#the last fic that gives me the same feeling was Running with Knives | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spiderispunk · 1 year

Text

Dangerous

Pairing: Billy Russo x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Smut (18+ only please). Knife Play. D/s Dynamics. Restraints. Oral Sex (f!receiving). Fingering. Unprotected Sex. Teeny Tiny Breeding Kink. Aftercare.

A/N: I have no defense for this. Billy with knives just makes me brain go brrrrrrrrr. This is a continuation of my 2021 Kinktober fic. All typos and mistakes are my own.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Billy asks for what has to have been the 20th time in the last five minutes. He looms over you, checking the silk ties that secure your hands above your head. “Because we can stop. Just say the word.”

You look up at him, bottom lip trapped between your teeth as you eye the slender silver knife– one of a twin set– he holds in his hand. “Yes.” The word leaves you in an embarrassingly breathless squeak.

You were more than sure.

You’ve wanted this ever since you saw him train with the same knives a few months ago. There was something equal parts dangerous and alluring about him at that moment. The way Billy sliced and jabbed with such precision. The sharp blades slashing through the fabric of the burlap dummies, spilling tufts of cotton onto the floor. The beautiful, yet menacing, arc of the steel knife as it whistled through the air and embedded itself in the wooden post across the room. You could barely suppress the fire you felt as you watched Billy lunge and strike, fluid and graceful like a lethal dancer.

Then came the dreams. Short and lustful things. The delicious slide of cool steel along your skin. The skate of the knife on your skin; not sharp enough to draw blood, but just enough pressure for you to feel it. The intoxicating lull of risk, the thrill of being under Billy’s control. The filthy snapshots had provided enough fodder for your sessions of self-gratification to last weeks.

Yes, you’d wanted this for a while. It just took a couple drinks and a risky game of Truth or Dare to get you to work up the courage and say it out loud. And Billy, well, he had just grinned slyly like the cat that got the cream.

“If we do this,” Billy mumbles, running his fingertips over the hollow of your throat to trace the dips of your collarbone. “You’re gonna have to stay completely still. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not into that.”

You twist your wrists, testing the strength of Billy’s knots. They hold fast. No way you’re going anywhere until he sets you free. You draw your lips into a pout.

“Don’t give me that look,” Billy says with a sharp shake of his head. “I want you to enjoy this. I want to enjoy this. So stay still, you understand?”

“Okay.” You nod.

Billy goes rigid. He rolls his shoulders back and tilts his head to the side. “‘Okay?’” There’s an authoritative edge on his tongue, and his eyebrow ticks upwards sharply.

You swallow thickly, heat already building in your stomach at the switch in demeanor. “Yes, sir.” Your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip.

“Good girl.” Billy squeezes your chin. “Safeword?”

“Starfish.” You respond.

“Color?”

“Green,” you huff impatiently, trying to rub your thighs together, but the weight of his body on top of yours stops you.

Billy presses his lips to yours softly, and sucks on your bottom lip in lieu of a reward. “We’ll take it slow, okay?”

Even though taking it slow is the last thing you want him to do right now, you nod.

He holds the knife in front of your face, letting it catch the light, so you can see what he’s doing. Then, slowly, he turns the blade over so the blunt side is facing you and lowers it ever so slightly.

You let out the most desperate noise when the knife touches your throat, and it takes every bit of strength inside of you to remain motionless as Billy drags the blade down the slope of your neck. He holds it against your pulse for a moment, relishing in the hitch in your chest as the smooth bit shallowly presses into your skin. His dark eyes follow your every move, fascination etching itself into his furrowed brow and clenched jaw.

Billy’s free hand reaches behind him to slide up your thigh and comes to rest between your legs. He pushes your panties to the side and delves a finger between your dripping folds. The knife stays frozen in place, his hand holding steady, even as he plays with the slick between your thighs.

He’s completely in control. Exactly how he likes to be. Exactly how you want him.

“You like this, don’t you?” Billy breathes, circling a finger around your throbbing clit. “Me pressing a knife to your throat while I play with your pussy?”

“I do.” Your voice is broken.

“Fuck, beautiful. You’re not even fighting it.” He puts more pressure on your clit and you whine. “You’re just gonna let me do whatever I want to you as long as I have this, hm?” The knife glides a little lower, caressing the curve of your shoulder.

You tilt your head back, baring your throat to him. “I trust you.”

You do. You really do. You’ve never doubted him for a moment. Not his love for you, not his promise to take care of you. He is so confident in his movements, so sure. The knife he holds is almost an extension of his body. Caressing your skin exactly like his fingertips would. You feel completely safe.

Billy lets out a noncommittal hum, but you can tell the words mean a lot to him by the light flush that dances over his jaw. He slips the knife under the strap of the thin lacy bra you’re wearing and flicks his wrist. The band breaks as easily as if it were made of butter.

You don’t even have it in you to scold him for ruining the lingerie, you just sit there limply and whimper. He repeats the motion with the other band and traces the blade over the top of your breasts.

Billy chuckles darkly. “You’re soaking.” He easily presses his fingers into your cunt and curls them slightly.

Understatement of the century. You think this is the wettest you’ve ever been. You can feel the warmth of it dripping down your inner thighs and pooling on the sheets.

“Breathe, baby,” he chides, digging the blade against your sternum and slicing up between the cups of your bra. The lacy material falls away in two parts and Billy lifts the knife away from your skin, giving you a chance to move.

You exhale and shift under Billy’s weight. “Shit.”

You’re on cloud 9 right now. Dizzy and weightless with pleasure. Your heart flits in your chest, and adrenaline courses through your body. You feel as if you’ve just run a marathon, and Billy’s barely even touched you yet.

“Open.” Billy teases his fingers against your lips.

You suck them into your mouth, eager for the taste of you on his skin. You swirl your tongue around the pad of his fingers, and Billy pushes them deeper into your mouth. You gag slightly, eyelids fluttering shut.

“Good girl,” he mumbles, smearing your own spit onto your cheeks and chin. “Still green?” He searches your gaze for any sign of hesitation.

“Yes,” you all but whimper. “Can we keep going? Please?” You ask. Anticipation builds in your chest, and your stomach turns and flips with butterflies.

He chuckles, low and quiet. “Look at you begging for it.” He presses the knife flat against the side of your breast. “Should have ran from the room screaming. Any other sane person would’ve, but not you. Not my dirty girl,” Billy murmurs, pride lacing his voice.

You preen at the praise, give him a heavy-lidded look that makes him curse under his breath. Your eyes slide down his body, to the obvious erection he’s sporting in his boxers.

Billy follows your gaze and snorts. “See what you do to me?” He asks, rolling his hips against your stomach with a groan. “Drive me fucking crazy. You’re the prettiest girl in the whole goddamn world. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”

“I want you to touch me.”

“Where?” His eyes dart down your body.

“Anywhere. Just–fuck–please.”

Billy hums. His fingers move again, charting a path down your body.

You strain your neck to watch him trace your body with the knife’s blade. Silver against your supple skin. He takes his time, following every dip and curve. You let out a whimper when the cool edge rolls over the peaked bud of your nipples, fight the urge to jump when it trails over your stomach. Everywhere the knife goes, it leaves goosebumps in its wake.

He shimmies down the bed to kneel between your parted legs and pushes your thighs further apart. Two fingers fill your aching pussy, thrusting slowly, as if he means to savor every moment.

“Fucking beautiful,” Billy murmurs, and kisses the inside of your knee.

His fingers fill you deliciously. Perfectly fucking you with slow drags. In. Out. His practiced touch sets your body aflame. Between the knife on your skin and his fingers inside of you, you’re already embarrassingly close to coming.

Billy runs the knife over the waistband of your panties and you buck your hips forward. You can’t help it. The promise of more sets your blood aflame.

“Hey,” he warns, voice clipped.

“Sorry,” you whisper sheepishly.

“You’re such a mess, baby,” Billy says with a cocky grin. He hooks the blade into the elastic. “What do you want?”

You don’t speak--you can’t. You’re too choked up with lust, the most you can muster is a quiet whisper of his name.

Billy’s fingers still within you. “That’s not an answer. I asked what you wanted.” He clicks his tongue. “Use your words.”

“I--I want--” You stutter. “I want you.”

“Want me to what?” He rewards you with a slow thrust of his fingers. “Hm? What should I do to you?” His lips brush up along the inside of your quivering thighs. Billy buries his nose into the damp fabric and moans. “Talk to me, pretty girl. Tell me what you want,” he whispers.

You shudder as his warm breath fans over your panties, seeps through the soaking fabric and over your cunt.

“Fuck me.” You finally gather up the strength to say. “I want you to fuck me. Press that knife against my throat while you make me come.”

Billy makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat at your words. His eyes meet yours, dark in their intensity which matches the fevered pitch of your voice. A slow smirk spreads over his face, and when he speaks, his tone is tight and measured.

“I will, baby. I promise. I just want to get my mouth on you, yeah?” he mumbles. “That alright with you? Can I taste your sweet pussy? Make you come on my tongue first?”

You throw your head back against the pillow, bite your bottom lip so hard you might draw blood. “Fuck, Billy, please.”

His large hand lands on your clit. The impact stings and you cry out.

“Who?” He snaps.

“Sir.” You correct yourself. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh. It’s okay, beautiful.” Billy soothes the sting away with his thumb. “Let’s try again, yeah? I asked if you were gonna let me taste your pretty pussy, and you say?” His eyebrows raise expectantly.

You swallow thickly. “Yes, sir.”

“There she is,” He whispers against the crux of your thigh. “That’s a good girl. Now, relax, baby. Let me take care of you.”

The knife saws through the soaked lace of your underwear. He tugs the scraps down and off your legs, and settles between your thighs once more. His thumb swirls around your clit again, the pressure just enough to keep you on edge, but not take you over.

Billy starts at your knee, kissing the side of it. Then his lips trail down your thighs, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your heated skin. His tongue dips out for a taste, swirling and swirling and driving you into a frenzy. A frenzy intensified when he bites down, leaving perfect crescent marks behind. He stays like this, teasing you slowly, until you’re a whimpering mess beneath him.

It’s all too much. The warm, wet slick of his tongue. The rough scrape of his beard. The subtle circling of his thumb on your clit. And there, hanging over all of it, the cool press of the knife against your body. A silent assertion of control.

Your whispered, desperate pleas, don’t have your intended effect of hurrying him along. If anything, he slows down further. Watching the internal battle you wage to stay still, even as you’re being slowly wound up, with a dark grin on his face. Savoring the sight of you so shameless, so wanton.

Just when his lips finally reach your aching pussy– just when you start to think that maybe he’ll have mercy on you and give you some kind of relief– Billy switches to your other thigh, and the taunting ritual starts all over again.

You huff impatiently, grinding your hips up against his thumb for more friction. The fog of lust that washes over your mind leaves no room for rational thought of warnings or consequences.

Billy sighs. “Oh, sweetheart. Wish you hadn’t done that. Wish you woulda just stayed still for me.” His thumb stops, and he sits back on his knees.

“No, no, no,” you whine, tears springing to your eyes. “It was an accident.”

“Oh,” Billy coos. “Is that right? Looked like you were getting greedy, honey.”

You blink up at him, eyes wide and apologetic. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Please, I just need you so badly.”

“That’s twice tonight, honey. I think you’re forgetting who’s calling the shots here.” Billy twirls the knife deftly between his fingers, reminding you of the power he has over you. “Do I need to remind you?”

You shake your head, tongue darting out to wet your lips. You watch the blade glint in the light of the room. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

Billy leans over you. His lips brush your own when he speaks, just a harsh whisper pushed out between gritted teeth. “Who’s in charge?” The cold steel of the knife slides across your jaw. “Answer me.”

“You are,” you choke out.

“I’m what?” His breath fans over your face, making your head spin.

“You’re in charge,” you whisper hoarsely. And then to sweeten the deal, you add. “I’m sorry, sir. I won’t do it again. I’ll be a good girl.”

Billy cocks his head to the side, and studies you for a moment. To forgive or not forgive? That is the question. You’re just on the verge of antysness, when he slowly smiles.

“You’re lucky you’re so pretty, and I’m just as wound up as you are.” His lips move to your ear. “But forget the rules again, and I won’t be so nice.”

All traces of patient, teasing Billy are gone when he rests between your legs again. His mouth latches onto your clit immediately, lips sucking and slurping against the sensitive bud until you’re shaking. It’s a lot, it’s too much. Too fast. Almost like he’s making up for lost time. As if there’s a lesson buried in the quick flicks of his tongue that send fire racing up your spine.

Be careful what you wish for.

Your breath catches in your throat, finally working its way out in a scream of unintelligible syllables. His name amongst other things. Pleas to keep going. Praises. Curses.

“Fuck, it’s so good. Your mouth feels so good,” you whimper.

Billy pulls away for just a moment to say, “Attagirl. Tell me how much you like it when I put my mouth on you.” Then his lips are back on you, all over you, in you. The thrust of his tongue inside your cunt nearly sends you over the edge.

You’re burning alive. Skin heated, body humming like a live wire. And Billy’s at the center of it all. The epicenter of the earthquake rumbling through you, threatening to knock you off kilter. To tear you apart and reduce you to rubble.

You lean into the chaos. The sensation of his lips sliding over your slick pussy. The greedy smacks of his mouth, the sated moans he tucks into you. It wouldn’t take you long to come all over his face, not if he kept this up.

“Please,” you whine, legs shaking under the weight of your impending orgasm. “Can I come, please?”

“Look who’s found some manners,” he mumbles, a teasing lilt coloring his words. “Go on, baby. Since you asked so nicely. Show me how pretty you look when you come.” He slides two fingers into your dripping cunt and slurps your clit back into his mouth.

The curl of his fingers inside of you is the breaking point. Permission granted, you squeeze your eyes shut and give yourself over to the warmth welling up inside you. Heat bursts in your stomach, coursing through your veins. Up your spine, and out to your fingers, your toes.

Your back arches, hips nearly lifting off of the mattress as your orgasm washes over you. Billy drops the knife and roughly grabs your waist. He holds you down, wrenching wave after wave of pleasure from your body with his fingers and tongue. Taking and taking all that he can from you until he’s satisfied and sure you’re thoroughly fucked out.

You see stars, body twitching against the sensations that are both so good but too much. The silk ties dig into your wrists from the way you tug at them. Your clipped nails dig red crescents into your palms. Your bottom lip, bruised and ragged from your teeth, prickles with the sharp taste of blood. You must’ve finally split the skin.

You’re still shaking with the aftershocks of your blissful orgasm, when Billy finally pulls back. He sits up on his knees to take in the sight of you. His wild eyes flit over your glistening body. Dark strands of his hair stick to his forehead with sweat. His swollen lips shine with a filthy mix of his spit and your cum.

“Th-thank you.” Your words slur, nearly running together.

He cups your chin and swipes his thumb over your split lip. “Did so good for me, honey. ‘M proud of you.”

A bashful smile spreads over your face. The weight of his words burrowing deep into your chest and filling you with warmth.

“Pretty girl,” he coos, hand sliding down the front of your body once more. “Color?”

“Still green.”

“Good. I think you’re ready to take my cock, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” You nod eagerly.

Billy shoves his boxers down his legs and grabs the fallen knife once more. You ogle him shamelessly. Eyes following the sharply carved muscles of his lower stomach, down to the light, neatly trimmed, patch of hair. Then the curve of his cock, hard and aching. Your mouth waters at the sight.

He shifts up your body, eyes glued to your splayed form. Gently, he places the knife back on your throat, and then fists his hand around his waiting cock. Billy groans, both at the sight of you and at the slow strokes he gives himself. Not enough to make himself come, but just the right amount of pressure to hold him off so he wouldn’t explode as soon as he thrust into you.

With Billy, it was all about control. Balance.

You watch him, lips parted and mouth dry. Watch the precum that drips onto your stomach. Watch lightning crackle in his nearly black eyes. The deep flush that washes over his face, down his neck, his scarred chest. The slack of his jaw as he starts to lose himself. The subtle thrust of his hips into his hands.

A private show, just for you. You take it all in.

And then Billy’s decided he’s had enough of his hand, and only wants the real thing. He sits between your spread legs and slides a pillow under your hips.

“Gonna fuck you now.” He whispers, carefully positioning your body the way he wants you. “And I can’t be gentle.”

Good. You don’t want him to be. You want him hard, and fast, and rough, and just on the verge of pain. You want the bed frame to squeal, and the headboard to knock against the wall. You want bruises and bite marks that you’ll have to cover in the morning before work. You want the thrill of having to look your neighbors in the eyes, knowing they heard every single moan and scream that Billy pulled out of you.

Most of all, you want that knife pressed against your throat, danger hanging low above your head, but just out of reach.

Billy chuckles, reading the thoughts hidden in your needy gaze. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll give it to you.”

He slides into you slowly, relishing the tight warmth. Twin exhales of reverence fill the room. You whine as his cock slowly fills your cunt. The stretch of your walls as he bottoms out is intoxicating. The fullness makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

He thrusts slowly, pulling all the way out before slowly filling you again. Taking his time to just feel your greedy cunt swallow him again. Edging himself and teasing you. Billy loves the hungry huff you let out each time he pulls away. Loves to hear it morph into a sated whine when he seats himself deeply inside of you again.

But you’re impatient and tired of going slow. You want him to fuck your brains out and make you scream, and you want it now.

“Harder,” you whine. “Faster. Please.”

That’s what he was waiting for.

“Love hearing you beg for what you want,” Billy mumbles. “Drives me fucking crazy.”

He wraps one of your legs around his waist. The other finds a home on his shoulder. He bites your calf sharply as his thrusts pick up speed. The angle allows him to reach that treasured spot deep inside of you, blissfully unattainable without him. In no time, you’re babbling nonsense; your brain turned to mush by the brutal precision of Billy’s hips.

“Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” you almost scream. “Keep going.”

“I know, baby,” he says, and there’s pride in his voice. “Feels good, huh? Don’t I make you feel good? Don’t I take care of you?”

“Always,” you sob.

“Yeah. Always. I always take care of my girl.” He says through gritted teeth, and you know he must be close. He has to be after teasing you and making you come. You saw the way he nearly came all over his hand only minutes earlier.

You want him to come. You want to watch him unravel so badly you ache with the desire. You want to be the cause of it.

“Feel so good inside me. So fucking deep,” you whisper. “I love it when you fuck me like this. When you take me and you make me yours.”

Billy thrusts into you sharply, his perfect rhythm shattered. “Christ,” he groans.

“‘M all yours. I love being yours.” You pair your words with a clench of your walls and Billy nearly falls forward. But the knife never slips. “Love your cock so much, I dream about it. Sometimes I think I can still feel you in me for days after.”

His eyes hold your gaze, and you shiver at the dark intensity you find there. “You’d better stop, or this’ll be over a hell of a lot sooner.”

“But I want your cum. Want it deep inside me. Wanna make you feel good.”

He curses under his breath. The fingers holding your hip dig bruises into the skin. “Fuck, honey. You do make me feel good.”

“Then come inside me, please,” you beg. “I need you.”

Billy’s hand drops down to where your bodies join, and he rubs your clit in quick, merciless circles. “Not without you,” he says, though the effort to abstain looks like it hurts.

Good. What’s pleasure without a little pain?

“Get there, baby. I know you’re close,” Billy coaxes. “Let me see.” He spreads your legs a little wider, and spits on your clit, rubbing faster.

The room fills with the sounds of debauchery. The slap of Billy’s hips meeting yours. The protest of the bed frame squealing beneath the weight of your bodies mixes with Billy’s rough groans. Your own stilted moans and cries bubble from your throat as every harsh thrust pushes you closer and closer to bliss.

Your legs begin to shake, toes curling. “Billy,” you cry, and he doesn’t even correct you.

“I know, honey. I know,” he mumbles. “That’s my girl. Come for me. Wanna feel you come all over my cock. Give it to me.”

The effect of his words is almost instantaneous. Your orgasm bursts from within you, shocking you into silence. Your jaw falls slack in a silent scream as the world dissolves around you. Billy fucks you through it. Each roll of his hips sends you deeper into your blissful spiral.

Watching you fall apart sets Billy off. He tosses the knife away and falls forward, covering your body with his own. He pins you to the bed, elbows digging into the mattress on either side of your head. You wrap your legs around his hips, rocking up into him, aching for more friction.

“You feel fucking amazing when you come,” he mumbles against your lips. “Sound so pretty.” He grunts, jaw clenching. “Gonna make me come. You want it?”

“Yes, sir.” You long to run your fingers through his hair and hold him closer against you. “Fill me up. Wanna drip with it.”

“Fuck,” Billy bites your shoulder. “Gonna give it to you. Gonna make you mine.”

He gives a few more sloppy, deep thrusts before he’s coming with a rough cry of your name. You whine, toes curling as Billy fills you with warmth. Claiming you. His hips roll languidly, pumping his cum deep inside of you. And then with one last deep thrust he collapses on top of you.

Billy stays on top of you for a moment, catching his breath, and letting you come back down to earth. His body is hot and sweaty against yours. Billy’s hair is a mess, despite your bound hands. The strands tickle your neck and shoulders. You want to run your fingers through the dark locks, tug on them and make him groan.

When his heartbeat has settled, Billy goes to work undoing the knots holding your arms up. You wince as the blood finally begins to flow freely. Billy massages your wrists and shoulders, pressing light kisses to the shallow marks the satin has made. He continues his inspection of your body, fingertips brushing over each bruise and tender spot. Filling out the mental tally sheet for later, when he’ll kiss and rub away the soreness.

“You did so good for me, baby,” he whispers and rolls onto his back, taking you with him. His fingers continue to rub patterns into your hips and stomach.

You sigh, and bury your face into his neck, fingers finally playing with his hair. You inhale deeply. The smell of sweat and sandalwood calms you instantly.

“So…how was it?” Billy prods. Is that…worry you hear in his voice?

You lift your head to meet his eyes. “I loved it.”

“Yeah?” He lifts an eyebrow. “I wasn’t too much?”

“No.” You shake your head. “It was perfect. You were perfect. Thank you.”

A grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “Anything we need to change for next time?” He cups your chin, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“I’d like my arms free. I like touching you.”

Billy hums and plays with a bit of your hair. “We can talk about it. Didn’t want you to accidentally hurt yourself. But you were pretty good at keeping still.”

Satisfied you rest your head back on his chest.

“You still owe me three, though.” Billy mumbles and squeezes your ass. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten. We’ll talk about your punishment later too.”

You swallow thickly. You kind of were hoping he’d forgotten about that. But that’s all part of the game. You misbehave, he puts you in your place.

That’s the enticing thrill of the danger.

#billy russo x reader #billy russo x you #billy russo smut #billy russo #ben barnes #the punisher #rion writes

381 notes · View notes

xuxibelle · 1 year

Text

Just Looking (Version 2)

Pairing: Lee Dongmin x Reader

Word count: 4,736

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, mentions of touching

Requested: no - A rework of my previous fic by same title, changing characters

Summary: Y/N likes her friend’s boyfriend’s roommate but won’t let either of them do anything about it. Is she too ‘Old Fashioned’ to think the guy is still supposed to make the first move?

“I don’t see why you haven’t asked him out yet,” your best friend Stacy asks you as you finish applying your makeup in preparation for her boyfriend’s house party tonight. She was dragging you along yet again because she knows you have a thing for his friend Dongmin and of course he’ll be there, he lives there too.

“Stace, I can’t just ask him out. Guys are supposed to ask the girls out,” you tell her as you roll your eyes.

“Uhm, hello…. What century are you living in, Grandma?” she laughs at you. “How do you think I met Jungkook?”

“I never knew that,” you tell her as you look at her in the mirror and she nods with a smile.

“Yea, We kept running into each other and I finally just asked him to go get coffee one day,” she explained with a shrug.

“Cute, but not happening,” you tell her.

“Whyyyyy,” she whines.

“Not my style,” you tell her. “If he likes me, he’ll tell me, and NO you can’t tell him or Jungkook anything.” She gives you a pout and the puppy dog eyes and you just shake your head. “No,” you laugh, “If it’s meant to happen, it will happen on its own.”

“Fine,” she pouts as she crosses her arms. After you’re both finished getting ready, she talks you into heading over early to help set up for the party, which you know is only to have you around him more.

“There’s my two favorite girls,” Jungkook says as he welcomes you through the door with a hug. “Min, the girls are here,” he calls to his friend before you see him walk in from the kitchen with a smile. He was almost always smiling, one of the things you loved about him.

“Lovely to see you again, ladies,” he said as he reached you both, giving you both hugs. “Well, I guess I meant that mostly to Y/N cause I just saw you yesterday,” he laughs.

“That’s true,” Stacy laughs back as she glances at you. “So what else do you need to do for the party?” she asks.

“We’ve got most everything done,” Jungkook tells her. “Min was chopping some veggies in the kitchen and I was about to open the cups and set up the bar. Then I think the last thing is to set up the table.”

“Okay, You two go back to doing that and Y/N and I will do the table,” Stacy tells them before taking your hand and leading you towards the dining room. You reach for a stack of paper plates and take the plastic off, setting them down on one end of the table before Stacy glances up towards the kitchen. “Y/N,” she whispers.

“What?” you whisper back. “Why are we whispering?”

“He’s looking over here,” she whispers again.

“Oh stop it,” you shake your head and wave her off as she smiles at you. You grab a box of forks, opening them before you place them in a container on the table as well as a box of spoons and knives. You glance up towards the kitchen and meet his stare. You notice how his lips slowly start to curve up into a small smile before you quickly glance away as you feel your face flushing. You bite your lip as you look down at your hands reaching for a pack of napkins, opening them, placing them beside the container of cutlery.

“Why’s your face red,” she whispers.

“He caught me looking,” you whisper back and she giggles.

“Shut up,” you whisper-yell. “I told you I didn’t want to come in the first place.” Once you were finished with the table you walked into the living room and sat on the love seat, crossing your arms, and Stacy walked over to where Jungkook was setting up the bar.

“Hey, I’m done in here. If you don’t need me for anything else, I’m gonna go get ready,” Dongmin tells Jungkook.

“Yea, you’re good mate,” Jungkook tells him. You see him walk around the corner from the kitchen. He gives you a smile before he jogs up the stairs you assume to his room to get ready. You pull your phone out to distract yourself since Stacy is in the corner with her boyfriend and you have nothing else to do. People start arriving before you know it, and you see some people you recognize, so you actually get up to socialize. Standing off to the side of the living room with Stacy and a few other people in a conversation, you notice Dongmin making his way back downstairs and you can’t help but be distracted. Stacy also can’t help but notice your lack of sudden interest in the conversation you were just in and looks to see what pulled your attention, smiling when she realizes. When he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he stops and scans the crowd. A lot of people had arrived since he had gone up stairs. His eyes stop when they reach your group, landing on yours. Holding your stare for a few seconds with a dark look to his eyes, but once you realize what’s happening, you look away quickly. You turn your head to Stacy.

“I think I need a drink,” you tell her.

“You’ve got one,” she giggles. You take the cup in your hand, downing what was left as you look at her, making her shake her head before you walk off. You’re standing in the corner of the makeshift bar mixing your new drink when you hear an all too familiar voice.

“Gonna be a long night if you keep drinking like that, love” Dongmin tells you as he walks up beside you.

“And? You’re not the boss of me,” you sass him, feeling the alcohol take hold of you already.

“Wow, okay,” he laughs. “Feeling it already, huh?”

“So what if I am?” you say with a raised eyebrow. He shrugs his shoulders.

“Maybe you wanna slow down a little?” he asks you.

“Why would I wanna do that?” you ask.

“Cause you’re gonna feel terrible tomorrow,” he tells you as he moves a little closer to you. You turn to face him.

“So? I can handle it. Why do you care anyway? You’re not my boyfriend,” you scoff at him. He leaned closer to you, placing his hands on the counter on either side of you.

“I know you can handle it. I know you’re a big girl, you can take care of yourself. And no, I’m not your boyfriend,” he tells you as he keeps his face close to yours, bringing his hand up to lightly run down your jawline before continuing. “I could be, but not like this. I wouldn’t start it like this. Wouldn’t be right,” he finishes before quickly pulling back and walking away. You let out a rush of air, the breath that you’d been holding and didn’t realize.

“What the fuck?” you mumble to yourself before you down the half-drink you’d just made and make another. You walk back to Stacy and pull her to the side, telling her what happened, watching her eyes go wide. “The fuck does that mean? What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Breathe, Y/N.” she tells you as she puts a hand on your shoulder. “It means you need to sober up and go talk to him,” she tells you. “Go get some water, maybe something to eat, then go find him.” You nod your head as you take a few breaths and walk towards the table. You grab a bottle of water from the cooler on the way before you start to make a small plate. Once you make your plate you grab a napkin and a fork, looking up to make your way back to Stacy. Your eyes meet his across the living room and you stop in your tracks. He raises an eyebrow as he looks at you with a smile. You bite your lip and look away as you keep walking.

“He keeps looking at me,” you whine in her ear when you get back to her.

“What?” she asks confusedly.

“When I was leaving the table, he caught my eye when I was coming back over here and he raised his eyebrow like he was asking what I was doing and smiled,” you explain. “The fuck am I doing? I’m going home.”

“No! You should stay here and finish that and go talk to him,” she tells you.

“You know I won’t. You know I don’t have the balls to when I’m sober,” you tell her and she laughs.

“I do, but tonight is going to be different,” she tells you.

“How so,” you ask as you finish your water.

“Because you’ve already talked once, you can do it again,” she smiled. “And I think you’re ready. Let’s have you go out back and I’ll go find him and have him come out there for something.” You nod your head as you walk to the back door. To your surprise, there were actually not that many people outside for it to be as warm as it was. You leaned up against the rail looking up at the sky. It was a clear night and the stars were out. A few minutes later, you heard the door open very fast, making you spin around.

“What? There’s no fight out here,” Dongmin says as he looks around like he’s lost something.

“Maybe they broke it up already?” you offered as he looked over at you.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks.

“I needed a break,” you tell him. “Some quiet. To think.”

“Bout what,” he asks as he walks towards you.

“Everything,” you say as you look down at the deck. He holds your chin between his thumb and first finger, lifting your eyes to meet his.

“You ok?” he asks you softly. “You seem more… calm than earlier.”

“Yea,” you say quietly with a small smile. He leans in slowly and presses a soft peck to your lips making your eyes go wide. “Wh-what was that for?”

“Just cause,” he says.

“Cause why,” you laugh lightly.

“Cause I like you,” he tells you. You stare up at him. He reaches up and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “Say something… please, or I’m gonna feel ridiculous,” he laughs.

“Uhm,” you start. “I, uh, I like you too.”

“Really?” he asks. You nod your head and bite your lip.

“Yea, for a while now. Stacy has been begging me to let her or Jungkook tell you but I wouldn’t,” you laugh.

“Why not,” he laughs back.

“I told her that if it was meant to happen, it would happen on its own,” you tell him with a shrug of your shoulders.

“But she... sent me out here tonight,” he tells you.

“Yes, but if you remember, we started talking at the bar first,” you explain as you tilt your head.

“Ah, true,” he says with a nod. “You’re so cute sometimes,” he tells you, making you blush and bite your lip. He cups your face in his hand, his thumb rubbing across your cheek to pull your lip from between your teeth. “You really need to stop doing that.”

“Why?” you ask softly.

“Makes me want to kiss you that much more,” he says as he watches your face flush, making him smile. You look down at your feet making him put a finger under your chin and lift your eyes back up to his. “Why do you always do that?” he asks you.

“Do what?” you question him.

“Look away from me?” he answers.

“You uhm...you make me nervous,” you admit. He reaches out and takes one of your hands in his, playing with your fingers.

“Is that so?” he asks. You nod lightly. “Why?”

“I-I… I don’t know,” you stammer out.

“I think you do,” he tells you. You shake your head and he grins at you. “Y/N,” he laughs.

“What?” you laugh back. He puts his free hand on your waist and pulls you close to him, making you close your eyes as your free hand presses into his chest.

“What are you doing?” he laughs again.

“N-nothing,” you say. You suck in a breath as you feel him run a finger down your jaw.

“Open your eyes,” he tells you. Hesitantly you open your eyes and you jump. He had leaned in closer than he was before, almost nose to nose. “Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” you squeak out and mentally curse yourself for letting your voice go higher than you wanted. Damn nerves. Damn Stacy for not letting you have SOME alcohol in your system when dealing with this. He leaned in a touch more and brushed his nose against yours, making you breathe in.

“You ok?” he asked.

“Mmhm,” you say as you nod.

“You sure?” he asks as he watches your eyes, watching for any sign that you wanted him to stop. You nodded your head again. He let go of your hand, putting that hand on the back of your neck as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. Your eyes closed as you let out a whimper against his lips. You kept one hand on his chest as the other slid up into his hair. He moved his lips against yours, you doing the same. You felt him running his hands up and down your back as he slid his tongue across your bottom lip before slipping it inside to glide against yours, making you moan into the kiss. The longer you kissed, the more heated it got. Both his hands on your waist now, you feel his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt as he turns to lean himself against the rail to pull you closer to him. His fingers splay out across your lower back keeping you pressed against him, lips still moving against each other. You slide a hand down, slipping it under his t-shirt and running it up his chest. Running your fingers lightly along his collarbone, you barely curve your fingers to drag your nails down his chest making him shudder. You feel his fingers dig into your skin as he growls against your lips, biting your bottom lip as he pulls back to look at you. He places another kiss on your lips as he looks at you before he says, “God, you’re gorgeous.” You feel your face flush the most it has all night and you lean your head to his chest to hide your face. You feel his chest rumble as he laughs. “I love how cute you are,” he tells you.

“Stop teasing me,” you mumble with your face in his chest, making him laugh again.

“I’m not trying to tease you, love,” he laughs as he pulls you away from his chest. He pulls your face to look up at him. “I love that you blush so easily. I find it endearing. It’s sweet,” he tells you as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “You know… I’ve thought about kissing you for so long,” he admits as he looks down at you. You glance up at him through your eyelashes as you bite your lip. He quickly takes your hips in his hands, twisting you around until you’re leaning against the railing and him leaning over you. “Can’t be doing that now, love,” he says in a low voice.

“B-but, I didn’t do anything,” you tell him, causing him to smile.

“You don’t even know what you do to me… Do you?” he asks as he leans his forehead against yours. You feel your face flush as you shake your head no and look at your feet. You hear him lightly laugh. “Y/N,” he almost whispers. You hum in response. “Look at me.” You slowly bring your eyes up to meet his. He reaches across himself taking your hand in his, bringing it up to his lips as he presses a kiss to your palm. “Will you… let me show you?” he asks quietly as he gauges your reaction as he slides your hand down his chest slowly. Your eyes watch your hand as he slides it down until you realize what he’s doing and your eyes grow wide and snap up to his causing him to giggle and bite his lip. “I love how innocent you are,” he tells you.

“Here??” you whisper yell as you look up at him. He nods his head.

“We’re not gonna do anything now. I just want to show you,” he tells you, leaning his forehead back to yours again. You swallow thickly keeping your eyes on his as he ghosts his lips over yours. Goosebumps spread over your skin, shivering as you feel his breath against your lips. When your fingers slip over his belt, he turns both his and your hands so your fingers point down. You notice his breathing increasing before he slips your covered hand down to palm himself through his slacks. He groans into your lips when he squeezes your hand against him. You feel his tongue brush against your lips as he licks his lips, making you shudder. The hand on your waist gripping you tighter as he pulls you closer. He closes the space between your lips, moving his against yours. You copy his actions, never breaking eye contact and your eyes grow wide as you feel him stiffen under your palm. He bites your bottom lip as he barely pulls back from the kiss, keeping your foreheads together and lips still touching. “Fuck… Y/N,” he breathes against your lips.

“That’s... not... just… because… of me,” you slowly say. A slow half-smile appears on his face.

“What else would have caused this?” he asked as he squeezed your hand around him causing your eyes to fly shut as you bite your lip and blush. You hear him chuckle before he releases your hand. You hear him suck in a breath as you move your hand from its previous place. He takes a small step back from you leaving a little space between you. He runs his thumb down your cheek before he pulls your face up so you meet his eyes once again. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, love,” he tells you quietly, lifting his other hand to brush your hair behind your ear. “I just know that… you’re one of the ‘good ones’ as they say,” he tells you as he lets out a little laugh and you finally see his face slightly flush pink for once. “I know you wouldn’t ever think you could do ‘that’ to someone so… I wanted to… prove it… to you, I guess? You just... You…” he stops mid sentence to cup your face in his hands and run his thumbs across your cheeks. “You’re so amazing. You just choose not to see it. It’s in the way you treat your friends, how you always stick up for people that are being treated badly, how you always treat people nicely and how you smile even when you are having a bad day. It’s how beautiful you are when you’re just waking up or when you’re asleep. It’s how your face lights up when you see a dog in the park or when you’re walking down the street, how you can make a sad or crying kid laugh and smile in minutes when no one else can, and it’s how your friends love you back. Sometimes there are those friends that you’re just like ‘eh whatever’ but then there are those friends that you would do anything for and I know your friends are like that with you, and I’m hoping we can grow closer too,” he smiles at you sweetly, brushing the tears off your cheeks with his thumbs. “Please don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry,” he says quietly. You raise your hands to grip his wrists as he still cups your face.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I don’t mean to.”

“You’re okay?” he asks. You nod your head slightly.

“No one’s ever been so nice to me,” you admit as you gaze up at him. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to your lips.

“So, what do you say? You wanna head back inside? Mingle some more? Together?” he asks you with a playful wink that makes you slightly flush yet again. He laughs again as he takes your hand in his to pull you away from the railing, slipping his arm around your waist and yours around his as you walk back inside. You stop at the makeshift bar to grab drinks before returning to the party. You see Stacy sitting on Jungkook’s lap on the couch as you round the corner and you hide your face in Dongmin’s side as you see her smile widely and poke Jungkook in the chest. You feel his chest rumble as he laughs. You already know what he’s laughing at without asking. He squeezes at your side as he walks towards them and takes the seat beside them, pulling you down on his lap much like Stacy was sitting with Jungkook. She looked at you with eyebrows raised.

“Y/N?” Stacy called your name and you looked over at her, face slightly flushed.

“Yea,” you said.

“You got something you wanna tell us?” she asked. You thought for a second as she looked from Dongmin to Jungkook then back to you.

“Nope,” you said with a smile. Dongmin nearly choked on his drink laughing. “Sorry,” you told him as he coughed to catch his breath.

“No, that was great, love,” he laughed.

“Love?” Stacy said. “When did that happen?”

“Okay, nosey. Mind your own business,” you sass at her. She looks at you with her mouth hanging open.

“What has gotten into you tonight?” she laughs. “I like it.”

“We are in the middle of a party. I don’t like discussing private matters in a sea of people, most of whom I don’t know,” you tell her in a quiet voice.

“Alright… we can carry on this conversation… later… if you two wish,” she smiles at you, looking between you and Dongmin.

“Thank you,” you tell her as you turn your attention back to the party. Dongmin squeezes your side reassuringly as he turns placing a kiss to the side of your head.

“Breathe,” he whispers to you. “Never seen you so fiery.” You can feel him smiling against your hair.

“Too many people I don’t know to be talking about private things,” you whisper back. The party lasted another couple hours before everyone started trickling out. Finally everyone was gone by 3 and you all started cleaning the majority of the trash up, deciding to leave some for the next day.

“Okay… It’s just us four.... And he’s not in here for you to be shy around, so talk,” Stacy says as you’re cleaning up the table while the guys are in the kitchen, no doubt having this same conversation.

“Ugh, fine…” you grumbled as you rolled your eyes. You glanced over at the kitchen window surprised to see that Dongmin had been leaning against a counter facing you, already looking your way. You made a face at him, making him laugh before you turned away.

“What was that?” Stacy asked you.

“He was looking at me,” you tell her.

“So you make a face?” she questions you. You shrugged your shoulders. “Normally you turn red and walk away.”

“That was before the party,” you tell her.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Well, he said he liked me, and I said I liked him too,” you explain.

“Well… was that all?” she demanded.

“No,” you say as you shake your head.

“Ugh, What else is there?” Stacy groaned.

“I…” you started as you glanced up at Dongmin. He winked at you, making you flush slightly as you shook your head and smiled. “I don’t kiss and tell,” you said as you smiled at her. She let out an audible gasp.

“You did not...” she said as her mouth hung open making you laugh. You watched Dongmin, who was watching you, out of the corner of your eye. He tilted his head and he smiled to where it made his eyes crinkle. That was your favorite. He loved when you laughed. You nodded your head at Stacy. “But you could barely be around him before the party,” she said.

“I know,” you admit to her. “Honestly, I’m not even completely sure what happened.”

“And to think… you didn’t even want to come tonight,” she said as she crossed her arms.

“Oh shut it,” you said as you threw a balled up napkin at her, making Dongmin laugh.

“So… are you… dating?” she asked you. You shrugged your shoulders.

“Dunno,” you tell her. “Doesn’t matter to me right now.”

“Really?” You hear Dongmin’s voice say in your ear making you jump as he wraps his arms around your waist.

“Fuck you scared me,” you laugh as he turns to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck. “Stop,” you giggle, “that tickles.” You feel him laugh against your skin before he pulls back just enough so you can hear him speak clearly.

“Not until you say you’re my girlfriend,” he tells you as he starts digging his fingers into your sides, tickling you.

“Okay, Okay… I give. Please stop,” you say between laughs. He shakes his head.

“You have to say it,” he tells you in a laugh. You try to catch your breath.

“I do,” you tell him as you try to grab his hands and pull them away from you.

“You really think you can pull my hands away?” he laughs. He turns you around in his grasp to face him. You’re red faced and breathless from the tickling. “Catch your breath,” he tells you. It takes you a minute, but your breathing finally comes back to normal. “You good?” he asks and you nod in return. “Good, cause here’s round two,” he smiles at you. Before you have time to protest, he’s back at it, fingers digging into your sides again.

“Please,” you beg.

“Tell me,” he says. You take in a gasp of air.

“I’m…” you start between breaths of air and laughter. You take in another breath. “Yours,” you breathe out and his fingers stop their movements. Your breathing starts to slow as he lets you calm down. Once you can breathe normally again, you look up at him and smile. “I’ve been yours since the day we met.” His hands on your waist pull you to him and he presses his lips to yours. Your hands grab onto his arms for support before sliding up to wrap around his neck and pulling him down to you. You move your lips against his and you feel him smile against your lips before he begins to move his against yours.

“Okay, lovebirds, break it up,” Jungkook says as he walks into the dining room. “We eat in here.” You bite his bottom lip as you both pull away from the kiss making him knit his eyebrows together and whine.

“We need to go,” Stacy tells you and you pout with a laugh from everyone in the room. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll see each other tomorrow,” she says in a kiddie voice as she pats you on the head.

“Oh fuck off,” you tell her as you shove her hand away and walk towards the coat closet to grab your purse and jacket, Dongmin close behind you.

“You okay?” he asks as you reach the closet door.

“Yea, I’m fine. She’s just teasing me and she knows I don’t like it,” you explain. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you to him and placing a kiss to the top of your head. “Thank you,” you tell him.

“For what? I didn’t do anything,” he says quietly.

“Yes you did,” you laugh. “You checked on me just now, for one. The two reasons you had me in tears tonight would be number two,” you laughed, “just tonight in general, I guess.” you smile as you look up at him.

“My pleasure,” he says before he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

@shyboyjeno

#astro cha eunwoo #astro eunwoo #cha eunwoo #eunwoo #eunwoo smut #lee dongmin #dongmin #astro dongmin #astro lee dongmin

270 notes · View notes

dujour13 · 1 month

Note

⭐ for The Prodigal Tiefling?

Thank you Crow!! 💕💕 hehe another chance to ramble

Since I answered another ask for the side-fic The Prodigal Tiefling I’m brazenly going to use this one for the chapter by the same title in The Lark and the Crow.

This is one of the very earliest chapters I wrote before having any intention of uploading anything, so it’s a bit creaky but dear to me.

First of all giggling maniacally while writing Woljif in hot water with the Baphomet cultists, who are not exactly the sharpest daggers in the demonic ritual DIY kit, lucky for Woljif. He has them running red-herring errands to try to keep them from sacrificing Deval:

“Now you’re talkin’. First, you need the right kinda altar. This half-baked scraped-up pentagram just won’t do. It’s gotta be granite; big slab, you know, to catch all the blood. Next, you gotta have the right kinda knives: Abyssal uh, obsidian. Dipped in the blood-rain of the Worldwound on the night of an eyeball storm. And it’s gotta be the right timing.” He looked up at the stars for a long moment, making mystic calculations. “When the moon is in retrograde.”

I’m sorry I’m such a nerd but I made myself laugh with the moon in retrograde thing. Truly the blind leading the blind.

This is an important character moment for Siavash. He finds Woljif and almost weeps with relief, but doesn’t miss a beat with “Hail Baphomet.” These two’ll be partners in crime in no time. And Woljif is more than impressed when to back it up he pulls an actual succubus out of nowhere and the cultists immediately decide this guy is ok.

Next a little interlude written much later gives a glimpse into Siavash’s loneliness as Knight-Commander and how much he valued Woljif’s company before he disappeared. This is a direct echo of my own desperate search in my first playthrough of the game. (I didn’t want to take Drezen without him. I looked everywhere. I cried. Siavash cried. Google didn’t help. It was awful. Eventually realized you have to take Drezen first.) This brings us back to his emotion in the present.

For narrative sake the chapter then goes straight into the confrontation with Voetiel. I re-wrote my own version of the dialogue, partly because I hadn’t taken screenshots (not intending to upload the fic) and partly because it was just fun.

I kind of enjoyed ending the battle with “Darkfang” the cultist and Deval rolling around on the ground trying to kill each other. I feel like Baphomet cultists are such a treasure trove of comedy.

But one of my favorite Woljif moments of all time in the game is how he tries to convince you that the only reason he went to so much trouble to save Deval from the cultists was because he didn’t want to be haunted by his ghost afterwards. This transparent lie is just everything I love about him.

And of course, most importantly, the aftermath is the occasion of Woljif’s very first hug of his whole life AAAAHHHHH

On the road back to Drezen there’s a chance for Lann and Woljif to pit their social philosophies against each other in camp:

The mongrel shook his head. “Listen. You don’t seem to get it. Hiding or running off when we’re fighting, stealing stuff, trying to get out of doing chores—think of what a disaster it would be if everybody acted like you. If everybody does their fair share, everybody’s better off. Don’t you see that?” “You wouldn’t last one minute on the streets,” Woljif shot back. “You give one green copper, play the hero one instant, show one weakness, and they’ll eat you alive. Hold the end of your tail in the fire ‘til you squeal. Haul you up and hang you by the horns. Horn. Whatever. You’re the one who doesn’t get it.”

Siavash might not strictly agree with Woljif here, but he’s sympathetic.

I kind of liked this little exchange when they arrive back in Drezen:

“Welcome to Drezen. Brand new city, ripe with opportunity.” Siavash surveyed the stinking heaps of rubble and demonic graffiti proudly. “Don’t mind the mess.” “Reminds me of the command tent,” Woljif muttered, not unhappily.

And then the flighty azata commander promptly gets sidetracked, and Woljif finds himself in a new city with nowhere to call home, and everyone else goes off and leaves him standing there. Resourceful as always Woljif finds his own way soon enough.

The chapter is a bit long and windy, but it’s about Woljif’s relationship with people—his understandable distrust and his sense that it’s him against the world, but also his secret generosity and need to be accepted.

It starts with Woljif alone against the cultists, and ends with him on his own again in Drezen. But in between he gets a taste of what looks a lot like real friendship: somebody who’s got his back unconditionally, somebody who has the smarts to pick up his cue and run with it. Somebody who gives nice hugs.

#thanks for the ask!!#herequeerexistentialfear #my writing #the lark and the crow #pwotr pals

11 notes · View notes

nerd-at-sea5 · 2 years

Text

hold me, please. i'm never letting go

max is the first to realize that robin’s home life might be more similar to theirs than they originally thought, but soon robin’s secret slips and their in trouble-a lot of it, the party gains a member, and everyone cries.

aka, furthering my angsty robin/max sibling dynamic + robin’s little brother (an oc) jacob! (he’s 4 years younger than robin so 13 in this bc robins 17) (he uses she/her for robin at home bc it’s safer) (and and and the robin/max sibling comes late in the fic don’t hate me i had to traumatize robin first :) the pov switches a lot

they/them robin and max, she/they el, everyone else is canon

cw-verbal and physical abuse, slurs, blood, knives, suicidal ideation?, attempted rape/sa

ha my first rated M fic :) (fucking help me why do i do this) (there's no smut tho i promise)

they notice it the first time steve and nancy are driving them home, about two months after starcort. how robin lives just across the street-how they both have the same stance.

shoulder tensed, white knuckling their bag, robin tugs a hand through their undercut, fingering the short hair and pulling it before nancy takes their hand and pulls it away, kissing it. robin sighs softly, “c’mon red i’ll walk you to the door.”

and max let’s them, grateful for the company, weather it be the warmth of another person or the shocking way robin treats them like how they do erica and dustin-like siblings.

max doesn’t mind, steve’s been like an older brother for longer than they’d care to admit-they were never one of his kids. always a little sibling. he never replaces billy-he could never. but he was there. and now robin is.

they give a small look of thanks before tensing back up and stepping into the four walls of their own little prison.

robin watch’s max go, red hair bouncing up the stairs as they cross back to steve’s car, ruffle his hair, hug nancy and convince themself this isn’t the last time their going smell her vanilla perfume and feel her small but shockingly rough hands on their back, and head to their own house with.

it’s never easy being away from steve or nancy, their some of the only people who gets how it feels-not to mention the urge to grab max and take them far away from neil. let max hangout with jacob and cause chaos and be way to smart for everyone else. but they want to run back to nancy and kiss her, hold onto steve and call him names-but they can’t.

their not surprised to see that their younger brother is still awake. and robin gives him a tired smile as they pass, tossing him a quarter for the arcade and because they know their parents never give him cash.

“thanks, brainiac.”

“no prob, jock.”

and that’s that.

they go quietly to their room, a knot forming with each step, and eventually collapse onto their bed, already feeling much to empty and alone.

robin pulls of their jacket and tosses it into a pile with their backpack to wear again tomorrow and falls back onto bed to listen to music, drifting off to sleep.

their woken to jacob’s panicked face, shaking them way to hard for two am.

“rob! wake up wake up! the hell do you sleep so much?!”

“jake-dude. fuck off ’s like three.”

“two actually-get up!”

he shakes them again, going so far as to hit them with a pillow before groaning loudly, “robin. they know about nancy wheeler.”

robin’s up and standing instantly, “what?!”

of course jacob knows, jacob, who’s seen them reading emily dickinson and sappho’s work a thousand times, has seen robin doodling pink triangles onto their shoes, and eventually cornered them and asked, “do you like girls?” and they had to say yes.

“they found a photo from the arcade-photo booth photos. must have fallen out of your bag.”

“shit.”

because now robin can hear it, their parents hard tones and they start swearing.

“shit-fuck. damnit damnit, stupid stupid stupid! fuck.”

it’s just then that they see jacob crying.

“hey, hey no no what’s this? c’mon buddy don’t cry.”

and maybe he hasn’t seen all the horrible stuff that they have, but they’ve told him, they tell him everything. pulling him into a hug, hand in his hair. “c’mon man....’s ok.”

“they-their gonna kick you out rob…i don...wanna...don’t wanna be ‘lone.”

“it’s ok. it’ll be ok.”

and it’s not, because they start throwing all their important stuff into bags, so when the door comes flying open, and a photo of nancy wheeler’s lips against theirs is thrust in their face, jacob starts crying harder and robin’s heart breaks.

“morning.”

then the screaming starts.

“robin anne buckley how dare you do this, i can’t believe you would ever-”

“i didn’t raise a fucking dyke that’s for sure!!”

so they set their jaw and push past, fighting back tears and curses and yelling, fists balled so they don’t hit anything or anyone. anger is boiling, betrayal and hurt-these are their goddamn parents. they should love robin. “fine, don’t care.” hoping they don’t hear how their voice cracks and their on the stairs and then-

“DON’T TURN AWAY WHEN IM TALKING TO YOU, FAGGOT.”

hands on their back and robin-thankfully-instinctively tucks so they go rolling down the stairs and end up on the ground, already bruising and out of breath, jacob screaming, “STOP HURTING HER, THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

theirs a familiar sound of a blade being flipped from a pocket knife and robin starts to laugh, right in their dads face-while he’s holding a knife to them. they might be losing it but who fucking cares anymore? does it matter?

then they can feel their head slamming against the wall, and there’s blood coming from their legs because he cut through their pants and fuck.

they start screaming, jacob trips past her and races out the door, their mom calmly walking down the stairs and opening a book-robin can feel the blade digging into their arm and there’s blood dripping from their eyebrow and legs and, “HEY FUCKHEAD.”

there’s a flash of red and suddenly a 14 year old with a decently sized stick is on top of their father, jacob already holding duct tape and one of robin’s bags.

max mayfield stand up, blows hair out of their face and looks at robin, with a face that’s barley concealing the terror in their eyes, “i’m going to steal your dads car.”

robin nods, and then slumps against the wall, jacob’s voice ringing out, “blood loss! took a first aid class a bit ago, can you driiiiiii……….”

and the universe goes black.

max didn’t expect a random boy to run into her living room, waking a sleeping neil on the couch and yell for them, prompting them to leave before neil started swinging and when the boy introduced himself as jacob buckley, max panicked.

they really didn’t expect to be driving an unconscious and bleeding out robin to the byers house in a stolen car.

but they were. and they could hear the jacob is rustling around and swearing, choking back sobs until he flopped shirtless into the front seat, hands covered in robin’s blood.

“dude.”

“what? bastard had no towels!”

max shrugs off their jacket and passes it to him, “this is platonic, my girlfriend would kill you if otherwise.”

he nods, “gracias. you max?”

they nod as well, and they lapse into silence, tears still falling, until they get to the byers door, both jumping out of the car and max can feel their knuckled bruising as they slam on the door-god if robin dies.....max won’t let them, they couldn’t handle it.

a half asleep jonathan byers swings open the door, equally exhausted steve bracing himself on his bat and nancy wheeler holding a gun.

“max?” nancy’s the first to speak, the gun falling to her side as jacob chokes and stares at her, gaze hardening, “who’s blood is this-who is this?”

they all turn to max, who shakily points at the car, and steve bolts, “ROBIN-”

nancy’s right on his heals, and joyce walks out with the rest of the party when max stumbles inside, el catching her, “max? who’s this?”

“robin....”

mike raises an eyebrow, “no, robin’s not a guy.”

jacob slides to the floor and with a dead stare, holds out a blood soaked hand to mike, “jacob buckley.”

dustin’s jaw drops, “what the fuck-”

“that’s.....blood?!” lucas exclaims, backing away, when will quickly passes the boy a wet towel, max starts to sob into el’s arms, “they we’re just....el...”

el holds them, and max feels like their breaking, is robin ok? are they ok? please, please-

nancy wheeler wanted to cry. she wants to punch something, scream and cry and just-nothing in the world could have prepared her for seeing a much to pale robin, blood soaking through the shirt wrapped around their arms, bruises all over, unconscious.

joyce snaps out of it first, ordering jonathan and steve to carry them into the living room, tells nancy to go sit down, and that she’ll move the kids to another room.

nancy refuses, and instead sits next to steve while hopper carefully cuts off robin’s shirt, and joyce stiches the wounds on her arms.

she starts to cry again, can see max still shaking in el’s arms, that random boy huddled in the corner when steve finally goes over and asks him, “who the hell are you?”

“j-jacob buckley....”

jonathan drops the chocolate, “what the fuck?”

nancy whirls on him, “robin’s brother?!”

he looks up, and she can almost see the wall forming, his face melting into the one that nancy fell in love with-just a different face.

“no i’m their fuckin’ son. the hell d’you think, nancy wheeler?”

“how-how do you know my name?”

he shoots up, throwing out his still blood-covered arms, and yells, “’CAUSE THIS IS ALL YOUR FUCKIN’ FAULT!!”

she trips backwards, his words hitting her like a knife, slicing right through her, “what are you talking about?” steve grabs her arm, tear tracks across his face, “nancy, calm down-”

she whirls on him, “don’t tell me to fucking calm down harrington-my girlfriend is fucking dying and a kid who’s claiming to be their brother is saying it’s my fault.”

he scoffs, “it is. if you two hadn't kissed in the arcade none of this would’ve happened. they’d still be ok...”

nancy can feel the anger draining out of her, and before she knows it, she’s stepping towards the kid and pulling him into a hug, “jacob...i promise you i don’t know what’s happening-but i love robin, more than almost anyone else, so please-please tell me what happened?”

he chokes again, and buries his head into her shirt.

max is curled next to a sleeping? robin in the guest room, while nancy and jacob sit on the floor, the party around in chairs, listening to him explain.

when he’s done, steve slams his fist into the byers’ wall, will and jonathan groaning in unison, dustin buries his head in his hands, lucas rubbing his back, mike and el stare with shocked expressions, and nancy starts sobbing even more.

instantly mike is next to her, pulling her into his arms, and she can feel him shaking-she never cries in front of him, never when their parents would scream, never.

“it’s ok nancy.”

she’s trying to believe him but it’s so, so hard.

then max jumps off of the bed, “SHIT!”

el raises an eyebrow and robin slowly opens their eyes, staring at the group for a solid three seconds, “who’s funeral is it this time?”

max throws themself onto robin before jacob, steve or nancy, jacob jumping on top of max and steve and nancy are right behind him.

nancy can feel the other boys and el joining.

when they all pull away, steve is the first one to speak, “robin and mini buckley.”

“jacob.” both of them chorus, staring at him with the exact same, ‘seriously, dude?’ expression, and nancy has to stifle a laugh, because she has no idea how she never knew robin had a brother because he is so much like them.

“whatever. you’re both moving in with me, i just got an apartment. no arguments.”

robin nods, smiling, and max is next, “how long has this been happening for? did he do anything else? why was your mom just reading? why didn’t you tell me-”

“red.”

with a start, nancy sees fresh tears pouring down max’s face, “i thought i lost another sibling....”

robin gives them a sad smile, “not ah-’appening.” they wince for a second.

before anyone else can talk, joyce comes back inside, “ok everybody, we need to give rob some space, so we’ve gotta clear out till tomorrow ok? it’s like six am right now, so i’ll close the blinds and try to get some more sleep.”

they all groan and clear out, el taking max’s hand and leading them to her room, steve, jacob and nancy staying back.

joyce runs a hand through her hair, “steve, can you clean up jacob and let him sleep on jonathan’s bed, jacob are you ok with leaving robin alone?”

nancy watches him contemplate it, looking at her with a silentl question, ‘will you take care of them?’ she nods, and he nods to joyce.

steve picks him up and he giggles, sending a smile to robin’s face as jacob’s carried out and to the bathroom.

joyce turns to the two, “nancy-”

“i’m not leaving.”

she smiles, “i was going to say you can find clothes in the closet.”

then she leaves, and nancy turns to robin and feels the tears prickling at her eyes again, “c’mere wheeler.”

so she pulls off her shoes and sweater and climbs into bed with robin, putting her head on their chest, running a hand over the bandages on their arms and legs.

“i’m so sorry....”

“‘s not your fault nance...y’know that right?”

nancy shrugs, and listens to robin’s heartbeat, “i guess....why did you never tell me about jacob? he’s like a carbon copy of you.”

robin sighs, and nancy can feel their hand in her hair, it’s strongly calming and she realizes they’ve never lied like this together.

“dunno..he knows about starcort and all that, and you, i guess i thought if i told you all he’d be in trouble. i don’t wanna to risk his life.”

she nods, she wishes mike wasn't involved with all of this shit. “he’s nice, talks like you.”

robin raises their eyebrows, “...what?”

nancy props herself up on her elbows and grins, “doesn't say the ‘g’ in ‘fucking’, always says ‘’s’ and not ‘it’s’, ‘y’know’ ‘c’mere’ that kind of stuff. you both do it.”

robin is silent for almost thirty seconds, “shit...i didn’t know that.”

nancy has to laugh at how shocked they look, “i think it’s hot.”

that gets an eyebrow raise, “yeah?”

“mhm...”

robin smiles, the same smile nancy fell in love with-on the right person this time, as she leans down to kiss them.

99 notes · View notes

xlovely-daydreamsx · 2 years

Text

Black Lab (Yandere!Hawks x Reader x Yandere! Dabi) Ch. 4

Find Chapter 3 here!

Find Chapter 1 here!

Summary: Kiego takes you out to lunch as the seasons change.

Note: Thank you all for your kindness and patience, I appreciate you all! This fic is also available on ao3 under the same name, and all the chapters come with a song in the title :)

It’s a well known fact that when backed into a corner, a wolf will snarl and growl and bare its teeth; sharp, gnashing things that they hope will suffice to scare away the threat.

And you, much like your predecessors, can already feel your canines brushing against your lips. Is nowhere safe for you anymore? Then again, was anywhere ever safe to begin with? You’ve been running from your fate your entire life, and now that it’s finally caught up to you, there’s nowhere to hide from it. You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, and you don’t know if you can wiggle your way out of this one.

“(Y/N), who’s this?” You’re vaguely aware of the way that Kirishima has half stepped in front of you, and how he still hasn’t let his grasp on you loosen; it’s comforting, honestly, but it doesn’t help with the gazes, striking you through like knives.

“I think I could ask you the same question, kid.” There's a bite to Kiego’s words. A little growl in the back of his throat, and the scent wafting off of him almost unbearably sour; you resist the urge to whimper.

It’s too many scents and sights at once for you to handle and you just want it to be over. You hold onto Kirishima’s arm and try to give him a smile, but your scent could give you away- Kiri would know the difference.

“It’s okay, Kiri- I know him. I guess I’ll catch you later, yeah?” Kirishima deflates, shoulders slumped and eyebrows furrowed into something of either disappointment or confusion- maybe a bit of both, and you can practically see his cartoon tail tucked between his legs, dejected.

“Are you sure?” He asks one last time, and you just give him a nod. You’re tired of the stares, and tired in general; maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to have a ride.

You move as if in a trance, walking down the plank and into shark infested waters, into the car with the man who ruined your life.

Kiego couldn’t be happier. Absolutely beaming, his scent laced with honey and cinnamon and sweetness.

The way your body reacts to it makes you feel ill.

“I’m surprised, (Y/N),” you wish he would stop saying your name, and that your stomach would stop flipping at the sound of it, “I thought you’d take more convincing.”

“Just get in the car and shut the fuck up.” You sigh as he opens the passenger door for you- such a fucking gentleman.

He doesn’t reply, but you find him swiftly in the seat next to you, speeding out of the school zone.

“I thought you said you’d leave me alone,” you break the silence after a moment. You thought about giving him the silent treatment, or screaming at him or anything, anything to make him less interested in you, but you decide that would take too much energy that you don’t have. “Soulmates don’t lie.”

You thought that might hurt his feelings, with the amount of weight he puts on such a silly word.

Soulmates.

Apex relationships were always romanticized for such an idea. Maybe it was comforting for some people to think that someone out there was made just for them, that they were destined to find love and live happily ever after.

Maybe it was comforting for them to give up control.

On the contrary, all you’ve ever wanted was control. You’d had no control over your body, your actions; nobody would trust you with any authority unless you fought tooth and nail for it- all because you were an Omega. Control is all you’ve ever wanted, and having a soulmate was not exactly in the plan.

But here you are- a bite mark in your neck and your so called soulmate next to you, letting off scents that make you feel a way you’re not ready to admit.

“I said I wouldn’t come to your house anymore,” he grins, like it’s all a big joke, “I never said I would leave you alone.” He passes by your house.

“I love you; I can’t just abandon you.”

“It’s not abandonment if I want you gone,” you sigh, “and you passed my house. Figured you’d remember where I live, seeing as you stalked me.”

He laughs through his nose this time, brushing off your comments. It pisses you off, honestly- some part of you really wants to hurt his feelings.

“That’s because I’m taking you to lunch, baby,” his hand moves from its place gripping the wheel, heading down towards your thigh and you lurch back, hitting the side of the door with a thump, “can you lighten up a little?”

“You didn’t ask my permission to take me anywhere, and you certainly didn’t ask permission to touch me.” You spit back a response. His brow furrows, but he’s still got those damn shades on, making him almost unreadable. Almost is the distinction here, because you can always smell him.

It’s an overwhelming scent- he’s obviously never heard of or never bothered to wear any scent blockers of any kind, with how strong it always is. Maybe that’s just your body’s reaction to it, though; it’s important to know how your mate feels, so you’re hypersensitive to his. You really don’t know, to be honest, and you’re less concerned about your primal instincts and more concerned about the bit of sourness mingling with his sweet.

“Look, (Y/N),” you really wish he would stop saying your name like that, “we need to talk some things over, obviously, and somewhere more… public, seems like the best place to do it.”

He looks away from the road and towards you, sunglasses still perched on his nose.

You see a wild animal in their reflection.

“I mean- what do you want me to do when you freak out every time we’re together? You won’t talk to me, your mother won’t talk to me-”

“Don’t talk to my mother! She’s not-” you sigh, “this isn’t about her. She’s got enough to worry about; don’t put this on her.” He pauses, eyes on the road, scent itching your nose with a touch of cinnamon.

“If you start being a little open minded, maybe we won’t have to involve her.” That’s gotta be some kind of blackmail, right? You know what he’s holding over your head, how he’s using it against you, and while some part of you still wants to fight him on it, spit out a fuck you and tell him exactly where he can shove his little agreement, you stay quiet. If not for your sake, for hers.

“Where are we going?” You ask after a moment. Your arms are crossed over your chest, legs pushed up to your chest, and you really couldn’t care less if your shoes got dirt on his fancy leather seats.

“A restaurant we like,” you wish he would keep his eyes on the road, because it seems like he can’t stop looking at you, “it’s a nice place- you’ll like it too.” The word ‘we’ feels like a slap in the face. Of course you hadn’t forgotten, how could you? But you had tried your hardest to, and to forget that anything had happened that day. Your eyes are focused out the window and on the trees rustling in the wind, their leaves barely holding on. Fall has always been your favorite season, but even those splendid colors seemed dull since that fateful day.

“My- he’s-” your throat feels tight, “the other one won’t be there… right?”

“No,” his turn signal click, click, clicks, and in a moment you find yourself in the parking lot of a seemingly dingy little hole in the wall, “that’s what we need to talk about.”

He parks with ease, strong hands on the wheel, and if you didn’t despise him so much, you might call it attractive.

“What do you have to say to me about it that might make me ‘freak out’?” You say with air quotes- you have every reason to react the way you do.

“Let’s just go inside and talk about it, okay, hun?” You can tell he’s trying to placate you now, but it only serves the opposite effect.

“(Y/N),” his scent twinges with sourness, not unlike apple cider, “can you be chill for just a minute? I’m not gonna bite-” he seems to catch his mistake, but forgets it all the same when he notices that his bite is seemingly gone, “What the hell are you wearing?”

“It’s just a scent blocker,” you mumble. His scent is just… overwhelming. Your head feels dizzy.

“Just a scent blocker to cover up your bite, right? You have a mate, (Y/N)- that’s not a bad thing. Take that off.” You’re starting to realize how this man really is a stranger to you. Maybe the pheromones helped block the common sense part of your brain, or maybe you were just too afraid of making a scene at school, but getting in a car with a man you just met was not one of your brightest ideas.

“N-no, it’s not a big deal,” his hand reaches toward you and you panic, hands trying to latch onto something that you’re not sure is even there, but there’s a pull and a click, and in one fell swoop you feel the asphalt digging into your back and see the sky above you, brilliantly blue.

He calls your name as you try to catch your breath, unmoving and halfway out of the car. At least he couldn’t smell your panic, you think as you lay there; scent blockers always do come in handy.

His head comes into view, leaning over yours, and you really, really wish he weren’t so pretty- it would make it easier to hate him. I guess they always did say that the devil would be beautiful.

His hand cradles your head like precious cargo, fingers running through your hair, probably checking for an indent.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you… c'mon doll, sit up.” He tries to help you up, his hand on the small of your back, but his touch feels like molten lava.

You shooed him off of you and helped yourself.

“This better be a nice fuckin’ lunch, asshole.”

It was, in fact, a very nice lunch. You didn’t expect such a nice place from how it looked outside, but you guess you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

Kiego tells them his last name and you’re hurriedly taken to your seats in the back, a circular booth close to the kitchen- secluded.

“Get whatever you want; it’s my treat.” No shit, you want to say- he practically dragged you here against your will- but you keep your mouth shut and look at the menu. You swear, there wasn’t a single price listed on the menu. Maybe that was just what fancy places did? God knows you wouldn’t have a clue- the fanciest place you had ever been was Olive Garden.

“I don’t even know what half of these words are,” you confess, and he smiles with a fondness in his eyes, silly girl.

“What do you like, then? I’ll pick something for you; I promise, I have pretty good taste.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“‘M not really picky…” you list off a few foods you like, and when the waiter comes back with your drinks, he orders something with a name you think is italian, and then you’re alone. Just the two of you, no distractions.

“I need you to come home with me.” He says bluntly. He’s domineering, elbows propped up on the table, hands intertwined into a bed for his chin. You wish he still had the sunglasses on; at least then you’d have an excuse not to look at him- but they have found their home on his head now, pushing his hair out of his face.

“I’d say to buy me dinner first, but I guess that’s what we're doing now…” You joke, but he only smiles at it.

“I’m serious, though. You’ve got a pretty strong smell, you know,” you blush a little at that, “but our mate got a whiff of it, and he’s gone a bit feral, for lack of better words.” There’s a newfound lump in your throat.

“How is that my problem?”

“It’s really messing him up, (Y/N); it could cause him serious hormonal problems if he can’t claim you soon.” He looks… sad, genuinely, and the change in tone makes your hands clammy.

“And you want me to… to just-” you’re at a loss here, staring down a wave, ready to drown in it.

“Take one for the team, maybe?”

Your food arrives, perfectly timed, some pasta dish you don’t recognize, and it’s quiet as the two of you eat. You can feel his eyes burning holes into you the whole time, but you just stare down at your meal.

You can barely taste it.

Taglist: @mirayasimpinghard @kunaigirlx44 @dabis0bitch @ladywolf44005 @imunderurbed @jamerlynn @underratedmage @maggiecc @chaichaiiskai

#yandere #yandere bnha #yandere mha #yandere hawks #yandere hawks x reader #hawks x reader #hawks fanfiction #dabihawks #yandere dabi #yandere dabi x reader #dabi x reader #yandere x reader #black lab #yandere fanfic #yandere fic

322 notes · View notes

thighs-of-betrayal-blog · 3 years

Text

I Had It Under Control

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger! reader (based on TFAWS)

Summary: After almost dying during a fight against the Flag Smashers, you wake up to an angry Bucky and a fight ensues.

Warnings: angst, fluff, violence, cursing

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love on my first fic! I really appreciate it!! For this one, I decided to incorporate a little angst. I hope you like it! :)

You wince as your back slams into the ground. The Flag Smasher that just knocked you down, turns away from you and heads toward Walker. With only a few seconds to get off the ground and collect yourself, you scan your surroundings. Bucky is to your right, dodging two Flag Smashers with knives, while Sam is to your left, landing punches here and there. You were losing this fight. It was the four of you against seven super soldiers.

“Shit. This isn’t good looking.” You whisper to yourself.

“It would be nice if you stopped talking to yourself and helped out a little, Y/N” Sam says into your earpiece.

“I just got knocked down, thank you very much. Couldn’t really fight when I’m laying on the ground, trying to catch my breath” you say back.

“You got hurt, doll?” Bucky asks worriedly.

Sam laughs. “Mr. Knight and Shining Armor always worrying about if Y/N is hurt or not. Where was your concern when I got shot in the leg last week, huh?”

I could feel Bucky rolling his eyes from where he was standing a few feet away. “You walked it off. You were fine.”

“No, no, I didn’t walk it off, tin man. I couldn’t walk because I was shot in the leg and where were you…”

You interrupt Sam before he can continue, “Alright, we get the picture. Let’s stay civil here. We already have enough around us to fight. Don’t need to start fighting each other too.”

Right after you speak, you are surrounded by two super soldiers and instantly get into a fighting stance, already pulling the knife out of your leg holster.

“Looks like we fancy the same type of weapon, boys,” you speak while gesturing towards your knife. “Unfortunately for you, I fight better with it.”

You dodge the super soldier on your right, throwing your knife into his leg, and quickly grab your second knife from its holster, throwing it into the side of the super soldier to your left. Before either can react, you pull the knives out of both soldiers, sending them to the ground in pain.

You step back and wipe the knives onto your clothes, cleaning the blood off them.

“You know, fellas, it’s a shame it had to come to this. I was open to talking it through.”

You turn to look towards Sam. “Now, who did you say needed to help out a little, birdman?”

Sam’s reply is like a distant memory as you suddenly feel a tremendous pain in your stomach. You look down and see blood pouring out of you. Your hand instinctively moves to cover the bullet wound.

“And, unfortunately for you, sweetheart, I have a gun” says one of the super soldiers you stabbed. You turn to see him lying on the ground still, but this time with a gun in his hand, looking at you with a smirk on his face.

Your legs give out beneath you, but before you can hit the ground, Bucky is there, holding you up. “I’ve got you, doll. I’ve got you.” He looks at you with nothing but terror in his eyes.

“Sam!” Bucky yells. “I’ve gotta get them out of here.”

Sam comes running up to your other side. “Shit” he says. “Go, Walker and I will cover you.”

Bucky doesn’t waste another second, as he picks you up and starts running towards the nearest building.

---------------------------------------

Once inside, he places you on your back, on a table in the middle of the room.

“Bucky” you whisper. Your vision was starting to blur. You were losing too much blood.

Bucky doesn’t hear you, as he is frantically ripping off your shirt and tying it around the bullet wound, trying to stop you from bleeding out.

You lazily reach your hand up to grab his wrist. “Bucky” you say a little louder.

Bucky whips his head to look at you.

You reach your hand up to touch his cheek. “Bucky, I have something I want to tell you.”

“You can tell me after we get you stitched up.”

You start to talk a little louder. “No, Bucky, no, I need to tell you now. In case I don’t make it.”

“Stop that!” Bucky yells. “You’re going to make it. You’re going to be fine. Don’t say shit like that, doll. Just don’t.” Tears start to fall down his cheeks. “We are going to get you all fixed up. Just sit tight.”

You start to cry. You reach your hand back down to grab his hand. “I love you, Buck. I love you so much. And, I have for so long. I just want you to know that. It’s important that you do.”

Bucky starts to cry harder. He opens his mouth to speak, but you don’t hear anything he says.

The darkness in the corner of your vision starts creeping in and after a couple seconds, you fall asleep.

------------------------------------

You slowly open your eyes and see white all around you. You hear a faint beeping sound to your left. Your body aches everywhere, especially your stomach. You feel a slight squeeze to your right hand and turn your head to see Bucky sitting in a chair next to you, with his hand holding yours and his head down.

“Buck” you attempt to say, but your voice is so scratchy it doesn’t sound like anything.

Bucky’s head immediately lifts up and he springs to his feet.

“You’re awake. Oh my god, doll, I thought... Let me go get a doctor.”

You shake your head slowly. “No”, you manage to get out. “Stay please. I just need some water.”

Bucky nods. “Water, right, okay.” He hands you a cup of water. “Here you go, love.”

The water burns down your throat and you start to cough.

Bucky instantly grabs your hand again. “Are you okay?”

You nod. “I’m okay. Just burns a little.” You look him in the eyes. “What?” you ask him as he looks at you with a strange look.

Bucky’s mood immediately changes. “I should be asking you that. What were you doing turning your back to the enemy?” he asks angrily.

You scoff. “We are really going to have this conversation right now?”

“Yeah, we are. What the hell were you thinking? You can’t be doing that. You could have died!”

“But, I didn’t. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Bucky slams his hands down on the bed and stands up. “But, you almost did!” he yells. “You almost fucking died because you wanted to make some stupid comment to Sam, like a dumbass!”

“Me? A dumbass? I had it under control. I had both of those men on the ground, while you were still busy trying to dodge the fucking knives being thrown at you! Some super soldier you are, huh?”

“Under control? You call getting shot ‘under control’?” Bucky screams at you.

You look back at him incredulously. “What the hell is your problem?”

He throws his hands towards you. “You! You’re my fucking problem. Damnit, you could have died! And, then what? Do you even care? I could have fucking lost you.” He starts to break down and cry. You look into his eyes, as tears run down his face. “I almost lost you and I love you too much to lose you! And, of course, you finally said you love me and I didn’t even get a chance to say it back. I was so scared.” He sits down next to the bed and places his hand on your face. “I was so scared. I’ve lost everyone. I can’t lose you, Y/N.”

Tears run down your face. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere, Buck. I’m so sorry I scared you. But, I meant it when I said I love you. I love you so much. I’m here as long as you’ll want me.”

Bucky smiles. “Then you’re stuck with me forever, doll, because I’ll always want you. Just please don’t do something like that ever again.”

You smile and lean up to kiss him. Right as your lips connect, the door opens.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What did I just walk into? I guess Tinman finally admitted his feelings, Y/N?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and moves back to sit in the chair.

You laugh and look at Sam. “Cut him some slack, Sam. He’s had a long day.”

Sam walks over to your bed. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better. Just sore.”

Sam grins. “Bucky’s lips make it all better?”

Bucky turns to Sam. “Hey now, don’t start.”

“Oh, yeah? And, what are you going to do, old man?”

You watch as Bucky and Sam bicker with each other and smile to yourself.

Sam interrupts your moment of thought. “But seriously, please tell me you guys aren’t going to be making out every time I turn my back.”

You and Bucky look at each other and laugh. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure to be quiet” you say.

Sam groans in response and Bucky starts to laugh even harder, just as the doctor walks in.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #fatws bucky #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x avenger!reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #falcon and the winter soldier #bucky x avenger!reader #sebastian stan #marvel fanfiction #marvel #sebastian stan x reader #sam wilson #tfaws

1K notes · View notes

floralcyanide · 3 years

Text

amygdala || scream

chapter nine

amygdala: “a roughly almond-shaped mass of gray matter inside each cerebral hemisphere, involved with the experiencing of emotions, most notably fear.”

in which the reader knows something they shouldn’t about their two best friends.

story masterlist

1k celebration prompt requests

>> hello hello and welcome to chapter nine! sorry I didn’t upload last night, I was in an accident and was exhausted with a major headache by the time I got home. anyways, just letting those who sent requests know that I’ve gotten them and I’ll be working on them today. they’ll likely be uploaded after the final chapter of amygdala. warning for this chapter, there’s major character death. hope you all enjoy!

pairing: billy loomis x reader, stu macher x reader

warnings: mentions of death, gore, blood, knives, guns, and murder, major character death, strong language, violence

word count: 1794

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

Sidney had run inside before Stu and Randy showed up, so the two of you are behind the door, catching your breath. There’s a noise coming from upstairs that sounds like dragging. You look up and see Billy struggling to stand up as he leans against the wall, blood staining his shirt from his wounds.

“Jesus, Billy I thought you were dead,” you mutter, shocked he’s still alive from being stabbed like that.

He reaches out to you and Sidney before falling down the stairs, landing on the floor shortly after. Sidney and you run to the foot of the stairs, trying to help Billy up.

“Are you okay?” Sidney asks. A part of you wants to say that of course he wasn’t okay, why even ask that, but you keep your mouth shut.

“I’m like a stuck pig, but I’m alright,” Billy grunts, sitting up slowly.

You manage to help him stand up before he heads for the front door, “Hand me the gun, it’s alright.” Billy says, holding out his hand.

Your intuition is screaming to not give him the gun, but the expectant look on his pale face makes you surrender. You could never refuse Billy.

Randy bursts through the door the second Billy opens it, “Holy shit, guys! What the fuck is going on? I think Stu’s gone mad!”

Billy shuts the door behind him, slowly turning around to face the three of you with a wicked smirk on his face that matches the wicked glare in his eyes, “We all go a little mad sometimes.”

He slowly raises the gun, aiming it at Randy before pulling the trigger and lodging a bullet right between the red head’s eyes.

This is the moment where you’re body is stricken with unbridled fear. All those times before where you were being attacked was not fear compared to this. Someone you know, trust, and love dearly is capable of unspeakable things. You had been right all along. That’s what you fear the most.

“What the fuck?” you say, flabbergasted.

“Anthony Perkins, Psycho,” Billy continues with a bloody, twisted smirk on his pretty face.

You could hardly look at that pretty face. It didn’t seem to belong to the same person anymore.

“Billy?” you say in horror, trying hard to keep your eyes on his without being filled with anger.

“(Y/N)?” he mocks, using the same tone as you with his eyes widened a little as he begins walking towards you.

You start backing away, pulling Sidney’s arm with you. The two of you go to run, only for you to run into Stu, literally.

A wave of relief washes over you, “Stu, thank god!” you wrap your arms around his waist and hug him. Except the hug isn’t returned. You feel Stu’s arms twitch, though. You feel the tan sweater run across your arm as Stu lifts his hand, turning on a vocoder, “Surprise, (Y/N).”

The world around you begins to utterly collapse and your stomach lurches uncomfortably at the thought that maybe none of it was real.

Is this real? Were they real? Is this actually happening?

“No,” you mumble, burying your face into Stu’s chest, “No.”

You begin to cry, and you can hear Stu’s heart roaring in his chest.

“So sorry, (Y/N),” Billy says mockingly, walking up to you and Stu.

Billy presses his chest to your back, sandwiching you between him and Stu as he runs a knife slowly up your leg, over your hip, and creeping up your ribs to where it rests on your neck.

A shudder runs through your body at the close proximity to the people you had feelings for. You don’t know about those feelings anymore, other intense feelings like disgust and confusion along with horror is replacing them. Sidney is standing behind you all, slowly trying to move towards the front door. Stu notices this, nudging Billy who then aims the gun at her with his other hand.

“Not so fast, Sidney,” Billy chuckles at her, leaning into your ear, “No one is going anywhere.”

“Please,” you whisper, unable to use your voice from fear. You were scared to move a muscle because the knife was pressed to your throat.

“Please what, (Y/N)? Be a good little one, and keep your mouth shut while I talk, alright?” Billy growls in your ear, yanking his arm a little just to scare you.

You nod ever so slightly, scared the knife will cut you if you moved not even an inch.

“Now, (Y/N), I have some questions for you,” Billy says, moving the blade up your neck to the base of your jaw, “The first one being, how are you so smart?”

“What are you talking about?” you mutter, trying to look at him without turning your head but failing.

“You’re so smart, you should know the answer. So, tell me, what is it?” Billy snarls, pressing harder onto your back as your chest presses further into Stu’s.

You whimper from the feeling of a blade being pressed to your throat as well as two bodies being pressed to yours. As erotic as this predicament sounds, it’s actually majorly uncomfortable.

“Um, I just put the pieces together. It wasn’t hard,” you say quietly, chewing the skin off of your lip.

“Hmm, yeah, maybe it’s because you were somewhere you weren’t supposed to be.”

Sidney is frozen behind you still, and not understanding the conversation.

“What do you mean?” you wanted Billy to spell it out for you.

“At Casey’s. You weren’t supposed to be there that night,” he says.

“So, you knew that I saw you?” you breathe out.

“We sure did,” Stu says, after being silent for a while.

You gulp, feeling the blade on the edge of your skin. Pure terror is in your veins, and you know they’re feeding off of it, too.

“We’re gonna play a little game,” Billy says against your ear, a grin stretching from ear to ear.

“What kind of game,” you mutter.

“Answer the rest of my questions and if you get it wrong, you die,” Billy chuckles, and Stu pulls your arms that were still wrapped around him, off of him.

He takes the gun from Billy’s left hand, backing into the kitchen with it aimed at you. Billy then grabs Sidney’s wrist tightly, pulling her with you and him towards the kitchen. Billy pulls the blade from your throat, now pressing it to your back as he guides you to where Stu stands.

“Answer the questions right?” Stu says, softly dragging the gun up your throat and pressing it underneath your chin with a wicked grin, “You die.”

Your head is lifted from the force of the gun, and you glare down at Stu through your eyelashes. Sidney and you are shoved forward against the counter and your hip makes contact with the tile, sure enough to leave a bruise.

“Second question,” Stu says, gun still aimed at you and Sidney, “How long have you known for certain?”

Sidney is still confused but doesn’t say a word.

“A part of me,” you gulp, trying to find the right words to say, “A part of me always knew. I saw you two at Casey’s with the mask the night she was killed.”

“Ah, makes sense,” Billy smiles at the ground before drawing his eyes to yours, “We wondered why you were acting so, what’s the word?” he looks over at Stu, moving the knife around in thought, “Hostile?”

“You knew?” Sidney whispers, and you can’t read her expression clearly. It looks like a mix between confusion and disappointment.

You nod, “Sort of.”

“Third and final question,” Billy approaches you, laying the knife underneath your chin, lifting your head upwards. He leans in closely to your face, your noses almost touching, “Why didn’t you say anything about what you knew?”

“I wasn’t completely sure it was you guys,” you look at the ceiling, avoiding Billy’s gaze, “Even if I believed that it was, you are- were- my best friends.”

He grabs your chin and points the knife to your chest, his eyes wide with seriousness, “Look at me when you’re speaking to me.” He completely disregards the last part of what you said.

You nod as best as you can with your face in Billy’s hand. You stare into his eyes, and for a moment, you swear you see the real Billy in them. Or, the Billy you thought you knew, at least. It’s a look of regret and sadness, but it only lasts a second.

“I didn’t want to point fingers in case I was wrong,” you say.

“Didn’t stop you from pointing the finger at me, did it?” Billy growls, his grip on your chin getting harder, his thumb now pushing your cheek against your teeth.

“Was it really you that night, Billy?” Sidney asks from beside you.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” he leans his head side to side as if to think through his answer.

“Why? Why are you doing this,” you seethe, lifting your hand to grip Billy’s wrist.

“Why? Why!?” Billy shouts in your face, almost spitting on you. “Sounds like they want a motive, Stu.”

Billy lets go of your face, moving over to Sidney. He pulls her to his chest, knife to her throat as he keeps his eyes on you.

“You see, Sidney’s little slut of a mother couldn’t keep her hands off of my dad.” Billy says into Sidney’s ear, and she squeezes her eyes shut, “She was flashing her shit all over town like she was Sharon Stone or something.”

“We had to kill her. Let’s face it, your mother was no Sharon Stone!” Stu laughs maniacally, a large grin on his face as he keeps the gun aimed at you and Sidney.

“So to get back at Sidney for something she never did, you kill the people closest to her?” you ask.

“Yes but, that’s not all,” Billy smiles, blood on his teeth.

Sidney wriggles in Billy’s grip, “Woah, not so fast. It’s time for the real game to begin.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask, looking between Stu and Billy cautiously.

Billy just looks over at Stu, bloodlust in his eyes.

“This,” he says, then slices open Sidney’s throat with a flick of his wrist.

He lets her go, and she falls to the floor with her hand clasped over her neck.

“Fuck, Billy! Fuck! Why would you do that?” you sob, falling to your knees and moving towards Sidney.

Sidney is bleeding out so fast that her face is growing paler by the second.

“Because it’s fun!” Stu says.

Nothing felt real. Your body was overloaded with adrenaline and genuine fear. Is this how you are going to die?

212 notes · View notes

the-iceni-bitch · 3 years

Text

Merry Christmas, Bucky

Pairing: Nomad!Steve / Fem!Reader / Bucky (Stucky)

Words: 5114

Summary: You and Steve are worried about Bucky and don’t know how to fix things.

Warnings: Angst, Explicit language, explicit sexual content (threesomes (MMF), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (M and F receiving), anal sex, double penetration), explicit descriptions of consensual violence, age appropriate alcohol consumption, SMUT!!!, 18+!!!

A/N: Merry Christmas and hoe hoe hoe! My promised filthy treat for you all: my very first Stucky fic! This was a lot of fun to write but ended up way different than I had originally imagined. The smut is actually pretty fluffy (as fluffy as you can get with a threesome I guess). This is technically a continuation of my original “Birthday Gift” Nomad!Steve fic, though it takes place like a year later. I hope you all enjoy and have a very merry holiday!

“How’s that feel, Buck?” You asked, setting the arc-welder back on the tool bench as you sat back.

He flexed his fingers, testing the repairs you made to the neural link. “Good. You know you didn’t have to stay with me. I could’ve handled it on my own.”

The rest of the team was out on a rescue mission in Sri Lanka while the two of you hung back at your compound. His new arm had been on the fritz for the past few days, and he didn’t want to risk it crapping out on him in the middle of an op. He hadn’t planned on you staying, too, though you’d never joined the team on any of the other missions so he didn’t know why he was surprised.

“Right, you’re the one with years of experience with Wakandan tech. I’m sure Shuri would love to have a little conference with you about the intricacies of vibranium based neural networks.” You scoffed at him, rolling your eyes.

“Well, you don’t have to be mean about it.” He pouted, half-heartedly. It’d been a while since the two of you had some alone time, and he missed the banter.

You grinned at him. “Aww, Barnes, that’s nothing! Let’s test it out. C’mon, up.”

His smile disappeared quickly. “No, Y/N, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Jesus, Barnes. I’m not some little doll. We both need a workout. Besides, none of the other idiots ever wanna play knives with me. I know you miss it.”

You were right. Steve didn’t like relying on anything other than his fists since he gave up the shield and Nat and Sam definitely preferred guns if they were going to use any sort of weapon. But you and Bucky had a shared appreciation for the weight of a good blade in your hand.

“Fine.” He sighed. He knew you wouldn’t let up until he gave in, so he resigned himself to his fate.

He dragged his feet as he followed you to the gym. He’d been doing his best to avoid any close contact with you for the past few months. They’d been with you a little over a year now, ever since Siberia. When they found out about your history, Bucky bonded with you quickly over your shared tragedies.

But that only mattered so much, because you had Steve. And that was slowly killing Bucky.

He didn’t know how many more nights he could listen to the two of you. Granted, you managed to keep it down enough that the rest of the team didn’t notice anything, but his damn super soldier hearing made it seem like you were right next to him. The sounds of your wanton whimpers and low moans kept him up all night, his cock aching as he writhed in his sweat soaked sheets. He always had trouble looking at the two of you the morning after, and he could tell that things were slowly starting to get strained, but it was just too goddamn hard to be around you when he couldn’t have you, not that he would ever try. Steve was his best friend.

Of course, you had noticed how strange Barnes had been acting over the past few months, and you and Steve were starting to get worried. You were hoping that having some time, just the two of you, would help him loosen up and let you back in.

He arrived in the gym a few steps behind you and found you bouncing a sparring blade off the palm of your hand. You shot him a grin over your shoulder and tossed it to him, and he plucked it out of the air easily, giving a sigh at the familiar feeling as he spun it through his fingers. It would be nice to lose himself in a good spar.

“One or two, Buck?”

“One is good.” He said as he started to stretch himself out.

“Great.” You murmured, unzipping your hoodie and setting it aside before picking up a blade of your own and tossing it quickly between your hands, acclimating yourself to its weight. “Music ok?”

“Fine.” He didn’t know why you insisted on listening to music during your spar sessions, but he could admit it lent your fighting style a certain artistic flair.

The sounds of alt-J’s “Left Hand Free” came over the speakers and you let out a small sound of satisfaction. “Ahh, perfect. Alright, Barnes, I promise I’ll go easy on you.” You grinned at him as you tucked your blade against your wrist and dropped into a fighting stance.

He snorted at you as he headed to his corner. “Right, we’ll s… fuck!”

You barely gave him a chance to turn around before you were on him, your knee driving towards his midsection before you extended it at the last second to try to kick the knife out of his hand. He dodged at the last second but you were already ducking to sweep his legs out from under him. He dropped the knife in surprise as he went down and you caught it before it hit the ground and pounced on his chest, pressing both of your blades to his throat.

“Ha, that’s one for me!” You grinned down at him as you dropped his knife onto his chest before standing back up and heading back to your corner.

“You’re a cheater, Y/N.” He growled at you as he gained his feet, pissed he let you catch him off guard.

“Just preparing you for the real world, darling.” You shot him a wink as you shifted your weight back and forth, waiting for him to signal he was ready, this time.

His gut clenched when you called him that, and he had to steel himself. He was determined to not let you get under his skin today. He didn’t want things to get any more awkward.

You let him make the first move this time, and he ran at you full force, whipping his arm around to try to ram the blade into the side of your ribs. You blocked him with your forearm and he dropped the blade to catch it in his opposite hand and deliver a backhand blow to your side, which you just barely dodged. He brought his now empty fist up and drove it into your elbow and you dropped your blade with a grunt. He scooped it out of the air with the same hand as he sank to a kneeling position and brought the flat of the blade to rest at the juncture of your inner thigh on instinct, where your femoral artery would run. When he realized where his hand had landed, he drew it back with a hiss, dropping your knife at your feet.

“One for me.” He murmured, trying to cover the flush creeping over his face.

You didn’t notice, you were enjoying yourself too much. You flipped your blade up into the air with your toe and caught it before charging Bucky.

He barely had a second to prepare before you were flying off the mat towards his face. You looped one knee over his shoulder and the other around his upper back as you clenched your abdominal muscles then released them, whipping yourself back and flipping him over you until you landed on the mat with a slap and were straddling his chest. You started flipping your knife through your fingers when he brought his metal arm up and wrapped it around your waist, flinging you off him as he brought his knees to his chest and whipped himself into a crouching position.

You windmilled your legs until you were in a crouch of your own; chest bent low over one bent knee, your other leg extended to your side, holding your balance with one hand on the mat. He dove at you, trying to drive his blade towards your throat but you managed to wrap your thighs around his arm and your shins around his neck as you extended your legs and gripped his wrist, keeping in a hold. He brought his free hand around and punched you in the hip, knocking the air out of you as you buckled.

You managed to roll out from underneath him before he could bring the blunted blade to your chest and got him in a partial arm bar with your blade at his ribs at the same time he pressed his blade to your throat.

“Draw?” You asked after the two of you had stayed in that position for a beat.

“Draw.” He agreed as you released each other, rolling to his feet with a groan as you stayed on your back, breathing heavily. “Let’s take a quick break.”

“Yeah.” You sighed at him as you slowly climbed back to your feet and went to towel yourself off.

He grabbed a cold water bottle from the fridge and tossed one to you before he started to chug. You held yours to your neck before taking a drink.

He watched you hungrily. You were damp with sweat and he was mesmerized by a stray bead of condensation that was traveling down the line of your neck to the valley between your breasts. Your hair was plastered to your scalp and your chest was still heaving. He imagined this was what you must look like after sex and had to school his thoughts immediately before they headed further down that path. He splashed himself in the face with some of his water to try to cool down.

You breathing had started to return to normal and you shot him a small smile, failing to notice how uncomfortable he was. “What d’you say, Barnes, one more round?”

He knew he should say no. He was having a hard time keeping his thoughts tamped down and was worried how his body would react if he had anymore close contact with you, but it was hard to care about that at this point. How much could one more round really hurt?

He tossed his empty bottle into the recycling bin and stalked back to his corner, not taking his eyes off you as you tossed your towel over the back of a bench and walked opposite him.

The two of you prowled around each other like a couple of cats, eyeing the other’s movements and trying to determine what your moves were going to be.

Bucky saw your eyes flick to the window for just a second, distracted by something outside, and he took his chance. He pounced on you, rolling the two of you over each other as he gripped the hand holding your knife and bent your wrist back until you dropped the blade. You wrenched your head back and connected with his face at the same time you drove your elbow into his diaphragm, causing him to release you.

You twisted your torso around and flipped yourself forward, bringing your knees to his shoulders and carrying your momentum forward to bring him to the mat with you kneeling on his chest.

He dropped his knife in the exchange but managed to bring a hand under your thigh and roll you until he had you in a half-nelson with top scissors, his upper body curled around yours as he pinned you to the mat.

His face was buried in your hair and he was inhaling your scent deeply before he could help himself. You were still struggling to get out of the hold when he tightened his grip around you with a growl. He could feel his cock hardening as it was pinned against the swell of your ass, but for the moment he didn’t care. He didn’t even feel you stop struggling, he just continued holding you in that position.

“Um, Barnes.” You murmured, your face pressed into the mat.

“Mmmm…”

“Bucky.” You said, more firmly this time.

“Shit.” He hissed as he released you and scrabbled backwards on the mat, holding one hand out to keep you away from him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Buck, it’s ok. It happens.” You said softly, a look of concern coming over your face when you saw how distressed he was.

“No, it’s not fucking ok. Goddamn it!” He drove his metal fist into the mat hard, making you jump. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Wait, Bucky…”

“No, just, leave me alone.” He said over his shoulder as he rushed out of the gym, determined to seclude himself in his room for the foreseeable future.

“Hey, Buck, how’s the new arm… whoa. Something happen?” The rest of the team had arrived back at the compound and Steve had come to check on the two of you. Bucky just charged past him without acknowledgement. “Everything ok, sweetheart?” He turned his intense blue eyes to you with concern. He had hoped you two might be able to get to the root of the awkwardness that had seemed to be growing between you three, but things sure seemed to be worse now that he was back.

He wrapped a massive arm around your waist to help you up from the mat and gave you a soft kiss on the forehead.

“I dunno, baby. I’m pretty sure I figured out what the issue is. We should set aside some time tonight to talk. I think we should also lay off the PDA for a bit.”

He scoffed at that before taking a good look at you. “You’re serious.”

“Yeah, we’ll talk about it later.”

It took Bucky almost two days to come out of his room and when he did, he did his best to avoid you and Steve. Tensions in the house were high and it seemed everyone was walking on eggshells. You were hoping that a little Christmas celebration might help everyone loosen up.

It barely helped. Buck just sulked in a corner, nursing a glass of vodka and glowering at everything. At least everyone else seemed pretty cheery. He was at least grateful that he hadn’t had to listen to you and Steve fucking each other like animals for the past week. He had actually been able to get some sleep. But now the two of you were acting cagey. You kept giving each other longing looks before glancing furtively in his direction and he was pretty sure his restful nights were over. Everyone else started drunkenly up to bed once the early morning hours hit and it was eventually just the three of you sitting there in awkward silence.

You kept looking at him like you wanted to say something but didn’t know what, and all he could feel was a hollow ache in his chest every time you made eye contact.

“Well, I’ll leave you two alone now. I’m sure you have your own celebrations you want to get to.” He said bitterly when Steve came to stand behind you and rested his hand on your shoulder.

“Shit, Buck, just wait.” You pleaded as he turned to go.

“No, Y/N it’s fine.”

“It’s not, Bucky.” Steve rumbled, his brow furrowed with worry.

“God, not you too, Rogers.” He said, exasperated.

“Bucky, please.” The catch in your voice startled him, and he turned back to you. “Just, come with us.” You whispered, extending a hand to him.

He wasn’t entirely sure he had heard you right, but then you were standing in front of him, brushing your mouth along the hollow of his throat as your hands rested against his chest.

He looked at Steve questioningly and was just met with a small smile as he started heading down the hall to your room. You drew Bucky along with you, softly kissing his neck as your hands wandered under his shirt to explore the plains of his back. He felt like he was in a dream state, his mind wrapped in a warm cocoon as he let you pull him along.

You reached your room and he felt you close the door behind you. He only had a moment to register Steve resting on a chair in the corner before your mouth was on his and all his other senses abandoned him.

You tongue moved past his lips softly and massaged his, drawing a moan from his chest. He wrapped his hands around your shoulders and buried his hands in your hair, holding your face to his like you were giving him oxygen.

He was drunk from the taste of you as he reluctantly pulled away to draw in a breath. Your scent filled his lungs as he sucked down air and he moved his hands to the front of your blouse as he ripped it open and slid it down your shoulders, exposing your breasts and making you sigh. His hands moved to swell of your chest as he ran his thumbs softly over the slope of your breasts, brushing them over your nipples and raising them to sensitive buds as he gazed at you.

He pressed his mouth to yours once more, running his tongue along the cushion of your bottom lip before his lips started traveling down your neck. His hands pressed against the small of your back as he guided you onto the bed. Once he had lain you down, they slipped down to your hips, following the band of your jeans to unbutton them and slide them down your thighs with your panties as his tongue laved over your nipple and you gave him one of those whimpers he had only heard through the walls before. The sound of it made him groan against your chest as he nuzzled you softly before kissing down the flat plain of your abdomen.

His hands brushed against the insides of your thighs as he worked his mouth lower and when they reached their apex he found you soaked with your arousal.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

“Mmm, Bucky.” You sighed as his tongue brushed against the folds of your sex.

“Sshh, pretty girl.” He murmured as his fingers pulled you apart and exposed the small bud at the peak of your slit. He pressed his tongue against it softly before wrapping it in his lips and sucking.

“Oh, god.” Your breath rushed out of you as you arched yourself into him and you wound your fingers in his hair. His tongue massaged your clit languorously as he drew a single finger through the arousal at your entrance before inserting it into you and curling it. You gasped as he stretched you from the inside and bit your lip, fluttering your eyelids closed in absolute bliss.

He added another finger and you let out a soft cry, wrapping your thighs around his neck and begging him for more as his tongue increased its pressure and speed. The taste of you was like a drug on his tongue. He felt heady with pleasure as he drew more soft sounds from you. You clenched around him when he added a third finger and he eagerly lapped up the evidence of your continued arousal that seeped out around them as he fucked them into you.

You felt your desire coiling in your core as he curled his fingers against that sweet, secret spot over and over and when he wrapped his lips around you again and sucked, hard, you were finished. You let out a thin wail as your muscles seized with pleasure before trembling in your release. He felt your release seep over his fingers and coat his chin as you came down, slowly relaxing the muscles leading to your core. He slowly drew himself up to gaze down at you as he removed his own clothes, watching you twitch as he drew his shirt over his head as your release continued to pulse out of your cunt. He tossed his shirt to the side and dragged his jeans and briefs down his legs before kneeling between your thighs on the bed.

He tucked one hand under your neck and the other under your hips and drew you up until you were cradled in his lap. You felt the length of his cock sliding through the slick that was coating your pussy and you screwed your eyes shut with a moan, pressing your forehead to Bucky’s.

“Hey, open your eyes.” He whispered before nipping at your bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth with his thumb on your chin. “I wanna look at you.”

You dragged your heavy lids open and stared into his eyes. His pupils were lust-blown and just left a thin ring of ice around endless pools of black. You felt him guiding himself to your entrance and he slipped himself in slowly, sliding you down on his length until he was fully sheathed in you. You let out a gasp when you were full of him, loving the feel of being stretched around his full length.

He started moving his hips slowly, grinding them against you as he brushed his lips against yours, never breaking eye contact. You matched his delicious, slow rhythm and sucked his bottom lip between your teeth, nipping it softly.

“I love you, Bucky.” You sighed into his mouth.

“Oh, sweet girl.” He pressed his mouth to yours hungrily, his tongue tangling with yours for just a moment before he broke away. “I love you too. You ok with me moving?”

You nodded your head and sucked in a breath as he moved a hand to your hip and fucked up into you suddenly. He picked up the pace quickly, rutting up into you and making you gasp. He fought to maintain eye contact as he felt your breasts bouncing against his chest each time his hips moved, but he wanted to watch you as you came apart around him.

One of his thrusts had his tip kissing your cervix and you let out a hiss at the sensation. He felt you clench around him as you neared another orgasm and moved his hand from your hip to strum at your clit. Your breath started hitching as he brought you closer and closer, the muscles in your abdomen twitching as you neared the brink. One hard drive of his thumb was all it took to send you over the edge and you collapsed against his chest, screaming his name as your torso rolled with the waves of pleasure that were wracking you.

Once he felt you relax he drew your head up for one more kiss before laying you back against the bed as he moved his hands to your hips and pulled you into him over an over. He gave Steve a nod and turned his attention back to you, mesmerized as he watched your perfect tits bounce with each thrust of his hips.

You gazed at Steve through heavy lids as he stood from his seat. He was already undressed and had been watching intently as Bucky fucked you, stroking his length as he watched him take you apart. Now he stalked over to you like a cat. He knelt down and pressed a hungry kiss to your lips as your head hung over the edge of the bed.

“You ready for me baby?” He asked, cupping your cheek in one massive palm as he stared into your eyes.

You nodded eagerly and bit your lip, not trusting your voice at the moment after all your screaming.

He gave you a quick peck before standing back up and bringing the tip of his cock to your lips, swirling the precum that had collected there around before he pressed it into your mouth.

You drew his into your mouth eagerly, swirling your tongue around his tip and moaning at the taste of him before he pressed himself into you a little further. Bucky hit you at a new angle suddenly and you let out a thin whine around Steve’s cock, making him hiss.

“Shit, I don’t think I can go as slow as I thought, sweetheart, get ready.”

You took a deep breath through your nose as he shoved himself all the way into your mouth. You hollowed out your cheeks as he started fucking your throat in earnest and tears started to leak from your eyes. You did your best not to inhale the drool that was running from your mouth as he rutted into you faster. Bucky had picked up his pace too and you felt yourself winding up for another massive orgasm. You were worried the combination of rhythms and lack of oxygen was going to make you pass out.

As you drew closer, you felt your two soldiers starting to twitch.

“Fuck, baby, I’m close. Buck?”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Do you need us to pull out, honey?”

You absolutely did not. You wrapped your legs around Bucky and your arms around Steve as another orgasm took you and you almost choked on the pleasure, your body writhing between the two men as they picked up their paces. They were seconds behind you. Bucky came first with a feral growl and you felt his spend spurting inside you, warming you from the inside as your cunt drew it all from him. Steve was last and caught himself on his left arm as his release ran down your throat, his cock twitching as you swallowed around his length.

Bucky collapsed beside you to your left, flinging an arm across your abdomen and pressing his face into your neck. Steve sat down heavily beside your face before twisting himself to lay on your right side, wrapping one of his massive legs in yours and placing a soft kiss on you lips before laying beside you.

You gave Steve a smile before turning over your shoulder to Bucky and nuzzling your nose against his, running a hand through his hair.

He pressed himself into your back and brought his metal hand up to cup your cheek as he kissed you deeply. His other arm wound itself underneath you and pressed you closer to him, splaying over your abdomen.

Steve started brushing his lips across your chest as he brought a hand to cup one of your breasts. You felt arousal starting to pool between you legs again at the gentle attention they were giving you. You brought your hands down to palm their cocks and felt them begin to harden in your hands.

“God sweetheart, you’re insatiable.” Steve chuckled against your neck. “Good thing we have Buck here now or you’d wear me out.”

You felt Bucky laughing against your hair as he started grinding his cock into your ass. You felt his hand move between your ass cheeks and gasped as his fingers brushed against your puckered hole before running through your arousal. “Where do you want us, love?” He whispered as he pressed one soaked finger at the tight ring of muscle before inserting it quickly, making you gasp. “I think she’s good with where we are Rogers.” He grinned at his friend over your shoulder as he stretched you slowly, waiting for you to relax before he inserted another finger.

“You sure, baby?” Steve asked after pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Fuck, yes.” You hissed at him as Bucky inserted another finger and you felt a fresh rush of arousal seep down your legs.

“Alright, beautiful.” He said around a grin as the three of you moved into a seated position.

Bucky was planting soft kisses over your shoulders as he dragged his erection through your folds, coating himself in your release before he pressed the head of his cock against your anus, and suddenly you were drawing him into you until he was bottomed out.

“Shit, sweetheart.” He hissed in your ear, his fingers digging into your hips as you moaned at the sensation of being filled with him and leaned your head back against his shoulder.

Steve brushed his tip against your clit before sheathing himself in your sex and your brain short-circuited for a second, your eyes rolling up into your head.

“Fuck, Y/N. Stay with me.” Steve hissed at you, concern coming over his face.

“I’m good, baby. Just needed a second.” You grinned at him once you came back to yourself.

“Alright, honey, we’re going to move.” Bucky warned you as his hips drew back before thrusting forward.

“Oh, God.” You could tell this was going to be short work. The contrasting rhythms they were setting was driving you to your breaking point faster than you thought possible and their mouths tracing your chest and shoulders was only adding to the sensation. You felt yourself already clenching around them and came suddenly, digging your fingers into Steve’s biceps as every muscle in your body seized and you vibrated with your release between the two of them.

They started picking up the pace then, humming as their lips brushed against your skin and you went into sensory overload. Your skin felt like it was on fire and every nerve was singing. Wherever their fingers touched you felt like you had been shocked with electricity. It was getting to be too much and you started to mewl unintelligibly as they moved inside of you.

Bucky nodded at Steve as you felt them starting to twitch inside you. “Almost done pretty girl, where do you want it?”

“Mmmm, inside me.” You whispered, completely fucked out as another orgasm wracked you.

Bucky pressed a kiss behind your ear and Steve pressed one to your lips as their hips suddenly stilled and they came inside you at the same time. You sighed as you felt their release leaking out of you and down your thighs and you let yourself collapse backward against Bucky’s chest. He carried you backwards until you were laying on top of him while Steve headed to the bathroom.

Bucky murmured soft praises against your hair as he rolled you over until he was spooning you, his metal arm wrapped around you as his other hand ran up and down the outside of your thigh. You sighed against the pillow when Steve returned with a damp cloth and ran it over the inside of your thighs to clean you off before he crawled into the bed with the two of you, pressing the front of his body to yours and pulling the sheets up over the three of you as you nuzzled yourself into his chest.

“Love you sweetheart.” He whispered, planting a kiss on the top of your head as you started to doze off.

“Mmm, love you Steve. Love you Bucky. Merry Christmas, boys.” You murmured before falling asleep between your two super soldiers, absolutely content wrapped in their warmth.

“Merry Christmas Barnes.”

“You too Rogers”

Permanent Tags:

@drabblewithfrannybarnes @stargazingfangirl18

#stucky #nomad steve #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky angst #steve rogers x bucky barnes x you #stucky x you #stucky x y/n #stucky x reader #marvel fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

Note

🎰🔪🧨 with Charlie himself. 🤞🏻

Thanks for your request for my Emoji Fic Fest! 💗

..................................................

Slut Machine

Pairing: Charlie Hunnam x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, Vegas shenanigans Word Count: ~1.5k Emoji Prompt: 🎰🔪🧨 (key words are in bold)

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

… Whose voice is that? Your senses are too hazy yet to process who it was or what he said. You blink your bleary eyes and wake up in an… unfamiliar bed. The sheets are a ridiculous resplendent red—must be a love motel or some shit—there’s a story as to how you ended up here but you find you can’t remember any of it. Sleep was so deep that you feel as if you’re waking from the dead.

When your eyes finally flutter open everything comes flooding back. You’re here in bed with Charlie Motherfucking Hunnam and the sight of his blue gaze and bright white grin gives you a goddamn heart attack.

You cover your face with your hands and groan out loud at just how mortified you are. Recalling how you’d made a clown out of yourself last night when you bumped into this million-dollar movie star. Literally bumped into him—till yesterday you never even knew him—you had just been crushing hard on him for years but he was always a completely unattainable celebrity. A girls’ trip brought you to Sin City; you and your besties were hopping casually from bar to bar, when you had stumbled clumsily straight into Charlie as he stepped out of his car.

You’d simply scurried off in that instant ‘cause he was too damn beautiful in person and your ass was terrified. But then bumped into him again soon after you both got inside. This time you had a full martini glass in hand and spilled its contents all across his shirt and thought you ought to help the man get dried. Decided then you really shouldn’t try to run away and hide.

You’d grabbed a bunch of napkins, dabbing at his chest and abs through the damp fabric as you nervously apologized for what happened. Your spastic wiping motions all across his chiseled muscles weren’t exactly very helpful with the spilled drink situation, as your brain cells were all absent in the face of heaven’s most stunning creation. Charlie said some shit about how bumping into you a second time wasn’t an accident. You were too hypnotized with lust to understand just what he meant.

He joked that you could make it up to him by winning him a jackpot at the slot machines. You told him shyly that the whole gambling thing isn’t quite your scene. Although he didn’t want to pressure you he asked you to indulge him in a night of fun—all kinds of shit you’d never done—let him take you out around Vegas to the wildest places you had never been.

It didn’t make sense that you felt so safe with him but hell you did. You were still sober by the time Charlie was coming onto you and all your girlfriends chanted do it do it do it! And the craziest night of your life began before you even knew it. Took you to his favorite high-stakes casino—then to seats in the front row at a big AEW Dynamite show—and then to some intense axe-throwing place that also offered knives and ninja stars and other shit to throw.

The best part of the night though… was of course when Charlie claimed you as his dirty little ho. The memory of it is vivid as you look up at him now and find that both of you are still stuck in the most mind-blowing afterglow.

***************

“No way that was your first fucking time throwing knives?!” Charlie shakes his blonde head in defeat as he walks you back out to the sweet car he drives. “Bitch I swear you’ve been doing this shit your whole life.”

You slide into the passenger seat while erupting in laughter. He’s so fucking butthurt that your aim was better than his because he’s a competitive smug little bastard. “Well I am an assassin specifically hired to take out insanely attractive actors… but I can assure you that wasn’t a factor.”

He closes the driver’s side door, turns the keys and the engine ignites in a smooth thrumming roar. “And by ‘take out’ you mean…?”

“It’s cute of you to ask but dinner and a movie isn’t really the assassin scene.”

He chuckles playfully as he speeds down the street, the night alive with white hot heat, the lights of Vegas bright as ever as the night deepens. “You gonna kill me in my sleep, then?”

“That’d be making it too easy.”

“Babe, don’t tease me. We both know you make it hard.”

Okay so he just pulled that card.

Fight off the burning urge to stare down at his crotch—no doubt the car would crash then if you saw what you’re imagining and know you’d be unable to resist the urge to touch…

You’ve never wanted anyone or anything in all your life so fucking much.

The sudden tension in the air leads him to smooth back his slicked hair, facing the road with a restrained stare. He’s been picking up on signals all night long but doesn’t dare to just assume you want to go there. Tries to come off calm and cool although there’s nothing he wants more. “So, uh—should I just drive you back to your hotel or…?”

The voice that comes out of your mouth is one you barely even recognize. It takes both you and Charlie by surprise, the way your inner slut replies: “That’d be a fucking bore. You know I’d much rather you take me back to yours… so you can fuck me like a filthy little whore.”

***************

The swanky penthouse suite in the five-star hotel where Charlie came to stay… it’s a ten-minute drive away.

That’s way too far needless to say.

He needs you right this second, after what you’d gone and said—although the backseat of his car is a fine spot for a good wrecking, there are fifty shades of shit he’d rather do with you spread in the comfort of a big sumptuous bed.

Thankfully there is an extremely tacky-looking love motel just down the road. And it’s the perfect place for you two to check in and let your passions for each other just explode.

It turns out this particular motel has a requirement for guests to stay the night that just might pose a bit of trouble: lovebirds have to pass through the adjoining chapel first and be a lawfully wedded couple.

So you stand uncomfortably at the reception desk and bite your tongue. Happen to know that Charlie tied the knot in Vegas once when he was young; you’ve heard about it in some interviews. You’re sure that he’d have no desire to repeat that same mistake tonight with you.

But this has been a night of wild crazy shit and he’s on fire to continue.

Mostly it’s just that he really needs his dick in you… but there’s a spark that he can feel might someday blossom into something more and he just hopes that you can feel it too.

***************

Of course you do. The ceremony is a joke but you’re both giddy as if it’s real by the time you’ve seen it through. There’s just no hope of sanity and self-control between you two.

You’re in a fluffy white confection of a wedding gown that this establishment provided for the night. You look like a big puff of cotton fucking candy and he wants to take a bite. So much about this night seems wrong, but when the heat between the racing of your heartbeats is so strong, it can’t feel anything but right.

Once you’re at last inside your room he throws you down onto the bed and dives headfirst into your gown, and goes to town, taking you high until you die as he goes down.

The dress is so damn big, that you can’t see his flawless face, let alone his glorious dick, and that’s a royal fucking waste. You need to see and touch and taste.

He knows exactly what you need and ravenously rips the poufy fabric off of you. His pearly smile and the bristles of his beard are gleaming with your pussy juices as he climbs on top of you. You long to tell him just how bad you want to blow him—want to tell him that you love him even though you barely know him—it would be fucking insane to say I love you, but of course you can still show him.

Yet he wants to consummate this marriage first, before he lets you satisfy your thirst. You’ll have a lifetime’s worth of days and nights to suck on his big dick if you decide to stay with him and make him yours.

That’s everything you want of course.

This whirlwind of a night that started with a stupid joke about hitting the jackpot at the slot machines… turned into you being his motherfucking wife, after the wildest and best night of your motherfucking life. And now he’s here on top of you about to fuck you and it’s totally outrageously obscene.

You wouldn’t have it any other way ‘cause you know you were put on earth to serve as Charlie Hunnam’s dirty little slut machine.

..................................................

Emoji Fic Masterlist

Emoji Fic Tag List – below; if you’d like to be added or removed, just let me know!

@happyhunnams @band--psycho @est11 @edonaspanca @starbooty @innerpaperexpertcloud @i-love-scott-mccall @six-camelot @alexa-rae-dreamz @coffeebooksandfandom @thesuicidalflower @flaireandsynch @helloheyhihowdyheya @gemini0410 @waywardodysseys @zozebo @bettergetusetoit @emilykjh @little-diable @rocketqueen @mrspeacem1nusone @miss-smutty @rayslittlekitten @abby-splace @chubbychubbs28 @miraclesoflove @tegggeeee @hunnambabe @missusnora @kesskirata @vixenrebellion @thexhostess @pomegranatearildreams @kandii395 @severewobblerlightdragon @itspdameronthings @niki-xie @cind-in-real-life @saweetspoiled @poge-life @few-proud-emotonal @samanthaisnthome @melodranas @soaharleys @charlie-hunnams-old-lady @simpmasterjr @nataliewalker93 @lovebarefootblonde @marvelousmermaid @tsukuyomi011 @sciapod @midnight-dreams-23

#charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam smut #charlie hunnam imagine #charlie hunnam fanfiction #charlie hunnam fic #charlie hunnam x reader #charlie hunnam x you #jax teller #sons of anarchy #soa #gavin nichols #the ledge #rpf #rpf fanfic #rpf fanfiction #celebrity imagines #emoji fics

177 notes · View notes

delimeful · 3 years

Text

hold my body down (2)

chapter 2 of this fic!

warnings: arguing, mild violence, cult mentions, mild gore mentions

Virgil stared at the man, his mind blank. What?

“That’s-- great?” Roman tried, his voice cracking in the middle with bewilderment. The human beamed, beckoning with his hand. Roman reached out and Virgil slapped his hand back, glowering at him.

“What have I said about accepting help from random friendly men?” he hissed, eyeing the stranger warily. Roman flushed, shoving him slightly, but notably didn’t try to move forward again.

The man-- Patton’s smile didn’t falter, but his hand dropped slightly. Virgil refused to feel bad. For once, he was completely sure that his level of paranoia was necessary for the situation.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Patton said, folding onto his knees to sit on the edge of the bag’s opening. “I can just explain from over here. I would come to sit in the bag with you, but last time I did that I got held hostage and Logan put a ban on interacting with terrified strangers without his direct supervision.”

“That, uh, seems rather fair,” Roman offered, still wildly out of his depth. Virgil rolled his eyes, a hand on the hilt of one of his daggers in case the stranger made any sudden moves.

“Who’s Logan?” He asked, eyes flickering up to what little he could see through the opening.

“Oh, he’s the one who rescued you!” Patton said cheerily. Virgil broke out into a cold sweat immediately.

“Rescued?” Roman echoed in disbelief. “Are you talking about the giant? Because I’m pretty sure he just abducted us against our will.”

“No, no, it’s not like that!” Patton insisted, only confirming Virgil’s theory that he was probably brainwashed and/or had Stockholm syndrome. Or both. Or a variety of other, worse options, such as yet another cult member or another giant in disguise.

“Easy, Virgil.” Roman laid a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “Uh-- Patton, was it? If we’re not being… y’know… kidnapped and imprisoned, do you think you could back up so we can get out of the bag?”

“Of course!” Patton answered, popping back to his feet. “I’ll be right out here, take your time! I’m sure the last couple of hours have been rough.”

Virgil tried not to snort. Rough was one word for it. His amusement died a quick death when Roman began moving towards the opening. He latched onto the other man’s arm like a steel trap. “I don’t trust this.”

“You don’t trust anything,” Roman retorted automatically before softening. “It’s okay, I’m just checking to see what’s out there. Won’t even get out of the bag, on my honor.”

Virgil reluctantly followed him, grabbing onto him tightly as though he could keep anything out there from hurting him by yanking him back into the bag.

Roman ducked his head back under the cloth a moment later. “Okay. Bad news, there is absolutely a giant still out there. Good news, he’s all the way over across the room, reading a book. He is steadfastly ignoring both us and Patton, who waved at me.”

“What.” Virgil clutched at his hair. “What is going on?”

“I suspect we’ll have to ask Patton that. If we want answers, we’ll have to go get them,” He said, patting Virgil on the back encouragingly. “Don’t worry, my Dark and Stormy Knight, I’ll keep you safe.”

“My job,” Virgil grumbled, not releasing his grip on Roman’s wrist as he led the way out of the bag.

Everything was huge. He should have expected it, seeing as this was a giant’s home, but it still threw him off. They were on a huge table, in a huge living room, and the giant was indeed across the room with a huge book, pretending like they didn’t exist. From this distance, Virgil could actually take in all of him without feeling like he was going to pass out.

Patton was sitting a few feet away, and beamed at their approach. Virgil barely tore his eyes away from the giant long enough to nod distractedly at him. “Hi again! Are you guys okay?”

“We’re… fine,” Roman said, uncertain. “I think we’d just like to know what’s going on?”

“That’s totally understandable!” Patton replied, sympathetic. “I was pretty jittery after Logan first brought me here, too!”

“Oh, great,” Virgil muttered to Roman. “Serial kidnapper.”

Roman shot him a look before turning back to Patton. “He brought you here? Could I ask… why?”

“The same reason he brought you two here! I was in danger.” Patton glanced over to the giant with a fond smile before leaning in secretively. “To be honest, I think he was even more worried than I was! I was sort of stabbed at the time, though, so I guess that makes sense.”

“How were you ‘sort of stabbed’? You’re either stabbed or you’re not!” griped Virgil, who was possibly feeling more snappish than normal after one of the most stressful experiences of his life.

“My goodness, you were stabbed?” asked Roman, who had always been a sucker for a dramatic tale.

Patton tugged up the edge of his shirt, displaying a nasty-looking scar that curved around his side and stomach. In Virgil’s professional opinion, there was nothing ‘sort-of’ about a wound like that; it had been meant to kill. “Yeah, the people you met in town, they’re a cult! And they wanted to do a blood sacrifice for the monsters in the woods, and I wasn’t exactly well-liked, so…,”

“They stabbed you and left you for dead?” Virgil finished, a bit of anger leaking into his voice despite his determination not to sympathize with this guy.

“But I didn’t die!” Patton waved his hands a bit as though in celebration. “All the monsters in the woods had already been scared off when Logan moved here, and so he was the one who found me and helped me recover!”

Roman glanced over at the giant again, a speculative look in his eye that Virgil absolutely did not approve of. He scowled, his grip on Roman’s wrist tightening slightly.

“Right, and he just did this out of the goodness of his heart?” Virgil snorted dubiously. “I wouldn’t believe that from another human, let alone someone with a literally huge advantage over us. If your story is true, why didn’t the cult try to gut us? For that matter, if he’s not into human sacrifices, why wouldn’t your buddy over there just tell them to stop? Or, y’know, not kidnap us in the first place?”

“Well, hold on--,” Patton tried, but Virgil was on a roll.

“How do we know that this isn’t some elaborate setup? If he has the magical capabilities to heal a mortal wound, then wouldn’t it be easy for him to enchant a captive into believing that he’s just doing what’s best for him? Before, you said there were other people brought here-- what happened to them? Do you even know?”

Across the room, there was a sharp clap as the giant firmly snapped his book shut.

“They left,” Logan said firmly, the first words that they’d heard from him. “And if you continue to harangue my housemate, I will ask you to do the same.”

“Logan,” Patton said, a little exasperated.

Virgil felt a chill run down his spine at the sight of those huge, dark eyes locked onto him, but he plastered his best snarl on even as he dragged a protesting Roman partially behind him. “We’d be glad to leave, but someone put us on a table ten times our height!”

“Virgil,” Roman tried, but Virgil didn’t have the luxury of not paying attention to the pissed off giant in front of them.

“There’s a staircase down to your left,” the giant informed him coldly, “so if you are intent on watching your companion die from organ combustion, you have my utmost permission to leave.”

Logan!” Patton chided, a lot exasperated. He turned back to them. “He doesn’t mean it like that, I promise.”

“Really?” Virgil snapped, crowding Roman back further. “Because it sure sounds like he just outright threatened to kill us if we leave.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Logan pinched the bridge of his nose before rising easily from his chair and reminding them all just how big he truly was. “This is why I let Patton handle the talking. I don’t know why humans always insist on making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

Virgil’s heart jumped into his throat as the giant approached, a thousand potential ways they were going to die flashing before his eyes. Behind his back, he flashed Roman a hand sign that meant ‘run for it’, and then released his friend’s wrist to draw one of his knives threateningly.

It was a pointless effort, but he’d known since setting out with his prince that one day he’d die for him.

Sure enough, the giant moved with that same uncanny speed he’d shown in the clearing, and simply grabbed Virgil’s forearm between his fingers as easily as one might scruff a cat, preventing any stabbing.

When Virgil immediately went to grab for another knife with his free hand, he found himself abruptly lifted and maneuvered, and couldn’t help letting out a startled yelp. The giant had essentially flipped him onto his front and settled one hand on his back as a weight, leaving him pinned and the giant firmly out of stabbing range.

More concerning was the fact that he could now see Roman, who hadn’t moved more than a few steps, and not just because he was a stupidly loyal, headstrong idiot. The prince seemed almost dazed, his skin shiny with sweat as he glanced between Virgil and Logan. Something was wrong. “Roman--!”

“You’re beginning to feel it, aren’t you?” Logan said, his cold tone thawing slightly as he looked down at Roman. “The cult of that town has only grown more... inventive with every cruel sacrifice they attempt. Rather than physical injuries, they’ve turned to blood curses, which has made my life exceedingly difficult.”

“Blood-- Blood curses?” Roman managed, looking more pallid by the moment.

The giant set a free hand down, palm up in offering. “I can reduce the effects. If you give me sufficient time, I can unravel the curse entirely, though brewing a countercurse will likely necessitate a drop of your blood.”

“Why go to the trouble?” Roman asked haltingly, meeting Virgil’s frantic gaze for only a moment. “What do you want in return?”

Logan sighed. “If you insist on applying such intentions to my actions, you can call it compensation. It is because of my presence that the cult continues to leave ‘offerings’, and thus your current state is my fault.”

“Then why not just do it?” Roman asked, staring at the offered hand with clear suspicion. Virgil was almost proud.

“Patton has gone to great lengths to teach me manners for interacting with smallfolk,” Logan replied dryly. “The first of which being ‘don’t grab.’”

There was a brief moment of silence as they all looked to Virgil, who was still pinned and sorely wishing he was in biting range of Logan’s hand.

“Manners don’t apply if someone is trying to stab me,” Logan added, a beat late.

Patton waved from where he was half-hidden behind Logan’s arm. “It’s true, my lessons did make an exception for stabbing!”

“Let him up,” Roman requested, his voice lacking its usual bravado. He still appeared concerningly ill. “He won’t stab you, right Virgil?”

Virgil grumbled something uncomplimentary under his breath, before sighing and going limp. “All I want is to protect my prince. If you actually mean to help him, I won’t stab you.”

“Now that stabbing is off the table, I’ve gotta say, it’s knife to meet you,” Patton chimed in, his grin audible in his voice.

“Patton, please,” Logan groaned, lifting his hand off Virgil to instead massage his temples in exasperation. “You’re going to disturb our guests.”

“Aw, are you sure? I think my jokes are stabsolutely hilarious!”

Virgil ignored the ridiculous byplay between the two of them to scramble to his feet and hurry to Roman’s side, ignoring the way Logan moved his arm slightly to be between him and Patton. “Roman, are you okay?”

“Are you? You’re the one who just got gently tenderized by Bignoramus over there for the second time today,” Roman countered, matching Virgil’s whisper.

“Fine, stupid question, clearly neither of us are okay. Are we really doing this, though? We could still run.”

“I’m… not sure we can, actually.” Roman’s hand hovered over his chest, face drawn tight with pain. “They definitely did something to me, and I doubt either of us will figure out how to fix it or get aid in time. … Look. This may be my only option, but you don’t have to--”

“Can it, Princey,” Virgil cut in, dragging a hand through Roman’s hair roughly and ignoring his resulting squawk. “Where you go, I go.”

“Even there?” Roman asked, tilting his head toward Logan’s palm somberly.

Virgil looked over to Logan, watching the attentive way he was listening to Patton speak and contributing words of his own. The giant could have done away with any of them at any point, and he hadn’t. That wasn’t enough to really trust him, it could still all be part of some scheme, but... it had to count for something.

If it was the only thing that could help Roman, Virgil could push aside his fear and his anger.

“Even there,” he answered, and led the way onwards.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides g/t #ts virgil #ts roman #ts patton #ts logan #hmbd #hold my body down #g/t #my writing #writing #man its been ages since i posted the first chapter of this huh #surprise!

150 notes · View notes

rcksmith · 3 years

Text

Invigorating — Five Hargreeves

Request : “Hii so i was thinking about some fic/headcanons where five discover that his powers are stronger when he is with reader.”

A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here!!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

I hope I got close to what you wanted. I thought it was better to do it in fic, but it was just out of personal preference, I hope you like it, I found it very adorable to write. Love u❤️

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Five Hargreeves/Fem! Reader.

Warnings: Nothing, just fluff.

— — — — —

The superhero life was a mess. Behind all the glamor of HQ’s and the romanticization of the media, there were only people trying to cope with their own lives when everything that was expected of them was nothing short of extraordinary. All the Hargreeves brothers knew this. And they carried the weight of the whole world on their backs. It was like trying to breathe with a rock pressed against your chest, purging all hope of relief.

They would never have a normal life, with normal parents or friends. They would always be chained to that sentence that came with their powers. Sometimes, late at night, some of the Hargreeves wondered how much smoother life would have been had they not been born extraordinary.

Five stopped imagining fantasies that would never come true from an early age. He viewed situations with objectivity, coolness and calculus. But life at the Hargreeves mansion was not easy and the only way for him to deal with the traumas and pressures was to push them under the rug. Then Five started to scoff when the brothers talked about having a normal life.

Who did they want to think about it? They would always be circus attractions. They would never have a normal life. So it was better to get over it, because you can't miss what you never had, and it was stupid want to live a false normal life. They would never be normal, it was the curse of the Hargreeves, and Five accepted that.

But you revoked all of his sentences. You were absolutely normal. Typical life, family, friends and routine. And when you came into the life of the Hargreeves and brought the breath of relief that everyone needed, Five felt that rock be lifted from his chest whenever you were close.

And then he knew normalcy. Five tasted the sweet taste that was enjoying a ray of sunshine, a summer breeze, a sunset, all the normal details that you inserted into his life and that now ... now he had something to miss.

During the months, your presence, for Five, was a sigh of relief amid all the claustrophobic, and he felt a certain envy when he saw how Klaus had a way with dealing with people. How he and Alisson always knew what to say, how to act, and how to captivate you to the point where you want to spend more time with them.

It was hell for Five. because you presence calmed all his nerves, your energy soothed the restless air and removed the rock that prevented him from breathing. Five realized how much he liked fresh air. And he didn't know how to make you want to be close to him too. He felt at peace when you were close. And it was an overwhelming discovery.

“Here it is.” You said, handing Five a mug of coffee, without him even asking.

That was one more thing that made you wonderful in his eyes. You two never had a long conversation, but you knew enough, and whenever you were in the kitchen, helping the Hargreeves for breakfast, you knew exactly what to give him.

Okay, to be fair, you knew exactly what to deliver to everyone. For Klaus, passion fruit juice and hangover aspirin, big and fat pancakes for Luther and Diego, Waffles for girls and strong black coffee for him. It wasn't like Five thought you were treating him in a special way.

But... whenever you gave him coffee and your midday sun smile, that was the best part of the day. And he wished, deep down in his soul, that it was special.

He nodded his head. And he drank the coffee knowing that the taste would be nothing short of excellent. Five concluded that you had a habit of turning everything you touched into gold.

“Are you going to see training today to wait for us?” Alisson asked you.

It was Friday, and Alisson, Klaus, Vayna and you had agreed to go shopping after them training. It was not new you and them to go out together, but it was new for you to watch their training. It was nothing formal, just routine, so it was easier to wait for them finishe than you to leave and return.

“If it's okay with you guys.”

The brothers agreed and Five thought it best not to show any reaction. He told himself it was because it didn't matter whether you saw a workout or not, but, deep in his soul, Five knew it was for fear that if you focused your attention on him, you would end up listening to him fast heartbeat.

But if he knew that everything would start in that training, he would have thought twice about going.

You were sitting on one of the mats in the garden, sometimes reading something on your phone while the brothers practiced the training. It should have been routine for them, as usual, but they all had difficult missions last night and felt exhausted to do their best.

Five came to know his own limits, he knew when his body was entering the last reserves and that it would no longer hold its powers. It was like a big battery that he needed to recharge to keep working. He felt the sting in his muscles, a warning that Five came to understand that signaled that his powers were going to fail.

Five was already orchestrating strategies to dodge Diego's knives when, already knowing that it wouldn't work, he tried to teleport. But the blue flash swallowed him up and when he took him behind his brother, and Five felt his muscles revitalized, the shock left him stunned.

It had never happened. But it hasn't happened again in weeks too.

Five spent days trying to understand how his powers took a turn and then retracted the same stake when he trained again. The bite always hit him in the muscles and then his powers left him in the hand. Five could no longer find the invigorating sensation that followed the hooks.

The second time his powers got stronger was when Luther was pissing him off. They had arrived from an exhausting and difficult mission, and that time you asked them to come to your apartment for dinner. Because you knew that the negativity of the mansion would not do well for a situation that had already brought out the best in the Hargreeves. Always the good person. You knew how to alleviate a situation with the smallest of gestures, and it made you look wonderful again in the eyes of Five.

After dinner, Luther was teasing Five, throwing cushions at him across the room, while everyone talked and rested in the living room. You made them feel like it was just a normal end of day. That they were just tired after work, traffic, and not because they were damn superheroes who fought a nuclear leak and terrorists. It seemed to Five that everything was easy and charming with you.

Then, when Luther threw another pillow at him, and Five felt the sting in his muscles, but tried to teleport to strike back anyway, the invigorating air ran through his muscles and the blue flash swallowed him.

Once again, Five was surprised. And suddenly, he forgot why he teleported.

His mind hummed like a propeller, trying to understand what the hell was going on. And that's when his eyes were drawn to you, like magnets.

The world was seemed to run out of breath, the atmosphere slowed and he followed every move you made until your eyes met his. It was instantaneous. A hot desert wind swept Five from head to toe, and brought the hot, overwhelming thought “It's her.” You were doing it. You were the one who left him invigorated. You removed the rock from his chest and he could breathe. His powers were reacting to you, and the realization it that stunned Five.

You smiled for him and went back to talking to Vayna, oblivious to the overwhelming discoveries that flooded Five.

The third time your presence showed that his theory was right was when you two were alone. It was Tuesday night. You were making cocktails with Klaus and laughing when he gave his verdict:

"I am happy that you are beautiful and intelligent enough to know that you must think about several other professions, because you would definitely make a terrible bartender." Klaus put aside a drink you made after making a face.

You laughed, throwing an olive at him.

“Why beauty would help me?”

“Prostitution, perhaps.”

“KLAUS!” You looked at him with amused indignation and you two laughed out loud.

“I'm going to get something good. Don't get out of here.” He stood up, taking his coat.

“Be careful!”

“I always do, baby.” He shouted at the door, leaving.

You laughed at nothing, cleaning up the mess you had made on the counter, throwing the used lemons in the trash.

That was when Five appeared. The mission mask on his face, the uniform slightly scorched.

“Hey.” You smiled as soon as you saw him, your heart beating faster. “All right?” You pointed to his clothes.

“Fire” Five say, sitting on the stools at the counter you were on and opening the bottle of vodka.

You gave him a glass, and Five thanked him silently while filling a shot and turning it all over at once. You couldn't get your attention off him. His hair was black as the background of the galaxy, his lips were red with drink, the mask adorned his eyes. God, he was beautiful and you felt that you could no longer reason consistently.

This always happened when Five was involved. He is a god of Olympus who had the power to destabilize you with just one look. Now, however, the mask delivered that he could swing you just in the presence.

In fact... that mask just made everything more mysterious and attractive. You felt something humming inside you, like a harp string that connects your heart to your belly.

“What?” Five's voice brought you out of the trance, revealing that you were looking at him for too long.

“N-nothing” You tried not to blush.

You turning around to put away the other bottles that Klaus and you had removed. But the floor was damp from the melted ice cubes you both dropped. And you was so stunned that you slipped.

As soon as the world spun and the wind hit your face, you were prepared to fall to the ground when a blue flash protected you and firm arms held you.

The breath drained, the callus increased, and Five was absolutely sure that it was you who made him stronger. You were the one who reinvigorated his powers because when he came out of that fire, the sting in his muscles hit him hard, and he knew he hadn't been able to use his powers anymore.

But when you looked up at him, and Five felt your warm skin on his hands, he knew he couldn't stay away from you anymore. He thought about doing something, his body was screaming for you, but he didn't have a chance. Your fingers touched the corner of his mask, gently contouring the left edge.

“You're Gorgeous...” Your whispered was a breath, but Five could hear.

Then he leaned over and pressed his lips to yours, because he felt he couldn't live any longer if he didn't. And when you kissed him back, his whole battery was recharged and that rock that was choking him was destroyed in millions of pieces.

As soon as you were apart enough to breathe, your fingers removed his mask and curled your fingers in his black hair. And this time, it was you who brought your lips together in the most passionate kiss.

#five fanfiction #five hargreeves #five hargreeves smut #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #five x reader #five x y/n #five x you #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves imagine #number five fanfic #number 5 imagine #number 5 x you #number 5 x reader #number five x you #number five x y/n #Five Hargreeves x y/n #Tua fanfic #tua five

494 notes · View notes

rebrandedbard · 3 years

Note

If you are still writing 14?

Okay so this one accidentally went from a drabble to an actual fic whoops. The cure is totally inspired by the Rapunzel fairy tale, spoiler alert, where the prince falls in the thorn bushes around the tower and Rapunzel’s tears fall into his eyes, curing him.

14. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”

wc: 4444 which is an awesome number I’m so happy lol

Robbed Blind

Someone botches a spell to steal Jaskier’s artistic vision and he’s cursed with blindness. Thankfully, he falls into the company of Ciri and Lambert. They journey safely to Kaer Morhen, but what could be the cure to his affliction?

She had found him, tripping over the strings of destiny, in Drakenborg. He’d been on his way to Oxenfurt when the curse took hold, and he had gone no further. Jaskier was haggard, gaunt, and looked quite worn. His hair lay flat from constant fussing. It was a habit Ciri remembered well from his visits, always combing a nervous hand through his hair before a performance. She had never seen it look so lifeless. He needed a mirror, she thought. She would soon realize that a mirror would serve him no purpose.

He was blind. He startled when she ran to him, throwing her arms around his waist. She’d been so relieved to see a friendly face that she’d run right into his arms, nearly knocking him from the stool in the corner of the tavern. Why should he not catch her as he’d always done? He’d been looking directly at her; she thought he’d merely not recognized her beneath the mud and hood.

“Let me go! Who are you? Stop—stop this now or I’ll give you such a wallop, I’ll—!”

“Jaskier!” Ciri cried, shocked. She flinched away from him as he elbowed her roughly against her temple. She rubbed the spot, standing out of reach.

Jaskier straightened up at once. “Is that—? Little cub, is that you?” he asked. He turned his head as if searching for her and reached out a hand, feeling the air. It was nowhere near.

Ciri took his hand. During their long weeks of travel, she refused to let it go again. She became his eyes, and together they started for Oxenfurt and the safety of its halls.

He’d woken up blind one day, he explained. No warning or explanation. The mage had told him what magic was at play. Someone had tried to steal his artistic vision and the enchantment had gone wrong, stealing from him his very sight.

“Is there not a cure?” Ciri asked.

Jaskier shook his head. “The mage said it was a botched spell. There’s no telling what will fix it, only that it must have something to do with artistic vision. The mage suggested it might be cured by the old methods: kisses and the like; gazing upon true beauty.”

He squinted and took her face between his hands. “I’m looking and looking at you as hard as I can, and I remember you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen when you were first born. So what do mages know? Have you become a pox-faced adolescent or scraggly Medusa? Ah,” he chuckled, “but you’d still be a fairytale princess in my eyes if you had the face of a basilisk.”

She laughed and squirmed out of his hands. “You were always very good at Blind Man’s Bluff. Do you remember when we used to play it? Back then, you were always stumbling; you aren’t stumbling as much anymore.”

“I’ve grown used to it, I suppose. But you are a princess—do you suppose a kiss from you might cure me? How are you with frogs? Ever wake a sleeping prince?”

“No, but we may try it. There’s magic in me of a sort, I know. Here, kneel a moment.”

Jaskier knelt on the dry road and closed his eyes, tapping the lid. “Right here. Give it a go,” he said encouragingly. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll practice on a frog and work our way up.”

Ciri kissed both eyes to be sure. “Alright. Open them. Do you see anything?”

She tried not to get her hopes up, watching Jaskier squeeze his eyes tight. He opened them, blinked several times, and gave her a sad smile.

“Not to worry, we’ll find a pond in no time,” he joked, trying to keep the mood light.

“Well! I go to find a cat and find a lioness instead. And a songbird. Must be my lucky day.”

Ciri put herself between the stranger and Jaskier, waving a large branch in warning. “Keep away,” she growled. “If you come any closer, I’ll scream.”

The scruffy man put his hands up and grinned. “I’ve heard what sort of screaming runs in your family. Trust me, I would rather not be around for one of them. Heard it knocked pretty boy flat on his back at your mother’s little Surprise party.”

Jaskier put a hand on Ciri’s shoulder. “Wait a moment,” he said. “I know that moniker. Geralt complained of it before.” He was quiet a moment, stirring up a memory. Then, he lit up, asking excitedly, “Did you say you were looking for a cat? A cat witcher, by chance?”

“Why? Find one up a tree?” the stranger pressed.

Jaskier patted Ciri’s shoulder and strode forward, extending a hand. “You must be Lambert! I’ve heard—” his hand buckled against Lambert’s chest, his stride clearing the distance too quickly “—oh, my apologies. I’ve heard about you before. I was hoping to see you under better circumstances if I ever got the chance. Or to see you at all, really. Damnable timing.”

Lambert looked at him, then took his hand. Ciri watched as the understanding settled in, for Jaskier was staring straight at the man’s forehead, a near lucky guess of his eye line. Lambert wore an expression of pity freely, knowing Jaskier could not see it, though his tone was light and cocky as before. “I always wondered what you saw in that sourpuss, following him as long as you did; now I know you didn’t see anything after all,” he joked.

Jaskier snorted. “It’s new.”

“Ah, so you’ve been blinded by love, have you?”

Jaskier flapped his hand until he felt the brush of Ciri’s sleeve at his side, then he tugged her forward and presented her. He cleared his throat, a tad flushed. “May I introduce Her Royal Highness, Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, the Lion Cub of Cintra. Geralt’s child Surprise.”

Ciri tossed her branch aside. “You know Geralt,” she said.

“They’re brothers.”

Lambert sneered. “He got all the looks, Eskel got the talent, but I got the brains.”

“What little there were to be had,” Jaskier added.

“Oh, ho! You’ll fit right in at the keep, talking like that.”

There was a pregnant pause between the three of them. Jaskier nudged Ciri gently forward. “She’ll be safe there. And her wit is more cutting than mine.”

Ciri turned at once to protest. “But what about Ox—”

“And so would you,” Lambert cut in. “A dull knife and a dull wit can be sharpened, and I’d rather keep two knives in my belt than one, whatever their make. Don’t start that maudlin shit with me; you’re coming along.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest and Lambert raised a hand. Then, realizing how ineffective that was against one who could not see it, he recovered and smacked the side of Jaskier’s head to shut him up before he started.

“Come on; it’s a long and dull road we have ahead of us, and you’re my entertainment. I want to hear every embarrassing story you can supply. I’ve long run out of blackmail and I’m in need of fresh material. Besides, what better bait for a cat than a twittering bird? If you sing loud enough, we might pick him up along the way.”

They were all together in the great hall when at last he came. The figure stood in the doorway, a black dot against the stark white of winter outside. A pair of bags dropped with a thundering bang upon the floor, the sound echoing throughout the room, and the figure bundled up by the fire started awake in fright.

Jaskier patted the blanket beside him, made frantic by his sudden awakening. “Ciri? Ciri!” he called, for she had been asleep next to him what seemed only moments ago.

She paused only a moment to stare at the imposing figure in the light. Something in her shouted, compelling her to go to him. But Jaskier called for her in that voice wrought with panic once more. She flew from the circle of wolves to his side, abandoning her hand of cards, disregarding the man of destiny at the door.

“I’m here,” she said, taking his hands. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always. I’m not going anywhere.” She and the others looked at each other, looked at Geralt, and said not a word.

Jaskier settled and took a deep breath. “I heard something crash. I dreamed—but never mind that.” He sighed, pressing his head to their joined hands. “I’m sorry. I know it’s safe here. I’m just not used to you wandering off just yet.”

“I know.” She stroked his hair gently. It was soft again, though not as silky as before. Lambert and Eskel had drawn him a bath for the first time in a long while, but he had not his customary soaps and oils. He was … less bright, his appearance dulled with his mood.

Vesemir had examined him. Countless hours, the wolves had huddled together in the old library, trying to find a cure for Jaskier’s condition to no avail. As time went by, the reality of his situation weighed on Jaskier. He could no longer read his notebook, nor write his music to be remembered. Ciri read his notes aloud and studied the art so she might transcribe them for him, but it was obvious how he felt.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” he’d said.

And now he gave her that same false smile, the one that failed to meet his eyes. She missed the lines in the corners and wished they might come back. Perhaps they’d flown off with the crows, frightened of the winter snow.

“Go back to your game,” he whispered. “I’ll head up to bed.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” she offered.

He shook his head. “I know the way now. If someone will take me to the stairwell?” he prompted, raising a hand.

Ciri looked at Geralt. There was so little she knew of him—stories and songs … words spared in rumors and stolen from conversations where she lingered unnoticed to listen. What she knew of the wolf and bard she had pieced together with care. For all the tales Jaskier would tell, he would not disparage Geralt before her, and he would not tell the story of the dragon hunt. But dwarves talk. Stories travel and lesser bards would imitate the songs of greater. Witchers collect news of other witchers, and two adults would speak as adults when ale made easy speech. Jaskier had confided in Lambert those tearing words once flung at him upon the mountain. And thus she had put the final piece into place of the great mystery between them.

‘If life could give me one blessing…’

“Who will take him?” she asked. She kept Geralt’s eyes as she rose to her feet. “Who will take him into his hands?”

It was only the barest movement, but she swore she saw the wolf of legend flinch.

Jaskier sat up with a huff. “You make it sound so dramatic. Are we playing at a quest now? Very well, who is my knight errant? The princess has thus decreed a quest is in order: a quest up the perilous tower steps, my-my! Such a task!”

“I should think a white knight is the one suited best for the task,” Vesemir grunted. He shuffled his hand, eyes narrowed at Geralt.

The white knight in question let his cloak fall. He shook the snow from his arms and dusted them slowly, looking at each watching face in turn. His hesitation was clear. When none moved to claim Jaskier, he stepped forward cautiously. Without a word, he took Jaskier’s hand and lifted him to his feet.

Jaskier clapped an arm around his shoulder, hands patting the edge of his long hair. “Ah, thank you, Vesemir,” he said. His hand slipped from Geralt’s armour and he made a face, flicking his wet hand in the air. He prodded the armour curiously. “You’re soaked; I thought you said you’d sent Eskel for the firewood.” He prodded again and bumped against Geralt’s shoulder pad. He pinched it between his fingers, figuring out its shape. He hummed curiously. “What are you wearing? Did you go hunting?”

Geralt stared. Jaskier was not looking at him. Geralt looked at the circle of men by the fireside and there sat Vesemir in silence, watching. He was struck dumb. What … game was this?

“A knight needs a knight’s armour,” Lambert called.

Jaskier laughed. “Oh, of course. Such a soft touch; did you get all dressed up for Ciri? Have I woken in the middle of a game?”

Eskel tossed a card in the middle of the circle. “Yes,” he answered, “but we’ve just started on another, different game.”

“Very cold and calculated,” Ciri agreed.

“Cold and calculated. So a snowball fight has become a snowball war, no doubt born of the most complicated strategies. Shame on the lot of you. You ought to let your elders warm themselves before sending them on tasks. You’re young; you’ve got legs,” Jaskier scolded.

“It was his idea,” Eskel replied.

Vesemir nodded, keeping silent as the game unravelled.

Jaskier looped his arm through Geralt’s and stood straight and tall in an affected manner. “Come, my good knight,” he said, “and let us bid good night to these slacking youths.”

He started to walk in the general direction of the stair, Geralt turning them with truer aim. Geralt looked over his shoulder at the others, frowning. This was not the sort of confrontation he expected when next he saw Jaskier. If he ever saw him. And here was his child Surprise in their midst without a word of greeting or explanation, and the bard, the two of them together and settled within the walls of the keep.

It was too perplexing for him to puzzle out. And Jaskier was acting strangely. Where were his speeches? Geralt had expected him to argue on sight, or else to pretend all was right and greet him, “Geralt! How good to see you,” or, “Fancy meeting you here,” and play off the mountain like it never happened. Or at the very least to ignore him. But to call him Vesemir and take to his arm? What joke was he playing at?

The answer came as Jaskier dodged the first step and nearly fumbled upon the stair. He clung to Geralt’s arm with a cry and his other hand shot out to grope the wall. He flailed for it, feeling his way from the step outward, then sliding his hand up the side of it. He turned his head, looked at Geralt and laughed. “I’m still not used to these uneven steps,” he said. “Give me time and I’ll be able to find my way around unassisted. By next week, I’ll be able to navigate every pool in the hot springs, then you four will never see me fully dressed again!”

Geralt raised a hand to Jaskier’s face. He rested a thumb just beneath his eye. They were as blue as ever, nothing seemed amiss, and yet …

Jaskier’s smile weakened. He closed his eyes and pushed the hand away. “I know the three of you are working hard to find a cure. I know the jokes fall flat. But I must make them. If I don’t … Vesemir, if I can’t make light of it, the darkness I see will be all I have left.”

He turned toward the stair again, hand firm on Geralt’s arm, the other on the wall. “Right then. Up we go. Just one at a time,” he said. He stepped tentatively forwards, prodding his foot before him until he nudged the base of the first step. “Got it. First is always hardest, isn’t it?”

They carried on. Two steps, three, one after the other slowly. They were uneven by design: a final defense against those who would try to invade their stronghold. The spiral stair favored those who walked it every day, gave advantage to the men who would be at the top, swinging their swords to fight back those who would dare trespass unwitting. It was difficult enough for any stranger with sight. With Jaskier, it was a quest in itself.

Midway up, Geralt thought to carry him. They were going so slowly; it would have been easiest that way. He nearly offered, but stopped. If he spoke, Jaskier would know him. He began to reach an arm out to simply lift him, but Jaskier fumbled once more, his knee hitting the step with a mumbled curse. And Geralt heard him muttering through his teeth as he crouched upon the stair.

“I will learn,” he hissed. “This will not stop me. I refuse to be a burden to anyone. Never again.” He touched his forehead to the step and Geralt put a hand to his back. He was trembling.

When Jaskier rose again, he did not take Geralt’s arm. He reached out and took hold of the wall on either side, arms stretched wide to hold himself up. He proceeded to climb the stair alone. When Geralt reached out to help, Jaskier waved him away.

“No,” he whispered. “We’re nearly at the top. Just let me do this much. Please.”

And Geralt let his hand fall away.

Jaskier reached the landing with a powerful stomp, expecting a final step. He breathed a sigh of relief and sagged against the right wall. Geralt followed behind and patted his shoulder. Small congratulations. From there, Jaskier walked down the corridor, tapping when he came upon a wooden door. He passed three, tapped each with his knuckles, counting. When he reached the forth door, he opened it. In this space, he walked with ease away from the wall. He flopped confidently upon the bed and rested a moment as one does after a long journey.

He shucked off his doublet and loosened the laces of his boots. He set these aside at the very foot of the bed where they might easily be found again. He undid the back lace of his trousers, paused, and inclined his head toward the door.

“Are you still there, Vesemir?” he asked.

Geralt did not know how to respond. He stood fixed in the doorway, but dropped his eyes to his feet modestly. After a moment’s wait, Jaskier finished undressing and climbed beneath the heavy furs. A memory stirred—that was not the final task of the evening. What was the last of their routine each night? What was left undone that made this finality seem so abrupt? Geralt realized it in the darkness of the room. He had no candle to blow out.

The truth struck Geralt sharp as a blade to his gut. He stole through the door, walking quietly toward the bed. He sat on the edge, the furs rumpled beneath him, and listened to Jaskier’s breathing. He was not yet asleep—would never be, so soon—but he did not stir.

Geralt took his hand gently.

Jaskier squeezed it back.

“I only wish that had not been the last I’d seen of him,” Jaskier whispered. “I try to remember his smile now. For all my poetry, I can’t remember it clearly. His smiles were so rare, but I don’t suppose you need me to tell you. Or perhaps you do. I don’t know if he smiled here; I know nothing his life in this place. Were you so fortunate that they were commonplace?”

Silent footsteps creeped up the stair. Ciri had waited long enough to follow. Geralt heard no sign of her under the ringing words of Jaskier’s speech. Though he spoke no louder than the breath of the wind, every last syllable echoed like a clap of thunder in his ears.

Jaskier slipped his hand free and turned on his pillow, hugging it close. “I wish I might at least see Ciri now, know how she’s grown. They change so quickly at that age. Does she look like her mother? Does she look like him? Destiny makes strange things of those it touches. She was beginning to look like him, I once thought.”

She saw him well enough, looking through the open door. She crouched behind the wall, listening as she always did in secret, for the things he would not burden her with.

“I always did wonder what you looked like. Geralt spoke once to me of his brothers, his mentor. You’re still stories to me in ways. I know you have long hair, grey with age. I know Lambert is shorn, Eskel is shaggy. I know your voices, your height, and a hundred other things. But do you share his eyes? What color is the armour you wear? How does the sun set over the mountainside? The carpets before the hearth—what pattern is woven there? What thousands of stories do you keep in that library? What do the monsters look like illustrated in the great bestiary?”

He buried his face in his pillow. His voice was muffled, but both Geralt and Ciri could hear the husk in it. “I won’t feel sorry for myself. It doesn’t mean anything—just idle curiosity. It doesn’t matter how the carpet is woven or if you wear brown shirts or red. I’ve seen a lifetime of sunrises and sunsets and stars. I don’t want them!” he barked. He writhed on the bed, his face falling from the pillow, stained with tears. “I don’t! I never needed them, not one! I don’t care—I don’t! None of them are important!”

Geralt rushed forward and took Jaskier in his arms. Jaskier struggled, beating at his chest, and refused to be coddled. “No!” he wailed. “Don’t comfort me, I don’t need it! I don’t want it! I will not be pitied!” But for his hard words, he clung to Geralt’s armour, sobbing against his shoulder. “It’s unnecessary. It’s just a bunch of poetry. Useless poetry and songs.”

Jaskier pulled away, Geralt’s hands trailing from his back to his shoulders as he sat up. Geralt held him there before he could retreat more. Before he could think twice of it, Geralt leaned in, his hands cupping Jaskier’s face on either side.

“Vese—”

Something warm and wet fell onto Jaskier’s lashes. He heard a shaky breath, felt the warmth of it upon his face. Another hot tear fell into his other eye and he blinked in surprise, for it was not his own. He sat perfectly still in shock, blinking the falling tears away.

“They were never useless,” Geralt said. “They were always important—all of them.”

Jaskier twitched, raising his head by instinct up to look at the man who held him now. “You were—!”

“I’m sorry. For not speaking before. For … not speaking then. After. And for saying what I did that day.” He wiped the tears beneath Jaskier’s eyes away, an expression of pain twisting his hollowed features. “If I’d not sent you away—I don’t know what’s become of you, but I might have—I could have tried to prevent it. You would still have your sight.”

Jaskier covered Geralt’s hands. “No, Geralt. This is none of your doing. You can’t—”

A loud bump from the hall startled him. Jaskier turned at once to look.

“Ciri,” he breathed.

Ciri had a finger to her mouth and was glaring up at a tall man. They both cowed back, being caught. Jaskier looked between them as Geralt’s hands slipped away. He stood, walking toward them. He looked at Ciri, gaping, their eyes perfectly aligned. Jaskier fell to his knees before her and took her hands without fumbling.

“Ciri,” he said. “You’re so … my good gods, you’ve grown.”

All were still as he reached out, touching her face as though she were made of glass. He smoothed her hair away, taking all of her in. He laughed, new tears falling as he pulled her close and crushed her in his arms. “You’re so beautiful!” he cried. He stroked her hair, cradling her against him as tight as he dared. “And you!” He looked up at the witcher in the hall, reaching out to him and taking his hand. “Which one are you? Say something now, quickly. Let me hear your voice and know you.”

“Eskel,” he answered. And then Jaskier was up on his feet, pulling him into another embrace.

“Eskel!” Jaskier cheered. “Eskel, you look even more heroic than I ever imagined! Oh, let me look at you. Oh, oh! Lambert! Vesemir! Where are you, come forward!”

He dashed into the hall, only to turn on his heel for another look at Eskel, for just one more eyeful of Ciri. Over her shoulder, he saw Geralt sitting there on the bed, his yellow eyes wide, the tears still clinging to his chin.

“Oh,” Jaskier whispered. “Oh, I see. I see.”

He walked forward, gliding a hand beneath Geralt’s jaw. He touched his eyes with his other hand. Carefully, he wiped the last of Geralt’s tears away. It dangled, a little drop at the tip of his finger and he brought it close. He closed his hands around it, cradled them to his chest.

Geralt stood slowly before him. And he smiled.

Ciri tugged at Jaskier’s shirt, her head turned away politely. She cleared her throat and said, “Jaskier? Lambert and Vesemir are on their way up. And you’re … well, you’re not at your most presentable.”

Eskel averted his eyes, his back turned to the scene, however touching. “You might want to get a bit more dressed. And quickly,” he added, for Jaskier was standing in his smallclothes.

Jaskier snorted. “All of you, turn away for decency’s sake! We’re having a moment, here.”

“And what about me?” Geralt asked. “Shall I look away?”

It was nothing but empty jest and Jaskier smiled. “No,” he replied. “No, you’re looking where you’re needed. But I suppose to be fair …”

He clapped a hand over Geralt’s eyes. He leaned forward, whispering against Geralt’s lips. “There. Now no one can see. No one … but me.”

There were no witnesses to that first kiss. It was a secret Jaskier kept for himself.

However, the second, third, and forth had quite a startled audience, as Geralt and Jaskier both fell deaf to the clatter of footsteps in the hall. Ciri took it upon herself to usher the others from the room, explaining on the way. After all, with the curse lifted, she no longer needed to be Jaskier’s eyes. His mouth, however, was currently occupied.

Send me a drabble prompt!

#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #lambert #eskel #vesemir #I'd tag aiden but he's really only mentioned in passing #ew I came back to look at this and the scene breaks did not transfer over #fixed it now

233 notes · View notes

lovetorn · 3 years

Text

nightmare dressed like a daydream [dream]

Prince!Dream x Fem!Assassin!Reader

Summary: Y/n is an assassin, moving from kingdom to kingdom to eliminate targets. That’s until she meets Clay, the prince of Dreland, who takes a liking to her unbeknownst of her true intentions.

“I don’t like her—I can’t. She’d kill me, George.”

Word Count: 10.6k (o_O)

Warnings: a lot of death & blood (murder, heart failure), weapons (knives), swearing, toxic relationship, unrequited love :(, mentions of abuse, parental issues — i think that’s all, but if you see anything, lmk!! it’s kinda cringe i use ‘clay’ so like pls ignore it sdfghjkgjh

A/N: this is the fic i’m most proud of :’). there may be a few plot holes and filler paragraphs btw lol. if you have any questions about this fic, shoot me an ask and i’ll be happy to explain, discuss etc. anything you have relating to it! yayyy! enjoy!

She isn’t meant to be here. As a matter of fact, she isn’t supposed to be alive at all. After her last job, Y/n found herself in trouble with the wrong people. She had managed to escape from the small village she was in and find new clients in lands far away—which brought her here, tonight, in the kingdom of Dreland, at a Masquerade in the King’s castle.

She’s dressed in her best skirts and bodice, perfectly fit for the party and makes her blend in seamlessly. She doesn’t want to draw any unwanted attention considering her true intentions of being here.

She walks along the edge of the ballroom, her skirts trailing behind her slightly, and the handle of her mask in her hand. Her movements are sharp and calculated but seem elegant to onlookers. Nobody suspects a thing.

Soon, she’s moving into the middle of the floor and being surrounded by older men who extend their hands to ask for a dance. Y/n shakes her head and declines politely; she doesn’t need to cause a scene.

There’s a stage on the other side of the room where the King and Queen sit in their grand thrones, and Y/n observes their actions, watching around them for one person in particular. She sees a young man exit the curtains with a platter. He wears an apron with a white fabric strip around his hair and holds the tray with delicacy. Y/n snarls when she realises he’s not the right one.

She inches closer to the stage, going to adjust her mask and purposefully dropping it. She watches as the object clatters on the floor and sighs exaggeratedly, waiting for someone to assist her. As planned, a pair of shiny black shoes arrive beside her mask, and the person leans down to grasp it from the polished timber.

“I think you dropped this, Ma’am.”

Their eyes meet—or at least she thinks they do; the badly drawn smile on his mask is distracting and incredibly unsettling for an event such as this one. Y/n knows who he is though, even behind the mask. He is her target.

“The Prince?” Y/n exclaimed in bewilderment. “Mr Wilbur, Sir, do you know how hard that’ll be?”

The older man rolls his eyes before he glares into hers. “I was told you were the best in the business. Do you want the 50 gold or not?” Y/n nods.

“Good. Now, I give you three weeks to complete this, or you get nothing but excruciating death.”

The tall man peers down at her. His head is tilting to the side as he takes in her appearance. “Who are you?”

Y/n was waiting for this question. She simply laughs and takes her mask from his grasp. “I was invited by a friend of mine. She seems to have disappeared since I’ve been over here, though.”

Her disappointment of an excuse has the man nodding—he’s taken the bait. “Interesting.”

Y/n smiles awkwardly, the atmosphere of the room shifting slightly. She hates situations like this.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” He asks, and Y/n’s eyebrows raise. “Excuse me for my informality.”

Y/n shakes her head, giggling lightly as she grabs his hand and drags him towards the exit. He’d usually never stray far from events such as this, but seeing a girl his age and ready for adventure changes his attitude.

Sneaking out past the guards, who pay no mind to two people in masks at a Masquerade, the pair step into the fresh air outside.

“What’s your name?” Y/n asks, already knowing his answer.

“Uh—Clay?” His response sounds more of a question than an answer, which makes Y/n cock her head.

“Why do you make your reply sound like that?”

“Sorry,” He laughs. “Most people call me Dream. I’m the Prince of Dreland.”

False realisation crosses Y/n’s face as she facepalms. “Oh my! I’m so sorry, your highness.”

Dream shakes his head vigorously. “No! No need for formalities, truly. I’m wonderful with being normal for once.”

He hesitates before unclasping his mask from behind his head. The ceramic object falls slightly before he catches it and then he’s looking at Y/n properly.

Dream’s hair fluffs up lightly before he runs his hand through it to tame it. Y/n holds her mask in her hand as she watches him fix his appearance.

“Now that I’ve told you mine, what’s yours?”

Y/n is wary of her answer. On the one hand, she could lie, and on the other, she remembers that he’ll most likely be dead soon, so she shouldn’t lie.

“Y/n.”

Dream smiles at her. “Pretty.” Y/n thanks him and then they stand silently next to each other, the guard near the front door inching closer.

“Do you want to go somewhere more private to talk?” Dream asks quietly. Y/n smirks whilst nodding—she didn’t think she’d be finished the job this quickly.

Dream throws a glance back at the guard before he leads her towards the garden. The moon makes it hard to see the path, but they get there eventually. There’s no talking as they walk, the pair far too busy taking in the beauty of the moonlit garden.

The dirt beds are filled with rose and sunflower bushes, the scent creating a solacing hug around Y/n as she goes to sit next to Dream on a bench. The cold air bites at her skin, causing goosebumps to gloss her body.

She usually isn’t nervous about committing murder, but Dream makes her uneasy. The way that his eyes glance at her worryingly and the harsh tension in his shoulders tells Y/n that Dream’s definitely had this happen before. Y/n bites the inside of her lip; she’d have to be very cunning to gain his trust.

The garden in itself provides her with a sense of comfort. It reminds her of her flower bed at home.

“So, why do they call you Dream?” Y/n asks. Her attempt at trying to defuse the awkwardness works as Dream twists his lips in thought.

“Uh—well, my mother used to say I was her ‘miracle’ and then believed the word was overused and cliche, so she came up with Dream; and it stuck—clearly.”

Y/n nods, a soft smile gracing her face as she turns to him. “Well, I think that’s lovely.”

Dream blushes, although it’s hard to see through the night. “Really?”

“Yeah! That’s beautiful.”

The pair sit in silence, revelling in the moonlight before Dream speaks up again. “Would you like to see the lake?”

Y/n contemplates before she replies. “Sure.”

She had no idea why he’s taking her there, but it’s a sign that she’s gaining his trust.

—

“You don’t know how to skip rocks?”

Dream shakes his head at Y/n, who sits with her jaw open. “How?”

He then shrugs, toying with a small pebble in his palm. “Teach me?”

Y/n nods and takes the rock from him before standing and shuffling towards the lake. She gets into position, her arm bent at an angle beside her body.

She takes a glance back at Dream to make sure he’s watching, which he is. “All you need to do is put your arm back like this, and then sweep it forwards and let go of the rock. Make sure you do it quickly, or it won’t work.”

Y/n exhales and throws her arm, the rock hopping along the glassy water before it plops into the depths.

She spins around with a smile on her face. Dream squints at her; he seems to be analysing her actions. He sighs and plucks a rock from the ground, standing and walking over to Y/n.

“Ready?” She asks. Dream nods while getting into the same stance Y/n was in only 20 seconds ago.

He looks down at the pebble for a moment and then throws it as Y/n said. Dream watches as the rock skips across the pond, creating ripples in the smooth water.

Dream leaps around, his eyes wide. “I did it!”

Y/n can’t help but laugh at him, the pure joy he feels influences her too. “You did!”

Dream sighs heavily and goes back to where they were sitting. He flips back onto the ground, avoiding the sharp rocks protruding the sparse grass. He laughs out loud again, who knew something as trivial as rock skipping could make him feel so alive.

“You’re cute; you know that?” The sudden compliment elicits a blush and a groan from Dream as Y/n nears closer. She smiles down at him. “There must be a lot of things you haven’t tried.”

The statement makes Dream’s heart drop. It’s true, there are many things he hasn’t done. “Yes…”

Y/n’s heart spasms in her chest. Poor guy.

“Ok. Well, I’ll make it my mission to make sure you get them all done before your time comes.”

Dream looks at her. There’s an adoration that swims around in them that inclines Y/n to feel uneasy again. “You mean that?”

The girl nods whilst she goes to lay next to him. “Everybody deserves happiness before they die.”

Dream scrunches his nose up, going to disagree before Y/n interrupts. She doesn’t know why she has the sudden urge to say such a thing, but her chest aches when she looks at him.

“I’m going to be completely honest with you, Dream. I’ve only known you for half an hour, but I feel so uneasy around you.”

This catches Dream by surprise. He tilts his head at Y/n, who covers her face with her hands in embarrassment. “Sorry, sorry–“

“No need to apologise, Y/n. You make me uneasy too, I guess.”

She peers at him between her fingers and then lowers her hands. Y/n lets out a small laugh at his red cheeks and imagines a flush creeping across hers too.

“Uneasy in what sense, may I ask?” Dream’s innocent tone makes Y/n’s ears blush.

“In the sense that you're unpredictable, in a good way. I’m always up for an adventure.” Her description is slightly confusing, but Dream understands.

Above them, the oak trees rustle lightly in the cool breeze, and tiny waves begin to ripple onto the sand meters in front of their feet. The sound of water rushing forwards and then pulling back calms the rapid beating of their hearts.

“I guess I could say the same for you, Y/n.”

“Prince Clay, I have breakfast and a message for you.”

At the sound of his assistant at his bedroom door, Dream groans from his place in his bed. “What time is it?”

“10 am! Get up! I have a message for you if you didn't hear me the first time!” George teases, holding the paper between his fingers; he’s eager to open the letter.

“George!” Dream calls, grabbing his pillow from beside him and shoving his face into it.

“Clay!”

Dream sighs loudly and throws his heavy duvets off of his body, stalking towards the door to unlock it. He swings the door open to see George with a scroll of parchment and a tray with a lid in his hands. Dream’s eyes widen at the sight of breakfast, but George shakes his head. “I have to read your message first.”

Dream rolls his eyes and tells George to hurry up as he struggles to unravel it.

“Ok! Calm down. Uh—it’s from someone named Y/n? Do you know—” George is rudely interrupted when Dream freezes, then smiles. “Yes!”

“Oh, well, she asks to meet you at 9 pm at the place where rocks hop—what does that mean?” George’s face scrunches up in confusion, but Dream sighs, and this time it’s in contentment and not in annoyance.

“Perfect! Thank you, Georgie. Guess I’ll see you later.” Dream snatches the tray from his assistant with his free hand, the other grabbing the piece of paper. George goes to interject before Dream steps to the side and slams the door in his face.

George stands in bewilderment behind the door. His heart aches slightly, and he’s not sure what from—maybe it’s the way Dream discarded him or because of the letter. But he certainly knows Dream has never mentioned anybody called Y/n before.

Maybe they’re just friends? Perhaps they only met last night at the Masquerade?

George scolds himself for his ridiculous thoughts and spins on his heel, heading for his own room. He hesitates before he leaves, hearing Dream let out a shout of excitement. At the sound, George pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and exhales; sadly, the situation brings tears to his dark eyes.

They’re probably just friends.

—

Dream sits anxiously on his bed, his head in his palm as he watches the clock tick. 8:39 pm. 8:40 pm. 8:41 pm.

His heart skips a beat as it reaches the time to leave. Dream leaps from his spot on the bed and goes towards his mirror on the other side of the room. His hands come down to straighten out his dark waistcoat before they move to his hair. He curls his lip up at the sight of his unruly locks and sighs, choosing to ruffle it up slightly rather than putting gel in it.

Taking in his appearance, Dream nods to himself. If he goes towards the Astronomy Tower and then loops towards the lake, he’ll arrive at precisely 8:58 pm; perfect timing.

The night is clear, and the stars look amazing from where Y/n sits on the grass next to the lake. She leans back on her elbows as she takes in the view. It’s whimsical.

Thoughts of murder and pursuit place a dark cloud over the magical evening. Y/n bites her lip and stares at the rippling water in front of her. The lake looks ominous enough to hide a body in or cover up a vast amount of blood, and the dense foliage across the lake is enough to conceal a weapon in. However, Dream is the Prince, and there is no doubt that everybody in the kingdom would be looking high and low for him if he were to go missing.

Y/n’s plans go down the drain. It shouldn't be this hard! Wilbur Soot trusted her to do this, and if she doesn’t go through with it, she is guaranteed death.

She groans loudly, bringing her hands up to dig the heels of her palms into her eyes. Y/n could cry at the idea of failing and being a disappointment, even to people she doesn’t even know.

The rustling of the bushes behind her indicates Dream has arrived, but she doesn't move from her position. Instead, she chooses to gain his sympathy and find a way to manipulate him to make it easier to go through with the assassination.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” Dream rushes towards her, dropping beside her on the grass. Y/n sniffs and shakes her head. “What happened?”

Dream places his hand on her back, softly. The act in itself makes Y/n jump; she’s not used to physical contact.

“Sorry.” He apologises when he sees her startled, deciding to move his hand away and place it back into his lap.

“No, you’re fine,” Y/n lets out a teary laugh. “I—erm, I just found out that my father divorced my mother, and he took the farm and cottage away from her.”

Her hands fall to her lap hopelessly, and Dream’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really? I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

The girl shakes her head. The pair sit in the dark, the moon being the only thing illuminating their faces. Y/n thinks she’s hit a dead-end until Dream sighs and continues speaking.

“I can actually relate if it makes you feel better,” This makes Y/n’s ears perk up. “My father has been going to L’Manberg on ‘business trips’, but I know why he’s really leaving.”

Gotcha.

“Clay, I can’t imagine how hard that must be for you. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t reply and reaches over to grasp Y/n’s hand. Dream wears a crestfallen expression, his eyes glassy as he looks out over the water. Y/n feels a pang in her heart at the sight of the upset man.

“I used to think that they had a good relationship,” Dream starts. Y/n doesn’t have the will to hear his perspective on it, afraid that she’ll actually feel bad for him and lose any motivation to kill him. “Until I went for a walk one night through the halls in the castle. I heard voices in my parents’ room and wanted to say ‘goodnight’, but before I could, I heard glass smashing and terrible cries.

“I was only a child, but I knew what was happening. I didn’t want to believe it at first because why would the King and Queen do such horrible things to each other? But as I got older, I realised that they had fallen out of love and are only faking it for the kingdom.”

“Clay—”

“They don’t know that I know all of this; they think I’m as clueless as I was when I was nine. But I’m twenty-one now, and I know everything.”

Y/n screws her lips up, her throat burning with emotion. Why is she feeling like this?

“I don’t know what to say.” And it’s true. Y/n remains speechless as she listens to Dream tell her about his parents.

“Nothing. I just needed someone to know.” Dream is blunt with his words and releases Y/n’s hand. She feels awful for not being able to help him in the way he needs, but she’s not here to be his therapist—she’s here to murder him.

“Hey, how about we lighten the mood with some rock skipping?” And that’s just enough for Dream.

—

“Where are you staying?” Dream asks. Y/n is caught off guard by the question but tells him her orchestrated answer.

“In the castle, actually.”

Dream turns to look at her, a lopsided smile on his lips. “Really?” Y/n nods.

In an attempt to change the subject, Y/n picks up Dream’s hand from his lap. “Enough about me. Tell me what your favourite food is.”

Dream gives her a confused look before replying. “Vanilla cake.”

Y/n hums and fiddles with his fingers. “Interesting.”

Dream throws his head back to gaze at the moon above them. He is comfortably content at this moment with Y/n, despite only knowing her for a day. His eyes widen before he scrabbles to stand hastily. “I gotta go! You want to walk back together?”

“I’m going to stay here a bit longer, if that’s alright with you.” Y/n smiles at him and Dream nods. It is reaching midnight and Dream knows he’ll be in trouble for being out so late.

After he bids goodbye to Y/n, Dream begins his journey home. He hears wolves howling from behind the walls that surround the castle and goosebumps rise on his skin. It’s expectantly silent for the time of night, the only sound being animals as they scavenge.

Dream’s footsteps are heavy on the pathway back to the castle, and his heart rate picks up at the sound of trees rustling. With his head on a swivel, Dream spins around to face the bush. He sucks his lips between his teeth and continues, checking back every once in a while, to make sure he isn’t being followed.

He sees the grand entrance of the castle and his feet quicken. There’s a sudden whoosh behind him and then a breeze. A twig snaps in the distance and instead of running, he slows down. Dream forces himself to calm down—he’s only scaring himself.

“Dream~” A voice sings into the wind. The tune has Dream sprinting to the doors, his heart beating out of his chest. Surely, he didn’t hear what he thought he heard.

The wooden doors are heavy as he pushes them open before he stumbles inside. Dream is quick to close them once more, locking them in the process. He’s safe now, right?

A sliver of white ripped fabric floats in the wind on a spike outside of his window. Dream eyes it suspiciously, that wasn’t there last night.

He stretches his arms out, his joints cracking as his stare remains trained on the material. An uneasy feeling rises in his chest before his bedroom door opens suddenly.

“Clay~” His assistant, George, sings. He holds a tray in his hands and a beaming smile on his face. “Breakfast!”

“Hi.” At Dream’s wavering voice, George places the tray on the table and stalks over to the Prince.

“What’s wrong?” He sits on Dream’s bed and tries to meet his gaze.

“Somebody’s after me, George,” Dream whispers, his fearful eyes are staring into George’s.

“How do you know?”

“I just know.”

“Well, we have to inform the King and Queen at once, Clay!”

Dream shakes his head. “I’m sure I’ll be fine; besides, I’m inside the castle for most of the day anyways. There’s no way anybody like that could get in.”

George goes to interject but knows better than to do so. He trusts Dream, more than anyone else; if he says he’s fine, then he’s fine. Right?

“Ok… but if anything happens, you tell me. Got it?” George says his voice stern. Dream hasn’t heard this tone since he attempted to run from the castle last year after an argument with his parents. George had been scared out of mind when his best friend—the prince—was reported missing.

“Has this got anything to do with Y/n, perhaps?” Dream is bewildered that George would say such a thing. “No! I trust Y/n. She could never do such a thing.”

George nods timidly and apologises before he stands. “Breakfast is on your desk. I’ll be back later to collect the plates.”

Dream furrows his eyebrows as he watches George sulk. Why does Y/n worry him so much?

—

Dream walks in the moonlight along the high walls that surround the castle. If anybody knew he was out at this hour, he’d be in so much trouble. It wasn’t that his parents didn’t trust him; it was everybody else.

When he was younger, a groundskeeper had led him outside the gates with the intent to sell him off. The experience had left Dream untrusting to many, and although he was much older now, much more robust, he had a hard time getting to know people.

An owl hoots from the tree above him and the moon hangs behind its body, casting a shadow onto the dirt beneath. The silhouette is ghostly, and the sight makes the creature look much more sinister than it is.

Dream stops in his place and watches as the owl hops along the thick branch, the rustling of the leaves distracting him for a moment. The bird then pauses and turns to look at him. Dream smiles softly and whispers, “Hi, little owl.”

Much to his surprise, the owl actually hoots back. The sound makes Dream’s eyes widen as he continues to speak quietly to the bird.

A twig snapping behind him causes the owl to flap its wings and shoot off into the night, making Dream frown. He sighs before turning around with the intent of going back to the castle. He’s been out for long enough anyway.

His mind drifts to Y/n. He wonders where she is, his heart skipping a beat at the mere thought of her. It is ridiculous really, how quickly he’s fallen for a girl he only met a few weeks ago. But he knows she’s different from the princesses his family has tried to set him up with. Y/n is different in the sense that she actually makes him nervous—lovestruck, even.

The sound of someone clearing their throat catches Dream’s attention, and then he turns to his right to face the noise.

“Dream.” A voice says.

Dream freezes. His heart picks up speed as he’s met with a person, a mask covering their face. His hands begin to shake as the person draws closer.

As they approach him, Dream can tell it’s a woman. As sexist as it is, he knows he could take her if they were to engage in a fight. Dream scolds himself at the thought, and his frightened expression goes slack.

“Who are you?” He exclaims, pushing his hair from his eyes to get a better look.

“I’m here on orders from someone to kill you.”

Dream’s heart skips a beat. He knew it.

“I know.”

The girl stops in her place. “How?”

“I could feel it,” Dream gulps. “It’s happened before.”

The girl nods and lifts her arm. Dream squints into the darkness to see what she is doing before he’s being pushed backwards. He stumbles slightly before he regains balance and begins running.

“Dream~” The girl sings, her voice slightly distorted. Dream hears her loud and clear as he leaps over tree roots and dirt mounds.

“Leave me alone!”

She laughs and picks up speed behind him. Dream is shocked by how quickly she’s gaining on him, but he persists, nonetheless. A crooked smirk spreads across his cheeks as he looks back at her.

“I can’t do that.”

Dream’s lungs and throat burn as he draws in breaths. Adrenaline rushes through his veins, and his knees begin to buckle as he prepares his arms to catch him when he falls. He doesn’t run much. But despite the pain, a sly grin continues to play on his lips.

Dream’s feet give way below him, and then he’s tumbling onto the freshly mown grass. He’s run a long way, now lying in the garden rather than being in the forest. The moon sits high in the sky and shines down on him intensely.

And although he’s scared for his life, Dream can’t help but feel a little relieved. He moves to sit back on his heels as the girl comes up in front of him, a dagger drawn in her hand. It’s like a game to both of them.

“I’ve got you now, Dream,”

“It seems you do.”

The masked girl’s dagger presses firmly against his throat. The blade gleams in the moonlight, and the pressure elicits a groan from him.

Dream smiles as a drop of blood cascades down his chest. He enjoys the feeling a little more than he should, and the glint in her eye shows him that she does too. Why are her eyes so familiar?

“But I’ll spare you.”

Dream’s eyebrows furrow as he watches her pull her knife away from his neck and shove it back into the slot in her boot. “Why?”

The girl sighs, her arms relaxing by her side. “Because I—something’s telling me I should.”

She turns on her heel, looking around before she ducks into the line of trees behind them.

Dream exhales deeply, relieved—the small cut on his throat stinging as he tilts his head up to stare at the moon. He’s vulnerable in this position; on his knees and unarmed. Who would spare the prince if they had the perfect chance to kill him? What made her change her mind?

In his conversation with the moon, Dream thinks about the girl’s eyes and why they were so familiar to him—and why she spared him. He squints at the full moon, begging for answers, trying to remember where he’d seen such beauty.

His dazed smile is quickly wiped from his lips, and the realisation knocks the oxygen out of his lungs, and soon he’s gasping for air and clawing his chest—it’s Y/n.

Dream sits at the long dining table with a new plate of eggs and turkey.

“Dreamy, darling, are you going to eat?” The Queen asks, her head lolling to the side as she talks to her son.

Dream’s lips twitch as he shakes his head. “Not that hungry.”

Y/n was on the verge of killing him last night.

“Oh? Are you feeling okay?”

Dream then nods, resting his cheek in his palm. His hair is messy, and his clothes remain skewed from sleeping. He usually didn’t present himself like this at breakfast.

“Yes, perfectly fine. I’m sorry for not looking presentable this morning.”

His mother sighs, her hand reaching out to grasp his free one. “That’s alright.”

Dream gives her a tight-lipped smile and squeezes her hand. He notes that her ring finger is bare but decides against saying anything.

“Where’s dad?” He asks instead. His mother stills, her face unreadable as she nods once.

“He had to leave this morning—business in L’Manberg.”

Dream doesn’t speak and lifts his hand, picking up his fork. The action elicits a soft smile from his mother. He stabs a slice of grilled turkey and brings it to his mouth.

—

“Clay!”

At the sound of his name, Dream turns around.

It’s after breakfast and Dream stands in the corner of the ballroom gazing out of the large windows that look onto the back garden. The head cook, and one of his best friends, Nick, is approaching him. “Nick?”

His friend laughs, untying his apron from behind his back before he lays it over the end of one of the sofas. Dream steps forward to embrace Nick in a hug. “How have you been?”

Nick contemplates his answer before he responds. “Flippin’ awesome.” Dream’s jaw goes slack at the cooking pun and chuckles.

“Ha, ha. SO funny.”

The pair pull away, and Dream faces the window again. The sapphire butterflies that flutter around the apple tree outside bring him a sense of comfort as Nick comes up beside him. The pair bask in warmth from the sun, the window making it much hotter than it is.

“I’ve missed you, man. The kitchen’s been boring without you sneaking in.” Nick frowns and Dream feels his stomach drop. He takes a glance at the shorter man and sighs.

“I’m sorry, bro. George said it’s ideal for me not to sneak around at night because—”

Dream’s breath hitches in his throat, eliciting a cough. Nick shoots him a look. “Because of what?”

“Erm—uh, I guess there’s somebody after me.”

“What? Really?”

Dream nods, wiping his nose with his fist. Nick struggles to find the words to say. “You don’t need to say anything; I don’t expect you to. I just thought I should let you know.”

Nick exhales deeply, bringing his hand up to run his fingers through his hair. “That’s rough.”

“Yeah,” Dream whispers. The two of them stand in silence as they watch the insects fly around in the sunlight. “Come here.”

Then Dream’s pulling Nick into another hug. This time, their embrace means something, and Dream knows it’ll be one of the last times he sees his best friend. Be safe. I love you.

A sniffle from Nick prompts Dream to push him away at arm's length, his hands resting on his shoulders. The younger man complains about how embarrassing it is seeing him cry, but Dream shakes his head in assurance. “It’s okay—I’ll be okay.”

“I hope so; I can’t imagine this place without you.”

Dream sits on his bed, silently. He recalls the events from last night and exhales deeply. A million questions run through his mind as he shifts positions, now choosing to lay on his back and stare at the high ceiling. His fingertips come up to brush the scabbing cut on his neck.

Why did he somewhat enjoy the blade against his neck? Why wasn’t he scared when it pierced his skin? Would he tell George? But most of all, why was Y/n after him? He trusted her–didn’t he?

A sudden knock on his bedroom door and the quiet sweep of paper against wood brings him from his screaming mind. He sits up abruptly, spotting the piece of parchment on the timber floor. Dream glances out of the window quickly and goes to snatch it from the ground.

The crinkling of paper is loud as he rushes to open it.

Meet me at the Astronomy Tower at noon.

Dream’s eyebrows fly to his hairline. Y/n wants to meet with him. Would she mention what happened last night? Does she know he knows it’s her? Is she planning to kill him right now?

Another knock makes him jump. But this time, it opens.

“Clay?”

“George!” Dream exclaims, pulling his assistant by his sleeve into the room, the door closing behind them.

“Uh, yes?” George is confused at Dream’s jagged movements. Dream shoves the letter into the older boy’s hands and waits for his reaction. When George doesn’t reply, Dream rolls his eyes.

“It’s from Y/n!”

“Well, you have to go.”

Dream is both shocked and relieved. “I have to go?”

George nods. He reads over the letter one last time before he gives it back to Dream. George squints when he notices his friend’s slightly pink cheeks.

“Why are you blushing?”

Dream immediately coughs in an attempt to cover up his embarrassment. George keeps his eyes on him as he does so, screwing his lips up in slight irritation that somebody can make Dream flustered.

“Oh! Do you have a crush?” George teases, although it’s more of an accusation than a joke. Dream laughs, shoving him away. George chooses to ignore the tugging at his heart when he hears the Prince giggle like that.

“I don’t like her—I can’t. She’d kill me, George.” Dream jokes, patting his friend on the back. But is he really joking?

“Kill you?”

Dream laughs, spinning on his heel whilst shrugging. “Kill me.”

“Did you speak to Nick this morning?” George asks, his fake smile flipping into a frown. The mood drops immediately, all laughs, and carelessness forgotten.

Dream nods. “I told him how I think somebody’s after me again. He looked pretty scared.”

“He was worried when I told him you wanted to talk to him about it.” George tilts his head and sighs.

“...It’s nearly noon. I better get going.” Dream deflects the topic, choosing to stand tall once more. He doesn’t want George to suspect anything’s wrong with Y/n, so he puts on a false façade, a smile stretching across his cheeks.

George doesn't say anything and tries to make his smile believable as he opens Dream’s bedroom door for him. “Have fun, I guess.”

The younger man practically skips out of the room, and when he is halfway down the hallway, he turns. “What was it that you needed, George? When you knocked before?”

George dismisses his question. “Not important. Now, go!”

Although, to George, it is crucial, and now he has missed his chance.

—

Dream’s boots slap the cobblestone steps as he makes his way up the tower. He peers around the corner, wary of his movements as he goes. When he reaches the top, he cautiously tiptoes to the balcony. His hand goes to trace the scab forming on his neck and forgets it when he hears her.

“Clay?” Her voice is soft, holding much more kindness than it did when she had a blade to his throat. “Y/n.”

He sees her perched on a picnic mat, a basket next to her. Dream tilts his head as he watches her stand and approaches him. Her arms wrap around his neck in a hug and then he’s hugging her back. “Hi.”

“Hey,” She laughs, pulling back slightly to admire his face. “I missed you today.” Dream gives a muffled noise of agreement into her shoulder.

Y/n steps back and squints at his neck. “What happened?” Her fingers delicately feel the wound before Dream dodges her.

“Nothing, nothing. What’s all this?”

She appears to overlook his shitty deflection and motions towards the place where she was sitting. “I made us a picnic.”

The way she smiles almost makes Dream forget who she is. He forces a smile back, his heart aching at the realisation of reality. She’ll kill him soon.

“I baked a cake for you, vanilla—you said that was your favourite, right?” Y/n’s anxious actions worry Dream as he sits down next to her. He lifts his head to look out over the land, and the view is breath-taking.

“Woah,” He breathes.

Y/n smiles brightly at him, glancing at the green hills and blue skies before she focuses on cutting a slice of cake.

“You know, I never really admired this view until I met you.” Dream confesses—and it’s true. Y/n pauses, gazing at him as he turns towards her.

“Really?”

He nods, his breath hitching in his throat at the sight of her. She truly is gorgeous. “You’re pretty.”

Y/n’s eyes widen, and she feels her cheeks flush. “Oh, thank you, Clay. You’re pretty too.” Her hair falls in front of her face as she looks down, and Dream feels a pang in his heart.

“Have some cake,” Y/n mumbles, handing him a napkin with the dessert placed on it. The sweet looks delectable, and Dream can’t wait to take a bite—unless…

“You know what? I’m not that hungry, actually. But the cake looks delicious. Thank you.” Y/n furrows her eyebrows, and a look of hurt flashed across her face. “Oh.”

She hurries to take it back from him, but he refuses to give it to her. “What are you doing?” She asks.

Dream motions for her to cut another piece, “I’ll only eat if you do.”

Y/n nods slowly, moving the knife to slice into the cake once more. She flips it onto another napkin and brings it towards her mouth.

“What? You think it’s poisonous?” Y/n laughs, watching as Dream becomes flustered. “No!”

His response is quick and cautious, but Y/n doesn’t seem to notice as she takes a bite of her piece of cake. Dream watches as she chews and swallows, earning a confused glance from her. Nothing happens.

“Well, I didn’t drop dead. Your turn,” She laughs, hurt still evident on her features. Dream feels guilty. He holds the cake surprisingly firmly, bringing it to his lips. His heart races as he puts it between his teeth and bites down. The cake is very sweet, and it’s good. Dream catches Y/n’s eye as he eats, giving her a nod of approval. She smiles widely and visibly relaxes.

The action calms something in Dream, too. He finishes off his cake and waits for Y/n to do the same. He sees some white frosting fall onto the bodice of her dress, the sugary mixture tumbling down onto her skirt. The girl doesn’t seem to notice as she licks the remaining icing off her fingers.

“Uh—Y/n, you got some—uh,” Dream motions to her skirt, and watches as she sighs deeply. “Awww, I just washed these.”

Dream stifles a giggle when Y/n scrunches her nose up and goes to wipe it off. As small as the action is, Dream’s heart skips a beat at her cute expression. He scolds himself for feeling such this way; she tried to kill you last night.

He eyes the knife next to the basket, sweet frosting covering the blade. The growing desire to grab it and ram it right through her chest burns in his mind, but he holds back. He clenches his jaw, and for the first time, Dream is terrified of himself.

He shakes the deranged through from his head. What was that?

Dream watches as Y/n shoves the used napkin into the basket and lifts her eyes to meet his. He smiles softly, causing Y/n to cover her face with her hands. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” He laughs, reaching to poke her in the ribs. Y/n yelps quietly, jolting when he shocks her side. “Stop making me flustered. It’s hardly polite.”

Dream stops, the tips of his ears reddening. He makes her nervous? “Oh, come on now.”

The rasp in his voice makes Y/n freeze. She peers at him through her fingers and sees him smirking at her. She lets out a high-pitched sound and returns her hands over her eyes. As much as Dream hates to admit it, there’s a fuzzy feeling in his chest.

“Clay, I’m going to take my hands away from my eyes now, and you better not say anything suggestive.”

Dream chuckles, extending his arms out to grasp her fingers and pull them down. She doesn’t meet his gaze as he holds her hands in her lap. Birds chirp and fly past the balcony, their singing being a perfect addition to the atmosphere the pair had created.

They don’t say anything as they lean closer. Dream tilts his head slightly, a small smile gracing his face as he sees Y/n do the same.

“Prince Clay, the Queen would like to see you in the castle.”

The two of them are still at the sound of another. George stands at the top of the stairs, a scroll in his right hand. Dream rolls his eyes in annoyance, throwing Y/n an apologetic look as he releases her hands. “Thanks, George.”

“I—I’ll see you later?” Y/n whispers as she watches Dream clamber up to his full height. He nods hastily, not giving her a second look, and rushes out behind George. He feels her stare on the back of his skull but continues.

Y/n sits in silence as the clanging of the wooden door downstairs slams against the stone walls. The chirping of the birds outside dies down, and she frowns.

As much as she’s supposed to detest Dream, Y/n feels butterflies cluster in her stomach at the mere thought of him. The idea of killing him causes the butterflies to turn to spiders and makes Y/n feel sick. She can’t go through with this—not now, not ever.

—

“Dre—Clay.”

Dream freezes; his mother only uses his real name when things are serious. He nods once, prompting his mother to continue.

“Your father has yet to return to the kingdom from his trip to L’Manberg. However, plans have changed, and it seems he’ll be there longer than expected.” The Queen’s voice is steady but has undertones of utter sadness, which Dream picks up on instantly.

“Why?” He asks.

“He gave me a straight answer; business.”

Dream doesn’t say nor does anything. Instead, he remains still. His lack of response earns a reaction from his mother, however. “What is it?”

“Is it why you don’t wear your ring anymore?” Dream refuses to meet her eye, afraid he’ll upset her more than he already has with his question.

The Queen inhales sharply, glancing at her hand before she composes herself. “Yes.”

Her voice is just above a whisper, but Dream catches it. His heart clenches, and then he finally meets her watery eyes.

Dream’s hard exterior breaks as he wraps his arms around his mother. He uses his finger to usher the guards and assistants out of the room and then rests his hand on the back of her hair in an attempt to quiet her soft cries.

He tries his best to be strong for her, swallowing the growing lump in his throat.

The room is far too silent for Dream’s liking, and he wishes for something to happen to break it.

And something does. The slam of the double doors makes the pair jump, Dream spinning around to see who had interrupted.

Y/n stands there, the same picnic basket in her hand. “I’m sorry for intruding!”

Dream’s mother quickly wipes under her eyes and places her usual people-pleasing smile on. “What can I do for you, darling?”

Y/n walks further into the room, glancing at Dream momentarily before opening the basket in front of the Queen.

“I brought you some berries. I was speaking to Dream earlier, and he told me you loved strawberries. So, I picked some for you, myself.” Her smile is deceiving, Dream can tell, but it’s also warming, and kind and his chest aches at the sight of it.

The Queen gasps, her hands going to take the basket from Y/n. She peers in and sees it full to the brim with the berries. “Oh my,”

Y/n’s smile grows, her eyes meeting Dream’s. Although he knows her true intentions, he’s extremely grateful for her kindness. “Thank you, Y/n.”

“Yes, yes, thank you!” His mother beams. She turns around and starts walking towards another door behind them.

Once the door closes, Y/n grins at Dream, and he smiles back. His heart twists in his chest, and his eyes burn with tears. Oh, how silly I am, he thinks.

The next time Dream sees Y/n, and she’s under the wooden bridge in the garden, her hair and undergarments drenched. The sun burns intensely down on his neck as he approaches her.

Y/n watches the lake rush under her, the odd fish jumping out and diving back into the freezing water. It’s a harsh contrast to the weather outside, swelteringly hot and humid, but Y/n doesn’t pay any mind when she contemplates going for a swim.

She jogs off the bridge and circles back around to shuffle down the steep, grass bank. Butterflies flutter majestically around her, enhancing the experience of being in an actual kingdom rather than a desert village—it's magical.

Y/n’s eyes dart around before her hands tend to her back to untie her bodice. She sucks on her bottom lip, and she does so, the process takes far too long.

Throwing the structured clothing to the grass, she then moves to her top skirt, pulling it up over her head. Her heeled boots and frilly socks are the last things to remove and then Y/n is left standing in a plain cream skirt and button-up.

She pays no attention to her surroundings as she lifts her remaining skirt and dips her toes into the icy lake, her mouth forming an ‘o’ shape at the temperature.

From here, Y/n can see that the middle of the lake is the deepest point; the bottom is nowhere in sight through the clear water.

Y/n doesn’t think twice as she leaps into the middle, her entire body submerging under the surface. Her senses are shocked, and her throat closes at the sudden chill. Y/n claws at the water to reach the surface, and then she feels the sun on her cheeks. She takes a large breath and wipes her eyes.

“Y/n?” The girl turns towards the sound of Dream’s voice.

“Clay?” She smiles. He runs down the bank and towards the water, although he stops before he can dive in.

“What are you doing?” He calls, tilting his head at her. “Swimming.”

Dream rolls his eyes, “Obviously!”

This elicits a giggle from Y/n as she swims to the edge, her clothes drenched and her heavy makeup running down her face.

“Hi,” Y/n says as she draws closer. Dream tries fighting a smile at the sight of her in her undergarments. He feels the tips of his ears redden. “I don’t care if you see me like this, Clay.”

He doesn’t say anything as he reaches his hands for her cheeks. He thinks she looks absolutely gorgeous. But the rising impulse to push her head under the water and never let her up is powerful. Once his fingertips brush her cheek, his breathing becomes laboured and clenches his jaw. She tried to kill you.

Y/n notices him vacantly staring at her and waves her hand in front of his eyes. “Clay?”

Dream’s blank expression doesn’t waver. Instead, Y/n swears, she sees his green eyes darken. His hands move from her cheeks to her shoulders, and his grip tightens. Y/n’s face scrunches in uncertainty, and she tries to shift from under his secure hold. Dream’s glare turns wicked as she continues to withdraw. “Clay? Stop, you’re scaring me.”

His head cocks to the side mockingly, his arms going to push her shoulders down. Y/n losing footing on the rocks under her feet and her neck reaches the water. She claws hastily at his hands, and soon she’s gulping mouthfuls of the icy water. Dream shows no signs of stopping until the sound of her screams brings him from his empty glare. “S-Stop it-t!”

“Y/n?”

Dream blinks, and his face softens. He furrows his eyebrows when he sees Y/n struggling to keep her head above the water and grips under her armpits to pull her to stand again. Dream becomes increasingly worried as he sees tears running down her cheeks instead of lake water and makeup, opening his mouth to pour out apologies.

Y/n stays silent, her eyes shooting from his gaze to the water. She is confused and scared. Questions run through her mind at a million miles per second. Why? Why, why, why? Does he know why she is actually here? Does he know her true intentions? Did he just try and drown her?

“What’s your problem?” Y/n yells, scrambling up the edge of the lake and towards her dry clothes. Dream says nothing. Why did he do that?

“I—I’m so sorry, Y/n.” Maybe it wasn’t her who had a dagger to his throat all that time ago. Perhaps she’s just a normal girl.

Y/n snarls at him, her top lip curled up in disgust. “I don’t want to see you anymore.”

The words shock Dream back into reality. “No! No, no.”

“Yes. Now, leave me alone, Clay.” Y/n spits as she gathers her clothes and stomps back towards the castle.

Dream stays crouching next to the lake. He stares at his reflection in the water. It twists and turns into a horrible creature baring sharp teeth and dark, dark eyes. He shakes his head instantly; the reflection swirling back into himself.

What is going on?

—

The fire almost burns Y/n’s icy hands as she inches closer to the flame. With her dry clothes on, her hair is still wet, and it drips down the back of her bodice and skirts, making her even colder; Y/n regrets not drying her hair before she got dressed.

As she stares into the fire, Dream’s void expression and evil eyes eat away at her conscience, making her squeeze her eyes shut at the thought.

“You,”

The sound of a singular word makes Y/n turn around. George, Dream’s assistant, stands in front of her. His hard eyes are glaring at her as she cocks her head. “George?”

“You’re here to kill him, aren’t you?” He spits, backing away slowly. Y/n's face shifts to one of shock, her hands shaking in at her sides.

“Kill him? I would never do such a thing! If anything, he tried to kill me half an hour ago! At the bridge!”

George scoffs, inching his hand towards the fire poker that leans against the brick fireplace next to him. “You know, you really need to work on your coyness, Y/n.”

She rolls her eyes at him, her teeth chattering as she does so. “You’re ridiculous, George. I love him despite his mistakes.”

The man lets out a grunt. “You don’t!”

Y/n steps back at his sudden aggressiveness. She sees the fire poker in his whitening knuckles and then stares at him in bewilderment. “Stop it! You’re going to hurt yourself or me.”

A sinister laugh escapes George’s throat as he brings the sharp object up to her face, “Oh, I’m definitely going to hurt you. You’re not going anywhere near Clay, again.”

At his sentence, Y/n stills, and her concerned expression falls slack. She’s done this more times than she can count. Her cold hands intertwine in front of her stomach as a look of confusion crosses George’s face.

“Listen, I came here to do one thing, and whether or not that plan has changed is none of your business,” Y/n says her stare never wavering.

She hates to make it so vague, but she knows if he told him the truth, she’d be dead either way—whether that be by George and his fire poker, or by Wilbur Soot and his many friends that could have her head on a pitchfork at any given moment.

George narrows his eyes at her. “You’re lying.”

She shrugs; Y/n knows not to show fear; it would only motivate him more.

The end of the poker is dangerously close to her face, and George sighs before he lowers it. “You love him?”

Y/n’s eyes soften, and she recoils slightly. She blinks slowly, her eyes coming to rest on her feet. Y/n hates showing emotion, choosing to spill everything in isolation rather than unveiling her vulnerability to potential threats.

George only nods and retreats, placing the poker back next to the fireplace. He hesitates before he speaks, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. George drops his head and sighs, his heart shattering at the mere thought of Dream, returning her feelings.

“I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but I know one thing; I’ve never seen Clay like this before, so please don’t hurt him. I can tell he cares about you, dearly.” He refuses to meet Y/n’s eye as he turns to exit.

She becomes wary of his sudden change in mood but decides against asking him any questions as she sees the tail of his dress coat float around the corner of the doorframe.

George almost couldn’t believe his eyes when he walked into Dream’s bedroom the next morning. The sunlight had only just begun to flood the kingdom, the clock on the wall showing 6:18 am.

“Why are you already up? Who are you?” George jokes approaching his best friend. Dream sits hunched over his desk, his quill hurrying over a piece of parchment. George furrows his brows at the strange behaviour but chooses to ignore it as he pulls a chair beside Dream.

The younger man stops his actions and glances at his assistant. “What are you doing?”

George pales. “I—uh, just wanted to see what you are doing.” Dream throws him a dirty look before he angles his body away.

George bites the inside of his cheek, his body filling with rage at Dream’s attitude. “What’s your deal?”

Dream stills; George has never spoken to him like that before. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Clay! Why are you so secretive all of a sudden? You always tell me what’s going on.”

The Prince doesn’t seem to notice the absolute heartbreak and sadness in his assistant’s voice and clenches his fists. “Just fuck off, George! You’re my assistant, not my friend. I only call you when I need you. Got it?”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows. George feels his entire body tingle as it falls numb, his stomach turning sickly. He watches as Dream huffs and turns back to his piece of paper, like a child; his arm covering the page and his other scribbling down words or exactly that—scribbles.

It takes everything in George to stand up and leave. His legs are jelly as he wobbles out; his tears finally spilling down his cheeks. He shuts Dream’s bedroom door quietly, not anger him further, and runs down the hall towards his own room.

The halls are silent, not a soul in sight but the broken one that floats behind George while he tries to swallow choked sobs.

He hops down a few stairs, and then he’s pushing his door open, slamming it behind him in total defeat. He slides down the back of it, his hands coming to cover his flushed face. George scratches at his chest as he struggles to quieten the sound of his laboured breathing and hiccups. His heartbeat stutters within his ribcage—but that’s the least of his worries.

This is the suffering of complete and utter heartbreak, and now George knows how it feels after three years of dreading it. He screws his eyes shut, in hopes of stopping the tears and forces himself to calm down.

He loves Clay as more than a friend—this he knows is true. But, George scolds himself for being so foolish for thinking the Prince would reciprocate his one-sided love.

And as the air fills his lungs, George stops. He holds his breath for as long as he can—the burning of his body screaming for him to breathe is the only thing he feels. He’s lightheaded as he gazes out of the window opposite him. The oak trees rustle in the dawn breeze, and it's tranquil. He feels his heart clench in his chest and then an unbearable searing pain that he can only compare to tossing your body into a fire and feeling it melt your skin.

The world is peaceful as he continues to let his body ignite and soon dwindle into nothing.

And as the sun rises higher, his body slumps lower onto the ground, his eyes glassy and still staring out at the garden.

—

Meet me in the garden at dusk.

Her fingers trace the outline of the scraggly letters. Dream’s letter is vague, with no real meaning and nothing to indicate why he wants to meet. Usually, George delivered Dream’s letters to Y/n, but today it was rushed to her by another servant from the castle. Weird.

Y/n squints closer at the letter; she can see how hard Dream drove the quill into the paper by the letters’ slightly ripped edges. Leaning closer, the smell of lavender seeps through the parchment. There are no lavender plants in the garden.

Instead of going unprepared, Y/n reaches into the desk drawer and retrieves her dagger. She brings it towards her face and tilts it in the light, the metal reflecting into her eyes. Lifting her skirts on one side, Y/n shoves the knife into the case clasped around her thigh. It's subtle and easy to get to if needed.

Y/n sighs, reading over the letter one last time before she walks towards the fire in the corner. She tosses it into the flames, watching as reds and oranges engulf the paper.

She knows what comes next. If Dream wants her to meet him, then she’ll do it, but she also has to go through with her duties whether she likes it or not.

Y/n draws nearer to the garden, her eyes darting around the trees in hopes—or in fear—of seeing Dream. The sun burns in the distance, begging to say goodbye for the day as it watches the girl tiptoe over tree roots.

Once she enters the area enclosed by stone walls and arches, tears gather in Y/n’s eyes when she sees him, her heartstrings pulling violently in her chest. Dream stands on the other side of the garden, the thorns from the rose bush piercing his dress pants. Y/n remains frozen under one of the stone arches at the garden’s entrance, her dagger prominent in its case around her thigh.

His cold stare meets her cautious eyes and his face does nothing to soothe her nerves like it usually does. Instead, his stern expression stirs panic around in her stomach and makes her feel ill. Y/n abandons her original plan to stay withdrawn from the situation because once she sees him, she breaks.

“I can’t kill you, Clay!”

Dream freezes at her sudden shout. The pain in her voice makes him clench his jaw, and soon he’s approaching her. “What?”

Y/n inhales sharply, her breath hitching in her throat before she continues. “You know that I came here to kill you, you figured it out! And now I can’t go through with it.”

“Why?” Dream’s glare challenges her.

“Don’t make me answer that,”

“Y/n,”

“Clay.”

“I asked you a question. Answer it.”

Y/n squeezes her eyes shut, her fists tense by her sides. Dream’s blunt tone is the last thing she needs to suppress her feelings further. “Because I hate you and I can’t possibly assassinate you when I have feelings like that—it’s immoral.”

He scoffs at her horrible excuse. “If you truly hate me, I would’ve been dead the first second you saw me. Don’t lie to me, Y/n.”

Y/n could scream—in frustration, in anger, in heartbreak. She wants to stand on the ledge of the Astronomy Tower and scream about how much she loves him; scream about how much she hates him; scream about how she would go to the ends of the earth for a man she is supposed to murder.

“Leave me, Clay. I need to be alone.”

With the shake of his head, Dream steps closer. “You love me; that’s why. It took me a while to realise, but I know now. And the worst part is, I love you too.”

The confession has Y/n panicking. Her eyes widen, and her hands scramble to snatch the knife from her thigh—but Dream’s quicker. He leaps towards her, his body colliding with hers as they stumble onto the grass. Y/n’s dagger presses against his neck, but there’s one against hers too.

An unfamiliar panic runs through Y/n as she feels a blade across her throat, but she keeps a hard exterior. The deadly look in Dream’s eye catches Y/n off guard as she pushes her knife firmly. A split appears on his skin—his blood dripping onto her neck, making him readjust his grip on his own dagger.

His mother’s face flashes through Dream’s mind while he swallowed thickly. He apologises in his thoughts as he glares at Y/n.

The heat of his hot blood on her skin is unlike anything Y/n’s felt before; maybe it’s the bloodlust or something else, but Dream notices.

Y/n opens her lips to speak but is stopped when he leans down to press his mouth against hers. The kiss is contrastingly soft compared to the incredibly vulnerable and intense position they’re in. Dream’s skin burns where the cut is and feels it grow as he leans closer to her face. Y/n gasps when she feels metal pierce her skin, and soon they’re whispering into each other’s lips.

The end is near. And as Y/n stares into Dream’s enchanting, sinister eyes, she reaches.

She reaches for the release she’s been begging for since she met him. She’s desperate to feel him one last time—in love and not hate. There's one final strand of hope that maybe, just maybe, he can see her dying love for him seep through her ever-growing bloodlust and absolute inhumanity.

But he doesn’t. And the same devilish grin he wore when she had a blade to his throat for the first time splits his red cheeks. The twinkle in her eye tells him she feels it too, and then her teeth bare a vile smirk.

“I’ll love you forever, Clay.”

“Forever is the sweetest con, my love.”

There are dull sweeps of blades across skin, and then there’s silence.

Excruciating, deafening nothingness.

And as the sun dips beyond the horizon, Y/n and Clay’s hands intertwine, not once sparing a glance back at their bodies that lay cold on the cobblestone pathway.

Feedback is always appreciated xx

#dream smp x reader #dream smp imagine #dream smp imagines #dreamwastaken imagine #dreamwastaken x reader #dream au #dreamwastaken au #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #nightmare dressed like a daydream!au #ndlad!au #dream x reader #dream imagine

570 notes · View notes

xo-cuteplosion-xo · 3 years

Note

Yayy! Requests from one of my fave writers are open💕💕💕

Soo, I’ve had this fic idea for quite some time in my mind and it could be interesting. I would love to see a Dazai x Fem!Reader where the reader is a new member of the agency and have been work partners for quite some time with Dazai. The reader feels insecure because Dazai doesn't do his usual flirty stuff to her, but that's only because Dazai doesn't know how to deal with the feeling of real love, and one day, they have a painful talk about it (which starts with the reader confronting him about this when he asks what’s wrong, maybe?)- I would love for this to go from angst to fluff, thank you so much 💔💕

Awwww! I'm a favorite writer of yours! Thank you for such a generous compliment!

My belladonna |Dazai x Female Reader|

Warnings: dazai’s typical thoughts, long fic

Words: 2,385

I worked hard on this one, so I hope you like it. The fluff does take a bit but I assure you the fluff at the end is worth the angst!

Love, a humane concept many never give a second thought towards. What is love exactly? Is it the feeling of being happy which is caused by another? Then what separates love from a deep underlying friendship? Is it the fluttering tightness in your chest? Could it be the sweat and discomfort that forms near somebody you supposedly love? Was love only something a sane person who understands the meaning behind being human can feel and understand? Love raises so many questions it’s better to ignore all contact, to avoid anything that could lead to falling deeper.

Dazai had never put so much of his mind's capabilities onto a feeling before. He’d never wondered what love meant. His eyes stared off beyond the clouds as he thought about his recent missions with her. She was always so different from the other women he knew or had met over the years. The way she made her presence known in the room, or how her body seemed to be the last thing he noticed. That was important, at least when looking at Dazai. Dazai was not a man of the gentlemen variety. He actually rather impolite, some could say disgusting. He was, after all, a womanizer. It was no unknown fact he slept around, flirted, and even treated women with disrespect. Yet here she was, the newest member of the agency, his current partner. He could hardly glance her way without being star-struck. His eyes would nearly reflect the look of a teenage boy lost in a fantasy. He imagined what her voice would sound like, saying I love you, thank you, you're welcome. He imagined what goodbye embraces and welcome back embraces would feel like. Imagined her kindness, pointed and focused on him. All of this made him confused, he’d never been here before. Nobody in all his miserable years had ever strayed his thoughts to such territory. To avoid confronting the feelings that may or may not spook him, he ignored her. He treated her like he would any other co-worker. He never once asked her his questions of the suicidal manor. He never once flirted with her, he hardly talked to her.

You grew to notice these things over time. The way he avoided you; like you were some disaster waiting to happen. The way he flirted with almost every other woman besides you. Every time you worked by his side, the pain only increased. The thud of your own heart kept you from falling over the pain. Every time he glanced another's way, felt like another dagger stabbed to your side. Thoughts of what if’s eventually circled within your head. Asking yourself if you had done something to insult him. Even his coworkers couldn’t give you a solid answer to Dazai’s behavior. No matter what you did for him, he never seemed to show an ounce of care in your direction. He didn’t touch the gifts you gave him, no matter what they were. Even if they were tips on his little obsession with suicide, he ignored them. He couldn’t face you in person either. Unless you worked together, he hardly spoke to you.

Like any sane person, you couldn’t handle it anymore. A confrontation was called for.

Beneath the moonlight, as the hours of the agency closed and Dazai stayed behind, you fell back to have privacy with him. Even as the others left and bid you good luck with confronting him, you stayed put. It wasn’t that Dazai stayed late to work, he stayed late to make sure everything was alright with the agency, and to grab any leftover coffee/food from the day. He hadn’t expected to run into you as he attempted to leave with a few bags of collected things, stolen things. The moonlight glimmered against your reflection, illuminating your every feature. His eyes instantly darted from you to the door. Unsure how to respond, he let the atmosphere settle in, despite the awkwardness. “We need to talk.” Your voice despite the slight aggravation was more than angelic to him.

Putting on a smile, he raised a brow to play off the thudding pound of his heart. “Oh? We do, did something come up?” he sounded almost nervous, but he masked it enough to hide it from you.

Another silence folded over the two. With every moment, Dazai became less and less comfortable. Being in her presence was enough to send his mind whirling with confusing thoughts again. Her own nerves were starting to act up. Having to hold her hands behind her back as she fidgeted. Within the dimly lit room, illuminated by a few lights and the moon, they stood. Neither of them spoke, afraid of what came after the silence.

That was until your voice picked up from the silence. Shattering it with a soft echo. Speaking with a meek voice, you asked Dazai about his recent behavior with you. “Do you hate me?” The words slipped with ease, but hurt to speak. Afraid, he'll choke on his answer and tell you that you had done something to harm his ego, or that he didn’t find you interesting.

Dazai’s hands slid into his pockets, clenching together tightly. “No, why would you think I hate you?” he spoke clearly with no hint of nervous hesitation or lies. Yet, you could not believe him. Within his body language, the lack of eye contact, the unsure tilt of the head, the slip of his hands to his pockets, it all told you he was hiding something.

Exhaling as calmly as you could to calm your nervous chatter, you spoke up again. “Look at me then.” You hissed the words, your own eyes darting to look away from him.

Dazai froze before his head slowly shook. “I can’t,” he mumbled. His voice losing the usual confident, cocky tone as he spoke. There was no childish intent, no cocky extent, no humor to his voice. It was bland with nervous fear.

“Because you don’t like me.” Saying the words out loud made the knives that struck through turn into poisonous bullets. Each word, each realization had the initial sting of a bullet, but left a thudding emptiness, the poison.

“I don't,” he whispered. Though his voice cracked in a waiver. His breathing unsteady to match your own rapid breaths. His heart pounded with a fear he’d never felt before. His heart, his mind, it was still too confusing. He didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend this feeling.

“Yes, you do! You treat every other woman the same! I wouldn’t mind if you just… if you just didn’t flirt, but you… you won’t even look at me!” with every pause and stutter, the pain grew. With every pause, your voice picked up. The ocean of emotion you had left untouched and sealed, starting to unravel and make sense.

“... I…” Dazai had no reply to your words. His head screamed at him to reach out and grab hold of you. To drop down and do as he always did. Another half of him told him to pull something else. To pull out a gift and woo you with flowers and soft praises. He didn’t understand how to truly appreciate this feeling or how to acknowledge it. He wants so much revolving around you, but he didn’t know what to do. Not even his words could form a snarky comeback or an excuse. He couldn’t pull the usual words like, you’re just too stunning to look at.

Watching his silence, and the only word he spit be a single vowel, you shook your head. The emotional fire within your chest letting go. You turned towards the door rather dramatically. Your hand grasping the handle in a swift motion. “You’re a selfish bastard Dazai. You’re a selfish bastard. Letting women fall in love only to rip their hearts from their chests. I knew you were one of those men, yet I still… I still gave it to you.” Dropping the anger and the loudness of your voice you spoke softly. With slight drips of venom being used to cover the pain consuming you.

He watched her pull the door open in one single movement. His eyes traced her movements as the door slammed. The words she spoke took what felt like millennia to make sense. He kept trying to make sense of her words, he didn’t understand any of them. He couldn’t until he took into thought his own heart. He stopped trying to make sense, and rather let his heart make sense of it. Understanding human emotions, understanding what made humans… Well, humans, was never his forte. Not a second later, his eyes shot wide and his lips parted with shock. A new thought he’d never understand crossing his restless mind. “Why, why would she love me?” he shook away the thought, reaching for the handle of the door and flinging it open. Never in his life had he been the one doing the chase, yet here he was doing just that. His feet carried him down the stairs and out of the building. The slow patter of the rain provides a dramatic splatter when his feet hit the cold cement. His breaths formed white puffs of air as he skidded to a stop. Thinking back to missions, recalling the sentences he’d tried to ignore. The things about her he tried to ignore. The invitations to walk. The way she came up behind him, trying to interact while he ignored her. Without having to recall much, his feet swerved to the left and ran. His feet slid here and there over the slippery gravel, the mud, and sharp turns. His gut led him instead of his mind. For once, he was trusting his instincts. The park his heart shouted. The first time he’d truly fallen for her, the smile she gave him on her first day. It was love at first sight. Love, admitting it was really such a humane feeling was terrifying. Yes, he’d always wanted to understand humanity, but starting with something that could end in flames or bliss... was no more terrifying than standing over the ledge of a cliff.

As your feet came to a sudden halt, you found yourself at the park. Remembering the way he looked and acted when you first joined brought more water to gather along with the rain. Slipping down onto the bench, covered with the sky's tears, you curled your legs into your chest. Burying your face into your knees, you swore to yourself this wouldn’t happen again. You had been a fool, hadn't you? A fool to love a man like Dazai. Somebody obsessed with suicide and willing to flirt with every woman his eyes caught. Slowly, the rain began to pick up its pace. The moon reflected in puddles where the mud could no longer soak up its water.

He searched the area for a while despite the quickening pace of the rain. As his eyes settled against your drenched form, the way you cuddled against yourself, his heart cracked. His arms slipped from his jacket despite it being somewhat wet. While he was nervous, he snuck up behind you and rested his coat on your shoulders. He took a seat at the other end of the bench. Pulling his knees to his chest, he decided to finally share why he’d been so distant and a jerk towards you. “I was scared. I ignored, avoided, and pretended to not notice you because I was afraid.” Your glance was doubtful, after all, when was he ever scared of something? “Doubting me? I get why, I'm never scared, that's what you think right?" there was a small nod from your head, but it caused him to sigh. “I do get scared, emotions scare me. Feeling human, it’s what I want, I want to understand what it is to be human, but starting out with this… it’s terrifying.” Watching as you didn’t respond but look away, he let out a frustrated groan.

“Just, leave me alone Dazai.” Your whispers hurt. The pain reflected in your words hurt more than any wound he’d ever found himself inflicted with. He hated pain and suffering, and that’s what this was.

“I can’t, I won’t not anymore. I… fuck, I don’t understand it. I don’t… it’s hard to admit things like this belladonna… I fell in love. I don’t know how to deal with whatever this is!” His words came rushed and panicked. His hands found their way into his hair, tangling with the drenched locks. Thunder thudded softly in the sky as lightning crackled.

Your hand reached your eyes as you shook your head. “Please, please stop it. Don’t call me that! You don’t mean it. Stop trying to just make yourself feel better.” You whispered the words again until he forcefully brought your head to meet his chest. He held you tightly, running his hand over your back as he rocked back and forth.

“I’m not lying, not playing games. You’re amazing in every way possible. I still can’t understand why you'd like me.” Dazai whispered the words next to your ear. Holding you within the rain until your body stopped its trembles. What you did next shocked him more than any action that went outside his predictions did. Your lips planted themselves on his. At first, it seemed you were unsure about this. He didn’t kiss back at first, when he made his mind up, it was too late. You had pulled away ready to collect excuses. Before your lips could part with said excuses, his hands moved and cupped your face. His lips came crashing down on yours. He’d never felt this before, a spark, a real feeling in a kiss. When the two of you needed air, he moved away with a slight smile. “We should… get out of the rain before we both catch a cold.”

Blushing you tugged on the fabric of his clothes, telling him to lift you. “Yeah, we should, Kunikida would kill us both if we get sick.” You chuckled lightly, sniffling as Dazai lifted you into his arms.

“Remind me where your place is again?” with a snicker, you told him the address and allowed yourself to drift off to sleep while he carried you. “I love you, belladonna.”

198 notes · View notes