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redtsundere-writes · 5 months

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We need sukuna brutally murdering another servant because they put reader in a bad mood. ITS NOT A WANT ITS A NEED PLEASE

Blood Bath | Sukuna Ryomen

king!sukuna ryomen x femservant!reader

Sypnosis: The king needs to wash himself after defending his favorite servant. Contents: king x servant, kinda fluffy I guess, murder, a bit of humiliation, nudity. Word count: 2255 words. Author's note: Thanks for the request, anon! I was already writing this fic when I received your message, so it was a great add-in! Beginning. ← Previous | Next →

AO3/WATTPAD VERSION

Sukuna left the castle a week ago. He set out for distant lands to conquer villages, eat its people and spread the terror on his behalf. The absence of his presence was noticeable in the magnificent palace. Peace reigned in the spotless marble hallways, the quiet kitchen and the solitary great hall. Despite not having the pressure of everything being perfect, the servants were making sure the castle would shine for the king's return. The servants walked around at their leisure, pretending they owned the place. They ate at whatever time they wanted, lay down to rest on the lawn of the parade ground, and talked loudly about the rumors that have been surfacing about your relationship with the king.

Recently, it had come to your attention that you were Sukuna's favorite servant, but no one knew exactly why. The consensus had concluded that it was because you were his mistress. Sukuna used to lock himself in his room with you for hours at a time and always came out with a broad smile. The truth is that you didn't sleep with him, you just gave him massages, fixed his outfits and sometimes talked for hours. You tried several times to clear up the rumors, but no one believed you.

It was a rainy summer afternoon. You and a small group of servants were cleaning the great hall, the largest room in the castle. Surrounded by white concrete columns that rose to the ceiling, you sternly swept the red carpet that indicated the center. Diamond chandeliers softly lit the place, statues of the king stood tall and the beautiful hand-painted mural raised on the ceiling harmonized the entire room. The drops fell softly against the giant window in which the green outside could be admired.

“When do you think our king will return?” One servant asked the other as they cleaned the decorative torches that rested on steel bases around the perimeter.

“He won't be long, he has to come back to his mistress,” the other one joked. They both let out small, annoying laughs.

Those kinds of comments had become more recurrent as the days went by. You knew they did it on purpose. They raised their voices every time you entered the room or when you were about to go to sleep. None of the other servants seemed to want to intrude to keep what little peace they had. You slammed the broom down on the carpet hard to take out your frustration.

“How disgusting to be that monster's mistress, don't you think?” the other one asked. You could feel her piercing gaze on the back of your head, waiting for you to react to her uncalled-for comment.

“I know! I don't know how she can sleep with someone as creepy as our king,” she replied with disgust in her voice.

Those two had crossed the line. You firmly grabbed the broomstick to confront them about their lousy topic of conversation. You approached them at a steady pace, dragging the broomstick in case you needed it as a weapon to defend yours and your king’s honor.

“That's enough!” you scolded. “I don't sleep with our king! Besides, he may be a monster, but thanks to him, we can eat fresh food, sleep in comfortable beds and live in a magnificent palace! If I were you, I'd stop barking, bitches!” You exploded after such a long time of having to put up with their out-of-place comments.

“Shut up! You're only defending him because you're his favorite whore!” One of them exclaimed, throwing the feather duster in her face.

“Yeah, shut the fuck up, who-!”

A fine cut echoed throughout the great hall. A large splash of blood fell on your face, blinding you for a couple of seconds. The slight gasp of surprise from the other servants left you speechless. You dropped the broom to scrub your eyes. What had happened? You backed up in desperation until you ran into a wall that wasn't there before. After a crack, it all made sense. You looked up to see Sukuna's sharp jaw. Dried blood tainted his skin, his breath was cut short from exhaustion. He was back home after conquering another empire successfully.

“Does anyone have anything else to say?” Sukuna asked the other servants, who were kneeling before him, giving him a warm welcome.

You knew you should kneel, but seeing the lifeless bodies of what used to be your gossiping companions made your body freeze. Their heads had been cut in half and the rest of their bodies were shattered. What used to be two women were now small pools of blood and bones. Sukuna had erased their existence with just a couple of his fingers. It was a scene you never thought your eyes would see in the flesh. That would be your fate if you did not obey your master's orders.

“This is a reminder that I can get rid of you just as quickly,” he threatened. His thick voice echoed off the walls. “If I hear that you even dare to speak blasphemies about me or one of your companions, I will not hesitate to kill you. Do you understand?” The servants, still kneeling, said, “Yes, my king,” in unison.

Coming out of your state of shock, you turned around to kneel at his feet. Sukuna looked at your small figure compared to him. He had heard how you had defended his honor in the face of annoying accusations. He knew you were a good servant, but now you had proven to him that you were loyal.

“Welcome home, my king,” you greeted in a trembling voice. Your body was still processing the murder your eyes had witnessed.

“Draw me a bath,” he ordered, brushing past your greeting.

“Yes, my king.”

You ran as fast as possible to his room to get there before him. Luckily, you had cleaned the bathroom thoroughly the day before, so everything was ready for the king to relax properly. You turned on the faucet to fill the tub with hot water, sprinkled scented bath salts, filled the water with bubbles and lit a few candles to romance the atmosphere. Sukuna soon arrived. Without a word, he began to undress as usual. Obediently, you stood in front of the wall to give her privacy.

“Since when?” He asked you as he untied the knots of his garments and let them fall to the floor. You could only hear the fabric sliding down his Herculean body.

“I don't understand the question, my king,” you answered confused, looking at the wall full of green tiles.

“How long have they been bothering you?” Sukuna completed the question while analyzing your figure from behind. He could tell you were nervous in his presence. It was the first time you saw him kill someone, it must have made quite an impression on you.

“Since a couple of months ago,” you answered.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Sukuna entered the bathtub, which was already bubbling. You closed the bath faucet and approached a stool to begin the most complicated task, washing his hair.

“I didn't want to waste your time.” You prepared the utensils: a sponge, a small wooden bowl and glass bottles filled with the hair products.

“You don't dictate what I do with my time,” he replied sternly.

Sukuna stepped into the tub so you could easily reach his head, drowning his torso into the soapy water. With the help of a soft sponge, you wet his pale pink hair, taking care that the water did not enter his ears. The king closed his eyes, letting himself be carried away by the pleasant sensation after a week of consecutive massacres. Untangling his short hair with a wooden comb, avoiding pulling too much so as not to hurt him. You placed the shampoo directly on his head and massaged the product into the roots.

Sukuna hummed happily every time your fingers gently stroked his scalp. You were so gentle with him even though he was the worst monster ever. You scratched, stroked and massaged his skull to your heart's content. While you let the product work, you focused on his broad shoulders. Your hands roamed his upper body calmly and patiently. The king was tired from having fought day after day and night after night to leave his name high as the greatest conqueror, you could tell by how tense his skin was.

“Answer me a question,” Sukuna asked with his eyes closed.

“As many as you wish, my king.”

“Are you loyal to me because you are afraid of me or because I am powerful?” He asked firmly.

“Both. I am afraid of you because you are powerful,” you replied as you took the bowl of water to rinse his hair.

Sukuna smiled in satisfaction with your answer. That's why you were his favorite servant. You are a perfectionist, shrewd and perceptive. You always managed to surprise him in a different way every time. Something no woman had ever managed to do before. Sukuna twisted his torso to face you. Your face and your white clothes were inked with the blood of your companions. He couldn't let you work like that, after all, it's his fault you were stained.

“Take off your clothes and come in,” he ordered.

“What?” You asked, shocked.

“You're dirty. Come in. I won't repeat myself,” Sukuna demanded.

You nodded and started to undress before his eyes. He had seen hundreds of women undress before. He knows what a pair of striking breasts, sexy hips and long legs look like, but even so, he was mesmerized as he watched you unfold before his eyes. Each garment slid down your body delicately, your hairs bristled from the change in temperature and your nipples stood erect at the lustfulness. No one but your mother had ever seen you naked. You had never been with a man, let alone a monster as imposing as he was.

Sukuna held out his hand to help you into the large tub. You sat in front of him and covered your breasts with the glistening bubbles that floated around you. He took one of the sponges and soaked it with soap to gently clean your face. The now dried blood came off easily. His black claws sometimes scratched your cheeks, but you could tell he was trying to be as gentle as possible with your beautiful face.

“It's not necessary, I can do it myself,” you asked, trying to take the sponge from him.

“I can wash my own hair too, but I prefer you to do it. Let me do it,” he replied before filling the bowl with water and wetting your hair.

He repeats the same process as you. The warm water, the closeness of your bodies and his hands taking care of your hair, transported you to fantasies where you had a relationship beyond king-servant. They were romantic ideas of a Sukuna you didn't quite know. A Sukuna who hugged you every time he saw you, who gave you head pats every time you did something right, and who sat you on his wide lap, demanding attention.

Someone knocked on the door, to which Sukuna allowed access. It was Uraume, who had just heard that the king had returned and what had happened with the reckless maids. What they did not expect was to see you in the bathtub next to his majesty, but even so, they decided not to ask details of how they had come to that situation.

“Welcome home, your majesty.” Uraume bowed from the doorway. “Dinner is ready. You must be hungry after the long journey.”

“I'll be there in a minute,” Sukuna answered. Uraume bowed again and left the room.

“They won't say anything,” Sukuna assured you before getting out of the tub. You were about to get out to give him his towel too, but he stopped you. “The water is still hot, it would be a shame to waste it,” he said before taking the towel and wrapping it around his waist.

“It's my job to do it,” you said.

“Your job is to obey me,” he dictated seriously. You sat back down in the tub and nodded. “Good girl,” he said with a satisfied smile before leaving the bathroom.

Sukuna returned to the bathroom and looked in his closet for what he would wear to dinner. He glanced into the bathroom from time to time to observe you. A small naked human wrapped in the ethereal steam of her innocence. He could have any woman in the world. Why was his mind obsessed with your beauty, your words, and your docility? He didn't know exactly, but he was sure you were completely his, so he didn’t have anything to worry about.

You stood alone with your thoughts in the elegant bath. You plunged your body into the water, submerging your head in the bubbles. Heads cut in half, his big hands stroking your hair, brains strewn across the carpet, his gentle touch as he washed your face. The quick, deep images made you feel confused. Your head went back up to the surface as you realized you were short of breath. You brushed your wet hair back to take a deep breath. What were you doing? Where were you? What kind of person were you serving? Sukuna confused you with his actions, and now you didn't know what to do with your poor heart beating a mile a minute for him.

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prongsx · 6 days

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Lazy Sundays

warning: fluff, f!reader, Jason being a cute guy. English its not my first language. established relationship.

Jason had always been an alert person. It was tiring, but he couldn't help it. Life forced him to never rest.

It started when he was still young, he had to be alert so he wouldn't die in the alley of crime, if he made a false move he could end up in a web of crimes and murders. He had to be alert to keep his own mother from self-destruction, had to be constantly checking her breathing, if she had eaten, if she hadn't used her subsistence money for drugs. He learned that being a heavy sleeper was dangerous when his house was shot at and he had to hide under the table, eyes full of tears.

Then Bruce adopted him, but he had already lost part of his ability to be a child, never carefree. And now he had the burden of showing Bruce that he was good enough, that he wasn't wasting his time training a boy with too many emotions. Always alert. He had too many emotions, he knew that. His love was wide and deep, but so was his anger. His sadness was like sharp claws scratching his skin from the inside out. He needed to stay alert to keep his emotions in check, because they could consume him.

Being Robin kept him alert, he needed to take care of himself and Batman's back. Even Dick, who had years of training, found Jason too vigilant, his eyes never seemed genuinely relaxed and Dick found out the hard way. He went to play a prank on Jason, waking him up in the middle of the night, but the boy reacted in the worst way and before Dick could react, there was a knife pressed against his neck.

When Jason died and came back with Red Hood, his sense of survival became stronger. There were too many people wanting to kill him, the anti-hero had twice as many enemies, sleeping in peace was not an option. He had so many knives and hidden weapons that he would get scared when he went to brush his teeth and found an AK 47 in the bathroom cabinet. He needed to be like that to survive.

Then he met you. And his knees got weak, his heart raced faster than when he had a gun pointed straight at the vigilante's heart. After much difficulty, you started dating, even though Jason warned you that dating him was a death sentence.

You didn't listen to his warnings, forcing him to stop self-deprecating and start acting like a functional adult (as much as possible) to be in a relationship. Jason was right, he was too busy with his double life. He almost never relaxed, worried about taking care of you and protecting you from his enemies.

After a few fights, you decided that for the relationship to work, you would have at least one day a week to be lazy. You started it: Sunday morning. You needed to know that at least one day a week you would have Jason completely. It was hard to live with the distance his night shift required. So he committed to keeping up this new tradition.

"I'm hungry," Jason just mumbled in response to your plea. It was 10 am on a Sunday morning and neither of you were willing to get up, just like you forced them to. Your legs were intertwined, a thin sheet covering you, Jason's hands holding you tightly against him, his soft lips against your shoulder. The sun was coming in through the curtains, Gotham seemed silent, the only noise that mattered to you was each other's breathing.

"The bakery should be delivering by now," Jason replied, sighing contentedly as you drew patterns on his arm. One of the rules of Sunday morning was to make no effort, even cooking. You knew Jason liked to cook and take care of you, but at least one day a week you allowed yourself the luxury of eating ready-made food.

"It should be at the door by now," you mumble, finally opening your eyes and finding your boyfriend's beautiful face. Jason imitated your action, his sapphire eyes seemed clouded with sleep, which pleased you. Yesterday you had gone out to dinner and stayed up late watching movies and kissing on the couch, which explained how tired they both were.

"Let's get it then," Jason's voice was still hoarse, his black hair cutely messy. He let out a groan of complaint when you pulled away from him to get up, causing you to laugh.

As soon as you established lazy Sunday, it was as if a switch had turned in Jason's head. It was impressive to admire how beautiful Jason looked relaxed, his shoulders without all that tension, his features less marked and even his scars relaxed.

Peace would suit Jason, you thought.

The two of you shuffled into the kitchen, talking in whispers, your hands never leaving each other. Jason walked close behind you, his large hands holding your hips close to his body.

Your boyfriend had a silly smile on his lips, the joy of being with you leaving him on cloud nine. He noticed how beautiful you looked in your sweat shorts and with his shirt, you smelled of comfort and love.

"So, our only commitment is to have coffee and kisses at the counter, right?" Jason hummed, a huge smile on his lips, the sun seemed brighter. Then clouds appeared in the glorious sky of the lazy Sunday.

The clouds came in the shapes of three known people invading your window, the largest of them smiling happily. You thought Jason was really sleepy and relaxed, because he didn't even raise a gun towards the intruders, which was customary.

"Good morning, couple." Dick Grayson greeted, closing the window when Damian entered last. You raised an eyebrow, while Jason gave a slight growl behind you. Your hands came up to lightly stroke his hair, urging him to stay calm, he relaxed into your touch, your lazy Sunday Jason returning.

"Okay, Todd, we got some information from that case we were working on." Damian said, being the rude little punk that he is, throwing work papers on their kitchen table. Tim Drake followed suit, leaning against their counter, where Jason planned to kiss you until you forgot your name.

"Boys," you called out to them, clearing your throat. Three pairs of eyes stared at you. "Today is Sunday."

You sighed when none of them reacted. Damn workaholic sons of Bruce Wayne. Your feet shuffled to the kitchen door to get breakfast, leaving Jason to take care of his brothers.

"Jason, we need those other documents you saved." Dick said, sitting down next to Damian. Jason let out a long sigh, he still felt numb from being in bed with you. He wouldn't let his brothers ruin his favorite day of the week.

"Can we fix this tomorrow?" The three brothers stared at Jason, their eyes equally wide. The fearsome red hood's posture was so relaxed, his pajama top slightly torn and loose. His hips leaned on the counter and his blue eyes seemed clearer, almost serene. His hair really looked like a mess, the white lock falling over his forehead in a cute sort of way.

"Jason, did you hear us? It's the case you've been working on for months." Tim said, still looking perplexed. Jason sighed, his features still marked by prolonged sleep.

"Yeah, yeah. So?" He grumbled, a smile appearing on his lips when you came back with the breakfast bag. Handing him a cup and pouring coffee. He whispered a quick, "Thank you, honey."

Damian was the first to recover from the shock, his hands holding a particularly suspicious photo that would solve half of Jason's case.

"Todd, big drug case! You spent months bugging everyone for clues."

Jason just shrugged, sipping his coffee and resting his face on your shoulder, humming with joy.

"One day more, one day less."You could have laughed at how Dick looked like he had been slapped in the face. Your heart was bursting with pride for your boyfriend, who had finally learned the meaning of being at peace and lazy.

"Who are you and what have you done with little wing?" Dick said, blinking those big blue eyes slowly.

You turned your back on the little argument again, not wanting to interfere in the family dynamics, busying yourself with taking your breakfast out of the bag from your favorite bakery.

"Take those papers off the table, let's have breakfast." Jason replied with just that, making Tim's eyes pop out. He looked like a different Jason, without his characteristic sarcastic smile or the tense shoulders.

"Todd, we need to figure this out!"

"Jason, it won't take long..."

Jason let out a louder sigh now, leaving the Wonder Woman mug in the corner and turning to his brothers, his tone of voice still soft compared to normal. "Today is Sunday." He repeated, pinching his nose slightly to keep his temper from rising. "I'm staying with my girlfriend. I'll figure this out with you guys tomorrow."

He turned to you, almost as if he expected to receive a proud smile, and he got one. Damian let out a snort.

"Todd, be a man for once in your life and stand up for yourself."

"He's too tangled up in the leash." Tim joined in the provocation, unable to contain himself.

"Wrong choice of words, boys," you whispered, knowing what was coming next.

The three of them were startled when Jason's hand slammed on the table they were at.

"I'm only going to say this once. It's Sunday morning. If you little shits are unhappy and girlfriendless, that's your problem. Either you're going to leave now with these papers or I'm going to use the gun I have hidden behind the fridge."

Jason's blue eyes were that darker shade that screamed: danger! It didn't take much more, the three guards took the papers and left muttering, you heard a few words that sounded like "this will come back, Todd" and "I'll tell him where he can stick that gun."

You turned to Jason, your hands going to his tense shoulders.

"Honey, it's okay, I'll accept if you want to help them."

He let out a snort, pulling you against his chest, smoothing the skin under your shirt.

"No. It's our lazy Sunday."You smiled, ridiculously content, pulling him into a lazy kiss.

"Speaking of which, gun behind the fridge?"

He distracted you with a kiss at the base of your neck, a small chuckle leaving his lips. Bastard.

It was a good lazy Sunday.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood x reader #dc comics #fluff #batfamily #fanfic

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lovebugism · 1 year

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Ok but what about Eddie dating a reader who snores and the gang is like wtf but he finds it cute.

ty for requesting anon! this is dedicated to everyone who gets sleepy at 5pm like i do hahah — eddie's girlfriend falls asleep during movie night and it's a big deal in the sweetest way (sleepy gf!reader, established relationship, 1.4k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

A masked serial killer slaughters a group of pretty teenage girls. Their screams are high-pitched and painfully artificial. The murderer’s chainsaw is way too loud and far too dramatic a weapon. The bright red blood splatters across the baby pink bedroom in several obnoxiously vivid splotches.

Eddie Munson has never been more grateful to be alive in the golden age of slasher films — the absolute peak of godawful cinema.

He turns to the pretty little thing dozing on his shoulder and grins quietly to himself.

You’re the purest essence of beauty in all forms, but especially compared to the barbaric horror flashing across the television screen across the room. In the darkness, the neon glow paints you in varying shades of blue, green, and dark red.

You’re so pretty it hurts.

Eddie didn’t think he could love anything more than dumb slasher movies. Not until he met you, anyway.

“Tired?” he whispers to you when your lashes flutter across the apples of your cheeks.

It’s hardly seven o’clock — the sun has just barely set over the horizon — and more than anything, the tiny trailer is filled with fake screams and faker blood. Most people would be too horrified to be so drowsy. Not you, though.

Everyone’s always admired your relationship with sleep, but maybe just a little extra now.

Your features are blurry with the longing of slumber. They scrunch in refusal when you shake your head, cheek rubbing against the soft cotton of Eddie’s thrifted tee. “No,” you hum with a softness that says otherwise. “‘M just cozy…”

Everyone knows what that’s code for.

All the gang was over for movie night — some more begrudgingly than others (Steve, namely). The brunette boy shares a side eye with Robin on the other side of the couch before both of them turn to look at you.

Lucas sits on the floor and stuffs his face with popcorn, which he almost chokes on when he laughs. Max giggles at the boy in response from where she’s sandwiched between him and Dustin.

Each of them can practically count down the seconds until you’re fully asleep.

You inhale once — deeply, sharply. The curly-haired boy turns his wrist to check his watch.

“7 p.m…” Dustin observes with raised brows. He nods to himself like he’s impressed. “That’s gotta be some kinda record, right?”

“I’m pretty sure she was out by six when we were at Steve’s yesterday,” Robin tells him as she leans over Lucas’ shoulder for the popcorn bowl he’s holding hostage.

“Full on snoring by six-thirty,” Steve concurs through a mouthful of candy. “And her legs were on my lap, too, so I couldn’t move for, like, two hours.”

“What about last movie night?” Max questions with pinched brows. “I’m pretty sure she was asleep before it even started.”

Lucas shakes his head. “She was just napping, right? I’m pretty sure she woke up, like, halfway through.”

Dustin nods — the official connoisseur of you and all your sleepiness. You had been asleep by the time Steve turned The Outsiders on, but your internalized love for Dallas Winston had woken you part of the way through.

“It had to be scrubbed from the records,” the boy explains like it’s something a whole lot more official than you just being tired. “It only counts if she stays asleep.”

“What if her eyes are closed, and she’s using your arm as a pillow, and you don’t have any feeling left in your fingers?” Robin questions with narrowed eyes, recounting the events from the last movie night in question. “What about that?”

“Still doesn’t count,” Dustin shakes his head with a feigned sympathy.

Eddie listens to them with a distant smile on his face. They’re not making fun of you exactly, just noticing all your little idiosyncrasies that he loves so much. It’s what makes you you — the quiet, sleepy girl that’s all but the glue of the group.

If you’re somewhere else when everyone’s all hanging out together, and not snoozing on someone’s shoulder, something just doesn’t feel right.

“Isn’t she the fuckin’ cutest?” the boy muses amidst the light-hearted banter, the horror movie long forgotten.

His bright smile and twinkling eyes are met with a group of deadpanned stares.

It isn’t because you aren’t cute, because you are. Why else would Robin and Steve let you use them as pillows even after their appendages have long gone numb? You’re like a cat sleeping on their stomach — it’s too much of an honor to wake you.

Their dumbfounded gapes are more so a result of Eddie’s adoration for you. Because you’re you, and Eddie’s… Eddie.

You’re polar opposites.

You’re quiet and sweet and gentle, and Eddie’s never been any of those things once in his life.

You’ve brought out a softer side of him — one that none of them thought a brash metalhead like him could ever have. He talks to you far sweeter and far more gently than he’d ever speak to the rest of them. Mostly because he knows you get spooked too easily and that you always wince whenever people yell. And his PDA is an innocent kind, full of held hands and forehead kisses and boops to the tip of your nose.

Eddie Munson is so soft for you that he lets you drool on his shoulder and unknowingly steal all the covers from him when you fall asleep during movie night.

He’s so far gone for you that he’ll let you drag him to bed when most people his age are heading out to party for the night — just so you can drool on him and take all the covers from him in his bedroom, where you can sleep more comfortably than on the couch.

It’s all so sweet, it’s downright disgusting.

“It’s gross how in love the two of you are,” Steve monotones, the only one brave enough to say it out loud even though they’re all thinking it.

“I know,” Eddie affirms with a wide grin. “It’s amazing, huh?”

They all grumble under their breaths about it, obviously not as mushy with adoration as he is.

It isn’t his fault they’re miserable because they don’t have their own soulmate who gets tired at 5 p.m. and snoozes on their shoulder accordingly. They’d be a lot less crabby if they had someone like you to gush about.

Not you, though. ‘Cause you’re his and everything. But someone just like you, maybe.

Everyone dissipates when the credits of the movie start to roll — either to get more food, or use the bathroom, or stretch their aching limbs.

Eddie stays unmoving. He doesn’t want to wake you up.

You begin to rouse on his shoulder, shifting as you wake with a deep inhale-exhale. Your eyes flutter slowly open, and through the haze of sleep, you notice the empty living room and the scrolling names on the television screen.

“’S the movie over?” you question, slurred with the heaviness of slumber.

Eddie nods lazily against the couch.

He’s about as tired as you are now, with his legs cocked up on the coffee table and his head lolled back against the cushions. “Yeah. It’s okay, though. You didn’t really miss anything,” he assures with a crooked smile.

“Didn’t mean to fall asleep…” you murmur, like you’re embarrassed to have slept so soundly.

“I know,” the boy hums softly to you. “’S okay…”

Your temple rests against his shoulder once more. “Wake me up before you start the next movie?” you ask when Eddie presses a lingering kiss to your hair. Your eyes are already fluttered shut again.

“Sure,” he answers, despite lacking any real intention to wake you.

He’d much rather let you sleep. He knows you need it. He doesn’t mind that you get tired before the sun has set, even though he knows how much you hate it. He couldn’t love it more, personally.

So, he lets you fall back asleep on his shoulder and tries to ignore how much it makes his heart swell. His ribcage shakes with the intensity of how much he loves you — how privileged he feels that you trust him enough to drool on his shoulder and not be embarrassed about any of it. You know he loves you too much for any of that.

“She still asleep?” Steve questions when the gang settles back in the living room. He rattles M&Ms in his palms before chucking a handful into his mouth. When Eddie nods, the boy snorts. “I’m glad it’s your arm falling asleep this time and not mine.”

Eddie’s glad for it, too.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: fictober!

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gingernut1314 · 8 months

Note

I just want to say I love your blog!! Not sure if you do requests but I loved the one about the hammock and Zoro. Can you do a part 2 where the crew wakes up and teases Zoro about it (and obvi sanji gets jealous)

Demons and Claws Pt. 2

Roronoa Zoro x GN!Reader

Summary: You are pulled from your now peaceful sleep by your rowdy crewmates.

Warnings: Fluff, mild anime spoilers (Chopper)

Word Count: 1.3K

A/N: Thank you!! I really appreciate your kind words!! 🩷 I do take requests!!! And yessssss!! I love it when the crew interacts! I hope you all enjoy!

↞ to One Piece Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠

You dreamed of small coffee shops. Coffee shops whose ambiance was interrupted by your crew, who had followed you into its cozy walls.

You dreamed of cool, sea breezes and polishing weapons as Zoro laid his head on your shoulder, snoring up a storm.

You dreamed of--something hard and sharp kicked your face. Something hard and sharp that kicked your face repeatedly in a near frantic manner.

It had your eyes snapping open and held a hand up to protect your face from getting kicked again by the cloven hooves swinging your way. Chopper hung from the edge of his hammock grunting and whining as his hooved feet continued to try and find something to stand on.

“Chopper.” You said, blocking another kick. “Chopper stop.” You grumbled, making the doctor freeze. He turned his pink, top hat-wearing head down to look at you, giving you an anxious little smile.

“Sorry--wait, what are you doing in here?” He asked, his body getting swung slightly by the sea rocking the ship.

“I was trying to sleep.” You huffed, reaching over Zoro’s still snoozing form to grab Chopper. He let go of his hammock and patted your hand with a nervous laugh.

“Heh, heh…silly me. Sorry, Y/N. I’ll let you get back--”

“I am going to murder you both.” Zoro's rough voice said, cutting off Chopper and rumbling through your arms. Chopper gave a squeaking little noise, squirming in your grip and giving apology after apology that was broken by a loud scream when Sanji's head popped up next to him.

“If you two idiots don’t--” When Sanji’s blue eyes found you lying there, the murder, which had once been shimmering in his eyes vanished. “Beautiful.” He greeted, leaning in closer with that charming smile of his. “I thought I heard your melodic voice. What are you doing all the way down here with that dirty oaf?”

“I’d watch your mouth, waiter.” Sanji’s eyes snapped to stare daggers Zoro’s way, who had yet to open his eyes.

“Good morning, Sanji.” You sighed, grabbing hold of Chopper's hooved hands to lower him down onto the nice fabric of the couch below. He bounced a few times before hopping off onto the floor. “I just needed a snuggle buddy is all.” Zoro’s hand reattached itself around your waist and pulled you away from the cook smiling at you.

“If a snuggle buddy is want you needed, you could have come to me. A radiant beauty such as yourself shouldn’t have to stoop so low as to ask such a brutish creature for such things. I’ll do it without a single complaint.” Zoro’s eyes snapped open then with a growl, zeroing in on the chef.

“I’ll give you something to complain about, curly brow. Two things.” He hissed, clenching his fists. Sanji scoffed.

“Oh yeah? Well--” A knock on the wall between the two hammock rows had you pulling your attention away from the still arguing Sanji and Zoro to find Usopp had woken up and was watching all of this unfold with an amused smirk on his lips. The emergency exit that separated the two rooms snapped open and Nami poked her orange-haired head in, a look of slight annoyance on her face.

“Pay up.” He chuckled, looking overly proud of himself as he held his hand, palm up and fingers wiggling, down towards the navigator. She opened her mouth to argue but Usopp silenced her with a simple head nod towards you and Zoro. When her blue eyes scanned you both over, she shut it with a huff.

“What are you two up to?” You asked, sitting up to watch them better.

“Oh, nothing to worry your radiant head about,” Usopp said, teasing you with the compliment Sanji had just given you. Nami ducked her head back into your shared room, grumbling away only to come back out two seconds later with a few green berries which she slapped into his hand.

“Don’t forget the specifics, Usopp,” Nami said, resting her elbows on the ledge and extending a hand toward Usopp with a smug look. “Pay up.”

“But--”

“Pay. Up. Or I’ll add interest.” Usopp groaned and handed her half of the money he had just earned back.

“Usopp.” You hissed, making the man jump around startled, to face you again. “What the hell?” He seemed to grow overly nervous then.

“Oh, you know. Me and Nami are just--” He looked back to Nami for help but the navigator gave him a little salute.

“Hope you two love birds slept well.” Nami teased your way, making your heart nearly freeze.

“Love birds--Nami--” Zoro snapped away from his argument just as she slammed and locked the emergency exit shut.

The swordsman looked over Usopp's nervous grin as he sunk deeper into his blankets before his attention drifted down to you. He took in your tensed-up demeanor. Took you in slowly and in a way that was long enough for him to try and gauge what you might possibly be thinking in that moment.

“Alright.” He hissed, having made his assessment of you. Zoro sat up a bit in his newfound annoyance, making the hammock sway dangerously. You grabbed onto his strong chest for dear life, feeling gravity pull you towards the ground.

New sturdy and not literal burlap sack hammocks were definitely in order.

“I’ve still got another hour left and I’ve had it up to--”

“Did someone say snuggles?” The groggy voice of your captain sounded, cutting the grumpy swordsmen off. You watched with a chuckle as he looked over the edge of his own hammock to spy Zoro and you. “Y/N!” He greeted cheerfully, rapidly ripping his sheets off and rushing up.

“Luffy, no--” Zoro’s warning was cut off with a pained Oomph that spilled from your own lips as well when your captain's body landed on top of both of yours. Dull pain shot through your bones, but the warm, stretchy arms of your captain extending around both your bodies was quick to ease the small hurt.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to have a sleepover? We could have had Sanji cook us snacks and everything!” Luffy ecstatically said, his voice slightly muffled from where he had buried it between you and Zoro’s necks. A laugh spilled from your lips as you unwedged your arm out from under Luffy’s body to hug him back.

“I’m sorry, captain. I’ll let you know next time.” You chuckle, patting his back.

“You sure as hell won’t tell him.” Zoro gruffed, grabbing Luffy by the scruff of his red vest and pulling him away.

“Aww--why Zoro?” Luffy asked, a near-heartbroken look on his face that only continued to irritate Zoro.

“Yeah, Zoro?” Sanji teased, a smug grin on his face. “Let’s all snuggle up together next time. I call dibs on the spot next to Y/N--” Sanji had hardly gotten your name out of his mouth before Zoro was flinging Luffy’s body into him. Chopper gave a scream as the two went crumbling to the ground with a sharp grunt, the poor doctor caught in the crossfire and crushed under their bodies.

“I’ll beat you all into a bloody mess if you don’t leave me the hell alone. No one is snuggling with anyone.” He barked down at the pile of bodies on the floor, which slowly started to rise. Luffy gave a forlorn little moan before Sanji threw him off himself.

You chuckled, starting to raise to get ready for the day when Zoro’s strong hand latched around your waist. He gave it a sharp tug to pull you back into his side.

“No.” He said simply, closing his dark brown eyes once more.

“I thought you said no one was snuggling with anyone?” Zoro huffed.

“You’re not no one.” He said simply before going silent once more. You felt your chest warm at his words. A warmth that only spread as you watched his face begin to soften, sleep come to take him once more.

With a satisfied smile, you snuggled right back up into Zoro’s strong hold.

Tags: @fanaticsnail

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777rare · 1 year

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☀️SOLAR RETURN CHART OBSERVATIONS (PT.1)

Disclaimer :

DO NOT READ FURTHUR IF YOU ARE A MINOR!!

⚠️!TRIGGER WARNING!⚠️

THIS CONTAINS MENTIONING OF seggs,De@th, abu$e, bl0od,alc0hol, dru*gs,so please scroll if ur under 18+ and uncomfortable to read this content!

THESE NOTES ARE ONLY A STUDY OF MINE AND HAS/HAS NOT BEEN PROVEN YET, SO IF IT DOES NOT RESONATE WITH YOU, FORGIVE ME AS IT WAS ONLY A STUDY/OBSERVATION OF MINE.

I DO NOT PLAGIARIZE, COPY OR REWORD ANY OF MY FELLOW ASTROLOGY OBSERVERS POSTS AND I DEMAND THE SAME IN RETURN

Having Pluto in 12th house makes the native fantasize a lot about sex. Can also make the native go through a huge spiritual transformation.

•••

Signs/planets in 12th house can show the frequent dreams you get when you sleep/what you fantasize about that year. (Also check which house is pisces over and check the planets under that sign or in that house.)

⬇️If these planets are placed in 12h/planets placed in pisces or 12h aspecting other planets(check the subjects of other planets as well if it's aspects by the planet in 12h) /under pisces or in the house pisces is over then the things you get in ur dream are :

SUN- light,happiness,fun,kids,celebrities,art,father,pregnancy

MOON- mother,water,home,emotional,waterbodies,beach

MERCURY- garden,pets,work,phones,books,siblings,technology,neighborhood,neighbours,school,friends,trees,greenery,nature

VENUS- money,food,luxuries,fashion,music,art,business,beauty,crush,lovers

MARS- war,abuse,death,nightmares,fire,blood,fighting,sex

JUPITER- college,trevelling,foreign place,exploring,teachers,ancestors,the divine,your guides

SATURN- public,elderly people,chains,traps,cages,prison,grandparents,parents

URANUS- technology,friends,surprises,rebellion,adventure,wings,angels,flying

NEPTUNE- Drugs,alcohol,fantasy world,unclear,mirrors,water,mystical stuff,escapism,feet

PLUTO- sex,intimacy,death,wealth,secrets,jealousy,pregnancy,nightmares,blood,sinister,murder,weapons

CHIRON- things related to your trauma,healing,could show hospitals,forests,nature,ancestors

Suppose you don't have any planets under pisces/in 12th house, Types of dreams can also be seen by which house pisces is over. Ex: having pisces over 5th house, 5th house ruler is sun so the types of dreams you get are all the subjects that are mentioned in sun⬆️ also check which planets that house ruler is aspecting, ex: pisces being over 5th house, ruler is sun so if sun is aspecting moon in SR chart, the types of dreams you get are all the subjects that are mentioned in moon.🙌🏻🌙

•••

Mars in 4rth house/cancer natives can have a very tough time in their family life. Can also show lots of abuse or wounds connecting to your emotions. Family members or you can get pissed off on eachother often and most of the times for no reason at all. Lots of fights and arguments with family members. Anger outbursts. Mood swings. Short temper. Not wanting to be around or not feeling comfortable around family members, especially male family members like your brother, father, etc.💥🔥

•••

YOUR ASCENDANT IN SR CHART IS HOW YOU PRESENT YOURSELF/WHAT AURA YOU EMIT/HOW YOU LOOK

Ascendant in fixed signs- being seen as /appearing :-

AQUARIUS- independent,aloof,cold,unordered,a rebel,unbothered,distant,unapproachable

LEO- boastful,confident,firey,active,angry

TAURUS- sensual,serious,bad bitch,charming

SCORPIO- mysterious,secretive,sexual,emotional,alluring,captivating,dark energy

---

Ascendant in cardinal signs- being seen as /appearing :-

LIBRA- beautiful,graceful,sweet,approachable,kind,popular

CAPRICORN- pissed,unapproachable,sensual,bossy,stubborn

ARIES- confident,outgoing,energetic, a fighter

CANCER- soft,loving,sweet,kind,trustworthy,emotional,caring,non judgemental

---

Ascendant in mutable signs- being seen as /appearing :-

GEMINI- supportive,casual,charming,mesmerizing,free spirited,two-faced

VIRGO- helpful,organized,pretty,charming

SAGITTARIUS- playful,fun-going, jolly,flirt,hot

PISCES- sensitive,soft,day dreaming,ethereal,fairy, a fantasy

This also applies to the MC but it's how others see you.ex: having Taurus MC, then sensual,serious,bad bitch and charming I'd how others see me.

•••

Check the sign and planet over/in your 11th house..that's how you view friendships, communication and your future this year. It can also how your friendships are this year.

Ex: Capricorn over/saturn in 11th house - you could be more serious or mature when it comes to making friends. Can also show you love feeling independent or being alone on your own feet from friendships. Like you know, you feel like you don't need friends cuz you feel really independent. Not saying you'll have no friends at all. You will have friends but you crave independence from them. You dont want to depend on friends anymore. You can also be really serious about your future this year. Can be different if other planets are seated there too.

•••

Always check if fama in in conjunction with personal planets. It can show exposure of that topic to the public or surroundings. Ex: I have fama conjunct moon last year and my emotional life got exposed because of myself due to some addiction issues and I told everything to the whomever spoke to me, I was like unconsciously spilling everything without even myself knowing.its messed up but yes, teachers, friends, most of the people know about my emotions now. I just hate it. And I'm okay now though. No more addiction🙌🏻

•••

where scorpio is in your chart can tell you what do you get deeper into, have a deeper connection with or even have a deep curiosity to find out things in that area of your life, also powerful intense areas of your life that year (check which house it's over, planets under the sign)

Ex: I have scorpio over 9th house this year and I have a deep curiosity to learn about my ancestors, gods and goddesses, history, ditties, guides. I feel powerful in the areas of my ancestors, connecting with God's. Discovering dark knowledge of spirituality like witchcraft,etc.

•••

Check where your capricorn is seated in your chart, which house it's over can show the area of your life, you are more independent, serious or structured. Even formal, authoritative and responsible.

•••

Where your virgo is in your chart can show where you're picky, perfectionist, not easily convinced.

Hope you all enjoyed today's post! Have a great day ahead!🏝💓

Feel free to reblog and tag me when you do❤🙌🏻

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antigonenikk · 3 months

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What it would actually be like to date various HBOWAR men (modern au):

by me and @guarnerepdf

Speirs:

-is a cokehead finance bro

-you wake up in the middle of the night to him watching you sleep with no explanation given, just an eery smile

-is gaslighting you for purposes unknown (moving your furniture one inch to the left etc)

-buys you the fucking tackiest expensive jewelry and designer clothes as random gifts but half of it is fake

-you justify staying because he takes you to NOBU but you’re afraid to google him

-malarkey keeps telling you he's a serial killer but he has such beautiful hair

-lipton keeps handing you domestic violence brochures when he thinks no one is looking. you throw them away because you want that fucking ugly gucci belt! and the staring is sort of charming after a while

-possibly has a secret child that he is hiding from you. you're not sure.

-the first time you have sex he chokes you without asking and is confused when you get mad at him over it.

-does coke while eating dry fruit loops cereal in the morning. somehow looks hot while doing it.

Liebgott and Webster:

-challengers level toxic throuple, these two come as a pair!

-liebgott is xanned out so badly on the regular that he does not remember the last time he washed his hands.

-lieb met bill and toye in rehab and now all his friends are undergrads even though he's going on thirty.

-lieb won't kiss you in the morning "goddamn it woman, brush your teeth" but will kiss webster no problem!

-lieb likes webster more, but web likes you more because you don't call him slurs and you let him rant to you about sharks.

-you and web unionize at some point to get liebgott back into rehab. when he's gone you realize your relationship is 200 million times healthier but also extremely boring. you take him back the minute he releases himself AMA.

-lieb cannot figure out how to work tiktok, meanwhile webster has 100k subscribers on youtube and does grwm story time videos.

-you once had to be driven home by babe from the gas station after lieb kicked you out of the car. the fight was because he didn't believe you when you said you were allergic to gluten. babe lets you play cinnamon girl by lana del rey on the way home.

-lieb keeps trying to weaponize therapy language against you, 'baby you're fucking gaslighting me!' webster just makes it worse when he tries to explain what the terms actually mean.

Bill:

-you start dating Bill after he steals you away from Babe. Babe was nice, but you got the ick immediately after realizing he's not the leader of the friend group.

-bill sends you disgusting dick pics with extremely poor lighting. you can see his bottle of lotion in the background.

-you think it's sweet that he brings flowers when you go out until you realize they're stolen from the neighbor's flowerbed.

-you have an extremely lavish jersey shore wedding that culminates in a horrible fight when he shoves cake in your face ruining your 400 dollar makeup (that you paid for) and your 2000 dollar dress (that you paid for). during your vows babe has to hold himself back from saying something when the priest asks if there are any objections.

-DIRTY fingernails! does not wash his hands. gives you a UTI but doesn't understand that it's his fault.

-Doesn't cheat but is always on the brink of it.

-Follows multiple swimsuit models on Insta, claims it's okay because 'sweetheart, listen, it's all on the screen!'

-Is so cheap he refuses to pay for extra sugar for your coffee, 'you've had it bitter before, babe.' you are ready to murder him. takes you to chili's and acts like it's a michelin star restaurant.

Talbert:

-cheats on you immediately. within the first week.

-sends you anonymous texts to get STD tested, too scared to actually go to the clinic but is certain he's dying of syphilis.

-cries to lip for an hour when you leave him for speirs.

Gale Cleven:

-'sweetheart. are you really gonna wear that out to dinner? it's a bit...well... risque.'

-accuses you of being an alchoholic every time you drink, but Bucky has done four Jeagerbombs tonight and isn't getting any lectures. Also. Why is Bucky with you two on your date night?

-is straight but keeps stringing Bucky along because he reminds him of his father and for narcissism reasons.

-marge messages you on facebook to warn you about him, and also to sell you on her new MLM scheme.

-bucky keeps giving you mean little grins as he hangs off your man....you are very close to murdering him.

-you finally leave him after he calls you daddy in bed. not mommy. but daddy.

Bucky:

-gives you chlamidya three weeks into dating. gaslights you into thinking you got it from sitting on a public toilet seat.

-drives drunk while you're in the passenger seat, goes above 90 and almost kills the both of you.

-is in love with gale and you both know it but refuses to talk about it.

-laughs when you start crying over your new STD diagnosis.

-is the worst boyfriend in the entire world. do not date this man!

Leckie:

-cheats on you with vera, but has a jealous meltdown everytime you talk to hoosier at house parties. you were literally just asking the man for a lighter.

-hoosier is stirring shit up for shits and giggles. he keeps liking your thirst trap insta photos, commenting 'photo cred'

-cries when you confront him about cheating. writes a poem to you about how badly hurt he was by the whole situation. says he only did it because that's how he was raised! no one taught him how to love properly!!

-exploits his family trauma at any given opportunity, shameless about it

-writes you sweet yet cringy love poems

-chuckler keeps trying to warn you but is so awkward about it that you just end up super confused

-blows up the minute you try and critique his writing

-tells you you're acting 'just like you're mother!' during arguments

-eventually you break up because you cheat on him with hoosier and he cheats on you again with vera

Hoosier:

-completely emotionally unavailable

-laughs at you in the middle of a fight, then when you storm out he stares at the wall for four hours straight. no blinking. no moving.

-goes to chuckler thinking he's dying because he has a 'weird feeling in his stomach.' the feeling is literally just a crush.

-catches leckie flirting with you. doesn't cause a scene but DOES immediately cheat on you as a retaliatory action. has no idea why you're mad about it.

-determined to hurt you before you hurt him.

-somehow makes you think you're in the wrong due to the sheer FORCE of his conviction that it was okay for him to cheat on you.

-you two break up but get back together after having a baby. the baby is possibly not hoosier's but he's a genuinely good father. (the baby very obviously has leckie's face. no one is fooled.)

-during your wedding ceremony leckie has to be thrown out after making the worst best man speech of all time.

-parent teacher conferences are a nightmare because your child is biting the other kids and is failing all her classes. hoosier blames you for not helping her with her homework. you all go out to souplantation afterwards and he keeps dropping barbs about you being a dumbass.

-the two of you stay married for 40 beautiful years before dying of old age. within those 40 years you separate and get back together a total of 5 times. leckie somehow outlives you both.

Luz:

-is sweet and lovely and handsome and makes you laugh a lot but

-you're banned from six movie theatres, three bars, the pier, disneyland, and a froyo shop

-you don't even LIKE froyo but the fact that you can't fucking go there anymore is driving you up the wall

-you got kicked out of disneyland because he got into a fistfight with donald duck

-his mother HATES you. she is the ultimate boy mom. they are constantly talking about you in Portuguese behind your back. she wears white to your wedding.

-cannot go grocery shopping because he's stopped every five feet by some old acquaintance. you have no idea how he knows any of these people!

Eugene:

-you're his beard but he doesn't know it

-is the ideal gay boyfriend/husband

-buys you flowers and takes you out on beautiful dates. cringes when you try to kiss him

-everything would be PERFECT except snafu keeps creating dummy accounts to harass you, drives by your house at all hours of the night, and you're pretty sure he's planning to SWAT you.

-eugene has no idea why you hate snafu? he's such a sweet guy!

Babe:

-you're a bit embarrassed to tell your friends you're dating him....he's sweet but just so dorky

-almost puked on you after taking a dab at bill's house. you had to comfort him for ten minutes

-long suffering angel who you cheat on because you know he's just too good for you.... better to hurt him before he leaves you first!

-is popular on tiktok somehow. you have no idea how this happened but it did

#we came here to set you x reader girlies STRAIGHT on some matters #ron speirs #ronald speirs #edward babe heffron #babe heffron #bill guarnere #bill hoosier smith #robert leckie #eugene sledge #floyd talbert #george luz #joseph liebgott #joe liebgott #david webster #gale cleven #john egan #john bucky egan #men not mentioned either bc we do not care about them or because they would be good boyfriends and there would be no drama #like...there is no drama dating malarkey or roe so as much as we love them. they r not on the list <3

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haruhar-u · 10 months

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Haru’s winter 2023 event (open)

Fandoms I will write for: Twst and The Arcana (minus Lucio for personal reasons)

Once a prompt has been requested I will cross it out

please specify romantic or platonic and wether reader is saying the prompt or character (or if you want me to choose)

It's cold in here! Can you warm me up please?"

"Let’s just stay in here, where it’s warm."

“Please get off the lake-the ice is too thin to skate on and I don’t want to have to jump in after you.”

“You started this snowball fight, and now I have to finish it.”

“Is that my scarf?"

“Come sit by the fireplace with me.”

"If I freeze to death, I’m blaming you.”

“I guess we’re stuck here until the snow dies down.”

“I can’t believe I got sick.”

“I hate the cold so much.”

“You look so beautiful in the snow.”

"How are you not cold?!”

"Don’t you dare throw that snowball.”

"Oh, you’re so warm, don’t ever let go of me.”

"You can’t go outside in this weather.”

“I’m freezing my ass off.”

"Your lips look cold, want me to warm them up for you?"

"You have snowflakes in your hair."

"I know it’s winter, but you don’t have to act so cold!"

"It’s so cold, but you’re so warm."

"You know, I’ve never seen snow before."

"But seriously, do you want to build a snowman?"

"There’s space for you by the fire, come sit."

"Winter is coming / winter is here."

"Are you warm enough?"

"Did you know that icicles make the perfect murder weapon?"

"I’m catching snowflakes with my tongue, what’s it look like I’m doing?"

"I like it out here. It’s peaceful."

"You’re like my own personal space heater."

"If you don’t have gloves, you can just hold my hand."

"If I slip on the ice, it’s totally your fault."

"Behold! The perfect snowball."

"Let’s just stay in and watch the snow."

"I’m cold, can we cuddle?"

"Holy shit, your hands are freezing!"

"There. Now your snow angel has a friend."

"What should we name our snowman?"

"Being stuck inside with you all day is my worst nightmare."

"Sorry! I didn’t mean to throw that snowball so hard."

"Come here, let me warm you up."

"Either you cuddle me, or stop hogging all the blankets."

"Winter is for hibernating. I’m going back to sleep."

prompts from

Tagging people on all tag lists: @xen-blank @rosehxnt @edith-is-apparently-a-cat @the-banana-0verlord @krenenbaker @whspermy-name @cheezy-moon

#Haru’s winter event #How do I tag these things #Tried to choose one that’s not Christmassy so it’s open to everyone

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caffeine-mooncat · 6 months

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Some sort of progress, I would say

#hand spinning #drop spindle #the two coloured yarn is way too losley plyed but whatever #at least the brown one looks and feels like actual yarn #yay! success #but real talk how would you even stab yourself with one of those things?#the murder weapon in sleeping beauty #<- this is going to be my spinning tag I fear #yes I know I am unfunny

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gimmethatagustd · 1 year

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what the fire gave us (1) | jjk

You were born with a Gift that the world wanted to turn into a weapon. All Jungkook wanted to do was show you that you could find love, even in the dark.

🔥 pairing: shadow elemental!jungkook x water elemental!(f)reader

🔥 part of a spring offering collab

🔥 wc/date: 9.7k | june 2023

🔥 warnings: major character death (doesn't occur until part 2 but i'm being nice by warning you now; not jk or reader), minor character death, referenced past murder, smut (doesn't occur until part 2), unrequited love (not between reader & jk), reference to human experimentation (nothing is described in detail), persecution of supernatural people, mentions past war, blood, injuries/violence, they all definitely have ptsd, jungkook is a precious baby boy but he'll also kick your ass, JESSI !!!!!! JESSI STANS RISE UP !! JESSI IS THE COMEDIC RELIEF !!! (at least, i find her funny)

🔥 notes: PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD READ THE WARNINGS. there is heavy angst, particularly in part 2. i hope that you enjoy this story, even with its cuts and bruises. think of it as stranger things meets avatar the last airbender 😂

🔥 more notes: i was supposed to finish this fic in may lmfao but y'all should know by now that there's no point in trusting me to do what i'm supposed to do. i'm sorry but i will probably never change 😭 ANYWAY. this fic is gonna be over 20k, so i decided to upload it in two parts in an attempt to maintain my sanity cuz this website is trash about handling long posts. i'm almost done with part 2, so it should be uploaded within a week (i swear to GOD i mean it). also, if you follow me on AO3 you'll see that i'm posting this fic in multiple chapters. that's cuz i like the formatting of AO3 chapters better than tumblr. the formatting fits the story better, too.

🔥 main masterlist / part two

🔥 what was jai listening to? cyberpunk - ateez

moodboard credit: @btscontentenjoyer

3 MONTHS

Lookout duty is hard on you. When it’s your turn to camp out on the roof and watch for potential threats, you complain that staying awake all night is hard. Most of the other runaways are night owls, but you aren’t. You need your beauty sleep, you joke. You can’t get comfortable on the roof, even if there’s a flat landing with pillows and blankets to keep you warm.

These are a few of your excuses, but you can’t bring yourself to tell the others the truth: you are scared.

It’s close to midnight when you hear the creak of the trapdoor opening. The likelihood of it being anyone other than the group of Gifted runaways you live with is low, but you can’t trust that the impossible wouldn’t happen. You’ve seen the impossible happen far too often.

Hopping down from the old milk crate you’d been sitting on, you crouch behind a giant bean bag with your bow and arrow ready. The harness you wear strapped around your torso holds your spare arrows. It digs hard enough into your shoulder that you form blisters if you don’t wear a thick enough shirt.

The fluffy pink hair poking out of the trapdoor makes you sigh in relief.

“Hey, kid,” the pink-haired man whispers.

He gently closes the trapdoor and walks with a hunched back toward you, careful not to expose too much of his body beyond the roof’s railing. The abandoned warehouse you live in is on the city's outskirts, with nothing for miles but empty concrete parking lots and overgrown plots of land.

Still, you never know who might be out there. Although the Red Pins have only inflicted pain from within their research facilities, all the runaway Gifteds know that the government employs more than one type of evil to hunt them down.

You try not to think about them, those scientists in long white coats that fall to their thighs and blood-red nametags pinned to their labels with names you often see painted on the walls of your nightmares. Lately, the frequency of the nightmares has lessened. It doesn’t feel like it, though, when you often wake in the middle of the night to your friends screaming in their sleep while they suffer through their own trauma. You wish the knowledge that the pain of being government lab rats is something you all share could be comforting. But, instead, it only makes you hurt more.

“Yoongi,” you huff, returning to your perch on the milk crate. Now your hands are all sweaty. “You should be sleeping.”

“Hi, Yoongi; nice to see you too! Thanks for coming to hang out with me!” Yoongi mocks your voice, clearly stating what he thinks you should have said. “Oh, no problem, Y/N. I just wanted to see how you were doing and hang out with my favorite kiddo.”

You scrunch your nose at kiddo.

“I’m not a kid.”

Yoongi leans over to rub his knuckles into your head. “Nah, you definitely are.”

Despite the lack of lighting outside, Yoongi practically glows. That’s always how it is with fire elementals. It’s like they absorb all the light and let it buzz inside them. Like fireflies, you’d once told Yoongi. He hadn’t found it cute to be compared to a bug.

“If I’m a firefly, then you’re a fucking fish,” he’d teased. You’d promptly summoned water from a nearby puddle to throw in his face.

For as long as you can remember, that’s how it has been between the two of you: fire and water. A push and pull. So different that you need each other to be whole.

You watch Yoongi get comfortable in the bean bag, his skinny limbs spreading like a starfish and his eyes lifting to the sky. In quiet moments like this, you would give anything to hold him. And not out of fear like you had when the scary men came to take you away from your parents. And not out of anger like you had to when you stopped him from blowing up the research facility they’d held you in.

No, you want to hold him and for it to be gentle, soft, and peaceful.

Like now, when the world is silent except for the crickets calling to each other in the weeds and the rustle of wind in the trees.

But he thinks you’re just a kid.

You’re not that much younger than him. But, if you put in the effort to look at your relationship objectively, you’d see that Yoongi’s paternal nature comes out with you and the other runaway Gifteds. He cares for you as an older brother would.

It’s not enough for you, though. It will never be enough.

“Is everyone else asleep?” You rest your elbows on your knees and hold your chin in your hand. When you speak, you look out at the empty field.

“Hobi sneezed and blasted a hole through the bathroom wall,” Yoongi says with a low chuckle. “So me and Joon found some supplies to patch it up the best we could. I think they’re all asleep now, though.”

“How is it Hobi’s the one breaking shit and Namjoon’s fixing it?” You press your hand against your mouth to muffle the ugly snort bursting from you. There’s very little to find funny in this life, so you cherish how your chest burns with fond warmth.

“The world’s all backwards.” Yoongi’s gummy smile lights up the night and tears into your heart.

The two of you fall silent once again. Moving slowly, you reach out to hook your pinky finger with Yoongi’s, a small smile forming when you feel his pinky wrap tightly around yours.

“Where are we gonna go, Yoong?”

He watches you with eyes heavy with sleep, determined to stay up with you even though he doesn’t need to. Initially, you thought it was because he wanted to keep you company. Now, you often wonder if it’s because Yoongi is afraid to sleep, too. He never speaks about his experience at the Labs; the other runaways have learned the hard way not to ask. Singed eyebrows don’t look good on anyone.

“I don’t know.”

You already knew this would be the answer, but it scares you anyway. Yoongi always knows everything.

Yoongi lets go of your hand to sit up in the bean bag.

“Hey, kid,” he whispers. He gently presses his palm to your jaw, cupping your face. You hope he doesn’t hear your breath hitch in your throat. “As long as we’re together, you don’t gotta worry about anything, okay?”

You stare at him for a long time, searching the bags under his eyes and the worry lines on his forehead.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

3 MONTHS, 1 WEEK

There’s a stream that cuts through the overgrown fields behind the warehouse. It’s man-made, flowing from a sewer tunnel beneath the cracked parking lot - and likely from somewhere else, perhaps connected to a lake beyond the woods at the property's edge. The separation between industrialization and the natural world of the unknown hurts your heart. You’d never felt longing until you found yourself inside a cage of cinderblock walls and concrete floors.

A rope of water whips across your face, drawing you from your thoughts of the woods. It’s muddy and makes your skin and clothes smell sour.

Though the air is still crisp and bites at the tip of your nose, spring came early this year. It takes minimal effort for Namjoon to draw more water from the soiled stream as it’s not frozen over like it should be. With a flick of his wrist, another rope of water hits you, this time across your chest.

“Aghh!”

“Pay attention.”

You lift your arm in enough time to block his next assault. The liquid rope freezes in the air before shattering into a thousand glimmering pieces, scattering jagged ice across the pale yellow grass.

“I’m tired of this, Grandpa.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes at the pop culture reference; you’re pleased he understood. Posed to speak, mouth already opening, he barely gets a sound out before another voice bellows across the field.

“WELL, THAT’S TOO DAMN BAD!”

Hoseok isn’t afraid to be loud. He smiles, all teeth and pink tongue, and throws his head back as he cackles. Everywhere he goes, he carries the smell of spring with him - cherry blossoms and morning dew that makes newly-grown pieces of grass stick wet against ankles.

You close your eyes and let spring overpower the sour smell of sewer water Namjoon has thrown at you for the past hour. It lets you forget how your skin aches with welts and bruises.

As Hoseok bounds toward you and Namjoon, a dark tornado spins beside him. When he gets closer, you can see Hoseok occasionally blowing a small gust of air toward the tornado. It appears to be made of smoke, a gradient of grays and blacks.

“Look at this,” your friend announces with a mischievous grin. “Me and JK learned a new trick.”

With a quick snap of Hoseok’s fingers, you and Namjoon watch in patient silence as the tornado begins to slow its speed. Almost gently, the smoke curls tighter and tighter until the darkness turns into a solid mass.

Jungkook stumbles a few times as he attempts to get his footing. His limbs continue to propel his body into a small spin.

Hoseok quickly reaches out to grab the younger man. Secure hands squeeze his shoulders, and then it’s only Jungkook’s head lolling about.

“Cool, right?” Jungkook’s voice is gruff, but his lips curl into a weak smile.

Namjoon lets out a long sigh. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

Although Namjoon is right, Jungkook does look like the effort of his little party trick took a toll on his body; you can’t help but match his smile. Especially when his eyes flick toward yours. You told his gaze for half a second before Jungkook quickly looks away. His cheeks flush pink, but you’re sure it’s from the exertion of all that spinning.

“I think it’s really cool,” you praise the two while elbowing Namjoon in the ribs. With a grumble, your sparring partner returns to his previous stance a few feet away.

“We should go again. Just for a little while longer.”

Every muscle in your body feels stiff when you turn away from Hoseok and Jungkook.

“I hurt all over, Joonie.”

“Let her rest!” Hoseok adds to your whining. “All we ever do is practice fighting.”

“Sparring.”

Hoseok waves a dismissive hand at the younger man. “Whatever you want to call it. I find it to be fri-”

You stifle a laugh by pressing the back of your hand to your mouth as Hoseok is tackled to the ground by Jungkook. The two men roll around, all arms and legs, kicking up dead grass and dirt. A lot of howling and teasing laughter rings through the open air.

It isn’t until Jungkook is launched into the sky by a gust of wind you know comes from Hoseok, and lands roughly on his back, that the playful fight ceases. How Jungkook lands knocks all the air out of his chest, but he laughs once his lungs start working again.

“Ridiculous, all of you.” Hoseok brushes grass from his clothes. It’s futile; they’re dirty and ragged anyway. Try as you and Namjoon might to use your Gifts to clean the clothes; water does little when there’s no soap.

“I let you win,” Jungkook teases.

Still, he stands a bit further from Hoseok than he had previously. Not far enough for anyone to notice, aside from you. You notice although you don’t mean to. It’s hard not to when Jungkook keeps stealing glances, only to look away when you try to return his gaze.

“You did not.”

“Did, too.” His insistence makes you giggle.

“And how did that work out for you? Hmm? How does your back feel? I know you landed on that rock.”

“I-It, it doesn’t hurt.” Jungkook glances your way. His cheeks are still pink. “Would take more than that to hurt me.”

“Jungkook is impossible to beat.”

You startle at the gentle voice, spinning on your heels to see Yoongi approaching the group. He’s got a leather satchel strapped across his chest and resting at his hip. It bulges with what you assume are plants and fruits scavenged from the woods.

“Boy Scouts” is what Yoongi offered when you asked how he knew so much about surviving in nature. It was peculiar; nothing about Yoongi seemed like the type. He’s tougher, more steel than wood or earth. A bulletproof shield, you think. Broad and strong.

“Impossible?”

Your question is meant to be a tease, but Yoongi’s face remains stoic. Such a severe look only reveals itself when he assumes his position as your misfit group’s leader. It would be extremely attractive if it didn’t scare you.

“How can you fight shadows?” Yoongi deadpans. He stares into your eyes long enough to make your face feel hot, but you don’t look away.

“I…”

Yoongi hums at your lack of an answer. Suddenly, you feel unbelievably small.

“It’s not impossible,” Jungkook whispers. His head hangs low, long bangs hiding his face. The rest of his hair is tied into a bun at the nape of his neck. “I’m just as beatable as you, hyung.”

Something about Yoongi’s expression softens at the honorific. Formalities died long ago, along with many other traditions that once made Korea what it was. So many things died during the war - tangible and cultural - lives and ways of being. Now, the Republic is something you know your friends no longer recognize. Although it is not your home country, your heart aches for what it once was - something you will never have the privilege to experience because you arrived during the Restoration of the Republic - a fallacy of an era since the country was never restored to how it was.

That may be best. It is easier to mourn the loss of something you never knew.

In moments like this, you feel terribly inadequate - when you speak with broken Korean or struggle to understand the foreign politics behind why Gifteds are hunted, no matter how many times Namjoon patiently attempts to teach you. All you know is that, at least here, to be Gifted is not a death sentence, per se. Other countries’ governments have been far less lenient with their mutant population.

You’re simply seen as a science experiment to be tested on, poked and prodded, pushed until you’re driven mad, and then warped into whatever shape the government has the need for.

“You have no match,” Yoongi smiles softly at Jungkook with a shake of his head. “I do.”

Holding out his hand, a small flame appears in the center of Yoongi’s palm. It floats just above the skin, though he isn’t burned. You’ve seen Yoongi summon fire a million times from the heat of the air around him, and he never ceases to amaze you.

With a nod in Namjoon’s direction, Yoongi waits for a small rope of dirty water to splash against his hand. Namjoon is much kinder in his attack against Yoongi, only summoning enough water to extinguish the flame.

“Water will always win against me,” Yoongi admits. This time, he holds your gaze when he speaks. “It is my match.”

You feel something stir in your belly that migrates up your chest until it eventually threatens to suffocate you, nearly getting lodged in your throat.

“You would do well to continue sparring with Namjoon,” he says after a moment before turning to Hoseok and Jungkook, who have otherwise been silent.

It’s an order, even if Yoongi is gentle with his words.

With a sigh, you turn back to Namjoon. It’s difficult to stamp down the heat Yoongi always manages to trigger inside of you. You would compare him to fire even if it didn’t already run in his veins.

Drawing from the murky stream, you weave a ball of water between your palms.

“Let’s go again.”

While you spar with Namjoon, Yoongi leads Hoseok and Jungkook to the other end of the field.

You and Namjoon spar as though you are dancing. It’s a push and pull, your rhythms falling into harmony, even when one of you performs a surprise attack or a new move that hasn’t been practiced before. Perhaps it is because you both fight with water. There is a fluidity to it that the others don’t possess.

Occasionally, your eyes stray to where Yoongi, Hoseok, and Jungkook have begun to spar. The three men do not dance. Instead, they are a fury of elements intertwining in chaos. The wind snuffs fire, Yoongi and Hoseok blasting each other incessantly. Shadows allow Jungkook to disappear before being hit by an attack, only to reappear right behind his opponent to go in for the kill.

And it would be a kill if this was real. You know Jungkook keeps a rather terrifying knife strapped to his thigh. You all carry weapons, though you don’t really need them. Even Jungkook, with a Gift that’s misunderstood and exceptionally rare, is never found without his weapon.

Out of all the Gifteds you’ve met on your way to safety, you have never encountered another who can manipulate shadows. So, there is truth to Yoongi’s statement.

Jungkook is terrifying, even with the wide, starry eyes he always seems to stare at you with. He’s quiet and shy, typically sticking to Hoseok. You assume it’s likely because you found the two of them together. Both were kept in the same room at the research facility in Busan. As unassuming as Jungkook may be, you’ve seen him manipulate shadows to wrap around a Red Pin’s neck. Those shadows twisted and tightened until the man crumpled.

You didn’t need to have the Gift of blood manipulation to know when his heart stopped.

It was one of the scariest moments of your life, even beyond the suffering you’d endured having lived in the research facilities since you were a teen. Before then, you’d never seen someone die. Even when Yoongi and Namjoon helped you escape, they shielded you from the worst of it. It wasn’t until the three of you came upon the newest facility that such horrors were unleashed.

Jungkook hates himself for it. You know he does; you typically make your bed beside his, and he cries in his sleep. Self-defense protects the body in the moment, but harms the mind and heart long-term.

You probably would have done the same.

For as tragic as his story is - or what little you know of it - Jungkook has an undeniably beautiful soul. Those horrors have yet to turn him cruel or his heart black. Even when he spars, you can tell that he’s being gentle. He holds back and doesn’t reach his full potential out of fear of hurting others, you’re sure. You can see it in how he bounces on the balls of his feet to keep his movements light and how his back muscles ripple beneath his shirt as it clings to his skin. A bead of sweat runs along his neck, over the vein that bulges from his exerting effort.

Something prickles under your skin. When you look up, it’s into those wide eyes full of galaxies you’ll never understand, are somehow okay with not understanding if it means you can continue to gaze upon them.

A small smile pulls the corners of Jungkook’s mouth up. His expression is short-lived, though, quickly falling as a bright orange flame licks at his ankles.

“Don’t let my words get to your head, Jeon,” Yoongi teases. “Impossible to beat, but easy to hurt.”

This time, you catch Yoongi’s eye. You duck your head when he winks at you, just in time to block another blast of water from Namjoon.

“Why is everyone so off today?” Namjoon grumbles to himself. You haven’t managed to successfully hit him even once.

“I’m tired,” you whine again, dropping a ball of water to the ground. Dead grass quickly soaks it up once it splashes. “We should check on Jessi.”

Your group's sixth and final member is tucked away in the corner of the warehouse on the top floor. It’s dark up there, though Yoongi’s everlasting fire, paired with the windows Jessi managed to open, gives enough light for her to work.

She has black grease smudged on her left cheek and across her forehead. Her long, thick hair is tied back into a ponytail, though strands have fallen out to frame her face. When you step closer, you hear her muttering, but you can’t make out what she’s saying. It’s not for you. She speaks, facing the black box placed in front of where she kneels on the floor. The floor can’t feel good on her knees with its bits of broken concrete and dirt. Everything hurts in this life; it hardly matters as long as you’re here and not there.

“This piece of shit,” Jessi hisses, running her hands across her face. It smears more grease onto her skin, but she doesn’t care.

“Not working?”

“Beep beep boop beeping all over the fucking place, then static. White noise and shit. Like it’s telling me to fuck off even though I’m the one fixing it.”

You hum, crouching down to stare at the box. It’s an old radio meant to transport messages back and forth. Perhaps left behind by the military after it had occupied this land while it bulldozed the vigilantes seeking to save Gifteds from the fate you all ended up sharing anyway.

Jessi tweaks a few exposed wires. Every time they spark, you flinch. Mini white lightning, it’s deadly for anyone but Jessi. She grumbles and continues her work with deft fingers calloused from toiling away at the stupid thing for months.

“I’m normally so fucking good at this, I swear to God.”

Frustration colors her tone, even if her expression and cursing didn’t already give her feelings away.

You don’t doubt her, though, and you tell her as much. Still, you know firsthand that it sucks when your powers don’t work how you want them to. As a technopath, fixing the radio should be easy work for her.

“There must be something wrong with it… Maybe the Red Pins did something to it?”

You don’t know anything about technology. Even with the phone you’d stolen off one of the Red Pins, all you’d gotten to do was look at TikTok and try to find out where your parents were before Yoongi made you destroy the device. The government had ways to track you. Technology was as much your friend as a stranger on the street.

With a sigh, Jessi leans back until she’s sitting flat on the grimy floor.

“Maybe? Fuck if I know. I think I’m getting close, though. I’m getting some frequency when I concentrate really hard, but I wanna fix it so it’ll work even without me.”

Your friend whispers the end of her statement. It goes without saying; each one of you knows the fragility of life on the run.

“Thank you for working so hard.” Even in the dim lighting, you can see her watery eyes shine. It hurts your heart, but all you can offer is a light squeeze of her shoulder.

Jessi shrugs. “It’s as much for me as it is for you.”

You watch her stand and brush the dirt from her butt, her joints cracking from sitting down too long. When you first joined this mutant crew, you would have followed behind Jessi to comfort her. But, after months of running and fighting, you’ve learned that sometimes solitude is the best healing method.

4 MONTHS, 2 DAYS

“What makes you think you’re ready? That any of us are ready?”

Yoongi watches you with catlike eyes from where he sits at the kitchen table. The chairs circled around the battered wooden table are mismatched and in varying stages of deterioration from being abandoned for so long. The one Yoongi sits in is metal, and he leans on its two back legs, his right foot pressed to the floor to keep himself steady and his arms crossed against his chest.

Although Yoongi isn’t raising his voice - he never does - you still feel like you’re being scolded.

“I know we are,” you challenge him. Your voice is steady even as your fingers tremble. To stop them from shaking, you squeeze your hands into a fist, nails biting at the skin of your palms.

You should sit down, but holding your energy in is hard. Instead, you pace the kitchen while Yoongi’s cat eyes and Jessi’s wide ones follow you. You feel like a lion looping its cage, the desire to run restricted and confined.

“How?”

“We can’t stay here, Yoong! We can’t. I can’t.”

The front legs of Yoongi’s chair slam into the concrete floor. He allows the momentum to pull him forward, landing his elbows on the table’s surface.

Looking at Yoongi hurts. You can tell from his face that the next thing he says won’t be pleasant. His lips are pressed into a fine line that curves downward slightly. It’s cute how he can pull off a straight-lipped frown, but not when it’s directed at you.

It’s been at least an hour of back and forth between the three of you. Jessi tapped out a long time ago, resolved to watch the tennis match of an argument between you and Yoongi rather than exert energy on a fight she isn’t committed to. Yoongi and Jessi have the final say in all group decisions as the group's elders. It’s another reminder of how you think Yoongi sees you as someone to take care of rather than an equal.

“Have you ever killed someone before, Y/N?”

You pause your pacing to stand in front of the table. Yoongi is an exceptional cook, managing to create delicious meals out of what little you all have to work with from the forest. But now, at this moment, you feel like you’re going to be sick from the food churning in your stomach.

“No.”

“No,” Yoongi repeats. He speaks slowly, like he’s mulling your answer over, letting it twist around his tongue until he’s satisfied enough with its taste to swallow it down.

Leaning forward, Yoongi presses his palms against the table’s surface. He spreads his fingers and stares at them. The two of you seem to trace over the scars that line his skin, little nicks, and slices that healed light pink or blazing white. You’ve never seen Yoongi naked, but you have seen a good expanse of his body when you’ve used your Gift to help the others get clean. From what you’ve seen, you know Yoongi’s entire body is littered with battle scars.

“I have,” he admits what you already knew, and the gravelly sound of his voice makes you shudder. “Jungkook has.”

You wince at the mention of the younger man, but Yoongi doesn’t give you a chance to speak.

“Do you want to ask him what it’s like to squeeze the life out of another man? He may have done it with shadows, but I guarantee he still felt it in his hands.”

Yoongi lifts his eyes to yours when the first tear rolls down your cheek. Concern wrinkles his forehead.

“Yoongi,” you start, but the pink-haired man shakes his head.

“I don’t mean to upset you, kiddo.” The pet name twists your gut tighter with frustration - even though Yoongi’s voice is filled with gentle adoration when he calls out to you. “But I’ll be damned if I let us walk into that forest without knowing where we’re going or whose claws we’re running into. The Gifted Commune is, at best, a rumor. At worst - a trap.”

You want to tell him that falling for a rumor or getting caught by the government is better than sitting in a concrete cage. The prospect of finding a community of other Gifted runaways who have managed to create a society safe from the evils you’ve grown up with means more to you than the fear of the unknown.

There’s no use, though. Jessi is nodding along to Yoongi’s words; the blank expression she wears when she’s upset already masks her face.

“I will not put you in a situation where you must kill or be killed, Y/N. I won’t fucking do it.” Yoongi clears his throat suddenly, and he looks away from you. You’re unsure, but think he might be blinking back unshed tears.

You’re still pissed, but now your anger is mixed quite prettily with debilitating guilt. You’ve never seen Yoongi cry, and you realize with a sinking feeling that you really don’t want to.

“It’s too fucking risky,” Jessi finally speaks. She presses her fingers against her forehead, massaging it slowly as she, too, looks for words. “The radio is almost fixed; I can feel that it’s close. Then we will have a clearer line of communication with the Commune. It doesn’t guarantee anything, obviously, but it’s better than going in without fucking knowing anything.”

There’s nothing else to say. Yoongi doesn’t look at you or Jessi, instead staring at something in the opposite corner of the room.

Jessi gives you what you think is a smile laced with pity - or at least an apology.

How can everyone be so content to stay in the warehouse? You’re a bunch of sitting ducks, hiding out in the same location for months, practically waiting for the government to send their agents to either corral you into laboratories again or exterminate you. You don’t understand how becoming a moving target is a bad thing.

But, ultimately, you don’t understand why Yoongi can’t just trust you.

With a frustrated huff, you twist around to hurry out of the kitchen. As you cross the threshold, Namjoon appears in the doorway.

“Oh, I need to ask you-”

You don’t mean to shove Namjoon with your shoulder as hard as you do, but you don’t have the patience to comply with whatever he expects you to do for him. Probably more sparring and training.

On the one hand, sharing your identity as a water elemental with someone else in the group is an affirming experience. On the other, it’s infuriating because Namjoon sees your potential and pushes you toward it - even when you fight against him.

Namjoon sputters something, and you hear Jessi convince him to drop it. Whatever else they have to say is lost on you; you’re no longer interested in entertaining the conversations of the “leaders” of the group. Part of you wants to find Hoseok or Jungkook to force them to commiserate with you, but something about dumping your sludge of emotions onto them feels wrong.

So you do what you’ve always done best: you repress.

It isn’t until a few hours later when you’re lounging on your makeshift bed with the only tattered book you kept from your facility (Fahrenheit 451, how fitting), that you give yourself over to the gnawing need to interact with other humans.

Jungkook bounces on the balls of his feet, items that you can’t make out pressed against his chest.

“Will you cut my hair for me, noona?”

The out-of-use honorific flusters you, making your face burn under Jungkook’s attentive gaze.

“You don’t have to be so formal with me,” you insist, embarrassment ravaging your twisted stomach and fluttering chest. Something about the attention Jungkook gives you makes you feel nervous and giddy.

“It’s not very formal, really. It’s… respectful? I just… You are, it means,” Jungkook lets out a huff. He blows his bangs out of his face as his cheeks turn pink. “You are special to me.”

You duck your head, shocked by Jungkook’s honesty. It warms you in a way you’re not sure you understand, letting the feeling sit inside your chest rather than exploring it any further.

“Where I come from, we don’t have words like that.”

Jungkook gives you a shrug. Neither of you mentions that in Korea, those words don’t really exist anymore, either.

“But, okay,” you relent softly.

Jungkook stands beside the mess of blankets that make up your bed, holding a pair of scissors and electric clippers Jessi enhanced to operate on their own. Jungkook nicked them from a Red Pin on their way out of the research facility he’d grown up in. Hairstyling tools didn’t seem high on your list of items to steal, but they’d come in handy. Like now, with Jungkook’s bangs falling entirely into his eyes and his hair sweeping across his shoulders.

The pout Jungkook wears lessens slightly. He holds out the tools with an expectant look on his face. It’s cute how his bottom lip juts out, pink and chapped from nervously chewing on it. You’d overheard Namjoon scolding him for something earlier that morning before you went outside to patrol the grounds with Hoseok and Jessi.

Taking the items from Jungkook, you lead him out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. The lights sputter briefly before they fully brighten the small room. Jessi was excited to learn that her Gift extended to electricity as a whole, not just that within technology like computers and radios. With all your Gifts combined, the warehouse is liveable, almost comfortable.

Jungkook sits on the closed lid of the toilet, making you tower over him. He parts his legs slightly so you can stand between them as you run your fingers through his hair.

You spread your fingers and sweep his bangs up, exposing his forehead. It opens up his face more and makes him look older. Jungkook is handsome; there’s no denying that. You’re sure in another life, he could have been a regular college kid with a sweet girlfriend and a bright future.

“What would you like me to do?”

“Hmm?” Jungkook hums with his eyes closed, and his head tilted back slightly.

You don’t miss how he leans into your touch, completely pliable in your hands, as you massage his scalp and continue to play with his hair. It’s thick and soft, even without the proper haircare products to maintain the health of the follicles.

“How do you want me to cut it, silly?”

You reach for the hairbrush you keep tucked away in the bathroom cabinet. It takes a few more moments of silence while you brush out Jungkook’s waves before he finally speaks.

“Short. Cut it all off, please? It’s too hard to take care of now, and it gets in my face.”

“Don’t get mad at me if it comes out bad.”

Jungkook lets out a frustrated sound. “You always do a great job. You gave Yoongi hyung an undercut. It looks so good!”

At the mention of Yoongi, you feel your heart drop. Somehow you know Jungkook is here to make you feel better even if he hasn’t said anything about the argument, and he’s the one seeking your help, not the other way around. He’s a distraction - one you wonder if Yoongi sent himself.

It isn’t that Yoongi won’t apologize; you just never give him a chance to before you run off to lick your wounds on your own.

It’s the healing quality of solitude, you think as you prepare to cut Jungkook’s hair. However, this time, you’re not alone.

You can’t help but smile when Jungkook starts singing a song of his own creation as chunks of his hair fall to the floor. His song drowns out the static that buzzes in your brain like the fuzziness Jessi’s broken radio emits when anyone but her fiddles with it.

“This way,” you speak softly, not wanting to disrupt his singing as you press your fingertips against his jaw and under his chin to lift his face toward you. Your finger presses against the little mole just below Jungkook’s bottom lip. The angle gives you a better view of your work so far.

A small smile flickers on Jungkook’s face as though he’s trying to keep it down, but the corners of his mouth won’t listen to him.

“It feels nice. We don’t touch.”

You hum and nod your head, but Jungkook’s eyes are still closed. It’s true; kind touches are rare. Hoseok is really the only one who gives out hugs. Everything is tough all the time. There’s little room for gentleness, even amongst friends.

So you understand when Jungkook’s smile wins out, and he finally surrenders to the happiness your light touches along his jaw bring him.

4 MONTHS, 5 DAYS

It takes Yoongi three days to apologize.

Perhaps you should have apologized first, but you struggle to see how you could have done anything that warrants an apology. Yes, you feel bad for upsetting Yoongi, but his attitude toward you lately has rubbed you the wrong way.

During the three days it takes him to apologize to you, he seems to do his best to avoid you.

On the days you’re assigned to go on patrol with Yoongi, Jungkook accompanies you instead. You don’t mind having Jungkook by your side, you discover, even though you’re upset that Yoongi is behaving so childishly.

Neither Jungkook nor Yoongi talks much, but you learn that their silence feels different. Whereas Yoongi’s silence stems from feeling confident and content with not needing to fill the air with incessant babbling, Jungkook’s silence is awkward and heavy. He fiddles with the loose strings of his shirt, his reddened cuticles, and everything else. You don’t mind the awkwardness, though. It’s nice to comb through the woods with someone as powerful as Jungkook; you know there’s nothing to fear with him around.

The only weapon Jungkook carries is the knife strapped to his thigh. You, on the other hand, stay heavily armed. Your fingers tighten around your bow. When you twist your torso, the harness that holds your arrows digs into your shoulder. You also have a knife, though you are honestly afraid of close combat. A gun would be even better, but ammo is difficult to come by. It’s easier to collect your arrows after you’ve shot them, although you haven’t needed to yet. Since finding refuge at the warehouse, no one has discovered your group.

Apparently, all your friends are willing to keep testing fate. You aren’t interested in pushing your luck. Jungkook doesn’t comment on the group’s plans for moving forward - or lack thereof. Something tells you that he’ll do whatever Yoongi and Jessi tell him to do.

Still, going on patrol with Jungkook does a decent job of preventing your thoughts from straying toward your argument with Yoongi. Your hands brushed together a few times as you walked side by side, and you could practically feel Jungkook’s brain shortcircuit from the contact.

Part of you thinks he has a crush on you, but the more logical part of you knows he’s probably shy. The kid has gone through a lot in life. Not everything is always about you; you try to remind yourself. Yoongi doesn’t even want you. Why would Jungkook?

On the third day, bright doe eyes don’t greet you at the edge of the woods, just as the sun is kissing the sky for the first time. Instead, sharp cat eyes hold your gaze when you lightly jog over.

“Good morning, kiddo.”

Yoongi wears dark shorts with tattered edges cut from a pair of old jeans and a plain t-shirt the color of the forest in spring. It’s not warm enough to wear what he’s wearing, but fire elementals run hot like you run cold.

“Hi,” you say, voice a bit stunted as you hold your jacket tighter to your body.

You’ve foregone your bow and arrows today; you may or may not have snapped your bow in a fit of frustration that may or may not have anything to do with Yoongi ignoring you at dinner the night before. A knife and your Gift will have to do, but you feel it is enough. Namjoon insists on learning how to use your Gifts and weapons in tandem. For double the defense, or so he says.

Carrying a knife seems ridiculous when you know how to choke someone with their own spit without touching them.

Once you’re within arm’s reach, Yoongi offers his hand to you. He holds it as though he’s going in for a handshake. Yellow-orange fire licks at his palm and swirls in tendrils around his fingers and wrist.

After a few seconds of silence, he makes a slight grunting sound and wiggles his fingers, beckoning you.

It’s impossible not to cave. A prickly feeling tingles down your arm, beginning somewhere in your chest and eventually settling in your fingertips. A tiny hurricane of water stolen from the moisture in the air circles around your hand just as the fire does Yoongi’s.

He lets out a pleased sound when your palms glide across each other. You hook your thumbs together, using the momentum to spin your hands around until your fingers are interlaced and pressed into your palms. You both squeeze your hands once, twice, three times in a heartbeat before pulling away. By the end, the fire and water have disappeared.

When you meet Yoongi’s eyes, the warmth of the fire in his palm has transferred to his gaze. There is an apology in how you release each other’s hands. The handshake holds secret words of friendship and reassurance between you.

The two of you stand in silence for a bit until Yoongi tilts his head in the direction of the woods. You nod in response and follow Yoongi along one of the many patrol paths your group has established.

There’s never anything in the woods besides small animals like squirrels and rabbits, but everyone feels better knowing there is a consistent patrol of the area, just in case.

“So,” When you look at Yoongi, his lips twist into a light smirk you absolutely do not like. “You and Jungkook.”

“Me and Jungkook what?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Just seems like you two been hanging out a lot.”

“Yeah, because you were fucking ignoring me all week.”

His smirk drops into a stern frown, but Yoongi continues following the path. He walks slightly ahead of you with his hands clasped behind his back. It feels like he’s taking a leisurely stroll through a garden rather than going on patrol in the woods for government assassins.

“It was immature and irresponsible of me, and I’m sorry for that.”

Forgiving Yoongi is too easy. It’s the way the morning sun shines through the canopy of trees above you, casting streaks of light against his fading pink hair. The way he carries himself with confidence is gentle and comforting rather than arrogant or misplaced. It’s how he looks at you; you know he would do anything for you.

“It’s okay,” you finally concede. You scramble a bit to fall in line with Yoongi again. “I was being dramatic.”

“Life is one big drama, isn’t it?” Yoongi muses with a chuckle. It’s a question he doesn’t expect an answer to, which is good, considering you’ve got something else buzzing around in your head.

Well, fuck it. You’re just gonna say it.

Heart pounding, you eventually find it in you to say, “I still think you’re wrong.”

After a moment, Yoongi hums in acknowledgment of your admission but doesn’t offer anything else. It’s better than nothing, so you tell yourself to be content with all that he offers.

“Anyway…” You don’t want to drop the subject, but Yoongi’s question is nagging in the back of your brain now - a nagging question you now have a gnawing desire to know the meaning behind. “Me and Jungkook can hang out without it meaning-”

Before you can finish your statement, Yoongi slaps his hand against your mouth. The calluses on his palms are rough against your chapped lips, and his skin is sweaty. His free arm comes around to the front of your chest near your collarbones. He draws you against his chest so tightly you can’t move.

“Don’t talk.” His breath is hot against your face, and his voice is almost indiscernible.

You give a tiny nod before locking your body completely still. You hold your breath, straining to hear what Yoongi might hear or see what he might see. There’s nothing, just the usual sound of life in the woods - birds chirping, small animals scurrying in the brush. You don’t see anything either.

You can only focus on the frantic pounding of your heart and the calm beat of Yoongi’s against your back. How he can be so relaxed when he thinks there might be danger in the woods that you can’t even see is unreal.

Slowly, Yoongi takes a step back away from you. He holds a finger to his lips and silently mouths for you to stay where you are. Everything inside you screams to disobey as you watch Yoongi disappear further into the woods, the thick trees swallowing him whole.

But you don’t. You stay put, fear rooting you to the ground even though your body desperately wants to follow.

What lies beyond the thicket of trees? What is dangerous enough that Yoongi wants you to stay put but not so dangerous that he believes he can take it on alone?

Just when your resolve is about to crumble, something catches your attention out of the corner of your eye. Barely breathing, you turn your head to watch a dark spot glide across the forest floor. It’s two-dimensional, not an object but a presence creeping along the ground.

Suddenly, the spot grows. It spreads, turning its shape from a flat, uneven circle to a thing with tendrils sticking out of it, each new tendril moving independently. You gasp when one of the tendrils creeps up your leg. Despite being two-dimensional, you can feel the darkness. It’s firm and cold, like a snake slithering up your body.

Every inch of you trembles as the strange darkness slowly spreads across your body. You squeeze your eyes and hold your breath. Perhaps this is the thing that Yoongi saw, a phantom stalking the trees. But now you’re left behind to be absorbed into its darkness, eaten alive.

You’re startled when the cold disappears; instead, strong arms pull you against a firm chest. Warmth envelopes you, and when you open your eyes, you see familiar ones looking back at you.

“I got you,” Jungkook murmurs. He has you tucked under his chin, and he tilts his head down when he speaks to you. You shiver as his lips lightly brush against your forehead.

“Where did you-”

“Shhh.”

Jungkook’s heart isn’t steady like Yoongi’s had been. On the contrary, it’s beating rather furiously. You can hear him attempting to regulate his emotions, taking in mindful breaths and exhaling in a way that tickles your skin.

You don’t know how long you stand there pulled against Jungkook’s chest. After a while, your breathing matches his until you fall into a gentle rhythm that makes you sleepy. The adrenaline is making you crash, your body hardly strong enough to hold yourself up after panicking so severely - still panicking. Luckily, when you lean into Jungkook, his hold on you tightens.

In another situation, pressing your fronts together would have flooded your body with heat. You can feel all of Jungkook like this, from the bulging muscles of his chest to his thigh pressed slightly between your legs from how he holds you up. But fear of the unknown and Jungkook’s clearly distressed state prevent those other thoughts from materializing.

Jungkook’s body doesn’t relax until Yoongi appears around the corner of a large tree. He keeps his arms wrapped around you, and for a second, Yoongi looks around at the clearing you're in as though he can’t see you.

It isn’t until Jungkook lets go of you that recognition flashes in Yoongi’s eyes.

“There you are,” Yoongi murmurs to the two of you. He looks like he rolled around on the ground, little pieces of leaves and sticks caught in his hair and stuck to his clothes. His left knee is bleeding from a few superficial scrapes.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

Yoongi looks at Jungkook before he answers your question, which irritates you. “I tripped when I rushed in, but it was nothing. Just a large fox I heard making noise back there.”

A fox is likely the largest animal in the woods, with no bears or wolves in the area. Still, you don’t trust Yoongi. You can pick up on the charred smell coming off of him. He smells like a barbecue, which means only one thing…

“Have you been practicing turning yourself invisible?”

Jungkook ducks his head down but no longer has long bangs to hide his face. It takes a second for your brain to process Yoongi’s question - and the change in the topic - but Jungkook is already answering him by the time you figure it out.

“It’s not really invisibility,” he says softly. “It’s more like… an illusion.”

Yoongi hums and motions for the two of you to start walking. You’re returning to the warehouse, you realize, even though you only just started the patrol route.

“Yeah, I can… adjust the lighting, I guess? To make it seem like you can’t see me. Or, us, this time.”

Jungkook gives you a small smile when you whip around to look at him.

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook repeats. He draws his bottom lip between his teeth and wiggles it like he has more to say but doesn’t want to let it out just yet.

The three of you walk in silence until you reach the warehouse. When Yoongi walks ahead of you, you can tell he’s limping, even as he does his best to walk normally.

“He’s okay.”

Jungkook stands beside you in the field behind the warehouse, watching Yoongi reach the backdoor.

“He’s bleeding.”

Jungkook’s ears are pink when he responds, “He’ll be okay.”

“He’s lying to us.”

Jungkook absentmindedly runs his fingers along his bottom lip. It droops as he speaks through a pout. “Maybe. But I trust him, even if he is.”

It’s a strange thing to trust someone who is lying.

All you can do is nod. All you can do is accept that the people around you are doing what’s right because, aside from them, there is no one and nothing you can trust in the world.

As you approach the warehouse, Jungkook curls his fingers around your wrist to stop you. He watches you with the same wide-eyed look he gives everyone, though something about this time feels different. His expression is more open and vulnerable. He looks at you like he’s waiting for you to hurt him.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he apologizes softly.

“But you didn’t?”

Your eyebrows crease your forehead, trying to recall what you may have done to make Jungkook feel like you feared him. Sure, his sudden appearance in the woods was startling, but he’d brought you a feeling of comfort and safety - not fear.

Jungkook doesn’t correct you. Instead, he lets go of your wrist as shame warms his cheeks, but he doesn’t look away from you. The timidness is still there. You can see it in how he chews on his bottom lip. Still, his eyes take on a more guarded, hardened expression for a split second, and then…

He’s gone.

“What the fuck?” You mutter to yourself.

Now that you’ve seen the darkness before, your eyes quickly notice the spot on the ground that creeps and grows into odd shapes, slinking along the grass before taking form up your legs, curling around your arms.

It’s Jungkook. You knew it in the woods, somewhere deep down. Your fear for Yoongi’s safety - and your own - prevented you from processing the situation. But now, as the darkness envelopes you again, you know what to expect when you close your eyes and open them to see Jungkook’s broad chest as he crushes you against him.

“You never showed me before.”

Maybe it’s weird that you’re still clinging to each other, but Jungkook is warm and solid, and his heartbeat guides yours into a slower rhythm.

“That’s because it’s creepy.”

“Well, I think it’s cool. Even though, yeah, you kinda scared the shit outta me.”

Jungkook lets out an embarrassed whine and squeezes you tighter. You knew he could command shadows but hadn’t realized he could become one or move within them. Sure, the tornado trick he’d done a few times with Hoseok had been cool, but you’d always thought he was merely swirling the darkness around himself. You hadn’t realized he was the darkness.

Honestly, it made him all the more terrifying and equally as endearing.

“I just had this… feeling something bad was happening…” Jungkook whispers into your hair. “I needed to check.”

“Good thing it was only a fox.”

Jungkook nods in agreement; you know he believes it more than you do.

“I’m just happy you’re safe.” You can feel his cheek press against the top of your head for a moment before he finally releases you.

There’s a feeling there as Jungkook leads you to the warehouse. He laces his fingers with yours, and you can’t help but hear Yoongi’s question on a loop in your head.

You and Jungkook?

4 MONTHS, 3 WEEKS

“What if they think we’re the feds and feed us false information?”

“We’re too stupid to be the feds. It would be obvious.”

“I don’t know… we all escaped the government, so they must be pretty stupid.”

“What if they’re the feds?”

“Shit, I never thought about that.”

“They’re not the fucking feds.”

“How do you know that?!”

“Can all of you please just shut the fuck up?”

The six of you crowd around the radio on the kitchen table. Jessi shows you how to operate it, which flip to switch to activate the microphone, and how to adjust the volume. You’re all muted for now. When Hoseok goes to flip the switch, Jessi smacks his hand out of the way.

“Listen to me,” she says sternly, turning in her seat to get a good look at all of you. “No one talks.”

“But-”

“No one talks.”

Five heads nod at her command, including Yoongi, which feels very satisfying to you for some reason.

Details of the Gifted Commune somewhere beyond the woods traveled by word of mouth. Coordinates and radio frequencies were exchanged in hushed tones between the Gifteds who dared dream of a life beyond the Labs. You’re sad to admit that you were never one of those Gifteds. It wasn’t until Yoongi helped you escape that you even realized escaping was an option, so brainwashed into thinking the Labs were all you had. You were in a new country, stumbling through an unfamiliar language, taken from your family. Sure, you’d learned enough to get by over time - but missing your adolescent years made you feel hopeless.

Jessi is the only one who had communicated with the Commune leaders in the past when she and another Gifted managed to break into a control room in the Labs she came from.

That’s why she’s the one to speak into the radio that you find operates much like a long-distance walkie-talkie. You’re glad it’s not you. She introduces herself, her whereabouts, and her credentials with an even voice you know you could never replicate.

Despite the distrust you’re all afraid of, Jessi’s previous connection to the Commune makes it easy for her to request to speak to the Commune leader, a healer named Kim Taehyung.

Sitting with your fingers gripping the edge of the table so tightly your knuckles are beginning to ache, you lean forward as though you can get closer to the gentle voice that floats from the radio’s speakers.

Taehyung doesn’t sound anything like you’d imagined, though you aren’t sure what you were expecting, to be honest. Maybe someone with a rougher voice made harsh by the trials of life as a fugitive of the Republic. Instead, he’s soft as he asks Jessi how many there are of you and what your coordinates are. This man, already larger than life even though none of you knows what he looks like, is patient as he gives Jessi instructions on how to reach the Commune.

“I can assure you,” Taehyung speaks, and you don’t know what he’s about to say, but you find yourself already believing him, “You will be safe here. It won’t be a short trip.” That makes your gut twist, but you focus on his following words. “But there are abandoned shelters along the route to find refuge in. The nights get terribly cold.”

Namjoon scribbles some notes down on a worn piece of paper. It’s been written on and erased to add more notes over the months you’ve been at the warehouse since there are only a few pieces of paper between the six of you. There’s a small hole in the middle of the page where someone erased too hard - or too many times, you suppose.

“Thank you, Taehyung-ssi.”

The line is quiet for a moment. Jessi’s gaze shoots up to glare at Jungkook’s interruption, but Taehyung speaks before she can chastise the younger man.

“Anything for my dongsaeng,” the man on the other side of the radio states.

You don’t know him, so there is no way to tell if the subtle lilt to his voice indicates affection, but it seems like it as the two men use polite terms no one ever uses anymore. It’s old-fashioned and reminiscent of a time lost to all of you.

Jessi steers the conversation back to planning the group’s journey to the Commune. Excitement makes you jittery as you skip out of the kitchen, the men - aside from Yoongi - following after you. The boring stuff is what follows, and you’re all content to let the leaders discuss that stuff.

“Do you think we’ll be able to do it?” Hoseok clasps his hands together, occasionally squeezing them. When he speaks, he keeps his eyes on the closed kitchen door.

Namjoon shrugs at the same time you respond, “We have to.”

PART ONE - PART TWO

do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work

#jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts angst #bts fluff #bts smut #jai writes #gimmethatagustd #a spring offering collab #what the fire gave us

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strong-with-the-sarcasm · 11 months

Text

part 11- a thousand candles burn into the night

"When the ashes start to rise and the moon falls from the sky and a thousand candles burn into the night. When the angels softly cry on the flames below the sky, would a thousand souls still pray for you and I?" -Day of the Dead by Hollywood Undead

Masterlist Part 10

Just like the summer air began to cool into autumn winds, Jasmine and Jason began with a heated tension between them that dwindled into a slow simmer of what neither of them wanted to jinx by calling it love.

Both were aware of how unnatural their connection was, how quick one was able to trust the other with simple thoughts that roll off the tongue- Jazz’s favorite tea, Jason’s favorite book, her younger siblings, his many brothers. It was obvious that Jason held some lingering anger towards those he called family, but it was an old wound, infected yet healing. When it came to more in-depth questions about Jazz’s siblings, Danny and Ellie, there was a sad tinge to the affection. Jazz missed Ellie with every fiber of her being, but her little sister was free as her heart desired.

Jason spoke at length about his own, eventually admitting his anger issues that had led him to attempted murder on one of the younger boys, Tim, that he deeply regretted.

Jazz had only to listen, because who else could understand the deeply rooted rage that came with betrayal?

One slash, two, three

Blood is on your hands already.

Fourth, fifth slash

Ask the ghosts if honor matters, buried amongst the ash.

Slash six, seven

Sharpen your love into a weapon

They went out on several dates, each one special and lovely, but Jazz’s favorite was being wrapped in familiar arms as they watched Pride and Prejudice on Jason’s couch. It was a comfortable warmth that lulled the redhead into a deep sleep, the best she had gotten in a long time.

Jazz was the first to wake, lying on Jason’s firm chest and ear pressed firmly to where she could hear a faint purr from his Proto-Core, she felt no compulsion to move even though there were things she had to do as Regent and as Jasmine.

She had to talk to Frostbite, because she needed to understand why she was so connected to Jason. It frightened Jazz, to have her emotions so sharpened towards someone she hadn’t known for very long.

(She was in love.)

Her own Proto-core purred in tandem with Jason’s, happiness bubbling up in her chest. This was a peace she never wanted to let go, regardless of the reason why the two of them were brought and bound together.

Jason was in love.

There was zero doubt in his head or heart that he was fully committed to his darling Jazz, the beautiful woman who understood him in ways no one ever had. With her, the pit remnants were calm and he was happy.

Happy.

Sheer happiness was in his grasp, in his arms and resting on his chest as she slept. Her long hair smelled like strawberries and he never wanted to leave.

Yet, bat-trained paranoia reared its ugly head in moments like these.

Jasmine Nightingale was, by all accounts, a civilian with a trust fund who cared for her younger brother. No other records were found that could tie either Jazz or Danny to crime, but Jason didn’t want to see them if they existed anyway. He hadn’t even met Danny yet and the kid, despite being prime adoption bait, was already one of Jason’s favorite people. He made Jazz proud with his intelligence and good-natured attitude, so Jason would do his best to form a good relationship with the kid.

He guessed he should be more concerned with how quickly he fell for his darling, but he wasn’t. It felt right. It felt safe. Like he could trust Jazz with every thought, every dream, every hope, every nightmare and she wouldn’t run away. He wanted her, plain and simple.

Thankfully Jazz was more or less on the same page as him.

She never had to say a word about how she felt for him, it was obvious in the way she would gravitate towards him, want to be around him, talk to him, simply be with Jason. How honored he felt to be gifted such attention by Jazz.

He didn’t know how to tell her about Red Hood though.

The Nightingales lived outside Crime Alley’s borders, in a shitty neighborhood of Gotham recently claimed by two new vigilantes- Phantom and Regent.

Jason tried to shove back the horrifying images of a vivisectied Phantom, screaming, sobbing and whimpering, but he would ever be able to forget.

The video of Regent killing the Fentons was glitched, but cross referenced with the Ghost Files, it was obvious the Regent of Now and Then were the same woman…entity that saved Phantom, no, avenged the ghost kid.

The fact that the Fentons death prevented a war was karmic justice, in his humble opinion.

Yet, there was something familiar about the Regent. Something that called to him on a baser level… as if he knew the entity behind the helmet.

But that was ridiculous…right?

Right?

Jazz was going to kill him all the way this time, Danny bemoaned while in flight. He really stuck his foot in it this time and yikes, he really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut.

He just had to go behind Jazz’s back and give the Ghost Files to Batman instead of Superman or Constantine. Big and blue wasn’t available when Danny found an opportunity and for shame if he wasted it! Sad trench coat man being there was really just a bonus, honestly.

With the Acts getting the League’s attention, it was time for a desperate move on the part of the GIW.

They infiltrated Gotham.

Danny had no idea how they had found a way past the border Lady Gotham kept a tight leash on, but the agents were able to pick up his trail with a lucky break on their end. He had a haunt in Gotham, which meant his ecto-signature was strong in that area and weak in others. A glaring neon sign of where the Phantom often could be found.

But Danny would never give up his haunt again, not without a fight.

This haunt didn’t just belong to him, not like Amity had. This had become the home of the Nightingales, the Phantom and the Regent. They had shed blood to claim it and would shed more to keep it.

If it meant admitting to his mistake, then so be it, that’s where he would start.

“Bold of you to assume I thought that far ahead.” Was probably not the best response to Jazz’s irate question of ‘Did you even consider what Batman, Mr. Contingencies-out-the-ass and minion-acquisition-instead-of-therapy, would do with the files?’

Needless to say, Jazz wasn’t impressed.

She had been rather happier lately, with her boyfriend Jason constantly in her orbit, but responsibility still weighed on her.

(Danny’s fault, he was aware, but he still had so much growing up to do before he was ready for the crown.)

Getting the AEA demolished was sure to take some weight from her, even if it would be only the beginning of resolving the repercussions of the United States’ crimes against the Infinite Realms.

It would be years before it would be considered repaid, the blood shed and existences snuffed out. The deaths of the Dr. Fentons were only a consequence of their actions, not truly recompense for the torture they inflicted on the people of the Realms.

(Danny never told Jazz, but he knew they didn’t die when the portal was destroyed.)

(He knew his sister had killed their parents to save him.)

(He still didn’t know how to feel about that.)

Lady Gotham offered a sad croon as Phantom curled his form under a gargoyle’s wings, the heavy rain an ironic ambiance for his mood.

There was nothing he could do about the GIW in Gotham until they showed themselves and they were doing an unusually good job of keeping on the down low. If it hadn’t been for the frantic screeches of the friendly shades and a few blob ghosts cuddling him for comfort, he would have been caught off-guard by an attack. As long as he stayed out of his haunt for a while, let his signature be caught somewhere else, then Jazz would be able to defend their home until he could deal with the bastards.

He just needed to wait.

Jazz had been livid with him admitting his fuck up with the files and deeming the GIW’s presence his fault for claiming a Haunt. With a threat to hug him and make him talk about his feelings until he no longer believed such a lie, Jazz agreed to remain in their Haunt until he could draw some of their forces away. Lady Gotham’s ecto-siganture would be enough to scramble their trackers once further into her city and she would subtly lead her Knights to the agents when able.

It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough.

Phantom curled his tail around his laid back form, mimicking a cat as he texted Sam and Tucker with updates. They had sworn to visit him during Summer Break, but the Halfa wasn’t holding his breath. Gotham wasn’t safe for them. It wasn’t safe for anyone and that’s coming from a kid who can punt a building into the sun at a moment’s notice.

Amity was (laughably) the best place for them.

Phantom wasn’t really paying attention, absentmindly petting a blob ghost that was cuddled into his side, when he was joined by none other than the Red Hood.

Badass armor and weapons aside, the Hood was an Antihero he admired. The avenged dead sung his praises for all who’d listen.

And… he was very familiar.

Red Hood possessed a Proto-core, one he’d sensed before in his own home….with Jazz.

It couldn’t be. There was no way the Fenton luck could be that wonky that his big sister was dating Red Hood of all people, Jason Todd when unmasked. She had to know right? There was no way Jazz could miss the Proto-core signature of the Once-Revenant they’d housed for a while. Was Jazz okay with Jason’s past? Sure, Red Hood didn’t kill much anymore, but he was still a crime lord who thought severed heads in a duffel bag was a great gift to leave on someone’s doorstep, like a particularly picky cat.

“Uh, hi?”

Hood crouched down, rain blocked by his huge body, water droplets dripping off his red helmet. The white lenses gave nothing away as the Anti-hero spoke, “Hey kid. You ok?”

(Danny was well aware of how gentle and caring Red Hood was towards kids.)

(He couldn’t wait to be an uncle.)

“I’m fine, dude. Just chilling.”

“Under a gargoyle in Gotham?” The disbeliving tone made Phantom snort in laughter, because wow not the scariest concept to a halfa.

“Hey, it was either this or the sewers. I wouldn’t be caught dead,” Phantom chuckled a bit at his joke. “Down there without hazmat gear and the Anti-Creep stick.”

Hood snorted, the sound stackity through the modulator, “Fair enough. Don’t get caught by the big bat, ok? He doesn’t like Metas in his city.”

“Oi, being dead is a meta-cal condition.”

“Ugh,” Hood groaned, “a punster. You’re not dead, kid.”

“‘Fraid I am, my good dude. Fourteen and fried alive, zero outta ten, would not recommend.”

“...You’re a ghost?”

“Right in one! Name’s Phantom.” the Halfa offered, seeing no point in correcting the Anti-hero.

“Red Hood.”

“Dude, I know. The shades sing your praises given half a chance.”

“Shades?”

Phantom shrugged, “The restless dead, unable to pass over without a lot of ectoplasm.”

Hood didn’t ask what ectoplasm was, which surprised the Halfa. Did Batman share the Ghost Files with Red Hood?

“You’re from Amity Park, right?”

Phantom cringed at the name of his former haunt, anger bubbling in his gut, “I died there. I haunt Gotham now.”

“....I’m sorry.” Even with the modulator, Hood sounded genuinely sad for Phantom.

(Batman definitely shared the Ghost Files with the Anti-Hero.)

“Are you alright here? Do you need help?”

Phantom shook his head, “The GIW invaded Gotham tracking my Ecto-signature, so I’m leading them away from my Haunt.” He raised an eyebrow, “You should be careful too. You’re a pretty strong liminal, but they’ll still try to capture you.”

“No, they won’t get me. Phantom, where’s your haunt?”

If Hood was anyone else, Phantom would keep his mouth shut. A Haunt is sacred, a home for a Fraid, it was not some measly address freely given. Yet, Red Hood was also Jason Todd, Once-Revenant Death-claimed Champion turned Proto-core Liminal dating his older sister. If Jazz trusted him enough to date him, then it was good enough for Phantom to offer him a place in his Fraid. (He really couldn’t wait to be an uncle.)

A/N: This was beta-read by @meditating-cat, thanks!

The little bit at the end there... foreshadowing, perhaps? Ooh... all those baby names I could give a Hardcover kid.

Perhaps, perhaps not. Who knows. I have the end of this series mostly planned out, but it could likely change.

Thanks for reading!

#dc x dp crossover #dp x dc #dp x dc au #dpxdc #jazz fenton #regent!jazz #jason todd #anger management ship #hardcover ship #I made myself squeal #They're just so CUTE #they're in love your honor #two dorks #two vigilantes #and only one knows the other is one #spoiler: not the one you'd think #In which Jason is kinda a sweetheart #He's in love with Jazz #she fell first he fell harder

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thequeenviana · 6 months

Text

Ensnared

Pairing: Yandere Kim Taehyung x OC(Yuna)

Warning: This story is a work of fanfiction and is purely a product of the author's imagination. It does not depict any real-life events or individuals. While some characters may be inspired by real-life idols, their portrayal in this story is fictional and not representative of their true selves. Please note that this story may contain triggering content, including themes of abuse, gore, murder, humiliation, bullying, rape, and other mature and dark themes. Reader discretion is advised, especially for those under the age of 18. If you are uncomfortable with such content, it is recommended to refrain from reading and kindly disregard this story.

Synopsis: Yuna finds herself questioning her husband's love and fidelity. She becomes convinced that he has fallen out of love with her and is engaging in an extramarital affair. Adding to her distress, her husband refuses to acknowledge their relationship publicly and instead presents someone else as his wife. Despite the heartache, she chooses to stay by his side, hoping for a change. However, the question lingers: How long can she endure this situation before reaching her breaking point?

They say that being in love is a beautiful and magical feeling, where two souls intertwine and create a bond that can withstand any storm.

But, why is it that in my case, it feels like something is missing?

My name is Yuna, Kim Yuna, a 26-year-old woman who is married to the one and only Kim Taehyung. He is not only the world's famous CEO but also a self-made model of his own modeling company, which goes by the name of "Kim's Fashion Empire." We have been married for almost two years now, but why do I felt like he was embarrassed to reveal me to the whole world,that he claims someone else as his wife that brakes my heart.

I don't understand how this happened, but he claims that our marriage is just a facade to protect me from his rivals. However, deep down, I can't help but feel that he is protecting himself more than me. There was a time when a reporter asked him about his rumored wife, and the whole world was eager to know who this lucky girl was. Many speculated that it could be a celebrity or an idol, especially Nova, who was working closely with him. We had countless fights over this, but he always managed to calm me down with his sweet words and promises to reveal me to the world as his wife.

The day finally arrived when he introduced Nova as his wife to the public, and it shattered my heart into a million pieces. What hurt even more was when the reporters asked for proof, and without hesitation, he kissed her in front of everyone. As I watched this heartbreaking scene unfold on television, tears streamed down my face, and my heart felt like it was being ripped apart. Meanwhile, our second-anniversary cake remained untouched, a symbol of the love we once shared but now seemed to be crumbling away.

When he finally came home, I couldn't contain my emotions any longer. We erupted into another argument, and in my pain and anger, I slapped him and pushed him away, forbidding him from touching me with his filthy hands. He had the audacity to try and kiss me, even after kissing that woman! But, being the foolish woman that I am, I couldn't think straight. I gave in to him once again, swayed by his sweet words, apologies, and manipulative explanations. He made me believe that he only did it to protect me from his enemies, who would stop at nothing to bring him down by using me as a weapon. And in my weakness, I allowed him to win me over, as he tightly embraced me, and I cried myself to sleep.

I know I may seem foolish and naive, but please don't be mad at me. I truly love this man with all my heart, and it's that love that keeps me holding on, hoping that one day, he will truly see and appreciate the love I have for him.

...

It was 8:46 a.m., and I stepped out of the car, a smile gracing my face. I adjusted my dress and held onto the lunch I had cooked for him. With a mask and cap on, I entered his company, always in awe of its grandeur. His intelligence and hard work had brought him to this position as the CEO of the number one top modeling agency, making him the most handsome man in the world. I couldn't help but feel immense pride in my man.

As I walked towards the receptionist, she greeted me with a warm smile, and I returned it graciously. Making my way through the VIP elevator, I ascended to his office. The sound of the elevator opening made me look up, and I stepped out, heading towards his office door. However, my smile faltered when I saw them again. Him and Nova, standing side by side, engrossed in conversation. I watched as they seemed to be getting closer, his smile widening as he listened to her. I didn't allow myself to dwell on negative thoughts and cleared my throat to catch their attention. They both turned towards me, and Nova quickly distanced herself from him, his smile fading as his eyes met mine. It had been a while since I had seen him smile like that, but not for me, for another woman. Was this a sign? No, I couldn't let myself think that way. I cleared my mind and approached his desk as Nova excused herself and left us alone, maybe for good. Ugh, why was I feeling jealous again?

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his face void of emotions, twirling his expensive and favorite pen between his fingers.

I smiled at him and placed the lunch box on his glass table, but my actions halted when he said, "I already ate lunch." I couldn't help but notice another lunch box on his table. Did he... no, Yuna, stop it. I cleared my throat, looking away from him, trying to control the hurt emotions that threatened to overflow and the tears that welled up in my eyes.

"Oh, is that so? Then I'll just go," I said, not giving him a chance to respond, and quickly walked away.

I heard him call my name, and I stopped, waiting for him to burst through the door and stop me from leaving, but he didn't. This was new. He had even neglected our planned dinner date last night and hadn't given me a valid reason for canceling. But, being the understanding wife that I am, I didn't pester him and simply supported him, assuming it was for business. He had changed. My consciousness whispered these words, but I laughed them off, trying to stop myself from overthinking.

.....

"C'mon, Yuna, are you really that naive?" My friend Ria said to me in disbelief. I hissed and looked down, finally letting my tears flow as I cried helplessly in her comforting embrace.

I had decided to meet my friend because I didn't know what to think anymore about my situation. I poured my heart out to her, explaining his behavior towards me and the signs that maybe he no longer loved me. My friend suggested that perhaps he had been using me all along and that he was only staying because of my late father.

My father and he were close business partners, and that's how I met and fell in love with him. When my father fell sick with cancer, he made him promise to take care of me and love me unconditionally. But now, it seemed like the man my father entrusted me to was drifting away from me.

"This is wrong, what he is doing is wrong, Yuna—what the hell?" Ria frowned at me, and suddenly our attention shifted to the television in the cafe. Not only my friend and I, but all the customers in the cafe turned their attention to the TV. I struggled to maintain consciousness, gripping my friend's hand tightly, even though I could hear her hiss in pain. Right now, I didn't care. My focus was solely on the TV screen.

The reporter flashed a sweet smile as she updated everyone on how Kim Taehyung, my husband, was caught by a paparazzi in one of the most luxurious hotels in Seoul, dating his fake wife, Nova. My heart shattered once again, for the millionth time. Maybe there was no heart left to be broken in me anymore, considering the immense pain I had endured since marrying this man who had promised the world to me. He had promised to protect, cherish, and love me, but they were all sweet lies thrown in my face just to make me his submissive wife.

I saw adoration and that wide, charming smile that had once made me fall in love with him, now directed towards the woman he held at the waist in the picture displayed on the television. The reporter smiled widely at the sweet display, and everyone watching seemed oblivious to how much it was breaking me. He had succeeded in breaking me. Kim Taehyung, aren't you done? What have I done to deserve being made a fool of? I only loved and still love you, but why?

What's even more heartbreaking is that just two hours ago, he had informed me that he had an important meeting with Mr. Jung. Little did I know that it was just an excuse for him to meet his secret lover behind my back. I understand that he claims to be using her as a way to deceive his rivals and make them believe she is his wife, but this is too much. It's no longer about that. I can feel it, strongly. He has been cheating on me right in front of my face all this time, and I am the foolish one who ignored all the signs.

Pathetic. That's what I am.

.....

Kim Taehyung walked in with his fake wife, Nova, by his side, basking in the glory of the cameras flashing and capturing their every move. He proudly gripped Nova's waist tightly, wearing a proud smile as they made their way through the doors of the ball. All eyes were on them as they entered, and Kim Taehyung reveled in the attention. The compliments and adoration thrown their way only fueled his arrogance.

He had it all - money, fame, looks, real estate, and more. But the most important thing to him was his perfect little wife waiting for him at home. Despite his recent avoidance of her, he claimed it wasn't because he had fallen out of love. No, it was something else, something he couldn't quite explain. He knew he would go insane if she ever walked away from his life. There was an addiction, a need that consumed him.

The reason for his distance from his wife was the presence of someone in his den, someone who was interfering with his life. He needed to be careful and find out who it was. He couldn't wait to put an end to their existence for making him stay away from his wife. The thought of shedding blood excited him, and his fingers itched for that feeling of thick liquid on his skin.

He needed to discover the identity of the person spying on him before they found out who his real wife was, the woman he had sworn to protect. There were already three people he and his right-hand man, Jungkook, suspected. He was waiting for them to make a wrong move.

Amidst his thoughts, Jungkook leaned in and whispered to him, his fake smile still plastered on his face. "Mr. Kim, some paparazzi have captured pictures of you and Nova leaving the meeting at Veroza and claim that you were on a date. I believe madame has already seen it."

Anger coursed through his veins, and he clenched his teeth in frustration, but he maintained a forced smile for the onlookers. "Is she at the mansion? Don't let her leave under any circumstances," Taehyung demanded through gritted teeth. He was already on thin ice with his wife, and he knew his recent ignorance towards her had caused her to overthink, especially after what happened in his office earlier. Although a sick part of him enjoyed seeing her jealous and then reassuring her with physical intimacy, he knew he needed to talk to her tonight. However, he wasn't sure if she would believe him if he explained that he was only there for the meeting. His mind was in turmoil.

"Boss, bad news. Madam hasn't returned home," Jungkook began, but before he could finish his sentence, Taehyung angrily stormed out of the ballroom, his eyes burning with rage. Jungkook followed closely behind, and the guests and everyone present witnessed the scene, leaving Nova feeling embarrassed and alone.

....

The two black sports cars raced through the busy streets of Seoul, disregarding traffic lights and causing chaos. Pedestrian officers and even the police were instructed to make way for the racing cars, as orders from higher authorities had come in to ensure their passage. The honking of the cars echoed through the streets, creating a sense of urgency and danger.

"Fucking track my wife this instance!" Taehyung's voice boomed through the earpiece, filled with anger and determination. His eyes burned with a murderous intensity as he accelerated, pushing the car to its limits.

"Jeon, you know what to do to that traitor. I will take care of

the lamb and my wife," he commanded through the earpiece, his voice laced with a deadly tone that instilled fear even in the young man who had worked for Kim Taehyung for many years. Nobody wanted to cross paths with Kim Taehyung if they valued their lives.

.....

The dark alleyway remained eerily silent, with the cold wind whispering chilling thoughts to anyone who dared to walk through this part of the street. It had gained a reputation as a place where numerous murders had taken place.

"Where's the money?" the tanned, imposing man asked, taking a drag from his cigarette. His red eyes indicated that he had just finished using drugs. The man with the hood scoffed and handed over the envelope containing the money. The tanned man grinned, satisfied that he was about to receive the payment he desired.

Suddenly, eerie and painful screams pierced through the dark alleyway. The tanned man's right hand, which had been intact just moments ago, was now blasted off. He fell to his knees, writhing in pain and clutching his mangled arm. His screams intensified when he saw his fingers scattered on the floor, blood splattered all around. The hooded man stood frozen, unable to move, as he stared at the once-arrogant tanned man now kneeling before him, his right hand obliterated.

An eerie, manic laugh echoed through the alleyway, accompanying the sound of approaching footsteps. The hooded man felt a shiver run down his spine as he turned away from the lifeless body on the ground to see someone in the distance. The figure walked slowly, deliberately, towards them, continuing to chuckle in a dark and unsettling manner. The moonlight briefly illuminated the man's face, causing the hooded man to gasp and step back, only to slip in the dark pool of blood from the tanned man. He found himself face to face with the man's severed arm.

As the figure continued to stalk towards him, the hooded man could hear a deep voice speaking through an earpiece. "Thanks, Jimin hyung. I'll take it from here," the voice said, followed by another chilling laugh directed at the hooded man's terrified expression. The figure crouched down in front of him, a sick smile on his face, and looked down at the lifeless body on the ground. The blood continued to flow from the man's severed arm, creating a macabre image akin to a faucet running.

"You should just mind your own business, young man," the man's deep, menacing voice echoed as he stared at the hooded man with madness in his eyes. The hooded man shook his head, wanting to plead for his life, but no words came out. He was too terrified by this man, this angel-faced monster who had just committed murder and laughed about it.

Before the hooded man could react, a knife sliced through his neck, catching him off guard. He choked on his own blood, desperately clutching his throat as blood gushed out. He tried to scream, but his cries were muffled as the mad man repeatedly pushed the knife into his mouth, silencing him. The man's famous boxy smile widened as he spoke.

"And these eyes too," he said with a sickening smile, proceeding to carve out the hooded man's lifeless eyes. Blood splattered everywhere, but the man only found amusement in the gruesome act. He continued his sadistic torture, chopping off the hooded man's hands, reveling in the pain he inflicted.

Once he was done with his never-ending torment, he stood up, his handsome face twisted with a wide smile. In the distance, a booming sound echoed, as if something had been obliterated in the faraway distance. The man laughed again upon hearing it. His earpiece buzzed, and he heard the voices of Jimin and Jungkook.

"Boss, it's done," they said.

A wide, chilling smile spread across the man's face as his eerie laugh resonated through the eerie alleyway, accompanied by the two lifeless bodies lying before him.

"Now, where are we again?" he asked himself, pretending as if he had done nothing wrong. "Ah, yes, to my beautiful runaway wife," he chuckled. "Time to bring her back home."

He walked away, humming an eerie tune, leaving behind a trail of darkness and terror.

.....

Jungkook and Jimin stood together, watching the burning building as firefighters and police worked to control the fire and keep civilians away. The cries of family members and fans of Nova, who were likely among the victims, filled the air. Jimin casually ate a burger, seemingly unfazed by the tragic scene unfolding before them.

"That man is really crazy for his wife, willing to burn the world and kill for her," Jimin commented between bites. Jungkook scoffed and looked up at the dark sky, now surrounded by thick smoke.

"May heaven help her escape his madness," Jungkook whispered, his voice filled with concern. Jimin overheard and laughed in response.

"I wish the same, but based on what that man has done, he's deeply obsessed with her," Jimin added before groaning and clutching his stomach. Jungkook raised an eyebrow, looking down at Jimin.

"What? Are the dead seeking revenge on you already?" Jungkook mockingly asked, bursting into laughter. Jimin shot him a deadly glare.

"Shut up," Jimin retorted.

After a while, both Jungkook and Jimin decided to leave the scene, leaving behind the aftermath of destruction and tragedy.

.....

Ria sighed sadly as she observed her sleeping friend in bed. Tears stained her cheeks, and her eyelashes were still wet from crying. Ria leaned against the doorframe, worried about her friend's future. She was broken by her husband's betrayal, and it had brought her to a state where she cried herself to sleep.

Suddenly, the sound of breaking glass interrupted Ria's thoughts, causing her eyes to widen. Was someone breaking into her house? She quickly ran to the kitchen, grabbing a knife and feeling her heart pound with adrenaline. She looked around the dark surroundings, then dashed back to the bedroom where her friend slept.

Locking the door, Ria didn't realize that the intruder would only laugh at the thought that it could stop him from getting what he wanted all along. Yuna stirred in her sleep and groaned as Ria shook her to wake her up. But when Yuna saw the fear on her friend's face, she immediately became uneasy and scared, sensing that something was wrong. Her eyes widened when she noticed the knife in Ria's hand.

Ria shook Yuna's shoulders, trying to get her attention. "There's someone in this house," Ria said, her voice trembling, which only made Yuna clutch the bedsheets tightly.

"What do you mean?" Yuna asked, still bewildered by the situation.

"Hush. There's someone who broke into my house," Ria replied, but before she could finish her sentence, someone banged on the door, causing both of them to scream.

The banging continued, and a scary, deep voice resonated from the other side of the door, a voice that both of them recognized all too well. "Open the door, babe," Taehyung's voice rang out, filled with anger. Yuna looked at Ria, shaking her head in fear. She had witnessed Taehyung's anger before, nearly seeing him beat a man who had flirted with her to the brink of death.

Ria gulped and hugged Yuna tightly, glaring at the door, which was seconds away from being forced open. When it finally burst open, Taehyung stood there, his heaving form and the darkness surrounding him instilling fear in Ria. But she remained strong for her friend, gripping the knife tighter.

Yuna shook her head, afraid to face her furious husband. Ria widened her eyes, finally taking notice of Taehyung's appearance. He was covered in blood, as if he had bathed in it before coming to find his next victim.

"Hand me over my wife now," Taehyung demanded, struggling to control his urge to harm the woman who had influenced his wife to leave him.

Ria stood her ground, gripping the knife tightly. "Stay away from her and leave this place! Or else, I will call the police!" Ria screamed, attempting to scare him away. But a cold fear ran through her spine when Taehyung only laughed and took short steps toward them.

"Busan, at xxx address," Taehyung said blankly, smirking at the terrified female. Ria's eyes widened, filled with horror. No, he wouldn't.

"Oh, I would," Taehyung said, seemingly reading her mind as he chuckled and stopped just an arm's length away from them.

"Don't touch them!" Ria suddenly screamed, causing Yuna to startle and look at Taehyung, making eye contact with him. He smirked, opening his arms as if inviting her to take them, but she shook her head, overwhelmed by fear at his appearance. She felt an urge to vomit.

"Now, wifey, come here, or else more people will be killed today, hm? Let's not make it worse," Taehyung taunted.

Yuna's eyes widened in fear, and she cried out loudly, trembling in terror. This man was a monster. How could he do this?

Ria stood there, paralyzed with fear, accidentally loosening her grip on the knife, which fell to the ground. She looked down in defeat. Her family's lives were on the line, and she felt powerless.

Taehyung saw this as an opportunity and grabbed his wife, who screamed and struggled to break free. Annoyed, he punched her in the face, gripping her hair and punching her again. Yuna lay unconscious after those two punches, and Taehyung sighed, picking her up.

Suddenly, Taehyung stopped in his tracks and looked back at Ria, who had remained quiet throughout the ordeal.

"If I were you, I would stay the fuck away and never come back," he threatened one last time before walking out of the house with a proud smirk on his face.

However, guilt flickered in his eyes when he noticed the bruise on his wife's beautiful face. He sighed again.

"This wouldn't have happened if you had just behaved,"

he mumbled to himself as he placed her in the backseat and drove away, taking his wife back to his cage, waiting for her. He was sure this time he wouldn't let her leave him again. He had gone crazy for a day when she left him, losing control in front of the party and the cameras that captured his every action and shared it with the media and his fans. It was all because of his wife. God, he didn't know what would happen if she managed to escape his grasp.

...

The guards quickly opened the giant gates as they saw the fast-approaching black car racing inside. The car came to a stop and parked perfectly in front of the gold and white mansion. Taehyung stepped out of the car, still dirty and disheveled, but his undeniable handsomeness remained. He ignored the wide-eyed gasps of the maids as he swiftly walked to their room, carrying his still unconscious wife.

After cleaning himself and his wife up, Taehyung stood on the balcony, puffing on his cigarette and closing his eyes. He chuckled at his thoughts, then glanced at his wife and the handcuffs binding her to the bed.

He left the room and made his way to his study, situated in a far corner of the mansion. Sitting down in the chair, he turned on the TV to watch the news about the still-burning building where he had been just hours ago. His name appeared on the screen, along with Nova's picture. He laughed as the reporter offered condolences to him and the woman's family, scoffing at their sympathy. He poured himself a glass of wine, smirking at the situation.

"You can come in," he said, and the people outside the door entered. They marveled at how he could sense their presence even without looking. Well, it was to be expected when there was always a paparazzi tailing him.

"Boss, we successfully eliminated all the people at that event," Jimin said, playing with his gun as he slumped on the couch, closing his eyes. He still felt the pain in his stomach after eating the burger from the event that they had blown up, killing everyone inside. Jungkook sat quietly at the far end of the couch, his face stoic.

...

Taehyung twirled the alcohol in his glass and looked up at the two. "I can see that," he smirked, his gaze shifting to the TV screen still displaying the burning building. The sight brought a creepy smirk to their lips. They had grown just as mad as their boss, even if they didn't admit it.

...

Yuna stirred in her sleep, attempting to soothe her aching jaw. But when she felt restraints on her hands, panic washed over her, and she let out a surprised yell upon realizing her wrists were handcuffed to the bed. "No! What is this?" she exclaimed, tugging on the restraints in a panic. Her fear intensified when a dark, dominating voice filled the room, though she couldn't see its source due to the darkness.

"You really think you can escape from me, my love?" the voice asked, madness swirling in its eyes as it looked at Yuna, his prized possession, who began to cry.

"Since the day you married me, you have become mine, forever tied to me whether you like it or not," the voice continued. It stood up and slowly crawled onto the bed, causing Yuna's panic to escalate. She cried out in fear as the figure loomed over her, kissing her cleavage and neck. It was then that she realized she was only in her undergarments, making her feel vulnerable.

"Stop!" Yuna yelled, but her voice was muffled by the sudden, harsh kiss that silenced her. Her husband devoured her lips as if it was his last.

Yuna spent the entire night crying helplessly as her own husband forced himself on her, claiming it was an act of love and asserting his ownership. But for her, it felt like he was raping her soul. She hated herself for being powerless, unable to stop the repeated assaults. As exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she teetered on the edge of consciousness, she heard him whisper in a dark, chilling tone, "You are mine, forever and ever, and no one can change that." He devoured her lips once more before darkness claimed her completely.

#yandere taehyung #bts v #bts #bangtan #kim taehyung #bts ot7 #jeon jungkook #possessive #psychopath #taehyung vante #love #obsession #jimin #yandere bts #taehyung yandere #angst

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postmodernbeliever · 6 months

Text

stalker - fox mulder x female reader

at the fbi, your job is to watch who you're asked to. but on your own time, you watch fox mulder... and little do you know, he's watching you, too.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

my ao3 | word count: 3,518

content tags: sneaking around, embarrassment, stalking, longing, fox mulder is watching you, you are watching fox mulder, fox is a freak like you, fox likes weirdos, obsessive behavior, suggestive themes, you and fox just kinda eyefuck and nothing happens but god should it, cross-posted on ao3

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°

they all call him spooky mulder. what a nickname, spooky- even in its mainstream use, it has not lost its effect. there was always something off about him, something unsettling, which piqued your interest. you liked it so much that you paid special attention. it was your nature to keep tabs; you watched him come and go from his basement office, all the while pretending to be down in the gutter of the j. edgar hoover building for any other suspicious reason than taking mental notes on him.

sure, it may sound creepy, but this is your job- this is why the fbi has you on the payroll. you’re what they call “the eyes and ears”, and in a sense, you don’t really have a job. your cover is to work in the filing department, faceless and nameless, and keep things organized as they go off to different sectors. you are the one sending weapons to evidence (or elsewhere) and case files to agents (or not) at the heart of the organization, where you just become the signing-off signature. but that office, where you blend in, is how they use you best. orders directly from the top tell you who to watch and when to come forward with information. but they never assigned you to special agent fox mulder. as was his infamous passion project dubbed the X files, this was your unassigned interest within the bureau- he was your freakish fixation.

you followed his case files as they came to inconclusive endings. you noticed when his hair grew too long. you knew he liked the coffee from the break room by a.d. skinner’s office, but he liked the creamer they kept on the first floor, so he traveled cross-complex to make the cup taste just right. you’d read every report and drowned in his philosophical, metaphysical droning, admiring the prose so overdosed on sleep deprivation and the ramblings of a transcending mind. it was like twisted poetry, how he explained what each case had imparted upon him. the way he viewed sociology, the way he viewed intervention both divine and damned, the manner in which he proposed the forces at play work and how they are ever-changing and insurmountable… god, he really is a genius. everyone may think he’s insane, or that his work is a waste of valuable resources, but fox mulder’s mind was one to be entertained, one to be challenged. to let his power go misrepresented or his purpose go any less than unabated would be a crime (if anyone asked you.)

see, this is why it could be considered weird. you revered him like a deity, unapologetically idolatrous of his brainpower- and from a more internal, girlish yearning, you loved his face. god, that face. you had examined his personal files many times in the safety of your office, tracing invisible lines over the photographs of him; caressing the scrapes and bruises documented from altercations with suspects, drooling over his academy polaroids stashed away from old physical exams. he still looked as young and charming as he did in his old school photos. a young oxford man, beautiful, traumatized, in need of proof. his work demanded his darkest instincts and most disgusting thoughts, and you loved him for it, or at least the idea of what it turned him into. and as far as word travels, fox mulder bars no personality incontinuities. after all the stories of the blood he’s tasted at crime scenes and the horrific pictures of murders and monsters plastered on the walls of his murky office, he was more than just spooky. he was freakish, and uncomfortable, and alluring.

now, fox is no idiot. in fact, to even think your interest was going unnoticed was a major misjudgment of his perceptive abilities; the man is the best analyst in the crime division, for god’s sake. he's never missed a clue. yet somehow, in the midst of your innocent stalking, you’d imagined he never saw you standing in his basement hallway, or mingling in the first-floor break room by the irish cream. naivety never crossed into your work, but it clouded your visions when it came to him. he’d seen you every time, shifty eyes fidgeting with blatant secrecy. when the man who didn’t believe in random events saw you more than once, he began following your lead.

fox mulder kept copies of your personal files on his desk and sifted through them often, trying to get any information on you to substantiate why you paid so much attention to him. aside from his widespread suspicion, he also had a sense for intent, and he felt you were of no harm. even lurking in the shadows, there was a comfort to your presence. that might be his creepy personality being used to unsettling beings, but he didn’t mind. he liked catching you looking. he liked the way your suit jacket never matched your pants, but always somehow coordinated even in clashing patterns. he liked how your hair curled like french fries at the bottom, wide and loose. he liked how your manicured nails were always dark and sharp, and blatantly against bureau policy. fox knew you were as new to the fbi as he, so not new at all, but a child to seasoned agents; he learned of your ridiculous retention of information, and that you read twice the clocked words per minute of the average american. he knew of your graduation from yale and your speedy completion of the academy, as well as your elevated skill for firearms, which immunized you from a majority of field training. he knows about your secret connection, yet not who it’s with, and that it’s ushered you into a disguised deep-level position. in less legal ways of determining, the agent discovered you were the president of your high school’s history club, as well as the chief editor of the newsletter, and your family had a summer cabin on the oregon coast. you were smart, valuable, integral, even- and your talents were being wasted under cover of the monotonous filing department. he knew more than you realized. but even with his disturbing understanding of you, fox couldn’t figure out why it was him you watched- you had no connection to him, no link to his work or anyone who aimed to sabotage it. of all your secrets, he seemed to be the biggest.

you’d never expected anything to come of your little infatuation, but fox mulder didn’t like to let things linger. so when you just so happened to be venturing into the basement for something in the archived evidence room, he went into pursuit. you swiped your key card in the automatic door, and he followed you inside and made sure to close it nice and loud behind you. the lock clicked, causing you to jump out of your skin, and he laughed.

“not a fan of followers, huh?” the man teased.

“you just locked us in here, sir!” you nearly choked. you’d never seen him up close and personal. his shirt was a wrinkled mess, but it looked so nice rolled up on his fair-skinned arms, and his hair was a lot darker in person than it looked in the pictures. so were his eyes.

“sir? no, nobody calls me sir.”

“what should i call you, then?” you groaned.

“agent mulder. spooky mulder. basement boy. whatever floats your boat!”

“well, then, agent mulder,” you elected, “you just locked us in here!”

“is that what you’re worried about? don’t worry, i'm sure agent scully will come down soon enough. or maybe not. maybe you’re stuck in here with me.”

you pivoted and began walking down the first aisle of archives, trying to come up with something to grab to avoid blowing your cover. fox kept at your heels, poking his head playfully into your eyeline.

“looking for something… you?” he inquired.

“that’s agent to you.”

“no name? ooo… spooky,” he wiggled his eyebrows, and you suppressed the fluttering in your stomach. you thought in frustration, how dare he make wordplay hot?

“says you.” you negated.

“so you do know me!”

“everyone knows you, agent mulder.”

“oh, sure… but you’ve been watching me, haven’t you?”

you stopped between the alphabetized boxes marked by Hs and Js, biting your tongue. you watched as fox sauntered around to the front of you, leaning nonchalantly against the filing shelf and smirking. his hand raised to wipe his mouth, and you analyzed the rough calluses and ink splotches carving uniqueness into his knuckles. a deep cut rested along his thumbnail down to his wrist. you recognized it as a healed-over wound from an inconclusive case months ago- something he claimed to have involved lizard men.

“i- i’m not sure what you mean.”

“you’ve been following me around, taking note of what i do. i see you every day. sometimes in the break room, sometimes in the bullpen by the car desk, sometimes shooting guns down at the range room on saturdays like i usually am. you’re always… floating around.'' fox mused, running a hand through his thick hair. a few pieces curled agonizingly over the frame of his face, and you felt like dying.

“must be coincidences.”

“you know well as me that there are no such things as coincidences,” fox stated, “there are simply events that occur, and more often than not, they occur causally, or in my case, through spurious correlation, but nobody can ever seem to pinpoint the third invisible factor that links one event to another, except for me.”

“speak english, agent mulder, would you?”

“you’ve been following me, which caused me to notice you, which caused you to pretend you haven’t been, and so forth,” he sighed, “but you know what i’m saying, don’t lie. you’re a yale alumni, graduated summa cum laude with a double major in psychology and international affairs. you’re one of the smartest women in the building. so why are you acting dumb?”

your stomach flipped as he stepped closer to you, leaning down in all his six-foot glory to meet your gaze. swallowing thickly, you shoved your hand in a box labeled CONFISCATED Ka-Kz and fished out the first object you grasped: a bloodied kazoo. wincing in embarrassment, you waved it in his face and grimaced.

“i'm just down here for this.”

“for a murder kazoo.” he deadpanned.

“…yes.”

you turned away and began heading for the door, but a strong palm wrapped around your wrist, halting your stride. fox tugged you back, and you tried to keep your drooling gaze to a minimum at how handsome he looked when he was searching for answers.

“if you tell me what you want from me, i'll let you go.”

“i don't want anything.”

“bullshit,” the agent rolled his eyes, “everyone wants something, agent, even you. you’re a bad liar, you know that? that’s why you’re not under deep cover.”

how little you know, you thought with a smirk. “well, not everyone is made for danger.”

“no. you’re just made for stalking.”

you seized up, “i am not stalking you!”

fox grinned, liking how worked up you were becoming. “then why are you always in the corner of my eye, agent?”

you huffed in desperation, weighing your options. you could,

a) keep lying.

b) tell fox the truth.

c) bang on the locked door and scream until someone saves you from spooky mulder.

none of your options were appealing, but you weren’t getting out of here if you didn’t choose. option A would drag it out, and option C would get him fired, so you only had one path if you wanted to control casualties and your level of embarrassment in one shot.

as he stood patiently waiting, tie so horrendously knotted that it took all your willpower not to tug him down by it, you gave in.

“well, agent mulder, you… you’re interesting.”

“am i?”

“y-yes. you do amazing work. you catch killers. and you… write beautifully.”

fox chuckled softly, “you like my writing? what, are you the one who files my field reports or something?”

now may not be a good time to admit you tweaked the computer system to always assign you files submitted by agents between L and P in the alphabet just to be the sole individual who received fox’s files, so you withheld the truth a bit. it will come back to bite you in the ass when he looks into the signatures on his official paperwork, but oh, well.

“every so often,” is what you settled on. “you have something to say, and you say it like you’ve been contemplating the proper phrasing forever. it’s always so eloquent and intelligent and… fascinating.” you stopped praising him, feeling shame wash over you like a bad shot of vodka.

“well, aren’t you a regular fan?” fox rested his head against the filing shelf, eyes raising to the ceiling. his neck stretched open far enough that you could watch his adam's apple bob as he spoke. “glad to know my conclusions aren’t just the ramblings of a lunatic.”

“quite the opposite, agent mulder.” you blushed.

fox looked back down to you, and his puppy dog eyes bore holes into your cheeks. “i know a lot about you, you know. i know where you went to high school. i know you also use the irish cream for your cup of joe every day. i know you drive that baby blue car out in the garage, with the stupid “honk if you love labs” bumper sticker. but what i don't know, agent, or rather what i can’t figure out, is why you’re working in the filing department when you should be on an analyst team, or why you’re so insistent on following me around work. so, can you enlighten me with the truth?”

the truth. even when encountering you, his true colors show. you would be frustrated if it wasn’t so attractive how he interrogated you.

with a shaky breath as support, you said, “i want to know you.”

“is that all? you just… want to know me?”

“we don't work together. you’re too off-limits. my orders require me to stick to the mundane and watch from afar. but you, agent mulder, you are never mundane. you sit down here every day and crane over horrific cases, imagining the unimaginable, and all in the stuffy confines of a basement office that people would rather die than visit you in. y-you’re terrifying, you’re… fresh air.”

fox would never admit to it, but his entire body experienced pins and needles at the sound of your voice. in the least creepy way possible, you reminded him of the school librarian from his childhood- thin glasses, a loose blouse, and a voice thick and sweet, just how he liked his coffee.

“well, as the resident spooky one around here, i'd say you’re more freakish than me. you’re quite the stalker.”

“that's my business.”

you put the kazoo back in the box, frustrated you even attempted to jeopardize the secrecy of your nature for being down in the basement. fox’s hazel eyes followed your lethal nails as they replaced the object, and he wondered if they hurt when they grazed skin. a part of him really wanted to find out.

the man huffed, “so that’s it? no plans to kill me, or turn me in to the boss for my beliefs?”

“nope. just… watching from a distance.”

“you could watch up close if you wanted to. i could really benefit from someone so smart as you are, and someone who has such a knack for detail,” he teased. “you seem to have a way with words yourself, agent.”

“well, i appreciate the offer, but my hands are full as it is, agent mulder.”

“call me fox.”

in a flustered blackout, you blurted, “but no one calls you fox!” and the agent’s pupils blew wide.

somehow, deep inside, the idea of you knowing his secrets without ever speaking to him turned him on. you were a watcher, and as a profiler he’d even go so far as to call you a creep- a girl with a case of muldermania following his every move and sniffing the air when he walked past. he saw it in how your hands shook before him, how you craned your neck back in submission, how your eyes darted between his eyes and lips with fervor; how you swallowed nothing every five seconds in what he couldn’t discern between fear and anticipation. you had slightly sick motivations, so driven by the feeling his writing gave you and the idea of what it must be like to be inside his mind. and he liked it. he liked being studied, and understood, and having no say in it being done by a pretty girl like you. the man took another step closer this time, and you didn’t budge. this was one of his personal space invasions he’s so famous for- the kind people complain about when they’re put on the job with him. also the kind you’d dreamt of since you learned of his existence beneath the bureau.

“but you do when you think of me, don’t you?” he crooned, knowing how to play you from one freak to another. “when you think of watching me when you’re alone, and how we might interact. you call me fox in that pretty little head of yours, right? so say it.”

“w-well…”

“come on, don’t leave me hanging.”

you licked your lips as the heat of his breath danced across your face, and you flushed. “a-as much as i'd love to stay and talk, i have my obligations. not everyone is at your whim, fox.”

in a hormonal lapse, fox let out a soft, “mmm,” and flashed his adorable grin for you to fuss over. “that's too bad, then.”

“but,” you interrupted, “if you ever need, um, proofreading… or help, i can- you can, uh, maybe leave me a note? or something?”

“on your desk? in the filing department, right? in that office with the blue walls and the photograph of you and your chocolate lab, the one who inspired your bumper sticker, agent?” fox revealed, showing his intellectual hand.

with a dry mouth, you mustered a meek, “yeah, that’s the one.”

“good. maybe i'll spray it with my cologne, so you can savor the moment.”

“excuse me?” you squeaked.

“come on, agent,” fox winked, “just a joke. unless you’d like that, y’know, i won’t judge.”

and of course you would. he smelled like dust and paper, with a little sugar left from the coffee he drinks, and a little smoke from the candles he lights when they turn the lights off on him overnight in that dark hole of an office.

“you live up to your name, spooky mulder,” you bit your lip.

“so do you,” fox agreed, “what would we do without our eyes and ears?”

“… what did you just say?” you could barely muster a voice.

“you heard me.”

fox slipped a hand in his suit pant pocket and revealed your business card- not the filing office one, but for your cover. you have no idea how he’d gotten one, because the only place you keep them is in the locked safe beneath your desk. you were in bold, with your full name, position, boss, and reserved extension line. you thought of fox breaking into your office at night- while you were at home having dreams you’d never admit to- and sifting through your belongings, touching all that was yours, cracking open your secrets. you shuddered as he placed the card gently in your hand, his fingers trailing against the veins at the center of your wrist, where he could feel your pulse hammering.

the man slid past you in a split second, heading for the evidence room door and jiggling the handle upwards. when it unlocked, he shot a premeditated glance towards your mortified face and said, “somebody ought to get this fixed. see you around, agent.”

just about shaking, you stood in the aisle, dizzy from the sound of his departure and how every word fell from his lips with such intention. after a moment of weakness in which you let yourself lean against the filing shelf and catch your breath, you straightened out your blazer and made for the door. when you came into the hallway, you saw spooky mulder standing in his doorframe, thumbing through a file with his silver-rimmed glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. you turned quickly towards the stairs and left him to his devices, those being the file that was full of pictures of you.

all this time admiring from afar made you feel like a fool. now you were stuck with a lingering conversation and the overwhelming urge to visit the archives again, because someone downstairs had his eye on you. he knew you by way of his own eyes and ears, and there are a few things that aren’t in your files he’d like to learn.

and to think you were the stalker!

#Spotify #spooky mulder #x files #fox mulder #dana scully #fox mulder x reader #fox mulder smut #fox mulder fluff #fox mulder x you #fox mulder x reader fluff #something between smut and fluff idk #obsessive love #stalker #msr fanfic #msr #sculder

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vickyvicarious · 10 months

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To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.

Jonathan, 3 October

She lay in her Vampire sleep, so full of life and voluptuous beauty that I shudder as though I have come to do murder. Ah, I doubt not that in old time, when such things were, many a man who set forth to do such a task as mine, found at the last his heart fail him, and then his nerve. So he delay, and delay, and delay, till the mere beauty and the fascination of the wanton Un-Dead have hypnotise him; and he remain on and on, till sunset come, and the Vampire sleep be over. Then the beautiful eyes of the fair woman open and look love, and the voluptuous mouth present to a kiss—and man is weak. And there remain one more victim in the Vampire fold; one more to swell the grim and grisly ranks of the Un-Dead!…

Van Helsing, 5 November

One thing I noticed this year was the way Van Helsing echoed Jonathan's declaration about lovers joining the ranks of the undead. They both use very similar language, but with a couple huge differences. This makes these quotes almost a reverse of one another in a really interesting way.

Van Helsing's theoretical men who become vampires out of love are very clearly victims. They are foolish, fascinated by a vampire woman's beauty, and don't need to have known her beforehand to be mesmerized. Their hearts fail them, when they allow beauty to stay their hand which had previously been poised to kill the undead they've been hunting.

Jonathan's very real man willing to become a vampire (and his presumed others before him) is making a deliberate choice. He is not being tricked into anything. He knows exactly how horrible a choice he is making, and is in fact doing so well away from the sight of any supernatural beauty or mesmeric power. His heart feels the holiest love, which guides it into darkness rather than ever even consider harming the undead he loves.

Van Helsing's assumption is that the men who falter didn't already know the vampire who eventually turned them, and thus no deeper love is really possible. This is very much not the case for Jonathan's quote. But I think even in that situation, the Professor would still consider Jonathan himself much closer to the foolish, mistaken victims of his own quote - rather than recognizing the agency and deliberate nature of Jonathan's choice. That's the main difference for me - even more than the depth of the connection/length of association (though of course that hugely informs the situation and is a necessary distinction), it's the knowing/unknowing nature of each one.

In both (hypothetical) situations the men are guided by their hearts, but Jonathan knows the truth even as he declares he would join his love to be a vampire. In Van Helsing's scenario, the men act against what they know by feeling pity and affection for what they intended to treat as a monster. They forget that the ranks of the undead are "grim and grisly" just long enough to fall prey. But Jonathan never does. He knows Mina would become a monster, knows that in this scenario he'd be joining the "ghastly ranks" of the undead. He doesn't forget that fact. He just considers his love to be more important, enough that he is willing to subject himself to such a terrible fate rather than harm or be separated from her. It's the opposite of someone mesmerized into delaying and being enticed into putting down their weapon. Instead he resists entreaties to pick it up in the first place. (At least to point towards Mina.)

#dracula daily #van helsing #jonathan harker #jonmina

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rollingsins · 1 year

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all hers, part xiii

summary: You deserve everything Ghostface is giving you, you know it deep down. Why should you live while the others died?

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, mention of murder. Ghost face spoilers for Scream 1-4.

word count: 4.5k

a/n: 👀 smashed through my writers block, let me know your 🔪🔪 theories.

You haven’t left the car - or Tara’s lap - by the time the police arrive.

Sam greets them, watches as they make their way through the house, casing for strewn pieces of clothing, discarded weapons, footprints, handprints, anything.

But there’s nothing to find. Ghostface is long gone.

By the time they’re done, your anxiety is at an all time high, not even Tara’s arms around you enough to quell the fear inside you. Your chest thumps uncomfortably. Your palms are shaky, sweaty. Flashes of the mask, the knife raised against you.

Is this how Tara’s victims felt in the end? Is this how Wes felt?

The only difference between you and Wes is you’d survived. And he’d died innocent while you survived, guilty. It isn’t fair. You deserve everything Ghostface is giving you, you know it deep down. Your will to live is selfish, almost.

Why should you live while the others died?

The answer is pressed to your side. She’s beautiful, as ever, squeezing your hand so tight the tips of your fingers turn white. Her knee bounces steadily, an indication of her nerves. Her dark eyes are wild, flitting from you to the house to the officers on the lawn. Scanning, as if Ghostface will jump out at any moment. God help him if he does, when she’s like this. White-faced, quietly stewing in her own anger and anxiety. You can almost hear the cogs turning in her brain as she runs wild with the possibilities of who it could be.

The police have questions, what feels like millions of them. The most pressing is why. Why would Ghostface target you specifically? Of course, you know why.

You don’t mention the other victims. You don’t mention Tara’s Ghostface mask hidden in a lockbox in her closet. You don’t mention the motive Ghostface had all but spit into your face.

Someone who thinks you should pay.

Tara, a little on edge, tires very quickly of their incessant questions.

“There’s never a why, do you even live in this town?” Tara barks, voice hot with annoyance, “They’re random. They’ve always been random.”

“That’s not exactly true.” It’s Sheriff Hicks. She climbs out of her squad car, slips her gun into her holster as she stands.

Your chest tightens. She makes you so nervous. You’re so scared one of these days you’ll slip, blurt out the truth before it’s too late.

“Billy Loomis blamed Sidney for his mother abandoning him. Nancy Loomis blamed her for killing her son. Roman Bridger and Jill Roberts wanted infamy.” She surveys you, hand resting gently on her holstered pistol, “The question is: what does this Ghostface want?”

The back of your neck prickles uncomfortably under her gaze. You sink deeper into Tara, wear her almost like a shield.

“Forget his motive, what are you going to do about catching him?” Tara says, arm tight around your waist, “I want a squad car here 24/7. I want officers escorting YN to school. I want a walkie talkie and a phone number so we can have direct contact with them whenever we need-”

The thought of stepping foot into that house sends shockwaves of panic through your body. You grip her waist, tight, trying to draw her attention.

“I can’t go back in there.” You say, voice tight, “Tara, I can’t stay here tonight. I can’t sleep here.”

If Tara’s surprised by this, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she wraps her arms tight around your shoulder and presses a long kiss to your forehead.

“Okay baby.” She says, “We’ll stay with your parents, how about that?”

“I can post a squad car.” Sheriff Hicks interjects, “Two officers. I’ll give you their cell numbers. I’m afraid we’re all out of walkie-talkies.”

She looks at you, for the first time in a long time there’s sympathy in her eyes, “You’re going to be okay.” She promises, “My officers are the very best. But you call me if you remember anything. Anything at all that could help.”

The moment is interrupted by the sheen of blinding headlights. You avert your gaze, blink away the stars in your eyes at the sudden intrusion.

It’s a familiar truck, the heavy slam of the door signals the driver has exited the vehicle. You squint, make out Richie’s figure as he rushes towards you.

“Hey. I came here as fast as I could. Where’s Sam, is she okay?” He’s out of breath, a little panicked as he scans the driveway for his girlfriend.

“Sam’s fine.” Tara says, her shoulders tight, “YN was attacked.”

Richie blinks.

“By Ghostface? Are you alright?”

“Of course she’s not alright.” Snaps Tara, “Some psycho just attacked her at knifepoint.”

She pauses, as if something has just occurred to her. Suspicion brews in her eyes.

“Where have you been?”

Richie draws his attention back to her. The lights of the police sirens flash across his face.

“I was meeting some friends at a bar,” Richie says, “Is Sam in the house?”

“What friends? You got an alibi?” Tara asks, her eyebrows drawn tight.

“You’re not serious?” Richie stares back at her.

The Sheriff tilts her head, suddenly interested.

“Do you?” She reiterates, “Tara and Sam are accounted for. We’ll need to corroborate with any potential witnesses who can place you at the bar.”

Richie opens his mouth in disbelief. He looks between the three of you, waiting for the punchline.

“I didn’t make it there. Sam called-”

The Sheriff hums, scribbles something down on her notepad.

“So no alibi.” Tara scoffs, “You’ve been here two weeks and the one night you go out, YN gets attacked.”

“This is ridiculous.” Richie splutters, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, “Tara. Why would I attack YN? I have no motive.”

But Tara’s mind is made up, she crosses her arms, glares at the Sheriff.

“Are you going to arrest him or what?”

“Tara. I can’t just arrest people.” The Sheriff says, closing her notebook. She looks at Richie, “I suggest you outline to one of my officers the exact route you took to and from the bar. If we can place you on CCTV we can rule you out as a suspect.”

“You can’t arrest people?” Tara challenges. There’s that fire, the one that’s been brewing for the last hour, finally emerging, “What kind of a Sheriff are you?”

“Tara.” You hiss. You turn back to the Sheriff, eyes wide, “I am so sorry, Sheriff, she’s just scared-”

“Scared?” Tara says, sounding outraged. Her dark eyes burn, “I’m furious. I have a prime suspect for you and you won’t arrest him-”

“Just because you don’t like me doesn’t mean I put on a Ghostface mask and tried to kill your girlfriend.” Richie argues, loudly.

“What’s going on?” It’s Sam, finally emerging from the house. Richie and Tara both turn to face her, matching expressions of outrage on their faces.

“What’s going on? Your creep of a boyfriend just tried to murder my girlfriend.” Tara snarls.

Richie throws his hands up.

“Why? Why would I want to kill her?”

“I don’t know.” Tara says, “You tell me. Because you’re twisted?”

“You know what,” Richie says, his nostrils flaring. He points his finger at her, “It definitely wasn’t me, because if I was going to murder anyone, it would be you-”

“Stop it!” Sam yells, “Both of you. God. You’re like fucking children.”

They both fall silent. Glare at each other. Sam storms off, presumably back into the house. With a final dirty look at Tara, Richie turns and follows her inside.

You take Tara’s hand, rub your fingers over the back of her hand reassuringly. Richie is a little strange, granted, but you seriously doubt he’d try and kill you. You’ll talk her down later tonight, you figure. Right now; you want out of here.

“Do you have any more questions, Sheriff?” You ask, quietly hoping the answer is no, “I need to call my Dad.”

She surveys you for a moment.

“I think we’re all good here.” She says, finally, “Call me if you remember anything.”

Your Dad is freaked, rightfully so.

In a panic, he demands you come home. He seems to be so frightened he doesn’t even protest when you tell him Tara’s coming too.

She’s still glaring at Richie as she pulls out of the driveway, leaving the slew of officers and sirens behind as she makes her way to your parents home. One hand on the wheel, the other gripping your thigh, tight.

“It’s him, I know it’s him.” She stews, hands tightening on the wheel, “How fucking suspicious can he be. Meeting with some friends, my ass.”

“We don’t know that, babe.” You say, squeezing her hand, “He’s kind of right - what’s his motive? As far as I know we haven’t done anything to offend him.”

“I’ve been on his ass since he got here.” Tara says, “Maybe he’s sick of me. Of us.”

“Or maybe it’s someone else.” You say, staring out the window, “Someone related to the others. Sadie has a brother, I think. One of Aaron’s friends? One of Chase’s?”

There’s a long list of people who would want vengeance on the two of you. It hurts your head to think about.

“Cool it on Richie, please babe. If he is Ghostface, the last thing we need is him getting spooked.”

“I need to get him away from Sam,” She says, chewing her bottom lip, “If he hurts her-”

“We don’t know it’s him, babe.” You say, pressing your hand over Tara’s, rub the back of her knuckles, “Besides, if he is Ghostface, he’s not going to kill her. His beef is with us.”

It doesn’t calm her down. Her knee is still bouncing when she pulls into your parents driveway, grip around thigh so tight it’s starting to hurt. She shuts off the car and presses a kiss to the back of your hand.

“I’ll figure it out, don’t worry baby.” She says, voice heavy. Despite the comfort she’s trying to give you, her eyes betray her. Brown, wide, swimming with worry, “No one’s going to hurt you, I promise. I’m not taking my eyes off you. You’re not going anywhere alone, I mean it. You’ll have to get used to me watching you pee.”

You half think she’s kidding, until she follows you upstairs and into the bathroom.

“Absolutely not.” You say, pressing your hand to her chest and pressing a kiss to her lips, “Wait here.”

“But-”

“Ghostface isn’t hiding in the bathtub, babe.” You tell her, and close the door behind you.

You pause. Check the bathtub just in case.

Your parents make a fuss, like you knew they would. Your mom rushes off to comfort cook, something she does best, and your Dad gets his power tools out, triple checks all the windows and doors for any shaky locks.

If he minds Tara staying the night, he doesn’t say it. Instead, he hovers at the bedroom door, eyeing her up as he reiterates his safety mechanisms.

“Keep the door locked,” He says, voice gruff as you climb onto the bed, next to Tara, “At all times. Front and back. I have a security specialist coming in tomorrow to install some cameras and alarms.”

“Thanks Dad.” You say. It takes the weight of your chest, just a little.

“I’ve got my shotgun loaded and ready to go,” He continues, “If you hear anything- anything at all - just call out and I’ll be here in a moment.”

“Do you have a spare?” Tara asks suddenly, “Gun, that is? I’ll be a little closer, is all.”

He watches her for a moment. That expression is on his face - the one he always wears when he sees Tara. Mild distaste, like he’s just taken a bite of something that’s gone bad. Briefly, you worry he’s going to try to kick her out.

“I can’t give a gun to a kid.” He says, voice curt. Her brows furrow.

“This kid might be the only person who’s able to protect her in time.” Tara challenges, “You’re all the way across the hall. What if he covers her mouth so she can’t cry out?”

“Babe.” You warn, “It’s fine. We’ll be fine.”

Your Dad shifts his weight, staring Tara down. You know he doesn’t like her, it’s written all over his face. But if she goes, so do you. And he understands that, you know he does.

“I have a handgun.” He says, finally. He looks at you, “I’ll give it to YN. Remember those lessons down at the cabin? You’re confident you know how to use it?”

You nod.

When you were younger, your Dad had taken you shooting, taught you how to fire a gun, how to load it - and most importantly, how not to hurt yourself doing it. The thought of drawing out a gun to protect Tara from Ghostface’s knife makes you feel only the slightest bit better.

He looks back to Tara. The distaste is back in his expression.

“It’s for her. You’re not to touch it. Understand?”

You can feel Tara fizzling next to you. Her fingers curl, and before she can give your Dad the dressing down you know she so desperately wants to give, you jump in.

“She understands.” You say quickly, “Thanks Dad.”

“I don’t know what his problem is,” Tara complains, stormy-eyed, when he finally leaves, “I’m just trying to protect you.”

“He’s just being a Dad,” You say, pulling her into your arms and quelling her mood with a kiss, “Don’t take it personally.”

Dinner’s awkward.

Your head is a mess, heart pounding out of your chest every time you think of the looming threat. Tara grips your thigh under the table protectively, as if she’s afraid Ghostface might launch in any second and send the roast laid out on the table flying.

Your Dad glares at Tara. Tara glares back at him. Your mom stares at you, worry in her eyes.

You stare down at your plate, your appetite somewhat dissipated.

“I just don’t understand.” Your mom says for what seems like the hundredth time this evening, “What does he want with you?”

“What does he want with any of them?” You mumble, “He’s a psycho, that’s all.”

You push a rogue potato around your plate, starting to regret the choice to come home. At least Sam’s questions were easily combatted by one of Tara’s swiftly timed jabs. You could hardly expect Tara to snap at your Mom.

“Let’s not talk about it.” Your Dad says, to your relief, “You’re freaking her out.”

“I’m just saying,” Says your Mom, chewing her lip, “Are we sure he was there… for you?”

She lets it hang. The scrape of cutlery against plates stops momentarily, as the entire table takes in the implication. You frown, look up at your Mom.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She says, hurriedly. You don’t miss the glance she sneaks at Tara.

“Seriously?” You say, “You’re blaming Tara?”

“I’m not blaming anyone.” She says quickly, “I’m just saying-”

“Well, don’t.” You snap, standing up, “God. Tell me now if you don’t want us here and we’ll go.”

“Of course we want you here.” Your Mom says, “YN, sit down, please sweetheart-”

“I’m not hungry.” You say, scooting yourself away from the table, “Thanks anyway. Come on, babe, let’s go to bed.”

They don’t protest as you lead Tara upstairs and into your bedroom. You slip your pants off, curl up into bed, take Tara in your arms.

“Your Mom’s right, you know.” She says, after a quiet moment, “None of this would be happening if it weren’t for me.”

“Don’t say that.” You murmur. You press a kiss to her head, wrap your arms a little tighter around her.

“It’s true.”

It is true. But she doesn’t need to think that, not right now. You curl your fingers through her dark hair, scratch her scalp affectionately.

“You-” You hesitate, picking your words carefully, “You’ve made some mistakes. But that’s in the past now. You turned over a new leaf, remember?”

You remember it vividly. The night after Amber’s death, making her swear black and blue she’d never kill again. Promising her she’d never have a reason. She shifts in your arms and looks up at you. There’s something in her eyes. Fear. Hesitance.

“Baby,” She says, biting her lip, “Whoever this person is. I have to kill him. You know that, right?”

Your stomach flips.

“No.” You say immediately, “No, Tara.”

“If he’s alive, he’ll hurt you. You know I can’t let that happen. We can’t turn him in, he knows too much. It’s the only way.”

That sinking feeling is back. The one that had been there when Chase died. The one after Amber and the one after Wes. Like everything is crumbling around you. You squeeze her a little tighter.

“I’ll do it.” You say. The thought makes you sick. The thought of her doing it makes you sicker.

“No, baby.” Tara says. She presses a kiss to your shoulder, “Not after last time. Look at what Wes did to you.”

“I don’t care.” You say, shaking your head, “I don't want you doing it. You can’t-”

Be trusted, is what you want to say. The Rage is terrifying, violent, and you don’t want to reawaken it. You hold it back, pull her closer to you.

“I don’t want that part of you back. I don’t like that part of you.”

Tara’s quiet a moment.

“It’s already back, babe.” She says, pulls your hand to her chest. Her heartbeat is wild, out of control, “Don’t you see? It isn’t killing that prompts it. It’s anybody trying to get to you.”

You’re too tired to fight. Too tired to admit she might be right. At the end of the day if it’s her or him, you know what you’d rather her do.

You lean down, press your lips to hers, try to redirect the conversation.

“You will sleep tonight, right?”

“Not likely.” She admits, her grip on your hips tightening.

“Let’s take it in shifts.” You suggest, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, “Half and half so we both get some sleep.”

She nuzzles her nose into the side of your neck.

“Okay. I’ll take first watch.”

She looks towards the handgun your Dad left for you on the bedside table, tugs it carefully over to her side of the bed.

“You know how to use that?” You ask, a little skeptical, “You know to turn the safety off?”

“Yes babe, I know how to use a gun.” She assures, a little irritated you asked.

“Alright, alright. Just checking. The last thing I need is you shooting yourself in the foot.”

“Give me some credit,” She grumbles, “That’s something Chad would do.”

You kiss her, softly, then snuggle down into her chest. Listen to the rise and fall of her breathing, her rampant, crazed heartbeat as it pumps in her chest.

“Remember to wake me.”

She doesn’t wake you, as you should have predicated. When you open your eyes it’s the next morning, and she’s pressing a warm kiss to your lips.

You scrunch your eyes, blink her into view.

“Babe? Did you stay up the whole night?” She kisses your forehead, nudges a warm cup of coffee into your hands.

“I wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway. There was no point in me waking you.”

“Baby.” You groan. Her eyes are red, tired. You press your hands to her cheeks, lean up to kiss her.

“You’re exhausted.”

“I’ll nap in science.” She promises, “Mrs. Fletcher is enough to put anyone to sleep. Besides. I needed to make sure you were safe.”

She kisses you again.

“Speaking of: I asked Chad and Liv to stop by with a few supplies.”

She reaches for a paper bag, empties out the contents onto your mattress. You sit up, interest piqued.

It’s nothing less of an armory. You blink, hold up a small metal device.

“A rape whistle and a taser?” You say, “Babe, how am I supposed to take this into school?”

“Keep them in your purse.” Tara says, as if it’s a perfectly reasonable request, “It’s not like they check our bags. It’s for emergencies.”

She presses a long kiss to your forehead, “But you won’t need them. I’m not leaving your side. Not for a minute.”

“I have Chem today,” You say, heavily, “And you have English. We can’t be together all the time, Tara.”

“We’re skipping.” Tara says, “I’m taking you home early.”

“Tara, if the school calls my Dad and he finds out I’m skipping classes-”

“He’ll do nothing.” Tara says, fire behind her eyes, “You’re eighteen, he can’t force you home with him. And if he tries then I’ll-”

“You’re not killing my Dad.” You say, firmly. She pouts a little.

“That isn’t what I was going to say,” She says, a little put out, “I’d give him a piece of my mind, is all.”

You sit up, pull her into you.

“Sorry, babe.” You apologize, soothe her with a kiss, “I’m just a little on edge.”

“It’s fine,” She reassures, “Just please keep these on you. Please.”

You agree for her sake.

Word gets out quick.

People stare in the hallways, everyone trying to get a glimpse of Ghostface’s latest victim. It’s unsettling, this much attention. You grip Tara’s hand tight in yours and try to ignore the leering of the other students as she walks you to your locker.

When you reach it, Mindy, Chad and Liv are waiting for you.

“Is it true you saw him?” Chad asks, wide-eyed.

“Is it true he stabbed you?” Liv asks.

You shoot her a look, open your locker and grab your books for first period.

“Does it look like he stabbed me, Liv?” You ask, witheringly.

“Give her some space guys,” Tara says, pushing Liv back slightly, “She’s not a zoo animal.”

“Still.” Mindy says, “You survived a brush with Ghostface. Not many people can say that.”

You ignore the hot flash of dread that zaps through you at the mention of him. He could be anyone. Maybe he’s even here now, watching you. Waiting to get you alone. It must flash through your face because suddenly Tara’s hands are on your waist, rubbing your back reassuringly.

“She doesn’t want to talk about it.” Tara says, a little protectively, “Why don’t we meet you guys in Math.”

“Come on.” Mindy says, “Not talking about him gives him power. You don’t know who it is, right? Maybe we can help you figure it out.”

“Maybe it’s you, Mindy.” Liv says, voice sweet, “After all, you’re obsessed with horror movies.”

Mindy looks over, sharply.

“What kind of motive is that?” She says, annoyed, “Besides, I’m not the only one who likes horror movies. Tara does too. Maybe even more than me.”

“So Tara attacked her own girlfriend, that’s your theory?” Chad says, incredulous.

Mindy shrugs, “It’s happened before.”

She turns to you.

“YN, ever get the feeling like Tara wants to kill you?”

“I’m going to kill you in a minute,” Tara growls.

“Yeah.” Mindy nods, like her theory is confirmed, “Major Ghostface vibes.”

“Stop it,” You say, reaching for your Math textbook, “Tara didn’t attack me, she was with Sam. And I’d really rather not talk about it.”

Mindy’s shoulders deflate a little.

“Wes likes horror movies too.” Liv pipes up, “Maybe that’s why he ran away. He wanted us all to think he was dead so he could live his true life as Ghostface.”

You roll your eyes. Let them bicker. As you grab your final textbook your finger catches on something soft. Something you didn’t put there.

It’s a t-shirt, worn, gray, ACDC logo on the front. Your fingers curl around it, brows furrowing. Something hard is within the fabric. You fish it out, turn the cool plastic in your hand. It’s a DVD. Stab 2. Your stomach flips.

You slam your locker shut, white as a sheet. It draws the attention of the entire group. You feel a little dizzy, like you might pass out. Someone had been in your locker. It feels more of a violation than it should. Tara straightens, grips your hand.

“What’s wrong, babe?” She asks immediately.

“Bathroom.” You mumble.

You don’t say goodbye to Tara’s friends. You tug her behind you hard and fast, not sure how much longer you’ll be able to stand upright.

When you reach the bathroom, you slam the door closed, fish out the t-shirt and thrust it towards Tara.

“What’s this?” She looks confused. Flips the t-shirt in her hands.

“It’s Wes’,” You say. You take a heavy breath, try to quell the blood rushing to your ears.

Tara swallows. Her fingers brush the DVD.

“Stab 2.” She says, furrowing her brows, “What is this supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know.’ You say, biting your lip, “Nothing good. How did he get into my locker?”

“The school has cameras.” Tara says, thinking fast, “If I can get into the security feed I might be able to see who it was.”

“How are you going to do that?” You ask,

She bites her lip.

“I don’t know.”

“Please don’t get yourself in trouble,” You say, reaching for her hand. You entwine your fingers, “The last thing I need is you getting kicked out of school.”

“I’ll be careful.” She promises. Dips down to kiss you.

Then, she retracts, tosses the t-shirt and DVD in the trash.

“Tara. What are you doing? What if we need that?”

“We don’t need it, babe.” Tara assures, “Ghostface is trying to fuck with us, that’s all. Besides, the last thing we need is for the Sheriff to catch us with Wes’ old t-shirt and one of his movies.”

She pulls you in again, holds you tight.

“Are you going to be okay in class?”

You nod, drop your forehead to her neck. Wrap your arms around her waist. Your hand catches on something in the back pocket of her jeans. You furrow your brow, then tug it out.

“Tara!” You hiss, mouth dropping, “You brought a knife to school?”

Tara blinks back at you.

“Of course I did.” She says, “There’s some lunatic running around. You really thought I wouldn’t come prepared?”

“Baby, if one of the teachers catches you with this-”

“I have it hidden.” She assures, “They’ll never see it. How am I supposed to protect you if I don’t have a weapon?”

You're more concerned with protecting her. There’s a horrible niggling feeling in the pit of your stomach. Like Ghostface has been a little too easy on her so far. The knife in her hand gives you only the slightest reprieve.

“Let’s go to class.” She says, with a kiss to your cheek, “Do you have your rape whistle?”

You shoot her a look, tug at the string around your neck. She’d insisted you wear it at all times.

“Right here, babe.”

“Good girl.” She kisses you once more.

Your fingers curl around the taser in your back pocket. Slip your phone into your backpack and head to class, Tara’s fingers entwined with your own.

You take a deep breath. You're in school. In the middle of the day. Hundreds of students around.

Whoever Ghostface is, he wouldn't be so stupid to attack you in broad daylight.

Right?

next part

#ghostface!tara #all hers #mine #scream #scream vi #tara carpenter #sam carpenter #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x yn #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader

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