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likelystorylils · 3 years ago

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Dog Days (TASM!Peter Parker x Reader)

Summary: You might have been ever so slightly perturbed about Peter seeing you in your underwear if he wasn’t sporting a large cut along his jawline; one that looked achingly fresh.

“Did you shave with a machete this morning?” You asked, stepping out of the doorway and making room for him to enter.

“A scythe, actually,” Peter deadpanned.

Words: 2.4k

A/N: Andrew Garfield!Spiderman; friends to lovers; heated make-out; cursing; minor injury; mutual pining; possible part 1 of 2? characters are in college & of age.

It was hot. That sticky kind of hot that clung to you and made you feel like tearing your skin off. That makes the sweat pool at the nape of your neck until it slides in a cold streak down the curve of your spine. The New York air was shimmering, alive with exhaust fumes and the output of overworked air conditioning units of every apartment on your block—except for yours. The dumbass thing had broken overnight and when you woke up at five a.m., damp and uncomfortable, you’d called your best friend knowing he’d make a quick fix of it.

But you’d gotten his voicemail, unsurprising given that he’d never been a morning person. Since you’d met him three years ago at freshman orientation, Peter Parker had perfectly offset you in every way. Where he could stay in bed until noon, you were decidedly not a night owl, often cosy in your pyjamas by ten p.m. Peter had a sharp wit and loved to tease, and though his wit brought out a sharp tongue you’d never known you had, you were infinitely shyer than he was. He was perpetually late to everything from the Christmas dinner you’d invited him to at your parents’ home to your final exam for Organic Chemistry—which he’d passed with flying colours—whereas you were punctual to a fault. And perhaps most significantly, you’d never known heartbreak in your life, never had the opportunity because you’d never given anyone your heart to begin with. Peter’s heart, you knew, had endured the worst kind of break. Though he only spoke of her sometimes, you knew his high school girlfriend had died tragically and each year you went with him to visit her resting place, holding his hand and running your thumb over his knuckles as gently as you could. The depths of that pain, written on his face and in his body language whenever he spoke of Gwen, made you steel yourself against love, afraid to give yourself to anyone in case you left them broken and alone.

There was a flaw in your plan to avoid love forever though, and that was Peter himself. As much as you’d tried to swallow them, shut them up in the deepest pits of your soul, bury them where they’d never see the light of day, your feelings for him had only grown in the last three years. At first it was a little thrill each time his eyes met yours, a tingle on your skin when his fingers grazed your own while you shared a carton of fries at a Yankees game. That had grown, exploded really, into a brilliant whirl of colours every time you heard his voice—a sort of love-induced synesthesia that turned Peter’s laughter yellow and his whispers soft purple and his calling your name the deepest, richest scarlet.

You’d fallen desperately in love with your best friend and you were resolutely not going to do anything about it, thank you very much.

“Y/N!” There was a knock at the door of your cramped apartment that drew you out of your crossword puzzle—stuck, as you were, on 18-Down. “It’s Peter!”

You’d barely heard the knock over the sound of Eminem in your headphones, but there was no mistaking Peter’s voice. You were at the door, earbuds abandoned on the coffee table, pulling it open before you remembered that you’d traded in your baggy David Bowie tee and jean shorts for a barely-there camisole and blue panties of the lightest cotton. You might have been ever so slightly perturbed about Peter seeing you in your underwear if he wasn’t sporting a large cut along his jawline; one that looked achingly fresh.

“Did you shave with a machete this morning?” You asked, stepping out of the doorway and making room for him to enter.

“A scythe, actually,” Peter deadpanned. If only you’d known he was being entirely serious—his neck having had a near miss with some villain’s techno-reproduction of a classic medieval weapon only hours ago. “It’s hot as hell in here, Y/N. Are you trying to get me naked?”

Your cheeks flushed and you made quick work of rolling your eyes as dramatically as possible, trying to distract Peter from the change of colour in your face. He was an expert at changing the subject, so much so that you’d long since given up trying to get him to talk about anything he didn’t want to, such as why he was chronically late or where he’d disappeared to that night you had tickets for the Rangers playoff game, or how he managed to find time to workout with his ridiculous school schedule and familial duties because god damn, his arms—you stopped yourself from letting that thought full form, knowing it would send you down a rabbit hole.

“Don’t think I’m not keeping a tally of every time you dodge my questions,” you muttered, moving to the refrigerator and opening it briefly to let some cool air out on your heated chest. The emptiness of the shelves reminded you that you really needed to get groceries because ramen noodles, eggs, and the rapidly decaying bananas on the counter would not keep you alive forever. “And didn’t you get my voicemail?”

“No,” Peter shrugged, “I saw you left me one but thought I’d just swing by.” A small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, though you couldn’t for the life of you figure out what the joke was.

“Well, the AC is broken,” you informed him, straightened up and facing him where he stood in your living room, his tall and lean frame a familiar sight there alongside the stacks of textbooks and novels, the record player, and the pile of throw pillows you couldn’t stop collecting. For a long moment, Peter stared at you, his head tilted slightly to the side as if he was just now seeing you since coming in. You felt much more naked than you actually were under his stare and shifted your weight from one leg to the other, your hand coming to tug down at the hem of your camisole. Peter had seen you nearly nude before, but this felt—different. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was the unfamiliar expression that flashed across his eyes. Either way, it had you squeezing your legs together as subtly as possible. If Peter noticed, he didn’t let on.

“That explains the outfit,” he grinned, tone light, though you noticed the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed hard.

“It was hardly my first choice,” you shot back, “But anyways, now that you’re here do you think you could fix it?”

“This feels like the start of a por—”

“Don’t say it, Parker,” you cut him off with a warning glare, eyes wide. Peter only laughed, though stopped almost immediately, favouring his jaw. Already it looked like the gash was healing and you wondered where he’d gotten it from—it reminded you, oddly, of the ankle he’d “sprained” while showing you a skateboarding trick last summer. You would swear up and down, on every holy text that existed, that you’d seen his bone popping out of his skin. But the next day he’d been absolutely fine and you were certain that the limp he’d had for a week was half-faked.

“Y/N? Are you alive in there?” Peter’s amused voice drew you from your reverie and you nodded, running your fingers through your hair to get it out of your face.

“Alive and well,” you reported, “So you think you can fix it?”

***

As it turned out, Peter could fix the AC unit, but he’d need to pick up a part at the hardware store down the street. While he examined the ancient device mounted on your bedroom wall, you sat perched on your bed, silky pink blankets long since tossed to the floor, watching him with interest, noticing everything about the way his hands moved carefully over the shabby metal, the way his brow furrowed when he peeked inside the unit, and the way his eyes crinkled when he announced that it wouldn’t be an issue to repair.

For his part, Peter knew your eyes were on him—he wouldn’t go so far as to call it Spidey-sense, he just knew you and he’d had an inkling of the feelings you harboured for him for quite some time, though that part probably was Spidey-sense. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the same way, because god knows he did, but he was terrified to let himself fall in love again; beyond hesitant to ever let anyone get hurt again because of him. But then there was the way you looked at him, your eyes sparkling with delight when he made a stupid joke. And the way you said his name, like it was a magic spell wrapping itself up inside him and making him forget everything other than your voice. Yes, he loved you—more deeply than he’d thought he’d ever love again—but he was afraid to be in love with you.

When he delivered the happy news that he’d be able to get cool air back into your apartment, he felt his heart swell at the look of relief on your face.

“You’re my hero, Pete,” you said earnestly, “Really and truly.”

You had no idea.

“Yeah,” he said lightly, “I’m the best.” He saw the pillow coming at him even before it fully left your hands and dodged it in a swift, graceful motion.

“That’s not very nice,” Peter grinned wolfishly at you and your heart fluttered, “Here I am helping you out like a dear old gentleman and you throw things at me.” With another two quick, almost instantaneous steps, he was at your bedside, his hands coming down to your ribcage, fingers curling in as he began to tickle you mercilessly. You couldn’t do much more than squeal, kicking gently to get him off of you, whining his name as you begged him to stop.

“Peter!” you cried out, “It’s too hot for this!” There were tears in your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks and your bottom lip was swollen from where you were biting it to try to keep control of your laughter. Looking down at you, Peter knew he was finished, absolutely doomed, to fall into the warm and beautiful void that was loving you.

His fingers paused their attack and you both seemed to take stock of the position you found yourself in; you, flat on your back in bed, hair a dishevelled mess haloed out over your head; him, legs spread so that they were straddling your hips, his arms on either side of your body, lean muscles holding him up.

“Pete—” you whispered, eyes fluttering down to where your bodies met, lashes wet with unshed tears.

He blinked once, twice, three times, a pregnant pause in the hot air before his brain supplied the two words he’d been wanting to hear, giving him permission to plunge forward. Fuck it.

“Y/N,” he licked his lips, “You—” his fingers moved from your ribs to the edge of your camisole, thumbing across its stitching, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your breath hitched in your throat and your eyes shot up to his, pupils dilated. Your lips twitched, uncertain. “Don’t do this,” you sighed, all the while your own hands moved as if of their own accord, coming to rub up and down his arms, caressing lightly over the rippling muscle.

“Do what?” he asked, hand pausing in its movement to slip under your shirt. He withdrew it immediately, hoping he’d not grossly misread the situation.

“Don’t start something with me that you won’t finish,” your voice was barely there, “I—” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it, couldn’t utter those little words out loud, but you knew Peter understood. You could tell from the way he settled down closer to you, his lips running feather-light kisses along your collarbone, the way he brushed the lightly calloused pad of his thumb over your eyes.

“Y/N, I feel like I was finished the moment I met you,” he said, “And now I’d really like to give you a proper kiss, if you don’t mind.”

“Hopefully you’re as good at kissing as you are at running that mouth, Par—”

The words couldn’t finish leaving your lips because Peter’s shut them right back into your mouth. He kissed you gently at first, then ran his tongue along your lips, asking entrance which you granted easily enough. Your kiss went on for what felt like years, each of you learning the other with care and attention. His hands explored your body freely, eliciting small moans of approval that led him along a path he was memorizing and then his lips were navigating that same path, kissing and nipping at your shoulders, your clavicle, your navel, between your breasts at the edge of your shirt.

You were on fire as your hands tangled into his soft brown hair, nails gently massaging into his scalp. You knew, from the vibrations on his lips, that he liked the sensation and filed that information away for a later date.

Once he’d kissed all the way down to your ankles, Peter flopped onto the mattress beside you, watching as your chest heaved with pleasure.

“It feels even hotter in here than before,” he smirked, “I should go grab that part, yeah?”

You swatted at him, laughter on your lips. “You’re the worst, Peter Parker.”

He caught your hand in mid-air, wrapping his fingers around yours and gently squeezing your palm—once, twice, three times. Three squeezes for three little words that neither of you were ready to say yet, but that you would willingly show each other.

“I’m serious,” Peter said, “I’ll grab the part and a pizza and we can hang out, even though I’m the worst.”

You rolled your eyes again, still trying to steady your heart rate. “Like I said, my hero. How can I ever repay you?” For good measure, you placed the back of your hand against your forehead, faking a swoon.

Peter only looked at you with fire in his eyes. “I can think of a few ways.”

He was out of the room before you could throw another pillow at him. Shame.

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likelystorylils · 4 years ago

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flower

ghostbur x gn!reader | in game

other characters include tommy, dream and tubbo

summary: willingly exiling yourself with Tommy, Dream is not happy with either of you. This unhappiness turns into cold, hard resentment, and this results in him manipulating both of you for what seems to be fun. But there is a positive in this otherwise dim situation; you find yourself growing closer and closer to a certain Ghost named Ghostbur. He comforts you when you do something that consequently gets you killed.

warnings: canonical violence, weapons, death, gore, injury, angst, swearing, arguments, manipulation, dream being a huge asshole. Lmk if i missed anything.

wc: 4.3k words….damn i popped off

a/n: OO yes get that angst! tommy is sort of like the little brother of the reader, so yeah. he might be a little ooc because this is my interpretation of his arc and i find that everyone has a different perspectives of him :} i tried to incorporate as many minecraft mechanics as possible, so reality is a little altered in this fic (eg when you die you respawn). also spot the (unintentional) fnaf reference lol

requested by my pal grayson!!

🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓

“Come on, we don’t have time. Get packed.” You snapped at Tommy, who was stood, staring at the wall. “Tommy!” You said again. This time he turned around.

“I can’t believe he exiled me…” Tommy whispered, his voice threatening to break. You paused your frantic packing for a moment.

“Tommy, look at me. I know this hurts, I know. But we really need to hurry up, or they’ll chuck us out themselves. I just need you to pack just a little, okay? Can you do that?” You asked, trying to catch his woeful gaze. He nodded. You smiled sadly, and resumed your packing. Tommy wasn’t the only one who was hurting. The pain you were experiencing was borderline unbearable, but you had to be strong. For Tommy.

About an hour ago, TommyInnit was exiled from L'manberg by his best friend, Tubbo, and your own partner, Dream. Dream knew how you felt about Tommy, he was like your brother, and yet he decided to banish him anyway. After the announcement, you broke things off with Dream. It hurt, because you truly did love him, but today had showed a new side to him, a side you wish you’d never seen. But you had, and there was nothing that could be done now. In a split second decision, you decided to follow Tommy into exile. Dream tried to talk you out of it, but all his words were empty. He’d made his position to you quite clear.

“How could you exile him, Dream? He’s like my brother, you know that.” You exclaimed, shaking with rage. Dream closed the door to your bedroom. This was a domestic quarrel, the whole world didn’t need to be involved.

“It’s what’s best for the country. It’s not personal.” Dream replied in an annoyingly calm tone, as if you were the one being ridiculous.

“That’s not a fucking answer, that’s an excuse. And it is personal, Dream. So get off your high horse and tell me. Why did you do this.”

“You’re acting like a child.” He muttered.

“No, you’re acting like a child. Sending your problems away because you can’t be bothered to deal with them. What’s next, if accidentally cook your food wrong, you’ll exile me, too?”

“It’s politics. I don’t expect you to understand.”

That was the last straw. You fell silent for a moment.

“I’m going with him.” You spat sourly. Dream froze.

“What? What are you talking about, that’s ridiculous.” He replied, scowling.

“Yeah, well, you should’ve thought of that before you exiled him for….for what? Why did you exile him, Dream? Oh yes, because you’re spiteful, evil person. And i’m sorry it took me this long to see it. But this-” you gestured to the space between you and Dream. “This is over.”

Dream scoffed. “What, you’re breaking up with me?”

“Yes. I am.” You replied. You softened your voice. “I’m sorry. But you…you’ve changed, Dream.”

Dream went numb. He felt everything and nothing all at once. His walls crumbled around him, his security, everything that made him feel safe. “Y/n, please. Please don’t do this.” His voice wavered, and for a moment, you felt guilty.

“No- no. You don’t get to do this to me. You don’t get to make me feel guilty. I….i’m going to find Tommy.” You breathed shakily. Your eyes went glassy for a moment. “I’ll see you around, Dream.�� You whispered as you closed the bedroom door behind you. As you walked away, you heard a smash and a scream. You shut the noise out and didn’t look back.

You zipped up your bag and slung it over your shoulder. Tommy did the same, but his bag was considerably smaller, and less packed.

“C'mon, buddy.” You gave a trying smile, and you both headed to the gates of L'manberg. Dream, President Tubbo and a few others were waiting, looking down at you from their horses with displeased eyes. You paid them no attention.

“TommyInnit and Y/n L/n, I declare you banned from L'manberg, our great country. Any attempt to re-enter will be thwarted, and you will be executed on sight.” Tubbo announced, grabbing the attention of his cabinet.

“Tubbo-” Tommy began with a pleading voice. Tubbo put his hand up to silence him, and Tommy shut up immediately.

The gates were opened, and you and Tommy stepped through. You glanced back at Dream, who avoided your gaze.

“Goodbye, L'manberg.” You whispered as the gates closed behind you. You and Tommy were now completely alone.

“Y/n, I’m tired.” Tommy grumbled. You’d been walking for a few hours now, getting as far away from L'manberg as possible.

“I know. But we can stop soon, just a bit longer.” You replied. You too were exhausted, and the sun was almost set. Between you, you had two beds, four pieces of bread, two slices of beef and a wooden sword each. That was it. No tools, no armour, nothing. You were defenceless.

You reached a small beach, and because you could sense that Tommy probably couldn’t walk much longer, you decided to set up camp.

This would be your new home.

Tommy was quick to gather a few materials to build a tiny hut, and once the beds and a chest were placed, you both lay down and fell asleep. It had been a long day.

Such a long day.

A few weeks had passed now, and each day was essentially the same. Your little hut evolved into a small house, and you now had a few more tools at your disposal. Even some armour, which came in handy when mob hunting. Neither you not Tommy mentioned the exile, or L'manberg, or any of it. You just lived out your quiet lives, building and crafting what you could to live comfortably.

Today was yet another quiet day. Or it was supposed to be, at least. You were harvesting wheat from a tiny field you’d constructed a few days earlier. You were deep in your thoughts as you plucked the wheat, and you jumped slightly as someone touched your shoulder.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that, T-” You chuckled nervously, turning to face who you assumed was Tommy. But you were met by someone else, someone else you knew to be dead. The figure was grey and transparent, he was quite literally a ghost.

“Hello.” The apparition smiled. You jumped back, stumbling to your feet.

“Who- what are you?” You asked, holding out a stone hoe as your only defence.

“It’s me, it’s Wilbur.” He replied. You didn’t know Wilbur Soot very well, all you knew was that he blew up L'manberg and killed himself in the process.

“Wilbur Soot is dead.” You replied shakily.

“Well, yeah. I’m his ghost. I don’t remember a lot, but i’m here to help.”

“Help with what, exactly?” You asked, lowering your hoe. He didn’t seem all that threatening.

“Just…help. Is Tommy here?” He asked. You may not have known Wilbur Soot, but Tommy sure as hell did. You called for him, and he emerged from the woods nearby, and froze at seeing Wilbur.

“W-Wilbur?” He stuttered, confused. The ghost nodded, and Tommy approached him, curious. They started talking, and you let them have their privacy. They probably had a lot of catching up to do.

You headed back to the house, and as you opened the door, an all too familiar voice called your name.

“Hello, Y/n.”

This was not a quiet day.

“Dream?” You replied, your tone a mixture of pure confusion and mild disgust.

He smiled coldly. “How’s it going?” He asked, gesturing at your tiny cabin from where he stood behind you. You were suddenly filled with rage, and even though you knew you wouldn’t even lay a dent on the netherite covered man, you flung yourself at him with everything you had.

“What the hell do you want?” You seethed, Dream holding you off with ease.

“Just…checking in on our exiled. Can’t have you getting too strong, can we? We don’t need another rebellion, especially not from you and Tommy.” He replied snarkily. You could tell he was enjoying this, he enjoyed seeing you have little to nothing, and little to no power over him. Not anymore.

You thought for a moment, before calming yourself. You couldn’t stand up to him, not yet. “Fine. Just don’t get in my way.”

Dream made his way over to Tommy, and to your shock, Tommy greeted him with open arms. He didn’t push him away, or threaten him, he submitted to him instantly. He did as Dream asked almost immediately, it was odd. Dream was one of the main reasons he had been exiled from his home, and he was treating him like an old friend.

And then you realised what was going on, as you watched the conversation from afar: Dream was manipulating him. He knew how easily Tommy would fall into his hands, how easy he would be to use and control. Tommy wanted one thing, and one thing only; to go home. And Dream was his only opportunity to do so. You knew there was no going back, but you weren’t so sure about Tommy. Could Dream really make Tommy believe he had a chance?

Ghostbur too seemed unfazed, he was being friendly and sweet, which Dream clearly found annoying. Ghostbur didn’t seem to understand what was going on or what had happened, and he had no desire to fill in those gaps. Not yet, anyway. As you stared at him, he looked up and met your dejected eyes, and you looked away. He made his way over to you, his expression sympathetic.

“Are you okay?” He asked. You nodded.

“I’m fine.” You replied.

“You don’t seem fine.” He mumbled, prying for answers. He hadn’t known you long, about ten minutes in fact, but you looked so lost. He couldn’t just turn the other way.

“Well, i am.” You snapped. You sighed. “Sorry. But i’m fine, don’t worry.”

Ghostbur couldn’t leave it there. “Does…does he upset you?” He gestured to Dream. You narrowed your eyes.

“He does. Tommy and I lost everything because of him. He’s nothing more than a monster, a monster who took everything from me, he turned his back on me and made everyone i held dear do the same.” You explained, your emotions threatening to spill over. Ghostbur placed a hand on your shoulder.

“You’ve still got Tommy.” He gave a half smile, and you looked over at the blonde haired teenager.

“I do.” You chuckled.

“You’ve got me now, too, Y/n.” His voice was soft and genuine, and you were surprised he even knew your name. His dark eyes met yours, and you could feel heat on your cheeks. It was strange, this man- ghost was an almost total stranger, but you felt so connected to him already. Maybe it was his kindness, maybe his friendliness, you weren’t sure. All you knew was that you were glad he was going to stick around.

“Thank you.” You blushed. “I appreciate it.”

Dream had adopted a nice routine of visiting you and Tommy every few days and it was getting increasingly frustrating. Even Tommy was growing impatient, especially since Dream made you both strip your armour and any diamond tools and put them in a hole to destroy them. It was humiliating, and every time he left, you and Tommy were back at square one.

Dream also had a nasty habit of using his words and power to plant ideas in your head, things like ‘no one really misses you’ or ‘you need me’ or ‘i’m only here to help’. His words were getting to both of you, more specifically Tommy. At the end of the day, he was still a kid, and he was easy to manipulate. You wanted to protect him, but you couldn’t stand up to Dream. All you could do was watch as he fell into Dreams trap.

However, there was a silver lining in your situation. In the darkness and dullness of Dreams shadow, was a small light, in the form of a ghost. Ghostbur provided a constant in your life, something you could rely on, something that made you feel safe. He always made you feel better, and although Tommy was dismissive of him, you knew Ghostbur made Tommy feel better, too.

Today was a Dream Day. He’d be arriving soon, and you and Tommy had already taken off your armour. It was pointless making new armour but the two of you did it anyway, it gave you something to do. You hid your iron sword, it was enchanted and there was no way you’d let Dream take it. He’d have to pry it from your cold, dead hands.

You sat quietly in front your furnace, watching your meat cook, playing the waiting game until Dream arrived. You were deep in thought, but was pulled out of it when someone draped themselves over you, pressing their chest to your shoulder blades.

“Hello, Ghostbur.” You smiled as warmly as you could, leaning into the ghosts embrace. He sat down next to you, beaming. “You look chipper.” You remarked, all things considered.

“I have a gift for you.” He breathed, still smiling widely. You raised an eyebrow as he fumbled around for the gift, before turning to you with bright eyes. “I saw this when i was out walking, and it made me think of you.” He took your hand, and placed a small, blue flower in your palm. You blushed, it was the sweetest gesture you’d ever received.

“Ghostbur, I-” You began, but he cut you off with mellow excitement.

“Do you like it?” He asked, desperate for an answer. You smiled.

“I do. A lot.” You closed your palm gently and held it to your chest. “I’ll cherish it. Forever.” Your insides felt like they were burning, but it was a pleasant burn, you liked the way Ghostbur made you feel. You leant your head on his icy shoulder and he placed an arm around you, and for a few moments, you forgot about everything. It was just you and him in a sunny bliss, the glow from the furnace illuminating your honeyed expressions. Ghostbur looked down at you and wondered how he had been so lucky to stumble across someone like you, and how thankful he was that you two found yourselves together. He craved every part of you for himself, he wanted nothing more than to love and hold you until the end of time. A part of him thought you already knew how he felt, and another part of him didn’t. But for now, the two of you were living in a happy, albeit ignorant, bliss of enjoying each others company. Maybe some day, in a better time and place, things will be different.

“He’s here.” Tommy’s voice cut through the comfortable silence. You sighed, and stood up. Tommy glared at you for a moment, the glare speaking louder than anything he could’ve said.

“Don’t screw this up for me. I’m so close to getting Dream on our side.”

Your sad eyes said in return;

“You’re just a kid. You don’t have to burden this on your own, especially not with him.”

The wordless conversation ended, and you and Tommy made your way outside, Ghostbur staying inside next to the now struggling flames.

Dream was stood with an already dug whole. His expression was pleased, and you tried your best to avoid his masked gaze. You and Tommy stopped in front of him, the pre-dug whole between you.

“You know the drill.” Dream gestured to the hole. You tossed your armour, pickaxe and axe into the hole, and they fell to the damp soil with a dull clank. Dream tossed in a small but appropriate mound of TNT, lit it, and filled the hole. It exploded, sending shockwaves through the ground. Usually, because this was such a common occurrence now, you and Tommy were accustomed to the force of TNT. But today, clearly both of you were distracted, because you were both flung backwards with immense force. Your back hit the ground and you heard Dream laughing at your mistake. But his laugh faded when he saw what had fallen out from under your coat, clattering to the ground. The enchanted sword.

You turn to Tommy, who stared at you with a worried expression. “Are you okay?” You ask. He nods, but he still looked worried. You didn’t realise the sword was exposed until Dream’s sour, teasing voice cut through the air.

“Y/n, trying to hide things from me, are we?” He sneered, approaching you. But he wasn’t fast enough, because before you can think or before Tommy can dissuade you, you lunge for your sword and hold it out in front of you, the silver tip inches away from Dream’s exposed neck.

“Y/n, don’t.” Tommy pleads. For a moment you want to dismiss him, thinking that he’s only saying that because he wants Dream to help him. But one look at his fear filled eyes and you know why he’s trying to stop you: Dream will kill you if you take one more step.

“Give me the sword. Now.” Dream’s tone said it all; this is not an option. It is a demand.

“You’re the one at sword-point, Dream. I don’t think you should be telling me what to do.” You chuckle coldly, and Dream sighs.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Y/n. But i will if you don’t give me the fucking sword.” He said through gritted teeth. You held your ground. He shifted.

“Don’t move.”

Dream scowled, and in one swift movement, he went for you. You swung your sword and it slashed through the exposed skin on his waist, crimson staining your silver sword. You gasped, you didn’t mean to hurt him. Well, you did, but it didn’t feel like the victory you’d expected. It felt numbing, it felt intoxicatingly powerful. Dream shouted in surprise and stopped, placing his fingertips at the gash. He hissed in pain, or maybe it was anger. He turned to you, fury radiating off of him like a sickness.

“Give me the fucking sword!” He screamed, and you flinched. You didn’t know what do do; you were scared.

“Just give him the sword, Y/n.” Tommy begged. You sighed. Your fear was suffocating you, but you still wanted to fight, to punish, to hurt Dream. For everything he did, everything he didn’t do, everything he was and everything he wasn’t. You wanted to hurt him so badly, and despite Tommy’s protest, you lunged for him again. But you were too slow, Dream had already drawn his crossbow, and as soon as you lunged, he fired.

“No!” Tommy yelled, tears brimming in his eyes. Dream breathed shakily as your sword fell to the ground. He didn’t even want to touch it. You stood, swaying slightly, your brain unable to process what had just happened. You looked down, and a poisoned arrow was protruding from your chest. Warm, thick blood seeped through your clothes and covered your hands as you made a pathetic attempt to remove the arrow. But it was pointless, the poison was already taking effect. Dream watched as you coughed and choked, blood spilling from your mouth, tinting your lips and smearing the grass. Tommy couldn’t watch, he turned away, sobbing quietly to himself, willing himself not to look at you.

“Y/n-” Dream whispered, shocked at his ability to hurt someone who had, in the past, consumed his entire being and loved him unconditionally. He couldn’t help himself, he rushed to your side, catching you as you began to fall, your legs giving out. His attempts were null and void, because as you fell into his arms, you died. In a split second, your body was gone, the small blue flower in your place.

[Y/n was slain by Dream]

“You monster! They loved you, they loved you so much, and you killed them! You fucking killed them…” Tommy exploded at Dream, who was kneeling on the ground. Dream stood up, and pushed Tommy away. Without another word, Dream headed back to the portal. He was done here.

Tommy swallowed. It was over. Dream would never come back, his only chance to regain his home was gone. He picked up the small flower, and headed back to the cabin. The once clear sky had grown dark and cloudy, and rain began softly falling, washing away your blood.

Tomorrow is another day.

You respawned in your bed with a jolt, your heart beating as if it was going to jump out of your chest. You sat up quickly, your breathing sporadic as you felt like you were drowning. Two hands firmly pushed you back down, and a soft voice filled your ears.

"Y/n, it’s okay, it’s me. I’m here. It’s okay.” Ghostbur spoke softly as your breathing calmed. You lay back down, staring at the ceiling, feeling everything slow back to normal. “Hi.” Ghostbur smiled.

“Hello.” You whispered, a lump in your throat. An overwhelming sense of shame, fear and dread filled you entirely as you remembered all that had happened. “Is um…is Tommy okay?” You asked, your eyes brimming with tears. How could you let that happen, how could you let Tommy see you die? Guilt immediately swarmed you, and tears made their way down your cheeks.

You sat up again slowly, trying to calm your sobs. Ghostbur immediately pulled you into an embrace, cradling you gently.

“Shhhh, it’s okay. Listen to my voice, it’s okay. You’re safe, you did nothing wrong. This wasn’t your fault.” He soothed, rocking you slowly. You sobbed into him, unable to forgive yourself. You were scared, too, scared for Tommy, Dream, even yourself. “Shhhh, darling. It’s okay. I’m here.” He whispered, his lips against your temple. He pulled away and carefully dried your cheeks with his thumbs, cupping your face, gazing at you with reassuring eyes.

“I can’t believe i let that happen….i-…i lost control.” You whispered, suddenly gripped with the fear that you were becoming like Dream. “What if i turn into….him…”

Ghostbur frowned. “No, don’t talk like that. You’re not like him, not in the slightest.” He mumbled, upset you could even think that.

You sighed again, leaning into him, craving his comfort once more. Ghostbur’s frown subsided as he pulled you to him again, holding you like his life depended on it.

“I lost a life. I have to be extra careful, now.” You muttered to yourself.

“I’ll help you be extra careful. I promise i’ll protect you, forever.” Ghostbur mumbled softly, planting a kiss on your forehead. A cautious knock came from behind the door, followed by someone creaking it open.

“I uh…i have soup. For Y/n.” Tommy said to Ghostbur, giving a half smile. You looked up, meeting Tommy’s tired eyes.

“Tommy…” you began, unsure quite what to say. “Tommy i’m sorry. Truly, i’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have had to see that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Y/n. You did what you had to do. I forgive you.” He replied. “Now eat the soup; i didn’t spend an hour hunting down mushrooms for this to go cold.” He grumbled teasingly, stepping forward and handing you the bowl.

“Thank you.” You whispered. Tommy nodded, and seeing you and Ghostbur sat so close together gave him the clue that you two probably needed some time alone. He didn’t mind, he knew you needed a type of comfort he couldn’t provide. He closed the door behind him, giving the two of you some space.

You slowly sipped spoonfulls of the soup, letting it warm you up. Ghostbur remained next to you, relieved that you were eating something.

“I missed you.” He said, breaking the silence. “It took you a while to respawn.”

“How long was I gone?” You asked, unsure if you wanted an answer.

“Two days. I waited for you, i didn’t want you to be alone when you got back. I’m glad your back now, though.” He smiled, nudging you softly.

“I’m sorry i made you wait.” You replied. “It…it must’ve been scary.”

“I knew you’d come back.” He smirked.

“You weren’t scared? Not even a little bit?” You joked, your sense of humour finally returning.

“Maybe just a little bit.” He chuckled with a loving grin.

You sighed, your smile fading. “I was scared. I still am. I don’t think i’ll ever feel safe again.” You mumbled as anxiety flooded you, the light atmosphere gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“Everyone feels scared sometimes. I feel scared, too.” He replied.

“You do?” You asked pitifully. Ghostbur always seemed so bright and happy, and although he was sometimes melancholy, fear was an emotion you’d scarcely seen on him.

“Of course i do. I’m scared of my past, i’m scared if who i was and what i did, i…” he paused and met your eyes. For the first time ever, you saw him afraid. “i’m scared of losing you….i’m scared of a lot of things. But a lot of things make me feel safe, like this house, the flowers in the field….and you. You make me feel safe, Y/n.”

“You make me feel safe, too, Ghostbur.” You whispered, looking up at him with an honest stare. He stared back, and for a moment, his eyes glances down at your lips. He slowly leant forward and kissed them, sending a buzz immediately through you. He pulled away, smiling. Despite everything, he was properly smiling.

“You should rest.” He said softly, looking down at the bed. You nodded, respawning always took a lot out of you. As you lay back down, you noticed a small vase of blue flowers on your bedside, including the one Ghostbur had first given you. You stared at them, butterflies filling your stomach. As you got comfortable, Ghostbur tucked you in, and started to leave.

“Stay?” You whispered. Ghostbur didn’t need to be asked twice. You opened the duvet for him and he snuggled up next to you, pulling you to him, his chest against your back. His arms held you tightly, making you feel the safest you’d felt in a while.

“Get some rest, flower.” He whispered, his lips next to your nape. He smiled to himself, savouring you, loving you with everything he had. “My flower.”

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