#would the red string be long enough to get tangled you say

[hischierlovebot]

Red string of fate au where one of them doesn't believe in soulmates and after the string gets tangled in his skates one too many times, he cuts it off

[sparrowrye]

The Archivists’s Oath || Alastor x Reader, Chapter 4

Synopsis: some things are just too good to be true

Master List

Chapter 4: broadcast of betrayal

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Stop it." I smacked Al's hand away from his arm.

"It itches," he hissed. He went to itch it again but I caught it in a tight grip.

"Suck it up or it's going to itch more."

His ears turned away in response as he stuffed down a growl. I released his hand and went back to the kitchen sink. I had an itch cream but it had been difficult to get it underneath his fur, so there had been a few places I missed. We had fallen asleep under the stars and woke with an array of mosquito bites.

I soaked a towel in water and draped it over the handle of the kettle. After it had warmed enough, I wrapped it around the arm he was still itching and told him to lay down. I then left him alone as I went out to continue my long list of chores.

I made my way to the little creak that ran along the edges of the oasis. I scavenged for berries and other herbs to store for later use. It was one of the most mind-numbing and time-consuming chore, and it was also the one that took me furthest away from my alcove.

However, I could no longer contain myself. I dropped the old basket and sprouted my wings. My claws dug into the nearest tree as I climbed up and jumped through the branches. My wings were slightly open to help me glide from tree to tree. I laughed like a kid, even when I missed a branch or two and smacked my face into a trunk.

I hung my legs on a branch and swung upside down, stretching my arms and wings as far as I could. My own laughing was contagious. When was the last time I felt this way? When was the last time I felt happy? The last time I felt hopeful?

Would he actually take me to see the outside world? Where did he live? How far was it? Would he actually want to come back after he's been back in his own, familiar world?

The thought sobered me. I shouldn't get too hopeful. He could already have a partner or someone he's interested in. He could be saying all these things and not actually follow through. I wouldn't be surprised if he got caught up in the outside world and completely forgot about me.

I grabbed the branch and unhooked my legs, but froze when something caught my eye. I lowered myself to the ground and peered through the tangle of roots, catching a glint of something red. Using magic, I pulled the branches away to find a strange, metal, teardrop thing. I turned it over, noting the metal rod that was bent at a 90 degree angle, and found a microphone sitting in the dip of the teardrop.

Was this his staff?

It hadn't gotten taken by the White Angels?

Something about this staff made the hairs on my arm stand up. I could feel the magic from this simple tool, magic that tasted oddly like Al. I didn't even know magic had a taste until that moment. There were faint lines along the teardrop shell, strange markings and symbols that represented him—his power, his life out there, his magic, and the truth I didn't want to face.

I idly walked back with the damaged cane and old basket in hand. What would happen if I gave him the staff? If he needed it to get home, would he up and leave me without a word? Would he take back his promise on showing me the world? Technically he didn't even promise that to me. But...it went against my moral code to keep something, with obvious importance, a secret.

Had our time finally come to an end?

I found myself back at the alcove sooner than I wanted. I raked my hand down my face, mentally braced, and slid through the bramble. I found Al messing with the string again. When he turned to look at me, his eyes immediately went to the staff in my hands. He went eerily still. Then abruptly stood up.

"You found it." He crossed the room slowly, gaze zoned in on the staff.

"It was—uh...stuck in some roots." Head lowered, I extended my arm. "Sorry that it's broken."

"Nothing a little magic can't fix." His claws wrapped around the metal and, when I let go of it, his other hand grabbed my hand before I could pull away. It wasn't a tight grip but a tense hold I wasn't expecting. He leaned down in my ear and said softly, "Thank you."

He removed the cane, and his grip, and I wrapped my arms around myself. "G-glad I could help."

He looked me over for a moment. "Is something the matter?"

"'Course not." I quickly slipped out of the bunker.

~*~

Alastor sat on the worn couch, the staff resting on his lap. His fingers traced the carvings on the back of it, as though reacquainting himself with a piece of his soul. Despite the damage, it bled magic into Alastor's veins and reinforced the amount he had been born with. It made his leg tap with a funny feeling of adrenaline.

Even so, he felt the gravity of his situation fall upon his shoulders. The quiet was too quiet. The shadows too dark and closing in. He had expected this moment to happen but he hadn't expected it so soon, but he knew he was only fooling with himself.

He dropped his cane on the table then buried his face in his hands. All he could think about was the look on your face—the forced smile and the flicker of pain behind your eyes. You had tried so hard to mask it and push him away, for his sake or your own he had no idea.

His staff glared back at him, a reminder of his life outside this sanctuary and of his responsibilities he'd been neglecting. He could only imagine what his district must be like if they learned of his sudden disappearance. Perhaps Vox finally made his move to step into Alastor's role, but even he knew that was entirely impossible. His mages—while they didn't exactly like Alastor all the time—would never accept a non-mage. If anything, Zestial was the one who took over.

His magic pulsed. He closed his eyes and reached out, his heightened magic seeping through the cracks and invisible wavelengths to where you sat crouched in the alcove. Crying. Wings wrapped tightly around yourself.

He opened his eyes to the red staff. For all his power, all his cunning, and all his control...he was utterly powerless in this moment. You had pulled him out of his element in every way and it reminded him why he had spent so many years crafting and chiseling himself into who he was—he never wanted to feel this way again.

And yet...here he was.

Another ripple through his magic. He ran his hands through his hair, pulled on it, then finally stood. He yanked the heavy door open and stepped into the afternoon light. Birds chirped overhead as a breeze flowed through the trees and bramble protecting the sanctuary.

You recoiled your wings back to their spot on your back and turned your head away, arms holding your knees to your chest. He silently sat beside you, making sure to keep enough space. His long legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned back against the stone. He had hoped he would come up with something to say by the time he sat down. But he hadn't. He was at a loss for words.

You sniffled softly. "I guess this means you're leaving soon."

He clasped his hands together so he didn't risk touching you. "Think me eager to leave your charming company so quickly?"

You shrugged, refusing to turn your head in his direction. "You have your staff back. You've got...some mission or job to do back home. I just figured..."

"That I'd forget all about you the moment I left?" he finished.

You didn't reply immediately. You wiped your eyes with your sleeve then turned your head to stare straight ahead. "The world is full of temptations. It's easy to get lost."

The words sounded like a recitation. Was it something you'd been told as you were growing up? That the world is full of dangerous temptations that could distract an Archivist—that could pull them away from their work? Could some of the world's long lost Archivists have given up their way of life in exchange for a blissful world of temptations?

"Well...the temptations become far less inviting the longer you live with them." He was hurting his hands with how hard he was gripping them. He wanted to touch you, to provide some sort of comfort. The him before your sanctuary would've been appalled at him now. "But yes...the world doesn't stop turning even if I've found a temporary reprieve here."

You winced at the word temporary and more tears started to build. You turned your head away again, sending more ripples through his magic.

Blast this magic. It was trying to adapt to his new mindset and it wasn't a smooth transition.

"I'm sure your...team or whatever will be happy to know you're not dead."

"Not yet."

Your body froze, then you wiped your head around, finally meeting his gaze with those beautiful eyes, albeit a little red and swollen from crying.

"I'll stay one more day," he continued, fingers finally unlocking and settling on the grass between you. "Perhaps two. I'd hate to leave you without properly overstaying my welcome."

Finally a crack of a smile on your lips. You shifted closer, accepting the arm that wrapped around your back and guided your head to lean on his shoulder. You took in a slow, deep breath of his natural scent and he did the same, soaking in that earthy scent like the day after a spring storm.

This is going to be painful, he thought.

Luckily for Alastor, he was accustomed to pain.

{|}

Alastor let two more days pass before he accepted reality.

It was time to return to the world.

He had been gone for...two weeks? Three weeks?

He waited for you to leave for a chore, giving it two minutes to ensure you weren't coming back for anything. Then he sat up, grabbed his staff, and cranked the radio on your counter. He cracked his neck then brought the wounded staff up to his mouth. He tuned the frequencies to him and his voice fizzled through.

"Good afternoon, my dear listeners! It is said that even the mightiest can fall. That the wind may tear them down, that the earth may swallow them whole, or that their enemies might, by some stroke of luck, strike them down. But legends—true legends—don't fall so easily."

He glanced over his shoulder to ensure you hadn't opened the door.

"And I've heard the rumors. I've heard the whispers in dark alleys, in the busy markets, and in hurried prayers that I may have met my demise. I would find it rather aggravating if I didn't find it so amusing. You had hoped, maybe even believed, that the storm had passed and you could continue your broken ways of living off scraps. But here my voice now—" he was really starting to get into it, "as I assure you that I remain unshaken, unbroken, and...unkillable."

He hoped Husker was listening to the radio by this point. "I have gone to the edge of the world and returned, standing before you very much alive and whole. A beacon in these dark times. For who else possesses the capability of guiding you through the chaos and uncertainty? Who else can bear the weight of Humanity's future? Of your future?"

Please get my hints, Husker. He couldn't imagine the hint passed over the feline's head. He was an alcoholic but he wasn't incompetent.

"Let this be a reminder to those who dared to raise a hand against me, to those who posses the stupidity to even consider such a notion, that their act of foolishness was just that. Foolish. I'm still here. I'm still alive. And I will remain here while there's breath in my lungs and magic in my veins."

He cleared his throat away from the microphone and changed his tone. "Now, to my faithful...worry not. I am closer than you think and watching over you as I always have. The winds have carried me to great heights and the ground beneath my feet is unfamiliar but not untamable. Trust your instincts, follow the trail of the stars to Orion's Belt and you will find me.

"This is Alastor, the Radio Demon, reminding you all that there is no hope for the future without me. Sleep well...if you can." The frequency jittered then went to white noise. He lowered the volume and let out a huge sigh of relief.

That had felt good.

"You're him."

His heart dropped and he whirled around to find you at the entrance. Your face was pale and your eyes as wide as he'd ever seen them. Why hadn't he heard you walk in?

He didn't know how to answer. You had caught him. Plain and simple. His secret was out.

~*~

"I should've known," I whispered. Al was short for Alastor. The microphone on his cane was how he tuned into the radio. The complete silence from the Radio Demon for the past three weeks while Al was here. And his voice? How did I not recognize it?

"My dear, I had planned to tell you but I—"

"You needed to tell everyone that you were unshaken, unbroken, and unkillable?"

His rubbed his fingers together. "You weren't meant to hear that. It wasn't...it was about ensuring the world knows I'm still here to keep everything in control."

"Control? You talk about guiding people through the chaos but all I hear are lies. You're not a guide. You're a conquerer." I spat the word like a bad taste in my mouth. It was.

His chest swelled with upset. "You think it's easy, what I've done? What I'm still trying to do? You think it's easy trying to keep this fragile world from descending into chaos and being devoured by their own stupidity? They don't know any better."

"And you think ruling with an iron fist—" I snapped back, "—ruling with fear as a mystic monster that everyone's too scared to defy, will save them? That's not living and that's certainly not saving Humanity."

"What would you know about saving Humanity? I've had to make sacrifices. Sacrifices that you could never understand while you sit upon a mountain of knowledge that could change everything. But you refuse to share it, giving out only slivers of that knowledge that you deem necessary for Humanity to know."

My blood ran cold.

"That's right. I know what you are. You're an Archivist." He put a hand behind his back as he crossed the room until he had backed me against the door. "A prideful legacy of manipulative hoarders who think they're higher than everyone else. All in the name of some ancient, outdated oath."

My anger returned just as fiercely, adrenaline putting aside that this was a dangerous man standing inches from me in my own home. "That outdated oath is what's keeping the last shred of Humanity safe from conquerers like you. You want to manipulate, you want to control, you want to use everything in that archive for your own gain. Not for the safety of Humanity but to secure your power above them. And I won't let that happen. I won't let you twist the past to fit your twisted future!"

"You," he jerked his head forward so I flinched back, "don't understand what's at stake. Those archives could save us from extinction but you're too stubborn to see that. You—"

"I'm keeping them so that we don't go extinct!" I interrupted. "Humanity had the Great Downfall for a reason. Those archives exist to keep us from going through another one." My hands were moving on account for my fear. Tears were rising.

"But Humanity will not know how to avoid it if you refuse to share that knowledge."

I stumbled over my words as my hands threaded through my hair. "That's not...where do you think all those pictures and articles about the Old World come from? They come from the Archivists. Our job is to share the proper knowledge so—"

"So you know better than the rest of Humanity?"

"I...well...I have all the information," I said more firmly, "and not even that because I'm not done translating everything."

He leaned back, looking down his nose at me and fang poking out of an evil smile. "You lecture me about taking control of Humanity because I know what's best for them, yet you stand here believing the same thing about yourself."

"It's different!"

"Enough of this." He turned his back and walked to the center of the bunker. "I don't need your permission. I'll do what needs to be done for Humanity's sake."

I let out a maniac laugh. "You think you can force me to give up my archive? My oath demands me to die before I give anything away to the wrong hands. And even if it didn't, I won't let you control me. I won't be your pawn, Alastor. I won't let you or anyone else use me to keep this twisted nightmare alive. I won't let you!"

There was silence as my voice reverberated off the walls. My chest heaved from the adrenaline rush, my heart racing with the anticipation of his next move. I was outmatched. I would not survive this if he chose to attack me.

His back was still turned to me, but his tone shifted as he said, "You're right. I don't control you. But you're sorely mistaken if you think you can stand against the tide alone. The world is bigger than you, my dear. One way or another, I will have my hands on those books."

"I should've let you die," I muttered.

~*~

His eyes widened and he slowly turned around.

"I should've let you bleed out," you went on. "I should've listened to my instincts and let you die alone. None of this would've ever happened and I would've spared Humanity from the Radio Demon."

His eyes narrowed and his shadow seemed to darken in the lantern light.

Your voice dropped, hands reaching up to hug yourself. "I should've known it was too good to be true. That someone...that someone would want to actually...want to be with me." Alastor's anger abated as quickly as it had surfaced. More softly you added, "I would've spared myself, too."

He didn't see an Archivist. He saw you. Scared, unsure, alone, and wanting someone to just spend time with you. It made his chest tighten uncomfortably.

He opened his mouth to say something but you beat him to it. "Well, you can stop the act now. You're no longer welcome here." His teeth ground together. "I'll take you to the edge of the forest where you'll wait for your people to find you."

"So that's it?" he growled. "You're going to pretend like nothing happened?"

"You tricked me!" you practically screamed. "You pretended this whole time just to get close to me so you could have access to my archive."

"And so did you!" he returned. "Keeping your true nature a secret."

"But you didn't tell me you were the Radio Demon."

He looked away. He had been the one to hide the most secrets, but none of them weighed as much as the single secret you held onto. He hadn't wanted this conversation to go this way. He had wanted to introduce it to you slowly, gradually. Instead, he had ruined it.

No.

The Archivists had ruined it. Them and their secrets and stupid oath. If it wasn't for that oath then you wouldn't be fighting him to such an extreme.

You dragged the door open and withdrew the ribbon from your pocket. "I will take you to the edge of the forest," you repeated.

He was the Radio Demon. He had the power to confine you to this small space. He had the power to twist your bones until they snapped. He had the power to see just how far you were willing to follow your oath.

And yet...he didn't.

{|}

My arms tensed before swinging the axe down. The log splintered in half straight down the middle. I wrenched the tool out of the stump and placed another log on it, repeating the process several times more.

It had been a few weeks since Alastor left and he still hadn't shown any signs of returning to light my forest aflame. Perhaps he was still preparing.

"It's protected. It's guarded. It's hidden. It will not be found unless they scowl the oasis with a team of a hundred."

My mother's words echoed in my mind day-in and day-out. Three times a day I flew to the highest building to check the horizon, sometimes even more if I was paranoid enough, but there was nothing I could do if I saw his ship. Eventually, he would find it.

I was wracked with guilt so intense it left me horribly sick. My chores were sloppy and I came down with a cold left and right. However, there was a small part of me that was grateful. I could meet my demise as I fought for my Archive, rather than feel guilt over committing suicide. It was a honorable death for an Archivist, and I could burn my archive before he returned so his victory would be hollow.

I pursed my lips. I could still remember the feeling of our last kiss. I could still remember the feeling of his fingers interlocked with mine. I could still remember the feeling of his arm wrapped around my waist, of his teasing remarks, of him squinting at the cards in an effort to read them, of the feeling of his hands touching my feathers and messaging the muscles of my armwing.

Most of all, I could remember the stark difference between Al and the Radio Demon.

"You're right. I don't control you. But if you're sorely mistaken if you think you can stand against the tide alone. The world is bigger than you, my dear. One way or another, I will have my hands on those books."

I held the axe behind my back and swung it with a scream. Birds flew out of the treetops as I fell to my knees, still screaming. My wings sprouted and flapped once to push me quickly to my feet.

"Fuck you!" I screamed into the open air, arms swinging at nothing. "Fuck you! How dare you trick me into thinking you cared about me. How dare you manipulate me!" I fell back on my knees and pounded my fists into the grass. I grabbed the nearest log and threw it at a nearby tree. "How fucking dare you!"

My screams suddenly turned into ugly sobs. I wrapped my arms around myself as I sunk to the ground and curled up. My body shook with every sob, eventually leading to vomiting what little breakfast I had forced myself to eat. Twice.

Tears streaming down my face and snot dripped out of my nose. I tilted my head back to look at the clear blue sky. My lips quivered as I mumbled, "Fuck you for abandoning me like everyone else."

I was alone all over again.

He had made me feel happy. He had made me forget about my grim destiny. He had made me enjoy the present. He had made me feel...not alone.

Then suddenly ripped that all away, leaving me feeling even more alone than when he first found me.

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Author’s Note:

This was a little painful to write. But remember, the bad must happen for the good to feel great! Alastor has a lot to do to make up for this ;)

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Taglist:

@sirens-and-moonflowers @papas-ghoulette

[stardustlixie]

i love you?

☆

"how long in the relationship did it take for you to say i love you?" was always such a strange question for you. if you loved someone, why would you wait to tell them? maybe you wouldn't say it out loud, but there would be silent confessions..

a bowl of fruit delivered to their desk on a particularly busy day, 'i love you'

a sketch of their sleeping form, illuminated in faint sunlight, face nuzzled into their pillow, hair tickling their skin, 'i love you'

a small sneaky bite into their shoulder, 'i love you'

countless poems written in their name, with all the words that you could possibly use to say 'i love you'

letting them pick their movie for the hundredth time, 'i love you'

the vulnerability of them trusting you enough to fall asleep in your arms, a soft kiss on the forehead, 'i love you'

looking after them on sick days, running fingers through their hair as they curse their headache, 'i love you'

entangled pinkies on busy roads so you don't lose them in the crowd, 'i love you'

drawing red strings on each other's hands, a promise to always find each other, 'i love you'

perhaps you love too easy, feel too much, but that's okay. what was your heart made for, if not to feel?

as long as you were capable of loving, you would love easily, trust easily, get hurt easily, and start over again. that's how you were. until fates twisted themselves in a way that rendered you incapable of feeling anything but a never ceasing emptiness, a dark void of nothing is what was left of your heart.

until he came around. hyunjin, who wore his heart on his sleeve much like you used to. hyunjin, who loved easily and got hurt easily. hyunjin who was so, so beautiful. from then on it was only him.

loving him was surprisingly painless, and oh-so-easy. he was a beautiful soul.

you brought him fruit that day he was stressing over an assignment, you sketched his face when he fell asleep in your bed after crying his heart out about something that hurt his sensitive heart, you bit his shoulder out of nowhere during a particularly boring lecture, getting a barely audible yelp in return.

you gifted him a notebook filled with poems about him on his birthday, you laughed and rolled your eyes when he picked tangled to watch for the nth time, you brushed his hair out of his face to plant a kiss on his forehead when he feel asleep on the couch, on top of you, conveniently immobilising you.

your fingers ran through his hair as you tried to soothe his headache, entangled your pinky with his on a busy street filled with bookstores he took you to and you drew red strings on the hand that was in your own as you both absentmindedly lay on the floor.

as he cradled your sobbing figure as you cried out your misery, he was balm to your heart, tincture to your wounds, calmness to your nerves and healing to your soul. and then he said it, "i love you."

and maybe that was all that mattered.

[lucygxybaird]

billy x reader - reader is accused of being a witch

tw: death, violence, murder, suicidal ideation

From the moment he sees you, Billy finds himself reduced to a wounded animal, dragging himself from moment to moment with a gritty tenacity that tastes like copper in the back of his throat. Only one task matters at a time; when that’s done, he moves on to the next. His body acts independently of his mind, which has been reduced to a tangle of white noise, like rapids swelling over the banks of a river. 

Any real understanding is drowned in that hectic rush, sometimes by force. 

He doesn’t — he can’t — allow himself to consider what will happen when there’s nothing left to do, nothing left but to confront his part in what has occurred. He knows what you would say, if you could reach into his head and decipher the noise. You would tell him not to blame himself. You would tell him that women like you have been branded by the ignorant for centuries — if not literally, then with looks and rumors. 

You would tell him that you wouldn’t change anything. It’s worth it, you’d say, to be with him, to have spent a string of nights with him, countless days, priceless pearls hung on a chain that can never be broken. And yet — 

He shakes his head. Not now. He has too much still to get done. 

He’s already taken you home, tucked you in among the nest of blankets on the bed. Even then, with his thoughts still a meaningless cacophony, it struck him how the comfort was meaningless. The pile of woolen blankets — threadbare, true, but more than warm enough with the two of you nestled together underneath them — mean as much to you now as a moldering pile of leaves. 

But if he thinks of the leaves, if he imagines a carpet of ocher and red and gold spread over a mound of freshly turned earth, he’ll have to think about what that means. That earth. What — who — is underneath it. And he can’t do that. 

He warms up a pail of water over the fire before dipping a rag in it, washing your feet, your hands, dabbing at your wrists and your neck. He gently, carefully, removes your tattered dress and instead wraps you in a flannel nightgown he knows to be a favorite. The sleeves are long enough to cover the bracelets of raw, reddened skin circling your wrists, but the collar is scooped, soft and lacy; it won’t do.

So he adds a cardigan of his, one you’ve always loved. It’s so big that you swim in it, and he can arrange the folds just so. He notices, dimly, as if the hands in question belong to someone else, that his fingers are trembling.

He brushes out your hair, fanning it over the pillow so that it almost looks like you’re sleeping. It’s gotten late. The sun had stained the horizon by the time he found you, and now the sky is growing steadily darker, indigo giving way to black as stars flicker into life. For a moment, he’s frozen in their cold gaze, a phalanx of distant diamond eyes staring at him through the window. 

It’s hard to believe there is still light, even if it’s far away, even if it’s anemic and pale. All the light in the world should have gone with you. 

Once, Tunstall told him about Dante’s Inferno, how the worst part of Hell isn’t a lake of fire, but an icebound wasteland. He can’t imagine the rest of his days any other way, except a hell of his own making, marching on through the cold and the dark. 

Maybe, he thinks, that explains everything. He’s not digging your grave — muscles burning, fingernails caked with dirt, sweat making his eyes sting anew — but someone else is digging his. This really is Hell, and he’s being punished for his sins in the worst way the devil could imagine. 

When the grave is deep enough, he goes back inside. He wraps you in the blankets, almost swaddling you like a baby; it doesn’t occur to him until he’s done that there are the only bedclothes he has, but then he decides that he doesn’t care. He carries you into the backyard, where he’s dug beneath the willow tree; you loved to read beneath the cover of its curving branches, listening to the leaves whisper in response to the turning pages. 

After he lays you down — this second time, this last time — he hesitates, before returning to the bedroom. He picks up your book from the bedside table, careful not to lose your place, and he takes it out to you. He leans down and tucks it into the folds of your blankets. 

For the first time in hours, he speaks. He doesn’t intend on saying anything, but as he’s looking down at what’s left of you, he can’t help it.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers. “Please, God, don’t leave me here alone.” 

There’s no answer.

Billy straightens up, picking up the shovel again. He can’t bring himself to look at what he’s doing, so he keeps hie eyes on the moon instead, a round, pockmarked face observing him without any hint of recognition. 

At least—

(Stop it stop it stop—)

At least your eyes were— 

(Stop—)

At least your eyes were closed, when he — 

(Stop!)

He’s aware, as he finishes filling in the earth, of a low, almost monotonous noise, rhythmic and dull, and it isn’t until his chest aches with the need for air that he realizes it’s coming from him. It isn’t so much sobbing as keening, a relentless outpouring of grief, like wind finding a crack in the windowpane to whistle through the room and put the fire out in the hearth.

Billy grits his teeth. He stabs the shovel into the earth at the base of the tree. He tries not to think of all the afternoons the two of you have passed here, his back against the trunk, with you nestled in his arms. He has more to do. 

And yet the current of memory overwhelms him for a moment — your head fit just underneath his chin, so he could catch the scent of apple blossoms in your hair; how you would sigh every now and again, a small, contented sound, like a kitten basking in the sun; after a while, you’d turn your head to peek up at him, checking if he was still awake (more often than not, he was truthfully beginning to doze off). Whenever you saw his eyes were still open, you’d start reading passages aloud to him, sentences you’d underlined in pencil so you could remind yourself to search out this herb or that flower.

He knows more about plants and their medicinal purposes now, after being with you, than he’d ever expected to learn. It was innocent, your interest in the local flora; he knows this, too, and moreover, he knows that it came only from a place of kindness. You only ever used your knowledge to help others, people who could ill afford the expensive — and sometimes downright useless — ministrations of a doctor.

Echinacea for the flu, feverfew for headaches and cramps, St. John’s wort for a suffering mind; hyssop, to help with sore throats, to soothe a tight, aching chest; chamomile, foxglove, lavender. He can rattle off a list of plants as long as his arm, along with all those you helped with your knowledge. He watched you make tinctures, teas, ointments, even advise the herbs simply be sprinkled into the bathwater. You never accepted any monetary payment, only what your patients could give. When they could give nothing, you didn’t say a word against them, either to their faces or in private.

“No one should be sick or in pain just because they don’t have enough money to pay a doctor’s bill,” you’d tell him. “I gather up some plants and mix ’em up with something else, or I cut them up real fine, and then I — what? I make people pay for that, with their hard-earned money? No, I don’t think so.”

For all those who were grateful, there were others — far too many, in his opinion — who shot you sideways looks with keen edges, who drew their children closer when you passed in the street. Witch, they would whisper. You would shrug them off, saying those you helped mattered more to you than the ones who pass judgement. 

It got worse for you, after everyone realized you were his girl. How else, those hateful vipers would say, could you explain the Kid escaping from jail so often? Eluding the authorities? Living, when other men — their friends, sometimes, their brothers, their husbands — were gone?

You denied it, that being with him made things any harder. “They just can’t stand that you’re clever, and brave, and all-around better than they are,” you teased once, snuggling closer to him as he pulled the blankets closer around you both. 

He remembers grinning at you, winding a strand of your hair around his pointer finger before gently tucking it behind your ear. “Plus, I got you waitin’ at home for me,” he said. “No man in his right mind is gonna stick around some pokey little prison cell if he has a girl like you in his bed.”

You’d smiled. “There’s no other girl like me,” you said.

Billy had pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “Don’t I know it.”

Now there’s no girl like you, at all. 

He realizes he’s been standing here, staring blankly at the gap in the roots that fit the two of you perfectly, for so long that his fingers are cramping around the shovel handle. He lets it go, and it thuds gently against the tree, the tip of the blade still buried in the soft earth and leaves at the base of the trunk.

His feet seem impossibly heavy, so heavy that he doesn’t know how he’s going to drag himself back inside. His entire body, in fact, seems like it’s too burdensome to lift, as if his bones are wrapped in lead, his heart a glacier, turning his blood to ice water and leaving him numb. He thinks to swallow, and it feels as though it takes an hour for his throat to obey. Shuffling one foot forward, he looks at it for a moment, vaguely surprised; after concentrating for a little while longer, he manages to move the other. 

When he finds himself standing in the doorway, he looks around. The scene that greets him is one of disarray, if not disaster — you put up a struggle, when they came to take you. He wasn’t here (you weren’t here when she needed you), but the story is written out clearly enough in the broken plates, the overturned table, the spent shells on the floor. He’d taught you to shoot himself, even though you didn’t like the idea of wielding a gun. 

“Baby, you gotta be able to defend yourself, in case somethin’ goes wrong while I’m away,” he’d said. “I just wanna be sure you’re safe.”

At first, you had flinched every time you pulled the trigger — at the noise, at the way the pistol jerked in your hand like a living thing. But you’d gotten better, to the point where you were at least making most of your shots. He’d thought it would be enough. Despite how often the world had disappointed him, wounding him deeply enough to scar, he had thought at least he would be able to keep you. 

He sweeps the shards of crockery together, looking at their sharp edges as they cluster together in the middle of the floor. They remind him of the knife tucked into his belt. It would be slow, he thinks, and maybe that’s what he deserves. He considers it for a moment longer before wrapping them in a dishtowel to dump them in the bin. 

Billy rights the table, which looks almost tragically sparse without the cups and plates you used. He picks up the shells, holding them in his palm. He should have known better. Who is more aware than he is, that bullets are capable only of destruction? He’d intended for these bullets to protect you, and they let you down, just as he had.

He straightens up methodically, moving from one part of your little house to the other. The more he looks around, the more he sees evidence of how hard you fought. The vase of flowers on the counter is turned over, underneath the kitchen window that lets in ample sunlight. He rights it, rearranges the flowers, adds more water. A fireplace poker lays several feet away from the hearth, as if you’d tried to defend yourself with it. He puts it back in the stand by the fireplace.

From this position, he can see the door that leads to your stillroom, a small addition jutting out from the back of the house. It used to be a porch, but he closed it in for you, rigging up first canvas walls before he managed to recruit some of the boys to replace them with oak boards.

He can’t remember the last time he’s actually stepped foot in that room. Typically, he would just poke his head in, to tell you that he’s home, or it’s time for dinner, or you have to come to bed. It was your domain, your space, although you never actually said so; he just always wanted to make sure you had this piece of yourself that was entirely yours. 

And now he is afraid to go in, afraid that — despite the fact that he still has the dirt from your grave under his fingernails — there will be a split second where he expects to see you standing there, your sleeves rolled up as you strain a mixture of herbs and vinegar to remove the liquid, or your fingers deftly stripping leaves from the stems.

He crosses the room and puts his palm on the door, as if he can ease himself into this by degrees. From here, his fingers drift over the wooden boards to the knob. Grasping, turning. Nudging the door slowly open, like he expects an enemy on the other side.

The first thing that strikes him is how normal everything looks. Everything is just where you left it. Then there’s the smell that wafts over him, warm and earthy, soft and just a little sweet, the very scent that clung to your skin, your hands. His eyes sting. He can’t seem to let go of the doorknob. 

Come back, he thinks. Come back, come back, come back. I can’t do this alone.

Why didn’t he ask you to marry him, while he had the chance? Why didn’t he take you away from here, the moment he first heard someone hiss out an accusation like a snake spitting venom? Why didn’t he stay with you this morning? 

You’d wanted him to stay. He can still feel you, drowsy and warm, pressed against him from your cheek nestled against his shoulder to your toes against his ankle. “Please?” you’d mumbled. “Stay a little longer.”

But he knew full well that a little longer would have become all day. Which he certainly wouldn’t have minded, except Tunstall had told Billy and the boys about a job a few hours away. Just a few hours. He would have been home in time for dinner. 

As foolish as it is, he feels as though he should have known somehow, begged off the job. If he’d told Tunstall he was sick, he knows without a doubt Tunstall would let him stay behind. The knowledge had come too late, though, too late to save you. 

Because as soon as he’d heard pounding footsteps behind him, as soon as he felt the young man’s hand on his arm — even now, he doesn’t know the kid’s name, but he’ll never forget his face — he’d been filled with a certainty as solid and harsh as a blow to the stomach. In a moment, he was a teenage boy again, green as summer grass, turning to face a little boy who told him that his mother had collapsed.

Just like then, he’d started running, except this time, a part of him had already curled inward, shuddering, wracked with grief as though gripped with a fever. Even as he flung himself into the saddle, without bothering to say anything to anyone, he wasn’t able to keep even an ember of hope alive. 

Already, miles before the town sign came into view, he was testing his weight on the edge of the unbearable chasm that was life without you, watching his sanity crumble away under his feet like a shower of dirt and rocks tumbling down a cliffside. 

They took her, the kid had told him. It seems as though he’d ridden as fast as he could, as soon as he saw what was happening. As soon as he recognized you. Billy the Kid’s girl. They’re gonna kill her.

They had bound your wrists, dragging you behind a horse like a traitor, the rope cutting into your delicate skin and drawing blood. At least a few of them were drunk, weaving as they followed behind you. It didn’t stop them — or the others, sober as judges and no less ghoulish for it — from seizing stones and pitching them at you as you were dragged ahead of them, or handfuls of mud. Once, judging from the glass in your hair, someone had thrown a bottle. 

One of them had been reading from a Bible, the leather-bound book spread open in his hands. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. 

They’d been armed. 

He knows these things from the bloodied, tear-stained faces of the people who tried to save you. The people who knew you, the same people you’d helped over and over again, had put up a fight, too.

But courage can’t act as armor for delicate flesh and blood, no matter the depth of its feeling. And they had families to protect. He understands, and he’s grateful that they tried. As you would be. 

The men had taken you to the oak tree just outside town, the crown of ancient branches throwing deep shadows over the ground that nearly reached the edge of the road. One of them — in his mind’s eye, Billy imagines it to be the same man who’d been reading from the Bible — had thrown you up onto the horse, while another looped the noose around your neck and tied the end to a branch. 

In the end, from what he could gather as he carried what was left of you home in his arms, they hadn’t broken your neck. The weave of your rope was imprinted around your neck, a deep, mottled red mark, trickles of blood leaking from the raw skin like the thorns on Christ’s crown.

He had been too late. Your head was bowed, your body limp. Even the rope was still, the tree branch silent, as if too ashamed of what it had witnessed to let out a creak at the weight of its burden. 

It only occurs to him now that he’d started screaming. He can feel it in his raw throat, his aching jaw, his burning eyes. He’d yelled your name, shouted curses at your murderers, bellowed for God’s attention, desperate to ask him why he would let this happen. At some point, he’d gone quiet, but the tears hadn’t ceased. They’d trickled stubbornly down his face as he set to work.

He cut you down. He couldn’t stand the thought of laying you over the back of his horse like an animal that’s been hunted down, so he had propped you in the saddle the best he could and mounted up after you. He’d held you close in one arm the whole way home.

Nobody who did this to you was fool enough to linger, but he knows who they are. Riley’s men, Murphy’s men, Jesse’s gang. He likes to think Jesse himself wasn’t involved — Jesse is many things, not all of them good, but he isn’t a monster — but he can’t be sure of anything anymore. 

Except, of course, that this is his fault.

It doesn’t matter what you would say if you were here, because you aren’t. You will never be here, or anywhere, again, except in the veiled half-hope of a life after this. If he’s lucky, he might find you again in dreams, rather than guilt-ridden nightmares, but he can’t be sure of that, either. 

You were left alone for years, before he moved into town, before he fell in love with you. Sure, people stared, people whispered, people judged; but an unlit fuse is nothing but a piece of string until someone lights a match. Billy is the match — or maybe it’s the way death follows him, a shadow of loss and sorrow, stealing his happiness like a fox creeping into the henhouse.

He supposes it doesn’t make a difference. Death came for you in the same way it comes for everyone he loves, this time in the form of those men, men who hate him, who want him six feet under. They couldn’t catch him, so they came for you, instead. Maybe they were thinking it would be easier to trap him this way, if they took away his best reason for living. The loss of you is like the teeth of a bear trap, sinking into his flesh, leaving him unable — unwilling — to fight back. 

At the very moment this thought crosses his mind, he hears a twig snap outside, followed by the sound of footsteps. In fact, he’s pretty sure he can hear more than one pair of feet, shuffling toward the house as if they’re trying to be quiet. Trying to get the jump on him.

His only thought is: Finally.

Billy leaves your stillroom and makes his way toward the door. More than anything, he’s grateful. He doesn’t care who is out there — Ollinger, Beckwith, Jesse himself — as long as this means it’s over. 

He just wants to be with you.

Before he can fling the door open, though, there comes a knock. He stops, frowning. It’s not really their style to politely announce their arrival. A pause, as he tries to puzzle this out, and then — another knock, this one slightly more insistent.

“Billy?”

Even as he recognizes Charlie’s voice, he fields a pang of disappointment. So he has to keep going, after all. 

He opens the door, to see his friend standing there with Maneula by his side. Tom O’Folliard hovers at Charlie’s elbow. The rest of the Regulators crowd the porch, their hats in hand. 

Behind them, the yard seems to be packed with half the town — men and women holding their children by the hand or in their arms, old women with scarves over their hair, others standing alone with their shoulders hunched against the cold. Many of them are holding baskets or covered dishes. Some have bottles of wine. 

“We’re sorry we didn’t come sooner, Billy,” Manuela says softly. She reaches out and gently grasps his arm. “We meant to, but when it became clear to everyone that we were coming to see you, they wanted to make sure they had what they needed.”

Billy clears his throat. He has to draw the words from the very pit of his stomach, but he manages to say, “For what?”

A woman holding wine says, “The wake. Velorio.”

Someone else calls out: “We wanted to say goodbye. She was a good woman, and it is not fair what they did to her.”

There is a widespread ripple of agreement.

The man holding a basket of bread adds, “She was kind. She shared her knowledge and her time without asking for anything in return. We wanted to pray for her soul, and remember her with the one she loved the most.”

Despite everything, Billy realizes there’s a hint of warmth in his cheeks. Is that how they know him? Not as an outlaw, a criminal, as the Kid — but the one you loved the most?

He’s never really paused to consider the other side of the coin before now. Everyone knows that he loves you — and like spring following winter, sunrise following sunset, it follows to that everyone knows how much you loved him. 

There are too many people to fit inside, but no one seems to mind. Charlie and the boys start a bonfire in the yard, and drag tables around it. People set up food in the kitchen, pouring out cups of wine. They scrounge up enough candles to light up the yard. 

At first, Billy doesn’t touch the food that’s piled on his plate, or the cup sent in front of him. He just listens to these townspeople — your friends, his friends — talk about you. Your good heart, your wit, your courage. How often you help them, whether it was with medicine, a shoulder to cry on, a listening ear. You helped one woman weed her garden and mind her animals after she’d broken her arm. You were there when a man and his wife needed someone to watch their children. 

“When she found that we were always home late because our boss threatened to withhold pay if we did not stay late,” the woman says, her mouth trembling with mirth tinged with grief, “she marched right up to him and said, I understand the concept of time might be difficult to comprehend, for whatever half-formed, mold-covered tuber you have between your ears, but the work day is over. They’re coming home with me. He just stood there spluttering like she’d thrown cold water in his face. And then she said, I’d wait for you to come up with an intelligent response, but I certainly don’t want to stand here all night. And that’s being generous!” 

Everyone laughs. Billy feels a smile flicker across his face like a firefly flashing in the velvet dark of the night. 

When the plates are clear, the wine all drunk, people begin to gather their things and go home. Many pause to hug him before they leave, telling him that they’re sorry. On any other day, their pity would have felt like river stones lodged in his throat, cutting off his air. Now, with each murmur of compassion, he feels just a little bit lighter.

The last man presses a wooden cross into his hands. It’s about half as tall as Billy, and so recently carved that shavings still cling to the woods written in it — your name, and underneath that, an inscription.

And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up. So then, as we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone.

 “For…” he begins, but Billy nods.

“I know,” he says. Another small smile touches his lips for a moment. “Thank you.”

When everyone is gone, Billy makes his way back to your little grave. He positions the cross carefully before nudging it into the earth. 

“If we do not give up,” he murmurs.

You are not gone, he realizes, not really. Not as long as he does not give up, because his love for you is a living memorial to the woman you were. And he’s not the only one. 

Every person who came tonight, to mourn you, to celebrate you, to remember you, they carry a piece of you with them, too. Maybe your kindness will inspire them to be kind to others, or maybe it will just give them the strength to go on — either way, every step they take, the memory of you flickers in the back of their mind like a candle in a window, guiding the way.

After making sure the cross is firmly in place, Billy goes inside. He kicks off his boots, and without bothering to change his clothes, falls into bed. 

He does dream. 

You’re waiting for him, at the bank of a river. You turn when you hear him approach, and you smile. He reaches out to cup your cheek in his palm. 

“I’ll be waiting,” you say, and point across the river. On the other side, he can see verdant green hills, dotted with jewel-bright flowers. In the distance is the smudged outline of a little house that looks rather like the one you lived in together. “It’s not far, you see?”

He nods. “I see,” he says.

You smile at him again. “Promise me,” you say.  “Promise me you’ll learn. Promise me you won’t let the work I’ve done die.”

In his dream, he understands, although the waking part of his mind — coming to the fore now as the dream begins to break up, a cloud dissolving in the face of the sun — does not. “I promise,” he says.

By the time his eyes flutter open, most of the dream has gone, but he remembers: Promise me. 

At first, he’s confused. His gaze falls on the door of your stillroom, closed now and just visible from where he lays in bed. He gets up and pushes the door open gently, his eye falling on the shelf running just below the window, a shelf full of books. Cookbooks, you’d call them with a smile — a list of recipes for medicinal purposes, along with various plants, how they could be used to help. To heal.

He thinks of what he’s already learned from you. Some of these plants, though not all of them — but more importantly, how helping one person at a time can lead to a life worth recalling over wine and friendship. 

Billy reaches for one of those books, letting it fall open in his palm. He bends his head, as though in prayer, and begins to read. 

[morganski-19]

Some believed that there were invisible strings that tied you to your soulmate no matter where they were in the world. No matter what, you would find your soulmate at some point in your life, and fall in love. No one really believed this theory, until there were enough reports of enough people seeing them. The only catch you could only see your strings when your soulmate died.

Steve didn't believe in them though, he thought it was dumb. After all of his failed dates and relationships, it was easier to believe that soulmates just weren't real. That way he wouldn't get excited when he started dating someone new, and less hurt when it came to an end.

"Maybe you just haven't found the right person yet," Robin would say, secretly hoping that she would find the person on the other end of the string. But Steve still thought it was better to just stop believing.

That was until he saw the strings for the first time. At first, it was so fast that he barely even noticed it. Just a small string of red that showed up on Robin's finger as he helped her down the Creel House stairs. He didn't think anything of it really, until it happened again.

When he, Nancy, and Robin were walking back to the trailer, he saw the strings again, just for a flash. A short red string connects Robin and Nancy's pinkies. Looking down just in time, he saw his own red string tied around his right pinky, severed, before it disappeared again.

Fear built in Steve's chest. He thought he was crazy, that this was just some upside down hallucination. But he can't get rid of the feeling that this is real, that his soulmate is dying before he can ever get the chance to love them.

When the three of them find Dustin crying over Eddie's body, Steve forgets all of it for a moment. Just worrying about getting Eddie out, and keeping him alive.

They get him to a hospital right before he flatlines. Eddie is rushed to the emergency room as soon as he is resuscitated, but not before Steve is met with a sea of red.

String tangled and stretched all over the hospital. Tying themself to people in the waiting rooms, their strings running down the hallways and through the doors. The doctor's red strings leave the hospital doors, making their way down the street. But Steve's is left severed again.

He doesn't see the strings for another hour until he does for a full two minutes. Looking down at the severed string on his finger, he can't help but think that he'll see this string forever. That he spent so long believing that soulmates weren't real, he didn't even notice that he found it.

Glancing over at Robin, he sees her string cross the room to where Nancy is sitting with Lucas in Dustin. Lucas's runs down the hall to where Max is, and Dustin's goes to what Steve can only think is Utah.

Within the blink of an eye, the strings disappear again and stay that way, leaving Steve with the knowledge that soulmate's are real, and his is alive.

if anyone wants to do anything thing with this, be my guest. might do a longer version of this myself, but lord knows when I'll have time to do so.

[myreia]

Exile from Delight

—chapter 1: strings, unattached

Rating: Mature [sexual content in the opening scene] Characters: Thancred, Hilda Pairings: Thancred x Hilda [background Thancred x Aureia (WoL) and background Aymeric x Aureia (WoL)] Chapter Words: 1,941 Summary: Hilda isn’t supposed to mean much to him. A good time, a fun time, a distraction from his sorry lot. But sometimes the best of distractions come hand-in-hand with a sharp tongue and a quick wit. Call it the gift of insight, if you would. Prompt: v. laughter | gift Chapters: one • two • three Read on AO3

Raven hair and ruby eyes.

The feel of her lips against his—searing and hot and devouring—is as intoxicating as Gibrillont’s best-worst wine. When she kisses him, it’s easy to be lulled into a stupor. When she kisses him, it’s easy to want to forget. Let time pass, while away the bells until both of them are hazy and spent. It’s not like he has anything better to do in this city.

But whereas she walks away from these encounters with a smirk and a laugh, sated and satisfied, he leaves each one more hollow than before. Like a barrel that has been scraped out one too many times and yet somehow there is still some kind of shit stuck to the bottom.

Funny how he thought his life would get easier once he returned to civilization. Now he would almost prefer to stay out in the wilderness.

Almost.

He rasps—eyes squeezed shut, mouth hot against hers, his body pressing hers into the wall—and exhales a shaky breath as his hips thrust upwards into searing heat. Her fingernails rake across his back and she sucks in a ragged breath; her hands found their way beneath his shirt some time ago, seeking the warmth of his flesh to guard against the cold. She quivers, whole body shaking in the moment of her release, and breaks the kiss. He bucks against her, panting—head now pressed into the crook of her neck, mindless of the way her dark hair spills about her—and listens to her muffled cry and the satisfied, throaty laugh that comes after.

The grip of pleasure subsides. Devastatingly close, and yet thankfully distant.

It’s too much to try to chase it.

Not from her.

Raven hair and ruby eyes.

She slips free, still buzzing with laughter, and collapses against the wall in a haze, eyeing the puffs of snow that fall freely from the sky. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips raw from kissing, her body still shaking from the aftermath. Quick and dirty, just how she likes it. “That was worth somethin’,” she says, already tugging the laces of her trousers closed. She works quickly for someone whose fingers are stiff and red from the cold.

With a grunt, he turns and presses his shoulder into the wall, fiddling now with his own laces. Dissatisfaction gnaws away at him, pesky and unwanted. He shoves it away, just like he shoves away his useless cock. “Aye, yeah,” he replies. “Perhaps, yes.”

Hilda’s laughter fades. “That was four ways of saying yes,” she says, placing a hand on his arm. “You’ve outdone yourself, I reckon.” She hasn’t bothered to do up her shirt yet and a breast peaks out from behind the fabric. A red mark forms on the tender underside, luscious and bright. A remembrance of where his mouth was not long ago. “Everythin’ all right? How much cause for concern should I have?”

Thancred snorts and joins her in leaning against the wall. Folding his arms, he arches his neck and turns his gaze upward to the tangled nest of stone and steel stretching ever higher. They’re sheltered here, tucked away in this forgotten alleyway in the Brume where secrets go to die. It’s almost cozy, in its own way—until you look up. Until you see the grand city above you and are reminded of how far down you’ve gone.

There has never been any doubt in his mind why Hilda is the way she is. One look at the place of her birth says it all.

He exhales a breath, watching it mist in the crisp air and spiral away to be lost in the snow. He could fabricate an excuse on the fly—Twelve know he has good enough reason to be distracted right now. He is, unfortunately, an important cog in the machine that is the Scions of the Seventh Dawn and the responsibility they carry. They must do what they can, even without Minfilia to guide them, for no one else has the knowledge or the skill.

Dragons, Garleans, primal summonings. Missing friends, found allies, resurfaced enemies. The Warriors of Darkness and their Ascian overseers are the pressing matter at hand, and yet as he is between tasks and waiting for the Temple Knights, he finds himself floundering. And thinking too much about matters of no important.

Such as a ring he spotted in a pawnbroker’s stall on the fringes of the Jeweled Crozier. A band of silver filigree with a small black gemstone at its heart. A simple ring of little note to passing Ishgardians, but he knows better. Such exquisite craftmanship could only indicate the ring came from an Ul’dahn goldsmith, even without the Ul’dahn crest engraved on the inside.

He recognized it in a heartbeat as the ring Nanamo gifted Aureia as a token of her thanks.

It was precious to her and never left her hand. So, what is it doing here, in an Ishgardian pawnshop of all places? Stolen and resold? Or did she pawn it herself?

“You’re thinkin’ about it again, aren’t you.”

“I certainly am not, no such thing is on my—” He can feel her glaring. Sure enough, when he glances to the side, he finds her piercing red eyes boring into him. Nothing gets past the Mongrel. “Fine. I will be the first to admit to a certain level of distraction.”

“That’s an awful lot of words to say ‘my mind is someplace else.’”

“Yes, quite. Old habits die hard, as I’m sure you know. You’ve collected quite a few of them now.”

Snow falls, drifting silently about them on the breeze. The air grows colder by the second, though perhaps it was always this cold. They simply did not have the time nor the care to notice after they pulled each other into this alley.

“Is that what you think you are?” Hilda says after a moment. “A habit?”

He shrugs.  

“You’re a very sad man, Waters.”

The bitter taste of laughter rumbles in the back of his throat. She’s right, of course—her blunt insight is what he likes about her. Perhaps that’s why he finds himself drawn to her. Ishgard is cold without company; even the simplest connection is enough to light the smallest flame and stave off what lurks in the shadows. As for her, well—she has wrangled her demons and come out the victor. Young, carefree, her whole life ahead of her. He must provide some form of entertainment, otherwise why would she keep coming back?

They’ve been at it for months now, this thing between them. Seeking one another out whenever the mood strikes or when they happen to cross paths. Taverns and bars and alleyways, even once in the shadows of the House Fortemps manor. It doesn’t really matter where to them, though he suspects she enjoys the illicit nature of doing it outdoors in a city with a culture as tightly wound as Ishgard’s.     

What started as casual good fun has remained casual good fun, and yet the question lingers in the back of his mind whether he actually enjoys it or if he is simply going through the paces. Doing what is expected of someone like him—out of obligation or necessity or simply because it is what he has always done. He has felt that way since the Antitower.  

Since Minfilia.

The grief hits him like a wave, and the afternoon seems all the more colder.  

“People ain’t habits, you know.”

His gaze flicks down. Hilda stands in front of him—jacket pulled closed, boots crunching on frozen snow—blocking his view. Her brows draw together; the fierce look sharpens the angles of her face.

“I—”

She raises a finger and prods him in the chest. “They ain’t. Don’t start thinkin’ shit like that, that’s a highborn attitude if I ever heard one.”

He lets out a breath. “It is. I’m sorry.” The next words dance on the tip of his tongue. “May I ask you something, Hilda?”

“Sure. Best let whatever it is in your head out. Does nothin’ for you to keep all of that shut in, yeah?”

“Why are you here with me?”

The words are blunt. Better to just say it.

“Why are you…?” She takes a step back, eyes wide with surprise. “Where in the bleedin’ hells did that come from?”

“Just entertain it, would you? Please?”

“I dunno.” She shrugs and crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re fun, Waters. I like you. You think different than both Brumefolk and highborn fools, and I like that. But if you’re lookin’ for a nice lady to settle down with, you’re in the wrong place. Though I don’t suppose you would, come to think of it.”

“Would what?”

“Settle.” Hilda cocks her head to the side, a slight smile on her lips. “You don’t strike me as the type.”

He shoves his stiff hands into his pockets and lets the comment pass over him.  

“And now you’ve got me curious,” she continues, eyes gleaming with mischief. She leans in, forearm pressed to the wall behind his head, her body brushing against his. “I gave you my answer, only fair for you to give me yours. Why are you here with me?”

He stares past her, eyes glazing over, filled with the grey and white of the swirling snow. “You might not like the answer.”

“Can’t be any worse than the one I’ve landed on.” Beneath the flippancy there’s an edge to her tone. Sharp. Not hurting, but something akin to it. Perhaps—despite his best efforts—he has made her feel lesser, a replacement for the woman he cannot have and no longer wants. It is pure coincidence they look so damn similar.

Raven hair and ruby eyes.

“Waters.” Hilda’s voice floats somewhere before him, distant yet close. “Thancred. I’m losin’ you here, are you—?”

“Truth be told, you’re a distraction. A good one, but a distraction, nonetheless. Unfortunately, I am need of many distractions of late, and the moment I no longer do—”

“Cold bastard.” She grimaces and shoves away from the wall. “What an arse.”

“I know.”

By rights she should deck him in the face and march out of the alleyway. He doesn’t know why she doesn’t and wishes she would. But he supposes there is nothing he could say to get the likes of Hilda Ware to leave—perhaps she stays out of pity, feeling too bad for him to walk away. Or perhaps it’s morbid curiosity, like watching a disaster unfold and being unable to avert one’s eyes. Or perhaps she’s using him just as he’s using her.

Or perhaps it speaks to her character that she isn’t so easily scared off.

“Right,” Hilda says, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. She digs her gloves out of her pockets and pulls them on. “We are goin’ for a walk. No complaints.”

Thancred splutters. “I—what—”

“Ah ah ah! No complainin’, you hear? I think you owe me after what you just pulled.”

He sucks in cold air through his teeth to immediate regret, wincing at the pain.

She arches an eyebrow. “I could threaten to shoot you first,” she intones in a dangerous whisper, leaning in close. Her arm slips through his. “If you’d rather.”

“A kind gesture to be sure, but one I’m keen to skip, thank you.”

“Ha! See?” She grins. “You’ve still got some sense of self rolling around in there somewhere. Come on.”

With that, she ushers him from the alley and out into the endless murky grey of the snowclad Brume. 

next chapter [tba - updates next friday!] ->

[colderdrafts]

11: What do we do now?

The Great Assembly, gender neutral reader x monster (male naga). Sfw. Previous Next

"Where are you?”

It’s a question you’re not inclined to answer. Heavy footfalls are approaching your hiding place.

“I would never hurt you, you know I wouldn’t! So why are you running?”

You put a hand over your mouth to stifle your breathing. Don’t see me. Don’t see me. Please please please don’t see me -

It’s brief, a small flash of red in the dark passes by your hiding place, but it’s enough. You startle, and the smallest of whines escapes you.

“I heard that~” they drawl, and red returns to your field of vision.

You know the gig is up.

You burst out of the cabinet you were hiding in, dashing outside and into the cold night air. Your bare feet patter loudly over the icy pavement.

Someone is yelling your name and it carries a demand, prickling like needles and tugging at the strings running under your skin; Come back. Come back. COME BACK.

You don’t know how long you’ve slept for, but when you wake it’s with a start.

It takes a second for your brain to catch up to with where you are. And why you're stuck. A small quiver of relief travels through you as the nightmare slowly loses its grip, chased away by the assuring gentle realness of another person's breath.

You’ve somehow moved around during the night, so that you’re now laying with your front against Amren’s torso, while he’s on his back resting against his coils, with some of them traveling up over your back. Your head is resting on his chest, his arms around you, and your arms around him. The sleeping bag lies crumpled up in a corner, discarded.

You feel heat in your cheeks. You’re completely tangled up in him, and you remember faintly how you just broke into his tent and flung yourself on top of him like a lunatic. Perhaps you can justify the situation by reminding yourself that Amren most certainly didn't seem to mind.

Laying here with him, listening to his gentle breathing and steady heartbeat, nuzzled against his chest is almost unreal. You’ve been at each other’s throats since the day you met, and now you’re providing him your body heat.

Somehow, even though everything in your world came crashing down in a single day, and you should be on your toes running to the nearest police station - you don’t want to move.

You shift slightly, as much as Amren’s grip allows you, and rest your face against the crook of his neck. He responds by shifting his arms and pulling you into him. You lie there for a while, just enjoying the closeness of another person.

Your eyes go heavy again, and you feel the alluring call to just fall asleep again right there. But something else is tugging at your heart, and you can't ignore the fact that you still have pressing matters to attend to anymore.

“Amren-?” you call out gently.

“Hrmf,” is the intelligent response. His voice gently drums against your head through his throat.

“Come on, wake up,” you say, gently butting the top of your head against his chin, since you currently can’t really move any other body part much.

“What is it?” he mumbles, voice groggy from exhaustion.

“I thought maybe getting up was an idea," you tell him.

He pauses. “Incredible.”

“What?”

“You start your obnoxious stream of terrible ideas before you’ve even gotten out of bed,” he groans, and grips you a bit tighter.

“Hrk- okay, Jesus, calm down,” you push against him, to no avail whatsoever. “Damn, I would never in a million years have guessed you were a cuddler.”

“I’ve never done it before, so I don’t exactly qualify,” he says with a shrug.

You blink. “Really? Like. Never?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I mean, in general you do have the cuddly-ness of a rude sentient cactus, so I guess it makes sense.”

“Why on Earth would you then come to me last night and be here now?”

“Well, I can’t exactly move right now,” you say, straining to prove your point and expertly avoiding the first part of the question.

He doesn’t relent. “Learn to take responsibility for your actions.”

“I was trying to help you out, and here you are reprimanding me again,” you complain, headbutting his chin again.

“Because you are being completely senseless,” he grunts.

You scoff. “Okay? Thanks? Why the sudden hostility? Are you embarrassed or something?”

“Embarrassed- what? No. I’m just surprised. You saw me almost dismantle that coyote and not even an hour later you put yourself in the same position as her. You have a survival instinct net zero, and I for the life of me cannot figure out why.”

He slowly pushes you up a bit, and shifts his tail so he can rest his back against it in a more upright position. He doesn’t let you go as he continues:

“Maybe it’s because you hums are so social. So accepting, in each others faces, always talking, touching, seeking each other out. You trust so easily. I don’t get it.”

You shrug against him. “Well, you’re trusting me right now, aren’t you?”

“Not as much as you’re trusting me. I could crush you right now.”

You butt your head against his chest in annoyance. “Oh, would you quit it with the whole ‘I could maim you if I wanted’ bull? That's been old news for a decade. Humans are a lil’ squishier than most! We know! Why do you think we’re so goddamn good at figuring out who to trust and rely on? Evolution didn’t give us natural weapons. We’ve survived as we are for centuries because we help each other.”

You feel his eyes on you, but you don’t bother looking up.

“..I didn’t realize it bothered hums so much."

He sounds somewhat apologetic.

You sigh again. “It doesn’t for the most part. As I’ve said, we’ve made do for a long time. We may not be the strongest, but we’re pretty resilient. We just don’t like feeling powerless. It makes us antsy.”

“As it would anyone else,” he concedes. He pauses for a moment, and then adds: “You realize you weren’t powerless when you stopped the coyote from strangling me to death?”

Huh. Guess you weren’t. “As I said – Helping each other.”

There’s silence for a bit, taking in each other’s words.

“I think I understand a little better now,” Amren says eventually. “You trust your partner, and helping him makes you feel stronger?”

You guess you could put it like that. There is a genuine psychological benefit humans get from being kind to one another – at least you think you’ve read that somewhere.

“But even so it is very different from person to person how easily we trust someone. It generally takes a while before we truly start to feel like we know someone," you elaborate. "Well. Unless you’re Irwin, he thrives on oversharing.”

“And you don’t? Could have fooled me.”

“There’s a difference between your deepest darkest secret and discussing the goddamn weather, Amren,” you grunt. “And you’ve not shown interest in any of those things with anyone. It’s kind of worrying, you know? Aren’t you – you know, lonely?”

He pauses for a bit. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard that. Elise talked to me about that too,” he grumbles, “but I don’t experience solitude like you do. I make do with help from myself. I’m fine on my own, and I’m more than fine no one knows more about me than what I can present at work.”

You finally strain you neck back to look up at him. He cogs an eyebrow at you.

“Who hurt you?” you ask, genuinely concerned. "And don't you dare say 'none of your business', I will stab you," you add just as he's about to open his mouth.

"I won't say it, then," he replies dryly, earning him an eye roll from you. He pauses. "And Tiny?"

"What?" you grunt.

"Thank you for not letting me freeze."

You but your forehead against his chest. "Thank you for not letting me get kidnapped."

Eventually you can’t ignore the other giant elephant in the room, and Amren finally releases you. You start shrugging out of his coils, somewhat reluctantly, you admit to yourself. What business does this jerk have being comfortable.

You need a plan. With everything that’s just happened, you figure the best course of action is heading back the way you came, to hell with the competition, clovers and everything else. You need to get back, call the authorities, figure out if Irwin’s actually missing, and if anyone else is too.

It’s early, and you’ve slept maybe four hours. Your head is still a bit fuzzy from yesterday, and your arm hurts when you move it to take down the tents. You notice Amren deliberately avoids putting the injured parts of his tail on the ground, and spares his arm as much as possible. With shared effort, you manage to push through the exhaustion and take down camp.

Eventually you sit with Amren around the campfire, eating a quick breakfast and trying to come up with a plan.

“Why would the coyote single you out of all people? And how did she know about the conference?” Amren muses out loud, sipping on some coffee.

He’s kept his hair tied back in a lose ponytail, and the way the light of the fire hits his face really brings out the bags under his eyes and the bruises he acquired last night. The golden sheen looks a little duller than usual.

“And Irwin,” you add. “I’m assuming since she had his phone she’s got him somewhere – but where would they take him?”

Amren looks at you. “I don’t know. And now I regret even asking, because I don’t think we necessarily are the ones who should figure that out, Tiny. Right now the best we can do is put someone who’s actually professional on it.”

You huff through your nose. You know he’s right, it just doesn’t feel right to sit around and not do anything. But what can two simple office workers do in this situation? Even though Amren’s security, he’s in no way equipped to handle something like this.

Irwin’s been your friend for a long time, and not knowing if he’s gone, or if he’s somehow escaped, or anything is making your stomach churn with worry. Being rendered incapable of doing anything is just – aggravating.

“I know,” you relent after a beat. You look back up at him. “You can direct people to come get us, right? So maybe we should just head back and see if anyone else have turned up. Maybe someone can tell us more of what happened up north.”

Amren nods. “Yes, I’ll get us back. If Elise is still there, it should be enlightening.”

“And then we should call the authorities and and tell them of attempted trafficking and report Mira,” you grimace. The memories still send a chill down your spine.

Amren’s previous question still rings in your mind, however. Indeed, why single you and Irwin out? What was that about a family who ‘wants someone just like you’? For what reason?

Mira was the one to approach you first, lulling you into a false sense of security with her friendly demeanor and helping you out – maybe after tripping over Amren, you just happened to catch her eye?

And then you brought her directly to Irwin. A ping of guilt travels through you. Rational thought says you couldn’t possibly have known back then, but it’s there all the same.

“I should call the lodge,” you say, pulling out your phone to disregard any negative spiraling. “Let’s get them to pick us up so we don’t have to travel back injured.”

Amren nods in acknowledgment, patiently settling on his coils while you make the call.

You thank the stars there’s still service, and almost collapse with relief when you hear the goblin receptionist's voice cut through. You put it on speaker.

“Mrs. Hansen? It’s them-” there a scuffle on the other end, as someone, supposedly Mrs. Hansen, snatches the phone, the sound of it landing on the desk with a loud clack as she fumbles with it, and then her clear voice cuts through as she calls your and Amren’s names.

“Yes, it’s us-” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Oh my STARS is it good to hear from you. Where have you been?! We sent out word for people to back off the mountain! It’s too dangerous right now! Are you alright?!”

You judgmentally deadpan at Amren, silently blaming him for the lack of cell service on his abrupt goose chase. He ignores you.

“We’re alright, slightly injured – it’s a long story – no need to yell – can you come pick us up?”

You chat back and forth with her, Amren occasionally pitching in to give instructions to where you are. Apparently, Mira did not lie about there being a pick-up place in the area – though it will take you a few hours to get to it.

While you’re not entirely fond of the prospect of spending yet another day walking, knowing safety is just a short hike away spurs you on.

After packing up your things, you head out again in the same direction as yesterday.

As you walk, you actually manage to have a conversation with Amren to take your mind off things a bit. He’s finally opened up a bit, though you suppose shared traumatic experiences can do that to a person. He still does his utmost to keep the adverse attitude, but you surmise you have to take what you can get here. He actually starts answering some of your questions, and you learn a couple of things.

For one, his family apparently carries an, in his own words, 'obnoxiously formal disposition', and he doesn’t really see them anymore because he didn't want to be part of that. He didn't clarify what it was about, but you let him have that. Baby steps.

You learn besides work, he hunts roughly every two weeks, and secures the majority of his food this way. He frequently spends days at a time at the mountain if he doesn't have any shifts. He apparently also likes reading and rock tumbling of all things, which came slightly as a surprise.

In turn, you tell him a little about yourself and your story of moving to the city and your time at the company. It doesn’t really seem he’s very invested in what you’re telling him, but he remains quiet as you talk, so you’ll take it.

As you walk you note that, even though you’ve gone in the same direction as where Mira found you yesterday, you don’t see the body of the boarbeast she killed or the traces of the struggle. It’s because you haven’t passed them by. Perhaps Amren is leading you around them on purpose.

Given how he’s been quietly hovering near you almost every step of the way, repeatedly tasting air and keeping a very sharp eye out on anything moving in the forest, you surmise he is.

It’s slow going, but eventually you reach a clearing where you spot a makeshift parking lot, with an actual trail large enough for a single car to pass by running down the mountain.

You set down your backpacks, settle down on the ground, and wait. The sunlight is filtering through the canopy above, and you breathe in the pleasant breeze in silence for a while. It’s odd sitting still like this, the harmonious surroundings a stark contrast to the churning emotions inside of you.

What will happen now?

"What do we do after.. well, all of this?" you ask after some time.

Amren finishes taking a swig of his water bottle and looks at you. "Could you elaborate?"

"Things aren't going to just go back to normal. I don’t think I can just return to my apartment and my job pretending everything's fine after all this,” you frown. “Can you?"

He pauses. "No," he admits. "But I'm going to try."

"Do you really want to do that?"

"I don't see what else I can do," he shrugs. "I didn't lose anyone."

You openly stare at him.

He looks back puzzled for a second, but then averts his eyes, seemingly realizing from the look on your face that the remark might have hit a sore spot.

"That was.. insensitive,” he concedes.

"Near damn heartless," you groan, turning away from him and rubbing your face with your hands.

"..I'm aware," he mumbles. "Do you know what you're going to do?"

You mutely shake your head no.

"Reasonable." He studies you for a beat. "Are you .. alright?"

"No," you huff, looking back up at him. "I'm scared."

Your admission makes something in his face shift, but you can't pinpoint what exactly that emotion is. Worry? Determination? He stares at you for a minute, opening and closing his hands like he wants to do something but he doesn't know what.

"That's - also reasonable," he settles for. “I’m sorry about your partner.”

You sigh. At least he’s trying. "Thanks."

You truly don't know what you will do. If you just return home and hope for the best the inability to act will most certainly drive you insane.

Things have changed for the worse, and you don’t want to deal with all of this on your own. After last night and this morning you surmise you may have acquired at least an ally in Amren, albeit reluctantly. But if he's content to go back to his solitary existence then this might be one of the last times you’ll hang around him. When you started this trip you felt this moment would be utmost welcomed, but now you’re hesitating. Do you actually want to split up?

"So like - is this farewell? After we've talked to the police and everything. Are we just going to -?" You don't really know how to finish the sentence. It's a little difficult to explain. Would you be sad if you didn't keep in touch after all this? Maybe you would. Maybe that’s weird. Especially considering how he's been treating you and everything that's happened.

But maybe that's just the thing. Something about this situation has made you want to keep him around. His presence has an oddly reassuring effect on you.

Which is very frustrating, given he has the social amicability equivalent to a sledgehammer.

He looks baffled for a minute, probably surprised at what you're insinuating. You can't tell if it's just because he hadn't thought that far ahead and that spending time with you will, from now on, have to be an active choice for him. Or if he just genuinely doesn't understand why you'd ever want to see him again.

He's about to finally come up with a reply when a large gray van rolls into the parking lot, mud-trails and dirt coating most of its surface. You both immediately turn your attention to it, a silent mutual gratitude for the distraction. You stand up and wave to greet the driver. It’s Elise.

She very quickly turns and parks, rapidly getting out of the van and rushing towards you, her eyes wide with worry. You note she’s also sporting some fresh bruises and a bandage around her shoulder.

Having a large injured troll barreling towards you is not something for the faint hearted, you learn, as your body involuntarily takes a step back. You don’t get far before Elise wraps her massive arms around both you and Amren, squeezing you tight.

Amren hisses in surprise, and you feel his tail flickering nervously as he strains in her grip. You wince as she puts pressure on your injured arm.

“You’re okay!” Elise yells, unaware, and you actually feel her shivering as relief course through her body.

Amren is stiff as a board, clearly not accustomed to this blatant display of affection, so you decide to take charge – Irwin has, after all, taught you well.

You gingerly put your good arm around her shoulders, as far as you can, and squeeze her back, leaning your head into her collarbone. “Rattled, but okay,” you reassure her.

“Good, good,” she trails off, finally releasing you. She gives you a sad look, and then turn her attention to Amren with a scowl.

“What’s the meaning of running off all the way out here?!” she demands, taking a step towards him.

To his credit, Amren doesn’t move back as she does so, but he does tense up quite a bit, composing himself. “I thought –,”

“For several days? So far away from help from the group?! Are you insane!”

“It’s not –,”

“With a hum? Who relies on the group to stay SAFE out here?! I don’t care how anti-social you think you have to be to survive in this world, you sad sack of a single potato, but you DON’T. Bring. A hum. Into it! They could have been killed!”

Amren opens and closes his mouth as Elise finishes scolding him, working her tusks and glaring at him with a huff. You stare at her in bewilderment, wondering if you'll have to file a protective nature under 'troll things'.

“I’ve kept them safe – I know these mountains, I didn’t leave them to –,” this time Amren stops himself as his eyes widen to realize that he did in fact let you storm off on your own.

Not that you gave him much choice in the matter.

Amren looks at you for a brief moment, and then averts his gaze at the ground. He takes a deep breath.

“I genuinely thought I was giving us the upper hand in that ridiculous competition,” he exhales, and looks back up at you again, his face neutral as ever. "I'm sorry."

You can tell it’s genuine enough however. You’ve seen more sides of him in the past 24 hours than you think anyone else has seen for the past you-don't-even-know. And you can’t say you blame him wholly for yesterday’s escapades.

But this is a conversation for a time where you can sit down and do it properly. You gently put your hand on his arm instead. He follows your hand with his eyes, and you’re slightly surprised at how he does not tense up at the contact.

“You’re lucky they’re nice, Amren, I hope you know that,” Elise says sternly.

This isn’t the first time you’ve heard that.

Your thoughts once again turn to your friend, and you clasp his phone in your pocket.

“Elise –,” you start, and she tenses in preparation for your next question. “What happened to Irwin?”

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Interwoven, but Tangled

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader

Warnings: none, little angst, mild cursing

Word Count: 1,670

Summary: The red string of fate connects the pinky of one soulmate to the pinky of the other. Not everyone can see them, but since you had this rare gift you figured it was your duty to make sure as many soulmates found each other. At the very least, you could make sure your friends found their special person. What happens when your best friend’s boyfriend isn’t her soulmate though?

Your world was filled with red. If you unfocused your eyes enough, dissociated deep enough, every single red string came into view. As a kid, you thought this was normal. That everyone could see them. A lot of times you never even brought it up because you didn’t know there was anything unusual going on. People just had little red strings tied on their pinkies that traveled to distances unknown. It wasn’t until the first grade that you realized nobody else could see them, and it wasn’t until seventh grade that you realized the strings even connected.

A girl in your math class with a red string around her pinky connected to a boy in your english class. They started dating two months into the school year and it was the first time you saw an entire string, from beginning to end.

The red string of fate connecting soulmate to soulmate.

Growing up, it made you view love a little differently. For one, you noticed many times couples who were together weren’t one another’s soulmate. They weren’t any less happy, but their strings were cast in opposite directions. You kind of wondered what the point of a soulmate was if they were never bound to find one another. Why would fate create two people, perfect for one another, and then keep them apart?

The times you did see soulmates get together though… God, it was magic. A good friend at work had a string that connected to a bartender at the local watering hole you frequented, and you made it your mission in life to get them together. When your work friend, Carol, finally met the bartender, a woman who called herself Valkyrie, it was like literal fireworks. It’s why anytime you saw strings close to one another you made it you job to help them find one another.

So far, in the entirety of Manhattan, you had managed to string together seven couples. None of which were your own red string. In fact, you had kind of pushed your own string to the back burner. If it happened, it happened. You couldn’t get obsessed with searching the world for the end of your own string. It’d drive you to madness.

“Ten bucks this guy says he works as a ‘blogger’,” Carol snickered before taking another sip of her drink. One plus of getting your friend together with her bartending soulmate was free drinks at your favorite bar.

Valkyrie shrugged, “Twenty bucks that someone,” She shot you an amused look, “‘spills her drink on him accidentally’.”

“Hey,” You held your beer bottle out to her, “That was an accident. It was pure coincidence that I also hated the guy. Sharon deserves better.”

“Sharon works as an agent for the FBI.” Carol raised an eyebrow at you, “I think she can handle intimidating the duds she picks up.”

It was true. Sharon Carter was more than capable of destroying any man that screwed her over, but your close friend always had a blind eye when it came to men. Plus, her string ended somewhere in this damn city. It was bright enough that you knew that much, but you had yet to find her soulmate. If you were lucky then maybe she’d walk through the door tonight with a string connected to whoever she was bringing.

As if on cue, the door swung open with the familiar chime and your blonde friend strolled in confidently. She still had her work clothes on, and you could see her gun holster under her jacket.

“Long time, no see.” Sharon greeted with a grin. She gave the other two quick smiles before grabbing the stool beside you. “How have you guys been?”

Carol shook her head, “Cut the shit, Carter. I wanna see the dud of the night.”

“Hey,” Sharon replied, “This one isn’t a dud. He’s actually a good one.” The three of you gave her skeptical looks that she rolled her eyes at. She took the drink that Valkyrie slid to her. “I’m serious. I met him at work.”

Valkyrie chuckled, “Great, she’s dating a criminal.”

“Not like that.” Sharon argued. “He’s a therapist.”

Carol grinned, “Oh, good! We’ve been telling you to see one. Granted, we meant professionally and not sexually.”

You, Carol, and Valkyrie laughed while Sharon just nodded her head along with an amused grin. She took a quick sip of her beer, “Hey, get it all out now. I want you guys to be nice to him and not scare him off.”

“We’re sweethearts. I don’t know what you mean.” You shrugged innocently.

Sharon gave you a deadpanned look, “Yeah, okay, I remember the ‘beer spill’ quite well, thanks.”

You chuckled, “Where is this guy?”

“Parking the car. He should be in any—oh!” Sharon turned when the door opened. Your eyes drifted to the tall, black man who came into the room. He was fit, that was easy enough to see with the tight gray t-shirt he wore, and he had a brown leather jacket over that. His dark eyes drifted over the crowded area before landing on all of you at the bar.

Carol let out a low whistle.

Valkyrie clapped her hands.

Sharon rose to greet him with a kiss.

And, you, well, you couldn’t stop staring at the red string on his pinky that led straight back to your little group. It didn’t connect to Sharon though. No. It connected to you.

“Guys, this is Sam Wilson.” Sharon introduced, her arm around his torso while he rested his on her shoulders. She went on to introduce all of you, but her voice sounded far away.

Carol and Valkyrie both greeted him and shook his hand while your wheels spun in your head. This wasn’t happening. Oh, no. You were not prepared for this in any way, shape, or form. You had been paying so much attention to the red strings around you that you didn’t even notice how bright your own had been.

Sam, you apparent soulmate and best friend’s boyfriend, greeted you by name with a smile that literally made you weak in the knees. He offered his hand to you, and it took a couple seconds for your brain to figure out how to act human again. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yupp.” You replied stiffly and let go of his hand as quick as you could without looking like a bitch.

Valkyrie had to step away to serve another customer, but Carol was more than happy to lead the inquisition. She crossed her legs and leaned on the bar with one elbow while motioning to him with her drink, “So, what do you do for work, Wilson?”

“I work with the VA. Lead a few groups. Mostly PTSD and anxiety based.” Sam nodded. He tilted his head toward Sharon, “I also am not a blogger of any kind, I do not live in my mom’s basement, I don’t have seven cats, and I am not the leader of a small time cult.” He grinned. “I think that covers all the bases Sharon has hit before?”

Sharon lightly elbowed him in the side, and Carol nodded, “You married?”

“I am not.” Sam nodded.

“Then yeah I think that covers it.” Carol shrugged. She turned to you, “You got anything?”

“N—Nope.” You cleared your throat. Your eyes couldn’t stop darting down to the string neatly tied around his pinky finger. Were you hyperventilating? It felt like you were hyperventilating a little. “Can you excuse me?”

Without waiting for an answer, you hurried past them to step outside into the cool night air. It helped. Marginally. Only a few moments passed before Sharon stepped out to check on you. She set a hand on your shoulder, “You good?”

“Yeah. Just tired.” You lied. “Weird day at work.”

“Alright. I’m here if you need to talk about it.” Sharon offered, but you just shook your head, reassuring her that you were fine. She gave you a small smile and nudged you with her hip, “So, first thoughts on Sam? I did good right?”

Nobody knew about your sights. It was a weird topic to bring up to someone, so you had always kept it to yourself. It was one of the things that made this entire situation so much harder. You couldn’t even explain to Sharon what was going on. Even if you could… should you? Sharon looked happy. Honest to God happy and a part of you felt sick at the thought of ruining that. They weren’t soulmates though. Her soulmate was someone else, but… how did you explain that at all without looking like the bitch who just wanted to take her best friend’s new boyfriend.

“Yeah. He’s…He’s great.” You said softly.

“I have a really good feeling about this one.” Sharon looped her arm through yours. “I know it’s new, but… thanks. You’ve always looked out for me on the romantic front, and if it weren’t for you, I’d still be with one of the idiots I used to date.”

You nodded, “Of course.”

“And hey,” Sharon winked at you, “He’s got cute friends. Maybe it’s time I repay the favor?”

This was new. You didn’t even know Sam very well. For all you knew, this would fizzle out fairly quickly or maybe you’d be the exception and not even get along with your supposed soulmate. You hadn’t seen it before, but maybe the red strings could be wrong? It definitely wasn’t worth torpedoing your friendship with Sharon though. Not right now.

You gave her a tight smile, “Sounds great. Let’s go back in, huh?”

“Yeah. Hey, you’re really gonna like Sam. You guys actually have a lot in common.” Sharon commented offhandedly while dragging you back inside. You swallowed the lump in your throat nervously. You could do this. You could definitely do this. As you stepped back into the building, Sam’s eyes glanced over at the both of you with a small smile. You steeled your nerves and smiled back. How hard could it be, resisting your soulmate? Screw the red strings of fate.

Your best friend was more important.

[next chapter]

[chattier80]

[ This is chapter 2 for this series, you can read chapter 1 > here < Looks like Nox n Strawberry finally meet and we have some good ol gt stuff ]

Ever since Nox had turned 18, he'd have his soulmate's name written on his back. Everyone could find the one they were meant to be with and sadly for Nox that seemed impossible.

Why?

Well whatever his soulmate's name is, he couldn't fucking read it. It was written in some strange language. Because of this Nox had been made fun of while he was in school until he graduated and moved on with his life. This was how he could escape the folks who called him names and started so many ugly rumors about him.

Nox scratched his fluffy mane of hair as he wandered into the kitchen after just waking up. His ears twitched as he grabbed his favorite mug and a k pod so he could have some coffee first thing in the morning. He rubbed his right eye with the heel of his hand. Nox had been working at his current job for over 7 years ago. Shortly after he had moved to the city. Well shortly would be 2ish years when he had turned 20 something. Nox was now 27, and he had given up on any hope of finding the one he was meant to be with. So why not put all of his focus into work? Jeez that just sounds depressing now that he thinks about it. He set the mug down and loaded the pod into the machine. He stretched again his ears going back slightly as he did this. He scratched at his chest, he wasn't wearing a shirt only his baggy sweat pants and boxers. His hand rested on the knob of the cabinet that he held the sugar container in. He had at one point had it on the counter top along with other things but he had begun to notice that he was running out of things alot faster then normal along with that fact that things had moved slightly which was just...weird..

He honestly didn't know if he had miss put the items or what but it was getting to the point where it was starting to bother him. Why were things going missing or being moved? Was it him or was that there someone else was coming into his home and fucking with his things? It's happened before on the news but Nox ALWAYS kept things locked and no one had a spare key to his place so what in the hell was going on? So much stuff has gone missing or even just being moved and it was extremely frustrating! Nox let out a soft annoyed snort though his nose with that Nox opened the cabinet door where the sugar was. Nox yawned his ears going back slightly as he stood before the cabinet his right ear flicking then blinked as his brown eyes settled on a small figure that was tangled up in string? Nox blinked a few times staring. It looked... almost humanoid? It had long red hair along with a red fur tail with pale skin. It was wearing patchy green clothing. Nox continued to stare at it unsure if what he was seeing was actually what he was seeing. Was this real or was this made up from his mind due to the lack of sleep?

Slowly Nox reached into the cabinet pulling out the container putting it on the counter top then his attention turned towards the small figure that was dangling from the string within his cabinet. Was this thing the reason why he'd been running out of things so quickly or was there something else? Nox reached towards the figure which began to admit squeaks as his hand was close to it. It was small enough to fit into his hand. Almost.. almost like a doll. Nox blinked more as his hand carefully cupped the figure which began to squeal and squirm against his palm. Nox's tail fluffed up as he quickly withdrew his hand from the figure like he had been bitten or burned. It began to admit noises almost like it was talking but if it was Nox couldn't understand anything. Nox frowned at it "H-Hey i don't understand anything your saying and hanging like that doesn't look to comfy." He told it as he reached in again and cradled it. It squirmed and chittered. Using his other hand he broke the string freeing it of being held upside down.

Carefully and rather gently Nox set the figure down on to the countertop and ruffled his fluffy hair as he sighed "Jeez how the fuck did ya manage to even do that?"

He peered at it as he began to work on getting untangled from the string, it looked shy almost like it was scared. His ear flicked then he grabbed the container of sugar turning his back on to the figure and scooped 2 spoonfuls of sugar into his cup. He pushed the button to start it then blinked hearing the little figure squeaking loudly. Nox blinked turning his head to look at it. It was waving it's arms at him. "What? What's gotten into you?" He asked as he fully faced the figure.

It pointed at him letting out a squeak patting it's chest. Tilting his head to the side confused. It pointed at it's back then at Nox. "Oh! You must of seen my soulmate's name, haha i'm really unlucky to have that huh? No one can even read it and i'm never gonna find the person whose name it is." Nox sighed

The little figure sighed crossing it's arms at her annoyed.

"What? Look i can't understand you so i dunno whatcha whining about."

The figure seemed to grumble something that she couldn't understand as it had fully finished untangling it's self from the string. It began to wrap the string like a rope putting it on the countertop setting it down. It ruffled it's long red hair. It pointed at him then at it's stomach.

"Oh? You hungry? Sure lemme get ya something to eat. I wonder if your the one who's been messing with my stuff. Can't blame ya cuz i bet that plenty of folks would of treated ya like you were some pest but your just a little guy." Nox giggled as they grabbed a pop tart. He unwrapped it and broke it into pieces that the little guy could pick up at least he thought it could. He set the broken pieces on top of the wrapper. It was sitting down on the counter top looking around his kitchen. When it had the food it grabbed a large piece and began to eat. It got crumbs all over it's self. Nox giggled seeing what a mess it was making. Nox's ear flicked hearing the coffee finish brewing. Nox turned away grabbing his cup of fresh coffee and stirred the sugar mixing it with coffee. He once again faced the little doll on the counter top. Nox took a sip of the coffee then looked at the little doll. He blinked a few times seeing that it had taken off it's ratty shirt and was shaking off the crumbs. It shifted it's self putting it's back to him so it could make sure that the crumbs were off it's shirt. Nox felt his heart begin to pick up in it's pace. The feeling of confusion, anxiety and delight? What was this feeling in his chest?

Without really thinking Nox reached out brushing the small doll's back which made it freeze up. The tail lifted up puffing up like a cat's would. It turned to look at him confused.

"Why..why do you.....have my name.....on your.....back?" He couldn't help himself but ask. The little doll tilted it's head clearly not understanding what he was saying to it at all.

This was just so much to take in, this doll creature, it having his name on it's back, why was it jestering at him when he had his back to it? There were so many questions Nox had mulling around inside of his brain and it's not like he can just ask the doll. They clearly don't understand each other.

Why did the gods curse him?

Nox let out a sigh closing his eyes, his ears lowering slightly. Just what kind of curse is in names?

[ridestomars]

can you possibly do something about a first kiss with eddie 🧌 like imagine him getting hooked on you and needy?? okay i schleep now -🍰 anon

SINCE I'VE BEEN LOVING YOU – E. MUNSON

𖥻 pairing: eddie munson x reader 𖥻 warnings: none, i think! 

💭 liv's thoughts: alrighty, i'm so excited for this!! i tried not to make it long, but i guess i couldn't help myself. this was my first time describing a kiss, so i hope it's good! thank you so much for your ask, 🍰, you made my day! also, i haven't proofread this, so sorry for any mistakes <3

first of all, oof. i just know eddie spends most of his time thinking about this, going through every scenario and wondering what would he do, or rather, what you would do to him. and he seems to think about it nonstop ever since he invited you to hang out as his place – the intentions were clear, and you immediately agreed to go. and i just know eddie spends most of his time rehearsing what he would say to sweep you off your feet, delivering only the best cheesy lines to his mirror, pretending he was talking to you. he wants everything to go perfectly, just like he imagined it would be; him wooing you and then proceeding to give you the most beautiful kiss ever, movie style. he is a romantic at heart, ok?

needless to say that things didn't go according to plan. things never do. led zeppelin's since i've been loving you was playing softly at the background, almost inaudible if you didn't pay enough attention, and you weren't. too involved with talking and trying to make each other laugh, you two were comfortably sitting in his bed, just enjoying this sweet moment and relishing in each other's company. it was something that you did quite often: you liked talking to each other, chatting about anything you felt like and discussing weird topics that you knew you couldn't speak to anyone else. talking to you just felt easy. and then, he said something that made you laugh so hard that after you calmed down, it was still possible to hear your faint giggles that were suffocated by the lingering smile on your lips. still, you looked up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours and he knew that he was done for; all his plans were thrown out of the window. eddie sensed that, if he didn't do something, he would die.

with his eyes staring longingly at your lips it was like he was waiting for you to say something along the lines of "i don't wanna do this" or "sorry, have to go", like many other people did before. but you wanted it. you wanted it so bad it almost hurt. so you went for it, crushing your lips to his like you wished you did countless times in the past few weeks. and eddie felt like his heart was about to jump out of his chest. his big hands found yours in the midst of all the adrenaline, touching your skin softly with his fingertips, a contrast that didn't go unnoticed by you. his hands were going up your arms, carressing just the right places. you both felt like you were on fire, and it was like heaven.

trembling breaths on your cheek, hands going up your neck, the neediness of his lips and the butterflies you felt in your stomach when you felt his tongue lick your lips. oh, it was absolutely maddening and you both couldn't get enough of it. you could stay there for hours, roaming your hands through his torso and shoulders, fingers tangling themselves in his dark hair while feeling a soft string of whines coming out of his lips into yours. and then, feeling his weight on top of you when he laid you down on his bed, and you smiled. that was when he broke apart from you, just to see the state you were in: sprawled hair on his pillow, red lips elongated into a luscious smile, chest going up and down at a delicious pace. a sight he could get used to.

"man, you'll be the death of me" was all he said before diving into you again.

eddie masterlist | main masterlist | navigation 𖤐 hey! wanna talk? leave me a message after the beep ─ currently accepting requests for concepts & moodboards for eddie munson and steve harrington.

[coralinnii]

Ace Trappola (ghost bride!Reader x survivor!Ace)

genre: angst, tragedy

note: no pronouns were used, mentions of a car crash, allusion to d*ath

this is fictional story that is not meant to imitate or reflect on real life events. Any resemblance to real life experiences are not intentional and not meant to downplay the emotions of such tragedies

summary: Ace was not a romantic man but he could be for the one. He kept denying it but he was looking forward to your wedding, even dreaming it…even when it was impossible.

Inspired by an episode of Hotel del Luna. Seriously bawled for that show.

series index

“Hey, what do you think of making Deuce your maid of honor? Dude of honor? Deuce of honor!”

“I’m not sure he would be happy about that” you laughed, while flicking the redhead’s forehead as he rested on your lap. “And don’t make it my problem that you couldn’t tell him that your brother would be best man”

“Man, what was I supposed to do? My mom already stressing over wedding plans before I could say anything! She was practically planning it the moment I first invited you over for dinner”

You smiled as you listened on as Ace made excuse after excuse, just like you always did. He loved moments like these, ever since the two of you got over the awkward phases of your relationship and soon become comfortable in romantic bliss. He loved it so much.

He loves you so much

“I can’t wait to marry you” Ace blurted out as he sighed in bliss. But you didn’t smile this time.

“Ace…” you whispered, “you know we can’t”

“Babe, come on-“

“Ace…they’re calling for you. You can’t stay”

But Ace ignored your words, turning his head so he could bury his face into the fabric that covers your waist. He ignored you, just like he’s been ignoring the voices calling to him from somewhere.

“Son, please wake up!”

“Come on, bro…get up already!”

“Ace, you can beat this! Wake up!”

Why can’t they shut up, he thought. He was happy here, with you as beautiful as he would prefer to remember you and not the last time he saw you, covered in shards of glass and blood when that driver crashed into the two of you.

“Ace… you need to wake up. Let me go-“ your pleads were cut off when you felt the grip around your waist tightened as your stubborn lover wrapped his arms tightly around you.

“Please don’t say it” Ace mumbled into your waist. You felt wetness on your clothes as Ace quietly shed tears, whispering into your skin,

“I love you”

You started to cry as well when you heard him utter his love. It was that love that made your heart so warm and full, wishing it would never fade. But that same love and your own was tethering your beloved redhead between life and death. A long red string connected the two of you, tangled and bloody on your end while stubbornly sturdy on his end, which had a hold on his soul as his unresponsive body was in a hospital while your friends and family prayed for him to wake up.

Your hands automatically reached out in order to caress him, but you stopped yourself. You needed to be strong enough for the both of you. It was too late for you but Ace was so close to a second chance at life, you couldn’t let him throw that away.

You instead reach to fidget with the string of fate on your finger that held your beloved to you. The knot around your finger loosen and tighten on its own, reflecting your conflicted heart. Your tears fell as you reached for the string, putting all your strength as you grip the ends.

You love him so much

…which is why you had to let him go.

[leviismybby]

Imagine helping Levi relax after a bad day. I got a little carried away while writing this...

TW: NSFW 18+, minors dni, sub!Levi

His muscles tense under your every touch, his head thrown back on the pillow, his whimpers music to your ears.

"F-fuck baby put your m-mouth on it." you have been teasing him for a while, hand stroking his cock. Your run your thumb on his slit, more precum coming out. His hips buck into your hand.

"And why would I do that? You didn't say the magic word." Normally it's the opposite, you're underneath him begging him to give you what you want but not now. Levi is the one who is completely dumb under you, his face flushed, tips of his ears red.

He has had a bad day today, full of stress from training the cadets. So what better way to help him relax than to make him all putty and a whimpering mess in your arms?

"P-please baby." You kiss his cheek loving the way he clings the sheets with his hands when your hand goes faster.

"Hmm? What do you want?" Your kisses trail down to his neck, marking his skin with bruises. He almost isn't able to speak as his high is approaching. Maybe you'll make him cum more than once if he deserves it.

"(name)! P-please love!" Your lips attach to his nipple and that's all it takes for him to unravel, white strings of cum blasting all over his toned abs.

You smile kissing down further his body, he is so sensitive that he moans with your every touch. Smirking you lick the cum off his stomach, tasting him on your tongue. It's not an unfamiliar taste but something about seeing him so powerless like this made you feel powerful.

Levi is still painfully hard, the sight of you is enough to get him going again even if you're almost fully dressed. Coming back up to his ear, you nibble on his earlobe as his hands grip your hips.

"You want more?" He nods turning his head away in embarrassment. You take his chin with your hand making him look at you. "Use your words baby."

"Want more, please. Want your mouth." You smile kissing him on the lips tongue first. He moans into your mouth making you bite on his lower lip as you pull away.

"Good boy." His cock twitches at your words, he is so needy. "I'll give it to you baby." You lower your head down to his cock, teasing him by lightly kissing the head.

His long fingers tangle themselves in your hair, it's obvious that he is enjoying himself. Levi would rather have a titan eat him than admit that he loves it when you dominate him.

You look at him once more before taking his length fully in your mouth, your hands resting on thick thighs. "Y-yes. Fuck!" He is a mess, desperately bucking his hips into your mouth.

Your head bobs up and down making Levi grip your hair tightly, he is close to cumming despite you only having him in your mouth for only a few minutes.

Pulling back, a string of saliva is connected from your lips to his cock. You smirk when you see his chest heavily moving up and down as he looks at you with half-lined eyes.

Levi can't speak, he can't even think anymore. All he wants to do is cum in your mouth but you're denying him that pleasure for your own selfish one.

"Want my mouth back on your cock baby?" Instantly he nods his head, pushing your head down with his hands. You oblige, swirling your tongue around him before sucking.

He is moaning your name loud however he doesn't care, not now. Levi needs to fill your mouth with his cum, he craves that sight of you.

You see the way his abs tense, hips bucking off the bed, his hands pushing your head down making you gag around him.

"(name)! I'm gonna-!" And with that, you feel his warm seed fill your mouth. You suck him dry, milking him for all he is worth.

Pulling away, you lick your lips swallowing every drop. Levi looks beautiful, so spent and weak before you.

"My good boy." You kiss him on the lips and he eagerly kisses you back. "Wonder what others would think if I tell them that I dominate you in bed sometimes?" Teasing him is always fun.

"Shut the fuck up." Laughing you kiss his cheek laying your head on his chest. Levi leans his head on your, deeply breathing.

You really know how to make his days better.

[outerspacebisexual]

A Place in this World - Steve Harrington

Book A - Part Seven: You Are In Love

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Summary: Steve Harrington was always there, and now you understood why.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Word count: 2.64k

Warnings: swearing, wingman hellfire club, FLUFF

Masterlist

It didn’t matter how many times Corroded Coffin played on stage; your nerves were always shot.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins like electricity in time with the music of the band that was on before you as you did your final pre-show checks. Tuning your guitar, ensuring that everything would be perfect. Guitar resting flat on your legs, you ran your hands up and down the smooth black and red surface, gently plucking at the strings absentmindedly.

Normally, you were jumping up and down on the spot as the minutes ticked by. This time, you were praying that everything went fine.

Because Steve was going to be there.

You knew that he had seen you once before, but you had been unaware that he was there, but now, he had offered to come see you play with your knowledge.

“You ready?” Gareth said as he sided up to you, spinning his drumsticks in his hands.

You heaved in a breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

He sent you a warm smile. “You’re always great, you know?” There was an underlying reassurance in his words. Harrington will be blown away. It helped to settle your nerves.

Your friends hadn’t been all that happy when you told them about yours and Steve’s slowly mending friendship. Especially Eddie. It had been a massive point of tension between you two for weeks. He had even gone as far as to ignore you for a week like a child, and you’d said as much.

“Are you just not going to talk to me now?” you said as you stood in front of his bedroom window, looking in.

He hadn’t opened the door when you had knocked, despite knowing that he was home because his van was parked out front. When you rounded to his window, there he was, sitting on his bed with a book, reading and very much ignoring you.

“Real mature, Eddie,” you scoffed. “We’re supposed to practice this afternoon. Are you just not coming?” Your guitar case was still in your hand.

Eddie didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge that he’d even heard you. He just flipped the page.

You banged on the glass with your fist. “You should be happy for me. I’m choosing to be the bigger person.”

At that, he turned his head slowly towards you, a blank look on his face as he raised an eyebrow. He stood up and you moved forward thinking that he was going to open the window to let you in, but instead he just closed the curtains.

“Nice one, asshole,” you spat, and spun on your heel, beginning the long walk to Jeff’s house.

Eddie had missed practice that day for the first time in a long time. You had taken out your frustration on your guitar, shredding like crazy until you thought your fingers would bleed.

It was once practice was over that you debated the walk home. You knew Eddie wouldn’t have come get you, and frankly you were too proud to admit that you needed anything from him at that moment. So, you did the next best thing.

You had been standing at the end of Jeff’s driveway when Steve’s red BMW pulled up alongside you and you flung yourself into his car. That day had been when Steve had offered to come to your show, and you had agreed, heart fluttering at the thought of him in the crowd of The Hideout.

Now, standing at the edge of the stage as the band before you finished their set, you were debating if that had been a good idea.

What if you got tangled in the cords and fell face-first? What if you suddenly forgot all the chords? What if—

A hand clapped onto your shoulder. You turned to see Eddie. “Let’s do this,” he said, squeezing your shoulder. You had been friends with Eddie long enough that you knew this was the beginning of an apology. He always did it this way. He wasn’t the kind of person to straight up say sorry. He liked to ease himself into it.

So, you placed your hand on top of his and squeezed it back, making him grin.

And then you guys were centre stage, lights blinding as Gareth counted you in and you began playing. Your fingers glided over the frets like they didn’t know any different.

But your eyes were scanning the crowd, searching for the signature brown hair and matching eyes. At first you couldn’t see him, and your heart dropped, immediately thinking the worst, but then you spotted him towards the back of the room, leaning against the wall with a smile wider than you had ever seen from him.

When your eyes met his, you returned the grin, happiness replacing the nerves and thrumming through your whole body. He gave you a thumbs up. The gesture was so small, and yet it gave you the final push to fully commit back to the stage. You tuned out the crowd and focused back on your bandmates.

And you played better than you ever had.

+

Gigs always left the five of you sweaty messes, floating on the post-show high of everything going perfectly.

As you exited from the stage, you spotted Steve standing there. “Steve,” you called, causing him to look up as you flung yourself at him. Your guitar hung awkwardly in between the two of you as you wrapped your arms around him. He seemed stuck for a second before returning your hug just as you pulled away. “What did you think?” you shouted over the music of the next band blaring.

“You were great!” he yelled back. “I recognised the song you played in the middle—”

“—The Trooper! Yeah, it’s from the Iron Maiden album you have!” Your hands were still clutching his shoulders, and you couldn’t stop smiling even if you wanted to.

Steve looked over at your other bandmates and they gave him silent nods, even as they smiled and jumped around themselves. It didn’t matter how many people you played in front of, the post-show high was still as electric every time.

“What are you doing now?” Steve asked.

You gestured to the others. “Normally we drink until the sun comes up at Jeff’s place. His house is closest.”

Steve nodded and looked like he wanted to say something but decided against it as you spun around and you pulled your guitar off, removing the straps before placing it in the case.

“Hey, Y/N,” Eddie called from your right. You looked up to see him walking closer to you. “Me and guys were thinking about having an early night.” His eyes briefly flicked behind you to where Steve was standing.

“Oh,” you said, dejected. “That—that’s OK.”

Eddie leaned closer so he wasn’t shouting so loud. “You should do something though.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “But you guys—”

Eddie shoved you. “There is someone else here.” He gave you a look that said fucking dumbass, and your eyes widened as you clocked on to what he was saying. So, you grabbed your guitar case and made your way back over to Steve.

“Do you want to hang out?” you asked, clutching your case handle so hard you thought it would crack. This could go one of two ways, and as apprehensive as you had been in the past, you found yourself hoping that he would say yes. “Tonight, I mean. Like now?”

Steve’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, did you want to go to the diner down the street?”

You nodded and followed him out, with one last look at your friends who all had weirdly encouraging smiles.

Steve held the door open for you as you entered the small diner. It was busier than you expected, full of both people you did and didn’t know. In the corner, you saw some girls from high school all crammed into a booth. You didn’t remember them being mean to you specifically, but you had caught them talking about your choice of style on multiple occasions. You felt sort of self-conscious. You were aware of your heavy, black makeup and sweaty clothes.

And you were here with Steve.

The thoughts were flooding into your brain faster than you could stop them.

What if Steve didn’t want them to see you with him. He was still Steve Harrington after all.

Steve nudged you with his shoulder. “Are you OK?”

You felt yourself nod, almost detached from yourself. You couldn’t stop looking around at all the people.

Steve’s eyes followed yours and you heard him sigh. Your eyes closed. This was it. He was ashamed to be seen with you. It didn’t matter that he had come to your show. He had a reputation to keep up with.

“You know, Penny Wolstead once vomited in my pool at one of my parties,” Steve said, and your eyes flew open.

“What?”

“Yeah,” he continued. “She decided it was a good idea to get in after drinking all night. She vomited everywhere. I had to get someone out to drain it and clean it. I couldn’t bring myself to swim in it for, like, months.”

You couldn’t help the laugher that bubbled up before spilling out. Steve was laughing, too, and you couldn’t take your eyes off him as he grabbed your hand.

“Let’s get our food to go,” he offered, “and we can just go back to my place and eat.” He seemed unsure as soon as the words had left his mouth. “Or—or we could eat at the park, or something—”

“Your place is fine, Steve,” you said with a smile.

+

The food was lukewarm by the time you got back to his place.

The Harrington House was bigger than you remembered. As he unlocked the front door, you asked, “Where are your parents?”

Steve flicked the lights on and kicked off his shoes. “They’re away again. Some business thing in New York. They’ll be gone for another two weeks.”

“How long have they been gone already?”

He placed the food on the kitchen counter and hummed and he grabbed two plates from the cupboard. “Ten days, I think? I don’t really keep count anymore.”

The idea of Steve alone in this big house made you frown. Steve was such a social, loving person. You didn’t know much about who he hung out with outside of work other than Robin, Dustin, and the others. You were grateful for your own friends in that moment.

“Do you want to eat in the living room?” he asked. “I have one of the new releases from work that we could watch?”

You smirked, following him. “Did you rent it out?”

He paused. “No comment.”

“That could get you fired if a manager found out,” you tsked as you sat on the couch, one spot of space between the two of you.

“Well, luckily, I have this fantastic manager who told me I could do whatever I want.”

“Hey! I said that within reason,” you scoffed.

Steve got up and put the video in, surprising you when the title credits came up with Back to the Future.

You looked at him incredulously. “You haven’t seen this yet? It came out ages ago.”

He huffed as he plopped down onto the couch again. “Technically, I have, but I was a bit…unwell, when I did, so I can’t remember half of it.”

The movie played in the background, but you couldn’t pull your thoughts from Steve. You had been thinking about him a lot recently, more than you ever thought that you would.

When you first decided to try and move forward, you thought it would be for nothing. You thought that everything would come crashing down around you when he changed his mind and remembered that you were just a metalhead freak.

But he hadn’t. He had been patient and kind to you—kinder than he had ever been, even when you had been friends before.

Your looked at him out of the corner of your eye. His eyes were on the screen, small crease between his brows as he paid attention to what was happening on the TV. His hair was longer than it had ever been, and a section had fallen down onto his forehead. You wanted to push it back.

As if sensing your eyes on him, he turned, eyes locking with yours.

Both of you were silent, and again, this silence that stretched between the two of you was calming.

His brown eyes searched your face, and you still didn’t move, not as you watched his eyes grow softer, happier, the longer he looked at you, a matching gentle smile adorning his face.

On a whim, you reached out and placed your hand on his. “Thank you for tonight,” you whispered, hesitant to break to stillness. “Thank you for…everything, you know?”

“Of course,” he replied, the same softness to his voice.

He moved his hand from beneath yours to hold it instead, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. The lull of quiet fell over you two again, and this time, you could feel something shift.

It was almost audible, the subtle change in the air, and as it clicked into place, you lost your breath.

Because Steve’s gaze was full of wonder and admiration.

And it was directed at you.

The space between you suddenly felt so much smaller. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles again, and you look down at them. Even his touch was gentle.

When your eyes return to his face, he seemed closer than ever.

His other hand hesitantly reached out and rested against your face. You leaned into the touch without thinking, basking in the feel of it against your heated cheek.

His eyes dipped to your lips, and you knew that this was it. This was your last chance to stop this before it had begun.

But as he leaned in, you didn’t move back like that voice in the back of your mind was screaming to. You allowed him to move ever closer, and then his lips were on yours.

It was gentle, barely more than a brush of his lips against yours.

He pulled away, and you just stared at him, your heart thundering in your chest so hard you were surprised he couldn’t hear it.

When you didn’t say anything, he started to backtrack. You could see the walls coming up behind his eyes, desperate to pretend that it hadn’t mattered.

But you grabbed his hand before he could lean back, pulling him forward and clutching either side of his face as you kissed him.

He was frozen for a second, but then he was moving. His hands found your sides, gripping them as he pulled you even closer.

You moved in sync, your chest pressed flush against his.

When he pulled away, he was breathing hard, and his hand moved from your back up to your cheek, brushing his thumb against your cheekbone.

Your own hand moved to push the strand of his hair back into place, before trailing it down to rest on the top of his chest where you could feel his own heart beating.

As he stared at you, his eyes began to line with tears, and you immediately pulled your eyebrows together. “What’s wrong?”

He just shook his head slightly. “I just never thought…” he trailed off breathlessly, and you wiped away a tear that escaped his eye. “I never thought I would get you back. Not as a friend, and not like this.”

You kissed him again. “You got me back, Steve Harrington,” you breathed. His eyes gleamed in the dim light. “Don’t lose me again.”

a/n: YAY all done with Book A. i hope you guys liked this little series! and i hope you're happy with the ending. thank you for your support!

Book B is up now! <3 aeia

[quandaryqueen]

I read your other soul mate posts and absolutely loved them. So I'd like to ask for one of my own. Feel free to ignore this if you don't want to do it. BTAS Jon and Ed with a red thread of fate that can be interacted. Like you could pull on it and the other would feel it, but the Reader is really clumsy and more often than not winds up giving it a yank that would send the boys flying. But some times it ends up saving them too.

Tangled

BTAS Edward Nygma X Reader

BTAS Jonathan Crane X Reader

Soulmate au! Gosh I have the mental image of the reader, due to their clumsy nature, getting tangled up in the strings and ngl it's a cute little image but anyways--! I just love red strings of fate and I am ELATED at the fact that someone has requested it! Thank you 💝

💚 Edward Nygma

First of all, he is mentally cursing at his soulmate to mind their steps! Honestly, one of these days you'd pull him alongside you and it would result in catastrophe!

So when he held a little get-together with Gotham citezens in an event venue as hostage, somewhere in the crowd was someone getting their ankle through their strings so violently, they managed to cause others to lose their balance... Including Edward. But Edward has had a good look at the catalyst of the trouble, and he knew.

Not long after that little trip up of yours, you have somehow got yourself caught in your string and stumbling, resulting for your soulmate to be yanked forward, almost bumping against a nearby civilian. See? Catastrophe? Not to mention, humiliating!

He wouldn't admit it, but you have saved him sometimes. Save for example, the time where he wasn't minding his environment and he would have almost been snagged by a vehicle by the crossroad if you didn't trip in your own strings again.

"Watch it!" He exclaims, not bothering to pick himself up when he barely clung to a podium to catch his fall. He didn't need to follow the glowing red string tied around his finger, he fucking knew it was you. He locks eyes with you at the back of the other hostages, on your stomach with sheepish eyes greeting his narrowed ones. Fantastic, so this is how he meets his soulmate.

🧡 Jonathan Crane

As much as possible, he tries to level himself down whenever your little trip ups occur. He simply can't let your little hiccups make a fool of himself in front of others, but if he did, he tries to remain stone-faced. Let no one say that the Scarecrow is ever caught off-guard. In rare occasions though, you do catch him off-guard, even pulling a yelp out of him.

Gosh he can't blame you though, as sometimes the strings do get in the way in ways that he finds inconvenient. Like, imagine tripping on the red string and getting caught by the Bat. You're clumsy, but you couldn't be him.

So... Meeting you. That's a fun little story.

Nonchalantly meandering about the mall, when he stumbled upon the Halloween section, in which he entertains himself by perusing along with isles of plactic pumpkins and autumn themed candles. As he tries to reach to smell one of the candles, he stops to steady himself when he fells a pull. It would be an expensive mistake if he were to stumble forward.

Weirdly enough, he hears someone squealing from the other side of the shelf. What an odd coincidence. Then when he looked down, he sees the string tied on his pinky finger glow red. Oh.

Anticipation pits at the bottom of his stomach as he walks by the next isle, tracing the trajectory of the string with his gaze, only to see the end of it connect to an individual's ankle, as they try to set themself free, muttering under their breath. How did you even get yourself caught?

"Ahem." With Jonathan clearing his throat, you looked up to see him.

"Sorry, can I help you?" You nervously smiled up at him. God it was so embarrassing that you haven't even made the attempt to get off the floor yet.

He gestures at the strings and he watches realisation unfold from your features. Well, this should be fun.

[shittylongcatposts]

@juminweek2019 Philautia // Self-Love

“Now listen to me Jumin, you cannot fall in love until you don’t love yourself.”

He didn’t understand these words his father told him when he was still young. His small gray eyes blinking up to the man who just got dumped by another gold digger. A man so smart and realistic, yet so fooled and blinded by love. 

Years later when he first met Rika, then he understood. because she told him too. But how was he supposed to love himself? Nobody ever taught him, nobody showed him what to do. Sure he was content with his life, he achieved all he could wish for. He graduated from high school, went to a renowned university, he became the heir of C&R and had enough money to get by. However, sometimes he felt like he lost his soul along the way - except when he met with Jihyun or Rika. For some reason they knew him better than Jumin knows himself. 

He swayed the glass of red wine around, his eyes locked on the liquid. Then he sighed, both of them were long gone. Lost in his thoughts Jumin didn’t hear his phone ringing at first. 

He picked it up eventually, even though the young man wasn’t in the mood to talk. But it was Mc and he grew quite fond of her, even though he was not ready to admit it.

“Hello?”

“Jumin, hi, I was wondering if I could come over? Oh, ehm, it’s me, Mc. I need someone I can talk to.”

The young heir sighed. He was tired, exhausted and just wanted to rest. But 

“pretty please???” she begged through the phone.

“Well I was just about to go to bed, but it does sound rather urgent, are you okay?” 

“I’ll tell you when I get there. See you.” and with that she hung up. 

A few minutes later she stood in front of him, he helped her out of her jacket before she kneeled down to greet Elizabeth the 3rd, crawling his cat right at he favorite spot. Jumin smiled while watching them, enjoying the view

Soon after they sat down on his couch, he watched her fiddling with the cuffs of her oversized sweater. He could tell she was nervous.

“So to what do I owe you your visit?” he arched a brow taking a sip from his tea. 

“Well, I, uh, actually I need to tell you something.” she murmured. He nodded, waiting for her to continue. 

“Jumin, I think I love you.” He coughed turning to face her again, looking at her blushed face, he would never forget this sight, she looked so soft and warm. 

But as much as he had yearned to hear those three words from her, he was skeptical. How was he supposed to love her when he didn’t even love himself?

“I’m sorry Mc, I don’t know what to say.” He rubbed his temples and rested his elbows on his legs.

“Did I say something wrong? Does that mean you don’t like me?” 

She watched his dark locks shake from left to right. 

“No, not at all. I really like you Mc. I just don’t understand what you see in me.”

The young woman crawled over to him, her small hand cupping his cheek. He placed his hand on top of hers. 

“You see, my father once told me that I can only fall in love if I love myself. But you know what? I hate it. I hate myself, that cold, heartless monster I became over the years. Emotionless, and tangled up in my thoughts which strings pull closer with each step I take every once and a while. Mc, I just, I don’t want you to fall in love with me. I’m scared to put such a heavy burden on your shoulders.”

“Bullshit.” She cursed and stroked his cheek with her thumb. 

“You’re far more than that. You’re not perfect but truth be told nobody is - look at me. Jumin, you’re one of the most caring people I’ve ever met. You're smart, kind, funny, and pretty cute sometimes, especially when you behave like an old, grumpy man. I don’t mind if you’re a little gloomy on some days or that you become the Joker on another day. Because that’s who you are. The way I see it, your father was a complete idiot to tell you something like this. Love grows under any condition.” A soft smile appeared on the heirs face and he blinked slowly. Without any haste he moved his other hand up and put it on her neck, softly inching her face towards his. 

“Thank you Mc, that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. And I can only say these words right back at you. I love you, too” He gazed into her blue eyes. Then to her lips, and back to her eyes, searching for her approval to finally close the painful distance. She nodded softly. And just before his lips touched hers, she whispered: “Wait. I behave like an old grumpy man?”

[lonely-lost-soul]

1,000 Follower Special

Members of the DreamSMP simping for you:

Dream, GeorgeNotFound, Sapnap, Technoblade, Phil, Wilbur, and Fundy

~No minor members obviously~

Dream: 

When the both of you started dating he knew he couldn’t let anyone know about you.

The only two people who he trusted to know about you were George and Sapnap, solely because they knew who you were before the both of you dated.

Dream met you during Wilbur’s revolt against the SMP, you were a member of one of the villages he frequented.

Dream would constantly trade with your grandparents for ender pearls. They happened to sell the cheapest ones.

One day instead of them you were standing in their place.

The both of you clicked instantly, you laughed at his jokes, and were filled with a certain spark and fire, that had him hooked.

It was safe to say he was addicted.

He adored you, when the time came for him to cut off all the things he loved he couldn’t leave you behind.

Therefore you were the only person he’d allowed himself to have when he had to get rid of all personal attachments. 

To him you were a goddess who could do no wrong, he’d kill for you.

If anyone hurt you all their lives would be gone in an instant. 

He still remembered the first kiss the both of you shared, he had just gotten back from a rough battle. 

Dream was practically bleeding out on your floor, you were screaming at him calling him an idiot. 

You were fretting over him like a mother hen, he just felt so warm and cared for, he took off his mask to give you a crooked smile before falling into your arms. 

He couldn’t help but think you looked gorgeous in your grey sweatpants, hair all messy, eyes glassy from sleep.

Another string of curses fell from your mouth as he leaned forward and captured his lips with yours. 

He felt fireworks pop against his lips and you for sure tasted the blood staining in his teeth. 

He then promptly passed out in your arms.

Dream woke up wrapped in your arms and on a cushy bed. 

He knew you tended to his injuries he also knew when you woke up you’d beat his ass.

At the moment, he felt nurtured and tended to, Dream buried his face in your chest and smiled to himself. 

You were his good girl.

GeorgeNotFound:

Waking up in the woods to a girl standing over him was certainly not how he envisioned the next stage of his life going. 

She glared down at him and he hesitantly adjusted the glasses on his face, he greeted her meekly and she huffed. 

She introduced herself to him and called him a pretty boy in such a condescending manner that it made his stomach wrap up in knots. 

Oh no she was mean and hot. 

You apparently lived very far from the SMP and had no idea how he got to where he was, maybe he slept walk or something. 

You knelt beside him and grabbed his cheeks between your fingers eyeing him like you were trying to see into his soul.

He passed whatever test you had because you helped him to his feet and offered up your home to him. 

Having no other options he agreed to go with you.

As months went by he realized you weren’t all that bad. You could cook, and let him sleep all he wanted. 

(Mostly to try and get his energy back, but still)

He learned you knew a lot about nature and loved animals probably more than anyone else he knew. 

You really were soft under that tough exterior and George loved that it was him who could make you like that.

As much as he enjoyed himself he couldn’t help but miss Sapnap and Dream.

Were they even looking for him? Dream had to care at least...right?

He felt guilty for being happy here, for being happy with you.

It took another month for George to recognize his feelings for you and as soon as he did Sapnap and Dream found him. 

They both seemed to like you after he clarified that, no you didn’t kidnap him. You were a kind soul who opened your home up to him.

Dream and Sapnap looked at one other with a smirk and George’s face turned red. 

The two of them left the house to let the both of you say goodbye to one another. 

George wrapped you in a hug and pressed a soft kiss against your lips, much to his surprise you kissed him back. 

It was hesitant and he could feel the nerves radiating off you. 

He pulled away and rested his head on your forehead, he loved the flush on your face. 

“Don’t be a stranger, pretty boy.”

“I won’t my savior.” 

Sapnap:

At first, his flirting was just good fun, after all, he flirted with everyone. 

What he wasn’t expecting was for you to flirt back just as hard and confident as he did.

It was Karl who pointed out that he’d get a faraway look in his eyes whenever he talked about you. 

Sapnap didn’t get his point and Karl glared at his denseness. 

“You like her Sappy Nappy.”

“What no I- Oh shit.” 

That’s how Sapnap knew he was fucked, cause now all he could ever do was think about his crush on you. 

Sapnap at first tried to avoid you and Karl had to knock some sense into him, saying that, that was not the way he would win you over. 

Ironically, you pinned him to a tree and confronted the fire demon about his behavior.

Out of pure panic, he pressed his lips to yours, when you kissed back he was so flustered his hair caught on fire. 

You had to help him put it out with water because he couldn’t calm down enough to stop the flames from shooting out of his head. 

He was so flustered when you said you’d never let him live this down, but got over it the moment he felt your lips on his cheek (His hair almost went up in flames again).

From that moment on the both of you started dating.

You never minded his constant flirting with other people, he was glad too that was like some weird form of a love language to him. 

When Dream betrayed George and him you were there to comfort him. 

You assured him that you’d never leave his side no matter what happened. 

You would kiss him all over his face and whisper sweet nothings to him whenever he looked too lost in thought. 

He loved it. He loved being spoiled rotten.

When Karl and he moved to the Konoko Kingdom you were right by his side, you helped build your shared home from the ground up. 

You were his little Firecracker. 

Technoblade:

You were Phil’s little helper.

For as long as Technoblade knew his old friend you were by his side, you were quiet and tended mostly to the angel’s flock of crows. 

At first, The Blade thought nothing of you just the girl who always followed Phil around. 

Until he saw you stab through the chest of one of the Butcher’s army soldiers like they were butter. 

The blood that splattered your face and the unbothered look shook him to his very core. 

Oh no, you were hot. 

Technoblade was shaken out of his stupor by you handing him one of the weapons he had lost in the fight. 

You softly asked if he was alright to which he responded with a soft nod, his face was red and you raised an eyebrow.

He noticed a cut across your shoulder blade and reached out to touch the wound. 

You flinched at the touch and cradled the wounded shoulder with your hand, with a soft grumble he offered to patch up your shoulder. 

In the bathroom of his house he stitched up your shoulder, you let out of whines of pain.

The voices liked that way more than they should’ve and it made his face turn beat red. 

You looked up with him through your long lashes and he melted, the voices assuring him that he was ‘down bad.’

Phil came home and caught the both of you staring into one another’s eyes and he gave Technoblade a knowing smirk.

 The glare he sent his old friend was piercing. 

As days rolled into months his feelings for you never faded, especially since the both of you had grown closer. 

Eventually, Phil had forced Technoblade to at least ask you on a date, you dropped the birdseed at your feet and flushed up to the tips of your ears. 

You agreed eagerly and Technoblade was relieved. 

He had kissed you that night under the stars, it was a spur of the moment thing, the moonlight illuminated your best features. 

The voices couldn’t help themselves and he just listened impulsively 

Technoblade was relieved when you kissed him back, he’d protect you from all the horrors of government. 

You were his Princess. 

Philza: 

He’s lived for decades, seen those he loved grow old and pass away. 

That’s why he liked Technoblade, he lived as long as he had, had the same experiences as the angel of death. 

Phil swore he’d never love again, then he met you.

You lived next to him when he was living in New L’manburg and thought you were very pretty as well as very friendly. 

He didn’t know much about you only that:

You were fond of Ghostbur and he seemed to be fond of you.

It made Phil happy that someone else was looking after his dead son when he couldn’t.

Ghostbur had officially introduced the two of you a few weeks before Technoblade’s execution. 

After that moment, you both were practically inseparable.

You bonded over your love for building and all things shiny, he broke his own rule. 

He fell in love with you. 

When he caught wind of what the butcher army was planning on doing to Technoblade he frantically sent a crow to his companion. 

He was promptly placed under house arrest. 

You snuck in through his window once everyone departed for Technoblade’s retirement home and helped Phil disable his ankle bracelet. 

Phil pleaded for you to join him when he went to check up on Technoblade and you agreed wholeheartedly. 

The both of you flew towards Techno’s but it was already too late, they had him. 

You and Phil didn’t intervene. 

After the execution, he introduced you to Technoblade and he seemed satisfied with you sticking around.

Anyone who helped Phil out was a friend of his

You both acted like an old married couple.

Technoblade was dumbstruck to find out the both of you hadn’t had a first kiss yet let alone started dating. 

Phil hit him upside the head for that comment but it urged the old man forward to make his move on you. 

He set up a lovely dinner date, a homecooked meal by the fire was just what the both of you needed. 

You kissed him at the end of the night. 

It was soft and sweet just like you were, his hands tangled in your hair as he pressed close to you. 

You were his angel

Wilbur:

After Sally, he was sure he’d never love again.

That mantra lasted years, but after he won freedom for L’manburg, he had met you. 

You were a crew member of Captain Puffy’s ship and he always did love watching the boats come and go from the ocean. 

You had arrived in L’manburg alongside Puffy and he fell for you hard and fast.

He was a blushing, stuttering mess as you smirked over at him. 

You were strong and tough and he wanted nothing more than for you to pin him against a wall. 

After talking with Puffy you decided to stay in L’manburg and get a feel for the country, Wilbur was ecstatic. 

He showed you around all proud of what he created, you interlocked your hands with his and he felt faint. 

The two of you were an item not soon after.

Fundy approved, happy his father was finally moving on plus he loved your take no shit attitude. 

They both loved when you sang the best. 

You always had a wide assortment of sea shanties to share, and a plethora of stories to tell. 

You had taught a few of them to Wilbur so he could play them on his guitar, another great bonding moment he remembered fondly. 

When you sang it was the only time he ever considered you soft. 

Before Wilbur announced the results of the election you had done the very thing he hoped you would do when he first met you.

Grab him by the hair, pin him against a wall and give him a heated kiss that made his knees weak.

“Go get them, Wilby.” 

“Yes ma’am.”

Losing was not something either of you foresaw. You ran away with him and Tommy to join Pogtopia. 

You were by his side in his slow descent into his eventual madness and stayed by his side up until his inevitable death. 

As he slowly died in you and Phil’s arms you sung to him one final time.

He told you he loved you on his last breath.

You were his muse.

Fundy:

Being left at the altar was one of the most horrifying experiences Fundy had ever had the displeasure of going through.

You’d been there when Dream left with George, you had threatened to stab out the man’s eyes. 

You stayed beside him the entire night, you refused to take no for an answer. 

Fundy had never been more vulnerable than he was with you that night.

He was embarrassed at first but you shushed him and assured him it was alright.

Fundy flushed and felt guilty for doing so, he shouldn’t feel that way around you. 

Your hand reached up to pet his ears and he began to purr loudly in your arms. 

Eventually, Fundy realized he had feelings for you.

Much like Sapnap, he went to immediate Panic Mode.

He didn’t want for this to end up like Dream again, not that you were anything like him, but at the same time, he didn’t want to ruin your friendship. 

However, much to his surprise it was you who confessed to him. 

Fundy said he felt the same before you even finished your confession. 

His tail was wagging rapidly and he had to physically hold it down to stop it from wagging 

Which was something you laughed at but he felt embarrassed about, you had to assure him that you thought it was the cutest thing in the entire world.

He whined at that but you kissed all over his cheeks so he had to immediately forgive you. 

Fundy introduced you to Wilbur who grilled you about your love for Fundy, he wanted to kill his dad. 

You assured him that you loved Fundy, and would never want to hurt him. 

Wilbur seemed satisfied with your response and wished both of you well. 

After Wilbur left, Fundy kissed your lips softly, his tail once again wagging rapidly.

As he pulled away you leaned back in and kissed him back, your hand gently stroked his ears and he purred again. 

He knew for sure he was going to marry you, and it wouldn’t end up like Dream and his wedding.

However, that was still a long way away.

For now, he just had to settle for you being his dream girl.

~~~

Hey guys! Thank you so much for 1,000 followers??? I am honored and shocked thank you all so much! Thank you to everyone who send me supportive messages and my amazing anon’s who member fail to cheer me up. Many more stories and projects are in the works but I wanted to do something special and different for the big 1,000. Thanks again and I hope you enjoy 😊