#I also would like to think it was a cloudless day | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zstartrixxx · 1 month ago

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𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 '𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐔, 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍'.

ʳᵉᵐᵐᶦᶜᵏ ˣ ᵛᵃᵐᵖꜝʷᶦᶠᵉ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: 𝐘𝐄𝐒 | 𝐍𝐎

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: If being loved by a vampire means carrying eternity within you, what you have with Remmick is incarnate: his poison lives in your flesh, you are blood of his blood, a creature of his making. And because you are a part of him—a fragment that broke free and passed into you, sometimes even a sliver of his ancient soul trapped inside that dead body—everything you feel, he feels, and vice versa. Fleeing the imminent extinction of these lands, you and Remmick seek refuge in each other once more, bound together. Eternally, for he would never let you sever this tie—unless he were dead. Past and future memories knot inside you. Here, now—all blood and teeth—you fuse with your maker, your sacrament, your eternal groom. 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: this particular piece was a deeply interesting and special writing experience for me: not only did i get to explore the hivemind concept, but i also played more freely with language and the essence of remmick as a character. so let me make one thing clear: it’s never my intention to distort the film’s canonical portrayal, but rather—through poetic license combined with the possibilities of fanfiction’s universe, PLUS the way i’ve absorbed and interpreted the character—my version of remmick (at least in my fics) might not be as literal as the original script. that said: here we have this scenario with a wife, which i initially imagine takes place before the film’s events, but the specifics of when, how, and where she was transformed are entirely up to your interpretation (before his arrival in the us in 1911? somewhere between the early or late middle ages? the modern era? europe, asia, or africa... let your imagination run wild ;) i’ve also paraphrased/incorporated certain very specific lines and moments from the film. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: +16 CONTENT. i think there's a lot of angst here and reader melancholy, so keep that in mind. use of some words in gaelic, i had to resort to good old google, if there is something wrong please tell me. remmik here it's (super) protective, almost toxic; hivemind concept explored, lots of internal dialogue, some gore (explicit description of blood and bruises), vampirism (blood consummation), and a slight sexual innuendo thrown in. 𝐖𝐂: 6k for whoever is going to read it, a great read! <3 likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :)

𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖬𝖨𝖢𝖪 𝖯𝖫𝖠𝖸𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳 | 𝖬𝖠𝖲𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳

"turn to me, and love me like you lacerate; just hold me down like i don’t need air." (air, shedfromthebody)

Your skin burned like Hell itself, which was kind of funny to think about: back when you were human, you loved spending your days under the hot sun, lying on the grass in the late afternoon and gazing up at the cloudless sky, where strange shapes would form just for you. You wasted away the days at the lake, naked, floating between water and sunlight, between cold and heat, simply existing.

Now, all you could feel was the searing pain ripping through your skin, sizzling in your ears like meat in a frying pan. Weak, you tried to run, but your legs wouldn’t obey, and your feet tangled with every step across the dry land, scattered with dead corn leaves. The rustle of the leaves irritated you, but what truly drove you mad were the screams echoing from behind, drowning out any coherent thought, merging with the heavy air that entered your lungs that no longer breathed. And that felt like a death sentence: not only the sun was paralyzing you, but also the distorted sounds that confused you, like a wounded animal, utterly disoriented.

You stopped in the middle of the cornfield, glancing around, trying to stay grounded, trying to reconnect the thread of thought between the two of you, searching through the suffocating haze for Remmick’s voice, calling him with panic and urgency, desperate for him to come save you. You looked at your shoulders: raw, scorched, smelling the acrid scent of burnt flesh rising from your own body. You shut your eyes, trying to find him, your voice lethargic: “Remmick… Remmick.”

Your vision began to darken, your body no longer felt like your own—it felt like it was floating, detaching, as if your soul—or what was left of it—was slipping out of you. Just like you’d felt a piece of yourself dying the last time you glimpsed sunlight through your human eyes, maybe ceasing to exist in that land would feel the same. All you had to do was slowly close your eyes, embrace the darkness once again, surrender to the searing fire that would extinguish you—and that would be it. You opened your eyes slowly, staring at the mighty sun before you: scorching, like your mother’s hugs, your grandmother’s kisses. Like Remmick’s grip when you were still human. Your entire body burned, tiny flames piercing through you, tears of blood trickling from your eyes. How long had it been since you felt even remotely human? All you had to do was give in, speak the one name that echoed in your mind, etched into your blood.

Remmick.

In poison and blood, within you. He was you and you were him. Remmick.

‘—Remmick, if you can hear me one last time, know that I—’

“Got you!” his voice came, rough and wounded, behind you. Firm hands grabbed you by the waist, your body partially covered by another, pressed against Remmick’s rigid frame. He whispered against your ear: “You’re safe, mo chroí (mu khree / my heart). Come with me.” He pulled you even tighter against his scorched body, shielding you like a protective shell, guiding you with quick steps into the heart of the cornfield. In the distance, the furious screams of some villagers echoed behind you. But despite the world turning into hell around you and everything seeming like the end, you felt safe in his arms.

Remmick looked back, staggering, using his sharp senses to search for any possible escape for the two of you. His left eye was swollen from the punch he took, combined with the sun’s deadly effect, and even with limited vision, he managed to find a way out from the horde chasing you.

You couldn’t stay upright. The sun’s weakness made it feel like your bones were nothing but dust beneath your scorched flesh. Tears of blood stung your eyes and soul, or whatever was trapped inside that immortal body, sharing a collective mind with Remmick and so many others before you. It longed desperately to escape this life and finally rest. But Remmick wouldn’t let that happen—oh no, let the pagan gods or the Christian God himself punish him with the harshest tortures if he did. You could feel that wrathful pain mixed with ancient rage flowing from him, harshly projected in flames and poisonous blood from him to you, as he nearly threw himself on top of you like a (scorched) leather jacket just to protect you. Madness. The voices grew longer, more indistinct, the hateful chorus fading, as Remmick, with his one good eye, searched for shelter.

Then, as if by magic, fate, or just the luck of some devil who still wanted to see you both wander through God's vast lands, there it was—a house beyond the edge of the cornfield. The perfect shelter. ‘Living food, darkness... —Remmick, don’t get your hopes up.—’ you thought back, replying to your creator’s voice with a sarcasm that didn’t quite match the moment. As always, he laughed—loudly, though the laugh came with dry, desperate gasps. He laughed. Even all fucked up, more than you, sizzling in pain and crying in despair to stay alive, he still found humor in his own misery.

“You’re getting real cheeky, huh, my little thing?”

“You’re the one who taught me to be like this, Remmy,” you managed to say, despite the bitter taste of blood rising in your throat—extremely unpleasant when it was your own blood boiling inside you. Remmick glanced over his shoulder, noticing for now that you were safe. He looked forward again, at what seemed like a mirage of a desolate wooden shack, dark, with the door and windows shut. It looked uninhabited to you. ‘—Love, don’t be so hopeless. Of course, there’ll be someone in there to be dinner. Or rather, lunch, given the time.—’ his voice cut through again, tugging you sideways, his hot and battered hand grabbing your forearm, where deep layers of your dermis were starting to show, making you let out a faint whimper. Remmick gave you an almost hurt look, immediately releasing his grip.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s fine. What’s a squeeze compared to almost melting under the sun, right?”

“You’re something else...” he muttered in disbelief, though his voice was laced with distress and anguish—a soft hint of the pain he was enduring. —If he died, you’d go with him by extension, in the worst possible way.— That was what was running through his disturbed mind, making you wonder whether you’d ever have a happy ending under those conditions. Remmick quickened his pace, and you followed beside him, feeling like the path to the house was more of a road to Hell than a material refuge. You were starting to believe it was a mirage and the Devil was waiting on the other side to welcome you both into his lap. ‘—Pathetic, darling. Pathetic.—’ ‘—Just like you, sweetheart.—’

Remmick ignored your retort, dragging himself up the steps, changing his expression as he began to shout for help. A wounded animal, fatally injured, a hoarse rasp clawing out of his throat, begging for help, pounding on the door with force. The sun’s haze was poisoning him—and therefore you—draining what little strength was left, forcing your bodies to absorb the foul smell of rotting flesh; even if your lungs didn’t breathe, they still had the cursed privilege of smelling. And even as supernatural beings, defying all human logic, you were still condemned to be inside those fragile bodies, exhaling the scent of flesh, blood, bone, thick saliva, venom, and a unique perfume your walking corpses carried. Not decay, but something more… floral? And that specific scent, like night-blooming jasmine in a graveyard or a dried rose in your garden, grew stronger as the mortal flesh imprisoning your immortal soul deteriorated.

Remmick kept pounding on the door and maybe—just maybe—with a little more effort, he’d become the first vampire to break the universal law by forcing his way in without being invited. He looked at you, distressed, his expression one of real pain. You pulled away from him, walking to a window layered in thick dust, wiping it with your palm. The cold, gritty surface scratched your sensitive skin even more. You peered inside and confirmed: ‘—There’s no one. It’s empty.—’ Remmick looked at you, almost dumbfounded, hearing your inner voice. He turned to the door, where simply twisting the doorknob opened it. The air inside was cold and stagnant, dust and mold, old wood and moth-eaten fabric, with an unwelcoming scent—but still, it carried that unmistakable smell of an uninhabited place. No human warmth or familiar energy.

Remmick was so relieved he dropped to his knees, like a devout soul who, tired of resisting sin, finally accepts divine punishment in good faith—arms open, body surrendering as he let himself fall into the house. You stood beside him, watching with a mixture of mercy for the poor wretch who was suffering, and with that sharp pain—hating, in a way, to share with him the memory and the collective sense of it all, because his pain was also yours.

Remmick crawled inside. You followed him, on your feet—weak, but standing. You looked one last time outside, toward the distance beyond the cornfield, where, by some divine mercy, those who had hunted you seemed to have gone. Just above, the burning afternoon sun pulsed like a condemning god, seated upon his sky-blue throne, mercilessly casting down his punishments upon you, poor wicked creatures.

You shut the door with a long groan, echoing the moan of the vampire now lying delicately at your feet—a strange sound between a whimper and the whine of a frightened dog. His hands were stretched above his head, face pressed to the floor, writhing from side to side, somewhere between fragile and furious at being forced into such a wretched state.

Through your mind, you could feel him tearing:

‘—These monsters will pay. As soon as the sun sets, I’ll hunt them one by one, haunt them in their homes, show them my wrath and my cruelty. Blood, blood… blood.—’

Your mind was now lapsing into a time far older than you, to a moment when Remmick’s humanity had been broken by the vampire’s curse—when the strangers came and took his land, his name, his faith. His prayers were converted, and all he saw before him were silver crosses and plaster Jesuses while he was taught the Lord’s Prayer. All of it disturbed you deeply. He clung so tightly to his roots that it made you feel everything: the fire of the scorched land, the spilled blood, the faithful ones he later killed one by one, the lands devastated by plague and by gold.

You closed your eyes, trying to impose your memories over his—to interrupt the bond that was bigger than either of you. You tried to think of blooming gardens bathed in sunlight, lazy afternoons of picnics and reading under trees, nights of endless dancing and joy.

Remmick stopped thrashing. His shoulders stilled, and his whimpers faded as he was slowly filled with his own memories, gradually regaining his strength and sobriety. He propped himself up on his arms—once feeble and lethargic, with bones eroded and flesh still scorched by burns—then raised himself and looked at you, a crooked smile forming on his lips:

“You’re always taking care of me, a aingeal.” (ah ang-yal | my angel).

“I was just trying to make you stop with those nightmares disguised as memories. I’m aching all over.” Your voice was somewhat harsh, despite your weakness, as you leaned your body against the wall, between the door and the window, where dust managed to dimly filter the sunlight. You were safe from the condemnation of the light.

Remmick rested his head. A look of sadness, lit by the darkness in his pupils, stirred something in your heart that no longer beat.

“I can’t let go of who I once was… even after all these years, there are pains that scar between our flesh and our soul, binding us to them forever…”

“I know. I know—” you smiled, somewhere between honesty and levity, trying to stay upright, feeling your body pulse and bleed, crying for healing. Remmick was in considerably better shape than you, even in his sorry state—his cotton shirt filthy with mud and dust, torn and bloodied from burned flesh; his pants tattered, shoes worn through, one bruised eye set into cadaverous skin with a polished hunger. He was enduring. The dark gifts made him far stronger than you. “—I’m just not in the best condition to relive those pains with you, not when mine are a little too real right now.”

Remmick nodded, drinking in your words, staring at you with glowing, coppery-red eyes—dim yet luminous—finally seeing your pain. His face twisted with worry and a flicker of anger as he staggered closer:

“Mo ghrá geal” (muh grah gyahl | my bright love), “they really hurt you, didn’t they…”

Then, Remmick recalled the grim scene when one of the townsfolk had found your hiding place—a house just as old and decrepit as the one you now sheltered in. The two of you were lying there together, side by side, entwined like tragic lovers, waiting for death—and maybe that had been part of the attraction, for just a few more seconds in that eternal rest, and you would have had a truly tragic end. Remmick remembered the moment the light from a blocked-out window was smashed through and the burn that followed. He opened his eyes instantly. You were still locked in your unshakable sleep when they grabbed you by the arms. He had fought men wielding torches and harvest tools. Then you saw it through his eyes: your body being pulled away—a blur. And you felt his fear and desolation as he fought off the frantic villagers to try and save you.

Then the man’s voice rang out again, clear and strong, a wounded hand touching your face with surprising gentleness:

“We almost didn’t make it out of there… If it had been closer to sunset, not a single one of those bastards would’ve made it—”

“Remmick.” His name traced your lips and tongue, thorny like the man himself. “They’re not to blame for acting the way they do—just like we, flawed murderous animals, once acted. They too have the right to want to destroy us. Wasn’t it you who taught me that human truth? That’s how we lived before we perished. That’s how we’ll go on existing, as long as we do.”

“Existing.” He clicked his tongue, and a sudden shadow passed through his eyes. For a second, his mind grew too clouded for you to read, to hear—but the visceral rage boiling in his venomous blood, oh, that you felt, bitter as it burned your dry throat. Dryness began to crack your lips. It weakened your warm body even more and made you feel the dark delusions start to crawl through the corners of your mind; that’s what happened when you weren’t fed—no matter how exceptional your self-control was, and even if you could resist without the human liquor for days, when you were in that state of true death, your body nearly collapsed.

Remmick dragged his pitiful, suffering gaze across your face. Around your minds, words in ancient Gaelic spun like ancestral chants—he was thinking about something beyond you.

His hand slid up to your face, grabbing your hair from behind, gripping it as he gently pulled it back, exposing the soft, burned, but still velvety skin of your neck. The cradle of your sacred blood—from where he had once drawn your human warmth into himself and given you, in return, the venom that turned you into him. And even though your heart no longer beat as before, when he first heard it, and your blood wasn’t warm enough to quench his thirst anymore, it was the vampire’s opium.

Remmick always thought of that comparison when he grazed his fangs lightly against your skin before penetrating it to anesthetize himself in your ecstasy:

‘—Your blood was sweet and warm when your heart throbbed between your ribs. But now, with my lymph and the poison of my being, it tastes better—bittersweet, undead. Our blood.—’

It made you moan and whimper.

Your hands pressed against his chest, palms open, trying to push him away from you:

“Remmy, are you sure about this?” you looked at him uncertainly, trying to find in him the assurance for the act.

Remmick didn’t answer you with words—not the kind spoken aloud:

“As weak as we are, there’s no one here, my love. Either we drink from each other, or we die like strays in this godforsaken place. Feed on my blood before you cease to exist…”

It wasn’t a request anymore by the time he was already pulling you closer to expose your neck, pressing his rough lips and sharp teeth against you, piercing the skin like needles.

Remmick held onto this belief that he didn’t need to ask much of you, because as you were one mind, everything he wanted was what you desired too.

Your eyes closed as you felt your flesh torn by his fangs—hard against your skin, like a stiff piece of leather being pierced by a sharp knife—until it reached where the blood, crawling weakly through your body, began to emerge in thick sobs, filling his mouth with your syrupy, bloody liquor. You were consumed by the burning and the sensation of ecstasy the act gave you, your body floating in the hands of the man who groaned with primal pleasure at being nourished by your life source.

Remmick also held the belief that since you carried his seed—that divine-profane gift of eternal life within your blood—through the consummation of acts and the laws of an ancient soul, you were part of a whole that pulsed with life. His life, yours, and those who would come after you both, all connected through that cursed and blood-stained lineage.

You squirmed restlessly in his hands. His claws were already out, tangled in your hair, scratching your waist as he held you as close as possible, bound to his pleading kiss.

Remmick whispered to you in thought:

“Mine, mine, mo mhianta (muh vee-an-tah / my desire), my life, my blood…”

—like a prayer, a rosary he recited bead by bead, his body burning as he inevitably felt his venom enter you.

“Remmick—” your voice was pure wine of death, your nose the iron scent of flesh, your mind a stupor of souls that preceded you, strange voices you had learned empirically, faintly recalling the vampire Remmick who crushed you between teeth and acid; “—I think that’s enough, my love.”

Remmick let out an exasperated groan that vibrated against your mark, sucked a final portion of blood vigorously, licked the flesh slowly, then rose, revealing his face intact and free of wounds, his chin smeared with your crimson iron honey, eyes shimmering like copper pearls between iron and bloodlust. He smiled at you—there was heavy panting from paused lungs, a fresh breath, an almost spiritual renewal of his being.

“You are so delicious, blood of my blood, that it’s impossible not to want to drain your last blessed drop.”

He laughed—cursed and amused—raising his wrist to his own lips, biting it as if biting a pomegranate that exploded between his teeth, flesh and juice dripping at the corners of his mouth already stained with your blood; he extended his open wrist to you like bread to the dying, an offering to his god, waiting with generous eyes burning in the insane passion of his soul for yours.

His mouth salivated with the yearning to take it for himself, to drink from that wine that intoxicated you once and every time you drank it—in nights of lust where you feasted on the delights of the flesh, it intoxicated you.

There were sparks in your chest that burned from Remmick’s venom in your body, making you remember when he took you for himself, forever; Remmick appeared like a chorus behind you, chasing you through the darkness of forests and ancient buildings, ruins of nights wandering without meaning, inviting you to let him enter you repeatedly, giving him what he wanted, feeding the beast with your youthful joy, the beating heart—that which he had lost centuries ago, perhaps millennia. Life.

And once, proving that his love for blood and pain was greater than all lust or pleasure given to you, he offered you his ultimate love: he penetrated you with teeth and curses, buried memories imposed on you, suffocating you, watching you die before him, rot like a flower once beautiful and vibrant, now dry and hardened. Watching you rise with bright eyes and his bestial thirst, laughing and dancing with him, celebrating your new self. Or was it a piece of him, while you were trapped between so many layers of the one who created you?

And yet there you were, looking at him with veneration and anguish, taking his wrist with your misshapen fingers, claws that extended in excessive knots, placing your mouth against the torn hole that poured that offering of his flesh.

Oh, Remmick had your flavor too.

Sweet death he exhaled, primal sex and poisoned wine.

Feeding you slowly, bringing through that damned mortal sap your salvation.

You felt yourself revive, whining softly against his wrist, looking with complicity as Remmick watched you with the pleasure of pleasures on his face: parted lips, arched brows, eyes sparkling with desire and ardor. You smiled back, returning that passion, a hiss escaping from his mouth, pleasure bending between the memories shared through blood. His mouth detached from the bite’s embrace, a dull snap of flesh pulling away, the vampire’s blood dripping in sticky, thick drops like a whip on the wooden floor, a small pool of that iron blood separating you both.

He tilted his head back, satisfied, with a jubilation of pearl-ruby teeth, saying full of himself:

“Now we’re better!” He laughed between his teeth, while you felt his blood slide through you, healing the stigmata on your skin, slowly and pleasurably renewing you—him crawling between your bones and flesh, burrowing deeper into you as he pierced you with those eyes.

Remmick drew closer, your hands returned to normal, fingers caressing your now-soft skin, leaning down to kiss your lips with the sweetness of his honey staining them crimson, whispering through your mind:

‘—All we need now is rest, and once night falls, we can celebrate this moment together.—’

Eternal promises. As always, typical of him.

You welcomed him with open lips, tongue caressing his, you and he merging—blood and saliva, venom and the growls from the depths of your thirsty throats, your hands tangling into each other, desperate grips of bodies that loved each other through finite eternity.

…

In your dreams — or in that cathartic state of complete darkness of rest — all you had in your mind were the outlines of dreams of humans who had wandered through the eternities beside Remmick. You were a peasant in Irish lands, an English priest with golden teeth, a mathematician in Arabia, a physician from Prussian soil, a single mother prostituting herself in the streets of Whitechapel; everything and everyone. You were a pagan elder turned faithful parish priest. A hopeful young woman turned the vilest of executioners. Everything and everyone — and him.

Him.

Emerging in red, blue, purple, and black, from the shadows, blood dripping from his chin, stealing souls and stories like a devoted collector, a historian digging through pages and pages for what might fill his own gaps. Remmick pulled you by the hand like a savior — or a beast. That blurred in the shadows and forms, as he brought you into the light.

The light of consciousness, of being awake, of knowing night had finally fallen and you could once again wander among humans.

You opened your eyes with a sharp blink, seeing through a timid penumbra lit by a single candle — who knows where the hell Remmick had found it — exhaling, while he gently caressed your face, the tip of his finger tapping lightly against your nose, a serenity on his face that, under the warm golden light, almost seemed human. You smiled, rubbed your eyes, and let out a vocal exhale — a human habit you’d kept not to feel so detached from your nature — wetted your lips, surprised by the nudity of the man sitting at your side on that old bed, hard mattress, rickety frame that had served perfectly for your rest.

At the window, beyond the drawn curtain, a few wooden planks nailed to keep sunlight out were now opened, allowing the pale-silver glow of a Full Moon to shine on you. Between the bluish-gray mingling with the candle’s yellow-red, his slender and muscular body — shaped by the years when he was just a man of the land, using his bare strength — stood naturally before you.

His face, smiling at you tenderly, was damp, drops of water clinging to his nose, ears, and chin. A scent of dried flowers and soap wafted from his pale skin. His voice was soft:

“Come with me, a aingeal,” (ah ang-yal | my angel), “let’s take a bath to wash off this infernal day.”

Laughter spilled from both your mouths — irony mixed with ease — as his hand gently pulled you up, guiding you barefoot across the wooden floor, echoing down a narrow hallway toward what must have been the bathroom. Remmick nodded toward the wooden bathtub. Beside it, atop a chair, several candles were stuck upright with their own melted wax, casting a flickering light beside the moonlight that poured silver through the window.

“I cleaned it a bit before using, fetched some water from the well, and luckily found some flowers and a dried-up bar of soap lying around. Seems like the people who lived here left in a hurry — there’s still canned food and clothes in some closets. Let me help you!”

He placed the candle on the chair and undressed you, slipping off your dress and tossing it aside, smiling at your nudity, placing his hands at your waist as if admiring a statue sculpted by his own hands — a creation of his creation.

“Sit down. I’ll bathe you...” he said in a velvet tone, guiding your body into the cold water, which wrapped around your skin as he began to rub it with water, fragrant flower petals, and diluted soap.

And there you sat, still, watching him care for you — though you knew well what he was thinking.

‘—The hunt, the revenge against those who inflicted pain on us and—’

“Remmy…”

Your hand found his, pulling him from the depths of his thoughts, gripping the hand that tended to you, “...stop, at least for now. Just think of something else.”

“What else could I possibly think about?”

“In other things, I don’t know, think about music, about dance, about me...”

“I don’t need to think about those things because they’re already in me, darling. It’s almost a pleonasm, as that old professor we ate once said, remember?”

“The one we ate? What an absurd thing to say!”

“Sweetheart, seriously?” Remmick tilted his head to the side, a mischievous little smile playing on his lips. He stopped rubbing the dried blood off his neck to look at you with cynicism. “You, of all people, who loves sinking your teeth into those juicy necks that show up for us!? You, blood of my blood, my own creation, poison of my poison who...” he paused, narrowing his eyes, his voice coming out in a thin whisper, “loves sinking those pretty little teeth of yours into the most unusual places!?”

A daring finger touched your lips, slipping between them, lightly scraping your canine with its nail. You stared at him calmly, studying him in that unashamed nakedness, amused by you. Rolling your eyes, you pushed his hand away from your mouth.

“Pathetic. That’s what you are sometimes.”

“I love you too, my darlin’.” He chuckled through his teeth, returning to wiping the bloodstain from his skin, focusing on the act. Even in that silence made of voices loudly spoken, your minds were speaking through images, memories flowing back and forth in a stream of consciousness, undulating like the water that surrounded your body, tracing that eternal conversation you both had. Deep down you knew he wanted to go out hunting, to get drunk on fresh human blood, and then return to this shelter, take you in his arms and possess you in the most animalistic way possible. But on your end, you still felt his venom lingering through your body, the blood that had served as both nourishment and healing still casting a haze over your senses. Ancient blood from someone who had lived so long it carried stigmas. Strong, dense, defiled, concentrated.

Remmick finished scrubbing you, stood up from your side, and left the room, staying outside for a few minutes, leaving you immersed in the water and the moonlight. Thinking. For a moment, your mind seemed to detach from his, floating through the corridors of your own being—you saw yourself among humans, walking barefoot, feeling that burning thirst in your throat, the bile of anger tormenting you even as your melancholy made you ethereal; sucking foreign blood, capturing life stories for yourself. Remmick reached out a hand to you—a claw—with the ghastly smile of all the dead, always whispering to you: “Mo mhianta” (muh vee-an-tah / my desire), in your mother tongue. Remmick… Remmick. The one who created you and now was you too, part of your desires, part of your life, part of your soul. Would you ever be able to break away from that guiding thread? From the one who offered you both death and life? Would you be able to disconnect and be just… you?

Remmick emerged from the darkness of the house, carrying a bundle of clothes in his hands, wearing a pair of soft-fabric pants, his torso still bare. He smiled with those secrets he could hide from you between his lips:

“No, I believe that if one day you no longer belong to me, I’ll probably be dead.”

“Reading my thoughts again?”

The question was practically rhetorical, laced with a certain bitterness you couldn’t hold back. Standing before you, the vampire handed you the clothes.

“I am them. Even when you try to escape through the corners of your thoughts, I’m there.” Remmick smiled, sharp teeth glinting, a suggestion shining in his eyes like a beast ready to kill.

“Come on, love, the night is a child crying to be fed.”

“Smartass,” you hissed through your teeth, rolling your eyes. When you rose from the bathtub, your eyes suddenly caught sight of two figures approaching in the distance. Remmick didn’t even need to be warned—he was already spying from the corner of the window, his thoughts starting to hiss like a rabid wolf growling, thirsty for blood and slaughter. He turned his face toward you, a sharp smile while his eyes tiled the blood of the defeated. His tongue was a blade between needle-sharp teeth:

“We shall have a special feast, my love!”

…

The house was dark.

Its scent was of dust and stagnant wood, dry and moldy. In the background, you could catch the smell of melted wax. No noise. When that couple stepped into the house, shotguns in hand, eyes wide with fear, all they wanted was to play heroes for the little town—hunt the monsters that had been parasitizing the area and receive applause for their brave deeds. Fueled by fear and pride, they wanted to hold in their hands the heads of those two who had earlier been hunted and, for some reason, had disappeared; and there they were, in that shack abandoned for weeks—maybe months—eyeing each other with unease.

The woman said, glancing around the first room, a lantern serving as a flashlight:

“I don’t think it was a good idea to come here at night…”

“Nonsense, woman—we’ll catch those monsters before they go messing around with anyone else,” the man shrugged, walking toward the hallway, the woman right behind him—until she heard a little noise beside her, at the open door.

The man kept walking, oblivious to his wife, heading toward the back of the house, finding a side room with its door ajar—he pushed it open the rest of the way with the barrel of the shotgun, the wooden door creaking slowly, revealing a bed.

And a woman lying on it, back turned. Naked.

A shiver ran down his spine, his breath grew heavy, heart pounding against his ribs, and beyond all that, a wicked voice called him to approach her—that nest of lust and desire. Ignoring his partner, he let curiosity and depravity take over. He lowered his weapon, step by step, now close to the woman’s body, his hand trembling as it reached toward her, while the other held the lantern swaying noisily at his side, its yellow light flickering across the sleeping body.

“Have mercy on me!”

A high-pitched scream came from deeper in the house. The man startled and turned, dropping the lantern to the floor, where it shattered and sparked into flames. He raised his weapon again, spinning around—only to find a man behind him.

Eyes glowing with an inhuman red glint.

A macabre grin stained with blood painted his chin, his neck, his bare chest.

A rustle behind him made his knees weaken with fear; a cold gust of air fed the fire now licking at the wooden floor. He looked over his shoulder and saw you awake—eyes just as luminous as the monster in front of him, thick saliva dripping from your chin.

As he tried to scream, a hand clamped over his mouth—metallic blood flooded his tongue.

A tear welled up in his eye.

The vampire’s voice in front of him rasped out, bestial and raw:

“Shhhh… Shhhh… Don’t cry now. Didn’t your mother teach you it’s wrong to mess with someone else’s woman?”

And he laughed—demonic—gripping the man’s throat, nearly choking him, as you remained behind, salivating for the living blood pulsing through his arteries. Remmick looked at you from the side, tilting his head, his voice undulating between the three of you like a serpent shaking its venom:

“Darling, your wife was delicious! I hope you taste just as good for my wife!”

The man screamed with all the air in his lungs, while Remmick offered him up like an animal for ritual slaughter—offering him to you. And you took him from behind, draining him with the ease of mortality—no pity, no hesitation.

Remmick watched you with affection and admiration, something growing inside him with the euphoric pleasure of a successful hunt. When you finished draining the man, his corpse now at your feet, he held out his hand to you.

You took it, letting him lead you out of that room to the front of the house, where the open door allowed the silvery light to touch your naked body, your face covered in scarlet—just like his. Remmick cupped your face in his hands, looking at you with his soul reflected in your eyes:

“My girl, how do you feel?”

“Perfect. Just a little… overwhelmed. I think it’s the thrill of the hunt.”

“Good—” he murmured, leaning in to capture your lips in a wet, filthy kiss—saliva and blood, soft tongue brushing pearly teeth. When he pulled away, a string of bloody spit still connected your mouths.

“—'Cause now, you’ll let me take care of you, darlin’. The way you deserve.”

You felt him penetrate you through the soul, his hands pulling you close into the kiss of the dead upon your lips, speaking to you through your minds:

‘—Let me take care of you, darling, let me take care of you, let me show you how good I can be for you…—’

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒: maybe it deviated a little from the initial concept of the request (idk), but this one was by far one of the fanfics with Remmy that i enjoyed writing the most, it's side-by-side with my fanfic involving priests, religion, Christian guilt, vampirism, remmick and other little things…

#[★] zstartrixxx #remmick x reader #remmick x you #remmick fanfic #remmick sinners #remmick #[⋆♱⋆] zstar fanfics #jack o'connell fanfic #remmick × you #remmick × reader #[R] zstar fanfic request #[🦇] zstar jack o'connell #Spotify

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paranoiddreams · 5 months ago

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Ch.1 - Spare Tire

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tags/warnings — allusions to death, grief, overall really angsty, assassin!toji, Nobara was adopted by Nanami, Yuji lives with his grandpa and big brother!Sukuna, mamafushiguro is mentioned (not sure if I want to give her a specific name yet), Toji is depressed, Megumi asks a lot of questions, descriptions of murder and killing, one allusion to alcohol consumption, not a lot since this is the first chapter hehe, reader is very confusing and mysterious rn but her side of the story is coming next!

WC — 3.48 k

a/n — oh my god thank you all so so much for all of the support that this series is getting so far!! Chapter one hasn’t even come out yet (until now obviously) and so many people are excited for this series like I am! This chapter is pretty angsty, but we need to hurt before the comfort 🥹 It’s also more of Megumi and Toji but the next chapter will be reader’s POV! I want to make this a story with heavy plot lines, but also with fluff that makes up for the hurt. It’s also a pretty self indulgent series since it’s my first on here lol.

Nobara’s small fingers braid strands of Megumi’s jet-black hair as Yuji spins on the swing wildly next to them. His cherry blossom colored locks are already sticking up from the tiny braids Nobara attempted to put in his hair as well, but gave up after deeming it too short.

“Have you guys ever lost your parents?” Megumi asks as he kicks the rocks below his feet. The chains of the swing holding him up creak as he slowly sways, adding onto the usual ambiance of recess.

“What? Like in the store?” Nobara asks from behind him, still working on his loose braids with her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth.

“Mmm, maybe,” he mumbles, green eyes looking up into the cloudless sky as he thinks. “I didn’t get to ask.”

“Sukuna lost me in the mall once,” Yuji chimes in, his lisp slipping through when he says his brother’s name. “He told me that if I told my grandpa then he’d lose me on purpose next time!”

Nobara clicks her tongue, shaking her head disapprovingly. “You’re both stupid—my daddy always says that I have to stay by his side when we go somewhere because someone bad could try and take me.”

Megumi shakes his head slightly, wincing when Nobara’s fingers pull a strand of his hair roughly. “I was at the car shop with my dad and a woman gave me a quarter for the gumball machine,” he explains, “I got a blue one.”

“You took the quarter?!” She suddenly shrieks, as if he had just stepped on her toes.

“Yes,” he says blankly. “She asked where my dad was, and when I told her about Betty, she said that she lost her dad.” Megumi explains, trying to remember everything the woman said with all of his might.

Yuji’s gaze snaps away from a cloud he was ogling shaped like a duck, back to Megumi. “What?! She lost him?”

“Yeah,” the boy confirms.

A short silence falls over them as Nobara finishes with trying to drain Megumi’s hair, sitting on the third swing.

“Maybe he passed away,” She sighs solemnly. “My daddy’s mom died before he adopted me.”

Yuji gasps softly. “Yeah maybe!”

Megumi shakes his head. “No, I asked her that,” he says.

Nobara pulls one of the practice braids she weaved into his hair, an angry expression on her tiny face.

“Ouch! What was that for?!”

“Why would you ask someone that? How rude!”

Megumi looks down at his old beat up shoes, a wave of embarrassment heating his face. “She said he didn’t,” he mutters.

“Then what happened?”

Nobara and Yuji both look at him in search of an explanation; but Megumi looks as if he’s searching for one as well.

“I don’t know,” he says, “we left before she told me.”

Megumi had spent the rest of the day thinking about the woman and what she could’ve possibly meant. He knew what loss was—the concept of death wasn’t lost on him. But how else could someone lose someone else?

He even asked his dad when they got home, but he was only met with an “I don’t know kid,” before he watched him disappear into the garage to work on the car.

“Maybe you can help her find him,” Yuji’s enthusiastic voice makes Megumi wince slightly.

“Maybe my dad can,” he theorizes, looking up in thought, “he said he finds people sometimes for his job…”

…

Toji’s nail beds are caked with blood and dirt, as well as the material of his sweats.

“Damn it, fuck!” He hisses under his breath. He just washed them, the memory of the journey to the laundromat still present in his mind; Megumi’s stubborn attitude, the long wait, and the stares from concerned mothers and old men.

He’s only snapped out of his temporary agitation when he hears the sound of a blaring train horn in the distance—it’s nearly sunset, which is how he knows that he’s taken way too much time on this job.

As Toji walks to the back of the abandoned building where he parked, he unstraps all of his knives and guns from his body. He opens the passenger door before throwing them inside, right under the loose floorboard. His gaze drifts to the back before closing the door, spotting Megumi’s car seat still strapped into the seat. With a sigh, he slams the passenger door closed and gets into the driver’s side, speeding off before anyone could catch sight of him.

The radio in his car doesn’t work, so the drive home is quiet, as usual. It hasn’t worked for the past 5 years, but Toji’s just never gotten around to replacing it. So he’s gotten used to the silence during morning drives to Megumi’s school, or the ride back from a bloody job worth a few weeks of food on the table.

He was never much of a music guy anyways, and funnily enough, Megumi never was either.

When Toji pulls into the driveway of his house that’s never truly felt like a home, he sighs in relief knowing that Megumi is back from school. But before he opens the front door, he takes a deep breath, ready for a usual evening home. When he does walk in though, it’s just as silent as it was outside.

“Megumi,” Toji calls out, dropping his car keys onto the kitchen table. He spots papers of math equations and grammar practice filled out next to a glass of juice in his usual spot.

“I’m home,” Toji calls out again. He steps into the hallway, the sound of his steel-toed boots echoing loudly against the tile. When he’s only met with silence again, he turns his head to look down the hall towards his son’s bedroom, beams of his yellow night light pouring through his slightly ajar door. He slowly walks over to peek his head in. But all he finds is Megumi fast asleep in his bed, his Spider-Man blanket wrapped around his little body. He’s still wearing his shoes, and his hand is dangling off the end of the mattress, but he looks just as comfortable as ever; like a grown man who’s passed out after a few too many beers. A bit of drool drips from the side of his mouth, onto the pillow under his head. His black hair is a mess around his face.

Toji doesn’t know how he could’ve created something so…small and innocent. He isn’t sure how so much good came from him. But then he catches his son in moments like these, when he’s asleep, or playing outside with his friends, and remembers that beautiful face he’s tried to forget for so long.

Some days, Toji can’t even look at him without seeing her.

…

Megumi wakes up to the sound of his dad’s heavy work boots clomping around in and out of the open garage. He rubs his eyes with his small hand before hopping out of bed and waddling sleepily out of his room.

“Daddy?” He calls out into the empty hall.

Toji peeks around the corner, coming out of the garage. “Get dressed kid,” he says, “we’re going back to the car shop.”

Megumi pulls his hand away from his droopy eyes and looks up at his dad. He looks tired, and if he had to guess, that could only mean he spent the night sitting on the back porch drinking his ‘grown-up juice’.

“Betty’s broken again?” He asks.

“Nah, we just need a spare tire.”

The little boy cocks his head to the side, emerald eyes trained on his father to try and decipher the meaning behind his words.

“Just go get dressed and we can get breakfast after, yeah?”

A rare smile creeps onto Megumi’s face and he nods his head adamantly, his messy locks falling over his eyes. He turns around and speeds down the hall towards his room, his tiny feet pattering against the tile.

Toji warms up the car as he waits for Megumi to get dressed, the garage door wide open. He hears two distant voices across the street, and when he looks up he spots the familiar blonde business man he’s lived in front of for 3 years now. His daughter, Nobara, is tugging on his coat while rambling on about something that Toji can’t make out from where he is.

Nanami’s wife walks out behind them a moment later after locking the front door. She skips over to him and kisses his cheek before picking Nobara up and putting her into the backseat of their car. The little girl’s laughter echoes through the neighborhood, along with the chirps of morning birds singing, and Toji finds himself slightly annoyed.

Does the world have to be so sunny and beautiful while he goes on feeling like he’s stuck? Did the world have to keep spinning after his crumbled right in front of him?

Nanami’s car pulls out of the driveway, the happy family waving at Toji from inside as they drive away down the road. He lets out a low sigh and unlocks his own car, just as the garage door opens.

“I’m ready,” Megumi says when he walks out in a shirt and shorts he put on quickly.

Toji helps him into the back of the car, making sure he’s strapped into his car seat tightly before getting into the driver’s seat himself. He pulls out of the driveway and into the morning sun, immediately putting his visor down to block his rusty green eyes from the rays.

“Daddy, do you remember that lady that was at the car place last time?” Megumi asks as they drive onto the main roads.

Toji’s eyes flicker up to the rear view mirror for a moment to look at his son before the face of the woman his son is referring to pops back up into his mind. He hadn’t given her a thought since that night a few days ago, when Megumi asked him about something the woman told him. But he can barely even remember what that something was since he seldom comes up for air when he drowns himself in work.

“I do,” Toji answers Megumi after a few moments of reminiscing about the woman. He faintly remembers the name y/n attached to the image of her face in his mind. “What about her, kid?”

Megumi looks out the window as he speaks to his father, watching as the traffic lights turn green and red. “I told Nobara and Yuji about how her dad was missing,” he says. “They said that I should ask you to find him for her.”

Toji’s eyes fly back up to the rear view mirror, his scarred lip twitching slightly. “What?”

“I told them that you find people for your job sometimes,” Megumi confirms, “so they said you should find that lady’s dad.”

A soft sigh fills the car, Toji running his fingers through his hair. His face is one of a father’s whose child just asked him what death is. His face carried the same expression when a 4 year old Megumi first asked him what he did for a living to put food on the table and buy his favorite animal crackers.

Toji just didn’t have the heart to tell him what he’s really doing when he’s not home. He doesn’t have it in him to look Megumi in the eyes and tell him that he kills people he only knows the names of for a couple grand.

So, he told him the least monstrous part of his profession.

“I find people.”

It was a meek response compared to the reality of things. He wishes he would have prepared more, maybe before he took the job, just so he had an answer for what he does. And maybe why. But he stopped looking for those answers a long time ago.

“I can’t just find y/n’s dad, it doesn’t work like that,” Toji says after a long pause. He doesn’t even realize the woman’s name slipped from his lips until he hears Megumi softly repeating it to himself in the back.

“Why not?” He asks, expression blank, as if the answer was owed to him.

Toji clears his throat. “Because, it just doesn’t, Megumi. Mr. Shiu gives me my…clients.”

Megumi’s ears perk at the familiar name of his father’s boss. Couldn’t his dad just save the day for once?

“Then can’t you ask Mr. Shiu to talk to her?”

Megumi just wishes that he could say anything but, “My dad finds people,” when it’s his turn to share in class. Because then, when he only manages to get confused looks in return, they ask about his mom. And he’s not sure what to say about her either.

“Can’t, kid. I only know her first name.”

Toji’s not sure why he’s even saying this; even if he did happen to know y/n’s last name he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Not even mentioning the fact that people who don’t want to be found will not be found.

“Besides,” he adds on as he pulls into the parking lot of the car shop, “she probably doesn’t want to find him.”

Megumi’s confusion only grows.

“Daddy, why? He’s her dad.”

Toji’s hit, yet again, with another question he doesn’t know how to answer without wanting to smoke a cigarette. He turns his head to look over his shoulder at the all too curious seven year old.

“Well, she’s not a kid anymore, so there’s probably a reason she doesn’t know where he is. Some people just don’t talk to their parents after a while,” he explains slowly. “I don’t.”

Megumi’s eyes widen with realization before he looks out of the car window, the sun just starting to fully rise into the sky. His little face scrunches in thought before he looks back at Toji.

“Will I talk to you when I’m older, daddy?”

A moment of silence passes through the car, sending a chill down both of their spines. The answer Megumi is looking for is one Toji is afraid to even consider.

…

The glass door of the car shop swings open, a small bell chiming as Megumi scuttles in with Toji trailing behind him. He goes immediately to the front counter to talk to a bald man with glasses, the owner of the shop, about the spare tire for Betty.

Megumi takes it upon himself to wander away as soon as the words the two men are exchanging turn into a jumble of adult words. He looks immediately for the two rusty gumball machines near the front window; and to his immense surprise, there’s already a figure standing in front of one.

He dashes towards the machines, turning his head up to look at the figure’s face. And just as he suspected, there she is.

“Oh,” it comes out almost as a question, “the gumball police are back.”

“You’re back,” Megumi retorts, pointing a small finger up at her, “y/n.”

She smiles softly, putting a hand in her pocket. “You remembered? Smart kid.”

He smiles ever so slightly, deciding to leave out the fact that his dad is the one who remembered and reminded him in the car during their conversation.

“I told my dad to find your dad,” Megumi says, tilting his head slightly as he looks up at y/n. “He said that there’s probably a reason you don’t know where he is though—because you’re not a kid, or something.”

Y/n lets out a soft laugh, a little taken aback at how much this kid remembers about their encounter just a few days ago.

“Your dad’s right, there is a reason. There’s a lot of them, actually,” she says, not really knowing why she’s explaining this to a kid. Y/n has always been a brutally honest person, but she’s never met anyone bold enough to actually match it; but now, this kid she bribed with a quarter one time knows about one of her tightly sealed secrets.

“Megumi, what did I say about running off—“

Toji, just like their last trip to the car shop, interrupts a conversation between his son and y/n, the woman who ‘can’t find her dad’.

“You again,” he boasts, as if he’d expected this, “y/n.”

“Toji,” she counters, his name falling from her lips with ease. “It is me, again.”

“You come to this shop often? Or should I be worried about you stalking me?”

Megumi looks up at his dad, a little hand tugging on his pants. He wants to ask if his dad really thinks y/n is stalking them, but when he sees his scarred lip curl into a smile, something he hasn’t seen in a while, he has his answer.

“Yeah, I’m stalking an old man and his kid,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. The same subtle smirk that Toji has on his face settles on her’s as well.

“Old man? I really wouldn’t expect a girl who’s barely an adult to determine if I’m old or not,” Toji says.

Y/n’s smirk turns into a soft smile as she shakes her head. “I can assure you, I am an adult,” she says, looking into Toji’s eyes, “and a woman, not a girl.”

He only raises a brow in response, feeling a burning sensation in his chest as she quickly snaps back at him with the same passive aggressive tone as him. By now, most women would be scoffing and walking away.

“Megumi,” Toji looks down at the now scowling boy; his conversation was yet again interrupted by his dad and he is not happy about it. “Take this,” he says before reaching into his pocket to get a quarter, “and get a gumball while I get the spare tire for Betty and put it in the trunk.”

Megumi looks up at his dad for a moment, before turning to put the quarter into the gumball machine. As he turns the metal knob he hears his dad, and y/n, walk over to the counter of the car shop.

“What a coincidence this is,” Toji says once they’re far enough away from his son, in front of the counter where he was just speaking to the owner; the bald man is still in the back of the shop looking for his tire size. “Makes me think I should ask for your number.”

Y/n mirrors Toji’s stance, huffing out a soft laugh. “Really? What exactly makes you think you need my number?”

“Because,” he says in the same unconvinced tone as her, “I’ve lived here for a while now and I’ve never seen you around.”

He says this with some truth mixed in with his sarcasm; he feels as if he’s met nearly everyone in this small part of town, and never once has he seen this woman. But now he’s run into her again, and in the same place no less. He also knows that if she even has a car, it’s not here; only his, and the owner’s are parked out front.

“But,” he continues, “this is the second time this week we’ve met.”

“Via your son,” y/n adds.

“Yes, the brat,” Toji huffs. “He’s always running off…”

“Well, if you must know,” she sighs after a moment, “I grew up here. I’m back again.”

The man’s eyes run up and down her face, searching for any sign of dishonesty; after being in his profession for as long as he has, he’s adopted the ability to tell when someone is telling the truth, or maybe only half of it. Because humans are predictable. The people around him are all the same, morally weak, copies of one another.

But Toji can tell that y/n is telling the truth—she’s not like the people he’s used to being around, she’s unlike anyone he’s met, which he believes he could bet a lot of money on despite this only being their second conversation.

Although, he can also tell there’s something that she isn’t telling him.

The two are suddenly interrupted when the sound of the owner’s heavy boots interrupt them as he returns from the back of the shop. He lays the spare tire Toji requested onto the counter, a sleazy smirk on his face as he looks between him and y/n.

Toji huffs and stares the grimey man down as he grabs the tire, before turning his head to look at her again.

“Well, y/n,” he says with a softer expression than before. “It was nice to see you—again.”

He then turns around to walk away from her, prepared to call for Megumi, who’s now tapping impatiently on the glass bowl of the gumball machine. But he stops when he hears a soft giggle followed by y/n’s voice:

“Gonna give up on my number that easily?”

Toji turns around with an incredulous smile on his face and feels something inside of him come back to life after being dead and gone what feels like centuries.

♡🏷️: @palmtreepanik0 @nina-from-317 @your-mum3000 @dahwcwb @weeezeerrss @just-lilita @averyjadedemerald @pinkhoneydrop @gina239 @tojisrealwifey @teacuup @cor-asomatum @newcina @deathrye @yoymii @evilari111 @sonakshrs @gradmacoco @edgyficuselastica @yourgirljasmine5 @Ivrndkoo @kaiparkerwifes @evilari111 @sonakshrs @llamatravel @ourfinalisation @aiahmwah @xoxoblueyy @1lastair @lavenderdaydream97 @imnotlurkingherepls @idkccdfnfz @amortsukii-writes @totallygyomeiswife @vehuzzzz @tinytinalifes @youngwizardfox if I forgot anyone I apologize!! Please let me know if you want to be on the permanent tag list in the comments below!

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writersmacchiato · 1 year ago

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Three Years | Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Summary: You see Edmund and Lucy again in the most unexpected of places after their departure three years earlier.

Warnings: kissing (between Edmund x reader)

. . .

Salt.

It was misting over your face, tangy as it melted on your tongue.

The sun was just rising over the horizon, the endless blues of the sea turning golden and pink as they reflected the light.

Besides the creaking of the ship, and the shuffling of feet below deck as the crew began to stir and rise for the day, all was silent.

You had been waking up early every day since the voyage had begun. Without any reason, drawn to the crow’s nest in the misty grays of dawn before the rest of the world awakened. Watching the sunrise from the perfect spot.

The day would be like any other that had come before.

When Caspian, in all his kingly charm, had requested that you accompany him on this trip to the ends of the world you had been expecting more dangerous conquests. All you had battled so far was seasickness.

“Good morning. See anything?” The aforementioned king called up his usual greeting to you, hair ruffling in the cool breeze.

“Sea and more sea!”

You don’t hear it but can imagine the chuckle he releases through the rise and fall of his shoulders as he walks away to resume his check of the ship.

The sun continues to rise higher and higher into the sky, a cloudless day stretching away. You had snuck away to catch a moment of quiet in the crow’s nest.

Watching the empty waves was beginning to bore you.

When.

It couldn’t be-

“Caspian!” You yelled, jumping over the wooden beams that held you aloft. Grabbing hold of the rope to slide down, all the while yelling Caspian’s name.

“What is it?”

“There on the eastern starboard, I saw something. Someone.”

Caspian runs to the railing, quickly yelling orders at the crew to begin a rescue.

Rescue?

You’re too stunned by the possibility of a rescue to react when Caspian himself dives into the water. You’ve been watching the waters - there have been no sightings of any boats or ships for days now. Not even a rowboat.

The creak of the pulley grabs your attention, dragging first Caspian into view and then the young girl huddled against his side.

It couldn’t possibly be-

Lucy Pevensie. Daughter of Eve.

She shouts your name and crashes into you with little grace. You don’t care that she’s dripping water everywhere, returning her fierce embrace.

“Oh Lucy.” You can’t help the wide smile.

And then you see him, standing besides Caspian with his own smile looking at you.

“Edmund.” You breathe so quietly you aren’t sure you say anything, but Lucy pulls away and beckons her brother over.

He says your name just as quietly and gets close enough for you to touch him but he doesn’t make the first move, just looking and looking.

“Well come here!” You wrap your arms around him, relishing the way he grabs onto you gently. Almost shyly.

He whispers your name again, to himself, committing every bit of this to memory. He thought he remembered everything; but now he realizes how much he’s forgotten. The way you felt against him, the feel of your hair against his face, the way you smell.

A piercing scream cuts your reunion short, and Edmund has even more reason to despise his cousin when he feels the loss of your warmth against him.

“Welcome aboard the Dawn Treader.”

. . .

Edmund tried to fall asleep, he truly did.

The creaking of the ship and the swaying of his hammock made of his stomach roll, but he could’ve adapted to it if it wasn’t for the snoring of Eustace. He also couldn’t stop thinking about you and how much his heart swelled, almost painfully, when he thought about the look on your face when you saw him. Like you were happy to see him.

He’s sitting outside now, on the eastern stern of the ship, giddy at the feeling of the wind against his face. Narnian air.

“Edmund.”

His gaze cuts from the endless water to your form, seemingly materializing out of nowhere. Like a dream. It feels too much like the many dreams he had back home, wanting nothing more than to see you again.

“Mind if I join you?”

He shuffles over on the bench, trying to contain his grin when you open the blanket you brought and drape it over your shoulders and his.

“Tell me about your world.”

You play with his hand, tracing over the lines on his palm. Edmund doesn’t know how to describe it to you; he’s fought battles by your side, danced with you under the Narnian sky while fireworks flashed across the sky. In England, he’s no one.

“There’s nothing exciting there. Nothing like what we did.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“I suppose so.”

You can tell there’s more he isn’t saying, something that is eating away from him. But you don’t pry. Not yet.

“Tell me. What have you been doing since I left?” Edmund asks.

You hum, fingers still tracing over the lines on Edmundo’s palm. Trying to reconcile three years worth of memories into something amusing or daring, but the truth is… that without Edmund, dealing with his sudden departure had left you in misery.

“Can I be honest with you, Edmund?”

He doesn’t answer right away, shifting slightly so he’s turned toward you instead of side by side. Hand gently squeezing yours.

“Of course you can.”

“The past three years have been amazing, theoretically. Caspian has managed to restore peace and order to the lands, Narnians have been rebuilding their lives and I… I missed you. I kept thinking to myself, ‘Edmund would love this’.”

“I missed you too.” Edmund says quietly. “Lucy had to drag me out of bed most days, because at least in my dreams I might get to visit you again.”

“Edmund?”

He hums in response.

You turn your body so you’re facing him too, the blanket you’d brought slipping down to your waist. Even with the chilly breeze from the ocean you don’t feel cold, feeling the warmth radiating from Edmund. From where his thigh touches yours. His hand still in yours.

You ask the question that you’ve thought about every night since he and his siblings walked through the tree back into their world.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?”

You don’t have to specify - when, where, what? Edmund knows exactly what you’re talking about.

The night of Caspian’s coronation, the sky lit up with fireworks. The way the colors flashed over your face, the whizz and crack of the fireworks vibrating through his chest. Your hands on his shoulder, his on your waist.

It felt like a moment torn out of a fairytale, the only thing missing was a twirl and a dip in the dance that ended in a kiss.

Instead, once the majority of the merriment commenced, the fireworks fizzled out and the food and drink all gone, Edmund walked you to your room. You remember the way your heart beat, so fast, feeling more nervous than you had on the battlefield days earlier.

“Goodnight,” Edmund had said, pressing a kiss to your hand and then he was gone in the castle shadows. The next day he was gone from Narnia.

“I did kiss you.” He has a hint of a smirk on his lips, but you can see the flush on his cheeks.

“On the hand does not count! Did you not want to kiss me?”

“Of course I did. I’ve spent three years thinking how foolish I was not to.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I knew Susan and Peter had spoken to Aslan and that they seemed upset. I had a suspicion of what they discussed. So, that night with you… I felt that if we got closer than we already had, I wouldn’t be able to bear it. Knowing how it felt and then leaving. I’m not sure I would’ve gone with them.”

“I thought I misread you.”

“I’ve spent three years regretting that night. I should have kissed you.”

“I think it’s time we rectify that, hm?”

You kiss him, and you’re struck by how warm he is. Slow and languid, the kiss is sweet. Filled with years of pent up longing finally being released.

Shaking your hand loose, your hand slides up to his neck, gently guiding his eager mouth closer to yours. He breath hitches in his throat, biting back a moan.

It gets messy, clumsy. Noses bumping against each other. His hand finds it way to your waist, your own hands slipping into the loose hair at the nape of his neck. You pull him closer and closer until he’s pressed right against you.

You pull away with a heaving breath, Edmund chasing your lips.

“I need a breather.” You huff out.

“I’ve thought about doing that every single night since Caspian’s coronation.”

“Oh, you mean after you chickened out and didn’t kiss me? And then left for three years?”

Edmund rolls his eyes, pulling away in his stubbornness. “I didn’t see you making a move either, oh fearless one.”

“I think I just did.”

“Three years later.” He mocks.

You shut him up with another kiss, this time finding a rhythm with your lips that makes your toes curl.

The voyage ahead was certain to become more dangerous with each passing day, but here, wrapped in a king's embrace, you think of nothing else but him. Edmund.

#edmund pevensie x reader #edmund pevensie #edmund pevensie imagine #narnia x reader #narnia imagine #narnia #i hope you all like this!!! i started this last summer and finished it randomly on tuesday this week

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devilish-cherry · 2 months ago

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choso relationship headcanons pt 2 ♡

ᨳ♡₊➳ choso x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

ᨳ♡₊➳ part one

ᨳ♡₊➳ me, not posting content for months: 🛌💤

also me the second choso crosses my mind: 🧍‍♀️💻🔥

i abandoned you all for two months but crawled out from under my rock at the call of my choso thirst alone. brand consistency is on point. nature is healing. please accept these headcanons as a humble offering before i crawl back into my hole. 😌🖤

₊⊹. choso's idea of waking you up gently is hovering over your sleeping form silently, staring until your soul feels his presence, and you wake up in sheer terror. "good morning," he deadpans, genuinely puzzled by your startled gasp. "were you dreaming badly?"

₊⊹. choso insists on watching those overly dramatic soap operas with you because his memories vaguely recall his vessel's grandma watching them. now he's deeply invested in the plot. you find him dramatically yelling at the tv, "do not give him the rose, mari! he betrayed your trust!" if you miss an episode, he's like, "i have updates. you will not believe who betrayed who."

₊⊹. he's surprisingly good at video games once he learns them, but is personally betrayed whenever your animal crossing villagers move out. you find him softly murmuring to your switch, "was my hospitality inadequate?"

₊⊹. choso discovered cooking tutorials on youtube exactly once and now he's committed to mastering japanese cuisine. unfortunately, it usually ends up with rice burnt to the bottom of your favorite pan. he always looks so earnestly distressed, blinking at the scorched remains, "this isn’t how chef kenichi said it would turn out…"

₊⊹. once he found out houseplants increase serotonin, your apartment basically turned into a botanical garden. he gets emotionally attached to each plant. you swear you've caught him softly reassuring a succulent, "you are doing well. keep photosynthesizing."

₊⊹. he knows how to use chopsticks, shake hands, and make a dentist appointment, all thanks to his vessel, but he has never emotionally processed any of those things. he does them like he’s cosplaying a civilian. that’s why he answers the door for the delivery driver by simply saying, “greetings.” and then doesn’t move to take the bag. just stares. the driver glances at the food, at choso, back at the food, like maybe this is a very elaborate mugging. you quickly jump in and handle the transaction while choso whispers to you, “they were unusually tense. suspicious?”

₊⊹. choso genuinely thinks the "don't talk to me until i've had my coffee" mugs you bought ironically mean you require silence in the morning. so every dawn, he sits in complete silence next to you, handing you coffee with reverence like you’re some ancient deity who must not be angered.

₊⊹. he knows how laundry works, in theory. but the first time you ask him to handle it, he somehow ends up washing your whites with a vibrant red hoodie. now everything you own is pink. he looks at you, tilting his head slightly. "pink suits you. i improved your wardrobe."

₊⊹. he doesn’t fully get sarcasm, so when you joke, "wow, love that for us," after you both spectacularly burn dinner, he nods sincerely, "i also appreciate our unified failure." he eventually adopts your sarcastic sense of humor but misses the delivery entirely, resulting in gems like, "oh great, another sunny day. precisely what we needed." completely serious, staring at a cloudless sky.

₊⊹. he tries to cheer you up by sending animal videos he discovers online but sends you bizarrely intense wildlife survival clips instead. "look, love. it's a meerkat narrowly escaping death. inspiring, isn't it?"

₊⊹. your first time visiting a pet cafe was his personal awakening. now, whenever he's stressed, you inevitably end up at the local cat café watching him silently commune with the cats. "they understand," he assures you while cradling a grumpy-looking cat named 'pancake'. "we should consider joint custody of this cat."

₊⊹. he knows what a “joke” is. he even knows the formula. set up → punchline → laughter. but when he tries to tell one, it’s like watching someone who read about humor but has never experienced it. he also always forgets the punchline halfway through and solemnly finishes, "i'm sorry. this was supposed to be humorous."

₊⊹. choso likes to hold hands, but doesn't quite understand when it’s socially acceptable. you once ended up awkwardly holding his hand while explaining to your landlord why the sink was broken, choso calmly beside you, fingers entwined, giving zero context.

₊⊹. choso tries texting you once, but doesn't understand emojis. you receive an ominous message: "Come home. 🔪🍅" and spend the entire day convinced something horrifying awaits you. turns out, he just wanted help cutting tomatoes.

₊⊹. choso believes firmly in quality cuddle sessions. he doesn't ask; he merely strategically drapes himself nearby until you notice and concede. you finally ask why he doesn't just say he wants cuddles, and he blinks slowly. "that seems aggressive."

₊⊹. choso finds diy tutorials online and tries them secretly to surprise you. spoiler alert: he’s hilariously bad at them. you've come home to questionable-looking clay mugs, half-painted canvases, and one very strange knitted... something. he presents each with absolute sincerity, "it is handmade. by me."

₊⊹. he randomly gives you head pats but doesn’t understand the social nuance, sometimes patting your head gently during serious conversations. "this is comfort." he declares, clearly satisfied with himself.

₊⊹. you once sarcastically called him “my strong little man” after he carried a heavy grocery bag. this man did not talk for an hour. he was processing. he sat down with a glass of water and said, “i am not little. but i am... yours.” you almost choked.

₊⊹. choso is basically your shadow in public places because he learned from his vessel's memories that partners stay close. sometimes so close he accidentally steps on your heel repeatedly. if you ever ask him for more space, he just blinks, totally deadpan. "i am ensuring your safety."

₊⊹. one day, you jokingly said, "ugh, i’d marry whoever does the dishes tonight," and you've never seen choso move so fast in his life. the plates nearly shattered from his enthusiasm alone.

₊⊹. if you ask him to pass you a towel while showering, he reaches into the bathroom with his eyes dramatically shut tight. his determination to respect your privacy while also being helpful is ridiculously endearing.

₊⊹. despite his perpetual resting bored face, choso genuinely believes everything you do is incredibly cool. you open a tricky jar? "incredible strength." you manage to fix the wifi router? "unmatched technological prowess." he looks at you like you're simultaneously beyoncé and albert einstein incarnate. it’s honestly adorable.

₊⊹. sometimes, he stares at your shared life, photos, plants, mugs, and mutters to himself, “i never thought i’d have this.”

#jujutsu kaisen #choso #choso kamo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #choso x reader #choso x you #choso x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk #jjk crack #jjk scenarios #jjk imagines #choso kamo x reader

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tw1sters · 1 month ago

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Sun-Drenched Summer

Two of your favorite things come together: summer and making Tyler squirm. In other words, you decide to forgo underwear beneath your sundress for the day.

▸ PAIRING: Tyler Owens x F!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, pwp, exhibitionism-ish, semi-public sex, dirty talk ▸ WORD COUNT: 4.4K ▸ A/N: planning out more extensive stories but this is the one that made its way out first just because i couldn't get this meme out of my head. hope you enjoy! no beta we die like men

—

Summer is your favorite time of year. It’s not only the doses of Vitamin D activation and disappearance of seasonal depression, nor is it only the delicious aroma of barbecue constantly wafting through the midwestern air, but it’s also the clothes. While you love your fair share of jackets and sweaters, nothing beats the cute sundresses and skirts you get to finally surface out of your closet.

Tyler would likely agree, judging by the way he's looking at you from across the parking lot. You’ve thrown on one of your favorite sundresses today – a little white number that flatters your cleavage and curves appropriately. The skirt flares out over your hips and floats lightly as you walk towards him. It’s certainly not tornado-chasing-friendly, but it seems like it’s very Tyler Owens-friendly.

The heat of his gaze drags up from the tips of your toes, strapped in by a pair of sandals that rarely ever make it out of your bag, up the length of your exposed legs, sliding over the silhouette of your body, and finally finding your eyes. Your lips twitch knowingly.

When you and Kate stop in front of him, he barely spares a glance at Kate and instead focuses his attention on you. “Afternoon,” he greets with that familiar drawl, one that still sends butterflies fluttering to your stomach. His mouth is pulled up into that disarming grin.

“Good afternoon,” you respond with a small smile of your own.

You can practically hear Kate roll her eyes next to you. “I would say get a room, but I’d rather the two of you not defile my childhood bedroom.”

Flushing, you scoff with an awkward laugh. “Please, I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m excited about this barbecue. First of the season, and your mom has the best marinade. This year may be the year I finally get her secrets.”

“Highly unlikely, how do you think she keeps this crew coming back every summer?” Kate wiggles her eyebrows before tossing herself into the backseat of the red truck, slamming the door closed behind her.

You turn to Tyler. The burn of his gaze has been searing into your skin, more blistering than the midday sun. His green eyes sparkle like gems on this beautiful, cloudless day. “Excited?” You prompt him, crossing your arms over your chest. When his eyes dip briefly to your chest and flick back up, you know your little move did the trick.

So does he. He tongues the inside of his cheek as he eyes you suspiciously. “Thrilled,” he nods back, the tip of his cowboy hat tilting forward. You suppose two can play the game; that hat has been part of your multiple trysts for the sole reason that he looks delectable in it. Your fantasies (and reality) of him in that hat and nothing else are between you, Tyler, and God. “You look good.”

“I feel good,” you flutter your eyelashes at him.

Banging to your right has the two of you turning. Kate is smacking her fists against the window. “Move it along, Owens. I’m starving.”

He laughs and lets his hand fall to the small of your back, guiding you to the other side of his truck. When his hand drifts a little lower to graze your covered ass, you swallow your grin. He helps you slip into the backseat, and you appreciatively drag your hand down his chest, eliciting an eyebrow raise from the man. He doesn’t question it further when he moves to the front and Boone sleepily piles into the passenger seat.

Tyler backs out of the lot and begins the quick drive out to Kate’s family home. Even on their day off from chasing, Boone is videotaping even on this one day off from chasing. He claims their viewers love seeing these “vlogs” (“Can you believe people care about our personal lives?”), but you’d bet that people appreciate any extra clips of Tyler in that godforsaken hat.

“We’re heading out today for a nice barbecue at Kate’s home,” he narrates as he pans the camera to you and Kate in the backseat and then to Tyler, who has a firm grip on the steering wheel. “The whole crew is getting some much-needed TLC from Mrs. Carter. With the crazy storm season almost over, what are your thoughts on how things went this year, Ty?”

Tyler switches on the charm easily, blinding pearly whites in full display. “Well, Boone, it’s all about the chase for me. So it’s definitely been a great year.”

“Catch any good ones lately? Favorite one of the season?”

Your eyes meet his for a second in the rearview mirror, and the corners of his eyes crinkle with a teasing grin as he winks at the camera. “One in mind, but I’ll keep that one for myself.”

Biting on your bottom lip, you look back at him with darkened eyes. You can’t help it. Tyler always has your blood rushing to your ears, especially when he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you in the back seat. You see his pupils dilate in the afternoon sun, a glint you only catch because you’re staring so intently. Tyler chuckles to himself and reluctantly drags his eyes away from you and back to the road. Safety first.

While you’ve been chasing storms with this crew for a little over two years now, you and Tyler have been seeing each other for the past few months. Quietly. The tension between the two of you is no secret; most of them are sick (lovingly) of how many flirty lines are shared on and off camera and the heaviness in the air whenever you’re in the same room. Little do the rest know that that tension had snapped some time ago. It only took a few beers, a hip sway, and a come-hither look for Tyler to toss you over his shoulder and manhandle you in his room.

Of course, you enjoy being with Tyler and he with you, but there is something thrilling about having such a hush-hush relationship in your friend group. Keeping this undisclosed tidbit from the smartest people you know. The sneaky touches, faint brushes of fingers, and back-alley kisses. It’s a guilty pleasure almost.

They are the last to arrive, which is unsurprising because Cathy Carter’s barbecues are legendary at this point, partly because everyone ends up stupid drunk by the end of the evening. Dexter and Lily are piling their plates high while Dani has started shoveling food into her mouth. Javi is chatting with Kate’s mom with a beer in his hand, waving at them when they pull up.

As the table fills up, you and Kate opt for the back of Tyler’s truck, paper plates in hand, and Kate catches you up on the latest of her research. While the tornado wranglers have always been a more relaxed crew, it’s even more evident when the cameras are off. You’re actively listening to Kate, peppering your questions here and there, but you can’t help the way your eyes constantly wander over to Tyler. Seated at the head of the table, he’s like a magnet, a presence that sucks you in and keeps you close.

It’s no different for him. His eyes find you every few moments or so, distracting him from his own conversation with Javi. The smile on his lips and that mischievous twinkle in his eyes never stray too far.

Many know Tyler to be the wild one – the guy who chases tornadoes for a living and thrives off shooting rockets up these natural wind tunnels. You’re usually working behind the scenes, capturing content for social media and putting together pitch decks for investors. He is the frontman with the devilish grin who lures people into this not-so-little storm-chasing cult. The two of you shouldn’t theoretically work.

But you know what they say about theories and unknown variables. There’s a reason why Tyler was drawn to you in the first place. He knows that, despite being the more subdued one of the extremely passionate group, you were a silent killer. Tricks always hidden up your sleeve. Particularly when it comes to him.

Including today.

Fortunately – or unfortunately – for Tyler, you had planned a little treat for him before leaving your room. A split-second, bold decision that you have yet to regret so far. You do love your secrets.

All those little touches and glances today have built up to this moment. You adjust your position gingerly, just enough to draw Tyler’s attention and only his. He’s always watching after all. You uncross your legs and turn your body outwards under the guise of getting a better grip on your plate. Kate is still speaking, and you are vaguely listening, but your heart stutters when Tyler quirks a curious brow at you.

Slowly, you let your legs fall apart, tugging your skirt up an inch for good measure. You drink in the moment realization dawns on him. His lips part, chest rising, before his jaw ticks. His pleasure and disappointment are both obvious in the way his eyes darken and his throat moves.

The breeze that skims your legs is enough to have you shivering. It sneaks up to your exposed core, one that is minimally visible to Tyler. But he knows. The fact that you had opted out of underwear for the day is enough to have him straightening.

You smirk when his eyes crawl back up to you. “Surprise,” you mouth when Kate turns to her food for a split second.

Tyler leans back, clearly enjoying the view or trying to sneak in a better one. His eyes peruse the crowd to ensure no one else is indulging in his little secret. His teeth catch his bottom lip as he openly ogles you. Who can blame him?

Your pulse is racing, thrumming and buzzing in your veins. Tyler is no doubt an attractive man, but the way he’s looking at you now – like the only cool glass of water for a parched man in the Sahara – that look is reserved solely for you. Your dress rises up your thighs ever so slightly as you fidget again. That seems to be the last straw for Tyler.

He says something to Javi that you don’t catch from the distance. Javi gets up and heads back to the grill where Cathy and Dexter are preparing more food for the ravenous crowd – in more ways than one. Tyler himself stands and begins stalking over in your direction.

“Ladies, how about you take the seats at the table? It’ll be more comfortable.”

“Oh, I’m good. I’m going to pop inside to get some cold beers. You guys want any?”

“I could–”

Before you can finish, Tyler’s hand wraps around your ankle. “We’re good,” he answers for both of you.

Kate looks between the two of you quizzically but smartly decides it's better not to ask. She hops off and heads into the house, leaving you and Tyler alone with the thunder in your ears. Your heart is practically hammering against your ribs.

“What do you think you’re doing, darlin’?” Tyler asks, smiling. To an outsider, that’s a kind smile. A gentleman smile. But you know better – that’s the expression he has when you’re in trouble. Big. Huge trouble.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you blink with feigned innocence.

Tyler licks his teeth. “Play coy again and I’ll punish you right here, right now, and I don’t care who’s watching.”

Pink splotches of heat color your cheeks. “Behave.”

“You’re one to talk.”

You wet your lips, drawing Tyler’s gaze down to the movement. “Let’s go join the rest, yeah?”

“Keep your legs closed, sweetheart. Unless you want me to be in between them in front of everyone.”

You flush even deeper, taking his offered hand to land on your feet. He drifts back to the table and the two empty seats. To prove chivalry isn’t entirely dead, he pulls out the chair he had previously vacated for you to slide right in. With Boone to your right and Tyler to your left, you begin to pick at your food quietly again.

Boone is talking about something, but you can’t focus when Tyler’s hand slides up your leg beneath the tablecloth. He pulls up your foot to his lap, keeping one hand on his fork and the other hidden. His fingers press into your skin pleasantly, and you let him move higher and higher. For now.

When he takes his reach a little too far, you decide that two can play this game.

You wiggle your foot slightly and sneak it up his thigh until you find your final destination. Your toes press against his denim-clad erection gently. He doesn’t miss a beat and attempts to stop you, holding and squeezing your foot in a silent threat. While his eyes are trained on Boone, you know his mind is elsewhere.

In the second he is momentarily distracted responding to Boone, you free your foot again and return to your ministrations, rubbing your sole against the rising tent in his pants. His smile tightens a fraction, a nearly unnoticeable curl on the corners of his lips. You duck your head to hide your amusement and continue the movements. He’s lucky he only wears jeans; any thinner piece of fabric would have him on the floor.

Tyler’s face pinches when you touch his tip over the fabric. His leg jerks slightly underneath. Your laugh is buried in everyone else’s as they snicker at Boone’s story. Tyler grips your foot more firmly this time and begins his retaliation.

His hand climbs higher and higher up your inner thigh. Your efforts to pull free are fruitless. It certainly doesn’t help that you’re all packed into the small table like sardines. The proximity is advantageous to Tyler who can easily and subtly push the fabric of your dress up until his stupidly long arm stretches out, hand grazing your bare pussy.

The smile on his face blends in with everyone else’s delight over another memory Boone is recalling. Your breath hitches when his index finger trails delicately over your lips. You grip your fork tightly, your other hand clutching the tablecloth underneath for dear life.

Fucking Tyler Owens and his fucking talented hand. His thumb finds its way to your clit and you have to bite back a moan when his other finger slips inside your slick cunt. He moves slowly, carefully. All while maintaining this charming facade in front of everyone else.

When he touches a particularly sensitive spot, you let out a yelp loud enough to draw everyone’s eyes to you. Heat slinks up your skin. “Sorry, might be a bug or something.”

“Oh, want me to check?” God bless Boone and his kind heart. Unfortunately, today is not the day for his thoughtfulness when your legs are spread under the table and Tyler’s hand is between them. Boone nearly sticks his head under the cloth when you quickly reassure him that you’re fine, clamping your legs shut around Tyler.

You glare at Tyler when he only grins back at you. The threat is obvious in your eyes. Cut it out.

No, he challenges back with a smirk.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you grit your teeth as he tries to nudge your legs open again. Quit it, Owens.

He rolls his eyes as if to say don’t start something you can’t finish.

Lily lets out a long groan, pressing her palms against her eyelids. “Will you two stop eye-fucking each other at the dining table? We just had lunch and I am not wasting a damn good barbecue!”

Tyler finally, thankfully, and slightly regretfully pulls his hand away. He chuckles lightly and tells her she’s seeing things, that maybe it’s the heat getting to her. While you do miss the warmth of his touch, you would rather save your friends the trauma of seeing you orgasm in public.

Lily shakes her head and grunts her displeasure when she switches to Cathy to compliment the food.

And this fucking asshole. He brings the hand that was just between your legs to pick up a rib, ripping it off in one go with his teeth and then proceeding to clean his fingers. With his eyes trained on you, his lips wrap around every single digit, including ones you know have been in… less savory places. He stares you down the entire time as he licks your juices off his fingers. Your pussy clenches instinctively. You can only hope you haven’t leaked onto your dress.

“Delicious,” he announces and turns to Cathy to thank her for the meal. He does it so nonchalantly as if he didn’t just set fire to your insides.

If you were keeping score, Tyler may just have you beat.

The rest of the afternoon goes by without a hitch. No more surprises from either you or Tyler, who decided to call a truce – at least temporarily. When Tyler finally parks the car back at the motel, everyone’s ready to get a good night’s sleep before tomorrow’s chase.

You fall behind the crowd, thinking about how you’re going to get yourself off tonight. Maybe in the shower, or you could sneak over to Tyler’s room after everyone’s out cold. You can still feel Tyler’s hand on you. The picture of him sucking on his fingers is still so vivid every time you blink. And you blink a lot.

Tyler calls out to you from the truck. “Would you mind helping me look for my phone? Might’ve slipped down the sides somewhere here.”

Boone – this beautiful, wonderful man – perks up. “Tyler, man, do you need help? I don’t mind.”

“Nah,” he shakes his head, “you look tired, man. Get some rest. I’m sure it’s in here somewhere.”

Not one to argue further, especially at the risk of losing more sleeping time, Boone nods. “Okay, goodnight, you guys. See you tomorrow bright and early!” He lets out a hoot then climbs up the stairs and disappears behind his door.

As they all enter their respective rooms, lights flicking off one at a time, you’re still with Tyler by the truck. Your smaller hands are trying to dig into every nook and cranny of the vehicle in search of Tyler’s phone – with no help from him at that. The man is instead watching you struggle as you bend over the tall truck.

“A little help here for your phone?” You grunt at him, throwing a dirty look over your shoulder.

“Don’t mind me, I’m enjoying the view,” Tyler says with a quirk of his lips. He comes up behind you, pressing his front against your back. The feel of his erection tight in his jeans against your sparsely clothed ass has a shudder snaking up your spine. “Even better from here,” he whispers, hot breath tickling your neck.

“Tyler,” you chided, peeking over the dashboard to see if anyone was outside.

He presses his lips against your bare shoulder, dragging his mouth to your neck. His hands settle on your hips as he rolls his body into your behind. His tongue flattens against your neck as his mouth closes in around the delicate skin. The light sucks along with the press of his palms against your body drag a moan from your throat.

“Fuck, don’t do this out here. Let’s go to my room.”

Tyler hums. You don’t like the sound of that. “You were so eager to show yourself off in public earlier. Why are you getting shy now?”

Huffing, you glare at him again. “Don’t be silly. That wasn’t even risky.”

“You think so? Javi could’ve seen your pretty little cunt.”

You hate how quickly your body reacts to that, air seizing in your chest at the filthy words leaving his mouth. His hand travels downwards and yanks your skirt up to your hips. A gasp escapes you as you swat his hand in a futile effort to get him to stop. “Tyler! Someone could see.”

“Let them then,” Tyler gruffly replies as his hand creeps up the back of your thigh, his fingers once again finding solace between your legs. The first press of his fingers against your dripping core feels like heaven. He brushes over your pussy lips gently as his fingers lightly dip in, enough to make you squirm, but not enough to satisfy you. Fucking tease.

“Tyler, please,” you whimper. Dignity out the window, you know when to cave to get what you really want.

Tyler smacks your ass, the swiftness catching you off guard more so than the small sting. “Get in, darlin’.” You climb up, bare ass on the warm leather seat. Tyler pushes the seat back before he slides in after you and pulls you on top of him.

His lips are quick to slant over yours, swallowing every moan and whine slipping past yours. Tyler tastes like barbecue and mint and the warm Oklahoman air. You’re straddling him and your bare pussy is spread over his covered erection. The friction drives you insane. With your hands on his shoulder, you throw your head back and begin to rub yourself on him. Every time your clit touches the cool metal his zipper, you bury your face into his neck. There’s a wet trail on the fabric and you can’t bring yourself to care when it feels so damn good.

“Fuck, sweetheart, You’re killin’ me,” Tyler hisses, his hands digging into the flesh of your ass. He grips you tighter, emerald eyes turning into pools of black as he watches you pleasure yourself on him. “You don’t even need me, do you? Just want to rub your pretty pussy on me.”

You shake your head, opening your eyes to see Tyler ravishing you with his gaze. “N-no, I need you. Tyler, I want you inside.”

“Beg me,” he almost spits out.

“Please, Tyler. Please fuck me. Want your cock in me.”

Tyler slaps your ass, extracting another cry out of you. “God, you’re fucking incredible. Can’t believe you’re mine.” Mine. There’s no denying that your heart belongs to him, your chest constricting at the confirmation. “I want you like this all day, every day. Needy, begging for my cock.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you groan and he laughs. “Fuck me already.”

“I always aim to please.” He pats your butt again. You rise slightly to give him room to unbuckle his belt and free his cock. The length stands tall and proud, twitching with desire. Any other day, you would’ve gotten to your knees and worshipped it with the time it deserved. However, your impatience won out today, and you’d rather have him inside you sooner than later.

Luckily, you’ve been on the pill for a while and the two of you have not fucked anyone else since you started sleeping together. This saves the time it takes for Tyler to put on a condom. Plus, you know he enjoys feeling every inch of you raw on every inch of him.

“Sit down, sweetheart. Fuck yourself on my cock.”

The relief when you finally sink down on him is otherworldly. You’ve been waiting to be filled all day. From the moment he put his fingers inside you, all you could think about was having him completely stuff you.

You rise on your knees and drop down on his cock over and over again. Each time, the tip of his length reaches a deeper part of you. Your eyes slide shut as you use him to get yourself closer to your climax. Tyler’s fingers on your hip are almost bruising. Your dress flutters around you and him as you fuck him practically fully clothed. His scent mixed with the delicious texture of his cock inside you is intoxicating.

Ducking your head, you latch your lips onto his neck and suck lightly. You know all of his vulnerable spots, including the one right underneath his ear that always gets a moan out of him. Your hands slide up the back of his neck and your fingers twist into his dirty blonde hair. The silky strands slip through, but you maintain a grip and tug on them.

His cock strokes your insides beautifully and he chases after that high by thrusting his hips up to meet you whenever you let yourself fall. The movement doubles the pleasure that strikes you. You love how he can’t even help himself, how he can’t even wait for you that he just has to plunge his cock into you himself.

“Darlin’, you’re somethin’ else. Gorgeous cunt wrapped so tight around my cock, milking me dry. You drive me up the wall,” Tyler growls as you lean back. The new angle hits a little different and it seems to do the trick for Tyler. His head falls back against the headrest as you continue to soak his length.

He jerks his hips up harder and faster, fucking into you before you could even fuck him. Your knees are shaking where they’re propped up in the smaller seat and you can barely get yourself to stay upright as he speeds up his movements. “Tyler, I don’t think I can last any longer,” you say breathlessly, tilting forward to press your lips against his.

Tyler licks into your mouth. “Alright, baby, let’s get you there. I’ll fill you up just how you like it. Push all of my come into you.” His words have you whining and grinding down on him again. He fucks up into you again and again until the coil that has strung you up so tight splits and you come undone above him. Your entire body wracks, faltering with the intensity of your orgasm. Tyler follows suit with the clenching of your pussy around his cock and you feel him spill warmth into you as his hips stutter to a slow.

You slump forward with beads of sweat dripping down your forehead. Tyler chuckles and presses a kiss against your temple. “Why are you laughing?” You huff.

“Sometimes, I can’t believe you’re real, darlin’. Gorgeous face, gorgeous personality, and you still manage to surprise me every time.”

Blushing, you shove him playfully. “Don’t act cute.”

“I can’t help it, sweetheart.” He grins, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You may be my most successful chase this season.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the grin that splits your face. “Luckily for you, I’m here to stick around.”

—

The next day, as the crew files into their vehicles, Boone eyes the passenger seat warily. His glance darts between the two of you. “So did you sanitize after or should I put on a hazmat suit?”

#tyler owens #twisters #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens fanfic #tyler owens smut #tyler owens x you #tyler owens fic #glen powell #glen powell x reader #glen powell fanfic #twisters fanfic #my work

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versairic · 3 months ago

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Lost Puppy | Arthur Leclerc

In which Arthur and you take a leisurely stroll through Monaco until a whimper suddenly catches your attention and you find a puppy

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The sun glistened on the water, the boats rocked gently back and forth on the waves and the seagulls quietly made their way across the cloudless sky.

After long, gloomy days in which the sun had never once managed to break through the cloud cover, the time had finally come again and the slightly warm rays of sunshine were beating down on Monaco, luring people out of their homes.

So did you and Arthur. Your hands intertwined, you strolled along the coast of Monaco.

Sunglasses pushed up on your noses as your hands swayed slightly back and forth.

"This day is one of those days when I particularly love Monaco," you gushed.

Although there was more hustle and bustle on sunny days in Monaco, with all the yachts packed into the harbor or sailing across the sea so that you could hardly see a free spot of blue sea, and the ice cream parlors and alleyways were sometimes jam-packed - especially with tourists - Monaco was particularly magical in spring and summer.

In every little green spot you could discover countless flowers, such as tulips or daffodils in bloom, as well as various bushes and trees, which almost seemed to exist only in color in Monaco, so that the streets shone in a beautiful colorful contrast.

The air also smelled fresher and cleaner. Like a fresh and salty breeze, which was mixed with the smell of grilled fish and meat at lunchtime.

"Luckily I managed to persuade you to move here," Arthur grinned and applied light pressure to your clasped hands.

In fact, it had taken some persuasion from Arthur to get you to Monaco in the beginning, which you wouldn't even mention now, seeing you so happy in Monaco.

"Hey, we're not talking about that anymore. I can still pack my bags and leave," you teased him, to which Arthur began to laugh softly and you were sure that the older man rolled his eyes behind the tinted lenses of his sunglasses.

"I think you'll need countless suitcases to get away..." Arthur speculated, alluding to the many decorations and one or two pieces of jewelry that adorned your shared apartment.

It was the fault of a particularly great decoration store on the outskirts of Monaco, which had the most beautiful decorations you had ever seen. Together with Pascale, Arthur's mother, you had already spent countless hours in the store and left tons of money there.

"Why is that? I only need to take the most important things. I can replace everything else."

Slowly, you strolled around a small bend that was between a small bay, behind which the narrow path continued so that you could walk right next to the water, which lapped gently against the rocks.

If you leaned a little over the railing, which served as protection so that no one would do anything stupid and jump into the water, you would certainly get a drop or two of water.

The taller man pondered for a few seconds, his brow furrowing slightly so that countless fine lines began to form. But he just couldn't seem to think of what exactly you meant, so he quickly gave up thinking and raked his fingers instead.

"And what exactly?"

"Toi, ma chérie." You, my darling.

Your voice sounded like a light whisper, mingling slightly with the waves that were once again crashing against the rocks and carrying you out to sea.

"Fuck, that's sweet!" Arthur mumbled as his cheeks turned a deeper shade of red and he bit his lower lip lightly. If you were to ask him about the redness now, he would certainly try to convince you that the discoloration was caused by the sun shining down on the two of you.

But you knew better. The red cheeks were your words, of course. Which particularly turned Arthur on because they were said in French.

Arthur had taught you a few things in French so far, but you had secretly taught yourself the most important basics, which could even drive Arthur out of his mind, using Google Translate.

A grin crept onto your lips as Arthur pulled you closer so that your cheek lightly touched his warm chest, which had been covered by a white shirt, while a cyclist pedaled past you.

One disadvantage of the narrow corridor was the oncoming traffic, which you always had to watch out for. It was not uncommon for cyclists or joggers to come towards you on this popular path.

You playfully punched your friend gently in the ribs as you left the path and more greenery appeared around you.

The path was more or less a small footpath, which was particularly popular with pedestrians with dogs to walk their dogs.

And suddenly you heard a squeak.

Confused, your eyebrow went up as you looked up at the taller one, your eyebrow going so far up that it could disappear into your hairline at any second.

"Oh come on, it wasn't that hard..." you began. Because it was not uncommon for Arthur to jokingly pretend that you had hurt him.

"Huh?" Arthur frowned and looked in confused. "What do you mean?"

"You just made a strange noise just after my hand touched your ribs, didn't you?"

Now you were confused too.

"No, I did -" he began, when the noise suddenly resumed and Arthur left the sentence hanging in mid-air.

"There, you hear that. There's something!" Your voice was like a whisper, as if your voice could drown out another sound.

Arthur nodded silently.

You stood still as you pricked up your ears and began to listen.

From far away, you could hear countless voices talking in a jumble. A car honked, while a seagull let out a soft cry and flew back.

And suddenly it was there again. A soft whimper, clearly coming from the bushes.

"I'll go and see. You wait here."

Arthur looked at you briefly before lifting his sunglasses off his nose and then running into the bushes, where he slowly felt his way inside, as they were already quite overgrown.

Tense and nervous at the same time, you trampled around in one place while the occasional jogger or cyclist passed you.

And then finally the branches moved, whereupon Arthur came back onto the trail a short time later with a fluffy bundle that seemed to be wrapped in a blanket.

Was he holding a puppy in his arms?

Your heart sank into your pants for a few seconds before it slipped back up and began to beat faster.

"It really is a puppy. Someone must have just put it in the bushes. Can you imagine that? Someone dumped him there like garbage!" Arthur began to vent his anger, while the puppy was still whimpering - but quieter now.

"Oh my God," were the only three words that came out of your mouth.

The dark, almost chocolate Doodle puppy, who could hardly be more than a few weeks old, looked totally terrified - which was completely understandable.

How could someone just snatch such a small dog from its mother and dispose of it like garbage?

What was going on in some people's heads?

And were there more puppies being dumped indiscriminately? Were there more of them scattered around Monaco? Maybe even his mother?

Arthur noticed your complexion begin to change slightly, so he took a step closer to you and put his hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, look at me," his voice came through to you softly, causing you to lift your head and look up into your friend's all too familiar eyes. "We'll take him to the vet and get him checked out, okay? And then we'll report it to the police so they can look into it, you hear?"

Gently Arthur placed the little dog in your arms, as if the little one knew you needed comforting - although the little puppy had been through far worse - the puppy began to wag its tail lightly and lick your bare arm gently as it found itself in your arms.

A soft giggle left your lips. The little one really was unbelievably cute. How could you just abandon such a cute creature?

The worst thing was the uncertainty. And shortly afterwards there was the waiting. The vet had squeezed little Doodle between two appointments without much hesitation in order to examine him thoroughly.

While the doodle had had to undergo all kinds of examinations - the doctor had explained to you afterwards what he had done, but the whole subject of Chinese hadn't really clarified things for you, so the most important thing really only mattered to you when he said that little Doodle was healthy so far.

The six-week-old male had been separated from his mother far too early, so that he was slightly malnourished, which could well be due to the fact that he had been abandoned for several days and left unconnected in the bushes - the thought of which sent an ice-cold shiver down your spine.

Otherwise, he was lively and had had one or two vaccinations, as well as a worming treatment, so that he could now rest carefree.

The doctor wanted to inform the nearest animal shelter so that they could pick up little Doodle.

But a quick look between you and Arthur made it clear that you would be taking little Doodle home with you.

And so little Doodle was sniffing all over the floor of your apartment while his tail swung slowly back and forth.

"He's so cute!" you whispered softly, whereupon Arthur took his eyes off the little ball of fur and looked at you in love.

"He really is. It was a good decision to take him with us."

You nodded. "Oh yes, definitely! Thanks to Charles and Alex, who recently got Leo, we've been thinking about getting a dog anyway. I didn't think it would happen so quickly, but I'm really happy with our decision."

"It was fate," Arthur beamed as he put his arms around you and gently pulled you close.

Grinning, you rested your head against his chest and your arms wrapped around his stomach almost of their own accord.

It wasn't long before you heard a soft whimper. But this time it didn't sound as sad as earlier, when you had found the doodle in the bushes.

"I think someone's jealous," you smirked as you both looked down at the little ball that had sat on its butt and looked up at you with a cute look.

"I think so too" smiling, Arthur picked up the little four-legged friend, which you then sat down on the soft sofa with.

Arthur lay on his back, little Doodle curled up and dozing lightly on his chest, while your head rested on Arthur's shoulder and gazed down at the dog in love.

"He still needs a name..."

Thoughtfully, Arthur nodded as you both started thinking about names in the silence.

"Can you think of anything?" you asked, watching the second hand on the wall clock for a few minutes as you ran through countless names in your head.

"I think Charlie is beautiful and you?"

"Charlie is really beautiful, but don't you think Charles might get jealous? I mean, he gets called Charlie from time to time, doesn't he?"

Grinning, you looked at your friend, who started to laugh slightly and then nodded.

"That's right. I'd forgotten that. I actually saw a movie once where a dog was called Charlie. I was so fascinated by the dog that I wanted my first dog to be called that too. I forgot that I often call my brother that."

A smile spread across your lips as you began to imagine little Arthur sitting in his pyjamas in front of the TV watching a dog movie in which the four-legged friend became his favorite character and perhaps even hero.

"We should ask Charles what he thinks. And if he doesn't like the name, I'm in favor of Theo," you suggested.

"I like the name. I guess we have some work to do, but first we should take a little nap," replied Arthur, who started yawning at the same second as little Doodle.

"Oh yes, that's a good idea. A little nap before the adventure continues..."

#arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc imagine #arthur leclerc #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 #formula one imagine #formula 1

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mokulule · 2 months ago

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Dead on MAYn - Day 1

Trope | Ghost Culture is Weird Word | Bones Situation | Jason meets Danny as a ghost. Dialogue | "Wait, you can see me?" Warnings: this is rather angsty and I almost made myself cry writing it. It also has Jason crawling out of his grave. This particular ficlet does not have a happy ending, but I imagine one for the AU, I will explain at the end for those interested. -

It was a rare cloudless night in Gotham Cemetery. Those were the best nights because in the pale light of the moon Jason almost felt physical enough to touch things. He couldn’t of course, but it still made him feel like maybe he could, that he was more than a shade, that he existed at some point as more.

A figure walked alone along the paths and Jason followed them with his eyes. He supposed it was a nice night for a walk, but it was still an odd thing to do. When he got closer he could tell it was a young man who couldn’t be much older than Jason was. Unexpectedly instead of walking past him, he looked up and met Jason’s eyes.

“Wait, you can see me?” Jason asked in surprise at the stranger who looked straight at him. He halfway expected the tired blue eyed gaze to slide right off him as they aligned on someone behind him as had happened so many times before - but they didn’t. They stayed focused on Jason, met his eyes and there was the slightest uptick of his lips before he spoke to Jason.

“I can.”

Such simple words, and yet they brought such strong hope into Jason’s chest, he felt like he could soar, but a sudden thought brought him straight back down to Earth.

“Are you here to collect me?” He certainly didn’t look like the grim reaper. In fact he looked pretty regular in his worn jeans and dark canvas jacket. His black hair was messy and he had nothing like the sort ominous important aura you’d expect the grim reaper to have. That didn’t stop the chill down Jason’s back when he replied:  “In a way.”

“You see,” the stranger continued tilting his head looking from Jason and then down to his grave thoughtfully, “I heard rumors of a ghost stuck to his grave, so I came to investigate.”

Jason unconsciously folded in on himself, rubbing an arm. So it wasn’t normal. One would think a graveyard would be full of ghosts, but it wasn’t. It was just him. “So what’s the verdict?”

“Well, I see the problem alright. You’re still tethered to your body. Probably something to do with this weirdo city, it’s got a strong grip on you.” He looked around with a frown.

A shiver went through Jason as he looked down at the well-kept ground that hid his rotting corpse six feet under.

“It’s not as bad as all that.” The guy rightly read his expression. “Body’s probably not in that bad a shape, you’re taking baby steps to becoming something like me.

Jason swallowed and looked back up at the seemingly human being before him. “And what’s that?”

“Something both alive and dead,” he shrugged. “Anyways, the way I see it you have a choice to make. One-“ He held up a finger - “We let things be as they are, see where this brings us.“

He waved his hand around encompassing Jason and his grave.

“Two.” Another finger joined the first. “I sever the tether and allow you to move on.”

Jason felt like a hand was squeezing his non-existent heart. He didn’t want to die. He knew he was already dead, he’d after all been right there when it all exploded, but right now he wasn’t gone. Even so, the idea of staying here alone until whatever was happening finished happening was torture. He couldn’t do that.

“How long?” Jason should have specified, but the guy seemed to know what he meant.

“Probably years.”

Years. Jason couldn’t do it. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily before meeting blue eyes head on - and it was really curious the way that was the only color Jason could see.

“Is there really no other way?”

Thick eyebrows rose in surprise, then drew together. “You’re not even considering being allowed your rest?”

Jason laughed humorlessly. “I’m a ghost ain’t I? Unfinished business and all that.”

Jason’s murderer was still out there, and so were so many others who would hurt and kill people like Jason - Jason’s people.

Something flashed across the guy’s face, but it was quickly dismissed. He shook his head. “No, look, if you don’t want me to sever the connection, I will visit you when I can?”

But Jason had seen it, that flash of something on his face. “No, please.”

He floated forward and grabbed onto the guy’s jacket, surprised to actually feel the fabric real beneath his fingers, instead of his hands going uselessly through him, but that wasn’t important now. “You thought of another option!”

He grimaced and then to Jason’s shock leaned his forehead gently against his. His skin was cool, definitely not warm like a human's, but it was real real real. The simple touch sang in his soul.

“It is not a good option, Jason.”

Jason startled at the mention of his name, momentarily moving away but then quickly moving back in desperate for touch, desperate to feel anything other than despair. It was not strange the guy knew his name, it was right there on his fucking tombstone.

The guy welcomed him, allowing him to lean his forehead back against his. Then a hand cradled his head, fingers digging slightly into his scalp and Jason would have choked on a sob if he actually breathed anymore, instead he just hurt.

“I swear, I will visit you.”

“Tell me.”

“Jason, I am not supposed-“

“Tell me.”

The guy’s shoulders raised and lowered. Even his cool breath let go in a sigh could be felt against his face like a breath of air Jason hadn’t been able to take for who knew how long now.

“I could give you enough power to let you merge back with your body.”

“Why is this even-“

“Jason,” he said intently, grabbing and holding each side of Jason’s head so he could look at him. He spoke fast as if he knew if he gave Jason a moment to speak he would interrupt, “I am not supposed to interfere like this. It will have consequences. I won’t be able to help you. I cannot disturb a body laid to rest, you will end up down there and have to dig yourself out, do you understand?”

Jason stared wide-eyed into intense ice blue eyes that seemed to almost glow. The concept was horrifying- but the idea of years of loneliness was worse. His jaw tensed in determination.

The guy shook his head mutely in disbelief.

“What’s your name?” Jason asked, suddenly realizing he wanted to know.

“If you go down this path you won’t remember it anyways.”

“I still want to know it.”

There was an immense sadness in the gaze that met him. “It’s Danny.”

“Danny please, I can’t stay like this for years.” Jason knew he wasn’t fighting fair, but he was Robin and when you were a kid fighting crime you learned to use everything at your disposal.

Danny wavered, then finally, “Alright.”

His right hand moved down to Jason’s chest and for a moment it felt like something inside him was tugged forward like a pull, then there was a pulse. If Jason had ever imagined what a defibrillator felt like this had to be similar, it felt like a kick to his chest. It was a flood of power filling up every inch of his being.

Suddenly, Danny fell to the ground with a gasp. Heavy, green glowing chains weighed him down, around his ankles and wrists and, to Jason’s horror, tight around his throat. Danny fingers turned white as they tried fruitlessly to pull at the band locked tight around his neck. His mouth opened but no sound came out.

“No!” Jason screamed, and the force of it came out as burst of wind rustling every bit of greenery around them. But Jason didn’t have time to think about the fact that he could apparently affect his surroundings, because a glowing green portal had appeared in mid air at the other end of the chains and they were hastily reeling a struggling Danny in.

He flew forward, desperately reaching out. When Danny mentioned consequences, he hadn’t really realized they were consequences for Danny. Somehow Danny got his feet under him, tried to dig his heels in, he reached for Jason.

Jason was almost there. Their fingers were just about to touch, just a little more- the tether to Jason’s body abruptly went taut, stopping him dead in mid air. No! Jason was helpless, useless.

The last he saw of Danny was a look of resignation as the portal swallowed him up.

There was a moment of stunned silence. He failed. The only person who could see him, who could touch him. Then he screamed, a sound like no other that had ever left his throat. Almost as if Gotham herself responded the previously clear night was swallowed in clouds and it started pouring rain.

He sunk to the ground over his grave. Not that he could feel anything. It was an illusion that he actually sat on the ground. The rain poured right through him, splattering on the dirt below him.

His hand hovered over his chest. He could feel it humming, the cool power of Danny’s parting gift turning into a burning blaze in his rage. He would not waste it. He looked down at his grave, at the soon to be experienced horror.

He would make it.

He would find Danny.

Jason awoke with a gasp, eyes wide and unseeing. There were plush walls all around him. His fingers struggled to gain purchase. He could barely breathe. He had to get out! Finally the fabric tore. The was a sharp pain in his fingertips, under his nails. Wet warmth dribbled down his fingers.

The was something important. Something he couldn’t grasp.

A pulse in his chest lent him strength and his fist went through the wooden barrier with a crack. He pulled his hand back thoughtless of the way pointy edges scratched open his forearm. Dirt fell down and he coughed. The was no more air. Still he pulled at the edges of the hole, uncaring of the dirt that fell down choking him. He coughed and spluttered and fought to get out. Through the dirt. He didn’t know how he did it, only knew as he clutched grass, that he had to go.

He stumbled forward, on stiff awkward feet.

A bright light. A high pitched screech. Then nothing.

Hope you liked it! I don't know if the feelings I intended to come across worked as well on paper as in my head since I've just written it today and it's not had a chance to sit and get a proper edit. For those interested, this basically leads into canon, from my memory of reading the Lost Days comics Jason is hit by a car after crawling out his grave so that's what's going on at the end there. Then ten-ish years later Jason and Danny will meet again and get a chance at a happy ending, not that it will be easy. Jason cannot shake the feeling he's met Danny before and Danny is pretty tightlipped, cause he don't want Jason to get in trouble. I don't wanna reveal everything cause I do want to write it, though I can't say when, and I need to figure out how long I want this to be.

#dp x dc #dead on main #deadonmayn25 #angst #tw claustrofobia #tw Jason crawls out of his grave

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burningembers91 · 6 months ago

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Lunch Date - Park Min-Su x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to:

The Secretary

Synopsis: While out for lunch, Min-Su struggles to voice his needs.

A/N: This storyline is going to be a slow burner, but trust me... It'll be worth it. I really want to build up the tension and show how much Min-Su struggles with being his own advocate. I also wrote the first two pieces at work today, and had to resist the urge to write the third because I have so many other characters I'm writing for that I'm slowly losing track!

Park Min-Su had taken you to lunch today, or rather, his father had insisted he take you to lunch. The restaurant was on the top floor of a high-rise building, with 360 views of the Seoul skyline. It was a cloudless day, the sun streaming through the windows and bathing you in the most exquisite golden hue. Min-Su was hot, his shirt and suit jacket clinging to him as he fiddled with his tie. He could see you biting your bottom lip as you studied the menu, could smell your perfume clinging to your shirt. Your bare legs were crossed, your heeled foot tapping against the table as you hummed quietly.

He couldn’t bare to look up, couldn’t bare to make eye contact with you. Your presence was almost stifling, Min-Su barely holding it together when you were around. You were his secretary, you were meant to work for him, and yet you spent most of your time telling Min-Su to tell you what to do. “Would you like me to get you a coffee?” You’d asked him that morning, as he sat at his desk adjusting his too-tight tie, not entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing. “Uhh…” He looked wildly around, unsure if you were talking to him, despite the fact it was just you and him in his office. “Mr Park,” you smiled, coming to sit next to him at the expansive mahogany desk he had no desire to sit at. “If you’d like me to get you a coffee, please just ask.” “O-ok,” he stammered. He did want a coffee, you always made it exactly the way he liked it. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to ask you. he could barely maintain eye contact with you, all too aware of your nipples ever so slightly visible through the fabric of your shirt. You busied yourself with the day’s agenda, handing Min-Su various files, explaining each one in detail. You would wait patiently until he asked you for a drink, knowing that he wanted one. You couldn’t understand why he found it so hard to ask for things, but he was constantly silent. He finally plucked up the courage, and you brought him his coffee, just the way he liked it.

He peeked up at you from the menu and your eyes met. You had red lipstick on today, one that contrasted perfectly against the cream colour of your shirt. You smiled at him, and Min-Su forgot to take a breath. He was terrible around women, but you were something else entirely. He’d thought about you many times over the few months you’d been working for him. He thought about how, if he’d been a confident man, he’d have asked you out on a date. He’d have pressed you against the glass windows of his top floor office and undressed you, before fucking you against his desk. But as it stood, he could barely say your name, his words only coming out as the faintest whisper. You were so confident, so sure of yourself; a lioness working for a mouse. “I think I fancy the ravioli,” you smiled. “What are you getting?” There it was again, his complete inability to hold any form of conversation with you. You intimidated him, but in the best way possible. He didn’t really like the look of anything on the menu other than the chicken, but the chicken came with mushrooms and Min-Su couldn’t stand them. You knew that of course, it was your business to know everything about him, but you wanted to see if he’d say something. “Maybe the chicken,” he mumbled, taking a gulp of water. He didn’t know why he couldn’t voice his opinion, why he was so scared to open his mouth. He supposed it came from a lifetime of having everything planned out for him. from the moment he’d been born, he was told where to go, what to do, who to be and what his future would entail. His father was a stern man, and years of fearing his wrath had reduced Min-Su to a timid little lamb. He struggled to ask for help, struggled to have his voice heard by a man who couldn’t be bothered to listen.

The waiter came to take your order and Min-Su asked for the chicken, not mentioning the fact that he didn’t like mushrooms. He could so easily have asked for them to be substituted for something else, and his inability to speak up for himself made you feel sad for him. Lunch arrived, and you watched him push the food around his plate, the smell of them making him feel sick. “If you don’t like mushrooms, why don’t you ask them to take them off the plate? They could always give you something else.” “I don’t want to be a bother,” he said, shrugging. He wanted to be able to speak up, but he was terrified of people turning around and laughing right in his face. You leaned forward towards his plate, piercing the soft buttery fungi with your fork before popping it into your mouth, winking at Min-Su.

You were so confident, so bold. Min-Su didn’t understand how you had such certainty in your actions. You never flustered, never faltered. He liked the way you were so unashamedly yourself; he found it incredibly sexy. You didn’t care what others thought, and Min-Su wished he could be like you. As you headed back to the office, you turned to him. “You shouldn’t be afraid to tell people what you want,” you told him. “You should try it sometime.”

That night, Min-Su thought of all the things he’d tell you he wanted if he was brave enough. He’d tell you he wanted to kiss to you, to taste you, to make love to you in every corner of the office. He’d tell you that he didn’t want to be a CEO, that he didn’t want to sit at a desk all day. He’d tell you he wanted to be with you, to love you and hold you and never let you go. But the next morning, he couldn’t get the words to leave his mouth. You were in a green dress today, one that clung to your waist, hips and the curve of your ass. He wanted to tell you that you look beautiful today, but his mouth wouldn’t move. He couldn’t tell you any of the things he really wanted to say, but he could ask for something simple. “Excuse me?” he said, as you dropped off his daily agenda. “Please could you make me a coffee?”

#squid game #squid game 2 #squid game x reader #squid game fanfic #squid game x you #squid game season 2 #min su x you #min su squid game #min su x reader #park min su #player 125

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vrsin · 4 months ago

Text

~The Embrace Beyond the Veil of Time~

Linked Universe x Reader

Story by @vrsin

Linked Universe by @linkeduniverse

Pervious

Fan Art : 1

~~~

✧ 2 ✧

Everyone always relied on Link. No matter the time or the place, at some point at some location.

Someone or something needs the help of the kind hearted LInk, and as the spirit of the hero rests as his soul, he can hardly say no.

So no matter how hard the task, how dangerous, no matter how much the task will break him apart and leave barely anything of the former boy behind.

He shall take on as many tasks without complaint, without a word.

Without a voice.

Silent will stay the legendary hero, silent and patient, going on to complete the quest ahead.

“Damn!...I am lost!”

Or so, many had thought of the hero known as LInk.

Fallen from the great sky islands he has always known as home, he looks around this vast new place filled with lush green plants of various colors he has never seen in the sky. He's in the side of the forest that he's never ventured off to before, dark oak trees with bright green leaves. It appears to be outcast from the rest of the surface, god rays peeking through the leaves creating an illuminated effect in the center of where he stands, but the rest lightly dark.

His lips turned into a deep pout as he spins around once again to remember where he is. A hand softly tugging at his light brown, actually shades darker blonde hair, as he spins harder for a final time and drops to the ground on his back.

“Nope! I have no idea where I am.”

He sighs and sits up going to grab the minty light blue sword resting on his back, it has yet to reach its full potential.

“Hey Fi, do you think you can-”

“Hehe~”

A soft laughter cuts him off, he springs into action and reveals the sharp holy blade in its full glory.

An echo of laughter followed by this action. The soft chime-like bells in the wind, but yet do not reach the same pitch. More aloof and faint yet still loud enough for his ears to hear. Almost like the random soft breeze of wind on a cloudless day. It's comforting, yet shows itself out of nowhere.

“No need for that silly silly!”

Link’s gaze focuses on a dash of bright gold zooming past his sight. The laughter following the bright glow, his hand wielding the Goddess Sword almost lets go at the sight. The bright light followed by trails of glittering dust made him freeze.

It was gorgeous

The unique glow reminds him of watching the stars fall across the sky in the pitch of night, falling while the rest of the island slept. Glittering for no one to see, no one but him. He remembered the flash of lights, the random colors following the golden glow. The way his breath grew shallow at the stars’ colorful dance, the fear that if he were to blink he would miss the rest of the falling stars burning bright in front of him.

He didn't know that stars could live on the surface.

Slowly and carefully putting away his sword. Which is known to slay gods, but also known as his friend. He stays silent and watches. The glowing dot is floating around by the dark oak trees. Illuminating the trees and leaving a trail of glittering dust behind, the oak trees that are in it's path are blessed with gold dust laying on the oak.

The soft glow is behind a tiny tree as it tries to hide, its charming giggles ring as it peaks to look at him. Only to let out a very loud squeak as it notices Link is already looking at them, he laughs.

The light zooms to the next tree, Link’s body moving to keep his eyes on it. He could hardly think of looking away. Hiding between the light green leaves, it couldn’t even begin to hide that lovely golden glow.

He laughs at the poor hiding attempt, slowly moving closer with soft steps. The little bundle of light notices and skips to the next plant loud giggles following the shimmering dust. Though it doesn't run away immediately whenever he gets close, it always skips to the next tree or plant. They never get out of his line of sight.

It almost seems like…

Oh…OH!

They're playing!

Okay, he's game!

Link whistles as he crosses his hands behind his back, walking around the plant but yet not facing towards it. Going as far as checking under the petals of a brightly colored red flower, he finds the color to match his bird companion, which he loves very dear. Lightly stomping his foot on the ground when he finds nothing there.

He smiles hearing the soft giggles entertained by his little display of soft frustration. Shifting around and checking other trees and plants. The oak trees come in various sizes, some dark brown that almost appear black, some a light brown that reminds him of his hair. With various light green leaves sprouting from each tree.

Until finally, he walks close to the plant housing the baby star.

He stops, he hears a soft gasp.

With a slow growing smirk, he pounces!

Loud screaming laughter escapes the glowing light as it zooms around him, Link not far running after. The bright glow zig zags around each tree and vine, Link just a step behind.

They laugh and chase each other, at some point the baby star gains some courage and starts to chase Link!

Link laughs and soon after running around a large tree once again, chases after the golden light.

The moment is suddenly cut short as Link trips over a large root, his hands move forward grabbing at the bundle of light. He quickly turns his body so his back falls to the ground while his hands are resting on his chest. With slight fear and worry Link slowly removes his cradled hands from on top of his chest.

The brilliant shine of illuminated golden light can't even compare to the mightiest and most expensive looking treasures that he's come across in his travels. The mesmerizing light reflecting in his deep ocean blue eyes.

A glowing golden fairy of pure dazzling starlight laid on his chest. Unable to see its features as the light was too bright, he could only make out the outline of its figure. They laid on their belly, their legs kicking up and down softly, arms supporting their head as they held it between their hands.

“Well hello there!”

Link short of breath, gave out a shaky chuckle. A smile filled with joy and slight pain from the fall spread across his face.

“H-hello…”

The fairy laughs pushing themself off his chest, they fly up to his nose and stand gently on it. The bright light making Link squint slightly, the light gave off comforting warmth.

“Took quite a fall there Sunny!”

The fairy flys around him as he slowly sits up, the aching pain in his back reminds him of the pain he’d experience after waking up from an odd angled nap he would take during lectures.

“I’ll be fine just-” He winces as he slowly starts getting up. “- take a potion and I’ll be good as new.”

Reaching for his pouch about to go in and collect a healing potion. He stumbles with the bag in his hand as he remembers. He had used the last healing potion the day before. He was supposed to go back to Skyloft to restock on all the necessary materials and supplies that he's been running out. Though when he saw this little patch of secluded forest from the clouds flying on top of Crimson, he got curious. He's never been there before, and now his adventures had led him to have an aching back.

With a nervous chuckle, he scratches the back of his neck, softly tugging at the baby hairs. Stumbling over his words he could see the little fairy place their hands on their hips.

“I…I um..”

“...You dont have any, do you Sunny?”

Link lets out one last loud nervous chuckle as his shoulder slump and his lips go into a deep pout. His head leaning back in slight pain and frustration. Already dreading the trip back to Skyloft where he has to be slouched over to fly Crimson back home, he can already feel the excessive and additional pain.

“...No…I dont…”

His self mourning and criticism is interrupted by the loud excited flutter of wings.

“OH! OH! I can take you back home! I cant heal like the others, but I have healing water from my fountain!”

Link's head perks up with the mentioning of healing water. Curious about the comment they mentioned about them not being able to heal like the other fairies. Speaking of which, where are the other fairies? If a fountain is nearby then this forest should be lively with all of them.

“Will you do that for me?” Link smiles softly at the excitement of the golden fairy. Letting out a small chuckle at the loud fluttering of their wings.

“Of course of course! You played with me after all! Most don't want to… Honestly Sunny, I'm surprised you're even in my woods.”

Link frowns, at the sad softness of the fairy as he puts out a hand for the little fairy to rest on top of. It's curious though. He can tell immediately, just by the way that they glow so brightly that they're different from the other fairies. Other fairies, you can see their looks and their unique features, even down to the fabulous outfits that their great mothers make for them.

But this fairy, he can't see anything. Cant see their face, no characteristics, or even the outfit. They glow so brightly he can just make out their figure, no more. He cant see what they look like.

Their woods, they called it.

Does that mean...they’re all alone?

“Is…is it just you out here?”

The wings of the bright fairy slumped down into the palm of his hand, resting against their back. He sees the way their arms wrap around themselves and their knees brought closer to the center of their body. They say nothing. Just give a short, slow, nod yes.

Link squares his shoulders, staring at the now melancholic fairy. Well, this won't do at all!

“Well! They're missing out! I was really scared when I didn’t know where I was, but after you found me. Played that fun game with me! Now you tell me these beautiful trees which I've never seen before belong to you. Now I realized I was never in any danger!”

He bites his bottom lip to stop the ever growing smile on his face, the feeling of warmth and pride watching the light of the fairy glow brightly. Their wings sprout up, fluttering around as gold dust falls on his palm. The little fairy does a cute little aerial trick of a somersault in the air and goes down to his hand to hug his thumb.

“REALLY?!”

Link gently with his other hand, softly placing his pointer finger on their head and giving a little hair ruffle, “Of course!”

The fairy lets out a loud, squeaky laugh. Which reminds him of bell chimes blowing in the wind. He swears that they glow even brighter than he thought possible. Gold pixie dust just flowing off their body, illuminating the whole forest. Their glow beats even the brightest, most beautiful summer day he's ever seen.

“Ha ha! Stop! Ha! STOP!” With a fierce yell mixed in with a squeaky loud laugh. The fairy bursts out of the palm of his hand flying around him, starting from his toes all the way up, covering him in golden stardust. He doesn't think he'll be able to get it out of his clothes any time soon.

“And of course you weren't going to be in any danger. Silly, silly, I protect these woods because they are mine! I may not have any sisters or a great mother. But all my friends are in here, you know! The birds with their baby hatchlings. The animals getting cozy up in their dens, and the insects burrowing deep in the ground. They need protection too!”

Link with one arm crossed over his chest and the other resting upon it, his chin being held by his thumb and pointer finger, nods along to their little speech. “Of course, of course, you are completely right! Everything needs protecting. And I can see you clearly, courageously protect your woods!”

He gives out a loud laugh as the fairy ferociously nod their head, that half of their body is nodding along with the motion. He lets out a slight wince, a hand going to his back to rub at the pain. The fairy flys close and gently pats his cheek. From that single motion, he feels a wave of warmth and comfort spread throughout his body from his cheek, the aching in his back slowly fading away.

He thought they said they couldn't heal like the other fairies? Maybe they're not healing him, perhaps the single action of just showing true and honest care had spread that warmth through his body. He lets out a sigh of relief. His shoulders then released tension. A dopey smile on his face and his eyes half close. He feels so relaxed, so at home. So cared for by that small action of worry.

He could bask in their light all day.

“Come on Sunny, lets get you healed up!”

Even though the fairy drifts from his cheek and is a few feet in front of him, leading deeper into the dark oak trees. He still feels the warmth from their light as it shines brightly. The golden dust leading a path for him.

He knows that with them.

With this little golden fairy.

He's safe.

Link’s cheeks slightly ache as the large gleaming smile spreads across his face. Taking in a deep breath, he starts making his way toward the fairy to follow them deeper into the dark oak trees.

“My name is Link by the way, thank you for wanting to help me.”

The golden fairy flys around his shoulders and stops just in front of his face as he continues to follow them down a path where he does not know where it leads.

“Link? Cute name, but boring! I like Sunny better!”

Link lets out a breathy laugh, making sure not to take to heart the jab at his so-called ‘boring’ name. He tilts his head as he continues to follow the golden fairy deeper into the forest, he notices that the trail is changing.

The trees are a dark blue oak, bright luscious leaves with dangling vines. An assortment of different brightly colored flowers attached to the vines, and then he spots it.

A golden path.

He shivers slightly as he steps on the gold. However, his steps do not falter as he continues to follow the light. Their light.

“Su–sunny?..Why Sunny?”

He gasped softly as the fairy zoomed in close to his face, almost crashing into them. He freezes in his spot, trying to make sure not to hit the fairy with their sudden fast movements.

“BECAUSE! Your smile shines as bright as the sun!”

His sunny, bright smile beams on his face as quickly as the compliment left the fairy's lips. His cheeks dusted bright pink and his eyes scrunched up into lovely moon crescents.

No one…no one has told him that before…

The bright smile seemed to be permanent on his face as he walked side by side with the charming fairy. He notices the golden trail starts going downwards, leading what appears to be a cave on the side of a mountain. The entrance is shrouded and covered with vines. It looks like to Link the way to enter inside is to lightly push the vines.

“Well if we’re going by that, I’ll call you…

️S̴̨̛͇̺͇͕̟̘͎̗͖̙͍̭̞͇̒͆̀͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️ !”

The fairy, taking in the deepest gasp he has ever heard, proceeds, to then almost burst his eardrums by a scream he's pretty sure caused a group of birds to fly away.

“I LOVE IT!!”

LInk laughed almost as loudly as the little fairy screamed, clutching his stomach, he gently pushes the vines aside. Looking in, he notices that the golden trail leads down golden spiral steps. The sides of the walls illuminated by glowing flowers of various colors attached to the vines.

“Oh my god! I gave YOU a nickname then you gave ME a nickname! WE ARE THE ULTIMATE DUO!!

We are like! Totally best friends for life and beyond!”

Huh…

For life and beyond….

He…he loves the sound of that.

Yes, it's become a fact. Link can never forget the moment he first met you.

~~~

Tags: @pinkittwice @luimagines @twilightpoison @cafecourage @phlying-squirrel @smartiepants217 @eyeless-kun @stardropz-oo @athanasia-day @silver-the-pendejo @krys0210 @justanotherweeb666 @lunadepan120699 @specter-solaire @honest0215 @internet-stuff @lunarobyn22

Hello! I hope you all enjoy this chapter! A glimpse of a past that will change the future. If there is anyone on the tag list that has not been tagged or if anyone would like to be on the tag list please hit me up in the comments. I also noticed that in CH1 there was a lot of misspellings, I know that some people if there is a few or a lot of misspellings. It really prevents them from enjoying the story which I apologize for. I do have dyslexia, so originally when I read CH1 several times before posting my brain literally went "Nah this isn't in my job description" and I noticed nothing LMAO-

I did go back and fix as many as I could find, if you want to go back and reread CH1 you are more than welcome to. Thank you for reading this chapter and I'll see you in the next one! 💙

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eleonoraalbright · 1 year ago

Text

The Mystery of Mistletoe

Pairing: Peter Pan x fem!reader

Summary: You find yourself underneath a mistletoe with Pan. Unfortunately for you, when you rush off in a hurry it leaves Peter with an insatiable desire to know why you are afraid of the small plant.

You hummed a merry tune while your hand brushed over the bushes’ green leaves to find edible berries. The dazzling sun hung high in the cloudless blue sky, causing beads of sweat to roll down your forehead.

You wiped them away and continued your work. It was a great pity that berry picking had to be done during the hot afternoon. The cool mornings were too full to add this chore to the busy schedule, and the evening sun would trick your eyes into picking the wrong, poisonous berries.

Your two consolations were that three out of the four baskets were filled, and you had help with the task. Peter Pan himself labored alongside you in the humid jungle. You were very grateful for his aid though you couldn’t fathom why he did it.

Surely, as Neverland’s ruler, he had better things to do than this. You wouldn’t voice this question aloud, lest he decide to quit the drudgery. Pan straightened out from hunching over the greenery and arched backwards, a satisfying pop emitting from the stretch.

“Let's take a quick break,” he suggested. Even though you had half a basket left and a break would prolong your time out here, you agreed. You and Pan sat on a log to rest. You brought out your waterskin and took a much-needed drink.

The cool water soothed your parched throat. You would have taken another long swig, but Pan held out his hand for a turn. You handed it to him for he must have been as thirsty as you were. He tipped the water skin and gulped down the refreshing liquid.

A trickle of water escaped his mouth and ran down the side of his chin. You had half a mind to catch the single drop with your finger and lick it. Not one bit of water should go to waste, should it? You shook your head to clear your muddled thoughts. It wouldn’t be a good idea to do that.

Annoying insects buzzed around your head, adding to the discomfort. A mosquito landed on your arm and you slapped it off. Had you been thinking, you might have worn a long-sleeved coat to ward off the blood-sucking bugs, but the notion had seemed like lunacy in the oppressive heat.

Your options were being drenched in buckets of sweat or covered in small, red bites. You had chosen the bites. Now it seemed the wrong one to pick; the following nights would be spent scratching your arms, legs, and neck to relieve the itchiness. Pan let out a sigh and scooched closer to you on the log where it was partly in the shade. He tossed the empty waterskin to the ground.

“Do you think you could assign some other Lost Boys to berry picking tomorrow?” If you had to endure yet another day in the muggy forest, you would scream. Well, that was a lie. You were too tired to scream, the most you would be able to muster would be a grumble.

“I don’t think anyone will do any chores tomorrow. We’ll all need a respite from this blistering heat. Tomorrow we’ll go down to the river. It’s been a while since we’ve played any river games anyhow.”

“Oh, that sounds amazing.” You imagined splashing in the water, your whole body cooling off from diving down and swimming. You would have a breath holding contest with Qian, Devin, and Darragh.

Last time Qian had won, but you had been practicing. Maybe everyone would participate in the game Marco Polo you had introduced to them. They had loved it previously, a little too much.

Bjarki had gotten a bit too invested in the game and gave one of the smaller boys, Andres, a black eye and knocked out his tooth while trying to catch him. The scuffle had turned to a full out war which led to three boys getting concussions and almost drowning underwater.

No lasting harm had been done as they had been rescued and resuscitated. The group could also play sharks and squids which was similar to the game of sharks and mermaids you used to play at the pool, but with more violence.

Pan interrupted your thoughts by mumbling, “I wish we were able to eat mistletoe. It looks delicious.” You followed his gaze upwards and saw the plant dangling from a branch above you both. All drowsiness and lethargy disappeared from your mind as you hurled yourself off the log, tumbled to the ground, and scrambled farther away from the red berries.

Peter was surprised by your actions. He glanced at the plant again to see if anything was wrong with it to have caused such a reaction. Nothing was. It seemed to be a regular old mistletoe. He said with slight amusement coloring his voice, “You seem more terrified of that plant than the dreamshade.”

“And for good reason!” You blurted out. You were confused by Pan’s words. Wasn’t it obvious why you wouldn’t want to be caught under a mistletoe with him? It then occurred to you that, of course, he wouldn’t be aware of the implications and traditions from your world.

He wasn’t from it, so why should he? You breathed a sigh of relief and stood up, dusting yourself off. You laughed, “My mistake, Pan. The heat must be getting to me. I’m not acting like myself.” You grabbed two baskets and began dragging them away.

“Well, I think we have enough provisions. I’ll get these and see you back at camp.” Thankfully, Pan allowed you to leave. You didn't know whether your face burned from embarrassment or from the sweltering temperature. Instinct made you leap from him, but to be honest, kissing Pan might not have been the worst scenario to find yourself in.

You doubted that would happen even if you did explain the custom to him. Doubtless, he would think you were making it up in a poor flirting attempt and mock you. It was better for him to think you batty for a fear of a mistletoe plant or going delirious in the stifling atmosphere.

Peter plucked the plant from its place off the branch and inspected it. He had thought perhaps there had been an enormous beetle or arachnid in its leaves. Just as he thought, there was nothing outright alarming about the humble flora.

Heat had not been an issue for you before, so why would it be now? No, Pan was quite sure your peculiar behavior was because of the mistletoe. The question was what exactly. It seemed like some tests were needed to find out. Was it the whole thing or only parts of it that scared you? Peter Pan was determined to find out.

A day later, the sun was setting in the west, bathing the clear sky in a multitude of blazing colors. An array of pinks and purples washed over the blue and tinged the horizon edges with orange. The Lost Boys were chattering and laughing as they prepared their crude makeshift beds for tonight. A few tents were pitched up.

There weren’t enough to go around for all the boys due to an unfortunate mishap regarding a not-properly-put-out-fire and high winds, meaning the boys had to take turns in sleeping in them. Luckily for Pan, tonight was your turn to sleep directly underneath the stars. He watched from a good distance as you made your pallet ready.

You managed to take another blanket from an older boy and gave it to a younger one who had been complaining about being cold. You went to fluff up your flat pillow when you spotted the small gift Pan had left on the mat. Teleporting closer, Pan lurked in the nearby bushes to witness firsthand your reaction.

He saw you bend down and pick up the bunch of mistletoe berries he left scattered there. You brought them to eye level and stared at them hard as if unsure what they were. Recognition flashed in your eyes and Peter noticed with delight your head swivel this way and that, looking for the person who did this.

Well, that got an interesting reaction out of you. However, to his disappointment, you tossed the red berries into the fire and went off to bed. He was hoping for a bigger outburst from you. He had even speculated you might try to switch sleeping pads with someone else from fear that more berries would appear.

But no, you had been quite commonsensical. On the other hand, there had been that little panicked moment when you realized what the unwanted gift was. Intrigued by your reaction, Pan decided more testing was needed.

The temperature had cooled down considerably the following morning when Peter sent you on a ‘special’ mission. He assigned you the task to find a particular carrot which could force whoever ate it to dance an entire day and night.

The root was on Neverland’s southern side and grew in the rocky area between the forest and the beach. He told you it was identifiable by its bright, sparkly pink leaves. This was complete balderdash needless to say; Pan only wanted you in that region because he had a certain surprise in store.

He tracked your location and became more excited as you approached the destination. Hiding behind a large boulder, Pan spied as you trudged out of the forest and came into view. Your expression morphed into one of great confusion.

Spread out for what looked like the whole beach were leaves. You stepped onto the green mass and grabbed a leaf, tracing its spiky edges. You let it fall to the ground, placed your hands on your hips, and gazed upwards. As far as he could tell, you were very bewildered at the strange situation.

Pan waited with eagerness for you to throw a fit of some sorts or at least run away from the mistletoe leaves. Again, to his disappointment and ever-growing bafflement, you did not. Instead, you plodded along, kicking your feet through the leaves. Evidently, you were still on your quest to get the imaginary root. Pan cursed.

How thick-headed could you be? Did you not see that it was a trick? Pan left. He would let you waste all morning, afternoon, and evening searching for the stupid carrot. It served you right for being such an enigma; worrying about mistletoe one day and not caring about it the next.

Pan sulked. He sat on a log on the camp’s outskirts, fiddling with a crown made of mistletoe in his hands. This was preposterous. Why should he care whether or not you were afraid of the parasitic plant? In an instant, he answered himself: because it would be funny if you had a mistletoe phobia. What was different regarding the circumstances? It couldn’t be the presence of people.

He was there the first time and the Lost Boys had been there the second time, but you had thought you were alone in the last instance. Your first reaction was big while the other two weren’t. Peter held up the leafy crown to study it.

Should he try to recreate the situation to see if the same thing happened? He was so deep in his pondering that he didn’t notice when a Lost Boy came up to him until the youngster spoke.

“Hiya, Pan. Me and some boys made another tent outta the animal hide and we’re wonderin’ if–” He stopped and gawked at the plant his master was holding. “Say, ya got yourself some mistletoe! Neato! Ya gunna use it tah kiss some mermaids? Sure as heck wouldn’t mind smoochin’ those setta fish lips! Ya should–”

Seizing on the peculiar words, Pan leaped to his feet and clutched the boy's shoulders. “What do you mean by ‘use it to kiss some mermaids’?” Did this flora have a secret magical ability he was unaware of? Could this have any connection to your dislike of it? Would it have anything to do with why you flung yourself away from it and threw the berries in the fire?

The scared boy gasped, “If t-two people are under a mistlet-toe, they have tah kiss. It’s tra–tradition.” Pan released the boy. It all made sense now! Patting the boy on the back, he set off to one of his tree houses on the island. He had much to plan and prepare!

You plopped down at the Lost boys’ campsite. Your bones ached and hunger gnawed at your insides. All day was squandered looking for that carrot. You foraged high and low for that thing and had nothing to show for it, not even a sparkly, pink leaf.

You were beginning to wonder whether it existed or if the expedition was a mean joke played for fun. If that was the case, then it wasn’t a very good joke.

If it was real, you would be in hot water with Peter Pan for not finding it. Why would he want a carrot that made you dance? Your tiring questions were forgotten when Felix marched to the spot where you were sitting.

As usual, he spared no time on pleasantries. No, how are you? Do you want some food? Where have you been? To your annoyance, he stated, “Pan wants to see you at trumpet vine tree house.”

You huffed in displeasure, “Why?”

“I don’t know why. He wants you there now.” Felix gave you a stern look which clearly said, If you don’t get up of your own accord, I will drag you there myself.

You groaned. Pan’s word was law. Any protest against his commands would not end pretty for you. You complied with the order and made your way to the trumpet vine treehouse. The place got its name from the vines curling along its trunk and branches, beautiful reddish-yellow flowers bloomed to add a lovely fragrance in the air.

It was about a fifteen-minute walk away. Why did Pan want to see you and in a private setting to boot? Did he want the enchanted carrot? How angry would he get when he found out you didn’t retrieve it?

Should you pretend to have eaten it and dance for twenty-four hours. No, that was a dumb idea. Oh well, you would just have to tell the truth. You arrived and began to climb up the rope ladder.

You poked your head through the opening in the floor and your jaw dropped. On the ceiling, hanging above you, were dozens of mistletoe plants. What the hell was going on with mistletoe! Two days ago, had been the starting incident, then it was the berries on your pillow, then a whole beach full of them!

You didn’t notice Pan was in the room before he spoke, “Something the matter?” You had difficulty in forming a sentence. He pulled you up the rest of the way into the treehouse. He looked pleased with himself and rather smug. “Surely you’re not afraid of a little mistletoe, are you?”

“No, no, no! It’s– it’s fine. I wasn’t expecting it though. Nothing to be afraid of with mistletoe after all.” You prayed he wouldn’t be able to detect your lies.

He held onto your wrists and pulled you closer. “Oh? So, you’re not scared of anything we might have to do underneath it?”

“You know…” You admitted, defeated. “How did you find out?”

He smiled in a self-satisfied fashion. “I have my ways. It took a little bit of careful observing, a couple of tests, and a sprinkle of luck. But it was well worth it. Although it is an odd custom to be sure. What other eccentric traditions did you have back in the Land Without Magic?” He stroked your cheek with his thumb which trailed down your neck. His other hand grasped your waist.

Your attempt to answer was blocked by another query. He quirked an eyebrow up and leaned in further to ask, “Don’t you think that for all the grueling work I put in to understand your old world’s ceremonies and rules that I should be rewarded for my effort?”

Hmm, he did have a point. Giving him a small prize for all the work he endured couldn’t be that bad. Grinning, you performed the exact act that you had avoided doing not forty-eight hours prior. The kiss was sweet and simple and you pulled back three seconds later.

“I would have preferred a kiss on the forehead, but that wasn’t too bad either.” He chuckled at your shocked and hurt face. “That was a mere jest, love. The kiss was near perfect. Much too short of my liking however.” He took a step to the right, bringing you with him. “That’s fine because we are under a different mistletoe and have plenty more to practice under.”

He was right as he always was. Evening faded into night and you and Peter were still in the treehouse practicing.

#peter pan ouat imagines #peter pan x reader #peter pan ouat #x reader #once upon a time imagine #cross posted on ao3

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