he opens up, you shouldn’t tread any further than necessary. All you can do is keep the conversation flowing and take a step back as Astarion explains. “They went to go get this… thing then?”

“Naturally,” he says with a sigh. “Where we were– you’re familiar with necromantic magic I presume?”

“Yes.” It’s certainly not your area of expertise, but you've studied it well enough. 

“We were in a place filled with it.” His voice grows distant, gaze settling somewhere in the far corner of the room as he recalls the events of the day. “Normally, it wouldn’t bother me– undead and all. But it chilled us both to our very bones. I wanted to turn back. We should have turned back.”

You hear the regret plain as day. The words he’s not saying, I should have convinced them. 

Astarion’s voice is flat as he continues, “But they insisted.”

“Of course,” you say, remembering your dreams. They had prepared. They had researched. Surely they wouldn’t have turned back at the eleventh hour. “They thought they could do it.”

He snorts and turns his head back to you. “I always end up with fools, don’t I?” You try not to let your heart thrill at the idea that you’re the other fool. “Yes, they did. And I… I got mad. I left them on their own. Maybe they would still be alive if I had stayed with them.”

There it is again, the regret. You wish you could clean the slate, wipe away whatever poisonous thoughts have burrowed into his mind in the past 150 years. But such is easier wished than done. “You might both have died.”

“Would that have been so bad?” he mutters a bit too pensively for your comfort. You want to respond, but he continues before you can, “I’m but a selfish man, darling. I’m not above resting on my laurels. I grew complacent. They never did.”

You can’t imagine they would– find it hard to imagine yourself growing complacent either, but you could hardly say so to Astarion. “So… what happened after you left them?”

A shaky breath. “They went off on their own to find what they wanted. By the time I heard their call for help, I was too late to make it back.” He drops his eyes to the floor before you, and you’re left unsure what to do, what to say. You recall your dream, his panicked cries as he searched for you, and you can’t help but get lost in the memory yourself.

“I dreamt that,” you finally say. “I heard you coming for me, but I couldn’t move, could barely breathe. I had no idea what was happening to me.”

“It was a trap,” he says as a way of explanation. “A Cloudkill that overtook the entire room. The doors locked, there was no leaving, no healing. By the time I managed to find them and get in, they were….”

They were practically dead already, your mind supplies easily. You want to say sorry, but how could you apologize? You know who they were, he knows who they were– their death wasn’t something Astarion could have prevented, any more than they could have forced him to do something he didn’t want to. So you don’t apologize, merely put a hand over his and squeeze.

He seems to appreciate the gesture, squeezing your hand back, lifting his head a bit, and continuing, “They told me to get out and I did. Maybe it was cowardice, maybe it was survival instinct.” He shakes his head, looking at your intertwined hands. “But if I hadn’t gotten out when they told me to, I likely would have died too.”

“Thank you,” you say. “For listening to them.”

He smiles at you, sadly, before continuing his tale. “I went back to retrieve them after disabling the traps, but it was too late to Revivify and the body was too damaged for Raise Dead. The necromantic magic ran deep– even Gale had no idea on how to counteract it.”

You wonder where they possibly could have been that even an archmage like Gale didn’t know what to do. And what in the hells could have been so important that they sought out such a place?

“I’m so sorry. You did all that you could,” you say, knowing full well that platitudes were meaningless when faced with such a loss. You hope they are some kind of comfort to him anyway.

Astarion’s cold hand leaves yours as he turns his whole body to face you on the bed. “No, I didn’t.“ His expression is hard as he continues, voice filled with anger, “I should have fought them. I should have assured them we didn’t need to be there. And if I wasn’t enough for them, I should have made myself enough for them.”

He looks to be on the verge of tears, eyes lined in pink, moisture pooling at the corners. You had already struggled to find the words before, but in the face of his real, physical pain, you are left speechless, as if your throat is filled with sand.

You’re suddenly reminded of one of the reveries you’d had all those years ago– of how your former self couldn’t stop weeping after witnessing Astarion’s heartache and pain upon killing Cazador. Again, it’s as if his pain is your pain, and you can feel rivulets of tears begin to spill down your cheeks. “Astarion…”

The vampire is surprised to see your tears, his red eyes opening wide as he reaches out to cup your face. “Darling, please don’t cry,” he begs, thumbing away each tear as it begins to drop.

You would stop crying if you had any sort of control over these tears, but you don’t. Your heart aches for him, for his grief. More than anything, you wish you could take the pain away. 

An ill-timed thought flits through your mind, asking you the question, so you do love him?

You haven’t the time to ponder it, because Astarion is frantically trying to distract you, his own tears dry before they even touch his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I thought that this would be helpful. It’s been a bit of a disaster, hasn’t it?”

You shake your head, still trapped between his hands. “No, I’m sorry. I–I didn’t mean to–” your voice comes out thick with tears and you swallow to collect yourself. “I didn’t mean to derail you, I just–” You just what? Care for him? Worse yet, love him? The words die on your lips and you simply shake your head again.

Astarion takes your silence as something else entirely. “You have no need to apologize. You’re right. I don’t have the right to blame myself. I suppose it’s easier than facing the alternative.”

You wipe away your last lingering tears and look at him intently. “The alternative?” you can’t help but ask, unsure of where Astarion’s mind is heading.

“That nothing I could have done would have mattered. That our love alone could simply never be enough,” he says, dropping his hands from your face. He looks at you with a miserable, wry smile, a smile hiding decades worth of pain.

You want to say, no, that that could never be the case. That their love was present until their very dying breath. But they’re all statements you’ve said before, statements that Astarion couldn’t and wouldn’t believe. So instead you ask him, “Why would you think that?”

“Because they were misguided,” he answers, his smile dropping a smidge. “They thought that they always needed to… help. They thought they were helping, but couldn’t see beyond that. I didn’t want their help, I just wanted them.”

His words have a beautiful, painful honesty to them, and you wonder if he’s ever said them aloud to anyone before. You would consider yourself lucky to have heard them, if only it wasn’t your soul that caused them. “I know it doesn’t mean much coming from me,” you begin, gauging his expression as you speak. “But I could feel their love for you in every dream. It was their love for you that brought me here.” In your mind you think, It’s their love for you that confuses my own feelings, even still.

Astarion looks at you, eyes soft as he absorbs your words. “Yes. I know that deep down somewhere, I suppose.” Then, after one more shaky breath, he stands up. “Well, that’s enough of that. That was utterly exhausting, wasn’t it?” he says with a laugh.

“Are we… done?” you ask, getting up after him. You still had so many questions, so many pieces of the puzzle were still missing.

He simply looks back at you with pursed lips and says, “What did you expect? A full reenactment? Gods darling, I’m talented, but not that talented.”

You blink at him, all but frozen in place as you debate what to do. You can’t push him of course. Not only would it not be right, but you find that you don’t want to. He’s relived enough of his past today. But you also can’t let this lie while so many truths are still buried, waiting for you to uncover them.

I need to send a message to Dal tonight, arrange a meeting with her , you think. I’ll do it while Astarion is asleep. After all, what’s one more sleepless night for a scholar like yourself?

You finally follow after Astarion, as he already speaks of your plans for the day. He asks you what you’ll be having for breakfast, you answer casually. You’re surprised by how easily you go on about your day, almost forgetting what happened between you.

Of course, you can’t forget entirely. Every once in a while you catch his eye and a blush runs up your neck, or your hands brush and you jolt back as if you’d been hit by a Shocking Grasp– but he seems no different and life continues.

You even manage to give him a bit of blood, by the wrist again, after insisting you’re well enough. He only drinks a bit and complains the entire time that you’re too weak for it. So when you’re left a little woozy and lightheaded, you try your best to pretend otherwise. In the end, the two of you spend the day rather leisurely, reading and chatting, acting as if nothing transpired between you at all.

Maybe, just maybe, everything wasn’t ruined. Maybe you could move on with the remainder of your time here, then figure out what to do going forward.

Your heart hurts and you know that you haven’t put all of your issues to rest, but the peace is welcome so you embrace it.

That night you send Dal a message using a Sending spell, “Hi Dal, it’s me. It’s time we talked. Can you come over while Astarion is in his reverie?”

Her response is succinct, “Yes, I’ll stay up. Let me know when, and I shall head over.”

__

It’s technically your twentieth day in the house when Dal quietly slips through the illusory wall, tiptoes past Astarion, and makes her way to you.

You wait for her, holding your breath the entire time, lest Astarion wake up in a fury. You’d hoped that he would eventually be more amenable to your meeting with Dal, but after learning more about your previous death, you suspect that that may not be the case.

Dal meets you in the hallway, and you head to your room together. Once inside, you both exhale the breaths you had been holding.

“Thank you so much for meeting me, Dal,” you say, leading her to sit on the couch before the hearth. “And thank you for tending to my wounds after that fight.”

She shakes her head at you and takes a seat. “No, thank you. I knew you would help us, regardless of whatever Astarion said. I’m just sorry you got hurt at all.”

You smile at her in response, glad that she understands how much you care. “Think nothing of it. I’m only sorry I didn’t prepare more appropriately for the situation. But I suppose we can blame Astarion for that.”

You both chuckle at the man’s expense, understanding his stubborn, rash nature easily. It’s almost as if you’re laughing with an old friend. Perhaps you were old friends, seeing as your previous life’s relationship with her is why you asked her to meet you.

She looks at you with a warm smile, and you suspect she probably feels similarly. I guess she was something of a sister-in-law, wasn’t she? you think. You dare not say it aloud though.

“So,” you begin, folding your hands together in your lap. “From what I understand, you worked with my past-self on… something. I’ll confess, I don’t have any details. But I want to help the colony as much as I did in my past-life, could you shed some light on what we were working on?”

“I’m happy to help,” Dal says. “Though I’m not entirely sure where to start.”

“Maybe with my death?” you hazard. “Astarion was… evasive.”

“He spoke of it?” she says, surprise coloring both her tone and expression.

You nod. “He gave me a few details, but he wasn’t very clear at moments. I could tell he was avoiding something.”

Dal looks down sadly, her lips pressed together in a worried line. “It makes sense. Astarion blames himself for your death, as you may have guessed.” She wrings her hands together for a moment before continuing “For separating from you, for letting you take on the burden that he feels should have been his.”

“But why should it have been his?” you ask, pleadingly. “I know I loved you all. And beyond that, I could tell, it was somehow for him as well.”

“He never saw it that way,” she says, shaking her head. “Regardless, I’m glad he spoke to you of it, even if he wasn’t the most forthcoming.”

You thought as much when he spoke to you, that it was likely the first time in over a hundred years he’d uttered those words. It was a privilege you wouldn’t take lightly, and, despite what he may believe, why you needed to talk to Dal. “So, let’s start at the beginning then. What was my mission with Astarion?”

“Right,” Dal says, looking up at you with determination. She’s certainly sad, she must have loved you dearly, but unlike Astarion, she also seems to have overcome her grief. Her words come out factual, practical. “You were on a mission to an ancient wizard’s tower to find a means to make some sort of enhanced sunlight rings– ones specifically for vampires– that would be able to quell our thirst for blood.”

“That… exists?”

“Truth be told, we weren’t sure,” she says, furrowing her brows somewhat apologetically. “It was all but a myth. However with 7000 spawn to feed and a giant target on our backs as a result, we were open to finding anything.”

Gods, that would… that would have solved so many problems. Not only would the spawn not have to worry about their ever-present hunger, but they might not even have been seen as a threat anymore. They could have even lived normal lives in the city, not hiding in the Underdark for survival.

But it all sounds too good, the spawn aren’t running about the city, and Dal's use of past tense doesn't bode well to you. “Was it a myth after all of that?”

“Well, the wizard turned out to be a necromancer." Ah, one of the bad ones, you can't help but think. "One who was obsessed with undead, vampires included. He’d clearly done a lot of research on vampirism and we were able to find some of his notes and journals on your… erm, body.” You can tell she’s uncomfortable speaking of you as if you’re dead, but she also can’t seem to separate you from your past self.

“Oh, that’s great then. Isn’t it?” you say, head perking up as you sense a puzzle just waiting for you to solve it. “Have you reached an impasse on figuring out his notes? I could help–”

She interrupts you before you can get too far. “It seems that his research, his secret formula or what have you– it was all useless, hocus pocus from a demented wizard. Sorry, no offense.”

“None taken.” I think. “Could they have been in code or something like that?”

"We took the notes to Gale once and he didn't see any rhyme or reason to them. Just another part of why Astarion was so mad. It felt like you sacrificed yourself for nothing."

The words sit between you for a moment. Had they sacrificed themself for nothing? They still had believed in their mission, even in their dying moments. You're sure of it.

You break the silence between you, “So… when you met me down in the cells, why did you want my help?”

“Because that can't have been it. I refuse to believe that that's how it ends," she says, with a fervor you hadn't expected from her. "Myself and the rest of my siblings, we’re still hopeful. We can’t keep living like this forever– you’ve seen the situation. We can’t hunt or we’ll risk exposing ourselves. We can’t defend ourselves without making ourselves out to be an even bigger threat. We’ve been surviving for the past several centuries. We would like to live.”

You nod vehemently, recalling the hunger you saw, the very conflict you were in just a few days ago. “I understand. What can I do to help then?”

“Well, maybe it's too hopeful, but I always thought there might be something in here. Right?” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a massive stack of papers, notebooks, journals, diagrams. "Maybe you left us something. Something that would help us figure it out, or set us on our next steps. You knew more than any of us by the end of your life. We couldn’t piece it all together, but if you have the memories… maybe you can.”

The stack grows as Dal continues to add papers atop it, and your nerves tingle with excitement. “What is all of this?”

“It’s your old research. Every note you took, every time you tried to design a ring or an alternative solution for us. I made sure Astarion couldn’t burn it or bury it.” She smiles at you proudly, and you're certain your mouth is agape.

You’re baffled. This was practically your life's work– such a big part of your life that is just completely missing from your memories. “How is it that I never learned about this in my reveries?"

"Perhaps you didn’t understand it. We spoke in code, wrote in code. The risk of being associated with a dark myth about vampirism was only liable to get the colony caught. As a result, only a handful of us were involved.” She ponders for a second. "Really just my siblings, yourself, and Gale."

You take the papers and start to sift through them, unable to read much of anything. Still, you know the enormity of this gift, can feel a thrill run up your spine at the sight of familiar handwriting. “This is amazing,” you say. "But how am I to read it all?"

The woman hands you a slip of blank paper. "This is a cipher. You can activate it using a light source. Memorize it, then burn it once you're done."

Turning the blank paper in your hand, you want more than anything to light it now, start to work, but you carefully tuck it in your bag for use later. "Thank you," you say with a slight bow to your head. “I don't know what I might uncover that you haven't already, but I'll try my best with the time I have left here…" You try not to think of your dwindling window of opportunity and instead focus on the task at hand.

This is a chance. A way to help those in need and, as much as Astarion has resisted, help him as well. He may not be starving like some of the spawn, he may have a life of relative ease, but you've seen the hunger in his eyes, the way that his tongue runs over his fangs absentmindedly. If this is something you can do for him, you would stop at nothing to do it.

You're in the midst of flipping through parchment when Dal pulls you back to the present, "We've continued our research, of course. Leon and I have searched for anything: something that could help blood be more filling, something that could store or duplicate blood. It's been fruitless."

You nod, familiar with how difficult blood magic could be, an area of necromancy that could lead to dark places if not handled with care. You try not to think of the types of things that could have gone wrong with that research and instead focus on what you can do going forward. "I don't blame you all, anything is worth a shot," you say. "Anything you could share might be helpful. And… I know you said they were worthless, but do you have the demented necromancer’s notes in here too?”

She seems hesitant, but still reaches down and pulls out another set of notes from her bag. They look horrendous, drenched in blood that could very well be yours, and nothing but a light scrawl on razor thin parchment. From a glance, you suspect it may not be made of paper. “This is all that we found on you.”

“Wow," you say, taking the notes gingerly from her. "These are…"

"Yes, they're… something," she finishes with a grimace.

You place them carefully on your stack, not sure how you'll be able to read them through the blood stains, but you'll figure it out. "Thank you, Dal," you say, truly grateful to have answers, to have a piece of the puzzle finally fall into place.

It seems like you're set– everything Dal has bestowed upon you sits waiting for your curious eyes, and she seems pleased to have delivered the cache. The woman begins to stand up, prepared to leave you to it, when a thought strikes her.

“One more thing…" she begins, a bit cautiously. "You should consider, erm, ‘obtaining’ Rhapsody.”

You recall Astarion’s begrudging safekeeping of it, and you wonder if Dal might be part of that. “Um, I'm happy to try, but why?”

“We didn’t get much from the notes, but we did gather that the necromancer thought that the blood from a vampire lord was important. It might be worth having," she explains.

You blink at her, confused. “Not to diminish your request, Dal. But the blade isn’t exactly blood."

Dalyria gives you a slight chuckle, shaking her head. "Gods, sometimes I forget you aren't them," she says. You're not certain how that makes you feel, but your heart does ache a bit at the words. “Scarlet Remittance, the dagger’s ability, absorbs life essence. The last person who the blade killed was Cazador Szarr.”

“I see," you say, thinking about the dream you'd witnessed for the second time today, vividly imagining when Rhapsody drove through the bastard's chest. If Astarion's act of vengeance had any role in solving the spawn's situation, you would steal the blade one way or another.

She turns to leave again, when a thought strikes you this time. You get up in a rush to pick up the item you'd borrowed from her during the defense of the colony.

“Don’t forget this!” you say, holding out the Sending Stone. You suspect that she needs it far more than you do.

She takes it gratefully, nodding at you. “Thank the gods, I'm glad I don't have to take another trip up that ladder for this!"

Then you watch her go, quietly pondering all that you’ve learned today.

You remember your own years of research, about past lives that linger after a great regret. This is it, you think, staring at the stack before you. They left this unfinished and it's up to you to complete it. Or at the very least figure out what they left behind and set the spawn on a path forward. The problem is, you haven't the faintest where to start.

I suppose I should start with the cipher, you think with a loud yawn. Though maybe I should wait until I'm less exhausted to learn it…

So you hide all of the paperwork in your Bag of Holding and head to bed, hoping to rest at least a bit before Astarion arrives to wake you up.

As you lay in bed and try to trance, you think about your past self. They had given every bit of themselves to trying to improve the spawn's situation, to their very last. You understand Astarion’s anger at them a bit better now, but that doesn’t stop the righteous fury in your heart. I need to help the spawn. They don’t deserve the kind of life that Cazador burdened them with. I won’t let them spend another lifetime in the darkness.

You only wish that your past self had shared more useful memories, like what to do with the recipe or any further leads. But you think you understand your dreams a bit better now. They needed to guide you to Astarion, to care for him as much as they did, to want to finish their goal as badly as they did or all of that information wouldn't matter. Well you’re here now. And gods do you care.

As your reverie takes you that night, you don’t dream of the Hero’s LIfe, much to your disappointment. You’re back in the forge, hammering away on an anvil, muscles aching and temperament steady. It would likely also help you for the days ahead.

__

When you actually awaken for your twentieth day in the house, you’re still tired. 

Astarion knocks on the door at your usual hour, and your shortened reverie leaves you sluggish and gaunt.

"Did I drink too much from you yesterday?" the vampire asks, giving you a once over. 

"No, I just couldn't get much sleep," you respond, trudging after him to the kitchen.

"Well, I'm going to need you to liven up a bit, we have work to do today," he says, holding open the door to the kitchen.

"Work?" You set about preparing your breakfast, trying to ignore how much your eyes burn.

"Yes, darling. Someone, I won't name names, has destroyed a substantial portion of the keep," he looks at you pointedly and you try to dodge his gaze. "Now that you've had your rest, we need to pivot our expansion plans to be repair plans."

You nod, thinking of all of the other work you'd rather be doing. Work which Astarion likely shouldn't find out about. "Very well, I'll pull myself together. I just need some breakfast."

That's how, as much as the Bag of Holding burns at your side with the secrets it holds, you spend your day alongside Astarion. 

The two of you continue with the same rapport you had yesterday, as you continue to try to ignore the thrills his touch sends up your spine. Despite your best efforts, you still find yourself flinching or jolting upward when his hand grazes yours. You would chalk it up to exhaustion, but it may just be your imagination working a bit too well with all of the new, salacious thoughts of Astarion you have at your disposal.

Astarion would have to be blind to miss your reactions to him. And, not one to miss out on an opportunity to tease, takes every opportunity to brush against you on ‘accident.’ Gods you wish you could go back to before his hands had touched every inch of your body. 

All the same, the day is nice– normal even, for the two of you. His teasing keeps you awake despite your lack of sleep, and by the end of it, his hands begin to linger. If you didn’t know any better, you might think that he… likes touching you. 

But you’ve already messed up enough this week, so you ignore the sensation and focus on your work. 

You finish your work too late and too tired to begin studying the cipher just yet. You vow to wake up early tomorrow morning to memorize it.

__

At the start of your twenty-first day in Astarion's house, you wake with a jolt when you hear a pounding at your door.

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you sit up and call, "Astarion?"

"We need to talk. Now," he says through the door. His words come clipped.

What's gone wrong?! You think in a panic, scrambling out of bed and running to the door. Could the spawn be under attack again?

You're disheveled and breathing in huffs when you make it to the door, fear already coursing through your body. However, when you open the door Astarion doesn't look worried, he looks mad.

"Astarion?" you ask again, confused as you try to understand what's happening. Something about the way he is looking at you has you taking a step back into the room, putting space between you.

"I received a message from Dal this morning," he says, placing a hand on the doorframe and staring you down.

Did something happen with the spawn? No, why does he look upset at… me? You're not sure what could have occurred, so you ask anyway, "Is something the matter?"

"DON'T," he starts, voice raising. He catches himself, continuing in the same tight voice once more, "Don't you dare play the fool with me. You had her Sending Stone last, I saw it when I was here the other day."

Oh gods , you think, realizing the implication of his words, the connection he's clearly already made. How could I have not considered that he would have noticed the stone? It had been right there.

When you don't respond immediately, Astarion lowers his voice, a deep, unsettling calm in his tone. “You spoke with Dal then?”

“... yes," you say, looking at him head on. You won't hide from it, and who knows? Perhaps, after all of this, Astarion will understand. You just need to be honest with him, get past the initial shock.

“I suppose it wasn’t a pleasant little chat about the weather," his words are biting, forced through teeth that are all but bared at you. "What in the hells did you speak to Dal for?”

The anger building in his voice is chilling, beyond just shock. Maybe you shouldn't have been so honest…

“Cat's got your tongue?" He releases the doorframe, leaning into the room further, but never stepping in. "Or was it about the same, silly. Little. Project that your soul can't seem to let lie?" 

He punctuates each word with daggers, and you're nearly positive that there isn't any understanding to be gained here. If only you could get through to him.

Your words come out hurried, a flurry of anything you can think of to calm the situation. “Astarion, please listen. I promise that I'm not doing anything dangerous. And I understand the situation better now–”

“What did I tell you?” His voice is deadly as he cuts you off like a sharpened blade.

“You said I shouldn’t get up to anything with the spawn,” you repeat, before diving into your next slew of words. “But I thought that maybe– after we talked about it–”

“No!" he yells, taking a step toward you now. You can’t help the step you take back in response. "I told you because I wanted to be honest. I didn't want you to make the same mistakes as they did!”

“It's not a mistake," you start, pleading with him. "Not if it means that the spawn can–”

“ENOUGH!” he snaps. Even when he got mad at you for staying here or when he got mad at you in the Underdark, he’d never raised his voice like this. It was like a tidal wave had just crashed over you, leaving you soaked, pathetic, and small in its wake.

You freeze.

“I warned you.”

You can't speak, a lump catches in your throat as you try to take a breath.

“I gave you explicit boundaries and you crossed them.”

You wish you could say something, but there's nothing to argue with there.

"I held back my anger when you ignored me, followed me into danger. But this? This is too much."

"Astarion," you whisper, finding a small fraction of your voice. He's right, you've been defying his every wish since you set foot in his house. You’ve been nothing but a burden.

“I don't want anything more to do with you,” he growls, baring his teeth. “I should have known better.”

Your heart drops to the very pit of your stomach. This can't be it. Please don't let this be the end. “Please Astarion, let me explain.”

“No. This was a mistake,” he spits out. “Maybe you've always been a mistake, in your past-life and now. I was just too much of a love-struck fool to see it last time. I refuse to be made that fool again.”

“Astarion…” you whisper, swallowing past the tightness in your throat. “They loved you so much. I–"

“What? Do you 'love' me?” Astarion asks, sneering at you with all of the contempt of centuries of pain. “No. You're just like them– as soon as another pitiful little case comes along you leave, off to greener, more pathetic pastures . What good is your help? Your love? It’s worthless when you’re nothing better than an idealistic hero.”

You thought the sharp stab of his rejection was painful, but the pain of his hatred is on another level entirely. You feel like you’re suffocating, trapped in a device of your own making. Because you can’t help who you are, what soul you now feel saddled with, any more than he can change you.

Perhaps he’s right, this was wrong in every single lifetime.

“I’m sorry,” is all that you manage in the face of the complete and utter desolation that is his rancor.

“It’s too late for apologies,” he says, tone icy. “I’m done.”

With that, Astarion turns away from you. You want to call out, reach for him, pull him into your arms. But it would be a mistake, just as you've been, as your time together has been, as your feelings have been.

It’s all you can do to watch him walk away, tugging at the painful chain wrapped around your heart with every single step.

The room begins to blur, and tears begin running down your face before you're ready for them. They pool in your eyes, stain your cheeks, run down your neck. You don't bother wiping them, because another torrent will simply replace them.

You drop to the floor in sheer defeat. What am I to do now?

Sobs shake your body, and you weep silently for some time before it all catches up to you. Your hands claw at the damnably familiar rug. You’re upset of course, but, gods, are you also angry. Why won’t he listen? Why does he refuse to try anymore? And why does he refuse to understand that this was all for him?

Because he didn’t ask for this help, your mind answers. Because he was happy, and you shattered that happiness. In your past-life and in your current one.

The thought only brings the tears down faster and you’re left a sodden mess. You cry until you don’t think you have any tears left to cry– it feels as though you’ve been wrung out and laid out to dry like an old rag.

You don't see or hear Astarion for the rest of the day, but you also don't venture out of your room. Like the despondent, broken hearted ghost you are, you spend the rest of the day laying on the couch, the floor, the bed– haunting each in a cycle of sheer misery.

You're dead on your feet when you lay down for an early reverie, but you still feel the need to document the week in your journal before you meditate. It's difficult to put your emotions into writing without starting the tears again, and the entry turns out rather pathetic compared to your two previous entries:

A lot happened this week. I think I love Astarion. I also don't think it matters anymore. I've ruined everything. He hates me now and yet somehow I wouldn't change a thing. I can’t leave these spawn to centuries more of pain and hunger. What am I even supposed to do?

[evercries]

♡ Neuvillette x Reader | ♡ Ballroom themed | ♡ Enemies to Lovers trope | ♡ Status: Unfinished | ♡ Word Count: 1307. Il était beau, vous lui avez accordé moins d'attention jusqu'à ce qu'il vole votre cœur. Quel merveilleux rêve. 「Beautiful he was, less attention you gave him until he stole your heart. What a wonderful dream.」 ⋆｡°✩

The night was clear, with the clouds swaying in harmony as the lights that shun from the large hall’s wide windows grew brighter as you walked up the stone felt ground. Your heels unconsciously made noise as you gently stepped on each staircase with a hand on the hem of the left side of your gown, preventing them from reaching the ground and staining the edge of your gown with dirt or anything that might dirty it. In your other hand, you held a dark plastic stick that was attached to a masquerade mask with golden coloured patches plastered over the front of the mask. Before entering the huge packed hall probably filed with rich stuck up people, your eyes glanced over at the hidden camera that hung from the ceiling of the hall, nodded your head slightly before entering into the hall with a smirk that appeared on the corners of your lips and holding the mask closer to your face and the mission began. 

The first thing that caught your eyes was the amount of people gathered at the wall and from the corner of your eyes, there were more people welcoming themselves to the ball organized by the emperor of the land. The real question was if you were considered a guest, grabbing a curved shaped glass cup that was filed with wine from the trays that servers walked around with, you pressed it against your upper lips before heading to the further back of the hall. Standing in front of a large door, it’s embedded diamonds on the edge of the door, as your hands pushed the door open, you were met with the loud sound of music playing from the area where the instrumental people played with their conductor leading them. Amused by the view, you set down your wine glass that remained untouched on the closest tray that passed by before exploding in the larger ballroom. Voices were heard from left and right as the nobles conversed with each other, your attention though was finding the location of the treasure.

Backing from the place to get a future glimpse at the entrances located around the room, you didn’t realize the person behind you, causing you to bump into their chest with your back.

“Oh, apologies.” You suddenly said, your eyes glancing up at the person to be met with a blank expression, a man whose long bright hair reached past his waist, a cane in his hand, elf like ears, and a strand of hair covering the left side of his face. 

“Yes, mistakes are an exception.” He said. You nodded in response, having no idea what the man had said, and turned around. You noticed the person your eyes were tracing had left already without you noticing it. Cursing underneath your breath, you turned around again to walk away, but walked straight into the man’s chest again, this time a tsk was heard from his lips.

The cane was raised, its end pressed against your chest as the man pushed you off him, his eyes still seeing predatory, almost like a lion staring at its pear, this man had that demeanour. “I’d prefer if you walked correctly, my chest isn’t a pathway.”

“Yeah. Apologies.” You responded with an eye roll, he was corrected that his chest wasn’t a pathway, but he stood directly in front of you so that you didn’t notice his presence the second time. Before you allowed him to respond, your eyes caught a glimpse of the target you were after, excusing yourself from the mysterious man, you walked towards where the target was only to be pulled back by a hand. The hand was on your wrist, its strength was questionable, but the grip was tight as its owner pulled you back.

“We aren’t finished.” The mysterious man spoke, causing you to stare at him, unimpressed.

“Look, Monsieur, I am happily married with two beautiful children. Infidelity isn’t a hobby of mine, neither is it ever going to become one.” You weren’t married, and you definitely did not have children. This answer must’ve shocked the man because he just stood there, speechless. 

Seeing this as an opportunity, you hurried over to where you spotted the target to find they had left already. For the second time, you had lost them, and that was starting to get on your nerves. Sliding through the crowd, you spotted them again, this time they were outside. Putting your mask down to be able to grab unto your gown, you ran towards the target, but again was stopped by what looked like a drunken man who was surrounded by his friends, you’d assume. 

“Bonjour, Gorgeous, may I have this dance?” The man asked, his supposed friends laughed behind him as his hand extended towards yours.

“Apologies, I like my men expensive.” You called out, your mask raised towards your face as a smirk started to rise from the corner of your lips. A hand placed on top of the man’s shoulders as you leaned in closer to his ear. “Expensive and attractive.”

The man seemed to take your comment the wrong way as a hand was wrapped around your waist, his other hand held onto yours, placing a kiss on it. This was the last time you were coming to another country to complete a mission, men were disgusting.

“Have we forgotten our manners?” A voice came from behind before you were suddenly pulled again into the arms of someone. Again, you stared up to be met with a blank expression. Mysterious man, oh heavens. It was as if the heavens wanted you to fail this mission, but what about this man’s chest was important that you found yourself ending in it?

“Monsieur Neuvillette,” The drunk man said with a shaky tone before coughing, a signal for his friends to comment on the situation.

“I see you met my wife, a beautiful woman, isn’t she?” Neuvillette asked, his hands remained on your shoulder almost as if he was showing you off, but still confused by the term wife, you completely forgot about why you were there.

“Yes, sir.” The drunk man, his eyes, trailed up to Neuvillette to be met with a glare. “No, no, no, sir. She isn’t beautiful.” Ouch, you thought. Convinced his answer was correct, the drunk man stared back up at Neuvillette whose glare intensified. “Yes, yes, yes, sir, she is very beautiful.”

“Beautiful she is, an amazing woman who your hands shouldn’t ever touch for she is mine, my woman.” This nut job, you weren’t his woman, but judging by his expression, anyone would think he was serious.

“Forgive me, Monsieur, I was wrong.” The drunk man expressed, almost like he was begging. Neuvillette nodded towards some soldiers who stood not far away, they approached the drunken man and took a hold of him, dragging him away to the unknown. When the man had disappeared, you faced Neuvillette with an annoyed look.

“Heavens, wife, really?”

“Yes.”

“I hope you are feeling alright, sir, but didn’t you happen to hear when I mentioned how I loved my men, expensive and attractive, or am I mistaken?”

“I'm convinced you believe I’m a poor man who happens to carry around a cane.”

“Yes, extremely. I believe that, sir.”

“You have an attitude.”

“That is none of my concern, sir, now, if you’d excuse me, I wish not to rub my face into your face for a fourth time.”

As soon as you turned, the target was walking towards you and Neuvillette followed by some other rich looking people, they seemed excited as they approached you and Neuvillette.

“Monsieur, Neuvillette, you’ve finally found someone to love?” The target excitedly asked, before looking at you, took your hands into theirs while shaking it. “Greetings, I am Wriothesley, his closest pal.”

[punk-in-docs]

Hi! What do you think of an idea of Eddie as a secret admirer? 👀

❤️My Funny Valentine❤️

The sickly horror of St. fucking Valentine’s Day. Ugh.

Everywhere at school is all fluffed up and candied. Tongue red and rose pink with Valentines Day mushiness. The worst. The hallways are lined with craft paper cut out hearts and tacky glittering sentiment.

You’d rather eat pebbles.

You’d not wanted to take part in this ridiculous farcical holiday. Really it was hideous enough that your mom giggled like a ten year old girl this morning when your dad slid her a candy pink envelope. Her name looped on the front. Feigning surprise that she has a mystery man in her life.

They shared a silly kiss that has you cringing into the bowl of your honeycomb cereal. Slinging your eyes up and rolling them over. School was bad enough. Suffering the indignity of romance over the breakfast counter too, was just entirely nauseating.

You literally have to shoulder your way past couples making out to get to your locker. Some springy haired cheerleader and her letterman clad jock. There’s posters up about the Valentine’s Day dance in the Gym. It will be wall to wall slow dancing and pink confetti and red foil curtains shimmering off the walls. Those sad foil wrapped heart-shaped chocolates on the tables.

It’s all going to be predictably over stuffed with couples. One of which you are not and you’ve never felt it more keenly than today. Everywhere else is pink hearts. Yours is content to remain throughly charred black and miserable.

You manage to peel your locker open. Batting away the paper hearts. Let’s be real, you wanted to rip them up really.

You won’t get asked to that dance. You won’t get any invites or cards- or anything. You’re resigned to your singledom.

That’s the worst thing of it all. If you had someone to share it with, you may have been able to hate it less.

A small slip of wonky paper flutters out your locker and dances, arches and dips, across the air to land at your sneakers. Puzzled, you heft your books down and reach down to grab it.

When you lift it up you don’t recognise the hand. But there on the jagged paper is a line of spidery scrawled words in chicken scratch red biro. Your stomach swells and swoops with the words:

“Hey cutie. Wanna go to the dance with me? EM.”

What? EM. Your brain flips and rattles around like that Rolodex your mom uses. Sheets of card and names and flicking around trying to locate one.

EM? Who is EM? And why do they want to go to the dance with little old you-

You weigh the paper in your hand and dart your head over your shoulders. Twisting around to see if you can catch sign of anyone. Anyone at all.

Lip locked couples around you. Gaggles of friends huddled close. Chatter and bubbling noise and sneakers on Lino filling your ears. Laughter and gum chewing and gossip and-

Oh-

About ten lockers down from you, someone is leaning against theirs. Arms folded. Eyes flicked fully forwards to land on you.

You know full well whose that locker door is from sight alone. The one plastered in heavy metal bands you’d never heard the names of. Rock star. Devils, skulls, forked tongues and Hellfire-

Eddie Munson is stood there with his puppy dog brown eyes and a completely smug grin on his smart mouth. Such a pretty mouth. His face is entirely framed by that spill of wild dark curls. Big broad leather-denim meshed jacket made his scrawny frame look good.

You catch his look and it’s purely confident. It oozes with charm and you swallow all sticky cause. Holy shit is this boy cute.

He jerks a nod to your hands where the paper is. You look down and at his urging turn it over seeing you had three options sat by the wonky row of boxes. No, Yes, and Hell yes.

You laugh at the absurdity of it. Your cheeks fill with naked heat and he’s stuck his eyes to the line of your teeth in your dazzling smile. Gorgeous.

When you look up. He raises his brows. Slanting them up under his wonky bangs. An expression and a question sloped into one.

You cannot bobble a nod at him fast enough.

Oh and he grins and your stomach is thrown into a sudden lurching tilt-a-whirl. Arcade music and fun and games, and cotton candy.

You look down again at the note and rub your thumb over the letters. You’re going to the Valentines dance with Eddie Munson. Dreams do come true-

A cool shadow falls across you and you only register it’s him when you look up, and he’s close and he’s mesmerising to be so near. Leather and brown eyes and swirling cigarette ash. Spun on that sugar coated smile. He whispers to you and you alone.

“I’ll pick you up at eight, Valentine.”

~

Needless to say, he’s ten minutes late to pick you up but god love the boy, he made an effort and dressed up real nice. Sneakers and an old suit. It’s my uncle’s. Had to dust it out of mothballs.

He may have been forcibly wrangled into a suit. But there’s no doubt he made it his own rocker style. Still wore his wallet chain, and his bow tie was black with little white skulls on it. He ran a brush through his curls - made them fluffy. And slapped a handful of stinging cologne on his cheeks.

He buys you a corsage with peach and pink flowers on it. You never want to take it off.

He kisses you on the cheek and lingers a second as he opens the van door for you. Too sweet for words this metal head.

He spikes the punch with vodka. Shows you the bottle. Brings it out and wiggles it at you as he waggles his brows. Drawing it from the place in his jacket pocket. He slow dances with you to Simple Minds and Cyndi Lauper.

Your arms looped around his neck as time after time blares through the gym hall. Hands resting near the nest of his wild hair. He kisses the inside of your wrist and holds your elbow. Looks you deep deep in the eyes. You’re awful glad he’s holding you up, actually.

I’m really glad I asked you. Valentine.

Your heart glows.

My dress is horrible isn’t it? You ask him with a scrunched nose and a grin. Cause it was. It was a duck egg blue ruffled monstrosity your mother paid for and insisted would be just lovely.

Nah baby. It’s cute cause it’s got you in it. He smirks. Cups the back of your hair all gentle and you swear, he’s like a drug to be hopped up on. And you never wanna quit him. Shoot him directly in your veins.

Then, he scoops you outta there, your hand clutched in his. Warm skin. Cold rings. You both share a sneaky smoke in the parking lot. And then he spends the rest of the night kissing your damn lips off as you stargaze at skull rock.

Listening to shit crackling seventies golden oldies on the static flickering radio. He dances with you then too. Skanking it around to The Clash. Police and Thieves. Sipping more warm vodka til it starts to slip down way too easy.

You don’t dance pretty and neatly, you thrash around like idiots and you both laugh your heads off. And it all ends in sultry slow kisses that taste like Marlboros.

He returns you home way past curfew. And you’re giddy, a little wobbly drunk, heels in hand, and you’ve taken your hair down.

You’ve laughed and smoked a cigarette and danced with him holding you close by the hips. Sure you’ve slurped vodka from the slim bottle smuggled in his pocket tonight, but you’re way way more dazzling drunk off the sensation of kissing him.

Maybe St. Valentines Day isn’t so bad after all.

~

More Eddie stuff? Come take a look-

[simpforwebtoonmen]

Meet again || Vasco x Reader

˚✧₊⁎ You meet Vasco at a food stand in front of Club Vivi. The two of you are great friends, best friends even. So why did he disappear for such a long time without telling you anything? ⁎⁺˳✧༚

a/n: the event probably (definitely) won’t be accurate. also, not proof-read.

The food stand was empty. All that was left was sizzling and fresh food and a shirtless man taking care of the stand. He was extremely built, anybody could tell that he worked out, and everybody would assume that he was some kind of gangster due to his tattoos and the facial scar in the shape of an ‘X’ over his right eye- his right. 

And of course, you knew this man was a gangster. You also knew that this man was no man at all, but a boy, a teenager. A boy you knew well. And the same boy that left you behind for a very long time. 

You eyed the skewed food that still sizzled since it was cooked fresh. You weren’t exactly sure if you trusted Vasco’s cooking, but if he was trusted to run a food stall by himself then it’s fine then, right? 

The boy let out a surprised noise, “oh! (name), is that you!?” You hummed and only glared at him. For weeks, you always thought about what you were going to say to him when you saw him again. You planned on cursing him out and maybe (certainly) punching him in the face, not that it’d faze him. 

But now that you’re here, you’re stuck. You have no idea what you should do. Cursing and punching him in front of all these people definitely won’t look good for the owner of this food stand. So, you decided to suck it up and save the tantrum for later. 

“hey, Vasco...” You greeted him unenthusiastically. Vasco hummed in confusion, tilting his head to the side while looking at you with wide curious eyes. “Is something wrong?” he asked. You looked at him with an unimpressed expression, shouldn’t it be obvious why you’re upset? 

Before you could respond to him another customer approached the food stall. He was tall and wore a dark green jacket along with a black cap. Though you couldn’t see his eyes, you could see the scar that ran across his lip. 

You looked away and thought nothing of it. Must’ve been in some kind of accident, right? 

“Huh? Tabasco?” the guy next to you exclaimed. You looked back up at him, surprise and suspicion written all over your face. He knew Vasco, which probably wasn’t good. Vasco had the tendency to get himself into trouble, so this mysterious guy could’ve gotten himself tangled up with Vasco. Not good, not good at all. 

“huh?...Who are you?” Vasco remained unbothered and went back to cooking. The man scoffed, “wait, so you don’t remember me?” “nope.” You nearly laugh at Vasco’s fast retort, but remembered that you’re angry at him and you’re not allowed to laugh at Vasco’s jokes (even though it wasn’t really a joke). 

“You’re a real character man.” 

“Fishcakes are (however much).” 

The man next to you paid for a fishcake. “How do you know Vasco?” you questioned him. He looked surprised to see you, almost like he didn’t even notice you which you tried to ignore to avoid being offended. “Huh? wait is that his name...? Well, Tabas- I mean- Vasco and I used to know each other, but I guess he doesn’t remember me,” the man shrugged and took a bite out of his fishcake. 

You hummed and thought for a moment. You knew Vasco for a very long time, so if he was friends with a man like him then you would’ve known. “Do I know you?” you asked, more so to yourself. He glanced down at you, seemingly trying to remember if he knew you or not. 

It’s been almost a year since Jake, this mysterious man, has ran into Vasco. So if he has met you then it could be that you look so different that he couldn’t recognize you. 

And at the same time both you and Jake shrugged, letting it go. 

“Oh, I’m Vasco by the way,” Vasco continued as if he wasn’t listening to the conversation you and Jake were haven’t (because he wasn’t). “I’m Jane Kim, an aspiring nail artist.” 

Suddenly there was another presence. A girl with pink hair and distant eyes. She sucked on a binky and held one of Vasco’s fishcakes in her hand. She looses balance and tips backwards, but makes no effort to keep herself from falling. The man next to you tried to catch her, but another man beat him to it. 

A man in a black suit, three long braids, a gorgeous face, and was accompanied by a group of men dressed in the same black suit. From what you could tell, they were all body guards, but the man with the long braids was the boss. 

You didn’t understand anything when he spoke to the woman he carried in his arms. You loose interest and turn back to the food stall, taking a fishcake and stuffing it in your mouth, “hey, you’re gonna let me have this for free, right? Since we’re friends and all...” You looked up at Vasco only see him in distraught. “Hm? Vasco, are you okay?” you asked him.  

You reached out to him and put a hand on his bare shoulder, you tried your best to ignore the feeling of his hard muscle under your hand (and resisted the urge to squeeze). 

“T-That girl...didn’t pay...” he muttered, but you heard him. “O-Oh,” you looked around the area, twisting your head from left to right. The girl and her body guards, along with the mysterious man were gone. 

Nervously, you looked back at Vasco. “Haha...seems like they left...maybe they’ll come back later to pay-” 

It was too late. Vasco was already storming off into Club Vivi. You squeaked, “ah! wait, Vasco!” and naturally, you ran after him. 

~

“What’s he making all this ruckus for? It’s just one fishcake,” you muttered to yourself. You sat at one of the nearby tables and watched as Vasco beat the absolute shit out of a bunch of body guards. When will it ever end, you ask yourself. 

Sometime later, that same mysterious man, now dressed in a black suit like the rest of the body guards, approached Vasco calmly. You could see he had no intentions of fighting Vasco, so you sat up in your seat and watched in anticipation. 

He handed Vasco the amount of money that girl owed. And finally, Vasco left the Club peacefully. 

You groaned, “I should probably follow him.” After all, you only stayed because it was Vasco, your friend. 

Shortly after the crowd began to dissipate, you got up from your seat and followed Vasco out of the establishment. He flinched at your sudden presence, “ah! where did you come from?” he questioned you. “I was watching you the whole time you damn idiot, you didn’t notice me cheering you on?” 

“You...You were cheering me on!?” he asked, his eyes growing teary as he began to swell with emotions. You laughed wholeheartedly, “Hell no! Hahaha!” 

He sulked the entire way back to the food stall. 

Jake squinted at the two of you as you walked out of the club. When he had his fight with Vasco, he did notice a girl that teased him and laughed the same way you did before he actually fought Euntae. “ah, so that’s her,” he finally remembered where who you were, then he shivered, “...what a scary woman...” 

Why is it that he finds you scary? Guess you’ll never know.  

-

“Oh yeah, you looked upset earlier. Was there anything you wanted to talk about?” Vasco asked you as he went back to sizzling his food. You sucked in a breath, this is it. this is time to get mad. This is the time to get upset and yell and tell Vasco how much he hurt you for disappearing. 

You couldn’t find it in you. You were sure that Vasco had his reasons for disappearing, whether it would be because he was training to become stronger, or he continued his journey to beat up bad guys. Either way, you couldn’t stay mad at him forever. 

You breathed out, admitting defeat. “It was nothing, don’t worry about it.” 

“hmmm...well, if you say so,” he shrugged and continued cooking. A few other costumers approached the tent and bought a few fishcakes, complimenting Vasco’s cooking skills. 

Suddenly, Vasco froze, then he turned to you. “wait...did you ever...pay?” 

“...you said I could have it for free.” 

“I did not.” 

“yes you did.” 

“Did not.” 

“Did to.” 

[drunkewok]

Tiger Inside

Chapter Eight

Stray Kids Mafia (ongoing)

Masterlist

Likes, reblogs and feedback always greatly appreciated

WC: 3.2k

Pairing: Lee Know x reader

Genre: Series, Enemies to lovers, non-idol AU, Mafia AU

Synopsis: After years spent away from the family, two strangers start frequenting your place of work, only to bring daunting news. Flung back into the world of the mafia, you try to adapt to your new normal and work alongside a team of eight skilled members to uncover a mystery and take down an unknown enemy.

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, drinking, swearing, violence, weapons

Disclaimer: Any portrayal of Stray Kids or any other idols in this story is purely fiction and do not at all reflect their own personalities or how I view them as a person, it is purely for the sake of the story.

Please do not copy or repost my work

I swirled my spoon within the bowl of the food in front of me, all sense of appetite absent from my body. My eyes watched as the food traveled around the utensil making different shapes. As much as I’d love to say I had thoughts occupying my mind, it remained nothing but static. The distant buzz accompanied by the visual, electrical rendition of a fizzy soda. I bit the inside of my cheek as my eyes continued to defocus into a blur, accompanied by the blankest stare ever known to man.

I had the absolute pleasure of embracing another sleepless night in the house, it was getting real tiring with the nights spent staring at a blank ceiling barely illuminated by the moonlight with no solution to my racing thoughts in sight. Once again I felt like I was back in the position of one issue popping up one after another, setting themselves up like dominos, yet glued to the floor and refusing to ever topple.

“You just sitting here in silence playing with your food?” My daze is broken to the sudden voice, blinking my vision back as I studied Seungmin now leaning against the counter sipping on a fresh cup of coffee, eyes filled with a mix of confusion and concern. Finally releasing my grip on the spoon, I reached up and rubbed my face with a yawn. He tilted his head as I brought my attention back to him with a sigh.

“I guess I was just zoned out, a bit tired.” Seungmin hummed in agreement with a nod, holding his mug up slightly with a gesture to offer myself one. I nodded weakly, gratefully accepting the hot drink as he slid it across the counter to me.

“Yeah a lot of the house didn’t get much sleep last night.” He held the cup up to his lips, pausing before taking his drink. “Especially with people sneaking in and out late at night.” He mumbled into the mug before finally taking his sip. I quickly struggled to avoid choking on my coffee, setting it down before glancing around the room to ensure it was just the two of us before continuing.

“Jesus christ, you too? Does the whole house know?”

“What? That you took off and Minho had to chase you down?” I quickly shushed him with a sharp flick of the wrist, attempting to adorn my strongest firm look to ensure he’d shut his mouth. His slight chuckle as he took another sip did nothing to calm my tension. “Relax.” He set the cup down beside him, now leaning back and crossing his arms. “I was up with Felix all night going over the codes, no one else knows but us. He just happened to be getting us another cup of coffee when you two came sneaking in.” I placed my face in my hand, rubbing circles into my temples. “No need to worry, your secret is safe with us. I’m just surprised you came back without Minho biting your head off.”

“Oh trust me, he was just about to.” My mind flashed to the brief moment of panic the moment Minho grabbed my arm in the alley, the familiar gut dropping feeling manifesting once again almost immediately. “I just had some things I had to take care of, okay?” My shoulders dropped in defeat, my voice falling to that of a whisper. “I had every intention of coming back.” My fingers wrapped around the steaming mug in front of me, the high temperature against my fingertips not causing me the alarm that it definitely should have. My eyes focused on the dark liquid, thoughts drifting back to Seongho once again.

“Just be careful.” His joking demeanor was quickly gone, now replaced with a soothing voice, almost concerned. “Now isn’t the time to be running off like that. You need to be safe.” I gave him a soft smile. I knew he and Minho were right, it was a careless move on my end, but in the moment I didn’t know any other option I had. But in turn, I may have been putting myself, and Seongho, in harm's way.

Almost on cue, Minho stepped into the doorframe in silence. I swear this man had the agility of a cat, able to move silently almost as if he was floating across the floor. His eyes glanced between myself and Seungmin, who opted against eye contact and brought his cup to his lips again.

“Com’on.” Minho’s words were sharp, slicing through the silence immediately. I was taken aback by his abrupt demand, hesitating on obeying immediately. He placed his hands in his pockets with a slight tilt of the head, clearly unamused by my stationary figure. “Your training? We don’t have time for days off now.” He nodded to the hallway behind him as he turned around and made his way to the basement stairs. I glanced back to Seungmin, already heading towards Felix’s room.

“Don’t look at me. This is your monster, I have my own to battle with Felix. Good luck!” He waved me off as he began to ascend the stairs, leaving me once again by myself in the kitchen. I groaned as I leaned back in the stool, letting my arms drape behind me dramatically before finally rising and cleaning up my dishes.

As expected, I found Minho in the basement. His figure sitting on a bench in the hall between the multiple doors stretching the walls. His hand rose, pointing down the hall towards the door housing the shooting range.

“I need to see your shots. Go on.” My eyes rolled as I made my way past him toward the door, opening it to see my pistol sitting on a table before a target in the distance. I stopped in my tracks and glanced back to Minho, his face still flat and emotionless as his eyes guided to the target. I’m starting to question just how many of my belongings these boys were able to get off of me during my initial arrival, a slight twinge of regret with now realizing I had let my gun out of my sight long enough for one of them to get their hands on it.

I reached forward, grabbing the ear protection, and starting to load the loose ammo into the weapon. I checked the stance of my feet, grounding myself before holding the gun steady in front of me. After firing off multiple shots toward the target, I took a moment to examine my work. I tried not to grin as I glanced behind me, clearly impressed with my accomplishment. Minho slowly nodded with brows raised, once again trying to fight the slight smirk trying to adorn his lips as the view of my skill.

“Okay, not bad. I’ll give you that.” He stepped over to a button on the wall, pressing it and putting the target in motion. “But it’s different when your target is moving, do it again.” With a huff I turned back and reloaded the pistol, the gall of this man to doubt me in every sense of the matter.

My shots were slower this time, attempting to keep my hand steady as I tracked the target. Its movements were inconsistent, making it impossible to predict its next direction. Multiple of my shots missed, and I attempted to keep myself from frustration as each attempt grew worse. My brows furrowed in irritation as I pulled my ear coverings off, placing them and the gun on the table in front of me with a huff.

“Have to get that attitude in check.” My head snapped around to Minho, standing behind me and studying the poorly hit target.

“Excuse me?” The scoff that shot from my lips came off stranger than I intended, my ability to hide offense nonexistent.

“What?” His eyes crossed from the target to me, a look of irritated confusion. “You really think you can get worked up in the moment like that, miss all of your shots, and still make it out alive? I hate to break it to you, but humans move when they’re being shot at.”

“Wow, thank you. What fantastic pointers. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind next time.” Minho strode back over to the wall, selecting another button as a fresh target replaced the abused one.

“Good to hear it.” A smug look spread across his cheeks as he gave a half assed smile in my direction. “It’s next time, do it again.” He pressed the first button again as the target started to move down the aisle. “Stay steady with the target, follow it and only pull the trigger only when you’re confident. Keep your breathing slow, put all of your focus on the target.” His words now felt a bit softer, that he was actually trying to put in the effort to assist instead of just giving criticism.

I took a deep breath before raising the pistol once again, keeping the aim in line with the target as it’s position shifted. My finger hesitated against the trigger, unsure of when to make the attempt. I slowed each breath, avoiding any movement of my arms caused by the action. Finally I applied the pressure needed to fire, the bullet making contact with the middle of the target as I heard a muffled cheer behind me through the earmuffs. With a bit more confidence, I stayed tracking the target, firing off more shots until the gun was empty and I laid it down to check my results.

“I knew you had it in there somewhere, you just can’t let yourself get worked up like that. It’ll mess up all the shots.” Minho took a seat behind me, a slow clap following. “You gotta put in more practice on the moving target though. A couple good shots on it aren’t gonna pass.” I laid down the earmuffs again and leaned against the wall beside me, glancing at the man sitting to my side. His face was smug, as if he was crediting himself for the improvement.

“Don’t get cocky about it now, maybe I was just determined to prove you wrong.”

“Even if that was the reasoning, it still worked. Did it not?” Oh what I would give to smack that smirk off his face. The level of satisfaction it could bring me.

As if he had read my thoughts, the smirk was gone. His familiar cold demeanor returned once again. “Have you told him?” My eyes immediately glued to the floor in front of me, I was still unsure of how to even approach Chan on the matter, let alone how the conversation would even play out. With a sigh, Minho stood and made his way to the door, holding it open and gesturing out with the tilt of the head. “Let’s go.”

“Right now?” My eyes grew in shock, the thought of heading up to his office right now looming over my shoulders.

“I told you that you need to tell him. If you don’t, I will. And I’ll have to explain the reason I know of him, and I don’t think you want me to explain your little night escapade, now do you?”

It felt like with each step the staircase grew longer, my desire for it to instantly transform into a downward escalator creating a never ending treadmill of a stair climb strengthening, not wanting to ever reach the top. Minho stayed close behind, ensuring I didn’t try and slither myself away from the situation. The dark halls felt as though they were looming over me and closing in as I stepped foot outside of Chan’s office door.

Reaching up, my fist made contact with multiple knocks, waiting for the muffled come in from behind the door. I slid the door open slightly, just enough to peek my head in, seeing Chan raise his head from the paper he was writing on for a brief moment before continuing.

“Hi Chan… Could I-Could I speak with you for a moment?” My inability to formulate a smooth sentence for him had me mentally slamming my head against a wall. As he beckoned me in, Minho slid inside directly behind me, causing Chan to glance up at the two of us through his lashes before setting down his pen and raising his head slowly in exasperated disappointment.

“It’s been one day… What have you two done now?”

“Oh no, it’s not about us. He’s been helping me on my aim and it’s…” I glanced back to Minho, once again expressionless, before turning back to Chan. “…going well.” Chan’s raised brow while glancing between the two of us suggested disbelief in my statement, but I knew we could cross that bridge at another time. I took a seat before Chan, scratching the back of my neck while trying to formulate how to approach this.

“So there’s someone I just wanna let you know about.” Chan sat back in his seat, hands in lap, studying me as he waited for me to continue. “He’s someone who’s been really close to me ever since I left.”

“Is it that bartender from Blossom?” My breath caught in my throat, my muscles tensing as I processed Chan’s immediate response. His initial unfazed expression changed as he studied my startled reaction, a brow raising in confusion. “What? You thought I didn’t already know about him? Hyunjin and Felix were visiting for months, do you really think they weren’t reporting back to me at all?” My mouth hung slack as I stuttered an attempt at a response, glancing back to Minho who leaned against a wall, smirking down at his feet in silence.

“I guess-I just didn’t really think about it that way.” I rubbed my thumb into the palm of my hand in an attempt to soothe the nerves growing in my veins, Chan nodded with a soft hum before lifting his pen once again and turning his attention back to the paper in front of him.

“So what about him do I need to know? Is there something he knows that he shouldn’t?” The soft scratch of pen to paper filled the silent room as I hesitated on my answer,

“No, not at all. He thinks I left to help out at a convenience store run by my parents.” My palm turned red as the pressure from my thumb increased, my nervous tick taking over as I struggled to keep my head level. Chan hummed slightly as he nodded his head.

“Then what’s the issue?” He pulled the top paper off the stack, setting it to the side as he continued on to the next sheet, scribbling down word after word.

“I just-I need to know that he’ll be safe.” Chan peered up at me through his lashes as his pen hesitated before continuing to write.

“I can’t make you that promise.” His eyes fell back on the project in front of him, my jaw tensing with nervousness as I racked my brain for solutions.

“What if I did it?” Both Chan and Minho’s eyes immediately glued to me, the three of us sitting in a painful silence. “Let me go back to work at Blossom, so I can keep an eye on him.”

“Hell no.” Minho’s harsh voice cut the thick air from behind me, finally speaking up. I turned as he pushed off the wall and made his way towards us, his eyes drilling into me. "You really think being near him will keep him out of harm's way? You’ll only be leading it straight to him, let alone yourself.” As I opened my mouth to protest, Chan quickly cut me off.

“He’s right. That will only cause more harm than good.” Chan cleared his throat as he quietly drummed a single finger on his desk. “I’ll see what I can do, but once again, I can’t make you any promises.” Accepting I was outnumbered in the debate, I swallowed my words and nodded silently, my eyes falling on my hands in my lap in defeat.

“Does Jiho know about the shipments?” Chan’s hand froze as he stopped writing, my abrupt question clearly catching him off guard. His chest rose and fell with a deep breath before setting the pen down, leaning back in his chair, his stern eyes meeting my own.

“Not yet, no.” Chan interlocked his fingers together in his lap, now his turn to hesitate before continuing. “He’s a busy man, I haven’t been able to schedule a meeting with him yet to discuss it.” His fingers ran through his hair, I only just now began to notice the lack of sleep manifesting under his eyes, levels of stress taking over as he struggled to find answers. “I have work I need to finish, we can discuss this later.” He shooed the two of us off, I followed Minho out of the room in silence before the door finally latched behind us, leaving the two of us in the hallway alone.

“What the fuck was that?” Minho raised a brow at my abrupt verbal aggression, a quizzical expression as he stayed silent. “He knew!? Were you aware of this?” He smirked as he let out a huff of amusement, his eyes falling deeper down the hall, avoiding my own.

“Of course I was, did you really assume he wasn’t going to know? It was quite obvious.” I smacked his chest as my face scrunched in frustration. The audacity of this man to force me into Chan’s office, having a discussion that clearly did not need to occur.

“Why would you make me do this then? What was the point? Was this for your sick amusement?” Anger started to boil in my veins, every time I start to think we’re trying to make progress, Minho throws us three steps back.

“Of course not. I needed to make sure you’d do it. There’s no keeping secrets here.” My jaw clenched as Minho finally met my stare, his flat expression only infuriating me more as he subtly cocked his head to the side, slipping his hands into his pockets and far too calm. I balled my hands into fists at my side, restraining myself from ripping into him here and now.

He was treating me as some toy, dangling me in front of him and playing with me as if I was like a puppet for his own amusement. I questioned if he would ever be able to take me seriously, to treat me if I was an equal and not something below him. His cocky nature pushing me to the brink of explosion.

“You’re insufferable.” I pushed past him, clipping his shoulder as I left him behind with a scoff. I stopped before rounding the corner down the hall, turning back to him as he slowly turned my direction. “I’m willing to make our situation at least a little bearable here, it’d be the least you can do to get off your high horse and at least treat me with the same level of respect.” With that I turned on my heel, continuing down the dark halls toward my room and slamming my door behind me in frustration. 

Next Chapter

[hobeemin]

black magic man

🪄 genre: smut, pwp, supernatural, magic au

🪄 pairing: warlock!park jimin x poc!(f) reader

🪄 summary: it was his eyes that lured you in at first. who was he? why did he have this affect on her? a simple smile was all it took to be spellbound by this mystery man of her dreams.

🪄 rating: 18+

🪄 warning(s): swearing, exhibitionism, use of magic, spellcasting, illusions, kissing, making out, oral (f receiving), fingering, breast play, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, creampie, unprotected sex

🪄 word count: 1.6k

🪄 credits: 💜💜

banner resources found here: 1, 2, 3, 4

🪄 a/n: a huge thank you to @missgeniality​ for beta reading this for me. i really appreciate it 💜💙

❖   BBCS Sip, Vibe, & Create Event: Double Double, Toil In Trouble hosted by @btsblackcreatorsociety​

⤞ Category: warlocks

⤞ Theme(s): harvest moon | spells

⤞ Kinks: exhibitionism 

His gaze alone rendered her speechless. Her breath caught in her throat as the distance grew short. She blinked and gulped softly. 

This man was a sin in a physical form. Oval-shaped face with high cheekbones and kissable full lips. Tousled, medium-length dark brown hair with bangs covered those piercing eyes. Even decked in all black, he managed to stand out effortlessly. Taking her hand into his, he kissed her knuckles lightly. Her voice caught in her throat.

As she remained silent, he released her hand. “I’m Jimin. What’s your name? ”

Finding her voice, she felt entranced. “Y/N.”

“Would you like to dance, Y/N?”

“Yes,” she answered softly.

Gripping her waist, he pulled her close, bringing her flush against him. She let out a dull moan, making him smirk. She followed suit, straddling his leg. Biting his lip, he leaned close to her ear, his breath tickling her skin.

“You have no idea how much I want you, Y/N.”

She gripped his shoulders, making him laugh against her collarbone. 

“W-Wish this was real,” she breathed out.

“It’s not?”

“I’ll wake up soon.”

Jimin hummed in understanding. “How about I leave you with something to remember me by?”

Before she could react, his lips were pressed to hers. Those soft, pillowy lips. As his tongue swiped across the seam of her lips, she whimpered, obliging his wishes. The kiss grew with wanton lust, and suddenly she was up against a wall. She pouted as he pulled away, his forehead dropping to her shoulder.

“Could kiss you forever.”

Lifting his head, he pecked her lips, making a smile appear on her face. “Want more?”

She bobbed her head eagerly. With her permission, Jimin slid his hand under her skirt, caressing her skin as he reached his goal. Just as his digits slipped under her underwear, a sudden sound made her jump.

Looking around, she balled her fists and fell back into the pillows. “Damn it! Not again!” 

Every night the same thing. Y/N would relive the same scene over and over again. He haunted her dreams. Frustration covered her face as she got out of bed to start her day; all she could see was his face. 

Why was she having these thoughts? She knew she couldn’t tell her friends; they’d just look at her funny. She could hear it now.

“I’m having sex dreams about some random dude.”

Yeah. Sounded ridiculous out loud.

She sighed as she got dressed, deciding that going about her day would be her best bet. 

And so she did. 

As the day turned to night, she returned home, exhausted from the day. She walked over to her balcony and looked at the view. Much to her surprise, the moon seemed more prominent than usual. With an orange hue, it seemed to draw her in. 

“Beautiful.”

“Yes, you are.”

She spun to see him. Those piercing eyes, those pillowy lips. It was him! Jimin!

He brushed his bangs back, biting his lip at her. “Hello, Y/N.”

“How–”

He stepped forward with a wicked grin. “You’ve been haunting my dreams, dear.”

What?

Closing the distance, his thumb caressed her cheek. “I know you’ve been thinking about me too, right?”

This has got to be a dream.

Why not play along?

She moved her head, so his thumb was now over her lips. Not breaking her gaze, she pushed it past her lips to suckle. A growl left his lips. 

“You little devil. You don’t know what you do to me,” he husked.

“Why don’t you show me,” she taunted.

His tongue swiped across his bottom lip. “You know what are you asking?”

“No, but why don’t we find out.”

“You needn’t say a word, little devil,” he whispered.

Jimin waved his hand around them, and Y/N watched as her apartment transformed into a place in the forest. Candles surrounded them in a circle, and the moon was bright above. Jimin waved his hand once more as the candles became lit.

He turned to look at her with that all-knowing smile. She felt entranced once more as she undressed down to her underwear. Jimin unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his god-like physique. 

He was otherworldly. 

Lips crashing against hers, he guided her to the ground. Even though they lay on the grass, it felt like she was on a silk bed. She gasped as his lips dragged across her pulse points. She felt like she had an out-of-body experience. Everything was aflame. Her nails dug into his back, making him hiss with want. He couldn’t keep his hands off her, thumbs flicking over her nipples, making her whimper.

“Wanted you for so long, Y/N. Can’t believe I have you,” he groaned.

“Make love to me, Jimin,” she purred.

“I will and so much more,” he husked.

Y/N slipped out of her underwear as Jimin stared in amazement. Y/N parted her legs for him, free of the confines, and he nearly dived in. Her scent, an olfactory aphrodisia, made him moan out as he spread her legs wider, clit swollen from neglect. Jimin kissed up her legs, nipping at her skin. Each noise and movement only made him hungry for more. Finally, he reached his goal. His eyes darkened with passion; his tongue found her clit, flicking it gently.

Her cries rang out in the forest as Jimin lapped at the juices, moaning from the sounds of pleasure she created. She rutted against his tongue, a shuddering mess. She felt alive for the time. An unusual sensation grew as if fire pooled in her abdomen. 

“J-Jimin–”

“It's okay little devil, let go. ”

Her hips rose off the ground just as her body jerked forward. Jimin ceased his movements, watching as she orgasmed. Once the wave settled, she could only collapse as her breathing became haggard. He moved up to kiss her lips, stroking her hair.

“I’ve never come like that before,” she confessed quietly.

He couldn’t help but feel a little smug with what she said. His arrogance grew–as if it could.

“The night’s not even close to being over. You’ll be craving me long after I’m done.”

Settling between her legs, Y/N’s eyes lifted to look at him. They widened at the sight. His size worried her for a moment. He noticed the expression on her face, took her hand, and placed it on his shaft with a soft smile. 

“It’s alright. I’ll be gentle.”

She squeezed him as precum dribbled from the head. Jimin threw his head back with a shudder.

“I-I need you, little devil.”

Lining at her entrance, he inched himself past her folds, only pausing at how tight her grip was around him. Her nails dug into his back as he guided himself inside her. Y/N felt her eyes roll back at the feeling of being full.

“Am I hurting you?”

“N-No, keep going,” she gasped. “K-Keep going.”

Once their hips were flushed, each let out a satisfied groan. A haze fell over the two as Jimin began to thrust, grunting each time their hips met. Jimin hooked her legs up over his shoulders, moving from a different angle. All she could do was keen at his touches. Jimin only had eyes for her, bending down to swallow her moans with a passionate kiss, sucking her tongue sensually. He pulled away to look at her.

Damn, if anyone saw them in this act, it only furthered his arousal within the moment. He reached for a breast tugging at her nipple roughly.

“Be mine,” he said gruffly. 

His words made the knot in her belly constrict for the second time of the night. With a cry, he flipped their positions, bouncing her on his cock. Their movements became sloppy as her walls clenched his cock, making him move faster as he sought his pleasure and hers. Her hips met his as the sounds of skin slapping grew louder.

“J-Jimin!”

Her back arched, and her head fell back. He reached for her breasts, tweaking and pinching her nipples. She shivered under his touch, not wanting it to end. Whipping her curls to the side, she met his gaze. With a strangled grunt, he sat up and released his seed into her cunt, filling her womb and letting it spill out onto his lap. As both crumbled, his head fell between her breasts as they both sat there spent in an embrace. She ran her nails lazily through his damp hair, humming to herself. She felt light and heavy at the same time. With his last bit of strength, he inched up and kissed her, suckling her tongue gently.

Once they caught their breath, Jimin looked into her eyes with a smile. 

“You’re nothing like I’d imagined.” 

“I could say the same thing,” she giggled.

He reached over to one of the candles and brought it close. Under the flame, it seemed as if his eyes glowed.

“Only the moon and stars witnessed this. Do you swear your loyalty to them?”

Her brow quirked with confusion. “What does that mean?”

Jimin ran his hand over the flame, not affected by the heat. “It means I want you, Y/N. Will you be mine?”

“I–”

“Don’t think. Just say it,” he instructed.

She could hear it being said before she could stop herself.

“Yes.”

With a mischievous grin, Jimin blew out the candle and plunged them into complete darkness.

“And so it begins.”

The alarm went off as her eyes opened suddenly. Y/N looked around to see that she was lying in her bed. Running her hands through her curls, the previous night's events ran through her thoughts.

“Damn, It was a dream.”

Sighing, she jumped out of bed and headed to her bathroom. As she began her morning routine, she dropped the facial cream as she stared at her reflection, and a moon and stars were etched on her clavicle.