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cuckoo-on-a-string · 2 years

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Younger Gods: III

Younger Gods Master List Dream x fem!reader

Chapter 2

Dangerous magic and old friends lay the foundation of a fate foretold, and Morpheus spends too much time in the library.

Warnings: language, briefly referenced suicidal ideation, self-neglect/harm, extreme sleep deprivation, Dream is still his own damn warning

A/N: First - THANK YOU ALL. Seriously. You're amazing, I love you, and I'm working on catching up on comments. Now for the bad news. Ya'll broke chapter 2. Like, literally. I went to edit the tags list and Tumblr said nope. Imagine a small, family car with dozens of people stacked inside and hanging off the roof. It just won't go. The chapter also didn't show up in the story tags, at least whenever I checked. So...

*The taglist is officially discontinued*

I am making that up with something special, though, so make sure to read the A/N at the end!

Chapter 3: Darker Fates

“Gracious, darling, you look dreadful.”

She collapsed into the rickety café chair. Across the laminate table sat her oldest friend. Her one friend. And she immediately wondered how much to tell him. Only two days stood between her and her involuntary trip down memory lane, between her and the Sandman. She’d seen dark birds from the corner of her eye once or twice, but they always turned out to be crows and magpies. That didn’t mean Matthew wasn’t following her, of course.

She hadn’t escaped the consequences of her actions yet, and she didn’t want to drag one of the precious few people she cared about into the muck.

“What happened to your courtly manners?”

“What happened to your face?” He shuddered delicately, burying the real concern she caught in his sharp grey eyes with dramatics. Signaling the waitress behind the counter, he added, “We’ll need another pot of tea, please.”

The woman blushed and hurried off to fill the order. Doubtless, he’d been flirting while he waited. Damn silver fox. Although he was over one thousand years old, he wore it well. His greying curls and tidy beard looked playful rather than unkempt.

“Do you have what I need?”

He nodded. “Tea’s on it’s way.”

“Not the damn tea, Taliesin.”

The twice-born bard sucked on his teeth, glancing from the front windows to the back counter. Only spilled coffee stains and a sticky smear of jam occupied the other tables. He acted like this kind of deal might draw attention, and he had good reason to think twice about handling magical items in public, but no one cared what two people meeting up at two in the afternoon in a cheap café shared over a cup of tea.

He slipped his hand into his coat pocket and retrieved a small, stoppered bottle. The liquid inside moved like tar, oozing up the side of the glass as Taliesin angled it in the light. Even caution couldn’t banish his instincts as a showman.

“Understand.” He looked her in the eye, his scintillating smile packed away for a stone glower. “This is a cruelty, not a blessing. Now, I won’t ask why you need it. I wouldn’t insult you like that. But it’s my responsibility to tell you this is a bad idea.”

She could think of worse.

Before she could explain herself, the waitress pranced over with the tea. She set the pot between them and provided a fresh cup and saucer. Taliesin grinned, winked, and sent her on her way again with a word of thanks.

“One day your philandering will get you into trouble, old man.”

He sniffed and poured the tea, adding the slightest splash of milk, just the way she liked it. “I never begin something from which I cannot safely extricate myself. And, besides, a little teasing will make her day.”

He slid the cup across the table, and she wrapped her hands around the porcelain to drink in the heat through her chilly palms. She couldn’t seem to stay warm these past few weeks. Anyway, tea wasn’t what she’d come to drink.

“Will it keep me awake forever?”

“Nothing is forever. Nothing you can taste, touch, or smell.” He sounded both chiding and nostalgic. “But this will last seven years and seven days.”

“Good enough. What do you want in exchange?”

Tutting, he tucked the potion back in his jacket, and she sagged in her seat. “Tea first. I have grand and patronizing cautions to give.”

She lifted the cup, maintaining eye contact as she took the biggest, loudest slurp she could manage. It tasted nice, and its warmth felt even better in her stomach and throat than it had on her skin. Why did the bastard have to be right about everything?

The twinkle in his eye suggested he knew what station the train of her thoughts had left, and he slurped from his own cup in merry retaliation.

“First,” he licked a drip from his mustache, “and foremost: this is vile magic. It doesn’t gift wakefulness – it steals rest. The fae designed it with little prisoners like you in mind, to be taken in spaces where time melts and enchanted food will cheat the body’s need for sleep. Since – I dare presume – you do not have those safeguards, this could kill you.”

He left the words to sink in, trying to scare her off the purchase. When she reached out to see if he knew someone willing to make this potion, he’d leapt at the opportunity himself. It was his way of protecting her, and it gave him a chance to interfere with what he clearly saw as self-harm.

Since she wasn’t sure she could survive another nightmare like the one Dream hauled her through, she’d take her chances with death by her own hand.

“Consider me warned, but it doesn’t change anything.”

Taliesin bowed his head over his teacup, groaning. Any fantasies that he could talk her off her current path finally cracked. “You really are stubborn, rain cloud.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Oh, no. That you found all your own.” His smile grew back, wan but alive. His hand settled on the table, palm up, and she abandoned her tea to settle her hand over his.

“Just promise,” he said with a gentle squeeze, “that if you feel anything going off, if you even suspect something’s wrong, you’ll call your old friend Taliesin. Okay?”

She squeezed back, trying to smile for him, but she was too tired to make the expression stick. “Okay.”

Nodding to himself, he echoed the agreement again, “Okay,” and reached into his pocket. He slipped the bottle between their joined hands, and she pulled away to put it in her sweater.

“What do you want in return?”

“Well!” He smacked the table with both hands, grinning in a way that promised trouble. “I thought long and hard about it, but rather than jewels, or secrets, or power, I think what I would most like from a lovely young storm god is…” He paused, glancing meaningfully out the window at the dreary, grey-yellow afternoon. “A walk in the rain with my favorite little cloud.”

He sounded so damn happy about it he infected her with the feeling. It was nice to be needed. Wanted. Even if she’d just lied to his face.

A friendly rain gathered and fell as Taliesin got up to pay the bill. He left the waitress looking pleased with herself – and probably a generous tip. Then he came to meet his rain cloud at the door. An umbrella appeared from some hidden pocket and he grinned, holding out his elbow for her to link arms with him.

“I always come prepared,” he bragged as they stepped out into the shower.

“You say that like you don’t live in Wales.”

“I never said you were the only thing I came prepared for.”

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Given the mother’s name to track, Lucienne did eventually find the record of the little storm god’s dreams, but they were useless to Morpheus. He studied the handful of pages warped by the curse she wore around her neck with mounting frustration. Apart from reports of which nightmares feasted on her pain during her brief, forced rests, they gave him nothing.

Her mother’s dreams proved more illuminating. They, at least, gave him a line of inquiry to follow.

The woman dreamed about her child from the moment it was born, from the minute the father tore her away to trade. The mother wandered endless rooms, following a crying child’s voice while she slept. She dreamed of little coffins and wailing infants she couldn’t find in nurseries dripping with gore.

Arcane shapes and dead languages shadowed her sleeping hours as she learned magic. In the waking world, she became a capable witch. There, as in the Dreaming, every hope and wish bent to finding her baby.

She never gave up her pursuit.

But in the end, it was the daughter who found the mother.

Her favorite dream grew out of a memory. A rainy afternoon, a crack of lightning, and a knock on the door. A painfully thin teenager stood on the steps, dripping in a thunderstorm, looking up with wondering eyes. If Morpheus had any doubts as to the girl’s identity, the scars around her neck put them to rest. She still had blood in her hair, rusty smudges caught in the grooves of old scars, fresh hurts and healed wounds calling to the mother’s instinct to protect and care for.

Although she had plenty of nightmares about losing her daughter again – finding her bed empty, losing her in a crowd – the nature of her somnolescent musings shifted. Softened.

And a familiar face came to call. The Welsh bard, Taliesin, whom the demi-god child kept safe at the cost of her hands, brought little gifts to the old woman and her young daughter. His winks brought warm flushes to the mother’s dreams, and she rested easier at night knowing that her little girl would not be entirely alone in the end.

She had sacrificed ten years of her life to a fairy bargain that won her nothing but a hand-sized portrait of her baby girl during her long search. By the time the child returned, her mother had grown old. They only had twelve years together before the lost child lost her mother.

The woman died. The record ended. But Dream knew where to look next.

Abandoning his throne for the library, he wrestled against a growing sense that he was running out of time. Time for what? Time for whom?

He was still Dream of the Endless. He still had a realm and billions of dreamers to manage. The puzzle of the storm god who brought home his raven lingered like a toothache, but he could not abandon his responsibilities. Determined as he may be to remove the golden collar from both the Dreaming and the dreamer, the curse had lingered for decades without disturbing anything significant.

It had been months since he picked through her dreaming mind to discover more about her – more about the curse. Only now, as the things settled back into a comfortable kind of order, could he indulge his curiosity, his side-quest as Death mockingly called his interests. And he was more than interested. The longer the questions lingered, the more of his attention they consumed.

Perhaps it was the crossroads. The Fates said he’d already pushed the storm god towards a darker fate, but they never said it was too late to change that course, and the three often left the most important truths unsaid.

If only he knew what to look for. Perhaps that was why he spent so much time and energy researching the collar. It gave him a target. Without it, he felt like a dreamer caught in a pitch-black nightmare, groping blindly for anything with which to reclaim the light.

But he did not have to search alone.

“Lucienne.”

His librarian looked up from a stack of new, peering over the rim of her spectacles. “Did the mother’s dreams help you find what you needed, my lord?”

“In part. Though I need another volume.” He handed over the two records, the mother’s dreams and the storm god’s. Lucienne set down her tower of work and went to shelve the two immediately. They slotted beside each other, the mother’s name in curling script, the daughter’s blank.

“You know,” Lucienne said, “I only found the nameless one’s record because the mother’s kept reshelving itself with the daughter’s book. I fixed it twice before I realized. It’s rather sweet.” She sighed. “If vexing. What volume do you require, my lord?”

Morpheus spared the books another glance, wondering how much of the mother’s arcane studies had influenced her history of dreams. But she’d given him all she could, and now he must turn to the living for answers. “The bard Taliesin’s records, and anything else we have on his history.”

“That is more a section than a collection, lord.”

“Yes.” It wasn’t his first time encountering the bard. “I may need to speak with him, but he will be loathe to leave a story once he is introduced. I’d prefer to find answers in the records. Will you help me?”

“Of course. Give me a moment.” Lucienne paused. “Give me several moments, please, my lord.”

On Lucienne’s first trip, she retrieved the official record of Taliesin’s dreams. He’d lived a long life, and he dreamed vibrantly. The tome was several feet thick, and the library echoed when the librarian set it on the table.

“Thank you, Lucienne.”

“I’ll fetch the rest, sir.”

Taliesin’s early works, recorded on parchment and scrolls, sat between books published under a dozen nom de plumes in later centuries. When the librarian returned with a cart stacked high with history books referencing and theorizing over the man and his myth, Morpheus excused her.

“These should suffice, Lucienne. I will let you know if I do not find my answers here.”

“Of course, sir.” She brushed dust from her immaculate coat, checking the sleeves, before folding her hands neatly behind her back. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Already buried in the works of Taliesin’s unconscious mind, he shook his head. “Not at this time.”

She bowed and left. The library would be chaos without her. He could remember when it was. It was no mean feat, organizing a universe of stories. It made her wise in ways he had only just begun to appreciate.

The man whose dreams he searched enjoyed other kinds of wisdom. He’d gained a third of the world’s knowledge by accident, but he’d spent the better part of his life learning the other two thirds by choice. Advisor to kings, story-weaver, and a natural mage, he had the wisdom and craft to recognize some of the magic wrought into the storm god’s collar. He’d tried to take it off when they first met, and he studied for a means to free her after his escape.

Morpheus wanted to know what the bard found.

However, though his dreams in the past few decades often welcomed a shade of the storm god to play out adventures and tragedies as part of a colorful cast, Taliesin’s attention did not linger on the curse. It was little more than a bright shadow that pricked his conscience.

He sat back in the chair, glowering at the books that had failed him.

It seemed every whisper of progress led to more questions in this riddle, and not for the first time, he wished the library could offer more insight to the happenings of the waking world. He should not need to ask for help so often.

At least, unlike the storm god, the bard embraced his dreams. Like all great storytellers, he had explored his fantasies and fears ravenously. When he next slept, Morpheus would pry loose some answers. It shouldn’t be difficult. The bard dearly loved the sound of his own voice.

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Taliesin presided over a court of housecats.

He was aware enough to know the royal courtiers of Edward II did not, originally, have literal claws, but it made perfect sense in the moment. Edward and Gaveston were in the corner, playfully wrestling – maybe – while Isabella stalked closer with murder in her vertical pupils.

“This is not the way,” he huffed, plucking a kitten from the mob joining ranks behind Isabella, a gorgeous tortoise-shell with no interest in his opinion. The kitten sprang spread-eagle back to the floor.

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

His favorite idiot, his little rain cloud, curled under the steps to the dais. She’d found herself, once again, where she did not belong, and if her eyes didn’t reflect the torches set around the room, he never would’ve known she was there. It was the wrong court altogether, but she had a talent for trouble and a gift for surprises.

Dropping to his knees, he reached under the wooden platform to coax her out. She’d become a fetching little half munchkin, half Norwegian forest cat caught in the lanky middle ground between kitten and grown cat. A menace, to be sure, but too cute to ignore.

“Come out and play with your friends,” he said as she wriggled even farther out of reach. “It isn’t good to hide all the time. You need to do some seeking, too, lovee.”

But she was very determined and his arms just weren’t long enough, so he manifested a trail of nibbles to catch her attention. He could be patient. He could be tricksy. Good friends, he firmly believed, should be both, because sometimes people were just too stupid or too stubborn to accept the help they obviously needed.

He sat up to kneel below the empty thrones and clapped his hands on his thighs.

Well. He’d done what he could for now. Across the room, poor Gaveston was learning the price of being a king’s favorite. The yowls and cries almost distracted him to the point he didn’t see the massive black Maine Coon stalk into the throne room. The cat’s eyes glowed, both literally and metaphorically. In his kneeling position, Taliesin actually had to look up to see those eyes, and he gulped, wondering if he was about to be eaten.

“I have questions for you, bard.” The cat spoke with authority in a voice like honeyed night.

Taliesin recognized it, though it hadn’t come from a cat before, and he dismissed all thought of stupid whot, why, what, how demands.

It may be his imagination at work, but it was not his realm.

“Dream King.” He bowed. Then he remembered he was dreaming and squinted at the cacophonous mess of the long-dead king’s feline transformation. “Ah. This makes so much more sense.”

The cats blinked out of existence, or at least out of his dream, and he sat back on his heels. The stone chamber grew quiet. A plaintive meow from beside the stops, however, proved not all the cats had gone. The junior cat approached and let him sweep her into his arms, even purring when he scratched under her chin.

Still aware of the Endless – no longer in cat-form – Taliesin allowed himself a moment to enjoy this imagined pleasure. The little storm god made an adorable ball of fur. “You’d never make this so easy in the waking world, would you?”

She sized his finger with claws and teeth to prove she wasn’t easy in any world.

“There is unwelcome magic in the Dreaming.” The Nightmare King didn’t wait for Taliesin’s focus, confident as any monarch that his words would be heard, that the listener would take note and action. “You have studied it.”

Taliesin nodded, taking his word for it and stroking his friend the kitten as he picked through his long memory for anything of interest to the King of Dreams. “I have studied many shapes of magic, lord.”

“This one is close to you.”

Some darker note in the Dream King’s voice snagged Taliesin’s ear, and he looked away from the cat to study his face. Lips bent in a frown, brows pinched, the king had his starry eyes pinned to the creature in the bard’s arms. Taliesin looked back down to see a phantom of the collar growing around the kitten’s neck. She writhed against it, mewling in pain, staring up at him like he could do anything to help her.

He’d tried, and he’d tried again. He still hadn’t given up entirely.

Couldn’t the poor thing’s shade at least find relief in his dream?

She scratched him in her fit, and he bundled her closer, pinning her fast and safe as he’d failed to do when she was small and alone and willing to suffer in his stead. Even if he couldn’t free her, he’d never abandon her.

The truth of the matter struck him. He felt the cat shudder against his heart when she’d been so calm and accepting a moment ago, and he knew.

“So, you’ve met my favorite idiot.”

“Yes.”

The word betrayed nothing, not how they met, not how he felt. But he wanted to banish the collar once and for all, and Taliesin could get on board with that.

“It’s fairy-make,” he said. “Broken in the waking world, but still manifests in the Dreaming.”

“I know. What I do not know is why. What terms closed the circle around her neck? It appeared to suppress her godly half in life.”

Taliesin tried to cradle the cat even closer without suffocating her. “If you do not mind my asking, lord, how do you know even that much?”

“I saw it,” the king said, casually, like it wasn’t one of the worst things the bard had ever heard, “in her dreams, in her recollection of the past.”

Closing his eyes, the bard took a deep, deep breath in through his nose. He had to hold it for a minute, because it desperately wanted to leave his throat with a string of curses Dream of the Endless would not enjoy. When he was sure he could exhale without heaping abuse on the dolt’s head, he let the breath go. He did it all one more time, and then he said, “I think I understand why she wanted to stay awake.”

Eyes still shut, he murmured to himself, “Why didn’t she tell me? Self-destructive little –”

When he finally looked, the world had changed. Gone was the castle, the throne, and the sweet little cat from his arms. He’d imagined a cheap bedsit in Cardiff, the kind of place the little storm god may stay on the run – and she was definitely on the run, from nightmares if nothing else.

The young woman lay sprawled in a puddle of moonlight, half dead, and fading fast. Her skin clung to her bones, eyes sunken, old wounds open and bleeding from malnutrition and scurvy.

The empty potion bottle sat on the windowsill.

Dream of the Endless studied the scene with clear interest, and Taliesin beat down his protective urges in the name of pragmatism. If she was running from Lord Morpheus, she wouldn’t turn to Taliesin for help when the potion dragged her to the brink of death. It wouldn’t be a life lesson she could grow through. It would be a life ended.

“She came to me a few months ago,” he said, hoping the Endless would care enough about the woman shackled to the curse to consider her in his grand schemes. “She wanted a potion to stave off sleep. I told her it was dangerous, and I thought she’d come to me for help soon, that I could teach her something, but –”

The body on the floor laid so still. How many months had it been? How close was this nightmare to reality?

“I said her dreams would be kinder when she next slept,” the king murmured.

He didn’t have to say he didn’t understand.

Taliesin crossed his arms and cleared his throat. Someone, at least, would learn something this night. “Well, she’s a storm, isn’t she? She isn’t capable of moderation. When she’s happy, she’s ecstatic. When she’s angry she’s electric. When she’s afraid she is very, very afraid. And she’s terrified of you.”

Dream looked over his shoulder at the bard, still looming beside the dying phantom.

“I neither wish nor intend her harm.”

“You don’t have to intend harm to hurt her.”

The Endless fully turned to him, and the bard spoke with all the confidence of being truly heard. Just as the king did upon entering this dream. “You, I presume, dug very deep in a very dark place. That hurt her. Frightened her. If you push her far enough she’ll chew off her own leg to get away, or didn’t you see the part where she nearly decapitated herself to escape the damn collar?”

Silence filled the room. An ugly, cheap place to die. Taliesin wondered how long it would take to find her if she really had gone to ground. He couldn’t trust the King of Dreams to care about anything beyond the Dreaming’s borders, and he wouldn’t trust her health with the one who pushed her to ruin in.

He had spells to find her, but he wasn’t sure he could hold her if she went into a panic.

In the stillness, they could hear her death rattle.

“What will your potion do to her?”

His potion. Yes, he supposed it was his fault. The girl really was like a stray cat, hiding under porches to die quietly rather than let someone help. He should’ve known.

“It keeps her awake. Eventually, she’ll feel too ill to eat. She may hallucinate. Her heart will fall out of rhythm and she’ll waste away until her body doesn’t remember how to function.” He smacked his head back into the wall, wanting punishment, hoping to jog some inspired idea free. “I warned her.”

Of all the Endless, and he’d met quite a few, Dream was the most inscrutable. Cold and detached, but prone to dangerous spikes of interest that spiraled into nearly obsessive passion. His vengeance came swiftly and his affection grew slow. But Dream was, usually, just. He didn’t enjoy undeserved suffering, and Taliesin had to hope that after walking through the little storm god’s dreams, he’d understand she’d earned none of her pain.

It wasn’t too late. He’d lost track of time, but a tableau this desperate wouldn’t come to pass for at least a year.

“If you are of a mind to assist, Dream Lord…” He pushed off the wall, suddenly and entirely desperate to move. “I have an idea.”

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Her fear grew bitter as her strength waned. She could taste it when she struggled to eat, and when she gave up meals, it poisoned the water she drank. Terror tasted like blood from bitten lips and dust on her dry tongue. Her hands shook, and her throat burned from stomach acid, but it wasn’t bad enough to call on Taliesin again. She knew what he’d say.

Whatever happened, she would not fall asleep.

Besides, she wasn’t dying yet. She was only sick. If the Dream Lord pulled through her bloody history again, she wouldn’t survive. If she had a choice, she’d pick a death in the waking world, free of the collar and safe from the Dream Lord who dragged her through horrors so callously.

She wasn’t convinced he believed in her innocence, either. If he knew he’d threatened someone trying to rescue his damn raven, surely he would’ve apologized.

Better to stay awake and ignore the cramps in her belly.

The rain soothed her. Fitful storms plagued the town she’d chosen as a hiding place, and the old folks grumbled to each other at the grocery store about the weather. Maybe they’d gotten used to it in the past few months. She hadn’t been out in a while.

She didn’t sleep, but she still rested. Her eyelids didn’t grow heavy when she sat by the window and watched the drops racing down the pane. She remained awake, aware, and as close to peace as her racing thoughts allowed.

The window became her favorite pastime, and she spent days studying the changing clouds as angry squalls rolled up the coast, how the grey sky trapped the light during gentler showers.

And she grew weaker. Quietly flirting with the line between sick and deathly ill.

She saw impossible things beyond the glass. It took her a few days to realize they were hallucinations, not a fae spell or some petty apocalypse.

When his reflection appeared behind her in the window, she thought she was seeing things again. And then he spoke.

“You are killing yourself.”

She jerked around, stumbling on numb feet to face the monster. The Nightmare King. Her hand wandered her neck, looking for the collar to prove this was a dream, but she found her scarf instead.

“You are in the waking world,” he confirmed. “You hid yourself well.”

He took a step towards her, and she lunged back. The same game in the wrong realm.

“You still think I’m some kind of threat?”

Another step towards her, another step back – she nearly tripped on the leg of a chair, but she refused to look away for an instant, even to save the scraps of her dignity.

“No.”

He moved the way he spoke, aware of every nuance, every shift, slowly drawing closer. Sure and smooth as a stormfront.

What did he want? She abandoned her home, gave up the precious little sleep she could tolerate, and he still pressed her. He didn’t look angry and cold, like he did on the beach. Something sharp glittered in his eyes, though, a keen edge ready to cut her.

They passed through the living room, through the kitchen, and she only had a few more steps before this slow chase met an abrupt end.

“I’m running out of ground to give, Dream Lord.”

“Good.”

A final step, and her heel met the wall. He closed the distance, keeping the same predator’s pace as she pressed herself flat against the peeling wallpaper.

“Do you want me to fight?” Her growing storm raged. Lightning sheered over the sleepy town, turning the evening bright as noon. Thunder rattled the windows, but the Dream Lord didn’t so much as flinch. “Do you want an excuse to hurt me?”

He stood inches away, eating up her personal space until she felt his shadow had already swallowed her.

“No.”

“Then what do you want?” A whisper with the desperation of a scream.

His razor eyes cut deep, and she quaked in place, afraid to move but wishing she could shrink, become so small he wouldn’t notice her.

“To turn you from a darker fate.”

He raised a hand, and she cowered from the expected blow. When none fell, she peeped at him sidelong. His palm hovered between them, like he was holding up a gift.

“Sleep.”

Stooping ever so slightly, he blew over his hand, sending a gust of sand into her face. She bucked against him, flinging one arm up to cover her face, the other to shove at his chest. But it was no good. By the time he curled his fingers back, she could feel her grip on the world slipping away.

“Poor little storm god.”

Her knees buckled, and she slid down the wall, losing herself by inches to the inescapable lure of the Dreaming and its master.

She slept.

Chapter 4 A/N: I've never done prompt requests, but I've never had 500 FOLLOWERS EITHER (holy shit). I'm celebrating, and you're invited. The rules are a little convoluted, I won't be able to do ALL the things, but you'll all get a say in what makes the cut by voting. To join the fun and check out the rules, go here. Even if you don't join in, there will be one-shots aplenty for you to browse.

I'll be working on a chapter each for my other two active fics while I wait for replies, so you may not see another Younger Gods chapter til next week. For those clamoring for more interaction between the reader and Morpheus, it will be well worth the wait.

#morpheus x reader #dream x reader #sandman x reader #morpheus fanfiction #YoungerGods

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sugarkissesu · 8 months

Text

Mafia Boss! Trent x Chubby! Sensitive! Wife! Reader

Final Part. Previous Part.

(SFW. Female Terms)

Marriage with Trent wasn’t perfect and like every normal marriage there were ups and downs. A common bump in the road was Trent staying out late most days out of the week and not coming back home until about three in the morning.

You were nervous to ask him why but, you were also scared of the answer. There’s no way Trent could be cheating on you so what else could he be doing? And when you did muck up the courage to ask he coated the truth in a sea of lies in order to not drag you into all the illegal fuss he was doing.

“I’ve just been held up at work baby, gotta work overtime to help get extra money for the bills. I promise I’ll start coming home earlier, honey. If I don’t you can call my mom to come find me and put a foot up my ass.”

Trent kept his word and started coming home at an earlier time but, not without leaving a trail of mayhem behind him. Rival mobs fell, assassinations happened left and right at the snap of Trent’s fingers. He became a well known criminal in the crime world full of gangsters and villains. Many feared him, others wanted him dead. No one knew he was married however, he was smart enough to keep his private life a secret.

Back at the anniversary dinner Trent just couldn’t help but stare at you longingly as you cut your food into smaller portions with your knife and fork. He didn’t even touch his food you, letting it get cold as the jazz band he hired played a smooth tune in the background. Trent bought out all the seats in the restaurant tonight so it was just the two of you alone together sipping Moscato, eating expensive food, and enjoying each others company.

You looked up from your food to look at your husband. “What? Do I have something on my face? Is it my makeup? I bought this new mascara and I jus-.”

“Hey, hey calm down. You’re alright promise. [Name], your gorgeous I just want to look at my wife. Is that a crime now?” Trent let out a playful laugh at the end.

“It might not be a crime but it should be. Staring isn’t polite, Mr. Boyett.” You responded in a very cheeky tone. Trent reached a hand across the table and grasped yours, his big hands overlapping yours as he pulled it up to his lips to place a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

“If staring at my wife was a crime I’d be put away for life. Your too beautiful not to. I’m telling you, Mrs. Boyett, if I could superglue my eyes open just to watch you all day I would.”

While Trent was generously sweet talking you outside the restaurant sat a black car. In the car sat three men who hated Trent with their very souls and that hate fueled them to follow Trent’s whereabouts leading them back to this very place. Trent killed brothers, fathers, and cousins. He destroyed families in order to maintain power and keep the money flowing. Trent Boyett was an amazing husband but under that ‘guise he was a murderer.

In another car parked at the other side of the restaurant was a white SUV, five FBI undercover agents sat in the vehicle waiting for their orders to go in for the kill. They gathered enough evidence to take Trent down and lock him up for a lengthy amount of time. A phone call was all they needed to storm in.

A final question remained. Who was going to take out Trent first?

#sugarsposts #trent boyett #sfw #mafiaboss! trent #chubby!reader #fem!reader #sensitive!reader

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vannrichmond-archive · 1 year

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GOBBLE, GOBBLE

where → june’s grandparents house when → thankgiving 2022 mentions → @junewatson

He knew he was an abrasive person. He knew he wasn’t easy to deal with, hell easy to be around. But somehow, June had managed to figure it out, even if he thought she was half dumb for doing so. As he got older, he was getting crabbier, and while he wouldn’t admit it out loud, it was true. This wasn’t his idea of a good holiday. Thinking back, the last time, minus the one time she’d invited both their families to his house when he’d been injured, he hadn’t spent a holiday with his family since he was 18. He’d spent the holidays with her family more times in the last decade that he had his and that was saying something.

Vann liked the idea of them doing their own thing. Technically it was their first Thanksgiving and he wanted to do something just them. Have their own thing, make their own traditions, just the two of them, but clearly, that wasn’t going to happen. The look in her eyes as she asked him, more than once was enough to get him to bend to whatever she wanted. He understood why she wanted to do what she wanted to do, but he wasn’t as attached to family as she was. He’d know it from before, but it has slipped his mind. Silently he’d been planning a little thing for just them, but instead they were here, in Texas, rather than well— anywhere else.

He looked over at her periodically the happy content smile on her face was enough to know she’d like this more than she’d like anything he might of planned back in Georgia. “When’s the last time you’ve been out here?” He asked, knowing it’d been a long time, and he didn’t ask for the answer, more so to watch her turn to face to look at him. With June it’d always been the little things, the things she didn’t know she was doing, things she couldn’t control that he’d always liked the most. “Somethin’ like a year.” She said easily before looking back out the window. It was almost like she was inventorying the surroundings, seeing what had changed, what hadn’t. But if it was him, he’d probably be doing the same.

It wasn’t long between the airport and her grand parents house. Silently hating shot little car they had rented, it was muck like dragging you ass on the ground, he didn’t know how people existed like this, drove these everyday. It’d slowly drive him insane, and yet, there they were, scooting their asses down the highway. A little small talk here and there, but nothing important. Facts that June’d told him again she was rehashing, it was just a nice way for her to fill the void. 45 minutes, too much traffic, and a few expletives from Vann, and they were there.

June was half way to opening the door to the car when Vann reached over, putting a hand on her forearm, “hey.” He said, and she stopped, turning her attention to him, “yeah?” She asked, and Vann looked from her to the door of her grand parents house, and then back. Stupid shitty little car was too quiet to give away their presence, so he had a moment. “It’s kind of our first Thanksgiving.” He said, the holiday not lost on him, even if that might of been the impression he gave off. While he might of wanted to spend it, just the two of them, a first of sorts, she wanted to do this, so he did. Shuffling a little box out of his jacket pocket, he handed it over to her, and the girl’s smile brightened. “You didn’t have to get me anything.” She said, brow furrowed as she flipped the box in her hands for a second, “what is it?” She asked, like she couldn’t tell. It was a small velvet box, it had to be some kind of jewelry, “a little something.” Vann replied with a small smile. While a kind thought, also a funny joke but she didn’t yet know that.

June looked at a second too long before Vann let out a huff, “just open it. It Ian’t gonna bite you.” She looked at him for a second, “it might.” But her smile didn’t falter as she slowly opened the lid to reveal a sterling silver turkey on a small chain of similar type. “What.” It wasn’t even a question, she just looked at it, then looked at Vann with an already over his shit, face, and the short few days here hadn’t even started. “It’s a turkey.” He said rather matter of factly, “but why.” She responded, and he looked at her like it was the dumbest question he’d heard in days, “because you eat turkey on thanksgiving?” He shrugged, “you’re welcome.” He smiled at her, well— more a shit eating grin than a smile, but he was amused. “You’re so weird.” She sighed, but pulled it out of the box, and handed the necklace to him as she moved her hair out of the way, the universal sign asking him to put it on. Vann easily obliged and she looked down at the bird only to shake her head. Vann leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before finally looking back out to see her grandparents looking at them from the porch. How long they’d been there, he didn’t know.

As if on cue, he got out of of the car, and swung around to open June’s door. He held out his hand to help her, he wasn’t sure how sore her ribs might have been, but it was always nice to give her a hand. But as soon as she was steady both of his hands were in his pockets, he was weird about being touchy in front of her family, almost like it wasn’t appropriate, despite them being married, like it wasn’t allowed. As they neared the house, he moved closer to her, only to lean down as they walked, whispering in her hear, “gobble gobble.” He moved back laughing to himself, not looking at her, he didn’t need to see, he knew her expression would be priceless.

At the deck, both of her grandparents walked down, both hugging June first, before closing in on him. He gave her grandma an obligatory hug, she wasn’t going to let him escape without one. Her grandpa offered him a hand shake, a better option in Vann’s opinion. It wasn’t long before he was telling Vann about something he needed to see on the game camera. Vann shot June a look, and that was that. They were off.

#-- | self para #who | June

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sburbanrelapse · 1 year

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you asked me once why i wore so much makeup whenever i delivered you from your domestic hell. i think, now, i finally have an answer. it's a defense mechanism. which, sure, that much was obvious, stillborn adolescents like us are open books, but there's a little more there, more than just accumulated hate and fear and disgust brushed away by the shape of the foundation slowly slipping off my face. it's a spiked collar with a plush inset. it's a deterrent on the outside - a deterrent for those macabre thoughts that spill out of us whenever we're alone and know no one's judging us but ourselves, a deterrent for the creeps and the weirdos we're too scared to interact with out of fantasy and the law of cycles inexorably dragging us kicking and screaming into the same moldy hell our parents' shambling corpses scream and urge i at least get sometimes and hope you never do to see what my skin looks like from the other side if it's going to keep acting like it was born the wrong way round- but it's also a comfort. a port in a storm, a familiar lighthouse piercing through the fog, worn warm delights wafting through my loathsome skull like one of those cheap half-broken air fresheners you got me to buy when i told you how much i'd let the mold overtake me. meant to bless, consecrate my form with every brush of that dried blood against my lips, meant to console me the same way you always have as i smear it above my eyes, pass it over my skin, baring myself to be the me you always tell me i am. and sure, it only works half the time, and sure, i still can't figure out how to get it working, but it's an effort, and more importantly it's a reminder. it's a stilt, propping me up when my legs have gone, and on its own it's not enough to move on but with something else maybe it'll help drag me out of this static mud. it builds me up into something i can find palatable externally. beautiful instead of handsome, adorable instead of dashing, feminine instead of not, a shield keeping me from reckoning with the sharp edges and bobbing apple that hang off my malformed skull like a gargoyle on a church. and it tears me down into someone who can let down her guard enough to acknowledge there's a her to let down at all, soften me with a million dollar smile and a billion dollar frown, sweet raspberry scent i've never told you i've burned into my memory of you scattering my worries like fireflies. so i am trying to make myself seem bigger than i seem sitting on that stupid stoop your parents spent more time fussing over than they did you, in the end. displaying my feathers like a peacock and hoping nobody but you's knowledgeable enough to match the spectacle with the invariably male form underneath. i am everyone i've told you i hate. i cake myself in muck every day and distance myself from the imperfect woman underneath. i show up at your house unannounced in a dress looking like midnight and expecting you to not feel insufficient in a hoodie and slacks. i'm changing the goalposts so much i might as well be cutting them apart and sailing them down the river. but i think secretly i just sort of want to become like you in the end. because when i behold your face in the doorway to the home that's frozen you into stasis, ask someone broken time and time again by their familial prison if they "wanna get out of here" like it's as simple as up and walking away, i see you, o lady of broken dreams, and bare of any of the crutches i wield you look more beautiful than any poet could ever dream, twinkling eyes and full lips and clear, rosy cheeks free of the muck i'd spent thirty minutes painstakingly etching into myself on a bathroom mirror and more transient than ever you'll believe yourself to be. an enchantress just the way you are. an aphrodite in repose.

#raving in the candlelight while the neighbors at the rave next to me have significantly more fun #having very heterosexual thoughts this fine november eve #come to think of it why isn't november like a staple month for gay culture #it's literally two of the same number holding each other in their arms for an entire thirty day span #just nonstop wall-to-wall spooning and/or fornicating in our datelines for the whole month #really makes you think #and by ‟think‟ i mean fantasize about the touch of a woman #kicking it in the asylum

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sinner-as-saint · 3 years

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The Unseen.

Hades!Bucky x Reader AU

Run-through: Your father is forcing a profitable marriage proposal upon you. Unwilling to endure such a thing, you run away from home and deep into some unknown woods. Naturally, your father sends his people to find you and bring you home, but this causes you to run deeper into the woods to a point where it feels like you’re not even in the same world anymore. Though fatigued; mentally, emotionally and physically, you manage to find shelter. You stumble upon a mysterious, handsome stranger. The God of the Underworld is baffled upon seeing you because it has been millennia since a mortal entered his dark, forlorn kingdom. And it’s been even longer since he felt something for someone…

Themes: hades!bucky, fluff, angst, smut,

You staggered through the woods.

Holding on to whatever you could find to help you keep your balance, and not fall flat on your face. You had been on the run for days now; running from your tyrant father and his people, running from a marriage proposal which was being forced upon you, running from the only place you called home. You wondered, was it really home?

You were currently deep into the woods. Famished, dehydrated, sleep deprived, your body covered in small cuts, bruises, insect bites and scratches. Your clothes were soiled. You could barely hold yourself up, but you had to get as far away as possible.

This part of the woods was so dense that the sunlight barely got through. There was more fog around you than sunlight. Actually, you could no longer tell what time it was. Perhaps it was not daytime.

Your throat burned, your tears had dried, your stomach rumbled in hunger; you were miserable. Your heart hurt at the thought of your mother; you had to leave her behind as well. You missed her, terribly.

You walked on, and a while later you felt the ground beneath your feet get more soft and damp. Your senses were alert. There must be a water body close by, you thought. You rushed forward, and let out a raspy sigh of relief when you saw the cool, slow-moving river which snaked around the large trees. You could just tell by the sight of it that it’s water must be ice cold. The thick fog condensed and danced above it. It looked mystical. Too good to be true.

You rushed to the river, kneeling by the side of it and picking up handfuls of water and drinking to satiate your thirst. You cleaned yourself as best you could - getting rid of all the dirt and muck from your face, and limbs and clothes.

You felt at ease for the first time in the past days. You got up and sat back down at the river bank for a while, feeling light and almost comfortable even though you were all alone inside a dense and cold, and dark forest. You chuckled at how much safer you felt here compared to back at your father’s house.

A minute later, you tensed up when you heard distant animal sounds. You panicked and took off running; deeper into the woods. You found yourself running alongside the river. You didn’t have a plan, you didn’t know where you were headed, but you knew you had to keep going. You couldn’t have your father finding you again and dragging you back home to marry whoever he chose for you just so he could profit off of it and expand his businesses; you refused to be a pawn in his games

You ran, stumbled, fell and stood up again. For hours. And just when you felt like you were about to pass out from fatigue again, you noticed a gate in front of you. It looked rusty and old, with dead vine all over it, surrounded in fog. You couldn’t see past it but something told you that once you’d get past it, everything would be alright.

So you did. You pushed open the gate and stepped into what seemed to be a poorly kept, dying garden. Though disorganized, and unkept; it felt almost familiar. It felt like coming home. You looked further and saw what seemed like an abandoned, dark manor, almost as grand as a castle. The whole thing looked like an old, forgotten private property.

“Help…” you called out with the little energy you had left. You doubted anyone lived here, but you called out anyways, just in case. “Help!” you called out again, falling to your knees on the rough ground.

And right before passing out, you heard something getting closer and closer. It sounded like it was galloping… several of them. Horses? In here?

Your eyes rolled back as you could no longer hold yourself up. You saw something approach you. Your blurry vision picked up on a tall, dark figure approaching. Whatever that was, it caught you right before your body fell to the ground.

It was a man. Even in your insensible state, you could feel the dominant, strong, virile aura surrounding him.

His low voice was the last thing you heard before you gave in to the darkness, “...I’ve got you, my love. You’re home now...”

---

The god stood at the entry of the spacious bedroom, in the middle of which was a large bed, upon which you laid; comfortable, but still unconscious.

Hands stuffed in his pockets as he leaned against the doorframe, he contemplated. Everything. He doesn’t remember the last time he had something so beautiful, and alive, inside the walls of his dark and dangerous kingdom.

He wondered where you come from. Who were you running from? Why did you cry for help? How did you find the Underworld? The moment he saw you first entering his kingdom, he thought that you might be a lost, wandering soul. But then when his hands touched you, he felt your warmth and realized that you were very much alive.

If you had made it through the entire woods to get here then you must be stronger and more courageous than you look, he thought.

He stepped closer so he could hear your soft breaths. So full of life… he thought. Whatever it was that you were running from, he made a decision to protect you from it. He felt the urge to wrap his arms around you and shelter you, keep you safe forever. Why so? He didn’t know. He had never been so attached to mortals before. He barely even met any of them.

But you… you walked right into his kingdom, and now you were making him feel things he had never felt before.

The god had always been alone. He never quite had company, and he stayed as far away as possible from his dysfunctional family. So having you here was new, but also something he didn’t know he needed so badly.

“Who are you, pretty human?” he whispered as he lovingly caressed your cheek while you slept. He had healed all your cuts and bruises the moment he picked you up in his arms, and placed you in his chariot. Now he was just waiting for you to wake up so he could talk to you.

He couldn’t wait to meet you.

---

You woke up to loud, warm puffs of air fanning your face. You peeled your eyes open, expecting a headache but there wasn’t one, what you did find though was a fairly large, mean and dangerous looking three-headed dog with shiny black fur standing beside you, on the bed, looking down at you with tongues hanging out of each of its mouths and wagging its tail so hard that its body moved side to side along with it in excitement.

Your eyes widened even in the slightly hazy headspace, you almost took off running again but your body refused to get up from the comfy bed and then you saw the playful look in all three pairs of eyes and you immediately calmed down.

“Hello there...” You whispered as you squinted and reached out to pet it. You gave it soft scratches behind the ears and under the chins and it immediately tackled you with wet kisses. You squealed and chuckled as you sat up, trying to escape the adorable monster.

Maybe you had died? You thought to yourself as you kept petting the dog once it calmed down. Perhaps you were in some sort of after life, hallucinating about a three-headed while wearing a very vintage-y black gown with long, puffy sleeves; and sat in the middle of the softest bed ever inside what seemed to be a chamber fit for a Queen.

“Am I dead?” You asked the three-headed animal. It didn’t answer, obviously so you tried to dig your memory to find something which would explain how you ended up where you are right now. All three heads laid on your lap, as you lazily pet them while thinking; you remembered running… deep, deep into the forest… you remember being tired, so tired you felt like you were about to pass out… wait you did pass out! In the garden. The dark garden, with the horses and the tall man.

You gasped as you heard a voice, not far from you, answering your previously asked question. “No you’re not. Surprisingly.”

Upon hearing the voice, the dog got up from the bed and immediately ran to the man who had just spoken. You got up from the bed too confused and nervous, standing and watching him cautiously as you took in the man’s appearance. Your heart raced the more he stared into your eyes with his deep, stormy ocean blue ones.

He could easily be classified as one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. Tall, dark and dangerous; dark hair, dark suit, dark shoes, dark rings on his fingers. He looked like dominance and power personified. A rugged, intimidating alpha male with sophisticated charm. Icy eyes with a fiery look in them.

He looked like a god.

When you finally got over the beautiful man, you realized what he had just said. “What do you mean, surprisingly?” you were aware that this was the same man who had answered to your cry for help earlier so you were trying your best to be polite.

The sound of your voice made his cold, frozen heart race. “You’re not dead. Just in the realm of it.” He spoke, confusing you even more. “You’re in the Underworld. My Kingdom.”

You frowned, thinking hard on what he had just said. Wait a minute… you looked down and saw the three-headed dog sitting obediently at his feet, very much well-behaved. You looked back up at the handsome stranger and stuttered while getting your words out. “You can’t… you can’t be real.” This wasn’t a dream?

He flashed you a lovely smile. “Really? Why not?”

You looked around, panicking again. This can’t be real. This can’t be real. This can’t be real. “Because you’re a myth. You… you don’t exist. You’re not supposed to.”

He almost chuckled. “And yet, here I am. Forgotten by most mortals, yes. But still very much real.” He took small steps forward as he spoke. You found his voice to be calming, soothing.

“Hades?” you couldn’t believe it. You had heard stories about him at school, read about him in books but never in a million years would you have even for a moment considered that he could be real.

“The one and only.” He answered, looking down at his feet to find his beloved dog looking up at him. “You’ve met Cerberus already.”

Hades. God of the Underworld. That sitting at his feet was the Guardian, the ultimate Hellhound. How can this be real life? Anyone else would’ve freaked out upon finding all this out, but you remained surprisingly calm. “You look… I mean, aren’t you supposed to be… you know-,”

He finished your sentence with an amused look on his face. “Bearded? Crowned? Carrying a pitchfork? Riding in a chariot?”

You nodded.

“Well, you mortals aren’t the only ones who evolve every now and then. Us gods, although more or less forgotten, have to keep up as well, don’t we?”

You smiled faintly but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

You were still a little anxious, and you fidgeted with your fingers. He noticed and walked up to you. Without a word said, he reached out and gently held both your hands in his large ones. He spoke up again, “I know you’re a little nervous. I expect you to be, given the circumstances but I assure you, you’re safe here.” He said, softly.

You looked deep into his icy, sharp eyes which despite their intensity managed to provide you with a sense of comfort; effortlessly. Who would’ve known that the God of the Underworld could be so gentle?

“Thank you for helping me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper but he heard it alright given he was so close to you. He squeezed your hands a little, as if to say ‘You’re welcome.’ Your hands fit in his perfectly, you noticed. He stood just a feet away from you and you could feel the power radiating off of him.

He smiled gently. “If I may ask, how did you end up so deep into the woods that you stumbled upon my Kingdom? What are you running from?” He wanted to figure this out since the moment he saw you.

“My father.”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Why is that?”

“He wanted to marry me off to a business associate's son so he can profit off the alliance and expand his own businesses. I refused, repeatedly. But then I found out that he was planning to forcefully fly me out somewhere, to marry the same guy. So I took off. I ran from home, and didn't tell anyone where I was going.” You exhaled shakily. “And now I’m here.”

He nodded, slowly and calmly as he hid his utter disgust at the mention of you almost becoming someone else’s wife.

He noticed how you started tearing up while speaking of your cruel father, so he simply pulled you closer and tucked your head under his chin while running a soothing hand down your back. His arms wrapped around you in a safe embrace. You felt the cool material of his suit against your flushed face as he held you close. He smelt amazing. You wrapped your own arms around him, feeling his taut body beneath the material of his suit.

You hadn’t been hugged in a long time, so you started tearing up even more, until you began letting out little sobs. He tightened his grip around you, pressing you against his muscular torso. “Shh, my angel. It’s alright. I’m here now. You’re safe.”

You held back a sob, your voice cracking as you spoke, “But if… if he finds me, he will…”

The god pulled away a little, his hand reaching up to gently cup your face and tilt it back so he could look into your teary eyes. “He won’t find you here. I will keep you safe, don’t worry.” He wiped the fresh tears which escaped your eyes.

You were once again lost in his eyes, just now noticing the flares of grey in them. You were both caught in the moment, when you heard a low whine. It was the adorable monster who had managed to get in between your bodies. You looked down and cracked a little smile.

“Of course, Cerberus will keep you safe too.”

---

You and the god had quite a long conversation leading up to dinner. A conversation often interrupted by a certain three-headed dog’s constant need for attention from either one of you.

You learnt a lot about the one whose Kingdom you were in. You found out that he’s been here forever. Despite being dark, cold and barren you could tell he loved his realm more than anything.

You had to ask him about Persephone and he had you surprised when he told you that unfortunately their relationship didn’t last long and that she left him for good shortly after they got married.

You also found out that those closest to him call him ‘Bucky.’ And that his one true friend has always been the hell-hound and guardian of the Underworld, who also was currently asleep at your feet.

“Doesn’t it get lonely?” you asked, watching him from across the grand dinner table.

He took a sip of his wine, never breaking eye contact with you. “Not anymore.” he answered and you melted.

Over dinner, you spoke some more. Then he noticed you got all quiet. Damn it, he cursed. This was the moment he had been dreading all day.

“You miss your home.” He wasn’t asking, simply stating. He noticed how you pushed your food around on your plate. You weren’t as curious to know about his kingdom anymore, you weren’t chatty; just quiet all of a sudden. He missed the sound of your voice.

Home… “Not home, no. Just my mother. Sometimes I feel like she’s the only parent who’s ever truly loved me.”

He could feel the pain in your voice. But some of the rules of the Underworld were such that even he couldn’t bend them. “You know I cannot let you leave.”

You had that bit figured out the moment you found out who he was. “I know.”

He was surprised by how calm you were. “You… don’t ardently wish to go back home?”

You looked up from your plate and at his handsome face. “Going home would mean that I’d have to face my father. Now that I’ve been gone for so long, upon seeing me he’d either obliterate me or drag me down the aisle and marry me off against my will. I prefer none of those things. As for my mom, I do miss her but she’ll survive. She’s a strong woman.”

The god listened, leaning back in his seat; very much at ease in your company. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you want?”

You cracked a little smile. Or perhaps it was a smirk. You mimicked his body language, leaning back in your seat as well. You twirled the wine around in your glass. “For now, I want to be away from my family. I feel safe here. I don’t want to leave.”

He found himself wanting that as well.

---

You woke up the next morning to a sight which made you chuckle. No, it wasn’t an overly excited Cerberus. It was breakfast, along with a generous serving of pomegranates.

You ate it all up. Then set out to find the god after you got dressed and ready for the day. Somehow, everything one could need could be found in the large closets found in the room you slept in. You had only been here for a little while but you settled in just right.

You walked along a shadowy corridor. Bucky had given you a tour yesterday, hence you knew that this path led to the throne room. And that’s where he was; manspreading on his throne, wine glass in one of his hands while the other lazily stroked his beloved three-headed guardian; who sat by the feet of his master and wagged his tail as soon as you came in sight.

“Your Majesty.” You spoke, walking further into the room and stopping at the stairs which led to his throne.

He smiled as he watched you standing there, dressed in a dark grey dress. Similar to the one you wore yesterday, just a different color. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” You looked down at the dress, smoothing the soft fabric down as you spoke. “Also thank you for breakfast.”

He caught the smirk you had on your face. He knew the reason behind it. “I assure you I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

You took the liberty of walking up the stairs which led to his throne. “I didn’t say anything.” You whispered with a smirk and reached down to greet Cerberus. “So what do you do all day?”

He took a sip of his wine, watching you as you knelt to the ground beside him and gave the dog endless pets. “I’m a god.” He sounded cocky. “That’s plenty of work already.”

When you looked up at him and smirked, he could’ve sworn he felt tingles dance down his spine. There you were, a beautiful woman happily sharing space with him inside his dark kingdom like it was no big deal, with no intention of leaving anytime soon because you said it yourself that being here made you feel safe.

The more he looked at you, the more he saw the light radiating off you. The light he so desperately needed. The light which balanced out the darkness he carried with him. The light which showed him glimpses of possible futures with you, if you’d be willing. The god was content in your company. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt the need to protect something so fiercely.

“Come with me.” He stood up and set his glass aside, holding his hand out for you to take.

You took it and he helped you up. “Where are we going?” you asked, as he led you down the stairs and into the corridor again.

“There’s so much for you to see. My kingdom isn’t just full of darkness and death. There’s beauty here too, of course, none quite like your own but close.” He spoke as he led you somewhere, holding your hand carefully in his as though it were made of glass and would shatter if he let it go.

You rolled your eyes at his comment, pretending as if it didn’t make you all flustered. “Is it now?”

The god led you all the way to the place he was most fond of in his entire kingdom, other than his beloved throne. It was a vast garden, fit to be the backyard of a castle. There were more kinds of plants and flowers than you could count. Cobblestone walkways leading to what seemed to be a pond in the middle, surrounded by stones and moss.

The dark red roses caught your attention rather quickly. You reached out to touch the soft petals and you felt Bucky’s presence behind you. He was so close that you could feel his warm breaths against your skin.

“It’s so pretty.” You whispered.

He reached around you and plucked one of them, handing it to you. “Just like you.” He mumbled and you gave him a genuine smile as you accepted the gorgeous flower. Dark red, like blood and sin.

Amongst the numerous plants, trees and shrubs you managed to spot the one growing pomegranates. You cracked a little smile. Even though the garden was partly shadowy and foggy; the rays of sun which came through were golden and gentle. As you looked around, you spotted a yellowish weeping willow tree and walked towards it, the god followed you.

“You’re the first one to ever step in here, you know that?” he said while thinking about all the times he spent hours in here wondering if one day fate would ever allow him to find someone he could share the joy of being here with.

You reached out to touch the dangling leaves and looked back at him. “Well thank you for the privilege, Your Majesty.” You teased.

You walked a few steps forwards, standing under the willow tree and admiring his secret garden when you felt his arm snaking around your waist as he placed his chin on your shoulder.

Neither of you said anything. He was more than happy to have you here, he had been lonely for way too long. You said to yourself, ‘this isn’t so bad.’

He had told you about the rules of the Underworld before, you knew you couldn’t leave. You didn’t want to either. Sure, you missed your mom a lot. But going back out there would mean having to live in constant fear of what if your dad finds you. And what would he do if he does?

Being here meant that you’d be safe and wouldn’t have to worry about anyone catching you. You didn’t fear anything here. It was quiet and the handsome god was great company. You felt all warm and tingly as he held you close, yet it felt comfortable and natural - like you were meant to be here with him, as if you had known him all your life.

As of now, neither of you knew where this mutual attraction would go, or what it would end up being. But at the moment, just having the other one there was enough. He gave you the safety you had been searching for all your life and you provided him the warmth and light he had craved for millennia.

---

Days in the Underworld were surprisingly peaceful; filled with surprises, visits to the garden, learning more about the god and finding out why he stayed as far away from his family as possible, wandering his kingdom all day, reading… time just flew by. And before you knew it, you had lived in the Underworld for months.

Your bond with Bucky morphed into something more affectionate and sweet. Lingering touches and longing stares turned into deep, passionate kisses and always having to sleep in the same bed because otherwise nothing made sense. It wasn’t just love, it was tender adoration. It was warm, and light and safe.

You hadn’t been intimate yet, but the sparks flew around whenever your hands touched at night, or when your eyes met from across the table at dinner. You were both holding back from taking it a step further. It wasn’t like he wasn’t dying to have you in his bed, or that whenever he kissed you good morning you didn’t feel the need to get on top of him and ride him until the sun came up the next day - but you were both waiting for a sign from the other and it was driving both of you insane.

It got really, really heated one time. Bucky was on his throne, with you in his lap. His hands slipped under your dress and lazily caressed your thighs while he kissed the hell out of you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, while you gasped and moaned through the kiss.

But just then Cerberus barged in, barking and jumping around with nothing but chaos on his mind. Bucky let out a loud sigh while you hid your face into his neck and giggled. It was those moments which made you love the place all the more. Not just the place, but the god as well.

Winter came and when the weather was the coldest, and you spent all your time indoors is when the memories of your mother started tormenting you. She used to spend all her time baking in the winter, so you asked Bucky if you could too. He, of course, let you have anything you wanted whenever you wanted so naturally he let you.

You tried so hard to keep yourself busy and happy but you couldn’t help but miss your mom. Bucky noticed it. And it broke him. He gave you everything one could ever need. You had everything here, and yet he could see how your eyes weren’t so shiny and curious or filled with magic and light anymore. You were dimmer than when you first came here.

He began seeing you wandering around his home a lot less as you spent all your time either in bed or standing on one of the balconies, staring out at the woods longingly. No amount of books, or poetry or visits to the garden or your favorite food or kisses from Cerberus made you happy any longer. And Bucky’s worst fear was materializing in front of his eyes.

You were no longer happy in the Underworld it seemed.

One night, he found you curled up in bed earlier than usual. He stood at the door and watched you. You weren’t crying, you were just sad. He walked into the room and called out, “Angel, are you okay?”

You sat up immediately, not wanting him to see you like this but at the same time you couldn’t fake being happy either. So you gave him a faint smile. “Yes, just a headache. I’ll be fine by morning.”

He smiled faintly. His heart breaking at the sight of the sadness in your eyes. “Come with me, I have something to show you.”

You got out of the bed and took his hand. He led you to one of the libraries he had; the coziest one with the huge fireplace and the perfect window which allowed you to see the breathtaking view of the gentle snowfall.

You stepped further into the room and saw that he had the fire going already and the room was much warmer than anywhere else in his castle. You walked right over to the large window, pressing your palm against it as you watched the light snowfall; clean, dazzling white and calming. Your headache faded little by little.

You felt a soft, warm blanket being placed upon your shoulders and you immediately wrapped it around you. Turning your head to the side you found Bucky right behind you. He kissed the top of your head and wrapped his arms around you.

“Feeling better?” He asked and you nodded.

“Much better.”

You stood there, basking in the comfortable silence and the warmth of the room, just watching the snowfall and how it accumulated on the ground; a fresh, thick blanket of ice.

“You miss her.” Again, it wasn’t a question from him, just a statement.

“Who?” You pretended not to understand.

He kissed your cheek and whispered, “Your mother. Your home. You want to go back, don’t you?” He sounded almost heartbroken and bitter.

You remained quiet. You didn’t say anything. No… ?

He spoke up again. “Even if I let you go, you will never be willing to come back here. To me.” He pulled away from the hug and walked over to the fireplace, shifting the burning wood with a brass fire poker. “Why would you?” He sounded pensive. “Why would you come back to this dark, barren kingdom when you can be perfectly happy out there? You must feel like you’re being held captive here.”

He didn’t turn around to face you so he couldn’t see the silent tear which fell down your cheek. So he thought that if given the chance you would run away from here and never come back to him again? Did the past months mean nothing? Did he not see that he was all you wanted?

Your throat burned.

“Is that what you think of me?” The crack in your voice caught his attention. He turned around to face you with a worried look on his face. He couldn’t believe he made you cry. You weren’t sobbing, but you couldn’t contain the tears. “You really think I’m gonna be happy out there, without you?”

That broke him.

“Angel… I didn’t mean to…,” it was rare for the god to find himself at a loss of words but now he did.

You wiped your tears away. “Did you even notice that I haven’t cried in months? Not since I met you because you make me the happiest I’ve ever been. This dark, barren kingdom you speak of feels more like home to me than when I lived with my family.”

He walked up to you and pulled you into his arms. “Baby… I’m sorry.”

You hugged him back. “I don’t feel like I’m being held captive. I don’t want to leave you. But I can’t help but miss my mom. I don’t want you to think I’m not happy with you anymore, I am. But I… It’s… I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry.” He said, pulling away to look down into your eyes. “I need you here, with me. The thought of you leaving me forever and never seeing you again, it… it kills me.”

You held him by the back of his neck and pulled him closer. ��I’m not leaving.” You gave him a sweet kiss. “I love you.” You kissed him again and sensed his surprise as he kissed you back feverishly. You whined when his mouth left yours only to kiss down your neck, nibbling on your skin and leaving dark red marks behind.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” He mumbled as he kissed along your throat, walking the two of you back until he plopped down on the soft, velvety couch with you on his lap. You looked at him with nothing but hunger in your eyes. He looked at you and smirked; burning desire, lust and sin in his icy blue eyes.

“Likewise.” you whispered.

His hands grabbed you at your butt, firmly as he pressed you further into him. You could feel him; big and hard under you. You moved your hips against him, grinding on him out of desperation and whining in need.

He chuckled against your lips. “You’ve had me by my heart ever since you walked into my life.” He spoke as he cupped your face gently. “I never knew I could feel so deeply for someone until I met you.”

You stared into his eyes, your heart overflowing with all that you felt for him and your body burning with desire at the same time. So much so that you could no longer sit still on his lap. You needed him so bad it almost hurt.

You leaned into his touch. “I feel the same way.” You leaned closer, gently caressing the back of his neck. “Falling for you was so easy.” You felt his body tense under you.

He groaned. “Come here…” he pulled your face closer and pressed his lips to yours immediately, kissing you passionately and making your body tingle; biting your lip before shoving his tongue past your lips and kissing you like he’s famished and you’re the only thing which can satiate his profound hunger.

Next thing you knew, he pushed you down onto the couch and hovered above you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. You moaned and whimpered, body squirming under his. You needed him, terribly.

Bucky’s mouth left your lips as he kissed his way down your body, undressing you in the process. Your long, flowy dress found itself on the floor as he settled himself in between your legs. His handsome face just inches away from your dripping core.

He looked hungry, and feral – a man who wanted to do bad things to you, and you were more than happy to let him do whatever he wanted. “You’re mine.” He growled before he leaned in and kissed your wet folds, his tongue slowly circling around your throbbing clit and licking down, parting your wet folds with ease.

Your body felt hotter and lighter as a pressing need to release formed deep inside you as you felt his tongue stroked your most sensitive parts. “So fucking sweet…” he looked up at you and found you with your eyes shut, head thrown back in pleasure. “Look at me.” He ordered and the authority in his voice made you tremble.

You opened your eyes and supported your upper body up with your elbows digging into the couch and you took in the sight of him in between your legs. His strong arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place and close to him. He maintained eye contact as he licked in between your wet folds again, making you whine as he teased you. His touch was deliberately slow, pleasurably agonizing.

“Please…” you cried out, whimpering and begging him to take you already.

Your hand flew to his hair and you tugged on it gently as he flicked his tongue over your clit over and over again. His stormy blue eyes watched how you lost control under his touch; legs shaking as he teased your entrance with the tip of his tongue. His hands wrapped around your thighs, securing you in his grip as he pushed his face further into you, making you cry out loud until you came undone.

He kissed his way up your body again, then lifted off you for just a moment to get rid of his clothes. Once done, he was hovering over your naked body again.

“If it were up to me, I’d keep you here…” he leaned in to kiss you on the lips, “just like this, forever.” He loved the sight of you; naked, hot and squirming under him. He desperately wanted to keep you there forever and never let you go.

You giggled. “Fiend.”

He smiled as he looked down at you. “Where have you been all this time?” He leaned in to kiss you again as his hands touched you wherever he could; letting his hands linger at your breasts and taking his sweet time; caressing and kissing your skin.

His hands slipped in between your legs with ease; caressing your inner thighs as he went. You moaned into the kiss; his touch was slow, and gentle and enticing but also fiery - much like himself.

You whimpered and squirmed under him, and he smirked through the kiss as he pushed his erected cock past your tight entrance, pulling your legs up to wrap them around his waist. You moaned out loud as he pushed into you, your back arching off the surface of the couch. He grunted once he filled you up entirely, giving you a couple of seconds to adjust.

He grabbed both your hands, laced your fingers together with his and pinned your interlaced hands down above your head. He stared into your eyes, lips parted as he struggled to fit inside you. He had always wondered how he would feel inside you. How warm and how tight and snug you’d feel… but you felt better than he imagined.

You threw your head back, moaning. You were so full of him that even you couldn’t even form a proper thought. His lips found yours again, trying to get you to stay quiet while he rolled his hips against yours. He pulled out and pushed himself back into you, and watched in awe how you struggled to fit him inside of you.

“Come on, take all of me…” He mumbled breathlessly as he pushed deeper into you. You heard him gasp and swear under his breath as he rocked into you. Your nails sank into his skin, around his shoulders; which you held on to as he pounded into you.

He bit your lips, kissed your open mouth, and shoved his tongue past your lips while he rammed into you; and you never once complained. He stretched you out completely. And it did hurt, but the pleasure compensated for the pain. Your legs trembled around his waist, he thrust deeper into you; fucking you like only a god could.

Your back arched off the couch as you felt a familiar warmth washing over you. Bucky growled and bit down on your shoulder to keep himself from being too loud while he fucked you. He was relentless. The sound of his moans and grunts sent tingles dancing down your spine and you were sure that his bite left a mark.

Bucky’s hand found its way to your front and he pressed the palm of his hand against your lower abdomen. He liked the rush of excitement which coursed through him each time he felt his cock deep within you. His hand travelled all the way to your neck and he gently squeezed the side of your throat. Hard enough to make you lose your mind while he kept pounding into you incessantly.

“Fuck…” you heard a barely audible moan leave his lips as he rammed his cock in and out of you incessantly.

You felt him quicken his pace. You tightened around him, and he groaned, pounding into you; growling and mumbling swear words under his breath. You felt the pressure in between your hips grow until you couldn’t hold back anymore.

His other hand toyed with your folds; his fingers furiously rubbed the skin around your clit and made you tremble and whimper again. You moaned, craving more and more of him. With a few more strokes of his thick cock, you felt his thrust becoming irregular, and felt his cock throb against your walls. You tightened around him, feeling the burning hot need to cum grow hotter and hotter inside you until it exploded.

You came with a loud moan, gushing all around him. Bucky came right after you; buried deep within you – growling under his breath. His warm cum shot at your walls and trickled out of you when he carefully removed his length from your entrance. You were a whimpering mess. And so was he.

He collapsed next to you. You were shaking just a little as he tucked your head under his chin and ran his soothing hand down your back; while kissing the side of your head.

“I love you too, angel.”

---

Bucky agreed on letting you go for a few days, so you could meet your mom. But he had one condition:

“My mom will freak out!” you exclaimed.

Bucky shook his head. “Mortals can’t see him as the guardian of the Underworld. Your mother will see him as just a regular dog.”

“Then how can I?”

“You’re special.” He walked over to you and pulled you into his arms, kissing your forehead. “You were meant to be here. To be mine.”

“Are you sure about this?” You bent down to give the excited three-headed little monster scratches.

“Absolutely.” He was sending Cerberus along with you for your safety.

You smiled at the dog and looked up at it’s master. “Alright then. When do I leave? And how?”

The god smiled. “Right now. I’ll take you.”

You smirked. “You know we can’t show up in a chariot being drawn by horses, right?”

He chuckled. “Trust me, angel. Come on, take my hand.”

You did. And the next thing you knew, all three of you were surrounded by black fog, and less than a few seconds later, you found yourself standing at the entrance of a beautiful, gated home you didn’t recognize. You looked beside you and there stood your beloved god and his trustee guardian. You realized it was night time.

“Where are we?” you looked around, not recognizing the neighborhood.

Bucky grabbed your hand in his and Cerberus’ leash in another. “Your mom’s place.” He led you to the front door and rang the bell. You were confused, but too excited to see your mom to ask any further questions.

Needless to say, your reunion with your mother was filled with tears and teary smiles and hugs. She then told you that her and your dad were no longer together and that this was her home now. She didn’t know where your dad was, and neither did she want to.

“Oh honey, who is this handsome young man?” Your mother asked, once she realized that Bucky was there too.

You went along with the story you and him had concocted before leaving the Underworld. You told your mother that Bucky was your long term boyfriend and that you ran away to him because you were in love with him and couldn’t agree to marry someone else.

“I’m gonna be away on a business trip for a couple of weeks, so I thought why not leave Y/N with you until I return. After all, she’s been wanting to see you.” Bucky spoke to your mom politely and won her over within a few minutes. The god was indeed very charming.

After leaving Cerberus in your care, Bucky parted from you at the doorstep with a long, deep kiss. “I’ll be back for you, angel. Miss me.”

You smiled, kissing him back. “I will wait. I love you.”

“I love you more. Take care.” he kissed your forehead, and left.

Leaving you behind to your mother whom you had missed, but who also had a thousand questions for you. You answered all of them, lied at most.

---

The first week went by almost too quickly. Mother-daughter quality time, gossip and all. Cerberus was a sweetheart and each morning when you woke up and saw him in the kitchen keeping your mom company, you’d freak out for a moment or two. Then you’d eventually remember that she couldn’t see him for what he truly is and you’d calm down.

By week two, the jittery feeling of being back with your mom had died down. Not that you didn’t enjoy spending time with her, but the fear of your father finding you caught you off-guard often.

It was someday during the third week of you being back with your mom that your fears hit you hard. You had a terrible nightmare where your dad was back and was trying to take you away again. It was spine-chilling to a point where even Cerberus picked up on it.

You woke up to him whining and licking your face. You sighed in relief upon seeing his heads looking down at you in worry and confusion.

“I’m okay,” you gave him some pets and he immediately curled up on the bed beside you. You snuggled beside him, caressing his fur which looked shiny thanks to the moonlight coming in through the window. “You miss your daddy, don’t you?” You saw his multiple ears perk up at that. You giggled. “I miss him too.” You give his paw a kiss.

“Well good thing daddy’s here.” You heard his voice coming from the dark shadow of your room. Cerberus jumped out of bed and was surprisingly quiet as he greeted his master with much excitement. “Hello,” Bucky greeted him, “how about you go home now? I know you’ve missed it.” One last scratch behind the ears and a snap of Bucky’s fingers later, Cerberus disappeared into black fog.

You sat up in the middle of your queen-sized bed and leaned over to light the soft, golden lamp shade by the side of your bed. You blinked in confusion. “Bucky?” You were pleasantly surprised. The soft golden light made him look almost angelic despite his signature, all black outfit.

He gave you his signature cocky smirk. “Were you expecting someone else at this odd hour, angel?”

You rushed out of bed and right into his arms. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close and he kissed your hair. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too baby. You have no idea.” He pulled away and cupped your face so he could get a good look at you. He leaned down to kiss your lips, deeply. You felt warm all of a sudden.

You smiled through the kiss before pulling away, asking in a hushed tone, “How come you’re here at this time?”

“I sensed that something was wrong. You were having a nightmare, weren’t you?”

You nodded. “But I’m okay now.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

You rubbed your nose against his. “Doesn’t matter, you’re here now.”

He grabbed your face and kissed you again; down your neck and along your shoulder. His stubble tickled your skin and you giggled as quietly as you could. You felt his hands caress your skin under your shirt, inching closer and closer to your breasts while he walked you back and eventually pushed you down onto your bed.

Your body tingled and burned under his warm touch, and there was nothing you wanted more than to have him buried deep in you. Ever since that first night together, you craved him almost all the time. After all, he made love to you like a god.

“Do you know how hard it was, being away from you for so long?” He whispered, sounding gentle, but also demanding and hot.

Suddenly you felt all confident and sassy. “Why don’t you show me then?”

He smirked and grabbed your oversized t-shirt and tossed it over your head and somewhere behind him. The sight of your bare body underneath him made him growl. “Is this how you slept every night? Almost naked?” He whispered in your ear as his hands roamed your body, mainly toying with your breasts. “Did you touch yourself, while thinking of me? Hmm?”

You gasped and moaned just at the sound of his voice, he was barely touching you.

He pressed his mouth to yours again, impatient to just have you already. His mouth didn’t leave yours as his hand slipped in between your legs with ease; caressing your inner thighs as he went. His touch caused a shiver to run down your spine as you moaned through the kiss.

“Shh,” he mumbled against your lips. “Can’t have your mom find out that her daughter is being a dirty, dirty little girl for me now, can we?” He ran his fingers up and down your folds, gathering and smearing your arousal around as he went.

He messed with you for a little bit; stroking your walls with his fingers and making you whine. You whimpered quietly under him as he nuzzled your neck and nibbled on the skin along your throat. “Please…” you pleaded. He chuckled.

“Please what, baby?” he teased you with his fingers, keeping you on the edge.

You whined under your breath. “I need you… please…”

His lips found yours again as the two of you hurried to unbuckle his pants and he pulled it down enough to free his erected cock. He couldn’t wait any longer. “I need you too baby,” he kissed you deeply, “but I’m gonna need you to be quiet for me, okay?”

He pulled away and waited for an answer. You nodded, breathless already.

“Good girl.” He pressed his forehead against yours while he pushed his erected cock past your tight entrance. You moaned under your breath as he did. You whimpered as you felt all of him. His lips found yours again, attempting to get you to stay quiet while he rolled his hips against yours.

“Shh, angel.” He whispered in your ear before pounding into you like his life depended on it. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, something which had become a habit of his, as he groaned under his breath at how your body welcomed him perfectly.

You failed to form proper thoughts as he rammed into you. The sounds he made were downright sinful and you loved it so much; knowing that you had the power to make him lose his mind.

“You’re all mine, you hear me?” He mumbled. “Tell me you’re mine,” he whispered right at the shell of your ear, and you moaned quietly at how he sped up into you.

You did as he asked. You told him again and again that you were his. And no one else’s. You couldn’t imagine loving anyone else.

Bucky held you like you were the most fragile thing ever even while he fucked you like there was no tomorrow. You were a tear-stained, whimpering mess as you came around his thick cock. He came right after you, grunting and groaning under his breath.

“I love you. So much.” He whispered, kissing the side of your face to calm you down.

You smiled, breathless still. “I love you too.”

He stayed with you, in your bed long after you two were done going at it for a second time that night. You snuggled into his side, your hand lazily across his torso. “Are you gonna stay for a little longer? Have breakfast with mom and I?”

He caressed your cheek with his thumb, “Won’t your mother ask how I got here?”

“I’ll tell her that you got here quite early while she was still sleeping.”

He raised his eyebrows at you rather dramatically. “Look at you lying without any shame.”

You giggled and got on top of him, straddling his waist and placed both your palms against his toned chest. “Oh the things I do for love,” You leaned down and kissed his lips with your own swollen ones.

He smiled. “Does your mom like me? As your… boyfriend?” He asked, sounding a little worried and it made you laugh because he was… him - a god, a king, ruler of the Underworld and here he was worrying about if your mom approved of him or not.

You pulled away to look into his eyes. “Yes. She likes you quite a lot actually. Who wouldn’t? You’re perfect.”

He smiled, his heart exploding at your words, as his hands caressed your exposed thighs. “I like her too. We’ll visit her every now and then, don’t worry.” he spoke and then looked around at your bedroom. “I like it here.”

You kissed him again, pouring all your love out into the kiss. You pulled away again, “Also I was thinking maybe we could go back tomorrow.”

He knew perfectly what you meant but he was dying to hear you say it. “Where to, angel?” He reached out and grabbed your hand, bringing it to his lips and kissed your knuckles.

You smiled down at him, your heart exploding with just how much love you had for him.

You answered, “Home.”

#hades!bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #marvel au

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

Text

You Know What They Say About Weddings // R.W. (celebration fic)

Request: Omg congratulations!!!! Could you do a Ron x Reader with the "theres only one bed" trope and fluff prompts 11 and 1? Thank you so much and congrats again!! - @mischi3f-manag3d

Fluff 1: “I think I’m in love with you.”

Fluff 11: “Apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.”

A/N: Just me that's ridiculously attracted to the photo below? Anyway! Here is your request, I hope you like!!

Pairing: Ron Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: I don’t think there are any - just a load of fluff really.

Word count: 1.6k

The band hired by Molly Weasley upon the recommendation of an old friend played in the corner of the marquee. The Weasley family and their friends all crowded there; happy to watch the eldest Weasley child, Bill, marry the love of his life, Fleur.

It had been a wonderful ceremony; very few left the service with dry eyes.

You found it hard to keep your emotions in check through it all; wanting so desperately to turn to the youngest Weasley son beside you and ask if he felt the same way as you – if he loved you just as much as you have loved him since Fifth Year.

You think back to this morning; when you had arrived at the Burrow in time to watch the marquee be raised. Your eyes had landed on Ron, and they hadn’t left him. Your eyes ran over his body; drinking in the sight of him in a suit – sleeves rolled up due to the already warm day. Not wanting to be caught, you turned away and rid your mind of the thoughts running through it at warp speed.

With a laugh at the memory, you drag Ron onto the dancefloor. Awkwardness radiates from him, but he dutifully places his hand on your waist and takes your hand in his as your other hand places itself on his shoulder. You laugh together as you try to follow the beat of the song; the dance lessons given by McGonagall doing nothing for either of your left feet. You step on his toes repeatedly, but he doesn’t complain once; he just changes tact – instead of trying to attempt the waltz, he simply changes the hold of his arms and decides to have fun instead.

Spinning around the dancefloor; you can’t help but let yourself imagine. You can’t help but let yourself think of the future you so desperately desired with the very redhead holding you so gently in his arms.

You know what they say about weddings.

-----

Fred leans down to Harry’s ear, pointing towards Ron and you on the dancefloor, “When do you think they’ll pull their finger out?”

Harry laughs, “Worried about the bet, Fred?”

Fred snorts, “Hardly.”

Harry watches his best friend twirl you around on the dancefloor before pulling you back in as you laugh. Harry swivels to face Fred, “You know what they say about weddings.”

--------

You throw off your heels; groaning at the feel of your blood rushing back to your feet. At this height, Ron can easily throw an arm over your shoulder, “Better?”

You nod, “Much.”

Following Ron upstairs, you stifle yawn after yawn. The reception had been one of the best nights of your life; dancing, drinking, laughing – it was a truly happy night. You had danced with Ron for a lot of night; dragging him to the dancefloor for one dance but then staying with him for three more. He eventually left to get drinks whilst you danced with Hermione, Ginny, and Luna – a wide smile across your face.

You hadn’t missed the looks exchanged by the girls when Ron came back to steal your attention. You also hadn’t missed the conversation between Ron’s family and your friends as they watched you continue to the dance with the red-haired man.

You shake your head as you remember that moment; you were aware of the bet they had going. Hermione unable to keep a secret from you had blabbed it to you less than a month after it was made. She felt awful for keeping it from you, but you assured her you didn’t mind too much – curious as to who had what date.

“You don’t mind sharing my room with me?” Ron checks.

You shake your head, smiling at him sleepily, “I don’t mind.”

Ron relaxes somewhat, but he still remains tense, “There’s only one bed.”

You roll your eyes, “How many nights did I sneak into the hospital to stay with you after you hurt your leg?”

Ron blushes, “You’re right. I’ll let you get changed first… just knock when you’re done.”

In that moment, he looks so helpless that you lift yourself onto your tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek. The last thing you see before closing his bedroom door is Ron pressing a hand to his cheek with a wide smile.

You knock lightly on the door when you’re done changing. Ron enters the room with a light blush dusting his cheeks; his eyes running over body quickly. He turns to his dresser, pulling out his pyjamas.

“I’ll wait outside for you to finish changing.”

Ron shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it; just turn around.”

“If you’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” He laughs.

You turn to face the singular window; the moon is high in the sky and the sky is so clear that you can see the stars. Looking into the garden, you see Bill and Fleur still dancing – alone, no longer surrounded by family and friends. They have no idea they have an audience; they just remain in each other’s arms, finally happy to have a private moment between them. You shift your gaze when Bill dips his heads to kiss his wife.

You think to yourself; there’s just something about weddings.

Ron coughs; bringing you out of your reverie. Turning around, you find him dressed in some old sweatpants and an old shirt. Your heart softens at the sight of him; his hands flex at his side – his nervous tick

His bed is just big enough for two; you lie side by side on your back, hands laid out by your sides. It would take less than a millimetre of space; less than a second of time to reach out and take his hand in yours, to tangle your fingers together.

But you don’t. You lie next to him; mind racing just as fast as your heart – any sense of tiredness hanging over you chased away the moment you laid down next to the boy you’ve loved since Fifth Year.

“Did you have fun today?” Ron asks in the dark; filling the silence.

“I did. It was nice to see everyone before we go back to school. Harry and Ginny looked particularly close.”

Ron frowns, “My sister and my best friend.”

You giggle, turning onto your side, “Don’t act like you don’t approve.”

Ron sighs with a smile, “You’ve caught me out,” He furrows his brows, “Did you see them all whispering when we were dancing?”

Nodding, you bite your lip, “Apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.”

Ron snorts, reaching for your hand in the dark, “I know. Harry told me about it tonight.”

You sit up in bed; not letting go of his hand, “How long has it been going on? Hermione told me about it but she never said when it started.”

“Since last year. Harry only brought it up because if we get together by Saturday, he wins the bet.”

You laugh, “I can’t believe them.”

“Absolute gits,” Ron laughs.

You play with your fingers, dropping his hand to do so, “What do you think of the bet?”

Ron sits up, “Why?”

“It doesn’t annoy you?” You question; risking a peek at his face in the limited light of the moon.

“Not particularly. It’s a harmless bet.”

You nod your head; trying not to think too much of it.

“Why? What do you think of the bet?”

You sigh heavily; wondering how best to phrase what you’ve wanted to say to him all day, deciding that the truth is the best way to go. “I think I’m in love with you,” You state; bluntly, honestly.

Ron’s mouth drops open and you start talking without giving him a chance to say anything, “You don’t need to feel the same; really, you don’t,” You grab a pillow, “I’ll go sleep on the couch, I’ll see you in the morning.”

You make to leave but Ron’s hand grips your wrist, “Sit back down. At least give me a chance to reply.”

You sit back down on the bed slowly; your hand still grips the pillow in case you need to sleep downstairs. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Ron asks.

Shrugging your shoulders, you say, “I’m not sure. I wanted to, I really did but then you were with Lavender and I didn’t feel like talking to you a lot and then, and then, and then, I guess I didn’t want to ruin the friendship.”

“I wondered why you pulled away through Lavender; I barely saw you.”

You sigh; crushing the pillow to your chest, “It hurt too much to look at you.”

Ron shuffles on the bed, “If I had known-”

“You’d have what?” You interrupt, “You’d have broken up with her?”

Ron shakes his head, “I’d have never dated her.”

“What?”

“I’d have never dated her,” He repeats, “I’d have asked you out.”

“Oh,” You state.

“Yeah,” Ron mumbles, looking down.

“We’ve mucked this up haven’t we?”

“Nah, we haven’t,” Ron laughs, “We just delayed their bet.”

You giggle, “The bet. Who do we want to win?”

“Who’s the closest to tonight?”

You think for a moment; remembering the piece of paper that Hermione explained was the bet. “I think you were right earlier,” You say, “Harry is the closest by Saturday.”

“What do you think? Shall we let Harry win?”

You smile softly, leaning closer to Ron, “I think I’m okay with Harry winning.”

“Thank Merlin,” Ron whispers before pulling you in for a kiss.

His hand caresses your cheek, and he smiles into the kiss. You soon begin to laugh at the absurdity of it all; having to pull away from the redhead and assure him that it isn’t him you’re laughing at. Your jealousy over Lavender never spurred you to confess your feelings, neither did the Department of Mysteries, but a bet and a wedding has you falling into Ron’s arms.

Well, you know what they say about weddings.

***********

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let-the-dream-begin · 3 years

Text

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 34: Forever

Chapter 33

Read on AO3

IMPORTANT PLEASE READ: This fic is on a very long hiatus until further notice. Please see the AO3 link for more details. Much love❤️

It was June third, the day after their eleven month anniversary. Claire couldn’t believe it; it was truly almost an entire year since that fateful Saturday at the stables. A year since their hearts and bodies had spoken what their voices dared not say.

He took her down port again, to a restaurant even more extravagant than the one they’d gone to the last time they were there. It was a glorious Saturday night, and Claire was blissfully happy.

Though something seemed off with Jamie.

His hand had done that tapping that he did when he was anxious the entire drive over, and it was his left, always his left, so she could not reach out and take it to soothe him.

“Why, you’re as nervous as you were on our first date,” she’d teased.

“Aye, well.” He’d forced a chuckle, winking at her. “It’s no’ every day ye celebrate nearly a year wi’ the woman ye love.”

She’d laughed, too, not really considering what an odd thing that was to say.

She also hadn’t considered how strange it was to go so all-out when it wasn’t actually a full year yet. She could truly only imagine how extravagant those plans would be.

And anyway…what was there to be nervous about? There wasn’t a single thing they hadn’t shared, a single thing they didn’t know about each other now. Holding his hand as they left the parking meter, strolling down the sidewalk to their reservation, his palm was as sweaty as it had been the night they’d first slept together.

Had he never eaten at this restaurant? Was he worried she wouldn’t like it?

Watching his hand jiggle at his side at a constant loop at the table, Claire put her menu down.

“Jamie. You’re shaking the whole table.”

“Christ, I’m sorry.” He stiffened, reigning himself in. “I didn’t even notice I was doing it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said gently. “I’m serious. What’s going on with you? You’re never so out of it when we go out.”

“Nothing’s going on,” he said, and she almost believed him. “I’m alright.”

“You’re about to cause an earthquake with that nervous tick of yours and you expect me to believe you’re alright?”

His lips quirked up in a sheepish grin, and for just a second she caught a glimpse of Jamie again, not the anxious mess she was at dinner with.

“Is something happening with your family? And you don’t want to ruin the evening by bringing it up now? Because I don’t give a damn about the evening. We can leave right now—”

“No.”

Claire jumped a little, wincing at how tightly he squeezed her hand.

“Sorry,” he stammered. “I’m mucking this all up.”

“Mucking what up?”

He sighed. “Nothing is wrong wi’ my family. Nothing at all is wrong. Everything is…perfect. My life hasna been this right since I was a bairn.”

Claire allowed a tiny smile, her eyes glimmering. “Okay,” she said softly, urging him to continue.

“That’s what has me feeling this way, I suppose. You are perfect. Our life is perfect. I suppose this big anniversary is just…I dinna ken. I think I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Jamie…” Claire shook her head. “There is no other shoe. I’m not going anywhere. Faith is not going anywhere. You’re stuck with us, darling.”

He sighed in relief, and Claire could not comprehend that he would ever think otherwise to the point where he would feel such relief.

“Even when I’m shaking tables and sweating through shirts?”

She giggled. “Yes. Even then.”

He kissed her hand. “Good.”

The rest of the dinner went off without a hitch, though there was still something underlying buzzing through Jamie. She couldn’t wait to get him alone and reassure him the only way she knew how. If he kept this up, she might not be able to wait until they got home. She’d have to find a long, empty dock and drag him to the edge and kiss him senseless anywhere he wanted. She couldn’t stand to see him like this, and she wouldn’t rest until she could see that he was absolutely sure that she was his and his alone.

Forever.

They went to their usual ice cream place, and as they swapped cups and tasted each other’s, Jamie seemed to relax a little bit more, laughing, savoring the flavor like a little boy. That was one of the things she loved most about him. He took nothing for granted, not even the difference between his moose tracks ice cream and Claire’s mint chocolate chip, not even the pigeons and seagulls that watched them out of the corner of their eye the closer they got to the beach.

“I’ll unleash all my unholy power if they so much as peck this ice cream,” Claire said, eyeing a particularly nasty looking little bastard.

“Dinna fash, my lass,” Jamie said gallantly, raising his spoon like Excalibur. “No harm shall befall ye, or yer precious frozen treat. No’ so long as I’m wi’ ye.”

“My hero.” She batted her lashes at him, then craned her neck and puckered her lips, and he obliged her, kissing her soundly.

The farther along the beach they wandered, the less and less people they encountered, and Claire began scouting locations where they could tuck themselves away for even a few moments of privacy. She certainly couldn’t fully have him here, but a few sloppy kisses and heavy touches would do the trick. Her eyes flicked to a dock with a boat on the end, no people to be found on it. She gave him a mischievous look and began tugging him toward it.

“I ken that look well enough,” Jamie said, matching her mischief. “And I’ll no’ be giving in to ye.”

She stuck out her lip in her most convincing pout. “Why ever not?”

“I dinna trust ye no’ to get us arrested for public indecency. No’ with that gleam in yer eye.”

“I’ll be good! I promise.” She stopped tugging so she could press herself flush against him, arching her back just enough that her breasts were the first thing that came in contact with him. “Come on, love…I promise I’ll behave.”

She fully expected him to grab her hips, press his hardness into her with a growl, and accept defeat.

But instead, he just grinned. Not even a smirk, a full-faced grin.

“If ye can catch me, ye can have yer way wi’ me.”

“What—?”

And then before she could blink, Jamie was running, sprinting away from her, kicking up sand in his wake.

“You bastard!”

She hiked up her skirts and chased after him as fast as her bare feet could carry her in the sand. She lost track of how long she spent going after him, but he was not relenting, not letting her catch up. They were both laughing their heads off, whooping, Claire calling after him until her voice was hoarse. He finally stopped, appearing to not be exhausted in the slightest, and she slowed herself to a jog, chest heaving and burning.

“You absolute maniac,” she panted. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She was laughing as she said it, and he laughed with her, reaching out his hand and taking it when she caught up. He kissed her hand.

“My legs feel like jell-o. You’d better be planning on carrying me back.”

“Aye, of course,” he said automatically. “But I want to show ye something first.”

She cocked a brow skeptically.

“Come on.”

He tugged on her hand, and out of sheer exhaustion, she allowed him to lead the way. They were walking right to a dock, and before Claire could exasperatedly complain that she’d been trying to do the same thing before he started that marathon, she realized.

There were candles lining every step of the boardwalk, a string of lights wrapped around each wooden post along the way. Across the top was a zigzag of more lights, held in place by thin metal poles attached to the wooden posts. She hadn’t seen it, even as she was running right toward it. She’d had her eyes locked on Jamie’s bright red hair all the while, desperate to catch up to him.

“What…what is all this…?” She was still out of breath, and on top of it her breath was gone for an entirely different reason.

He didn’t say anything, just kept his hand laced with hers and continued walking her down to the end of the pier.

“This is beautiful…is this always here…? I don’t understand…”

A familiar humming noise took her out of her dumbstruck admiration of the twinkling beauty, and she whipped her head around. “Jamie…what…?” Squinting, Claire could make out two figures at the opposite end of the pier, and a bouncing little thing in front of them.

Before she could process what was happening, she felt him take her other hand. She turned her head to question him, but was stunned into silence by the look on his face.

He was radiant.

The string of lights painted glowing streaks in his hair and twinkled in his eyes. And God, his eyes…they were bigger than she’d ever seen; she may very well have drowned in them if he didn’t start speaking.

“Claire, I…” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. The hand that was grasping hers was trembling.

“Jamie…?”

“You are…the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met,” he continued, holding her gaze and squeezing her hand tighter. “The first time I saw ye I was…blown away by how big yer heart was. The way ye looked at Faith, the way she smiled at ye…I knew. I knew ye were special. And I didna realize at the time, but ye’d already crawled into this hole in my heart that was made for you. Both of you.”

Claire’s eyes welled up with tears, and it very suddenly hit her exactly what was happening.

“I know the pain ye’ve seen, mo ghraidh, I know the fear and doubt that plagues ye. But I…” He cleared his throat again, and then lowered himself to the ground, on one knee.

A single tear escaped Claire’s eye, trickling down as her breath hitched in her throat.

“I will never, never stop trying to be worthy of ye, Claire. I swear to ye on my life that I will be a good husband, and…a good father. You deserve to be loved beyond measure. And I…I do, mo sorcha. I love you wi’ every ounce of my being.”

Claire was fully sobbing now, and his thumb rubbed over her knuckles as his other hand reached into his pocket.

“So will you, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, make me the luckiest man in the world?” He opened the box, revealing the beautiful sparkling ring within. “Will ye marry me, Sassenach?”

Claire could not speak. She nodded vigorously, more ridiculous sobs sputtering from her. Jamie’s strained, concentrated face erupted into the most glorious smile she had ever seen. He leapt to his feet and Claire threw her arms around his neck, and he encircled her waist, lifting her off the ground and spinning her. He exclaimed loudly in Gaelic, laughing joyously, and Claire sputtered her own laughter in between sobs.

He finally put her down, and Claire seized his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his, and he kissed her back passionately. When they pulled apart, Jamie was holding the ring, a small but beautiful rock set within it, and she allowed him to slip it on.

“Oh, love…” she croaked out, and he brought her hand to his lips and fervently kissed the ring.

Something suddenly collided with Claire’s legs, and she cried out a bit in shock. Jamie laughed again as Claire turned around and looked down to see Faith clinging to her legs. Looking up, she could now see that the figures in the distance were Gail and Joe.

“You…” She turned back to Jamie. “You had this all planned, didn’t you?”

Jamie just beamed at her, his eyes glistening with tears. Claire let out a joyous laugh and sank to her knees in front of Faith.

“Hello, lovie….” She wrapped her arms around her and squeezed tight, rocking her gently. “Oh, look at you…” Claire pulled back so she could see Faith, dressed in a beautiful little dress, blue and purple and frilly, white stockings and her perfect little white shoes. When she’d left her with Leina, she was still in her pajamas from the night before, and the plan had seemingly been to leave it that way.

“Look at us, hm?” Claire said, sniffling as she stroked Faith’s hair. “All dressed up? Mummy is going to be married, darling.” Claire’s voice broke, and she laughed through more tears. “See, Faith?” She held up her hand, and Faith immediately began fiddling with the rock. “This means I’m going to be a bride, baby.”

God…I can’t believe it.

A hand suddenly touched her shoulder, and she looked behind her to see that Jamie had crouched down beside her.

“I’ve, ehm, got something for her, too,” he said, his nervousness returning.

Claire’s heart felt fit to burst as her eyes landed on the pink velvet box in his hand.

“With yer permission, Claire…” Jamie took a deep, stuttering breath. “I’d like to ask yer daughter to let me be her father.”

Claire’s chin quivered again, her eyes immediately welling up. She nodded, swallowing thickly, and then fervently kissed Jamie’s cheek before standing up to allow him to proceed.

——

Jamie took a steadying breath before straightening himself out, getting up on his knee the way he’d just done before Claire.

“Hello, wean,” he said. She was fiddling with her skirt and twirling it back and forth, staring intently at its sparkles.

“Faith, a leannan, can ye look at my eyes?” He gently poked her chin with his finger, and she looked up, only to become enraptured by the string of lights above her head.

“D’ye like the lights, Faith?” Jamie flicked her chin with his middle finger, signing light. She giggled and snatched his hand in both of hers. “Ah, ye got me,” he teased, bringing her hands to his lips and kissing them. “I like the lights too, ye ken. Reminds me of our special day in our fairy den. D’ye remember?” She hummed a bit, freeing one of her hands from his grip to flap it, saying fairy

“Aye, that’s right. Very good, Faith.” He took her hand again in hopes of keeping her attention. “I had lots of fun that day, Faith. In fact, I have lots of fun whenever I’m with ye. Because ye’re a very special lass. D’ye ken that?”

She started fiddling with the wee hairs on his hands, giggling to herself.

“I asked yer Mummy a very important question, Faith. I asked her if she wanted to be my wife. And I gave her a special present to celebrate, a very pretty ring. D’ye like the ring?” She nodded absently, still twirling the little hairs. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. Because I’ve got a special present fer you, too.”

That got her attention. She whipped her head up and looked at him, humming and then opening her mouth with an excited groan. Jamie chuckled softly and held the box up to her. She stroked the velvet box with her hands before pressing her cheek into it, likely enjoying its softness.

“Lovely box, is it no’?” he teased, and then gently lifted her chin to pick her head up off the box. “Let’s look inside, aye?”

Before Faith could snatch the box again or get upset, he popped it open.

“See what I’ve got for ye? Look.” He let Faith take it in her hands. “It’s a crown, see? And look what it says. F-A-I-T-H.” He signed each letter to her as he said it. “Faith. That’s yer name, aye?” She hummed, biting her lip with her smile. “Princess Faith, it says.

“D’ye ken that I love ye, Faith?” His voice got tight, his eyes welling up. “I think I fell in love wi’ you just as quickly as I did yer mam.” He tucked a curl behind her ear. He kept his hand there, cupping her cheek, as he signed I love you with his free hand. “See, a leannan? I love you.”

Faith gave a high pitched, squealing giggle, bouncing as she returned the sign. Jamie uttered a breathy laugh, a single tear trickling down his cheek. He heard a tiny sob from above him, and wasn’t surprised to feel Claire’s hand grasp his shoulder.

“Good girl, Faith,” Jamie whispered, rubbing a circle on her cheek with his thumb. “It makes me verra happy that ye love me, too.” He signed happy, smiling widely. “Are ye happy, Faith?” She hummed, jiggling her hands and nodding. “Good, good lass.” He sniffled, blinking away more tears, reaching to his own shoulder to cover Claire’s hand in his.

“I promise to always love ye, and protect ye, and do right by ye, just as I will yer mam.” He gave Claire’s hand a squeeze. “Will ye be my wee princess, Faith?” He poked a finger at the necklace, his fingertip cooling at the touch of the metal. “Will ye let me be yer Da?” He spread his fingers, poking his thumb to his forehead.

Faith hummed and jiggled a bit, but Jamie held the sign patiently. After a few seconds, she giggled, and then copied him exactly, thumb on forehead. Fingers splayed.

Da.

Jamie laughed out loud, fit to burst with joy. He released Claire’s hand to wrap his arms around his wee girl, and Joe and Gail broke into applause. He felt Claire fall to her knees beside him, and his heart cracked open to hear her openly weeping. He folded her into his embrace as well, and she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, fisting his jacket in one hand, caressing Faith’s curls in the other.

“Oh, Jamie…” she blubbered against his skin. “I love you…”

“I love you, too, mo chridhe. Wi’ my whole heart.”

When the three of them finally released each other from their embrace, Jamie freed the necklace from the box and fastened it around Faith’s neck. She rubbed it between her fingers, pulled it up and rubbed it on her cheek, and jiggled it in her hands.

“It’s beautiful, Jamie,” Claire breathed against his neck.

“D’ye think she likes it?”

“She does.”

“D’ye think she…understands?”

They looked at Faith for a moment, grinning from ear to ear as she fiddled with her necklace.

“I think she does.” Claire pressed a kiss into the crook of his neck. “If nothing else, she knows that you love her, Jamie.” Claire met his eye and held up the sign, trembling lips curling into a smile. He repeated the sign, touching their fingers together as he’d often seen mother and daughter do, and their foreheads rested together. “And she loves you, too. She doesn’t say what she doesn’t mean.”

A tear slipped from Jamie’s eye and trickled down Claire’s nose, and they kissed one another sweetly, I love you’s still pressed together.

Gail and Joe suddenly got closer, calling Faith over to them. Jamie broke into a wide grin, watching from the corner of his eye; the last part of the plan was nearly complete.

“Go on, baby,” Gail said. “Go put them on, just like we practiced.”

Faith scampered back to them, bounding and skipping and squealing with glee. Jamie exchanged a look with Claire, who seemed utterly bewildered, and who somehow looked completely and utterly beautiful, even red and swollen from tears of joy.

Jamie ducked his head and allowed Faith to clumsily place the hat atop his head, and then watched as she plopped the one with the bow on Claire. Faith squealed again and jumped up and down, clapping her hands in triumph and then flapping relentlessly.

“What on Earth…?” Claire turned to look at Jamie, and then burst into laughter.

Faith had put Mickey Mouse ears on them both — well, Minnie Mouse for Claire if you accounted for the red bow.

“D’ye no’ find me rather dashing?” he teased, and Claire laughed all the harder. “Here. Look.”

Jamie removed the hat, and Claire did the same, then Jamie held them side by side. Claire exhaled with a breathy laugh, leaning her cheek into Jamie’s shoulder as she read the words that Jamie had had embroidered onto the backs, his and hers respectively:

I asked

I said yes!

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yourdeepestfathoms · 3 years

Text

pegasus grounded (part one)

[horse racing au]

———————————

...and they’re off!

“Lawrence will you stop cringing and HELP ME?”

Barbara’s partner peeked into the barn, his face pale and expression disgusted, then immediately yanked himself back out.

“Oh, that is so gross! I didn’t sign up for this!”

“You didn’t sign up for ANYTHING! I am letting you LIVE in MY HOUSE for FREE! So get your ass OVER HERE and HELP ME!”

Standing against the far wall of the barn, Adam, Barbara’s husband, and Lydia, their young farmhand, stood by, watching the exchange go down. Lydia was holding any tools that might have been needed. The barn cat, Hemlock, came strolling by, took one glance at the scene, then bounded out.

“Are they…?” Lydia’s words trailed off as she scratched the top of her head. “Does this…?”

“Oh, yeah,” Barbara said, looking over at her. “This is our process!” And then, shrilly, “LAWRENCE!!!”

“You have your ARM in a horse’s VAGINA!! You never said anything about THAT when I came to live with you!”

“I’ll stick my arm up YOUR VAGINA if you don’t get over here!”

“I don’t have a vagina!!”

“I DON’T CARE!!” Barbara then quieted her voice and stroked the fur of Latte, the foaling horse she was assisting, “Shh, Shh, Shh. It’s okay, sweetie. You’re okay… LAWRENCE I SWEAR TO GOD!!”

“Okay! Okay! I’m coming!”

Beetlejuice dragged himself over to the fallen horse and did his best to not look at the hooves sticking out of the mare’s vagina.

After some time went by, Barbara was pulling on the foal’s front legs, sticky and wet with birthing fluid and covered in the placenta. She was doing her best to be gentle, yet firm enough to pull out the baby, but the mare continued to let out louder whinnies. Adam gripped tightly to his shirt as he watched. They had already lost three dams that season. They couldn’t take losing another.

Despite its name, The Netherworld was one of the most successful horse ranches in all of America. In terms of the equine community, Barbara and Adam Maitland were basically famous. They had bred several winning foals from the finest mares and the strongest stallions. People came from miles just to bid on one of their colts or fillies. All the horses on their farm were like family, and losing them was like a shot straight to the heart.

“Come on, girl. I can’t do it alone. Push.” Barbara said encouragingly, pulling out more of the baby.

“Come on, Latte, push. You can do it.” Beetlejuice said to the mother. The horse’s wild, tired eyes looked up at him.

And then, as if she was actually listening, she began to push harder. The foal’s head slipped out a second later, followed by the rest of the upper body.

“Hey! She’s doing it!” Beetlejuice exclaimed. “Oh, that is disgusting. But she’s doing it!”

“Almost there,” Barbara murmured as she got a hold of the foal’s middle.

After a few minutes, the foal was finally out. A spew of birthing fluids and placenta followed, and Beetlejuice was darting out of the barn, causing Barbara to laugh as she peeled off the soaked glove she had on her arm.

“Good work, Beej!” She called.

“Urrg…” Beetlejuice groaned from outside.

“You okay, love?”

“Fine,” Beetlejuice replied, then grumbled, “Like you care…”

Barbara laughed again and then looked back down at the baby. The new foal looked just like its mother. Under all that goo was a beautiful, chestnut-colored mustang, with a sweet little patch of white on its nose. She just about swooned when she saw those large, gleaming brown eyes look up at her.

“It’s a filly,” Barbara called to Adam, who was taking deep breaths of relief.

“Oh, she’s perfect,” Adam said, walking over slowly. “I was so worried for a moment there. You know, after Misty and Prancer and Baylock…”

“Hey,” Barbara cupped his cheeks, making him look at her. “That isn’t going to happen. We aren’t going to lose anymore.”

Adam nodded.

The filly began to gather her surroundings, looking around to see where she was while her mother licked and nuzzled her from above. After a moment, she slowly began to stand on her long legs, wobbling and tumbling down a few times, making Lydia laugh a bit before she finally started to get the hang of it. She clumsily tottered her way over to her mother and instantly began to nurse.

“Can’t believe you made birth your profession,” Beetlejuice said as he entered again.

“What do you think doctors do?” Adam looked at him.

“I--” Beetlejuice shut his mouth. “Shut up.”

Adam laughed. Barbara shook her head, then looked over at Lydia.

“What did you parents say about tonight?”

“They said yes,” Lydia said.

“Awesome!” Adam looked excited. “FINALLY, we can show you proper horse racing! Barbara, go get changed! Hurry!”

None of them blamed him for his energy. Horses were everything to them, and there was no better way to pass the time than watching horse races. This would be Lydia’s first time watching one firsthand since she was employed by them.

Lime Rock Raceway was a huge, towering stadium, filled with sharply-dressed patrons, colorful slot machines, and expensive fine wine. Barbara, her two partners, and Lydia got to watch the races from the highest point, where the whole track was stretched out before them, eager for their attention. They discussed their bets on the contenders in the next race as they waited.

“That one.”

Beetlejuice scoffed.

Barbara did not. She continued to stare down at the horses filing onto the muddy racetrack. The one that had caught her eye was at the back of the pack, head held low, ears flicking all over as if it heard something nobody else did. She checked the number.

“Beside The Dying Fire,” Adam said, having already looked. “Jockey’s name is Jeopardy.”

“What a curious name,” Barbara mused. “Must be a nickname.”

“I sure hope so,” Beetlejuice snorted. “Or else his parents must hate him.”

“Why are they always men?” Lydia grumbled. She wasn’t having nearly as much fun as Adam had been hoping for, but Barbara didn’t blame her. Watching a horse race wasn’t for everyone.

She looked up at Barbara, asking again, “Can women not race or something?”

Barbara chuckled. “Of course they can. A lot just choose not to. It’s a very male-dominated sport.”

“That’s weird,” Lydia said, squinting down through the glass at the jockey in question. Despite how thin all the riders were, this one in particular was awkwardly small compared to his competitors. His silks were red and white with black and white stripes down the long sleeves. “Aren’t jockeys supposed to be, like, light? Wouldn’t it make more sense for women to race? It’s easier to be lightweight when you’re a woman.”

“You got a point there, kid,” Adam said.

“The weight thing is so fucking stupid. Also, no offense, Babs, but you can’t possibly think that will win?”

Barbara turned to Beetlejuice with a coolly raised eyebrow, a smile playing around her mouth. “Do you doubt me?”

Beetlejuice grinned at her. “Never.”

Nobody knew exactly where Lawrence “Beetlejuice” Shoggoth had come from. He had just shown up one day down in town, presenting himself at Yonkers Raceway with dyed green hair and barely the clothes on his back. But when he started to ride, nobody cared about that anymore. Up on that saddle, Beetlejuice was unstoppable force of speed and grace. Nothing stopped his stride, ever. The races he rode seemed to unfurl as though to a script he had written; a script that left everyone else trailing behind his broad shoulders like a wake left in water. He was the best rider Barbara and Adam had ever seen, but never got to actually become professional due to the weight limit required to be a jockey. Now, he had become more mellow, living among Barbara and Adam as a horse trainer, wanting to teach others about his methods, but still not finding the right student. Nobody he ever came across was good enough for him and his golden wonder: Sandy aka “It’s Showtime,” a magnificent black and white thoroughbred mare with bulky muscles and a knack for sprinting.

Barbara winked at him. “Exactly.”

Out in the mud, the horses were lining up at the gate. Barbara’s bet, Beside The Dying Fire, had drawn a bad position, way over on the outside. Barbara glanced over the information again. The horse was coming up to age four, stood at a staggering seventeen hands, and had terrible form. His jockey was basically a nobody, too, as scrawny and aloof as the horse. And yet, she was drawn to the stallion. There was something to look at with that dull grey horse, even if nobody else saw it.

The racers came under starter’s orders and then they broke from the gate as one at the siren’s scream. It was a small field- plenty of hooves had scratched their own trenches from the earth due to the weather. Beside The Dying Fire hunkered down the outside, ears pulled back against the driving rain. Barbara watched him gallop, watched the low, straight stride stretch and release over the sodden ground. She had grown up around horseflesh, had watched races obsessively for years; she knew a good horse when she saw one.

This was not it.

But all the same, she found herself unable to look away. There was something.

Slogging through the slippery mud, Beside The Dying Fire did not display the brilliance locked deep within him--but when the finish line passed beneath him, his nose was one of the ones in front. Barbara could see the jockey, slathered in muck all over, smiling with relief.

Barbara smiled too, which turned to a smirk as she looked at Beetlejuice. “I told you.��

“Never doubt you,” Beetlejuice said. He looked back down at the horse in question. “I’m glad I listened to you. Let’s go have a chat with this one.”

——— ——— ———

“How many times do I have to tell you? Use your goddamn whip!”

“I don’t want to! It’s mean!”

The sound of arguing echoed down the stable corridor like thunder.

“Mean? What kind of PETA shit have you been looking at? It’s a damn animal. It doesn’t know anything.”

“Peril knows a lot of things! He’s smart!”

“You’re losing us so much money.”

“I can win without hitting him. I don’t need a crop. I did good today!”

“You got third. You should have gotten first.”

“At least I wasn’t last.”

“Each day you prove that your kind doesn’t belong in racing. Not unless you use your fucking whip!”

“Well, I think I raced really well.”

“Your parents will be hearing about this.”

A grizzled man stormed past Barbara, Adam, Beetlejuice, and Lydia as they were making their way down the aisle, hissing and cursing underneath his breath. They all looked forward again to find the victim of his verbal assault: the jockey of Beside The Dying Fire.

“I think we did good,” He said to the grey giant munching on some alfalfa inside the pen he and that man had been arguing in front of.

“Jeopardy?”

Saying that name made Barbara feel a little stupid, but her call was received when the jockey just about jumped out of his skin. He whirled around, startling his horse into a stomping, huffing fit. He blinked big, doe-like eyes at Barbara and her group.

And that was when Barbara realized he wasn’t a he at all.

Beside The Dying Fire’s jockey was a girl.

Well. That probably explained what that man had meant when he said “your kind.”

She was a tiny, skinny little thing, barley 5’1, bearing no muscle at all. She was young, too, much younger than any of the jockeys Barbara had ever seen before. At most, she had to be fifteen, but by how high pitched and youthful her voice was, she could be even younger. She was completely slathered in mud from head-to-toe, face smeared with sludge and blocking most facial features, but her youth was clear and her hazel eyes were bright behind her goggles.

“Hi! Hi. Yes, hello. I’m Jeopardy.” She said, stammering slightly, and her voice was a lot higher up close, but not in an obnoxious way. It was sweet and silvery, like candy.

“You’re a girl,” Lydia said in wonder.

The jockey blinked, then looked down at herself. “Last time I checked, yes.”

Lydia laughed.

Jeopardy tried to dust herself off now that she was in the presence of other people, only to remember that she was completely covered in grime. She dropped her arms, looked back up at them, and said, “I swear, I’m not usually covered in this much mud.”

They all laughed. It was nice to see a jockey that had a sense of humor. There were too many that got cranky for asking simple questions or even breathing in the general vicinity of their horse. This girl was the complete opposite of that, and it perhaps had to do with her young age.

“Does it get in your mouth?” Lydia asked.

“Oh yeah,” Jeopardy answered. “And my nose. And my ears. ”

Lydia laughed. “How?!”

“I have no idea!” Jeopardy exclaimed. “Usually it isn’t this bad, but it was rainy today, so it kinda got everywhere. My dinner tonight is going to taste like earth.”

More laughing, and Jeopardy looked delighted. She was giving off a strong sense of loneliness, like it wasn’t normal for people to talk to her in such a friendly way.

“I’m Presley Lind,” Jeopardy— no, Presley, said. “Jeopardy is just a show name.” She then extended a hand to Barbara, only instantly rip it away when she realized how dirty her glove was. “Oh dear. Pretend I shook your hand or else my Southern Belle training will go down the drain.”

“I’m Barbara,” Barbara said. “These are Adam, Beetlejuice, and Lydia.”

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Presley said politely, smiling, and her lips were caked with drying mud. “What can I do for you all?”

“Oh, we just wanted to come down and congratulate you on your victory tonight,” Barbara said. “You were amazing.”

Presley perked up, as if it wasn’t uncommon for her to be congratulated. “Oh, really? Th-- thank you! But I didn’t really do anything. It was all this big guy!” She turned to her horse, who looked more brown than grey with all the mud sticking to his coat, and she had so much love in her eyes.

“He’s beautiful,” Adam said. “What’s his name?”

“Peril!” Presley told him proudly. “Presley and Peril- it’s kind of our thing.” She reached out and patted the stallion’s freckled nose.

Barbara felt a sort of endearment fill her heart. What an adorable girl.

And then Peril snorted and spit half-chewed alfalfa and huge globs of saliva right into his rider’s face.

For a moment, Presley was frozen, then spit the muck back out onto the ground and raised her gloves hands to wipe her face off. She took off her goggles, and the rings left around her eyes were perfectly clear of grime.

“I deserved that,” Presley said. She looked at Barbara and her group. “Do not mess with this one when he’s eating.”

“Say, Presley,” Beetlejuice spoke up. “Do you have a trainer?”

“Yes, sir,” Presley said, and her manners shocked Barbara. “He was that guy yelling.”

“Does he always yell at you like that?” Adam asked, sounding slightly concerned.

Presley nodded. “Usually. He doesn’t like me or Peril very much. But he was a lot nicer today. He didn’t hit me with my crop this time!” She laughed, and then realized the others weren’t laughing with her, so she stopped and cleared her throat. “I’m-- I’m totally joking. That was a joke!”

“Well, it sounds like your guy right now is an ass, but you’re in luck,” Beetlejuice said. “Presley, I’d like to be your trainer.”

#horse racing au #ta-daaaaa!#beetlejuice the broadway musical #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice au #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice fanfic #beetlejuice fic #beetlejuice #lawrence beetlejuice shoggoth #barbara maitland #adam maitland #lydia deetz #the jockey #beetlelands #chasing pegasus

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writing-the-end · 3 years

Text

LoL Chapter 49- The Underground

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Ecto belongs to @cooler-cactus-block (new computer and I still can’t fuckin at you)

Turns out the hermits aren’t the only ones who wish to get rid of Magistrate Dolios.

____________________________________

Etho drops into the canal below, water rippling without a single drop to disturb the silent cave. Heterochromatic eyes rove across the dark, dank tunnel, waving one hand for the others to follow. Scar comes next, much less gracefully as he misses the last rung and tumbles into the canal with a heavy splash.

They were beneath the noble district of the city. Grown above the canals like most of Milliara, they built up beyond the lifeblood of Lairyon. Left it behind, to pass through in these underwater canals, until they lead to a fountain, messenger canal, or the rest of the city.

Once Xisuma’s boots are in the water, he sloshes forward without pause. He knows who he saw, he’s just not sure if he believes it. Ex never gets involved with anything. He always waits, watches from the sidelines. When X wanted to fight, it was Ex that stayed behind. When X wanted to be a guild, Ex went on his own.

He continues on, following the distance sound of scraping and scuffling, harsh against the soft patter of water and trickle of running water. Xisuma rounds the corner, white light reflecting in the distance off the damp walls. He’s so focused on the light at the end he doesn’t notice the movement in the shadows. At least, not until it’s too late.

A warm hand claps over Xisuma’s mouth, muffling any attempt for him to cry out. Another arm drags him into the darkness, and a wave of fear keeps Xisuma from trying to escape. A warm, low voice growls in his ear, full of menace. “You had your chance, now let the big kids play.”

“Tris, we’re just supposed to stop the guard, not-” A second, similar voice fractures through the darkness, and Xisuma notices a lock of pink hair, bright against the stone wall.

“I’m Nightshade!” The one holding Xisuma snaps, loosening his grip on him. “Do you want half the city to know who we are?”

Xisuma manages to wriggle free, and instead the twin faces wrestle each other into the water. Tackling and pulling hair, calling each other names that grow louder and louder. Loud enough for the other hermits to find them.

Stress realizes who she’s looking at first. “King Sor?”

“What am I, chopped liver?” one of the two growls, his blue scarf soaked.

“The king?” Tango splutters, snapping his fingers. A flame appears in his hand, and he raises it higher. Sure enough, wrestling in the muck and mud of the swampwater was the King of Lairyon and his twin brother. Yin and yang, dark and light. Their tan skin and rainbow hair- though the king’s much brighter- was instantly recognizable, even if the all white and black suits weren’t enough.

Grand Advisor Tris, currently holding King Sor in a headlock, glares at the hermits. “Do you mind?”

“We are in the middle of something.” Sor adds, looking at their audience as he grabs hold of Tris’s fingers and yanks.

“What are you-” Xisuma starts, confusion clouding his prerogative. Why is the Twin King, monarch of Lairyon, in the canals beneath his own city, tackling his brother and arguing over codenames? Xisuma shakes his head, trying to avoid the fact that he’s standing in front of the king. “Where did he go? My brother?”

“Where’s Doc?” BDubs adds, bouncing from foot to foot. They have to find their friend. Is he still alive? What do the kings want with a criminal? Why all this, when King Sor has more power than even Dolios?

“Three lefts then a right, there’s a staircase carved into the wall. It’ll take you to-” Sor has gained the upper hand, sitting on top of Tris, but the advisor isn’t afraid to kick his brother into silence.

“You are, by far, the worst spy ever.” Tris hisses, but the hermits leave the twins to their squabble in the sewer. Following Sor’s directions, they wind through the secret caves, Tango, Grian, Ren, and Iskall illuminating the darkness. Jevin can’t help but think about when they first began this journey, way back in Gildara. How they wandered dark, wet caves like this. Only to become enraptured into something so much bigger than they could ever have known.

But rather than a corrupted crystal at the end of this dive, they find the carved steps Sor had mentioned.

They also find the trail of blood up the rough hewn stairs. Every step up is slick with the ochre, a different size and shape from the one before. At the top of the stairs, a hatch remains closed. Xisuma presses up against the metal hatch, but finds it too heavy to lift. Looking up, he notices a symbol burnt into the metal.

Ex still uses their shared mark. Even after their estrangement, the swirl and the star remain easily visible. Not like how Xisuma scratched it off everything he owned. “It’s blocked. Stress?”

“Not a problem, dearie.” The ice mage squeezes her small, limber body between Xisuma and TFC, rolling up her sleeves. Without even breaking a sweat, she forces the hatch open. Light blinds them for a second time, though this much softer than before. Lamplight, enough to illuminate the wooden building, but still soft enough to cast shadow. A chest full of books has been tossed aside, the rug covering the hidden hatch flipped over.

The hermits crawl out, like an army of ants from the seams in the wood, filling the small bookstore. Ex’s arrival surprises no one, and neither does the twenty something mages in his bookshop. The twin brother of Xisuma looks up, purple eyes meeting the hermits. A lock of pure white hair covers over one eye, and the red fabric of the cloak covers Ex from the nose down. But even with his face covered, the hermits can see the discontent in his expression.

“He’s in the back. I’d… I’d be prepared.” Ex’s voice remains low and tempered, a bit deeper than Xisuma’s own. He turns away, running fingers across the shelves of books around him, before pulling free an encyclopedia of medicines.

Scar doesn’t wait, bursting through the curtain into Ex’s living quarters. He follows the trail of ash and blood, until he stops dead. The other hermits crowd in behind him, desperate to see their friend. For a week, he’s been in jail. Just being able to be in the same room was a blessing.

Doc was rested on a cot, bandages covering his legs, his arms, his chest, his face. Blackened skin beneath white gauze. He lays still, eyes closed, clothes in burnt tatters. For a minute, everyone holds their breath, waiting to see Doc breathe his own. When a shallow rise of his chest, followed by whisper of an exhale, escapes from the puppeteer, relief floods the hermits.

Doc is alive. Hanging on by a thread, but alive. Scar grabs Grian, yanking him to the front and shoving him into the room. “Fix him!”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” Grian may be rivals with Doc, but they’re still friends. Family. He walks across the silent room, each step a loud creak through the wooden building. The hermits follow in after, a concave audience watching, hoping for a miracle.

Grian’s eyes begin to glow, and another set of wings appear from his back, and another. A halo rings above Grian’s blond hair, sharp shafts of light piercing the air around him. The archangel kneels beside Doc, lost in the overwhelming power of his magic. A mere pass of his hand over the unconscious criminal begins to heal him. An angelic miracle, Grian simply brushes a wing, and it eases the blackened burns across their friend.

Doc’s breathing deepens, though he doesn’t wake. Brought back from the brink, from the precipice of death. Mumbo carefully sidles up beside Grian, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Grian, you can let go of your aura.”

The soothing voice does the trick, as light fades and wings disappear. Grian’s exhausted but forces the glow and sleep from his eyes to see his success. Doc was alive. Doc was stable.

Doc was safe, with his family again.

Ex appears in the doorway, hands full of books, potions, herbs, and crystals. But when he sees his patient, no longer bleeding out and struggling to hang on for dear life. He looks at Doc, then Grian, then Xisuma. Dropping his armful of supplies, he waves his hand. “You really have one of everything, don’t you?”

Xisuma takes a deep breath. He hasn’t spoken a word to Ex in years. What does he say, after so long? What does he tell him, or yell at him, or cry to him? But only one word manages to escape from X’s lips, through his mask. “Thanks.”

The word surprises both twins, blinking back in surprise. Ex’s lips press into a thin line, and he turns his head away. A white ponytail of hair cascades over his shoulder. “Never say I didn’t do anything for you, brother.”

“Xisuma, this is your brother?” Keralis questions. They were almost identical twins, in fact. From the structure of their face, the intensity in their eyes. The only difference between the two was Ex’s snow white hair. Hell, they even had them both in ponytails.

“If he still considers me a brother.” Ex snips, picking up the mess on the floor and carefully placing the books in a stack.

“I thought you said getting into things would only lead to trouble.” Xisuma looks down at his friend, then to Ex.

“And by the looks of it, I was right.”

“But you saved Doc. You used your magic in front of half the city, to save him from burning at the stake.” Xisuma shakes his head, still in disbelief. “Why?”

Ex stops moving, going silent. His shoulder tense forward, until his head drops. “Because he means so much to you. You may not consider me a brother, but I still care about you. Whether or not this disaster could have been avoided, we’re all in on it now.”

“We?” Cub picks up on Ex’s words, raising an eyebrow. Of course, there were the royals, but he also remembers the water magic appearing from nowhere, the cactus growing from the woodwork, the black wings in the smoke.

Ex snorts. “What, you think you guys have been this lucky the whole time? That it was only you idiots taking on the magistrate?”

He turns, walking out of the room. Assuming the hermits will follow. He assumed correctly. Only a few stay behind to keep watch over Doc, the others squeezing through the aged wooden shop, up the rickety stairs and into a dining room.

They aren’t alone. Inside, three people are sitting. One with short brown hair, cropped to the side and laying on the top of the table, earthy colored clothes and scarves wrapped around her. Sitting crosslegged in the seat is a small kipling, rocking in place with curious eyes as he looks upon the large group entering into Ex’s study. Finned ears flick against black and orange locks, a slight glow appearing under the kipling’s clothes in the dark room. And in the corner, perched on the flat booth’s backrest, a blonde mane drapes around a serious face, and a pair of jet black wings rustle against the wooden walls.

The last faces they expected to see were those of the Wanderers.

“Red? Ecto?” Zedaph tips his head to the side, surprised. The last time they saw the three of them, it was before the labyrinth challenge. When the hermits celebrated with Team Crafted, they had already left. Disappeared just as fast as they appeared. And now, they’ve reappeared. Sitting in the middle of Ex’s kitchen, sipping on tea. As comfortable there as they were in that ratty old inn. ‘How do you guys know Xisuma’s brother?”

“It was you three who rescued Doc.” Scar whispers, his voice soft and almost reverent. Water, desert, and dragon.

“Ex approached us while you and Team Crafted were within the labyrinth. He told us about things we already had suspicion of, but no connected dots.” Avon tips her head back, looking down her nose at the hermits. “We decided the best way we could help Lairyon was to cause as much nuisance to the magistrate as possible, as well as handle certain missions.”

“This entire time, you were helping us?” Xisuma turns, looking at his brother. They’re the exact same height, purple eyes locked in some years long argument.

Ex snorts. “What, you think you idiots did that all on your own? But it wasn’t just the wanderers that have been helping. Team Crafted has had their hand in this underground rebellion as well. Turns out, they make a lot of trouble all over the place for the arcane guard to deal with, as well as encourage people to tell their stories and speak out against the magistrate.”

“But then that leaves…” Mumbo trails off, and he turns around at the sound of bickering behind them. Sure enough, the twin rulers are still arguing over their codenames. Mumbo bows, his hands shaking as he remembers all the rules he was taught when in presence of the king.

King Sor presses one hand over his twin’s mouth to shut him up, and uses the other to wave off Mumbo’s bow. “Please, there’s no-” Sor’s interrupted when Tris retaliates, licking his hand. The king curses, rubbing the spit on his white outfit. “You’re disgusting, brother.”

“Go on, finish the story. Don’t forget to tell them who’s idea it was to reach out to the mysterious white haired man with connections to Eremita.” Tris scoots in beside Red, and Ecto pours tea for the royal advisor.

“It was Tris’s idea to contact Ex. I honestly don’t know how he found out about him, but he’s been the conductor of it all. We help fund in any way we can, and he does the research before sending the wanderers and Team Crafted to play support roles.” King Sor doesn’t look like the man the hermits are used to seeing. The king, the ruler of Lairyon. He’s thriving with people, just another person, another friend.

“But...you’re the king. Why can’t you just depose of Dolios?” Beef questions, the confusion in his voice matched by all of the hermits. Only Ex and the wanderers act as if this was evident.

They expected Sor to answer, being the king, but with a loud crash of a metal teacup against the wooden table, all attention is turned to Tris. “That monster, that....bastard has been using us all against Sor. Especially me.” Tris grits his teeth hard, jaw tight and set. “You’re too damn soft, Sor.”

“Soft?! Tris, he was going to kill you!” Sor gasps, tears beginning to streak from teal eyes, across tanned cheeks. His breath hiccups and catches in his throat. “Dolios made sure he had control over everything, including me. In order to do that, he… he tortured Tris. My brother. Threatened both our families. Hurt our closest friends in the royal guard. Sometimes… I had no choice but to let it happen. The things he would have done to the kingdom were so much worse but...at what cost? Did I make the right decision, letting him do that to my own brother?”

Sor’s knees fall out from under him, and in the aged wooden floor of a bookstore, the King of Lairyon is brought to kneel. Tears fall, all he’s been forced to endure breaking down. And the hermits, despite hardly knowing King Sor, understand and sympathize with him all the same. His family is at risk, the same way their own is. Dolios will stop at nothing to tear both families apart, all for his gain and rise to power.

Red clambers over Tris’s lap, breaking every taboo and rite to approach the king. She runs over, and hugs the king tight and close. A warm hug, like a mother’s embrace, just enough to calm down the monarch. Such a young man, forced to make so many horrible decisions. After a moment, the king recollects himself. Through puffy, tearstained eyes, he looks to the hermits. “Lairyon needs a hero. There are no chosen ones, there is no prophecy. No knights in shining armor, no kings and our awesome power. This time, the heroes need to be made. And you, the Order of Hermits, were the brave souls to choose to be heroes.”

“Dolios is using his darkness to gain power. After what you dealt with, we were sure you’d give up.” Tris adds, standing and placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Now, the scars on the royal advisor’s body are clear as day. “But you really are the heroes that will bring back the Light of Lairyon.”

Silence falls over the room. The hermits, heroes? Just for wanting to help, to do what no one else knew to do? They were caught up in all of this, and multiple times death waited to claim them- if Dolios had his way. They weren’t heroes, just people who chose to fight back. Who chose to make the stand.

“Dark magic isn’t new.” Ex breaks the silence, hefting a massive, ancient book onto the table. The wood rocks, dumping Avon off it and into Ecto’s lap. “There have been insurgences all throughout history, though the past thousand years have been relatively quiet. Unfortunately about that, almost all information how the dark magic was defeated has been… lost to time. To make matters worse, no reported insurgence has ever been so prolific as this time around.”

“Alright, how does this help with anything?” Xisuma rolls his eyes. His brother always has such a flair for the dramatics, always getting way too deep into history and his books. Next to the massive tome that Ex is flipping through, Avon stops pestering Ecto. She goes still, even when the desert wizard dumps her onto the floor. A look of fear spreads from her eyes, rippling like a drop of water across a lake.

“Well, if this happened before with the ancient ones, then it’s likely the answer may lie with the history of Lairyon itself. Perhaps if you-” Ex is interrupted when a massive black pair of wings extends, one smacking him in the face.

“The spirit dragons are in danger.”

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft fanfic #light of lairyon #wizard au #wizard hermits #lol #wizard grian #wizard ex #wizard doc #wizard scar #wizard bdubs #wizard etho #grianmc #evil xisuma #docm77 #gtwscar #bdoubleo100 #ethoslab

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daydreamingintheimpalax · 4 years

Text

Secrets

Summary: After a particularly rough hunt, Dean shares a secret with you that changes everything.

Prompt: I have loved you since we were 18.

Warnings: Probably just swearing TBH; Maybe slight douchbaggy ex.

As soon as you and the Winchesters had walked through the bunker doors, you let out a relieved sigh. It had been a rough week, you all had been hunting a werewolf that just couldn't stop moving, making it impossible to track until it finally slowed down somewhere in timbucktoo. Well, it was more like Colorado somewhere, but you know, you were never known for your georgraphy skills.

What had made it worse, was that despite this wolf practically throwing the three of you around like rag dolls, which was getting way harder now that you weren't the spunky crisp 20 year old you once were, was the fact that you had happened to run into Randy.

Randy had been your high school boyfriend for two years, his family were also hunters and having a boyfriend who understood your life, it was nice back then.

You had known the Winchesters all your life, your families running in the same hunting circles, you had worked cases with them multiple times over the years until finally settling down with them now that they were the only family you had left. You had broken up with Randy when he got increasingly possesive and jealous when you turned 19 and you'd decided to move in with Dean once Sammy had gone off to college.

Dean was alone and his dad was constantly going on hunts and leaving him behind, he was very upset when Sammy had left, so he chose to hunt on his own. Your father had left years ago, leaving you with a buddy who he called your uncle bobby, even though he wasn’t really, but choosing to live with Dean so he wouldn't be alone made it easier for him, then when you were 23, he'd been mauled on a hunt and died. Hunting with Dean after that, became a normal routine, but Randy hated Dean, and Dean, well, he wasn't fond of Randy either.

The mutual distaste for each other only increased the more jealous and controlling Randy got, nearly fighting with you every night when you chose to go back to the apartment you shared with Dean instead of staying with him. Eventually, when he became physical, Dean had enough and knocked him out one night after you'd come home with a bruised eye, threatening to shoot him if he ever came near you again. That was the end of that and you hadn't seen Randy since.

Until tonight, when he happened to be tracking the same werewolf you guys had been. It became worse when he realized you were still hunting with Dean, and the memories of all those arguments and black eyes and bruises came flashing back. You managed to finish the case, but not without some bumps and bruises and having Randy there made it worse, with Dean and Randy glaring daggers at each other every time they researced. Randy still being the asshole he was despite the years you two had been broken up.

You were just glad to be home, glad to be away from that tension. You showered, cleaned off all the muck, and settled down on the little blanket you still had on the floor in the back yard area behind the bunker, you'd sit there on the warm nights, enjoying the stars while you sipped on a beer, winding down after a hunt. Tonight was no different, and you definitely needed it tonight more than ever.

After a few minutes, you heard the familiar sound of Deans boots, planting himself next to you, his own beer in hand.

“You okay, peanut?” His voice soft but husky, the tell sign he was exhausted. The nickname made you smile, it became his favorite thing to call you ever since you'd lived with him all those years ago, your obsession for peanut butter never understandable to him. Didn't help that your short stature against his giant frame basically made you peanut sized to him. You'd accepted it a long time ago, you were short, and Dean took great pleasure in teasing you about it.

You let out a big sigh, “Yeah, I'm good now.” You smiled, sipping from your beer bottle as you looked and examined the stars. Dean shuffled next to you, crossing his bowed legs as best he could, before sipping from his own bottle.

“Can’t believe we ran into Randy of all the douchebags, never thought I'd see that assholes face ever again, he's still missing that tooth.” Dean chuckled, the comment making you burst out laughing so hard you nearly chocked on your beer.

The memory brought you back to the night Dean had punched him for hitting you, knocking one of his front teeth out. The satisfaction and the look on Randys face bringing you joy. He had been frightened of Dean ever since, seeing the ghost white look on his face when he'd seen Dean tonight made you smirk, glad he'd learned his lesson back then. It was still funny, seeing him years later, he'd gained a lot of weight, his hair line had receded a lot and his tooth still missing. The image no longer matching the cocky football star from highschool.

Your laughter slowed, Dean sighing next to you as you both stared up at the sky.

“i gotta say, I am glad he fucked off after that night, don't think I could've stopped myself from doing worse if he'd tried to bother you again.” Dean spoke, a hint of something in his voice that you couldn't quite place.

He went quiet again, you looked over at him, watching him softly as he stared at the sky, sipping from his bottle. You'd known Dean Winchester all your life, and somehow, things about him still managed to surprise you. He was a complicated person to figure out, he didn’t let many people in on his feelings or thoughts, and although you knew he trusted you with his life, you were sure there were still plenty of secrets you didn’t known about your best friend.

You hummed out, taking another sip of your beer before you spoke, “Hey Dee?” you spoke softly, his eyes meeting yours.

“Hmm?” His reply a soft hum, acknowledging he’d heard you.

“Tell me something?” you asked, wanting to know something new, something he hadn't told you yet. Something that could surprise you.

“Tell you what?” he chuckled, wondering how much beer you'd had before he'd come out here.

“A secret, something I don't know.” you looked a him, wondering how much he held in, in fear no one would care, he'd always looked after everyone all his life, you, his mother, sammy, even his dad those rare nights he came back from a hunt completely shittered.

“You know all my secrets, y/n/n, you know that.” he stated matter of factly, you shook your head, not accepting his answer.

“No, there has to be something, something you haven't told me, or anyone, something special or secret, personal, a funny story, anything, I just need something to make this night a little better.” you looked at him, eyes big and hopeful, he bit the inside of his cheek, concentrating and thinking of a secret he'd yet to tell you, there was one, one he never planned to tell you in fear it would ruin everything you'd both built, the bond, friendship, the trust. Tonight was better than never he supposed, he knew it would come up one day, it might as well be tonight.

You watched him concentrate, thinking of something he hadn't told you, something you didn't know, after a few minutes, he sighed.

“I guess I have a secret I was always too scared to tell you,” he shrugged, licking his lips softly before he spoke again, “I have loved you since we were 18.“ He stated simply. No other words following.

You stared at him for what felt like forever, he seemed slightly nervous, seemingly avoiding eye contact. He finally got the courage to look at you again, you still stared at him, shocked at his admission.

“When you say loved....” you began, but he cut you off, “I mean full blown told everyone I would marry you one day, head over heels crazy about you, I still am y/n. It's the main reason my other relationships never worked, they were never you, never could be.” He shrugged.

To say you were shocked would be an understaement. “Wh-, why didn't you ever say anything? We've been friends for forever, we've shared a bed, and apartment, Jesus Christ Dee, you've stripped my drunk ass down to nothing and got in a cold shower with me to sober me up and you never thought to mention that little deatil?” You ranted, slightly upset he never thought to tell you something this big, it had been years, YEARS, that he’d been dragging around these feelings in secret.

He sighed, “The timing was never right, you were with Randy for a while, then when we moved in together, I didn't want to ruin it by being an idiot, I didn’t know if you felt the same about me and I was scared of losing you, of scaring you away and destroying everything we'd built, our trust, friendhship, I chickened out and figured I'd rather have you in my life and keep that part a secret than to lose you completely.” He finished, watching your face for your reaction, worried he'd ruined everything, he couldn't lose you now, not after all these years.

“Dee...” You shifted closer, he cut you off once more, “Don’t....don’t say you feel the same okay? Don't pretend or lie to make me feel better, I'm a grown man, I can handle rejection, I just figured it was time you knew, that's my secret, it's the only one I've ever carried with me and kept from you, besides the fact that I always resented that a guy like Randy was ever lucky enough to have you and threw his shot away, he was stupid enough to hurt you and not appreciate you.” he frowned, turning back to look at the stars.

You watched him, you couldn't believe he'd been right in front of your face this whole time, all the losers like Randy, the one night stands hoping you'd find your perfect guy out there somewhere, yet, he’d been with you the entire time, right by your side your whole life, and suddenly you realized it, all the times he took care of you, when you were drunk, or crying, or someone hurt you, he'd always been there, not just because he'd been your best friend, it was also because you had been his love, he'd loved you for so long, you felt stupid you hadn't realized it after all these years. Dean Winchester was your perfect guy, your soulmate. Your mother had always been right, You didn't find love, it found you, when you least expected it, and sometimes, you found it hiding in plain sight.

you gently reached out, placing a hand on his face and pulling him back to face you, his eyes met yours and you leaned in, placing a small but deep kiss on his lips. You pulled away slightly, meeting his eyes.

“It was always you, Dean, the guy I've been searching for all my life, the one who always made me feel special, and loved, and just, loved me, It was always you. I'm sorry it took me this long to realize he was always right beside me.” You smiled softly, his eyes lingered on yours before he smiled, leaning in to capture you in a deep kiss once again.

“S’okay, luckily we still got some time left on this earth, we got plenty of time to make up for it.” He smiled, the moonlight enhancing the twinkle in his gorgeous Hazel green eyes. You loved this man, and now, you could finally freely admit that, and spend whatever would be left of your life as a hunter being in his arms, this time, not as his best friend, but as something more.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader

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elejahfanfic · 3 years

Text

Fanfiction

And so it is Christmas

Part 4

Elijah Mikaelson x reader

ft. Klaroline, Kennett

AU story_human_no vampires

a/n:There will be great mad Mikaelson chaos and lots of love… i.e. Elijah falling for Y/N...cookie baking, etc.

well, actually_absolute christmas fluff... ho-ho-ho

_also this just blew into such a long ch again_ thanks for reading. xoxo

🎁

Mikaelson Mansion

Days after

Kol ventured in the dining room, with a big smile on his face, "I will see you there in an hour and so ready to make cookies with you"

As he hung up, both Klaus and Elijah shot a look at their younger brother with a teasing smirk on their faces.

"What?" Kol said looking at his brothers ready to kind of snap at them if they make a comment.

"You will make cookies - I need to see this" Klaus said.

"Like you have made any before" Kol shot back at his brother.

"Dozens" Klaus put a smirk on, "being domestic is a way into the woman's heart- at least at the beginning"

"You are kidding me right?! The only one that knows how to make anything is Elijah"

"I can only make scrambled eggs." Elijah said, "He is pulling your leg- and he is talking loads of rubbish- don't listen to him."

"Never have done and never will." Kol said, "I never needed your advice to get a woman to love me."

"Did he say love" Klaus chuckled cocking his eyebrow up.

Elijah now shook his head looking at Klaus signalling to stop now. Klaus knew that love as such was a sensitive subject when Kol was concerned as he had lost his girlfriend six years ago. He let it go now, getting up from the breakfast table and went to see where his daughter was, as they were also roped into baking cookies.

"How are things with Bonnie now?" Elijah asked.

"Great. We are back together and your advice was the best ever." Kol replied.

"Good. I am glad." Elijah said and took a sip of coffee, continuing, "so, you are going over to her house to bake the cookies I gather?"

"No. Her friend Y/N’s house. She needs help because she also doing sweet potatoe pies."

"Sweet potatoe pies?" Elijah said raising an eyebrow with special interest.

"Apparently she makes the best sweet potatoe pies - and she promised to do so for the school board stall," Kol explained, "isn't this like your favourite pie?!"

"It is." Elijah said.

"Come with me then. I am sure you will get a slice." Kol looked at his brother and remembering his conversation from yesterday wondered why he had brought Caroline with him, since they just had broken up.

"Did you make up?"

"No. It was Rebekah, who had invited her before she found out we broke up, and it was kind of awkward to tell her that she can't come. But I am ok with it. Like I told you - we were more friends that actually - we were never really together." Elijah explained again.

"Right. So, are you coming with me?"

"Yes. I have a few things to discuss with Dr Y/L/N about the fundraising." Elijah replied. "Isn't Klaus going over there?"

"Why?" Kol looked puzzled at the question.

"Aren't Klaus and Y/L/N - seeing one another?"

"Seeing? Oh, you mean if they are still hooking up?"

"Yes- are they - hooking up?" Elijah said looking at Kol, now exhibiting obvious signs of embarrassment, as he was no accustomed to use this kind of language.

"No." Kol replied.

"No?" Elijah repeated.

"Ah! You're into Y/N!" Kol put two and two together and now put a little smirk on.

"I am not." Elijah found himself kind of in a strange pickle.

"Come on! It's like written all over your face! Hey it's totally ok. But you know that she kind of is going through like a tough break up- and the thing with Klaus was a drunken thing."

Elijah was amazed how Rebekah and Kol always were so updated on all rumours, gossip within the family and as well as out of it. He knew of Y/L's messy break up. Now trying to get out of the subject, he got up and said that he was going to change and that he will see him in front of the house.

🤶🎅

In the Y/N’s House

Y/N and Bonnie finished their breakfast, and were now getting ready preparing everything to start baking.

"I will put some decoration I bought yesterday up." Y/N got a few of the decorative cookies out.

🎄 Not long after, Elijah and Kol arrived. Y/N had a bit of a wide-eyed reaction seeing Elijah offering to help with the baking.

"Well, we always welcome an extra pair of hands" Y/N said. "Ok. we need to star because we have to make about 100 cookies at least. And I need to bake a few pies as well."

"Tell us what to do?" Elijah now took his jacket off and pulled his sleeves up.

Y/N explained what each of them needed to do. And soon they set off with the baking.

Both Kol and Elijah realized that these two women were very industrious and organized.

After they put the first batch to be done, they all had a little break.

"What is this list? " Kol now picked up the paper that fell from the counter and started reading.

"The Christmas to do list-"

Bonnie and Y/N both now rolled their eyes saying nearly in the same voice, "Oh, God, don't read that- we had too much mulled wine last night when we wrote this"

But Kol was not to be stopped and started- making remarked as he went along.

1. Making a snowman together - no snow this year unfortunately- well not yet. Maybe by the time it's actually Christmas we got to do it. Ok-

2.Drinking hot chocolate (bonus: whipped cream moustache) - totally can do that. Right now. Next-

3.Decorating the Christmas tree - first need to buy a tree.

4. Christmas shopping in a decorated city - how about we all go to New Orleans - Bourbon St is so amazing with all the deco, right, Elijah?"

Elijah nodded agreeing.

" Ok, what have you got next-

5. Ugly Christmas sweaters - oh, I dare you to buy Elijah one of the sweaters and make him wear it for the Fundraiser"

Elijah shot a look at his brother that was saying - stop right now!

"Number six - oh, yes, definitely this needs to be done and plenty

Mistletoe kisses!

Where is the Mistletoe?" Kol looked around.

"I haven't put it up yet." Y/N said.

"It's there by the mantelpiece." Bonnie said."I brought it yesterday. It needs a ribbon. Do you have a ribbon?"

"It's in the bag on my desk." Y/N replied.

Bonnie now went to get it, and as she returned, Kol was the one putting it up at the hallway.

Y/N looked at Elijah, who looked back at the brunette shaking with his head and shrugging with his shoulder, making a face which said - that's my brother. Y/N smiled a little back at the man now saying, "He is great."

Having come down from the chair, putting it aside, he now took Bonnie by the hand and dragged her cutely to him under mistletoe and kissed her.

"Oh, the cookies!" Y/N said somewhat alarmingly and went to the kitchen like a storm. "Ah, saved in the last minute -Ouch! Damn!"

Putting the tray away, Y/N looked at the burn on hand.

"Is it bad?" Elijah asked as he went up to her.

"I will live." Y/N said checking the little red strip on the side of the hand, now putting it under cold water running. "I am really too clumsy sometimes."

She made a face of hurt as the burnt skin was tingling.

"This maybe was not such a good idea."

"I will be ok. This is nothing. It just burns a bit." Y/N got an antibiotic ointment out from the first aid cabinet , "Can you open it for me"

Elijah nodded and went over to Y/N, applying the ointment on her hand.

"Ok- now can you please open the non-adhesive bandage."

Elijah did as instructed and put it over the burn.

"Great. Thank you." Y/N said.

"You're welcome." Elijah said back now looking at Y/N somewhat sheepishly.

"You make a great nurse." Y/N joked a little. Elijah smiled back, "If I need to I will think of a change of career."

"But for now you will have to be my baking assistant, because I can't decorate the cookies now with my left hand."

"No problem. I am great at that, too."

Kol and Bonnie now were back in the kitchen. As they saw Y/N's bandage, they asked what had happened.

"Just a little accident." Y/N said. "you know me- I can preform a heart surgery, but went it comes to getting a baking tray out of the oven- disaster strikes."

"Ok- we will now finish off here," Bonnie said, "you have a break."

Bonnie, as organized as always, soon had both Kol and Elijah organized. It was a great assembly line. Kol was rolling out the dough and Elijah was pressing the cookies with a cutter.

Y/N and Bonnie were then decorating it and they proved to be a great team finishing the cookies in no time.

"These will be so good," Bonnie was happy with the end product, "they looks so professional."

"Now, there is only a few sweet potatoe pies. I thought of doing the vegan, too." Y/N said.

"Great idea." Bonnie welcomed the suggestion.

And soon they were on the pie baking phase, which saw Elijah now doing the pie crust.

"This is not that difficult" Elijah said, finding it actually really great to do something like that for the first time in his life.

Kol, of course couldn't help himself to muck about and he now had to get some sweet potato pie filling on her nose and her side of her. "Stop this." Bonnie protested with a little smile.

"I don't know how it got there-" Kol joked.

"Oh, really" Bonnie said.

Kol's phone went and it was Klaus, asking how their baking was going. Kol now put them all on video chat and soon they were all exchanging what phase they were in and what progress they made. Rebekah proudly presented her sweet potatoe bars and Caroline her pristine snowman cookies.

"They look so good!" Y/N said gushingly.

"We got tones. Mother is killing it with the Christmas star cookies." Rebekah said, "and Hope has helped me with the bars- Klaus and Stefan are so slacking."

"I knew it. Elijah and I have actually done everything from scratch" Kol said.

Rebekah now snickered not believing what she was hearing.

"I will prove it to you when I get home." Kol said.

"You made actual cookies?!" Rebekah now said, "this I got to see."

"And you will!" Kol shot back.

Elijah knew that this conversation between Rebekah and Kol was going to escalate and he now cut in, "Dr Y/L/N burnt her hand- so we had to cut in- and we have learned a lot today."

"They did." Bonnie confirmed. "Ok- we will be heading out soon. Meet you at the Historical Society building?"

Esther said that they would also soon be there. As the video chat finished, Y/N and Bonnie put the cookies in boxes, as Kol and Elijah had a drink of well deserved beer on the porch.

"Kol, can you help me with the boxes?" Bonnie now asked her boyfriend as she came out to the porch.

"Sure" Kol said and followed her into the house.

As they got all the boxes and went up to the car, Kol now turned to Bonnie, "I think we should leave them alone."

"But I promised that I will return to help her with a few more pies."

"I think that Elijah can do that." Kol said.

"Do you know something I don't?" Bonnie asked.

"He is like so into her. And I totally think that she is into my brother, too."

"Isn't he with - Caroline?" Bonnie asked looking at Kol surprised to hear that.

"They broke up." Kol said.

"Oh?" Bonnie exclaimed.

"Yeah."

"But I don't think Y/N will go for Elijah"

"Why not?"

"Because she is on rebound. Last night we talked about her not wanting to really date anyone." Bonnie said.

"What did this guy do?"

"Well, nothing really. They were just in this toxic relationship and she just got tired trying to make things work." Bonnie explained.

"She is really a great woman. How did she end up with a guy like that?"

"Sometimes you fall for the wrong guy and you think that your love can change him. I want her to find love - real love. A guy who will listen to her, and let her make her decisions and respect them- not lash out if things are not going his way- you know what I mean-ok- enough about Damon. We got to go"

"Yeah- ok"

They both got into their respective cars and drove off.

🎅 Inside, Elijah now picked up the list and read the last several points

7. Going ice skating

8.Giving each other presents on Christmas morning

9.Slow dancing in the living room surrounded by all the lights

10. Person A buying the gift person B always wanted to have

11. Do Karaoke Christmas Caroling together

12. Person A is dressed as Santa and takes Person B to the their private winter wonderland

Y/N now served Elijah and herself a slice of sweet potatoe pie.

"Oh, God - the list!" Y/N said as she now saw it in Elijah's hand.

"It's a great list. Haven't done any of it for years. Especially ice skating. Never did Karaoke Christmas Carolling"

"Really? That is like the best mad thing we have come up with - back in High School," Y/N said, "definitely need to do this."

"You can perform open heart surgery, bake -sing?"

"I can't sing. I can do a great lip sync," Y/N said, "try the pie."

Elijah now took a bite of the pie and he was full of compliments. "This is really good. And it is vegan!"

"Yes. So good, right?!" Y/N said.

"The traditional sweet potatoe pie is my favourite pie"

"I know." Y/N now slipped cutting him in the middle of the sentence.

"You do?" Elijah looked at Y/N puzzled.

"Klaus said."

"Ah, he did- what else did he say?"

"That's about it." Y/N replied.

Suddenly there was an awkward kind of a silence move in on them. Both were eating the pie, both now trying to get what it was going on inside them. Feelings were stirred. Feelings they didn't know existed.

"How is your hand?" Elijah now asked.

"It's ok.Tingling just a tiny little bit."

He looked at her. She looked at him. Her stomach was strangely churning, "More pie?"

’No, thank you.‘ was what he wanted to say, but said this instead, "yes, please."

Y/N got up and went to cut another slice. As she was at the counter, she looked at him sneakily. He moved her like no one else did. She couldn't explain to herself how everything inside her was so rustled up. She now thought of the movie she and Bonnie had watched last night. It was so true, what Bonnie had said. He is Mr Darcy, but the Colin Firth kind of Mr Darcy. The Bridged Jones Mr Darcy. OMG, Y/N what is happening to you. Pulling herself together a bit, she now went back to the table with another slice of the pie.

"Can we talk about the Fundraiser? I thought about your idea and I accept your suggestion that we should get a professional to get things moving."

"Ah, great. And like I told you, you needn't worry about the money. I will provide it."

"Why are you doing all this?- I mean, I know your mom is doing a lot of charity work- but- don't get me wrong- I really appreciate all your effort. Without you we would only get a bit of money for some medical supplies and medication- now we are talking getting a Medical centre up "

Elijah could not lie. It was not in his nature, and he was now very open and blunt-

"It's because of you."

-to be continued-

🎄🤶🎄🎅

#elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #bonnie bennett #kol mikaelson #kennett #rebekah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #the originals fanfiction #the originals #the originals christmas #fanfiction

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delldarling · 4 years

Text

the woodland fort | winsome ii

looking for part i? male kelpie x gender/body neutral reader 3.4k words lemon | oral, size difference, riding, implied stomach bulge and subsequent mess

“Surely you’re tempted by sweet flesh?” Winsome’s brother asks him, pinching at your ear. His words, as much as his presence, startle you into moving. You dart to Winsome’s side, glaring back at the kelpie you’ve secretly taken to calling Blockhead, if only in your own head. Winsome hadn’t been fond of you giving the nickname to his brother, no matter that it was unflattering, and you can understand his reasoning, at least a little. Every name a fae is given is a gift and all that. But you have to have something to call him though, and fae don’t share their names idly.

“Why are you here?” Winsome asks, petulance heavy in his tone. He curls a protective arm around your shoulders and shares a rough grin with - with your friend? Your eyes slide over the vacant spot where someone should be sitting. You focus back on Blockhead and his tense frame.

He’s older than Winsome, though you don’t know by how much, and already he towers over all three of you. He’s not as eerie looking as the glimpses you’ve caught of Winsome’s mother, but he would be halfway there - if he didn’t take such care braiding his long hair into model worthy plaits. He’s not even looking at Winsome though, his eyes are still all for you.

“Tempted by sweet flesh,” Blockhead repeats, grinning. His sharp teeth do him no favors either, no matter that Winsome has them too. Winsome doesn’t bare them at you like a beast though. “You aren’t?” He asks Winsome, again, finally turning his attention to his younger sibling.

Winsome’s cheeks flush purple and- and your friend laughs, the noise bouncing off the copse of trees and echoing out over the lake.

“His stomach isn’t,” your friend had said, sprawled in your hand-made fort, and Blockhead had scowled, had snapped at them, told them to stay out of-

You breathe in, and the memory tries to settle. Pain flashes behind your eyes, head adjusting as your memories reorganize themselves. It feels like trying to cram a too large book into an already full shelf.

You recall that Winsome hadn’t been around one afternoon. You and your friend had been killing time, trading stories near the water, and then Blockhead had you by the ankle, trying to drag you into the depths. Your friend had stopped Winsome’s brother, had kept you safe from drowning. They’d saved you, had fulfilled a.. life debt to you? But it had broken a kelpie rule. Your friend would need to forfeit something precious for interrupting the business of kelpies. Winsome’s mother had seen your friend stop Blockhead. Had insisted on recompense. Your friend’s precious item- you have the feeling it was your memories of them.

The vague outline of your friend, the absence of them in your memories, is all you have now. Losing your memories of Winsome though? That happened later, when it was just you and Blockhead. He’d caught you unawares and held you by the wrist until you agreed.

“You remember?” Winsome asks in the present, and his smile is savagely pleased, fingers pressed tightly into the middle of your back. Before you can confirm it, before you can ask any questions, Winsome is kissing you again. Your eyes flutter closed, fear all but gone as heat and want fill you up near to bursting. For a moment, you forget entirely about the kelpies in the water, about the memories still trying to settle. You hook a leg around his torso, a small noise escaping your mouth, but then a sloshing sound reaches your ears and Winsome yanks his face away. He takes hurried steps away from the shore, whirling to face the kelpie still half submerged in the lake.

“Was it you?” Winsome demands, lip curling in a sneer. “You took the memories of me-”

“Yes,” you whisper, recognizing the dappled flank of Winsome’s brother. “If I didn’t give them up,” you say, heart racing as the truth finally spills from your mouth. “He said he would finish what your mother started. That you would be punished for spending time with a human. For not-”

His brother's eyes widen, but he doesn’t move, just starts to shake in the shallows, and the three kelpies still in the water make snorting, angry noises.

“You see?” Winsome asks his family. He says a name that you can’t seem to understand, that feels and sounds like rushing static to your ears. “-made no claim, mother never needed to take any memo-”

“We cannot lie,” his brother says, the words slightly garbled in his horse form. Rage blossoms in your chest, heat coursing through you like lightning. He hadn’t lied, but he hadn’t offered reasoning to his mother, hadn’t told her about who you were to Winsome. Part of you is still amazed that the frightening matriarch let you go, had accepted your memories as payment. “You would have been punished, sparing every human who fell prey to our charms.”

“But not for sparing this one,” Winsome bites out, cheeks tensing as his teeth clack together.

“Cease,” one of the kelpies, Winsome’s mother, says from further out. Her curling mane floats on the water like froth. “A sacrifice using my name was wrongly claimed, my son. Come underneath, leave them be or you will be the one to forfeit something precious.”

Winsome sucks in a breath, eyes gone wide with- with fear? And in that split second of you glancing his way, and then glancing back- all the kelpies but his mother have vanished. You and Winsome stare at her, frozen.

“Will you give the memories back?” Winsome asks, though his tone says he doesn’t dare hope for that much. Her eyes roll to your face and then back to her son.

“You know that I cannot. Squander your time here again, if you must. I will not stop you. Humans… Are charming, and have so little time as it is,” her eyes dart to you again and you have to swallow. That… That was the strangest ‘have at it’ declaration from a parent that you’ve ever heard. She isn’t finished though, and her gaze stays on you as she speaks. “He will not be punished for chasing his pleasure, only for denying his nature. We cannot be anything but ourselves,” she tells you, and the words are forceful. A reminder. “And you would be wise to hold fast to this memory in particular.” You blink and then she too, is gone, leaving nothing behind, not even a ripple on the surface of the water.

Both of you are silent, staring out over the still lake.

“How… How did you lure me down here?” You ask, recalling the strange feeling that had made you pause on the road to the lake. The pull that had reeled you in until you knew without a doubt that you weren’t moving your own feet.

Winsome smiles at you, but his eyes are sad. He doesn’t answer your question, and that gives you the feeling that it must have something to do with your friend. “Are you angry?” He asks instead and-

It’s terribly strange, trying to reconcile the young face from your memories with the older one in front of you. You’re both grown now, and the childish fancies of a 13 year old wanting to kiss the kelpie with sharp teeth- It’s almost embarrassing, knowing they’re still there.

“Maybe?” You find yourself answering. He’d frightened you at first, but… You don’t want to lose him again. “I would appreciate my shoes back though, at some point. Aren’t your arms getting tired?”

Winsome shifts you in his arms, but doesn’t let you down, just leans in close until the mist of his breath is condensing in the fast cooling air, mingling with your own. “No,” he says, quietly, tipping his face until his lips are brushing against yours. “I’m not human,” he teases, and the tone, the way his thick eyelashes fan against the curve of his cheeks- it’s an old joke. They would both tease you about it. It had come up in conversations about adventure, about spending your lives together. All the impossible things that feel only a step out of reach to a child or a young teen. But kelpies aren’t exactly talented with human-like glamour, and Winsome… Winsome will never pass for human.

"Human enough," you joke back, heart thrilling.

"I do have arms," he says, but it's his mouth he uses, slanting his lips over yours for a kiss, and then another, and then his tongue is curling against yours and arousal is building in your frame. If Winsome didn't have hold of you, even with your legs wrapped around his torso, you would fall. Your thighs are growing tired, and it's all too tempting to let your legs dangle, to settle yourself in his grip and let him move you where he will.

You break the kiss so you can breathe, laughing when he complains about human lung capacity. "You also have legs," you remind him. "Should we take a walk so, uh," you clear your throat, nodding your head towards the water.

Winsome grins, and though you can see the echo of his young self in it, it's… it's another reminder that so much time has passed. "No audience for you? Are you sure you want-" Winsome stops, eyebrows drawn together in thought, licking at his lips and glancing away. “We’ve… made a hundred jokes about it. But I am not human,” he says, as if this whole ordeal isn’t fresh in your mind. For as long as you’ve known Winsome, for as lovely as you’ve found him over the years - even during the time you couldn’t recall him - you never would have assumed he was human. His being a kelpie was never what kept you apart. It was your age, all those years ago, pre-teen nerves and self awkwardness. And then all the memories of him taken from you in the interim.

“How about you let me have my shoes and we can take that walk?” You ask, heat burning the back of your ears and neck. You’d much rather have this conversation far from potential listeners. Never mind that the kelpies are probably deep beneath the water now.

After a moment, Winsome’s expression brightens and he, slightly unwilling, lets you lean down to grab your shoes from the muck and wrestle them on. “I could carry you,” he insists, and memories want to push to the surface again. It seems impossible that you could have forgotten so much. He sets you down, and then leads you through paths you haven’t walked in years. Most of them are overgrown now, filled with debris from storms or overgrown plants, but the path to your little fort area is still clear, still trampled down- You have to clamp down on the emotions swirling through you. Winsome must still visit regularly.

The copse of trees is almost exactly how you remember it. Overgrown and shaded from most of the lake and filled to the brim with items all three of you had brought here. All the trinkets and blankets are still in strangely good condition, and the arch you’d built for the fort is still standing strong, tied with- You glance at Winsome, embarrassed to find him watching you. The length of water weeds he’d plucked from his own head is still growing, still green, twined about the arch to keep it up. He takes a few long steps ahead of you, taking out the blankets and laying them over the ground for padding. When he bends, you blink. You’d… You’d forgotten about his tail, about your friend braiding it once when Winsome had fallen asleep in the fort.

“I remember that face,” Winsome says archly, drawing you out of your thoughts. He snags hold of your wrist and tugs you into his arms, letting momentum pull him entirely over. Winsome falls onto the blankets, with you caged carefully against him to keep from jostling, and settles his face against the hollow of your throat, breathing in deeply.

“I’d forgotten so many things,” you say, almost confessing, like it’s a secret. You sit back so you can see his face, legs bracketing his middle. You reach out to tug at a lock of his dark gray hair, brandishing it at him with a small, startled laugh. “Like your hair! I forgot that it dries perfectly, that you don’t need to comb it.”

“Those memories will return,” Winsome murmurs. “And we can make others, now, if- if your feelings haven’t changed.”

There are a thousand things you could tell him. There are years worth of conversations you haven’t gotten the chance to have, but- he’s right. As a child, as a teen, trading away the memories had seemed like an easy choice to make for his safety. As an adult, you likely would have done the same, but- with more regret. Memories are sometimes all we have, and you want them. You want to make new ones.

“They haven’t changed. It’s like… It’s almost like they went to sleep. But I do,” you say, heart beating faster as a faint tinge of lavender crawls up his throat and over his face. “Want to make new ones,” you add, and then you lean back down. You kiss Winsome until you’re breathless again, until you’re starting to rock against him, thighs tensing, but his torso is too long. You aren’t even close to his hips at this angle, and if you move back, you won’t be able to reach his mouth. Winsome laughs, sensing your dilemma, and carefully moves you to the side, pushing you until you’re laying on your back and his long fingers are helping you unbutton and unzip every article of clothing he touches. His mouth follows his hands, teeth leaving behind faint bruises that you know will ache, tongue trailing over the worst of them before he sucks at the skin, leaving you trembling.

It’s when he settles between your thighs that you have to fist your hands in the old blankets though. His tongue is wide and long, and the first stroke of it has you tensing. His hands curl around your thighs then, to keep you from moving, to keep your knees from closing around his sensitive ears. He teases, slow and steady and then starts sucking as soon as you relax. You’re fairly sure he’s just enjoying the way you arch into his mouth. Winsome hums when you start to whimper, clutching tighter to you, drawing you closer and then dips his head so he can press his tongue into you, as deeply as he can, eyes flicking up to watch your face and your panting mouth. He’s strong enough that he moves you, pulling you onto his tongue and letting you ease back and then repeating. You have to bite your bottom lip to keep from making noise, but after the fourth time you can’t stop yourself.

“Okay,” you gasp, “okay, okay, that’s- Pause, or you’re going to make me-” You start to shake when he laughs, pulling his tongue out of you to lick his lips. You are… You’re an absolute mess, aching and wet with his saliva and Winsome looks extremely proud of himself. Slowly, he lets your legs settle back against the ground and then gets up to adjust himself. His loincloth and belt are hiding... next to nothing

“Isn’t that the point?” Winsome asks, fumbling at his hip until his belt comes loose and the loincloth follows. He sets them to the side, stalling, arranging them just so. You’re fairly sure he’s doing it so you can have a moment to react before he sees your expression. Winsome finally breathes out and chances a look at your face. You… You had kind of expected him to be on the large side, but large side doesn’t quite cover it. “Earlier,” he starts, reaching out to stroke a hand up your calf. “This was what I meant. About being not human.”

Before you can think on it, before you can rein yourself in, you blurt: “You’re human enough,” and then your mouth snaps closed. He is large, and you can’t deny that you’re breathing faster and you’re slightly nervous, but- You search the memories, still blinking from the pressure of them. Winsome has always respected your wishes. “If I say stop-”

“Of course,” Winsome says, and then his cheeks are dark purple as you get to your knees and carefully crawl into his lap. This, you realize, was why he used his mouth for so long, why he left you wet and eager, because as soon as you take his cock in hand, you’re having second thoughts. “You can say no,” he says softly, hands stroking up over your thighs, “I won’t be upset.”

“I want to try,” you say instead. Using his shoulders for balance and letting him guide seems the smartest way. He follows your directions, eyes tracing over your lips and every minute expression that crosses your face. A rough breath is forced from your mouth when you press yourself down, but as soon as your lips start to twist, Winsome is surprising you with a kiss. You forget what you’re doing for a moment, lost in the way he cradles your cheek, the soft noises he makes when you nip at his lip- and then the stretch of him inside you has you gasping. He swallows the noise, hand sliding from your face to the back of your neck and then grabs hold of your thigh with his other, keeping you steady when you start to straighten. It takes work and time and by the time you feel you’ve taken as much of him as you can, your thighs are straining from the effort. You feel ridiculously tight and full and then Winsome is raising one of his legs so you can rest against it, the small of your back pressing against his knee.

“I think,” Winsome says, voice low and rasping, hand sliding down the middle of your chest and pausing over your abdomen. “I think you’ve done a bit more than try.” He presses with the very tips of his fingers, freezing when you whimper at the added pressure. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” you gasp, embarrassed and turned on, and you seriously want to curse because your thighs feel as strong as jelly right now. “But I’m not sure I can- I can move.”

“Shall I?” He asks, one hand curling around your hip. When you nod your head, the barest whisper of a yes following, Winsome listens. Holding tight to your hip and taking your thigh in his other hand, Winsome rolls his hips and then pulls back. There’s barely a rhythm, you’re both moving so slowly, hot breath misting in the cool air, but every thrust is pushing you closer and closer to the edge, your fingers digging into his pearly shoulders. It’s almost unexpected, how fierce the pleasure is when you come, thighs quivering and arms tense. Winsome’s grip on your thigh becomes uncomfortably tight, and his face is flushed again and then he’s pulling himself free of you, coming over the blanket and his own thigh. You hold yourself up until he’s finished, not wanting to collapse into the mess, but you do collapse into his arms, laughing against his chest, still shaking with aftershocks. His hand cradles the back of your head and he presses a single, breathless kiss to your temple before he’s groaning, tension vanishing from his shoulders. “I thought I would never see you again. Even if you did come close to the lake. I thought-”

You stroke a hand over his damp shoulder, eyes falling closed. You think you might have to nap soon after the roller-coaster of emotions, but you hope he’ll stay with you through that. It… It almost feels like some kind of strange dream, that you might be waking from it at any moment. “We would never have another adventure?” You tease, nuzzling into his skin.

Winsome hums, reaching down to tilt your chin, to make you look at him. “For a while,” he admits. “But now I have a new adventure to undertake with you.” For a moment you think he’s going to make jokes about sex, or maybe even about Blockhead, but then his smile turns shy. “I say we gain back your lost memories, and track down --.” The name is still nothing but static in your ears.

#kelpie x reader #monster boyfriend #exophilia #male kelpie x reader #monster lover #d.darling writes

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missnmikaelson-main · 3 years

Text

A Million Dreams - Chapter 8

She awakened slow then all at once to a barrage of delicate kisses scattered across her bared shoulder in random patterns, contrasting the solid presence of his hand.

Beyond the flutter of white curtains a thin band of pale light hugged the earth in soft proclamation of the new day.

Rough stubble scratched supple skin. An exquisite ache picked up between her thighs, throbbing with each beat of her heart. A ravenous need overtook her.

Her legs parted, creating more than enough space for his fingers to press against the damp cloth of her ruined panties.

She groaned low in her throat.

Wth clumsy movements she managed to curl her fingers around his wrist. His husky voice curled down her spine.

“I want you.”

He pressed the length of his need against the curve of her backside.

She returned his motion on instinct and turned her hips in a slow circle.

He bit her shoulder in response.

She gasped and rolled her hips again, connecting first with his fingers and then his erection.

He soothed the mark with his tongue.

Her lashes fluttered open, allowing her a second glimpse of sky.

“There’s no time.”

“We have nothing but time,” he murmured, catching her ear between his teeth.

The earnest promise of ‘forever’ urged her to flip over and capture his wicked tongue with her teeth. Had they possessed no responsibilities beyond each other she might have.

“We have forever for this,” she sighed, shifting back and forth a final time before raising his hand. She kissed his palm and then his wrist. “We have until dawn’s end to break your curse. Is that not what you want?”

He rose on his elbow and met her eyes.

“The only thing I want more is you and our daughter.”

“You already have me,” she murmured, nudging his nose, “and soon we shall have her, but this morning I can give you your magic.”

“I do want that, my love. I know you can do it,” he dragged his finger through the air a millimetre from her cheekbone. “I also know that the moment you break my curse you will break Finn’s. Everyone shall know within seconds and we shall spend the day answering a million questions from our family and your friends. Rebekah will lay claim to her beloved sister and another moment alone for days.”

“I’m sure Bekah will understand when I tell her my nights are yours.” She let go of his hand to hold his cheek, rough beneath her palm, and shivered again. “Those questions and confrontation should be dealt with sooner rather than later. At least that’s what I think. If things get a chance to fester they’ll simply barge in on us and demand answers.

I’d rather not add my friends to the list of people who have seen me naked.”

“They wouldn’t…”

“You don’t know Caroline very well yet,” Elena smirked. “Trust me she would. Now can I get up and put on clothes? As it is your going to have to carry me to the site.”

“One more moment I get to hold you,” he teased.

Elena rolled her eyes and tossed back the covers. She rose to her feet and watched from the corner of her eye as he did the same, drinking in the coil of each muscle.

“Hey, Kol?” Her fingers skimmed her hip bones.

“Yes, my love?” He raised an eyebrow.

She appraised the length of his body, pausing to appreciate the black boxer briefs and abdominal muscles she planned on putting to use soon. Goosebumps rose on her naked thighs.

“What happened to our pants?”

He retrieved her dark wash jeans from the floor at the foot of the bed, smirking as he rose to his full height.

She sincerely hoped they hadn’t engaged in anything during the night. It wasn’t that she had any objections to sleepy, middle of the night, sex with her husband; making love in the moonlight with only enough awareness to take in each other was wonderful. As was waking with the satisfaction from an orgasm and only the haziest of memories surrounding it.

She held no objections to gentle love-making in the dead of night; she just wanted their first time together again to be memorable. Hopefully not ‘Rebekah bursting in on us’ memorable, but something she clearly remembered.

“You woke around midnight, though I’m not certain I should call it awareness,” he chuckled, handing her the denim. “You then spent several minutes attempting to shimmy out of these before I took over. I understand why you desired them off now.”

“Jeans aren’t exactly comfortable,” she murmured as she pulled them back on. She held zero desire to hunt for fresh clothes when her jeans were perfectly clean. “What happened to your pants?”

“Ah,” he chuckled, fastening his belt. “You attempted to wrap yourself around me and decided you disliked the material. You struggled with my belt until I stood and removed my trousers. Then you curled around me and almost immediately fell back to sleep.”

She nodded and hummed, reaching into her closet for a soft white sweater. “Next time I’m that tired remind me to put on pyjamas, or just strip me naked.”

“I’m a fan of the latter.”

“Bet you are…” she rubbed at her eyes and stifled a yawn.

“Will you be needing this Elena?”

She looked over her shoulder where he held out her bra and shook her head.

“Polite society would say yes, my desire for comfort says no.” She put on the large sweater, letting it fall to mid thigh. “I’ll put one on after the spell. With any luck I’ll have time to shower before Elijah walks in.”

“Why Elijah?”

“He’s got an invitation,” she shrugged. “Personally I’m hoping nobody bursts in, but that’s too much to ask.”

“Elijah has a little more tact than that.”

“Four hundred years dead and then I show up and kill Esther? The only reason he’s not already here is because of the instructions I gave. He’ll follow them to the letter until Bonnie seals the tomb, or Nik compels her to never leave.”

She didn’t realize she had slipped to the old nickname until after she said it. She wasn’t sure what her hesitation was, or where it stemmed from. In truth he had acted exactly as she planned for him to. Being reborn within her own bloodline had been about more than luring her family to her. She sought true Petrova blood so he could break his curse. He wasn’t meant to go for Jenna though. The plan had been Katerina who would have been easy enough to find once she remembered her magic and how to use it.

Really, she could blame Katerina for almost everything that had gone wrong. But how was she supposed to know the doppelbitch would muck up her plans?

“And I love Caroline, but she had absolutely no tact. Neither does Damon. He’d march into the bathroom and demand answers through the shower curtain.”

“I swear I’ll keep people out of your bathroom.”

“Here I was thinking you’d join me in the shower,” she teased, reaching for her coat.

He followed her down the stairs. A choking sound drew their attention towards the kitchen where a man sputtered over a cup of coffee.

“Morning,” Elena cleared her throat.

He got his breathing under control and looked swiftly from her to him. “Who the hell are you?”

“Ric, it’s me,” she took a small step towards the kitchen, “Elena. The face you knew was a glamour, but it’s gone now.”

“I know it’s you Elena,” he rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen through that glamour since the first time I was killed. I was talking about him.”

“Oh,” she rocked back on her heels. “Does that mean Jeremy could see me too?”

“Probably,” Alaric frowned. “My question? I might be new to this guardian gig, but I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to let strange men be in your bedroom before dawn.”

“Don’t worry, mate, I’m no stranger.”

She heard the smirk in his voice.

“Kol, this is my legal guardian, technical step—father, and almost uncle Alaric Saltzman,” she waved towards the kitchen. “Ric, this is Kol Mikaelson…”

Alaric’s eyes widened on the last name. Her next words threatened to make them budge straight out of his head.

“He’s my husband.” His mouth opened and closed a few times. “I can see you want answers, and I swear I’ll tell you and Jeremy everything later, but right now I have to go do a spell.”

She reached for the door and walked outside. At the bottom of the steps she froze, eyes drawn to the dark figure in the driveway; he moved into a beam of light.

“Jeremy?”

“Hey,” he called in a tired voice, adjusting his duffle bag. “Who’s that?”

Before she could answer a strangled cry came from inside the house.

“Husband?!”

Jeremy’s eyes widened.

“Tell you later, Jer. We gotta go.”

Kol had swept her into his arms, taking off before Jeremy could utter a word. The world whipped by in muted colours of brown and green; she closed her eyes to combat her sudden motion sickness, resting her head on Kol’s shoulder until he stopped moving.

A thousand years earlier the desolate spot housed the white oak that gifted them immortality while threatening to yank it away. In the twenty-first century only the - and she almost laughed thinking the word - cauldron remained atop a large stone.

The remnant of an ancient fire pit beckoned. In silence Kol gathered wood and created a neat pyramid; she lit it with a thought, making a mental note to locate another hand of glory and soon.

She unfolded the spell and laid out the two stones that thrummed with held energy, catching his amused eye over the flames; his mouth quirked upwards in a familiar smirk.

“What?”

“You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“I know,” she worried her bottom lip.

A streak of sunlight lit the forest floor, staining her fingers. Shadow passed over a split second before his hand held hers.

His lips brushed over her temple, words caressing her skin.

“Anyone who can’t accept you for who you are is a fool. It’s their loss if they let you slip through their fingers; I certainly won’t be doing that again.”

She allowed a second to accept the comfort but no more time as dawn surrounded them. With both hands extended over the stones she closed her eyes and began to chant.

The energies pulsed in their prison, straining to reach out to her.

++++

“How exactly is she meant to stay put?” Rebekah crossed her arms, tapping her foot in the middle of the pentagram. “I don’t put much faith in Nik; he’ll have us all rotting in coffins again before we can blink.”

“Had you refrained from interfering this would have all been over by now,” Esther pressed her hands to the barrier. The simple spell would only last until the next moonrise.

“The casual manner in which you discuss the premeditated murder of your own children shocks me.” Elijah’s hands clenched in his jacket pocket, cutting white half crescents across his palms.

Dark veins writhed beneath her eyes in pathological response to Bonnie’s blood still dripping from her fingertips.

“You have all lived too long.”

“I haven’t lived at all,” Rebekah shrieked, gathering the full attention of her brother’s. Elijah and Klaus had the decency to lower their eyes, ashamed in part for the actions taken to protect her over the centuries.

Bonnie shifted on her heels. She tipped her chin up a fraction and glanced through the corner of her eye to Caroline.

“I feel like we’re getting a little off topic.”

“Miss Bennett is correct,” Finn cleared his throat, nodding in her direction. “We need a method for permanently securing mother, lest she attempt to remove every vampire from the world again.”

“Perhaps you should not be privy to this conversation,” Klaus’ growled, tone dripping malice, “considering how eager you were to work with her.”

“When I thought her plans were to kill us,” his eyes narrowed, “she never mentioned that our deaths would result in the deaths of everyone.”

“And that should make a difference to you?”

“As a matter of fact it does. You left me to rot. You all left me to rot for 900 years. Why should I not want you dead for that?”

“If you are so angry why help Elena?” Klaus’ eyes flashed gold.

“Call it an assured sense that she had no part in leaving me to that fate.”

“He’s got a point,” Rebekah shifted, resisting the urge to hold her hands against her stomach. From the moment Caroline revealed Esther’s intentions a knot formed deep inside. Her own mother - a woman who should love them all without condition - desired their deaths. She wanted to vomit.

“She never removed the dagger.” Klaus snapped.

“Only because you threatened Kol,” she murmured.

Caroline glanced at Bonnie and then the Originals, standing around various points of the pentagram. Sunlight streamed through the whole above their heads. Thankfully it was the weekend so she wouldn’t have to come up with an excuse to excuse her extracurricular activity of locking up a psycho witch.

“Is it just me, or could all of you really benefit from some therapy?”

“Care, this is probably the most dysfunctional family in history,” Bonnie bit down her smirk, “they’d send any therapist running for the hills. We’d find the poor shrink half mad and muttering about the nice practice they used to run.”

“We’re not that bad, love,” Klaus rolled his eyes.

Caroline arched an eyebrow and raised her hands, ticking off a handful of problems with a raised finger.

“Mommy issues, daddy issues, infanticide, at least one massacre, daggers…”

“Are you quite finished?”

“No,” she lifted her eyes to Klaus. “You also murdered your brother’s wife… twice.”

The fire in his gaze extinguished in a wave of guilt and grief. She caught herself before she could do something stupid, like give him a hug.

“Any therapist would have to be compelled,” Elijah’s voice broke through the sudden silence.

Rebekah nodded her agreement. “It’s much easier, and more satisfying, to remove internal organs. Maybe a few limbs.”

“We’re you always like this?” Caroline crossed her arms and tilted her head. In her peripheral vision Finn stiffened.

The question took the siblings by surprise. Rebekah glanced towards her brothers then shook her head.

“We’ve grown more violent these last few centuries,” she admitted.

“Why?” Bonnie scuffed her heel on stone.

“Vampires are a scourge, a disease on this earth…”

“And now you’re one of them,” Bonnie snapped, patience breaking thin. “Being a vampire doesn’t automatically make a person a monster. And even if it did nature has had a thousand years to adjust. You can’t just wipe out a species and expect everything to go back to normal. That kind of imbalance could destroy the world, and it’s not exactly in a good spot right now to handle extra destruction.”

“Will nothing you see convince you that my spell, made in error, must be corrected?” She snarled, beating against the barrier. “You have watched the destruction they’ve caused from life and through the veil of the Other Side, yet you persist in resisting me.”

“What are you talking about?” Bonnie took a small step back, unnerved by the venom in the older witch’s eyes.

“You were there at the beginning. You witnessed everything in between. And it was your magic meant to aid in the end, as it did at the start.”

“Wait a second,” she held out her hands, palms up, “are you saying I was alive in the tenth century?”

“Well, at this point we’ve established that past lives are a thing,” Caroline’s eyes narrowed. “How many witches lived here?”

“Mother, Finn, Kol and Elena, Ingvar and…” Elijah trailed off, casting a questioning glance in his mother’s direction. “Ayana?”

“Ayana?” Rebekah paused when she saw Finn lean heavily on the wall, but focused her attention on the young witch. “Ayana reborn in the same place as Elena? And both of them in their own bloodlines?”

“Coincidence?” Caroline suggested.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Rebekah tilted her head.

“And I don’t believe you were all violent because you were vampires,” Bonnie rolled her eyes, making a note to ask Elena about Elijah’s theory later. “Why the shift?”

“In short?” Rebekah fiddled with the end of her scarf. “We lost Elena. She had a very… human influence on us.”

“The girl who slaughtered a coven of witches?”

“Her massacres were few, one really,” she pursed her lips. “And she turned after we learned how to compel. Killing to survive was never a necessity for her, and as such she did not begin her new life forced to desensitize herself to violence.”

“We are once again veering off topic,” Klaus cleared his throat. “How are we to keep her in their permanently? Compulsion can always be broken; even fought through if one’s mind is strong.”

“What about speeding up desiccation?” Elijah suggested.

“That’s no good; I would have to stop a human heart for that.”

“You know this how?” Klaus turned his attention to the young witch.

“It’s how Abby stopped Mikael.” Her fingers dug into her upper arms. “We need a boundary spell that won’t break. Something nearly impossible to break. When Emily sealed the tomb she used a comet. Are there any set to fly over head soon? I don’t want to use the full moon; it comes around to often.”

“You might try binding the boundary to an immortal who can’t die.”

Almost in unison, everybody looked up, searching the bright opening for the source of the voice.

“Rather ingenious, darling.”

“What can I say? I’m still a prodigy.”

“That you are.”

The air shifted as Kol leapt down with Elena in his arms, bending his knees to absorb the impact.

She released a huff of air and rolled her eyes, pushing her hair from her face.

“You know, there were stairs?” She waved beyond Klaus to the stone steps.

“Yes, but you’re fully capable of walking down stairs. And as we both know I’ll look for any excuse to hold you.”

Rebekah made a gagging noise and a show of checking her watch.

“It only took them a night to become nauseating.”

“We should have placed bets,” Elijah snickered.

“You all would have lost; they were nauseating when we were down in the tunnels.” Caroline scoffed.

Elena set her feet on the floor. An exasperated sigh escaped, undercut with fondness, when Kol snaked his arms around her waist. “You’re going to be really clingy for a while, huh?”

“At least a century,” he hummed, fingers splayed over her abdomen.

“She’ll be sick of you within a year,” Rebekah shook her head.

“I’m not worried,” Elena grinned, “his attention’s gonna be split pretty soon.” Her eyes roamed the room to settle on Finn, staring into his palm as the other touched the stone wall in something close to reverence. “Alright there Finn?”

The call of his name broke him from his thoughts. He lifted his eyes to focus on her, wonder glimmering in the depths of his gaze; she would have to show him that stolen memory soon.

“What have you done?”

Smugness tightened her expression that she turned towards Esther.

“The question is: what did I undo?” Her smile turned soft for Finn. “Turns out we were all missing a few memories.”

She noted the glaring absence in the lack of screaming.

“Where are Stefan and Damon?”

“They went looking for you,” Bonnie turned to face the couple, “about an hour ago.”

“Ugh,” she shut her eyes, dropping her head on Kol’s shoulder, “they’re gonna be in my living room.”

“I could…”

“You’re not killing my ex-boyfriend and his brother,” she lightly smacked Kol’s hand.

“What about maiming?”

“No.”

“Just one blow?”

“Kol…”

“The man slept with my wife,” he squeezed her waist.

“And your sister,” Caroline coughed.

“Not helping, Care.” A shudder went through Elena, rocking her from head to toe.

“Helping?” Caroline scoffed. “Who said anything about helping? I’m involved solely for the drama, plus I kinda wanna see Damon get his ass handed to him.”

“Damon?” Kol frowned. “I believed Stefan to be the former lover.”

“He is,” Caroline grinned. Darkness passed behind her eyes. “Damon’s been trying to get in her pants since he came to town. I’ll bet he’s still gonna try. He’s obsessive.”

“Should he try he’ll learn very fast just how possessive Kol can be,” Rebekah rolled her eyes. “And I don’t want you killing Stefan either.”

“I suppose if they understand what they can and cannot have I could leave them be, but I reserve the right to strike back should they attempt to come between my lovely bride and I.”

Elena rolled her eyes.

“I haven’t been a bride in a thousand years.”

“You’re as lovely now as you were then.”

“But not a newlywed.”

“Then explain why everything feels so wondrously new.” His nose skimmed her throat.

“That would be your newly returned magic,” she giggled.

“Your explanation fails to account for last night, or the one before.”

“Get a bloody room!” Rebekah crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

Kol smirked, lifting his head from where he had laid a kiss on her soft skin.

“We intend to,” he stepped back from Elena reluctantly, gesturing towards the tomb with all the care he would have taken to wave off a troublesome fly, “just as soon as mother is permanently sealed in that one.”

@elejahforever @elejah-wonderland @naughtynecromancer @ethanjwillis @cry-btch @geekofmanyfandoms @morsmornte @xanderling @bellemorte180 @iw1shiknew @blndbandt @petrova-banz @bulldozed88 @njeancastro316 @hellotvshowtrash @id-dance-with-draco

#kolena #a million dreams fanfic

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himbowelsh · 4 years

Note

If you want to, 9 or 19 with webgott? I hope you have a wonderful week 💕

i’ve got another prompt for #19, so how about #9?

sha-la-la-la my oh my, looks like the boy’s too shy 💋 (accepting!) 9. one small kiss, pulling away for an instant, then devouring each other

The stars are brighter tonight than any other time in recent memory... and it’s not like Austrian skies aren’t impressive as a rule. The nights shine brighter in the countryside than they ever did over the bustle of New York City. No matter how many times he sees the skies alight, David will never get used to it. Something divine shimmers in each blinking star, something earnest and mythical in the constellations strewn like New Years’ confetti across the sky. He is not a spiritual man, but Austrian nights make him feel like he could be, maybe.

Tonight, the sky is putting in extra effort. Each star feels like a beacon, calling him away from war and mourning. One of them, he muses, might be Janovec.

He spun off the road just that morning, with little warning and no fanfare. One second, he was alive. The next... the war had claimed him too, and he didn’t even have a bullet wound to show for it.

The men who died on D-Day were heroes. David saw them drown in waist-deep swamps... gurgle to death on blood and bullets... strangled by their own risers and left hanging from trees like Halloween decorations. Heroic deaths, all of them, and their parents must claim some sense of pride in knowing their sons lives ended, not in agony and fear, but in resolute patriotism.

American heroes still sob for their mothers in their last moments. David still hears their screams.

Isn’t it such a privilege to die for one’s country?

Janovec didn’t even get that. He wasn’t taken out by enemy gunfire — only it was an American Jeep, and an enemy tree. Hoobler didn’t die in the heat of battle. His killer was a German pistol, but an American hand. Van Klinken caught machine gun fire, but he bled to death on Dutch soil, with Dutch dirt in his mouth and Dutch ash mixing with his tears.

Will they be called heroes, now that the fighting is done?

Austrian summer is warm, but there’s always a chill this high up. It bites at David’s exposed skin. He draws himself up a bit tighter, knees pulling close to his chest. There’s no real danger of overbalancing. The street may be a dizzying distance below, but this part of the rooftop is steady and nearly flat. He’d never have climbed out otherwise. David is not in the business of risking his own life unnecessarily. He fought a war, which ought to be enough; he’s got no intention of dying now that it’s done.

(Done for some, in limbo for others. In a few months, will they all be speaking Japanese?)

It’s chilly up here, but quiet, and perfectly dark — exactly what he was looking for. The sky sprawls above him, endless and alive with constellations. Each one welcomes him, calls out to him, tugs at the exposed threads of his soul. There, glistening brightly off to the right — is that Janovec? There, the one with the steady glow — Hoobler? Or maybe it’s Jackson — maybe those twin stars, glittering playfully side by side, are Muck and Penkala. Maybe there’s a place in the sky for more — hundreds, thousands, him —

“You gotta be kidding me.”

The unexpected voice jars him, like waking from a deep sleep. David flails. If the roof were any more perilous, he’d have certainly gone over the edge — but if this occurs to the intruder clambering out the rooftop window, he doesn’t seem to care.

“Of all the places — ow, fuck —“ Joe Liebgott smacks his head against the top of the frame. He’s too lanky; on the ground, he carries his long limbs with the grace of a feline, but he clearly wasn’t made for cat burglary. David sucks his lip, determined not to laugh, as Joe awkwardly forces his too-big body through the opening. “Of all the places to get yourself killed, Web, you know how to pick ‘em.”

“Figured it would have happened by now, in some way or another,” he replies with an easy shrug. “Why wait for anyone’s help?”

Joe says nothing — unless another muffled curse as his foot gets caught on the frame counts. By the time he manages to haul himself out onto the rooftop, he’s got a tear in his shirt sleeve, and multiple bruises to show for the effort. Never mind the fact that David didn’t invite him, or tell him where he was going; Joe still huffs at him as if it’s somehow his fault.

“People who can’t climb out windows typically shouldn’t,” is all David has to say on the subject.

“If they were made to be climbed out of, they’d be bigger.” Joe inches forward on his hands and knees, peering over the ledge with his typical morbid curiosity. A low whistle echoes through the quiet night. With a sigh, David settles back in his comfortable spot, watching the interloper warily. He doesn’t know why Joe’s here. Nevermind what he wants — he’s never been able to figure that out, and they’ve known each other for nearly a year now.

Instead of explaining himself, as he can usually be relied on to do, Joe goes quiet. It’s... somehow worse than chatter. Silence is heavy, like a lead blanket draped over their shoulders, weighing them both down. It feels more intimate, somehow. There’s not much space on this rooftop, only a few feet of distance between them, but the longer the quiet stretches on the more that distance shrinks to inches.

If only he’d brought cigarettes — that’s something to share, and a good excuse for sitting alone at night. As it is, if Joe asks what he’s doing out here... David doesn’t know what he’d say.

Joe isn’t paying attention to him, though. His gaze, too, is trained on the sky. No one can escape it tonight.

Unexpected, unbidden, Joe breaks the silence. “You ever think about what’s up there?”

David tenses. Too close to home. “I mean... sure. Sometimes. I guess... lots of gasses, and dust particles, water vapor... and that’s just in our atmosphere.”

Joe casts him a glance that’s half-annoyed, in the way that isn’t really annoyed at all. David hates how accustomed he’s grown to all those outspoken looks. “You know what I mean,” Joe says — and David says nothing, because he does.

“I used to... think there had to be something up there. Not really people, y’know? My Mom, she tried to raise us the right way — when our pet hamster died, she told us about immortal souls, olam haba, everything that’s supposed to come after. Except I never really...” He gestures for a minute, snapping his fingers like the words elude him. “Got it. My Mom will give you her opinion on anything, but even she can’t say for sure what happens when you die. It was all too hazy for me as a kid. I didn’t know what to look for, or... what it meant.”

David tries to understand. He comes up short, in ways he can’t identify but is painfully aware of. Even so, he tries.

“My mother’s family was Protestant. She used to say there were angels watching over us all the time.” His nose crinkles. “Just to get me to eat my Brussels sprouts, I think. The angels saw me feed them to the dog.”

Joe laughs, sound sharp as a knife in the gentle night. David can’t say why he’s pleased.

“Exactly, though. You Christians pretend to have it all figured out. God’s up there, he’s watching everything, and when your time’s up you’ll either go upstairs or downstairs.” His lips purse, the way they do when he’s trying and failing not to grin. “Jews are still arguing about how many heavens there are.”

“What do you think?” He asks the question before he means to, without really thinking. As soon as it’s out, David regrets it... but Joe doesn’t even spare him a glance.

“Aliens. Real ‘War of The Worlds’ type shit.” Finally, he allows himself to grin, and it only widens as he keeps talking. “Like to think Flash Gordon’s saving the universe up there somewhere. Maybe Superman too, but he’s kind of a chump. Probably some planets we ain’t found yet, suns and moons we ain’t seen.” He’s hesitates. “But I think I like that other idea now... that maybe there are people up there. Maybe there is something... something real after.”

He falls quiet. His hands are braced in front of him, taut as straining metal. David studies them, and doesn’t dare look at Joe.

“How many stars d’you think there are, Web?” Joe asks after a moment.

David has no damned clue. “A lot,” he answers confidently. “Millions.”

“Millions,” echoes Joe. The glittering stars are reflected in his eyes, like black pits sending each beam of light back outward. It’s almost hypnotizing, the way they flicker. If he stares too long, David knows he will get lost in them, so he forcibly tears himself away. Wherever Joe’s mind is going, he can’t — possibly shouldn’t — follow.

Guessing isn’t safe. Wondering isn’t safe. Seeking insight into Joe Liebgott’s mind, when it’s so… enigmatic to Webster’s own has never been, and will never be, safe.

The acrid smell of tobacco startles him. When he looks back over, Joe has lit up a cigarette, and is blowing a long cloud of smoke against the black sky.

“No, really, I’m fine. Thanks for offering,” David drawls, inching closer. Joe’s eyes flicker towards him; his mouth curls up around the cigarette.

“Only got this one left, Web. If I had one to offer, you know I would.” He clicks his tongue. “I’m generous like that.”

“A modern day Santa Claus, huh?”

“Ho ho,” Joe replies.

David reaches for the cigarette. He doesn’t know why — it’s not like he really wants a smoke — but the idea of doing nothing, of letting silence linger between them as they both stew in their own thoughts, is worse. Also, if Joe gets a bit of relief via Lucky Strike, he’s got no right to hoard it. Determined, David leans forward, even as Joe angles away from him.

“Yeah, no, nice try.”

“Share! You — quit moving, we’re going to fall off the roof.”

“You’ll fall, and I won’t catch you.”

“I’ll drag you down with me!”

He catches the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, and deftly plucks it from Joe’s grasp. Victorious, David brandishes it high, letting a thin stream of smoke blaze into the night. Over the chorus of Joe’s curses, he takes a drag. It goes too deep into his lungs, too quickly; he ends up sputtering, lurching forward in a chest-rattling burst of coughs. His grip on the cigarette goes loose, and it falls from his hand.

“Shit, Web!”

David is too preoccupied with his lungs turning themselves inside-out to pay attention to Joe… until a hand finds his back, rubbing steady curves between his shoulder blades. He sputters, but Joe is there, coaching him through it, until he’s finally able to take a breath without gagging.

“Oh boy,” he mutters. “Oh god.” Then, realizing Joe’s last cigarette has fumbled straight off the roof, to the cobblestones down below, he hisses. “Shit. Sorry.”

“Nah. Don’t bother.” Joe is still rubbing his back, even though there’s no need to — really, he’s fine. “I can get more when I need ‘em.”

“No, I’ll — I’ll give you some of mine when we get back inside.” He breaks off with another harsh cough. By the time he’s done, David is spent; only a moment too late does he realize he’s slumped back against Joe’s chest.

The other man doesn’t pull away. Joe supports him, easing David upright and bracing his weight. He handles him like a delicate thing… and from Joe Liebgott, who David has never known to be delicate in his life, the treatment is jarring. David looks up at him, gaze pulled as though caught in a magnetic current; he finds Joe staring back. His eyes are dark as ever, still lit with starlight. His lips are wet.

“You okay?” Joe asks.

“Yeah. Fine,” David replies.

“I ain’t mad, Web,” he says, “but I would’ve liked a little more of that smoke before you tried to eat it.”

“I got enough of it to share.”

David’s not sure what the hell he's saying. It doesn’t matter. Joe’s lips twitch.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His head tilts. David’s eyes close. A second later, Joe’s mouth is on his, warm and tender, and he couldn’t exhale even if he remembered how.

Maybe David’s the first one to cup Joe’s face; maybe Joe’s hand is the first to find his hair; maybe they're twined together for hours, or only a few precious seconds. When they break apart, none of it matters. Joe’s eyes are wide, pitch black. Surely his incredulity must be reflected back in David’s own face, because right now, his heart wants to pound out of his chest.

Joe’s hand is still on his face. He only realizes this when a rough-padded thumb caresses his cheekbone, unspeakably tender. “You okay, Web?” Joe asks again.

“Yeah,” he replies, voice shuddering. “Incredible.”

He’s not sure who moves forward then — it’s probably both of them at once, seizing that impossible instinct driven only by heat and instinct. Everywhere Joe’s skin brushes against his, his nerves explode into an electric shower; his mouth is hot and needy, consuming David’s as soon as they find each other again. Joe draws him in like he’s the only thing left that matters, and David is helpless in his desire to give himself up.

Please, he thinks desperately, kiss me like I matter. Kiss me like we’re both alive, and going to stay that way. Kiss me like the stars aren’t watching, and we’ll live forever.

Joe’s lips are a fantasy, and they thoroughly carry him away. For a moment, he lets himself go. Nothing matters but the pressure of Joe’s lips, sucking dark bruises along his jaw, or the determined hands that grasp at his shoulders. In the heat battle, you learn to zero your focus in on one thing, and that concentration keeps you alive. This is a different heat, a different ear waging between them, but David gives every ounce of attention to Joe all the same. He drives him forward, keeps them moving even when their hearts are beating out an urgent symphony in twin ribcages, and David’s is ready to burst.

“Joe —“ He gasps, over the sound of the other man’s harsh breathing. Joe shushes him, fingers brushing his swollen lips. David leans into the touch. Joe leans back to accommodate him. They both lean too far.

“Shit!”

For a second, it’s blind terror — the ground sliding away beneath them, fumbling for a hand of foothold as the ledge looms closer…

David catches them both, his heels catching on a gutter and halting his descent. Joe’s still holding onto him, so the momentum carries over. They’re dangerously far down the inclined roof; a certain broken back looks twenty feet below, the ledge within spitting distance. They don’t go over, though, and that makes the difference.

After a moment, Joe exhales a great, shuddering breath. One hand runs through his hair. “Fuck. Jesus fuck. Just lost two decades off my life.”

“Better than losing it all,” David mutters. He’s determined not to look over the ledge. Unconsciously, his grip tightens around Joe; he doesn’t realize Joe’s holding him just as fast until a small tug pulls him back from the roof.

“Come on,” Joe mutters. “Let’s get the hell outta here before we both end up weird stains on the ground.”

He doesn’t need to tell him twice. David casts one last look up at the night sky — serene, twinkling like it knows a secret but doesn’t dare say — before huffing, and clambering up in Joe’s wake.

Existential questions can wait until morning. Joe, on the other hand, has never been good at waiting.

#webgott #david webster #joseph liebgott #my writing #this is?? my first time approaching joe's jewish faith in any substantial way #and i was kinda uncertain about it bc its a topic i've always treated with kid gloves #i'm NOT jewish so did a lot of research beforehand about jewis belief in the afterlife #not sure how i handled it but... hmm #good-night-space-kid

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lablass-2882 · 3 years

Text

The Links vs Amusement Parks

A modern Au where the Links go to an amusement park. Enjoy the chaos.

Part 1 The Coaster!

Why me?

Twilight sighed as he slowly approached the rollercoaster with Wild and Wind. Why? Why did it have to be me; he asked himself again. Why did he have to go on this death trap with his most mischievous younger brothers? Why couldn’t War, or Legend go with them?

Twilight didn’t have to ask himself twice, he already knew the answer. It was equal parts, Wild being Wild, War and Legend being in the midst of another betting war and Twilight being the most responsible of his brothers. Argo. He, had to ride the deathtrap with Wind and Wild. But he asked himself again anyway. Why me?

Wind was absolutely gitty with excitement. Almost to the point where Twilight thought he was going to vibrate through the metal guardrail that lined the walkway. He had been waiting weeks for this brand-new coaster to open. And for weeks, Twilight dreaded another visit to the Amusement Park.

He could not fathom why Wild and Wind loved this place so much. Granted, he was one of the few who didn’t like this place. Most of his brothers loved going here. He however really wished that he was somewhere, anywhere else.

Wild punched him on the shoulder. Come on Twi, it’ll be fun.

Tell that to my already curing stomach.

Really, already?

I don’t do coaster, Wild……

Yeah…. But this one will be different.

Different how?

Different by how fast it flings you up and over that peak. Wind pointed towards the peak of the coaster. It's 400ft in the air and you get shot up it like a cannon! AND-

I know Wind! It is all done by water pressure. You’ve nagging me about it for weeks.

Wind pouted. It's cool. That’s all.

Twilight sighed again.

Sorry, Wind… I just-

Don’t like coasters, we know. Wild finished. BUT! Look on the bright side. It’s better than doing chores, right?

Or drills, or being grounded? Wind added.

Twilight groaned. He’d rather be mucking out the stables than being flung up a straight incline on a slingshot.

Meanwhile, near the carnival games….

I cannot believe that we lost to Sun. Again!

YOU lost to Sun. Again. I demand a rematch! Best 37 of 75! Legend’s eyes were set ablaze with anger and determination. War, on the other hand, looked utterly defeated and pleaded for mercy.

~Okay Legend~, Sun sang in her usually sugar-sweet tone. One more round. War you want in? She glanced back a Warriors with a cunningly sweet smile. War wisely opted out.

Nope. I wasted enough money for one day. Legend you are on your own.

Traitor!

Nope! Not falling for it. Nope, I am out. I have already wasted 200 bucks on these stupid games and I am done. Warriors stomped over to where Time and Sky were sitting. Time merely raised his eyebrow as Warrior sat down next to him.

Don’t even ask.

Fair enough. Time shrugged and watched another round of chaos with Sky and Warriors.

He’s going to be broke by the end of the night. Sky hummed.

I’m surprised he's not broke already. Time questioned.

He is. He keeps phone his boyfriend for more money. Warrior grumbled.

Oh! Are he and Ravio finally official? Sky beamed at Warriors with a hopeful smile.

No. Legend lives and breathes deniability. They could be married and Legend would insist that they’re “just friends”

Not that you're doing any better there, playboy. Time pointed out.

Okay first off, Rude. Warriors dramatically scoffed. And second. Just because you’re the only one of us that’s married doesn’t mean that you get to stand on any moral high ground here. I still remember all the trouble you and Ruto got into, mister.

I was twelve and it was a schoolyard crush. Malon’s my wife and that the end of it.

Um… Sun and I are engaged so-

Doesn’t count yet Sky. Warriors cut him off. And “school yard-crush” my ass! That “crush” lasted until high school buddy.

Freshmen year hardly counts as high school

So, you admit that it wasn’t just a schoolyard crush. Anything else you want to own up to? I’m all ears.

War… this isn’t the time nor-

I saw you kiss a guy, last week. Time added smugly. And knowing you… there was probably some tongue.

Warrior’s face was beet red in embarrassment. He was also stuttering and flaying about; searching for a response.

Oh! Do we get to know his name this time? Sky leaned over knowingly, with a mischievous look on his face. Or was it just another taste?

Meanwhile at the waterpark with Four and Hyrule.

I am not too SHORT! Four shouted at the teen managing the water slide.

I’m… sor…sorry…s..sir. The teen stuttered out. My man.. man.. manager will fire me if I let another kid go down the ride. The last two near broke their arms in a fight.

KID?! Four was beyond riled up by this point

Let it go Four, we’ll just find another ride.

But?!

There’s no need to risk anyone's job, let's just…. go…. Before we cause another scene. Hyrule tried to quiet down his angered brother, while also not thinking about the growing number of eyes staring at them.

FINE!

Four stormed off back down the steps. With Hyrule on his heels, quietly trying to not meet anyone’s gaze as they did. Once at the bottom and well out of sight of the crowds, Four unleashed his anger.

Can you believe this?! KID? KID! Just who does that guy think he is? I am not a kid. I’m goddess dammed sixteen years old for goddess’s sake!

Four… just…. Take a breath…. And … calm down…..

NO!

Please? Hyrule whined. I really don’t want to get banned from another ride. Especially after what Wind and Terra did last time we were here.

Yeah, yeah, I remember. They got into a huge fight and dragged half of the kids in the park into it. Broken bones, and pride all around.

And they both got banned from the waterpark. Not to mention we’re food court, the video game lounge, the petting zoo, the-

I get it. Four stopped Hyrule from listing all the places he and their brothers have been banned from for… questionable behavior.

Honestly, I’m surprised they haven’t banned us from the park altogether.

It’s because the other parks are paying them to keep us so that we don’t go to any other park. Four joked.

Hyrule laughed. Yeah, you’re probably right. All the other parks quake in fear of the Link brothers. Ooohhh spooky. A family of nine brothers that cause utter chaos where ever we go.

Speaking of spooky, Four pipped up. You want to ditch this place and go check out that new haunted house? I heard that is super scary.

Ha, you know it. Let’s jam! Hyrule pointed finger guns at Four and did his best Cowboy Bebop impression.

Ugh. Hyrule, we got to work on your reference game.

Hey, I thought I did pretty good this time.

Four just shook his head. Why his brother loved 90’s anime, he would never know.

Back at the coaster.

Twilight looked up at the looming coaster. He tried not to think about it.

He tried not to think about being flung at high speeds up a vertical incline while being strapped into a metal cart. He tried not to think about how the safety bar is essential a thin and a very breakable metal bar across his waist. He tried not to think about the computer that calculated the weight of the cars messing up and not launch the cart up the slope with enough speed. Causing the cart to come sliding back down to the platform only to recalculate and be launched up again. As Wind was so kindly explaining to Twilight as they stood in this goddess forsake long line.

You think we’ll crest the top on the first try? Wind oh so innocently asked with his best “I’m-not-causing trouble-voice”.

Maybe? Wild shrugged. He tuned out Wind ramble about an hour ago. He was too busy texting new recipes to Sidon to notice Twilight growing paler with every passing minute.

Goddess, I hope not. Twilight sighed. One ride is enough

OH, come on Twi. It's not that bad. Plus, we get a free ride out of it. Wind quipped back.

We have membership passes, Wind. All the rides are free.

Okay…. We get a second ride without having to wait in line….?

Twilight sighed again. Can this line move any slower? I want to get this over with before my stomach upchucks from worry.

HA! You’re becoming a worry-wort just like the Old-Man. Wind teased.

Well with brothers like you, who can blame me.

Hey.

Gess, Twi. Calm down. We can ride one of your favorites when we’re done. Maybe go to the Petting Zoo? Wild tried to calm down him down, finally registering how pale he had gotten.

We’re banned from the Petting Zoo. Twilight glared.

Well…

And the Food Court, and the Video Game Lounge and-

We get it! You don’t like it here, alright. Don’t blame me for wanted to have some fun. Wind pouted.

Twilight grimaced. Sorry, Wind. I know you’re excited and you’ve been looking forward to this. I’m…. just… not a coaster fan.

Then why’d you agreed to come? Wind glared back with puffed-out cheeks.

Because you two are my brothers and I like spending time with you two.

And, Malon would kill you if you left us unsupervised? Wild added

And Malon would kill me if I left you two ding-bats unsupervised. Twilight repeated

Wind snickered. Nah. You could just use your puppy dog eyes and blame it on Time. Malon listens to your lies.

Hey! I don’t lie.

Wind and Wild glare at Twilight with raised eyebrows.

Often……

Back with Legend and Sun.

GGAAHH!!! How! HOW! In the NAME of the Goddesses! Do you keep winning! Legend yelled with all the fury of a sore loser.

Better luck next time, Legend. And no more calling your bf for more funds. We made a deal. Once you’re out, you are out.

GGAAHHH!!

Sun giggles.

AND! Ravio is not my Boyfriend. We are just friends. Got it. Legend was pointed at Sun with a crimson blush across his checks.

Aww Legend, you don’t have to deny your feelings. You know (Sun enters scheming mode.) Sky and I can offer some love advi-

I don’t need your advice.

I can flirt just fine on my own. AND! Ravio and I are JUST friends. I don’t need your mettling.

ME! Mettle in my future brother-in-law’s affairs? Never. Sun playfully scoffs.

Says the woman trying to set up Twilight with her classmate and Warriors with her personal trainer.

I can’t help it if I have an eye for match-making.

You really don’t.

Sun’s eyes narrow. Okay! Mister Denial. If you and Ravio are not together… Then you won’t mind if I post these pictures of you two from Warriors Party last week? Or on longs walks? Or at your sister Aviary?

Your lying! There is no way that you have pictures.

Oh! But I do. Your sister and I text quite often. She takes out her phone and waves in front of Legend.

Legend face blushes an even brighter red. Your…. Your lying….

I think this one this the cutest. Sun chimes as she shows Legend a picture of him and Ravio sitting happily on a bench holding hands and drinking coffee.

Delete that!

Nope.

Sun!

Never! Sun takes off in a run.

Sun get back here!

Meanwhile not paying attention to a nearby Bench….

Okay! But you have no room to talk here, Time.

I can and I will. You are far too judge.

It’s called standards!

It’s called being a damn prick! You’ve been sleeping around with strangers for months now.

I have not!

You’ve had three different partners in the past two months, War. Sky leaned in. We’re not judging. We’re… just… worried that’s all.

You don’t need to worry. I am fine!

You’re in as much denial as Legend.

That’s a low blow coming from you, Mister. Warriors pointed at Time. That’s a grand statement coming from the man that took two years to pop the question to Malon. Even after you bought that damn gaudy rings.

I wanted the perfect moment! Sue me, for putting thought into purposing to the love of my life.

Two. Goddess. Damned. Years.

That was a lot of time…. Time….. Sky pipped up again.

Sky. Stay out of it. You wanted to purpose to Sun after the second date.

Hey. Sky shrugged. When you know, you know.

Warriors rolled his eyes.

And pry tell how you even describe that feeling, Sky? You fall in love with a cup of coffee every morning.

Sun makes really good coffee. Sky chimes in.

Of course, she does. Warrior sighs.

Malon makes good coffee…

Not you too!

End of chapter one.

The rest of it is posted here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30189333/chapters/74384583

I’ll update it soon.....ish....

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