#he grasps onto him every time he dies - when he's close enough to anyway

[carpenterswife]

HALF OF ME (ii)

SUMMARY: When Soldier Boy doesn’t return from Nicaragua, Vought creates a bullshit lie, talking him up as a hero who died in a devastating, world-saving accident. You’re handed down the mantle of leader as Payback, and spend your time trying to live up to how Ben had lead them, while also attempting to figure out what truly happened to him.

WORD COUNT: 2945

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Vought’s corrupt behaviour, typical Soldier Boy behaviour, death, gore, vomit, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, sexual content, smut; descriptions of sex.

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

Ben didn’t come home from Nicaragua.

Blown to pieces by some Russian laser weapon (what the fuck?), the.. chunky remnants of his body were taken away in a helicopter. Presumably to be experimented on.

It made you sick. Ben might’ve been an asshole, a deep rooted cunt, but he didn’t deserve to have his corpse be defiled like that. Maybe you’d just gone soft for him, that’s all. Maybe his hushed, sweet words and gentle touches, in his last few days, had softened your heart.

But you spent nights grieving your loss, hyperventilating in your room as you felt his fingers tracing your hips again. If you closed your eyes tight enough, you could see him.

You’d never planned for Ben to die. Hell, he hadn’t even planned to do. He was supposed to be ageless; a man who didn’t die. Vought would hide him away when it became suspicious, and he’d live peacefully… as peaceful as he could get, anyway. That was what was supposed to happen.

But his guts were strewn across the base camp in Nicaragua, and you’d never see him again.

It only took Vought three months to create a bullshit cover story.

After all, they couldn’t tell America their beloved Soldier Boy was actually at the site of a cocaine smuggling operation when he was blown to bits. No, that’d taint his image that Vought had spent literal decades moulding. He needed to die a hero. A man that would live gloriously in textbooks and stories.

A nuclear reactor meltdown is what they came up with.

Fucking bullshit, really.

The man was practically immortal (which did raise the question of, how the hell did the Russians kill him in the first place?). Some radiation wasn’t going to take him out. You’d watched him take two full magazines from an assault rifle, and get back to his feet like nothing happened.

And now he was dead. You didn’t know how. You wished more than ever that he’d let you accompany Payback on this godforsaken mission. Because you were utterly clueless as to what had gone down, and no one was answering your questions, tearing up whenever you mentioned the place.

You wanted — needed — to know how this was possible.

You knew Ben, better than anyone else on the team, even Crimson, who stood up on stage, talking about how good of a man Ben was.

Ben was a good man — to those he thought deserved to see that side of him. He was reserved and harsh and rude. And, yes, he was naturally an asshole. But, there was a part of him capable of respect and kindness and love. It was just stuffed deep within.

You’d been drawing it, slowly and carefully. You’d dug your hand in and grasped onto it, worming that side of him out of his heart with every night you’d spent cuddled into his chest. And he’d been warming. His touches had been gentler, his words softer, his eyes more admiring. You’d made him that. You were the only one he’d deemed worthy of his love and trust and respect.

Crimson had never seen that side of him. She’d never even come close to opening him up, seeing who he truly was.

As she talked fake stories of their blinding romance, about how he was such an incredible boyfriend, you just rolled your eyes in the audience. The only time Ben spent with Crimson outside of the public eye was when he was balls deep inside of her. And, even then, he liked to say she was a terrible fuck.

He also liked to say you were a good fuck. It was his favourite compliment; as funny was that was. As he railed you against his mattress, his hands keeping you firmly where he wanted you, he muttered praises.

That was different to the Ben the other women got. He’d degrade them: call them every name under the sun as he practically broke their pelvises. With you, sure, he was rough, but he complimented you; whispering and grunting softly, making sure you felt pretty and loved as he violently fucked you into unconsciousness.

And he always made sure you were okay afterwards. Ben giving aftercare was not something you’d expected, but he was damn good at making you feel safe and secure. He was a man of many talents.

The country was honouring him, as you begged for any kind of rational answer from Payback, from Edgar, from Vought. You were close to falling to your knees and pleading. But they didn’t care. Too busy basking in the boost of popularity that came from Ben’s death.

So, they upped their game.

And, when Vought erected a statue of Ben outside of Vought Tower, you threw up in the bathroom. The night you were named the new leader of Payback, you threw up again.

Apparently, it’s what Ben wanted. Which was bullshit. He wanted you in his kitchen with a dinner plate (lovingly, he’d told you that night. How could something like that be a compliment? You didn’t know, but it was Ben, so you guessed it was possible). But, you couldn’t fight it. So, nearly exactly three months after the last night you saw him, you took his place.

It felt wrong, and disrespectful, and you were lost and out of place. You had no knowledge on how to lead a team of asshole supes, that didn’t respect you or really like you that much.

Ben did this so easily. He lead Payback like a natural born leader. You lead like a baby giraffe learning to walk.

But you did it anyway.

“Soldier Boy was a national icon.” You held the microphone with shaking hands, willing them to stop, staring out at the gathering of civilians. It was wrong; America was mourning a death they’d all been lied to about. You swallowed your bile and pushed on. “And I am honoured to be taking his place as the leader of our brave and dedicated superhero team, Payback. I will be leading in his image, and his honour, and I hope that my work would make him proud.”

It was all bullshit.

You hadn’t written a word of this shit.

Edgar had shoved it into your hands and pointed you onto the stage. No warning. No cooperation. No opinion. Just… here you go, now go put on a show.

But, the audience was eating it up, and Edgar and your PA were giving you a thumbs up from backstage. They liked your performance. Ben, however, would be gagging in his mouth hearing this. He’d probably mock you, and claim you’d be better off just blowing his dick. He’d be right. Every word that was coming out of your mouth was corporate propaganda.

Your hands curled tighter around the microphones, knuckles whitening. You didn’t want to be here. You wanted to be home, as far away from Vought and these grieving people as fast as possible. “Soldier Boy was a respected, beloved hero, within your hearts, and Vought’s.” God, what cliche, sappy horseshit. “He was a good man, who lost his life saving millions.” You held back your scoff. “Vought will forever live in his shadow. We ask that you give us time and space to grieve our loss. Thank you.”

The audience applauded, loud and roaring, as you walked off stage.

The rage bubbling up in your chest was ready to burst, overflowing. This was all fucking sickening. No one was telling you anything. And they expected you to get on stage and do these speeches? To sit, cry and look pretty as you grieved the mighty Soldier Boy?

Fuck that. You were going to get answers.

There was some dark shit happening behind the scenes, and it had Vought’s grubby handprints all over it. The cover story. Payback’s silence. Edgar’s lack of care. None of it was adding up.

The moment the audience could no longer see it, your mouth curled to a scowl, heels clicking as you stormed up to Edgar. You were going to get answers, even if you had to physically get them. You’d find out what happened to Ben in Nicaragua, even if it cost you your head.

Stan Edgar, despite knowing he was now on the receiving end of your anger, stood tall. Cocky bastard. You could kill him with ease. But, of course, he didn’t care. There was only one person you’d ever seen Edgar cower from — Ben. To be fair with the guy, though, anyone would cower if Soldier Boy was screaming at you, inches from your face.

“What is going on?” Despite your rage, you kept your voice to a low hiss, not wanting to attract attention to your anger and frustration. “Can someone fucking explain to me, what is happening?” He began to walk away, and you followed. your words still flying out. “Why am I taking Ben’s place? How did he even die? You were in Nicaragua — what happened? Why did it take you so long to come up with that shitty reactor meltdown story?”

He turned to face you. You abruptly stopped, almost smashing into his chest with the suddenness of it, taking a stumbling step backwards. “I understand you’re upset.” You rolled your eyes at his professional tone, hands linked behind his back. Typical. “But I cannot answer those questions.”

“No, I deserve to know” You demanded. It was a losing battle, and you already knew that, but it doesn’t mean you wouldn’t try your hardest. “What. Happened?”

You weren’t getting an answer from Edgar. And that became clear when he turned his back to you, engaging in a conversation with his secretary, and leaving you in the dust. Glaring at the back of his head, you muttered obscenities.

If you weren’t getting it from Edgar’s lips, you’d get it another way.

Namely, breaking into his office that evening.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

Now, you weren’t a seasoned criminal, but Ben had taught you a thing or two. He was, very much, a criminal, and knew things you were never too curious to ask about. Like picking locks. Which was the most normal of his odd knowledge. (The fact that man has known the recipe to make a bomb was… terrifying.)

Picking a lock wasn’t in your expertise, but you remembered enough from what he’d shown you. Enough to kneel down in front of Edgar’s office door, and use a bobby pin to turn the lock until it clicked.

You grinned, internally thanking Ben for his… strange teaching techniques. Glancing down the hallway, both ways, you ensured it was empty; that no one was about to see you going against every rule in the book. Once it was cleared, you slipped inside the door with practiced ease, and shut the door behind you.

The sun was setting over the horizon — the golden hour hue lighting up the room enough for you to make your way over to Edgar’s shelves. You were determined to find something. Anything.

Something was going on. Something sketchier than Vought’s usual dirty work. And you were going to figure it out.

Your index finger skimmed the folders, peeking at the names. Until you found Ben’s — a cream folder with ‘SOLDIER BOY’ written across the front. Pulling it out, your eyes locked onto the bright red ‘DECEASED’ stamped under his name, your heart squeezing.

Swallowing thickly, uncertain, you flipped it open. Reasons over the contents, your eyes narrowed in concentration and then narrowed further in frustration.

It was nothing you didn’t already know. His past. The human trial experiment. Comp V. Ben had already told you all of this.

You glared at the deceased marker on the front of it, and then slid the folder back into the right spot. Alphabetical order, you noticed. You continued flicking through the files, trying to find something that could be labelled as suspicious.

Your ears perked at the sound of sudden buzzing from across the room. Like a dog to a squeaky toy, you rushed over, watching a piece of paper print out of the fax machine.

You snatched it up the moment it came out.

BCL-RED was the title word.

What the fuck was that?

You’d never heard of it before. It had to be an acronym, but your mind came up blank, as you racked it for any familiarity. Cursing internally, you scowled — damn fucking code words.

Before you could read ahead, a voice floated into the office from outside.

“Shit.” You hissed under your breath, suddenly very panicked. Returning the paper to the machine, you dashed for the door, poking your head out just enough to peek down the hall. You spotted Edgar just a ways down, facing away from you, talking to Black Noir. Quickly and silently, with expertise learnt on the field, you crept out of the office, taking off down the hallway in the opposite direction.

All the way back to your room, you muttered the words to yourself.

BCL-RED.

… BCL-RED.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

It wasn’t in any folders documents anywhere. Not even your PA knew what a BCL-RED was.

You felt like a dog chasing its tail. Going in circles, trying to find any clues as to what happened to Ben. Every day your suspicions rose. Something wasn’t right. Edgar was having hushed conversations. Payback was having meetings that excluded you.

Your trail lead you to Grace Mallory.

The young woman handed you a cup of coffee, hands scarred and calloused from her days at war. Quietly, you thanked her, sat comfortably on her sofa, cradling the coffee. “I have to respect your strength. Putting up with Soldier Boy every day.”

You cracked a smile, sipping the steaming coffee. “He was a… acquired taste.” Your laugh was breathy and quiet, thinking back to Ben and his unique personality. “What happened in Nicaragua?”

Grace sighed as she settled back. She was pretty. No doubt Ben tried to get in her pants while he was there. “It happened quickly.” Your brows furrowed, sitting forward, elbows on your knees. “We were ambushed. Your team couldn’t find their guns from their asses.”

“Sounds about right.” You murmured. “I told Ben he needed me out there. The stubborn dick wouldn’t listen. Looks like it bit him in the ass, eh?”

“Big time.” Grace agreed. “There was an explosion. It knocked me out.” You listened attentively, frequently sipping the coffee. “When I came to… your team were in ruins. Half of ‘em were dead, the other half injured.”

You chewed your lips for a few beats. “Black Noir still hasn’t recovered. Doctors said he’ll never be able to talk again.”

Solemn, she nodded. “Not surprised. His face was more hole than it was skin.” You grimaced at the imagery. “Crimson Countess told me Soldier Boy was dead. He’d been killed by some… laser, his body taken by a helicopter.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

You sat back. “Huh.” You murmured. “She’s lying.” You decided. The story wasn’t right. Sure, it was feasible, under different circumstances. But, in battle? When Ben was on his A-game? No way.

Grace looked confused. After all, why would Crimson lie about something like that?

You didn’t know.

But you were going to fucking find out.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

That night, you didn’t return to your room. Instead, you slipped into Ben’s in the dead of night. It hadn’t been touched since he left for Nicaragua. Since he’d railed you against the mattress and left you bed-bound for two days.

The air was musty, with dust covering each surface. Crawling onto the bed, you tugged open the curtains, letting sunlight in for the first time in months.

Every surface was covered in dust. And there were still drugs laid about. Half snorted lines of cocaine on the coffee table. Empty pill bottles decorating the floor. An ash tray that reeked of marijuana. God, this man had been like a teenage boy.

Flicking on the light, you gathered your bravery, and spent a few hours cleaning his room up. You didn’t know why. Maybe you wanted to feel closer to him. Feel like you were doing something for him. Ben hated it when things were messy. And he loved it when you cleaned up after him. You hated feeding into that old, sexist mindset he had.

But, god, you’d do anything right now to hear him demand you fetch him a drink.

After you cleaned his room, you stripped his sheets, gagging at the old stain. Definitely your cum. And his. Gross. You stuffed it into a basket, kicking it away from you.

Okay… remember to not touch that again without gloves.

As you finished the last, final touches, a glint of metal on his bedside table caught your attention. Curious, you padded over, expecting a pistol.

Instead, you found a chain.

Your heart leapt into your throat. Delicately, you placed the necklace in the palm of your hand, brushing your thumb over the metal surface.

His WW2 dog tags.

Swallowing thickly, you blinked back your emotion. Why the fuck were even so sad? You weren’t even dating the man. Sure, you’d been his friend for years. You’d been protecting him. He’d been protecting you. You’d been his right-hand man practically.

But, still!

With a lump in your throat, you carefully placed the dog tags over your head. The dog tags were cold against your chest. You tucked them under your shirt, inhaling shakily.

With one last look around the room, you turned around and walked out, with a basket of laundry balanced on your hip.

You weren’t going to rest until you found out the truth. That was for sure.

A/N: sorry for the lack of soldier boy in this chap :( he makes his grand return next chapter !!! in all his sexist glory lmao. he’s so fun to write, tho i do feel like a horrible person writing some of the shit he says. definitely fun to explore this universe and all its fucked up possibilities. thank you guys for the support on chap one :’) <3 next chap will also be longer promise

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[mrlxys]

•°. *࿐ 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃

➣ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ! charles leclerc x fem!reader

➣ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ! angst, swearing, arguments, grief

➣ 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 ! yes this is a repost ‘cause my dumbass deleted it the first time. kms. anyways, so proud of charles 🫶🏼 and correct my google translate thanks <3 and yes i changed the ending ‘cause i love a good sad story ! we love charles leclerc in this household 💌

━━ SUMMARY :: you loved him, but it was too late.

➺ ❛ ⌗ friends to strangers & impossible love ❜

You and Charles.

It wasn’t something odd. It was something you grew accustomed to overtime.

“Where’s Charles?”

“With me,”

“Thought so,”

You two were friends. While your own teased you for it, you denied it. A look shared, silently saying as if knowingly friends? with their eyes whenever he brought you flowers when you couldn’t make it to a race. Friends whose faces lightened up at the mere name of one another. Friends who beamed at each other simply because of their presence.

Friends.

Friends who spent more time together than breathing. Friends who cuddled after not seeing each other for what felt like an eternity, but in reality were only a few days. Friends who found comfort in one another like no one else.

Friends.

Friends who held each other when the other was crying out, reaching for some sort of comfort and all that was found was peace. Friends who sought out that same feeling miles away, yet couldn’t. Friends who made the other crack and break in ways others could never even get close to, by just a glance.

Friends.

Friends who looked forward to seeing the other at and for the simplest of things. Friends who run up to each other on the airport after being separated as if you two were forced apart. How Charles would ignore Leo, his mother, and just run up to you and hold you close like you’d turn into dust if he weakened his grasp on you.

Friends?

Friends who hold eye contact longer than should be expected. Friends with enough thick tension to cut through with a knife, only by gazing into each other’s irises while the world faded into nothing but air and darkness.

Friends?

Friends who laughed as you covered him in flour in a horrible attempt of trying to pass time with baking as you waited for the food to arrive, suddenly finding yourself pinned onto the kitchen counter with his body too close to yours. Your eyes never leaving his as the laughter died down, tension replacing it in a snap as his eyes lingered on your lips for a second too long, before meeting your hazy stare again. His hands holding your wrists beside your head gently, so that if you wanted to break free, you could—but you didn’t want to. And before things could escalate, the doorbell ringing snapped you two out of the faintest of moments.

Friends?

Friends who find comfort in another as you hold onto each other. How he gently pulls you to him once you’re shutting yourself down, closing off as he refused over and over again, keeping you to him as you melted into him, letting yourself feel everything you’ve numbed out as he hushed you, assuring you that you were safe and comfortable. Finding nothing but solace in it; peace. He felt like home—he was home.

No?

Doubt crept up, with your heart hammering as memories flooded your head. How he searched for you in everywhere he went, in everything he heard or saw. Your presence, your eyes, your scent—anything to ground and alert him that you were near. When his eyes would find yours in the sea of interviewers in a press conference, a silent indication of reassurance and encouragement.

No.

More of a statement than a question, slowly grasping the idea with every push of your heart. How his presence alone lifted your spirits like no one else could. How he would pay attention to every little thing you did, such as play with your fingers whenever your anxiety rose or you got excited. How your smile lines were evident with every laugh and smile. How your eyes brightened once you talked passionately about something—about him. He noticed; and that only made him feel like the luckiest man on earth.

Not friends.

How he longed to hold you, to kiss you, to make you his in all the right ways if you let him. How he waited and stayed, even when you pushed the world away and were losing yourself in your head, while he held onto you and grounded you, keeping you with him. How he posted blurry photos of you on his story and instagram just to keep your privacy to yourself—guarding your privacy and comfort, leaving the public away from your life; although that didn’t stop any guesses and chatter. It didn’t stop people from running their mouths, or trying to find out who it was making the formula one driver go insane without you noticing.

“I love you,”

His words echoed in your head, the realization suddenly clicking as a low, faint gasp left your lips. You’ve said that to each other before, but it’s been a while, and for some reason it was different. Something felt different. You thought he meant it platonically, simply shrugging it off with a smile, but no—romantically. It dawned upon you, the three words said to you weeks ago now only making sense, the trailing off of his words comprehending all of a sudden. He loves you.

I love him.

The reality of it all hit, everything falling into place as your heart thrummed in your chest and into your ears, your eyed widening slightly as you racked your brain for a possible explanation, yet were unsuccessful. All you felt was adrenaline, and you knew you had to leave that same second. You didn’t care about anything as you grabbed your keys and rushed to the car.

Your heart hammering as everything seemed to go on pause, the realization and comprehension overpowering every doubt that filled your head—which usually would have won, but not today. Not now. You were too far gone into the feeling of purity and love, you couldn’t back down, and you didn’t. You drove all the way to his house, ignoring the fact that you two how you were meant to meet a few hours later for the traditional dinner you had when he was in town. You didn’t care that he said he had a surprise tonight, that thought was pushed back into your head. You didn’t care that you wore your baggy sweatpants and oversized hoodie with your hair tucked into the hood.

None of that mattered, because the only thing—person that did, was him. How everything just made sense in that moment. You had now only realized, but everything clicked. You had felt this unfamiliar feeling for a while, you could just never place your finger on what it was. Friendliness, is what you always said—silently sharing that thought with one another in simply a glance, yet he found out the truth before you ever could even think of you two romantically.

Your overthinking thoughts were the last thing you cared about, especially when you pulled into his driveway and frantically knocked on the door, fingers fiddling with one another as you stood there, impatient as ever, waiting to spit the words out like a romcom would.

Right on cue, the door opened, and as soon as it did, your lips parted, ready to confess—

“Charlie, chi è quello?” A sweet, smooth, silky voice heard from inside the house. [ Who is that? ]

Charlie.

Something only you ever called him—the only person he let call him that. It was a nickname that led to many, many others and lots of jokes that came along with it. It felt as though your heart was ripped out of your chest and stomped on in front of you.

A smile crept onto his face as he took a step aside, wordlessly motioning that you could walk in, and so you hesitantly did. Deep, quiet breaths as you walked into the house you had memories of, in every aspect of it you held a special memento. A gorgeous—no, breathtaking redhead came into view. Her maxi black dress that held onto her figure and tied around her neck, the dress backless as her hair was in a half up half down, parted by the pearl claw clip you had. The same one you kept tucked away in his drawer whenever you needed it. Black stilettos and silver jewelry to accessorize, and she held a welcoming, kind smile.

“Remember the surprise I had?” He snaked his arm around the girl’s waist, keeping her close like he usually did with you when you two were walking on the sidewalk, silly disgusies on to keep paparazzi and his fans off your ass, just like you two had briefly talked about. He respected your wishes, and encouraged it. He understood it better than anyone, and it was comforting knowing someone had your back. “This is Isabella.”

Her green eyes lit up, darting from you to Charles every few seconds. It was sad, how much pain you held in that moment while she was nothing but welcoming. It was as if life was biting you in the ass for falling for him—for realizing too late, or ever realizing it at all. For holding it, keeping it stored away when it should’ve made sense the minute he said those words.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Her Italian accent slipping. She tilted her head, her hands intertwined together as if to hold her excitement and nervousness. You did so too, but out of anxiety. The fear factor suddenly overruling the confidence you held not too long ago, fiddling as you racked your brain, trying to come up with an excuse you never concluded with. To hell with that, you just needed to get out of there.

You were lightheaded, your stomach tightening as your heart dropped and thumped in your ears, a faint ringing sound in them as well as you attempted to stand your ground and keep your composure. “I-yeah, I can’t-“ You swallowed, “Can’t make it tonight.”

His brows furrowed, his eyes finally meeting yours after gazing into Isabella’s—with the same look he used to look at you with. You wanted to throw up, and you didn’t know if this was a dramatic reaction, but it was your default. You were ready to breakdown until your headache formed and fell asleep, body limp before you woke up, scolding yourself for the tears you shed the night before, keeping yourself out of touch with everyone. But Charles wouldn’t listen.

Usually, he’d ground you, assure you he was real, that he wasn’t going anywhere. Try to lighten the mood with a few jokes and hushed whispers of sweet nothings into your ear, a few French as it always seemed to calm you down; even if you never understood all of his words. Nonetheless, it was comfort. He was home.

“What happened?” It was unusual, for you to just not show up to the dinner you looked forward to every time he was back, spending lots of time and effort as if it wasn’t the same place and time each and every time. Everything was cleared in his and your calendar, the time specifically for one another.

“Just-“ You took a step backwards, swallowing a lump that formed in your throat. Everything felt like it was closing in, stuffy and crowded. You needed to get out. “Sorry,” You turned around, storming out of the house and quickly to your car, feeling a hand grab your arm, forcing you to turn around. He met your eyes, his filled with concern while yours were filled with pain. Pain you shouldn’t get to feel, something you didn’t deserve of having—especially since you were never a thing. Never a couple. Friends.

“Please,” His eyes flickered from yours to his hand that slightly weakened, so that if you wanted to push him away and escape, you could, yet you were frozen. “I know you. I do, you know I do. What happened?”

You happened.

“What?”

He responded. Shit. You didn’t even know it slipped out, your overwhelming thoughts clouding your head while all you could feel and see was him. It got too hot all of a sudden, and you needed to get away, “Please, it’s fine. Nothing, nothing, just-“

“I’ll let you go if you really want me to,” His other hand went to cup your cheek while your eyes were avoiding his, forcing you directly into his. A wave of emotion washing over you, and your throat closed up as you desperately gasped for air, faint gasps as you stammered, “But please.”

“Don’t. Charles, don’t,” You shook your head, trying to turn your head away but he wouldn’t let you.

“You never call me that,” Now, he was even more confused. Pieces scattered on the board as the puzzle got more and more difficult, while he usually would just hold you. You didn’t have to talk, he would just know, and if he didn’t, he’d wait for you. He always did, but time ran out this time.

Everyone told him to move on, to give someone else a chance since you two were stuck on being friends—until he finally said the three words and you were oblivious. That’s when he knew it was time. He forever loved you, but he had to let you go if you truly didn’t want him. Little did he know you did. Crazy how so much chaos was created in only a few weeks.

“Please, mon chéri,” He called you the pet name, and you lost it.

“Fuck—fuck, Charles. Why, just why? Don’t, I can’t-“ You were at a loss for words, eyes glossy as he cupped your face with both of his hands, “I love you. I love you, and it hurts. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I realized too late and that I’m putting you in a position you shouldn’t even be in. I’m sorry, it isn’t right. Let me go, please-“

Everything tuned out once you said those words he was longing to hear ever since he laid eyes on you from the moment you two met. “You love me?”

“I shouldn’t, I know that. Isabella’s waiting inside, let me go, please,” You stammered, closing your eyes as his piercing stare got too much to handle, “Charlie, please.”

Reluctantly, he pulled his hands away, his lips parted as he stared at you in disbelief. You were quick on your feet, going into your car and took deep breaths. Everything was going haywire, and it was like the world was closing in on you, and you left���fast.

12 days.

Twelve days after that horrific event that replayed over and over again in your mind. Just a day ago, Charles won. He won the damn race, and you should’ve been there like you always were. Cheering him on and celebrating with him like every other time, no matter if he lost or won. You were meant to be there.

It was now 4:27 am, and you were watching the news, your hands shaking as you sat with your phone on the ground, messages from people bashing the silence with pings; biting your lip to keep your sobs down. At 3:42, Charles was presumed dead. Dead. So many thoughts swarmed your mind, and it was unbearable. With every second that passed, it was as if your heart shattered into more pieces, every bit holding its own toxin as you quivered, sat on the floor instead of the couch, holding onto his hoodie that you threw on.

Twelve days. Everyday was misery, keeping your distance from him was painful—but nothing compared to this. He died, he was gone. Tears trickling down your cheeks as you held back sobs, a hand clamped onto your mouth, body shaking in disbelief as so many emotions were clouding your thoughts. You could only imagine what his family were going through, but it caused you so much torment knowing you two weren’t on speaking terms. You felt like you were one to blame, for inflicting the distance in the beginning, and somehow, his death—which wasn’t true. But you couldn’t help it.

He wasn’t even on the track—on the road when some idiot crashed into him. The formula driver killed while doing what he loved, just not on the track; who would’ve thought? It was as if the world went silent, and you couldn’t bear it. Every passing minute, second, was like torture. Knowing you couldn’t change anything, it was actual torture. You eventually dropped your head, letting the sobs free as your world came crashing down. A part of you was ripped right out, and you couldn’t do anything to change it.

──── 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐒 . . . !

[aotnumber1fan]

Confessions at sunset

Bertholdt x fem!reader

a/n: Almost cried while making this, bertholdt has such a special place in my heart ilhsm

warnings: slight angst-fluff-heavier angst, (safe for angst dislikers like me), sfw, sort of ooc? Things go from 0 to 100 fast and like rereading this he's a bit ooc so sorry if it bothers you! 😭

"And this one means longevity..." I traced the small line that crossed the top of his palm, ending as quick as it started. "Looks like you won't be living a long life." I playfully smiled, but when I turned around to look up at him, my smile faltered.

We were seated by the ledge of the cabin, my legs hanging off and his, firmly set on the ground. He was leaning back, hand supporting him. I say hand because his other was firmly grasped by mine, my fingers taking the chance to trace every plunge and curve of his palm.

"Bertholdt?" His face was stuck in place, brows un-furrowing at my call of his name. I blinked a few times, trying to erase the uneasiness by focusing my gaze on his palm, which started to curl inwards.

"Oh would you look at that..." He shuffled his head above my shoulder, as I showed him my right hand. "Mine is long." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, I coughed.

"And.. Uhm.." I took his left hand, placing my right on his pinky side, "The gaps.. we have the same gaps." his short line connected and continued onto mine, that stretched farther and darker than his.

"About the longevity thing.. I made it up.." I pursed my lips in an akward smile that he luckily, couldn't see. "My mom didn't teach me nearly as much as I told you she did." I noted how much warmer his palm was, and brought my other hand to hold his with.

"She didn't excatly.. live long enough for that. You know, with the whole collosal breaching the wall stuff.." I murmured out, looking at the spaces between our three defining lines. Furrowing my brows in thought.

What I didn't know, is that he did the same. What I didn't feel, was him tensing up, the way his teeth clenched. His right hand was placed by his knee, balled up, as his left one was held, trembling ever so slightly more than seconds ago.

"I'm sorry if I brought up any bad memories.. I tend to talk without thinking and–"

"It's okay."

Bertholdt wasn't the type to start things. He wasn't one to meddle in them, wasn't the type to end them either. He was an important piece that only had ears, it seemed like. Maybe that's what made him stand out to me.

I felt him nudge me softly as I sprung back to reality, a small smile and string of 'sorrys' leaving me with a turn to his attentive face.

"The space.. Between the lines." He muttered, eyes skimming over me. "You talked about them, what did you want to say?"

I looked at our hands. "Oh! It means heartbreak. The farther the lines are from eachother.. Signifies heartbreak." My tone died out as I finished the sentence, ending flatly, a silence ensuing.

Bertholdt's hand interlocked with mine, a small, breathy, shaky sigh leaving his lips. "Then I hope your mom's readings are wrong." My head turned to right, and I was met with his pink face averting mine. "Sorry."

Though.. I didn't get a good look. I turned away quickly too. "Don't be... I don't really believe in her readings. They've been proven false... Many times."

I kissed my teeth, remembering how she'd talk about what her life had in store for her. She was right. Life had one hell of a surprise for her. I wasn't sure she liked it though.

Bertholdt hummed, watching me as I let go of his hand, deciding bring myself in and hold on my legs.

"Only a fool would break your heart anyways." He murmured, but I heard him.

"I don't care about mine." I murmured back, but he heard me. He paused, and he stared at me. Well I didn't see him but god did I feel it.

"I.." I closed my eyes with a sigh, hoping he didn't notice the goosebumps on my arms. "How are you and Annie going? You manage to finally woo her?"

Silence ensued. I didn't want to turn around.. to look at him, though that pink face was nice to look at... It was a fluke. Only one person can make him blush like that.

It was still quiet. Did he not hear me? "H-"

My words got lodged in my throat as I felt his hand slither around my waist, pulling me back, next to him.. Also a bit closer. "I can't see your face if I'm behind you." My heart pumped, thundering against my ears.

"Did.. D-Did you hear my question?" I cringed at my stutter but he didn't make much of deal about it. I looked at him from the corners of my eye, but his face was pretty blurry. It faced down, away from me... It was hard to decipher his expression.

He was hard to decipher.

"I did."

I looked down. "Then why didn't you answer?"

"What were you going to say? Before you mentioned Annie." His tone was firm, unusual, but still overwhelmingly him.

"I'm not sure.. Forget about that just–"

"Please?"

His plea shut me up. And I only realised how frustrated I was when I felt a tear land on my thigh, another on my hand, that I fisted harder than what was considered to be normal.

His thumb wiped the tear off my knuckles, shuffled to face me.

He placed his hands on my cheeks and lifted my head, averting my eyes as he wiped the tears off my face, sliding his worn, thumbs under my eyes.

"I'm sorry." It was a tender, a barely heard apology. He didn't do anything wrong. Loving someone else wasn't a crime. I wanted to tell him. But the look on his face made me doubt that's what he was talking about.

It's not like I knew, anyway.

"You shouldn't be... I'm being dumb." I smiled and took his hands, placing them down infront of us. "I don't want your heart to get broken, because I know how it feels like, and it feels like shit." I paused. "That's what I was going to say."

"The present."

"Huh—"

"You spoke in the present."

He was an important piece that only had ears.

"Yeah. I guess I did." It was tiring, keeping secrets from him. I didn't want him to know the hold he had on me but what was I to do when he noticed how I bended at his every word.

I let go of his hand and looked back infront of us, to the field where we stood in line and first met eachother. Well, first met Shadis. I still remember the beat down he gave me. Verbal of course, but it still felt very physical.

"Who's the guy?"

"You don't want to know." It was a sign for him to drop the subject. But it seemed like he just didn't want to.

"Why is that?"

I froze and turned my head, he stared down at the ground, not even lifting his head up for a second. I needed to find an excuse.

"You won't like him."

"Who is he?"

I didn't want to lash out, or raise my voice, but it was getting hard to stay patient with his constant prodding. He knew he was prying, but maybe he just didn't care. Maybe the answer was just that important.

"I'm not telling you."

"Why?"

"For fucks sake Hoover—Why won't you just drop it?" I didn't yell, my voice stayed the same, but my tone was a bit harsher than I meant it to be. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"Because I like you."

My words jumbled up together and flew out my mouth without being pronouced, giving place to my gaping jaw. I closed it quickly, and it opened it again, coughing up a small fit.

"What." It didn't sound like a question. It wasn't. Didn't stop him from responding.

"I like you."

"Say it again." I was the one to move from my spot, and turn to look at him this time. He was the one to avoid my gaze, clenching his fists while staring at the ground, face oddly blank.

"I like you." He was a bit louder with each reiteration of the short sentence, like he was confirming it for himself as much as me.

"Again."

"I like you."

"Just one m—"

"Are you toying with me, Y/n?"

His glare transfered over to me, and I flinched, but in seeing that, he didn't hold it long. "Please don't. Please don't do that." A crack in his voice struck something within me.

"I'm not!" I rushed out, choosing my next words carefully.

"I like you. I'm in love with you. I like you romantically and I thought you liked Annie so that's why I lashed out earlier–and by the way, sorry about tha—"

"What." I focused on his face, and for once I could discern something. Confusion, mixed with shock, and... Something else.

"I thought you like Annie, so I lashe–"

He shook his head. "No.. The liking me part. Can you say it again?" His face was yet again, neutral, but his eyes held hope.

"No." His lips twitched to say something, but I cut him off with mine. On his.

I felt a push and I backed away, eyes wide. "Shit I'm sorry. I'm sorry Bertholdt I thought–I should've—"

He placed his hand on my waist and the other on my cheek, leaning in again to kiss me. It was a juvenile, quick, short, and confused kiss. A test, an introduction, the first kiss.

But then we kissed again, and it was longer, softer, deeper. And then again; we got warmer, and we took our time, breaking apart every few seconds to breathe and reconnect. We stopped, eventually. My lips tingled, like the butterflies that inhabited my stomach flew and landed on my lips,

as weird as that sounds.

His lips were swollen. Red, warm to the touch–I assumed. His cheeks were in the same boat. The tips of his ears as well. A couple seconds passed and I realized that his eyes were aswell. Tears starting to spill out, they were becoming red and puffy.

My hands stuttered and I brought his head to my shoulder, propping myself on my knees so that his back wouldn't ache.

Soft, almost soundless sobs left him, my shoulder getting damp. His hands clutched my white button down as he continued to cry, and I started to smile.

"Are you that happy?" It was presumptious of me to assume that he was crying of joy, but I pressed my lips shut and cupped his cheeks, wiping his tears like he did me.

"I'm... sorry." His voice whispered, and it wavered, and it might've been the weakest I've ever heard him. I leaned in and left a kiss on his forehead, nervously smiling.

"It's okay."

This didn't seem to satisfy him, as he looked to the ground. His soulders slumping forward, and hands clenching and opening up repetedly.

"I'm... Really, sorry. I'm sorry—I'm so, sorry.." It was like a chant that he repeated, each one quieter than the last. His body leaned into me, facing the floor. He was tired. Like he was bearing the whole world on his shoulders.

Something felt off with his apologies. Like they weren't for me. But if they weren't, who would they be for?

No, that wasn't the right question. I rested my chin on his head, and thread my hands through his hair, gently patting the unruly parts down.

The question, was what were they for. He hadn't done anything wrong. Yet he continued apologizing, under his breath. He paused.

You were right earlier, that he didn't want to know. He shouldn't have pushed it.

"Please... Don't hate me."

[erimeows]

Against His Better Judgment

Obito Uchiha has been ‘dead’ for years now- at least according to his last surviving teammate and the poorly done carving of his name on the memorial stone that sits in the middle of the village. Tonight, however, he’s very much alive, stalking aforementioned teammate to bide the time. Why he’s been doing it, he isn’t quite sure.

Most days, Obito’s feelings for Kakashi alternate between hatred and indifference. On nights like this, however, he wavers. He remembers the way Kakashi protected him when they were young. He remembers soft silvery hair grasped between his fingertips when they’d get into particularly nasty fights; and hard gazes from beautiful charcoal eyes when Obito would show up late every day. 

Worst of all, he remembers those things fondly… And he misses them enough to forget that it was Kakashi’s arrogance that landed him in the clutches of Madara Uchiha. He forgets that it was Kakashi’s chidori that Rin impaled herself on. He forgets that, at many points during their years together, he hated Kakashi with a passion that made fire burn in his throat when the man so much as looked at him.

Back then, though, they were mere children. Now, they’re adults. Kakashi is in Anbu, consumed by the darkness of Obito’s death and everything that has followed. 

Obito lets out a small sigh and adjusts the orange mask on his face. Right now, they’re a mere mile or two from where Minato and Kushina died. A few miles away from where they used to train together. 

To reach his goal of unleashing the Infinite Tsukuyomi, Obito has to let go of his bonds. But until his plan comes closer to fruition, he supposes he can hold onto them, if only for a little longer. The only one he has left is Kakashi, anyway.

Minato and Kushina are dead because he killed them. Rin is dead because Kakashi killed her. And, his grandma and the many elderly in the village that he bonded with during his youth have been stolen away by time.

So, he lingers on the outskirts of Konoha often, clinging onto the one bond he has left. Every once in a blue moon, he hears whispers of the Uchiha trying to stage a coup; whispers of rebellion that he knows Danzo will hush before they can turn into full on screams. How Danzo will do it, Obito isn’t sure yet, but he lies in wait for the details. He doesn’t care if any of them die. They were never kind to him after his own parents died, anyway. 

In the meantime, he watches Kakashi. The man trains near the border of the village every single night, close to where he used to train every day with Team Minato when they were still alive. Now, he and Obito are the only ones left. To Kakashi, he’s the only one left.

Obito crosses his arms over his chest and peers at Kakashi with interest as he leans back against the trunk of the tree he’s sitting in. The branch he stays on is high up, and the tree is lush with leaves, so he has good coverage. It seems as if Kakashi hasn’t noticed him- at least not yet. He’s been doing this on and off for a week now and Kakashi is none the wiser. Or, Obito thinks that’s the case. Then again, Kakashi is always full of surprises.

Kakashi, the poor fool, keeps lifting the heaviest rocks and small boulders he can find and throwing them as hard as he can across the forest. He crushes patches of healthy grass and wildflowers in his wake.

“Come on out,” Kakashi says after chucking a boulder almost as big as the one that crushed Obito all those years ago, apparently aware of Obito’s presence. Obito knows he should leave, but he doesn’t. He waits to see if he can convince Kakashi that he’s simply imagining someone watching him by lowering his chakra and remaining quiet. Kakashi, however, doesn’t drop it. In fact, he’s looking right towards where Obito is hiding as he raises his forehead protector off of his Sharingan- off of Obito’s Sharingan. “Why have you been following me?”

“So you noticed me, hm?” Obito asks, hopping out of the tree and smoothly landing on the ground.

Thankfully, he looks much different. He’s masked, his hair is longer, he’s taller, and he’s learned to impersonate Madara’s voice perfectly. If he plays his cards right, even someone as astute as Kakashi shouldn’t be able to identify him, especially while under the impression that he’s dead. 

“Answer me,” Kakashi demands. He weaves some hand signs and forms a ball of lightning in his right hand. “It’s been weeks now.”

“You’re more observant than I thought, Kakashi Hatake,” Obito smiles beneath his mask and activates his own Sharingan. Behind his mask, in the darkness of the cloudy summer night, Kakashi doesn’t seem to see it. “Trust me. I’m simply here from Konoha’s security division to work on the barrier system. I’m not following you.”

Kakashi softens, but not fully. The chidori remains in his hand, chirping with energy, waiting to be unleashed on some poor soul. 

“Then what’s your name?”

“I can’t tell you that. This mission is classified.”

“Hm… You seem to know who I am, but if you won’t reveal your name, I’m not sure I can trust you,” Kakashi says, though he diffuses his chidori and pushes his hands into his pockets. It’s a gesture that he never would’ve done when he was younger, citing bad posture as ‘improper’ and stiffly keeping his hands at his sides. Oh, how he’s changed since they were little. “How can I confirm that you’re someone from this village who can be trusted?”

“I know how to unlock the village barriers. No outsiders are provided with that kind of information.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Kakashi snaps. Obito sees him grip something within his pocket- probably a kunai or a shuriken. “A spy could’ve leaked those to you easily.”

“Wow. Your faith in your comrades must be poor if you think there’s a spy among the lot of you,” Obito laughs, but Kakashi isn’t necessarily wrong. All of the ninja villages are ridden with spies right now. He decides to use his knowledge about Kakashi to his advantage. “Fine, then. You were in Anbu with me. I worked with you before moving to the security division. What do you want to hear about yourself?”

“...What’s my go-to food order after a mission?”

“You don’t have one go-to order. If it’s a difficult mission, you get eggplant-mixed miso soup since it’s light. If it’s easier and you return to the village hungry, you get saury with rice instead.”

“It’s odd that I worked with you at some point and don’t recognize your voice, but very well. No one else could possibly know that information about me aside from another comrade. I’ll leave you be.”

With that, Kakashi turns to leave. Obito lets out a sigh of relief, though he can’t help but wonder if his encounter with Kakashi is some sort of sign… Whether it’s a sign to leave Kakashi alone or a sign to play with fire, he isn’t sure.

~

Against his better judgment, Obito returns to the outskirts of the village the next night to watch Kakashi train in the field of wildflowers. This time, Kakashi arrives before him, so he doesn’t have much time to hide. He addresses the man with his arms crossed.

“Kakashi Hatake. I thought you’d steer clear from here after last night.”

“No. If you’re doing this type of work alone, I figured extra protection wouldn’t hurt… In case someone tries to stop you. Even if you’re not in any danger, having a teammate doesn’t hurt.”

“How odd of you… To say something like that, Kakashi,” Obito laughs. He thinks back to when his old teammate would complain about being on a team and insisting that he’d be better off alone on dangerous missions. “Don’t they call you the friend-killer these days?”

“Sometimes, but those who call me ‘friend-killer’ weren’t there that day,” Kakashi shrugs. It’s as if he’s so used to it that the insult doesn’t bother him anymore. Kakashi glances towards Obito, who stands across from him. His eyes are dark but curious. “Do you think I’m a friend-killer?”

“Do you truly care what I think?”

“I don’t know who you are, so I suppose I shouldn’t, but if you really are my comrade… I do,” Kakashi answers before sitting down on a nearby log and pulling the backpack off of his shoulders. He reaches into it for a lunch box, and then another. He looks back up at Obito and smiles underneath his mask. “Have you eaten?”

“No,” Obito responds, baffled. The Kakashi he knew back then would never bring food for anyone else- not even Rin, Minato, or Kushina- who all made him lunches regularly. “Don’t tell me you’ve brought food for me.”

“I have. Would you like to come eat with me?”

“Did you forget the fact that I’m working?” Obito hisses, though it isn’t really true.

“No, but a break never hurts.”

“Very well,” Obito sits next to Kakashi on the log. It’s far closer than he’s comfortable with, but he can sense that Kakashi is relaxed and that neither of them are in danger. Kakashi hands one of the lunch boxes to him. Much to his surprise, he opens the lunchbox to see three sticks of dango. “I was under the impression that you hated sweets.”

“I do- or, I did- but these were the favorite of a close friend. He would eat these nonstop no matter how much I’d lecture him about it,” Kakashi says, staring down at the sticks within his own lunchbox. “He’s gone now, so I eat them when I find myself wishing he were still here… To remind me of what it was like to have him around. Sometimes, when I eat dango, I’m able to close my eyes and imagine that he’s sitting next to me enjoying them as well.”

“I see,” Obito frowns. While he would never admit it, regret flutters in his stomach, if only for a moment. He briefly considers ripping the mask off of his face and telling Kakashi the truth. Breaking down in his lap and crying his eyes out about everything he’s gone through since Kannabi Bridge. It’s just too late, though. He’s killed so many people, done so many terrible things, all in the name of this plan of his. Obito takes a deep breath and reminds himself why he’s doing all of this; to give people like himself and Kakashi a better world where none of those terrible things can happen. He glances over at Kakashi, watching for changes in the other man’s facial expression as he asks- “Do you miss him?”

“Do I miss him?” Kakashi asks in an incredulous tone- as if the answer is obvious. After years of Kakashi scolding him, beating him down, and tearing apart every single thing he ever believed in, it’s hard for him to comprehend the idea of Kakashi… Missing him. “Of course I do. I can’t even begin to describe how much I miss him. I was in love with him for the longest time, but I never had the guts to tell him… He was in love with this girl on our squad, so I didn’t think he’d return my feelings. I was mean to him because I had my own issues… I was afraid that if he knew I had fallen for him, he’d make fun of me and hold it over my head. Now, he’s dead, and it’s my fault. I guess I am a friend-killer after all… If I had just been better to him back then, everything would’ve worked out. Maybe I would’ve even been able to tell him the truth.”

Obito’s eye widens beneath his mask. 

Kakashi…

Was in love with him?

“Maybe… It’s better that you didn’t get to tell him in the end,” Obito frowns. They fall into a brief silence, both turning to face away from each other and pulling their masks down to eat the dango. Desperate to leave so he can reflect on the bombshell Kakashi has just dropped on him, Obito pushes the lunch box back into the man’s bag and stands up. “I should report back… To the security division.”

When he turns to leave, Kakashi reaches out and grabs Obito’s gloved hand. 

Obito looks over his shoulder to see Kakashi looking up at him. 

“Will you be here again tomorrow night?” Kakashi questions.

Obito pauses.

“Will you be here?”

“If you are. I don’t know why, but I feel… Connected to you. Maybe I do remember working with you, at some point. Even if you can’t reveal your identity to me because of your mission, I’d like to keep meeting you here until you’ve finished it.”

Obito shakes his head, yanks his hand away from Kakashi’s, and leaves.

~

The next night, Obito inevitably returns. This time, Kakashi isn’t training. Instead, he lies on the field of wildflowers with his mask hanging loosely around his neck and a cigarette between his lips. The wind gently blows by, 

Kakashi pulls his cigarette out from between his lips and speaks, his eyes shut and lashes fluttering against his cheeks.  

“You’re back.”

Obito sits next to Kakashi on the grass. 

“Are you shocked?”

Kakashi shrugs and, with his eyes still closed, holds his cigarette out. Obito takes it and stares down at Kakashi, baffled. The man is still holding his eyes closed and turning his head the other way to show that he won’t look… So, Obito pulls his mask to the side just enough to take a drag off of the cigarette. The smoke in his lungs reeks of tobacco and bittersweet regret.

“You didn’t answer me last night when I asked if you’d be here.”

Obito blows rings of smoke into the air, pulls his mask back over his face, places the cigarette back between Kakashi’s lips, and answers.

“I didn’t have to.”

The leaves of the trees in the forest rustle with the rhythm of the breeze as Obito stares at Kakashi… And stares, and stares, and stares. Kakashi opens his eyes and stares back. Obito meets his gaze, even behind the mask, sure to keep his Sharingan deactivated so his eye remains pitch black. It feels as if Kakashi is staring straight through him. Obito wishes that he could stare straight through Kakashi, too, because after last night, his perception of the other man has been flipped upside down.

“You must be part of Root. I’ve been mulling over everyone I’ve ever worked with and I’m certain I haven’t actually worked with you directly, so you must be a Root member,” Kakashi explains, though it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to inform Obito that he knows. Kakashi has always been unsure of himself- Obito can tell that much. “Are you telling Danzo about me? …About this- I mean, about what we’ve been doing the last couple nights?”

“Don’t worry,” Obito says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m aware of the fact that Danzo has it out for you, but you’re not my mission, Kakashi.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Don’t make it out as if I’m doing you any sort of favor.”

“But you are.”

“I’m not.”

“You’ve been trying to act cold these last few days, but I can tell you’re not like that,” Kakashi murmurs, his tone low as he burns his cigarette out on the front of his Anbu armor. “Your presence feels very warm, like an old friend.”

“What exactly do you mean by that?”

“There’s no double meaning. The words are as clear as day,” Kakashi shrugs and crosses one leg over the other. “I feel connected to you. Being around you gives me a sense of warmth and familiarity that I really don’t get to feel anymore.”

“Then your perception of me is wrong.”

“Or maybe the way you perceive yourself is wrong,” Kakashi corrects, then rolls onto his side to face Obito. “I want to see your face.”

“Why?”

“I just…” Kakashi trails off, then reaches out to try to touch Obito’s mask. Obito jerks back. “Imagined you’d be pretty.”

“I’m far from pretty,” Obito argues.

Unlike Kakashi, who’s sitting here unmasked with his beautiful sharp eyes, perfectly chiseled jawline, soft-looking lips, and gorgeous silver hair, Obito is not, in fact, pretty. His long, dark hair is a mess, over half of his body is scarred from the battle on Kannabi bridge, and even if he weren’t half-mangled, he never thought he was attractive to begin with. There was a reason Rin always preferred Kakashi back then.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Do you think you’re pretty, Kakashi?” Obito demands to get the attention of of himself, knowing that Kakashi has never had the best self-esteem.

“I’m not hideous,” Kakashi hums. “I’d say I’m a very average looking man.”

Obito rolls his eyes.

“Then why do you wear a mask to cover your face so often?”

“Well, I’m not self-conscious. The mask is only there for a practical reason. I inherited the strong sense of smell from the Inuzuka clan thanks to my mother, but not the ability to tolerate it without getting overwhelmed, so my father put me in a mask when I was little to keep me from having public meltdowns. I’d get seriously overstimulated. I don’t mind showing people my face if they just ask.”

“...You undersold your looks. You really have gotten handsome in the last few years, Kakashi.”

���You think so?”

“Yes, definitely,” Obito answers. He saw Kakashi’s face a handful of times when they were children- once by accident, a couple times when Rin had to heal a facial injury, and another time when Kakashi was sick. “I hope you don’t think that I’m going to remove my mask now that you’ve shown me your face...”

“Of course not. You said your identity has to be confidential for your mission, right? I knew seeing your face would be a long shot, but I feel like we’ve made some progress tonight,” Obito becomes uncomfortable at those words. If he isn’t careful, Kakashi’s going to make him… No, he doesn’t even want to think about it. Heart fluttering against his chest, Obito stands up and dusts the grass off of his outfit. “Are you leaving now?”

Obito doesn’t answer directly. Instead, he asks-

“See you tomorrow night?”

Kakashi grins.

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

~

The next night, Obito shows up earlier than he’d like to admit… Before the sun sets, in fact. The amount of risks he’s taking for this undeniable urge to see Kakashi is ridiculous if the two dead Anbu near the village barriers are anything to go by.

He waits hours in the same field on the outskirts of the village, sitting in the grass and dwelling on everything that’s happened over the last few days. It takes so long that he starts to think Kakashi might not show up. Right at midnight, however, Kakashi comes running to the field with sweat dripping down his face and a lunch box in his hands. 

“Sorry I’m late- I had a mission that kept me,” Kakashi apologizes and sits down next to Obito on the grass- far too close for comfort, honestly. Their shoulders brush against one another as Kakashi moves to open the lunchbox and pulls out a stick of dango. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Dango again?” Obito quirks an eyebrow, though he knows Kakashi can’t see it behind his mask. 

“You seemed like you liked it with how fast you scarfed it down last time, so I brought it again, but I can eat it by myself if you’d like.”

“No, no, I don’t mind… I’ll have some.”

Obito reaches into the box and pulls out a stick for himself. Kakashi does the same. They turn away from each other and pull their masks down to eat before fixing their masks and turning back to face each other. 

“Did you like it? I learned how to make it pretty recently.”

Obito nods. 

“Yes, it’s better than the kind you can get from the dango shop next to Ichiraku.”

“Good. I’m glad you don’t hate it,” Kakashi reaches over and pats Obito’s back. Obito flinches at the touch, but doesn’t do anything to make Kakashi stop. “You have to eat well if you’re going to be out on a security mission like this all night every night.”

“That’s true. Thank you for feeding me, but why do you keep doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Coming here… Meeting with me, talking to me, treating me with such kindness, even though I can tell you’re unsure if you can fully trust me or not.”

Kakashi pauses, looking wistful as he closes his lunchbox and puts it in his bag. 

“Doesn’t everyone deserve kindness?”

“No,” Obito answers, baffled by the person Kakashi has become. “I would argue that most people don’t- not in this cruel, vile shinobi world.”

“It’s sad that you think that way. Even a lot of the worst people have goodness in them,” Kakashi argues. “And, you know, forgiveness is important. If you don’t forgive, putting things behind you so you can move on is still important. You never know what someone is going through now, or what someone has been through previously. Bad experiences don’t excuse bad behavior, but if you can treat someone who’s lashing out because they’re struggling with some grace, you’re bound to make the world that much better.”

Obito rolls his eyes at Kakashi. 

“You’re far too forgiving.”

Kakashi, as always, seems unbothered.

“You’re allowed to feel that way.”

“Do you think I’m wrong?” Obito questions.

“No, not at all. We’re both right to feel the way we feel. Us shinobi don’t have the rights to much these days- the least we can have are the rights to our feelings. It’s imperative for us to have a variety of people with differing perspectives or the big problems with the shinobi world will never get solved.”

“And you think that people such as myself can solve those problems?”

“Sure you can… Especially if you’re working together with others to do it, like me.”

Kakashi reaches for Obito’s face. Obito catches his wrist in one hand and shoots a glare in his direction- not that Kakashi can see it behind Obito’s mask, anyway, but Kakashi seems to feel the heat of it just fine.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Kakashi jerks his hand away as if he’s scorched it on hot metal and averts his gaze, embarrassed. “I’m sorry for touching you without asking first.”

“Stop apologizing,” Obito grabs Kakashi’s chin with one gloved hand. “Did you… Want to touch me?”

“I’d like to. I feel like we both need it.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I don’t know yet,” Kakashi honestly answers after a moment’s hesitation. “Can you prove to me that I can?”

“Do something for me and I think I’ll be able to.”

Kakashi tightly swallows.

“Anything you want.”

“Pull your mask down, then pull your forehead protector over both eyes to cover them.”

“I see,” Kakashi sighs, seeming disappointed, but he does as Obito says. He drags his tilted forehead protector over both of his eyes and ties it in place so he can’t see, then pulls his mask down to expose the lower half of his face. “You’re going to take your mask off, but you don’t want to reveal your face to me.”

Obito confirms Kakashi’s suspicions with a low hum and places a gentle hand on Kakashi’s face. Kakashi leans into the touch, his cheeks burning bright red underneath the moonlight. Obito uses his other hand to push his mask to the side. Against his better judgment, he leans in and presses a kiss to Kakashi’s lips. They’re sweet like sugar but bitter like coffee as Kakashi tilts his head and leans in to kiss him back. Obito isn’t sure why he’s doing this. Does he love Kakashi back? The way his heart is slamming against his chest right now, the way his lips are moving against Kakashi’s, the way he sighs when Kakashi’s fingers land in his hair and pull at the long black locks- they all say yes, he does.

But then, why do this at all? When the Infinite Tsukuyomi comes to fruition, he can do this whenever he wants without the risk of his identity being revealed. Better yet, he can do it as himself.

‘Because this is real,’ he thinks before quickly shoving the thought to the back of his mind and pulling back. He yanks his mask over his face and stares at Kakashi with intense… Something. Longing? Regret? Relief? He can’t tell. 

 “I should go before this gets too intense,” Obito chokes out the words, still tasting Kakashi on his lips as he talks. 

Kakashi fumbles to pull his forehead protector back over his forehead and his mask over his face. Still, Obito can tell that the poor guy is red from the tips of his ears down. 

“Will you be back tomorrow night?” Kakashi asks, twiddling his thumbs like a teenager.

“I’m not sure yet,” Obito admits. He shouldn’t come back… Not again, lest they take this too far, but he wants to continue this so desperately. “Don’t wait up on me.”

“Okay,” Kakashi smiles, waving. “See you later.”

“Yeah,” Obito waves in return. “See you later, Kakashi.”

[dreamersbcll]

It would be cool to see an au scene where it was Tara rather than Anika crossing the ladder…..

this was SO mean. but here we go.

“Lovely”

—————————————————————-

“Go, go, GO!”

Sam shoved Tara forward, catching her by the shirt as she stumbled. Mindy was hot on their heels, dodging slashes from the latest asshole in a mask.

The trio slammed themselves into the bedroom, pushing the wardrobe in front of the door. Sam immediately went to the window, trying to flag down the boy next door, while Mindy panicked openly.

Standing behind Sam, Tara tried to stabilize herself. She had never felt anxiety like this before. It was as if everything was on fire, and the flames were licking every square inch of flesh on her body. Her breathing was picking up, and she knew that she didn’t have an extra inhaler on hand. It’s not like she would have time to use it anyways.

Ghostface was in her apartment, and now she, Mindy, and Sam were trapped in a bedroom with nowhere to go. Mindy was also starting to lose it, trying to shove more things in front of the shaking door.

“I- What do we do? What do we do?” Mindy stuttered, trying to move the bed.

Tara just shook her head, holding onto the gaping wound in her stomach. Of course, she had to be stabbed again. Internally she was cursing herself for not being prepared. And of course, Ghostface was someone close to them. How could she be so stupid? Groaning, she looked down at the wound, feeling faint at the sight of gushing blood. Stumbling behind Sam, Tara could feel her body giving out by the minute.

They needed a way out and fast.

And that’s when Tara saw him. That stupid boy that Sam was fascinated with. Whether or not he was a good guy didn’t matter right now. For all she cared, right now, he was their savior. Their savior in the apartment across from their own.

Sam threw open the window and started yelling at him. Tara was feeling too woozy to catch what was being said. Something along the lines of Don’t worry, I got you, to, Are you fucking kidding me?

Her big sister would handle this. Tara just needed to stay upright. Between Mindy holding the door closed and Sam fiddling with what sounded like a metal ladder, Tara was too overwhelmed to help.

She stumbled back, landing on the bed. Her stomach was hurting. Was she crying, or was that sweat? Someone was yelling at her. Sam?

“You two go first. Mindy!” shouted her sister, trying to grab Tara's sleeve. She missed, as Tara was too far away.

That was the last time Sam would be close enough to touch her again.

Mindy shook her head frantically. “No! Somebody has to hold the door. You first and Tara next. Go!”

To Tara's surprise, Sam gave in and started climbing out the window. She tried to muster up the words, anything, to tell her sister.

Don’t go. Why are you leaving? Please take me with you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I’m sorry I was so mean to you. I didn’t mean to. It hurts Sam. It hurts. Please help me. I love you. Don’t go. Please stay.

But every time she tried to speak, the words died out on her tongue. It didn’t matter. Her sister was disappearing from view. Was she climbing? Is that a ladder? Where was she going?

It didn’t matter. She was tired. There was so much blood. Maybe she should lie down.

“Mindy! Tara! Come on! COME ON!” screamed Sam, breaking Tara out of her trance.

Mindy shoved the wardrobe before the door and ran over to Tara, propping her up.

“No, Mindy, no. It hurts,” she mumbled, letting the girl drag her to the window.

The girl parked her before the window, gently pushing Tara towards the ladder. Tara tried to steady her hands and grasp the ladder, but she missed and nearly keeled forward. Mindy pulled her back, and Tara started to push away from her.

“No, Mindy, I can’t. You have to go, you have to,” she slurred, trying to get Mindy to let go of her shoulders.

Her friend shook her head violently, her voice thick with tears. “No, Tara, you have to. You have to go!”.

Behind them, Ghostface had broken open the door, his mask peeking out. Coupled with her sister's screams, Tara knew what she had to do.

Mindy had to go first. She was steadier. Tara wasn’t ready yet. She could go last.

Tara reached out and grabbed Mindy’s forearms, holding on tight to her best friend.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to be precise. “Mindy. You go first. I’ll be right behind you, I promise,” she softly said, focusing her eyes on Mindy’s terrified ones.

The girl shook her head, tears streaming down her face. Mindy leaned in and kissed Tara on the forehead, and made her way out the window.

Tara held onto the ladder, coughing. Flecks of blood splattered across the ladder, and she could feel herself slipping. She tried to force herself to hold on, hold onto the ladder so Mindy could make it.

It was almost her turn. It was almost her turn.

She could hear her sister, her Sam, soothing Mindy, begging her to keep going. Tara tried to look up, make eye contact with her sister, but everything was blurry. She couldn’t see. It was all fuzzy.

“Sammy,” she whimpered.

Ghostface kept pushing against the door, objects clattering all over the room. She gasped at the pain on her side and prayed that this would work.

It had to work. It had to. It was almost her turn.

Finally, Mindy crossed, and Tara could go.

It was her turn. It was her turn.

“Come on Tara, come on baby, you can do it!” cried Sam, holding out a hand for Tara.

She grasped the ladder, preparing to cross. It was too much. She couldn’t see straight. There’s so much blood. Why was she bleeding so much? She needed Sam. She needed help.

“I can’t. I can’t do it,” she slurred, grasping onto the slick ladder.

“Yes, you can! Yes, you fucking can!” Sam screamed, hands still outstretched.

Tara whimpered but started to crawl. She had to move. He was behind her. Sam was in front of her. It was her turn. She had to move.

She inched forward, moving as quickly as she could. Mindy and Sam screamed encouragement, and Tara could tell that Sam had her crying voice on. She kept inching forward, crying as she went.

Suddenly everyone went quiet, and Tara saw the moment that Sam knew. Her big sister’s eyes widened, and Mindy gasped a bone-chilling, world-ending gasp.

“What?” she softly said, afraid of the fear in her family’s eyes.

Sam just opened and closed her mouth, shaking her head rapidly. Mindy was the only one who could find her voice.

“Tara, you have to move now. YOU HAVE TO MOVE NOW!” her friend yelled, her eyes filled with a fear that Tara wishes she could unsee.

Tara followed her sister’s eyes, looking behind her. And there she knew that this was the end.

He had the ladder, and he was shaking it.

And suddenly, Tara was eight years old again.

——

“Tara, come on, honey. You can do it, and you’re almost there!”

Sticking her tongue out with determination, Tara reached for the next monkey bar. Big kids can climb the monkey bars. Sam always told her that she was a big girl. She could do this.

She was on the third bar, Sam on the other side. Her big sister was waiting with her arms open, a big smile on her face.

Tara wanted to be a big girl like Sam. She could do this.

So she climbed, bar by bar. All fourteen rungs, stopping at the twelfth to catch her breath. Looking down, she could see her feet dangling over the woodchips.

She whimpered. She was so high up. This was scary. Maybe she couldn’t do this.

“Baby, look at me. Look at me. You can do this, honey. I’m right here. Come to me!” Sam cheered, hands still outstretched.

Tara took a deep breath and kept pushing.

Fourteen rungs later, she tumbled into Sam’s arms, giggling as her big sister caught her.

“Oh my god! That’s my big girl! I’m so proud of you, baby!”

Tara snuggled into Sam’s embrace, giggling at the kisses her big sister planted all over her face.

“I did it, Sammy! I’m a big girl!” she crowed.

Her sister kissed her hair, squeezing her tight.

“You did it, baby. You did it,”.

——

“I can’t do this. I can’t do this,” she wailed, the ladder shaking.

Ghostface was shaking, no, throwing the ladder around, bouncing her up and down. Blood was splattering everywhere, and she was losing her grip. Everything was slick with fluids, and she was losing consciousness by the second.

“Tara, give me your hand. Baby, look at me, come to me!” her sister frantically cried, hands outstretched.

Tara looked up, making eye contact with her sister. Through all the movement, chaos, and pain, she found serenity in those brown eyes.

“I don’t wanna die, Sammy,” she whispered.

Her sister shook her head back and forth, hand outstretched.

“You’re not dying, baby. You’re not. Please give me your hand. Tara, give me your hand!”

Tara groaned, reaching one hand out to her sister. Her fingertips grazed Sam’s, and Tara sighed in relief. Her big sister’s hands were always warm and strong. She was going to be okay. Sam was going to save her.

But that’s when the ladder flipped, and Tara went airborne.

She had so much she still needed to say. She had so much she needed to do. So many broken promises, so many unfulfilled dreams.

As Tara fell to the ground, she hoped Sam knew she had tried. She almost got across. She tried so fucking hard.

The last thought in her mind before she hit the cold concrete was simple.

I love you, Sam.

[charlottedabookworm]

#28 - Deleterious

feat Nadir

i'm back to pushing my 'yda and papalymo are awesome starting scions' agenda i love them okay every time someone says lyse is annoying i'm like sorry you don't like her mate but you're wrong

He has always found that things are far simpler when looked upon from on high. A boyhood of always reaching for the highest peak had taught him that, and it is why he finds himself scaling the side of the Waking Sands long after the rest of the Scions are abed.

“Nadir?”

Nadir blinks.

Mayhap not all of the Scions are abed, he realises as he stares at Yda, her mask-less face wide-eyed as he hesitates on the edge of the roof. “Yda? Are you well?”

She stares at him, red-nosed and damp-cheeked, as if he has asked something incomprehensible. “Is this why you don’t have thin little noodle arms like most mages do?”

“…Yes?” He tilts his head, his weight still balanced on his hands that grip the lip of the building. “May I join you?” He tries instead; he does not wish to learn how long he can stay positioned like this. Nor would his leg enjoy a second fall from a height.

“Promise you won’t tell the others?”

“My oath.”

Yda nods slowly and Nadir pulls his legs onto the flat of the roof, sighing as the burn of his muscles begins to fade. A boyhood spent reaching for the highest peak he may have had, but it has been moons since he had last climbed anything. His arms are not appreciative. Above, the night sky shines.

The stars are not quite right, just unfamiliar enough in position to be jarring, but they are still beautiful.

(The sky is not burning, the stars are not falling, his brother is not screaming-)

“My sister died today,” Yda says, quietly. She does not look at him, her gaze instead focused upon her mask in her hands. “It’s been years but I miss her. I wish she was here.”

Never has he known what to say less. The silence stretches around them as he grasps, hopelessly, for words that are not I am sorry. “I do not think we will stop wishing for that.”

Oh. That is not what he meant to say. His chest aches all the same.

“We? You have siblings, Nadir?”

She likely means by blood; that is what most would mean with that question. “A brother,” he agrees anyway, for Nahbdeen may be his cousin by birth but in every way that matters to him they are brothers. Nahbdeen is his brother and he- “I miss him with each day that passes.”

It is worth it, he reminds himself.

“Is he-?” Yda asks.

“I made a choice-” Nadir says slowly. He shakes his head, smiles sadly. “I made a series of choices. Nahbdeen was- he- the choices I made mean that he lives. I do not, I can not, regret that. Yet, those choices- the sacrifices those choices required? I did not wish them to, but they hurt him and that I do regret.” He swallows and he remembers his cousin’s screams. He remembers his closed off face and the line of his shoulders as he walked away without a glance back. “He has not spoken to me, since.”

“You miss him,” Yda watches him, her red-rimmed eyes sharp. “Would you fix it, if you could?”

I am, he thinks hopelessly, desperately, achingly. This is fixing it all. He has broken his brother’s trust in him and their relationship, if they ever have one, will never be the same. Nadir regrets hurting him. His chest aches and he misses him and still-

He would not change his choices. He cannot regret stepping forward when Master Vrtra had asked.

Nahbdeen will never understand, he finds himself thinking, and knows he is selfish for the way that he wishes he could. He would not wish those memories upon the worst of his enemies, he would not wish for his brother to be haunted as he is, yet still- still he wishes that his brother would understand why.

I cannot explain it to him, he knows. He does not have the words to do so and he apologises silently to the memory of his brother. Nahbdeen will never forgive him this.

“I do not think that I can,” he tells Yda and it is the truth.

It is worth it anyway, so long as he lives, and this he also knows to be truth.

[everyyoojoonghyuk]

Spoilers for orv. Idk up to where cause I can't remember just don't continue if you haven't finished the novel

Anyway another day another thinking about YJH and how S O F T he is

Especially how 999th regression YJH fits into it

He basically did everything like how KDJ did, except without all the cheats that KDJ was able to nab and literally lost whole parts of his body and couldn't even reach the end himself because he made sure his companions could instead

And it's not like he even particularly tried to reach the end himself that run, it was more of a throwaway. A big whoop-dee-doo for living 1000 lives. Every other life he was selfish and cruel and violent (especially as he goes through more and more regressions). The goal here was to get to the end no matter what - which included seeing his friends die constantly

Despite that, we know that he genuinely cares for the companions that he makes throughout the regressions, he just gets more and more hurt seeing them die and subsequently cheer him on life after life that he detaches himself as much as possible to avoid the hurt. It's like getting a wound over a scar over and over - eventually the re-scarred tissue becomes very tough and unable to move much

I mean. It's a testament on how much he cared for them that he gave up an entire regression just to see them succeed. Even being 1000 lives in, he continued to care for them

And the 999th YJH that we see is the kkoma version. And he's just. So nice. He takes care of KDJ, makes sure he's fed with things he likes, protects him from the outer gods, gives him his coat, goes with him on his journey, and even teaches him how to make murim dumplings! Of course, he's still YJH, being blunt and sorta deadpanned all the time, but the rest of his personality stands out so much because of its uniqueness

But is it really so unique? Again, he's still a part of YJH. This isn't out of the ordinary for YJH wholely, it's just that the guy distanced himself because he knows that no matter what, either his companions will die and he will reach the end, or he will die so they can reach the end, so he doesn't show those parts of himself often. We can see it a LOT more in the regression that KDJ shows up in though because of how much he helps and how he takes the lead in taking care of their companions. He even goes full dad mode on the grill when they go on vacation which is adorable

And not to make everything about joondok but KDJ truly does bring out the softness in him. And that's true for every YJH that meets him. 999 is very nice to him, 666 is tsundere but still helps, 81 (I think) cooks for him, Secretive Plotter, although through kidnapping, still wants him to learn the truth ("and if he can't then ig he should stay here with me UwU 🥺" like we get it buddy this is a small foreshadow to how you will cherish Oldest Dream and spend the rest of your existence caring for him, every YJH loves every KDJ and vice versa WE GET IT) and let's him leave, 1863 YJH is ridiculously soft for KDJ after he learns of his journey thus far and literally dies for him after knowing him for I think 3 days. Of course the top contenders for "I AM SOFT FOR KDJ" is 0th regression and 1864th regression YJH

Like. "If I regress will I ever be able to see you again?" He literally had his happily ever after and choOSE TO HAVE THE CHANCE TO MEET KIM DOKJA INSTEAD. He KNEW what was in store for him but he didn't care!!!!!!! He loves him too much to care!!!!! Though honestly I don't think it was a romantic love at that point or he wouldn't have gotten with Seolhwa because he is a very genuine guy and wouldn't get with someone he wasn't in love with. I think there was a different love though. The best friend kind. The kind that can only come from someone who was by your side no matter what. Yoo Joonghyuk loved that the Demon King of Salvation adored his story and wanted to end the guy's solitude no matter what

Which brings me to 1864 YJH!!!! AKA the one we all know nearest and dearest

It does not take long for YJH to get attacked to KDJ once they finally meet (again). He is so different that by the 6th scenario, when he's fighting adult SYS, she notes that he is acting strange. KDJ himself notes several times during the entirety of ORV that his actions are "unlike him." And almost - if not entirely - every time this is mentioned, it has something to do with how well he treats KDJ

One of my favourite, yet overlooked, aspects of YJH bring soft for KDJ is that he is the only person he will eat food from. He usually only eats meals that he prepares himself because he's stuck up about cooking, but but KDJ! It doesn't happen often, but several times he eats what KDJ makes, including murim dumplings that were made so well he forgot to be stuck up

I'm rambling by now, but my point is that KDJ brings out the best in YJH and the latter is so deeply in love so early on that it's embarrassing and shows to literally everyone everywhere to the point that many people think that they're an item

[moemoemammon]

If you’re up for writing a bit of angst 👀 I’d like to request an MC who ends up really jumpy and develops trust issues with the brothers since the bros have attacked them (and killed them) on several occasions. Like fr the amount of times you nearly die in the story is ridic 😂 (love your writing btw 🥰)

Trust Issues

(Feat. GN!MC and the Demon Bros)

Warning: Angst

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Lucifer understood your nervousness. After everything you'd been through, it's no wonder your reaction would be to keep yourself safe. And that meant keeping a distance, always having your guard up, flinching when he raised a hand anywhere near you. And... he hated that he'd allowed this to happen. No, he hated that he CAUSED this. Lucifer knows that human emotions are a delicate thing, yet he tried controlling you, threatening your well-being every time you stepped outside of the little box he drew for you, doing everything in his power to know what you were doing at all times. You had no privacy, and no freedom. Why would you be comfortable around him? It'd take him a long, long while to gain even an ounce of your trust, and he won't blame you if you deny him that. But for you, he'll set his pride aside to apologize again and again, as many times as it takes.

Mammon may not have tried physically harming you, but he did purposely put you in harms way time and time again. He’d always make little threats, always spoke about how he'd find some way to exploit and use you, and you never knew whether he was telling the truth or not because you didn't know him well enough. And despite the pact you have with him, it still feels like the two of you are strangers. How can you trust the word of a compulsive liar? As far as you know, he'd sell you for a corn chip. His clingy possessiveness is anything but endearing to you, knowing how he treats you like a possession and can't even express his true feelings. But he wants to! Damn it, he'll do it if that's what it takes to get you to stop looking so scared when you see him! He'll do it, so... smile a little, okay? Please?

Levi may seem like a weirdo who can't do much, but you know firsthand how powerful the third brother really is, and how emotionally unpredictable he is, too. He did nothing but insult and push you away from the start, and only wanted something to do with you when it benefitted him. And if that wasn't bad enough, he was 100% willing to murder you for beating him at a simple trivia game. So despite the pact that binds you two, Levi knows you'd rather be anywhere but near him. And.. he hates it. He sees how happy you are around others, but you never look like that around him! He gets it though... why would you be, when he's just a gross otaku..? He shouldn't have expected anything less, so... you won't have to worry about him bothering you. It's easier for you if he just stays away, right? What a fitting fate for a shut-in.

Satan saw you as nothing more than a disposable pawn in his game to topple Lucifer. From the moment you dropped into the Devildom he plotted how to use you to his advantage. If you died, Lucifer was sure to get an earful from Diavolo. What could be funnier than that? He attempted to use force to scare you into line, knowing it’d be nothing for him to really hurt you, and made sure you knew that too. So knowing that you can't stand the sight of him now... he understands. And it makes him sick to his stomach. It was you who helped him reconcile with Lucifer, but he can't even thank you properly because of the strain on your relationship. There aren't enough books in the world to help him erase all the fear he put into you, but he'll still try anyway. Little by little, Satan wants you to see him as someone who can protect you. He doesn't want to hurt you anymore.

Asmo and Satan saw you in a similar light. Dispensable, only put into their palms so they could use you. And as we all know, Asmo loves to bend those around him to his will. But when he realized his abilities had no affect on you, he only seemed to grow more desperate to have you. And not because he cared, but because you were something he had yet to taint. He wanted to mark every part of you, inside and out, until only he filled your head. But soon it started to turn the other way around, where YOU occupied his every thought. He... didn't understand it first, but the more he explored this feeling, the more he started to recognize it as love.

Beel literally saw you as a free meal. Be it your soul or your entire body, he wouldn't hesitate to swallow you up had it not been for Lucifer telling him not to. Why talk to a stranger when he could be eating, or wondering how Belphie was doing in the 'human world'? Your presence held as much importance to him as your life: none at all. That was clear when Mammon made you eat Beel's pudding, and he was ready to destroy the entire house over it. And with that stoic face of his and lack of self control, how could you be sure he wouldn't gobble you up in the heat of the moment? So as time passes and you bring his younger brother back into his life, Beel realizes he's never cared for anyone outside of his family in the same way he now cares for you. He wants to keep you close, treat you gently, show you how much he wants you, but... his insatiable appetite always reminds you of how easy it would be for him to make you into a meal, and he hates that. He'll ask his brothers for help right away.

Belphie knew this would happen. How else would you react to him, after literally dying by his hand? You'd never forget that empty, hateful look on his eyes when his fingers closed around your neck, and the way he triumphantly laughed when your lifeless body fell from his grasp and crumpled onto the floor. And to see how quickly he changed tunes and tried cuddling up to you... You didn't trust that at all. How would you know he wouldn't be set off again? Could he ever atone for what he did? Why should you trust him anyway, when he didn't nothing but lie from the start? And all because of an ill-placed grudge? Belphie keeps his feelings locked away in his heart, even when it feels like he'll burst. So for the feelings he has for you, he'll keep those locked away even deeper.

[quindolyn]

hi love! I’m in love w ur blog, Could u do a marauders smut w an obedient sub james and a bratty sun reader and like punishment w dom remus and james? (sorry if that was confusing)

She’ll Never Learn || Poly!Marauders

Word Count: 3612

A/N: I kinda like this piece, we’ll see. In the course of writing this piece I was delayed a good hour because my laptop died on me and I broke my charging cable earlier today so that’s a whole shit show and I had to finish this on my school computer. That’s how much I love you guys. And a special thank you to everyone who bullied me, I still procrastinated for another 1-2 hours after that.

Warnings: face slapping, words like stupid and slut used, male penetration, exhibitionist kink, dom/sub, degradation, poly obviously, i’m tired please tell me if there’s any that I missed

Masterlist

Part 2

The fact you couldn’t do it was half the fun. For you anyways, the whole thing seemed to make James nervous, he’d broken a few rules here and there before but never had he been so conscious of the disobedience he was about to take part in.

“Our Daddies are gonna be mad if they catch us,” James grumbled as you pulled him up the staircase to the boy’s dorm, dragging him by the sleeve of his school issued button-up. 

Had he put up any resistance he would’ve easily been able to cease your assent up the staircase, his body strong and toned from Quidditch but he didn’t, he allowed himself to be pulled up the stairs to the dorm room he shared with Sirius and Remus.

“Well neither of them have to know, now do they?” You asked him as you opened the door to their dorm which they kept tidy for you, knowing that you couldn’t stand mess.

As you kicked the door closed behind you and toed off your shoes you caught a glimpse of the boy’s face as he studied your form unabashedly as you started expertly undoing the buttons on your top before shrugging it off your shoulders and letting it pool at your feet.

“Come on Jamie,” You cooed mockingly as you strode towards him, his eyes glued to your breasts, “If they don’t know about this then we can have fun, it’s so hard with them sometimes isn’t it, with them getting in the way?” You watched his Adam’s apple bob as you played with the scarlet material of his tie, teasingly tugging on it. 

“But if they find out-”

You cut him off by pulling him down by his tie, melding your lips with his, though he was considerably taller than you he bent all the way down to kiss you, becoming pliable in your hands as you ran your fingers through his raven tresses.

Lacing your hands together at the back of his head, interweaving your fingers with his fluffy curls you pulled slightly, resulting in the man’s mouth to open as a gentle groan tumbled from his lips. You smirked into the kiss, knowing that you had won as you backed yourself up towards one of the beds in the room, you allowed yourself to sit when your knees bumped up against the mattress. 

“Want this off,” You muttered, clumsily working on undoing his tie until you were able to pull it off of him. “This too,” You said, already starting on the top button of his shirt.

Having pushed the pesky garment off of his broad shoulders you took a moment to run the palms of your hands up and down the smooth muscles of his muscled chest. Goosebumps rose under your touch as he leaned in towards you.

“Good boy,” You murmured, throwing your head back against the pillow, knowing that the praise would do just the trick to convince him to break the rules with you. Corrupting him, now that was also a part of the fun for you, little old Jamie would’ve never fathomed doing something like this if you hadn’t convinced him, there was just something so undeniably hot about the way you could so easily manipulate him. The way that with two simple words we was a whimpering mess with his mouth latched on your nipple.

You whined as he lifted his mouth moving it to the other nipple both at the loss of contact and then the new found stimulation.

James didn’t hear the opening and the closing of the door from behind him, too focused on sucking on the delicate flesh of your tit but you did, Remus and Sirius had caught you. Smirking to yourself you realized that if you worked the next ten or so seconds correctly you would be in for a treat. 

“Jamie!” You moaned, dramatically thrusting your chest up into his mouth, “Feels so good when you suck my tit Jamsie, making me so wet.” Deciding laying it on extra thick was only going to help your mission: you wrapped your legs around James’ waist and started thrusting your hips into his. 

“Can you believe these two?” The dark haired man asked his partner incredulously, “Did you give them permission to do this?”

At the sound of Sirius’ voice James jumped off of you, a guilty look gracing his face as he immediately dropped to his knees in front of them, not even wiping the spit from his mouth.

“No Pads,” Remus responded, his eyes on James rather than Sirius, a frown took over his face as he moved his gaze to your half naked form, “Did you?”

“Nope,” Sirius replied, popping his p as he stuck his hands into the front pockets of his trousers, lazily sauntering over to where James sat subserviently on the ground, “Thought you were my good boy Jamie, what happened?” He asked in a sickly sweet sort of voice that had James in a puddle at his feet and you rolling your eyes back in your head, not noticing Remus’ piercing gaze set on you. If you paid close enough attention, the tension radiating off the man was suffocating but Remus had always been able to blend into his surroundings, making it all the more startling when he pounced.

James’ response came in the form of a pathetic little whine as Sirius turned his face up to meet him with his index finger, the boy was malleable in the other man’s grasp. 

“Come on, answer Daddy’s question, don’t be a brat,” At the very mention of the word brat James’ eyes snapped up to Sirius’, that was his worst nightmare, being a brat, failing either Sirius or Remus. It terrified him, and Sirius knew James like the back of his hand. 

“M’sorry, m’so, so sorry I didn’t want to break the rules but (Y/N) said that it would be okay, that we wouldn’t get caught and then she kissed me and-” He rambled, his hands nervously tumbling about each other in his lap, his gaze never wavering from Sirius.

“Pathetic slut,” You swore, stalking off from the bed to where Sirius stood in front of James, “You were just as into it as I was, both of us broke the rules don’t try to back out now, don’t be a bad boy Jamie.”

You opened your mouth to continue but you were cut off by a sharp slap to the side of your face as Sirius’ hand met your cheek.

“Ow,” You whimpered, clutching the side of your face in your hand as you glared at Sirius, taking a step back towards the bed, “What was that for?”

“Oh don’t act stupid, you know that you get punished when you break the rules Puppy. And calling James a bad boy,” His eyes softened as he tore them from you, moving them to gaze down at the boy who still knelt at his feet, “You’re not a bad boy are you Jamie?”

He shook his head silently, eyes locked onto Sirius’.

“He’s acting like one, throwing me under the bus,” You grumbled, still rubbing the side of your face. 

“Did anyone say you could talk?” Remus questioned you, his voice oddly calm as he strode towards you, in no time at all reaching your body.

He raised a hand to the side of your you were clutching, coaxing away your hand to replace it with his own. He ran the palm of his hand over the flesh before pulling it back to bring it against your face, more harshly than Sirius had.

The action pulled a whine from your throat as your flesh was abused by the calloused palm of Remus’ hand. In a second he had adjusted his hand so that it was gripping your jaw, using his hold on you there to tug your entire body closer to his person.

“You really expect us to fucking buy that,” He squished your cheeks together harder and harder with every passing second, “Jamsie has always been our best boy, you on the other hand Puppy, you’ve got a bit of a bratty side to you.”

“It’s not fair,” You tried to wiggle yourself out of Remus’ grasp, moving your hands to grapple at his wrist, trying to pull away from him but he was unmoving, not only being much taller than you but much stronger than you, your efforts were in vain, “He broke the rules too, he’s not your good boy he’s a fucking slut!”

“That’s it!” Sirius’ voice rang through the dorm, still positioned next to James who still sat on the floor now with his fingers entangled in the other boy’s dark curls, “On the bed, now.” His command left no room for argument as Remus let go of your face, but you just stood there, not moving until he gave you a not so gentle nudge towards the bed you had previously been seated upon.

You had to stop yourself from trembling as you sat upon the bed, it wasn’t that you were scared. No, this was exactly what you had hoped for, you were giddy.

“If anyone here is desperate, puppy it’s you, look at this,” Sirius sneered, pushing your legs apart so that your bare pussy was on display, just as you had forgone a bra you had decided to go without panties, anticipating this moment. “No panties,” He tutted, crouching down so that he was level with your pussy as he boldly ran a finger through your sopping folds, “You planned this didn’t you?” HIs eyes darted up to meet yours and with a single glance he knew.

“Course she planned it, Pads,” Remus chimed in from where he leaned against the frame of one of the other beds, “Are you just now figuring that out? Our puppy thought she could break the rules and we’d make her feel good, thought she’d enjoy her punishment.”

As his words washed over you you felt a wave of disappointment, they weren’t going to give you what you wanted.

Sensing your disappointment Sirius recaptured your jaw in his hand, “Don’t pout baby, you’re gonna take your punishment like a good girl, yeah?”

Putting on your best “James face” eye wide and pleading, lips pushed out in a small pout, head cocked to the side you extended a single hand to grope at Sirius’ crotch, squeezing his clothed member in the palm of your hand.

“Daddy,” You begged, knowing that you were breaking another rule, touching them without permission. 

Remus rolled his eyes and was at your side in the blink of an eye, wrenching your hand away from Sirius’ bulge, “You know you’re not allowed to touch without permission,” He scolded as though he was bored with your insolent behavior. “Did you forget?”

“No, Daddy,” You shook your head looking up at him as Sirius’ adjusted so that your head was turned towards the other man.

Remus’ hold on your wrist tightened, “Oh, so you just decided to break the rules?”

You stuttered, not quite sure how to answer his question, “I-I…”

“That’s what I thought,” He spat, letting go of your wrist so that it could land on your thigh, not bothering to look over his shoulder he spoke to James, instead keeping his eyes on you, “Jamie, can you pull up the armchair for me?”

Rushing to obey, James squeaked out a small “yes” before pulling the aforementioned chair to the foot of the bed before redirected by Remus to place it by the side of the bed. You couldn’t help but ogle the boy as he moved about the room, well developed muscles rippling under his skin as he stretched and twisted his body.

“Up,” Remus ordered you with a flick of his wrist towards the chair you were pulled from your seat and dragged to the chair by some invisible force. With another flick of his wrist you were positioned to his liking, legs spread and thrown over the arms of the chair, arms linked together behind your back and as you tried to tug yourself out of that position you found you were immobile. Remus and his fucking talent for wandless magic.

“I’m uncomfortable, Daddy,” You trilled, trying to move in your seat and failing tremendously. 

“What did we say about talking?” Sirius scoffed at you undoing the buttons on his uniform shirt one at a time until he was able to shed his clothing.

“Jamsie, could you grab me a vibrator, the purple one?” Remus asked as he too rid himself of his shirt.

Being the dutiful boy he was, James promptly handed Remus the small clit vibrator who idly played with the switch, turning it on and then back off for a few seconds before his stern gaze lifted to your form and a small smirk graced his face. 

“Pads?” The werewolf turned to look at the boy, “You wanna do the honors?”

Sirius grinned like an idiot as he slid the toy from his lover’s hand, slipping it onto your clit before turning it on, placing a light sticking charm on you as to ensure the toy would stay put. 

“No cumming unless we say so, do you understand Puppy?” Everything about him from the tone of his voice to his eyes mocked you as he spoke, letting you know he was having way too much fun with this.

You managed a small nod but couldn’t help but jolt at the sudden pleasure that coursed through you as the vibrations of the vibrator stimulated your clit. If you had been physically capable you would’ve bucked your hips up but that being impossible left the pleasure to only fester more as the itch to move intensified the ecstasy setting deep in your bones.

Being so distracted by the stimulation on your clit you almost missed as Remus took James’ face in his hands and meshed their lips together, pushing his tongue into the smaller boy’s mouth, Remus dug his hands in his hair. The moan that James released as Remus tugged on his locks must’ve made Sirius feel left out because in a second he was behind the two boys tugging Remus’ face away from James’, interlocking his lips with the taller man’s, he replaced Remus’ hands in James’ hair with his own.

“Daddy,” You whined, not addressing either of them particularly just wanting attention. 

“Shush, they’re giving me attention right now,” James said to you, looking to the other two boys for approval at his show of dominance.

Remus granted such, pulling away from his kiss with Sirius to extoll him, “Good boy Jamie, putting Puppy in her place.”

Getting the approval he craved at all times a gigantic grin cracked across his face, “May I touch you Daddy?” 

“Yes you may, good boy.”

Not wasting a single second, as eager as ever, James lunged towards the larger boy, attaching his lips to his pulse point, gently sucking small marks that bloomed in brilliant shades of blue and purple along the side of his neck.

The distinct clink of metal drew your attention to Sirius where he stood undoing his belt allowing him to drop his trousers, leaving him only in a pair of dark grey boxers which proudly displayed his prominent bulge. 

Sirius didn’t even spare you a glance as he moved back towards the pair, pressing his erection against James’ back while shamelessly groping his firm ass. James threw his head back onto his shoulder, abandoning Remus’ neck as the erection pressed into him and the hands on his ass overwhelmed him.

“Want inside him Rem,” Sirius groaned while he laved his tongue up and down the expanse of James’ neck, “Need inside of him,” He corrected himself.

“You think you’re ready for us Jamie?” The lycanthrope murmured in his ear, “Are you ready to take our cocks.”

Despite your most valiant efforts a moan escaped from your mouth at Remus’ words, watching James get fucked was one of your most favorite things, he was so beautiful stretched out on one of their cocks, a sobbing, moaning mess as he was split in two. But usually you got to touch him, or Remus, or Sirius, or at the very least yourself. 

The idea of not being able to touch yourself was absolute hell. Throw in the vibrator attached to your clit and your explicit order not to cum you were absolutely fucked as pleasure began to simmer in the pit of your belly, making your orgasm seem less and less far off.

You watched, practically drooling, as your boyfriends disrobed allowing their hard cocks to spring out against their stomachs, each distinctly different from the other but completely mouth watering in their own way. Your boys were perfect, all the way down to the tips of their pricks but something about seeing them in all their perfection and not being able to touch them made you a surprising mix of angry and turned on. Especially when you considered that it was them who had put you there, tied up and horny.

“Can I join Daddies, pretty please?” You begged as you watched James situate himself on the bed on his hands and knees, pushing his ass back towards Remus who was settling in behind him. “I’ll be a good girl I promise!”

“You wanna be a good girl?” Sirius mocked, pumping his cock in his hand to get it harder.

You nodded your head pathetically, giving Sirius the best puppy dog eyes you could muster with the haze settling into your mind.

Remus spoke before Sirius could, his eyes focused on the pool between your legs, “Can’t take you seriously when your pretty pussy is on display for us like that, makes you look almost as pathetic and desperate as you are.”

You groaned at the degradation, turning back to Sirius, even if he did agree to free you you would still need to convince Remus but it would at least be a start.

“If you wanna be a good girl you’re gonna sit there and be quiet while you watch us fuck Jamsie.”

Feeling defeated you wished you could drop your head into your hands, but the full body bind that had been placed on you made it hard to so much as blink.

You watched, despite yourself really, with bated breath as Remus pushed into the warmth of James’ opening, having used a lubrication spell to prepare him. The moan that the boy released went straight to your pussy and made it hard for you to think clearly as you watched him drop from his hands to his elbows before Sirius helped him back up so that he could push his cock into his mouth.

Screw waterboarding, this was a special kind of evil, cruel and unusual. With every sound of skin slapping against skin, the wet gagging noises that came as Sirius forced his cock further and further down James’ throat accompanied by the vibrator still stimulating your clit, it had your body going into overdrive to work to suppress your oncoming orgasm to the point where is was painful.

Before either of your three boyfriends showed any signs that they were even close to their orgasms you were screaming, “Please let me cum, I’ll be a good girl I promise please! I’m so sorry, please forgive me!” 

You sounded piteous.

“Shut up,” Remus threw at you as he picked up his pace in thrusting in and out of James, drinking up his moans like they were the only things keeping him going.

“Please, I’m gonna cum I can’t stop it please!” You cried out, tears rolling down your face at the effort it took you to suppress your climax. You weren’t lying, your orgasm was approaching you without remorse and no matter how hard you tried to fight it, it was by far a losing battle.

You held on for as long as you could, trying to use the lights and sounds in the room to tether you but before you were completely overwhelmed by the pleasure boiling up in your stomach and rising up your spine you screamed, “I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry Daddy, wanna be your good girl!”

As most of your orgasms were this one was absolutely overwhelming, flooding your senses with pure, unadulterated pleasure until all you could focus on was the warm feeling that washed over you and the ache in your cunt as the vibrator continued its assault against your pussy.

The added stimulation made it harder to come back as your climax subsided and the noises and voices that had once sounded muffled, as though you had been under water were clear as they reached your ears.

The first thing you heard as the fog began to lift from your head was a familiar but far off voice, “She’ll never learn will she?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @amourtentiaa @kittykylax @superbturtlemakerathlete @pauloonig @oliviashea05 @gxtitobxby

[monsterlover48]

Part 1: The Meeting

<<Masterlist>> <<Previous>> <<Next>>

Bodyguard!Orc x Princess!Reader

Summary: Y/N, the princess of Evermore, the beauty of the west. She had many suitors, many men, and women who wanted her by their side. Too bad her eyes were already set the day he came to save her life.

Warnings: PTSD, flashbacks (sorta), medieval fighting

~~~ Princess Y/N was a kind soul. Always tended to her princess duties and went out of her way to give to the lower class. Everyone loved her, and they knew she would be a wonderful queen.

When word got out about the attempted assassination, the people were outraged that someone would dare hurt their beloved princess. Y/N Could still feel the man's glove-clad hand grasp her face to silence her screams every time she closed her eyes, and she didn't know how to get the image out of her head.

The morning breeze soothed her warm skin as she walked outside and into the growing gardens of her castle. The beautiful greens of the grass and plants paired with the myriad of colours that decorated the flowers set the frantic princess' mind at ease. She had one hell of a night, and it took hours for her to get a good night's rest. Her mind was plagued with nightmares of her death and the death of her people. She just wished it wouldn't come true.

Y/N had worn a lilac dress that morning, lace on the sleeves, and a large bow on the back. It was her favorite, and she wanted to wear it to bring up her mood. She didn't want anyone to see the wound on her arm, but the bulk of the bandages showed through her frilly sleeves.

"M'lady. The king requests you." Y/N handmaiden, Cassandra, spoke quietly, breaking the serenity of the garden. The princess's shoulders deflated, and she hung her head low before she smiled at her friend.

"Do you know what about?" She asked, linking her good arm with Cassandra's. The maiden giggled and shook her head playfully.

"Your knight is coming to protect you. They're having a contest to see who could protect you the best." Cassandra grinned. Y/N's cheeks flushed, and she gasped.

"Today? Do I look alright?" The woman began to unnecessarily judge herself, muttering curses of how she should have done her hair better.

"You look fine." Cassandra giggled. They walked down the large corridor and through the guards that stood straighter at the sight of their princess. Y/N nodded and bowed to everyone she passed politely, a smile stuck on her face in her princess facade.

"Daughter, you took long enough." Her father playfully scolded, holding a hand out to help her into the royal chair. They were in the courtyard where entertainers, fighters, or jousters came to do their thing.

As Y/N looked amongst the crowd, she saw many creatures in knight armor. Ranging from tieflings to humans. But one she hadn't seen before, someone massive in size. It was well known that Evermore was more of the accepting kind when it came to other races, but not many creatures of that size came to the lovely kingdom. And they were all fighting for her favor as a personal guard. She felt as though the taller one would win. She couldn't see his face or even his skin to tell what he could be, but she didn't care. The princess didn't necessarily want a personal guard, but if she was to get one, she wanted it to be someone who could truly protect her life.

"Which do you think would win, princess?" A voice asked behind her. Y/N turned to see a man she's never met before. He was handsome; bright blue eyes and dark brown hair with chiseled features, but she wasn't too interested. He smiled at her with an attempt to be charming, but she knew the play.

"The tall one." She replied, pointing towards the looming figure as he practiced by his lonesome.

"Ah yes, that one. He seems pretty strong." He chuckled, and Y/N realized he had an accent that wasn't from Evermore.

"What's your name?" Y/N asked curiously. However, before he could respond, the tournament speaker began his speech about the rules and how the tournament would go.

The trumpets sounded, and two knights stepped up before they began to fight. Swords clashing and metal banging sounded around the courtyard, and Y/N was on the edge of her seat every time a knight fell. She hoped they weren't too injured, but she had to admit, it was interesting to watch them fight.

By the time the last two were up, it was two large men, clad head to toe in thick armor, but Y/N noticed the one she kept her eyes on. The tall one with bulging muscles. She bit her lip as they started, gasping when the clashing of swords and their blasts against armor. But ultimately, she was correct; the tall one was the champion. The crowd cheered loudly as the last man fell, and the tall man roared triumphantly.

The princess stood from her place and straightened out the skirt of her dress. Everyone gasped when the creature took off his helmet, revealing an orc to be the champion. Orcs used to be the villains of Evermore's story, but the war had ended, and they were at peace. However, that doesn't mean many orcs came into Evermore and never came to protect their princess. Y/N looked around at the shocked faces of her people and squared her shoulders before she walked out of the royal seating and to the courtyard where the champion stood.

Everyone watched their princess with wary eyes and shifted in their seats as she approached him. The closer she looked, he was taller than she expected. Thrice her size, and he had a scowl upon his handsome features. His skin was a pale green, and he had large tusks sticking out from his mouth. His mean stare didn't detour the princess as she smiled and bowed politely to the knight.

"It seems you have won. What is your name?" She asked, clasping her hand behind her back. He huffed a piece of stray black hair away from his eyes, the long strands reaching past his shoulders. He bowed to her when she walked closer, propping his arm onto his knee.

"Rhudrak Fang Cracker." He replied. His voice was gruff, as though he had gargled rocks before he spoke.

"Well, Rhudrak Fang Cracker. It is nice to meet you. I will be happy to work with you." The crowd cheered then, the piercing noise almost startling the princess. She turned to look at the crowd before looking back at her knight.

"Yes! This man is my daughter's champion. The one who will protect her with his life. Do you agree?" Her father asked, walking into the courtyard as well. Her father was a very accepting man, and no matter the fact that he witnessed orcs kill many of his people, he would never discriminate against a man who wanted to protect his only daughter.

"I agree," Rhudrak responded. King Gustus nodded, and Y/N smiled at the crowd as the royal family plus the knight and other guards walked back to the castle. Y/N couldn't help but steal glances at the steely man. She found it very interesting that an orc would want to protect her. And he looked so mysterious. She just wandered-

"Y/N, dearest." Her mother scolded. Y/N tore her eyes away from her knight with warm cheeks and turned to her mother.

"Yes, mother?" She asked. Meira shook her head disapprovingly and continued walking.

"Your father was talking to you." She hissed. Y/N bowed her head in embarrassment, and she could've sworn she saw a ghost of a smile on her Rhudrak's face.

"While you were in your fantasy land, I was discussing the rules of your supervisor and how you must act." He told her with a kind and understanding smile. Y/N was very close to her father, and she was glad to have him understand how easy it was for her to get lost in the clouds. Unlike her strict mother.

"What are his rules?"

"No. Your rules." Her father corrected. Y/N gasped and choked on her spit before she looked at the people in front of her.

"What do you mean 'my' rules?" Y/N asked incredulously.

"You are not to leave the sight of Rhudrak. The only time you will be alone is when in your chambers, safe. You will do what he asks of you. If he tells you to run, to hide, or even to walk, you do it. He is there to protect you; let him do his job. No running around the halls in the middle of the nights anymore. People are after you, my dear, and I couldn't stand losing you. It almost happened once, and I will not let it happen again." Her father told her. She wanted to roll her eyes, to pout and say 'not fair.' But she almost died that night. The visions still haunt her in her sleep and even during the day. She knew if she wanted to survive, she must do what her father asks of her.

"Yes, father." She replied solemnly, all traces of humor gone from the conversation.

"Now go make yourselves acquainted while showing him his room. It's the one next to yours." Y/N nodded and looked at her parents awkwardly as they walked away.

"Your room is this way on the third floor," Y/N spoke. She was exhausted from the excitement of the day and had zero social energy, but she knew she had to do it anyways.

"Third floor? How do you even get upstairs with those tiny shoes on?" Rhudrak chuckled. Y/N hid her giggle behind her hand and shook her head as they approached the stairway.

"With difficulty. Try walking around hours a day with a corset on." She scoffed. Rhudrak laughed loudly but quickly quieted down.

"Tell me about the night of your attack." He asked suddenly. Y/N was taken aback by the sudden question as they walked up the many stairs.

"Well... I couldn't sleep. I think that's the only reason I'm alive right now. He wore a black mask with strange symbols on it. He was human-sized. That's all remember." She said. She was lying of course. She could remember so much more. The blue of his eyes and the stench of leather as his hand clamped down onto her mouth. She couldn't breathe when he sat on her. She felt hopeless and the gleam of the moonlight on his blade made her shiver with unease.

"Princess?" Rhudrak asked gently, looking at her with a thoughtful gaze. She snapped out of her wandering thoughts and shook her head with a smile.

"Well, here you are. My chambers are right here. I'll let you get settled in." She said with a bow, walking back to her room. She shut the door gently and allowed herself to break slightly at the memory of her attack, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks.

Taglist!

@vanta-monsters @inosh-k @sylum

[lem0nshark-writes]

‘’Warm Nights’’

Fili & Kili x Male (hobbit) Reader

Word count: 2148

Warnings: polyamorous, no incest - issa fili x reader x kili, fluffff, cute stuff okay

It has been a few moons since the dwarves took their kingdom back and the rightful king under the mountain was crowned. You and your best friend Bilbo returned back to the Shire and resumed with patching up the house back after your neighbouring hobbits split all of your belongings between themselves thinking you two had died.

The thoughts of you two's adventures with the company occupied both Bilbo's and yours minds and the two of you often spent time talking about them.

To be quite honest you missed the company a lot, especially the two dorky princes. The three of you managed to bond quite strongly during your journey to Erebor. But you missed everyone else too. Though Bilbo gave you a lot of comfort and his company was very dear to you.

One night as you two were preparing the dinner you noticed Bilbo has made a lot more food than usual, almost too much. But you paid it no mind thinking the hobbit was feeling extra hungry that evening. After you finished up the many foods you helped set up the table.

Remembering you forgot to turn the light off in your bedroom you made you way towards it, and just as you passed by the entrance door to the house you heard a knock.

You looked over at the door in surprise, questioning, not expecting anyone that late. You turned towards the direction of the kitchen and called out for Bilbo, "Hey Bilbo, are you expecting anyone?" you waited for him to answer but he didn't make a sound, you figured he was busy finishing up one of the last few dishes he was working on and shrugged it off, walking over to the door and opening it.

"Who is it-," you didn't even manage to finish up your sentence before a swarm of dwarves fell right on top of you, making you fall backwards on your butt with all the dwarves landing on you.

"Y/nnnnn!~~" all the dwarves cheered your name when they saw you, hugging you tightly not bothering to get off you and almost squishing you to death. Bilbo watched the scene from the door frame with a warm smile plastered on his face. He knew they were coming but wouldn't tell you, wanting it to be a surprise, and oh what a surprise it was.

"G-Guys what are you doing here??-" you smiled in surprise at your friends, trying to hug all of them back when you realized who it is that attacked your small body by piling on top of you.

"We had to visit our favourite hobbits!~" Bofur cheered. "Bilbo didn't tell you?" Thorin added.

"N-No-," you looked over at Bilbo with squinty eyes and he rose his hands up in a defensive way, "I wanted it to be a surprise," he smiled, not regretting his decision one bit.

You wanted to be upset but for the love of it you couldn't, the fact that the company was back together once again was overjoying and you couldn't get the smile off your face.

You and Bilbo took your time to greet each dwarf separately, many tight hugs being exchanged and even some cheek smooches too. And after you all finally done your greetings you and Bilbo lead them all into the dining room which was swarmed with foods and drinks. Many dishes, pastries, all sorts of drinks and desserts graced the table in plenty and you all sat down at the table. The dwarves wasted no time digging right in and soon enough cheerful singing filled the air, all of you joining in, and celebration took over the whole room.

After the lengthy dinner and many songs sung you all took it onto yourselves to clean up and then moved to the living room to share tales of the time you all spent away from each other. Stories of your adventures on your journey to the mountain finding themselves there as well as you all reminisced over the moments shared together.

You spent the rest of the night like that, just hanging out and chatting and when the time came to go to bed Bilbo helped settle everyone into their respective rooms for the night. You so happening to end up, due to the lack of rooms with a one-person bed, sharing a big one with the two princes and him totally accidentally ending up in a big one with Thorin.

The three of you slowly made it to your assigned room, chatting along happily as you walked.

As you got in, the princes started to take off some of their, now unnecessary, layers of clothing to get comfy for the bed and you took that opportunity to claim your spot on the bed.

"I call dibs on the middle!" you chirped cheerfully and catapulted yourself onto the bed, claiming your spot in the middle of the big bed, hugging the extra pillow you brought along.

The two chuckled at you as they put their clothes on the chair next to the wall of the room.

"Works for me," Fili grinned as he took off his boots.

"Me too," Kili smirked as he jumped on the bed as well, landing half-way on top of you, almost knocking all the air out of your lungs, and hugging you tightly.

You chuckled through your coughs and hugged him back, "Dear Lord, Kili-"

He just grinned cutely and so you couldn't even scold him, and just as you recovered from Kili's landing on you you got struck by another one, Fili hugged you just as tightly, snuggling into your body after the jump.

You smirked happily and pulled them both into a tight hug, getting back at them for the jumps.

They both let out gasps from being squeezed but you were gentle on them soon enough.

Brothers chuckled and you did as well and you all fled under the covers, the two of them sandwiching you into big warm hugs, which you very gladly returned.

The three of you shared the comfort of the quiet moment just hugging and being happy to have each other around once again, your heart feeling like it will burst out of your chest. To be quite honest you shared more than just very strong feelings of friendship towards the two, but you never acted on it, both because you didn't want to ruin the friendship but also because you loved both of them equally and you just couldn't pick, you didn't want to anyways.

"I missed you guys so much," you snuggled into them, making sure to grasp them both in your embrace.

"We missed you too," they smiled, each planting a kiss on your cheek, Fili on your right and Kili on your left.

You blushed through a smile and smooched the tips of their noses softly, returning the kisses.

They grinned and rested their heads on your shoulders, their faces almost completely in your neck, so close you could feel their warm breaths against your skin. It made you blush lightly.

"How long will you be staying? I hope you are not leaving tomorrow already .. are you?"

"No, we're not. We'll be staying for a couple of days," Fili smiled at the worry of departure in your voice.

"You're not getting rid of us that easy," Kili added with a grin and moved himself more up and closer to you, his face now halfly touching yours, hugging you tighter.

You chuckled at his words, "I better not," you added with a grin on your face, though blush spread across your cheeks once again because of how close Kili's face was to yours.

Fili stayed on his spot, his head resting on the spot on your chest next to your shoulder, listening to your heartbeats.

He could hear them speed up every time one of them would move closer or even speak. He found it curious, he didn't understand why it would do that, after all there's no way you'd feel the same as him, same as them.

See, the brothers talked after they took their kingdom back over and after things settled down. They've noticed each other's longing gazes whenever the situation would calm down or the conversation died out. They've noticed both of them were missing something, or rather someone. But, seeing they've both been in love with you they decided they would, with your blessing of course, either share or have neither of them be with you. Though the subject came hard to open and discuss once the three of you finally met again.

Fili quietly took your hand in his and held it gently, playing with with your fingers.

Your heart immediately picked up as your eyes shot a gaze towards the blonde dwarf, you gave him a warm smile, hiding the blush that was slowly spreading across your cheeks though the darkness of the room hid it well enough already.

Kili looked up between the two of you, and took your other hand in his, holding it to his chest and kissing the back of it sweetly.

Your gaze now fell at the brunette who was smiling at you already and your blush darkened and you smiled even brighter, snuggling into the two of them.

"Hey, y/n.." after a few moments of silence Kili suddenly spoke.

"Hmm?" you smiled at him, turning your attention to him.

"There's something we'd like to tell you.." Kili continued and Fili's eyes shot at him quickly, not expecting him to open the topic on the first day but also understanding that he can't not be with you for another minute because he feels the same.

"What is it?" you asked with a smile, hoping it's nothing bad.

"So uhmm… I-I don't know how to start but uhmm…" Kili started, now not being sure how to spill their hearts to you.

"When we took back Erebor w-we realized something uhmm-" Fili tried to help, "We don't know how you would feel about it but we have to ask-." You looked between them as they spoke, waiting patiently for the princes to gather up their courage and get to the point.

"Would it be alright if we courted you?" Kili finally blurted out, all three of you now sitting up half-way.

"Both of us, together-" he added with a hopeful smile spread on his handsome face.

You looked at the two in shock, eyes wide and words not leaving your throat. You couldn't believe this was happening.

"W-We know it's weird but.. but we both like you-" Fili started.

"Very much," Kili added.

"And we couldn't come to a decision so, if it would be alright with you-" Fili looked up at you, hopeful smile resting on his lips as well  as the question hanged in the air.

It took you a while to break out of your shock, eyes darting from one prince to the other. But after a few long and torturous moments your brain finally started working again and a quiet "Y-Yes-" left your lips through a breath.

"D-Did you say 'yes'?" Kili couldn't believe his ears.

"Y-You accept our courtship?" Fili questioned, disbelief residing within him as well.

Big smile made it's way on your lips and you nodded your head vigorously before throwing yourself onto the brothers squeezing them into a big and tight hug.

They cheered happily and quickly returned, stuffing their faces into your neck and chest, hugging just as tightly.

After very extensive hugging session the three of you laid back down, now snuggling even closer to each other, the two of them each holding one of your hands in theirs.

"I love you guys," you exhaled happily, snuggling further into the two princes, "I have been in love with you two since the journey as well."

That made their hearts melt a little knowing you felt the same as them, and what a relief it was too.

"We love you too," they replied in unison with warmth both in their voices and in the smiles spread across their lips, snuggling right back.

Your heart could explode from all the happiness it felt at that moment.

The happiness grew even stronger when Fili propped himself up on one of his elbows and leaned in placing a gentle but passionate kiss on your lips, followed by Kili who did the same with a big grin on his face. You gladly returned both, blushing like crazy. The two chuckled at your red cheeks and proceeded to kiss them, each the one on their side, before laying back down and throwing their arms around you.

The three of you laid there like that, snuggled against each other in the warmth of the bed and each other's embraces, all three of you slowly drifting off to sleep.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

part i, autonomy in your coherence | c.g

With something like time that runs round with the world — ignoring it’s inhabitants and stealing things that you’d hidden away for safekeeping — you’ve taken up the hobby of art, furiously sketching faces that are six-feet under.

The skill is beautiful and horrific all the same, watching like a person with amnesia as the portraits begin to lose their depth, the freshness, the personality that came free with who you’d chosen to print on the page.

You’ve forgotten your feelings for Carl, because he didn’t feel the same.

You just wished you did a better job at it.

WARNINGS: mentions of death, suicide ideation

this is a continuation of watch you burn away and i recommend you read that, first! this is also part of a series, so here is the masterlist if you need it!

(cross-posted on ao3!)

Your father once told you he had a patient that died from heartbreak.

“Your heart can’t really break, though, right?” You’d said. A doctor for a father and a laboratory technician for a mother made you more than aware of things, seeing through the myths and pretty white lies of figures like Santa and the tooth fairy.

(They had gone through with it anyway, because although their child knew, it was a gateway to normality in such a busy home.)

Your father scratched his chin, unsure how to respond. “My patient had died from a broken heart, though the process wasn’t as simple as it’s term name. A broken heart — the nonliteral meaning — can be the cause and the domino toppling to many things that could lead to death.”

“Like what?” You’d said with little admission into the conversation, having been flicking through a novel you’d picked up a while back (which featured a one eyed pirate and his partner who’d ended up dying in the end — not that you knew, yet, at least.)

“I don’t know, er,” Your father swirled his coffee lightly, gesturing wildly with his free hand, “Mental health issues, for one. Erratic actions, depression, a lost sense of self. Obsession.”

“Huh,” You muttered, looking up at your father for the first time. “A lost sense of self? Really?”

“What is your father teaching you?” Your mother said, stepping into the kitchen with a questioning expression. The conversation ended there, without so much as a thought after.

You wish you pried your father for further answers. What you’d give to get the workaholic of a man to dump his duo psychology medical major thoughts unto you with little care.

The knowledge would be gold in your time of need, when pulling and pushing distance further between you was like venturing through a field of thorns.

(Perhaps you just missed your parents. But that couldn’t be it, right? They’d died and you had lived, their blood on your hands and the gun in your fingers, their glazed over eyes and your own that nearly matched, cold and willing without a drop of emotion.)

But you’d gotten through it for him— without him. Without anyone, quietly harboring scratches and bleeding from the field with little effort.

If someone asked, you would tell them with full and honest confidence that you harboured no more attachments. You were a naive teenager, running through your feet and over yourself for something that was just a crush.

Crushes are — in their whole singularity and purpose —  temporary.

They are brief, and momentarily something that causes ripples and waves in your thoughts, just the slightest mention or faint sight makes you detour down a road of sickly sweet dreams and fantasies.

He was first love (like? You didn’t love him, no, it was a crush and it was something for the unattainable and the inappropriate — in which with full truth, he was.) so you poured the honey glazed remembrances and rose coloured lenses over your memories, because he was a first love, and you know that those were cracks in the heart, growing vines and constricting the part that was him — the part that’d always, always be there, without a doubt.

(However much you didn’t want it to be.)

The leaves and the venomous flowers that sprout in decaying grooves come with age, and you are older now.

You bear fresh scars that litter your entire being and wear newly buried bones of people who were once not just that, the dirt still sitting in the crevices of your nails, and you seem to forget their voices with each passing day.

With something like time that runs round with the world — ignoring it’s inhabitants and stealing things that you’d hidden away for safekeeping — you’ve taken up the hobby of art, furiously sketching faces that are six-feet under.

The skill is beautiful and horrific all the same, watching like a person with amnesia as the portraits begin to lose their depth, the freshness, the personality that came free with who you’d chosen to print on the page.

More and more, the faces look like reference art rather than a taken from life picture, which was all telling them to sit still and watching their eyes crinkle at the edges when you show them the result, voices echoing and asking if they could have it.

Everyday, as it has become a peevish habit like biting your nails or obsessively reminding yourself your stove is off, you draw pictures of everyone.

If you are close enough with them, you ask the subject to sit and model for you, analyzing every breath and laugh they take when you crack a joke or engage them in meaningless conversation just to see how the light hits their brows when they raise, the shadows pooling in their aging lines.

Everyday, you wish and hope and even fucking pray that their portraits continue to be something of anxious routine, rather than trying to dump their image out of your head and onto paper so you can see their faces one more time.

His image seems to change with each moment he sits in for you, once a face with two piercing blues, then a patch and eyes that looked at the dusty wooden floor, and later, someone who looks at you straight, something that told you he was a survivor, who bore his battles proudly, the scar on the right of his face sitting ruggedly and bewitchingly.

You draw him, exactly the way you see him, and when you show him the picture, he laughs, and says “You made me look too pretty,” and you shake your head, “It’s exactly the way I see you.”

You do her, too, upon request. When she sits, you draw her almost like it was professional, drawing the curvature of her face with exact precision, intense shading, marking the features she holds. The dip in her nose, the straight of her hair.

(You often forget who you’re drawing in these moments, and when you step away from the canvas you’re hit with whiplash. It’s subconscious, the way you do these things to please him, wanting to see so clearly how his face spreads delicately with delight.)

It takes a little while for you to convince Ron. When you first propose the drawing, he gives you a confused face, before walking off to do shooting practice. He’s gotten better with the gun over the years, and doesn’t respond when you tell him you know why.

(His mother didn’t come out of it alive, and his brother didn’t come back without harm. The younger boy was alive, but would grow up with only his brother by his side and one less limb to account for.)

The second time, he makes a snide comment, albeit with no bite, about how ‘you must be a horrible artist, to ask me of all people to model for you.’

The third time, you’ve dragged him to the small office you makeshifted for the drawings in the garage. He studies every slit of paper you’ve ripped out of your book, the unfinished sketches or yet-to-be painted canvases piling up against the walls. Complete works sit proudly on your wall, displayed for the world to see.

His hands hover over the paints sitting on your desk, charcoal, dirt, sticks, paintbrushes, handmade dyes, wallpaper cut-outs.

“Why?” Ron says curiously.

“‘Why?’ what?” You echo, fiddling with a fork you grabbed from the kitchen, splaying out a thick lather combination of beet dye and cement onto your finger to check the consistency.

“Why do you draw these portraits? I get the others because,” He says, leaving the words “because they’re dead” hanging in the air between you two in mutual and regretful acknowledgement, “But you draw these everyday. You drag Carl and Enid off, or just sit on the benches and draw Maggie and Glenn knee-deep in the dirt.”

You sigh a dreadful breath, wiping the rest of the beet-cement mix onto the page with the pad of your fore-finger. “We’ll forget them one day.”

He looks at you, unblinking. The dead, the gone, and the soon to be long forgotten only existed in your memories, in your words, and when the time came that the world had moved on and stopped, they would cease. Their whole memory relied on the living, nothing about them able to reach and grasp life on their own. Memory was all that was left, and it was all you could do to wash away regret.

“And the rest?”

You bite your tongue hesitantly, your movements rigid, “You see their portraits. Everyday they get less and less coherent. When — when time comes , these drawings will be the only thing getting me by.” You whispered.

The ball had dropped. Coping and grief in it’s big and ugly form, preying on your conscious hungrily, taking shelter in your largest worries. Claws sunken in your flesh, the monster was a thing that felt like it would never go away, because it would loom right alongside death itself, watching and waiting for the moment they’d deemed someones time to have been enough.

(It would never be enough. Enough meant they’d pop in from next door and ask to borrow something, enough meant they’d swipe dirt across your face to make you angry — enough meant they would come in everyday and sit for their portrait once more.)

A creaking on the floorboard caught your attention, eyes watching as Ron’s feet walk to the corner of the room, before hopping onto the wooden seat with little effort.

“I’m not going. I never will. But — do it anyway. I’d… like to see how I look on paper.” He said cheekily, picking up a thin pencil off your desk and handing it out to you.

So you did. Seconds turned to minutes and minutes snowballed into hours in the dim lighting of the garage, asking the blond to turn his body, stretch his head and make different expressions, fulfilling and destroying the little worm of worry sitting in your head.

When you’re done with the charcoal, turning it around for Ron to see and to inspect, he asks, “What about you?”

“And what about me?” You say. His questions never make sense without further discussion, but the boy always has to wait for you to pry and ask him to elaborate.

“You don’t have any drawings of yourself. You’re the artist, the photographer, the one who makes these things that will stay longer than the memories and the words — so what about you?”

It’s rare that Ron delves into his emotions and the things he really means, but when he does, it’s something that stays, for a long while.

“I,” You didn’t have an answer for it. You weren’t one to do a self-portrait, it not being the same as having someone to sit and take from. “I don’t want to.” You finished simply, an ice cold realization coming to reality in you.

“Why?” He says the same words as before, but the words hold a heavy weight.

“I don’t know.”

You knew.

Maybe one day, you’d wished that you’d wash away like seafoam on the beach. You wouldn’t leave a single portrait behind of you, and the memories and the words were left mum behind his lips, because you knew how he got in a loss.

Quiet and unfeeling, it was so selfish of you that you’d counted on how he got in that state to leave you behind, neglecting you like the fruits of your memories you’d never get to bear.

Ron’s gaze bore into you like he knew exactly what you were thinking, telepathically taking in every thought you’d conveyed at your dispense.

“You should.” Is all he says, before stepping off the wooden stool and out the door.

What was wrong with you? You feel so… entirely foolish. Obsolete. Embarrassing.

You walked past the remnants of those who were gone everyday, obsessively creating canvas over canvas of them and the only thing you could think was that you’d wish to position yourself beside them?

This world was catching up to you, and fast, but you’d just have to run faster than it could.

[ethereaiin]

2B likes to carry Reader but doesn't like to admit it?

changed your rq a bit since i wanted some comfort fluff. also this reignited my motivation to write for my nier fic so thanks <3

features; you and 2B + some bonus 9S.

[au]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Being the only human left in the world meant a lot of things.

The weight of responsibility weighed heavily on your shoulders. There was never a day that went by you weren’t reminded of how precious your life was and how losing it meant the end of humanity. The androids you’ve come to know and love never let you forget that fact. You were their salvation; their hope and most of all, their most cherished person.

2B was especially fond of you. While she was reserved with her emotions, opting to use actions to display her care, you knew that she held a soft spot for you. She treated you as if you were the most delicate thing in the world; like the slightest harm against you would break you completely. Compared to an android, of course you were weaker. Yet 2B was maybe a little too cautious.

“Is this really necessary?”

You say with a slight pout as 2B lifts you from the ground and you immediately wrap your arms around her neck. At this point, she’s done it so many times that it felt more like an instinctual habit rather than something you did to ensure you wouldn’t fall. Knowing her, it was unlikely she’d ever let you slip through her grasp. Her wary nature wouldn’t allow it.

At this point, you were somewhat used to the coldness of an android’s body. They were different from humans and they didn’t possess the natural heat you exuded. When you clung to her, it felt no different from any other person, yet the lack of warmth was like a gentle reminder. Nothing here was the same as you remembered it to be and the beings that you were surrounded with on a daily basis that appeared so human were, in fact, anything but.

2B makes no verbal sound of irritation at your question and she answers you as diligently as she always does. “Of course. We can’t afford you getting sick or hurt.”

Though she rarely ever spoke with emotion, you could still hear the tinge of concern in her voice. It only made the heat in your cheeks feel especially warmer. “A-At least let me ride on your back! You can’t fight like this with me here!”

“You’re fine right where you are.”

Your lips part to protest but quickly close when you recall the promise you made to her earlier that day. It was her condition that if you were to roam about the city, you needed to listen to everything she told you to do. No matter how you felt about it. Even if it was a little embarrassing.

Yet, this wasn’t just a one-time occurrence when it came to 2B. No matter where you were, 2B wanted to be in some form of contact with you. At the camp, she’d sit so close that you could feel the brush of her sleeves against your skin, and whenever you were given the chance to roam about, you always found yourself either in her arms or on her back.

You thought it was nothing more than android curiosity. You were the first human she’s ever interacted with after all and it wasn’t as if it were any different for you. You couldn’t deny that you too were interested in androids, especially how they all came to be. For them, they’ve always known humans as their elusive creators, but for you, it felt as if the androids seemingly came from nowhere.

You couldn’t remember much of your old life before you woke up and for now, the desolate and decrepit city you wandered in was your new home. At least until you regain the lost memories 2B promised she’d help you recover.

“So, where are we going today?” You finally ask after a brief walk in silence.

2B’s stride doesn’t break and you feel almost lulled by her rhythmic steps. She didn’t even seem the least burdened with carrying you. She was stronger than an average human, it was something you came to learn after watching her mercilessly beat down a hunk of sentient metal. Just with her fists alone she was able to put a dent in steel. To her, your weight was of little consequence.

Often, you wondered what you felt like in her arms.

She glanced down at you, visage half shrouded by the blindfold around her eyes though the curve of a smile on her lips shows her excitement. “. . . You’ll see.”

She doesn’t say anymore after that and the both of you continue on in silence. Not that you minded it too much. 2B was never a conversationalist, she relied more on actions than words to convey how she felt. You liked that part of her. Her actions were always well thought out and held meaning, Whether she knew it or not, it made every little thing she did for you feel a little more sincere.

From your place in her arms, you took in the sights of the city. As dilapidated and broken as the world around you seemed, it was oddly beautiful. Never had you seen so much green in your life. Flora grew from the cracks between the roads and overtook the concrete buildings towering above you. Looking up towards the sky, you could see flocks of birds flying towards a destination you would never know, their distant calls an interruption to the silence. You don’t remember much of the old world, but you knew this city was never meant to be this quiet.

You desperately wished to regain your lost memories, yet there was a part of you who wasn’t so eager. Often the thought crossed your mind; maybe you were better off without them. Remembering would only leave you with the desire for a world long gone along with the total realization of your unfathomable luck. You, the last of your kind, were left all alone while the world died and withered without you. If there was a god, surely they wouldn’t have condemned you to such a lonely fate.

“Look,”

At the sound of her voice, you glance up at her only to direct your sight towards whatever she was referring to. While you were deep in thought you hadn’t noticed the direction she was heading in and you found yourself atop a wooden bridge placed just behind the walls of what looked to be an amusement park. From where 2B stood, you couldn’t see much, but you were given an incredible view of the distant castle.

“I-Is that an- Woah!”

The words died right on your tongue as an explosion of color suddenly took over the sky. Even from the great distance between you and the park, you were able to hear the crackling of fireworks. The sky, which you thought the sun would never set for, was darkened with the smoke from the war 2B and 9S constantly talked about. The colors were brightened against it, making their visibility clearer and their colors vivid. With your eyes locked onto the sight before you, you tapped on 2B’s shoulder as a silent request to be let down. She complied, allowing you to step near the edge of the bridge to take a closer look at the fireworks.

You thought you couldn’t remember anything from the old world, yet the moment you gazed upon the fireworks lighting up the sky; you remembered them instantaneously. You remembered their putrid smell, how loud they could be, and the fear you used to harbor for them when you were younger.

Even if you used to be scared of them, even if you thought they were too loud and hated the way they smelled; at this moment, you thought they were the prettiest things you’ve ever seen.

Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes and it was only until you felt them run down your cheeks that you paid them any mind. Though before you could even attempt to wipe them, you felt the distinct sensation of leather gently running across your cheek.

2B stood at your side, looking down at you with a small smile on her face, one you gladly returned. She doesn’t ask you the reason for your tears, nor does she look hurt by their appearance. She lets you be, standing at your side for as long as you allow her whilst providing unspoken support. It warmed you to the deepest part of your heart. Her kindness, although silent and unvoiced, was always apparent to you. She cared deeply for you. You didn’t need her to say it for you to know.

Your hand slips into hers all too naturally and under the crackling fireworks above, you think of only the promising future.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

extra:

“Why do you like to carry me so much?”

The question was asked more straightforward than what they were used to hearing from you. If there was anything 2B and 9S learned from their journey with you so far, it was that you never said what you felt. You looked for gentler ways to word your questions as if your care would be understood by androids who had no grasp of discretion.

2B, like always, never fails to leave your question unanswered and replies as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Because you’re warm.”

2B’s forthright reply even shocked 9S who was walking alongside her. “2B! Don’t you think that’s a little. . .”

You blushed slightly at her reply, burying your face against her shoulder as if that would take away from your embarrassment. From your place on her back, you were unable to see what kind of face she was making. As if that damned blindfold would give you the opportunity anyway. Though you doubted she would feel even a pinch of shame. 2B spoke nothing but the truth and that only made her words all the more brazen.

“What? You don’t agree?” She pauses in her steps, turning towards him which then forces you to face him as well. “Have you never touched her?”

You felt as if you would just die right then and there, yet you can’t help yourself from timidly peeking out at 9S from over 2B’s shoulder. He looks like he’s in thought for a moment, with a gloved hand on his chin and his lips twisted to the side. There’s only a moment’s delay between 2B’s question and his answer.

“Well. . . yeah, you’re not wrong. She’s even nicer to hug.”

Having enough of this conversation, you raise up your head to throw 9S a light glare. “Guys, can we please just get back to camp already?”

Throwing his hands up, 9S cheekily grins at you before continuing down the road towards the resistance camp. 2B follows shortly after him, her lips spread into an equally amused smile. While it might have been normal for 9S to show emotion resembling that of a human’s the feeling that stirred in 2B’s chest was quite foreign to her. She didn’t know what to call this feeling, but she didn’t hate it. It was a delightful buzz, one that she often felt around you and only you.

“Humans are softer than I imagined.” She added, her smile brightening at the sound of your muffled groan.

9S didn't hesitate to tag in on the teasing even from his place further ahead of you. “You know, I think we should include that in our report to the Commander. . .”

“Guys!”

[ayamturd]

enough│dream team

summary: y/n is overwhelmed and hits a breaking point. luckily, her boys are always there for her.

warnings: angst to fluff, light cursing

pairing: real-life platonic!dream team

a/n: was trying to write comfort drabble but got carried away, oops— pls feel free to comment or give feedback!

wc: (1.4k) - m.list

Falling face-first onto the safe haven of your couch, you felt as if you could cry from exhaustion. 

Today was long, longer than usual. From pulling an all nighter to barely finish the analysis essay you put off to the very last minute, struggling to understand the notes in most (if not all) of your online classes, to the torturous hours at work dealing with difficult coworkers and harsh customers, to say you were emotionally, physically, and mentally drained was an understatement. 

Despite the numerous assignments you knew were waiting to be completed, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. The stress of simply worrying about them was already enough to drown your thoughts as you smothered your face into the pillow cushions. Before the raging thoughts could continue to ring though, the discord notification quietly broke the empty space, the phone being previously thrown somewhere on the floor. 

The bright screen blinded you as you brought the phone towards your face and answered the call with blurred eyes. “Hello?”

“Aye, nice to know you’re not dead!” What?

“Sap, what the hell do you want?” The lack of sleep was present in your quip tone. You probably would have apologized upon realizing if you could think straight. 

“Geeez, no need to get all upset. Was just wondering if you were still planning on joining the stream.” 

“Stream? What stream?” As if answering your own question, you pulled the phone away to check the date and sat up in slight panic. Fuck. “Shit! I didn’t realize that was today, I thought it was still Thursday!” 

Sapnap laughed, but it didn’t help calm your nerves at all. “Honestly, you’re fine. We were just wondering what happened since you weren’t answering any of our messages.” You scrolled through the boys’ messages from the past hour asking where you were. 

“Ahh, but still, I’m so sorry. I just got home but let me set up and I’ll be there in the next five minutes or so.” 

“You sure? It’s fine if you don’t wanna, s’just a chill stream while we speed run and shit.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I promised and haven’t hung out with you guys in a while anyway.” Rising slowly from the couch, you stretched with a groan and headed to your bedroom to quickly change into something comfortable. 

“Alright, nice. I’ll tell the guys, see you then.” You hummed a bye and closed your phone. Slipping out of your dirty uniform and putting on something loose, you collapsed into your office chair and turned on your monitors. You weren’t in the greatest mood if you were being honest with yourself, but you would feel bad if you fell through with plans and didn’t want to disappoint anyone. You tried to force down any negative thoughts before entering the call.

“—eorge! What?!” Clay’s signature yell practically made your ears bleed when adjusting the headphones on your head. You were quick to turn down the volume. 

“What are you idiots up to now?” you asked, letting the boys know of your presence.

“Y/n! glad you finally decided to join us!” George remarked. You could hear the stupid grin on his face while loading up the game, and scowled at your screen as if he could see it. “Shut it, Gogy. I was busy and it slipped my mind.”

“Mhmmm, suuure. You totally weren’t ignoring us for the past hour or so.” The cheeky little bitch.

“Hey, just cause the girls you hit up don’t respond doesn’t mean every girl in the world is ignoring you!” 

You could hear Clay wheeze as George and you began your usual bickering. Wanting to entertain their streams, you tried to interact and talk with each of the boys as much as possible, but you felt the high of speaking with friends significantly drop as the night continued on. 

The events of the day and the sensitive thought of meeting expectations and your inability to do so were starting to creep onto you. Even your game play was off as you died the fifth time in a row within the first 3 minutes again; the growing frustration made you tear up and get more angry at yourself. Who sucks at a block game and starts crying about it?

You didn’t realize you had gone silent until Clay called your name. “Yeah, Dream?”

“I ended the stream a few minutes after George and Sap, no need.” Oh. You must’ve spaced out and not noticed. When did George and Sapnap end stream? 

Letting out a sigh, you responded, “my bad Clay, I wasn’t paying attention.” 

George began speaking. “You okay tonight, y/n? It’s been awhile since we last actually talked and you got pretty quiet at the end there. I thought you were afk at first but could hear your keyboard.”

“I’m good, just tired.” You struggled to make a smile, barely convincing yourself as is.

“I don’t know, even when you’re tired, you’re not dead silent and completely zone out.”

“Yeah, what’s up with you today? I know you said you were at work but it’s not like you to forget things completely.”

“Plus you weren’t really fighting back that last argument. I know I’m amazing at Minecraft but I didn’t expect you to—“ You let out a stuttered breath and choked back a sob at their words, the heavy weight of the day finally crashing on you. 

You could hear George try to apologize for something he could have done to upset you and swallowed your silent hiccups to respond. “Don’t, George. Please. Trust me when I say you didn’t do anything wrong.”

The call went silent before Clay spoke up. “Then what is wrong, y/n? You can’t tell us something isn’t bothering you, we just want to help.” Now that opened the floodgates. Your breathing became irregular as more tears came into view. If the boys were talking, you couldn’t hear anything they were saying. You felt awful for forcing them to listen to you cry your emotions out, but Sapnap was quick to softly console you when you pathetically began to repeat broken sorry’s.

Eventually your sobs became sniffs as you calmed yourself while listening to George tell you to breathe in and out. The call became relatively silent once more.

“I’m so sorr—”

“Y/n,” Clay firmly stated, “never say sorry for something that isn’t your fault. You’re okay, okay?” You sniffed and nodded to his words, replying with a soft okay.  

“What’s wrong, y/n?” George was more gentle then before, him trying his best to comfort you in comparison to his joking manner. 

“I— I’m just so tired. Tired of school, t—tired of work, tired of trying to keep up with everything. I feel like I can’t breathe and it hurts. A—and I can’t help but hate myself for not being able to keep up with my own responsibilities and shit. I just, why am I not good enough?” The pause of silence was deafening and you looked desperately at the boys’ icons for an answer before screwing your eyes shut. 

Clay was first to respond. “Y/n, I know that right now everything feels hard and stacked up against you, but please trust me when I say it gets better. I know you said it’s been hard to breathe but you have to let yourself. You shouldn’t hate yourself for not being able to keep up, it’s just a sign you need to step away and give yourself a break. You’re not alone, okay? I’m here, George is here, S—“

“I’m here,” Sapnap interrupted. Clay let out a murmured groan while George scolded him for talking. “Oh, uh, sorry…” You giggled slightly.

“What I’m sure Clay was trying to say before is, you have us to back you up, alright? Struggling to take on your own responsibilities isn’t something to feel alone in, everyone needs support and we’ll always be yours. You are good enough. You’re too good for your own good that you won’t let yourself see it.” They collectively chuckled at George’s words. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

You slowly nodded while still grasping everything they said, a warmth replacing the shuddered breaths as you exhaled. “I do, yeah.” You couldn’t help but feel touched by their attentiveness and genuinely smiled. “Thank you guys, for listening and calming me down. It means a lot.”

“Course, y/n.” Sapnap reassured. “We love you and all that shit.”

“I love you guys and all that shit too.”

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Ch. 11: Blast from the Past (Siblings)

AO3

Prev

Swinging side by side with her father was an amazing experience. Marinette tried hard to stifle her laughter, figuring Batman wouldn’t appreciate it if word got around that the newest vigilante was a giggler. He swings to the next roof and pauses, Marinette frowning as he listens to something on his comm.

“Alright. All hands on deck. Robin, you’ll stay on the roof with Ladybird.” He instructs, Marinette frowns. Was he really sticking her younger brother on babysitting duty? And why couldn’t she go wherever it is he’s going?

“What’s happening?” She asks, crossing her arms.

“There are several crates of weapons and a few dozen armed men in a warehouse a mile out from here. You and Robin are going to stay on the roof to make sure no one leaves before the police arrive.” He instructs before turning and grappling away. Marinette frowns, but follows behind him. Does he really not think that she can handle herself? And she knows this is going to cause problems with Damian. He already doesn’t like her and now he has to stay with her. She watches as he swoops down into the warehouse and she lands silently on the roof.

“I do not appreciate this.” Robin says, stepping out of the shadows with crossed arms. Although she can’t see his eyes behind his mask, Marinette knows he’s glaring at her. She just rolls her eyes.

“I don’t either. I don’t need someone watching me 24/7. I can take care of myself.” She says, and with a sudden jolt, she realizes this is the first time he’s willingly speaking to her. The first time they’re talking and it’s to argue. Lovely.

“If you had simply stayed away, then I would have been allowed to follow Father. Instead, I am being punished for your insolence.” He adds. Is he going to lecture her the entire time Batman and the others are fighting in the warehouse, she thinks, raising an eyebrow. She starts to snark back, but a shadow moving behind him pulls her attention instead. Narrowing her eyes, she watches as a figure steps out of the shadow, a gun raised at her.

“Well well well. What do we have here?” The man asks, a smirk on his face. Marinette glances at Robin, trying to see if he recognizes the voice. She doesn’t see any recognition, so she immediately catalogues the man as an unknown threat. Chances were that he was involved with the group currently fighting in the warehouse and not an actual Batman level villain. But he still had a gun, so she wouldn’t underestimate him. Robin turns to face the man and he immediately takes the gun off Marinette, pointing it instead at Robin’s head. Marinette narrows her eyes. She may not know him very well, but he was still her little brother. And she wasn’t about to let some stupid goon threaten him. Flicking her wrist, she aims her yoyo at the man’s gun, smirking as she manages to yank it from his grasp. She catches the gun as it flies back with her yoyo, holding it carefully and trying to ignore the internal panic. She’d never held a gun before, never wanted to or had a reason to. And she really didn’t want to hold it now, but she didn’t want the man to know that she was scared of the gun, because that would give him an advantage. She just grins at the dumbfounded look on the man’s face, his shock enough so that Robin was able to knock him down without a fight. He pulls a zip tie out of his utility belt and ties the man’s hands together.

“Well that was disappointing. I was hoping for more of a fight.” Marinette teases, hoping that the tension between her and Robin would break. She watches as his lips purse slightly, not sure what the expression meant.

“I hardly think one buffoon with a gun would be much of a fight for either of us.” He finally says, and her eyes light up. Success!

“But if it was the right foe, they could surely take you down.” A new voice says, and this time Marinette can practically feel the tension rolling off of Robin.

“Slade.” He says, obviously tensing for a fight.

“Damian. I wasn’t aware you were in possession of a Miraculous.” The man, Slade, says, turning towards her. Marinette stiffens, uncomfortable by both his words and the fact that she can’t see the man’s face because of his costume.

“I’m not in possession of anything.” He says, his jaw clenched. Marinette shifts into a defensive position, desperately wishing that she had a comm. Surely the rest of the family had heard this man’s intrusion through Robin. But she wished she could hear them. Whether it was giving information about the man or reassurance that the rest of them would be there soon, she wanted to hear them.

“Tell me, little girl, how did you stumble upon one of the most powerful pieces of magic in the universe? And why haven’t I met you before?” He asks, stepping towards them. Glaring at the man, Marinette steps forward so that she’s standing in line with Robin, unwilling to cower behind her brother.

“I don’t think we run in the same circles. And I assure you, I didn’t stumble across anything. I was chosen to wield this Miraculous.” She says, shoving false confidence in her tone when all she wanted was to grab Robin and run. Slade oozed a sense of wrongness and danger. Not a combination she wanted anywhere near her or her family.

“Mmm. Perhaps not. But we’ll never know, will we. I’m going to have to ask you for that Miraculous now, dear.” He says, her eyes narrow.

“I’m not sure if that’s worked for you in the past, but it’s not going to work today. You’re not the first creep in a mask asking for my Miraculous.” She snarks, hand twitching as she analyzes him and tries to come up with a plan. Without any warning, he lunges towards them, a sword suddenly in his grasp. Marinette jumps back, going on the defense as Robin lunges forward with his own katana. Marinette flits around both of them, throwing her yoyo at Slade every time he got too close to Robin. It was obvious the man was well trained, and it was also obvious that he had little patience for the two.

“You’ve improved, but you’re still not good enough.” He hisses, lunging towards Robin, his sword aimed at the boy’s chest. Marinette lunges towards them, shoving Robin out of the way. She shrieks in pain as Slade slides his sword into her shoulder. She can’t see the man’s face, but she can just imagine his smirk. He puts his other hand on his sword, and she just knows he’s going to twist. She can’t let that happen. So instead, she jerks back, screaming as she pulls herself off the sword. Robin launches himself at Slade once again, furiously slashing at the man. Slade lifts his sword up and Marinette flicks out her yoyo, grunting in pain as she irritates her shoulder. But she’s able to wrap her yoyo around the man’s wrist. Smirking, she tugs roughly, pulling the man off balance enough so that Robin can disarm him. Just as she lets her shoulders relax, Slade yanks his arm, tugging her to him. She yelps in pain as he wraps her into a chokehold. Staring at Robin, she tries not to panic. They’re gonna come for them, right? The rest of her family? Surely they’ve beaten those goons by now. They definitely heard the problem on the roof through Robin’s comm, right?

“Unhand her.” Robin says, shifting his position now that he has two swords.

“I don’t think I will. Not for free, anyway. You want her alive for some reason.” Slade says, tightening his hold. Marinette lets out a choked breath, desperately trying to pull in enough oxygen.

“What do you want?” Robin asks, Marinette tries to shake her head, already guessing what the man wants. She’d rather die than give some psycho the power of Tikki. Not only could he destroy the world, but Paris would also be lost without the Miraculous Cure.

“Her earrings. Let me take them, and I’ll let her live….this time.” He says.

“No….don’t...not..worth it.” Marinette manages to say, just barely able to shake her head. She gags as Slade tightens his grip again, black spots dotting her vision.

“Ladybird-” Robin says, and Marinette is certain she’s hallucinating now. Because he almost sounds pained.

“Don’t.” She begs, fighting to stay conscious. As she watches him, she sees a smirk make its way onto his face. That’s good. Good. Smirking brother means….what does it mean? She’s not sure. All she knows is that suddenly, the pressure on her neck is gone. She falls to her knees, gasping for breath and wincing at the burning in her shoulder. Too much. Too much all at once. A hand on her good shoulder shakes her from her thoughts and she weakly hits at it.

“Ladybird, it’s me.” A voice says. She blinks, opening her eyes, wincing at the pain enveloping her. Looking closer at the figure, she sighs in relief, letting herself slump down. She’s safe. Arms pick her up gently and she smiles softly, tiredness hitting her as the adrenaline finally fades. Curling in closer, she mumbles into Batman’s chest.

“Thanks dad.”

---

Bruce Wayne was pissed. And the only person who could piss him off so much was himself. He’d left Damian and Marinette on the roof alone because he thought they’d be safer. He didn’t think the two would be able to get into any trouble up there. Of course he would be wrong. Of course Slade Wilson would choose tonight to come after Damian. And of course the man just had to know about the Miraculous.

Hearing his daughter’s pained screams over his son’s comm would haunt his nightmares. It’d likely become the unholy symphony over the images of Jason’s broken body and Damian’s limp form. Images that’d haunted him for years and would continue to do so until he dies. When he was young, his nightmares were just of his parents. But he had seen things much worse since becoming a father. And now he’d heard much worse. Shaking his head, he tries hard to hold onto the one bright part of the evening.

Marinette had called him dad.

It was the first time she’d called him anything other than ‘Mr. Wayne’. His heart warmed at the thought, but everything came crashing down again when he remembered. Slade Wilson was gone. He’d managed to get away while his focus was on Marinette’s wellbeing. Which means his daughter was now in even more danger. Damian had informed him of the man’s obsession with the Miraculous. It was something they’d need to talk about, but not tonight. After she passed out in his arms, he brought her back to the manor. Alfred stitched her shoulder, and Bruce brought her to her room. It wasn’t decorated yet, but he’d made sure to pick out a room for her after finding out about her. Even if she didn’t want anything to do with them after this, she’d always have a room here.

Sighing, Bruce sticks his head into Marinette’s room, just to reassure himself that she was there. That she was safe. It was something he did with each of his kids, every time they were injured. Every time he was afraid that he would lose them. The sight in front of him makes him pause and pull out his phone to take a picture. They might be mad at him for it later, but he’d curse himself forever if he let this moment slip away. All of his children were piled in Marinette’s room. The girl herself was on the bed, curled into a ball despite her injured shoulder. At the foot of her bed was Damian, his face peaceful for once. Jason, Dick and Tim were all in a pile on the floor, pillows and blankets scattered both beneath them and on top of them. They were an impossibly tangled pile of limbs, guarding their youngest sister. He smiles softly, eyes finally falling on Cass curled up in an armchair that she must’ve pulled next to Marinette’s bed. Satisfied that all were well, Bruce shuts the door gently, not wanting to risk waking any of them.

His children were together, and safe. For now.

Next

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[helliontherapscallion]

Wilbur’s Hair Salon (The Ashes of Yourself Blurb)

The Ashes of Yourself Masterlist

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: getting overwhelmed, swearing

Word count: 2,958

(A/N): this is a lil longer than I expected it to be (longer than the actual chapter I released today oop). Anyways, this could be read without having to read my Ashes of Yourself series, all you have to know is that Philza and Technoblade are absent a lot leaving Wilbur to raise Tommy and the reader and the reader is a blaze hybrid

You frowned at yourself in the mirror, running your hands through your long hair in distaste, the flames tickling your hands. The shears on the bathroom counter sat there taunting you, daring you to take them and cut off all of your hair. The broken water faucet in the sink dripped endlessly, reminding you of what happened when it first started dripping. The small charcoal spot on the back of your hand reminded you of how painful touching water was. 

You hated every aspect of your hair; the way it tickled your neck, the way it kept getting in your face, how people kept mistaking you for a girl, it was just so frustrating. You absolutely hated how fast your hair grew, one day you cut it close to your scalp and a week later it’s already at your shoulders! Your hair was the bane of your existence at the moment. 

You tried countless hairstyles ranging from buns to fancy updos, all of them proved to be useless in the end when you lost control of your emotions and the hair ties and bobby pins burnt to a crisp. You knew from experience that cutting your hair was useless, and so was shoving it all under a beanie you stole from Wilbur, so you gave up and let it grow out. That was a month ago and your hair now reached your lower back. 

Your frustration was growing by the second. The flames on your head flickered wildly and smoke plumed from the strands. You knew that in order to cut your hair you had to relax so that it was tangible, you knew that, but you just couldn’t relax. 

You snatched the shears off from the counter with one hand and gathered all of your hair in your other. The shears were positioned around your hair and without hesitation, you snapped the shears closed. Like you were expecting, the shears only swished through the flames and left them untouched. In a fit of frustration, you repeatedly closed the shears around your hair. The sharp edges did nothing to the length. 

You only paused when you felt something drip onto your forehead. In confusion, you looked at the mirror only to see the previously ivory white iron replaced with glowing oranges and reds. Bits were dripping off from the tool and onto your face. The flames thrashed in your grip, desperate to be unleashed and burn everything in this room to mere ashes. 

Molten tears pricked your eyes as you glared at the hair in your hand, frustrated blaze-like growls rumbling the back of your throat. You knew that if you let this fester any longer, the house would catch on fire (again). You closed your eyes and took deep breaths in an attempt to steady yourself.

It worked slightly for a few moments, the flames now calmly flickering and your hands at their normal temperature, however you could still feel the irritation gnawing on the deepest corners of your mind. 

You put down the cooled down and misshapen shears on the bathroom counter, wiped off the liquid iron from your forehead, and ripped open the door in search for the brother closest to you in age: Tommy.

He wasn’t that hard to find; all you had to do was follow the music to his room. Without knocking, you opened his door and stared at him. He sat up on his bed and looked at you in offence, “oi, what the fuck?! What if I was changing or something? You-” 

“Wanna commit arson?” 

He paused and launched himself off from his bed, “I’m down for some arson, but what’s the occasion?” 

You led him down the stairs and towards the door, “ I’m mad at everything right now and I don’t want to burn down the house.” 

Just as you both were about to leave the house, someone clearing their throat sounded behind you. Your hand froze over the doorknob and you swore to yourself under your breath. Wilbur grabbed both of your shoulders and spun you both around. He was in his pajamas, rage peeking through his sleep clouded eyes. 

“Where do you two think you’re going at this time of night?” Despite only being nineteen years old, he has already perfected the angry dad voice. 

“(Y/n) and I were just going out for a walk, big man. No need to get your panties in a twist.” 

Wilbur’s eyes narrowed, “no you two weren’t. You were gonna go burn some shit again weren’t you?” 

“What does it matter to you where we go? Where we go is none of your business.” You ripped your shoulder out of his grasp and glared at him. You could feel your hair starting to flicker in anger.

He matched your glare with as much, if not more, intensity, “Dad put me in charge, so it’s actually all of my business to know where you’re going at midnight.” 

“Just leave us the fuck alone, Wilbur. You have no idea how much I need this.” 

“Listen Wilbur,” Tommy said warily after feeling the heat radiating off from your body, “(y/n) just needs to get their mind off from things. I wasn’t gonna actually let them commit arson again.”

This made Wilbur pause. Normally Tommy would back you up in arguments but now the oldest could feel the slight urgency in the blond’s voice. He looked back at you and saw that you were quite literally about to combust. He could hear the small blaze noises that you were making as pitch black irises and pale yellow sclera glared at him. Small plumes of smoke were rising from your figure and dissipating into the air the second it met with the ceiling. 

Wilbur then sighed and grabbed his coat, a sword, and, to your surprise, two pairs of flint and steel. “C’mon then,” he gestured to the front door, “let’s go. But only trees this time, got it?” Despite his exasperation and exhaustion with basically raising two preteens that thrived off from arson, he smiled slightly when he saw both of them perk up. They were his youngest siblings and he wanted nothing more than to see them happy.

After finding a lone tree and clearing it of any potential animals and mobs, the siblings lit it on fire. The feeling of finally releasing some pent up anger and frustration was slightly relieving. Though some of your frustration remained, you felt a little more at ease.

Wilbur led both you and Tommy away from the burning tree and sat down on top of a grassy hill, lighting torches to prevent any mobs from sneaking up on you three. The siblings sat in comfortable silence as they watched the flickering flames cut through the darkness of the night. Tommy’s and Wilbur’s faces were lit up in a dull orange hue. 

Eventually, you leaned your head on Wilbur’s shoulder tiredly and yawned loudly. The brunet chuckled to himself and moved to wrap his arms around both of his siblings, pulling them close to his side. You sighed in content and nuzzled your face closer to his side. The blaze of the tree had died down to mere embers and charcoal remains. 

“...Why don’t we go inside before we all fall asleep out here.” Wilbur nudged both of you gently and helped you stand up. 

“I don’t need help, arsehole,” Tommy protested, but did nothing to stop Wilbur from helping him up. “I,” he cut himself off with a large yawn. You, seeing this, yawned yourself. 

“Sure,” Wilbur chuckled and put a steadying hand on yours and Tommy’s shoulders, steering you back towards the house. The siblings walked back into the house where, instead of letting you both go to your separate rooms, Wilbur plopped you both onto the couch and sat between the both of you. He once again wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you both close to his body. 

“The fuck are you doing, Wil?” Tommy protested, weakly trying to push himself away from his older brother. 

Wilbur tightened his grip and slumped down onto the couch, making himself comfortable. “This calls for sibling cuddle time. It’s been a while since we’ve done this anyway.” 

“There’s a reason why we haven’t done this in a while,” Tommy complained, “we’re too old for this shit.” 

“So you want to-” Wilbur’s snarky remark was interrupted by a soft snore coming from his side. He and Tommy stopped arguing and looked over to (y/n). The blaze hybrid’s lips were slightly parted as they snored peacefully, unconsciously nuzzling into Wilbur’s old t-shirt and moving to wrap an arm across Wilbur’s midsection. Their hand landed on Tommy’s long sleeve shirt and gripped it lightly. 

“What the fuck, (y/n).” 

“Tommy I swear to the gods if you wake them up I will make you do all of the chores for a week.” 

Tommy grumbled to himself before he reluctantly leaned his head against Wilbur’s side and putting his hand over (y/n)’s, “fine, but I’m only staying because I don’t want to do your fucking chores again.” 

“Mhm, now go to sleep, Toms, it’s getting late.” 

Tommy fell silent and let himself drift off to sleep. Soon enough, Wilbur himself drifted off to sleep, pulling his siblings closer to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you woke up, you were alone on the couch. Sunlight was streaming through the opened curtains and blinded your sensitive eyes. The scent of eggs and toast wafted throughout the house. 

You stretched and made your way to the kitchen. There, Wilbur was standing at the stove flipping eggs and Tommy was sitting at the table with his head burrowed into the crook of his elbow. 

“It’s about time you woke up, I was starting to get worried that you’d sleep until noon,” Wilbur said before he placed plates at the table. He reached over to lightly smack the back of Tommy’s head, “no sleeping at the table.” 

The blond grumbled to himself before pushing himself up onto an elbow and scooping food into his mouth. Wilbur’s eyes narrowed at his elbow on the table before he sighed to himself and ate his own portion of breakfast. 

“So, what’s going on with you? It’s been a while since you wanted to burn something down like that,” Tommy asked you after waking up a little bit more. Wilbur looked over at you in question. 

You sighed and poked at your food, “it’s really stupid.” 

“If it was enough for you to almost completely melt the shears, it isn’t stupid, (y/n). What’d I say about talking about your emotions?” Wilbur softly chided you. 

“‘Don’t call your emotions stupid’,” you droned out before taking a bite of your breakfast, “but this time it really is stupid, Wilby. You both will laugh at me anyways, so just drop it.” 

“We’d never laugh at you,” Wilbur frowned, “and whatever you’re feeling certainly isn’t stupid. Tell us, we’re all ears.” 

You looked up from your plate and saw that they both were looking at you with judgemental free stares. Though his eyes were previously clouded with sleep, Tommy now looked alert and diverted his full attention to you while Wilbur gave you an encouraging smile. 

“...Fine, it’s just… I couldn’t cut my hair last night and it’s just been so overwhelming to constantly deal with. You both know how fast it grows.” You ran a hand over the top of your hair and huffed in frustration. 

“That’s it?” Tommy asked you before Wilbur kicked his shin from under the table. “What Tommy meant to say,” he shot a pointed look at the twelve year old, “is that feeling overwhelmed, no matter what it’s about, is completely normal. We all get overwhelmed sometimes. I’ll tell you what,” he cleared his throat and stood up from his place at the table, “I’ll be right back.” As he passed Tommy’s place, he leaned down close to his ear, “apologize before I get back.” 

You winced at Wilbur’s scathing tone and watched as he walked out of the room in long strides. 

“Sorry,” you and Tommy told each other at the same time. Both of you looked at each other in slight shock, “what-” you cut yourself off as you realized that you both said the same thing again. 

You both eyed each other warily from across the table, watching the other’s mouths closely. You took a deep breath and looked at him seriously, “sorry Toms. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.” 

“Wha- I’m the one that’s supposed to say sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one that’s an arsehole that doesn’t think before he speaks, so I’m sorry.” He narrowed his eyes at you, daring you to say another word. As you opened your mouth to object, he sharply said, “ah! No apologizing when you didn’t do anything wrong.” 

You snapped your mouth closed and sighed, propping yourself up onto your elbow. “...You know that I’ll always forgive you no matter what you do, right Tommy?”

“Of course, and I’ll always defend you as well. Even if you end up murdering someone, I’ll help you hide the body. It’s just what older brothers are supposed to do.” 

“So,” you grinned at him, “you’re down for murder now?” 

“Nobody’s murdering anybody.” Wilbur’s voice made the both of you jump. When you both whipped your heads over to the doorway, you saw Wilbur leaning against the doorframe and watching you two with a fond smile. He pushed himself off from the doorframe and placed a wrapped box in front of you. 

“I was waiting until your birthday,” he sat down next to you, “but now is as good a time as ever to give this to you.” 

After a while of hesitance, you ripped the wrapping paper off from the box and peered inside of it. There, a glimmering pair of shears and leather gloves were laying on the bottom of the box. “Woah, are these enchanted?” You looked up at Wilbur with awe filled eyes. 

He looked at you with a wide smile and nodded eagerly, “yes! Both are enchanted with fire protection so you can cut your hair easier!” 

“That is so poggers! Wanna cut your hair now?!” Tommy was leaning across the table and looking into the box with wide, excited eyes. You snatched the gloves out of the box and handed them to him, “yes! Do you wanna cut my hair?!” 

He grabbed the gloves and put them on hastily, jumping out of his chair and darting towards the door. You grabbed the shears and attempted to follow him before Wilbur stopped you with a hand on your shoulder, looking slightly alarmed, “he is not cutting your hair.”

“Well, why not?”

“He isn’t cutting your hair and that’s final. Give me the shears and we can safely cut it in the bathroom.” He held his hand out and gave you a smile, “I know you’re excited, but I just don’t want anyone losing a finger under my watch. That’d be really hard to explain to Dad.” 

You sighed and put the shears into his hand. He led you towards the bathroom and you followed him closely, “I miss Dad, do you know when he’s coming home?” 

“I don’t know, little inferno. Just- just don’t think about him and he’ll be home before you know it.” His tone had a hidden sharp edge to it as he put a hand on your opposite shoulder and lightly squeezed it. “I know it’s hard without him, but we’ll always have each other. Just you, me, and Tommy. We don’t need them as long as we have each other.” 

“Are you two coming or not?!” Tommy poked his head out from the bathroom, staring at you both with slight annoyance. “We are and you are not cutting their hair.” 

“Well,” Tommy scoffed and wiggled his fingers, the light bouncing off from the oversized gloves perfectly, “who has the gloves?” 

You and Wilbur stepped into the bathroom with him guiding you to sit on the closed toilet seat and leaning your head over the sink. Wilbur raised his eyebrows and wiggled the shears in his hand, “who has the shears and the ability to ground you for a few weeks?” 

Tommy huffed and took off the gloves, giving them to Wilbur who slipped them onto his hands. Wilbur grinned cheekily, “that’s what I thought.” He gathered your hair into one hand and looked at you in question, “ready?” 

You grinned back at him, “as ready as I’ll ever be.” 

The shears sliced through your hair with ease and you watched as the fire dissipated into the air. Tommy watched as it floated up in the air and smiled to himself as it disappeared before hitting the ceiling. 

After your haircut, you sat up and looked at yourself in the mirror. It was like Wilbur had read your mind, your hair was exactly how you wanted it. When you looked back at him, he was looking at you with a tender smile. Just as you were about to thank him, Tommy spoke up in a casual tone.

“So Wilbur,” he asked, “would you help us hide a body if one of us accidentally murdered someone?” 

“...Tommy, (y/n), is there something you’re not telling me?” 

“Is that a yes or a no?” You asked him after giving Tommy a quick mischievous smile.

Wilbur slipped the gloves off and tapped his chin in thought. “...I would, that’s what older brothers are for. Hiding bodies for their younger siblings,” he chuckled to himself before he stopped himself and looked at you both slightly nervously, “seriously though, is there something you both aren’t telling me?”

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