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ansbobcar · 3 months

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EP 21 - From hell with pettiness

WORD COUNT. 2618

Link to overview

_ _ _ _ _

There’s this repetition for the next 2 nights, petty nuisances, regarding her room, dress and meals. Regardless of how many times she encountered them, she seemed to burn through them with ease. Almost naturally.

“Didn’t you know?” She uttered, kicking her feet impatiently from the desk. “I saw her take it with a smile—a smile!”

He watched her take a sip of the red wine with ease, noticing the patience of his parents growing increasingly thin through the atmosphere of the hall. Yet she only coughed mildly.

“It’s sweet,” she mused. “Do you prefer white wine, madame?”

The guise of their discrimination seemed so trivial to her. Even though hours later, when he woke up to the sound of her vomiting out her insides, her voice heaved with confident conviction, “It’s merely a simple poison. I—can handle it.”

“Poison?” He uttered in repetition. Furrowing his brows. Nobody should let their body naturally handle poison, especially if it’s without an antidote. She snapped her head towards him. “You… you do know you could jail them for assassination right?” The incandescent sheen from his wand traced her sullied dress like a ghost.

“Then why haven’t you?”

His heart plummeted at these words, as she slowly stood up. Each step across the cold tiles she took increased the heaviness of his lungs and wrung his airway as he planted his feet just a lunge away from the door. Why didn’t he? It wasn’t like he saw any of them—no. He saw him do it once. “Look away Orter,” as the man collapsed and morphed into a measly puddle. Why didn’t he call out to his father?

“You’re hesitating,” bright yellow eyes, stared right at him. An unnatural vigour lit within as if they had solved him.

“You’ve always hesitated, haven’t you?”

That night was particularly cold to sleep through as he replayed the stressful conversation over dinner.

“Are you perhaps considering a future with him?” His mother wondered, as she placed another cut of the roasted duck in her mouth. He forgot about this problem as he only continued to cut through his meal. ‘No,’ wishing he could clutch onto some fabric; ‘It would be bad if they caught onto the lie.’ He could only assume that Rinka Ontarin, dressed in periwinkle blue, would do what was best. Watching as she stopped her sizzling cuts to look directly at the older woman.

“And what if I did?”

“What did your family say?”

“My mother doesn’t oppose the idea,” of which he couldn’t verify himself. He’d just have to trust her.

“What about your father?” She added, as she simply took a brief moment to reply.

“What father?”

Unable to contain it any further, his mother’s face contorted with vile displeasure. “Don’t you know you are putting yourselves in a precarious situation by being together?”

“No shit,” he finally spoke up much to her anger. “We’re Divine Visionaries.”

“Don’t talk back at your mother--" A hand stopped her from continuing onwards. His father had intervened.

“What she’s trying to say is to address a key concern we have to your… girlfriend,” he reiterated before facing towards Rinka. “I presume you don’t remember since it’s been years,” a concerning sense of familiarity pervaded his words, “but… aren’t you still in mourning?”

“It’s been more than a decade since,” picking up her knife again. As if she hadn’t been offended by his statement. “My only obligation is towards the Bureau and my own mother.”

“If you want to kill me to set up your son again. You’ll have to bet higher,” she snickered at the old man.

If he had to bet his life in a quiz about how well he knew this woman, he might as well have died with the dread that accompanied him the following night.

_ _ _

Rinka had a ghostly appearance, with her makeup of faint rosy cheeks and dull pink lips heightening her pale complexion as she wore a bright white dress which hugged her torso before fluttering into two tiers of ruffled skirts and slowly turning a murky brown. This was restored just moments ago as they entered the carriage.

“Are you cold?” It was already six and yet the sun was slowly dying itself earlier than expected during their journey. She simply shook her head, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress as she stared out the window. “Is there anything you’re worried about?” He tried again.

“Probably… ruining this dress,” she sheepishly remarked before the similar distant gaze fell onto her face. “Additionally, did you have a plan for the rest of the evening?”

“... no not really. I’m sorry about that.”

“Because, I know… aristocrats don’t particular enjoy my presence. So I’m intrigued at how committed you are.”

“Why wouldn’t I commit?” Uneasy from her words from the night. “There’s more to lose if we get separated. After all, you’re too kind for your own good.”

“Even if I’m mean sometimes?”

“You only do that when necessary.”

“What about how I treat certain people?”

“Kaldo deserves it.”

She chuckled at his response, while noticing his shivering. ‘Is that why he asked me?’ She told herself. “Would you let me hold you in the meantime?” She asked him for permission. And he let’s her cup his face. Her fingertips are oddly warm, and… he relished at the touch.

A hushed whisper only for her ears, he had asked once more, “Are you really not the sun?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Your attitude at work is bright and inviting compared to everyone else, your hair shines like stardust in the hallways, and you’re always warm to the touch…”

“Would you kill the current sun if I were the sun?” Her thumb caresses his cheek.

He chuckled at her trivial question. “I meant it metaphorically.”

By the time they had arrived at the ball, it had already started. For an hour perhaps. He lent out his hand towards her as she descended down before linking arms together. Their presence struck (respect) in those around them. Murmurs wash over the crowd as they entered the wide hall.

That is… until a guard showed up. “Your wands, please,” gloved hands stretched out towards them. And with little resistance, they handed the wands over. “It’s for the safety of our guests,” they were explained by them.

‘The removal of magical tools should be a good thing. As many methods of espionage involve the use of magic. However, it wasn’t like there was anyone who could nullify the effects of magic phenomena to be present…’

“Do you enjoy the attention?” She muttered under her breath as his arm’s position stiffened considerably.

“Not particularly.”

They walked over towards the buffet first and sat down at a table to dine. Unfortunately, they were constantly interrupted by greetings and conversations, which caused him to lose his appetite, sliding over the food towards Rinka without another thought. The others seemed to swarm him with pleasantries and familiar registers. And only him.

‘What if she’s right?’ He wondered as the others finally left them. “You alright?” Looking up to see her scarfing down another spoonful of potato salad. Her face screamed a singular mission as she pivoted her attention towards him. “You’ve barely talked…”

“The food is spectacular,” she covered her mouth, eyes lit up in delight. “Do you remember which family is hosting the event?”

“I’m not sure,” he replied. ‘Is she seriously only focusing on the food?’

“Why else do you think I agreed to attend beyond meeting your parents?” She leaned towards him. “It’s for the food!” Hiding her snicker, as a humoured smile etched itself on his face.

“Not for me?” It’s weirdly embarrassing. His parents arrived slightly earlier for unspecified reasons. They were probably trying to treat her as poorly as before to little success. Not that he needed to care about them.

“Well, you’re a great companion to dine with,” she commented, finishing her meal. The sound of the magical orchestra’s melodic tunes reverberated through out the large room. She immediately stood up. “I’m getting more food. You should follow.”

“Alright.”

However, as they walked over to the buffet, another woman had tripped with wine. Staining her white dress. The woman spiralled into an apologetic mess. “It’s fine,” Rinka held onto her hands, simultaneously casting a restoration spell for the glass and a calming spell for her. “It’s only a dress.”

In tandem, Orter had already began to mutter a cleaning spell to make it spotless again. The sight amazed spectators nearby. After all, casting magic without tools requires skills. ‘They lived up to their title as Divine Visionaries.’

“Thank you, Orter.”

They ended up watching the ballroom dance area, and he noticed her intense gaze at its dancers. Right, he forgot. “Do you dance?” He asked her. She turned towards him. “I can.”

Holding out his hand towards her, he continued, “Would you like to?”

There’s a sense of earnestness in his eyes and gesture, she could tell as the strings heightened their sound. She grabbed onto his hand, “I’ll accept your lead then,” it would be a waste not to, as she was guided forward. Hands held together in one side, and for her other hand it was on his shoulder and his rested right above her hip.

Their feet were gliding across the floor with ease, weaving through the other dancers with barely any errors. Their motions, wide yet precise completely enraptured onlookers to watch them as the music continued. Yet, there is something odd. Perhaps it’s the way he’s constantly switching styles and paces. ‘Stick with one will you?’ As she quickened the pace to the percussion’s rhythm. “How about quick step?”

“You’ve learnt it?”

“When I was younger.”

The routine is revised, with another bet slipped into their dance. Who could last the longest? Unfortunately, after nearly an hour of amateur competitive dancing, Orter who took back the lead, ended the session amidst a sea of applause.

‘I forgot she stayed awake for the whole trip up here.’

“Not bad,” she complimented him. “I haven’t danced in ages. That was fun.”

Adrenaline continued to circulate as they tried to head back towards their seats to instill his punishment. “You’re not going to kill me right?” Of course she wouldn’t, walking in tandem with him. Until a deep gruff voice called out to him.

"Greetings, Desert Cane,” and the light from her eyes were snuffed out as. “It's a pleasure to meet you in person. You're all grown up from the last time I saw you.” She gripped onto his hand even tighter. "That was a wonderful performance you put with your partner I presume,” his dark eyes took a glance towards her before looking back at him.

"Thank you for the praise but I haven't practised in ages."

Her grip loosened from it’s intensity, she leaves him with a simple bow. 'I'm taking a breather,' she messages to him with magic, her face frozen in calmness. He held onto her fingers a bit longer before letting go.

Orter can't shake the feeling that something is terribly terribly wrong. But he can't particularly ignore a person he just began conversing with, especially if it’s a man known as Sears Onoji. Who was biologically Rinka’s father and his own father’s sworn enemy.

Their conversation is trivial as he picked up a glass of wine to drink with the patriarch. Until a light chuckle erupts from the man. “I find it amusing.”

“Indeed, standing here with nothing but a single glass for the past hour is somehow a miracle.”

He smiled quietly at his words, before he added. “I thought you would have known something as simple as her birthday.”

Did he just forget the day?

His blood ran cold at her father’s words.

“I hope she enjoys her birthday gift.”

_ _ _

Rinka's not easy to budge from her calm facade but that... that wasn't fear. It was absolute obedience. A lack of self. A lack of decision making. No wonder she rarely talked about them. No wonder her mother reacted like that. No wonder she didn't seem to do anything and seemed to not recognise her cousins.

His feet dragged him outside, as he retrieved back their wands. ‘Did she get humiliated?’ Unable to see through the dark until he uttered a simple light spell. Footprints were seen in the snow. Deeper grooves were found and he followed them. The darkness enveloping his small field of vision.

He can’t. He musn’t. There has to be hope. His chest became elated as he heard a grunt in the distance. Just…

Clad in a pinstriped maroon suit with hair akin to the snow, he held onto the blade piercing his flesh. The subject of his worries had an equally stained torso which seemed to deepen it’s blossoming hues of red camellias. A blank expression haunted her face, like a doll.

“Kaldo, get away from her!” He uttered only to hear him calmly reply as she staggered back, out of her daze.

“The likelihood of me losing to her physically is low. Even… with a wound like this,” noticing her eyes widen at the situation.

Quietly, she muttered, “Were you with…”

“It was the request of your mother. Don’t worry, you handled it well,” he patted her shoulder. “The Gehenna name isn’t as easily tainted after all.”

“But…”

“It’s alright. I wore red for a reason.”

With little time to take back her surroundings, she was pulled into a tight embrace by the youngest. "What happened to you? You were gone for an hour."

"I... I don't remember the specifics but I remember casting a wide range protective spell,” she recounted. “Beyond that, it’s unclear. Maybe I was trying to cool down?"

The flames flickered as a voice called out to her within the shelves. “What are you looking for?”

She had turned her heads towards the owner with her hand held tight onto the ladder.With little time to think, she immediately responded, “Protective spells.” Knowing her, it was odd. Wouldn’t it be better to just amplify one’s physicality? “To prevent physical injuries, I would agree but I’m searching for the ones that counter mental interference. My family specialises in them after all…”

“Protecting others from harm is the least I could do.”

"What's up with you and the Onojis?" Kaldo had filled him in on the details, her near involvement with the very near death of another person.

"I don't think this is the place to discuss such a matter,” she curtly replied. “But if it helps, I’m just holding up my end of the deal.” No. ‘She should be explaining to me what actually happened.’ Not shrugging it off. The atmosphere growing even more tense as he tried to question her.

“The night is ending, I shall notify my family about your stay in our family home,” Kaldo interjected.

“You don’t have to,” Orter politely declined.

“I doubt you want to encounter either of your families. After all, I saw them discussing earlier,” he emphasised. “So what do you want to do?” Looking over at the two.

“Rinka,” the brunette tried to get her to reply.

“Let’s just stay over at the Gehenna’s for now. We can cover it as a meeting regarding the logistics behind the Divine Visionary Candidates or something. It’s not like they can tear down either of your reputations.” Honestly, Orter thought she would reject the idea but it’s true. “If we move as a group, it’ll make them more cautious to act out like earlier. After all, I’m the biggest liability here.”

“Why?”

With a grim look, she closed her eyes. “That I cannot disclose.”

_ _ _

Lol lol. Longest chapter by far in this fic TwT. Kill me y'all. I hope it was fun. The scene changes were probably a bit too abrupt. Ooh but I did finish EP 24 so we're all set to begin writing for my other mashle fic!

#mashle x oc #mashle oc #mashle #orter madl #orter madl x oc #divine visionaries #mashle fanfic #orter madl x reader #kaldo gehenna #orter's parents suck

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soulsxng · 1 year

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MUSE: Ber Bireth

— basics

▸ is your muse tall/short/average? Short for an Yvlune elf, at 5'2"! Most of them are closer to 6'

▸ are they okay with their height? Very much so! The only time that he would say otherwise, would be in cases when people treat him like he's weak or frail because of it.

▸ what’s their hair like? Ber takes immaculate care of his hair, so it's very thick and healthy! Naturally, it's somewhere between a 2c and 3a, I would say? But he styles it in so many different ways that most of the time it'd probably be difficult to tell. It's usually around mid-shoulder blade length (naturally-- it's longer when he straightens it, for sure!), but he does sometimes put extensions in it! Most of the time, he'll be seen with it in some sort of braid or twist.

▸ do they spend a lot of time on their hair/with their grooming? Like I said above, Ber takes very good care of his hair. That extends to all of his personal hygiene and beauty practices-- he's more than willing to dump a good bit of time each week caring after his appearance. It's a very enjoyable thing for him to be able to explore and experiment with all kinds of different looks whenever he wants to!

▸ does your muse care about their appearance? He does. Ber likes to be fawned over. He likes to turn heads when he passes by someone-- whether in admiration, attraction, or jealousy, he doesn't care.

▸ does your muse care about what others think about them? That's a complicated question, really. I think it really depends on the situation, as well as who the "other" is. Most of the time though? Not at all; he's a selfish person, and he knows that. There's a lot of things that he does regularly that he knows a good number of people disagree with in some way, shape or form. It's when he's actually trying to be helpful, or "good" that he'll start to care a little bit. He's making an effort to do something nice, and someone comes down on him for it? That'll get to him, for sure.

— preferences

▸ indoors or outdoors? Ourdoors

▸ rain or sunshine? Sunshine

▸ forest or beach? Both! Where he grew up, the forest butted right up to a beach, so he really had the best of both worlds

▸ precious metals or gems? Gems

▸ flowers or perfumes? Flowers

▸ personality or appearance? Appearance

▸ being alone or being in a crowd? Depends. Usually crowd, though he doesn't want people bothering him overly much.

▸ order or anarchy? Anarchy

▸ painful truths or white lies? White lies

▸ science or magic? Both! Ber believes that the two can-- and should-- go hand in hand!

▸ peace or conflict? Peace, though if he's just spectating and it doesn't affect him, conflict is good, too.

▸ night or day? Night

▸ dusk or dawn? Dawn

▸ warmth or cold? Warm

▸ many acquaintances or a few close friends? Many Ac1uaintances

▸ reading or playing a game? Reading

— questionnaire

▸ what are some of your muse’s bad habits? Lying, overthinking, acting with little regard to/for others, being overly vain. When confronted, he tends to shut down and/or run away and cut himself off from that person going forward. Perfectionistic. He's got a lot of them.

▸ has your muse lost anyone close to them? how has it affected them? He has on a number of occasions...and if I'm being honest, a lot of them were by his own doing. Whether they're now dead by something Ber viewed as a necessity, or because of something like a betrayal...or he ghosted them, essentially. All of that has just made Ber view most of his connections in a very superficial and temporary fashion. It also has, over time, made it much easier for him to use and/or sever these connections as he feels he needs to. On a deeper level, it's made him feel like, ultimately, he shouldn't waste his time investing or trusting in relationships unless it's to accomplish some goal of his. Because he's 'undesirable', in the end. That's a big part of why he chases the more fleeting attention and admiration of others, but that's getting a bit off topic...

▸ what are some fond memories your muse has? Most of them are from when he was young. His father, Lerato, teaching him to sing and dance in their front yard-- always wanting Lera to scoop him up and raise Ber up into the air. Encouraging all of his curiosities, no matter what they might be. Sitting on the floor in front of his papa, Avelon, watching in a hand mirror as his hair was done up in all sorts of beautiful styles. Going to the market later to pick up things for dinner, and his papa letting him pick out a small treat to have while they walked. These days, the fond memories still have to do primarily with his family. Be it with Lerato, or his siblings.

▸ is it easy for your muse to kill? Yes, though I will say that the prospect of a fight will dissuade him. Not because he's weak, or thinks he'll lose, but because he feels that fighting is tedious. Anyway, if he can kill someone without the fight, then absolutely, he'll hardly ever hesitate, if it's something he feels is necessary.

▸ what’s it like when your muse breaks down? Usually for him, a break down results in a major anxiety attack. In which case touching him (or sometimes interacting with him in general, depending on the person) can result in him violently lashing out. He'll almost always try to get away from any people that might be around, but if he can't, he'll find the most secluded place that he can and curl up tightly around himself. When it gets to this point, it takes a while for him to come out of it completely, and afterwards he'll be pretty lethargic, and spaced out until he can get some decent rest. Especially if the breakdown stems from what he considers a major failure.

▸ is your muse capable of trusting someone with their life? ...I don't know. Currently, I think there will always be some tiny part of him that will be in doubt. That feels he can only rely on himself with his life. It would take a long time, and a lot of effort from both he and the other party before he could ever get to that point. And even then, Ber can be really fickle. One upset, and he could be reconsidering in a panic.

▸ what’s your muse like when they’re in love? Honestly, he's more or less his usual, sassy self! Yes, he lets himself be more vulnerable with that person, and he'll be much more physically soft with them, but overall, Ber is just...Ber. If anything, there will be some insecurities that he has that he'll be tempted to be even more secretive about, if he's in love. He wouldn't ever want them to turn their back on him, so while they would get to see more vulnerability in some departments, others would be even more tightly guarded from them.

#[Ber -headcanons-]#[Ber -extra-]#Oh baby Ber #you're severely messed up #but I love you so much

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supernaturalworldsofsecondlife · 7 months

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Roleplay Standards; Reasons to use them.

So, it's been a bit with some insanity behind the scenes, but I'm able to actually sit down and form some thoughts and feelings surrounding these things. But first; a scenario! You're going around and you're roleplaying in groups, you're making connections and plans. Things are going good! But then you start to notice some little things that seem off. One of them seems very possessive of your time. Yet another tends to ignore plans they've made as well as hooks. What do you do? Here's where the standards come in. But before I go further, I should note; YOU ARE NOT OBLIGATED TO ROLEPLAY WITH OTHERS. But I will also stress that if you give dates, or tell someone you're 'going to', that implies that said obligation will be met. I'm someone who doesn't expect much out of others aside from the bare minimum. Being good to one another, open communication in regards to potential triggers so I know what to stay away from, etc. Very basic things that help us gauge whether or not we're a 'fit' in terms of collaborative writing and how well our energy bounces. But then you run into two types of people who abuse that. You have the person who will demand EVERY ounce of your time, which is bad... Then you have people who will set a time and day, flake, then set another time and day. When you find yourself the object of obsession to the point they want you to have a certain face credit/claim, or that your character in a video game isn't to their expectations all the while obsessing over scenes that have yet to happen? Drop, block, and run. This is one of the very few instances where I find ghosting absolutely necessary. These are the type of people that you should have standards against because 1) they're suck the energy right out of you and 2) use narcissistic or dark empath traits to keep you there. More times than not, these people are why BadRPerStories exist. Likewise, when you find yourself being flaked out on over and over on specific dates with frequent communication over an obligation? Don't waste your time on them, especially if they're very active in other circles. Hold your standards and quietly drop them. If they ask why -- be honest if you tell them, but don't be a jerk about it. Though, this is another situation where I feel ghosting is very valid because they're not valuing your time enough. And sure, there's nuance to every situation. Maybe IRL came up or the muse isn't there -- in which case it's easier to be honest, that way time isn't invested unnecessarily. Speaking from personal experience, it takes a while to rebuild that momentum back if you're an avid storyteller and you let people walk all over you. Have reasonable standards. Communicate them often. If they cannot meet expectations of either posting cadence deadlines, or just meet a very simple obligation after they said they would? Get rid of them. They're not worth it. If they're obsessing over you, your character to the point you're drained? Get rid of them. If you're in a group RP (discord or video games) and they're always needing to know who you're roleplaying with? Get rid of them. These are, and should be if they aren't, red flags. Block them, block their alts. Having standards will help protect your mental health, help you garner the right people that fit your writing styles best, and generally it helps keep you safe on the internet. We live in a time where this hobby has often turned into a different form of escapism. Where instead it was just a fun thing that we could do, people are using it to completely substitute things in real life and will try to use you to do that. Don't fall for it. If you've found yourself in situations like these, or even going through them currently and you stumble onto this -- it doesn't hurt to re-evaluate your standards. If you feel trapped or stuck? Maybe raise the bar of entry just a little bit. <3

#roleplay #roleplay standards #roleplay etiquette

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queeniecook · 2 years

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March 25 - Part 2

“I see someone is being dramatic today.”

Was the first thing Caleb heard when he entered the Living Room of the Vatore Mansion. He had been upstairs in his old bedroom, brooding over his situation with his beautiful pregnant wife. Caleb knows he should have told Vera about Inna Cents before they married but he figured back then that telling her about LIberty had been enough for the moment. He didn’t want to give Vera a reason not to marry him after all they went through to even get to a marriage proposal. He told himself he should have told her after their honeymoon. They were so happy. Then they found out that they’re are expecting their child. Still, Caleb knows he should have told her.

“I can tell by the way you dress, if you’re wondering.” His sister adds after Caleb’s inner musings are done. It’s creepy to him how Lilith always knows these things about him.

“I did not come in here to hear your sass, Lilith.” Caleb comments, annoyed with his sister it seems. Truly, he’s annoyed with himself.

“Too bad, brother.” Lilith tells him, narrowing her eyes at the back of his skull. “You know I love having you at home with me. I miss you when you aren’t here.”

Caleb softens a little at his sisters words, though he can still feel the tension in his body.

“You need to go home.” Lilith tells him sternly. “You and Vera don’t have an eternity to fight then reunite with each other. You might but she doesn’t.”

“She does not wish to be near me right now, it will upset her more.” Caleb reasons, rubbing his forehead. Is it possible for vampire to somehow get tension headaches? He was prone to them as a human. He swears he feels a ghost of one at that moment.

“You’re her husband, you’re supposed to tick her off every now and then.” His sister counters like she’s telling him a true fact about life.

Caleb resists the urge to roll his eyes. It’s not the gentleman thing to do.

“Look. You need to go to her and put your foot down. I know she’s upset and yes, you should have told her. But you two have a baby on the way and you’ve both wasted enough time being apart!” Lilith yells at him.

His sister rarely yells at him. Caleb stops and turns to his Lilith, staring at her while he thinks. He thinks his sister makes some valid points. As much as it shatters his heart to think about, he knows Vera doesn’t have forever. Even with being a mermaid, she won’t live until the end of ages like he has a opportunity to do. Caleb quickly gives the only blood related family he has left a hug before transforming into his bat form and flying out the suspiciously open front door.

Lilith smiles to herself and heads to the kitchen in search of a bottle of Near Blood, instead she finds Jackson.

#the grant legacy #ts4 legacy #caleb vatore #lilith vatore #jackson kumar #ts 4 story #simsstories #sims 4 storytelling #sims4 story #ts 4 #sims 4 #generation 2 #the vatores

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chickinscratch · 2 years

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“Hey, Jimmy,”

“Mhm?”

“Not to overuse a metaphor, but, do you think the canary ever missed the sky?”

Tango could feel Jimmy’s gaze on him. “What do you mean?”

“You know. The canary in the coal mine. Did y... did it miss the sky? Does it remember it?”

Tango imagined Jimmy shifting his wings, head quirked staring at the sky. “Depends, I guess, like if it was born down there or not. Or hatched, or whatever.”

“Do birds have like an instinct or something for the sky?”

Jimmy made a sound as if shrugging, and then seemed to remember he couldn’t be seen. “I dunno. I don’t think it particularly matters, if it’s being taken care of, y’know?”

“Did they take care of the canaries in mines back then?”

“Yeah, they obviously had to feed ‘em and stuff. But when the birds passed out from the lack of air or the gas or whatever the miners would like, resuscitate them.”

Tango smirked at the empty air. “Birdie CPR?”

He could feel Jimmy smiling back. “Something like that, I guess. But they did care about the birds.”

“’Cause the birds were the warning.” Tango nodded. “If they were gone, the miners wouldn’t know they were gonna die.”

“I mean, I imagine the miners probably enjoyed the company. I hope they did, anyways. It sounds nice.”

Tango pursed his lip. “Yeah, it’s a lot nicer having a little birdie with ya when you’re down in some dark stinky deadly death cave.”

Jimmy’s gaze was back on him now.

“...Of death.”

“You asked if the canary ever misses the sky.” Jimmy’s voice was soft. “Maybe it likes the coal mine, sometimes? The sky can be cold and open and lonely. Sure the mine is dark, but the canary has company. A warm home and a hand that feeds it.”

“Making the best of a bad situation.”

He could feel Jimmy’s frown. ”And I mean, if there’s a mine there’s probably like, gemstones and stuff. You don’t find that on the surface.”

“Unless it’s emeralds.”

Jimmy huffed at him, and Tango watched the players scurrying around in front of them.

“I think they’re digging our graves over there.”

“Looks pretty lame.”

Tango pictured Jimmy sneering at the little cobblestone tombstone the other players stood before, face all scrunched up. He laughed at the image. “Yeah, I don’t think they’re even making me one.”

They watched in silence as others scurried around them and the ship in the distance. There was some saying, or song lyrics or something, about ships and anchors.

“...Did the canary ever love the coal mine?”

Jimmy hummed. “Well, I certainly tried.”

#double life #double life smp #double life spoilers #dlsmp #team rancher #jimmy solidarity #tangotek #chicken scratch #trafficshipping #< not wholly but just in case. definitely an interpretation that can be made here #two ghosts musing over a bad situation

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nokwisi · 3 years

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bear witness—viktor x fem!reader warnings/tags; nsfw, 18+, dom/sub dynamics (dom!reader, sub!viktor), he's a little bratty, praise kink, hair pulling, pegging and edging and begging (oh my!) note; listen, I know. first thing I've posted in a while, and it's literally pegging viktor? and to that I say: *throws fic at you and runs away* wc; 4k

stunning art by @arcanescribbles VA accompaniment by @kikorenart, do it, get the full experience. —huge, massive thanks, you guys are fucking phenomenal. ♡

"You're beautiful, you know that?"

Your tone is wistful, melancholic in the way an artist might sound admiring the masterpiece of another, and it directly contradicts the erotic image reflecting back at you through the mirror.

"Everything about you is so...pretty."

Viktor finds the compliments split in equal measure between his chest, and his groin; a lovely fluttering of his heart, and a responding twitch of his cock. Dichotomous, and a pleasant warmth simmers beneath his skin, despite himself.

"In truth, I have never considered myself...pretty." He admits dryly.

You harrumph softly, following the prominent track of his spine down his bare back with your fingers. He arches just slightly inwards, turning his head against the bed to peer back at you sidelong.

"Pretty enough it makes me want to ruin you." You muse, a contemplative smile curving your lips as your fingers ghost further, past his tailbone to the cleft of his backside. "But then again, you could make ruin a thing of beauty, too."

Viktor's breath shudders at your touch, his long, pale fingers curling into the duvet. There's a nervous, jittery energy to him right now, and you suppose you cannot fault him for it, not when considering this night—how it leaps past a line neither of you have crossed.

You are both stripped bare, but that isn't of great importance, not when you know each other's bodies as intimately as you do. What makes this a pivotal moment is the fact that Viktor is pressed face-first into the mattress, the long line of his spine curved just enough to accommodate the stretch of his legs as he kneels on the bed.

You'd taken advantage of the multitude of pillows he hoards, cushioning his bad leg with one, and using two others beneath your own knees, elevating you just enough to level the height difference. He is a bloom of pale skin against the dark sheets, inlaid with the faintest of cerulean veins and flecked with a dusting of well-placed freckles. There's an inherent grace in the way he's situated; feline, almost.

It's a position you're personally familiar with, accompanied with Viktor behind you, driving you into the mattress with steadfast thrusts and reedy moans. He has a tendency to dig crescents into your hips with how he grips you—driven by a carnal passion that hardens the usual tenderness of his touch, and a swoop of excitement carves through you at the prospect of doing the same, to him.

Indeed, it's a sure turnabout—he is waiting for you to return the favor, periodically stealing glances at your reflection through the mirror on the wall before you.

His skin is already blushed pink; his eyes pre-emptively lust-heavy, and it's almost hard to believe the sly coercion it took to get him to this point. But, despite his initial hesitance, you saw in Viktor's eyes the answer before he'd even given it—he wanted to please you, and if witnessing himself in the throes of passion was what you wanted, then he will give it to you.

Or, more aptly put, you will be giving it to him.

A smile presses the corners of your mouth at the thought.

"Is that what you wish to see?" Viktor asks with a tone of sarcasm, but he's betrayed by the breathy quality in his throat, "to see me ruined?"

"In a sense, yes." You answer listlessly, sweeping your thumb over his hole with a casualness that belies the palpable tension in the air. You marvel and smile at the way he pushes back and gasps—you're beginning to think his reluctance was simply a front. "But I want you to see, too. See what I see."

"Right now, all I see is you teasing me." You glance once more at the mirror, and yes, he is watching you; rapt, his cheek pressed against the bed, the angles of his face framed with wild chestnut curls. He looks exceptionally delectable. "Am I to be reduced to begging?"

Your heart does a little pirouette in your chest at that.

He's edging impatient, and you know him well enough that that brazen, sharp tone of his is rooted in something far more akin to anxiety than bravado. You would drag the moment out more, just to redeem the promise of him literally begging you to fuck him, but you're not that cruel.

No, he's already giving you everything, placing his body and his pleasure in your hands with the trust that you would cherish and not abuse him—not yet, at least. Not until he asks for that, and you're very nearly positive that he will.

"I'm not opposed to hearing you beg." You say playfully, removing your hand from him to sweep up a bottle of lubricant from beside you. The sound of the container opening makes Viktor visibly jump; you reach out and place a placating hand on his lower back.

"For more..." you lean in conspiratorially, "and potentially, for mercy."

"I never knew you to be so deviant." Viktor exhales, "should I be worried?"

Tilting the bottle, you slant your attention back to him, catching his keen gaze. You smile sweetly, as though assuring him when he tenses up at the cold, viscous liquid drizzling onto his backside. How you can actually discern the blush on his face darkening stirs up your own arousal, a rising thrum between your thighs.

"Of course not." You say easily, capping the bottle and placing it aside. "You trust me, don't you?"

Letting your fingers glide down once more, wetted and slick now, you rub broad circles around him, avoiding direct pressure as your other hand smooths down the back of his now trembling thigh.

Viktor clutches the bedspread, a bracing motion, "yes. I trust you. I would not have agreed to this, o-otherwi—ahh," his mouth suddenly drops, that sharp diction of his scrambled as you tighten the spiral of your fingers to press directly against him.

"O-Oh, that is...that...hnn—" His words dissipate in the air as you apply more pressure, your forefinger threatening to push past that tight ring of muscle entirely—he tenses in response.

"What, Viktor?" Your tone is saccharine, and you want to look once more to the mirror, to ensure that he's watching himself, to bask in the vision of him debauched yourself, but you don't. You push your wants aside, and you focus on the small twitches of his legs instead; the discomforted bend of his back, which you soothe with a gentle palm against his lower spine; and the stretch when you carefully, steadily, push a single finger inside him, "tell me what it is."

Viktor's voice catches in his throat, the sound of his nails burrowing into the bed a whisper beneath the response he chokes out as you push deeper. "S-Strange."

"In what context? Good, bad?" You query, pushing and pulling gently now, easing the incredible tightness of him open with patient, tender movements.

"You e-expect semantics from me—mmmh—right n-now?" He trips over his words with incredulity; but you know him, perhaps more than himself in this instance, in that he will benefit from a distraction.

"I expect you to tell me what is too much, and what is not enough." You supply gently, feeling confident in the thrusting you've built up to, to sneak a glance at him through the mirror.

His brows are furrowed, eyes screwed tight against the intrusion; or perhaps against the raw exposure of seeing himself in such a vulnerable state. There's a sheen of sweat building on his forehead, hells, his entire body, and you think he might not be capable of forming an answer, when suddenly, he forces one out.

"Both—it's both."

"Do you want to stop?" Gentle, but direct. You punctuate the question with the addition of a second finger, pressing it against him each time you sink into the velvet heat of him.

Viktor replies with a short, forceful exhale and a single word: "no." and it rings of that staunch determination reserved for nights when he is far too invested in a project to back down.

"Do you want more?" You ask, despite already knowing the answer.

You want to hear him say it; you need to know that he wants this.

"...yes."

It's just above a whisper, but there is conviction there, and trust runs both ways in that you know he wouldn't have said so, if he didn't mean it. So, you give him more. You ease in your middle-finger alongside your index, slow in a way that avoids agony, but still torturous if Viktor's reaction is evidence enough: breath catching in his chest, stilted and strangled as his entire frame draws rigid with tension; from his blanched knuckles fisting the bedspread, to his toes curling into the soles of his feet.

When your knuckles are pressed flush against him, fingers buried deep, you mercifully still and let him adjust. He's vise-tight around you, his baited breath finally releasing with choked out groan.

"Are you okay?" Eyeing him carefully, you use your free hand to smooth out the tremors that rattle him, caressing from his thigh, over the round of his ass, to his spine and then back down.

Viktor swallows thickly, "t-that is a rather tedious question to ask, when you are...inside me." He sounds ruffled; you can't help but smirk.

"You don't seem to hold that opinion when the roles are reversed." You lob out playfully, to which Viktor clenches around your fingers with a stifled noise, "I'm going to move, now."

"Yes—please, I insist." He grits out, and manages to sound believably testy while he's at it.

You want to strip those vestiges of his ego away; piece him apart with the same deft precision he employs with you, until he's rendered to a blissed-out variation of himself—a man he will not recognize when he looks in the mirror.

Curl your fingers, pull them back, push them forward, spread them—

Viktor vocalizes his rapidly fraying thought process with a series of breathy noises, spilling through his grit teeth, low and husky tones that pitch infrequently to something dangerously piteous when you actively begin searching for that one spot you know will crack his resolve right down the middle.

Flicking your gaze to the mirror, you feel a glowing pride when the knot of his brow loosens, arching with repose, and the tight clench of his jaw slacks enough that his breath no longer comes out in pained hisses, but open-mouthed pants.

"Viktor," you call softly, heat stippling your own cheeks at the obscene, wet clicking that coincides with the now steady thrust of your fingers, "look at yourself."

Contrary to being the one pleasuring him, you feel a bit like a voyeur when his eyes crack open to slits, glassed with a haze of debauchery as he stares at his reflected counterpart. He doesn't look away like you half-expected him to; he lets out a soft moan, and he clenches tighter around your fingers.

"See how pretty you are?" It comes out as a statement more than a question, one that Viktor cannot possibly refute; personal bias be damned, he looks like an erotic vision. "And you're doing so well, too—you're being so good."

He moans, tightens, and rocks his slender hips back against your hand, seeking more from you, and whether that be those walls of his crumbling to pieces, or simply a baser lust that muddles his ever-intricate mind, you cannot be certain—you give him more, regardless.

You glide your hand to the cusp of his hip, digging your fingers into him right above the jutting bone with your thumb pressed into his lower back, and you push deep, pivot your wrist, hone in on a part of him that has never been touched by anyone before.

He gasps loud enough it pierces through the room, so cuttingly sharp and shocked, you're momentarily worried you might have hurt him.

But then Viktor starts pushing back against you with purpose, and you seek him out in the mirror through instinct, see that his face is awash with arousal-tinged rose; twisted with that unmistakable iteration of pleasure that looks like something akin to agony when he wears it.

"P-Právě tam—a-ano—yes, t-there—"

A full body flourish of goosebumps prickles your skin at the sound of him, at the way he falls into the familiarity of his mother tongue in concert to the foreign, intense pleasure you can only imagine is spiking through him.

You let your hand on his hip glide further, along the taut plane of his lower stomach to seek the hard, throbbing heat of his cock between his legs, leaning over him carefully while wrapping your deft fingers around the base of him. He's close, and the sob of a noise that escapes him when you give a single, loose-fisted pump of his length is enough to tug you down with him—

but you let go instead, slow your movements to a crawl, and you nearly feel remorseful at the way Viktor hisses out a string of foreign swears, rolling his head and pressing his face into the mattress to muffle the frustrated groan he gives.

You soothe him with a kiss to his sweat-dampened back, easing your fingers out of him as you settle back onto your haunches behind him. "Not yet, Viktor. I promise, it'll be worth it."

Viktor's still chasing down his breath, visibly trembling as he turns his head enough that his eyes pierce into yours through the mirror.

He replies with an intense urgency that darkens his gaze further, "then please, do not torture me any longer, and fuck me," and his tone is stripped down now; vulnerable and shaken and desperate.

It's everything you wanted to hear, and anticipation is a hungry beast within you, clawing at your insides, because you know that this is just the beginning; you can hardly wait to watch him fall apart, completely.

You make quick work of shimmying into the contraption that had sat beside you during this entire exchange; like a trophy earned for patience—silicone and veined, with a girth and length that rivals that of the man eager to take it before you.

Viktor watches your movements through the mirror, shifting and positioning himself, hissing under his breath at the ache in his joints, but refusing to complain about it. The simple action is more telling than anything he could ever say—he wants this, he wants you to ruin him, he wants to see.

"Eyes on yourself, Viktor." You remind him, sweetly, and he promptly does as such, not daring to look away as you press the lubricated tip against him. "And do tell me if it's too much."

He cants his hips back in lieu of a response; you smile fondly and take hold of his waist with one hand, the other steadying the length of the toy. Your attention is split between wanting to see his expression, and gently easing the tip inside him, stretching him in a way that your fingers could never replicate.

Viktor sucks in a hearty breath, ostensibly holding it as you sink into him; a quick glance upwards, and you can see the vigor with which he grips the sheets, the tension that pulls the muscles in his arms taught, the discomforted expression on his face; pained, concentrated, dazed, a stunning amalgamation of them all—and not once does he look away from himself.

"Almost there," you breathe, "gods, Viktor...you're so beautiful."

Viktor exhales with a punched-out sigh that pitches on a whine, and that sound tangles up in his mouth when you sink the last few inches inside him on a quick stroke; the cradle of your hips flush against him, now. He writhes at the sensation, dragging his hands across the bed to brace them palm flat, as though readying to push himself up.

"Please," he gasps out, "I need you to...need you to move."

The temptation to note that he is, in fact, begging you to fuck him scratches behind your teeth; you revel in it with a private smile instead, and indulge in your earlier fantasy of grabbing Viktor by the hips, and fucking him tenderly into the mattress.

It's a patient process, but the fruits of labor are dipped in the gold of Viktor's gaze: peering back at himself, at you, at the obscene portrait you two paint with a look that resonates awe. He is enthralled, beyond the rattled moans and the cracked sighs and the heat of arousal that colors him in hues of vermillion, Viktor cannot seem to look away from your reflected counterparts.

"You..." Viktor tries to speak, but you've managed to pick up a relatively steady pace, scattering his thought process like papers in the wind, "feel...good, yes—hnn,"

You hum, pleased, relinquishing his hip in favor of tracing the prominent notches of his spine. You fingers stop occasionally in their trek, tracing absent circles around the smattering of freckles you can reach; feeling the shift and roll of lithe muscle under his ivory skin with each forward thrust of your hips.

Following the graceful line of his body upwards, you catch his reflection, his gaze flicking to you through the heavy fan of his lashes.

The shuddering breath he gives, coupled with the blissed-out smile that curves his mouth just so, is all the go-ahead you need. You shift, changing the angle a fraction that is monumental, and you push forward, hard.

It has the desired effect.

His breath catches like you've shoved all the air from his lungs, raw pleasure contorting the twist of his brow and the wide part of his lips, "yes, that," he hisses sharply, "do that again—fuck me harder."

The urgency in his tone lances through you, "mirror," you breathe, and it's like an afterthought, your brain suddenly misfiring with the way Viktor sewed together pain and pleasure so seamlessly, as though it's a normality.

You've never heard him talk like that—but then again, you've never done this before.

Scintillas of excitement flutter inside you, and you dare to smooth your hand further up, gliding between the blades of his damp shoulders, sinking into the soft hair at the back of his head.

"I want you to watch yourself cum." You state, firm as you can, but it's difficult to keep any semblance of composure with the way he looks right now.

"I will," he sounds nearly servile, like making a promise in the face of a god, "for you, I will."

"No," you give a neat tug of his hair, testing, arching his head back enough to expose the long, pale line of his throat; the notch of his Adam's apple bobs when you assert: "for you."

Viktor moans, loud, unabashed and telling, and you pull his hair harder in response, back the stuttering piston of your hips with enough force that his legs shake; that your movements are punctuated with the obscene smack of skin, against skin.

As though following the tension of your fingers in his hair, pliant and eager, Viktor pushes himself up onto his hands with trembling arms, curving his back in a way that cannot possibly be comfortable for him, but differentiating the grimace on his face—pain, pleasure, quite possibly both—is even harder.

"Víc, prosím," he groans, and quickly tacks on, "m-more, please—"

The way his voice cracks is a clear indication that he's close, his gaze lust-laden and fixated upon himself through half-mast lids. With his hair in the steel-grip of your fist, a nearly opaque blush dusting his cheeks and a sheen of sweat on his brow, he looks nothing shy of sinful.

"Tell me what you see." You prompt him with a breathlessness derived from just this—being the one to do this to him, to bear witness to him in a moment so cuttingly vulnerable—and you hastily, perhaps a touch clumsily with the adrenaline that sings in your veins, reach around his narrow waist once more. "C'mon, Vik..."

"I...I am—ah!" He's cut short when you envelope him in your soft, sweat-slick palm, his hips bucking forward and nearly offsetting your rhythm. You pull his hair again, harder this time to drag his head back up to a point he can't look away from himself.

"I'm c-close," he gasps hotly, his mouth perpetually open to let spill the choppy, staccato moans that reverberate in his chest. "Can't...I..."

"Do you see, now?" You tighten your fist on the upstroke, smear your fingers over the wet tip of his cock, drag the slick down and repeat, adding another chord of pleasure to the lewd cacophony, "do you see how fucking pretty you are, Viktor?"

"Yes, yes, yes—!"

He stalls out; like the nerves in his body have all short-circuited, all at once, his voice streamlining into a strangled groan as he falls into his release.

You feel his cock pulse heavily in your hand, see the rush of pleasure hit him in the way his face twists; brows drawn tight, mouth dropped open, eyes barely a sliver beneath the heavy weight of his lashes. He cums hard, spilling over your hand as the lithe frame of his body stiffens and shakes, like the pleasure permeates him down to his bones.

Rocking against him gently, you lull your movements with a steady wind-down, coaxing him down from his high gradually until his sounds of pleasure tinge with a whine of discomfort. Viktor's head drops between the shelf of his shoulders, clearly spent and exhausted to the point he can barely hold himself up.

You loosen your grip in his hair, comb your fingers through the tousled mess in a soothing gesture as his torso follows suit; dropping down with stilted breath that echoes pleasure in low, rolling rasps.

"You were amazing, Viktor." You whisper, tenderly easing out of him with a caressing hand on his lower back. "So good for me."

He exhales shakily at the sensation; you quickly rid yourself of the contraption, smiling fondly when he rolls, and still with that ingrained poise of his, onto his back.

With a fluidity that is enrapturing, Viktor stretches his arms above his head, pulls the length of his body in a way that pushes his ribs out, accentuates the jut of his hips; the coiled, sinewy muscle in his thighs; and then he drops back down with a heavy, shuddering exhale that rings of finality.

His hair splays in a crown of wild curls, sticking to his forehead and temples as he finds a steady rhythm in his lungs; eyes closed, mouth open, highlighted with a glean of sweat and mottles of residual heat against his cheeks, throat, and chest...he looks, to be candid, entirely fucked out.

But there's a sense of tranquil bliss about him right now, one that has become increasingly rare as the days pass, and you're not entirely ready to break the trance with words. You move carefully to his side, fitting in the space there with ease: slithering your leg over his left, laying your arm across his now-steadily rising and falling chest, and placing your head on the hard plane of his sternum.

His heart beats against your ear. With a contented hum that rattles in his chest, he lazily drags his hand through your hair, coaxing a smile to your lips.

You can't help it, you need to ask: "did you like what you saw?"

Viktor huffs out a laugh through his nose, "what was it that you said? That I could make ruin a thing of beauty?"

You blush, turning your head to press your face against his warm chest. "It's true. I wanted you to see it...how you look."

He curls his fingers in your hair, softly tugs in a silent beckoning, and you follow the movement, lift your head and square your gaze with his; his eyes are softened with an ardor like that of adoration.

"If so...I will say that you ruin me, entirely."

#no excuse and no regrets #viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor arcane #arcane #fanfiction #viktor #league of legends #i wrote this in a possessed state of thirst pls enjoy #my writing

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shurisneakers · 4 years

Text

harmless (v)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, ghosts, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, rats

Word count: 2.3k

A/N: why did i like this chapter sm someone explain. anyway!! y’all are so passionate about these two i love it mwah

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! i might actually end up using them

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

He dislikes the subway.

Other than his other valid reason to have disdain for trains, the subway is dark, it’s shady and he’s sure he’s seen rodents fight to the death here on several occasions.

Still, he’s following you down the stairs of the station, watching as you whistle along to the song blasting through your headphones. There’s a backpack swung over your shoulders, hands stuffed into the pocket of your hoodie and converse doing a skip every now and then. There’s a bandana that’s tied across your face, acting as a mask to hide your identity.

He realises that you’re dressed like a commuter. Were you going to dress the part every single time?

You walk along with the crowd. He follows, a few feet away.

Until you stop. He abruptly stops too, leading someone to walk right into him.

“Watch it, dumbass,” they hiss with the courage of someone who has no idea who he is. He ignores them.

He looks on as you dig around your backpack and pull out a roll of paper. A poster, he realises soon when you peel off a layer from the back and press it to the wall.

Was it legal to put up posters in the subway? He wasn’t quite sure.

He observes as you turn around and continue down the path. He waits a few seconds before trailing up to the poster.

Volunteers needed!

If you’re interested in being turned into a ghost for a couple of hours, this is your chance! Should be okay with being on camera so that we can make money off of taped paranormal sightings.

Paid opportunity. You get to pick your outfit. Randos don’t apply.

He yanks the poster of the wall before continuing down the same place you did.

He finds another poster along the way. He doesn’t hesitate in pulling it down. You were advocating to kill people.

He knows he’s going in the right direction because more posters creep up along the wall.

The both of you are on the platform by now but to him, something changes about the placement of the posters. They were growing in frequency, the distance between them decreasing as they were situated close to each other.

He pauses in front of the next one, hand hovering over the paper.

All it reads is ‘STOP’.

He furrows his eyebrow, pulling it down before peering over at the next one.

‘TAKING’, is all that it says.

It doesn’t take him very long to make his way through all the posters in the hallway.

‘THESE’

‘DOWN’

The train’s arrived by now but a quick scan over the crowd and he knows that you haven’t entered. That, and he knew that you were too dramatic to leave without a trace or a small conversation with him.

‘DICKHEAD’

Tasteful, he thinks.

“It took effort to make them, stop ruining it,” you whine from the end of the hallway. It’s empty, given that rush hour was over a while ago.

Even though the mask covers half your face, it’s obvious that there is mischief etched under it. The twinkle in your eye is telling.

“You’re literally killing people.” He holds up the poster. Not the ‘dickhead’ one. He pockets that for later.

He knows there are a few minutes before the next train arrives and more people flood the station. The eccentricity of today lay in the lighting from the incandescent lamps and acoustics of the platform. It made his voice echo like a movie scene.

“I very much am not,” you huff.

“You’re turning them into ghosts. That’s what a murderer does,” he says pointedly.

“Well, only if you keep saying it like that. You’re making me look bad.” You cross your arms across your chest. “What are you, Fox News?”

A scurry next to him earns his attention. Two rats nibble at a piece of fallen food. He wonders when they’ll starting brawling.

“Explain this.” He waves the poster around. He isn’t taking it too lightly he hopes. If it’s actual murder then it’s going to be an issue.

You pull out a black cylinder, slightly bigger than a pen. He can’t really see any more details, but you hold onto it like a wand.

“I’m turning them into ghosts. I’ll post videos of them doing stupid shit. I get famous and then boom, cash money.” You rub your index finger and thumb together. “I’ll give you a share if you volunteer.”

“You’re not explaining the death part.”

He can feel it. You’re about to start derailing.

“Winter Soldier, the ghost story. Literally.” You grin, yanking down the mask from your face to prove it. It pools around your neck. “That’s so funny, c’mon, it’d be amazing.”

It’s been years since he’s heard that. Never in this context.

“No,” he says sternly, “and I’m going to have to bring you in if you’re going to kill people.”

The rats were ignoring everything that was going down like the hardened criminals that they were. They had probably seen worse. He can’t stop paying attention to them.

“I’m not killing them, bro.” You raise your hands in exclamation. “I’m just moving some molecules around, some frequency shit. They’re alive, just ghosts.”

He’s always been one for science. Straight As throughout high school, attended science conventions as a hobby, alive even at 100 through some mad experimentation, definitely seen some weird shit during his lifetime.

But this doesn’t make sense.

“No,” he repeats. “Give me the thing.”

“Fine, I’ll show you.” You roll your eyes. “Since you have absolutely no faith in me.”

He does a quick review of his surroundings.

No one’s around, which is good.

But that just leaves him in front of you, which is bad.

“Don’t you even thin-” he starts, muscles tensing as he shifts into a defensive stance.

You whip out the little pen thing from beside you but before he can react you turn around and duck.

The click of a button releases a bright light, small but intensely stronger than the fluorescents in the station.

He reels back, feet carrying him away from where you’re crouched. His eyes quickly look down at his body.

Nothing’s changed.

He lifts his hand to check, runs it over his face. Still alive. He thinks.

“Behold,” you declare, “Ghost rat.”

He looks to where you’re pointing. The two rats from earlier were still nibbling on their food but something was off about them.

He could see the faint outline of the tiles on the wall behind them, almost like they were... translucent.

You aimed at the rats, not him. He doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or annoyed at the fake threat.

He watches as they move. They don’t look hurt or injured.

“Cool, huh?” you say smugly.

He can’t stop staring at them.

“Bring them back.”

“They’re fine, look how abstract it is.”

“Bring back the rats.” He can’t believe this is what his life has come to.

Bucky Barnes, Rodent Protector.

You aren’t fazed by his indifference, instead wonder filled eyes gaze at the animals. “Astral mice, sarge. Embrace the miracle of modern science.”

“You killed them.”

“They’re alive, they’re just ghosts.” You raise a finger to point. “Look, they’re still eating. Biological functions are still taking place.”

Which was true. But still. He doesn’t know what is going on.

“Bring them back to... non-ghost alive.”

“You sure you don’t want one? That one kinda looks like you.” One hardened glare after you realise the answer. “Jeez, alright then.”

You dig through your bag before pulling out a matte black replica of your current invention.

“Sexy colours, right?” You hold them up. “I modelled them after your arm.”

He looks down. Sure enough the gold and black matched his cybernetic limb. It was oddly flattering.

“Say thank you, Y/N, for letting me be your muse-”

“Un-ghost the rats.”

“Ungrateful,” you narrow your eyes at him.

Still, you comply with his demands, ducking down to their level again.

A click of the button, a bright light and the rats are back to normal. Non-transparent normal.

“Okay, give me that.” He takes a step towards you.

“Nuh uh.” You pull your arm back. His mouth twitches at your response; what are you, five?

The black one is stuffed back into your bag but you wave around the gold like a threat.

He sighs, making a pass for it. In a second his arm is twisted and shoved against his back, forcing him to spin so that he’s facing away from you. His eyes widen.

What the fuck?

“Now we’re having a good time,” you whisper into this ear.

He swiftly turns around, grabbing your wrist to rotate his own out of your grip.

“Since when can you fight?” he asks.

“Are we getting to know each other now?” You raise your leg to give him a semi gentle kick in the side, using his momentary distraction in blocking it to give him a knock on the head with your free hand. “This is so romantic, sarge.”

There’s a low rumble in the distance and he knows the train would soon start pulling into the station. It was still a distance away, but his heightened senses warned him that it wouldn’t take much time.

He groans. How much longer would he have to go at this?

He could easily win this fight and he knew it. But something in him itched, pulled him back from doing it.

He blocks another attempt at his head. “Stop that.”

You grin. “You know what’d be fun?”

He knows you’d reply even if he didn’t encourage it. The lights from the train light up the tunnel around the corner.

“This.” You don’t give him a second to recover before you flick your wrist away from him.

The device flies out of your hand and right onto the track. The both of you watch, you in glee, he in horror, as the train runs right over it, unleashing the brightest light he had ever seen. His eyes shut instinctively before it blinds him.

He forces himself to pry open his eyelids, look at the damage caused.

The train, sure enough, is translucent. He can see the posters on the other side of the platform through the carriage, through various people holding onto the poles for support or seated on the seats.

“Ghost train!” you cheer. He’s mortified.

“Fuck no,” he mumbles, yanking the backpack off your shoulder. He rummages through it, looking for the gold version.

“You lookin’ for this?” you ask nonchalantly, holding it up in your hand like it isn’t the solution to stopping a bunch of ghosts from wandering around New York.

“Turn them back.” He gives you a chance.

“Do it yourself, coward.” You grin, holding it above your head. The train is going to stop and he needs everyone to be alive and non-ghost before they leave.

He doesn’t wait this time, instead turning to you. The thing is still held in your grip above your head. He rolls his eyes, doing a quick assessment before grabbing your free hand, tugging you closer and plucking the device out of your hand before you have the opportunity to retract it.

“Great, now figure out which button to press.” You’re dangerously close to him. He can feel your hoodie brush against his tactical jacket. “Also if you wanted to be all pressed up against me, you could have just asked.”

He furrows his eyebrows, letting go of you as you give a loud laugh. He looks down at the device. It has several buttons, littering up and down the side. Each look the same.

The train’s slowing down.

“They’re both the same device; this version is not a magical solution to the other one. If you press the wrong button then both of us are going to be fucked.”

The last carriage is getting closer.

“Say I win this round and I’ll fix it.”

There’s a gleam in your eye. He knew this was exactly what you wanted.

He wishes he was as stubborn as Steve, just run through each button until the right one worked.

“You win this one.” He hands it back. He wasn’t like Steve and judging by the number of items the idiot jumped out of planes without a parachute on a daily basis, Bucky was glad about it. At least Bucky did it sporadically.

“Yay, two each for the both of us, then,” you say, taking it from him and twisting, eyes running down the sides. “Close your eyes, old man, or else your cataract’s gonna get worse.”

Right as the train pulls to a stop, you press down on the button before throwing it and the blinding light that emanates from it. It lands on the top of the train right as the doors open.

The passengers start stepping out. Some of them are looking at their hands and legs in a little disbelief, most just push through the crowd to leave.

He can’t see through them. It’s a good sign.

He turns to look at you but you’re not there. Instead, the weight of the small device weighs down in his pocket.

The sound of a thud on glass draws his attention.

He looks up at the train. The window of the carriage in front of him has a bit of fog on it. You trace a heart in the condensation and blow him a kiss before pulling your mask back on.

The train starts moving, leaving him alone in the platform again with your invention.

He lets out an exhale, wandering outside to grab a sandwich before waiting to catch the next train to go home.

Later in the evening, he catches hold of a bit of tape and the ‘Dickhead’ poster finds a place on Sam’s door.

He doesn’t appreciate it.

So now it’s tucked away in the shelf of Bucky’s bedside table along with a freeze ray, a ghost-inator, and some discount Pym Particles.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years

Text

In a Mirror Image (Eyeless Jack X F!Reader)

🌸 In a Mirror Image

[Eyeless Jack X F!Reader]

[Warnings: blood, language, cheating (both physical but it's not like, in your face, and emotional)]

Part 1

The flowers that grow like weeds in your lungs bloom thicker and thicker every day. Your vision clouds with blue more often than not, and you can’t think about anything but the blossoms and blood that paint the bathroom with a hue you’re already much too used to. It’s a painful existence, and it’s getting worse. One of the most wretched parts? You’re deteriorating so fast that your vision no longer services you. You are blind, unrendered to see. You still choose to live in a delusion, and you are amongst the only who choose not to acknowledge it.

By now, everyone knows but only one other than you refuses to acknowledge it.

You hear Hoodie arguing with Jack more often than not. It seems the blond haired proxy is angry over what Jack has done to you and because he knows what Hanahaki does to those it takes root in.

“You’ll fucking kill her,” Hoodie seethes as he gets in Jack’s face for the fourth time this weekend. “Look at her-”

“I am!” Jack shot back, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. “Who are you to come in here and speculate on something that you’re not a part of?” He growls. Normally, Jack likes talking to Hoodie, but not when Hoodie’s on a mission to prove Jack a sinner.

“I wasn’t even aware you still had one,” Hoodie retorts through grit teeth. “I can’t believe you. Look at the flowers Ja-” and before he can continue tearing into Jack, he hears your bedroom door open.

While you still share the room with Jack, neither of you are in it at the same time. You’ve taken residence up on the living room couch with Kate and Jack more often than not stays with Leia. The room you share is usually empty, much like your heart.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Hoodie suddenly greets you as you tiredly walk into the kitchen where the two men had previously been in a standoff. “Did you sleep okay?” He asks, voice so much softer and gentler with you than what he had just been using.

You shake your head as you take a seat at the table. “I can’t sleep,” you say.

Hoodie’s brows furrow in sympathy before they knit in frustration when Jack sits next to you. He watches as Jack snakes his arm around you before he presses an empty kiss to the side of your head.

“No?” Jack says in a sickly saccharine tone. “I’ll see what I can do about that. Does that sound good to you?”

You nod slightly, the ghost of a smile on your lips. “That sounds good,” you murmur back.

“Anything for you,” he hums as he pulls you in closer to his side.

“You disgust me,” Hoodie hisses to Jack as he gets up and pushes in his chair roughly, making the table bounce. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Jack for a second as he leaves, roughly slamming the front door behind him.

“What was that about?” You ask, feigning innocence. You refuse to open your eyes to the situation you are in.

“He’s having a bad day,” Jack answers. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he hums as he presses another kiss to the side of your head.

The butterflies in your stomach are dead, but the flowers blood evermore.

“You’re still sleeping out here?” Kate hums as she takes a seat next to you on the couch. She looks exhausted and she’s covered in blood. Her mask is cracked too.

“I guess,” you yawn as you shift slightly from your not so comfortable position. “How has your day been?” You ask as you reach for a glass of water only to see it’s not there.

“Let me,” Kate says as she gets up once more. She knows you’re getting worse. After getting you a bottle of water from the fridge, she comes back to your side. “I’ve had a busy day. Met with an independent named Nyein. They remind me of a big cat,” she finally answers as she opens the water bottle for you.

You take it and begin to slowly sip from it - it stops the flowers from blooming ever so slightly. Your airway opens just a little bit. “Do they now?”

Kate nods as she flips mindlessly through the channels. “They said they’re falling in love with a human. Bad business,” Kate winces, her dark eyes watching you carefully. “I hope they don’t…”

“It’s bad business,” you suddenly say as you feel petals fill your mouth. You cough slightly and the small little forget-me-nots fall into your lap, thankfully free of blood this time. You take one of the flowers into your fingertips and observe it gently. “I hope they’re okay.”

Kate puts her hand on your thigh, lightly squeezing before finally settling on the early evening news. “You wanna burn these blue fuckers?” She asks as the flowers in your lap remain stagnant save for the buds that unfurl at an alarmingly fast pace.

You feel the corners of your lips curl into a smile. “Yes.”

Morbid, your flowers have been springing up everywhere. They’ve infested the temporary house. So, you and Kate went around the place, plucking every single one before starting a bonfire in the backyard.

Toby, who considers himself a bit of a pyromaniac, was immediately summoned by the fire the two of you had cast in the backyard. He’d been out on a grocery run, and honestly, he had wanted to get out of the house.

The dynamics of the house had become uncomfortable to him. What with Leia and Jack sneaking off together and you coughing up a full greenhouse, he has been stressed. Toby can’t stand Jack and Hoodie arguing all the time as it reminds him of the life he tried to escape, and Masky can offer so much but ever since he renounced his love for Jay by force… It’s been hard. Toby knows it’s been hard for everyone involved.

He crosses through the house, sneers at Leia’s room, and then exits through the back to the scent of fire. He sees Kate’s arm around you as the fire blazes slightly blue.

“W-What are you g-gals up to?” He asks, coming to your other side so you remain in the middle.

“Burning stuff,” Kate nonchalantly replies. “You care to chuck anything in?”

Toby glances at you as you struggle to keep air in your lungs. “If I d-d-did, I’d be u-under c-charge for killing a-a-another under the O-Operator’s care,” he muses. He’s referring to Jack, of course. He takes in the scent of burning plant matter and blood and frowns when he remembers it’s yours. His hand reaches yours and squeezes gently.

You squeeze back.

Your experiences with Leia are lukewarm at best, and cold at worst. She’s something, she really is something. There’s moments when no one is in the temp house with you except for her alongside you, and those moments are tense, sharp, like a knife and burn colder than the depths of the sea.

The most memorable conversation you’ve ever had was the one that triggered a domino effect that would lead to a black hole in your chest.

“You’re still up?” Leia’s honeyed voice questions softly as she takes a seat across from you on the back porch at the glass table.

You find it more stifling inside so you choose to spend your time out. The weather is warm, afterall. The sun shines and fluffy clouds the size of whales swim overhead. You have a glass of pink lemonade made from a pouch Hoodie and Kate had picked up earlier. You find that the tang is enough to keep the flowers down.

“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?” You say in passing before you sip from the glass. You enjoy watching the rabbits in the backyard. They hop around without a care in the world.

She begins to thread her fingers through her long silver hair, braiding it. “I just think you should be resting,” she says. “You look so tired these days-”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Touched a nerve,” she sighs. “You know you’re getting worse, right?”

You shoot her a glare, but you know she’s right. You’ve actually been holding out surprisingly longer than most people with Hanahaki Disease. Most people succumb to it within a few weeks of coughing, but you’ve managed to hold out for damn near an entire year. That’s almost unheard of. You’ve been hacking up flowers, their stems, roots and blood ever since Leia came into your life.

Everyone tells you that you’re getting worse, but you should have been dead months ago.

“Stop it,” you growl.

“You’re killing yourself,” she continues. “You could just… Let it all go, y’know?” She hums as she continues to fishtail her silver strands. “Renounce your feelings for him and save yourself.”

You grip your glass and set it back down roughly on the table. “That is literally none of your concern,” you repeat, eyes narrowing at the blue eyed beauty across from you. “Acting like you care-”

“I do, though,” she cuts you off. “I know that the Slender Man has big plans for you, but with you wasting away like this… You’ll never live long enough to see them through.” She flashes you a look of concern, but you can tell it’s fake. It shines like pyrite.

“What, so you can take my place just like that?” You bite back. “You can’t even wait until I’m fucking dead?”

Leia giggles and you hate to admit that it sounds pretty. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Daddy always did say I got what I wanted.” Her eyes drift off and you’re able to see she’s no longer thinking about you, but someone who once loved her. She finishes the braid. “Happy six years to you and Jack. Give him all my regards, won’t you?” She stands up, eyes the rabbits feasting on the clover in the grass, before she plucks your half empty glass from in front of you.

“Leia-!”

“It’s not like you need it,” she chuckles.

“It’s a special day,” you said to Masky, a small smile on your face. “It’s our six year anniversary.” Your posture changes to attention as he closes the door softly behind him. He still smells like cigarettes, but it’s a pleasant scent you’ve found comfort in where others find it a nuisance.

Masky put a smile on his face but it didn't reach his eyes. “You need me to draw a portal or something for you?” He holds his arms open to you as you fall into them, part because you’re so weak and secondly because he knows you need the affection - even if he can’t feel it.

You feel light come to your eyes as you nod after leaving a note for Jack in your shared room on his nightstand.

‘Dear Jack, happy six years! I’d wait for you to get back, but I have a surprise for you at the field you gifted to me for our first anniversary. I await you with happiness. Love, R.’

Masky drew the portal in the living room, a mess of swirling cloud-like silvers and blacks before he laid eyes upon the place you once shared only with Jack. “It’s super pretty,” he says, dark eyes scanning over all the wildflowers. There’s weeds on the path, like no one has cared for it in a while. ‘How poetic,’ he thinks. ‘It’s an allegory for your decayed relationship with Jack.’

“No it’s not,” you giggle as you bring Masky down one of the weed and chicory covered paths to the gazebo. “But it’s special to me,” you hum as you take a seat.

Masky follows beside you. He doesn’t take a seat, mostly feeling it wrong to impose on a space that is Jack’s despite his respect for him falling so far from what it used to be, but takes in the scent of dying flowers all the same. It’s summer, and instead of the sun warming the soft petals, it’s burning them. When you cough up more flowers while waiting for the man who still holds your heart (and refuses to return it) you’re less than pleased to see that they blend in with the untamed mosaic.

“Are you still tired?” Masky asks softly as he lights up a cigarette. “You can rest, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

You glance over to Masky before you rest your head in your hands, wondering where your lover is. You listen to the wind as it blows through the leaves. You listen to Masky’s hum, and eventually, you fall asleep.

You wake back up sometime during the night in your bed and not in a position you normally sleep in. It looks like whoever delivered you back here was extra careful with handling you. You only wake up because Jack has accidentally turned on the light.

“Shit, my bad,” he apologizes, quickly plunging the room back into darkness. “Did I wake you?” He knows he did.

“No,” you lie. “I couldn’t sleep anyways.” That was the most rest you’ve had in months. “Where have you been?” You ask quietly, still choosing to remain buried in the sheets.

Jack slides into bed next to you and gets comfortable. He smells like perfume you don’t wear. Through the faint light of the hallway that peeks under your door, you can see he’s got dark marks on his neck and jaw. “Leia wanted to show me her childhood home. Place isn’t run by Zalgo anymore, so we took a trip out there.”

“Did you now?” You hum as you feel tears prick your eyes.

Jack can see you in the dark. His vision at night far surpasses a human’s. He just chooses not to acknowledge it. Jack knows that his relationship with you is gone, and that you’ve been coughing up flowers for the past year. He knows, and it hurts him. Hurts him deeply that he’s the one causing you such pain, but at the same time, he’s a coward. He chooses not to let you go cleanly because his relationship with Leia is so finite.

He knows she only wants him because at the time he was unattainable. Now that she has him, it is only a matter of time until she does to him what he’s done to you. He understands that fully, but he refuses to leave the safety net that is you because he is selfish. His feelings for you aren’t nonexistent, but it’s that kind of fondness one has after the deed has been done, a love based on past memory and sentiment rather than what will and can be. It has reached his threshold, and you both are too caught up in security rather than what is healthy.

“I did,” he says as his mind rushes a mile a minute. “What did you do today?”

You wonder if you should answer that honestly or not. Would he even care? “I stayed here today, nothing special.” You feel the flowers unfurling in your lungs.

Jack hums once more, his back now facing you as he slowly succumbs to sleep.

You met Masky in the bathroom again, hacking your lungs and more of those fucking flowers up into the bathrub and the sink. Hell, you even got some in the toilet. Your body is growing weaker and weaker by the day. The fact you’ve held out for a year is astronomical, but you know you’ll be being taken from it eventually. No one survives Hanahaki when their lover’s feelings aren’t returned. It either gets returned, or you lose them all entirely.

He almost lost you. You broke the mirror when your body went limp as the vines and flowers crawled out from your lungs, through your esophagus and out of your mouth. If it was an art installation piece, Masky might’ve thought it beautiful, but the fact you went cold and limp and the flowers were blooming at a rapid pace - one he thought he couldn’t keep up with.

Masky, despite not being able to really feel anything, panicked as he took you into his arms. Did he genuinely care for you? No, but he cared to whatever extent the surgery left him with. He fretted because you are under his direct care. He cared so deeply because he too had seen many good proxies and independents lost to it. He cared because a part of him remembered what it was like to have daisies and rhododendrons fill his lungs. Normally, you only have one type of flower to clutter your lungs. Science says “just because.” An old wives’ tale says “love truly lost.” In his case? Jay’s death. Nothing was the same after that.

Masky took no hesitation in scooping you up into his arms and running out of the house to the forest to be closer to his boss’s energy. The Operator could fix this should he will it. He didn’t care that the lights in the house went on from his concerned proxies - the ones who had been sick over what befell you since you came into their care. He didn’t dare let you go as he trampled through the brush in the dead of night, using only the moon.

“Sir!” He calls out frantically. “Sir! I need your help!” He can hear your heart get slower and slower.

And just like that, the devoted father came to his child’s cry.

“My child,” he greets, instantly swooping down to look at your pained, flowery visage. “Did I not tell you to handle this?” He chides softly as he takes you into his arms. The sound of static only grows louder and louder.

“I thought she could,” he says, his tone clearly apologetic. “Please, just… Just fix this for me.” He watches the Operator closely as the tall man holds you in his arms.

While you are not exactly his child directly, you are also still under his care. Leia did not lie that the Operator sees good things for you. Without any other words, the tall man is gone, giving you to gods know who to perform a surgery that should be considered the only humane way out.

He returns to the house where Hoodie, Kate and Toby eagerly awaited him, clamoring around him and pecking like hens wondering where you are. He says that you’re in the hands of a god.

You floated in the ether, your body a galaxy. You watched as your chest was torn open - looked like by the hands of an independent that had talons to rival an eagle.

‘There’s so much,’ she says, her mouth turning into a frown as she worked on carefully removing the clusters of flowers. ‘How is she not dead?’

The Slender Man continues to observe, not offering the doctor any words.

The spirals and swirls inside of you continue to swirl before the flowers get torn out, one by one. The roots that cling to your lungs are stubborn, but with every single one removed, the lights of a different universe go out. Snuffed. Lost. The cavity in your chest grows wider until it births a black hole.

‘How much longer?’ The Slender Man asks, watching as the independent calls in another to help her rid your body of weeds.

She shakes her head as she continues to root them out. They bloom under her touch. ‘I have no idea - she must’ve felt so strongly-’

‘They just keep coming up, Sir,’ the other interjects, her four eyes scanning you rapidly.

The black hole begins to suck up the stars and nebulas that comprise your system. It feasts on you, making every part of what made you you, disappear in its depths. It grows larger as it consumes you. It grows heavier. It grows more powerful.

‘We’re almost there,’ the taloned independent says, her wings fluttering softly to emphasize her point. ‘I’ve never seen it this bad before.’

‘Fix this,’ the Slender Man seethes, his patience wearing thin. He knows your body will not be able to handle this much longer.

The black hole reaches its mass, and slowly, it begins to consume you. It overtakes you, bathes you, and leaves nothing left when it has taken all that it can. Your body is empty. You are a shell. Glimpses of blue, grey and reddish brown flash in your mind’s eye and through the eye of the black hole, but you cannot place the feelings you used to associate with them. You remember, but you do not feel.

The last of the flowers are pulled. The taloned independent is exhausted, and her partner is just as tired. ‘Good fucking lord,’ she breathes out, exhausted from the late night gardening session. ‘In all my years I have never seen that awful disease take hold of an individual that bad,’ she notes. Her bird-like eyes watch over your open chest to make sure they’ve fully cleared it out.

A single forget-me-not sprouts, and the Slender Man is the one who plucks it. Just like that, the flowers, their roots, all evidence you’d ever had life inside of you, is gone. Withered and wilted away.

The black hole takes all that you have to offer, and you are back to consciousness, no longer floating, no longer a home to the vibrancy of the universe.

What came after was a bit of a blur. The Slender Man had brought you back to the safe house you had called your home for the past year surprised to see that some of his favored children were still away, waiting for you as the light of the sun rose over the grass. It was a new dawn.

“How is she?” Hoodie asked, immediately springing up.

“Fixed,” was all the Slender Man said, his gaze shifting from you to your group’s leader. “Masky, I’m entrusting you to watch over her as you have been through something similar.”

“Of course,” the dark eyed man says as he takes you gingerly into his arms. “I wouldn’t trust her with anyone else.”

“One last thing,” the tall man in a suit hums. “I am taking Eyeless Jack from this house. Leia will stay with him.”

“It’s probably for the best. We trust your judgment,” Masky replies.

The Slender Man’s head gently cups Masky’s cheek before he leaves them with the sound of static that dissipates as fast as it appeared.

You spent the first few days after your surgery under bed rest. The Slender Man had healed you but he still worried for the state of your lungs. You needed the rest, and you were pleased to have it. Other than that, you felt… nothing. You were numb. Fleeting feelings of happiness or thankfulness, maybe something melancholic would slip through but ultimately, you were nowhere near your old self.

Jack was not allowed anywhere near you. That was one of the first instructions given to him when the Slender Man had popped into his head. While he did not have an opinion on Jack’s unfaithful behavior, he was more displeased with the fact he’d kickstarted the disease in you. The Slender Man thought that if he started it in Leia, then perhaps everything would turn out alright.

So, he sent the two out with a different group - which mostly meant Jeff, someone the Slender Man knew detested behavior that Jack had committed.

It was not easy for Jack to share the same space with Jeff after word had gotten out about you.

“You’re my best friend,” Jeff had sighed one late afternoon, refusing to even acknowledge Leia in the room. “But that? That was fucked up.”

Jack hummed and kept his gaze on Leia, who looked at him with nothing short of adoration. “Sure.”

Jeff sighed once more and stood up. “You don’t feel an inch bad, do you?”

“No.”

“You’re a shitty guy but you’re an even shittier liar.” Jeff broke the door with how hard he’d slammed it on his way out.

Jack really wasn’t the same, that much was apparent. He’d slowly been becoming more withdrawn and quicker to agitation. Of course, he’d take it out on whoever was around to deal with it. Leia included - it just came in a different form. One in which she’d never complained. But when things were rough between them, things were rough.

Jeff could hardly stand the two most days, so when he’d sneak out, it was with his dog to come pay a visit with you. And he hated how dull you had become.

“Masky used to be a lot more personable,” Jeff would say. “Life of the party when we could get him out of his pseudo-philosophical bullshit. Then he hurled flowers and we knew something was wrong.” Jeff’s hand rubs your back gently as a sign of friendship.

“And then?”

“Then he got that stupid surgery and now he’s just existing. No further purpose, just existing because some pale guy says so for his benefit.” Jeff huffed and looked up at the setting sun.

You found your gaze following his.

“What you’re doing right now,” he began. “It’s no way to live.”

“Would you have rather I’d succumbed to it?” You asked, not adding any inflection to whether you’re happy or sad, hurt or even offended.

“In all honesty?” Jeff tore his eyes from the pink and blue sky. “Yeah. This,” he gestured to you. “This isn’t you.”

Everything you’re supposed to feel feels dampened. Instead, you nodded. “Note taken.”

Jeff frowned.

The first time Jack was able to see you after your surgery was nearing halfway to what would have been seven months. It’d been a rough time without him seeing you, mostly because the guilt had been devouring every humanity he had left. Nothing could fill the void.

Like the first time you had met him, it was an accident when you crossed paths once again. You had been clearing out a house one fine winter’s evening, doing what had been asked of you before you got the faintest scent of something familiar and something you once recognized as comforting. You furrow your brows, weapon at your hip as you slowly and quietly come down the stairs.

Your lips are pressed into a thin line as you peer into the living room. Snow falls outside the window.

“Reader?” A male voice asks, turning around from the hallway. “Is that you?”

You tilt your head slightly as you register the mask you’re looking at. Eyeless Jack, mostly just known as ‘EJ’ or ‘Jack’. You’ve never really spent any time with him though outside of little jobs, so you have no idea who this is or why he sounds so happy to see you.

“Uh, hi, EJ?” You say as you walk at a leisurely pace down the stairs.

Jack freezes momentarily as he comes to greet you in the living room. He’d almost forgotten that when the flowers are removed, so too are the memories alongside feelings.”It’s… It’s good to see you,” he says as he looks down at you, wondering if he should touch you or not.

“I guess it’s nice to see you too,” you say. “What are you doing in this area?” You inquire. You vaguely remember the Slender Man not wanting you two to be in the same area.

“Just out and about,” he answers as he scratches at the back of his neck. “Leia wanted to uh, hunt down some of her sisters - I - it doesn’t matter,” he suddenly finishes, feeling much too awkward to even look at you. He knows you don’t remember, but he certainly does. Looking at you… He has a fresh slate.

“That’s nice,” you say in a tone that’s clearly disinterested. You walk towards the living room windows and look into what is now a cold winter’s night. You can see the snow still falling. If you want to make it back to Masky before he gets worried, you’ll need to head out almost immediately. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

Jack slowly comes to your side and puts his attention on you, watching as the snow continues to fall. “Yeah, the prettiest,” he says softly, desperately trying in vain to hold back on scooping you into his arms. There’s something scratching at the back of his throat.

You nod once again and zip up your coat. “They’re expecting me,” you say, gearing up to brave the snow.

“Do you need any-”

“No,” you cut him off. You’re not sure why it comes out so harshly, but you figure it must be a remnant of a memory you no longer have access to. “I can manage on my own.” You brush past him and open the front door, eyes momentarily clamping shut at how cold it is before you step onto the porch. The sound of the crunching snow is satisfying.

“Stay safe out there,” Jack says softly, not moving from his place as he continues to gaze out the window at the falling snow.

You turn your head briefly over your shoulder, “and you as well.”

Jack hears the door close and you walk off into the night, back to a group he was barred from. That tickling in the back of his throat grows more and more prevalent until he clears his throat. Feels like there’s something on his tongue. He coughs a few more times before holding his hands in front of his mouth, displeased to see the small blue petals he knows will bloom to full flowers in a time frame that is too long to be considered fair.

#eyeless jack #xreader #creepypasta x reader #eyeless jack x reader #creepypasta #hanahaki #angst #masky #hoodie #brian thomas #tim wright #kate the chaser #reader insert #slender man

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shyvioletcat · 3 years

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For zoom interrupted could we have one where aelin is attending a meeting and Rowan is supposed to take care of Elspeth and well hell ensures

Well, I don’t know where this came from. But it’s here and it’s fluffy, so enjoy.

Zoom Interrupted

~~~~~

It was Rowan’s turn for ‘keeping the toddler out of the study’ today. Aelin had a meeting and they weren’t as accepting of interruptions as his colleagues were. Dorian didn’t mind, neither did Aedion, but a lot of the others had sticks up their asses and didn’t understand kids at all. At least with Dorian as her directing manager, Aelin wasn’t going to cop any flack for it if something happened. He just listened to the complaints, reminded those complaining of the situations they were in, and left it at that.

The only problem was that Elspeth had woken up today feeling like Aelin was the only person that existed in the whole entire world. She wouldn’t have a bar of him. Rowan had tried everything –– snacks, her favourite toys, cuddles, video chatting the grandparents. Nothing worked. The best he could manage was cartoons and being regulated to the opposite of the couch after she had pulled just about every possession she had into the living room and left it there. Even then she was still restless and whiny, every so often she whimpered a little. It was enough to break his heart.

Rowan was checking his phone ignoring the annoyingly high voices on the TV, when there was a loud clatter making him snap his eyes away from the screen. The remote had landed on the floor, the batteries spilling out.

“Elsie,” Rowan said sternly.

It was a mistake. Her green eyes went wide and started to fill with tears. Rowan sighed, he knew what was coming so he slipped off the couch to deal with the remote before it did. He’d just got the batteries in and the back on when Elsie cracked it, crying like her world was ending when all he’d done was say her name in a slightly lower octave than he usually used. Kneeling on the ground Rowan looked over at his daughter, who was now lying down on the couch, her little face heartbreakingly sad.

“I’m sorry, little one,” Rowan said gently. “But you can't throw the remote, it will––”

She didn’t let him finish.

Rowan sighed again, knowing this was a losing fight. “Do you––” more crying, “I can get you a chocolate milk, how about that?”

That caught his daughter’s attention and her crying stopped as she nodded at him. Rowan smiled triumphantly and pushed himself off the floor to go to the kitchen. He got out Elsie’s favourite sippy cup and the milk and the chocolate powder. Spooning in just enough that the milk was convincingly brown, Rowan screwed on the lid and went back to the living room.

“Elsie, here’s your…” Rowan’s voice trailed off when he took in the oddly quiet couch.

Elspeth was gone.

~~~~~

Aelin loved babies. And she loved making babies. It was just the in between bits she wasn’t too fond of. If the vomiting and near constant nausea, along with the fatigue, wasn’t bad enough there was also the fact she was shut in their little house with nowhere to go. Aelin understood why she couldn’t go out, she really did. But being stuck inside with a toddler and her husband with no one else to see face to face was driving her a little stir crazy.

At least today she had something to break up the monotony of the days. She had a meeting for work, meaning that she had to at least look somewhat presentable, giving her something to do and a reason to wash her hair. The hard part had been convincing Elspeth to play with her father for a while. She’d been extra clingy today and Aelin had to literally pry off the little hand that held her shirt in a vice grip. Throughout the meeting she’d heard muffled sounds of tantrums and Rowan’s efforts to placate their daughter, all in all it didn’t sound like it was going great.

And neither was Aelin. She’d zoned out a little while ago while Kaltain droned on about something that wasn’t relevant to Aelin so she put all her attention to keeping her breakfast in her stomach.

Then there was a silence and Aelin hoped that the meeting was over but then her name was being said, and from the tone of it, it wasn’t the first time.

“Aelin,” Dorian said.

She took in a deep breath, not quite exhaling as she said, “Yep.”

“Have you finished that manuscript?”

“Not yet,” Aelin managed to get out, swallowing back the nausea. It usually took Aelin no more than three days to finish a manuscript with her notes for the publishers. But she was more than a week behind on this one. It wasn’t her fault, every time she tried to read she just fell asleep.

“It was meant to be finished last Friday. I don’t think you’ve ever been late before,” Dorian mused.

Aedion snorts from his little rectangle. “Being late is kind of Aelin’s thing at the moment.”

Aelin sends her cousin a scathing look while Dorian looks confused.

“Well that’s it for today,” Dorian said. “Same time next week.”

“Before you go,” Aelin adds quickly before the call ends. “I need a minute with you Dorian.”

“Okay, I’ll just disconnect everyone else.” It took Dorian a minute but then it was just the two of them. “What’s up?”

Just then the door to the study swung open and then a small figure launched itself at Aelin. She gagged on impact, but managed to keep from actually throwing up.

“Elsie!” Dorian cheered. “How’s my favourite little gremlin?”

Aelin saw her daughter give Dorian a look on the screen that looked all too much like Rowan as she clung tighter to Aelin.

“Aw, what’s the matter, petal? Do you want to see the puppies?” Dorian asked.

Elsie nodded at that, wiping her nose on Aelin’s shoulder. Dorian’s dog had had puppies a few weeks ago, Aelin was a little jealous and had cried over the photos more than once. Dorian apparently had one on his lap and he lifted it up so they could see. Aelin’s eyes started to tear up immediately and the fluffy little things. It was enough to get Elsie’s attention and she moved forward, nearly knocking over a drink bottle, making Aelin jump up to catch it before it did some damage.

“Aelin Galathynius-Whitethorn, is that what I think it is?”

Aelin looked at her own screen, at the view Dorian had. The shirt she had worn today hugged her very small baby bump, all the more noticeable from the sideways angle she was standing at. Aelin readjusted Elsie who was currently tucked under her arm, and sat back down. “Yeah so… I’m going to have to put in for leave. I’m pregnant.”

“Again?” Dorian all but blurted.

“Hey,” Aelin pointed a finger at him, feeling irrationally angry. “What do you mean again? It’s only the second one.”

“Sorry,” Dorian said meekly.

“Well, you say it like it’s my fourth or something.” For some reason this conversation was now making her cry. Damned hormones.

“Did you just make my pregnant wife cry?”

Rowan now came into the study, no doubt looking for his escaped charge. He was scowling at Dorian, green eyes staring him down through the camera.

Dorian cleared his throat. “If we weren’t in lockdown I might be afraid for my life right now.”

“Lockdown won’t last forever,” Rowan threatened. “And I never forget.”

“Unless it’s contraceptives,” Dorian muttered.

That set Aelin cackling, her erratic emotions coming full circle, especially when she saw the faint blush on Rowan’s cheeks. Elsie started laughing too, cheered up by being in her mother’s arms and the little puppy.

Dorian sighed. “I hate to lose my best proofreader, again,” he added with a wry smile. “But congratulations. To all of you.”

“Thanks, Dor,” Aelin said, giving Rowan a nudge.

“Thanks,” Rowan said tightly, making Aelin roll her eyes.

“Okay, I’m gonna go before Rowan finds a way to murder me through a screen, we can work out deatils later.” That was all Dorian said before he ended the call.

“You’re the worst,” Aelin said, looking up at her husband.

Rowan sighed, “Sorry, I’m just tired.”

“How convenient, me too,” Aelin said. “How about we take a family nap?”

Rowan grinned at her as he helped her up from the chair while Elsie still clung to her. “Sounds perfect.”

~~~~~

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gale-gentlepenguin · 4 years

Text

ML Fic: Soulmate Survey Part 34

Man these parts are getting harder and harder to churn out. A lot of plot points converging and real life ramping up. Hopefully you all enjoy this. Please comment your thoughts on the chapter. And if you really liked it, Reblog it. Thats the best way to get others to see it. Also, Please let me know your thoughts. Your comments fuel me.

(Master Post)

_____________________________________________________________

Masquerade surveyed the classroom. Her former classmates now her masked servants. It was fitting how they were all silent. Before, they listened to her because she told them exactly the things they wanted to hear, now they listened because she had power over them. It was kind of poetic in a way.

She looked across the classroom, she realized that there seemed to be more people missing than she initially realized.

“We are missing someone. Aside from Marinette, who is missing?”

The controlled classmates looked amongst themselves. Trying to figure out who was the one that was not in the class.

“Is it Chloé?” Miracular inquired, trying to answer her master’s request.

The akuma looked around.

“Huh… Oh yea, she isn’t here. Well she isn’t important. I was thinking someone else.” Masquerade answered. She looked to her most recently made akuma servant.

The Bubbler, the akumatized version of Nino stood motionless. As if he was not registering what was going on.

“Bubbler? Do you know who is missing?”

The multicolored akuma said nothing. Not even looking in the direction of the mask maiden.

“Bubbler! I order you to answer me!” She commanded with fiery rage.

The akuma turned to face his master, now responding.

“Adrien is missing.” The bubbler answered, his voice robotic and as emotive as a speak and spell.

“So, Adrien isn’t in the room. What a shame. I was planning on turning him into my handsome little knight.”

Masquerade thought for a moment.

Has Adrien been akumatized? Lila wasn’t sure she had ever seen or heard about him getting akumatized. She knew that the class had pretty much gotten hit at least once or twice at some point from what she had heard and read from the ladyblog. But if that goody-goody Marinette hadn’t been akumatized, Adrien likely hadn’t been akumatized either.

“Alright my servants! We have a new mission. I want you to lock this school down! No one is allowed in or out. Anyone you find, bring them to me. If they can be akumatized, then they are joining our cause.”

“Time breaker. Guard the perimeter outside of the school. Anyone outside of Ladybug and Chat noir trying to get in. Tag them, but only if they are suspicious of what’s going on. Stay hidden otherwise.”

“Timebreaker nodded and began skating out of the room in a rush.

“Horrificator, once Timebreaker is outside, seal all the exits in the main building.”

The masked monstress nodded and sped out of the room.

“Dark Cupid, Stoneheart, Princess Fragrance, Miracular and Reflekta. I want you to split up check all of the rooms and bring me potential akumas.”

The five akuma nodded and made their way out the door.

“Gamer and Robostus. I want you to hack into the airwaves. I want access to every Electric device in Paris when I give you the signal. But make sure to be subtle. I don’t want anyone to know about us until I tell you.”

The two nod and start working to get that ready for her.

She focuses her attention to the bubble making akuma that was giving her problems earlier.

Considering how hard it was to break him down, it was understandable. She had saved him for last for a reason. Because he was the hardest one to crack.

He was a relatively calm individual, able to keep a level head. But even he had his weakness. His confidence. Once that was shaken, seeing his entire class taken, knowing his girlfriend was under her control, he couldn't resist another moment. In a way, it was the most satisfying charm on her bracelet.

“Now Bubbler, you are going to go and locate Marinette and Adrien for me. Put them in a bubble and bring them to me. Help that girlfriend of yours.”

The bubbler nodded yes despite severe shaking. Seems even now he is trying to resist the control of the mask.

“Troublesome, but it is only temporary. He will break soon enough.” Masquerade mused to herself.

She looked at the near empty room with contempt. This was hardly a place where she could exact her vengeance. It was so… lame. Though a thought occurs as she realized who she had left standing at attention without orders.

“Evillustrator, I have a special request for you.”

________________________________________________________

“What is this?” Chloé screeched. “My daddy bought me the best phone plan in the city. How can I not have service right now?!”

The nurse felt a chill run down her spine. Could the akuma block out phone signals? Is that why there is no attention being given to the school? How could they call for help? How would anyone know of the akuma attack? Would Ladybug and Chat noir be able to help them?

The nurse started to feel herself going pale, she was just supposed to be a school nurse. Worst thing she needed to deal with was a scraped knee or give a kid an ice pack. Now she has a woman that collapsed on the bed and an akuma that is somewhere in the school. She had just moved to Paris a few months ago. It was her dream to live in the city of love, get her career going, find a nice guy, and just live the good life. But no one told her that supervillain attacks would be so personally connected to her situation? She had heard about this crap in New York and in America. But Paris? It was too much. What if Ladybug and Chat noir didn’t fix everything? What if this was where her story ended. What if…

“Hey!”

The nurse turned to her attention to the voice. It was the brash blonde teen that was complaining.

“You look like you’re going to pass out. Just a heads up, I am not taking care of you.” Chloé commented.

Angela felt her face heat up with annoyance.

“Listen you brat. I don’t have time to deal with your attitude. I have a woman that is out cold from exhaustion in a building with a hostile akuma.”

“Good, at least you aren’t going to faint. I don’t need any more whinny women fainting on me”

The nurse paused, did the girl say that just to help her not succumb to the grim situation?

Chloé started making her way to the door.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“You already got your hands full with the annoying assistant. I need to make a call to daddy. So, I am going to head out the building and try there. Try not to get ripped apart by an akuma, I still need more ice when I get back.”

Angela blinked. This girl wasn’t scared of the akuma. She was actually going out to do something reasonable. If she could call for help, it would mean that this whole thing blows over.

“Okay, I’ll stay here. Be safe.”

“Yea whatever.”

Chloé headed out the door.

Angela felt a ghost of a smile grace her face.

‘Maybe that girl isn’t a complete brat after all.’

__________________________________________________

The shapeshifting sentimonster growled as it smacked the locker. It lost both primary targets. And worst of all, Ladybug appeared to make this even harder. Masquerade needed to hear about this.

“Master, Marinette and Adrien have escaped my sight.”

The sentimonster heard a sigh of disappointment from the other end.

“It is fine Simularé, They wont be able to escape the school anyway. They will be found soon enough. If anything, this is a blessing in disguise. Having them be the last targets will have them bare witness to how devasting it will all be.” Masquerade answered. “Any news on Ladybug and Chat noir?”

“That’s the other bad news. Ladybug arrived, I am assuming that’s how Marinette managed to escape, and ladybug also took Adrien away as well. No sign of chat noir. But if you know one is here, the other is likely soon to follow.”

There was a brief moment of silence, as masquerade mulled over the information she had received.

“Actually, that works out well for us. Meet up at my location, I have the other students out looking for them, I need your power for something more important.”

“Yes master.”

Simularé shifted back into its phantom form, moving quickly down the hallway to obey her master’s request.

Just as it left, Ladybug popped out of a nearby locker. Relieved it didn’t notice.

“That’s not good, Masquerade likely got everyone in the classroom.” The red heroine said aloud.

She activated her communicator and tried to contact chat noir. But there was no sound.

“Damn it. No signal. Lila likely cut the communication as soon as she realized it.?”

“No worries Buggaboo, I happen to be on site.” A voice called out.

Chat noir jumped out of another locker to reveal he was there.

Ladybug felt a bit of relief at her partner’s appearance. She could tell he felt the same. Better a situation with two heroes.

“Been here the whole time?” The spotted heroine asked her cat crimefighting comrade.

“Just arrived a few minutes ago, I figured something was up, so I decided to take a quick peek. Cat curiosity and all that.”

“And you assumed it was with Collège Françoise Dupont?”

“It seemed like a solid guess.”

“Considering the track record, that is reasonable.” Ladybug conceded.

“Ever wonder why it is always this school and never any of the other schools? Paris is a big city. You would think Hawkmoth would decide to branch out to the other schools in the city.” Chat noir inquired as they started walking down the hall.

“I assumed its just a coincidence.”

“Shot in the dark, maybe he has a kid that goes here. He is pretty old” Chat noir dissed.

“I can’t imagine anyone that would want to date Hawkmoth.” Ladybug joked.

“What about the blue lady? She seemed crazy enough.”

“And now that image is burned in my mind. Thanks kitty.” Ladybug sarcastically commented. “Despite the mental scarring, I am glad you got here. Seems a repeat offender got herself an upgrade in the akuma powers department.”

“Lila.”

“How did you know?”

“I was reading the ladyblog, Alya did great work on that article.” Chat noir praised. He mentally applauded his quick thinking.

“Right, kind of the reason I felt the need to keep an eye on this place. But sadly, I was too slow.” Ladybug responded a tad gloomy.

“Hey, don’t sweat it. We will finish this akuma before lunch.”

Ladybug heard a footstep from the end of the hallway.

“Get down!”

Ladybug tackled the cat hero down. Just narrowly avoiding a neon pause symbol, which now suck on the wall.

“Looks like Lila has been busy.” Chat noir noted as he turned his face to the direction of the attacker.

Ladybug looked at the akuma. The white mask covering her friend’s face. Lady Wifi was back.

“Alya…”

The two heroes got into a fighting stance and prepared to take down this controlled akuma.

________________________________________________

The halls were empty and lifeless as the two visiting teens made their way cautiously down the halls.

“Oddly quiet in here.” The fencer commented. “What do you think Luka?”

“Well last time we entered a place with an akuma in it, it was brimming with armored minions. Maybe this akuma has more stealth?” The Musician commented. “So, I don’t think you will be fighting as directly as you are use to Kagami.”

Kagami nodded at that, not exactly happy or sad regarding that remark. Her plan was to see if she could help her friends get out of the building, grab her textbook, and get out. She wasn’t really that interested in fighting a superpowered foe at this moment in time.

The two ceased speaking when they heard approaching footsteps.

“Someone’s coming.” Luka noted.

The two duck into the nearest room.

The two stayed close to the door as they listened to the sound of the approaching figure.

Kagami dropped to the floor silently as to check and see if she could get a visual.

She could only see what appeared to be costume boots of a larger figure. Which made the expert fencer believe it was not friendly.

The figure stopped, looking at the door. The two teens felt their neck hairs stand on edge as they did their best not to make a sound.

After what felt like an eternity, the figure passed the door without checking. Once the sound of his footsteps could no longer be heard, they let out a sigh of relief.

“That was way too close for comfort.”

“Agreed. I would prefer a direct confrontation next time, much less nerve-racking. “

The two carefully open the door and exit the room.

“Seems we found the akuma.” Luka commented. “Now we just need to avoid it and.”

“You mean akumas.” Kagami corrected.

“Akumas?”

Kagami tilted the boys head to look in the same direction she was looking, and sure enough she saw a rather large rock like creature walking the halls.

“Oh… well that is bad.”

Kagami pushed him back into the room and closed the door. Locking it before the rock giant could notice them.

“I’m surprised.”

“By the fact there is an 8-foot-tall rock beast outside?”

“No, by the fact you didn’t try to fight it.”

“I don’t have a weapon.” Kagami replied flatly.

Luka raised a brow at the comment, unsure if the fencer was serious or not about fighting that thing if she had a foil.

“Is something wrong?” A third voice came from behind them.

The two teens turned around, preparing for the worst. Though they were relieved to see it was just an old janitor… in a Hawaiian shirt. Despite his odd dress, he did give off a kind aura. One of a trusting old grandpa.

They noticed that the room seemed to be a sort of teacher’s lounge, with a small counter with a sink and cabinets. As well as a fridge to keep food cold and stored. A place in the school where teachers would come to get a quick coffee or store their lunch.

“Oh good, you aren’t an akuma.” Luka sighed with relief.

“An akuma?” The old man asked.

“Yes, it is very dangerous out there right now. There are multiple villains outside. I would recommend staying put while we go out there and help handle things.” Kagami explained.

“Quite bold of you to go out there against those monsters.” The man responded.

“Don’t worry, we will be careful. We just need to make sure we can get as many people out as we can so Ladybug and Chat noir won’t need to worry.”

“Ah, how selfless of you. You both seem quite capable for ones so young.”

“You’re very kind, but we are just doing what we can. Our friends are out there and they need our help.”

Kagami goes to the door. Checking to ensure the coast is clear again.

The old man pats the musician’s shoulder.

“I am sure you two will figure a way to help your friends.”

“There are too many outside this room.” Kagami grumbled. If only I had a way to fight them.”

The mysterious janitor smiled.

“Say… I did happen to see Ladybug earlier.”

The two teens turned their attention to the old man.

“You did?” they asked in unison.

“Yes, she happened to drop something while rushing. Would you two be so kind as to return them to her when you see her.”

The two of them glance at each other and shrug. The old janitor might be senile.

“Sure… We can give it to her.” Luka assured the old man, trying to remain polite.

The old man moves to a closet, where out of view of the two teens, an elaborate chest with the symbol of the guardian’s decorates the top. He quickly gets two smaller boxes and closes the closet.

“Ah! Here they are.”

He hands the two a small box each. Their eyes go wide.

“They seemed important, so I didn’t want to just leave them on the floor. But I have a feeling you two will take good care of them.”

The two teens were engrossed by the boxes in their hands. They recognized them immediately. These were the boxes Ladybug used when handing out miraculous.

“Where did you find…?” Kagami tried to question, but noticed the old man was no longer there.

“He’s gone…”

“Actually, I am over here.”

The teens look in the opposite direction they were looking in order to see him at the end of the room getting a snack from the fridge.

The duo decided that maybe this old guy wasn’t all there after all and figured it would be best to go somewhere and utilize the ‘gift’ they were just given.

“Stay in the lounge where it’s safe okay?” Luka asked politely.

“Of course. I am not paid if I am not working.”

The two teens checked the door again, and once the coast was clear. They both slipped out of the room.

After he knew they were out of sight, the old man chuckled.

“The senile routine works every time.”

“Master, you really cut it close with that one.” A small turtle creature exclaimed as he popped out from the closet.

“The universe works in mysterious ways Wayzz. What are the odds that there would be an attack on the school the very day I decide to hide out as a janitor?”

“Considering the frequency of akuma attacks, very likely.”

“True, but how about running into two individuals that Marinette had picked to be heroes.” Fu followed up.

“That is quite a coincidence.”

The guardian pulled out his phone and noticed he didn’t have a signal.

“It seems I can’t get a signal to notify her of the reinforcements I sent her way. Likely it would be the same on her end. So, it is a good thing I acted in advance.”

Fu moved to the closet where he kept the miraculous.

“I can’t help but shake the feeling Ladybug and Chat noir will need all of the help they can get.

“Don’t worry master, I am sure Ladybug and Chat noir will be successful.

“Let us keep an eye on things. They might need another ally to turn the tide.

________________________________________________________

“I am guessing you are also familiar with what’s inside here?” Kagami inquired as the two stealthily moved in the hall.

“I may be familiar with it.” Luka commented.

Kagami contemplated the statement. She figured out the truth.

“Seems we both have used a miraculous then?”

“It appears we have. Though I am not sure Ladybug will be thrilled that someone knows I have helped her.”

“I understand the sentiment. Though lets simply agree to keep it between us.” Kagami answered. “Friends do keep secrets like that if I’m correct.”

Luka smiled at the comment.

“Your secret is safe with me.” Luka assured.

“As is yours.”

The two found the locker room and quickly moved inside.

“Coast is clear.”

The two opened the boxes and as they did two magical creatures appeared in front of them.

A floating creature with multiple spikes appeared in front of the fencer, while another floating creature that resembled a cobra stood in front of luka.

“It is a pleasure to see you again Mistress Kagami.”

“It’s been too long, Longg.” Kagami smiled. Happy to see her kwami friend.

“Hello Luka, itssss been a while.” The snake kwami greeted.

“Happy to see you too Sass.” Luka fist bumped his kwami.

The kwamis stop and turn to see the other kwami there.

“Does Ladybug know about this?” They both ask in unison.

“We will inform her after. Right now, there is a lot of danger.” Kagami exclaimed. “Ladybug needs our help.”

The two kwami nod and prepare to fight.

“Consssider us accomplissses.” Sass answered.

The two teens put on the miraculous.

“Sass! Scales Slither.”

“Longg! Bring the storm”

The two teens transform into their heroic alter egos.

Kagami shifting into the dragon miraculous hero Ryuuko, and Luka changing into the Snake hero Viperion.

The two stop to glance at the other.

“So, what should I call you.” The snake hero asked curiously.

“Call me Ryuuko. And what about you mister snake?”

“Viperion is what I am going with.”

“Fitting.”

“As is yours.”

The two give a nod of comradery before making their way out of the locker room. They had to go help Ladybug.

__________________________________________________

Ladybug dashed across the hallway, avoiding pause symbols being flung at her by the conniving akuma.

She slid underneath one of the symbols and preformed a daring slide kick to knock Lady Wifi off balance.

While she was unstable, Chat noir charged and used his baton to make contact with her white mask. Believing it was the obvious weak point.

“Got it!” Chat noir exclaimed triumphantly. The strike of the staff knocking Ladywifi a good several meters. Before lying flat on her back.

“Wow, that is a tough mask. I thought for sure that was the weak point.” Chat noir commented.

Lady Wifi stood up robotically.

“There must be a way to snap her out of it. Unless Hawkmoth is learning from his mistakes.” Ladybug hypothesized as she got up from the ground.

“Well I got nothing.” Chat noir shrugged.

Another set of footsteps approaching caught the hero’s attention. The recognized the multicolored bubble maker the moment they saw him.

“Nino… You too?” Chat noir said under his breath.

The Bubble maker used his bubble wand to summon two large bubbles to capture the heroes. Bringing back flashbacks of their first encounter with the bubble akuma.

Chat noir and Ladybug expertly slide between the gaps of the attack, resulting in Lady Wifi getting hit with the large bubbles and being sent flying into the wall via bubble prison.

Chat noir lunged at the Bubbler, his quick pounce pinning him down before he could attack.

“Maybe I can destroy his mask with…”

“Wait Chat noir!” Ladybug called out.

Chat noir paused.

“What if your cataclysm doesn’t free him?”

“And then I am left without the power before a recharge.”

“Exactly. We need to hold off on using our powers right now.”

Chat noir wanted to save his friend. But he knew his partner was right. They needed to conserve their powers before facing Lila.

The Bubbler managed to get the cat hero off of him with a burst of strength. Knocking Chat noir to the ground.

Lady Wifi had gotten free from the bubble attack and was now blocking the other entrance.

Ladybug and Chat noir moved back to back, Ladybug facing the ladyblogger turned mindless akuma slave and Chat noir facing the akumatized DJ.

“Any ideas, Buggaboo?”

“Seems they can’t adapt. They are pretty much mindless slaves. Which makes sense since Lila wouldn’t want them to think for themselves.”

“So you’re saying their movements are simple.”

“Which means they are exploitable.”

Chat noir felt relief watch over him. He knew Ladybug had a plan.

_____________________________________________________

“EWWWW!” Chloé screeched in disgust. The front entrance to the school had been covered in a pink slime.

She wiped her hand on the cleanest section of wall she could find. This was not her day.

“What is with this nasty gross akuma? First, I can’t call Daddy to come and pick me up. I can’t even post about it! How will Ladybug know to save me? Or better yet, get me the bee miraculous so I can help her save the day?”

Chloé decided to try another exit, since she had no plans of sticking around without knowing if she was going to be given a miraculous or not. Plus, she did say she would call for help, and doing that would make her look good in potential hero points.

As she was walking, she bumps into something in the middle of the hall. Which was bizzare since the hall was clear.

“Ouch, right on my bruise. What the hell is…”

Chloé felt her anger shift to fear when she watched as the empty hall now contained a familiar akuma.

“Sabrina?”

The akuma turned to her, her face covered with a white face mask.

“Eww. Your akuma form looks even tacker than before.”

“Take potential akuma to master.” The akumatized Sabrina stated in an emotionless tone. Repeating the order, she had been given.

“Oh no you don’t! Sabrina, I order you to listen to me!”

The akuma ignored the blonde’s command and slowly walked towards her.

“Sabrina… I am warning you. I am going to yell at you over this later if you don’t stop right now.”

Chloé started slowly backing away. She wasn’t sure of what to do.

“Listen… if you stop right now… I’ll uh… let you take a pick of one of my old sweaters.” Chloé bargained, not intending to let her pick one of the ones she actually liked.

Chloé felt her hand touch the sealed door, and knew she was at the end of the hall. She was boxed in.

“This is so unacceptable.” Chloé stated, preparing to get captured. But a flash of Red and Black came out of nowhere and kicked the akuma hard to the wall.

“Ladybug! I knew you would like save me!” Chloé jumped and hugged her savior.

“Im not ladybug.” The heroine spoke.”

Chloé released the hug as she examined who her savior was.

“Who the hell are you?”

Chloé had never bothered to learn the names of any of the other miraculous heroes. She sometimes forgets chat noir’s name.

“Ryuuko.” The dragon heroine stated calmly, almost regretting saving Chloé.

“Did Ladybug send you? Cause it would have been better if she got me to help.”

Ryuuko decided to ignore Chloé’s comment.

“Now we need to leave before she… Where did she go?” Looking at the dented locker that no longer had an akuma lying on the ground.

Suddenly the akuma popped out of nowhere about to strike from above with her tonfa and steal Ryuuko’s powers, but was stopped when a small harp smacked her face.

“She appears to have invisibility.” A voice called out.

The two turn to see the snake hero as he caught his harp on the rebound.

Chloé took a moment to look over the snake hero. She had to admit, he was pretty cute. Not Adrien cute, maybe she would start learning the names of the other heroes.

“Quick thinking Viperion.” Ryuuko thanked the snake teen.

“Just following your lead.” Viperion responded. The two giving eachother a respectful smile. They both seemed to have gotten used to working together.

The akuma got up. Its white face mask making the akuma’s expression unreadable. But its body language exuded rage.

“Seems we aren’t going anywhere until she is taken care of.” Ryuuko said as she stared down the akuma.

Viperion turned to chloé.

“You need to go and get to safety.”

“Okay!” Chloé says as she runs off.

“How come she didn’t give you any sass?”

“Because I already have him.”

Kagami had to admit that was a clever response.

“Not what I meant, but Chat noir would love that joke.”

“I will be sure to tell him it later.”

“Stick to playing guitar. You’re a better musician than comedian.”

Before they could get off anymore banter. The akuma went for another attack.

________________________________________________________

Simularé entered Ms.Bustier’s classroom.

“I am here.” The ghostly sentimonster announced.

“Excellent.”

The sentimonster looked up to see that the classroom it was expeciting to see had been altered into what appeared to be a rather glamourous throne room. The windows covered by white curtains with the design of an akuma in black. The platforms and stairs had been altered to be marble. And at the top, where Lila’s desk once was was now a golden throne akin to something one would see in a castle. Though despite the impressive change in the classroom it was still being designed. The akuma known as the evillustrator was still creating more furnishings for the room.

“Simulare, I have an order for you.” Masquerade stated as she sat on the new throne. Clearly confident in her position.

The sentimonster approached her master. Stopping only a few feet away.

“I want you to create a mirage over the school. Since Ladybug is already in the school. It would be best if you made sure no one notices whats happening here. I don’t need any additional heroes popping in yet. Let’s handle her before making things public.”

Simularé nodded.

“Understood. But what should we do if she…”

“I have everything under control. Just follow my orders.”

Simularé ceased her questioning.

“As you wish master.”

The sentimonster shifted into her Volpina form and headed out of the classroom.

“She is getting arrogant in her power. If things do go south, I will need to step in.” Simularé said to herself. But for now, she knew she had a role to play.

_____________________________________________________________

And that ends part 34.

Seems things are REALLY heating up. Will Viperion and Ryuuko be able to help Ladybug and Chat noir?

Will Ladybug and Chat noir be able to get through to their brainwashed friends?

Will Masquerade's gambit be enough for her to get her vengeance?

Whats Simularé's deal?

Find out by staying tuned and sharing. Remember Reblogs help content creators and if you do enjoy my content, the support really does help

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

I think it would be really interesting for leo and sirius to talk ab how they both didn’t go to college and how they both joined the nhl at 18 but had v different upbringings

Ooo, I like this one! I’m always down for some Cap and Knutty bonding. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for mentioned bad parenting

“Kinda weird, isn’t it?” Leo said, breaking the nighttime silence after many long minutes of just their breathing. Sirius hummed in question. “Starting all this so young.”

Sirius made a noncommittal noise and Leo shifted, never taking his eyes off the sky. There was too much light pollution to see the stars properly in Gryffindor, but the roof of the rink didn’t have a bad view; the planes flying overhead brought pinpricks of brightness to the indigo blur.

“Was it hard for you?”

He heard Sirius’ coat move. “Was what hard?”

“Starting the NHL at eighteen.”

There was a long beat of silence. “Sometimes.”

“I didn’t know if I would make it,” Leo confessed, still barely above a murmur. Nobody else was around, but it didn’t feel right to talk in normal voices. The whole world was muted, save for the noise of the city below them. “There was just so much to do.”

Sirius laughed softly. “I hate to break it to you, rookie, but that doesn’t change.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“Before, or now?”

Leo thought for a moment. “Both.”

“Before, I would go home and shoot pucks until I was too tired to stand up. Sometimes I would read.” It wasn’t a secret, but it still made Leo’s heart hurt to remember. Nobody as kind and hardworking as Sirius deserved that. “Now, I make myself some food, take a shower, and steal Re’s softest hoodie.”

Leo could hear his smile in the dark—it echoed his own. “Nothing better, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Finn’s fit me best,” he mused. “But Lo’s smell better.”

“Ah, he finally discovered deodorant?”

“Shut up,” Leo teased, elbowing his ribs. Sirius laughed a little louder; in the light of the streetlamps and the absence of his granite-hard focus, it was easy to remember that he was only 26. Leo had worshipped him as a kid, but now he just saw Sirius for what he was. His captain, who guided him through the playoffs even when his personal life was crumbling apart. His older brother, though Sirius certainly wouldn’t think of him that way. His friend.

“Really, though, it’s important to have those connections,” Sirius said when they both calmed down. “Being alone is good, but only if you know you have people to talk to when you need them.”

“Was it easier when you weren’t living with someone?”

“No.” The answer was immediate.

“Sometimes I want the apartment to myself.” Leo lowered his voice unconsciously, then sighed. “It’s not because I don’t want them there. I just need to be alone. Wash the dishes. Clean my room. Call my mom.”

“You should tell them.”

He turned his head slightly; Sirius was still scanning the sky. “Is that what you did?”

“It took a couple hiccups, but yeah. If one of us needs some alone time, the other will go to the grocery store or take a walk, maybe hang out with friends. You just have to make sure your boys know that it’s not personal.”

“You’re freakishly good at sage advice.”

Sirius snorted. “Merci, rookie.”

“I’m not a rookie anymore.”

“Yeah, you are.” He raised his hands, as if outlining a marquee. “The Eternal Rookie, starring Leo Knut.”

Leo stuck his tongue out, feeling rather petulant about the whole thing. “Watch it, Cap, I’m gonna sic Dumo on you.”

“My own father?” Sirius gasped dramatically. “How could you?”

“Did you ever get homesick?”

The question was out of the blue—he didn’t blame Sirius for faltering. Honestly, Leo was kicking himself for asking in the first place, though he had been keeping it in for ages. Unspoken rule of the Lions #1: Don’t ask Cap about his childhood.

“I…” Sirius fell silent once more.

“I’m sorry,” Leo apologized, and he meant it. “That came out of nowhere.”

“I missed Regulus,” Sirius continued carefully without acknowledging him. “But no, I didn’t get homesick. I didn’t have time, or a real reason.”

Alone in a new city, finally out of a horrible living situation, but desperately missing the little brother he left behind… Leo couldn’t even begin to imagine going through it when the NHL by itself was already overwhelming to his teenage brain. He scooted an inch closer until their shoulders touched. “I get homesick every couple of months.”

“You have a kind family.”

“Have you even met them?”

“At the party.” Sirius’ smile was practically audible. “Your mother was very excited to see me.”

“Oh, god,” Leo groaned. “What happened?”

“She—“ He broke off with a laugh. “She was very nice, I promise, but I think I surprised her because she squeaked when I said ‘hello’.”

Leo shook his head. “Did you sneak up on her?”

“I’m six two, I can’t sneak up on anyone!”

“You walk like a fucking ghost, dude! It’s creepy!”

“Okay, rude.”

“I swear, you and Loops need to be belled like cats,” Leo huffed.

They lapsed back into comfortable quiet for a few more minutes as a train rattled past on one side and the metro busses rolled down Main Street on the other. It had taken Leo a long time to figure out Gryff’s layout, and even longer to get used to the sounds of the city.

“What does it feel like?”

Leo blinked, unsure if he had heard correctly. “What?”

“Being homesick.” Sirius shifted again and folded his hands over his stomach. “I didn’t notice much of a difference in practices when I started the NHL, and going back to my parents’ house wasn’t my exactly a highlight of my year.”

Curiosity overrode his tact and reasoning skills. “You never asked Logan?”

“Non. It was different, with him. He had already left to go to college before I knew him, and spent four years away from his family.”

“Right.” Leo forgot about that on occasion. That Finn and Logan might be five years older than him, but they had only been rookies a year or two prior. Not everyone went straight from their city select team to an official draft. “It’s hard to describe.”

Sirius made an understanding noise, but he couldn’t entirely mask his disappointment. Leo licked his lips and tried again.

“It’s like a piece of you isn’t where it’s supposed to be. And it keeps tugging on your chest, but you never know when it’s going to start and stop so you just… deal with it. You ignore it some days and you think about it other days.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “The hard days are when you remember you can’t go back to the way things were before. I don’t even call my mom sometimes, ‘cause I know it’ll make me sadder.”

“The way things were before?”

“Yeah, like—like all my classmates are in college, and I’m laying on a roof with one of the most famous hockey players in the history of forever.” That drew a light laugh from them both. “I’m gonna go back to my reunion in a couple years and have literally nothing in common with the people I used to be friends with.”

“Sometimes I wish I went to college,” Sirius said. “But I would have missed so much if I did. I don’t think I would have been happy there.”

“Finn and Logan get weird about college.” Maybe he shouldn’t be talking about it, but Leo had the feeling none of their conversation would leave the rooftop. “It was hard for them, with all their shit.”

“Re does, too.” He recognized the sad edge in Sirius’ voice; it was the same as his own. “For a different reason. It started good, and ended bad.”

“I’m glad I missed out on that,” Leo said, biting down the urge to scream at the universe for putting their significant others through so much hardship at an already-difficult time. None of them deserved the pain they went through. “Besides, it’s not like we need degrees to play hockey, and we’ll have plenty of money afterward.”

“I never thought about my life after hockey until my ankle.”

“My parents always pushed me to make sure I wanted to do the NHL instead of more school.”

“You’re lucky to have them.”

“I wish you did.”

The words hung suspended between them before Leo could swallow them back down, somehow dangerous and calming at the same time. It wasn’t like he had never thought about it before; he just hadn’t said it out loud. The first time he had seen Sirius’ parents across the rink had given him a case of the heebie-jeebies so strong he had to shower twice. All the times after that just made him angry.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Sirius’ voice was quiet, but not upset. “You’re not the first person to say it. I’m glad you feel like you can be honest with me.”

Leo frowned. “Well, yeah. Obviously.”

“I try really hard to not be an asshole captain, so it actually does mean a lot.”

“I don’t think you could be an asshole if you tried.”

The barking laugh that split the night startled Leo so bad he nearly jumped out of his skin; Sirius clapped a hand over his mouth, though he was still snickering. “Sorry, sorry, I just—holy shit, I forgot you didn’t know me before. Mon dieu.”

“You weren’t that bad,” Leo protested. “Pots said you used to be grumpier, but that’s it.”

Sirius shook his head, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “I was such a dick. There’s not a single picture of the whole team where I’m smiling for about two years and I was such a stickler for the rules.”

Leo gaped at him. “You followed rules?”

“To the fucking letter. It was awful.”

“What happened?”

Sirius shrugged. “I got friends. Idiot friends who did things like showing me the easiest way onto the roof. Pots used to drag me up here every Friday.”

“Really?”

“Ouais.” Mischief flitted over his face. “He skipped date night with Lily once on accident, and she tracked us up here like a bloodhound. It was terrifying.”

“What did you do?” Lily was one of the nicest people Leo knew, but he knew better than to get on her bad side.

“Lied to her face while James hid behind that strobe light.”

“Did it work?”

“Are you kidding?” he snorted. “She called me a liar and suggested getting a better best friend. That was after she told James he’s better have something nice planned for their next date if he ever wanted to get in her pants again.”

“And yet you didn’t listen to her.” Leo tsked. “Of all the people on the team, you chose the hot mess.”

“Trust me, rookie, James had his whole life figured out compared to me.”

“Did you…” Leo trailed off and but his lip. He had pushed his luck a lot already; who knew if one more question would be the tipping point? “Did you ever think about coming out? Even just to Pots.”

Sirius didn’t hesitate. “After every single game.”

“For seven years?”

“Up until the day those pictures were leaked. Even more after Re and I were together.”

“How old were you when you knew?”

“13. You?”

Leo exhaled slowly. “I’m not sure. I think I had an idea of it as a kid, but didn’t really get it until I was in high school. My parents were even more worried about the NHL after I told them.”

“They worry a lot about you.”

“Only child, and I was going for a wildly unstable career path with no guarantee that I would ever see the ice.”

“They’re proud of you. More than you know.” Sirius’ watch beeped. “It’s ten o’clock. Are you supposed to be home?”

“I should probably make sure my boys haven’t burned down the apartment.” Neither of them made an attempt to move. “Can we do this again sometime?”

“Of course.”

You’re like a brother to me, he wanted to say. I don’t know who else I can talk to like this. “Thank you.”

“Any time. We don’t have to do extra practice beforehand, either.”

Leo nudged him gently. “You’re the best captain ever.”

“You’re the best rookie, rookie.”

“I’m not a rookie.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Yeah, I am, he thought as they laid side-by-side in silence once more with the past behind them and the future ahead. And if I end up like you, it means I did something right.

#leo knut #sirius black #coops #oknutzy #finn ohara #logan tremblay #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #friendship #cap and rookie

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kythed · 4 years

Text

what love tastes like

terushima yuuji x reader

synopsis: in which you learn that falling in love tastes like monster

“Taste,” he says. He holds the cold rim of a freshly opened can to your lips, and first it’s metallic, salty, but then it’s sweet.

You take a sip.

“So you’re telling me you’ve never tried Monster before?” he asks, taking a drink himself. The two of you are sitting on a park bench across the street from a gas station. He licks his lips-- the silver ball embedded in his tongue winks at you, a shallow token of youthful rebellion that somehow seems more significant on him.

“Never. I’m more of a Dr. Pepper girl.” You reach for the can again, letting the saccharine liquid sloshing inside coat your tongue. It’s really too much for me, you think. But of course, you won’t tell him that.

“Not anymore,” he says, and he slips a firm hand around the back of your neck, pulling you towards him and daring you to look away with a wicked grin-- it’s attractive, to say the least. “Now you’re my girl.”

You’ve barely parted your lips to respond before his mouth is on yours, tongue halfway down your throat, and you’re whimpering into the kiss as he snakes a hand down your back and presses your body to his. The whole ordeal tastes like Monster and feels far more energizing than the packaging promises.

Within your first day of meeting him, Terushima Yuuji has already claimed you as his own.

And you’re okay with it.

He’s about as healthy for you as the Monster is-- which is to say, not at all.

In your next couple months of dating him, this becomes apparent. He takes you to the edge of the woods at twilight and lights your first cigarette, laughing as you take a draw and end up coughing. Plucking it from your fingers, he holds the cig high as smoke curls into the hazy sky and eventually melds with the faintly orange cumuli. “Guess it’ll take a little practice before you can smoke with the big dogs, huh?”

You flush and snatch it back, determined to prove your aptitude for defiance. By the end of the night, you can blow smoke rings-- he applauds, and for some odd reason your heart swells at his lazy grin.

(The next kiss tastes like tobacco and novelty.)

He shows you each of his tattoos, some of which peek out from underneath his clothes, some of which aren’t exactly visible to the onlooker’s eye. There’s a tendril of ivy climbing down his forearm, a flock of wild cranes taking flight from his left shoulder. A dark silhouette is on his chest, kneeling low to who knows what. You trace the image of an unlit candle on the back of his neck, asking what it means-- for a millisecond, his mouth tightens into an expressionless line, but then he laughs. “Why, you want one too? Let’s go to the parlor then.”

When you decline, he takes a permanent marker from his bedside table and prints a small label on your inner wrist. ‘Mine’ it says, accompanied by an oddly appropriate smiley face. “Then this will have to do.”

(This kiss tastes like ink and enigma.)

He brings you to a decrepit manor on the outskirts of town-- legend has it a young, newly wealthy couple purchased it twenty years ago, unaware its foundations rested on a centuries old cemetery. The spiteful spirits drove them to the brink of madness. The sort of madness that could only be alleviated by the resounding finality of death.

“They were found hanging from their bedsheets in the west wing,” Yuuji whispers to you, his breath tickling your ear. An unwanted tremor runs from your head to your high-tops. You don’t believe in ghosts, so it must be because you’re cold. (At least, that’s what you tell yourself.) “I want that kind of love.”

You turn, surprised to see his expression remains entirely serious. “The kind where you die for one another?”

“The kind where you die with one another,” he corrects, wistfully gazing into the dingy bay windows protruding from the manor’s anterior.

You remain silent.

“Life is just an accumulation of bad decisions, and love is just an accumulation of bad decisions you make with another person,” he muses, still peering at the grandeur of the lonely estate. He turns to you, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Wanna make a bad decision with me?”

The next hour is spent in the modest company of Yuuji, a couple of baseball bats, and the empty halls of a long dead house. There’s no one to witness the two of you shattering each dusty antique vase save for the portraits on the wall. Soon, their frames, too, receive a violent visit from a vindictive bat, usually accompanied by Yuuji’s unadulterated glee and a resounding whoop.

You’re not a fan of destruction. Especially not the destruction of rare, precious items reminiscent of a life bygone. Yet, it’s exhilarating to indulge in it, to swing your bat with a meaningless vengeance and watch as whatever priceless heirloom that evoked your baseless wrath fractures into pieces. You demolish a set of fine china found in the dining room cabinet and Yuuji gathers you into his arms, kissing you fiercely (it tastes like some sort of perverse, seductive joy, rosewater mixed with ashes). He chuckles into your mouth when you push your tongue into his, retribution for your first kiss many weeks ago. It’s deliciously gratifying.

If Yuuji is right, and love is just a mosaic of bad decisions and desire-- maybe you’re okay with that. Maybe this is all I really need, you think, watching Yuuji from the corner of your eye on the drive home. Yellow street lights cast irregular shadows on his angular features, lending him an otherworldly sort of beauty.

“What is it?” he asks, without taking his eyes off the road. One of his hands inches up your inner thigh, giving it a quick squeeze before retreating to the responsibility of the steering wheel.

You hesitate, just for a second. An unseen force constricts around your throat; you banish it with a hard swallow. “I love you.”

One second passes. Then two.

He says nothing the rest of the ride home, and you sit in mortified silence, watching traffic blur by with glassy eyes. You must’ve misread this whole thing. You’re just a fling Yuuji plans on discarding whenever he grows tired… your mouth goes dry with regret.

When you pull up in front of your house, he walks you to your front door. You can hardly stand to look him in the eye.

“Well, thanks for today,” you say, examining your shoelaces with false interest. “I had a lot of--”

“I love you, too.”

Startled, you look up. “I- what?”

“I said,” he says, stepping close, putting a hand beneath your chin to tilt it upwards. Your body is eclipsed by his larger one, and you’re overwhelmed with the sudden urge to hide from his penetrating gaze. “I love you, too.”

A beat of silence.

“Oh,” you breathe, and, suddenly, his lips are on yours, kissing you fervently— but this time, it’s chaste, it’s… loving (and it tastes like honeyed laughter). Only for a second though.

Then his hands are on your waist, fingers gripping hard enough to leave bruises; he’s aflame with a hotblooded passion-- your body is his Holy Grail and your mouth is its rim. He leads you into the hallway, fumbling to close the door behind him. You gasp when he pushes you up against the wall and harshly sucks at the sensitive skin beneath your jaw, your nails digging into his back through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

“I love you,” he mumbles, painting your neck with a line of ardent kisses, trailing from right below your ear to right above your collarbone. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

There’s something a little too tender in the way he caresses your face the next morning to wake you after he’s slipped his clothes back on, in the way he smiles softly at your bleary eyed confusion, in the way he holds you in his embrace a fraction of a second longer than you hold him in yours before saying goodbye.

Terushima Yuuji may play the part of a reckless delinquent, but he’s not your average troublemaker. There’s something inscrutable behind his gaze, even as he sprays obscene graffiti on stop signs and shoplifts alcohol from the neighborhood drugstore, a walking cliche of hoodlum culture.

There’s something a little too careful about the boy who claims to be careless.

Yuuji is still fun, of course. He takes immense pride in being fun. He invites you to one of his friends’ gigs, some sort of grunge-esque affair with a heavily pulsating bass line and a preponderance of cheap liquor in red plastic cups. The drummer winks at you during one of the songs-- later Yuuji slugs him in the jaw, taking a few hits in the process, and makes a show of kissing you sloppily while the poor drummer nurses his rapidly forming bruise with a pack of frozen peas. (The kiss, of course, tastes like blood and pride.)

He teaches you how to use a switchblade-- “Just in case,” he says, wrapping his hand around yours in an effort to show you the proper grip. In exactly what situation you’d be forced to use a switchblade remains unclear, but when you ask he just laughs and shrugs, spinning the knife in between his slender fingers. “You never know.”

(He tells you a story of a fist fight years ago and lifts his shirt to point out a pale, faded scar-- the other guy brought a knife concealed in his sleeve. You then agree it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.)

The two of you trespass on the regular, scaling fences and picking locks to dip your feet in private pools, to run barefoot on the soft grass of a golf course late at night, to explore taped off tunnels and underpasses.

All of it is fun, all of it depicts your relationship as something accidental, something reckless, the convergence of two beings as coincidental as the convergence of the two cells that provoked the Big Bang.

But your intimate moments, the faintest imprints in between the lines, tell a different story. One onlookers don’t see.

They don’t see how Yuuji places a hand on the small of your back to guide you over a crosswalk, or how he pours a coffee and carefully blows on it before bringing it to you. They don’t see how he laughs when you laugh and smiles when you smile.

They don’t hear what he whispers to you under the sheets-- sweet nothings that would make Cupid himself blush-- as he touches you slowly, purposefully, following your curves deliberately as a sculptor molding clay.

They don’t feel his kisses, delicately placed on your lips, your neck, your stomach and thighs. They don’t feel his eyelashes fluttering on your cheek as he allows himself to rest with you in his most vulnerable state.

It’s during these moments that deep secrets are so shyly exchanged in the sleepy haze of late nights and early mornings. He bares his soul to you in all its imperfection (you suspect you are the only one to have ever seen it in this state). He shatters himself bit by bit like the vases you splintered so long ago, offering you the fragments so you can gradually piece together the entire portrait.

“You know how I told you my dad taught me how to fight?” he asks one of these times. Your head is in his lap as he strokes your hair ever-so-lightly. You nod, looking up into those sweet brown eyes-- they look sad today. “That’s only half true. He didn’t teach me, but I had to learn because of him.”

You take his hand and brush your lips over his knuckles, humming softly, and he takes this small act of comfort and stores it away like he always does.

I’m sorry.

“I’m scared of trying to be someone different than I am now, but I want to be. I wish I could be.”

You can.

“I’m sorry for getting you into so much trouble these days.”

Don’t be.

“I think we should run away, just you and me. We could make it, you know.”

I know.

Of course, all good things come to an end. You know that.

You just aren’t anticipating something so good to end so soon-- as suddenly as Terushima Yuuji becomes yours, he disappears.

One morning, he’s sleeping in the bed next to you, and the next he’s gone without a trace. Literally. He leaves behind no extra t-shirts, no stray sock or phone charger, no note. You pad down the hall, ducking your head into each room.

“Yuuji?” you call. “Is this some sort of joke?”

It’s not.

You call his phone and reach his voicemail. Hey, this is Terushima. Not available right now, probably busy doing somethin’ stupid or taking a piss. Leave a message if you want.

The sound of his voice grows more and more painful to hear over the next six months. At first, you call every day, then every week, then every month. At month six, you’ve stopped calling at all. If he wanted to answer, he would. You don’t even know why you’ve kept it up so long when he obviously left for a reason.

So, you pick up the pieces of your broken heart and cobble them together again. It’s not a graceful recovery, but it’s a recovery, and that’s what matters. The gaping hole he left is gradually filled by your family, your friends-- you don’t go on a single date, but that’s okay. (You’re just not ready. You tell yourself that you will be, someday.)

Soon, you’re whole again. As you discover, there are ways to find yourself other than falling dangerously in love with a dangerous boy.

You run into him one day, eight or so months after his disappearance. You’re filling your car at a gas station, and at the park across the street, he’s sitting next to a girl you don’t recognize. She laughs at all his jokes and sips a can of Monster he offers her. As if he can feel your stare, Yuuji glances over and catches your eye. He jogs across the street, dodging traffic, and you two exchange tentative pleasantries before the conversation comes to an uneasy rest on the taboo-- why he left.

It wasn’t because of you, it turns out. At least, not really. You were just the catalyst.

“I was the problem,” Yuuji says, laughing, though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “You remember how I once told you I thought love was making your bad decisions with someone by your side?”

You nod, and the wound has scabbed over enough for you to remember it lightly, with a slight curve of the lips.

“You showed me that wasn’t true.” He tugs on the collar of his t-shirt absentmindedly, not quite meeting your gaze. “I started wanting to make good decisions instead. And that just wasn’t me. Love isn’t for me.”

“It could’ve been,” you say simply. He stares at you, momentarily unable to form a response. Then he laughs it off, a sound you used to adore that now sounds harsh and grating.

“Maybe someday,” he says, but his expression tells you otherwise. It tells you how scared he is of ever being that person.

The thing about love is that it gives you something to lose. It gives you a reason to make good decisions. It gives you something to fear for.

As he turns to leave, Yuuji freezes in his tracks. He throws a look over his shoulder. “Just for the record-- it hurt. Leaving. I did love you.”

You smile. It’s a genuine smile, but it’s sad, too. “I know.”

And the thing about fear is that some people can’t bear it well enough to let themselves love someone.

You watch his retreating back for a brief moment before climbing into your car. It’s not until you’re halfway home that you realize you’re crying. Tears roll down your cheeks into your lap, staining your jeans.

You hope he comes to love that new girl, the one he’s sharing a Monster with. You hope she loves him back with all her heart. You hope she spends hours and hours picking through his pieces and reassembling him from the bottom up. You hope she comes to find that his kisses taste like tobacco and novelty, like ink and enigma, like rosewater and ashes and joy. You hope that, to her, those kisses never taste like regret.

You hope that this time, he’s scared. But not so scared he can’t let himself stay.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #hq terushima #terushima #terushima yuuji #terushima x reader #terushima yuuji x reader

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redwinterroses · 3 years

Text

...the ghost hunter au thing earlier today grabbed my brain and I drabbled this thing.

Featuring the ghost hunting team of Scar and Doc, on a trip to see what's up with the house Zedaph and Welsknight have decided to flip. XD

It's crack but I'm taking it semi-seriously so... enjoy?

____________

“Right, so.” Scar slammed the car door and plonked his thermos into the cupholder. “The official story is that they’ve got a rat problem.”

Doc grunted, putting the vehicle in gear and starting to back out of the long driveway. The thick cushion of fallen leaves muffled the gravel under their tires, and the bright autumn sunshine through the nearly-bare branches overhead flickered over the windshield. “Rats, huh?” he said, craning his neck to look out the back window. “I take it it is not, in fact, a rat problem.”

“Now Doc, wherever would you get a silly notion like that?” Scar flashed him a grin, then tugged open the glove box to retrieve the atlas stored there. “No, it’s not rats. Probably. Maybe. Won’t know until we check it out, I guess.”

“It better not be rats.” The car bumped over the small curb and onto the main street — a quiet lane just outside of the city proper, lined with old factory-town houses. “You know how I feel, Scar, about the rats.”

“It’s probably not rats.” Scar waved a dismissive hand, thumbing through the atlas. “Now — do we want to take the interstate or the highway? Interstate is faster, but the back roads are more direct.” He glanced up. “Also: prettier.”

With a grimace, Doc shook his head. “The interstate traffic is so bad right now… let’s try the back roads.”

“Alriiiiiiight,” Scar crowed. “Wightsville, here we come.”

“Seriously, man? What — were they just asking for it to be haunted?”

“Hey, I didn’t name the town.”

Doc snorted, and flicked on his blinker, turning south.

As the car picked up speed, the brilliant blue sky overhead watching them wind down the curving highways of the hilly countryside, Doc picked up his own thermos and took a sip, savoring the bitter bite of the coffee. “So,” he said. “You said the official story is that there are rats. Why is there an official story?”

“Oh. Well. Umm…” Scar scratched his neck and glanced sideways. Doc knew that look.

“Scar,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “Why do I get this feeling that you are hiding something about this job?”

“Okay look, it’s like this—there’s two people working on this house and one of them called us in but he doesn’t want the other guy to know we’re there about ghosts because apparently he doesn’t believe in ghosts so we’re supposed to pretend to be looking for rats.”

There was silence in the car for a long moment, the only sound that of the tires rumbling over the asphalt.

“Well,” Doc said finally. “You at least got our payment up front, yes?”

His friend hesitated. “Um. Yes?”

Doc shrugged, and took another sip of coffee. “Then let’s go look for the rats.”

-*-

Apparently, it was a house-flipper situation.

Doc was… not fond of house-flippers. He grudgingly admitted that in some cases, they did good — it was nice to see older houses rescued from whatever shambles they’d fallen into and brought back to life.

But they also had a horrible habit of stirring up things they had no idea how to deal with, and if he had a dollar for every time a house-flipper had bungled the supernatural heritage of the house worse than the period-inaccurate bathroom fittings, he could probably afford to buy a house himself.

Scar would like that, he mused. Might be nice to work out of a place they owned, rather than renting out Stress’ basement.

He shook his head. That was a train of thought for another day. And another paycheck.

These two house-flippers were a bit different than some he’d dealt with. Apparently one of them had inherited it from a grandmother, and there was some idea of turning it into a bed-and-breakfast. The house had sat vacant for at least five years before this, and honestly — even if it hadn’t come prepackaged with a haunting, that was a great way to attract something that just needed a place to latch on.

“Wels—it was his granma—” Scar explained, reading from his phone as Doc navigated a curving stretch of road. “—is convinced that there’s nothing wrong with the house a few good old-fashioned rat traps won’t fix. Zed is the one who called us. Apparently he’s a sensitive—”

Doc snorted.

“—a sensitive,” Scar repeated, with a half-joking glare, “And he says he’s seen things in the house that rats can’t do. And he claims to have heard a young boy’s voice.”

“Ugh… I really do not like child ghosts.” Doc rubbed at the back of his neck, already feeling the prickles of unease. “They are so creepy, man.”

Scar shrugged. “Not even sure if that’s what it is yet,” he said. “Between you and me and this coffee here, Doc—” and he gave a loud slurp for emphasis, “—I’m kinda leanin’ towards Wel’s point of view here. I did some research already, just a lil’ looky-loo into local newspapers and stuff online? And I didn’t find anything interesting about the house.”

A road sign flashed past, declaring sixty-four miles to their destination. They should get there about sunset at this rate.

Perfect. Child ghosts, or worse: rats, and they’d probably have to stay overnight.

Just perfect.

#...anyway if people seem to like this I might continue it #doc is really fun to write and he and scar bounce off each other really well #redwinterwrites #definitely not rats #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanfiction #goodtimeswithscar #docm77

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Part 6.

Summary: Ransom and you attend a wake for his great-nanna Wanetta, with the rest of his family. The knives are out, and they’re sharp…

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So here it is, the penultimate chapter to this series! One more to go post this, plus an epilogue. I can’t believe it’s almost over…

Word Count: 9.5k (oops)

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 5

You'd managed to get through Christmas fairly well. The days leading up, Ransom had been a little suspiciously sneaky but you didn't give it a second thought, really. Things between you and your captor were more than amicable, they were pleasant. But, despite the cohabitation and this new found demeanour in him, Ransom wasn't above reminding you that you were still under his eye. And under his eye you were indeed, all day long. He watched you as you read, as you cooked, as you wrote in your journal. Oddly, not once showing interest in your musings but working away on his own.

Christmas morning, the two of you had spent a few lazy hours in bed, Ransom waking you with kisses over your bare skin, stripped down and tired from the evening before where he worked you over until you couldn't move, crying out his name near midnight, his breathless, tired voice telling you 'Merry Christmas' before he slept. After an easy egg and toast breakfast, the two of you were sitting around the lounge, the fire burning, the tree lit, soft music played in the background, watching a fresh layer of snow falling outside. You were reading Dickens' holiday classic, aloud while Ransom sat next to you, idling running a long index finger over your neck in slow and soft, up and down strokes, listening to you. Suddenly he'd stopped and removed the book from your hands.

"I have something for you," he said, a slight eagerness to his tone. He slipped away for a brief moment, pulling a box, intricately wrapped, clearly not by himself, from under the tree. You'd never noticed it there, not once and you wondered when he'd put it there or if he'd hidden it in the very spot this whole time.

The red leather box sat heavy in your hand as you read the gold inscription on the top. With an unsteady breath, you lifted the hinged lid and hitched your breath at what sat inside. A white gold necklace, with two interlocking rings in a signature Cartier design glistened back at you. The screw motifs which were set in ideal oval shaped rings studded with diamonds that twinkled in the light sat snuggly inside against black velvet.

You were stunned. The gesture far too expensive and in your mind inappropriate. But you also thought it was absolutely gorgeous, and you wondered how he'd come up with such an expensive idea. You'd not mentioned anything of the sort in your time together, in fact, you hadn't had jewellery on bar your ball studs in your ears now.

You looked up from the delicate piece and your eyes met expectant ones. "It's beautiful," you spoke softly. "Thank you."

"Let me put it on you," he sat next you whilst taking the box from your hands. He gently pulled it away from the box and unclasped it, settling it around your neck as you moved your hair out of the way, thin tendrils framing your face. Your robe slipped off your shoulder and you felt his soft lips against your skin, down your neck and along your shoulder. "Let me see you," he spoke softly.

You turned in his direction and you saw the way he admired the way the piece sat across your chest, the silk robe you were wearing over your barely-there nightgown gaping open. As his eyes blatantly roved down between the valley of your breasts your own flicked across his casual, lazy-Christmas morning form, his broad chest and shoulders clad in a white thermal, sweats hung low on his hips.

"Perfect," he whispered, leaning towards you.

You were not a bought woman, no; you were his victim, his roommate, his co-habitant, his lover, his partner, his... Oh for Christ's sake you could go on with the labels that did or didn't make sense, were mutual or not, had or didn't carry the weight of a proper explanation. Right now, you were going through the motions and emotions.

"I like it, a lot, thank you again," you replied as his lips grew closer to yours. "I've never had such an expensive gift before."

His lips ghosted over yours, "There's plenty more where that came from, Sweetheart."

The implication of his words had hit you like a freight train as you realised just how many more ‘occasions’ he was planning on the pair of you spending together. New Year, Easter, Spring Break, your birthday, his birthday, summer, Memorial Day. It sparked so many conflicting opinions within you that you were glad of the distraction when he moved, his fingers delicate as he undid the ties of your robe and led you down on the rug before his lips had traced a path down your body and soon he’d had you crying his name, sheer bliss coursing through your veins.

Later that day, you'd made dinner for him, a reminder of how Christmas used to be when Wanetta and his Grandmother shared the festivities. After the quiet meal, he had expected you to join him for a shower, no doubt as pay back for him going down on you earlier. When you'd respectfully declined stating you needed to wash the dishes, he sneered and sulked off. You'd made sure that when he was gone long enough, you were able to get things set up for your gift. Now was the time to show Ransom how gifts of meaning and purpose were to be given and hopefully received. Not that it was going to make a blind bit of difference to your situation, not in the grand scheme of things anyway. You'd finished cleaning and putting everything away and headed into the lounge where you stoked the fire and then made your way back into the kitchen for your supplies. The hot cocoa burning hot, the slices of bread, tongs and a small serving of butter, complete with freshly blended cinnamon sugar. You knew he would come find you when you were not waiting in the bedroom for him. If Ransom Drysdale was anything, it was a creature of expectation and habit. You'd heard him coming down the stairs, that one spot with a creak carrying his footfall. You straightened up your things, setting up the tongs and tray of treats nicely before covering them with a cloth napkin, standing between the coffee table and the fireplace, and waited on baited breath for the tirade you thought was coming. He had turned the corner, his face stern with evident hard lines, his bare chest on display, hair still wet from the shower. You could smell him as he entered the doorway, that scent that you'd soon come to realize made you heady and needy. You waved him over, a hunt of excitement to your tone, "come on, come sit." “I don’t want to sit, Sweetheart, I want you like I had you before dinner. Crying my name with you under me.” He stood just inside the doorway, with his arms folded across his chest, sweats hung low on his hips. He wore no shirt just to entice you, but you weren't giving in so easily. "I'll say your name as many times as you want, but first, I need to give you my gift." You chose then to look at him with big eyes, sincere yet seductive.

It was a stare off between the two of you, he not budging and you popping your hip out to one side as you folded your arms over your chest. He had his fun, now you wanted to enjoy something and gift giving brought you joy.

Like a child told to apologize for hitting another, he hung his head and sulked over. You could tell it pained him to obey your request. But you again saw through his facade. You knew this meant far more to him than anything he'd ever received.

But he'd never tell you that. Not that you thought anyway. “Oh stop being so you, Ransom, for just five minutes.” You snorted exasperatedly at his petulant nature. “It’s Christmas.” With a roll of his eyes that would make any toddler jealous, he took to his knees sitting on his heels. With a smirk, you joined him, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, "Merry Christmas, Ransom." You pulled the napkin off the tray revealing the contents of your gift. His eyes moved over the tray, first seeing the mugs of cocoa, topped with whipped cream that was beginning to melt into the warm liquid. The tongs, the bread, the small pinch bowls of cinnamon sugar and the soft butter. With his mind occupied, you managed to grab a throw and wrap it around the two of you. He blinked, and you could see that he was fighting the smirk that was threatening to cross his handsome face. “Toast?” He finally asked and you nodded, smiling. "I couldn't go get you something, not that it mattered, so this was the next best thing." A flicker of something darkened his face, and for a moment you thought you saw regret flash in his eyes, just like the day he had marked your face but as soon as it had appeared it was gone. "Just enjoy it, even if you can't say anything about it, just...." you shrugged, "remember." That night, after the toast with cinnamon butter and cocoa from scratch were shared, he had his way with you, delightfully slow, once more by the fire, you again crying out his name and he yours, over and over again. By the time he finished, you were both boneless and breathless, his body covering yours until he rolled over and the two of you slept by the fire, wrapped up in each other's arms, the heavy throw around your naked bodies.

Christmas had been nice. Maybe, somewhat enjoyable, you'd admitted to yourself. Of course, the wrench of not seeing your family had weighed like a stone in your gut, compounded by the fact that thanks to the lie you’d been forced to tell Blanc, they thought this was your choice. That you were staying away from them because you wanted to, when nothing could be further from the truth. You missed your mom and dad goofing around over presents, still trying to tell your now well grown-up sister and you Santa had been. You ached for the usual family politics that manifested when your uncles and aunts descended for dinner. You longed for your sister to be complaining about how fat she was going to get…

"We have to go," Ransom’s deep baritone caught you completely off guard, making you jump as you stood staring out of the large French windows over the garden from the master suite.

“Oh, okay,” you nodded, taking a deep breath to centre yourself, your heart racing at the speed of light from your fright. You took a glance at yourself in the mirror above the fireplace and found yourself wishing you’d done a better job at covering up the ugly scab and green bruising on your face.

You followed Ransom in his tan coat, pin striped slacks and a black cashmere sweater as he strode from the room. You felt nervous, anxious, scared. This was the first time you were leaving the house in two months. He led you to the garage where you started walking to the SUV he'd taken you in but he stopped you short, calling out to you, "not this time, Sweetheart." He stood at the passenger door to his vintage BMW. You swallowed and walked towards the door he was holding open for you. Wordlessly, you sank into the passenger seat and reached for your belt. Pulling it across your lap, you adjusted the pencil skirt and blouse you'd tucked into so as not to wrinkle it, your soft black peacoat bluky in your seat. The car roared to life, throbbing beneath you, the hum of the engine might, in other circumstances, have excited you. But now, the only thing filling you was dread. The first time you’re out of your "castle", and it's to go to a wake, for Wanetta Thrombey.

Go figure. ***** The silence in the car was stifling. Every so often Ransom stole a glance at Y/N to find her simply staring out of the window, at one stage reaching up to wipe her eye. He didn’t say anything, but he wasn’t an idiot. Over Christmas he’d caught her numerous time completely zoned out, as if she was somewhere else, just like she had been moments before they had left. And whilst she’d done her best to keep her tears and attitude at bay, she’d been clipped with him a number of times which he’d simply let slide and instead of reminding her about her attitude, he’d pressed her to tell him what was wrong. She’d quietly admitted that she missed her family, something Ransom simply couldn’t understand, so in the spirit of their recent candid openness, he’d asked her bluntly why she needed them so much when he gave her everything she could possibly ever want. At that she had snorted, and taken great pains to explain to him that just because he failed to understand something didn’t make it any less valid of a feeling to someone else and then she’d deftly changed the subject, and he’d allowed the conversation to steer elsewhere.

And now, the first time she’d been anywhere but the inside of his house and strictly the garden for months, they were headed to spend time with his shit-head family. The irony was staggering when you considered it. He eased his beloved beemer onto the main road and pushed his foot down on the gas, weaving himself in and out of the light traffic obnoxiously fast. But he wasn’t known for his patience, he had somewhere to be and in his mind; the faster he got there the faster he could leave, keen to spend as little time with his family as possible. About halfway into the journey, Ransom felt that familiar cold feeling in his stomach as he pulled off the freeway and on to one of the smaller roads. He could drive this journey with his eyes closed but it was the first time he’d been back to the mansion since... well, since IT had all gone down. The more he thought about it, the more agitated he could feel himself getting, his hands gripping the steering wheel of the car with a force that made his knuckles white. He was jolted however, with the feeling of a hand on his arm and his head turned slightly to see Y/N looking at him. She didn’t say anything, and no sooner had he registered her touch she moved her hand dropping it back into her lap, eyes focussed downwards as his turned back to the road. He swallowed, that familiar and uncomfortable feeling of remorse once more washing over him. Despite everything he had done to her, she was still voluntarily lending him comfort.

Ten minutes later, he swung up the tree-lined driveway, his heart pounding in his chest. His jaw set hard as the mansion came into view, and low and behold his mother, standing on the front steps, a cigarette between her fingers as she exasperatedly texted on her phone. A meek voice came from the seat beside him, "its going to be okay." But he couldn't decipher if she were talking to him or herself. He cut the engine, his hands still on the wheel as he sighed and hung his head, before he turned to her. “I don’t need to warn you about trying anything do I?” He asked, ignoring her effort to placate him. "No," she replied quietly. “Good.” He reached out and gently gripped her chin between his thumb and finger, pressing as soft kiss to her lips, the action as much for him as it was for the benefit of his mother who was watching the pair of them. “Come on, let’s get this over with.” He gracefully unfolded himself from the driver’s side, shutting the door behind him and strode to the front of his car, waiting for Y/N to catch up. Her face was set, an expression he’d seen countless times before when she’d been fearful and acting under duress. He watched as she took a deep breath and drew back her shoulders whilst he reached for her hand. Obediently, she took it and together they strode towards the large wooden door, his mother watching them as they approached "You're late," Linda scoffed.

He paid her no mind and pulled Y/N along his side. “I’m sure Nanna won’t mind too much, you know, on account of her being dead.” He retorted sardonically.

You stood by his side, your eyes watching Linda and she turned her attention to you, her eyes narrowing a little, a strange expression on her features, almost as if she was sussing you out. But, as her eyes flicked to your injured cheek before they darted to Ransom who still had a possessive grip around your hand you realised with horror it wasn’t you she was suspicious of. It was the bruise on your face, more so how it had gotten there.

You cleared your throat. “Funny thing,” you gestured to it and her eyes snapped to yours, “too much Scotch and I tripped. Face first into the corner of my vanity."

Okay, so it wasn’t a complete lie…but you still felt sick to your stomach at how quickly you’d jumped to his defence.

“Sure.” Linda arched an eyebrow.

“What exactly are you getting at, Mother?” Ransom looked at her, his jaw set and Linda rolled her eyes, taking a drag of her cigarette.

“Nothing really, I just find it extremely odd that you get an interview with this girl to clear your name and she ends up in your bed, only after she’s done a complete hatchet job on all of us first.” She dropped her cigarette end to the floor before she looked at him shrewdly.

“For which she published an apology.” Ransom’s voice was flat and carried an undertone of annoyance to which Linda paid no attention.

“Because you’re really the type to forgive and forget so easily.” She scoffed as Ransom gave a dramatic sigh as his mother continued, her head now turning to you. “You know, I could hardly believe it when Blanc told us you were with him, and then I saw you with my own eyes and now here you are again…“

“What do you mean, when Blanc told you?” Ransom frowned as his hand contracted almost painfully around yours, a warning no doubt to remain silent. His mother had hit the nail on the head, proving that she knew her son a lot better than you, and no doubt he, had bothered to give her credit for.

“Her disappearance was all over the news, more so because they’d linked it to that god-awful cretin of an actor, Lucas Lee.” She turned back to look at him. “But, no sooner had they done that he was cleared thanks to a cast-iron alibi and low and behold, a few weeks later Blanc turns up.” Linda raised her brows, her gaze fixed on Ransom. “I told him where to find you-“

“Gee, thanks.” Ransom drawled and she glared at him, before he rolled his eyes and gestured with his hand for her to continue.

“And obviously he did as he came back a day or so later, saying that to his surprise you-“ her eyes flicked to yours then and you swallowed “-were seemingly there, of your own accord.”

“I erm,” you fumbled on your words and felt Ransom let go of your hand, his palm warm as it now rested between your shoulder blades. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for another lie, one that this time you’d spun before and you shrugged, licking your lips. “I'll tell you the same thing I told him. I came to realize that despite my scathing feature, Ransom intrigued me. I wanted to get to know him more. One thing led to another and I figured if we kept our relationship quiet for a while, I'd save myself the spit on my face from my family and people like you.”

“People like me?” Linda arched a brow, her lips quirking up at one side. “

“I didn’t mean…” You shook your head, quickly taking a deep breath. “Sorry, that was rude.”

“A tad, but I’ve had worse.” Linda’s eyes twinkled with something that looked like amusement as she reached into her pocket for her packet of cigarettes. “But, what I don’t understand is, why let your family believe you were missing, dead even?”

“I, well, I was under a lot of pressure at work, and everything just got too much and needed to escape, from everything. Ransom told me to stay with him for a while to get some head space and I didn’t mean to cause anyone any hurt or upset and-“

You stopped dead as you felt Ransom curl his hand round the back of your neck, giving a squeeze in warning. You were rambling.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Sweetheart,” his voice was softly spoken as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “it’s none of her business.”

Linda looked at you for a moment, before she turned to her son and shrugged, popping another cigarette into her mouth. “I’ve long since given up trying to understand anything you did.”

“Well, like the judge said,” Ransom moved, his hand now on the base of your spine as he turned and guided you to the large door of the house, “not of sound mind.”

In the spacious drawing room, the rest of the family was gathered around. There were no others at the wake, Wanetta having outlived everyone she knew. You knew Ransom would offer no introductions, but that wasn’t an issue, you knew everyone anyway from your extensive research into this fucked up family. The fire burned in the background, and Ransom’s father, Richard, lounged in an arm-chair, a young woman who you presumed to be the au-pair Ransom talked about with disdain, perched on his lap. Walt was perched in another arm-chair, his wife Donna stood behind him, clutching a half drunk glass of wine, their son Jacob absent from the room. Marta and Meg were perched on the couch with Joni flitting about, a crunch from a carrot stick heard from across the room. You walked in and immediately felt the daggers in your skin as all eyes turned towards you. The knives were out and you swallowed, adjusting your sleeve, feeling Ransom's presence behind you.

“Here…” you felt Ransom’s hands gently pulling on the shoulders of your coat and he slipped it from your body, gently pressing another kiss to your cheek. You turned to look at him, offering him a small smile before he moved to hang the coat up on the stand at the far side of the room.

“Y/N, right?” Marta was the first one to speak as she stood up, and you nodded, not bothering to ask how she knew your name. It was a given she’d have read the article, and it was also a given thanks to the conversation moment’s ago with Linda, that the rest of the family had also been briefed on the fact you were ‘with’ Ransom. What clearly hadn’t’ been anticipated from the not-so-covert surprised glances that were being shared, was that he would have brought you today. “Can I get you a drink?” She continued and you smiled.

“Please, erm, a wine would be great.”

“Red or white?”

“She prefers white.” Ransom spoke and Marta’s eyes darted to his. You instantly felt his entire body language stiffen and you turned to him, the distaste evident on his face, his entire aura radiating utter disdain and bitterness.

Marta simply took a deep breath, her expression flat, but her eyes fierce as they remained in a silent stand-off.

“Can’t she speak for herself?” Meg scoffed and Ransom pulled his eyes away from Marta, turning his glare to his cousin.

“Is explaining what a lady prefers to drink considered sexist as well now or…”

“He’s right,” You jumped in quickly, smiling at Marta. “White is great, thanks.”

Marta nodded.

“Hugh?” She looked at Ransom and you blinked at the use of that name and then realised, of course, she’d once upon a time been the help. That said, you knew she was saying it simply because she wanted to, not that her status required it and there was an amused look on Ransom’s face as he turned to her.

“Beer.”

You rolled your eyes to yourself at his lack of manners, but from the expression on Marta’s face she’d been expecting it, and to be honest, you weren’t sure why you hadn’t been. Her lips curled into a sarcastic grin as she turned and headed out.

“You should try it, Donna. It’s got camomile and lavender in. I swear by it.” Your ears then picking up on a conversation between Walt, Donna and Joni and you turned your head towards them, Ransom’s arm curled round your waist, hand resting heavy on your hip. Joni bit down on the carrot stick she was holding with a flourish of her hands. “It’s my favourite thing FLAM have done.”

"You know, I'm surprised you didn't go under given you're no longer receiving Dad's money.” Walt interjected and Joni rolled her eyes.

“Shows how much attention you pay, Walt. When I released that new line of bath-bombs and candles, sales, like literally, went through the roof.”

“Bath-bombs?” Walt frowned.

“Yeah, they’re like little cakes if you will of dried soap and fragranced that you drop into a-“

“I know what they are.” Walt rolled his eyes as Marta appeared, handing you your drink which you took with a thanks. “I was commenting on the fact you said you’d launched a new line.”

“Oh, yeah.” Joni munched her carrot stick some more. “I got the idea from Gwyneth Paltrow when she released that candle scented like her vagina.” At that you choked on your drink and hastily avoided looking at anyone in the room as various groans and loud protests from the males hit your ears.

At that point Linda walked back into the room and sat down in a chair not far from where you were sat and she smoothed down her trousers before she peered up at Ransom.

“How’s the book coming along?” She asked, peering from over the top of her wine glass as she sipped from it.

“Fine.” Ransoms shrugged. “Few little blocks here and there but I’ll work through them. Granddad always told me sometimes it pays to take a step back and pause, ideas often come when you’re not expecting them.”

Linda smiled, and you were pleased to see that, for once, it appeared genuine, as if she was actually looking at her son with something more than ambivalence. And then, the moment was ruined as Meg burst out laughing.

“You’re writing a book? What’s it called? ‘Ransom’s Guide To Being An Asshole’?” She snorted and Ransom took a deep breath.

“Eat shit.”

“Original.” Meg replied drily rolling her eyes, “you know, I'm jealous of all the people that haven't met you.” She stated as her eyes turned to you. “Seriously, what the fuck do you see in him? Why on earth anyone would ever want to be in the same room with him, let alone share his bed is completely beyond me.”

“Tell me, Meg, when was the last time you got laid?” Ransom turned to her, a smirk on his face. “And your dildo doesn’t count.” “Fuck you, you fucking prick.” Meg seethed before she turned to look at you, her face angry. “You know, it must be serious if he’s bringing you here; he normally just keeps his fuck buddies on speed dial.”

“And throws the money on the mattress.” Walt mumbled.

At that, Ransom tensed and he turned his face towards his Uncle, his nostrils flaring. But before he had time to answer back, Richard let out a derisive snort and Ransom instead turned his head to his father.

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Ransom shot back, “Tell me, how much do you pay the barely legal whore sat on your lap?”

“You little shit.” Richard spat as the poor woman in question shifted uncomfortably, her mouth falling open as the insult Ransom had shot at her registered.

You stood stock still, a warm and uncomfortable feeling washing over you as the family continued to bicker. You could feel a headache coming; this was becoming too much for you to cope with.

“Oh for God’s sake.” Linda groaned, almost lazily from her spot on the chair. “Is it too much to ask that one of our family deaths goes by without starting another feud?”

"Oh that's rich, coming from you!” Richard, turned to her. Linda met her ex-husband’s glare with a completely blank expression on her face, before she scoffed.

“Why are you wearing those ridiculous glasses?” She demanded, referring to the spectacles that adorned Richard’s face, the style being something you would attribute to Harry Potter.

“So I can see.”

“You never needed glasses in the entire thirty-four years we were married.” She scoffed.

“I did.” Richard shrugged, a snarky grin curling at one side of his mouth and you instantly recognised that expression as being one Ransom sported a lot. “Just preferred it when I couldn’t see your face.”

Linda’s mouth dropped open and you felt yourself bristle as you took a breath.

“Are you actually gonna let your dad say that to your mom?” You glanced up at Ransom. His head turned slowly towards you and the expression of anger on his face at being called out made your blood run cold. You recoiled a little and your eyes immediately darted to the floor.

“Sorry.” You whispered.

"This is fun," Jacob snickered as he, from out of nowhere, waltzed into the room and took a seat in the corner of the bay window, never once looking up from his phone. “Ransom once more manages to spark an argument.”

“Y/N meet Jacob, the poster child for the pro-choice movement.” Ransom gestured to the teenager in front of you who merely rolled his eyes as both Walt and Donna began to yell and hurl insults back at Ransom.

“Says the guy whose birth certificate is an apology letter from the condom factory.” The teen mumbled back.

“Ooh, good one, which one of your alt-right, KKK loving buddies did you learn that from?” Ransom quipped, and in a quick change of decorum, the room erupted with slander and jabs being shouted and tossed about, most of the commotion being pointed at Ransom.

It was a cacophony of noise and sound, which infiltrated your head, making your brain buzz and crackle like the wick of a dynamite stick and it was too much. After months of quiet with no one to listen or talk to bar Ransom, it was overwhelming and you felt sick.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need some air.” You mumbled, seizing the chance, as he was distracted.

You made your way into the hallway where you stood, your back leaning against the dark wooden panelling, taking huge gasps of air. Your chest hurt, your head was spinning and your legs burned but those deep breaths didn’t help. Your hand slapped against your chest, hoping to ebb the sting. Soon, lightheaded, and with a slight spin to the space around you, you felt a cool hand on your shoulder through your blouse. Your head turned and you saw a sweet pair of eyes looking at you with worry.

“Let’s get you some real air, come on,” it was Marta, coming to your aide.

She took you outside, to a covered patio, with wicker furniture and heating lamps. The rush of cold air hit your flushed skin and a different sting erupted through your lungs as the bite of winter’s breath filled you.

“Here.” The young woman handed you a tartan blanket, which you took with a grateful look, still not quite able to form any words. She helped you sit down on one of the chairs and made sure the blanket was snug around your shoulders as she took a seat opposite you.

“They’re a little overwhelming, but you get used to it,” she rubbed a small hand up and down your back.

You just looked at her, your eyes watering as you came down from your panic. You had no desire to get used to it, to any of it, but as per anything in this fucked up situation, you were no doubt going to have to, like it or not.

The breaths you took became longer, deeper, the peak of panic now steadying out leaving you feeling shaky and exposed.

“I’m sorry, that was…”

“You don’t have to apologise. With what’s happening inside, this is normal.” Marta softly smiled with a chuckle. “I’d be worried if they weren’t screaming at each other.”

“Can I ask you something?” You looked at her, speaking softly.

“Of course.” She replied, just as hushed.

“Why did you do it? Have everyone over? You don’t owe them anything.”

The former nurse rubbed her palms on her pants, “well, it’s what Wanetta wanted. She sorta came with the house and it was her last wish, for the family to come together. I think she thought after everything that happened something might have changed?” Marta shook her head at the audacity of the sound of it. “She didn’t say much more, but Allan had given me her will and that’s all it read. Things would remain the same but she wanted them here after she was cremated, for a final goodbye.”

“I admire her optimism.” You stated flatly and Marta laughed before she gave a heavy sigh, a sad smile on her face.

“Well, she loved them, not that any of them cared, not in years. The only one I ever noticed take mind of her out of want and not duty was Ransom.” She kept her eyes on yours as she spoke, genuine care coming from the sound of her. “But that was before…when he…with Harlan.”

You glanced away, not totally surprised but still a little shocked so to speak that someone else had noticed there was a little shred of humanity buried underneath all his asshole bravado. You leaned forward on your thighs, elbows resting there as your hands wrung together, a nervous habit you’d recently developed.

“Can I ask YOU something?” Marta wondered. You nodded, your stomach knotting, hoping I wasn’t what you suddenly thought it could be. “You’ve spent time with Ransom. I read your article and your apology. Do you believe all of this? The not of sound mind?” Her eyes were sorrowful but held a glare of contempt at the circumstance.

“Uh…” you started but the opening of the patio door caught both of your attentions and the man in question stepped outside, your coat in his hands.

“I was worried,” he stated, opening your coat for you as you automatically stood to receive the gesture. You had no doubt his worry was genuine, but whether it was for you or what you may or may not have revealed was another question.

“I needed some air,” you admitted, “Marta came to my rescue.”

“One man alone can be pretty dumb sometimes, but for real bona fide stupidity there ain't nothing can beat teamwork.” Ransom quipped in reference to the chaos of the family being together, chaos he narcissistically enjoyed partaking in.

You looked up at those daring blue eyes, “Mark Twain.”

He quirked a brow in agreement before his eyes flicked to Marta and then back to you. “Was I interrupting something, Sweetheart?”

There it was, that warning tone in his voice. You were on thin ice. You stuffed your hands into your peacoat pocket and shook your head.

“No.” You cleared your throat as you held his gaze. “Like I said, I just needed some air.”

As he stood there, his eyes searching hers he took a deep breath as she gazed back up at him, fear simmering within those deep globes. Ransom reached out, pulling her to him, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “As long as that’s all it was.”

Recognising his comment for what it was, half concern and half warning, she nodded against his chest. Without so much as another glance at Marta, he turned, his arm looped possessively over her shoulders as he led her back inside. He walked slowly down the hallway, stooping slightly to speak into her ear. “From now on, you don’t leave my sight, you got that?”

“Yeah, okay.” She whispered and nodded.

“Good girl,” he smiled, tipping her face up with on finger under her chin, planting a soft kiss on her lips.

*****

The next hour or so passed reasonably uneventfully. Ransom was careful to keep as much distance between him, Y/N and the rest of the assholes in the room as possible. When the buffet was served, he watched as she picked at the plate of food she had selected, not eating a terrible amount. She’d gone in on herself again, and he found himself a little disappointed if truth be told.

“We’ll leave soon.” He turned to her and she looked at him, “you’ve behaved today, I’m impressed.”

At that she rolled her eyes. “Is going back to that fucking house supposed to be a reward or something?”

At that Ransom felt a surge of anger and he glared at her, the nerve in his jaw twitching. “Don’t push me, sweetheart.” His voice was low, and a growl but to his surprise, instead of recoiling at his outward hostility and warning she simply sat up straight, her shoulders squaring and met him with a filthy look of her own.

“Fuck you.” She spat.

“Oh we already played that game.” His lip curled back in a snarl. “Several times.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Walt leaned forward a little to pick up something off one of the plates on the table by Ransom and he took a breath, his eyes still trained on Y/N before he turned to his uncle.

“Are you not dead yet?”

“Do you have to talk to everyone like that?” Joni sighed. “God, Ransom.”

“Well I thought the guys who bust his leg might have caught up with him by now, no such luck.” Ransom shrugged.

“Listen here you little shit,” Walt leaned over the table, but no sooner had he done that he suddenly began coughing on whatever food he had in his mouth.

“I’m listening.” Ransom quipped as Walt continued to splutter, Donna hastily hitting him on the back.

Jacob, who wasn’t even looking at the table, too engrossed in his phone, then spoke. “What did you eat, Dad? Wasn’t anything he gave you was it? I mean he did kill Grandpa so I wouldn’t put it past him to poison you either.”

A deadly silence spread across the room as Ransom took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on his cousin, his hand clenching into fists. Besides him, Y/N let out a shaky breath and her head turned to look at him but he didn’t meet her eyes. Instead he leaned back in his chair and when he spoke next, his voice was icy.

“Not of sound mind.”

“Yeah, we heard. Loaf of bullshit if you ask me, but then again an expensive lawyer can get you off most things these days.” Walt snarled.

“Enough!” Linda yelled, her hand smacking on the table. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Besides him, Y/N had begun to tremble, and Ransom glanced at her to see she was taking deep breaths, her chest heaving, face stony as she stared at the wall opposite, where a picture of his Nanna Wanetta was hung.

“Oh shut up Linda!” Walt turned to her. “Everyone here knows he’s guilty as sin, even you! Why the fuck he’s even here is beyond me. And as for you...” He turned to Y/N and she gave a start, her eyes flicking to him. “You might as well quit while you’re ahead as there ain’t no gold to be digging for. She got it all.” He pointed his fork at Marta and then that was it. Y/N let out a hell of frustration, standing up that quickly her chair tumbled to the ground behind her, the plate clattering to the floor by her feet.

“You think I’m with him for his money?” He glared at Walt, the entire room silent as all eyes focussed on her. “Jesus Christ, you have no idea. I’m with him because I have-“

At that Ransom’s hand shot out and curled round her wrist, his grip tight in warning and she jerked away from him, glaring down at him with a fire in her eyes he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“The whole lot of you are fucked in the head.” She tapped her temple with her forefinger. “I’ve never seen anything like this in my entire life. You’re nothing but a bunch of self-entitled, narcissistic assholes. After everything you've been through, you can’t even find it in your cold dead hearts to come together honour a member of your family that died without reducing the entire event to some kind of sick, twisted game of one-upmanship. Each and every one of you are all about yourselves, and what you can do to out accomplish the other. As far as I’m concerned each one of you can fuck off and die. You disgust me."

She took a deep breath, running her hands over her face before she turned on her heel and stormed from the room.

Ransom blinked, watched her leave, a slam of the door behind her. He stood there for a brief moment, processing what had just happened. He looked back to his family with a smug shrug and at that he headed quickly after Y/N, his mother's obnoxious and loudly over dramatic gasp bouncing off his back as he too slammed the front door.

****

It was your turn to stand there and act like a petulant child as you leaned against the hood of the Beemer, cares and all fucks be damned. You were tired, you were angry and God damn down right fed up with this entire family and their bullshit. You didn't even make eye contact with him as Ransom as he approached the car. You simply moved to your door, slipped in as he did and waited for him to start the car. You felt his eyes in him, heard him open his mouth to say something but rather he just took in a breath and started the engine. You sat there, your arms crossed over your chest, knees at an angle, pointed towards your door, away from him.

A rumble of a chuckle escaped his chest, "Oh Sweetheart, that was really something."

"Just drive," you spat out, turning your head to him in annoyance. Now he didn't find you amusing, this new air of confidence about you. He cleared his throat and looked at you with a stern gaze.

"Careful, Y/N," he warned, pulling around the drive to the long road before the main. You didn't care. You raised your brows as if you were silently emphasizing your demand, it was not a request, even in the slightest.

The bare trees and snow covered ground began flying by your window, clearly Ransom laying the pedal to the floor as you shook your head.

"What the hell was even the point of going today? It was blatantly obvious that they didn’t want you there, and you didn’t want to be there. If you wanted to mourn Wanetta, we could have done it from the confines of the prison you like to keep me in. Or was this just another shitty way for you to torture me? Huh? Was that amusing to you, Hugh, making me spend an afternoon with your fucked up family, whom you hate, when you’re keeping me from mine? God, you really are a twisted son of a bitch.”

Your tirade set his skin on fire, you could see the tinge of red flushing his skin as he white knuckled the wheel, his hand on the gear shift squeezing the hell out of it as you spoke. Then very quickly you felt your body lurch forward as he slammed on the breaks. "What the fuck did you just say?"

“What, are you deaf?” You blazed. “I asked why we were there? I mean I thought we were going to pay respects to your Great-Nanna, because stupid me actually believed that you felt something, you know, some kind of sorrow that she was gone, and I actually felt sorry for you at first when we got in there, and they were unloading all their vile little opinions and digging in at you and-“

"Now you listen to me you little bitch," he spat, cutting you off. "I didn’t ask for, nor do I need your pity. I don’t care what my family say to me, or think about me. And I certainly don’t care what they think or say about you”

“Oh my god, you are…” You shook your head, looking out of the window, taking a deep breath. “This isn’t pity, Ransom.”

“No, because that’s what it sounds like.” He seethed, his hands curling round the steering wheel.

“Of course it does.” You scoffed. “Because that’s probably all you’ve ever felt towards anyone else isn’t it? Pity, because they’re never going to be as good as you, or have the things you have. Well you might be rich in money terms but fuck, in everything else you’re a pauper. Have you ever truly empathised with someone? Like have even once fully understood what someone else feels? Their sorrow, their happiness, their joy?”

“What the fuck are you getting at?”

You sighed, considering your options. You knew what you wanted to tell him-that the fact he wasn’t loved as a child left him incapable of the simple emotions normal people met, but he was calling you out. And now, it was play it soft or rip it off like a band-aid…

And despite the feeling of foreboding washing over you, you chose the latter. You were tired of playing his mind games, tired of this whole situation. And whatever fucked up punishment he was going to inflict on you, well, it couldn’t be worse than anything he’d already done, you’d take it.

“You don't know how to be happy, or how to love Ransom, because you've never seen it. You've never experienced it. You just breeze through life thinking you can take what you want when you want, and it doesn't work like that.”

“You’re starting to really piss me off. If I wanted a therapy session, I’d pay for one.” He snarled, “Shut the fuck up.”

“See, this is what I mean!” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You just asked me to elaborate, so I did, and know because I’m saying something that you don’t like or don’t wanna hear, you’re resorting to being an asshole. Every time I think I’m getting through to you, I…” You fell silent, swallowing as he glared at you, nostrils flaring and you took a deep sigh, knowing that this was pointless. “You know what, forget it. I shouldn’t-“

“No, you clearly got something to say, so go on. Say it.”

“What, so you can punish me when we get back for pissing you off some more?”

At that his face faltered and he took a deep breath, hanging his head. When he raised it again to look at you, his face was softer and he looked out of the windscreen, licking his lips. “I’m not…gonna punish you, okay.”

“How do I know?” You whispered, shaking your head. “How can I trust that you’re not just gonna lock me back in that damned basement and come down when you want to fuck me and-“ “Because I’m not!” His voice rose. “I don’t want you down there anymore. So I’ll ask again, you think you know so much about how to love,” he framed the word with his fingers, "then tell me what you think it means.”

“Fine, you wanna know…I’ll tell you. It's going on dates, it’s fun, its surprising, it’s feeling like you can’t breathe if the person you are in love with leaves you. It’s not about owning them or breaking them or how much you buy a person or throwing money at them, it’s showing them you know how they are, that you understand what they appreciate and what they need and what they want, a lot of times without being told.” You took a deep breath, watching his face, his expression never faltering. “Love is something that can't always be explained. It's that feeling of family, of having your person. Someone your heart and soul changes for, grows with. Love is a mother's hug or kiss goodnight, a father's ball landing in your mitt with a joyful laugh and smile. Love isn't forced or taken. It's given and received. It's...."

"Fresh hot cocoa on a rainy day when you have nothing left in a world that hates you,” he spoke softly, and when you realized what he'd said it stopped your thoughts cold. Did that mean what you thought it meant? That he loved you?

You were lost for words, but before you could protest and tell him he was wrong, he sighed and looked at you.

“You asked me before why I brought you today. That’s why. Because they hate me. And you make me feel fucking safe around those pieces of shit.” Your breath caught in your throat whilst your mind raced for how to respond. The tension and suspense filled the air about the two of you. You stared at him, his eyes soft, expectant, darting over your features with a bouncing worry. The reaction time between his words and your next move was merely a minute but you had quickly found a way to capitalize on this moment. You threw your belt off and kicked your heels off in the process, moving over the gear shift and the centre console into his lap, the center seam of your skirt tearing as you straddled him. "Wha...." his words were cut off by your lips on his, your palms over his softly shaven face, fingertips sliding into the hair behind his ears. Immediately, your tongue slipped deep inside his mouth, lolling around with his. His hands found your waist and gave you a squeeze. You came to your knees as best you could in the small space and continued to kiss him while trying to inch your skirt higher. He'd guessed what you were trying to do and you felt his hands move from your waist to the tops of your thighs, fingers trailing down quickly to the hem of your skirt, lifting it to above the curve of your ass where it bunched. He didn’t ask or question your sudden burst of confidence or seeming desire, just as you’d banked on, instead he was quite happy to go with it, as usual always ready to fuck you any which way he could. Your hands trailed over the soft material of his sweater and down to the end of it, where it met the top of his slacks. You lifted the clothing slightly to ghost over his skin causing him to flinch before your finger tips found the button and zip of his flies. That maddeningly smug smirk spread across his face and your lips crashed back to his, a furious clash of teeth and tongue, your hands still fumbling with his pants. He was half hard before you even got him free, no doubt from the heated exchange the two of you had to get to here. As you palmed his girth in your hand, your brain switched from playing him to wanton need, a basic primal instinct of desperation to release the toxic stress your body held. His big hand and thick fingers trailed over your hip, your ass, down your thigh and finally cupped your heat and a deep ferrral growl emitted from his chest as he'd realized you'd worn nothing under that skirt. He dipped two fingers inside you straight away and you cried out, "fuck" as your body bent back away from him, keening at the feeling. “Fuck, baby, you’ve had nothing on under here all day?” His fingers curled inside of you and you groaned, your head rolling back as your hips pushed forward, thrusting against his hand. You couldn't use your words, you looked down at him with your pupils blown and your bottom lip between your teeth. You gave him a squeeze instead and he quickly lurched you into the steering wheel with his chest, his fingers falling away and both hands tearing your blouse open, buttons flying that will never be found. His nose tucked between the valley of your breasts and he inhaled between your fleshy mounds, his tongue dipping against the underside of your thin bra. His hands each palming an ass cheek and squeezing so hard, it delightfully stung. With what little space the two of you had to move, Ransom pulled you down into his lap, the need to feel you wrapped around him dangerously feral. It took no time for that single motion to get his head then every inch of his shaft deep inside you. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good," he ground out. He didn't care the mess she would make or the way he'd cum so hard he'd leak out of her, no, he wanted to fuck her senseless and that's exactly what he'd do. His heels cemented themselves into the footwell of the car as his hips jutted upward, her body curling in on him. “Harder, please Ransom.” Her voice croaked as she begged him and with a growl that was animalistic his hips picked up their pace as he rutted up into her quickly and harshly. His mouth devoured the tops of her breasts, nipping at her nipples through the material of the lace that covered them while her fingers scratched at the back of his neck, tugging at his hair. In contrast to the cold winter conditions outside, the air inside his beloved car was now hot, fast steaming up the windows, drops of condensation trickling down towards the door sill a perfect mirror image of the sweat that was now sliding down the hollow of her throat and beading on his brow. He could feel her walls begin to squeeze him tighter and tighter with each thrust. His hands curled round her hips, pulling her down onto him as he leaned back, raising his ass off the seat slightly, spearing up into her as deep as he could. "Ransom," you started to shake senselessly, you were crashing fast and hard and there was no slowing down. "Fuck, baby, just like that," you'd heard him say over the blood that rushed to your ears, deafening you, as you came, gripping him like a vice. Your body gave way as your hands sought purchase to ground yourself from entirely collapsing, finding the lapel of his camel coat, white knuckling it with one hand while the other slapped against the damp window which felt like melting ice against your heated palm. A noise burst from your mouth, a half scream, half choked wail, a sound you weren’t sure you’d ever made before and you opened your eyes to see Ransom’s icy blue’s locked onto yours, his bottom lip clamped between his teeth. His voracious pace continued until the end when he came with a primal growl, his hips raising off the seat far enough to jolt your head against the roof of the car. You felt him fill you, the warmth of his seed settling deep inside, and then some. The air was heavy with the sound of panting as the pair of you came down from the intensity of the moment, The both of you desperately trying to breathe despite the humidity. Your hands curled over Ransom's shoulders as he sagged back in the seat, his hands smoothing up the outside of your thighs. You swallowed hard as his eyes focused on yours. You leaned forward and kissed him slowly, softly, his mouth and body languidly responding. Pulling back slightly, you kept your forehead pressed to his, and took a deep breath before you went straight in for the kill, the reason you’d instigated this entire fuck, to capitalise once more on a seeming chink in his armour. "You said you feel safe with me." He stilled underneath you, his hands gentle as they now rest on your hips and his eyes locked onto yours, widening as he realised his admission. "Do you want me to feel safe with you? To trust you?" You continued, not giving him a moment to deny it. He nodded slowly in reply. "Prove it," you stated. "How?" His voice was croaky as he cleared his throat, a slight frown furrowed his brow. "I want to see my family again." He looked at you, and you kept your eyes locked on his, a challenge to him to make good on his word, gambling on him actually wanting you to trust him as he had taken great pains to demonstrate through various means over the past few weeks. This was it, the moment where you would find out exactly what he truly wanted- someone to love and trust him, or someone to fear and obey him. He let out a slow breath through his nose and his eyes flicked over your shoulder before they returned to yours and he gave you an almost imperceptible nod. But a nod nonetheless. “Okay.”

**** Part 7

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