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bookshelf-in-progress · 2 years ago

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A Day Late: A Beauty and the Beast Retelling

Beatrice scrambled through the rose garden, tripping over the deep gold skirts she'd worn specifically to look nice for her host. Where was Beast? He wasn't in the library, dining room, conservatory, aviary, music room, ballroom, study, parlor, billiard room, or any of the castle towers. She'd thought she'd find him brooding in a melancholy corner, awaiting her return, but she was running out of melancholy corners and beginning to get frustrated. Where could an eight-foot-tall dog-tiger-monkey man possibly hide?

The garden had changed. The usual balmy summer had become oppressively hot and humid. The roses drooped. The damp air clung to Beatrice's skin and red curls escaped her hairpins and frizzed around her face. Where were the sparkling sunshowers that kept the gardens moist? Where were the playful breezes that kept the air fresh and cool? Beatrice hadn't seen so much as a fluttering curtain to indicate the presence of an invisible servant. Everything was silent. Still. Dead.

Half-mad with anxiety, she raced down cobbled paths and across the wide lawns where she and her Beast had played so many games of croquet. Past fountains where they'd splashed each other in ferocious water battles. She trampled beds of pansies and tore holes in hedges and prayed the invisible gardener would forgive her. If Beast meant to get revenge for her delay in returning, he was doing an excellent job of it, but when--yes, when--she found him, they would have words about how a single day of waiting did not justify throwing your guest into a blind panic.

She checked every bench in the garden, navigated the entire hedge maze, and even took a raft to check the bottom of the lily pond. When she came ashore, she leapt a short hedge and found herself at the far end of the south lawn, where the lush grass gave way to rougher scrub as the palace grounds approached the surrounding woods. A creek babbled over stones, separating forest from palace, and not far from its bank, Beatrice saw a lump of tawny-striped fur covered in a familiar blue cloak.

Beatrice raced to Beast's side and found him barely conscious. His fur was dull, his eyes were glassy, and he panted in the heat. The sharp teeth sticking out of his pointed muzzle were as dry as his black nose.

Beatrice struggled to catch her breath, then gasped, "Beast! What happened?"

Beast lay curled up on his right side, legs bent to his chest like a newborn babe, while he clutched his long tail in one monkey-like hand. Softly, he said, "You broke your promise."

How could he be so maddening? "It was one extra day! I haven't seen my family in nearly two years! I thought you could manage without falling into a melancholic decline!"

Beast squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw against some internal pain. "I told you. Three days only. Or I waste away and die."

"I thought it was a metaphor! You know how dramatic you get!"

He shook his head. "Rules of this place."

Beatrice's stomach sank. Though the sun shone hot as ever, it seemed to Beatrice as though a cloud had blocked all the light. She didn't...he couldn't...

Had she killed him for one extra day at home?

She clenched her jaw to hold back tears, furious that she was even considering wasting time by crying.

Beatrice pulled off the Beast's cloak, revealing that he was clad in the loose white shirt and rough brown trousers he typically wore in the gardens. She knelt beside him and snarled, "You can tell whoever runs this place, from me, that I am sick to death of their rules." She started loosening the shirt's laces, grinding out words with each piece of the string she yanked from the bindings. "Life imprisonment because my father stole a rose. Required daily marriage proposals. No dessert unless you eat the vegetables first. And now this!" She pulled out the entire string and threw it aside in a huff. "And worst of all, you follow those rules. You call yourself a beast, but you're just a fluffy little chicken."

Beast grimaced, and sounded apologetic as he rasped, "Not like...those rules. Law...like gravity."

Oh, was he really going to lecture over semantics when he was dying? "And that one's breakable! Haven't you heard? There are men in the south who fly in balloons. You can break any rule you want if you've got enough gumption." She grasped his muzzle in her hands and turned his head so he met her eyes. "Do you understand? You are not going to die on me."

Even though he could barely hold open his eyes, a corner of his wide mouth twitched upward. Good. He had enough life in him to laugh at her. "I'll try."

"You will do more than try." She stood and looked around wildly, desperate for something that could help. Where were those servants?

"You're just overheated," she said, willing it to be true. "Nothing to do with me. You're the one who came out here covered in fur in this eternal July."

Water. She needed water. She rushed to the creek and cupped what she could in her hands. She brought it back to him and he lapped at the scant film of droplets that she managed to hold through her mad flight. It barely dampened the tip of his tongue, yet Beatrice rushed back to the creek again, again, again, not knowing what else to do and thinking that any water was better than leaving him here to fetch other tools. Knowing him, he'd die the minute she walked away.

She babbled as she worked. He couldn't die so long as she kept him distracted, right? "It was one extra day. I didn't think you'd mind. My eldest sister has a new baby. The smiling-est thing you've ever seen. Four months old. I nearly stuck her in my bag and brought her with me. I couldn't leave so soon when there were babies."

Beast lapped weakly at the water in her hands, his eyes shut, as if merely moving his tongue was exhausting.

"My father begged me to stay," she said, desperate for him to understand. "He's gotten so old since I last saw him. I was afraid he'd be dead before I got leave for another visit."

Now Beast lay dying, and all she could do was bring sips of water. There had to be a better way to help him.

Her eyes fell on the cloak and inspiration struck. She gathered it up in deep blue folds, carried it to the bank of the stream and dunked it beneath the water. She fumbled it, dripping, into a ball against her chest, then staggered back to where Beast lay and squeezed as much water as she could over his body.

That woke him up. All his limbs jolted and his eyes opened wide.

"Good," she said with triumph, mercilessly squeezing more water from the saturated cloak. "You wake up and pull yourself together."

She squeezed the last of the water onto his tongue, then carried the cloak back to the river, shouting back to him, "You're the only dog-tiger-monkey-man thing in existence, you know. If you die, you'll be responsible for the extinction of an entire race, and you don't want that on your conscience, do you?"

She dunked the cloak back in the stream, shivering from more than the cold shock of the water. I don't want it on mine.

What if this didn't work? What if he died? Would she be set free? Could she even call such a life freedom? What would her life be without his morning grumbling and his terrible jokes? Who would listen to her ramble about the books she never finished? Or try the bread recipes she burned? How could her life have any joy, without him there to ramble through the gardens with her, or trounce her at billiards, or put up new curtains in her room, or talk about...well, everything, in a way she could with no one else?

It didn't matter because he wouldn't die. She couldn't let him.

But there were things she had to tell him.

She hefted the water-soaked cloth, struggling to gather it in her arms. "You know what I decided, in that extra day at home? It wasn't home anymore. Oh, it's nice. My family's there. Good memories. But I was homesick that fourth day. For the palace. For you." She gathered a heavy fold of the cloak against her chest while another one slipped from her grasp. "It seems that I love you. And the very next time you propose, I plan to marry you."

If the situation hadn't been so desperate, Beatrice would have looked back to see Beast's reaction. After she’d refused him five-hundred and twenty-eight times, her acceptance would be a shock. It had shocked her, that night at home, to realize how much she missed the nightly proposals, and how slim her reasons for refusal were getting.

Behind her, Beast said weakly. "You'll...marry me?"

The cloak slipped from Beatrice's arms, and she cursed under her breath. "Yes, you overgrown throw rug, but first you have to live long enough to do it."

That was unfair. He deserved an explanation. She reached under the water for the cloak, but the current pulled bits of it just beyond her grasp. "You’re as much a prisoner here as I am, so I can’t blame you for that anymore. Your face is kind of endearing, now that I’m used to it. And marriage doesn’t seem so terrible now, not if it’s with you. You’re much smarter and kinder and more fun than any of the human-looking men I know. And you’re much more patient with my temper and my tongue.”

"Beatrice."

Beast's voice, filled with awe, sounded stronger. The dousing must have done him good.

She sprawled across the bank and flailed an arm beneath the water, catching a corner of the cloak. "You’re too good of a man inside to really be a beast. You said once you had human parents, didn't you?"

"Beatrice."

The cloak slipped away again. She stuck her arm in the current, almost up to the shoulder, and snapped, "Will you quit distracting me?"

At last, she snagged one edge in her left hand and continued, "Not that I mind if you naturally look like that. You can’t help the way you were born. But have you ever considered that it could be an enchantment? Maybe we could find a way to break it, after we’re married.”

"Beatrice, look at me."

Beatrice was offended at the hint of laughter in Beast's voice. Enchantment wasn't a completely ridiculous idea, not in a place like this.

"I know what you look like," she snapped. She rose to her knees and pulled the wet cloak halfway out of the water. "Doesn't mean you always looked like that. Maybe you're enchanted and just forgot about it."

A heavy hand gripped her shoulder. A human hand. A male hand.

Beatrice shrieked and pushed the hand away, scrambling backward along the bank like a crab. A tall, olive-skinned, dark-haired man stood over her, grinning like a madman.

Beatrice glanced wildly around. How had he gotten here? Had he come from the forest? He looked rough enough, wearing nothing but a long white nightshirt. Someone's escaped lunatic relative? Or maybe he was the true master of this place, the one who'd made all those maddening rules.

She looked to Beast for answers--except that Beast was nowhere in sight. No sign of him save the matted grass where he'd been laying a minute ago. Beast had been weak. Vulnerable. Had this stranger finished him off? Perhaps she’d run out of time, and the rules of this place had dissolved what was left of him.

She reached further up the bank and seized a fallen branch with a thick shaft and a spray of branching twigs. Madman or mad fairy, she wouldn't go down without a fight. She hefted her weapon, pitiful as it was, with all the menace she could muster in her small form. "Stay back!"

The stranger backed away, hands held protectively before him, but his eyes sparkled with laughter. "Beatrice, don't you recognize me?"

There was something familiar in his voice, which might explain how he knew her name. Cautiously, she rose, the branch still held protectively before her, to examine him more closely. Recognition flashed like a lightning bolt. "The narcissist!"

The stranger gaped. "Excuse me?"

Beatrice examined the features. She was right. She was sure of it. She'd know those green eyes and sharp cheekbones anywhere. The clothes were different and the hair was longer, but the face was identical. "The man with all the portraits!"

How she and Beast had laughed over those portraits, which seemed to haunt every corner of the palace, far outnumbering any other faces in the artwork. The sitter could be seen wearing military dress in the foyer, riding clothes in the library, and evening dress in the ballroom. He had posed in summer, winter, and spring, and had been painted with hunting dogs in autumn. A child version of him had even posed, sulking, next to a standing globe in a portrait hung in a back hallway. She had privately dubbed the subject a narcissist–a man with so many portraits was far too in love with his own face.

Now the vast array of portraits made sense. He was the master of the castle, maker of the magical rules, come to deal with her now that Beast was...no, he wasn't dead.

She brandished the branch again. "What did you do with Beast?"

"Nothing. You--"

She whacked him with the branch. "I did not kill him!"

He pushed the twigs out of his face and backed away. "Beatrice, my love, please!"

She whacked him in the stomach for that one. "I am not your love."

"Then why," he gasped, doubled over and wheezing, "did you just agree to marry me?"

Beatrice froze. What did he mean? Had he overheard...?

She was missing something here.

She discarded her theories and looked at the evidence afresh. Beast dying. Beast missing. Portrait man here. Wearing shirt a lot like Beast's that was far too big for him. Talking, now that she thought of it, in a voice remarkably similar to her Beast’s.

She threw the branch aside. "I am the biggest idiot alive!"

The man caught his breath and stood upright, grinning ear to ear. Even his smile looked a bit like Beast's. "I'd agree," he said, in Beast's velvet, teasing tones, "except that I'm still living."

Beatrice leaped toward him, flung her arms around his neck, and buried her face in his shoulder. He smelled of sweat and mud and rotting fur. She’d never smelled anything sweeter. "I told you that you were enchanted."

Beatrice sat with her Beast on the riverbank as the sun sank toward the horizon. The enchanted high summer had given way to the mellow autumn of the outside world. A castle full of servants, now visible, roamed the grounds behind them, greeting each other with joy as they celebrated the end of the enchantment, but Beatrice had yet to move from the river’s edge. She had too much to discuss with her prince.

Her prince. She still couldn't quite wrap her head around it. His Royal Highness Prince Matteo Adriano Edmondo Nicolo, twelfth son of King Inocenzo of Bellarosa, had rejected a fairy’s marriage proposal, and consequently found himself cursed into the form of a beast until a woman accepted his hand in marriage.

“Was that all it took?” Beatrice exclaimed. “You could have told me sooner!”

Matteo laughed. “It wouldn’t have been much of a curse if I could have told you.”

“You could have hinted!”

“Daily marriage proposals weren’t hint enough?”

She laughed, acknowledging his point. “What a pair we make–a girl too dense to accept a prince’s proposal and a prince obnoxiously in love with his own beautiful face.”

Matteo raised one of his perfect dark brows. “Why do you insist I’m vain?”

“Your royal highness, no one needs that many portraits of himself.”

He threw his hands up in feigned distress. “I’m royal! My mother commissioned them!”

“You didn’t need to display them so ostentatiously.”

“You think I had a choice?” His manner suddenly became subdued. “The fae arranged that. Made it impossible to forget what I’d lost.”

Beatrice took his human hand in hers. “I’m sorry I delayed so long.”

He pulled her into an embrace. “I’d say you were right on time.”

Her stomach twisted with guilt. She hadn’t been on time.

She rested her head on his shoulder, still barely able to believe he was alive and well. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the mental image of his dying beastly form. “What if I hadn’t accepted?” she asked. “Would you truly have died?”

She felt the rumble of his answer in her own chest. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Under the terms of the curse, I would remain a beast until you accepted my hand in marriage, or until you left and doomed me to death.”

She looked up and gaped at him in amazement. “And yet you let me leave.”

“I wouldn’t die immediately,” Matteo said, “and I couldn’t deny you the chance for happiness. So long as you returned before three days were over, neither of us would come to harm.”

Despite the risk to himself, he had taken the chance. He had trusted her.

And she’d returned after four days.

“I nearly killed you,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

“I still should have come back when I promised.”

He ran his thumb along her face. “Under the circumstances,” he said with a laugh. “I think I can forgive you for being a single day late.”

She put her hands and his shoulders and met his gaze straight-on. “You really are far too forgiving.”

“You saved me from my curse! I’d be worse than a beast if I refused to forgive you after that.”

He’d left her such an easy opening. She couldn’t resist the chance to tease him. “You’re worse than a beast now, your highness. You’re not nearly so lovable without the tail."

He became strangely subdued at that.

“Beatrice,” he said at last. “Do you truly wish to marry me?”

A natural question, perhaps, given her number of refusals. But she really wished he’d quit asking. "Of course I do. It broke your curse. What more proof do you need?"

He looked down, suddenly shy and earnest as a schoolboy. "Do you still wish it? You agreed to marry a beast, not a prince with too many portraits."

Beatrice laughed at that. She couldn’t help it. “How shallow do you think I am? If I agreed to marry you as a beast, I'm certainly not going to refuse you just because you have a little less fur."

His face eased. She was glad. She'd seen him in enough distress today.

Another thought struck her. "Did you mean it? Do you really wish to marry me, or did you just propose to get your pretty face back?"

Matteo threw back his head and laughed. "Beatrice, darling, I've loved you since the day you tied a knot in my tail for defeating you at billiards.”

Beatrice grinned, the last of her doubts flying away. "Then it’s settled. I'll marry you, you'll marry me, we both love each other. Does that sound right?"

Matteo pulled her in for a kiss. "That sounds like an excellent plan."

When they pulled apart, a cool wind came off of the river, and Beatrice shivered.

"I wish I had a cloak to offer you, but someone threw mine in the creek," Matteo said.

"You're terrible!" Beatrice said, but she accepted his arm and his escort back toward the palace.

As they crossed the south lawn, Beatrice said, "You know, I'll have to go back to my father's soon. Someone has to tell my family about the wedding."

Matteo nodded. "Of course. Under one condition."

She pulled away and looked up at him in exaggerated disgust. "More rules? I thought we were done with all that."

He waved a hand to dismiss her protests. "I think you'll find these conditions acceptable." He numbered his points on his fingers. "You may return if I can accompany you. And this time, you can stay as long as you like."

"That's two conditions."

"Do you object?"

Beatrice took his arm and continued walking toward the lighted palace. It was good to be home. "Not at all."

#the bookshelf progresses #fairy tale retellings #beauty and the beast #i finally figured out how to retell this fairy tale in a way that works for me #namely: skip over all the mystery-that's-not-really-a-mystery and just give us the ending #and make it a comedy #all my favorite beauties are the outspoken and loud ones #and beatrice came barging in an demanded that i tell this story #(and she refused to be named anything else so i'm sorry about the two very similar names)#i attempted to address some of my usual annoyances with beauty and the beast takes and with romances #not sure if i succeeded #especially since they got a bit too sappy at the end #but i couldn't figure out how to wrap this up and just kind of kept spinning off banter until i hit something semi-workable #so anyway i hope you like it #i found it fun anyway #oh by the way if you imagine thylacine beast you won't be terribly far off #tiger-dog kind of gives off that vibe but they don't know what a thylacine is #of course it's twisted with the monkey mixed in there #and there are prob some more tigery features that go beyond the coloring #i don't want to define it in too much detail i'm just sick of all beasts being some mix of bear-wolf-lion #and hope this comes off as semi-different

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hotporridgepot · 3 years ago

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Been There

I didn't expect the first Ghosts fic I wrote to be from Julian's perspective, but this idea struck me and I can't stop thinking about it!

I've always imagined Julian to be the first one to properly talk to the Captain about his sexuality, and this is how I think that conversation would go.

It was one of Alison's "talks" that finally did it.

All it took was a sharp hairpin turn in the conversation, a misplaced comment from Kitty and bam, there it was. Button House's worst-kept secret was sent spinning across the circular space between their group therapy chairs. Julian's suddenly reminded, as the Captain evacuates the room in what looks like shock, of a news report he'd heard when he was a kid. It was of an unexploded bomb they dug up by a church. Everyone in the area had known it was there for a while, but to actually see it out in the open was something else.

Alison looks upset. Guilty, even. She keeps crossing and uncrossing her legs and pulling her cardigan over her hands.

"I thought he was okay," she mumbles, staring at the empty space on the wall Cap floated through. "He seemed to - last time we had a talk, he seemed like he wanted to -"

"Oh it's my fault, Alison," Kitty wails, thumping her hands down on her skirts as though she's smacking herself. "I was the one who asked about everyone's favourite beau. I shouldn't have fussed so much, I'm so sorry, it's just-"

"Kitty, it's fine!" Alison holds up her hands. "It's not your fault, it's just...complicated."

Julian watches as the conversation trickles down its many paths again. "My cousin's cousin was gay," Pat's saying to a bewildered Mary. Fanny's muttering about how she had no idea, Robin couldn't seem to care less, and Humphrey's still on the other side of the room asking for a rundown on what happened.

"Do you think he's alright?" Alison says.

Julian shrugs. "Damned if I know."

But the thing is, Julian does know. And the answer is most definitely no.

It might be a bit of an absurd conversation for the rest of the ghosts, but he's different. He comes from the time of - of gaydars, of Canal Street, of "metrosexual" plastered across the front of the Daily Mirror. Of Elton. Freddie. George. Coming out was a thing when he died. To pick up the vibe from someone simply wasn't done in Robin's time, nor Mary's. Nor even Pat's, really.

"I should probably go and see where he is," Julian says, feigning nonchalance.

No one responds. Alison's already on the other side of the room, complaining to Mike about "ghost stuff". Julian thumbs toward the back wall.

"Anyone wanna - no? Just me? Alright."

It doesn't take long to find the Captain. Whenever he's in any kind of sulk he always migrates to the window in the television room, staring at the gate outside like he's expecting someone to walk through it.

Now that he's here, Julian's not sure what to say. Best to try and get on Cap's level, really. Some more personal experience sharing. Alison would be proud.

"I've been there, you know," Julian says. It makes the Captain jump, a hand clutched to his chest before he turns back around and ignores Julian. "A couple of times, actually."

Cap sighs. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"New Year's Eve, 1971," Julian goes on, sauntering into the room. He's good at this, he decides. "That was the first time. We were absolutely spangled on a fat bottle of Haig, started playing strip poker and before you know it, my second moon landing was -"

"Blast it, Julian, this isn't about sex!"

The Cap's outburst stops Julian short. He backs up, wincing a bit as the Captain turns to face him. Julian's never seen any of them except for Kitty and Thomas cry, but he reckons that this is the stoic army equivalent. There's a deep, grey heaviness in the Captain's eyes, like something's been keeping him awake for a century.

It hits Julian, with a wave of shame and embarrassment he's very much not used to, how the older ghosts must see him. While he'd definitely be on the way to retirement were he still alive, he's a baby to the likes of Fanny and the Captain. A thoughtless, boisterous, fraternity-going thrillseeker. Shit-brained Bullingdon boy.

He isn't that, though. Not anymore. He's lived past that. He's died past that.

His own escapades might have been the wrong place to start. He realises now there are much more valuable things he could be saying; now, Julian suddenly remembers the other side of it all. Because he also comes from the time of Section 28. The AIDS crisis. Newspapers talking about a "gay gene". Newspapers spitting what Julian knew even then to be pure lie and vitriol.

He knows it's a big deal that the Captain just blurted it out in what looked like a fit of adrenaline that came and went against his will. To think of all those years, every second of Cap's life and afterlife built upon this cornerstone of a secret...it tugs at something in Julian's chest. It - well, it's a rotten thing.

Cautiously, Julian steps forward until he's sat opposite the Captain on the windowsill. He mumbles a "sorry" and clears his throat.

"Gets talked about these days, you know," Julian tries. "Like that wedding that came here, remember? It's a...thing."

A lame end to the sentence, but hey ho. It is a thing now.

Then the Captain clears his own throat. "I know it's a thing," he says pompously, "but it doesn't quite feel like my thing, if you catch my drift."

Julian frowns. "Wait, so you're not gay?"

"No, of course I - see, even that word! 'Gay'. It meant something completely different in my lifetime," the Captain says, fiddling with the buttons on his coat maniacally as though he wants them to fall off. "I feel so terribly out of touch for having kept it all inside for so long, that I can't possibly reduce it to the inconsequence people make of it today. I don't quite know how to navigate any of it. If it's even worth navigating, now that there's nothing I can do with the information."

Julian nods. It's making so much sense now. Poor sod.

"We all went in different directions after uni," Julian goes on. "Well, to some extent. One of the lads I romped about with is -"

The Captain pinches the bridge of his nose. "Julian, I said this wasn't about -"

"No, no, listen! I was going to say, one of the lads is married to a man now. Another one decided it wasn't for him and never did it again."

Cap's listening now. "...And as for you?"

Julian shrugs. "S'not something I thought about much when I wasn't up to the eyeballs in booze, but I suppose I'm - oh, I'd say 90 percent for women, 10 percent for men." Cautiously, he leans forward. "See? People still talk about that, too. Working out how you feel and all that malarkey. There's not really one way to about it, if I'm honest. There's never been one way about it."

The Captain's face softens, some of the heaviness in his eyes melting away.

"It doesn't matter who knows what, mate. Just give yourself some time."

"I've got plenty of that," Cap chuckles.

The sun's high in the sky now, beating feverishly hot through the window.

"You up for a bit of volley on the green? Humphrey's been begging us to play."

The Captain looks out the window at the grass, then back to the gate. "Not now, thank you. I'll watch from up here."

"Suit yourself." Julian gets up to go, something blooming in his chest he hasn't felt since he was alive. It's been a while since he truly helped someone, he thinks, and he's proud of it. Proud of them both.

"I'm all ears whenever you want to rant for a bit," he calls back as he leaves the room. "Remember, I've been there."

#bbc ghosts #the captain #julian fawcett #bbc ghosts the captain #lady fanny button #button house #thomas thorne #bbc ghosts kitty #pat butcher #alison cooper #mike cooper #lieutenant havers #captain/julian #capulian #capvers #caphavers #bbc ghosts fanfic

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lovetorn · 4 years ago

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Life Was A Willow [Part 1]

Witch Hunter!Dream x Witch!Fem!Reader

Part 2 Part 3

Summary: it's always been hunters vs. witches, right?

Word Count: 3.7k+

Warnings for part 1: violence, swearing

A/N: AHHHH !! It's finally here !! i'm going to be posting this in parts, originally 2, but looking at it now, it may even possibly be 3 parts. i've been working on this for months and i'm extremely happy with it !! i hope you guys love it as much as i do !!

The leaves of the willow tree rustle loudly whilst Y/n kneels in front of the raspberry bush. With each piece of the fruit, her fingertips are stained with a deep magenta as she plucks them off of the branches. Bark and twigs dig into her knees sharply when she reaches forward to grasp one last raspberry, but before she has the chance to pick it, the sound of horse hooves galloping on the dirt startle her.

“Ma’am! Are you alright?” A deep voice calls. Y/n sighs, standing from her spot on the ground before she turns around.

Five men on tan horses surround her. Her heart skips a beat when she recognises their uniforms. Witch hunters. With the nod of her head, Y/n smiles. “I’m doing just fine, gentlemen! Thank you for your concern.”

Although, she doesn’t recognise any of their faces—especially the man in a mask. The girl tilts her head at the sight of it; hardly any hunters wear a mask. But, what confuses her more is the taunting smile drawn lazily across the white ceramic. “Are you sure? There’s a whole lot of danger in these parts, sweetheart!”

Y/n almost rolls her eyes but stops before they catch onto her. “I promise, I’m completely fine.” She wishes she could see the expression of the man in the mask.

None of the hunters reply before they kick the sides of their horses and ride off in the opposite direction they came. Panic sets in as Y/n drops her basket of berries and sets off into a sprint, her skirts catching under her feet.

Being this far from home with hunters close-by is risky, Y/n knows this. But the raspberry bush had just ripened and she promised Wilbur she would bake him a raspberry cheesecake in return for repairing her wand.

Her lungs burn as she pushes open the small wooden gate that surrounds the house.

“Niki!” Y/n yells, her voice cracking slightly in fear. Her friend spins around from her spot in the garden. “Y/n! Take a look at the rose—“

Y/n only shakes her head, turning back in panic. “Hunters.”

“Quickly then, get inside, we must inform Wilbur.”

The pair rush into the cottage, Niki’s rose bush and Y/n’s basket of berries left behind.

The back door slams against the wall, only to be shut and locked as soon as it was opened. Wilbur stands from his spot at the dining table with a puzzled expression.

“How many?” Wilbur runs a hand over his face.

“A whole army. The King’s been busy; there’s a lot of new faces.”

The man sighs deeply. He turns to face Niki, who sits on the kitchen stool with a look of fear on her face. Y/n swallows and peers out of the small window. She sees a flash of white and the sound of an arrow cutting the air. “They’re here. They’ve followed me.”

—

Niki is the first to exit the house, her hands out in front of her. She clenches her jaw as she feels tingles through her muscles, her eyes shaped like crescent moons. The sound of branches cracking and leaves crunching makes her throw her hand to her right, which earns a distant cry as a hunter is thrown backwards.

Wilbur hurries around the house in search of his staff while Y/n whispers angrily at him to hurry up. The man lets out a quiet squeal when he spots it leaning against the living room wall and faces Y/n. He exhales, nodding once to tell her to go out the back door.

Y/n moves silently whilst passing windows and eventually through the door. Her eyes dart in every direction as she steps onto the dirt beneath her. The only sound is the snapping of bows and faint cries from the front of the house.

“Witch!” A voice calls. Y/n lifts her hands up, flecks of glitter-like sparkles falling from her fingertips. “We come to you on behalf of the King; he wishes to discuss potential alliances with you.”

Y/n struggles to distinguish where the voice comes from before there’s a hand on her back and she’s being pushed to the ground. She scowls and turns to face the person behind her; a man with a white bandana tied around his head.

Y/n jumps up instantly, moving her finger in a circular motion until the man’s feet begin to lift off the ground.

“Hey, hey! No!” He yells, scrambling to grasp the sword attached to his back. Y/n raises an eyebrow as she gets a closer look at the weapon.

“A diamond sword? Huh? Did Technoblade give you that?”

The man visibly stills, his hands fumbling the sword as he brings it up beside his face. “Yeah, what about it?”

Y/n shakes her head, a sad smile on her cheeks. “Nothing, Techno’s an old friend of mine. Tell me, is he well?”

The squeal of an arrow stops the man from answering her question. Y/n steps back when the sharp object swizzles past her head. “That wasn’t very nice.”

She chooses to pay no attention to the other hunter, who hides behind a tree and instead focuses on the one in front of her.

“Are you new?” Y/n asks calmly.

The man nods before Y/n lowers him back onto his feet. “Name. Now. That’s not a question but a demand.”

“Sapnap.”

Y/n squints at him. “Odd.”

“Y/n! We need help!” Wilbur calls from the opposite side of the house. Y/n sighs and places her hands back to her sides. The man with the diamond sword narrows his eyes at her, jerking his neck to the side to stretch it.

Y/n sighs in annoyance and sweeps him to the side, the roots from Niki’s rose bushes wrapping tightly around his body; not enough to hurt him, but to keep him immobile.

Y/n goes to step in the direction of the front of the house but is stopped by the man in the mask. A bow and quiver sit on his back and Y/n glances at them, planning on destroying them. “Don’t even think about it.”

Y/n is taken aback by the man’s forwardness and watches as he draws a dagger from his boot. Y/n raises her hands again, her eyes turning to slits as she awaits the man’s next moves.

As anticipated, he lunges forward, the knife tightly held in his fist. Y/n swiftly dodges, her hands moving majestically around to form a divet in the ground for him to fall into. However, she is quickly mistaken when he spins on his heel and steps over the growing hole.

“Nice tactic,” The man teases. “But not good enough.” Y/n is annoyed that she can’t see his face—she'd love to see what it’d look like after this.

Y/n rolls her eyes, a bored look on her face. She sighs deeply and steps into a fighting stance. She notices the man doing the same.

“Nice footwork,” Y/n says, stomping one foot into the earth before it starts to vibrate. “But not good enough.”

The man’s face falls and pales behind his mask as vines come to conceal his feet. Y/n smirks as he falls onto the dirt with a thump. The man lays with his back against the ground and his arms outstretched as Y/n stands above him.

She smiles at him—her grin is more genuine than usual, which is odd considering the circumstances—and leans down and places her mouth near his ear. “You know, you did pretty well for being a new hunter.”

The man scoffs then laughs in response. “Thanks.”

—

A hunter draws his sword, one made out of netherite, and Wilbur’s eyes grow in shock. “How did you get that?”

The man smirks and lifts the weapon high into the air. He brings it down towards Wilbur, who quickly matches the hunter’s strength with his staff. The two objects clash against one another and white light begins to seep through the lines in the staff.

Wilbur inhales sharply at the sight and pushes the man away with all his might. His staff starts to vibrate and soon the wood cracks in various places.

“Wil, move!” Y/n comes from behind him, her hands out wide as she lifts the hunter into the air and towards a tree. His body slams against the bark, making pieces fall onto the grass before branches weave around the man, enclosing him in a cocoon.

“Thanks,” Wilbur smiles, although it falters when he notices his staff becoming weak. “But I think it’s the end for this guy.”

Y/n frowns, her fingers caressing the cracked wood. “We can’t repair this. You must go to Quackity, he’ll be able to fix it.”

“I can’t fix this.”

Y/n’s jaw goes slack before she stands from the long table. “Alex! Why not?”

Quackity stifles a sly laugh as he rounds the table, picking up the broken staff on the way past. “It’s beyond repair. You see, when netherite and magical objects mix, the netherite completely destroys any magic within it. Therefore making it impossible to fix.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes, “We know that already, Sherlock, which is why we brought it to you thinking you could help us. But you clearly can’t, so we’ll be on our way.”

Quackity’s eyes widen and he drops the stick onto the table once more. “No! I–I can fix it, just give me a few days.”

Y/n raises an eyebrow, suspicious of his sudden enthusiasm. She slams the staff onto the table from Quackity’s hands and looks him in the eye. “No fucking around, okay, Alex? You fix this staff or there will be consequences. Got it?”

The man looks around his cave in search of something. Y/n squints as she watches him duck under rocks and dodge around cauldrons.

“Karl? Have you got any wands?” He calls down a hallway. Y/n and Wilbur meet gazes, his eyes moving towards the staff before Quackity returns in a hurry.

“Well, I haven’t got a wand to cast a promising spell, but if you come back in 2 days, I’ll guarantee this staff will be good as new and back in business,” He smiles, snatching the wood from the table. “Free of charge, just for you.”

Wilbur nods hesitantly, glancing at Y/n before he stands. “Okay. See you then, I guess.”

Quackity grins. He slowly shifts his weight to his other foot as he waits for them to leave. But Y/n isn’t finished.

“If you trick us, Alex. I swear to god I will take that little hat if yours and shove it right—”

The younger man shakes his head, “There will be no need! I’d never trick you! I just want to help my friends.”

Wilbur winces on the word ‘friends’ and ducks his head as he exits the cave. “See you!” Quackity says before Y/n follows in suit.

“Karlos, we’ve got work to do!”

“Down this way!”

Dream’s eyes drift towards the small cottage he and the hunters were at yesterday. Sapnap rolls his neck and groans in pain. “You’d think they’d wait a few days before going out again.”

Dream ignores his friend’s complaints as the group nears the house. The tidy garden and ivy that intertwined along the roof are torn and disrupted, and Dream feels slightly guilty looking at the damage they did. But, upon arrival, the house is empty.

“It’s been abandoned!” A brunette hunter yells in confusion. Dream twists his lips and narrows his eyes at a faint snap a few feet away. The silence is deafening as he realises everyone else heard it too. “Don’t move. We’ve been ambushed.”

The men look up towards the trees above them; the canopy appears darker than usual. Suddenly, a hunter behind Dream yelps, and as he turns around to see what happened, the man is gone. This causes a collective gasp amongst the group, fear coursing through their veins.

“Hello, boys!” A voice calls from the trees. The hunters whip their head around, trying to decipher which direction it came from and readies their swords. However, Dream remains calm. He only raises his eyebrow at the sound of the voice continuing. “Lovely seeing you here.”

Another yell echoes through the group and another and another until only Dream and Sapnap remain.

“Hey, Snapmap. Can I call you that? Or is that only reserved for your friends?”

The younger boy furrows his eyebrows as his eyes lay on Y/n, floating down from the trees. Dream watches the same girl he fought yesterday, fling Sapnap’s sword away with the swish of her fingers. The pair tilt their heads at the action and remain quiet when Y/n begins laughing. “Calm down, you’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Dream feels someone behind him and then he turns around and swings his sword in one movement. He’s met with a slightly taller man, who immediately forces his sword backwards and onto the dirt.

Dream’s eyes widen before he brings his fists up. “This isn’t a fair fight.”

Wilbur struggles to contain his giggle as he meets Y/n’s gaze. “You want to take this one?”

Y/n nods and lifts her hands to drag Dream across the forest floor towards her. Dream is startled as he regains his balance. “Nice seeing you again, mask boy.”

“Can’t say I feel the same, witch,” Y/n smirks at his serious tone before she shoots her hand to the side to gather a sword from one of the hunters who sits tied to the branches above them.

“Get your sword, it’ll be a fair fight.”

Dream bends down to pick up his netherite sword, its purple aura intimidating to the iron one Y/n holds. “No magic.”

Y/n rolls her eyes. “Got it.”

And with the sound of metal scraping against metal, the fight begins.

Y/n steps back as Dream moves forwards. He bounces on the balls of his feet and adjusts his grip on the sword before he lunges forward. Y/n is quick to sidestep the sharp edge before she retaliates with her own movement. The pair continue barely missing each other, the interaction being a friendly fight rather than a deadly one. Y/n shifts her weight to her back foot as she watches Dream’s sword swing between them.

“What’s your name, anyway? I know Sapnap’s, so what’s yours?” Y/n asks, out of breath slightly. Dream squints as he dodges her swing at his abdomen. “Dream.”

“Well, Dream, you’re good with a sword. I’m Y/n, by the way.” Y/n mumbles, and what she doesn’t see is Dream’s cocky smile. She doesn’t question his odd name like she did with Sapnap yesterday, and it makes his stomach turn.

The pair stop for a second, staring at each other before Dream’s blade cuts the air and barely misses Y/n’s shoulder. The girl gasps at the closeness and scolds him.

In Dream’s moment of victory, and distraction, Y/n thrusts forwards, her sword coming to a halt at Dream’s throat. “I win. Again.”

Dream gulps. The feeling of the sharp point so prominent on his skin scares him. But, the soft look in Y/n’s eye tells him she’s not going to kill him. And as she begins to lower her sword, Dream’s foot sweeps under hers, causing her to tumble forward. There’s a dull thud of bodies hitting the dirt, and Y/n knows exactly where she is.

“I—Uh,” Dream mumbles, his hands hovering over Y/n’s hips as she lays on top of him.

“Thanks for that.” She murmurs. Dream hums and tries to help her maneuver off of him. The pair eventually stand and avoid eye contact, despite keeping it for close to 8 minutes straight previously.

“Get a room!” Sapnap yells from the tree. There’s a small grumble of laughter from the other hunters and Y/n shakes her head.

“How do you plan on getting down, Snapmap?” The youngest boy’s expression turns sour. Dream tilts his head back to observe the other hunters and laughs lightly—his throaty chuckle making Y/n look at him.

“Well, have fun!” Y/n calls as she slips away, but not before she bids Dream goodbye.

The hunters trudge through the castle gates with defeated expressions and their outfits muddy. The group share collective groans of pain as they walk the grounds, their muscles aching.

“What was all that between you and that witch?” Sapnap asks Dream whilst they enter the Hunters Wing of the castle. Dream shrugs and strips himself of his jacket, hanging it on the peg on the wall next to them.

The Hunters Wing of the castle is a large area with corridors of bedrooms and even more rooms for dining, training, cooking, reading, and more. The training room, however, is the largest out of all of them. Its high ceilings and concrete pillars make for a great place for target practice, surprise attack run-throughs, and performing hand-to-hand combat.

Dream spends most of his time here; Sapnap pokes fun at him for his constant preparation for new opportunities, but their other best friend, and the Prince, George, just applauds him for his determination—which eventually makes Sapnap agree.

“Nothing, and her name’s Y/n.” Dream’s lack of answer causes Sapnap to sigh loudly as he sits on the bench to untie his boots.

“Bullshit.” He exasperates. “There was definitely something there and you know it. But you better get over it, it's forbidden.”

Dream rolls his eyes and shrugs one shoulder. “Not forbidden, just frowned upon.”

Sapnap drops his shoes onto the cobblestone ground abruptly, groaning at his best friend before he stands and walks towards his bedroom. “You are such a—”

“Sapnap!” A new voice startles the boy, and Dream grins as soon as he recognises it.

“Georgie, don’t scare me like that, you idiot,” Sapnap whines, jogging over to the Prince to lightly punch his shoulder.

“Please, if that scared you then I’d consider you a—” Another light punch to his shoulder stops George from continuing.

“No swearing, Gogy,” Dream snickers as he walks towards the pair, heaving his duffle bag he collected from the cubby hole. He reaches his hand down to George’s cheek before pinching it. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your image.”

George shrugs both of the boys off of him with a scowl. “Get off of me, the both of you.”

Sapnap only giggles at George’s attempt at swatting their hands away, his own hand coming up to cover his smile. Dream places his bag on the floor, smirking, before letting out a soft laugh.

“Anyways, Dream had a moment with one of the witches today.”

George’s eyebrows raise as he turns to look at Dream, who rolls his eyes at the topic again. “Is she pretty?”

Dream goes to reply, yes, and she can fight really, really well, but Sapnap is quick to shut down his chance.

“George, it’s forbidden, why don’t you disapprove of this?” Sapnap’s brows furrow as he throws his hands around. Dream crosses his arms over his chest, irritated that he’s brought it up again, and now to the Prince.

The eldest shrugs. “I find magic more interesting and worth learning about, than dangerous. It would be so cool to have powers like that, don't you think?”

Sapnap groans again. “Ugh! You guys are so weird. Talk to me when you come to your senses about how it's destroying our world rather than helping it.” And ignoring Dream and George’s calls, he stalks to his room, leaving the pair in the training room.

“He’ll come around.” The Prince mumbles.

However, Dream doesn't say anything, picks up his duffle bag from the floor and takes off in the opposite direction, leaving George alone.

“Pricks.”

Y/n sits on the rocking chair on the patio of the cottage, a spellbook in her lap and a mug of lavender tea in her hand. The wind picks up slightly, making the leaves rustle and the trees sway around her. The chair rocks softly and the creaks of the house comfort her—especially in a time when everything is unknown.

As she goes to bring the cup to her lips, Y/n is startled by an object flying at her. She throws her opposite hand up to stop it before it hits her, the force causing the rocking chair to tilt backwards.

Y/n feels a sharp edge on her palm and her heart skips a beat. As she moves her hand away, she notices that the object is, in fact, not a dagger, but an envelope. She exhales loudly and feels her heart rate slow down from its once rapid beating.

Y/n examines the letter as it floats in front of her face and then grasps it in her fingers. The envelope is crisp and white and is closed with a red wax seal. The signature can only mean one thing: the Castle.

Opening the letter, there is a single white card with black calligraphy: Y/n, wait for the signal and I’ll meet you after dark, at the abandoned cottage that is East of the castle. We can talk then. –C

The witch furrows her eyebrows. C? Who is C?

She chooses against notifying Wilbur and Niki about the letter, and instead, slots it into her spellbook and takes a sip of her tea.

But, Y/n notices a return address on the card before she tucks it away, and flicks her hand back over her shoulder to summon a pen and paper. The pen stills in front of the card, waiting for Y/n to instruct it on what to write.

“Dear, C,” Y/n starts, she ponders for a moment before continuing. “I’ll be waiting for the signal, I hope it’s grand.”

Puckering her lips, Y/n swirls her finger around to fold the letter up and sends it back inside to package it.

The envelope, now sealed with periwinkle wax, flies out of the floor and then up into the sky and out of sight. Y/n sighs, mindlessly fiddling with the corner of the card she received.

Ok, she’ll meet them after dark. Whoever they are.

#lwaw #dream smp imagine #dream smp x reader #dream x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dream imagines #dreamwastaken imagine #dream smp imagines #dreamwastaken x fem!reader #dream x fem!reader #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt imagines #life was a willow

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ptergwen · 4 years ago

Note

Hi can u do where like arvin grandma takes him to church and he meets a ‘nice’ girl but really she’s kinda like him and he finds her smoking behind the church thanks

angel

w/c: 1.4k

warnings: swearing, smoking, and suggestive themes

a/n: alright i went overboard this is pretty long 😭 sooo enjoy

“grandma, do i really have to-“

“you’ll come say hi to her. she’s a real sweetheart, arvin,” emma pats her grandson’s hand, which she’s leading him by through their pew to yours. she’s been gushing about you all week.

your parents and her ran into each other while buying groceries, and they spoke for a bit. about upcoming town events, about the heat, about their families. you and arvin of course came up. judging by how lovely your parents are, emma had a feeling you’d be the same. that sparked her idea to introduce arvin to you.

she likes the thought of arvin hanging around a nice girl. she’d wanted the same for her own son, although it didn’t quite work out. it’s only a matter of time before she’s pimping lenora out to a pearly white smiling church boy.

“you say that about everyone, grandma,” arvin sighs, lighthearted but with a hint of annoyance. he’s not so sure he’s into nice girls. or, that nice girls would be into him. no offense to you because his grandma has been talking you up, and you do sound great, but maybe not for him.

emma puts on her best smile as the two of them approach you. “just say hi, won’t you? give her a chance.” “alright, if that’s what you want,” arvin mumbles back, running his now free hand through his hair. your mom gasps in pleasant surprise. “oh, emma. wonderful to see you again,” she greets, you and your dad standing up so she can get over.

the women hug while arvin stands there, disguising an eye roll for a look up at the ceiling. you squint at him and smirk to yourself. you’re intrigued.

your parents had mentioned something about you meeting a boy, your mom more enthusiastic than your dad. he wasn’t too on board with it. he’d said the “russell boy” had a reputation, said he was rowdy and whatnot. that was meant to scare you and your mother off. she dismissed it, and your interest was only piqued.

“yes, dear, so wonderful,” emma agrees, grinning at your dad over your mom’s shoulder. he takes a step towards her, making small talk. “how’s it going?” you watch arvin while the three of them catch up. he’s got his hands in his pockets and a clenched jaw. he doesn’t look particularly thrilled to be here. not at church or in your pew.

you snicker at him, and he snaps his head in your direction. the movement is sharp, yet somehow subtle. you’d been expecting the kid to bounce off the walls from how your dad described him. he actually seems pretty quiet. intimidating, yet quiet. it’s hot.

arvin catches a small smile from you. he nods in response, then shifts his attention back to his grandma when she nudges him.

“remember i was telling you about my grandson?” emma asks your parents, both of them affirming. she glances over at you. “this is arvin.” “hi, nice to meet you,” he drawls and extends a hand for your mom and dad to shake. your mom keeps it short and polite. your dad does it with a firm grip, one that arvin matches.

“strong boy,” he comments. “oh, you think so?” arvin jokes back. that earns a glare from your dad, who perceives it as him having an attitude. you take it upon yourself to say hi to arvin next. one, because you aren’t liking the tension. two, because you want to.

you step past your dad so you’re in front of arvin. “i’m y/n,” you say with another smile. “arvin. nice to meet you.” he sticks out his hand again, which you ignore, going straight for a hug. he’s not sure where that came from. either way, he hugs you back by your waist. you lean in to whisper in his ear.

“you wanna get out of here?” he’d fucking love to. he already promised lenora he wouldn’t sneak out of service again, though. “can’t. my sister’ll kill me for it,” arvin murmurs back, you pulling out of his arms. he finds himself disappointed by the absence of your body. your parents and emma are back in their own conversation, so you can speak freely.

“aw, cute. you’ve got a sister. you listen to her?” you’re teasing, a glint in your eyes. you don’t seem like the sweetheart his grandma made you out to be. arvin likes that. “she’s a...” he lets out a breath, trying to come up with a way to describe lenora’s love for church. “you know, this stuff’s important to her.”

“not you?” you wonder, clasping your hands behind your back. “nope. i reckon you’re the same,” arvin hums and scratches his gelled hair. “listen, how about i meet you out back later? nice girls go to church, don’t they?” he throws the last part in to flirt. you pick up on it, poking at his chest and lowering your voice. “who says i’m a nice girl?”

“come on, y/n/n. service is about to start,” your dad interrupts, taking you by your wrist before you can protest. “see you later,” you call to arvin. “yeah, see you.” he grins as him and emma walk back to their pew, where lenora is anxiously waiting for them. they’ll grill him about how he likes you later. right now is the lord’s time.

your words ring in arvin’s head the whole time the reverend drones on about whatever he does. so, you’re not a nice girl. he can’t wait to find out what that means.

when the service ends, lenora and emma line up to speak with the reverend and everyone else waiting. arvin sets off to find you. you’re the only two not still in there, so it shouldn’t be hard. he heads out the back door because he doesn’t want anyone, meaning your dad, to see him.

you’re leaned against the building with a cigarette between your fingers, puffing out a cloud of smoke just as arvin spots you. your lips turn up in a half smile when you take another drag off of it.

“there you are,” you speak, words muffled from the cigarette. you retrieve a box of matches from the waistband of your skirt and dangle it before him. “need a light?” you’d noticed a pack stuffed into his jeans earlier. he’s not so good at hiding them, if he was even trying to. you could teach him a thing or two about being more lowkey.

arvin pulls a cigarette from his pack and shoves it into his mouth. “didn’t take you to be a smoker,” he rasps as you strike the match up, bringing it to his cigarette. you then throw it on the ground and stomp it out with a knowing smile. “i told you, i’m not what you thought i was. whatever my mom told your grandma.”

“mm,” he confers, breathing in and taking the cigarette from his mouth to exhale. “heard you were a straight a’s student. you’re in lots of clubs and all that.” you scoff, bringing your own cigarette to your lips again, further blurring his good girl image of you. “when i cross out the d’s and lie, sure.” arvin chuckles at that and leans back against the stone wall.

“you’re not like your family one bit, huh?” he already knows you aren’t. “nope. i think they’re the reason i’m like this, anyway,” you admit, fingers innocently circling over his bicep. innocently. “i’m doing the whole rebel without a cause thing.” your hand squeezes at his arm, waving out your cigarette and dropping it in the grass.

“what about you? my dad said you’re a fighter.” arvin clears his throat and looks down at your feet. they’re moving, closer to him. “sometimes, for my sister. i was tellin’ you she’s different from the other kids. they pick on her.” that gives you a new sort of admiration for arvin. you thought he was cool, now you think he’s also kind. he thinks you’re... beyond words. in a good way.

“sounds like you’ve got a good heart to me.” you press your fingers into his skin, this time with a smile that’s sweet. he isn’t sure if he prefers this one or the one that has something sinister behind it. “well, thank you,” arvin drops his hand to your hip, adding on, “angel.” he’s well aware of what he’s doing by calling you that name. you click your tongue.

“angel? mhm, i’ll change your mind about that.”

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland imagine #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #arvin russell #arvin russell imagine #arvin russell fluff #arvin russell x reader

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sehunniepotwrites · 4 years ago

Text

AS YOU WISH | J.JH | ONE

cover by @seostudios

SYNOPSIS. He was a boy, she was a girl— can I make it any more obvious?

But actually, she was a cursed genie of two thousand years who longed to be freed of her gilded cage and he was a modern but lonely boy who hoped to free her. He just didn’t expect to fall in love with her in the process.

GENRE. angst, slow burn, romance, genie!au, reincarnation!au, royal!au, thief!au PAIRING. jeong jaehyun x female genie!reader MINOR CHARACTERS. mark lee, moon taeil, jeong sungchan WORD COUNT. 10.6k+

WARNINGS. stealing, mentions of cuts and wounds, blood, physical beating, derogatory name calling

ONE: PAST | TWO: INTERLUDE | THREE: PRESENT

2000 YEARS AGO, THE KINGDOM OF NEIHO

“Stop, street rat!”

Heavens, how you hated that name. You ached to yell a taunting insult back but you were afraid of the royal guards catching onto your identity by hearing the sound of your voice.

“Grab that lousy thief!”

The calls of the guards continued to sound throughout the pathway as you ran for your life. The heavy bag of riches slung along over your shoulder pounded against your upper back as you felt the wind in your hair. The extra weight was beginning to weigh you down but you did not falter. Your strained legs propelled you forward and you stole a quick glance behind you— the burly men with swords were gaining on you and you could not let them.

“Wait— there are two of them!”

You cursed when your partner was spotted. From the corner of your eye, you caught a flicker of his cape turning a corner. You were supposed to be the diversion. The blazing sun burned your skin through your hooded cloak but you had to keep pushing. For them.

You would do anything for them, even give your life for them, just as your mother did before you.

Apologizing as you passed, you threw down displays of fresh produce to throw the guards off. You would come back to help clean up later.

You pulled the cloak down to better conceal your face before sprinting into a hidden nook in the village center. The bolstering guards ran past your hiding spot moments later, their leader barking commands to his subordinates before they all went their separate ways. Peeking behind a wall, you watched as their backs grew smaller and smaller and let out an audible sigh.

You made it another day. With a wide-eyed grin, you pushed yourself out of your hiding spot and walked an easy path to the outskirts of the kingdom where people were waiting for you.

If the guards were smart enough, they would have easily found you by they searched the outskirts of the kingdom’s stone walls. There was an opening in the walls, big enough for one person to fit through. You frequented that small hole often with a large sack hauled over your back. As soon as you passed that point in your path, you tossed your cloaked disguise into a nearby bush before trekking on to your final destination.

The path was lengthy but at least you were in the shade instead of under the blazing sun. The clanking of your stolen riches kept you company as you navigated through the many trees. It wasn’t long until you reached an open area filled with a variety of people. Lousy tents made of the thinnest cloth and held up by fallen branches surrounded the field and in the center was a large fire pit. There were clotheslines, cooking supplies, and a short supply of food scattered around the makeshift camp.

The plentiful conversations hushed when you dropped the sack at the end of the path. A shuffling of footsteps and the tinkling sound of coins clanging against each other reached your ears before another figure plopped down beside you, his body falling splat onto the soft grass.

“I refuse to do that again,” a boyish voice groaned beside you. It came from a boy around your age, give or take a few years, with messy brown hair and the cutest set of doe eyes. His thin face and sharp jawline were lined with dirt but he was still what you considered handsome.

“Minhyung, stop your fusing,” you scolded as you ruffled his hair. The boy whined at your actions, moving away to escape your teasing. “You say the same thing every single time we do this, however, you keep coming back to help me.”

“They almost caught me this time around,” he told you. “I barely escaped— one guard grabbed me by the ends of my cloak and almost saw my face! I thought you were the distraction!”

“I was,” you fired back.

“And yet, they still found me,” Minhyung reported dramatically, swinging an arm over his eyes. There was a beat of comfortable silence as the breeze came rolling in.

“But was it worth it?” you asked with a soft voice.

A pair of dirtied feet appeared in your vision. You and Minhyung tilted your heads up to find a small child, not even five years of age gazing at you expectantly. The child’s body was extremely malnourished and their cheeks were horribly sunken in. They looked bashful as they outstretched an arm towards Minhyung.

He sent the child a tiny smile, his mouth curving up at the ends, as he produced a small loaf of bread from beneath his cloak. The child’s eyes sparkled in delight as they snatched the piece of food from Minhyung’s hold and eagerly bit into it. You patted the child’s head lovingly as you hand them a grip of gold coins. They shuffled back to their family who gave their thanks.

As the other people in the open field started to line up to receive their share, Minhyung simply replied: “Yes, yes it was.”

You grinned at your fellow thief— you thought it was worth it, too.

Your gaze shifts to the high towers of Neiho’s palace peeking from behind the treetops. But sometimes, you pondered over how effortless life must have been when living like royalty— was it easy when everything was provided for you?

Unlike what most people assumed, living the life of a royal was far from easy.

Jeong Yuno, the Crown Prince of Neiho, had a sudden urge to bang his head against the library wall. He refrained from doing so, the action being far from princely. He looked up from his pile of parchment paper with glazed over eyes, the ink from his quill drying from the lack of writing. There were rows of untouched books lined up at his desk and none of them were of his interest. They skirted on the topics of Neiho’s history and politics; although it was something he was already versed in, he hated the subject unlike his younger brother, Chansung, who excelled and loved it.

Yuno longed to touch the atlas that was stationed on his tutor’s desk. He wanted to study it, chart a course to another far off land, and mark it with ink as he visited place to place. But instead of traveling, the crown prince drowned in his studies while his tutor looked down upon his distracted self.

“Prince Yuno, have you heard a single word that has left my lips or is your head still up in the clouds?” Moon Taeil, the kingdom’s main historian and tutor, scolded. His wooden stick struck the surface of Yuno’s desk and the shocked boy jumped. From his own desk, Chansung snickered behind his thin hand.

“My apologies,” the crown prince bowed his head, his ears turning crimson from being caught by the snippy tutor.

“Well, since I have gained you back from the skies, might you list Neiho’s past rulers and achievements in order?”

Yuno bit back a loud groan. He was in desperate need of a sweet escape. His gaze floated out the window and onto the blooming marketplace below. It seemed like the liveliness was calling his name.

One of the things you loved about your mother was her storytelling. You heard stories of all kinds of love while growing up on the fly. She painted clear pictures of people falling at first sight, of hate turning to overflowing affection, and so much more. Your mother sold you tales of star-crossed lovers that found their happy endings before she passed; her fables of love sounded nothing more than poppycock and folly.

That is, until it occurred to the unsuspecting you.

It was a usual day for you in the city— hood up, cloak flowing in the wind with a sack beating your back as you were on the run from the royal guards stationed in the marketplace. You weaved in between the townsfolk, your nimble body easily pushing through nooks and crannies when you bumped into something— or rather, someone strong.

“Oof!”

“Oh!”

The large sack you carried added some extra weight, leading you to topple over the stranger that ran into your smaller build. The stranger was about to mumble a quick apology before you heard the bellowing of the persistent guards.

You cursed. There was no room for hesitation when you were caught in a tight spot such as this. With staggering breaths and a pounding chest, you grabbed the man’s hand and navigated through endless alleyways and store fronts. You mastered the art of escaping at a young age while he had trouble keeping up with your speed.

And so, your first adventure with the man you would soon learn to love began.

Your hurried steps brought you to an unattended rooftop. You put one foot on the ledge and leaned your body over to glance at the commotion in the market. Down below, the guards were scrambling through the bustling crowds in a failed attempt to find you. Watching them struggle on their search sent you into a laughing fit that your then mysterious companion echoed.

With a heaving chest and rushing heart, you finally looked up at him for the first time and saw the most beautiful man you had ever laid your eyes on. Despite only seeing him from his place on the balcony or painted portraits before, you immediately knew who he was: The Crown Prince of Neiho. He had deep chocolate eyes and jet-black hair that highlighted his sweat stained skin. His cheeks and ears were flushed with a rosy red as he gasped for air. He was dressed in a horrible excuse for a disguise; the high-end material he wore and golden shoes were purposefully stained. It was as if the prince wanted to be found.

You quickly retracted your dirtied hand from his soft one and immediately dropped to your knees. “My sincerest apologies for placing my soiled hands on yours, Your Highness. I ask for your forgiveness,” you said with a bowed head, your disheveled hair covering your embarrassed face.

Yuno let out a hearty laugh, one that was deep but still sounded like the lightest bells in your ear. “Please, none of that,” he said, helping you to your feet.

“If anything, you helped me escape from those wretched guards,” he sent you an angelic smile and you swore the heavens were smiling down on you at that moment. “I should thank you.”

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder as you felt your face flush with an unfamiliar heat.

“May I know the name of my savior?” Yuno questioned teasingly, his eyes looking deep into yours.

“Perhaps another time, Your Highness,” you said quite cheekily before running back into the crowd.

The second time you met Prince Yuno, you were both on the run once again. In a way similar to what you had done in the past, his hand slipped so fluidly into yours before you sprinted through the town square. You knocked a fruit cart down as a diversion and the guards struggled making their way through the mess. Through your hooded cloak that flowed in the breeze, you turned over your shoulder to chuckle at how helpless the so-called protectors looked.

“We must stop meeting like this, Highness,” you breathed out as you kept up with his speed.

“Why? I quite enjoy meeting like this,” he threw back at you with a sheepish grin. There was a glimmer of adventure in his eyes and you chuckled.

The hood of your cape fell back, revealing your face for a quick moment before you tugged it back up. It was too late, though, for he had seen your face. Having only heard your voice before, Yuno’s steps faltered at the sight of you. Taking charge at that moment, you overtook him and jerked him into an unpaved path.

You took him over and under until you found a safe haven on top of a building— your makeshift home. Ratty cotton sheets were tied to poles for shade and a pile of pillows was bunched together to make a bed. Random trinkets were scattered along the rooftop along with a scarce supply of food and sacks of stolen treasures leaning against a wall. You wordlessly made yourself comfortable, pouring yourself two cups of water from a jug and handed one to the stranger in your space. He took it graciously and gulped it down, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he did so.

“From the bottom of my heart, I thank you, my dear savior,” Yuno spoke to you for the second time that day.

“It was nothing, Your Highness,” you responded, waving him off as you sat at his feet.

“I feel like this was fate or destiny calling,” Yuno suggested out of the blue.

“This?”

“Us, meeting again,” he answered smoothly, his voice as melodic as a mother’s lullaby.

“I suppose it is.”

“Seeing as destiny brought us together, might I know your name?”

Despite being of a higher status, he didn’t seem as selfish as you thought he would be—Yuno seemed kind and trustworthy. You let down your walls and stuttered out your name. The dark orbs that you got lost in flashed with recognition and you wondered if you made a wrong move by revealing your identity.

“You!” he shouted, his voice booming loudly. “Yes, I have heard many things about you.”

You glared at him with panicked eyes and you rushed to cover his soft lips. “Are you insane, Highness? Speak like that and they will surely find us here!”

“My apologies,” he replied, tugging at his earlobe in embarrassment. “My excitement got the best of me.”

You snorted at his answer, “Excitement?” you probed. “What is there to be excited about?”

“It is not everyday you meet the infamous thief that steals from the rich to give back to the poor,” Yuno grinned with dimples sinking into his soft cheeks.

He was not wrong; you did steal for a living to help the less fortunate. Unlike many others your age, you were able-bodied and felt the mighty need to provide for others who needed extra support. This had been the fifth time the guards had almost caught you but it didn’t matter. As long as the children on the street did not starve, you would risk your life over and over again.

Your mother, compassionate and altruistic as one could ever be, had done so in the past and you were determined to carry her legacy. You wanted to make her proud.

“Are you going to arrest me then?” you challenged with a brow. You took a large step back, ready to be on the run if the situation called for it. “If that is your intention, Your Highness, it is in my best interest to leave you.”

“Oh, no! If anything, I agree with your actions,” he relayed, arms shooting out to keep you in his reach. The Prince’s touch pierced your skin with comforting warmth and you shudder at the odd sensation.

“The Royal Advisor, Rowena, insists on high taxes and taking from the poor while feeding the rich,” he started to explain, taking a seat on the dusty steps.

You hummed, recalling the many times you had laid your eyes on the advisor— she held her head high and wore a permanent, almost sinister smirk on her gorgeous face. Her eyes were as red as blood and hair as black as night. She was beyond intimidating, more so than the Royal Family and their guards.

“What she is doing to the people out here, it isn’t right,” Yuno added on. “They are suffering and I feel as if it is my duty to stop her.”

“I feel as if it is mine as well,” you replied.

“I tried to tell the King of how Rowena’s suggestions have been affecting the community outside the palace walls but it is as if she has him under a spell. He hears not a thing I say,” he explained exasperatedly.

He let out a defeated sigh as you crouched next to him. You let him speak, seeing how distressed he was by the whole situation. “He only listens to her and my younger brother, Chansung; he is the smarter sibling. I am nothing but a pretty face that represents the kingdom,” the prince chuckled darkly.

“Highness—” you tried to intervene, not enjoying how he was belittling himself. He stopped you before you could even begin with a mere glance.

“It is not I who deserves the throne, it is Chansung. I can barely do a thing when my mind is elsewhere. How can I rule when my mind is not focused on the needs of my people?”

You place a tentative hand on his knee to ground him before his thoughts send him spiraling.

“I apologize,” the runaway prince blurted suddenly. “I do not know you and here I am, spilling out my innermost thoughts. You must think I am a fool.”

“No, it’s quite alright. I imagine you have no one to discuss this with within the palace,” you comforted him with a kind smile. You encouraged Yuno to continue, hands urging him on. “But if your mind is not here, then…”

Yuno shot you an empty grin, the upturns of his lips not meeting his reddening ears. “I have been trapped inside the palace since birth. Raised inside these walls all my life. I am safe and sound with a set future here and yet…” his voice trailed off, looking at the overview of the kingdom. His stare then gravitated beyond the kingdom walls.

“And yet?”

“I want to go beyond our borders. I know there is more the world has to offer. I have read about it in books but I want to experience it in person, write it down, and bring back what I have learned to better Neiho.” There was a sense of longing in his voice and you could almost relate to his yearning.

You took a seat next to him, your knees touching his. Your body turned towards him, torso leaning forward to give the prince your undivided attention. “What have you read about so far, Your Highness?”

“Please call me Yuno,” he said gently, clutching onto your hand. You tried to tug it away, flustered from the sudden contact, and he only tightened his clasp.

“Yes, Your Highness,” you replied, “I mean, Y-Yuno.”

The instant his name left your lips, he sent you the most dazzling smile, his pearly white teeth perfectly framed by the pink of his lips and the curve of his dimples. Whiskers appeared around his closed eyes and his nose scrunched up in the most adorable way and you found yourself falling down the rabbit hole one called love.

Ever since that fated day, you arranged countless meetings in random nooks and crannies of the marketplace. Yuno taught you the many things he had learned from his readings while you showed him places he had never been before. He brought you books and taught you how to read. You taught him how to fend for himself in the forest.

You often found yourselves weaving through crowds as the guards attempted to follow your trails. Laughter bubbled through the prince’s chest as you tugged him along with intertwined fingers. Your heart leaped huge lengths across your chest every time he glanced your way through his fluttering eyelashes and you wondered if he felt the same.

Your days with Yuno always ended on that same rooftop, overlooking the beautiful sight that was Neiho, and you adored every second of it.

One night, you blurted out, “Do you ever wonder what life would be like if things were different?” Yuno glanced up at you from your lap, head tilting with curiosity. Your fingers were tangled in his soft, clean hair as his hand played with the ends of yours.

“Do you?” he countered. The point of your elbow dug into his toned stomach and he winced.

“I asked first,” you said and he laughed at your argument.

“And I am the Crown Prince,” he threw back and you pouted at his response.

You were quiet for a moment, gathering your thoughts together before answering your own question. “Yes.”

“And what do you wonder about?”

“There are times I wish for a life where I am comfortable, where I’m not breaking my back for someone else’s sake.” Feeling a bit vulnerable, you drew your hands away from his head and wrapped them around your waist— it was your first time to reveal this hidden thought of yours.

“It’s not that I want to stop helping them,” you explained tentatively, “I just wonder what it would be like to start living just for me, without the weight of the world on my shoulders.”

Yuno only hummed in reply. You shook your head, snapping yourself out of the daze you were in. “Your turn to answer,” you pushed the heavy question onto him.

“I suppose so, yes,” he mused simply. “I would like to be a traveling scholar, see the world through my own eyes. I often wonder about a life of travel, you know this.”

You did know this—Yuno told you this many times.

“There’s another thing I wonder about, though,” he slipped in.

“And what is that?”

“I often wonder what life would be like if I had you by my side.”

You coughed at his sweet words, not at all expecting to hear a statement like that. He reached up to pat your back as you choked on air, giggling at your antics. Your breathing returned to normal and his fingers found their way to yours. With entwined fingers and hearts, he called your name endearingly as his head rested against your lap. You returned his earnest stare under the light of the moon with the same intensity, “Yes, my prince?”

He rolled his eyes at your response.

Yuno, hidden in a ripped cloak, brought your hand against his plump lips and looked into your eyes as he kissed your knuckles. “I arose from bed this morning with a sudden realization.”

“Have you come to the conclusion that Chansung is the better looking royal?” you poked. He gave you a look of betrayal and you giggled at his furrowed brows and flared nostrils.

“It was nothing but a joke, dear,” you laughed, running your fingers through his thick locks of hair. He huffed loudly, turning away from your playful gaze.

“My attempt to confess my love and she makes a fool out of me,” he mumbled under his breath but you could not catch his words.

“You would make a great jester,” Yuno added with another roll of his gorgeous eyes.

“I don’t think I would enjoy being the laughing stock of nobility,” you answered, poking at his soft cheek. He swatted your hand away in annoyance but your fingers were persistent. You continued to sink your finger into the skin of his cheek until he caught it and nibbled on your fingertip. Yelping, you drew back your hand and narrowed your gaze at the prince.

It was his turn to laugh at your reaction, blessing your ears with the sweetest melody. “My darling, you would never be a laughing stock to me.”

Although your finger throbbed, you were happy to see the playful side of the prince— he often had a stoic expression when addressing the people of Neiho from the palace balconies. The sight of his bright smile was enough to light the whole kingdom tenfold.

“What would I be then?” you asked mockingly.

Yuno shifted to face you, his ethereal features glowing in the starlight and captivating you in ways you could not explain. There was a fluttering feeling in your stomach and an intense pounding in your chest as Yuno gave you the simplest answer, “The love of my life.”

His words sent your heart soaring to the highest of places.

In that moment, it mattered not who you were and where you were because you were the love of his life just as he was yours.

Arriving at the clearing deep in the forest, you released the bag of stolen goods from your hold. Panting out breaths, you did your best to steady your heartbeat. The racing palpitations of heart felt different somehow, maybe because for once, they were not caused by the adrenaline of running away but by the highs of being deeply in love.

A gorgeous smile broke out on your face and you hadn’t a care if you looked like a crazy loon.

“Where have you been?” A familiar voice blasted from above you. Looking up, you saw Minhyung seated on a tree branch. He leaped down, landing directly on his feet with a playful smirk.

You coughed the grin right off your face. “I had to take a little detour is all.”

“A detour?” Minhyung questioned.

“Yes, a detour.”

Your friend circled you, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Quite unusual for your detours to last until sundown,” he teased, “and you look like you’re walking on air.”

You tried to bite back your grin and you failed. You could never hide anything from Minhyung, he had seen you through it all. He was your brother after all— not by blood but nevertheless, he was family.

“I met the Crown Prince,” you muttered under your breath.

“Do speak up, you know how I hate when you mumble,” Minhyung teased, using the words you often fired at him.

“I said, Minhyung, I met the Crown Prince,” you repeated with a louder voice.

You watched as Minhyung’s eyes widened like saucers and how they gleamed with intrigue as he squeezed you closer to him. “You met Prince Yuno?!” he gasped. “How— why? What?”

“Keep it down, will you please?” Clamping a dirtied hand over his mouth, you tried to shut him up. He simply licked your palm to which you smacked him across the head.

“Well, this isn’t our first time meeting. We’ve met many a time before,” you started off, going down your short history with the prince. Minhyung listened attentively— his admiration for the Royal Family, much like many of the other Neiho citizens, ran deep.

“How is he in real life?”

“Nothing short of wonderful,” you sighed, head turning back to face the city. You wondered how he was doing, if he made it back through the palace gates without any trouble from the guards he was escaping from. “He is like the brightest star I have ever seen, so beautiful and radiant but still so far out of my reach.”

Remembering the sound of his laughter and the look in his eyes, another soft smile appeared on your face. It was a smile Minhyung had never seen on your features. You appeared as if you were the star you just described, shining brightly for one person and one person alone. The light in your eyes was almost too blinding, he wanted to look away but Minhyung couldn’t.

It had been so long since he had seen you this happy— the last time you smiled so cheerfully was with your mother so many years ago. You adopted a harsher look throughout the years that Minhyung was beyond ecstatic to see that happiness still existed within you.

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” you answered gently. “He told me to call him Yuno.”

“And did you?”

“Of course, Minhyung,” you said with a chuckle, “it would be wrong to not obey royalty.”

“Yes, you’re quite right,” Minhyung hummed back.

“He is filled with kindness and loyalty to the kingdom, which is admirable.”

“But?”

Thinking back to the conversation you had with the prince, your eyebrows stitched together when recalling his dreams. “His heart aches for adventure and knowledge, things he cannot find here if he is to be King.”

Minhyung searched your face for a glimpse into your head. “Isn’t that what you’re looking for, too?”

Looking your best friend and fellow thief straight in the eyes, you were posed with a thought that hadn’t even crossed your scattered mind. “I suppose it is.”

Minhyung laughed as you came to the realization. The two of you sat in silence as you breathed everything in.

“The Prince isn’t that far from your reach then,” Minhyung posed with a childlike grin. “He is much closer than you think.”

The first time Yuno kissed you was underneath the setting sun. Hidden behind the stone walls of the palace, he pressed you into a dark corner where no one could catch sight of your unlikely pairing.

It was a long day for the both of you— you had snuck into the houses of nobles, stealing their smallest treasures to sell in order to feed the hungry while he shadowed his father during his audiences with the people of Neiho. Your secret rendezvous started with exchanging stories about your eventful day with shared laughter and the sweetest of touches. Yuno’s smooth hands ghosted against your dry ones several times, each touch sending tingles down your spine.

His arms caged you in between his strong body and the hard stone wall as his face hovered in front of your own. Your breath hitched as his intense stare shifted from your eyes to your parted lips. It was the dead of winter but you had never felt hotter under his fiery gaze.

“May I kiss you?” you found yourself asking as his plump bottom lip grazed against your own. You were shocked by your own bravery and you knew he was, too. Your heart pounded loudly like a beating drum and you swore the prince could hear it as well.

“Do as you wish,” the prince replied almost breathlessly, captivated by the way your eyes kept flickering to the lack of space in between your bodies.

“But is that what you wish for, Yuno?” you countered with a sultry tone. He gulped loudly at how confident you were and nodded almost too eagerly, lips barely brushing against your dry ones. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Then, your wish is my command,” you smile before closing the distance between. A light press of your lips onto his was all it took to send your world spinning round. Yuno deepened it by leaning his body against your smaller build, a hand tilting your jaw up in a different angle.

He held you so gently, making you feel as if you were royalty. Hands in his hair and his arms around your waist, his kiss made it seem like you had chased the blowing winds and touched the pastel sky. His love rose you to the heavens above and you soared with a rush of freedom you had never felt before.

You kissed as the sky cast a golden glow upon your bodies, too lost in each other to realize you were the focus of someone’s envious gaze.

While you flirted with the life of crime, Yuno made his way through the hallowed hallways of Neiho’s palace. His heavy steps echoed throughout the empty path but he couldn't even hear a thing— his mind was littered with scattered thoughts. He marched his way to his younger brother’s quarters, determined that would be the day he would reveal his heart to his kin. The crown prince groaned in frustration, decorated hands messing with his jet-black hair as he tried to piece what to say.

How did one even start this conversation? Yuno never had a conversation as deep as this with his sibling before. The only person he poured his heart to was you.

Does he start with not waiting to take the throne or with his dream of travel? Should he begin with his skepticism over Advisor Rowena and the poor conditions of their people?

Yuno stopped in place— Rowena. He cringed at the thought of her. He heard the rumors swirling around the circle of nobility. The servants in the palace could never keep their mouth shut at the whispers. There were tales of the King making the advisor his betrothed for the sake of a flourishing kingdom.

He couldn’t fathom how his father came to this as a viable option for the betterment of Neiho.

Yuno thought traveled back to you and what you stood for: how your gigantic heart only thought of others. He recalled how your body was drenched with wounds and scars and yet, you still kept going for the people that had everything to lose. He wanted to find ways to make your life easier but he knew he couldn’t find them inside Neiho’s borders. He had to leave in order to find that solution.

Yuno had no idea how long he contemplated in front of Chansung’s room before the door burst open. Yuno let out a shocked yell as his brother cocked an eyebrow at his older sibling.

“Brother, how long were you going to stand outside my door before simply coming in?” Chansung leaned against the wall as Yuno placed his hand over his rapid heart. He tried to catch his breath much to his brother’s amusement, but he was a bundle of nerves.

“Chansung,” he exhaled, still clutching his chest, “how did you know I was here?”

“It is impossible to not hear your stomps and groans through the wall,” the younger prince poked. “I imagine the townsfolk down below could hear your pacing.”

“Of course,” the older prince said with a roll of his eyes. His younger brother wordlessly invited him in by opening the door to his chambers wider and he breezed through, taking a seat on Chansung’s plush mattress. Chansung closed the door behind him to find his usually composed sibling with his head in his hands. A symphony of defeated sighs left Yuno’s lips and Chansung set a comforting hand on his brother’s back.

“What ails you, dear brother?” The younger implored.

“Chansung.”

“Yes, brother?”

“Have you ever felt like there was something more out there in the world, just waiting for you?”

Chansung paused at Yuno’s question, retreating his hand from his brother’s body. A silence surrounded the room as the younger sat next to his sibling.

“I suppose I haven’t,” Chansung answered with a hum. He turned to face his brother, finding the crown prince’s face contorted with furrowed brows and sucked in cheeks. “I knew that my place was always here in the castle and I have always taken that role seriously.”

This was true. Chansung always buried himself in his studies, gathering enough knowledge to to soon overtake the place of Yuno’s future advisor. He studied religiously to not let his people down, just as his Father and Rowena currently were.

The older nodded silently, the black strands of his hair shifting to hide his eyes as he did so. He tugged on his earlobe, a habit he picked up when he was deep in thought or stressed beyond belief. Chansung caught sight of Yuno’s tell-tale and his lips pursed on trying to figure out as to why his brother was stressed.

“See, Chansung, that’s the difference between us,” Yuno broke the deafening silence.

“What is?”

“You are the one who deserves the throne, not I.”

“Brother!” Chansung shouted in defiance. “Why would you say that? You would make a great king!” He pushed with such force. Yuno smiled, his brother always had seen the best in him.

“Chansung, one cannot deny the truth,” the crown prince smiled at his sibling. The upturns of his plump lip showed the prince’s fondness for his brother and a twinge of regret for not being the royal people expected him to be.

“I have known what people have expected me to be and I have tried my best to live up to those expectations but...” Yuno began. He stood up and walked towards the open balcony, Chansung following in his wake. The elder leaned against the railings, hands resting on the cold stone as his sibling chose to press his back against it.

Townsfolk caught a glimpse of them from down below and enthusiastically yelled for the royal duo’s attention. The younger greeted them with matched excitement, bringing his hand up for a wave while the elder just nodded at them with a forlorn expression taking over his handsome face. He stared at the crowd a little longer than he should have, his mind wandering to the thief that stole his heart. His deep chocolate eyes traced the busy streets and alleyways, through the ways of the marketplace and the housing area until he could no longer see the outlines of the path.

“But you feel as if you belong down there,” Chansung finished for him with a hint of understanding.

“Yes,” Yuno breathed out.

“Brother, you have always had a knack for escaping,” Chansung joked lightheartedly to ease his brother’s troubled heart. It was not everyday a royal revealed he wanted to be one of the people after all.

A hearty, deep rumbling laugh escaped the crown prince’s lips. “I suppose I was not as discreet as I could have been,” he said with the shake of his head, “I was too busy running away from the guards to leave quietly.”

“I suppose not,” the younger chuckled along, the sounds of their laughter drifting with the winds.

“But Yuno,” Chansung’s voice called, “will you be alright?” His voice grew faint towards the end of the question and Yuno caught what his sibling was implying. Would the crown prince be alright after leaving a life of comfort?

“Yes,” Yuno smiled, his eyes shining in a way the second in line had never seen before, “for I will be happy.”

“Will you really be happy?” Chansung asked softly, his voice choking at the thought of his brother leaving him behind. He shook the sadness away and grinned widely at his sibling.

“You are leaving your favorite person behind after all,” he teased, barely dodging a playful punch to the chest. Yuno slung his arm over Chansung’s broad shoulder, bringing a hand to ruffle the other’s neatly styled hair.

“When have I ever called you that?”

“Come, Yuno,” the younger man said with a proud smile, “we have much to discuss before we bring this to Father.”

Yuno laughed once more, his heart bursting with an infinite amount of joy. He was one step closer to being free.

Nothing could take away his happiness, or so he thought. Neither brother realized the person lurking in the shadows, hanging onto every word with disdain.

“He wants to abdicate the throne for a measly street rat? How could this be?” Rowena asked herself as she stormed into her secret hideaway within the palace walls after hearing the conversation between the siblings. The fabric of her robe flowed behind her and the mighty jeweled staff pounded against the floor as she rushed her way down steep steps.

“All these years of scheming my way to the top will be wasted if he leaves with that peasant,” she spat harshly. Passing by the mirror hanging on her wall, Rowena paused in place to admire her looks. Running a hand through her shining black locks and stroking the sharp line of her jaw, she wondered what you had that she didn’t.

She had the looks, the intelligence, and the kingdom in the palm of her magic hand while you merely survived by committing to a life of crime. Why wasn’t the prince in love with her?

“Yuno and the position of queen was to be mine,” the advisor hissed, hazel eyes darkening with envy with each word she spoke. “I have not wasted my energy spelling the king only to settle for the second born.”

Her reflection disappeared from her view, a bundle of smoke and clouds hiding her away before dispersing into a sweet image of you and the prince together.

A terrifying shriek left her lips at the new reflection. Picking up the closest item within her reach, she hurled it into the mirror projecting that horrifyingly romantic image. The crack of the glass echoed in throughout the room and it fueled her bubbling ambition.

As her grip tightened against the length of her staff, she felt a new plan hatching in her head and dark magic coursing through her veins. “Prince Yuno and Neiho will be mine, make no mistake about that.”

You thought your love was too good to be true and he tried to convince you otherwise— you were a mere village thief and he was the Crown Prince. You came from practically nothing while he was of royal blood and yet, your fragile heart couldn’t help but fall for the lost man behind the crown and jewels. Your relationship was against the fates and the aligned stars but the prince had the strongest urge to rewrite them just to keep you by his side.

“I have scheduled a private audience with the King tomorrow.”

“And what will you discuss with him, love?” You stroked his fringe away from his forehead before cupping his cheek in your gentle hold.

He nestled into your palm, sighing at your warmth. “Renouncing the throne,” Yuno announced casually.

“I beg your pardon?!” You almost screamed into the night.

The prince ignores your little outburst, continuing his explanation. “The life of a royal is not the life I wish to live. I want to live a life of travel and adventure.” He sat up to clutch your hands in his. “I want to live a life with you, if you will have me.”

“With me?” You managed to mutter. “Out of all people, why with me?”

“Because I’m in love with you. Any day with you would be an adventure.”

“But I don’t have anything— no riches, just rags,” you swallowed the lump in your throat. He took you in, dirt smeared face and ripped clothing, and still looked at you like you held the world in your hands. Yuno saw the stars, the sky, the whole entire universe in your eyes. He didn’t need anything else— he just needed you.

“I love you more than anything else in this world but all I have to offer you is everything in me. I’m not sure if that is enough,” you bit your lip, teething gnawing down on your sensitive skin out of nervousness. He was the boy who had everything and he was willing to give everything up for a life with you.

Yuno brought your injured knuckles to his lips. He kissed them gently, holding your gaze with a soft one of his own. “My love, that is more than enough. You are more than enough.”

“But what about the villagers? What will happen to them if I were to leave?” You sputtered out, worrying about others rather than yourself.

He smiled at your selflessness. “I have already discussed this with Chansung. He is aware of the village’s situation and is willing to make changes to better their livelihood.”

“I can’t leave them behind,” you pulled your hands away. “They need me.”

“He is willing to work with your partner, Minhyung, to reach out to our people. No man left behind,” he replied with a smile. “We thought of all the options.”

You wanted to go with him but they were all you knew. Protecting the villagers and providing them with hope was always your number one priority— you had never thought of anything else. Would your mother be disappointed in you if you left them all behind or would she be happy to know that you have found a potential shot of happiness?

“Please, just think about it, my darling.”

“And Minhyung, he asked me to think about it!” You shrieked while running through the trees, a sack of gold hitting the small of your back. You looked behind you to see your younger partner-in-crime giving you the smuggest smile.

“Well, are you thinking about it?” He questioned, curiosity burning in his doe eyes. He wiggled his brows to tease you and you wanted to slap him with your heavy sack.

“What is there to think about? I’m not leaving you behind.”

“Why is that?” Your friend pushed.

“Because you need me, they need me.”

“Do we really need you or is it you that needs us?”

You frowned at him, not understanding his words. “What do you mean by that, Min?”

He laughed, nose coiling up cutely as he did so. “You have been stealing all your life, it’s all you know how to do. It’s familiar.”

“I do not see where you’re going with this.”

“You love him and you want to go with him but you’re scared.”

“Of what?”

“The unknown.” Minhyung gestured to all the riches you’ve stolen gathered by your feet. “This is all you’ve known but wouldn’t it be nice to do something more?”

“But this is all you’ve known too, Min,” you countered defensively.

“True, but by working with Prince Chansung, I can broaden my horizons.” There was this proud glint in his eye. “I can help more people. And you—”

“And me?”

“— you can finally be free to see what’s out there just like you’ve always dreamed of doing with nothing holding you back.”

Your friend grabbed hold of your hand, his larger one clasping over your own. Minhyung’s grip tightened around your palm to reassure you. “You can be selfish for once, to think only of yourself, and it will be perfectly fine.”

“Min, I want to be selfish but I’m frightened of everything— life beyond the walls and forest. What if everything out there is not what I think it is? What if I’m not prepared to leave this familiarity?”

Minhyung whispered your name as you began to spiral down a road he could not follow.

“And being in love with a prince for that matter! Love could be fleeting. Any given day after I leave with him, Yuno may not want me. He could turn his back on me and leave me to die. He has options, Min. I, for one, am not that lucky.”

Your friend squeezed firmly on your shoulder before reaching down to take hold of your hands. He crossed your arms over your chest and placed each hand on a shoulder, leading your fingers to tap against your skin. Minhyung encouraged you to follow along as he began to guide you through deep, calming breaths.

As your heart rate and thoughts began to settle, you wondered when Minhyung grew up to be the strong boy who stood beside you.

“Life is frightening. We know that more than anyone, flying by the seat of our pants,” Minhyung said with a chuckle of his own. “It’s alright to be scared of the unknown but it should not stop you from living your life the way you wish to live it.”

As you took another breath, you nodded to acknowledge his words.

“Do you want to live a life with the Crown Prince?”

“More than anything in this world,” was your firm reply.

Minhyung grinned at you, “Then that should be enough. Your love will be enough.”

Tugging him into a hug, you tucked your head into the crook of his neck. The act of affection was a “thank you” you cannot express with words. You only hoped your friend would understand the meaning behind the gesture. Luckily, with years of experience being your partner-in-crime, the young Minhyung was able to between the lines.

“Will you be alright?”

“Of course,” he said, placing a faint kiss against the crown of your head. “You’ve taught me everything I need to know.”

Minhyung, the younger and more energetic one of your thieving duo, ran ahead of you into the clearing to make the first drop of goods. You laughed at his excitable demeanor— you knew he would be the person you would miss most once you hightrailed out of the kingdom. He was the only family you had left but there he was, happy that you were finally setting yourself free.

The upward curve of your lips dropped when you heard his voice yell out for help. Heart racing, you let go of your sack, legs running faster than ever before to come to your best friend’s aid.

Once you caught a glimpse of him, your heart dropped to the floor, right by your soiled and tattered coverings you called shoes.

Minhyung was fighting against the hold of the strong guards that always chased your tail. His hands were handcuffed in chains and tears were running down his sunken cheeks as one guard repeatedly abused his small frame. You screeched at the vulgar sight unfolding before you— your little brother was being beaten to a pulp.

Three rough strikes to the stomach was all you could witness before you went flying towards him, hands outstretched to catch him as his body fell to the floor. You never reached him, another pair of guards preventing you from doing so. They immediately cuffed you and pulled your struggling frame towards them. Your shouts and frantic cries for the injured Minhyung were hushed when a restricting feeling took over your vocal chords.

Opening your mouth, you tried your best to make a sound but you found yourself mute.

A horrifyingly disturbing laugh came from behind the trees and you scuffled to find the source through your tears. The tall and sleek figure, dressed far too nice to be caught in these parts, approached you with the most evil smirk. Her back was straightened, chest puffed out, and head held high with pride as she used the tip of her staff to lift your head.

“So you are the one who caught the crown prince’s eye,” the figure said, her voice as piercing as her glare. “The little thief.”

“You,” came your choked reply as she released the spell she casted on you.

“Oh, so you know of me?” she laughed haughtily. “Say my name then, child.”

Refusing to do what she said, you turned your head to look at the unconscious Minhyung who was slumped across the grass.

“I said,” she hissed, using her hand to force your gaze back at her. “Say my name.”

“Rowena,” you growled. “What do you want from me? I have nothing you want.” Her sharp nails dug into your skin and you winced at the pain. The royal advisor clearly did not appreciate your snark.

“That is where you are wrong, my sweet child,” Rowena almost purred back. “You possess the thing I long for most.”

You scoffed at her answer. “And what would that be, witch?”

“Be careful with your words, street rat. I can end your friend’s life in an instant if you fail to hold your tongue,” a nail scratched your cheek, leaving you with a new cut. A thin stream of blood flowed down your face, dripping onto your tattered clothes as Rowena watched amusingly. “You are in possession of Prince Yuno’s heart when it was destined to be mine.”

You fought the urge to laugh, “You are doing this out of jealousy?”

“Hold your tongue, riff raff. You forget who is in control here, I can easily command my men to strike another blow on your poor fri—”

“No!” you yelled, cutting Rowena off, suddenly desperate to get on her good side. “Don’t hurt Minhyung; he has nothing to do with the situation!”

Minhyung weakly called your name and you ignored his cries.

“But he is a thief and it is a great crime to steal in this kingdom,” Rowena drawled on teasingly, like a cat playing with a hopeless mouse.

“No, please,” you begged. “You mustn’t hurt him.”

“Then you must do something for me in return, peasant,” Rowena laughed at how easily she had you wrapped around her finger. You appeared to be strong, but your overly selfless heart was weak.

“I will do anything you ask me to if you leave Minhyung alone,” you petitioned. You couldn’t let anything happen to Minhyung— he was the only family you had left. “He’s a brother to me.”

Minhyung’s head shot up at his new title while he gasped for air. Locking eyes with him, you smiled painfully. He was always at your side, protecting you when he could. Now, it was your time to protect him.

“I will let the boy live if you come with me without a fight,” Rowena schemed, grin growing wider by the second. She had you in the palm of her hands. “He is of no importance to me.”

“He is of the utmost importance to me,” you said, the familial love seeping through your veins. Though physically far apart from him, you hoped he could feel the love you had for him. Minhyung violently shook his head, as if to tell you not to go. He refused to let you sacrifice yourself to let him live, you had done enough for him as is.

“I will go with you, Rowena. Just allow me a moment to say my goodbyes.”

The guards holding you and Minhyung back looked at their commander for an order. With a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hand, you and your friend were freed of your confinement. You quickly shuffled to your feet and Minhyung fell into your arms as you sunk to the ground.

“Oh my stars, Min,” you sniffled as you took him in. Sandwiching his fallen face in between your hands, you stroked his cheeks and pushed back the strands of hair that stuck to his sweaty forehead. “Please tell me you’re alright.”

“I’ll be alright if you stay here with me,” Minhyung replied with tears welling up in his soft brown eyes. Minhyung was always the crier between the two of you. He cried more at your mother’s death than you did but this time, you let your tears cascade down your cheeks, knowing this was the last time you would see your best friend.

“You know I can’t do that. I can’t let anything happen to you, you have gotten yourself hurt because of me,” You gather enough strength in your shaking hands to squeeze his cheeks, something you always did to cheer him up. “I refuse to be the cause of your pain.”

“And I refuse to let you go,” Minhyung raised his hands to hold onto yours.

“I have made my choice,” you whispered harshly, “and that is to keep you and the others safe.”

You take a moment to hug the younger boy in your arms, trying to commit the feeling of Minhyung in your memory. Flashes of your best friend growing up by your side ran through your mind as your fingers stroked through his hair. Pressing a lingering kiss to the top of his head, you shut your eyes and bit back a sob. “Do me one favor? Find your happiness, wherever it may be and never let it go, alright?”

When you released him from your hold, Minhyung whined at the loss of warmth.

“You’re my brother, Minhyung. I love you,” were your last words to your thieving partner before you turned away from him and his heart wrenching sobs and willingly stepped into your doom.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

What started off as secret meetings and stolen kisses in alleyways was ending with you chained to the floor of the palace’s throne room while your lover watched helplessly from the side. He screamed your name and struggled against the hold of his guards but you shook his head to silence him.

Stop, you begged in your head, make it stop.

The King and Prince Chansung did nothing to help you or their kin, only staring blankly at the chaotic scene unfolding in front of them. They had no choice; they were bewitched to be at the sorceress’ beck and call, just like the many guards that protected the kingdom. If only Prince Yuno had realized it sooner.

“Why are you doing this?” Yuno yelled, his deep voice booming throughout the large room. His harsh glare, a look you had never seen on him, was focused on the lady seated on his father’s rightful throne.

“Why?” Rowena echoed. “My darling prince, I did this because of you and your wish to renounce the throne for her.” Her extreme distaste for you was apparent as she hissed the last word.

She left her seat, leisurely sauntering over to Yuno with a smile as if it was a casual meeting when the situation was far from it. Rowena squatted down to reach his level and Yuno hastily turned his head to the side, refusing to meet her eyes. His jaw tightened and his teeth grinded against each other as she forced him to look her directly in the eye. “Marry me and crown me as your Queen. Only then will I let her go.”

Instead of answering the witch with words, he chose to spit in her face instead. “Never, you hag. You are not worthy of ruling Neiho, nor will you ever be.” Yuno’s voice was ruthless and unwavering, just as a prince’s should be. Even in a moment like this, your heart swelled with pride at his bravery.

“Long live King Chansung,” he jeered, which only set Rowena off. “He is the next, rightful ruler of the kingdom.”

“If this is how you want to play, so be it, Prince,” Rowena laughed in his face. The sound of her cackles made shivers run down your spine and cold sweat broke out in a number of places. You were scared of what was to come.

Using her staff to help her back up to a standing position, Rowena made her way towards you with a menacing stare. The curve of her lips grew wider as you flinched back in fear. You heard the clanking of metal chains as Yuno wrestled against the guard’s hold. “Don’t you dare do anything to her!”

“And what will you do, Yuno?” she threw back. “There is nothing you can do to help her now.”

Only a few steps from you, she points the end of her staff in your direction. A gleaming emerald jewel taunted you as you sucked in a breath. “You, peasant, have always given selflessly without expecting anything in return so selfless you will remain,” she started to say, a gust of wind bursted out the end of the jewel. It first surrounded her figure, then you, before spreading throughout the room.

A golden lamp appeared out of thin air, floating in front of your face before you felt the spark of dark magic course within you. It released you from your physical binds only to leave you immobile. A pair of gold cuffs materialized on your wrists and tugged you closer to the lamp.

“No longer will you be able to act selfishly for you are bound to this lamp and to these chains until a master wishes you free,” she explained. The taunting laughter that would soon haunt your memories echoed in your ears as ideas for a curse were thrown into the wind. “It will be at least two thousand years until you have the chance of seeing your precious prince again, that is, if Prince Yuno finds you first.”

“What? No!” Yuno howled across the room as you were slowly consumed by a dark cloud. Calls of your name were heard but you could not respond as Rowena began to chant,

“Golden lamp of antique old, Bind her body, mind, and soul. May she obey her master’s whim, Turn her future dark and grim. Freedom comes with just one wish Unless it is a true love’s kiss.”

The smoke spread throughout the room, leaving the surroundings in a haze. As the evil enchantress concentrated on the curse, the hold on the others in the room fell through. The king and Chansung snapped out of their daze only to watch the horrific separation begin to take place.

“Brother, what is the meaning of this?!” Chansung shouted to get his sibling’s attention, bringing an arm to shield his eyes from the powerful gusts. His father gripped at his youngest’s sleeve as the gale turned into a hurricane with you in the middle.

Yuno failed to hear his brother’s questions, eyes zoned in on you as your freedom was slowly stripped away from you. The sight of you crushingly accepting your fate tugged on his heartstrings. This wasn’t the ending he wanted for you. This was far from it.

"Remember me! You must remember me," he yelled over the commotion. You watched him struggle over the smoke as you cry out for him.

"How could I ever forget you?" you reassured him with a broken smile. You felt the tail end of your body being pulled inside your new cage and tried to fight the unbreakable force.

Yuno screamed your name once more. You locked eyes across the room, his dark orbs spinning with love and desperation. You wondered if your wet irises looked the same as his.

"I will find you! I will search until the ends of the earth until you are by my side again.”

You wanted to laugh at his hopeful optimism— how did love get you into this situation?

As much as you wanted to believe Yuno would find you, the situation was bleak.

Rowena’s body rumbled with a laughter so sinister, so piercing that you flinched at the sound as her dark magic ran through your veins. “I would like to see you try, my prince, but until then, you and the throne belong to me,” she sneered.

Ignoring the enchantress’ claims, his eyes continued to search for your disappearing figure. “I will come back to you, I promise!” Yuno’s deep voice rang into your ears.

“I hope you will,” you whispered a defeated reply back.

“If not in this life, then I will find you in the next! Mark my words!”

“Yuno…”

“In any version of reality, my darling, I will find you and I will choose you every single time. Do you hear me?”

You nodded vigorously as you choked back your sobs.

Just as the last bits of your being slipped through the spout of the lamp, Yuno broke free from the guards’ hold and rushed to your side. You reached out a hand and his fingertips grazed yours.

“Don’t forget me,” he mumbled through choked up sobs. His shaking hands grabbed at the dreaded lamp, clutching it to his broad chest like it was the most precious thing on earth.

The sight of him so desperate before you was reminiscent of the star-crossed lovers you heard about during your younger years, the ones that ended in the worst of tragedies. You pondered if this was your own personal tragedy, if this particular scene would haunt you for the rest of your cursed life.

You exchanged one last glance. One last touch.

Your hand clutched his cheek like it was made of the most fragile glass and the pad of your thumb stroked his soft skin. Yuno leaned into your touch, wanting to soak in his last moment with you. A spark flickered the place of contact, a sizzle of bright dust oozing from your fingers— your first dose of magic and you couldn’t even use it to keep him by your side. A glittering tear fell from your cheek and landed on his skin.

It was then you muttered your last words to the man who claimed your heart before being completely tugged into your golden cage, “As you wish.”

author’s note. hello, my darling readers! i know many of you have been waiting for this release for the longest time. this is the first of three (or four) parts. this part has been done for quite some time now; i’m just struggling to get the rest of it out.

but i thought it was too good of a story to just sit there in my google docs. i had this need to finally put part of it out into the world so here we are! i’ve been writing this since october and i would like to thank the many people who have helped me with the plot so far: kira, my chaotic gc, allex, and joyce!! ily all!! <3 this is for you!!!

part two is finished and i’m in the process of editing it! will it be out soon? who knows?

taglist. @rindomo @yshbaewenjun @hannie-dul-set @itsapapisongo @babyyynatty @notnctu @w0nni3wrld @yuta1forme @lucyinthesunshinee

i lost my original copy of the taglist so i’m sorry if i missed people! (especially since it’s been so long!) please let me know if you would like to be added to the list for future parts!

#neowritingsnet #cznnet #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct x reader #jung jaehyun #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun fic #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun angst #as you wish

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definitelynotsuzumi · 4 years ago

Text

Zapped to Another World

Genshin Impact x Fem!Reader

I wrote this in my spare time when I was working back in November and thought that I should share this ^-^

Depending on the comments/notes and if I have spare time, I may be updating this.

[Masterlist]

The rain poured down your umbrella. The clouds coloured the sky a dark grey as you ran for the bus. You sighed as you reached the traffic light. Yup, you were definitely not going to be able to catch it now.

School had ended for the year, which meant more free time for you and the new game you had recently gotten into. Genshin Impact.

You could not help but smile at the thought of it. With school out of the picture, you could finally focus on the game completely. There was so many things to do. Farming for artifacts, completing your daily commissions…

You sloshed your way over as the lights turned green. While you love that school is out, you honestly hated the wet weather that came with the winter break and the feeling of wet socks on your feet. After safely crossing the road, you winced as a white truck rushed by, soaking your clothes through as the giant puddle you have been trying to avoid poured onto your skirt and legs.

You let out a sigh as you quickly took shelter under a tree nearby to try and wring out the remaining water when it happened.

“Just my luck…”You muttered as you clumsily balanced your umbrella, “Can it get any worse?”

Just as those words left your lips, it happened. A white flash lit the sky for a brief second. But it was too late. Thousands of volts came cascading upon your body and everything turned white.

“This is your fault.” You heard a voice. It sounded like a young, sulky boy.

“How is this my fault? You’re the one who lashed out when I put down that +4 card down.”

“THAT AIN’T FAIR STILL! I WAS SO CLOSE TO WINNING AND YOU BLEW IT!”

“Uh…What’s going on?” You blinked as your vision settled. You sat in what looked like a library of sorts, with several shelves lining the walls and a long white and gold marble table in the centre of it all. A girl with long, platinum hair glared down at her male counterpart, who huffed in annoyance.

“How about you explain it to her, Artem.”

“Sorry, but I don’t speak to cheaters.”

“Oh for gods sake- fine. We apologize for uhm…Killing you. Truly, a thousand apologies. If only someone can control their temper for once in their life-“ The girl shot a dirty look at Artem.

“LIKE YOU ARE ONE TO TALK! SOLARIA, YOU SINGED MY EYEBROWS OVER KILLING YOU IN AMONG US!”

“Well excuse you! My anger was perfectly justified! You voted me out even when I told you the truth and that I was innocent!”

“DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT WAS TO EMBROIDER AND GROOM THEM BACK TO NORMAL AGAIN?”

“Could you guys please stop fighting for 10 seconds?” You yelled over the noise. The girl and boy finally stopped, leaving you to rub at your ringing ears.

You sighed. Kids were always a handful back in your home. You had to take care of your cousins whenever your aunt was over, and it often resulted with your ears ringing and your head pounding.

“What’s done is done. I’m…well, dead and I seriously have no idea where I am.” You said, trying to stay composed.

“Well…In your human terms, this is kind of like the After Life.” The boy, Artem explained, sighing as he put down his Uno cards.

“Or well, it shouldn’t since…You were supposed to live for like, another 50 to 60 years. But someone messed it up.” The girl, Solaria, summoned a book from a shelf. You blinked as a weathered leather book with gilded, golden pages floated down onto the table.

“Shut up. I said that I was sorry, didn’t I?” Artem groaned.

“Sir Artem, are you losing your braincells? I was the one who apologized. You still owe the human an apology.” Solaria bit back icily.

With a wave of her hand, the pages of the book flipped and she studied it carefully for a minute before looking back up.

“Well, as a soul now, you have an option. You can go into Elysium or be reincarnated.” Solaria sighed as Artem huffed again.

“Huh. What do you know? Elysium sounds real good right about now-“You thought out loud as Artem’s eyes turned wide with fear.

“Please don’t go into Elysium!” Artem yelled. The books shook in the shelves as his voice echoed.

“Ow, inside voice please? Hasn’t your mother taught you better?” You winced in pain. It seems that immortals had a throat of steel, judging from the way they could shout infinitely.

“I’m really sorry, but if Dad finds out I brought in another human because I accidentally killed them…He’s going to banish me…To Earth…” Artem looked down onto the table.

He was unable to meet your eyes as you stared at him with bemusement.

“Yeah, as much as I hate to say it, please…Reconsider on our offer to reincarnate. He is on thin ice with Father and if he is banished, I’d have to take on his duties as well. I’m pretty exhausted with the workload as it is.” Solaria sighed.

“As long as it’s not Earth, I’m cool with it.” You looked up at the ceiling, which took your breath away. The entire solar system was on it. With it, was the familiar sphere of white, green and blue.

“Hm, that is easy enough. I could reincarnate you into my world.” Artem brightened up.

Solaria sighed with relief.

“And to make up for it, I could buff you up with a couple of blessings here and there-“

“Within reason.” Solaria cut in, with a sharp look at Artem.

“Psssh, as if it’s hard to make a Gnosis.” Artem had considerably relaxed after hearing your statement.

“Are you serious? Don’t you even know the situation down at Teyvat?!” Your eyes widened. Were they talking about what you were thinking of?

Artem rose to his feet, the ivory wings on his lower back flaring. His eyes gleamed gold as he stared down his sister.

“It’s my world. I do what I like with it. If you don’t like it, get a world of your own.”

“You only got your world because Mother took pity on you. Don’t act all big when you have killed so many humans.” Solaria hummed, rolling her eyes.

“I’ll only grant this human the bare minimum. Anything more, and I’ll let Father know of your deeds thus far, even if it means more work for me.” Solaria glared back. Her eyes gleamed silver as she did so. You felt a shiver run down your spine.

“That’s all that I’ll need then. Work on your blessings and gifts. I’ll work on mine.” Artem turned away from his sister. The siblings set to work, the atmosphere of ice cold professionalism now in the air.

Solaria rose from her place on the table. With a flick of a finger, the Uno cards vanished with a burst of gold sparkles. The leather book floated beside her as she constantly referred to its pages while flying around the room.

“Hmm…Not much of a combatant, I see. Polearms and swords will probably be hard for you. Perhaps…A catalyst?” She pulled out a bright blue book adorned in gold, with feathers sticking out.

Blowing off any dust from the beautiful book, she casually tossed it over her shoulder and onto you. You instinctively brought your arms up to protect your face but as the book hit your arms, it disappeared into a burst of gold.

“Huh?” You blinked as you saw the book reappear beside you, its pages flipping.

Solaria returned with a satchel and a bag of gold coins. Looking satisfied as she noticed the book beside you, she inserted the bag of coins into the satchel before sliding it over your shoulder. Solaria hummed to herself before smiling again.

Reaching behind her neck, Solaria detached a shimmering teardrop necklace before slipping it around yours.

“There’s nothing special about it, apart from it glowing. I thought it would be a nice touch.” Solaria winked at you.

Tilting your chin up, you froze with shock as she pressed her lips against yours.

“WHAT WAS THAT FOR?” You felt heat rush to your cheeks.

“Oh, please. Don’t be flustered. That was merely a blessing of mine. It will help you when you need to speak with the natives of the land.” Solaria coolly said as she wiped her mouth.

You were still reeling in shock. Your throat seemed to tighten as you coughed.

“..Thank you, for agreeing with us on our selfish request. To be forcibly stripped of our powers can be the worst pain and humiliation a god or goddess can bear.” Solaria murmured to you as she hurried to the end of the room, where she knelt and seemed to draw symbols in gold.

You held back your tongue. ‘What about me? I got zapped to death here.’ You thought to yourself.

“It is done. Please step into that summoning circle there.” Artem held a floating, golden cylinder in his hands. Solaria rose from her place on the floor, gesturing for you to come over.

It was a Gnosis! You were quick to obey as you hurried to Solaria’s side.

Stepping into the centre, you turned to face Artem and Solaria, who stood side by side. They flared their wings as you sensed an energy swirl around you.

“I, Artem, God of the Moon, grant you passage and dominion over my world, Teyvat. Do you accept, (Y/N) (L/N)?” Artem’s voice echoed in your ears.

“I accept.” As the words left your lips, the Gnosis within his hands flew into your chest. You gasped as it did so, a heat spreading rapidly across your chest.

“Be safe on your travels, (Y/N) (L/N).” Solaria flashed a warm smile as you coughed.

“Resigno!”

The gold summoning circle glowed bright blue and you found yourself falling through the blue skies.

You screeched ungracefully as you fell from the sky headfirst. The green grass was coming up way too fast.

‘Am I going to die again?’ You thought as you held out your arms to break your fall, only for a huge gust of wind to cushion your fall.

“Huh?” You blinked in surprise as a person clad in green floated beside you.

It was a young boy with 2 braids, which gleamed blue in the light. His eyes were a beautiful mix of green and blue.

‘Venti?’ You gaped as he grabbed your hands and guided you back onto the ground.

“Never thought I’d have an audience during my practice session. Are you okay?” Venti grinned at you.

“Never...Never better. Thank you...”You gave a thumbs up as you got air back into your lungs again.

His deft fingers plucked at his harp as he sat down on the soft grass.

“It’s no problem. But what brings you here anyways? Not many people know of this spot.” Venti tilted his head. It seemed as though you uncovered his secret place.

“I- uh well...Accidents happen. I’m not a mad fan or a stalker, I swear. Well, maybe I am a fan but still.” You rambled but you forced yourself to stop talking and to breath. Venti is real and he is in front of me. Venti is real and he is in front of me.

Your heart was beating fast.

‘I should say something smart, introduce myself or something.’ You thought to yourself as you composed yourself.

You wanted to at least tell him your name but the words are out faster than you can stop them.

“Wanna grab a drink?”

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #readerinsert #fanfiction #childe x reader #genshin x reader

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softomi · 4 years ago

Text

butterflies

prompt: I read in a book once that blue butterflies symbolize many things but I think my favorite was that they are wish-granters. So if you see a blue butterfly, make a wish.

pairing: atsumu x reader

word count: 3.3k

general taglist: @graykageyama

Between the twins, Osamu was always your favorite and it was clear that Osamu preferred you over his brother. Atsumu was the bane of your existence ever since they moved across the street from you. Seven years old, the parents happily introducing themselves, the children staring at each other awkwardly. One held a volleyball, the other staring at you. They were supposed to be your new friends, though all of you were seven, technically you were older. You were a grade above them having just made the cutoff to enter school early, that didn’t stop Atsumu from addressing you as though you were younger than him.

“Ow.” You fell onto your butt, Atsumu had harshly pushed you, “Tsumu.” You began to whimper, tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

He didn’t mean to push you so hard, he just didn’t like that your cooties were going to stain him. There’s a pretty blue butterfly pin in your pigtail braid and when he reaches out, your cries lessen. Your eyes widening, perhaps he was going to help you up. His fingers tug on one of your braids, a little too harshly that the butterfly pin falls out. You begin to wail more at how hurtful he was being.

“Tsumu!” Osamu rips Atsumu’s hand away, shoving the boy to stand between you and his brother. Osamu has dirt on his face from playing far away, he had left momentarily to dig through the ground but as soon as he heard your cries, he came running, “Don’t be mean!”

Atsumu doesn’t know what he did wrong, was it so bad that he was interested in your braids, “She’s the one being a cry baby.” He sticks his tongue out, scowling at you for ruining his fun.

The twins parents have emerged from the home, their mother helping you up and dusting off the dirt from your dress. Osamu lunges at Atsumu, they’re pulling each other’s hair, Atsumu is shoving his brother’s face with his palm, Osamu’s knee is pressing against his brother’s chest. Their father lifts Osamu off Atsumu, scolding the boys loudly for starting a fight.

“Apologize!” Atsumu’s head is forced in a bow by his father.

Atsumu’s fingers are clenched in a fist, “I’m sorry.” He’s gritting through his teeth. He has a scar on his cheek from his brother and he watches with a heavy glare at the way Osamu has his hand in yours, leading you into the home with their mom.

Atsumu plays by himself outside, his father watching him throw around the volleyball for an hour. He catches the ball and holds it still when he hears the door of the home opening. For a second he turns thinking Osamu has decided to come out and play but he scowls when you’re walking to him with your pretty blue polka dot dress.

“I brought you a cookie.” You have a plate in your hands, chocolate chip cookies looking freshly made. He reaches but his hand knocks the plate out of your hands, the cookies sadly falling onto the floor.

“Miya Atsumu!” His father’s stern voice sends a chill down his spine. Before he knows it, he’s being dragged into the home by the back of his shirt.

Atsumu thinks, it’s your fault he’s always getting in trouble.

After Osamu walks you home, Atsumu is allowed to come out of his room. He’s back outside and when he walks through the grass, something shiny attracts his attention. His fingers reach out, gripping the butterfly pin he remembers in your hair. He stuffs the pin in his pocket, running to throw around the volleyball with his brother.

As time went on, Atsumu, Osamu, and you fell into a respective trio dynamic. You were close-knit with Osamu, sharing similar interests in movies, games, and books. With Atsumu, you bickered and spat with him over every little thing; he stopped pulling your hair but that only egged him to think of other modes of torture. Osamu was always there to beat his brother up for you, someone’s got to knock him down a peg and that’s exactly what Osamu did.

By the time the twins entered junior high, Atsumu was beginning to notice he was the third wheel and the only way you’d ever look his way was when he tormented you. He’d spill his drinks on you, eat your food, purposely poke your sides to make you jump, scare you from around the corner, and even just plainly verbally hurt you.

“Did you gain weight?” Atsumu poked your stomach. You slap his hand away, trying to ignore him until Osamu arrived. You should have known better than to walk with Atsumu. He slings an arm around your shoulders, “Did you look in the mirror today when you got ready?”

His cackle is blow to your heart, you jab an elbow into his side, your palm wiping away a stray tear.

“Are you crying?” As much as Atsumu doesn’t want to laugh, because he doesn’t, he feels guilty, horrible even, but his automatic reaction is to chuckle, “Hey, I’m“ His apology is cut off when a fist forces him to step back.

Osamu blows on his fist, he looks at his brother with a grin, “Call it twin telepathy, I just knew you were being mean.”

Not much changed in high school, him a mere second year and you a third year. The only change he can think of is the fact that now you had a whole team to back you up. Kita was rather sharp in detecting Atsumu being a little prick to you, Suna took pride in tripping the blonde if he as much tried to approach you, the other’s seem to take more of an approach of just being near you. After all, you being their volleyball club manager was more important than Atsumu.

“Hey.” Atsumu’s voice stops you dead in your tracks before you can even step foot into the gymnasium to start setting up, “What’s with that on your face?”

Your hand instinctively flies to your cheeks, “What?”

His hand wildly gestures to his own face, “You trying to impress someone? Make-up won’t do you any good.”

You didn’t think anyone would notice the thin layer of foundation you put on or the minimal line of eyeliner; even your eyeshadow was so sheer, you wondered how he even saw it. You give him a cold shoulder, “Go fall off a cliff Atsumu.”

He follows you into the gym, setting his bag down onto one of the benches. He makes his way behind you, his finger dipped into your skirt, pulling at the waistband, “Oi, you have a rip in your skirt.”

“What are you doing?!” Osamu drops his bag at the entrance of the gym, he’s running, tackling his brother to the ground.

“Get the fuck off me!” Atsumu is shoving his brother.

Osamu is digging his brother’s face into the floor, “You’re being a perv!”

“Fuck you!” Atsumu is on top of his brother now.

You could clear up the situation if they weren’t so engrossed in murdering each other. They continue to roll on the floor, taking turns shoving the other’s face into the ground. You use their distracted minds to pull your skirt around. He was telling the truth, it was barely noticeable but there was a tiny rip on the waistband, probably where he had been pulling.

Atsumu is biting the insides of his mouth, he had been scolded by Kita when Osamu explained what had happened, and even when you explained he had no ill intentions; Kita still lectured him on how it isn’t appropriate to touch a girl without her permission. Now he’s running laps around the gym with the rest of the team while you fiddle with the fabric of your skirt.

“Here.” You look up at him, Atsumu had disappeared for ten minutes and when he returned, he towered over you, in his hand a small sewing kit, “If you keep playing with it, you’ll end up ripping the entire skirt. No one wants to see that.”

Even when he’s being nice, he has to throw in a blow to your self-esteem.

“Thanks.” You say bitterly, “But I don’t know how to sew.” Your finger scratches against your head, “I know, I’m stupid.”

You’re not. Atsumu wants to say.

You shift uncomfortably when he suddenly takes a knee. He pulls the thread from the kit, looping it through the needle to make a small knot.

“Can I?” He’s asking permission to touch you and you merely nod.

Compared to his usual self, Atsumu’s touch is soft. You stare at how concentrated he is, stitching the ripped fabric so that it looks almost brand new. Though your uniform skirt was black, the thread he chose was vibrant red. He leans his head near your hip, he uses his teeth to sever the rest of the thread. His breath hot, you could barely feel it through the fabric of your shirt. Your cheeks tint with a blush when he briefly catches your gaze, he looks away quickly.

“What are you doing now?!” Osamu has returned from his long bathroom break; his hand pulls his brother back by the neck of his shirt.

“Samu!” You wave your hands around, “It’s alright, he was just helping me.” You point to the red thread of your skirt.

Atsumu has his hands up in mercy, Osamu eyes him, “I’m onto you.”

“What? Why?!”

Osamu throws a volleyball at his brother’s head, “Because! You’re an asshole!”

“We’re twins, so by default, you’re an asshole too.”

Atsumu starts to run, Osamu tackles him pretty quickly.

There’re girls piled at the door of Atsumu’s classroom, one by one they come in as though they’re presenting their sacrifices to the king himself. He has chocolates stacked to the ceiling, the teachers are already spreading news that they can’t yell at him since they are gifts and if he was forced to throw any away, the female student body would wreak havoc.

The second-year girls slink back when they spot you, a third year that has all the second-year boys turning heads. Some are boldly stopping you to present their own chocolates which you take sweetly. They sigh happily when you walk away.

“Please accept my confession!”

You enter as the class falls dead silent, you’ve come to the second year classroom to give your gifts to the volleyball boys but you’ve stumbled into what seems to be a public love confession to Atsumu. He leans back in his seat, balancing on the back two legs of the chair as he looks up to the girl. She’s shaking from anxiety with her chocolates out for him, the students begin to whisper the longer he takes to answer. You pity her because Atsumu is a complicated person, you just never know what he’s thinking or what he’ll do next.

“Sorry sweetheart, can’t accept any more chocolates. Teacher says I have too much.” Atsumu settles himself onto the four legs of his chair, “You can try Osamu.”

Some of the students let out audible gasps at his comment. You watch her lower her head, brushing past your shoulder in a dejected fashion. The class goes back to bustling rather quickly. Suna sits straight up when he spots you at the door, he taps on Osamu’s desk, the male turning away from the window. Atsumu turns to look over his shoulder, his lips in a thin line when you walk towards the three.

“Happy Valentine’s day.” You have three bags in your hand, you settle one on Osamu’s desk, one falls into the hands of Suna and the last lingers between your fingers. Atsumu stares at it, he notices you have scribbled his name on the side.

The longer you stand without giving it to him, the more he gets irritated. His leg bounces rapidly, he notices the ugly boxes of chocolates squished between your arm and side; pathetic boxes given by pathetic guys. He could do better.

“I just came to drop these off.” Your voice is starting to fade as you notice the last bag still in your hand. You flip the bag around, Osamu and Suna stare at it, a weak glance to their setter, “I’ll see you guys later.”

Osamu got cookies and a gift card to the café he’s been dying to try out. Suna got cookies and a cute little fox plush. Atsumu got nothing but a blow to his pride. He’s sitting arms crossed, knee bouncing against his desk as he refuses to look at Osamu and Suna. Atsumu wonders what you had put in the bag for him.

He had thought long and hard about his gift, Atsumu wasn’t planning on getting you anything for Valentine’s day but the team insisted that it would be a good day to show their appreciation for their manager. When Atsumu asked Osamu what he had gotten for you, Osamu showed him the mug he bought that had a bunny on it. Apparently, the bunny changes color depending on the temperature of the drink. When Osamu asked what Atsumu had gotten, the male simply shrugged his shoulders but the butterfly pin in his pocket pokes at his skin.

The group chat with the team has signified that he’s the last one who hadn’t given his gift yet. He can’t seem to find the time to pull you aside and he can’t find the courage to waltz into your classroom looking for you.

Meet me after classes, near the garden shed.

You reread the text just to make sure that it was correct. A part of you thought maybe his text was a joke meant to leave you hanging outside in the cold but as you near, you can clearly see his tall figure. His back is to you, he’s kicking the snow on the ground, it’s freezing and you’re jogging slightly to reach him.

“Hey.”

He whips around at your voice. His nose is red, trying to hide himself in his scarf. His eyes fall to your hands, you still have the bag but you’re making sure that the side that has his name doesn’t show. His hands are dug into his pockets, he’s twirling the butterfly pin.

“Atsumu?” Your voice shakes him, your eyes wide and just waiting for him to say something, anything.

Snow begins to fall, you look up, your hand lifted to catch the snowflakes that melts immediately in your palm.

“I.” Atsumu can’t find his next words because as you look at him, his heart is pounding in his chest. His eyes are falling and he catches the faint red thread on your skirt; he was sure you had thrown the skirt out, he recalls you telling Osamu that you had ordered a new skirt, “I’m sorry.”

“Hm?” You lean in, “What?”

Atsumu’s clenching the butterfly pin. He’s remembering every moment he’s ever had with you, all the hair pulling, all the nasty words, all the dirty tricks, “I said I’m sorry.” His lips are chapped, cheeks turning red from the cold, or maybe from the way he feels his heartrate accelerating, “Okay?”

You’re confused, “Did something happen? Did you get into a fight with Osamu again?”

Osamu, Osamu, Osamu. Is that all the two of you will ever talk about? Is that the only topic of common ground that you had with him? Osamu this, Osamu that.

“No.” He presses his thumb on the hairpin, “Whatever.” He sighs, his hands are removed from his pockets, in his palm you stare at the pin, “Happy Valentine’s day loser.”

Your finger brushes against his skin and you stare with wonder at the butterfly pin you recall bawling to your parents for losing, “Where’d you find this?” You’re smiling, for the first time, you’re giving him a smile.

“It’s not really important where I found it.” It sat on his dresser for years, some days he forgot it was there, other days he stared at it when getting dressed.

You’re giggling with glee, you’re pushing the hairpin to pull back strands of your hair, it’s bright blue jewels contrast against the falling of snow. The pin rests above your ear, Atsumu stares in awe. A snowball smacks against his neck, it jolts Atsumu out of his trance and he’s alarmingly looking around.

“What are you doing?!” Osamu screams from a distance, Suna’s phone out had captured the accurate shot.

“Goddamit Samu!” Atsumu screams, the cold torturing his skin. Atsumu quickly forms a snowball, you scream when another snowball hits Atsumu’s side, it exploded and struck you as collateral.

Atsumu chucks the snowball at his brother, though he tried to run, Osamu was hit straight in the face. You let out a gasp in unison with Atsumu, Osamu is building another snowball and just as he’s about to throw, Atsumu grips you by the arms, putting you in front of him.

“Tsumu! No!” You screech.

His stomach jitters, you called him by his nickname. Osamu chucks the snowball and to protect your face, you turn in Atsumu’s hands, your fingers clinging to his jacket and you’re laughing. God, you’re laughing with him.

The snowball sends you forward, your cheek pressed against his chest, your laughter vibrates onto his skin. He’s burning, he’s hot, he’s sweating. He’s suddenly gulping, thirsty, aching to drink something. Another snowball is thrown, this time it hits him in the shoulder.

“Don’t use y/n as a shield, ya dickhead!” Osamu is approaching, this time he nears with a snowball in his hand.

You’re just realizing now that you’re exposed legs are freezing. You shiver into Atsumu briefly before pulling away from him. You escape from his grasp to skip over to Suna. You’re clinging to Suna’s arm, teeth chattering, and you watch through Suna’s phone as Osamu smacks the snowball into his brother’s face. Of course, this causes Atsumu to tackle Osamu; Suna stops the recording.

“I got like ten million videos of them rolling on the floor.”

Atsumu ruffles his hair, he’s looking in the mirror to make sure all the dirt and snow mixture is out. Osamu approaches next to him, running his hand under the water. They don’t meet gazes but as they stare into their own reflections, it was like they were looking right at each other.

“Don’t do it.” Osamu states. He’s pulled one of the paper towels, wiping his hands as he doesn’t break eye contact with his reflection, “Don’t go acting like you loved her this entire time. You treated her like shit and now suddenly you think you’re in love.”

Atsumu feels guilt build up in the pit of his stomach. Osamu leaves the bathroom, leaving Atsumu to grip onto the sink. The feeling of you pressed against his chest makes blue butterflies swirl in his abdomen. He shoves the feeling down, he tucks it into the back of his heart, he puts you on the back burner.

His cell rings, Suna’s text tells him that everyone has decided to head to the gym first. He takes the time to wipe his hands, throwing the paper towel into the trash, he spots a brown paper bag next to the door of the bathroom. His name is scribbled on the side in your handwriting.

Atsumu got cookies, a volleyball keychain with his name etched into it, and a card. He sits in the bathroom, card in between his fingers, streaks of tears down his cheek while he stuffs the cookies into his mouth.

Thank you for helping me that one day with my skirt. I was going to buy a new one but then cancelled the order since I’ll be graduating any way. I never did get to thank you so I’m doing it now.

The card continues with a different colored pen.

I love the butterfly hairpin, thank you for finding it. I hope that we can become friends.

Atsumu heavily breathes, you were so nice, for someone like him, you were incredibly nice. You were so nice his heart was clenching and somewhere in the world, blue butterflies are flapping their wings.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #atsumu scenarios #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya #miya atsumu #hq scenarios #hq atsumu

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lostinwildflowers · 3 years ago

Text

Strange Magic

Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader

Summary: In a world where dark elves are trying to take over, light fairies are being hunted and captured to be used as weapons. You are on the run from them when you enter a forest, accidentally injuring yourself. A mysterious wyvern appears before you, will it hurt you or lend you a helping hand?

Word Count: 10.5K

Warnings: slow-burn(It wasn't supposed to be I swear, I hope I did this right), pining, mentions of blood, swearing, choking(minor torture), fantasy AU!, Morphling!Ushijima(called a wyvern), Fairy!Reader(physical appearance is human), uhm I made some creatures up, angst, and fluff of course :D

A/N: Hey y'all this is my submission for @bluebellhairpin aka Nemo's Fantasy Collab! I wanted to continue stepping out of my box, so I wrote for good ole Ushiwaka for this fic! Please leave a comment or reblog this, I worked really hard and planned this out for a long time. Thank you and enjoy :D -Birch <3

You didn’t know where else to run, the thundering of hooves sounding out everywhere as you charge towards the forest. The dark elves were on you in an instant when you crossed their border, and you should have known better than to run.

War cries could be heard from behind you, and you duck under some vines, terror ripping through your body as you could start to make out individual voices.

You try to tread as quietly as you can through the forest, the dark green canopy thick and very high above you. Your (colored) eyes catch onto some small blue wisps floating through the sky, the small creatures twirling around in a friendly hello.

There isn’t time to dawdle though, Oikawa’s elves would be on you in a second if you didn’t keep moving. You wind your way through the trees, the voices and clangs of the elf warriors fading as you make your way deeper into the woods.

The bad thing was that the canopy was so thick you were starting to lose your vision, and you were terrified to use your powers. As a light fairy, you could produce soft beams of light at will whenever you were in a good headspace. But whenever you got mad or frightened, you lost almost all control over it, leading to forest fires and devastation.

You settle for emitting a small bit of light from your pointer finger, allowing it to glow like a soft candle as you pick your way over huge and gnarly roots, the material of your skirt getting caught on the jagged edges of the moss.

Crackling in front of you stops you in your tracks, and you are soon met face to face with a small herd of shadow deer. The black creatures were known to be kind and friendly toward those around them, so you smile in relief when they simply acknowledge you as you walk by.

There must be water nearby if there are shadow deer around. Hopefully, there aren’t any water sprites, those things are painful to deal with, you think to yourself, once again tugging on your skirt as you scutter around a particularly nasty vine.

Your breathing had managed to calm down at this point, the only thing you could hear was the rustling of the shadow deer next to you munching on the grass and the faintest roar of water in the background.

A squeal almost leaves your lips as your eyes focus on the faint path in front of you, pointing your glowing finger forward for a better view. When you catch sight of a shimmering dark blue sparkle you immediately start making your way down the dirt path, pink and purple glowing mushrooms lining the way down to the water’s edge.

At this point, you were completely lost in the middle of the forest, your surroundings glowing a deep midnight purple. You look around the path briefly to see if any small animals would cut in front of you and you think, I bet nothing is out here in this twilight. It’s almost impossible to see without a light.

You were lost in your thoughts and trying to remain calm, keeping your light steady, that you didn’t realize the path had turned from dirt into wet stone. Your feet slide out from underneath you, a loud crying leaving your lips as you hit the ground, your right calf ripping against a huge and sawtoothed rock.

In your haste to get close to the water, you also didn’t notice a sharp pair of green eyes were watching you from across the riverbed, eyes that seemed to glow neon with intensity.

You groan at the pain radiating through your back and your butt. The fall had made you land clumsily, causing your light to flicker out in haste.

In the dark twilight of the forest, you could see the faint gleam of rushing water, and you sit up slowly as another whimper leaves your lips when you shift your body. At a quick glance, you can see a wet, dark red liquid on your leg, and then a burning pain starts to set in.

You cough lowly, gasping in pain as you try to clutch your leg, eyes welling with unshed tears. A loud splash in the water sings out as a huge shadow begins to loom over you.

You are met with bright and shining olive green eyes, and you feel your heart start to race and your stomach clench in fear as you gaze up at the wyvern in front of you.

A harsh and dissonant screech leaves your lips as you try to scramble away from the huge creature that resembled a two-legged dragon. The sharp green eyes pierce you to the point where you feel like you can’t move, but the pain in your leg tells you that you can’t move because you’re injured.

In your panic, you accidentally start spewing light from your hands and onto the soft, dry leaves next to you. They easily catch fire, the orange and yellow glow of the flames lighting up the huge creature in front of you.

You could make out large, dark green and brown scales all over its chest, and you catch sight of a huge and swinging tail behind it. The flames start curling up a dried tree on the end of the path, and you begin your scrambling again, trying to crawl away from the monster in front of you.

In a flash, the wyvern turns around, its tail cutting deep into the water as it puts out the flames around you in an enormous wave. The path is dark again, the only light being from the few squished mushrooms you scrambled over and the olive glow of the wyvern’s eyes.

The figure of the wyvern shimmers for a few seconds before your eyes, and in a heartbeat, a tall and muscular figure stands in front of you. His eyes don’t seem to glow as much in his human form, but the intensity is still there as he begins to walk toward you.

Your heart is beating erratically at this point and you point your hand at him and shout panicked, “Get back or I will blast you!”

That immediately stops the large figure in front of you, the man stops dead in his tracks and puts one hand out in front of him slowly. He blinks once, his eyes staying focused on yours as he states, “I’m not going to hurt you. I am here to help.”

You manage to shuffle back onto your butt, sticking both hands out in front of you. Your eyes are wide with fear and you yell back at him, “How do I know you aren’t working with the dark elves to capture me?!”

This causes the man to tense all of a sudden, his large frame freezing at the sound of “dark elves”. His olive-green eyes remain latched on your own as he slowly crouches down, his hand still held out in a peaceful manner.

“I am not working for Oikawa,” he states lowly, his voice gravelly and deep. You just stare at him distrustfully, so the man continues, “My name is Ushijima Wakatoshi, but you can call me Ushijima.”

You put one hand down as you start to gather your feet underneath you, preparing to stand up. In your movements though, you gasp in pain, and Ushijima shuffles forward to help you.

Quickly you put both hands out again and you yell, “Stay back!” With that, a small burst of light flies from your hands, but Ushijima ducks out of the way easily, turning his head to watch the light sail past him.

He turns his head back to you and he replies, “Your aim isn’t too good, you must be in a lot of pain. I know you light fairies only have a limit to how much light you can expel.”

Now it’s your turn to freeze at his words, your hands dropping as you look at him in shock. Your mouth remains hanging open as you stutter out, “H- how did you know?”

A frown finds its way onto Ushijima’s face as he murmurs, “My friend, Tendo, was a light fairy. He was taken by Oikawa’s dark elves when he wouldn’t turn himself in to be used as their weapon. As far as I know, they killed him.”

At Ushijima’s confession, you sigh dejectedly and nod slowly, “I’m sorry to hear that, Ushijima. There aren’t many of us light fairies left. My name is L/n Y/n, and I’m on the run from Oikawa and his men.”

Ushijima seems to soften as you introduce yourself and he blankly responds, “You are injured. You can’t possibly run from the dark elves in this state. Let me help you, my hut isn’t too far from here.”

You nod wearily, trying once again to get up on your own, by whimpering when you brush your leg against the hard stones underneath you. Warm hands on your waist haul you to your feet, and you are met with those same intelligent green eyes.

“It might be best if I carry you, we have to cross the water and there is no way you can wade through that on your own,” Ushijima remarks, his hands lingering by your sides as he awaits your response.

You go to argue with him, but as you apply pressure to your injured leg, it wobbles and gives out on you. Ushijima’s firm grasp is around you in an instant, and he doesn’t say anything as he picks you up in his arms bridal style.

Ushijima is very cautious as he carries you through the water, the coolness of it lapping at the bottom of his tank top. Once on the shore, Ushijima asks you how you are doing, and you simply shrug, “I don’t know, you’re the one carrying me.”

With that, a small smile curls at the edges of Ushijima’s lips, and he sets out for his small hut. The walk to his shack is quite beautiful, you must admit. On this side of the river, the moss glows a gentle emerald green, and the tree trunks are a mix of black, navy, and burgundy barks.

There are a few small creatures you see along the way, one or two more shadow deer, a few red and oranges wisps too. What catches your attention is the fire sprites hanging around the tops of the trees.

The fire sprites were known for their very short tempers, but you were surprised to see how kindly they smiled at you in Ushijima’s arms. The man doesn’t seem to notice them himself, his pace not wavering as he maneuvers through the trees toward his home.

You notice Ushijima relaxes slightly at the sight of his house against the twilight sky. The hut is pretty small, enough to support one person, I suppose, you think to yourself as you take in the compact building.

Ushijima is ever the gentleman as he helps you inside the front door, boarding it shut behind him as he guides you over to a table. He clears it as quickly as he can, taking the pieces of parchment and moving them to a smaller desk.

You look around the house as you plop down in one of the wooden chairs, eyes scanning to see a small fireplace, couch and kitchen. Ushijima appears in your vision, two lit lanterns in his hands.

He sets one on the table you were sitting at, and he hangs the other on a hook by the door. After that, he finds a drawer, pulling out 10 or so candles. He quickly lights each of them, setting them up throughout the room to provide ample light.

It was at this moment, with his back turned to you, that you realized how handsome Ushijima was. He was littered with ropes of muscle, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the beefiness of his back that you see peeking out from under his tank top.

In your ogling, you hardly register it when he turns around, his gaze soft and curious as it meets your own. He sets the medical supplies on the table as he takes his place in a chair next to you and asks, “Y/n? Are you alright? You look slightly dazed.”

You just rub at your eyes and shake your head side to side twice to clear your thoughts as you mumble back, “Uh, yeah. I think I just lost a lot of blood, but I should be okay.”

Ushijima nods in reply as he starts to prep the supplies, grabbing a small glass bottle of alcohol and some gauze. Kind green eyes meet your own troubled (colored) ones and he asks quietly, “Is it alright if I clean your cut now?”

You blush faintly and scoot your leg over to him, pulling up the hem of your skirt so he had access to your wound. Ushijima’s hands are rough and warm against your smooth skin, but he is gentle as he picks up your foot to set in his lap.

In a few motions, he wets a small piece of cloth with water, cleaning up the edges of the cut from where the river water mixed with your blood. After that, he takes a clean cloth and allows it to soak in the alcohol for a second, glancing at you and saying, “This is going to sting.”

You grip onto the edge of the desk as he dabs at the wound, and you can’t help the way your knee tugs toward your chest at the sharp sting of it. You bang your knee slightly at your sudden reflex, and Ushijima stares blankly at you and says, “I told you it was going to sting.”

An embarrassed flush covers your face as you nod, stretching your leg back out. Ushijima stops you though, moving his chair closer so he’s sat next to you, your thigh slung over one of his legs as he looks down at the cut intensely.

“I’m going to have to clean this thoroughly. I can see dirt in there, and it could get infected if not cleaned properly,” he states monotonously, looking down at your scared face.

His expression softens at the clear panic etched on your features and he glances away while mumbling, “You can grab onto my arm if that will help ease your pain.”

So while he gets to work on cleaning your wound, your hands find a place around the girth of his large bicep. He does his best to work as efficiently as possible, but when he has to pluck a few pieces of grass and rubble out, your hands tighten around the muscle to the point you thought you were hurting him.

Ushijima is nothing but kind and patient as he wraps your calf with some gauze, securing it with some medical tape before setting it on the ground tenderly. His hands don’t linger as long as you would have liked, because he’s soon grabbing all of the dirty supplies and finding a place to dispose of them.

As Ushijima washes his hands in a pail of water he murmurs quietly, “You can sleep on the bed for as long as you like. I can rest out here by the fire.”

You wince as you turn to face him and you say, “I can’t possibly take your bed, this is your home. I’m just a guest here because you were kind enough to help me out. I don’t even know how to repay you.”

Ushijima almost smiles at this as he shakes his head, “No, I insist. You need the room on the bed for your leg to stretch out. I will take the couch to keep an eye out for intruders. No one should be around or have followed us, no one knows where I live except for you.”

You open your mouth to object again, but you think better of it and instead ask, “So you said you knew a light fairy? Oh, what was his name… oh, Tendo?”

Ushijima’s large frame freezes from drying his hands, his back turned toward you. You see him sigh and turn around slowly, sitting in the chair next to you again. Ushijima runs his hands over his face, his fingers trailing through his olive-brown hair as he takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Tendo was my best friend,” he starts, “I’m a wyvern, and Tendo grew up next to where my family lived. He was never afraid of my morphling form, and I was never afraid of his light powers.”

You listen as Ushijima tells you his backstory and about how he ended up in the twilight forest. He mentions how his family moved across the country without him, and that he was sought after for his hardened scales as armor.

In turn, you explained how the dark elf king, Oikawa Tooru, was hunting the light fairies for his own personal army. You tell the story of how they caught you on the edge of their territory, leaving them to follow you in pursuit as you made your way into the twilight forest.

Deep in the dark lands, an obsidian castle stood high against the rising moon, one of the tallest towers flickering with the light from a holding chamber.

In this chamber, a defiant red-headed light fairy was chained, his spirit not broken as the dark elf king and his loyal soldiers tried to corrupt him.

A gasp of, “I will never, submit to you, Oikawa!” leaves the redhead’s lips as the dark elf uses his power to choke the air out of Tendo’s lungs. The dark elf king just smirks madly as he releases his power, allowing the light fairy to crash to his knees.

Oikawa turns to his left and calls, “General Iwaizumi, bring in The Siren.” The dark-haired male nods, and slips down a blackened hallway within the castle.

A few minutes go by before General Iwaizumi is accompanied by a silver-haired male covered in patchy blue and green scales. Oikawa turns to the siren and states, “Semi, you need to sing this foolish light fairy into command.”

Semi nods hesitantly under Oikawa’s command and makes his way toward the chained-up fairy. Oikawa and the other dark elves leave, locking the two creatures in the room as Semi’s enchanting voice starts to sound out.

The following morning in the twilight forest is surprisingly calm, and you groan as you roll over in the large king-sized bed. A broken cry leaves your lips as you feel pain in your leg, and in a few seconds, Ushijima is standing at the frame of the door, concern written all over his features.

“Y/n,” he rushes, “What’s wrong?” He answers his own question when he pulls back the sheets on the bed to expose your leg, blood coating every inch of the bandage he had wrapped last night.

Ushijima’s eyes harden in determination as he glances at the pain etched on your face. Without another word, he turns and strides out of the room, his hands clenched at his sides as he finds more medical supplies.

In a minute, he’s back by your side and murmuring softly, “Y/n, I need you to take your skirt off, it got tangled between your legs when you slept, causing your wound to open in the night.”

You are half asleep and in pain as you listen to his words, and you grumble out, “Can you at least help me to my feet? I don’t think I can stand up on my own.”

Ushijima is immediately by your side, sliding one hand behind your shoulders while the other sits at the small of your back, helping to heave you to your feet. You stumble slightly, but Ushijima catches you as you fall into his chest, your forehead making contact with his sternum.

You close your eyes in pain as you mumble out, “Ow, you’re bony.” Ushijima huffs at this, a genuine smile sitting on his lips as he steadies you.

Ushijima is very respectful as he helps you out of your skirts, his eyes only staying above your chest or below your knees as much as he can. He starts to take off the soiled tape once he has you sit on the edge of the bed, and he kneels in front of you to remove the blood-soaked gauze.

His hands feel nice, you think to yourself as he situated the new wrap of gauze, his brows furrowed in concentration. You blink shyly at your own thoughts as he stands up and walks over to a chest near the end of the bed.

Ushijima pulls out a pair of pants and a large green shirt and sheepishly rubs his head as he looks at you. He starts, “I, uhm. I don’t have any clothes that will fit you, and your skirts will keep getting in the way. You can wear these.”

Your face flushes with warmth as he hands you the clothes, slipping out of the room to let you get changed. As he walks away, Ushijima doesn’t understand why his heart is beating faster and he can’t stop thinking of you sitting on his bed with his clothes in your hands.

It takes you a little while to get changed, but once you do you hesitantly call, “Uhm, Ushijima? Could you help me to the kitchen?”

At that, Ushijima walks back into the bedroom with a small plate of fresh berries, some bread, and a small piece of meat. He tries to calm his breathing as his eyes catch you looking divine in his clothes, but he can’t help the way the tips of his ears burn red.

He clears his throat and says, “I made some food for you, Y/n. I need to leave you here and head to the nearest town to get supplies. If I’m not careful, your leg could end up infected, and I need more bandages and some clothes for you.”

You shuffle toward the food, the collar of the shirt sliding down to expose your collarbones as you reach for a strawberry. Ushijima has to rip his eyes away from you as he bows slightly, walking toward the door.

You look rapidly at the sound of his retreating footsteps and you yell out, “Ushijima, wait!” The tall man stops as he passes through the doorway, placing one hand on the frame he turns his head over his shoulder and asks, “Yes, Y/n?”

Butterflies erupt finds in your stomach as you manage to say, “Thank you, Ushijima. For everything.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you almost think you said something wrong when all you can focus on are his bright green eyes.

But then Ushijima gives you a gentle, closed-lipped smile before saying, “I will be gathering my cart for the next little while, I will tell you whenever I am leaving.” At that, he leaves you in the tightly packed bedroom to go prepare for his trip.

The day goes by pretty slowly at the start, as you had woken up early in the morning due to pain. Ushijima had left right as the forest started to shimmer a mulberry shade of purple, the sun trying its hardest to brighten the dark woods.

You try to rest on the bed, but you feel bad for having bled all over Ushijima’s sheets, so you take your time in standing up, carefully peeling the blankets off the bed and over to the washbasin you had seen when you walked in.

You didn’t necessarily walk around the house, but you limped with care as you lifted the sheets off the bed and carried them into the small living room. You add a log to the fire burning in the hearth and your mind wanders, Ushijima must have added wood before he left this morning.

Somehow you manage to tug the basin closer to the fire, allowing the heat of the flames to warm the basin slightly as you begin scrubbing at the bloodstains. This takes up most of your late morning and into lunch, having to stretch your leg out carefully as to not cramp it.

At this point in the day, the forest was a lot brighter, as the wind was moving quickly through the canopy, splitting open the dark blanket to allow some light to shine down onto the forest floor.

You hang the blankets up in front of the fire in hopes they would dry before Ushijima would get home. You feel your stomach grumble from all of the moving around you were doing, and the dull ache in your leg only intensifies throughout the day.

You look at the small kitchen within the hut, and you see the small box of berries that Ushijima had grabbed fruit from whenever he gave you your breakfast. As you gaze upon the small fruit you think, I really don’t want to eat all of these, but I don’t know where else to get food.

Thus, you end up snacking on the berries for a while, filling up your stomach while also leaving plenty of strawberries, raspberries, and wild berries in the bottom of the small basket. Once your belly was pleasantly full, you crawl over to the couch where Ushijima had slept and you curl up into a ball, letting sleep overtake your exhausted form.

It’s late afternoon when Ushijima returns, the sounds of wings beating alerting you of his presence. You quickly get up from the couch where you had been dozing, and you head straight for the front door, undoing the deadbolt in a hasty swing.

You fling the door open to be met with the green and brown wyvern you know to be Ushijima, his eyes ferociously green in his morphling form. You notice the large cart on the expanse of his back and you recognize boxes and crates full of supplies.

You can’t help the awe that covers your features as you begin to walk toward Ushijima’s huge form. He quickly starts to transform, allowing the cart to slide off of his back gracefully before he is revealed in his human clothes.

Ushijima quickly starts heading toward you, picking up a jog when he sees you stumble. Just before you reach him, your injured leg dips down in a slight hole in the forest floor, and you trip, your face rushing toward the ground.

In a flash, Ushijima lunges forward, somehow managing to slide under you so you land on his chest with his back to the ground. He coughs once as he tries to regain the air in his lungs, and you tense as you feel pain ricochet through your legs.

Neither of you realizes that his hands are firmly wrapped around your waist, but as your head catches up with what happened you look down at him and ask, “Ushi- Ushijima, are you alright? You didn’t have to catch me you know.”

Ushijima just nods slightly and sputters out, “Hng, uh, yeah Y/n, I am fine. Is your leg alright?” You nod in response, and you notice that your lips are only a few inches away from his own plump ones.

You can see smaller speckles of gold and brown within his sharp green eyes, and you feel yourself getting flustered by noticing his handsome features up close. You swear you see Ushijima’s eyes flick down to your lips, but you blame it on your vision failing you.

Ushijima’s hands tighten around your waist even more, his arms practically wrapping you in a hug to his chest when your leg slides off of his own. You flush under his warm gaze and his even warmer touches, your stomach filling with butterflies as he looks over your features.

“You are very beautiful,” Ushijima whispers softly, untangling one hand from around your waist to brush a piece of hair out of your eyes, tenderly tucking it behind your ear.

You don’t know what to say for a second, your cheeks getting hotter as he continues to look at you. You end up murmuring back a simple, “Thank you.”

Ushijima sits up slowly, your forehead moving to rest on his own as he shifts his weight forward. Your lips catch the side of his cheek in a soft kiss, and you pull away quickly at the realization of your actions.

You don’t notice the red staining Ushijima’s cheeks though, and he simply helps you stand up without another word.

The two of you work in tandem unpacking all of the supplies, Ushijima brings the crates inside while you start taking items out and reorganizing them. This goes on for an hour or so before Ushijima’s cart is cleared.

He locks the door behind the two of you, securing the deadbolt before swiveling around to the boxes. Ushijima glances at your leg and asks, “How does it feel? I managed to bargain for some pain medicine, if you need some I can grab it.”

You shake your head and say, “I’m alright as of now, but maybe before bed, I really don’t want to bleed all over your sheets again.” You glance absentmindedly at the sheets strung in front of the fireplace and you curse yourself for not putting them back on the bed earlier.

Ushijima’s gaze follows your own and he almost frowns when he sees the sheets hanging. He steps forward and states, “I’m sorry Y/n, I should have cleaned those before I left this morning. You probably overexerted yourself doing this.”

You smile up at the large man from where you are sitting and say, “No, it’s alright Ushi. I didn’t have anything else to do today, and I was the one who dirtied them.”

His hand tugs on the now dry sheets and he grumbles lowly, “I will put these back on the bed. You can help yourself to the meat crate on the table.”

You simply nod as he walks past you, and a fluttery feeling makes its way from your stomach and into your chest as you catch a whiff of the woodsy scent lingering on him from his journey.

These next few days are going to be interesting, you think to yourself. I don’t know what I’ll be able to do to make up for my injured leg, but I’ll have to figure something out. Ushijima is too kind for me to just leech off of him.

Days turn into weeks as your leg starts to heal, and you are walking a lot better than you had before. Ushijima was nothing but kind and compassionate toward you as you healed, making breakfast and dinner every single morning and evening without fail.

You, in turn, would help do laundry and collect berries and vegetables from the small garden Ushijima had next to his hut. Ushijima had objected at the start, but he realized you needed something to do while he helped you heal and hide from the dark elves.

More recently you had decided to show him your powers, starting off with emitting a soft and golden glow from the tips of your fingers. Whenever your leg was completely healed you showed him how you could toss the beams of light like how you did when he first encountered you.

Ushijima found himself enjoying your presence more than he would have liked to admit. You had started filling the hole in his heart that had been made by Tendo’s absence and he was scared. He was scared that you would leave him or be taken away like how Tendo was, and he couldn’t let that happen.

Even worse yet, Ushijima was wanting to touch you. Not sexually or suggestively, but whenever you both would walk to the river to get water, he wanted to reach down and lace his fingers with your own.

He wanted to cuddle you on the couch in front of the fire when the nights got cold. He wanted you to grab onto his arm when you tripped or if you needed him for something.

Ushijima found himself wanting to be your person. He didn’t even know what to do about it because he didn’t know if you felt the same way or not.

Meanwhile, you wanted to rest your head on his shoulder after you set the fishing line and were waiting for something to catch. You wanted to chase after him in the field of wildflowers on the edge of the forest. You wanted him to kiss you on the forehead when you went to lie down in his bed.

You craved his touch after all of these months, his warm and rough hands sent shocks and shivers up your spine. His touch was electric and magnetic all at the same time, it caused you to shiver and shake with a simple graze on the hand.

You thought for sure you had ruined it one night when you had asked, “Ushijima, I know I have been a guest in your house for a while, and you’ve been calling me by my first name since we met. Is it alright if I called you Wakatoshi? Or even Toshi for short?”

The man had frozen where he was cutting vegetables for your small dinner. A pregnant silence hung in the air and you bit your lip in nervousness when he didn’t answer.

You shuffled on the couch as an embarrassed flush spread on your cheeks and you murmur, “I understand if you would like me to continue calling you-” “No,” he cuts you off.

“Please call me Wakatoshi or Toshi. You have been great company, you can call me whatever you like,” he continues as he resumes chopping up the carrot. You don’t notice the red on his neck and ears, and you don’t see the toothy grin that he lets slide onto his lips.

There was another instance when you had been making small sandwiches for lunch while Ushijima was out chopping wood. He had been at it all morning and you thought he might like a glass of lemonade.

What you weren’t prepared for was to walk around the corner of the hut, a cup of lemonade in hand, and be met face to face with Ushijima’s muscled and very much shirtless back.

The sound of the cup hitting the ground made Ushijima whip around, the axe in his hand swinging as he faced you. When he saw your dazed look and redden cheeks, he immediately dropped the tool to his side.

“Are you alright? What’s going on?” he had asked you, raising up the axe above his head to lodge it into the piece of wood he had been chopping.

A squeak leaves your lips at the sound of the crack, and your feet step into the remnants of the lemonade on the ground. Ushijima turns back to you, his broad chest glistening with sweat as he walks over to you.

You can’t help but gulp as the huge man approaches you and then reaches down to pick up the cup, handing it to you with a gentle, “You accidentally dropped this.”

You just nod and take the cup from him, quickly limping and scurrying back into the hut. Your fingers at your face and eyes as you groan into your hand, and you look at the cup with disgust as you think, Have I really gotten this attracted to Ushijima? I know I’m living with him, but damn.

A few weeks after the lemonade incident, Ushijima took you down to the river to help him gather water to store for drinking. He carried two buckets on a long pole slung over his shoulder, and he let you carry a few bottles in a satchel slung across your body.

The two of you made simple small talk as the river approached, and Ushijima took the liberty of getting thigh-deep in the water to fill up the buckets of water before returning to shore.

You had simply crouched on the riverbed, reaching forward ever so slightly to fill up each bottle carefully. You watched for sand or any bugs that might have gotten in the way, so you didn’t see Ushijima behind you.

He rested a hand on your shoulder gently as he said, “The buckets are full, so whenever the bottles are ready we can head back to the house.”

Ushijima’s touch and low voice ended up scaring you, making you jump forward into the cold water of the river with a shrill scream. You ended up only rolling into the shallows, but your entire body was soaked head to toe when you emerged.

Your mouth hung open accusingly at Ushijima, whose expression was one of shock and fear as he regarded your wet figure. He steps toward you and into the shallows, reaching a hand out to say, “Oh my goodness, Y/n, I did not mean to scare you, I simply-”

A splash of water cuts him off as you shove water with your hands toward his tall frame. Ushijima slightly recoils at the sensation of the cool water on his skin, and he goes to ask you what you were doing until he sees the coy grin on your lips.

With his own chuckle, he reaches down and splashes you back, his feet guiding him deeper into the blue water of the river. A squeal flies from your lips as you try to scramble away from him, but his hands grab at you as he dunks you both in the refreshing river water.

Laughter sounds out from the two of you, your giggles sound like wind chimes compared to his deep baritone. You almost stop laughing just to hear the beautiful sound fall from his lips as you catch his gaze.

Ushijima rests his hands on your back, holding you close in the middle of the river as the two of you lock eyes. Water drips down from his hair and onto the plump apples of his cheeks, where a large and toothy grin awaited you.

You mirrored the cheerful look on his face, eyes squinting up at him as you rested your hands on his chest, your own torso heaving from the giggles still falling from your lips. The warmth from his body made your skin tingle from the temperature difference, and you found yourself getting lost in his comforting green eyes.

A loud buzzing can be heard from the other side of the river, catching both you and Ushijima’s attention rapidly as a horde of water sprites fly at you angrily. Ushijima pushes you towards the shore as he follows in suit, his clothes clinging tightly to his muscled form as he grabs his buckets and lifts the bar across his back.

You grab for the few bottles you had managed to fill, pushing them into the damp satchel quickly as you clamper out of the water and to where Ushijima was waiting. The two of you set off as quickly as you can without spilling the buckets, laughter and giggles spewing from both of you as you make your way back to the hut.

Then there was your biggest and most embarrassing moment yet. You had come to learn that the days in the twilight forest were warm, so a shirt and pants were fine, some days even a cropped shirt was acceptable.

However, the nights in the forest were absolutely brutal, as temperatures dropped rapidly, and that was why Ushijima kept the firewood supply stocked constantly.

The night had gone as usual, the sun was setting which meant it was time for the front door to be locked and the board to be set in place. Ushijima had the fire going from dinner and was poking at it slightly to shift the embers around.

He still insisted on sleeping on the smaller couch, even though you had offered him the bed countless times. Ushijima would always say something about how he was raised to respect women and that you were recovering from an injury and he didn’t want to take advantage of you.

But that night, you laid shivering and cold in Ushijima’s expansive bed. The comforters did little to warm you, and you even wore one of Ushijima’s larger shirts over your own smaller one in an attempt to warm yourself.

The constant cold and shivering had you exhausted, but sleep couldn’t quite seem to find you. This led you to your current predicament.

You were standing in the doorway of the bedroom, facing the kitchen and the soft glow from the fire. You couldn’t see Ushijima, but you knew he was laying on the other side of the couch, hopefully asleep.

Soft footsteps lead you over to the front of the fire, and with as much care as you can manage, you settle down next to the hearth, hands held out to try to warm them up.

A sigh leaves your lips as the fire begins to heat your fingers up, and you tuck your knees under your chin as you bask in the quiet warmth. A blanket being draped over your shoulders makes you turn hastily, and you see Ushijima standing behind you, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

“If you were cold you should have told me, I would have added more logs to the fire,” Ushijima states quietly, his arms crossing over his chest as he regards your small, balled-up figure on the floor.

You glance at the flames to keep your eyes off of his handsome face as you murmur, “I thought you were asleep, Toshi. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Ushijima carefully sits down next to you, opening his left arm to invite you into his chest for extra warmth. You shyly scoot closer to him, tucking your cheek into his chest and letting one hand rest on his thigh.

He wraps his arm around you slowly, as if to not scare you as he pulls you closer to his chest. His green eyes linger on the top of your head as his voice rumbles, “You are my main priority right now, Y/n. I have to tend to your needs, even if it is as simple as warmth.”

You nod slightly, the body heat radiating from Ushijima sending tingles up and down your spine. The warmth starts to spread all over, and as you start to drift off in Ushijima’s arms, you could swear something touched your head.

In a few moments, you were asleep in Ushijima’s lap, and he couldn’t believe he had actually kissed your forehead. Ever since you had accidentally kissed his cheek, he had wanted to return the kiss to you somehow, and he had been given the perfect opportunity.

The following morning, the fire had burnt out when you woke up, but you weren’t cold at all. Yes, there was a blanket covering you, but the weight of a solid and firmly muscled arm was wrapped around your torso, locking you in place and constantly giving out heat.

Behind the said arm was the looming figure of Ushijima, whose eyes were peeked open slightly, watching and waiting to see when you would wake up. He felt you shift against him, and that’s when his eyes popped open.

He lifted his arm slightly, allowing you to turn to face him as you blinked sleepily up at him, (colored) orbs half-lidded with a lazy smile on your lips. Ushijima smiles softly in return, his arm tightening again when you nuzzle into his chest.

Neither of you discusses the way you enjoyed holding each other, especially when you have to untangle from each other’s limbs and begin your day. After breakfast, you call out, “Toshi, I need to go refill our basket full of berries, I’ll be near the river if you need me for anything.”

Ushijima nods from where he’s sketching a map at the table before turning to you and saying, “Be careful out there since you are going by alone. I know you can protect yourself but some creatures won’t be kind to you.”

You roll your eyes and nod, giving the green-eyed man a mock salute as you grab the basket, hauling it to your hip as you make your way out of the small shack and into the woods.

The walk to the river only takes a few minutes, and so you set to work, grabbing handfuls of the small blueberries and huckleberries that liked to grow within reach of the water.

You quiet hum to yourself as the basket slowly starts to fill up, your leg cramping every once in a while, forcing you to take small breaks in between handfuls of berries.

Out of nowhere, a large wave of light is fired at you, causing you to get blasted through the huckleberries and down to the riverbed. A scream escapes your lips as you land, echoing throughout the forest as the plants around you catch fire.

Ushiwaka hears the scream from where he had just started tending to his garden outside of the house, and he begins sprinting toward the river at the resounding cry.

Then through the path burnt by the light and fire, stands Tendo Satori, his palms glowing and a sadistic grin on his face. As the light fairy makes his way towards you, you scramble to your feet, holding your own glowing palms out in front of you in defense.

Tendo smiles at you before saying, “Well, well, well, little light fairy, looks like you’re trapped.” And he wasn’t wrong, you were surrounded by water, which definitely didn’t aid you in fighting.

Ushijima appears moments afterward, his chest heaving and his eyes widening as they lock onto the tall form in front of him. He coughs for a split second, gaining the attention of the red-headed light fairy as he stutters out, “T- Tendo? I thought you were killed...”

Tendo just laughs out, “Oh my, you big oaf, I was simply recruited to the correct side of this world, to serve under his majesty, King Oikawa.”

As Tendo takes a step toward you, Ushijima steps toward Tendo with a deep shout of, “You get away from her, NOW.”

Tendo ignores Ushijima’s words and starts advancing toward you again, bringing a light beam to his fingers, he chuckles darkly.

You glance at Ushijima, panic, and terror written all over your disheveled features and you yell to him, “This is your friend, Tendo? Why didn’t you tell me he’s a psychopath?!”

Ushijima starts to make his way toward you as he calls back, “Well he wasn’t like this before! He never would have bowed down to Oikawa unless they brainwashed him!”

True panic starts to set in at Ushijima’s words, and you can feel the control of your power start to slip with every passing second. Tendo laughs maniacally, shooting beams of light at you in rapid succession.

On instinct, you engage your light power, sending a huge wave of light and heat out, causing trees and bushes on the edge of the water to catch fire. You had stopped paying attention to your surroundings, totally giving into the dark and dangerous part of your power.

Tendo just smiles at you and shouts with joy, “Yes! Yes! Unleash your true power, my fellow fairy!”

Ushijima had to stop whenever you sent out your blast of light, and he was at a loss for what to do as you lost control of yourself. He gazed around him, eyes cataloging the damage of your powers, ruining all of the berry plants and the new growth at the water’s edge.

With no other choices left, Ushijima starts to transform into his wyvern. He hopes it’ll be enough to battle Tendo, or at least begin to start putting out a large number of the flames.

Once he’s fully transformed, the large wyvern dives into the river before reemerging, trying to splash the flames out as you begin firing at Tendo. Ushijima’s wyvern lets out a roar as he dives at Tendo, his green eyes focusing on the smaller figure of the light fairy.

As Ushijima’s wings carry him around, Tendo gets slightly distracted from you, giving you the chance to aim a little more clearly at the evil light fairy. As quick as one of your light beams, a silent arrow flies across the sky, ripping through one of Ushijima’s wings.

The wyvern falls with an ear-piercing screech, and you suddenly regain control of your powers when you realize Ushijima’s body crashed from the sky and onto the ground. Standing downriver is a tall dark elf, holding an elegantly crafted obsidian bow with an evil grin on his face.

Ushijima had no other choice than to morph back into his human form, the poison arrow sticking straight out of his shoulder. Oikawa appears next to Tendo while you start running over to Ushijima, power and elegance hanging in the air at the dark elf king’s presence.

Ushijima rolls over with a groan and manages to cough out, “Don’t worry about me, Y/n, just defeat them.” Your heart breaks at the battered sight of Ushijima in front of you, his body broken, bruised, and bloody.

It was at that moment, you knew. Ushijima was no longer just someone letting you live with him, helping you out, or even just a caretaker for you. You were completely, utterly, and helplessly in love with Ushijima Wakatoshi.

With Ushijima’s go ahead, you turn around, light flaring at your palms as your eyes begin to glow gold. A loud scream leaves your lips as you charge at Oikawa and Tendo, light flashing from your palms as you aim the beams at the two men.

In a few quick movements, you have made a fire ring around Oikawa, the flames lapping tall against the sky as you turn to face Tendo. The light fairy is just looking at you smugly, but his smile falters when he hears Ushijima’s delirious call through the crackle of the fire, “T-Tendo?”

A look of horror appears on Tendo’s face as he takes in the raging fire around him and his gaze lands on Ushijima. In a few large strides, Tendo is in front of Ushijima and says, “Oh my gosh, Wakatoshi, what happened to you? What happened to me?”

Ushijima groans as Tendo helps him sit up and he blinks hazily at the redhead, the poison from Oikawa’s arrow starting to pump throughout his blood. It takes a moment for Ushijima to respond before he manages, “Tendo… you, you gave into Oikawa, you were fighting us...”

While Tendo tries to move Ushijima out of the fight, you step through the circle of blazing fire to be met face to face with Oikawa. With a snarl on your lips you sneer, “So this is the Dark Elf King Oikawa, huh?”

Oikawa just smiles back at you, reaching behind him to grab another poison arrow from his quiver as he says, “My, my. That red-headed light fairy wasn’t wrong when he said you had a strong will.”

You spit on the ground next to him, jutting your chin out you spew, “Pathetic. I expected more from you, Oikawa Tooru.”

The dark elf king just smiles maniacally at you, his brown locks of hair wavering from the heat of the fire, as he grabs the arrow from his quiver, quickly trying to catch it on the string of his bow.

However, you waste no time, raising your hands in front of you, you blast him into a solid tree trunk behind him. Oikawa’s hands drop both the bow and the arrows as he flies through the air, his back cracking against the firm wood behind him.

You find it within you to will the fires around you to calm, bringing the flames even with the forest floor before the embers burn out. As you step out of the ring of embers, you see Oikawa knocked unconscious against the base of a tree trunk.

Your (colored) eyes catch onto Tendo’s figure tending to Ushijima, and you go to scream at him to get away when you realize that your fellow light fairy is helping Ushijima.

You jog over to him, eyes frantically scanning over Ushijima’s large figure as you pant out, “Watch over Oikawa, I need to run to the shack and get some rope to tie him up.”

Tendo just nods as you take off sprinting, your legs carrying you toward the small house you had learned to call home. You barely register arriving at the house, finding the rope, and even making it back to the clearing where the three men were at.

You give the rope to Tendo to restrain the unconscious Oikawa as you kneel beside Ushijima, who was flickering in and out of consciousness. You start panicking, and you can feel the anxiety bubbling in your chest as you start to shake Ushijima, trying to keep him awake.

A sob of, “Please stay awake, Toshi. I grabbed an elixir from the medicine drawer when I ran back to the house. Please wake up!” Tears begin streaming down your face as your hands shakily fumble with the small glass bottle.

You call to Tendo, “Please help me get him against a tree so I can get this in his mouth!” Tendo had just finished tying up Oikawa before he returned to your side, helping you haul the large frame of Ushijima over to a tree, leaning him up against the trunk gently.

With your shaky hands, you pop the lid off of the elixir, allowing the mouth of the bottle to press against Ushijima’s lips as you pour the purple liquid onto his tongue. When the bottle is empty you pull away, your vision blurring as you gaze at the battered form of the man you had come to love.

A light cough leaves Ushijima’s throat, catching your attention before you’re hovering over him again, worrying etched in your features. With hazy eyes, he tries to focus on you as he asks, “Y/n? What happened? Where are we?”

A wavering sigh leaves your lips as you cup his face in your hands and you whisper, “You got shot by a poison arrow from Oikawa, Tendo’s back to himself. We are just outside of the river, I had to give you a potion to stop the poison from spreading.”

Ushijima doesn’t say anything, just slightly nods in your hands before his eyes close for a moment. Another cry leaves your lips as your hands tilt his face toward your own, your eyes scanning over his body rapidly, searching for any other major injuries.

You notice Tendo had managed to pull the arrow out, and as you take in Ushijima’s form, simply covered in a ripped up tank top and a pair of pants, covered in sweat, dirt, and blood, you can’t help but think it’s the most beautiful he’s ever looked.

“Please,” you whimper as you gently turn his face back and forth in your hands, tears streaming down your cheeks, “Please stay with me, Toshi.”

Tendo steps forward and says, “I think he’s just unconscious, I can carry him back to the shack if you want to stay here with Oikawa, I can bring back the cart to haul him to the Kingdom of the Griffins.”

You nod as you release your grip from his face, muffling your cries as you walk over to the tied-up form of Oikawa, and you can’t stand to see Tendo haul Ushijima’s body away.

You sit on the ground in front of Oikawa as you wait for Tendo to return, wincing in pain as you realize how beat up you actually were. Twenty or so minutes go by until you hear the sound of a horse’s hooves and a cart trailing behind it.

You turn to see Tendo driving Ushijima’s small cart and you smile when you realize Tendo had grabbed some chains too. You help the red-headed light fairy load up the unconscious body of Oikawa, helping his chain down the limbs of the dark elf.

A small smile sits on your lips as you look at Tendo and say, “Thank you, Tendo. I’m Y/n, I have been with Ushijima for a few months now. I appreciate your help, and it’s an honor to meet you.”

Tendo grabs your shoulder lightly with his own grin as he says, “No, thank you. I don’t know how Wakatoshi would have survived without me, and you have pushed him this far. The least I can do is take Oikawa to Prince Daichi’s palace, they can detain him there.”

You nod as the tall man jumps into the driver’s seat of the cart, calling over his shoulder, “The trip will take me a few days, I should be back in a week or so. The nearest town is about a half a day’s walk away from here if you need anything. Take care of Wakatoshi while I’m gone.”

You wave to Tendo’s disappearing figure as you begin your own trek back to the small house. You half limp, half walk back to the shack, your pace picking up when you realize Ushijima was left alone while you and Temdo dealt with Oikawa.

When you manage to make it through the front door, you stumble toward the bedroom. You burst into the room to see Ushijima peacefully resting on top of the covers.

You realize he’s in no immediate danger, so you take the time to strip out of your dirty clothes and give yourself a quick scrub down. Afterward, you carefully treat the wounds you can reach before changing into one of Ushijima’s large shirts and a pair of shorts.

Once you are clean and somewhat comfortable, you sit down next to Ushijima, taking a clean and damp washcloth to clean his skin. You wipe everything you can reach without having to remove any clothing, as you couldn’t lift his large form yourself.

You don’t notice the tears slipping down your cheeks until a warm and rough hand on your cheek alerts you. Ushijima is staring at you with half-lidded eyes as he mumbles, “You are so beautiful.”

A broken laugh leaves your lips as you lean into his touch, closing your eyes at the feeling of him being warm and alive next to you. Ushijima’s green eyes glow with love as he scans over your features.

He looks at the curve of your cheek under his palm, he looks at the soft gleam in your eye when you gaze at him, and he looks at the small smile settling on your lips because he’s still with you.

Ushijima allows his hand to travel from cupping your cheek to the back of your head, tangling his fingers into your (colored) locks of hair as he slowly sits up. You shift closer to him as he moves to lean his back against the headboard of the bed, and you gently sit on his lap as your faces near each other.

You lock eyes with the green-eyed wyvern morphling in front of you, and you can’t help the butterflies in your stomach as he observes you. Ushijima moves his other hand to rest on the lower part of your neck, pushing your body to allow your forehead to rest against his own.

The two of you are silent in that moment, sitting together, breathing together, living together, and for each other. Ushijima can’t help the way his eyes flick from your own to your lips, but he finds himself looking back into your eyes with complete and utter adoration.

His plump lips part slightly as he whispers, “You have my heart, Y/n. You have every part of me and my soul. I give myself to you, Y/n. I love you.”

A bright and blinding smile breaks out across your face as you press your forehead closer to his, and your eyes shut with tears of joy as you rest your hands on his broad shoulders.

Ushijima stays silent as he watches you, not an ounce of nervousness or care in the world for what he just said. He couldn’t be afraid when he just barely beat death, and he had you sitting on his lap, smiling at him.

He thought your smile was as bright as any light ray would have shined, and he feels his heart skip a beat when you open your mouth and reply, “I love you too, Toshi. You have my heart, my soul, and my body. I am yours.”

Ushijima gives you a breathtaking smile as he looks at you, brushing his nose against yours slightly as he basks in what he knows now to be your love for him.

You turn your head slightly, your heart beating faster when you take a glance at his mouth, and Ushijima quickly understands.

Ushijima uses the hand tangled in your hair to gently tip your head, tilting his own face slightly to the side as he leans into your touch. In a final bold move, Ushijima brushes his lips against your own parted ones.

You could feel your heart jump in your chest as your lips finally connect with Ushijima’s, a soft and inaudible gasp escaping your throat as you move your mouth against his own.

Ushijima melts in your touch, and he can’t help but crave the way you taste and feel against his mouth. Your kiss is slow, delicate, and everything he’s ever dreamed it to be and more.

Your lips seem to move in perfect rhythm with his own, and you let one hand smooth up Ushijima’s neck to run your fingers through his short locks of olive hair. Ushijima lets the kiss stay slow and wanting, never pushing you any further than you wanted to go.

You were addicted to the way his mouth tasted against your own, and despite the faint tang of blood, you knew he was everything you had ever wanted. You were almost sad when Ushijima started to pull away, but that feeling soon left when you saw the way he looked at you.

Those green eyes you had fallen in love with shined with adoration, and the smile on his lips told you that you were the reason behind it. You almost flush under the intensity of his gaze, so you lean forward again, chest heaving, to press a gentle and slow kiss to his lips.

Ushijima grunts softly at your movement, causing you to pull away rapidly when you realized your hand had slipped down to where the arrow had entered his shoulder.

You shift in his lap as you stutter out, “I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-” “It’s alright, my love,” Ushijima says softly, cupping your face again and rubbing his thumb under your eye in small circles.

You feel your heart swell at the sweet pet name and you smile down at him and whisper, “I love you, Ushijima Wakatoshi.”

He smiles back at you and replies, “And I, you.”

Tags: @mortedeveles @haikyuutothetop @miatsubaki23 @pocky-writes

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delldarling · 3 years ago

Text

diving stars | hior

male bog mummy x male reader 3754 words citrus | mild description of death, minor mention of blood, mild description of mummy having stitches (though not getting them), kissing, implied future relationship test match-up: Waaaayyyy back when, I decided I should try my hand at some match-ups. I wanted a unique experience for those coming to me for commissions, and so went through several versions of a 'choose your own adventure' kind of personality questionnaire. Matt, or @severedreamerbeard, was one of the people lovely enough to let me test out my match-up process! Thank you a whole gosh darn bunch Matt, for letting me do so in the first place, and I'm going to heap on extra thanks because I've been such a snail about it! <3

————-　🌠　————-

Much of the bog is a terrible endless black, with nothing to reflect but the cloud covered nighttime sky. Scrubby, dried grass circles the edges of the water, the torchlight making their flickering shadows look like creeping, growing thorns across the opaque surface, ready to snag the unwary and drag them down into the depths. There’ll be no coming back out of that dark water, Hior knows, not once he’s been pushed in.

I’ll close my eyes before I go under, he silently promises, though either way he supposes it shouldn’t matter much. The last thing his body sees will only ever be darkness. He swallows, tucks auburn hair behind his ears, calloused fingers catching at his skin, and pastes on a grim smile, turning to face the gathered people. He can’t linger any longer, no matter how much he would like to, not if he wants the rest of the village to make it through this. Not many of them have gathered, either. Just enough to see the ritual through to the end. Honestly, it’s better this way. If his brother had been allowed to leave the defenses, then Hagan would have interrupted Mother Gree, ritual or not. He would have tried to stop her, tried to stop Hior, even if it meant the loss of the village.

Hagan will be angry.

Hior sweeps his eyes over the surrounding villagers, their frightened faces and trembling hands, their teary eyes reflecting the torches in the misty dark. Hagan will be angry, but the fact of the matter is that he will still be alive to hold onto that anger. Hior can’t find it within himself to regret that.

There’s no time for being maudlin, Hior tells himself, and his smile becomes a bit too wide, stretching painfully at the corners.

This will be the last he ever sees of the village if the Gods deem his offering worthy, but that’s alright. Really. As long as he knows the village will be protected, as long as he knows that his people will do their best to endure, he's willing to fight his way through the Beyond and stay there.

Mother Gree begins to speak in a rough, ragged voice, worn through by years of pipe smoke and leaning over heavily herbed fires. Her words—the spell, the prayer—drape themselves around Hior’s shoulders like a heavy blanket, sweeping away the tension of his worries and the fear of the crowded villagers. Hior’s smile softens.

Mother Gree’s only warning is the icy grasp of her fingers, twisting sharply into the hair at the nape of Hior’s neck. The blade pinches. Wet heat spills down his throat and over his chest, soaking his clothes as he begins to fall backward.

Overhead, the clouds part, and a fierce rumbling fills the air, punctuated by sharp screams. A star, smaller than a pebble, but more brilliant by far than any flickering fire, falls out of the sky. It dives after Hior’s falling body, following him down into the depths of the bog.

The last thing Hior sees is light.

————-　🌠　————-

It’s midday, or just after, and there are odd shapes in the clouds, like reaching hands backlit by the sunshine. The shifting shades of them make it look like they’re trying very hard to break through the atmosphere, a primordial being grabbing for mortals like marbles. The wind picks up, and the flicker of pale warmth and the cloud hands are blown swiftly away, hidden by a tumult of grey and violet. It shouldn’t rain for hours yet, it’s not supposed to, but you’re starting to doubt the truth of the weather forecast. The sky is very clearly telling all watchers that a storm is on the way.

And here you are: distractedly doing your best to carefully skirt the edges of dreary, muddied water, hunting for a folktale. There are weak spots throughout the area, and one wrong step will have the ground turning to mush underfoot. Which, while fitting with the tales, is the last thing you’d ever want. Risk of drowning aside, all the local stories claim that it's your soul you really need to worry about, or you'll be trapped for eternity as 'a ghost given solid form'.

In other words, from what you’ve pieced together, that might mean something like a zombie?

Water sloshes, lapping strangely at the grassy shore and pulling you clean away from your thoughts. You know you shouldn't linger with the storm on the way, but something about the water keeps you from getting more than a few paces past. The noise, rising steadily, almost bubbling, draws you closer even as tension weighs down your steps. Whatever might be down there, you doubt it's anything pleasant, and you’ve had stories of zombies running through your head all afternoon. You edge closer anyway.

The shore grows terribly soft underfoot the closer you get, and it looks like something is struggling just under the surface, wriggling, a bit like—the water fountains. It soaks your shoe and the hem of your pant leg, while icy droplets speckle over your shirt and face. For a moment, a breath, your eyes fall closed as you attempt to wipe the water away. Something smooth and cold grabs hold of your ankle, yanking your foot forward so you slam back into the ground, a quick burst of pain flares in the back of your skull. Fingernails dig into your skin. You can’t remember shouting, can’t remember a loud noise, but your ears are ringing, adrenaline rocketing through your veins as the hand—the literal hand—heaves with all it’s might, pulling you towards the water. You scrabble backwards, you kick, trying to get free, but the arm tenses, fingers curling tighter around your ankle, heavier than iron. You haven’t gotten loose, but you’re starting to pull whatever is in the water out as you struggle.

The water burbles and the haze of panic begins to clear. This isn’t a story. Someone has just grabbed hold of you. They’re not trying to pull you in, they just want you to pull them out. Because they’re trapped. You suck down air, scrabbling at the hand wrapped around your ankle, trying to get them to grab hold of your wrist instead. Their skin is strange under your touch, hard and smooth and fragile, like flowers dipped in paraffin.

A head finally crests the water, a choking, wheezing noise filling the air as liquid cascades off of his body. His breath sounds wrong though, and his cheeks are hollowed, hair and skin stained with peat. He releases the death grip he has on your ankle, bony, wet fingers smacking against your arm so you can grab hold and pull. His other hand twists into the scrubby grass, ripping handfuls of it free as he does his best to work with your desperate bid to get him out of the bog. And then a few startling things happen all at once.

Your eyes drop to his throat and the wide, old injury spanning the entirety of his throat, stitched shut with a pale cord. His eyes snap open. An eerie light gleams in his eye sockets and you do shout this time, words tripping over themselves as you give up on holding him to try and yank yourself out of his grasp. Lightning quick flashes of the zombie stories and a variety of undead flicker through your mind. He’s too strong for you, you can't push him off, even with the wasted-looking muscles of his arms. He holds on terribly tight, knees and calves and feet splashing in the water and sliding through the slick scrub grass. You continue to try to get his hands off of you, breath coming far too fast, but he lets go as soon as he’s clear of the water. His hands fall away, clutching at your thigh for balance before he finally removes his hands from you entirely. He drops to the grass, retching, and then grabs at his own throat. The tie keeping his hair back crumbles, falling away like drying clay, and though most of his hair is still slick and dark with peat, it looks like it’s normally a bright coppery red underneath the muck.

He wheezes again, hands hovering over the injury, fingers feather soft over the strangely clean stitches. After a moment, he lifts his chin, spotlight eyes roving over your face with awe.

"..you..you answered?" He asks, voice warped by withered musculature. His stained cheeks stretch, a painfully tight smile exposing teeth that don't look altogether human. They're even, and clean, but they gleam with a deep blue patina, as if they’re actually polished stones. “I—I must conf-fess,” he rasps, hands falling to his knees, nails digging into the tattered trousers barely clinging to his body, “I doubted. I..” He leans forward, gasping once more as he stares at the ground. “He answered,” he whispers, and his eyelashes flutter, the light of his eyes flickering. Despite his apparent frailness, despite his inattention, you can't bring yourself to run away now. You’re caught, the desire for knowledge outweighing the potential danger. “What would you ask of me?” He breathes, and your heart twists painfully in your chest. He sounds wretched, reverent and fearful, both, anxiously waiting for you to strike out.

"What would I ask?" You struggle to murmur, tongue thick and too-dry in your mouth. Slowly, you get up, rubbing awkwardly at your wrist and forearm. His grip had been a shade past 'uncomfortably tight', but you don’t think you’ll get anything more than faint bruising.

"In exchange," the man says, clutching tighter to his knees. He doesn't notice when you flinch, not with his head still bowed.

Your heartbeat nearly drowns out the distant thunder, adrenaline chasing the wariness out of your veins. "For what?" You demand, pleased when his head jerks up. He's acting like you're going to kick him back into the bog with a boot to his chest. "For saving you? Why would I want anything? I was just-" Your mouth snaps shut, brain desperately clamoring for you to acknowledge that there's a mummified man currently speaking to you. He’s talking, not groaning, not calling out for brains or blood or violence. He may as well be straight from the local legends and he’s… Fully conscious of his actions, nothing like the eerie embellishments all the tales carry.

"I was being decent. Helping. I didn't do it so you would owe me." Any further words slip your mind as soon as your eyes catch on the stitches in his neck again. The rest of him is withered and warped by the peat in the bog, permanently stained—but the stitches are still silvery pale. What on earth happened to make him this way?

Hesitant, he raises his head, the inhuman brightness of his eyes more than enough to make you wince. Your gaze darts to the soft glint of metal in his earlobes, trying to keep from squinting.

"For… For saving my village," he finally clarifies. "You accepted my sacrifice and allowed me the chance to speak, but surely I must complete some task to prove my faith? To win a boon and guarantee their survival?"

Thunder rattles your bones and the mummy tenses, looking past you to the sky. Nerves or not, you can’t stay out here in this, not if you want to escape the weather… Or the panic that will spread like wildfire if anyone happens to catch sight of him. You offer him your hand.

"You'll help me?" He asks, hand lifting from his knee, but not yet reaching for yours. Mist dots his cheeks, rain trying desperately to break free of the heavy cloud cover.

"Help? Yes. In the way you’re asking me to?” You can’t stop yourself from cringing, but that doesn’t seem to have deterred the bog mummy still kneeling in front of you. He’s still staring with rapt attention, caught on every word you speak. “I—I don't know if I have any answer you want, but I do know we shouldn’t stay out here in the rain." You take a single step closer, fingers splaying as you reach for him. He slips his hand into yours and the rain falls heavy upon your heads.

————-　🌠　————-

From what you’ve gathered from Hior on the trip back here, he has for all intents and purposes, traveled through time, via his death. You freeze in the doorway of the kitchen, mind whirling as you attempt to puzzle out whether he can eat or drink anything. He hasn’t needed to, not while he’s been in his enchanted… sleep down in the bog. But he’s actually dead, isn’t he? You hadn’t felt a pulse when he’d taken your hand, but you hadn’t been searching for one either, keen as you were on getting him out of the torrential rain and out of sight. He hasn’t asked for any food or drink, but your brain has seized onto hospitality like a lifeline. No matter what age Hior is from, sharing what you have is always appreciated.

Decision made, you fetch the glass, ears straining for any noise, for any hint of where he is in the house. He’s done nothing but stare at modernized gadgetry since you brought him in, taking the towel you’d offered as if he were in a dream, but he’s bound to get curious eventually. You move a little faster, though when you find him back in the living room, sitting straight backed on the edge of the couch, dampened towel around his shoulders, you feel rather silly. He just crawled out of a bog, knowing that he’d given his life for his village. Maybe he’s frightened? This can’t be like any afterlife he’d expected. “Would you like some water?” You ask, still unsure as to whether he can actually drink it or not. He’d been gasping for air when he’d broken free of the bog, but that might only be reflex, seeing as he is very much mummified.

Hior clambers to his feet, lamplight eyes skittering over your face and then down to the floor before he kneels, towel flaring out like a cloak. You pause where you are, fingers tightening around the glass in your hand, but your brain doesn’t catch up to what he’s trying to do until he speaks. “I must thank you for your hospitality. Truly. To be welcomed into the home of a God-”

You nearly spill the water, breath caught fast in your throat as you hurriedly urge him to get back to his feet, fingers brushing over his shoulder. “Ah, no, not—how about some water first?” Hior rises, the fine hairs of his eyebrows catching the light as he furrows them. They’re the same coppery red as the hair on his head and arms, and even on his legs when you take the time to glance down. “Here,” you mutter, slipping the glass into his hand as soon as his fingers uncurl. “If you don’t want it, or, or you can’t, then it’s fine. But, uh, I’m not a deity. Not a God. Just a man.” Like you, weighs down the tip of your tongue, but you clamp your jaws shut. You can’t honestly claim similarity, seeing as you still have blood flowing through your veins and your neck doesn’t have eerily clean stitches from ear to ear.

"A man," he repeats, but he doesn't sound like he believes you, "of course." Hior sniffs at the water, but he must not need it. He cradles the glass against his chest, water untouched and risks another sly glance at your face, waiting, as if he expects you to change your mind and confess to a different identity. Your brain buzzes, skipping over the hint he’s attempting to fish for.

“Those… It looks like that was a bad injury,” you murmur, gesturing to the neat stitches, a permanent, unsettling necklace. It doesn’t really help change the subject.

“Hmm,” he rumbles, reaching up a single hand. For a moment, he marvels at the sight of his own skin, turning his wrist this way and that before he finally ghosts his touch over the stitches. Hior doesn’t shy away from them, or even appear concerned, fingertip dipping between each rib of cord. “I’ve little idea how I came to possess these,” he confesses. “It wasn’t you?” You grimace, and Hior croaks out a laugh when he notices. Warmth blossoms in your chest, the sound of a real, genuine laugh soothing away some of your nerves. “No. I can see that now. And it wasn’t Mother Gree either,” he says softly, eyes lowering. “No one would have taken me from the water. The… the star?”

“Star?” The God you think I am? You want to ask, but the stiffness is easing from his limbs, memory returning, and you don’t want to interrupt. Frankly, you might be a little shell shocked yourself, but something about his question makes your brows furrow.

“It followed me into the water,” Hior adds, and your heart skips a beat, your own memories a cacophony in the back of your head. You’ve read something about that before, you’re certain of it.

“The star followed you?” You ask, clarifying. “Dove after you?”

For the first time, Hior isn’t staring past you or searching your face for any hint of divinity. A wry smile twists his lips, exposing the polished stones serving as his teeth. “From what I recall, yes. Of course, I was dying at the time,” he says quietly, humor in the arch of his eyebrows. “Perhaps I could not comprehend the visage of our Gods? They often take other shapes, so as not to cause alarm. Such as that of a man,” he says. He’s hinting again, gaze heavy on your face, but all you can think about is the phrase: the star followed me into the water, on repeat.

You lick your lips, darting past Hior for the stacks of books you’d left out this morning. “The Diving Stars,” you explain, pushing two volumes to the side and letting them fall to the floor with a clatter. You seize the elderly green book, whirling so you can brandish it in Hior’s direction. The title glitters, faintly golden but worn away by the passing years. “It’s a folktale, a legend, about… About you, I think.”

————-　🌠　————-

Hior never does drink the water. He sets it aside, fingertips lingering along the rim before you settle down on the floor, book laid open across your knees. He joins you, and as respectful as Hior has been up to this point, he sits close against your side, pressed against you from shoulder to hip so he can better see the pages. It’s intimate, and strange, and he’s… He’s not cold, not exactly, but the lack of human warmth is enough to have the fine hairs along your neck prickling with awareness. It only takes a moment before his attention drifts from the book to your face, staring at your mouth as you read the short tale aloud.

The Diving Stars

For the greater good of a war torn village, a sacrifice was made. A favored son was chosen, one beloved by the village, and kind to all he knew. He was strong, and clever, and though he was leaving behind his family, he knew he must act for the well being of all. When it came time for his sacrifice, he smiled and walked willingly to his ending, hoping that the Gods would accept his service and defend the village from invaders.

A God took notice.

You do your best not to lift your eyes from the text, heat spreading over the back of your neck when you realize how hard Hior is staring at you. You might keep trying to ignore his assumptions, but Hior isn’t going to let you forget about them completely. He still fully believes that you’re the deity from his tale.

Moved by his plight and coveting the favored son’s courage for his own hall, the God left his domain. He dove from the sky as a star, following the favored son into the depths and setting the entire blog ablaze with his magic. When the light faded, when the villagers uncovered their eyes, two men stood by the side of the water, the light of the stars in their eyes. One was the favored son, strange and withered, having sacrificed his vitality to the Gods. The other was the God who had accepted his bargain, and behind them, marching up out of the water, was a brigade of the village ancestors, led back from the underworld to help defend the home of their children.

When the battle was won, and the ancestors had marched back into the water, the favored son wished his people farewell. Lit up from within, the favored son and the God slipped back into the depths, and then two brilliant lights fountained up out of the water, diving back into the sky as stars.

When you lift your gaze away from the book, Hior’s eyes are still on you. They’ve grown even brighter than before, the shine of them sharp enough to make you wince. His hands, resting gently on his knees, are steadily curling into fists, and he’s smiling. Small and sweet and absolutely enchanted. “I knew it,” he whispers, voice tight and low, and then Hior yanks you by the neck of your shirt halfway into his lap, knocking the book completely out of your hands. He kisses you, in want or in gratitude, you’re not sure, the taste of rainwater and the chill of stone heavy on his lips. It’s… It’s not unpleasant at all, the kiss. His lips are smooth, and cool, and tingling, like the sharpness of static in the air, seeping through your skin and racing through your veins. When Hior finally allows you to wrench yourself away, lungs heaving as you attempt to remember how to breathe, all you can think about is the way he’s smiling, arousal pooling heavily in every limb.

“No matter what you might believe,” you mutter, trying to keep your thoughts in order, “I’m not a God. Not of any sort, Hior. I swear I’m not lying.” You lick your lips, the taste of rainwater still lingering on your skin. “Though, even if I don’t know how to help you yet?” You take his hand off of your arm, lacing your fingers with his. “We’re bound to find out together.”

————-　🌠　————-

#exophilia #mummy boyfriend #bog mummy boyfriend #undead x male reader #male mummy x male reader #d.darling writes #d.darling commissions

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fanartfunart · 3 years ago

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More Time & Time Again/ OoT Timeloop. (I think this is just a multichapter fic now) Link is helping his younger self out when the boy asks about his own adventure. Link recalls how he failed to change the future. (Tw for death mentions/implied death, fire/destruction, injury and angst.)

Time & Time Again & Part 2

Ao3

"How do you know all this?" The Kid asked, holding the Megaton Hammer uncertainly.

Link just smiled, "I went on a journey like yours a while ago....In retrospect, the hammer wasn't too hard to use compared to this one sword that was like, twice my height at the time."

The Kid glanced at Navi with wide, excited eyes. She frowned, "No."

"If I found a sword that big though-"

"Stick to the hammer right now," Navi sighed, giving Link a side eye.

He restrained a chuckle and leaned over to his younger self. In a low whisper he said "I'll give you a tip to getting a sword from Biggeron when she isn't watching."

The Kid pumped a fist and Navi zipped over to gently bop Link's head. "Don't give him ideas."

Link laughed, "I'm not! The idea is all his!"

Navi glared. Probably internally cursing the technicalities of them being the same person.

"Actually though, can you tell me about your adventure?" The Kid asked, tilting his head.

Link frowned. (He was small again, placing the Master Sword back in it’s pedestal. His legs still felt shaky from finally, finally having defeated Ganon.) "Maybe later. ...Besides, you still need to practice with that hammer. You do not want to pull a muscle using that thing... Trust me."

The Kid hummed, and shifted back into a readied stance with the hammer. He grinned "If I win will you tell me?"

"Who said anything about winning? It's practice, not a game."

"Sounds like you're scared you'll loseee, Grasshopper."

Link's eyes narrowed and he grinned, "Oh its on Shrimp."

"Wha- We're the same height!"

Link could’ve sworn he’d rigged this game so he wouldn’t lose. Link guesses he’s always had a habit of succeeding despite all logical odds out of sheer determination. He also blames the fact that Navi was helping Little Link and that was just unfair. He sighed as he stared up at his younger self’s near manic grin, laying on the ground.

“Story time!” the Kid said, putting the hammer down and holding out a hand to help him up.

Link accepted the boy-teen’s hand, defeated. He walked over to a nearby crate and hopped up to sit on the edge. The Kid followed and plopped himself in the grass, watching attentively.

He couldn’t tell the Kid his actual story, so he’d have to make up something. He hummed, “...Where should I start?”

“The beginning?” The Kid offered, laughing.

The beginning of his real story was complicated. Was it when the Great Deku Tree sent Navi to him? Or, with that adventure a closed book, was it when he returned to his time, to grow up as he was supposed to?

“Right... Well, when I was younger, I knew a princess in Termina... She saw that an evil man... uh, her uncle, would be king soon and no one believed her... She had asked me to help her.”

He skidded to a halt as he spotted the King and...Ganondorf. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the Greudo King. Images of his beastly transformation overlapped with the man currently in front of him.

Link dashed forward, past the guards and into the castle itself. He heaved his breaths as he took the most obvious path to the main hall. He didn't even stop to admire the original architecture of the building that would be transformed into Ganon's Castle.

"Who let this boy in?" The King asked, gesturing at him. "This is a private meeting."

Link swallowed, "Where’s Zelda?"

"Are you one of her playmates? Are you lost?"

He shook his head. He stared at the man, balling his hands into the skirt of his tunic.

"He appears overwhelmed," Ganondorf said, oddly soft, "Let him gather his thoughts."

Link shrunk away from Ganondorf’s full attention. He partly expected Navi to start speaking for him... The silence of her absence echoed like the quiet before Ganon burst from the rubble of the castle. His heart began a drum beat of “Danger, danger, danger,” in his ears.

He ran. Link ran past the crackle of fire echoing in his mind and behind his eyelids. The distressed shrieks from Zelda, unable to help, ringing in his ears.

“I stood in front of the current King, with evidence of the man’s plans in hand, and explained what I knew...” Link said, wishing that had been true.

“What? Already? You didn’t even get the big sword yet!”

“Oh, but you see...The King didn’t believe me. Put under a curse by the evil man. He was merely a puppet... But the evil man wanted more than the throne.”

He took in panting breaths as he stood in front of Zelda. The royal garden a soft earthy type of quiet. The twitter of birds promising calm. He closed his eyes briefly.

"Link? You're back already?"

He nodded and gasped for breath, "Ganondorf... is going to... get into the Sacred Realm."

Zelda's eyes widened, "Are you sure.... Oh... The Ocarina?"

With a nod, he let gravity take him and he plopped onto the ground.

"We must stop him then!" Zelda announced with determination.

Link smiled warily.

They had sat for hours. Zelda planned out how to deal with Ganondorf with the little information Link had been able to provide the words to explain. Exhaustion catching up with him, Link eventually fell asleep. His head on her shoulder. Her voice guiding him to kinder dreams than he'd had in a while. Even before starting his quest.

“The princess allowed me to sleep in one of the rooms in the castle. Although she probably didn’t need to since I usually ended up sleeping outside anyway... Got used to it. Sleeping in the big bed just felt too strange.”

“The princess seems really nice.”

Link nodded, “She is....” he sighed, “But, before we could implement our plan-”

He woke up to a muffled thunk. Link sat up and groggily wandered to the noise. He hadn’t thought about picking up his sword. He faltered as he noticed Ganondorf and a Gerudo woman bringing in a set of barrels.

Ganondorf turned to look at him and raised a brow. "Child. What are you doing up?"

He pointed to the barrels, brows furrowed.

"Ah, they are a gift to your King."

"It's night," Link forced out. Voice raspy. His glare strengthening.

The Gerudo King walked over to him, dramatic strides intimidating and imposing. Link scrambled to stay out of arms reach of the man. Ganondorf halted. "I get the sense you and the Princess don't like me too much."

Link distinctly regretted not grabbing his sword. His hand itched for something to hold, to protect him. "You're going to hurt people." He said in a harsh whisper, curling his fist.

"You sound so sure.... Why?"

Link looked away and took a step back.

"I don't intend to harm you, child."

"You killed the Great Deku Tree." Link hissed, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

"Ah. I didn't expect one of you to come out of that forest. Do you plan on speaking to the king? Tell him I killed a tree? I don't think he'll quite believe that... And if he did, it was one tree, do you think he'll care?"

"I'm not going to let you get into the Sacred Realm! You won't get Zelda or I to open the doors for you-"

"The Princess can open the doors?" Ganondorf grinned, "Thank you, young one, for that insight. I would have thought that particular goal lost without the Kokiri Emerald.... Now I can simply move on."

Link's eyes widened, he turned to run to Zelda. To get his sword. To do something. Ganondorf was fast. Especially so now that Link was small again. He never hated being small before this moment. He writhed against Ganondorf's grasp on his arm. He yelled and twisted and kicked.

"Stop it. You'll wake everyone up." Ganondorf snarled. He huffed, "I do hate doing this to a child but you give me no choice." He spoke in a language Link didn't understand. With a sharp jolt in the back of his head, he felt the energy sapped from him. He dropped to the ground. He felt wooden. Like a doll.

Ganondorf picked him up with ease. Dropping him over his shoulder. "It shouldn't kill you. Don't be alarmed. It took significantly more work to kill the Great Deku Tree."

Link's eyes widened. He hit Ganondorf weakly, struggling with the rest of his might. Ganondorf gave him a curious look, seemingly surprised he had even this much fight in him.

He was deposited in the bedroom the princess had given him. "Do try to get some rest, boy.... You'll need it." The door shut and locked.

Slowly, everything went dark.

"He cursed you?!"

Link nodded, "I later would realize that the reason I managed to stay awake as long as I did was because I had my own magic.... I had learned some spells before, but found out I could no longer do them."

The Kid frowned, "That's terrible!"

"I learned more later, it didn't entirely sap my aptitude for magic." Link glanced at his own hands. "I don't know... I don't need them as much anymore."

Zelda shook him awake. She shoved him to the floor in her urgency.

She pulled him up and before he was truly aware of his surroundings, he was being lifted by hands much stronger than Zelda. Link squirmed, the sleepiness draining from him quickly.

"Link wake up! Please!"

He groggily reached out to her. She gasped "Oh thank the Goddesses."

"Impa!" Zelda cried out. "My father! Where is he?"

"We don't have any more time to spare. I'm sorry Princess. We must leave. Now."

Link gasped. No no, this shouldn't be happening. It shouldn't be happening at all.

Impa ran. She remained surprisingly dexterous and agile despite carrying both children.

Link watched over Impa's shoulder as Ganondorf appeared from the door. His sword was stained red. He grinned and took large, striding steps after them. Impa threw Zelda up onto a horse. Link squirmed out of her grasp before she could toss him up with her.

"Link!" Zelda shrieked, "What are you doing?"

He took out his sword and gestured towards the gates.

"You can't!" She cried, reaching towards him. "You... you could-"

Impa spurred the horse on before she could finish. Link closed his eyes to dash out the image of Zelda's panicked face.

"I... never saw the Princess again for a long time after that."

Link nodded, "Eventually."

The Kid stared at him with a deep sadness. He knew he probably resonated too deeply into truth. He would have to change more in his story.

"But you did see her again. Right?"

Link tumbled to the ground, ignored. Ganondorf grabbed his own horse. Link roared in fury and made a leaping strike.

Zelda's scream echoed in the distance as Ganondorf clashed against his sword, creating a slash across Link's arm.

Ganondorf pushed him back before he could complete his attack. Knocking him several feet back. He scoffed, "I don't have time for you, child."

Link winced as he scrambled to a stand, listening to the clop clop of hooves. Legs shaking, he raced to the Temple of Time. He knew Ganondorf would be back. He hid behind a pillar, and waited. He could still stop it. He would just have to stop his past self from opening the doors! That could work.

"I ran to get the King's Mask before the evil man could. With that, he could rule the kingdom as he saw fit. Masks have great power in Termina, as symbols and sometimes magical items." He explained.

"Oh cool." The Kid leaned forward, "I wonder if any of the masks I had as a kid would be important to people in Termina..."

Link looked down with a soft smile, "Some of them, maybe. But anyway.... the mask was... gone, by the time I got there."

The boy ran in just as he expected, the Ocarina of Time still gripped in one hand. Link attempted to dash after him, only to he grabbed from behind. A large hand muffled him. He kicked and squirmed and bit. All it got him was a tighter hold.

“I should’ve known the royal family would send someone through time to stop me.” Ganondorf whispered to him, “I didn’t expect a child. Although, perhaps that’s all they have left.”

Link growled and knocked his head back, hitting Ganondorf’s chin. He was dropped unceremoniously. Scrambling to a stand, Link readied his sword, glancing at the spiritual stones in their places.

“Really?” Ganondorf huffed, “You think that little tumbtack will stop me?”

Link glared.

Ganondorf summoned his magic and Link dodged out of the way. “Hm, you learned. Good to know.” Ganondorf walked past him, and Link ran forward to attack, but was yet again thrown back by a dismissive smack. Everything after that was a hazy blur.

Link woke up to the crackle of fire and a burning sensation on his left hand.

Link was quiet for a moment, feeling the oppressive smoke and heat suffocating him. Imagery of Castle Town on fire flickering behind every blink.

The Kid frowned at him, "Are you okay?" He whispered.

Link nodded, tracing the shape of the triforce of courage on his hand. He didn't quite know how the time travel worked with the sacred relic. He glanced at his younger self. He had it too, didn't he?

"Grasshopper?"

Link took in a breath and straightened his posture, "Right. Right. I'm fine. But um. Can we finish this another time?"

The Kid nodded. He stood and stretched. "...Um, quick question... If you don't mind... Why did you leave Termina? You grew up there. And you said it's doing fine now-"

"I was looking for an old friend... Now I just want to help people here."

"Oh. You're a nice person." The Kid concluded.

"...I've been told that." Link said softly. He ruffled the Kid's hair because he knew it would annoy him. "But! It's getting dark and if you don't go back home and rest, I'm gonna go find Sheik and he'll make you sleep."

The Kid gasped in indignation. Then blinked. "Wait you can find Sheik? Really? How!?"

"Oh my Goddesses, go sleep!"

"Is he here!? Is he following me or is he just going to places I need to be before me?"

"Forget Sheik, I will drag you to the forest."

The Kid laughed, "Okay, okay."

#tw death mention #tw injury #loz #legend of zelda #ocarina of time #loz link #loz zelda #loz ganondorf #fanarts fanfic #loz au #loz angst #im gonna go back and add it to ao3 later because rn im on my phone so i have to copy by paragraph >_<

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amorgansgal · 3 years ago

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Cruel, Cruel World - I've Been Living Too Long

So here's the first chapter of my Charlotte x Arthur fic, it was inspired by @rivetingrosie4's other idea suggestion during the TY Giveaway I did. I liked both so much and wanted to do an Arlotte story anyway, that I decided to write it as well as The Bitter End! It will cover their meeting and feelings for each other, but it's going to be a tale of unrequited love, so prepare yourself for angst and feelings!

You can read it on AO3 and The Bitter End on AO3 too.

Warnings: Depiction of skinning and gutting an animal.

The first time they meet she’s still crying. The overwhelming shock of grief that left her gasping for air and howling like a wounded animal is gone, replaced with tired sobs. Her back and shoulders ache from digging, there are blisters coming up on her fingers. Charlotte knows she must look a sight, her blouse is covered in filth, mud smeared across her face, tear tracks run down her cheeks and her eyes are red and sore.

She has no widow weeds, nothing suitable to wear for a funeral. The closest she can get to is a blue blouse and a grey-green plaid skirt. She hadn’t exactly planned on having a funeral. What young couple does? Why would she think that the beginning of their new, exciting and adventurous life would mean the end?

Charlotte thinks about the one funeral she attended a long time ago. A Great Uncle. They hadn’t been close so she felt no real absence or loss. Grief had been a pretty thing, played out with processions, quiet sobs, small handkerchiefs fluttering like white birds amongst a black sky. A neat, tidy performance. What would all those people think of her now, crawling in the mud, dirt etched into her fingernails, her belly aching with hunger, as she sobs hopelessly?

‘We’ll read books and we’ll grow vegetables like we did back home and we’ll learn as we go!’ Cal’s excitable words haunt her now. What absolute fools. It would take thousands of books, hundreds of years to learn what they needed to know. ‘We don’t need anything special. All we need is each other.’

She’s so lost in thought, feeling her heart beating traitorously against her chest, that she doesn’t even hear the man’s footsteps or the rustle of grass at his approach.

‘Er, you alright there?’ A warm, rumbling voice says.

She turns quickly and gets to her feet. ‘Who are you?’

He’s as tall and broad as an oak, wearing a light brown leather jacket and blue shirt. His soft brown hair touches the collar of his shirt and rough stubble lines his cheeks and jaw. The hat on his head is tipped back slightly, as though knocked by a branch, and she tries to gauge from his blue-green eyes whether he will hurt her. He looks rough, strong, doubtless he could injure her if he wanted to.

He raises his hands in surrender, though she has already seen the revolvers at his hips and the rifle slung across his back. ‘Oh, it’s okay, ma’am. I don’ mean you no harm.’

What does it matter if he does? The world has pulled every last bit of love and warmth away from her. If he knocked her into the ground, raped her, robbed her, killed her, would it really matter? She cannot feel anything anymore, her body won’t allow her to feel any more pain.

Charlotte watches him cautiously, his gaze steady and sure. No sense of danger within them and better still no false pity or assumed grief. He doesn’t know her; he isn’t going to pretend to feel her pain. For that she’s grateful.

‘Well, it makes no difference now. If an outlaw or wild animal doesn’t get me, starvation will.’ She says hollowly. She looks over to Cal’s grave and sees with shame that the flowers she left on it are streaked with mud. She thinks about the bouquets and wreaths that were given at her Great Uncle’s funeral. So lovely looking and well ordered, that they almost didn’t look like real flowers.

Charlotte picks up Cal’s flowers and does her best to wipe away the smears of mud. When she turns her head, the stranger is still there, watching her. There’s still no artifice in his gaze and almost without meaning to she finds herself speaking openly to this man.

‘We came out here from the city in search of a different life. Something true, something real. All this squandering and indulgence we wanted to strip it away, to find something authentic.’ She hates the words, she hates herself. If this man mocks her now, she wouldn’t blame him. What a stuck-up prig she sounds.

A sob gets caught in her throat and she almost chokes. ‘What a pair of fools.’

He looks away briefly, almost a little uncomfortable with her grief, but then returns his sea green eyes to her. He looks saddened for her, but more for the situation she’s in rather than anything else. He does not deride her dreamy notions of escape and adventure, he does not pity their foolishness, he won’t offer false sentiments of his condolences for her.

‘Is there a train station or a town I can take you to?’ he offers.

His offer is sensible, practical, reasonable. Everything she and Cal hadn’t been. Her head says she should take the stranger up on it, pack her things, head back to Chicago. But to what? To a family that will give her nothing but pitiful looks? To in-laws that will do the same but may whisper behind their hands about her? To a society that will look at a childless woman in her thirties and will shake their heads at the shame? Her heart tells a different story. Do this for Cal, do this to show the world you can, do this to show this strange man you aren’t afraid.

‘No, I can’t give up now. He wouldn’t want that. I… I can’t have it.’

She turns to the grave, looking at the rough wooden cross she had made from two planks nailed together. ‘I’m going to do this for you… Cal.’ The very act of saying his name aloud says a sharp wave of pain through her, but she bites back her sobs.

‘Well…’ the stranger murmurs. She begins to walk past him to go back to the little cabin Cal and her once called home. Her muscles are stiff and aching and she struggles to walk normally. ‘I’ll erm… I’ll leave you to it.’

The tight feeling in her chest grows as the restrained sobs seem to grow more and more, pressing against her throat and lungs, till her eyes burn. He’ll leave her, he’ll go and she’ll be alone to face this terrifying, looming pit of grief and hunger and pain and loss. Charlotte staggers and drops to her knees, the tears all too easily dripping from her face and the pitiful sob forces its way up. She hears his footsteps stop, but she can’t look back, she can’t watch this man go.

‘Damn fool,’ she thinks. ‘Damn, damn you, Charlotte. You don’t know this man; you can’t feel pain at his leaving. He would leave at some point. What would he do otherwise? Offer to stay with a grieving widow?’

‘Is there anything left for you to eat?’ The warm, gravelly voice asks.

She looks at him, wishing she could offer a real smile. He might be uncomfortable, but he’s kind. Unreasonably so to a widow he’s found in the cold grey afternoon who is acting like an idiot. Any normal man might just leave her to her fate, rolling their eyes at the ridiculous notion of her surviving.

‘Nothing.’ Charlotte manages to fight back her tears again and gets to her feet. ‘No, we didn’t know the first thing about hunting, we… couldn’t even catch a darn mouse. If you need any poisonous berries though, I’m a natural at finding those.’

The joke is a poor one and it sticks uncomfortably in her throat. Though the man does the decent thing and lets out a small murmur of amusement. She realises she is still holding the flower from Cal’s grave in her hand. The flowers are almost wilted, the petals sticky with mud. Tears burn in her eyes again; she can’t even do this part right.

‘Well… you ain’t goin’ to last much longer out here if you don’ know how to hunt. Come on,’ he says, gently cajoling her. She gazes up at him seeing his expression has softened considerably. ‘I’ll show you.’

She feels strangely reassured as she rises to her feet. ‘Alright… But you better not try any funny business. You know, I may be weak but I still know how to stand up for myself.’

‘Oh, I don’ doubt it,’ he gives her a quick smile. From anyone else it would be mocking, but it’s genuine from him. ‘Come on.’ He gestures with a hand for her to follow and Charlotte is surprised when she finds her feet moving towards the pathway.

She looks back to the grave. Despite the hunger the claws in her stomach, the grief that weighs heavily on her heart and the tiredness she feels from digging that cold, dark pit, a small glimmer of hope seems to blossom inside her. Perhaps in the moment of absolute loss and heartache, Cal has guided this man to her. Perhaps he was still looking out for her. Charlotte looks back at the man walking ahead, his reassuring smile that he turns on her so welcoming she could weep all over again.

Arthur walks through the woods, hearing the quiet, steady footsteps of the woman beside him. He finds himself still reeling at the thought of his eagerness to help her, perhaps the old Arthur would have turned aside. The old Arthur Morgan would have shaken his head and left the woman weeping by the grave. He doesn’t like to think if he would have done anything worse, but there’s no denying it, he did go here because of a robbery tip.

Old Arthur wouldn’t have time to teach her to hunt, to survive. But for all that his time is rapidly running out, it seems almost as though he has plenty of it. Plenty of time to offer help and aid instead of a cold shoulder of indifference. More and more he longs to help others. Perhaps it a longing for redemption, to do what little right he can do. A lifetime of sins isn’t easy to unpick and untangle, but he can at least balance out the bad with some good.

He glances at her, trying to see the woman underneath the streaks of mud on her face and the mask of grief her features have become. Dark hair that is straggly and unkempt, eyes swollen, her clothes plastered with mud.

‘Tell me, you ever skinned an animal before?’ He needs to know how much she knows; he doubts whether a city girl would ever need to learn such a skill, but he could be wrong.

‘No, but then again, I haven’t caught much of anything either.’

For all the comfort and privilege of her upbringing, he appreciates her humour and straight forwardness. ‘Well, you’ll need to know how to do both if you’re going to survive out here.’

‘I am all too aware,’ she replies grimly. ‘So where should we head for?’

‘Er… let’s try in the trees down there, near the river.’ He gestures the large body of water that spans the length of the train bridge. There must be something down there, even if just a rabbit or a duck. The woods are quieter, the shadows of the late afternoon lengthening. There is still a little golden light from the sun that reaches through the trees, making the grass and low-lying shrubs glimmer as though gold coins are being tossed amongst them.

‘What happened to your husband, if you don’t mind me asking?’ Arthur says. He remembers she talked bitterly about the poisonous berries she found and, as they pass a patch of bright pink oleander sage, he thinks perhaps he’ll also need to teach her which plants are good and which are deadly.

‘A bear got him… it was horrifying.’ Her voice sounds hollow and tired, he wonders when was the last time she slept properly or ate. ‘He survived but only for a couple of days.’

Arthur risks a glance at her, seeing her pale drawn face, the pain in her soft grey eyes. He thinks about reaching out and touching her shoulder, offering some comfort that way. But he quickly pulls his eyes back to the path and the forest floor. Any comfort he could offer would be a poor affair and doubtless she does not want it.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says instead.

‘This was really his dream more than mine. I’d have hopped back onto the next train to Chicago if he’d said the word… but now… I don’t know, it’s hard to explain… I have to do this.’ The calm resolution in her voice makes him reconsider his first thoughts, that whatever he could show her would be of little use. That perhaps like many he has met in his travels, grown to both like and love, she would not survive. But maybe she will. Maybe that steely calm resolve will help.

She spots the rabbit before he does. He quickly dispatches it and uses the time, where he bends down to pick it up, to hide the fact that he’s somewhat impressed at her keen eyesight. He only sees it when the rabbit begins to hop about, trying to escape from him. The woman seems to see it when the thing is nestling quietly amongst the bushes. Her voice trembles when she hears the shot.

‘Oh! Oh… Good shot.’

He shuffles the rabbit from hand to hand, busying himself so she does not see how the small amount of praise has affected him. It’s ridiculous, absurd that he should find a hot flush creeping up his cheeks at the kindness of her words. Has he really been so starved of approval from Dutch that any slight, meaningless compliment makes his head spin?

She approaches him cautiously and he passes the rabbit to her. ‘Okay then, go on. Time to get your hands dirty.’

‘How do I… I mean… what do I do?’ she asks apprehensively.

‘Just hold the legs tight, and pull the skin away, quickly. Should come righ’ off.’

She tentatively holds the rabbit up, her face betrays no squeamishness, just nervousness at getting it right. Her right hand carefully grips the fur by the rabbit’s legs. She glances up at him and Arthur wonders if he should show her how to grasp it more firmly. But then she tightens her grip and begins to tug on the fur, till bit by bit she manages to remove the coat.

‘Oh my… it worked!’ she exalts, a rare genuine smile crossing her lips. He finds himself smiling back, a deep sense of pride running through him. He taught her that and she did it. She’s a smart woman. Her cheeks flush pink and she looks away back to the rabbit. Arthur clears his throat nervously.

‘And that is all there is to it. You did good.’

She lets out a soft sigh, almost of satisfaction. ‘I think I’ve seen enough blood for one day. Do you mind if we head back now?’

‘Sure, I’ll walk you back.’ He falls in step beside her, the rabbit slung over her shoulder and he thinks about warning her that the blood will stain her blouse. But he remembers that she has a thick coating of mud all over her clothes, so it’s unlikely that any of them will ever truly be clean again. ‘That should keep you fed for a few days.’

‘Oh yes, at least. Thank you so much.’

Arthur is glad she’s walking ahead of him, though he shakes his head a little and stares down at his boots. Has a death sentence made him a complete fool? A twig snaps under his foot and the woman glances back at him, she offers him a quick smile. The fearful, desperate look in her eyes is gone, she looks comforted.

‘I mean,’ he says, clearing his throat and eager to change the subject. ‘This really ain’t such a bad spot. You got a good water source. It’s remote, but you can survive here alright.’

‘I have no doubt that one can survive here… whether Charlotte Balfour can is a different matter entirely. You’ve probably lived your whole life in the outdoors.’

‘A lot of it, that’s for sure.’ So that’s her name, Charlotte. He repeats her name in his mind, keen not to forget it immediately. Should he offer her his? Would she recognise it with the law and Pinkertons drawing in ever closer? Would she draw back in fear or contempt if she did? It doesn’t feel like he can stomach a rejection right now. He faces so much of it back at camp he probably should be used to it. But is it any better to lie and hide his true self from her? He feels bad when he realises she has been speaking and he hasn’t heard a word, too caught up in his own fears and concerns. For a man who has once insisted he didn’t think much about anything, that is another thing that has changed.

‘…Cal spent his summers growing up at his grandparents’ lodge in Maine, but I get the impression they did more punting than hunting.’

‘Right.’

‘Ever since we got here, it feels like every step forward has come with a hundred steps back. People always talk about the simplicity of country life. But there’s nothing simple about any of this.’

‘I guess we only know what we know…’

‘Oh please, I’m sure it wouldn’t take you long to adjust to a life of privilege and indolence in the big city.’ She smiles lightly.

‘I don’t know about that… it sounds awful.’

‘Oh, it is. A truly empty and boring existence… but an undeniably easy one.’

Arthur thinks about it. The notion of him being a banker or a shop owner sounds ridiculous. He’d be one of those many people he had robbed over the years and it almost tickles him to think on it. Would he be a well to do type? Someone who regularly smoke cigars and drinks brandy in the evenings, with a small wife and a family he’d occasionally see on weekends if the notion took him?

He glances at Charlotte as she climbs the hill, trying to picture what it would be like to be married to a woman like her. A city girl who has soft, delicate hands and has never skinned a rabbit. He almost scoffs aloud at the notion. Then scowls in thought.

Perhaps that was why he and Mary were destined to fail, he can’t imagine himself with a woman who hasn’t had a bit of rough living, who hasn’t skinned a rabbit or gone hunting. How he thought Mary was well suited to him he would never know. He wasn’t good enough for her. Not good enough for a woman who was better off living in cities, who could keep her hands soft and her skin unblemished.

They are approaching the apex of the hill, a simple wooden structure marking the entrance. Ahead two buildings. One looks to be more of a barn or shed, doubtless filled with tools and useful odds and ends. Outside the low wooden structure sits a wheel and a water trough. Arthur wonders if he should suggest Charlotte get herself a horse, but he doesn’t doubt the woman has thought about it already.

Ahead of him sits what could be a pretty cabin. He admires the slate tiling on the roof, providing far more protection than any thatch or wooden panelling could. Around the front door is a small porch, with a bench outside, practically ideal for any person to sit out on warm summer evenings and admire the sunset over the trees. Curling smoke drifts up from the chimney and he is glad that she seems to have enough wood to keep it lit. The path in front of the cabin is lined with stones and either side of the steps that go up to the front door are flowers, the tall blue ones he recognises from around the area of Little Creek River. A pretty place.

Once they reach the doorway, Charlotte pulls the door open slightly and then turns blocking the entrance. He can only see the wooden walls and maybe a chair from where he’s standing.

‘Thank you. That was the first time anyone’s done anything nice for us.’ She sighs at her mistake and raises the rabbit. ‘For me… since we got here.’ The recent loss is evidently still all too recent.

‘Well, nature provides, but she sure don’ always make it easy.’

‘That she doesn’t… I’d invite you in, but I’m dead on my feet, if you’ll forgive the pun.’ She manages another strained noise of amusement. ‘Please do call again some time, though. A good rest and hopefully I’ll be a new woman.’

‘You take care Ma’am.’ She lingers by the entrance and gazes at him for just a moment, then steps back into her house and closes the door. Arthur breathes out a sigh he had been holding and lowers his head. Then he turns on heel and begins to walk down the path. He whistles for his horse.

#charlotte balfour x arthur morgan #arthur morgan x charlotte balfour #arlotte #charlotte balfour #arthur morgan #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead fanfiction #red dead fanfic #red dead redemption fanfiction #red dead redemption fanfic

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chiwhorei · 4 years ago

Text

who prays for the headsman?

paring: k. kyoutani x fem!reader

genre: angst, smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: 3.2k

warnings: size kink, crying, oral (f. receiving), major character death, pseudo-incest, stepcest, violence (not a gorey depiction), stabbing, a mention of blood, medieval beheading, angst okay this is sad you have been warned

a/n: Hello! HQHQ monthly collab time, sinners! I’m super excited to share this with you all, it was truly a work of love. All of the other amazing fantasy collab pieces can be found here!

hymns: murder song (5, 4, 3, 2, 1) - AURORA, the judge - twenty one pilots

“The girl’s mother and I are to be wed with haste,” Kyoutani Kentarou’s father pats his small head, smoothing down the blond locks, “Be sure to make y/n feel comfortable. She isn’t your blood, but she’s your family now, son.”

From the moment his father brought you and your mother home, still wrapped in thick mourning veils and tears, his cross to bare was you.

You needed barely an introduction before melting into the comfort of Kentarou. Wrapping your small hands around his middle and burying your face against his neck. Your stiff black dress crinkles against him. The contact was a magnetic, instantaneous spell. Like moth meeting flame, and Kyoutani would burn for it until the next lifetime. The bubbling, itching hellfire marring his tanned skin for two decades.

It’s easier to see the resulting moments in pieces. Shiny, silver blade raised high and gleaming in the light, a sharp swipe of the weapon through the stale air, and finally a thump of weight against the ground below. Still, quiet, and absolute. There’s no escaping the headman’s blade.

The virgin light of dawn rouses Kyoutani from a fitful night of sleep, he stretches his arm out to find your form and only catches the empty shell of blankets you’ve left behind. You’re always awake to greet the cresting rays of light as if they need your permission before ascending to greet the rest of the townspeople. You are the end and beginning of each day.

He finds you sat by the stone fireplace, nightdress hanging off of your shoulders and shawl wrapped tightly to keep the winter’s air at bay. You’ve always preferred the springtime. Even so, the smile that turns at the ends of your lips warms his body like the pouring of melted honey. He basks in you for a moment from afar, as close as he ever feels worthy of being.

“How did you sleep?” Your hand reaches out as he moves farther into the cottage’s main room, touching the warmth of his bare chest. Kyoutani pulls you into him, pressing a kiss to your temple and folding your head against the crook of his neck. Your question goes unanswered, as you both already know: there’s never much rest gifted to the headsman.

A tall wisteria tree sits just outside of town. It’s branches are long and decaying. No flowers bloom on a tree the gods have forgotten. But that doesn't deter you from airy footsteps carrying you to it’s base.

“There’s nothing you can do, y/n,” Kyoutani presses, reaching his arms out to ensure you don’t fall, “there’s no fixing rotten roots.”

You scoff, bunching up your skirt at the ends and kneeling at the large trunk.

Where you bound forward without care, your Kentarou is always there to catch you. As you stoop down by the lifeless tree, his stern eyes narrow. You lay your hands against the rough bark, rubbing upwards and back down. All you need is the notion of life. Your eyes shut in concentration, fingers dancing along the coarse texture. It’s there, deep inside, waiting for you to tug at and rouse back to life. You can see it just behind your eyelids, purples and long flora hanging down, surrounding you in it’s beauty.

“H-how did you do that, y/n?” Kyoutani is cemented in shock behind you, where naked, ghoulish limbs once sat are now filled with swaying, violet life.

“I dunno, I get a tingling feeling in my hands. Here,” You pull him down to sit on the ground, pressing your palms to his cheeks. Your touch is like balm on a wound, he closes his eyes and leans in further. His forehead presses against your own. Your hands cradle the sides of his face, thumbs tracing over the soft skin in soothing patterns.

This is wrong, even as a boy no taller than prairie grass; he knows how wrong this feeling is.

“Do you feel it, Kenta?”

Kyoutani’s job isn’t to decide a person's fate, but the blood still soaks his hands all the same. His walk home is always to the beat of heavy, warning footsteps. His figure is looming, shrouded in thick leather and chain medal. The faulted axe hangs by his side, gripped tightly and weighed down with the heavy smell of iron. He counts his sins every night, prays for absolution but still scrubs the blood of strangers off of his arms and wraps you up in them.

“You fucking bastard,” a strangers voice sounds behind Kyoutani like a siren. He hears the rustling of critics followed by the feeling of a stone thrown against his back.

“You murdered my brother. He was a good man and you killed him.” Kyoutani sighs deeply, he knows the blame will fall on him with every swing his blade makes, so any retort is swallowed. There’s never much reason to quabble, as word travels in a small town like water through a sieve.

“I know who you are, Kyoutani Kentarou. Your father was a good man, and your sweet little sister grew up to be quite the-” All reason shatters under Kyoutani’s boot in an instant, feet carrying him in his hecklers’ direction. His clenched fist meeting the man’s eye socket with deadly force, vision blurring and reason fleeting. He shouldn’t be handing out home brewed justice, but there’s no rationale exercised when your name passes through a strangers mouth.

Kyoutani is a strong man, but fighting three against one would be a losing battle no matter what. No matter how noble his intent is, a sharp knife to the stomach is impossible to ignore. The stranger twists the dagger, bringing his face to Kyouatani’s ear.

“Say hi to your dear ole’ dad for me, eh?”

He hears the man’s snide voice against the pounding in his head. He feels cold and far away, falling down a tunnel with no bottom.

“They’ll be coming for you, y/n,” Your lover's voice lilts against your back, but you don’t turn to meet his eyes just yet. Your hands busy themselves against the familiar grooves of bark. The wisteria’s flowers create a sanctuary from the cruelty of the outside world. It’s a sanctuary, but this spot is one of original sin. The first brush of lips sealed fate years ago that will be actualized by daybreak.

“I know, Kenta-” Your soft voice usually calms the blonde man in front of you, but under the plague of circumstance, your words are sharp spikes against his heart.

“Why did you do it then? How could you be so careless? The mark of a witch means only one thing.” Kyoutani’s stern voice cuts you off, holding you in place, “You never think about the consequences of your reckless heart. Look at me, woman.” His body towers over you, broad chest against your back. His hand finds your jaw, pulling it harshly to force eye contact. Darkened brown eyes fall upon your watery ones and his angry facade shatters like pottery in the small space between your two bodies. You sniffle in his hold, fat tears run down your cheeks as you stutter a response.

“I couldn’t let you die, you’re the only family I have left. I- I love you, Kenta.” A sob rips through you, the declaration isn’t a new one, but it’s context is uniquely heartbreaking. Kyoutani pulls you into him immediately, wrapping strong, scarred arms around your shoulders. You cling to him, a piece of history repeating itself as it likes to do, wrapped in each other and the royal purples of wisteria.

Your lips quiver an inch away from his, stained with salty tears. Kyoutani feels the warmth of plush skin dangled in front of him, there’s an urgency rushing through him where he’s usually hesitant. There isn’t much more time. Without consulting the angel on his right shoulder, two large hands cup your face and pull your lips against his own.

Your cries are muffled by the sloppy pull of your own tongue into Kyoutani’s mouth. As his traces over yours with a chorus of nips and licks, his hands fall to your waist to bunch up the fabric against your hips. The action causes your body to press flush to his crotch.

“We have one more night together, Kenta. Please.” Your words don’t need much appraisal, you could ask Kyoutani to pull the skies down with his bare hands and he would tear the blankets off of any gods above without a second thought. One more night.

Kyoutani unwraps himself from around your form to sit down on the spongy grass below. The terrain is soft and forgiving despite its location in the dense forest. He watches you above him, angelically outlined in the soft moonlight. The personification of virtue and goodness glimmering off of you like an aura. The purest beauty to ever exist, and he’s at the helm of it’s destruction.

The sound of your dress pooling at your feet pulls him from mulling over his past transgressions. His eyes follow a line up from said garment to where your bare cunt is nestled between hip bones. His gaze climbs farther, lacerating the memory of every dip and curve so they scar against his heart. He needs to remember everything.

You join him on the soft grass, knees swung on either side of his large thighs. His hands find your hips again, pressing into the flesh as you begin to rock lightly against him. Your movement is disastrous to his resolve, the tension in his body delivers harsh oval bruises against the skin of your ass.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” Your confessions are accented by kisses against Kyoutani’s cheeks and lips. Your soul, your heart, your everything are each other’s; and tonight is the final assemblage.

Kyoutani’s touch is like scarlet fever against your body, burning in its journey to grope any flesh he could reach. His fingers have to cement this feeling into his fingerprints, after tonight only the phantom pains of you will remain.

“You feel so good Kenta. S-So right.” Your mewls rattle around against his skull, as one palm comes down to meet your heated pussy. The most morally abject sin he’s committed- even counting the heads that roll by his feat every day- is you. But still; he can’t argue the morality of your body writhing naked above him when his cock is already straining angrily against the leather of his pants. His fingers trace down from the hip bone to where your puffy lips sit. It’s amazing how sweet, how soft you are. Where Kyoutani is calloused and harsh, you are smooth and silken. Perfection. Depravity.

As one thick finger proads against your hole, your hips buck with new resolve. You crave more than just fleeting touches and stolen glances. You want him to let go completely, something he’s only done a handful of times. You need him to.

“I’m not made of ceramic Kyoutani. You treat me like a child, but I’m stronger than you seem to believe.” You use your family name for punctuation, but the sentence comes out melted on the edges when he sticks another digit in to join the first.

“Don’t you think I know that, y/n. Fuck. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known,” a resounding slap meets your ass, jolting you farther against his fingers, “but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t protect you. That’s my job, damnit.” His thumb finds your swollen clit with ease even within his flustered state and presses down, “I failed you.”

You don’t trust your own voice to answer, you know nothing you could say would ease his heart. All you can do is push forward in hopes that one night can make up for the life he’ll have to live without you. Your hands move down to loosen his suffocating pants, wobbly knees digging against the ground as he eases the leather down his legs.

Your hand grabs a hold of his hard cock, stroking from his thick base to reddened tip. The touch is familiar. Something that wracks him with guilt but fills his soul with warmth. It’s always been your touch. Similar to the sparks rendered from striking flint, your touch lights up his every nerve

Kentarou’s fingers move back to work you open for him, your head falls back, causing the fat of your tits to bounce against his chest. His other rough hand comes up to palm your breasts, pinching your hardened nipple and pulling down. You cry out in pleasure at the attention, senses overwhelmed by your lover’s ministrations.

“Please, please do something.” Your voice is desperate against the shell of his ear, pleading for more. More of Kentarou, and naively, for more time.

With a swift, practiced movement, the blonde moves you to lay against the grass. He removes the blood-stained shirt from his chest and kicks off his pants. His body eclipses yours, shielding you from view. You’re surrounded by him, the heady scent of sweat, the sound of the racing heart against his ribcage like a trapped songbird. It’s all Kyoutani, it always has been; your home, your confessional, the safest reprieve and your most vile secret.

Kyoutani’s cock is freed from its confines to slap deftly against his stomach. Your mouth tries to swallow as if filled with dried tea leaves, his size isn’t always the most accommodating. Even so, you lift up on one elbow to curl your fingers around his shaft and groan once again when your pointer finger and thumb don’t meet. Kyoutani opens his mouth to speak but you answer before the words fall.

“Don’t be gentle, Kentarou, ” your dwarfed hand tugs him towards you, creating a dizzying pressure, “I can take it.”

There’s no room for argument in your words, so he dips down to kiss your lips once again. “Let me taste you, y/n. Just one more time.” His eyes hold flames but regard you as softly as possible. You nod in agreement. His lips running down from your neck to your hips, you feel the chapped skin against your own. With each peck, a path of tears follow in tandem. His shaky cries are hidden behind the moans being pulled from your lungs. You don’t acknowledge it, for doing so would just make the wracking pain even worse.

There’s no use speaking of your combined suffering, it’s already dug it’s blade into Kyoutani’s vertebrae.

Once his mouth reaches your wet pussy, there’s nothing left of his conscious. Where guilt usually lies, madness replaces. The first swipe of his tongue is painfully slow, he has to savor this taste, your taste. Your soft, swollen lips are the gods’ manna and he’s been given one last chance to indulge. Kyoutani’s tongue finds your clit and flicks upward, just the way that’s always made you squeal. You’re coating his chin in slick, and nothing else will ever quench his thirst like this again. He could stay in between your legs for the next century, but rips himself away from your dripping cunt.

Your mouth is captured in his again, tongue and cheeks coated in your own arousal. The feeling distracting you from the reddened tip prodding at your tight hole. You suck in a sharp breath as you’re worked open. Every vein and ridge tugs against your snug walls. It hurts, it always does, but there’s nothing that’s ever felt better either. You bite his collarbone in a feeble attempt to keep quiet, nails cresting small shapes against his back as he slides farther and farther in.

“My pretty girl, so perfect for me.” Kyoutani’s hips meet your ass, giving you a moment to acclimate. You’re pulled taut around him, cock dragging against you as he pulls back. He remembers your previous words. I can take it.

His hips slam against you with ferocity. Every expanse of fat on you bounces. Thighs, tits, ass- all moving with the pace he sets. His cock is begging for release with every union of his tip to your cervix. A litany of cries and pleas fill the surrounding air, lilting around to bounce against the drooping flowers.

“Please Kenta, I’m- I’m going to.” Your sentence breaks off at the end but he puts them back together. He coos you, “I know, little one. Let go for me.” He presses two fingers against your clit once more to rub tight circles.

Your toes curl against the grass below you, body locking up as the blood running through your veins is replaced with gooey syrup. Years of tension and shame pull tightly against your body and snap in an instant.

Kyoutani can’t hold off his own orgasm any longer, not with the vice grip you have on him.

Not with the sound of the constable's horses drawing closer to the old wisteria tree.

It’s easier to see the resulting moments in pieces.

Kyoutani’s blade is sharpened meticulously. “A dull axe is worlds more painful.” Even as his heart is being torn from under his breast bone, webs of muscle and tendon snapping like sewing floss the closer he walks to your kneeling form, he remembers his father’s words.

The ringing in his ear drowns out the sound of your sentence being passed, it’s better he doesn't hear the official crimes you are posed with, lest he swings his weapon against the priest instead. He wants to reach out, to untie you and run away, to find a new world. A world where he hears the pattering of little footsteps and sees chubby hands clinging against your apron. A world where he wakes up to your wrinkled cheeks and graying hair.

Shiny, silver blade raised high and gleaming in the light, a sharp swipe of the weapon through the stale air, and finally a thump of weight against the ground below. Still, quiet, and absolute.

There’s no escaping the headman’s blade.

The wisteria tree is the beginning and end. Long, purple flowers sealing fate. Kyoutani pulls reluctant feet to the tree's base, his forehead pressing against the bark. He turns around and slides down to sit against the trunk. His hands roam against the texture of the grass beneath him. He remembers the spindly branches and decaying wood from years ago when he closes his eyes, he remembers your hands clawing back it’s life from the lowest level of hell.

When his eyes open again, they are met with yours. Soft, beautiful, and achingly familiar. You smile, lips turning upwards and teeth peaking out slightly. Your hand reaches out to cup his face, a dull crackle of warmth reaches his skin where forest fires use to smolder. It’s not the same, but it’s you. He knows it’s you somehow. Whether it be a cruel trick from the gods or his brain succumbing to madness. It’s still you. Your warmth is surrounding him again, and it feels almost right.

“Do you feel it, Kenta?” Your voice is warped and echoes like a hollow drum, he can’t help the tears falling in thick streams. It’s you. He reaches out to touch you, but his hands remain empty and cold. You disappear in a second, your face vanishing from where he swore he could almost feel your lips against his own.

You leave him once again and take the bright flowers of wisteria with you.

#kyoutani x reader #kyoutani smut #kyoutani kentarou x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #kyoutani kentarou #kyoutani kentarou smut #hqhq server collab #tw: stepcest #tw: death #tw: pseudo-incest #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: stabbing

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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years ago

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the lakes

Draco Malfoy X Reader

Request: @youareinllve: Imagine spending summer break at the Malfoy manor and you realize that this is the first time in a while that draco seems like a kid again, with no pressure from his family or Voldemort or the death eaters, just draco, your draco again, just having fun in a lake. (also see the lakes)

A/N: So I think this is the softest thing that I’ve ever written in my life and that’s saying something (especially for those of you who have been around for a while). It also has brilliant cadence, so if you can, read it aloud: it’s that much more enchanting if you can. By no means will this always be how I write, because it is more poetic than prose, but I don’t mind doing it now and against especially with a muse like folklore. Let me know what you think! Seriously, I thrive on y’all feedback/comments/reblogs.

There were few days that I could call my own. The days when no one expected me to sit this way, talk that way, act perfectly. I could be young. I could be free. I could be loved. I could be with him.

There were few days that I could call him my own. The days when no one expected him to walk this way, speak that way, act like a Malfoy. He could be young. He could be free. He could be loved. He could be with me.

There were no tight-fitting robes. There were no school uniforms. There were no hours spent on hair and makeup. There was no time wasted in reflections. There were no side eye glances to steal.

There was the lightness of cotton. It was sundresses, cuffed trousers and flowy shirts. It was wide brimmed sun hats and bare feet. It was the softness of grass and the strength of the stones and comfort of earth.

It was his smile. The way it met his eyes. The way it called me in.

Into that cold water. That crystal-clear water. The water that matched the shade of his eyes.

Meet me at the lake,

Yours, Draco

That’s all it would take. That was when I knew the day was mine. When I knew he was. It was a trip to Windermere. To the wood skirting around his large suffocating manor. It was meeting him at the lake, where our days went to live and die.

“Took you long enough,” I’d tease as he passed the first few trees, his eyes scanning the foliage for me.

“Not all of us can apparate yet,” He’d jest back, taking my hand.

The warmth of his hand in mine matched the smile on his face. The sharp points of his cheekbones and jaw meeting the soft curves of his lips and eyelashes. The grass struggling to grow in the speckled light beckoned us forward. Our shoes, coats, and griefs left under a tree where our initials were carved. Sunlight filtered in golden and green through the trees lighting him softly.

Draco would take my hand and pull me close. His hands would rest on my waist as his nose nuzzled against mine in the calm lighting. Our breaths and the rustling of leaves were the only things heard. The only things that mattered to listen to. His lips would be soft and alluring on mine—just as his smile was.

The shock of the chilled water would elicit the most irresistible laughter and shouts of joy. The squishy earth beneath my toes would have me draped over Draco’s shoulders, just to avoid the prickling feeling. My dislike of the sensation would have him laughing yet again, and perhaps he’d roll his eyes at my ridiculousness. But he’d never complain. Instead he’d hold me or draw me deeper into the water.

The lake. The deep water. As soon as we could dive beneath it, our worries were gone. There was no war looming. There were no evil overlords. No heroes. No ransoms. There was no good versus bad. There was no sides. No houses. No prejudices.

There was me.

There was Draco.

There was the hum of insects. There was the swaying of wisteria. His smile pressed against my skin.

“I love you,” He’d whisper. “More than anything,”

“Never more than I love you,” I’d reply.

The enchanted water of that lake would take us to the banks. The outcropped rocks surrounded by flowers that were free to grow. That grew despite the adversity that it faced. The blanket would be soft under my touch as we carved a little square of the wildflowers to call our own.

Draco’s eyes would watch the distance, gazing upon the peaks of the mountains. Being with Draco seemed to make everything hurt less. No matter what it was, he had a way of soothing all of my worries and strife.

“How do I love thee?” He’d quote as I lay beside him watching the blueness of the heavens above.

“Let me count the ways,” I’d muse back, propping up on my arm so that I could catch a glimpse of the grey that his eyes held.

“I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach,” The words would tumble from his lips with practiced ease, with the same grace as the breeze persuading the grass to waver.

“I love thee to the level of every day's most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.” My words would barely be heard above the babbling of the lost brook as the sun would stretch out its last efforts of warmth and guidance.

Draco would sit up then, tucking my drying hair behind my ear in a feeble attempt to tame it against the will of the wind gods that accompanied us.

“I love thee freely, as men strive for right.” An air of melancholy would haunt his words as shades began to seep back into our Eden.

“I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.” The gentle reminder would ward off the ghosts of who we were supposed to be as a smile would be mirrored on his face as it was mine. Again, we were free.

“I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.” Draco would become theatrical at these lines, feigning distress and he draped over my lap. A laugh would fall from my lips and onto the perfection of his features.

“I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints.” My fingers would dust over his cheek, drawing down his jaw, to trace the pink of his lips.

“I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life,” His grey eyes would vow this to me. Each and every day that belonged to us he would declare these words.

“And, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.” I’d promise back.

As the sun gave into his sister for the night, there was no escaping the world that demanded us back. The world filled with grief and sorrow.

The truth was: Draco and I didn’t belong in that world. The world of heroes and villains. The world of happily ever after’s and storybook endings. We weren’t made for rumors and gossip. Our love didn’t fit in newspapers or hushed conversations.

We belonged to the poets. To the sad prose. We belonged to the orishas of that lake and the wood and the flowers and the earth. Thousands of nymphs and naiads for us to be in the comfort and care of. The fae that would welcome us and protect our love. Our love that grew deep roots and beautiful flowers with no one around to spoil it.

Those were the days that we’d set off without our beloved to the lakes.

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