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gucciforasushirestaurant · 3 months

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Love Bites | Old School Love Universe

summary: harry's not fed in a while and you just want to help.

word count: 2.1k

read time: 9 min

content warnings⚠️: vampire!harry x human!reader, fluff, angst (if you squint), mentions of biting and blood and vampire biology

a/n: i guess this is a series now? haha enjoy!

Old School Love Universe

For the last week Harry has been avoiding you, which is very unlike your boyfriend. A complete deviation from his normal, arguably clingy, behavior. He’d answer your texts, but would find every excuse not to see you, and your phone calls always seemed to be cut short. You knew it probably had nothing to do with you, but it was beginning to hurt your feelings. Especially after turning a corner in your relationship following some doubts he’d been having about whether or not you really didn’t mind he was a vampire, you were worried about this seemingly massive step backwards. So you did what any rational girlfriend would do after being ignored by their boyfriend for a week. You showed up at his front door.

Is forcing a confrontation with Harry a good idea? Probably not. But as the days went on you went from annoyed that Harry was ignoring your text to sad to down right worried about him. So you told yourself it was nothing more than a wellness check, and marched across town to his apartment.

You exited the elevator of his building, and headed to his door to see a few packages at his front door. He either hadn’t bothered to open his door in a few days or worse, he hadn't been home since he left your apartment last week.

You didn’t want to panic, he was a vampire he could take care of himself, you're sure of it. But the ‘what if’ swarmed your mind as you lifted your fist knocking on the door. You didn’t hear anything for a moment and decided to knock again. This time you hear some rustling on the other side.

“Harry. I can hear you in there.” you sigh, relieved at some proof of life.

After a few moments and more shuffling from the other side of the door, he opens the front door just a crack peeking his head out just barely. Still you can see he doesn’t look like himself. He looks tired, skin dull with bags under his eyes, and a major case of bedhead, despite it being mid afternoon. The worry that had dissipated at the knowledge that he was at least safe at home, came back at the sight of him.

“Doll, what are you doing here?” Harry asks tightly.

“Open the door and we can talk about it.” you pout, giving him your best doe eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here, baby.”

“And why’s that?”

He looks down shifting his feet, shifting his weight “I - I haven’t fed in a while.” He admits and your need to be close to him grows, although he's determined to keep his distance.

“Harry, let me in.” you plea, but he shakes his head.

“Baby Doll, I really shouldn’t.” He wants to let you in, but he’s scared, terrified actually. He knows he won’t hurt you. He’d do everything in his power to make sure that you were safe, which is why he’s iced you out recently. But he’s also never been around you while being as hungry as he is now. His plan was to keep his distance until he was able to reup on his blood bags, get fed and then give you all the cuddles and kisses to make up for him going MIA. You showing up at his door unannounced was not part of the plan.

“Open the door Harry…please.” There’s a bit of edge to your voice but your eyes are soft and full of sympathy.

He chuckles a little, shaking his head at your attitude. My stubborn girl, he thinks. He should have known you weren’t going to leave him be, especially after not having seen him in so long. He opens the door slowly, stepping aside and allowing you to come in. He turns and locks the door. When he turns back to you, you rush in to hug him, nearly knocking him over.

“It’s dangerous for you to be here while I’m like this.” he sighs sadly as he melts into your hug, though arms don’t quite wrap around you like they normally would.

“Like what?” you ask brushing some hair from his forehead, and the proximity makes him suck in a breath. He takes your hand kissing your knuckles before intertwining his fingers with yours.

“I told you, I haven’t fed in a while. I’m too…thirsty for you to be here right now honey.”

“I know you’re not going to hurt me.” you say confidently and squeeze his hand in yours, “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too, baby. I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

Your heart breaks at that. You know Harry would never intentionally hurt you, and knowing that he felt he had to lock himself away to keep you safe broke you, just a little. “How long has it been?” you ask and he looks away from you, and your heart sinks, “You haven’t gone this whole time without anything have you?” you ask in a voice laced with worry. “Harry.”

“I haven't had anything since I left your apartment Friday.” he confesses, “I was supposed to pick up more on Saturday, but my guy at the hospital said they were getting suspicious, and I needed to wait until after the blood drive this weekend, to pick up more.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“That’s why I didn’t call you.” He hated to admit it, and he hated discussing his diet and hunger with you. But he promised you honesty after he told you his secret and he meant it. But seeing the worry in your eyes now, has made him realize maybe he’s done a shitty job at keeping that promise. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I was just trying to keep you safe. Keep my distance.”

“I understand.” you sigh, “I just wish you would have told me instead of ghosting me. And I wish you would trust me with things like this H.”

“I do trust you.” he says, squeezing your hand reassuringly, and then you get an idea.

“Come here.” you say dragging him to his couch. You sit him down and sit in his lap. He tenses, hands on your hips to lift you off but you don’t budge.

“Doll.” he warns, stiffly, despite wanting nothing more than to hold you close, “I think it’s best if you -”

“I want you to drink.”

Harry’s eyes snap to you, brows knitted together. “What?”

“Drink.” you say, shifting closer, and pulling the hood of your hoodie to the side exposing more of your neck.

Harry shakes his head, untangling your arms from around his neck, “No, Baby Doll. I’ll be okay. I can get some blood tomorrow and I’ll be good as new okay? Don’t worry about me.”

“Too late.” you say, kissing his cheek. Harry turns away, sucking in a breath, but you move closer. “Drink.”

“We’ve talked about this.”

“And we agreed that you’d only bite me if I asked and feed from me in case of emergency. What would you call this?”

“Not an emergency.” He insists, looking at you.

“You’ve taught me enough about vampires by now for me to know that’s not true.”

Harry sighs, because he hates when you’re right. He has taught you quite a lot, always answering your endless questions, even asking his friends for answers to some of the questions that he wasn’t sure about. And one of the first things you’d asked him was his diet. You’d noticed in your time leading up to his confession that he almost never ate. He’d cook for the two of you, make sure you were always fed but would only have a few bites himself. It’s when you asked about it that he told you that younger vampires like himself need more blood than a vampire older than him. And that the older he got the longer he could go without feeding and the more he’d be able to stomach solids, but for now, he pretty much lived on blood. And going as long as Harry had admitted he’d gone without blood was bordering on dangerous.

“Besides” you say, “You don’t let me miss a meal without a lecture. What makes you think I’m going to let you go for a week?” Harry smirks at you, and he shakes his head fondly. He leans forward and presses a much needed kiss to your lips.

“What have I done to deserve you?” He looks at you in that love sick way that makes your stomach flip and your cheeks warm up.

“That’s very sweet.” you smile playfully rolling your eyes, “Now drink.”

Harry chuckles, “You’re sure?”

“Yes, please.” you say, he shifts you to come closer to him and places a soft kiss to your collarbone first, before moving up your neck to a safe spot.

“Alright.” He sighs giving in. He’ll beat himself up for being too weak to resist later. Now, he was thirsty and physically weak and desperately needed to feed. “Stop me if you start to feel light headed, okay?”

“I will. I trust you.” you smile, “I just want you fed.”

“Thank you.” He says placing a sweet kiss to your lips.

Harry's bitten you before. Only briefly and only after you asked him too, curious about what it would be like, and wanting him to eat after you’d had your own dinner. And sometimes he’ll allow himself to indulge when the two of you are fooling around. But never has he bitten you while he was actually thirsty and he was a little worried. But knowing you had so much confidence in him, and his ability to control himself made him more comfortable.

He places a kiss to your collarbone, and a few up your neck before finding a spot safe enough. He counts down from three, to prepare you for the initial sting of the bite before sinking his fangs into your neck. You move a hand to the back of Harry’s head, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, as he drank.

He drinks slowly, hands on your hips, thumb stroking the skin under your hoodie to distract you from the slight discomfort of the bite. He drinks for a few short moments before he raises his head up. “You doing okay?” he says into your neck.

“I’m fine.”

“Just a little bit more okay?”

You nod your head and encourage him to keep drinking and he does. With every second that passes you can feel yourself getting to that warm and fuzzy place that you tend to get to when Harry bites you. He’d explained it was a high of sorts, brought on by a mix of the blood loss, and the ‘venom’ from his bite. Scientifically speaking, the purpose was to incapacitate a vampires ‘prey’, make them more pliant for feeding, and more susceptible to compulsion so they’d forget the encounter after the fact. In cases like yours though, where said ‘prey’ gave in voluntarily, it would cause a short high and a brief spell of giggles. In cases where you and Harry had already been fooling around, well you’d get a little…needy.

He drinks for a few more seconds, and then pulls away, full and satisfied. He licks the little bit of blood that's dribbled down his lip, wiping his mouth with the back of his own hoodie sleeve. With his fangs still out, he picks his index finger, drawing a drop of blood and rubs it across your bite marks watching them heal instantly. He kisses your neck one more time “There we go. Good as new.” He smiles, planting a kiss on your lips. He looks up at you and sees you looking down at him with dazed eyes, and chuckles. “Are you doing okay Doll?”

“Yeah. I’m just - ya know.” you smile, waving your hand. “Are you sure you’re good? Full?”

Harry nods his head, leaning into your hand that you’ve placed on his cheek. He turns, placing a peck to your palm. “I’m much better now.” He smiles sadly. Just that little bit of your blood, and he looks a million times better. His eyes, the bright emerald you were used to, his skin and hair far less dull than it was when you’d first arrived. He still had some bags under his eyes, but he looked leaps and bounds more healthy.

“Thank you. For letting me…feed.”

“You don’t have to thank me. Just glad you're okay. Please call me next time, if you end up in this situation again.”

“I will,” he says holding up his pinky, “Promise.” you wrap your pinky around his, and he leans forward kissing his fists, and you do the same.

Maybe it was the bite, or maybe it the way that Harry was looking at you, regardless you were pretty sure you were falling in love with a vampire.

✨masterlist✨ ∣ ✨yap & request box✨

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frudoo · 4 months

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Mister Asylum — Simon “Ghost” Riley

Warnings: Suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, hospitilization.

Patient!Simon Riley x Fem!Nurse!Reader

1 | 2

Simon always knew that his life would end this way—head pressed against the barrel of a waiting gun, emotionless eyes staring straight ahead, preparing. He never expected it to be by his own hand, though he couldn’t let himself be surprised, could he? Years of abuse, trauma, bloodshed, scorn. He’s hardly a saint. This ending is better than the one he expected, for himself, for the rest of the world. Maybe even more merciful than the death he truly deserves.

He sits with his legs criss-crossed in the middle of his living room that remains decorated with nothing more than a simple glass top coffee table and a sofa opposite of him. No rug or carpet that blood could soak into, no stains that the next homeowners would be plagued by having to deal with. Easy cleanup for the crime scene crew once the authorities would inevitably be called. It would be as if he never even lived there—a ghost resident whose demise would never be revealed even to those riddled with the most morbid curiosity.

Simon is so lost in his own calculations, that he doesn’t process the turn of a spare key in the lock of his front door as he digs the pistol further into his temple, jaw clenched so tightly that the tendon is sore. He didn’t anticipate that Johnny had decided to visit, and he surely didn’t expect the gun to be knocked out of his hand and his large body to be tackled to the floor by his sergeant. The weapon goes off but the bullet doesn’t blast through his skull like he’d planned—instead, it fires at the couch cushion and settles in the fuzzy depths, right where he would usually sit on a lazy afternoon.

He almost doesn’t process the way Johnny’s tears spill onto his pale, maskless face, the way the Scotsman holds his wrists down above his head and against the wooden tile with one hand as he calls Captain Price with the other. Not that Simon needed to be held down. He was far too weary and defeated to fight. His voice was stuck in his raw, aching throat until the sergeant cupped his face in his hands, desperation and anger written on his features.

“Shoulda let m’go, Johnny,” Simon rasps, blank brown eyes staring at the ceiling, unwilling to look his best mate in the eye.

“Ne’er, LT,” Johnny lightly smacks the lieutenant’s cheeks affectionately, once-bright blue eyes now tinged with worry as they dart between his friend and the door.

The captain eventually arrives and helps Johnny escort Simon outside, into his truck. The three men sit in silence in the driveway for a while until John speaks up.

“You understand we can’t let you be alone anymore,” his usual gruff voice softened with something akin to sadness—sympathy, maybe.

“Yes, sir,” Simon nods, hands clasped together, resting in his lap.

“Nor can we let you go on any missions. Protocol won’t allow it, and quite frankly, I’m worried you’d put yourself in harm’s way purposefully. I can’t have you or my other men getting hurt,” Price sighs, running a large hand down his face and covering his mouth, lost in thought.

“Understood, sir,” The lieutenant grunts, trying to ignore the sound of Johnny’s sniffles beside him.

“I’ve spoken with Laswell as well as my own superiors, and we’ve come to the conclusion that… institutionalization would be the best course of action.”

Simon falls silent. Take him out of the field, fine. Keep him company to make sure he’s alright, great. But being thrown into the looney bin feels more like retribution than treatment. His fists clench and he can feel the captain’s watchful eyes on him in the rearview mirror.

“Simon, this- I hope you know this wasn’t an easy decision for anyone to make. I’d much sooner call a missile strike than put you somewhere other than under my protection. But unfortunately my hands are tied.”

“Simon, ye ‘ave tae listen. Please,” Johnny rests his hand on top of one of Simon’s, trying not to let out a sob at the trembling he feels in his superior. “We need ye ‘ere.”

This isn’t right. None of this shit would have happened if he had just pulled the trigger sooner. Simon’s mind is nothing short of a maelstrom wreaking its havoc, screaming at him to jump out of this truck and book it to the nearest bridge to jump off of. He might have done just that if his body wasn’t vibrating with frustration and helplessness and blinding regret—or maybe it’s just the hot tears that blur his vision and render him unable to move or even breathe properly.

“You’re as good as a son to me, Simon. Let us do this for you. For us,” John sniffs, and if he didn’t know any better, Simon might have thought his captain was crying. “You don’t have another choice.”

Simon doesn’t speak again, rather gives a single nod to signal his compliance. An order is an order no matter how badly he wants to ignore it. All he wants to do is melt and allow the backseat of Price’s truck to absorb him. It all seems like far too much fuss just for him, an assassin, scum of the earth, a waste of precious space. He settles for blinking the tears out of his eyes and looking out the window, even allowing Johnny to keep a calloused hand on top of his own. John calls the hospital and lets them know they’ll be getting an intake.

The drive to Shadywood Hospital is a silent one save for the occasional sniffle or sigh, or the rattle of the truck’s tailgate on a particularly bumpy road. Nobody dares say anything out of fear that they’ll offend one of the other men. The last thing Price and Johnny want to do is make the situation worse, and Simon isn’t the kind to open up about his troubles, even more so now that his plan has been obliterated. He’s supposed to be a strong, unyielding leader—fearless, not this shell of a soldier who let his pain and misery take over. He used to be precisely that: an unstoppable, unbreakable force. He’s not sure when exactly that changed.

The exterior of the hospital is about as dull and lifeless as Simon expected, mossy overgrowth clinging to the weathered brick structure. It looks like something straight out of an old horror film, he thinks. All it needs is some thunderstorm sound effects and perhaps a murder of crows to warn of his impending doom. No such luck. Maybe even the darkest of forces don’t deem him worthy of such caution. Maybe even the most heinous of monsters would ridicule and cast out the enigma that he is.

“Out ye get, LT,” Johnny pats him on one broad shoulder, trained eyes scanning the lieutenant’s face for any hint of emotion be it sadness or fury.

Simon remains stoic as he steps out of the truck, batting away Price and Johnny’s hands that try to usher him inside. Not a bloody child, he thinks, though the petulance with which he crosses his arms would suggest otherwise. When the rush of cold air hits his face, he’s suddenly aware of just how naked he is without his mask and he turns around with a shake of his head.

“Not goin’ in,” he mutters, scratching at the tattoos on his left forearm so hard that he peels the skin.

Johnny grabs Simon’s wrist to get him to stop, frowning at the sight of his nails, sharp and much longer than he usually keeps them. He’s unsure of how nobody noticed that their beloved Ghost had stopped taking care of himself. John sighs and runs a hand through his hair, contemplating before nodding firmly.

“I’m sure they have a mask in there. I’ll go grab one for you, yeah?” He grins softly, patting Simon’s back fondly before stepping inside.

“Ye’ll be alreit, ye ken,” Johnny steps in front of Simon, hands resting firmly on his biceps to get him to meet his eyes. “Ye ‘ave tae be. Ye’re Ghost. Ye’re me brother.”

Simon chokes back a sob, teary eyes fixed on the darkening clouds in the dreary sky to avoid showing his weakness. It breaks him to see his sergeant so worried about him. He doesn’t deserve his pity, his fear. Price comes back before Johnny can force Simon to say anything in response.

“Here you are,” John hums, handing Simon the flimsy mask and offering him a gentle chuckle. “Black, just for you.”

Simon nods again, adjusting the flexible metal in the surgical material to fit the crooked bridge of his nose. Feeling a little less exposed, he sucks in a deep breath and turns on his heel to trudge into the hospital. The fluorescent lights nearly blind him and he furrows his eyebrows, blinking through the pain before focusing his eyes on the receptionist.

“Simon Riley,” he breathes, and the lady nods with a soft smile.

“Yes, sir. If you’ll have a seat over there, the intake nurse will be right out. Would you like your mates to-”

“Yes,” he cuts her off, nodding towards Price and Johnny who stand beside him like bodyguards. “Sorry. Yes. I’d like them to be in there with me. Please.”

“Of course,” she nods once more, offering the three men another small grin.

Simon, Price, and Johnny all sit in the waiting area impatiently. The sergeant looks around nervously while the lieutenant stays still as a statue, eyes focused on the floor. John sniffs and rubs his clammy palms on his jeans. Simon can’t remember the last time he’s seen the captain this anxious, and knowing he caused it makes him feel even worse. He shouldn’t have hesitated; he should have just pulled the trigger immediately upon holding the gun to his head. There wouldn’t have been this much trouble for the team.

The sliding doors part with a mechanical whir and heavy footsteps rush in, boots squeaking against the linoleum floor. Simon wasn’t going to pay it any mind, but Johnny stands up and goes to greet the person with a hug. He only looks up when he feels a hand on his shoulder, eyes meeting deep brown ones much like his own. Kyle.

“Simon,” Kyle whispers, placing his other hand on the lieutenant’s opposite shoulder. “Price called.”

Another wave of shame washes over Simon and he suddenly can’t bring himself to maintain eye contact with his other sergeant. He doesn’t deserve this kind of support, especially not from the entire task force. His throat closes up and it gets hard to breathe. He’s trapped in his head, locked in place, and the walls are closing in. The tears threaten to spill despite his struggle to hold them back, burning at the brink of his waterline. It’s too much, he’s suffocating, he’s about to snap-

As if right on cue, the nurse comes in and calls his name. He jumps up, shoving past Kyle to follow the woman behind the protected doors without looking back. The other three follow close after and stand with their backs to the wall, intently listening to the questions Simon is asked. The lieutenant almost laughs—he’s usually on the other side of the interrogation table.

Simon fills out the countless pages of paperwork with a shaking hand, carefully sliding the clipboard back to the nurse. He feels so small, so pathetic, having this many people watch over him like he’s a sickly babe. In a way, he supposes he is—the only difference is that an infant is worth saving.

“With the information you’ve given me, Mr. Riley, we will be admitting you effective immediately. Your progress will determine the length of your stay. We’ll be monitoring you closely each day to see how you’re doing, alright?” The nurse tilts her head sympathetically, cusping her hand over one of Simon’s. “We’re gonna get you feeling better, sir.”

Simon nods slowly, nervous eyes flickering past the woman to look between his three mates. They all have the same solemn expression on their face, each fidgeting with a different finger or article of clothing. He thinks they’d rather be getting shot at in a foreign country than here, coddling this grown man who doesn’t know how to handle his emotions. He would, too.

“I’ll give the four of you a couple of minutes to chat while I go get your bracelet ready, yeah?” The nurse excuses herself, slipping past the two sergeants that stand on either side of the door.

The men are silent, none of them exactly sure of what to say or do until Simon finally breaks down, his head falling into his hands. Pesky tears he’d been trying so hard to fight off stream down his face and soak into his mask, his broad shoulders shaking with every raspy sob that dares rip from his throat. John immediately pushes himself off the wall and embraces his lieutenant who, for the first time this evening, doesn’t bother fighting him off. Price’s large hand cradles Simon’s head to his clothed midriff, the other patting his back like a father would calm a colicky baby.

“I’ve got you, Simon. You’re gonna be alright,” John whispers, fighting back tears of his own.

The captain hasn’t seen Simon cry like this for what seems like centuries. He never wanted to witness it again, but the hidden memories come flooding back in as he presses his cheek to the top of the blond man’s head. He had sworn from the moment he met Simon that he’d never allow any harm to come to him. He’d keep every enemy away, train him perfectly so that he could protect himself. He never considered that his lieutenant’s own mind could be deemed an enemy.

Johnny can’t stand the sight any longer—he shoves the door open and books it out of the hospital, back sliding down against the cracked brick as he brings his knees to his chest. Kyle follows quickly after, sitting beside his fellow sergeant, silent and seething, angry at himself for being so clueless. How could none of them, not one, see that Simon was doing so poorly?

Simon notes their absence even in the comforting arms of the only father figure he’s ever known.

#cw: suicidal ideation #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #cod mw3 #Spotify

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rriavian · 11 months

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Lemon balm-- sympathy. "Oh no. We aren't as different as I thought."

For Hobrinthian! :)

I had two different ideas for this but forgot one of them until I'd scrolled through my notes in my phone. Still! I hope you enjoy. This is actually part of a larger fic I'm writing but does (or should) make sense as a standalone. This is also so so rough but I keep staring at it and not changing anything so I need to just post it. This is a new pairing for me and I’m a little nervous but I hope you like it! :)

Lemon balm-- sympathy. "Oh no. We aren't as different as I thought."

1689

The less said about that year the better.

But what Hob will say is this.

The years leading up to that meeting could have been far far different, but even though Hob has been ignoring him since Eleanor died the Corinthian doesn’t let the mob drown him.

Somehow he knows—another instance of that same strange preternatural awareness that has befuddled Hob for centuries—has learned the townsfolks plans in time to thwart them. The result is that the Corinthian storms into his house before they arrive, ignores Hob’s alarmed shout as he drags him from it by a fistful of his hair and shoves him into a carriage waiting nearby. An explanation comes then, stilted, clipped, and then the Corinthian is half climbing inside just as Hob gathers his wits enough to stutter out an almost unintelligible plea for one last memento, the pictures he always carries not enough, there something else he doesn’t want to be lost in that house.

The Corinthian growls.

For a moment Hob fears he won’t listen—something feral in the baring of his teeth, the half snarl so familiar even twisted in anger—the golden blond of his hair turned white by the light of the moon. It glances off the lenses of the glasses too, refracts, turns them into eyes that gleam in the dark like a silver mirror of Hob’s Stranger. Then the Corinthian turns away, shoves backwards from the carriage as if needing to release tension, storms back to the house, returns far quicker than Hob thought he would. A small box is tossed his way with a sneer, an expression that remains as the Corinthian sits down opposite him without saying a single word.

Instead he raps sharply on the wood to signal they are ready to depart.

The sudden lurch into jolting movements is not so destabilising as this, as sitting opposite this unchanged creature Hob has known for two hundred years and trying not to shudder under his glare.

For a long time Hob doesn’t dare speak, has to adjust to this first, to the weight of whatever the Corinthian really is rearing out of the luring guise he wears. There is no sensual smirk obscuring it, no seduction here; Hob thinks that seething anger has never been so well communicated as in this stillness, as in how he’s being watched like prey to be culled instead of kept. It’s silence laying like a shroud, an imposition of the Corinthian’s will, but as Hob adjusts to it he thinks that, unlike the Stranger, this quiet is not quite in his gift.

It’s effective but it isn’t quite so natural.

And Hob still has time for jokes.

“Thanks for not letting me die.” He says wryly; hesitates, wonders if that sounded too glib, thinks of the box clutched in his hands and adds. “I would have been fine you know.”

“Be grateful they did not plan to try and burn you,” The Corinthian says softly; the first words he’s spoken since that curt explanation, both a stinging rebuke and an odd sort of rapture in his rolling tone, an almost longing in the picture he paints with words. “I may have been tempted to allow that.”

Hob can’t help but shudder at the very thought.

Then he opens his mouth to reply and is immediately cut off.

“Sulking for eighty odd years like a fool. Crumbling after barely three hundred years of life. You’d have deserved it if they had.” The Corinthian continues viciously, disgusted, repulsed as if he considers Hob’s admittedly pathetic state contagious. “I could have left you to die, to resurrect with the lesson still choking your lungs, allowed you to continue this pathetic cycle until you finally broke. But—“

This time the stillness makes Hob shiver.

The Corinthian’s expression is unreadable in a different way than usual.

There is an almost softness in the lines of his face, lurking in the corners of his mouth, an almost pain. Hob remembers that the Corinthian had known Eleanor too, remembers two hundred years of encounters, of being shoved down onto a bed and held there. Sometimes Hob had been the one doing the shoving. He remembers the Stranger’s question in 1589, his affront at not being asked for permission, how the Corinthian had come to him slyly that evening and laughed when Hob had glared at him because why didn’t you warn me.

“But?” Hob asks.

The expression begins to sour, some of the almost softness fading from view.

“You are his too.”

A scowl.

“So start acting like it.”

#the corinthian #the sandman #Hob Gadling #hobrinthian #my writing #fic progress

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bitterfates · 1 year

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FFXIV WRITE 2023; PROMPT 15: PORTENTOUS

The astroglobe had been stripped down to its core for deeper readings some bells ago, yet still the same conclusions were drawn from it. Koet’s eyes had long since begun to sting, both from the exhaustion born from his intense focus, and the sorrow brought by his divinations.

“Danger. Ruin. Misery. It’s the same as the previous judgments, Yumu. The stars have never led me astray before, and this reading is clearer than most. This is the path forward, with no deviations.”

Just as she had with every past negative answer, Yumu seemed ready to indignantly ask him to try again, but something in his expression must have dissuaded her, as the heavy emotion coursing through her shifted to one more melancholic. Her lips parted, but the only sound that came out was a choked sob. Now it was her turn for watery eyes.

When the Lalafell did manage to rein herself in, her voice was shaky with diminishing hope. “...If that’s what it says, then we will just have to find a way to change that fate. You know how us Scions find ways to do the impossible; this is just one of those times. I…we can’t afford to lose anyone else. I won’t let us lose anyone else. No matter the cost.”

Koet listened to her promise with his eyes closed and long ears pricked up, praying to the gods that had never honored him with any tangible answers to his prayers to at least listen to one of their chosen champions’ pleas. Afterward, he took the time to carefully dismiss the nucleus of aether that had been the heart of his weapon back into the bones of the structure, and opened his eyes again. The Viera was not surprised to see that his diminutive friend was aggressively rubbing at her eyes, uselessly wiping away the tears that refused to stop falling.

Unsure if his usual form of comfort would be welcome by her, Koet laid a soothing hand on her shoulder, pressing firmly enough that he hoped she felt his sympathy for her distress. “I’ve only heard rumors and whispers of what you and yours went through these past few moons, and as hard to fathom as intershard travel is to me, I understand that it could not have been an easy journey…and yet you have all returned, healthy and hale, with a new comrade at your side. If anyone can alter their destinies, it’s the company you keep.”

A soft, feminine laugh met his words, though he failed to see what was humorous about them. “...You sound exactly like Urianger. I begged him to divine the fortunes of all of us, and every reading was interpreted in the same way yours was. He gave me the same optimistic speech too. You’d like him, I think.” Koet took this as a compliment, but tilted his head in confusion all the same, waiting to see if she would continue.

Yumu chuckled again at his confusion, and spoke once more, confidently, “We will meet this new threat head-on, as we always do. We will fight evil and win, as we always do. And…we will all come home safely, as we always do, regardless of any ill omens.”

#ffxiv #ff14 #ffxiv lalafell #ffxiv viera #yumu liro #koet gwydion #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2023

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spicysoftsweet · 3 years

Text

summary: gojo’s tired of you resisting him

warnings: home invasion, noncon, degradation, fem!reader

a/n: this was supposed to be a crumb for @mahitopegger i have no idea wtf happened. i didn’t edit this || reposted from sideblog (now deactivated) on 4/17/2021.

It was only after the soft click of your door, and the eerie silence thereafter that seemed to threaten to close you in, that you realized that something wasn’t quite right. Your eyes darted left, then right, and you kicked off your shoes slower than usual, setting them semi-haphazardly to the side of your entryway.

Even if you weren’t paranoid, you were still the type of person to double check, sometimes triple-check your locks on occasion before you left your home, and you did remember your key turning the right way just seconds ago.

Maybe you were overreacting - after all you lived in a relatively safe area, alone save for your cat with a propensity to mewl for food at all hours of the day. Ah, that was possibly the issue, the fact that your little furry friend hadn’t made his presence immediately. But he knew how to be quiet sometimes, and was fond of an early afternoon nap.

The sound of your keys clattering on your coffee table now seemed unceremoniously loud, like you were disturbing a religious service. In your own house.

Your heart started to race for just a moment, and you turned around quickly.

Nothing. No person, no ghost, no cat. Just you, a sudden sense of unease, and your rapidly beating heart.

Why were you so anxious?

You couldn’t recall the last time you’d felt so unsettled for the moments in which you paced down your hallway, ears tuned to the soft footfalls of your presumably sleeping companion. You would have whispered its name but you didn’t want to wake up the needy little bastard unnecessarily.

It was only three paces in that you stilled suddenly, and the memory of the last time you’d felt this way suddenly struck vividly in your mind.

Clear blue eyes, bordered by long, pale white eyelashes. A smile, once easy and bright, with corners turned up far too high into malice.

You froze.

Was it him? Was Gojo in your house? He wouldn’t... would he?

Your last encounter had been... suboptimal, to say the least. You’d all but told him to get lost, that you weren’t and would never be interested, not after knowing who he was, what he was.

You needed a quiet, calm existence. Your imprint on the world would be measured. You had to stay away from bad omens like his.

But his reaction had been unnatural. He hadn’t given you a real response, just a smile, and you had felt just as unnerved then as you did now before you parted.

You were clearly still spooked.

But these nerves were just vestiges of your anxiety. Gojo knew how to take no for an answer. Of course he did.

He didn’t - you opened your bedroom to find the young sorcerer waiting for you, your cat comfortable in his arms.

“Ah! You’re back~”

Gojo didn’t move; rather, he continued to sit in his relaxed position, legs outstretched onto the bed, palm stroking softly at the soft orange fur. The soft purr of the docile animal filled the air with sharp contrast to your wordless mouth, opening and closing once in shock, and the frenzied beat of your heart.

He smiled before his eyes did, and shifted on top of your covers, getting to his feet. Dressed casually in a white t-shirt and a loose pair of sweatpants, as though he’d been lounging around your house the entire day... as though he lived here.

“W-what are you doing here?” You choked out.

His eyebrows furrowed, and his hold on the little creature relaxed, who remained for just a moment, mewing once before jumping off his lap, brushing by your legs that felt as though they would start shaking any moment, and then promptly sauntered out of the room.

“You didn’t tell me you had a cat,” Satoru remarked, now sitting with legs criss-crossed on the bed, hair mussed and relaxed, and with affect as bright as a child on his first sleepover. He patted the space on the bed next to him, beckoning you to come sit. “Did you have a good day?”

“Gojo, please get out of my house.”

His expression darkened for just a moment before it returned to its natural cheeriness. He patted the space next to him again.

“You must be tired. I can make you something. Tea?”

Your feet were glued to the ground, neither advancing nor retreating.

“P-please leave,” you repeated, more wary this time. Your hands were starting to shake and you watched his eyes flicker to them, then back to your eyes.

“Why would I do that?” He said, tilting his head ever so slightly.

His eyes bore into yours and you felt your stomach turn.

“Don’t you like my attention?”

“Satoru, please,” you continued, your lower lip wobbling inadvertently. “Please, just leave... I won’t tell anyone you came here, just... I can’t return whatever feelings you have, so just go.”

Your fists clenched and unclenched, but you still were so tense, planted onto the floor as though you were a sharp dagger thrust into vulnerable flesh. Why weren’t your feet moving? You should be running. Running as far as you can from this man who could just as easily become a monster if he so pleased.

As though he knew you’d already become powerless - not that it made a difference, the power differential was already so vast - he rose, walking towards you in an open, unguarded stance. He wasn’t afraid of you in the least. The very thought made your blood boil.

Once he stood before you, towering over your shorter, smaller frame, his lips pursed.

“Stop shaking.”

It was a command, given in an annoyed but direct fashion.

You don’t know why you eked out, powerlessly, “I can’t.”

“You weren’t this afraid when you were telling me to fuck off a couple days ago,” he noted. His hand rose to grip your chin, tilting your face to him. You don’t know when you’d started crying, but tears were now streaming down your face, warm and wetting his fingers.

“You’re crying? Where’s the sass you had then?”

“Please...”

Against your better wishes, his lips pressed to yours, and somehow then, your body remembered that adrenaline could also make you fight, and you did fight, thumping your hands balled into fists against his chest and his shoulders, as his hand gripped your chin tighter and his tongue forced its way down your throat. Once he’d gotten tired of your struggle, his other arm hooked around your waist, and he pulled you closer, pressing you against his body.

Your screams were muffled by his kiss as it grew deeper, and at some point, he’d decided on biting your lip painfully, drawing blood once he’d threatened you to shut the fuck up before he gave you something to cry about for real.

You remembered that the first time Gojo had kissed you, it had been soft and tender, nothing like this kiss that was violent and demanded submission; once his hand moved from its grip on your chin, it grasped your hair, fingers twisting and tugging to tilt your head back.

His lips left yours, now red and soon purple and blue, and made their way down your neck to mark them the same.

Every scream was futile, every plea for mercy fell on deaf ears.

At some point, you may have heard your cat meow for something... food? Out of sympathy? You weren’t sure, all you could think about were the painful hickeys on your collarbones and traveling down your bosom.

“I don’t know why you’re so resistant. You yourself called me selfish,” he murmured, ripping the top part of your clothing with the nonchalance with which one would peel a banana. At the sight of your exposed breasts, he was like a man rabid, slamming you backwards into the wall without much regard for head injury. His left arm caged you in, while his right pressed painfully onto your breast.

He paused for a moment, and grinned salaciously.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that~! You look so docile... it’s weird coming from you.”

To that, a fire renewed in your eyes, and you spat directly in his face. His lips curled again in satisfaction, barely reacting to the spittle dripping down his pretty features.

“Fuck you.”

“I will.”

With a small chuckle, he jerked your face painfully to the left such that you couldn’t look at him directly as he took your breast into his mouth.

The idea of this bastard suckling on you, loudly, lewdly as though you’d belonged to him only made the churn in your stomach worse, but the desperate attempts to a knee to his chest were met with barely a resistance. Like he knew you couldn’t hurt him and it was only a matter of time until you stopped and succumbed to him.

The process was already happening - you could feel your nipples hardening and a new flow of heat in your panties. Your tears became more prolific - no longer fear, but rage, but the hand that kept you steady against the wall was impossibly strong.

Your head swam as a confused pleasure started to replace the pain and fear you were feeling. More clothing was torn off of you, more of your skin was marked and licked and sucked. Once your panties were ripped to shreds, he lay your now languid and fight-drained body against him, cooing appreciatively at the new helplessness, pumping two slender fingers up and down your wet inner core as he moved you from the hard wall to the soft bed.

You almost thanked him.

His fingers remained within you as he laid you down, but once he withdrew his touch as your pounding hazy head hit the pillow, he replaced them with the roughness of his tongue, penetrating you without the least bit of shame.

You let slip the moan you had been holding in in defiance.

“That’s it, baby, let me hear you.”

He continued to lick and you continued to mewl.

Once he’d tired of the taste of your cunt, he invaded your privacy in the most all-encompassing way possible, pushing every inch of a greedy, throbbing cock inside of you. As you cried from the stretch, he shushed you with a hand clasped over your mouth to muffle your screams.

As if someone was going to help you. Maybe your cat would come and watch, but he’d found something else to do.

“I know it hurts but you’ll get used to it, I promise, babe,” he murmured, groaning slightly as he seated himself to the hilt. “There.”

He stilled and in the silence of the moment only punctuated by both of your soft pants, you remembered how to sob.

His nose crinkled, and he let out of a soft sigh, cock jerking impatiently inside you.

“Why are you so stubborn?” He mused, leaning against you so that his head rested in the softness of your breasts. He could hear your heartbeat that doesn’t beat for him... but rather it did, because he is the one making it quicken in some odd rhythm of terror and pleasure.

You didn’t speak because there was far, far too much to yell.

As though a timer had rung to mark the end of his empathy, he rose onto his hands again, sighing as he adjusted into the plushness of your walls that didn’t reject him as fervently as you did. He moved, shoving two fingers down your throat to gag your renewed protests as he thrust into you repeatedly.

The short gasps with every stroke only encouraged him, and the immense pleasure he found in the light of your eyes starting to fade into a placid dullness.

“You love me,” he informed you with every rut.

You didn’t answer.

You weren’t sure what this disgusting repetitive sensation bringing your body to climax was. You were no longer sure what he was even talking about, just that there was a warm thing pumping inside of you and fingers down your throat and pain everywhere else in your body, particularly your neck and shoulders and arms and breasts, and you were staring into precious sapphires littering the base of twin lakes.

“You love me,” he repeated. “I know you do.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #yandere gojo #yandere gojo x reader #tw noncon #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo sm #not sfw #gojo smut #mae.drabble #mae.writing

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moonlit-jeno · 4 years

Text

evanescence (m.)

pairing: kim jungwoo x fem. reader

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

word count: 7.8k

summary:

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

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

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

The thing about fear is that it’s irrational.

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

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

It’s sleep itself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did you even get into my basement?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

You don’t look back.

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

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just-a-really-tall-girl-tbh · 3 years

Text

Waiting Room

Summary: Stiles is badly hurt, with only y/n to save him

Pairing: None in particular but sort of reader X Derek?

Warnings: Mentions of blood and fighting, also talk of hospital

Word count: 2188

Original piece please don’t copy :)

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Sitting in the hospital chair with your head in your hands you focused on your breathing.

Out

Flashes of claws plagued your vision, swiping before you.

Out

You scrunched your eyes hearing the piercing sound of your own scream, the eerie sound playing back in your mind, filling your head.

Out

You sat up leaning back against the plastic chair, rubbing your face up and down trying to regain some perspective. You stood up, unable to sit in those horrid chairs any longer and also wanting to be moving, anything to distract yourself.

Pacing back and forth in the hallway you consistently looked up at the closed doors in front of you.

‘SURGERY – Authorised personal only beyond this point’

The door stood still, you begged for it to open, for someone to come and tell you, they were okay, that they would survive. You needed something, anything to hold on to. Even false hope was still hope right?

Shaking your head, you sat back once again on the hospital chair.

***

“Y/N RUN” Stiles screamed.

You barely had a chance to face the boy before you were knocked to the ground, the cold floor welcoming your body. Whatever it was that knocked you was now headed towards stiles. You blinked a few times, trying to stop the world from spinning around you. You pulled yourself up against the lockers that lined the boys changing room. Wincing as you touched your forehead, your fingers instantly becoming coated in blood. You looked up and saw Stiles slowly backing away from a large figure, his arms up in defence. You could see his mouth moving, but the ringing in your ears prevented you from hearing Stiles’ pleas.

Eventually Stiles had retreated as far as the room would allow, feeling his back against the wall, his hands searched either side of him, a failed attempt at finding something to defend himself with.

The assailant’s hand was raised, his claws gleaming in the poorly lit locker room, and in one swift motion he had sliced Stiles’ stomach.

You screamed as his body slumped against the wall, the attacker simply left the room, disinterested in continuing the fight he thought was futile. Stiles’ torso began turning ruby red, the blood coating his middle in moments.

Scrambling to your feet you ran to him.

“Stiles? Hey, it’s okay I’m here I’m here” the words came out weaker than you intended. He looked up at you, his hands covering his stomach, a useless attempt at stopping the bleeding. You looked around the room, you needed to stop the bleeding. Grabbing a towel from a nearby bench you wrapped it and placed it on his abdomen, he grimaces at the sudden pressure.

“I’m sorry okay, I gotta stop the bleeding, just stay with me okay? Don’t you dare leave.” His slight head nod was all you needed to know he heard you.

“You gotta keep talking to me okay? I need another towel, and I’ll call an ambulance, or I’ll call Scott and we will get out of here okay?” You pleaded, trying to convince yourself it was going to be okay. You had seen injuries like this before and they always put pressure on the wound trying to stop the bleeding so that’s a good place to start. Your mind suddenly racing, scrambling to remember information they taught you in that stupid first aid course the school made everyone take. Logical and rational thinking was the only thing that would give Stiles a fighting chance. Placing Stiles’ hands over the now blood-soaked towel, you stood taking a deep breath, and began looking for more supplies.

“Talk to me Stiles, I need to hear you.”

“I don’t want to die at school.” He whispered.

“You’re not going to die; I won’t let you okay? Who else is going to tell me when I’m being dramatic or bring Scott and I into the woods at 1AM looking for a body? Who else is going to defend me even when I’m not there to defend myself? Who else is going to make me laugh when all I want to do is cry?” You finished your sentence as you kneeled next to Stiles, your arms filled with towels. Removing one you replaced it with two more, trying to stop the bleeding.

“You gotta tell my Dad, y/n”

“What? Tell your Dad what?” You were focused on his stomach, placing towel after towel anywhere you saw red.

“Tell him I love him okay?” Your breathing hitched in your throat and you looked up at the boy. His face was pale, more so than usual. His eyes lacked the spark that normally filled them.

“He knows Stiles. He knows.” Tears brimmed your eyes.

“You gotta tell him though okay? Promise me?”

“I promise, but you have to promise me something too.” He looked at you, unable to continue talking, allowing you to proceed. “You have to ask Lydia to the winter formal.”

His eyes widened, and mouth opened to object, no sound passed his lips.

“Come on Stiles, if- No- WHEN we get out of this, you have to do it.”

Stiles nodded as his eyes began to droop closed.

“No no no, you can’t Stiles come on.” You reached up to his face, your blood-soaked hands covering his cheeks with the liquid unintentionally. You shook his head and begged him to come back to you.

His breathing shallowed, only a whisper of air exchanging in his lungs.

The next few minutes were a blur. You had called an ambulance and then called Scott. Rode in the ambulance to the hospital and were told to wait outside while they wheeled Stiles into surgery. You stood at the entrance of the doors just staring, unable to move from your spot. Maybe if you didn’t move you would wake up from this horrible dream. Maybe if you didn’t move Stiles would walk out of there telling you it was all a mean joke. And so, you stood. Until a nurse came and asked about your head. You didn’t hear her the first few times she spoke to you, until she placed a hand on your shoulder, and you snapped out of your trance. Your face was wet from the tears you had no idea were even falling, too numb to feel anything other than helplessness.

The nurse walked you to a vacant bed, holding your arms and leading you away from the door you so desperately wanted to stand before. She cleaned your hands, the red painted sink yet another reminder of the events. She cleaned your wounds and stitched your forehead together before placing a bandage on your forehead. Her question didn’t register with you the first time, your eyes fixated on the wall ahead, the imagine of Stiles’ body permanently engraved in your mind.

“Sweetie?” You looked at the nurse. “Is there anyone I can call for you?” The sympathy evident in her eyes and tone of voice. Taking a few moments to answer you searched your mind for who you might want to call. Your parents were out of town on business, too busy with their jobs to worry about raising a child. Scott was already on his way, bringing Derek with him. The face of the sheriff came to the forefront of your mind. Feeling the guilt of having to tell him that his only son, his only child, was in a critical condition all because you wanted to sneak a copy of the test answers from Coaches desk, a fresh batch of tears lined your eyes.

“McCall.” You whispered. “Mellissa McCall.”

The nurse simply nodded and left the cubicle.

‘Mellissa McCall can you please report to emergency bay 3 please, Mellissa McCall to emergency bay 3’ the intercom speaker sounded through the hospital.

Moments later the privacy cloth dividing your bed from the emergency room was whipped open. Mellissa’s distraught face appeared behind it, she ran towards the bed, wrapping her arms around you and tightly holding as your body collapsed into hers.

“I tried Melissa, I tried but there was so much blood and it was everywhere-” you began

“Shhh it’s okay you did great okay?” she comforted.

“I can’t tell him. I can’t tell his Dad, I can’t.” You begged.

“Hey, we will do it together okay? I’m right here.” Melissa always had a way of soothing anyone. Maybe it was her motherly touch or the way her voice had a calming tone to it, but it always helped. Always. After a few minutes she pulled away, told you she was going to call the sheriff and ask him to come down, then she was going to go into the theatre to check on Stiles’ progress.

Leaving your cubicle, you sat on the chairs in front of the surgery. Your head hurt but it didn’t faze you. Losing your best friend was at the forefront of your mind and the thought of not having your cheeky sidekick beside you was too much to handle.

Quick footsteps sounded the halls and your heart raced. You weren’t ready to tell Sheriff Stilinski about his son. Looking up you were somewhat relieved to see Scott and Derek.

“Hey.” Scott said softly as you raised to your feet and were pulled into a tight hug. “Have you heard anything?” Shaking your head, you pulled away, not wanting to make eye contact with the werewolf Infront of you, too ashamed to see the distress on his face knowing you caused it.

Scott stepped back allowing Derek to hug you next. He didn’t let go when you tried to pull away after a few moments, knowing you needed to be held just a little longer. Sniffling, you pulled back, Derek allowing you to this time. His arms stayed wrapped around your waist, his hand comfortably placed on you hip.

Collectively everyone looked up at the sound of another person running towards you all. A worried sheriff Stilinski appeared at the end of the hall, sprinting towards you. Before he could ask where his boy was and what had happened, the surgery doors swung open, a gowned-up Melissa exiting the room. She removed her protective gear and took a deep breath. Derek pulled you closer, preparing for the news.

“He lost a lot of blood. Almost too much.” She looked towards the sheriff. “But that boy in there is as stubborn as anything. The doctors believe he will make it.” Everyone sighed in relief and Derek pulled you into his chest, closing his eyes in relief. You felt your knees go weak and let out a soft cry.

“Y/n, you saved him.” Melissa approached you. “If you weren’t with him, he wouldn’t be here.” You nodded into Derek’s chest, unwilling to separate knowing you would have to face your best friends Dad. Mellissa hugged Scott and then the sheriff, both thanking her for her help.

You felt a hand on your upper back, slowly pulling away from the safety of Derek’s chest you turned to face Noah. His eyes were soft, tears falling from them freely, he softly smiled before pulling you into his chest.

“I’m so sorry.” You whispered.

“Hey it’s okay, he’s okay, we’re okay.” He replied.

“I didn’t mean it I swear we didn’t know we weren’t alone.”

“Y/n stop” He paused, separating the two of you, holding you at arms distance and tilting his head down. “We just need him to recover okay? That’s what you need to focus on.”

Simply nodding you were pulled back into the arms of the sheriff. Looking over his shoulder your eyes connected with Scott’s, his worried expression was replaced with one of anger. Eventually the Sheriff needed to sign some paperwork at the front desk, or maybe Melissa just sensed you guys needed a minute. Either way you were grateful for the opportunity to be able to explain the events to the boys.

“Well?” Scott looked at you expectantly. You sighed and looked at your feet.

“We wanted the answers to Tuesday’s test, neither of us had time to study so we figured we would find the answer key in coaches’ desk and borrow it.” Scott rolled his eyes and breathed out heavily, his mannerisms dripping with disapproval. Derek could only watch on as you continued to explain yourself. “When we got there, Stiles said he thought we weren’t alone, I thought he was just trying to scare me. We got to the boy’s locker room and were about to head into coaches’ office when Stiles yelled at me to run. Everything else is just a blur.” Finally looking up and meeting Scott’s eyeline you saw him deep in thought, the stress of the night’s events, evident in every inch of his face. “Scott?”

“I’m thinking.” He was short.

“There’s one more thing.” He looked towards you, ready to be annoyed with whatever you were about to say next. “Whatever attacked stiles, it had claws.” His eyes widened and looked towards Derek who looked like he had just made the same connection as Scott.

“There’s another werewolf in Beacon hills.”

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coexiising · 3 years

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Fade Into You - Chapter Six

SUMMARY ✦ Anger is a heavy subject.

WARNING(S) ✦ fluff

MASTERLIST ✦ Here.

NOTE ✦ I will now be updating weekly on Mondays.

“Why do you stay with the Jedi?”

Vader’s softer tone brought you back to the present, where you were once again sitting at the opposite side of the table, your fork poking into some type of fruit and bringing it up to your mouth. After the rather, how would you put it, lustful, encounter that you had with Anakin, you tried to keep your distance in fear that he could feel your emotions raging like fire throughout your body. That had been two days ago, but living in a building with one person proved harder than not to avoid them. There was truly no way that you could avoid him for too long. It was better to just act like nothing was wrong.

“What do you mean, stay with them? They’re my family,” You said, setting your fork down onto the table near your plate.

Vader shook his head. “You had family before then, you know.”

“Yes, but they gave me away for the good of the Galaxy. The Force gave me a higher purpose to protect.”

“And you truly believe that the Jedi taking you away from your mother and father was the best way to do so? Do you even know who they are?”

You shook your head. You didn’t. As far as you knew, they could still be alive today and maybe you have even been in their presence before, or on the same planet as them due to the many missions you were given by the Order. You never thought about that before, you never gave much thought to the family or the life you had before you became a Jedi. Almost your entire life had been dedicated to the Order and in some ways, Vader was right, they never gave you the choice to leave or not. You knew that you could leave if you really, truly wanted to, but they wouldn’t help you secure a home or a job. Your life was dedicated to the Order. “No, I guess I’ve never really cared who they were enough to go looking for them.”

“I don’t believe that,” Vader stated. “You do care. The Jedi simply tried to tell you to stop caring about those attachments.”

“Attachments lead-”

“-To the Dark Side, I know. You’ve only said it about a million times. It sounds like you’re reciting a drill manual sometimes.��

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed your dishes and brought them to the sink, dropping them in and giving him one more glance, turning on your heel to storm out of the room. He always knew how to get under your skin, making you fume with anger that you hated to feel, because you knew that it was what he wanted. Vader wanted to make you emotional and angry and sometimes he would win. You could feel a difference in the type of Force coursing through your veins when you were angry, a more powerful type that scared as well as intrigued you.

Vader stood up from his seat as well. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Not sure, wherever you won’t be I suppose,” You shrugged your shoulders, stepping out into the hallway, hearing him trail behind you. You spared him no chance and continued to walk to Maker knows where. “Stop following me. I’m not trying to escape, you’ve ruined all chances at that anyways. You keep me here like I’m some kind of pet and aggravate me.”

Vader caught up to you and the moment his hand came in contact with your left shoulder, you spun around and caught him by the wrist, looking up into his eyes. Instead of fear that you typically felt whenever he would look down at you like this, you felt an unusual amount of anger. You wanted to kill him. You wanted to dispose of him so that you could leave and you wouldn’t be trapped here anymore. You had been stuck in this place and the two of you were making little to no progress on assessing the connection that you had with one another. Your other hand came and harshly hit into his abdomen, cutting him off guard and sending him flying towards the other side of the hallway. Once his back hit the end wall and he fell to the ground with a small humph, you gathered your thoughts and attempted to calm yourself down, realizing that you were never able to wield such power before with just one hand. Being here was changing you, and it wasn’t for the better.

Although at first you thought that Vader would become angry that his prisoner was fighting him back, he only stood up and held his hands up in surrender. “Now, I was not expecting that from you,” He stated, a chuckle running past his lips. When he made his way forward, you started to walk backwards, scared of what you would do next with all this power. It was as though your senses came back to you and you didn’t want to hurt him, or kill him like you previously thought you did. Where did all of that come from?

“Stop. Don’t come any closer,” You told him, balling your hands into fists. “I don’t know where that came from and I don’t know if it’s . . . Gone. What are you doing to me?”

“That’s what true power feels like. Isn’t it exhilarating?” Anakin asked you, continuing to take steps towards you despite your pleas to go away. All this emotion, you’ve never felt it this intense before. Instead of the level head that the Order had filled you with, you were left with only your bare mind, neurotransmitters working overtime to compensate for the complete lack of emotional security you felt in the moment. Is this what it felt like to succumb to the Dark Side? No, you couldn’t be, you had tried your hardest to remember the ideals you learned as a Padawan and later as a Jedi Knight. “It’s alright.”

You shook your head. “It’s not alright, you’re turning me into a monster! Someone who has a complete lack of sympathy for hurting others. I was just about to kill you just then, don’t you understand? Being here is changing me for the worse and we’re achieving nothing!”

Vader was standing in front of you now, a calm demeanor that was a direct opposite from what you were feeling in the moment. It was as if he was assessing you, like he wanted this to happen. Was this his plan all along? To turn you to the Dark Side so that they would win the Clone Wars and the Galaxy would succumb to darkness? That dark, brooding stare looked down at you as he said, “There was no way that you would gain that type of power here in the small amount of time that you’ve resided in the castle.”

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“That’s been in you this entire time, trying to unleash itself but the Order never let you do so. That’s your true potential, and there is probably more if you were to master it.”

“As I’ve said before, I am not succumbing to the Dark Side no matter how much you try to get me to.”

“This doesn’t seem like the Dark Side, for your Force signature hasn’t changed, can’t you feel it?” Anakin asked. His hand raised and grabbed onto your fist, placing it near your heart. From there you could feel your heart rate, grounding you back to reality and making you able to feel the buzzing of the Force that constantly surrounded you. He was right, it was the same as it always had been, the soft, inaudible whispers of the Force filling your ears. “And I feel more connected to you now, unlike before where there felt as though there was a barrier. And look,” He released your hand and you saw that there was no burn on either of your skins. “It doesn’t want us away from each other anymore.”

The closer Anakin was to you, the more the Force seemed to pull you towards him. It made you want to wrap your arms around him, but instead you grabbed onto his wrist, feeling the harmony surrounding you both. The moment your eyes gazed into his, you could’ve sworn that under those golden eyes you saw a swift sea of blue tint, drawing you closer to Anakin. Your eyes closed and you leaned closer, lips pressing onto his own.

And it felt like nothing you had ever felt before. His lips were soft and plush, inviting you in for more whilst they worked with your own. Your hand stayed gripping his wrist and behind your eyes, a burst of light appeared and you felt something burst within your veins and travel through every single millimeter of your body. You felt like you were on fire, but in the best way that made you want more.

When Anakin finally pulled away from you he only pulled a few centimeters away. Now his eyes were completely blue, a beautiful blue that reminded you of the sky on Coruscant or the diamond jewels that you have seen many Senators wear before. You only looked into them for a moment more before he was kissing you again.

#anakin skywalker fanfiction #Anakin Skywalker #Sith Anakin #clone wars anakin #anakin x reader #anakin x you #star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars prequels #star wars fanfiction #star wars x reader #suitless vader #suitless vader x reader

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napeoftheneck · 3 years

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Rivers of Crimson (Ymir x Reader)

I absolutely can bestie! I had a hard time trying to find out what I could do for some angst without being yk. One of those “I’m not Christa :(“ fics, so here’s some hurt/comfort w/ some extra angst mixed in !! Angst is my absolute favourite to write, I’m so elated that it’s is my first request. Especially with Ymir, too !! Thank u <3<3

Title: Rivers of crimson Genre: Angst w/happy ending, hurt/comfort Warnings: Canon-typical violence, descriptions of injuries, angst, swearing, Ymir being kind of a meanie, fighting, implied comphet if you really REALLY squint Word count: ~1.7k

IMPLIED SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 OF ATTACK ON TITAN !!

(There was no specific request for a WLW reader, so I tried to keep it as gender-neutral as I can :>)

Ymir had never really felt helpless since her youth. Even then, in those moments, she felt as though she had been ruling, that whatever she could do would bring praise and gratitude and triumph. It was only after she had been adjudged when she realised that the reason she sought after that feeling of authority for so long was because of just how dependent she had actually convinced herself she was.

Becoming a god was the loneliest feeling in the world, but solitude brought a power not many had; it brought independence. She never had to worry about others.

She often found herself watching her fellow cadets when they returned from battle. Ymir would often follow as they broke down, crumbling to their knees in wracked sobs upon hearing of the demise of their loved ones. She would listen to the hums of commiseration from other soldiers or watch as they would help the mourning fighter to their feet and lead them away from others' scrutinising eyes. She wouldn't pity them. The feeling of sympathy was foreign to her.

Ymir had been fighting for a grand portion of her life now. She had held herself to those same beliefs since her first day of training, so she was specifically surprised when she had taken such a liking to you.

She fought it for a while. Whenever you would sit with her at lunch, she would make an effort to seem uninterested when you spoke of your day. When you stumbled during training, she would correct you, but would mask whatever tenderness that found her voice with a sigh or a comment implying that you “need to suck it up”.

Yet, despite how she pushed and strayed from you, you remained a constant in her life of inconsistencies. Eventually, you were the closest to what she could call a friend.

Ymir ignored how, whenever you would patch her wounds or link to her on cold nights or how often you would sleep in the same bed, she was far too mercenary to label you as something other than a friend. Even that was stretching it.

Though, in moments like these, Ymir wished that she was raw enough to let you know. Because, in moments like these, she would be terrified to misspeak.

You wouldn’t fight often. Not like this.

You had mentioned having to “get up early” off-handedly during dinner when excusing yourself from the table. Ymir asked about it and you mentioned a scout that had been injured, whom you volunteered yourself to replace for an outer-walls mission. You said it all so casually. Ymir couldn’t grasp any sarcasm in your voice or crack in your authored facade as you brushed through your hair in the mirror of her chambers. She didn’t see you make eye contact with her once. You spoke to her coolly about how happy you were to finally be able to sleep, about the dinner and how it was cold that day, about how Jean had snuck some of your apple at lunch that day.

Ymir just stood in silence, considering and rejecting things to say in response.

“Were you gonna tell me about how you’re leaving tomorrow, or was I just supposed to wake up without you and put it together myself?” She spoke before thinking. You hesitated, hovering over your cupboard. “Ymir, it’s not a big deal,” you finally sigh, running a hand through your hair the moment it’s freed. “I said it was just a capture mission. Hange said we won’t go far-“ “You can't go.” You narrow your eyes. You had now frozen in your tracks completely; no longer pacing around the room to place things in their correct spaces. “I’m not a child,” you speak gently, as if to a rabid dog. The blaze in her eyes was enough to pardon it. “I don’t have to ask your approval to work. I don’t need you next to me,” you deride lightly, insignificantly, as you turn your back to her. You didn’t plan to sound so dismissive. “Are you seriously being this fucking petty right now? You could die out there,” Ymir, however, fully intended her venomous rhythm. She towers over you, if not just in her tone alone. “You’re being stupid. You know you're not strong enough to fight with that squad.” Your breath hitches in your throat. Ymir regrets her words immediately, but she doesn’t waver in her stance. “What the fuck is your problem?” you sneer. “You insist on how little you care about me, but as soon as I do anything without your permission you yell at me?” “That’s not what this is about, (y/n)-” “Then what is it about, Ymir? Why are you so scared?” “I don't give a shit about what happens to you! I'm just-” Ymir catches herself before she can finish her sentence. “No, I-” “Exactly,” before she can correct herself, though, you are biting y our lip the way you do when you're biting back tears and you are in front of her. “Move. I need to go to bed.”

She is wordless as she steps to the side and allowing you to pass her. It isn't until she hears your footsteps down the hall when she speaks.

“If you come back, I won’t be here.” She hears you stop. Ymir doesn't expect you to come running to her, arms open and folded clothing discarded into a pile on the hallway floor. She isn't entirely sure why she's digging such a hole for herself - she doesn't mean what she's saying - of course she doesn't, she adores you, so why is she so set on pushing you as far away as she possibly can? Why does she feel that she needs to? “Good.” you reply. The footsteps continue, then you are gone.

You are gone for three days.

Ymir, at first, didn’t count the hours. She stewed in her angst alone for a grand portion of the morning without you; she dutifully avoided talking about whatever mission you had left for at the table that morning.

Despite herself, Ymir had to eventually confront her weakness after the third consecutive “Are you okay?” Of that day that she wasn’t doing as good of a job of hiding her worry as she had thought.

She thought she didn’t seem too bothered when your name was mentioned at the breakfast table.

She thought she didn’t look too obviously intrigued when, 30 hours since you left (she swore she hadn’t counted), she heard Captain Levi murmur something about a retrieval squad. She thought she didn’t sound so desperate when she attempted to bring it casually up in conversation, yet she couldn’t fight the cracks in her voice and she couldn’t stop herself from wringing her hands over her wrists in worry when she thought nobody was looking. Helplessness went from being a stranger to a thorn at her side in a matter of hours.

It had been the dawn of the fourth day when Ymir was awoken by a creek by her door. She remained stiff as she listened to light footsteps approach her bed, but she softens when she hears you. When she sat up, unsure of whether you were actually there or if she had just been consumed by grief and began to hallucinate, you winced.

She blinks.

There are no words exchanged. Ymir debates speaking, though her body moves before she can and, in minutes, you are sat in the bathroom and she is kneeling in front of you.

Ymir isn’t certain (it seems like she hadn’t been certain about anything at all for the past week) why she wasn’t crying. She isn’t sure why she’s so terrified to touch you, or to speak, or to maintain eye contact for longer than a millisecond.

You were in frightening shape. Had she not been petrified to talk, Ymir would be swearing under each breath. Blood still seeped from your open wounds, cascading in small, splitting rivers of crimson down the side of your face. It had likely been far too long since you had fought any kind of titan, Ymir thought. Their blood would've been long since steamed. It was your blood. You must have noticed her hesitance as she wiped it, gently, dreading that she would uncover another wound, because you broke the abundant, pregnant stillness

“They lost two scouts.” “Oh.” Ymir responds. An unfamiliar feeling settles uncomfortably in her gut. “I’m sorry.” You nod, then you are silent again.

Ymir takes a moment to resume her conscientious work.

There is no obligation between either of you to say anything more. Your eyes are fixed downward, resting heavily on Ymir as she squints at the cap of some kind of disinfectant. She’s biting her tongue. “I didn’t mean anything I said,” Ymir spoke to you suddenly and without looking you in the eyes. You’re thankful because it told you that you weren’t the only one too frightened to do so. “I do give a shit about what happens to you,” You laugh insignificantly, shaking your head. “I thought you died. I thought I lost you and the last things I said to you was that I wouldn’t be here, but I will. I’ll always be here.” She is desperate, rambling until she realises it and lulls herself.

You would say something dismissively comforting had it not been for the silence Ymir’s hand brought as it raised to your cheek and gently brushed a stray tear away. It is so small and trifling, yet it is gracious and fragile and kind and it means the universe to you.

“I know,” you respond. You don’t need to hear a long-drawn, significant plea. You don’t need it because, truthfully, you knew you likely wouldn’t get it from Ymir in the first place. However, as she guides you gently back into her bed, engulfing you in the white sheets, and places a small kiss on your forehead, something settles within you.

It was a feeling one would associate with the moments after receiving an apology; it is warm, tender, relieving.

You were home. You were safe.

You were loved.

Although she hadn’t said it, it wasn’t needed, because as Ymir’s arms tighten around you, you certainly felt it enough to maintain a sleepy smile as you drifted off alongside her.

#yall i love ymir so much but i think she is SO hard to write #ymir x reader #ymir #aot #attack on titan imagines #ymir imagines #ymir x you #aot imagines #attack on titan imagine #ymir oneshot #attack on titan oneshot #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #request!

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xo-cuteplosion-xo · 3 years

Text

Too late | Dazai x reader |

Too late | Mafia Dazai / dazai x fem!reader |

( A very shitty attempt at a song-fic. )

Warnings- toxic relationship (minor mentions of abuse?), death

A brunette sat on the cement. The tan folds of his coat fluttering out behind him. The wind brushed his hair from his face, it stung his eyes and brushed his skin with bitter cold air. His fingers dripped the brightest shade of crimson. His eyes had dilated and shook with shock and fear. The skin his hands desperately held, already losing its warmth. Lips stained the color, as well as the outfit that resembled his own. Those blood-stained lips coughed final words before letting go. How, how had this happened? Why had he never predicted this? Why would you ever do this?

He knew those answers like he knew his own crimes. After all, how could he forget? He’d been the reason you fell, he’d only denied it for years.

The sun fell softly along the stone. A boy, no older than 15, walked along the stone edge of a bridge. His brown locks flying within the wind whilst he adjusted the bandage over his left eye. He paid no mind to you, even as you walked behind him. Your feet carried you on the safer ground, next to the edge. It was common to find the two of them like this. You were always with him, whenever you could be at least. He never seemed to notice you were there; You didn’t mind it though. The rare moments where he did suddenly ask you questions were enough. Rushing to close the distance between you and him, you caught a glance of his eyes darted to the side. He was looking at you, the single eye that showed seemed puzzled, before he parted his lips to talk to you; His arms opened at the same time. Skipping around steps, he smiled, “Hey, why are you still following me, woman? Don’t you have a better hobby than stalking me?” so he did notice you at times.

Flustered you froze before chuckling with a light hum. “No, not really Dazai-san. I think you're interesting! You're the only one I can't read.” you were referring to your ability. It wasn’t much, so you weren't too high up in the ranks. You could read thoughts, see their feelings in the form of aura, and manipulate that aura. So far, you could make people freeze up and lose themself in an overdose of emotions. Also known as individual illusions created by their auras; things only they could see. It was hard to believe you were even in the mafia. Your bubbly appearance and lack of interest in killing made you look harmless. You never killed, but when you worked with another they sure had an opening to kill.

Dazai leaned down so he leveled with you. “I wonder, have you ever thought of using that ability to induce such outrageous depression, one acts on it?” blushing you took several steps back shaking your head.

“N-no, sir! I d-don’t think I could do that. Well, if Dazai-san really wanted me to, I-I could try it for him!” What were you saying? Knowing this demon prodigy, you’d probably end up not meeting the expectation and ending up punished. Though, would that be so bad?

He puffed his cheeks out, jumping from the edge to land in front of you. With a half-smile, he flicked your forehead. “You keep doing the opposite of what I predict. I really can’t get a read on you.” turning away you covered your face.

“I-is that a compliment?” you mumbled, looking through your fingers. He shrugged, jumping back to the ledge. His eyes lost their glimmer as he looked down. He seemed to be judging the distance; With a heavy sigh, he looked back to the sky.

“If only this was a little higher. I think falling into the water and dying right away, without the pain of falling to the ground, would be okay. I’d drown unconscious, how peaceful that would be.” you didn’t respond as he turned and began walking again.

Year after year you walked by his side, growing with him. Slowly that bubbly gaze began to fade ever so slightly. The fun-filled times like the day on the bridge no longer existed.

My head is haunting me and my heart feels like a ghost

Standing next to the demon prodigy you stretched out your hand with a sigh. “Ability: vortex of emotions.” from the shadows you worked alongside him. The enemy's hands reached their head. A perching scream echoing as they turned their gun to themselves. Looking to the side your eyes met the brunettes; They were colder than they were a year ago. Sighing, he raised his pistol and shot. He pushed past you, and you followed numbly.

I need to feel something, 'cause I'm still so far from home

Entering the box he called his home, his hands grabbed your waist pulling you towards him. His fingers lifting your chin. The flutter of your heart pounded against your chest, the closer his face came to yours. “You really should stop following me everywhere. If you won’t at least try to kill.”

Cross your heart and hope to die. Promise me you'll never leave my side

Nodding as he released you, he sat at his desk. “Mori won’t be happy that we clocked out so early.” he leaned back groaning. “Found a new suicide method? I don’t want to deal with his annoying voice tomorrow!” his older persona slipped through. The light in his eyes spread before it disappeared with your silence. Yet despite that, there was a caring hint to his posture. The way his hands moved softly, how he traced your bow. How he exhaled with a sigh when you closed the door

Show me what I can't see when the spark in your eyes is gone

Another year went by with a soft ease. You stood in Mori's office, a blank expression on your face. You were sure you were dead. Messing up like this, letting somebody get away. You were shaking, unsure why your breaths still rang. The doors opened to the brunette mafioso. Dressed in all black, a short ginger walked at his side. The way your emotions suddenly changed was unnoticed by everybody but Dazai. His eyes set in glares as you looked away. Your heart raced, why was it you still felt like this? He treated you as a pawn, yet you still ached to kiss him. Mori blamed your failure on Dazai’s lack of discipline with you. “I’ve been more than lenient with how she follows you around. If this happens again, it will be you who pays the price Dazai.'' Why did this have to happen in front of the ginger? His eyes looked at you with sympathy. It was weird to see such a thing. Dazai rolled his eyes stepping closer to the ginger as his eyes darted to you. Puffing your cheeks out you looked away.

Once you were in his office, he practically pulled you by the ear. Pushing you to the floor with his frustration. “I don’t understand why I keep you around! All you seem to do is put me in situations that bore me to death!”

You've got me on my knees I'm your one man cult

You looked up with begging eyes. “Please, I’m sorry Dazai-san! Please forgive me! I’ll do better! Please don’t leave me.” he was the first person to ever make you feel real emotions. Fear, excitement, lust, love, heartache, despair. He gave it all to you.

Cross my heart and hope to die Promise you I'll never leave your side

It was an unexpected look, an unexpected plea. His eyes showed excitement. “There, there’s the reason! You can’t stop doing the opposite of my expectations, every time I think you’ll do something, you manage to shock me, even in this kind of situation! I wonder, would you commit suicide if I died? It would be so unexpected!” his voice was full of wonder as he lifted your chin using the front of his foot.

Looking at him he smirked. He'd known, all along, about your feelings. He teased you all the time, but maybe he could finally get an expected reaction from you. It would be possible to toy with you. Maybe then he’d be satisfied with you. “Would you ever be only mine? Something only for my eyes?” with wide eyes you nodded.

Cause I'm telling you you're all I need I promise you you're all I see

With a smile, you brought your hands to press against your chest. With a desperate smile, your eyes filled with that childish light from when you were 15. “Even if I'm only being used for your satisfaction, it would be all I need! You're the only one for me." Once more he was shocked by the response. Nearly losing the balance he had, his hand reached to his face a soft snicker leaving his lips.

“You’re utterly helpless.” he hummed, removing his foot from under your chin. “Come here darling~” he was certainly stressed today. A little fun wouldn’t hurt, right? “Tell me you’ll never leave.” he hummed holding your chin within his fingers. The blush on your cheeks darkening in your complexion.

'Cause I'm telling you you're all I need I'll never leave

His lips met yours. Shivering you closed your eyes, letting a tear fall. You wished he truly loved you back.

Another year passed, you stayed by him no matter what he did. He was crueler than ever. He often left you at night to go hang out in a bar. Those nights were lonely but a ginger often peeped in to see you. “You look like hell.” he would always tell you how messed up you looked. “Why do you stay by him?”

The images passed by your head. The boy you fell in love with. The young 15-year-old. The one with a smile that would show itself here and there. The young boy who jokes around, the carefree one. You picture the feeling of his fingers over yours. Cold yet so warm in those years.

So you can drag me through hell If it meant I could hold your hand

“I love him.” you hummed watching the male drop a bottle of wine in your lap. He walked out leaving the gift. He knew you understood how cruel he was. He had never really pitied anybody before but you… you were something he pitied. A demon prodigy's toy, your relationship was nothing more than toxic.

I will follow you 'cause I'm under your spell And you can throw me to the flames

Sipping on the wine you drank yourself drunk. “I love him… he loves me. I love him. He loves me, I know he does. I’ve seen some softness in those harsh eyes.” you wiped the tears looking up to the ceiling. What had you gotten yourself into? Why did your heart have to play you like this?

I will follow you, I will follow you

He stood looking so conflicted, broken, and unsure. It wasn’t the first time you saw him without the bandages but it was the first time your dull lifeless eyes saw him this vulnerable. “Figures, you do follow me everywhere.” his voice was blank of anything; You could no longer read his voice.

Come sink into me and let me breathe you in

It was true, you needed him, so of course you followed him everywhere. “Go, we’re done! I’m not going back! This is all Mori's fault! He’d be alive if it weren't for inviting that damn organization here!” he was upset, yet he seemed so confused. Like a child, he had no grip on what he was feeling. Was he angry, grieving, sad? He couldn’t tell.

You ran to him wrapping arms around him. “I will go with you! I will follow you!”

I'll be your gravity, you be my oxygen.

You'd hold him down during this pain. You’d help him achieve whatever it was that he needed. “Even if it is death, I will not leave.”

So dig two graves 'cause when you die I swear I'll be leaving by your side

With a soft sigh, he pushed you away. “That changes nothing, follow if you have to but I never loved you.” you backed away smiling you curtsied.

“I know Dazai, I know you never did and never could. You are a demon prodigy, one that can’t understand his own feelings. I wish I could help, but your gift cancels mine out.” your voice was sweet as honey, but he shed you no more glances as he walked away. Following him, you sighed.

Two years later your empty eyes sat at an agency desk, you'd bought an outfit to match his. Those feelings refused to leave you even after all this time. They surged more than ever. He was like his 15-year-old self again, different but at least there was life in his eyes. He laughed and flirted just as he did those years ago.

So you can drag me through hell If it meant I could hold your hand

You looked to the cafe waitress’s hand, then your own. How you wished to be her. You stood up, walking out and to the office of the agency, sitting in your chair, Kyouka walked up to you. She once had your eyes. Dull, lifeless, broken, but then Atsushi seemed to save her. “Do you love him?” she asked tilting her head as you looked from your phone to her, you sighed.

“Yes, but I'll suffer for life over this. I had my chance and now it’s gone.”

I will follow you 'cause I'm under your spell

She set down a small piece of paper. “I found this.'' She tried to give you a smile that wasn’t pity. They often asked why you always looked so disturbed. Maybe it was the fact you were really all alone now?

And you can throw me to the flames

A tear dropped from your eye. Something, a feeling you hadn’t had in so long. It was worth it, these empty dull years. “A tossed away letter to apologize.” you held it to your chest.

I will follow you so you can drag me through hell If it meant I could hold your hand

You found yourself alone on a mission. This was assigned to both you and Dazai, but he had other things he wanted to be doing. Neither of you knew how dangerous this was. He had not batted an eye at this mission. It was simple, a simple recovery mission. A ransom kidnapping, simple in and out. You could handle it without being seen. You ached for the warmth of his hand. A little light lifted your eyes as you stepped into the building.

When his fingers opened his phone accepting the call, he nearly fell over dead. The mission you were attending wasn’t a retrieval; It was a set-up. Despite how careful he'd been, somebody had found out about you. More so his past with you. His mind was too focused on you to think of who let it slip.

I will follow you 'cause I'm under your spell And you can throw me to the flames

Dazai pushed past the doors too late. This was his fault, all of this. The loss of your true self.

I will follow you, I will follow you I will follow you, I will follow you

You'd always said you would follow him. It was always like that. He had taken years to figure out why he never ignored or let you go. He was selfish, he had grown attached. Ango and Oda had even offered the thought. The thought that, maybe in this heart; swallowed by black, he loved you.

It was his turn to feel desperate as he dropped down. The blood flowing from your stomach in spurts.

So you can drag me through hell If it meant I could hold your hand

He held your hand in his while also trying to keep the bleeding down. “I’ll get help! Just hang on, we just need Yosano!” it was the first time your heart slowed like this; The first time you could read him like a book.

I will follow you 'cause I'm under your spell And you can throw me to the flames

Your hand was growing cold, your breathing staggered. You looked to be in so much pain. “No, I won't be that long. You should leave, you don’t love me so…” your voice trailed off as your head tilted to look at his cheeks. Tears… there were tears.

He shook his head pressing your hand to his forehead. “I will follow you.”

Your eyes widened as a light chuckle left your lips, “I will follow you.” you hummed, as the crimson left your lips. He was forced to watch you die in his arms. There was one final look on your face. A giant smile, a real smile on your lips. “I love you Osa…” then, you were gone.

Another, another friend in his arms, dead. No, you are more than a friend. “I… I love you.” he’d never said those words, and it didn’t matter now. There was no going back. He held you to him, cold and motionless.

Somebody from the mafia had done this. Somebody would probably be Mori… he’d dropped this low before, it wouldn’t shock him if he were trying to drive Dazai to murder again; To get him kicked from the light.

For you, for the wish left by Oda, he wouldn’t let himself fall that low. He’d be strong.

#bsd #bsd x reader #bsd song-fic #really shiity attempt at a song fic #bsd dazai #dazai x reader #dazai x reader angst #dazai angst #reader x dazai angst #dazai x you #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader song-fic #first attempt at a song-fic #this kinda sucks

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loveislattes · 3 years

Text

Everything Comes at a Price (Demon!Dark/Fem!Reader) Chapter 1

Commission prompt: Reader is really depressed, and Dark decides to roughly Fuck the depression out of them

Important: Reader has female pronouns and is a vagina owner!

Warnings (For this chapter specifically): Talk of depression and stressful life, mentions of unnamed character death, mentions of beheading/dismembered head and some minor blood/gore (not too detailed), cursing, mentions of family in the hospital, demon!Dark (akin to jinn or genie), and pet names.

A/N: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! This first chapter is allllll story setting. Part two will have the good ol' rough and dominating Dark fucking.

As always, if you would like to support me, I have a Ko-Fi (here) for donations and I usually have a few slots open for commissions (unless life gets in the way)!

“Look, I think it’s just best if you take some time off.”

Though worded nicely, you instinctually felt the pang of panic and anger already bristling in your chest.

“Time off…” you murmur, eyes sliding down to your boss’s desk in thought, “As in, a week or two or…?”

You let the implication hang heavy in the air. There was a telling silence that followed your question. When you finally met his gaze again, your boss let out a hefty sigh. Before he even said anything, you knew what his answer was by the sympathy on his face alone.

“We won’t fight your unemployment for the first few months, which hopefully will be enough time for you to find another place of employment. I’m sorry, Miss Y/N, but between the company making cutbacks and your recent drop in productivity, I had to-”

“Don’t you dare,” you hissed sharply, interrupting him before he could finish the excuse.

Rage fueled your motions, forcing you to your feet while your eyes narrowed on the man you’d once thought a decent person.

“A drop in productivity?” you scoffed, “My apartment building was just destroyed in a freak fire two weeks ago that, of course, my insurance refused to cover. I’ve been bouncing place to place between motels and friend’s homes until I can afford another deposit on the measly pay you give us. My mother is in the hospital, in the ICU, after a freak hit and run. My car broke down yesterday and I walked thirty fucking minutes in the pouring rain today just to make sure you assholes weren’t a man down with all this work. And you knew all of this, but you still decided to fire me? I can’t- You know what, fuck you. Fuck you and fuck this place! I hope this whole company shuts down and you get to experience even a modicum of the instability I’ve had to!”

Before he could respond, you slammed the chair back into place against the desk and stormed from the room. You could feel the confused gazes from your coworkers as you marched to the door but didn’t dare spare them a glance. Most of them you considered to be your friends and you knew you’d have to explain everything later, but you couldn’t allow anything other than anger to inhabit your body at that moment. One bit of sadness and you would crumble. Rage would keep you safe until you made it to your temporary home for the night.

Little curses and fury-filled resentment spilled from your lips as you stepped out into the dreary public. Of course, it was still raining. You hadn’t even dried off from your trek to work and now you were thrown right back out into the storm. A timely crack of lightning rumbled across the sky as you shot one last middle finger back at the door.

“I can’t believe this shit,” you grumbled.

Pulling your raincoat up over your head, you kept your gaze down and began your journey back to the hotel. The one upside to all the rain was that the sidewalks were nearly barren. Cars sped by on the busy roads but you were alone on foot. In fact, you didn’t see a single soul until you were on the block housing your hotel, and somehow that lonely occupant still managed to slam into you.

“Excuse you,” you muttered.

“So sorry, please excuse me.”

The person’s voice sent shivers down your spine and every last hair stood up on your arms. Reflexively you pulled back as a hand touched your side, ready to give them a mouthful, but they were moving on by the time you could gather your wits about you. All you caught was a tall form in a black business suit striding off in the opposite direction.

With an irked tsk and a mutter of “Fucking asshole”, you rushed into the lobby, stomping the rain from your shoes along the rubber mat. Sure you were pissed off but you still had the human decency not to create more work for others.

You managed a little nod to the desk clerk on your way by to the elevator. As you watched the numbers climb slowly down, you mentally questioned the fates if the world was against you. The elevator stopped on literally every- single- floor; All 25. Trying to maintain your composure, you leaned up against the wall and let your eyes flutter closed, slowly breathing in and out rhythmically. Just a little longer and you’d be in the safety of solitude. You could let it all out.

The ding of the lift doors opening pulled you out of your little meditative session and you immediately let out a grateful sigh of appreciation upon realizing it was empty. Being stuck in a small metal box with others for an undetermined amount of time made your skin crawl, much less when you were already on the edge of snapping. You mashed the close button repeatedly until the metal doors finally sealed shut and the elevator began to move. The rest of the journey was a blur until you stopped at your room door and fished your card out of your pocket, coming out with not only the plastic key but a large silver coin.

“The fuck?” you muttered.

As the door buzzed open, you flipped the coin over in your fingers, trying to think back on when you had gotten it. You were pretty sure you’d never seen anything like it before; completely void of any details on one side but the other filled with finely engraved words.

The loud startling thump of your keys as you threw them on the nightstand wasn’t even enough to draw your concentration away from the interesting little trinket. It took a few minutes and some good lighting but you eventually figured out what was written; the discovery only confusing you further.

“Clutch this coin to thee whilst ye make a plea

In return ye shall become my endless devotee”

“Yeah… that’s not creepy at all,” you sighed.

Tossing the coin on the nightstand next to your keys, you sloughed off your wet clothes and tossed them in the small hamper next to your duffle bag. After this horrid morning, you needed a long hot shower before you pondered on any strange coins or the mental shithole that had become your life.

You weren’t sure exactly how long you spent under the burning water but, by the time you exited, you were both hungry and in dire need of some caffeine.

“Or a nap. A nap could be heavenly,” you murmured to yourself.

Towel around your head, you dropped into the bed naked and took a moment to revel in the sheets against your freshly lotioned skin. There was hardly a better feeling. Thank god you had the good sense to buy some of your own sheets rather than rely on whatever the hotels had to offer. It made your day the tiniest bit better.

As you leaned back against the headboard, you snagged up the coin once more. The metal was cool against your warm fingers as you flipped it around and around. Did you dare give it a try? What was the worst outcome: You felt silly for believing a random coin and no one would ever know? Although, what if it was legit...?

Now that thought made you feel silly. A little chuckle passed your lips before you clasped the coin between your hands and brought it to your chest, closing your eyes as if about to pray.

“Alright, I don’t know how this works so I’m just gonna state my wishes out loud. I hope that works for, well, whoever you are. First off, I want that backstabbing business ruined. They fucked me over after I bent over backward for them, now they deserve to feel the same. Please. Second, I don’t know how you could do it, but I’d really like my insurance company to finally approve my apartment claim so I can find another place soon. Third-”

You trailed off as emotions immediately welled up behind your eyelids, the burning already tingling in the back of your throat from holding them in.

“My third and most important wish, please, if nothing else, find the one that put my mom in the ICU and make them pay. Those idiots down at the police department couldn’t find them, or so they say anyway, so just… give them what they deserve, please.”

With a stifled sniffle, you wiped away the few tears that had escaped and fell back against the headboard, eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling as you let the pain wash over you; Rage, dread, hope, apathy, desperation. Eventually, the unending barrage became too much to deal with. This wasn't a new thing in your life, but it had certainly culminated into something worse with everything going on in your life; clinical depression exacerbated by a series of unfortunate events.

With no other plans for the day and the weight of your heart heavy in your chest, you chose to simply roll over and bury yourself, and your troubles, in the fluffy comforter. You’d feel better after a nap. You were almost certain of it.

Even as you drifted off into sleep, the tears didn’t cease.

When you first woke, you weren’t sure what had roused you but you knew it wasn’t good; All you could feel was bone-trembling terror. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, felt frozen in place with only the ability to stare at the now dimly lit wall; watching the shafts of setting sunlight ever so slowly creep down by the minute.

“Come now, darling,” a low voice crooned in the void behind you, “I know you’re awake.”

Like a rubber band snapping, the grip on your body suddenly released and you shot up in bed, immediately turning around to find out who had spoken. You weren’t sure what you expected but it certainly wasn’t the devilishly handsome man that was seated next to the window. The sunlight pouring down on him made it very obvious that his skin was lacking any range of melanin, rather being pallor shades of whites, blacks, and greys, but that didn't detract from his appearance at all. In fact, he looked like something out of a Gothic romance novel or a Tim Burton movie. Once the enchantment of seeing him began to wear off, you finally noticed what sat on the table next to him.

A human head.

“Holy fuck!”

A hellish screech escaped your lips as you hastily scrambled backward, trying to get as far away from him as quickly as possible, only to go careening off the edge of the mattress. The pain of impact on the floor couldn’t even deter you. As your back hit the wall, you kept your eyes pinned on the intruder, watching for any sign that he was going to follow you or attack.

“While I’m certainly not minding the show, don’t you think you’re rather underdressed for this occasion?” he spoke suddenly.

It took a few moments for his words to sink in but the moment they did, you launched yourself back at the bed with a hushed curse and promptly pulled the sheets up around your naked body.

“Who are you? How did you get in here? I-Is- Is that real?”

Long clawed fingers made their way into the matted, bloody mess of hair and pulled the body part free from the table with a sickening pop.

“It is undoubtedly real, but I figured you’d believe me much quicker if I had a visual aide to my claims,” he replied, dropping the offending thing before tossing you a sharp, seductive, smile, “The name is Dark. I’m a demon and the owner of the coin you wished upon.”

Your tongue felt too heavy to move while you watched in horror as he licked the blood from his fingers like a cat bathing itself.

“I- I don’t-”

“You don’t understand,” he supplied helpfully.

As he rose from his seat, you stared at him owlishly, unable to take your eyes off his graceful form as he nearly glided across the floor to stand in front of you.

“That coin,” he hummed, pointing at the metal disc in question, “It belongs to me. When someone makes a wish while holding it, I’m able to hear them. In your case, I heard all three.”

Trepidation tickled the nape of your neck when your eyes slowly rolled over to the head once more. It was as if you couldn’t breathe. Sick crawled up your throat and it took every ounce of your strength to keep from vomiting at the man’s feet. You don’t know how long you sat there, struggling to breathe and ease the nausea but, when it finally went away, rage took over.

“I didn’t want you to actually KILL them!” you shouted.

The demon casually arched a brow in your direction before saying, “You specifically wished for the one involved in your mother’s accident to get what they deserved.”

“Yeah! Like prison! Not death!”

A soul-trembling crack resounded through the small hotel room as he slowly craned his neck side to side, ethereal pulses of red and blue emanating from his being. Some of the previous ire slipped from your hold when he moved even closer, step by step until his knees were touching yours.

“I will never understand you humans and your sense of righteousness. Would it ease your mind to know this wasn’t the first time they had committed such heinous crimes?” he asked.

“W-What?” you questioned softly.

“I will not delve into details but rest assured that your embarrassing sense of compassion was lost on them; they were vermin,” he explained, “Now, that makes three wishes fulfilled. You have two remaining.”

You thought back on exactly what wishes you had made and were immediately overcome with dismay.

“Wait, what did you do?!” you demanded, jumping to your feet and glaring up at him, “You didn’t kill anyone else, did you?!”

A twinge of disdain passed through his features. His hand landed heavily on your shoulder and you were shoved back down onto the bed with a 'tsk' of disapproval, as if scolding a misbehaving child.

“Fortunately for you, no. Your previous place of employment has simply been condemned for multiple code violations that have mysteriously come to light during a surprise investigation, and your insurance company has been informed that they’re facing a lawsuit if they don’t reevaluate your claim with a more positive outlook.”

Relief flushed through your veins and you thanked him meekly. You wouldn’t have been able to live your life knowing you had caused the deaths of so many people, let alone friends.

“So, what now?” you asked.

“You have two more wishes before your soul belongs to me.”

He said it with such finality and ease that you almost didn’t react at first. Once his words settled in though, oh, panic quickly followed.

Gaping up at him in wide-eyed disbelief, you tried to stammer out some rebuttal or plea, but nothing would come out. Panic soon gave way to defeat as you realized there was no obvious way to get out of this ordeal. It had been clear as day on the coin.

Thinking on the offending piece of metal, you looked over and snagged it up, reading the inscription once more.

“Clutch this coin to thee whilst ye make a plea

In return ye shall become my endless devotee”

“So that’s what this meant,” you sighed quietly, before gazing at him once more, “And there’s no way to bargain out of this?”

He looked mildly pleased by your inquiry, letting out a little hum before falling back into an ornate chair that definitely hadn’t been there a few seconds ago.

“And what would you bargain?” he purred, “What could a simple little human such as yourself have to give to me, other than your soul of course.”

You cursed his infallible logic and stayed quiet as you tried to think over your options. Truly, you had nothing else to give him; no money nor gifts. Your soul was the only valuable thing you owned, and there was no undoing what had been done. A person had died because of your wish.

With a heavy sigh, you sat up to your full height and prepared yourself mentally.

“Is there a time limit? Do I have to make my wishes today or can I think about them?” you asked.

“You’re free to use them when and wherever you wish. However, do not think this a loophole. Choosing to postpone your wishes until death does not release you from this contract. Your soul will still belong to me when you die.”

Well fuck. There went that option. If you were doomed no matter what, you might as well make use of the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity... right?

“I’m going to need time,” you whispered.

“Fair enough,” he replied, finally taking a step back, “You have my calling card. You can call for me if you have any questions, otherwise, you know what to do.”

He strolled back to the window and snagged the dismembered head, flashing you a wide smirk that framed his fangs perfectly.

“I’ll just be taking this with me. Hope to hear from you soon, darling.”

#Demon!Dark #Dark/reader #female reader #PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS PEOPLE #This chapter is a little dark #heh... dark #pun not intended #two part series #Chapter 1

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dodo-begone · 3 years

Note

Loyal here, and back from the dead! Had some health issues and family drama, but I should be completely back now! I hope this all makes sense, I had to take Benadryl so I’m kinda out of it at the moment.

——

For those who have been interested in the idea of a reader from Undertale, I’m so happy! Anon who went into detail with how y/n might be forced into bringing out their soul? *chefs kiss* I love it. And with Ranboo or Techno doing it on accident because of the voice(s)? Then, when they snap out of it and see y/n begging this ‘Frisk’ person for mercy? AAAAAAA YES P L E A S E. I live for the angst and that concept quenched my thirst for it. When it comes to the resets, I think that most of what happened during them felt like dejavú to y/n when going through the Underground, making them give reactions similar to the monsters who seem to recall certain things when you play the game again. However, when it comes to the genocide route, I feel like they don’t remember anything. At least...not until they’re put under extreme stress, panic, trauma, etc., or if they’re in an intense life or death situation. Only then would they remember. But it’s messy when they do. They get thrown into a memory and basically have a mental breakdown. Whether they remember it once they calm down or not...? Up to you. Anyway, here’s some of my own ideas based off all this!

- In Ranboo’s case, I feel like he’d know who Frisk is and quite a bit about y/n’s world. He just seems like the type of person you could tell anything to and he’d listen. Because of this factor, I can see y/n having either already shown him their SOUL, or having planned to in the near future. He’d recognize the situation—a panic attack—and do everything in his power to calm y/n down. He isn’t the type to pry, so he wouldn’t mention the reader’s SOUL unless it seemed to be in really bad condition. He’d rather y/n come to him and open up on their own.

- It’s a cry fest. They’re both tearing up and telling the other not to cry. Y/n knows it wasn’t Ranboo’s fault and doesn’t want him hurting himself over it, especially because his tears hurt him. They forgive him, it’s okay. Ranboo feels incredibly guilty for what he’s done. And seeing them crying over what he did and the trauma he accidentally brought onto them? He’s crushed. You know those sappy movies where the main characters are comforting each other, crying but letting out choked/hiccuping laughter? Not because they find the situation funny, but because they both react the same way and just want what’s best for each other and it’s all around adorable? That’s them.

- But, if it’s yandere Ranboo? He’d probably see this as proof that y/n is far too fragile for this world. Clearly, they need someone to protect them. He’d most certainly feel guilty about what he’d done, but he may play it up a bit to get as much attention/sympathy/whatever from them.

- For Techno, unless he was there when y/n initially woke up in the SMP, I don’t think he’d believe them. So he probably doesn’t know shit (or, he at least knows the basics), unless he found out from someone else. That’s just my opinion tho. Either way, I believe he’d think it’s all bullshit. However, he wouldn’t force an encounter to prove his point. He has at least some decency. No he doesn’t. I feel like he’d remind y/n of just how hostile monsters Underground were in the beginning, so they’d be weary around him. (I’m doing flat out yandere for him from now on bc that’s all I can think of rn)

- If he doesn’t know who Frisk is, I see him being slightly insulted that they think of some random stranger—as far as he’s aware—who clearly hurt them. He’d never do that! He—oh shit, he kinda sorta did do that...

- If he does know who Frisk is and is romantically interested in y/n, he’d probably be peeved that they’re basically referring to him as their sibling. He gets that they’re going through a traumatic episode but c’mon! He’d end up pushing the thought aside to help them. However, he may be slightly petty for the next few days.

- Keeping on the romantic yandere side, I see him possibly making the situation worse even if it isn’t his intention to. Whether he’s told by y/n or someone else, he at least knows what their SOUL is and what it stands for (even if he didn’t believe it till now). So here’s his little darling, all curled up and clutching their SOUL to their chest like it’s their lifeline. Oh, wait, it is. Sure, he’s surprised that it’s real, but any shock he would’ve felt is replaced by awe and he can’t help but notice how mesmerizing it is. So, he forcefully gently pulls their arms away from their chest, cooing at them and saying that everything’s fine, and removes their hands from the entity so he can get a better look at it. He watches as the (color) heart bobs slightly up and down, and can’t help but be surprised by how warm it feels against the palms of his calloused hands when he cups it. Any whimpers and pleas from y/n begging for their soul to be returned are blocked out. All he can focus on is the SOUL in front of him, the very culmination of their being, and how small it is. This little thing, that takes damage whenever their body does, that physically appears whenever they are in a fight, is what keeps them alive? That won’t do. Not at all. This land is far too dangerous for them! They better get used to his cabin, for as far as Techno’s concerned, it’s their new world home.

——

And Tommy forcing them into an encounter because he thinks it’s all bullshit? That would definitely happen. He’d feel so guilty once he sees the look of betrayal in y/n’s eyes and the disappointment that shows on the faces of anyone who had seen the forced encounter. As if they too weren’t curious. He noticed that no one stopped him. Let’s be honest. Most would be too curious to interfere.

- Y/n probably falls to their knees, cupping their SOUL in the palms of their hands. They know that Tommy wouldn’t actually hurt them, but they can’t help but feel as though their boundaries have been pushed aside, as though one of their only requests meant nothing to everyone. Tears slip and it takes watching the glowing heart, being lost in their own world as they mentally count every rhythmic bob to ground them. Once their breathing calms and their sobs turn into hushed whimpers, they push their SOUL back into their chest and stare at the ground, unsure of what to do next.

- Tommy definitely acts a hundred times more mature in the following moments. Depending on when in the DSMP timeline this occurs, he’d either be confident—and rightfully so—in his ability to help someone during a panic attack, or be hesitant, unsure of what to do, fumbling with his words and motions, but trying his damn hardest to help nonetheless. Either way, I see y/n appreciating it. Y/n literally come from a world where they would befriend creatures ten seconds after they genuinely tried to kill them and their sibling. I don’t see them holding a grudge. They’d most likely be slightly weary in the following twenty to thirty minutes, but get over it. After all, they’ve always chosen MERCY. Can’t say the same for their sibling, though. Tommy’s extra cautious about what he says or does around them after that.

- I feel like after a few weeks or months, y/n may bond enough with Tommy to want to show how much they trust him by bringing out their SOUL. Especially if they’re there through all the hell that Tommy goes through story-wise. To them, it’d probably be their way of telling him that they trust him with their life, and that they’ll always be on his side.

- Yandere or not, he does everything in his power to protect y/n if they remain weary of encounters. He’ll either find a way to avoid a fight, not wanting to hurt y/n by doing anything that would make him gain this supposed LOVE that comes from their world, or he’d do enough damage to allow them to escape without anyone or anything dying.

- If y/n discovers that they’re able to befriend the monsters of this world like they could their own, regular Tommy would respect that. He may be a bit antsy if the encounter drags on or if y/n sustains some damage, but he knows that they know what they’re doing. As previously mentioned, he’ll get involved if things go south, but he won’t kill anything. At least, not in front of them. Gotta get bones, blaze powder, and spider eyes somehow. But even then, he does it sparingly out of respect for y/n’s wishes. That, or he’ll have someone else get materials for him.

- Yandere Tommy wouldn’t risk shit. You can’t just talk to mobs, you idiot! You’ll die if you do that! And you’ve only got one life! He’d threaten to kill mobs right in front of y/n if it’d get them to stop trying to play house with disgusting monsters. That, or he may force y/n into killing. Their HP, AT, and DF increase when their LOVE increases, right? So they have to if they want to survive!

——

I agree with the anon that Dream and Vilbur would definitely force y/n into an encounter. Yandere or not. If yandere, they’d probably become obsessed with the concept of SOULS and constantly pressure them into bringing it out. They use it as a nightlight JKJKJK.

- Ya know how in Deltarune, Kris yeets their SOUL into a cage? Well, imagine that, but it’s forcefully taken by Dream. He’d put it in a glass container and show it off like some damn trophy. That, or he hides it away where no one can find it. Vilbur would do the same but keep the SOUL on his person at all times. That way no one forgets who y/n belongs to. To him, it’d show power and ownership. Much to his pleasure and mostly everyone else’s disgust.

- I’d also add Schlatt to the list of people that force an encounter, as well as yandere Sam. Schlatt would pull it out in front of everyone to show how much power he can hold ever someone, or, to use as a shield when he thinks Pogtopia will attack. They wouldn’t want to hurt an innocent person who’s got a little sibling waiting for them at home, would they? With Sam, he’d do it to make sure that y/n is in perfect health. Can’t risk there being any cracks or the SOUL being dim! Following Tommy’s death and revival, he’d probably do the same as Vilbur, keeping their SOUL with him and never letting it out of his sight. However, instead of doing it out of a show of power like Vilbur, it’s out of paranoia. He can’t lose you too. He has to know that you’re okay!

——

For some fluff, here’s who I think y/n would eventually trust enough to show their SOUL:

- Tommy (as mentioned earlier)

- Ranboo (also mentioned earlier)

- Tubbo (he reminds them too much of Asriel to not trust him with their SOUL)

- Captain Puffy (same as Tubbo, but for Toriel)

- Ghostbur (he’s just so nice!! How could they not? Besides, he sometimes reminds them of Napstablook! They probably call Ghostbur Blooky a lot on accident and the ghost just learns to roll with it LOL)

- Karl! (After hearing about this person who comes from a world with timelines and basically time travel, he can’t help but be interested. He’s losing so much, he needs someone who might possibly understand. They both share a similar hatred towards the concept of time travel/resets and the amount of pressure it puts on a person’s shoulders. That, and the lack of memories, even if they‘be both been effected by this in different ways)

- Bad (before he’s corrupted by the egg, of course. He’s so sweet omg. Besides, his personality gives me Toriel vibes)

I personally don’t see them trusting Philza enough, no matter how much he reminds them of Asgore. Then again, the King of Monsters is the one who basically put a bounty on their SOUL. He also refused their MERCY and forced them to FIGHT. Besides, when they hear from others—or see it for themself—that Philza kills his own son? I don’t think they’d ever forgive that. No matter what happens. You should refuse death, because there’s always another option. They’d know first hand, after all. With having their SOUL broken in half and pieced back together thanks to their own sheer will to live. To protect their sibling and save their friends. The battle against Asriel taught them so much, and they’d never take life for granted again thanks to it. “Asgore, though I may not stand by his methods of taking the SOULS of innocents—children, no less—I understand why he did it. He lost both of his children, his pride and joy, at the hands of humans. The real monsters of this w—of my world. He would have given anything to get them back. And you, you just throw your son’s life away? How could you?! Do you know how many beings, Monsters and humans alike, would sacrifice everything just to see their loved ones one more time? To take their place? To save them from a brutal death by the hands of those who want your SOULS? To see their small body covered in blood and burns or spears. Only for their death to have been meaningless, for their SOUL had shattered before it could be collected and used? When it should have been you, their big sibling, to take their place?” Yeah... they’ve definitely got some issues they need to deal with LOL. I personally headcanon that even if Frisk wasn’t able to reset, their soul would have been useless when it came to breaking the barrier because that thing shattered into PIECES. What would the monsters do? Use gorilla glue and hope the damn thing stays together?

——

Imagine how different characters, Yandere or not, would react to y/n’s soul shattering. Especially if it’s because y/n took a hit for them.

ALRIGHT THATS IT AND IM GOING TO SLEEP LOL

Omg that’s so much. It’s all so fucking good but I am just overwhelmed by how much is here because I want to answer it all but,,,

IT’S SO GOOF NIGHTLIGHT SOUL JANSJS PLEASE HAHA that’s just hilarious.

Also putting the soul in cages? YES THAT’S SUCH A GOOD CONCEPT TO BRING UP!!! Vilbur wanting to own while Sam wants to protect. Both lead to a similar end. An emotionless reader with no care for themselves or others. Just a rogue being. A zombie, I’d you will. But not dumb. Oh not dumb at all.

Also putting the soul in a jar??? I ca see DreamXD doing the same, if not similar. Ooo maybe he wears their souls on him? Trapping it in a piece of jewelry to display your “loyalty” and “love” to him.

I’m sorry I’m just not feelin too good.

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inadaydream99 · 4 years

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hello! if it’s okay, could i please request a skz reaction where they reject you but end up regretting it because they realized they really you? if it’s too much, maybe a member of your choice? thank you so much! and please do not rush! take as much time as you need!

Hi, thanks for requesting! I made this quite fluffy, but a few are angst and I also did all members because I couldn’t pick just one 😂 I really hope you enjoy!

Chan

The humiliation was real. Being rejected is more embarrassing that you think, especially when it’s by one of your friends.

You’d had a crush on Chan for a very long time. You’ve just never said anything until now in fear of rejection and, as it turns out, you should have just kept your feelings to yourself.

You couldn’t even look at him as you heard him mutter “I’m sorry.”, nodding your head in responce as it hangs low.

It’s been a few days since then and you’ve not stopped replaying the scene in your head since. Your mind is literally torturing you, making you cringe and you just end up stuffing your face into your pillow in a weak attempt at repressing it.

Just as you’re finally about to fall asleep you hear a knock on your front door, whining as you sit up on your bed before dragging yourself to see who could possible be visiting you.

Your breath hitches when you open the door to reveal Chan stood on the opposite side. He looks nervous, swinging back and forth on his feet impatiently. Your eyes lock instantly and for a minute you feel like you are dreaming.

“Do you believe in second chances?” He breaks the shocked silence, a relieved smile growing on his face when you nod yes, still in a daze.

“Then I’d really like to take that chance. I regretted letting you go without telling you how I really feel.” Chan continues, slowly becoming more confident and bubbly with each passing second.

“I guess you’ll have to tell me now then.” You tease with an elated grin on your face.

Minho

Minho hated himself for pushing you away. He hated himself for being the reason you are upset. But most of all he hated himself because he is so madly in love with you and he ruined any chance to tell you.

That is until he has an epiphany while moping around. If you won’t listen to him or respond to any of his messages, then he’ll just have to find a way to win you over, a way that you can’t ignore.

“I may not show it often, but you mean everything to me!” Minho shouts up to you from the middle of the street.

It 2am and freezing outside, but he doesn’t care. He’s finally been able to get your attention by throwing pebbles at your window and playing your favourite song on full blast through his speaker, what a cliché moment.

“I’m in love with you.” He shouts at the top of his lungs.

The cheesy grin on your face can’t possibly be hidden. You never thought you would ever see Minho do anything like this. Risking everything just to tell you how he feels.

“I love you too!” You shout back, letting all your worries go and just living in the moment.

“Can you two be quiet!” You hear a voice shout out. One of your neighbours must have grown tired of all the noise.

You both snicker at one another in giddy amusement, feeling like devious kids. Partners in crime.

You signal to Minho that you’ll be down in a minute, rushing out of your apartment and down the stairs to meet him in the blustering wind. Ready to start a new chapter together.

Changbin

“I never want to be the reason you’re hurting.” Changbin takes your hand in his, pleaing for forgiveness from you.

What had started off as a lighthearted conversation amongst the group had turned sour pretty fast. It all started because Seungmin asked Changbin if he would ever date you in front of everyone. It wasn’t intentional on Seungmin’s part to cause an argument, he thought it was quite a funny question to ask because you and Changbin have been best friends for so long. But when Changbin said “no” without even a seconds thought you were deeply hurt. Was there something repulsive about you to him?

“Then why did you reject me in front of everyone?” You defensively retort. You’re not impressed with him right now, and rightly so. But you can see the genuine regret he feels which makes it hard to stay mad for very long.

“Because I panicked... I didn’t want you find find out how I feel about you like that.” Changbin mumbles, feeling nervous in his confession to you. He knows that he has to be honest with you now because he can’t stand the idea of losing you completely.

“How do you feel about me?” You encourage him to continue, your body language becoming less defensive as you relax your shoulders.

“Like you’re the only person who’s opinion I care about, that you light up any room you enter instantly... that you are the only one I ever want to be with.” Changbin’s words are heartfelt and you can tell it’s taken a lot of courage for him to say them.

“I feel the same about you.” You manage to respond whilst holding back tears of joy.

Hyunjin

“So I overreacted, I do that all the time!” Hyunjin throws his hands up defensively, his excuse falling on deaf ears as he rants away to Minho.

“But you still rejected (Y/N), regardles of how you feel now.” Minho looks up from his phone to see Hyunjin’s reaction.

“Then what should I do?” He whines, dramatically falling against the table in distress. At least he’d finally stoped pacing the room.

“You go and appologise?” Minho sarcastically states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Hyunjin just mimickes him, annoyed by his lack of sympathy towards the situation. Though anyone would feel agitated when it’s all Hyunjin has gone on about for the last few days.

You stand in shock having answered the door to reveal Hyunjin and after ten minutes of him apologising and begging for you to give him a chance to redeem himself (a little too loudly for comfort), it’s your turn to speak.

“It’s gonna take a while to redeem yourself, but maybe we can try.” You agree, rolling your eyes playfully when Hyunjin crushes you in a tight hug, repeatedly thanking you for a second chance.

Jisung

“I did the one thing I promised myself I’d never do...” Jisung sighs in defeat. He can barely look you in the eye as he faces the consequences of his actions.

You’d initially been disheartened when he rejected you, but he was sympathetic towards your feelings and gently let you down rather than being too harsh. You even smiled through the pain and embarrassment, agreeing to not let it ruin your friendship.

But that was almost a year ago now. You have moved on from your crush on Jisung and recently started seeing someone new.

So when he suddenly confesses that he has feelings for you, you aren’t too sure how to react. Initially you feel mad because you feel loke he is messing with your emotions. But the longer you have to process the information, the more you understand where he is coming from.

“I don’t want to be the reason you’re not happy, but seeing you with someone else hurts.” He continues, finally mustering up enough courage to look at you and take in your reaction.

“I don’t know what to say...” You sigh, watching as Jisung takes a deep breath and nod his head. He looks like he is preparing himself for rejection, just like he did to you, and that’s what makes it so hard for you to do.

“Regardless of my feelings towards you, I’m with someone else.” Your chest aches from seeing his solumn face, it’s just as painful being the rejector.

“Can I just know... if I’d not rejected you last year, would I still have a chance?” Jisung’s voice is shallow and weak, his eyes glossy from all the unshed tears.

You can no longer speak, feeling absolutely terrible, so you just nod yes, shooting him a meek smile.

Felix

Felix holds the cake outstretched in his hands, sending you a pleading smile. “I’m sorry.” He apologises, a hopeful look on his face.

You can’t help but crack a smile, laughing at your goofy friend.

“Felix why do you have a cake?” You raise your brow. Truthfully, you find the whole situation hilarious, only Felix would do something so endearing and sweet like bake you a cake when he wants to make things up to you.

“A good way to appologise is with cake.” He states like it’s a well known fact. “And I was kind of hoping that you’ll love the cake so much you’ll give me a second chance, because I really like you (Y/N).” He continues, catching you off guard. You’d never expected him to change his mind after rejecting you.

“Well, it is a really pretty cake... but are you sure?” You act coy, not wanting to give your feelings away in case he has another change of heart.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He admits confidently, an elated grin on his face when you accept the cake and grab his hand, dragging him into your apartment.

Seungmin

“I will fix what I have broken.” Seungmin is so determined to get you back that he almost sounds angry. Even Hyunjin flinches a little at his words, watching silently as Seungmin marches off to find you.

After having confessed to Seungmin a couple of weeks ago, you hadn’t spoken to him since. You just felt too embarrassed and awkward to face him and so your friendship crumbled.

“(Y/N) we need to talk.” Seungmin comes striding into your work, making the small office fall deathly silent.

“Seungmin I’m working right now.” You whisper, your eyes darting around the room self consciously to make sure no one is watching you.

“But it’s important.” He states, shooting you his best puppy eyes so you’ll give into him.

“Ugh fine.” You cave, ushering him into the empty room next door so you have some privacy.

“I like you.” Your eyes grow wide at his confession. Had you heard him right?

“But... you-”

“I know and I’m so sorry. It made me realise that there’s a part of me missing when you’re not around.” Seungmin anxiously explains. His demeanour has done a 180 degree flip now, he looks timid and nervous as he wait for you to process the information.

“I wish you’d realised sooner, but I guess better late than never.” You tease, feeling your heart skip a beat upon seeing Seungmin’s face light up with the most adorable smile you’ve ever seen.

Jeongin

“Caught off guard was an understatement.” Jeongin reasons, trying everything he has to get you to forgive him. But he’s the reason you’re heartbroken, he can’t keep playing with your fragile emotions like this.

“No, you had your chance. I can’t believe you have the audacity to make excuses like this. You humiliated me in front of all my closest friends.” You remain strong, your face void of any emotion, regeardless of how difficult it is to see Jeongin like this.

“Just give me a chance to make it up to you.” He begs. It’s almost pathetic how desperate he looks right now.

“Goodbye Jeongin.” You snarl, slamming the door shut in his face. Jeongin stands defeated on the opposite side of the door. He knows this is what he deserves, but it’s never nice to get a taste of what you dish out to others.

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