#I don’t know if it really looks like the wind is rustling his clothes or if he looks like he’s doing a silly little wiggle | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

i2ycat · 5 days

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mr. obvious

pairing friend!jay x fem!reader synopsis jay as ur friend who secretly likes you genre friends to lovers(?), fluff warnings mentions of jumping off a cliff (jokingly), not proofread main masterlist

reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

you and jay knew each other by being in the same circle of friends, but it’s only recently that you’ve started to get closer

between the small talks and late night group movie marathons, jay starts to question his feelings towards you

jay wouldn’t admit to his feelings for you at first, probably because of 3 things; 1) he wants to save himself the embarrassment: 2) he’s scared of rejection: and 3) he’s scared of losing you as a friend

he would constantly have to stop himself from staring at you way too long, from thinking about how cute you are even when you’re not around, from falling in love even deeper than he already is…

after a few tortuous months

jay would come to full terms with his feelings after seeing you the week after easter holidays;

it would be mid spring, wind rustling the trees and petals falling onto the concrete pavement

you and the rest of enha are walking back home, bikes in hand instead of riding it, just enjoying the spring breeze and each other’s quiet company

he would look over at you and in that moment, he knew he couldn’t deny it any longer… the way your hair fluttered just like the petals around you, the warmth in the apples of your cheeks…

he was a gone man FOR SURE

there was just no way he could deny his feelings for you anymore

so from then on, he decided that he would just love you as silently as he could

and that he did

more under cut!

he didn’t want ANYTHING to get out, not even a single word about his feelings for u so he didn’t tell any of his friends about his crush on you, not even his mom who he tells absolutely EVERYTHING to

he wouldn’t be taking any chances of you ever finding out

he would jump off a cliff with this secret if he had to

jay would be the type to subconsciously try to match your fashion sense, or anything you do really

you like wearing greyish tones? jay would be finding clothes to match that

you like wearing semi-casual clothing? jay is already buying slacks, a dress shirt and some other pieces of clothing that fit the vibes the you go for

he wouldn’t even notice that he’s doing that until someone else points out how you guys are always matching

“eh? you guys are basically wearing the same outfits.” jungwon teases, nudging jay at the sides

jay would be blushing HARD, trying to shut jungwon up by slinging an arm around his shoulders and pushing the poor boy down

little does jay know that his little crush is PAINFULLY PAINFULLY obvious to all his friends, INCLUDING you

someone save my poor boy from his misery PLEASE 🙏🏻

if it wasn’t already obvious enough, jay has an extremely soft spot for you, always taking your opinions as his very first consideration

“where should we eat?” jay would ask

“i kinda wanna eat sushi…” sunoo replies, scrolling through his phone as the rest of you wait in front of a 7-11, deciding on what to eat for dinner

“i wanna eat italian!” you beam

jay is immediately searching for all the nearest italian restaurants in the area

“italian it is!”

everyone, except you, huffs and rolls their eyes in disbelief at how jay folded so fast

like BOY STAND UP!!

you think you know the extent of jay’s feelings? WRONG, you don’t even know the half of it…

he can’t even get mad at you because to him, you could do no wrong or harm… you’re too cute for that

jay would even let you be the first to taste test anything he cooks before everyone else, because he silently wants you to know just how much your opinions matter to him and that you’re the most important person to him, above everyone else (not including his family that is)

to him, it would be action >>>>>> words

you wouldn’t expect this but he’s probably the type to watch romance tarot readings with you in mind, giggling to himself whenever something remotely related or similar to you comes up

he’s just a silly little lover boy :(((

he’d even ask his mom how he could help when a girl is on her period because he wants to take care of you the best he can, bringing you chocolate, ice cream, all the snacks you could ever want

he would keep an extra pad in his locker just in case you needed it

he’d give you all his hoodies because you just look so much cuter in it, even if they were his favourite ones or he just bought them (he secretly buys them for you)

jay as your friend who secretly likes you can’t even keep it a secret, even if he tries to hide it

you’d eventually decide to put him out of his misery and confess to him first

“i like you.” you bluntly say, not nervous enough because you already knew how he felt about you

jay’s mind would completely short circuit, his feet stopping, his heart stopping, everything stopping

and when he finally comes back to his senses, he would jump around like he’s won the lottery or something

“I FINALLY GOT THE GIRL OF MY DREAMS??!?”

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bluejeanstrash · 1 year

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this to me is peak boyfriend seungcheol. it’s escaping to the mountains for the weekend to spend some quiet quality time together.

it’s sitting by the water where seungcheol has been trying to fish for an hour, occasionally getting excited that he’s caught something only for it to swim away. you’re sitting on one of those foldable camping chairs writing in your journal. you take a moment to look up at him and god, he’s beautiful.

his hair is all fluffy and tousled by the wind, clothes fluttering with every gust, and there’s the soft morning sun which seems to be glowing just on him. he feels you looking at him as he turns around and smiles. it's that smile that makes you feel all warm and mushy - the one where his eyes crinkle slightly and he looks especially kind.

you wave at him and he waves back, and just as he’s about to turn back around he notices something ‘are you cold?’ he asks seeing how you’re sitting. you tell him you’re fine but he knows you’re not. you've been freezing for the past 20 minutes, too lazy to get up and do something about it.

immediately, seungcheol drops his fishing rod and does a half-jog towards the car to get you a blanket. ‘i’m fine! seriously!’ you try to stop him but he waves off your protests and hurries to the car, returning with a thick cozy blanket and some hot packs. he warms them up, giving you some before wrapping the blanket tight around you, making sure you’re all bundled up and toasty. after ensuring no cold wind can get through, he pulls your beanie down to cover your ears properly.

and then he takes a step back to admire how cuddly you look.

‘wait, i have to take a picture of this’ he pulls out his phone as you pose for him - smiling wide, your fingers in a peace sign. ‘so cuteeee’ he squeals, smiling at his screen fondly. ‘wow, my girlfriend is seriously cute’ you see him change his wallpaper.

you ask if he’s having better luck with fishing and he pouts, complaining to you about all the hurdles he’s facing - how the fish are being mean to him, how they're just eating the bait and swimming away, and how he caught one so easily last time. ‘seriously, it was this huge’ he shows you with his hands.

you pat the chair beside you ‘why don’t you take a break and try again later?’

‘should i?’ he takes a seat, holding his knees and groaning like an old man as he sits. it was a habit of his that you had really grown to love. ‘what are you writing?’ he points at your journal.

‘um, nothing in particular. just about life in general - this trip, stuff like that’ he nods attentively and a second later asks ‘am i in it?’ it’s endearing how hopeful he sounds.

‘mmmm, that’s a secret’ you whisper playfully, making him laugh.

‘come on, tell meee’ he pokes you over the blanket.

‘i can’t just tell you. you have to unlock the secret’ you tease.

some whiny noises later he asks ‘okay, how do i unlock it?’

‘with a kiss’ you pucker your lips at him as a faint pink flush spreads across his cheeks.

‘ay! you just want to kiss me!’

despite his complaints, he leans forward giving you a sweet kiss and as you pull away he pouts ‘one more’ before going in for another peck.

‘so?’

‘yeah, you’re in it’ you confess.

‘really?’ he smiles, his feet tapping the ground happily. you chuckle at his cuteness before looking back to the view in front of you.

‘it's really so beautiful here' you say as he hums in agreement.

‘but-’ he turns to you dramatically ‘-not as beautiful as you’ you both look at each for a second, cringing, before you burst out laughing. the sounds of laughter melt into a comfortable silence as he grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers in yours. you lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

it’s just the whistle of the wind, the rustle of leaves, sounds of slow-moving water, and birds chirping. and you feel so safe and happy that it’s almost overwhelming. seungcheol lets out a soft sigh as his shoulders drop, his body relaxing under you.

‘i’m so happy right now’ he says quietly - not to you or to anyone in particular, but just into existence.

you hold his hand tighter as he squeezes yours, bending to kiss the top of your head. as you both sit there in silence, you shut your eyes, trying to live in this moment forever.

#scoups fluff #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol imagine #scoups x reader #seungcheol blurb #seungcheol drabble #scoups imagine #scoups drabble #scoups blurb

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headkiss · 6 months

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omg peter and reader taking a walk on some little trail and they push one another into leaf piles and being love sick idiots <3

this is so cute!!! tysm for the request <3 i went the pining best friends route rather than established relationship, hope that’s okay! | 0.6k of fluff!

You and Peter have been friends for what feels like forever. He’s in almost every memory you have, as far back as they go. Your childhood best friend, your now best friend, the only boy you’ve ever loved.

Growing up across the hall from each other had its perks. A mother figure in aunt May, someone to walk to school with, a door that was always open for you.

You’ve spent so much time with him that it’s sort of impossible to imagine things any other way. Not that you’d need to.

Late September has a chill seeping into the city. Leaves changing color, hands hidden in jacket pockets, cheeks and noses bitten by cold wind. Fall surrounds you and you don’t mind one bit. Not when Peter’s beside you, too.

He’d come knocking on your door earlier (even though he doesn’t need to knock, as you’ve told him countless times) and asked you to go for a walk with him. Easy, like breathing or blinking, you’d said yes.

It’s nice to have someone to do these things with, to be mundane and quiet without a trace of awkwardness. All of this comfort and you’ve yet to tell him how you feel, how in love you are.

Peter walks close enough to you that your arms brush with every step, jacket against jacket, warmth seeping into your skin every time. When he walks alone, he’s quicker, strides full, earbuds in. With you, he’s learned to match your pace, to slow himself to stay next to you.

“You cold?” Peter asks, even when he’s the one with his cheeks pink from the breeze.

“Mmm, just my hands.” You tilt your head up to the sky, then towards him. “It’s a nice day.”

And it is. Despite the chill, the sun’s shining, the trail you and Peter are taking tucked away enough from the city that it doesn’t feel like you’re in it. Rustling leaves in the wind, fallen ones littering your path, the smell of fall in the air. Your favorite boy as company.

“Yeah, it is,” he says, eyes catching yours. Then, he reaches for the hand closest to him, his fingers curling around yours, and tucks your joined hands into his coat pocket. “There.”

You feel warmer already, his palm against yours, but you try to play it off. “How’s your pocket any warmer than mine?”

“‘Cause your coat’s a joke. I’ve got fleece-lined pockets, ‘kay? Way warmer, honey.”

“Leave it to you to be a nerd, even about a jacket.”

He shrugs innocently, shoulder to a rosy cheek.

Peter takes any excuse he can to be close to you, to touch you, and he knows what that means. He knows he loves you, and he’s not really hiding it. It sinks into everything he does. Walking closer to the road, letting you have the last sip of your shared milkshakes, going to see the latest horror movie with you when he hates the genre.

As much as Peter wants to tell you, he also wants this to work, to fall into place the way he thinks things will. You’ve had your whole lives with each other so far, and there’s the rest of a lifetime to go.

“Did you just call me a nerd?”

“You heard me, Parker.”

“Well, in that case…”

One second you’d been walking beside him, the next, Peter’s pushed you over into a pile of leaves beside the trail. It’s probably the most gentle push ever, but it’s enough to make you trip over your feet.

“Peter,” you groan, dragging out his name. “At least help me up.”

You hold out your hand, laying on your back, leaves probably stuck to your clothes and in your hair. Peter takes it—of course, he does—and with a tug, you’ve got him laying next to you.

“I always fall for that one,” he says, his hand still in yours, shoulders shaking a little with his laughter.

You turn your head to look at him, and he does the same, your noses an inch apart, twin smiles on your faces.

A lifetime to go, Peter thinks.

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 2 years

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Younger Gods: I

Younger Gods Master List Dream x fem!reader (unnamed)

Dream is protective of his ravens after Jessamy, and he's still bad at listening. The reader finds this out the hard way.

Warnings: extremely mild gore/injury to animal, language, Dream is his own warning

A/N: Playing a little fast and loose with dream physics, but we're just here for a good time, right? I read the comics an age ago, and thought I might as well pop back into the fandom for a quick swim after falling in love all over again via Netflix. Aiming for 5 chapters, but we'll see where this takes us.

*Remember, to like is kind but to comment/repost is divine.

**If you'd like to join the taglist, please let me know in the comments!

Chapter 1: Just don't bite me

“How did you get here?”

She stared at the injured raven hopping across her garden like it might open its beak and speak. Give her some answers. It’s eye fixed on her, pinning her even as it fought gravity and pain, flapping with a wing bent the wrong way.

Glossy black feathers hid the blood it left on the long grass. If it didn’t move like something hurt, didn’t struggle to hold up its broken wing, she’d never guess it had crashed into her little world by accident. Which brought her back to the question.

It fluffed the feathers around its neck in an attempt to look bigger, croaking as it shuffled farther away. Soft thunder purred in the clouds, and the steady rain dripped from the tip of the raven’s beak. She held up her hands. Sank low on her heels, as near to the raven’s level as she could reach without falling flat on her belly. If that’s what it took to earn its trust, though, she’d get a little muddy.

For all that it was uninvited, the bird was her guest now, and if she didn’t take care of it, it could never leave. Maybe it would haunt her. Maybe she’d just feel guilty as hell.

“You’re hurt.”

The raven twitched, its head tilting three different ways, studying her expression from varied angles, like it would reveal malicious intent in the right light. He could look all he wanted, but she needed to get him out of the rain.

She started unwinding the thick, knit scar from around her neck, speaking low in an effort to keep the bird calm. “I have something that can help. It’s just a salve, but you’ll heal much faster, and I’m sure you’d like to be on your way as soon as possible. But I’m going to take you inside first, so you can get warm and dry. The rain never really stops.”

Prepared with the folded cloth, she crept forward a few steps, giving the bird time to move away. When it didn’t, she closed the distance and muttered, “Just don’t bite me, okay?”

“No promises, witch,” the raven said.

Her hands stilled an inch away from his feathers. So, he was magic. Magic and rude as fuck.

She spluttered, “I’m not a witch.”

“Yeah?” The raven looked up at the clouds and down at her cottage. “Well, this place is weird. And so are you.”

“It was the best I could do.” She carefully wrapped the scarf around him, mindful of the bad wing – and the beak. “Sorry it doesn’t live up to your standards.”

Her first guest, and all he could do was insult all her hard work. He scoffed but held still in his swaddling as she pulled up to her chest and tramped back inside.

It wasn’t her fault it rained all time. Well, technically it was, actually, but she liked it. The water looked beautiful running down the windows, and the cozy fire glowed bright enough to warm a soul when the trees rustled in the wind. With rain hushing over the roof and a whisper of distant thunder to keep her company, she never felt lonely.

Tasteless corvid.

She set him down by the fireplace while she chose a good blanket to craft a makeshift nest. Only when she’d stripped off the scarf and moved him to the softer resting place did she tug off her own drenched sweater, shivering until she found a good replacement. Her wet hair clung to her neck as she pulled a sweater three sizes too big over her head. The sleeves dangled past her fingers, and she shoved them up past her elbows in thoughtless habit.

The bird hadn’t taken his eyes off her, but he still mustered enough faith to thank her. Sort of.

“This is… nice.”

It sounded like an olive branch, so she took it as one. The one room cottage was her haven. Even if it looked small and worn, she found it warm and soft, kind in the way a home ought to be.

“I like to think so.”

She moved to the workbench under the window that looked out to the garden, where she’d been sitting when the raven dropped out of the clouds with an all too human cry. Her fingertips ghosted over herbs and pots and potions as she looked for the little vial she wanted. She only finished it a week ago. It would take three months to make another. But that was alright. No one else really needed it.

When she knelt beside the bird, vial open and ready to drip over his injuries, he clacked his beak at her.

“Not a witch, huh?”

The wing felt so fragile in her hand. She couldn’t let him distract her. “My mother was. I’m… weird.”

“You can say that again.”

“This might hurt.”

“What do you -?” He broke off in a sharp caw, instinctively jerking away as she pulled his bones straight.

“Sorry, sorry. The worst is over now, I promise.”

He had a wonderfully colorful vocabulary for a raven, and he shouted a few rainbows while she wrapped his wing in the best position to heal. The white gauze practically glowed against his onyx plumage, and he looked just a little more pitiable.

“Sorry,” she repeated.

The bird shook himself, stretching and folding his good wing three times to push away the pain.

“Son of a bitch,” he hissed. “Fucking damn. Teach me to pay attention. Kids and their fucking rocks.” He’d been staring into the fire as he recovered his equilibrium, but once he could pause his cursing, the bird looked back at his host.

“Name’s Matthew. What do I call you, weird girl who isn’t a witch?”

She shrugged. “Whatever you like.”

“I was asking for your name, lady.”

“I don’t have one I can give you.”

“That’s not helpful.” He looked around the room, probably on the hunt for something to critique, and although his beak opened, it snapped shut again when he looked back over his shoulder. He stared at her in the firelight, but not at her face. “What happened to your neck, lady?”

Her hand flew up to cover the scars, a landscape of smooth, raised, and sunken marks ringing her throat. She’d forgotten when she took off the scarf. Horror and humiliation twisted in her stomach, and she was wildly aware of being ugly and vulnerable in the same breath. Instead of answering, she rushed back to her closet, pulling out an even longer knit piece than the one she’d wrapped the bird – Matthew – in outside.

He picked up on the subtext, deflating a little and pointedly changing the subject.

“How long will this magic potion of yours take? I need to get back to the Dreaming. My boss is waiting for me.”

The scarf’s tail dropped from numb fingers, one loop short of her goal, left to trail on the ground as she wondered how the fuck her day could get any worse.

“The Dreaming?”

“Yeah. Know of many other realms with talking ravens, lady?”

“No,” she admitted, cursing herself in the privacy of her own thoughts. “It will take a couple days for you to fly again, I think.”

“That’s no good.” Matthew pecked at his bandages, and she rushed over.

“Stop that. You’ll make it worse.”

“Can’t fly with this,” he said, mouth full of gauze.

“You can’t fly without them, either,” she said gently.

Giving up with an enormous sigh, the raven wriggled down into the blanket and glowered through the window at the continuous rain. A little bolt of lighting reflected in his gleaming eye, like an idea sparking to life.

“Your weird little house is pretty close, you know,” he said. “To the Dreaming, I mean. I bet you could walk there.”

“It takes a day to walk in or out.”

“Why?”

“Because I made it that way.”

“Oh, you’re definitely weird.” He paused, like he was finally noticing the blanket nest and the empty vial glittering by the warm flames. When he spoke again, he sounded the slightest bit contrite. “Weird but nice. And I still need your help.”

“I don’t want to go to the Dreaming, Matthew.” She couldn’t bring her voice to carry more than a whisper. She was so afraid of her dreams she didn’t even sleep anymore. Not much. Walking into the fertile fields of the Dream Lord’s imagination…

“You don’t have to go in,” the raven insisted. “Just get me to the gates and I’ll be someone else’s problem. I promise.”

She couldn’t answer. She really didn’t dare. The laws of hospitality urged her to pick up the bird and carry him wherever he wanted to go, and he made it all sound so reasonable, so easy. Just a stroll and a hand over to a friendly face eager to welcome him back. It wasn’t, though. Oh, the walk was fine. She came and went from her hideaway world all the time, but her heart thrummed in terror to even think of the Dreaming. Was she really so close? Her home didn’t feel as safe as it had that morning. The security of the cozy storm left something wanting now. None of this was designed to keep other entities out. It was just… out of the way. On the other hand, if she left the bird – one of Dream’s ravens! – here to recover and his master came for him, it would never be a sanctuary ever again.

Maybe… if she was quick…

“I’ll –” Her voice broke. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’ll try. I’ll walk you to the gates.”

“Thank you.” At least he sounded like he meant it. Lack of gratitude wouldn’t change her mind at this point, but she appreciated it. Walking twelve hours with a rude bird muttering under his breath didn’t sound like the fun kind of adventure.

None of this sounded like the fun kind of adventure.

Fun adventures involved late night diners and questionable life choices after two bottles of wine.

“My master needs me,” Matthew said, like he still needed to prove his point.

That was fine. That was great. Dream would be missing his raven soon. She was tempted to take a faster mode of travel, but she wasn’t sure what that would do to the raven, so she hurried to gather everything she’d need for the walk instead. Tall rainboots, a hooded jacket, and two shawls. She wrapped one around Matthew to keep him warm and tied the other around herself like a sling. With the bird nestled close to her natural warmth, she charged back into the rain. She didn’t even take the time to bank the fire.

Matthew, apparently, decided her rush was entirely for his benefit. “Thanks for this. I mean it.”

She paused at the edge of the garden, standing in the gap in the stone wall as she studied the horizon, looking for something to tell her where to go.

“Which way to the Dreaming?”

Matthew fidgeted and jerked his beak at a random point. “There. I can’t see it, but I can feel it, you know?”

She didn’t know or she wouldn’t have asked, but her breath was better saved for walking. Nearly running, she sped through the emerald green grass and low white flowers in the verdant moss. She didn’t look. Didn’t appreciate. Didn’t stop to touch, or pick, or smell. If she had the stamina to run the twelve hours, she would.

Pattering rain sounded louder inside her hood, and the sky broiled with clouds promising a real storm.

Maybe he could hear her heart pounding by his ear, or he finally realized she was moving awfully quickly for someone who didn’t want to go on this trip in the first place. Whatever his inspiration, Matthew dragged their conversation back from the dead to persuade her she’d made the right choice as she forded a narrow stream.

“You don’t have to be afraid of Dream,” he said. “If he’s upset, it will be with me. You’re doing me a favor.” He paused, struck by a new through that almost immediately spewed out his beak. “You’re not old enemies or something, are you?”

“No. I’ve never met him. I’d rather not meet him today.”

Matthew croaked. “Why not?”

Sometimes the truth was the simplest path to peace, and she’d like the bird to shut up for a while. “I have bad dreams. I don’t want to get any closer to them. Thanks.”

“You know, he could do something about that.”

“I don’t like favors.”

“But I’d argue he owes you one.”

“I’d argue that I don’t care.”

More croaking, this time accompanied by rustling from his safely bound wings. She remembered ravens were in the business of knowing things, watching and listening until they could deliver a secret whole and unbroken to their master. Her cagey replies must bother him on some deeper level.

“So why are you doing this? You clearly don’t want to.”

“Because you were hurt. You needed help. And I don’t want your master to come looking for you here.”

He cast incredible side-eye for a creature wrapped in home-knit outerwear strapped to a stranger’s chest.

But at least he shut-up.

It was the perfect landscape for long walks. She’d designed it that way. Gently rolling hills melted into copses of trees just too small to be forests but deep enough to lose the daylight below the tangled canopy. Any other day, she’d enjoy this trek. But now she wondered if she’d ever be able to enjoy it again, knowing which direction the Dreaming lay and how close it pressed to her border.

She slogged up the hills and slipped down the muddy sides, careful not to tumble and crush the fragile bird she carried against her chest. She slipped through the woods, ignoring the sweet smell of old loam and dried leaves. When the heavy rain came down in a curtain as the crested the last hill, she pushed through that, too.

The raven stayed awake for the entire trip. She shaved a full three hours off her usual time, and she reached the end exhausted. She should’ve packed a stimulant. Maybe an energy drink. Maybe a potion. Something. She had to get herself back home after this.

A field stretched to the cusp of oblivion, a black void at the edge of the turf her mind fought not to notice. She walked to the edge, slowing until she came to the brink, and then she had no ideas.

“I don’t see anything.”

“Well, you’re not a raven,” Matthew said. “I see where we need to go. Just trust me. There’s a path a few feet to the left.”

She shuffled obediently to the side, but she still saw nothing.

“Just take a step,” the bird insisted. “I’ll guide you through it.”

She didn’t want to. Every instinct from every element of her pedigree screamed that this was a Bad Idea. Relying on blind faith and a raven’s intuition might lead her into the Dreaming, but she bet she’d have a long fall someone with wings wouldn’t consider a problem. Some little oversight would swallow her whole, and nightmare would eat her alive, or she’d be trapped in her own night terrors.

“Why don’t I just leave you here?” She could hear the panic in her wobbling pitch, and her trembling hands banished any doubt as she reached for the knot in the sling.

“I thought you didn’t want Morpheus to come looking for me in your weird little bubble realm.”

She closed her eyes. Drew a shaky breath. No, she didn’t want that, but would it be worse than voluntarily stepping into that darkness? The raven couldn’t protect her. He wouldn’t even know what was safe for her, really. He was flying on a lot of assumptions, and she didn’t want to pay the price for his optimistic naivety.

“I don’t know what the void will do to me,” she confessed. “I’ve never actually… touched it.”

“It won’t do anything,” the raven said. “And it’s so thin you won’t even notice. The Dreaming is right there.”

Fucking hell. Her hands seized air, opening and closing like she could snatch courage out of thin air. Damn it all.

She lunged into the thing she didn’t even want to look at, and for the barest moment, she felt it. Nothing. No pulse. No breath. No thought or feeling at all. A gap stretched between past and present, like she’d been snuffed out – or never began to exist in the first place.

Then her momentum carried her through in a boggling mess of physics, and she was somewhere again.

Air punched into empty lungs, and she stumbled, nearly falling to her knees as light, sound, and her own heartbeat returned.

“Whoa! Hey! Watch out for the water!”

Matthew’s shout brought her eyes down, and she saw dark waves lapping at her feet, sucking them into the black sand as the foam tried to climb up and over her rain boots. The fact that sea foam was trying to do anything clued her into the water’s threat, and she darted away with her newly-beating heart in her throat.

“Well done. You see? Not so bad. You’re fine.”

It had been one of the worst experiences in her fucked-up life, and she might’ve told him so if she had the breath. Instead, she barely managed to mutter, “I think I hate you.”

“Nah.”

She stopped to push the last of the void from her lungs, sucking in oxygen like she’d never tasted it before, and the sensation stirred several memories she couldn’t take time to stop and fight. Not on the shores of the Dreaming. Not so close to the Lord of Nightmares. She wrestled them down, threw other thoughts and needs over them like a rug over a stain. Her horrors would have to wait until she slept again, and she planned on putting that off for a long, long time.

When she felt ready and able to move again, she asked, “Where to now?”

“The gates,” he said, like he thought she was the stupid creature alive.

She looked away from her feet and finally noticed the looming doors further down the beach. Silently, she had to agree that she was, in fact, incredibly stupid. They were hard to miss, taller than a skyscraper, carved over in faces, beasts, and scenes she didn’t recognize, gleaming like aged ivory. Beautiful and awe-inspiring in the way an angel or the Milky way inspired reverence and respect. Something a little too vast for her to grasp, but towering over her regardless.

Yeah. Time to get this over with.

As she power-walked across the cold sand, shadowed by the rocks piercing out of the waves, she unknotted the sling and pulled Matthew out of his cocoon.

“This bus has come to the end of its route,” she said. “We hope you’ve enjoyed your trip.”

The raven cackled, trying to stretch his wing in spite of the way she still cradled him. “You find a sense of humor in the void?”

“No, just a sense of relief. Seriously. Watch where you’re flying next time. I won’t have another healing salve like a gave you for several months, so if you do this again, you’re fucked.”

“Thanks for the pep talk.” He was all but straining forward in her hands, eager to get home, to complete his mission and reassure his master that all was well. “You sure you don’t want to meet my master? Or Lucienne?”

It didn’t matter she didn’t know who Lucienne was. She didn’t need to meet any more dreams – or servants of dreams. “Very.”

“So, you’re just going to ding-dong-ditch Dream of the Endless?”

“Yup.”

“Suit yourself.”

The sand made it harder to keep her pace, sliding away under her heels, sapping her strength as she hurried to drop her guest off at his front door. Waves of power rolled down from the high wall, and she felt trapped against the tide of Dream’s domain and the dark ocean lapping up the shore behind her. Everything looked grand and stark. She didn’t belong with her green boots and her rain-slicked jacket. The hood had fallen back, and a damp strand decided to stick on her cheek. With her hands full of bird, she had no way to pull it off.

Cold, wet, disheveled.

Tired.

Afraid.

She was ready for this adventure to end.

“How are you going to get back through the void?” the bird asked.

She shook her head, amazed. “You just thought to ask that? Never mind. I have a shortcut.”

“What kind of shortcut? Why did we just walk for nine hours in the rain?”

She plucked at the end of the second shawl, the one she used to keep him warm on that nine-hour trip through the storm. Such gratitude.

“Because I didn’t know what it would do to you.”

“I can survive the void, lady, you think your shortcut’s tougher than that?”

How far away was the damn gate? Would this beach never end?

“All that matters,” she panted, “is that you’re going home. I’m going home.” She turned the bird in her hands so they were eye-to-eye. “And we will never have to see each other again.”

Sounding more human than ever, the bird tutted, but whatever he wanted to say was swallowed in a sudden, sharp wind.

The austere stillness consumed itself in a rage, lifting black sand and sea spray into an impenetrable haze. One second, she could see the gate. The next, she could barely see three feet in front of her. Shielding her eyes from the sand with one arm, she instinctively tucked the bird close, bending over him protectively. The grit gave the wind claws, and it lashed her bare flesh raw.

What have you done with my raven?

The question pressured her from all sides, a crushing, physical weight ringing in her ears as it forced her to cower in on herself. She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t breathe. Matthew squawked and fluttered in her arms, flopping free with half a scarf still wrapped around him, tangled in his claws. “Sir, wait! Sir!”

The raven’s call settled the hurricane, but the overwhelming pressure remained. The lingering effect of the voice pressed against her soul like a death knell as a figure gathered itself, standing between the two travelers and the gate. The raven struggled towards the tall, dark shape, and she all but slapped herself in the face in her fight to get the dust out of her eyes, nose, and mouth.

Matthew called the newcomer sir.

She was peering up at Dream of the Endless.

He knelt to accept the bird, face dark as a nightmare. Long, pale fingers explored the broken wing. When they pulled away, a few rusty crumbs of blood clung to the pads, and eyes burning with angry stars lifted to pierce her.

He asked again, “What have you done with my raven?”

This time the voice was a voice, not a force of nature. He sounded like smoke and sand, deep and sure as the ocean at her back. That voice might scour her away like a rough patch in his perfect Dreaming, and nothing in his tone said she was welcome.

Now she felt like the raven – a little bird with a hoarse cry and hollow bones all too easy to snap.

“You hurt something of mine.” A snarl carved into his face, and even as Matthew squawked for his lord’s attention, the Dream Lord reached out.

His shadow stretched long and dark from his feet, against the light. It crept towards her, darker than the black shore, and she stumbled over her own feet as she backed away, landing hard on her hands.

“I didn’t,” she whispered. Her voice was long gone. It fled and left her to die whimpering and pathetic, the traitor. Scrambling back as the shadow approached, she shook her head. “Please, don’t.”

Cawing and flapping, Matthew shouted, “Sir, stop!”

The shadow slowed, just for an instant, and she leapt to her feet. Tears burning her eyes from fear and grit, she ran three steps back, never daring to take her eyes off the threatening Endless. She clawed into her own mind, grabbing for the half of herself she preferred to leave wandering the sky over her cottage. A rumble drew Dream’s eyes to the dark clouds gathering at the edge of the Dreaming, and she saw his eyes flick back to her just as the lightning struck.

Her summoned bolt traced down to catch her up in a flash of burning light. The crackle was almost unbearable, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and Dream’s shadow was still snaking after her.

She wasn’t there when the shadow reached the place she’d stood. The lightning blast reached through her to the ground and then back up into the clouds. It took her with it.

An echoing strike deposited her in the cottage garden.

She fell to her hands and knees as the power zapped away into the sky. Mud squished up between her fingers, and she shuddered in place, too busy shaking to move. Rain rolled down her face, cleaning the salt of sweat, tears, and sea. Her limbs felt impossibly heavy after weightless, electric travel, and she bowed to the animal urge to just freeze in place for a while. She needed to think. Maybe then she could remember how to stand.

An Endless wanted her dead. Dream, no less. She had more reason than ever to stay awake. Maybe she could find a trick to avoid sleep forever.

But his raven knew where she lived, and it wasn’t a long trip.

She needed to run.

Chapter 2

#morpheus #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #fanfiction

3K notes · View notes

pearlywritings · 2 years

Text

Intimacy shared in the wild

synopsis: you and your lover have a steamy moment outside PART 2

pairing: Albedo, Dainsleif, Venti, Xiao (separately) x fem!reader

tw: established relationship, very much suggestive

word count: 4.5k+ words in total

author’s note: you can check part 1 here and part 3 here!

Albedo

You really weren’t supposed to get caught in a blizzard while staying on Dragonspine. While the place by all means is very cold it is still tolerable if the right warm clothes are chosen to be worn. However once the strong wind comes into picture, lifting the snow in the air and biting at your skin even through layers of clothing - you have little to help it.

You feel pretty lucky though, since the weather worsened when you and your boyfriend had already reached his camp and gotten inside the cave. Having put collected stuff on one of the tables, Albedo motioned you to light some more campfires and drop some melting powders in the back of the cave, where the snow had gotten and solidified into ice.

When the task is finished and you turn around, the alchemist has already made use of his abilities and created something akin to a wall, blocking the raging wind and decreasing the chance of frost coming at you.

“That should be enough to keep us warm and safe,” he hums, giving the wall an assessing look and staying content with the result.

“For h-how long d-do you think we’ll b-be staying here?” you have to admit you are a little bit jealous of your lover - wearing his usual outfit - that doesn’t look all that heat-keeping - he isn’t fazed by the cold, not even in the slightest! Meanwhile you, dressed in a fur-lined coat, can’t stop your teeth from chattering. Arms wrapped tight around your body, you use your feet to drag a chair closer to one of the campfires, hoping to warm up at least a little bit.

“Taking into consideration my previous experiences it can take from a couple of hours to the morning of the next day,” with swift motions the hands of the scientist sort through the things he left on the table. You glance his way and then back to staring at the dancing flames that were too and yet not close enough to you.

“Oh, g-great!” If you could, you would throw your arms up, but it might cost you some of the so needed warmth. You two are stuck, no way you are walking back to the city with zero visibility, and as far as you know this place isn’t packed with a place to sleep. Comfortably sleep.

“Don’t sit this close to the fire, the fur on your sleeves or the hem may catch it,” Albedo walks past you carrying some vials and ingredients to the shelves.

“Well, sorry, but I am cold!” you can’t help but complain, yet still move your chair back a little. Maybe you should also try and move around? Not to mention Albedo can possibly need some help.

However, before you have an opportunity to act upon your decision, a rustling sound catches your attention. The man has already tended to his task and is now bent down over one of the wooden boxes in the corner of the room, fishing one after another three thick blankets out.

“We keep those here just in case of a predicament like now,” he explains, laying one blanket on the floor not so far from another campfire and then flicking his wrist in your direction. Getting the hint and a bit intrigued, you leave your place and hurry to him just as he puts one more blanket in a heap down on the first and holds the last one up.

“Undress.”

“Excuse me?” with widened eyes you stare at the pretty much serious-looking male.

“Your clothes are still wet from the snow you’ve fallen into and the chill has reached underneath, so just sitting near the fire won’t help. We’ll exercise the skin to skin contact to keep you warm and get your clothes dry.”

“So you mean… We are gonna cuddle naked?” While stunned and a bit shy, you still drag your gloves off and start working on your buttons.

“I’ve never thought of it this way,” he considers the notion behind your words and then suddenly smiles. “Well, if it is you, it is indeed cuddling. It sounds nice.”

Fighting the sudden blush creeping onto your cheeks, you finally discard your clothes, leaving just your bra and panties on. Albedo is quick to wrap you in a blanket and set down, starting to work on his clothes next.

Not a minute later you find yourself seated in his lap, face to face, chest to chest, both of you securely enveloped in two blankets. Surprisingly the man emits warmth just like a regular human, and you happily snuggle into his embrace, relaxing.

“Better now?” he asks softly, keeping his palms on your sides, rubbing thumbs up and down them.

“Yeah, it is. Though I would really like it warmer,” you admit. Of course you do not expect anything, it is already nicer than it was before, but suddenly one hand leaves your side and wraps around your covered breast. “A-albedo?” your breath hitches when your eyes meet his - pure and crystalin they are examining your face.

“I can manipulate some reactions in your body with my touch to increase the temperature. If you allow me, of course.” Well, that doesn’t sound all that bad. Actually it sounds… exciting.

The next twenty minutes are filled with wet open-mouthed kisses, groping, grinding and arousing each other with the softest and neediest sounds you both produce. The straps of your bra have fallen off your shoulders, breasts nearly spilling out of cups into his attentive hands, both of your underwear now have dark spots on your crotches, because you can’t stop yourself from rubbing your aching pussy on him. His cheeks are flushed a pretty tint of pink and you know, yours are no better. Your lips look like art - swollen and glistening, and Albedo can’t get enough of them.

The heat is already enough as it is, even the comforters slid down to your waists, you can stop-

“Why don’t you warm my insides too,” you whisper breathlessly after yet another kiss and your lover grabs at your hips, bringing your body even closer.

You do not want to stop.

Dainsleif

"I assure you, there is no need," the serious look on your travel companion slash unexpectedly acquired lover's face would've discouraged anyone who had dared to ask him for something. Yet you are not anyone and you are not backing off, especially not in a situation like this.

"Come on, Twilight Sword, it's been days since we left the inn and who knows how much time- no, stop, don't say that, I know you are aware of where what is located and how long it'd take to arrive - that's not the point now! What is the point however is the perfect opportunity handed to us by nature - where and when else would you find a lake as clear and not as chilly as this at night in the area with no monsters spotted in sight. I do not tell you to relax, since you don't know how, yeah, we figured it out, note long ago taken, just please, take a freaking bath! Well, more like a dive to clean up, but I think you got the concept."

The man before you sighs, bringing his hand to the temple and massaging it like you've just given him the worst headache he's had in the last five hundred years. You mirror the pose he loves to use - crossing your arms on your chest - and direct a piercing gaze at him. Seriously, no need to be so dramatic, Captain, it’s gotten old one hundred years ago.

“It’s been just a couple of days since we left the said inn. I do not see the point in it, given we haven’t done much fighting lately.”

“Oh, so you want me to give you a good reason why you should?” the blonde stares at you with zero amusement written on his face, choosing to cross his arms as well.

“Well, you may try,” oh, is that a challenge? You gladly accept it.

"What if I said it's because I want to finally have sex with you?" The dark mystically blue eyes widen at your bold statement and thin lips part. You just roll your eyes - why would you hit around the bush when you’ve known each other longer than a human being lives and has been intimate more times you can count. "Back in the inn, when we had a bed and a bath within our reach, you, all of the sudden, decided it was just the right time to start collecting and processing new information about the Abyss Order, ignoring all of my attempts. Okay, maybe hints really do not work with you, so I am saying it now - I am frustrated and have been so for the past couple of weeks or maybe a month."

"And you think sex would cure your frustration?" Dainsleif manages to get a hold of himself and asks curiously, eyeing the robe you are wearing. Unlike him you’ve taken your chance to wash the moment you arrived at the lake and set the camp. By now your hair has almost dried.

"Well, I think so, if you make sure to thrust it out of my body. My own fingers can't do the job properly.”

You fall silent. Dainsleif is looking at you without a word uttered as well, processing the information presented to him. Your relationship, while established, isn’t anything like normal couples have. At first bonded over the fact your homeland was destroyed and you both were doomed to lead this miserable cursed existence, you progressed to become something more than acquaintances, more than friends. He’d be a liar if he said your moments of affection and intimacy didn’t light up his days, making everything more bearable and that sometimes he didn’t miss the smallest touches of yours, even if it’s just your hands brushing against each other while walking.

Scanning the area around and carefully listening to the sounds in the night, the tall man sighs, reaching to take his clothes piece by piece without commenting on it. The look on your face tells him you are surprised he didn’t put up a further fight, but then you grin gleefully, uncrossing your arms and stepping closer. There is a soft hand on his jaw and a kiss planted to the corner of his mouth as you take a hold of a cape he hands you.

Everything is silent while he fully disrobes, letting you take care of his clothes, and steps into water. You weren’t lying when you said it was not as chilly as one would expect in the dark time of the day. Dainsleif walks further and further, until it reaches his waist, and only then starts tending to himself. Sometimes he can’t believe it - how you have your way with him, convincing to join you in many of your affairs, but often doing the same for him. Maybe that’s what it’s like to be in a relationship...

From the corner of his eye he sees how you take a seat on a big stone on the shore, legs crossed, toes grazing the lake surface, arms supporting your body behind you and head tilted back. He is sure you are watching the stars again, so he pays it no mind, diving and scooping water on himself to properly wash.

Until suddenly you giggle. The man turns and looks at you in confusion, hand freezing on the shoulder he was rubbing. Your gaze is back on him and even in the dark he can swear there is a mischievous glint behind your irises.

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” you shake your head, returning to your entertainment. “Just remembered how a decade - I think? - ago you railed me right against the Statue of the Seven. Whose was that? Morax’s?”

“Barbatos’,” the memory flashed before his eyes. Not of the statue but of the heated and absolutely lewd face, of your nails biting in his shoulder blades and your heels digging in the small of his back all the while his cock was drilling in your pussy on the sheer power of irritation. Dainsleif feels himself getting harder at the image, hand sliding from his shoulder, down his chest and torso until it disappears under water.

“Oh yeah, right! You’ve returned from your outing to Mondstadt quite disgruntled, because people of the City of Freedom were singing praises to the useless Archon. By the way… Wait, when have you-”

He appeared in front of you so suddenly and you didn’t even notice! His lips silence you, his fingers reach to the front of your robe, opening it right on your chest. Uncovered breasts bounce as he grabs your knees and opens your legs for his body to take place between them.

“Getting all worked up, huh, Captain?” a breathless chuckle ghosts against his lips and your eyes are shining brighter than any star from above. So it was your attempt to turn him on? Well then...

“Isn’t it what you’ve desired for so long, hm?” he lowly murmurs and, not waiting for an answer, brings his mouth down the side of your neck. One hand travels from your knee and right to the thigh, tracing the pattern so similar to the one on his arm and getting the robe out of the way. Distracted, you barely have time to brace yourself for what happens next.

He kneels before you. In the past no one would’ve believed, you included, that centuries later The Twilight Sword, the Captain of the Royal Guard, the pride of Khaenri’ah, would be kneeling before your spread legs, almost too eagerly throwing them over his shoulders and diving right between your plush thighs.

The first sweet cry breaks the serenity of the night, and from how feverishly he is lapping at your already wet folds added to your past experiences you know - it’s not the last one.

Venti

Gleeful laughter fills the summer air, dissolving into a sweet song, carried away by the wind. Two voices, akin to a gentle breeze, dance against the tough scales of a dragon body, reminding of a free-spirited nature of their owners.

Your lips are stretched in a smile and Venti can’t help but feel happy - you haven’t seen each other in two thousand years, yet you haven’t changed at all. Neither the human form you’ve chosen, nor the smallest traits of your character have sharpened or faded away. You are the same as he remembers you, and he hopes you are of a similar opinion about him.

From the very moment when you arrived in Mondstadt and found him the Anemo Archon has been practically glued to you. So many years passed, so many things happened - there were lots of stories to be told, lots of memories to reminisce about. And when he told you about Dvalin and the whole story, you only smiled and said:

Well, that’s why I am back. The rumors traveled all the way to Fontain where I’ve been residing for some time. I kind of hoped it meant you are finally awake from your slumber, so I decided to visit and see for myself!

Venti felt touched after your admission. It’s undeniably nice when someone still keeps you in their memory and is looking forward to reunion. Even more splendid is that this someone is you, a long-time friend, an everlasting lover, who understands the freedom-loving god, as you too used to be just a little minor elemental spirit, who gained your power during the war, when people were willing to believe in anyone just to keep themselves hopeful and sane.

The story of your meeting is for another time of recollection Venti decided and invited you to take a ride on Dvalin, to recall what it’s like to be up in the skies and share the feeling of tranquility with you.

The beautiful dragon agreed without second thought, ready to help his friend and the one he knew Barbatos held dear to his heart. It’s been almost an hour already with your bodies resting against the enormous creature’s wide back, absolutely undisturbed with how smoothly the Dragon of the East has been gliding above the clouds.

There has been laughter, there have been teasing remarks that turned into fooling around (which nearly cost Venti his beret) and play-fighting each other until the male ended up on top of you, making himself incredibly comfortable there with no plans to roll off.

“Ah~ I missed this,” he murmurs contently, burying his face between your breasts, eliciting a chuckle out of your throat, and Archons is it melodical to his ears.

“Sure you did, my gentle spirit,” fingers run through his smooth short black strands at the base, and the bard hums, pressing a quick kiss to your left soft mound.

“Hm? Are you not wearing anything under your blouse?” curious aqua green eyes stare at you as an elegantly thin digit carefully pokes at your covered flesh. You watch him in amusement as he is waiting for an answer all the while trying to figure out if he has gotten it all wrong or he is actually correct.

“Kind of yes and no,” you finally say, noticing how his brows knit in confusion. Adorable.

“What do you mean? How it can be yes and no in a case like this,” Venti slightly lifts his upper body, redirecting his eyes at your chest. The whole situation is sinfully entertaining and you almost sigh in bliss - you missed moments like this, each and every one fondly kept in your mind.

“Why don’t you unbutton it and find out yourself?” What you both have in common is the lack of shame - doesn’t matter you kind of have a third person here, you don't even think the dragon can hear anything with wind carrying all the sounds in the opposite of the dragon’s head direction. The mirth, an ever present companion of the Anemo Archon whenever you see him, dances in his gem-like eyes. This man doesn’t need to be told twice.

“Don’t mind if I do ehe~” deft fingers start working on your buttons the moment permission is given. At this point he’s straddling your hips with your hands resting on his own, patiently waiting and observing his clothes you’ve taken notice of the very first day, but never having an opportunity to comment on it.

“I must admit your new outfit is quite cute. Suits you well, my dear poet.”

“Hehe, I know, I quite like it myself too,” with a wink he bends down and smooches your cheek, then attacking your nose to which you respond by rubbing yours against his, pouring your voices in a new fit of giggles.

“How humble of you,” a teasing lilt is what Venti loves about your voice, even more he loves you spilling praises and pretty moans, but this song of yours is for later.

Buttons are finally undone, and the blouse is wide open, letting the man finally get a view of his favorite girls. There is confusion again written all over his pretty face and you decide to explain for the sake of the peace of his mind.

“This is a cupless bra. It is just enough to support my breasts from an unnecessary amount of bouncing while these pasties conceal my nipples and prevent them from poking through the thin material of my clothes.”

“Ho~? The Y/N I remember was never bothered with things like this,” leaving the hems of your garment alone, hands experimentally cup the soft flesh, testing the nip covers that appear to be as smooth as your skin.

“As much as I love attention to my persona, I was on a mission to not get laid before I reunited with my favorite Archon~ Besides… Why would I need cups when your palms are perfectly fine for the job?”

Oh, there is absolutely no hint of modesty behind your words or actions, not when you look at him with sultry eyes and let your hands wander to his behind and up the back, right to the strings of his corset. He loves it, it excites him, you excite him, and that’s the feeling he would hardly trade if the whole Dawn Winery is offered to him.

“Do I ask Dvalin to land and we go somewhere more private?”

“Mm, sounds like a perfect plan for me.”

Xiao

Even adepti face opponents that are hard to take down. Even adepti can make a mistake and end up injured, the only difference is, they are more likely to survive it like nothing.

You are even luckier, having the Conqueror of Demons as your partner for life, who appeared the moment his name left your lips and striked down the monster that, as you assumed, was a product of the fallen Archon’s hatred and had escaped from the place of its eternal imprisonment.

At first everything was under your control, really. But then at some point the abominable shit started creating an annoyingly big number of minions, making your work so much harder. They weren’t long-lasting, but the damage was quite palpable, since they tried to at least scratch or spit venom at you before dissipating into nothing under your weapon.

Were you reckless to fight on your own after an exhausting week of monster slaughter? Possibly, because said venom soon added to it and made your mind hazy and disrupted your coordination, which, eventually, allowed the current monster to leave a gash on your side with its enormous claws.

Thank Rex Lapis it didn’t paralyze anything in your body and you managed to call for Xiao. Good thing the enemies were solely focused on you, it allowed to use yourself as a bait while a suddenly appeared Yaksha swished his spear with the speed of a tornado, getting rid of the hindrances.

You are sure he was grambling and probably even hissing at you for being an idiot, but it was all swallowed by the fog in your head. The only things that surely happened were his arms, tightly wrapped around you and the whoosh of his teleportation.

Which brought you here, back to the territory of the adepti. Of course you would’ve survived in any case, the venom and the wound weren’t enough to kill you, but, as Cloud Retainer later noted to you, Xiao looked quite disheveled with worry etched in his eyes, appearing before her with you in his arms and asking permission to use the healing lake of her domain.

It was three days ago. Every morning and evening you would go to the lake and spend a couple of hours in its water, surrounded by tranquility and a comforting feeling of peace. The place is all yours, as the gracious white crane departed to the deepest part of her residence for the time being, only wishing for your speedy recovery. The rest of the time is spent in meditation - after all, not only the physical half of you needs repose, the mental one does as well.

Xiao hasn’t been present for those past three days. Not sure if it is his way to give you a silent treatment for being imprudent or he is simply busy with new demon outbreaks, you just concentrate on getting better and waiting for the moment when you can express your gratitude.

Of course you aren’t expecting visitors, as you comb through your hair, stepping out of the water this evening. The droplets quickly cool on your skin from the chilly evening air entering the vast space. You shiver a little - the warmth of your body contrasts with surrounding coolness, sending a small jolt of strange pleasure through your senses. Ah, seems your body has been neglected for so long if it reacts to the smallest of stimulations like that. It would be wonderful to have your lover here to caress your aching breasts and push a hand between your clenched thighs.

As if Celestia heed you, out of nowhere a soft touch is laid upon your side - the one where the wound used to be. Whipping your head to the right you are met with the sight of the Vigilant Yaksha, examining the spot near your ribs and, thankfully, finding nothing.

“It’s gone,” he comments, drawing his hand back to his side and redirecting bright amber intense gaze to your surprised one.

“You are back,” it seems like you both state the most obvious things and in your head it sounds so hilarious. Releasing a breath you weren’t aware of holding, you turn to face him properly. He looks decent, no visible injuries, not a trace of exhaustion - if anything, he looks so serious, and the focused expression on his handsome face lurs a giggle out of your mouth.

“Birdie, I envy you,” confusion shrouds his pointy gaze. “I wish I could too stay completely unfazed whenever I see you naked,” the very same gaze skips down your body and it is as if realization suddenly hits him. The expression remains stoic, but you know better than that. Fingers brush some locks away and here it is - pink dusting the tip of his ear. Adorable.

“If you are going to tease me, I’ll leave,” the man warns. You quickly shake your head, letting go of him.

“No, please, stay. I missed you and I wanted to thank you for saving me,” before you can retreat your hand completely his grabs and envelopes it in a tight hold. Meeting his eyes once again you are reassured - he is not going anywhere.

“It’s nothing. I am glad you are fine in the end. And… I missed you too.”

This admission thrills you like it’s the first time he’s ever spoken of any of his feelings for you. The arm that wraps around your waist and brings you closer feels electrifying - and your lover’s Vision is Anemo. With one phrase, with one simple touch you suddenly become aware how needy your body is for him too.

Xiao feels it. He senses your excitement and the smallest trembles under his fingertips. You are clearly aroused, with that sultry look on your face, stiff nipples that ask for his attention and the faint smell of your slick that reaches his nose. If he could get just a taste…

You sigh sweetly, when he cups your left breast and licks the side of your neck. Thumb rolls your bud and you whine from the feeling of his glove rubbing against sensitive areola. The arm still wrapped around your waist is holding your body upright and you are reminded again of his strength. It takes a suck on your collarbone and a tug on your nip for your knees to buckle and a strangled cry fall from your unkissed lips, making both of you aware - none of you will stop now, neither you, aroused and shaking in his arms, nor him, feeling hunger for you rising in the pit of his stomach.

“Xiao, let’s go somewhere else, I do not want to disturb Cloud Retainer with what’s everything is leading to.”

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even take his mouth and hands off of you, letting the light of teleportation spell envelop you and your clothes abandoned a couple of feet away. With a whoosh, in which your moan blends, the two adepti are gone from the domain.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #albedo x reader #albedo x fem!reader #dainsleif x reader #dainsleif x fem!reader #venti x reader #venti x fem!reader #xiao x reader #xiao x fem!reader #albedo kreideprinz #dainsleif #genshin venti #adeptus xiao #genshin impact smut #moonlit pearl stories

1K notes · View notes

ichorai · 1 year

Text

sunlight ; jesse pinkman.

track thirteen of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; jesse pinkman x gn!reader

synopsis ; yellow was not a color he often saw in alaska. that was, until you came into his life.

words ; 4.2k

themes ; fluff, angst, slice of life, writer au

warnings / includes ; breaking bad & el camino spoilers, mentions of death/walter/drugs/the nazi group that imprisoned him, jesse is just Traumatized, reader is a sweetheart, jesse befriends a Cat <3

main masterlist.

The color yellow often resurfaced bad memories of his past. Yellow were the hazmat suits he wore with Walt when they cooked meth. Yellow were Jane’s bed sheets when she overdosed right next to him. Yellow were the broiling sands of New Mexico—a place he once called home.

Now that he was in Alaska, yellow was a color he scarcely ever saw. And for that he was glad. Mostly, it was white. With snow—with clouds. Maybe a dash of brown and grey here and there, alongside the occasional green once in a while.

It was quiet. Peaceful.

After everything, a bit of peace was all that Jesse needed.

That is, until you came along.

The first time he met you, you were decked out in an array of soft canary-hued clothes, certainly a sight that he wasn’t expecting at all. You were smiling brightly, so wide that it was a wonder your face hadn’t split into two. There was a basket in your hands, which held nothing other than around a dozen ripe lemons.

“Urm, hello?” Jesse hesitantly greeted, opening the door wider.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. Sorry for dropping by all of a sudden—I live around five minutes away, and there’s barely anybody that lives near me other than grouchy old Bob, so when I found out someone had moved into this shabby little cabin, I just couldn’t help but stop by! Here, I got you a little house-warming gift. I hope you like lemons!” You held the basket out to him, still beaming ever so kindly.

Awkward, Jesse took the lemons from you, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, thanks. I’m Jared. Jared Driscoll.”

“Well, it’s really nice to meet you, Jared. Hope it’s not weird for me to say that it’s great to see a young face around,” you told him, rocking back on your heels. “Most people living around here are over sixty.”

Memories of Walter, Saul, and Mike flashed in the back of his mind, and he could nearly feel the physical pressure weighing down on his chest. He squared his jaw and pushed the thoughts away.

“Yeah,” replied Jesse, nodding. “Thanks again, for, uhm, these.”

He was just about to shut the door again, mentally smacking himself for being so tongue-tied, before you gently asked, “If you’re not doing anything tonight, I’d love to have you over for dinner. No pressure, though, I’d totally understand if you’d want to settle in first.”

No, was right on the tip of his tongue. No thanks, I’m a little busy with unpacking my stuff. I mean, I don’t have any stuff, but you don’t need to know that.

But the words caught in his throat. You looked so hopeful, your hands clasped behind you and your eyes wide with excitement. You were still smiling—how were you still smiling? His eyes darted down to your yellow cardigan rustling with the frigid Alaskan wind.

“Uhm, alright,” he replied, shooting you a tight smile that came off more like an uncomfortable grimace than anything, but at least he was trying.

Somehow, you seemed to brighten even more at his response.

“Cool, is seven okay with you? I still need to clean up a bit before dinner.”

Jesse nodded wordlessly, a strange, giddy warmth pooling into his abdomen—a feeling he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. It was excitement. Jesse couldn’t remember the last time he’d genuinely been excited for something.

“Alright, to get to my place, you just walk up the main road for a while, until you see a fork in the road—take a right, and walk for a bit, then you’ll see my house. In case you wanna make sure it’s my place, the mailbox has a pink handprint on it, but I doubt you’ll get confused—it’s not a very crowded neighborhood, huh?”

Jesse thanked you again as you left, smiling at you—genuinely, this time.

Two packs of crushed crackers were gripped within one of his hands. It was all he had in his pantry, and he didn’t know what the etiquette was like around here, so he brought them just to be safe.

There was a lot of yellow to your house. He caught sight of the lemon tree in the corner of your living room, situated right against a window for optimum sunlight. You had a pale yellow carpet beneath the dining table, and sheer curtains hanging over the window of the same shade. You even had a little white cat, who had wound around Jesse’s legs with a mewl, staring up at him with large amber eyes.

You apologized profusely, bending down to pick her up. “Sorry, she’s not usually this friendly around strangers. This is Yuki—means snow in Japanese.”

A smile itched at the corner of his lips. “No worries. I’m cool with cats. I, uh, I like her name.”

Seemingly relieved, you put Yuki back down, and ushered him to the table. In the center was a clear vase, holding a variety of ochre and purple wildflowers.

“Hope you’re alright with spaghetti—I’m not that great of a cook, but I make a mean spaghetti,” you said, grinning as you disappeared into the kitchen to brandish a large bowl of pasta. His stomach growled at the smell of marinara sauce—he couldn’t remember the last time he had a decent bowl of warm, homemade food.

“No, yeah, that’s great,” he reassured. Silence stretched between the two of you as you began to ladle heapfuls of the noodles onto his plate, making sure to add a generous helping of meatballs with it. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “I haven’t had the chance to thank you, so… thanks.”

You grinned at him kindly, before sitting right across from him. “It’s no problem, I promise. To be honest, it gets really lonely here sometimes. I’m glad you moved in.”

Jesse could only give you a small smile in return, before digging into his food. It was better than anything he’d had in months, though it wasn’t much of a competition. The past few weeks had been nothing but stale sandwiches and tough jerky that wore out his jaw.

“This is really good,” he said around a mouthful of pasta, forgetting his tableside manners for a moment. You didn’t seem to mind, only beaming all the brighter.

“I’m glad! Wish I could grow my own fresh tomatoes to make the sauce with but—it’s almost always freezing cold here,” you chuckled lightly. You twirled some pasta over your fork. “Which is why I grow lemon trees—they can withstand the cold pretty well.”

“How long have you been living here?” asked Jesse, finding himself genuinely curious about you.

You hummed in thought. “Four years ago, I think. I just needed some peace and quiet—and where better than Alaska, you know? I’m a writer, see, and I used to think that I had to live in a bustling city to make connections and meet more people in the industry to be successful but… I don’t know, I think a part of me always felt trapped in a corner. I feel free here.”

“Yeah,” replied Jesse, distant. “I get that. So, uh, you’re a writer, huh? What do you write?”

“Short stories, mostly. Sometimes I dabble in longer novels, and sometimes I’ll dip my toe into nonfiction. Depends on what my publishers want from me and also what I personally want to write,” you said, before taking a sip of water. Blanching, you quickly added, “Oh, I’m so sorry, you’re my guest and I haven’t even asked a single thing about you. What about you? What’re you doing up in the middle of nowhere, Alaska, Jared?”

The new name felt so foreign—so strange coming from you. He wondered how it’d sound if you said his real name. Jesse.

At your question, a myriad of memories flashed into the front of his thoughts once more. Mike, Walt, Jane, Badger, Skinny Pete, the meth, the drugs, his parents…

He pursed his lips.

Sensing he was a bit uncomfortable, he was surprised when you only nodded in gentle understanding, quietly saying, “It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me. We all have our reasons.”

The reassuring smile that quirked the corner of your lips upward made his heart just a little heavier. You were just so… nice. It was a bit baffling. An extremely stark comparison to his time kept prisoner by the group of Nazis.

“You got space for dessert?” you queried, tilting your head in the most adorable of ways, snapping him out of his reverie just when the atmosphere began returning back to its original light-hearted state. “I made lemon pie!”

It took him a little under a month to fully settle in. His house was still sparse and relatively empty, but he’d bought a nice new couch to lay back on and a frumpy little lamp he had gotten for free at an antique store. The old lady that worked there had pinched his cheeks and given it to him for free, despite the crumpled bills he was just about to hand over.

She told him that she reminded her of her grandson, and insisted on giving it to him for no charge. Acquiescing, Jesse took it home with him. Who was he to turn down something free, anyway?

He’d gotten himself a job as a carpenter, building together new little cabins not far from where he lived for adventuring tourists or more old couples that would inevitably migrate here in search of some peace and quiet. Most of his free time was spent dillying in his house, reading random books he’d borrow from the musty little library in the small town (he was pleasantly surprised to find a collection of your works on one shelf)—or he’d find himself at your house, playing Scrabble with you, or listening to you ramble about your day, or babysitting your cat when you had to go off to meet with your publisher.

It was safe to say that he’d grown rather fond of you.

And that scared him. Rightfully so—the last two times he’d genuinely cared about someone… he’d lost both of them.

But that was in the past now. Jesse was trying to move forward. With you by his side, hopefully.

One of the benefits of being a carpenter was that he had a nearly infinite supply of spare wood on his hands. He’d been meaning to make you a little thank you gift for how nice you’d been to him his first few weeks in Alaska. He certainly hadn’t been expecting any sort of hospitality whatsoever before he’d arrived.

And so Jesse built you a little birdhouse. It was relatively small and admittedly not his most skillful craft, but he thought it wasn’t too shabby. He’d even stopped by a hardware store to grab some paint, and added a thin coat of light yellow to the outside of the birdhouse. The roof was colored a sweet shade of pink—he’d meant to color it red, but the crimson had accidentally mixed into the white on his brush, and he decided that the pink would look better, anyways.

The day after, he was on your doorstep, ringing the bell with an excited flutter to his stomach, rocking back and forth on his heels.

You swung the door open, smiling upon seeing him. He interestingly noted that you were wearing large yellow overalls, hair tied away from your face. You looked so darned cute—it made him clam up for a second and forget what he’d come here for.

“Hey!” you greeted, stepping to the side so he could amble in. “It’s nice to see you, I was literally just about to call you to ask if you wanted to watch a movie tonight, or something—ooh, whatcha got there?” Your eyes widened as you looked at the little wooden house cradled in his palms.

“It’s for you,” said Jesse, holding it out. “It’s a, uhm, a birdhouse.”

Your expression melted into one of pure affection, and you grinned impossibly wider, before surging forward and throwing your arms around him in a quick hug. Before he could even begin to think about reciprocating the embrace, you were already pulling away, holding the birdhouse up to eye-level to observe it closer. “Oh, my God, Jared, this is gorgeous—I can’t thank you enough. Did you make it yourself?”

Chuckling nervously, Jesse nodded an affirmative, scratching the back of his neck in a sheepish manner. “It was nothing, really. Just had some scrap wood.”

“I love it,” you told him. The words made warmth coil about the bones of his ribs, spreading down to the tips of his fingers and crawling up the skin of his neck. “Nobody’s ever made me something like that before! You’re really too sweet, Jared. I’ll hang it outside in a bit.”

Carefully, you placed the little house on your table. A quiet meow roped both of your attentions lower, where Yuki was winding between both of your legs, tail curled around Jesse’s shins. He bent down to gently scratch beneath her chin, earning him a contented purr.

The three of you made your way to the couches, and you ushered Jesse to sit down, after you rushed to go pour him a steaming cup of coffee.

“It’s freezing out,” you told him, curling up beside the man and handing him the mug, before taking a sip from your own. Yuki made herself comfortable between the two of you, tucking her nose behind her tail and shutting her eyes for a nap. “Hopefully you can stay and defrost for a bit before heading back out?”

He hummed, appreciative of the idea. Being with you was… comforting, to say the least. It was peaceful, and quiet, and made his heart ache like nothing else. Dare he say—domestic. It reminded him of his short-cut time with Jane.

At the thought of her, thorns pierced through his lungs and he forced his gaze away from you. He caught sight of a small pile of papers on your coffee table, and he leaned forward to pick one up. You fiddled with the mug in your hands, nervous.

“Oh, wow, is this what you’ve been writing?” His eyes swept along the first few lines, finding himself utterly impressed. “Yo, this is, like, really damn good.”

“Really?” you asked, sitting up straighter, a hopeful look to your expression. “I’ve been in a weird word-vomit mood lately—ever since I met you, I just haven’t been able to stop.”

Jesse risked a glance to you, muffling a smile. “I may not know much about writing but this is… next level, dude. It’s like I can see it all in my head. Like a movie but with… words?”

“Gosh, Jared, you really know how to compliment someone,” you lightly scoffed, hiding your beam behind your mug. “You can keep that copy if you want. Here—” Shifting to brandish a pen from your pocket, you signed his name right under your printed one.

Jesse peered over to look, the smile cracking through his exterior.

For Jared Driscoll.

“You know what’s funny,” you murmured, eyes glued to his fake name on the paper. “You’ve never really pegged me as a Jared Driscoll.”

For a long moment, Jesse could’ve sworn his heart stopped in his chest. “Oh, yeah? Why, uh… why’s that?”

You shot him a glance, before smiling sweetly, handing him the papers back for him to keep. “I don’t really know—it just doesn’t suit you, I guess. Jared Driscoll sounds so—rough’n’tough, you know? You don’t strike me as the rough’n’tough kind of guy. You’re too sweet for that.” You shrugged, sinking further into the couch and running the tips of your fingers along Yuki’s back.

Jesse stared at you for a moment longer. Your words brought a certain kind of comfort to him that he never knew he needed. The affirmation that he was still a good person in your eyes—it meant more to him than he thought it would.

“Thanks,” he said, hesitant, though he gently quirked the corner of his lips into a mild grin. He sipped his warm coffee before adding on, “I think you’re sweet, too.”

“You never told me when your birthday was,” you told him, an accusing lilt to your words. Jesse’s brows rose. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, having just woken up no less than three minutes ago to the door ringing.

Wordlessly, he swung his door open wider so you had space to shuffle in, still glaring at him.

“It’s been a year since you moved in,” you carried on. There was a slight pouty pucker to your lips, face creased into a frown. Jesse thought you were too damned cute to take your annoyance too seriously. “And we haven’t celebrated your birthday once!”

“Bah, it’s not a big deal,” he finally said, yawning behind a fist and waving your words away.

Your little frown deepened. “Well, I’m sorry I missed it,” you softly said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “But I got you something anyway.”

From out of seemingly nowhere, you brandished a large brown paper bag, dangling it in front of him on the tips of your fingers. When he narrowed his blue eyes and suspiciously darted his gaze between you and the bag, you huffed out a small laugh, jerking your chin towards the gift. “Go on—open it!”

The bag crinkled loudly beneath his grip as he took it from you. With one last questioning look to you, he turned it over, and out fell a large yellow hoodie, cloud-soft in his palms. It looked like it was the exact right size for him, and he sent you an incredulous glance.

“This is sick, Y/N, thanks,” he said, a genuine beam itching at his mouth. “Perfect size—and it’s yellow, too!”

For a moment, you looked a bit unsure. “If you don’t like the color, I can always switch it out—it’s just, you’re always wearing neutrals, I thought it’d be nice to give you something colored.”

Jesse looked to the hoodie, then back at you.

Sure, yellow brought back bad memories. Far too many, and not nearly distant enough in his past.

But yellow was your color—and he rather liked how it looked on you.

“Nah,” he said, patting your shoulder once, then twice, “I like it, really. I like it a lot.”

Two years in Alaska meant nearly two years with you.

You’d become the one constant in his life—one that he wouldn’t mind being around for the rest of it, as well.

The two of you were sitting side by side on a frosty hill, watching the sun set. A breathtaking mirage of clementines and peaches bled through the sky just when the sun dipped slowly beneath the horizon. A faint, cold wind tousled your hair, rustling the blades of grass around you. It was meant to be a celebratory picnic of sorts, but the two of you decided it was too cold to eat out, and opted to just sit and relax for a bit before heading back inside and having dinner. Wordlessly, you handed him a pack of chips from the little basket you’d brought for the failed picnic, and he wrestled it open, popping one into his mouth. Simultaneously, you bit down on a crisp apple, wiping the spurting juices away with the back of your hand.

“I can’t believe it’s been two years,” said Jesse, mindlessly tracing shapes into the cold grass. “Time flies, huh?”

You hummed in agreement. “It does.”

Jesse turned to look at you, watching the side of your face relax along with the disappearance of the sun. The last few moments of golden sunlight bathed you in a gentle glow and drew the most beautiful of shadows across your features. You brushed some stray hairs out of your face, the sleeve of your oversized flaxen sweater swallowing your arm. He really couldn’t deny himself anymore—he was completely and utterly in love with you.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said. He wanted to tell you the truth. Obviously not all of it—not all at once—but he wanted you to know. Jesse trusted you more than anyone else in his entire life. Maybe that made him an idiot, but… he was willing to risk the chance with you.

Curious, you tilted your head questioningly, laying your hands and face against your raised knees. The very edge of your shoulder brushed against his arm. You raised your eyebrows expectantly.

“You were right,” he finally said.

“Right about what?” You were starting to look mildly concerned.

Jesse inhaled deeply. “Jared Driscoll doesn’t suit me at all because… it’s not my real name.”

Surprise flooded your expression, but not too much of it—as if you’d always had an inkling all along.

“So what’s your real name?” you asked, all gentle, slightly afraid. Afraid that you’d lose him after so long—after getting attached.

“Jesse Pinkman,” he responded, tearing his gaze away from you, not sure if he wanted to see your reaction. “My middle name is Bruce.”

To his complete surprise, you let out a sudden laugh, before clamping your hands to your mouth. He snapped his head back to look at you, a contagious, incredulous grin touching the corner of his lips.

“Bruce like Batman?” you asked, slightly muffled behind your palms. He nodded, and you let out another chortling laugh. Relief wove through the very fibers of his muscles at your relaxed disposition. You smiled at him, all soft and glowing. It made Jesse’s stomach knot together uncomfortably. “I think it suits you. Much more than Jared Driscoll.”

You tested his name out, enunciating different syllables in various ways, your grin growing nearly double its size.

“Jesse Pinkman. Jesse Pinkman. Jesse Pinkman. Jesse Pinkman—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Jesse snorted, grabbing the apple in your hand and gently pushing it back into your mouth. With a halfhearted glare, you bit down into it anyway.

Around a mouthful of apple, you told him, “You have a pretty name.” You swallowed down the apple and quietly asked him, “Why are you using a fake one?”

Jesse hesitated, directing his gaze to the ground. His smile melted away. “Maybe that’s a story for another time.”

Bobbing your head in understanding, you smiled at him, still so very genuine it made his heart ache.

“Since we’re sharing secrets… well, mine isn’t exactly a secret, but I didn’t move to Alaska for the peace and quiet. I mean, I did, but that wasn’t really the reason why I left the city.” You cleared your throat, eyes getting slightly misty. “I lost my best friend in a car crash while she was on call with me seven years ago. A part of me will always think that it’s my fault that she died. So I moved to Alaska to get away from everything. From the city, and all those cars… and all the people. It was really hard being here at first. It was cold, and lonely, and sometimes just plain old boring. But honestly?” You tentatively reached over to place your palm over his. “Best decision I’ve ever made.”

The sun was long gone by now, and Jesse found himself missing how you looked in its soft yellow glow.

“Best decision both of us made,” he murmured, nodding. Jesse quite liked the feeling of your hand on top of his. “I came to Alaska because I, uh… I lost everyone. Everything.”

You smiled—all soft and devastating. He could feel a part of his heart crumbling into a heap of sand within his chest. Nimbly, he turned his palm over to intertwine your fingers with his cold ones.

“Well, you haven’t lost me, Jesse,” you told him, so quiet that it was nearly lost to the breeze.

Jesse wanted to cry at those words. He blinked away the stinging feeling at the top of his nose, and could only muster a grateful, teary nod.

“I, uhm, I’ve only been in love twice before in my life,” he whispered to you, swallowing the lump in his throat. “And both times, they died while I was right there—helpless. I’ve healed and I’m moving on, but, uh… I’m terrified of losing you the way I lost them, Y/N.”

Shifting, you turned so you could fully face him, now clasping both hands onto his right one. Firmly, you repeated yourself, “You haven’t lost me, Jesse. You won’t. Whatever hurt you back in New Mexico is long gone now. The past is far behind you. You have a fresh start. And I’ll be there with you—every step of the way.”

There wasn’t much yellow in Alaska, and for that he’d been grateful.

But maybe… maybe yellow wasn’t so bad.

After all, yellow was your color—and it looked beautiful on you.

#jesse pinkman x reader #jesse pinkman fanfiction #jesse pinkman fluff #jesse pinkman angst #jesse pinkman imagines #jesse pinkman fanfic #jesse pinkman drabbles #jesse pinkman x you #breaking bad fanfiction #jesse pinkman oneshot #jesse pinkman imagine

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lou-struck · 7 months

Text

Haunted or Creepy?

Reo Mikage x reader

Flufftober Day 5: Little Doll

~ After wandering into an antique shop, Your boyfriend notices a strange doll has caught your attention. .

All of the well-kept trees in the plaza are adorned with the most breathtaking collage of leaves. They rustle slightly in the wind, still too stubborn to fall. It’s beautiful, but you know that Reo Mikage has them all beat.

Your soccer star boyfriend has elected to forgo his training clothes in favor of something a bit more his style for your date today. You are sure that his plain yet perfectly fitted sweater costs more than your entire wardrobe, but judging by the way he hurries over to you with the two full cups of hot apple cider in his hands, he doesn’t care in the slightest about getting dirty.

Especially if it’s for you.

“Here, for your hands.” He smiles, holding out one of the cups for you to take. Wisps of his rich purple hair fall delicately onto his face, somehow making him look even more handsome.

“Thank you,” you say gratefully, taking the paper cup. Its spiced warmth helps you realize just how chilly your fingers have gotten in this wind.

“Is it just me, or has it gotten a lot colder since we started walking out here?” He asks, looking up at the deceptively sunny sky. As if hearing his words, Mother Nature sends a bone-chilling gust of wind your way. The cold air penetrates through your light sweater and sends teeth-chattering shivers down your spine.

You tense up and place the paper cup up to your cheek in an attempt to warm yourself up. “D-definitely n-not j-just y-you.”

His eyes widen in concern as he pulls you closer to him. “Let’s head inside one of the shops where it’s warm. I’ll call my driver to come pick us up.”

“You’ll call your driver?” you giggle, leaning into his warmth, “You really are a pretty rich boy.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” he coos, placing his chin on top of your head. Would you rather walk?”

“Nope,” you say quickly, not wanting to be out here freezing your ass off. “D-drivings good.”

An amused chuckle slips past his lips as his hand slides securely on your lower back, guiding you towards a weathered wooden door. “This place looks open; let’s check it out.”

You nod and glance down at the simply drawn chalkboard sign that rests on the pavement. “It looks like an antique shop.”

“Interesting,” he hums, reaching towards the faded brass knobs. “I don’t think I have ever been in one of these.”

You snort and shake your head in amusement. Of course, he had never been in an antique store before. You have only met his parents a few times, but they don’t seem to be the type of people who are interested in buying someone’s old wedding china or vintage bedroom furniture.

“Well then, I’m glad that I get to be here for your first time.” you wink, bumping into his cashmere-coated chest.

“I feel so supported,” he laughs, playing along with your antics. His arm stretches over your head to hold the door open for you.

The shop is dimly lit by rustic floor lamps. The light reflecting off of the blown glass shades creating patterns on the thickly carpeted flooring. Gone is the harsh chill of the wind as it is replaced by the heavy scent of dust. It surrounds you, and you can’t help but feel in your gut that something is off about this place.

“Woah, look at these lunch boxes,” Reo says, looking over at a glass display case filled with printed metal lunch boxes with various cartoon and comic book characters posing on the front. He puts his hands up on the glass and peers in closer to get a better view. “I saw one like this at a charity auction a few years back, and they made a killing. I wonder if these are the same kind?”

“That’s so cool.” you grin, trying to focus on just how adorably excited your boyfriend is and not on the strange feeling of dread that has clung to you ever since you have walked into the store.

“I wonder what other cool stuff they have in here?” he grins, taking your hand and pulling you deeper into the shop.

“I wonder,” you hum, playing with the tassels on a beaded lampshade as you are guided deeper into the store. You pass the checkout counter and a rather distracted employee who is tapping furiously on their iPad. The unmistakable sounds of Candy Crush playing through the muffled speakers.

Turning the corner, you notice a tall glass display case sitting on a polished wood dresser. Your stomach seems to be tying itself in knots as you continue to take step after apprehensive step. If Reo feels the same way, he does not show it.

Have you ever looked at something and said, ‘Yeah, that is totally haunted?”

The porcelain-faced doll in the display case just screams it. It’s deep dark eyes glimmer with sinister intent and makes your skin crawl. You want to leave, you want to be as far away from this toy as possible, screw it if it’s cold outside you don’t want to be here another minute. But you feel that if you take your eyes off this thing even for a second, it’s gonna get you.

“Woah, cool doll.” Reo says innocently, tossing an arm over your shoulder. “You’ve been looking at it for a while; let me get it for you.”

“No!” you say much louder than you initially meant to. Your eyes grow wider and wider in fear as you imagine what it would be like to take that creepy thing home, hiding it away in some far-off closet or crawlspace only for it to find you in your room when you least expect it.

Reo looks concerned at your outburst and takes a step back, raising his hands up in the air innocently. “Woah, I guess not.” he chuckles.

“Do you not see how creepy that thing is?” you huff pointing at the case. “There is no way it’s getting anywhere near my place or yours.”

“What?” he asks, his lips twitching as he tries and fails to keep from laughing. “It’s a bit creepy, but it’s got some charm to it.”

“Charming? That doll is one hundred percent cursed, or possessed, or whatever.” you say seriously. Making the mistake of taking your attention off the doll to watch the wonderful way Reo’s amethyst-colored eyes twinkle as he laughs.

“Oh come on, it’s not that…” he turns to look at the doll, and all the color drains from his face. “It just moved.”

“Stop messing with me.”

“It. Just. Moved.” he repeats again with a deadly serious tone.

You look back at the case and want to hurl. Just seconds ago, the doll was staring blankly ahead, but now her head has twisted to the side, exposing her copper-colored ringlets and staring right at you. Those dark eyes boring into your soul. “It moved.”

“We gotta go now,” he says worriedly, taking your hand and pulling you away from the item. His strong legs lead you out of the store and down the walkway for your lives.

“W-wait.” you pant, lungs burning as you dig your heels in. As a professional athlete, his stamina is much better than yours, so he probably could’ve dashed the two of you all the way home.

“Yeah, that thing was definitely haunted.”

#blue lock #reo mikage x reader #bllk #x reader #bllk x reader #mikage reo x reader #reo drabble #blue lock x reader #reo mikage #reo x reader #flufftober 2023

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littlemisslipbalm · 8 months

Text

Demonology

Part 3: I Think There's Something You Should Know

Series Summary: A new demon has come to Nashville. Josh and Jake's ways of life have been thrown off by her arrival. The angel and demon have lived with an understanding of one another, but with Y/N stirring up trouble and asking questions, they're forced to work out a new normal. And why is she so powerful for a human turned demon anyway, that's unusual, right?

A/N: Hiiiii! Part 3 is here. Keep adding yourself to the taglist or catch up on the rest of the parts from the masterpost. I think this story is looking like maybe 6 parts...we'll see. oh boy lots of plot in this lol enjoy hopefully and lmk what you think :)

Chapter Summary: Two demons walk into a bar and an angel greets them. What on Earth could they be talking about? There's actually no good punchline to this.

Word Count: 4.0 k | Warnings: Swearing, alcohol consumption, horny demons and angel, 18+ maybe some brief descriptions/mentions of sex - still no explicit smut (next chapter tho...), dubious understanding of demonology in reality

Taglist | Series Masterpost

Part 3: I Think There's Something You Should Know

The wind rustling her drapes woke her up in the middle of one evening when she hadn’t gone out or seen anyone beside Rori all day. It had been a good day.

The moon was almost full and was one of two lights illuminating the street below the window behind her bed. She didn’t have to sleep anymore, but she still liked to. She stared out hazily for a moment and hurriedly closed the window, feeling a human sense of nerves and dread before calming down, remembering that the things that went bump in the night were now scared of her.

Jake had been teaching her ways to skirt Hell’s system. How to get the job done without doing much. Which she was thankful for. And she’d finally run into Josh briefly a few times, but not as many as she’d like. Not for as long as she’d like. She knew he was keeping his distance. ‘Avoiding temptation.’ That’s what Jake always said when she asked after Josh.

Tonight, she was annoyed the wind had woken her. Her dream had been extra sweet tonight. Josh had sought her out, giving her sweet gifts and feather kisses all with the backdrop of the Sunset Strip. The warm sheets were kind of like his warm chest beneath his clothes.

The next night, the night of the true full moon, Jake was at her door. He knocked when the moon had reached its peak for the evening.

Jake had also kept his distance in the way that mattered since that first night together. He had deemed it a moment of drunken vulnerable weakness not to be repeated. It only happened because she’d whispered his favorite fucking poem in his ear—how weak was he? Practically human in that moment. He didn’t bring it up and she felt the heaviness of his silence when she had joked about the hook up the next time she’d seen him. He was to be her mentor only.

Leaning against the doorframe, an arm on his hip and his wide-brimmed hat on his head, he spoke lowly. “Come out with me.”

She can’t see his eyes, just his lips and jaw moving.

“I’m not at your beck and call,” She rolled her eyes, a defiant crossed arm look staring back at him. A black tank top and sleep shorts sat low on her hips, she was happy to get wine drunk in her home now that she knew she didn’t need to go out all the time.

He leveled his head with her, making eye contact now. “Come.”

“I’m not a dog.” She remained unmoved. Rori slinked around her legs, sniffing at Jake unamusedly. The actual dog had had to warm up to Jake these last few weeks and Rori was begrudgingly okay with him since he could feel the power the demon exuded.

Jake rolled his eyes and greeted the dog. “Don’t growl at me. I didn’t even bring my familiar…”

Rori had not been a fan of Jake’s crow that he kept around. Y/N wouldn’t even deem it a familiar since he was really only around so Jake could shapeshift into a bird if he really wanted but Jake insisted they were close. Sure.

After a minute of heavy silence, Jake got the final word. The stare down not really going anywhere. He flashed his yellow eyes and she hated how it made her fall in line. Jake’s true nature was malevolent despite his serene facade he often operated under. She didn’t want to ever see him truly angry with her. She’d seen glimpses of it during some of their outings together. It wasn’t anything like the man she had seen inside his mind.

“I’m your mentor. Be a good mentee. Go get dressed.”

She got dressed, grumbling the whole time to Rori and forcing Jake to wait outside as she blasted Fleetwood Mac—for some reason, Jake’s least favorite band from her time. He rolled his eyes as he heard Stevie Nicks’ voice turned up to a fever-pitch.

“Jake.” Y/N sniffed as she pushed past him out of her door. “Altar boy name, by the way.”

He chuckled under his breath and shook his head, falling in step with her and locking her door with a flick of his hand when he noticed she had forgotten.

When they arrived at this unfamiliar almost empty room that Jake refused to give her information on, her eyes cast around taking it all in with a vigilance she’d never applied as a human. Now she liked to know her exits, note any potential men who might try and cause her trouble, potential targets, etc.

It was an old dark and gloomy bar, lined with wood that had been worn down by glasses and hands over many years. It seemed it had been loved once, now a shell of its former self. Maybe 10 people in total in the entire tired place.

A bright light cast in the corner that caught her eye after a moment. Josh. He was perched on a chair at a four-top, patiently tapping his fingers along the table, nodding his head to the live music from a lone guitarist.

He glowed like anything but no one else seemed to notice. Maybe it was just for her. She thought about asking Jake if he could see the glow. His bright white long sleeve tonight fell over him, perfectly fitted and pushed up to his elbows. The same blue jeans on his legs that she dreamed about feeling beneath her thighs every other night or so.

She wet her lips, watching his angelic face, eyes shut nodding to the melodies. His lips slightly parted and she missed them. How soft and sweet they’d been when she’d licked into his mouth, giving him the show of his life. Forget that. She needed to be cool. She straightened her posture, looking like a killer about to pounce on her prey.

Jake cleared his throat, watching Sal watching Josh, looking jealous that she looked at his brother with more desire than she did with himself. Not that he actually cared. She was his mentee.

She rolled her eyes at him and followed him over to the table.

“Brother,” Jake spoke first, hands leaving his pockets to grip the back of one of the chairs.

Josh smiled, standing, and touched his brother gently on the shoulder, “Jake.”

Then a silence fell between the three of them. Who was going to be the first to acknowledge her? She stood exactly between the angel and the demon and she wished that Hell’s mouth would open up beneath her feet and swallow her whole. Rori could stay on Earth if he wanted, she didn’t even care so long as whatever the tension was passing between them stopped right this instant.

She widened her eyes and opened her mouth to greet Josh before losing her nerve. “I’m gonna go get a drink!”

“You don’t have to do–” Jake starts, but she’s already disappeared in a flash of crimson and black.

Jake raised his brows at Josh while blush crept up the angel’s face and ears, the two men sat. Y/N knocked back two shots on her own at the bar while waiting for three beers. She didn’t know what they wanted and she didn’t care. Beer would have to do.

“So,” She drawled, attempting a more cool and collected approach now that she was back. Afterall, she was a demon who was meant to thrive in situations with sexual partners. She knew how to be cool around people she was attracted to–except, what didn’t come easy to her was behaving normally around someone she actually might potentially teensy weensy care about. She didn’t even want to think that it might be two someones. Especially when her heart was supposedly dead.

She huffs a slick smile onto her lips, slinking into her chair evilly placed between them with the beers. “What are we all doing here? A Celestial+ Committee meeting? Immortals anonymous…bit of a problem, though,” She leans forward and whispers. “I think we all know each other?”

“Sal,” Josh starts, his tone measured. He was trying to be kind, but she felt the tightness in his throat.

Jake flashed his eyes to the angel, a warning. He set his hat on the table, making it crowded with the three glasses.

She settled into the uncomfortable chair, widening her legs and taking a gulp of the beer. Her top might as well have been nonexistent, the deep red lace sheer and showing off her torso and breasts. The black tight vinyl pants caused both beings to flicker their eyes to her movement as she pushed her hips towards them. Josh cleared his throat and averted his eyes, taking a grounding sip of the pale ale she’d gotten for him.

“We’re here,” Jake starts, giving an unamused look to her as she wiggled her hips and smirked in triumph. “Cut it out, sometimes the slut schtick isn’t cute. We have something real to talk about, Sal.” He widened his glowing yellow eyes at her and she sat up, immediately shrinking again. Just as she was feeling more confident, his accusatory eyes scared the absolute shit out of her.

Josh shot a look at his demon counterpart, unhappy with the word he had just used, even if it was to describe the demon who had led him into temptation. He had been repenting for the last three months, bathing in holy water twice as often, and an extra time whenever his mind wandered to Y/N and what she’d shown him.

“We need to find out why you’re so powerful. Who you are.” Josh says calmly.

“I told you already.” She insisted. “Why does it matter anyway?”

“Okay, well maybe you don’t realize this but the way you’re treated down in Hell is not normal,” Jake sneers condescendingly.

“What he means,” Josh intervenes again. “Is that, perhaps, you don’t know who you really are either. We’re worried…”

“No!” She immediately shoots forward, eyes blazing with hellfire.

“C’mon Sal, you know how fucking powerful you are. That’s not normal! You’re not normal!” Jake doesn’t sound smug anymore, he sounds a little…scared. He didn’t like not knowing.

Josh reaches a hand out to Jake’s shoulder, his touch somehow calming even though an angel’s touch should’ve been repulsive to a demon.

“Listen, Sal,” Josh smiles, trying to bring peace to this strange situation. “Nothing is going to change. It’s okay to be scared, but Jake is right. You are far too powerful for even a run-of-the-mill average demon and you believe you were a human turned demon. You’d have even less powers then.”

She gulps at her beer, more than half-way through it. “Why does it matter? Why do you two care?”

Another silence falls between them. The tension returns and she can tell there’s something they’re not telling her.

“Fucking tell me,” She spits. “Or I’ll…I’ll, fucking…I don’t know, I’ll fucking kill everyone in here. Since I’m so fucking powerful.”

“There’s not that many people in here, Sal. You wouldn’t really be making much of a point…” Jake shrugs. “Also, why would I care?”

“Because I know you, Jacob,” She seethes, staring darkly into his eyes. Her eyes had been black since the hellfire had left them, she was in defense mode. “Should I share with Josh what I found in your mind the other night?”

Jake sat up straight and instantly Y/N’s mouth was shut. Not by a look, but by Jake’s powers. It felt like he was crushing her windpipe. His voice was in her head. ‘Do not say another fucking word. How dare you. You promised.’ She immediately felt meek and her humanity seeped back into her. Regular eyes flickering back to life, she slumped in on herself, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort. She was scared too.

Josh watched the interaction, only seeing the physicality of their two bodies change. He looked up to the ceiling, lord give him strength and please don’t let anyone die tonight. “We think you might be a cambion.” He rushes it out before he loses the nerve or before Jake stops him.

She stays silent, staring up at the angel with red-rimmed eyes–not technically demonic, simply because she had begun to cry and she wasn’t allowing the tears to fall. Jake grunts unhappily and finishes off his beer, getting up to get a refill and pointedly telling them not to discuss further until he returned.

He came back five minutes later, silent and nodded his head gruffly for them to continue. She stares between the angel and demon again, confused and upset with both of them.

“What does that mean?” She asks, her voice soft and child-like, shaking slightly. Had her whole life been a lie? It couldn’t be possible. Why did they want to flip her life upside down or sideways or something? This second life was already confusing enough without an identity crisis.

“It means you were half-human, half-demon in your first life.” Josh speaks softly, barely strong enough to keep himself from pulling her fragile body into his own just to attempt to comfort her. He knew how scared she must be, he’d seen people crumble through history at the realization of their lives being built on lies. “Usually cambion are offspring of an incubus or a succubus and a human.”

“That would explain your special treatment in Hell,” Jake interjects, feeling more subdued after walking it off and two shots of ‘Jamo’ himself. “But it doesn’t explain the powers. At least, not fully. It’d have to be an ancient–older than us–and powerful one to have been one of your parents and that’s just almost unheard of, even 70 years ago.”

“Okay….” She tries to absorb the information, eyes still flitting between the two figures before her, feeling a weird sense of unreality that had never happened to her. Given all the weird shit that had happened to her since dying, it was surprising this was so hard.

“That’s why we wanted to talk to you about it. See if you knew anything or could think about anything abnormal about, maybe, your upbringing or parents.” Josh tries, even gently soothing his hand over the one Y/N had shakily rested on the tabletop. “Anything at all.”

Jake’s eyes watched them. The way her body relaxed at Josh’s touch. How her eyes sparkled as she looked from their touching skin to Josh’s face. Even her smile was softer with Josh. Josh’s eyes were aglow as well, an angelic white instead of a black pupil.

“Okay,” She says, looking between Jake and Josh again, feeling calmer but also, admittedly, terrified for the first time since she’d been back. “Can I think about it for a few days? I don’t think I’ll come up with anything with you two staring me down right now.”

She didn’t understand why it mattered to Jake and Josh still but the amount of energy and emotion running through her had made her forget momentarily. Her mind was like static, the thoughts running into one another and jumbling until nothing was coherent.

“Yeah, of course,” Josh moves his hand to rub over her back. He couldn’t help himself, he was a healer and a helper. Even with her. Especially with her. “Write things down as they come to you. It might help.”

“Whatever,” Jake rolled his eyes, downing his beer and heading for a third. He needed to be drunk and as a demon it took a lot more work. He thought that was unfair but there wasn’t really anyone he could complain to. Maybe the big one Upstairs, but his key card didn’t work anymore.

This night had gone about exactly as he expected when Josh had continued to pester him about it. When he returned, Josh had disappeared and Jake hoped he’d left for the night. “Can we get plastered now?”

“Please,” She sighed, taking the second beer from Jake’s hands. “I need to dance and drink off this stress. Fuck you for this by the way.”

“Did Josh leave?” Jake ignores her complaint about the night, looking around. It wasn’t like he’d wanted to be here either.

She shakes her head while gulping at the beer, already moving to the dance floor that was scuffed up and empty. The live musician had left during their conversation so Jake wasn’t surprised when the old stereo turned from 2000s indie rock to 1970s hard rock. “Said he was coming back. Bathroom or something…You gonna dance with me, cowboy?”

She grinned at Jake, already pushing the anxiety of the evening away, utilizing her favorite coping mechanism: drunken debauchery.

He shook his head at her and sauntered closer, abandoning his beer and allowing her arms to rope him closer, pressing her hips into his. He hummed with mild satisfaction, staring at her down the tip of his nose. She stared up at him, thinking back to when he had tumbled in the sheets with her. How surprisingly kind and tender he had been to her and how she’d never seen it again. She wanted to see it again. She’d do anything to see it again.

She ran her hand up and down his torso, taking inventory of his warmth with teasing fingers, “You owe me. That was worse than Hell on Earth.”

Jake leans his head down, lips heavy on her ear. “I don’t owe you shit, Sal.”

She threw her head back in laughter and Jake’s arms held her waist more firmly, just to keep her from falling. Returning upright to stare into his eyes, she spoke with a saddened sort of lust. “You love talking rough to me don’t you, Jake? Just admit it.”

“It’d be a big help if you could remember your real name while you’re writing down all your feelings later.” Jake ignores her again, allowing himself to drift his hands over the curves of her ass as she sways against him. He indulges in how the press of her breasts into his chest feels and the intoxicating scent of her perfume as he traces his nose up her throat and over her jaw.

She whines against him. “Just shut up and kiss me if you won’t fuck me right now. I need a distraction.”

Jake chuckles darkly, his eyes casting around the room as he tightens his grip again making her hum with a grin on her face. “You’d like that wouldn’t you, little one? In front of an audience? Sick little freak.”

She looks down for a moment, a flicker of shame at Jake’s condescending voice before she feels the energy seeping off of him. He desired it too. She wasn’t the only sick freak.

Jake makes eye contact with Josh at the edge of the dancefloor. The angel had been watching for the last few moments after returning from wherever he had disappeared to. He shifts his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

Jake decides to lean down as Y/N leans up with parted lips, awaiting his touch. He teases her, licking his tongue out past his lips but not quite touching hers. She breathes out a whine and pulls his head closer by the back of his neck and he obliges, sinking his tongue into her mouth. She melts into him.

Josh watches on still. He can’t tear his eyes away, how their bodies snake around one another so perfectly. How she fits into him, how Jake has no problem claiming her body, touching her and alighting her skin with desire. Josh shuts his eyes for a moment. He wants to leave, he knows he should’ve walked out the door and not come back, but he can’t. She’s still here and he hasn’t seen her in so long. He knew it was a sin to be consorting with her, but, Jesus, he was already there, what was another hour or two of it?

She pulled back from Jake’s lips, chest heaving for air that Jake didn’t seem to need. He smirked and licked his lips, moving his hand away from the back of her delicate neck.

“C’mon, let’s go back to my place.” She tries. Her hand tightens in the collar of his shirt, needing this to make her forget her distress.

Jake shakes his head. “I’ll dance with you and I’ll kiss you till you drop, but we’re not doing that again. Never again.”

She twirled a piece of his hair that had come free from his low bun. “Why not? We had a lot of fun.”

“Too much fun.” He removes her hands from himself, beginning to step away. It wasn’t the fun he was worried about, it was the feeling. “I’ll see you soon, kid.”

“Fuck you, Jake.” Anger masks the painful stab to her heart, or whatever it was that felt inside her still, at his rejection. Kid.

“Keep dreaming,” He winks, turning on his heel and patting Josh’s chest as he goes to make his exit. “She’s all yours. Nice and fired up. Good fucking luck, brother.” He plucked his hat from the abandoned table, strutting out of the bar and disappearing instantly, as if he’d never been there in the first place. Except he had and she was pissed.

“Thanks,” Josh murmurs under his breath, eyes downcast. He stops Y/N from running after Jake with a hand around her waist when she went to move past him, knowing that whatever fight she tried to start wouldn’t end well.

“Hey, hey, hey,” He gets her attention, the fury fading from her eyes with one look at Josh. “It’s okay. You don’t want to fight him tonight. You’ve got a lot on your mind and it’ll only come to no good.”

“No good is what I’m supposed to do,” She stomps her foot, petulantly but resigning to Josh’s hold. The drunken debauchery wasn’t going well and she was starting to feel depleted and depressed. An identity crisis, one rejection and likely another on the horizon with the way Josh was looking at her.

She felt herself beginning to cry again. This time she couldn’t stop the tears.

“Oh, god,” Josh whispered quickly, ushering himself and the demon to the sidewalk outside of the bar. The darkness of the night would cover up the sight that would raise human eyebrows. “Hey, it’s okay. Don’t cry. Please.” His voice is soft, feathery and concerned. Pleading.

“What’s the point? Why’d they even send me here? Who am I?” She wailed, her eyes streaming tears of blood. “Why the fuck do I cry blood? This is so unfair!”

Josh wanted to curse Jake, but he knew he was already eternally damned so it really wouldn’t do anything. He shushed the crying demon who really just looked like a young drunk girl except for the red tears. Josh held her as she sobbed, blood staining his white shirt. It didn’t matter to him. He offered soothing words to her and eventually, after back rubs and deep breath exercises, she pulled it together.

“You can come see me whenever you need, Sal. How’s that?” Josh offers as he rubs soothing patterns across her clammy back.

She wiped at her face and her hair that was now all over the place. “Thanks, Josh. Thank you for being kind to me. Even though…I am who I am.”

“Of course,” Josh’s voice is full of emotion. He couldn’t help it. She needed him. “Take care. I’ll see you soon.”

She nodded and sniffed, holding her head high again, the bloody tracks on her face looking horrifying in the dark light but Josh tried for a hopeful smile. She waved and then she was gone, disappearing into the dark and empty night. Jake must have taught her his trick.

She’s not sure what made her decide what she did next. But she was a little drunk and confused and dejected and needy for attention. Rori was asleep on her hardwood floor when she walked in the door, dead to the world till the sun came up hours from now. So after 30 seconds in the empty silent apartment she turned back around, leaving again.

to be continued

taglist: @ofthecaravel @gretavanfreaky @sinarainbows @jaketlove @mysticalstarcatcher @whiterosekiszka @sacredjake @beingextraisfun @malany-gvf @joshysgirl

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oh-shtars · 27 days

Text

✨-Silence-✨

AKA

(A small snippet of the RFTS!Au as writing practice and for all of you to take a peak into my writing style and dynamic of this universe. Believe it or not, this is one of the first times I’ve ever been serious of writing something sooo, I apologise in advance.

Idk, tbh, this is really just an experiment. This exact scene won’t actually appear or play out in the actual story. In all honesty, I just made it up with what I could make sense with at the moment. Plus, there’s a little surprise update at the end. ;)

With all of that said, enjoy! 💖)

…….

“Star?”

The light gust of wind carried her voice and accompanied her every step as she kept running through the woods. Branches rustled overhead and hollow trunks echoed the sound, giving the illusion that the forest was…breathing.

The sun had even started to set a fiery orange colour in the horizon, casting eerie shadows over the tall grass. The path she’d been running through had started to fade into all different directions in the overgrown terrain. At this point, it’s a constant struggle just to stay near it. Night time was approaching, just as she had feared. And yet here she was… venturing deeper down the belly of the beast. Never in her life had she remembered the last time she ever ventured on her own.

A young 18-year-old girl. Lost in the woods? At night? The possibilities are endless. Anything could happen. Anything.

No. Not now. Get it together.

Asha quickly buried the thought away from her head, paused to take one more shaky breath, and kept running. She had to find him. She swore she saw him sped through this direction. She can’t just go back now.

In fact, she doesn’t even know if she could turn back at all.

Not after what had happened back in Rosas’ town centre…

Guilt clawed at the back of her throat and her heart thrummed against her chest. She swallowed the ugly feeling down hard and continued to search for any sign of the magical, mute boy. What had happened back there was so fast that it came to her in a blur of colour.

She vaguely remembered colours of varying dull shades that belonged to the citizens of Rosas as they crowded around them. Some curious. Some confused. But most were in awe at the things he could do. At the things he could grant them.

She only wanted him to grant a few small wishes. It didn’t seem like a heavy task. If only she knew how this small favour would snowball out of control terribly.

But all that she DID remember clearly was the fresh memory of a crowd gathering around them. Closing in. Getting curiouser and curiouser… She had lost sight of Star from the people excitedly shoving her aside to get a better look at this strange magic caster. Someone who wasn’t the king for once. Then all in one quick-

FLASH-

A strong, chaotic gust of bright magic had forcefully pushed the crowd back. Chickens grew a sudden growth spurt. A guy’s hair got so long that it touched the floor. Nearby boxes turned into the weirdest crooked shapes. And some people’s clothing transformed into ones resembling either a jester or what looked like pyjamas belonging to a retired wizard. From the mess and the noisy commotion that had occurred, Asha could just barely make out the surroundings. But among everything else, there’s one thing that worried her the most.

The area where Star had initially stood was empty.

And the only clue left from his disappearance was the trail of stardust sprinkled over the grass, leading towards the shadows of the woods.

……..

“Star?!” Asha’s voice called out once more.

Silence.

“Star, please! Hey, I-I’m sorry.” She started again, desperation and concern evident than ever.

I’m sorry! I-I don’t..I didn’t know that.. I never considered the..the possibility that they would..”

Her own tongue refused to even cooperate with her at the moment. Ashe resisted the urge to bite down in frustration.

The time when she actually needed words was the same time that she had none. She can feel the burning sensation high from within her gut and the fabric of her dress squeezed between the fingers of her balled fist. She could just never stop being this useless, can she?

The trail of stardust had faded away into nothing a while ago. Now, she can only rely on nothing but her hope.

“Come on…. You have to be around here. You have to be okay... Where are-“

Snap.

There it was. Behind that tree.

Again, Asha felt fear grab a hold of her throat. For all she knew, it could be a wild animal. Or….what if…?

Whatever was forcing her to hold back now, the need to look out for her friend was greater.

Giving herself a minute, Asha steeled herself and, ever so cautiously, began to approach the source of the sound. Leaves crackled from underneath her feet and spiked her worries. Regardless, she kept going. Finally, Asha peeked out from the other side of the tree.

ZIP-

“AAH!” She yelped as a ball of light sped just past her. It zigged and zagged in between nearby trunks with zero sense of direction. Finally, the light flew behind another tree before stumbling back out in the form of a familiar human shape of the boy she was looking for.

“Star?” Asha breathed. Step by step, she approached the figure. “Star! You’re alright! You-“

Star jolted away from her advance, heavily startled. His arms automatically rushed into a defensive stance in front of him, causing tall greenery to magically grow in between and seperate them. It had created some sort of a small, protective barrier for him.

“Wait! It’s me!…It’s me.” Asha raised both her hands up and stepped around the barrier, proving she’s no stranger or a threat. Star’s hazel eyes darted around before finally stopping to rest on her. In his panicked state, Star failed to recognise her straight away.

“Hey, It’s me…”

It was still for a few seconds. But thankfully, Star gradually showed signs of calming down. His flickering, glowing hair subtly became more steady and his face starts softening. At least… for the short time being. Tension was still clearly evident in his expression and stance. Asha noticed the boy had summoned flying dust to float right next to him. It rapidly changed in shape and form, presumably matching his racing thoughts.

He’s attempting to explain himself. Asha realised.

(Here’s a ref for what that might look like: ⬇️)

”I’m sorry, I..You’re going a bit too fast.” Asha started. But with every word that left her mouth, Star only seemed to make the stardust shift in between shapes even more faster.

Then, a cold wind blew against the overhead branches, producing a rustling sound. Star flinched at the noise and turned, breaking his focus on Asha.

His gaze transferred from one thing to another at the speed of light, anticipating something. Anything that might jump out at him. Is there..? Within the unknown and behind those trees, something could be watching them…

His mind having switched to autopilot, Star’s feet lifted from the ground and he started searching every space and corner. Questions flooded his head. A bad itch spread through his limbs and refused to go away. Shaken, Star tried to gulp all…’this’… down but to no avail.

He needed answers.

Did the other humans follow them? What more did they want? What other selfish want do they need granted now?

“star-“

Skies above-

What if someone comes up from behind?? His head instinctively whipped around to make sure. Nothing. Or….or did he just not see?

”Star-?”

What if someone imprisons him again just for his ability? Granting Wishes. That’s what they want… That’s all they ever wanted from him…Right? They only ever saw him as nothing more than a wish-granter. Surrounded. What if-

What if they were surrounded and they just didn’t notice? Surrounded. Trapped. And they would keep approaching. Closer.

And closer-

Darkness envelops. Just like walls. Walls.

Walls.

Like walls pressing down from all sides of him. Promising no escape. STARS- WHAT IF-

“Star!! Please!” Star’s eyes snapped open. Two hands (that weren’t his) were raised a short distance in front of him, visibly shaking. Star realised at once that his eyes had been shut close the whole time. Oh. He thought. That explains the darkness…

Star blinked his eyes slowly, rising to meet familiar amber ones. Once his vision came to focus, he noticed the look on the girl’s face. Genuine concern. For…him?

Slowly but steadily, he regained awareness of his surroundings. He couldn’t remember exactly when he did, but he was now kneeling on the forest floor. Asha kneeled down with him to meet his eye level. She slowly reached out but paused, silently asking for consent.

Star hesitated before eventually nodding. Asha reached to gently hold on to both his wrists, which Star realised his hands had been roughly grabbing and pulling his hair mere seconds ago. She lowered them down, still maintaining a firm but gentle hold.

”Shhhh. It’s okay. It’s okay.” Her honey-sweet tone whispered reassurance as her grip softened even more. “It’s just me. And you.

No one else.

No more crowds.” With every point made, her thumb comfortingly brushed against his skin. Asha’s hands slowly went from his wrist to his own, and she gently squeezed them. “I promise you.”

Asha never once broke eye contact and even signed the word “Promise” as one last reassurance.

A beat.

Star stared long and hard into her eyes, slightly surprised only to find sincerity and concern in them. It was so quiet that the only sound he heard was her own breathing. For a split moment, the worries and darkness of this world were forgotten.

All he knew was that she was here. She’s safe. He’s safe. They’re safe.

Overwhelmed at this…gesture… and everything else, Star’s eyes watered. No, she can’t see a star like this..

He squeezed her hands back to ground himself one more time before finally releasing a breath. Asha watched silently as the boy sat down on the green grass and hugged himself, ducking his head away between his knees to avoid eye contact. His shoulders trembled ever so slightly. She felt a pang of guilt stab her chest, knowing in the back of her head that he spiralled because of her ‘small favour’ back there.

“I’m sorry…” she muttered. She adjusted herself to a more comfortable sitting position beside him, taking care to make slow movements so as not to scare him even more. “I shouldn’t have asked back there in Rosas. Not all at once. I…I didn’t know they would crowd around like that.”

There was little to no reaction to the apology. In fact, it appeared like Star had only closed in on himself even further. Asha didn’t blame him. Whether he wanted to answer or not, she’d be right here either way. For as long as he needed her to be.

“Do you have…something…on your mind?”

…….

“I won’t force you to say anything. But…you’re my friend. And…I want to help you in any way I can.”

…..

“But only...if you’d let me…Whatever you’re comfortable with, I’m right here.”

Asha waited a little more longer to see any sort of sign. Nothing. She sighed lightly and shuffled a little farther away to give him space.

But then in the corner of her eye, she saw his hands move to sign. Asha remembered speaking in sign language before, but not in a very long time. Despite that, she paid close attention to at least make out what he’s trying to say.

“All they want….All I am…A star…Just wishes.”

(Btw guys, orange is sign language and the ellipses “…” are words she didn’t understand because like I said, she’s rusty with sign.)

The words took a moment to process together and click.

”You’re…afraid that’s your only worth. Is that right?”

Star’s glow turned dimmer and he tightly gripped the sleeves of his shirt. No additional confirmation was needed. Around them, cacti and odd-looking plants sprouted from the dirt. Asha jumped a little when a weed popped right next to her. Magical occurrences like these tend to happen whenever Star gets highly emotional.

He had mentioned that Wish Magic can be unpredictable and difficult to control, especially for a star as young as he is. Especially for a star who hasn’t stepped a foot on this world before, nevertheless. A star taken away far too early from home.

At this point in their adventure, Asha was no longer surprised with all the magic mishaps that happen with every excited, frustrated, or embarrassed outburst. It was almost ironic that for someone who disliked surprises, Asha had come to find Star’s unpredictability weirdly comforting and familiar.

And so, instead of anticipating or fearing whatever chaos could spiral next, Asha found herself even more compelled to help the poor star.

“I can’t..speak for the others.” She didn’t want to lie. Not when Star is already struggling to open up to people. She didn’t want to make him feel like he can’t trust her either. But at the same time, Asha didn’t want to confirm his fears and make them worse. She didn’t really want to let him completely believe that everyone really is out to capture him, when she’s aware that there are good people in Rosas.

They just needed to find the right people. But for now, she had to carefully choose her words for this.

“But for all it’s worth…You.” Asha raised her hand to touch his shoulder but quickly retracted when he flinched. Pity welled heavily in her gut. “You matter a lot to me, okay? You’re…

You’re so much more than just a star to me.”

…..

The movement was subtle and hard to notice, but Star had lifted his head a little and she noticed that the grip he had on himself loosened. Asha slowly lifted a hand again to touch him, but this time, she moved slower. When Star noticed but showed no resistance to the advance, she rested it gently on his shoulder. Like magic, she felt him relax a little more and his trembling started becoming less and less.

Star sat still, contemplating what has been said. (Sitting still for this long was so unlike him, it scared her a little). It was only his dim flickering light that filled the hushed atmosphere for several long minutes. Yet, the quiet didn’t feel as lonely as it did anymore. Both didn’t greatly mind the wait at all.

After a while, when he’s more relaxed and comfortable, he finally signed back to her.

“Anyone…hurt?”

Asha shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Just some scares maybe.”

Star looked ahead, concern evidently still etched on his face. Asha found it endearing that he still cared about others’ well-being despite what had happened.

“You…sure?”

“Well, the worse you probably did was give some people a new wardrobe.” She absentmindedly started twirling a blade of grass around her finger, hiding an amused look from the memory of the townsfolk’s surprised faces back there. She hoped that this would at least help in lightening the mood.

Star turned his head to face her more clearly and didn’t miss the small upturn of the corners of her mouth. He made a faint scoff light-heartedly. Playfully grinning now, he nudged her with his shoulder to have her look back at him.

”Did a favour…At least they’re now…more awake with colour. The old clothes…bland and boring.” Star exaggerated the last bit by sticking his tongue out.

Caught off-guard by the side-comment, a snort escapes from Asha before it turned into bright chuckles. Embarrassed, she raised a hand over her mouth. “He-hey! Don’t say that about them!”

Star only smiled wider as the usual cheeky glint finally returned to his eyes. He released his own quiet chuckle that sounded a lot like small ringing bells. Asha caught control of her own laughter to glance at her friend. Heh. She thought to herself. There’s the mischievous and fun-loving guy I know…

She’s relieved and happy to see how Star is slowly easing up and returning back to his usual self. They waited in the silence again for a little while longer. Yet, it seemed as if the tense atmosphere they initially shared in had turned a lot more easier. The heavy feeling of guilt pressing down on her chest also became lighter.

At least, some of the guilt was gone.

Asha didn’t and couldn’t forget Star’s expressed insecurities from earlier. She wants to do something about it. At least something to make up for the whole trouble. Something to make that very burden lighter.

A light bulb went on in her head.

“You know, when I was younger.” She started. “My papa would come home from work each day. He always looked so delighted to see me.” Asha raised her head upwards to the now starry night sky, a wave of nostalgia washing up within her. Star rested his arms on his knees, curious at the change in topic. “He used to pick me up and…and swing me around….calling me the sweetest things. Like we had been apart for the longest….time.”

Star noticeably frowned and tilted his head to the side, as if implying a question. The girl realised he was mirroring the same expression she had. Nervously, her hand started playing with the fabric of her dress. Admittedly, Asha wasn’t used to openly talking about Tomás again after…..that.

Not after all this time.

Asha took a deep breath, feeling the cold dirt underneath her. “That’s..that’s not the point right now.” She quickly added. Asha nodded in Star’s direction to reassure him she was fine before continuing.

“The point is…he’d call me all kinds of names. Estrella, Chiquitita, Cariño.” She smiled at the memory, blinking away the moisture that had formed in the corners of her eyes. This didn’t go unnoticed by the boy beside her, who kept listening intently.

“But out of all of them, his favourite was ‘Mi pequeño sueño.’ Since…well….he used to love sharing everything with me back then. And I mean..hehe, I mean EVERYthing.”

Asha released an uneasy laugh as she finished the sentence. “It’s funny, isn’t it? He would share every work detail to a little toddler.” She smiled and turned to face her friend. “Hehehe. I..I barely even understood most of what he said back-“

Asha paused. Star was looking right back at her with sympathy. It left her speechless for a moment. “-most of…most of what he said back…then.” She faked a cough and shook her head, as if it would help to get rid of the stinging sensation at the back of her throat.

Then, she felt something within her palm. Asha looked down to see a pretty golden flower had been created from stardust just for her. She held it up higher to gaze at its beauty and she felt tears well up again.

“Thank you.” Asha whispered and looked at Star while using her fingers to wipe away her eyes. “It’s beautiful.”

The two gazed at each other fondly and with great appreciation for their presence. That was until Asha snapped out of it and returned her gaze to the flower once more.

“Anyways, what I’m really trying to say is…” She asked. “Remember when I said “Star” is a placeholder name for now until we think of something better?”

Star nodded, holding on to every word with great interest.

Asha beamed brightly:

Star raised an eyebrow. Shyly, he rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed of the fact he isn’t too familiar with other human languages besides english. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Asha only shyly grinned and slightly ducked her head away to hide the colour on her cheeks. “Trust me. I just think it’s fitting for someone like you.”

Star-….well, now Sueño, could feel himself glow brighter. He might not know what this new name meant, but it already felt perfect. Is that weird? Like the name was meant to be his own from the very beginning.

“Okay. I trust you’d tell me eventually, right?”

Asha teasingly smirked back. “I don’t know.” She raised both her hands to sign out one word. “Maybe.”

The boy felt an even weirder feeling of fluttering butterflies inside him. At this rate, he’s only seconds away from smiling uncontrollably.

The duo turned to look up at the night sky together, letting the silence that had initially been confronting and frightening, to settle into a warm comfortable blanket between them both.

Sueño. He released a highly-content sigh while repeating the name in his thoughts. Not just any name. His name.

Sueño.

He likes it. …….

Notes:

HEY, HEY, HEY!! Didn’t expect the new change didn’t you? :DD

Yeah, I know. I did say that ‘Star’ was going to simply be my Starboy’s name. But then I got tempted by this idea and thought, “That would be too bad for me to just pass this up.”

I’m still keeping the below information here that I’ve established before in a previous post. The fact about the natural names of Wishing Stars and Asha initially calling him just “Star” when they first meet.

In case you haven’t searched up the translation yet, Sueño means ‘dream.’ And to answer @signed-sapphire’s post on what the RFTS!Starsha duo is called, let me present you:

✨ “Hopes and Dreams” ✨

Because Asha translates to ‘hope’ too. :DD

Ages ago, I’ve found this pretty cool interpretation that helped inspire me of this idea:

‘Wishes’ are merely just a fantasised want or desire. But it’s usually temporary and fades away if nothing is done about it. ‘Dreams’ however, used to be just wishes. But placing actions behind it is what turns it into a dream. It’s the bigger picture you can see yourself in, to help motivate you through the day. ‘Hope’ is the driving fuel to reach that destination. The faith you have that you’ll get there eventually.

Without ‘hope,’ you can’t reach a dream. And without a ’dream,’ what motivates and gives hope? What exactly would you be hoping for?

Regardless whether it’s a simple and small dream or an ambitious one, you’d need both to get there.

And I just went: “AWWWW, Imagine if I used that idea.”

Well then, I stopped imagining and basically caved in to just make it a reality. :)

And this is the surprise ‘different’ post I’ve been mentioning to Saph about and I really hope you guys liked this snippet of a non-canon event in the RFTS!Au.

If I portrayed the panic sequence or anything else in a hurtful or incorrect way, can you pls let me know so I could change it?

I’m open to hearing what you all think of it and what I should be improving or doing more of next time!! <333333

(@annymation @gracebethartacc @uva124 @emillyverse @chillwildwave @tumblingdownthefoxden @signed-sapphire @kstarsarts)

#writing test #wish rewrite #disney wish #wish au #reach for the stars au #rfts au #wish 2023 #wish reimagined #wish starboy #wish star #wish asha #asha x star #star x asha #A bit of a long read-

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fortisfilia · 2 months

Text

Promised Part 4 - Tom Riddle x reader

Info: This is a rewrite of a story I've posted on my old account years ago. If it sounds familiar, that might be why :)

Summary: In this story, Tom didn't grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader's sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Word count: 2k

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 3 | Part 5

Part 4 - One and the Same

As the weeks passed and the weather in late October turned colder, the halls and chambers in Hogwarts stayed warm. It also seemed that somebody specific had warmed up around you as well. Tom didn’t ignore you anymore. Not completely at least. He was still distant, but that was probably just how he was. Progress, still. Camille was sure he liked you, even if he didn’t show it. Although you didn't entirely agree with her, it was definitely a start.

He must have been impressed by your potions skills. His demeanour had changed ever since you beat him making Moonseed Poison. In fact, you had lost count of how many times you had thought about that smirk on his face and how your stomach seemed to flip whenever you did. It was almost embarrassing how many times you started daydreaming, how your mind wanted to drift off, and you let it.

You had just thought of him when you walked along the shore of the Black Lake alone. Since Avery and Lestrange hadn’t dared to even look at you for more than a moment, it was safe enough to wander around on your own again. And it was freeing to have time for yourself. To manage your thoughts in peace, while the wind howled across the water to keep you company.

Your thoughts were interrupted by someone calling out your name and hasty footsteps coming your way from behind. You stopped and turned around to see who it was. Benjamin Hilt. The Gryffindor boy from sixth year, who had already asked too many questions.

He was quite short for a boy of his age, but it seemed like he didn’t care about it. He didn’t care about a lot of things apparently. He wore jeans a lot. A clothing item wizards would usually not choose as their attire since it was such a muggle thing to wear. Maybe it was his way of revolting the system. A very subliminal way of showing his values. His hair must have also been part of that. That, or he didn’t own a comb.

Not that he was unpopular, he definitely had friends. They were all like him to an extent. Loud, candid and sometimes a bit scandalising. They liked to be the centre of attention, even if that meant they would go on everyone’s nerves. They were troublemakers, but harmless overall.

“Hey,” he said, a bit out of breath once he caught up.

“Hi Ben,” you answered and started walking again.

“Can I walk with you for a minute?”

“Sure. Did you come up with more questions for your investigation?”

He kept quiet for a moment and you grinned while looking out over the lake, where the tiniest waves rustled in the wind.

“No,” he then said. “I mean, yes. I mean… Possibly.”

“What’s your deal, Ben?” you asked. “Not to be mean, but none of this is any of your business.”

“I know. And I’m sorry. But I just can’t wrap my head around this. It kind of keeps me up at night. Doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Well if it doesn’t sit right with you, then, of course, we’re going to listen to you and throw all plans out of the window.”

“Don’t be sarcastic now. It’s a serious thing.”

“Oh really? Thanks for reminding me. Still none of your concern. And even if it was. What doesn’t sit right?”

“Two things actually,” Ben answered. “Firstly, I still don’t believe that you’re doing this of your own free will. I think he’s forcing you to marry him. And secondly, with your two families combined, Tom and his relatives will be given a whole new level of respect. And power.”

“So?”

“So? Don’t act like you don’t know what the Gaunts are all about.”

Of course you knew. Everyone did. And Ben was probably right. But what should you do about it now?

“Look, Ben,” you sighed. “I’m thankful for your concern, really. But it wasn’t forced. Tom and I… We love each other. And I’m afraid you don’t know him or any of his relatives as well as you think. They’re not seeking power. Or anything of that sort.”

Never before had you lied to someone like this. Twisted the truth a bit, yes. Kept some information secret, yes. But this was the greatest lie that ever left your mouth. And Ben knew.

“Alright,” he said slowly and raised his eyebrows. “The Gaunts are dangerous, whether you believe it or not. Who knows what they’re capable of when they get even more respected in the wizard community? I thought you weren’t like them, you know. But seems like you’re one and the same.”

It was better not to answer him right now because all you could have produced were curse words. Maybe you were like them. But what did Benjamin Hilt, self-proclaimed rescuer, know about any of it? You had your reasons and you weren’t going to share them with him. Who did he think he was?

“I see you don’t want my help,” he said. “Just know, you can always ask for it when you change your mind.”

Then he walked off. It was infuriating. Not that you had anything else to say, but the mere fact that he thought he knew better than everyone else turned your insides sour. So much that you wanted to scream. But he would have heard you. So you kept quiet and walked for a little longer.

One and the same. Sure. Like one of the Gaunts would do anything remotely similar to what you had done for your sister. What an idiot. And even if you accepted his help. What would he be able to do for you? Nothing. One and the same. If people wanted to see you like that, they should. But then, they should be as afraid of you as they were of Tom.

Elsie and your parents crossed your mind. They had sent a letter some days ago. Finally. A reason to keep going. To keep the facade. Saying that you hadn’t thought about quitting would be a lie. Now that your sister was better, you had gathered that there would be a way leading you out of the pact. But the letter reminded you there wasn’t one. And what you did it for. Who you did it for. You took it out of your pocket and read it again.

“Dearest daughter,

we are delighted to let you know Elsie is doing much better. The Gaunts were a tremendous help. Morfin brewed several potions and one of them seemed to be the cure. Her cough stopped immediately and she is on the mend.

She is finally eating again, she even wanted to help the elves make lunch yesterday.

I think she also grew half an inch over the last week.

It is an incredible joy to watch her laughing again. We wish you could see her now.

And we want to let you know, again, how thankful we are for what you did. Without you, Merlin knows what would have happened. We are so proud of you.

However, Marvolo informed us that they haven’t broken the curse entirely.

He said if there will be any kind of breach or breaking of the pact, they can make Elsie sick again. And that it would be worse than before.

We hope you know what that means and what is expected of you. We wish we could take that burden from you.

All the best,

Mum and Dad”

There was a little red heart scribbled at the bottom right corner of the letter, that Elsie had drawn. It made you smile each time you saw it and reminded you of the countless times you had sat with her in the garden, where you had watched her draw random figures and shapes. She would always get angry when your drawings came out better than hers. But she never gave up trying. And you couldn’t give up trying either.

The sun went down earlier each day now, so you went back to the castle once you had walked off the anger in your bones.

Tom sat there in the courtyard. He was alone for a change. Even though he didn’t talk much, he was usually with at least two other people, who competed for his attention. But not today.

“Hello,” you said and he nodded as you sat down at the stone bench next to him. “What are you up to?”

He looked at you for a moment, then leant forward and gazed into the distance. “Thinking.”

“Me too.”

“Really?” he asked, an unusual tone of sarcasm in his voice.

“What do you mean ‘really’?”

“It didn’t seem like you thought of much when you were walking with Hilt.”

“Ben? Did you see us? Hang on. Did you watch me?”

“Does it matter? I just happened to take a walk towards the lake. Then I saw you two.”

“Okay,” you said. “Well, next time feel free to join in. Anything to keep him away. Ben gets on my nerves, you know.”

“Sure,” he said, still not looking at you.

What was his problem now? He couldn't seriously be jealous just because you were out walking with someone. “I mean it,” you said. “I’ve just told him to get off my back.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he asked.

“What? No. I’m just trying-”

“Listen! If you’re going to be my wife, you must not give the impression of being unfaithful.”

“And being unfaithful means walking with anyone that isn’t you?”

“You know what it means.”

“So I’m not allowed to talk to friends?”

“I thought he wasn’t your friend.”

“He isn’t. This is not about Ben but in general.”

Tom stayed silent.

“You can’t be serious,” you said. “What do you expect me to do? Only ever speak to you, even if other people approach me? I didn’t even invite him. He just happened to be there all of a sudden.”

Tom turned towards you again and came uncomfortably close.

“I. Don’t. Care. I expect you to be loyal.”

“I am,” you said but he stood up and left. “Wait! You can’t just walk away.”

But he went. You ran after him, your frustration banging from inside your head against your temples. When you entered the hallways, quite a few people were around, some of them already looking at you.

There he was, still walking away. You finally reached Tom and grabbed him by the shoulder, to make him look at you. He stopped abruptly and turned around, quicker than you had thought, so you almost bumped into him. A second of silence and staring occurred before you took a step back. Okay. Now was the time to get your point across.

“Listen,” you said quietly. “I don’t know what you think you saw, but I guarantee you that’s not what happened.”

“I know wh-”

“No, I said listen to me,” you interrupted him more vehemently and people’s heads turned your way, so you kept your voice low again. “Ben is not my friend. He came up to talk to me about us. I think he knows about the pact. And he wants to ruin everything. I’m not going to lose my sister because of him. So I tried to convince him. And if you think that’s being disloyal then so it be. I don’t care either. But never run away from me when I want to explain myself. And never distrust me again for no reason.”

That was the first time you witnessed Tom Riddle being speechless. So you left him standing there without another word. If people wanted to believe you were one and the same, you would make him believe it too.

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 5

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captainjamster · 3 months

Note

hi i have a request Price gives stress relief to reader

if youre too busy thats fine

i absolutely read your username instead of price and started writing for graves until i realised, so uhhh... this idea but with phil coming at some point! also wasn't sure if you meant stress relief or stress relief, so this gets nsfw!!

thank u for the ask my little sunshine i hope you enjoy, i am never too busy for a request, especially not from a fellow graves lover <3

Pairing(s): Price x AFAB!reader (no gendered nicknames or pronouns) Warnings: NSFW, fingering, light dirty talk Wordcount: 2.2k Summary: Price gives you a hand winding down after a frustrating day at work, though mutual satisfaction is on his mind. AO3 Link: Right here <3

Full fic is under the cut <3

The pages rustle as John flickers through them, smoothing out with the tapping of your phone to create a peaceful, white noise. Yet despite the atmosphere, a heavy weight presses on your chest, brow furrowed and shoulders tight as you scroll through your apps. You can feel John's eyes on you, taking in your sullen form as you glare a hole into your screen.

"You're quiet, love."

John breaks the silence, looking down at his book again. You take a moment to compile a response, debating whether to delve into the frustrations of your week.

"Just a day, I guess."

He takes in the short, avoidant answer, thumbing the pages of his book. "Don't want to talk about it?"

"I don’t know. Not really."

John looks at you again, and this time, you turn to him too.

"Can I hold you?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. The moment your head inches forward, the book thuds onto his bedside table with a careless toss, immediately spreading his arms open. "C'mere, sweetheart."

You crawl into his lap, curling up and sinking into him. His arms wrap around you reflexively, bringing your head to rest against the bristle of his chest, the other arm rubbing up and down your back. He doesn't press the subject, just sets a steady pace to inhale and exhale with, rocking you softly with each breath.

After a few minutes, you initiate conversation yourself, mumbling against the skin of his sternum.

"So... Shit. Everything is so shit."

"Shit, love?"

You rub your cheek against his chest hair as you nod. "I hate people."

"Yeah?"

Drawing in a sharp breath, the feeling of burning frustration reignites in your lower stomach as you spill out an angry tirade. "God, I just want to tear their fucking heads off sometimes! I want one day, just one day, where I can speak my mind. I could ask them "oh, I'm sorry, is your fucking price wrong? Okay, now is it MY fault or YOUR fault that you didn't check the coupon was in date before you used it?" Maybe their fucking brains would start working if I didn’t have to just smile and say “yes customer, no customer! Whatever you want customer!” like the stupidest shit didn’t just come out their mouth!”

You turn, back pressed to his stomach as you gesture agitatedly. "I can't stand it! "Oh, oh! I dropped this jar and now it's cracked! Can I get it for free? Oh, my kid ate half of this apple, but he doesn't want it, so I'll just put it back on display! Let's berate this minimum-wage worker because the line was slightly long at midday, like they have any control over that!" Like, why do people become such monsters whenever they step foot into a store? My friend from that clothing shop down the street? She said someone tried to return a whole bag of dirty underwear, like what the fuck?"

Huffing, your jaw clenches tight as you cross your legs, flopping your head back against his shoulder dramatically.

"I'm sorry, baby." He murmurs lowly, running his hands up your arms, digging his thumbs into the tense flesh of your shoulder. "S'not fair, you deserve to be treated better than that, your friend too."

You soften into his arms, biting at the inside of your cheek. “I just wanna quit. Management sucks, everyone else working there is just as miserable. No wonder their turnover rate is so high.”

John’s hand drops down from your shoulder, running past your chest to rest against your midriff. "Always can, doll. Put in your two weeks, live off what I've got in the bank 'til y'find a better position. Y'know I'd let you never work a day in your life, if you'd let me."

His tone is gentle and passive, content in his reminder with your desire to keep financial independence and stay busy when he leaves for deployment. The room falls into silence again as you nestle into an arm, manoeuvring it to rest over your chest like a seatbelt and clip between your legs. His other arm rests along the length of your leg, and you feel him lean his weight back against the bed’s head as you continue thinking, playing with his arm hair absent-mindedly. John is content to let you fiddle away, his hand caught in the grip of your thighs comfortably, thumb traces little circles against the skin it rests between.

His body shifts underneath you after a few minutes of quiet, readjusting to move closer. You’re suddenly flush against him as he sits up, pulling you tighter against his soft, sturdy chest and pressing a kiss to the back of your head. The movement surprises a squeak out of you, squirming before a pressure against the crotch of your underwear stills you. Warm air brushes against your hair as John huffs in amusement, readjusting the hand cupped against your sex in an effort to tug you closer, intentionally positioning his hand to spread and fully cover your mound.

"John..."

He hums in response against your neck, lips pressed into the skin.

"Your hand."

"My hand, dove?" He pulls away, leaving one last kiss behind your ear.

"It's, ahhh...”

He flexes his fingers tighter for a second, the increase in pressure barely stimulating the sensitive nerves beneath. “What? Just movin’ you closer, ‘n my hand’s nice and warm down there.”

The playfully avoidant answer earns him an exasperated groan, though the desire seeping into you leaves it breathier than you’d like.

“Want me to stop?”

You shake your head before he can finish the sentence, grip tightening on his forearm. The vibration of his chuckles jostles you against his torso, warming your cheeks. Before you can exclaim your embarrassment, he shifts under the blankets and nudges your legs open, his feet hooking round your ankles to pin them apart. “How about some stress relief, hm? Get all those yucky feelings out for the night.”

His fingers trail teasingly against the hemline of your elastic, running his nails over the soft fat that meets the cotton barrier. All it takes is a “yes, please” for his fingers to breach the elastic, honing to your entrance only to glide back up the damp skin of your lips. At your whining insistence, his fingers deftly pull your lips apart, using his middle finger to collect the slick gathering between your folds and lather it against your clit. Your hips jerk at the contact, and John tuts, chasing your hips to flick his thumb over the sensitive button. “Askin’ for it, but y’won’t sit still, huh? Jus’ wanna help my baby feel better.”

Moving his arm to cup your chest, his hand crawls under your shirt to pinch your nipple, sending shivers down your spine as he rolls it between his fingers. Your whimpers only egg him on, emboldening him to trace little circles around your clit as he works to build the delicious tension growing between your legs.

Warmth flushes through your body, combining with the body heat radiating from John’s chest against your back, leaving you burning up in your own desire. It only takes minutes of John’s ministrations to draw wet squelches from between your legs, filling your ears as your eyes flutter closed, focusing on the way John’s fingers curl and tease around your most sensitive spot.

“John, please…”

He takes your unspoken request without argument, leaving the begging for another night as his fingers leave your swollen nub to graze against your needy entrance. Your hole twitches at the slight contact, clenching as if to draw him in, eliciting a chuckle from John that goes unchallenged in your distracted state. Catching a line of slick dribbling down your perineum, he guides it back up, coating his fingers before he dips a digit into your hole.

You hiss wantonly at the sensations, hips bucking up to urge his finger in deeper, and John tuts. “Keep still, needy thing. Tryna play with this pretty cunt properly.”

He teases you with a sole finger, crooking it to stroke against the spongey muscle that has you leaking with each pass. Despite the stimulation, the single digit leaves your needy cunt feeling empty, fluttering against the intrusion with a desperation until you’re mewling for more.

“I know, y’need more, pet,” he murmurs into the skin behind your ear, dropping kisses down to your jaw. “Let me take care of you.”

The thick finger retreats from within you, leaving you whining in complaint as your hips chase his touch. Your eager hips are met with a firm spank to your folds, leaving John’s fingers trailing with slick as you gasp and retreat to the mattress, back against the protruding bulge in his lap. The compliance is rewarded with a soothing swipe of his fingers along your stinging lips, collecting arousal against his calloused skin. His fingertips circle teasingly at your entrance again, tracing the quivering muscle as he chuckles at your reactivity. Sensing the protest rising in you, he silences it with a swift thrust of his fingers, filling you up again.

His fingers work like they were designed to coax the stress from you with each drag, replacing the tension with a buzzing need for release that has you flexing and relaxing in waves against him. The pressure builds in the pit of your stomach as his fingers pump in and out of you, his other hand abandoning your breast and travelling down to reclaim its spot nestled against your clit, rolling tight circles around the nerve ending in harmony with the drive of his digits. He masterfully orchestrates your undoing, timing each thrust with each involuntary grind of your hips, kissing the salt from your neck as your head lulls against his shoulder, panting.

“Fuck, right there, m’so close John,” you moan, hands fumbling to find something to grip, finding purchase in his hairy thighs. The way your nails sink into the meat of his muscle has him groaning in your ear, breaking his smooth rhythm with a particularly deep thrust as he struggles to contain his enthusiasm. “Fuck, sweetheart, my god.”

Your cunt tightens so fiercely around his fingers that you’re sure they’re being crushed together as your orgasm hits you, squeezing the digits like you could milk the life out of them if you tried hard enough. John hums praise against your neck as he waits for your walls to relax to resume lazily thrusting in and out through the last sparks your climax, his own breath laboured as you tremble in his embrace.

His hand remains between your legs, fingers snug within you as your breathing evens out, the other travelling to trace small circles on the inside of your thigh. You float on the high of your orgasm, sweaty and satisfied as the strain dissipate from your legs, relaxing against John’s.

“Any improvement?”

You give him a breathless giggle, pulling your eyes open to tilt back and look at him. “Yeah, don’t feel like decapitating someone anymore.”

“Good.” He gives you a pleased smile, dotting a kiss on the corners of your lips. His face is warm and flushed, eyes still hazy with lust as he looks down at you, which brings a thought to your mind.

“Do you want me to take care of you…?”

His expression flickers to something guarded behind the smile, gently disentangling himself from your body. “I’m fine, don’t worry,” he announces gruffly, clearing his throat as he ducks into the bathroom. You frown, gazing at his retreating figure as you shuck off your soiled underwear, waiting for his return. He re-emerges with a damp cloth, crawling across the bed to kneel between your still spread legs, wiping delicately at the mess of arousal sticking to the sensitive surface of your skin.

The cloth is slightly warm as he pats at any excess water, collecting your dirty underwear as he pulls away. Walking to the closet, he discards the used fabrics in the laundry basket, grabbing another pair of underwear for you. Readjusting the sheets and blankets, you watch him quickly tug off his boxers, grabbing another pair that he manages to pull around his knees before you gasp in realisation.

“John, you didn’t?”

He turns around with a bashful expression, tucking himself into the crotch as he grins. “What? Pretty thing like you grinding up against me like that, can’t help myself.” Giving up with discretion, he chucks his own soiled boxers into the basket, returning to the bed with your underwear in an outstretched hand.

You pull them on as he climbs in next to you, tucking himself under the covers as you turn off the lamp and join him. He raises his arm, holding the blankets up like a cave as you grin sleepily, shuffling across the sheets to scoot into his embrace. The covers descend on you as John takes care to tuck them underneath you, entangling your legs between his as his hand finds home in your hair.

“Thank you, John. Was feeling really shitty about that.” You whisper into his chest, blinking your eyes closed as a sleepy warmth grows heavy in your limbs.

John grunts, patting at your hair. “S’what I’m made for, lookin’ after you. Get some sleep 'n we’ll work everythin’ out in the morning.”

A smile tugs at your lips as the last whisps of consciousness fade from your mind, and a gruff I love you is the last thing you remember before falling asleep.

#this was meant to be 800 words but i just keep yappin #jams asks #jams writing #price x reader #john price x reader #price x you #john price x you #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic

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techs-goggles9902 · 3 months

Text

Two Souls Entwined

Part 2 Captain Rex x oc

A/N: Im back! Told you I would be posting this week. Open to criticism!! This isn’t my best work, so FEEL. FREE. TO. CRITICIZE!!!

Word count: 1133 (I know, I went overboard)

Niva watched as her buir fought for his life; kicking, biting, punching, anything to defeat the enemy Mando. Both Mandos fought without their helmets, since they were kicked away by their opponent.

The pair tousle around the mud, in between the bodies of the fallen. Niva’s friends, comrades, and her family. All gone within a matter of minutes, all 50 have died to the hands of this white and red armored Mando and his lackeys.

I can’t watch him die… Niva gasps and remembers her buir gave her a small modified handheld Verpine Shatter Rifle for her birthday last year. Her newest birthday present, the little silver necklace, slaps against her collarbones as she scrambles to find her duffel bag.

Her birthday was last week, but was she really going to tell him that? She rummages through it, tossing her clothes aside, and finds the blaster tucked between her book and her helmet, wrapped in a shirt.

Her armor was too big for her, and they haven’t gotten a chance to reforge it, so the armor is neatly stacked in her duffel bag. Niva checks the charge on the blaster.

Thank the Maker, it’s full.

Sliping the barrel of the blaster ever so slightly through the tent flaps, Niva closes an eye to aim better. Through the scope, alining her crosshair to hit the Mando, she tries not to hit her buir, but it’s so hard to find an opening when they’re both thrashing around in the mud.

Three… two… dead.

She pulls the trigger, the blast is nearly silent as the blaster bolt leaves the barrel and into the Mando’s neck.

That’s the good thing about Niva’s clan of Mandalorians. They don’t miss. The Mando falls to the ground with a muffled thud, the sludge making a squelching sound as he lands face first in it.

Niva gasps, holstering the Verpine and dashing out of the tent, her curls flying in the wind behind her. Her boots are covered in mud as she runs down the hill, sliding the last few yards on her knees towards her buir.

The adrenaline ebbs away, the urge to fight is slowly drowned out by the pain of his injuries. He’s beaten to a pulp and can barely lift his head. Blood runs down his nose and into his mouth, there's an arch on the bridge of his nose that shouldn’t be there.

“Ad’ika…” his words are slurred as he tries to bring his bloodied hand to Niva’s cheek.

“Buir…” Niva takes his hand and gently holds it in her lap. Bodies are everywhere, not just her allies but her enemies, the red and white armored Mandos. She doesn’t have to check his pulse, scan him, or even look at his injuries. He’s dying.

“Nami… She called for… The distress beacon…” He rasps, coughing up blood onto his chest plate. Nami was one of Buir’s closest friends; Niva searches the land for her and finds Nami’s corpse lying face down in a small pond, the water now stained a muddy crimson.

Niva’s lip quivers and she bites her cheeks to keep from crying. She’s aware of the extent of her father’s wounds and she knows that when his deadly grip on her slowly ceases, her buir is dead. Her shoulders shake as she drops her father’s hand gently. Sobs rack through her small form.

He’s gone. He’s dead…

Like many children who went into battle with their buirs, Niva always prepared for the worst. But no matter how many times she rehearsed this moment in her head, nothing could prepare her for it to really happen. Cabur Veen, one of the most well known war heroes of Mandalore’s recent history, is dead.

But he was more than a hero. He was a father of three, a husband, a friend, and a son.

Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum. Not gone, merely marching far away… Right, Buir? You always told me so…

A small rustle from behind her causes Niva to turn around. Letting out a small gasp, her fingers tighten around the Verpine but it’s too late. The red and white armored Mando, who should be dead, is pointing his blaster at Niva.

No… No, he shouldn’t be-

Bang.

Thin tendrils of smoke travel from the barrel of the blaster and up towards the sky.

The blaster bolt hits Niva right in between her collarbones, knocking the air out of her lungs. As her body falls limp onto the mud, the Mando’s does as well, and he’s actually dead this time.

Her vision blurs as her chest heaves for air, tendrils of smoke curl upwards out of her chest. A burning pain sears into the delicate skin and fragile bones, the smell of charred flesh and carbon find their way into her nostrils.

I’m dying… Aren’t I, Buir? She coughs, crimson droplets of blood flying past her lips. One more deep, shaky breath, and Niva’s vision fades completely.

Kal Skirata never expected to be sent to this camp. The Chaabar aren’t a clan to mess with, so there wasn’t a good reason for a distress call to find its way on the comm channels.

Running a hand over his close cropped hair before sliding his buy’ce on, Kal lets out a nervous breath. The hum of the ship’s engines was the only sound apart from the breathing of the 25 Mandos seated around Kal.

“You think they’re all right?” A Mando from his right asks, nudging his elbow gently.

Kal shrugs, “Doesn’t matter what I think. Cabur’s in danger and he has his kid out there…”

“Well… He’s Cabur Veen. He’ll be fine!” The Mando smiles from beneath his buy’ce, thrusting his fist in the air.

Oh, how wrong could he be? Within moments, the ship lands on the muddy terrain of the Chaabar campgrounds.

“Oh, wow… There was a massacre…” One Mando says.

“Aw, Nami… I knew her.” Another says.

Osik, this is terrible. How could another clan do this? Regardless of being enemies, these people had families… Kal weaves between corpses, scanning each of them with his HUD, just to double check they’re dead.

A small lifeform comes up on his scanner, making Kal’s heart rate spike up. It’s… It’s a little girl…

“Hey, I got a live one!” He yells to the others, rushing over to the little girl. A fresh, charred, smoking blaster hole is just between her collarbones. Kal touches his fingers to her carotid artery. It’s pumping, but just barely.

“Hey, ad’ika, can you hear me?” He asks, gently tapping her cheek as one of the medics comes running over. The girl’s eyelids flutter. She coughs, blood splattering all over Kal’s sand colored chest plate.

“Buir…” She whispers.

“No, I’m Kal. What’s your name, ad’ika?”

“N-Niva…”

Glossary & Pronunciation

Chaabar - fear [cha-BAR]

Ad’ika - little one, son, daughter, of any age [ah-DEE-kah]

Buir - dad/mom [BOO-ear] (no gender)

Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum - I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal [Nee soo-COO-yee, gar keer-AH-deesh, nee par-TIE-lee, gar dah-rah-SOOM]

Osik - shit [oh-sick]

Buy’ce - helmet [BOO-shay]

Taglist: @fionajames @sevdidntdie @will-is-silly @hellhound5925 @skellymom

Dividers by @saradika ❤️

#Niva Veen oc by Sha #Sha speaks #star wars #clone troopers #tcw #mandalorian oc #captain rex #captain Rex x oc #Kal skirata #star wars fan fiction #republic commando #two souls entwined

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pochipop · 5 months

Text

＃KAZE TO KI NO UTA !! ♡ — I STEEP YOUR HEART IN MY CHAMOMILE TEA (SERGE X GILBERT).

#. synopsis! — serge will love gilbert until the day he dies .

#. characters! — serge x gilbert .

#. warnings! — angst, explicit mentions of death and canon-typical dark content .

#. word count! — 1.4k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — please accept my humble kazeki spotify playlist <3

It was never that Gilbert didn’t love Serge as much as Serge loved him. No, it wasn’t a matter of choice, or want, or desire, —it was a matter of possibility. By the time they met, it was much too late, although Serge never wanted to believe it. He was a smart young lad, but a child is always a child. And Gilbert was a child too, even if he didn’t seem it at times. They were doomed from the start; by the heavens, by God, by earthly forces and celestial ones alike. They were doomed by every season, by every whisper of wind, by every hand that had ever touched Gilbert’s aching frame, stealing more of him away.

When he met Serge, there was nothing left to give, no matter how badly he’d wanted to. He was a void, some cosmic hole of nothingness that sucked things in and never spat them out. He was broken, and tattered, and torn at every edge, —and he did love Serge for whatever that was worth, but in the end, it wasn’t much. Gilbert was living on Serge’s borrowed time, feeding off his warmth, pulling him under. . .

The sun sets upon another day, one that Gilbert never saw, and Serge sits alone in his room, dressed in clothes that don’t feel like his own. Because they aren’t. He’s always been more tall than he’s ever been proud, and this ruffled collar and gold-buttoned vest may have looked dashing on his father, but they swallow Serge up just like Gilbert used to; trading one prison for another.

At least when it was Gilbert’s doing, Serge felt more like himself.

But here he sits in this stuffy manor, brown eyes flickering across the ornate paintings hung about the room. They’re all trimmed in subtle bronze, carved into filligrous vines, and it’s all so melodramatic that it’s giving him a headache just staring at them. The art itself is expertly done, —mostly flowers and cabins stuffed somewhere off in the woods. For a moment, Serge thinks to himself that he should have run somewhere like that with Gilbert, somewhere they could have hidden themselves away from the world for as long as it took him to get well. Forever, maybe, if that’s what he needed.

It’s a pipedream now though. Gilbert is gone; has been gone for years, and yet Serge still finds himself thinking of him as if he were soon to walk through the door at any moment’s notice. He can’t eat chestnuts without tasting Gilbert’s burnt flesh on their surface, can’t sleep in any bed without the ghost of Gilbert’s arms encircling him, —and sometimes they’re softer than others, but they never change their size. Sometimes when he closes his eyes, Serge can still smell Gilbert on his sheets; one’s that he never even laid on. He hears his voice when he plays piano, humming along to the melodies he plays, —he feels him when the wind rustles, when the sun shines, and when rain takes over the skies.

If there’s one thing Serge knows for certain, it’s that Gilbert will live inside him for as long as it takes to make things right. He’ll apologize a million times for mistakes he never had the chance to make, and he’ll pour an extra cup of chamomile tea, even though Gilbert probably wouldn’t have liked it anyway.

He’ll sit and think far too often about how Gilbert would have grown in tandem with him, —getting taller, and warmer, and kinder, like Serge was melting ice in his palms. He’ll visit his grave and tell him about his days, even if he’s never really felt Gilbert there where his name is carved into marble and brownstone. He’s the only one who ever visits these days, and it would be a shame to let his resting place become some overgrown mound of weeds. Maybe Gilbert wouldn’t mind, but Serge does.

He’ll try not to cry as much as the days go by. Time hasn’t healed his wounds the way he thought it would, —but he’s not doing himself any favors with the way he digs his fingers around in them every morning, desperate to keep them festering like some metaphorical maw of devotion. It’s what Gilbert always did, picking at his cuts and his bruises to keep them around.

Serge will bleed on every inch of Lacombrade Academy, then on every stone on the streets of Paris, just as Gilbert would have wanted.

He’ll carry this guilt like a cross on his shoulders, —unadulterated and proud, each step heavy with the weight of remorse. Serge will lug this love like a burden and a gift from some forsaken savior, a constant companion, shaping to the contours of his soul, merging down to the muscle. This is where he feels closest to the writhing boy he lost to the rain and the mud and the horrors of his mind. This is where he feels Gilbert so strongly; in the sinews of his being, rotting on the inside but sickeningly sugar-coated.

He puts an extra cube of sugar in Gilbert’s tea and watches it dissolve, then takes a sip of his own.

It’s mild, —floral, and maybe it would be soothing if Serge allowed for it to be. He won’t, of course.

Shadows dance off the walls in the late evening light. The air is thick with melancholy, the kind that permeates the tea in Serge’s delicate porcelain cup. He almost smiles when a whisper of wind from the open window makes the curtains quiver and snuffs out the candlelight on the clothed table. Gilbert never did like romantic gestures. He preferred something raw and much less tangible, clawing at Serge until he came apart, just so he’d put him back together.

And he always did. . . Until he couldn’t. Serge always knew how to fix Gilbert; how to pull him in and soothe the ache, until the echoes got louder, until Gilbert got high enough to block them out, even when it came at the cost of blocking Serge out with them. At least he was delirious at the end. It’s a somber sort of comfort knowing Gilbert wasn’t in the right mind when it all came crashing down, —but more than that, it’s a reminder to Serge that it’s his solemn duty to keep those memories alive until he’s food for the worms to eat.

There wasn’t enough love in the world to save Gilbert from himself, and Serge has yet to reconcile with the bitter truth that he knew that all along. He’d known it from the moment they met in that claustrophobic dorm room when Gilbert came crashing in, teetering on the edge. It was only a matter of time before his sadness caught up to him. He was running from ghosts and the whispers of his mind, from the attention he craved and begged for, and found in the arms of whatever upperclassman or old, nasty man he could sink his teeth into for a night.

And Serge couldn’t kiss that away.

He couldn’t ever hold Gilbert tight enough, so he settled. He settled for the tanned hands brushing golden strands from his face, caressing him gently even when he begged to be hurt. He settled for whispered words against his neck instead of canines on his flesh, for big, brown, innocent eyes that were just so disgustingly kind. Gilbert settled for love when he wanted to be hurt.

Worst of all, he liked it.

He liked how Serge held his cheeks and kissed his tears away and how he always kept the promises he made.

Now, Serge sifts through memories of pale skin and lean muscle, —emerald eyes that never really had a spark. But heaven knows they were so, so pretty when Gilbert wanted them to be. His heart wanes like the humble moon, the ache of loss still ever-present, no matter where he goes. He lives with a chill that follows him wherever he ventures, undeterred by the warmth of his tender memories or the cup of quickly cooling tea in his palms.

Gilbert’s love was never perfect, and it never came without great costs, but Serge would have traveled to every end of the Earth to keep it. He’d have paid every prince imaginable just to pull him from the depths and breathe new life into his fragile lungs.

But it’s too late now. . . So Serge sits alone at this table, holding a cup of chamomile tea the way he once held both their hopes and sorrows. He clings to what he has left, —the reminders of what he lost and what he gained.

The last sip lingers like Gilbert’s lips always did on his collarbones, and Serge settles the empty cup back onto its saucer.

#gilbert cocteau #gilbert x serge #kaze to ki no uta #the poem of wind and trees #serge battour #gilbert cocteau x serge battour #kaze to ki no uta fanfic #serge x gilbert #serge battour x gilbert cocteau #kaze to ki no uta gilbert #kaze to ki no uta serge #kazeki #kazeki gilbert #kazeki serge #kazeki fanfic #kazeki gilbert x serge #kazeki serge x gilbert

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headkiss · 2 years

Note

For fall themed requests, I would love love love something in a corn maze with Eddie?! Like maybe he’s just teasing you and scaring you all the time Bc he knows you hates/loves it. Teasing and giggly Eddie is the way to my heart 🥺🥺🥺

thank you for requesting! | 0.7k words, reader

The fresh smell of fall and the breeze that comes with it fills your nostrils as you approach the corn maze with Eddie. He made it seem like you had to drag him there, even though you know he’s just as much of a sucker for the classic fall activities as you are.

Your joint hands swing between you as you walk up to the entrance, Eddie paying before you can and kissing away the pout on your face when you realize he did.

Not many people expected Eddie Munson to be the type to go on cute, cliche dates like this. Then again, not many people knew him the way you did.

As you entered the maze, he smiled that grin of his and said, “should we make this a race?”

You know he was only joking, but you whined anyways, “no! You can't leave me all alone in here, Eds.”

”Yeah I know,” he let go of your hand only to sling his arm over your shoulders, pulling you into him and pressing a kiss to your head, “my baby’s a scaredy-cat.”

When you go to protest, he fixes you with a look that says, ‘really?’ You huff, briefly hug his waist under his jacket, and let him lead you further into the maze.

Eddie’s both a great and horrible partner for this activity, you find. He’s sweet in the way he holds your hand the whole way, how he lets you squeeze it when you’re convinced the rustling seems to be caused by something other than the wind. He’s awful though, because he scares you every single chance he gets.

He’ll do the classic ‘what’s over there,’ and then yell ‘boo,’ into your ear while you’re distracted. He uses his free arm to pinch your side and then act like he has no idea where it came from. You don’t know what’s worse, the way you fall for it every time or the proud grin that overtakes his pretty face when he’s successful.

Eddie loves scaring you. Maybe it’s because he’s Eddie and that’s just who he is, or, maybe it’s because you cling tighter to him when he does, push yourself closer. He thinks that it’s nice to be trusted to protect you from the non-existent dangers of the corn maze.

His best scare comes when you’ve found the scarecrow set up in the maze, standing tall and beat up from the Hawkins weather. Faded clothes from the constant sunlight and its arms slightly lopsided.

He lets go of your hand to point at something, something that isn’t even there.

“Eddie! I’m not falling for that again,” you turn to look at him but he’s gone.

Your heart beats quicker, your stomach dropping like it does on a rollercoaster. You try to walk in the direction you came from to find him, but you have no luck. Damn this boy and his love of scaring people.

“Eds! You got me! You can come out now!”

He doesn't respond, which spooks you even more.

Eddie, however, is giggling to himself from behind the rows of corn, peeking through the gaps to see you. You’re cute, and he almost feels bad for what he’s about to do. Almost.

Before you can process the loud movement in the field, strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, lifting you off the ground and causing you to scream. You quiet down when you get a glimpse of the hands holding you.

The rings adorning the fingers and the tattoos that peek out of his sleeve.

“Damn it, Eddie,” you huff as he puts you down, spinning you with his hands on your waist so you’re facing him. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry, sweets,” his smile tells you he’s not sorry at all. “Got you good, though.”

You lean forward, letting your forehead fall against his chest to hide your slight embarrassment from him. You know there’s nothing to really be shy about—Eddie’s never done anything to make you feel bad—but you wished you weren’t so gullible.

“You’re a meanie, Eds.”

“Hey,” he drags out the word. “I’m done now, promise.”

He pushes you back by your shoulders so you’re standing straight again, looking at him. He holds out his pinky.

You take it with yours, and you know he takes his pinky promises seriously.

“A kiss to seal the deal?”

“Dunno if you deserve one, Eds.”

“Awe c’mon! I’ll make it up to you,” he holds your chin between his fingers. “We’ll get some apple cider and then go home and snuggle with a scary movie marathon, how about?”

It’s hard not to give in when the idea sounds so good. You let him kiss you, of course.

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scoundrels-in-love · 1 year

Text

You hold me for a little (Curtains closed to the end of the world)

Three times Meryl is loaned a jacket by the men in their ragtag group through their journey and the one time she borrows it at the end of it all. | Vashmery/Stryfewood/Mashwood | | Grief | Persistence of hope | Father figure Roberto | Flirty Vash | | Wolfwood experiences the mortifying ordeal of being Perceived with Care | Meryl gets to cry in emotional support titties (again) | Orignally inspired by this lovely piece by @briizer even though it wildly spun away from that. Also on AO3.

When Meryl first spots the cluster of buildings in the distance, she isn’t sure if they’re really there or a wishful figment of her imagination after driving more than twelve hours without a break.

As the settlement comes closer, she feels the tension curling stronger still in her limbs. Is it safe to stop? Meryl isn’t even sure whose safety she’s doubting at the moment - theirs or the strangers’ that could end up with the same fate as Jeneora Rock. There’s no rock there anymore, she thinks numbly.

“We got to recharge the car,” Roberto breaks the silence. Her fingers curl tighter around the steering wheel, as if it could give her back control over anything.

They’re allowed inside without much questioning, which is a blessing, because Meryl doesn’t think she’s got much talking left in her at this rate. The couple running a makeshift inn of sorts are welcoming and don’t overcharge for electricity.

"Survivors of Jeneora?" The older man asks, after giving them a quick once-over.

There's no real way to hide it, they're still dirty and bloody, Vash looks more like a corpse than a passenger in the back seat. (Her blood ran cold when she looked back at him, passed out and still, and she thought he had succumbed to some wound she had missed. It was the only time they stopped, just long enough for her to scramble in the back and shake him awake in panic, to make sure that he was okay. As much as any of them could be.)

"Yeah, we were just passin' through when shit went down. Got real lucky," Roberto says.

"You poor things, that must've been so awful. I hope they bring that Typhoon fella to justice soon, this is getting out of hand," the innkeeper’s wife’s voice is full of compassion.

It's only Roberto's grip on her lower arm that holds her back from physically launching towards the counter and pouring out how wrong they are. Her lip wobbles instead and she looks down, at her scuffled shoes and the floor that blurs.

They’re immediately invited to stay the night to rest and recover, but Roberto insists they’ve got to keep moving as their (made-up) family must be worrying. Meryl is thankful for that, she doesn’t know if she’d keep her composure under a barrage of questions and sympathy.

There’s just enough time while the car charges to use the kindly-offered amenities, though. While Vash remains in the car, she and Roberto take turns scrubbing themselves clean and changing clothes in a tiny bathroom. Her jacket is thrown into a hurried wash and she tries not to think about Tonis’ blood going down the drain. Fails.

While it starts drying in the sun, she joins Roberto on the bench outside, next to the charging station. It’d be nice to hide from the heat, but she doesn't know where or how to be, exactly. Never did, really. It’s worse now, the thought of not seeing where Vash is like a panicked needle trying to cover her lungs in puncture marks. (Is it because she’s afraid for him or herself without him there?)

The wind is rough and feels surprisingly cold without her jacket, the dichotomy between it and the sun making her foggy headed. Or maybe it’s the lack of sleep.

There's a rustle of fabric and suddenly, with a waft of cigarette smoke, something is draped over her. It takes Meryl a second before she realizes that Roberto has thrown the side of his jacket around her. She glances up at him, but he’s staring ahead as he smokes, so she shifts to sit right next to him and pulls the cloth around her.

It’s nice, like a makeshift barrier against, well, everything, really. Even if the principle of it is more powerful than the actual physical protection. She allows herself to slump forwards a little, arms wrapping around her knees, which she pulls up to her chest, but one of her hands still holds the corner of the jacket closed so the wind doesn’t rip the cover away.

They don’t speak and it’s kinder that way, Meryl can close her eyes and almost picture it is her father sitting next to her. Like he never would. And maybe now she finally won’t need him to.

Being lucky is part of being a good reporter, Roberto had said. Maybe it had had a hand in him ending up as her mentor, too.

Meryl wakes in the thinning dusk of an early morning. Roberto is snoring nearby and everything feels the kind of calm that is trapped behind a glass. If she had nightmares, she does not remember them and that is a kind of gift, too.

For a couple minutes, she tries to chase after the wisps of sleep, but gives up quickly enough. Having an hour to herself before the rest of the group wakes up is a rarity she doesn’t feel like wasting, even if she doesn’t have a plan for it, either.

As quietly as possible, Meryl gets out of the creaking bed and, later, down the stairs that love to whine if she steps in the middle of them where they’re more worn.

The horizon is barely beginning to burn with sunrise and the wind is freezing cold as it greets her. She sinks deeper into her jacket and pulls the beanie lower over her ears, but continues down the sleeping street. She doesn’t know what she’s looking for, but she knows the quiet urge to walk, walk into the vastness until she melts into it.

Watching the suns come up will have to do, Meryl decides. She finds a ladder to the top of the shabby fortifications around the town and then onto one of the boxes there. The wind almost rips her hat off and she is starting to reconsider her plans, just when she hears someone approach.

Before she can look, the person speaks up: “Good morning, Meryl.” She knows the voice, huskier with sleep as it may be, and immediately relaxes. Vash.

“Good morning,” she says, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. There is a long yawn, right behind her. Meryl affords herself a smile, knowing that he won’t see it, as she pictures his sleepy face the way she’s seen it in the mornings when he seems to be less haunted - all boyish and soft.

“I didn’t wake you up, right?” It’d seem an illogical question, if the other person was anyone but Vash who seems to notice much more than he tries to let on. But her job is to notice.

“No, of course not,” Vash reassures her and she chooses to believe him, even if it doesn’t explain why he’d come and find her.

They are quiet for a minute or two, other than the wind billowing and the creaking of the wooden box as she keeps shifting her weight in an attempt to keep warm.

“I could lend you my jacket, if you’d like?” He speaks into her ear, low and deceivingly soft, and much closer than she thought he was. Meryl startles and hides her face in the collar of her jacket so he won’t see the heat that has nothing to do with the chill spreading across her face, all the way to the tip of her ears.

“Oh, thank you, but I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold, I’m used to feeling chilly anyway,” she says the second she thinks she has her voice under control.

“That won’t be a problem.” Before she can process his matter-of-fact tone, Meryl is pulled back so that her back hits his chest and red flutters around them for a split second. In another moment, she’s securely trapped and zipped up in his coat, only her head peeking out.

“Vash?!” she squeaks, quite belatedly.

“Never said anything about taking my jacket off, did I,” his tone is cheeky and she pokes him with her elbow, earning an exaggerated yelp. But it is so much warmer like this, almost too much, even, and absurdly, Meryl wonders if he can somehow sense how fast her heart is beating.

If he does, Vash seems unperturbed, letting his chin rest on the top of her head and propping his arms over her shoulders, giving an illusion of leaning on her though Meryl knows it’s nothing more than that and she’d be no real support to his height or weight. But even this pretense makes her heart swell with ache-edged joy.

She sinks back into him and his sturdy, welcoming heat just a little and rests her head against his left arm. It’s only when he tenses she realizes it’s his prosthetic - not that she didn’t know, just that it doesn’t really matter to her. She should’ve been more mindful of him, though.

“Is it uncomfortable?” she asks, turning to look at him. Vash is staring down at her with one of those expressions she can’t decipher all the while reading too far into them. (Like she’s something surprising and wonderful, like there is a gentle light pouring out of him, just for her.)

“No! No.” It seems honest enough, so Meryl returns to how she was before, feels him relax - gradually, like he’s allowing himself an inch of peace minute by minute. Her heartbeat evens out, too, and she realizes she isn’t observing the calm anymore, she’s in it, sinking into it like the kindest quicksand.

She lets it take her, smiling as they greet the suns rising together. Whatever squabbles they might end up having later, no matter how arduous the drive might be later, Meryl knows it’s going to be a beautiful day.

Maybe even more than that, if they get lucky.

III

In the doorway, Meryl takes another look at the form beneath the covers. Vash hasn’t stirred still, not since he had slowly crumbled to his knees and then onto the floor as the plant markings grew in almost blinding intensity before fading as suddenly as they had revealed themselves. She is thankful for that, it had made getting off the sandsteamer simpler, because even in the middle of the chaos someone would pay attention to a glowing man.

“Go, I’ll keep an eye on him and call you if he wakes up,” Roberto tells her from his chair at the bedside, noticing that she’s hesitating. Suppressing a sigh, Meryl nods and closes the doors behind her quietly.

The First floor of the saloon is noisy, filled with people from the sandsteamer and local townspeople drinking, panicking and discussing today’s events. She squeezes past them, pretends the crowd and the noise aren’t like a crushing weight, bursts through the door and lets the cold air hit her. Her inhales are deep and shaky and-

“Hey!” A hand grabs her and pulls her to the side, away from the doorway, a second before the exit bursts open and a drunken patron stumbles out.

“Sorry. I guess I’m a little out of it,” she says to Wolfwood, his hand still on her shoulder. It’s heavy and warm and makes her feel a bit more tethered to the present, like she won’t float up into the night sky because of the emptiness in her chest.

“Can’t really blame ya there. It’s been quite the day.” He releases her and puts out the stub of his cigarette, pulls out a new one and she watches how his hand shakes just so when he tosses the lighter and catches it.

“Nothing like yours and Vash’s.” She doesn’t really know what happened on the deck, who was the half-masked man, but the way Nicholas had screamed is still ringing somewhere deep in her. It might always.

When he says nothing, Meryl tilts her head back, watches the smoke drifting upward the clear night sky. The vastness of it, of today, crashes down on her again and the void in her chest grows heavy, like a bomb, and her whole body starts shivering with the effort of trying to keep it from exploding.

“I used to call him a coward. But it’s me who was a coward all along. I still am. I’m so scared for him and you and Roberto, and all those people on the sandsteamer, they could have died and I am so sorry for what happened to -”

Wolfwood pulls her out of the sentence and into him, pulling his jacket around her and sealing it with his arm wrapped around her. He is warm and firm and real. He’s here and she clings to that, pushes through the nausea sloshing in her stomach at the scent of blood and cigarettes.

One side of his shirt is drenched in blood and she presses her face into his chest on the opposite side. It’s a miracle he is alive, it’s a miracle how fast the welts on his hands are healing. She doesn’t know how much this miracle costs him, but she is thankful for it. Meryl wraps her arms around his waist, trying to find the words to say just that.

Wolfwood is quicker. “Roberto said you’d refused to budge. You had the fuckin’ luxury of choice and you stayed.” Meryl shakes her head in reply - it had been a choice, but it also wasn’t. If she had walked away and people had died, it wouldn’t be much of a living afterward. She knows Roberto understands, he wouldn’t have stayed otherwise.

Nicholas pats her on the back, either to shush her before she speaks or in an attempt to soothe her, while he continues: “I think… Bein’ afraid doesn’t make you a coward. If you don’t do nothing, that’s when you’re one. So, uh, thanks for stickin’ around.”

Then, he barks a quiet, cracked laugh. “God, look at the shit I’m saying, Blondie’s really rubbin’ off on me, huh?”

“You’re not so different, you know,” she tells him, pulling back just enough to look up at him as she thinks of the desperate, foolish way he’d decided to save Hopeland armed with only this want to (and swept them all up in his belief), “thank you for staying, too.” For following Vash when they almost hadn’t, for being here, in this moment, with her, instead of taking off who knows where. Or at least to the orphanage he worked so hard to protect.

With only the ghost of light from the saloon's window and his cigarette’s ember, it’s hard to see his expression, but she feels the way his arm tightens around her and the deep inhale he holds, holds. For a moment, Meryl feels the need to reach up and touch his face, smooth her thumb over the tension in his jaw, to tell him it’s alright to let it go here, where it’s just them.

Before she can act on it, Nicholas' other arm comes up to wrap around her, hand cradling the back of her head and gently pushing it back into his chest, as if he cannot bear to have her looking at him any longer.

It hurts somehow, as if on his behalf, and she hugs him tighter, grips the back of his shirt in her fists, as if that way she can force some comfort back onto him. She knows so damn little, not even how to really help these men that her stubbornness and maybe some kind of fucked up version of fate has brought into her life. And it’s just not damn fair. To any of them.

Her tremors turn into quiet sobs then, even as her thoughts rain lashes down on her - you should be comforting him, he lost someone today, he is so very hurt and he must’ve been so scared for Hopeland, and now you make him coddle you instead - and it only makes her cry harder.

Nicholas doesn’t say anything, just holds her until the vastness of tears inside her are consumed by the void again and she grows still and empty in the safety of his jacket and arms. Meryl doesn’t know how long it has taken, her only time gauge is his cigarette that has burned down to the filter.

“I owe you a shirt,” she croaks out, unsticking her face from where her tears have soaked through it. It’s hardly the worst that has happened to it today and, honestly, she just wants him in a clean one as soon as possible so she can pretend to stop thinking about the bullet wounds that would’ve put any other man in the grave.

“I’ll write up the check tomorrow, don’t you worry about it.” He loosens his hold on her, but she doesn’t rush to extract herself. They’re back to playing at normalcy in their words, but separating still feels scary somehow, as if he could just crumble or disappear if she isn’t touching him. Or maybe she’s afraid that’s what will happen to her. (Always afraid, always stalling.)

She wipes her nose with the back of her sleeve, draws a breath and pulls gently away from Wolfwood. The night feels so much colder than before and she immediately shrinks back into herself a little. All the more reason to get back inside.

“We should get some food before the saloon closes, bring it up to Vash and Roberto,” she tells Nicholas. Whenever Vash wakes, he will need to eat, even if he tries to refuse.

“I’ll join you in a few.” Wolfwood lights another cigarette, but it’s an excuse and maybe he needs the time alone that she had interrupted, but it doesn’t feel right to leave him out here.

She takes his hand gingerly, so as not to upset the welts on his palms. “Come. We will keep the window open, Roberto’s already smoking in there.”

He doesn’t say no, but doesn’t move, either.

“Please, Nicholas.”

His fingers curl around hers and he allows her to drag him back into the building, into the light like she's the world's smallest locomotive that can somehow move a sandsteamer.

If only she could always do that, she thinks; hold him and Vash away from whatever darkness licks at their heels, hold them without restraining them. Keep them safe in ways they’d never give permission themselves to be.

+IV

It's another day and another walk through the open grave of JuLai. Meryl is starting to lose count of both, it's only her notes that keep the flow of time in check.

Being a reporter had given her some privilege to go where others could not, though very little was enforced in the first days. There was hardly anyone to do it, after all.

That is how she knows there is nothing to find in the very epicenter of the explosion - only a field of half molten sand, like a murky eye glaring at the sky. Still, she had scrambled and slid her way through it, looking for a sign of impact, maybe a scrap of cloth. Anything, really. It had been Wolfwood to pull her away from there after hours or maybe days, set her on her feet outside the glassy indent and tell her he isn't there.

Where, then? Where?! she had demanded, hands fisting in the front of his jacket. His silence had been the only answer, his palms heavy on her shoulders.

For a man of faith, Nicholas doesn't believe much. And still, she knows he is out there, too, searching, helping and hoping. They will meet later and hold each other's hands so they don't feel as achingly empty, like they do most nights nowadays.

She does her job, too, of course. Takes photos that will take permanent residency in her nightmares, interviews survivors and the people that come to seek signs of their loved ones, dead or alive. She documents again and again the moment when the torture of not-knowing tears itself apart and becomes insurmountable grief, devouring the person.

Maybe someday it will loosen its jaws and let the healing begin, the sort that having no answer can never give.

As for her, Meryl doesn't know what hope looks like for her anymore. Just that she can't give it up yet.

(They have not found Roberto’s body yet, might never, but she knows his fate. That loss is heavy on her hands, the memory of his blood like a set of steel rings every time she holds her camera, brings out her notebook. It’s the only thing she can do for him now - do her best damn job of sharing the truth of this tragedy. His. Theirs.)

She stops to take a photo of a once glimmering neon sign sticking out of sand next to a pit, like a welcome sign to hell - see, we are still Open, come join us. It is then that she notices a piece of fabric flapping in the wind a little ways up and ahead. For a second she even mistakes it for a figure standing there.

The color is wrong, but not unfamiliar, and the sun catches on some metal detailing, sending a jolt through her that shocks her body back into movement. Meryl scrambles up the dune, over the wreckage, hisses when something sharp cuts into her palm, but doesn't stop until she's holding the coat in her trembling hands.

Because it is the coat, Vash's coat. Torn and stained dark, but she knows the Project SEEDS patch, knows the cut of it, knows it, even if the texture of the fabric seems to have changed in the process Vash underwent in the vat. (Like all of them changed that hour.)

With a strangled noise, Meryl presses her face into it, imagines that time and wind and the horrors haven't erased the soft, sweet scent of him from it.

When she regains her composure, Meryl gives the garment more thorough inspections, looking for any hints about what has happened to its owner. There isn't really anything, other than the fact it exists and has been discarded, as if taken off in a hurry. Or maybe left behind as a sign.

She scratches at the dark color lightly, to see if it would come off. Vash had liked - likes - the red. Maybe Luida can help her restore the original color, fix the tears. The thought makes her smile and she stands there, basks in the warmth of it, for a while.

Then, she folds the coat carefully and presses it to her chest, speaking into the quiet: "I'm going to borrow this, Vash. I hope you don't mind. Just for a while, I promise." Until you come back to us. Until we find you. Let it be a while and no longer, please, please, please.

After a long, memorizing look and a few photos taken so that she can surely find this place again, Meryl descends the hill with a lighter heart than she can remember having. In a minute, she's running in the direction Nicholas should be in, still smiling.

This is her current favorite place in the world, scarred and barren as it is. This is the new epicenter of her hope. Their hope.

#trigun #trigun stampede #vashmeryl #stryfewood #mashwood #my fic #when will I write something not tinged with grief and pain for this fandom? probably not that soon

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takeyourcyanide · 27 days

Text

Mutt

(Soul Eater Fanfiction)

Word count: 3 501

Summary: Stein, after having dissected an injured cardinal, attempts to find out whether or not he’d feel guilt if he were to do the same to his friends.

Note(s): Parts of this have been proofread, parts have not.

A bone-chilling gust of wind whipped along the desert of Death City, rustling Stein’s silver hair, as he walked along the cobblestone paths, observing the marvelously grey, winter skies above him.

The world around him looked disturbingly fake and he scanned it, though he paid that feeling no mind once he came across an injured cardinal on the ground in front of him. It was twitching like a bug on its back, seemingly gasping for air, attempting to flap its wings and fly again. Stein, with his frigid hands encased in the warmth of his favorite pair of gloves, picked the bird up, holding it close to his person. It was evidently too exhausted to work up the energy to peck him, to panic and leap from his arms. It was close to death, it only needed a little nudge to fall over the edge, straight into non-existence.

Stein turned around, marching back in the direction of his and Spirit’s shared apartment. A surge of a welcomed emotion he hadn’t felt in a little while grappled at his chest; it was curiosity. He had never managed to dissect a bird before, as, unfortunately, they possessed wings and the ability to fly, an ability Stein did not.

A victorious grin tugged at the corners of the meister’s mouth for the first time in a long time, as he glanced down at the chirping bird. The noises it produced sounded pained and desperate.

He’d put the poor birdie out of its misery.

……

Stein held the weeping bird in the crook of his arm, outstretching his free arm in order to gently turn the doorknob.

Once he entered the quaint apartment, he saw Spirit to his left, a delicious smell wafting over from their kitchen, as the weapon cooked what Stein could presume was Spaghetti.

“Hey, Stein-“ Spirit turned his head for a brief moment, peering at the male, only to nearly jump out of his own clothing at a certain sight he had not expected whatsoever. “-What the hell?!”

He truly needed to learn to expect the unexpected from his unpredictable partner.

“It’s a bird,” Stein matter-of-factly stated, his expression unchanging as he shimmied out of his coat, playing hot potato with the cardinal.

“Yeah, I can see it’s a bird, but why do you have it?” He questioned, his face contorting into one of disgust, confusion, and surprise. “Don’t tell me that thing’s been dead for a week.”

“No, it’s still alive, but barely. I found it on the ground,” Stein elucidated. “I’ve wanted to dissect a bird for a while, though I really wanted a crane…”

Spirit checked over the pasta one last time before walking over to the pair, giving the blinking bird a once over.

“Poor thing,” Spirit drawled, staring sympathetically down at the struggling animal. “You know, it’s a little mean of you to rip its guts out when it’s so down in the dumps and vulnerable.”

“Am I not putting it out of its misery? It would’ve died a slow, painful death, anyway, no?” Stein pointed out, kicking his shoes off and walking towards his bedroom to lay it down onto one of his steel, medical trays.

“You have a point there,” the scythe admitted, nodding his head back in forth to the side in consideration, making his way back to his former position in order to stir the softening noodles once again.

Stein placed down the creature with a gentle plop, laying a small towel over its body like a blanket. He left his door open upon leaving, hoping to make sure that the bird wouldn’t fall off of his wooden desk.

“That cardinal reminds me of you, Spirit,” Stein plainly said, sending shivers down Spirit’s spine. He was almost certain that Stein wasn’t trying to creep him out, but the way in which he spoke, and the fact that he was planning on cutting the animal open left him feeling queasy.

“Why?” Spirit confusedly inquired, squinting his eyes in suspicion.

Stein moved to stand next to Spirit, observing him with wide, curious eyes as he poured the spaghetti into the strainer.

“Because its feathers are the same color as your hair,” he explained, retrieving the needed sauce and handing it to his crimson-haired partner.

Spirit mumbled a small and distracted “thanks,” dousing the noodles in pasta sauce.

A sudden and wicked smirk appeared on Stein’s face whilst he watched the clumpy red liquid smear over the pale yellow food.

“What are you so giddy about?” The weapon chuckled, grabbing both of them bowls and silverware.

“Oh, nothing… Just thinking about all the blood that’ll pour out of that little bird’s body,” the mad meister spoke in a sing-song, happy-go-lucky voice.

“Fuck you, dude, that’s weird,” Stein giggled malevolently as the two of them sat down at their round dining table.

……

“How can you do that shit right after eating?” Spirit yelled out to Stein, of whom was already slinking back into his bedroom.

“I don’t know, it just doesn’t bother me,” Stein shrugged his elated shoulders, bouncing off towards the dying cardinal.

‘It doesn’t bother me.’

It really never did bother him, did it? Even despite the fact that he knew he was taking advantage of, exploiting the bird’s vulnerability, he felt nothing but excitement.

And even with the care he did have for his friends, the care he thought he’d never be able to feel at all, it seemed as though he viewed them the exact same way.

Stein spun his chair around, getting comfortable in the rolling seat, and gathering the necessary tools. He lifted the hand towel from off of the bird’s body, of which had dropped further in temperature despite having been introduced to the warmth of their apartment’s heater, as well as the towel.

Every once in a while, the cardinal blinked. And every once in a while, the cardinal twitched. But it was clear to anyone who happened to lay eyes on the animal, that it was just a few minutes, if not a few seconds away from its inevitable demise.

Stein took his shining, silver scalpel in his right hand, holding the bird down, as he began. The creature did protest a little at first, whilst he drug his scalpel through its thoracic cavity, all the way down into and through the fat and muscle tissue of its abdominal cavity. But the frightened, writhing, and exhausted cardinal eventually went limp under Stein’s frigid hands.

Beads of blood trickled against the razor-sharp blade, as the scientist continued to hack the animal open, ultimately exposing its uterus. He smiled to himself, nodding his head in a curious delight after noting that the cardinal was, in fact, female. He had never seen the uterus of a female bird before. At least not in person.

Stein, upon finishing revealing the innards of the bird’s torso, returned once more to its chest, satisfyingly cutting its sternum in half. A flood of dark, dark crimson streamed out, the animal’s formerly beating heart shone a mesmerizing red. With precision, he attentively retrieved the layered organ from the subject’s chest, giddily placing it down onto another medical tray he had placed beside the one in which the bird had died.

The male’s cheeks hurt, as he could not remember the last time he had smiled so largely and for such an extended duration. He kicked his feet in a pleasurable excitement, back and forth and back and forth. He chewed inquisitively on his bottom lip, spinning himself in his chair.

Stein then, as opposed to finishing his hollowing of the bird’s thoracic cavity, directed his childishly elated attention back to its abdomen, grabbing onto its large intestine with crucible tongs (of which he used for everything except crucibles), and pulling them steadily outside of its body. It always reminded Stein of a magician pulling a seemingly endless string of ribbon outside of a large, black top hat. He utterly adored it.

As he placed both the large and short intestine onto the tray, proceeding to take the rest of its innards out, even diving into the bird’s skull, grabbing its brain, gouging its eyes and tongue out, and dissecting every organ he saw, he found himself pleading with any being that would listen to him, that that moment could last forever.

……

Stein observed as the blood and small bits of guts that had been previously stuck to his utensils swirled about, interlocking with the mixture of hydrogen peroxide, rubbing alcohol, and Dawn dish soap he had poured into one of his larger beakers. His little concoction worked decently well as an amateur antiseptic.

The blueish, bubbly, formerly clear menagerie of liquids turned a little murky, especially towards the bottom where the ends of the blades and tweezers and tongs happened to be resting, pieces of brown and scarlet floating about.

He repeatedly swirled his tools around, a rag laying beside the beaker for the sake of wiping the set off when ready.

And as Stein rocked himself in his chair, peering down into the glassware, he pondered whether or not he’d feel even a lick of guilt if he were to harm his friends in a similar fashion. He certainly enjoyed their presences more than that of the cardinal’s. But he also felt just as little, well, nothing at all, as he had for the creature, as he did when thinking about dissecting his companions.

Stein rolled his bottom lip in between his teeth, tiny flaps of skin lifting from off of the pink mound, tasting of an unmistakable metallic.

Did he even care for them? Was he capable of care? He was never very good at viewing people as people, after all.

Perhaps he could perform some sort of experiment? But simply pinching or insulting his comrades certainly wouldn’t hold the same weight as ending them, right? What could he do?

He stirred the steel utensils throughout the dirtying liquid once more, watching the way in which small, thin, bloodied bits of God knows what as little as the skin he pulled off of his lip with his teeth swam throughout the beaker, appearing almost similarly to the white pulp you’d find in a cup of lemonade.

Maybe he should simply stick to imagining being the reason for their deaths? Should he consult another? Ask them how they’d feel if he were to purposely conspire against them and hurt them in some way?

Perhaps that would be the best way. Unless he were to rip them all to shreds, though he’d certainly be linked to each one of their deaths.

Stein squinted his tired eyes, mildly crinkling the skin in both of their corners. He’d decided he’d question them, at least at first.

……

Spirit grimaced, flashing Stein an overtly critical look, as his meister dumped the nasty collection of liquids down into the sink, where the yawning redhead had been scrubbing away at their dishes.

“Oh, get over yourself,” Stein teasingly rolled his clouded eyes, stepping back with his dripping beaker in hand. The droplets gently ran down the fragile sides, flattening once they had reached the bottom. “Like I don’t have to stare directly at your used condoms every time I take out the trash.”

Spirit’s eyes widened significantly, his face turning the same shade of red as his long hair, effectively earning a snicker from his sadistic partner.

“We all have our shit, Spirit. Don’t judge,” he wagged his free finger in front of the blushing boy’s face. Spirit huffed, opening and closing his mouth in search of some witty remark to slap Stein over the face with.

His shoulders eventually slumped in defeat.

“Just ‘cause you’re not normal doesn’t mean I have to stop-“ Spirit paused abruptly, seemingly in a bout of humiliation. “-You know what with girls.”

Stein chuckled. “Don’t act so shy now. The amount of times I’ve had to put my headphones on is astounding,” a grin filled with the utmost malevolence found its away onto his face, as Spirit stuttered, trying desperately to redirect his attention back to the chore of which he was nearly finished with.

The weapon scrubbed with gloved hands at the last few plates, washing the suds off once done. He still felt the younger’s burning gaze upon him, however, as he attempted to ignore him. The ginger began to hum to himself, fully aware of the fact that Stein absolutely hated it when he did as such.

“Spirit,” Stein broke the awkward silence.. Well, awkward to Spirit.

“What? Wanna embarrass me some more?” He pouted childishly, stuffing the dishwasher and activating the machine, tearing the sopping yellow coverings off from his sweaty hands.

“No. The STIs you’ll end up with will do that for you,” he continued to mock, giggling to himself like a little schoolgirl.

Spirit whipped his offended head around, glaring daggers into Stein’s apathetic soul.

Stein held his hands up in defense, as though he were waving a white flag in the wind. “But for real, though… What would you do, or feel, or say, or whatever if I were to kill you?”

He raised an eyebrow immediately, placing a guarded hand onto his protruding hip, leaning against the counter.

“What the fuck?” He laughed, narrowing his eyes at the male standing before him, of whom was not laughing anymore.

“It’s a serious question,” he declared, his expression just as solemn as his tone.

“Why? Are you planning on murdering me in my sleep or some shit?”

“Just answer the question, Spirit,” the weapon looked him up and down confusedly, and frankly, in a threatened manner. He straightened his no longer relaxed frame, his arms falling silently to his sides. “I’m curious.”

“Well… I guess I’d say ‘I always knew this would happen’ in, like, a funny way? Y’know, to lighten the mood a little,” Stein nodded, his eyes practically spilling over with an intense and childlike curiosity. “And I don’t know how I’d feel exactly… You can never really know, can you? How you feel, I mean.. But I guess I’d probably feel incredibly betrayed. Maybe even a little scared? I don’t know… I might try and fight back. I’m really not sure, I’ve never thought about this before…”

“Thank you for your response, Spirit,” Stein offered his partner a simple nod, trudging back into the solitude of his bedroom.

Spirit shook his head whilst staring down at the ground beneath his feet, a little nervous and still particularly confused.

Stein was always so random.. unpredictable, even. You never really knew what the aspiring scientist would do next.

Spirit pursed his lips, spinning his hair around his pointer finger, finding himself hoping and almost praying that he’d be able to properly read the creepy bastard one day.

……

The DWMA’s seemingly never ending corridors bustled with the cacophonously booming voices of its student body, piercing Stein’s ears as he walked quietly beside Spirit.

“Did we have a test today?” The scythe sighed, glancing nervously at Stein as the both of them begrudgingly entered the E.A.T. classroom, which had already been filling up with a plethora of children.

“Yeah,” he responded, taking his seat, of which was surrounded by the rest of their little group. “Why? Did you forget?”

Spirit hung his head, mumbling a bashful, “Yeah, I forgot to study.”

“Oh, I didn’t study at all,” Stein shook his head with a chuckle.

“Yeah, but you always get good grades, anyway,” Spirit continued to complain, pouting at Stein’s teasing gaze.

“I forgot, too,” Marie pitifully stated, Sid agreeing.

“Am I the only one who actually studies?” Azusa pridefully questioned, her arms crossed tightly over her puffed out chest, after having grandiosely adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose.

“I do sometimes,” the blonde was just as pouty as Spirit.

“Oh, hey, Marie?” Stein called out, turning his slumped head to the side, an inquisitive expression present on his visage.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“What you do, say, feel, etc., if I were to dissect you?”

Marie appeared entirely dumbfounded as she confusedly let out an uncomfortable laugh.

“Oh, are you seriously gonna ask her that, too?” Spirit allowed his head to fall towards the side, gazing at his meister with an “are you serious” look.

“Uhhhh,” she contemplated how she could possibly respond.

“Come on, you don’t have to answer that,” Spirit interjected, waving his hand dismissively in front of Stein, of whom shot him an almost indiscernible glare.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t mind,” Marie politely nodded, smiling sweetly at both Spirit and Stein. “I’m sure he’s just curious,” she unassumingly gestured with her head in the direction of the grey-haired male.

Stein flung his arm out towards Marie, declaring her point as being ‘obvious,’ as he stared intently and with fervor into Spirit’s suspicious eyes.

“It’s for an experiment,” Stein elaborated vaguely on his motives.

“It’s always for an ‘experiment,’” Azusa found his behavior to be particularly conspicuous as she rolled her darkly colored eyes into the back of their obnoxious sockets. “Just admit you’re a sadist.”

“Why do you think I’m so one-note? There’s more to me than that,” he snarled, shoving his hands into the white pockets of his woolen coat.

“Anyway, to answer your question, Stein, I’d hope you’d never do that, and I hope that I’d be strong enough to keep you from doing that,” Marie explained with a chuckle. “But I suppose that I wouldn’t be exactly… surprised. I would feel kinda sad, though, I think. Hm. I’m not exactly sure what I’d feel.. You can never really know until it happens, no?”

Spirit sprung up in his seat, eyes wide and attentive. “That’s what I said!” He exclaimed.

The bell rung, steadily quaking each classroom, and abruptly ending their conversation, much to the annoyance of Stein. The group departed, making their way to their own seats, internally groaning at the sight of their strict, ‘no nonsense’ professor.

As the class settled, Stein rested his heavy head upon his hand in contemplation, not paying any attention to the instructor’s incessant rambling, nor to the questioning side-eyes he received from Spirit.

So far, both Spirit and Marie responded eerily similarly. They each remarked how it was difficult to truly tell what one would feel unless one happened to be in the moment. And if that was the case, how could Stein know if his seeming inability to experience guilt would also apply to his friends? Perhaps logical thinking? He had never felt anything when harming them before, whether by accident or not.

And each time they seemed to blame him for not being able to care. Or was it simply that he refused to even do so much as to fake an apology? But anytime he asked why they felt a certain way, and why they felt that he needed to apologize, he was met with nothing but yelling and contempt-filled faces. He supposed they didn’t recognized that he truly did not understand. How frustrating.

It seemed they’d never understand. And it seemed he’d never look back on anything he had ever done with something even resembling guilt or remorse.

……

Rustling underneath his comforter in the shadow-plagued darkness of his bedroom, Stein reflected upon being forced to dispose of the bird with disappointment, for he had wanted to observe as the subject decomposed. Unfortunately, a recognizable odor, the trademark of decomposition would’ve consumed his room, and eventually the entire apartment.

He rubbed at the fuzzy ears of his stuffed animal, of which was a little white rat he named Svetlana, tucking it close to his chest. He laid his head gently over the rat’s nuzzling into the softness of its fur.

He breathed a huffy and hushed sigh into the air, disregarding the ever-present and crippling feeling of a person or being behind him, slowly approaching him. He could feel it as it crawled up his spine, upturning the hairs on the back of his neck, as it swirled in the pit of his abdomen.

Stein cuddled the stuffed animal closer, shutting his eyes and falling into the hole that was his mind once more.

He had bared witness countless times to the foreign glimmer of empathy and guilt in their eyes, as they’d apologize to one another from the bottom of their hearts. Stein was beginning to wonder if he had that same bottom. After all, he hadn’t felt anything when Spirit said he’d feel betrayed, and Marie said she’d feel sad.

He was clearly not born of the same flesh as they. Was he even human to begin with?

He was not meant for the world he was living in. He had overstayed the welcome that he was never given in the first place - that much they all made very clear.

In fact, they had made it obvious that they did not even view him as being human. Only an untamed mutt that needed to be whipped into submission.

Stein was an alien who had simply learned to adapt.

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