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aquilaofarkham · 3 years

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title: mishpachah rating: T+ word count: 3,085 summary: Five years after rebuilding the manor—and the birth of a new Belmont into the world—Trevor decides to share an old recipe with his newfound family.

For @fibulaa 💛 Thanks so much for commissioning me!

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The first bread Trevor Belmont ate while living his newly orphaned vagabond life was so dry it cut at the inner walls of his throat. He swallowed each bite with grimace after grimace, knowing that despite the pain, the already hardened child of thirteen could stave off starvation for a little while longer. Until he tasted the faintest tinge of copper on his ruined tongue.

Putting those years far behind, he now stands in front of a wooden counter, blurry eyed and with a yawn reminiscent of a sun drunk cat. It seems clean at first glance but in every corner Trevor notices fragments of past meals which he tried wiping away once they were finished and placed on a more pristine table meant for family. Bits of salt, half minced vegetables, and crumbs of bread much softer than the ones belonging to a later childhood he would rather forget. This kitchen, warm in its early morning sunlight, was the final instalment of the manor, newly risen from the ashes. Or rather, simply rebuilt thanks to the calloused, blistered, and splintered hands. No more ruined stone, no more fire blackened beams holding together little less than an architectural skeleton. The somewhat mirror image of Trevor’s lost home has been faring better than the castle. Too many memories, fresh, ranging from bitter to incomprehensible.

Slowly, he grows conscious of his surroundings and his own self. A continuing habit of being the first to wake not just in this manor hold but in life. Reluctantly opening his eyes prior to dawn covering the landscape while still traveling alone only to drag a pair of worn boots back along a similar muddy road. Trevor never wanted to wake up before the sun. He just couldn’t bear to stay in the same place for much longer whether due to the laundry list of dangers or more often than not, his newfound hatred of whichever backwater hamlet he unfortunately found himself in.

He’s happy to wake up early. Happy to never feel a need to leave or escape, happy to know that lack of food replaced with pints of liquid pleasure mixed with death will never plague him again. Happy to prepare breakfast in a hot iron pot over a well stoked fire. What he thought he lost forever has come back, along with new additions to the family he’s carved out.

Another presence bounds her way into the kitchen and ambushes Trevor from behind. He’s not old—not yet, he’ll give it time—but years of drinking have made their permanent stay, dulling the more acute senses. Makes it easier for a five-year-old to catch him off guard. Trevor’s eyes bolt open as tiny arms hold him in a tight cage.

“Good morning, papa!”

His ears ring at the sound of Mirele’s loud voice, but at least he won’t have to worry about nodding off. He stares down at the youngest Belmont who looks as though someone had split Trevor and Sypha straight down their centres into four pieces and sewed each differing half onto the other in order to create a new person. A homunculi of messy dark chocolate hair, bright eyes shining with blue ice, full rosy cheeks somehow conspicuously smeared with some sort of dirt or jam, and enough energy to wear out an electric powered jackrabbit.

“How’s my little monster doing this morning?” Everything Trevor says is laced with his own personal touch of affection and Mirele loves it.

“Mama and papa are still asleep. Help me wake them up! Pleaseeee?”

This doesn’t surprise him; Sypha has always preferred to savour her last moments of sleep longer than normal and Alucard is… well, Alucard.

“Tell you what.” Trevor places a lid onto the simmering pot with a heavy clank. “While this heats up for our breakfast, we’ll go wake up those lazy bones.”

“Right!” Hand in smaller hand, the two make their way upstairs into the shadowy master bedchamber. Curtains drawn with only a sliver of light cutting its singular path across the floor and over two distinct lumps covered by blankets and furs. They seem conjoined, linked in each other’s arms, unaware that a third party has been missing for long enough. Mirele plunges into the room first, jumping onto the bed as all children do when parents refuse to join the land of the conscious. She playfully shoves and cuddles her way between the two bodies who sink deeper beneath the covers, lazily moaning like ghosts.

“Mama! Papa! Wake up! It’s time to get up!”

Trevor hopes that his tactic of throwing open the weighted curtains works in a more effective manner. Listening to the rising chorus of wordless protests coming from behind, he’s pleased with the results. “Never thought I would be the one setting a good example for our daughter.”

“Do not get cheeky, especially this early.” Sypha’s response spills out like running water. It’s clear her mind isn’t quite all there yet. But she can scoop Mirele into her arms, find every ticklish spot, and illicit giggles that only canines might hear. “At least we both know how to have fun, right my sweet?”

“Vampires… nocturnal…” A deeper, muffled voice emerges from under one of the pillows.

“Something you’d like to share with us, Alucard?” Trevor quips, amused at how the other father of the household can never seem to shake off his morning dishevelment. Perhaps sleeping in a coffin would help—a very large one so he doesn’t have to be alone. Alucard reluctantly removes the pillow as tangled heaps of gold fall over his face.

“Vampires are supposed to be nocturnal. Would you rather I burst into ashes upon contact with the sun? Think of our girls, Trevor.”

“We’ve all seen you in the sun before, it’s about as dangerous as a clove of garlic.”

“I have my own means of physical protection. Far beyond your measly human comprehension, love.”

“Personally, I’ve been able to comprehend you plenty.”

Mirele stares up at Sypha, her bushy brows furrowed. “What does… comp… sshhheshion mean?”

“It’s just another word your fathers use whenever either of them want to feel smart.”

Alucard gives Sypha a gentle pinch on either side of her abdomen. “I thought you were on my side.”

“What about my side?” Trevor asks, excelling at the greatest strength he possesses—the ability to never take anything seriously, only when he must.

“I’m hungry,” Mirele speaks up. “Hungry and bored. Can we eat now?”

This life is not normal, but then again it is. It always has been for them. Normal once meant coming together because of violence, encroaching darkness, and some flimsy prophecy stringing them along one dead body at a time. A prophecy which never said what had to be done after they followed it to the hard earned letter. Perhaps that’s why Trevor, Sypha, and Alucard floundered afterwards. No instruction on how to live their upturned lives.

Fuck prophecy.

They made this life by their own standards and in accordance with their own desires. They loved how they wanted to love and no prophecy could have foreseen Mirele. How she calls for her father while both Trevor and Alucard turn their heads at the same exact second. How she quickly calms herself when presented with a bowl of warm oatmeal drowning in honey and wild fruits hand plucked from the surrounding forest. But it’s not enough. Nothing ever is for someone always growing, always wanting more from life at such a young age.

“Can I have bread?”

Trevor, half way through his bitter coffee, turns to Sypha then Alucard as all three parental figures exchange glances. They haven’t the heart to tell Mirele. No bread at the ready, only the necessary ingredients and a considerable amount of flour bags to blanket Enisala. There’s the option of making it themselves, yet it depends on a certain someone’s capacity for patience.

“How do you feel about baking our own?” Trevor’s voice wavers, which he tries to mask with his characteristic dry tone. It’s been a long time since he’s made bread. Then again, helping the manor cooks was a somewhat selfish endeavour as it meant extra servings for the baby of the Belmonts. Yet his proposal goes over well with Mirele, whose inherited eyes light up at the prospect of trying something new.

“I wanna make bread! Can we? Can we please?”

“When was the last time you baked anything, Trevor?” Alucard asks, genuinely curious and with a healthy dose of skepticism. “You still won’t tell us much about anything concerning your former life, let alone the sort of foods your family ate.”

Trevor feels a twinge in his gut—still better than a punch. His two lovers, even his daughter, they only know of his mother; a matriarch in her own right. They know her name, the monsters she killed, and not much else. Trevor’s excuses: he doesn’t remember anything about her, despite the fact that he does. He didn’t know her for very long or very well, so there’s no point in missing her. Trevor did know Sonia and he does miss her, sometimes more than he can handle. Then the easiest excuse: it’s just another self-preservation tactic.

Out of this inner reflection comes an idea. It breaks tradition in a way. For the Belmonts and other Jewish families, everything is passed down through the mother—recipes, forms of worship, blood memories, centuries old tactics of bruising one’s knuckles and temples. Trevor doesn’t think this slight deviation from his culture’s norm will make him any less of what he’s always been. Mirele will simply have to pick up where he left off when she’s grown.

He doesn’t want to think about that now. She’s only five after all. One lesson at a time.

“Alright. Gather round, pupils. The bread we’re making isn’t just any bread. Forget everything you know and everything you’ve been taught because this will be the closest thing to heaven you’ll ever taste.”

“How dramatic…” Sypha mutters under her breath. Alucard joins her amusement with a subdued chuckle.

“I believe you were partially his influence.”

Trevor knows how much trouble he’ll be in if he puts Mirele through the most agonizing cruelty of waiting a second longer than necessary. Fearful of her pint-sized wrath, he gives everyone the order to start gathering ingredients: flour, eggs, honey, and some indulgent herbs to make this particular bread something special. As much of a strategic leader in the kitchen as he is when the world is coming to an end. With everything spread out on the countertops, Trevor guides his family step by step through the only recipe he remembers. He calls this bread “challah”, which Mirele immediately strains her freshly green vocal chords, trying to pronounce the word exactly as her father does. She quickly gives up and focuses on mixing the ingredients with an intense look—almost to a fault as bits of sloppy dough fly out of the bowl. Good. This enthusiasm is what Trevor wants to see.

Kneaded and allowed time to rise, the next step is the most important. Trevor divides the dough into four halves, then again, and again until each participant has their own handful of raw unbaked strips.

“We have to braid them?” Mirele asks following his explanation.

“That’s right. It’s what makes this bread different from all the rest.”

“Just like when papa let’s me braid his pretty hair!”

Every pair of eyes turns to Alucard, whose smile widens in that way which causes his eyes to shut tightly. Fangs happily bared as he pulls Mirele into his flour and dough covered arms while she giggles in delight. After they all return to work, her loaf turns out the same way as the braids she gives to him—lopsided, uneven, lacking a few outsticking stray hairs, but filled with affection and genuine resolve.

Three loaves are placed into the oven, including a fourth crudely constructed but still adequately done piece. Mirele is now more willing to play the waiting game—so she claims. Sitting in front of the oven while staring directly into its insides, utterly fascinated, oblivious to her surroundings. Unaware that her three parents are whispering behind her back. Eventually, Sypha has to gently pull her away with her bottom dragging along the kitchen floor.

“How about you and I do something a little more interesting while your fathers keep watch over things.”

“But what about the c… the calla!”

“Don’t worry, they will look after it. And we are not going far, my sweet.”

“We’ll make sure nothing burns down.” Trevor assures, despite it being Sypha who usually revels in cinders and ashes, intentionally or not.

The two retreat down the corridor past diamond shaped stained windows and into one of the manor’s smaller libraries where the cabinets reach the high ceiling painted in deep blue hues. Scattered from corner to corner are constellations of stars and midnight clouds obscuring each phase of the moon. Once when Alucard found Mirele curiously asleep atop a number of pillows when she should have been in her own bed, it was his decision to paint the library in new colours. Sypha moves aside an entire shelf of thick volumes as though trying to find a carefully hidden switch that will lead them into a secret chamber. It’s what Mirele hopes but turns mildly disappointed when the books do not in fact magically shift to reveal a stone passageway. Her soured anticipation is only countered when Sypha places a box on the desk.

“Can you guess what’s inside?”

“Is it treasure?”

“Close! You are almost right.” Sypha opens the lid just as Pandora did except there are no horrors, no evils to be wrought upon humanity. Mirele peeks inside and her eyes shine with the glistening silver of trinkets, pendants, and talismans. She resists the innate urge to reach her hands, still white with flour, into the box only to briefly experience the sensation of holding one between her fingers. Even children know when something is sacred.

“These belonged to your grandparents. They used them for protection and strength. A long time ago, before you were born, their home burned down and everything was destroyed.”

“Papa’s home?”

Sypha nods, grateful that this story now has its happy ending, slight as it may be. “However, when your other father started building the manor we live in, he found this box trapped amongst all the rubble. It managed to survive.”

“What do they say?”

Mirele points to one pendant molded in the shape of a sword. Inscribed along the curve of its ash-riddled blade are the Hebrew names of angels which must have been muttered by Sonia or Gabriel. The longer Mirele stares, attempting to decipher yet another new language, the brighter her cheeks grow red with frustration. Her mother acts quick just as her eyes begin to water.

“It’s alright if you don’t understand what any of them say.”

“I can learn! Please, mama? I promise I’ll study really hard!”

Sypha’s lips curl as Mirele continues her begging. Oh the mind of a child. How quickly it changes.

The kitchen feels hotter, wafting through the air. Enveloping the room and everything caught between its walls. Trevor stands by the oven, a thick cloth ready in his hand. It shouldn’t take much longer. At least there’s no stench of something burning. Almost makes him pine for the days of his family’s massive stone oven and how he would sneak around at night and pick out leftover morsels from inside like an insatiable mouse. Not unlike the actual beasts which he hunted throughout the hallways before moving onto larger prey typical of a Belmonts’ work—or as large as his own runtish body mass could handle.

Minutes of quiet pass, still eyeing the loaves with a keen gaze. Trevor’s concentration soon broken by the feeling of two arms wrapping around his softening yet still robust midsection. Slow and careful, until his back is pressed against an equally broad chest.

“Can I help you?” He asks as Alucard buries his face into the curvature of his shoulder blades.

“You’re already helping.” The dhampir, unchanging in his physical appearance (a revelation both Trevor and Sypha refuse to acknowledge for the time being), tightens his embrace.

“Something wrong?”

“No… I just enjoy feeling how much softer and warmer you’ve become.”

Trevor’s cheeks blush ever so pinker and not because of the oven’s heat. By now he should be used to Alucard’s sudden bouts of outward affection.

“You even smell better.”

There it is. Trevor thought he would be waiting forever to hear that little jab, though said with nothing but a good heart.

“That might be the herbs you’re smelling.”

Alucard shifts around so that the two of them are side by side, cheek to cheek, as he chuckles in Trevor’s ear. “Come here.”

He doesn’t offer a kiss, not where Trevor was expecting. Instead of his lips, Alucard singles out every patch of stray flour on his face, kissing, wiping, even licking them clean. Cheek, jawline, and nose. Trevor’s expression twists into a ticklish, surprisingly delighted facade.

“You’re a half vampire, not a cat.”

“Better to clean you now than later.”

“Always so fucking odd…”

“You love it.”

Much to his lucky stars, Trevor manages one curse mere seconds before Sypha and Mirele return. They let their daughter speak at a breakneck speed neither one can fully comprehend—something about silver pieces and whether they can teach her a new language—until one series of questions finally sticks.

“Is the bread ready yet? Can we eat it now? Can we please?”

Trevor placates Mirele by revealing the fruits of their joint hard earned labour: four freshly baked and perfectly shined challah loaves each representative of whoever did the braiding. She bounces in her chair before simmering down to an excited tremble once Trevor warns her of how they need to cool. In order to make this more of a meal, he rummages about in search of two other beacons from his childhood. He’s rewarded with one of the few fresh apples they have left while Sypha, ever in tune with his inner thoughts, grabs another small pot of honey for him.

Trevor thanks her by gently running his palm across her lower abdomen, over the growing bump. He keeps it there for just a second longer, a subtle gesture of love noticed by Sypha. Fingertips intertwined with each other, they join Alucard and Mirele at the table as the midday sun shines golden through the windows.

#castlevania #castlevania fanfiction #trevor belmont #alucard #alucard castlevania #sypha belnades #trephacard #my writing #*cvfic #jewish trevor

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springtimebat · 4 years

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Dragon-Smoke

The monster was born on an October morning.

The mother lay on a makeshift bed, her legs in the air, her hands grasping the iron bars of the headboard. Three midwives, three fates cutting a golden thread, three phantoms, three pairs of pincers held her down and interfered with parts of her body she never let anyone touch. Not even the father. Her hair, once golden brown, had greyed. Her eyes were squeezed closed, her nose was snotty and her mouth yelled obscenities at the autumn air. She screamed at the looming circus tent, at the freaks, at the demon, at the father, at the husband and finally, at the cross. It lay there. Just...lay there. Golden, holier than thou, on the old steeple wall in the mother’s mind; it scoffed at her with an imaginary mouth and wicked eyes. She’d been a nurse years ago. She’d wanted to be a nun.

“Bless you,” The cross snarled from another place not so far away.

The father stood outside the tent, his golden curls waving about his head as the wind danced. At every other birth he’d been in the operating room when the time came. The first few times holding this wife’s legs down with the rest of them, leaving sticky, silky marks all the way up her calves when he had a passionate turn. The last few times he’d sat in the back, smoking a pipe and yelling encouraging words over his wife’s curses. It had been in the afternoon then; that was no time for a man to lose himself to the throes of passion. His eyes were just slivers as he looked up at the warm morning skies, their golden reds and their dark golds twisting among the stars and the waxing moon. A waxing moon. All the others had been delivered on a full moon. The father took a puff of his cigarette (he had just moved on from pipes, at a companion’s request when the smoke became too thick to stand) and gave a smile that would make the devil shiver. This would be a special one.

The father, all alone, began to think of past times. He began to remember what it had been like to be Billy Young, over a lifetime ago. He’d never done that before. The name seemed so stifling then. Once it had chained him down, placed a giant padlock on his chest, directly over his heart. He’d not been a man of power. A man of importance. He’d just been Billy; the third son of Harold Young. After that, the fourth child out of a future nine. He was one of nine. That’s how he was seen. By his father. By his mother. By his older brothers and sisters. Nothing special. Nothing extraordinary. But he’d shown them. They were all gone now. He’d outlived them. Once, there had been a family of twelve, ruling the carnival freaks. Now, only Billy Young remained. The freaks answered to him and only him.

Lucy Albarn floated past him, a dove in the guise of a penguin. He’d noticed her one day. One ordinary day with a not-so ordinary outcome. Billy Young had been marching with his freaks; a top hat sat on his head, a smirk spread across his face, a clown and a blind girl held onto his sides, begging for scraps of his glory to devour. Billy Young was a king. The father sighed wistfully as he recalled his top hat; his crown. He’d seen all sorts that day, as usual, but no one stood out. A cold eight in the morning had turned into a boiling four in the afternoon and wearing his jacket hadn’t been such a grand idea. He tried to find a place where he could calm down, compose himself, as the heat threatened to strip him away. That was when he saw Lucy Albarn, her eyes like saucepans, staring. At him. At him! Not Harold Junior, not Allister Young two years his senior: him. She saw him gazing at her, taking notice, and her mouth opened slightly in a little gasp. He shifted a little, his stance grew askew. His hand flew up and gave a wave. Lucy Albarn waved back. He saw her now in the cigarette smoke, waving and grinning slyly. It was funny; he was there for a short time, always moving, always changing, always followed by a circus, always shadowed by the tent. She had been there, in that town (he couldn’t remember the name), probably all her life, and she stood there, looking him in the eye (and oh, how big her eyes were), smirking at him. Grinning. It was a secret smile, the one Lucy Albarn had given him that day, in the horrible heat, just before her other penguin friends whisked her away from him for a short while. It was a friend’s smile, it was a lover’s smile, it was a wife’s smile. It was a smile that he’d tried to get her to show him ever since. It was the smile that made Billy Young realise he liked Lucy Albarn. It was that secret, devious, evil little smirk that made him realise he wanted to marry her.

The next few years were a giant blur, cut into ribbons by his addiction to cigars, rum and producing heirs. An incident in an alleyway may have happened, involving Billy Young, Lucy Albarn and three or four strongmen and a burlap sack. At least, Lucy Albarn had testified that it had happened. But, as everyone knew, she wasn’t quite… right anymore. She hadn’t been since the first baby, the clowns would occasionally mutter. Billy disagreed. He’d say she went wrong on their wedding day. He stood at the altar with the priest who’d kindly agreed to officiate (abruptly, suddenly, there was a flash of a gun cocking, a bat being drawn from the carnival folks mass of hands, claws and hooves), waiting proudly, patiently, as she walked down the aisle. Her hair was still a golden brown, hidden by his mother’s old veil, and she hunched over as she stumbled up to them, ashamed. And, as the priest began to recite his scripture, she looked up at Billy Young for the first time in weeks. She gazed at him, her owl eyes glazed over like glass. Then, she gave him a small smile. It was not the smirk he desired; no she’d never pull it again, not after the first one got her into so much trouble. It wasn’t really a smile, if he was being honest with himself. It was just a slight curve of the lips. It was a small cry of mercy. Billy Young realised, then and there, that this was Lucy Albarn’s final attempt to plead with him. After being taken from her home, being beaten by a group of strangers and being caged in a freak show for three never ending weeks, she was about to break. As she gazed at him with those glass eyes, she searched this man for any sign of Billy Young; the boy with the top hat, the boy with golden curls, the shade of the sun, the boy who noticed her in a crowd of thousands. The boy she had smirked at. He smirked instead, when she looked down and her shoulders slumped. Moments later, a priest declared that Lucy Albarn was now Lucy Young, her husband lifted her off the ground and strode towards his tent (their tent now) and to their bed.

His wife’s silence finally brought Billy back to earth and he turned back towards the same tent, now threadbare and drenched of colour. The three midwives pushed their way outside, their mangled hands holding bloody towels. They began to bicker amongst themselves, about pay, about personal rights, but they saw their master out of the corner of their eyes and put on their brave faces. They were all simpering and sweet smiles. It made him feel sick. Lucy would do the same thing once he made his way to her. That was the worst part.

Billy Young of Young’s Cabinet of Curiosities cleared his throat, “Everything in order?”

“Yes sir!” One midwife with a missing eye said.

“A normal birth sir!” one with a snout for a nose said.

“Here’s hoping it’s a healthy one sir!” the last with a stump instead of a leg said.

“One to live a long and happy life sir!” They all croaked together as a loansome chorus.

“Hmm cheers,” Billy grumbled, “How’s Lucy?”

“Fine. Fine. Could have another ten chillies, if you wish it sir.”

“Good,” Billy changed focus to the tent. Inside was silent. Unnaturally silent.

“I’d like to see my family. I won’t be at the big top for the rest of the day,” with that, Billy let his cigarette fall to the ground and crushed it under his rider’s boots, “Wilson is in charge ‘till I return. You three get back to work.”

The midwives raced away towards the shadowy hills, grumbling about promotions and the unfairness of it all. Billy watched them go, taking his time. He had all the time in the world. Lucy had all the time in the world. The baby had all the time in the world. Slowly, he lifted the flap of the tent up and stepped inside to greet his family.

How many was it now? Surely it had been about ten right? Ten babies. That meant it had been at least twelve years. Twelve years full of babies, travelling, Billy Young. In all of those years, Lucy had never given birth to a child that didn’t scream. Margot, Janie, Billy Junior, Kyle…. All the others that had gone before she could give them names. They’d all had a powerful set of lungs.

“They all took after their father,” Lucy thought grimly as she pulled herself up out of bed. They’d left the tent in disarray; towels had been thrown onto the floor, a shelf had been pushed on the way out, leaving her books in disarray and a stained mattress growing strange, green fur out of its sides had been put next to Lucy’s bed. The monster lay on that mattress, wrapped in the threadbare blanket his brothers and sisters had been nursed in. Still, something else was wrong.

“Something’s missing,” Lucy realised, scanning the room.

Then it hit her. She turned to the tent entrance. The cross that had taunted her was gone, stolen from the patchwork wall.

Lucy sighed,”Strange thing to take,” she thought to herself as she went to meet her new baby. Still, she shouldn't be surprised. She knew she was surrounded by strange folk.

The baby was small and thin, which made Lucy worry.

“I can’t have another one,” She whispered, picking the thing up, “I know I can’t.”

Then, the baby’s hand, bright pink and chubby, grabbed onto her wrist and the mother’s fear faded away. It was a boy, which would please the demon once he decided to make himself known. He had hair; all his siblings had been bald. Not only that but it was a dark, dark brown, wild and curly as his little head swivelled around looking for food. Lucy pulled her dress down and put him to her chest, being rewarded with a clumsy slurp a few moments later. As he ate, his eyes went up to her face, startling her. He wasn’t squinting. No, he was staring at her, as if he were fully aware of everything. His eyes were blue. Forget me not blue. Lucy smiled. All the others had green eyes,their father’s eyes. These were her eyes. They were the one pair of friendly eyes she’d seen in a long, long time. It sounded crazy, but this baby looked almost...sad. It seemed to understand everything within minutes of its birth. Lucy relaxed and sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, listening to her son’s noises as if they were a lullaby.

“You’re gonna be ok, aren’t you?” she asked her baby quietly. The baby blinked in response.

The father strolled in from the morning light, his top hat on his head, his eyes tired and weary. Billy smiled proudly once he saw his wife feeding their newborn son on the bed.

“You’re gonna be ok right?” He asked, with a voice like honey. Lucy grunted, trying to focus on her son, who’d stopped eating and was now nuzzling his head against her breast. Quickly, she hauled him over her shoulder and patted him on the back. The baby burped quietly soon afterwards.

Billy chuckled and sat on the edge of the bed. Lucy tucked their son back into his blanket and pretended to look at the wall.

“Can I hold them?” Billy whispered. Lucy sighed. She hated when he begged her. He sounded so pathetic. She slowly handed the boy over to his father, taking extra care to support his head. Billy smiled at her then turned to his son.

“It’s a boy,” Lucy whispered, lying back on the pillows. Her back made a terrible cracking sound, making Billy turn to her.

“You just relax for a while. I’ll get the midwives to nurse him for you,” He stroked the baby, curling a few locks of his hair around his thin fingers. The boy gurgled and his father cooed in delight. Lucy furrowed her brow, suspicious.

“No, I want to do it. He’s mine.”

Billy shook his head, “You need to rest. You can’t even take care of yourself, much less a baby,” He stood up and walked the baby around the tent, bouncing him in his arms. The boy squealed, “You got a name in mind yet, honey?”

“No,” Lucy closed her eyes. She never thought of the names.

“Huh. Ok.” Billy stroked his son’s cheek, thinking. The baby began to gnaw at his nail.

“I like this one,” Billy chuckled. Lucy groaned, “How about Owen eh?”

“Sure that’s nice,” Lucy moaned. She just wanted to sleep. Billy bent down to sit next to his exhausted wife in bed.

“Look at that, you’re both out like lights,” He showed her Owen, who had begun to snore. Lucy rolled her eyes. Billy stroked her forehead with another hand, catching beads of sweat.

“You two get some rest for now okay? I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Sure.”

“Love you honey.”

“Yeah, I love you too.”

Billy handed Owen back to her and lay down on the bed, staring happily at the ceiling. Lucy glared at the sleeping baby in her arms; the son her husband seemed to adore almost immediately.

“I thought we had a deal,” she thought, “This is not how you stay okay.”

The newborn answered with a snore.

Lucy kissed her son’s forehead and fell asleep with him her aching arms.

#a devil's palm story #creative writing #my writing #horror #fantasy #parallel worlds #supernatural #paranormal #carnivals #the outcome of burnout #cryptidcore #cryptids #oddcore #weirdcore #linked to the devil and the seer #sequel post #linked to a poem i wrote a while ago #southern gothic #american gothic

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justcallmefox89 · 4 years

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Truth or Dare Part 9 - Diavolo’s Ending

The Demon Lord’s castle is in an uproar and Mammon steps up to hold things together. The Devildom gets a visit from two unforeseen visitors who have the ability to change the course of fate.

Written from the perspective of a female OC

NSFW - threesome, guy on guy, penetrative sex, anal sex, unprotected sex, shower sex.........filth. It’s just smutty, smutty filth.

TWs - discussions of death and dying

Mood List:

Jonathan Young - A Whole New World (cover) Max - Lights Down Low Jarryd James - Do You Remember The Killers - Smile Like You Mean It Hozier - Almost

I feel nauseous and my head is pounding.

Too much Demonus, not enough water. I am never going to The Fall with Asmo ever again. Never.

A strong pair of arms surround me, holding me up.

“Fuck off Asmo.....this is all your fault,” I say, slurring.

“I assure you my darling, I am not Asmodeus and this situation is in no way his fault,” a voice behind me says, light and airy, tinkling like wind chimes swaying in the breeze.

I recognize that voice.

“She’s right,” another voice chimes in. “This is a situation borne of your own stupidity.” A pause. “Took courage though. You must have a pair of brass balls on you, human. You get that from my side I’m sure.”

A sardonic chuckle.

Low and husky, this voice sounds a lot like mine. But there’s something else.....something darker, dangerous. Something that brings to mind prey running through a forest at twilight, being pursued by something shadowy and quick and ominous, leaves and grass rustling as something runs for its life.

I blink, blearily trying to focus, when a face pops up right in front of mine.

“Holy motherfucking fucking fuck!” I yelp and stumble back.

The face frowns, and when I look a little closer I realize I’m gazing into a pair of green eyes that look startlingly like my own. I don’t know the owner though. This woman’s long chestnut hair is held back from her face in a series of braids, her skin streaked with decorative lines that have been painted on by something chalky and blue.

“Language,” the voice from behind reprimands me softly.

“Sorry,” I say automatically, turning around.

I know you.

Her skin is pale, like mine, but she has soft, dove grey eyes and flowing white hair. White hair like........ like Mammon’s.

“Where’s Mammon? Where’s Diavolo?” I ask, whipping my head around, realizing I’m in Diavolo’s study.

Everything looks hazy and out of focus, like a soft watercolor painting. I see a group of men huddled around something on the floor, and breathe out a small sigh of relief when I hear Mammon and Diavolo speaking, although I can’t make out what they’re saying.

I face the pale woman again as the dark haired woman looks on impassively.

“Lilith why are you here? Is it safe for you to be here?”

The other woman snorts. “We’re not in the Devildom, child.”

“Then where are we?” I ask, panicky.

“A....purgatory of sorts,” Lilith answers carefully.

Purgatory? But that’s for .................flames.....Mammon screaming. Blood. Skin burning. Pain, so much pain. Oh shit.

“I died?” I swallow hard. “Then the ritual didn’t work.”

The dark haired woman scowls. “You’re not too far gone for us to help you, but you’ve sure pushed the limit of what we can do.”

“Oh fuc-”

“Arianthi!” Lilith fixes me with a stern look.

“Sorry,” I mumble, avoiding her eyes. “So I’m just a little bit dead?”

Lilith nods. “There’s still enough time to for us to send you back.”

A sound from far off in the distance drifts towards us. Something that sounds like wood creaking and groaning, waves pounding against rocks. And an unearthly haunting melody, underscored with eldritch screams. It’s beautiful and terrible all at once, and I fight the urge to clap my hands over my ears. My eyes dart around the room, searching for the origin of the noise.

“We don’t have any more time Lilith, we have to go. NOW!” The other woman hisses.

“I know Morrigan, I know.” Lilith grabs my shoulders and bends down so we’re eye to eye. “We can’t help you anymore after this. The Demon King is powerful, but he isn’t invincible. And soon, even he won’t be able to deny your place in the Devildom hierarchy.”

She flashes me a secretive smile.

“You’ve drawn attention from other powerful beings though, so be on your guard. Mammon will protect you, stay close to him.” She kisses my forehead and gives me another smile. “I’m proud of you. Both of you. Tell him that.”

I nod and she moves away, Morrigan stepping into her place. She cocks her head to the side and looks at me curiously.

“We don’t know each other, but you’ll learn of me soon enough. You’ve always been one of my favorites; the first one of mine to wreak such chaos in hundreds of generations.” She smirks at me. “You’re entertaining, I’ll give you that.”

The noise from earlier sounds like it’s getting closer. She takes my hands in her own. “Diavolo is a fine demon and he will be a wonderful ruler. You chose well. Be good to each other.”

She presses a her lips to my forehead then roughly shoves me back.

WHUMP.

Shiiiiiiit. Pain. So much pain. All the pain.

“No, no, no, no,.......not again baby, please not again. Come back....” Mammon

“Solomon do something!” Diavolo.

“I’m trying, I’m trying!”

My eyes don’t want to open and my body is sore and stiff. I’m restricted, feeling claustrophobic. I jerk and try to struggle free of whatever is holding me.

“Oi!”

I try to stretch and blink my eyes rapidly until they stay open. My clothes are in tatters, and the smell of fire and ashes surrounds me. I try to breathe in but my chest constricts, my lungs unwilling to take in oxygen.

“Arianthi?!”

Two pairs of arms tightly wrap around me, sandwiching me between two powerful bodies. I can see Barbatos and Solomon over Mammon’s shoulder, their eyes wide.

I heave to one side, breaking the boys’ hold on me, and roll up onto my knees. My back and legs feel leaden, and it takes all my effort to stay upright. I try to say something, but end up coughing, trying to force stale smoke from my lungs.

Diavolo drapes his coat over me and Mammon rubs my back soothingly, urging me to relax.

“I got ya baby,” he murmurs reassuringly. “Get it all out.”

Diavolo motions for Barbatos and gives him a series of whispered instructions. Barbatos nods several times, then rushes out of the study, turning back to look at me one last time.

I let out another harsh, hacking cough.

“The fuck did you do to me Solomon?” I mutter.

Diavolo kneels and pulls my hair back from my face, easing some on my claustrophobia.

Solomon barks out a surprised laugh. “It really is you,” he says delightedly.

“Of course it’s me, you fucking cut rate Harry Potter.” I’m swaying on my hands and knees, exhausted. “What happened? Why is everything so heavy?”

Mammon helps me up to my knees and leans me against his chest.

“Are you real? You’re really back?” he whispers, hesitant and hopefully.

I nod, grateful to have him holding me upright.

He stays silent. Uncertain.

“I was the one who kissed you, our very first time,” I begin, speaking slowly. “We sneaked out after Lucifer did his room inspections that night. We started at The Fall but we wound up at Hell’s Kitchen so you could play cards.”

Mammon’s heart is pounding in his chest, getting faster and faster with my every word.

“We had been there forever. I was ready to go home. But you were drinking and you were winning so you wanted to stay. We made a bet on the next game. If you win, we stay and you get a kiss. If you lose, we go home and I got to pick a movie for us to watch together on our next movie night.”

Mammon’s fingers are stroking my cheek, listening intently to each low, labored word. Diavolo kneeling next to me fades away; it’s just us two in this moment.

“You lost. It was raining outside and we had to run back to the House of Lamentation..... you were bitching and moaning the whole time.” I grin at the memory. “We couldn’t get in when we got home. Lucifer figured out we were gone and locked us out. I was cold and wet and tired of you bitching so I finally asked....”

I stop to cough.

“Ya asked me if I would shut the hell up if ya gave me that kiss I was asking for earlier,” Mammon picks up the story.

“And you looked at me and said, “Maybe”.” I croak out a laugh. “So I pushed you against the door and kissed you. We just stayed out there, kissing for I don’t even know how long. Until Lucifer let us in.”

Mammon looks down at me, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “It really is you,” he whispers.

“Told you so.”

He gives me a soft kiss. “Don’t ya dare ever do somethin’ like that again. Ya ain’t allowed to leave me ever again.”

“How long was I out?” I ask.

“You weren’t out baby.” His voice breaks. “You were gone.”

“No,” I shake my head. “I saw you. I was here. I - AH!”

A blinding pain sears up my spine and it feels like someone has stuck their finger into a bundle of raw nerves.

I look over my shoulder and see Diavolo touching my back delicately with one finger. “Dia stop!”

The pain is so intense that the corners of my vision start to go dark. I feel a heavy weight pulling me backwards, and something soft and fluttery tickles the back of my neck and waist, while something muscular and thick wraps around my left leg.

I’m panting, on my hands and knees, waiting as the pain starts to level out. “What was that? What just happened?”

Diavolo and Mammon snap to attention, Diavolo helping me up and Mammon arranging his coat so all my important bits are covered up. The minute Diavolo lets go of my arm I start to fall, dragged backwards by an unfamiliar weight.

“I got you princess.” Diavolo picks me up and I cling to him like a baby koala as he strides out of the study and up to our bedroom, Mammon following us.

“Solomon, go ahead and stay in your usual room for the time being. We’ll need to talk after we help Arianthi get cleaned up and we all get some rest,” Diavolo orders him.

Diavolo is moving so quickly I can’t catch Solomon’s reply. He doesn’t stop until we’re standing in front of the full length mirror in our bedroom. I slide down to the floor and turn to face the mirror, Mammon on my right and Diavolo on my left.

“Oh my dark lord,” I breathe.

Mammon and Diavolo are grinning like idiots.

“Hang on baby, we got ya,” Mammon says. He gently presses his hands between my should blades and massages softly while Diavolo bends down and carefully unwinds something from around my leg.

Large, black feathered wings fan out behind me, matted and bloody, and a long tail coils behind me, thick and muscular, covered by black leathery skin. My green eyes have taken on a golden sheen, mirroring Diavolo’s. Mammon and Diavolo stand and return to my side.

“We did it,” I whisper.

“You did it princess,” Diavolo murmurs. “You came back all on your own.”

He pulls me into a hug, careful of my new wings and the tender skin of my back.

“l thought I lost you,” he whispers, kissing my forehead.

“I told you a long time ago that I was tough,” I whisper back.

“I’ll never doubt you again princess,” he says with a low chuckle.

I look back into the mirror and wince. I’m covered in blood, ashes, and various other substances I don’t care to think about.

Mammon’s arms snake around my waist and he kisses my cheek.

“Don’t worry baby, we can stay here and clean ya up right. Love on ya some. Take all the time in the world,” he murmurs suggestively, smirking over at Diavolo.

“Wait! They were there!” I grab Diavolo’s arm. “Did you guys see them?”

“Hey, breathe princess. Breathe for me.” Diavolo rubs my shoulders, large hands warm and comforting. “Who are ‘they’?”

I look back and forth between Mammon and Diavolo. “Lilith and this other woman. They sent me back.”

Mammon goes rigid at the mention of his sister. “Lilith was there?”

I nod rapidly. “She said I was in some sort of purgatory and I was only a little bit dead, but there was enough time for them to send me back. I could see you in the study but it was all fuzzy. She said that Diavolo’s dad was ‘powerful but not invincible’.”

I stop to suck in some air. Diavolo looks troubled and Mammon looks gobsmacked.

I take Mammon’s hand. “She said you would always protect me. And that she was proud of you. She wanted me to tell you that. That she was proud of you.”

He tears up, carefully folding me into his embrace. He sniffles a little as I hug him tightly.

“Arianthi?” Diavolo asks quietly. “Who else was there? You said two women were there. Who was there besides Lilith?”

I twist in Mammon’s arms to face Diavolo, staying firmly in Mammon’s embrace. “I didn’t know her. Her name was Morrigan. I’ve never seen her before.”

“You’re sure her name was Morrigan?” Diavolo asks, studying me carefully.

“That’s what Lilith called her. Do you know her Dia?”

“I never knew her. She’s older than my father even. I wasn’t even sure she existed to be perfectly honest,” Diavolo says, baffled. “I’ll have to go through some books in the library tomorrow to make sure, but from what I remember of the old stories she was a very powerful demon. The ancient Celts worshiped her as their goddess of destruction and war. There’s been no mention of anyone seeing her in...............forever.”

“So sayin’ this Morrigan was the one with Lilith, why would she care about our girl?” I can hear the confusion in Mammon’s voice.

“She said I was one of her’s. She said that more than once Dia.”

Surprise spreads over Diavolo’s features. “What else did she say?”

I close my eyes, trying to think back to Morrigan’s exact words.

“She said I was entertaining and the first one of her’s to cause so much chaos in generations. She said I was one of her favorites. That you were a fine demon and you’ll be a great ruler.” I smile. “She said I chose well. And that we need to be good to each other.”

When I open my eyes I see Diavolo staring at me intently. He starts to laugh, tears forming at the corner of his eyes.

“What’re ya laughing at?” Mammon sounds irritated.

“If she truly is one of Morrigan’s it means that Arianthi is descended from a demon as well as an angel.”

“What?!”

“Ow Mammon,” I frown, rubbing my ear. “Too loud.”

“Sorry baby.” He gives my ear a soft kiss. “Ok, so our girl has demon and angel blood. So what?”

I chew on my lower lip, thinking. “Do you think she might have been lying about who she was? Lilith would have known if she was lying right?”

Diavolo frowns and scrubs his hands over his face. “I don’t know princess. I really don’t know. We’ll figure it though, I promise.”

I shuffle from side to side, itchy and ready to be clean again. I don’t know what else to say.

“Alright. That’s enough. We’ve been awake for too damn long and Arianthi needs a shower. Hell, we all do,” Mammon says, taking charge. “C’mon. Inta the shower with both of ya.”

Mammon leads us into the bathroom, shutting the door softly. He gathers me close and kisses me, gently pulling Diavolo’s coat and what’s left of my clothes away from my body.

I hear Diavolo turning on the shower behind us, warm steam and the scent of vanilla wafting towards us, and the sound of his clothes softly hitting the tile floor. Mammon puts his hands on my hips, backing me towards the shower, lips never leaving mine.

I stop moving when I feel Diavolo’s body at my back and his hands run over Mammon’s on my hips. Mammon breaks our kiss long enough to shuck off his clothes, then gently urges Diavolo and I into the shower.

This shower is now officially as close to heaven as I’m ever going to get.

A glorious artwork of glass and tile, with multiple shower heads, and more than large enough to fit all of us comfortably.........perfection.

I stand under the spray of water for a few minutes in silence, rinsing the worst of the blood and vomit from myself.

“Who’s going to tell me what happened after everything went dark?” I finally ask, as gently as I can.

Mammon and Diavolo switch places, Mammon moving behind me while Diavolo faces me.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Diavolo asks, pouring some body wash into his hands, and then passing the bottle over my head to Mammon.

“Fire. You two in front of me. My skin was......burning.”

He stays silent as he runs soapy hands over my arms and chest. “We tried to get to you but the fire kept us back. It wasn’t natural.....it burned us when we tried to get through.”

I jump as I feel Mammon’s hands on my wings, long dexterous fingers cleaning and smoothing feathers, tucking them into place.

“Shhhh baby,” he says quietly. “I’ll have ya all clean and feelin’ better in no time.”

“By the time the fire was low enough for us to get to you,” Diavolo pauses, his jaw clenched. “You weren’t breathing but you were......”

“Lookin’ normal again. Not burned. Like nothin’ had happened,” Mammon says curtly, finishing for him. His touch becomes rough for a second, and he immediately softens as I flinch. “Sorry baby.”

I look down at my arms and legs; my skin is unmarked, not even a scratch. I look back up at Diavolo in confusion.

“Barbatos heard the screams. Solomon started looking for another ritual, one to bring you back.......” Diavolo trail offs.

“How long was I gone? It couldn’t have been that long.”

“Too goddamn long,” Mammon grunts behind me as Diavolo answers, “About twenty minutes.”

I start gnawing on my thumbnail anxiously.

Dying twice in one year isn’t a good track record.

A tapping sound echoes against the tile drumming in beat with the thoughts running though my mind.

“Arianthi?” Diavolo holds my face in his hands. “Calm down. You need to breathe princess.”

“I’m calm, I’m totally calm,” I respond quickly.

“Baby?” Mammon rubs my shoulder and then points down. My tail is tapping out a staccato beat on the tile floor of the shower.

“Oh.” I make a conscious effort to slow my breathing and relax my body. My tail - god how fucking weird is that - slows, then finally stills. “Is that how it always is?”

“Yeah,” Mammon answers, continuing to preen my wings. “It’s just another body part ya learn how to control. Ya get used to it after a while.”

“How do I put them back?”

Diavolo shrugs. “It’s not hard. Relax and try to clear your mind from everything else. Then just picture your human form.”

“Give me a few more seconds back here.” Mammon tucks the last few feathers into place, smoothing the barbs down. “Alright, give it a try baby.”

I close my eyes, concentrating on the steam and the noise of water hitting tile. I picture myself like I was before the ritual, when I was truly happy, tucked safely in bed between Mammon and Diavolo. There’s a moment of sharp pain, and then the extra weight on my back and shoulders vanishes.

“Ya did it!” Mammon says proudly, kissing my neck.

I turn in his arms, lacing my hands behind his neck. He surges forward and presses his lips to mine. He licks along my lower lip, then gives it a harsh nip. I open my mouth, eagerly allowing him access. His tongue strokes mine and his hands slide over my waist and down my hips, moving to caress my ass.

Maybe it’s the rush of being a newly turned demon, or maybe I’m just happy to not be dead, but I need to feel his body against mine. His warmth makes me feel alive, his mouth against mine sparking a familiar heat low in my core. I just need.

Diavolo presses against my back, cock hard and firm against my ass. His hands run over my sides, reaching forward to stroke Mammon’s cock. Mammon moans into my mouth, his hips rutting forward against Diavolo’s hand. I card my hands through his hair, tugging his head to the side and kissing his neck.

We spent a few minutes teasing and touching, reaffirming our connection to each other. Reassuring each other that we’re all together and safe. Diavolo suddenly pulls back, surprising me and Mammon.

I feel Diavolo’s eyes on me and I turn around to face him. “What are you thinking about Dia?”

His eyes cloud over and he flushes with shame, looking guilty.

“I should never have pushed you to do that,” he whispers. “I was so afraid of losing you that I didn’t think about anything else and you......” He chokes up. “You died. That was my fault. I was so sure I was right that I willingly put you in danger. I killed you.”

“Oh Dia, no. Don’t do that.” I step into his arms, wrapping my arms around his waist and laying my head against his chest. “I agreed to it. I took that risk. And it worked out. I’m here and I’m fine,” I try to reassure him.

“Because someone else interfered and brought you back,” Diavolo challenges me.

I stay silent, unable to argue. Mammon hugs Diavolo, leaning his head against his shoulder, offering silent comfort.

“If that hadn’t happened and Solomon couldn’t figure out a way to bring you back.............” Diavolo’s voice is bitter and filled with self-loathing.

I don’t know what to say. What he’s saying is true but oddly, I’m not angry about it.

I’m not dead, I’m strong enough to live through whatever his father may throw at us, and I get to stay with Diavolo and Mammon without worrying about old age, or any of the other dangers that come with being human in the Devildom.

“Diavolo. Shut up,” Mammon commands. Diavolo looks down at him in confusion, stunned into obedience. “I’m still not happy about the heavy handed way ya went about it, but it ended up bein’ the best decision. Arianthi’s here and she’s fine. Better than fine. I just wanna enjoy the fact that our girl is safe and she’s here. And she’s like us now.....We don’t have to worry about losin’ her ever again.”

Mammon sounds exhausted. “I just wanna enjoy havin’ both of ya with me. We can figure everything else out later. Can we just focus on lovin’ each other for a few hours instead of all this other bullshit? Get some damn rest?”

I’m very conscious of the fact that we’re all still naked, slick with water and steam from the shower, and I’m eager to forget the last 12 hours.

Is that all it’s been? This night has gone on forever.

“Mammon’s right Dia,” I murmur, running my hands over his chest and down his stomach.

“We just pulled off something totally insane.” My hand strays even lower, stroking his cock. “Let’s celebrate a little bit, show how much we love each other.”

“Fuck princess.” Diavolo chuckles, moving his hands under my thighs, lifting me up and pressing my back against the wall of the shower. The cool tile is soothing against the tender skin of my back, and Diavolo is careful to not be too rough with me.

“You two present a very powerful argument,” Diavolo says, smirking at me.

I wrap my legs around his waist and wiggle against him. “Wasting time Dia.”

The head of his cock brushes against my clit, and I buck my hips against him, urging him to hurry. He gives a low grunt and slowly lowers me onto his cock. I’m slick with arousal, ready for him without any of our usual prep. I moan as his cock stretches me, burying my face into his neck.

Encouraged by my noises of enjoyment Diavolo thrusts up into me, eager but cautious, not wanting to hurt me. I snake a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair, giving it a sharp yank.

“Faster,” I whisper into his ear, softly biting his earlobe.

I look over Diavolo’s shoulder and see Mammon standing behind him, running his hands and mouth over Diavolo’s back. He marks him with love bites, lowering his hands to massage Diavolo’s thighs.

Diavolo shudders at his touch and moves his hips faster, rutting up into me hard when Mammon slips a slender finger in his ass, teasing and stretching, preparing Diavolo for what’s coming next.

Diavolo groans with lust. “Mammon.........Arianthi....” he pants.

Mammon sinks his teeth into Diavolo’s shoulder, adding a second finger, never losing his rhythm. “Better fuck our girl a little harder than that, she’s not making enough noise.”

Diavolo obeys his command and I cry out, the sound echoing off the tile of the shower.

“Fuck!” I whimper, clinging tight to his shoulders, as his cock pounds into my pussy at the perfect angle.

My legs tighten around his waist as I cum, pussy clenching around his thick cock, urging him to cum with me as Mammon finger fucks his ass.

“Nah,” Mammon teases, stilling the motions of his hand. “You’re not cummin’ yet Diavolo.”

Diavolo whimpers, rutting into me. “Please....please don’t stop now.”

“Let’s move to the bed,” I murmur, kissing him and biting at his lower lip. “Let us take care of you Dia.”

Diavolo reluctantly releases me while Mammon turns off the shower. The short trip to the bed seems to take forever; Diavolo is tense with lust and the stress of the past day, and he keeps sneaking touches and kisses from us until Mammon slaps his hand away. He pushes Diavolo onto the bed, keeping me by his side.

“Bend over,” he growls, pushing me forwards a little. “Hands on the mattress.”

I obey while Diavolo looks on in confusion. Mammon runs his hands down my spine, stroking slowly, before moving his hands a little lower to arch my hips until they’re just so. Diavolo looks on, biting his lip, while Mammon slowly thrusts his cock into my pussy, inch by inch. His makes a small whining noise, watching Mammon fuck me, eyes dark with lust and impatience.

“You think he’s waited long enough baby?” Mammon mutters, his hips moving excruciatingly slowly.

I consider Diavolo, taking my time and smirking, while I enjoy the feeling of Mammon’s cock. “Yeah.....yeah I think so.”

Mammon slowly pulls out, caressing my ass. “Give me a kiss then get up there with him,” he demands playfully.

I turn and give him a deep kiss, teasing him with my tongue.

“So bossy tonight baby,” I murmur against his lips. “I didn’t know you had in you,” I tease.

“Neither did I,” Mammon chuckles darkly. “But I’m gettin’ into it.”

I climb up next to Diavolo and we both restlessly wait for Mammon’s next commands.

Mammon tosses Diavolo a pillow. “Put that under your hips,” he says, moving between Diavolo’s legs and hooking them over his thighs. Mammon looks at me and jerks his head towards Diavolo.

“Ride,” he says with a smirk.

I giggle and move to straddle Diavolo.

I like this side of Mammon. Really, really like it.

“Holy fuck,” Diavolo whispers as I sink down on his cock.

I start to move my hips, pulling off of him completely, then slowly taking his thick cock all the way back in my pussy. He moans, then jerks suddenly, and I look over my shoulder to see Mammon, stroking his cock while he finger fucks Diavolo’s ass.

“I wanna fuck ya Diavolo,” he growls. “Only if you want it.”

Diavolo nods helplessly, throwing his head back against the pillows as his large hands grip my hips.

“Words Dia,” I tell him playfully. “Use your words.”

I tease his nipples with my fingertips while I ride him, relishing his eyes on me.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Yes, I want you to fuck me Mammon.”

Mammon makes an intelligible noise deep in his throat. I look back again, watching him remove his fingers from Diavolo’s ass, then gently thrust his cock into Diavolo’s hole, stretching him slowly and thoroughly. Once he bottoms out, he holds himself still, giving Diavolo time to adjust.

“This ok?” Mammon asks, waiting for a signal to move.

“Fuck yes,” Diavolo hisses between his teeth; torn between moving his hips up to meet my mine as I ride him, or pushing them down to meet Mammon’s thrusts.

Seeing him so uncertain, a writhing, whimpering mess, and feeling the aftershocks of Mammon’s rough thrusts and his harsh breathing against my back as he fucks Diavolo drives me closer to my second orgasm.

Mammon’s hand comes down hard on my shoulder, limiting my movement, and forcing me to grind down against Diavolo, taking his cock even deeper in my pussy.

Diavolo’s hand slides down his stomach to the point where our bodies meet, and he uses two calloused fingers to tease and rub my clit. I moan and bite my lip, rolling my hips faster. Diavolo thrusts up into me sloppily, close to his own orgasm.

Mammon gives a low laugh, still fucking Diavolo while he watches both of us come undone.

“That’s right baby...... I wanna watch you cum while you ride him. Diavolo I wanna feel ya cum inside our girl, feel this tight little hole of yours clench down on my cock while I got it buried deep in your ass.”

His words push me over the edge and I cum, taking Diavolo deep for the last time, my pussy twitching and spasming around his thick cock as I cry out his name.

I feel Diavolo shudder, warm cum spurting into my pussy over and over. I fall forward, bracing myself against his chest while I give him a deep kiss. I hear Mammon let out a guttural moan, and feel the telltale tremors of his hips moving roughly and slamming his cock into Diavolo’s ass one last time as he cums.

Diavolo whines in protest when Mammon and I finally move off of him, making grabby motions at us. “Come here.”

We lay down on each side of him, cuddling into him, and he wraps an arm around each of us, pulling us as close as possible.

“That was a fantastic suggestion Mammon,” Diavolo sighs, kissing him softly on the lips before turning his head and kissing me as well.

Mammon and I rest our heads on each side of Diavolo’s chest, smiling gently at each other.

I love you, he mouths at me.

I love you too, I mouth back.

“Let’s get a few hours of rest,” Diavolo murmurs, already sounding sleepy. “We are going to have one hell of a conversation with Solomon and Barbatos when we wake up.”

Mammon and I mumble our agreement, eyelids already fluttering with exhaustion.

“I love you Arianthi,” Diavolo whispers.

“I love you too Dia.”

“Mammon?” he says hesitantly.

“Mmmm?’

“You’re very special to me.”

The last thing I see before I drift off to sleep is Mammon’s shy smile as he responds. “You’re special to me too Diavolo.”

Something rouses me from a deep sleep. I look around the bedroom blearily; it’s completely dark. Diavolo is still sleeping next to me, Mammon snoring softly beside him.

I sit up and tilt my head to the side, listening carefully. I hear a raised voice from the lower floor of the castle and the sound of several pairs of feet thudding up the stairs.

“Dia!” I start shaking his shoulder. “Dia wake up! Someone’s here and I heard Barbatos shouting.”

“Barbatos doesn’t shout,” Diavolo mutters, pulling a pillow over his head, never even opening his eyes.

“Dia wake up and listen!” I snatch the pillow away.

He blinks, giving me a dirty look before hearing the footsteps. They’ve reached the top of the staircase now. He props himself up on one forearm, reaching back to shake Mammon.

“Whaddaya want?” Mammon grumbles, his head popping up over Diavolo’s shoulder. His messy hair is haloed around his head and his eyes are barely open.

“Listen!” I whisper.

“That’s not Barbatos,” he says, eyes widening as he hears the commotion in the hallway now.

“Definitely not.” Diavolo looks serious. “Out of bed. Get dressed quickly. Whoever it is I’d rather meet them when we’re not naked.”

I pull back the blankets, ready to get out of bed, when the door to our bedroom flies open, slamming loudly against the wall. I throw a hand up in self-defense, scooting back towards Diavolo.

Diavolo throws one arm around me, pulling me to him and pushing my head into his chest, his other hand reaching out for Mammon. After a moment he gives a loud roar of outrage that vibrates in his chest, quickly followed by Mammon yelling, “Oi! The fuck are you doing here?!”

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magpiemorality · 5 years

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The Thing In The Woods, Intruality pt.3

One Two Four Five

Part 3 of the Creature!Remus story for @littlestr! In which Patton notices something strange and takes steps.

Warnings: spooky things, swearing

***

The vacation had gone very smoothly after their initial mishap, but Patton was always glad to be back home in his own apartment, able to lounge around with his guilty pleasure on Netflix, in his cosiest clothing and a tub of ice cream.

So maybe it wasn’t the healthiest way to spend his evenings; but he loved it nonetheless. Self-care, right? Besides, he still dragged himself out to the gym with Roman and walked to and from work every day. It wasn’t the end of the world if he indulged a little bit.

There was just one thing up with his routine at the moment. Ever since he’d got back, he’d noticed a few weird happenings around his apartment. His nights were restless and for some reason he’d just stopped hearing his alarm in the mornings full stop, despite checking his phone was on loud and buying a second alarm clock as a backup. And, maybe related or maybe not, he was sleeping crazy well? The deepest, most peaceful sleep he’d had in a while, as if the whole world was perfectly still and quiet for the entire night and not a thing disturbed him.

There was also the matter of the peanut butter.

That morning when he’d got up (late again and scrambling to get ready for work on time, grateful he still apparently had a working body clock somehow) he’d nearly tripped and fallen over an empty jar of peanut butter that was laying on the floor by his bed. How it had got there he was dismayed to say he had no clue, because- and this was maybe the most interesting fact of all- he didn’t eat peanut butter. There was literally none in his apartment. Somehow the jar had been both emptied and planted in his room, without him knowing.

Ordinarily he’d explain it away as a prank from Roman, but seeing as Roman hadn’t had time to visit, busy catching up on work after their long weekend away, it couldn’t have been him. And it (probably) wasn’t a burglar or stalker because nothing else was even so much as shifted from where it was supposed to be, and the locks were all untouched as well.

Patton was beyond confused.

Logan and Virgil had been pretty unhelpful when they’d met up for lunch, but for some strange reason Roman’s joking suggestion of being haunted stuck with him, and though he wouldn’t admit it Patton decided that looking into what to do about a haunting couldn’t hurt. Especially if none of his friends found out, because then he’d never hear the end of it.

A quick google search revealed a truck load of conflicting information that made his head swim, and he groaned, falling back on his couch with a pout for a second before sitting back up again, legs crossed with the laptop balancing on top. “Okay Pat, you are gonna sift through this and find your answers. We got this,” he told himself, settling in to scroll through the seven million odd results.

A filter to ‘what to do when you’re being haunted’ helped when he finally thought to try it, rather than bothering to try and confirm that that was indeed what was happening. It actually brought up an ad for some kind of ghost hunter site that he opened in a new tab for later, and was surprised by the professionalism of when he returned to it. Some guy calling himself 'The Night’s Watch’ (which wasn’t super creative if you asked Patton) was advertising a ghost assessment and removal service in the city, and he had some kind of bargain free first visit on offer.

Patton had dialled before he thought too hard about what he was doing, surprised when a croaky, slurred voice picked up the phone. “'Lo? Do you know what time it is?” They groaned down the line and he had to pull back to check it was the right number. “Hello? Are you just going to silently breathe at me or did you need to make an appointment for your haunting?”

Oh okay, right number then. “Um, sorry! I just, wanted to do the free visit?”

There was a silence. “Shit, is that still on there? I thought I changed it-” the voice muttered. “Sure, why not? Should'a got rid of it if I didn’t want people to notice it. What’s your address, I’ll be right round.”

“Tonight?!” Patton squeaked, surprised.

“Yeah tonight. I work at night. Exclusively. Did you not read that part?”

“No yeah, I mean yes, but- that’s very short notice.”

“I’m not busy. Only so many hauntings in a peaceful city like this one right? Address?”

“Oh right,” Patton rattled off the address, wondering why there was a weird dark stain in the top corner of his living room ceiling. He got up to peer at it as the voice on the phone took down various contact details.

“I’ll see you in like, whenever the bus shows up. An hour? Ah who knows, see you later dude.” They hung up without a further word and Patton realised too late that he didn’t know anything about who was coming. The mark was forgotten and he rushed around to tidy up a bit, dressing in something more company-appropriate and sitting the jar of peanut butter on the table at the ready in case the guy needed to do any mojo on it. Patton didn’t know, okay? He was very much in the dark here.

The buzzer went only forty minutes later, the same voice tinny through the intercom but recognisable enough that he let them in. And then at last, in his doorway, stood The Night’s Watch, complete with slicked back hair, dark sunglasses, grey trench coat and an empty Starbucks to-go cup.

“Remy Picani, call me he and I walk,” the ghost hunter said, taking Patton’s extended hand and shaking it once firmly before striding into the apartment and looking around. “So what are you experiencing, cold spots? Moving items? Wailing? Suspicious fog? That one’s usually just eye-related, have you done an eye test recently?”

Patton struggled to keep up as Remy walked and talked at an unbelievable pace. “Um, no nothing like that, actually, and I wear glasses so… It was the noise. Or the no noise? Oh and the peanut butter!” Remy turned to look at him, peering over their sunglasses with a raised eyebrow. Patton faltered before hurrying to get the item in question and hesitantly holding it out with a hopeful smile.

Remy’s eyebrow stayed raised, but they took the jar gingerly and eyed it. “And… what exactly was up with the uh, the peanut butter?” They asked, unscrewing the top to peer inside and screwing it back on so they could toss it in their hand a few times. Patton made a face because yeah, it wasn’t super ghosty now he thought about it…

“Um, it appeared. It’s not actually mine at all- I never have any in the apartment. I found it this morning on the floor, just sitting there.”

“Just sitting on the floor. M'kay, sure. And what else were you saying, about the noise?”

Patton shook his head. “No, the no noise. It’s been like, weirdly quiet a lot? I haven’t heard my alarm go off for the past three days unless I’ve already been awake. Apparently I’ve been sleeping through number 4c’s newborn baby too. Which is weird- I’m a light sleeper you know?”

Remy had gone entirely still. “Um, M- Remy? Is everything o-”

“Where did you find the jar?” Remy asked urgently, grabbing him by the shoulders after shoving their glasses up onto their head. “Quick, quick!”

“Um, by the bed! Just on my bedroom floor, but-”

“Holy shit.”

“What? What is it?!” Patton wailed, but Remy was off, leaping through the space into the bedroom and stopping dead into the bedroom. Patton ran right into the back of them, trying to peer over their shoulder to see what they were so struck by. But there was nothing there.

Remy sniffed a few times, taking careful, light steps forwards towards the bed. They circled slightly to head towards the closet, but they turned back to the bed after a quick squint, and stopped almost exactly where he’d found the peanut butter jar. “Here, right?” They murmured, looking back to see him nod. “On my signal, turn the lights off, okay?” For a few more moments they just stood there, but then they took one more step towards the bed and turned to nod to Patton, and as the light switch flipped all hell broke lose.

Something exploded from under the bed frame and filled the room with shadow darker than the shadows already cast, and the whole world went muffled and quiet. Patton felt the inexplicable urge to pop his ears but he couldn’t, and besides he was too busy screaming at the scene before him, where Remy was tussling with a great big, shadowy thing.

What in the name of all that was holy had been living under his bed?!

#ts remus #ts patton #ts remy #nonbinary remy #intruality #moduke #ts writing #ts sanders sides #ts sanders sides aus #ts sanders sides fic #writepie #sanders sides #poor creature remus

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masseffectanya · 4 years

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beyond the alkaline earth: one

(can also be read here!!!)

one

On the Northern Isles, it’s said that you have two homes. The skies and the islands. It’s said that the Brethren Court believes the cure for everything is saltwater (be it sweat, tears, or the sea). It’s said that the Ashen Throne raises Jötunn in the night to feast upon the living. It’s said that the Hollow Crown are as wild and free as the horses they race upon.

The first time Alkali returned from hell she let loose a torrential storm and breathed in the chaos. She stood in the field and let herself get soaked through as the lightning struck around her and through back her long red hair and laughed at every false god.

The second time Alkali went to hell she brought Frøya with her (Alkali returned alone).

This time, she bangs on the gates until Charon lets her in with a withering glare and walks into the palace.

“It would beseech you to not aggravate my guard.”

Lilith was leaning against one of the columns in her grand hall, looking at her blood red nails with pale eyes. Her crown was on her head and she was wearing some silky red thing with a cigarette dangling between her fingers. “Charon is already annoyed that I took a wife. I do not need him to argue that my little sister shouldn’t be allowed to freely wander into the fathoms below without his consent.”

Alkali snorts. “Good to see you too, Lilith.”

Lilith looks up and smiles softly, crown of antlers askew on chestnut curls and darkness weaving between her fingers. “I’ve miss you, Alkali.”

“How’s Frøya?”

“Alive.”

“I’m sure that’s a hard standard to reach around here?”

“Come on, half-wit.” Lilith finally moves away from her rest and runs her hands through Alkali’s hair. “I’m sure we have much to catch up on.”

Hell isn’t fire and brimstone and demons filling the shadowy halls. Lilith’s hell was cold, and empty, and vast. The legions had never seen earth and they filled the realm with rumors and stories, myths and legends. They talked about dragons and Keepers, of a sun and a moon and King Calypso’s sea. They balked before Alkali as she followed Lilith deeper into her kingdom (Alkali learns that the dead are rarely quiet and the Dragon of Khoine is considered inhumanly powerful).

“Why have you come, Little Dragon?”

Alkali glares over her shoulder at Lilith. “Do I need a reason to visit my family?”

Lilith shrugs and flicks imaginary dust off of her shoulder (Alkali never needs a reason and Lilith knows that, knows that whenever Alkali comes, she will welcome her with open arms). Alkali sighs and runs her hand over the cold stone walls.

“The dead… they aren’t staying dead.” Alkali’s voice is soft and Lilith strains to hear her. “There’s jötunn patrolling the outskirts of the Ashen Throne but ignoring orders from the Empress. Krakens have been spotted moving further south and swallowing ships whole, dragons setting fire to entire towns. Something is rising, Lilith. Something evil and dark and I don’t know what or who it is. There’s rumours that it’s a monster, a ghost story.”

Lilith lights another cigarette and took a long, deep drag. “There’s been souls escaping, not powerful one’s mind you, but enough that the rivers aren’t fed.”

Ghosts are real. This I know to be true.

“Hell is changing, Alkali. Frøya has planted pomegranate trees and demons have seen winter. The earth is mimicking that change. If the balance is off it will take more than the two of us to restore Khione.”

We’ll need Killian, and Calypso. We’ll need our mother and your father and the Harbinger of the Hollow Crown.

Alkali runs a hand through her hair. Her time in the skies faded the red to an icy blonde (although Lilith doesn’t know if it’s the sun that did that or Alkali’s powers that have turned her into the embodiment of winter). It’s braided to stay out of her face and it’s long, longer than Lilith has ever seen it. There’s a tiredness in her eyes that comes from time. “So, what do we do? Convene the Keepers? Summon the leaders of the four realms? Watch as they bicker and spar over territories lost and legions won? Wait and listen for the Adherence, who haven’t given anyone in the realms a sign since they decided to spare my life and make me a Keeper?”

There’s magic coursing around Alkali’s fingertips, wild and uncontrollable and sending up a signal that makes Lilith feel alive for the first time in years. In her time in the Fathoms, Frøya had kept her elemental magic to a minimum and Alkali was drenched in the power of the stars and Lilith had forgotten how exotic elemental magic was, how it sang in her veins and whispered sweet nothings about freedom and the wind in her hair and the chaos in her bones.

Instead, she reached over and grab her sister’s wrist. “First you need to get your magic under control, Alkali. You’re giving off elemental energy that will summon all sorts of unpleasantness to our location.” Alkali glares at her and there’s silver in her eyes that wasn’t there before. She closes them, takes a deep breath, and when she opens them again, they’re green.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for losing control, Alkali.” Lilith states. “It might save your life one day.” She doesn’t grab Alkali’s hands (she’s made that mistake before).

Alkali’s magic is potent and rich, filling the room with the smell of nicotine and cloves and cold winter mornings. Her hands are too hot to touch from the fire that dances across them, a dark purple when she uses bloodmagic – darkening her veins. To Alkali, magic becomes a physical manifestation of herself and it makes her dangerous.

Alkali sighs and clenches her fists. There’s a hiss of steam and then her hands are cold. “How’s Frøya?”

“Come on,” Lilith grabs Alkali’s hands and leads her further into the depths of hell. “You can ask her yourself. You’re staying for breakfast.”

Frøya looked like Alkali, looked like a Windrider, with sun-bleached hair and bright eyes full of impossible colours and silver elemental magic whispering through her fingers. Frøya spoke in the languages of earthen pagan gods and coaxed plants to life with elements muttered in Latin and Greek and Norse. Frøya and Alkali ached in languages so old that Lilith forgot their names but the Windriders would sit in Frøya’s garden with dirt beneath their nails and chatter in ancient tongues.

“Alkali,” Frøya was up from her chair in a second, the little herb pot she was tending to left forgotten on the table. “You’ve finally come to visit me, little dragon.” She throws her arms around the Keeper and Alkali finally relaxes for the first time since Charon let her past the gates. Lilith follows them as her wife drags her sister out to the garden, speaking in hushed voices and surrounded by a swirl of elemental magic.

There’s a pomegranate tree in the corner, pushed up against the iron fence and Frøya is on her knees in the dirt with Alkali next to her, the dragonglass in her lap, sharpening the blade.

“So, little dragon, why have you come here?”

Alkali sighs, whetstone hovering over her sword. “The ghosts are back. All of them. The dead aren’t staying dead and the balance is off. If the balance is off in the fathoms, it’s off with the sky and the sea and the lands as well. The krakens are rising in the seas and devouring ships, the dragons are attacking farms on the isles, jötunn are rampaging through the Ashen Throne, fire mages are burning the Hollow Crown.”

“We’re going to convene the Keepers, darling.” Lilith walks up and runs her fingers through Frøya’s hair. “The Keepers and the realms all gathered for the first time in decades. This is going to be a nightmare.” She lights a cigarette and inhales, the cloves filling her lungs. “Who do you think will start shit first?”

Alkali snorts, undignified but it crinkles her nose and she looks less like a warrior and more like a child – Lilith will take that as a win. “Pandora… or Xhomera, and it will definitely be about the other.” Frøya smiles at that and Lilith… Lilith wants to take a photo in her mind at how soft Alkali looks with an easy grin and the weight of the sky off her shoulders next to Frøya with the dragonglass on her lap.

“So then,” Frøya stands up and wipes her hands off on the front of her dress. “I will go start something that is more edible than whatever you’ve been eating, and we shall convene the Keepers.” She pecks Lilith on the cheek and vanishes back inside.

“So,” Alkali slips her whetstone away and sheathes the dragonglass on her back. “We’re really doing this.”

Lilith takes one final drag of her cigarette and snuffs it out beneath her heel. “We’re really doing this,” she confirms. “Just remember to spend time with your wife, little dragon.” She turns and heads inside, leaving an indignant Windrider left standing in the garden.

“I do spend time with Calypso, thank you very much,” Alkali huffs. When Lilith turns around, she’s staring at the garden, lost in her thoughts.

“Oh, little dragon,” Lilith whispers. “I hope this cruel, cruel world never steals your spark. Brave you are, but broken.”

“I can hear you.”

Lilith sighs, turns, and walks inside her palace, leaving Alkali to the garden and her own ghosts the oncoming darkness of hell.

#mine #sage writes (badly)#blease give me feedback #this is also unedited #and i am tipsy #beyond the alkaline earth #my writing #usermissylilith #because she said she was interested

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hellosweetsmuppetrumpus · 4 years

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Full Metal Worm Hole I don't own any of the characters they belong to Hiromu Arakawa. I just own the plot and the few friends names I used enjoy this story! Our story begins in a laboratory somewhere on the east coast of the United States. My name is Mike. This is my story of strange and weird things. It had been four years since my partner, D'Vante (who goes by the nickname "Neji"), and I began working on a machine that would allow us to create an alternate world and a pathway (worm hole) that would allow us to travel back and forth between our world and another. After months of experimentation, we had finally created a prototype. We created a world based on the stories and writings of a Japanese writer and artist by the name of Hiromu Arakawa. Our world was the world of the Full Metal Alchemist. For the prototype test runs, we invited a few of our friends, which in included Joice, Alyssa, Beyshon, and Katie. We kept survival gear in our lab for when we had extra time to relax and going hiking in the mountains which surrounded our laboratory. Each one of us had, in one shape or form, studied the ancient art of Alchemy (an ancient tradition, the primary objective of which is the creation of the Philosopher's Stone, capable of turning base metals into gold or silver, and acting as a universal medicine). Little did we know, we would be in for the ride of our lives. The machines started to buzz and beep with lights and sounds. The portal started to open. D'vante and I looked at each other with smiles, as our hard work was coming to fruition. "It's working! It's working!!!" we yelled. The high energy around the worm hole was making it very unstable. The computers started flashing warning signals. The power from the worm hold lifted everything into the air, causing our plexi-glass barrier to shatter as the worm hole began to collapse. All of us blacked out from the enormous drop in air pressure in the room. We all woke up in a very strange place. After a few seconds, we all noticed we were in a back alley in an unknown city. Scattered around us were some of our supplies. We found our survival bags, hooded cloaks, weapons, food, water, and books. As each one of us was putting on our cloaks, we heard two men yell down the alley at us. They were wearing some sort of uniform with rank. They pulled out their firearms and aimed them at us. Trying to escape, we ran around the corner. As they followed, we got the jump on them and knocked them out. After subduing the officers, we took them to an abandoned warehouse by some train tracks to interrogate them. We dumped a bucket of water on the two men to wake them. We had tied them together sitting on chairs to make sure they did not escape. One of the officers barked a threat, stating that one of the military's top alchemists would come to save them. During the interrogation, unknown to us, shadowy figures entered the warehouse. All of a sudden, the Shadows attacked us. The military officers broke free from their restraints and yelled to the Shadows, trying to scare them away. "I see you two have friends that hate everyone!" I yelled. One of the officers replied "What are you talking about? We thought you were on their side." " I guess the old saying 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' is true in this predicament," stated D'vante. "Guess we should introduce our selves" cackled the figures. A slim looking woman walked out "I'm Lust." A fat guy crawled out "I'm Gluttony." A slender looking guy walked out and crowed in a laugh "I'm Greed." And another person walked out and stated "I'm Envy." Each one had a tattoo of an alchemy symbol on different parts of their bodies. After beating the living snot out of the four, the Shadows retreated. We helped up each of the officers and they gave us their names. The tall one was Havoc and the short one was Furey. They both worked for a man called the Flame Alchemist. Both, however, were hurt in the fight and we had to get them to a hospital. Once at the hospital we made our way to the waiting room. I thought it strange, though, that on our way, we saw a dark haired man followed by two blondes and someone in a suit of armor. While in the waiting room, my friends and I discussed what had happened and why we felt so strong. Physically some of us had changed…in my case, my size. I had grown to about 6'7-6'10! And the others had gotten smarter. But, we didn't know why. Once the doctor came out and told us that Havoc and Furey could have visitors, we went back to visit them in their room. Once we walked into the room, we were confronted by the dark haired man and his entourage. One was a young woman with short blonde hair who had two pistols aimed at us. The other two appeared to be using alchemy to create weapons to use against us. That is when we got a good look at the short blonde kid. Alyssa couldn't believe her eyes and she fainted. Havoc shouted for the dark haired man to stop, that we only wanted to help them. The dark haired man stopped and introduced himself and his group. He spoke first. "I am Colonel Roy Mustang. This is Lieutenant Hawkeye, and these are the Elric Brothers, Edward "Ed" and Allophones." "So that's the full metal alchemist? He's so short…" I said. Just as I said that, I saw something coming towards me. I ducked out of the way and slammed Ed to the ground. "I don't think so boy!" I growled. Mustang gave Ed a glare and he stopped. Mustang began to ask questions about where we came from and what had happened to us. We explained about what happened with our lab and running into Havoc and Furey, then the fight with what they called "Homunculi." "It was strange! I slammed my hands on the ground and the ground beneath those we were fighting just collapsed! I don't know how I became this strong." I muttered. A shadow of a large man appeared. "Armstrong, is that you?" questioned Mustang. A man entered the room who was even bigger than me. After he nodded, he looked at each of us. He looked me in the eyes. After that, he bent down and whispered something into Mustang's ear. The expression on Mustangs face told a story…he was getting an idea. Mustang invited us to stay in his military guest quarters. After a few days we were summoned to King Bradley, the head of the military. He praised us for saving Havoc and Furey and offered each of us the ability to be alchemists or officers in his military. The next day we each chose what we wanted to do. I, D'vante, and Alyssa chose to become State Alchemists. A State Alchemist is a military worker that uses alchemy to fight people. Katie and Bey chose to be military sharp shooters. We knew the military frowned upon members living together unless they were married, and before we received our official rank, we decided to marry so there would not be a problem. Joice and D'vante married, while I married Katie. Yet Bey and Alyssa stayed single for whatever reason…they never really did say why. Although, most of the group knew why Alyssa stayed single…she was chasing after Ed. Everywhere he went, she followed like a stalker. With joining the military, we were each put under a different "teacher" to show us the ropes. D'vante was put under the tutelage of Scar, a former murderer who killed military members, but was now helping the military find and maintain peace. Bey and Alyssa were put under Mustang, to train with two different types of alchemy. (Let me say a few words about Alyssa. She is very spastic...especially when it comes to the brothers. Every time they came around the office, she fainted.) The two also were trained by Hawkeye and Havoc, since each was an expert with firearms. Katie was taken in by Ms. Olivia Armstrong, in order to toughen her up physically and mentally. Olivia was renowned for being a slave driver and a taskmaster, while always being a headstrong leader. The Armstrong family was the most powerful in this world. They were also the richest! As for me, I was placed under Major Alex Armstrong, Olivia's little brother. After a while, we started to act alike. After a few days of working with Armstrong he gave me a pair of gantlets. While we all were placed in good places, we felt like things were just getting started here and our adventure was just beginning. I remember thinking we had not seen the last of the Homunculi and whoever was leading them. We had just joined a war for the right to survive. Hopefully we can win this war and become free, all the while getting used to our new home. Each new adventure, we will take head-on with our new friends and "families." Together, and not alone. As the old saying goes "United we stand, divided we fall". However that is for another story and another time. To be continued…. let me know what people think about this since this is my first story I'm working on. this is the beginning of a funny jump into a few of my favorite manga's. please give some feed back on how this sounds.

#full metal alchemist

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mysweetestcreature · 6 years

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Meus Amor (Hogwarts!Harry) Part V

(Banner by the lovely @pretty-hazza)

***

Series Masterlist

***

The moment her feet land on the hardwood floor of the unfamiliar flat that smells vaguely of a mixture of disinfectant and eucalyptus, there’s a feeling of queasiness starting in the pit of Y/n’s belly. Her awkward footing leaves her to stumble out of balance until she ends up with her back against the wall, breathing heavily as she tries to tie the last five minutes together into something she can only hope to understand. Her head is spinning, and every possible worst-case scenario reels in her head and flashes before her eyes like an untimely vision of bereavement. There are so many questions she has, but the fears that have settled within her are almost unbearable. Y/n feels the hot tears burn behind her irises as she tries hard to blink them away. Where was Harry? Why hadn’t he come with them after the attack? The image she remembers before getting lost in the haze of apparition was the wanton black smoke that surrounded his body like a veil of smooth silk.

“You’ll be safe here, don’t worry.” Her eyes slowly rise from staring at the spaces between the floorboards to the girl who had brought her here. Gemma offers her a small smile and reaches forwards to rub up and down her arm as if it would make the uneasiness in Y/n’s chest feel any less constrictive. She doesn’t dare move but allows her head to pan around the room and study each detail as though she would be tested on it at a later time. There are a number of books stacked neatly by size on the mahogany coffee table in the middle of two white leather couches that face each other. In the corner right by the window is one of Gemma’s uniforms being repaired by an enchanted needle and thread beside a laundry basket of freshly washed clothes and sheets. Along the walls are pictures of the Styles family; their faces full of glee and fulfillment as they flash their blinding smiles to the photographer before succumbing to their fits of laughter.

“Make yourself at home!” Gemma exclaims as she quickly jogs and disappears into the hallway. “I’m just going to set up the guest room. It’s been ages since I’ve had company.” A small chuckle reaches Y/n’s ears, and she forces down the lump in her throat and wills herself to think calmer thoughts. Suddenly there’s a sharp pain in her lower abdomen that’s like being struck with thousands of thorns from the inside. She slides down the wall and gasps for breath and hunches forward and wraps her arms around her stomach as the hostile burning agitates her entire being.

“It-it hurts,” she chokes out. Gemma is at her side in an instant, talking her through breathing exercises and rubbing her back as soothingly as possible. This is worse than having been struck with the Cruciatus curse, much worse. “I... I need Harry. P-Please I need Harry,” She starts sobbing on the floor and calling out her boyfriend’s name, praying to Merlin that he’ll appear in front of her and make this unwelcomed feeling go away like he always does with just the touch of his hand to her cheek.

“Honey, I need you to take deep breaths, alright? In through your nose...that’s it. Just keep doing that. You’ll be okay,” Gemma coaches. She frantically grabs her wand from her back pocket and mutters the summoning charm. A clear bottle with vibrant purple liquid comes hurdling through the air and lands perfectly in Gemma’s hand. She unplugs the cork––the loud popping noise enough to take Y/n’s mind off the throbbing for a split second––and holds it up to Y/n’s mouth. “Drink this.” Y/n looks at her through the tears rimmed around her eyes, her shaking hand grasping the neck of the glass and guiding the sparkling liquid to her lips.

It washes down her throat like running water, and she can feel it settle in her gut and boil like piping lava. The potion leaves an aftertaste on her tongue, like sparkling grape juice served within a minute before the start of a new year. Starting from ten, she counts backwards with her eyes shut tight as the feeling of anguish diminishes to nothing more than an afterthought. She peels her lids apart and looks up at Gemma, the healer’s stare narrowed in on her stomach as her lips wrap expertly around words that Y/n has never come across before with the tip of her wand aimed directly to her skin.

A luminous white band emits from the wand and wraps around her and tickles her midsection, and her tummy starts to flutter lightly before a calming warmth sinks in and the rest of her nerves seem to relax into the feeling. That’s all she can make out before the room fades to black.

***

Harry chases the unknown assailant miles above the ground and far away from the initial attack. All he can see is red and he’s almost certain that there’s actual steam pushing out from his ears. How could he have been so negligent? He hadn’t noticed a fucking death eater tailing them around Diagon Alley. It’s not that he expects these assholes to play fair, but the welfare of his family had been his only plea when it came down to being plagued with the skull and serpent on his arm.

Oh gods, his heart beats erratically as the worry sets in. The look on Y/n’s face as he had backed away from her and urged her into his sister’s hold is all he can see with the force of the wind stinging his eyes. She looked so scared and he just wishes he could be there to hold her and whisper his pledge of protection from all the evil that his world has brought upon them. All he can hope for right now is that his girl and their baby are in good health because he swears on Salazar’s name that he won’t be able to suppress this impulsive darkness he feels has grown within him and prickles in his fingertips in just a matter of minutes. But he’ll try to fight it as long as he can, he needs to be the man that Y/n deserves. It’s proving difficult, however, as he already feels the boiling of his blood scorch his veins when a malicious smirk is sent his way in the most taunting manner. With his wand aimed on the shadowy figure in front of him, he yells out a curse that petrifies the death eater’s body and sends him plummeting to the ground in the endless landscape of green flora found on the outskirts of the city.

He follows behind closely and descends in the relative area where the other man had fallen. There, he finds the body frigid as it lays on the dirt completely powerless. Harry steps closer to him, his fists tight and nails digging deep crescents into his palms, ready to break this guy’s jaw if presented the opportunity.

“I ought to curse your life away for that stunt you pulled,” he begins, sliding the wand out of the man’s front pocket and breaks it like a scanty twig on his bended knee. “But I won’t become like you lot. So just listen to my words carefully. My girl stays out of this. Or else that wand won’t be the last thing I snap.” His voice carries a tone so low and frightening that for a second, he can barely recognize it as belonging to him. He picks the death eater up by the collar, his toes barely scraping against the pebbles on the ground. Harry mumbles the counter curse under his breath, and he watches as the man desperately gasps for air.

“Yaxley told me you’d be difficult,” the death eater chuckles in a way that makes Harry’s teeth clench, “but he didn’t tell me that you’d break my wand. Now that was just was uncalled for.” He looks with false sadness down at broken piece of wood, only to be replaced with another one of his smirks. “The name’s Zayn by the way. Big fan.”

“I don’t care what your name is,” Harry says harshly, then throws...Zayn to the ground with a loud thump. He turns around and presses the heel of his palms to his eyes and lets out an infuriated growl. “Just tell me what the fuck he wants now.”

How many more lives am I meant to destroy?

The guilt from having been involved in the assassination of Professor Albus Dumbledore still makes him nauseous, even though the elderly man had tried to discourage him from blaming himself. (And the entire situation still troubles Harry because Dumbledore had known about the attempt on his life, yet he still allowed for everything to unfold.) He traces the metal band on his finger and prays that regardless of what happens next, she’ll still love him because he’s sure that he can’t live without her.

Zayn lifts himself up and makes little attempt to dust the dirt from his fitted trousers before taking a step closer to Harry. His deep brown eyes penetrating Harry’s green ones in an intense lock that could make an entire population turn to stone. Now that he’s had a good look at him, something about the dark-haired man in front of him looks vaguely familiar.

“Voldemort.”

All Harry can do is lift an unamused eyebrow as he looks to the left and right of them. He’s met with nothing but trees that stretch miles and miles in both directions and the chirping of birds in the branches. Is something meant to happen?

A pop suddenly sounds from behind him, his body stiffens up as he turns his head to the side where he sees a silhouette stretching towards him the light of the setting sun. He lets out defeated sigh before he feels a pair of hands on his shoulders before the forest vanishes in front of him.

***

Malfoy Manor is dark. Gloomy and malevolent, depending on who it you’re asking. Its Victorian style architecture offers the impression that maybe a king or someone of high nobility must preside somewhere within the mountain-high exterior. Harry’s been inside at least a dozen––maybe even more––times, mostly in his earlier years during the holidays for the Malfoy’s famous New Year’s Eve parties where he and Niall would sneak a bottle of fire whiskey and drink it in Narcissa’s prized rose garden.

Yet the last time he had been here had probably been the most memorable, and not for the enjoyment of getting pissed off his arse and trying to avoid getting stuck under the mistletoe with Pansy or Daphne. The last time Harry had been here, it was during his initiation that has left him with the mark even uglier than a scar that inevitably signed his life away.

His left arm tingles the closer he walks to the grand dining room, and when he looks down, he can see the serpent slithering about on his skin. Two other death eaters are on either side of him as though blocking him in in the chance that he’ll flee. Both are dressed in long black robes and shiny ebony shoes with heels that sound with each one of their heavy steps. Zayn walks in front, guiding them deeper into the core of the manor. It’s funny though, when he thinks deeply about this. Not to say that he finds the entire thing humorous––his girlfriend and sister were almost harmed by flying shards glass for crying out loud––but one must laugh when considering the dramatics of the day.

“I suppose this isn’t an invitation for tea,” Harry snorts, unable to hide his mild amusement.

Zayn makes a noise, as if fighting off a laugh. “Can’t say it is, but maybe once this is all over the Dark Lord will buy us all a pint, yeah?” He looks over his shoulder and wriggles his eyebrows in a playful manner.

A voice clears itself as they reach the doors where the meeting is to take place. They’re greeted with cold steel grey eyes, lips held in a thin line, and the once slicked back platinum blonde hair is as disheveled as a madman’s thoughts. It’s only been a few months since Harry’s last seen him, but it’s as though Draco has aged years before his time

There’s a look Draco gives him, one that injects an unsettling feeling into the back of his neck. He pushes down on the doorknob behind him and walks backwards to open it up all the way. They file into the room one by one, and Harry stops for just a second as he and Draco’s eyes meet as he passes him. It’s just long enough for him to catch a look of bitter remorse, one to only mirror his own.

Harry enters to find a long decadent table, each chair seating a death eater, most of whom he’s encountered at least once in the past. At the very head of the table is the Dark Lord, his sharp yellow teeth on full display as he welcomes the newly arrived to the meeting.

“Harry, my boy! So glad you could join us this evening,” he gushes, then signals to the empty seat two down to his right next to Snape. Harry swallows hard but wills himself over to his assigned spot. Snape gives him a sideways glance as he sits down uncomfortably, and from a few places over he can hear Lucius Malfoy gasp in appalment and mutter something to his wife. This is odd, even given his circumstances. To be seated so close to the Dark Lord signifies an authority over those that sit below him.

“My Lord, if you will,” Lucius speaks up. “I think it is inappropriate for the Styles boy to be seated so far up above esteemed death eaters,” he explains hurriedly. “He’s involved with the daughter of an auror.”

“Now, now, Lucius. We mustn’t judge Harry for being young, hmm?” Voldemort responds, pushing out of his chair and walking around the right. His hand traces the back frames of each of the seats until he stops at Lucius’. “And besides, Severus has told me how vital he had been to the mastery of the connection between cabinets, one that Draco couldn’t achieve on his own.” The last part is tutted out with a deceitful tone, and it ultimately shuts the older Malfoy up. “Now, that we’ve cleared that up,” Voldemort begins, a dark laugh leaving the pit of his throat, “I believe it’s time we-”

The doors sound loudly against the walls, and all seated heads crane their necks towards the wide-open threshold. At first, Voldemort looks peeved. No one in their sane mind would dare interrupt the Dark Lord mid-sentence. However, the moment a man hooded with a burnt green cloak steps out of the shadows, Voldemort’s rotting teeth spread wide in a pleased grin.

Harry’s eyes narrow into the darkened hallway that encompasses the hooded figure. His heartrate quickens as the soles of his shoes heavily pound against the polished floor like mini earthquakes. His hands reach up and grasp his hood, the material scrunching between his fingers as he flips it back to reveal a tired face with deep wrinkles settled in the once youthful skin.

“No...” Harry whispers disbelievingly to himself, his body being drained of all its color as he takes time to process the image of his father.

*** They all stand and bow as the Dark Lords makes his grand exit, Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius following closely behind him like a swarm of bees. The room quickly fills up with secluded conversations all discussing the same topic. Harry keeps to himself, as the variation of sneers and boastful remarks all mesh together as they enter through his ears. His jaw muscle aches under the severe clenching of his back molars.

Instantly does he feel the regret simmer through him. He’d known that the previous mission would not be his last, but he never thought he’d ever have to go into full-blown combat against the DA. War means only one thing, and he vowed that he’d never do it again.

From the corner of his eye, he can see someone approaching him. He pulls his hand into a tight fist by his side before coming face to face with him. His father looks at him, stopping just a few feet from where he stands. Getting a closer look, Harry is able to briefly study the dullness in his irises and the way his features pull downwards in a seemingly permanent frown. Yet, the man has the audacity to look him straight in the eyes and smile as though he hadn’t ruined his life.

“Son,” his father breathes as though he had been holding it in for hours, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him in for an awkward embrace. Harry remains frozen, the foreign feeling burning through his clothes and leaving his skin to swelter. He blinks a few times, hoping to bite back the feelings that have just unearthed after months of suppression.

He backs away, shaking his head. “You don’t get to call me that anymore.” His voice is hard. Desmond looks at him incredulously, and it stirs something within Harry. “What? You thought you could just waltz back into our lives like nothing in the past year happened?” he says bitterly. He makes his way towards the exit, shooting is father a look before disappearing into the hallway. “Harry don’t be so juvenile,” Des reprimands as he follows him out the door, but Harry just scoffs as he continues navigating through the maze of the manor. Him? Childish? It wasn’t him who abandoned his family in favor of someone made with every inch of vileness.

Suddenly, he’s being forced up against the wall, and his head cracks the glass of a picture frame behind him. The tiredness on his father’s face is replaced with an authoritarian countenance, one that Harry had been exposed so many times before. If before this would’ve scared him, now is different. “I’m still your father, you will show me respect.”

“Respect.” Harry repeats, shoving Des away into the opposite wall. “What part of you deserves that?”

*** By the time he makes it to his sister’s flat, Harry’s mind has gone numb and there’s an ache in his back as if he had just fallen off his broom from more than a hundred feet above the ground. His shoulders slump forward as he falls onto one of the white leather couches, his head falling back with his eyes closed as he searches for some sort of relief. He covers his face with his hand, taking long breaths as he tries to calm himself down. The tips of his index finger and thumb settle in the inner corners of his eyes, then drag inwards to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

“Hey.” He turns his head to see his sister leaning on her side against the wall.

“Hey.”

Gemma slowly walks over and takes the cushion on his left. At first there’s a silence that surrounds them, with a cloud of unsaid words hanging above them as both stare mindlessly at the photos that adorn the wall across from them. “He’s back,” Harry finally says, a croak coming from deep within him. And as the words reach his ears, he immediately realizes the pain behind each syllable. He leans forward, elbows on his knees and his hands clasp together and knock against his forehead like a sign of prayer.

“You mean-”

“Yes.”

Both remain tight-lipped for the proceeding minutes, but Harry can hear the faintest whimpers sounding from his sister’s throat. He regrets turning to her, the vision of the unsuccessfully suppressed tears glistening in the outer corners of her eyes is enough to break a part of him. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around her and bring her to cry on his shoulder as his chin rests atop her hair. His eyes close on their own accord as he listens to her weeps and allows for the emotion he had been holding in, to finally reach the surface.

“I hate him for what he’s done,” Gemma says into her hands. She straightens up and furiously wipes the tears from her cheeks. “He broke us. He broke Mum. I can never forgive him for that.” She stands up and paces back and forth in front of the sofa. Harry nods in agreement but lets his voice stay at rest. “I won’t,” his sister states firmly. Gemma sits back in an armchair to Harry’s left, bringing her knees up and hugging them close to her chest.

She faces away from him, but he can still hear the continuation of her sorrows that creep into the air. This is far from what he’s used to when it comes to her. As children, she’d been the more understanding out of the two of them. No matter how many times her loved ones had failed her in the past, no matter the shortcomings that may have been, she would find it in her to grant forgiveness. However, seeing her put on such a cold front makes him realize that their family truly is wrecked beyond repair.

Yes, he’s known this to be fact for quite some time now, but the grief that comes with it never fails to send an ache to spiral beneath his chest.

***

The sight of her sleeping peacefully on the bed is enough to ease away the tensions in his body and whatever it is that had been constricting his lungs. He closes the door behind him, then makes his way over to her. The bed dips down where he sits, and he leans down to press a long chaste kiss to the side of her mouth as he takes in her sweet and comforting scent. His nerves find peace in having her so close to him again, and he thanks the gods that she escaped to the day completely unscathed.

It’s then his attention turns to focus on her stomach. His palm gently presses on her clothed skin, and his thumb caresses the slightest swell that he isn’t certain is even there. Yet, he wonders if their baby can feel his touch from inside her sleeping mother. Can she sense his presence? Does she feel the immeasurable love he already has for her?

Y/n begins to fuss beneath him, a mumble of his name lingering on her lips as her eyes adjust to the sudden invasion of light on her pupils. As the blurriness vanishes, she gasps when she sees him beside her.

He smiles down at her, running the back of his finger down her cheek. “Hey, pretty girl.”

“Oh my god,” she cries, immediately bringing him down and wrapping her arms around him, her hand cupping the back his neck and tangling in his soft brown curls. She hugs him closer to her, afraid that this may be all a dream and reality is just as painful as she had left it.

He cradles her, content with the feeling of her in his arms after a day of hell. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into her skin. His lips linger on her neck as they continue with their embrace. “I’m so sorry.”

She sniffles softly as she kisses the side of his jaw over and over. “I-I was so scared.” He pulls away just enough to see the worry that paints over her features. Her eyes are glossed over like fragile glass and her nose dusted with a pink flush just at the tip. He runs his thumbs under her eyes and presses his lips to hers. She breathes him in, and the feeling of relief finally washes over her as his tongue swipes along her bottom lip.

“Shh, I know,” he says, the words passing into her mouth as he maintains the kiss.

They break apart moments later, and he leans his forehead against hers. His eyes fall lower on her body and his heart pounds with anxiousness when he finally decides that the voice in his head is right. He can’t run from this.

Not anymore.

Not when he can lose the two most precious things in his life in just a span of a second.

He stares back at her, his mouth pulling down at the ends when he looks right into her eyes. “I need to tell you something.” His voice is shaky and breath uneven as he sits both of them up.

She looks to him with a curious yet apprehensive expression. Her head tilts slightly. She notices the crease between his brows as he stares down to where his hands find hers to hold. It makes her nervous, and the frightening thoughts from earlier that day come fleeting through her mind once again.

“I love you both so much.” He presses his mouth to the back of her hands, squeezing them gently.

Both? She’s sure she had heard him clearly, despite his low and almost inaudible tone. “W-what?” she questions, pulling her hands from his and placing them over her chest as though to protect herself.

“Remember when I went to visit my mum a few weeks ago?” She nods slowly. He swallows hard and forces down whatever it is that’s lodged in his throat. “I found out that...” He puffs out a breath, and a hand rests itself on the curves of her waist, while the other reaches up to cup her cheek. She doesn’t pull away from him this time but doesn’t make the effort to fall into him either. He realizes this, and it gives him that final push to come out with it. “It’s not just the two of us anymore.”

“I don’t understand.” Her eyebrows furrow as she searches his eyes for an explanation. She watches as his jaw clenches and his eyes falter. She follows them. “What are you trying to say?” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip until it’s pale pink––almost lifeless white shade, and her mouth runs dry the longer he takes his time to respond.

There’s just no way he can phrase the words without wanting to curse himself and this entirely fucked up life he’s led them into. “Y/n,” he starts, “you’re...” His eyes squeeze shut, and he gathers all the courage he has left. “Pregnant.” The silence that falls between them is unnerving. She sits there with her body frigid, the color draining from her face and blood running cold in her veins.

A deadpan expression encompasses her features. She stares at him as though he had two heads and had neon orange hair.

She suddenly rises up from the bed and backs herself up against the wall. With her hands falling down to her belly, she thinks back to all the signs she’d come across these last couple of weeks. It’s then her fingers curl harshly around her shirt. The sound of her knuckles cracking in the dead atmosphere of the room alarms him. “I knew something was wrong.” She shakes her head, then raises her arms and digs her nails into her scalp and pulls on her hair. “I should’ve been able to tell.”

Harry leaps to his feet and pulls her hands down by her wrists. “Love, no. We’d always used the charm, there’s no way we could’ve ever anticipated this.” Her eyes fall to her feet as she continues to shake her head. She feels pathetic where she stands, and it makes hate himself even more for doing this to her. He wraps his arms around her and holds her tightly. She stays limp, her arms hanging at her sides as she stares emptily over his shoulder.

He feels the heat of her tears on his shirt, and despite her lack of vocal presence, he can hear the sobs escalating within her. It makes him tighten his hold on her because doesn’t know what else to do but keep her close to him and let her that he’s there to for her.

“Talk to me,” he pleads with her. “Tell what you’re thinking.” He buries his face in the crook of her neck and whispers to her.

“How’d you know?” she asks meekly.

He sighs heavily. “We have a tapestry out back.” His lips form in a thin line when she lets out a quiet snivel. “I suppose my mum went to look at it at some point, and she––she saw her.”

She lets his words sink in. Her mind does its best to make sense of it all, but it’s becoming harder and harder to grasp as time passes by them. She doesn’t know whether to be angry that he kept this from her for days, disappointed that she hadn’t sensed it herself, or dare she say excited because she’d always fantasized about the idea of motherhood. It’s all too much for her right now, too many of emotions fighting to prevail over the other, and she fears it’ll have her spiraling into something she can’t control.

“We...” she forces out. Air collects in Harry’s lungs, but it still feels as though they could collapse. “We’re going to have a baby girl?” she wonders innocently. He allows the corners of his mouth to rise up in a small smile.

“Yeah.” He lets out a light chuckle that releases some of his nervousness. “We are.” Her arms wrap around him and unwinds slightly in his hold.

“I’m scared,” she admits, mumbling into his shirt.

He nods his head numbly. “So am I.”

***

Dear Mum and Dad,

I know you’re probably worried beyond your wits––and who can blame you? The attack on Diagon Alley was something I never thought would ever happen to me, I guess because you guys have always taken such good care of me all these years. It was like a nightmare that I could only hope I would wake up from. I don’t know how else to describe it.

Please know that I am safe, though! I’m thankful that Harry was able to get us out of the ice cream parlour before the explosion. He’s taking good care of me, and you’ll be happy to know that there’s not a scratch on us...well except for this papercut I just got trying to write this letter!

Gemma, Harry’s sister, said that we can stay here for a few days until things calm down, and we can all regain our strength. I already miss you guys like crazy! This morning I woke up and forgot that I wasn’t at home and the memories of the day before suddenly appeared before my eyes, and all I really wanted to do was hug you both.

Which leads me into something that I need to tell you, but it’s also something I have to do in person. There’s no easy way to begin, especially considering that I myself am still trying to fully come to terms with it. Everything around us seems to be turning to black, but now I feel I have added inspiration to fight through it now; and I know you guys will understand why.

Until then,

Y/n

She folds the paper up neatly, making sure that the corners are well-aligned before sliding it into an envelope. She walks over to the window where Artemis stands ready for her to tie the letter to her leg.

“You can get this to Dad, won’t you, girl?” She smiles at the owl as she runs the back of her finger down its head and beak. Her white snowy feathers fluttering slightly as she moves pleasingly against her hand. Y/n takes a treat from her pocket and holds it for her to take, to which the owl greedily scoffs it down. “When you get back, I’ll tell Harry to get you a nice juicy mouse!” Artemis lets out an understanding hoot as she takes off from the window sill. Her wings expand, and Y/n can’t help but stare in awe as she glides through the sky.

***

“I never got to thank you properly,” Harry says. He stands in the archway, a hand stuffed in his pocket, the other holding a cup freshly brewed coffee. Gemma looks up over the top edge of the Prophet. “For what?” she asks, placing the pile of papers down next to her plate of toast and jam. He takes the chair next to her, placing his mug down on the table and staring down into the hot liquid. He pokes his tongue to his cheek; the sides of porcelain being caressed by the pads of his thumb.

“You know,” Harry shrugs meekly, lifting his doleful eyes to hers. “For taking care of my girls when I couldn’t be there.”

His sister’s shoulders fall forward. The expression on her face showing nothing but thoughtfulness as she looks back at him with every bit love. “They’re my family now,” she replies, and gives him a side smile as she reaches over and covers his hand with hers. “I know you would’ve done the same had our situations been reversed.” She squeezes his hand once more, making sure to bestow in him an empathy before returning to her reading.

They sit there at the breakfast table in a restful pattern. Harry continues to take long sips from his coffee, while Gemma is content with flipping through the pages of moving figures. It continues for some minutes, before he hears her click her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

He lifts an eyebrow as she folds the paper, and it levitates away to place itself neatly on the stack in the corner of the room. She places her elbows on the table, hands folded and tucked under her chin. She gives him roguish a side glance, her mouth open but without words.

“What is it?” Harry finally asks.

“Are you going to ever tell her about...you know.”

Harry leans back into his chair, the creaking of its wood is the only thing to fill in the silence that falls between them. Despite staring down into his lap, he can still feel her eyes on him, burning holes into his skull and penetrating deep into his mind. He exhales deeply. “I’m afraid she’ll hate me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“Harry, I’m sure-”

“Gemma,” he cuts her off, running a hand through his hair. “I killed a man.”

***

Y/n rubs a big circle into the blanket of steam on the bathroom mirror. She studies herself closely, as though expecting for something to be different in the way she looks. Although, she isn’t quite sure what kind of changes to look for. This is a whole new world that’s just opened up before her, and the thought of her and Harry’s child growing inside of her makes her feel an unattainable amount of love in her heart, even in this short amount of time. She’d always wanted to be a mum. Of course, she never expected it to be so soon, but something about it just settles well.

Her eyes fall onto the reflection of her tummy, and a hand goes to cover it on its own account. “Hi, baby,” she whispers, smiling to herself as she strokes the towel gently with the utmost care. “So, it was you making all those funny things happen all along.” A giggle escapes her. “Already causing mischief like your daddy, aren’t you?”

She wishes that her baby would do something now, anything to let her know that she can hear the sound of her voice. Harry said she’s just about a month along, so their baby doesn’t have a face on the tapestry just yet. It leaves her in full anticipation and eagerness to know what she’ll look like once she’s here. Part of her still feels guilty for not knowing she’d been in there all this time. Her mum told her that she’d known she was pregnant with her almost immediately, and that had been without the blatant obviousness of what she had been exposed to.

She readjusts the towel around her chest and steps out into the hallway. The closer she gets to her room, the more she’s able to make out the voices coming from the distance. She stops in front of the bedroom door, and now she can decipher the words being said.

“Harry, I’m sure-”

“Gemma, I killed a man.”

It’s like her heart stops mid beat. The air around her becomes harder to breathe in, and she finds herself unable to move. Her breath catches in her throat, and the grip she has on the doorknob loosens until her hand slides off of it like butter.

“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t have a choice!”

“But then why do I still see his face whenever I close my eyes?”

The conversation comes to an abrupt end when she hears the legs of a chair slide against the floor boards in an awful screech. Her body catches up to her mind and unfreezes, and she can see his shadow coming into view.

***

He pushes the door open to find her sitting on the bed, hair dripping beads of water down her back and disappearing in the gaps of her towel. Once again, it’s her presence that dilutes the negative energy coursing through his body. His perfect girl, the remedy for all the bad things to happen in his life. He walks towards her and sits down behind her and wraps his arms around her waist.

“You smell nice,” he mumbles into her shoulder, placing a kiss onto her skin. He fastens his hold on her, breathing out in contentment as he enjoys the feeling of her cooled skin against him. He twirls a particularly long thread between his fingers, amusing himself for just a moment.

Y/n turns her head slightly. Her hand is shaking underneath the pillow in her lap, and she can only hope that he doesn’t sense anything off about how she barely expand her lungs to full capactiy in her frazzled state. He pokes his nose into her cheek as he trails his lips along her jaw. The feeling of the light stubble on his upper lip sends a shiver from the base of her neck and down her stiff spine.

“How are you feeling?” His husky voice startles her. He looks over her shoulder to where his hands come to rest on her stomach.

She swallows hard on the lump in her throat. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asks again, this time turning her in his lap to face him. Her eyes evade him, staring down at his shirt, and he notices the teeth marks embedded into her bottom lip. “Love?”

Hesitantly, she raises her head to look at him.

“Love, are you okay?” His face fills with worry as he searches her for an answer. “Is it the baby? Are you feeling pains again? Gemma told me you were having them. We can go to St. Mungo’s if there’s something wrong.” His tone is panicked as the questions and statements come out of him all at once.

This makes Y/n shake her head, a frail tug of her lips as she cups his cheeks and smoothens out the crease between his eyebrows. “No,” she answers honestly. “I’m just feeling a bit tired.” She watches as his appearance becomes less troubled and the muscle in his jaw slackens a great deal.

“You’re sure?” She nods, and he drops his forehead to rest on her shoulder. “I just don’t want anything happening to you two,” he admits. “I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

She feels her chest loosen a bit.

***

Flaming glass comes hurdling through the air, and the hair-raising screams of wizards and witches alike fill their ears in the aftermath of the explosion. She gets a glimpse of the scene from over Harry’s shoulder as it further unfolds. Her heart pounds like a drum beneath her chest, and her grip on Harry’s arm only intensifies when she looks up to see the almost hostile expression on his face. Her eyes dart to where his bulge at, and they land on the figure dressed head to toe in black attire. The man smirks in their direction.

Who is he? Why had he been following them all through the day?

So many questions race through her mind as she stands almost paralyzed in the alleyway.

Harry snaps his head back at her, his face instantly becoming less rigid as he stares into her eyes, but in a way that makes the back of them prickle with an unknowing fear. It’s the way his eyebrows just barely bunch together and how his chest quickly rises and falls as his hands around her hips loosen. “Get her out of here!” he suddenly yells to Gemma.

“What? No! I’m not leaving without you!” She fights off Gemma’s hold on her and rushes back and attaches herself back onto him. She begs him not to do this. The last thing she wants to do is be away from him, especially in time like this.

His hands cup her cheeks, and she holds on to his wrists as to keep him with her. “I’ll come find you, okay? But right now, I need you to go with Gemma.” His tone is desperate as the words come rushing out. She can see an equal amount of fear in his eyes before he pulls her closer and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I love you,” he tells her.

She shakes her head, her vision clouded with tears as Gemma pulls are away from him. Her stomach flips, and her knees feel as though they can’t support the weight of her anymore. He runs back onto the main street, despite her calling his name over and over.

Gemma wraps her arms around her, and she can feel she digs for her wand in her jacket pocket. Just as their bodies disappear into the vortex of apparition, she takes one last look at Harry, but his body consumed by an all too familiar black veil.

Y/n wakes up in cold sweat, her eyes opening abruptly, only to be met with plain white ceiling. She turns her head to her right where Harry lays asleep with his arm draped over her stomach. The rest of her body turns with her, and she brings a hand to move one of the brown curls away from his forehead. She scans her eyes over his face, wanting to memorize its features. Every mole, the crevices of his dimples, the thickness of his long lashes, and the way his nose wriggles whenever she grazes the tips of her fingers down his jaw.

Her heart tells her nothing is wrong, that he’s still the same person she fell in love with back on the Hogwarts Express. But her head, her head and all the stupid signs she’s come to face tell her something is different.

She shuts her eyes. “Please tell me I’m wrong,” she whispers pleadingly. Very carefully, she coordinates herself to get out of their shared bed. Just as her feet touch the floor, Harry start to shift, and ends up on his back. His left arm lies where her body had just been.

She picks up her wand from the top of the end table, then slowly moves to point it to his bare skin. It feels like hot metal burning through her palm the longer she holds it in that position. “Please,” she whimpers one last time. Her lips form around the first syllable of the word as her hand continues to shake out of focus.

He’s not one of them, he just can’t be. She knows him, almost better than she knows herself. She sees the compassion in him, even when he doesn’t want to admit that he’s kinder than he intends to be because that’s who he is. He’s not like his father or any of those criminals that everyone wants so desperately to associate him with.

But she’s also afraid. Her world is changing far too quickly, and she’s finding it harder and harder to keep up with the madness of it all. And more importantly, she loves him too much for it to go any other way.

Her hand brushes through her hair as she drops her wand to her side. “I can’t do it.” The words are mouthed without a stretch from her vocal cords. She sniffles into the neck of her shirt as her hand moves to rest above her abdomen. That’s when she realizes that this is why she has to do it. Needs to. They’re already bringing a child into this world in the middle of a war far deadlier than its predecessor. She can’t afford surprises. Not when the price to pay is this. The tip of her wand hovers back over his forearm.

“Aparecium.” *** He feels around the bed, searching for her body as his eyes garner the strength to open up to the light of a new day. The side next to him is cold, and he finally peels his lids apart to see the space next to him completely empty. He lets out a sigh and turns onto his back.

“What’re you doing on the floor?” he asks when he spots her, chuckling lightly as he pulls the covers off. His feet are cold against the floor as he circulates around the bed and bends down in front of her. It’s then he gets a good look at her, and the smile on his face quickly melts away.

Her eyes are rimmed red, and her lip begins to quiver as she lifts her head up to stare back at him. It’s the way she looks at him, he doesn’t know how to describe it, but it terrifies him.

Slap.

Her hand harshly comes in contact with his cheek, strong enough to forcibly knocks his head to the side. His eyes grow wide when he snaps back to her, and he’s met with her tears as they furiously fall in an endless stream down onto her shirt.

She covers her face with her hands and begins to cry, her whole body shaking uncontrollably as she does so. He reaches out to touch her, but she coils and away from him almost immediately as though he were poison. He retracts his arm quickly. His heart shattering and mind racing because this isn’t something he’d ever thought would happen. The gears in his head going into overdrive as he tries to comprehend what the fuck is going on.

And then he sees it.

His eyes land down onto his arm. His left forearm, ridden of its concealment. The sinister mark on display for the whole world. He quickly looks back to her, and she looks at him through her puffy eyes as she wraps her arms around herself as a barrier to him. It’s as if to tell him to stay away.

“You’re one of them,” she chokes out.

He numbly backs away from her until he hits the edge of the bed. His mouth falls open, but he doesn’t have the power to use it. His entire world feels as if it’s just crashed around him all at once.

It’s his greatest fear come to life.

“You’re one them,” she repeats, only this time he can practically taste the anger in her voice.

“Y/n, please,” he starts in pure desperation as his emotions become too overwhelming for him to control. “Just-just listen to me. I lo-”

“No!” she screams at him. He squeezes his eyes shut and pulls on the hair on the top of his head. “You lied to me!” With wobbly knees, she stands to her feet, looking down at him with tears veiling her vision. “You’re a liar.”

Harry quickly stands up, pulling her into his chest and clings to her. “Love, no,” he cries, and only growing louder as she attempts to squirm out of his embrace.

“Let me go!” she yells, but Harry refuses. He cups the back of her hair and frantically declares his love for her in her ear.

It takes all the strength in her to escape his grasp and push him away. When he tries to approach her, she slaps him.

She slaps him again, then again, and again. His cheek stinging bright red and shining with the tears of his failure.

Harry falls to his knees and wraps his arms around her lower half as tightly as he can. He can’t let her go, he can’t afford to. No matter how hard she tries to push him away, he’ll only come rushing back.

“Everything,” she sobs, holding onto the sides of her head because she feels it’s about to explode. “Everything about this relationship is a lie!”

He shakes his head hysterically against her. “I love you so much. Please, don’t do this. I love you. I love you. Y/n, please. I can’t lose you, not this way. Please, I love you so much.” He cries into the bottom of her shirt and leaves sloppy kisses on the marks of his tears.

She starts to hit his shoulders, knocking them with her loose fists as she feels the strength in her body drain out of her. She braces herself against the wall, her chest heaving as she breathes out one shaky breath after the next.

He looks up at her, hoping to find even the faintest of lights in her eyes to give hope that they can make it through this, that this is just a test they need to go through to reach their happy ending. He pleads with her, but it’s like she doesn’t hear him.

Her face becomes unreadable, but he senses something different about it. She inhales sharply, then all of a sudden she shrieks out in pain. He recedes at arm’s length, his eyes quickly scanning her as his heart quickens in pace.

A line of blood trails down the inner side of her legs.

“No, no, no.” He jumps up just in time to catch her in his arms, only for them to land back on the floor. “Gemma!” he shouts towards the door. His girl hunches over and wraps her arms around her stomach. “You’re okay,” he says hurriedly, taking her face in his palm. “You’re okay.”

Gemma runs into the room, freezing for a moment as she takes in the shock of the image before her.

“Help her!” Harry screams, and his sister composes herself and orders Harry to get Y/n on the bed.

Potion flasks swiftly enter the room, too many for Harry to count. Gemma opens the cork a sparkling red one, guiding the nozzle to Y/n’s mouth and lifting her head just high enough for her to drink from it. This seems to relax the pain just enough for her face to soften.

But the tears in her eyes still continue to flow out.

He feels so helpless right now. His sister is fully concentrated on his girlfriend, and he’s here standing on the sides. Y/n turns to look at him, but the sight of him makes her breakdown in sobs.

Gemma pauses mid-incantation and bounces her eyes between the two.

“You can’t be here right now,” she tells him.

“I’m not leaving her,” he counters adamantly.

The older Styles lets out a sigh. She shoots her brother a warning look, only to be met with his stubbornness as he refuses to move. Looking back at Y/n, then looking to Harry, she raises her wand and flicks it towards him.

The walls of the room zoom past in a flash, and suddenly he’s out in the hallway. The door slams shut in front of him, the magnitude of its power enough to rattle the portraits on the walls.

He’s never felt more worthless.

***

A/N: I KNOW, I KNOW...IT’S BEEN YEARS SINCE I’VE UPDATED. I’m so sorry this took so long, but I hope this was worth the wait!

Anyway, OH MY GOD?? THIS PART THOROUGHLY STRESSED ME OUT AND HOPEFULLY YOU GUYS DON’T HATE ME FOR WHAT JUST HAPPENED :o

Comments? Questions? Concerns?

Send them in!

#hogwarts!harry #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles drabble #harry styles au #one direction imagine #one direction preferences #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter au

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vnderoos · 6 years

Text

beneath the stars ✧ jacob black

warnings / cursing. word count / 1,879. summary / sometimes, stargazing leads to impromptu make-out sessions.

(gif is not mine, credit to the owner)

⠀

masterlist in bio ↴

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀A SIGH OF CONTENTMENT passed through her body slowly, her chest rising and falling as the air came and went. Thin blades of dry, brittle grass swept against her through the fabric of her very oversized flannel, but if she had to describe it, she'd compare the feeling to getting a bunch of tiny hugs from the earth. A little bit more than fifteen feet away, what was left of the routine bonfire was beginning to fizzle out, the flames lacking an audience to dance since the pack had retreated into Emily's place for a while. Jacob Black—her closest friend, who would've been submerged in the shadows of the night if it wasn't for the faint glow that the night sky provided—mimicked Y/N's actions. He was laying on his back with his hands, flat and palms-down, at his sides and his broad shoulder was just barely brushing the side of her own.

⠀

His presence beside her was ever so prominent, but her eyes were glued to the sky, fluttering over the thousands of white-hot specks that were the stars. They flickered against the canvas of navy blue, like dying lightbulbs in a dark room. Y/N felt the familiar pull, which had been constant since they'd decided to stargaze in the first place, to look over at him, so she did. The grass rustled beneath her head as she moved, but neither of them paid any mind to it. His soft brown eyes, twinkling with fascination and reflecting the sparkle of the stars, were trained fiercely on the sky and his full, pink lips were slightly parted. His face was free of the stress she knew he'd been under for the past few weeks, seemingly tranquil for the time being, and a hearthy warmth spread through her body, happiness welling up inside of her because he was finally catching a break. He felt the weight of her eyes on him—admiring him, he hoped—and he looked over at her.

⠀

She anticipated his movements when she'd seen the slightest shuffle of his body and she averted her attention back towards the galaxies above them. Jacob, who had turned for the purpose of catching her in the act, found himself unable to look away. She had always been beautiful to him, but as they laid beneath the stars, he could truthfully say that she outshone them all. He was mesmerized by the tint of pink that rose in her smooth cheeks, by the awestruck glitter in her gem-like eyes, and by the silvery wash of the moonlight running over her features. His staring didn't go undetected by Y/N, as she'd grown immediately self-conscious beneath his gaze. Her chest grew tight, her breathing quicker, and she nervously shifted from time to time. Jacob wasn't sure how long had passed since he began to take in her beauty, but he was almost certain that she was looking over at him to tell him off, though he met her gaze unworried. He smiled at her, not at all bothered by the fact that he'd been caught with his eyes settled on her. To his surprise, she smiled back.

⠀

"You know, this is my favorite thing to do with you," she stated all of the sudden, a light-hearted, breathy laugh falling into sync with her words, and Jacob felt his lips pull wider at the sound.

⠀

Y/N's eyes scanned over his facial features for any signs that she'd made him uncomfortable and his looked over hers to make sure she was telling him the truth. "'S it really?" He hummed, a note of amusement playing in his voice. He flashed her a grin, the beautiful white of his teeth creating a nice contrast against their shadowy surroundings.

⠀

She nodded her head in response, her tongue peeking between her mouth to wet her lips. "It's so peaceful," she answered, her voice unnecessarily quiet but she felt like it fit the mood better. "It feels like it's the only time where we get to be alone together, like the rest of the world just melts away for a little while," she explained.

⠀

Jacob exhaled slowly, before a soft chuckle escaped from his peaceful lips. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he muttered, swallowing thickly as he tore his eyes away from hers and fixed them amongst the stars, but she didn't dare to look away from him. "I wish... I wish I could be alone with you all the time," he confessed and her breath caught in her throat when his fingertips grazed her own, twitching as he seemed to fight the urge to hold her hand.

⠀

His touch was hesitant and uncertain, like he was scared that one wrong move would send her bolting in the other direction, but she eased his doubts with a reassuring smile. "Me, too, Jake." That was when she slid her hand into his, ignoring the fact that her heart was beating so fast that it could've jumped out of her chest at any moment, and she carded her fingers confidently between his. The breath that she'd been holding blew through her lips and the tension that had built up in her muscles seemed to follow, a wave of calmness crashing over her. Y/N repositioned her body, so she could face him without the ache in her neck, and he turned his head so his eyes could meet her own. Jacob's heart thumped impossibly loudly inside of his chest as she grew closer and his breathing grew redundantly difficult. "A lot's been happening lately—with the pack, the new wolves, Bella, the Cullens. Everyone has gotten so busy, you included, but it really makes the time I can spend with my best friend that much more special to me," she admitted. He laughed understandingly at that, trying not to spoil the mood even as his heart had dropped at the dreaded label. He nodded in agreement as a comfortable silence settled over them.

⠀

The two remained as they were, their breathing steadying out as they got used to being so close to one another, gazing into each other's eyes as the stars had become long forgotten. A strand of Y/N's hair, silky and beautiful, fell into her face from behind her ear and Jacob smiled. He lifted his free hand, for the other was still intertwined with hers, to tuck it back into place. His fingers glided over her cheekbone, drawing lines of searing fire as he did, and she grinned softly at the feeling. Her unoccupied hand lifted to her cheek to cover his, holding it gently against her face and sending electricity crackling through his wrist. He wasn't sure if it was him or his sudden burst of confidence talking, but he couldn't stop himself from blurting out what he'd been wanting to say to her for months. "You're so much more than my best friend, Y/N," he whispered and she could hear the reluctance in his voice. "You know that right?" He questioned. Jacob could feel her cheeks grow warm against the palm of his hand and a small smile broke out onto her lips.

⠀

Her eyes shifted from his, looking somewhere over his shoulder, and she nodded her head slowly. "I know," she replied in a sweet tone of voice, her puff pink lips drawn into a timid grin. She caught the movement of his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed nervously. The hand of his that held her own tightened its grip and the hand of his that rested on her cheek pulled slightly, like he wanted to jerk it away but something was stopping him. His eyebrows lifted, curiously, in a silent attempt to encourage her to say more, to say how she felt in return. She let her hands slip away from his, using them to cup his face softly in the palms of her hands, and she scooted closer to him, just enough so she could feel his breath fanning against her face and vice versa. "You're so much more than my best friend, too," she disclosed and something new, completely unfamiliar, sparkled in Jacob's eyes.

⠀

His tongue flicked to wet his lips as he glanced very briefly down at her own, his hands brushing against her thighs and her waist and even the crook of her neck like he didn't know where to put them. A small laugh bubbled from her lips, splitting his own into a smile instead of the frustrated grimace he wanted to wear so badly. At last, Jacob settled on pushing her gently onto her back, one of his hands holding onto her waist lightly while he placed the other at the side of her head, supporting his weight so he wouldn't crush her. "I'm gonna kiss you, now, if that's alright," he mumbled, the corners of his mouth pointed up in an expectant smirk.

⠀

Y/N chuckled at his words, knowing he must've been referencing the incident where an unsolicited kiss earned him a punch in the face, and she lifted her hands. She pressed them up against his chest, pushing them teasingly over his shoulders so she could lace her fingers together loosely behind his neck. "I'm not going to hit you," she reassured him amusedly. "Now, hurry up and plant one on me before I change my mind."

⠀

There was a flash of white from his teeth as he bared a smile, before his lips captured her own. Her eyelids fluttered shut at the contact, her bosom instantly searing like the action had stolen the oxygen right from her lungs, but she didn't care because he was kissing her. The kiss started out slow, his lips rolling tentatively, easily, mildly against her own, but the more he kissed her, the quicker he learned the rhythm of her mouth. His lips moved with a gradually growing intensity, making her heart patter like heavy rainfall from the thunderstorms exploding inside of her chest, and she hummed against his lips. Y/N slid her hands from his neck, moving them to cup his jawline before pushing them back into his mess of fluffy hair. Her fingers trembled and her head spun as he continued to kiss her. Only when the two were a mess of swollen lips, curious tongues, clacking teeth, and heavy breaths, did Jacob finally pull his lips away from her own.

⠀

Her eyes opened slowly as their lips disconnected, both of their chests rising and falling as they heaved to catch their breaths. Y/N's hands, still tangled in his hair, glided down a bit so that her thumbs could brush against his flushed cheeks and she managed a small smile up at him. "Okay," she uttered, completely breathless. "Pretty sure I just found my new favorite thing to do with you," she confessed, a laugh shaking in her chest as Jacob leaned his forehead down to touch her own, and she didn't have to see his face to know that he was grinning like an idiot.

⠀

"Does that mean you wouldn't mind if I kissed you again?" He asked, his cool breath blowing over her hot skin as he spoke.

⠀

"That's exactly what it means, Jake," she answered and, instead of waiting for Jacob to kiss her again, she curled her fingers around fistfuls of his black t-shirt fabric and she crashed her lips against his.

⠀

↴

a/n / so, i rewatched the twilight movies and this happened. i needed to get something posted so this is short and sweet, but i'm not mad at it! everyone needs a little bit of good-natured jacob fluff. more twilight imagines coming sometime in the possible near future? who knows, i'm terrible at normal uploads.

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katedoesfics · 5 years

Text

Under Shadow: Chapter 3

Abigail

Abigail held the sword out before her, her arms steady as she adjusted her stance. She narrowed her eyes at her target before bounding forward, swinging her sword across the dummy. It swung around her from the tree branch it was tied to as Abigail spun around and brought her sword across it once more. The dummy fell from the tree, landing in a heap at her feet. She smiled in approval before hanging it on the branch once more.

“I wish you would get rid of that thing,” Caroline mumbled as she tended to her garden. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Abigail rolled her eyes. “Mom, I’ve been training with this sword for years. I know what I’m doing.”

Caroline sighed. “I told your father it was a bad idea to get you into those self defense classes.”

“Because it’s so terrible that I, a woman, learn how to defend myself?”

Caroline narrowed her eyes at her daughter. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Why do you have such a problem with what I like?”

“I don’t,” Caroline snapped, turning back to her garden. “I just don’t know where you get it from.” Caroline got to her feet, dusted off her dress, and sighed. “I just wish we had some common interests,” she muttered. “I wish we were closer.”

Abigail turned her gaze to her feet. “I wish you would just accept me for who I am,” she mumbled.

“You’re my daughter, Abby,” Caroline said. “I love you no matter what.”

Abigail crossed her arms but did not meet her mother’s gaze. Caroline wrapped her arms around her daughter, pulling her into a hug and kissed her head. Abigail hesitated, then wrapped her arms around her mother.

“Is it heavy?” Caroline asked. “The sword?”

Abigail shrugged. “It’s not too bad. You get used to it.”

“Well, at least I don’t have to worry about my only daughter getting kidnapped. You could kick anyone’s ass with that thing.”

Abigail smiled. “That’s the plan.”

Pierre hurried out the back door of the house, his face white and his expression frantic.

“We need to get out of here,” he said between breaths.

“What are you talking about?” Caroline asked.

“The Shadow People… They’re coming…”

“The Shadow People?” Abigail echoed.

“Pierre, what are you talking about? The army-”

“There is no army, Caroline,” he hissed. “It’s all over the news.”

Around them, the sky began to darken into unnatural shades of dark greys and purples. A dark haze shrouded them from the light of the sun.

“Get into the car,” Pierre ordered his wife and daughter.

“Dad-”

Pierre pushed the two women towards the road. Abigail tripped over her own feet as she hesitated, turning back to grab her sword on the ground.

“Where are we going?” Caroline shouted to him. “Are you crazy?”

“We’re leaving the city,” Pierre said as they climbed into the car. He turned the key in the ignition and the car purred quietly to life.

“We can’t leave with nothing,” Abigail started, but Caroline’s screams interrupted her. Through the windshield, she could see a pair of golden eyes.

Panicked, Pierre stepped on the gas and the car lurched forward, knocking the creature to the ground.

“Pierre,” Caroline started, peering into the darkness. “Headlights!”

Pierre fumbled with the knob and the headlights turned on. At that moment, three more creatures were illuminated, shrieking and darting out of the way of the bright lights.

The Shadow People were scattered around the city, just starting to close in on their victims. Pierre pressed harder on the gas, winding through the city, in and out of cars, their drivers stunned at the sudden darkness, not yet aware of the danger around them.

“How did they get here so fast?” Pierre shouted. He blew through stop lights as he careened through the intersections, passed unsuspecting drivers. At the sixth intersection, they weren’t as lucky, blowing past the indicated stop light, into traffic, and hit by an oncoming vehicle. The car spun violently through the intersection before coming to a stop on the other side.

Abigail groaned and forced her door open, stumbling outside. Traffic had stopped, but onlookers were not focused on the accident. Instead, their gazes were turned toward the mass of Shadow People approaching them menacingly.

Caroline and Pierre were close behind, pulling themselves out of the wrecked car. Caroline was shouting at her husband, her voice cut short as Pierre threw himself against her, knocking her to the ground, just out of the way of a falling telephone pole.

The Shadow People dispersed, wreaking havoc around them. Cars were flipped and over turned, being tossed in every direction. People screamed and scattered in an attempt to dodge their attacks, but the Shadow People were quicker, taking them out by the masses.

Abigail watched in horror at the sight before her, still clutching her beloved sword in her hand. The weapon suddenly felt heavy as her legs shook under its weight. She watched the golden eyes as the shadows approached her. She raised her sword timidly, but all of her training was suddenly gone. Nothing had prepared her for an invasion of the Shadow People.

Gun fire erupted, hitting one of the creatures, causing the others to scatter. Abigail turned to see her father, loyally protecting his wife, gun in hand. His eyes widened as he realized he hit his target, and a small smile split his face.

“Dad!” Abigail hurried to her parents and Caroline pulled her daughter into her arms.

“Never thought I’d have to use this,” Pierre muttered. “Always kept it in the store. You know, just in case.”

“Pierre,” Caroline warned as her and Abigail backed away. The Shadow People were not finished with them, and they were angry.

Pierre raised his gun once more. “Come and get it,” he muttered. He fired twice more, missing his targets. The Shadow People moved in quickly and Pierre disappeared in their dark, eerie shadows.

“Pierre!” Caroline shouted. She pushed her daughter away, but Abigail was frozen, shaking. “Run!” Caroline yelled to her daughter.

The Shadow People dispersed once more, their hissing laughter filling the air as Pierre dropped to the ground. Their shadowy figures darted about as more debris flew through the air. The swung their shadowy weapons toward them as Caroline dragged her daughter out of harm’s way. Abigail stumbled and fell, rolling over just as her mother dropped to her knees, her face frozen in twisted fear before she landed face first against the pavement.

“No!” Abigail scrambled to her feet, taking her sword in hand, and straightened as the Shadow People closed in around her. Her heart raced erratically as her vision blurred, distorting her vision. She would fight the Shadow People or die trying.

But she didn’t want to die. She wanted to live. She wanted her parents to live. She wanted her world back.

Her stance wavered and a sob escaped her throat. This couldn’t be happening. It had to have been a dream.

The Shadow People neared her quickly and Abigail spun on her heels, running through the streets. She knew she couldn’t out run them, so she darted between the buildings that lined the city’s roads, in and out of alleyways in a desperate attempt to throw them off her path. She wound her way through the city, through every dark corridor until she was back at home. For a moment, the Shadow People seemed to be gone.

She took advantage of the moment of freedom to hurry back into the house, grabbing her car keys, a couple of daggers she hid in her room, and stuffed a bag full of batteries and flashlights. She darted back outside, just as the Shadow People made their way eagerly around the corner. She jumped into her little black car, shoved the key into the ignition, and slammed on the gas. The car shuttered for a moment before picking up speed, leaving the Shadow People in her dust.

Her eyes darted over the city as she drove, her mind frantic. They were close to the bridge already; she could just leave the city and never return. It would be safe out there, wouldn’t it?

The bridge was relatively clear of traffic. The city was just now becoming aware of the war at their doorsteps. Abigail could get out and leave before the creatures even realized. Before everyone in the city had the same idea she did.

She pointed the car towards the bridge, flying through the city as people continued to run about frantic and panicked. She ignored their blurred faces as she passed them. The car flew over the hill and across the bridge as she weaved in and out of cars. Before she knew it, she was alone on the dark highway, the city shrinking behind her.

She glanced in the rear view mirror before coming to a stop. She waited for her pulse to slow, and as she waited, she burst into tears. In a time of crisis, she ran. Instead of fighting off those creatures, she panicked and plotted her escape without regard to anyone else around her. And worst of all, her parents died trying to protect her. She wasn’t strong. She wasn’t brave. She was weak. And now she was alone.

She punched the steering wheel and cursed loudly into the darkness. The sword lay quietly beside her on the passenger seat, waiting to defend, haunting her. She got out of the car, marched angrily around to the other side, pulling the door open and taking the sword in hand. Without hesitating, she spun around and tossed the sword into the nearby river. Her chest heaved as she watched the sword disappear forever in the darkness, then she fell to her knees and began to cry.

#under shadow #us3 #chapter 3 #stardew valley #abigail #sdv #sv #sdv abigail #fic

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smollandtoll · 6 years

Text

TITLE | IDK Spooky Stuff aka the Buzzfeed Unsolved AU WORDS | ~4960 WHY | ask @sidgenophotochallenge TAGS/WARNINGS | uh...fluff, spooky times, ghost elements, Geno’s bad American accent SUMMARY | Sid never thought he’d be stupid enough to make one of his biggest fears a cornerstone of his career, but here he was, going to dusty, dirty, old and abandoned places week after week trying to find proof of the supernatural. Adding Geno into the mix made things a little more complicated, but also good. Good and terrible.

IDK SPOOKY STUFF

Sid dropped another motion detector and set it with the help of his flashlight, held between his teeth. It was just starting to get dim enough that he couldn’t make out any of the text without a proper light. Fifteen feet away on the other side of the tracks Geno was doing the same thing, looking focused as he placed another device down and waved over it to check it was working. Sid pulled the light out of his mouth and shined it over at him.

“Have you ever thought about what it would be like if we weren’t constantly cold and dirty while doing this?” He called over and Geno smiled but didn’t look up.

“Your show Sid, you want.”

“Yeah. My show.” Sid snorted. It’d been at least a year and a half since it’d just been his show. The leaves rustled around him as he stood and took a few steps back to survey their trap.

If anything was going to move in this area they’d see it immediately.

“No ghost trains get by tonight.” Geno said, appearing at his elbow.

Sid jutted out his chin, pressing his lips together flat. “A full train apparition has never been seen, you know that. Let’s just get our footage and back to the house, we’re losing daylight.”

“Eager to go sleep in haunted house? You feel okay? You possess?” Geno mocked, making like he was going to check Sid’s temperature with the back of his hand. Sid ducked out of the way and fiddled with his handheld phone rig. He knew Phil was filming the wide shots of the tracks from a ways away, and their mics were recording. Geno had a dumb sense of humour, it was expected.

He ignored Geno’s genial chirping and started his own recording, speaking to the audience directly, he turned the camera to catch Geno, already watching him. He had an unreadable look on his face - Sid looked up from the camera for a moment to make real eye contact - Geno’s poker face in places like this was impeccable, he had no idea what the other man was thinking.

The case they were on was just outside of Pittsburgh, chilly but beautiful this time of year. There was an old colonial manor house and grounds that were said to be haunted by various spirits carried there by the train that had once run straight through the extensive property. Though the train hadn’t run in years the tracks were still there and visitors to the house said they regularly heard the train whistling as it passed by at night.

“Getting cold out, Sid, we done?” Geno tucked his hands deep into his jean jacket pockets. He cut a tall, sharp figure where he stood, broad-shouldered with his toque tucked low and his jeans rumpled casually over his hiking boots.

“Yeah, I think we’re good here for now. We’ll come back tomorrow and shoot some EVP questioning.” They turned and walked down the tracks, steps noisy in the leaves as they headed back to where Phil was waiting.

“No ghost box?” Geno extended an elbow and jostled him. Sid rolled his eyes.

“The ghost box provides results. The fans like it.”

“Is loud and stupid. Make no sense, not English.” He made a disgusted face at Sid that was as familiar and warm as an old sweater.

“How would you know, eh?” He grinned as G scowled harder, “C’mon Phil is getting that look on his face like he’s going to be late to Skype with his dog again if we don’t hurry up.”

Sid never thought he’d be stupid enough to make one of his biggest fears a cornerstone of his career, but here he was, going to dusty, dirty, old and abandoned places week after week trying to find proof of the supernatural.

As far as Sid was concerned, ghosts, spirits, and various other malicious beings were as good as proven. He’d always been a fairly superstitious kid, refusing to wash his jerseys when there was a big game coming up, doing all of his daily tasks in a certain order according to him or else melting down for a whole day feeling out of whack.

His mom used to just call him particular.

But he’d really had his mind made up when he was a preteen attending a boarding school that looked like a castle and was once used as a makeshift war hospital. Some of the shit that happened over his years attending Shattuck just could not be explained.

Students had items go missing when they’d turned their backs for a moment, shadowy figures vanished between the library stacks and Sid himself had had a distressing event with a tube of toothpaste that he preferred not to dwell on.

When injuries made a career in hockey impossible to follow through on, he turned to his second love - filmmaking. Watching stories about people helped him understand the world around him and let him explain himself in turn.

Film school led to small projects which led to big projects and eventually a job making ridiculous Youtube videos for an internet company in California.

Pretty soon he found himself being coaxed to make videos about things he felt passionate about…and that lead to jumping at every bump in the night and giving his first co-host (an unamused and perpetually exasperated Tanger) a lot of chirping fodder for the rest of time. It was kind of like Youtube catnip apparently - humiliatingly, but seeing his own videos with millions of views made every minute of discomfort worth it.

Adding Geno into the mix made things a little more complicated, but also good. Good and terrible.

“You need me go first?”

Sid shot a glare over his shoulder at where Geno was standing just behind him, phone cradled in his hand, pointing the camera attachment right at him. He was probably capturing an incredibly unflattering angle that was all nose - because Geno was a dick. A few steps behind them Phil was holding their proper rig, looking as unimpressed as always.

“I hate you.” Sid muttered and took another deep calming breath. There was nothing to be afraid of, it was just a house, a big empty house where nothing could hurt him. He crossed himself quickly with his eyes closed and then threw open the grand front door of the Pittsburgh Manor House.

“Looks nice!” Geno was crowding him now, peering over his shoulder and shining his flashlight into the depths of the house, “kill for place like this in L.A. Worth fortune.”

“Don’t talk about killing,” Sid hissed, stepping gingerly into the manor - he didn’t like the vibes of this place at all, the hair on the back of his neck instantly stood on end. He could feel his pupils dilating to take in whatever scraps of light were lurking in the shadows. It smelled musty - mostly like a house that hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned or lived in for decades, which was exactly what it was.

Geno slipped around him easily, sailing into the drawing room across the creaking hardwood floors and taking stock of the place as casually as a new home buyer.

Phil flipped on the lights in the grand foyer and set his camera down on the nearest side table, sending a puff of dust off the intricate wood inlay.

“I’m going to start bringing our gear inside.” He disappeared out the open door and Sid suppressed a shudder. He refused to look into the yawning expanse of darkness that lay waiting at the top of the large staircase dead ahead of the doors - there would be plenty of time for that.

Unfortunately, there was no real safe place to look instead, the previous owners had clearly liked mirrors - they lined the walls of the space, every few feet another one, their elaborate, gilded frames dulled with more dust. Every shadow and bit of light seemed to bounce back and forth, making even his own movement startling in his peripheral. Sid was already starting to feel the history of this place sticking to his clothes, getting jumpy as shadows loomed in every corner.

“You okay?” Geno had lowered his camera, no longer recording, and was giving him a shrewd look. Sid shook himself, he really had to work on his game face - but then again they paid him to do this because of how piss-his-pants scared he got every time.

“I’m fine. The usual.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked around again. He counted the mirrors this time and acted like he had a handle on his shit. Geno was an old hand at seeing through all of his most patented bluffs though and clicked his tongue chidingly at him.

“Serious Sid. Is just old house. No one here but us.” Geno was close enough now that Sid could feel the heat from his body all along his right side. Sid refused to look at him, heart throbbing traitorously in his chest.

“You always say that.” He always tried to comfort Sid when it mattered, his normal bickering, stubborn persona giving way to the marshmallow soul underneath.

“Because that always truth!” Geno grabbed his shoulder to jostle him until he cracked a smile up at him. “Beside, nothing happen to you, if was ghost. Too pretty.”

Sid’s stomach turned over, one part helpless reaction to flattery and one part thick disappointment. Geno was a terrible flirt and he was definitely just joking, the fans always loved it when they teased each other.

Running a too-successful-for-what-it-is Youtube series with someone you’ve been in unrequited love with since the beginning of time was absolutely garbage, every time.

Sid and Geno had met one dreary Monday afternoon in a conference room full of a cobbled together group of producers, writers and editors. They were put into teams to experiment with whatever content creation ideas that came to them.

Geno was all legs in terrible jorts, a graphic tee proclaiming something about beer, and a backwards snapback. He had a sly look on his face like he was trying to figure out who best to play dumb foreigner with.

(It was always the interns, always.)

It was probably the very first day that they’d had their first argument about ghosts. Sid had staunchly defended his position (“Just because there isn’t evidence yet doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist - you can’t count out that many witnesses!”) and Geno stood by his (“No. Stupid. No ghost.”). They’d had their coworkers in stitches and tossing around the words “chemistry”.

When it was clear he and Tanger - while still great friends - just didn’t spark together on camera, Geno was the natural replacement. He had an unshakeable ability to believe nothing could possibly be scarier than real-life in-soviet-era Russia and a knack for funny, if weird and distinctly Russian flavoured, quips.

Ever since they’d been stuck spending an excruciating amount of time together in the darkest, creepiest places imaginable. Just thinking about the dolls and spiders on that island still gave Sid chills; not to mention their demon encounters.

They taped together, edited together, answered questions together, traveled together, planned together and explored together. As much as they played up animosity and competition in the show they actually got along really well. Sid had met Geno’s adorable little parents multiple times, and his sister, Taylor, could be regularly found sending Geno Russian cat memes to translate for her.

It had just been a crush originally, but the nature of the show had them working in such close quarters so consistently. The constant contact was like steroids for Sid’s treacherous heart. Somehow Geno became his best friend, and the first person he wanted to talk to in the morning and the last person he wanted to see at night.

The walkthrough of the manor dragged on.

There were so many rooms full of disturbing little totems left by fellow ghost hunters; weird dolls and pentagrams drawn in the dust on the floor. Geno of course, totally ignoring how creepy everything was, seemed to actually like the place, commenting cheerfully on how nice the house actually was with its high ceilings, how many rooms there were, how a big family could live there comfortably.

They set up their case introduction in the music room, with the derelict piano behind them, mirrors once again all around them. Sid read Geno the history of the house for his reactions, so that they could then intercut his voice over and through other relevant footage. It was routine, something they did so often it usually calmed Sid down, but this time he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. He found himself fighting the nagging urge to look over his shoulder while he was reading.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise then, that the following room tours left him startling regularly, spooked by Phil, and Geno, and his own shadow. Nothing in this house was sitting right with him.

“-Wait. Did you hear that?” Sid stopped short behind Geno on the staircase. Phil’s camera lens redirected its focus on him, Sid ignored it.

“What?” Geno was never tired of his ‘delusions’ or short with him in annoyance. He was always open, welcome to suggestions and ready to talk him off every supernatural ledge.

“I thought I heard- ” Sid looked up at him and managed a crooked smile, “you’re not going to believe me. I thought I heard a train.”

“GHOST TRAIN!” Geno exclaimed and then turned to continue up the stairs, unconcerned, “I hear nothing. Wind probably. If actual ghost train we get footage on motion capture.”

“Yeah,” Sid checked his phone, squinting at its brightness after the dim lighting of his GoPro. “It’s 11:35 right now, for the time stamps.”

Geno hummed in agreement and continued climbing, the old stairs creaking under his weight.

The grand chandelier that was supposed to hang in the stairwell was missing, supposedly used in a hanging many years ago that caused its structural failure that then lead to it falling and crushing another person decades later.

This house had seen some serious shit.

Geno reached a limit with the silence, clearly bored, and started doing a weird approximation of an American accent to talk to the ghosts. His nonchalance never failed to baffle Sid.

“Yo to the ghosts! Are you very well going to give a chat to us?” He always sounded hilariously like he’d been fed through Google translate too many times when he tried to do an American impression. The actual accent was decent - it was his choice of words that was so ridiculous, adding as many extra words as he could fit into any sentence.

“We are the very nice best boys!” Sid began to giggle at that, all of Geno’s words over-enunciated, “You can trust us with all your talk, ghosts.”

“Is there something so funny or wrong about our time here, there, Sidney?” He turned to Sid wearing an expression of absolute serious inquiry which caused both Sid and Phil to start losing their shit together.

“Ghosts are the most serious of businesses.” Geno planted his hands on his hips but before he could say anything else, a sharp floorboard creak rang through the space around them although none of them had moved. The levity of the situation broke immediately. They all looked around in silence but for their breathing for a minute, two. Part of Sid wanted to think it was just the house settling, but some part of him was sure it was something much worse.

“It’s getting late.” Phil murmured just as his camera beeped that its battery had 25% life left. Sid steeled himself for his least favourite part of their on-scene cases.

“Let’s finish up and find a place to camp for the night.”

The campouts had always been tough for Sid, but worse yet was when they actually had a bed instead of just a floor to sleep on. The first time Sid stared down at a sole double bed for both him and Geno to sleep on for the night, he didn’t know what to think. Everything mostly condensed down to two distinct kinds of dread:

The feeling of knowing you’d be spending a night in an inherently dangerous and unknown situation while likely feeling too tense or fearful to feel comfortable sleeping at all,

Being forced to be in such close and intimate proximity to the object of your affections who is fully oblivious to your feelings about them.

Geno, of course, took one look at the bed and dumped his things to the right side, claiming it for himself. He then immediately stretched out across the entire expanse of the mattress. His ankles hung off the end of the bed, exposing his ‘In Bigfoot I believe’ patterned socks. When he’d found them he’d proudly sent Sid a selfie with them like he was getting on the #Crosboo bandwagon or something.

Sid loved him from head to ridiculous toe and had been suddenly stricken with the conviction that he was definitely going to ruin everything in one way or another that night.

Luckily, nothing really out of the ordinary happened. Sid hadn’t liked it one bit and barely dozed all night - snapping awake every time Geno breathed a little too hard or the building creaked in the wind. He had survived though, and hadn’t even spent the long small hours of the morning thinking about how he even kind of liked the way Geno buzzed as he slept, somewhere between a snore and a purr. Okay, that was a lie, he’d definitely thought about that a lot, mind racing in a screeching loop between their imminent haunting and how soft Geno’s features were in sleep.

If he grew too agitated at any point in time in their spooky campouts, breathing hard with anxiety or turning over and over again to try and settle down, Geno would gruffly - but with genuine concern - always rouse himself enough to check on Sid. He’d make sure he actually still wanted to be there and then usually dropped his head back to his pillow and called him bad names in Russian, muttering about interrupting his beauty sleep.

Sometimes he just rolled over and threw one incredibly long leg or an arm over Sid to keep him still, his warm breath fanning over Sid’s shoulder, heat from his limbs seeping into Sid’s skin and settling his fears. It was always during the calm after those moments that Sid thought maybe, maybe he could love me back.

They settled on the master suite for their campout. It was perched at the top of the house with its own access staircase and beautiful architectural elements like the dark beams that ran across the ceiling and large paned windows that overlooked the vast property. It would have been lovely if he hadn’t been told it was haunted by several of the manor’s former owners.

Once all their tripods were set up they walked Phil back out to his car where he - the lucky son of a bitch - got to drive back to the motel and meet up with them the next morning with breakfast from in town.

They climbed all the stairs, back to their waiting nest of camera equipment and settled in for the night. Side by side in their sleeping bags on the ground, lights switched off, Sid felt the familiar dread of anticipation settle in as Geno began to snore.

Hours passed, or minutes. Tree branches waved strange moving shadows across the floor and the gentlest wind rattled the glass panes of the windows. Sid was almost lulled into a nervous doze when the footsteps started.

It was just one at first, easily explained by general creaks and shrieks of the house settling, but then another came, and another. A slow, purposeful climbing of the stairs that filled Sid’s belly with dread. His eyes snapped open but there was only darkness around him and he refused to look over at the opening to the stairs in case he actually did see someone who didn’t belong there.

The footsteps ceased when it sounded like they got to the top of the stairs and that was almost worse, thinking perhaps whatever was with them was just watching, or maybe now gliding soundlessly closer to them.

“Geno,” Sid hissed, squirming a little closer to where heavy human breathing had been regularly coming to his left. Geno murmured indistinctly, face mashed casually into his pillow.

The temperature felt like it was dropping around them, chillier by the moment and Sid’s heart, which had already jumped at the first footstep, began to race. He could barely hear anything over the sound of his pulse thundering in his ears.

“Geno! Do you feel that? D-did you hear the footsteps?” Was he imagining things or was his breath actually fogging in front of him a little.

“Just house, Sid.” Geno muttered and reached out to touch him, probably what was meant to be a friendly pat but Sid managed to catch his hand. He clutched Geno’s hand like a lifeline, warm and alive and real.

The heavy scent of inexplicable perfume tickled his nose, and Sid gulped for air, shutting his eyes tightly, not wanting to see his imminent death. He knew he was holding Geno’s hand far too tightly, folded into his chest.

“Heart beat strong.” Geno finally shifted more, sounding like he was turning onto his side and sliding closer to Sid, “you really scared?”

“Don’t you smell that?” He scarcely wanted to whisper.

“Smell house,” Geno replied, like he had every time they were in one of these situations, “come Sid, need sleep.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon - I really don’t think we’re alone up here.”

“We alone.” Geno said firmly, “don’t want to share. Any ghosts can fuck off.” He raised his voice almost like he was calling out a dare to anything listening. Sid swore he heard a distant door slam. His eyes snapped open but all he could really see was darkness and Geno’s eyes shining in front of him.

“Shut up, what was that?”

“Nothing. Come. Sleep.” Before Sid could react, he was being dragged closer by the hand he still had a death grip on. Geno’s body was warm even through both of their sleeping bags and some of the tension drained out of Sid’s spine at the feeling of being close. All he could hear was Geno breathing now, moving, tucking Sid’s sleeping bag close and wrapping his arm around his waist. All he could smell was the scent of slightly sweaty Geno - no perfume at all.

A large palm cupped the back of his head, encouraging him to tuck his face into Geno’s neck which he gladly did.

“Good. Sleep now. Let me protect. Nothing get you.” Sid took several deep breaths, “Don’t know why you always do this, work self up, stress not good. I’m worry you know.”

Sid huffed a hoarse laugh into Geno’s collar. Geno’s throat bobbed against his cheek as he swallowed.

“I do. Most worry, always. Not want to do if you’re not have fun.” his voice was incredibly soft and Sid blinked into the darkness created by their bodies.

“I do have fun. When we’re together it’s fine.”

“Not fine now, Sid.” He sighed heavily, “sometimes wish we can just prove ghosts real so we stop doing this.” He shifted his legs closer to Sid’s, nylon sleeping bag rustling, “but selfish also. Want never prove ghosts, do this with you forever. Keep close, love always.” he stroked his hand over the soft hair at the back of Sid’s neck.

“Geno-”

“Come Sid, need sleep.” he repeated quietly almost sadly, pulling him even closer. Sid let himself lie there for a little longer, tucked into the bubble of warmth that Geno created for him, thinking over his words. Finally he pushed away and sat up, grabbing his phone and flipping on the light immediately.

Geno squinted at him, hand coming up to block the brightness as best he could.

“Sid?”

“I don’t want to do this right now.” He swallowed, refusing to look outside of the pool of light that Geno was in, his bright spot in the darkness, “I don’t want to tell you that I’m in love with you and it doesn’t matter what we’re doing as long as we’re doing it together - here, in this haunted fucking house. So I’m going to turn off my light, and we’re going to go to sleep and tomorrow morning when the sun is up and we’re on our way home we can talk.”

Geno blinked at him owlishly before a smile started to curl the corners of his lips. He then nodded. Sid turned the light on his phone off and immediately regretted it, the darkness rushing in. He put it aside and slid seamlessly back into the circle of Geno’s arms.

“So brave Sid.” G teased, voice rumbling in his chest. Sid didn’t need to see his face to know he was smirking.

“Shut up.”

Morning broke as it always did, not soon enough, but welcome relief after an uncomfortable night on a hard floor.

They lazily packed up their gear, shooting texts to Phil about what they wanted for breakfast. Geno looked puffy and tired behind his glasses, and pulled his toque and jacket and boots back on in his usual thick morning silence.

Sid was starting to doubt his own sanity, wondering if what had happened in the middle of the night was actually just a psychotic break brought on by fear. But then as he was struggling into his backpack Geno was there, in his personal space and straightening out the straps for him, carefully righting Sid’s jacket and then meeting his gaze meaningfully.

“Come on, let’s get the fuck out of this shitty place and get something to eat.” Sid said, maybe too loudly, but Geno just grinned in reply and motioned for him to lead the way out.

Somewhere in the middle of his second hash brown patty, scarfed down in their rental car, Geno started speaking English again and began complaining loudly about his work emails piling up while scrolling through his phone with greasy fingers.

Sid smothered a smile, looking out the window in the back seat while they drove the winding path down to where they’d left their motion detectors for the night by the tracks.

Everything was more or less exactly where they’d left it. Phil set about checking and packing up their low light cameras and Geno and Sid crunched down to the tracks to gather up all the detectors they’d laid out.

Geno shot Sid heavy looks as they packed each device carefully back into their padded camera bag compartments - he was clearly waiting for their conversation about as patiently as a lab waiting for dinner.

They were shoving all their gear bags back into the car’s trunk, struggling to Tetris in the tripods when Sid heard it - the train.

He snapped upright out of the trunk and turned towards the tracks below them - Geno and Phil had apparently heard it this time as well, as they paused what they were doing to turn and look too.

Before he could take more than a couple steps back towards the tracks, the leaves started kicking up in a great wind and a steam engine came barrelling through the wooded corridor. It looked and sounded and behaved as real as any other train Sid had ever seen, and in a flash it was gone as soon as it’d come.

“….Did you see that?” he turned to them with breathless wide eyes. Phil was swearing at his phone, he hadn’t been fast enough to catch it - Sid hadn’t even thought of recording it. Geno anticlimactically shrugged.

“Guess tracks not as abandoned as thought.” Sid turned to face Geno squarely, not believing what he was hearing.

“Seriously G? That’s what you’re going with? You just saw a ghost train with your own two eyes and-”

“Saw train, yes. Saw ghost train? No.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“How can you even say that? You know that these tracks haven’t been used in decades!” Sid could hear his voice climbing higher and higher but couldn’t stop it.

“Maybe someone pull prank.”

“A. Full. Sized. Train.”

“Maybe was illusion, make us think we see something that not there, like mag-” Sid grabbed either side of Geno’s face, careful but firm, pressing his cheeks until his lips pursed and he couldn’t continue.

“I love you. But if you don’t shut up I’m going to leave you here with the ghosts. Let me have this for at least ten minutes.” Geno pulled Sid’s hands away from his face by the wrists, already smirking down at him.

“Oooookay. I don’t even want to know what happened in that house last night.” Phil unlocked the car and climbed in without looking back at them.

“Love me?” he looked smug and sleepy behind his glasses. Lips chapped, and hair a mess, continually and frustratingly skeptical about things that mattered.

“You already know that.”

“Want to hear again. Am science man, like repeated result.” Sid rolled his eyes and pulled Geno’s snickering face into a kiss, his glasses getting wedged awkwardly against their cheeks before they separated.

“Are we going to argue about that train for the rest of the week?” Sid pulled back just enough to let Geno fix his glasses and look down at him, impossibly fond.

“Think we going to argue about train for rest of our lives.”

AO3

#hockey rpf #HOLY SHIT IT'S A FIC #A REAL ONE AND NOT JUST A HEADCANON #sid/geno #sidgeno #No one was surprised that I'm a Boogara and Smoll is a Shaniac #I feel like the way I made the tags and shit dates me back to like LJ days #cripes

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pi-cat000 · 6 years

Text

Girl who made the night sky: p4

Summery: To return home Shikako splits herself infinitely across dimensions. A fault in one of the splits results in a discorporated Shikako stranded in the Naruto canon-verse.

part 3 here

part 4: Sakura has a nightmare

- Link to Juno-nine’s original post which inspired this work: Shikako hitches a ride with canon!Sakura

- My original post, Sakura continues to investigate under my Fanfic account: Starcat000

She was standing in the middle of a dirt field. In her hand was an awkwardly sized scroll. Across the field stands of people were watching in silent anticipation.

She was moving, swinging the scroll around till it hit the ground. Ink blossomed out from the point of contact, spiraling across the rock, dirt and grass. A city of stone rose up around her. Giant pillars of rock.

Was she doing that?

She was moving. Fast. Faster then she had ever moved. Seals flourished under her feet as she ran. Her opponent blocked her with waves of sand. Lighting danced between her fingers. Red hair flashed under the sun and her opponent ducked away. In the distance crowds were cheering. They were cheering for her. The world seemed to explode outward. The stone pillars were falling. She was falling. It was okay. Sand was cushioning her fall.

Then it was dark. The warmth faded to be replaced with a creeping cold.

Dust. It floated in the air, catching stray rays of light. A stone room. A stone floor covered in red. Red as far as the eye could see. The world was red. Shadows moved just out of sight, dancing out of reach. Something huge and unfathomable stirred.

It watched.

It knew she was there.

Fear, panic. She was trying to run but she had no body to run with. She was trying to escape but whatever it was had pinned her in place. She was shadow. She was nothing.

She was falling. Away. Away from everything.

Down, down, down.

Into the dark and shadow. It pressed down from all sides, sealing her in. Ahead a mass of dense backness blocked the way, offering a reprieve from the chaos. All she needed to do was sink. Sink and let it take her away.

/!WaKe uP!/

Sakura jerked, flinging herself upright.

Her muscles tense. Her breath short.

The world slammed down around her. Heavy and real. Instead of the suffocating darkness, there were soft blankets. Slowly, her vision seemed to clear. The dim outline of her wardrobe greeted her. For a few seconds she couldn’t breathe, her chest tight. The shadows around her wobbled and shifted like long appendages, reaching across the room.

Kako was a churning mass of frantic concern, hovering just out of reach. Sakura fumbled for her lamp, switching it on. Warm light illuminated her room, softening its edges. The shadows were just shadows. For several seconds Sakura sat in silence, listening to her hash breaths and pounding heart.

/Okay?/

The question and its underlying concern penetrated her disjointed thought. She swallowed.

“Okay,” she repeated dumbly.

“Okay. I’m Okay,” her voice sounded hollow and wooden in her silent room, bouncing off the walls. She shivered. Kako seemed to calm, pulling away, distancing herself.

“What was that?” Sakura asked, trying to pull Kako back in. She didn’t want to be alone. Not after that.

/A Dream/

“That was a dream,” she whispered. It had been so real. The sound of her voice was absorbed into her carpet. Barely audible. She shivered, swallowing and pulling her knees to her chest. Silence ticked by, slow and uncomfortable. In the back of her head, Kako watched, also silent, reminding her of the dream. That thing had also watched from the shadows. It had seen her. What if it was still watching? Her breath hitched and the sound echoed, impossibly loud. Even the beat of her heart seemed too loud for the unnervingly silent room.

/Tea?/

The comparison shattered. Kako was Kako again, her concern palpable and warm. Sakura breathed, glancing up, shaking her legs free of the blanket. The movement felt good. Tea was a good idea. No way was she sleeping now. Quietly, she padded down the hallway and past her parent's room.

On first glance, the kitchen was dark and still. Closer inspection revealed the far window, half open, letting in the sound of crickets and the street outside. A soft breeze pulled at the drapes. Moonlight illuminated the dining table in a soft glow and reflected on the metal appliances.

The motions of brewing tea, boiling water and finding cups, calmed her nerves, giving her something to focus her thoughts on. She poured a cup for herself and, after a second of hesitation, poured one for Kako as well, placing it opposite her own. For a few minutes she sat, watching the steam on both drinks rise, dispersing into the air.

/Better?/

Sakura took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of herbs and spices. She did feel better.

“Yeah,”

She took a small sip of the hot tea.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. All that fuss over a nightmare. And she called herself a ninja. What sort of Shinobi was scared of their own bedroom?

Kako stirred uneasily, /No thanks needed/.

Sakura focused inwards but Kato had pulled away, cornering herself off and out of reach. Maybe the dream had disturbed Kako as well. When you shared your emotions with someone you began to pick up on these things. She thought of the red and that thing, that terrifying thing watching.

A full body shudder. Maybe it had been more than a dream. Where they in danger?

Kako, sensing her distress, returned, edging back. A new warmth tickled the edges of her mind as Kako smoothed over the worst of her anxiety. No. They weren’t in danger. She took a sip of tea and relished its fruity taste. Whatever that ‘not-dream’ was, she wasn’t in danger. She trust Kako.

In fact, now she thought about it- before the whole thing had spiralled down into a nightmare-it had been fun, exciting even. She had been fighting someone in some sort of tournament. No. That wasn’t right. It hadn’t been her fighting. She had been more of a passenger, reliving a past memory. Like those times she dreamt about Taijutsu class. So, if it hadn’t been her then…

It had to have been Kako. She was almost 99% certain. Sakura, shadowy monsters momentarily forgotten, turned her attention to Kako.

Intellectually, she knew ninjas had the capabilities to literally move mountains. She supposed she had never internalized what this might mean. The way Kako had combined seals and Taijutsu and Fūinjutsu. The speed, moving so fast the world became a blur. Explosions at the touch of a hand. It had been incredible. Better than anything Sakura thought possible. Better than anything she thought she was capable of.

“That was you fighting against the red-haired man wasn’t it?” How could it have been anything but?

Kako didn’t respond but her silence was enough for Sakura.

“You were amazing,” she muttered to her cup. Not for the first time Sakura wondered who or what Kako had been before she had ended up in her head. Did she resent being stuck with someone like her? Someone weak.

Kako remained silent, seemingly surprised by her words.

/Possible for you/

Sakura snorted, “How? I’m not strong. All I can do is read and memories stuff.”

She tried not to let the taunts of her peers influence her but, in situations like this, it was hard.

/Training/ Kako declared with finality, amusement echoing outwards. That was easy for her to say, Kako was a disembodied voice. When would she even have time for extra training? She bearly had enough time to pursue her own interests as it was.

/Anyone can be strong/ Kako encouraged, sounding like she actually believed it.

Maybe if she started waking up earlier she would be able to fit more training in. It wouldn’t be fun but if she managed her time correctly then perhaps she could work something out.

“If, hypothetically, I wanted to be able to do things like that where would I even start?”

Kako gave off an amused hum, /Stamina/.

Sakura scowled. Her least favourite of the shinobi arts.

/Basics first / Kako reiterated, almost gleefully. She was getting the feeling that Kako was planning something unpleasant.

/Stamina is important/.

“Okay, fine, I’ll wake up early from now on and work on my stamina,” she agreed already regretting bringing it up. She just had to keep believing that this was better for her in the long run. Seals were all well and good but she needed to be able to apply them in combat, meaning she had to be faster, stronger, smarter, and all-around better than she was now.

She thought back to the ‘not-dream,’ to the sensation of flying and the ground to disappearing beneath her steps. She wanted to fly like that. She wanted to never feel that powerless again. Sakura shivered. Whether it be in a dream or in real life.

With the power of good time management, anything was possible.

#DOS #dreaming of sunshine #shikako nara #gardens shikako #fanfiction #naruto

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goddamnitdazai · 7 years

Text

salt and sugar {two}

Chocolate {series: 2/?} {index} {Chuuya}

“You look fucking ridiculous.”

Chuuya’s head tilts to the left as he speaks. Grey smoke billowing towards the night sky from his cigarette. Orange flames highlight the bow of his upper lip and accentuate the pout of his lower; he never did realize how tempting his lips looked when he was scowling. His inhale is sharp, precise, and begins a trail of ringlets that float away in the gentle midnight breeze. The night had grown dark quickly leaving smaller convenient shops and rows of street lights shining as the only signs of life. An unfortunate evening to be without moonlight. After all, how were you supposed to play romantic on a boat with no stars and no moon to feign infatuation over?

“I thought you liked this dress on me, darling?”

He hadn’t uttered a word about it. But, the way his eyes drug themselves down your body as he strolled past you was enough. Sort of. It would have been nice to hear a compliment even in passing or on the boat where the two of you were playing house. The dress sparkled brilliantly every time you moved despite the terrible convenient store lighting. As form fitting as his suit, and nearly the same color. A smooth train of translucent black fabric followed you as you stepped towards the sliding door with a hand cinched over the straps of your heels. Chuuya only offered to carry your purse beneath his arm, but refused to take part in carrying your shoes. ’Why walk on the dirty sidewalk?!’ You’d never heard his voice hit that octave before and he didn’t seem to appreciate your amusement in the impressive range.

Your sarcasm was not lost to him, but rather than bite at your trap he ignores the tone and takes another drag of his cigarette. Chuuya looked just as out of place as you did, but he wore it much better somehow. A suit tailor made for a prince in the color of onyx with only a pop of cherry red hanging around his neck. It was strange at first to see him without his hat; he couldn’t risk it falling off the boat he said, but you had a feeling he just liked the way you played with his hair on the car ride over. For a spring night it was uncannily cold and the spray of ocean water on your bare arms and neck turned brief gusts of wind into slats of ice pressing against your body. Unfortunately, or fortunately, the boat ride was cut incredibly short due to a certain black-beast-wielding individual who didn’t bother waiting for orders. At the very least, his actions allowed you to slip away without having to deal with clean up duty.

Chuuya, on the other hand, was not so easily distracted by the beautiful spring night and did not miss you sprinting off the docks.

“You going in or what?” Chuuya flicks his cigarette towards the curb and stomps the burning edge with his heel. Though his irritation was understandable you were in no mood to deal with his temperament considering you had nothing to do with his plans going awry. He always said the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was created in your honor. “Oi, stop glaring at me and go get your food. Five minutes and I’m going to the room with or without you, darling.”

His hands slip into his pockets, back meeting the wall and head resting at a tilt to glance up at the starless sky. The door chimes as it slides open and Chuuya dissipates into the shadows. The clerk behind the counter barely glances your direction. Running a twenty-four hour shop in this area must give him a bouquet of strange people after midnight. What’s one girl in a ball gown with no shoes?

Rows of snacks and junk food create colorful aisles; a bit too bright for your level of exhaustion. Everything caused your eyes to strain and you could feel the beginning of a headache forming above the bridge of your nose. Nothing looked remotely agreeable to a stomach full of strawberry champagne. Dessert sounded perfect, not over-priced bags of chips; your jaw locks roughly as you weave through displays. Apparently, the mafia owned hotel at the edge of the warehouse district didn’t serve food after ten ‘o'clock. Hirotsu was going to have a two page complaint slid between reports when you returned.

In the back of the store rows of eerily clean glass-doored coolers housing a variety of beverages line the entire wall. Just catching the shadowy outline of a champagne bottle in the reflection makes your stomach bubble. Through rows and rows of soda and beer and odd-sounding drinks you finally spot a familiar pink carton. At least you wouldn’t be leaving empty handed. That would spark another fight you weren’t prepared to handle with diplomacy. Persuading Chuuya to let you stop was kin to pulling teeth, and you would never hear the end of it if you came out with nothing. Chuuya had made it irrevocably clear he just wanted to fall face first into bed and forget the entire night; you weren’t ready to leave him yet.

Truthfully, you weren’t that hungry at all. A weight began to grow in your throat as you fiddled with the carton. Maybe his irritation was pinpointed in the right direction after all. Chuuya did not overthink things, but he was perceptive, much more than you were comfortable with. At times it made things easier. Silence could hold the weight of the world if the right eyes fell upon the unspoken words lingering in the air. Strung up between two people refusing to open their mouths or in this case one–you. The lump thickens, like a ball of sand blocking your airway.

Maybe he knew this was all a bunch of bullshit, and he only kept his mouth shut to avoid an awkward work situation. Or maybe he just didn’t give a shit at all.

The lump drops.

Your shoes clack together as you make your way towards the counter. On impulse you mutter Chuuya’s cigarette brand and toss a box of chocolate pocky onto the counter along with the carton of strawberry milk. The cashier yawns the total and you reach to your side only to fumble with the fabric of your dress. Chuuya still had your purse. As if he could sense your distress Chuuya strolls in from your right causing the bell to chime ten times louder than you remembered. Your hands fly to your temples; Chuuya shoulders his way in front of you. Displeasure is painted across his features. Narrowed eyes still glossy and red from the alcohol, and a dilapidated frown you’d only seen twice in the entire year.

“You’re more trouble than a child tonight y'know that?” Chuuya tosses a billfold on the counter and swipes the bag from the cashier quickly. All you can muster is a half-whispered thank you before scurrying out behind him. Curiously, Chuuya peeks in the bag. His brow quirks. “How’d you know I was out?” he asks while bringing up the cigarette box from the bottom of the bag.

“You’ve been smoking like a fucking chimney.”

“It’s been a night,” Chuuya mutters, plopping the cigarettes back in the bag. “A long, shitty fucking night.”

Chuuya wasn’t the only one with a breaking point. Regardless of his preference of company his attitude was unwarranted and continued to sour in your chest. Undeserved animosity always plucked at your nerves.

“Oh really? I couldn’t tell from your cheery attitude. You’re welcome by the way.”

His head whips around. One hand lands in his hair searching for his hat out of habit. He always gripped the brim when he was getting antsy.

“I paid for the damn cigarettes!”

The edge of your high heel scrapes your elbow as your arms wind across each other over your chest. Tears had begun to prick the corners of your eyes; annoyance, exhaustion, dejection.

“Then remind me to repay you. I’ll make sure not to disturb the stick that’s up there when I shove the money in your ass.”

Red cuts across his eyes. His fists curl, bag crinkling beneath the pressure; the sidewalk spiderwebs beneath his feet sending shards of cement flying across the road. Your breath catches in your throat; crimson wanes. Wordlessly, Chuuya spins on his heel and stalks off towards the building rising in the distance.

He hated how incredibly weak he was to his own emotions. At times they did not matter, but when they sunk in deeply they left open wounds needing attention, and they held the magnitude of a hurricane. Explosive in nature, and embarrassingly uncontrollable. But, his anger did not stay with him long. It came in short bursts, like fireworks, before decaying to nothingness leaving only a smoky trail. Diplomacy was a point of pride because it did not come naturally to him, and even a spat as small as this left a sickly feeling in the bottom of his stomach. To make matters worse he couldn’t find any other reason behind his vehemence, and the person who should be bearing the brunt of his vexation was off cleaning up his own mess. When Akutagawa fucked up he really fucked up.

Chuuya’s stomach knots within itself. The light above flickers. In his haste he’d walked further than he expected towards the hotel, he could barely make out your form behind him. His chest sinks forward as he reaches into the bag to grab his cigarettes. The box feels stiff, wrong color. His hands fumble with the box until he can catch the label under the light. Chocolate pocky.

Fuck.

For a second time his hand winds up in his hair. Smoothing out tangles and tugging the ends of his bangs. Plastic crinkles against his palm with the tension of his grip. Chuuya didn’t know what to do with the rising apprehension undulating in the pit of his stomach. It rose to his chest like thick bouts of smoke choking him in its ascension. The sound of your heels smacking against the sidewalk draws his attention forward; the smoke begins to dissipate.

“Don’t say a word. I had to put my shoes back on because the dress was dragging.” Chuuya isn’t surprised in the way you snap at him. He deserved it at this point. “What are you staring at.”

Chuuya’s eyes don’t waver. They intensify, piercing through the darkness and etching their presence into your skin. He couldn’t recall the last time he openly expressed his irritation outside scolding the wrong actions of his subordinates. There were moments around Kajii and Akutagawa where feelings of immediate annoyance came through in his tone and his words, but situational aggravation was only in relation to his temperament. It faded, quickly, and he didn’t feel a strip of guilt. Even when he had lashed out at people who didn’t deserve it he muttered a quick apology and went on with the rest of his day.

But there was a piece of him that couldn’t shake the bothersome feeling of how his actions affected you. He shouldn’t be so fixated on that aspect alone. There was validation in the way he felt. The night went terrible, it was freezing, and he would have to find a way to clean up Akutagawa’s mess in the morning. Headaches and paperwork were all that awaited him when he returned to Yokohama.

However, he didn’t really care that much the more he thought about it. His only focus fell to the way you stayed an arm’s length away from him and that your eyes would not meet his gaze. No words formed on his tongue, whatever charm he’d often used to talk himself out of situations regarding another’s ill feelings had been completely forgotten. He couldn’t bring himself to bullshit with you, especially when he truly felt like an utter asshole.

His hand drops to the bag momentarily and brings up a red box from the bottom. For a man who rarely exposed his hands his fingers were incredibly adept in their movements. The box tab flies open exposing a row of chocolate covered pocky. A single stick lands between Chuuya’s fingertips.

“Ever play the pocky game?”

There is nothing on his expression that reads as a joke, but the whiplash of emotions leaves you frozen. A step forward brings him directly beneath the street lamp. Amber light accentuates the sharp cut of his jaw and sprinkles auric into his eyes.

“Do you know how to play?” His voice rattles down the center of your chest and snatches the air from your lungs. “Bite.”

Whatever this was, challenge or trick, you had enough of his shit for the night. Effortlessly you bite down on a decent chunk of the side poking out from his mouth. He mimics your movements; his fingertips glide over your waist. The second bite leaves his breath ghosting over your lips; your heart leaps to your throat. Chuuya pulls back and lets the pocky fall from his mouth.

Time drags; Chuuya manages a simper before his lips mold to yours. Tenderly, two pieces of a puzzle finding completion within each other. A hand winds around your waist, it’s twin roams up the back of your neck to hold your head steady. He breaks apart, just enough to inhale and nibble at your bottom lip before returning. The alcohol and heat dust red over his cheeks. His hair tangles in your fingers barring him from kissing elsewhere. Your teeth sink into his bottom lip when he moves back for air. Chuuya’s moan vibrates against your lips, kiss-swollen and breathless.

“You wanna play like that? Right now?” Chuuya murmurs. “You’re all fucking trouble tonight, y'know that?”

#chuuyaxhappinessweek #Chuuya #chuuya nakahara #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #s&s #fluff #my writing chuuya #my writing

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thekuroiookami · 7 years

Text

Haute couture (in which Shigaraki gets a makeover)

It was a quiet day at the headquarters. Shigaraki looked blearily around the room as he shuffled to the computer. Kurogiri was mixing drinks at the bar, Dabi was dozing off on the couch. Jin and Spinner were arguing in a corner, while Himiko read something on her perch at the counter, kicking her feet merrily.

Shigaraki took one more step before pausing.

Wait.

Since when was Toga Himiko literate?

He turned around and narrowed his eyes at her. "What are you reading?"

"Hmm?" She looked up, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth as she concentrated. "Oh, a fashion magazine."

He put in as much disdainful disbelief into his voice as he could without actually having to change expression. "Why, is cutesy bimbo going out of style?"

She ignored the barb and giggled. "No, silly! It has dating advice, look. I'm fortifying my maidenly heart for the next time I run into Izuku."

He was a little disturbed. She knew what fortify meant. "I'm glad you're taking this villain thing so seriously."

This time she did roll her eyes. "You know, Tomura, being a villain isn't that different from setting out to date someone."

"Really." He stretched out the first syllable in a contemptuous drawl. "Enlighten me."

"Yup, it is. The principles are the same, you see. You gotta make a good first impression, you have to be convincing and-" she held up a finger - "you need to dress well."

Spinner and Twice stopped squabbling, momentarily mesmerized by the idea. Kurogiri also seemed interested.

"It's true," said the bartender, "that all the famous villains had distinctive appearances. Hitler. Al Capone. That one president."

The first tendrils of a fire prickled under his neck as he digested this. She may, very distantly, and in her own, simplistic ameoba-like way, have had a point.

"So what? Are you saying I need a bowler hat and sequins?"

Dabi finally cracked open one eye to peer at the discussion. Himiko jumped off the counter in excitement. "Noooo, but a makeover sounds fun! How about it, Tomura?"

They broke into the department store around midnight. Nothing was actually broken, because that would set the alarms off, and what was the point of a Kurogiri if something as trivial as a door stopped them, anyway.

Himiko threw some lights on and dragged him over to a mirror. "Okay, so we need to decide what kind of look you want. Evil goth? Evil preppy? Evil preppy goth?"

He shrugged off her touch and buried his hands in his pockets. "I'm fine the way I am."

Spinner, Twice and Kurogiri arranged themselves on a couch like bridesmaids waiting to criticize his dress. Dabi leaned languidly against a mannequin with a mild yawn. Spinner shrugged awkwardly. "Dude, the hands are a cool touch and all, but if we think about it, you're just wearing slacks and a coat. That doesn't exactly scream menacing. More like, 'it's Monday morning and this is the most I could be bothered to do.' "

"Also," added Jin, "that trench coat sometimes gives me the impression you're a different kind of villain."

Shigaraki gave him a look that could have crisped ashes. "Did I hear someone asking for a live autopsy?"

He heard Dabi mutter something about it being called a vivisection, but ignored it. Spinner dove into the shadowy racks of clothing and came back with an armful of…something.

He gingerly picked apart the tangled mass. There was a military coat that buttoned up to the neck, knee high boots and a belt with a heavy buckle. Shigaraki dangled the visor cap in fingers, squinting at the skull insignia. "I'm not wearing this."

The group spent the next few minutes trying to persuade him otherwise, but Shigaraki was an immovable rock and refused to budge. Himiko suddenly hopped on one foot.

"I could wear it!"

They took a moment to absorb the implication.

"NO." Shigaraki looked her in the eye. "I'll kill you if you try."

"Then you gotta try 'em on, Tomura."

"No."

"Say yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"Great, the dressing room's that way!"

After a brief scuffle in which Shigaraki tried to put his bare hands on Himiko's face and Himiko tried to a put a knife in his, Kurogiri somehow managed to calm them down enough to compromise. Shigaraki gave her a drop of blood with extreme reluctance and watched with an equal amount of trepidation as she ran off.

"I hate you all," he mumbled to no one in particular.

"Here she is," announced Jin importantly.

Shigaraki watched in dawning horror as he strolled out jauntily - he'd never been jaunty in his life - and struck a pose in front of the mirror.

"Tada," came his familiar rasp. "Whatcha think?"

"Hmm, can you spin?"

The churning in his stomach grew as his three-dimensional reflection twirled beautifully on one foot.

"It's a bit…" Kurogiri trailed off meaningfully.

Shigaraki said it for him. "I look like an underpaid chauffeur," he intoned flatly.

His doppelganger drooped. Twice timidly held out an outfit. "How about this one?"

Himiko took and it and - Shigaraki swore creatively at this - skipped away. On him it looked…he couldn't bear to think about how it looked. She came back equally cheerily a minute later. "I like this one."

For the first time during the whole ordeal, Dabi reacted. The mannequin toppled over with a crash, followed by the sound of wheezing. The itch came back to life under Shigaraki's skin and he wanted to claw someone's eyes out.

"I. Am. Not. Wearing. THAT."

THAT was a full set of ninja gear, only stupidly impractical. The outfit had no sleeves, and had a chunky scarf obscuring his face up to his nose. That's what Father was for, thank you very much. The only real decision to make here was whether to kill Jin on Tuesday or Wednesday, because his schedule was a bit tight. Shigaraki settled for right now.

Shigaraki 2.0 put his hands on his hips and examined his reflection critically. "Okay, so maybe Tomura is a bit too skinny for this."

"Bitch, come here and say that to my face."

"But he has a nice chest," said Jin dreamily, "and his collarbones are good too…"

There was an awkward silence which Shigaraki used to calculate how many volts were needed to fry Twice's brain.

"It's certainly better than the last one," Dabi cut into the thickening silence. "You could use it for your final form or something."

"It's mind-meltingly stupid. Do you know how clammy fourteen hands get when they're directly on your skin? I didn't think so."

Spinner tilted his beaked head. "Why do you even need that many anyway?"

"Because I'm a sad, lonely child inside and this is the only loving embrace I've ever known- Why do you think, dumbass?"

Kurogiri cleared his throat. "May I suggest a more formal look? It worked well for All for One."

Himiko disappeared into the darkness and reappeared in yet another outfit. "Better?"

Shigaraki didn't absorb the colour of the suit until she angled his body into the light and he nearly disintegrated her on the spot. She sauntered out in a lovingly cut tuxedo, which was tolerable, but firstly: it was velvet. Secondly: it was the colour of wine. Burgundy.

How the hell had he ever thought this League was a good idea?

"Oohhh," said the others in unison. "Nice."

"Thanks." Himiko adjusted her - or his, rather - posture, slouching a bit and tilting the head down. He found her skills of observation terrifying and moved her further up his mental hitlist. "How about now?"

"It's very suave. It says, 'I'm a man of the world' but exudes a certain aloofness at the same time," opined Kurogiri thoughtfully.

"Kurogiri, I'm trying to take over the world, not seduce it."

Not-Shigaraki threw his hands up in exasperation. "You're so high maintenance for someone who can't even be bothered to brush his hair."

"Fuck you too, Toga."

"You could always go for the basic catsuit and personalize it," Spinner said hopefully. "Like Twice here did."

"Spinner," he said blandly, like there weren't fire ants crawling along his veins, "I want to distract the public with my villany, not the outline of my dick."

Jin frowned, confused. "But no one ever gets distracted by my suit?"

"Exactly."

Dabi stopped wheezing long enough to speak. "What's wrong with his current gear anyway?"

Shigaraki felt a surge of something like gratitude, but quickly tamped down on it before it got out of control. Everyone else looked at each other.

"Well," started Himiko slowly, "for one thing, it looks like yours."

They simultaneously looked down at their dark clothes. "Oh."

Irritation crackled along Shigaraki's spine. "So all this time, you could have played dress-up with him instead?"

They looked bewildered. "But Dabi looks cool," said Spinner, like that explained anything.

He gritted his teeth. "You're talking about a guy wearing a wife-beater under a half-assed jacket. Not that I care who beats their wives, but that shit should be illegal."

Dabi looked down at his tank and shrugged. Himiko shook his head. "No, no, Dabi's got the high collar and the stitching and whatever those braces are. Tomura has a hoodie. It's different. Also, have you seen his pecs?"

He had, actually. More than once. But that wasn't the point.

"I'm done here. Kurogiri, let's go."

The bartender sighed heavily and made to follow. Spinner flailed pathetically and made a very big mistake.

"Come on, at least try and be bit more like Stain!"

Shigaraki froze mid-step. The itching, which had subsided, came with a fury. Pure rage roiled off of him as he turned around.

Dabi rolled his eyes and slunk back to a safe distance. "Here we go."

The other villain shrunk back as Shigaraki loomed over him, the blackness of his clothes seeping into the atmosphere. Tomura's hair looked paler, his eyes a little crazier in contrast to the dark nothingness of his coat.

"Hey Kurogiri. This guy thinks I should be more like Stain. Me, of all people."

Kurogiri said nothing, apparently waiting for the inevitable. Spinner tried to melt into a puddle and failed.

"If he likes that talkative bastard so much, maybe I should help him out so they can see each other, huh?"

"Itsfineyouroutfitisgreatimsorry," Spinner squeaked.

"Really? Are you sure? You don't think the sneakers are too last year?"

"Nope, they're brilliant, can't believe I never noticed. That symbolic red and black, truly a stroke of genius."

"Damn right they are." He pressed one foot into the lizard-man's face. "Here, take a closer look."

"They're amazing," gasped Spinner. "Just fabulous."

"That's right. You know why? It's because I'm fabulous. Aren't I, Jin?"

Twice nodded exuberantly. "You're like God, Beyoncé and chocolate rolled into one."

"Right. I'm going to walk out of here now and all of you will give fervent thanks that you get to see this fabulous ass that is perfectly fine the way it is. Kurogiri."

And then Shigaraki tossed his coat around his shoulders and walked into the warp door.

#boku no hero academia #crack #one shot #league of villains #shigaraki tomura #toga himiko #kurogiri #spinner #twice #dabi #sass #dress up #nonsense #strong language #sort of

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 7 years

Text

*Halloween* Champion. (Patrick Stump x Reader)

Request: a user on Wattpad: ‘Patrick stump prompt 11 please and thank you!’

Prompt 11: Trick or Treat

Note: This is probably my favorite Halloween imagine I’ve written… I got a little bit carried away. 😬

Gazing narrow-eyed at the orange, red and black haze outside your window, you took a deep breath. It was that time of the year again.

Halloween.

Turning sharply on your heel, you stomped off towards your living room, where your girls were gathered. A hush fell over them when they saw you enter and all three of them cleared their throats as they got comfortable on the sofa, knowing full well that things were about to get serious.

Swiftly, you walked over to the three presentation boards and lifted the cover off of the first one, unveiling a picture of none other than Patrick Stump – whose face you had drawn a huge ‘X’ over with a red Sharpie.

You weren’t entirely sure how, when, or why this rivalry had started. All you knew was that this year, it would come to an end once and for all.

“Patrick Stump must die,” you said, loud and clearly.

There was a snigger from the three girls, but a death glare from you was enough to stop it.

“For the past five years,” you continued, pacing up and down in front of the boards, “Patrick has tormented me. Gone out of his way and done everything in his power to stop me from taking what is rightfully mine. Well, this year,” you walked up to the second board, “I will reign supreme.”

You exposed the second poster, and the girls gasped.

“Last year, I hectically underestimated his ability to produce high-quality booby traps. This year, I’ll be more than prepared.”

“I’m actually getting really worried about her,” Emma murmured, and Avery and (Y/B/F) nodded in agreement.

“The first one will be set up here,” you drew a line from the sketch of the first booby trap to the corresponding location on the neighbourhood map. “And then the next one here, then here, then here.”

“Can I ask something?” (Y/B/F) quipped.

“Of course, my love.”

“What if Patrick decides to follow a different route than the ones the traps are set up on?”

“Simple,” you shrugged. “You guys will move the location of the trap so that he’s inevitably going to encounter it. Everyone got that?”

The three girls shared an uneasy glance before reluctantly nodding.

“Perfect. Now, let’s discuss costumes.”

“This has gone on for far too long,” Patrick announced, moving away from the portrait of you that he’d drawn demon eyes and devil horns on, “and it’s time for it to stop.”

“You’re telling us,” Joe scoffed from his place on the armchair next to Joe and Pete on the sofa.

Patrick clicked his tongue and Joe chuckled an apology.

“As I was saaaying,” Patrick continued, frowning at his band mates, “this year, it’ll all come to an apex. I will emerge victorious.”

He moved to the second poster he had stuck to the wall, and began talking the guys through his method. The poster was a map of the neighbourhood, and all the houses were marked with different symbols in different colored Sharpies, which indicated which houses give out the most candy and which houses give out the best candy.

“My God,” Andy whispered, leaning into Pete. “He’s finally lost it.” Pete nodded in agreement as all three of them watched their friend with a look of worry and concern.

“Alright,” Patrick clasped his hands together before pointing at a house on the map. “Our first stop will be here. And then,” he trailed his finger down a zigzag route on the poster, “we’ll follow this route and finish here,” he pointed out the biggest, fanciest house, “the Holy Grail of the trick-or-treating world. They give out the most and the best.”

“Uh, question?” Pete raised his hand.

“Yes, Pete?”

“Why don’t we just follow a normal route? Like, travel in a somewhat straight line instead of a zigzag.”

Patrick chuckled as he approached his friend. “'Why don’t we travel in a straight line?’ Oh, Pete,” he tsked walking forward with a smile on his face until he stood right in front of Pete. Then, he leaned down and smacked him. “TRAVEL IN A STRAIGHT LINE? THAT’S WHAT SHE WANTS! GODDAMNIT PETE ARE YOU TRYING TO SABOTAGE ME?”

Joe and Andy gawked on with wide-eyes as Pete rubbed his stinging cheek. “N-no,” Pete stammered. “I was just-”

“Asking a stupid question,” Patrick finished for him, shaking his head and moving back to the posters. “Any more questions?” Everyone violently shook their head no. “Excellent. Now, let’s talk costumes.”

“We’re telling you,” Pete shook his head as the waitress brought the hot beverages to the table, “he’s gone all bat-shit crazy. I mean, he slapped me across the face just because I asked a simple question!”

Avery grimaced as she cupped her hands around her coffee. “Okay, well, at least (Y/N) hasn’t resorted to physical violence,” she lifted the cup to her lips. “Not yet anyway,” she muttered before taking a sip.

“But she has been talking non-stop about how 'Patrick must die!’” (Y/B/F) mocked you, waving her hands dramatically.

“This needs to stop. Honestly,” Joe said. “I mean, it was cute for the first two years, but now it’s just ridiculous.”

“I agree,” Emma added. “But the fact that the entire neighbourhood is eagerly awaiting their clash doesn’t help us at all. Everyone I’ve spoken to is buzzing about 'the clash of the Trick or Treating Legends’. The local paper even did a feature about it!”

“We’ve gotta do something,” Andy spoke, setting down his drink. “But not something as big as screw up their strategy completely; they’d never forgive us.”

“You’re right,” (Y/B/F) remarked. “We can’t ruin their plans… but we can alter them a little bit.”

Intrigued glances were shared around the table and everyone leaned in to listen to (Y/B/F).

“What do you have in mind?” Pete asked.

“Lots. But let’s start with the costumes…”

Patrick turned the engine off, doing a quick once-over of the surrounding, pitch-black area before getting out of his car and walking towards the shadowy figure waiting in the alley.

“Mr Stump,” the figure addressed Patrick, nodding slightly in respect.

“Carter,” Patrick greeted, moving to stand right in front of the man and cocking his head to the briefcase he had in his hand. “That the stuff?”

Carter nodded, moving to open the clasp, but Patrick caught his hand, stopping him.

“No, not here. It’s not safe; I’ll open it at home.”

Carter narrowed his eyes in confusion, and Patrick sighed.

“She could have spies watching us.”

Carter nodded, not quite understanding why the business of handing over a costume had to be so undercover, but not saying anything – Patrick was one of the two Legendary Trick or Treaters after all.

Patrick took the briefcase and thanked him.

“I’m rooting for you,” Carter said, giving a two-fingered wave as Patrick got into the car.

“You should be. I’m gonna win.”

The automatic doors at the front entrance of Target opened with a swoosh, and you strode inside, stealthily yet confidently. Even though you were wearing a black hoodie and sunglasses, the employees knew exactly who you were, and every single one of them stopped what they were doing and held their breath as one of them who was standing in the back stumbled forward.

“Miss (Y/L/N),” he panted, out of breath from dashing to you. “We have your supplies. Follow me please.”

Wordlessly, you followed the jittery employee to the stock room, where he used the key on his necklace to unlock a door in the corner.

You entered through the newly opened door and waited patiently as the guy moved to the deepest, darkest corner, emerging a few seconds later with a large, sealed cardboard box.

“Is everything in there?” you questioned.

“The manager triple-checked it himself, ma'am.”

“Wonderful,” you smiled, taking the box from him. “Can you show me where the back entrance is? I have a car waiting.”

Halloween Night

6pm

The lively chattering and giggles of children sounded up and down every street in the neighbourhood, and there was an undeniable aura of excitement and nervousness in the air. Everyone was waiting to see which one of The Legendary Trick or Treaters – who were currently stationed at their respective houses on opposite ends of town, prepping their team – would take home the crown.

“Okay,” you addressed your girls, who were standing in a line in front of you. “We all know the plan. Are we ready to win this?”

They all cheered, hooting and clapping and you smiled.

“Stump’s gonna get his ass handed to him tonight.”

Patrick adjusted his costume for the last time before slipping into a black trench coat (it was customary for the two of you to wear one of those to hide your outfits until the end of the night) and turning to his band mates. “You guys know what you need to do. Are we ready to go?”

“I’m ready to gooooooo,” Pete started singing, but stopped when Patrick shot him a no-nonsense look, slinking away and clearing his throat.

“Let’s do this!” Joe yelled, and the guys began hooting and hollering.

6:07 pm

“Thank you! I’ll be sure to remember you once I become King of the Trick or Treaters!” Patrick called over his shoulder as he bounded down the pathway of the first house, sack already significantly heavier despite it only being the first house he’d visited.

“Good luck!” the owner called out with a wave before disappearing back into their house.

“How’re we doing for time?” Patrick asked as he approached Andy, who glanced at his watch.

“It’s 6:07,” Andy answered.

“Gah,” Patrick growled, “We need to move faster! We’ve wasted too much time already!”

“What are you talking about?” Andy scrunched up his face. “We only started at 6:04-”

“Exactly! Which means that I spent 3 minutes at one house! I’ll never win at this rate,” Patrick yelped, scurrying off down the street, an amused Andy not far behind him.

“You’re wonderful people! Absolutely incredible! When I become Queen of the Trick or Treaters, I’ll bring you guys enough candy to last you a year!” you beamed at the family standing in the doorway of brick house, and the two little ones cheered happily.

“Time,” you said as you jogged up to Emma.

“6:07. Two houses in under three minutes. Not bad.”

The two of you high-fived before running off to the next house.

6:57pm

“(Y/B/F)?”

“Here,” she spoke into the phone.

“How’s things?”

“Uh…” she grimaced and peeked out into the street from her hiding place behind a tree, watching as Patrick tossed his third sack full of candy into the car Joe was driving before Pete handed him another empty one and he continued sprinting down the street. “He just started with his fourth sack.”

“What?” you shrieked into the phone, so loudly that (Y/B/F) had to hold the device away from her ear before she went deaf. “I’m only a quarter way through my third! Okay, (Y/B/F), it’s time. Commence 'Stump Obstacle Number 1’.”

“Roger that,” she answered, hanging up and stealthily manoeuvring through the shadows towards the street.

She trailed quietly behind Patrick for a little while, being sure to stay out of sight as much as possible. They got to the street where a group of teenage girls – dressed head to toe in Fall Out Boy merch – were standing huddled together, and (Y/B/F) came out of the shadows, running into the middle of the street and using her hands as a makeshift megaphone.

“Hey, girls!” she yelled. Patrick’s head whipped around at the sound of the familiar voice, and his eyes widened in fear. “There he is!”

“Oh no,” Patrick squeaked, as a screaming stampede of teenage girls commenced.

(Y/B/F) contorted in horror at the sight of Patrick being essentially swallowed by the girls, and she shot him a quick apology before rushing off into the shadows once again.

7:15pm

“Pete!” Patrick barked into his cellphone, trying his hardest to dust himself off and straighten out his hair and clothes.

“Dude, what happened?”

“I got ambushed, that’s what!” he snarled, kicking at a rock on the ground and chuckling darkly. “Oh, she’s good. But two can play at this game. It’s time for 'Distraction Number 1’.”

You giggled gleefully as you frolicked down the street, swinging your sack next to you. You were almost onto your fifth sack, your rival was down and life was good.

Until you rounded the corner, that is.

The minute you spotted Pete, you knew that you were in trouble. But you hadn’t realised exactly how much trouble until he turned around, revealing a second person.

“Please, God, no,” you whined, closing your eyes.

“Oh, look!” Pete said loudly, pointing at you. “There she is!”

The second man beamed, breaking into a run as he advanced on you. You shot Pete the filthiest glare you could muster, and he blew you a kiss before taking off, leaving you with the second man, aka the bane of your existence.

“(Y/N)!”

“Hi, Scooter,” you grumbled, sighing.

“Wow, you have no idea how happy I was when I got that text from you.”

“The text, right,” you chuckled nervously, fiddling with your earlobe. “Er, remind me what I said, again?”

“Oh, you said that you were finally ready for that date you promised me in high school, and that you wanted me to meet you here so that we could go Trick or Treating together.”

“Oh, I’m gonna destroy you, Stump.”

7:35pm

Panting, you raced down the street, trying to get as far away from Scooter as possible. Emma had come to your rescue, pretending to be an injured stranger the two of you encountered on your route. You told Scooter to stay with her while you went and got help, but you knew that you only had so much time before he’d realise that you were bullshitting him, and you intended to be as far away as possible when that happened.

“Avery,” you shakily said into the phone. “You’re up. It’s time for 'Stump Obstacle Number 2’.”

“Gotcha,” Avery confirmed, tucking her cell into her back pocket before removing a pair of scissors from her other pocket.

She trailed Patrick for the next block or so, and when he stopped briefly to go over his plan, she advanced on him. Tiptoeing, Avery came up behind him, quickly snipping the bottom of his sack so that all the candy spilled out.

“What the-” he turned around, shocked but got cut off when Avery called out.

“Kids, look! Free candy!”

As if they materialised out of nowhere, a large group of children descended upon poor Patrick, who was desperately trying to salvage his candy. Obviously, he was no match against the twenty little people.

Avery offered Patrick an apologetic smile before taking off, and Patrick let out a desperate cry, which summoned Joe and Andy.

“Joe,” he called out, “'Distraction Number 2’!”

Joe gave a hasty salute before dashing off to do his job.

He searched each of the streets, eventually finding you standing on the porch of a huge house; your current sack of candy was next to you.

As quietly as he could, he walked up to you, careful not to make any noise, and swopped your sack with the one he held in his hand.

“Sorry, (Y/N),” he said, before turning and running away, tossing your sack of candy into the nearby bushes.

“What?” you whipped around. You were confused until you spotted Joe, already halfway down the street. Letting out a groan, you yanked the sack up and looked inside.

Bad idea.

Screaming in sheer terror, you dropped the sack, stomping and jumping on it as hard as you could in an attempt to kill the vile eight legged creatures inside.

“Fucking spiders?! Really, Patrick?!”

7:55pm

With Patrick being swallowed by children, and you being attacked by spiders, the rest of your guys’ friends all met at the four way stop in the middle of the neighbourhood, everyone coming from different directions.

“Has everyone got the stuff?” Pete asked and everyone nodded.

“And everyone knows the plan?” (Y/B/F) looked around, and again, everyone nodded. “Great. We only have five minutes left. Go team!”

Running as fast as your legs could carry you, you darted towards the town centre, where the ceremony was being held. Patrick was doing the same, coming from the opposite direction. You both reached the stage at the same time, and hurried onto it, stopping a few feet away from one another in an intense stare down.

The both of you dropped the sacks of candy you were holding, and continued glaring daggers at the other.

“Stump.”

“(Y/L/N).”

“Are you ready to be taken down once and for all?”

“That depends. Are you ready to be woken up from the dream world you’re living in?”

You clenched your teeth and narrowed your eyes at him and he did the same as the announcer strode up onto the stage. He tapped the microphone a few times and cleared his throat before he began speaking.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Now that all of the contestants have arrived, we can start the counting.” He gestured to a few helpers on the side, who moved to start counting the candy. “While that’s being done, it’s time that the two of you reveal your costumes.” He stepped out of the way, allowing you and Patrick to take centre stage.

“My costume is way better than yours,” you smirked, starting to remove your coat.

Patrick scoffed. “Yeah righ-”

A collective gasp sounded throughout the park, and both you and your rival gawked at each other. Well, more specifically, each other’s costumes. He was Captain America, and you… well, you were…

“YOU STOLE MY COSTUME!”

“NO! YOU STOLE MINE!”

“OH PLEASE. THE ONLY THING I’M STEALING FROM YOU IS THAT CROWN.”

“HOW THE HELL DID THIS EVEN HAPPEN?”

“HOW SHOULD I KNOW?”

…dressed as Captain America too. If Captain America were female.

“Erm,” the announcer made his way back onto stage while you and Patrick continued bickering in the background. “Ladies and gentlemen, it appears that this year’s outcome is one none of us could’ve expected.”

This caught the both of your attention, and you turned to the announcer with a smile.

“The Trick or Treat champion this year is not (Y/N).”

“HA!” Patrick laughed, pointing in your face. “I told you! I am the King-”

“But it’s not Patrick either.”

“What?” you and Patrick both yelled.

“The winner this year is those six young people standing over there.” The announcer pointed to the side of the crowd.

“No…” you started.

“Fucking…” Patrick said.

“Way.” You finished.

(Y/B/F), Emma, Avery, Pete, Joe and Andy waved happily at you, proudly holding up the sacks of candy that had secured them the victory. The same sacks that you and Patrick had spent the past two hours filling.

“But they cheated!” you said desperately, pointing an accusatory finger at your friends. “That’s our candy! We collected it!”

“Can you prove that?” the announcer asked.

“Well, um, no. But-”

“The rules state that any candy declared by a person or group will be taken into account – the means by which they collect the said candy is none of our concern.”

“That’s not fair!” Patrick protested, moving to stand next to you. “They-”

“Sorry, you two,” the announcer said, holding up a hand. “Rules are rules, and neither of the two of you won. However…” he walked to the edge of the stage and took two medals from one of the helpers. “You did win the prize for 'Best Dressed Couple’. Congratulations.”

“'Best Dressed…’ This means nothing to me!” you said, taking the medal off.

“Or to me,” Patrick concurred, removing his too.

“You have no idea what you’ve just started,” you warned, narrowing your eyes and glaring at your 'friends’ who simply laughed evilly.

“Revenge will be had,” Patrick promised.

“I hope you know,” you said, walking along with your group, “that I feel extremely betrayed.”

“Betrayed doesn’t even begin to describe it,” Patrick scoffed.

“Oh, come on,” Joe rolled his eyes. “You two act like maniacs whenever it’s Halloween time, and after five years, we couldn’t take it anymore.”

“And you couldn’t have let us just use this year as a tie-breaker? We were two-for-two!”

“We could’ve,” (Y/B/F) shrugged. “But where’s the fun in that?”

“Just so you know,” you pointed out. “There’s still six months until the wedding. We can replace you guys as bridesmaids and groomsmen no problem.”

The six of them shared a look of fake concern before bursting into laughter.

“Yeah, right,” Avery snorted.

“Good luck trying to find other people who put up with your shit like we do,” Pete placed his arms over your and Patrick’s shoulders.

You looked at your fiancé, and he shrugged. “You’re right. We can’t fire you as our wedding party. But we can still take you down. By this time next year, we’ll be married, and you saw what we were capable of coming up with on our own, imagine what we’ll be like together.”

You and Patrick continued walking away, hand in hand while your friends stopped dead in their tracks.

Andy gulped. “We made a huge mistake, didn’t we?”

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

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