#Dust puts it very practically which helps when Nightmare's getting in his head about their wellbeing lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blinddreams24 · 20 days ago

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It Was An Accident

Broomie

Masterlist

Part 1

(Next coming soon~)

He was so close! Killer lashed out at Ink before dodging a splat of purple paint. He rolled and shot some knives back, charging up a blaster. Ink deftly dodged and smacked the blaster to aim at Dust. Killer canceled the skull and teleported closer to his opponent.

He had a single mission today. Get Ink’s brush.

The theory was that Ink drew most of his power from his weapon, so separate him from his weapon and he would be much weaker. Of course, when Boss suggested the idea, Killer had jumped on it and volunteered to get within melee range of the Creator. After very little debate, the idea was accepted and Killer put in charge of retrieving the giant brush. Obviously, he was excited. He got to go toe to toe with a powerful Star Sans. Alone. Well, mostly alone. The goal was to let Ink think that he wasn’t boxed in before Killer got close enough. So Dust and Cross were mostly there for backup, letting Killer do all the work.

Ink jabbed at Killer with the blunt end. He dodged at the last second and latched onto the brush. He had it! In his hands! Ink’s eyelights flashed to a yellow question mark and an orange triangle as he glance down at Killer’s hands. With a manic grin, Killer yanked the brush out of Ink’s hands, earning a yelp. Just as they’d practiced, Dust teleported in, grabbed Killer, and teleported back to Cross who shoved them through the portal he already had open.

There was a shout from Ink before the portal snapped shut.

Killer held the brush above his head. “WOOOOOO!!!!!!! TAKE THAT, INKY BOI!!!!!!!! LES GOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!”

“Loud.” Dust complained as Cross flinched.

“Is this your base?”

Killer froze. Neither Cross nor Dust were looking at him. “What’d you say?”

Dust rolled his eyes. “I said you’re loud.”

“No, after that.”

Cross and Dust looked at each other then back at Killer, confused. “Neither of us said anything.” Cross said.

“Someone asked about the base.” Killer insisted.

Cross looked worried. “No. I didn’t hear anything. Are you okay?”

Killer frowned. “You two better not be messing with me.” He warned as Nightmare’s portal formed.

Horror hurried in before turning to help Nightmare as the portal snapped shut. Three arrows were imbedded in his shoulder and tentacles. He sagged as he weakly tried to tell Horror that he was fine.

“Oof! Didn’t think Nightmare would ever look like a pincushion.”

Killer sputtered and glared at Cross. The monochrome skeleton looked confused and angry.

“What?!?” Cross snapped.

“Now’s not the time for games, Cross! Leave me alone and help Boss!” Killer snapped back.

Cross scoffed. “I wasn’t playing any games!! What has gotten into you??”

Nightmare wrenched the arrow from his shoulder out and threw it on the floor. “Boys.” His voice barely held the command in his exhaustion. “While I appreciate the negativity, I can tell that you are both jumping to conclusions. Whatever is bothering you two needs to stop. Killer, take the brush to the armory and find a case or something for it. We’re not sure what we’re dealing with yet.”

Killer nodded, scowling at Cross, and turned to leave, brush in hand.

“Ooooh! Someone’s in trouble!”

Killer shot one last glare at Cross. As soon as he left the room and teleported, the brush started vibrating. “Woah!” He held it at arms length but didn’t release it. “What th-”

“I’m in Nightmare’s base!! Oooooh!! I’ve always wanted to be here!! You have no idea!!! Dream is gonna be so jealous!!! Not that he’ll ever know! He can’t hear me and neither can you!! But that’s okay!!! I’ll ask Ink to tell him!! Oh!!! I could ask Ink to tell you too!!! Oh!! You’re confused!!! What’d did I miss?? I’m always missing the interesting parts!!!” An excited voice rambled on before the brush stopped vibrating.

Killer’s eye sockets were wide as he glanced around the armory before looking back at the brush. “…What?”

“What what?? What are you looking at? I can’t tell! You don’t have eyelights like everyone else does!! Which is cool but also just weird!! Can you even see at all?? Have you just been blind this whole time and nobody knew?? Ooooh!! What a plot twist!!! I should tell Ink!!!”

“You should shut up if you know what’s good for you!” Killer’s confusion quickly turned into anger at the rambling. Was he really snapping at a paintbrush?

“Who are you talking to?? Is someone else here?? Do you know that they’re here because you don’t rely on sight?? That’s crazy-”

“I’M NOT BLIND, IDIOT!!!!!!” Killer barked out, shaking the brush. His eyes dripped hate as he realized that yes, he was in fact snapping at a paint brush. “Oh my god, Ink isn’t as crazy as we thought he was…”

There was blissful silence.

For about five seconds.

“Oh my god, can you hear me??” The brush vibrated in Killer’s hands.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Wrong answer.

“OH MY GOD!!! THIS WHOLE TIME??? WAIT, HAVE YOU BEEN ABLE TO HEAR ME THIS WHOLE TIME OR JUST SINCE YOU GRABBED ME???? DOES INK KNOW??? DID YOU KNOW??? HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN LIKE THIS??? ARE YOU RELATED TO INK??? LONG LOST TWINS OR SOMETHING??? YEAH!!!! LIKE DREAM AND NIGHTMARE!!!! YOU’RE LIKE, OPPOSITES!!!!! INK IS ALL COLORFUL AND YOU’RE JUST GREY!!!! EXCEPT FOR THE RED SOUL THAT STICKS OUT OF YOUR CHEST!!! HOW DID YOUR SOUL GET STUCK LIKE THAT??? AND WHY IS IT MELTY??? DOES IT HURT??? ISN’T IT HARDER TO FIGHT WITH A LITERAL TARGET ON YOUR CHEST??? HAS ANYONE EVER HIT IT BEFORE???? DID IT HURT??? DID IT HURT SO BAD THAT YOU WANTED TO REACH DOWN AND TEAR IT APART SO YOU DON’T EVER FEEL PAIN AGAIN???? ARE YOU-”

“Oh my god, SHUT UP!!!!” Killer smacked the brush against the ground, splattering a few droplets of pink paint across the floor. “Don’t you ever run out of things to say?”

“No.” The brush answered genuinely. “Ink says it’s bad to keep thoughts to yourself. You could lose them.”

Scoff. “Ink would. But he’s also an idiot so there’s that.”

There was a weird breathless gasp sound. “That was rude!”

“Don’t you dare! I already have enough people lecturing me about etiquette and manners!! I don’t want to add a fucking paint brush to the list!!!!” Still holding the brush away from himself, Killer grumbled. “Why did I have to get stuck with the talking paint brush?”

“Well, I for one am happy with this development!”

“I can tell.” Growled Killer. “Why me? Is it because I touched you?”

The brush tipped to the side in his hands. “I don’t think so? I mean, Swap and Nightmare have held me before but they could never hear me. Though Nightmare didn’t hold me for long. He kinda just threw me and Ink at a wall. Swap was just handing me to Ink after he forgot me in the Omega Timeline. And then when he left me in Swap’s house, the couch was actually so comfortable I almost didn’t want to leave. And when Ink left me with that Undyne after she’d insisted he spar with her. Actually, Swap has held me a lot now that I’m thinking about it. If you could hear me by touch then he definitely would have heard me by now but he hasn’t so… yeah.”

“Are you sure he hasn’t just been ignoring you?” Killer raised a brow.

There was a weird laugh. “Swap? That Sans doesn’t have a rude bone in his body! He’d strike up a conversation with a bumblebee if it could speak! I am certain he isn’t ignoring me! Without a doubt!”

“Then why can I hear you?!”

“How am I supposed to know??” Buzzed the brush. “It’s not like I had the chance to test how Ink can hear me!! And it’s not like I thought anyone would ever be able to hear me anyways!! If you’re so upset about it, take me back to Ink!! He’d be happy to help!!”

Killer’s jaw snapped shut as he grumbled. Of course he couldn’t take the brush back. He’d just gone through all the trouble of taking the artists brush, he wasn’t about to throw all that away because the brush itself was annoying. Nightmare would kill him. Correction, the entire gang would kill him. Especially if they couldn’t hear the brush like he did. “Ugh!” This was going to be a pain to explain to Nightmare.

The brush vibrated more before Killer glared at it. “I’m sorry!! I’m just excited!! You’re the first ever person besides Ink to ever hear me!!! This is a whole new discovery!!! And we already know you!!!” It vibrated faster. “The one person I could ever talk to just turned into two!!! Why wouldn’t I be excited??”

Killer shoved the brush under his arm and stormed out of the room.

“Oooh!! Where are we going?? Are we going to see the rest of your base???”

“No!!” Killer snapped. “I am going to talk to my Boss and you are going to shut up unless I tell you to speak! Creepy brush.” He mumbled that last part. He decided not to showcase the castle to the peeping brush and teleported to outside Nightmare’s office. He should be all patched up by now and recording the days events at the desk.

He knocked thrice and waited as the brush continued to buzz in his arm.

“Come in, Killer.” Came the answer. Killer entered without hesitation and quickly shut and locked the door behind him. Nightmare raised a brow at him as he slammed the brush down on the desk. “Didn’t I specifically instruct you to put that away somewhere.” The Boss didn’t phrase it like a question.

Killer didn’t let the hidden threat affect him. “You did. But I don’t want anything to do with this thing! It’s driving me insane!”

The brush vibrated on the table, making a deep noise on the wooden surface. “You were already insane.”

“I said shut up!!!” Killer snapped at the brush, pulling out a knife he was surprised he hadn’t pulled out already.

Nightmare glanced between Killer and the brush. After a moment, he gestured for Killer to sit as a tentacle moved the brush behind the desk next to Nightmare’s seat. “Killer, explain what is going on.”

“Aww! He’s not a pincushion anymore.” The brush pouted.

Killer scrambled to get over the desk with his knife held high, soul flashing and morphing in his anger. “I SWEAR IF YOU SAY THAT AGAIN I’M GONNA TURN YOU INTO A PINCUSHION!!!!!!” A tentacle caught Killer in his dive at the brush and set him back in the chair.

“Killer.” Nightmare sighed. “Please stop yelling and tell me what’s wrong.”

Killer growled at the smug brush. “I can hear the stupid brush! It won’t shut up! It hasn’t since we got home! At least I assume that was it I heard instead of Cross or Dust.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t jump to conclusions so fast and think for once.” The brush buzzed.

Killer fought against Nightmare’s tentacles as they held him down. “DID I ASK YOUR OPINION?!?!?” His soul close to stage three.

“Killer!” Nightmare snapped, shutting Killer up with a giggle from the brush. “If it bothers you so much, please ignore it.” He rubbed at his nasal ridge. “You said you can hear the brush. It speaks to you? And only you?”

“Yes.” Killer slowly stopped trying to murder the paint brush as Nightmare drained negativity from him. “Cross and Dust couldn’t hear it when we got home. I thought they were messing with me. When I got to the armory it got even louder. Started rambling about whether or not my lack of ‘lights meant I was blind.”

“…are you-”

“No!!!” Killer spat at the brush.

“Killer.” Nightmare insisted calmly.

“Sorry, Boss.” Killer apologized before continuing. “I figured out pretty quickly that it was the brush talking and it somehow got even louder when it realized I could hear it.”

“I told you, it’s exciting!”

“You didn’t shut up about how ‘excited’ you were.” Killer growled.

Nightmare sighed into his hands. “You are certain the brush is speaking to you and not some other entity?”

Killer’s brows drew together. “Yeah… Are there other ‘entities’ that I should know about?”

“No.” Nightmare stated glancing at the brush beside him who happily vibrated under the attention. “Has it asked you anything?”

Killer shrugged between the tentacles. “Mostly just what I’ve been asking myself. Like, how this is even possible.”

“Anything about Ink?”

“Oh, I can tell you some things about Ink!” The brush ‘chuckled.’

Killer eyed the brush. “Oh, yeah?” He probed.

“Oh, yeah~.” The brush kept vibrating. “His daily life is so chaotic! The few consistencies he has are hard to miss.”

Nightmare’s eyelight switched between Killer and Ink’s brush, waiting for an answer. Killer’s attention was locked on the brush.

“He goes to visit Error every day for one. No idea why, Error almost always tries to kill him. Although, sometimes we’ll just watch Undernovela with him. He really likes that au! I swear he can quote every moment from memory! Unlike Ink, who forgets everything. If it weren’t for Swap and Dream, Ink would’ve left me in some random au and maybe even got caught by some scientist or run out of his vials again and gone stiff. He’s always forgetting to go back for refills.”

Killer tipped his head. “What’s so important about his vials?” Nightmare perked up and looked down at the brush.

“Well, they’re the only reason he’s still standing!” The brush proclaimed. “If he doesn’t drink enough of them, he loses his feelings. Anger, sadness, joy, all of them. Though, Dream has never been able to feel his emotions but that might be ’cause it’s paint from the Doodle Sphere. That paint works different. But if Ink actually runs out of paint and it leaves his system, he goes stiff as a statue. Nothing can budge him until he touches paint from his vials again. It’s a good thing he has me and his friends to help him out! He’d be long gone if we weren’t!”

Killer grinned mischievously as he turned to face a curious Nightmare. “You’re gonna like this brush, boss.”

#undertale #killer sans #dust sans #cross sans #horror sans #nightmare sans #it was an accident

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spotaus · 2 months ago

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New Age AU (The Magic Retreats)

Hi guys!!! So, I wrote this one in a fit of passion, but here's a brief take 2 on the most important chapter of the fic and the first one I posted! (In which Night becomes Tiny again :] ) As always this drabble is unedited and un-checked so uhh. Good luck!

(HI @ancha-aus , @papiliovolens , and @mutzelputz welcome back!)

The days felt like they were growing longer again. Maybe it was the change of the seasons, or the workload ramping up again making his nights bleed into his mornings. No matter the case, Nightmare was lucky to have moments of rest from his endless piles of debts and taxes and laws and requests that were strewn all about his office. They were nice, neat, piles now, but they seemed to be an endless cycle. He'd solve one problem and it would result in a new report of catastrophe somewhere else.

Often, he wondered whether it was that his Mother's ruling style had truly worked, or if she'd ignored it. After all, she'd been a God amongst mortals, why would she care for a few challenged livelihoods amidst her paradise?

The sharp clash of metal on magic drew Nightmare's attention back to the present. Against all odds, he'd managed to convince Cross to start training his sword again. When Cross had first started getting lessons to properly control his magic, harnessing even whisps of Nightmare's own spells on occasion, he'd quickly neglected his physical training. Over the last few weeks, Nightmare had voiced his worry that Cross might find himself up against another foe like Dust. One who he couldn't simply control. He needed to re-learn his old battle tactics. Only then, he'd promised, they would move on to harnessing both at once.

So, now, he was sparring against Horror in the training room. Nightmare sat off to the side on the benches, Dust and Killer on either side of him watching intently. Two of his tendrils hovered readily before him, ready to pounce to intercept any wayward attacks or truly dangerous intent, though he trusted his Knight to not put his newest comrade in any real danger. The other two tendrils lay lax behind the bench, curling comfortably beneath where his other Knights sat at his sides.

These were the sorts of daily distractions he enjoyed. Which pulled him away from the stress of the papers and the outside world. He could focus solely on his charges and how best to help them. They helped him so often, he just wanted to return the favor.

His eyelight followed the movements, as Horror stayed more or less right on Cross's tail. His axe swung slower than normal, and it was obvious he was taking the training seriously without giving Cross a heart-attack from the force of his normal blows. It wasn't often Nightmare allowed them to pair up precisely because of that. Horror had no magic for Cross to control, none that would help him at least. Meanwhile, Horror's brute strength could snap Cross like a twig if something were to go slightly awry.

A swing of the axe, Cross's longsword cracking against the handle as he blocked. A push-off, sending Cross back a few steps before he swung. Missed. The axe was on him again, this time towards his side. Cross jumped over it, swung his sword. Missed again. The axe came in again, from above. A narrow block, one which forced Cross to his knee, before Horror let up.

Horror was simply a marvel of physical combat. He hadn't been a good fighter when Nightmare met him, but he'd learned very quickly. From watching the guards, from listening to Nightmare. Though, Nightmare was almost positive Killer had actually been his biggest influence. Killer, the cockpit, single Knight at that time. He'd taken Dust under his supervision at the time, practically heading the dismantling of the crime rings Dust knew so well all on his own. Meanwhile, Nightmare was working with Horror to understand how to fix the farming situation across the kingdom. Once things settled, and Nightmare expressed interest in having Horror stick around, it was Killer who showed off in combat training. Horror spun off his feet and pushed off his hands in the way expected of a much smaller, leaner, monster. Very similar to how Killer fought when he was playing around.

It was evidently too unfamiliar for Cross. He'd been taught formal swordplay, but here in this kingdom? That was about as useful as playing with a slingshot and trying to operate a trebuchet. It seemed similar, but it could only get one so far.

Cross had been steadily improving, of course. Just a year or so ago, Cross had been besting all the rest of the royal guard out on the training field. But placed against Killer, the best of the best at practical combat, no holds bar? He'd fumbled. Now, Nightmare knew Cross could hold his own against his proudest Knight. That meant a lot in such a short time. Pride filled his chest at the thought, as he watched the two of them clash again and again.

He knew his time was running short for today. He'd had Dust and Killer work on their team-building and attack him earlier on in training while Cross and Horror were warming up. As he already knew, they were chatty, but very efficient in their coordination.

"On your left!" Killer would call out. Dust would simply duck as Killer instead vaulted over his head as though emerging from the shorter Knight's shadow, knife in hand, glowing red with energy.

Killer's use of deceptive verbal cues was a talent he'd come up with all his own. Nightmare remembered him pestering Dust over it every dinner for a week after he'd first thought of it. Dust had seemed annoyed at first, but Nightmare could tell after the first session of them trying it out, against him? He'd been unaware, and if his magic didn't work separate from his mind on occasion, they would have gotten him in the first two minutes.

They'd used it again earlier, and even after several years it still kept Nightmare on his toes. He figured that was why he felt tired as he watched the two locked in mock battle before him. The cognitive challenges did tend to make his socket heavy with sleep. And he hated to admit it, but he always knew about when to end their afternoon trainings, because it lined up with when his mind would start to lag. Even years later, his body still seemed to respond to the familiar draw of a long-discarded bed time.

He'd let them exchange a few more blows, before calling it off and ushering them all off to clean up before dinner. Even if he knew only Cross and Dust would go wash up. Horror would go change out of his training gear into clean clothes, he hated to look messy at the dinner table, abd Killer would simply stick to his side like glue.

It never was a point of complaint, he appreciated the commitment, but sometimes he really did wish he'd at least take a moment to swap clothes. Sometimes he tracked all sorts of dirt and scraps of magic out of the training room and into the halls.

Mm. The clashing seemed to have reached a rhythm. That meant Cross had gotten familiar with Horror's movement patterns again. It never lasted long, Horror was very adaptable, but it did mean that Cross would be locked into the stalemate now, or it'd be an easy defeat for Horror. Better to call it now and send them off with a bit of praise. They never ceased to impress him, they'd all grown so much.

"Alright, end the match." he called. It didn't take hardly a moment for the order to register after his voice carried to the two monsters.

Cross was the first to pull away, with Horror letting his swing fall short and his Axe's momentum swing up and into the air. He caught the grip and almost immediately stuffed it back into its own holster along his back. Cross sheathed his sword, and while a bit out of breath, he still grinned triumphantly and bowed amicably to Horror. Horror returned it with a nod. Their little ritual.

"Wonderful work today, all of you." Nightmare announced, his front two tendrils slinking back to his sides as they no longer had danger to be hyper aware of. To defend against. "Tomorrow, I want to see you two spar again, I believe you are making great leaps in progress, Cross. Dust will provide you both with terrain obstacles in the form of erratic magic attacks to simulate a more turbulent battle field and provide Horror with more opportunity to practice dodging." The suggestion seemed well-recieved, and Nightmare let his good eyelight turn to Killer, who sat grinning beside him. "Killer, you and I will be doing more endurance training for your magic."

"Looking forward to it, my Lord," Killer replied.

That made Nightmare chuckle a bit. Once upon a time, Killer would tense up at the premise of magic training. Then, as he grew bolder, groan at the mention. He was not proficient in the sort of magic Cross, Dust, or he himself relied on, but his preferred weapon was a knife or two summoned by his own soul. Since it was magic, Nightmare insisted he learn to better sustain and alter it rather than letting it atrophy in the wake of his extensive physical training. Now, seeing him grin lazily at the idea, not a worry weighing on his soul? It made Nightmare feel a lot more justified in making the rambunctious Knight do the more "boring" practical training.

"If we understand what to expect for the afternoon tomorrow, then you are dismissed. I will see you all at dinner," he declared. Humor filled his chest at the warmth which rolled off his knights at the mention of food. Dinner was always cooked by Ccino, and Ccino was the best cook. Nightmare would know.

He watched as Cross gave a little salute before he turned on his heel to begin to follow Horror's lumbering gait towards the heavy doors separating this room from the hall. The newest Knight's voice was quiet, but excitable as he started to reflect on his techniques to Horror. He always debriefed after a training.

Beside him, Dust swung forward off the bench and landed silently, already moving to follow the other two. His body-language always seemed disgruntled, and his expression was hidden under his darkened hood, but Nightmare knew he was pleased with his work tonight. Content with what he had accomplished.

"Cross is gettin' a lot faster." Killer's voice was calm beside him, and Nightmare followed the other's hollow gaze to where the other three were discarding their gear, hanging it up on the racks near the door where they always stored the supplies.

Four spaces, one for each knight. Killer had gouged his name into the wooden base of his own years ago.

"I agree." Nightmare let one of his tendrils wrap at the ground around a leg of the bench. "It helps that he is eager and willing to improve on his skills. And that he has others to lean on as he continues to learn."

Killer's scoff quickly devolved into a laugh at the thinly veiled praise. It wasn't unusual of him to slip it into conversation. A quick, gentle nudge of praise. Acknowledgement and appreciation. Killer had heard to most of it, and Nightmare often worried he'd find it insincere.

As far as he knew, he never did.

"You should go put up your armor as well." Nightmare suggested, nudging at Killer's back with a tendril.

"Yes, sir." Killer chimed, the sharpness of his laughter still on his tongue.

Nightmare rose simply, and Killer pushed off the bench with a quick hop. His feet planted, and Nightmare waited for him to take a step towards where the others were before moving to follow. It felt right, to see them all in one spot. Relaxed.

He moved to follow Killer's quick steps, only... All at once his vision seemed to double, and he halted himself. He could feel his tendrils lash out, moving to stabilize him against the floor of the training room. He still stood upright, just barely, but it seemed all his balance had left him. Instinctively, in a fit of habit, he shut his good socket and took a moment. The swaying feeling he was gripped by, even after a deep breath an counting to five, did not fade. The darkness which usually seemed to calm him only seemed to make the swaying worse. He could not tell if the motion was coming from him, or I the ground beneath him was shifting like the deck of a boat. Without his vision he couldn't orient up versus down, let alone find his stability again.

Opening his good socket provided him with orientation, though his vision still danced and swirled. He was looking down, down towards the brick ground, from the space behind his palm. When did he place his hand to his socket? The view included his legs, which he recognized now were shaking, and his tendrils which were trying to hold him in place.

And...

He jolted at the contact he could see but hadn't felt in the slightest. He skull reeled up so that he could see who had touched him. One hand on his elbow. The other- when did he grab Killer's arm? When had Killer turned around to look at him? Why was Killer looking at him like that?

It was Killer, who had ahold of him, though he couldn't feel the Knight's touch, and he couldn't tell if he was gripping the other's arm at all. Though he was, he could see it.

His vision warped again with the quick movement. A desperate bid to look past Killer. Was there a threat? The blurry form of Dust shot past him, he thought. Horror and Cross still seemed to be by the door.

The ceiling. Why was he looking at the ceiling? No, wait, the floor now. It grew closer, in the space between himself and Killer, as the opening for him to see it grew smaller. Then he couldn't see it at all, his vision replaced swiftly by- training gear. The leather smell invaded his senses as the rest failed him. He couldn't feel Killer, though he knew the knight was near to him. That, as far as he could tell, Killer had caught him. That he'd sunken to the ground under his own weight.

Why?

His socket wasn't being helpful. It seemed, from what he saw, that his tendrils were trying to melt away as they moved errantly to slap onto Killer's back or the ground beyond. Surely that wasn't right? His tendrils had never wavered. He shut his socket again, letting his skull sink into the training armor again.

It didn't occur to him for a few moments, that he couldn't hear his knights, until he suddenly could.

The voices were loud and grating, breaking his wobbling darkness once again as he tried to force his socket back open. What was wrong with him?

"Horror, I said go get Ccino! Now!" Killer. He'd know that voice anywhere, though he didn't like the angry tone. Like fire spitting from his tongue seemingly right above Nightmare's skull. "This isn't some sort of test, I- I don't know what this is. It can't be good."

Nightmare tried to reach out. Not physically, it felt he still couldn't control his limbs. No, he tried to sense. Did the others know what was wrong with him? Was the rising panic in his chest originating from his own emotions or theirs? Had... had one of them done something?

No, it wasn't them.

"Shit." Somewhere behind him, he heard Dust's voice hiss. "His magic levels are dropping. And fast."

For a second, Nightmare was stunned. What did he mean his magic levels were dropping? Though, it made sense. Somewhere deep in his chest he could feel it, the swaying motion as his magic tried to peel away from his bones. He-

"What do you-" Killer still sounded frustrated, and he too spat an expletive a moment later.

Nightmare, for the briefest moment, thought he felt touch again against his skull. He let his blurry socket fall closed again, the vision only worsening as his magic rocked with unseen waves of revulsion.

"Cross, try to grab his magic," Killer ordered.

The familiar splattering of the young Night would've been comforting, if the suggestion didn't fill him with dread. Killer knew better than that. They'd agreed Cross could only touch on controlling his magic. Nothing more. It was too vast.

"W-what! I- I shouldn't-" Cross attempted to stammer a defense, but Killer was quicker with words. Always had been.

"Just try. Now. Hold it in place and see if it stablizes." The command was a lot more controlled than the previous one, but his tone was leaving no room for error. "When the King and Ccino are unavailable, I'm in charge. Listen to me."

Nightmare had never heard Killer take charge in such a way before, and in his haze he might've written it off as a product of his imagination. All of this being some sort of weird hallucination. But he felt the invasive force of Cross' magic snake over his bones.

He'd felt it before, a sort of blanket or hand-hold aimed at the ends if his tendrils which could make them twitch a bit with Cross's own will. This time he felt it creep up the length of his spine and dig unseen claws into his shoulder blades. He could feel it, just like he could now feel Killer's chin and shoulder, where his skull had been tucked. He could feel the hand supporting his back, the other his side. He felt limp as the forceful magic washed over him.

Nightmare gagged.

Cross's magic caught on something, like a hook finding the fish, and for a brief few moments, Nightmare felt like he had a ball of gunk in his non-existant gut. Something heavy and feral, trying to escape.

For just a moment, he regained a breath of awareness. He felt his Knight supporting his weight, he felt the nakedness of his back where his tendrils had completely abandoned him, he felt the emotions of the three still with him. Fear. Confusion. Anger. He didn't like it much. He still couldn't move his limbs.

And just as quickly as it was stable, the hold on the wild magic slipped away. Like the fish had broken the string.

It flowed up, like the force of a dam finally released. Through his ribcage, past his shoulders where Cross's magic seemed to dissipate all at once, into his mouth.

Nightmare regained some semblance of control over his body at that moment. As the magic seemed to rush towards freedom. He shoved away from Killer all at once, the chill of the stone hitting his palms heavily and his socket opening if only to watch as he lost it. That dark, thick, sticky magic that had marked him as a bad omen. That had gifted him the power to rule in place of his twin. Protect those he loved.

It spilled to the stone before him, and he was stunned to watched that, as he heaved suddenly labored breaths, it sunk away. Disappeared. Just like that, instead of his familiar darkness, the protective shield, the instinctive defense he had grown to know, he was staring at the floor. And the space in which his wobbling arms hid under too-big sleeves, and from the cuffs escaped perfect, pearly-white bone. Bone he could never seem to reach no matter how hard he scrubbed with water and soap. Bones that seemed so frail in the torchlight.

"My king?"

Nightmare let his eyelight raise from the ground. It wasn't as wobbly anymore, his vision slowly coming back to normal. He still took his time trailing from the ground, to look at Killer's pants. He was on his knees, hardly an arm's length away. Then the edges of his chestplate. His arms were outstretched, hovering barely away from touching Nightmare. He shook at the closeness, but didn't dare try to move. Killer's soul was wobbling. Nightmare's boww furrowed at the sight. It was very small, but he'd always notice the little changes and moves. Though, he noticed an absence of something at the back of his skull as he stared. Something missing.

Killer's face was last. He looked serious, his dark sockets not a new sight, but Nightmare hardly saw Killer so serious. He'd seen the look before. Usually when he'd see someone bothering Ccino. It had always been brief, quickly disguised under his patented sadistic grin. Killer just watched him now. As though he was sone glass sculpture ready to tip off the end of the table.

He hated, as he stared, that he couldn't- he could feel-

He tried to shift, to whip his head to look for the knight he knew should've been behind him. And he was right, of course. A glimpse of Dust's shadowed skull and tense body-language told Night he was on high-alert, but Nightmare hadn't been able to feel him. Hadn't sensed his presence at all. No emotions, no aura, no nothing.

"Woah, steady!" Killer yelped as Nightmare felt himself tilt.

Looking up at Dust had disoriented him. The weight distribution was different now. His body listed to the side, and he flinched when arms wrapped around at his sides and tugged his upper half onto soft fabric. Killer's legs. Killer had caught him.

"My king, Nightmare, it's you, right?" He sounded the same. Something told Nightmare he was uncertain.

"Y-" His attempt to speak was short-lived. His voice wasn't right. It was high-pitched and raw. All the rumble and low tones entirely missing. He couldn't be sure if he stopped on account of keeping his pride alive, or if he feared speaking in a voice he hadn't heard in years.

It didn't help that he couldn't feel them. No matter how much he tried, the only feeling in his chest was his own solitary anxiety. Balling up tighter and tighter, an old friend come home again. If he could tell what they were thinking- if he could know if he was safe...

He bit back his panic, holding in the weakness which was threatening to give him away. Though, what else was there to give? If he was right, then the prophecy had finally rejected him. Left him as an offering to a pack of wolves.

Nightmare knew he was shaking, but some irrational part of him thought that if he kept his socket shut that this would all be some absurd night terror and he'd wake up cozy in his bed, or exhausted at his desk, or maybe passed out on the floor. Somewhere else. Anywhere else.

"What's wrong?" That voice was deeply familiar, and all at once Nightmare felt like he had a surge of strength. "Why did Horror rush me back here? Where is our King?" It was Ccino. He sounded more frustrated than anything else, but he didn't need to feel his emotions to know the rise to his tone. The worry buried there.

"We finished training and everything was fine," Killer explained, tone as even as he could muster, "But when we were on our way out, he just collapsed."

Nightmare pitied him, having to tell Ccino any sort of bad news. Nightmare didn't think as he attempted again to shove himself up. If only to catch a glimpse of Ccino.

As he peered barely over Killer's shoulder, he saw what the others did. Ccino had some sort if flour or wheat all down the front of his nice apron, and a few streaks along the thighs of hid pants from where he'd probably wiped his hands along the way. His expression was a mix of concern and fury that set Nightmare's soul into a pretzel-twist of regret, and his eyelights scanned the room as he rapidly approached Killer. Obviously looking for answers.

Only, Ccino arrived to Killer's side, and his growing rage seemed to stop all at once, alongside his steps. He stared down at Nightmare with wide eyes. Nightmare stared up at him wearily. The king's sockets were beginning to water. Ccino's expression, the way his balled fists twitched and relaxed, the way he seemed to lose all the tension I'm his body, just getting a glimpse at him. Ccino recognized his face, no doubt about it.

"Nightmare?" Ccino's voice was small.

Nightmare fumbled a bit as he tried to launch away from Killer. Having Ccino so close to him simply... broke whatever had been holding back the emotional damage within. It didn't help in the slightest when Ccino crouched and immediately tugged him away from Killer and into a gentle bear-hug there on the floor.

For the first time, in a very long time, he found that the welling of tears in his sockets didn't result in dark, tarlike, goop that fell in chunks down his skull. This time the tears were real, a transparent lilac which raced down his cheeks abd planted themselves against the fabric of Ccino's tunic and apron. He wasn't wearing his fur, he was smart like that.

Ccino's arms wrapped around his back like they always did, and Nightmare felt himself slipping. Ccino was safe. He had always been safe.

Nightmare didn't have time to begin sobbing as he had expected, or to even begin to hyperventilate into Ccino's shirt or curl into a ball against his chest. The moment Ccino nuzzled the side of his skull, his vision went blurry again.

At the tightening of Ccino's grip, he heard Dust's voice again. "Magic-loss. A lot of it." Faintly rolled into his mind like a distance voice two doors over. He didn't quite catch when Killer started to speak again, or Ccino worriedly said his name. Dust was right, the magic was gone. Out of nowhere. It was a lot for his little body to handle.

#new age au #Okay so now that I have a better grasp on how these guys work I feel like this is more true to their energy!!!#Night was still a hard persoective to roll with but I got committed lol-#I love these goofballs so so dearly <3 #and Nightmare having some huikd-up to the drama felt vital just because. well. in all technicality if I were to write this as a full fic #this would probably either be my first chapter or the 3rd or so after I establish stuff #anyways yeah vibing a lot more with this one!#combat seemed like fun but this is definitely more of a Nightmare kinda thing to do at this point in the plot! and #more true to the Knights #as much as I think Killer would gate-keep little Nightmare for his safety. he also knows Ccino #outranks them for a reason and even if they're not the closest atp in the plot? he respects Ccino SO much #also ur King melting in ur arms is enough to make anyone panic I think-#okah now I'm gonna go to sleep 🫡

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lxngbottom · 4 years ago

Text

Mistakes That Last Forever. | N.L.

in which neville stumbles across... an “old friend”.

warnings: mentions of cheating, angst, pregnancy, slight trauma mentions (lmk if i missed any!)

i got inspired for this by an outsider imagine that i read like a really longgggg time ago... so enjoy this ig (AND YES THERE WILL BE A PART 2 TO THIS)

(PART 2)

—

neville’s whole life had been filled with regrets. they seeped into his skin, torturing his clouded mind on day to day basis. the trauma from the second war had left a mark on him, and even though he was now in the infamous herbology professor at hogwarts, he still didn’t feel as if he was living the life he had always wanted to. he didn’t feel successful, he didn’t feel... good about himself. and the main source of that?

you.

his biggest regret was losing you. hurting you. leaving you in such a needing time.

it had all started after the war. you two had been inseparable since 2nd year, as you were the one who had helped him down from the chandelier when he was tragically hung up by those pesky pixies. and ever since then, he was enamored with you. he was consumed by the mere thought of you. and, your feelings didn’t differ too much.

so, you two became official in your 4th year. you two were each other’s firsts for practically everything that could be a first. and, you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. you were so in love with him, it tore you from the inside out.

but unfortunately, the war arrived. and, it took a huge toll on your relationship. it affected each bit of what you guys had built together. after the war had ended, you guys tried so hard to make it work. but, neville... it seemed as if he just... gave up.

you would never forget the day you came home from work to your shared apartment, and heard strange noises coming from your bedroom. you went up, deep down, already knowing what the noises were. and of course, when you opened the door, your worst nightmare had became a reality. and even worse?

you were pregnant.

neville knew this too, but, he felt as if he had spent so long being “stuck” in a relationship with you, he never got the chance to meet new people. and because of that, for the sake of your child, you left. because, he had left you first, and he had done something unforgivable. something that would leave you scarred, and something that would take hold of you for years.

but, now things were different for you. you were more than content with where your life was at right now. you had an amazing job as the journalist for the daily prophet, and you were damn good at it too. it was a collective agreement that you were definitely a step up from rita skeeter.

neville couldn’t disagree more, though. not that he didn’t think you were good at your job, he always thought that you were an amazing writer. but, he had to force himself to cancel his personal subscription to the daily prophet, as the simple mention of your name on the front page, or sometimes, maybe even your picture, broke his heart to see. some from guilt, but mostly, from just missing you.

just five years later, here you were. walking through a muggle hardware store, looking at all of the houseplants that surrounded the small garden.

“mummy, look!”

you whipped your head around, and smiled when you saw your small son, chubby just like neville used to be when he was young. you had always tried to disregard the fact that he looked exactly like his father, but it was difficult to. you loved your son, with everything you had in your body, but, he was a constant reminder of all the pain that had been caused.

“very nice, nev!” you giggled, watching as your son played with a single pink flower bouquet. he grinned at you, and suddenly plucked the fresh flower off of it’s stem. you gasped, and wanted your hand at him, “neville longbottom! we don’t do that! do you want to get in trouble?!”

his face contorted into a guilty one as he made those ridiculously adorable puppy dog eyes at you, “i’m sorry, mum... i-i-i didn��t know. i was trying to pick it for you...”

you couldn’t help but to feel a little guilty as he sadly dropped the broken off flower on the floor, watching as it blew away from the huge fan that hung above the both of you.

“it’s okay, dear. but, try not to pick them from the actual stems, okay? just... look on the floor. you’ll see a bunch of free flowers everywhere.” you teased, sending him a small smile. he looked up at you, and those sad puppy dog eyes quickly sparkled with excitement as he ran away, looking around the garden for those small, long forgotten flowers.

you chuckled quietly to yourself as you watched your son, seeing how his eyes glowed from all of the plants.

yeah. he was definitely neville’s son.

you turned your body back around, attempting to continue your shopping. but, your body then collided with another, causing you to come to a complete halt.

“oh, merlin! i’m so—“ you were just about to spurt out multiple apologies, until, you looked at the figure.

there he was. tall, muscular, and a intent gaze fixated on his face as he stared at you.

“n—neville?”

he was so shocked. he couldn’t even let out a single mutter. you were right there. right in front of him. after not seeing you for so long, but thinking about you always, you were finally right here.

“y/n...” he breathed out finally, trying to not show how incredibly nervous he was.

this was the first time you two had seen each other since the day you packed all of your things, and left him standing alone at the door step that once belonged to the both of you. he could never seem to part with the apartment, the whole environment still leaving trails of you. so, of course, he still resided there during his off times.

“um—wow... shit—i’m sorry. you know... for bumping into you...” he laughed nervously, stepping away from you. you gave him a nervous chuckle as well, trying to hide the redness that was now blending within your skin.

“oh—it’s alright. i should’ve—you know... been watching where i was going...”

neville opened his mouth to respond, as he wanted to ask you so many things. but, he was interrupted by a small child running up to you, tears streaming down his face as he clutched onto your leg.

“mum...” he sniffled out, and you looked down with a concerned look on your face, “t-t-the lady yelled at me...i-i-i accidentally b-broke one of the f-f-flowers...”

neville knew those eyes. he knew that familiar stutter. he knew those tears. it was like practically looking into a mirror.

that was his son.

you looked over at neville nervously, seeing realization flashing in his green orbs. but, you bent down to neville jr, who was an absolute mess. he never took kindly to people getting onto him, especially if they were yelling.

“oh... it’s alright, nev. we have a whole garden at home that we can grow flowers in...” you reassured him, wiping his small tears. he nestled into your touch, “why don’t you go and pick out some seeds? any kind you like... i’ll get them for you.”

there was a shy smile on his face as you said that, and he looked over at the strange man that stood baffled beside you.

“okay...” he sniffled, wiping his nose, “but... who’s that?” he asked, pointing to neville.

you had never told your son about his father, and you had hoped that he never would. but, you knew the day would come. you just didn’t think that day would be today.

“an old friend, darling. now, do as i say and go find some flowers, alright?”

your son nodded, reluctantly leaving you with the tall man that he had no idea the identity of. you stood up fully awkwardly, and looked over at neville who’s face was now angry.

he watched as the boy ran off, “he doesn’t know who i am?” he asked through gritted teeth, his eyes narrowing at you.

you looked back at him, “nev—“

“no... how could you not tell him? that’s my son, y/n. you—you told me you were putting the baby in adoption... how could you lie to me? and him? why would you do that?”

you knew you owed the man an explanation, but all at the same time, he had brought this upon himself. and yeah, maybe it was fucked up that you had lied to him, but, you genuinely did believe at the time you were getting rid of the baby.

“neville... not here. please...”

“no, y/n. you owe me a goddamn explanation. i mean... this is my fucking child we’re talking about. look at him! he looks just like me!”

you looked over at the chubby boy, watching him closely as he skimmed through seeds, staring at the images on the front.

“don’t you think i know that, neville?” you whispered, “listen... we can talk about this. but, not here. and, not while he’s around...”

“no! i want to talk to him! i deserve it—goddamn it, y/n! how could you fucking do this to me?!”

“and how could you cheat on me?! after everything we went through together! you fucking left me in the dust!”

he could see the pain in your eyes. there was obviously still a lot of hurt, so much rage pent up from the whole scenario. of course you had never fully gotten over it. it was still something you thought about on a daily basis, as you had believed at one point that you would be married to neville by now.

“y/n...” neville started, stepping closer to you, “i—i never meant to hurt you...”

you stared into his eyes for a moment, trying to find some sort of other answer other than that stupid apology you had heard so many times before.

“it doesn’t matter, longbottom. i have to go. we can talk about this whole thing another time. goodbye.”

#harry potter #harry potter smut #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #neville longbottom #neville longbottom imagine #neville longbottom imagines #neville longbottom smut #neville x reader #neville x y/n #neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom x y/n

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wolfish-trickster · 4 years ago

Text

Liar

Word count: 1,9K

Warning: angst, kinda messy writing, bad grammar

Tag list:@gaitwae @lucywrites02 @hard-to-be-the-bard @birdgirl90 @laramoonworld

You were always a hopeful person. Trying to be positive no matter what. Seeing the good in people. Even in Loki.

You first met him in his glass cell in helicarier (a/n i have no idea how to spell it, it's that big flying thing in Avengers 1). You two talked and got to know eachother. He told you how his father lied to him, how Thanos tortured him and how he doesn't want to hurt anyone. You believed him. And promised him he will be okay.

Two years after the battle of New York you finally talked to your team mates. You made an entire power point presentation for Avengers to show them Loki is not evil anymore and they should at least give him a chance, like you did.

That's how you and Loki became close friends. Always spending time with the other one, talking about your interests, your cultures, books, movies, anything the both of you came up with.

You comforted him, when he had nightmares. He cuddled you when you watched horror movies and got scared.

He always came to you for advice and opinion and you were more than happy to help your best friend. He always hugged you afterwards as thanks.

Sometimes he even brought you a cake and some flowers, just because he 'felt like it'.

One rainy day he fall asleep on your lap in your room. As you played with his black silky hair you realized you don't view him as your best friend anymore. But as a crush. You felt a shy blush come up to your cheeks as you imagined how would it feel like to cuddle him whole night, to be held by him, kissed by him.

You caressed his cheek and hoped one day he would feel the same.

And as always, you became hopeful. You started to remember all those times he was very close with you, doing something only couples do (like the afore mentioned cuddling, falling asleep on your lap or even the freaking flowers) and hoping he is developing feelings for you.

You were wrong.

You remember that day clearly. It was nice and sunny outside. A perfect day for a walk in the park. You walked out from your room and started looking for Loki. You wanted to have a walk with him.

You heard some voices coming from the kitchen below. Including a velvety one you knew all too well.

You jumped down those 20 stairs. Voices got louder as you came closer. There was Loki and some woman in the kitchen. And nobody else. Your name fell from one of their mouth's.

Quiet as a mouse you stood behind the corner just outside the kitchen and listened.

"Don't tell me she's not annoying! She's practically your shadow and trails after you like a lost puppy. And not even a cute one!" the woman giggled. From her tone of voice you imagined her as a classical blond plastic fake gold digger. You expected Loki to stood up for you, like any good friend would.

He only chuckled. "You are right! She is always behind my back. So bothersome and clingy..." you heard gulping. Maybe they were drinking some alcohol. You prayed for him to be just drunk and not knowing what he's saying.

"So why do you keep her around so much?"

A moment of silence. "I don't really know. For fun, I suppose? She was only good for me to get out of prison. She's so naive to really think I am her friend it's hilarious!"

You couldn't breathe. You stood there like a statue. He was only manipulating you and playing with you. All this time.

Tears clouded your vision as you walked away from them. The whole world looked like a big grey blur to you.

You still went out. Better than stay in the same building with him. Sitting on a bench in the nearby park, listening to birds chirping and watching dogs play with their owners was somewhat comforting. The pain in your chest was still too big though. How could you trust someone who's a 'God of Mischief' or a 'Prince of Lies' of all people? He really did go out of his way to make you trust him, didn't he? All those gifts, hugs, hanging out, watching movies under one blanket. All of that was just him pretending. And you believed him.

You groaned and hid your face in your hands. You're friends with spies and trained soldiers, what if they're pretending just like him and they secretly love when you aren't with them? What if everytime you talk to them they secretly wish for you to shut up and leave? Paranoia and anxiety just won't leave you, will they?

"It will get better after high school they said," you stood up from the bench, "you will be more confident they said. My ass-" suddenly you tripped over a string and fell on your face. Your right cheek stung, your knees were scraped. As you were standing up a wet tongue started to lick your face. A golden retriever's way to greet you, apparently.

"Ollie, stop! I'm so sorry," the dog was yanked back by his leash. Ollie's owner held out his hand to help you stand up.

"It's okay. It's my fault, I wasn't looking where I was going," you dusted your clothes when you were finally on your legs. Ollie was jumping up and down, still trying to lick your face. Even through your emotional pain you couldn't resist and smiled.

"He's still an untrained pup, sorry if he's bothering," the unknown man was trying to calm him down once again, but you stopped him.

"He's not bothering," you bent down and scratched behind his ears. "Hi there little fella, aren't you one cute boy? Yes you are," you scratched and caressed his fur.

"He is cute, but quite handful. Still I wouldn't exchange him for anyone in the world."

"Anyone?" you asked.

"Yeah, you see I got him when I found out my partner cheated on me. I felt so betrayed I thought I'll never trust anyone else again," he said and sat down on the bench you were previously sitting on. "Sorry, I'm telling way too much than I should."

"No, it's okay. I know exactly how you felt. Something similair happened to me too," you looked away sadly and stopped scratching Ollie's fur. "That's why you got a dog? To replace that somebody who was previously in your life?"

He nodded. "At first I though I needed a pet to distract myself from the pain, but in reality all I needed was a life long friend who will never betray me. And what's better than a man's best friend?" he hugged his goldie and he licked his face.

You smiled. Maybe that's what you need. A loyal dog to keep you company. To give you emotional support through cuddles and to never leave you or lie to you. Unlike certain someone.

You chatted with him for few more minutes and then made your way to the nearest dog shelter.

The cutest little fluffy german shepherd was dozing off in your arms when you walked into your room. You naivly thought Loki will greet you and pretend to be nice again but he was nowhere to be found. Actually, none of the Avengers were nearby. 'That's okay' you thought. 'I'll at least be alone with this cute guy.'

You let him run around your bedroom, sniffing every corner of his new home, chewing on everything he could reach with his tiny snout. You threw him some of the squeeky toys you bought and watched him play. It lifted your mood, somewhat.

The dull ache from your chest didn't leave. Even when it got dark outside and your new companion dozed off in your lap. Soft laughter was coming from the party deck, which was quite far from your room so in reality it must've been much louder.

'So they returned, huh? Didn't even check on their supposed friend' you thought. Maybe you were right afterall. They never concidered you a friend.

Your phone started buzzing, a silly selfie of you and Loki lightened up the screen. 'What does he want? I don't wanna talk to him.'

You picked up. "Yeah?"

"Y/N!" hearing his voice nearly made you cry. "Thank Norns you finally picked up! Where are you?"

You squinted your eyes suspiciously. "Why?"

"I've been trying to reach you all afternoon! I couldn't find you anywhere and I have called you 5 times already. Are you okay?" he sounded worried. He really should've been voice actor.

"5 times? I didn't hear anything."

He groaned. "Yes, 5 damn times. You made me really sick with worry."

Liar.

"Whatever. I can do things even without you, you know."

"Why the attitude?" he asked a little less worried.

"You know what Loki? Do me a favour and leave me alone," you hung up sooner than your voice could crack. Silent tears streamed down your cheeks.

As you were standing up with the little pup in your hands and putting him in his bed Loki practically smashed down your door. You jumped back startled and nearly let go of your little friend who woke up and started barking.

"What the fuck Loki?!"

He looked at you, mix of fury and happiness in his eyes. "Okay, I don't know what I did that made you react like that to a simple 'where have you been the whole day' but you could've at least tell me you were going out. What if someone attacked you? And I wasn't there? What if-" he took a deep breath, anger leaving his eyes. "I'm just glad you are home and safe."

Liar.

Your puppy stopped barking and started wagging his tail, excited to have a new friend. He is just like you. Naive.

"Oh, and who is this little bundle of fur?" he reached out to pet his tiny head but you backed away.

"He's my new best friend. This is Rex."

Loki's face turned into confusion. "Darling, I thought that's my title," he laughed awkwardly.

You glared and hugged Rex to your chest. "Not anymore. Not after what I discovered about you."

"Discovered about me? What are you talking about?"

"Drop the act. I heard you. I heard you saying how I'm naive enough to think I'm your friend, how I'm bothersome and clingy and I was only good for you to get out of prison!" tears were flowing freely but you didn't care.

"Darling, what are yo-"

"I wasn't finished! I really thought you were honest with me. I thought all those times we hung out meant something to you! That you at least respect me. But no! You used me. You were pretending to be nice. All those times! And I believed you!" you started taking steps towards him, he was backing away.

"You misunderstood, I-"

"No! I don't want you to tell me anything! I'm not your plaything anymore! I grew a spine. And you can bet your ass I'm training Rex to bite you whenever you get close to me again!" his eyes started glistening but that must be just your imagination.

"Love, please let me ex-"

"Get lost Laufeyson," with those words you slammed your door in his face.

#loki #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki angst #loki x reader angst #loki x you #angst

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littlegoldenbirdie · 2 years ago

Text

The Dragon and the Maiden (sort of) #4

Tick tock, tick tock, something tells me I had better hurry up and get this up here!

This one's kinda long...

Chapter 4: Sixty feet to six feet

“…I’d better cast that spell if we want to get anywhere,” she said abruptly. “You can watch me if you like, or if it’d make you feel better.” He managed a nod, and she prepared the spell again. Speaking words in no language he could recognize from his eons of life and travel across uncountable planes, swirling mana colors that just seemed wrong in some way he couldn’t define, she reached out to lay a hand on his head. He closed his eyes as her touch made the world go mad around him, his thoughts and senses going haywire as reality twisted, or twisted him for a frighteningly long moment before he was left gasping in dizzy panic for an even longer moment. He kept his eyes closed as he relaxed, controlling his breathing as he pushed the fear away and forced himself to be calm. Then he noticed that something had changed drastically. For one thing, the tiny speck of a touch he had felt when Amelia laid her hand on his head now covered the top of his skull from horn to horn. Opening his eyes, he found he had to look up at her where she crouched over his head, her hand still where she had placed it. “You shrank me?” he practically screeched as he looked himself over. “Great! Just great! Now look at me! I’m six feet tall, tops, if that! My sheer size was the only advantage I still had left after this whole nightmare I’ve been living through! If they catch me now…” Amelia gave a lopsided smile at those last five words. “Yes, if they catch you. At the very least, a six-foot-tall dragon should be a lot easier to hide than a sixty-foot-tall dragon. Not only that, but it’ll be easier to heal you… and feed you, too!” Pulling back for a moment, she gave a dramatic shrug. “…What, you really think I’d shrink you and leave you hanging? Now come on, let’s get out of here.” Kneeling next to him, gently moving his broken, ruined wings aside, she tried her hardest to loop one of his arms over her shoulder and help him get up. It was surprisingly easy, which she honestly hadn’t expected. “You’re lighter than you look,” she said in the most nonchalant tone she could manage, trying to distract him from how much it had to hurt, moving badly splintered wings and touching deep, bloody gashes. Stifling a serpentine hiss, he flinched slightly, unable to resist the urge to recoil from her touch. She paid no heed to what she was sure he would have once found humiliating and managed a smile as his whole body drooped against her shoulder. “I suppose it makes sense, you not weighing very much for your size. It makes flying easier, right?” His head lolled a bit as his strength ebbed for a long moment, giving him a glimpse of her face, mere inches away from his own. How long had it been since he’d let anybody get this close to him? When was the last time he had felt a gentle touch, or any touch at all, given how his ability to shatter the minds of those who so much as laid a finger on him had almost become a reflex?

“Stay awake,” she said in a tone that held just the faintest hint of sharpness. “I’m going to need you to help me out here. Just a little. All I need is for you to swish your tail back and forth in the dirt behind us as hard as you can as we go. That should wipe out any tracks we might leave. Do you think you can do that for me?” He gave the slightest of nods before bowing his head and putting all his remaining strength into lashing his tail back and forth in the dust behind them as she had requested. Never had such a simple effort taken so much out of him… His vision darkened for a long moment, the world spinning and his heartbeat thundering in his ears before her voice cut through it all. “Hey, hey, don’t fade out on me, all right? Maybe I’m asking too much of you, what with the condition you’re in and all… Eh, let’s just forget about trying to erase our tracks. We can probably make a good enough distance for it not to matter, especially if we hustle. I think I can handle most if not all your weight, so you can just concentrate on staying awake.” It was all he could do just to nod slightly, but that was enough for her to know his answer. “…Works for me,” she said softly with a smile she knew he couldn’t see, successfully resisting the urge to pat him on the back in a comforting manner he would have likely found patronizing at best. “It’s all right; I’ve got this… and you.” Having made sure that he wouldn’t trip or fall, she decided it was time for the two of them to get going… or for her to get going, since she was carrying him.

A few slow, shaky steps later, she found herself needing to pause. She didn’t like how exposed she felt. If anyone stepped into the area, they would see her, see them both. How could she fix that? A moment of thought later, she found herself grumbling as she came to a conclusion she would rather have avoided. “…Guess there’s really nothing for it, then,” she sighed. Casting a glance Bolas’s way, she grimaced a bit at the thought of what she had to do next. “I’d ask you to cover your ears, but you don’t seem to have the strength to do that. Forgive me, but I’m… I’m going to have to sing.” He opened one eye and looked at her. “You need to sing? Why? This doesn’t seem like a good time for that…” A smile took shape on her face. “Most folks don’t realize this, but any reasonably talented mage can just as easily whistle up a spell instead of just speaking an incantation. It works off the same principle.” She paused for a moment, trying to think of the easiest way to explain it. “Breath is Life, and Life is power. And when you use your voice, what are you doing but imprinting sounds upon your breath, which I just said is power in its own right? Whether you whistle, hum or outright sing, the result will be the same… whatever you want it to be.” Clearing her throat with a light cough, she took a deep breath and began to weave a melodic spell.

Her voice, ringing in his ears, didn’t sound all that feminine… or even human. As a matter of fact, it didn’t sound like any noise a creature with vocal cords could reasonably hope to produce. That thought came to him before her song filled his ears and his mind, crowding out all other thoughts until all he could do was listen… and obey. I am not here, the song whispered in his mind. I am not here, we are not here, nothing is here, it said to him. An image of an empty glade hung before his mind’s eye, blocking out everything else. It wouldn’t have made any more sense to him even if he could think straight. Even without access to magic his mind’s fortifications had been unbreakable. But now… now…

-----------

Give him a break; he's pooped.

#magic the gathering #mtg tumblr #mtg fan fiction #mtg oc #mtg #nicol bolas #mtg fanfic #war of the spark #ravnica #fanwalker

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nemesis-is-my-middle-name · 4 years ago

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25, Vivi to Arthur, post-reunion? :3c

25. “I’m going to ask you how you are and I would like you to answer me honestly.” (source)

Vivi watches from the couch as Arthur paces across the room for what feels like the hundredth time that day. She's not technically allowed to do much walking, between the concussion and the large gash in her side and the memory-fuzziness that's still making her feel faint at random times, so she's been stuck letting other people – mostly Arthur, if she's being honest – bring her things while she struggles to read over her notes about what the hell has been going on. She feels more than a little restless, but it's better than falling and hitting her head again.

The ghost– Lewis is off somewhere, probably in his room (his room, he has a room in this house because he was their friend– ). Trying to sort through his own side of this mess, freshly freed from his own memory problems. The only source of activity in the house is Arthur, who she's pretty sure hasn't stopped moving since he woke up.

–Actually, has he even gotten any sleep? None of them slept the night after everything that happened, there was too much to do and talk about and it would've only been a few hours' worth anyway, but the night after that, Vivi had crashed pretty hard, and she'd assumed he had too. Now that she was thinking about it, though, it... didn't seem very likely that he'd just gone to bed and been fine. It was much easier to believe that he'd pulled another all-nighter.

And now he was spending another day running around, trying to do repairs on the van and intermittent checkups on his arm and cleaning the house (because honestly it had been too long since they’d actually cleaned, they’d been too busy investigating) and grabbing things for her and making sure Lewis was still doing okay.

She closed her eyes briefly, biting back a sigh. You did it, she thought bitterly. You found Lewis and brought him home, and everyone's safe and the only thing left to do is let the dust settle and you still can't let yourself relax.

From behind the darkness, she heard him say as if on cue, “y’doin’ alright, V-vivi? Any- anyth-thing I can get you?”

She forced her eyes open, inhaling. “M’fine, just tired.” Then she blinked at him.

She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been actively trying not to look at her, just so she couldn’t see what she was seeing now. The dark bags around his eyes, the pale cast to his face, the bruises on his cheek from– who knows, crashing the van or either of the long falls or getting tossed around by the monster that had taken over Mystery. For the first time, now that she was actually looking, she wondered if there were more bruises she couldn’t see. It seemed likely.

And even if there weren’t. The ghost– his friend– Lewis had almost killed him, and then he’d been chased and knocked around by a monster from his nightmares – and he’d spend the past few months running on fumes, barely sleeping or eating.

It had happened so slowly that she hadn’t noticed at the time, but he almost looked more dead than the ghost now. Like something had hollowed him out, drained him of all his life. He should be resting, as much as he could, not running around trying to make sure everyone else was okay.

All that went through her mind in just a few seconds while she stared at him, as he stacked up the cups and towels she’d left on the table. As he was standing up again, she finally decided to say something.

“Actually... can you sit down with me? Hang out?”

“...what f-for?”

“Just... I wanna have some company. For a little bit.”

“O-oh. Uh- I should really-” his eyes darted around the room, tension building in his shoulders. She could practically hear his internal debate – he wanted to do what she asked him to, but he didn’t want to stop moving – and it just made her heart ache more. Eventually, one side won, and he set everything back down.

“I-I guess? Just for- f-for a little- a little while.”

She waited for him to get comfortable next to her. He couldn’t seem to settle down and stop fidgeting, his eyes continuing to dart around the room. Eventually he focused on the books on the table.

“S-so- uh- how is this go- going? Do-”

She touched his shoulder, lightly tugging him back into the couch. “Arthur.”

He gave her a wide-eyed look, pulling back a little, his shoulders hunching forward. “Y-yeah?”

“How are you doing?”

“Fine.” The answer was almost immediate and very confident-sounding, which would have been nice if it wasn’t obviously entirely false.

She took both his hands in hers, putting them in his lap and forcing him to focus forwards, on her. “Okay. Let’s try that again. I’m going to ask you how you are, and I would like you to answer me honestly.”

He took a deep breath, seeming to shiver a little. “A-alright?”

“How are you?”

“F-fine! I mean- I’m a little tired but- but I- I don’t-” his voice snagged and he broke out of her hold to put one hand on his face, shoulders shaking suddenly with a quiet “shit.” He sniffed and tried to start over, shaking his head, but it was increasingly less convincing because he couldn’t stop crying.

She leaned back and shifted, slowly, carefully, to ease him into her side. It took him a minute to accept, and then he leaned in and buried his face in her shoulder. She put her arms loosely over his shoulders, careful not to entirely encircle and trap him.

“I don’t-” he tried to say after a moment, “I’m s-s-sorry, I-”

“Don’t,” she said, trying not to let how much that hurt show in her voice. “Don’t apologize. It’s okay. You did great. Everyone’s safe, you don’t need to do anything else, just relax.”

He shuddered with a soft whine in her arms, and she pulled him in a little more.

After a while, he went quiet – not that he made a lot of noise when he cried anyway, but his breathing evened out – and she realized he’d fallen asleep. He was finally resting.

A small movement in the corner of her eye, and she turned to see the– Lewis standing there.

“Hey, Lew,” she said without thinking, and then was surprised a half-second later by how relaxed and easy the greeting was.

He seemed almost at a loss for words, looking at her and Arthur in turn. She had no idea what he was thinking, but she forced herself to not immediately assume the worst, that he was jealous or angry about it.

“You look... comfortable,” was what he eventually said. His voice was soft – maybe with some emotion, or maybe (more likely) he just knew he had to stay quiet or he’d probably wake Arthur up. Honestly, it was impressive he hadn’t the second someone new entered the room. He must be exhausted.

“Actually,” once again her mouth was moving before she processed the words, and she decided to just go with it, “do you think you could help me move him? This probably isn’t the most comfortable spot to take a nap.” Much as she would have liked to just carry him to bed herself, she was in no shape to lift anything heavier than a book.

“Oh- ah- sure.” He floated forward and knelt, easily scooping him up. She saw his hand move towards her for a second, and then he seemed to think better of it.

She reached out and took it, following him and leaning on him slightly as he stood.

He just stared at her for a moment. His eyes were wide, brow slightly creased. “...Vivi-”

“Shh,” she cut him off, “this is a very delicate operation.”

At that, he ducked his head slightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with what she knew was shoved-down laughter. There was a small twinge in her chest at the sight, like long-dormant butterflies.

...Maybe she could get used to this again, after all.

#mystery skulls animated #lewvithur #the nemesis speaks #the nemesis answers #answrs #swift writes #vivi still doesnt really trust lewis bc her memories are funky and he did almost get her killed and tried to murder arthur #but her subconscious Knows #this is such a good fluffy end. i want it to be real

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ckneal · 4 years ago

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Sometimes I need to remind myself that not everyone watched Supernatural with an ongoing gen fic happening in their head, all about the family life of the angels before Chuck’s disappearance and the rise of humanity. And as such, not everyone was constantly compiling stray details thrown out about the angel characters, clustering them together into this rubber band ball of ideas that was just so fun to play with.

I mean, for instance, not everyone took in the way the other angel characters seemed to look down their noses at the cupid characters (who, it’s worth noting, are never once referred to by their individual names, but instead by the human pet name for their category of cherub [which in Lucifer’s case, was certainly framed as an unflattering term], despite Castiel once boasting that he knew everyone in Heaven), and reason to themselves that it was surely because the other angels were jealous. Because obviously, the cupids are given classified information from God himself about what bloodlines he wants to see continued and merged for the sake of his Plan, putting these silly, non-combatant angels on par with the archangels in terms of secret knowledge about what was to come. For the first couple billions of years of existence, while the other classes of angels were sitting around with nothing to do, they all had to watch the cupids happily zipping around the earth, cooing over blue-green algae and gradually coaxing different species into existence with their magic love arrows. And every time a significant milestone was reached, they also had to watch as the insipid little harbingers of love scooped the newborn creature up and raced over to the nearest archangel to excitedly show them their progress, like a little kid with their first art project. And the archangel in question, regardless of which one, would nod encouragingly and smile as the cupid in question babbled about the tiny, tiny lungs this fish had, or the beginnings of feet at the ends of its fins. Even Lucifer, who would also add the additional suggestion to try and give the next one more teeth.

Additionally, not everyone looked at the way that Lucifer was able to just insert himself into Sam’s head from inside the cage, and considered how Azazel needed to visit a specific geographic location to communicate with Lucifer, and even then was only just barely able to do so, and thus came to the conclusion that clearly Michael and Lucifer must have come to an agreement to pool their powers to project Luci’s image into Sam’s head. Which explains why Sam’s special link disappears right after leaving the cage, and also why Michael didn’t interfere when Lucifer was freed, even though season 15 makes it clear that Luci did not sneak quietly out the backdoor. Michael was fully aware who was responsible for the jailbreak, thus leading us to consider that perhaps Lucifer was supposed to turn around and free Michael and Adam in turn, but did not. Thus leading us to imagine Michael spending roughly a year (Earth time) tapping his foot in the cage, until . . .

“He’s not coming back for us, is he?”

And Adam, cracking open a molecule-flavored soda (manifested courtesy of Michael), snickers. “Nope. Told you not to trust him.”

“Right. . .” Michael exhales, looks around for a moment, settles on side-eyeing Adam. Then, with an air of ‘fuck it’ says, “Want to make out?”

And Adam promptly chokes on his soda.

And not everyone heard Metatron specifically say that he personally tattooed the names of every prophet of the Lord ever on the inner eyelids of every angel, and immediately had the thought, “Poor Michael” spring to mind. Because of course Michael was the first one on the proverbial chopping block, trying his best not to flinch as his little brother gradually figured out how to handle the needle. (To this day, Michael is still not sure if the prophet after Chuck Shurley is named Kevin Tran or Rovim Frun). And all the while, Michael was probably also trying his best not to worry about how things were going on Earth while he was busy getting his eyes stabbed.

After all, Lucifer was God’s second eldest son, barely younger than Michael in the grand scheme of things. He could handle watching over their younger siblings for a little while. And Raphael and Gabriel were there to help. Everything would be fine.

However, Michael isn’t aware that about five minutes after being left in charge, Lucifer yelled, “HEY EVERYONE, CHECK THIS OUT!” And then promptly threw his grace into the body of a nearby pterodactyl. Possession being a new ability that Chuck had recently invented, the surrounding angels were mystified as Lucifer piloted the prehistoric reptile through a series of dizzying loop-de-loops that saw the poor creature—not suited to containing angel grace—explode midway through, leaving Lucifer gleefully giggling in the sky.

About half of the angels looking on gaped in horror.

Gabriel whispered to Raphael, “We’re still beta testing that, right?”

The other half of the gathered angels, however, like the impressionable young followers that they are, start grinning, because Lucifer is grinning, and he’s their cool older brother, and as Lucifer—relishing the attention—makes a beeline toward the earth’s one continent, Pangea, and an unsuspecting herd of ornithopods, these younger angels eagerly follow.

Soon, Earth is full of the anguished cries of cupids, watching their hard work blown to bits again and again. Swept up in the crowd, are Castiel and Balthazar. They watch Uriel and Zachariah excitedly throw their armored dinosaur bodies against one another in the moments before both vessels combust, after which Uriel and Zachariah excitedly dart off to take on new ones.

“Are we sure this is. . .okay?”

“Well, Lucifer is in charge. We’re supposed to follow his lead. . .aren’t we?”

Meanwhile, Raphael is frantically trying to stem the carnage. Several dinosaurs are levitating in mid-air, as Raphael tries to simultaneously keep them from exploding while also ordering the angels possessing them to vacate the vessels immediately. But none of them have ever taken a vessel before, and do not know how to get out of them without tearing them apart. Raphael keeps expanding their powers to more and more creatures as their young siblings continue to follow Lucifer’s example.

“GABRIEL, DO SOMETHING!”

“RIGHT!” Gabriel looks around, locates Lucifer running amuck in an apatosaurus that he’s forcing to walk on its hind legs, and fires off a lightning bolt to startle him out.

The lightning bolt misses its target in spectacular fashion, and several trees catch on fire.

Gabriel throws another lightning bolt.

“GABRIEL, THAT IS NOT HELPING!”

“RIGHT!”

Gabriel then grabs a giant meteor from outer space and begins trying to smother the flames by whacking it against the continent, to Raphael’s horror. More cupids begin to cry. Thick clouds of dust fly up, choking out natural light on the planet’s surface—now only illuminated by flames, as well as the magma that rises up out of the cracks that form in Pangea, as Gabe unintentionally creates the first tectonic plates from the sheer force of his assault on the planet.

Trees fall over. Fire continues to spread.

Lucifer is still in the apatosaurus, but he’s fallen onto his side, laughing hysterically.

“WATER, GABRIEL! USE WATER!”

“OH! RIGHT!”

Gabriel throws the meteor into a nearby sea, creating a tsunami.

It is at this point that Raphael abandons the dinosaurs to their sad fate, forgetting their solemn oath to not reveal any secrets regarding evolution and God’s plan, to broadly yell out to any and all of their angelic siblings who are listening, “QUICKLY, SAVE THE MAMMALS!”

And it is at this point, that Michael returns. Samandriel, clutching a dozen or so rodents in his wings, is the first one to spot him. All of Michael’s eyes are red and puffy from abuse. The cupids are sobbing, the Earth is battered, flooded, and scorched. Angels are getting into fist fights with reapers as they dart back and forth, trying to ferry as many warm-blooded creatures as they can find from the site of the catastrophe to the relative safety on the other side of the mountain range Gabriel accidently made when he bashed a crater into the planet—relative, as it turns out some of those new mountains are in fact volcanoes, and it took some trial and error to figure out how far away from an active volcano could be considered “safe.”

Nearby, Castiel and Balthazar are somehow both stuck inside the same mosasaur, beached from the tsunami, and loudly panicking as they struggle to de-possess it before it explodes. There’s a snapping sound, and then suddenly all of the angels still trapped (or willfully frolicking) inside vessels are ejected, at the same time that the fire goes out and the volcanoes cease erupting.

Consequently, everyone goes very still as Michael scans the damage and his bedraggled siblings. With humans not yet existing, the art of facepalming is not yet a thing. But looking at Michael, one might just expect him to invent the practice right then and there.

When Michael gets to Lucifer, he’s greeted with, “What? Pop’s 86-ing the lizard kingdom anyway!”

Michael promptly drags Lucifer off to Heaven.

The next day, it was made an official rule, written into the very fabric of angelkind: vessels could only be taken after obtaining explicit consent.

Additionally, everyone agreed to never, ever mention the existence of the dinosaurs or how they ended ever again. And, rather than fixing the damage to the Earth’s surface, the tectonic plate situation was just sort of left to do as it would.

Many, many years later, Adam was shocked by Michael’s reaction when the cage door suddenly swung open in Hell. Adam had immediately surged to his feet in excitement, ready to leave and never come back.

Michael, however, remained stationary on the floor, squinting at the doorway, wondering what dystopian nightmare must be waiting on Earth after leaving his siblings unsupervised for a solid decade.

“Michael? You okay?”

“Adam, before we go back to Earth, I think I need to tell you a story. . .”

#himbos all of them #except raphael #raphael's doing their best but there's only one of them #the divine shurley family #is this really what i'm putting out on the midam wedding day?#yep guess so #i just didn't get any good wedding thoughts today #all i could think about was how michael was once a very exhausted older brother #today was not a romantic day for me #but it was chaotic #and i have expressed myself #and raphael deserves a raise #midam #supernatural michael #my thoughts #What did the rest of you guys even do to get through the boring seasons if you weren't imaging stuff like this?

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themandhoelorian · 4 years ago

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Dincember - November 30: Snow

summary: Din’s determined to make your stay on this miserable ice planet as short as possible, but you and the kid don’t mind taking your time in the snow.

pairing: din djarin x gn!reader

warnings: angst that quickly becomes fluff, episode 10 spoilers, the smallest bit of canon-typical violence, some swearing?, the cute little green dude, Din is Soft for you uwu

word count: 3.1k

a/n: ahhh hi welcome to my first fanfiction ever!! I’m excited and very very nervous about posting this, but I've been wanting to write my tin can husband for a while and thought dincember might just be the push I needed to start. part of me hopes I’m just screaming into the void, but if you’re reading this, I hope you enjoy it! happy dincember y’all <3

***

Din doesn’t like snow.

It’s cold and wet and irritating and it creates a layer of frost on his armor that leaves stubborn smudges on the beskar even after he’s dried off. It’s a practical nightmare that Din quite frankly doesn’t have the patience to deal with, but the snow itself isn’t even what bothers him most.

It’s the planets that are covered in it that he really can’t stand.

Din’s been on his fair share of ice planets, and not once has he found something appealing among the white plains, just deadly ravinaks and mindless criminals and giant ice spiders. If he had his choice, he would never step foot on one again.

He’s not sure why any reasonable person would want to either.

So when he hears you gasp from the copilot seat as the frosty white orb comes into view, he assumes that it’s because you’re dreading having to land on this ice planet too.

He knows this is what he hired you for, to follow him wherever he needed to go and take care of the child, but he can’t help but feel a little bad that he’s brought you to yet another dreadful planet. Whenever the three of you land somewhere dangerous, which recently has been more often than not, he insists that you and the child stay on the Crest so he knows you’ll be safe. You never complain, always complying to his requests with a shy smile and dutifully looking after the child, but he can tell you’re growing weary of being holed up in the ship all the time.

Your eyes don’t sparkle like they used to, the way they did when you first joined his crew and you would break into a dazzling grin every time you landed on a new planet.

You don’t talk to the kid in excited whispers anymore as you teach him about the forests or the oceans or the sand, giggling as you bring his little green fingers to the ground and let him feel the difference in the landscapes.

Din’s afraid he’s killed the wonder traveling with him used to bring you, he’s afraid he’s ruined it for the kid too, and Maker, he wishes he could see your face light up the way it used to. He wishes he could see you and the kid overwhelmingly happy again.

But here he is, leaving you both stuck in the middle of a frozen wasteland for what’s sure to be a less than happy few hours while he goes off to find another bounty. He wants to apologize before he leaves, but he can’t seem to find the words for how kriffing bad he feels. Even if he did, he knows you would just brush it off anyways, offer him that sweet smile that makes his face heat up and assure him that the two of you would be just fine on the ship.

So instead, he instructs you to keep the ship running, to stay warm and be ready to take off as soon as he gets back, before he hurries off into the dense swathes of snow. He doesn’t even tell you to stay on the Crest, in too much of a rush to leave before your dewy eyes can convince him to forget the quarry and take you somewhere nicer.

He’s halfway to the location when he realizes it, but he figures there’s no use turning back to remind you when he’s sure you wouldn’t want to go outside, not when white flakes are starting to dust the already cold air.

Besides, he’s determined to make your stay on this planet as short as possible anyway.

Luckily, the target’s in the first cantina Din steps into and doesn’t put up a fight. Well, he tries, but the dumb sucker thinks he can just run, and he doesn’t get more than a few meters out the door before Din shoots him through the chest.

Usually, Din would scoff at a quarry that slow, but this time, as he ties up the body, he’s just grateful that the target’s lack of mental and physical prowess means he can get you all off this planet that much sooner.

In fact, it’s only been a few hours since he first left, and as he makes his way back to the Crest, Din assumes he’ll find you right where he left you. You probably haven’t even put the kid down for a nap yet, and he’s almost proud of himself for making the turnaround so fast. He may have brought you to this awful place, but at least he’s making sure you barely have to spend any time on it.

He almost doesn’t feel bad anymore, almost tells himself it’s okay that he left you and the child stranded on the ship again, but then he approaches the Crest and realizes things aren’t exactly as he left them.

The first thing he notices is that the hull door is open. He’s almost certain he remembered to close it, even in his rush to leave, but even if he didn’t, he’s sure you would’ve shut it for him.

But then again, you’d been in the cockpit when he left, so maybe you had just stayed there and didn’t realize the door was still open. That would make sense.

When he gets a little closer though, he realizes he can’t hear the hum of the engine and that the headlights have been turned off. That he can’t explain. He told you to keep the ship running, and you’ve always followed his instructions. If nothing else, surely you’d want to keep the heater going in this weather. He can’t think of any reason why the Crest shouldn’t be running right now, unless something happened to you and-

No. No, that’s not possible.

He always engages ground security before he leaves. There’s no way anything could’ve gotten onto the ship. But he was in a rush this time, and he’s not even 100 percent positive he closed the hull door, and kriff, did he really mess up that badly?

Not only did he make you wait on this stupid ice planet, but he also left you and the kid vulnerable to whatever dangers lurk in its snow covered hills because he forgot to secure the ship?

Maker, now he really feels bad for bringing you here.

Before he knows it, Din is sprinting towards the Crest, leaving the quarry’s body behind so he can move faster through the snow. He starts heading up the ramp, ready to scope out the ship, but then he hears faint laughter coming from the other side of the hull. He freezes at the noise, his body tensing as the edges of his vision go red.

Apparently ice planets make for stupid criminals, Din thinks, because between the quarry he just picked up and whoever the hell is gloating right outside the scene of their crime right now, he’s sure he’s never encountered so many witless assholes in one place. He’s almost glad for it though. At least he’ll be able to put a bolt through the little frozen brain of whoever had the gall to raid his ship and mess with his crew.

He draws his blaster and paces towards the back of the ship, making sure his steps are silent now that the laughter has stopped. He takes a breath before darting out from behind the Crest, blaster raised, finger on the trigger, but he doesn’t find the thief that he’s looking to shoot there.

He just finds you lying on the frozen ground, making faces at the child as you support him on your stomach.

At first, Din is just relieved to see the two of you seemingly unharmed, but the comfort he feels quickly morphs into confusion. He wonders if something happened to the ship that forced the two of you outside, but then the child swats at your face and you giggle, the sound so pure and carefree that he knows nothing’s wrong.

No, you just decided to drag the kid out into the cold for fun.

He sighs and lowers his blaster as he watches the two of you, too caught up in whatever game you’re playing to notice his presence. Maker, maybe ice planets really do make people dumber, the snowflakes fogging up your head the way it does his visor, because he knows if you were in your right mind you wouldn’t have taken the kid out into the snow, and you definitely wouldn’t be lying with him in the ice, completely exposed to anyone passing by.

“I thought I told you to keep the ship running,” he barks.

You sit up abruptly at the sudden noise, pulling the child instinctively to your chest as you whip your head in his direction. Panic flashes across your eyes for a second, but when you realize it’s just him, it melts into a sigh as you offer him a small smile.

“Oh. Mando. Hi, we were just...”

But then the kid sees that Din’s returned and coos loudly, trying to squirm out of your arms so you’ll let him down. You oblige, placing him gently on the soft ground, and he waddles over to Din with his tiny arms outstretched.

Din picks him up, and the child bubbles with excitement as he positions the little womp rat in the crook of his arm. Din studies him, searching for any signs of distress, but he finds none, just big eyes shining with nothing but glee.

That’s strange. He was sure the kid would hate snow after what happened last time.

He snaps out of his train of thought when you make your way towards him, brushing ice off your shoulders and back.

“Sorry, he was getting a little antsy when it started snowing, so I thought he might’ve wanted to play outside for a little bit,” you explain. “I didn’t want to leave the engine running while we were out here, and I thought we’d have enough time to get everything going again before you got back.”

You’re right in front of him now, so close he can see the small crystals of ice that dot your hair. For a second, he forgets himself, consumed by how breathtaking you look against the icy landscape, and it’s only when the child shifts in his arms that Din catches himself, remembering that he’s supposed to be mad at you for not following his instructions.

“Wasn’t he scared of it?” he demands.

You shake your head, looking down at the child and running a thumb along his ear.

“He seemed a little nervous at first, but I got him to warm up to it pretty quickly. We were just about to head inside, but he wanted to stay out here a little longer, isn’t that right bubs?”

The child hums contentedly as if to agree with you, shifting his gaze between your face and the helmet, but Din keeps his eyes trained on you, trying to figure out how you could’ve gotten the kid to like the snow so easily. The encounter on Maldo Kreis had left him wary of any icy terrain, he can’t imagine what it must have done to the innocent child, but somehow here he is, looking as happy as he’s ever been playing with you in the frost.

He must have been staring at you for too long because before he can put his finger on how you were able to change the kid’s mind, your face is twisting with worry and you’re starting to apologize again.

“I know we probably should’ve stayed on the ship, but I…” you hesitate before giving him a sheepish grin. “Playing in the snow was one of my favorite things when I was little, and I wanted him to know what it was like too.”

Din should be mad at you. You didn’t do the one thing he asked, and you could’ve put yourself and the kid in danger by going outside on a cold foreign planet. He should reprimand you, make sure you know how stupid it was to do that, but then you look up at him, your eyes sparkling as they catch his through the visor, and it’s like someone’s lifted the beskar from his chest, cool air filling his lungs as he breathes fully for what feels like the first time.

He can’t remember the last time he saw you like this, so in awe of the world and eager to share it with the child, with him. Din thought he’d killed all the joy the two of you felt, but no, here it is again, radiating strong and warm from you and the little being babbling in his arms, and he feels whatever anger he had managed to harbor melt away.

How could he be upset when you two were so happy again?

“It’s okay,” he sighs. “Just- I need you to be more careful when I’m not here. I don’t want you two getting into trouble when I can’t protect you.”

“I know, I know. I promise it won’t happen again.”

It’s a simple affirmation, but your voice is steady, your gaze holding his with so much weight that he knows you mean every word you say. Din knows that he can trust you, so he just nods, deciding there’s not much use in wasting more breath on the topic.

He’s about to turn back to the ship, ready to get you all off this planet like he intended, but the child whines before he can move, pointing a tiny finger at the ground where you had been playing. Before he can ask what’s wrong, you take the child from his arms, speaking in that melodic tone you save for doting on your small companion.

“Oh, you wanna show your dad what we were doing, huh bubs?”

He coos in agreement, and you smile before nodding at Din to follow. You lead him to where you were lying and place the kid down next to two vaguely body shaped depressions in the snow. The kid toddles towards the smaller, shallower one and looks up at Din with bright eyes.

Din’s been with the kid long enough that he knows he’s supposed to act excited at this, but it’s a little hard to do when he has no idea what he’s looking at.

He turns his helmet to you in confusion, only to find you already staring at him with an amused expression.

“Have you never made a snow angel, Mando?” you tease.

“A what?”

You grin at his response, and Din feels his face heat up. He can’t tell if it’s from being embarrassed at not knowing or if it’s just from seeing you smile at him.

“A snow angel. You lie down and move your arms and legs up and down, and then the mark you leave behind kind of looks like an angel.”

The kid makes his way back towards Din while he studies the tracks in the snow. He can kind of see an angel in the design he’s guessing you made, but the child’s-

“Well, it’s supposed to look like an angel,” you add. “But the kid’s so small I guess it's hard to tell. Maybe I should have taught him how to make snowballs instead.”

“No, you made the right choice,” Din interjects. “He doesn’t need anything else to be throwing around with his mind tricks.”

You laugh, nodding in agreement, and he feels his chest expand again at the levity of your voice. He wants to make you laugh again, be the reason you’re so openly joyful, but as he’s racking his brain for something to say, he feels a light tug on his cape.

“What is it, buddy?” Din asks as he kneels next to the child. He doesn’t respond, just starts waddling back towards the patterns in the snow while holding onto the cape, tugging harder once its pulled taut and he can’t move any further.

“I think he wants you to make one too,” you note.

Din sighs as he stands, gently removing his cape from the child’s small hand. As much as he enjoys seeing the kid happy, he thinks it’d be a little ridiculous for him to take part in the childish activity, and he’s not too fond of the idea of lying on the cold, wet ground.

“I’m afraid I don’t know how to,” he reasons.

It’s a lame excuse, he knows, but it’s technically true, and he thinks it might be enough to get him out of this little game.

But when you roll your eyes at him, he knows that’s just wishful thinking.

Well, it was worth a shot.

“He did it, I’m sure you can figure it out too,” you accuse, gesturing at the kid who’s plopped himself on the ground. “Come on, bubs, why don’t you show your daddy how it’s done?”

The child doesn’t move though, just tilts his head at you and lets out a confused noise. You shake your head as you make your way to him, but instead of picking him up like Din expects, you just pat his head, striding past the “angels” you made earlier.

“Fine, you lazy little bean,” you say. “I guess I’ll just show him then.”

You sit in a fresh patch of snow and beckon at Din to join you. He’s about to refuse, tell you that it’s time to get back on the ship and leave, but then your bright eyes catch his again.

Maybe it’s worth giving in if it’ll keep that twinkle in your eyes.

“It’s just a little snow, Mando, it’s not gonna kill you.”

Din sighs, pulling his pulse rifle off his back and setting it down before grabbing the kid. He places the child between the two of you as he sits down, following your lead as you lay back in the soft ice and begin to move your limbs.

It’s about as enjoyable as he expects it to be, which is to say not at all. The beskar makes him sink deep into the frozen layer, and he can feel the cold moisture seeping through the gaps in his armor. He’s about to ask how you could genuinely find this fun, but the sound of your laughter mixing with the child’s stops him.

He turns his head to watch you, taking in the way your eyes squeeze shut as your arms draw patterns in the snow, the way the light reflects off the white ground, making it glow around you.

The way it kind of makes you look like an angel.

Suddenly, Din feels warm despite being covered in ice, and he understands how you got the kid to like the snow so quickly.

He thinks he might be starting to like it a little too.

#dincember #I can't believe I'm doing this asdfghkl #i've literally like never written prose idk why i think i can do this lol #this is so much harder than screenwriting rip #also sorry idk how snow works at all #i've only seen it once when i was like 5 LMAO #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #emi writes

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dubsxreader · 4 years ago

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worship the king //.o1 // shigaraki tomura x female!reader

summary: after the soul crushing realization that you're not meant to be the Hero you've spent your life training to be, you hunt down the most indiscriminate killer you know: Dabi. his man-child of a leader being there only makes the task easier, right? too bad Shigaraki has a knack for seeing things in others they don't see themselves. wc: 3,312 playlist: here!

rated: M for dark and mature themes; future lewd tw: suicidal ideation (seriously don't read if you're in a bad mindset this probs won't help), depression, toxic thoughts, manipulation, the start of a v dependent, idolizing relationship ie "worship" in all definitions of the word haha. Shigs taking advantage of a mentally vulnerable hero basically; dead dove do not eat for that reason.

a/n: this is something I wrote almost year ago now, when I first fell head over heels for Shigs and really felt like bnha was saving me from insanity haha. I have 15 pages of notes for this fic, but for now, for the King's birthday, this is my thank you to him and a year of loving Shigaraki Tomura <3 also to the xreader community for being my gateway into every fandom that takes over my life haha. will be posted to ao3 later

You stand on a cracked, littered rooftop, sullenly looking over the calamity you figured would be destroying the lives of every day, happily unaware citizens tonight. A slight sigh of relief leaves your chewed-to-hell lips, hidden to your own addled mind but glaringly apparent to any of your fellow heroes who’d commented on your state of mind the past few months.

You appreciated their care, you really did—for all the surface level care it could give, that is. It wasn’t their fault they couldn’t understand. They were simply more Heroic than you, official capital and all. More driven, stronger, faster… But you’ve been doing the absolute best you can, and you were sure of that. Days–weeks months?–of harshly honest self speculation assured you of your failures and of the fact that, simply put, you weren’t cut out for shouldering multitudes of lives every time you stepped out your door. Heroism didn’t just end when you took off your costume; no, it was an ideology that should be ingrained into the soul of the costume wearer, and you’d come to the jarring conclusion that, after all your special training, you just weren’t up to snuff.

You couldn’t even save yourself from your own demons. How the hell were you supposed to save those more deserving of life if you couldn’t cope with your own shit?

A small, condescending snort leaves your nostrils as you observe the blue flames engulfing the area below you. Fucking worthless. What was the point, then? Hours of support Hero's work on your items, costume—wasted. The countless words of love and support from friends and family. Ha. Your eyes track the small movements of the current chaos’ perpetrators with a keenness you've found twisted comfort in recently. A familiar, all encompassing fixation gears up that brings you out of the cloud of self-doubt, hate, and deprecation that was so, so wrong to feel as a Pro-Hero in today’s society. In this bubble there's a solution, so it's okay. You let out a numbing breath.

Maybe you could give the Villains +1 morality in the eyes of whatever twisted being rested on their laurels, idly watching as you drive yourself insane.

A swift gust of wind knocks the empty cans and bottles from their peaceful resting places as you leave your perch, descending into the empty alley below to begin your last stand against yourself. Resolute and heavy steps echo in the widened, deserted streets of the city you vowed to protect—a small, still aware part of you thankful it’s so late at night that most would be sleeping. Your targets (saviors?) usually moved when they would make the most social impact, but you’d been tracking a certain member that didn’t seem to adhere to their strict schedule.

Whoever they were behind the obvious moniker, they seemed to kill liberally. It should be easy. You take a numbing breath.

The stench of burning flesh and ash is suddenly all too pungent, assaulting your senses enough to kick your mind into another, more logical plane and question how stupid you’re being. How disappointed everyone who knew you would be. Izuku and Hitoshi, especially, had been trying their hardest to devote extra time to you recently, you knew that—fuck, how selfish were you to bring their attention away from a goal they’d fought so hard to achieve?

The flames are smoldering char on concrete when you arrive at the end of another alleyway, just as dirty as the one you’d come from… But the incineration just seemed to have cleansed the way of its trash. You nearly sigh again in morbid relief when you see two men still standing there in the aftermath. You can see from behind that the man you’ve been tracking, Dabi, still has his left arm extended, as if relishing the memory of his flames destroying the ones he deemed unworthy.

Hands in your hero costume’s pockets, you steel yourself in your usual Hero emotions: indignation, conviction, disgust at the idea of them feeling they had a right to do anything going against the grain of the society you were indoctrinated into. You clear your throat with the last of your practiced confidence, bringing the sights of the two Villains to your own frame shadowed by the bright street lamp at your back.

“You two aren’t planning on getting away with this, are you?”

Your simple, deadpan drawl has both men scoffing to themselves and sharing a look of exasperation and annoyance. They clearly want nothing more than to be done with whatever the hell they were doing; your gaze sharpens in acknowledgment while their own take note of your hero costume. This is it. This is really it. You’ve done it. Is it really what you want?

Your eyes ice over, hardening to protect your vulnerabilities when they meet those of the second man’s own carmine flecks, so unflinching and so, so bored from behind his trademark hand.

Yeah. This is it.

Resignation freezing the rest of your visage and nothing left to say, you dash forward with simple physical speed, locking onto the Villain you recognize as the leader of the League of Villains himself. Sure, Dabi was a proven relentless killer, but you figure if you go after the leader himself there would be even less hesitation or time to think on either side. They were both reportedly unflinching, ruthless, uncaring and absolutely evil, but Shigaraki’s devilishness was practically beaten into you at this point. He was the obvious candidate, the oddness of his presence meaningless yet welcome at this point.

Your eyes never leave his as you take those last three lunging leaps, your arm cocked back in a hopeful show of some impressive power you might possess, in a display grand enough to paint yourself as a threat if not at the very least an annoyance.

Blue flames lick at the back of your costume. You’d somehow been faster than Dabi’s flames, which made no sense at all—you weren’t fast in any capacity if you were to judge yourself. It must’ve been a misfire. Lucky you’ve targeted the faster acting Villain.

Something distinctly odd flashes in his previously disinterested eye as you rush him, your Quirk barely powered yet still reflecting in his observation as you aim for the mask. Your own, in contradictory spite, slows as your mind races, brushing the hand enough to feel the inexplicitly soft and leathery texture, knocking it clean off the face of the man you’d targeted. Maybe it's the adrenaline, maybe it's the anticipation of the end, but you don’t feel anything near what you thought you’d feel when his living hand grazes your outstretched arm. If anything, it feels like an angry wasp had come at your elbow in some sort of misguided revenge attempt. Bearable.

Fucking livable.

You skid to a shaky stop feet behind them, your glare going to the small hole in your costume’s arm where he’d made the briefest of contact. The skin had only begun to crack and decay from a central point; nothing near the scale and intensity you’d been warned about by your superiors and peers. What the fuck gives?

A desperate rage threatens to erupt at the lack of damage. You feel cheated. Your eyes shift from the minimal damage to the apprehensive yet notably curious eyes of your chosen euthanasist. Was he just not taking you seriously? You didn’t blame him, but…

“I thought the League was the best of the best?” The sting in your arm is mockingly there and you scoff, barely hiding your indignation at his unfulfillment of the role you’d forced upon him. You take it and use it to fuel the crumbling foundation of your resolve, ashing it to the ground yourself and focus on the slightly slumped figure topped with white-blue hair.

His eyes are now magnetized and piercing, never wavering from your own, adding to your rage and confusion. Just what is he getting at, looking straight at you in the fucked up state you’re in and just–just fucking seeing–?! You aren’t looking for pity, fuck all if it's from the person you’ve deemed would have the balls you didn’t to end this shitty nightmare you live in. With a primal, anguished and utterly guttural scream you dash forward once more towards Shigaraki Tomura, hand erupting in a more accurate show of your true power.

Once again, he simply guides your attack away from him into empty space, this time with a deft shove of his index finger. Silent and calculating. You stumble on your feet as you land, ignoring the insulting sting, and turn to face them at a pace you know isn’t up to Hero standards but unable to even fake it anymore. Your eyes, though.

They fucking call to him.

How could he dust you? A Pro-Hero, coming at him alone, a deadly ally at his side, with what he knew from his research to be nowhere near their quirk’s power and potential?

Nevermind the look in your eyes he’d recognized immediately—this Hero was asking to be killed. Cracked lips twitch to grin at the situation. His mind works at full throttle to balance the possibilities.

“Heh…” The small breath leaves him, a smirk winning out and pulling at already taught skin, “You’re looking to die, aren’t you, Hero?”

Your brows furrow in… Fuck, you can’t identify your feelings at this point–they shouldn’t matter–they’d become obsolete the moment you took a swing at the supposedly impulsive and irrational Villain in charge. All you can feel is the overwhelming sense of weight, of pressure, of absolute and total CHAOS destroying any semblance of unity you’d pulled together to end this.

“What the fuck does that matter to you, Villain?!” Your glare is full of a rawness you can’t recognize, let alone mask, “Fucking fight me or die!”

His smirk, now fully on display, stretches to the smuggest of smiles as he takes his experimental first steps forward, casually retrieving the hit hand and placing it safely in his trench coat pocket. You weren’t immediately attacking him—hell, you weren’t even defending yourself! You’d only be more obvious if you’d delivered yourself to his doorstep tied in a bright, blood-red ribbon labeled “do what you want, I don’t care anymore!” It made his blood simmer, his skin itch in excitement at all the optional routes opened up before him.

Quickly, too quickly to deploy your defense {even if you wanted to}, he’s in your face and encircling your neck in a four fingered grasp. Your eyes vaguely mark Dabi looking on with a detached interest, and you can’t help but mirror his lack of understanding—your emotions and thoughts unfortunately too far past controllable to be hidden behind the usual Heroics.

“You could still serve a purpose, you know.”

Narrowed (e/c) eyes meet piercing, analytical rubies set to freeze and crumble enemies. You have no answer to that, none at all—if you hadn’t come across another anything while you’d been searching in earnest, how could it be tossed into your lap from the hands of a Villain? Your clear disbelief doesn’t deter him in the slightest. It only gives him the subtle signals he needs to ensure a dedicated new member of his team. This situation could only go well for him and the League, if he plays it right, and he’s thankful Dabi knows when to shut the hell up and take the back seat when he truly should.

He’s never seen Shigaraki’s version of recruitment before. After Dabi's climate destroying display, he could use a lesson.

On the edge though this Hero is, the line is thin and the touch needed is delicate and calculated.

“You can make a real difference in this rotten world,” Shigaraki slowly lowers his defensive arm and loosens his grip on your neck, conveying his intentions to calm you. He notices this strikes an especially sore nerve that you’re too unhinged to recognize. You’re taken over by your emotions, unable to distinguish that you’ve offered your weaknesses to your enemy on a silver platter. Disgusted rage he’s now certain is self-focused meets him, only bringing him a step closer to your frozen and highly panicked figure. His free fingers fidgets on the clammy skin of your neck, tapping a pattern across your throbbing pulse, expectant and soft while the other stays loosely, carefully, against your clavicle.

It's constant.

It's… calming?

No, it's fucking overwhelming and uncomfortable and— As if your body’s acting on the last vestiges of your studies, you struggle in his grasp and pull your dominate arm back, channeling all your sadness and panic you’d been unable to expel into the attack you hoped would just fucking end this fucking end this it’s done—

Another four fingered grip captures your wrist, directing your power away from anything important and only ruffling Dabi’s clothes as he watches on. You choke on a cry, near your mask’s end with Shigaraki’s unexpected patience. You’d been told this was nothing more than a spoiled, raging, calloused young man entirely unable to connect with any feelings other than his own selfish need to destroy all Heroes he came in contact with. The only conclusion your racing mind can come to is that he doesn’t even view you as a Hero worth destroying. Thick and torrid tears rush from your eyes, betraying your need to be recognized and being denied that luxury in your final moments.

“I can’t even get what I need from you fuckfaces—!” Your cry rings out, eyes shutting tightly, shaking with the force of your emotions finally finding the breaking point they need to crash through into the real world, “What the fuck can I do to make a fucking difference?!”

Shigaraki pauses to assess your sobbing. You’ve all but folded into yourself; you would’ve disintegrated against his hold on your neck if he hadn’t been paying attention. No… he sees you. He sees you. His fingered grip on your neck slides up to force your head to follow, meeting his sure gaze. You’re lost. You’re anxiously grasping at anything you can to stop the burning, itching need to destroy your own mind… And he gets that. He knows what it took to hook him tightly into his own mindset. He knows of seeing a seemingly impossible goal set before him, of feeling unworthy and needing to prove himself to his peers and himself. If anyone could reshape you... it would be him. If anyone were to reshape you... it should be him.

“It isn’t fair, is it…?” He starts slowly, voice dripping with cooing understanding, gauging your expressions and body, “You work so hard to be what others want you to be… And never feel enough, even when you put your all into it.” Your whole being shudders at his words, breaking down and melting into the pressure of your expectations for yourself. You choke on another messy sob, tears blinding you, snot nearly reaching your lips, a trail of drool unknowingly slipping from the corner of your grimacing lips.

“We’d never expect more than you can give, you know,” He all but whispers into your ear, his words echoing with staying power. You miss the tiniest bit of excitement he lets slip into his tone at the thought of corrupting a fairly strong Hero to his cause with mere psychological one-upmanship. The power over your entire existence is an intoxicating prize and he’s not about to let go of it if he can help it.

A sad cross between a whimper and a cry escapes you as you crumble even more into a hold you’d only come to for annihilation. Why wasn’t he killing you? Why weren’t you dead? You’d wanted to die, needed to just stop everything and just—just STOP, finally, just stop. He was a hardened criminal with no need for heroes, what the hell kind of use did he see in you? You still the tiniest bit. You just need a use, a tangible use, is that what you’ve been missing? A clear direction set before you by an overwhelmingly liberating, intelligent, capable force… Could he see it through all the absolute shit you covered yourself in?

A tentative spark lights the furthest parts of you as you finally meet his confident and knowing gaze. Fuck if you don’t feel seen for the first time in your life, finally seen and accepted for the absolute mess you see yourself as. The conflicting, philosophical doubts you’ve had about Heroism, and your own heroics in the existential race you call a life, find a peaceful place in Shigaraki Tomura’s vision.

It's an alien calm, a powerful sedative on your mind, leading you to melt into his look—telling him all he needed to know and more. The grin he sports widens and his eyes shift to give a silent command to Dabi, still (surprisingly) observing quietly, before changing your life indefinitely, “Follow me, little hero. You'll never be lost again.”

A deep, swirling purple warp gate you’d only seen in footage appears at the entrance to the alleyway.

The loose grip on your neck finally leaves completely, giving you ample room to escape up and out across the rooftops. You’re frozen in your battling thoughts at the suddenly very real decision in front of you.

You knew you weren’t good enough to be a Hero. You’d been struggling with the core beliefs on what the word even meant, if the world you’d been taught was even so black and white. Did you even want to die or did you just need someone to come and give you a purpose, some great refocusing direction? Someone to swoop in, recognize and acknowledge your pain before wiping it away and giving you something definite to live for? You knew you couldn’t make it as a Hero. You were nothing in that world. But maybe you could make that nothing existence, doomed to the weaker, better…?

Eyes nearly blinded before blinking down more streams of tears, you sniffle and take a tentative step towards the man looming tall over you, an umbrella shielding you from a brightness you couldn’t stand to be seen in. You harshly wipe your falling tears to watch Dabi walk swiftly into the portal, an unlit cigarette of some sort dangling from his patterned lips. Shigaraki steps to it much slower. He stops before he reaches it, twisting subtly to look at you from over his shoulder. He shouldn’t have to say anything more for you to follow, if his assumptions are correct—

They are.

Your first steps are slow but pick up speed quickly, feet nearly throwing you into his right side, at the mouth of the portal to a place described by your thoughts as no return. His eyes widen in delight, a manic grin following as he places the fingers of his left hand onto your head in a semblance of comfort. More than he ever got. His right arm wraps confidently around your waist, absurdly consoling to your rapidly evolving morals and needs.

It allows you to let it all go, though. It tells you someone more capable, more prepared is there. That he sees you and is keeping you alive because you’re useful to him. You can’t seem to care why when the overwhelming realization that such a powerful man saw you as you were, truly were, and still found a profound use for you in a world you were dying in takes a strong hold. You’re practically weightless as he guides you into the inky blackness of his caretaker’s portal, mind clicking into place and recognizing the distinct choice you’re making with a calm acceptance of this development in your life.

You were a useless hero. Perhaps this is your chance to prove you could make a difference to someone as a villain.

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a/n: thanks so much for reading!! :) hope you enjoyed~ happy birthday, Shigster! maann I wish he'd take me away ;w; drop of a hat, I'm gone lol. the ultimate escapism... yandere!Shigaraki! xD annyway, I hope you have a wonderful day~ <3

#shigaraki tomura x femaie!reader #shigaraki x reader #tw sucidal ideation #tw depression #tw manipulation

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plentyghosts · 3 years ago

Text

New Clothes and Promises Made

Summary: S.Q. had not straightened his hair for some time now. Since his father's arrest and moving in with Mr. Benedict, he simply hadn’t had the time. He was adapting to life in Mr. Benedict’s house and processing everything that happened, so his appearance had fallen to the wayside. Now his dark hair curled gently over his forehead, occasionally falling in his eyes, only to be clipped back absentmindedly by Rhonda when she spotted him continuously tucking it behind his ears. He used to straighten it every morning, under his father's instruction. ‘Appearance is everything, S.Q., do you understand me? Everything.’ He’d say. That sentiment had been one of the many that stuck, repeating like a mantra in his brain throughout the day, as he went through each of the twenty-four hours just as he was expected to.

Content Warnings: none

Edit: fixed some spelling errors i noticed (after posting 😔)

ao3 link

S.Q. had not straightened his hair for some time now. Since his father's arrest and moving in with Mr. Benedict, he simply hadn’t had the time. He was adapting to life in Mr. Benedict’s house and processing everything that happened, so his appearance had fallen to the wayside. Now his dark hair curled gently over his forehead, occasionally falling in his eyes, only to be clipped back absentmindedly by Rhonda when she spotted him continuously tucking it behind his ears. He used to straighten it every morning, under his father's instruction. ‘Appearance is everything, S.Q., do you understand me? Everything.’ He’d say. That sentiment had been one of the many that stuck, repeating like a mantra in his brain throughout the day, as he went through each of the twenty-four hours just as he was expected to. S.Q. bit the inside of his lip as he examined himself in the mirror.

A harsh purple was smudged beneath each of his eyes, indicative of another issue he was having. Nightmares were not new to him, but they had certainly never occurred with this much frequency. He’d been doing a fine job at hiding it, he didn’t want to bother anyone after all, but these dark circles might give him away. He sighed. There wasn’t much to be done about it. His clothes and his hair, however, he could fix. So that morning, he straightened it again, burning himself a few times in the process. He swept his hair aside as he usually did and fixed his collar. There, much better. He imagined his fathers approving voice- a tone he rarely heard from him- the first time he had dressed himself.

He had been five, starting to develop more independent thought, and therefore wanting to dress himself. He had done well enough. Though, that hadn’t stopped his father from making minute adjustments, as he was always inclined to do. S.Q. shoved that memory aside when he felt a lump forming in his throat. ‘Don’t be silly’ he scolded himself internally ‘he was awful, you shouldn’t be missing him. What would the others think of you? If they knew you were longing for such a bad man?’ He took a deep, cleansing breath (something Kate had taught him) and stepped out of the washroom.

He made his way downstairs, bidding good morning to the others he passed until he came to the kitchen. Mr. Benedict sat with a cup of coffee in hand and a book laid on the table in front of him. He looked up as S.Q. entered the kitchen, and did a small double-take when he saw that his hair had been straightened. He smiled, but his eyes held something akin to sadness. S.Q. felt suddenly embarrassed, and instinctively, he went to tuck his hair behind his ear. He cleared his throat. “Good morning S.Q., did you sleep well?” Mr. Benedict asked. Though S.Q. was sure Mr. Benedict already knew the answer he lied anyway.

“I slept well” He said. The other kids joined them soon, and they were all seated at the table to eat breakfast. Number Two and Milligan had cooked that morning. They’d made pancakes, something S.Q. found he enjoyed very much. Sweet food had not exactly been commonplace for him on the island. He could count on one hand the number of times his father had indulged his childish longing for something sweet. Those had all been on days his father was in a particularly good mood. Usually, it was due to something with his work going well. Those memories were soured now with the knowledge of what it was his father had been so happy about.

Breakfast passed with zero incident, aside from Constance nailing Sticky in the side of the head with a piece of pancake, and after it was over, Rhonda announced that they were going to head into Stonetown that morning. There was a murmur of excitement through the table, all of the kids raising questions about why and when. S.Q. was more reserved, just listening to it all happened. He liked the idea of seeing the town. He had spent a lot of time wondering about it from his room in the institute. Or looking out at it from the copper waves, where he could sit and see the outline of the belltower in the distance. Though the prospect of seeing Stonetown was fun, he did worry. His father had raised him on the belief that the outside world was unruly and uncontrolled. And to a certain extent that was true, but in that truth, there was some good. Moments of bonding and light-heartedness, the kind which could come from nowhere else but an uncontrolled world. But that also meant large crowds and lots of noise, something S.Q. was still adjusting to.

“It’s almost winter, which means everyone is in need of some winter clothes. We’re going out to get just that.” Rhonda explained, with slightly raised hands to keep more questions from rising. This did not stem the children's excitement, they had plenty more questions. In lieu of an answer, Rhonda sent them all to get dressed and ready to go. All the children were soon running off to their rooms to get dressed. All except S.Q., who had changed out of pajamas right after he’d woken. A habit his father had instilled in him. ‘No sense in waiting, S.Q., you never know.’ his father’s voice rang in his head again, interrupted by Mr. Benedict.

“How are you feeling this morning S.Q.?” he asked. S.Q. was caught slightly off guard by the question. He had never been particularly good at putting his feelings into words- well, no that wasn’t quite the right way to put it. He knew just how to articulate them, to an extent, the issue was that he’d seldom been asked about his feelings. Specifically the negative ones. His own negative emotions (he was plenty familiar with his father's) had always been foreign to him in a way. They were not a part of him, but rather a beast that lingered in the shadows. Something he was encouraged to ignore or, if he couldn’t do the former, try to conquer. He was not familiar with them, and therefore not prepared when people asked him about them. It felt like trying to explain the plot of a book he had never read.

“Oh, well... I’m doing alright. Just had an early morning, so I’m a little tired.” That was an answer he was good at giving. He was just tired. That was the crutch he fell on for a lot of emotions. And while it was half-true, his tiredness may have been the source of some stress, it was not the main problem. It was simply a branch on a larger tree. That was how S.Q. typically looked at his emotional turmoil; like a tree with winding and extending branches. It had taken him a while to understand that his father was the one who had planted the seed of this tree. That he was the roots.

Mr. Benedict tilted his head (S.Q. grimaced. So familiar, but so different.) and nodded with genuine patience. There was no pretense of intrigue there, he really was interested in what S.Q. had to say. He set down his coffee cup and stood “Well, I don’t believe you have a proper coat, which you’ll need for today. Why don’t we go look in the main hall closet?” S.Q. nodded and stood, finishing the last of his orange juice as he went.

They walked to the main hall and Mr. Benedict went through the closet housing all the old jackets and boots while S.Q. stood to the side, watching with the keen feeling that maybe he should have been helping. He shifted on his feet. “Do you nee-”

“Ah! Here we go” Mr. Benedict stepped out from the closet, brushing some dust half-heartedly from his shoulder. He held up the coat. It was Tarrytown green and looked rather big for S.Q., but he wasn’t going to complain. ‘Remember’ he reminded himself ‘you’re only here because Mr. Benedict allows you to be. Which means no complaining’. Besides, when he put the coat on, it was rather comfortable. Even if the sleeves fell past his wrist and covered his hands. Effectively giving him sleeve paws (and possibly a weapon if he pulled his hands in more.) When zipped all the way the collar came right up to his chin, so he only zipped it up to his collarbone. The kids came down the stairs as S.Q. was pulling on his boots.

Kate wasted no time in pulling on her own boots, not long after she had come barreling down the stairs then she was all ready to go, encouraging the boys to get ready quickly so they could go out. Reynie laughed good-naturedly at Kate's excitement as he laced up his boots and Sticky pulled on his jacket. Constance, meanwhile, was struggling to zip up her coat, Rhonda eventually came over to help her. Kate turned to S.Q. and her smile faltered for a moment, not out of sadness, but something akin to mild surprise, it was back just as quickly. “Hey, that’s Milligan’s coat!” she said. “Makes you look like a mini-Milligan” Here, she gasped and her eyes lit up “A minigan!” she cried, punching S.Q.’s shoulder affectionately. S.Q. grimaced (somehow he managed to turn it into a smile) and rubbed his arm.

Soon, everyone was ready to go (Kate was practically vibrating with energy), and Rhonda, Number Two, Milligan, and Ms. Perumal were ushering them out the door. They split into two cars. Number Two, Rhonda, Ms. Perumal, Reynie, and Constance in one. And Milligan, Kate, Sticky, and S.Q. in another. Mr. Benedict chose to stay home that day, along with Mrs. Perumal. The drive to Stonetown was not long, and yet, S.Q. found himself growing rather tired. He was pressed against the window, his cheek resting on the ledge, the cool windowpane firm against his forehead. His eyes slipped closed.

The details of his dream were already fading when he felt someone waking him. He startled slightly as he awoke, the image of his dad still vivid behind his eyelids. But it was not his father's hand on his shoulder shaking him into the land of the living. It was just Milligan. S.Q. rubbed his eyes and sat up, stifling a yawn. “We’re here,” Milligan said. And sure enough, when S.Q. turned his head to look out the window, he could see the rest of the group standing outside the car, waiting for him. Kate was bouncing on her toes, looking as though she might start cartwheeling at any moment. Kate seemed very much like a shark to S.Q., in perpetual movement, as though she might die if she stopped for even a second. She was all about momentum and he had kept her waiting. His cheeks flushed in embarrassment and he climbed out of the car, into the cool air. The cold bit at his face and he shivered, hoping the excuse of the chill might be enough to cover his shame-colored cheeks.

Along with the cold, the first thing S.Q. noticed was the noise. There was a lot of it. People talking as they milled about, the cars on the road, the general hustle and bustle one might find in any city. He immediately decided he didn’t like it. He bit back a small hum of displeasure and pulled his coat up to cover his ears, hoping once again the cold would be a good excuse for this. They had a bit of walking to do before they got to the store and S.Q. spent the whole time with his shoulders hunched and his ears covered. He blocked out the sound around him as best he could, including Kate’s excited chattering and Sticky and Constance’s bickering. He focused, instead, on the fabric of the coat under his fingers. He ran his thumbs along the seam of the zipper, counting each little ridge and bump of the teeth and the way it merged with the soft, green fabric.

He startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to find Milligan looking at him with a concerned expression. “Are you alright?” S.Q.’s cheeks burned brighter. He dropped his shoulders and stuffed his hands into his pockets, clearing his throat.

“Yeah- It's just… it’s uh- it’s loud out here.” Milligan hummed and he removed his hand. S.Q. felt a pang of discomfort, the hand on his shoulder had been a good anchor to focus on. His gaze dropped away from Milligan’s sympathetic face as they approached the store. Constance pressed her nose against the glass of the display window and peered inside. In the windows were mannequins, some displayed men's coats while the other displayed women's, a few mannequins were even dressed in coats that could be described as an androgynous, function over fashion type.

S.Q. found himself drawn to one coat in particular. It was a similar shade of green to the old one he wore currently. Its hood was lined with soft, beige fabric. It buttoned up over a zipper and had deep pockets on each side, both of which were embroidered with a sprawling vine of brilliantly colored flowers, matching the embroidery pattern on the cuff of the sleeves. It was on a woman’s mannequin and S.Q. felt another small rush of embarrassment alongside his disappointment at this fact.

“It’s a nice coat.” he heard Constance say beside him. It’s only then he realized he’d been staring at it. The other kids and adults were looking at the coats in the window.

“Oh, yeah… but, it’s a woman’s coat, so I can’t-”

“So?"

“...Pardon?”

“Who cares if it’s for women? It’s a nice coat, and if it fits, the gender hardly matters.”

S.Q. hummed in thought as the adults ushered the kids into the store. There was plenty else to look at inside, and they could see a few of them beginning to shiver as the wind picked up the pace. Inside the store was certainly warmer, but just as loud as outside and S.Q. found himself shoving down the urge to clap his hands over his ears and pull up the collar of his coat. Inside the enclosed space of the store, it seemed even louder. Sound did not travel outside as it did in here.

They split up to look around. Sticky and Reynie went with Ms. Perumal while Constance went with Rhonda and Number Two. Kate, naturally, went with Milligan and S.Q. ended up trailing along after them, unsure of who else to go with.

The trip to the store was mostly without incident. Mostly. The kids had all chosen out some appropriate winter attire, and S.Q. had found a proper coat. Plain blue, simple, but effective. It reminded him of the coat he had been provided with on the island. They had all lined up at the register. The cashier was giving them all an interesting look. It had never occurred to S.Q. before now that they must look like quite an odd group. A very large man, three young women, and several children, of which very few looked related to each other.

As they lined up, someone bump into S.Q., a woman who looked not much older than Ms. Perumal, Number Two, and Rhonda. S.Q. had passed her a few times in the store. He remembered her because she had been walking about rather quickly, and with her vibrantly-colored coat had given S.Q. the impression of a hummingbird. Though he was certain hummingbirds did not ram into boys and topple them over.

That was the metaphorical last straw for S.Q., he slammed into the hard linoleum floor, Milligan had reached to grab him but had unfortunately missed. The woman apologized profusely, her face flushing in embarrassment, but she didn't stay long enough to make sure he was alright. His ears rang, and his shoulder was sore now, everything was much too loud and much too quiet at the same time.

Milligan was asking if he was alright, but S.Q. could hardly hear it. He just stood and mumbled something about needing a moment before darting from the store. He took a deep breath as he stepped outside and leaned against the wall. His breath came, after the initial gasp, in short, shallow intakes. He clamped his hands over his ears and slid down to the ground. With his eyes shut tight, he did not see the looks cast at him by passing strangers as he rocked ever so slightly, trying to focus on the motion of the back and forth instead of everything around him. Stonetown was big, and sprawling, and nothing like the island. His father had been right about that. The world outside of his little islet was coarse, unruly, and frightening. He was not made for it, it had not formed around him, and he did not have the strength to carve himself a place.

Someone sat down beside him. He did not look up, instead, he kept his head placed on his knees, his hands over his ears, and his eyes squeezed tightly shut as the world passed him by. Slowly, the ringing in his ears faded. He cracked one eye open to let in the light, grimacing as his eyes adjusted. He had no way of gauging how long had been sitting there, but he imagined it may have been enough to raise concern. He could not see the rest of the group, which meant they were either back at the car, or still inside the store. Milligan was sitting beside him. He was not looking at S.Q., or trying to touch him, he was just sitting there. Watching people pass by on the street. When he finally saw that S.Q. had opened his eyes again, he said,

“Do you mind if I touch you? I know you’re overwhelmed, I don’t want to make it worse.” S.Q. ignored the lump that formed in his throat and nodded. Milligan shifted slightly and opened his arms, which S.Q. fell gladly into. Milligan did not say anything when S.Q.’s shoulders started shaking and tears began to stain the shoulder of his coat. His arms were strong, firm, but gentle. And S.Q. barely noticed when Milligan guided him up to his feet and started walking him back to the car, his arm still slung around his shoulder. Soon he was in the back seat again. He did not look at Kate or Sticky, though he could see their concerned glances in the corner of his eye. None of them spoke as they drove home, and the whole time S.Q. could feel guilt creeping up his throat, threatening to come out in sobs. But he swallowed them down with shaky breaths.

When they pulled into the driveway, S.Q. was the last out of the car and into the house. Everyone quietly went their own way, the new clothes were left in the front hall, for the moment, to be sorted through later. Mr. Benedict smiled as he walked into the front hall and saw everyone taking off their boots.

“Ah, you’re back! Mrs. Perumal and I made hot chocolate” The kids all grinned and went off to the kitchen. Kate lingered for a moment longer when she saw S.Q. untying his shoes with a slowness that could have only been purposeful.

“Hey,” she started, softly. When S.Q. looked up, she continued “Are you alright? You seemed pretty freaked out back in town.”

“Yeah, it was just loud so…” He cut himself off, swallowing the lump in his throat that threatened to turn into tears again. “So, I just needed some fresh air. Sorry, I know I ruined the mood-”

“What? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t?”

“No, I was just worried about you”

“...oh.”

“You gonna come get some hot chocolate? Might make you feel better.” S.Q. nodded and finished unlacing his boots. He pulled them off and lined them neatly with the rest of the shoes, adjusting Constance’s (which had been kicked off haphazardly) as he went. Then he joined the others in the kitchen. He was glad when the others barely spared him a glance, all absorbed in asking for whipped cream in their hot chocolate as Rhonda and Number Two got everyone a mug. He didn’t think he could handle that attention.

The only person who looked at him was Mr. Benedict, who was talking with Milligan in hushed voices. He cast him a fond smile. S.Q. could tell they were talking about him and a pit formed in his stomach. He had messed up, he knew. He had probably overstayed his welcome anyway. It was only a matter of time before he had to be sent off to an orphanage. It was an inevitability. He sat at the table, and a mug of hot chocolate was placed in front of him, paired with an affectionate hair ruffle from Rhonda as she passed by. He drank his hot chocolate in silence.

He passed the rest of the day in relative quiet. In the midafternoon, the kids all went out in the backyard to play. Kate was high up in a tree the moment they got outside, and Reynie and Sticky sat in the shade of the branches, talking about a book they had both read. Constance was picking dandelions, addressing Sticky’s comment about how they were actually weeds by sticking her tongue out, which he responded to by narrowing his eyes and scrunching his nose back at her. S.Q. sat on the porch the whole time, watching this all go down, and drawing it as it happened.

That night, they sorted through the clothes, and everyone was sent off to bed, feeling content with their choices.

The next morning, S.Q. was woken by the sun peeking through a gap in the closed curtains, shining right in his eyes. He groaned and rolled over, pulling his blanket over his head. Then Kate knocked on his door, announcing loudly that breakfast was ready, and telling him to “Get outta bed, sleepyhead!” He heard her laugh to herself about how she had rhymed (“just like Constance” she giggled) as she retreated down the hall to wake the others. He rolled out of bed reluctantly and went to get dressed.

After he had pulled on his sweater, he looked at himself in the mirror. For a moment, all he could do was stare as he was struck with a realization. Nothing had changed . Aside from his hair in its natural curls, he looked just as he had on the island. He looked down at his clothes. He didn’t even like this color. His father had micromanaged every little thing of his appearance. Every time S.Q. had had the opportunity to dress himself, his father had cut in with little criticisms, several of which rang in his head now (‘straighten your collar, S.Q., and for the love of everything you must start keeping your hair out of your face.’) He was still trapped in that pattern, dressing as his dad expected him to, even though he hated it.

S.Q. leaned against the bathroom door, desperately willing the tears in his eyes to go away. He sat slowly on the floor, staring silently at his feet as tears streaked down his cheeks. Despite his best efforts, he was still doing just as his dad instructed him to.

‘I’m going to be like this forever’ he thought, despairingly, as he set his head down on his knees and hugged tightly. His shoulders shook as he started quietly. He shoved his face into his knees as hard as he could, trying to muffle the sound. But soon enough someone was knocking on the door.

“S.Q.? Are you alright in there?” It was Rhonda. S.Q. sniffled and quickly wiped his eyes, stood, ran the tap, and splashed his face with cold water. Then he opened the door. Rhonda fixed him with a concerned look, and it took all of his efforts not to start crying again. His chest fluttered with that urge to sob, but he managed a small smile as he moved past Rhonda.

“Yeah, doing just fine. Sorry I took so long, I’ll see you at breakfast.” S.Q. made his way downstairs before Rhonda could get another word in. He walked downstairs and into the kitchen, pressing his palms against his eyes. He stopped just short of slamming right into Number Two, who jumped back slightly as he appeared in the kitchen.

“Oh- good morning, S.Q., I was just-” She paused mid-sentence, taking in the red under his still-teary eyes and his flushed cheeks. Behind her, S.Q. could see the rest of the kids and adults. A few had looked up at his entrance, clearly also taking note of his expression.

“S.Q.?” Comes Ms. Perumal’s voice. He turned his head to look at her. She looked concerned. “Are you okay?” she asked. Her voice was so soft, and so full of concern, that S.Q. could do little to stop the tears that rose in his eyes. He stepped back.

“Um- I think I just need some time to myself. I’m sorry.” he turned on his heel and went back upstairs. He was surprised by his own silence when he closed his bedroom door behind him. Tears streamed freely down his face, but he did not sob. He just sat there and let them fall. Then he climbed, silently, into bed. And he did not leave his room for the rest of the day.

Throughout the day, he heard people mill about. A few knocked on his door. At some point, the door cracked open and Number Two set down a plate just inside the door. He ate the sandwich, though he didn’t have much of an appetite. He drifted in and out of sleep throughout the day, waking every time with various images of his father behind his eyelids.

Eventually, he woke up to the sound of Constance speaking. “Why won’t he come out?” she was saying, sounding very frustrated. “He’s been in there all day. Is there something wrong with him?”

“There’s nothing wrong with him, Connie-girl” came Kate’s voice “He’s just had a rough day, is all”

“But he was barely up for five minutes before he locked himself in there!”

“Constance,” came Reynie’s voice. S.Q. assumed the entire mysterious benedict society must have been outside his door, having a mini-meeting. “You know how S.Q. is Mr. Curtains son?”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with him being so sad?” She said. Despite the bite in her voice, there was genuine concern behind it. S.Q. pulled his blanket over his head.

“Well, sometimes parents make their kids pretty sad.” This time it was Sticky’s voice, which spoke with a sort of sympathy that only someone who had also been hurt by their guardians could speak with. “And sometimes that sadness lasts a really long time.”

“...oh.” Constance’s voice was barely audible through the door and the blanket over his head. “So, he’s going to be sad forever? But that’s awful!” her voice rose again in indignation. ‘Yes,’ S.Q. thought miserably ‘I’m going to be sad forever.’

“Not forever,” Kate said “after all, he’s got us now! We can cheer him up.”

“But how can we do that if he stays in there all day?” He could picture Constance crossing her arms and pouting. It brought the tiniest smile to his face. Slowly, S.Q. stood up and walked to the door.

He opened it, coming face to face with the four kids. All of them scrambled back slightly, trying to look as though they had not been having a meeting outside his room. Kate was leaning against the wall on her arm, her free hand on her hip. Reynie and Sticky both stood stick straight, with what they clearly hoped were casual smiles. The only one who hadn’t moved was Constance, who stood there, arms crossed, pouting. Just as he had pictured.

“Heyyy,” Kate said “Glad to see you up and about! Mr. Benedict sent us to see if you want dinner.” S.Q. turned and looked out the bedroom window. He hadn’t even noticed the sun going down. He looked back at them and nodded. He didn’t quite feel like talking yet.

No one brought up that morning as dinner was served and eaten. Everyone acted as though it hadn’t happened at all. This had always bothered him when his father did it. But this was different. They weren’t ignoring that he had been upset, they simply recognized that he didn’t wish to talk about it. Dinner passed without incident, and then kids were sent to wash up and get ready for bed.

That night, S.Q. laid in his bed for a very long time, restless. He turned side to side, pulled his blanket over him, and pushed it back down. His exhaustion from earlier seemed to have entirely disappeared, replaced with a pounding headache. At around twelve-thirty, he groaned and got out of bed. Silently, he walked downstairs, managing to avoid all the creaky boards that Kate had told him about. But when he stepped into the kitchen, hoping to get water and head back to bed, he found it occupied.

Mr. Benedict was there in the kitchen, making tea. He had two mugs set out on the counter, as though he had been expecting him. This was a trait of Mr. Benedict’s he had yet to get used to. How he seemed to just know things. Like the fact that S.Q. was going to come downstairs. “Ah, good evening S.Q.,” he said, as he spotted him. “Would you like some tea?”

“Um… sure- I mean- yes please,” He said. Mr. Benedict asked him which tea he preferred (to which S.Q. answered Chamomile) and poured hot water into both mugs before getting out two teabags. He set both mugs down on the table, and S.Q. sat in front of one.

“Milligan told me you had a rough time at Stonetown the other day.” S.Q. felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment again.

“Yes. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to be disruptive. It was just really loud-”

“You have nothing to apologize for, my dear boy,” Mr. Benedict said, interrupting what surely would have been a tearful ramble. “I’m willing to bet that you’re not very used to large crowds.”

S.Q. shook his head. “No, everything on the island was so... controlled. Not a thing was out of place. There were no unruly crowds, no yelling, everything was subdued.” Mr. Benedict nodded, tilting his head slightly as he listened. “even how I dress. That was what I was upset about this morning. I realized I’m still dressing as I was expected to and not how I actually want to. And I know it’s awful, and I shouldn’t but- but I miss it. I miss him .” Mr. Benedict didn’t have to ask to know who S.Q. was talking about.

Mr. Benedict set down his mug and put his hand over S.Q.’s “It’s not awful. In fact, it rather makes sense.” S.Q. blinked, staring at him for a moment. When S.Q. had realized he was missing his father, he had sworn to himself he wouldn’t say anything. These people had all been hurt by his father, either directly or otherwise, and the last thing they needed was him saying he missed him. S.Q. was rather surprised at himself, as well. His father had hurt him, too. By all accounts, it didn’t make any sense to miss such an awful man. But there he was, longing for his father.

“When we leave a bad situation,” Mr. Benedict continued “sometimes we find ourselves missing the person, or people, who hurt us. Not because we like being hurt, but because we became used to it. We became used to being sad and hurt because it was familiar. We learn how to live in it, and when it changes, we don’t always know how to react. Sometimes,” he gave him a pointed look “We fall into patterns that we established while we were hurting because it’s the only way to get back that familiarity. And, sometimes, even when someone has hurt you, there are those moments in between when they were kind, and we miss those as well. It's not awful to miss that. In fact, it’s incredibly common. Especially for someone so young.”

S.Q. did not try to stop the tears from falling down his face this time. Hearing it said out loud, having those feelings be addressed had tugged at something. There had been moments where it seemed like his father was genuinely trying. Moments that made all the bad feel worth it (even though it very much wasn’t) in which his father had been kind and caring. Those were the moments S.Q. reached for every time he had defended his father to himself. Those were the moments he lay in an unfamiliar bed every night longing to be back in. That was what he missed. The moments that told him everything about what his father could have been.

S.Q.’s tea sat abandoned as Mr. Benedict pulled him into a hug, which he fell into gratefully. S.Q. let himself cry, sobbing into Mr. Benedict’s shoulder, thankful for the fact that the man did not mind the tear stains like his father might have. He focused on the arms around him, the hand that gently ran over his curls, and the firm but caring presence of the man he leaned against.

“It’s not fair.” He said, immediately grimacing at how childish he must sound. But Mr. Benedict just continued the soothing motion of his hand and shushed him gently.

“I know,” he said, “I know it’s not fair. But it’ll be alright.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

#reynie muldoon #sticky washington #constance contraire #kate wetherall #milligan #number two #rhonda kazembe #ms perumal #mr. benedict #sq pedalian #mbs #mbs disney #the whole gang is here :D #trying something new #ive never posted a whole fic on tumblr #just links

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 4 years ago

Text

Love Cuts Deep

Chapter 11- Fond Memories

Summary: It’s just a memory, but it’s a good one.

Warning: fluff, smut ur welcome

Masterlist

June 21, 2016 - Bucharest, Romania

Wandering down the crowded streets of Bucharest, your eyes casually survey the surrounding area until they land on a little news cart holding the latest universal gossip that may spark a possible interest in the random civilian, among other things.

It’s hot out on this fine summers day, so all you carry on your person is your usual travel boots, black jeans, and a tank top to show off those guns of yours that Bucky loves so much. In your right hand is a plastic grocery bag hung loosely in your fingers, filled with two oranges and a cold lemonade, Bucky’s request. Though it’s slowly losing its chill from the afternoon heat.

As of recently you’ve become the designated grocery store adventurer since it’s the middle of summer and Bucky’s usual attire is to wear pants and a long sleeved shirt with gloves because of well, his arm. And since he doesn’t want to feel too out of place, also considering he’s incredibly cautious about where he shows off his metal appendage. You handle business on the streets, which today happens to be getting some fruit and a cold beverage back home to your man.

Though you’re admittedly a bit distracted by the local newspapers seated comfortably on their propped up stand. Soon you’re at the young teens cart, eyeing up the paper with curious eyes, “Hello miss.” Greets the boy in Romanian as you give a nod in acknowledgment, “That was sure something that happened in Sokovia huh, people still talking about it even now...glad I don’t live there. But uh, I guess the Avengers saved the day, well, most of it I think.”

“No doubt they probably helped cause it.” You add bitterly, eyes scanning over the heroic faces of Ironman and Captain America as they stand with great pose and purpose on the front magazine. Heroes? What a bunch of bullshit and flashy images underlying the darker truth to these people. These so called saviors.

If they truly cared, if real heroes actually gave a shit besides attempting to clean up their own messes, Hydra would be completely eradicated from the face of the earth and trafficking rings wouldn’t exist. But here we are.

“Uh, you wanna buy a paper?” Asks the young boy, smiling a shy yet hopeful grin.

I’d rather get stabbed, you think.

“No thanks, just here to look.” You add bluntly before turning on your heel and walking away, sauntering down the street as more people pass by you on your way to the apartment complex just over the next block. In no time have you reached the building, heading up the long flight of stairs before at long last do you stop at the front door.

Your relationship with Bucky is still relatively new, so you don’t want to startle him by just bursting in, so instead do you knock a couple times to gather is attention. Hopefully he’s not snoozing again. Taking a step back, you can hear shuffling from the other side before he reaches the door. You smile, knowing he can see you through the peep hole, “I got lemonade.” You add, holding up the bag as he unlocks the door, opening it up a crack before cautiously glancing to either side of you.

Realizing the coast is most certainly clear, Bucky opens the door fully to reveal nothing more then some grey sweatpants and a loose sleeveless black t-shirt hung perfectly against his body, amplifying his beefy muscles that not only could crush a man but can most definitely get you feeling all sorts of ways when used appropriately.

“Yes, get in here Y/N.” Urges Bucky with a humored smile and a small wave as you quickly wander in past him before setting your bag on the far counter near the sink.

Taking the decently cool beverage out, you turn around to face Bucky, who’s standing semi-awkwardly out in the open. A small dust of pink covers his stubbled cheeks as you take him all in. It’s not like you haven’t seen him bare ass naked before, it’s just, he feels comfortable enough to let his guard down with you and that's somethings he’s never truly ever felt before. He gets a little shy sometimes, so what?

“They finally had it. So I snatched this beautiful bitch the second my eyes landed on her. Hope it soothes all your troubles away and sends you on a spiritual journey through the meadows of....uh, wherever this place is from.” You mutter, trying to figure out how to pronounce the name of the company as he walks over to you; giving up on that curiosity, you decide to hand Bucky the drink instead, “Yeah, whatever I hope it tastes good.”

He gratefully accepts, “Thanks Y/N, you’re the best. Seriously.” Praises Bucky as he twists the lid off and takes a drink, face appearing to rather enjoy it as he proceeds to down the whole 8oz sugary bittersweet contents right before your vary eyes.

Well, he certainly wasn’t lying.

He finally pulls the bottle from his wet lips, taking a deep breath as you raise a brow at him, “I’m gonna take that as you finding nothing wrong with it whatsoever.�� Licking the sweet wetness from his pink lips, Bucky chuckles before shrugging.

“I haven’t had lemonade since the 40’s so even if it was actually kinda bitter, I don’t think I would have noticed.”

“Damn. That long?” You question as he nods, “Fuck those assholes,” You growl, taking a step closer to Bucky so that he can pull you into his arms as you raise your head to greet him, “now they can never keep you from such rare pleasures ever again.”

Bucky reveals a beautiful white toothed smile, thick arms holding you close as he presses his forehead to yours, “And what would you do if they did?”

Running your hands up and down his muscular back, you gently place a sweet kiss against his plush lips, “I’d fucking gut every single one of them until you’re safe with me, drinking all the lemonade you could ask for.” He chuckles lightly before pressing his lips against yours once again, the taste of sugary lemonade reaching your tongue as he lets you explore his mouth a bit, Bucky doing the same with you.

Hands feeling your enticing vessel up as he takes in everything about you that he could possibly get from this positioning with you wrapped up in his arms, you fully enjoy this wonderful moment with your sweet man. Somedays he gets all cold and withdrawn, nightmares seeping into his scarred mind that pull forth dark memories back out into the open.

He’ll wake up next to you in a cold sweat, breathing heavily as he quickly scans the small apartment for any signs of possible danger threatening himself or even your own life. Then for the rest of the day he’ll stay considerably more quiet then usual, agitated with himself and the general world, though he’s never short with you when he gets like this. You hate to see him when he’s like that, frustrated, distant, and in a low pit of despair from everything Hydra put him through.

But he never once has lashed out at you when he’s having a rough day, he’s well aware how Hydra has toyed with your head and pulled the strings time and time again before you broke from their inky black tentacles. He knows you understand how he feels, and he knows how your mental and physical resilience has aided in your self healing from the trauma they’ve given you.

Although for Bucky, he’s still marked from deep within, everything they’ve ever burned into his brain is still there. Just below the surface. All the memories, all the commands, all the deaths, everything they imprinted on him still clings to him like an unrelenting demon.

But the days when he’s more soft and clingy appear to claim Bucky the most, and those days are your absolute favorite. Sure his handsome face still reveals a bit of that usual Bucky darkness that gives his eyes a tinge of roughed beauty, something that admittedly draws you in even further.

He’ll choose to speak with you on his own accord, tease you if he’s in the mood, and hold a part of your body that intrigues him the most for that length of time. He gravitates in your direction when he’s having a good day, seeking out your attention in any way conceivable and making it an absolute necessary goal of his to give you as much loving as he possibly can try in a single hour.

You love days like this, you love feeling wanted and appreciated for your very existence when so many would rather see you dead. You love having those big beautiful blues studying every single curve, muscle, and blemish on your skin like a student to their books. He practically drinks you in, making it his mission to hold you close and speak sweet nothings that will be remembered for a hundred years more.

So when you have to leave for supplies or pay the rent, Bucky feels like a lonely and lost old house cat with nothing to do all day except wait as patiently as he can until you arrive home safe and sound. He obviously doesn’t slip this to you about how he feels when you must vacate the premise and venture out into the unknown for however long it takes.

But you know, if it wasn’t already evident on his face when you greet him after such travels. The way his face lights up in excitement and relief once he finally sees you, the telltale crinkle in the corner of his eyes, and the way that his lips pull into a positive grin that could make you swoon in an instant.

You could absolutely just about die happy, you’ve never been more catered to and loved on in your entire life since you’ve started living with Bucky in Romania, well, since your once fragile relationship took a turn for the best. Resulting in whatever beautiful thing you two have going on now, though neither of you have outwardly labeled your growing relationship.

It’s more so an unspoken thing that’s adherently mutual, the both of you clearly understanding this isn’t some friends with benefits type shit. Oh no, definitely far from that. So what you have with Bucky right now is something so deeply special and bound by so much more then physical love and personal feelings.

You two have lived a past like no other, survived like beasts of war for masters who threw the command and controlled the reigns. Fought together, bled together, and kept imprisoned by Hydra together. Your pasts are blooded and heavy, but it’s only worked to make your relationship stronger. And perhaps that’s the only positive of what those fuckers did to you, without them, you’d never have met the Winter Soldier.

Without them, you’d never have lived this long to find Bucky Barnes, never have been given the opportunity to see him for all that he’s worth. And to you, he’s worth more then all the stars in the sky.

Your lover kisses your lips once more as you smile into the soft embrace, causing him to laugh as you pull away, “What’s so funny?” Wonders Bucky, revealing his own beautiful smile that could light up the darkest room.

Raising your hands to gently touch the sides of his stubbled cheeks, you give him a small peck, “You taste like lemons.” You muse.

“Oh, is that good then?” He asks, brow raised as you give him another quick kiss in reply before he smiles a lovestruck grin back down at you, “I think I’ll take that as a yes.”

You smile brightly before tugging on a lock of his dark shoulder length hair, “You plan on turning into the wolfman soon? It’s touching your shoulders now.”

Bucky side eyes your fingers laced through his admittedly long hair, “I guess......maybe it needs a little cut.” He begrudgingly admits, “But only a little cut, okay. Not a lot.” Worries your sweet man as you let go of his dark mane to pull away from his muscular vessel.

Hands outward and forming the shape of a square as you size him up for a photographic image sent directly into your brain, “Yeah. I can work with this, you got the looks. The face, very nice. Body, oh dear lord is it fine. Mhmm hmm, and that hair? Absolutely glorious, a lot of volume, shiny, good bounce to it....oh yeah I can work with this...”

“Are you done?” Chuckles Bucky as you drop your hands to your thighs.

“What? I was just pretending to be your photographer, was I not convincing enough?”

“Well..”

You take a step forward, gently touching the bottom of his chin before making a cheeky face and turning to wander towards the bathroom, Bucky slowly following your lead in curiosity as you explain, “I’ll have you know Barnes, I once convinced some high end Bulgarian official that I was actually a Russian princess in hiding. He believed it too.” You mutter while rummaging through the drawers under the bathroom sink. Bucky leaning against the doorway as he watches you intently.

“Honestly, it was rather pathetic too. Old fucker was so drunk I could have told him I was a pixie from the realm of toxic waste baskets and he would have believed me.” You add, searching for wherever the fucking scissors went, “Of course his idiot companions were none the wiser and I got the intel I needed out of him. How you ask?” Grabbing the silver coated utensil from out of the drawer, you rise to your full height.

Cutting the air, you throw him a wink as you move to wander past him, “That information is top secret. But let’s just say he never made it back to his friends.” You smirk, setting the scissors on the small center table before snatching the tiny plastic trash can and taking it with you over to the table once again.

Bucky watches as you pull the two chairs to face opposite of one another, placing the trash can in the center of the two wooden seats as you bring your bum down on to the flat chair. “Now sit. This may get messy.”

Bucky snorts, moving to do just that, “I don’t wanna see any blood, Y/N. I know how you are with sharp objects.” Jokes your man with a telling smirk as you simply roll your eyes before pulling your right leg up, leaning it against your left thigh as you begin unlacing your boots. “Whatcha doing there Y/N?”

Tugging on the sides of your boots to loosen them up, you throw him a side glance, “Getting comfortable.”

Bucky nods, “Of course. This is serious business.”

You chuckle, pulling off your boot and throwing it to the side before exchanging your one leg for the other, “Gives you more time to check me out.”

Biting his bottom lip, Bucky leans his metal elbow against the table as he shamelessly watches you do your thing, “Well, no.....I wasn’t doing that, definitely not....but uh, I like your socks. Very interesting choice.” Points Bucky while you toss your other boot to the floor with a small thud. Shaking your head while Bucky makes fun of your current socks that reach above your ankles, a multitude of cartoon rainbow kittens dancing all about with a solid grey background. One tiny worn down hole showing some skin on the back of your heel that would most likely have blistered by now if not for your healing capabilities.

“Huh? Oh, these fuckers?” You snicker, sticking one foot close to his face as he leans back to avoid your teasing, “Fought them off a homeless guy in the park.”

Bucky makes a humored expression ranging between slight disgust and great amusement at your theatrical antics, reaching his flesh hand out to catch your ankle before you can smack him with your extremity. “I’m sure you kicked his ass.”

Setting your foot down, you nod, “Oh I did, you should have seen it, I’m sure you could have learned a thing or two.”

“Okay.” Mutters Bucky sarcastically whilst rolling his eyes, “At least I’m not the one in the care-bear socks.”

You raise a brow at him, legitimately impressed by this reference, “I’m surprised you even know what that is.” You tease before sticking your one foot out and pointing both hands in its general direction, “These. Are cat socks for your information....but no one ever said pretty people were smart so I won’t hold it against you.”

“Ouch.” Laughs Bucky, “Take a look in the mirror hot stuff.”

Smacking his metal arm, you pick up the scissors, “Okay smartass now I’m going to give you a weird haircut for that one.”

“I said you were hot.” Protests Bucky with a laugh as you slice the scissors in the air menacingly, “Forgive me.”

“You implied I was lacking in smarts so now you’re getting a shitty haircut you dumbfuck, come here you coward!” Bucky leans backwards towards the table as you press your freehand on his chest, your other hand held upwards by Bucky’s metal fist as you practically lean your whole body against his. Scissors snapping in the air as he attempts to restrain you.

“Y/N! I’m sorry please don’t cut my hair weird I’ll never leave the apartment again.” He pleads through amused giggles as you playfully let him keep you from doing any sort of damage to his beautiful dark locks.

“You don’t leave the apartment to begin with!”

“That’s true but still!”

“Let me go and I will be nice about it.” You reason, “I promise.” Bucky gives you a half nervous glance before letting go of your wrist, smiling down at him, you slide off his body before seating yourself back down again. “See, not so hard. Now take your shirt off and turn around.”

Bucky’s brows raise instantly while he breaks out into a suggestive grin, “Y/N, that’s kinky.”

Rolling your eyes, you bite your bottom lip to keep from giving him the satisfaction of a genuine smile, “Do it or I’ll hurt you, and not how you like it.” Bucky snorts as you break out into a smile, “Come on muscles I wanna see some skin.”

“Is this really necessary?” Wonders Bucky as he grasps the bottom of his shirt.

“Yes.” You reply, watching as he removes his tank top with ease before setting it atop the cold surface of the table, “It’s so you don’t get hair all over your shirt Barnes, and don’t say it’s not a big deal cause I know you’ll get itchy.”

“Whatever. Just don’t cut me.” Grumbles Bucky as he shifts around in his chair so that you have a clear view of the back of his head and all that glorious hair just screaming to be snipped to perfection. “Seriously be careful.”

Scooting your chair closer so that your legs are parted for a better angle, you semi-roughly tug down on his dark locks causing the super soldier to grunt in pain, “Y/N!” Grumbles Bucky through clenched teeth, “What the hell?” He whines as you chuckle mischievously from behind him.

“Oh shut it you big baby, I know what I’m doing.” Bucky’s mouth opens to protest, but before he’s able to throw something witty at you to counter your sass, you’ve made a loud snip snip sound with the scissors.

“Careful.” Worries Bucky as you hold a chunk of his hair before letting the utensil slice right through the brown follicles like a knife through some soft chocolate cake. Soon more and more tuffs of discarded hair fall into the wastebasket as you work around the back of his head. He doesn’t say a word the whole time as you skillfully cut your way to a half-descent haircut.

After a good five minutes, you lean back to examine your work, “Okay, looking good.”

“Can I see.”

“No.” You deadpan with a small chuckle before pressing the handle of the scissors to his bare back, “Turn around wolfman I need to do the front.”

Sighing, Bucky shifts, turning around to finally face you. Both your legs staggered side by side now as he looks into your eyes like a beaten down puppy, “Oh don’t look at me like that Barnes. Your torture session is almost over.” You add before kissing your fingers and pressing them against his lips for a brief second of silent affection.

Bucky cracks a handsome grin while your left hand messes up his long bangs, “Must you do that too.” Complains your grumbly lover in annoyance as you slice some areas near his face. “Yep. I’m not cutting all of it, I’m just giving your eyes some trim to see. Bucky you’ve been putting your hair up in buns for a week now.”

“Okay fine.”

“I mean, I like it. But you need a cut, I miss seeing your pretty face.” Bucky closes his eyes as you make quick work of his hair, deciding it best to just keep his thoughts to himself and let you do your masterful work, hopefully resulting in a decent job well done.

Soon he hears one last snip before you dramatically gasp causing his eyes to shoot open, “What did you do!?” Worries Bucky as you start smiling like an idiot.

“Oh my...ha, you look so good!” You affirm with an excited squeak of joy, setting the scissors down on the table before reaching your hands out to dive your fingers through his soft mane like an excited child petting a furry cat for the first time.

Bucky’s hands wrap around your forearms as he smiles, “Okay, okay, Y/N...” Starts Bucky as you take your hands and gently push his hair back to see his handsome face.

“Why, hello there Mr. Barnes.” You slyly jest as he studies your smirking face, “Don’t you just look absolutely dashing.”

“Am I free to look now?” Implores your lover with a shy smile as he rests his hands to either one of your thighs, squeezing lightly while you nod. “Go for it.”

He lets go, getting up from the chair to saunter on into the bathroom to observe your skilled work as a terribly underpaid hairdresser. In the meantime, you’ve cleaned off the few stray hairs coating the table and dumped them in the small trash can. Setting the chairs back into their normal positioning as you place the trash back in it’s usual spot by the window.

A mischievous grin coating your features as you stand causally by the fridge, awaiting Bucky who soon walks out of the bathroom. Smile on his beautiful features before his face falls into a confused yet oddly amused expression. “Y/N what are you doing? You look like Hitler.”

“What? No I don’t!” You protest, removing Bucky’s discarded lock of hair from your upper lip and tossing it in the trash, “Well you look.....uh, you look like uh.....I don’t know. You look really hot, I’m kind of distracted not gonna lie.”

Bucky smiles, cheeks dusting a light pink color as he walks closer to you. Noticeably still lacking an actual shirt which is doing wonders to your swirling thoughts that are turning a bit dirty, and those grey sweatpants? Hanging dangerously low on his beautiful body, you can see his famous V line in your peripheral vision as you strain to keep your eyes locked with his.

Oh he is challenging you big time.

Bucky, too observant for his own good, takes the hint that you’re starting to get a little hot and bothered with him looking like that all shirtless in the room and whatnot. Fresh haircut, low pants, and nothing better to do on this fine summer evening.

He raises an intrigued brow, “I know that look.” Muses Bucky with a knowing devilish grin as you shake your head at him, eyes darting to the newspaper covered window. You hate getting caught.

“Nope. What would make you think I’m thinking of...of, whatever you’re thinking. Alright listen, my mind is all pure and good up in here...so I, I have no idea whatever the fuck you’re talking about.” Bucky chuckles, chest rising in little spurts as he humors you, taking a couple more steps closer as you bite your lip in anticipation. Shit, he’s got you right where he wants you.

Ever so gently does five metal fingers reach up to caress the side of your cheek, trailing sweet icy lines down to your chin as his bare chest presses sweetly against your clothed breasts. Flesh hand holding your lower back, pressing you into him, “Y/N.” Whispers Bucky, sounding more like a genuine question as he tilts his head to the side, “What’r you thinking of?”

Pursing your lips together to keep from revealing a full grin to give him that proud satisfaction of turning you on without much effort, you raise a brow, free hand reaching downwards to gently palm him through his sweats that are indeed beginning to tent.

“Hmm. Guess I got you too, and all I did was stand here.” You proudly conclude, slipping a hand into his pants as you trail your fingers up and down his hardening length, causing Bucky to groan in arousal at your playful teasing. “Fuck me I could listen to that voice for a thousand years and never get tired of hearing you moan Buck.”

Bucky grabs your hand currently exploring his neither regions, pulling it out as he takes both your hands with his, face leaning in real close to yours, “I was not moaning.” He confirms with a sly grin, “This...is a moan.” And a second later he’s pressing his flesh digits into your clothed heat, rubbing your growing arousal with the pads of his skilled fingers as your face shifts with pleasure.

“oh.” Softly escapes from your parted lips, the sound coming out as more of a breathy gasp of air then anything really comprehensible.

Soon a large grin has found its way onto your flushed features, “You bastard.” Bucky chuckles at your less then heated curse given freely to him before removing his fingers from their pleasurable assault on your sensitive area that’s calling for some real attention, you kiss him again before muttering, “Come on Barnes....”

His lips dance in time with yours as he keeps you from speaking anything otherwise witty back at him, flesh and metal hand trailing up your body until they find the lower rim of your tank top. He pulls the material upwards, breaking the kiss for but a swift moment to let the fabric completely slide right off of your body and onto the floor below.

Lips on yours in an instant as his nimble fingers skillfully unclasp your bra, you’d have praised him for the semi-troublesome work if not for the fact that he’s now using those talented hands of his to knead your naked breasts like the most valuable and sweetest dough in all the land. Touching them with the tenderness of a skilled lover who knows just how to get his lady feeling all sorts of good.

Trailing your digits up and down his bare back, you shift your face to the side so he can keep stealing away more kisses while you try and form a sentence, “Buck...mhmm....mmmm.....Bucky, I need you, mhmm, I need you in me...right, right now.” You mutter in between moans while Bucky’s hardness rubs through his sweatpants and onto your thighs.

His hands trail up to gather the sides of your face in his palms, lips finally parting from yours as his beautiful blues gaze lovingly into your blissful expression, “I think that’s a fantastic idea Y/N. Now if you could lay on this table so I can take your pants off that’d be great.” Softly adds Bucky as you quickly steal a kiss in reply before scooting yourself upon the wooden table.

Leaning your body back as he quickly removes the clothing from your lower half, underwear sliding off next to leave you in nothing but your wit and will, and naked everything. His lust filled eyes trail hungrily down from your protruding breasts to your soaked neither regions hot and ready for his willing member.

“Enough drooling over me Barnes, I wanna see what you’ve got.” He chuckles at getting so easily caught; listening to your inquisition, he swiftly removes those annoying grey sweatpants before slipping off the tight boxers with ease.

Your eyes widen in excitement at the hardened length dripping in precum, his king jewels swollen and ready to send you into a world of wonders soon enough.

Bucky, noticing how your eyes swirl with hunger, takes a step forward, placing his hand on your knee, “This angles kinda weird so...can you turn around?” Asks the super soldier apprehensively, you two have never done it this way before. It’s pretty tame all things considered, but it’s something you’re more than willing to try.

You nod with a mischievous grin, “That’s a little kinky.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, snorting with laughter nonetheless, “Why are you..never mind.” Muses your lover while you swiftly scoot your naked bum off of the table before kissing his cheek and turning around. Laying your stomach against the warmed surface of the wood as you bend over for Bucky to begin his godly work.

Soon his hands are feeling up your beautiful bum before wandering to your sides, “This good? Are you comfortable like this, just tell me if we need the bed instead and I can..”

“Bucky just fuck me.” You quickly interrupt, pushing your ass against his member that’s quite literally poking provocatively at your naked cheeks. “Yeah, okay, right on that.” Replies your man as he holds your left hip in place, flesh hand steadying his cock as he approaches your slick folds.

You can’t see him from this angle, relying on sounds and feel alone; you’re soon pleasantly relieved of the lack of contact when his manhood finally touches the surface of your two mounds before Bucky pushes himself into you.

Spreading you wide open and bare unto him as his length slides completely into your dripping core that’s heated and buzzing with your arousal. He feels good, really good. The slight discomfort gone in an instant as you quickly adjust perfectly in tune with his fullness and girth that stretches your walls so beautifully.

Bucky lets out a pleasant sigh before gently squeezing your hips, “Y/N are you good?” Wonders your sweet man, balls deep inside you but still making it important that you’re feeling as fantastic as him. How considerate.

With one hand gripping the far edge of the table and the other one thrown back to smack affectionately against his hip, you nod while face is pressed against the flat wood, “So good Buck....so good.” You mutter happily.

Taking this as a positive sign, Bucky smiles joyously before pulling a good ways out of you and thrusting himself back in again. Replicating this wondrous action for a good thirty more seconds as he draws your vessel into a new plane of pleasure with each fantastical stroke.

You’re left with soft moans reaching Bucky’s ears while the poor table attempts to keep in its place as Bucky thrusts full force into you over and over again, the legs of wood scraping against the flooring with each pump into your core. Grunting with effort not gone unnoticed by you in the slightest.

Nothing in the small apartment is heard except for the familiar skin on skin contact associated with this or any type of lovemaking, though right now, this angle, and those beautiful groans dripping off of his tongue sets this scene as more of a good fucking between the two of you if you’re being completely honest here.

Bucky’s cock pulses and twitches in excitement as he pulls in and out of you, hands tightly gripping the sides of your hips enough to bruise when all is said and done, luckily for you, quick healing is one of your attributes. Paying no mind the dull ache of his fingers against your flesh, you grip the edge of the table as the titular coil of growing pleasure begins its usual act upon your womanhood.

Bucky’s relentless, pushing himself into you just right with that delicious cock of his, sliding in and out of your slick walls as he works his magic. “oh God Buck...” You moan in absolute bliss, brows raising upwards at the growing sensation building up into your persistent climax.

He smiles to himself, proud of his fruitful efforts to turn you into a moaning mess underneath him, soon he’s picking up the pace with vigor and palpable stamina that you’re all to willing to match. “Buck....oh fu...fuck, I’m so-I’m so close....mhmm..” He slams into you harder now, causing the table to slide across the floor as he continues his pleasurable assault on your core that’s bringing you quickly to the edge of paradise.

“Ah shit.” Mumbles Bucky, realizing this current positioning is messing up his groove since this damn table keeps annoyingly moving in time with his thrusts. A second later his metal arm his lifting your stomach upwards, body to much of a mess to protest, you’re soon pleasantly surprised when your naked back falls flush against his sweaty toned torso as he holds you close.

His metallic hand slides up to hold you in between your breasts as his flesh hand trails down your body until it finds your sensitive bud, Bucky’s skilled fingers rub deliciously against the swollen flesh as he thrusts up into you vigorously. You suppress a whiny moan as your one hand grips tightly onto his forearm holding you to his body. While your other hand reaches up to take a fistful of hair as his head drapes over the side of your shoulder, plush lips planting wet kisses all along your heated skin.

“Mhmm you taste so good.” Praises Bucky as he licks your naked flesh before gently biting down playfully, leaving more love marks as he continues to play with your clit as the coil inside you threatens to unwind.

“Buck, I-I can’t...I’m gonna...” Bucky listens as you begin mumbling incoherent Russian when your orgasm finally hits you full force now, your warm walls tightening around his cock as you emit a plethora of loud moans. Tugging on his hair as he smiles against your skin for the work he’s done.

Your fingers quickly slip from his thick dark locks as you fight to keep your legs from giving out at the intense rush of pleasure flowing through your vessel as Bucky’s fingers spell circles on your sensitive bud. You’re soon getting overstimulated when suddenly he pulls his hand to wrap around your stomach as he finally cums inside you.

The beautiful sounds of Bucky’s low groans and moans filling your ears as he spills himself up into you, cock twitching as he releases it all. The feeling of his cum rushing into your hot center never fails to turn you weak, especially when his body shakes with pleasure as he subconsciously holds you closer while riding out his orgasm.

He thrusts into you a couple more times just to feel it through as he unknowingly sparks more electricity into your already fucked out core that’s now dripping with not only your natural arousal but his hot liquid. Bucky’s head falls into the crook of your neck as he stops pumping into you, plush lips kissing your heated skin as he just embraces the moment of standing butt-ass naked in the kitchen balls deep in you, his loving and beautifully fuckable girlfriend.

He stands like this for about forty whole seconds until you reach a hand up to tug playfully on his hair, “I think we need a shower now.”

Bucky’s lips smile against your skin as he picks his head up, kissing your neck while he pulls himself out of you. His cum slowly trailing down your inner thighs as he turns you around to face him, “I think you’re right. Let’s go before that gets on the floor.” Chuckles Bucky as he takes your hand and walks you into the bathroom.

You stand by the sink as he turns on the shower, fumbling with the settings while you snatch a tissue and begin cleaning yourself up a bit until he turns around, “Wait Y/N, let me do that.” States Bucky as he takes the tissue out of your hand, kneeling down to get a better angle, “It’s kinda my fault anyways and you’ve done enough...”

“I could handle it Buck, but I mean yeah, go for it.” You muse as he whips off the milky liquid trailing lines down your inner thighs, “I don’t doubt you know how to clean a crime scene.”

“This isn’t a crime scene.” Asserts Bucky as he whips away the last of it while you chuckle at his confused facial expression.

He stands as you saunter past him, taking a step into the shower before looking over your shoulder, “Well, guess you’re just gonna have to murder this pussy again and we’ll find out how well your clean up really is.” You tease with a knowing wink before disappearing into the plastic curtains.

Bucky’s brows raise in surprised excitement as he quickly follows you in, soon his hands are feeling you up in all sorts of places. Drawing soft moans of the sweetest sounds into the sexually charged atmosphere, no doubt riling you up for round two. God you love him so fucking much.

Waking with a start, you’re surprised to find your heartbeat racing a mile a minute. Then the wonderful memories of last nights dream hits you like a truck, that wasn’t just a dream, that was a real memory with Bucky. One of the many fantastic ones between the two of you before Zemo happened, before Tony tried to kill him, before Wakanda, and before Thanos ruined it all with a simple snap of his goddamn fingers.

Just a fucking dream. Another good memory. That’s it.

Tagged: @diegos-butt @minigranger @bibliophilewednesday @holyhumorliteraturelight @lilacs-lavender @a-girl-who-loves-disney @starkssnarks @vikingqueen28 @bizarrebibitch @atomicpersonacheesecake @jmstz @staygoldsquatchling02 @marvelbros-oneshots @shawnartmendes @mischiefmanaged71 @jckie94 @iamasimpingh0e @mjaudrey @thescarlettvvitch

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x y/n #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x you #marvel #marvel x y/n #marvel x reader #marvel x you #marvel imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #bucky fic #bucky smut #james buchanan barnes

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magalidragon · 4 years ago

Note

n°2 - “Have I already told you how cute you look?”

Thank you fluff Queen!💕

Eeeee! Let us return them to all the world’s a stage with these sweet beans and our favorite douchy Uncle Viserys! Bonus points because I included supportive brother Vis!

2. “Have I already told you how cute you look?”

Romantic One Liner Prompts

There were many things Jon Snow had been able to escape, but this was not one of them. He could get out of red carpet events, interviews, and galas. He could weasel himself out of parent-teacher conferences, playdates, and other various responsibilities that he just felt like at the time were contrary to his mood, his muse, and his creative drive.

This was not one of them.

Dany knew he didn't want to escape the event itself, but the way in which he had to attend the event, that was something he couldn't get out of. He made a fuss, wanting to know how come he couldn't just go as a side character, as the supportive husband, what have you, but nope.

"Have I told you how cute you look?"

He scowled, tugging down the very tight white vest, with its shimmery silver thread, the white pants tucked into tall boots, and accompanying plastic sword. "Not in the last five minutes."

"Well you look so cute. My perfect Prince Charming."

"Mummy!"

She glanced down at her daughter, who was wearing the dragon costume, a bright jade and lime green creation, toddling towards her. She chuckled, kneeling and lifted her baby dragon into her arms, kissing Lyella's sticky cheek. She frowned, taking the lollipop from her. "Where did you get this?"

"Vizzy!"

Ugh, my brother. The villain himself, Sorcerer Dread the Night King-- redundant name-- happened to be hiding away, because he didn't want to be seen in the campy black and red costume of the villain from Princess Periwinkle. She plucked the lollipop from her three-year-old, wagging it at her. "No candy."

Lyella pouted, sticking her tongue out. "Mummy, not Charming."

Jon burst out laughing. "You're not charming!"

"No, you are not Charming." Her words were thick and she pointed, scowling at her father. "Prince Kit."

Dany's brows arched, countering her husband, whose mouth fell slightly. "Ha! She knows your character. You aren't Prince Charming, you're Prince Kit of Catesby. Get it right."

"He's a complete buffoon!"

"He's the comic relief."

Jon huffed, tugging at the tight pants, which conformed very nice to his shapely thighs and his even better arse. He'd forgone the codpiece, although she suggested it for later. He plucked at the spandex fabric, wincing. "Dany! They're going up my arse!"

"It's such a lovely arse."

"It's a children's hospital!"

She laughed. "Don't worry, I'm the only one looking at that bum." She walked by, smacking it and he jumped, but his pupils dilated, a low growl caught in his throat. Her voice dropped, whispering. "And if anyone else does they have me to deal with."

"Yes my Queen."

"Princess!"

Lyella was not wrong there; she was indeed Princess Periwinkle, in the lilac costume, with its yards of sparkling tulle, ribbons, and accessories, making her resemble a disco ball. She had gone all out this time, for the children's hospital's annual fundraising event, a worthy cause to return to Princess Periwinkle. And she managed to convince her husband, child-- that was not difficult at all-- and her brother.

She furrowed her brow. "Where is my brother?"

"Do we really care?" Jon wondered, taking Lyella from her. He sighed at his reflection in the floor-length mirror. "Best get on with it."

"The children thank you for your sacrifice, Prince Kit of Catesby," she laughed, pinching his bum on the way out the door and down the stairs.

At the base of the staircase, near the open door, Davos was waiting with Missandei. She posed for a few candid shots that her best friend took, laughing at the silliness of it all. She hopped off the bottom step, turning and hollered up, hands cupped over her mouth to magnify her voice. "Oi! Get your skinny arse down here Vis!"

"No! Not until I'm high enough!"

"I will come up there and drag you out myself and we both know who the real dragon is in this family!"

A door slammed somewhere in Vis's Wing of Darkness, where no one ventured unless they had all their shots and a death wish. He emerged from the shadows, glowering, his silver hair cut off and sweeping over his forehead in a new style that he'd only gotten because Leylla had found bubblegum and decided to play with it while he'd been passed out. Sadly, the silver tresses had had to go.

It suited him, the short hair, she thought, laughing as he descended in the red and black caped costume, resembling a magician rather than an actual villain. Lyella reached for him. "Vizzy!" she shouted. She simpered. "I love you."

"Ugh," he complained, but it was all for show. He shook his head, disgusted. "I cannot believe I am doing this!"

"Think of the happiness you will be providing to the children," Jon said. He closed his eyes, sighing. "Never mind, that would require you to have a heart."

Not that her brother heard him, as Viserys's eyes had glazed over, dollar signs obviously pulsing from them. He glanced between them both, salivating. "Oh, yes....I like this...I understand now...You both are going to do this on camera, right?"

"No!" they shouted.

Dany punched his shoulder. "It's for charity Vis, not attention. The hospital will put out a press release and some choice photos, but that is not the point of this. It's to provide these children a break from the fact they are locked in a hospital fighting for their lives." She grabbed his arm, pulling him to the door. "Even you can spare the single cell in your heart for that. Now come on, we'll be late."

They got to the hospital, which had already prepared a large room for the children, and she swept in, in full Princess Periwinkle, keeping her emotions at bay. Each time she saw the children, so many of them with visible signs of their illnesses and conditions, it broke her heart. It made her grateful every second for her healthy child and simultaneously guilty too, because her baby was healthy and these parents were going through her worst nightmare.

She pressed it down, taking in their gleeful faces, all of them forgetting where they were, because Princess Periwinkle had decided to visit. They were delighted to see her little dragon with her along with Prince Kit of Catesby, the two of them taking seats at the front, and she began to weave a tale, dramatically beginning: "Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a princess, who only ever wanted to live a normal life, but alas, she could not, because this princess, well she was different..."

It was a childish telling of her story with Jon, one she'd come up with for the event, and she caught his sight, when he realized it, and beamed. He began to weave in his own story-- he was the true storyteller of them both-- forgetting that he hated actors and became one himself. Even Lyella joined in, crawling across the floor and pretending to 'rawr' when necessary.

And then Viserys jumped in, the villain, and everyone shouted and with the plastic swords they'd been given, attacked him and beat him back-- she failed to tell him that part-- concluding the harrowing tale with Princess Periwinkle donning the crown and wielding the Sword of Truth, vowing to always be herself, no matter what anyone thought.

"Because being yourself is the best happiness you can have at all," she ended, sweeping into a curtsey.

One of the children waved their hands, shouting. "But what about prince Kit? And the Princess?"

Jon swept her into his arms, placing a kiss lightly to her lips, half the crowd (mostly girls) cooing and the other half (mostly boys) gagging at the display of affection. His smile radiated pure joy at her. "And they lived..."

"Happily ever after!" everyone exclaimed.

Dany chuckled, accepting the second kiss her husband-- and her true prince-- dropped to her mouth. She picked up Lyella, handing her off so Jon could sign autographs as "Prince Kit" and caught sight of Vis, who was fussing with a makeup mirror in the corner. She furrowed her brow, concerned, and went to him, voice soft. "VIs? You alright?"

"Allergies," he said airily.

Her eyes widened, recognizing the shine in his lilac irises. He ducked his head away, sniffing and dusted his nose with powder. "Vis are you..." This has never happened before, what do I do? "Are you crying?"

"No!"

She laughed, reaching up and hugged him, ignoring his stiff posture until he relaxed into her. She kissed his cheek, murmuring. "You like to be the villain, dear brother, but you're really not. Maybe in another story, but not this one." She broke away, just in time for a photographer to come by and take a snap, of Vis still holding his arms around her shoulders briefly, the two silver-haired Targaryens smiling at each other.

That evening, after they had returned home, with Lyella fast asleep in her Uncle Vizzy's arms-- and photos taken to prove to Viserys that he did love his niece contrary to his protests-- Dany left them on the couch where they'd fallen, and journeyed up to her wing of the townhouse, discovering her prince was still in his costume, playing with the plastic sword.

She watched him a moment, until he saw her reflection in the mirror by the bathroom, and froze. "HOw long have you been standing there?" he demanded.

"Long enough."

He spun on his heel, smirking. He fiddled with the sword. "Been awhile since I actually wielded Longclaw, I was practicing."

She laughed, closing the door, and on a whim, flicked the lock. He arched his brow, a smile curving up slyly. "What are you doing Princess Periwinkle?"

"I seem to have lost my sword, perhaps you can help me find it."

"Hmm....I don't know where it possibly could be."

She tugged him by the belt, towards the bed, and laughed, falling backwards into the voluminous tulle skirts. "I think I have an idea, for your pants are so tight, my prince."

"I knew there had to be a reason for it."

"Let me help you with them."

"Oh thank you princess, I am most grateful."

Dany nipped his lower lip, giggling. "So show me."

#Jonerys #jonerys drabbles #my fics #my moodboards #jomerys fluff #Jonerys au #All the world’s a stage series #UNCLE VIZZY!

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a-simple-imagine · 4 years ago

Text

A Little Bit Of Love... Potion?

Prompt: "I promise I won't let him draw on your face with permanent marker." "Hmmm... So can I draw on his face with washable markers?" "No!"

Pairing: Hermione Granger x fem!reader, lots of Ron Weasley x fem!reader

Words: 4.6k

A/N - This was written for @firewhisky-kisses writing challenge. This is my second Harry Potter themed story ever since I only joined the fandom like two weeks ago (very much feeling like an outsider atm) so please don’t judge too harshly. I am still getting used to these characters and the wizarding world itself. I decided to write something a little lighthearted.

Warnings - Playful threats of violence

"I'm gonna kill him," You growl loudly as you storm into the common room in search of Hermione Granger. She was one of three people at Hogwarts you would consider your best friend. The others were Harry Potter; and the other you were about to murder for catching you off guard. You held a towel around the top of your head to conceal your worst nightmare. Stray Gryffindors were settled around the room doing one thing or another as the day was drawing to a close. Hermione was resting on an armchair by the fire utterly engrossed by the massive book in her hands.

"Who?" She doesn't even bother to look up as you approach.

"Ron obviously," You groan, grip tightening on the towel to stop it from slipping. "who else would go out of their way to annoy me."

An unamused sigh falls past her lips as she finally lowers her book. "Show me,"

"No, it's embarrassing." You protest. Looking around the room; you didn't speak to anyone else in here too often so what did it even matter what they thought.

"Well then I can't help you,"

You shift your weight uncomfortably before pulling the towel off in a dramatic reveal of your beautiful head. Hermione's eyes drift over you; struggling to hold back her amusement as she finally sees what happened. "It's... not so bad," She replies quietly, a melodic chuckle drifting into the air. "Bright."

"I look like a walking highlighter." You whine, taking a seat on the arm of her chair. "Fix it,"

Hermione whips out her wand and with a flick of her wrist you assume your hair has gone back to normal. She was too good of a witch for it to not have. Reaching for her book, you inspect the cover as you slide into her lap. Absentmindedly flipping through the pages with complete disregard for where she was up to. "Ronald Weasley is gonna regret ever messing with me,"

"It is not that bad," Hermione plucks the book from your grasp. "You did slip him Puking Pastilles the other day."

"That was funny though" A smile spreads over your lips at the memory of Ron throwing up in the great hall before charging out. “This isn’t”

"He threw up all over my shoes,"

"Gross," you laugh a little. "If it had been my shoes, it'd be a different story. What should I do to get back at him?"

"Leave him alone? Show you're the mature one and move on?"

"Don't be silly Hermione," Your head falls back against the plush fabric of the chair. "Why should I stop and not him? Maybe he should be the mature one."

"He won't stop unless you stop,"

"I could hex his broom at quidditch practice," You think out loud; chewing on the inside of your cheek. "Watch him fall on his face."

"Absolutely not. You're not putting him in the hospital wing over some silly prank war."

You gently roll your eyes. "We could-"

"There's no we," Hermione interrupts. "Please do not include me in your nonsense. I'm not helping you. Can you get off me?"

Sliding off her lap and onto the floor, you rest your head against her knee. "I'll think of something- don't you worry. He won't be getting away with this."

"At least do it quietly,"

You're quiet for the moment; going over different options while staring at a tower of books on the coffee table. Next to them say some parchment and a quill. "Are those yours? Can I borrow your quill?"

"Knock yourself out,"

You grab the feather and a piece of parchment paper and get to work laying out all your options to get back at Ron. Hermione would probably kill you if you hurt him so that rules out a fair few things. You could buy something at Zonko's but at this point he'd probably see those coming; you can only slip him sweets that make him sick so many times. Then again maybe it was just simple enough to work. You scribble it down on the parchment paper anyway. Next you add the nose biting teacup but that was rather impractical considering he hardly ever drank tea. Acid lollipops were an option, they would just burn a hole in his tongue but that could count as hurting him even if it was an easy fix.

"What are you writing?" Hermione wonders, you glance up to her and smile a little. "I assume you’re not studying all of a sudden."

"Nope," You hold up the paper for her. "I'm listing ways to get back at Ron."

"Of course you are," She takes your list. "Why don't you just buy a joke wand?"

"Boring," Jumping to your feet, you snatch the paper back. "I need to do something out of the box."

"Don't come to me when things go wrong," She insists softly, returning her attention to her book.

"Things won't go wrong," You declare proudly. You'd been doing this since your second year so you kind of have a knack for pulling pranks at this point. "Have a little faith in me."

It takes a day or two but thanks to Harry dragging you along to advanced potions class at the start of the year you decide the perfect way to get back at Ron is to make him fall in love with you. Well, a weird embarrassing obsession kind of love. Commence operation; practice your potion making by creating a love potion and tricking Ron into consuming it. Not only do you get to embarrass him but it can count as studying which will keep Hermione at bay. Not that you're going to tell her because Love potions of any kind are banned at Hogwarts and she'll just insist it's a bad idea. Now all you had to do was figure out how to actually make a love potion. Professor Slughorn has made one at the beginning of the year but you weren't actually taught how to make one nor do you actually remember much about class that day. Once you figured out how you could collect the ingredients and then trick Ron into drinking it. It shouldn't be too complicated.

Every free period following is spent huddled in the back of the library, searching through what felt like a mountains of books on potions. A good portion of what you read is just the history behind the potion itself and the dangers. It wasn't a potion that would cause him any harm so there was no need to worry. Eventually, you manage to create a checklist of ingredients that consisted of;

Ashwinder eggs

Rose thorns

Peppermint

Powdered Moonstone

Pearl Dust

Rose Petals

This joke was beginning to feel like more effort than it was worth but you were determined to see this through. Ron would never see this coming. After returning all your books to the shelves, you figure getting some help from Harry is the next step. The only place to get all the ingredients was from the potions classroom or the supply room. You couldn't just walk in and take stuff without seeming a little suspicious; you also weren't exactly Slughorn's favourite student. Everyone knew it was Harry. So your final option was to sneak around.

"Harry- wait up," You run up beside him as g walks through the courtyard. Rather surprised to find him alone considering your next class was with him and Ron.

"Hey,"

"Can I ask you for a favor?"

"Depends," He shrugs. You offer him a very gentle smile, fluttering your eyelashes a little. He wasn't exactly the type to say no to you but better safe than sorry.

"Can I borrow your invisibility cloak? I promise I'll return it tomorrow."

"What for?" Your stomach sinks a little at his question. You can't risk telling him in case he tells Ron which will ruin the surprise.

"I need some ingredients for a potion and I don't really feel like asking for permission," Telling half a truth is much easier than coming up with an entirely new lie. "Please? How many times have I broken the rules for you now and I would do it again."

"Professor Slughorn probably wouldn't mind if you just asked. What are you making anyway?"

"I just wanna do some late-night practice. I'm more of a do what I want then ask for forgiveness later kinda person so can I? Please?" Emphasis on the 'please' in hopes that it will somehow help your case.

"Sure,"

"Thank you," Looping your arm with his, you begin to practically drag the poor boy through the courtyard. You couldn't be late for class again. Snape would take any excuse to punish you. "let's get to class before we both end up in detention."

Thanks to Harry's cloak, you manage to collect every ingredient needed for your forbidden love potion and get to work. You wouldn't say potion making was your worst subject but it's definitely not your best either and it was showing. After a few attempts by candlelight in the early hours of the morning, you finally manage to create a love potion. Normally you'd test a potion before recklessly using it on unsuspecting friends but there was no time or way to do that without them catching on. The last step was simple, deliver all kinds of spiked candy to Ron Weasley and pretend like everything was normal.

Sitting in the great hall, you slowly lift spoonfuls of cereal into your mouth as you listen to Neville drone on about his dream; at least that's what you hope he's talking about. Last night had wiped you out; your body was exhausted. You could just about keep your eyes open and all you wanted to do was go back to bed. Hermione was sat directly across from you, very delicately buttering a piece of wholemeal toast.

"I don't think it means anything, you're just thinking too much into," Hermione explains to Neville. You just shrug your shoulders; you hadn't really been paying attention anyway but you manage to perk up a little as Harry plops down beside you.

"What time do you call this Potter?" You scold, bumping your shoulder playfully against his.

"And where's Ron?" Hermione continues.

"He should be here soon enough. He's just taking extra care getting ready."

"Why?"

"He's trying to impress someone," Harry reaches for a bowl of fresh fruit.

"Oh do tell," An aura of giddiness envelops your words as if you don't expect the answer to be yourself. There was a chance he hasn't taken the bait yet and he just genuinely had a crush.

"I promised I wouldn't,"

"Come on, Harry. We won't tell."

"He's never mentioned liking anyone before," Hermione adds to the conversation, biting into her toast with a crunch.

"I don't know- ask him." As if summoned on cue, The redhead appears beside Hermione. He doesn't seem any different other than the smile and distant look in his eyes. Not to mention, he may have combed his hair? You couldn't be sure though.

"Did you sleep in again," She pauses for a second, her brows knitting together in a frown. "And is that... cologne I smell?"

Ron doesn't answer, he just looks at you with the expression of someone hopelessly entranced. It's a little weird but you take it as a compliment on your potion-making skills. "You alright there Ron?"

"Perfectly fine," He nods.

"Are you gonna eat something? We have class soon?"

"I'm not hungry,"

"Not hungry?" The volume of Hermione's voice catches you off guard. "When have you ever not been hungry, Ronald?"

"First time for everything Hermione," You take a sip of your water. All eyes were on Ron but he couldn't tear his away from you; that dopey grin never quite fading away. Was this how it was supposed to work? You had never seen it in action before. "I'll see you all at lunch " You announce, rising from the table. "I forgot my quill again this morning and I can't keep pretending I remember the stuff I'm being taught."

"How many classes do you have today?" Harry calls out before you can leave. You'd think he'd know your schedule by now. "I was thinking we could practice some potions later?"

"She has two," Hermione answers for you.

"Today pretty quiet for me usually but I have a study session later with Luna. She's helping me in care of magical creatures sorry," You flash a tight smile. "Maybe next time."

You had one class this morning and then one straight after lunch. Your free periods were supposed to be spent studying considering you were taking five N.E.W.T classes but you've never been one to study when you don't have to. Thinking on it, you probably could have studied with Harry in your free period before lunch but you think he has class then. The morning class is over before you know it and you're heading back to your dorm for a well-deserved nap when you practically crash into a none other than a Weasley.

"Watch where you're going, Ron."

His expression immediately brightens and he stands a little taller. "Oh, it's you, hey."

"Hello," Ron was a pretty awkward guy on the best of days but this felt weirder. A small, awkward smile settles on your lips. "Don't you have a class right now?"

"Mhmm," He nods but doesn't move nor continue talking.

"Ooookay then, well... I'm gonna go." You slide by him and scamper away. "I'll see you in a little bit."

When you imagined him under the influence of a love potion you expected less creepy staring but maybe he was just working his way up to it.

After a very short nap, that kept getting interrupted you're sat in the great hall waiting for classes to end and lunch to officially begin. There were a decent amount of students, all doing their own thing. Meanwhile the Gryffindor table was practically empty other than Dean, who was sat at an angle on the other side of the table and a couple of seventh years. You'd gotten so bored while pretending to study that Dean had suggested playing a game; this is the third match to decide who comes out on top as the Hangman champion of this free period. Three letters in and none of them had been right. The wooden frame was already drawn and waiting for the stickman to be hung

"S?" You guess.

His head shakes as he draws a wonky circle to start the stickman's fate. "Sorry."

"... I maybe?"

"Finally you got one.," it was a ten letter word and he filled in the second and eighth letters With I's.

"Can you give me like a hint?"

"I'm not gonna help you beat me," Dean replies. "Hey, Harry,"

"Harry!" You greet brightly, turning to find him towering over you. "We're playing hangman, do you wanna join? I'm about to win."

"No, you're not-"

"Did you do something to Ron?" Harry cuts of Dean. You swallow hard. Busted... or maybe not. Your brow furrows as you focus on the curled edge of the parchment you had been playing on.

"What are you talking about? I haven't done anything, I've been with Dean for like the last hour."

"He just seems very interested in you all of a sudden. I thought it was a one-time thing this morning but I've had to suffer through two classes of him talking about how cute and dreamy you are."

"Ron has a crush on her?" Dean's tone was rather playful.

"Maybe he just realised how cool I am," Your shoulders rise in a little shrug. "H?"

"Where is Ron anyway?" Dean adds the letter H to the begging of the word. You still have no clue what the word is but thankfully your two other friends finally appear just in time to interrupt. You'd rather draw by forfeit then lose altogether. Ron nearly shoves Hermione out of the way just to sit down next to you.

"I missed you this morning,"

"Missed you too Ron," You pat him twice on the cheek.

"What did you do to him?" Hermione's eyes narrow in on you.

"Who?"

"Ron obviously," She huffs. "I bumped into in the hallway and he said he couldn't wait to see you."

"As his friend, I'm happy he's excited to see me," You counter, resting your head on his shoulder. "At least someone at this table appreciates how cool I am."

"You're awesome," Ron wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight side-hug "I think I may be in love,"

Dean giggles to himself but Hermione is anything but amused. "For goodness sake, you can't be serious?"

"I'm very serious," He fights back, sounding almost offended but such an accusation. "In fact," a wave of regret washes over you as Ron gets up and climbs onto the bench in front of the now rather busy great hall. "I'm in love with-" you sink down as he shouts your name for everyone to hear. Mean snickers and playful giggles follow. You reach for his hand, tugging on his arm gently as to not hurt him.

"Sit down," you spit through gritted teeth. Heat rushing to your cheeks as if him announcing his love to everyone wasn't embarrassing enough already

You try to enjoy lunch as much as possible with Ron attached to your side. Hermione was relatively quiet but her harsh glare was enough to put you off starting anything with her. And so you mostly spoke to Harry and finished your game with Dean. The word was Hippogriff which you managed to guess before the final leg finished off the stickman. Thankfully, your next class provided a nice escape from Ron. However it couldn't stop the sly comments in the hallways and mean laughter. This joke was very quickly becoming anything but funny.

This continued into the next day, you were regretting spiking so much candy. Not to mention Hermione hadn't spoken to you since lunch yesterday and you couldn't figure out why exactly. Normally she gets a little annoyed at your silly jokes with Ron but she seemed really mad at you. And considering you share a dorm room, things were feeling very tense, to say the least.

Managing to slip away from Ron long enough for a quick conversation, you find your fellow Gryffindor sat alone having an early breakfast. "I said I wouldn't help you,"

"Huh?" You hadn't even asked her anything yet or sat down for that matter but at least she's talking to you again.

"You want my help right?" She meets your gaze as you take a seat. "What did you do?"

"I actually wanted to know what was wrong?" Which was very much true. "You seemed... upset yesterday. I don't like it when you're mad at me."

"Judging by the way he was all over you yesterday my guess is It was a love potion correct?" you're impressed that she managed to guess and so quickly too. "A strong one at that. That is the only way to explain him suddenly being in love with you."

"I'm offended that you don't think Ron could like me that way," The words came a little more defensively than intended. "am I really that bad?"

Hermione's face morphs through a sea of emotions finally settling on looking a little disheartened. You wonder what's going on in her pretty little head. "It's not that I don't think he could like you that way- maybe he does and that would be fine. You're..." She seems hesitant to continue, her head falling. "amazing. Just that's not what this is."

"You're right," You confirm, pouring yourself a glass of orange juice. "Like always. I slipped him a love potion thinking it would be funny and now it's not."

"How can you be so reckless," Compared she seemed so delicate just moments ago, she quickly bounces back to scold you. "You know they're not allowed at school."

"Worth it," A small chuckle bubbles up from your throat. It had been a little funny and definitely embarrassing plus you got to test your skills so you weren't inherently regretting your decision. You just wish the effects would fade already. "I didn't learn the antidote and I'm not spending hours in the library again."

"It'll wear off soon enough, how much did you give him."

"I made like... a cauldron full but I don't know how much he consumed."

"So it's my understanding that you idiotically gave him a lot?"

Words mumbled by your juice, you nod to convey your answer.

"Then it'll take a while to wear off."

Ron slides up beside you, taking you by surprise. The juice comes back up in sputtering coughs. "Speak— of— the devil."

"Good morning my beautiful angel," Even you cringe at that one. Harry takes a seat on your left side. "Did you sleep well?"

"You should know, you were watching me this morning," Ron pulls you closer to him. When you awoke this morning, not only was Hermione already gone but it had been quite the surprise to find Ron had snook into the girl's dorms to be with you.

"You're so adorable when you're sleeping."

"If you'll excuse me, I can only handle so much nauseating sweetness," Hermione takes one sympathetic look at you and then scurries away like she can't handle being here any longer. Something was definitely off with her. Today was gonna be a long day...

How you longed for the weekend to come early as each class tortured you with new knowledge that had to be burnt into your brain. It didn't help that Ron was getting increasingly annoying; it was like he was incapable of being alone. After the school day finally ended, you retired to the common room; both the boys joined you. Harry was complaining about how much work he's been assigned from one class while Ron seemed happy to just be near you in any compacity. Which right now meant having his arm around you.

"Here," Hermione interrupts, dropping a plugged vial onto your lap.

"What is it?"

"An antidote." She was biting back an insult or an 'I told you so', you couldn't be sure but there was a hint of aggression behind her words.

"Drink this," Before you even have time to process, Harry is shoving the vial towards Ron.

"What is it?"

"I think you should try it," Ron doesn't even question the request when it comes from you. He takes the vial and downs it in one. An unsure look is shared between you and Hermione but sure enough, Ron's goofy grin begins to fade.

"What the bloody hell happened?"

"I slipped you a love potion and you became obsessed with me." You answer. "It was funny at first but then you announced you were In love with me to the whole school."

"You think a love potion is the same as a comb that changes your hair?" The boy sank into the seat cushion, finally removing his arm from around your shoulders. "I don’t feel so good."

"He needs something to perk him up," Hermione states. If she knew that, she should have come prepared.

"He has candy hidden in his draws"

"Yeah... it's probably best if he gets rid of all that," You admit, getting up. "Wait here,"

It was only fair you provided something so you grab the last chocolate bar you had from your dorm room. "You shouldn't have messed with my hair." You declare, handing over the chocolate with an almost sad smile.

"Now you two can hopefully put this silly war to bed."

"Not likely," Your voice syncs with Ron's, and with it comes a genuine smile. It was nice he was back to normal.

"I have to get back at her."

"And how will you do that Weasley?" You drop back down next to him.

"I think I'll go back to the good old fashioned permanent marker while you sleep."

"Why would you tell me in advance?"

"Because you don't know when I'm gonna do it." He declares with a mischievous glint in his eye. "So now you'll be on edge waiting for it to happen."

In this situation, the equivalent to snitching to a teacher to prevent something from happening was to tell the only one opposed to this whole situation entirely. "Hermione tell him. You had no problem insisting I be the bigger person."

She simply rolls her eyes before turning to Weasley. "Ronald, Consider not retaliating especially with a permanent marker before one of you," she glances towards you; rightful so. "Goes too far."

"she started it," He protests, "I didn't sip her a love potion."

"You better not come anywhere near me with marker pens."

"Sometimes I think I'm talking to myself." And with that, she wonders off

"I'm watching you, Weasley," Now, you were going to have to keep a very close eye on him to assure you didn't wake up with a fake mustache or something. Jumping up you chase after Hermione.

"Thanks for helping." You fall into step with her. "I'd be lost without you."

"I know,"

"Wow. Modest." You mumble sarcastically before falling silent; unsure of how to approach the next question. "Do you like Ron by any chance?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you like Ron?" You repeat. It was the only explanation you could come up with over why she would be so angry the last couple of days. "You seemed really upset since he's been all over me so I thought maybe it was like jealousy or something."

"Don't be ridiculous," She fires back. "I don't like Ron."

"I never imagined you two together but I think you'd be sweet," You comment, intentionally trying to get a rise out of her. Hermione sighs loudly as she comes to a stop.

"Ron is one of my best friends but I don't like him in that way," From a few steps away, you turn back to her. She's clutching a few books tightly against her chest, refusing to look at you. "I swear that I don't."

"Then what?"

"I don't know," She shrugs pathetically. "I just saw him all over you and I didn't like it. You're never normally like that together and he kept pushing me aside to get to you."

"I'm not following," You're honestly more confused than before.

She approaches you slowly, still unable to meet your gaze but her lips very softly connect with your cheek. "I promise I won't let him draw on your face with permanent marker."

Her words spark a lightbulb. You've never done a double prank but perhaps now would be a good chance. You could do it to him before he gets the chance to do it to you.

"Hmmm... So can I draw on his face with washable markers?"

With a heavy sigh, she simply states her favourite word "No!"

"But-"

"No." Hermione continues walking and you're left watching her.

"Hey," You call out. "Do you wanna head down to Hogsmeade tomorrow? I'll buy you a butterbeer to say thank you."

"You just want to visit the joke shop, don't you?"

"Desperately," She always could see right through you. "But still. I want to go- just you and me."

"I would like that," She finally meets your gaze and she looks happier now. The almost set sun, casting her in such a warm, welcoming glow. Hermione was a hard girl to figure out but that's what made her so interesting. "I was hoping to get a new quill anyway."

#Hermione Granger x reader #ron weasley x reader #harry potter #Hermione x reader #hermione granger #ron weasley #harry potter fanfiction #stephs200challenge

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bang-to-the-tan · 4 years ago

Text

Stray Cat Strut

Chapter 8

Reader x OT7

► Faerie!AU

Fluff, Comfort

Warnings: Mention of Death, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Faerie Mischievous Bullshit

↳ Summary: When your grandmother passes away, she leaves her countryside house in your name. The longer you stay, the harder and harder it becomes to explain away the odd happenings. What kind of secrets does this sleepy town hold? And why do the local animals act so strangely around you?…

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Water. Rushing water, in your ears, in your eyes, in your nose, and you can’t even tell which way is up. You can’t breathe, the river—it’s too fast. Warmth, strength, snakes around your midsection despite your flailing, and pulls.

You wake, disoriented, just as you breach the surface, still gasping. Sunlight sneaks through your curtains and paints the ceiling in bands of yellow above you. Your blankets, tossed in your restless, fitful sleep, circle your legs, and you have to shake them off to sit up. Your nightmare spins in your head as you sit and ground yourself to reality. It’s been a very long time since you dreamed of drowning...You shake your head. Best not to think about it any more than necessary. An old childhood fear, brought about by sleeping in your old childhood home. That’s all.

You stretch, yawning. You’re listening absently to the distant birdsong outside, and that’s when you realize the birds aren’t the only ones making noise. A distinct voice is holding a one-sided conversation just outside your house. It occasionally breaks into a loud laugh or some odd sound effect, halting here and there for some answer that you can’t hear. You pause. Maybe whoever it is is only passing by? But no, the voice doesn’t move anywhere. The wood beneath your feet creaks traitorously when you slide to the window, sneaking a peek out the corner of it, to around the front where the voice is. From here, you can see very little, but for a shape that moves out of sight just as you spot it.

Confused, you get dressed, and check your appearance in a nearby mirror. You aren’t going to be winning any awards, but you’d like to at least know what they’re doing out there. You make sure to slip the cat’s totem around your neck and check for the bracelet around your wrist.

Moving to open your door, you brace yourself to put on a brave face. Maybe the locals are themselves getting ‘squirrely’ around Spirit Lights. It is tomorrow, after all. Your facade proves to be wholly unnecessary once you actually swing the front door open. Hoseok turns to beam at you cheerfully, pink and gray hair ruffled, his hands and knees covered in dirt. He’s cradling an uprooted tulip in his palms. For a moment, you go to protest, heart sinking at his demolition, but you pull up short once you realize he’s not destroying it. He’s replanting it; settling it at a more comfortable distance from its brethren, judging by the hole at his feet. Much of the garden has been likewise tended, the color seeping back into the plants and the dirt turning a dark, rich brown. It smells like fresh greenery, roots, and clean soil out here, the wafts of breeze bringing with them that distinct scent of blossoming lavender. You wonder that he was able to accomplish this much just in the time that you were sleeping in.

Behind the gardener, sitting atop your fence like it had been born on it, is the cat from the first night you spent here. You would recognize those eyes anywhere. It’s black pelt glimmers in the sunlight, turning almost blue in the warmth of its rays. Even as it lounges, watching Hoseok work with its paws tucked beneath itself, you are again given the impression that it knows and observes plenty.

“Good morning!” Hoseok crows, his grin pushing dimples into his cheeks. “Did we wake you?”

“Um…” you look to the cat, a faint smile curving your lips at the familiar animal. You wave a little at it, wiggling your fingers. It blinks slow at you, turning its luminous eyes elsewhere. “Kind of. What are you doing here?”

“Gardening,” is Hoseok’s cheerful reply.

“...right.” You aren’t sure you want to look the gift horse in the mouth, but is it odd that he just...showed up? Then again, that’s how you met him in the first place.

“Yoongi wanted to apologize.”

You blink at him, amused and baffled at once. Yoongi? Ah, you recall the brown-haired youth calling the cat by that name. Absently, your hand drifts to the bag around your neck, inhaling the faint smell of cinnamon. You level a stare at Hoseok. Has he been talking to...the cat? This whole time? If the cat really is Yoongi, and Namjoon and the young man are both right, then the cat is definitely a kepry—really, it’s not that surprising, then, that a local tradesman would be holding a conversation with him. He probably has to deal a lot with them. You wonder briefly if he’s ever met the kepry under your house.

Probably, if they both are working on the garden. Considering the bright, sunny nature of the two of them, they probably would get along.

You pull out of your distant musings. “...The cat wants to apologize? What for?”

“He says he scared you on accident. Something about his totem? And Taehyung?” Hoseok shakes his head, laughing a little. “It’s always something between him and Tae, though, so I don’t know about that much.”

Right. The dog and the cat have a rivalry. That tracks. You raise your eyebrows. “Scared me?” you echo. You wrack your brain, throwing back to the last time you saw the cat. Scared you by disappearing, maybe. You really were concerned for its safety to begin with. But what does that have to do with Taehyung?

Hoseok shrugs, bending to place the tulip in its rightful place, patting the dirt around it with the ease of someone well-practiced in gardening, his face soothed into a gentle expression of focus.

“He chickened out when he got here.” He throws a sly grin at the cat, who beholds him with incredible disdain. “I’m not apologizing for you.”

Uh-huh. You watch Hoseok dig around in the dirt for a moment longer before realization careens about your head and crashes into the opposite side with almost an audible sound.

“Payment!” you say, aloud. He blinks at you but you’re already turning to dash back inside, scrambling through the cupboards for the candy you had left. You rush back outside before either of them has even moved, presenting the half-empty bag of sweets to him.

“I had to,” you start babbling, as he flicks his eyes comically between you and the bag, a surprised smirk creeping across his face, “I had to, use the rest for something else, someone else, there’s—” you quickly abandon the thought of trying to explain the kepry. If he knows, he knows, and if he doesn’t, you’ll only confuse him or make him think you’re crazy. “—but the—for the gardening, I can’t pay you much—”

“You already—” he starts, bemused, but you’ve already started and its very difficult to stop even as you’re becoming breathless, plowing forward.

“—But I hope we can be friends anyways and I just wanted to say thank you for not ruining the garden,” you finish, having to draw in an embarrassingly deep inhale at the end.

He breaks out into a full smile, teeth bared, and laughs, bending with the motion. He takes the bag from your hands gingerly and sets it on a clear patch of grass beside him without looking directly at it.

“Thank you,” he chuckles. “I’ll put it with the rest.”

“The garden looks beautiful, by the way.”

Hoseok glances back up at you, obvious pride crossing his fine features as he stands, dusting his hands off on his pants leg.

He practically glows, posing with his hands on his hips and surveying his hard work. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

“Between you and the spirits, this place is going to be the loveliest garden this side of Eden,” you add, half-joking, reaching to caress a nearby daisy, feeling the soft petals between your fingers like the kiss of sunshine across silk.

He pauses thoughtfully for a minute before shaking his head and giggling.

“Jin wasn’t kidding. You really are clueless, huh.”

Jin. You start with a gasp, turning to lock the front door and rushing past the gardener to the gate, swinging it open and throwing yourself through it. You almost forgot! How could you forget?? You’ve got to go and help Jin finish cleaning the pond today! You hope he isn’t too upset with your probable lateness... Your steps hesitate. You throw a quick glance over your shoulder.

“...Are we...are we okay?” you ask after a moment, directing the question at the gardener. “Is the candy okay?”

“It’s all I wanted,” he replies, nodding reassuringly, eyes glinting with humor. “Thank you.”

“Good. And…”

The cat, Yoongi, cranes to watch the ground a little ways from you, only momentarily looking up to meet your gaze. The gesture is definitely as close to repentant as you think you’ve ever seen a cat manage. You pause again, reaching to curl your fingers around the totem around your neck faintly.

“...I...I forgive you. For scaring me. Thank you,” you add. “For the totem. I promise I’ll use it well.”

His head dips, pretending suddenly to be incredibly engrossed in stretching, bending to deftly clean his paw, but the cock of his ears tells you he isn’t not paying attention, nor is he entirely discontented. Hoseok bursts into another bright peal of laughter.

You peer at him, a smile crossing your face. You wonder if keprys can purr. But even as you ponder that idea, now that you’re aware of your tardiness, it’s like there’s a clock counting down in your head, and every second passing is more disappointment from Jin.

You start moving down the path, keeping an eye on the strange man tending your garden and the strange cat pretending not to watch you go before you turn and start to run. Maybe if you finish up with Jin fast enough, you can continue your search for the elusive little dog.

You’re reminded of the youth you met yesterday when the wind hits your hair, fresh and clean from the morning. The pound of your feet against gravel and stone and dirt. The quickening of your heartbeat in your throat, assuring that you are alive and well. The sunlight ahead bathes the trees in gold, dapples the ground beneath as you continue along, turning across the pathway and emerging at the bridge. You scour the clearing for your companion, catching your breath in heady gulps of sweet air that tastes like springtime. There, beneath the willow, on the opposite bank. He’s sitting against the trunk, head bowed and eyes closed. Guilt sinks into your chest at the thought that he fell asleep waiting for you.

The bridge carries you over to his side of the water, and you gingerly navigate a way down the steep incline towards him. You have to brush the long, trailing tresses of the tree out of your face as you approach, peeling it apart like the lifting of a veil. Not for the first time, you’re struck both by his beauty and his timelessness. He looks like if you left him, he could sleep forever. A statue, carved out of the moon. But you reach forward, quickly wiping your sweaty palm against your trouser leg, and touch his shoulder.

His dark eyelashes flutter and he blinks sleepily, casting a look up at you.

“Hey, Jin.” You admit, “I don’t know what time it is. I’m sorry if I’m late.”

The smile he gives you is radiant, warm, creases his eyes and softens his lips.

“Not at all,” he returns. “You’re just in time.”

You grin back, moving to crouch by him. “Good. Thanks. So where do we start today?”

Jin’s mouth purses and his eyes flit to the bridge, hesitating. “Start?” he murmurs. “I don’t know...Maybe today we take a break?”

“A break?”

“Yes.” He shuffles, patting the dirt beside himself with another gentle smile. “Yes, why don’t you join me here? How was your day yesterday? Tell me about it.”

You pause, considering. It sounds nice, just to hang out with Jin all day. And admittedly, you’ve been wanting for some real companionship. What with everyone around you disappearing into smoke. But on the other hand...you kind of want to find Taehyung. It’s not just a matter of the librarian anymore, really. You’re legitimately becoming concerned about the small dog’s wellbeing.

“Maybe later,” you reply. “I’ve got other stuff to do today.”

Jin frowns, and for a beat, you can sense a strange energy from him. You’re reminded of when you caught him talking to Taehyung over your fence. That same coldness. It dissipates when he turns away from you, casting a melancholic look over at the pond.

“Other stuff to do today?” he echoes. “Other...people to be with?”

You aren’t sure where he’s going with this train of thought. “...Yes? Kind of? I’m going to go looking for Taehyung after.”

He goes silent, watching the surface of the water with a distant gaze, his mouth briefly quirking. An uncomfortable quiet settles between you, broken only by the sound of the wind through trees and the occasional distant birdsong. You straighten, looking for something else to say, maybe you can sit for just a little while after all, but he sits up before you have the chance, moving to stand with one fluid motion.

“You want to finish quickly so you can look for Taehyung,” he says, his expression faraway.

It’s your turn to frown, staring at him incredulously. “I don’t get what you’re so upset about.”

He shakes his head, turning back to you with a long sigh drawn through his nose and a bitter smile curling the edges of his lips.

“Never mind.”

You eye the man. What’s up with him? “Let’s finish the pond, then.”

He blinks, hard, gaze briefly casting to the side before meeting yours again. He takes the space between you with a step, his expression turning earnest, his hands rising to his sides as if to placate you.

“I meant what I said yesterday,” he puts in, low. “I don’t want to stop seeing you. I like you.”

“I like you too.” You add, “When you aren’t being weird. What is this about?”

“I miss you when you’re gone. It gets so lonely up here. Nobody comes to the pond anymore—no one tends the pond, or visits me, or prays at the shrine. It’s been so long…” He hesitates. “If we complete our deal...you’ll leave, too.”

“I won’t, Jin. I said I’d come and visit, and I meant it.”

His short laugh is humorless. “This isn’t the first time I’ve heard that.”

He interrupts before you can reply, shocked at how bitter he sounds. How sad.

“Taehyung is happy with you. He adores you. You take care of him. And he protects you. And now that you’re here...now that you’re back...he hasn’t left your side, has he?”

You pause. “He...he disappeared yesterday,” you confess. “I’ve been looking for him since. But I don’t get what—”

“ You’re searching for him .” He sounds heartbroken. “You miss him.”

“...of course I do. He’s my…” You catch yourself in your confusion, unsure of what you were going to say and finishing lamely with, “...my dog.”

Another beat of silence falls between you that feels significant. You don’t understand why. The wind that cards through the air, entices your hair with it, brings with it the cool of the water’s surface. It soothes the touch of the sun shining above you, filtered through the willow tree into spots of sweet gold and dappled shadows that encase the two of you.

When Jin reaches for your hand, his expression soft, his movements gentle, you let him. You jolt in surprise when you feel something press into your palm. Wasn’t his hand empty just a moment ago? Looking down, you watch as he curls your fingers faintly around a small charm. About the size of a walnut, it looks like it used to be a brooch of some kind, but the fastener is long gone. A lily, fashioned out of clouded glass so thin and delicate that despite its size, it’s incredibly light. The edges are gilded, though the gold has rubbed away in places. It’s beautiful. Fragile, and old, but beautiful. Your confusion only heightens when, as he bends your fingers to wrap around it, you can feel electricity course through you. Like a wildfire, but warm and soothing instead of burning, crackling down your neck and hands, centered around his peculiar offering, and suddenly you’re hyper-aware of his cologne. Lilies. As clearly as if you were the one wearing it. All around you, the world has ceased making noise—allowing you your own private world in itself. All that is, all that matters, is you, the radiant man in front of you, and the tiny sun blazing heat into your palm. The wind holds its breath.

“Would you miss me?” Jin murmurs. Even his voice seems to have changed, almost sonorous in tone.

You look up. He looks different. He looks vulnerable, strangely tired, even as he seems to shine, the sun outlining his frame and lighting up fireflies behind his eyes, through the strands of his hair.

You’re taken aback, but you’ve misunderstood the question.

“Please?” he adds, earnest, pressing on your fingers again.

“Secret club.” A voice suddenly weaves through the spell that had fallen across the two of you and you jump faintly, turning to spy the pink-haired boy craning past the willow’s tresses with a wide, playful smirk. “Can I come in?”

Jin immediately breaks the silence with an offended scoff. When he speaks again, he’s gone back to normal, sounding at once both harried and annoyed. “Jimin, go away.”

All around you, the world has returned as if it never left. The birds calling far away, the gentle sound of the air through the trees. Why is that surprising? It’s hard to recall what, exactly, that moment felt like, even though it was only a second ago.

‘Jimin’ throws his eyes skyward and sags exaggeratedly against the willow leaves, swinging. “Ah, but I’m bored ,” he complains. Even his whine is musical, pitching into a huff at the end.

“We are involved in something,” is Jin’s deadpan reply. “Leave.”

Jimin squints at him, pausing. “No,” he says finally, brattish. “I want to play.”

“I am busy.”

Jimin swings gracefully one last time, disentangling himself from the willow and ghosting nearer to you, his smile growing until it pushes his eyes into crescents, his cheeks buxom.

“I don’t want to play with you ,” he snipes at Jin. He reaches forward to grip the edge of your shirtsleeve with his small, delicate fingers, childish. He bounces slightly when he tugs at your sleeve. “You and me! Let’s go!”

“She’s busy, too,” Jin tugs on your hand a little, turning his body towards the other boy as if to physically block him out.

Are they...arguing over you ? Like schoolchildren? There’s no way of defining the cross between humor and disbelief that washes over you at the realization. Grown men. Grown strangers.

Jimin’s pink hair waves when his head snaps upwards, a sharp look crossing his face suddenly. His grasp on your shirt tightens, fingers spidering upwards for a firmer grip, though still avoiding touching the meat of your arm.

“She’s in my debt,” he says, low, warning. “And I just decided on my payment.”

“Whoah,” you interrupt, eyes wide, brow cocked. “Wait, debt? Payment?”

“Go play with Taehyung,” Jin ignores your questions.

“He doesn’t want to!” Jimin protests. “He’s really upset for some reason.”

“You know where Taehyung is?” This time, your outburst catches both of their attentions. Though Jin looks dismayed, frowning, Jimin only looks curious.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment.

“Could you take me to him?” Hope, excitement rises in your chest. Could it really be that easy? Maybe this whole time he’s been hanging out with someone else? That hope turns a little questionable when Jimin’s face smoothes into something sweetly conniving.

“I could,” he replies, light. He tugs on your shirt again, pointedly. “But you have to play with me first,” he adds in a singsong.

Jin huffs.

But you quirk your mouth and nod, moving to step away from Jin. “Alright. What are we playing?”

Wait, is your hand empty again? Did you drop the brooch? Shocked, you turn to look for it, already forming apologies in your head, but you can’t see it anywhere near your feet, and when Jin speaks up again, he sounds more annoyed with the newcomer than concerned for the delicate item.

“You’re being rude, Jimin.”

Jimin sticks his tongue out at the other man, scrunching his nose in the process, while he turns to you and starts excitedly half-pulling you back up the incline, towards the bridge.

“I wanna play Red Jay!”

“You would!” Jin calls, trudging after you sullenly. He brushes off a spot on the bridge’s wide railing and seats himself on it, watching the two of you like someone jilted.

“Isn’t it blue jay?” you ask. You aren’t exactly an expert on bird types, but you rifle through your limited knowledge anyway. Blue jay? Red robin?

“No.” Maybe this far out in the stix they have their own versions of games and/or birds.

Your pink-haired consort leads you to the mouth of the bridge and circles around until he’s facing you, holding his hands out, palms forward. He waits expectantly.

You blink at him.

“I...I don’t know what red jay is,” you confess after an awkward beat.

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “You used to,” he says, and before you can comment on that, he reaches for your hands, holding them up in the position his had been in. “You’ll want to know how to play it for tomorrow, at least.”

His eyes sparkle. “Kids love Red Jay during Spirit Lights.”

“Like this,” he directs. “First, you’re the red jay.”

He presses his palms to yours, crossing his arms over one another, then moving in a circular direction until his are straight and yours are crossed.

“‘Red jay,’” he begins, “‘O, red jay, when will the spring come?’

And then you turn your hands like this,”

You obligingly switch your palms to face you. He taps the backs of your hands with his.

He nods at you.

“Your line is ‘When snow has stopped falling / and winter is done’.”

You hesitate, watching him, but repeat it back slowly.

The two of you continue in this manner, him feeding you your lines and teaching you to move your palms up, over, sideways—like a slow game of patty-cake.

“Red jay, O red jay, when will you come home?”

“When tears have stopped falling / and I cease to roam.”

Curiously, you think, you might actually remember doing this. Your body tenses with excitement without really knowing why.

“Red jay, O red jay, again, shall you run?”

Jimin’s eyes glint and his smile grows wide.

“When lights have stopped glowing,” you reply, seized by a rush of giddiness. “and my work here is done.”

“And now, we run —” Jimin barks, turning, beginning a game of tag. You’re the red jay, adrenaline courses through your veins and you remember this, suddenly kicking a leg out, obeying the laws of the child’s game by keeping your hands folded to mimic wings, but filled with triumph when you hook your ankle under Jimin’s and he trips with a scandalized yelp, falling to the ground beneath you. Unmatched glee washes over you. The red jay, victorious, spreading its wings above him and squatting to cradle him in your arms, laughing.

“And now I take you with me!” you shout, enthused. “Across the river and through the forest we’ll go!!” He whines, struggling out of your grasp.

“You cheated!” he complains, but even though he’s trying to pout, frowning away from you, he’s obviously still pleased that you played along.

You’re still giggling, allowing him to clamber upwards, your arms dropping to your sides. “I win. Take me to Taehyung.”

“I want to keep playing,” Jimin protests.

“No. I won.”

“One more game,” he wheedles. “One more game. Something easy. If you win, I’ll take you to where I saw Taehyung.”

“Jimin—”

He ducks his head, lips pursing into a perfect pout, searching your eyes through bubblegum strands of his hair, his own wide and glittering in the sun. “Please? Just one more game.”

He looks at you like his heart is breaking. Like he’s never known loneliness so terrible. For sure, some of it is an act, but there has to be something there for someone to pester a stranger so much...Besides, he’s sweet enough, you think.

You hesitate, feeling pity for him despite yourself. “...What game?”

The smile that bursts across his face is brilliant. “Hide and seek! See? Easy.”

“You live here,” you point out with a wry smile. “You probably know this town better than I ever could.”

“I’ll give you a huge head start.”

You consider it. But there’s no real reason to deny him this last game, and eventually you cave.

“Alright, one more—”

“Yay!”

“—and then you take me to where you saw Taehyung, no matter who wins .”

He immediately pulls up short, voice pitching into a whine. “But that wasn’t—”

“Those are my terms. Take them or leave them.”

Jimin pouts again, throwing his arms across his chest, but he nods anyway, looking put-upon and deeply upset. “Okay, fine.” You don’t worry about him for too long, because he almost immediately sneaks back into a grin, mischief raising his brows. “Ready? One…” He spins on his heel and starts counting.

Suddenly at a loss for what to do, you flounder, spinning around wildly to look for a good hiding spot. Under the bridge, maybe? Up in the willow tree? Neither of those will do at all. You’ll be found so quickly….Why do you care? The sooner the game is over, the sooner you can get your side of the deal.

You jolt when a hand winds around your arm, tugging you gently to the side. Jin, standing just to your right, his expression unreadable but for the grim, strangely serious, curling one side of his mouth.

“This way,” he urges in a hush. “I’ll hide you.”

You aren’t sure why you nod, but the minute you do, he starts into a run. He’s fast, footsteps sure as he leads you back over the bridge, past the trees, swift and almost silent. Behind you, Jimin’s voice softens and fades until you can’t hear him anymore. Tugged along ungracefully, you struggle to keep up, but Jin never yanks too hard, and never slows. Beneath your feet, the path peters out, yet still leads faintly through the foliage as it grows denser, less tame. The wind whips at your hair, soothing over your face, sunlight turning to filtered rays and dollops of sun warming the green leaves ahead and the soft grass below.

Jin takes you around a corner, his pace finally, finally slowing, and you’re treated to a small clearing edged with tall trees and old, climbing foliage. He lets go of your hand. You bend at the middle to reclaim what breath you can manage, thankful for the breeze that cools the sweat at your neck. When you can, you straighten to survey your surroundings, casting a doubtful look behind you. Could you find your way back out of here? Probably not. Even now you aren’t sure between which copse of trees you burst through to get here. Hopefully Jin doesn’t disappear before he can lead you back. Now you can hear the river that rings around the back of the town, but there’s no hint of the road that must surely be just as far away.

Before you, ringed by light, is a shrine made of stone. It reminds you of the one behind your house; a boulder about knee-height set in front of a lantern carved of the same type of rock. Ontop rests a shrine about the size of a birdhouse. The entire thing is cracked, covered in moss, vines threatening to overtake one side of the lantern and snaking into the walls of the shrine.

“I’ve seen these before,” you manage to wheeze to Jin, gesturing. You straighten with a steadying breath. “There’s one in the forest down the road.”

“They used to be everywhere,” he replies quietly. He doesn’t seem out of breath at all as he steps forward to caress the tip of the lantern with a familiar touch. Something in his eyes gleams.

“Kinda seems a little out in the open for a hiding place,” you add, throwing another look around. This time, you’re certain you don’t know the way back. The thought makes your skin crawl a little, but if you just keep an eye on Jin, he won’t be allowed to vanish into nothing—as apparently everyone in this town can do at will. So much for a quick game, you guess.

His hum is wry. “I’ll keep him turned around for a minute. I still wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t mean to frighten you at all.” When Jin turns towards you, his face is earnest again. “I...I just…” he hesitates. “I get lonely.” He ducks his head, picking absently at the vines crossing the lantern. “People used to come up here all the time. And now...”

It's the second time he’s mentioned people visiting the pond. Admittedly, you’re curious. “Why? What are those for?”

“To pray. They used to pray.”

You watch him remove a tendril creeping inside the shrine with a delicate hand, and as he does, you recognize a shape hidden inside. A tiny bronze swan, with its head curled back towards its wings. The shapes carved into its back tell you it might have been an incense burner, though by now much of it has turned green and mottled. How long has it slept here?

“The swans? People prayed to the swans at the pond?...” You pause. “Miss Eunju and Mr. Sungmin did say that people don’t believe in the older stuff anymore. I guess they stopped coming when they stopped believing.”

“I never needed the faith,” Jin adds. “That was never the point. But reverence turned to fear, turned to….forgetting.”

“People think the pond is haunted, you said.”

“Yes.” His frown deepens, his eyes desperately sad, aching with some ancient scar.

“An old god, shunned by its people...”

Jin’s laugh is a sudden one, hiding bitterness. “Was never a god. Didn’t mind being treated like one, though.”

You think of the swan, with all its enchanting, ethereal beauty, and can’t help but smile at the thought of it lounging on silk pillows, being fed fanciful scraps of expensive bread. “I bet.” Was that Jin’s job, you wonder. A caretaker for the godlike swans? But surely not—not for how old this shrine must be. Why does he take the town’s crisis of faith so personally?

There is a moment of silence, punctuated only by the rush of nearby water and the distant calls of birds. The shifting of tree branches in the wind. The man standing before you looks like he belongs here, in the strangest of ways. A perfect addition to a painting depicting the ancient shrine, the greenery growing up around it, and a tall man with years beyond his time in his stare.

Maybe he’s like you, you think. His family must have ties to this place, considering the man in Granny’s photograph. Years and years of history. He must feel an obligation to the pond, the shrine, the bridge...But the locals avoiding it must make him something of an outcast...yeah.

Yeah, you can understand that.

“You don’t have to bribe me with antique jewellry,” you say finally. “To come and see you.”

He snorts, still not meeting your eye. “Bribe...?”

“Yeah. I...you know, I like it here. This town. I haven’t made any real decision yet,” your hands raise in premature defense, “but...for as long as I’m staying...I don’t mind just. Coming to see you. To hang out.”

“You don’t?” His voice is quiet.

“Of course not. We’re friends.”

“We are?...”

“I’d like to be.”

Seokjin turns to blink at you, like he’s in awe. At first, he seems unsure. Unconvinced, but the longer you watch him patiently, the more he appears to understand. His eyes catch the light, pushing into glittering crescents when he smiles broadly, without some of that bone-deep sadness you’re so used to seeing from him. He looks hopeful. Hesitantly so, but eager enough to try. “Friends. Yes...I-I’d like that, too. I really would.”

“Maybe once we’re done with the pond, we can come back here and clean this up, even?” you suggest, stepping to place your hand on the shrine, feeling the sun-warmed stone under your palm. “Get some foot traffic back here?”

“It’s okay.” He’s still grinning, brushing absently at the moss, his hand hovering. A beat, two, before he finally touches down, his long fingers curling faintly over yours. “It was a long time ago, anyway.”

There’s a moment that you take, there, in that clearing, standing by this tall man as the mild breeze dances around you both, smiling softly and feeling warm where your hands meet. You seem to have banished whatever cloud was casting its darkness over him for the time being, his entire frame lit by the sun and brightened still further by the legitimate, excited smile he’s wearing.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “I think I see now.”

To your shock, he leans forward, craning closer. Heat rises in your face. You back up, balking, but before you can react properly, Jimin’s voice once again shatters through the clearing, ruining the mood threatening to descend upon you.

“You’re such a cheater!” The pink haired man complains loudly as he clambers through a thicket, popping into view just to your right. That’s...now, that’s strange. You could have sworn the path was the opposite direction….? “Both of you! Cheaters!”

Jin halts, his entire frame sagging with an exasperated look that almost makes you laugh with all the nervous energy now buzzing in your skull. “Distracted for two seconds,” he grumbles, raising a brow at you. “And that’s all it took for him to worm through.”

“Distracted from doing...what?” you return, edging backward and sliding your hand out from under him. He lets you go easily, turning to survey Jimin instead of replying.

“I won’t count this, you know,” Jimin continues in a whine. “It doesn’t count.”

“Yes, it does,” Jin replies, scoffing.

...Was Jin going to kiss you?

“It doesn’t , you interfered—”

“—the terms that you laid out—”

Would you have stopped him? Of course. Of course you would. You shake your head at yourself, more engaged in recovering from your slight shock than their argument. Your cheeks are still on fire, heart pounding just at the memory of the handsome man’s proximity just then.

“—between me and her —”

“—explicitly said—”

Maybe he took it the wrong way. You said you’d be friends, he said he was lonely...How likely is it that he’s just gotten the wrong idea? How long has been alone for, exactly?...But you did mean it. You don’t want—can’t, with a clean conscience—to leave him by himself. And you do like him. As a friend. When he isn’t being weird.

“—for your own ends, you always do this—”

“—at my pond—”

“Hey,” you interrupt their bickering when it threatens to turn to yelling, stepping forward, arms raised placatingly. “Alright, enough. I agree with Jimin.”

The shorter man throws a triumphant look to the other, head cocking, eyes wide.

“The game was supposed to be between me and him, and I had help. Those weren’t the terms. I’ll admit to that.”

“ Ha .”

“But—” you add, hesitating. You don’t want to promise Jin you won’t leave and then leave. You also don’t want to leave him with whatever... that was supposed to be. If you run off with Jimin now, he might keep the wrong idea. “But...I think Taehyung will be okay without me for a little while longer. So long as he’s doing alright.”

“ What ?” Jimin sounds devastated. When Jin looks over his shoulder to recapture your gaze, he’s practically glowing.

“I think I should keep up my first bargain.”

“You were —”

“Fixing the pond. With Jin.” you continue, interrupting Jimin’s scowl. “And maybe hang out. As friends.” You make sure to put extra emphasis on ‘friends’, but if it has any particular effect, Jin doesn’t show it. He still beams like you’ve gifted him the stars.

“But….but you…” Jimin’s face crumples into a familiarly distraught look, plump lips parted beseechingly. “But you said…”

“You can always help,” you point out. “And you said so yourself, kids love playing during Spirit Lights. So why can’t we play tomorrow?”

“Not with me, they don’t,” he harrumphs, glaring at a branch as he reaches to tug at it absentmindedly. “Not anymore.”

“I wonder whose fault that is.” Jin’s voice has gone surprisingly cold, enough so that Jimin physically flinches at it, rolling his shoulder to deflect the words themselves. He pouts at the tree beside him as if it could rise up and defend him.

“ Hey ,” you recapture their attention, shifting your weight to the opposite foot. “Look, I came here to help Jin clean the pond, and that’s what I’m going to do. Jimin, you’re more than welcome to join. I’m sure we could use an extra pair of hands.”

There’s a beat of silence, but eventually, all parties agree. Some more enthusiastically than others. Jin practically nods his head off his neck, while Jimin mumbles something incoherent at the tree he’s pulling at.

To his credit, Jin does lead your merry little band back out of the clearing and towards the pond. (In a third different direction from where either you or Jimin had entered the clearing—which you quickly decide not to ponder too deeply. Obviously, you don’t have as good a sense of direction as you might have originally suspected.)

And to his credit, Jimin does help. Somewhat. Kind of. Mostly he complains, refusing to wade through the muck and instead tugging petulantly at weeds by the banks. You come to enjoy the banter between them, Jimin’s high whine and Jin’s playful nagging. It feels like an old friendship, and it leaves you wondering why, if they’re so comfortable with each other, Jin doesn’t have him for company.

Sooner than you would have thought the sun is threatening to go down, the air cooling around you, and you begin to think of calling it a night. How long were you in that clearing anyway? It’s hard to remember. Coming back it didn’t seem like it was too far away. You frown at the weeds you’ve plucked from the pathway, as if they could answer your questions.

“So,” you begin, directed at Jimin, who’s squatting by the bridge, distracted from weeds by a stray dandelion. “Could you just tell me where you saw Taehyung? Maybe I can look for him after Spirit Lights?”

Jimin shakes his head, pulling his hands into the sleeves of his fluffy sweater absently. “The festival lasts until sundown,” he replies in a faraway pout, resuming his fiddling with the fluff-headed flower.

“Yeah, but—”

“You can’t be out after dark,” Jin puts in, firm, from his position waist-deep in the water, tugging at the growths on the underside of the bridge. “Not on Spirit Lights.”

“But—”

“Not without a mask,” Jimin adds.

“Still not a good idea to go looking for Taehyung, though.”

“That’s true.”

“What about before?” you try again.

“He’ll be at the festival, maybe.”

“He isn’t usually.”

“No.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay. So. What you’re saying is that I just need to give up.”

Jimin cranes to grin at you, his cheeks going round at the corners when he does. “Maybe after,” he says. “The day after. We’ll play again, and I’ll take you to where he was today.”

“What good does that do me if he isn’t there?”

He shrugs, but his smirk doesn’t abate.

Jin starts to walk towards you through the water, sloshing through the muck as he goes, clambering up the bank past Jimin. He flicks his fingers at the smaller man who shrinks with a scandalized noise. “You could always come back here.”

For a brief moment, you think of that half second in the clearing, where you were almost sure he was trying to kiss you. But you think next of after, of the cleaning, the banter, the laughter. Surely the strange mood that had snapped him up then has dissipated to something more...friendly? Acceptable?

“I might do that.”

His answering smile is like the sun.

When you bid them goodbye, Jin is for once the more vibrant of the two, waving and smiling.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promises. “At the festival.”

“But not after dark,” Jimin adds quickly.

“Not after dark,” you agree, chuckling inwardly at how adamant they are about the old superstitions. “But tomorrow.”

Your house is still so strangely empty when you turn in for bed. Hoseok and Yoongi are of course, long gone, and Taehyung is still missing. (Though, according to Jimin, alive and well—which soothes your worry for the small dog greatly.) But the sheets are cozy, the bed is soft, and there’s something exciting, exciting about the thought of the upcoming festival that has you asleep in moments, drifting off the moment you land on the pillow.

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#bts x reader #bts faerie au #bts fairy au #bts fanfic #bts fluff #stray cat strut #this is a long 'un #nearly 7k this one #i never get that far for stray!#had to do a still image for the header bc the gif one wont. load?#i dont pretend to know but who tf reads my shit for the frankly awful headers LMAO

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