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angelshadowsinger · 11 months

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Too Late (Priorities 2)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Azriel x f!reader 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.1k 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐲: angst

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

Azriel hurries back from his mission to find you’re gone. (sequel to Priorities)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞:

hiii guys! i originally intended on leaving Priorities an open-ended angst, but! y'all demanded part 2, so here it is~ just so you know, this is not happy. if i make a part 3, that might be! also, sorry this is a bit late. this last week was crazy busy and next week probably will be too. TW: very brief mention of vomit

･゜゜・．｡･゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡･゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ: ʙʏ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴇʀᴛɪꜰʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ 18 ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴏʀ. ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴅɪꜱᴄʀᴇᴛɪᴏɴ.

･゜゜・．｡･゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡･゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

The wind howled as Azriel pelted through the sky, his raw cheeks stinging from its relentless barrage. Scarred fists were clenched so hard the imprint of his fingernails marred his palms, jaw set as he grit his teeth and powered through exhaustion.

You were right.

The mission that Rhys had sent him on was nothing but a menial task. Any of the lower members of Azriel’s investigation force could have done the job the same as him. But ultimately, it was only himself he had to blame; even if his brother had given him the task, he had failed to pass it on to his espionage underlings. Delegation was perhaps one of his weakest skills— even after all these years he felt he had to earn his worth within his family.

Thankfully, he was already on his way home the evening after leaving, the ordeal taking not even a full day. And he was flying full-speed in order to get back to you as fast as he could.

His stomach had been in knots ever since he winnowed from his room at the Town House, where he had left you alone with your tears. The sound of your sobs echoed in his head, and he bit the inside of his cheek as he recalled your pleas for him to stay.

He should’ve listened— This mission was the last nail in the coffin he had been slowly building every time his brother had summoned him away from you, calling him to duty with barely any time to rest between requests, barely any time to hold you in his arms.

Gods, he missed you. Every time he had to leave you was like pulling teeth, his body and his shadows always begging to stay by your side, savor your kiss and your touch and your voice whispering sweet nothings in his ear. But his mind always won out. He couldn’t count how many times he had forced himself to withdraw from your ambrosial embrace, how many times he averted his sight from your melancholy gaze. If he allowed himself to linger on it, shame would begin to swirl in his guts and tighten his throat.

The border of Velaris came into view and the shadowsinger dared to smile, stopping on a tall plain to gather a few wildflowers together. A meager peace offering, but a gift to show his remorse nonetheless. He had never returned to you empty-handed after a fight, and would not begin now.

Azriel plucked a few more stems to fluff up the bouquet, silently preparing himself for the emotional turmoil that was bound to ensue. The things he felt for you terrified him— and maybe that was partly why he would always answer Rhys’ call. Because if he stayed, and told his brother no… that would be his recognition that you had become his top priority. Perhaps it was time to make that leap, he thought, as he winnowed right into the foyer of the townhouse.

The home was eerily silent as he materialized in the dark, no candles or faelight illuminating the first floor. The sound of the clock ticking caught his attention, hazel eyes glancing at the last hour of dusk. The Illyrian frowned, straining to hear you, hoping to pick up the clank of dishes in the sink, the crisp turn of a page from a book, or even the quiet breaths of your sleeping form from the couch you usually dozed off on when you waited up for his return. But he detected not a single sound.

Anxiety exploded in his chest, his shadows immediately surging out in every direction without needing instruction. His feet were moving before he could think, swiftly carrying him to the last place he had seen you— where he left you, falling apart and alone.

He cursed as he hurtled up the stairs, three steps with each stride. It was times like these that he especially wished you were his mate, so that he could reach out to you and calm the ceaseless concerns that regarded your well-being every second he was apart from you.

Rounding the corner, Azriel burst into his bedroom, eyes immediately zeroing in on the empty, made bed. Within a second, faelight lit the room. His shadows dwindled in the corners of the room, uncharacteristically mild as they slowly swirled at the floor, not reporting their findings to their master. Azriel bared his teeth at none of them in particular, but the reprimanding he was ready to bark out died in his throat as he noticed a small whirl of black lingering on the nightstand at his side of the bed.

He came closer to inspect it, the little mass of shadow concentrated there, some spilling down the drawers at the side and joining its gloomy brethren on the ground. With a wave of his hand it dissipated. The bouquet in his grip fell to the tile with a soft whoosh.

Your ring.

It felt as if he had been shot, the jolt of lethal pain akin to when he had taken an arrow to the chest in Hybern. His lips parted as he examined the delicate silver band, the large, tear-shaped sapphire that once gleamed so brightly now dull against the wood.

‘Stop wearing this the day you stop loving me,’ he had said, his arms around her as she giggled into his chest. She was giddy at his gift, kept admiring how it looked on her finger, her hand fanning out so the moonlight would catch the gem and shine.

‘That would be never, shadowsinger,’ she had replied easily.

He had never felt so light, so careless and content; she loved him too. She loved him, and he kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered.

Perhaps she was.

Azriel fell to the ground, his knees buckling and smashing onto the hard tile. He barely felt it, every fiber of him in shock as he stared at the piece of jewelry that lay on the tabletop, now at eye-level.

He barely heard his shadows inform him that the ring was the only piece of you in the home left, that your clothes and books and even that ugly throw pillow he hated was gone from the sofa. His wings slowly dipped until they pooled into a black mass on the floor behind him, dread oozing through him as he read the words that laid on the note beneath your ring.

I’ll never stop, even if you have.

The shadowsinger sat and stared at the ring, at those awful words. He read them again, and then he reread them, again and again.

He had told you he loved you before he left… But you didn’t believe him. And why should you, when all he gave you as of late were empty promises? Pretty words could only satisfy temporarily, and the latest string of seemingly-endless missions was longer than ever before.

Doubts began to fill his mind with malicious whispers, his gaze still stuck on the ring and that hideous note. They murmured the thoughts that often found him at the odd hours of the night, when he would lay with your perfect body in his arms and sleep would welcome you but evade him– that you deserved more than he could ever give you, that he was unworthy of your pure and whole love.

The sound of droplets splattering on the ground summoned Azriel from his descent into devastation, and his eyes slowly fell to examine the tiny pools his tears had formed beside his knees. He hadn’t realized he had started crying. He gingerly raised a scarred hand to his cheek, studying the newfound wetness on his fingertips. It had been so long since he last cried, the evidence of his emotion was foreign.

Shaky fingers plucked the ring from the nightstand, coming to hold the tiny finery in his lap. It looked so bizarre against the crude black of the leathers binding his thighs, so bright and pure that he couldn’t help but think of you. Couldn’t help but think of when he had seen you personified the same, and he himself as a mass of darkness that would bleed into your light and poison you somehow. He thought of how every time he felt that way, you had worked so hard to convince him that he deserved you and that he deserved love, that you were so happy to be the one to give it to him. More tears escaped as he now realized his failure in telling you the same. You had always been there for him, and when you had begged him for support in your time of need, he had failed you. He had run away.

And now you had erased all traces of yourself from the house Rhys had gifted him.

The town house had become Azriel’s official residence since his brothers had coupled off, and it had once been the fortress of his solitude. That was before he had found you, and before you had gradually moved your things in… before it had become a home. And now that it was void of you once more, it had suddenly reverted back to that empty, bleak place he had learned to hate.

A lump formed in his throat at the notion that perhaps this place had slowly transformed into your own prison of isolation these last few months. That maybe you had felt this sinking, desperate feeling when you were here, in the place that was meant to be your nest of love, your safe haven. That you had told him you were drowning here, and he had simply told you to wait for him when you were already exhausted, gasping out for him with your last breath. That when he had disregarded your desperate plea, he had effectively swung the sword and severed any faith you had left in him.

You were gone, and it was all his fault.

He was too late.

Nausea rolled deep in his gut and he winnowed in front of the toilet just in time before the contents of his stomach surfaced. Only once his body had heaved up everything it could did he begin to sob, knuckles pale as they clenched onto porcelain, his broad form slumped on the cool tile. Shadows swarmed the bath, mirroring their master’s distress.

Eventually the shadowsinger sat back against the nearest wall, trying to calm his ragged breath. The shadows produced the note that had been left behind, and the sight of your parting words to him nearly triggered another fit, bile rising at the back of his throat. But he paused as he read the words again, scrutinized them even though they were few and short. He sat up and analyzed the note, hazel revisiting and eating up every curve of ink.

You still loved him.

Even after he had ignored you, neglected you, failed you… you still loved him. Was there a chance that you… still wanted him? If he could repent and swear to do better, would you take him back? If he could just talk to you, if he could get one more chance from you… he could love you. He already did love you, but if he had another shot to be with you, then he could really give you his all, he could really allow himself to love you like he had always dreamt of. He could stand up to his brother, he could tell you how his world was meaningless without you, he could cherish you– prioritize you, he could…

Azriel frowned, a panicked hand combing through his dark hair.

Could he do all of that?

He had never been so outright with his emotions, it felt weak to bear his heart to such a degree… But what was the alternative? A life without you? A life filled with wondering what could have been had he not been a coward that was too scared to tell you how he really felt, too scared to even try?

If there was a time to be brave, it was now.

He was absolutely terrified, but his resolve was steel as he took a minute to fix himself, another to grab the flowers from the ground and ensure he had your ring. And then he was off in search of you, shadows enveloping him and melting into the night.

･゜゜・．｡･゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡･゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #acotar angst #acotar x you #acotar x reader #azriel angst #my work #angelshadowsinger

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mypoisonedvine · 2 years

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𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿 • eddie munson x reader

sequel to 𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗲 and 𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 • another album, another tour, this time with a stop in Indianapolis featuring a local opener that proves to be more familiar than you expected.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 • 5.4k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 • smut (18+ only), semi-public sex, extreme fluff, jealous reader, cocky eddie, hatefucking (at first), emotions!!

Objectively, Eddie was never the best you ever had. Considering your long and storied history included a lot of very talented people— sometimes multiple at a time— it was hard to compete. He didn't make you come the hardest, or the fastest, or the most.

But for some reason, he was always your favorite.

Even if he wasn't a sex god, he managed to keep up with you and he was just the right balance of everything: sweet but not too grovelling; good-looking but not too self-obsessed; young but not too naive.

Truth be told, every time you thought about it, you wondered if you should've taken him on tour with you. You imagined a life where you had this little boytoy to keep you company, where he held you close at night in that big empty bed while the bus was on its way to the next stop; where you finished your sets and walked just off stage to find him waiting, and he'd give you a big kiss and tell you how amazing you were.

But it was just a fantasy, something to get you through especially lonely nights. You’d been thinking about him leading up to your tour stop in Indiana, wondering if you should find some way to reach out— all you had was an old phone number, and that was nearly a year ago now that you found out he graduated and moved away. After considering looking him up a few times (and realizing you didn’t actually know if Eddie was short for Edward or Edmond or Edgar or… not short for anything), you decided it was best left alone. After all, your presence in Indiana was pretty heavily anticipated, it’s not like he couldn’t figure it out if he wanted to find some way to see you.

Danny nodded at you from behind the drums as you walked onstage for soundcheck.

“Okay, we’re just gonna tune and run the first song on the setlist,” the sound technician announced over the speakers as you put in your earpiece.

“Great,” you answered into the microphone, slinging your guitar on over your shoulder and starting to pick at it to get it perfectly in tune— yes, most big stars have the venue techs or their roadies tune instruments for them, but you preferred doing it yourself. It was like… well, it was sort of like foreplay. You preferred warming up your guitar yourself.

“Hey, you heard of this band that’s opening for us?” Jerome, your second guitarist, asked you as an assistant adjusted his mic stand. “I was talking to the venue manager— he said a ton of people are here to see them. They’re local legends or something.”

“I didn’t even read who’s opening for us,” you admitted. “I haven’t slept since Louisville.”

“They’re called Corroded Coffin,” he said. “Real grungy stuff.”

“Well, it’s a decent name,” you offered. “I’ll have to watch their set and see if they’re any good.”

When soundcheck ended, you retired to the green room for a drink and a rest, the closest thing you had to a pre-show ritual. This venue was nice enough that you had a TV by the vanity, meaning you totally zoned out and lost track of time watching National Geographic; you didn’t even realize the show had started until you heard loud, echoing guitars from outside.

Turning the volume down, you listened to the muffled sound for a couple minutes, nodding to yourself. Hey, they’re not bad.

Deciding to venture out and get a proper listen, you navigated the crowded backstage— roadies, assistants, and for some reason a crowd of kids in matching t-shirts?— so you could peer in from-offstage to see the band. The first thing you saw was the pit; it was full of girls. Screaming, desperate girls. Shit, who is this guy? You figured you weren’t likely to get the same reception from that section of the crowd, unless there was a bisexual convention in town.

Leaning further in, you finally saw the back of the guitarist’s head. Any other context, and that mess of long, curly brown hair would give it away— but this was the metal scene, after all, and most of the guys looked like that.

He took a step back, disappointing the girls who had been climbing over each other to try to touch his ankle, and shook his head to get his hair out of his face. That was when you got a proper glimpse of him for the first time, and your breath caught.

No, it’s not…

He was too far away for you to be sure, and if you leaned forward any more, you’d be visible to the crowd which was not worth the trouble. Spinning around, you saw the group of kids behind you, and narrowed your eyes at their shirts. “Hey,” you yelled over the music to get the attention of one of them, “what do those shirts mean?”

“They’re for our D&D club!” he answered emphatically. “That’s our Dungeon Master!”

As he pointed to the frontman again, you spun around. Fuck.

“EDDIE, WE LOVE YOUUU!!!” a girl with braces screamed from the front row, literally sobbing, and you wondered how you could physically fit in your body every emotion you were feeling in this one moment.

Euphoria, confusion, devastation, excitement, anxiety— he was here, he was opening for you, he really made it. But was he too good for you now? He was the next big thing— you could already tell, hearing him play, that he was the real deal— and you were… well, you were the last big thing. He was Van Halen, you were Black Sabbath; he was video, you were the radio star. He was the nineties, coming around the corner faster than you were ready for— wasn’t it 1979, like, an hour ago?

It didn’t hurt from a stardom standpoint— the record sales didn’t bother you, even when there were less of them. You didn’t need to be famous, half the time you didn’t even like it, you just loved the music whether it was yours or someone else’s.

But it hurt seeing Eddie, because it made you realize how long it had really been. It hurt wondering if tonight was the beginning of the end— but you had hope that you wouldn’t be facing the end alone.

As he focused on playing a complex solo, his tongue curled up over his lip. Be careful, Ed, I dunno if these girls can handle that…

Looking out over his crowd again, your gut burned as you saw the girls fawning over him, even if you couldn’t blame them.

You watched the rest of his set from the best seat in the house, which was actually standing up just behind the curtain, until you heard Eddie speak into the microphone: “You guys have been great! We would stay forever if we could, but this is our last song…”

Heart pumping, you stumbled back and out of the way, retreating to your green room— you weren’t ready for him to walk by, you weren’t ready for him to ignore you, or kiss you, or slap you, or whatever he was going to do.

He was probably over it; he probably didn’t even care, so casually flaunting his one-that-got-away-ness in front of you. You slammed your door shut behind you, pouring yourself a quick drink and tossing it back in a second. It dulled your nerves but only worsened the sickness gathering in your stomach. This was everything you’d been waiting for since 1985, but it was so terrifying now that it was here. Everything could go wrong.

But of course he still wanted you, right? He had to, he was one of your biggest fans just a few years ago. But wow, time can change so much— and you had no idea he could play like that. It only made you more attracted to him, right when you were trying to play it cool.

You heard the crowd going wild, you heard the music come to a halt, and you knew you were supposed to be getting ready for your own set. Right now, you weren’t sure if you could even name one of your own songs…

Well, probably just one— the one about him. In your mind, it was sort of a graduation present from you to Eddie— but you weren’t even a hundred percent sure he ever heard it.

You waited a few minutes, hoping maybe Corroded Coffin would be gone when you stepped out— yet praying that they wouldn’t be— but when you entered the hallway again, you found a typical scene between the opener and headliner: musicians and their most privileged fans everywhere, getting in the way of crew trying desperately to set up between acts, and Eddie right there in the middle of all of it.

He was sitting on an amp, fiddling around on his acoustic, girls hanging off of his arm and sitting in a circle around him. Christ.

Hesitantly, you walked up to the group, crossing your arms and watching for a moment. "Guess you made it out of your garage phase," you smirked.

He looked up at you, his strumming coming to a halt, as he gave you a knowing smile. "Yeah," he offered; his voice was eerily familiar yet different, and you wondered if things were too different now. If you and him were basically strangers, and you'd just have to wave hello and leave all that history behind.

After all, you'd only met once before, technically. But to you, it felt like your story wasn't over yet.

“Oh my god,” one of the girls jumped up to you, “I— I’m such a huge fan!”

“Oh? That’s nice to hear,” you offered her, glancing between her eyes and Eddie’s a few times. “I— do you want me to sign anything?”

“That would be amazing,” she beamed, “I’ve— I’ve got one of your CDs right here.”

“Ah, a CD,” you nodded as she pulled it out of her purse and you got your trusty metallic Sharpie from your back pocket, “that’s how I know you’re one of the new kids.”

“You can make it out to Pearl,” she decided as you took the album from her, “that’s me.”

“Will do,” you agreed, uncapping the pen with your teeth and writing over the cover.

“I actually wanted to ask you something,” she said.

“Yeah?” you prompted, mostly focused on writing.

“My favorite song of yours is Pretty Boy,” she explained, “from your new album? I wanted to ask you who it’s about.”

You glanced at Eddie again, finding him still smiling at you. Of course he knew, he barely had to listen to the verse to figure it out, it wasn’t exactly cryptic. Can’t take you home when there’s no home to go to, still remember you with all the guys that I go through, it was pretty obvious. “Uh,” you stalled, voice slurred a bit from talking with a pen cap in your mouth, “it’s… not really about anyone. It’s just about the idea of someone.”

You handed her back the CD and put your marker away. “Wow,” she smiled when you gave it back, reading the message to herself. Pearl— don’t be a slut, with your signature across the bottom. Her smile faltered slightly, but she thanked you weakly.

“That’s good advice,” you informed her sternly as she sat back down.

“You know,” Eddie piped up, making your heart beat faster, “I wanted you to sign something of mine, too.”

You smirked at him, summoning some confidence from deep within yourself. “Kid, you’ve already got my name written all over you.”

A few of the girls started whispering to each other, and Eddie glanced down— he didn’t seem too caught off-guard, but his cheeks did flush. “Then maybe you can make my guitar match,” he suggested.

“Sure,” you agreed, and he stood up, lifting the guitar’s strap over his shoulder so he could hold it out for you and your re-uncapped marker.

Your hands were almost shaking, at the worst possible time, as he stood so close, staring at you with those eyes. You thought about what you might write, and decided as you made contact with the glossy wood.

Eddie,

I’m still waiting for you.

As you put your signature at the bottom, you were startled slightly by a flash; you turned to see one of the girls had taken an instant photo, and she pulled it out and shook it as it developed. “Sorry,” she mumbled sheepishly, “just a little piece of rock and roll history. Legends meeting for the first time!”

You didn’t correct her; Eddie just nodded. “You’ll have to send that to Rolling Stone,” he decided.

“There you go,” you announced as you finished the signature, watching him read what you’d written.

“Thanks,” he smiled, turning the guitar and holding it forward so he could look at it better before looking at you again. “Any chance I could bum a smoke?”

One of the girls started to reach into her bag, but without even looking at her, Eddie held his hand out and she froze. “Actually, I—” quit, you were about to say, but then you met his gaze. He really was still that boy you found waiting outside the back of a smaller stadium nearly four years ago— his eyes were the same: tender, pleading, hopeful. You knew the feeling well. “I… have a pack in my dressing room,” you offered.

“Great,” he smiled.

“Aw, don’t go!” one of the girls whined, the rest joining in a chorus of moping.

“Uh— hey! There’s Gareth!” Eddie pointed. “Will you girls go cheer him up? He, uh, just broke up with his girlfriend.”

Eddie gave his best sympathetic sigh as the girls’ eyes lit up; and while the cloud of adorers descended on the drummer, you guided Eddie back with you across the backstage tunnel, tumbling through the green room door with him.

When you were both on the other side and the door shut, he didn’t even give you a chance to offer him a drink, now that he was definitely old enough— he just kissed you, with every ounce of passion he’d been saving for you all this time. You whimpered and grabbed his face, holding him close, letting his tongue roam wherever and tasting his smile in return.

He pushed you back against the wall, pulling your hips against his, pressing all of himself against you; he tried to break the kiss to say something, but you pulled his face towards you again, you just needed a little more.

He hummed against your lips, and you let him go so he could kiss your neck instead. Your back was already arching up off the wall, and you felt his hands slide up the back of your shirt, tickling the dip of your spine, finding the clasp of your bra and undoing it in a moment so he could bring his hands around to the front and grope your chest.

You grinned as his fingers toyed with your nipples and squeezed your sensitive skin; there was more experience behind his movements than before, yet the same boyish eagerness under it all.

That said, your grin faded when he pulled your shirt and bra up, exposing you to the air, indulging himself in a glance and a sigh at your breasts before he put his mouth on them. “Fuck,” you whined. “Eddie, fuck.”

Your hands reached up and tangled in his hair, and he moaned around your skin, moving to the other nipple while his fingers gently pinched the first. “Say my name again,” he demanded.

“Make me,” you countered.

He stopped right away, spinning you around as you held your hands against the wall to keep yourself upright. He pressed his back up to yours, letting his hips rock so you could feel his erection against you and you purred. The way his fingers quickly unbuttoned your jeans reminded you a bit of the way he fingered his guitar on stage; the way he pushed your pants and underwear down and grabbed a handful of your ass before giving it a sudden spank reminded you of someone totally different from Eddie. I guess a lot can change in a few years…

“You gonna fuck me or what?” you sighed. “I’ve gotta be on stage any minute now.”

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he promised— or maybe it was a warning. "But I'm not your groupie anymore, sweetheart, I'm a star, and I fuck like one. All those girls wanted me to do to them what you did to me— but all I want is to be buried in you."

You hummed proudly turning around and facing him so you could start working on his belt for him. “Did you miss me?” you wondered, taunting with your question, but he wasn’t fazed.

“‘Course I did,” he smiled. "I wasn't a virgin when we met, but I still think you made a man outta me that night. You even let me come in you, you remember that? So dirty," he smirked, a hint of a snarl on his smile as he scrunched up his nose for a second. "You just want this cunt bred, huh?"

"Damn," you sighed, "you’re all grown up— and you got nasty."

He laughed breathlessly, looking down. "Guess I did. You haven't changed, though."

He guided you across the room, to the vanity, where he spun you around and bent you over quickly— not too rough, but definitely hurried— yanking your head up by your hair so you had to look in the mirror.

"Want you to see how pretty you are taking my cock."

He was inside you a moment later, and your eyes rolled back. “Fuck,” you groaned, legs quivering as he started off right away; he gave you long, deep strokes that made your walls clench.

"I remember how you like it," he purred. "Deep, and rough— and you like being in control. But right now, I wanna see you lose control."

Well, that was the plan if he kept talking like that…

“I wanna see you come for me,” he continued, “exactly when I tell you to.”

“Yeah?” you chuckled breathlessly. “If you wanted obedience you should’ve snagged one of those little tarts from the pit.”

“If you wanted me to play nice you should’ve taken me with you when we first met,” he shot back, fucking you harder as anger tinted his voice and his movements. “Back when I was still an impressionable kid.”

“That’s— that’s exactly why I didn’t,” you explained through your teeth. “I was trying to do right by you.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Yes!” you admitted. “Yes, I wish I wasn’t such a damn good person, okay? Now just fuck me, damn it!”

He laughed a little, but finally did as he was told, taking hold of your hips and setting a brutal pace.

“S’this… this how you fuck your groupies?” you choked out.

He laughed as he shook his head. “No, I take my time with them.”

Fuck. “I liked you better when you were nice.”

He smacked your ass again, making you whimper. “Don’t lie to me.”

Touche… “Did you like me better when I was just your fantasy?” you managed to get out.

“No,” he sighed, leaning down and laying his body over yours, holding you tighter. “No, I like you best like this— here, with me. Real.”

You whined and dropped your head down, hoping to hide your watering eyes, but he cooed as he pet your hair before grabbing it pulling you up again.

“Look, baby,” he insisted, “I want you to see it— god, you’re so beautiful. Look how beautiful you are.”

“Y-you’re beautiful, too,” you blurted out as you watched his face in the reflection, still a bit red as he panted behind you, and he gave you a breathless smile

"Tell me how good it feels,” he instructed.

"So good, Eddie, your cock is so good," you groaned.

“Y’love it, huh?” he taunted, but his eyebrows knitted together when you shook your head.

“No, Ed— I hate this… I hate that I’m the one that made you bitter,” you admitted. “You were so sweet before…”

He slowed down a bit, one hand brushing your hair out of your face as the other held your hips— tight, but not painfully so. “I’m still yours,” he whispered by your ear, making you bite your lip to hold back a sob. “Baby, I’m still yours.”

“Then why are you angry?”

“Because you’re not mine.”

You laughed— you actually laughed, and he hissed as it made you tighten on him. “Damn, you got older, but you didn’t get much smarter, huh?” you noticed. “I was yours from the start, Eddie.”

He fucked you harder— but not exactly in the rough way. In a patient, but needy, way; and you felt him smile as he kissed your neck again. “You’re just saying that,” he presumed teasingly.

“No— god, it’s real, it’s not just ‘cause we’re fucking,” you promised. “I’m yours.”

He pulled out and dropped to his knees, suddenly colliding his mouth with your sopping cunt. You whined as your legs quivered. "Fuck, Ed—!"

He growled as he lapped at you hungrily. "So sweet,” you could barely make out his mumbled groan when it was spoken right against your wet skin.

You were amazed he had the patience to stop fucking you in the middle of that— amazed and slightly pissed. “Fuck me,” you begged, “c’mon, I said I’m yours— I meant it.”

“You’re gonna make me come too fast if you keep saying you’re mine,” he explained. “I don’t want it to end yet.”

“Well, we’re already out of time,” you noticed as you glanced at the clock, “I should be on by now… they’re probably looking for me.”

“Well, let’s help them find you,” he encouraged with one more lick up the seam of your cunt before he stood up and shoved his cock inside you roughly. His pace was faster after that, careless to the way he hit the end of you every time— except it wasn’t careless, it was intentional. "Uh huh, scream for my cock, it'll get your voice warmed up,” he encouraged with a smile.

“God, I’m way too close,” you groaned, toes curling inside your boots, back arching deeper even as he held your hips steady. “Don’t make fun of me for coming so fast… I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

“I’m— Christ, I’m not in any place to judge, am I? M’gonna come too,” he promised, “inside you. Gonna let it all drip out of you while you’re playing your set.”

Imagining that was what pushed you over the edge, actually. “Eddie, I’m coming,” you sobbed, “fuck, I— don’t stop, don’t stop—”

“I’ll never stop, I’ll never fucking stop, I swear,” he grunted— and even though he stopped barely ten seconds later as his own orgasm hit him, you knew exactly what he meant.

You both caught your breath, and he held you close as his legs gave out— which meant you both fell onto the floor, but you hardly noticed; you just let him pull you closer as your eyes fluttered shut.

It was a beautiful, peaceful moment for exactly two seconds before someone banged on the door. “WE NEED YOU TO SET UP!!” a crew member bellowed through the wood.

“GIMME A MINUTE!” you screamed back, making Eddie laugh behind you— and you followed suit. “Not so romantic, huh?”

“Nah, it’s perfect,” he assured softly, running his fingers down your back. “I’m sorry I was mean.”

“I deserved it,” you sighed, “I’m sorry I left you in Indiana in 1985.”

He scoffed. “I deserved that, too.”

You relaxed as he pulled your back into his chest, kissing along your neck. “I’ve gotta get up and get myself together,” you reminded him.

“Okay,” he sighed, letting you go so you could awkwardly climb up and start pulling your pants back on.

He just laid on the floor and watched you for a second, before shoving his cock back in his own jeans and standing up to correct his button and fly.

You bent down to look in the vanity again, wiping under your eye to carefully remove the evidence of an eyeliner-stained tear.

"I fell in love with you back then," he said suddenly, and you smiled, though you didn’t turn around.

"When we met?" you assumed.

"Before that," he replied. You stood up this time and faced him, heart beating so hard it made you wonder if he could see your chest moving. "Before you even knew me, before I really knew you, I loved you. I worshiped you. And before you even took me for yourself, I was yours. I still am, baby— I'm still yours, and I always was."

“Do you still love me?” you asked hesitantly— only because you knew you were ready for a no.

“Yes,” he smiled, stepping closer to you, “of course.”

"I never stopped thinking about you," you promised quietly. "I never forgot you."

He grabbed your hands suddenly, holding them up with his between the two of you, and you stared at them before you looked up at his eyes instead, brimming with optimism just like you’d dreamed of him for years. "I'm not letting you leave me again," he insisted. "You know how good we are together. You know I'll always love you. C'mon and let me be yours, angel— I'm gonna love you so much you won't know what to do with yourself."

You smirked. "I think you're always mine, whether I let you or not."

"I think you wanna marry me."

You nearly choked, and you felt your cheeks burn but you tried to keep your cool. "Bold claim."

"What if I ask you now?"

"You got a ring?"

"Do I?" he snorted, pulling a skull off of his right middle finger and getting down on one knee as he brandished it for you. "I don't want anyone else. You don't need anyone else. No more of this ships in the night crap— us, forever."

"A skull? Not the most romantic."

"Oh, but it is," he grinned, "til death do us part, babe. It was almost four years ago I said I'd follow you anywhere, I meant it, and I'll follow you to the grave."

The sound tech banged loudly on the door again. "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE ON TEN MINUTES AGO, THE CROWD'S GONNA REVOLT," he bellowed.

"I need to play my set, Eddie," you reminded the man on his knee before you.

"Then play," he agreed, "and give me your answer after the encore."

You leaned down and kissed him, more gently than you’d allowed yourself before. “I will,” you promised.

You dashed out of the dressing room and towards the stage, a thousand people swarming around you to put your earpiece in, fling your guitar around your shoulder, brush powder over your face— and in a whirlwind of a few seconds, you were right there in front of the crowd, your band surrounding you. The crowd cheered, and your heart swelled; I’ve still got it.

“Good evening, Indianapolis!” you greeted through the microphone, and the roar grew. “Are we having fun tonight?”

It was easy, but it worked, and they applauded and whooped excitedly.

“How was that opener?” you prompted, and they cheered again. “Is it just me or was that frontman kinda cute?”

A more feminine cheer answered as if to say, it’s not just you.

“Hope you like this first song,” was your simple introduction before the drummer counted you off and you all began to play.

All in all, it was a great show. Crowd was good, band killed it (as always), and aside from a moment of feedback from one of the speakers, it all went pretty much perfectly. And that was all in spite of your mind being totally overwhelmed with thoughts of Eddie. Normally, music cleared your head, but nothing could keep your thoughts from everything that had just happened— and not even just that! You were thinking about that first night, about how young he was then; about when you called him and he stayed on with you until you fell asleep so you wouldn’t have to spend another night alone; about when he first looked at you backstage half an hour ago, holding onto his guitar, surrounded by girls but looking at you like you were the only woman in the world.

Shows always went by fast, especially when they went this well, but this one seemed to go by in a moment— and there you were, waiting in the dark, hearing them chant.

Encore, encore, encore!

You were about to go back out, but you smiled to yourself as you grabbed a stage manager by the sleeve. "Get me the lead guitarist for Corroded Coffin— bring him out on stage."

"Now?"

"Now."

He ran off to search for Eddie, and you turned to your bassist, Alex: “Think we’ve made ‘em wait long enough?”

Jerome answered instead. “Everybody knows you like to tease,” he smirked.

True, but not as true as it used to be. “Let’s go back,” you announced, hearing a roar of applause wash onto the stage as the musicians took the stage once more.

"We missed you," you offered into the mic, hearing the crowd cheer. "Want us to play one more?"

They screamed again, almost deafeningly, and you laughed. You glanced over at the side of the stage and felt your heart melt just at the sight of Eddie there, the stage manager getting him ready to go out.

"I've got someone I want you guys to meet first," you explained. "An old friend of mine. You know him best as the guy who rocked the fuck out of this place before I came on…"

As they figured out who you were talking about, their applause restored.

"If you don't mind, I'd like him to come out and play this song with me."

Of course, that only made them more excited. I’ll show you rock and roll history, boys and girls.

You motioned for him to come out, and he walked on with a smile and a wave to the encouraging crowd. "But I want you to know something else about him,” you continued as he grabbed one of your guitars and put it on, fiddling with it for a second to make sure he knew the sound and feel of the instrument. “He's not just the hottest new sound in metal, and he's not just a heartthrob—"

The girls cheered louder at that.

"He's also—" you glanced at him, standing beside you at the other microphone, smiling back at you with slight confusion. You took a deep breath in and out, surprised at how shaky it was. You didn't think you got nervous anymore. "He's also my fiancé."

You expected a huge reaction to that, but there was a pause first— a stillness that said, did we just hear that right?

Time seemed to slow down as you stepped up to him. The crowd was frozen, and silent, and then they were gone. Your band was gone, the crew was gone, it was just you and him in an empty stadium.

When you were in front of him, his eyes blinking at you, his smile soft and patient, you reached up and held his cheek. "I promised I wouldn't forget you, Eddie," you whispered. "Believe it or not, I tried. But I couldn’t— because I love you."

He smiled back wider. "I love you too," he returned. "Wanna get married?"

You laughed a bit. "Okay," you answered flippantly, and he pulled you into a sudden, powerful kiss.

Then the crowd was back, and louder than ever. You felt Eddie's hand take yours, squeezing it before gently slipping the skull ring on your finger. Yes, it was a little big, but it would do for now.

You returned to the mic with a smile as you addressed the crowd again. "We're gonna play a song for you all, it's called Pretty Boy. Do you know that one, Eddie?"

"I think I can keep up," he answered into his own microphone with a smirk.

"Then let's show 'em how good we are together," you decided, turning over your shoulder to make eye contact with the drummer as you counted off: "one, two, three, four!"

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you

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ladykailitha · 1 month

Text

Icarus Part 8

Hey, guys! The plot is plotting and coming along. I've just had a rough week last week and really didn't get too far on any of my works but the omegaverse sequel. So I'm chomping through my backlog (which is a good thing, I promise, that's what it's for).

In this Steve has to deal with the not fun side of the music business, but Eddie is there to soothe the way.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7

****

Steve chewed on his nail as he looked over the contract for the tour they were going to be headlining for Corroded Coffin. It came with their usual anonymity clause.

The part Steve wasn’t sure about was the part where the guys and his roles on the tour to hide that they were part of the band.

Spence being a medic made sense. He was medically trained as an EMT and kept up on his certification even after they made it big.

Simon’s made sense too. Eddie had seen him as a roadie that night, so him continuing that was fine.

It was Shane and Steve’s that concerned him. He didn’t want to PA for The Fallen because then Dustin and his friends would want things like backstage passes and VIP tickets.

Things Steve didn’t want to do because that would get them too close to the action and he worried they would notice that they wouldn’t see Abbadon and him in the same place and put two and two together.

Shane’s role was that of an advance person. Someone that rode into town first to make sure everything was as it supposed to be according to their rider.

Steve loved Shane with all his heart, but he couldn’t think of a worse “job” for him.

Plus it wouldn’t make sense because he wouldn’t be on the same bus as the rest of the band.

He called up Robin.

“Hello!” she chirped her greeting. “What’s up?”

“I’m looking over the contract and they want me to PA and Shane to advance.”

There was silence on the line for a moment or two before Robin said, “I’m on it. I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks, Celeste,” Steve teased.

He was not surprised when she just hung up on him. He chuckled.

His best friend was working on getting Shane and him in the right roles. On their last tour, Shane and Simon had been roadies and Steve had been an assistant like Robin.

Steve looked back at the contract with a sigh. He set it aside and pulled out his notebook. He couldn’t write lyrics or music, but he could write down his thoughts and feelings.

He wrote about the fear of being discovered, of showing his true self. What people would think of him and his friends. Everyone said that metal fans were among the most welcoming in the industry.

Unless you looked like someone they didn’t approve of. Steve couldn’t remember which 1980s rocker it was, but the dude was papped outside a store waiting for his wife in cargo shorts and Birkenstocks and the internet had a fucking field day.

Like how dare he go to the store not dressed all in black and leather and chains everywhere.

It was no doubt the biggest reason no one had cottoned on to him and his friends being The Fallen. Because why would four preppy guys be the members of the hottest rising metal band right now?

He flipped to a different page and began writing about finding love where you left it. Eddie had always had Steve’s heart, ever since they were thrown together when a freak earthquake that was caused by nearby fracking destroyed almost half the town they grew up in.

Eddie ran the local DND club which Dustin and his friends had been a part of.

Steve had managed to keep all of them safe and Eddie, who had been unsure of the former jock had warmed up to him by the time they had come through at the end of the week long ordeal.

Steve had fallen in love with Eddie’s sense of humor, his dimpled smile, and doe brown eyes.

So he wrote about that too.

By the time Robin had called back he had written so much his hand was cramping.

“Hello, hello!” he greeted warmly.

“Hey,” Robin said. “So I talked it over with their lawyers and ours and I think we’ve go the solution.”

“Hit me with it,” Steve said.

“Right so we have Shane assisting with me,” she said. “He doesn’t have anyone really close to him who would ask for favors and shit, or at least not ones he wouldn’t gleefully tell to fuck off.”

Steve sighed in relief. “That’s good.”

“You were a little trickier,” Robin admitted. “But then I remembered you picked up a couple of CPR certifications in the past and got them to make you medic too. You just have to take the refresher courses while we’re in the studio.”

Steve chewed on his thumb. He had wanted to be an EMT before he met Spence and saw how much it took out of him.

“Wouldn’t it look bad if two medics suddenly vanished for two hours every night?”

Robin chuckled. “You’re assigned especially to the band. So you can’t be called during a performance. I do think of these things you know.”

Steve sighed with relief. “I know you do, I just worry.”

“Worry wart,” she teased. “It’ll be fine. You just have to keep it in your pants while on tour because an EMT dating a rockstar is going to be suspicious as hell.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You mean like every other tour we’ve been on?”

“Only this time,” she said, voice dangerously low, “you’ve got temptation in the form of one Eddie Munson, the man you’ve been pining over for literal years.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve groused. “Am I at least allowed to be seen with Eddie you know, considering we are friends?”

Robin sighed dramatically. “I guess. Just try to keep the PDA to a minimum please.”

“I promise.”

This was going to a very long three month tour.

****

Jim Hopper was a former Marine and he looked it. He was built like a tank with a grizzled appearance and cigar tucked between his teeth. Simon thought that he thought Hopper scared the enemy off just glaring at them and Steve privately agreed.

He was there for two reasons. To deprogram their stage persona and to brush Steve up on his emergency medical training.

Actually they all were learning because it was it interesting. Simon and Shane didn’t need to pay attention for certification, but they did anyway.

“How long do you guys plan to be in the studio this week?” Hopper asked. “I need to know if I need to have someone else pick up my daughter from the airport.”

“They want us to have at least eight hours in the studio a day,” Shane explained. “They want us to get as much done as we can before Corroded Coffin goes on tour so they can at least release a single or two.”

Hopper nodded. “Then I should be fine. She’s a fashion designer in New York and the fashion house she works at is sending her out here to intern at their LA branch.”

“That’s awesome!” Shane said. “Maybe while she’s here we can fan her design our costumes for the new tour.”

Hopper shook his head. “As long as it paid. This internship sure ain’t.”

Robin threw her arms in the air. “Fine! I’ll see what the budget is for that and get back to you.”

Hopper chuckled.

“They have you wrapped around their fingers, girly.”

Robin smirked. “Don’t I know it.”

****

That night Steve called Eddie up.

“Hey, baby,” he cooed.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie greeted back. “How did today go? It was first day with the deprogramer, right?”

Steve curled up on the sofa and tucked his feet under him. “It was okay. He’s a bit scary, but apparently he has a daughter Dustin’s age.”

“The butthead will be pissed he missed that,” Eddie chuckled.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed warmly. “She’s really pretty, too.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Suzie’s a great girl. But we all know here parents aren’t going to let her marry someone ‘outside the faith’ as it were.”

Steve chewed on his thumbnail. “Yeah. I was hoping with them both going home for the whole summer would break them up.”

Eddie scoffed. “It’s good thing talk and text is included in mobile plans these days unlike in early days of yore when mobile plans made you pay for every text message and long distance calling, otherwise their cell phone bills would be through the fucking roof.”

“Tell me about,” Steve huffed. “And he’s going to spending the last week of vacation in Utah with her.”

“Eeee,” Eddie said with a grimace, “is it bad of me that I hope her parents scare him off?”

“Maybe a little,” Steve admitted. “But I just want him to be happy, you know?”

Eddie let out a long drawn out sigh. “Yeah. So you guys got the contract all figured out?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Steve muttered. “It’s going to be hard being in the studio and taking EMT course to pretend to be medical personnel. Well not really pretending. Both me and one of the other band members have training. Me with being a lifeguard for awhile there and them with being an EMT. But it feels wrong somehow.”

“Is there something else, some other role you can fill?” Eddie asked after a moment or two of silence.

“Not according to Robin,” Steve groused. “She says it’ll be fine and no one will figure it out. And I trust her. Her plans have gotten us through two tours already, one even being overseas...”

“But you’re still worried because I’ll be on the road with you?” Eddie asked gently.

Steve threw his head back and groaned. “God that sounds so horrible of me.”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie admonished. “It’s not. It’s an extra variable you didn’t have to factor in before. But we will make it work.”

“I think the biggest part is that Eddie and Steve have to remain friends until after the tour so everyone doesn’t connect Steve with Abbadon,” he said. “God that sounded pretentious. Talking in third person like some Chad.”

Eddie giggled. “Maybe a little, but I got what you mean.”

“Don’t laugh!” Steve whined. “My dick is going to fall off from the sheer amount of blue balling that’s going to be happening on this fucking tour. Well not fucking actually. I’m going to be in hell!”

“And people tell me I’m dramatic,” Eddie said laughing out loud. “What do you normally do on tour?”

Steve sat up and stretched his feet out in front of him on the sofa. “It’s complicated.”

Eddie snorted. “I don’t doubt that, sweetheart. Are we talking NDAs or fucking with the masks on?”

Steve laughed. “It’s more like no phones, dark room, no staying the night. That sort of thing.”

“I’m betting there aren’t many that agree to that.”

“More than you’d think,” Steve snorted. “Groupies gotta fuck.”

“We’ll figure something out. I won’t let those pretty balls go blue,” Eddie said with a snicker.

“Help me, Eddie-wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope!” Steve cried in a sharp falsetto.

Eddie laughed. “You’re a menace, Steve Harrington.”

“And you love it.”

Warmth just flooded Eddie’s tone when he replied, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Eds.”

****

Part 9 Part 10

Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie

@chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @danili666 @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach

@val-from-lawrence @goodolefashionedloverboi @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

@justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @yikes-a-bee @bookbinderbitch

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@cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rockstar steve harrington #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar au

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unclewaynemunson · 1 year

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Tadaaaa here is the sequel to this post, which came from an ask that got me in a chokehold for days now so kudos to the lovely anon who sent that prompt to me! You can also read the whole thing on ao3 :)

As soon as Eddie got into the passenger seat of his Wayne's truck, he saw the whole world go blurry. He tried to blink away his tears, but it was no use – nothing ever escaped his uncle's notice anyway.

'Wanna tell me what's wrong, boy?' he asked while he started the car.

Eddie grimaced. 'You know how they say you should never meet your heroes?'

'Hm?'

'Well, I met mine. On the fucking train. Just yet.'

Wayne shot him an incredulous glance.

'What was the Black Sabbath guy doin' on a train?'

'What? No, it wasn't... No.'

'The Hobbits guy?'

'Jesus Christ, Wayne, Tolkien died like fifteen years ago, keep up.'

'You want me to keep guessin' or you gonna tell me?'

Eddie rolled his eyes.

'Yeah, no, you wouldn't guess it right anyway. It's this poet.'

'Don't think I ever heard you talk 'bout poetry before,' Wayne remarked.

And that was exactly the thing. Ronan Right had been something... private. Something between Eddie and the faceless blob in his mind that embodied Right – and maybe Jeff. Okay, and Jeff's mom. But it wasn't someone he'd talk people's ears off about on any occasion he got, like he did with plenty of other musicians or writers that he'd get all obsessive about.

Until Steve, that was. Steve, who had been casually listening to his music. Steve, who had recognized the book in his hands and effortlessly opened the floodgates of his obsession. Steve, who had said the most beautiful things about Corroded Coffin without even knowing who Eddie was. Steve, who had talked with him about their shared passions for hours. Steve, who he now somehow had to merge with Right in his mind.

Steve, who seemed so perfect that it made all of Eddie's alarm bells go off at the loudest possible volume. Because this couldn't be real. This was something straight from a disgustingly sweet romcom scenario, and if there was anything Eddie could be certain about, it was that his life was no romcom.

So during the short walk from the station to Wayne's car, Eddie's head had already come up with a dozen scenarios that were completely spiraling out of control – even though they'd all make for great songs, no doubt about that. Steve would die some kind of tragic death on his way to their first date. Steve was secretly addicted to crack. Steve was a stalkerish fan who had lied to him about being Ronan Right to get close to him. Steve would cheat on him on their wedding day.

The list of possibilities was endless and terrifying – while the list of possibilities for this having a happy ending, on the other hand, was exceptionally short.

'Was it that bad?' asked Wayne while they headed out of the city.

Usually, Eddie enjoyed amping up his dramatics to a maximum around Wayne, providing the much-needed balance to his uncle's calm and steady demeanor. But right now, Eddie felt himself deflate in his seat. He couldn't bring himself to make a show out of it.

'No,' he said, quietly. 'He was perfect.'

And Wayne must've heard it in his voice, must've picked up right away that this wasn't Eddie being dramatic, that something serious was going on here, because he gave him this look that was cutting way too deep into his heart.

'Nobody can be that perfect, you know,' Eddie continued. 'It's impossible. And he – he gave me his number. And I just know that if I call it, and we get to know each other better, I'll get crushingly disappointed sooner rather than later. Because something has to be, like, disturbingly wrong with this guy.'

Anyone else than Wayne would probably tell Eddie that he was being ridiculous, that he should get over himself and call Steve; that he should allow himself to let good things happen to him or some shit. But Wayne wasn't just anyone. Wayne was the one person who knew exactly what Eddie meant. The one person who had seen from up-close the shitshow that Eddie's life had been, who had retained a front row seat through all of it. And he had had his own fair share of misery himself, Eddie knew that much. He was too old and had gotten punched down too many times to still hold naive illusions of the possibility of good things.

So he didn't give him some bullshit advice. He merely patted Eddie's knee and turned up the radio.

---

Ever since Eddie had left Hawkins, it had become a habit of him to stay with Wayne for a couple of weeks every now and then. For all his desires to get the hell out of that town when he was younger, he still spent way too much time at his uncle's trailer. But it wasn't Hawkins that he came back for, it was uncle Wayne.

It was home. And it helped him breathe whenever the city got too intense. Helped him get detached from everything that distracted him from the shit that actually mattered. Helped him get his head right when Chicago was threatening to make him lose it.

Time seemed to move differently in Hawkins than in the city. Slower. More naturally, too, somehow. Maybe it was because of the lack of nightlife and flashing neon signs when the world was supposed to be wrapped in darkness. The fact that he could still see the stars when he stepped out of the trailer at nighttime. Maybe it was the quiet, which allowed him to actually hear himself think. Or maybe it was the predictability of it all: Wayne waking him up with a cup of coffee in the morning, the two of them sharing cigarettes on the porch, Eddie helping Wayne with some chores and then trying to write new songs until well into the night, when the world was his and his alone.

He kept reading Right almost religiously, but it was different, now. Now that he could hear Steve's voice say those words, now that he could envision the way in which the sun shone on his hair through the dirty train window and the shape of his hands clutching a walkman that had Eddie's music in it. It was all different.

After a week, Eddie had a whole album worth of songs about the deception of things that seemed perfect. He hadn't been able to write even one song about things ending well, about things working out. That wasn't his life. Things never worked out. Why would they, for a boy born in a household where the trifecta of poverty, addiction and violence was all he had ever known? In the five albums he had produced so far, he'd never experienced a lack of demons to write about.

So no, he wouldn't be calling Steve, even though he had read the number that was written down on the sleeve of his own album so often that it'd probably be impossible to ever erase it from his mind again. He'd protect himself, this time. He'd cherish the hours he got to spend with Ronan Right, the memories that were already starting to feel like a fever dream, and not let his heart break any further. Not this time. Not again.

---

'Got mail for ya.'

An envelope landed in Eddie's lap.

'What's this?'

'I dunno, 's your mail,' Wayne answered.

Eddie didn't recognize the handwriting and the Indianapolis post stamp didn't give him much of a clue either. It didn't make sense that someone would send him a letter at his uncle's place.

He frowned, roughly tore open the envelope and pulled a single sheet of paper out of it. It was neither directed at nor signed by anyone, but that wasn't necessary for Eddie to know who sent it.

'What is it, boy?' Wayne asked, a worried edge to his voice upon hearing the choked sob that freed itself from Eddie's throat.

Eddie knew that the words were only meant for him. But he and Wayne were a unit, always had been, ever since Eddie moved into Forest Hills. So he wordlessly handed the paper to his uncle, roughly wiping the tears from his eyes.

Wayne assessed the text with a wrinkled forehead, holding the paper at an arm's-length in order to read it.

'That from the boy you met on the train?'

Eddie nodded.

When his uncle looked up from the letter, Eddie caught an almost unfamiliar look in his eyes. It was soft, hopeful. Optimistic.

'You know I ain't any good with words, like you, or this – this poet,' Wayne said. 'But this...' He pressed the letter back into Eddie's hand. 'This looks like he knows you, Ed. Like he sees you. For all that you are.'

He didn't tell Eddie what to do; that wasn't his style, never had been. But what he did say kept bouncing through Eddie's head unceasingly, making him unable to sleep, unable to write, unable to think about anything else.

---

Eddie desperately wanted to say something meaningful when Steve picked up the phone. He wanted to thank him for reaching out, to apologize for being too much of a coward to call earlier – but what came out of his mouth instead was, 'How did you know where to find me?'

'Eddie, is that you?' It sounded like Steve didn't quite believe it.

'Yeah – yeah, it's me,' was the only thing he managed to get out of his mouth.

'Look, I'm sorry if I overstepped,' Steve told him. 'I just – I couldn't get you out of my head and it all felt so right, you know, like fate or some shit, so I just had to... I needed to try. And I knew your name, and that you were staying with your uncle, so I got help from some friends and they managed to find your uncle's address.'

And as if Eddie hadn't been enough of an emotional wreck over the past week, his vision got blurry with tears yet again.

'Sorry, was it – did I go too far?' Steve sounded nervous.

Eddie could perfectly envision the way he would be frowning and anxiously running a hand through his hair; as if they had already shared a whole lifetime of getting to know all about each other's mannerisms instead of a few stolen hours on a train.

He hated the idea of Steve thinking he had done something wrong when all he ever did was so fucking right, so he determinedly shook his head, then realized Steve wouldn't be able to see that, and started scraping for words.

'No, Steve, you... You're perfect. And that scared the shit out of me, because so far, my life hasn't really done perfect. Most of our songs, they're – well – creative retellings of my own shit.' Now that he started talking, the words actually came a lot easier. 'They're all real, at the core, when you peel away the layers of, like, monster slaying and fantasy imagery. Like, everything underneath all that, it's all... me. Damage, betrayal, fear, violence – all that shit is true. Life hasn't been kind to me, Steve. And I was convinced that you'd only become an addition to that long list of crap, because you seemed way too perfect. I never thought I could have something good. And you're good, Steve, you're so fucking good. So I couldn't believe it.'

A long silence ensued at the other side of the line. Then, a sigh.

Then, 'Eddie,' in the softest voice possible, like his name was something breakable. Eddie didn't remember ever having heard his name said like that.

'I think that was exactly what I heard in your songs. Why I kept listening to them. Why they inspired me so much.'

Eddie tried to swallow away the lump in his throat, suffocated by the emotions bubbling up inside of him.

'I wish I could hold you, right now.'

Eddie's breath caught. He knew exactly what he needed to do: he needed to stop running. He needed to trust that Steve could be right, for him. That Steve could be something good.

'I mean, you could come over to Hawkins and do just that, you know,' he suggested.

'D'you want me to?'

He nodded, again forgetting that Steve couldn't see him.

'Yeah, I'd like that. Probably still got half that cookie somewhere in my pocket, y'know. Maybe we could share it.'

Credit where credit is due: the line “He sees you, for all that you are” isn't mine, it's one of my favorite quotes from Schitt's Creek and I really wanted Wayne to say that to Eddie about Steve, so here we have it <3

@ My beloved 🥐 anon: I hope you like this ending, and that I came close enough to your suggestion to have Steve make Eddie a character in his next poem <3

Taglist: @kathorakiryu @goodolefashionedloverboi @undreaming-rambles @fangirlycupcake @ghouligans-central @henderdads @dolphincliffs @anglhrts @ajamlessbaby @yearningagain @vampireinthesun @xxbottlecapx @kissaphobic-kas @mad-h-w @booksandsience @obsessivlyme @ppunkpuppyy @barnes-bestgirl @capital-p-platonic @eddiemunsonmeltdowns @callme-keys

#tumblr didn't wanna format the poem right so i hope it's not too annoying i ended up inserting it as an image #also i'm v nervous about this one bc i can't write poetry yet here i am pretending like i can #don't mind me rambling about stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #fruity ficlet

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 8 months

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Update 27 Nov 23

Ko-Fi thing

You can call me Nyarla, I guess.

Or "Yo She-Bitch." Either's cool.

Soooo I figured I might need to make one of those MASTERLIST things because I cannot stop writing (which is the most amazing feeling ever when I've been in a writer's block for months).

It's just One Piece Live Action right now, but as my confidence increases I might post some of my other fandom work.

I'm Open for Requests for OPLA fics and headcanon. Primarily Character X FemaleReader, but I'm flexible.

I do reserve the right to not write every single request that is asked, since I am human and my abilities do have limitations, but I swear I will try.

I'm not squeamish about much of anything, so don't refrain. I'll always post any necessary ⚠️Trigger Warnings⚠️ right here with the links.

I'm always open to requests for Shanks, Mihawk, Zoro, and Sanji. Possibly also Buggy, Luffy, Usopp, Koby, and Helmeppo, but I haven't written them much, so please bear with me if it takes me a bit to respond.

Honestly please bear with me if it takes me a while to respond to Asks/Requests in general because I get really nervous about getting them perfect.

Some things about the weirdo that's writing this shit can be found here

Masterlist

The Lovely Alphabet (NSFW)

Sanji

Zoro

Shanks

Mihawk

Dialog I Presently Have No Use For

(But might eventually) (basically mini dialogue-centric fics that may make there way into something else later or might not)

01 Get Out

02 Can We Keep Her?

03 What Happens in Loguetown

04 Coffins and Coping Mechanisms

05 Kitty

06 Send Help

07 Pep Talk

08 Death Wish

09 Oh No Not Again

10 Shanty Time!

11 No Sleep

12 The Throngler™

The Best Boys

First Kiss

Material Boys (NSFW)

I Don't Even Know Music Or Something?

Ooooh...Kinky ;D (NSFW)

In the Kitchen

HAMMERED

Because I Got High

Whoops

Short Stuff

Hobbies

ABCs of Kink (NSFW)

D is for Dominance (First Kiss sequal)

P is for Public Blacksmith's Daughter Part 1 . . . Part 2 . . . Part 3

Mihawk

Your Scars Are Mine (NSFW)

(Trigger Warnings for Self-Harm, Blood, Implied PTSD)

Ch. 1 . . . Ch. 2 . . . Ch. 3

Ten Years (unofficial sequel to YSAM) (NSFW)

Mood Swings (mostly SFW headcanons)

Hearing Problems (NSFW eventually)

Guess this is important

All OC Face Claims and Character Sheet Links

Ch.1 . . . Ch. 2 . . . Ch. 3 . . . Ch. 4 . . . Ch. 5 . . . Ch. 6 . . . Ch. 7

Sanji

Late Night Chats

X plus-sizeReader Headcanons (NSFW)

Tongue Ring headcanons

Zoro

Strawhat Stowaway Ch. 1 . . . Ch. 2

Shanks

Redhead suppremacy (sfw headcanons)

!!COMIMG SOON!!

(...I hope)

(Some titles subject to change)

Tongue Ring (F is for Food Play)

Blacksmith's Daughter part 2 (P is for Public, ABC's of Kink)

O is for O Denial

B is for Brat Tamer

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miraclesabound · 9 months

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Spoiler-Heavy Review/Thoughts on "The Last Voyage of the Demeter"

The crowd at the theater grew to about 15, so still pretty quiet.

Short version is that I enjoyed this movie thoroughly, but it is truly gruesome. The entry will start below the cut with spoilery warnings, because even having read the book, there were some things that caught me off guard.

Warnings for this film include:

trafficking of a young woman as a blood bag/bride for Dracula

Use of racial slurs against both a Black and a Romani character

deaths of all animals on board, including livestock and a young boy's beloved dog - shown with full gore

death of three crew members by burning in the sun after vampiric possession, including the young boy (the captain's grandson)

One of those three choosing sunlight as their method of suicide rather than allowing themselves to fully turn into a beat.

In fact, no one dies peacefully - this version of Dracula is emphasized as truly beastly, relishing the fear of his victims.

I know we've all been rooting for the Captain (named Captain Elliot in this version), but the true protagonist is Mr. Clemens, played by Corey Hawkins. We never get his first name, but we learn that he's a Black English doctor making his way home from Bulgaria/Romania, and he offers his services to Captain Elliot when a previously hired hand refuses to touch anything marked with Dracula's symbol - the stamp of a black dragon.

Other characters include: Captain Elliot and his young grandson Toby, Anna, the young woman given to Dracula as a captive by her village, and the men of the crew, all of whom have sailed with Captain Elliot before.

Then of course, there's Dracula himself. I saw some reviews saying he's shown far too early in the movie - but it worked for me. We find out that Anna was locked in his coffin with him and was meant to sustain him for the whole voyage - so when we see Dracula, he's weak and wracked with hunger for losing his food supply when Clemens finds Anna and starts treating her. Since we see him like that early, there's room for him to grow to almost full power as he burns through the animals and then the crew.

I enjoyed just about every performance in the film, but Corey Hawkins (Clemens), Javier Botet (Dracula), and Woody Norman (Toby) were particular highlights. Clemens is your classic cynical scientist with a heart of gold, Dracula speaks less than you would expect but still has that taunting air, and Toby doesn't read as older than he's supposed to be.

As story beats go, I think I appreciated Anna's the most. I've said in my reread of Dracula that I wish modern adaptations did more with the people of Transylvania hating Dracula, and this version presented that in Anna's character. She's lived under Dracula's shadow as long as she can remember, even before her village elders handed her over, and once she's freed and recovered some of her strength, she's finally able to fight back. I'm a sucker for a character who knows they're doomed but still tries to do the right thing, and Anna is that in spades.

THE LIGHTING IN THIS MOVIE WAS ACTUALLY EFFECTIVE!!!! The daytime scenes were vibrant, and all the nights scenes are lit by an enormous full moon and several stars. It makes the shadow work less muddied than you might see in a more modern-style horror movie.

The movie ends with Clemens technically surviving, but still deeply traumatized and literally scarred - he and Anna scuttle the ship and jump overboard, but not until after Dracula has drunk enough from Anna to curse her and he's badly hurt Clemens' neck. Anna gives herself over to the sun so that Clemens can get to shore, and the closing scene is clearly a sequel hook as he hunts for Dracula in London - or perhaps the Count has already realized that Clemens is on his tail. This worked for me because the film stuck with Clemens. I kept expecting him to run into one of the core Dracula characters, and I'm not sure I would have liked that.

This is all a very long-winded way of saying that this was a film I truly enjoyed, and it is a LOVE LETTER to the book's thesis - the supernatural may have come out of hiding, but if we band together, evil may be halted - even for a little while.

Rating: 8.5/10

#dracula daily #the last voyage of the demeter #last voyage of the demeter

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juletheghoul · 10 months

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A/N; I’ve decided to try and post a bit more consistently. The plan, for now, is to post twice a week—a series chapter update, as well as one of the standalone pieces I have in the works. My confidence lately has been the pits, but I’m not going to let it ruin my life, or my desire to write. This is fun, and I still want to share the things that I create. If you’re still here and reading, thank you, hope you enjoy 💜 (p.s., I know the picture I used isn't Max, but that's how I see this version of him. A little younger, a little leaner-hungrier) (p.p.s, right now there is no plan for a sequel, but I never say never. Asks are always open, and so are the dms)

Pairing: Max Phillips x F!Reader

Word Count: 8.2K

Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) mentions of loneliness, and alcoholism, language, He's a vampire (went with classic vampire lore for this one, needs a coffin, no sunlight), piv sex (wrap it up!), vaginal fingering, violence, talk of death, blood and some non-graphic gore, period piece

Let me know if I missed anything!

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

It starts with a prickle to the back of your neck, the hairs there standing on end, a shiver running along your spine.

The main thoroughfare is busy as you make your way home, the lamplights illuminating the steps of your usual path. It's different tonight though, despite knowing the area like the back of your hand and recognizing more than a few faces as they pass, there is a tinge of something threaded through it all.

You find yourself scanning every shadowy corner, peering through the windows on the businesses you pass, hoping to spot whatever it is that has your blood pounding loudly in your ears.

Do I want to know?

You catch yourself from stumbling at the thought, your imagination conjuring images of a dark, evil figure lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike. You shake it off, scolding yourself for letting the fear get the better of you.

Your home is visible now, just at the top of the hill and the relief is mounting, counting down the steps until you can tuck yourself safely inside, and lock the world out.

“Excuse me, Miss.” His voice is low and pleasant, but it sends you a good few inches into the air from the fright. “My deepest apologies, I did not mean to scare you.” Your heart is pounding, your hand pressed up against your chest in some unconscious attempt to steady it. You let out a slow breath before answering, laughing shakily as you gather your thoughts.

“Oh my, forgive me-” You let out another loud sigh, “You gave me such a fright.” You smile up at him out of habit, taking in his handsome face and worried expression.

“No no, please–accept my sincerest apology.” He bows slightly, his head low in deference and you wave it away. “I saw you from across the street, and I thought, I simply must introduce myself.” He smiles now, and it’s a little jarring, his teeth are perfectly straight and bright white. “I’m Max.” He holds his hand out and you take it without thought, watch him almost in a trance as he brings it up to press it to his lips. The kiss is cool, and it brings curiously vulgar thoughts to the forefront of your mind. He tilts his head, expectant.

“Oh! Sorry yes, It’s nice to meet you Max-” You cannot help but watch his mouth as you introduce yourself. “I’ve not seen you in town before.” You leave it there and his smile widens, his eyes scanning all around taking in your surroundings. You don’t fail to notice the expensive cut of his suit, the fabric rich, decadent.

“I’m new in town you see, just arrived this morning.” He towers over you, broad of shoulder, slim through the hip. “I see you are unaccompanied, which shocks me.” He offers his arm and again, and you move to take it without much thought. “May I walk you home?”

“Yes, of course.” You agree, and begin to lead the way, ignoring every warning young women seem to learn practically at the breast, calmly walking with him up the street towards your home. “Where did you come from?” Your attention turns to the feel of his arm in yours, solid and strong underneath his layers.

“Oh, I come from all over, I'm somewhat of a roamer.” His smile is roguish and you get the impression he might be remembering another young lady on another street, in an altogether different part of the world. “How long has this been your home?” He guides you gently as you make your way up the hill.

“I have lived here all my life.”

“Do you like it here?” He doesn’t ask it unkindly, there’s a genuine curiosity there.

“I like it fine enough, but I have always wanted to see other parts of the world. It's difficult though.” You sigh, he frowns in the corner of your eye.

“How so?”

“Well, it is difficult to travel unaccompanied–it also requires funds I currently do not possess.” You laugh a bit awkwardly, surprised with your own candor.

“Oh-” He seemed taken aback for a moment and you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes, men usually don’t pay much attention to the struggles of women. “-yes of course. How ignorant of me.” He was frowning at his feet.

“This is me.” You pulled him away from his thoughts, gesturing to your house.

“This is lovely, you and your family must be very happy here.” He smiled warmly, guiding you up the steps to the large wrap around porch.

“Yes well, we make do.” Your tight lipped smile wasn’t getting past him, his hand held yours for a moment, pulling your attention from your door to him.

“I don’t mean to overstep–are you well?” He held your hand in both of his now, a worried expression plastered on his handsome face.

“Yes-I, I’m sorry, yes. I’m fine-” He watched you intently, studying and suddenly the words were spilling from your lips, unbidden. “-I’m just alone most of the time, my father works, or drinks, and my mother disappears to avoid the melancholy. My sister is wed and living her marital bliss across the city and I am sort of left to keep everything together.” The thoughts were always present, hiding in your throat, in the pit of your stomach, in the clenching of your jaw when the house was continuously empty. It was a welcome respite to be able to let go of them, for a moment at least.

He hummed his acknowledgement, the worried frown in place.

“That is unfortunate.” He was choosing his words carefully. “If you are partial, I would very much like to spend more time with you.” He kissed the back of your hand once more and a momentary madness took hold of you.

“Would you like to come in?” His eyebrows raised and you hurried to clarify, “I could make you a cup of tea, maybe you could tell me about your travels?” He nodded graciously and a slow creeping smile overtook the frown as he walked up the stairs towards your now open door. His eyes flashed with something but it was gone just as quickly–no sign of danger as he crossed the threshold.

“You’re too kind, I would love to.” You closed the door behind him.

He seemed bigger once inside, somehow broader than before. His eyes were bright within the dim foyer, the honey brown of them alert and lively and lovely. You led him towards the sitting room with a shy smile, the thrill of having a gentleman caller in your home without a chaperone sending your heart a flutter.

Maybe I’m too trusting.

The thought crossed your mind, taking up space until his smile shooed it away once more.

“How do you take your tea? Or would you maybe prefer something stronger? I think there’s some brandy hidden away for visitors.” Your hands felt numb, the nerves of being alone with him catching up to you.

“What would you prefer?” He made himself comfortable on the settee, and you noticed his choice with interest.

“Well, the brandy is rather nice.”

“Brandy it is. Can I help with anything?” He made to get up and you hurriedly put your hands up to stall him.

“Nonsense, one moment.” You walked away quickly, ignoring the pounding of your heart and soon you were standing in front of him once more, brandy glasses in hand. He took one from you graciously and once you were seated beside him, you took a generous gulp, wincing slightly at the burning in your throat. He swirled the drink in hand, bringing it to his nose, taking in the aroma and for a moment you felt like your father, just knocking it without savoring.

“It smells wonderful-” He brought the glass to his lips and you did your best to pace yourself.

“So, tell me about yourself.” You put the glass down and waited, enjoying the feeling of warmth spreading throughout your limbs already.

“Oh no, I’d rather hear about you.” He placed his glass next to yours, leaning back with open arms facing you. “I’m very curious as to how no one has snatched you up just yet.” He said it with a friendly smile. “You must be of age to marry?”

“Yes, I am no more wise than you are on the subject.” You reached for the glass once more, needing something in which to focus the nervous energy in your hands, which led you to take another obscene gulp. Half your glass already gone, what would he think of you?

“Have you had many would-be callers? I would have thought your father would be fighting them off with a bat.” He picked up his glass, swirling it as he spoke.

“Not really, there was a young man who came calling, but he was indifferent as to which sister would take him, so he left empty-handed.” Your nerves calmed with the third gulp, so did the burning and now there was a pleasant, full body buzz flowing through your veins.

“Well. The men here must be blind.” His eyes flashed again, something vulgar and exciting all at the same time. He put his glass back down, moving so he was sitting a little closer. “Your father would have trouble keeping me away.” He took the now empty glass from your hand and set it next to his rather full one.

“Why’s that?” You watched him with baited breath.

“Well, because I would be ruthless in my pursuit.” He moved closer still. “Would woo you tirelessly.” His hand came up, his thumb resting softly on the plush of your bottom lip. You sucked in a breath, acutely aware of the hot spike of arousal in your belly.

“And–and if I were to deny you?” your voice was curiously breathless, such was the effect he had on you.

“Would you?” He moved closer, his eyes fixed on where his thumb rested on your lip, “Would you deny me?” He was so close, the tip of his aquiline nose nuzzling softly against your own. His lips so close it would only take a nudge to kiss him.

“No-” You knew you wouldn’t, this enigmatic man who’d appeared out of thin air, appeared out of some long forgotten dream, or perhaps a prayer. “I would not.”

“May I kiss you?” He nudged your nose with his once more, the clean scent of him engulfing your senses.

“Please-” You didn’t get the chance to finish the word before his lips pressed against yours with an ardor that burned through your whole body. His fingers curled around the nape of your neck, caressing the sensitive skin there while his tongue sought entrance to dance with yours. He pulled a whimper from somewhere in your throat before he pulled away, kissing your cheek, and then again, just below your ear.

You’d been kissed before, but never like this.

He smiled, his gaze roving over your face greedily, no doubt taking in the lust blown expression shining back at him.

You gulped.

“I would decidedly not deny you Sir.” You let out a shaky laugh, feeling as the excitement and arousal flowed through you. Dampening your undergarments, hardening your nipples.

“I thought not.” His thumb came up to brush against your lip once more, his eyes focused on your face so intently, it felt as though everything else had disappeared.

“Take me to bed.” The words spilled out of your mouth unbidden, shocking even you and your stomach sank well into the floor when his eyebrows raised. “I-I’m sorry to be so vulgar-”

“Do not apologize to me, there is no sin in desire.” He stood, holding his hand out for you to stand before him. “There is no vulgarity in pleasure between two people, so long as both are willing.” He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, moving to your mouth once more to take the remaining coherent thoughts right out of your head.

Up until today, your life had been, for the most part, predictable. There had been a basic formula to how your hours were spent, where you’d go, what you’d see, even who’d you speak to. You’d thought about it that very morning, the errands you’d have to run-what you’d wear. Whether you’d see your father intoxicated or not.

Seeing a beautiful, naked man was not on the list of possibilities. For that gorgeous, naked man to have you practically mewling underneath him would never have crossed your mind, at least not that early in the day.

The bed creaked with every thrust of his hips between your legs, his cock hard and heavy inside the wet clutch of your cunt.

“Does that feel good?” He huffed out a laugh, his white teeth flashing as he moved a little harder. It was hard to articulate exactly how good it felt and he took your quiet moans as a challenge. “More? Is that what you want my darling?” his elbows came up to rest beside your ears, bracketing your head before he snapped his hips faster, smiling at the way your mouth opened in a silent scream. “There it is, that’s what you like huh?” His voice should have been breathless with the amount of exertion he was exhibiting–but every thrust knocked any coherent thought right out of your head. He shifted to one side, reaching down to slide his fingers around the pearl of your pleasure, thrusting you headlong into your climax. He slowed down, grinding slowly while you crested, no doubt making a mess of the sheets underneath you.

“I could stay here for days.” He punctuated his words with a delicious swirl of his hips, burying his face into the crook of your neck while you caught your breath, your hands finding their way into his hair.

“If it’s to be like this every single time–I’m inclined to let you.” You pulled his face up to kiss, needing to taste his mouth again.

“Oh it definitely would.” He bit his lip, watching you as he spoke.

“You’d ruin me for all others.” You ran your nails down the muscles of his back, feeling how they corded and bunched with each movement, the coolness of him perfectly complementing your almost feverish warmth.

“I plan on it, plan on spoiling you rotten.” He kissed you quickly before pulling away and for a moment you thought he might spill his seed on your belly, but he made to move you.

“I would ask you–” Your tone made him pause, a frown on his face. “Beg of you, not to spill inside, I don’t wish to have any children.” It might have ruined the mood of the night, but a child would have ruined your entire life. His features relaxed, a soft smile blooming on his handsome face.

“I cannot make children, I am sterile.” He pulled you up from your place, both of you kneeling on your bed, his tone sincere. “And even if I could, do you think I would just abandon you?” His hands caressed your back, moving down to hold onto your backside. It was so lovely to have intimacy like this, the loneliness of your days highlighted now in the comfort of his touch.

“Well, to be quite honest I’m not sure what you’d do. I’ve only just met you–” You sighed, his mouth kissing a trail from your shoulder up to the sensitive skin of your neck, “-you should know, I don’t usually do this. I’m not in the habit of taking men into my bed so quickly.” Your fingers curled in the short locks of his hair.

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, pretty.” His lips were still pleasantly cool, all of him was. “I just want to make you feel good.” His hands came up to cradle your jaw before he licked into your mouth, giving you the kind of kiss you’ve only dreamt about in the dark quiet hours. “Now turn around, I want to take you from behind.” he bit your lip, a tiny little nip that had you dripping and you turned to obey.

His big palm pressed against your spine, pushing your top half down into the mattress before he grabbed your hips, pulling you to him a little rougher than you expected. It made you gasp and within a moment he sheathed himself in your tight heat. A hard thrust that knocked the air out of your lungs.

“Your wet little cunt is dripping around me-” He sounded as wrecked as you felt, his words fueling the fire of your arousal, “-come up here.” He pulled you up, his arm wrapped around your middle to press you up against the solid wall of his chest, his chin instantly settling on your shoulder, lips pressed against your ear as he set a brutal pace. He sang the song of his pleasure directly into your ear, it flowed all around you, combining with the wet obscene sounds of your joining to push you further and further into a bigger, more intense climax.

One of his hands moved down, slipping between the lips of your sex to pull you apart, the other sliding up to palm your breast. With a few perfect circles you screamed, digging your fingers into his arm as you clenched around him.

There was a sting.

A sudden sharp pain at your neck that pulled you out of the haze of pleasure for a moment before it was replaced with something otherworldly. A direct current flowing through your fingers and toes, through your nipples, through the gates of heaven between your legs.

It was enough to make you lightheaded.

You blinked, finding yourself laying back on your bed with Max standing near the door, fixing his overcoat.

How did you get dressed so fast? Why am I so exhausted?

You tried to call out to him, surprised to find your limbs heavy, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Sleep now, my love.” You heard him speak, his voice sounding so far away. “Sleep, I will see you soon.” A cool, feather light kiss was pressed to your brow before the world went dark.

Whether it was the sunlight streaming in through the lace curtains, or the nightmare, or possibly a combination of both that pulled you out from the depths of sleep, you’d never truly know. A vision of something hunting, something tearing at flesh, a bone crushing bite flitting through your mind in those first few seconds upon waking making you shudder and turn towards the darker side of the room, avoiding the glaring light in your eyes.

What a horrible dream—wait, what happened again?

It had just been there but now it felt like mist, dissipating far too quickly for you to grab a hold of.

It was gone.

A knock at your door had any remaining musings about it evaporating into nothing.

“Yes? Come in-“ You croaked out the words before clearing your throat.

Your mother waltzed in, already dressed for the day making you frown. She was fussing at her skirts, unbothered—or uncaring that you were still in bed, instead she spoke about a trip she and your father were taking, how the house would be your responsibility for the next few days and that she would see you when she got back. She didn’t wait to hear your thoughts or concerns, or to even ask if you were feeling well, she was gone as quickly as she’d appeared. Leaving you still in bed, studying the time on your pocket watch with confusion.

Something seemed off, a long stretch highlighted the pleasant soreness between your thighs and then his face popped into the forefront of your thoughts. How could you have forgotten?

The events of the night before were crystal clear, to a point. You’d been walking home, he’d introduced himself and things had gone well. You’d invited him back to your home—to your bed. Everything was replaying as though you were reliving the night itself, up until he’d pulled that second climax out of you, after that, things were blurred.

No.

Not just blurred, not just hazy. That would imply there were memories to fog up, this was something else, something aggravating.

You let out a frustrated groan, tossing in your bed to bury your face into your pillows.

I wonder where he is now, wonder if I’ll ever see him again.

The jaded, realistic part of your brain said don’t count on it, and after all, why would he care to come back? You’d opened up your doors and your legs, gave him everything you had to offer and he’d left without so much as a fare thee well. At least, not one that you could remember.

Face the facts, you gave it up, and now he’s gone.

You were out of breath and not for the first time since waking that morning. Your heart raced as you stopped just outside the general store, needing a moment before starting your usual trek up the hill. The night was blessedly cool, a gentle breeze ruffling the sleeves and collar of your dress and it was only while you were distracted that he found you once more.

“Hello my sweet, I hoped to find you out and about, and so I have.” He smiled his bright white smile, reaching out to bring your hand to his mouth.

“Max-“ you frowned at him, unable to hide the shock of actually seeing him again. “I—hello, I’m sorry I-“ you floundered, unsure what to say. He seemed taken aback by your response.

“My apologies, did you not wish to see me again?”

“No! It’s not that, no I’m very glad I just—well to be perfectly blunt I didn’t actually think I would.” You blurted the words out, throwing caution to the wind. He brought that out in you it seemed.

“Oh-“ his eyebrows raised into his hairline. “I see. You thought I’d seduced you and then left you to pursue other conquests.” His tone was light, but there was a hurt in it and it made you feel guilty.

“Forgive me, I misjudged you. I am very happy to see you again.” You gave him your biggest smile and he returned it, forgiven.

“No need.” He kissed your hand once more, pulling you to hold onto his arm. “May I accompany you home?” He gestured towards the hill.

“Yes, that would be very helpful, I am feeling a bit lightheaded today I’m afraid.” You laughed, lighthearted but he didn’t join.

“Are you well?” He matched your pace, pulling you slowly towards the house.

“Oh yes, nothing to worry about. Must have been that brandy yesterday. Doesn’t tend to agree with me.” You patted his arm and he dropped the subject.

“Aside from the brandy, how has your day been?” He smiled warmly, his stride slowing down to match yours.

“Well enough.” You sighed, “My mother and father have gone away for a few days, so I have been alone.” You tried to keep your voice neutral but his expression told you he wasn’t buying it. “It is the way things are.”

“Do they not worry about you?” His eyebrows were drawn together in confusion. “Do they not care?”

“I’d rather not know the answer to those questions.” You left the rest unsaid, he didn’t press the issue. “Let’s speak of happier things. How have you been settling in? Are you close by?”

“Yes, just down the lane, a street over. My house is nicely settled but my days are too busy to go out and meet my neighbours. Thankfully I’ve met you though.”

“It isn’t a very big place, there are people no doubt dying to meet you.” You thought about the debutants, the rich single ones who would have taken one look at Max, and gobbled him up.

“Anyone in particular I should avoid?” He said it conspiratorially, leaning into you and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“No one too villainous.” You patted his arm as you reached the little walkway outside your house. “Come in, sit with me a while.”

“Of course, I’d love to, I need to hear all the local gossip.”

You’d really only meant to invite him in for conversation this time. To have him sit with you in the dim light of your sitting room, listening to him speak about any and everything but somehow- you’d found yourself underneath him once more.

Your face was pressed against your pillows, your hands like talons, gripping onto your sheets while he straddled your thighs. His hands were holding the globes of your backside open while his cock speared into you again and again.

He kept your legs closed making his sex feel so much bigger, made it feel like he was splitting you open in the best way.

You panted into the fabric, dampening it with your breath as he fucked into you—moving your body a fraction with every thrust, the friction of it against your nipples made you ache with arousal.

“You’re so wet for me my sweet, so tight around my cock.” He spread you open lewdly and you knew he was staring at the place you were joined, no doubt watching himself disappear into your body. “You’re going to milk me dry—reach down and touch yourself, I want you to come before I do.“ he sped up, groaning when you clenched around him.

You swallowed thickly as you reached down to obey him, shocked at how much arousal he's pulled out of you, feeling the soaked-through patch of the sheet on the back of your hand.

It only takes a moment, your fingers slipping through your folds with a well practiced swirl and your body tightens up, the coil winding tighter and tighter and you feel him press his chest to your back, his breath in your ear and when the pleasure finally bursts like a firework—a sting.

Euphoria—a wet gush somewhere below you and a pained moan from you, or him, maybe both of you, it’s hard to tell.

You blink.

Or, you try to blink.

Your eyelids are so heavy, it’s hard to open them but you finally do. Light is streaming in through the window, that cannot be?

Your brain feels slow, like molasses on a cold day, your limbs are so heavy and it takes what feels like hours before you can lift your arm to check the time.

It is well past noon, and it doesn’t make sense.

There’s a note on the table where your watch is and you stare at it for a moment, trying with all your might to read the words;

It was lovely to see you again my darling, I had a wonderful time. If you’re partial I would love to call on you again. I hope you slept well, you looked so peaceful when I left. See you soon. Max

You put the note down and focused on gathering your strength, ignoring the ache in your body, and the fear in your gut.

You moved at a glacial pace, both physically and mentally and you ignored the deep-rooted fear in your belly, that you’d caught the coughing sickness.

Does it start like this? Will I feel weaker and weaker until I cannot move? When does the coughing start?

You shuddered and shook your head, afraid of the loops your mind was jumping through, trying with all your might to focus on the tasks at hand. Your room needed to be tidied, the linens on your bed had to be cleaned and so you went about stripping the bed. A few drops of something dried a dark brown had stained part of the sheet, your stomach sank further still when you realized it might be blood.

Okay, just calm down. Everything will be fine, you are not sick.

You gathered the sheets, and your strength, and went about doing what needed to be done.

It took a long time, too long and instead of heading out to run your errands you decided to stay in. Make yourself something warm and hearty for dinner, make yourself a tonic. That would have to work right?

The sun set as you finally settled in to sit by the fire for the evening, falling into your fathers chair with a groan. The doorbell rang though and you seriously debated not answering, your eyes shut tight, the internal battle raging between your health, and your manners.

“My sweet? Are you well? It’s Max-“ he spoke loudly and your heart raced, making the decision for you.

“Yes! One moment Max!” You rose unsteadily, inching your way towards the door as quickly as you could with how you were feeling. His face lit up when you opened the door, it fell soon after though, seeing the strain of it plain on your face.

“Oh–” He made his way past you into the foyer. “-Are you quite well?” He moved to help you over to the chair, kneeling before you once you were seated.

“No Max, I’m afraid I’m a bit under the weather.” You tried to keep your voice light, tried to avoid his penetrating gaze. “You shouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t want you to catch whatever it is.” You pulled the light blanket higher up on your shoulders.

“Oh I very much doubt I could catch anything you might have.” He took hold of your hand, kissing the back of it quickly before moving to sit in the chair opposite. “What are you feeling?” His brow was furrowed, the gears in his mind turning smoothly.

“I feel tired.” The words were a sigh, compounding the sentiment. “Just bone tired, almost as though I cannot catch my breath.” Your hand came up to rest on your chest as you spoke. “My thoughts are slow, every part of me feels like it’s been slowed down—including my wits I think.” You took a deep breath and let out a deep sigh. “Worst is I cannot contact my mother and father, I fear something may happen to me while they are away.”

“I can stay with you for a few hours, but something tells me you’re going to be just fine.” He winked and you couldn’t help but smile at his optimism. “Do you need anything? I can make myself useful.”

A thought popped into your head then, a fear—the fear.

“Would you mind laying with me for a time? In my bed? Just laying and talking?” It felt almost pathetic to ask him, this young, vibrant, healthy man—spending his night with a young, possibly very sick woman.

“Of course my darling, I would be happy to. Come, I will help you.”

To your credit, you’d both laid there in the soft candlelight for a long time, talking about all of the different places he’d been and all of the different places you wanted to visit. He made you laugh, made you forget about how horrid you felt; made you feel special and wanted and so it inevitably led to you both being naked in your bed.

Your feelings of weakness were now replaced with a mounting pleasure. His mouth was a steady suck at your nipple, his tongue circling the sensitive tip mercilessly while his hand worked away between your spread legs. Two thick fingers pumping, a thumb gliding, his tongue–a gorgeous dance being led to the tune of your pleasure.

His cock was flushed with blood, hard and heavy against your thigh and leaking his pearly arousal onto your skin. You couldn’t help but reach down and wrap your hand around it, collecting everything that leaked from the tip to give him a stroke; try to make him feel at least half as good as he was making you feel.

He moaned onto your skin, his hips chasing the friction of your slick fist, quicker and quicker until he groaned deeply, spilling his passion onto your thigh. And then his eyes found yours, the whites of them gone–the whole of them blacker than night and terrifying and then you felt it.

A prick.

Strangely familiar.

There was no time to dwell on any of it though because his fingers were still pumping, his thumb still swirling and the force of your climax was enough to make you scream, then the darkness came.

Glimpses of light plagued you, much like the dreams. One moment you were being chased by some huge, unseen monster, skirts whipping behind you through the night, a bloody grin never far behind. Then you’d open your eyes and be tossing and turning, sweat soaked and feverish in your own bed.

It felt like hours.

Hours of running, hours of tormented sleep, hours of confusion and god knows what else.

I’m dying.

The thought came to you during a precious moment of clarity and all it did was scare you.

Your eyes opened again, the light had faded, was it night? How many hours, days had gone by?

“Max?” It felt like another dream, this one cruel because he was there, healthy and glowing and sitting by your side.

“I’m here, my darling.” His voice cut through the delirium, his hand a cool respite from fire burning just underneath your skin.

“Max-” Your voice was a hoarse croak, “I-I think I’m dying.” Tears streamed down your face, leaning into his hand with the little strength you had left.

“Yes, you are my love, but you don’t have to.” He stroked your face, leaning close to press his lips to your feverish brow. “You have a choice.”

“I don’t understand-” Was this another dream?

“If I leave you now, you will be dead by morning.” His voice was steady, “But there is another way. I could make you like me and then we can be together forever.”

You couldn’t die now, there was so much to do, so much to see, and Max–he could have been the great love of your life and it wasn’t fair.

“Like you? Max, I don’t want to die.” The tears flowed faster, fear and despair running rampant.

Why couldn’t I have met you years ago?

“You don’t have to, I can make you like me.” He lifted your hand in his, placing a soft kiss at your wrist. “Would you like that? Do you want to be with me forever? I cannot help until you say yes.” He wiped away the tears and waited.

“Yes Max, I want to be with you forever.” He smiled a sharp smile, and in a flash he was at your throat, his kiss had teeth and it made you whimper, made you close your eyes and fall limp in his arms. There was a moment when you thought you’d lost consciousness but then there was something in your mouth, a thick liquid crawling down your throat and into your bloodstream. It was a balm, something to soothe the ache and the pain but it turned to acid in a flash. The web of hurt spreading like a lightning strike and burning twice as hot.

It was agony.

You’d been burned once as a child, your mother had been ironing one of your fathers suits. The red hot iron had merely grazed your arm, but the pain lingered for days, caused you sleepless nights and tears to spare.

Compared to this, that burn was a kiss. That burn was the soft caress of a lover, a cool scrap of silk against your skin.

“Max, what is happening to me?” Your voice is a strangled cry, the linens under you felt like steel wool. He answers and he's so much closer than you expected him to be while you thrash blindly.

“It is almost over my love, soon the pain will pass.” His hand found yours through the chaos of the pain, a lifeline in the middle of a deep, dark, ocean.

It could have been minutes, or hours that passed. It could have been years, but eventually the storm abated, and with it went the pain.

“Max?” Your fingers flew up to your mouth, pressing against your lips, shocked at the way your voice sounded. Still your voice, but somehow more.

“Yes my love, I am here.” His voice sounded different too, so much clearer—everything sounded clear. Too clear, the sound of the floorboards creaking under his steps so much louder than you’d ever heard it. “You will adjust.” He crouched beside your place in the bed and your eyes widened when you took him in. It was as though he’d been hiding behind a paper screen before, the shape of him clear enough to distinguish him from another, but somehow vague.

He was devastatingly handsome, his skin smooth as polished marble, his eyes every shade of honey brown at once.

“What did you do to me?” You reached out to touch him and you noted the perfect skin of your hands, almost doll-like.

“What you asked,” he grasped your hand in his, placing a kiss on your palm. “I have made you like me. Come—get dressed and we will eat.”

His words were like a punch to the stomach, hunger spreading like a bruise throughout your body, the pain of it almost debilitating.

“I might faint of hunger Max, where will we eat?” You dressed as quickly as you could, ignoring the slight tremble in your hands.

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find something.” He helped you dress, pulling you from what you’d come to believe was your deathbed and out into the night but before you’d made it out the door, you caught your reflection and gasped.

It was you, that was to be sure but it wasn’t the You you’d come to expect to see. The woman in the mirror has your face, and your eyes, your hair—but she was different. Her skin was perfect. Her eyes sparkled, her teeth shone so white.

It was mesmerizing.

“Is that me?” You watched the reflection, her beauty shifted, something predatory in the eyes.

“Yes my love, that is you.” He placed a kiss on your neck. “Come, before the sun rises.” He pulled you away from the mirror, and into hell.

“It’s overwhelming, I know, but you will adjust, as I did.” His voice is the anchor, a tether holding you from getting lost in the chaos. Has it always been this bad? This loud? Your feet carry you through the streets, with his hand guiding you along and the closer you get to the thick of it–to the crowd milling about the high street where the worst it is.

“I know my love–” His arm slips around your waist, pressing you close. “-Just a little further, and I will find you what you need.” Your stomach roils, the hunger-the thirst rips a swathe through your being.

“Why am I so hungry Max?” You stumble over a loose cobble but he steadies you, lifting you back onto your feet as though you were made of paper and it almost scares you how strong he is.

“Because you have not eaten.” His words are casual, a seemingly simple answer for a seemingly simple question. It didn’t feel simple though, not with the way you could barely concentrate. Everything seemed to be amplified, the dial on the radio turned to an uncomfortable volume and there was no way to turn it down. Distorted voices, an incessant thumping so loud it made you blink to its beat.

Worst of all, was the smell.

The city smelled rotten. The cloyingly sweet smell of overly ripe fruit, the sour smell of unwashed bodies, the moldy smell of old bread, hard packed dirt filled with worms, but threaded through it was the rich smell of butter and fine wine–the green of summer grass. Underneath everything though was something else, something mouth-watering–something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

He led you towards the park, the vast, open, green space where you would have never gone unaccompanied, much less at night. It was hard to feel afraid with Max though, it was hard to feel anything but intense hunger.

“That one there is a good candidate.” He gestures to a middle aged man. “He won’t be missed.” He watched you, an encouraging smile on his handsome face, you frowned in response.

“I don’t understand–” You looked at the man again, he must have been in his late forties, maybe even early fifties.

“You are hungry my love, eat.” He gestures again and your stomach sinks. “Oh come now, no need to be coy with me my darling, I can feel your hunger.” He smiles not unkindly at what must be a shocked expression. “If it makes you feel any better, he’s the worst sort of person. I can hear it in his mind, believe me, you will be doing this world a favour.” He kisses the back of your hand, soothing.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone, Max.” Your hands tremble, “I cannot–” The man walks closer and the smell of him almost knocks you off your feet, the thumping is back and you’re horrified to realize it’s his blood. A thunderous sound pounding through his body and through your head, and before you realize what you’re doing, your feet are carrying you to him.

It felt as though someone else was controlling you, something else entirely had taken over your senses, your limbs.

“Well aren’t you a pretty little thing.” The older man spots you then, his eyes light up with something altogether unwholesome, “What are you doing out this late, and all alone?” His eyes rake over your body in a way that would have scared you had you not been so focused on the sound his blood was making.

“So… hungry…” You barely heard yourself over the sound of his heart, barely saw anything but the seemingly glowing network of veins in his skin, all of it a gorgeous lace pattern.

“What’s that sugar-” He didn’t get to finish his question. Something in your body, something in your very being sprung out, a sudden, awful ache bloomed in your upper jaw before you bit into the salty flesh of his neck, piercing the brightest, thickest vein.

Euphoria.

Your body was curled around him, fingers digging into his arms, clutching him ever closer, your fingers so like the talons of some monstrous bird of prey.

He was silent as you took your fill, pull after pull of what tasted like the thickest, most delicious wine.

“That’s enough my love, not too much.” Firm, strong hands managed to break your hold on the man much too soon. “You cannot drain him. I know, I know.” He soothed your pained expression, wiped at your mouth with his thumb, sticking it into his mouth with a sharp smile. “Believe me, it’s better to stay hungry than to kill outright. Could make you very sick. Come–let's go home.” He fussed at your clothes for a moment before dragging the man over to a bench. You glanced back at him as Max led you away, to anyone walking by, he was just some tired, old man—resting alone.

The walk back to his home was only slightly easier to handle, the sounds, the smells, the cloying press was almost tolerable now that your stomach was full.

“Here we are, just here.” The house is much bigger than you’d anticipated, grand, but still tasteful. Years worth of ivy had already conquered most of the facade, giving it a cottage-like appeal and drawing your eye as he guided you inside. “The sun will be up soon, we must get into bed.”

“Why?” Your eyes roamed throughout the space, noting the almost clinical cleanliness of the place. The rug under your feet, perfectly laid, cushions on the settee without a single sign of ever having been sat on.

“Well, because the sun would kill us, my love.” He says it offhand, making your eyes widen at the back of his head. “We are impervious to almost everything, except that.” He opens a set of double doors at the top of the stairs and what greets you stops you in your tracks, eyes wide and full of terror.

“Max, why is there a massive coffin in here?” You stand at the door, frozen in place.

“Come now, there is nothing to be afraid of, it is where I sleep, where we will sleep–until I purchase you your own.” He smiles, his hands smoothing the worry on your face away with a welcome tenderness. “Believe me, once you get in, you will sleep just as soundly as you ever have in a regular bed, I promise you.” He pulls your gaze from the morbid thing to his own eyes, and in them you cannot help but find comfort, and honesty.

“Promise?” You press yourself a little closer and he smiles, nodding before placing a cool kiss to your forehead.

“Of course, come–we haven't much time.” He places another quick kiss at your brow before starting to undress. You follow suit and once completely nude, he opens the box and lays in it, opening his arms to you. You hesitate for a second, but get in just the same, he closes the lid and plunges you both in complete, and utter darkness.

“That’s my good girl, are you comfortable?” There is just enough room to fit into one another's arms, even with your heightened senses–it is difficult to make out anything within the confined space.

“Yes, there’s not much room, but I’m okay.” You scoot as close as you can, your face pressed into the crook of his neck. “Have you always slept here?” Your hand rests against his chest, just as his strokes at the skin of your back as best as he can.

“Yes, since I was turned.” He moves his face, and finds your lips in the dark. “It’s nice to have you in here with me.” He kisses every inch of your face he can reach. Soft, chaste kisses that make you smile, until he deepens it. His tongue tastes sweet but you pull away before it can turn into anything more just yet. You smile when he chases your mouth.

“Max-“ He finds your mouth again, cutting off your words and replacing them with a moan, “Max, tell me what you’ve done to me.” Your fingers thread through the short crop of his hair as he moves his kisses to your neck, to the base of your throat, and further still to the stiff peaks of your breasts. You bite your tongue as he takes on into his mouth, managing to distract you for a moment.

He hums around a nipple, biting at it before soothing it with his tongue. You don’t know how, but you find your voice amid this assault.

“Max, tell me—oh-“ he manages to get you on your back within the small space, manages to squeeze himself between your legs and before he can distract you with his tongue again, you yank his hair back, silently relishing the deep groan he gifts you with. “Focus Max, I need you to answer my questions, I am at a loss and very confused.” You stroke the place where you yanked at his hair, “Please, Max, I need to know what you’ve done to me.”

“I have made you into something else, something more. I have turned you into a vampire like me. Now we can be together forever.” He presses another kiss to your mouth, once again chaste. “You are neither dead, nor alive. You simply exist, as I do. You will need blood to sustain you, and a coffin at night to sleep in. You will never grow old, you will never get sick-“ he presses kisses to your neck between his words, “-you need never fear anything, and with me, you will never want for anything, ever again.”

“I am… not myself anymore?”

“You are more, you are better, you are at your full potential. You are mine, and I am yours. Neither of us ever need be alone again.”

It was almost too much to bear, the change you now felt so keenly. His weight on top of you was nothing, the difference in your senses, the difference in your body, it was all almost too much and for a moment you thought you might drown in it.

“Peace, my love, be at peace.” He heard the sob crawl out of your throat, the emotion of it all getting the better of you. With an awkward shuffle you were in his arms again, weeping into the skin of his neck. “I know it is a big change, but I am here to guide you through it.”

There were many and more questions you needed answered, but there would be more than enough time for that later. Eventually, the darkness of the space, the feel of him wrapped around you, the comfort in the steady sweep of his hands on your skin lulled you into just what he’d promised it would; warm, comfortable and dreamless sleep.

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greedyhoneyz · 3 months

Text

Days After Last

.ೃ࿔*:･pairing: anakin skywalker x reader .ೃ࿔*:･synopsis: "there is no death, there is the force." life returns to the soul of one once beloved. ೃ࿔*:･cw: angst. death? claustrophobia? rising from the dead. fluff at the end. .ೃ࿔*:･author’s notes: really wanted to write another story for anakin, it has been time since ive written one for him. this is a a sequel to till death do us part but can be read as a standalone.

In pure blackness, stillness came. It rippled across her skin, its bitterness pumped through her blood, its chilliness bringing the synapses of her brain to a standstill. The air was heavy with the scent of impending dread; the silence was only splintered by the howling storm. But then, a faint stirring, a flutter of eyelids, and a gasp of breath shattered the quietude.

(name’s) eyes shot wide, her vision blurred and shrouded by darkness. Fright clung to her skin as her hands frantically padded against the walls around her. Each breath she took burned her lungs with the anguish of deprivation.

She fought against the oppressive weight on her chest and with trembling limbs and the beat of her heart pulsating through her ears, pounded her fists against the lid above. Torment and despair fuelled her movements as her desperate screams fell on deaf ears.

With a final surge of strength, (name) willed her willpower, her muscles strained and pushed against the lid. It slowly creaked open and a glimpse of silver light filtered in.

A wash of air sifted in and caught (name) between bated breaths as she carefully rose to hands and knees. She clawed her way out of her tomb and wobbled onto her feet.

The dim light unveiled an empty scene, eerie and bitter, yet pristine.

Bewilderment had struck (name) numb.

She shivered, nerved by the questions whirling through her mind as she gawked at the stained glass window staring at her from above.

It was her, she was sure. She, in the finest of garments and the brightest of colours. Muralised as if death had come before her.

She stumbled forward, her steps unsteady and erratic and hastened through the dimness. The world around her no longer seemed familiar. It was distant, foreign.

With each trembling step, (name) journeyed from her coffin and hobbled towards the grey, stony doors. She willed it open, her hands wilted and flung herself to the greater outdoors.

The horizon stretched out before her. The sky, a wollen grey, swirled in steady ripples. The thickest fog covered the sky as thousands of liquid globes conjured across the planet's floor.

Step by agonizing step, (name) ventured into the unknown. Alone in the morning gloom, guided by one thought.

Anakin.

Faces blurred together in a maelstrom of confusion and commotion, and yet she paid them no heed, as she screamed. “Anakin!”

Over and over, she screamed his name, her lustrous gaze lost with fright as she wept. Icy droplets cascaded over her skin like a million tiny needles, the cold seeping into her bones, sending shivers down her spine.

She pressed on, her yells shadowed by the disbelief of strangers as they gathered around the town square, watching.

“Anakin!” (name) screeched at the top of her lungs, her throat hoarse. “Anakin!”

In a fit of hysteria, (name) stumbled to the floor, her face to the pavement. She lay still, nestled beneath spattering raindrops and pleaded wretchedly, her bloodshot eyes cloaked beneath her eyelids as she clawed at the earth beneath her. “Please…please…bring him…”

“Bring me Anakin!”

The woman, wrapped in the finest of garments and with eyes that seemed to hold anguish, lay in the centre of the square, drenched, chanting in a language unknown to those who gathered around her. Some whispered that she was a witch, while others dismissed her as simply a drunkard lost in a haze of intoxicated delusions. But as the woman's chants grew louder and more hysteric, a sense of unease began to settle over the crowd. Her wails seemed to hold a power all their own, a rhythmic cadence that pulsed through the air like a beating drum, sending a coldness through the souls of those who listened.

A single man, his face shadowed by the hood of his dark cloak, found himself drawn to the soporific chants of the woman. He, a stranger amidst the crowd, braved a step forward and approached the woman. He peered at her from beneath his hood and stared down at her face, taking in her features as she wept.

The woman’s eyes locked onto his, and in that moment, her chanting ceased. She clung to his leg, clawing at his cloak and pants and pined at the stranger. “Help me,” She begged sullenly, her voice was soft and filled with profound sadness.

The stranger, a man of few words, dropped to his knees. His hood staggered across his hair, draping behind his head to unveil the face of a man struck with shock. At a loss for words, the man watched, frenzied, as the woman sobbed. He eased a hand from his sides and placed a careful hand on the woman’s shoulder.

She jolted and let out a deeply troubled yell, visibly repulsed at his touch. She stumbled back, clambering on her hands and knees and nestled into herself, tucking her head into her chest and folding her legs beneath her.

The man, promptly, stood to his feet and waved his arms as dismay settled amidst the gathered townspeople. He paid them no head and motioned his fingers, and one by one, strangers shadowed by their dark cloaks emerged from the crowd.

They followed his commands and approached (name), her body sheltered within herself. They grasped her, two men at each arm and heaved her overhead as she thrashed and screamed. The strangers were unrelenting, the faces stern beneath their hoods.

They carried (name) away, and her chants of restlessness and sorrow faded into the distance, leaving behind a palpable sense of unease as the townspeople watched the strange figures disappear further and further from their view.

And as the storm clouds above howled and wept, the memory of the strange woman, the strange man, and the strange figures lingered on for as long as her chants echoed through their minds and rippled through the air.

Thunder quenched the planet’s earth with cocoons of black and dagged patterns of silver. From the temple windows, flashes of light ricocheted from the heaven ceiling in sporadic internals, and a dark rumbling bequeathed a percussion of hail.

From behind the fabrics of drabness and solitude, Anakin Skywalker stalked through the halls of the Jedi Temple with a heavy heart. It drummed through his ears with a rhythmic pulse and followed in beat to the clatter of his dark boots.

He navigated through the corridors, his eyes fixed ahead, alert. With each step he took, his dark cloak swished with power and persistence whilst his mind clustered in thoughts of dread and panic. He wore a scowl, his eyebrows tightly furrowed together, and his nostrils flared.

“Anakin,”

Obi-Wan spoke with words littered with disbelief and apprehension. He approached the young man with a careful hand and walked in tune with the rhythmic thumping of his feet. “You mustn’t approach her with haste.”

Anakin halted but hadn’t turned. “And why shouldn’t I?”

Exhaling deeply, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and hung his head. “She isn’t the same,” he breathed carefully, raising his head. “She doesn’t remember–”

“Me?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, a tremble glinted in his voice. “No…. No. She calls for you”

“Then I must come,” Anakin’s voice tinged with concern. “I must see her.”

At the end of the long corridor, a door stood. Behind it, laid his wife, in flesh and blood.

He believed it true.

Without hesitation, he pushed it open, his heart thundering in his chest.

“Master Skywalker, Master Obi-Wan, you've arrived.” Master Varik was a man of few words, stern and firm, yet he spoke with an earnest sense of glumness and unease. He approached the two men with a distant glimmer clung to his eyes.

“The princess is resting.” He declared sharply, his hands tightly plastered to his back.

“Is she alright?”

“Yes,” Master Varik nodded. “She’s cold, confused but fine. The medic has assured me so.”

“Where is she?” Anakin attempted to wrestle his impatience beneath a tone layered with respect and prestige, however, his anger overtook and ruptured the quiet gloom that surrounded the three men.

“Master Skywalker, I must warn you that this is not the time for our emotions to run free. We must be patient; by the stars, the princess has returned…from the dead. But she is greatly disturbed; we mustn’t send her into a frenzy.”

“I…understand.” Anakin dropped his shoulders, defeat inflated his being and looked heavenward.

“Come.”

Swiftly, Master Varik twirled and waded through the halls of the temple. The final door stood at the corner of the hallway and opened to unveil (name).

“...my stars…”

Lost in her thoughts, (name) stood by the temple windows and gazed at the cityscape. Her delicate features bathed beneath the soft glow of its city lights, casting a dreamlike quality over her as she peered out into the night. Her beauty, her damp dress, and the way her eyes glistened with unspoken emotions, spell-bounded Anakin.

As he watched her, a sense of melancholy and longing passed over him. He longed to touch, to hold her in his arms and chase away the shadows that seemed to haunt her.

And as she turned away, Anakin felt his heart swell. No longer did she wear the face of a body devoid of colour from the decay of death. She was warm in colour, alive and free from the solitude of her shadowy tomb.

“…Anakin.” (name) breathed out slowly, boring her eyes into his own. She reached for him, limping forward, and wailed, her steps faltering.

Falling into him, her sobs wracked her body with convulsions. She shuddered under Anakin, his arms carefully swarmed around. He squeezed her tight, her soiled cheek to his hard chest and looked on begrudgingly.

(name’s) voice was muted as she began, but slowly grew inches louder to a careful whisper. “It was so dark.” Sob. “I couldn’t breathe.” Sob. “I looked for you.” Sob. “I swear I did, I swear–”

“It’s okay.” Anakin soothed faintly, his voice hinted with tenderness and compassion. His gentle hand combed across her back and scored across her head as she leaned into his embrace. She clung to him, her tears staining his cloak, Anakin held her close.

As minutes stretched into hours, the intensity of (name’s) tears began to cease, and her breathing paced to a stammered rise and fall as she nestled into a void of peace in Anakin’s embrace. She looked up at him, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen, but filled with bliss.

“....Anakin,” She whispered, her voice hoarse but filled with contentment and lured a fatigued smile to her face. “I found you.”

He cupped her cheeks in his hands and bored his eyes into hers. His eyes glimmered, and his hopeful gaze shone down at (name) as he carefully reared his head. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, rubbing at her satin skin and fluttered his eyes shut as (name) slowly lulled herself to slumber. She slumped against his chest, her head tucked into the crook of his neck and whistled a melody of soundless snores.

With his arms swaddled around her, Anakin enveloped her slumber with an embrace brimmed with longing and oddity. He looked on at the city walls, disbelieved yet content as the molten sky hissed and howled erratically, and a torrent of rain reigned hell over Coruscant. The clouds above that gathered, in colours of greys, blacks and silver, pulsed with bold streaks of lightning, steady and strident.

#black!reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #star wars x reader #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker fanfic #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic

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blues824 · 10 months

Note

Hello can I please request a sequel to the undertaker in the remarried empress.

⚰️Imagen her making a mourning locket for heinley after his brother died and him thanking her for it .

⚰️How would everyone react to her telling that she became a grim reaper because in her previous life she comided sueside and that this is a punishment in her world.

⚰️Remember when mckenna gets shot because of sovieshit giving orders to shoot every bird that visits navier and ergi asking her to help mckenna.

⚰️How would everyone react to her her being together with kosiar and her joking to him if he ever kills someone she will hide it but don't go to another undertaker because that's cheating.

⚰️How would everyone react to her refusing to build rattrash a coufin and being shocked that she can hold grudges against people because she is known for her happy personality and chill nature .

⚰️Rember navier gets smugeld in the carage it looks like something the undertaker whoud build but at least the undertaker whoud put padding on the inside to make it comfy.

Part 1

TW: mentions of suicide

Sovieshu Vict

Back in Part 1, I already explained that you had told him to his face that you never wanted to see him or Rashta again, and that you would never make Rashta a coffin because she did not deserve your craftsmanship. While you never stated you wouldn’t make one for Sovieshu himself, it was kind of inferred. You retreated to your parlor, and have banned him from entering your own ‘empire’.

To say he was distraught would be an understatement. Not only was he heartbroken, but now you knew about how things work within the palace. All one needs to do is tell you a joke and you would gladly tell them what they wanted to know. What he didn’t know was that you wouldn’t betray the Empire like that, as it could bring harm to those you loved. Like you loved the Phantomhive family back in your world, you loved the Imperial Family (really the Trovi half).

Sovieshu had hired a hitman, but he never heard back from him. Unfortunately for them both, you were aware that you couldn’t die because being a reaper was your punishment for committing suicide in your past life. It was definitely not a great day for the hitman, because you used your scythe to kill him. It was all kept under wraps (perks of being an undertaker), and you just treated the body like normal.

Rashta

She was aware that you were quite serious about your promise in that you never wanted to see her again, and that when her body is sent to you when she inevitably dies, it would be refused. However, even though you knew how she would die, she did not. Sure, she knew she was human, but she didn’t know you were a reaper. She was younger than you, so she thought you would be the one to pass first.

Anyways, she could see Sovieshu’s distress after you left, and it made her so frustrated. The only thing that calmed her down even slightly was the fact that you were in a courtship with Lord Kosair, and you seemed to be completely in love and thus occupied. Unfortunately for her, you did not give her the information she wanted about her previous owners, and that information would be locked away because of what she did out of jealousy.

The young mistress could beg through letters, but you would not give her the time of day. Spoilers, but when you heard that she was executed, you actually refused the commission of a coffin. You remained cold and set upon your decision from all those years ago. You did, however, attend the funeral held, and you placed a rose upon the rather mediocre wooden coffin. You would most likely see her in Hell, if your punishment is fulfilled.

Navier Trovi

She had heard what you said to her husband, and later found out what you said to Rashta when she was helping you pack your things and bidding you farewell. She had to hold in a laugh at your boldness, since not a lot of people would dare insult the mistress of the Emperor or the Emperor to their faces before storming off without an apology. That was when you decided that you could trust her with information free of charge; you told her that you were a Grim Reaper. She was shocked, but you explained that you used to be human and were being punished for committing suicide in your past life.

With that being said, Navier employed your expertise a few times. One example would be when McKenna was shot. The Empress had a servant rush the bird to you so that you could treat it, and you got to work. You cut through the bullshit though, and you knew it was McKenna and not a random carrier bird. He ended up surviving, fortunately, so all was well. You did, however, send a letter to Sovieshu saying that the bird was a letter from you (instead of Heinrey) to make him feel even shittier.

The last time your services were employed was when you were commissioned to work on the getaway vehicle. It was very last-minute, as no one knew that the Emperor would try to keep Navier within the palace. Understanding of the circumstances, you set to work right away, and you made a compartment that would secretly hold Navier inside of it. You designed it like one of your coffins; soft wood, soft cushions, and the scent of the wood was actually pleasant. You engraved a small message that she would be able to read, and it read “Can’t wait to see you!”

Heinrey Lazlo

When his brother died, you were the one who directed the funeral. Again, you did funerals for everyone, as you thought people who deserved them should have access to your beautifully made coffins; even if families couldn’t afford it, you would grant it to them free of charge. That being said, while you were performing the autopsy, you snipped a miniscule section of his hair and placed it in a mourning locket. At the funeral, you presented it to the now-King Heinrey, and you bowed.

Then, there was the whole ordeal with getting Navier to the Western Kingdom. You set to work on a carriage, even going as far as to employ other people to assist you. However, when the carriage itself was constructed, you paid everyone and went back to incorporate a hiding place within the carriage. It was in the seat, and you used your expertise and designed it like a coffin. You put padding in it as well, so that Navier could be comfortable.

It was a few weeks later where they came back to the Western Kingdom, and they had permission from the High Priest to wed. You were very excited for them, but there was another enemy on your radar: the widow, Lady Krista. You made it clear that you knew that she (SPOILERS) was in love with Heinrey, but you made her a mourning locket as well to remind her that it would be very inappropriate to go after her brother-in-law.

Kosair Trovi

You both are just a bunch of silly gooses when you are with each other. Many jokes have been shared as well as many fleeting kisses. You told him that if he kills someone, you would be there to deal with the body. Then, you straddled him and came real close to his face just to say that if he ever goes to another undertaker, he would be cheating on you. He responded by placing a kiss on your lips and saying that the only undertaker he would ever go to would be you.

Anyways, he helps you with building the carriage that would transport his future brother-in-law along with his sister. Because he knows what this is for, you trust him to help you in building the hiding spot within it as well. You showed him your secrets, how you build your coffins because you fashioned the secret space just like those glorified boxes for dead people. It was the first time where he had seen you so serious rather than showing a bunch of emotion.

He remembers what you said to Sovieshu and Rashta, and while you are working on the getaway carriage, he asks if you were serious. You turned to him with a flash of anger in your glowing eyes as you stated that you would refuse their bodies if they ever managed to darken your doorstep either in life or death. You could be very scary sometimes.

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reds-skull · 5 months

Text

Post script on Not Alive, Nor Dead

Like I mentioned yesterday, I have a lot to say about the fic now that it's done.

The TLDR is that I'm leaving an option for a sequel. No promises though.

Leaving the rest of it under the cut because idk how long it will end up.

Okay, so first thing I gotta admit is that I didn't plan shit lmao. I had the start very clearly in my head, which were the scenes I talked about in the first post I made about revenant AU. But the entire plot line with Graves being a secret revenant? Hell, even the whole 'revenants and non-revs are getting kidnapped around the world' was not planned.

The scene in chapter 4 with the PMC was the introduction for the anonymous PMC, but I didn't think of making Graves and in extension Shadow Company all the work of a revenant. I was debating even making him a revenant at all, up until I wrote the chapter introducing him.

This approach, of not planning shit, is what made me excited to sit down and write every day. It felt like I was discovering the story myself.

It's also a fucking miracle the story is coherent in any shape or form.

Now, I did write a few things before starting. They were a small overview of the character arcs I want the 141 to go through, and a brief about each revenant's powers, because those things need to be consistent.

The arc overview isn't accurate anymore, it has a version of Gaz's storyline that I didn't manage to fit in, where he has a fear of heights, and overcomes it throughout the fic. The only one really left unchanged was Soap, who had the whole "my powers are too destructive" thing ongoing for most of the story.

Speaking of Soap, the Konchar mystery? I was figuring it out while writing the 3 chapters before introducing 'Konchar'. There are some inconsistencies because of that, specifically in a line where Soap says something along the lines of "I did something on my Reaping, something that if I could replicate, I might've not been let on the team." which kinda makes sense but kinda doesn't, considering all that Ghost has done.

Ghost's struggles with Limbo were something I added after wanting to give him a parallel to Soap. Originally, Ghost's role was to be the guy that has already gone through what Soap is going through, already knowing everything and having as much control on Limbo as he can. But making Limbo this uncontrollable realm was more interesting... also having it reflect Ghost's mind and emotions was cool.

One of the most pleasant surprises was how Price's powers interacted with everyone else's. I think it was the best power to personality match I made, he's not as scary as the others at first glance, but the ability to bore into the minds of his enemies, the way no one can keep secrets from him? Makes him terrifying. It's not made clear in the fic, but the reason it took Price so long to figure Graves out is their previous encounters. Graves knew how to divert his thoughts away from his Shadows, and stop Price from finding out.

What made Price realize Grave's Shadows aren't human is he tried to read their mind, only to find a list of commands. Graves tried to keep them away as much as he can, but it was inevitable. Shepherd knew it, which is why he ordered Price to keep his mouth shut almost instantly.

Since the way revenants get their powers must be linked to the way they died, some revs were easier to find powers for than others. Obviously the 141 was first, some at the time I started thinking about how they died didn't have a canon near-death experience, like Price and Soap.

I took Ghost's og backstory, and the idea of Limbo was gotten from the fact he died in a coffin, in a state of in between life and death. What Limbo does to people was just 'scariest thing I could imagine' type of situation. In the end, I don't know if Limbo is scarier when Ghost couldn't control it, or when both he and Soap could.

With Soap, I knew I wanted something with explosions, so it was a no-brainer to make him die from one. I mentioned in another post, but revenant AU was originally at the very beginning just a thing of 'what if I put mw characters in my original magic system?', and in that scenario, Soap was the only one with powers, which were control over anti matter, meaning anything he touches or touches him explodes. The only scene from that one is of Soap pushing Ghost away and getting shot to high hell, only to go and explode the people that tried to kill him - which is chapter 8.

I chose to use Gaz's iconic hanging out of a chopper scene, because I found it funny tbh lol. Later, when I thought of how exactly he died, it became more serious.

Price's were just kinda random tbh. I figured telepathy is a good ability for a Captain.

Rudy obviously dies in the house fire he almost did in the campaign. Alejandro was harder, but I thought of how Graves locked him up in the black site prison alone, so I went for something similar.

It's not mentioned in the fic, but Farah was the youngest to die from all of them. The house collapse in the start of her flashbacks in mwi, where her father pulled her out of the rubble? She didn't survive it. She's a very rare revenant, to be Reaped when she was a kid.

Farah and Ghost's og backstory have a lot of similarities, in my mind they're parallels to each other. What Farah had that Ghost didn't, however, is other people, a community. I think that's why she didn't lose herself the way Ghost did.

Alex's was difficult, because his canon near-death experience was being exploded, like Soap. I used the fact he's ex CIA, to figure he probably took part of many covert operations, and one went wrong. He was caught, so now he can go invisible. This was the thing I failed to make clear the most in the fic, I think, since a few people asked, more than anything else.

Thomas Anderson, the revenant with underwater breathing abilities, was originally made just for Ghost to roast him. When chapter 8 rolled around, and I needed a random revenant to kill there, I thought using the one established would make sense.

Accidental foreshadowing like this was what carried the fic, tbh. It was like a huge session of 'yes, and'ing myself. A little bit of bullshitting confidently, sometimes it felt like that lmao.

The wedding vows in chapter 31 were, again, unplanned. Ghost said "till death do us apart, Johnny?", so I started looking up Christian wedding vows in English because I don't fully remember them. Later I thought "wait, Soap is Catholic, maybe they have a different version." and then I thought, "shit, he's fuckin' Scottish, he won't use fucking American Catholic vows." (maybe he would idk).

Anyway, I found the Celtic vows present in the fic, which sounded like a metaphor, so perfect I couldn't use them just for the original joke they were meant for. So Soap ends up reciting literal wedding vows at the man.

[here's a link to the website I found the vows at]

Last thing is the whole Makarov tie in to Konchar. I was thinking about how we never really dove deep into why Konchar did what he did, besides having his Reaper tell him "you have to kill Soap before he kills you". I heard an advice somewhere, that in world building you have to dive in two questions for it to be believable.

So, let's take Konchar for example. First question is, "how did Soap killing Konchar not bring on an international incident between Kastovia and the UK?". The answer is, "Konchar was an army deserter." Second question is, "why did Konchar desert the army?", and the second answer is, "because he left to work with Makarov."

We don't need to know why he left, not at the point I left the fic at. Those two answers would be enough for readers to not feel like there's a plot hole there, at least according to that advice I've heard.

NOW, with all of that out of the way, I wanted to post the notes I've made on each revenant's powers, because I thought it could be interesting for someone. AND! I kept some deleted scenes, and it would be a shame to just let them rot in the Google Doc lol.

First up, list of revenants and their powers:

[These aren't 100% accurate anymore, as they were written before I started writing the fic, and I only added stuff to them]

Ghost - limbo: is able to send a circle around him into “limbo”, a space between life and death, that no one can escape. Filled with his enemies. Only way to survive is if ghost brings you to the eye of the storm, where he keeps himself safe of his own powers. Ghost can be killed by any means if taken by surprise and doesnt activate his powers.

If stands still too long, inky hands start grasping at him from the ground. Prefers to sleep elevated.

Died in a coffin.

From chapter 21 and beyond - able to wield to withstand fire in his right hand.

Soap - explosion: cant be killed by explosions, and can explode anything he touches. Any injury with the root cause being explosion (fall from high building, debris scratches, etc.) will be healed, but he does feel pain from it. Gunshots cant kill him (the bullets shoot with explosions). Can be killed by any melee attack, poison, electricity.

Fire burns from his fingertips, hard to put out. Spreads when agitated. Hot to the touch.

Died from a fall because of an explosion.

From chapter 21 and beyond - able to wield the protective light in his left hand in Limbo.

Gaz - gravity: can manipulate gravity of himself and objects he touches. Cant die from falling. Can be killed by any means, but hard to catch and aim at while at motion.

Usually floats a couple inches off ground.

Died in a helicopter accident.

Price - telepathy: can talk and transmit simple ideas to other around him. Can feel emotions of others. Can be killed by any means, but Price can manipulate the enemies thoughts and distract them.

His thoughts can “leak” if left unguarded.

Died after being abandoned and without comms.

Alejandro - phase: can phase through solid objects, including bullets. Can be killed by any means if caught by surprise.

Sometimes accidentally phases through things.

Died in captivity.

Rodolfo - ice: can lower the temperature of anything he touches rapidly. Can freeze and jam guns. Can inflict ice burns. Can be killed by any means beside fire.

Breath always visible, cold to the touch.

Died in a fire.

Farah - steelskin: can deflect any attack to her body. Bullets, knives, rockets. Can be killed by poison easily, as needles cant pierce her skin and therefore medical administration is hard to give.

Skin shines oddly.

Died from a stab wound. [changed to what I explained above]

Youngest to become a revenant.

Alex - invisibility: can become invisible. Otherwise can be killed by any means, hard to spot.

Skin sometimes flickers.

Died when got caught.

Graves - shadow company: can create “shadows”, puppets he controls. Can be killed by any means, but hard to get through his shadows.

Doesnt have a shadow of his own, eyes become milky and vacant, leaking after a while.

Died from betrayal.

[I didn't manage to find a place to add this - yes, Graves died after his squad betrayed him. His powers are a replacement for the whole army. His last line, "Me? I am the army." was what he boiled down to. Limbo's victims marking him a traitor was two fold. He betrayed the 141, Vaqueros, the UFL and basically everyone around him, but he also betrayed his own Reaper, who gave him powers to not go through that very thing. It's also another reason why chapter 30 is called 'Die As You Live'.]

Kirill “Konchar” Bogomolov - telekinesis: can move objects with his mind. Can protect himself from any physical attack, and redirect them towards the attacker. Is a revenant of the Pull, like Gaz. (name means “Lord” and “devotionalist”) First death from RPG, second death by Soap.

Now, for the cut content. Most of these are one scene, usually one that didn't fit the emotinal arc of the characters, or the direction was going somewhere I didn't like. There's one that is a page and a half long, and that chapter was one of the hardest to write, so I practically restarted it at one point.

I'll try to add the context they were originally in if I remember.

[Context: the scene in Chapter 5, where Ghost watches the night sky out of a window, unable to sleep, and Soap comes to speak with him for the first time since they fought about Soap's tendenticy to let himself get hurt. Soap says he heard rumors about Ghost, and Ghost asks what they said.]

“ (rumors) That you murder our soldiers.”

Something akin to fear rang through his chest. So he knows… He supposes it was meant to happen eventually.

Soap’s face, for some reason, doesn’t lose its newfound cheerfulness.

“And what do you think about those rumors?” Hell knows why he wants to keep hearing him talk.

“Well, that makes the two of us.”

… What.

“What?” Ghost intelligently mutters.

Soap’s eyes widen, face not unlike a child caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

[Reason to cut: Soap wasn't supposed to admit that yet. He also wouldn't have done it in such a non-chalant way, with how heavy the guilt weighs on him.]

[Context: Chapter 10, where Ghost was showing his powers to the Vaqueros and Graves.]

The Captain’s voice fills his head, “field’s clear, go ahead Lieutenant.”

Ghost glances one last time at Soap’s figure, no more than a small speck, far, far away from him.

He closes his eyes. The warm air of Las Almas dissipates into the chill of Limbo.

He opens them, confused. The void is quiet, the residents of Limbo looking at the distance, calm and still. It reminds him of… before.

Ghost frowns, narrowing his eyes to try and see what caught their attention. There, a far away point flickers.

A small, white flame. Where… Soap was standing.

Ghost blinks and stumbles back. Price instantly sounds in his mind, “Simon, what’s going on?!”

“I saw something there…” He makes eye contact with the Captain, who is now jogging towards him, Gaz and Soap behind him. “Light… from Johnny.”

It can’t be… how is Soap able to affect Limbo? Every single spiritulogist he met agreed on the fact he’s a sort of master over Limbo, that the realm is a manifestation he’s inseparably linked to.

The only thing others can do there, is die.

“What do you mean light?” Price urges on.

“A small flame. Where Soap was. The victims were all staring at it.”

The 141 members reach him, Johnny rushing to him, “are you alright?”

Ghost gapes at him, “you’re different. I’ve… changed you.”

Soap frowns, “what are ye on about?” he steps closer.

Ghost takes a step back, “stop.”

The Sergeant stills, a hurt expression flashing on his face before he schools his features.

Price invades his mind, “Simon, you have to calm down-”

“Calm down?! I fucked up Soap! I need to-”

The ladder patterns. Ghost turns around.

“SIMON RILEY”

“Reaper”, he exhales shakily.

“YOU’VE DOOMED YOURSELF. IT IS TOO LATE.”

“What are you talking about?!” Ghost screams, “you keep saying I’m gonna die, while Johnny keeps suffering!”

“I DO NOT CARE ABOUT OTHER REVENANTS, SIMON.”

The Reaper leans in to shriek in his ears, Ghost clutching his head uselessly.

“YOU ARE INTERTWINED.”

Ghost cries from the pain. His Reaper does not falter.

“KILL HIM FIRST.”

His vision fades along with the Reaper’s words.

“Ghost! Fuck, someone get a medic” Someone shouts above him.

Another voice interjects, “he’s not injured, Sergeant. He’s with his Reaper.”

“From my experience, that doesn’t make me holler and pass out!”

A third person joins the conversation, “shut it! He’s waking up.”

Ghost groans and makes a move to rub his eyes, only to be stopped by his hard-shell mask. “Simon? You alright son?” Price asks, bringing the smell of fresh flowers and a soft bed to him.

He gets up (when did he lay down?) and mutters, “fine”. His voice hoarse from screaming. He takes in his team, the three of them concernedly crouch beside him, except Soap, who’s pacing around.

The Sergeant stops and eyes him warily.

“My Reaper’s mad.” he says in lieu of explanation to the others.

Soap stops, and looks down at him, still avoiding his stare, “it’s because of me, isn’t it?”

He sighs, “when those arms started grabbing ye I thought it was gonna-”

“What arms?” Ghost gets up.

“The dark arms from the ground, don’t tell me you didn’t noti-”

Ghost grabs the front of Soap’s shirt, “you fuckin’ see them?!”

The Sergeant struggles against his iron tight grasp, “aye! Thought I was hallucinating last night, fuckers made a pass at me-”

Ghost pushes him away, “fuckin’ hell”.

What the fuck is going on?! Nobody can see the victims outside of Limbo. It’s almost like…

“He has some of my powers…” Ghost whispers to himself.

But that’s not possible?

[Reason to cut: chapter wasn't working out for me. Characters not reacting in character. Reaper not supposed to show up just yet, and what it says kinda repeats previous encounters.]

[Context: chapter 13, instantly after Rudy and Gaz confront Ghost on his relationship with Soap.]

What, do they think he and Soap are sleeping side by side every night, comfortably tangled under the thin sheets? That he warms himself on his Sergeant’s eternal flame, that Johnny brushes his charred, calloused fingers over his arms, his shoulders, his neck, chasing away the cold, inky grasp Limbo always has on him? That Ghost reciprocates, that he holds Johnny’s face softly, bringing them closer and closer until-

[Reason to cut: out of character. Ghost doesn't think about affectionate actions, he jsut does them. Too early in the story for him to express such wants.]

[Context: I don't remember honestly. Entire scene was cut. Might be later in chapter 13, before Graves threatens Ghost.]

He catches Alejandro pacing around the base one day, frowning and arguing with Rudy in Spanish. From what Ghost can pick up, it’s something about an American. He’s pretty damn certain which one.

“Vargas, any issues?” he stops him before the man pops a blood vessel.

Alejandro glances at him, scanning their surroundings for eavesdropping ears. “Come with me.”

The three enter the Vaquero Commander’s office, Rudy locking it behind them, “it’s about Graves.” Alejandro starts pacing again, “fucking gringo is ordering his shadows to collect intel on us.”

“What?” that’s a huge fucking development.

Rudy is quick to correct him, “we can’t prove anything. But yes… Graves knows more than he should.”

“He knows about secret tunnels we have under the base, and weapon stashes that not even Price knows about. We got fucking Shepherd trying to get us to use locations for the mission he shouldn’t even know exist.”

Ghost feels the tension climb up his spine, “what the fuck do you think he’s playing at?”

Alejandro exhales loudly, “whatever it is, [I didn't finish the sentence]

[Reason to cut: Decided that Vaqueros wounldn't suspect Graves, and he wouldn't risk his powers found by using Shadows to spy on them. Didn't like where the scene was directing the story.]

[Context: chapter 19, when Ghost asks Gaz for help with showing emotions with Soap. Gaz asks why can't he now.]

Garrick nods thoughtfully, “and what is it that stops you? Fear?”

Ghost clenches his teeth, this conversation feels like pulling them out one by one, “I’m not afraid of him.”

“Wasn’t saying that sir”, Gaz thrums on his boot, “could be rejection, or… shit. Of course.” he stares at Ghost, eyes soft.

“The fuck’s it?” he glares back.

Gaz releases his powers, standing up in front of him, “you need to get over your fear of feeling.”

[Reason to cut: out of character. Wouldn't confront emotions head on. Unnatural for Gaz to just state that, rather have it implied. Not where I wanted Ghost's mentality to go.]

[Context: no idea. Probably after Ghost sent Soap to Limbo, and he gained an immunity to it.]

“We don’t have to be afraid, Simon. You can’t hurt me anymore.” Johnny whispers

[Reason to cut: don't remember.]

Tumblr is starting to lag, which means this post is huge lmao. Again, thank you to each and every one of you! The response to the fic was amazing, I never expected my little revenant AU to turn into something this big!

I loved the experience of writing Not Alive, Nor Dead. You can certainly expect more from me in the future!

For now, I have to focus on uni, and after that I have a few ideas for comics I wanna do. Might make a few oneshots in between, but no big projects like this one just yet!

#revenant au #not tagging everything bc I dont wanna flood them with a post on an au lmao #if youre from ao3 hi!#if youre not... also hi!!!

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angellayercake · 1 year

Text

when true love's kiss

Papa Emeritus III x Reader | Papa Emeritus III x OC

from this slumber you shall wake | AO3

After waking up in his glass coffin Papa has travelled back to the Abbey in search of something he needs to regain his true strength. This is a sequel to from this slumber you shall wake and for @petrifyingpapas resurrection prompt

TW for choking and murder

It was a nightly procession, a ritual completed in reverence to her lover. Her dead lover. It begins as the sun starts to dip beneath the horizon, sitting at the half empty vanity she applies his paint in slow steady strokes. Her dull eyes staring out of his face, the familiar paint only causing a dull throb in her heart where once it had inspired overwhelming love, then after, overwhelming despair. She had learned the shapes and contours painting his face before his rituals, mass, meetings. It was a small intimacy, one of many they had shared but she had always preferred helping him wash it away. Removing Papa and revealing her lover underneath. The man only she got to see. No more though. When she washed the paint away she only saw her own ashen face. He would forever be resting as Papa or at least she thought.

As darkness falls across the room she affixes her veil draping the dark material over her face, the delicate lace pooling around her waist as she sits. Her reflection shows the shadow she has become, her old life just a silhouette underneath a shroud of darkness. She adds the final touch, pulling on her gloves lace covering the last glimpses of skin, the golden claws another signature of his, glinting in the muted light. She must stare at herself for a moment longer sitting motionless, where her gaze lands is lost in the shadow but what else is there to see but herself. Suddenly she stands and the next stage of her ritual begins.

She walks through the corridors like a ghost. If you really tried you might hear the whisper of her skirts against the tile but you couldn’t distinguish her footsteps or the choked sobs that rise from within her. Any siblings lingering in the hallways move aside lest they interrupt her procession now, long since startled by her presence. It had been a shock the first time they had witnessed this ritual. The once warm and charming Prime Mover, dead in all but body along with her Papa. No one saw her for weeks after and then she began her mourning ritual which continued and then continued until now, a year on from his murder she still hadn’t ceased.

Her procession ends in the Chapel of Lilith now, but she had worked her way through them all. Satan, Belial then Lucifer, Belezebub, Asmodeous, then Behemoth but her prayers had not been heeded. None had borne witness to her nightly vigils, leaving her to commune with her chosen demon in privacy, but it was not hard to guess at the subject of her prayers. For him to be returned to her, for her to be able to join him in hell, for the ones responsible to receive their due punishment but when she had finally seemed to give up hope for an answer to her prayers she took solace with Lillith.

She kneels before the statue as is her usual custom, her bare feet visible now under her layers of skirts, a surprise given her carefully layered dress but perhaps she needs some way to feel grounded, just that small connection to the reality she is forced to live in now without her Papa. Her reminder that she is still here and still alive even if she doesn’t feel like it. Her head is bowed, the long veil obscuring most of her body now she has made herself small before Lilith praying for the strength to go on. Although she has followed all the same steps, completed all the same measures, there is something different about this night. A year on from his death to the day there is a finality in her manner as she prays. Is it that her mourning period is coming to a close? She has spoken to none but the demons she had begged for relief since she learned of his demise but as she whispers her mysterious requests to the mother of all evil her body begins to shake. The rosary that had been clutched in between her fingers clatters to the floor as her prayer ends as she slowly, carefully draws up the front of her veil revealing her painted face, the silent tears she had wept leaving wet grey streaks in their path. Her eyes are locked on the statue as if waiting for something to happen.

A rush of wind fills the chapel whipping around her, her veil and clothes disturbed by its strength and just before it dies every candle in the room extinguishes simultaneously; the only light left is the muted beam of moonlight shining through the window above the altar. A haze of smoke from the candles hangs in the air as she twists and turns looking for the cause of the sudden gusts but in her frantic search she misses the slow moving shadow at the end of the pews. Turning back to the statue she stares up at unmoving face, scrabbling to pick up her discarded rosary without taking her eyes off it.

‘What does it mean?’ Her voice is broken and dry from disuse and her suddenly dry mouth. She had wanted a sign, whether she should move on, give up hope, try to just keep him as a fond memory and had been given this. ‘Please what does it mean?’ The tears that never really stopped cascade down her cheeks, her shock and confusion overwhelming her after all this time.

‘It means you have been loyal.’ She freezes when she hears his voice not even remembering to breathe. It must be a trick she would recognise that voice anywhere but it just couldn’t be. His heavy footsteps echo through the otherwise silent room and she can almost sense the disturbance of the air, everything else is so still as if in anticipation of their reunion. ‘It means mia regina,’ she shudders every memory of him calling her that running through her mind at once. ‘That you will be able to help your Papa return to this world and take back what is rightfully his.’

She turns to him slowly where he has come to a stop conveniently in the pool of moonlight. As much as this is what she had been praying for she seemed almost reluctant to look at him, scared of what she might see. He is alive, somehow, that is obvious, but something about him is very wrong. There is a stiffness to how he holds himself upright and his eyes are no longer filled with love and joy and life just malice.

‘Terzo,’ she sighs, an acceptance that he really is standing there in front of her as haggard as he looks. His vestments are creased, his paint flaking away. He looks exactly like he has been laid in state for a year. ‘How?’ The shock and her lack of practice speaking make it almost impossible to articulate anything more. He smiles, well smirks, there is no warmth there but it draws over his face almost in slow motion, like the muscles need time to remember how to react to his body's commands.

‘Someone wished very hard for me to be returned to them, no matter the cost.’ He continues coming closer, his jerky uneven steps getting more sure the more he moves. Still on her knees she crawls back until she is sat at the base of the statue, hoping that Lilith will heed her prayers one more time, her instinct told her she would need it more than ever. When he reaches the altar steps he collapses with none of his natural grace, bracing himself on his hands and hissing in pain, his joints unnaturally stiff from his time at rest. But he continues on towards her until he is close enough to touch.

‘You missed me amore?’ He whispers and she winces at the understatement.

‘Yes,’ She hadn’t just missed him, her whole existence had ground to a halt. She wanted so desperately to reach out and touch him, confirm that he was truly there, real and in front of her but something stayed her hand.

‘You prayed for me?’ His face is cast in shadow now and looks all the more sinister for it. Up this close she could see his muscles twitching to maintain his expression like someone else was trying to control them.

‘Yes,’ She twists her rosary between her fingers, the clicking of the beads drawing his attention before his hand closes over hers, stilling her nervous fidgeting. Feeling his touch even through the gloves steals the breath from her lungs.

‘Then help me finish what you started?’ He dips his head drawing her attention away from where his hand clasps hers.

‘How?’ The smile he wears grows at her lack of dismissal anticipating that she will agree to his demands.

‘Give yourself to me.’ She nods slowly unsure of exactly what he meant but as she looked into his eyes she saw a glimpse of the man she loved, something inside of him begging and pleading her to help him and she knew she would do anything he asked. He reaches for her with his gloved hand cupping the back of her neck, drawing her towards him. She can feel how warm he is through the tight leather and the pinprick pressure of his nails transports her back to memories of smooth soft leather contrasting with the cold sharp nails as he stripped her leaving his mark on her bare skin night after night.

He barely has to guide her now she is caught in his trap, she comes easily kneeling up to meet him halfway. His distinctive scent, though stale, fills her senses and she is ensnared. He could ask anything of her and she would do everything in her power to grant it. She thought or perhaps hoped that he would kiss her, help her remember the feeling of him against her once again, but first she felt his other hand circle her neck and it seemed to break her from her reverie. She tried to pull back, eyes widening in shock but he had regained more strength than he had let on and as his grip tightened she could not break free.

Her windpipe was closing and his sharp nails bit into her skin sharply as he squeezed tighter and tighter. She clawed at his wrists trying anything to lessen his grip but he did not falter his wide manic eyes boring into hers. As panic began to take hold she reached for his face, his eyes anything to allow her to breath but even as she managed to slice his cheek he didn’t flinch so set on her destruction. As her vision tunnelled, her body shutting down due to lack of oxygen she realised what he had needed all along. He needed her life. She was foolish to wish for his return, naïve to think it would come at no cost. In her grief she had forgotten the fundamentals of the world, the balance that must always be maintained. All the fight left her then, if her life was what he wanted then he could take it, she had spent the last year living as a shadow now she could allow the darkness to embrace her completely. His cruel victorious smile is the last thing she sees as her vision dims, acknowledging her surrender and the last thing she feels before everything else fades away is the press of his rough lips, so soft in comparison to his deadly grip but she clung to that feeling knowing it would sustain her wherever it was she would end up.

You watch him kneel over her body, lying her back gently as her life force leaves her, flowing into him in twisting translucent tendrils. You keep quiet not wanting to interrupt his moment. He didn’t seem sad though. He had been resigned about what he must do as you had surreptitiously travelled here to the Abbey, almost sullen and disinterested with all your questions. But once he was on the grounds it was like he was possessed with a new vigour. Perhaps returning to the location of his murder had impassioned him but you could see the difference almost instantly. He had been most impatient with you as you had slotted back into Abbey life so you could report back to him. Nothing you did was good enough but perhaps now he would be happy with you. You had delivered him the final piece of his plan. The soul of his Prime Mover. He had never explained to you exactly why he needed it. You had offered him yours and he had only scoffed but seeing your disappointment he softened slightly explaining that it was not your role to sacrifice yourself for him, not yet any way, that he had much bigger plans for you. Your heart had swollen with pride at that, that he would entrust you with such important tasks but he was hard to please and you tried so so hard. He straightens up leaving her prone at the foot of the statue ending your time for rumination.

‘We need to leave now, little one.’ He sounds stronger already and any lingering regret you had about her fate fades away. She had been wasting her life anyway; her soul would be much better served empowering her Papa.

‘Do you want me to do anything with her?’ She was in a better place now but part of you wondered whether it was right to just leave her there but he turns on you with a fire in his eyes.

‘No let them find her. Let them guess at what power I now possess. Let her be a warning. I wonder if they will heed it.’ He looks down at her tracing along the smudged lines of their shared face paint. ‘She was so beautiful. It was a shame it had to come to this but I need to be at full strength for what is to come.’ He stands movements much more fluid, he looks healthier, more alive now and you marvel at him. The more you learn, the more you see, the more you crave his presence and his approval. When you had gazed at him through the glass you had never dreamed you would get to be his right hand, his confidant yet here you are helping him to steal away into the night, back into hiding until he was ready to make his next move. As you hold the door for him you notice him pause, looking back at her. He is right, she was beautiful you think. She is bathed in moonlight now, laying as a beautiful sacrifice at the altar of Lilith but when you look at him you see the first hints of sadness.

‘Did you love her Papa?’ He looks away but pauses before he answers.

‘Maybe, once, but what was more important was that she loved me. That was all that I needed.’ There is resignation, you think in his voice rather than regret but you hate to see him feeling that way at all. You believe he must do what he needs to do even if he will not yet reveal his reasons to you.

‘I love you Papa.’ You sense at this moment he needs that reminder.

‘I know little one and you still have your role to play.’ He turns away after one last long look at his past love but you reach for his hand as you notice the darkness beginning to lift. A rich sense of satisfaction fills you as you hurry into the dawn. She was his past but you were his future.

#petrifyingpapas #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus iii #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfiction #my writing #terzo

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chao-thicc-hcs · 1 year

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Hi, how are you? I read your work, “It hurts when I realize I’ll never mean that much to someone, and it’s all my fault”, and I would like to request a sequel? Could you please include sanzu, rindou, baji and mikey? It also doesn’t have to be those characters, you can choose whoever, but I’d love to see sanzu especially! Thank you for your hard work and if you take the time to consider this! Love your works and small note, for English not being your mother language, it seems near perfect!❤️❤️

Thank you so much for your kind words, anon! I hope my future works will bring the same amout of joy as now!

And sorry for the delay!

I won't include Mikey and Baji, I don't rlly have ideas for them

It hurts when I realize I’ll never mean that much to someone, and it's all my fault. - the sequel [x reader]

ft. kakucho hitto, shinichiro sano, ran haitani, shion madarame + sanzu haruchiyo, rindou haitani

; when the turn tables. once, you were nothing to them, despite all of your efforts, now, fed up with all the pain they made you go through, they became nothing to you. ;

genre: heavy angst, no comfort at all (only fluff at rindou's ending)

tw!!: gn!reader, one-sided firendship/relationship, gun pointing, mentions of abuse, bullying, mentions of blood, abuse, cheating, reader snapping at the end, murder, mentions of suicide, alcohol problems, drug abusing, seizures, self-harm, necrophilia

kakucho (sequel).

Never in his life people have been so important to him, so important that their words pierced like a pitchfork.

He knew he was a villain, he knew he hurt innocent people, and this has never bothered him until now. So, how could you, a mere citizen, make him feel sick to his guts, make him tear up, cry, and coop himself up in a tiny room filled to the brim with dirty laundry.

Something deep in him knew you were special, despite all of the years denying you and assuming you're vile. In the end his anger issues and trust issues won, but at what cost?

You were able to help him, eradicate his pain and suffering, color his life and bring some joy. However, he missed his chance and now he's left only with the shotgun and cigarettes in his hand.

shinichiro (sequel).

He knew he hurt you and went over your limits, so it didn't shock him you were never willing to forgive him.

It was understandable, he left a deep wound that led to you losing your spark, miserable and insecure even until today and refusing to let others near you, embarassed to even show your face. He made you cry and isolate yourself as excruciating thoughts of ''never being good enough'' were flashing through your mind all these years.

He lost your trust for people that don't even reach up to him anymore, he doesn't even remember them himself.

Sano was smoking in front of your school, carefully watching how you were sitting under a tree, using your laptop and munching on your lunch. He was smiling at the sight of you tapping with your fingers on the device and taking your time to think of what to write down, even after the awkward encounter.

As he finished the cigarette, Shinichiro glanced once more at your figure, running towards the school entrance. He chuckled and turned around heading to his shop.

. . . .

Realizing his fate laying down on the floor as blood was pouring out of his head, the muffled police and ambulance sirens getting weaker as he starts losing his consciousness, Shinichiro was happy you were one of the last people he saw this day.

But you were not happy that your last goodbye with him was with his cold body in a coffin.

ran (sequel)

To his surprise he got over it pretty quickly, cursing the day he cried in front of you, instead of just killing you and that twink of a guard. He claims that he's gotten over it all, but even after months this encounter is still causing him random anger outbursts, driving him to insanity and even a desire to kill his own brother just to alleviate his anger. Ran seemed way more erratic, unstable and quick to anger as days passed by. The man tried to ease this by sleeping with women, but lowered his guard and ended up used by every single one of them.

Now he knew what it was like, being used up and then thrown on the ground, laughed at and left overthinking everything from the past weeks with a bottle of liquor and puffy, sleepless expression.

He also lost custody of his child and the mother filed a restraining order against both of them after he hit her and his child.

Ran stalked you, waiting for the perfect day to get his revenge. However you're not stupid, you knew he would be a pain in the ass and hired a guard, who works for another, albeit small, powerful mafia.

He deleted all of his social media, stopped going that much outside and settled down to work from home, eradicated all evidence of his exsistence, just so you think he's dead or just dissappeared, lower your guard and blunt your intuition. He bought extentions, dyed his hair to match them, and dressed blandly. Eventually he was able to abduct you and lock you in his basement, turning you into his favourite toy.

Even after your heart stopped beating, he was still enjoying the feeling of you between his thighs.

Is this what insanity feels like?

shion. (sequel)

His mind was still conscious while you were assaulting him, ruthlessly impaling him with the sharp item in your hand. He was able to process a glimpse of the things you were doing to him, a tiny teardrop going down his cheeks, as his eyes lost all color. He attempted to reach for your chin and feel you for the last time, but this is when you did the fatal blow that ended his life.

You opened your leather backpack and took out the food you bought before, casually sitting on his lifeless body, eating as the burger buns soaked the blood on your hands. ''It tastes better with a nice view.'' you mumbled.

Couple of years passed and you were sitting there, looking at your new lover, who happened to resemble Shion immaculately. The hair, the stern look, the physique. All the same. But at the same time radically different in spiritual terms. His demeanor meek and gentle. You felt the chills every time you looked in his eyes for longer than 2 seconds, reminiscing your past with the blonde.

It felt weird, anxiety creeping on your bones and nerves when he approaches you, still not over your abusive ex, the resemblance was uncanny. And the memories of you almost beheading him oftentimes flashed through your mind, what matters is that nobody will ever find out. You have your own tricks on how to get away with murder.

sanzu (+sequel)

Your mind was going in all shades of the rainbow as Sanzu was screaming at you in gibberish, equally as high as you.

He managed to get you into taking drugs with him so it could be easier to mentally damage you and chain you to himself. He succeeded, you were addicted to him and his pills, waiting eagerly everyday for your dose of brief embarking in another universe. Your brain was fried and you were on the verge of blacking out, just like every night. You don't know why aren't you already used to it. His screeching pounding on the inside of your skull, your eyes bloodshot red from the lack of sleep and you not blinking at all, staring at one spot, shaking like a leaf.

- You're nothing without me! You're miserable, you are ready to follow like a dog, drenching yourself with a concoction of tears and blood for someone else's benefit, you're worthless and have absolutely no value!

Overdosing on those potent drugs tickled his anger issues and made him almost kill you every time he encountered you while in this state, you were about to go in your room when he threw a chair at you and it hit your ankle, causing you to fall down and shriek in pain. You were unable to move, you were already tired from crying and skipping meals, hugging yourself as cold sweat went down your body.

-L-leave me a-al- you couldn't even finish a sentence without stuttering and zoning out or forgetting how to pronounce words.

-Oh heck yeah I will leave you alone, I will leave you here crying and screeching while I go on with my life and fuck others relentlessly while you are only left with missing my touch and drugs, craving me like a piece of meat! The others will be screaming my name and ending drenched in my juices and you still won't even have the courage to leave me.

You've known him since childhood, you grew up together, played games, and crushed on each other. However due to your strict upbringing, both of you waited until you were old enough to handle a relationship, but everything got worse over the years, with Sanzu's overflowing worshipping of Mikey and his growing intimacy with pills, and your deteriorating relationship with your parents, mental state, failures and you losing yourself over someone who didn't even love you.

The cheating, the manipulation, the abuse, this wasn't the Sanzu you grew up and played hopscotch with, you didn't even know who he had become. You were desperate to make things work, and forced yourself to dodrugs with him, hoping he will at least love you more if you shared ''hobbies''. And there he was now, proving once again all your work was futile, using the most dastardly words known to human to degrade you and make you feel small in your own house. You knew you would still feel pain, but consented anyways, because deep down was a searing love for this man.

You still loved him, every time you were sober, you were there to help him with the headaches and stomachaches, patched up his wounds. Sanzu never talked to you when he was sober, though, he ignored you and only paid attention to you only if it was related to his gang or using you to his advantage.

He even reached so far to make you watch him have the most gut-wrenching intercourse with a random cheap lowlife he hooked up with, enjoying how you cry for him and whimper in hurt and betrayal.

Sanzu liked to see you beg for the smallest things. He just felt like nagging with you all the time, so he tried his best to find the smallest mistakes and nitpick on them, growing the stems of your insecurities.

There were days where he didn't even look at you, slept on the couch, made himself food, and just acted like you were an inanimate object. Walked past you and didn't bat an eye if he accidentaly bumped into you. Your sanity depended on his mood and behavior.

The silence between you was loud, too loud it made your head hurt and feel heavy. He would take all your money, because ''you didn't deserve them since you don't bring anything to the table'', took away everything he didn't like that you buy because ''it's too ugly in his opinion''.

He did try leaving you, but he wasn't able to manipulate other people into staying with him, nobody was able to stand his erratic behaviour when he was high. You were feeble-minded and he already managed to imprison you and make you his puppy, so why leave you and waste all his ''effort''?

The day you snapped is engraved between his brain folds, the way you looked, the tears, the blood from your body, the messy hair, the torn clothes, your words filled with poison and pain. And especially, your eyes filled with fury and contempt. It was the first time he felt hurt seeing what his tomfoolery led you to.

. . . . . .

You overdosed on pills, cut your hair, cried and inflicted harm on yourself. Sanzu was sober, to his surprise, but finally saw what it was like being high, you were just an alternative version of his intoxicated state. You've had enough of this torture of a relationship.

- Y/n...? Did you fucking inhale my damn pills? - Sanzu tried hiding the shaking of his voice, but didn't succeed.

- N-no, I-i just - something in you snapped all of a sudden and you impulsively took a sharp glass shard from the broken bottle of alcohol you drank alongside the pills. Glenfarclas 12 year old single malt scotch whisky, both of you's favourite alcohol, drinking a glass of it after a fight to soothe the bitterness between you. Something propelled you to scream like crazy and swing the piece trying to impale the person you once called your lover, who was evading all of it, but tripped and fell to his nates.

Sanzu tried to look stern, but he was panting like crazy and looking around in panic, trying to find a way to escape. But when he turned his head towards you, suddenly, your eyes had a different sparkle and emotion in them that made him relax. Even if you wanted him dead that moment, he still managed to hit your soft spot with just his presence. All of your memories together, good and bad, he is still Haruchiyo Akashi. You still held hope. Whilst reaching out to hug him, your hands drowning in blood, yearning to hug him and feel his hands wrap around you like a precious ornament, suddenly your eyes went upward, mind and vision blank. You started having a seizure, but he didn't want to call an ambulance, as they will inform the police and arrest him for drug possesion. Instinctively, he grabbed his bag and ran away, leaving you there.

You had a brain hemorrhage, the pills and alcohol shutted down everything in your system, causing you to flatline. He just left you there to decompose.

The neighbors found you when the stench of your rotting carcass was spreading around, weeks after the incident. You were cremated by your parents' wish, because you had no ''true'' family in the first place that would want to burden themselves to cover the expenses of the funeral, but they kept your ashes in a small urn in your old bedroom.

. . . .

Ten years, ten damned years and this was still making him go insane. After the accident with you his life went downhill. He couldn't focus on his work, increased his dose and failed to complete everything he was assigned. He pretended to not give a shit about you, not at all, or at least he tried, albeit failing.

He actually felt something.... could it be, despondency? From a person who he saw as nothing? He lost his precious toy, the only person who could handle him. Eventually he was kicked out from the gang, got submerged with bills and debt, and ended up homeless, with stubble on his face and alopecia because of the severe stress he was subjected to.

Every time he remembered you his stomach was tickling, he realized he had a close bond with you, he realized you could've actually help him and drag him out of the shithole and help him reach the catharsis of becoming a better self. Since early childhood you saved him from thousands of troubles he involved himself into, gave your sholder for him to cry on, allowed him to be vulnerable in your embrace and filled his body with a new, purer blood, and now you're gone, probably laughing at him from the outerworld. Sanzu was not able to afford drugs anymore, and his sobriety stabilized his senses, and he realized how special you were. The only beam of hope and warmth.

Thankfully the apartment you died in was never rented by anyone. Rumours swiftly spread after your death, people thought your ghost was roaming there and were too scared to even glance at the front door engulfed in spider webs. Sanzu often visited the place to sleep in and stared at the dry blood on the ground and walls, crying and cursing himself for leading you to this.

rindou (+sequel)

The feeling of being overpowered by his brother and constantly living in his shadow plagued Rindou's mind. All the applause and credit for the hard work he was busting his ass for was aimed at his brother. Ran was the one who took the credit and profited more, leading him into becoming an insufferable stuck-up, who only got in his way, as Rindou was always saying.

His inferiority complex rooted from there his mental state and confidence went downhill, and he couldn't stand still nor remain calm without some form of reassurance, so he frequently organized pity parties and his co-workers had to bear with his whining. Unfortunately you were the victim of the self-conscious man, allowing yourself to fall into a trap of thorns and venomous snakes piercing your spiritual flesh. Rindou made sure to make you pity him, to make you feel the same way he does, just so he could ease his soul.

He loved you, he really did, so he wanted to share emotions with you, he wanted to teach you to be strong, so you don't get hurt just like him. From trying to stop you from doing what you love and saying how awful you are to even hiding all your stuff just so you don't experience the joy of succeeding in something, just because of his own bullshit.

You still wanted to work somewhere, you wanted your own money, because Rindou would never spoil you or give you anything money related, because he perceived them as the only reward he will ever recieve. He would even go far as to complete tasks assigned for you and gain all the credit.

- Baby, please, let me finish my work! - you pleaded as he was holding your laptop, deleting the files you spent days working on

You felt your blood boil, but the only thing you could do is watch him how he sat on the couch and continued writing, not even bothering to look at you or react to your cries.

- Make me food, please, I have a lot of work to do.

He deemed you weak if you cried, the only time he could try and apologize was when he had a hidden objective to fuck you. By his words, this was the only way to teach you how life actually works, so he didn't actually do any harm, at least that's what he preached. Rindou would seek empathy from you constantly, even after he mentally destroyed you just seconds ago.

Rindou took some rest from work. He loved spending time with you and analyzing every reaction you show as he was sitting on the couch with his hands intertwined infront of his mouth. The man slept almost all day with you, until sunset and still woke up before you. One blissful afternoon, right when the cocktail of sunset's colors were engulfing the sky, placing your head on his chest, you closed your eyes and fell into a deep slumber.

- Y/n, baby? - after what seemed for an hour he shook you awake from the nap you were taking on his chest, snuggled in a silk bedsheet as the sunset colors were touching the room

- Mhh, yes, honey? - you stood up and lazily rubbed your eyes, leaning in for a kiss

- I am worried. Now Ran will have even more time boasting about stuff he didn't do and will make me seem like a loser... and now I'm yet again useless, and he is currently probably living his best life, our co-workers praising him. - he said as a forced sigh came out of his mouth

The same questions, the same statement, for the 3rd time today. Your whole mood sunk to the ground and you tried to conceal your sigh of exasperation with a sweet smile on your face. He woke you up from your peaceful dream just to act like a brat.

- No, baby, you're better than him for the sole reason you do something productive, he's only there for decor, once people realize how useless he is you will gain your fame and he will be swiftly forgotten.

Rindou wrinkled his nose in disbelief, turning his head around and scoffed. This was one of his master tricks to receive a double shot of ego boost and new ideas to make you feel inferior to him. Even his own brother warned you about this behaviour, even encouraged you to run away as soon as you can, unfortunately you were taking a swim in pink clouds.

- Nah, you're still drowsy you can't even process information right now. I know you think of him all the time when I happen to fail, because you wished someone more competent was in your life.

- You know what? Yeah, you're actually a sore loser. - you blurted out with a raspy voice. Getting up from the bed, you went to the bathroom and took a fast shower. Grabbing the sexiest outfit you could find, fixing your hair, not even acknowledging Rindou's piercing glare. After half an hour you and aimed to the door, swinging your hips and leaving a trail of a heavy yet alluring perfume, the one you usually get more compliments for

- And where are you going? - Rindou asked as he was blocking your way to the entrance, towering over you, eyes filled with emptiness

- I am sick of being your punching bag, Rindou. Have you ever wondered why you're so miserable? Because you're weak, and if you go on with it, your brother will continue overshadowing you while you remain at the bottom. Grow a thicker skin and move on instead of asking for pity all the time. You're a child trapped in a grown man's body.

Before rushing out, you turned around and approached him. Towering over his laying figure, you began your taunting session.

- It's funny how you think that the only way to cope with the fact that you're insecure is by projecting your own issues onto others. Has Ran ever been laughed at and pitied? No. He's a real man who can handle his emotions and manage to do his own work without the help of his illiterate brother. Have you actually wondered why you're always the laughingstock? Tried to talk to your brother? You only sit and whine like a whore. All this time the ''work'' you've been doing for him was constantly the subject of a good laughter. You never acutally did your job correctly out of spite towards your own blood, but Ran had to correct you and then he enjoyed himself with a glass of whine, laughing at your kindergarten-level grammar mistakes with your co-workers while I'm sitting on his lap. His fame is deserved, and you will always remain in his shadow, alone and insecure, just how it should be.

You ran outside from the backdoor and head towards Ran's place, taking Rindou's car. You wanted to finally feel loved, and you remembered a conversation you had with Ran when your relationship with Rindou had just begun.

Your first conversation with the older Haitani was behind their bar, while you were waiting for Rindou to arrive. It took Ran embarrassingly long time until he broke the silence while

- My brother will damage you, angel. A pretty face like you doesn't deserve to be bothered with my brother's twisted fantasies of what a relationship is. I will make your life better.

You huffed in annoyance and crossed your arms, twitching an eyebrow and averting your gaze to somewhere else.

- Rindou always warned me about you, how you're always trying to steal everything from him, how you hate his guts and enjoy his suffering and blah blah. I know these old dusty tricks, I ain't getting fooled. You're always trying to overshadow him and steal his happiness away, and now even me, but I don't even like you. I know you're lying, you're a disgrace of a brother and never deserved your fame.

Looking back at this you realized how horribly wrong you were about your thoughtless trust in Rindou's words towards his brother. Fortunately Ran was not annoyed nor agitated, but still offered you help and shelter for when you realize that you were wrong about him. And there you were, kissing his lips and rubbing against him with unabashed passion and lust.

- I knew you will come to me, baby, I've waited so long for you. - he said as he moved his hips to match your rythm.

You spent the night with him, getting drunk and nasty. You unveiled a side of you that even you weren't aware you had, but it was an unbelievable night mixed with lecherous emotions. Ran was able to make you relax and be yourself without. You felt wanted, appreciated and all your craving needs were fulfilled this very night.

- No wonder you are the better brother. - you exclaimed in a slight laughter while hugging Ran's bare chest, sweaty from what was like your fourth session already

He smirked and turned to face you, embracing your figure under the moonlight creeping through the small gaps in his curtains. However, this sweety-lovely moment was swiftly ruined by Rindou kicking the door to Ran's bedroom, eyes filled with frenzied fury. Ran jolted and grabbed his gun that was on his nightstand, pointed it at his own brother and covered your figure with the blankets.

- What the fuck are you doing here, Rindou!

- Oh, no, dear brother, what are YOU doing with my lover! - Rindou screeched as he threw himsef on him.

Ran didn't want to harm him, but protecting you was his current priority, he managed to shoot Rindou in his shoulder and knock him down as he screamed in pain, holding his bleeding gash for dear life, his vision going blurry from all the anguish he was feeling. As much as he despised his brother's attitude and wanted him gone, Ran took him to the ER with you for his wound to be taken care of. The older lad tried to play it smooth but the anxiety could be spotted in his eyes and his hands were shaking.

You were sitting in front of the room Rindou was in, cold, still and stiff, looking at the ground and refusing to make eye contact with the older Haitani, who was sitting next to you, one arm massaging your nape.

After what seemed like an eternity, one of the surgeons left the room. Mikey, Sanzu, Kakucho and Kokonoi were already there. The surgeon's merry expression eased the atmosphere and it felt like all the world's weight came off all of you's shoulders.

- The boy is in a decent condition and we removed the bullet successfully. However, we have a suspicion his glenohumeral joint and humerus are affected. We have to perform an x-ray and a neurovascular exam to see if any bones are broken. But keep in mind if something is affected, the rehabilitation process involves gradually increasing activities to restore muscle strength, joint motion and flexibility. Now he needs to rest and is currently sound asleep.

Everyone smiled and cheered that Rindou made it alive. For a moment Ran thought he had affected a vital organ, fortunately he didn't. You felt tears coming out of your tears, becoming a potion of emotions as Ran wrapped his hands around you. Both of you felt immense guilt forming inside, mixed with sadness and joy. You were blaming yourself for everything and couldn't think how you will ever muster the courage to ever speak to Rin again or even look him in the eyes.

- Do you want a ride home? I can see both of you are tired and need some rest. - Kakucho mumbled as he was spinning his car keys on his finger

- We wouldn't mind, I will come pick my car tomorrow, my hands are too shaky to handle the wheel. - Ran retorted and thanked his friend

The ride home was awkward. Ran's arm was caressing your exposed thigh as you were snuggled in his jacket, staring outside the window. Everything seemed fuzzier and faster than usual, probably because you were lost in thoughts about Rindou. Ran was staring lovingly at your features and brushed your hair with his fingers, which snapped you out from your contemplations.

- How are you feeling, sweetcheeks?

- Could've been better. I want to go home and just fall asleep.. - you retorted and snuggled in him, wrapping a hand around his waist

He kissed the top of your head and brushed your hair and massaged your scalp, which led you to fall asleep under his touch. Ran carried you bridal style to his bedroom and placed you to sleep. You woke up some time later with his broad figure laying next to you to change your clothes.

- I think we need to cease our relations for now. For Rindou. I don't want to do him even dirtier than I've already did. - you nodded and hummed in approval, then went back to sleep

. . . .

Rindou got discharged with a fracture in his humerus and a torn glenohumeral joint. He didn't seem to be upset nor was acting maliciously towards both of you. What was even weirder was the fact he is happier than his usual self, albeit after your betrayal. He was constantly under yours and Ran's surveillance.

Both of you were sitting at a bench, waiting for the older Haitani to come back with the drinks and food. You were playing with a street cat that approached you, and Rin was smiling at your interactions.

- Can you put it on my lap?

You obliged and placed the silver tabby on his lap, who seemed not to mind at all and made itself comfortable. A very obedient and cuddly creature that took a liking to the younger Haitani. The cat transformed itself into a loaf and sat there. You were smiling and petting the purring animal, just when Ran came back with the food.

- What a lovely creature, but be careful, it might have fleas. - he scoffed and sat down

- There isn't a bigger sucker than you, brother. - Rindou slyly added and made u giggle, to which Ran threw his drink in his face

All of you sat there, eating peacefully and discussing random matters, giving the tabby some food too, arguing about it's gender, what name to give it and where will it live. There was a moment of silence after before Rindou spoke up.

- I'm not mad. Contrary, I even have a proposal. - that part made you and Ran choke, staring at Rindou with both worry and anticipation - why don't we engage in polyamory?

That sentence perplexed you. Your face was beet red and you almost dropped your food. Your lost all color from your skin when you turned to Ran, who was smiling like a cocaine addict nodding in acceptance

- Ran?? Rindou?? You're okay with this? - you shouted and only got a laughter from the two of them in response

- I know I was a total asshole towards you. - Rin blurted out, the atmosphere turing gloomy- With my inferiority complex and self-hatred, the only thing I inflicted was pain on you, rather than stabilizing myself and our relationship. I deserved to get cheated on, you deserved solace and the love I never managed to give you. But I still have as equally deep feelings as when I first got to know you. And I never want to lose you or my brother. I don't want us acting like strangers and avoiding each other.

Rindou took your hands and squeezed them tight in anticipation and anxiety of you rejecting him and leaving with his brother. In fact, he doesn't want to lose you and watch you with his own blood, albeit telling you he doesn't feel bad. It's eating him up on the inside, it's draining all life from him. He can't sleep, nor eat properly without his guts twisting in regret from all the suffering and torment he put you through. And the way his brother did the exact opposite.

- I-if you don't really mind... - you scratched your nape and held each one of them's hand in approval - I aggree..

You blushed and barely had the courage to muster your response. You were going to be with the hottest men you've ever laid eyes upon. The thought of being between them every night, sharing everything with them, even your own self, was exciting and simultaneously terrifying. Tears started forming in your eyes and you couldn't hold yourself from sobbing.

- What's wrong, baby?? - Rindou softly asked and both Haitanis hugged you tightly

- I'm afraid I won't be good enough... And that you will probably leave me for someone else.. I will not be able to satisfy you, I'm just a mere person while both of you hold power in your hands - you sobbed and snuggled between their embrace

- We never will, we promise. - the older Haitani retorted and kissed your cheek - You're our one and only we want to spend our lives with..

a/n: It took me way too long to be able to write again. I'm sorry for the long delay

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