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animeomegas · 3 years

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Omega!Bakugou headcanons

Anon: Pssssss imma need some more omega Bakugou like now no it make him jealous too because why not

AND

Anon: hi! could you do some omega!bakugou x male alpha!reader? nsfw and sfw pls <3

nesting too pls!! idk why but I love the idea of nesting sjdjsnd, pregnant bakugou fluff would be lovely too <3

AND

Anon: Hi I was wonder if you could do omega Bakugou sfw and nsfw please 🥺

(Hey, everyone!! Bakugou is very popular in my inbox! Okay, let’s write some omega!Bakugou headcanons <3 I have another request for pregnant!Bakugou, so I’ll add that part of the middle request to another post 😊 Also, I only write for a gender neutral reader. I hope you all enjoy~)

Warnings: N-sfw under a cut, suggestive behaviour multiple times not under the cut.

Nesting:

Bakugou is not an omega who is big on nesting. He does nest and he’s very proud of his nest, but he doesn’t feel the urge to nest super often.

He doesn’t keep a permanent, all year-round nest, he’s kind of a clean freak so having to constantly clean all the blankets in his nest would drive his nuts.

He does nest during his heat and late term pregnancy, and also after periods of extreme stress, but not often outside of these times.

But if he knows his alpha likes his nests, he might build them for his alpha when they’re stressed, although he’ll claim he just felt like making it and it shouldn’t go to waste.

It’s not a very convincing lie.

His nest is not in a very popular style, mainly because Bakugou overheats so easily.

It’s a simple double mattress on a very low frame, with a couple of pillows and sheet like blankets that he normally uses as a base rather than a covering.

He has a black and red colour scheme that he thinks is the coolest thing ever, and he definitely has an All Might pillow hidden somewhere at the back that he threatens his alpha to keep a secret, it’s very cute.

He likes his nest to be in an easily defendable position, whether that be inside a large cupboard or wardrobe, or a small room with one door and a small window.

Bakugou also keeps a mini fridge by his nest, as a lot of omegas do, to store water and food, but what he has that a lot of omegas don’t, is a mini freezer too.

He keeps ice packs and ice lollies in there to help when he’s in heat because his temperature tends to get way too high.

Bakugou doesn’t like being vulnerable, so his nest is a sensitive topic for him.

It takes him quite a while to let his alpha into his nest, but he’s quicker to let them chill outside of it, holding his hand and keeping him company. He would probably let them outside his nest after courting for a year and knowing them for at least two years. When he lets them inside depends on a lot of factors, including how well they deal with him from the outside of his nest. It could be anywhere from three months to another year.

Pups:

Bakugou has always wanted some pups, but in a removed and distant kind of way. After all, becoming the No. 1 hero was far more important than any of that ‘family’ nonsense.

He only really considers pups when he’s in a very committed relationship and at a comfortable place in his career. He’s not prepared to take time off at a vulnerable career moment, after all.

Bakugou wants two children, because, while he would never admit it, he always wished he had a sibling when he was a kid, so he wants to give that to his children.

But he’s very conflicted about it.

Firstly, two pregnancy leaves would be a huge blow to his career. Prime hero years and prime ‘having children years’ are the same years, so in a way, he has to decide how to balance these two priorities. He isn’t sure he wants to risk his career with that much leave so close together (heroes can’t be in the field while pregnant at all, so it would be a huge sacrifice.)

Secondly, he’s nervous about how useless he would likely feel while pregnant. He’s a workaholic and being confined to his house and losing control over his quirk would drive him nuts.

So, he doesn’t really know what to do. He doesn’t share any of his concerns with his alpha, but he does take their wishes into account too. If his alpha really wants two children, Bakugou does keep that in mind. But he’s not a push over. If he decides that two maternity leaves are too many, then it’s too many. It’s his body and he won’t let anyone tell him otherwise.

So, with all this in mind, Bakugou is fucking thrilled when he finds out he’s having twins.

Two pups for the price of one pregnancy leave?? Sign him the hell up!

Bakugou has twin boys, both alphas, and Bakugou just cannot believe his luck that all his problems just fixed themselves.

“But I don’t want to go!” came a defiant voice from the back seat of the car. Both you and Bakugou sighed, not keen on restarting the disagreement that had plagued the household for the entire morning. It had taken twice as long as normal this morning to get the twins dressed and in the car because of this very argument.

You could see Bakugou about to open his mouth to tell him that they had to, but you held up a hand to stop him.

“Why don’t you want to go, sweetheart?” you cooed at your oldest son.

“I don’t want you and daddy to leave…” whimpered your youngest son, answering in his brother’s stead.

Bakugou winced and reached a hand into the back and squeezed each of his son’s hands in turn.

“I know.” He said simply. You could feel his guilt, even though you both knew it was the best for all of you that the twins get used to nursery so that both you and Bakugou could go back to focusing on your careers. They would be fine, you tried to convince yourself. Millions of kids do this every year and it works out fine.

The nursery came into view, and you refocused your attention onto finding a parking space in the little car park on the side of the building. You could hear your sons shifting anxiously in the back and it pulled at your heart strings. You pulled into an empty space and turned off the engine. You and Bakugou shared a single look before moving to get your children out of the car with practiced ease.

“No,” your eldest son shouted. “I’m not going to go. I’m staying here!”

You had tried to take him out of the car seat, but he had refused to cooperate. You didn’t want to pull him out in case you hurt him. Bakugou came to stand behind you, your youngest son clutching his neck desperately.

“Let me talk to him,” he spoke softly, handing the younger twin over into your arms.

“Hey,” Bakugou said softly, leaning down to peer inside the car where his eldest son stubbornly sat with his arms crossed. “It’s okay to be scared to go to nursery, you know.”

Your oldest son visibly flinched and avoided looking at Bakugou in the eyes.

“I’m not scared, daddy. I just don’t want to.”

“Uh huh,” Bakugou said, eyebrow raised.

“I’m not!” Your son exploded. When he realised that he’d just shouted at his father, the colour drained from his face and his bottom lip started to quiver. Bakugou wordlessly held out his arms and his eldest son accepted the embrace just in time to burst into heavy tears on Bakugou’s shoulder.

“It’s alright,” Bakugou hushed. “I’m not angry at you.”

In your arms, your youngest son was watching his brother cry and letting out little whimpers into your neck. You rubbed his back soothingly and whispered that everything was going to okay.

Out of the corner of your eye, you realised another parent was staring judgementally at your family. Bakugou clearly also noticed because he bared his teeth as a warning and the parent quickly moved on. You scoffed at the idiot who thought it was a good idea to antagonise an omega who was looking after a distraught pup, let alone when said omega was a top ten hero.

“W-What if they don’t l-like me?” your eldest whimpered out.

“Here,” Bakugou wiped some of the tears away with his thumb. “How about this, you tell me if anyone is mean to you and I’ll sort it out, how does that sound?”

“But…” your son hesitated. “But what will you do?”

Bakugou grinned.

“I’ll make their parents regret doing such a shitty job at parenting.”

You gasped, halfway between scandalised and amused.

“Katsuki!” you reprimanded and smacked his lightly on the shoulder.

It did seem to cheer up your sons, though, who were now giggling at your antics.

“Daddy said a bad word,” your youngest twin giggled to you.

“He did,” you pressed your lips together. “And it was very naughty of him.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes and instead placed the pup in his arms on the floor, taking him by the hand. You did the same and slowly, you both made your way toward the school gate. The mood dropped, but neither of your children tried to resist.

You could see a teacher standing at the gate to escort the new students and you made your way over.

“Remember,” Bakugou said before you reached the gate, stopping you all for a moment. “We’ll be back in this many hours,” he held up three fingers. “Can you guys tell me how many this is?”

“One… two… three…” they both said together.

“That’s right! See? You guys are going to be the smartest ones in there,” Bakugou boasted, ruffling their hair.

“Careful,” you teased. “They’ll turn into you.”

“Are you saying I’m always the smartest person in the room?” Bakugou grinned back.

“No, I’m saying you always think you’re the smartest person in the room.”

“Oi!” he growled, knocking his shoulder with yours. The pups giggled again, seeming to be in higher spirits. You escorted them to the gate at the front of the playground and let the teacher introduce herself.

And with one final goodbye, your pups were off into the nursery and out of sight.

You and Bakugou walked to the car in silence, digesting what had happened and processing that your little ones were now old enough for nursery. You both slipped back into the car and began the drive home.

It was weird to think that your children were neither with you, nor at home waiting for you, but that kind of existential deep dive could wait until later.

Bakugou’s hand settled just a little bit too high on your thigh. For the moment, it was time to appreciate the novelty of an empty house.

Jealously:

I don’t think anyone would be very surprised to find out that Bakugou can get quite jealous on occasion.

In the early days of your relationship, he’s very nervous that his alpha is going to find a ‘better’ omega, an omega who is more traditional, and leave him for them. It takes a lot of bravery for him to leave himself vulnerable to being abandoned, and occasionally the insecurities seep through.

He hates the whiny, simpering omegas that plaster themselves onto the nearest alpha, and it makes him furious to see anyone doing that to you.

He has no subtlety, no brooding angst, he just threatens the other omega(s) away to their face, and then drags you somewhere private to cover you in his scent.

Later in the relationship, things change. He’s extremely confident that his alpha is his. Why would they ever leave him? He’s the best fucking omega ever!

Instead, he gets jealous if he isn’t getting enough attention because you’re spending too much time with someone else.

He doesn’t do this in a possessive way, it’s just that he doesn’t get a whole lot of free time and when his alpha spends that free time with someone else? Another omega? He’s pissed.

He gets surly and passive aggressive about it, and it’s extremely obvious.

The best way to fix it is to just give him lots of attention, he won’t behave like this is you have to leave for something important (he understands duty like the best of them), so it’s very easy to address.

Bakugou idly stirred a pot of miso soup as the radio in the kitchen blasted out whatever awful top 40 song it had picked this morning. He had only put it on to fill the silence really, which was the only thing this awful excuse for music was good for in his opinion.

He was making breakfast for the two of you as a kind of mini celebration. He had two days off in a row, the first time in a couple of months because of his crazy work schedule and he wanted to make sure he spent every moment that he could with his alpha. And so, here he was, getting up early to prepare breakfast for your both.

There was a lull in noise as the radio switched between songs, and in the few moments of silence, Bakugou could hear shuffling coming from the bathroom. He grinned. Perfect timing.

He put down the last plate and waited for you to come out, you should be here any second now.

Fiddling with your shirt one last time you swung open your bedroom door, bag on your shoulder, finally ready to leave. You were interrupted momentarily by a delicious scent in the air. Bakugou must be cooking, so you followed the smell to the kitchen and walked in to say goodbye to him, vaguely sad that you were going to be missing his food, but he was probably only making himself something to bring to work, anyway.

And then you saw the elaborate breakfast spread your heart stopped. Had you forgotten an anniversary? Bakugou looked just as shocked to see you dressed up and ready to leave. However, his shock soon melts into frustration.

“Why are you all dressed up?” he growled, the excitement that had been on his face when you walked in now gone. “You said you weren’t working today.”

“I’m not,” you said quietly, confused as to why he was so upset. “Izuku messaged me while I was getting dressed and invited me for brunch, I was just going to meet him.”

Bakugou’s face screwed up at your words. He went to open his mouth but then stopped. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was doing the breathing exercises that his therapist taught him for when he was angry. What had you done to make him this upset?

The relaxing exercises clearly weren’t working for him because he stood up from the table and stalked out of the room suddenly, shutting himself in your bedroom. You winced as the door slammed shut behind him.

Oh dear… you had made your mate so upset that he had shut himself away in your bedroom. Your stomach twisted itself into a knot. It was time for some damage control (and a quick check of the calendar to makes sure you hadn’t actually forgotten an anniversary or something.)

You shot a quick text to Midoriya, apologising for cancelling and letting him know that something had come up. He sent back a ‘don’t worry!’ message and about six smiling emojis. Well, at least he wasn’t also mad at you.

Fishing out a tray from the cupboard above the sink, you stacked it up with as much food from the table as you could, thankful that it appeared to still be warm, and carried it to your bedroom door.

“Katsuki?” you called out, knocking on the door with your foot. “I’m coming in, is that okay?”

There was silence. Well, silence was better than swearing, so you carefully slid open the door and moved towards the brooding lump on the bed.

“The fuck do you want?” he growled. “I thought you were going out to eat with Deku?”

You froze at his vicious tone. Was he jealous? Well, that was a lot easier to solve than forgetting an anniversary, at least. With a smile, you slid the tray onto the bedside table and climbed on the bed behind you mate, letting out a reassuring scent. You wrapped your arms around him, ignoring how he tensed in your embrace, and whispered into his ear.

“Why would I spend time with Midoriya when I could be spending time with you, hmm?” you whispered, purposefully blowing hot air onto his neck. You revelled in his full body shiver. “The only reason I accepted plans with Midoriya was because I thought you were going to work.” You pressed as close to him as you could and placed a single kiss right behind his ear. Bakugou melted at the affection.

“Come on now,” you continued, a coy smile on your face. “Let’s not let this delicious breakfast go to waste.”

You reached over and scooped a little bit of rice onto your fingers before holding it up to his lips. Bakugou opened his mouth with only a small grumble in complaint, and you made sure to push your fingers a little deeper inside than perhaps absolutely necessary.

“I promise I’ll make this morning’s misunderstanding up to you.”

Miscellaneous:

Bakugou’s scent is fairly sweet but still quite smoky.

When he’s upset/stressed, his scent is like burnt sugar, and when he’s very happy/excited, he smells like almost like a marshmallow roasting on a bonfire.

It’s a very pleasant scent but it does tend to divide people. Some love it, and others hate it. Bakugou doesn’t care what anyone else thinks about his scent (except his alpha, but shh, that’s a secret!)

In his family, his father is an omega and his mother is an alpha and while they are happy together, Bakugou always promised himself that he would never end up in a relationship like that. He didn’t want some alpha bossing him around like his mother bossed around his father.

Bakugou finds meek alphas (and people) annoying, but he doesn’t like super aggressive alphas either. He’s attracted to people who exist in the middle of those extremes.

Bakugou knew he was an omega from birth, and it was something he was very insecure about for a long time. It was a big part of why he turned out the way he did as a child, he was making up for something that he viewed as a weakness by being as aggressive as possible.

His mother wasn’t great at making him feel secure in his secondary gender, assuming he would like certain things and pushing him in certain directions simply because he was an omega.

His father said that he was there if Bakugou had any questions, but he let Bakugou reach out to him instead of reaching out to Bakugou, and Bakugou was too proud to make the first move.

Bakugou ends up deciding that being an omega wasn’t going to stop him becoming the No. 1 hero. He decided that he could overcome being an omega.

It wasn’t until he was an adult that he actually started to accept being an omega was a part of him that he didn’t need to overcome, but that he could instead embrace and that it didn’t make him weak to do so.

When he does become a mainstream hero, he makes sure to always tell the omega children that he meets that they can do whatever they want and still be an omega.

N-sfw under the cut

Bakugou is a switch, mostly.

Oftentimes he switches multiple times in the same session, so his alpha needs to be quite the brat tamer to keep him from getting frustrated and trying to get on top so that he can control the pace.

He has a very high sex drive, and he likes to have a partner who can match him because he way prefers sex to masturbating.

It would be hard to find someone whose chest and nipples are as sensitive as Bakugou’s, and when he’s in heat, he can definitely orgasm just from his chest being stimulated.

Bakugou is also definitely a squirter, something which he was very shocked and embarrassed to find out.

Bakugou generally prefers slightly rougher sex. He gets bored when the pace is too slow and definitely scratches and bites (and is happy to receive the same in return).

When he’s in heat, Bakugou is a bit different.

He’s not a pillow prince by any means, but he is definitely a lot more passive than he is normally.

He’s not super loud, but he definitely swears a lot, even between waves of heat when he gets grumpy that he’s too hot and sticky. That swearing is a lot less sexy though.

Bakugou’s sexual side doesn’t really come out outside of his own home. He doesn’t like flaunting anything in public and can even get uncomfortable talking about sex with his friends, especially when they tease him with personal questions. He’s definitely a private person when it comes to sex.

Although that is not to say he isn’t confident in the expression of his own sexuality, much to opposite is true. He is definitely the kind of person to order some new toy or outfit on the internet every month to surprise his alpha.

He’s sexy and he knows it, so why not?

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yanderechuu · 3 years

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Shower Thoughts

yandere!Class 1A x fem!reader

[3.2K]

Summary: Momo wasn’t as trustable as you had presumed.

Warning: Larceny, nonconsensual touching, masturbation

│

You used to spend roughly ten minutes in the shower, only ever needing to soak your body in the water, apply shampoo and body wash before rinsing all the foam of products from your skin and scalp. Shower thoughts simply consisted of the day’s agenda or any special occurrence that had happened the past week, never really drifting off to existential questions and dark notions that would keep you from leaving the bathroom later than usual. You neither necessarily liked taking a shower nor did you dread it, as to you it was only ever a mandatory routine of the day which you handled with a neutral mind.

But now, ten minutes were already a slow thirty, and majority of the time you bothered not to move your arms to make work of your hair, or lather your skin with soap as you normally would do had it not been for the questions plaguing your mind like how your classmates would terrorize your time and space.

Right, your classmates - who would spend every hour of the day with you as if they didn’t have anything better to do. As if you were an important subject of matter next to hero training. You never appreciated it, because from the start, you did not want to have anything do to with them. They smothered and coddled you as if air wasn’t that important to you, disregarding the way you felt about personal space, how it was very significant to you. Rare were the moments of peace as a few of them were always by your side, ‘ensuring your safety’ as they would like to quote it. Why ensure your safety? You had not been a prominent figure in the sports festival, neither did you have a quirk that could be of great utility for the villains unlike Bakugou or Tokoyami. You weren’t a problem child, either. Their justification of following you around like you were some sort of high-maintenance prisoner made no sturdy sense to you.

“There’s this new package of green tea my mother had sent me this week! Would you like to try it, (y/n)?”

“Sure.”

But if you had to choose among your classmates one whom you would tolerate for the following years you’d be in U.A., that would be Yaoyorozu Momo. She was kind and considerate, often determining your feelings before you could voice it out (not that you really had the courage to, most of the time). She was organized and pristine and never had you met someone more befitting for the definition of ‘mom friend’ than her. She was perfect in nearly every way, and even though you’d have the occasional pang of jealousy at some times her perfectionism was displayed (gender envy, isn’t it, (y/n)?), she never seemed to bear mal intent, so you would let the emotions slide. You’d see the galaxy in her eyes if you would stare long enough. Her tea was best substitute for coffee, too.

You never considered her more than a very great friend, though, and to her, that was a problem.

As you sauntered your way over to your dorm with her, you shuffled your bag to take your room key buried in the side pockets. “I’ll go down in a while, but you better make sure you’re in the common room before me.”

You wouldn’t allow your classmates to take advantage of your lone self simply because Momo wasn’t there to fend them off.

“Mhm! Lemon green tea as usual, correct?”

“Yeah. Thanks again, YaoMomo.”

Your use of sotto voce tone on her nickname gave a pleasant shiver down her spine; her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head had she not restrained herself. Having been always kept to yourself, you never felt the need to adjust your volume for others to hear properly, so oftentimes your voice came out in a whisper - not that she minded, of course. You sounded more sensual that way.

“Are you going to take a while or will I have to brew tea right away?”

“Training was more strenuous than usual, and my muscles can’t seem to relax,” you explained, “so I’m going to take a quick shower.”

From your peripheral vision as you were focused on your bag to fish out the key, you saw Momo’s jaw slack upon hearing your plan to take a bath. It was odd, but you didn’t give particular attention to it when you finally took out your desired item. You failed to notice the way she abruptly settled her gaze on the key, inspecting it as if she was deliberating its shape, form, and material, and installing it to memory.

“Oh- oh!” She exclaimed. “I do remember having some body wash that help soothe muscle strains and body aches. I can hand them to you if you want.”

You shook your head, smiling lightly. “You’re too kind, YaoMomo. But I think just hot water will do for me.”

She watched as you opened the door to your room, giving her one more smile before disappearing inside and locking the door with a distinct click. As soon as you did so, she pulled the sleeve of her wrist up, developing with her body lipids a key the exact copy of the one you had held.

You certainly lied when you had said you were going to take a ‘quick’ shower. Already ten minutes into it did you only decide to sleek yourself with liquid body soap, initially absentmindedly rubbing it on your body, before you gradually got rougher with your movements and soon you found yourself scuffing your own flesh with vehement motion.

They were excessively touchy again, your classmates. Denki got too close to your face while delivering a pick-up line that made you wish you didn’t exist in order to hear it, and upon nearing you did Bakugou pull you away from him, cursing at him to buzz off. He took his time feeling up your waist - the part he used to grab you - while at it. During lunch, as you were once again coerced into joining his group to the cafeteria, Izuku refused to let go of your hand as you walked, and Uraraka as adamant with hugging you by the hips with one arm. It was what girlfriends did, she said, and you were not entirely sure whether or not she referred to that word romantically.

And if not, then did girlfriends also normally touch the parts of which you did not want to be touched on? You felt, clear as day, a bare hand resting on your thigh when you sat on your usual spot, dangerously close to lifting your skirt for everyone to see, and when you gave Hagakure’s faceless face a questioning look, she asked you what was wrong. Her uniform sleeve was literally floating on top of your lap, and still she had the gall to pretend as if she was not touching you with lacking consent.

You were not safe from Shoto, either, when he offered to readjust your uniform tie and you were in no place to decline (you had the right to, but they just stripped you off of it), his breath hitching in ecstasy as his fingers brushed your chest; he was, audaciously enough, not hiding his bliss. Then he rubbed your shoulders to ‘warm you up,’ when all he really intended to do was motivate his own fantasy that you were his and he was simply scenting you like some fucking alpha to his omega.

You turned no blind eye to their gesticulations. You never once found it endearing, and wished they would stop with whatever the hell this was called, because you were quite sure this was past the border of molestation and could already be rendered a form of bullying.

But not once did you consider the possibility of having a class obsessed with your quaint self.

So you supposed that until you’d find a way to deduce their idiosyncratic actions and tendencies then you would have to make do with your own bathroom as your safe space. Momo was the only classmate you could confide to, so at least she was there.

Unfortunately, you had yet to see the other side of her coin.

Because as she was just right outside your bathroom door, obsessively taking in every bit of item you owned inside your dorm room like a madman, you were left with the impression that she was all you could ever ask for in a friend. You didn’t know how she was not any better than the rest of your classmates, adoring your very existence to the extent of insanity; how she’d crave for you so often and so terribly that she’d feel herself clench when you do so much as merely spare her a glance. And you had done that a lot today - she would have to relieve herself for it.

She spotted the heap of clothes right by your bed; it became apparent that you had stripped yourself off of it before entering the bathroom and taking a shower. Walking towards it, a portion of your seamless underwear came to view, and she resisted the urge to render into a mound of horniness in order to pick it up and inspect it closely.

It was a lighter color of (s/c). A plain, simple, modest undergarment item, still it evoked a particular feeling on the bottom center of Momo’s hips. The heat came rushing along her midriff and instigated the muscle of her legs to falter, and as soon as she felt it, a hand of hers drifted past her skirt, feeling up the slick accumulated on the fabric of her own panties only with the knowledge that your panties were currently in her possession. She needed release, but you were nearly finished with your bath, and she was still inside your room.

You walked out of the shower the moment she shut the door of your bedroom. You saw it closed, but you didn’t catch the culprit.

This unnerved you to no end. Undoubtedly, you thought, this had to be one of your classmates. Who else was it supposed to be? Aizawa-sensei (...)? You had yet to know their ultimatum, but you were sure this occurrence was another one of their schemes. You had assumed that all their weird, unappreciated antics were just to get you to socialize with them, but now you didn’t understand why it had gotten to the point of entering your room without permission.

You couldn’t keep this to yourself.

So you planned to bring it up to Momo, a representative of your class and someone whom you deemed trustable enough to share it with. Quickly, you dressed into your casual indoor attire, and rushed outside your room to head to the kitchen, where you presumed she’d be in the process of making your tea. But she wasn’t there.

Instead, she was in her own room, your panties muzzled right into her face and her own fingers buried deeply inside her cunt.

“Oh- oh, god- Ah! (Y/n)!”

Oh god, your panties. Oh god, your panties. The object most intimate to your parts of intimacy, soaking every bit of womanly secretion from your genitalia. Of all the masturbation sessions she had done to the thought of you, this was the hottest. She wasn’t quite sure whether to imagine your cunt on her lips in a position of mutual cunnilingus or your fingers thrusting into her in place of hers. She wanted both.

A whine slipped past her lips. To think that moments ago, she was in the same space as you were nude. Oh, to join you in the bathroom, doing inenarrable things to each other with the use of the showerhead. To touch your skin selfishly rather than only watch as she would do during class hours.

She came with a squeal, falling face-down to bite the duvet of her large bed. Gone in her hazy mind was her promise to you of lemon green tea, and as she still basked in the pathological euphoria of getting off, you were in the common room, anxiously waiting for her return.

But just as you had expected, someone was bound to spot you alone and take this as an opportunity to be with you, and they just so happened to be-

Oh. Aoyama.

He offered you a slice of cheese with his usual grin before settling down a few feet beside you, enough to leave you be in your personal bubble. You gave him occasional glances, unwrapping the cheese from its casing and he just sat there, eating his. He was alright, you guessed - another tolerable classmate of yours next to Momo. Perhaps it was because you used to always be alone in the classroom with him during break time that you were at ease with his presence. Or maybe he just seemed so gay and that, for some reason, comforted you. One gay presence could comfort another lol.

“It’s delicious.” Your comment came out inadvertently.

“Oui. Only the best quality for the best person.” He flaunted.

You weren’t exactly sure whether he was referring to you or to himself, but you paid little attention to that as the cheese was certainly delicious; you were not lying.

“It’s odd how your chose to take a bath at this time of the day.” He spoke.

You stopped chewing.

He meant to refer to your damp hair, but having just suspected your class of breaking and entering your room, you thought otherwise.

“I-” You choked on the cheese, ending up needing to gulp it like liquid content instead of breaking it down to fit your throat.

Immediately, he sprang up in concern, stepping over to you to gently thump you on the back. “Are you alright?”

“No- I mean- I just-!” You wheezed, occasionally having to clear your throat. You swatted his hand away from you; you hadn’t meant to appear rude, but you did. You stood up in a rush. “L-look, I have to go.”

“Don’t you want to drink water?”

“I’m- fine,”

With your words, you took off from the common room area and headed back to your room. There were two sets of emotions that mixed to form the bile in your throat. One was wrath and humiliation upon the discovery of Aoyama’s actions. The other was betrayal and confusion from Momo’s absence when she had said she’d be brewing tea for you, and it wasn’t the tea that disheartened you. She knew of your issue with the class, and if she were busy, couldn’t she have texted you a heads-up?

She shouldn’t be surprised when at the next time she saw you, you interacted with her less. Your intention to distance yourself from her was most prominent, and it didn’t help that your classmates took notice of this, because now they were taking advantage of the situation, tagging you along with them in spite of your futile attempts to decline now that Momo was nowhere to tell them off. When she’d talk to you, you would answer, though your voice was back to speaking to her like she was a stranger.

Resentment was stronger than ruing the lack of intimacy between you two. It was as if she had received your panties in exchange for the time she’d be spending with you, oddly enough. After much deliberation, she came to realize that this was your little ‘tantrum’ after not being able to meet with her the other day.

It was pretty cute, she thought, that you’d try and make her acknowledge the fault on her part by ignoring her.

You didn’t walk with her back to dorms as per usual that dismissal. Instead, just like what you had used to do before finding consolation in her, you walked alone, accomplishing being able to avoid your classmates as you did. By the time she reached the dorms, you were in the kitchen, fetching a glass of water to satiate your throat. She took a hold of your wrist before you went back to your room.

“(Y/n),” she pleaded, “tell me what’s wrong.”

You looked at her with a reluctant expression. Perhaps you should. After the short while that you had been hanging out with her, her presence turned into something you came to miss. You wanted her back, but not in the way she wanted you.

“I-it’s just,” you stammered out, “y-you know how I feel being alone in the common room without you. I... I’m not comfortable with our classmates when you’re not around.” She took pride in this. “I don’t take it lightly how you left me alone the other day...”

Your voice faltered out the longer you spoke.

So she was correct; you were certainly having your little ‘tantrum.’ With a guilty smile, she left your wrist to hold your hand tenderly, and suddenly it dawned upon you the feeling of whenever Bakugou held your waist, Shoto nuzzled his face on your neck or Izuku invaded your personal space.

Fear and apprehension.

Before you could preach your objection to whatever she had planned ahead for you, she dragged you along with her and you both reached her dorm room before you could comprehend where she was taking you.

“I’ll make it up to you.” She said, making you sit on her large bed.

Then she proceeded to make you tea, boiling water with an electric kettle situated on top of her study desk; there also laid a tea set next to her three books, which you assumed were those of which would aid her in the utility of her quirk, like encyclopedias. Beside those was a piece of cloth, unfolded, unkept - a (s/c)-colored silk fabric.

Your face drained of color.

She pushed the books towards the cloth, completely obscuring it from your view and leaving the table disorganized. You knew Momo, neat and orderly as much as possible; she wouldn’t do that without reason.

Now that you thought about it, the same day someone had barged in your room, your underwear had been missing from your set of laundry garments. You spent the next whole day actively avoiding Aoyama, thinking he was the culprit to this felony. At the present moment you were reconsidering your allegation.

“U-um, Momo, I need to go-”

“Here!”

She yelled it so giddily, so uncharacteristically, as she pushed the cup of tea towards your way. How she did so was very quick that you had not the time to take it properly, and steaming liquid fell to your décolletage, past the cotton of your uniform and streaming down the valley of your breasts. It was a moist mess. She loved every bit of it.

“Oh! Oh, my bad. I’ll- I’ll clean you up!” She exclaimed, all flushed and excited.

You didn’t find it in you to push her back when she began to do exactly what she had said, taking your blazer off, loosening your school tie and unbuttoning the dress shirt underneath, only ever being able to stare at her with eyes that evinced betrayal, because it slowly occurred to you that she was satiating her own selfish obsession with you all under the ruse of maintaining a decent friendship.

“(Y/n),” She breathed out, “I adore you.”

She was no different than the rest of your classmates, and you were a fool to think otherwise.

#bnha x reader #bnha #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia #yandere x reader #yandere class 1a #class 1a x reader #reader insert #x reader #yandere bnha #momo yaoyorozu x reader #momo x reader #momo x y/n #yandere #yandere momo yaoyorozu #yandere momo #yanderechuu

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miraculouscontent · 3 years

Note

After reading that, I think it's safe to say that Miraculous Ladybug is more of a horror/psychological thriller than romance/comedy. And now I want an AU where Marinette takes the earrings off and realizes that they're messing with head

Marinette felt strange, and after getting used to the feeling of being on the Startrain, she knew it wasn't the cause. She felt lighter - less restricted - somehow, and while a part of her had expected that due to handing off the ladybug miraculous, it wasn't in the way she'd expected.

Once she was done sending Alya all the Ladybug tips, Marinette had figured they'd start talking about Adrien or what their next scheme would be once she got back, but she ended up finding the idea tiring. It was odd in the way that finding something in her room just slightly out of place would be (at least before the kwami began living there).

Everything she'd thought she might feel - anxiety over what could go wrong while she was gone, concern over how the kwami were doing in her absence, and longing for who she'd pictured as the love of her life - wasn't there. It felt completely unlike her, just as it felt unlike Alya to not reply to her messages considering how much she liked to be on her phone.

Abandoning the idea of texting Alya for now, she closed their conversation and idly started browsing her phone. Even still, the weird feeling didn't cease and her hero senses were going off.

Something was wrong, or... maybe right? It wasn't as if she was feeling anything bad, but she felt entirely different than when she was in Paris. It was hard to get a gauge on exactly how she should take it.

Marinette glanced at her parents, catching herself frowning before they could glance back. She looked at her phone, acting like nothing was wrong and idly scrolling through her various apps so as to look busy. In the process, she stumbled upon her gallery, finding her mass of Adrien images inside. It took up a majority of her pictures, and she found herself blushing in embarrassment rather than fondness.

Did she really have this many normally? How much time had she taken getting them?

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, thrown off by just how different she felt. The reaction to seeing Adrien that she'd normally have where she'd lose all focus had virtually disappeared, and the only reason she'd missed it at all was because it gave her an absurd amount of mental clarity concerning how she'd be acting otherwise.

Clarity...

The word brought a particular face to her mind: pink lips, blue eyes, and black hair highlighted blue at the tips. Marinette ran her fingers through her own hair, ruffling it as she tried to piece out how she was feeling. All she knew was that - whatever it was - it was significant and she didn't have Tikki to vent to.

Though perhaps she wouldn’t had much to provide anyway.

A mix of trepidation and curiosity filling her. Switching away from her gallery, she went back to her conversations and pulled up her texts with Luka. Despite her confusion over whatever was happening to her at the moment, she managed a smile at Luka's contact image staring fondly at her.

After a moment of consideration, she typed out:

Hey. Sorry if you're busy. Thought we could talk?

That done, she navigated back to her gallery to look at all her Adrien pictures. She shifted in her seat again, as if it would change things or help her mind adjust to the unfamiliar sensation. It wasn't like looking at Adrien didn't make her feel anything at all, but that feeling could only be described as "normal," like the way she saw him before he'd given her that umbrella.

Before she officially became a ladybug holder who agreed to protect the people of Paris...

Her lips twitched in hesitant thought, her thumb brushing against her screen as she skimmed through the assortment of Adrien pictures. Her brain registered a feeling - or rather, lack thereof - and the foreign emotions encouraged her to act.

She tapped the garbage can icon experimentally, a notification popping up accordingly and asking her if she'd like to delete the picture. She brought the phone closer to her chest, like she felt she was doing something wrong, yet there was only a second of pause before she confirmed the decision.

She watched as Adrien disappeared, a message indicating that the picture had been trashed.

Marinette blinked at the message until it had timed out, bringing her back to the gallery. She was frozen in place, her fingers twitching against the side of the phone as she processed what she'd just done.

Then, she did it again. She tapped on another picture of Adrien, a weird mix of eagerness and interest urging her thumb along as she pressed the garbage can icon again, confirming the decision just as quickly.

Just before the image disappeared, a stray thought said aloud in her mind: black hair and blue eyes would've worked better for an outfit like that.

This time, her body finally moved, a shudder going up her spine as she took in a breath. Her eyes darted over to her parents, knowing how strange this must look to them, but they weren't watching her anyway, meaning the moment was kept firmly in her own personal bubble. It was so odd; normally, someone would've seen her acting off, or laughed and made muttering comments about it.

But nothing was happening, and she didn't know whether to question it or not.

Marinette glanced back at her phone, almost challenging herself as she started to run through the assorted Adrien pictures. She could've thrown them in the metaphorical bin all at once, but instead, she went one-by-one. She waited for something to break, either a sense of regret to settle in over the deletion or for her heart to start fawning over the face on screen, but neither happened.

She was in control, and it felt good. Really, really good.

Part of her felt like she was being ridiculous. The idea of getting some kind of emotional high out of deleting a few pictures sounded stupid, and yet she felt powerful. It was like a veil had been lifted and suddenly she had choices.

If her parents saw her visibly vibrating in her seat, she didn't hear them make mention of it.

The only thing that made her snap out of her rapid thumb movements was a text notification at the top of her screen, and only due to the flash of black, blue, and white. Her lips curved into a smile, originally being pressed together in focus, and she clicked to open her text messages with Luka.

Hey, Marinette. I'm not busy at all. What's up?

She felt warm, knowing that the guy who always made her feel comfortable and happy was on the other line. it was such a shame that they hadn't been able to work it out because of Adrien.

Marinette paused just as she went to reply, those thoughts catching up to her as she remembered that day with Luka underneath the bridge. She'd been so sure that she'd had to break up with him because of Adrien, but as she purposefully tried to recall the memory, something registered like a mental fog clearing in her mind.

Hadn't it actually been her responsibilities as Ladybug that had done it? In fact, that added up alongside all of the other memories of his akumatization; she hadn't been ditching him during their dates out of discomfort or her crush on Adrien, but because of akuma and sentimonsters.

How could she have forgotten? Or rather, how could she have remembered otherwise?

Marinette just barely managed to snap herself out of her trance, her phone having dimmed from inactivity and the sight of her furrowed brows and worried frown staring back at her from the blackened screen. She blinked rapidly, then shook her head to clear herself of the unnerving thoughts.

Lighting her phone back up, she hurriedly typed back as she realized she'd left Luka on read, trying to ignore the way her thumbs shook.

Nothing much.

She hesitated, already seeing him typing back. Guilt burrowed around in her stomach, knowing very well that it was not "nothing" but being unable to properly convey what was going on to him when she didn't even understand it herself.

She typed again, his own typing ceasing to let her add to her comment.

Actually, I've been thinking a bit lately. I'm going to be in London for a while and I'm on the train ride there right now. It's given me some time to myself and it's... weird.

I'm sorry, I know that doesn't make sense.

Even though he hadn't replied, she knew he was taking her seriously as he was typing back.

It makes sense. Background music doesn't work for everyone.

Marinette realized that her shoulders had been tense when they relaxed at his message. She pressed her lips together, feeling vaguely like she didn't deserve him and pushing down the thoughts just as quickly. He'd never approve of that kind of talk.

My head's just been a bit of a mess. Or... not a mess? Things were really foggy but I didn't realize that they were? It's like I'm thinking clearer but I don't know if I like everything that came with that.

What was the phrase? Ignorance is bliss? She had no idea where these changes were coming from, but something had indeed changed and she didn't know the significance of it. She was indeed happy that she felt so in control now over her thoughts on Adrien, but why now? What caused it, and what about her memories?

Would it go away?

Marinette shuddered at the idea, but tried to focus on her conversation with Luka. Having a crisis wasn't going to do her any good, and he was there with her, even if only through text.

I can't know what you're going through, but I think I get it.

You do?

Yeah. Do you remember my birthday, when everyone heard about my dad being Jagged Stone?

He already continued typing, so she just nodded even if he couldn't see it. She'd only been with Juleka when the reveal had happened, but she imagined it'd been just as much of a shock for her as it'd been for them. She couldn't even imagine when Luka could've learned about it.

Wait--no, she'd already known, actually, hadn't she? He'd been akumatized and had gone after Jagged, and she'd been there when he forced Jagged to tell him the truth about being his father.

Marinette winced at the filling of a gap in her memory that she hadn't realized had been there. Once again, she'd remembered something that she couldn't fathom having forgotten or misremembered, even with how spotty her memory could be under normal circumstances.

She turned towards the back of her seat and the window, trying to isolate herself so it felt like just her, her phone, and Luka. She desperately needed his texts as a distraction.

I'd wanted to know who my dad was for so long, but learning that it was my favorite musician all this time was a lot. I had to redo all the notes I’ve ever written about him, and I wasn't sure how I felt about it for a while.

He kept typing after that, and she merely stroked the side of the phone with her thumb as some form of support, even knowing that he couldn't know about it.

But I'm glad I knew in the end. He's doing his best to make up for all the lost time, and I don't have to go on never knowing what that song would've sounded like.

Their situations weren't exactly the same, but it was enough to reach her deep down. Whatever her situation was, if it really did mean something, she'd rather know it was there than go on never knowing. She hated the idea of being left in the dark, just as she hated being lied to.

As she took a calming breath, she found it in herself to type back.

I'm glad you know too. You deserve people who make you happy, Luka.

Thank you, Marinette. You do too, and I hope that whatever you're going through goes at least as well as it did for me.

Thanks.

She bit her lower lip at her reply, which felt clipped in tone even though she hadn't meant it that way. She just had too much on her mind and it was hard to think about what emotion was coming across when she was typing to him.

She tapped away at the on-screen keyboard, hopefully before he could think anything in particular about it.

Sorry.

Though she wanted to explain further, she wavered, her legs bending as she curled further in on herself. The conversation had already been so deep and she didn't want to make it worse.

But just as she debated on dismissing her feelings and insisting that he not worry about her, the memories that had been cleared up from before came back to her, reminding her of a warm hug on top of a bridge.

"When you're ready, I'll be here, Marinette."

She inhaled shakily, but steadied herself immediately afterwards, letting the warmth of the words calm her. Luka was there for her and she trusted him.

She was ready.

...I'm scared, Luka. I thought I had my clarity, but I don't. Something's wrong.

Then, almost on cue, the train screeched to a halt, jostling her out of her seat as the lights went off. The simultaneous sound of phones ringing followed soon after.

—————

Marinette held her breath, crouched down in the restroom while she listened closely for the sound of her parents' footsteps. Her throat let out a whine, but she managed to keep it silent enough to where she was sure that no one on the other side of the door would hear it. She'd have to leave eventually or risk being cornered, courtesy of the power being off and the restroom's lock being electronic, but she felt safe enough to pull out her phone.

She also set it on vibrate just in case.

There was a reasonable concern at first that Luka's texts would indicate that he'd fallen victim to the akuma, but what she found when she checked their conversation reassured her.

Marinette!

Is everything okay?

Did the akuma's power reach you? Did they call you too?

Marinette?

The panic in simple letters on a screen made her feel noticed and loved. Keeping enough of her focus on potential footsteps approaching outside the door, she typed out a reply:

Sorry. I had to run from my parents.

I'm okay. What about you?

You're alright. I'm so glad.

I'm okay too. I hid somewhere and I doubt anyone can find me.

That's good. Be careful.

You too.

She took another breath, certain she'd be captured soon if the akuma wasn't taken care of. The train was limited and there weren't many places to go, so unless she could find a blunt object to smash her parents' phones, she was at a loss.

Regardless, Luka was there, her phone vibrating as he added onto his previous text:

I know this isn't the time, and I hate that the akuma cut into the song we were writing, but I'm here for you, Marinette. Whatever's going on, I'll help you figure it out as long as you want me with you.

Her heart fluttered pleasantly, a pink blush even tinting her cheeks. She welcomed it, unlike the fear that'd come with the changed memories. Feeling the way she did for Luka was too natural to be afraid in any way.

Thank you, so much. You're the only one I could trust with something like this.

She meant it. She'd trusted Alya with her identity in a moment of weakness, and even passed the ladybug earrings to her, yet that somehow paled in comparison to the emotions she was choosing to share. Luka would take her seriously, she was sure, even if she came up with the craziest theory in the world for why her feelings and memories were the way they were. He wouldn't doubt her, or laugh, or dismiss her as "Marinette being Marinette."

And as she sat there, completely without a miraculous or any way to get back to Paris without help, she reached up with her free hand and tugged at her earlobe, processing what she could with the information she had as one such theory started to form in her head. The fear from before never quite went away, but the idea of figuring things out with Luka brought her a sense of comfort.

Though perhaps, when she got back to Paris, she would take back her miraculous with a sense of hesitance that she hadn't had before, and there would be some testing that followed after the fact, because there were two things she refused to give up from her experience on the train.

Her sense of freedom and choice, and the feelings for Luka that she can't believe she ever questioned.

Or, if her working theory was correct, that her miraculous had her question.

#MC's Writing #writing: story #Pro LukaMari #Lukanette #category: salt #episode: Hack San #other: ask and answer #((tbh depending on how much Marinette explains it to him))#((poor boi's gonna have one hell of a revelation in ''Wishmaker''))#((suddenly the Adrien crush influence she explained is gonna make sense))#((and he feels bad for ever supporting it even if he had no way of knowing.))

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sukirichi · 3 years

Text

dutifully yours. [01]

Attached to the could’ve been’s of a promised happily ever after with the Crown Prince disguised under a scheme for power and greed, you are torn between choosing your happiness — or abandoning it to fulfill your duty as the future Queen.

→ unedited bcos i’m brave lazy. implied patriarchy. angst in future chapters. pure romance and fluff for now. royalty au. eventual smut. prince naoya !! i love him sm i could cry. this fic will break me, okay. naoya is close to canon but with my twist if that makes sense. drama in future chapters. oh and listen to this while reading <3

→ massive shoutout to my besties for always hyping me and helping me uwu, i present this token of prince naoya being an ideal husband okay cry cry i love him sm im crying. anyways pls enjoy bcos i poured my heart out to this and bcos i want more people in the naoya fucker club :>

one | next (to be posted)

Ever since the day your mother taught you how to read, you’ve had your nose buried in a book. Losing yourself in different worlds, swooning over fictional princes, and fantasizing for a love story ripped out of fairytale itself with such burning, passionate romance – you’d been through it all, dreamt of it all. And yet, you struggled to stop yourself from tugging at your dress.

The tight corset hadn’t even been the main focus of your worries, and neither was the heavy rivière resting on your collarbones.

“Would you stop fidgeting?” Beside you, your mother pursed her lips, fingers decorated with jewels stopping in their movements of fanning herself. The temperature hadn’t been particularly high inside the limousine that evening. You supposed it was the mere sight of you tugging and gulping audibly every now and then, gloved hands running over the hems of your collar.

You ducked your head down. “Sorry, Mother. I can’t help it.”

“Dear, your anxiety is written all over your face,” she sighed, turning your face to her as she cupped your cheeks. Smiling tenderly like a mother always did, your heart felt soothed even by the slightest bit. You wished she could keep holding you like this – like you were a fragile flower she was afraid of breaking; a fragile flower that needed more care handled than most. Tonight, however, you felt a hundred years older. Like you’d accidentally clicked on fast forward and got launched to the future. A future that seemed so unclear yet so...perfect. So right.

“How would the Prince fancy you if you’re sweating bullets like that? It’s not a good look for a marquess’ daughter.”

At the mention of the Crown Prince, your heart sank again. “My apologies, Mother. I’m just rather nervous. It’s the Crown Prince we’re talking about here.”

“He is quite the looker, isn’t he?” she giggled behind her fan, “Strong and handsome, as well.”

“My ladies. You are not fantasizing over the Crown Prince in my presence, are you?”

Crossing her leg over the other, your mother leaned forwards, elbows on her knees as she winked at your father. The marquess had his torso half twisted from the passenger seat, glaring playfully at your mother’s unabashed features. “It is of no seriousness, My Lord. I’m simply easing your daughter’s nerves.”

Your father sighed in worry. “What’s got you so worked up, child? You are beautiful. The Prince would be blind to not notice you.”

Each fibre in your body screamed in desperation for your father to be right. Tonight was not just any other night – the entire Kingdom, including noblewomen, foreign royals, and unwed daughters from honourable families had been invited to the Zen’in Castle for one purpose only: to find his Crown Prince a suitable wife, one that would be fit to be the next Queen as well. As the daughter of the marquess, you’d naturally received the invitation. It felt just like yesterday when the mail arrived and you’d cheered so much in joy the chickens went flying out of their coops, your horses galloping and whinnying at surprise, and now you here – minutes away from the palace where you were soon to be deemed worthy or unworthy to be beside His Highness.

With a shaky smile, you dug your nails into your thighs. “Well, we’ve only met once, Father. I doubt the Prince would remember me.”

“Just smile, darling. You will do great.”

To no one’s surprise, the Zen’in Castle brimmed with people and esteemed guests. Men and women danced with one another as muted chatters and chuckles blended in with the grand royal orchestra, everyone dressed to the nines and making you feel completely out of place.

The moment you’d been welcomed by the knights and led to the palace doors, your dress began to feel tighter than usual, your ribs clenching uncomfortably from the pressure. Your hands had not stopped trembling either, not even when you hid it behind your back and nodded at the people passing by. There were governor-generals, dukes, earls, professors and royal advisors and even families of the royal family’s inner circle of knights. Everyone looked like they belonged here. Chatting amongst one another over the finest of wines or discussing conspiracies on where the Kingdom of Zen’in would be in the next sixty years of the future King’s reign, no one here seemed to be out of place.

Everyone except you.

A warm hand was suddenly placed on the small of your back, making you gasp. Your mother’s smile was nothing short of warm as she held you close to her one last time, leaving a kiss on your forehead. You didn’t even realize how much you shook until she clasped her hands with yours. “Calm down, dear,” she reminded, “You’ll be on your own now. This is where we leave you since we’re not supposed to mingle with potential princesses.”

“Mother!” Your eyes widened in embarrassment. Looking around frantically, you bit your lip in fear someone must’ve heard.

Of course, while it would be no surprise most guests – if not all – hoped that their daughter would be the Crown Prince’s chosen fiancée, it still felt wrong to boldly assume such when you could barely keep up with the events of tonight.

However, your mother merely laughed. “I am proud of you, dear. Never forget that. It doesn’t matter whether you are chosen or not. We’re only here for formality and respect to the King and Queen’s demands.”

“You say that as if the Crown Prince really would not bother with me.”

“We didn’t mean that,” your father cut in, a flute of champagne already nested between his calloused fingers. Ever since you arrived, he’d been snatched away by fellow earls and barons, disappearing into the crowd for a ‘hearty conversation over one’s lands.’ You knew better than that, though. That statement always translated to which leader got to have more chances to wine and dine with the King, to which your family was ridiculously reminded of that you’d been stationed to the most faraway land where even hearing news from the royal papers was but a privilege.

“Just be yourself, alright? And enjoy the party. It’s about time you met with girls your own age and made some friends.”

“I – Father, wait!”

A slender young woman slithered to your side out of nowhere, her golden brown eyes following the silhouettes of your parents. It wasn’t long before they completely disappeared. Left alone with the stunning woman that was – for some reason – dressed in a plain black curve hugging dress too modest for tonight’s appropriateness, you took three steps away in caution. “You must be from way up North,” she noted, her head to the tipped to the side. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

God, was she beautiful. Long, thick eyelashes and short hair chopped in messy yet elegant curves, you struggled to hold her gaze. “Oh, yes, I come from the Terratian Borders. My family is stationed there under His Majesty’s orders.”

She hummed to herself. “The Terratian Borders are mostly forests and fields, no? The last time my family and I visited there, I came across the loveliest dandelions I’ve ever laid eyes on. Shame they died on the way back,” offering her hand – again, bare and empty with decorations yet still littered with faint scars and cuts – she beamed at you. “I’m Mai, by the way. Mai Zen’in.”

Zen’in?

Hands cupping your mouth, you bowed deep until your back ached. “Lady Mai!” you shut your eyes closed, unable to live with the shame. Mai Zen’in; one of the iconic twin pair from the extended Zen’in royal family, both a fashion icon and a legend for being a rumoured female knight. To have her in your presence was an honour. “My apologies for not recognizing you any sooner, Lady Mai!”

“Stand up, I’m not a royal,” she sniggered, “We’re just relatives of the actual monarch, but don’t let the family name fool you. The Crown Prince barely even acknowledges us being of the same blood.”

Albeit hesitant, you followed her gestures of making you stand up. You straightened your back and cleared your throat, fighting the urge to go haywire the moment his name was brought into the conversation. Not only would you be seeing Prince Naoya again in real life for the first time in years, but you’d also made acquaintances with his distant niece. However, his name was spoken with malice.

Frowning, you faced Lady Mai in all seriousness. “Prince Naoya? Why so?” Lady Mai looked at you like you’d grown two heads.

“He’s an ass, that’s why.”

“I-I don’t think he is,” you defended, “The Prince has been nothing but kind to me.”

“I didn’t know he was capable of kindness,” she muttered more so under her breath, low enough you were unsure whether you were supposed to hear it in the first place. Lady Mai then shook her head to herself before stealing a flute from a waiter passing by. Chucking it your way, her face turned dark and grim. “Take it as free advice: stay as far away from his as possible. The Crown Prince is nothing but good news.”

“Is it because he has lots of lovers?” you inquired with a small voice, “Uhm – well – It was an assumption. With a title and handsomeness like that, it would make sense everyone would want to be the Crown Prince’s lover.”

Lady Mai’s lip curled upwards. “Prince Naoya won’t bother with lovers. He is too occupied for that.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Heard from whom?”

“The Royal Declaration from His Majesty himself,” you said, “Was it not the purpose of this ball? To find worthy candidates to be the Crown Prince’s betrothed? His coronation is coming soon.”

“Right. I forgot today was technically a bridal market,” she scratched the edge of her brow, falling silent for a moment. Her eyes scanned the lively crowd for a brief moment – watching with you as everyone laughed and danced to their heart’s content – the grand final event of the routine personal dance with the Crown Prince himself slowly approaching to reality. “You are joining in the festivities, are you not? Later, when he arrives, he shall meet you.”

“I am obligated to as a noble bachelorette, though I doubt His Highness would even look my way. There are far richer noblewomen here and even daughters of duke that would be perfect as his wife. ”

“You may have a point for that,” she hummed to herself, unaware that her agreement to the Crown Prince not paying attention to you left a sting both in your ego and heart. Not that it lasted long, for Lady Mai was already tugged on the arm by another equally fiercely beautiful woman – her older twin, Maki Zen’in. Soon to be governon-general of the Kingdom.

Lady Mai smiled in apology. “I need to go now since I’m not a part of this event. But hey, if ever I come around to visit the Borders again, perhaps you could entertain me?”

“I would be honoured to, Lady Mai.”

“You are sweet and innocent,” it was her sister who spoke this time, glasses perched high on her nose that concealed the wariness of her gaze. “I hope the Crown Prince never gets to your routine.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s nothing; she was talking to herself. Maki does that a lot,” Lady Mai’s forced chuckles were barely heard from the music. “You enjoy the party now. Don’t drink too much lest you want to embarrass yourself in everyone’s eyes and be talk of the Kingdom. Prince Naoya would hate it if you took the attention away from him.”

“Oh, uhm...”

“It’s a joke, Lady Y/N. Relax.”

You bowed once more. “My apologies.”

“The dance is about to begin,” Maki tapped on your shoulder, making you look up right where her eyes zeroed in. And exactly in the middle of the grandiose hall, under the sparkling golden chandeliers where he made all the gold in the world look incomparable next to him, the Crown Prince stood in his fully glory. Blond hair with the ends stained of midnight gelled back to reveal his forehead, the Crown Prince’s beauty never failed to shine. Whether it be in the papers, in the tabloids, in the billboards that you passed on the way to the city, or from way back when you met him for the first time as a naive, innocent teen – Crown Prince Naoya came straight out of a magazine cover.

In the back of your head, you could hear either of the twins murmuring good luck. Maybe both of them had said it – you had no idea. All of your attention, all the sensibility and coherence of your state had been switched the next instant, as if your heart and soul was born for the sole purpose of being bewitched by your Crown Prince.

And as if feeling someone’s gaze on him, the Crown Prince’s eyes trailed over the crowd. Almost boredly, his sharp eyes bounced from one giggling woman to another, the ends of his lips smirking upwards for just the tiniest bit. It must’ve stroked his ego. Until his eyes connected with yours. The Crown Prince’s eyebrows knitted together. You had no idea how you looked in that moment, and quite frankly, you didn’t care. Because the Crown Prince was looking at you, and you were looking at him with hearts in your eyes along with your heart pulsing at the tip of your tongue.

“Let us begin,” his lips moved from the distance, “Play the music. I shall dance with my bride.”

The air shifted in a split second. Murmurs were thrown over the room, women and men alike turning pale. Even the orchestra was stunned from the Crown Prince’s entrance – and it hadn’t even been dramatic to his standards – yet the whole castle fell mum from just a few of his words. A few seconds later, the crowd recomposed itself, and the strings began to dance along with its bows.

You are pushed into the crowd. Nearly colliding into the arms of another, you quietly thank the masked man who was to be your first partner of the night.

All the men joining the dance floor dressed with the intention of making the Crown Prince shine. Prince Naoya stood out from the throng of white as per the colour code, his blood red uniform as both Prince with the golden crest of the military leader pinned to his right breast. The other men meant to be filler partners until all the potential brides got to their designated three minutes with the Prince were all dressed in black, faces covered behind a plain black mask. None were allowed to talk. None were allowed to utter even a word, and so your partner pursed his lips in displeasure at your apology.

Whatever. You just had to wait a few more rounds before the song finished and transitioned into a new one; the song where you’d been informed would be your time alone with the Prince.

You’d been so lost in your head you barely breathed the entire dance. From partner to partner, you blanked. Your heart drummed so wildly in its cage it begged to come out, and strings of apologies were let out each time your masked partners grimaced for a brief second when their hands came in contact with your sweaty ones. Around you, all the lovely women smiled and danced graciously, mouths moving in unreadable conversations shared with the Crown Prince. Not once did you look at the six partners you’ve danced with. Not once did you worry about tripping on your own feet. Not once did you care that some of the masked men held you a little too roughly for your comfort. Your entire reason for existing in that moment was to witness the Crown Prince himself, mirroring his frown that got deeper and deeper with each woman retreating to the sea of people he’d rejected.

Not once did you even think about being one of them – the girls who’ve ducked their heads down as their parents comforted them over not being the chosen one, of bringing ‘dishonour’ to their families that the mighty Crown Prince had deemed them unworthy. Tears streamed down their faces until black ink followed afterwards, lips trembling from silent sobs.

Despite their broken prides – although there was that minority who simply sighed in relief after returning to their own families – no one would dare interrupt the Crown Prince’s dances.

All of these thoughts crossed your mind too late and at the exact time your masked partner pulled away from you, body half bent in a bow with his arm outstretched to the side. Following where he was gesturing at, your eyes met the Crown Prince’s tall and lean stature, a few blond fringes now fallen from his movements.

Even though a thin layer of sweat shone from his face, Prince Naoya remained ethereal.

And like a snake charmed by the musician’s seductive tone, your feet moved on its own. Fingers stretching until it met with the Crown Prince’s large and warm ones, you were now in front of him. With him. Holding him, touching him, meeting him eye for eye and realizing – gold. His eyes burned a deep shade of gold, elegantly rich and heartbreakingly stunning your heart ached.

Before you knew it, your hands began to tremble, feeling as if your body had been corded into a corset three sizes smaller. You could not breathe, and the Crown Prince took notice.

“You are stiff. Do I make you uncomfortable?” Good Saint. If only possible, you would’ve closed your eyes and basked in the deep warmth of his voice. It reverberated from deep within, breathed out with an air of natural authority and profound confidence it made your knees weak. As if sensing his effect on you (though for the wrong reasons, it seemed), Prince Naoya hummed to himself. “This routine shall last for a few minutes before I can let you go, I’m afraid.”

You instantly realized the implications of your silence. “N-not at all, Your Highness! I am honoured to be dancing with you.”

“There is no honour in a choreographed dance. Everyone will dance with me. It’s nothing special.”

Your heart fell. Prince Naoya not only sounded dejected, but detached as well. As if he found no pleasure or specialty in this event, at a time where he had every opportunity to meet his lover, and that this ball was merely a task to be checked off in his already long list of responsibilities. It wasn’t disappointment, per se, but rather melancholy that left a bitter taste in your mouth. Not because Prince Naoya held little to no regards for something you treasured, but because he sounded terribly alone. Like he was simply waiting for it to end out of discomfort.

“It’s special to me, Your Highness,” you blurted out faster than you could stop yourself. For a moment, you feared you may have offended him, but the Crown Prince only laughs.

And when he did – saint, when he laughed – his eyes crinkled into half moons, pearly whites flashing against the bright lights and his whole chest shook with amusement.

You’d never seen him smile this way before.

Prince Naoya’s laughter didn’t cease. Around you, your gut instincts told that people were now beginning to look; the Crown Prince’s deep rumbles of laughter sounded exquisitely like music as well, after all. “ Is it special to you because you are now dancing and within the Crown Prince’s proximity? As much as I presume how exhilarating it might be for those who mostly see me in the papers and in the tabloids, I assure you, dancing with your Prince is not an honour. Especially when you are all sent the invitations based on your status and not your worthy traits.”

“It’s special to me,” you mumbled, growing shy all of a sudden when the Crown Prince nodded at you to continue. “Because...because it reminds me of the first time we met.”

The Crown Prince hummed in amusement.

“We have met before?”

“Yes, Your Highness. I’m from the Terratian Borders – my father is a loyal servant of His Majesty. You visited the borders when you were eighteen and I was sixteen. Do you remember it, Your Highness? You stormed in my private library.”

Indeed, the young barely-out-of-his-teens Crown Prince barged into your home’s library years ago. You were not previously informed he and his parents would be visiting since they arrived wordlessly, so you were stuck in your chambers as usual, killing time if not for sleeping and tending to the animals. Perched on a ladder, you attempted to reach for a book on the upper shelf when your foot slipped beneath you. At the age of sixteen, you were dramatic enough to say your life flashed before your eyes. You would’ve screamed then had strong arms not appeared out of nowhere, the Crown Prince staring at you with wide, golden eyes as they were now, his breathy rasped as he asked, are you okay, my lady?

The mere recollection of that fateful memory had your cheeks warming in delight. “You were so charming and heroic back then. Even when I had no idea you were a royal, I would have still believed you to be princely,” you said rather absentmindedly, blinking once then twice at your words. “Of course, it’s understandable if you do not remember, Your Highness!”

“My apologies. I do not remember, though Terratia is a wonderful place. Such a shame I was not informed beforehand they had a lovely daughter.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” you cheered back, cheeks and jaw beginning to ache from how wide you were smiling. But could anyone blame you? You felt absolutely silly that you were a breath away from passing out minutes ago, and now here you were, dancing with the Crown Prince and sharing memories with him like it was a daily occurrence. The words it’s true love when you feel at peace with them suddenly rang back at your head from that latest romance novel you read, and you turned away, hoping the Crown Prince would not read your thoughts to your face. However, Prince Naoya’s lips pursed into a thin line, all traces of humour now disappeared. “I’m sorry – should I not have laughed?”

“No, I don’t mind,” he mused with his jaw locked tight, “I just haven’t seen anyone react that way before.”

“Like what?”

“Like my words meant the entire universe to them. I may dare even say you look terribly in love, though I cannot blame you on that one, can I?”

Prince Naoya shook his head the minute the words left his mouth. Forcing himself to believe it couldn’t be real, perhaps, you truly did not know anymore. Your only plan for tonight was to see the Crown Prince and get to live out your dream of seeing him once more even for just a brief moment before you travelled back home while he married another, and yet – “Your Highness, I’m in love with you. I have always been since the day we met.”

You could no longer stop the words. The voice at the back of your head begged you to shut up and not cause a scene, that your time had passed up and people were staring, yet you remained in his arms no matter how much you wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow you whole.

“Please do not misunderstand me, Your Highness. I did not come here to attempt to steal your heart and be your wife, though I will admit I have dreamt of meeting you again for so many moons. I...I only want to tell you this. That I love you and even though it was a brief moment, I think the love I’ve always read about felt real and possible for the first time in my life,” chuckling nervously, you gather to courage to face him, adoration shining for the Crown Prince stood shock still before you, however stunned he may be. “I love you, Your Highness. I love you. And to whoever lucky woman you choose to be your betrothed, I hope she takes care of you and showers you with all the affection you are deserving of. You would make a great King. So God help his Crown Prince, and may you lead us all into a better world.”

Prince Naoya did not budge a muscle. His eyes remained hard on yours, breath warm as his nostrils fumed. With each passing second that he did not speak, you grew restless and tugged your arm away from his hold with a disgraceful smile.

You’d truly crossed your line. The repercussions to be faced for this impoliteness would destroy your family’s honour. You had to leave. “Your Highness? The song has changed. It’s time to let go—”

The Crown Prince inched close enough until his hair tickled your cheeks, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine as he pulled you close, close enough that your lower bodies touched. Skin ablaze with heat, you dared not move an inch. “Do you mean it?” he demanded lowly, his fingers ghosting over your wrist to hold you in place. “Do you truly love me? Not for what I have, not for who I was born to be, but me as a person itself?”

Closing your eyes to shudder in a deep breath, you exhaled. “Of course, Your Highness. Even if you were not born as a Prince, I’m sure I would’ve still loved you in a different universe.”

“But I do not know you.”

“We don’t have to know each other, Your Highness, and we never will. Once you let me go, I’ll return to the shadows where I belong, and I will continue supporting you until the day of your coronation.”

“And if I refuse to let you go?” he clicked his tongue, “What will you do then?”

The Crown Prince’s spicy perfume must be an aphrodisiac or hypnotizer of sorts. Everything he did messed with your mind that it was too late – the music had stopped and people were no longer drinking or chatting. Everyone’s eyes were on you and the Crown Prince. You could only imagine how controversial this position must be; with his lips trailing dangerously close to that sensitive spot in your neck where you nearly moaned. You really needed to leave.

“P-people are looking, Your Highness. You do not want this affair with someone you won’t choose—”

“Who said I won’t choose you?” Finally, he pulled away. But Prince Naoya never once tore his gaze away from yours, nor did he allow you to look at anyone but him as he caresses your jaw so light and feathery you wondered if he was truly there.“Who said I haven’t laid my eyes on you the moment you walked in here? This ball is for naught because of you, Lady Y/N. I’ve already made my choice, and you helped me confirm it as soon as you danced with me.”

“Your Highness...”

“Look at me,” he ordered, your eyes flitting from his pinkish lips to his sharp nose and then to his fox-like gaze. Only this time, Prince Naoya was no longer harsh. “Don’t be scared.”

“But they’re looking.”

“You are with me, of course they’ll look,” he teased, “They wish to be you right now. But ignore them and dance one more time with me.”

It wasn’t like you had a choice, but did it matter? One nod from him was all it took before the orchestra fumbled back to their spots and a new song played, Ode of Moonlight Lovers, and the Crown Prince was guiding you back to where he had originally danced with you.

From the corners of your eyes, you caught a glimpse of your parents with their mouths gaped open; your father looking like he was on the verge of passing out. However, you felt nothing but joy, nothing but the adrenaline pumping through your veins as he danced and twirled you in his arms. When the music stopped and you were both panting for air with silly smiles on your face, it dawned on you that you were with the Prince. No, rather, it was only you and the Prince alone. Even in the sea of people whose faces began to blur, he prevailed crystal clear.

You could recognize him anywhere, find him everywhere.

Prince Naoya stepped impossibly closer until your chests touched, hearts beating as one. Cupping your jaw, he was near enough that he swallowed all your shaky breaths with a small, teasing smile like you both shared a secret the entire world could not know.

“Do I still make you nervous?”

Laughing, you nodded. “Yes, Your Highness. I feel like I’m going to explode.”

“It’s beloved now,” he corrected, face inching closer and closer to a point you could count the number of his lower lashes. “And what do lovers do to seal their union?”

“M-Marriage?”

“Close, but this is much better.”

If anyone were to tell you that you would have a love story ripped out straight from a fairytale, you would’ve laughed at their faces. You were no Cinderella, nor were you a goddess of beauty that could’ve possibly caught the Crown Prince’s eye. Yet, his soft lips were on yours, kissing you with as much passion you could only dream of that you cried.

Strong hands guiding the back of your waist, Prince Naoya dipped you lower to the ground – the grand of finish of his dance. He had chosen his bride.

The crowd cheered and rejoiced all around you, making you smile into the kiss. Fisting his collar to bring him closer to yours, your mouth burst into metaphorical fireworks as soon as his tongue mingled with yours for an experimental taste. He was bitter yet sweet; expensive wine resting on his tongue, yet a delicate vanilla sat heavily on his soft lips that molded with yours. It was a taste you could spend forever being addicted on. And you were crying, crying so much your chest ached and the Prince’s cheeks grew damp from yours. You’d dreamt of this for so long, too long now.

Prince Naoya slowly pulled you away, his thumb wiping the tears away from the pads of your cheeks with tenderness in his touch. However, the Prince was not satisfied. The crowd whooped as he leant down to kiss your forehead. “You are mine now, my princess.”

Looping his hands with yours, the Crown Prince led you out of the castle. The crowd parted naturally to make way for the new couple, and you were left staring at his broad back and the tuft of blond hair where you’d soon find out how soft it would be. Sending one last glance to your crying parents, you waved goodbye. You had no idea where the Crown Prince would take you but you were already bunching your dress up, heart completely filled with trust you did not question it. What mattered tonight and for the rest of your life was that it felt right. That it was him – your beloved Prince Naoya Zen’in and soon to be husband – that you’d follow through the moon and back.

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Bouquet

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having come clean about being single for a very long time now and considering herself completely out of the dating scene, Y/N’s confession is taken and responded to with a ton of kindness, especially from a special someone...

Requested by Anon. Hi hun! Thank you so much for your lovely request, it was such a joy to write! I’m so sorry for the long wait you had to go through but the fic is finally here and I hope you enjoy reading it! Love, Vy ❤

I roll out of bed with little to no desire to start my day. We haven’t got a scheduled stream for today and the clouds glooming in the sky seem to be promising rain so really what do I have to get up for except that it’s a rule society installed?

Just kidding, I’m basically stalling and that’s all.

So what happened was the streamer gang and I were playing Among Us last night and our conversation during the pause between rounds somehow swerved into relationship territory. I stayed quiet the majority of if not all the time because I had no valid input to offer.

If you know me you know I’m not one of the performers on the dating scene. I have never really confirmed it with my fans - well, until last night, that is - but I bet they have picked up on that fact considering I’ve been on YouTube for around a decade and have never had a partner. That being said, I’d have to also mention that I have in fact dated but someone but it was before my YouTube era started. Me choosing this career path, which back then was just a hobby, had nothing to do with the relationship ending but it still motivated me to not to actively look for a relationship while I’m still focused on my career. It’s too much work, too much stress and requires a lot of balance I most certainly either don’t have or I don’t have the energy to put in balancing my romantic and professional lives. Luckily, no one’s ever pressured me into finding a significant other, not yet at least, so no societal pressure for me!

But I gotta admit I felt real awkward admitting all this last night.

“Hey Y/N what do you think? You’ve been awfully quiet?“ Rae asks, causing me to jolt in my seat from where I’ve been reading my chat for the past five minutes, my mic muted.

I quickly unmute to reply, blushing ever so slightly, “Um, sorry I was reading my chat. What do I think about what?”

“The gesture of giving flowers to your significant other, is it romantic or a waste of money and plant murder?“ Rae explains, still managing to catch me off-guard with her question.

I ponder what my response should be for a little bit before deciding to level it to a neutral level where I almost sound indifferent, “It is in fact plant murder basically and artificial flowers would definitely be a better gift - plus they’ll last longer.”

“Mhmm yeah that’s true.“ Poki agrees with me, “But there’s still the question of whether it’s a romantic gesture or not. I personally don’t think it’s overrated or cheesy, I actually quite like it. What about you, Y/N?“

And now she’s got me in a real trap that I can’t wiggle out of without speaking my truth. I don’t know where this sudden anxiety around the subject came from but it now resides within me rent free and makes me feel self-conscious and embarrassed of the confession I’m inevitably make.

“Um, I wouldn’t know for certain, I’ve never received flowers myself...“ I say sheepishly, cringing at the sound of my own voice, “It’s not like I’ve dated plenty of people and the one guy I did date wasn’t really romantic or anything, I mean - we were teenagers, after all. But when I think about it in theory I think I’d like the gesture: it’s thoughtful, plus you get a temporary but beautiful piece of décor out of it.“

I’m gonna hope I didn’t sound too pitiful or desperate. Of course I’m not gonna check afterward on the stream cause I’d rather live in the illusion of having sounded humorous rather than be given the confirmation that I didn’t.

“Wait, wait, wait, did you date your last boyfriend like a decade ago?“ Corpse is now the one talking and that makes me feel even more anxious. This is not the impression one would want to give to their crush, is it? Oh well, no turning back now.

“Correct.“ I reply with a laugh that I hope didn’t sound as nervous as it was.

“And you’ve never, like in your whole life, received flowers from someone?“ He sounds astonished which sort of makes me want to shrink up in my shell like a turtle. Too bad I don’t have a shell though. I’m genuinely thinking of the option to rip the router out of the outlet right now to save me the troubles but I’m not that immature. I’m surprised I’m even reacting this way - this topic doesn’t usually bother me at all but now for some reason I’m red as a tomato and shrinking in my chair.

I know what the obvious answer is but I’d rather die than admit to it.

“Yeah, yeah, I know it sounds bad but I really don’t care.“ I make an attempt at changing the subject, swerving it back to the main topic rather than my lack of a love life, “I do, in fact, find the gesture sweet - it adds vibrancy to the relationship just like the flowers would add vibrancy and color to the space they’re put in.“

“Oh my gosh, that’s such a cool analogy!“ Rae gushes, “You’re totally right, it might be an old trick, but it’s aged like fine wine.“

Phew, God bless you Rae.

“Exactly, exactly.“ Corpse agrees as well but I don’t think he’s fully heard what Rae said since he sounds to have fallen in deep thought.

At least I got away with it with only making a SLIGHT nervous wreck of myself.

Yikes, was that horrible, though I don’t people will remember it for long. Sure, my fans have sent me thousands of lovely messages and pictures of bouquets and will maybe continue sending them for another day or two - which I highly appreciate, don’t get me wrong. I’m severely touched by this gesture of theirs and it almost makes me glad I finally ‘came clean’ about my romance-less life - however, it’ll fade overtime. I mean, who the heck cares if I’m single or not?

As I pour the milk over my cheerios which I’ve been snacking on dry for the past half hour as I rifled through the many notifications clogging up my lock screen, I hear the doorbell ring. I’m understandably puzzled by this, seeing as how I never get visitors so that doorbell rings only when I’ve ordered something, be it takeout or a random item off Amazon. However, I can’t remember ordering anything, at least not anything that should be arriving at the moment or even anytime soon - that glow-in-the dark curtain isn’t supposed to arrive until next week. I make my way to the door, unbothered by the fact I’m still in my pajamas, and take a look through the peephole.

It’s a delivery guy...and he happens to be holding a huge-ass bouquet.

“What the...“ I mutter to myself as I unlock and swing open the door in the blink of an eye, “Hi?“

“Hi there, are you Y/N L/N?“ The delivery guy, who I’ve seen many times before and who I’m on pretty friendly terms with, asks me jokingly, sending a wink my way.

“I sure am.“ I reply, my gaze fixated on the breathtaking flowers he’s holding, “But those can’t be for me, that’s for sure.“

He fishes looks at his clipboard one more time, nodding before he looks back at me, “I double and triple checked, Y/N, they’re for you. Here, have a look if you don’t believe me.” He turns the clipboard for me to see and he is actually telling the truth. I mean, I doubt he’d have any reason to lie to me but mix-ups happen all the time.

“Um, ok thanks. Sorry for the halt, it’s just...I’d hate to be the recipient of the flowers meant for another girl.” I apologize as I take the bouquet for him, still in awe of the fact I’m the one it was made and meant for and sent to.

I say a quick ‘bye’ to the delivery guy before practically running inside to inspect this bouquet for a card from the sender. I have my guesses: it has to be someone who was present during the stream last night and someone who knows my address. Hopefully it’s someone from my friend group and not a fan who watched the stream and just happens to know my address. I’d still appreciate the gesture, but I’d also install security cameras if that was the case.

Something about the color scheme of the flowers - pink and black - gives me Rae vibes since she constantly teases me about my aesthetics contradicting each other. But then again, Poki does it too so it could be her as well....

Oh...OH GOD IT’S NEITHER OF THEM

~ ~ ~

I’ve been sitting here, keeping myself a safe distance from my phone so I’m not the first one to send her a text. So I don’t ask if she got what I sent her. So I don’t ask what she thought of it, how the bouquet looks in her living room, how it smells, how it makes her feel. I have so many questions so that phone is best off at a major distance from me. I’m the one who’s better off with such a huge distance between me and the device, to be perfectly honest.

Was it a bad idea? Should I have slept on it - or just thought about it longer cause sleep and I don’t get along? Should I have at least waited a day or two? Should I-

My phone vibrates with a notification and I practically fly to it from across the room, grabbing it and unlocking it asap. My heart sinks and takes off like a rocket simultaneously when I see I’ve been tagged in Y/N’s Instagram story. I nervously tap the notification that sends me to the picture of the bouquet I sent her with some text written over it.

“Thank you, Romeo ;)“

Somehow that one sentence answers all those aforementioned questions.

Is this what people refer to as butterflies in one’s stomach? Cause it feels significantly more like a crush...oh wait.

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thyshadowwriter · 3 years

Text

Lost & Found. Chapter 2.

Ivar Ragnarsson x oc.

Summary: being rescued by Helga in one of the raids and reluctantly tolerated by Floki, a young girl finds herself amidst a strange place with strange people, but if adapting to the cultural shock wasn't hard enough, catching the attention of the volatile and beloved son of the Queen would soon prove to be the ultimate proving. That if she realizes just how much being around prince Ivar is walking on thin ice.

Author's note: I took some liberties with the timeline.

Tagging: @youbloodymadgenius

An awkward introduction takes place as Ivar visits Floki unannounced.

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The girl, now Revna, made no opposition to her new name, which in a small amount, made Floki proud in himself, and although Helga wasn't very thrilled, she let Floki have that one. Maybe, with time and understanding, Revna would open up more about herself, or so she hoped.

She was curious about her surroundings, looking around and apparently trying to memorize all of it. But as she tried to move one of the heavy pots, the pain made her gasp and clutch to her side.

Helga rushed to her and guided her to sit on a chair, trying to soothe her.

"You have to be careful, you need to heal."

Revna nodded. Floki took their belongings inside and closed the door. He walked to them and crouched to Revna's level. He showed the palm of his hands to her and pointed to where her wound was, he needed to see if she hurt herself more. Once she regained her breath she looked from his hands to his face and nodded for him.

He uncovered her wound and examined it carefully. It would leave a mark, but it at least it didn't get worse.

"You should be more careful, Revna. It is healing well, the gods favored you." Floki said to her as he covered the wound again.

Looking to Revna's and Helga's dark eyes an idea crossed his mind. Floki quickly raised and began searching the house.

"Floki, what is it?"

"She needs to learn or language, Helga. She cannot live here and not understand us."

"What are you doing Floki?"

He didn't answer her and continued searching until he found a box that caught his attention.

"Here. I knew I had kept it somewhere."

He walked back to them and handed Revna the box.

She looked to the box and frowned then looked to Floki and raised both eyebrows.

"Go on. Open it." Said Floki, urging her to it.

She opened it and inside were a bunch of symbols carved and painted in wood. She picked one to examine it closely, as if by looking they could mean something.

"You can start teaching her with those." Floki said to Helga.

Helga smiled back to her husband, a silent thank you for his help.

Revna took them out of the box and put them on her lap, leaving the box to her side, now completely taken by curiosity, going attentively from one to the next. Helga took some of the runes from her lap, thinking of the lessons she would teach her. It would be just like teaching a newborn their first word, that she knew how to do.

Floki was happy with himself, if he could help Helga in her mad endeavor, he would, gods know she put up with his. As long as the girl learned to respect and acknowledge their gods and their way of life, he could tolerate her. He could try, for Helga.

Floki went to his table and began sorting his tools for his next work, while Helga began teaching Revna the runes and their voices filled the house while he started his work.

A few hours passed like this when the sound of the door being open broke the spell. It was Ivar, who came to visit them, as he would do occasionally.

The gods were testing him, there could be no other way.

Usually, Floki wouldn't mind Ivar's visits, a part of him missed when he was a kid, his home wasn't as empty with Ivar around, but right now, he would rather Ivar didn't show up so soon. He would prefer the girl had more time to get used to them before the inevitable introductions had to be made.

But life was never easy, he could only pray to the gods and hope for the best.

Ivar dragged himself inside and closed the door behind him.

"Hello, Floki. Helga."

"Ivar." Floki said.

"Hello, Ivar." Helga greeted him back.

Helga's hand left the runes she held to the side and she began playing with the girl long locks, while Revna's attention left the runes and went to young man dragging himself on the ground. Floki looked to the girl trying to gauge her thoughts, but her face was unreadable to him.

He could only hope it would be the same to Ivar. He knew very well how Ivar reacted to people who looked to him wrong.

Of course Ivar's attention went straight to Revna. He looked her up and down before asking.

"So... Who is this?"

"We named her Revna." Answered Helga proudly.

"And you brought her back? She'll make a good slave, I'm sure." There was malice in his voice, something that Revna seemed to grasp even if she couldn't understand his words. Her face fell a bit and she pursed her lips together, looking at Ivar with full distrust.

But before either of them would do or say anything else, Helga was quick to correct Ivar.

"She's not a slave. We are adopting her. She's my child."

Ivar looked to Floki with the most shocked expression that ever painted his face, his eyes wide open and his lips parted, like for once in his life he was without words and without a guess of what to do. Were it any other situation, Floki would have laughed, that was a look he never imagined on Ivar, but he too was just as lost, so he just looked to the window as if he could remove himself from the room.

Ivar looked to Helga, who was either oblivious or downright ignoring their confusion and instead was attentively combing and braiding the girl's long dark locks.

"Ah... Well, let's see." Ivar said, the he pushed himself closer to the girl.

He reached his hand to touch her face. He wanted to have a better look at her, in part out of curiosity and in a greater part to assure himself that she was in fact there to be adopted and not some of Floki's scheming.

Or maybe Either Floki or Helga had finally lost their minds, could very much be.

But Revna didn't take his gesture very well and got startled, trying to get far from Ivar but finding herself trapped between his hand and the back of the chair.

Helga held her down by the shoulders and tried to defuse the situation before she injured herself further and Ivar became angry at her.

"Shh, it's alright. Don't be afraid." Helga said to her repeatedly.

"I won't hurt you." Ivar tried to reassure.

But Revna argued something to Helga that neither of them could understand, but if her face and tone were any clue, she didn't sound very pleased.

Ivar cocked his head to the side narrowing his eyes at Revna.

"It's alright, my child. He won't hurt you. It's alright. You don't have to be afraid." Helga tried to calm her down.

Revna said something else but Helga repeated herself, gently patting the girl's head.

"I won't hurt you, alright? I just want to see you." Ivar said to her.

She looked at Ivar then back to Helga who nodded to her with a smile. Revna pursed her lips together again, inhaled deeply until her lungs were full of air and sighed audibly, resting her hands on her lap and turned her attention back to Ivar, nodding to him and allowing him to touch her face, though her eyes started at him like she would throw him in a pyre if she could.

Ivar was pleased to have his way and gave Revna a lopsided smile. He couldn't possibly take seriously the young girl's annoyance and instead was nothing short of amused by the indignant look she gave him.

So Ivar touched her face, trying his best to not make sudden movements and startle her again. She didn't flinch from his touch, but he could feel her muscles tense under his fingertips. He took his time to feel her cheek, the shape of her jaw and her forehead. Her skin was soft and her features delicate, still a tad round but he guessed that would change once she got older.

He could feel her dark eyes looking at his every movement, possibly trying to gauge whether ot not he would hurt her, if he had to guess. Her cheeks became red as he continued to touch her face and her gaze held a curiosity under the poorly hidden grievance.

Ivar then touched her hair, the girl had a dense hair that looked somewhat wild with its dark and shiny waves and curls. Her hair felt soft on his fingers, he took the lock closer to her face and curled it around his finger, then released it.

"See? It wasn't so bad. I said I wouldn't hurt you." Ivar said as he looked back to Revna.

Helga and Floki heaved a sigh of relief. Helga touched Revna's hair again and continued to braid it.

Revna parted her lips as if she wanted to say something to him, but the reminder she couldn't hit her and she rolled her eyes annoyed and sighed, tapping her foot against the floor.

Ivar chuckled at that. He then looked to her lap and saw what he remembered to be the runes Floki used to teach him years ago. He reached out to pick one of them but before he could notice, his hand was slapped away soundly by Revna.

Floki, Helga and Ivar all froze at their positions, looking wide eyed and with parted lips at Revna. Ivar's hand still in the air, Helga's hands on Revna's hair.

Ivar locked his stare on Revna, his clear blue eyes wide open looking at her in complete disbelief.

They stood like that until Floki broke the silence with a laughter that all the surroundings must have heard. He hit the table with a fist and leaned forward trying to catch his breath, his pale face becoming red and his eyes watering a bit.

Ivar moved a bit away from Revna and turned to look at Floki, who was trying to catch his breath, Helga took the runes from Revna's lap and put them away, guiding the girl away from the room.

Once they left, Ivar had his attention all on Floki.

"What are you laughing of, you old fool?"

"Someone finally gave you a lesson. Who would have guessed it would be a child?"

#ivar x reader #ivar ragnarsson x reader #helga x reader #floki x reader #vikings fanfiction

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smellsfaintlyofvanilla · 3 years

Note

I wanna wrap Hange up in a blanket and tell them they are doing their best 😢 if you don’t mind can you write Hange and reader taking a bath together and it being fluffy.

I just know they reek to high hell

Still love 'em though

Soft

(Zoe Hange x Reader)

AU: Unspecified

Warnings: None

Category: Fluff

Summary: Finally fed up with Hange's poor hygiene, their S/O forces them to bathe with them. Chaos ensues.

Words: 1.6K

"Y/nnnnnnn!"

"No."

"But c'mon!" Hange whined, throwing their arms around your shoulders. You quickly pushed them off, walking away in an act of defiance, despite the little voice in the back of your head telling you to give in to their demands.

"Hange, you reek." You scoff, crossing your arms and giving them a disapproving look. They had finally finished their long day of work, and immediately went up to you for your usual nighttime cuddles, but you had refused—they hadn't bathed in over a month at this point, and you were starting to get sick of it. It wasn't even the actual smell, more so just a concern for your lover's lack of hygiene.

"Just for tonight?" They bargained, "Just tonight, I'm really tired, I'll bathe in the morning."

"You always say that, but you never do, y'know." You muttered, turning away.

A beat passes, and neither of you say anything.

Finally, you sigh, breaking the silence.

"I'll bathe with you, if that'll convince you." You mumbled, and Hange's face immediately lit up, excited by the offer.

"That works!" They grinned, already unbuttoning their shirt and pulling it over their head.

You raise an eyebrow. "Don't look so excited." You mutter, turning to leave. "I'll go start the water."

You shut the door behind you, heading towards your shared bathroom. Seldom was the bath itself used by anyone but you, so you already had all the soaps and shampoos organized perfectly to your liking. You flicked on the knob, putting your hand under the water until it turned hot and plugging the drain to let the bath fill.

While waiting for the bath to fill, you slowly undid your shirt as well, discarding it, and the rest of your clothing, to a neat pile on the floor, wrapping your bare body in a towel to fight the cold air of the room.

A few loud knocks on the bathroom door brought you out of your thoughts, making you jump.

The perpetrator, Hange, didn't bother waiting for an answer, pushing the door wide open, causing you to flush bright red.

"Hange, close the door!" You whisper-yelled, rushing over to shut the door. Luckily, both of you were wrapped in towels, so if anyone did walk by, they wouldn't see much, but you still wanted complete privacy in that moment.

"Sorry, sorry..." They whispered back, laughing a bit to themselves.

When you had turned around, Hange had already removed their towel, dipping their leg into the bath and swirling it around a bit, testing the temperature.

"Feel okay?" You asked, walking over to them and setting a hand on their shoulder.

"Yeah, it's pretty nice actually..." They sighed, climbing in and resting against the edge of the tub. You joined them silently, discarding the towel and slinking in right after, sitting on the opposite side of the tub.

"You're right... it is really warm." You exhaled, leaning back to take in the feeling of the hot water against your skin. A nice relaxing bath, plus Hange, and it was almost therapeutic. "Still," you muttered, sitting up and causing the water to slosh a bit at the movement. "We don't have forever until it gets cold. Turn around."

They cocked their head to the side, gazing on in confusion until you pulled out a bottle of shampoo, squirting a bit of it into your hands. "Well? Are you gonna come over?"

"Oh, right..." They mumbled, scooting over to turn their back to you with an uncharacteristic awkwardness.

You rub the soap together in your hands briefly, spreading it across both palms before moving your fingers to work their way through Hange's hair, massaging their scalp in the process.

"Oh wow..." They sighed, leaning their back against your stomach fully and closing their eyes in relief.

You raise an eyebrow, continuing the lather the soap through Hange's greasy hair. "What's so 'wow' right now?"

"I've never had anybody wash my hair before... it feels nice..."

"Hange, I would be surprised if you even remember what it feels like to wash your hair in general." You chuckle, causing them to scoff in faux offense and rise a little in the water, turning their head to the side.

"Come on now, don't move so much, you're gonna get the soap in your eyes." You warn, grabbing them gently by the cheeks to face them in the same direction they were facing mere moments ago.

They close their eyes once again, not bothering with a response as your fingers work through their hair with the gentle caring of an angel.

Having finished spreading the soap through their hair, you took a small scoop of water in your hands, pouring it over your lover's head, rinsing the soap from their hair. Teasingly, you take a scoop and dump it directly over their face, causing them to jump, snapping out of their relaxed trance to turn to look at you with bewilderment.

"What was that for??" They questioned, moving the hands up to swipe away the soap that roamed dangerously close to theirs eyes.

"Oh, I don't know," You smirked, leaning back against the porcelain tub with a cheeky expression. "Just felt like it I guess."

"You little...!" They growled, swiping their arms to splash a gush of soapy water in your direction. You jumped out of your spot, desperately wiping the soap from your searing eyes.

"Owww... Hange!" You half-groaned, half-laughed, glancing up at them with a mischievous look. It's on.

You splashed back at them, sending a powerful gush of water in their direction, but they managed to block their face with their arms just in time to send another wave of water back, equally as powerful.

The water fight was passionate, but short lasting. After a few minutes of back and forth, you had realized just how much water had left the tub and soaked the floor around you two.

"Oh my god, Hange, look at this mess." You groaned, leaning over the edge of the tub, annoyed at the prospect of all the future cleaning.

"You started it!" They laughed, draping an arm around your shoulder and yanking you against their chest.

"Oof- Hange!" You groan, wiggling in their arms. It was no use, though, as their strength outmatched yours, locking you in against their chest.

"You're stuck here, whether you like it or not." They giggled, tugging at the back of your head to pull you into their shoulder, hugging you warmly like a beloved stuffed toy.

Now having access to Hange's collarbone, a sinister idea formulated in your mind. Without warning, you bit down on the soft flesh, emitting a surprised yelp from Hange.

They yanked your hair, pulling you away from their collar with an annoyed expression. "You're always scheming something, aren't you?"

You laugh out loud, shooting them a look and shrugging your shoulders. "What can I say? You present too many opportunities."

"Oh yeah? What are you planning right now then?" They tighten their hold on your hair, moving your head in tandem with theirs, only to stop inches away from each other.

You don't answer, instead lurching forward to crash your lips into theirs, and putting your hands on their shoulders to push them back-up against the tub.

As soon as you pull away, opening your eyes and catching your breath, Hange gives you a smirk before shoving you against the opposite end of the bath and leaning over to straddle your thigh.

"No fair," They whine playfully, "I wanna be on top!"

"Hange!" You punch their shoulder jokingly, face heating up at the dirty remark. "Jeez, way to make it awkward..."

"I'm not the nervous one here, you are." They reminded with a smirk.

"Just shut up and kiss me." You exhale, leaning forward to connect your lips once again. They ease into the second kiss immediately, moving against you fluidly, having long gotten used to the feeling of your colliding lips.

Suddenly, they pull away from the kiss, moving to drop their head on your shoulders, a hand slinking down to entwine your fingers in their own.

"I love you... so much..." They mutter into the crook of your neck, causing you to shudder, but run a soft hand through their hair anyway.

"I love you too, Hange." You smile, leaning down to peck them on the top of their head.

They move up from your shoulder, leaning in once again, but this time, they rest their forehead against yours, closing their eyes and taking a long exhale.

"Seriously. I love you so much, you don't get it." They sigh, moving against you to press your bodies even closer together. "You're always taking such good care of me... making sure I'm okay... what did I ever do to deserve someone like you?" They chuckle, but you hear the slight waver in the noise.

"Hange, you're amazing. Don't ever doubt that for a second. I take care of you and stay with you because I love you, you're the most important person in my life. You're really amazing, you know?" You smile warmly at them, wrapping an arm around their neck to tug their parted lips teasingly closer to your own.

"Yeah, of course..." They mutter, their heart beating faster and their mind swarmed with the feelings of love that seemed to exude off of you whenever you were around. "I love you, darling."

"I love you too." You sigh, moving your head to connect your lips once again, chapped lips, yet kissing so softly.

Anyway, goodnight y'all. I need sleep (and grass lmaooo)

#aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #snk x reader #hange zoe #hanji zoe #zoe hange #zoe hanji #hange x reader #hanji x reader #hange zoe x reader #zoe hange x reader #hanji zoe x reader #zoe hanji x reader

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awsuntanz · 3 years

Text

a ramble about helium chapter 4 (and dakota’s wonderful characterization)

its 4am, forgive me for any mistakes. i’ve never written anything like this before, aha.

All of these quotes are from Chapter 4 of @heytherestilinski‘s fic Helium!

The way Dakota (the author) fleshes out conflict and allows their painfully realistic characterization to shine is so...perfect. I find myself heavily relating to Dream, George, and even Sapnap at times.

Here are some lines that I didn’t think would stick out to me (but did):

After a quiet moment, to his soaring heart’s approval, George speaks up again.

This entire kitchen scene portrays that feeling of having a conversation with someone who matters to you. Whether it would classify as something important to someone else or not is irrelevant- to you, in that moment, it feels like you’re holding the world. It’s soft, and tender. You don’t want it to fall flat. You don’t want to let it go. (This scene may or may not have encouraged me to say goodnight to a special someone I was thinking of while reading this).

Sapnap dumps the responsibility of the cart back onto Dream. As he walks past him, he says, “You suck at flirting.”

I really enjoyed the stupid banter between Dream and Sapnap at the grocery store. It not only served as some nice comic relief that kept our guard down before the conflict at the end of the chapter, but it’s also something us readers would definitely hear from (and say to) our friends in real life. Good comic relief is something that eases us in naturally and allows us to immerse ourselves and enjoy the moment while maintaining that element of surprise that keeps us interested :)

He turns away from Dream. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Dream may be less controlled in his emotions and impulses, but he is very open in sharing them. George has more of a filter on everything. Controlled. Not wanting to push Dream (or maybe even himself) off the edge.

“You wanted to this morning,” he says, low.

“Yeah, because we were in your house, not the middle of the grocery store.”

Rejection. Denial. George’s response holds some truth to it, but comes off as a haphazard excuse at the same time. He doesn’t appreciate the way Dream pushes for that direct confrontation and frankness when it comes to approaching their situation (and honestly? Neither would I).

George halts to face him again, with a half-whisper, “Not exactly the best place to ambush me, Dream.”

I like the use of the word ambush here because of the strong negative connotation it implies. It’s as if he’s saying that Dream sought out to make him uncomfortable. As if this was pre-planned and intentional, and not another one one of his silly impulses.

Dream stares at him wildly. “I didn’t ambush you. You brought up your expectations, not me.” His voice grows tight. “Are you seriously still going to act like this?”

We’ve had enough of “Dream, why? Dream, no! Dream, quit being an idiot!” from the readers. This time, he takes that blame and tosses it over to George instead. Conflict grows stronger.

“Like I’m—I’m this stumbling idiot who forces you into every bad situation,” he says. “It’s exhausting, and doesn't make me feel good about myself, and—” He runs a trembling hand through his hair. “It’d be nice if you took some responsibility, for once. That’s all.”

God, I’m so guilty of how George does this to Dream. Taking responsibility isn’t very fun when you feel like the other person is constantly making irrational, immature, and as we’ve established earlier, overall impulsive decisions when it comes to what they say and do. We assume that the other person should be able to understand us- We’ve put up with them for all this time, haven’t we?

Realizing that having a mentality like this is toxic and draining to the other person as well is... difficult. It’s difficult to remember that they’re trying, and that they genuinely care about you too. The very same things that make them irritating are what make them a loving and caring person as well. It takes growth from the both of you to learn and understand each other. And growth takes time.

It’s 4AM at the time I’m writing this, and I’m far too tired to quote the entire phone scene, so I’m going to assume you’ve read it.

A few lines from George:

“Can...can you stay on, for a bit? Can we just talk?”

“Please, Dream.”

“I just want to hear your voice.”

A few lines from Dream:

“George.”

“Stop,” he warned. “Stop that.”

“Don’t say that.” // “What is wrong with you?”

“Fuck, George. Why are you doing this to me?”

The reason Dream brings this up is because it highlights a moment where their general character roles in the fic are switched. In this scenario, it highlights a moment of hypocrisy. George is desperate, and vulnerable. The phone call dialogue showcases him doing something that he knows he shouldn’t be doing. “Can we not talk about this? Can we pretend this phone call didn’t happen?”

Now, plenty of ugly nights and long weeks later, he steps closer to George in the grocery aisle as an unconcerned passerby skirts around their cart and conflict.

I’m not sure why I like this line. It feels like a gentle reminder that in the grand scheme of things, your conflict is small. Insignificant to the rest of the world, mattering to you two and only you two. Makes everything a bit more personal, I guess.

He looms over him, wishing he could melt the bristling anger from his brown eyes, and wishing he had it in himself to be angry, too.

I relate to both sides of this. That gut-wrenching feeling of not being able to find your own anger at someone who is angry at you. The feeling of knowing that your anger is frustrating and hurting someone else, too. Either way, it feels absolutely terrible.

“You called me,” Dream recounts, even though he can tell George remembers it as vividly as he. “You talked to me.” He lets out a short, frustrated breath. “Then you got mad at me the next morning, and iced me out.”

Doing the same thing that you hated the other person for doing, and taking it out on them afterwards. Yeah.

(dakota. dream. can you pls stop calling me out through george i would really really really appreciate it thank u) /hj /lh

“Because you let it happen,” George says, but he looks more vulnerable than before.

blame game here we go againnnnn

Dream stares down at him. “So it’s all on my shoulders,” he reiterates flatly. “It’s all my responsibility, now?”

“Yes,” George spits, his sharpness startling them both. He meets Dream's gaze, unwavering, and recollects himself with a deep breath.

“Yes. Because you made it your responsibility, when you sent me that text.”

George was ready to throw that blame right back into Dream’s face. When I saw that whole scene in Heat Waves, I realized how much I related to George in that particular situation. I knew it would come back, somehow. George wouldn’t be able to let something as huge as that, something that shifted the entire course of their relationship...slide so easily. Even with Dream’s eventual promise to work on himself. The whole time, I was thinking, “He’s too nice. He’s too patient,” and, “I wouldn’t be that nice. I wouldn’t be that patient. Not on the inside, at least.”

And you didn’t fail me. That final jab, although relatable- It hurt.

Now that the screens are off, the distance is gone, and the barriers are thinner than ever before, George’s flaws are becoming more transparent. We start to see other parts of his character that had only been foreshadowed in your previous work. I had no idea how Helium would unfold at the beginning, but I’m now very sure that you did not disappoint.

Seeing how you’ve evolved as a writer in both more subtle and more noticeable ways has been awesome :) I’m excited for the next chapter.

#heat waves #dreamland #helium #im very sorry if this is bad #im no fearwastaken #dnf #dreamnotfound #long post #be warned #i cant believe i did this.#kinda nervous to post #edit: ok wow this did really well #thanks to everyone <3 and dakota omg #helium analysis

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archies-litterbox · 3 years

Text

Whumptober No. 2: Talking is Overrated

Garotte | choking | gagged

Summary: Zoe wakes up in rather inhospitable custody, as well as in magic-nullifying shackles. She wants nothing more than to make her escape as soon as possible without relying on anyone to find her, but the fatigue and headaches brought on by a certain nullifier cast in the metal of her chains makes that rather difficult. And to make matters worse (or better?), she’s not alone.

Words: 7k

A/N: Welcome to Day 2! This one is a much longer piece than Day 1, but I was actually working on this for like a week before I realized it fit one of the Day 2 prompts, so I figured it worked! (“Garotte” is italicized because although this is written for the theme “gagged”, garottes are mentioned coincidentally). The next piece is gonna be for another fandom, and I won’t get back to ToA until likely Day 4, but for now, I hope you enjoy! Also this may be from Zoe's POV, but be fooled not - Douxie's the one getting whumped the most here. I mean... you know me.

[CW: Kidnapping/Capture, Muzzle, Chains, Swearing, Creepy Whumper (Antagonist acts creepy to Zoe but never lays a hand on her)]

It had been, by most conventional standards, not a particularly pleasant afternoon.

It started out fine for Zoe, going about her typical herb-collecting in the woods, but getting a sharp pain in her neck and waking up with cuffs on her wrists pretty much threw a wrench in things. The shackles were generously - as generous as shackles could get, anyway - tethered by a long chain to a stake in the ground, giving her enough length to lay back against a tree. Such was an opportunity she took without hesitation, for something - whether the sedative or some magic nullifier in her shackles - left her feeling drained.

Drained, but not alone.

No, she woke up with another person in her predicament - another magic user, most likely, judging by the way that shackles were clamped on his wrists the same as hers, linked by a long chain to that same blasted stake in the ground.

But unlike her, he was unconscious. Whatever sedative they used must have been doing more of a number on the boy than it did to her. At least, that’s what she figured while the gangly kid laid knocked out on his side.

She decided not to wake him, instead resolving to try to think of a way out of this. Sure, hedge-witches were well-networked, and one of them was bound to track her down to this literal neck of the woods, if there was one thing Zoe Ashildr loathed, it was being at anyone’s mercy. The sooner she got herself out of here without waiting on anyone, the better.

As they sat around a campfire some meters away, the gang that must have been her and this guy’s captors didn’t even notice she was awake, and she hoped to keep it that way. The longer she wasn’t noticed, the longer she’d be left alone to think.

Well… to try to think, anyway, but it was hard to get any clever escape schemes going with the horrendous pounding behind her eyes.

Besides, her attempts to think through what almost might have been the start of a plan were interrupted by a groan beside her.

“Ooooh, Fuzzbuckets.”

...What was a fuzzbucket?

She’d been looking right at the ground at her feet before, but she shifted her gaze to the stirring boy next to her. Zoe couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Great, now she’d have to keep this kid calm, as if fighting through her brain fog wasn’t difficult enough on it’s own.

He lifted his head and sat up, still too dazed to realize his circumstances yet. But when he did, his big hazel eyes widened at the sight of the shackles on his wrists.

His eyebrows upturned, and he opened his mouth like he was going to scream, but Zoe reached out, almost lunging over to do so, and put a hand over his mouth before he could.

“Mh!” he squeaked behind her palm. His eyes were still widened for another second, but then they glanced down to her hands that were shackled just like his, and when he seemed to realize she was a fellow captive and not his captor, his eyebrows furrowed as if he were confused, if not a little affronted.

“The longer they go,” she whispered, nodding to the still-unawares gang that sat grumbling around their fire, “Without knowing you’re awake, the better. Don’t be loud.”

The boy nodded apprehensively and moved his head back to get away from her hand.

“What are we doing here?” he asked, fortunately lowering his voice.

“Right now…” she crossed her heels over each other, sitting back against the tree, “...sitting. And messing with these stupid shackles.”

He rubbed the side of his head, “How long have I…”

Zoe shrugged, “Beats me. Half an hour, at least - that’s how long it’s been since I woke up, anyway… what were you doing before?”

She wasn’t sure why she asked. His squeaking, even when he spoke quietly, was already worsening her headache.

Well, whatever - the question was out there.

The boy looked down to recollect what happened.

“Well… I was picking herbs. My master sent me out to do it. He’s probably in his study going,” he changed his voice to mimic what sounded like a surly old man, “Hisirdoux, what’s taking so long? They’re easy to spot, even for you!”

Zoe tilted her head, “Hisirdoux, huh?”

He nodded, as if remembering he hadn’t thought to introduce himself yet, “Hisirdoux Casperan! Apprentice to Merlin. But I like going by Douxie. It’s shorter, and people usually don’t sound like they’re scolding me.”

Ugh, great.

Not only was she chained here, but she was stuck with an apprentice for a wizard synonymous with snuck-up snobbery.

“I was doing the same thing. Looks like that’s how they got the drop on both of us.”

Douxie - it was better, she admitted, and much less pretentious-sounding than Hisirdoux - tilted his head, “Don’t you have a name?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter.” she said.

“Come on, I told you my name.”

“Not like I asked for it.”

Douxie scrunched up his face in an adora-

NO.

Douxie scrunched up his face in a definitely-not-adorable pout.

“Fine, be all secret-y.” He curled his legs up and hugged them close to his chest with his shackled arms.

And that’s what she wanted to do. She didn’t want to say anything beyond what she had to say to Douxie. Not only was she apprehensive - for all she knew, he was some sniveling kid that knew just as much of the struggle of surviving as a magic user outside the sheltered walls of the castle as that privileged Arthurian toolbag did, which couldn’t have been much - but names were risky. If someone knew your name, they knew how to ask around for you. And she tried avoiding that as much as she could. If Douxie wanted to introduce himself, that was him, not her.

There was more she had to worry about besides introductions. Thinking of a plan… getting these cuffs off… not freezing…

She tried to tuck her hands under her underarms as best she could. These shackles drained her energy, and in addition to her magic’s obsoletion and the awful headache, it made her get cold easily in these woods, under the shade.

“...Are you cold?”

She turned her head to Douxie, who looked genuinely concerned. As skeptical as she was, she nodded.

“Not like I can whip up a fire… neither can you, so don’t try it.” she quickly added, holding up a pointer finger, “Draining Dust in the shackles. It’d just hurt.”

His eyebrows upturned, and he took a shaky breath. Merlin must have told him how poisonous it could be if it gets in the system.

“It’s toxic…” he mumbled, “It… it’s poison.”

“It’s not too bad just in the cuffs.” she said, almost to reassure him, “It shouldn’t actually poison you unless it gets in your system. Maybe if they rub against a cut, or something. Don’t worry about it - there’s enough to be scared of right now.”

Douxie nodded, swallowing, looking at her arms before glancing down at his hands.

“If your hands are cold… I could…”

He blushed, hesitation choking him up as he shook his head, leaning back against a tree of his own, next to the one Zoe was using for support.

“Agh, never mind.”

He tapped the back of his head against the bark, squishing his… manbun when he did.

“What do they even want?”

Zoe shrugged.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” she said, “For all I know, we could be going off to the highest-paying witchfinder… I just hope they don’t want our magic.”

“Well, they obviously don’t want it right now.” Douxie grumbled, shaking his cuffs. Assuming him to be truly clueless, rather than purposefully obtuse, she shook her head.

“I mean to do their dirty work. Keep the cuffs on until they need a spell or something, make us do it. We end up like vessels.”

Douxie looked down.

“Oh…”

Zoe stared down at her cuffed hands in her lap.

“I don’t think there’d be anything worse.” she huffed, “That’s the thing about everyone who hates magic. They say they want it eradicated, pushed out of their sight, crushed underfoot… until it helps them get what they want. Then they rip it from whoever they want, autonomy be forsaken.”

“And what if that’s…” Douxie asked, obviously worried now that he considered the prospect of being forced to use his magic against his will.

“...I'd rather they just get rid of me.” Zoe said, “Maybe taunt them until they do. No way they're getting my magic… especially not with these on.”

She lifted her shackled hands.

Douxie lolled his head back against his tree again.

“Urgh, it feels like they’re making me sick…” he whined, “I’ve got an awful headache.”

“Me too.” Zoe groaned, “Thought it was just from hearing you all along.”

Something panged her heart when she saw the way the boy’s eyebrows upturned. It wasn’t from the shackles, but something else… remorse.

“Ugh... sorry.” She lolled her head back against the tree for what felt like the fiftieth time this afternoon. “Uncalled for.” The apology felt foreign coming from her throat.

But Douxie only shrugged, “‘Salright. I’m notorious for causing headaches. And spills. And spikes in blood pressure. Merlin says so…”

His eyes widened with hope - faith, even, an odd thing - shining in his eyes.

“Merlin! He’ll find us! He’ll know I’m missing.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. Did he really have that much faith in that Arthurian toolbag?

“Sure.” She huffed. Douxie's eyebrows upturned.

“Come on… don’t you have anyone who'll miss you?”

Zoe lifted her head.

“A lot of people, actually. Hedge witches are pretty well-networked.” she said, immediately wanting to bite her tongue for mentioning what she was.

Douxie looked like he had stars in his eyes, which was… not the reaction she expected. She thought Merlin would have led him to think hedge witches were lesser in comparison to pristine magicians who managed to slither their way into King Arthur’s begrudging tolerance, but Douxie seemed… impressed? In awe?

“A hedge witch?” he asked in admiration, careful to keep his voice down. It caused a flutter in her heart that she wanted to beat down with a stick, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that could’ve come with her being flustered, so she nodded.

“One goes missing, the rest pick up on it. Just a matter of tracking down from there…”

Douxie’s mouth formed an “O” and his eyes widened, like he had an idea (which must have been something of a rarity, if this afternoon was anything to go off of).

“Oooh, like a game!” he said, “It’s just like waiting to see who gets here first! Guess we’d both win though, ‘cause we’d… y’know…” he lifted his hands, “Not have these on anymore…”

...Wow, he was an idiot.

“Yeah, sure. A game.” she said, sardonic, “Whoever’s people show up to save our sorry butts first wins.”

It was quiet for a little while after that. Zoe still kept trying to think up an escape plan, despite the headache that messed with her head, and Douxie had either gotten the hint that she wasn’t too giddy for conversation, or he’d grown too worried of his predicament for words.

Judging by the way he sat curled up, hugging his knees against his chest as he stared down at the grass, it might have been the latter.

Douxie’s head snapped up at a noise - one that made Zoe’s heart spike as she whipped her head forward; the sound of one of their captors heading over to them.

He was one of four of them, the other four still sitting around their fire and blathering on with cantines abound in their hands, and he was quite the nasty specimen. Big, burly, greasy-looking, but pretty typical, as far as most people who would kidnap two teenagers out on errands tended to look. He glowered down at Zoe, not paying the curled up moppet next to her much attention.

“You’re awake.” he said to her.

She leaned back against the tree, unimpressed.

“Took you and your drinking buddies long enough to notice.” she said, “It’s bad enough you chained us here, but seriously, you’re going to keep us waiting?”

Douxie, still curled up and now shaking, glanced between her and the… bandit, she wanted to presume? These kinds of guys were always bandits, or something.

The man scoffed, “Rather confident for a hedge witch.”

Zoe tilted her head, “Mm… nah, we’re all pretty much this cocky. What do you want? I was in the middle of something back there.”

“And I was too! Something very important!” Douxie squawked. Zoe grit her teeth.

This isn’t the time to try to be included!

“What you’re in the middle of now,” the supposed bandit said, “is a trip to a rather high-paying witchfinder.”

Wow, she thought, I hit the nail on the head. Great. Can I hit this guy on the head too, while I’m at it?

(But she couldn’t.)

Zoe huffed, “If he’s sending you around, then he’s not much of a witchfinder, is he? I mean, he didn’t even find me, a witch - you did.”

“So, er…” Douxie started, “He’s more of a… send-weird-bad-guys-to-find-witches...er.”

Zoe looked at him for a beat, confused by how much of an idiot he was. Really, he kept surprising her in this respect.

The bandit turned his head to Douxie, too.

“Actually, me and my boys-”

“My boys and I.” Zoe corrected, earning a growl.

“-weren’t sent out to find a witch.”

Zoe didn’t understand, and by the looks of it, neither did Douxie.

“Nah, the guy said he’d pay a rather high price for the apprentice to, say, Merlin Ambrosius…”

Douxie’s eyebrows upturned as he shrunk into himself. Wait, he’d been demanded? Then… what about Zoe?

The man turned to her, as if to answer her question.

“But when we saw a pretty little hedge witch going about nearby…”

Zoe’s stomach turned. Her magic, however suppressed, instinctively thrummed at her fingertips in an attempt at defense. She didn’t let it show how much it burned.

“...Why not get more out of the deal?”

So… she was the one that was just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Zoe almost felt a little insulted, but it was drowned out by anger and, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, fear.

“If the “more” that you want is a bunch of hedge-witches after the sorry, ugly mugs of you and your “boys”, then go for it.” she said, keeping her voice cool despite clasping her hands to suppress the magic that would only hurt her, as long as those cuffs were on.

The hunter huffed, “I’d take the chance, I think. Worth the money.”

He knelt down. If Zoe could’ve backed against the tree any further, she would have. She gripped the chains on her shackles, wondering how good of a garotte the chain between them would make.

“I mean, I don’t see why anyone would turn that down…” his voice was lower now, and Zoe hated that. She really, really hated that.

“Maybe because they don’t have deathwishes.” she said, much more shaky than her liking as the man leered at her. “Do you?”

He brought up a hand.

“...Maybe I d-”

“DON’T TOUCH HER!”

It all happened so fast.

The screech next to her that sounded so unlike the quivering moppet from the past hour.

The slinking of chains moving fast against the ground.

The thumping of feet getting up on the grass.

The blur of brown, blue, and black that moved to her right.

The yowl from the hunter.

The last thing to finally catch up to her senses was a shocking sight, even more so than her own electric magic.

It was the fury in those hazel eyes as Douxie’s jaws clamped down hard on the hunter’s hand.

Zoe dove away from the scene, but mostly the hunter, as much as the chains allowed. Getting out of the space between those two and the tree, she got right to her feet. She wanted to shout something, do something, but she was too shocked by the scene for words. Here he was, some boy who she thought was a pretentious whiny little moppet who couldn’t do anything without Merlin’s approval, huffing and almost growling with his teeth locked onto the man’s hand like a dog’s on a piece of meat.

But as daring (and stupid, and possibly a tad feral) Douxie had been, he was light and gangly, and the hunter swinging his arm hard was enough to slam Douxie’s head against the tree, stunning him so his jaw opened so the hunter could pull his hand away.

Zoe hated that sound of skull meeting wood, and it made her wince, but it wasn’t as bad as the cry from Douxie. It seemed that ferocity was dormant now, smacked out of him as he lay slumped against the tree, somehow still conscious.

“What the hell…” she panted, still standing still as the weight of her shackles pulled her arms down, “What did you do?”

But, for once, Douxie didn’t say anything back.

“So, the little stray Merlin took in has a bite, now does he?” He said, kicking Douxie in the side on the emphasized word. The boy whimpered, grimacing with blood on his teeth, and with every ounce of the self-preservation that had been ingrained in her, Zoe fought tooth and nail against the urge to protect him. He was a stranger, just a kid caught up in the same messed-up predicament she was. It didn’t matter if he got himself in more danger than he was already in for her sake; she had no loyalty to him, and even if she did, her loyalty to herself was greater.

“...Well, I have something for that.”

But her stomach still dropped when she heard that.

The other three of the captors had already been running over, and when they got to their leader, he held out his hand. Without a word, one of the lackeys rummaged around in a bag for something that, whatever it was, Zoe desperately - no, why desperately? Why was she desperate for Douxie’s sake? - hoped he wouldn’t find.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, panting, her feet still planted to the ground.

The leader of the hunters, who still towered over Douxie, grabbed a fistfull of hair on the back of his head and yanked his bun loose.

“What you always use for dogs who can’t help but bite.”

The realization hit Zoe like a smack to the face. She started shaking her head, however minute the action was.

A second later, the realization apparently hit Douxie too, judging by the way his eyes widened and his breath quickened.

Both of them darted their eyes to the lackey with the bag, both knowing what he was looking for and hoping to anything they could that he wouldn’t find it.

But a damning “Aha!” from him all-but-confirmed their fear only a second before he pulled it out.

Zoe saw the straps. She saw the metal clasps. She saw -

Oh, no no no-

She saw the piece of metal that all the straps connected to; that was big enough and shaped just right that it could - no, it would cover the lower half of Douxie’s face and curve just under the chin to keep his jaw clamped shut.

A muzzle.

“NO!”

The scream/plea from Zoe sounded foreign to her, but she didn’t care. Laying eyes on that thing made her own, and she tried lunging forward, just like Douxie did for her, but two of the lackeys stopped her before she could take as much as three steps. They held onto her arms, both stopping her from moving forward and making her cuffed hands dig into her abdomen the more she thrashed against their hold, but she didn’t care. Not as her heels dug against the ground, not as the fabric of her dress sleeves chaffed against her sleeves with how tight the hold on her was, and not as magic thrummed under her skin despite the cuffs.

Douxie curled up and shook his head, clamping his hands over his mouth as if to block the muzzle from being put on. But once the leader had the muzzle in one hand, he used the other to yank on the chain for Douxie’s shackles to pull both the boy closer and to and pull his hands away from his face, stomping on the chain to keep it pinned. Douxie’s hands were forced down now, a mere inch or two off the ground, but even though he was practically stuck on his knees, he kept trying, trying, trying to tug himself away.

“No, no, no! Don’t! Please don’t!” Douxie pleaded.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Zoe screamed, louder than him. It probably wasn’t a good idea to scream at the man holding a muzzle, but she didn’t care. Not while she thrashed and tried pushing forward and yanking her way out of the grip of the men on either side of her.

Until a blade to Douxie’s throat made both him and Zoe go still.

Douxie froze, save for the sharp rise and fall of his chest, and Zoe stopped her thrashing in an instant. The one who’d rummaged around and found the muzzle in the first place was the one holding it, and the angered look in the leader’s eyes made the demand clear:

“Stay still and shut up, both of you, or he gets his throat slit.”

Zoe shook with anger, but stayed still on her feet, glowering at the man so she didn’t have to look right at Douxie.

But she could still see him.

Douxie was just as frozen as her, shaking more with fear than Zoe’s fury, until he tried to shy away from the blade on his neck (and inadvertently pressed his head closer to the man with that damn contraption in his hands), minutely shaking his head.

But when the one holding the blade put it closer to his throat, pressing it against the skin with enough force that so much as a mere twitch would cut him, he went limp (as much as his trembling allowed), squeezed his eyes shut, and nodded minutely - a silent resignation, a nonverbal “I won’t move, just don’t hurt me.”

Zoe closed her eyes, too. The sting of tears was overpowering, and she couldn’t… she couldn’t bear to watch.

“He’ll kill you.” she heard Douxie hiss, “Merlin will kill you, he’ll kill-”

A sharp intake of breath and a muffled whimper made Zoe’s stomach twist, especially when no more sound followed but those of tightening straps and the “chk” of a lock.

Zoe never thought a sound could hurt so much to hear.

Fortunately, oh so fortunately, the leader went back to his fire, and the others followed suit.

When the men on either side of her let her go, the first thing she did was fall to the ground. The way she unconsciously tried using her magic despite the nullifier winded her, so she ended up kneeling on the grass, further staining the skirt of her dress as she stared at the unfocused green mess underneath her.

She wanted to think that was the reason, anyway. Definitely not because of what she knew she’d see once she lifted her head.

But when she heard Douxie’s shaky breathing through his nose - the only way he could breathe, she knew - she straightened up and looked at him. How could she not?

For the first time today, Zoe realized that all she wanted to do was cry.

His mouth and some of his cheeks were covered by dark, dark grey metal that spread ear to ear, reaching just up to his nose. It was likely cast with Draining Dust, just like the cuffs on both their wrists that shared it’s hue. Two little straps on either side of his nose met at it’s bridge, with a ring that had another strap coming from it, too - one that stretched all the way down the middle of the top of his head (hence why the leader tugged his bun loose). Two straps, one on either side of Douxie’s jaw, met the end of that strap at the back of Douxie’s head, Zoe reasonably guessed. Just as well, she assumed that locking noise she heard was the lock being put on back there.

But guessing was all she could do about that, because she wasn’t looking there. No, all she could look at was his face - at the eyes of the muzzled boy that stared at her like he didn’t know what to say, even if he could speak.

In those heavy-lidded hazel pockets of quiet desperation, nearly hidden by messy strands of black hair, Zoe saw what she could only describe as the poor man’s despondence - so close to being checked out of all this, but not quite there, not quite lucky enough to lose awareness of the situation.

She got closer, so she sat on her knees right in front of him while he stared at the ground. She felt more at a loss for what to say than Douxie, even though she was the only one out of the two of them that could say anything.

“He… you…” she started, but none of the words felt right.

Douxie’s eyes drew up to hers, as if he just realized she was in front of her.

And his breathing picked up, and his eyes widened, as if, although he knew there was a muzzle on his face, the realization sunk in, like fangs into skin, that there was a fucking muzzle on his face.

Desperately, he brought his hands to his head, yanking at the straps in desperation only made quiet by the very thing making him desperate. After a second or two, he forwent pulling at the leather bindings in favor of pulling at the metal on his face, almost digging his fingers underneath it and starting to scratch his face in the process as he clawed near-hysterically at it, making high-pitched whining noises behind the muzzle. His eyes weren’t heavy-lidded anymore. No, they were like a wild animal’s (a resemblance only furthered by the muzzle), wide with the fact that he needed, needed, needed to get it off.

But he couldn’t. Not like this.

“Wait! Stop!” she grabbed his hands, and pulled them down. “You might cut your face! You’d only make it worse!”

The image popped into her mind of somehow, some-bloody-how, traces of that nullifying powder ending up in his blood, and if he got poisoned on top of all of this…

No, she couldn’t bear to think of it.

Douxie tried pulling his hands back, but however gentle Zoe was, she was firm in keeping them away from his face.

It took a few moments, but eventually, his attempts in vain subsided and his arms relaxed… only to start trembling with the rest of his body.

The whimpers and whines from before were nothing compared to the keening wail he let out as the futility of his struggling let in, made all the more awful by how muffled it was; as his torso lurched forward and his head hung low.

(Now, Zoe got a good look at the lock binding all the straps together, but she didn’t pay it much mind.)

Douxie let go of her hands in favor of balling his own into fists, but she still felt his tears fall on her arms as he started to sniffle.

No, no, not good. If started crying any harder, and his nose stuffed up, he wouldn’t be able to breathe through his nose due to the congestion and… well, obviously he wouldn’t be able to breathe any other way. And the last thing she wanted to count on - even less so than that armored, bearded, weird-metal-head-plated embodiment of pretentiousness caring enough to send help for his errand boy - was these guys being merciful and trading the muzzle for something more breathable, let alone just leaving him ungagged.

No, it was too much of a risk.

“No, no, no, no. Don’t cry. Please.” It only made Douxie sob behind the metal again, the thought of something else being taken, but she explained, “If you cry, you might plug up your nose. You’ll suffocate.”

But that only scared him more, she realized as his eyes widened, his eyebrows upturning as he shook his head again, whining behind the metal that made the sound near-inaudible. She put her hands to either side of Douxie’s face, despite herself, despite the coldness she carried with her like a switchblade.

Douxie put his hands over hers. She tried to ignore the flutter in her heart - anything to help him get grounded.

“I need you to breathe. I need you to take deep breaths for me, and I need you not to cry. Just - just keep that nose of yours cleared up, okay?” She rubbed her thumbs over the little bit of his cheeks still uncovered by cruel, horrendous metal. “Can you do that for me, Douxie?”

Douxie’s eyebrows raised, and he seemed to relax a little with a certain realization - one that made Zoe fight back heat in her cheeks…

That was the first time today she’d called him Douxie.

And it was enough to help calm him down; to help his breathing slow, and to help the tension leave his body, even if it was just a little bit.

His eyes became heavy-lidded again, and however strange it sounds, Zoe thought it was a relief. It meant that he’d calmed down; that he was less of that frenzied, near-wild person from moments before and more of that moppety boy he’d been all this time.

Really, it was hard to believe they were even the same person, and if Zoe hadn’t seen it for herself, she wouldn’t have.

And even now, she still couldn’t wrap her head around the way he clamped down on that man’s hand, biting like a wild animal. It wasn’t his being daringly stupid - or stupidly daring? - that unnerved her, but the way he’d been as such…

How was she supposed to expect that from anyone? Especially Merlin Ambrosius’ sniveling errand boy?

“Why…” she huffed, “Why did you do that?”

Douxie couldn’t rightly answer, but he gestured to their captors again, bringing up a shaky hand to do it. Looks like Zoe would have to fill in the blanks.

“You…”

She sighed.

“You just didn’t want him to hurt me, did you?”

Douxie nodded, his head lolling with each motion because of the weight from the metal across half his face.

“...You know,” she started, “If he got close enough, I would’ve just tried using these chains as a garrote.”

Douxie tilted his head, mumbling something unintelligible in confusion.

“Something you wrap around someone’s neck to choke them out.” she explained and shrugged, “...Probably wouldn’t have worked, anyway.”

Douxie shrugged, noncommittal.

“I didn’t expect that from you, but I guess that goes without saying, huh?”

The look Douxie gave her was almost deadpan - enough to let her know that was the wrong choice of words. Oops.

“Heh, sorry…”

When she realized her hands were still on his face, a realization that made a pink tint come to her own cheeks (the same hue she’d eventually dye her hair, which was still brown now), she started taking them off…

...But Douxie put his hands on hers with a muffled whine.

“M’kay…” she gently rubbed under his eyes again, “Alright…”

She humored him, kept her hands on his cheeks. Not because she pitied him, or felt like she owed him for that stupid way he leaped and bit for her sake, but… he was scared, and if she let it show - if she brought forth even a sliver of the fear she felt today, he wouldn’t hesitate to comfort her, just like he didn’t hesitate when that bandit brought his hand up...

And she couldn’t turn down that sad look of helplessly quiet desperation in his eyes, no matter how much she wanted to.

Zoe sighed.

She wasn’t much for reassurance, but for his sake…

“...We’ll be okay.”

Douxie cast his gaze down, clearly not believing the statement as much as she did (even though earlier, the inverse was true). No, no no no - he couldn’t get discouraged; Zoe couldn’t let him.

“I mean it.” she insisted, “You’re Merlin’s errand boy, right?”

Douxie mumbled something - a correction, a muffled “apprentice” - behind the metal clamped cruelly over his mouth.

“Then he’ll know you’re missing, and he’ll come for you. And the hedge-witches will come for me. Like a game, remember? Like you said?”

Douxie nodded, a little of the light returning to his eyes, as if he were happy that Zoe remembered what he said so naively earlier.

But despite that light… Zoe could tell that Douxie was exhausted.

“...It makes you more tired, doesn’t it?” she said, and it was obvious what “it” was. Douxie nodded, moving her hands with the motion. Of course it did - again, it didn’t take much to reasonably assume that it was cast with Draining Dust, just like the shackles, and now that more of it was on him, it just made him more miserable…

Douxie moved his head out of her hands and started to lay down on the ground, but he still looked miserable, curling his arms around himself and curling his legs. And Zoe couldn’t take it. If she had any way of making him more comfortable…

...Well, at the very least, she had an idea.

“Sit up, Douxie,” she said to the boy that lay curled up next to her. Obviously a little confused, he sat up so he sat up and put his heels underneath him.

Zoe stretched her legs out and gauged, just by looking, how well her arms could fit around him. Even with his vest, he was rather skinny, and her arms were long, so she figured it would work.

“I have an idea. I can try to make it a bit more comfortable.” she held her hands up, “Can I…”

Douxie didn’t look like he knew what she’d try to do, but he nodded all the same.

Her back had been laying up against the tree before, but she sat up a bit to get closer to Douxie - close enough to raise her shackled arms and put them over his head and down so they lay somewhat loose around his torso, like she was hugging him from behind.

He looked a little confused, but didn’t recoil, so she laid back against the tree and gently pulled Douxie with her, so the back of his head laid against her shoulder, and he could rest it there, against the softness of the cloth that made up her dress.

And that’s what she did. As much as he still didn’t seem to get this (and to be fair, Zoe didn’t get why she was doing this, whatever this was, either) and his arms were somewhat pinned to his sides by the embrace, he still seemed relaxed.

“How’s this?” she asked, “If you don’t like it, I can-”

Douxie brought up his own shackled hands, his arms still sort of pinned to his sides by Zoe's embrace, to hold hers, only nestling further against her.

It was a clear enough answer - one that made Zoe feel relieved that she wouldn’t have to let go of him. She hated that relief, as good as it felt. It meant that if she did have to let him go, if something took him from her arms, it would hurt. And that knowledge - the looming threat of that pain - was dangerous.

But she found that right now, for once today, there was little she could bring herself to hate.

“Oh… ‘kay.” she rubbed one of his fingers with her thumb, “Okay…”

Despite the way one of the straps of Douxie’s muzzle - which she wanted nothing more than to blast right off - dug against her collarbone, the slow, steady breathing against her helped calm her as much as her hold calmed Douxie.

Zoe laid her head back against the tree, feeling fatigue weigh on her own eyelids once again.

“...It’s Zoe, y’know.”

Douxie lifted his head a little and looked up at her, “Mmh?”

Zoe brought her gaze, which lay aimlessly at the sky above the forest, down to the boy in her arms.

“You asked my name before.” she said, “It’s Zoe.”

When he seemed to finally understand what she was referring to, he hummed in contentment and squinted his eyes a little - the closest thing he could convey to a smile.

Zoe tried to ignore the way her heart fluttered, trying to at least keep any traces of it off her face.

Douxie closed his eyes and nestled his head against her again.

...She was just tired. That’s all this was. It was the cuffs, the stress, the circumstances. They were the only reasons she felt her heart warm when he saw that he looked content, despite the shackles on his wrists and godawful contraption clamped on his face; the only causes for her relief that his tears were drying under his closed eyes, his pretty lashes. Certainly, it wasn’t because he’d managed to make himself someone who meant something to her, to bumble his way through her barriers. And most definitely, it was not because she loved-

DAMN IT.

Zoe sighed, as if in defeat, and rested her head atop Douxie’s.

“Let’s just… sleep.”

“Mhm…”

And that’s what they did.

Zoe woke up some twenty minutes later, she guessed. It got chillier, and apparently, she’d been asleep long enough for thick clouds to form overhead. She hoped it wouldn’t rain - it was the last thing she needed.

She looked down at Douxie, and of course, he was still asleep. Her arms ached a little - something that would have driven her up a wall before - but she didn’t mind much now. Not while she listened to his slow, quiet breaths as his chest rose and fell in her hold.

Zoe huffed, grateful that the boy's breathing was still clear; she didn't calm him down earlier just for his nose to stuff up now.

She could hear footsteps - hulking, stomping steps - come her way. As her stomach dropped, her gaze picked up. She steeled it when she saw the leader of those damn hunters standing over her, glowering. He was pissed, and over what? Over the fact that she tried to comfort Douxie when he made the child miserable?

Gritting her teeth, she held Douxie a little tighter. Not enough to make him stir. Instinctively, she could feel her hands burn as her magic tried to surge to her fingertips, an unconscious attempt brought forth not of desperation, but of resolve.

Just like Douxie protected her, Zoe would protect him, even if she had to shatter these shackles and set this whole forest alight with a lightning strike to do it.

And when that bastard reached down to Douxie, she feared it would come to that.

...but it didn’t.

With a blast of a green magic poofing out around him like an aura, the man froze. That same green hue of magic surged down both her and Douxie’s chains, and when it reached their cuffs, they snapped right open.

With a sigh she felt like she’d been holding in since she first woke up here, Zoe’s hands relaxed and fell to her side, free of that godawful metal.

Naturally, they also dropped Douxie, who, without that little support, flopped on her lap. Thankfully, his head landed on his side, rather than directly on that lock on the muzzle, which hadn’t been affected by that blast of magic and still remained clamped on his face. The last thing anyone needed was the lock getting damaged to where unlocking it would be impossible.

“Mh!” His eyes snapped open, and his eyes darted around in confusion. Zoe couldn’t blame him. Once he seemed to realize his cuffs were off, he rubbed at his aggravated wrists. Zoe couldn’t blame him for that either.

She looked up at the still… still man in front of her.

“He’s frozen.” she said and leaned to the side to see that the same quick work of immobilization had been done to the rest of the hunters, “They all are.”

Douxie lifted his head, as trying a task it was, and he squinted when he saw the green aura around the hunter and the bright green cracks surging through their old chains like glowing veins, as if inspecting - trying to figure out if this was real. If he could really hope.

But Zoe knew he could.

“Looks like he found you first, didn’t he?” she asked.

And seconds later, she heard new footsteps getting closer this time - armored, urgent footsteps - and she knew that she was right.

“Hisirdoux!” Zoe heard a grouchy old man’s voice call out. Of course, he sounded just like that silly impersonation Douxie did of him earlier.

Speaking of Douxie (which he still couldn’t do at all yet), the boy sat up as fast as he could. Swaying with the extra weight on his head, he got up so he was sitting on his knees, and he whined in an odd mix of desperation and relief behind the metal over his mouth, as if - after the horrible, awful afternoon this had been - Merlin Ambrosius could not get over to him fast enough.

“Heh…” Zoe huffed to herself, rubbing her own wrists. Really, she thought her fellow hedge-witches would track her down in these woods way faster than anyone from that ever-pristine castle, but that didn’t matter. A rescue was a rescue.

“Looks like you won.”

#whumptober2021 #no.2 #fanfic #captured #whump #tales of arcadia #toa #zouxie #douxie #toa zoe #hisirdoux casperan #zoe ashildr #pretty sure if i tag it with the bolded prompt it'll get flagged so (:

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dutchdread · 3 years

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Hi again, I'm the same anon from your last ask. So my next question then is why would you consider it to be a bad story if Cloud ends up with Aerith in the end? You also say Cloud and Tifa supposedly have something going on, but even if they did, Aerith doesn't know that. Neither Cloud nor Tifa tell anyone, or even show that there's anything going on between them throughout the whole story. Did you see that in Remake that Aerith even asks Cloud if Tifa is someone special and he says no?

Thanks for the question. Your question is comprised of two parts, why Cloud ending up with Aerith would be a bad story, and then the secondary part about Aerith not knowing about the history between Tifa and Cloud. I think understanding the later will be helpful to understand the former so I'll start with that. This goes back to what I said in my last reply concerning the difference between thinking someone is a bad person, and thinking they're a bad character. First off, let me just make clear that I don't judge Aerith too much concerning her behavior in the OG, since as you rightly state, she didn't really know that there was anything going on between Tifa and Cloud, she probably knew there was some attraction there, but nothing about the extent or the history. And if in the remake it turns out she's actually blissfully ignorant I'll be more lenient there as well. However, in my opinion the remake heavily implies she does realize there is a thing between Tifa and Cloud. You mentioned Aerith asking if Tifa was Clouds girlfriend, and him replying "no". However, as always, there is context here, for starters, the scene doesn't end there and then. Aerith replies knowingly "but she's someone special". Moreover the scene is also only one scene in a series of relevant scenes concerning Clouds relationship with Tifa, which starts with Jessie asking about who Tifa is too Cloud, this plotpoint then continues through Aeriths flower. When Aerith gives Cloud the flower she mentions that his girlfriend will love it, then later when Aerith asks him who he gave the flower to Cloud says he doesn't remember, and Aerith calls him out on the lie. The question is then answered when Aerith goes to the 7th heaven and discovers Cloud gave it to Tifa, prompting a smile from Aerith. She figured it out, actually, she probably figured it much earlier, but now it was confirmed. She had a hunch about Tifa, just like Jessie, Cloud was defensive at first, then evasive, but ultimately, Aeriths hunch was correct, Cloud gave the flower to Tifa. He can pretend all he wants, Aerith knows. Personally, I think she smiled because it reminds her of the future. Throughout remake Aerith is hinted to know more than she lets on, and that's especially true concerning Tifa and Cloud. When Tifa is kidnapped she pushes Cloud to go after Tifa, calling Tifa Clouds special person. If I recall correctly she even uses the same terminology that she used to describe Elmyras husband. She actively tries to make Tifa jealous by calling Cloud her bodyguard, and then she straight up tells Tifa to follow her heart. She gives me the distinct impression that she knows perfectly well where Cloud and Tifas hearts lie, and is trying to push them into action. This is borderline confirmed during the Aerith resolution where she basically straight up admits to knowing more about Clouds feelings than she actually should, assuming you think that this apparition is at least somewhat related to the current Aerith in some manner. The thing that really clenches this in my opinion is a trace of two pasts, where Tifa straight up tells Aerith about her and Clouds history. If Aerith doesn't get it by then, then she's being willfully ignorant. But lets say she does indeed not know, that would to some degree absolve her as a person. But it would still make her a bad character, because WE, the audience, know. We know that Cloud is supposed to end up with Tifa, we know that's how the story goes. And when you rewrite old stories in such a way that you take things away from one character, just to give more to another character, you run the giant risk of insulting the characters involved. You see this in things like the star wars sequels, where they effectively character assassinated Luke Skywalker in order to artificially make Rey seem better. But there are two reasons why this doesn't work, for one, it tends to create Mary-Sue like characters who just get given everything, and two, it inherently causes the fans of the other characters and stories to resent the character that's taking it away.

People don't like people who are simply handed everything, even fictional ones.

In a sense, this is also why Cleriths so often seem to hate Tifa, because they feel like Tifa took their story away from them. The difference, of course, is that Cloud ending with Tifa is a part of the original game itself, while Aerith coming back to life and ending up with Cloud would be a 25 year retcon which would blatantly disadvantage one character in favor of another, this in turn would reek of favoritism, which in turn would generate bad blood in the player. A character who needs to take away from other characters in order to be put forward is not a good character. Good characters add to the characters around them, not take away, that's what Aerith in the OG does, that's what Aerith ending up with Cloud, would not do. This effect would then be magnified by Aeriths already over importance to the plot. Having the universe revolve around one character generally isn't good writing. One of the things that makes Lord of the rings so timeless and beloved is that Frodo is just a small hobbit in the grand scheme of things. Likewise, one of the key elements that makes FFVII so appealing to human nature is Clouds humanity and lack of importance. The fact that Cloud turns out to not be a soldier 1st class, but just a grunt who wasn't good enough, who still ends up being the one who saves the world, speak to the human spirit. Aerith living and ending up with Cloud wouldn't be just a small difference where the overall story would stay the same with only the love interest switched, no, it would inherently ripple effect into all other aspects of the story. From the smallest details to the overall themes of the story, from directing to the personalities of characters, everything would be effected and all of it would fall apart. I could go over a hundred examples but I'll limit myself to some of the smallest and largest. Stories have a flow, where what is happening follows logically from what came before. It's not that it's impossible to write a story where two characters that are roughly similar to Cloud and Aerith fall in love, get separated by death, and where the Cloud character mourns and pines for her after she's gone. The problem comes when you add in Tifa, Zack, and all the other context and details of the story. Consider Zack, if we take the concept of Zack as it relates to Cloud and Aeriths relationship and boil it down to the essentials we could see it as a story about a girl falling in love with a boy because he's channeling the spirit of her dead ex, the main internal conflict the characters need to overcome could then be the question of whether these feelings are true, or whether they are just the shadow of her feelings for the old boyfriend. On the surface, this premise works as the basis of a story. The problem lies in the execution. If you write such a story there are a few things you can and cannot do. For one, you have to make this love exceptionally obvious, you can't tell a story about whether or not feelings are true if you never even get to establishing the feelings in the first place. One of the key things you need to do for this is establish the two characters central importance to the others internal emotional arcs. The first thing you DON'T do is establish a second female character and have Clouds emotional arc revolve mainly around her. If you want to tell a story where Tifa and Clouds relationship turns out to just be friendship, while Aerith and Cloud turns out to be love, then you show the scenes establishing that. However, whenever Cleriths argue for a story like this they have to assert that Cloud no longer loving Tifa is just something that happened off-screen and is never mentioned. But if this were true, this would be extremely important to show. So again, if this is the story, then this is bad direction, aka, storytelling. Scene choices matter, if your story requires you to assume that the scenes you're shown aren't important, and that the crucial bits have to be imagined to happen of screen, then that's bad writing. And the reason you can't suddenly do it now, 25 years later, is

because of a thing called "set-up". Even if they were to change to story to suddenly direct it as such now, it would constitute a drastic change of direction, which means the larger 2-decade long story we've been told is no longer a single coherent whole. If the story in remake is that Cloud always loved Aerith, then why wasn't the ground work for that lain 25 years ago? If you want to say that the story is about Cloud loving Aerith, and ending up with her eventually, then you can't have Cloud not speak her name for the second half of the original game, and devote that time completely to establishing port-mortem that Cloud wasn't himself while with Aerith, and that his true self has deeply ingrained feelings towards another woman. And not some minor character who exists only as a plot-device, some fake hurdle designed to try to raise some fake tension, but Tifa, a character who is routinely established to be the "heroine" of the game, someone of equal importance to Aerith who cared for Cloud while he was in a coma, whose history with Cloud started his internal character arc, whose history with Cloud resolved his internal character arc, and who lives with Cloud 2 years later.

And the same thing goes for Zack, it was possible to write him as negligible when it was just FFVII, if you ignored the addition of Tifa and JUST focused on the Zack element as a side character. But the addition of Tifa and the existence of Crisis Core cause the narrative to become disjointed when trying to view it as a single story. This is why people so often want you to ignore Crisis Core, because they understand that if a conclusion of a story is that Zacks role isn't that important, then why did your story spend an entire game cementing the importance of Zack? One of the things I hear most from Cleriths is "why couldn't Cloud just get over his childhood crush on Tifa and fall in love with Aerith? It happens in real life" , or some other variation of "why couldn't this happen?" But this shows the problem with how they want the story to go, because stories aren't real life. Anything CAN happen in a story, but not anything should. Stories have a concept called " checkovs gun", if a gun is introduced into a story in the first act, it has to be fired somewhere down the line. If the gun turns out to not have a role in the story, why was it there? But the same thing doesn't apply in real life, in real life, chekovs guns almost never fire, with few exceptions, real life is a bad guide to how to write stories. Stories written like real life, generally suck. If characters in stories behaved like characters in real life, half their lines would be "uhhhhh", and half the scenes would be them sitting on the couch having meaningless unrelated events happen.

The entire flow, pacing, and sequence of events is wrong in a Clerith version of this story. In order to sell the idea that FFVII is a story about Aerith and Cloud getting together you first have to sell the idea that all these plot threats concerning Tifa essentially don't matter. But if they don't matter, then why are they there? What purpose do they serve? What purpose does Tifa serve? Or Zack? In order to "fix" their preferred interpretation, Cleriths need to get around this problem, which causes them to have to re-interpret everything that happens and twist it in order to create the appearance of a coherent story. This requires them to resort to minimizing characters, character assassinating characters, and generally misrepresenting everything that happens. I think there is no bigger indication of why Cloud and Aerith getting together would suck as a story than looking at how the people who propose this version of the story look at Cloud and Tifa as characters. What follows are some excerpts from the dumbest person I've ever debated.

This went on for over 200 replies, this is not a mentally sound interpretation of the story, but this is what you need to believe in order to get the Aerith/Cloud love story to work. You're forced to minimize Tifa and her importance to the story, and you need to demonize Cloud. So basically you have two options here, you either have to say "all this stuff with Tifa and Zack, doesn't matter", all their scenes, all those plot threats, they all aren't a part of the larger story being told and ultimately amount to nothing. Or two, you remove all those scenes or rewrite them to instead focus on Cloud and Aerith. And both those approaches suffer from the same basic problem, they're both effectively going "screw everything, all that matters is Cloud and Aerith". Which brings me back to my earlier point. If your story is pushing everything aside in order to hype up the main character, you're not writing a good ensemble story, you're writing a bad fan-fiction. This is the writing people HATE. Cloud is no longer a sad but likable character with complex motivations and feelings who wasn't as important as he thought he was, no, he's cliche self-insert main character that the world revolves around, who every girl genuinely loves regardless of whether or not it makes sense, even though he's a complete asshole who abandons children and takes advantage of women just because he's "lovesick". No other man could ever compare, a week with him braindamaged and you forget all about the man you pined after for 5 years. Aerith is not compassionate to a man who blames himself for his failings and thinks he'd do more harm than good, she's compassionate to a piece of human filth who refuses to go save children because he doesn't care about them. She's not just a girl with a big destiny and a tragic fate, no, the universe itself resets to make sure she gets laid. Tifa isn't a powerful woman who devotedly supports the man she loves through his darkest hours, instead she's a weak unimportant doormat without self-respect who even in 2 decades could not measure up to a week with Aerith. Zacks connection with Cloud doesn't come with complex implications about Aeriths feelings, Zack never really mattered, his entire story of getting back to her? Doesn't matter, it only exists to show how much Aerith must love Cloud to choose him over Zack. The entire lifestream reveal concerning Cloud? Doesn't matter, nothing matters, it's in the past. The central reveal of the story isn't important because Clouds true self suddenly likes Aerith now.....good writing. etc, etc, etc. Where Aerith was once a part of an ensemble cast, the heroine of the external plot, tasked with saving the world through her powers as an ancient, while Tifa as the equally important heroine of the internal plot saves Clouds through their shared feelings, now everything instead revolves around Aerith, and the other characters only exist in service to her, not as characters in their own right, but only to make sure she and Cloud gets together, like every hated mary-sue in history. The pain of her death? Gone, the impact and nuance of the story? Gone. Literally everything that made FFVII special? Gone. And concerning the small, even the little details would no longer be coherent, Cetras thematically guide people to the promised land, note: "GUIDE", but now Aerith would suddenly be the promised land herself. The through-line of Cetras "returning to the planet"? Gone, if Aerith doesn't die that doesn't link to the story anymore at all. Tifa's bar being the 7th heaven, aka, the final heaven, aka, the promised land where Aerith guides Cloud to? Suddenly a meaningless name. Tifa's last name "lockhart" being a direct hint towards the "tender feelings locked up inside Clouds hart"? Completely trivial, the feelings weren't that important to the story. And I could go on for hours, every aspect of FFVII, from small to large, would be fundamentally poisoned if Cloud ends up with Aerith.

I could rewrite the story to make it work, but that's the point, then you'd be rewriting the story in order to diminish every other character and story in favor of Cloud and Aerith. Which brings us back to it becoming a horrible fan-fiction where no one and nothing matters except Cloud and Aerith. It's ok to write unimportant characters, it's not ok to make your important characters unimportant in retrospect in order to wank off another character. Thanks for asking.

#cloti #FFVII #ffvii remake #cloud strife #aerith gainsborough

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ibijau · 3 years

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Futures Past pt13 / on AO3

Nie Huaisang is visited again by his future self, which goes even less pleasantly than before

Nie Huaisang did not enjoy in the least being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, a hand firmly pressed over his mouth to keep him quiet and avoid waking the other Nie disciples.

His future self really needed to find a better way to visit him. They had to decide on a schedule of some sort, Nie Huaisang ranted when they were outside, hidden away near the cabin he currently inhabited. Or a signal. Or something other than the absolute terror of a stranger taking him out of his bed in the dark.

“Couldn’t you at least have told me when you were planning on coming back?” Nie Huaisang complained, to which his future self shrugged.

“I was supposed to, but I forgot,” the older man muttered from being his fan. “Not that I would have kept to the schedule anyway. I had to know how your time in Yunping City went, so I… pushed hard to come here as early as I could. I probably won’t be able to return again until late fall, or even the bew year.”

He did look tired, and had a slight trembling in his hands, Nie Huaisang noted. Though that could just have been excitement rather than a sign something was wrong with him.

“It went well in Yunping City, I think,” Nie Huaisang announced. “I don’t think that Meng Yao will be going to Lanling Jin now, not if he has even a little bit of brain, and…”

“He’s more stupid than you’d expect,” his older self snapped. “I take it he’s still alive then?”

Nie Huaisang hunched his shoulders and looked down at his feet.

“It’s not like I could actually have killed him! And anyway, he’s nice. Well, I thought he was nice…” The older Nie Huaisang scoffed. “And Lan gongzi thought it too…” Another scoff, and when Nie Huaisang risked a glance, he was met with an expression of disgust. “And Jiang gongzi too had a good opinion of him!”

“You saw Jiang Cheng?” his older self asked, lowering his fan while something shifted in his voice. “How was he? Was Wei Wuxian there too?”

He sounded almost eager to get news, as if he cared about these people.

He sounded almost human.

“I don’t think that other one was there,” Nie Huaisang said, trying to remember. He'd been so nervous about that Meng Yao business, he hadn't paid attention to anything else. “And Jiang gongzi mostly seemed interested in chatting with Lan gongzi. They were getting along just fine. I think they’re writing to each other now? I think Lan gongzi mentioned that the other day.”

Whatever softness had briefly taken over his older self melted in a second, replaced by something dark.

“That’s new,” he said, closing his fan with a flourish before tapping it against his hand. “I knew they would have met briefly in Yunping City, but to my knowledge they didn’t speak at all. We’ll have to be careful. I don’t like the idea of Jiang Cheng siding with that idiot." He sighed. “We’ll see what comes of it in the future. For now, tell me what you’ve done with Meng Yao, since you’re apparently too much of a coward to properly get rid of the man who killed da-ge.”

Nie Huaisang felt breathless at that casual mention of Meng Yao’s true role in his brother’s future death. His older self had said that Meng Yao was involved, that he needed to be dealt with, but Nie Huaisang hadn’t thought…

How could someone like Meng Yao ever kill his brother? Even if he worked day and night, even if he tried as hard as he could, Meng Yao would take years and years to catch up to even a normal cultivator’s level. He would never compare to Nie Mingjue who everyone agreed was a cultivation genius, a force of nature. In a direct confrontation, Meng Yao could never win.

It would have been something more insidious then, Nie Huaisang thought. Poison, or backstabbing, or some other under-handed thing. And since Lan Xichen had appeared so instantly fond of that Meng Yao, since his future self hated him too, maybe he’d accidentally given him the means of coming close to Nie Mingjue. That would certainly explain why that older Nie Huaisang despised both men so intensely.

A little shaken by that theory, Nie Huaisang started recounting what had happened in Yunping City. Or at least, he explained most of it. He was so embarrassed about failing to find the right brothel that he didn’t speak about that, meaning he also didn’t say anything about meeting Lan Xichen in the red district, and that complete breakdown the poor boy had. And while he proudly explained that Meng Yao was now part of Yunmeng Jiang where he appeared to be doing very well according to letters Lan Xichen had received, Nie Huaisang didn’t mention that to obtain that result he’d insulted a sect leader and gotten harshly punished for it. He didn’t think his older self would show much sympathy for his suffering.

Really, talking to that man was like talking to Nie Mingjue when he asked about his brother’s cultivation progress. Except at least Nie Mingjue was only like that some of the time, when the elders had pestered him about Nie Huaisang’s lack of talent for anything one time too many. His older self felt as if he was this way all the time.

“I suppose Yunmeng will have to do,” the older Nie Huaisang sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The Jiangs certainly aren’t going to give him a recommendation to join Lanling Jin. Anything is better than Lanling or Qinghe at this point.”

Nie Huaisang pinched his lips, quite glad he hadn’t mentioned his initial plan of bringing Meng Yao to Qinghe. It had been a stupid plan, he now realised. But he hadn’t known that Meng Yao would be his brother’s actual murderer, and his future self hadn’t said anything, and…

“Now that Meng Yao is dealt with, let’s talk about what you have to do next,” the older Nie Huaisang said.

“About… about S-Su She?” Nie Huaisang quickly asked, trying to sound as indifferent as he could.

His older self opened his fan with an elegant gesture that Nie Huaisang was starting to hate, and shook his head with a cruel smirk.

“No. I’ve given this some thought,” the older man explained, fanning himself slowly. “I’ve reached the conclusion that I don’t care much whether Jin Zixun and him kill each other. Good riddance, neither of them are worth even the dirt used to bury them. These two are just…”

“He’s my friend,” Nie Huaisang squeaked. By which he meant Su She of course, but also…

Jin Zixun and him had exchanged a few glances here and there during particularly boring lessons, and they’d chatted a little when they’d been punished again together, this time over a failed assignment. Jin Zixun wasn’t a friend, but he might have become an acquaintance, and that was probably more than anyone could say about Jin Zixun.

His older self closed his fan with a sharp gesture and glared at him.

“He’s not.”

“But he is!” Nie Huaisang insisted. “I met Su-xiong a while ago, and he’s real nice, and we get along fine, and he even…”

“A man like Su She doesn’t have friends. He’s only using you to get something. What did he make you promise? Support? Help? Money?”

“He’s not like that!” Nie Huaisang cried out, letting his voice rise higher than was truly wise at such an hour of the night.

But he couldn’t let Su She be insulted that way. Maybe it was different where his future self came from, maybe Su She and him hadn’t met over there, but they had met here, and they were true friends.

Su She had amply apologised about not coming to see Nie Huaisang that whole week he’d been punished for his fight with Jin Zixun. He had cited his own punishment, as well as Lan Xichen enrolling him in his book-copying scheme. Both were valid reasons, but Su She still appeared very sorry that he’d let Nie Huaisang deal with that on his own, and shared some candies with him as a way of apology.

Su She was the best friend Nie Huaisang had ever had in his life, and he refused to hear anyone insult him, even himself.

“Su She is no friend of yours,” his older self claimed. “Stop whatever acquaintance you have with him right away. Da-ge wouldn’t approve, anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re at the point of my life where I’m a little idiot who cannot do anything right. If you’re making a decision, it’s always going to be the wrong one, and it will anger Da-ge. So drop Su She immediately.”

"Da-ge isn't like that," Nie Huaisang grumbled.

"I've known him longer than you," his future self retorted. "I know what he thinks of me."

Which might have been true, but it still felt wrong. Nie Huaisang and his brother had their disagreements, of course. Many of them, in fact. They argued over just about anything, but rarely seriously, or about anything really important, and they always made up quickly. Sure, some people misunderstood their relationship and thought they didn't get along. Some had even tried to take advantage of that perceived rift between them, but both brothers knew where they stood.

Nie Huaisang knew his brother would like Su She when he met him. In fact, Nie Mingjue had already promised he could invite his new friend to come to the Unclean Realm, provided he passed his exams.

Maybe it had been too long since his future self had last seen Nie Mingjue, if he could only remember their few disputes and none of the affection.

"The only person you're supposed to pay attention this year to is Lan Xichen," his older self reminded him. "So how are things going on that front? I swear if there's still no progress…"

"No, there is!" Nie Huaisang said, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. "A lot of progress! We spend at least a shichen together every week lately, sometimes more!"

"That's a very precise amount," his older self noted. "How do you know it is that much?"

"Well, see, he gives me music lessons. He says I'm quite good at it actually," Nie Huaisang added with pride.

That pride was met with a dark, angry look. Or perhaps not angry as such, Nie Huaisang thought after a moment. Maybe envious instead. Considering the opinion his future self had of Lan Xichen, it was impossible he'd ever been given those lessons, or surely he wouldn't have hated Lan Xichen so much. And since they were the same person, or at least had been the same person before his future self grew up into an asshole, then they had to have the same tastes, the same aspirations.

"What instrument ?"

"The guqin, of course. You know, I always figured it'd be really hard, but I'm liking it a lot, and it's really fun to practice a little every day, and Lan Xichen is a really nice teacher, and he's actually fun, and…"

"He's not," his future self cut him. "And while I'm glad you're finally remembering the part you have to play in our plan, I don't want you to get distracted. Music isn't your goal. Neither is it to actually befriend Lan Xichen. You only need to make him think you're his friend, getting attached as well would be a mistake."

"But…"

"In fact," his older self continued, slowly fanning himself, "it would be best if you gave up already on the idea of having friends. It's not for the likes of us. If you were a little more charismatic and likeable perhaps… but in the end, none of the 'friends' I made at your age were there for me when I needed them. I had to trick them into helping when the time came to avenge da-ge, or they would have let his murderers live free."

"Well maybe if you weren't such a prick they'd still be yours friends," Nie Huaisang muttered, which earned him a slap.

It didn't immediately register that he'd been hit. He just stood there, staring at his older self, vaguely aware of a noise too loud in the quiet night of the Cloud Recesses, and a rising sensation of heat on his cheek.

"I can't believe nobody has ever done that, with how annoying I am," his future self remarked, shaking his hand as if the blow had hurt him too. "Now listen to me. You are not likeable. You are not charismatic. You're not even particularly clever most of the time. Why would anyone want to be friends with you? At best they're tolerating you because it's impossible to just reject the heir of a great sect, but make no mistake, your only quality is Nie Mingjue. In terms of popularity, you rank about as high as someone like Jin Zixun. Do you understand what it means?"

Nie Huaisang failed to contain a few tears as he brought one hand to his smarting cheek. It felt hot to the touch, and he'd have to expend some spiritual energy into it, or else there might be a mark in the morning that would be difficult to explain.

As for his older self's question, Nie Huaisang shook his head the way he felt might be expected of him.

"It means you have to treat people the way they treat you," his older self said. "Keep your heart closed, and use them for what they're worth. Especially Lan Xichen. Get him to trust you, but don't make the mistake of trusting him back. He is a rather poor friend to those who make that mistake."

Gritting his teeth, Nie Huaisang obediently nodded, fearful of being hit again.

But it didn't sound right. He refused to believe that people were as bad as his future self said. Surely Su She at least was better than that. Nie Huaisang could doubt anyone in the world, but not Su She, so he was absolutely not going to dump his friend just because some old creep with trust issues told him to. Not even if the old creep was himself.

As for Lan Xichen… not so long ago, Nie Huaisang might have accepted that unkind assessment of his brother’s friend. But now that they hung out together more frequently, he thought Lan Xichen wasn’t so bad. Their music lessons really were nice. Lan Xichen was patient and encouraging, something few teachers in Nie Huaisang’s life had ever been. He didn’t mind when Nie Huaisang got too tired to focus, or when he struggled with something that should have been easy. He also didn’t take Nie Huaisang’s moments of easy success as proof that he was faking whenever he struggled, and for this alone Lan Xichen had Nie Huaisang’s gratitude.

Not only that, but Lan Xichen had proven that he wasn’t as stiff and boring as Nie Huaisang used to think. He’d listened about the problems that Su She had, hadn’t he? And not just listened, but he’d done something about it, and he was still doing something about it, and not only for Su She’s sake either.

Su She had told Nie Huaisang that any inner clan disciple who bothered an outer disciple was in serious trouble these days if Lan Xichen heard about it… or worse still, if Lan Wangji got involved. He was a stickler for rules that one. Once his brother had casually mentioned to him that some people were breaking Lan principles behind the teachers’ back, Lan Wangji hunted them down and made sure those people regretted it.

All because Nie Huaisang had told Lan Xichen that he didn’t like how people treated his friend.

How could Nie Huaisang not have started liking him a little after that?

“Speaking of making friends,” his future self said, “you remember you need to fail your classes this year, right? We have big plans for next year.”

Nie Huaisang nodded again, with more sincerity this time. Failing his exams would not be difficult. At all. In fact, he was quite good at failing. Lan Qiren could have testified that when it came to failing, he’d never had a student as great as Nie Huaisang.

“Good, excellent. Now, I don’t have much time left here today but… I have a task for you when the classes end.”

“Another thing?” Nie Huaisang lamented. “That wasn’t the deal!”

“It is for da-ge’s good,” his future self snapped, and once again Nie Huaisang wondered if he really loved his brother enough to bother with all this.

He did love Nie Mingjue, no doubt. But he still wondered.

“In fact, it’s for the good of the whole cultivation world,” his future self continued. “This might be the most selfless thing you’re ever going to do, so don’t mess it up. When the classes end, you’re not going home. You’re going to the city of Kuizhou…”

“Really? Oh, that’d be neat. I’ve always wanted to see…”

“You’re not going there to sightsee and think about poetry,” his older self cut him. “You’re going there to find a young criminal by the name of Xue Yang and ensure he never gets to create trouble for the cultivation world. You’ve disappointed me with Meng Yao, but I think you should manage to do the right thing with Xue Yang. He’s only ten or eleven, and you have a sabre, surely it can’t be too hard to dispose of him.”

“You don’t mean…”

The older man closed his fan, his face devoid of emotion. “I would think my meaning is clear enough, but I’m not letting you mess this up as you’ve done with Meng Yao. Xue Yang must die. He grows into too much of a menace as an adult. Even if we're going to make sure his particular skills never become needed by any sect, letting him live is just too risky. He’s devious enough to come up with demonic cultivation all on his own if given the chance to grow up, and he certainly doesn’t have any ideals of justice to help him keep it under control. Kill him before he harms anyone.”

"I'm not a killer!" Nie Huaisang shouted, too loud, far too loud, but he didn’t care, horrified by the very idea of what he his future self was demanding. He felt sorry when fighting fierce corpses and tended to cry at exorcisms, how could he ever… and to a living person, to a child.

And yet his future self rolled his eyes as if his horror were but another minor annoyance to deal with, and started fanning himself again.

"You'll learn fast. Just find a cat, snap its neck, and you'll see how easy it is. After two or three you stop feeling sorry for them, and people aren't so different from cats."

“I don’t think da-ge would want that,” Nie Huaisang protested in a trembling voice. “I don’t think he’d like that at all. It’s just… it’s a kid! Good people don’t kill kids! Even a lot of bad people don’t kill kids!”

“Be quiet, or we’ll be found by whichever Lan disciple is patrolling tonight!”

Good, Nie Huaisang thought. If they were found he’d be punished, sure, but more importantly he’d be forced to tell someone about everything his older self had told him, from the war that was coming, to Nie Mingjue’s death, to killing children. But of course Nie Huaisang couldn’t be so lucky, and no one appeared to have heard him.

“You’re really too naive,” his older self said. “Everyone kills children, they just don’t speak about it and pretend they’re righteous. Even da-ge is no better. I only realised that after the war with the Wens, but it’ll be good for you to grow out of your illusions earlier than that. Besides, you don’t have to tell da-ge that you’ve killed that boy. Keeping secrets is your only real skill, use it.”

“Da-ge isn’t like that,” Nie Huaisang hissed, and felt he’d started crying again.

His brother wasn’t a murderer. He was a good person, he wouldn’t harm anyone who didn’t deserve it… but he might make an exception when it came to the Wens, who nobody in Qinghe Nie really counted as people anymore.

They were just a disease upon the cultivation world, pests that needed to be eliminated. Nie Huaisang, who had always agreed to that, had never really paused before to think that Qishan Wen also counted a number of children, of elders, of servants, of people who really had nothing to do with his father’s death and maybe didn’t even realise there had ever been such a person in the world.

“Da-ge is only human,” his older self said. “And all humans are ready to kill to get what they want. Da-ge wanted to avenge our father. You want to protect da-ge. It’s not so different. If it helps, Xue Yang really deserves to die, so don’t bother feeling sorry for him. He would kill you for candies, given half a chance.”

“I’m not like that,” Nie Huaisang sobbed.

“Not yet perhaps,” his older self conceded in a softer voice. “But you’ll get there anyway. The world is cruel. We must be worse than it is, if we are to survive, if da-ge is to survive.”

The man raised a hand toward Nie Huaisang's head, wanting perhaps to comfort him by ruffling his hair. It was what Nie Mingjue would have done. But Nie Huaisang flinched, fearing to be struck again, and his older self's hand dropped at his side.

“So remember well,” his older self ordered, his tone dry once more. “An orphan boy named Xue Yang, who lives in Kuizhou. He’s a petty criminal for now, he hasn’t yet switched from theft to violent crimes I think, but it’ll come soon. He would be tall for his age I believe. He has a missing little finger on his left hand, and when he smiles his canines are very prominent. He is a monster, and he cannot be allowed to live. Do you understand?”

Through heavy tears Nie Huaisang nodded. That seemed to satisfy his older self who vanished.

Nie Huaisang understood indeed, but he didn’t agree and was certain he never would.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #though this one is really just a double dose of nhs who can't stand himself lol #double time travel #jau writes #mdzs

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suicidalslasher · 3 years

Text

forever & always. ➤ tom. h.

Happy Valentine’s Day~!!! I couldn’t contain myself and or stop myself from writing about my favorite Valentine’s day killer. So, here you go :)

WARNING: descriptions of gore and blood. in this one-shot, the reader’s pronouns are she&her. i might make a part two of this, depending on how well it does. maybe not. i like how it ends, regardless. either way. enjoy.

The news spread like wildfire. No matter which way you went, there was always a flame, reaching out towards those to burn. Try as you may, you can't get away. The words that littered the air was nothing more than burnt ashes fluttering around, burning each object as it flies above said thing or said person. In this case, the people of a small town called Valentine Bluffs were the ones burning from the inside and out. They felt trapped within the smoke, unable to seek out which way to escape the dangers that had followed. The terror; the trauma; the panic and anxiety attacks; All of it - they thought it was long gone.... they were finally going back to being normal, how things used to be.

They were going back to a life that wasn't full of fear, having to look behind your shoulder constantly and being careful of who you trust. It was all going to be okay, happy once more. They'd finally be able to celebrate their favorite day once again. But... as you may have guessed, it's not quite easy to put out a rapid wildfire. All it takes is a small fire to expand out into something bigger, bolder, and scarier. You can't escape the flames. No matter how big or small. You cannot ignore the overwhelming burning sensation that glazes across your skin as the fire around you grows larger, making you feel smaller and smaller by the second. The words, however, the statement that was fluttering around like specks of ash, wasn't at all a sentence (nor an actual fire) but a name - Harry Warden. 1997. Valentine's day. Everybody, in & out of town, knows what happened. For a brief period of time there, nobody celebrated Valentine's day, having thought it out to be cursed. Yet, as time went on, there was no sign of Harry Warden. No copy cat killer version of him, neither. So, the people went back to celebrating. Writing hand written love letters, buying cheaply made cards at the local supermarket, buying and or receiving overly priced chocolates. Anything, everything, people did it with love in their hearts and a smile on their face. Today was Valentine's Day, once more. Expect it wasn't the way it had been for the past 9 years. It was exactly like the day in 1997. History was repeating itself. Instead of love, presents, and reserved dinner dates being celebrated and shared, the town of Valentine Bluffs got decomposed, rotting corpses, instead. Blood scattered outside and inside of buildings.

It was worse than before, more bodies were showing up without their hearts and the missing body piece would be found neatly placed in between a plastic heart shaped box. All of which would be sent to the police station as a joke, as a threat. Even a card would be taped on top or under the container, though the sentences were far from cheerful and loveable. A few of them had been thrown aside, only having been read once. Those who opened it and read it aloud usually found themselves cringing in dismay as they read the paragraph out loud all while shifting around in their seat, uncomfortably.

Once they read it, they shook their heads as tears welled up in their eyes before they threw it into the trash bin or ripped it into hundreds of tiny pieces, not daring to open another letter that's brought in. Evidence or not, the workers couldn't keep their breakfast or lunch down when they'd read the cards. The recent two cards had said; From the heart comes a warning, filled with bloody good cheer, remember what happened as the 14th draws near! And the last victim, a girl named Maryanne Anderson, had gotten a card right before she was found dead, her body laying in a ditch to rot. Her card had read; Roses are red, violets are blue, one is dead, and so are you. Nobody knew who the new killer was, or if it even was a new killer, copying Harry's schemes and following in his footsteps. It could have very well been the same man all those years ago. That's what they were saying. (Y/N) (L/N) was in her car, driving back home from work when her favorite song had been replaced with an alarm, cutting off her favorite part. "Oh, c'mon!" She groaned, hands hitting the steering wheel in annoyance before she goes to turn up the volume anyways, wondering what's so important that the town and the police station had to turn off her favorite song.

She knew about the murders, she knew there was a serial killer around, she already knew this already. And yes, she was petrified, as most people were. When the first body showed up, the mayor of town announced there'd be a curfew until they found out who is doing all of this. Whether it was one person or more, they'd find a way to capture the killer. No matter what. There was not going to be another murder.

(Of course, there was more.)

(The original curfew was getting home at 9:30. Now, it had gone down and you'd have to be indoors, at your house, by 6:30 PM.) Students in school would get out earlier, as well as the adults in town. The only ones who didn't get to go home so early in the day were those who were trying to protect the people of Valentine Bluffs. "We are sorry to interrupt that song there," came the radio host's deep and groggy voice. "However, this is more important than your favorite throwback jams. I've gotten an officer here with me, he had just shown up not even a second ago to tell us more news on the situation we are currently in. So, please, listen carefully." "Yeah, whatever. I already know what's going on. Tell me something I don't know." (Y/N) turns off the radio as she pulls up in her driveway, feeling a sense of comfort clouding over her, another day, she's okay; safe and sound, unlike a few of her old high school friends that were gutted like fish and butchered like pigs.

She shivers at both the bitter and harsh wind brushing against her as she steps out of her vehicle and the obvious visual of whatever masked man (or men) that's around, killing innocent people for whatever given reason. Hurrying along the steps to her porch, she digs her keys out of her jacket pocket, finding them within seconds before she's pushing them into the door as quickly as she could. She didn't show it, tried not to show it, but she was as anxious and paranoid as everyone else was.

(Y/N) was trying to hold back her fear but the moment she gets home, locking all the doors and windows, the uneasy feelings creep up on her and every negative emotion takes charge. With a sigh, she falls down onto the couch with a plop, reaching for the remote, she turns on the TV, attempting to try and get her mind off of things. Of course, every station wasn't what she wanted to watch, the news replacing every channel. She skipped and skipped but it all remained the exact same. With a groan, she decides to listen to what they were saying, even though she really didn't want to hear it as it'd only make her anxiety worse. "I am Jonathan Godfrey. We're sorry to interrupt your daily scheduled programs, however, a man you may know as Tom Hanniger has escaped from his stay from a mental hospital." (Y/N)'s eyes nearly budge out of her head at the mention of the man's name, the remote she had in the palm of her hand goes flying, falling down onto the ground by her feet. Tom? Mental hospital? It didn't make any sense! Everyone... including her, thought he was dead! She, with shaky fingers, grabs the remote to turn the volume up. Jonathan's own eyes were wide as he read the teleprompter, his voice now grew shaky as he spoke. Fear was written across both his and his co-worker’s face. "Unfortunately, we don't have any more information or news as to where he's escaped off to. Or where he may be as of the moment. All the reports, every last piece of information we have been received has said he's been missing since two days ago. He can be anywhere. More importantly, he can be here, hiding out." His voice trembled as he spoke, it was also very faint - almost ghostly. Quiet as a mouse. His skin was pale, making it appear as if he was a ghost rather than a living person that sat in the chair there.

Jonathan couldn't continue, this much was obvious, therefore his co-host, Abigail Miller, continued where he had left off. "This being said, please, lock the doors and windows of your home. If you have a weapon to guard your own life and protect your ground, get it out now. Please, protect yourself the very best you can. And do not, I repeat, do not answer the door. Do not leave your home whatsoever. Whatever is outside of your house is surely not more important than your life.

“Whether it is Tom that has been doing this or not, we're not exactly sure. All we tell you is to be careful and remain indoors until we can find Tom and or find the Valentine's killer. This has been Jonathan Godfrey and Abigail Miller, with the news. Stay safe and God bless." The program that was previously playing showed up finally, the neon colors swirling together to form the title of the show, along with a fairly way too cheerful theme song playing faintly in the distance as the introduction played out. (Y/N) had never heard of it before, but from a quick glance, it appeared to be a sitcom from the late 70's. The only source of light was coming from the television screen, casting colorful shadows across (Y/N)'s face. She had felt too tired to have turned on the lights upon entering her house. Work was short, the hours having grown thinner because of the curfew, however, it was still tiring all the same. She instantly regretted not doing so now, however.

She sat in the dark, her heart thumping loudly against her chest as she pulled a near by blanket around her shoulders as if the thick fabric would comfort her and protect her. The room had gotten colder ever since the report was announced. Goosebumps ran up and down (Y/N)'s body, the baby hairs on her neck stood on end as a shiver slid up and down her spine. Despite the blanket being around her body, she felt nothing but cold, numb. Suddenly, the TV went out with a soft 'ping'. (Y/N) gasped and her heart stopped beating all together. She felt like she couldn't breathe, she couldn't tell if she was going crazy either when she heard what sounded like footsteps coming down from the hallway. She sat, frozen, on her couch, unable to move, unable to breathe. Then.... a knock. Followed by another and another. It was right outside, coming from not the front entrance but the back yard. "(Y/N)? (Y/N), please..." came the voice. And (Y/N) recognized that voice anywhere. She knows she shouldn't.... everybody said not to but... she couldn't help herself. Getting up as quickly as she could, she runs down the hallway, the sounds of her feet echoing against the thin walls as she reaches the door, tugging it open. There, on the other half of the door, stood nobody other than Tom Hanniger himself. He looked up, surprised she had answered the door. Giving her a weak, lopsided smile, Tom's pulling her into a tight hug, his head falling down in the crook between her shoulder and neck, tears flooding his eyes as he soaks her shirt, silently weeping. "(Y/N).... fuck, I've missed you so much, missed you so bad." Tom confesses with a sniffle. "Tom... I- what're you doing here? They're looking for you, you know this, right? Everybody's looking for you. And.... and I- fuck, Tom! I thought you were dead. Everybody in town thought you died the day your father did." (Y/N) didn't hesitate to hide her true feelings. She was a mixture of emotions. Angry, happy, sad, scared - she was feeling every single emotion there possibly was. "I know... I know. I-I have a lot to explain and a lot to tell you but please, right now, can we just- can we just play pretend?" He asked, moving away from her shoulder as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater, his eyes remained watery and his skin was flushed as he looked up at (Y/N). (Y/N) guessed it was a mixture of three things - running away from the mental hospital to where her house was to the bitter and harsh February air. Plus, the crying he had just done, too. His face was red and blotchy from all three. Despite it being so cold, sweat trickled his face, a few drips of it falling along side his cheeks. "Play pretend?" (Y/N) echoed, tilting her head to the side, unsure of what he meant. "Let's play pretend." He repeated, licking his lips. "Let's play pretend and imagine none of this horrid, crazed shit is going on right now. Let's pretend it's only me and you. It's Valentine's day, isn't it? Let's celebrate. After all, it was one of our favorite days to spend together." Heat rose to (Y/N)'s cheeks and she bit on her bottom lip, rocking back and forth on the bottom of her feet. "Tom.... I-I'm...You want-" She couldn't from sentences, her thoughts were mushing together and it was all too much for her to handle. She felt like she was going to pass out. "I want you, (Y/N). I want you as bad as I did then and I want you just as badly right now. There has never been a day where I wasn't thinking about you. You were the love of my life. I still love you, maybe even more, now. Let's celebrate, please. We can talk about everything tomorrow morning. I promise I'll tell you everything. Right now, let's play pretend, let's act like it's just us again, like when we were teens.... I've missed you. And.... and I know you've missed me too or else you wouldn't have opened the door." And, yeah, okay, he was right. "Tom..." "(Y/N)." He stepped closer to her, closer than he had done before, as he rests his hand against her cheek, fingers brushing against her skin as he looked into her (E/C) eyes. "I love you. I never stopped. And I know you love me, too.... so, please, baby girl.... can I just show you how much I love you?" (Y/N) shouldn't have answered the door. She should have called the cops when she heard his voice. Everything was too much of a coincidence.

Her power was working perfectly fine until Tom had shown up.

Now that she was thinking about it....

There was also no victims until she had heard the news Tom had left the asylum. Three days ago....

Three days ago, there was the first victim; Maryanne. If she thought too much about it, got too deep into the rabbit hole, she would have assumed Tom Hanniger was the Valentine's killer - The Miner. Yet... looking at Tom, she knew he wasn't - couldn't - be the killer. If he was, he would've killed her too, right? Tom Hanniger's been through too much, and just like she was there before, she was going to be there for him now. Through Hell and back.

She would stay by his side, no matter what. She still kept the old promise ring he had given her in high school, along with the note in which he confessed his feelings. In which, he told her - one day - he'd marry her. She was the perfect girl for him, as he was the perfect man for her. A promise is a promise. When she said 'forever and always', she meant that. (Y/N) knew Tom meant it, too. "I love you too." Tom's quick to place his lips on (Y/N)'s and (Y/N) is quick to kiss him back just as hungry, just as fierce. She tangles her fingers through her hair and pulls on it, earning a groan from Tom. Satisfied with the result, she tugs him into her house by the sleeve of his shirt, slamming the door shut with her foot.

"I've missed you, baby." He says, not daring to pull away from the kiss.

"Show me how much you've missed me then, baby." She mumbles against his lips. "Oh, I'm going to." "Let's go celebrate Valentine's day the right way then. Come on, let's go upstairs." Tom grins and (Y/N) smiles back before she's pulling him up the stairs and into her bedroom.

Forever and Always. It was them until the end. Nobody would ever separate the two of them, again.... not even Harry Warden was going to destroy Tom’s happiness... not this time.

#Tom Hanniger x reader #Tom Hanniger x Y/N #slasher imagines #slasher one shots #slasher x reader #Jensen Ackles x Y/N #My Bloody Valentine #Jensen Ackles x reader #Slasher fanfictions #Jensen Ackles fanfictions #Jensen Ackles imagines #Tom Hanniger imagines #Jensen Ackles one shots #my works #Tom Hanniger one shots #Tom Hanniger fanfictions #Harry Warden x reader #Harry Warden x Y/N #cierra's stories

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