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lynnt1ny · 7 months ago

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You're Magic To Me: Ch. 6

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Woosan (Multichaptered; Prince!Wooyoung and Servant!San)

Full WC: 91.3k Ch. 6 WC: 7.3k

Note: This chapter contains description of injury/violence.

Fic Blurb:

Wooyoung didn’t know what he did to deserve such a horrible manservant. With the weight of the kingdom over his head and the constant demands of his father, he couldn’t afford to deal with this every day. But why did San have to be so bloody endearing? After a series of coincidences, San found himself stuck at the Prince’s side, day in and day out. Of course he’d accidentally fall in love along the way. San didn’t know what to expect when he moved into the castle, but it certainly wasn’t this. --- Aka, my Merlin-obsessed ass decided to write a Merlin-inspired fic.

The Hunter's Heart

Wooyoung got off his horse, the curious stares of onlookers watching his every move. Behind him, he heard San do the same.

“Is this urgent business?” Wooyoung asked the guard, trying his best to keep his breathing level. Nice and even. Shoulders back.

“I’m only following orders, sire.”

“Yes, of course.”

With a slight waver in his step, he turned to look at San. Wooyoung handed him the reins of his horse, and meeting his eyes, he saw his own resolve mirrored back at him. With a small nod, Wooyoung turned back and let the guard lead him away. He refused to look back, but he felt San’s eyes settle on his back in silent support.

Now that he was in the castle, walking its familiar corridors, he wished now, more than ever, that he was back in Balor. The castle was beautiful, but now it felt cold and uninviting. Maybe the trip was for the worst: All it did was make Wooyoung long for an illusion.

Away from the general public, Wooyoung noticed the halls were lined with more guards, their backs stiff. They watched his every step, his every move with narrowed eyes. He could be imagining things—a side effect of spending too much time away, but something was definitely different. It did not help his growing sense of dread.

The guard stopped by the doors of the throne room; it was easily the most grand, intricately made entry to any room of the castle, wooden carved dragons lined with gold embedded into its sides. Standing here, Wooyoung felt how tired he was. Worn from the journey back, his back hunched slightly, and his hair was still dipped in frost. He was in no shape to meet his father, the King, in his disheveled state.

Wooyoung closed his eyes and sighed, but they snapped open as the guards pushed the doors in, announcing his presence to his father.

He wasn’t ready for this talk. He didn’t even know what to expect.

The doors opened, and there Beomseok was, sitting high on his throne. He was leaning on an elbow, his head propped up to the side. He stared down at Wooyoung.

“Father.” Wooyoung stepped forward and knelt. He gnawed on his bottom lip, armor still crusted with snow and dirt. His footsteps left a trail of grime on the floor- more work for the servants to clean up.

In these halls, he looked like a wreck.

“Leave us.” Beomseok flicked a hand from his throne, and the guards slowly filed out. From his place on the floor, Wooyoung could see the looks of pity and curiosity thrown at him, only growing the pit in his stomach. “Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung lifted his head, and for a second, all he could see was white light streaming through the windows, and then the crown, resting dutifully on his father’s head.

It would be on his one day.

Beomseok watched him with an air of contempt. A stack of slick stairs spilt from underneath the throne, raising him above Wooyoung. His eyes were narrow crescents, so different from the ones Wooyoung had grown used to. A silence fell over them; it wasn’t one Wooyoung was willing to break himself.

Thankfully, it didn’t last long.

“I didn’t think much of it when you left,” Beomseok said. “But after days of no word, one begins to wonder.”

With his free hand, Beomseok tapped his nails against the armrest of the throne, scratching lightly at the carved gold. It set Wooyoung on edge, and his father knew it, if the slight hint of his smirk meant anything.

This definitely wasn’t the first tense conversation they’ve had, but something felt different in the air—there was something… off.

Wooyoung took a deep breath and stood to his feet. “We received a few concerning reports from the borders of Sinsu. I thought I’d take a look myself.”

Wooyoung’s answer didn’t seem to phase him. The King continued to look down at him with squinted eyes, and the tapping never stopped. Wooyoung bit his lip and tried to stay composed.

“I raised you to be a king, not a liar,” his father said. “Maybe that’s why you’re so bad at it.”

Wooyoung closed his eyes.

“Now, tell me where you’ve been.”

“I…” Wooyoung didn’t have a good excuse. He couldn’t think. He scrambled for something to say, anything. But his mind remained blank under his father’s watchful eye.

Why couldn’t he think?

“Perhaps I’ll question your servant, then, until my son decides to speak.”

No.

Wooyoung dropped his gaze and stared at the foot of the throne, eyes wide. His head was suddenly filled with soft hands in his hair and snide comments giggled into his ear.

Stop. Stay calm. You need to stay calm.

“There’s no need to involve him,” he said, each syllable carefully placed on his tongue. His father could be unpredictable in one of his moods.

He needed to keep San safe.

“It seems it already involves him, as his absence matches yours.” Beomseok leaned forward, catching Wooyoung’s eye again. “Hongjoong told me he took a trip to his home village, but you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

He sucked in a breath. There had to be something, an excuse to keep San far away from his father. They were entering deadly territory now, and Wooyoung didn’t want to know what would happen if they went further down this path.

“It’s a coincidence, father. Honestly, I thought it’d be nice to check on our outer villages,” he said. “It’s been a while since I’ve been out of the castle.”

His father glared down at him, and Wooyoung fought the urge to run.

“I saw you ride in with him,” he snarled. “You’re going soft. At this rate, you’ll never be fit to rule.” He stood abruptly. “You don’t think I see how attached you are to him? How ignorant do you think I am? I know everything that happens in this castle, Jung Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung couldn’t breathe.

He stared at the steps, unable to look at the King anymore. How could he? He..

He knew…

His lips parted to say something, but he froze.

He saw where this was going.

“Don’t kill him,” he whispered.

Beomseok turned his back on him and gazed out the windows, hands crossed behind him. The throne sat empty next to him, accusingly. Wooyoung watched with bated breath, waiting for his response. He was ready to bolt out of there and whisk San away from this place, and if it meant Wooyoung would never see him again, so be it- as long as he was away.

The King turned his head to the side, glancing at Wooyoung from the corner of his eye as he spoke. “When you sit up here, you’ll learn even your closest friends, your family, will betray you,” he said. “I won’t kill him, but one day, you’ll have to yourself. Maybe then you’ll learn your lesson.”

Wooyoung shook his head slightly, but the relief flooded him.

They’d have to be more careful, but for now, San was safe.

Beomseok set a hand on the side on the throne and walked behind it, tilting his head down at Wooyoung.

“Come,” he said. “Sit.”

Wooyoung froze.

“Father?”

The King smiled. It didn’t feel comforting. “Come here and sit, Wooyoung.”

With shaking legs, Wooyoung took a step forward. His father stood tall behind the throne, hands placed along its sides. Each step took him closer to the inevitable. Each step felt like an anchor dragging him down. As he walked up the stairs, he felt himself sink.

His body tense, he avoided his father’s eye and sunk into the chair. The throne room lay bare in front of him, and while he was only a few feet higher than the main floor, the new perspective hit him with a wave of vertigo.

“Before you know it, you’ll be here permanently,” Beomseok said. His voice boomed behind him, and Wooyoung shut his eyes. “Do you think you’re ready for that?”

Wooyoung shook his head and spoke with a whisper. “No.”

“That’s right. You are not,” Beomseok said. “There is another matter we must discuss.”

Wooyoung wanted to run. He wanted to be in Nala’s kitchen, listening to her hum under her breath as she cooked. He wanted to lie in the snow with San laughing beside him. He wanted it more than the breath in his lungs. What would the kingdom look like when he ruled? How would it fare while its King yearned for another life?

Beomseok set a hand on his shoulder, and while Wooyoung couldn’t feel it through his armor, the signet ring glinted up at him, engraved with the family crest and taunting him.

“There is a delegation arriving from Essetir in a week. Their daughter, Sena, will come as well. She’s cunning. She’s willing to make tough decisions. She fills in the qualities you lack,” Beomseok said. “In addition, an alliance with King Sungho would be extremely beneficial for us. ”

Wooyoung shook his head. “You want me to marry her.”

Beomseok hummed, and Wooyoung could practically feel the glare on the back of his head. “Princess Sena is especially proficient in magic,” his father said. “At the very least, I need you to oversee her while she’s here, and if needed, yes, you will marry her.”

What?

Wooyoung turned in his seat and stared up at him. “She has… magic?”

“If you weren’t so busy ‘checking our borders,’ you’d know the Essetirians have magic,” Beomseok said. “And for some, strange reason, everyone thinks you did it.”

Magic. Magic is really returning.

He didn’t do anything, though. He didn’t cast any spells or complete any rituals. All his life, ever since he heard the first whisper of his prophecy, he agonized on how it would happen, how it could happen.

And somehow, he weaponized one of their oldest threats. Essetir.

His father’s strange behavior suddenly made sense to him—the passive aggression, the extra guards in the halls.

He was paranoid, and it was Wooyoung’s fault.

“Father, I swear, I didn’t do anything. I wasn’t in Essetir. You were right. I was with Sa-, I was with my servant. You must know I wouldn’t turn against Sinsu.”

But Beomseok only smiled, taking in Wooyoung’s panic with a calculated gaze. “I just want you to know that you brought this marriage on yourself, Wooyoung,” he said. “Now, get out of my chair.”

Wooyoung stared at him. So… Beomseok didn’t think Wooyoung betrayed Sinsu, or did he? Wooyoung could never read his father’s face, but the hard set of Beomseok’s eyes now scared him. He staggered to his feet and turned away. He felt like his whole life had been flipped from this one conversation, stumbling down the steps and returning to familiar territory.

“And Wooyoung, for god’s sake,” Beomseok called. “Get your servant to clean yourself up. You’re a mess.”

Wooyoung ignored the stares that followed him in the hallways and went straight to his chambers. There was another time to address his public image. Right now, he needed to change and pass out for a few hours. He needed to think over his father’s words.

He was going to marry. He couldn’t weasel himself out of this one, not under Beomseok’s direct orders. He’d have to… He’d have to find a way to make the other party say no, but it was a delicate line to step over without starting a war.

Sinsu and Essetir had always been at each other’s neck, and now that the Essetirians had magic, who knew what kind of things they would pull. Inviting them into their kingdom felt like a stupid move, but Beomseok obviously wanted this alliance, and he was willing to sacrifice his only son for it.

How the hell did they get magic?

Stepping into his chambers was a breath of fresh air. Everything was spotless—clean and tidy—and probably Seonghwa’s work. The only downside to having San as a servant was him refusing to do his job (and the extra bag of protectiveness, but Wooyoung didn’t know if that really counted as a downside).

A bath had been drawn further in the room, and the water was warm- hot, almost. San must have been here recently. For a second, Wooyoung wished he was still in the room, but god that bath looked nice right now.

Wooyoung struggled a bit to take off his armor, the pieces clattering onto the floor for San to pick up later. Wooyoung could already feel himself relax without the extra weight holding him down.

Fully undressed, he stepped into the water and laid back, forcing himself to loosen up. He had hoped for a clean getaway—a nice, clandestine return. He wasn’t prepared for all of this news. He wasn’t prepared for… that entire conversation. He needed to take a step away and ease himself back to his usual duties.

And most of all, he needed to figure out how Essetir has magic and Sinsu does not.

Frankly, he was surprised his father wasn’t livid. His calm composure was almost more foreboding than his anger. The logical conclusion from these turn of events was that Wooyoung was a traitor, no matter how untrue that may be. Not for the first time, Wooyoung wished he could sneak into his father’s head and know exactly what he was thinking.

He sighed and dipped his head under the water, basking in the warmth. This was what he needed after the journey back. He didn’t realize just how much his muscles ached until finally getting time to rest, but while the peace and quiet was nice, he wished these negative thoughts would stop swirling around his head.

There was a bar of soap set to the side of the bath, and Wooyoung set to work, rubbing the dirt off his body in frustration. Normally, this would be servant’s work, but Wooyoung had never let San do it. It felt too… intimate. With the other servants, it was fine, but San was different. In the beginning, Wooyoung dismissed him out of embarrassment. Now, he was afraid of how much he wanted San next to him.

He couldn’t think about San, though. He needed to find a solution to these new problems. How could he get the Essetirians to back out of this marriage? His father said he was to marry Princess Sena, but how could he get out of it without causing insult?

It was all too much.

Wooyoung buried his head into his hands. He didn’t know what to do. San had told him to marry for love. Could he learn to love Princess Sena? He didn’t think that’s how it worked. Maybe he could, but he doubted it. From the way his father described her, she seemed cold and calculating, exactly the person Beomseok wanted him to be.

He couldn’t tell if he was overthinking it or not, but he was seconds away from falling asleep right in the tub.

That would be embarrassing.

He finished cleaning himself and stepped out. His skin prickled in the cooler air, and he quickly wiped himself down and put on a pair of trousers, all but collapsing onto the bed.

Now, he would wait for San.

It was late in the day. To be honest, he should probably go out and do something. A talk with Yeosang would be nice. A legion of advisors and court members were probably dying to get their hands on him after his break. A visit to the knights was inevitable as well.

Still, he stretched lazily against the sheets, his wet, matted hair a reminder of his current lack of propriety. It would all have to wait for another time.

He wanted to talk to San. He turned his head towards the door and sighed, trying to telepathically call San to his side. It never worked, but the attempt was there. Unfortunately, Wooyoung didn’t think he was in a state where he could go out and yell for his servant.

Maybe San will hear the news and come up to Wooyoung himself. Wooyoung didn’t know if he wanted that. Sure, it would save a lot of ranting, but for some reason, he didn’t really… want San to know he was getting married. It felt weird.

Was it even common knowledge? Did the general public know the Essetirians were coming? Wooyoung really should go out and get more information on this instead of moping.

He stretched out again and stared at the ceiling. Once or twice, he heard the scuff of footsteps outside his door, but he never recognized them as San’s. He figured, of course, his father put guards right by his door. Normally they’d be down the hall, giving him more privacy than the thin walls allowed. Now, it seemed, even that had been taken from him.

He was trapped in this situation, both mentally and physically.

Eventually, his ears perked to a new sound outside the door—a muffled voice he knew entirely too well. He closed his eyes and sighed in relief as the door finally opened, no knock preceding it.

San.

The door shut, and Wooyoung heard San scoff at it. The guards must have stopped him before allowing him inside.

San didn’t announce his presence, but he didn’t need to. He never did. Wooyoung heard him working around the room in a comfortable silence. It was obvious San was completely oblivious to this new situation, and that made Wooyoung’s job of telling him so much more difficult.

“Thanks for the bath,” Wooyoung mumbled. San’s head shot up towards the bed.

“Oh? A ‘thanks?’ That’s new.”

Wooyoung didn’t answer.

“Wait… you’re getting your sheets wet,” San huffed. He shook his head in exasperation and grabbed a spare scrap of linen from the side of the room, his footsteps heavy. Wooyoung could hear him grumbling under his breath. The familiar sound made him warm.

San stood at the side of the bed, grimacing at the damp covers, and Wooyoung wanted to just…. grab his hand and pull him in.

Wooyoung stretched out an arm and fumbled for a grasp on San, for a hand, his shirt, anything, but San stepped out of his reach.

“Woo, get up.”

“Why?”

San chuckled. “You always have to make my job harder than it already is.”

Wooyoung pouted up at him, but San wasn’t having it. He stepped closer with a knee on the bed and grabbed Wooyoung’s shoulders, manhandling him into an upright position.

Wooyoung’s back did not appreciate the cool air, and he shivered.

San crawled behind him and dropped the cloth over this wet hair, his hands rough against Wooyoung’s head. Wooyoung closed his eyes as San attempted to dry his hair.

“You’re due for a haircut,” San said from behind him.

“I like it long.”

“It’s impractical.”

Wooyoung didn’t have the energy to argue, so he stayed quiet. San kept rubbing the makeshift towel through his hair, his head loose under San’s rough treatment.

After a while, San seemed to give up, as the linen did little to soak up the water. He tossed it to the floor and placed a damp hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder. “You’re awfully quiet, and there are guards outside the door. What’s going on?”

Wooyoung glanced back at him. He didn’t know how to explain everything, how to tell San what was going on inside his head. His lips were sealed shut, and he watched as San’s expression grew more worried by the second.

The hand on his shoulder tightened, and San forced him to shift and turn around. They were both sitting on the bed now, facing each other. It reminded Wooyoung of when he and Yeosang used to talk like this when they were kids.

“Did… did the King find out where you went?” San asked. His hands fiddled with the sheets between them, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but focus on that slight movement.

Wooyoung gulped past the words threatening to spill out. “He already knew,” he said. “At least, I think he did.” Either that, or he thinks I betrayed the kingdom.

“Is that why the guards are here?”

The truth was, Wooyoung didn’t know exactly why the guards were there now. He assumed it was to keep him from leaving, to keep him from running away from this marriage, this life again.

“Maybe,” he mumbled.

San reached out and touched the back of Wooyoung’s hand. “Hey, are you okay? You know you can tell me anything, right?” There was a crease between his brows. Wooyoung could tell that San knew he was hiding something. It was written all over his face.

He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing would come out. If he said it, it would be real. He knew marriage wasn’t a horrible thing. It was supposed to be a good thing- good for him and the kingdom, but why did the prospect feel so.. so devastating?

He needed to tell San eventually, but he didn’t want to see the look on his face, the disappointment. San told him to marry for love, and Wooyoung couldn’t even do that right.

With a sniff, he reached out to San and hooked a leg behind his back, pulling himself onto San’s lap. He could feel San freeze, but goddamnit he needed a hug right now, and he wasn’t going to let San pull away.

“Ack, you’re still wet,” San said, but he let Wooyoung wrap his arms around him. “Seriously, what’s going on with you?”

Wooyoung hooked his chin over San’s shoulder, his hands splayed against his back. San made him feel so comfortable. There wasn’t anyone else he’d be able to do this with, not even Yeosang. He wondered how Princess Sena would fit into the picture. What would she think of his friendship with San? He wished he knew more about her. Maybe then he’d be able to answer these questions.

San pat the back of his head, and a shiver wracked through his body. For a second, he remembered the guards were only a number of feet away. They could come in any second and see them like this. They’ll see how pitiful their prince was behind closed doors.

San deserved an answer, and he was waiting. He might as well go ahead and say it.

Wooyoung turned his head to San’s ear and spoke in a soft whisper. “I’m getting married.”

He felt San stop breathing, and he held on tighter, hiding his face in the crook of San’s neck, inhaling the soft scent that took him back to Balor.

“When?”

“An Essetirian delegation is arriving sometime next week with King Sungho and Princess Sena,” he choked out, words muffled. “We are already hostile kingdoms. Refusing would risk war.”

San was quiet. It was strange. He usually had tons of advice or comforting words for these situations, but now, he was silent. Wooyoung pulled back and stared at him.

San stared back, his lips slightly parted.

Wooyoung shouldn’t have told him. Looking at San’s face made his stomach turn over. San’s eyes were saucers, his brows tilted up. He looked hurt.

Wooyoung subconsciously brought a hand to the side of his face, fingers brushing lightly through San’s hair. His silence was unnerving, and Wooyoung needed him to say something.

“You look more shocked than I was,” Wooyoung said.

San closed his mouth. “I guess I am,” he mumbled. “You… I mean, what’s she like?”

Wooyoung wished he could answer. He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said.

San dropped his gaze and pulled Wooyoung closer. His arms were a vice grip, and that familiar sinking feeling was back. Every time San held him like this, it was there, dragging him down.

“It’s okay. You’ll get through this,” San said. “I’m sure she’s nice. Who knows? Maybe she’s the love of your life.”

Wooyoung was doubtful, but he indulged him. “I mean, maybe…”

“That’s the spirit.”

After a moment, Wooyoung realized how tense San was. He pulled away, and San’s arms fell to his sides, his eyes slightly glazed over.

“San?”

He blinked slowly and refocused on Wooyoung with a terse smile. “Yeah?”

San’s hair fell lightly against his face, kissing the top of his cheekbones and slightly askew. Small dimples winked at him, and his eyes shone in the fading light. Wooyoung hadn’t realized how dark it was getting.

He lost the words he meant to say, instead taking in the man in front of him as if for the first time—the sharp line of his jaw, his cupid’s bow, the way he lit up every space he occupied. It was like looking at a star.

“Ah, um,” Wooyoung struggled to speak, to think. “You’re… you’re pretty.”

San stared at him, but instead of the bright smile Wooyoung expected to get, his dimples disappeared and his face dropped.

“You are too,” San whispered. He brought a hand to Wooyoung’s chest and gently pushed him off his lap. “I brought your dinner. It’s on the table.”

“Oh.” Wooyoung circled a hand around San’s wrist. “You’re leaving?”

San gave him a confused look. “Yes? I am.”

Over the past week, Wooyoung had gotten used to having San with him in the evenings. He was used to warm, home-cooked meals full of laughter and nights of deep sleep with San next to him in bed.

“You could.. I mean,” Wooyoung paused. “You could stay for the night.. If you wanted.”

But San was already shaking his head. “I think you and I both know that’s a bad idea,” he said. He gently pulled away from Wooyoung’s loose grip and climbed off the bed. “Good night, sire.”

Sire? Wooyoung’s brain short-circuited.

“Don’t call me that,” he cut in. “It’s just Wooyoung.” San gave him a small smile, and Wooyoung fought to keep his own in check. “Nothing between us has to change, you know, now that we’re back.” He looked away, eyes wandering around the room, avoiding where San stood. “‘Young-ah’ is okay too,” he mumbled.

San was silent, and after a moment, Wooyoung looked at him again. There was a slight crease between his eyebrows, a purse to his lips. He looked.. He almost looked pained.

“Good night,” San whispered before turning his back.

Wooyoung stared.

The food grew cold on the table.

(。-`ω´-)

Working for Wooyoung was great. It was wonderful. San could get little perks, like extra pastries from the kitchens, or free clothing from the tailor. He could steal off of Wooyoung’s breakfast plates. He could go practically wherever he wanted in the castle. The actual work was minimal, and the pay was handsome.

It was great… until San realized he was in love.

And not only was it with the Prince, but he was going to be engaged soon too.

Honestly, fuck his life.

San blamed their trip to Balor for this. He blamed his mum. He would never forget the smug, knowing smile on her face before they left.

“He’s a good catch, Sannie. When are you going to man up and kiss him?”

Wooyoung had looked so happy and carefree in Balor, and before he knew it, all San could think about was stuffing flowers in his hair and, yes, kissing him. God, he wished they had never gone. At least then, San would still be walking around in delirious denial.

He was actually going crazy.

And he needed to stop. He needed to detach himself from Wooyoung because the only way this would end was with his heart trampled on the floor.

Wooyoung was making it hard. He was making it so fucking hard to distance himself. Was it even possible to fall out of love with someone? Once you catch feelings, do they ever actually go away?

On the bright side, it didn’t seem like Wooyoung caught on yet, and San was proud of his ability to hide it so far.

With the additional guards behind Wooyoung’s door, they fell back into their old routine rather quickly. Seeing Wooyoung became both the most dreaded and best part of San’s day. They didn’t hug since the day they returned, but that was for the best. Wooyoung would have someone else to do that for him soon.

The castle was doing fine, but so much had changed since they left. The news of the upcoming alliance spread like wildfire, and now everyone was running around preparing for a feast upon the Essetirian’s arrival.

San had never been to a formal feast before. Hongjoong told him it was nothing special. He said the important nobles wore flashy clothes and gave speeches. An abundance of food was prepared, and the servants flitted around refilling wine goblets. But while feasts were nothing special, they were incredibly important for foreign relations.

As the days passed, San felt his time ticking down. His words grew more choked up. It was getting harder to tend to Wooyoung without flinching at every touch of bare skin. He felt like an idiot, his cheeks glowing red at the mere mention of his name.

It was ridiculous.

Any change in the routine was welcome, so when Wooyoung gathered a few of his best knights to go on a hunting trip, San was thrilled.

Good meat was hard to find in winter, and Wooyoung hoped the trip would help with feast preparations. The logic was good enough to get approval from Beomseok, and off they went.

The horses were easy to prep with the help of the stableboys, and soon they were riding towards the forests on horseback.

Jongho, Mingi, and Yunho trailed behind them. San was familiar with all three. On the days Wooyoung insisted on training the knights, San had struck up fun conversations with them, poking fun at Wooyoung’s antics. They were all close in age, so it was only normal they’d gravitate to each other, and none of them cared about ranks or royalty. San learned to brush it off when the older knights threw critical glances at them.They hadn’t had many training sessions these days because of the weather, so San was glad he could use this hunting trip to talk to them.

They planned to stop and set up in a nearby clearing to secure their horses and move forward on foot. Wooyoung knew the forest well, and he had the route completely planned out for them. They were all hopeful for a good hunt, and they expected one too. The day felt warmer than usual, and the sun shone above them. While it brightened everyone’s spirits, San felt an unusual tension in the air. No one else acknowledged it, though, so it was probably just him.

He tuned in and out of the knights’ conversation as they traveled. Apparently, when they were younger, Wooyoung used to sneak into the physician’s chambers and steal herbs off the shelves. Hongjoong was the apprentice then, and it fell to him to chase Wooyoung out and get them back. The small story made San smile. He could imagine them running through the castle, brightly colored herbs clutched in Wooyoung’s hand and the sound of small footsteps pattering against the walls.

“You really like flowers, don’t you?” San said.

To his side, Wooyoung scoffed. “Ignore them.”

San laughed. “I’ll be sure to give you some before the feast.” Before you meet your future wife.

“Get the blue ones.”

San gave a noncommittal hum.

They broke into the clearing and slowed to a stop. San dismounted and patted the horse’s muzzle, glancing over his shoulder. The three knights stood behind him, goofy grins on their faces. They all wore chainmail and had swords looped through their belts. Yunho wore a quiver full of arrows, a bow in his hand, and the two others had small crossbows.

Wooyoung was in full armor. San didn’t know what use it had for hunting, but he didn’t question it. Wooyoung looked good in armor.

“We’re resting here for a moment,” Wooyoung said. He reached up and ruffled San’s hair. “We can’t have San getting tired.” He grinned, and San bat his hand away. Somewhere in the trees, a twig snapped. San gulped.

The knights went straight to a fallen tree to the side of the clearing, taking the horses before sitting and laughing. San would join them, but...

That uneasy feeling from before never left him. If anything, it doubled. He felt like they were being watched, like he’d turn around and see someone staring back at him. He edged closer to Wooyoung, glancing around nervously. He had no idea where this feeling was coming from, but warning bells were ringing in his ears. He wanted to run.

“Wooyoung.” His whole body tensed up, eyes flitting back and forth among the trees. The shadows flickered. It had to be his overactive imagination, right? “Woo, there’s something wrong,” he hissed.

Wooyoung turned his head to the side, taking in the panic that lay evident in San’s eyes, the stricken expression on his face. He looked at San, and he had a soft smile on his lips.

“Calm down, San. Everything’s okay,” he patted San’s shoulder.

Under any other circumstances, San would be overjoyed to have Wooyoung looking at him like this, but he wasn’t listening.

“Wooyoung, I’m serious.” He glanced to the side at the knights. They all had relaxed smiles and didn’t seem to notice anything strange.

“There’s no need to be so uptight, San. We’re fine,” Wooyoung said. “Lighten up a little.” He reached up to brush San’s hair out of his eyes, but it did nothing to help. “I don’t like seeing you upset.”

There was still something wrong.

“Jung Wooyoung, you listen to me right now.”

“San, you’re really-”

“Sire.” San looked him dead in the eye. He hoped the drop of his title would get him to listen. He hoped Wooyoung would stop acting like he was overreacting, or being dramatic, or-

“Stop looking at me like that,” Wooyoung said. “Believe me, we are completely safe. Do you really think I’d let you get hurt?” He touched the back of San’s hand, and he burned.

It was silent.

There were no noises around them- no birds. No snapping of twigs, only the laughter of the knights beyond them and the itch at the back of San’s neck.

“Wooyoung, please. Can we turn back?”

The Prince nodded. “We will once we catch something, okay? I don’t want to go back empty…”

Wooyoung was still talking, but San wasn’t listening anymore. He stared over Wooyoung’s shoulder into the trees, locking eyes with a dark figure. It sat and watched them, hunched over and blending with the shadows. San felt a chill run through him.

“Wooyoung.”

The figure shifted, and a new streak of light cast down on it. San found himself staring down the barrel of a crossbow, quarrel nocked and ready, its tip glinting menacingly.

The world slowed. Its edges blurred. If he moved Wooyoung, they could just re-aim and shoot. Something needed to block him, to cover him. He needed to…

San grabbed Wooyoung’s shoulders and pulled, spinning them around and swapping their positions. The world tilted for a split second.

The quarrel slammed into him hard, and he fell forward onto Wooyoung’s chest. His hands automatically latched themselves onto Wooyoung’s upper arms, fingers desperately grasping at the armor.

Wooyoung wasn’t breathing, wasn’t moving, and when San glanced up at him, he saw his mouth agape, eyes staring wide at San’s back.

The pain stabbed him then, bursting from his right shoulder blade, and he cried out, knocking his forehead against Wooyoung’s chestplate, eyes shut tight. Faintly, he could hear Wooyoung yelling something, but it all faded to a sharp throb.

They both dropped to the floor.

He was on his knees now, his weight completely supported by Wooyoung, but he couldn’t focus on that now.

It hurt.

A cry ripped from his throat. San pulled a hand back and pressed below his right collarbone, feeling a sharp point. His fingers came away red. It took him a moment to realize the quarrel had torn straight through him. Each gasp of breath sent a torrent of pain through him, and he looked up in shock.

Wooyoung was still yelling, unintelligible to San’s ear. Hands pressed onto his back, and San all but screamed and flinched forward. His shoulders hunched up, but all that did was make it worse, the wound tearing even more. He felt his body spasm, unconsciously trying to rid itself of the foreign object. He felt every shift, every movement inside him, and god it hurt.

“W-Wooyoung-ah, help me,” he whimpered. He scrambled for purchase against the body in front of him, but only sharp metal met him. San felt leather gloves grasp desperately at him, loud, anguished words not quite meeting his ears. San wished he could properly hold someone. Perhaps that could ease the pain, even just a little bit, if the armor plates were gone and Wooyoung could hold him like he used to back home.

The world exploded.

His head spun as a war cry rang out in the clearing, followed by a series of shouts and clashes of metal. It came to him in waves, his focus crashing in and out like the tides of an ocean.

He could feel Wooyoung’s panic, his own mixing in and melding together. “I-I said I wouldn’t let you get hurt,” he heard Wooyoung cry. His voice wavered as he heaved, gasping through heavy breaths. “And then you… you..” He let out a broken whine, and all San could do was grab onto one of his hands.

From the corner of San’s eye, he saw misshapen figures closing in on them, flashes of steel cutting through their blurred edges. “You need… you need to take care of them,” he groaned. Wooyoung wrenched up, staring at the approaching attackers. His fingers tightened against San’s clothes, his hand. San’s eyes latched on to Wooyoung’s face, on the faint quiver of his lip and the glisten in his gaze. “Go.”

With a slight shake of his head, he gently laid San onto the floor on his side. “Okay, okay. Yeah.” Leather-clad fingers brushed against his cheek.

San watched him go in a daze, Wooyoung standing tall, sword in hand. He curled into himself on the floor, groaning at the loss of what little comfort he had left, helpless as dark figures surrounded his prince.

Even as red filled his vision, all he could see was Wooyoung, his senses dulled to a thrum as the chaos unfurled around him. Wooyoung moved savagely, animalistic almost. The force of his swings sent his body careening in a brutal rhythm that matched the beat of San’s heart. His hair flew around his head in a black flurry, and San wished he could see Wooyoung’s face. He wished he could tell him everything was alright.

He grit his teeth and grasped at the ground beneath him as another bout of pain shot through him, his frozen fingers digging past the snow and into the dirt.

Wooyoung hacked at their attackers, a few bodies dropping at his feet, and a tear escaped the corner of San’s eye, mapping a path across his face and freezing into his hair.

There were too many of them. Three heavily clad figures surrounded Wooyoung, and San reached out with a groan. He felt helpless- a worthless little servant stuck on the ground. Wooyoung fell to a knee, and San panicked. He needed to do something.

Where were the other knights?

Wooyoung rose again but was quickly beaten back down to a knee. Someone wrenched the sword from his hand, and disarmed, Wooyoung whipped his head to look over at where San’s body lay in the snow, eyes wide.

Don’t look at me, you idiot!!

San yelled, a hoarse cry leaving his throat, and in that split second, the attackers flung back, landing hard on their backs in the snow. San felt his body spasm again, and he squeezed his eyes shut, groaning against the pain. When he opened them again, he saw Wooyoung staring at him. The attackers lay motionless.

In his dazed state, San couldn’t process what happened. He felt himself go completely limp, the cold seeping into his clothes and numbing him slightly to the pain. He welcomed it; although, he knew it was only breaking his body down faster.

Wooyoung was back by his side, and San didn’t know how he got there, only that there were fingers brushing against his forehead.

“Yunho, get the horses ready. We need to go back now.” Wooyoung called out.

He cradled San’s face in his hands, brushing lightly at his tears.

“San, hang in there, okay?” Wooyoung murmured into his ear. “Hongjoong will patch you up back in Sinsu, okay? You’re going to be okay. We aren’t too far away.”

“Feels like ‘m gonna die,” San slurred, each breath a rasp.

“No.” Wooyoung took off a glove and tilted San’s chin, forcing him to look up at him. “You’re going to be fine,” he said, and from the conviction in his eyes, San almost believed him.

Jongho strode into his line of vision then, and he wasn’t alone.San could see a man in black shoved down to his knees, wrists behind his back. Jongho’s sword was precariously close to his neck. The last survivor.

“What do you want me to do with him, sire?” Jongho said.

Wooyoung looked up, and San could see his gaze harden, his hands pressing harder against San’s face.

It all became too much, then, and he let his eyes droop.

He heard Wooyoung’s voice far away, so cold, his words harsh against San’s ears.

(。-`ω´-)

Wooyoung was no stranger to death.

He had never been more afraid of it when he saw the bolt in San’s back. He knew a fatal injury when he saw it, and it was a miracle San was still breathing.

Once they were at the city gates, Wooyoung rushed San to Hongjoong’s chambers himself. It must have been a strange sight: the Crown Prince sprinting through the castle corridors, a body held tight in his arms.

Hongjoong stared at him when Wooyoung burst into the room, but he quickly got to work when he saw San’s state. They laid him down on a cot, and before Wooyoung could say a word, Hongjoong was shooing him out.

“But—”

“Leave. You’ll only get in my way,” Hongjoong cut him off.

So Wooyoung found himself sitting outside the door, his back to the wall.

He almost lost San today.

Fuck, for all he knew, he did lose him. Hongjoong worked a magic of his own, but Wooyoung didn’t know if even he could save him.

The impact alone should have killed San. He thought it did kill him, and Wooyoung’s heart stopped.

Fuck.

Wooyoung hid his face in his hands. This was entirely his fault. He wanted to go on this trip. He didn’t listen when San said there was something wrong.

He just wanted to take home something big, something that would make his father proud. And now he was paying for it.

If San didn’t recover from this, Wooyoung didn’t know what he would do. He sat there, the shock numbing his brain. He pulled at his hair, the ghost of San’s fingers running over his scalp.

For the longest time, Wooyoung never let himself cry. It was unbefitting for a prince. He couldn’t remember the last time he let the tears fall, but he could feel them now, trailing down his cheeks.

San should be here, pulling him into his arms. San would be here if Wooyoung wasn’t so fucking stupid.

There was magic, too. Wooyoung was sure of it. San’s eyes had been golden, just like the stars he resembled.

San had magic.

No.

To Wooyoung, San was magic.

San was the one who brought magic into his life, into his world. He was sure of it. Wooyoung didn’t do it. It was all San. Him and his pretty eyes. His soft words.

The stories were all about Wooyoung. The stories were wrong.

#ateez fanfic #ateez #woosan #choi san #jung wooyoung #lyn-fanworks #fanfic #ao3 #kpop

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metamelonisle · 2 years ago

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Ok, i'm sure Polka-Dot Man is plenty pathetic in his own right, don't get me wrong, but he's going up against the KING of absolute soppy disappointment here, so strap in and let me tell you a tale about the Star Clown of Cross Guild, Buggy, also known as the most cringefail babygirl jester in all of One Piece. One Piece spoilers for the anime, obviously!

Buggy is a man so utterly pathetic that despite being part of the crew of the literal legendary pirate king Gol D. Roger and one of his adoptive children, 20 years later, he was somehow one of the most unremarkable and weakest pirates in the world fucking around in East Blue while his former crewmate Shanks went on to be one of the four strongest pirates in the world (Four Emperors). Buggy took incredible pride in his ability to swim to find treasure and then he ate a devil fruit (which permanently removes it). By accident. He got sick right before the Roger Pirates were going to the One Piece and missed it and they all decided not to tell him or Shanks. His devil fruit ability isn't even that good. It's just detaching his limbs harmlessly and letting them fly around and this is in a world where some devil fruits can let you destroy islands with earthquakes or turn into a dragon or rip out people's souls.

Every single good thing that happens to this man, happens by complete fucking accident and either as the result of something stupid happening to him or to set something even dumber up. In fact, every time he appears for an arc, something tremendously pathetic and hilarious happens to him, and it bizarrely leads to an increase in social status that he never accounted for and it is GUTBUSTINGLY HILARIOUS. This man could fall UP a flight of stairs and somehow become president and it wouldn't be out of place for him.

When he fought Luffy for the first time, he lost his entire body except for his head, hands, and feet and had to run around like this by himself on a deserted island for weeks:

And even though it led to a friendship, his body and crew back, and a pirate alliance, when he attacked Luffy at Loguetown, not only was he so unremarkable to Luffy that he DIDN'T EVEN REMEMBER HIM DESPITE THEM MEETING LESS THAN A WEEK AGO, he also managed to trap him and almost kill him...

...only to suddenly get fucking STRUCK BY LIGHTNING.

Buggy would then get caught by the marines and somehow escape by blind luck when a gust of wind blew the nets off him, so he opts to chase Luffy into the Grand Line. This would then lead to him first meeting a cool guy named Portgas D. Ace, who turns out to be none other than Luffy's older brother (who he fucking detests), then later getting suckered into giving free labor to a mining company by complete accident because he thought he was mining for treasure, and then when he left, he walked directly into a marine base by accident, and got sent to Super Underwater Pirate Hell Jail (aka Impel Down).

While Buggy was in Impel Down, his punishment was to run around a razor sharp metal jungle (Crimson Hell) because they didn't know he had devil fruit powers because he hates using them, so he was fine until LUFFY (who STILL doesn't remember him) SHOWED UP AND MADE HIM HELP HIM GET TO THE WORST PART OF IMPEL DOWN so they could save Ace from being executed. Buggy only goes along so he can abandon Luffy at an opportune time but that time just never comes and he ends up accompanying Luffy all the way to Marineford. He just goes through Dante's Prison Inferno with an annoyingly determined polymirate, a living candle, a drag queen, and a living sword until they find out Ace isn't even there, and Luffy did all this shit to him for nothing.

THEN all the people accidentally broken out think Buggy saved them so they all force themselves into his crew, and at the Marineford War he steals a camera and broadcasts himself because of his ego which fucks up the entire world for years because the World Government cant lie about what happened at Marineford now, and because word got out that Buggy was in Roger's crew and all these people love him, they give him the title of Warlord (which means he's a government-sponsored privateer) and now Buggy is entangled in a web of lies and bravado because every single person in his crew is now magnitudes stronger than he is and are like head-over-heels loyal to him.

THEN. things start to look up for him as he makes a mercenary company called Buggy's Delivery, and things go great for maybe 2 years before the World Government abruptly shuts down the warlord program and they all decide "hey! let's kill this blue haired bastard!" and Buggy gets overwhelmed until two ex-warlords save him and so to repay them, he makes an ad for their service, Cross Guild, which puts bounties on marines. Except, because his crew loves him so much....

THIS is the ad they produce. Buggy doesn't even get to review it before it's shipped out WORLDWIDE. Buggy isn't even part of this group, he just asked them to make an advertisement for it.

The World Government, thinking Buggy is the leader of the whole thing and has Crocodile (a notorious criminal mastermind) and Mihawk (the World's STRONGEST SWORDSMAN) as his underlings, is so terrifying to them that they immediately declare buggy as one of the FOUR EMPERORS OF THE SEA. THE SAME RANK AS HIS EX-CREWMATE SHANKS. ONE OF THE FOUR MOST POWERFUL PIRATES IN THE WORLD.

Needless to say...

Croc n' Hawk aren't too jazzed about this development.

The absolute funniest thing about this is that Buggy achieved all this by complete and total accident, and is just as weak as he was at the beginning of the series. People used to joke in a tongue-in-cheek manner about how pathetic and silly it would be if he somehow fell-upstairs to EMPEROR, and then it fucking happened.

This man isn't just the king of pathetic, he's the GOD of pathetic.

I'm sorry Krill, but you're simply too outmatched to compete with the Bombastic Clown.

Buggy the Clown (One Piece): "besides being a literal clown, he has one of the greatest pedigrees in the series and yet us a complete cringefail little bastard"

Abner Krill (Suicide Squad): "he is suffering and depressed and he has the saddest eyes and i need to hold him until his ribs crack"

#paint.txt #long post #look man i know buggy's probably gonna win this but i just figured it needed to be said #if anyone can win this competition its him #one piece

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i-cant-sing · 3 years ago

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Yandere RE8: TRP Part 4

Part 1 is here.

Part 2 is here.

Part 3 is here.

Part 5 is here.

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

"Uhh... hello?"

You looked at the woman standing in the stairs. She was wearing a dark veil that matched the rest of her outfit- oh shit, that's a funeral outfit.

I really did pick a bad time to come here, didn't I? She's in mourning, she sees an intruder, and her day went from bad to worst. Yep, she's gonna kill me.

You took one look at the woman and then at all the possible exits: the doors- no, they'd be too heavy to move and what if they're locked? The window- but I'd have to jump out and just because it looks cool in movies to jump through glass, doesn't mean it'll work, Y/n.

So, the only option was to eliminate the threat. Or maybe... defuse it.

"This is your doll, right?" You asked, pointing at the doll, judging by the lace designs on both of their dresses. The woman didn't reply. "It looks like its been... used a lot. To be honest, she's very different than most dolls I've seen, definitely a lot more spookier." You nervously giggled, hoping she didn't mind. "But... she looks like she's been loved. A lot. Despite being broken from a lot of places, someone still took their time to fix her." You smiled sadly, remembering your own doll that Mia had ripped. "Wish I had someone like that. To sew up the wounds and fix them."You mumbled, not really sure if you were talking about your doll or yourself.

"Your doll, she's- she's very pretty. My sister would've liked her." You began. "Which is why I'm here. My family, we were in an accident- I know it was wrong of me to come here without permission, but I need to find my sister, Rose and my father, Ethan." You took a step closer. "They both of have blonde hair. Rose, my sister, she's just 6 months old. She was dressed in a baby pink onesie, bundled up in a blanket. My father, Ethan, he's about this tall and has big blue eyes. I think he was wearing a jacket, with blue denim jeans. H-have you seen them?" You asked, eyes full of hope and voice laced with eagerness.

Please, please let her have seen them. God, please.

Unsurprisingly, the woman didn't reply, but she did turn her head towards the left window. You didn't know whether she was telling you to get out of her house or signalling that they are out there, but you knew you had to leave.

Nodding, you slowly walked towards the window, your heart beating faster as you prayed that this wasn't some sort of trap, hoping she wouldn't attack you from behind because that would be like... really shitty.

But you left the house unharmed, and without looking back at the window because you didn't want to jinx it, you walked towards the forrest once again, thankful that the sun had finally came out.

Where are you guys?

You had been walking for a couple of hours now, the sun had been a bit warmer today, which was good since you hated the snow that surrounded you now. You looked at the map, tracing the path to your new destination. The Salvatore reservoir. It seemed like it would take you a day's journey to get there, and you sure as hell weren't seeing any lake in sight.

God, when will this nightmare end?

You decided to sit on a stone and take some much needed rest. Your feet ached from all the walking, and your calves were cramping. You rolled your head, popping it from the side, before taking off the rifle that had been weighing down, stretching out your arms. Digging through the little back pack you bought from Duke, you pulled out a thermos of coffee and twinkie. You don't know how or where he got it, but Duke had filled your bag with a couple of snacks; saying its for his loyal customer.

So, here you sat, in the middle of the snowy woods, eating a twinkie and drinking a lukewarm coffee. Both didn't taste good, but they're gonna keep you alive so, no complaining.

After drinking the coffee, you rested your head against a tree, recalling last nights events as you waited for the caffeine to kick in.

You tried to make sense of what happened when you got... locked in the basement. You thought you had forgotten about her, Angel. Guess not.

Wait- didn't that lady lock me in the basement? Maybe, she didn't look very hostile, her creepy doll looked scarier than she did.

You laughed at the irony. You always made fun of the horror movies where the family would become so attached to the most horrifying doll, and you'd scream at their stupidity, And yet here you were, falling for the cliche as you found comfort in that creepy doll.

Man, I'm really losing it here.

You sighed, closing your eyes as you tried to come up with the next plan. But the warm coffee had lulled you right to sleep, which was dangerous but you were too tired to care.

Just for a couple of minutes...

You woke up to the sound of growling and heavy steps. And as soon as you opened your eyes, you knew you had definitely slept for far longer than a few minutes. But that was not of concern at the moment. No, it was the source of the growling that had woken you up.

Just about 40 feet away from you were lycans. Plural. Not one, not two, but 5 lycans, and one of them was a really big one.

You held your breath as you watched them wander around; they hadn't spotted you yet, and if you stayed quiet, you hoped they would just go away.

Stilling yourself as much as you could, you watched them with wide eyes. One of them started to walk in your direction, it wasn't looking at you, which meant that it hadn't seen you, but he would if he kept on walking this way.

God, I know we haven't been on good terms, but like c'mon, you gotta give me a break. Please, I love you? Come on, you know this is not how I want to go.

You sent a silent prayer, and perhaps it worked, since the lycan suddenly turned the other way, joining its pack as they started walking deeper into the woods.

Slowly, you began to gather up your things, silently shoving them in your bag, one eye on the lycans and the other one making sure that you don't accidentally drop something that'd cause noise.

Fortunately, you didn't. You swung the bag over your shoulder, and took a step forward, careful not to step on any twigs.

Maybe God did love me. All that time in church-

THWACK!

You jumped back as a huge sheet of snow fell from the trees in front of you. You whipped your head towards the monsters and they all had stopped dead in their tracks. Slowly, one of them turned and if they hadn't heard the snow fall, they'd definitely heard the way your heart was about to burst out of your chest. Then, it growled.

Motherfucker.

You pulled out your gun just as the two of them began running your way. With a quick jump to the side, you dodged them and shot them two times each. Hearing your gun fire, the other two began running your way too, while the larger one stayed behind as it watched. This time, as you shot one of them, the other managed to kick you in the chest hard, throwing you against the rock. Luckily, you didn't hit your head, as you rolled and shot it dead.

Spitting out the blood, you looked back at the last lycan who had already started running your way. You began loading up your gun with trembling hands, but just as you aimed, the lycan took a giant leap and knocked the gun out of your hand.

Fuck.

The giant grabbed you by your neck, lifting you up high before throwing you across the ground. You wheezed, scrambling up to your feet as you began running away from it, its heavy steps following you. It roared angrily behind you, and that only made you ignore the burning pain in your chest as you ran faster.

But of course, God had decided to make you live a cliche horror movie, because you tripped over a fucking branch, making you fall on your stomach. You flipped over instantly, and saw your nightmare come true as the lycan jumped on you.

On pure reflex, you punched it square in the face, which you doubted hurt it more than it hurt you, if anything, the monster was momentarily perplexed, but that was enough for you to slip from under it.

But you were only able to take a few steps away when it suddenly grabbed you by your neck and lifted you up again, snarling as it began opening its mouth, revealing its razor-sharp teeth at you.

God, if you're hearing this, I'm converting to atheism because I did not need this today.

Looking at the horrifying lycan, you prayed one last time before you were eaten by it. Surprisingly, your life did not flash before your eyes, which you were kinda grateful for because you did not need to relive that before your death.

But that moment didn't came. No, what came were familiar moans of pain, and then the sound of a drill, followed by blood splattering on your face as the lycan was sliced vertically from the head to the toe by the aforementioned drill.

The lycan fell to the ground, revealing the pair of soldats that killed them and behind them a smirking Heisenberg, who rested against a tree, tipping his hat at you.

You were far too shocked to say anything, and after a few seconds, the man walked over to you, blocking the view of his monstrous creations just mutilating the lycans.

"So... that was a bit traumatising." He started, chuckling at your stunned face. "You okay, kid?"

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck-

"Yeah." You took his hand, and he helped you up. You groaned at the pain, touching the tender side around the chest where the lycan had hit you. Yeah, you probably broke a rib.

Heisenberg helped you sit down on a tree stump. "Hmm, that bastard kicked you hard didn't it." Wait- "But that was a phenomenal punch you threw at it. Nearly made me burst out laughing."

"You were watching? Why the fuck didn't you come in before!"

He shrugged. "I just wanted to see if you could really handle yourself- which you were pretty good at, but then you lost your gun and it was kinda an unfair match from there on." He pulled out some pills from his coat. "i was just passing by when I saw those lycans moving away. Thats when I pushed the tree which made snow sheet fall and you know the rest from there on."

Your eyes went wide. "You did that on purpose? What the shit, Heisenberg-?! Fuck." You doubled over in pain, clutching your ribs, heaving.

"Shh, stay still, kid. Here, take these. They'll help with the pain." You eyed the bottle before popping two in your mouth. Hey, if he wanted me dead, he wouldn't have saved me from the lycan. "I just wanted to see if you were worth the trouble, and as it turns out, you are."

"You didn't have to almost kill me to see that. And now I've lost my gun. And I don't have any money to buy a new one. I doubt Duke gives freebies." You huffed out.

Heisenberg rolled his eyes. "God, you sure do whine a lot. Here-" He dropped a tiny pouch in your lap. "There's some coins in there. That should be enough to buy you a new gun. And for fucks sake, get a gun with more rounds! You don't have time to be loading a gun mid battle." He huffed. "So, where are you going now?"

You rolled your head from side to side. "Well, I went to the Beneviento house. Didn't find Ethan or Rose there. Now, I'm going to the lake."

"The lake? Huh, well if you survived Donna, then Moreau should be a piece of cake. You got the map? Let me show you the short cut, it's not far from here." You gave him the map and he showed you the directions.

"Where are you going then?"

"Mother Miranda called. Don't worry, I'll keep our meeting a secret." He then nodded at you. "Alright, I'm off now."

"Wait!" Your voice stopped him. "I don't know when I'll see Duke again. And I don't have gun, so what if another pack of lycans come?"

Heisenberg slumped his shoulders as he let out an annoyed sigh. "Fine. I gotta do everything by myself." He dog whistled and one of the soldats stopped maiming the lycan and ran to Heisenberg. "From now on, you're gonna listen to her."The soldat looked at you and nodded. "If she tells you to kill, you kill. If she tells you to die, you die. Follow her around and keep her safe." The soldat nodded. Then Heisenberg turned to you. "He's already dead, so don't worry about throwing him in danger. Oh and also, just take him into the sun every once in a while so that his engine can recharge. You'll know when he needs the sun."

You were baffled. "Wait, Heisenberg- how the- what the hell am I supposed to do with him?"

"Figure it out, kid. Think of him as a guard dog."

You looked at the soldat then at Heisenberg's retreating form, then back at the soldat.

"So..." The soldat stared at you. "You got a name?"

"Handsome." You nodded to yourself as you trudged, using the soldat's arm to support yourself. "That's what I'm gonna call you. Handsome. What do you think?"

The soldat was wearing a metal contraption over its eyes, so you couldn't really tell what it was feeling.

"Well, you don't seem to have any complaints, so from now on, you'll respond to the name "Handsome". Do you understand?"

The soldat nodded.

You laughed. God, the pain meds were either making me stupid or everything else funnier.

You looked at the map again. Just a couple of more minutes and then a right turn. And then you should see the lake- god, this map was confusing as hell.

"So..." you wondered what you should ask the cyborg. Oh right. "You seen Ethan? Blonde man, crazy big eyes. Or a baby, Rose?" The man shook his head no.

Sigh. What else could I ask him? What about how did he die? No, what if that's triggering? I can't handle a Terminator right now. And I don't think I should ask him about his past or anything that'll cause him to have a existential crisis. Ah! I've got it!

"Hey, how do you see?"

The soldat looks down at you for a few seconds then points at his metal contraption.

Wait- is that sarcasm?

You scoff. "Of course, you see with your eyes! I meant, with the whole metal thingy covering them, how do you- oh, there's this vision specs in them."

You smiled. "Hey, you're kinda like Cyclops, yknow-" you were cut off as Handsome suddenly pushed you to the ground, turning on his drill.

"Wait, shit- you don't have to be Cyclops! We can talk this out-" but Handsome was focusing on something else, and that's when you saw it. Two lycans.

Handsome ran and easily maimed them to pieces, I mean, you had to look away from the horrific scene midway.

The soldat returned five minutes later, covered in blood. He extended his hand and you reluctantly took it, letting him support you as you began walking again, your heart still beating like crazy.

But you calmed down when you finally reached the lake, the setting sun gave serene feel to the entire reservoir. You inhaled deeply before looking at Handsome. "Lets go down there." You pointed at the lake.

You were both sitting at the wooden broadwalk, your legs hanging off the ledge. You looked at the water, it wasn't crystal clear, but you could see some fishes swimming around, so at least it wasn't dangerous to life. You looked at Handsome, then at his drill and you realised he was still covered in blood. "Lets get you cleaned up, hm?" You said, pulling out a rag from your bag and dipping it in the cold water below. You began with cleaning up his drill, then dipping the rag back in cold water and cleaning his chest and his other arm.

"Good job back there, Handsome."You smiled as Handsome nodded. "Heisenberg was right, you are kinda like a dog. Hmm, I wonder if..." You tested your theory as you petted him on the head. "Good job, Handsome!" But the soldat only tilted its head in confusion.

"Hmm, perhaps not." You cupped the cold water in your hands and washed your own face, You looked at your reflection in the water. "You wanna go for a swim? I don't mind." Handsome shook his head. "Yeah, I'm not a fan of swimming either."

Handsome stared at you. You scoffed. "Oh so you pretend you don't understand what I say, but you want to hear the story? Fine, but I'm only telling you because it might be important later."

You both stared at the water as you began your story. "Well, when I was 15, I had snuck out of the house to go to a party. It was at this rich girl's house and I knew she didn't like me, but I was surprised when she had invited me to her place. Yes, a red flag I should've seen from miles ago, but I was young and dumb and desperate to climb the highschool social hierarchy." You chuckled. "Anyways, long story short, one of the guys there pushed me into the pool because I don't know if they thought it was funny to see me drown? By some luck, I managed to grab onto the pool ledge and pull myself up. I immediately left the party, embarrassed and cold and on the verge of breaking down. Then on the way back home, there was this car following me and then some weirdo catcalled me and tried to get me in his car. Now, scared for my life because I watched a lot of Criminal Minds, I ran all the way home, praying that he leaves me alone. I think he stopped when he saw a Range Rover following him, but I don't know. I just rushed back home." You sighed. "You know what happened next? I bursted through the front door, slamming it shut and I turn around to see my dad in the living room, looking surprised to see me. He stood up and looked me up and down and then said, "Y/n? You're drenched completely. And you're messing up the floor. You know what? Mia's in the bathroom right now, why don't you go upstairs and I'll clean up here. You know how she gets when there's water on the wood." And I was just so shocked, that I didn't say anything and went back upstairs. Once I was in the shower, that's when I broke down crying. I almost drowned, almost got kidnapped and my father was worried about me messing up the wooden floor? Hell, he didn't even ask me why I was coming home at midnight." Your tears fell into the lake, making small ripples. You chuckled, "God, I always wondered how tired he must've been from work that day to ignore all these visible signs of distress. I always hated his job, you know? They made him work way too much." You looked at Handsome who was looking at the lake. "Anywho, now you know I can't swim so, save me if I fall into this lake, okay?" He nodded.

You guys sat in comfortable silence for a few more minutes before a question popped up in your mind. "Handsome?" He turned his head towards you, only to see a mischievous smile on your face. "Are you seeing someone?" The man turned his back to the lake, making you laugh. "Ahh, so you like someone. Tell me, is it someone from the village?" The man further turned his head away from you in embarrassment. "Oh come on, tell me! Is it a girl?" He nodded reluctantly, making you punch his arm. "You dog! Does she know?" Handsome shook his head, making you smile. "Tell you what? As a payback for saving me back there, I'll help you get her. I'll be your wingman, Handsome, hm?" He nodded a bit enthusiastically.

"We all deserve good things, Handsome. No matter how we look, or what we are, these things don't really define one's self worth. Its our intentions, you know?" Handsome didn't know, but he nodded anyways.

"Good. Now, lets go check out this place. Keep an eye out for Ethan and Rose, okay?" You told him, not knowing someone was already watching the two of you.

So... thought?

What did you guys think about Handsome? I'm gonna post a pic of him soon if you guys want.

Part 5 is here.

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hugheshugs · 3 years ago

Note

please this has been on my mind lately filming a tiktok with luke hughes. i feel like it would be so cute !!

definitely very cute, this was v hard to write so i mostly just wrote this to fuel your thoughts <3

you'd been trying to get luke to film tiktoks with you for so long now. it was only after his friends convinced him to download the app that he decided it was fun and agreed to make one with you. if you'd known that was all it would take you would have asked them to do that a long time ago. boys.

"lets do who's most likely to," he suggested while taking a seat at the table.

"with drinks?" you asked for clarification.

"what?"

"like, you know when each person has an empty cup and a drink, and you pour your drink into the cup of whoever's most likely to do the thing?"

"no."

you stared at him blankly and he gave you the same look before you rolled your eyes and stood up to grab everything you needed. you grabbed orange juice with pulp for Luke and sparkling water for you, both of your least favourite drinks. when you made your way back and set everything on the table he groaned, throwing his head back.

"i hate that juice!"

"that's the whole point," you told him, sitting back down.

"loser has to drink the cup of their least favourite drink."

"i don't like this game."

"well too bad, 'cause we're starting," you spoke as you set up your camera and pressed play.

"you're recording already?" he asked, grabbing the sparkling water.

"yeah, now ask a question." you grabbed the orange juice.

"most likely to trip and fall down the stairs?"

you blinked as you stared at his face again. "what kind of question is that?"

"well i don't know, you didn't specify what i needed to ask," he defended, pouring some water into your cup.

"hey! we both know it would be you, not me," you gasped, pouring the juice into his cup.

"most likely to accidentally piss off the other person?"

you both switched drinks and poured them into your respective cups, chuckling as you did so. the game went on for a bit and you ended up losing in the end, much to your dismay. you were a sore loser and as much as Luke wanted to gloat, he hated seeing the frown on your face.

after posting the tiktok, he grabbed your hand and pulled you to the couch, setting you on his lap before wrapping his arms around you. with a sigh, your arms clung around his neck and you buried your face in his chest.

"i can't believe i lost."

"it's okay, baby. i'm going to lose the next one."

"there's gonna be a next one?" you asked with a gleam in your eyes.

he cringed internally but nodded with a smile and a grin fell upon your lips. his heart warmed as you pressed a kiss to his cheek and he promised himself to let you win the next.

meanwhile, the tiktok comments:

thombordeleau_ luke is definitely most likely to fall on the concrete

↳ brendanbrisson_ and break his nose while doing it

matty.beniers10 he's making tiktoks now, huh?

_johnbeecher down bad but won't let her win

↳ randomfan boyfriend of the year award goes to..

nblanks98 my favourite couple

↳ dylanbt2556 do you think they're snuggling

↳ nblanks98 most definitely

ethanedwards y/n's probably crying as we speak

↳ jacobtruscott worst loser we know

↳ thombordeleau_ don't let the moose find this

#luke hughes #umich hockey #umich hockey blurb #nj devils blurb #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes x reader #nhl blurb #hockey blurbs #hockey boy blurb #riri's blurbs

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luveline · 3 years ago

Text

a special friend, part two [Fred Weasley, George Weasley x reader]

tags: reader-insert, platonic relationships, friendship, can be read as romantic for either or both, hurt/comfort, mental health issues, implied/referenced self-harm, dissociation, quiet reader, shy reader, sad reader

relationships: fred weasley x reader, george weasley x reader

wordcount: 3.2k

read part one here

The common room was always so clean. The house-elves must work themselves half to death with effort, as you never saw a hair or speck of dust where there ought not to be one. The small refreshment table filled and refilled through every new day and the fireplace was always roaring on cold winter nights. It was especially cold that evening, and so the members of Gryffindor house benefited from a crackling fire and hot chocolate coming out of the ears.

You basked in the warmth of the flame, sitting cross-legged before it. A cup of hot chocolate cooled in between your hands, which were both laden with bandaids and germolene. Fred and George’s orders, of course. You were not to scratch, bite or mess in any detrimental way with your hands, arms or skin. If you did, you were to report to them for immediate bandaging.

At first, they’d simply been spelling each wound away. This had an opposite effect, as the freshly healed skin was perfect for picking whenever your mood turned - which was often. You found yourself blinded and basked in the light of being cared for by others, and although you may have preferred complete autonomy over your own body, you couldn’t say you minded the attentiveness of the twins. They’d made it their personal mission to prevent any self-harm, accidental or purposeful. You weren’t sure you even knew the difference half the time.

A quiet had settled over the room. It seemed as though each red and gold student was content to breathe in the smell of chestnut and pine in peaceful, companionable silence. You found yourself smiling kindly at each person who looked your way. You couldn’t imagine having done that before you had become acquainted with the twins.

Acquainted was a word you used to protect yourself. Friendly was too confident, too firm. You sometimes dreamt of horror stories where you, confident and comfortable, admitted how much you cared for them. In these dreams, they laughed in your face. Poked fun at your hope.

Of course, Fred and George weren’t cruel. If they felt that way, they certainly wouldn’t rub it in your face or make you feel embarrassed about it. But some shame never went away, and you carried it like an ever-burning torch.

Despite the pleasant warmth of the room, chills racked your spine at the thought. You pushed it from your head, attempting to think of anything else. You traced a pattern through the braided strands of the rug you were lazing upon, first the flames of a bonfire towering ten feet tall, then a mirror of the powdered sugar landscape outside.

Two warm bodies settled in the carpet on either side of you. A long arm wrapped around your shoulders confidently. The floral scent of your perfume mingled with the strong scent of burning caramel and something woody, the signature fragrance of the Weasley twins.

George moved first, plonking a stuffed toy into your lap. He positioned the neck carefully so that the teddy bear was sat as comfortable as you were.

“For you,” said Fred.

“An early Christmas gift,” George added.

The bear was spotted unusually like some sort of hybrid creature. You wondered where they could possibly have acquired such an artefact.

“We saw him and thought of you,” they said together.

That was rich. And maybe correct. After all, it was a weird looking plushie and you weren’t exactly renowned for your normality. You didn’t say much, simply handing off your cold drink to George without so much as a sideways glance and brought the bear to your face. You grazed your nose against its brown stomach and inhaled, breathing in its clean scent.

Both twins were used to the general quietness that came with your presence and didn’t pressure any response. You knew you should’ve said thank you, or even smiled gratefully, but you just couldn’t make your mouth move the way you wanted. You placed your hand on each brothers leg and applied the barest amount of pressure, hoping it showed gratitude.

“Well, I’m starving.”

“I’m so glad you said so, my brother.”

“Yes, I’m craving something savory, Gred.”

“Something juicy, Forge.”

“Such as?”

You looked between them like a muggle attending a tennis match, back and forth and back and forth. They ran circles around you for their own enjoyment, you assumed, but maybe also to make you feel more included.

“Y/N, fancy a trek to the kitchens?”

Before you could say no, or yes, or make up your mind and decide what it was you wanted to do, your stomach growled. Fred grinned wickedly.

They ushered you out of the portrait hole and down the stairs without preamble, flanking your sides like bodyguards. You didn’t mind, taking time to smile at the castle ghosts and portraits as you went.

The twins shot each other looks when they thought you couldn’t see. One said, how do you think she is? Another said, I think she’s however you think she is. Both said, she seems okay today.

It would feel a little patronizing if it weren’t so foreign - to have people care about your well-being so deeply they made changes to their day to see you and went out of their way to make you feel good; you’d find it condescending if it wasn’t so delightful.

That is to say, you felt conflicted. Happy that somebody cared, ashamed that they also felt concerned. They worried over everything these days, what you ate and what classes you had and oh, ghostie, do you need help with that? Y/N, sweetheart, let me carry that for you, lest your arms grow too tired.

It was… nice. It was nice, even if it was painful. Sometimes, it reminded you why you didn’t allow yourself the pleasure of friendship in the first place.

You hummed to yourself. Making sound had become a little easier. You weren’t inclined to say a whole lot, but allowing yourself to be louder, to take up space, had come easier the longer you spent with them. Neither Fred nor George minded if you huffed after too many stairs or if you clicked gobstones together at the foot of their beds.

The song was one of those cheesy Christmas numbers you’d heard on the radio. It was warm and comforting, bringing tears to your eyes if you thought about it too much. George slipped into song with you easily, humming much more loudly and obnoxiously. Fred just grinned to himself, keeping dutiful watch of the corridors.

You bubbled like a shaken can of coke by the time you arrived at the painting that enclosed the kitchen doorway, feeling too happy for your own good. Despite feeling very hungry, not a lick of fatigue or unhappiness tinged your mood, though the fuzzy numbness of every day threatened your well-being if you stopped to think too long.

The door swung open obediently after your half-hearted tickle insisted upon by the boys.

“What do you feel like, Y/N, sweet or savoury? There’s bound to be something you’ll fancy,” George said.

You held in a grimace. There were lots of things you wanted to try, the kitchens smelled like so many amazing things. The cloying smells of jam and treacle and custard, the hearty scents of gravy and roast dinner. It was too bad, then, that most everything you ate tasted stale. For years, your tastebuds had been slacking. During your worst days, food held no taste at all, resulting in your decreased appetite.

A tingling began in your fingers. You didn’t know what to say, or how to say it, how to convey that you didn’t really feel up to anything at all. You knew they would protest as they always did when you didn’t eat.

“Bread,” you managed. Bread was a safe choice. Dense enough to feel filling, easy to keep down, and bland to begin with.

Both boys were frowning but trying not to at your choice.

George moved forward, catching the attention of a harrowed looking house elf. They conversed with familiarity and soon you were being beckoned to a table that was relatively clear. Within minutes you were surrounded by bread, crusty rolls and sliced sourdough.

George casually nudged a bowl of tomato soup in your direction.

The surface shined with grease. It even had a swirl of cream and a sprig of basil afloat.

He looked at you, eyes pleading.

“You too,” you said.

This appeased him. The boys sat across from you with their own bowls, eating in the horrific way that teenage boys do. By the time they’d finished, you’d managed half of your own meal and two slices of bread. The nausea you experienced from just existing was starting to build, accompanied by the disappointment of your bland meal. You’d hoped an improved mood would help your appetite, but you still felt unsatisfied.

The boys grabbed a passing plate of tarts and ice cream.

Your good mood was wearing thin. You bit down on the tip of your thumb and stared at the grain of the table.

You bit down harder.

“Hey. Hey! Don’t do that,” Fred said, reaching forward as if to grab your hand. You pushed it under the table.

George pushed the plate of confectionary closer to you. “Chew on one of these instead, hm?”

You took it all back - this was patronising. Lovely and thoughtful and very, excruciatingly patronising.

You didn’t want to say no, or push it away, or eat anything else or even laugh it off. You wanted to do nothing. You lay your head down on the table, closing your eyes. You caught a murmur or two between them, though you couldn’t make out the words with your ear pressed so hard against the wood and the other covered by your falling hair. The table was smooth and cool under your skin.

A chair scraped against the floor. Footsteps. A broad hand against your back.

“You’re like a steam train running out of coal sometimes.”

You knew he was hoping for a response, a joke, a sign you’d been cheered up.

Through slow blinks, you could make out his face. Endlessly amused and a little sad, framed by the candlelight. He was beautiful, you thought absently. They were both beautiful.

“You okay?” he said quietly.

“Mm,”

“Mm? Is mm a yes or a no?”

“Mm,”

“Alright,” he said, rubbing a soothing path up between your shoulder blades and down again. It would’ve been dizzying if you could think straight, it made the numbness a little woozy. You preened beneath his touch like a pleased cat, feeling the unhappiness melt just a little.

It was crazy how affection could make you feel better, even if it didn’t always solve the problem.

Embarrassed, you mumbled, “you’re going to kill me.”

Fred smiled. “How so?”

“You’re fattening me up like a lamb to slaughter.”

He didn’t quite laugh, huffing through his nose. He really was very handsome up close. His hair was curling at just below his ears, a lush auburn colour that complemented his pale, freckle adorned skin. His eyes were a heart-melting brown so that his pupils were lost. The look he gave you was searing like he knew exactly what you were thinking about him. Your ears were tinged with heat, cheeks filling with colour.

He retracted his hand.

“Wrap some of those up, Georgie. Ghostie needs her bed.”

“It shall be done, brother mine!”

You smiled despite yourself.

For your birthday, the twins had gifted you a simple necklace. The chain was silver, reaching to just below your collar bone. It had no charm or jewel. It was perfect.

It helped you sometimes when you felt out of it to run it between two fingers or tug it gently from left to right, feeling the chain links rolling behind your neck.

You’d tried that, among every other coping mechanism drilled into your head by George and Fred over the past few weeks. You drew circles were you wanted to scratch, put plasters over fingertips you wanted to pick at. You took big breaths and did the stretches George insisted on. You even tried getting a full night’s sleep - nothing worked.

It filled you with guilt. You felt as though you were letting them both down by struggling.

You stared out the window of the dormitory at the sky, moonlight spilling onto your skin and staining your clothes a gauzy silver. You’d read once that sometimes when the planets were in rotation, you could see them as though they were as close as the moon.

This didn’t seem right to you. How could Mars seem so close? It was an optical illusion. The planets revolved around the sun, but humans had once thought they revolved around Earth instead.

It must’ve been a very strange experience to realise you weren’t as important as you thought. The Earth was just the Earth, spinning and wobbling its path through space.

You shook your head, feeling lost. It was ridiculous to project your feelings on the solar system. But still, you couldn’t help but feel like, despite its inhabitants and its systems, the Earth was so lonely.

Your necklace began to grow cold until it was almost like ice against your skin. One of the twins, or maybe both, had charmed it to change temperature. Cold usually meant, ‘Ghostie, you awake?’

You cringed against the sensation. Why couldn’t they booty call you like normal young men, throwing stones at your window with a boom box? Or, for merlin’s sake, an owl?

You grumbled to yourself, throwing the fleece blanket from your body. You were hardly dressed for company in knickers and a tank top, so you threw on a grey zip-up jacket and a pair of pyjama shorts that were hardly any better than the knickers. Luckily the jacket hung past the shorts. You wanted to care that you were dressed scantily, really, but the boys wouldn’t care and you didn’t have it in you to find something else.

You trekked down the stairs, your trainer socks slippery against the well-worn wood. Fred stretched languidly in front of the fireplace, a pack of exploding snap cards and a mountain of chocolate frogs beside him whilst George was sitting much more straight-backed on the sofa.

“I’m cold,” you said, announcing your arrival. The redheads turned to look at you over their shoulders. Fred rolled his eyes at you and flicked his wand. The necklace slowly heated until it was pleasantly warm against your collarbones.

You clambered over the back of the sofa with little grace, folding your knees underneath you and leaning heavily against George’s arm. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

“If I were a lesser man, I’d ask where your bottoms were, Y/L/N,” said Fred, shuffling the cards dexterously.

You raised your jacket wordlessly, exposing your bottoms.

“Wouldn’t you know, they were there the whole time.”

“You assumed the same as me, George.”

George didn’t reply, though his expression said he was similarly embarrassed.

“And do you always let girls you presume to be half-naked climb all over you?” you asked.

“So talkative,” George chastened.

“Don’t change the subject! I’m interested in the answer,” said Fred.

“Oh shove off! You insufferable tyrants.”

Ah, so he knows how it feels now, you thought. You looked up into his face, the line of his jaw.

You looked down at your legs, feeling fatigued. Smooth stretches of skin and fine hair interrupted only by thin white lines. The low light made them almost impossible to see. They shined like silver when you moved, caught by the light of a nearby candle. They felt a lifetime away now when a young you had used pins and quills and little carving knives to punish yourself for bad behaviour.

You traced a slightly thicker one with a pointed fingernail. You pushed it nastily into the scar, but it didn’t hurt.

You sighed.

Fred and George were half arguing about something you didn’t catch, Fred through a mouthful of chocolate.

It was hard, always being miserable. People often criticized the moody for ruining the mood, but it wasn’t as if you could choose how to be. You wanted to wake each day and be happy and entertaining and absurdly good-natured, like the twins. It was an abject cruelty, then, that every day you woke up and felt the immeasurable dread of continuing on another day. Not even magic could help you with that.

You rejected Fred’s offer to play, happy to sit and watch the boys play. You let yourself slide into the space George had vacated, curling into a tight ball. Your stomach hurt.

Godric, there was always something fucking wrong with you.

You were frustrated. The boys could tell. Their game of snap was stretched thin, and you knew it was your fault. You wrinkled your nose at the smell of singed hair, restless. You squirmed against the warm leather under your skin, feeling sticky and out of sorts.

You closed your eyes against the aching and slept.

You woke up crying.

Fred shifted in his sleep. He was leaning against your legs, his hair and face smushed into the leather beneath you. George was facedown in the carpet. You pressed a hand to your mouth to muffle any sound.

The clock on the wall read 4 minutes past 4 o’clock in the morning. You’d only managed an hour and a half of sleep.

You couldn’t remember what you’d been dreaming. Maybe somewhere familiar. Faces you recognized. It didn’t matter, only the feeling of being crushed by the air. You reached out without thinking, grabbing Fred’s shoulder.

He roused gracelessly, blinking through squinted eyes at you. A hard sob rocked you to the core, the feeling of breathlessness sinking deep into your chest.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

You couldn’t answer. You grasped for his arm, begging him to do something, to save you. You felt as though you were going to run out of air.

“Hey, you’re alright. You’re okay. Let’s breathe, should we? Breathe with me.” He grabbed the hand you’d pushed over your mouth and brought it to his chest. You could feel him take a huge inhale and you tried your best to replicate it.

“Good! That’s good. You’re doing so well.” Another big breath, a long exhale.

“You feel that? The leather under you.” He grabbed your free hand and put it on the seat. “Feels weird, huh? Dimples and wrinkles.” He dragged your hand over the texture repeatedly.

A big breath.

Eventually, your breathing returned. The crying stayed.

“Don’t cry, ghost.”

You frowned. It was odd to be looking down at Fred instead of up. He pressed your hand tighter to his chest.

“Bad dream?”

“Don’t remember,” you whispered.

“It was just a dream. You’re okay. I promise.”

George snored. Fred rolled his eyes. You laughed through the tears, blinking the last of them away.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be here.”

You knew he was telling the truth.

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change-the-world-someday · 3 years ago

Text

I'll Be Here

Oh boy I'm back baby. Here's a Derek Shepherd x Teen!reader bc I just started Grey's Anatomy. I'm well aware I've had stuff in my inbox for over a year, and frankly I'll get round to them soon. I hope this tides you over.

Derek Shepherd x Teen!Reader

Summary: Who'd have thought the child of Derek Shepherd would suffer with something even he can't cure?

A/N: I've been twitching a lot lately so this was a comfort write. Derek and Meredith don't have a relationship, and there's a bit of canon divergence.

⚠️TW⚠️ Talk and descriptions of twitching/tics

—•—

You knew the moment you woke up you were going to have a bad day.

Your alarm went off at the bright and early nine and as you made a move to turn it off, your arm twitched, almost pushing it off your nightstand. You let out a sigh, leaning down and managing to shut it off and sit up.

Until you neck starts to snap left and right, tensing and relaxing each muscle.

“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter under your breath, standing and stretching, well, as much as you can before your twitches start up again. You makes your way downstairs, finding an empty kitchen and a note on the counter. You manage to pick it up and read it.

Sorry, I got called in today. Let me know when you’re up

— Dad

You shake your head, whistling and shaking your hands. Great, so you're alone on a day where your twitches are worse than normal. You sigh and head back upstairs, almost losing balance on the stairs, and takes a quick shower before trying to style your hair. With difficulty, you get changed before reaching over and grabbing your phone. You grip it tightly, until it’s flung across the room.

��Shit,” you mumble, reaching down and picking it up. You open your messages, trying to text your dad.

Y/N

Hi, up. Bad today

It’s short, and to the untrained eye, might seem pretty rude, but to you and your dad, is a warning. Heading back to the kitchen, you try to eat a bowl of cereal. Instead, you managed to spill the cereal twice, drop milk on the floor, and then poke yourself in the side of the face a few times with your spoon instead of eating.

Your phone buzzes.

Dad

Do you need me at

home?

Y/N

No. Just bad

Dad

Do you want to come

to the hospital? You

can stay in one of the

offices if you want

You think about it for a moment, though you don’t get too long before your phone starts ringing. You pick up.

“Hi—” you whistle “—hi Dad.”

You hear him sigh. “Hey kid. Do you want to come in today? I can make sure no one stops you and you can come straight to the office.”

You click, your neck jerking forward. “You sure? I’ve—“ you whistle “—never been there before. I don’t want—“ you click “—to become a case study.”

Your dad laughs lightly down the phone. “I won’t let them. Just make your way over, and keep your earphones in. Music helps.”

You nod, before your neck twitches to the side and cracks, making your dad wince audibly. “Okay. I’ll let you know—“ you whistle and sigh, clearly getting frustrated with yourself.

“I get it. Don’t work yourself up; it’ll only make it worse. See you soon. Love you.”

A ghost of a smile passes across your face. “Love you too, Dad.”

—•—

Derek hangs up and leaves the store cupboard, almost bumping into Dr Bailey as she marches past.

“Watch where you’re going, McDreamy,” she scolds and Derek smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Bailey narrows her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Y'N's coming here. They're having a bad day,” he replies and Bailey nods, immediately catching on. “No one else knows.”

Surprisingly enough, you haven’t met anyone from Derek’s work, except for Bailey and even then, that was an accident. You'd bumped into her on a bad day and Derek had to explain what was wrong. Ever since, Bailey’s had a soft spot for you.

“Not even the chief?” She asks and Derek shakes his head. “Did you warn them?” He nods. “Well, there’s not much else you can do.”

“They're texting me when they’re a few minutes away. If I get caught in surgery, can you meet them at the doors please?”

The two stop in the corridor, Bailey pulling him over. “I have my own schedule too, Shepherd.”

Derek nods. “I know, but you’re the only other person here they know, and you know how they can get in places they don’t know…”

Bailey looks around. “If you’re caught up, you owe me one.”

Derek smiles and nods, a look of relief on his face. “Thank you.”

—•—

You're walking down the street to the hospital, constantly readjusting your earphones so they don’t fall out. Your neck keeps snapping to the side and jerking forward, earning a few odd looks from strangers. You sigh, a few minutes away from the hospital, and pull out your phone. Before you can do anything, though, you promptly throw your phone on the pavement.

Thank god your dad bought you one of those industrial phone cases. You pick it up, dodging people as you go to call your dad. He picks up after two rings.

“Hi, I’m—“ you click “—a minute away.”

“Okay. I don’t think I’m going to be able to meet you at the doors. Just walk through, take the stairs to the fifth floor, and come down the hall. I’ll be in the break room, second door on the left.”

Your eyes widen; you're going to be by yourself? Walking through a hospital? Where no one knows you?

“O-Okay,” you stammer out and your dad sighs.

“I’m sorry kid. Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll see you in a bit.”

He hangs up and you take a breath, nodding to yourself. You pocket your phone and turn your music up as loud as it can be. Your dad was right, it does ease your twitching, though not as much as you'd like.

Fall Out Boy blasts through your earphones as you walk through the doors of Seattle Grace. You refuse to make eye contact with anyone, your neck twitch making it a lot easier to achieve. You click as you make your way to the stairwell, making your way up.

You don’t hear the calls of concerns from the interns following you, trying to catch up to you.

By the time you reach the fifth floor, the two interns have gone to find Dr Bailey to try and assist them, and Dr Shepherd who can help with the disorder being presented. They haven’t had someone who needs medical attention blatantly ignore them and go to a certain department before.

You lose your balance a little as you walk through the doors to the fifth floor, your neck jerking left and right repeatedly, muscles tensing and relaxing. Your hands are shaking and you walk like a new fawn.

You reach the door and push it open, whistling and clicking as you do so. At least you can see your dad today.

—•—

Derek knows immediately what kind of day is happening when you steps into the room. You're a jerking mess, neck and shoulders tensing and relaxing as though given electric shocks. You're whistling, clicking, and your eyes have recently started screwing shut, temporarily blinding you.

And that’s with your headphones in.

“Hey Y/N,” he greets, gently taking one earbud out of your ear and leading you to the seats. At least if you're sat, you have less of a chance of hurting yourself.

“Hi Dad,” you reply until a whistle comes back out. “S-Sorry.”

“Hey,” Derek places a firm but kind hand on your shoulder, “don’t apologise. None of this is your fault.” There’s a silence between you two, only broken by the sound coming from the removed earphone. “Fall Out Boy? Nice choice.”

Your neck snaps but you give a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Do you want something to eat? Did you manage to get some breakfast?” You sigh, your hands twitching and trembling, which tells Derek everything he needs to know. “Is it a bomb-site there?”

You shake your head. “I managed—“ you whistle “—to clean up. Took ages.” Your neck jerks forward. Derek sighs, putting an arm around you and pulling you into his side. You've always been wary; you never want to hurt your dad accidentally but Derek doesn’t care. You're his kid, and nothing will change that.

“You’re okay. Do you want some lunch? We can go to the cafeteria—they’ve got some pizza in there that’s actually pretty good.”

You nod, knowing anything you try to say will be interrupted by one of your twitches. You walk alongside Derek, trying your hardest to suppress your twitching as you make your way through the hospital and into to lift, where a few others are going to different floors. Derek notices, and leans into your ear. “You don’t have to hide it here, kid. Promise.”

There’s an audible sigh of relief from you as you let out a scatter of twitches, your neck jerking forward as you whistle and click. Your hands shake and flap and you let it all go. A few of the doctors and nurses turn around to look at you, but one harsh glare from Dr Shepherd makes them all go back to minding their own business.

You exit the lift and walk through the corridors to the cafeteria. You join the queue and you feel Derek keep an arm around you, trying to help you ease your twitches. You're grateful, though you both know there isn’t much either of you can do to stop them. You sigh, putting your earphones back in and blasting some music, this time Hozier.

Derek watches you struggle, sympathy panging through his heart. He hates that you've been cursed with this, and the worst part is they can’t find anything that’s causing it. It’s not like there’s a tumour or growth on your brain Dr Shepherd can operate on, you're just stuck with it.

“Dr Shepherd, good afternoon. Who’s this?” Lindsey, the server behind the food counter, greets. Derek smiles.

“Afternoon Lindsey. This is my kid, Y/N. They're joining me at the hospital today,” he explains, gently tapping you on the shoulder and causing you to take an earphone out. “Y/N, this is Lindsey.”

“Hi,” you greet, before your neck jerks forward yet again, cracking. The two adults give a wince and Lindsey gives you a small smile.

“What would you like, hun?” She asks. You look over, or does so as best you can. You can barely stay still long enough to read the menu. “We have a standard pizza or pepperoni pizza today. We also have some ham, chicken, or cheese sandwiches and salads. Or a few pastries we can heat up if you’d prefer.”

You give her a grateful smile. “Can I—“ you whistle “—have pepperoni please? And a—“ you click “—bottle of water?”

“Sure thing, and you Dr Shepherd?”

You put your earphones back in, trying your hardest to stop twitching. The problem is, the more you try to stop it, the worse it gets. It takes a few minutes for you to get your food, and when you do, Derek carries both trays to a table and sets them down. He takes a seat opposite you, giving a small smile.

“Thanks Dad,” you thank, pulling one earphone out so you can hear the conversation. You pick up the plastic fork and spear a few chips, but before you can eat them, your hand twitches and you throw it on the floor. You sigh but before either you or your dad can make a move to pick it up, someone else does it for you.

“You better be more careful. I don’t want fries on my shoes.” You recognise that voice anywhere, and smile as you look up at Dr Bailey. You let out a small laugh.

“Hi Dr Bailey,” you greet, whistling as your head snaps to the side and back. She smiles at you.

“Heard you were coming and through I’d say hello.”

—•—

“Guys, shut up,” Cristina hisses. “Do you see?”

“See what?” George asks as they quieten down. She nods her head and the table of interns turn around to catch sight of what’s going on. Dr Bailey is talking Dr Shepherd… and you sat with them. You're not dressed in any kind of hospital gown, nor are you wearing scrubs, so who are you? And how are you making Dr Bailey smile?

Meredith watches, catching sigh of your hair, and her eyes widen. She reaches over, slapping George on the arm.

“What?” He asks.

“It’s them,” she replies, “the person from earlier. Y’know, the one who didn’t check in at reception and took the stairs. The one who ignored us!”

George’s eyes widen too, and the two get up and start to walk over, ignoring the protests of Cristina and Izzie as they reach the table. You're struggling to get a sentence out, whistling and clicking as you try to tell Dr Shepherd about something.

“Dr Shepherd!” Meredith calls out, making the conversation halt between you. “Are you with a patient?”

She misses how you cringe. Dr Shepherd frowns, which only deepens more at the crack in your neck as it jerks forward. “Dr Grey, Dr O’Malley, how can I help?”

“W-We saw, erm, this kid walk straight through and up to neurology without checking in. Do you want us to check them in and get a better examination? We were going to come to you for a consult when we saw them anyway, but since you already seem to know them…” George trails off and Dr Shepherd looks between you, the interns, and Dr Bailey.

An awkward silence falls between you, only disturbed by the occasional whistle or click from you. “I can get a wheelchair if it’s easier.”

“No need,” Dr Shepherd cuts in. “They aren’t a patient, their name’s Y/N. They're my kid and they're accompanying me to work today.” The two interns look at each other, mortified. “Now, if you excuse us, we were just having lunch.”

Your hand flexes again, making you throw your fork on the floor (the second one in the space of fifteen minutes) and sigh. You go to pick it up, only for George to beat you to it. “Here.”

“Than—“ you click as your head jerks forward “Thank you.”

“Don’t you two have places to be?” Bailey asks, less than impressed with her two interns in front of her. They both nod and scurry off, back to their table to tell Cristina and Izzie about Dr McDreamy’s kid.

—•—

“I don’t know how they cope with it,” George muses as the group of four interns sit on some beds in the back corridor, waiting to be paged for something.

“Yeah, twitching all the time. God, I’d kill myself if I had them,” Izzie continues. “Would ruin my chances at both medicine and modelling. And a lot of other things, probably.”

“Do you think they wanted to go into medicine? Y’know, before they started twitching? Or have they always had it?” Cristina asks. “Or do they have a tumour?”

“For your information,” a voice cuts in, making all four jump and turn to the source, meeting the likes of Dr Shepherd, “Y/N wants to be a lawyer.” He walks down the corridor to them, everyone’s cheeks turning red a the prospect of being caught gossiping. “The tics developed about eighteen months ago, just before we moved to Seattle. It’s not a tumour, or any kind of swelling; in fact, we have no clue what set it off.”

“Have you done an MRI? CT?” Meredith suggests and Derek nods.

“We ran everything. It all came back clean.” He looks at Cristina. “They did want to be a doctor. When we realised we couldn’t cure them, they were upset for weeks. They—“

“Talking about me?” A voice calls down the corridor and Derek’s face splits into a smile, something that doesn’t go amiss by the others. You whistle, making it to the group and taking a seat next to your dad. You lean on him… until your neck twitches and you almost fall back. Derek’s hand shoots out, supporting you.

“We were just—“ Izzie tries to say before you cut her off, clicking in the process.

“Let me guess.” You whistle. “The doctor que—“ you click “—question and how I live with—“ your neck jerks to the side “—it.”

Your dad gives you a smile. “Ten out of ten for you,” he smiles. You nod.

“Well, I used to want to—“ you click “—be a doctor, until we found out this is incurable.” You whistle. “Pretty soul-crushing.” Your neck jerks back, and if it wasn’t for your dad’s hand, you would’ve hit the wall. “And we’ve learned to adapt to it. There are—“ you click “—days where I’m fine, with only a few, and days—“ you whistle and everyone can feel the frustration radiating off you. Still, no one chooses to finish your sentence, letting you get it out yourself “—like this.”

—•—

For a while, the six make general conversation, until, slowly but surely, you start to drift off. It isn’t until there’s an odd silence that Derek notices, and he has a smile on his face as he looks down at you, asleep on his shoulder.

“They look so… peaceful,” Izzie comments quietly, the others agreeing.

“Yeah. We’ve had a few rough days this week. God knows they need the rest,” Derek mutters. He shifts to look between the four. “Any of you wake them, I’ll make sure you’re banned from the OR for a month.”

Everyone’s eyes widen as they nod in unison; they’re all begging for a chance at more surgery. Carefully, Derek manoeuvres you so your head’s lying in his lap, body stretched out on the hospital bed. He carefully cards his fingers through your hair, detangling it as gently as he can.

The interns’ pagers go off, assigning them jobs and the four rush off, leaving Derek and you to rest. He smiles, getting himself comfortable sitting on the end of the bed, back against the wall.

“Get some rest, buddy. I’ll always be here for you.”

—•—

Hope y'all enjoyed. I know it's pretty different from what I usually write, but this is for my own comfort so...

Sorry not sorry

Taglist

@breadsticks2004 @criminalsmarts @rororo06@ogmilkis@ssebstann@herecomesthewriterwitch @garcias-batcave @spidey-reids-2003 @lovelylaurens@sataninsatin@snarky--starky @mcntsee @averyhotchner @dindjarinsspouse @lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love

#derek shepherd #teen reader #Derek Shepherd x teen reader #Derek Shepherd x reader #platonic #tics #twitches #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #greys anatomy

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astaroth1357 · 4 years ago

Text

The MC Accidentally Kisses the Brothers

Due to incredibly popular demand (and because it’s a cute prompt).

Lucifer

It was just a childish prank, but pretty much all of Satan’s pranks were childish at their core (even the more homicidal ones).

This one wasn’t even that bad in the grand scheme of things. The angry boi was just trying to see if he could get Lucifer to fall down the stairs...

...admittedly, saying it out loud makes it sound much more cruel than intended. But this is Lucifer we’re talking about. A tumble down a flight or two wouldn’t leave him too injured… Unfortunately for Satan, he wasn’t the only one who took a tumbling.

The plan was pretty simple, put an enchantment on the stairs to the Conference Hall, lay in wait, and trigger it right as Lucifer was leaving a meeting. He’s always the last to go, so it should have been foolproof.

But the MC hung back to leave with Lucifer that day and just so happened to jump forward right as Satan was timing his step… getting themselves thrown down along with him.

Fortunately for them both, the firstborn’s reflexes were astounding. He was already holding the MC in his demon form and cushioning their fall before they could even hit the first stair. And it was quite a long way down…

By the time they hit the bottom, Lucifer had them fully wrapped up in his wings and Satan couldn’t what had happened until they unfolded… whereupon he saw the MC laying on top of Lucifer with their lips far FAR too close together for his liking…

Yeah, that backfired pretty hard and Satan was left fuming over it for days… Not that Lucifer minded in the slightest.

Mammon

Sometimes when Mammon does his photoshoots he brings the MC along as one part cheerleader, one part pit crew. It’ll be their job to hold onto his stuff, make sure he has enough to drink, and generally stand there and be impressed by his awesomeness until they leave.

Well that day things had been going well… until a particularly nosy worker started hovering around the MC too much for Mammon’s liking.

He tried to put it past him, since he had a shoot to do and all, but he snapped about halfway through when the guy kept trying to force a conversation with the very not interested MC.

Oh, he was ready to tell him off. He made the photographer stop mid-shoot just so he could march over there himself and give that asshole a piece of his mind! He was going to absolutely tear him to shreds and then-!!

Okay, that didn’t exactly happen because right as he got up to the MC, ready to start shouting, our lovable moron tripped… again…

But unlike the first time, where he more or less face-planted the floor, this time he smacked lips first into a surprised MC in front of the jerk he was trying to scare off.

… Yeah. He meant to do that.

And that’s exactly how he played it off, keeping his lips right where they were and flipping the other guy off so he’d leave them alone (which, thankfully, he did).

Totally what he intended to do and he'll swear so to this day.

Leviathan

… how in the world do you mess up the Kabedon?

Levi had seen the move done hundreds of times before in anime. It’s a very simple concept: put someone up against a wall, put one of your hands by their head, and just lean. That’s it. Not rocket science.

Levi had been mentally preparing himself for this moment for days… He may or may not have even practiced this (very simple) move in his room countless times. He genuinely thought he was ready to try it on the MC.

So, on one of those rare days he went to RAD, he gave it a shot. He waited until he and the MC were walking alone together, got them up against the wall, annnnd…

...rather than touching the wall next to them, his hand completely missed any sort of hard surface because in his panic he stopped them right next to a blind corner…

Naturally, his body fell forward some but since there wasn’t that much space between them by that point he uh… he… well he now knows their preferred Chapstick.

No matter what the MC’s reaction ultimately was, he leapt away from them like he just licked an electric fence and bolted.

His embarrassment genuinely cannot be overstated... He practically broke a window in his attempt to get the hell out of there and back to his room, where he didn’t leave for three days straight… Poor Levi...

Satan

It started out as easily one of the best days of his life.

The MC, the exchange students, and the Royal Court had all decided to surprise him on his birthday with a Devildom-style cat cafe… Kitties were on practically every surface around him!

Admittedly, Satan had been pretty distracted throughout most of his time there. There were just so many kitties for him to see that he sort of forgot about the MC in the process…

So in order to get his attention a little, the MC thought it would be cute to pick up one of the furry bundles and hold it in front of their face, doing that little thing where you pretended to “talk” for the cat and even waved one of its little paws at him.

They hadn’t predicted that Satan would find the display utterly, heart-meltingly adorable...

He attempted to plant a kiss on top of the furry critter’s head at the exact time that the MC brought the cat down their face entirely.

It took Satan a second or two to register that his lips were not, in fact, on a cat. And when he pulled back to see the MC’s shocked expression, the full gravity of his actions smacked him in the face like a falling log…

Cue a flustered rush to apologize while the MC hid their face back behind the confused kitty… Getting an accidental kiss in front of the prince of Hell and literal angels was pretty dang embarrassing...

At least the incident was taken in good spirits by most of the people in attendance (minus Luke, who was desperately trying to give MC his bottle of holy water like it was pepper spray by that point).

Though after that point, Satan noticed that his “guests” kept passive-aggressively giving him cats until he was literally so buried in fluff he could barely move… probably not related, though. Probably.

Asmodeus

It was another party night with Asmo and the MC at the Fall having a good time.

Now, Asmo was no stranger to Demonus and other assorted demonic beverages. You could say his tolerance is decent enough, but get a few too many in him and he does start to get a little off…

And a drunk Asmo is a very troublesome Asmo.

The MC, bless their heart, was pretty much playing the sober babysitter to their demon friend when Asmo decided that he HAD to leave the club and get cupcakes right then. Being the good person they were, MC agreed to go with him, as long as he promised to stay with them and not wander off…

But they somehow managed to lose him within three blocks from the club. All they did was check their phone for directions and the guy bailed!!

Little did the MC know, while they were frantically searching for him Asmo hadn’t run away completely… He had just decided it was a great idea to play hide-and-seek at 2am and hid behind a nearby building.

It was his drunken giggling that eventually gave away his position, but he jumped out from behind the corner right as the MC was rounding it. Naturally, they both to collided. If hugging hadn’t been an instinctual action to Asmo by they point, they would have fallen down…

All they did ended up doing instead was getting caught in lip-lock due to Asmo’s sudden vice-grip.

Apparently he laughed and laughed all the way back to the House but his memory of it is pretty hazy… He’ll just have to get the MC to reenact it with him a few dozen times, that ought to jog his memory!

Beelzebub

The MC was helping Beel out with his workout yet again and things had been going well.

Since Beel is pretty much a one-man army, his weights and routine are usually waaay too advanced for any human to be able to handle. So the MC is less his spotter and more a casual supporter/motivator than anything else.

And motivation was just what they were trying to provide with a fun little experiment of theirs…

Ever heard of the “carrot-on-the-stick”? Well they decided to try something like that… literally. Just replace the carrot with a roast ham!

They put ham on a fishing pole, set Beel up on a treadmill, and dangled it closer or farther away based on his speed. In theory, it wasn’t the worst idea in the world... but in practice…?

Well. Someone should have told them not to stand in front of him during this little trial...

Their motivation experiment did work for a few minutes… But soon enough Beel’s stomach got the better of his (marginal) self-control. They just weren’t expecting him to leap over the top of the treadmill...!

The smart thing to do would have been to drop the fishing pole or to just keep it still so Beel could grab the meat, but the MC reflexively drew the pole back behind them… thus putting them right in Beel’s path instead.

And that’s how they ended up caged under lord knows how many pounds of Beelzebub, thankfully kissing their lips rather than trying to chew them off…

Needless to say, Beel climbed off of them, red as a cherry, and the MC let him have that ham before the two agreed to never try this again. Whoopsie!

Belphegor

Belphie likes sleep.

Belphie likes cuddles.

Belphie likes cuddling in his sleep.

Really this was bound to happen eventually…

The MC and Belphie were having a nice nap together in the attic and there wasn’t anything nefarious about it. Just two people snuggled up together in the same bed.

...snuggled up very close together in the same bed.

So close, in fact, that when the MC finally woke up and rolled over some to reposition themselves, they felt the soft lips of their companion brush up against their own.

They, of course, had the appropriate reaction of shock and embarrassment to this… but this cheeky fucker just smirked at them and let one eye slip open.

“What…? Is that it? It’ll take more than that to wake me up…”

Never mind the fact he was awake the whole time...

He really should have expected that pillow to the head, but after they struck the first blow, it was on now.

Don't worry. As it would turn out, an impromptu pillow fight also wakes him up just fine. Who'd have guessed?

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me reactions #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #obey me imagines

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flareish · 3 years ago

Text

Anxiety

kuroo x reader

summary: you hide your anxiety from basically everyone including your boyfriend, until he finds out for himself

genre: hurt/comfort

warnings: Emetophobia Warning! description of nausea/vomit, anxiety, bit of angst but ends in fluff

word count: 2.0k

a/n: I tried to make this as close to my anxiety since I hadn’t known anyone with my kind of anxiety(symptom wise) until I was seventeen, which was a good ways into when I realized I had anxiety. So here is some nausea anxiety representation!

masterlist

You tap your fingers in a mindless rhythm. Alternating the fingers and repeating them back and forth, trying to make it a game, a challenge. You did this over and over again to distract yourself from that all too familiar sinking feeling. That feeling like your stomach has managed to twist and knot itself a million times. Each bump of the bus made acid crawl up your throat. You crunched a mint in your mouth hoping the peppermint would soothe some of the nausea. It didn’t, but the thought was there. You just will yourself not to throw up on the bus, anything but that. The thought in itself makes you even more nervous, and in turn even sicker.

You don’t even know why you are anxious. Today is Kuroo’s big game, but it isn’t yours. You’ve been to a hundred of his games before but never before did you feel like this. Normally you get cute little butterflies, not an angry swarm of bees. The worst part is, there is Kuroo sat next to you happy as can be, completely oblivious. He keeps trying to drag you into conversations but you fear if you open your mouth for too long, all that will come up is vomit. So you keep your mouth firmly closed only smiling tightly or shaking your head at his prompts.

It's not exactly his fault though. He doesn’t actually know you have anxiety. It’s not something you really like to talk about. You are all for promoting the acceptance of mental health but you just find every time you tell someone the dynamic changes. Either they flat out don’t believe you since you “don’t seem like the type with anxiety”. Well duh, I don’t have social anxiety, I have situational anxiety. Like here in this situation. That or they suddenly treat me like I am incapable of handling myself. That whenever a slightly stressful event comes up, I am going to melt into a puddle of pure anxiety. Sorry but I’ve made it this far, I may have to throw up a few times on the way but I am still making it.

So you just haven’t told Kuroo. You're just nervous that it will change the dynamic. You also don’t want to steal his spotlight. Today is supposed to be all about him. It's his big game. To suddenly speak up and tell him that his game is giving you anxiety would be selfish. So like you always have, you put a brave face on and face it head-on.

“Hey, are you okay?” Kuroo asks you, now facing you, “You look a little pale.”

“Hmm?,” You also turn to look at him, “Oh I am just a bit tired that’s all. I will be fine in an hour or so.” You hope at least. He nods relieved it's not something worse.

You finally pull into the stadium and everyone is pushing their way off the bus. Luckily Kuroo is right by you to make sure you don't get accidentally pushed down the bus stairs and trampled. The team makes it’s to the bulletin board where they are given their matchups. Nekoma is paired with a pretty hard team. Suddenly, out of nowhere, you dry heave. You knew at the point you were going to throw up and within the next few minutes.

“Hey I think I left something in the bus I’ll be right back.” You say to Kuroo before dashing off. He goes to reply but you are already gone.

You make it around the back of the building before you throw up. At this point you’re kinda out of it, your mind is occupied on emptying your already empty stomach. Then you feel someone pull your hair back and gently rub your back. You don’t even have to look up to know it’s Kuroo. When you finish he hands you his water bottle. You waterfall it and rinse your mouth out of that acidic taste.

“What’s going on are you okay?” Kuroo asks full of concern. You hesitate for a moment, thinking of telling the truth. Then you remember this is supposed to be his day.

“Sorry I must have caught a stomach bug.” He doesn’t completely buy it so you quickly add to it.

“I didn't feel great on the bus but I just thought it was because I was tired.” You feel bad lying, “I also don’t want to distract you before your game.” At that Kuroo quickly pulls you into a hug, “Your not a distraction, I just want to make sure you’re okay.” Your cheek is pressed against his chest and your hands grip the front of his shirt.

“We should probably head back.” You mumble.

“Yeah.” He leans down to kiss you but you duck away. He looks incredibly offended and hurt at this.

“Dude I just threw up I don’t know if you want to do that.”

“…Point.”

The two of you head back inside to the team, you feeling much better after throwing up. Before you know it, the competition has begun and Nekoma has won. You run down and celebrate with the team and it’s a happy day.

On the bus ride home Kuroo has a strange energy about him. Not like he’s mad more just like he’s just realized something. You nudge him and smile hoping to break him out of his little funk. He immediately smiles back and goes back to celebrating with the team. His reaction was almost like putting a mask on. You watch him for a moment before slipping into a conversation of your own.

When you make it back to school you go your separate ways. Him going to shower, and you to get home before it gets too late. A big hug before pushing away. You still refusing to kiss him after throwing up earlier in the day.

You are laying on your bed, exhausted. Anxiety really takes a toll on your energy. Your thoughts are broken when your phone chimes with a text. Leaning over to grab your phone off your bedside table you see it is from Kuroo.

“Can you come over? I want to talk.”

No cute pet names. No slowly easing into it. Actually using proper grammar. Nothing in that message was a good sign. Just “I want to talk” was enough to make the acid begin to crawl again. You knew it had to be about today. Especially after you saw him zoning out on the bus. It had to be your anxiety episode. You knew he wouldn’t be happy you lied but going to this extent. Like he just found out you have anxiety and this is what he hits you with? The world’s most nerve-wracking text message. The only worse place than this would be “we need to talk”. That’s when you have really screwed up. So maybe you’ve only minorly screwed up since he said want not need. Does that mean you have the choice to say no? That was kind of tempting but you knew you would be tossing and turning all night thinking about what might be wrong.

“Okay.” You reply to the text. Short and sweet. Putting on some shoes and grabbing a hoodie, you quietly slip out of your house. Kuroo’s house wasn’t too far but it was far enough. Enough to continue to stir in your intrusive and unstoppable thoughts. You eventually make it to his house and head in going straight for his room. Before you reach the door you hesitate and gather yourself. Preparing for whatever was about to come.

When you go in you find Kuroo sat on the floor of his bedroom, back pressed against the bed. He jerkily looks up and you and gives you a tight smile. None of this is giving good signs. Something is very heavy on his mind. You sit down across from him, your back against the wall your feet almost touching.

“So what was it you wanting to talk about.” You break the silence. He doesn’t respond for a moment. Just as you are about to try again he speaks up.

“Do you still love me?” Your face drops into confusion.

“Why wouldn’t I love you anymore?” You ask, suddenly realizing this wasn’t the conversation you were prepping yourself for.

“You’ve been distant lately. You don’t tell me things like when you don’t feel good. I thought about it when I got home and I was wondering if you weren’t actually sick but just making the excuse because you got caught.” He’s very serious at the moment and his words hold a cold edge.

“What do you mean get caught?” You match his tone. You weren’t planning on fighting but something about how he said it just set something off in you.

“You didn’t want to be there. Ever since this morning you were quiet and reserved. Even after the game, you wouldn’t even kiss me-”

“Yeah, cause I threw up! And how could I be faking it when I literally threw up.” You snap.

“You’ve been like this before though! Like last year’s big tournament you would barely talk to me.”

“That’s not true!” Although it kind of was just not the reason he thought.

“Oh yeah? What about at training camp you wouldn’t talk to me then either, you didn’t even eat with us you just sat on your own.” He threw back.

“Yeah, cause I have anxiety!” The words left your mouth before you knew it. Kuroo looked taken back.

“What?” His brow furrows, “Since when?” He’s not sure what to believe. You’re not surprised since you have worked very hard to hide it from everyone, accidentally sabotaging your own relationship without even knowing it.

“Since forever. I just never told anyone.” You quietly say, ducking your head down.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You didn’t even need to look up to see the hurt on his face, it was apparent in his voice. You start playing with your finger, tapping them in rhythms.

“I wanted to,” You mumble, “But whenever I do stuff changes and I didn’t want anything to change.” He shifts forward and you think he’s going to leave. Instead, he grabs your hands, stopping the pattern you had going. You look up.

“Did you think I would judge you?” He was staring straight into you, willing the truth to come out.

“Whenever I tell people they either don’t believe me and brush it off or treat me like I’m incapable of handling any amount of stress. I’ve never seen anyone react any differently so I was scared you would fall into one of those reactions and I didn’t know how I could handle that. I didn’t want my anxiety to be the thing to tear us apart. But I guess it still was.” By the end of your speech, your gaze has returned back to the floor, unable to hold eye contact for that long with him staring at you so strongly. You hear him sigh then you are pulled forward and into his arms.

“I want to be your pillar of support. I want to be that third reaction that is one of acceptance, one that doesn’t drive you crazy.” He strokes your hair soothingly, his words making you tear up, “When you are ready I want you to tell me everything. From when you first noticed it, to where it is now, to how you deal with it, everything.” By now you are fully crying, absolutely collapsed into his chest. “I love you so much.” It gets muffled in his shirt but he hears it.

“I know, and I love you.”

It would take some time for Kuroo to get used to this change but slowly but surely he will be different from the rest and he will support you no matter what. Although he also respects your strength and knows you can handle your anxiety on your own, he is always there when you need it. He becomes the third unexpected and unheard-of reaction; acceptance.

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #nekoma #kuroo #kuroo fluff #kuroo tetsuro imagine #kuroo tetsuro oneshot #kuroo scenarios #kuroo hurt/comfort #kuroo x reader #hq kuroo

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burninginthecoldnight · 3 years ago

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BTHB #1

Bingo card | @badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Crippling the Competition

CW: non-graphic injury, forced injection, implied stalking, implied kidnapping

Hero was sick of this. This game of cat and mouse that he was playing with Villain—it was taxing. And time consuming. And quite frankly, there were other things Hero would like to be doing, people he would like to take down. Awards he’d like to win. But no. He had to spend every breathing moment tracking down Villain, thwarting his plot before it went too far.

But that’s fine. He didn’t want to sleep tonight anyway.

If he wasn’t getting so much media attention and adoration from fans, it wouldn’t have been worth it. He made good money. People wanted his picture and autograph. He had fans, fame, and fortune. Everything he dreamed of.

If only Villain could behave for just one second, maybe he could get some sleep for once and get the newspapers off his back. What kind of hero can’t stop a menace like Villain?

It took some time—about a week, really—but Hero had a plan. He'd perfected it.

One night, when he knew Villain was injured and not thinking properly—so injured that he was limping, in fact—Hero followed him back to his hideout (or lair? Home?).

It was dark. The parking lot was poorly lit, but that worked in Hero’s favor. He watched from afar as Villain dragged his left foot. He reached the stairs, leaning against the rail for support as he went downstairs. Hero trailed behind him, only a few footfalls back.

It was cold down here. There were a lot of cobwebs, and trash littering the stairs. The stairs were steep. He could tell Villain was struggling to get down them. So far, Hero had been quiet.

“You can pass me, you know,” said Villain suddenly. “Don’t let me slow you down. No need to be polite.”

Villain hadn’t turned around. His back was facing Hero as he sat on the step, hand clutching the railing still, and gasping for breath. He was tired. Clearly.

Fortunately, Hero was not in uniform, so it was unlikely Villain would recognize him. But he might recognize his voice if he wasn’t careful.

Hero smiled. Lightened his voice. Tried to look friendly. He took a few steps down and said, “Forgive me. I should have offered to help you.”

Villain shook his head. “Oh, no. You don’t have to do that. I can make it.”

“Please,” Hero insisted, holding out his hand.

Villain’s head was bowed, turned away from Hero. Whatever internal struggle he was facing, Hero didn’t know. Probably shame, if he had to guess.

Finally, Villain relented. He uncurled his right arm—the one he was holding to his chest—and took hold of Hero’s offered hand. Hero pulled him up. Villain wobbled on his feet, but allowed Hero to carry some of his weight as he leaned against him for support. Villain’s body was unexpectantly warm.

“It’s not much farther down,” said Villain, which proved to be true. Before long, they were standing in front of his door. Villain walked his worst enemy to his most discreet location. It was unbelievably easy.

“This is it,” said Villain. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a gold key. “Thank you for your help.”

“Do you think you’ll be okay?” Hero asked, watching as Villain’s fingers trembled. “I can get that for you, if that’s okay.”

“No, it’s all right. I got it.”

Hero took a step back but didn’t leave. He watched Villain fumble with the key once more before accidentally dropping it. Villain leaned against the doorframe.

Hero said, “Here. Let me get that for you.” He glanced at Villain’s pale face. Sweaty. He asked, “Are you sure you’re okay? I can call an ambulance for you.”

Villain’s eyes lit up. “No! No, I’m—no.”

“You sure? You look ill.”

“No. Please… don’t. It will pass. I’m fine.”

Sweat beaded down Villain’s forehead. His hair was damp with it, curling at the ends. Falling in front of his half-lidded eyes. Somehow, his breathing was worse.

Hero reached for his clammy hand, gently pulling the key from his fingers. Hero helped him up, since he’d bent down to pick the keys up. Hero opened the door for them. Villain leaned against him for support, albeit reluctantly, as they stumbled through the threshold.

Hero stopped.

Blinked once. Twice.

No, this was real.

“Where is everything?” Hero asked. His heart stopped. In his confusion, he’d lost his composure, and could only hope Villain was still out of it.

“What?” Villain said, looking up. “Oh. Right.”

It was empty. The entire room was empty. Not even a chair or a footstool. Just… nothing.

Villain didn’t elaborate.

So Hero asked, “Where can I walk you to?”

“My bedroom,” said Villain. “It’s over there. I have a mattress in there. Should be… fine.”

The mattress in question was just that: a mattress. No sheets. No blankets. No pillows. Hero was starting to think that this was some elaborate setup. The joke was on him, and he’d fallen right into Villain’s trap. Because this wasn’t a home. It was an empty shell, a husk, nothing like the chaotic dark lair Villain ought to live in.

Hero tried to turn on the light; it didn’t work. And it was cold in here. He should really turn the heat on. With that thought, Hero realized the fine line he was walking between friend and foe right now.

Villain wasn’t his friend.

He had a job to do. He’d best remember that.

Villain settled on his floor mattress. Shivered and curled into himself again, holding his arm close to his body. Hero wondered what it’d feel like to take his arm and twist it, just like Enemy had.

“Why are you doing this? Helping me,” Villain clarified.

Hero shrugged. “It’s the right thing to do. Help a person in need. You looked like you were in pain.”

“A little bit,” Villain agreed. “I’ll be okay.”

“Mind if I ask how it happened?”

“Nothing. Just a bar fight,” Villain lied.

Of course, Hero knew exactly what happened. He was there.

“You’ve never been good at staying out of trouble,” Hero said, approaching Villain slowly. His hand was in his pocket, his fingers feeling for the right position.

Villain frowned. “What?” He tried to sit up.

Hero pushed him back down, hands hard on his shoulder, with his other hand he pulled an object out of his pocket. Plunged the needle into Villain’s neck. He was too tired to fight back.

Villain slumped in Hero’s arms.

When he was sure Villain was asleep, Hero gathered him in his arms, stood up, and carried him to the van waiting outside.

Part 2

#bad things happen bingo #heroes and villains #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #evil hero #villain whumpee #my writing #original writing #hero #villain #hero x villain

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heloisedaphnebrightmore · 4 years ago

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The Viscount’s fiancee [Anthony Bridgerton x Reader]

Title: The Viscount’s fiancee Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Female!Reader Word count: 3k Published: 7 March, 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Summary: [x] Being engaged to the eldest Bridgerton brother makes you the happiest person alive, occasionally so much so that it makes you act as though you were a foolish child. But all that giddiness is about to disappear upon your findings.

Bridgerton Masterlist | Masterlists

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Viscount, Anthony Bridgerton was known for many reasons. The Bridgerton family was wealthy and highly respected in the ton. Many mothers wanted to marry off their daughters to one of the Bridgerton brothers, but of all Anthony had the worst standing. He was dashingly handsome, very prominent and certainly well educated, but his reputation as a rake preceded him.

When the news of your engagement surfaced, even Lady Whistledown wrote of you with a great deal of respect namely as the woman who tamed one of the wildest Bridgertons. You just laughed it off, but deep down you felt somewhat proud. You have been friends from a very young age and since your families have had a long and close relationship, it was inevitable to grow close to the siblings. In your teenage years, however, you fell for the man’s charm and humour, even his brooding moments. Although his proposal came as a surprise, knowing your relationship was always stranded at the stage of a friendship, when he kneeled down in front of you and asked for your hand in marriage, the amount of pure happiness you felt made you feel like you were walking above the clouds.

Hurrying down the stairs, you held onto the side of your dress before attempting to fall face down, but your clumsiness seemed to be greater as you accidentally let your dress fall on one side. Your own foot tangled up in the hem of your dress and the weight of your body pulled you dangerously close to the ground. In fear, you closed your eyes, heart pumping dangerously against your chest, anticipating a painful and loud landing, However, before you could have encountered the most embarrassing moment of your life, a strong arm locked around your waist, pulling your back against a hard chest. At first you didn’t dare to open your eyes, you squeezed them shut, afraid of your saviour’s identity, but the significant cologne reminded you of one very important person.

Turning around in his arms, you opened only one eye, peeking up at your hero. He wore an adoring, lopsided smile as he shook his head disapprovingly. You scrunched your nose as you opened your other eye and rearranged your expression into an innocent smile, trying to mask your embarrassment.

“I take it you were in a haste to see me?” he asked, his deep voice holding a humorous tone. Indeed, his arrival sparked such curiosity in you that you couldn’t possibly wait a second more to slow your steps and descend down the stairs as though a lady should. You have barely spent a couple of hours apart, but there you were missing him endlessly, involuntarily bringing out a giddy little child within you. The love you felt for him couldn’t have been more obvious and whilst you attempted to act less transparent, it never seemed to work. Anthony wasn’t an oblivious man, nor were you the best actress of the ton.

“I was simply heading to the drawing room,” you replied nonchalantly, trying to convince him that for once his presence didn’t affect you as deeply as he already knew.

“I’m quite certain the drawing room is upstairs,” he huffed playfully. Indeed, the previously mentioned room was upstairs and making yourself look as though you were a fool didn’t seem to help your case.

“I was thirsty,” you quickly added, hoping to stop Anthony from questioning you any further.

“Should you have called the maid, she would have brought the drink to your room,” he added, his smirk growing slightly, enjoying your foolishness.

“Anthony Bridgerton,” you called his name in a warning tone, earning a heartfelt laughter from the man, knowing you have reached your patience. Although you have not been married yet and only announced your engagement a week or so ago, you were very close to one another, hence the reason his arm around you for longer than appropriate didn’t seem to bother you nor him. Your father loved the eldest Bridgerton brother greatly even though he knew of his reputation, therefore he didn’t mind finding you alone with him, but he never failed to mention keeping a distance until you were married.

“I apologise, but you were never a good liar,” he chuckled at your failed attempt to mask your love for him.

“I know, I’m well aware of it. But exposing me is very unfair,” you pouted in the least lady-like manner. Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you steadied yourself on the stairs, Anthony’s arms leaving your body cold after his warm embrace.

“Why is it unfair?” he furrowed, slightly confused about your words.

“Because you know I love you. You know I love you very much,” you replied with a saddened expression as you started heading down the stairs. “It’s not funny when I clearly know I am making a fool out of myself in front of you,” you shook your head, disappointed in your own behaviour. Whilst you knew Anthony cared for you dearly, you always felt as though your feelings were deeper, stronger. Sometimes foolish thoughts ran across your mind, ones that tried to convince you Anthony didn’t love you the way you wished he did, that he might have only loved you as a friend from his childhood, someone he was used to being around.

Anthony quickly headed after you, grabbing your wrist as gently as he could, halting your steps as he turned you around to face him. “What are you talking about? I love that foolish, careless personality of yours,” he said, his tone slightly confused. “Have I done something to you?”

“I know being straightforward about such a subject is meant to be rude, but you have known me for years, Anthony. I need to know something, and I would like you to answer honestly, please,” you almost begged the man as he stood in front of you, his eyes wide in surprise, your seriousness unfamiliar to him.

“I’m always honest with you,” he added.

“Thank you,” you let a small faux smile spread across your face as you heaved a deep sigh, collecting the courage to ask your question. “Are you marrying me because my father asked you to or was it you who asked him for my hand?” you questioned, knowing he never talked about the arrangements between him and your father. You always felt safe and secure around him and falling for him happened from one day to another, it was inevitable for you. But for him, you couldn’t decide when and what changed. At once, he appeared in the drawing room with a bouquet of red roses and kneeled down in front of you, proposing to you, promising happiness forever. You were too happy to question his intentions then, but as the days passed as though your insecurities resurfaced, you couldn’t possibly think about anything else, but the reasons behind his sudden interest in you.

You furrowed at the long silence, tears collecting in your eyes at the realisation, chest weighing a ton. Anthony didn’t speak, he didn’t confirm it verbally, but you understood. The engagement wasn’t his idea to begin with and it all started to make sense. He never tried to kiss you, touch you in secret, he never tried to act as though you were lovers. Knowing it was inappropriate shouldn’t have stopped him, his time as a rake wasn’t a secret after all, he was a passionate man.

Gulping loudly, you took a step back, removing your wrist from his hold. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he spoke up finally, his voice filled with guilt.

“Should you have told me, I would have understood and stopped making a fool out of myself,” you replied, your unshed tears finally escaping down your cheeks. Heavy weight settled in your chest, your air seemingly stuck in your lungs, suddenly the mere thought of Anthony caused you tremendous amounts of physical and emotional pain.

“You misunderstand, I-” he tried to explain himself, but you didn’t give him the chance to and cut him off.

“But do I?” you asked with tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes as you fought against the loud sobs trying to escape your lungs. “You have accepted my father’s request to marry me! I never wanted to feel pitied, I never wanted to feel as though I could only marry out of an arrangement. I confessed my feelings for you, Anthony,” you sobbed loudly. Anthony reached for you to hold you, but you pushed his arms away and took a step back. “Do you understand how terrible it is to realise that the man you love pretended to be interested in you because of a mere agreement? Anthony do you realise?” you emphasised your words, but instead of speaking his mind, he stood in front of you gaping silently as though he wanted to say something, but not a word nor a sound left his lips. “Please, I’m begging you, leave now,” you whispered in a weak tone. Attempting to look less of a pitiful woman than you already felt as you walked around Anthony’s stunned figure towards the garden.

“I can’t leave. Please listen to me,” he turned around, calling you after a moment of silence, but you pretended to be deaf to his words. “Please!” he hurried after you as you exited the mansion, the warm rays of the sun warming up your body. The door closed behind you loudly, but within a second Anthony followed you out to the garden. “You must listen to me. It’s a misunderstanding,” he tried to convince you.

“No, it isn’t,” you replied in a firm tone, not wanting to hear any excuses from the man you made a fool out of yourself for.

“You completely misunderstand,” he tried to explain himself once again, but you didn’t let him continue. His excuses were more painful than the thought of him having no feelings for you.

You stopped in your spot, turning towards the eldest Bridgerton brother with a stern look on your face. Anthony hasn’t seen much anger from you throughout the years, but the pain you were harbouring in that moment scared him. He never meant to hurt you, he wanted a chance to explain his side to you, but the look across your usually happily glowing eyes now held darkness.

“Talk to my father, Mr. Bridgerton. I wish not to marry you anymore,” you clenched your jaw, your tone holding pure disappointment against the man who you loved so dearly. “Should you want to continue with the marriage, I will make your days miserable from your very first, to you very last,” you whispered the last part of your sentence, warning the man of your wrath.

“I will not break the contract!” he replied firmly without hesitation in his voice. “I need you to listen to me carefully,” you were about to stop him, his words angering you even further, but he didn’t let you interrupt him. He was determined to explain himself. “I’m quite certain I had a choice in the matter, I could have very well said no. You have been my friend for as long as I can remember, and I treasure our friendship. Do you really take me for a man who would want to hurt those he loves intentionally? I don’t love you as a mere friend I grew up with. I love you as a man loves a woman, as a husband loves a wife. I intended to ask for your hand in marriage, but your father seemed to be quicker than I could have even asked.”

“Why should I believe you?” you asked, voice softer, heart filling with hope. You wanted to believe him, his words made you hope, feeling foolish once again, but words didn’t mean as much as actions.

“Would I ever lie to you? I certainly didn’t mention the agreement, but regardless of that detail, my feelings are genuine,” he hesitantly stepped closer to you, hoping you wouldn’t turn and run away from him. As you stayed still, he dared to continue. “I have never lied to you and I don’t intend to start now. Should you question my intentions, I understand, but that will not change my feelings for you,” he took another step closer, your firm stance lighting a slight hope within him, but the fear across your face made him cautious.

“I wish nothing more than to believe you, but I confessed my feelings for you, and you have said nothing,” your voice hitched as you tried to stop your loud sobs from escaping. “I was a fool for you, but not once did you try to hold me, kiss me, make me feel as though I meant more than a mere friend, as though I was a woman in your eyes,” you replied as your eyes filled up with tears, glistening as you gazed at Anthony. His scoff surprised you, his unexpected reaction making you confused.

“I wanted to. I want to. I want to hold you, kiss you, touch you, I want to wake up beside you,” he heaved a heavy sigh, biting his bottom lip. “I’m trying to be a gentleman, but you are not helping my situation. Do you think it’s easy for me to sit beside you, hold onto your hand and smile as though I was an angel? I’m not an angel,” he groaned almost painfully. “I wish nothing but to pull you against me, pamper your neck with kisses, ran my hands across your body and taste your lips on mine” the passion behind his words, the low, dangerous tone he used to speak to you left your cheeks flushed, your lips parted in surprise. His eyes were dark, determined, his whole posture dominant. “I wish I could turn it off and on, because it makes me mad how much I want you,” he added as he took another step closer, forcing your back against the cold wall of the mansion. You couldn’t possibly focus on anything, but the feeling of his chest flush against yours, his darkening eyes watching you eagerly, his irregular breathing slightly tickling your lips, your stomach twisting into a knot.

Shaky breaths left your lungs, voice nowhere to be found. You wanted to stand on your tiptoes and attach your lips to his. You wanted to know the feeling of his mouth against yours, the taste of his lips. Those couple of inches between you never felt more unnecessary.

“My lord,” you spoke in an uncertain tone, whispering those words you barely ever said to him. “Show me how much,” he swallowed heavily as the words left your lips, his jaw tightened as though he was in physical pain from trying to control himself. Involuntarily, but he leaned closer, his hot breath lingering above your parted lips. “Please,” you added in a whisper, placing a hand on his cheek, caressing his skin with the tip of your thumb as you licked across your lips in anticipation.

As though that was the last piece of thread holding him back, he broke under your spell, wrapping his arms around your waist and closing the gap between your longing lips. There was no hesitation in his movements, he leaned down to meet your lips as though his life depended on your kiss.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, he deepened the kiss, awakening thousands of butterflies in the deepest part of your stomach, fluttering, flapping their wings, sending your heartbeat into a dangerous speed, weakening your knees. You couldn’t possibly imagine the feeling of being kissed, you weren’t experienced in that matter, but your body reacted involuntarily to Anthony as though you have been craving for something you have not known.

Anthony’s hand wandered up to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, even though you didn’t realise it was possible. His lips felt soft against yours, addictive, completely capturing your whole being. He didn’t need words to convey his feelings. The way he held you in his arms, his body engulfing yours, keeping you safe from anything or anyone who could possibly hurt you, his actions spoke for themselves.

He hinted a small peck on your swollen lips, before he left another and another, making you smile in content.

“Should you question my intentions again, I will have to repeat that,” he chuckled, slightly out of breath. Your eyes wandered to his lips, eagerly wishing for him to repeat his actions, wanting to feel his inviting lips on yours.

“I’m unsure of the right answer,” you breathed, attention completely captured by his plump lips. The dazed look across your face made him laugh loudly, throwing his head back, not being able to contain his happiness. His laughter brought a content smile across your face as you watched the man you loved in a blissful moment, his mere laughter filling your chest with a warm feeling.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked as his laughter died down, however, his lopsided grin didn’t disappear.

“I wish to say that I do, but-” once again your gaze found his lips, vivid memories of them attached to yours clouding your mind. “then you would not repeat- that,” you breathed in uncertainty, cheeks feeling hot in your embarrassed state.

“Would you like us to repeat that?” he chuckled with a mischievous smile. “Would you like me to kiss you once again?” he asked, slowly running a hand down your arm, leaving goosebumps after his trail, before linking his fingers with yours. No words could possibly leave your lips, an uncertain nod was the only sign of your agreement. He smirked proudly at your stunned expression as he started off in haste towards the back of the mansion, lightly pulling you after himself. You frowned at his actions, feeling oblivious as to what he was planning, before he gently shoved your back against a hidden wall, wrapping an arm around your waist, stopping his movements for a second. “I love you and I want you,” he whispered against your lips with shaky breaths, but a loving and warm smile on his face. “I will show you how much on our wedding night, but until then,” he smirked, before meeting your lips half-way, stunning you for a second, before you melted your body with his, wanting to feel him as much as you could for now.

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