#Judge/Rating Angel Forms
Text
This is just a summary of how the story goes, kinda like bullet points I guess. If the time ever comes that this eventually gets written as an actual story, It would be a lot more detailed than this. Also, I don't own Sonic Unleashed or think the story is bad (I actually really like it), this is just how a strange person (me) would handle the story in their own fan universe thing.
DEATH EGG October 1
Tails helps Sonic get up to the Death Egg.
Sonic storms the Death Egg, going Super.
Super Sonic follows Eggman, he begs for mercy, but it’s a trick.
Super Sonic gets the Chaos Emeralds ripped right out of him,
Eggman fires a beam filled with the Chaos Energy to the planet, cracking it into 7 pieces, releasing a Giant Monster, but it fades away.
Sonic turns into the Werehog, only barely hearing Eggman yell something about the Gaia Manuscripts through all of the intense pain that he’s going through, and is shot out of the Death Egg with the now drained Chaos Emeralds. Tails, on the Tornado-1, sees this happen, and chases after him.
APOTOS October 1
Sonic crashes into Apotos. He notices that there is a small being passed out near him, so he tries waking him up to see if he’s okay, this ends up scaring the kid for some reason.
Sonic realizes he can’t talk for some reason, his throat feels off and his teeth feel weird, so he uses sign language to try asking if the kid is okay. The kid doesn’t understand, but assumes (probably not the smartest move) that he means no harm because his eyes seem genuinely worried, plus he’s slowly moving as though afraid to scare off the kid again.
The kid calls him ‘Mr. Monster Guy’, which makes Sonic realize he’s not his usual self. This mildly freaks him out, but he tries to act calm to not freak the small creature out. Using his claws, he writes in the dirt, which luckily the kid can read, and realizes the creature has amnesia. Sonic worries that he might have caused it, and vows to help him get his memories back. (Little Fella joined the party!)
Sonic looks at the rising sun, looking at it as something to lean on to stay optimistic, and turns back into his regular self. He finds his shoes and now drained Chaos Emeralds lying on the ground, and with a lot more pep in his step, holds onto the kid and races off to the closest city to hopefully get someone who recognizes the little creature (and see if Tails landed there after he launched Sonic into space).
>Windmill Isle Day Act 1 (plays as it normally would)
Sonic questions everything that just happened, the Chaos Emeralds being drained, the strange new form he took not even 15 minutes prior, what this ‘Gaia Manuscript’ is that Eggman was talking about; but he’s interrupted by the kid getting sidetracked from the memory treasure hunt with an ice cream stand that holds the famous Chocolate Chipped Cream Sundae Supreme! After a little begging, Sonic ends up paying for 2 cones. Sonic ends up calling the creature ‘Chip’ as a temporary nickname until they get his memories back, Chip absolutely loves it.
While they go around enjoying their ice cream and asking questions about Chip's past, Sonic ends up being given someone's pair of gloves.
Meanwhile, Tails is searching for Sonic, he’s surprised that his communicator is broken, or at least not responding, because it should have been able to survive a fall that high. He manages to get a rough estimate as to where he might be judging by where he fell, but Sonic could really be anywhere on this section of the planet with his speed.
Tails is highly concerned for Sonic’s health and safety since the last reading from the communicator reported that his heart rate has spiked dramatically right before he saw him fall from the sky.
>Windmill Isle Day Act 2 (You play as Tails as he flies around town, looking for Sonic)
As he still searches for Sonic as it’s heading into sunset, Tails gets a call from Knuckles telling him that something happened to the Master Emerald and that Angel Island has landed.
Tails tells him that he’s looking for Sonic at the moment, but promises to come over as soon as he can.
After the call is over, Tails realizes how long it’s been since he last ate and spots a local Gyro Food Truck. He ordered a bunch for Sonic to eat later if he spots him.
As the sun is setting, Sonic and Chip still haven’t found anyone who recognizes Chip. Sonic gives Chip a pep talk when he sees that the kid’s down in the dumps, suggesting that there are lots of areas around the world, maybe he’s just not from here. Right when Chip feels reassured, Sonic transforms back into the Werehog. Both are stunned and Sonic realizes that he changes into the form every night (Chip needs a moment to come to the same conclusion).
Chip immediately notices that the Sundae Stand Owner is acting strange, and asks him what’s wrong, even suggesting he eats some ice cream. Sonic shoves his now too-big-shoes into his quills until daytime. Chip accidentally drops the ice cream, but Sonic manages to catch it by stretching his arm out. Both are extremely surprised by this, kinda freaking Sonic out with how strange it feels but he thinks it’s kinda cool. Chip really likes the stripes.
Meanwhile, Tails finds himself in between a rock and a hard place. He’s surrounded by these strange enemies and forgot his weapon at the Tornado-1. He would normally spin dash into them, but judging by the sharp claws and spikes on them, his fur would not be enough defense from that hurting him more than it hurting them.
He could have also flown away from danger, but he’s currently trying to protect a lost little girl he found surrounded by said enemies. He knows he doesn’t have enough time to drop his defenses and fly away while carrying her before they attack, so he just has to try keeping the already miniscule amount of ground they have.
While not looking, an enemy gets a lucky hit on him, causing him to yell out in pain. Despite the pain, he refuses to stand down and keeps defending the little girl.
With his new sensitive hearing, Sonic hears Tails’ yell. Instincts kick in, realizing his little brother is hurt, and runs after the sound. Chip, with his not as sensitive hearing, flies after Sonic in confusion.
>Windmill Isle Night Act 1 (plays as it normally would)
Once he makes it to Tails’ location, all of the enemies focus on the actual threat, Sonic. The little girl uses this to run back home, and Tails hides behind a wall holding his wound from bleeding too much.
The enemies are piling onto Sonic, so he unleashes all of the energy he’s built up (and some instincts he didn’t know he had), somehow becoming more powerful for a period of time, yet feeling a little high off the energy practically pouring out of each hit he makes in this unleashed state.
Sonic Emotions Handling Scale:
Normal form- Can hide it frustratingly well and has normal emotions,
Werehog form- His face and new Wolf-like instincts make it hard for him to hide it but he still tends to try to push it off if he can + negative emotions are a lot more powerful + he’s a little clingy,
Unleashed Boost- Can’t hide his emotions to save him and they are extremely powerful + easily goes into a downward spiral in emotions + somehow even more clingy + he still is super emotional when getting out of his Unleashed state and will do things without thinking.
After the fight is over, Tails calls out to Sonic, he knew from the moment Sonic stepped into the battle that it was him, Sonic practically raised him for almost half of his life, how could he not tell? Sonic however, getting out of his Unleashed Boost daze, realizes just how dangerous and brutal he could be in this form. So once he hears Tails’ call, he books it in fear of possibly being able to harm Tails unintentionally.
Chip finally makes it over to the aftermath, he and Tails do a quick introduction (like saying, you know Sonic? You're the brother he was talking about? yep, let's go!), and book it towards Sonic. Tails is surprised that he’s actually able to catch up to Sonic, even on all fours, Tails’ namesakes spinning can beat him in a race now.
Sonic manages to hide in a barrel, in abject terror of what he is. Tails and Chip quickly catch up and sit near the barrel, trying to calm Sonic down. Letting him know that no matter what he looks like, he’ll always be by his side and his little brother. He proceeds to go on about how looking different doesn’t make you a monster or evil, having his tails sway as he talks, as a subtle reminder to Sonic that he went through that fear of being different too.
Sonic slowly uncovers his muzzle to use his hands to sign that he’s a monster who could hurt Tails. Tails is surprised by how open Sonic is being so open about his fears, he normally tries hiding it as best he can so others don’t worry for him (a bad trait that Tails is extremely relieved didn’t seem to carry over when he’s in this form). Tails gives a sad look and recounts all of the times that Tails has accidentally hurt Sonic due to not being used to touch (and the several months it took him to learn how to retract his claws), but Sonic stuck around every time and didn’t blame Tails for it at all.
Tails suggests that he runs a vitals check on Sonic back at the Tornado-1, to see if he can find out what’s causing this form. (Tails joined the party!)
That, and the smell of several Gyros in Tails’ bag, seem to be enough to make Sonic slowly walk out of the barrel on all fours. Tails notices that Sonic’s stomach is rumbling and uses this to walk him over to the Tornado-1 without having his mind drift into negativity (wow, that’s odd, Sonic’s almost never openly negative). Chip finds out Gyros are really good, almost eating 3 before they make it back to the biplane.
After eating, Sonic stands up (and is actively trying to ignore the stomach churning feeling of being so incredibly huge compared to his little brother), to sign that he can’t retract his claws or speak properly. Tails tries to make the best of it and says that Sonic doesn’t need to touch anything for the check up.
As Tails is cleaning up and patching his wound with the first aid kit he has stored in the Tornado-1 (he wanted to immediately do the check up on Sonic, but the werehog refused to even start that until Tails took care of his cut first), Chip is in awe that Tails can understand what Sonic means just by looking at his hands. He really wants to learn how to do that, so he can talk to Sonic at any time of the day. Tails tries to recall that he might still have some flashcards he’d give to any new friends Sonic made when he couldn’t speak.
Now tired and worn out from a long day of running around town, eating tasty food, fighting enemies, and making discoveries, Tails and Sonic sit on a brick fence next to the Tornado-1 to run a Vitals Check.
It’s a symphony of yawns as Chips quickly falls asleep on Sonic’s leg. Tails, being exhausted, unconsciously rests his tails on Sonic's lap (a deep sign of trust) and leans on him as a pillow (he realizes the sheer amount of muscle behind the fur, theorizing that the expanse of his arms might have stretched the communicator too far, thus breaking it), like how he sometimes would do that when the brothers ride a train late at night after a long adventure.
Sonic was in a half asleep state himself, but once he felt Tails’ tails rest on his lap, he perked right up. He’s surprised Tails can trust him so much even in this form, he thought this whole time that Tails was just bluffing it so Sonic would feel better. He might still be bluffing… using that 300 IQ brain to use this token trust sign to make Sonic relax. But Sonic quickly has exhaustion fog his brain again, letting this track of negative thoughts fizzle out at the moment.
With a yawn, Tails murmured that Sonic’s Vitals all seem normal, if not for a slightly higher than average Chaos Energy reading, but it’s not enough for it to change his form.
Tails is officially out, Sonic’s delicately soft fur and heart beat lulling him to sleep. Sonic, still not wanting to possibly harm anyone by accident, gently slips Chip off his leg, landing on his enormous paw (that’s another thing he feels off about, why are his hands so big?), and rests him on his head as he curls up as best he can without jostling Tails much. He tries his best to both find a comfortable position and keep his dangerous hands away from anyone. It’s a rough night, but they all got through it.
In the morning, Sonic transforms back to normal, with Tails handing him some spare gloves and a back-up communicator from the Tornado-1. After enjoying some Tarts for breakfast, they head out to Angel Island. Sonic accidentally falls asleep on the wing while Chip studies his flashcards in the back seat.
Angel Island
#sonic the hedgehog#sonic the werehog#tails the fox#miles tails prower#chip the light gaia#sonic unleashed#Sonic Unleashed: World Reimagined#Apotos#unbreakable bond#Uahh!! The first area is done!#The whole reason I'm doing this is mainly because I want to throw brotherly fluff into unleashed >:)
476 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍
aemond targaryen x prostitute!reader
rating: 18+, minors dni
summary: aemond becomes captivated with the most prized woman working the street of silk
word count: 3.3k
tags: mature content, sex work, choking, aemond being a tad bit dark here but still in character imo
aemond had scoffed at aegon’s penchant for the whores of the street of silk, but when he found himself attracted to one of its prized attractions, he felt like a hypocrite.
he had caught a glimpse of her the day he had gone searching for his brother with ser criston. aemond had stood by the door while cole conversed with the madame of the establishment and been momentarily distracted by the sight of the angel walking down the hallway inside the brothel, visible behind the older woman.
that day he could not stay to investigate as his duties called him away. but as the days went on, he found himself obsessed with the face he had only seen for a split second, and the delicate form barely hidden behind the flowy dress of silk that had stalked down that hall.
he had always imagined himself as a dutiful man, a man who lived his life in accordance with the code of honour that cole hammered into him with each sparring session, and with the faith that his mother had guided him towards. but with every dream he had about her, he found his resolve towards being that dutiful man, weaken.
those eyes, damn those eyes. there was something hypnotic about them, about the way she had kohl spread under them to make them look even more seductive. her skin, it had a shine, despite the lack of light inside the building.
she tortured him every night, invading his dreams without care. he would chase her each night, and she still seemed to elude him come morning.
until he had had enough. he donned a non-descript cloak to walk through the streets unrecognised, and walked till he reached the same brothel his brother had taken him to all those years ago. it looked much different in the dark, the doors were flung open invitingly for one. when aemond walked through them, he saw that it was teeming with people. men being led down by scantily clad women to areas sectioned off by thin veils of linen, women openly being pleasured by men upon cushions laid down on the ground. he could even recognise some lords from his father’s court, but as his mind began to judge them for their presence a voice in his head reminded him that he wasn’t much better than them, for finding himself skulking around these halls.
but among all those faces, he couldn’t see her. the thought that she might be off pleasuring some man in one of these corners crossed his mind, and he had the urge to storm out of there. but just then, he was recognised by the same whore his brother had chosen for him all those years ago. “my prince, i am delighted to have you grace my establishment once again.” her smile seemed more seedy to him than gracious. “hm.” he merely hummed in response, eye still looking around for her specific figure. “would you like to see the selection of pleasures that we can provide you with this evening, or…” she looked around to where he had been scanning the room, “…are you seeking someone more particular?”
how was aemond supposed to explain her, to this woman? he had no name, only a vibrant memory in his mind. thankfully, he didn’t need to. because suddenly a hush fell around the proceedings, and all eyes turned to the centre of the room where upon a slightly raised platform, he saw her. it seemed as if this was a performance that had been expected by the patrons eagerly.
the musicians then began playing their instruments to match the beat at which she was moving her body as she danced. slowly at first, every movement of her hands deliberate. her waist, exposed in the dress she was wearing, showed off its curves with the way it swayed. and those damn eyes. who needed wine when those eyes were intoxicating enough to beat any dornish red. the older whore hadn’t missed how his eye hadn’t left her. “ah, y/n… she’s our jewel that one….the finest you can get anywhere in the street of silk. the opportunity for even one night with her is sold out moons in advance.” “i don’t have moons to waste, and i am not a particularly patient man. money is no object.” he stated, his voice dangerously low as his eye closely followed each seductive step. “of course, my prince.” the older woman seemed to grin at the thought of the sheer gold that she would be able to get out of the prince.
aemond hadn’t even realised that his mouth had gone dry watching her until she finished with applause surrounding her, and men throwing coins at her feet. there was a proud smile upon her face as she picked the silver and tucked them somewhere inside her silk skirt. Men were approaching her already. she gave them a smile, as she apologised, “my lords i am promised to lord frey for tonight, alas.” he caught her words, his eye darting to where he had recognised frey sitting on the cushion earlier in the night. he was looking at her with unabashed lust in his eyes already, a look which lit an inexplicable fire inside the prince.
“my lord, i’m afraid y/n already has another patron for tonight. let me show you some of our other girls, i don’t think you will be disappointed.” aemond heard the madame placate frey as she walked towards him, but he was not pleased. “i have waited for days, and paid good coin for the whore, and i will have her!” he angrily proclaimed, and aemond saw y/n give her madame a confused look. as far as she knew, she only had one customer for the night, and frey had already paid in full. frey walked over to y/n and grabbed her arm, intent on taking her by force if nothing else. that was the point aemond decided to intervene.
“my lord frey.” he did not have to raise his voice beyond its normal volume, its distinctness coupled with him removing the hood to reveal his silver hair and eye-patch were enough to confirm his identity. “i believe you should look for other arrangements for the night.” he could hear the whispers around the room, the shock on everyone’s faces, including y/n’s. frey immediately let go of her, and bowed, “my prince… of course, yes…” he seemed to mutter.
so that was the new customer, y/n realised, taking in the man before her. she had never seen him around the brothel before, but she had heard from the older girls of the day the two royal princes had visited. and even more tales about the seedier activities his brother got up to at flea bottom. she wasn’t sure having the attention of the targaryen was an entirely good thing, as she thought of his brother. but with her profession, and her station, she knew one could not just refuse a prince of the realm.
she put on the sultry smile expected of her, “my prince.” she greeted as she approached him. “y/n, take his grace to your rooms. and take good care of him.” she caught the look in her madame’s eye, it seemed to read ‘tread carefully’.
had it been a different patron, y/n would have taken their hand as she led them up the stairs to her room, a luxury that was of the upmost rarity in the street of silk but that she had managed to accomplish with her revered skills. but the prince seemed so stoic, she couldn’t bring herself to reach out and hold his hand. “follow me, my prince.” she said instead and walked him up to her room.
aemond noticed that it was a small place, filled with only a bed in the centre and some cushions to the side of it near an open window. lit candles littered the corners, to shed some light for the work of the night, he realised. the sheets seemed to be made of fine material for the consideration of the noble men she brough up there, but the rest of the room was bare. then again, he thought, what items had he expected to find in the room of a whore? not that he’d ever imagined being inside one’s chambers anyway.
now that he’d come to think of it, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do now, he hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead. she seemed to pick up on how awkward he felt internally, even if he had kept his cool appearance.
“would you like some wine, my prince?” “no.” “i only offer because it tends to make one more… relaxed, for the proceedings.” she suggested, trying to put him more at ease. her words had the opposite effect. “are you suggesting i need wine to be able to fuck?” he accused her, offended as he took threatening steps towards her. used to placating customers who could turn on her at a moment’s notice, she kept her open palms reassuringly against his chest and told him, “i was suggesting it for myself, your grace. a woman’s heart, it’s a weak thing.” she had expected him to believe her words, batting heavy eyelashes to appear as pliant as possible.
his blue eye, it seemed to have the ability to read her. he chuckled darkly, “you’re a good liar.” and an unexpected, large hand reached to grab her throat. his hold was rough, but she could still breath and she refused to look away or struggle against his grip. she had learned that the best way to pacify these great men was to let them have the power over her that they so craved. she was surprised though, for no one had been able to look through her so quickly and easily, in all her years.
her lack of putting up a fight seemed to satisfy him, but at the same time, he couldn’t understand how she could lack the basic need to preserve herself. he tightened his grip further and further, testing her. yet, her hands remained limp by her side and her eyes trained on his. when he finally pulled his hand off her, it was only the coughs that left her and the red marks of his hand printed around her neck that could evidence the pain she must have felt, but not acted against.
he picked the goblet and poured from the wine jug kept in the corner, to hand it to her for the cough, wordlessly. she eagerly grabbed the cup and downed its contents to provide some relief to her throat. “why did you not struggle? do you enjoy pain?” he asked, curious. her fingertips rubbed against the skin where his hand had been moments ago, as she answered, “in my trade, you learn quickly to endure pain. to fight against it usually means something worse will befall.” she answered, her voice still coarse.
“then why choose it? you can earn a wage as a serving girl, a maid…” he looked at the bed in her room and couldn’t help but think just how many men before him must have pushed her against it and had their way “…why suffer such indignity?”
she was surprised at his question. some men did like to talk to her before they had her, but she had never been asked such intrusive questions about herself. “there are many reasons, every girl here has her story. i have mine.” never talk about your own woes with a client, she had been taught. it would break the spell, the fantasy if they thought of her as a living, breathing thing, as opposed to a doll only meant to please them. that was what she was attempting to do, but her answer did not satiate him. “and that story is?” “not one i care to share with your grace. i do not need your pity, i promise you. i’m paid ten times more than any serving girl at your grand castle, and all my work is done lying on my back. i am content.”
aemond could see the logic there, but he seemed unconvinced. she seemed to be in a hurry to move past the conversation. “is this how you would like to spend your night, asking me questions? i have no qualms, but you are paying quiet the small fortune for it, and i would not want you to feel as if i have robbed you.”
“since i am the one paying, why don’t you let me be the judge of what we are going to do.” y/n shrugged in response, “whatever you wish, my prince. i am but your humble servant.” she had a small, amused smile on her lips as she sat down on the edge of her bed. “ask whatever you like.” and he did.
once she got used to the invasive questioning, she settled in his presence. she found him polite but straight forward, proud but intelligent. he was unlike any man she had met. he seemed to be full of questions about who y/n was, where was she from and how she had ended up in a place like this. all questions that she patiently answered as she drank more wine by the hour. it was not common behaviour of a patron, to ask about her so insistently. even when the men wanted to talk, it was usually them talking about themselves, their problems and y/n sitting there patiently to listen. but every time she tried to ask the prince a question in return, he brushed her off or gave her short replies.
“why did you decide to come here today?” she asked him at one point. he had settled on one of her cushions a few meters away, but he never really looked comfortable, choosing to sit with his back straight as steel. his discipline was admirable, y/n thought. “you’re not known to frequent the street of silk, or i would have heard of it.” or i would have had you already, she thought, she was the most sought-after woman on the street after all. “your visit is most unusual.”
aemond swallowed at the question, “every man has needs.” it wasn’t a complete lie. he had come there because of a need to see her, to be near her, to touch her. “had you come here to fulfil some ‘need’, we would not have spent the night merely talking.” she commented. oh, he had meant to do much more than just talk, from the second he saw her dancing downstairs. she had captivated him, with the way her body had moved and set his imagination to wonder all the ways in which it would move against his.
but first, he had wanted to quench his curiosity about her. he hadn’t realised when he got so lost in their conversation that it was nearly daybreak, and he was yet to fuck her. every time he had thought to move in and close the gap between them, she had made some clever comment that he had to give a retort to, and so the night had passed.
“it’s a shame.” y/n sighed as she laid back down on her bed, “when you walked in here, i thought i would have the story to beat any other girl’s. the story of the night i rode a dragon.” she lazily smirked.
oh, she was a minx, he grinned as a hand grabbed her ankle to pull her down towards him. she yelped at the action but allowed him to snake an arm around her waist to seat her at his lap. “is that a desire of yours?” he asked in a murmur, close enough to feel her breath on his face. “i’m a whore, my prince, i cannot afford such luxuries as desires.” she draped her arms over his shoulders, fingers entangling themselves in his silky hair. “as your prince, i command you – tell me what you desire.”
she had lost count of the number of times men had asked her that question, the number of times they wanted her to tell them that she needed them, desired them. she had complied each time of course but had never really meant the words. as she gazed into the clear blue of the prince’s eye, though, she answered with the utmost sincerity, “you.”
he didn’t need more words, he leaned forward and closed the gap between them, his lips upon hers. there was a hunger in his actions, a desire to push in as further inside her as he could, of wanting to be one with her. she reciprocated the sense of passion, hands reaching to undo the buttons on his leather coat.
soon he had her pinned beneath him on the cushions, his coat and tunic discarded, her flimsy dress pushed up, so her bare core rubbed against his leather pants. he hadn’t objected to her removing other items of his clothing, but when her hand reached to pull off his eye patch, he broke the kiss and grabbed her wrist firmly.
when she had told him she desired him, he hadn’t taken her to mean it in a physical sense. For, how could she, he thought, with an eye missing and an ugly scar running down half his face? where she was a goddess reborn that men paid their weight in gold to be able to pay a pilgrimage to, he thought himself deformed.
as with many things, with this too it seemed she could read his mind. a crease formed between her brow, “this is a whore house, your grace. the price of admission is all your clothing.” she teased. her free hand reached to caress his face. gods, he was beautiful, she now understood why they said targaryens were closer to gods than men, for with the first rays of the sun hitting him to form a halo over his form, how could this man be anything else but heaven-sent?
“i would see all of you.” she softly told him. he hesitated, but there was a conviction in her eyes that he could not deny. he eventually let go of her wrist, but she could feel how uneasy he felt as she slowly pulled the eye-patch off his face.
her eyes went wide at the sight of the blue sapphire she had heard only rumours of. it dazzled with brilliance, and almost matched the colour of his remaining eye. her hand caressed the side of his face, thumb tracing the scar before she pressed a soft kiss to the healed skin. “i wasn’t aware whores were supposed to be this… sentimental.” he mused at her actions, “you’re a special customer.” she grinned. “let’s see how good this service of yours is then, hm, that you can afford to rob all these lords blind.”
and service him she did, with a steady chant of her voice saying ‘my prince’ filling the room. she heard him whisper things too, against her skin in a language she couldn’t understand, but his voice was filled with a devotion she could recognise.
hours passed, till she could no longer feel her legs, and beads of sweat had formed on her forehead. she felt sore, but in the most perfect way. the day had set in now, the rays of the sun making her room shine bright as she laid with her head on his chest, legs tangled. she could feel his fingers tracing shapes on her bare back. it seemed like the perfect morning.
until he broke the spell with his voice, “i have to go.” he had only just realised the time, realised that he was late for cole’s training. as he shifted to get up from under her, she whined at the loss of touch but wordlessly watched him gather his things. “will you visit again?” she asked as he walked out the door, but it seemed he hadn’t heard her.
she lazed around until a some of the younger girls entered her room, excited to hear all about y/n’s night with the prince, brimming with questions. “oh, how i can explain to you, my darlings, the pleasures of riding a dragon.”
note: by the time i finished this i had sm muse im thinking of doing a pt 2 w an angry and jealous aemond, when reader is entertaining other clients?? lmk if you guys would be interested in something like that 👀
update: part 2 available now!
#aemond imagine#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aemond the kinslayer#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond fic#hotd imagine#hotd x reader#hotd x y/n#hotd x you#aemond x y/n#hotd aemond#hotd fics#hotd fanfic#aemond targaryen angst#aemond targaryen fanfic#fics i wrote
817 notes
·
View notes
Text
A New Friend (Part 1/2)
pairing: park ranger!frankie morales x f!reader
rating: M (mild sexual desire but nothing even mildly explicit, reader has a douchey boyfriend, breakups, frankie is an angel because i said so, just cutesy flirting mostly, we get sexy in part two don’t worry)
wc: 4k
frankie masterlist
Where the fuck am I?
You turned to study the woods around you, the trees notched with marks you’d made after having watched one too many survival shows on your couch looking a little too familiar for comfort.
You’d been trying to find your way back to the trail for two hours now, sunset turning into night before your eyes.
Now, you had to come to terms with the fact that you were indeed very lost, going in circles when you were supposed to be heading south—you were supposed to be heading south, right?—to your campsite, the campsite your boyfriend and his friends were at getting shitfaced, likely not even noticing your absence.
As you wandered the dark woods in hopes of finding any sort of sign or guide to safety with your dull flashlight, you considered why you even came along on this trip in the first place.
This weekend marked your fifth anniversary, plans of a trip for just the two of you becoming quickly derailed by the unexpected—at least on your part—visit of his two best friends who showed up and invited him out for a camping trip. Not wanting to spend the weekend all by yourself, contemplating the future of your relationship, you decided to join them, much to their dismay judging by the way they’d been ignoring you since the start of the trip.
This evening, you decided to go out on a walk to get some much needed air from the men who were busy pretending you didn’t exist—including your partner. That’s how you found yourself lost, stuck stumbling through a navy blue washed forest, every sound heightened from fear, your brain creating scenario after scenario of how you’d reach your demise. Be it a bear or a bobcat, a stranger or nature, your anxious heart was sure somehow, this would be the end for you if you didn’t find safety.
Luckily, after a few minutes of hopeless navigating, your flashlight shined on a wooden sign with an arrow pointing left, “Ranger Station: ¼ Mile”.
“Thank god,” you exhaled, nodding as you started off in the direction of the well-used path.
As if the universe were laughing at you, halfway to the station, you began to feel a light drizzle from the blackened skies above, the clouds that had looked harmless this afternoon now slate-grey and rumbling. Shaking your head at your luck, you started to move quicker, but it seemed the rain had the same idea, the drizzle quickly spiraling to a full downpour by the time you walked up the steps to the Ranger’s lodge.
“Please be open,” you mumbled to yourself, noticing that the lights were off inside the tiny cabin. “Please, someone fucking be here.”
You pounded on the door after your knocks failed to earn a response, your eyes frantically looking around the building for any sign of life that could help (or hurt) you. Suddenly, your luck seemed to turn as a man dressed in a tight, form fitting uniform of khaki and forest green came running up the pathway with his coat thrown over his head.
“Excuse me!” you called out over the loud, crashing thunder, pulling his eyes from the ground up to yours. He seemed startled to see you standing there, drenched from the downpour and helpless.
“Oh—sorry,” he apologized as he stepped up the porch to unlock the cabin door, guiding you inside with the flick of a light switch. “I was out sweeping for stragglers when it started to get dark, must’ve missed you.”
“I got myself pretty lost, I don’t blame you,” you chuckled, overcome by the immediate relief brought on by shelter and warmth.
The cabin was small, a warm little space washed in golden light. There was a plaid loveseat in front of a fireplace, a half-read book laying on the coffee table in front of it. Turning your head a bit, there was a kitchen nook built in, nothing extravagant, just a mini-fridge, microwave, portable stovetop, some pots and pans, and a coffee machine. Beside the kitchen rested a desk that looked more like a dinner table, littered with papers and manilla folders as well as a closed laptop. Above, there was a loft built in, though you figured you’d need to climb up there yourself if you intended to study the layout.
“So,” the Ranger’s husky, low voice interrupted your snooping. You turned to watch him as he hung his coat up on the hook by the door before kicking his boots off. “How can I help you? You mentioned you were lost?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, clearing your throat. “I don’t remember the campsite location. I’ve been wandering for hours now.”
“By yourself?” he questioned, a crease forming between his brow as he studied you better, his eyes raking over your entire form before the reality of your soaked state dawned on him. “You cold? I have some tea, or…coffee?”
“Tea sounds great, thank you.” You watched him as he nodded, walking over to the kitchen nook to get the stovetop heated and water placed in the kettle he had hidden in a cupboard. Meanwhile, you looked longingly at the fireplace, hoping that he’d notice your shiver and light it. “Do you…possibly have a spare set of clothes? Anything would help, really.”
“Oh. Sure,” he nodded, avoiding your eyes but remaining attentive as he left the kettle on the burner and walked over to a closet by the door. He tugged out a plastic bin and lifted the lid off, a stack of brand new ranger uniforms inside. “What’s your size?”
You begrudgingly disclosed that information in exchange for warmth, and soon he was setting a pair of forest green pants and a beige t-shirt in your open palms.
“Uh, the restroom’s right there.” He pointed at the closed door in the corner of the room. “I’ll light the fire.”
“Thank you,” you offered him a smile but he was still avoiding looking at you directly, so it went unseen. With an awkward nod to him, you walked into the tiny bathroom to undress and redress, the full-length mirror mounted on the door serving as a good source of entertainment as you studied the way you looked in the ranger’s uniform, the pants undeniably, and shockingly, hugging every good curve on your body.
“The, uh, tea is ready when you are!” His voice sounded through the wooden door, making you jump as you posed in the mirror. gathering your damp clothes in your hands, making sure to hide your undergarments in the pile, you walked back out into the living room, spotting the man in uniform sitting at the table/work area with a mug of his own. “Yours is on the coffee table.”
“Thank you so much, for all of this,” you gestured around and he gave you a nod, no sign of a smile on his face, but there was no apparent anger or discomfort either. “My, uh, my name is…” You gave him your name and offered another friendly smile.
“I’m Frankie,” he greeted you back. Still no smile. “The storm is gonna go on all night. I think the odds of getting back to your campsite are slim, unfortunately.”
Your heart sank a bit at the news. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust this handsome ranger to house you for a night, but the thought of being an inconvenience to yet another person made you feel sick.
“I, um, I have a tent, so…I can stay outside and you can stay in here,” he offered.
“I know I’m not an expert at this stuff but that doesn’t sound very safe.”
“There's a cover, so, it’s not too bad. Your comfort and safety take precedence. It’s sorta my job.” He shrugged and took a sip of his drink.
“I appreciate the thought, but honestly, I think I would feel more comfortable with you in here with me.” You weren’t sure why you cared so much about keeping this glum ranger around, but there was something in his eyes, in his voice that calmed you in a way you desperately craved after the weekend you had. You weren’t naive to the deceit of men, but you truly believed this one meant you no harm. Besides, you were pretty sure sleep wasn’t going to come easy tonight anyway.
“Okay,” he agreed, his voice softer than before. “There’s, uh, not much for entertainment around here.” He chuckled, watching you as you set your clothes down by the fireplace before taking a seat on the sofa. “There’s books. Lots of books, but I know that’s not everyone’s—“
“Oh, I just finished this,” you interrupted him by picking up the book from the coffee table.
“Did—was the end any good?” he asked, standing up from the table and walking over to the kitchen nook to refill his mug.
“It was. Are you liking it so far?” You turned to watch him, the sight of his shirt straining against his broad back making you feel like a cheater for the lustful images your brain decided to flood your mind with.
“I am, but I’m an anxious reader. Constantly have to fight the urge to flip to the last pages.” He laughed again and you felt yourself melt further into the sofa. “So, are you camping alone, too?”
“No,” you sighed as you shook your head and set the book down.
“Touchy subject?” he guessed, resuming his seat at the table.
“I don’t know,” you exhaled and scratched your neck, chuckling at your own predicament. “It’s my anniversary tonight, and instead of spending it with my boyfriend and his two closest friends in the middle of the woods, I’m spending it with a stranger…ranger?”
He chuckled at the rhyme and let out a sympathetic sigh. “Can’t say the first option sounded very good, either.”
“No,” you nodded, looking to him with eager eyes. “It fucking sucks! And they were just ignoring me anyway. This is the most conversation I’ve had all weekend.”
“So is he like…an avid camper or something? You guys do this often?” Frankie questioned, sitting forward with his elbows on the table, his mug held in both hands.
“No, he’s just…an avid douchebag.” Frankie’s boisterous laugh both shocked and delighted you.
“Which is why, I’m assuming, you went and got lost in the woods by yourself?”
“Yep,” you sighed and shook your head. “And the sad thing is, I bet they haven’t even realized I left.”
“It sounds like you need to make this your last anniversary,” he advised, shrugging his shoulders when you turned to look at him.
“Yeah,” you agreed with a sad whisper. “Sucks.”
Frankie studied you for a moment, something more earnest than sympathy in his eyes as you stared down at your lap, picking at your cuticles.
“Hey—“ He caught your attention, your eyes lifting to meet his from across the room. “I’ve got a few board games in case my daughter comes to stay with me on duty. We could…play one? Pass some time?”
Knowing that the only alternative was to dwell on the crumbling state of your relationship, you agreed with a soft, barely there smile and a nod.
Frankie sat down on the rug in front of the fire, clearing the coffee table before pointing to the stack of board games on the shelf below the wooden top.
“There’s Candyland, Life, Monopoly, Scrabble, and Uno.”
“Huh,” you smiled and thought about the options, your stress taken away by this kind and charming stranger tasked with sheltering you for the night, seemingly in more ways than one. “We can start with Candyland.”
“Start, huh? Gonna be up playing games all night?” he asked with a matching smile as he set up the board game. “I guess I’m not one to talk given my personal track record, but I heard that sometimes it helps to face your shit, not run from it.”
“I’ll face it in the morning,” you replied, soft and vulnerable. “Tonight, I just want to be a stranded woman in the woods playing Candyland with a park ranger.”
“Okay,” he rasped back with a smile and a nod.
“I hate you,” you kissed your teeth and rolled your eyes as you reached for the stack of Uno cards on the table, picking eight up and stuffing them in your hand previously only holding one, that near-victory long gone after he matched your +4 card. “You actually ruined my night, wow. How dare you?”
“Jeez,” he laughed and held his hands up in defense. “I didn’t expect such a violent reaction—“
“Oh, yeah right,” you rolled your eyes at him again before meeting his, your laughter fading into just a few soft, breathy chuckles the longer your eyes remained glued to his soft, brown, puppy-like stare.
“You, uh—“ he chuckled and looked down at his lap, shaking his head. “Nevermind.”
“No,” you giggled and urged him on. “Tell me.”
“You just have nice eyes. That’s all.” He shrugged and went to place a card on the stack, changing the color to red.
“I think you have nice eyes, as well,” you spoke softly, almost shyly as you searched your hand for an appropriate card, choosing a “reverse” card to lay on top of his. “Very puppy-dog.”
“Puppy-dog?” he asked in a laugh, amused by the unusual comparison. “Never heard that before.”
“You know, the way puppies look when they’re begging for scraps? You’ve got that same…charm, I guess. Like I couldn’t say no to you.” You mumbled the last sentence, the words not entirely meant for him to hear.
As much as you were enjoying your time with this handsome stranger and planned to end things with your boyfriend the minute you were reunited with him, you were still a taken woman. Cheating was never your thing, but you couldn’t deny the pull to the man sitting in front of you, illuminated and washed in the golden amber light of the fireplace, the buttons on his long-sleeved beige dress shirt undone at the top, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
“It’s getting late.” Frankie stood up abruptly and cleared his throat before looking at the watch on his wrist. “Two A.M. already. Sun’ll be up around six, we can head out and find your campsite then.”
“And in the meantime?” you asked, standing up as well though you weren’t sure why. Frankie’s eyes softened on you, not missing the hopeful twitch of your lip. He shook his head at you, but it was so subtle you nearly missed it.
“You’re…involved. It’s not cool,” he reminded, proving that at least one of you had your head screwed on right. “But believe me…I want to.”
“Yeah,” you nodded and looked down at your feet, embarrassed by the mere suggestion. “I—uh…yeah.”
“I’ll take the couch. You can go up into the loft. I have some clean pajamas on my bed, if you want.”
You climbed up the wooden ladder to the loft, finding a cozy space with a full-size mattress on the floor by a large window, a little lamp for reading in the corner, and a record player pre-loaded with a copy of Nirvana’s “Nevermind”. The rain was visible from the window, pattering on the glass while lightning struck in the distance, a loud boom of thunder cracking a few moments later. Lowering your eyes back to the bed, you spotted the set of red flannel pajamas at the foot.
“Mind turning the lights off so I can change?” you called out, and for a minute hoped he’d change his mind and come undress you himself.
“Sure thing,” he replied, and a moment later the cabin went black, except for the golden light of the fireplace.
You changed quickly, desperate to wear his clothes, to smell him up close for the first time, but the scent that flooded your nostrils was too clean, too soapy to have been him.
Now dressed, you walked to the fenced in ledge of the loft to watch him as he sat on the sofa, a book in hand. The fireplace illuminated him in a way that made him look painted, almost, like the product of an artist’s imagination. It was a painting you’d quite like to own, so that your eyes could study him everyday.
“Night,” he called, not looking up from his book.
“Good night,” you replied, smiling to yourself all the way to bed.
Hours had passed by, the sun now up but hidden behind the clouds, the rain pattering against the window calming to a light drizzle. You hadn’t fallen asleep the entire time, your mind spinning with thoughts of seeing your boyfriend again, of the conversation you needed to have before getting the fuck out of this godforsaken National Park.
“Morning,” Frankie greeted you as you stepped down the ladder to the main floor of the cabin. His smile served as a better stimulant than any coffee you’d ever consumed, your tired eyes going bright as you took in the sight of him scrambling eggs in the kitchenette. “Thought I should feed you before I take you back to the douchebags.”
You chuckled. “Thanks.”
“Did you sleep okay?” he asked as he scraped half of the pan of eggs onto one plate before repeating it with another. You pulled up a seat while he carried the food over, placing one in front of you and the other in front of the seat closest to yours. A smile tugged at your lips at his choice of seat.
“I tried,” you answered, remembering that he’d asked a question. “But…my brain doesn’t like to shut off.”
“I feel you there.” The sound of liquid pouring into a cup caught your attention before the waft of coffee hit your nose. You felt yourself salivating as he walked your cup over. “Creamer, sugar?”
“Neither,” you shook your head. “This is incredible, thank you, Frankie.”
“It’s no problem,” he assured as he sat down beside you. “Part of the job.”
“I doubt that,” you laughed.
“Keep the park and its visitors safe. That’s the entire job,” he argued with a tilt of his head, his fork stabbing at the eggs.
“So you do all this for every stray that shows up at your door?” you asked in a playful tone, hoping to conceal your hurt at the prospect of simply being an obligation to him even if that’s exactly what you were.
“No, I don’t typically let my strays wear my PJ’s when I shelter them.” He smiled, his eyes lowered to the flannel set you were still wearing. “And I never, ever, let them win at Candyland like I did with you.”
“Oh, let me win, huh? Someone’s a sore loser,” you teased, grinning at your eggs as you mindlessly stabbed at them. “Maybe we should have a rematch, then.���
“I was counting on it,” he replied. Your eyes lifted to meet his, both of you swallowing thickly at the tension that seemed to keep building with every passing second. “You should eat.”
“You should kiss me,” some out of character being possessing you replied, shocking not only him, but yourself as well. “I’m sorry. That was…god, that was way too forward. I’m sorry.”
“I’ve thought about it,” he admitted, reaching his hand over to lower yours as it shielded your eyes in embarrassment. “Believe me. But I like you, or, could like you…a lot, I think…if we did this the right way, I mean. But kissing you now—“ He shook his head. “S’not the right way.”
“I know,” you exhaled and lifted your fork to your mouth, swallowing down a bite of food that you could hardly get down with all the butterflies swarming in your stomach.
It only took Frankie about half an hour on his quad to find your campsite based on your half-assed description, your arms hugging him closely as you sat behind him.
When you arrived, your eyes widened at the sight of the once clean grounds now littered with trash, the boys, their tents, and the truck you all came in long gone. All that remained was their garbage and your duffel bag, a note sticking out of it.
“Well,” he sighed as he parked the quad and turned it off. “They are indeed douchebags.”
“What the fuck?” you whispered, staring at the note. You turned to Frankie and shook your head, a tear falling down your cheek as you started to read the note out loud.
Since you want to be dramatic and run off all night, I’m gonna give you all the space you could ever want. I’m so done with your shit. Consider this me breaking up with you.
“Fuck,” Frankie shook his head and through your tear-blurred vision you could see his jaw clenched. Frankie climbed off the ATV and walked up to you, reaching for your hand as it crumbled the note up. “This guy is a fucking dick—beyond a fucking dick, he’s…they don’t make filthy enough curse words to describe how shitty he is. You deserve so much better than that.”
“How do you know that?” you sighed, pulling away from him to pick your bag up off the ground. Frankie quickly took it from you and walked it back to the ATV, tying it onto the back.
“I guess I don’t,” Frankie finally answered your question as he returned with a trash bag. “But, judging by how kind and friendly you’ve been so far…I’d say that alone makes you at the very least better than him.”
You huffed a weak laugh and smiled at the sight of his dress shirt stretching over his back as he bent down to clean the campsite. Feeling guilty for your ex-boyfriend’s sins, you rushed to help, practically stealing the bag from Frankie’s hands.
“Thank you, Frankie.” You gave him a sincere, heartfelt smile. “I’m really sorry you got dragged into all my bullshit—“
He cut you off with a shake of his head and a reassuring smile.
“Don’t apologize,” he ordered before checking his watch. “My shift’s over in an hour or so. Do you live in town? I can drive you home, if you want?”
“I do, and that would…that would be really nice.”
You attempted to keep your tears at bay as he started the quad up and turned back around. Here was this stranger, treating you better than your boyfriend of five years ever had, and he’d only known you for one fucking night.
Back at the cabin, Frankie left you with the WiFi password while he tended to his end-of-shift duties, knowing that your phone had no service and that you should probably update your loved ones on your whereabouts considering you technically went missing last night.
You called your best friend first, giving them the rundown on not only what happened between you and your now ex-boyfriend, but also the building tension between you and your knight in shining khaki, Frankie. After some much needed words of comfort and reassurance that you deserve someone better than your shitty ex, you said goodbye and hung up.
Next up was your ex. You’d planned on telling him off, on calling him out on all the shit you’d been putting up with since the beginning of your relationship, but you never got the chance. The fucker sent you straight to voicemail.
By the time Frankie arrived, you already cried out all the tears you felt your relationship deserved, which wasn’t much.
“Everything okay?” he asked, walking over to join you on the sofa.
“Yeah,” you gave him a soft smile. “Or at least it will be.”
“Breakups are hard,” he empathized, reaching a hand over to rest on your knee. You stared down at the contact with a smirk before looking back to his eyes, finding him deep in study as he watched you. “This might…might not be the right time, but…and it doesn’t have to be anything romantic, but…are you doing anything tonight? Maybe we could go out for a drink or go see a movie or…anything, really. I could be a friend.”
“I’d like you to be more than a friend, Frankie.”
“So would I…eventually,” he added with a smile. “But for now, I don’t want you rushing into anything with me. It’s…it’s easy to confuse distraction for acceptance. Believe me, I made a lot of mistakes after my divorce. And…I really don’t want to be a mistake or a distraction to you. So, for now…friends?”
You twisted your mouth as you smiled, looking down at his hand on your knee and resting yours on top of it.
“Friends.”
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal fluff#frankie morales fluff#frankie morales x you#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales#frankie catfish morales#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales x y/n
572 notes
·
View notes
Text
ALMOST THERE
introduction | masterlist
->pairing : sub lee know x dom gn reader
->word count : 700+
->synopsis : lee know
->tw : idrk with this one, edging?, use of kitten once (I couldn’t resist sorry)
->authors note : was considering putting this in the tw, but this whole thing is incredibly sloppy and low key shit, but I’m just trying to get back into the habit of posting so bear with me
What you could only describe as the cry of an angel escaped your boyfriend’s plush lips as your fingers curled up onto his spot, his half-lidded eyes the epitome of a man far too gone to form a coherent sentence. Leaking on his stomach was his achingly hard cock, neglected through your teasing and cruel ministrations and you didn’t have any intention of getting him off any time soon.
Every time his body began to convulse, heart rate rising just a little too high, you’d pull away, leaving him to chase his orgasm desperately, tugging on the binds that held his wrists. He’d never pictured himself in this position and had you asked him a few months ago if he’d consider it he’d have scoffed in your face.
You see, your usually so proudly dominant boyfriend had agreed to a bet, allowing you to take control for one night, granted that you beat him at bowling (his pride certainly had gotten ahead of him considering his shaky skills at the sport). Despite not exactly being so great at it yourself, you still managed to beat him with quite some points between you both. The look on his face had been priceless.
Let’s just say that well, that night Minho learned some things about himself.
He’d already been denied twice at this point, and this is where previously you had given in. You reckoned he could take more though.
Lube squelched as you drove two fingers into his loose hole, aiming directly for his prostate each time and basking in the small yelps he let out, similar to the mew of a cat. His small hands were clasped together, knuckles turning white, in the soft fabric that tethered them together and his legs squirmed helplessly beneath your weight. Your hand danced around his crotch, caressing his thighs which you admired so greatly.
His pink lips were open in a small, delicate ‘o’ as he could feel himself approaching his release again, believing for a second that you were going to let him and whining as your touch departed again.
“Pl-please. I haven’t done anything wrong.” He gasped lightly. It was almost phrased as a question, begging you to tell him what he’s done. His usual grouchy tone returning slightly as he remarked, “just let me cum already.”
It was cute you decided. He believed that it would work. What he didn’t realise is how much harder he was making it on himself as you gripped his jaw like a vice, staring him cold in the eyes.
“Good kittens don’t make demands, they take what they are given.” You said through gritted teeth before continuing “If you don’t want it, you know your safeword.”
His glare began to soften as he gulped, his eyes squeezing shut as your hand found his cock, gliding it up and down his length agonisingly slowly. In a second you’d give him what he wanted, judging that he was right, he had done as you’d asked that evening, and you already pushed him so far. He deserved a treat. You just had to make him suffer a tad bit more first.
“You look so beautiful like this, you know that right.” His scrunched up face barely reacted to your words, but he let out another small whimper. You reinserted your fingers into his wet heat, Minho’s face relaxing slightly as he lost himself again.
It wasn’t long until he was at the edge again, a few beads of sweat noticeable in his hairline. He had gotten considerably noisier, the closer he got, eyes refusing to open right until he tipped over, body convulsing in pleasure as his orgasm rocked through him. It was more intense than any other he had experienced, and you made sure to kiss and ease him through it until the aftershocks were over. A sheen of sweat covered him as he flopped back, and you quickly undid his wrists.
“You handled that so well, baby.” You mumbled into his ear, peppering him with kisses, “did you enjoy it?”
“Yeah.” You faintly heard him say, and you didn’t press for more information.
“Do you want a bath?” You asked, ready to jump up and go run it for him.
“In a few minutes, jus want to lie here with you for a bit.” He whispered into your neck where you held him.
honestly gonna cry
#skz smut#stray kids#stray kids smut#sub skz#stray kids x reader#sub stray kids#dom reader#skz sub#skz lee know#lee know smut#sub lee know
145 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Fallen pt. 3
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Cooper Howard x F!Angel!Reader
A/N: The rating is going to go up after this chapter. This one doesn’t include any smut, but the next chapter definitely will.
The journey to finding the head was relatively uneventful.
Or, as uneventful as traveling through the Wasteland could be.
The group picked up a dog on the way, though somehow you were the only one surprised, and delighted. Among all of your father’s vast creations, they happened to be your favorite.
The feeling was apparently mutual, considering the dog had taken to sleeping on your chest every night and following close by during the day. You’d lovingly named her “Maze” after your favorite, albeit grumpy, demon.
It fit, if you were being honest, even though you knew the aforementioned demon would skin you alive if she ever found out. (Even if she’d secretly find it endearing.)
It was a nice distraction from Cooper too. When you’d first met him a few years ago, you’d been reminded of something so very human in his hesitation. It was buried deep, heavily denied, but there. Every meeting since then you’d been determined to find it, to find the man in the monster.
“Have you slept?”
Maximus had been a nice addition. At first, you’d been hesitant to trust him. Many, many factions had risen since the fall of humanity, and almost every single one of them became twisted, corrupted versions of what they were meant to be. The Brotherhood of Steel was certainly no exception, but Maximus was.
Maybe you’d been too quick to judge others before too.
“Was just thinking,” you murmured, absently petting Maze when she nuzzled further into your lap.
“About anything in particular?”
It was a kind question, and while you could see the darkness in him, the kind that came with growing in a world hell bent on destruction, there was a good heart in his chest. You only hoped he didn’t lose it.
“Nah,” you shrugged the question off, letting your mind wander through the twists and turns of your memory.
He studied you for a moment, before gesturing towards the other two sleeping bodies.
“Get some sleep, I’ll keep an eye out.”
Initially, you were going to object. You didn’t want to rest, didn’t have any desire to revisit the pain of the past that you were forced to witness in your dreams, but there was an exhaustion deep in your soul. Rest wouldn’t fix it, but it would help.
You muttered a thanks, not missing the way his eyes lingered on Lucy’s unconscious form. There was certainly something happening there, and the thought of a blossoming romance in a decaying world warmed your heart.
Sleep, like always, slipped through your fingers like sand. Even with the warm presence of Maze and the friends around you, it didn’t come easy. It hadn’t in a long time, and you doubted it ever would again.
Eventually, however, the lures of slumber found you, and instead of falling into a peaceful embrace, you woke to lungs full of ash.
You tried to call out, to yell to your friends, but the burning in your chest crawled up your throat, forcing you to your knees.
Before you, the world burned.
Not the Wasteland you’d been traversing, the endless desert and bloody terrain, but the world as it was before. Skyscrapers reached for the clouds, cars were like so many dots in the city, and there was so much life. Birds singing in the sky, the breeze swaying leaves, a smell so fresh it brought tears to your eyes.
Then the flames licked it, consumed it, swallowed it whole.
And you were left there to watch, your knees planted to the ground.
“Dad.”
A desperate, wretched sob. A wish. A cry torn from your throat, wrenched free by your heart.
“Dad, please.”
You were screaming now, begging, heart pounding with anguish.
“Don’t do this. Don’t let this happen.”
Each word shredded your soul, hopelessness bitter on your tongue. The brightness of your heart, the very essence of your being, dimmed to an ember. Your fists pounded against the Earth, the horizon disappearing in a cloud of smoke and ash.
A scream of rage, of agony, of desolation erupted from you, like the bombs that fell to the Earth around you.
Horror sliced through your back like a knife- blinding, hot pain coated your tongue like blood. You reached back, clawing at the pain despairingly, ignoring the splashes of blood as you tried to just make it stop.
But it wouldn’t.
Your nails provided no relief, the desperate slashing growing fiercer with the tears in your eyes, grasping with the last of your strength at the pieces of yourself.
It didn’t matter.
Made no difference, really.
The bond was severed.
Minutes turned to hours turned to days before you had the courage to move, to assess the damage. The fires still raged around you, days after the initial blasts, and the hollowness in your gut deepened.
Your hands shook as you reached out, first hesitantly, then madly, at the remnants of your once beautiful wings.
Golden Child.
Hope.
Growth.
Life.
Your father had called you all so lovingly, murmured into the ear of a child desperate for her father’s pride. It was all a lie, one that poisoned the air in your lungs.
Bloodied feathers and snapped bones lay behind you, the golden dulled with the death of an entire population. A crack formed in you then, one that would never heal.
“I hate you.”
A gloved hand pulled you from the clutches of unconsciousness, dragging you back to your prison.
The way you moved was instinctual- swiping your leg out and pressing Maze’s knife into the neck of your would-be attacker. It was fast, precise, a move taught over and over again by the demon until you’d been able to do it in your sleep.
Only, by the time the tears in your eyes cleared, you realized it was very much not an attacker.
It was Cooper.
And he looked far too smug for a man you’d just put on his ass.
“It ain’t good form, sneakin’ up on a restin’ man.”
Your words were an exact echo of the first time you’d ever heard his voice.
“It most certainly ain’t.”
There was an almost playful twinkle in his gaze as he pressed a little deeper into your knife. Your hand shook then, a reminder of what you were.
More importantly, a reminder of what you could never be.
Before he noticed that particular quirk, you sheathed the dagger, but didn’t move from your perch above him. He didn’t seem too keen on moving you off him either.
“You were squirmin’ in your sleep, sweetheart.” He explained, resting his top half on his forearms. That man surely did look too comfortable with you on top of him. “Makin’ a lot of noise.”
“Just… memories.”
You puffed a breath, nearly leaning your forehead against his. It was easy, natural, the way your body sought his out, like a moment of rest after a hard day.
Instead, your gaze zeroed in on an unassuming glint, a sparkle in a sea of sand. It was more than just glitter though, and upon the realization of exactly what it was, your heart dropped.
There, sitting inconspicuously in the sand, was a small, golden feather.
Your feather.
Cooper followed your stare, looking curiously at the object that was causing such a reaction. He didn’t understand though, couldn’t possibly.
Your feathers hadn’t shined like that since the day the bombs dropped. The few that remained were dull, bloodied and broken like the rest of your wings.
“Are we interrupting?”
Lucy approached, Maximus directly behind her with a curious look. Why in all the world were you on top of the ghoul?
While Max was shocked, Lucy wasn’t bothered. She was more astonished that she’d yet to walk back to the two of you fucking the absolute hell out of each other.
“Yes.”
“No.”
You and Cooper spoke at the same time, your movements quick as you disengaged. You didn’t see him grab the feather you seemed so mesmerized with and tuck it into his chest pocket, but after giving the two others a smile, you definitely did notice it missing.
“Okey-dokey,” Lucy drawled, another suspicious glance casted between you both.
“Are you okay?” It was Maximus who asked, and from the tenseness of his body, you guessed he’d probably heard more of your nightmare than anyone else.
“I’m okay,” you lied, standing closer to Cooper absentmindedly.
Maze trotted up to you, pressing her wet nose into your hand like she understood your pain. Maybe she did, in a way. Not the exact pain you felt, but the loss of something so fundamental to your person.
Animals had an easier time realizing what you were. Besides Chloe and Linda, you’d never actually told another human being. A few had found out through one way or another, but it was hard to trust that part of yourself with others.
“We’re close,” Lucy announced, gesturing towards the wide open desert.
Less than half a day, you’d all agreed on yesterday before you stopped for the night. Then, as soon as you retrieved what remained of Dr. Wilzig, off to Lucy’s dad and the mysterious Moldaver.
“Thaddeus had the head last,” Maximus explained, stepping up with Lucy as she led the way.
You hung back with Cooper, glancing over at him every few minutes.
The two at the front continued to talk, explaining something or another, but you were too focused on Coop. He’d been there when the world went to shit.
You’d known it for a while, that he was old enough to have witnessed the end. He hadn’t said it explicitly, but the pieces clicked together when he properly introduced himself. Lucifer had a week-long bender involving a piñata of drugs, a couple of Swedish models, and a whole lot of old cowboy films.
You’d passed on the drugs and sex, but he’d trapped you in his penthouse and forced you to marathon the greatest hits of one Mr. Cooper Howard.
Time hadn’t been kind to him.
That man had been good, altruistic. He, like so many others, had lost so much of themselves to the world.
“Any particular reason you’re starin’ at me like I’m the last piece of pie?”
You hummed a small laugh, more thoughtful than entertained.
“The world before…”
He held a hand up, stopping you before you could even start down that line of questioning.
“Whatever you think you know of the world before, you don’t.”
“I think you made a better cowboy hero than a cowboy villain,” you joked, a genuine chuckle sounding as he nearly tripped over his feet, shock on his face.
“And what’s that supposed to mean, darlin’?”
“Whatever you want it to, cowboy.”
The mischief in your eyes was rivaled only by the guilt. You’d never be able to let go of it, to not have it haunt you every moment of every day, but perhaps you could live with it.
Perhaps there was a future for you.
Not the kind of future Lucy wanted, with romance and children, but the kind of future you did- freedom and a person to share it with.
“Got jokes, do you?”
His smile was wry, not quite amused, but certainly interested.
“Just for you.”
He cut you a hard stare, one that saw far more than you wanted him to, and yet not enough. The relationship you’d built up was founded upon a mutual understanding of letting the past die, and yet you found yourself wanting to tell him everything.
Gazes locked together, longing mingling in the air, interrupted only by the sound of a growing melody. You snapped your head forward, surprised by the sudden appearance of an entire radio tower.
Perhaps Cooper had distracted you more than you cared to admit.
“Thaddeus,” Maximus called, drawing attention to your group.
Maze held back, sticking close by your side as you approached the tower. As unsuspecting as it looked at a distance, it grew more ominous up close. Bodies and debris littered the ground, blood speckled in the warm sand.
You frowned.
Death, in this world, was nearly constant. You’d never seen the uglier side of it before coming to Earth. Even knowing the eternal resting place for these souls didn’t make it any easier to see them strung up and displayed this way.
The brutality of man hurt almost as much as the abandonment of your own family.
“Maximus?” The man, Thaddeus, you assumed, approached with a look of surprise. “I thought you’d be dead by now.”
“Just give us the head,” Max bargained.
The mention of an ‘us’ seemed to garner a response. The squire finally looked at the group, a cursory glance to each of you.
When he saw you, a smile tugged at his lips. He blinked once, then twice.
“Hi,” he greeted, solely focused on you.
You sucked a breath in, not missing the clench of Cooper’s jaw.
“Hey,” you replied kindly, taking a step towards him. “Thaddeus, was it?”
“Oh fuck,” he rubbed his empty hand against his pants nervously. “I ain’t ever seen someone as pretty as you.”
You breathed out a laugh, holding both hands out in front of you as you approached.
“Flirting is definitely not a part of the Brotherhood’s curriculum, huh?” Lucy mused.
“We really need that head,” you told him cautiously, slowly, ignoring the vault dwellers' merriment.
His eyes were wide, following your every move with something a little too close to reverence for your liking. The divinity that ran through your veins certainly made you more appealing, but the look he was giving you was a bit deeper than that.
A bit hungrier.
“It’s too late,” he responded, and as if on queue, the distant sound of spinning blades cut through the air.
“It’s not,” you argued, another step as you very carefully maneuvered around a trap. “Bring it here and we can leave together, before they land. But we have to go. Now.”
For a brief second, you didn’t think he’d follow. His eyes flicked up to the sky, where the Brotherhood would be any minute, and then back down to you.
Then, he took a step.
A cry rang out in alarm, torn from your throat as you jumped forward, trying to push him out of the path of a well-placed arrow. It didn’t matter, though. You were too late, pinning his body to the ground after he’d already been wounded.
Guilt gnawed at your stomach as you gazed down at him, wide eyes staring right back up at you. He’d been struck in the neck, a fatal wound by all accounts.
“Are we having sex?”
You tilted your head to the side, confusion bubbling around you. He definitely wasn’t dying, if the appendage pressing insistently into your thigh was any indication.
“You’re not dead?”
It was a question, one echoed by Maximus somewhere behind you.
“He’s gonna be,” Cooper growled, his voice hardly registering in your confusion.
“Just, sit still.” You ordered, reaching a hand towards his neck.
The arrow went clean through one side, remaining embedded into the throat. How he was alive was a mystery for another day, your current concern revolving around removing his new necklace.
You grabbed one end of it, tingles splintering up your arm, that ancient warning rearing it’s ugly head.
Do not kill.
Do not harm.
You grit your teeth, tugging as his hands came to rest on your hips. You’d wanted to comment on it, to tell him to take his hands off you, but Cooper beat you to it.
“Keep those hands there and you’re losin’ them.”
It was a vicious threat, spoken from his chest with anger, the hammer of his gun clicking for emphasis.
A pounding started in your head, a chant repeating itself.
Do not kill.
Do not harm.
You wanted to shout in frustration, the tremors working their way through your entire body. They came to a crashing halt the second the arrow was through, the wound healing on its own only seconds later.
You slumped forward, catching yourself with your hands on either side of Thaddeus. The man beneath you noticed, the sound of a bullet echoing through the air when he reached a hand up, almost grazing the side of your face.
“Watch those hands.”
It was a final warning, the patience of the ghoul gone.
“Your eyes are beautiful.”
His voice was dazed, staring at you with awe. It made you fidget uncomfortably before you rolled off him, leaving the space Cooper needed to stand above him.
Rage burned in his eyes as he pointed his pistol at the young man.
“Coop,” you warned, stepping in front of him.
Your warning meant very little to him at the moment. Murder was in his eyes, the kind that promised to see it through to the end.
The sky grew louder, the Brotherhood closing in on your position faster than you’d like.
“We don’t have the time for this.”
Reason seemed to win out for the moment, the need to survive beating back the need to prove a point. He holstered his gun, a withering glare pointed at Thaddeus.
You paid it no mind, jumping into action before any more ground was lost. You tossed the head to Lucy, shuddering at the lifeless object. It was gory, unnecessarily so, and holding it felt unnatural.
“Get out of here,” you yelled to the others, finding your footing relatively quickly.
Cooper was close by, following your every footstep. Thaddeus, however, decided to take his own route. It was probably for the best, lest Cooper ever see him ogling you again. Maze, initially unsure of where to go, obeyed your queue, running alongside Coop.
You’d only made it a hundred feet or so before you realized Lucy and Max were not with you. Your abrupt stop was interrupted, the ghoul tugging the back of your jumpsuit before you could even try to turn around.
You caught a quick glimpse. A passionate kiss was exchanged, and a sorrowful goodbye. The moment wasn’t for you to witness.
Before long, Lucy caught up to your little group again.
She didn’t bother to greet you, her hand gripping the head for dear life. It was the only thing she’d managed to salvage from the radio tower.
It was clear Max’s departure bothered her deeply, but you knew some wounds couldn’t heal with anything but time.
Maybe one day they would find one another again.
Until then, you’d look out for her, make sure she was able to grow on her own terms.
God only knew she’d need it in the upcoming future.
#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#cooper howard insert#fallout x reader#the ghoul x reader#the ghoul x you#fallout reader insert#the ghoul imagine#cooper howard imagine#i love this#fallout
108 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hide & Seek - jpm x reader!
summary: You check into the Hotel Cortez for a little R&R, only to have nightmares. Some of which, are real. Run, little mouse.
warnings & word count: 3.4K! James being James, hide and seek elements, chasing, hunting, implications of murder/death.
a/n: this was a quick drabble that got longer. sorry that there’s no smut, I’m unwell enough that James chasing me is arousing enough. idea/requested by @garykingz
full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! /
On an impromptu vacation, you were going to be in Los Angeles for a week - visiting a friend for a few days. In truth, you'd taken the opportunity to get away from the humdrum of work for a little longer, wanting a relaxing escape from the drab nine to five lifestyle that you lived day in and day out. Initially, you'd picked the Hotel Cortez for its lower than usual rates, but were also charmed by its lavish interiors and intriguing history.
You'd checked in when it was sunny - a delicate, warm breeze floated through the Los Angeles streets, which was a stark difference once you got inside the doors; there was a damp chill that made your skin prickle. You chalked it up to bad air conditioning and made small talk about the weather with the lady who kindly took one of your bags. The rooms were outdated, but still possessed some charm. The lady, her name was Iris, had informed you that some of the rooms had been remodeled; this wasn't one of them.
You'd spent most of the night lazily unpacking, nursing a bottle of cheap champagne that you called up from room service. You'd called your friend, excitedly discussing the details of tomorrow's brunch at around 8 PM. When you'd finally fallen asleep, it was half past midnight and you weren't sure how long you'd slept before the horrible dreams started.
First, a haggard looking woman sat at the edge of your bed, her head in her hands as she sobbed hysterically. Though you tried desperately to comfort her, she shoved you off, muttering something about never getting out. After that, you tossed and turned, jostling that nightmare into something else. A man sewed into a mattress, gurgling and screaming for help as his body decayed, his slippery, slimy limbs clawing at the fibers, and women stood at the edge of your bed, covered in blood and laughing, angrily hissing words you didn't understand, judging you in their native tongue. The final dream was the worst, despite the unsettling nature of the last few, it was the most vivid, and the one that made your heart rate skyrocket.
Someone else was in your room with malicious intentions, watching you silently as you slept. Their inviting, persuasive energy drew you closer to them, scooting towards the edge of the bed. Your face contorted painfully in your sleep, head swishing back and forth on the pillow, sweat dotting your exposed skin.
James stood above you, watching you as frightening, troublesome visions plagued your subconscious and tormented your physical form. The Cortez effect still reigned supreme - good . Nobody slept well in these rooms unless he permitted it. And you... you, with all of your beauty, were thrashing about like a child. You were delightful, exquisite... everything he wanted in a victim. Skin flushed with fear, hair splayed out on the pillow in delicate locks. Your features, though you weren't, were vintage and reminded him of some of his favourite past kills. He leaned forward, hands reaching out your perfect, slender neck.
Cold, unsettling fingertips ghosted along the nape of your neck and you flinched away, throwing your leg from underneath the covers. When a hand came down on your mouth, your heavy lids snapped open. It wasn't a dream. A man - a very well-dressed man - hovered above you, his cool hand pressing against your lips, prepped for and successfully muffling the oncoming scream. Now realizing that you were awake, lightning fast, both arms wrapped around you, coiling around you like a snake and pulling you from your warm sheets. You let out a boisterous shriek and, surprising even yourself, wrestled free, throwing yourself back against the mattress. You climbed atop of it, standing higher than he was.
His hands slipped along the satin of your nightgown as you wrenched yourself from his arms; what a sly little thing you were . Your sudden departure from his grip surprised James, and unbeknownst to you, the element of surprise was deeply arousing to him. Ah, he’d picked a good one, yet again….
You let out a desperate yelp, tucking yourself into the corner where the walls met. “Get away from me! What the FUCK are you doing in my room?!”
“Ah, what a rarity you are! So lively!” His stance was challenging, anticipating your next move.
Your eyes peeled away from him for a split second, just to judge the distance between you and the door. It wasn’t far, not at all. Certainly, close enough that you could make it… with enough speed….
You decided to go for it; with a final breath and a desperate exertion of muscle, you leapt off the bed and charged towards the door, nearly collapsing against it. With fingers trembling, you threw the chain from its casing and unlatched the deadbolt before throwing the door open - running out so quickly that you almost stumbled into the barren hallway. Adrenaline coursing through your veins, you opened your mouth to let out a shrill scream, in hopes that someone, anyone, would hear you.
“Run, run, run!” From behind you, came his elated tone as he watched you bolt out the door, barefoot and clad in your silky, lacy nightgown. His joviality was disconcerting, to say the least.
It had been so long since he'd gotten his jollies with a good old fashioned chase. Nowadays, people were dull, heavy buffoons whose logic had diminished like their will to live, they possessed no natural instincts to hide, only scream and fall to the floor, flopping about like a dead fish. Naturally, he could’ve ended the game quickly, materializing in front of you and taking you into his arms at once. But there was hardly any sport, any fun in that idea….
So, he let you run. He let you run down the long hallway, shrieking for help. The door clicked shut, and through it, he heard your voice crack as you yelled, beating futilely on the door of some unsuspecting guest. Of course, no one would come to your aid. Everyone minded their own business in this hotel, and naturally no one would open the door to a screaming madwoman.
You tried the handle of a door. Locked. Fuck . You tried the one next to it, only to find it locked too. Shit. You took off down the hallway again, your bare feet padding against the ornately woven carpets. You hadn’t heard the door open, but didn’t want to waste any more time trying locked doors, so instead, you rounded the corner, finding that it looked just like the hallway from where you’d just come. The doors lined each side of you, seeming to go on forever. How people didn’t get lost in these god-forsaken hallways was beyond you; you nearly had when you checked in. Where was everybody? Was the hotel empty? Full?
You looked both ways and took off again, your muscles begging for relief as you ran to the left; the few moments of standing weren’t enough to soothe your aching legs. The fire burned your muscles as you ran, terror building in your stomach. You thought you heard the echo of his voice behind you…. But when you turned, there was nothing – nothing but doors.
“Jesus christ,” you whimpered, tears welling up. No. Now’s not the time to cry, suck it up.
You sniffed hard, silencing the sobs. You looked at the neverending doors, and still trembling, you tried the handle of the one nearest you. To your surprise, it turned freely. You snuck in, making sure to shut the door quietly behind you -- no more than a click of the latch.
The armoire seemed too obvious and easy of a hiding place, so you opted to crawl underneath one of the beds, albeit also obvious. The carpet smelled old, and there was a sliver of viewing space underneath the bedskirt. Watching the door with terrified eyes, you pressed your fingers into your mouth hard, silencing any breaths. The door opened moments later, and his polished shoes could be seen.
James knew you'd gone in here. He'd heard you. But where you went remained to be seen. He'd check the usual places; in hopes of finding his little escapist. His shoes moved around the bed, and you held your breath, closing your eyes. Perhaps this had been a stupid decision...
“Come out, come out wherever you are! There's nowhere to run where I won't find you!" His voice reverberated in the bathroom and your eyes snapped open, in relief. He whipped away the shower curtain, the shower rings clattering loudly on the metal pole. He peered inside. Empty. Drat.
Knowing he was momentarily occupied, you took that opportunity to crawl out from underneath the bed and run to the door, opening it as silently as possible. There was no doubt that he'd heard you again, as his footsteps clicked quickly on the tile. Directly opposite from you, there was a door without a placard, without a number. You raced across the small hallway, your breath coming from your mouth in delicate little pants. A few seconds passed as you stared at it, as though you were trying to view what was behind it. A potential option…
Nervously, you swallowed and leaned forward, trying the handle. To your delight; it gave way. Tentatively, you stuck your head inside; It was an unwelcoming empty room, nothing but cold, bare bricks inside. A strange, square shaped room that was too long to be a broom closet, but not wide enough to be a guest’s room. It looked like it ran parallel to the rest of the rooms, it too went on forever. A terrifying, bleak, unfinished hallway.
“Ahh, my little buttercup! Where have you run off to? I know this hotel like the back of my hand!. Afterall, I built it!”
Though slightly muffled, his syrupy, crooning voice was loud enough that it still bounced off the walls, seeming to come from all directions. Watching old films ardently, the Transatlantic accent was one that you found attractive usually, with its refined over-pronunciation, but this… you never pictured this scenario. Never pictured it to be…
Your head snapped in the direction from whence you’d come. The handle turned, which prompted you to shimmy inside, quietly shutting the door behind you. You were submerged in darkness and an odd moistness that made your nose itch. Wherever you were hadn't been utilized by anyone in a long time. A long, long time.
“...fuck…!” you hissed through clenched teeth. “...fuck, what do I do now ?”
If you weren’t going to die at the hands of that man, you were going to die in this bizarre, desolate hallway, starved to death, sealed away to decay like some forgotten wax figure. Pinpricks of darkness took over your vision, and you could do nothing but blindly feel your way down the hall, stepping carefully as you did, arms out in front of you to protect against any obstacles.
The floor was dusty, you could feel your warm skin picking up particles as you walked. You didn't hear him though, so he'd chosen another direction. At least, you hoped.
Your hands flattened against a surface that differed from the walls. It didn't feel like brick, it felt like another type of wood; there was bevelling on the sides. Your hands bumped into a handle, which you twisted, pushing forward. It gave with a little push and you came face first with a hotel room - one that looked similarly to your own.
It wasn't empty; a stout woman in a modest maid outfit was bent over the bed, meticulously smoothing every crease from the top sheet. She paid you no mind, though she'd surely had to have heard you open the door; the hinges desperately needed oiled.
You took a step forward. Hesitantly. "E-excuse me? Ma'am?"
No response from her. What the fuck was going on in this hotel? People dressed like they were from another time, ignoring desperate screams of peril...
“Please,” you panted, frustrated. “You have to help me. Hide me. There’s… there’s a man after me. He’s –”
Acting almost startled, she straightened up from the bed, and turned to you, waving her hands as though you were speaking too loudly. “Shhhush, shush, it’s alright, dear. Do stop breathing in such a way, you’re going to hyperventilate!”
You swallowed, wetting your dry mouth. “I’m… I’m sorry. I just, he’s… there’s a man… he tried to- to....” You scrambled. A phone. There was a phone on the table behind her. To call the police. Yes. That. Perfect. “Just let me use the phone and I'll -"
In a fluid, determinate motion, she stepped in front of the small table, blocking you from the phone. Your eyes narrowed, brows furrowing. She was too calm. Something was off about her demeanor as she dutifully approached you, hands clasped together, wringing them, and it made your teeth chatter. A small, but devious smile curled around her rouged lips.
“N-no, what're you doing....?”
The door to your left opened abruptly. The man exhaled as he burst through it, tying an apron behind his back. He first made eye contact with the maid, then with you, his dark, inky pupils widening.
“Ahhhh. Look at that, my dear.”
“No… no, no, no, no, no, no! NO! PLEASE!” You stumbled back around, falling against the door - the one you had just come from, which had swung shut. Although you'd just pushed it open moments ago, it seemed heavier than before. You put all your weight into pulling at it again, tugging with everything you had. From behind you, his dubose voice continued.
“It seems as though I’ve won this little game of yours!”
Finally, it released and the hinges let out a painful wail as you yanked it open. Although it had already begun to swing shut, you gripped the handle hard, pulling it until the lock clicked into place. You weren't sure if they were coming; you couldn't hear them talking from behind the heavy wood. You imagined they would be. Eventually.
The cool, looming darkness was all that surrounded you, but at present, it was less terrifying than what was on the other side of the door. Squaring your shoulders, you bravely took long strides back into the pitch-blackness, hoping to feel a sense of familiarity. After a few moments, you began running again, wanting to put as much distance between you and him as you could.
You only got a few yards before a searing hot pain shot up through your calf muscle as something sharp and jagged tore through your soft flesh, causing you to yelp and clumsily stumble to a stop. Though you couldn't see anything, out of habit, you gazed down in the general direction, breathing shallowly. Deprived of sight, your other senses kicked in, and you felt the warmth that oozed from the bottom of your foot and smelled the hot, irony scent of blood as it seeped through the gash in your toughest skin. Though the pain was crippling, you had to keep going.
Now hobbling hurriedly down the dark corridor, you thought you were nearing the door. With both hands out in front of you, you waited to feel something. A harrowing thought settled into your psyche, but you shooed it away, promising yourself that it wouldn't happen. Your fingertips finally felt the smoothness of wood and you pressed both hands against the door, gasping in relief. In trepidation, you tried the handle, desperately yanking it down. You wiggled it furiously, panicking. Just as you'd worried. It was locked.
The hinges howled at the other end of the hallway and you froze, holding your breath. Stupid. Where else would you have gone? He knew you were in there. Like he'd said, he knew this hotel like the back of his hand and likely knew that the door would lock. He'd probably designed it that way. Slowly, you turned your head, staring pointedly behind you.
Lights flickered on; though covered in dust, the same wall sconces that were on the outside hallways were also on the inside. You winced, as your eyes adjusted to the change in light. You spotted him, fast approaching. He held something in his hand, though you couldn't make out what it was. His crunching footsteps neared closer and closer. You spun around, pressing your back against the door. You were cornered. This was it.
“Now, now. There’s no need for that!” His voice echoed down the corridor. “Well,” he added. “Perhaps fear is... apropos. I've no intention of being quick with you.”
He was terrifying with his eloquence and debonair demeanour, albeit handsome. In a different setting, you might've accepted a drink from him, or perhaps an offer to dance. But now... with your hands in front of your chest, shaking like a cornered animal, you were anything but wooed.
He was mere inches away now, and all you could do was tremble like a fool. With a long, drawn out vocalisation, he closed in the distance, sandwiching your body between himself and the door. His fingers ghost over the curve of your thighs and hips, up to your waist, and finally, just beneath your breast. He pressed his hand underneath the weight of it, nestling it underneath the flesh. He could feel the sweat that had settled into the fabric of your nightgown, the heat that radiated off your body and most of all, he could feel your thumping heartbeat beneath your skin. It hammered away, pumping your blood through its arteries, keeping you living, breathing, panting.... quivering. Aroused, he nipped at the air, hissing through his teeth.
"Oh, don't look so surprised, my dear. Did you really think you'd be the one that got away from me? You gave me a good run, indeed. But deep down, you knew I'd find you."
No... he was wrong. You really had thought that you'd get away. You'd always considered yourself to be... smart, quick. As it seemed, that was a foolish misconception. You weren't quick enough.
He leaned down, placing his lips against your flushed cheek. His moustache tickled your flesh, his breath was cool against your ear like the first warning breeze before a storm.
“Now,” he whispered into your skin. "Where are those screams you so boldly let free before? Why, you're as quiet as a mouse now."
"Please, please don't kill me..." You murmured, pulling your face away from his. James immediately caught your cheek with his hand, pulling it back to its starting position. He stroked the skin softly, tenderly, and whispered: "Oh, but I must... you're going to make it sound so good."
With tears streaming down your face, you let out a pleading moan, transitioning into a blood-curdling scream.
"Yes! Scream for me, my darling! Scream to your heart's content!" James said, slipping his hand round your waist. "Miss Evers!" He called over his shoulder. "Ready my tools!"
You heard her call back: "Yes, Mr. March!"
Mr. March , you thought. That's his name. Mr. March is going to kill me.
You had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The only place you could go was into his arms - his cool, strong arms with their enrapturing steadfastness, their chilly persuasiveness. They gripped you so lovingly, though the threat of death loomed over you like a cloud. He hoisted you up into his arms and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You were light, alive and easy to manipulate.
"P-please. I was here to see my fr-friend..." you whimpered into his back, though you doubt he cared. Seeing your friend seemed like such a trivial thing now when your life was at stake. He carried you back down the hallway with ease, avoiding whatever obstacles laid on the floor.
By the time your back hit the table, your vision was so clouded with tears that you could no longer see him, but you felt the way he caressed you, and heard the way he spoke about your body, monologued discomforting facts about the human body, and how good yours was going to look once it was splayed open for the world to see.
The last thing you saw was the deep, crimson gash on his neck. Passively, you focused on it as he spoke, watching the gore as it glistened and moved with his words. You'd never thought about what your insides would look like until then. You wondered if yours looked like that, too. You supposed you'd find out soon enough.
"Please..." you whispered. "Please... don't..."
#nervous about this one but as per usual fuck or we ball#james patrick march#james march x reader#James Patrick March x reader#james patrick march x you#AHS hotel#American horror story
114 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dead for a Moment
Wake Up-- Chapter 3
Series Masterlist Next Chapter
pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader
summary: In an attempt to stop the advances of an unwanted suitor, Matt Murdock accidentally condemns you to being his fake girlfriend.
warnings: swearing, no use of y/n, description of anxiety and a panic attack, fluff
a/n: So sorry that I left you all hanging!! This is my first multi-chapter fic and I now realize I should’ve written a couple chapters before I started posting. Now that I am getting the hang of things, I am planning on updating this one every Friday! (I already have the next chapter ready to go!) Please reblog, comment, and feel free to send me asks/requests :)
w/c: 1.6k (the next one is longer, I promise!)
Matt shook Judge Hanover’s hand. “It was great catching up, your honor. Have fun in Rome!” The judge chuckled and squeezed Matt’s hand before reentering the crowd to chat with another attendee.
Taking a moment to assess the room, Matt frowned, realizing you still hadn’t returned to the event. He made his way over to where Foggy and Karen were gathered, asking if they’d seen you.
“Last I noticed, she was with you and Hanover. You two scare her off?” Foggy asked in jest, but Matt’s discomfort grew.
“No, she excused herself but never came back.” Focusing his hearing towards the back of the room, he desperately waited for some indication of your whereabouts. He couldn’t hear your voice, or smell your subtle perfume.
“Foggy, can you…”
“Yah, of course bud. The bathrooms are this way.”
As they got closer to the southern wall of the venue, he heard it—your heartbeat. It was frantic, outside the back entrance of the building.
“She left out the back door. Something’s wrong.” Matt whispered, urgently.
“Go find her, man. Karen and I will make something up.”
Matt squeezed Foggy’s arm and began walking towards the exit as quickly as he could without causing a scene.
Once outside, Matt rushed over to your shaking form, your gasping breaths echoing in his ears. He called your name, “what happened? What’s wrong?”
“Matty?” You wheezed as he crouched next to you.
“Yes it’s me. I’m right here, angel. Can I touch you?” His hands hovered near you as he desperately waited for your permission. Collapsing against his chest, you gave a stifled sob.
Instinctively, his arms wrapped around you. “Breathe, sweet thing. You’re gonna make yourself sick. Follow my breaths ok?” He slowly maneuvered one of your hands over his chest so you could feel it rise with each inhale. He could feel you struggling to imitate as your other hand clenched around his suit jacket.
“You’re doing so well, angel. Keep breathing for me. I got ya.” He sat the two of you down, with his back against the alley wall. Pulling you into his lap, he stroked your back as your hyperventilating started to wane.
“That’s it. Just like that, sweetness.” He murmured into your hair as he held you. Your heart rate was still rapid, but you were at least taking in air again.
“I’m—I’m so sorry.” Your voice was hoarse and Matt felt downright mournful hearing how broken you sounded.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, sweet thing. Not one thing.” He assured you, lips moving against your hairline. “Whenever you’re ready, we can get outta here, ok?”
“And go wh—where?” Your ragged breaths were forcing you to stumble over your words.
“Wherever you want. My place isn’t too far but we can go to yours if you’d be more comfortable.”
“Yours is good.” Still slightly breathless, you push back from him and start to stand up. You wobbled viciously, and would’ve fallen back to the pavement if it weren’t for Matt’s quick reflexes. “Easy, easy. We don’t have to go yet, we can wait another minute.” He rubbed his hands over your arms, looking at you with a furrowed brow.
“No, I want to go. Please, Matt.” Turning to him with glassy eyes, you begged. You needed to get as far away from this place as possible if you wanted to avoid another panic attack.
“Ok, sweetness. Let’s go.” Adjusting his hold on you so that your arms are linked, he took your hand. “My place is a couple blocks west of here. Did you want to get a cab?”
“No, I’m ok.” He gave your hand a squeeze, leading you back to his apartment.
———————————————————————————————————
Once you were inside Matt’s loft, you felt exhausted. The emotional toll of your anxiety attack had finally set in. As always, Matt seemed to sense the change in your energy.
“Sit down, love.” He tenderly tugged you over to the couch and helped you sit. “Take off those stiff shoes, do you want to borrow some comfier clothes?”
“Yes please.” Your voice was barely above a whisper.
Matt tenderly squeezed your arm. “I’ll be right back.”
You slipped off your heels and rubbed at your face. The tear tracks had burned itchy trails through your makeup. The familiar lights from the billboard outside Matt’s place danced across the living room. As you took in your surroundings, a wave of guilt and embarrassment crashed over you. Biting at your lip, you realized you had just dragged Matt away from his friends and a great networking opportunity for, what? An emotional outburst because some lady had brought up your old coworker? Because she didn’t think you were pretty or interesting?
Matt padded back into the room, holding a pair of sweats and a crew neck sweatshirt. “Here, sweetness. You remember where the bathroom is?”
“Mmhmm” you nodded, taking the clothes and heading to change.
Matt let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. What the hell had happened to you? When the two of you were milling about, your pulse had been steady. You’d seemed confident, almost happy to be there. Who had ruined that for you?
You shuffled around in his bathroom as you changed. Matt shrugged off his suit coat and loosened his tie. Removing his glasses, he moved to the kitchen to fill two glasses with water. Dutifully listening to you, he heard your breath shudder as you held back a sob. Clenching his hands around the glasses, he moved to set them on the coffee table. Pacing over to the bathroom, he hesitated a minute before knocking softy on the door.
“Need anything else, sweetness?” His question was quiet and he impatiently waited for a response. You moved towards the door, opening it carefully before staggering into his arms.
“I’m so sorry, Matt. I ruined everything.”
“What do you mean, angel? How did you ruin everything?”
Tears were welling up in your eyes again. “You left because of me. I stopped you from enjoying yourself.” You tried to pull back from him but he kept holding you close.
“Hey, don’t worry your pretty head about that, ok? I told you before, you get to call the shots. I know these events make you nervous. Leaving is always an option.”
You nodded against his chest, biting your lip. He kissed the top of your head firmly, stroking your back. The pair of you remained woven together for a moment as you calmed down. When your breathing had steadied a bit, Matt pulled back and faced you.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Those events never have enough food.” Matt grinned at you, trying to at least get you to crack a smile. “Want to order something?”
“Yah, that sounds good.” You scrubbed a hand at your face and let him lead you back to the couch. After he had you nestled into his side, Matt placed an order to his favorite Thai place. You weren’t really hungry, but you doubted he’d be letting you leave without eating.
Waiting for your meal to arrive, you could practically feel Matt holding himself back, giving you space. It must’ve been killing him to not know what happened when you stepped away. Absentmindedly, he ran his hand over your arm. You sighed, turning your face into his neck.
“It was Snyder.”
“What?” He pulled back, head tilting in confusion.
“She’s the one who—the reason I freaked, it was Snyder.”
A low growl emanated from Matt’s chest, rumbling through you. “What the hell did she do?”
“It was stupid, Matty. I mean—“
“It wasn’t stupid.” He murmured, in that same deep rumble. “If it upset you to that degree, it wasn’t stupid.” A dark rage burned in his eyes. You’d never seen this side of him before. Other people might’ve been frightened, but you tugged him closer, pressing up against him again. He relaxed a tiny bit, letting you pull his arms around you like a security blanket.
“She just…she called me pathetic. Said I wasn’t good enough to date you, that I stole my job. It was just some jealousy-induced bullshit.”
“She what?” You let Matt pull away this time. He stood from the couch, pacing angrily. “How fucking dare—“
“Matt, really. It’s ok, I overreacted.” You offered, turning to watch him as he tugged at his hair with frustration.
“No, you didn’t. She shouldn’t have—“ Matt inhaled deeply, squeezing his eyes shut. He knelt before you.
“You did not overreact. She’s an asshole who’s upset because she can’t have the younger man she’s been pursuing for years. You’re allowed to be upset, what she said was cruel.” His eyes flitted around you, distressed.
“We aren’t actually dating, Matt. I shouldn’t care so much about her opinion of us!”
“Your reaction is more than understandable. This was exactly what you were afraid of, wasn’t it?” Matt’s knuckle brushed over your cheek and you leaned into his touch, sighing. “You tried to tell us what you thought might happen. You reminded me today! And we all brushed it off, and then…”
“You didn’t.” You murmured, eyes locked on his distant yet passionate gaze. “You believed me, offered to stand up for me.”
“I did. And I would have! I should’ve paid more attention.” Matt scolded himself, still running his fingers along your face soothingly.
You grasped the hand he was resting on your cheek, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “It wasn’t your fault. You are, quite possibly, the person farthest from the line of blame in this situation. Don’t beat yourself up, please.”
“That’s a pretty common habit of mine.”
“I know. ‘Catholic guilt’ should be your middle name.” You flicked your thumb under his chin making him smile. “But you’ve unfortunately chosen an agnostic fake partner, so I’m here to remind you that not everything is your fault.”
Matt let out a mirthless laugh, “Agree to disagree.”
Before you could chastise him, there was a knock at the door. “Our food’s here.” He gave a sheepish grimace, standing to get the door. Watching him retreat, you bit your lip with a smile. Tonight had been tough, no doubt about it, but you couldn’t help but be grateful for your incredibly sweet fake-boyfriend.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I hope you enjoyed!! Feel free to reblog, comment, and send me requests!
Tag list: @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @scoliobean @harperdoodle @mattkinsella @leikelle
#matt murdock x reader#human disaster matt murdock#Matt Murdock#matt murdock x you#Daredevil#marvel daredevil#marvel's daredevil#daredevil fic#Daredevil Netflix#my writing#mm#wake up
155 notes
·
View notes
Text
homebound
Fandom: Far Cry 5
Relationship: Jacob Seed x F!Deputy
Rating: M (mature)
Words: 700
Author's Note: I've already confessed my preference for a possessive male love interest (link), so that's the romance trope I'm guilty of in this one.
Jacob Seed pulled back your leash the night you stepped foot out of his sight.
It turned out that his collar was tighter than you thought, as he tracked your scent down in spite of you splashing through every stream on your way down the Whitetail Mountains.
Under the full moon, surrounded by snarling Judges and challenged by his Chosen, you shivered. Then, bitting down on your thrumming heart with clattering teeth, you braced yourself for their Bliss bullets. Yet, none ever got to graze your gooseflesh that night.
"Hold your fire," you heard him howl before he manifested in the moonlight. "At ease," he lowered his hand, and the others lowered their guns with it. "C'mere," he called to you as if you were one of his Judges.
You disobeyed him, standing up as straight and as tall as your shivering spine allowed.
"C'mere," he waved you over as if you were one of his bitches. "Let's get you back home."
"I'm not going back into that kennel," you barked, voice breaking and chest heaving.
Under the moon, in the spotlight, your wet shirt clung to your skin, to the swell of your breasts and their perked-up peaks. And you only saw yourself exposed through his eyes, through the glare he gave his men as he grazed past them.
"At attention."
Because he could stand both straight and tall, he did, and all the others around him averted their gaze as he advanced toward you. With one last glower, he shot down the stares of the soldiers further undressing your form.
"I warned you, angel," Jacob Seed said softly, like a lullaby. "I warned you 'bout strayin' from the path. You must be fuckin' freezin'." He undressed, stripping the jacket off of his shoulders, and suspending it in the air, up at around your height. "C'mere," he called to you, like a song refrain you already knew.
Stepping into the open jacket, you sighed when its warmth was wrapped around your freezing shoulders.
"That's it."
And you gasped when you were gathered into his arms and your feet stopped touching the ground.
"That's a good girl."
With his arm around your sore shoulders, his hand squeezed your bruised bicep. With his other arm under both of your knobby knees, he turned around
"There a problem, soldier?" He raised his voice once more, directing it at the man who didn't divert his eyes from you, from his angel.
"N-no, sir."
"We're moving out," he began his trek back to the truck. Back home.
"Yes, sir."
You were halfway up the mountain and all the way up in Jacob Seed's lap when realization set in, seeping into your bones like the icy streams you crossed to wash off his scent: your collar was never coming off.
He words seeped into the base of your skull, his nose buried into the knotted hair at the back of your neck. "Did you think you were free?" He breathed you in, the ravenous rumbling in his chest vibrating through the back it was set against. "You've forgotten your purpose." And his words now seeped into your spine, into the pit of your stomach and bottom of your belly. "You've forgotten who you belong to."
When his tongue lapped up the salty sweat and fresh water running down the side of your neck, you tasted your own hunger on yours. And when you swallowed the scent that surrounded you, the scent that clung to his jacket, you also distinguished the dampness in your already wet jeans. And the musk marinating in his own.
Your seat was hot because Jacob Seed was hot. And the bulge he sat you down on was burning, not nursed by the friction forming between it and your bottom.
When his lips latched onto that strip of skin covering your jugular vein, you tilted your head to make room for his teeth.
His canines pressed against your pulse, and his hand came around to tighten around your throat. "Mine." As his fangs forced themselves into your flesh, you felt the pull of his leash and the squeeze of his collar. "You're mine."
You swallowed a scream and wound up your spine like a bow against his chest, your cushiony ass arching back against his hard cock. And he licked at your wound, winding the invisible collar even tighter and visibly marking you.
"You belong to me."
#far cry 5#jacob seed#jacob seed x deputy#jacob seed x female deputy#jacob seed x reader#the deputy#deputy rook#fanfic#my fic
319 notes
·
View notes
Text
She knows Charlie isn’t going to judge her, that’s not why she’s hiding. The real fear is that she will become a detriment to what they’re doing here and disappoint Charlie in the process. If the “resident angel” of the Hazbin Hotel has been a sinner all along what does that mean for Charlie’s dream? Or the treaty they have with Heaven?
The Devil Within (Underneath Your Skin)
No Archive Warnings Apply
Rated: Explicit
Category: F/F
Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon)
Relationships: Charlie Magne | Morningstar/Vaggie | Alastor/Lucifer Magne | Morningstar | Angel Dust/Husk (Hazbin Hotel)
Characters: Charlie Magne | Morningstar | Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel) | Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) | Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel) | Lucifer Magne | Morningstar | Husk (Hazbin Hotel)
Additional Tags: Cunnilingus | Strap-Ons | Lesbian Sex | blink and you'll miss the huskerdust | Hurt/Comfort | Fallen Angel Vaggie | Vaggie Needs A Hug | Vaggie-centric | Fallen angels bonding
Words: 13,965
Chapters: 1/1
Chaggie centric exploration of what happens to angels, and their angelic forms, when they fall.
Or
When Lucifer Fell, how long did it take for the pit to turn him from an angel to a demon?
What did being in hell do to his angelic form?
What does that mean for Vaggie?
#Chaggie#hazbin Chaggie#hazbin hotel#Hazbin#Hazbin Hotel Chaggie#Chaggie fic#hazbin hotel charlie#charlie morningstar#charlie magne#Vaggie#hazbin vaggie#hazbin hotel vaggie
31 notes
·
View notes
Text
Title: Good Omens
Author: Neil Gaiman
Rating: 1/5 stars
I picked this book up at the library because I remembered seeing a few positive reviews, but then I saw a bunch of negative reviews, and the implication that these books are somehow the shibboleth by which one may judge one's literary taste (or, indeed, that all right-thinking people must like these books) set me against them. (When I was in high school in the early '00s, for instance, I was harassed and threatened because my taste in books and music didn't conform to my peers' ideas of what people like me are supposed to like. I'm still quite sensitive about it.)
After a bit of procrastination I picked up Good Omens, having heard that it was odd in a good way. As it turned out, it was both good and odd, but it wasn't the kind of odd that I like.
What is it like? Well, it reminded me a bit of Turtle Diary -- that is, it has a great deal of odd detail, all used with an eye towards creating a vivid image. But where Turtle Diary managed this with a deft, artful touch, Good Omens is obsessive. In Turtle Diary you get "Four different forms of religious sign and symbol": the cross, the Star of David, a crescent moon, and a life raft. In Good Omens you get plant symbols and animal symbols and religious symbolism and religious symbolism based on every ancient and forgotten pantheon there ever was, and the name of every seraph and cherub and angel and demon to ever be mentioned in the Bible, and everything else. You get a whole list of band names that look like gibberish, because if there's one thing a demon ought to be named after, it's a band. Needless to say, this casts a long shadow, and every single line, and even every single sentence, is supposed to be not only vivid but also full of meaning and with some sort of cultural reference, even if the reference itself is nonsensical. And often, as in this example, it means that the line will be awfully goofy, no matter what the ostensible subject matter is.
I don't mind when the vivid detail is organized and aiming toward a particular effect, but there are a lot of minor quirks in the book's prose, without any discernible pattern. Sometimes it seems to be going for a style of Victorian dialogue, and then it'll go off on some digression about something that's supposed to be modern or some-or-other, or it'll switch to the conventions of head-hopping in modern fiction (the book's two protagonists, angel and demon, each get "perspective chapters" not just about their own thoughts but their own bodies and feelings), and then it'll jump back to a dialogue with no word-order changes and different sentence structure from the rest of the book, or to a form of prose that is clearly supposed to be a pastiche of classic literature, and then back to modern head-hopping, to make sure that you keep track of who's doing what to whom and what they're saying.
I kept waiting for the effect to reveal itself, and it never did. On the one hand, I can see that Gaiman was trying to do something like Anna Karenina, in which a cast of vivid and realistic characters is put through a sort of symbolic dance in a circus ring of the author's devising. A lot of people like Anna Karenina, and I think this is because Tolstoy gives his characters a lot of interiority and their relationships a lot of psychological weight. Gaiman also does this in one regard, but . . . well, what's the opposite of "psychological weight"? I think it would be "unreliable narrator," and Gaiman doesn't quite give that, but a lot of his characters seem unreliable, both in terms of their self-deception and in terms of his self-deception in painting a picture of them and their interactions. Gaiman has some skills as a writer (for instance, creating a sense of humor without playing for laughs), but those skills simply aren't enough to make him a good writer of the kinds of things that people like about his books.
More vexing, in a sense, than Gaiman's creative approach is his creative attitude. He seems to have no interest in coming up with original ideas about anything, except in the most superficial sense -- as a result, the book feels like a literary junkyard, filled with patches from books and myths and musicals and films and whatever else, unconnected to one another except by the fact that all of them come from the same junkyard.
This might be a lot more acceptable if it didn't run into the problem that one of the book's main characters is a woman who runs a bookshop, and this woman -- the owner of the world's single most well-stocked used bookstore, it seems -- talks in a weirdly specialized way about books that she read and enjoyed when she was 11, but, on the off-chance that her audience includes someone in her same age bracket, has to talk in the sort of generic awe- and wonder-pilled, "cool literature" style you might expect from the social media of a 13 year old who has never encountered anyone who doesn't appreciate literature.
There are two things about this that bothered me, one more than the other. The first is obviously an unnatural over-familiarity with these authors and their works, just as would be the case with the 13 year old in the example I gave. The other is the way Gaiman presents a woman as having read in depth and gotten something from a book in her past, even though she only actually mentions a couple of chapters, the plot of the book in question, and a general atmosphere -- which is more or less how I would talk about those books, if I had to talk about them at all. Oh, and I mentioned earlier the way Gaiman uses pop culture terms to refer to things from the past and the present. The strange thing is that he doesn't show any interest in the actual thing -- like, it's hard to imagine that anyone who actually knew anything about them would have said "Oh, you mean she's reading Colette and Poirot! How very stereotypical and appropriate of a woman!" -- which, I can't stress enough, is how Gaiman mentions these books.
I have no idea why this bothers me as much as it does, or why Gaiman seems to be inviting this kind of questioning in the first place.
101 notes
·
View notes
Text
fanfic round up 2023
(2021, 2022)
LIST OF FANWORKS
Posted
Crave (LOTR | haladriel | tentacles and rings of power | rated E)
somewhere in the haze (LOTR | Celeborn/Sauron | mutual stockholm syndrome | rated M)
taking me with your song (The Little Mermaid (2023) | Ariel/Eric, Ariel/Ursula | tentacles and possession and mindfuckery | rated E)
can't escape the ghost of you (The 100 | clexa, clarke/the judge | being fucked by the divine wearing the face of your dead lover is better than therapy | rated M)
Eating fire (SPN | Claire Novak | the girl who was castiel grieves for her fathers | rated T)
Bound (SPN | megstiel | a demon and her angel | rated NR)
uncharted territory (Supergirl | supercorp | the dangers of being hated by a luthor | rated M) (technically, just chapter 4 counts for 2023)
nothing can go wrong when you're in love (Nimona (2023) | Nimona/Gloreth | when your boss’ boyfriend looks like your ex, ugh! | rated Gen)
through a father’s eyes (Narnia | King Lune | dads gotta dad | rated Gen)
atomic blonde (Narnia, LOTR | Susan/Eowyn | it’s not the first time a power beyond understanding ripped Susan away from her home to fight in another world’s war | rated M)
Beware how you give your heart (LOTR | haladriel | a fourth age haunting | rated M) (a wip!!)
a little touch in the night (LOTR | haladriel | a love letter in tiny bites | rated T)
+three yuletide offerings to be revealed in January!
WIPS
MCU: the king and queen of Asgard wrt Valkyrie/Carol Danvers
MCU: the final conclusion of my winterbaron sugar daddy fic
LOTR: Doriath trash party wrt Melian/Galadriel
LOTR: “Sauron becomes a tree”
LOTR: dark Galadriel/Samwise and their garden of the world
LOTR: healing generational trauma with fourth age Arwen and her peepaw
The Matrix: Trinity and Smith as mirrors
Good Omens: Crowley haunted by his angel
Star Wars: A really scandalous dinluke sex pollen
Total number of completed works/fandoms written in: fifteen completed works in 2023 for a total of just over 32k words; six LOTR, two SPN, two Narnia, the rest sundry & various.
OVERALL THOUGHTS: ::taps the top of this car:: you can put so much monsterfucking in this bad boy, jfc.
PERSONAL FAVORITE: Getting unblocked by the most unlikeliest of sources and FINISHING MY SUPERCORP HATESEX. uncharted territory finished FIVE YEARS LATER. This has been a weight on my shoulders for years; I always knew it ended with a sadistic Lex Luthor torturing Kara (oop), but it was time passing and The Flash (2023) that got me where I needed to be to get that banged out. I’m really really pleased how that ended, and that I actually can finish a WIP.
MOST UNDERAPPRECIATED: Bound is really exceptional. It was part of my WIP amnesty week, and a revisitation and remix of a meg masters fic I wrote in 2013 after I had a terrible life-altering accident. My favorite 2023 additions are how she can only speak in the language of Sodom at the end. It’s not a GREAT fic, but I really love Meg and I love Meg & Castiel.
MOST POPULAR: Definitely Nimona (nothing can go wrong when you're in love) with 1,200+ kudos. Y’all, the teen/gen fic in younger fandoms hits hard. OOPS. re: my deeply funny stats for the little mermaid tentacles fic with over 3k hits and 86 kudos. AHAHHAHAH. welp.
STORY WITH THE SEXIEST MOMENT: OKAY, so this is sexy specific to me: in Crave, Galadriel taunts Sauron about how he has to fuck Ar-Pharazôn (a mini love letter to my beloved 5ummit!) and this, to me, is everything: “And you’ll never enjoy Ar-Pharazôn’s little prick again,” she says, drinking in the horror of his recent memories, a soured scheme. “Your play at feigned pleasure in service to a base creature will be ash in your mouth now. You will only think of the taste of my cunt with his cock shoved in your whore mouth.” The crass words burn on her lips but she can sense how he trembles, even in this form. “You’ll hunger for the taste of me. And when he’s dead, when you’ve sucked the miserable mortal life out of him, you’ll never take a lover again for the rest of your unnatural life,” she says. “You know where your dick should be sheathed. In me and no where else.”
MOST FUN STORY TO WRITE: Okay, I traveled for work a LOT this year and one night I was feeling down and angry about the world and asked on twitter that for every like, I’d write a soft haladriel headcanon and by the end of the night, i had the bulk of a little touch in the night and I was such a happy delighted lil soul. Such a highlight of the year.
HARDEST: A tie between Crave, which was writing on hard mode since I’m violently anti dominant Sauron (oop), and uncharted territory since I had been blocked for years.
BIGGEST SURPRISE: The delicious lush connection of Celeborn/Sauron in somewhere in the haze that STARTED AS A JOKE and now I’m full rarepair conspiracy theory into it.
DID YOU TAKE ANY RISKS IN WRITING THIS YEAR? Posting SPN in 2023, lol what was that. And neither of them explicitly destiel. Girl. Both tanked but I love those two fics.
MOST UNINTENTIONALLY TELLING STORY: Okay, one of my yuletides this year is really too close to something I’m working through in therapy. Oop.
FAVORITE LINES/SCENES: Okay literally everything in atomic blonde, that fic is nonstop bangers imho. I love this especially:
“Ah, there it is,” he replies. Stops, and turns to look into her eyes. To drink in her fury. “This isn’t your world, Daughter of Eve. Take your cursed horn and your beautiful face and take the little shieldmaiden too for all I care and leave Middle Earth to me. Grow old and find joy in women’s work.” He blinks, nonsense words emerging out of him: “In Christian Dior dresses and Chanel lipstick, in Italian leather handbags and silk nylons, in handsome British officers and those American boys who offer more than kisses, in the rumble of a Jaguar and the cries of healthy babies who do not fear war. Live and die on an island far, far away.” He blinks again. “I do not want you here.”
MY FAVE PART OF FANDOM IN 2023: Repeatedly saying “you hear me, baby? hold together” at the haladriel fandom like Han Solo does to the Millennium Falcon and we did! We made it another year!!! Let’s go, 2024!!!! (YOU HEAR ME, BABY. HOLD TOGETHER.)
2024 WRITING AMBITIONS: same as last year’s: Write more steadily and consistently. Get back into the drabble mode. Make time, take time, just do it. It doesn’t have to be groundbreaking, it just has to be creating something. The joy of creation is like nothing else. Chase that high.
2024 FICS ON THE IMMEDIATE HORIZON:
Jan 1 - htp trash fic exchange
Feb 3 - rffa exchange
March - haladriel exchange!
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
Prompt: "Just in case this doesn't work."
Fandom: Fnaf Security Breach, mafia au
Rating: T
Warnings: Implied voilence, injury, near death experience.
He wasn't sure when you first stopped fearing him.
Perhaps it was the night you let him inside your meager flat to escape the rain pelting down on this miserable city. It could have been the night you'd demanded he cease what was soon to be a brawl between him and that cocksure musician determined to win your affections.
He had acquiesced, despite the rage thrumming through every circuit, processor and servo he possessed.
Yes, either of these may have been a tipping point but part of him knew that in truth, it was the day you returned the favour. The day you both saw as the day that any debt he claimed for saving your life had been repaid.
The night you'd noticed his absence at the bar. The day you walked home looking down every alley you passed just to catch a glimpse of your familar and ominous shadow.
You may have never found him had it not been for the moonlight.
The skies had been oddly clear that night and the street you took home each day, wasn't the type this dirty city bothered to light up.
The moonlight had hit his metalic form just right, creating the haunting suggestion of a frame far larger than your own.
It was crumpled.
Motionless.
He didn't even have the sense to be embarassed that you had found him in a pool of his own oil.
The thick black liquid stained your skin wherever it touched.
You looked damn good in it, he had thought. That could have been the loss of optimal functionality,however.
You hands took his and his systems sang.
In that moment, he had fought to keep you with him. If he was going to die then the least this curse of a city could do was let him die with you as his last experience.
"Hush, darling. I just need a minute." He huffed.
Shocked Indignation made your voice crack.
"A minute? Clip you are bleeding out, you maniac!"
God, you were gorgeous.
"No blood to bleed, sweetheart." His voicebox glitched as his systems struggled against his immanent shutdown. "You're right though, things aren't looking good for me." He added, voice raspy and low.
You didn't seem to like that at all, though that delightful flush still bloomed in your cheeks.
If only he had the strength to take advantage of that fluster.
"No, none of that!" You scolded, "You are Eclipse, the nightmare of the city downs. You can't die in a shootout down some forgotten alley." All during your tirade, you had been fussing over him. Staunching the oil and fretting over what was left of his arm.
They really had got him good.
His crew would make sure they were properly repaid, at least.
He took your hands back from their futile efforts.
"Hey alright. Okay, darling, maybe you're right but-"
His vision flickered and judging by the stutter of the yellow glow on his oil stained angel's face, so had his system in its entirety.
This was it, wasn't it?
He attempted to squease your hands. They were criminally soft.
"Just in case this doesn't work. This...this fussing of yours..."His hands unsteadily pulled yours up to brush against his teeth in a kiss.
You leaned in, and for a moment his demise felt less cold.
But then you left him.
He felt you force his ever weakening grip from your your own and, like so many times before, he watched you dissapear into the night without him.
In the eyes of many, he suposed this was what he deserved. He had been less than kind to the inhabitants of this wretched metropolis. What humanity delt him and his breathern upon their so called "liberation" he had brought crashing down on the heads of the city's populace ten fold. Few were spared his rage and those that were still never truly escaped his reach. People like you, once so blissfully unaware and unseen by his operation, were still deeply affected though unaware.
He turned his dimming optics to the sky. The bleed of the city's light polution sponged most of the stars from the sky. Just another thing it was set on robbing him of, but if he really consentraited, Eclipse could make out a few distant and tauntingly beautiful stars.
And when his vision darkened once more he saw you.
He suppose memory would have to suffice.
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sugar Daddy Chronicles, Part One/?
pairing: no-outbreak!joel miller/dave york/marcus pike x sex worker/sugar baby!reader
rating: E (18+ only, this is just filth, sex work, unprotected piv, foursome, anal, oral (f & m receiving), the boys use their words)
wc: 2k
a/n: i wrote this for the SWEETEST ANGEL IN THE WORLD @emilianamason and her birthday. te amo hermanita y feliz cumple !!! 🫶🏼
You’d met Dave by chance. During a short stint working as a bartender at an upscale bar, Dave came in looking as serious as ever in his expensive coat and suit—a prime target for a solid tip if you played your cards right. Thankfully, Dave turned out to be quite handsome and charming, his dark eyes and deep voice drawing you in until you no longer cared about the tip you were working for. All you wanted was him. When he took you home that night, he explained his recent divorce and inability to carry on something serious at the moment, and you accepted the fact that this would be a one night thing. But Dave had something else in mind.
“You come and see me when I call,��� he said, dragging his lips down the line of your neck as he undid your bra. “I make it worth your while.”
“How?” you asked, your voice breathy and dazed.
“Anything you want,” he said. “Anything. Ask for it, and it’s yours.”
“Like…sexually?” you asked, earning a chuckle.
“Anything. Sex, money, jewelry, whatever,” he said.
And that was how your new career began.
It was just Dave for a while, but during a particularly long business trip of his, you found yourself wondering what it would be like to open your clientele up a bit, still keeping things incredibly selective, of course.
That’s how you met Joel, a gruff, single dad who owned a contracting company that had only just taken off after his fortieth birthday. Joel was an easy client. He knew exactly what he wanted from you, never pushed your boundaries, and always compensated you handsomely for your time together—not that the payment was even on your mind by the time he was through with you. Joel liked things rough most of the time—not so rough that he ever hurt you, but rough enough to leave a satisfying ache between your legs for a day or two after. And though he was rough, he loved taking the time to work up to it, telling you that he’d happily keep his head between your thighs for hours if he could, and you’d often let him.
Once Dave came back, he introduced you to a distant coworker and friend he met at a conference, Marcus, another government agent of some sort—he kept the specifics of his job discreet and separated from your arrangement, just like Dave. Marcus came to you for stress relief, and his favorite form of stress relief involved near-torturous teasing and edging until he couldn’t remember his own name. But Marcus was unlike Dave and Joel in that he liked the extra stuff that they didn’t: cuddling, kissing, conversation. He wanted to be your friend as well as your client, and who were you to deny those sweet eyes of his?
One night after a particularly athletic session, Dave had asked you who your favorite client was and why. Judging by the confidence in his voice, you knew he expected you to tell him that he was your favorite by a long shot, but truthfully, it was hard to compare them all. Dave was passionate and kinky, Joel was rough and giving, and Marcus was attentive and precise. All of them were your favorite, you thought.
“I don’t know,” you said, shrugging as you tugged your jeans over your hips. “Hard to choose. I’d need to…I don’t know.”
“Need to what?” he probed, watching you from his spot on the bed.
“Need to have you all in one place to judge,” you said, giving him a mildly embarrassed smile. “But that—“
“That’s a good idea,” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “I’ll win.”
You laughed at his confidence and shook your head. “Too bad we’ll never find out,” you said, pulling on your shoes.
“Why not?” You gave Dave a quirked brow. “I’m in.”
“I don’t think they’d be into it.”
“Why not ask? Worst thing they could say is no,” he said. You felt yourself start to melt at the idea of being surrounded by the three of them in bed, each of them competing to win you over and make you feel good. It was a good idea, but could you ever convince the other two?
Turns out, you could. And now you were laying spread eagle on a hotel bed recovering from two orgasms brought on by Dave and Marcus’ tongues. Dave now laid on your right, Marcus on your left, while Joel laid on his stomach between your thighs, pushing you over another peak.
“Fuck,” you cried, tossing your head back to give Dave access to his favorite spot on your neck, his hand cupping the weight of your breast while Marcus mouthed at the other, his hand on your thigh keeping you spread open for Joel. “You win,” you breathed, pushing his tongue away as you shook with every swirl of his tongue against you. “God, I don’t know if—“
“Uh-uh,” Dave tutted in your ear, sliding his hand down your stomach to circle your clit as Marcus and Joel switched positions. “We’re just getting started.”
“Mmhm,” Joel agreed, turning your chin to draw your eyes to his. “Still wanna show you how good I fuck you.”
“Not until I’m done,” Marcus said, pulling your eyes to him as he sat between your thighs, his fist wrapped around his cock as he dragged it up and down your seam. You shivered at the feeling of him against you, somehow feeling needy again already. “Can I? Can I fuck you, baby?”
“Yes,” you moaned, your head falling back against the pillows as he nodded and pressed inside you slowly, making you feel every inch. “Fuck, Marcus.”
“Mmhm,” he hummed, smiling down at you as his hands moved to the back of your thighs to push them up to your chest. “Feels good, huh?”
“Yes,” you moaned, your face wrecked with pleasure as he methodically found the perfect pace and angle to fuck you just how you liked, his natural attention to detail on display. “It’s so good, Marcus. Fuck.”
“Making me jealous,” Dave purred against your shoulder, leaving a love bite there. “Have I showed you how I fuck when I’m jealous?”
His words made you whine and arch your back, drawing Marcus even deeper.
“Shit,” Marcus moaned, his fingers gripping your thighs. “So good, baby.”
“You ready to share yet?” Dave asked, clearly growing impatient.
“You want Dave, baby?” Marcus asked, slowing his thrusts into a deep grind.
“Mmhm,” you nodded eagerly, biting your lip as you looked down at where Dave was stroking his thick length. “Fuck, yeah, I do.”
“You want both of us?” Dave asked, circling your clit as Marcus kept fucking into you slowly. “Marcus fucking your pussy, me in your ass.”
You whined and nodded, choosing to shove your nerves aside in favor of Dave’s sinful plan.
Marcus helped you up and took your place on the bed, guiding you onto his lap so that you could sit on his dick while Dave got comfortable behind you, coating his head with lube he must’ve brought along with this very thing in mind before pressing against your tighter hole gently.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, whispering in your ear as he kept you still on Marcus’s lap while he eased himself inside.
“Shit, it’s so much,” you sighed, trying to relax into the feeling rather than fight it.
“Need a distraction?” Joel asked, standing up on the bed at your side, his fist working his cock until it was leaking.
“You’re definitely the biggest,” you noted in a pant, earning scoffs from the two men inside of you. “What? You told me to be honest.”
Joel smirked down at you as you reached over and wrapped your fist around him only to find that your fingertips couldn’t touch.
“See?” you said, earning a grunt from Dave as he finally bottomed out inside of you.
“That’s not really what I care about looking at here,” Marcus said, his hands smoothing up your sides until he was cupping the weight of your breasts. “How about I watch you ride instead?”
You smiled and nodded, licking your lips and leaning in to take Joel into your mouth before lifting your hips to rock against both Dave and Marcus, all three men moaning in unison at your affect on them. It was intoxicating, being desired this much by these gorgeous men. So intoxicating, you thought, you might just have to make this a normal thing.
“‘at’s it,” Joel purred, cupping your cheek as you took him in deep enough to sputter. “Atta fuckin’ girl.”
“You like that, baby?” Dave asked, leaning over to whisper in your ear as he started to match your bounces with thrusts of his own. “You like how being told how good you are?”
“Yeah, she does,” Marcus chimed in, smiling at you as he watched you take Joel down your throat.
Your mind was mush, nothing but a string of muffled cries and whines and the lewd sounds of Joel fucking your throat coming out of you.
“Baby, I’m so close,” Marcus announced, his hands gripping at your waist to keep you still while he and Dave alternated sharp, quick thrusts into you, the pleasure trickling down into your thighs until your legs felt like jelly.
“Need you to cum for us,” Dave purred in your ear.
“Be a good fuckin’ girl and cum,” Joel ordered, his southern drawl deep and dark and delicious.
You pulled off of Joel right before you felt yourself slipping off into bliss, your hand stroking his slick shaft as you cried out, leaning back against Dave until it felt like you were on solid ground again.
“Can I cum inside you, baby?” Marcus asked, his voice as sweet and sinful as ever. “Look so pretty full of me, yeah?”
“Mmhm,” you agreed, thanking the heavens that birth control exists. “Cum inside me, Marcus, baby.”
“Shit,” Marcus hissed, his brows screwing together as he fucked into you selfishly, chasing his pleasure until it hit him like a truck. “Jesus.”
“Look at me,” Joel ordered, using a finger to tilt your chin up at him. “Wanna paint that pretty fuckin’ face.”
“Yeah?” you smiled, licking your lips. “Go ahead, paint it.”
Joel took his cock in his hand and stroked it, it’s slick sound filling the room along with the slap of Dave’s hips into your ass and his whispered promises of how he’s going to fill you up because you were “so fucking good for me”.
“Shit,” Joel grunted, his chest heaving and muscles flexing as he reached his peak. His tense jaw went slack as he watched his release paint your face, a moan slipping from his lips when you poked your tongue out to swipe over your lips to get a taste of him. “Fuck me.”
“You ready, baby?” Dave nipped at your shoulder before leaning back to watch himself cum inside of you with a satisfied sigh, as if this had been all he ever wanted in his whole life. “I don’t think it matters which one of us is best in bed. You’re clearly the winner here, baby.”
“Yeah?” you smiled, sated and sleepy as Joel grabbed a washcloth for your face.
“I knew that from the start,” Marcus said, combing his fingers up and down your thighs.
“So, how much is this meeting gonna cost us?” Dave asked, always one to get right to the point.
“This one’s on the house,” you said, letting Joel clean your face free of his mess.
“Not gonna happen,” Joel muttered, something equally strict and affectionate in his tone. “You earned it.”
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal smut#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader smut#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#marcus pike x you#marcus pike fanfiction#marcus pike x reader#marcus pike smut
238 notes
·
View notes
Text
Lorvaztekiphus Subspecies
POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: There are very brief mentions of torture, suicide, and things related to copulation.
Fallen angel (plural noun: fallen angels): They were originally angels who inhabited the heavenly spheres, but fell from grace due to their actions that went against the celestial code. Once they fall from heaven, the infernal pits taint their magnificent form, making them beastly and fearsome. However, they do retain their angelic form, but their wings, eyes, and/or hair have gone through some noticeable changes. They used to have saliva that can burn naturally sinful things, but has now become an acidic venom due to their tainted holiness. They’re the most well-respected Lohtazrendius breed, often being appointed the supreme kings and queens of the underworld or some other position of high regard.
Archdemon or devil (plural noun: archdemons or devils): The first generation of archdemons were the direct descendants of various fallen angels before the other Lohtazrendius subspecies. They’re most commonly the second-in-commands to the armies of fallen angels and/or lesser royalties of the underworld. They’re also the highest members of the supreme court that oversees all infernal laws and punishments.
Treachery (plural noun: treacheries): There are four types of treason-invoking demons that are most commonly seen in the Circle of Perfidy. They often play the roles of law-makers, judges, contract-binders, and oath-keepers.
a. Traitor of the lord (plural noun: Traitors of the lord): They’re the voiceless and physically distorted overseers of those who betrayed their lords and benefactors. They’re capable of rendering sinners fully immobile and horrifically twist them in every conceivable position.
b. Traitor of the guest (plural noun: Traitors of the guest): They’re the crystal-eyed and eternally weeping overseers of those who betrayed their guests. They can cover the eyes of sinners in a visor of frozen ice, rendering them blind and showing that the comfort of weeping has been denied.
c. Traitor of the country (plural noun: Traitors of the country): They’re the stiff-necked overseers of those who betrayed political entities such as parties, cities, or countries.
d. Traitor of the kindred (plural noun: Traitors of the kindred): They’re the wind-protected overseers of those who betrayed members of their own biological family. Besides overseeing those broken family ties, they’re known for greeting everyone they meet with a courteous bow.
Fraudster (plural noun: fraudsters): There are twelve types of fraud-invoking demons that are most commonly seen in the Circle of Fraudulence. The fraudsters are closely related to the greed demons and green-eyed monsters. They’re often loan sharks, con artists, and business executives who are in charge of advertising and interest rate. They’re also usually responsible for the coverage of news-based media and televised entertainment. They can be seen in many working environments such as casinos, brothels, and businesses that utilise contracts.
a. Falsifier (plural noun: falsifiers): They’re demons who naturally declare that all truths are false and actively change documents and records in order to deceive others. They inflict their falsifying victims with various afflictions such as diseases, stench, filth, and thirst.
b. Sower of dscord (plural noun: sowers of discord): They’re demons who sow the seeds of discord into the brains of their victims in order to disrupt harmony and create disagreement. They hack off the limbs and mutilate the bodies of their victims with bladed weapons. Their victims have to fall in one of three categories: (i) religious schism and discord, (ii) civil strife and political discord, and (iii) family disunion.
c. Counsellor of fraud (plural noun: counsellors of fraud): They give advice for other fraud-invoking demons and tempt people to commit fraudulent acts. Their victims are people who use their position to advise others to engage in fraud and they punish them by encapsulating them in flames.
d. Thief (plural noun: thieves): They’re stealthy demons who steal from the property of others without using force. They often keep these items to themselves, give them to others, or sell them through various markets. They can create reptilian creatures that prey on their victims in order to show that just as they stole from others, their identity becomes subjected to infernal theft.
e. Hypocrite (plural noun: hypocrites): Similar to the sowers of discord, they sow the seeds of hypocrisy into the brains of their victims. Their hypocrisy is a reflection of their behaviours where they do things that they have told others not to do. They’re often seen wearing leaden robes that are brilliantly glided on the outside and are shaped similarly to a monk’s habit.
f. Barrator (plural noun: barrators): They encourage people to vex others with frequent and often groundless lawsuits. They also engage in the act of trading state appointments and religious property, while tempting others to do the same. They torment their victims by immersing them in a lake of boiling tar, which represents the sticky fingers and dark secrets of their deals.
g. sorcerer (plural noun: sorcerers): These demons consist of fortune tellers, diviners, astrologists, and false prophets who utilise their precognitive abilities for nefarious means. Some have their heads twisted around their bodies, while others have a face blinded by bleeding tears on the back of their heads.
h. Simoniac (plural noun: simoniacs): They focus on tempting those to commit simony, which is the sale of ecclesiastic favours and offices. They place their victims head-downwards in round, tube-like holes that mockingly resemble a baptismal font. They light the soles of their feet with flames that burn for an eternity.
i. Flatterer (plural noun: flatterers): They focus on tempting people to commit flattery by exploiting their greatest desires and fears. They punish those who abused and corrupted their use of language to use other people for personal gain. They do this by turning them into wild beasts that howl and fight amongst themselves, while steeped in tar-like excrement.
j. Panderer (plural noun: panderers): They’re demons who often try to please others for ulterior motives and tempt people to engage in pandering. They’re primarily responsible for furnishing clients with prostitutes or supplying them for illicit sex acts, while collecting their earnings.
k. Seducer (plural noun: seducers): They’re demons who lead people astray with persuasion and false promises. They sometimes carry out the physical seduction of encouraging people to engage in sexual activity on behalf of the lust demons.
a. Heretic (plural noun: heretics): They’re heresy demons who are most commonly seen in the Circle of Apostasy. They punish those who inappropriately abandon and/or renounce orthodox religious doctrine or political belief by encasing them in blazing tombs. This particular Lohtazrendius subspecies are employed as workers for various black markets and overseers of special operations surrounding the military and assassination.
Brute (plural noun: brutes): There are three types of wrathful demons that are most commonly seen in the Circle of Barbarity. They’re often seen working as executioners, militant soldiers, gladiators, and law enforcement.
a. Usurer (plural noun: usurers): They’re the least violent of the brutes and work on behalf of the greed demons. However, in the eyes of angelic law, usury is an act of violence against pure art. They tempt people to lend money with unreasonably high rates of interest in order to enrich themselves.
b. Sodomite (plural noun: sodomites): These brutes don’t focus on the sex between people that involve anal or oral copulation. They punish those who have committed bestiality, which is an act of violence against nature.
c. Blasphemer (plural noun: blasphemers): Similar to the usurers, they aren’t violent as they encourage people to speak sacrilegiously about the Hirczalotepus Tejasozuri and/or sacred things. Blasphemy in the eyes of angelic law is considered to be an act of violence against divinity.
d. Suicidal (plural noun: suicidals): They are the overseers of those who attempted or died by suicide. They have metamorphosed them into gnarled, thorny trees with their mortal bodies resembling cocoons. These humanoid cocoons are filled foreign, mushy organs that the harpies and gluttons rely on. They can create ferocious, canine creatures that act as guardians of these special trees.
e. Murderer (plural noun: murderers): They’re centaur-like brutes who punish killers, war-makers, plunderers, and tyrants by immersing them in a river of boiling blood and fire. They shoot arrows dipped in acid at any sinner who emerges higher out of the river or tries to escape.
Green-eyed monster (plural noun: green-eyed monsters): They’re envy demons who are most commonly seen in the Circle of Avarice, being closely related to fraudsters and kleptomaniacs. They use their eyes to instill the resentful longing that occurs when someone lacks another’s quality, skill, achievement, and/or possession that they wished they had. Eny demons work in cosmetic and fashion industries, restaurants, and reception offices. This particular Lohtazrendius subspecies also work as janitors, librarians, and suppliers of embroidered items.
Fury (plural noun: furies): They’re closely related to the brutes and are most commonly seen in the Circle of Ire. They’re responsible for punishing sinners who committed crimes against the natural order. They primarily focused on homicide, unfilial conduct, offences against other species and/or their own kind, and perjury. They inflicted insanity, pestilence, and hunger upon those who committed these aforementioned crimes during their mortal life.
Kleptomaniac (plural noun: kleptomaniacs): They’re the greed demons that are closely related to the fraudsters and green-eyed monsters. Similar to the green-eyed monsters, they’re most commonly seen in the Circle of Avarice. They focus on punishing hoarders, spendthrifts, and those who valued material goods over everything else. They’re often seen working at insurance companies, banks, financial services, real estate, and casinos. They’re the main subspecies who are in control of all black markets and their supplies.
Glutton (plural noun: gluttons): They’re the gluttony demons who are most commonly seen in the Circle of Overconsumption. They focus on punishing those who have a voracious appetite and consistently over-indulge in food and/or drink. They often play the roles of hunters, butchers, harvesters, brewers, cooks, and guardians.
Libertine (plural noun: libertines): There are three types of lust demons that are most commonly seen in the Circle of Concupiscence. They focus on punishing those who let their unchecked carnal desires sway their reason. Lust demons work in the sex industry, which includes the direct provision of sex-related services and providing adult entertainment and products.
a. Incubus (plural noun: incubi): Incubi are male lust demons that actively seek to copulate with sleeping women and create offspring.
b. Succubus (plural noun: succubi): Succubi seduce men by appearing in their dreams and use their semen to replenish their health and sex drive as well as reproduce. They also pass the samples of sperm to an incubus who corrupts and strengthens the seed.
c. Concubus (plural noun: concubi): Concubi are hermaphroditic lust demons that prey on both men and women, changing their appearance and genitalia into whatever they see fit.
Imp or fiend (plural noun: imps or fiends): They are divided into two different categories according to their family history and purpose. These two categories are uncultivated and sophisticated. Uncultivated imps are animalistic in their biology and way of thinking, often appearing to partially mimic the forms and abilities of certain animals that inhabit their environment. For example, those who live in swampy areas might appear to be toad-like and have sticky tongues, while those living in the ocean might appear to be piscine and are excellent swimmers. They’re primarily quadrupedal and they often act on instinct rather than intelligence. Sophisticated imps are more humanoid, fully bipedal, and aren’t noticeably animalistic in their way of thinking. They primarily utilise their intelligence to handle situations, but they might act on their instincts when it’s necessary. They’re often the most respected and valued servants of archdemons, fallen angels, lust demons, fraudsters, treacheries, and kleptomaniacs. However, both imp types are valued as mage familiars due to their strong connection to the underworld and their unique abilities and characteristics.
Sinner (plural noun: sinners): They were formerly humans who committed sins that are viewed as truly heinous and unforgivable by the angels. They’re punished according to the sins they have committed during their life on earth. They’re completely nude with an inside full of purplish blood, unorganised organs, grotesque insects, mud, excrement, and green slime.
#writerscorner#writing#creative writing#second subspecies has finally been introduced!#fictional species#fantasy#monster#multiverse#infernal beings#fallen angels#archdemons#devils#demons#imps#sinners#circles of hell#divine comedy inspired#potential trigger warning#viewer discretion is advised
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
Night Terrors
Originally posted: November 21, 2022
Rating: Teen
Relationship: Gabriel/V1 (GabV1el)
Warnings: Trauma
Tags can be found on AO3. source
Blood leaked from the deep gashes between the individual plates of his armor, dripping from his once-graceful form and pooling on the ground beneath his hands and his knees as he presented himself to the Holy Council, his pitiful, once graceful and downright menacing form practically begging for forgiveness from the cowards that ruled over him and the others with an iron fist—an iron fist built on lies and on hollow threats. Forgiveness that he wouldn’t simply just generously be given. Gabriel’s dimming wings—formerly a blazing azure, now nothing more than a husk of their former selves—fell to his sides, covering up the most obvious wounds in hopes that his weakness wouldn’t be given away—in hopes that he might be able to worm his way out of the inevitable punishment that befell all those who were deemed unworthy.
They knew, though.
They knew he’d lost to something as inferior; something as weak; something as disgusting and pathetic; something with such an insulting form as a machine—no, a mere object—and let it continue its rampage across Hell. Something that offended the Father’s very creation with its so profane and so painfully obviously unnatural frame shouldn’t have been able to surpass the might of the Light itself.
Perhaps Gabriel was nothing more than a weakling and a fool. The Light was perfection. If he were this weak, if he could so easily squander such a gift, then perhaps it was a mistake for him to even have it in the first place.
Quiet voices from the crowd gossiped about his failure. It was all so familiar, like a broken record, and yet Gabriel never realized the falsehood that was the world around him. It was a recreation of something long gone, yet the pain still lingered, and it manifested in his thoughts, his senses, and even in his sleep. He couldn’t wake up. He didn’t know. It went on and on.
Gabriel tipped his gaze up hesitantly, meeting the eyes of one council member who stood imposingly and forebodingly above his kneeling being. Their robes and their hood seemed to flow in spite of the lack of wind. Everything else surrounding them was blurry and dreamy; nothing else about this memory mattered besides what was about to happen.
The voices grew louder, until the angel standing above him motioned for the rest of the council to shut up and let the fallen Judge of Hell speak. His words would mean nothing in the long run. His throat seized up. Beads of sweat formed underneath his helmet, fear and anxiety gripping his heart and his lungs like an iron vice. Faint echoes of those around him quietly calling him unworthy and a traitor under their breaths seeped into Gabriel’s soul, subtly straining it as he tried as hard as he could to convince himself to speak in spite of the sheer, unspeakable terror he felt. Sharp, tingling chills ran up and down his spine. They all surrounded him, waiting for him to speak—to drop down and beg for the mercy he was unworthy of.
“H-Holy Council,” Gabriel stammered, his echoing, once-proud voice catching the attention of those listening. Not a strong beginning. He did what he could to push down the anxiety he felt. “My devotion to our creator is absolute,” he continued, the sounds of shallow breaths escaping the confines of his helmet; “I have never strayed from the will of the Father, but—but a machine—“
Bad move. He could already feel his life slip away as the angel standing above him gritted their teeth beneath their mask. Their next words worsened, and perhaps even confirmed his fears.
“You dare imply that the might of the Father could be shaken by mere objects?” their voice boomed, resonating in Gabriel’s very skeleton as he bowed his head and listened to the remarks of the crowd.
Heresy.
Unspeakable.
Heresy.
The memory grew more and more distorted. The feeling of blood and the smell of iron caught in Gabriel’s throat, and he could barely remember what people’s voices even sounded like, yet it somehow hurt more and more every single time the event replayed in his dreams, almost like a broken record. He couldn’t even remember what the angel standing above him said, and the nightmare aligned with such, but he knew their words preceded a pain worse than any torment Hell could ever offer.
As the light left him, it was as if someone had set his entire body aflame. He felt as though he was burning from the inside out. Agonized whines and screams left his coarse, dry throat, distorted and muffled by the helmet covering his face. He could feel furious tears stain the edges of the numerous eyes that hid beneath the sigil of the “Holy” cross on smooth silver. His wings and his regal halo flickered in and out of existence.
Then he awoke, his lungs still burning and his throat still as parched as a desert. He could still taste blood. His wings trembled, folding in front of himself, as to protect him from the world around him as he curled up into a fetal position, attempting to hide. There was nothing to hide from, though. Why was he so scared? It wasn’t real. It was just one of those—one of those—agh, he didn’t know the word for it. It didn’t matter, though. He was a coward for being so afraid of something that was nothing more than a memory; a memory of something he brought upon himself; a memory of something he probably deserved…
His failure came at his own fault, didn’t it? Therefore, his punishment was just. He was the one who betrayed the will of the Light, after all.
He deserved this.
These thoughts still lingered, a feeling of religious guilt weighing him down even after the deaths of all seventeen members of the Council at his very hands. At first, he had relished in the sense of freedom and in the sounds of their pained cries as he finally dealt to them what they had dealt to so many others, but now, as the feelings remained, he felt more and more trapped with each passing moment. He spent every moment thinking it might be his last, and that he was wasting his precious time with a so-called “inferior” being. Why had he caught such feelings as his own, though, towards a thing like that? What was so special? None of this made any sense. He hated that lack of an understanding. He wished there was someone out there who could help him; someone who could relate to everything he experienced then and everything he experienced now. Maybe not everything, but at least some of it. Maybe then he could finally understand.
A cold, gentle hand brushed against his shoulder. Gabriel flinched and moved away from the source of the touch as fast as he could, lifting his head and splaying his wings as if to emphasize his previously unmatched power, only to catch the monocular yellow glow of an outwardly concerned machine’s headlight piercing through the darkness of the old, collapsed building they’d decided to take up residence within for the night.
V1’s arm drooped in a disappointed fashion and their eight wings folded behind their back as they came closer, with Gabriel instinctually attempting to squirm away as the Council’s voices continued to echo in his head, calling him a traitor, a heretic, an insult to God’s will, and a mere mistake, both for this—whatever “this” was; perhaps the emotions he felt towards the machine—and for the past that haunted him. Maybe “haunted” wasn’t the correct term, though. He could barely remember most of his life up until a certain point, yet the words and ideals of the Council still festered within the metaphorical hole they’d drilled into his head.
How long had he been like this? What was wrong with him?
“Machine—“
Gabriel choked on his words. He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what that “something” was.
V1 came closer. The archangel eventually dropped his guard and began to let slip soft cries, the painful blades of guilt and of regret that pierced his soul finally getting the best of him. He leaned into the tiny machine from his sitting position, embracing them tightly with his arms as he buried his helmeted face in their protruding stiff, metallic chest. Unsure of what they were supposed to do with this, and quite frankly startled and alarmed by their sudden inability to move, V1 simply tried to return the hug as Gabriel broke down sobbing, his wings curling forwards as they drooped. Gabriel felt even more guilty just for this alone. He felt as though he’d committed an unforgivable crime, even though he had no reason to abide by the beliefs that had been seared into him anymore.
Though they didn’t speak a word, V1’s message was clear; they wanted to help, in spite of them having been born with the explicit purpose of being the most efficient death machine ever built by the now-gone civilization of man.
“…thank you,” Gabriel spoke softly, sighing out a shaky exhale. “I’m well aware that you will not understand, however… I feel… I feel weak just letting myself admit this. It sometimes feels as though the past is still here; happening at this very moment; weighing me down every waking second of my life.” His voice faltered and his eyes felt as if they burned beneath his helmet. “I cannot move on.”
Unexpectedly, V1 pressed some of its fingertips against Gabriel’s forehead, perhaps as if to point at his brain, and nodded twice—slowly. They understood. In spite of it all, they understood. Perhaps they experienced something similar, and simply couldn’t utter a word thanks to their apparent inability to speak.
They set their head on Gabriel’s shoulder, their wings curving forwards as Gabriel’s own wings flinched. The pain began to relieve. While it would never disappear, he finally began to accept his feelings. He felt as though he belonged here—as long as wherever “here” was involved V1. The one individual across all of the stars who he’d willingly spend his last moments with, if those last moments were ever to finally catch up with him.
It was so wrong, yet it felt so good—and to Gabriel, that was all that mattered now.
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
Holding On To Heartache
AO3 Link.
Rating: T
Pairings: Susato Mikotoba/Haori Murasame (Rei Membami). Side Kazuma Asogi/Ryunosuke Naruhodo
Written for Susahao Week 2022. Day 7: Free Day (Roleswap AU)
Word count: 7k
Part of my DGS asoryuu 🔄 susahao Roleswap AU.
-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-
Susato grew up loved, that was never the issue. When her grandmother died shortly after learning of her father’s death overseas, Genshin Asogi and his son appeared at her door like angels here to chase away all her woes. Kazuma taught her the ways of a sword, despite it being unbecoming of her as a girl, and she quickly found herself referring to Genshin as her father because she never got to meet the one she should have called such a title.
And she was fine with the idea, of never knowing who Yujin Mikotoba was, just like she has never known who Ayame Mikotoba was either outside of beautiful portraits. She can not miss someone she had never met, can she? All she had of him was a brooch in the form of a cherry blossom flower she now wears across her heart as a reminder of the family name she had to leave behind as well as an encyclopaedia, and it is all she needs — the man is, but a ghost of a past long gone who lives on through the stories her new father now tells her and if living with the Asogis taught her anything, it is that one must always keep heading forward.
As it stands, fate had another idea.
On the day she turns thirteen, she receives a peculiar letter with a British seal over it and a death wish on ink upon the yellow papers, cursing the Mikotoba name for events that happened seven years prior, the date corresponding to the time of her biological father’s death and her current father and Judge Jigoku’s return from Great Britain. Growing up in a family of lawyers, Susato is no stranger to gruesome tales of twisted truths and betrayals and yet, as she reads about this Professor who brought terror to the streets of London years ago, she simply could not conciliate this image with the one her father painted of Yujin Mikotoba.
And perhaps a part of her was afraid of believing it. That she may share blood with such a monster, her hand coming up to the brooch on her heart with trembling fingers.
So she goes to the one person she knows will always bring comfort to her.
“That is nonsense,” Kazuma says with a frown, barely holding himself from tearing the letter apart, she can tell, there is already a small tear right in the middle of the paper. “I knew Yujin Mikotoba when I was younger too, he was a doctor, Susato, he valued life more than anything, why would he take someone’s, never mind several’s?”
“What you say makes sense,” Susato concedes, “but then why would someone send this if there is not some truth to it? They went through the trouble of finding who I am and our address… it seems like a lot of trouble even for a cruel jest.”
Kazuma’s expression darkens but he still forces out a reassuring smile as he wraps an arm around her shoulders and squeezes her until she cannot help but let out a small giggle at the gesture.
“We should tell father,” her brother says, “he will have more answers than I, I am sure.”
So Susato nods, following his lead.
Their father wears a similar sombre expression as he reads over the letter but instead of anger and disbelief taking over once he’s finished it, he looks calm and resolute.
And it scares Susato.
“Is it true, then? My father was—”
“Your father,” Genshin cuts her off firmly, but gently, “was a victim of British power.” He sighs, a long-winded exhale that seems to take years off his life. “I had wished to wait until you were much older to tell you about this but this cannot be helped. You should know as well, Kazuma, the whole truth of my stay in London.”
He excuses himself for a short moment to retrieve something in his room and when he comes back, he hands a notebook to Susato who carefully takes it, as if presented by a relic of ancient times — and in some way, it is.
“Before I start, you should read this.”
She opens the notebook to be met with her biological father’s handwriting, in English, detailing his journey in London and the people he met there. Several times, the name Herlock Sholmes appears, which makes her frown because she is pretty sure she has read short stories about this man but they could not be the same, right? What would her father have to do with the famous detective? There is no mention of a Japanese man as the detective’s partner, simply a fellow Britishman, although one with a doctorate. Dr Wilson.
Wait, is that not the name of the new professor at Kazuma’s university? Perhaps he knew my father.
Genshin and Judge Jigoku’s names appear as well, although never part of any investigations he seems to have taken, they only appear when her father writes about missing home, Japan. Her name even appears every once in a while, and the sight makes her heart ache with longing.
He thought of me, he wanted to meet me, he never wanted to leave me behind.
“I thought he was a doctor?” she asks eventually. Kazuma hums above her, having read over her shoulder.
“He was, and a private detective’s partner, medical knowledge was useful in investigations, after all. On my end, I was also taking parts in investigations in a more… legal way, I will say, as I was working with Scotland Yard and the Prosecutor Office.”
“Despite being a defence attorney?” Kazuma this time asks in confusion.
Their father nods. “I was there to learn, after all. And I had a good friend who vouched for me. Unfortunately, he was the last victim of this Professor.”
“Klint van Zieks was it?” Susato recalls. Before this, Genshin was never privy of stories about his time in London, of course only the happy memories and the fact he had stricken an unlikely friendship with the Crown Prosecutor Klint van Zieks and his younger brother, Barok, who followed them like a lost puppy everywhere. She remembers Kazuma huffing a lot when their father first talked about this Barok, jealousy slipping through. Kazuma had declared Barok van Zieks to be his sworn enemy right there and then, even if he does not even know what he looks like.
From what she recalls, they still exchange letters to this day...
Genshin nods. “Although… I suppose the Professor case had him quite worked up as well, he acted strange in the days before his passing.”
“So, you investigated the Professor case, is that why you do not believe Yujin Mikotoba was the culprit?” Kazuma asks. “You would not let friendships get in the way of a proper verdict.”
“Of course not,” Genshin confirms, looking even a little offended at the mere possibility. “Yujin had an alibi for every death and no motive or relation to any of the victims.”
Susato breathes in. “Then why…?”
“I wish I knew, Susato,” Genshin sighs, a pained smile on his lips. “When the trial came, despite my defence, he pleaded guilty immediately. It was not helped by a conclusive piece of evidence the prosecution had, or so he claimed it to be, I thought it came quite out of nowhere and doubted its authenticity.”
“What do you mean?”
Genshin frowns, clearly debating going into further details but Susato keeps staring at him with big plaintiff eyes, her knuckles turning white around her late father’s notebook.
“Father, what do you mean?” Kazuma repeats, sounding firmer and even more challenging. He is still standing close to Susato, a warm and supportive hand on her shoulder.
Immediately, their father’s resolve breaks. “Practicing autopsies was still rather new, and even more so forbidden on people from the nobility like Klint. However, the inspector was… abnormally insistent and his request was granted. Yujin was the doctor’s assistant. They found something of his and he was arrested immediately. Since he assisted the other autopsies, the prosecution argued that was when he would temper with the bodies and hide his involvement.”
“It makes sense in theory, but then why would he not have tempered in that last autopsy, seems awfully convenient. And I am aware appearances can be deceiving but he was one of the kindest men I have ever met, from, well, what I can remember,” Kazuma says.
Susato hums, her heart beating faster. The brooch on her chest feels heavier now. “Father, do you happen to remember who that doctor was?”
“Well, as coincidences may be, he was invited recently to come to teach at Yumei University, I believe Kazuma has met him.”
“Doctor Wilson?” her brother deduces, earning a nod from their father. Susato frowns at the name again. Everything cannot just be a coincidence, can it? What is the truth?
“But Susato,” Genshin interjects her thoughts, snapping her attention to him in surprise, “do not make hasty decisions.”
“I—!” She flushes at being so easily caught.
“I wish to find out what really happened as well but it is too dangerous at the moment. That incident almost caused our alliance with Great Britain to fall apart and it is now only starting to be mended. Everything I have told you has been kept as a governmental secret both there and here in Japan, no one knows Yujin was the Professor outside of the people who were at the trial. Words cannot get out you know about it. You deserved to know and learn from someone who was there, but for now, this will have to stay between us.”
Genshin Asogi has always been an imposing man with incredible charisma and authority. Susato has always admired that, about her father. But at this very moment, she sort of hates how insignificant and young he makes her feel. She never knew how to really stand up to him even if she never really needed to before. Her brother was always the more outspoken one anyway.
She lowers her head. “I understand, father.”
“We’ll just have to find a way to Great Britain and find the truth there then,” Kazuma huffs suddenly. He, on the other hand, has never had trouble challenging his own father, no matter how much he admires him.
“Kazuma, what did I just say? That would be like walking into a lion’s den, son.”
“Not if it’s for a study tour like you did, no one would be the wiser. The program has started again, hasn’t it? Third-year students are given a chance of being selected for this trip and we are allowed to bring in an assistant.”
Susato perks up.
“Kazuma…” Genshin sighs.
“Father, please,” Susato says solemnly. “I want to know what really happened. Why I never got to meet him. I thought I had closure and did not mind his absence but now… knowing so little about the real circumstances… thinking about what could have been… I know I will not be able to rest until everything is clear.”
A beat.
Another long sigh and yet a proud smile adorning the man’s lips. “I suppose I did raise you to be this determined. Women are still forbidden from entering the courthouse here however so becoming an assistant will be quite the challenge, even if I use my influence, I cannot rewrite the law.”
“I am ready to face any challenge,” Susato declares.
Her father laughs and gathers her into a hug. “I know you are.”
And despite the inner turmoil following all those revelations, Susato is glad to observe that the embrace still feels warm and loving, soothing her worries and fears, especially when Kazuma joins in soon after.
She will find the truth about Yujin Mikotoba… but not to the cost of her family, she promises to herself.
She will soon learn that she is not that good, at keeping promises.
-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-
It is two years later when she is finally allowed to walk into Yumei University as a qualified judicial assistant that she can start her investigation despite her father’s warnings, starting with the science department where she knows one Dr Wilson is often seen.
A quiet anger had started to grow within her ever since she learned the first bits of truth about her late father. So, when she wasn’t studying to become a judicial assistant — she was lucky enough to have two of the best lawyers in the country as her family, making the task simpler than it would have been otherwise — she started studying Yujin Mikotoba’s notes, cross-referencing them with the Herlock Sholmes short stories she could find published in Japan.
The stories are exact copies of her late father’s notes if not more romanticised for the sake of story-telling and it made her so angry. This Dr Wilson was using her father’s experiences for fame and money after helping to convict him of crimes he did not commit, there were no strong enough words in the vocabulary to describe how outrageous such an act is.
However, instead of the British doctor, she finds a girl her age on her way towards the Doctor’s office. Well, “find” is perhaps inaccurate — they bump into each other when the girl runs out of the room in a rush, papers flying everywhere in their wake. Fortunately, Susato is quick enough on her feet to grab the other girl’s arms so she does not fall, their respective weight neutralising the other and keeping them upright. The hallway is still a mess though and none of the students passing by seem inclined on helping, sending them a dirty look instead.
“I am so sorry!” the girl apologises immediately, pulling away as she starts hastily gathering all the papers. “Oh, I spent hours organising everything…” she mutters.
Susato feels guilty now and leans down to help her but yelps when she gets her hands slapped away with surprising force. “Hey!”
“Sorry!” the girl apologises again. And then she mumbles, loud enough for Susato to still hear, though: “But he would kill me if I let anyone else look into his research. He is kind and harmless most of the time but ah is he particularly ticked when it comes to his research…”
“Are you talking about Dr Wilson? I was looking for him actually…”
That gets the girl’s attention back to her, eyes sharp. “Are you one of his students? I have never seen you in any of his classes.”
Susato frowns. “Are you? I mean no offence but we seem to be the same age… as in, too young to attend university.”
“You would be right,” the girl sighs, all the papers finally in her hands as she looks down dejectedly at them. But then she shakes her head, her grey eyes meeting Susato’s brown ones. “I forgot to introduce myself, did I not?” She bows then. “Haori Murasame, Dr Wilson’s assistant.”
“Susato Asogi,” Susato introduces herself as well.
Haori’s eyes light up with recognition like that clan name always does around this place. “Oh! Asogi-san— your brother, I suppose? The golden boy of the university.” Susato barely holds back a snort at the title. If only people knew how silly her brother really is. “Your father is teaching here as well, isn’t he?”
Susato nods, pride filling her heart. “Yes! I am Kazuma’s assistant too, and he had requested some papers from Dr Wilson and I offered to retrieve them myself since I was planning on visiting this part of the university anyhow.”
“Oh, he did not give me anything to lend to anyone,” Haori says with a frown and Susato hopes she cannot see her tense smile. “Do you perhaps remember what those papers were about? Dr Wilson is a really busy man so I usually handle his paperwork.”
“Ah, it’s alright, I will come by again later then,” Susato dismisses. “You were quite in a hurry, shouldn’t you…?”
Haori’s eyes widen in panic and Susato has the odd thought that the other girl looks absolutely adorable in this flustered state.
“Oh, I’m going to be late!” Haori exclaims and already starts walking away although she briefly turns around to yell, “Once again, I am the one who handles Dr Wilson’s papers so you know where to find me! See you around, Susato Asogi!”
She waves excitedly as she turns around to run again and Susato finds herself waving back, albeit late.
“See you around, Haori Murasame…” she whispers, frowning at the way her heart feels heavy, all of a sudden.
She brushes it off and sighs, looking back at the wooden plaque on the door with Dr Wilson’s name on it. She will find another time.
-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-
She does not, in fact, find another time. In her defence, Haori is distracting and insanely intriguing. She is barely sixteen like her, and yet she managed to find a place in the university as the assistant of one of the best professors in this university, and all that through sheer work and perseverance because unlike Susato who benefitted from Genshin Asogi’s influence and name, Haori had no connection whatsoever.
Suddenly she understands why one day Kazuma started wearing a red headband every day after meeting his friend Ryunosuke Naruhodo. It seems it is one trait they share as a family, when they fall, they fall hard and fast.
“There’s this exchange student,” Haori complains to her that day, “she’s so pretentious and so rude! Keeps dismissing me and other Japanese students, only speaking to the other British students or Doctor Wilson, she refuses to speak anything but English as well even though I know she understands us. I do not get why she even chose our university if she hates us so much!”
“That is peculiar behaviour,” Susato agrees. “The law department has very few international students, so I suppose I never encountered such a person before.”
“And I do not wish you to.”
Susato chuckles. “Well, I am hoping Kazuma gets chosen for the study tour in Great Britain though, so I will have to live among them.”
Haori makes a face that makes Susato want to squish her cheeks together, for some reason. Fortunately, she manages to repress the urge.
“I cannot say I understand wanting that, but I can say I hope you two get chosen too.”
Susato smiles. “One day, I will tell you why it is so important to me.”
“You are not required to,” Haori tells her gently. “I will miss you, though. I know we have only met a few months ago but…”
She does not finish her sentence but she does not need to because Susato understands. Being the only two people of the same age in this university will tend to create a special kind of kinship, really, although Susato isn’t quite ready to admit other feelings brewing inside her. She has no time for distraction… well, further distraction that is. The clock is ticking, after all, months have passed and soon they will learn who got chosen for the exchange programme.
“What if you could come with us?” she says before she could stop it which prompts a genuine laugh from the other girl.
“Susato, that would be illegal.” There is great irony in the fact Haori is the one pointing that out.
Susato bumps their shoulders together. “Eh, it would be fun though, would it not? Tearing the streets of London together?”
“We would be unstoppable!” Haori exclaims, agreeing. “Perhaps that is why the world won’t let us.”
Susato ponders that. “Yes, I suppose so.”
It is so unfair, she thinks. Although she still had to meet this Dr Wilson — not without fault of trying, the man is always so busy and Susato cannot attend any of his classes even if Kazuma or Ryunosuke is in one of them —, she could tell Haori is just as brilliant as him if she could understand all his notes and add to them. By all means, Haori seems above the title of assistant despite her young age, she should be out here revolutionising medicine and the Japanese scientific scene and yet she is stuck under a white man’s tutelage who teaches her nothing new because her status does not allow her to reach grander prospects.
And Susato wishes she could give her that, the role she deserves.
“I heard women are freer in Great Britain, though,” Haori says, “if Miss Brett is anything to go by.”
“See? Then you should definitely come,” Susato jests once again, earning a playful shove before they both stiffen when someone clears their throat behind them and the shadow of someone looming over them suddenly covers them.
“Miss Asogi, I apologise for interrupting,” a gruff but recognisable voice speaks and Susato whirls around to be faced with Judge Jigoku who smiles kindly at her. It does nothing to settle her nerves, however, the man is tall and intimidating. And he is also thoroughly ignoring Haori’s presence, which seems rather rude. “But I heard you talk about Great Britain and I was hoping to have a word with you about you and your brother’s availability.”
“Oh, of course, Judge Jigoku.” A pause. “… Right this moment?” Without my brother?
The judge nods. “If you do not mind.”
She looks at Haori then who chuckles nervously, cheeks going pink as she already starts walking away. “I-I will see you later, Susato. Judge Jigoku, a pleasure to see you.” She quickly bows before promptly running away.
“Do I really scare people this much outside of the courtroom? Oh dear, I need to change that,” Judge Jigoku laughs loudly, the sound echoing through the busy hallway, prompting a few students to hurry their pace as if it constituted an alarm of some sort.
Susato chuckles weakly. “It… it may be your judge attire even outside of the courtroom as well, sir.”
At that, the man looks down, as if surprised by his own long and dark robe over his body. “You may be right. Anyhow, let us talk in my office.”
Minutely, Susato follows.
-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-
Although Genshin has shared stories of a time when he and Judge Jigoku were once friends, her father has never hidden how little affection and trust he now has for the judge. Susato never looked too deep into it until two years prior — and she made the conclusion that anyone would, probably: Yujin Mikotoba was their mutual friend and with the man gone, their feeble friendship disappeared. She doubts it is the full story, however, because whenever she sees the two interact, she can sense genuine friendship from Judge Jigoku and an immense amount of respect for her father, meanwhile Genshin is much more guarded, although polite nonetheless.
So logic says Susato should be wary of the man if her own father is keeping him at arm’s length despite working in close proximity, but there is very little she can do when one of the most powerful men in this country asks her for a private talk in his office, really.
Especially when he opens the conversation with: “So I hear you have been trying to reach Dr Wilson.”
Susato stiffens. Were they not supposed to be talking about the exchange programme… “I am merely interested in learning more about the body’s response to different types of poison, I hear it can be useful in a trial.”
Judge Jigoku hums. “If that were the case, you simply would have asked your new friend who is a doctor’s apprentice.” Susato barely manages to not frown in frustration at being caught so easily. “You are not as good of a liar as your father, Miss Asogi.”
Which one? She wonders.
“Or perhaps you would like to be referred to as Miss Mikotoba now?”
Susato fights the urge to gape at the insinuation. “Why would I ever forsake the name of the man who has raised me?”
“I was asking myself the same thing but it seems you have been trying to find out more about your biological father, am I wrong?” Judge Jigoku says. “I am afraid Dr Wilson will not be available for much longer for your questions, and I doubt he would answer them anyhow.”
“Is he returning to Great Britain?” she asks, foregoing the idea of asking how the man even knows about her motives.
In her quest to find the Doctor, she sort of forgot the judge in front of her was also an option, or perhaps she willingly ignored it because the figure of a judge who also doubles as their Minister of Foreign Affairs was too imposing and risky.
“You could say that,” is the elusive answer she gets. “Doctor Wilson did not know Yujin Mikotoba for long but I can guarantee he was complicit in some way, for convicting your father, and I know you want to find the truth and seek revenge.”
“I would not necessarily say revenge…” The word sounds dirty, dishonourable. She is seeking justice.
“Now do not play the innocent girl,” Judge Jigoku chastises. “I have seen what you are capable of with your hands and a sword, as a true member of the Asogi clan. And I have an offer to give you.”
He suddenly rounds his desk, opening a drawer and retrieving a piece of paper from it. Then he sits down on his chair and beckons Susato to walk closer before handing her the paper.
Her eyes widen as she is met with the list of potential candidates for the exchange programmes, the name Asogi written at the top of the list.
Except… except it is not Kazuma’s name written before it but hers. And then she notices something odd — none of the other names are law students, or most of them, at least.
“As you know, Great Britain has opened its doors to us, just like we have been accepting British students in our university,” Judge Jigoku says. Susato absently hums, recalling Haori’s extensive rants about said students. “I have yet to approve of the first pair I will send. Of course, your brother has been on top of the list, he is the best in his field and Genshin is a dear friend of mine. However.”
She really does not like the sound of that or the fact the man is making this pause last for far longer than needed. Is he enjoying seeing her try not to nervously fidget under his gaze?
“I was given a condition in my choice from my associate in Great Britain and it has to do with what transpired ten years ago, about your father. If you accept this mission, I promise to tell you the whole truth, if you do not manage to find it by yourself once on British soil.”
Susato frowns. It sounds like a lot of trouble, and yet… curiosity gets the best of her. “So you know what happened when even father doesn’t.”
“Genshin was much closer to Yujin than I was, I simply wished to spare him the pain of knowledge.” It seems cruel, actually, Susato thinks. “Do you accept?” he prompts.
“You did not explain what the mission is.”
“An assassination, and a guarantee you would walk away freely from it.”
And just like that, the blood drains from her limbs as she stares dumbfounded at the man before her. The word was said so casually, so easily, why did it roll so easily from the judge’s lips, even for a man who deals with crime in his everyday life?
“How could I ever accept that?!” she exclaims, losing the carefully put-up walls she had up until now.
Judge Jigoku, however, looks as calm as ever. “And if I told you the target is a man who has wronged both of your fathers, one by planting false evidence and the other by lying to him to his face to this day?”
“… Inspector Gregson?”
“Astute deduction.”
Inspector Gregson has appeared a few times in Genshin’s stories, and several times in Yujin’s notes and the Herlock Sholmes short stories as the Great Detective’s rival. She does remember Genshin mentioning him fondly, calling him a great ally in a sea of untrustworthy British crowds. That inspector could be the real key to uncovering everything about the Professor case since he was the leading inspector and he would probably not suspect a sweet innocent-looking young lady to have foul motives as well. Judge Jigoku knows that.
A familiar rage starts brewing in her heart, the same kind she festers for Dr Wilson now, as if inheriting the feeling of betrayal her biological father must have felt. Her fingers tighten around the paper, creasing it.
Then, a thought comes to her mind. She does not need to actually follow through with killing the man, does she? She does not trust Judge Jigoku, that would be foolish of her, he could tell her whatever suits him once the assassination is done, after all, but she could use this as an opportunity… as a guarantee. He would be none the wiser…
Although he does have an associate on the other side of the Pacific Ocean…
“I suppose this needs to stay a secret,” Susato declares, slowly lowering the paper on the desk. “I will do it.”
Judge Jigoku smiles slowly at her, a sardonic and calculating smile.
This is not a courtroom where I am obligated to tell the truth and yet here he is, assuming I am.
“Then I will promptly fill out the paperwork necessary for you and your brother to be on your way to London by next month. Thank you for your time, Miss Asogi.”
She bows. “Thank you for yours, Judge Jigoku, I will not disappoint you.”
The door closing behind her sounds like the gavel of justice handing down a verdict, as if her whole life’s trajectory suddenly shifted and was sealed.
A few hours later, Kazuma frantically comes back home and Susato feels her stomach drop at the distress on her brother’s face, a sense of foreboding polluting the air.
“Son, what happened?” Genshin asks, rushing to the boy’s side to offer comfort.
“It’s Ryunosuke! He’s been arrested! For…” a deep breath, “For Dr Wilson’s murder.”
Susato turns away with a gasp, pretending to hold back tears to hide the fact that she feels like puking.
That’s what he meant by “Doctor Wilson will no longer be available”. This was the real exchange programme. An assassination exchange.
-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-
Like an utter fool, Kazuma refuses to let their father handle the trial and decides to defend Ryunosuke himself at the risk of losing his opportunity to go to Great Britain, with their father standing next to him as his co-counsel since Susato is still not allowed inside the courtroom.
Years of work and studies and a stupid big heavy block of wood is what’s stopping me.
A part of Susato is proud of her brother for standing up for his friend with no hesitation and such determination, but another part of her cannot help but feel slightly miffed at the fact Kazuma was so willing to throw away her one chance of learning the truth about her biological father out the window for a man he has met only a year prior.
Because she knows this trial to be hopeless, now.
She is waiting in the defence lobby, staring intensely at her laps, knowing that if Kazuma loses, she loses too despite the deal she stroke with Judge Jigoku, when careful footsteps approach before a notebook is thrust into her vision. She startles, lifting her head up to see Haori standing there with a solemn and grief-stricken expression on her face.
And oh, with everything happening, she completely forgot to check on the other girl who just lost her mentor. What a horrendous friend she is.
“Haori—”
“This is Miss Brett’s research notebook,” Haori cuts her off, voice hollow, quiet anger in it. “I believe they will need it. Kazuma and Professor Asogi will soon understand who really did it, I am sure.”
“I… yes, I have no doubt.” Silence. Haori quietly sits down next to her, all poise and elegance to hide her inner turmoil. Susato can sense it, her friend is tense and her hands are shaking under the long sleeves of her kimono. “Are you okay?” she asks eventually, unable to handle the silence.
“Of course not,” Haori replies, she sounds almost indignant to be asked such a question. “My mentor is dead, what am I supposed to do now? None of the other professors ever took me seriously and the only one who did is now gone. My days here are counted now and oh how selfish I sound. A man is dead and all I can think of is that everything I have worked for will surely be taken away from me now.” She groans, hiding her face in her hands. “He was a good man, Susato.”
And Susato, to her own dismay, wants to disagree. That man, for all his kind smile and innocent-looking appearance, was part of some sort of conspiracy that doomed her biological father to a tragic end — and Dr Wilson knew him, they were friends, or at least co-workers. She feels no sympathy for the man, but her heart hurts seeing Haori this distraught over him.
He doesn’t deserve your sorrow, he doesn’t deserve your tears and your admiration.
And she wants to do something about it. “Then when this is over, come with me and Kazuma to England. If no future awaits you here now that your mentor is dead, then let us make one overseas.”
“Susato…”
“You’re light, I can easily hide you in my suitcase.”
This time Haori flushes. “Susato!”
Susato chuckles. “I am not jesting, though. Please do consider it, I would love to have you with me.”
If they even get to go, that is, but if she knows anything about her brother, it is that even in desperate times, he will always find a way to save his best friend. And she knows their father will do the same, he will fight to the end and perhaps even beyond, against Jezail Brett, against Hosonaga, against Judge Jigoku. Ryunosuke is in safe hands.
Her deal with Judge Jigoku is not, however. She did not sign any contract, after all, they just verbally agreed to the arrangement. And now that she knows… if Kazuma loses and Judge Jigoku is forced to choose another pair, would her own life be in danger now that she is aware of the assassination exchange?
Would Kazuma’s and her father’s? Oh, she did not think this through at all. She put her family in danger and the sinking feeling makes her want to disappear into the ground. It is worth it, she tries to tell herself, her father always highlights the importance of unearthing the truth, he, too, wants to know what happened to Yujin Mikotoba and finally lay his old friend’s soul to rest.
It is a gamble. It is worth it.
Is it?
“I must be quite tired because you are making sense to me,” Haori groans, rubbing her cheek. Her voice snaps Susato out of her morbid thoughts. “I love this place with all my heart and yet all I want right now is to get far away from here.”
“Then I will help you, just like your presence would help me,” Susato says, offering her a hand. Haori smiles and soon enough, warm dainty fingers intertwine with hers.
Susato indulges in the peaceful moment, before the doors burst open, her father, Kazuma and Ryunosuke stumbling out with various expressions of frustration on their faces. Susato catches a glimpse of Miss Brett before the doors close, the smug smile on her face blatant and mocking even from a distance. Haori abruptly lets go, jumping to her feet with Miss Brett’s notebook in hand as she walks right into Kazuma’s face to hand him the crucial piece of evidence.
She sees Kazuma’s eyes shine as he goes through the pages, sometimes pointing at a paragraph for Genshin and Ryunosuke to read as well, a winning smile soon blooming on the men’s lips.
Haori then turns around, triumphant and proud, looking for her, for her approval, and Susato smiles back.
Things are looking up, it seems.
It is worth it.
But as she looks at her family and friends from a distance, she cannot quite push down the feeling of guilt she feels, knowing what she is hiding from them.
Do not make hasty decisions, her father’s words come back to her.
Perhaps Yujin Mikotoba was one to do such things and Susato inherited it, who knows? Well, she will discover it soon enough.
-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-
Haori is not quite sure how she survived being jostled around in a cramped suitcase without any bruises, but she supposes she cannot complain. What confuses her more, however, is Susato’s insistence that they cannot tell Kazuma.
“Well, we are doing something illegal. It is one thing for me, the assistant, to bring a stowaway but if Kazuma knew it’d make him complicit and he could lose his licence for breaking laws…” Susato explained.
And Haori understands, really she does, but it does suck to have to hide in a closet whenever the boy is visiting their cabin. Kazuma is her friend too, after all, and she feels guilty for lying to him. They will need to figure out how to announce her presence when they reach London, though.
Also, the cabin does feel a little suffocating, especially considering that, unlike Kazuma, Susato was not given a room in the first-class section of the ship but at least, well, even here no one dares enter a lady’s room — Kazuma being the obvious exception as Susato’s brother — so Haori at least gets to sleep next to Susato without fear of being found out.
And if it makes her feel butterflies in her stomach to lay by Susato’s side and feel her warmth and be surrounded by her sweet scent, well, no one has to know.
It is odd, she thinks, how much Susato has changed her life in the span of a few months. Even Dr Wilson hiring her as his assistant did not feel quite as important, although, obviously, that had been the catalyst leading her to meet the peculiar girl she has been spending every second of her days with now.
“We’re about halfway through the journey, I think,” Susato muses. “And I still cannot like the food they have been serving us.” She punctuates her words by sliding her plate towards Haori.
“You are an awful liar.”
“Well, I did not want you to reject eating the whole plate again,” Susato tuts. “This chicken does have a weird aftertaste though.”
“I’m a scientist, I know how long I can go without food and you’re the one who still needs to go out of this cabin and still appear as lively as ever,” Haori protests.
“See, you’re doing it, again.” Susato huffs. “And that was a logical fallacy, being a scientist does not guarantee you’d be careful instead of trying to take care of me first like you’re doing right now.”
“And you’re being dramatic, it is not like I am starving.”
“Indulge me this, please,” the other girl insists. “Take the whole plate for tonight, I’m not hungry anyhow.”
The dark look in her eyes catches Haori’s attention. “Something in your mind?”
“I just… made a decision. But it is getting late, so it will have to wait tomorrow, I think.”
Haori frowns. “You’re worrying me, Susato.”
Her friend chuckles, a little sadly, guiltily, even. “I figured, after bringing you here, it might finally be time to tell you the truth about my… desire to go to Great Britain.” Susato taps the brooch over her heart. “You remember the story behind this?”
Haori needs. “Of course. Your father’s. Or well, your other father the, uh…”
“The dead one, yes,” Susato confirms bluntly, far less uncomfortable with the concept of death than Haori is, despite the irony that between the two of them, Haori has probably held lifeless creatures in her hands more often than her. “It is the only thing I have left of him, of a man I never met… because he died far away from Japan.”
“So is this a desire to want to see what made him love Great Britain so much? Walk into your fathers’ steps?”
Susato suddenly looks tired, fingers still lightly gripping her brooch. “It is a bit more complicated than that, I will tell you tomorrow.” Then she leans forward, their foreheads touching. Haori’s heart stutters as her senses are overwhelmed by Susato’s gentle floral scent she somehow always carries with her. “But you cannot understand how thankful I am that you are here with me.”
I love you, it’s only been a few months but I love you.
Haori swallows the words. Instead of replying, she hums and leans into the touch. For now, it will do.
It will be her own little secret until the moment is right.
-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-
Haori’s head is pounding when consciousness comes back to her the next day. Her eyes struggle to adjust to the light around her. Yet, there is no warmth beside her, just plain cold sheets which is quite odd— Susato is usually the one who wakes her in the morning, never leaving her alone in bed if she can help it.
“Haori,” a stern and familiar voice, but not the one she was hoping to hear, says and she startles, only to realise that her wrists feel heavy. She moves them, hearing the unmistakable sound of shackles. “What are you doing here?”
“I— Kazuma-kun?” she chances, her vision finally adjusting to everything around her and seeing the boy a few years her senior glaring at her in despair and confusion. “Where’s… where’s Susato?”
Kazuma looks away then, a sombre tone to his eyes and she follows his gaze, her breath coming up short at the outline on the floor.
An outline in chalk.
Like…
Like a crime scene.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Kazuma says, anger and grief barely hidden in his voice. “Because as the scene stands, Haori, you are the prime suspect for her murder.”
… What?
#susahao week 2022#susahao#susahao fic#susarei#asoryuu#dai gyakuten saiban#the great ace attorney#dgs spoilers#tgaa spoilers#HUGE spoilers for this one as roleswap aus are wont to be#my fics
5 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
princess-reiko-blog
The Queen of Fire
my-leatherboy
My Leather Boy
tucereyis
ÇIK ARKAMDAN ÇIIAAĞĞĞK
chicago-x-gentleman
Mindset and Beliefs