#i think the 'reply' part sounds more like a summoning whistle

[science-lings]

new headcanon: Wild whistles the main little jingle bit from midna’s lament to summon wolfie from anywhere, wolfie had to teach it to him with pitchy howling.

#yes i am using this for a fic #i cant decide if if would just be the three notes repeated twice or the whole bit #like the echo or the actual main part #i think the 'reply' part sounds more like a summoning whistle #but wild knows the other part of the song too #linked universe #linked universe wild #lu wild #lu wolfie #linked universe wolfie

[divinegrey]

hcs with the val ladies of your choice for some comfort 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽 any type of comfort pls

also hope you're doing lovely <33

-diamond anon

i like you so much that i diverged from headcanons to ficlets. hope that's okay! i was feeling the need to comfort the agents, so that's what i went with!

BLEEDING RADIANCE | FADE, REYNA, SAGE W/ F!READER

words: 2300 warnings: depictions of radiance overload, hurt/comfort

FADE

Your whistle softens as you approach the door to Fade’s room. Rapping your knuckles twice against the metal, you shift your weight onto your back leg, hands going to your hips to wait. It’s not terribly early in the morning, and Fade is usually awake around this time. 

Which is strange, because she’s talking an awfully long time to respond. With your face pinching into a frown, you jiggle the doorknob, pushing the lever up and down. Nothing in response, and you’re about to shout her name through the metal when you notice just the barest hint of… echoes?

Your ears catch the trail end of a whisper; you shoot your eyes downward to the slit between the floor and the door, eyes widening at the reddish gray tendrils reaching through. One of them caresses the rubber of your sole, as if beckoning you into the room. 

“Oh, shit.” 

You’ve never been more thankful Fade slipped the override code to her door to you late one night. 

Punching in the keys, you wait with a furiously pounding heart until the lock clicks and you can finally push the handle down. The door swings open and you’re thrust into a dim room, only a single lamp on, but even that bulb has tendrils stretching over it. 

Curled up on the floor near the wall is none other than Fade herself, her hands clutched behind her head and her entire body folded in on itself. The organ thumping inside your chest twists up at the sight of it, of the pure agony that Fade is gritting her teeth against. 

You close the door, watching seemingly as the shadows bleed out of Fade’s hands and neck, the parts of her skin that are exposed rapidly shifting like ink moving over her body. Moving on instinct leads to sliding onto the floor beside her, gathering her up in your arms until you’re sitting against the wall with the bounty hunter in your lap. 

“You’re fine, you’re okay, I’m right here,” you say, hoping your words slice through the ever overlapping echoes and whispers that seem to curdle from the shadows themself. You see just a hint of Fade’s face— the shadows pour red and black trails from her eyes, the very same ones you see her summon on the battlefield against her enemies. 

Even she can’t escape the Nightmare. 

One of her hands reaches for yours, and you curl your fingers around hers. They’re shaking, practically vibrating in your grip, but you bring her fingers to your lips and utter comforting words. You’ve heard of how her radiance bleeds out of her, a consequence of summoning the nightmares too often. She just came back from a mission… 

Nevermind. That’s not the point. 

You hold Fade tight, the pressure forcing her body into a normal rate of breathing. After having seen these moments before, you know what to do, and you couldn’t be more thankful for when Fade makes the first, soft sound since you came into the room. 

It’s simply hi, whispered so quietly not even the silence of the room could sink its claws into it. 

“Hey,” your reply is gentle. Rubbing soothing circles on her back, you smile. “You back with us?” 

Jerkily, Fade nods her head. You spread your legs, giving her more control over where she sits as she comes to. Her hand drops back to hold herself up, and you see the way trickling shadows still bleed from the tear ducts of her eyes. 

Curses come out of her mouth as she leans forward. You let her think, and she turns to you, her hand still covering her eyes. “Shit, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” you say instantly. “Did I help?” 

Fade nods simply. 

“Then I’m glad I was here. I’ve got your six, whether we have guns in our hands or not.” Giving her another rub on the shoulder, Fade reaches her hand and curls her palm over yours. Only then do you see the grateful smile on her face, followed by the resolute inhale. Leaning forward, you cup the back of Fade’s head and press a kiss to her temple. “I’ve got you.” 

Her head curls into your neck, her fingers gripping your shirt. “Thank you.” 

You grin. “Anytime.” 

REYNA

You know Reyna is burning out when the tattoos along her arm are steaming. Yet, you do not say a word, because the look of concentration on the Empress’s face is more terrifying than anything else. Instead, you keep an eye on her as the training session within the Danger Room prolongs. 

It’s a standard, run of the mill training regimen, meant to be aggressive to keep the instincts of the agent sharpened, but Reyna is losing her focus, and you have a pretty succinct reason to suspect why this is happening. 

Small trails of steam curl off the searing neon pink glow of her tattoo as Reyna summons another leer to blind the enemy dummies before shooting them all down with a horrifyingly accurate precision. 

But when she goes for another leer summoning, her arm cramps up, her wrist pulling down. Reyna’s face pinches up, the slightest expression of pain coming onto her features as she pulls her arm into herself. Before you can even attempt to shut anything down, Reyna tries once more, and this proves to be a fatal error on her part. 

Pink light lashes up her arms, fracturing away from her tattoos and into her skin like the veins of her blood rushing through her body. It continues all the way up to her neck, to her face, where her once luminescent pink irises have now turned into a full-bodied glow, the same way her eyes are when Reyna is knee deep into her Empress mode. 

The determination burns in her body like a wild-fire. She stumbles, but still, she raises her gun to shoot more dummies that spawn from the projectors with only one hand, bodying the full weight of the recoil from the Vandal. The tips of her fingers grow translucent, a wave of pinkish light cascading through her body in undulations, like she’s trying to go invisible but can’t bring herself to do it fully. The only way you know she isn’t doing it herself is the way her entire face is screaming in pain. 

Enough is enough. 

You slam the button to turn off the Danger Room’s current protocol, prompting the simulation to fade away in an instant. You step out of the control room and walk over, just in time for Reyna to drop the gun and for her to stumble into you. 

“I’ve got you,” you say, an etching of surprise in your words because Reyna’s skin feels closer to fire than anything else. With her weight completely on yours, you lower her to the ground and into your lap. “I’ve got you.” 

You’ve never seen the Empress struggle like this before. Her Radiance bleeding through completely, moving over her body in ways. Her tattoos are bright, as are her eyes, but her body is trying to enshrine itself in translucent darkness. Trying to being the key words here. You rack your brain for any possible solutions, and you can only come up with one. 

You know she’s got a pair of sharp teeth in there. 

“Take it,” you say, holding out your forearm to her. “I know you need to, just take as much as you need.” 

Reyna’s eyes flicker to yours (or do they? It’s hard to tell). “Can’t— I’ll take—” her nails dig into your skin. “Too much.” 

“I know how to stop you if you do, just please take it.” 

That’s seemingly all the permission she needs. 

Her other hand grips your forearm, nails breaking the skin with ease. You hiss at the puncturing, at the blood that starts to leak. Reyna inhales, fumes rising from your skin and rushing into her nostrils. Parts of your soul, you realize, as you feel a faint fogginess build in the distance. Yet, your focus is solely on the woman in your lap, as she feeds from you. 

Her body materializes slowly, the shimmering bits fading away. The light flaring in her veins recedes, and the tattoos radiant glow calms into their natural resting state of black. Finally, her eyes return to normal, as normal as a glowing pink iris could be. 

And still, she feeds. 

Knowing when enough is enough, you push her head back with your other hand, breaking the tethering enough to pull your other arm free. Adjusting her so that she’s laying on her back, you hover over her with a smile. 

“Someone needed to eat,” you remark, prompting Reyna to snort. 

She stares at the ceiling for a few moments, and you simply rest your hand over her heart, feeling the organ pound away. After some time, Reyna looks at you. 

“Thank you, cariño,” she says. “I see now I should’ve taken more time to rest after my mission yesterday.” 

“Maybe. But you’re forgiven. As long as you come with me to the break room to grab some food,” you say, holding out your pinky finger. Reyna glances at it, and though you see the way she almost calls you childish for it, she locks her pinky with yours. You grin. “Good. Now come on.” 

SAGE

The infirmary feels far more cold than you’re used to it being. It’s a space always kept warm, but not sweltering, especially during the colder months of the year where some of the agents can be more temperature prone (like poor Neon, so used to the weather of the Philippines, compared to Sova, who goes on runs in shorts in the winter without breaking a sweat). 

So you’re a little concerned when you see some frost on the ground where frost shouldn’t be. 

“Sage?” You glance around the space, and when you don’t see her, you step over the frost and further into the infirmary. It’s an L-shaped space; when you turn the bend, you see the healer sitting on one of the beds, her back turned to you. You exhale. “There you are. Must’ve not heard me when I come in. There’s a bunch of ice on the ground, I think the AC unit is— oh.” 

Upon coming closer, you realize why Sage hadn’t moved. 

Her arms rest in her lap, bent at the elbow, and iced over with a teal sheen. You can hardly see the movement of her breathing, her eyes unfocused. You frown; you’ve seen this before, but never to this scale, where the ice is crawling down her forearms and up to her elbows. Sage’s radiance is overflowing, too much of it happening all at once. 

Moving quickly, you turn up the heating in the room before gathering some blankets from a cupboard. Returning to Sage, you wrap a blanket around her shoulders. Her skin is icy to the touch, and when you cup her face, it takes a moment for her to register your presence. 

“There you are,” you whisper softly when Sage’s deep brown eyes find yours. “I’m right here. Let’s get you warmed up and get this ice off your hands.” 

You sit down beside her on the bed, moving one of her hands into your lap. Examining it, you see that the ice from her radiant abilities has created a later over her hands. She must’ve been overworking herself, healing too much. Sage is the go-to person on base for when someone is hurt, but even she crumbles. 

Pressing on her forearm, you crack the ice. It’s thick, but not nearly impenetrable. It flakes off with the pressure and it falls to the ground. You rub circles on her forearms, hoping to bring sensation back to her skin as you work up to her fingers. 

As you do, Sage leans her head onto your shoulder. You turn and kiss her forehead.

“I’m right here. You’ll be okay,” you say, pulling her thumb to crack the ice at the base. You pull it off before working the rest of the way around her palm. Little by little, you chip away until her arm is freed. You wrap it up in the blanket before working on the next one, starting the same process over again until, at long last, both of her arms are freed from her own ice. 

You bundle her up in thick blankets until nothing but Sage’s head is exposed. The color has returned to her cheeks and you stroke her hair gently. 

“How are you feeling?” You ask. Sage takes a long inhale. 

“Better. Thank you,” Sage answers, pulling the blankets tighter. “I always do seem to forget how uncomfortable it is to experience that.” 

“Radiance burnout is no joke. I’m glad I was here to stop it before it got worse,” you reply, recalling the time you’d seen Sage’s entire body freeze over. That wasn’t a pleasant experience, and it isn’t one you wish to relive anytime soon. You lean down and kiss her cheek. “Please call me or one of the others if you feel close to burnout again. There are so many of us here to help you.” 

Sage, a woman with so much responsibility on her shoulders, doesn’t seem keen on the idea. Yet, she nods in agreement anyway. And frankly, given her stubbornness, it’s all you can ask for. You shift on the bed, snuggling her to provide warmth for as long as she needs. 

The world can wait. 

~~~~~ A/N: to knockout anon, i'm sorry this took a while! life got in the way, but i hope you like this <3

#fade x reader #reyna x reader #sage x reader #fade #reyna #sage #fade valorant #reyna valorant #sage valorant #fade headcanons #reyna headcanons #sage headcanons #valorant x reader #valorant #valorant fanfiction #valorant imagines

[meg-moira]

The Witch Who Spoke to the Wind

Sequel to Eindred and the Witch

In which Severin, the golden eyed witch, learns that his greatest enemy and truest love is fated to kill him.

-

-

Dealing in prophecies is a dubious work. Anyone who knows anything will tell you as much.

“Think of all of time as a grand tapestry,” his great-grandmother had said, elbow deep in scalding water. Her hands were tomato red, and Severin watched with wide golden eyes as she kneaded and stretched pale curds in the basin. “You might be so privileged to understand a single weave, but unless you go following all surrounding threads, and the threads around those threads, and so on - which, mind you, no human can do - you’ll never understand the picture.”

Severin, who was ten years old and had never seen a grand tapestry, looked at the cheese in the basin and asked if his great-grandmother could make the analogy about that instead.

“No,” she replied. “Time is a tapestry. Cheese is just cheese.”

And that was that.

By fifteen, Severin who was all arms, legs, and untamable black hair, decided he hated prophecies more than anything in the world. He occupied himself instead with long walks atop the white bluffs well beyond his family’s home. Outside, he could look at birds, and talk to the wind, and not think about the terrible prophecy which followed him like a shadow.

His second eldest sister had revealed it - accidentally, of course. Severin lived in a warm and bustling house with his great-grandmother, grandmother, mother, two aunts, and three sisters. All of whom were generously gifted in the art of foretelling (a messy business, each would say if asked), and every one of them had seen Severin’s same bleak thread.

He would die. Willingly stabbed through the heart by his greatest enemy and truest love.

Willingly. That was the worst part, he thought.

Severin, who had no talent in the way of prophecies, but plenty of talent in the realm of wind and sky, marched along the well-worn trail, static sparking around his fingertips as the brackish sea breeze nipped consolingly at his face and hair.

I will protect you if you ask me to, it blustered, and Severin was comforted.

He didn’t care who this foretold stranger was. When this enemy-lover appeared, Severin would ask the wind to pick them up and take them far, far away. Far enough that they could never harm him. The wind whistled in agreement. And so it was settled.

At seventeen, he was still all arms and legs, though his eldest sister had managed to tame his hair with a respectably sharp pair of shears. The wind, who had delighted in playing with his wild, tangled locks, did not thank her for it. Severin did thank her; in fact, he’d asked her to do it. He was of the opinion that his newly shorn hair made him look older - more sophisticated. And he left his family home with a new cloak draping his shoulders and a knotted wooden walking stick in hand, thinking himself very nearly a man. He was far from it, of course. But there was no telling him that.

He set out on a clear, cool morning to find his own way in the world, and was prepared to thoroughly deal with anyone who so much as dared to act ever so slightly in the manner of enemy or lover.

He discovered, soon enough, that this was not a practical attitude to take when venturing into the world. Severin spent his first months away from home making little in the way of friends and plenty in the way of thoroughly baffled enemies.

When you meet his gaze, you’ll know, the wind chided as it whisked in and out of his hood.

“His?” Severin said aloud, lifting a single dark brow. “Do you know something I don’t?”

The wind whistled noncommittally in answer.

The wind did know something, as it turned out. At twenty, Severin stood on the warm, sun-loved planks of a dock. As gulls cried overhead, he pressed his fingers to his lips. The young sailor had touched his lips to Severin’s in a swift, carefree kiss before departing on the sea. And though the feeling was pleasant enough, Severin knew that his enemy-lover was not on the great ship cleaving a path through the cerulean waves.

“When I meet his gaze, I’ll know,” Severin said, golden eyes sweeping the horizon. The seaward breeze blustered in such agreement that the gulls overhead cried out in alarm.

What will you do? The wind asked, delighting in whipping the gulls into a proper frenzy.

“Get rid of him, of course,” Severin replied.

What if you don’t want to?

Severin thought that was the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “He’s going to stab me through the heart. Why in the world wouldn’t I want to get rid of him?”

People are foolish, the wind answered, shrugging the nearby sails.

“Not me.” Severin leaned on his stick and looked out at the sea. “I won’t let anyone get away with stabbing my heart.”

When he was twenty-two, Severin knelt at the bedside of a withered, wilting woman. She was a stranger, but the town’s herb witch was away, and Severin happened to be passing through. Though his true strength would always remain with the wind and the sky, the youngest of Severin’s two aunts had a special way with plants, and she’d taught him a fair bit about the many healing properties of the region’s hardy, windblown flora.

He boiled water, adding the few herbs he carried to make a rejuvenating tea. He helped the woman drink, his hand supporting her head and fingers tangling in her sweat drenched hair. After, he pressed a cool cloth to her head, and in the half dark room, she murmured, sharing delirious fears that she would accidentally speak cruel dying words and lay a curse upon him.

Kindly stroking her forehead, Severin assured her that he was not afraid of curses. Even uttered by the dying, a true curse was rarer than the superstitious soldier’s and barbarians liked to believe. Besides, she wasn’t going to die. Severin, who’d seen just enough of the world to have a taste of wisdom, was certain he could save her.

She died within the day.

Whether her condition had been beyond help, or Severin lacked the skills to twist the herbs to his bidding, he would never know. The wind rustled reassurances through the sparsely-leaved trees, but Severin was beyond consolation. Clouds gathered on the horizon, and by nightfall, great branches of lightning crackled across the sky.

He spent the next year and a half in the wilds. Beneath the jubilant light of the sun, he collected plants, acquainting himself with the earth. And beneath the soft, watchful light of the moon, he whispered to the wind and dared to wonder at the shape of his enemy-lover’s face. He could never seem to summon the slightest picture in his mind. Though it really didn’t matter, he supposed. Their eyes would meet, and Severin would know. And then he’d use all of the power at his disposal to send his enemy-lover away.

During this time, Severin sometimes saw bands of barbaric warriors crossing the plains. He kept his distance, but he doubted any of them were interested in either recruiting or killing a scrawny young man in a worn woolen cloak. Few he encountered ever suspected he had any great abilities, and Severin certainly didn’t go out of his way to advertise the fact that he could command the wind and sky when he wished. The barbaric companies had their eyes on more obviously lucrative targets, anyway. A handful of city states which spread across the great peninsula were openly at war with the barbaric tribes from the north.

It was when Severin was returning from his self-imposed isolation that he had his first real encounter with war. He held his sturdy walking stick in hand and carried a bursting bag of herbs, poultices, and leather-bound journals over his shoulder. Severin was so surprised by the sudden, brutal clash of metal and the primal cries that erupted nearby that he halted where he stood. His curiosity both outweighed and outlasted his fear, and after a minute or two of tense consideration, he pressed cautiously onward in the direction of the noise.

By the time he arrived, the battle was done.

It had surely been an ugly, bloody affair, if the splayed out bodies of the city soldiers and barbaric warriors were anything to judge it by. Holding a hand over his mouth, Severin gingerly navigated the carnage and valiantly resisted the impulse to be sick right there in the field. He was nearly on the other side of it when movement caught his eye. Squinting, almost afraid to look, he glanced from the corners of his eyes, sure that it was some grotesque remnant of warfare which awaited him.

Instead, it was a man.

Just a man.

The movement Severin had spotted was the rise and fall of his chest.

Only after turning a careful look around the terrible and silent battlefield did Severin approach the fallen man.

The barbarian’s eyes were closed and his pale brows drew together, as if reflecting pain. His face would probably have been handsome in a rough, simple sort of way if it weren’t smeared in dirt and blood. His light hair, braided and pulled away from his face, was bloodied as well, and Severin frowned at the sorry state of him. After a second wary look around, he knelt with a sigh.

The barbarian’s leather vest was cut, and his thick, scarred arms had earned several new slices as well. Severin, who had more than enough herbs and poultices on hand, reluctantly tore his only spare shirt into bandages. Within the hour the stranger was fully bandaged and muttering in fever addled sleep.

“Don’t worry,” Severin murmured, knotting the last makeshift bandage. “I’ve learned enough from the plants and trees to save you from both fever and infection.”

Behind closed lids, the barbarian’s eyes flitted anxiously to and fro and he mumbled something that sounded like no. Nose wrinkling, Severin leaned in. He heard the sleeping barbarian say, his voice low and cracking, “The curses will take me.”

Severin frowned down at him, unimpressed. “No they won’t,” he snapped, and yanked the bandage tighter.

The barbarian silenced then, and Severin stared at him a moment longer, pursing his lips in consternation. It wasn’t that he minded using his supplies to heal a stranger. But a part of him worried that healing a warrior made Severin responsible for whatever slaughter he resumed when he rose.

Severin abhorred warfare. It was such a terrible waste. But he supposed there was no helping what he’d already done. The barbarian was already on his way to recovery, and Severin certainly wasn’t going to murder him in his sleep. He reached out, intending to test the temperature at the man’s temple, but no sooner had Severin’s fingers touched his overheated skin than the world bled around him. In its place: a vision.

Shock echoed through him, because he was not like the women in his family, able to see phantoms in time. He’d always simply played with the air. The vision dancing before his gaze, however, didn’t seem to care.

Like droplets of ink spreading in water, a prism of colors twisted, threading together into nearly tangible shapes. From the chaos, rose a blond child holding a knit sheep. He was ruddy cheeked and pouting up at his mother. Then ink and water swirled and the images collapsed and shifted. Hulking shadows loomed over the child. The mother wailed her grief. The formless ink shivered, morphing from one scene to the next, nearly too quickly to follow, and Severin was swallowed up in it, overrun and overwhelmed by violence, blood, and pain. Beneath his fingers, Severin felt the movement of shifting, slipping thread.

Just as abruptly as it had started, the vision ceased. Severin’s knees ached where they pressed against the dirt and the barbarian’s skin beneath his hand was no longer overheated. How long had he been within the vision’s grasp, he wondered?

As Severin shifted back, the barbarian groaned. Severin watched as the man’s eyelids fluttered - and at once, the air turned heavy, as if the wind had drawn and held an anticipatory breath.

Dread flooded Severin and he rushed to stand. The barbarian had not yet opened his eyes, and Severin knew with a terrible nameless certainty that he must not be here when this man awoke. Severin could still feel those elusive, unknowable threads beneath his fingers, and his hands shook as he rose. Awakened by his urgency, the wind roared, lending him speed as he fled the clearing.

By the time the barbarian cracked open a single, world weary eye, Severin was long gone, heart still safely beating in his chest.

Severin endeavored to forget about the barbarian. He convinced himself that the vision had been the hallucination of an overexerted body, and that the sensation of inexorably moving threads beneath his fingers was nothing more than a flight of fancy. Severin did not think about how the threads had felt - certain and unyielding - beneath his fragile, very mortal hands. If he did, he feared he might ask the wind to whisk him away from the world altogether, and that, surely, was no way to live.

In a deep, secret place, however, Severin suspected the reason he was granted such a vision was because the stranger’s thread was woven perilously close to his own. Because of this, he set upon an easterly road, endeavoring to put a healthy distance between himself and the pale barbarian.

After nearly a month of travel, he arrived in a small village which sat nestled in foothills, tucked beneath the shadows of great mountains which stood like sentinels above. Severin hadn’t intended to stay, but when it was discovered he had some skill with plants and medicine, the villagers eagerly led him to a hut some distance from the village. It was empty, they explained, and had been for some years. A healing woman had occupied it, some years back, before she’d passed on. The villagers had been saving it, hoping the space would be enough to entice a new healer to make their isolated village a home.

Severin had nowhere else to go, and he supposed a distant, mountain village was as good a place as any to avoid a blade to the heart.

Two years passed, and Severin settled into his little hut. He spent his mornings taking long walks around the surrounding lands, collecting herbs and specimens. Returning home, he’d throw open the windows to allow his friend the wind a brief but wild rampage through the hut. With the air freshened, Severin spread plants across his square dining table and sorted them into jars to be sealed, dried, or preserved in vinegar. His neighbors in the village visited frequently, just as often for his company as for his medicines, and Severin delighted in visiting the town on market days and making the streamers dance in the wind for the children. Evenings were spent in his rocking chair, with a book in his lap and his feet pressed near to the low fire in the hearth.

He was happy, and hardly thought of the barbarian he’d found bleeding in the dirt. That is, until fate caught up with him.

One day, when he was foraging for moss on the hillside behind his hut, Severin felt the whisper-soft touch of thread against his palm. He sat upright at once, and turning and craning his neck, he absently rubbed his palms against his robes.

A company marched into the village. From up on Severin’s hill, they appeared a swarm of ants overtaking the miniature thatched roof homes. The slipping, shivering feeling beneath Severin’s palm intensified, and he stood. His heart drummed a frantic beat against his ribs, and Severin felt with a terrible certainty that fate, like a hunting hound on the scent, had sniffed him out at last.

When Severin called out, begging the wind’s help, it rushed to him, howling atop the hill.

I am here. I am here.

Cradled in the gale, he begged the wind to take him and hide him away, so that the tapestry’s relentless threads might cease dragging him toward the one he never wished to meet.

So be it, the wind said. If that is truly what you wish, I will take you and hide you away forever.

In that moment, nearly caught as he was, Severin was willing to do anything to avoid meeting this man who would kill him - until the screams rose from the pastures in the valley beneath his hut. Severin’s heartbeat was in his throat, on his very tongue, as he held up a hand to stay the wind.

“Just a moment,” he murmured, and turned bright, pained eyes toward the village. The terrified screams of his neighbors pierced him as surely as any blade, and with a mournful twist of his fingers, he bade the wind disperse.

By the time he reached in the pastures, the shepherd, the blacksmith, and Helvia’s two sons lay dead. At the sight of his friend’s bodies, grief and rage stirred within Severin, and the wind, always nearby to him, trembled in sympathy. Gaze sweeping the warriors, he marked the five whose weapons were stained red. Severin was not violent by nature, but if he was to die this day, he resolved to remove from the earth at least these five men, who with bloodied blades, uncaringly spoke of feasting upon the village’s few precious sheep.

When the warriors turned and finally noticed Severin, he lifted his chin and prayed his voice did not betray his fear. “These are simple people. They have little in way of money or goods. It wasn’t for nothing that the shepherd, blacksmith, and teenagers died. They need these sheep. And I cannot allow you to take them.”

The men glanced at one another, eyes filling with a cruel sort of mirth. They laughed at him, and Severin steeled himself for what must come next. He was friends with the wind, but to call down the heavens was an entirely more serious matter. And he’d never done it. At least, not like this.

Severin turned his palms up and glared at the heavens, daring them to refuse him now when he needed them most.

For a long, terrible moment, nothing happened.

And then, the skies erupted.

He had never felt pure, visceral power in such a way, and as it whined and crackled, Severin, with splayed fingers, used all of his strength to tear the lightning from its home in the sky. It rained upon the warriors, screaming in wild, untamable fury. Severin watched the men cry out in agony, and he felt horror and satisfaction in equal measure.

When a single figure broke from the group, agile enough to evade the lightning and charge across the field, Severin could only look on in exhausted realization. It was the pale barbarian. The man from the battlefield. The child in the vision.

The barbarian charged like a beast, his thickly braided hair bouncing. His brows were drawn down in focus and his lips poised on the precipice of a snarl. It was with a hopeless sense of finality that Severin met the stranger’s gaze.

He met eyes of icy gray, the color of hazy, snow capped mountains in winter, and Severin knew, he knew with a certainty that was sunken into his bones and twisted in his marrow, that this barbarian was the shadow which had haunted him. And he knew, more than anything, the crude blade in the man’s scarred-knuckle hand was fate’s exclamation point at the end of Severin’s ephemeral existence.

Watching as the barbarian pivoted, drawing back his blade, Severin only wished he understood why the women in his family had persisted in calling this man Severin’s truest love. If this was love, the man had a spectacularly terrible way of showing it.

Time slowed to a crawl, and sunlight flashed, reflecting off the blade. As the jagged edge touched the fabric of Severin’s robe, the wind whispered at his ear. Let me show you a piece of the picture.

The wind around him froze, and so too did the world.

Look up, said the wind, a rustle within his ear.

Severin did.

The complexly woven image was shaped by currents in the air - all but invisible to any whose eyes are untrained to look for them. But Severin had a born understanding of the wind and sky, and when he looked up, he saw bits and pieces of an impossibly complex tapestry.

He saw scarred knuckles gently shaping wood. A small child that sat upon broad shoulders. Rocking chairs placed side by side before a glowing fire. Warm hands enveloping his own. Safety. Home.

It was...everything, and Severin’s heart ached with a strange and complex longing for a future that surely could never be.

It’s not impossible, the wind whispered. But the threads will have to tangle and untangle just perfectly so.

“How?” Severin asked, and wondered if he was a fool to feel so desperate a pull towards this life glimpsed in impressions and half images.

The warrior must weep and repent. And a curse must come to fruition.

“And if these things do not happen?”

Then your soul will fade from the earth.

Severin felt torn in two.

The blade has not yet struck your heart, the wind murmured, kind and conspiratorial. There is time still for me to secret you away. I could pull your thread from the tapestry altogether.

“But there would be no hope for that life,” Severin said with a last wistful glance at the scattered mosaic above.

No, none, the wind agreed.

“Okay,” Severin whispered, “okay.” And it felt terrifyingly like surrender.

The wind stirred, and a breeze like a kiss tousled his dark hair.

The blade struck.

It was an intense pressure and then swift, vibrantly blooming pain. Severin wavered on his feet, and looked up. For the second time, he met the warrior’s gaze. And Severin saw and understood that there was no malice in those wintry eyes. Not even frustration or anger. But, instead, an exhaustion deeper than Severin could conceive.

When Severin toppled backward, it was concerning to realize he could no longer feel the grass beneath his body. The man knelt down, and Severin blinked tiredly up at him.

It seemed as though the man were waiting for something. Severin’s slipping mind struggled to think of what - until he recalled the dying woman and her talk of curses. And hadn’t the barbarian said something about curses when he was fever addled and hurt? What had the wind said? Severin was struggling to remember. As his life trickled away in red rivulets which stained the grass and soil, he thought of the boy in the vision - lost and afraid. And he thought of the man he’d become, kneeling stonily over him.

And Severin knew exactly which words should be his last.

Swallowing, he mustered the strength to whisper, “-my hut…it’s just past…the next hill over. In it, I keep medicines and herbs. For the villagers. And travelers who pass.”

For the barbarian would have to stay if he were ever to show remorse. He couldn’t very well continue going about fighting and murdering his way across the peninsula. Which brought Severin to his final words. It took all of his remaining strength to lift his hand. When he reached out, the barbarian startled, as though he expected more lightning to spring forth from Severin’s fingers. But Severin merely tapped his chest and smiled. “May you live a life of safety and peace.”

It was a fitting curse, he thought, feeling particularly clever. And there, on the field, surrounded by sheep, Severin’s heart stuttered and stopped.

It was an abrupt, slipping sensation, like losing your footing on iced over earth. Raw existence rushed around Severin, and he was battered and blown about, like a banner torn loose in the storm. This continued for a dizzying moment, or perhaps a dizzying eternity - Severin really had no way of knowing which. But it stopped when a familiar presence surged around him, blowing and blustering until the wild chaos of existence was forced to let him be.

The wind could not protect him forever, Severin knew, and so he focused his energies until, like a wind sprite, he swirled about the hillside. Below him, he saw the barbarian, his great head bent. Severin, as incorporeal as a breeze, could not resist blustering over the barbarian’s shoulder and observing himself, limp and pitiful in death. Whipping around, he beheld the barbarian - because surely this sight would bring him at least to the verge of tears.

The barbarian frowned down at Severin’s body and rubbed a scarred hand over the patches of stubble on his chin. And then he rose with a great sigh and set off down the hillside, away from Severin and the village.

Severin, who was nothing more than wind and spirit, watched him and despaired. He could do nothing more than whip and howl through the hills as his murderer left him without a backward glance.

Months passed.

Severin did not follow after the barbarian. What good would it do? In this form, it wasn’t as though Severin could speak to him. And if he was doomed to fade and dissolve from existence, he would much rather do so here in the hills he loved than in some strange land trailing after an even stranger man. The wind kept him company, at least, and Severin spent his days whistling through the black, porous stones at the base of the mountains and blowing bits of dandelions across wild tufts of grass.

One day, long after Severin had begun to feel more spread out and thin than was entirely comfortable, the wind rushed to him, carrying with it the scent of dust and dirt and faraway lands.

The barbarian had returned.

Severin was an icy breeze that whipped around the edges of town, and he watched with cool distrust as the man trudged through the streets. His shoulders were slumped and his blond head was turned down. He looked utterly defeated, and any sympathy Severin might have felt was eclipsed by petty spite. He didn’t hold any of the pettiness against himself, though. He was dead, and therefore felt he’d earned at least a little pettiness.

When the barbarian crossed the field, stopping to stand before the place where Severin had fallen, Severin swirled around him, newly curious. The man didn’t look grief stricken, but his face was difficult to read. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and lines of exhaustion around his mouth. Mostly, Severin thought he just looked tired.

When the man approached Severin’s home after having ignored the invitation for months, Severin had a second moment of pettiness and whipped the wind up on the other side of the door, sealing it closed as the barbarian tried to open it. Only when the man shoved it with his great, muscled shoulder did Severin retreat, allowing the door to swing open.

It was with a strange sort of melancholy that he watched the barbarian’s silver gaze sweep over the room. The man looked first at the damp, unkempt hearth before slowly making his way across the room. He glanced from Severin’s well-loved walking stick to the bookshelf built into the wall. He fumblingly ran the backs of his fingers along the spines of the books, as if he was unlearned in the ways of a gentle touch.

Severin was still very much put out about the whole being dead business, but as he watched the barbarian’s almost reverent inspection, he unthinkingly twisted the air in the room, drawing out the cold and pulling in a bit of sun warmed breeze.

By the second day, the man was sitting in Severin’s chair. Severin stewed, swatting at floating dust by the window as his killer rocked to and fro in Severin’s favorite seat. Later, the barbarian stood, stretching his strong arms overhead and twisted his back experimentally. Brows lifting in pleasant surprise, he gave the chair an appreciative pat.

By the third day, Severin had no more dust to swat about. The barbarian had rolled up his ragged sleeves and set about scrubbing every inch of Severin’s little hut. When the hulking man worked open the stiff windows, the wind rushed in, delighting in whipping about the space once more.

He’s done a better job of cleaning than you ever did, the wind sang, slipping once more outside.

He was dead and that meant the wind had to be nice, and Severin told it as much. It’s reply was a soft rustling of chimes that hung from the house’s eaves, and the sound was almost like laughter.

Days passed, and the man began reading Severin’s books. This was probably the most surprising development yet, in Severin’s opinion. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought the large, scarred warrior capable of reading, just - well, he hadn’t thought the large, scarred warrior capable of reading particularly well. But the man seemed to be doing just fine, and sat in Severin’s rocking chair, putting a far greater strain on the sturdy wood than Severin ever had, as he thumbed carefully through the book’s smooth pages.

When little Mykela took ill, Severin knew it well before anyone else. He’d taken a spin through town and as he rode the wintry wind past where she played in the yard, he’d felt the rattle of air in her lungs. But at this point, Severin was little more than a memory on the breeze, and though his worry was agony, he could do absolutely nothing. He spent the rest of the day roaring about the mountain peaks, sending snow flurries spilling down the far side of the cliffs.

Two days later, Severin was idly observing the barbarian, watching the crease between his brows twitch as he slept, when a great pounding broke out against the door. The barbarian rose at once, and Severin watched him cast a brief glance at the walking stick before turning instead to the candle on a nearby shelf. With warm light cupped in his palm, the barbarian approached the door.

When Dormund, Mykela’s father, entered the hut, carrying a limp mound of blankets, Severin felt a spike of icy terror. As the barbarian poked and prodded the fire, Severin carefully stirred the wind to better feed the flames. Severin would have shouted instructions, had he lungs to shout, but the barbarian already had two jars in hand. He held them up, looking a little lost, before he hurried to the bookshelf and selected a thick book. Muttering under his breath, he flipped hurriedly through pages until he found what he was looking for. And then he was kneeling before the pot of water he’d set over the fire, and Severin watched as he scooped careful measurements of Severin’s dried herbs into the roiling water.

Mykela was saved, and as the barbarian sent the girl and her father off with a bag of herbs, it occurred to Severin that he wished to know the barbarian’s name. He wouldn’t learn it until two days later, when Old Cara arrived at the hut, seeking the barbarian’s help for her arthritic knee. After supplying her with the appropriate poultice, the barbarian helped her to the door, and looking up, she patted his shoulder and asked him his name.

Eindred, was his answer.

Eindred.

Severin wished he had lips to test the shape of the name.

Months passed, and was easier now to watch Eindred move about Severin’s hut. In fact, Severin had even begun to enjoy riding the soft breeze from the windows as it wafted around Eindred’s shoulders, curiously observing whatever small thing he happened to, at any given time, be doing with his hands. One day, Severin was surprised to find Eindred’s hands at work, deliberately whittling the curved back of a rocking chair. When the chair was done, Eindred set it carefully, almost reverently beside the first. At the sight, Severin had a bright, nearly overwhelming flash of recognition, and he thought of the image the wind had shown him - of the rocking chairs before a warm, crackling fire.

Severin was fading, he could feel it. To hope was to court a greater disappointment than Severin could rightly comprehend, and yet - he watched Eindred set out with Severin’s walking stick to join the festival, and saw when Mykela took his hand. The barbarian’s stony expression softened, then melted as the girl tugged him after her.

It was the strangest of sensations, because while Severin didn’t strictly have a heart these days, watching the great Eindred meekly follow little Mykela made something in Severin’s incorporeal being ache with unexpected warmth.

Whatsmore, Eindred had been reading Severin’s journals and he would sometimes stop and stare about the hut, as if trying to picture the ghost of Severin’s life there. Once, Eindred draped a thick blanket over the back of one of the rocking chairs and ran his rough hands over it as he frowned contemplatively into the fire.

Summer had come and gone and Severin feared that parts of his soul had already begun to slip into that other-place. And so, with a tender sort of weariness, he drifted on the sunbeams cutting through the clean window glass, and watched with only mild annoyance as Eindred carefully tore a blank page from one of Severin’s journals.

Lips pressing together in focus, Eindred wrote in with small, precise letters, what appeared to be a list.

Confused, Severin drifted closer.

May your every loved one die screaming in pain.

I hope you die with your eyes stabbed out and your heart in your hands.

You will never know happiness.

Your existence will be suffering.

It was a list of curses, Severin realized. Morbid curses, by the looks of it. The last two, however, caught his attention.

May your greatest enemy rise from the grave and never leave you alone.

And,

May you live a life of safety and peace.

And Severin understood.

When Eindred set out from the hut, looking drawn but resolved, Severin began at once to gather his energy. It had been nearly a year since his death, and he feared that there might not be enough of him left to make a return. The second to last curse would help things along, but Severin knew it would be a mistake to rely on it.

And so, as Eindred entered the village, Severin stretched upward and out, calling wind and storm clouds with reckless, hopeful abandon. For his entire life, Severin had lived, certain in the knowledge that love and happiness were not meant for one such as he. How could they be? When a blade was foretold to make a home in his heart?

But Eindred had changed. And the patchwork pieces of tapestry were there, a life Severin had never dared to dream of, right there - if he could only summon the strength to reach out and grasp it.

Below, Eindred bowed his head before the townsfolk, confessing his part in the tragedy which played out on their soil. Above, Severin swallowed the skies and became the storm.

Severin felt it, distantly below, when the people in the village forgave Eindred. And he felt when Eindred’s bittersweet tears tickled the earth. He felt Eindred return to the hut, and then after pacing restlessly about, return at last to the pastures where it had all begun.

And then came Eindred’s pained voice, calling out from the fields below. “Severin!”

Eindred had never said his name before, and Severin, who was the clouds and the wind and the rain and the sky, rumbled his joy at the sound of it.

“It was my hand which ended your life,” Eindred continued. His deep voice was shaking. “And with your dying breath you gifted what I thought was a nightmare. Did you know that it would turn out to be a dream? I think you did.”

Just wait, Severin wanted to tell him, because he’d seen a future better still. The only question that remained was whether he had strength enough to reach it.

Rugged face upturned, Eindred called to Severin and the sky, which were one and the same. “Though it’s a dream, I’ll never know peace. How can I? When I live in the home of the one I so coldly murdered? I would leave, but the villagers have my heart - as they had yours. In this state, I don’t think I’ll ever truly know true rest or true peace - despite the great power of your curse.”

You will, Severin said, and lightning streaked across the sky. I will.

“Even now,” Eindred said, through wind and rain, “I’m not sure if you are my greatest enemy or ally.”

There it was.

His greatest enemy.

Severin, with every ounce of power he possessed, claimed the title. For he was the greatest enemy the old Eindred, warrior and killer, had faced. With his parting curse, Severin had forced the old Eindred to do the one thing he’d feared most of all: to live and face all he’d done.

Severin felt a rushing, coursing energy thrumming within and without and he knew that he must catch it and hold it, though he wasn’t sure how.

The tapestry threads, the wind whispered. Severin had spread so thin, his old friend was nearly a part of him now.

Severin listened, and felt for that thread which had teased and tickled his palm. And when he was sure he felt it, he wrapped himself around it and pulled. The sky around him screamed as he dragged himself forward toward something - something -

White light was all around him, and then it wasn’t. The air was cool and damp, and the evening sang with the wind’s gleeful gusts and the soft patter of rain on grass. Severin lifted a hand, and looked it over in tentatively blooming relief. Pressing the hand over his heart which beat with a strong, steady rhythm, Severin breathed a relieved, ragged sigh.

Eindred stood in the field, turned away from him. Drawing in a breath, Severin delighted in the sound of his own voice. “May your greatest enemy rise from the grave, Eindred, and never leave you alone.” He smiled as he spoke, and very nearly pressed his fingers to his lips to feel the shape they took when saying Eindred’s name.

Eindred turned. “So you are my greatest enemy then?” He sounded wary.

“I don’t think it’s so simple as that. Do you?”

Eindred’s expression shifted and he shook his head. When he next spoke, it was soft and fumbling, as if he still hadn’t fully adjusted to a world which was kind. “I made a chair,” he blurted out. “A few actually,” he added, rubbing a hand over the back of his head.

Severin wanted to say, I know. I saw. But that would require more explanation than he cared to give at the moment, so instead, he replied, “Do I get the new rocking chair or my old one?”

“Any,” Eindred stammered, “Either. Both?” He looked at Severin, and the earnest weight of his gaze held the promise of all the chairs Severin could want and anything else Eindred could possibly make with his scarred hands.

The fondness that bubbled up within Severin was so abrupt and filled him so thoroughly that he wanted to laugh with it. “Lucky for you, I only need one chair. You can keep the old one if you like it. I trust your craftsmanship.”

Severin turned then, because it was cold and every part of him felt so entirely bright and buoyant that he thought he might die if he didn’t move. However, when he realized Eindred was not following, he stopped. “Well? Are you coming?”

Eindred looked up, as if he’d been startled. “Where?” he called.

Standing there, sodden in the field, Eindred looked after Severin, as if he was afraid to hope - as Severin once had been afraid to do. And it occurred to Severin that Eindred would need to hear it said aloud.

“Home, of course. Where else?”

“Home,” Eindred repeated, as if confirming it to himself.

And when Severin turned again towards home, Eindred followed.

By the time they reached the hut, both were shivering from the cold, and as they crossed the threshold into the warm space, Severin swayed on his feet. He’d almost forgotten the immense power he’d used, and now the harsh ringing in his ears was a stark reminder. Warm, rough hands steadied him and when Severin tilted his head up, he saw that Eindred wore an expression of poorly concealed terror.

“I’m not going to die all over again,” Severin assured him. “I just used a lot of magic.” As he said it, he swayed once more, this time falling forward.

Eindred caught Severin again, one arm wrapped around his back and his other hand braced against his chest. Beneath where Eindred’s palm pressed, Severin’s heart thrummed. And Severin watched, curious, as Eindred’s expression twisted. He no longer claimed the title of warrior, Severin knew, but it was nonetheless with a warrior’s gravity that Eindred met Severin’s gaze.

“These hands will never again harm you. I swear it.”

“I know,” Severin replied, and pressed a hand over the back of Eindred’s rough knuckles. “Help me to a chair?”

Eindred did, and helped to remove Severin’s thick outer robe before Severin sank gratefully in front of the fire. Eindred left him a moment, and Severin closed his eyes. 

He intended to just rest them for a second - maybe two, but when Severin next opened his eyes, the room was darker and he was draped and bundled in blankets, softer and thicker than any he recalled owning. The fire was still crackling, and the warm light made soothing shadows dance across the hut’s wooden floor. The other chair was occupied, Severin realized, and he watched as the hearth’s orange light played across Eindred’s sleeping features. Compared to Severin’s mountain of blankets, he had just one draped over his lap, though he didn’t seem cold. Nonetheless, Severin shifted a bit, and peeled a soft fleece blanket off his own pile to toss it onto him. The blanket fell short, and with a quick whispered word, the wind slipped under the door and flipped the offending blanket up onto Eindred’s chest.

“That’s better,” Severin said.

The wind played a little with the fire before tousling Severin’s hair and departing with a sibilant, save your strength foolish human. You’re still recovering, and slipped out the way it had come.

When Severin turned back to Eindred, he saw the large man was sitting up and his eyes were now open. Blinking, Eindred rubbed a hand over his face and then, stiffening in sudden shock, he whipped to look at Severin. Heaving a great sigh, he rocked back in the chair. “Still breathing,” he said.

“I don’t plan on stopping.”

Something almost like a smile twitched at Eindred’s lips and Severin was enchanted by it.

“You were dead and now you’re alive. Forgive me. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

“You’re the one who believes in silly curses.”

Eindred’s brows rose. “Silly? Says the one who was brought back from the dead by one.”

Severin waved a dismissive hand. “The curse might have set the stage, but I was director, crew, and cast.”

And there was another smile, like a glimpse of sun between clouds. Severin was beginning to fear there might be no practical limit to the lengths he’d be willing to go to see another smile.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Eindred replied. “I get the feeling you know a great deal more about the world and magics than I.”

“Well Eindred,” Severin said, scooting his chair a little closer to both Eindred and the fire. “What do you know of grand tapestries?”

Eindred, looking more than a little lost, shook his head. “Nothing. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen one.”

“Well,” Severin said, and grinned. “What do you know of cheese?”

.

.

EDIT: A novel based on Eindred and the Witch and The Witch Who Spoke to the Wind is in progress! I will post news about it on my Tumblr and my Patreon as news becomes available :)

#my writing #original writing #my story #Eindred and the Witch #original story #fantasy #fantasy story #love story #eindred the warrior #severin the witch #writing #writeblr #short story #long short story #7000+ words #fantasy short story #amwriting #story

[ncitygirls]

only - changbin x f reader

angst, fluff, suggestive, royal!au, cw: war, 5.3k

you were barely eighteen when you accepted the hand in marriage of the son of the duke and duchess of levanter. seo changbin - an affluent heir to an impossible fortune - almost had you surprised when you found his interest in you was unlike that of your fellow bachelorettes. naturally, their interest was fuelled by an insatiable greed and a hot desire for financial prosperity. as should yours, as was yours. not changbin though. no, changbin prided himself on many things unfitting for a man of his status, even his age. he wondered not of your family’s alliances or existing trading partners, but of religion and upbringing. he tsked at mention of your international estates, unless in regard to your memories there. he was complimentary of your attire, less in expense but rather in beauty. changbin wanted to know of your favourite season, and your preferred time of day. who was your favourite poet, and from them your favourite poem. he was obsessed with your knowledge of the world, or rather your interest in it. you had been to neo, but did you really see it, really explore? and if not would you care to? did you prefer sugar or honey in your tea? your bread buttered or oiled? to sleep bare or in silk? he wanted to know what side of the bed you preferred to sleep on, if you were adverse to cuddling and if so, if you could be persuaded.

to be fair, he only spoke with you like this for two reasons. the first being your shared upbringing. after almost two decades of friendship, having you enter his home in the prospect of being his wife didn’t come as a surprise to the young bachelor, but rather a relief. he spent days in and days out discussing family politics, ancestry, and accounts. he chose to ignore the blatant issue there, sharing the intricacies of his family’s wealth and heritage with these ladies from kingdoms and countries he’d been too busy to pay any mind in schooling. he knew his ignorance could come back to bite him and it did, especially as you entered his home looking far prettier than he had ever recalled you looking. he held his tongue before he could whistle, but you could see his smirk all the same. it softened into a grin as he bowed, you returning the pleasantry with a lot less pleasantness than he offered you. he welcomed it all the same. it was why he could be free on this day. speak about the things that would effect you two as one another’s, not you two as one.

your presence also meant he didn’t have to pussyfoot around. he didn’t have to fear your hatred, nor your judgement. though your eyes rolled more than the actual number of potential brides he had become acquainted with. he let f bombs slip, and his guard down. he frolicked with you through the grounds you already knew so well, and guided you through the parts once forbidden to the rambunctious children you once were. he walked you to the kitchen and asked for bread, as opposed to stealing it like you both once would. he tried to describe the estate’s chambers as best he could, detailing the art a then prince hyunjin had gifted him and your childish scratchings still on his door frame.

‘you can see it one day,’ he had whispered under the willow tree on the grounds, watching the way your fingers clung loosely to the weeping leaves. ‘it’s still as it was when we were children.’

‘and how would i do that?’ the question is valid enough, though he frowns, tilting his head. ‘i did not realise i had uttered a riddle, my lord.’

‘well neither had i,’ he tutted, moving to latch onto the same branch you once held. ‘and here i was, assuming you to be the smart one.’

‘i am the smart one.’

‘then answer me this,’ he began, pausing to firmly elaborate, ‘plainly.’ your eyes roll for the umpteenth time at his silent warning before you concede with a nod. ‘how might you see my bed?’

with a sigh you deadpan, ‘if you were to make me your wife.’

‘so to see my bed, and your vandalism-’

‘scribbles.’

‘i must make you my wife.’

‘it seems quite the extreme just to see some old scribbles.’ if changbin senses the hidden meaning to your words, he gave nought away. ‘mightn’t someone just bring me a piece of the bed? i’m sure it’s almost past its use, just peel the pane off. and why still the same bed? you are a young lord of age now, don’t you think-’

‘you know you prattle when you’re nervous?’

‘i do no such thing-’

‘it’s cute.’

‘changbin! how are you so sure i want to be your wife, hm?’ you half questioned, moving away from his looming figure. ‘i only came because your parents asked me here.’

‘y/n, i have known you a long time,’ he punctuates his reminder by closing the distance you so bravely placed between you. ‘if you wished not to be here, you would have found no greater pleasure than to decline the invitation.’ that much is not only true but undeniable. the seo’s was your third courting invite this month alone. you knew, and worse, changbin knew. ‘is it so hard to admit that i might have soften that hardened heart of yours?’

‘i find no pleasure in your games, changbin.’

‘what game, y/n? can a man not just want you?’ your eyes betray you as you try to expel the softness conjured by his taunt. a taunt that is starting to sound less like a taunt, and more like a confession. ‘can i not just want you?’

‘how do i know you want me, bin?’ you pressed, pressing your back to the leaning trunk of the all encompassing tree. ‘how do i know you don’t just want a way out of this endless cycle of mindless heiresses?’

‘you said my parents asked you here?’ your head bobbed as he approached you, nodding in time with you before he stopped a foot before you, smiling eyes gazing right at you. ‘who do you think asked them?’

you were married that fall. under that same willow tree, in the presence of his royal highness and his kin, your family and the seos. the affair was small like you both wanted. small like your needs. you joked marrying you was a cop out, as he spun you around the gardens, escaping the intimate celebrations in the grand banquet hall to enjoy the breeze on your skin and feel the wind in your hair. it was the first time he held you since your dance lessons as kids. where you would lead and he would follow. he once swore he would follow you anywhere. both literally and figuratively. around the grounds of your childhood home, in all your beliefs and ideologies. he filled his mind and self with your gospel and truth, infatuated with your manner of thinking, how you arrived at conclusions. changbin spent his whole childhood falling in love with you.

‘you weren’t a cop out,’ he breathed into the shell of your ear, humming as you lay your head on his shoulder. pressing his lips to your temple he confessed, ‘you were my only choice.’

that night, the two of you consummated your marriage under that same willow tree. his hands clinging to your waist as he ground his hips into you. his tightened breaths filling the drum of your ear with every snap, his lips closing around the skin of your jaw, summoning the most satisfying whines he could draw from you. his lover. his friend. his lady.

in his absence, you remind him of this night. how biting the bark had been on your skin, the autumn air stinging your already teary eyes. his last letter arrived over a fortnight ago, it spoke of his fears at battle, the treacherous methods of his enemies. the only face he prays to see again and until that day, the only face he will dream of. you have sent a handful of letters since then, yet still sour as you awake another day to no news. you sigh as you grab your quill, letting the ink drip before signing off your letter.

‘my dearest, changbin. a season separates us, but only a season could.’

it isn’t long after you seal it that you are summoned to the hwang holiday estate. the royal family have a long history of retreating to the country when the weather is a touch higher than that of luke warm water, or near cool cinder. the seo’s residence is but a short carriage ride from the estate, though a tad longer walk. you often opt to walk as you do today, taking no larger than foot long strides between the cobbled paths. your guard walks in time with you, though no more than a few feet behind. he had never been one for small talk, you quickly came to realise. though, since neither is your husband, you feel an odd sense of relief, normality, even in his absence. you try and enjoy the song of the breeze through the willow, the scent of the king’s rose garden carried on its back. it’s hard over the creak of your guard’s hurried stomps, his pace doubling with every corner you take. you only verbalise your awareness of his impatience when he arrives beside you, hastened to strike the door to announce your arrival.

“master yang,” you call softly as you two await entry. “if i did not know any better, i would say you were rushing me.”

“apologies, my lady,” he confesses, stepping back at your side without any question. though, when he gulps, you eye him with a softened concern. “i was informed you were summoned due to a grave emergency.”

“worry not, jeongin.” you chide, recalling your highness’ idea of an emergency. “the king often calls when the queen is away and he is tasked with matters such as assigning dinner seating.” jeongin looks as if he is about to ask when you add, “she says his involvement humbles him.” when he nods, you straighten as the door swings open, a servant welcoming you in. “yes, there is nothing to fear, master yang.”

only, falser words had never been spoken.

you are quick to note the tremor in the king’s frame as he hurries to stand upon your arrival, rushing you through the official pleasantries of an official summoning. “lady seo.”

“your highness.” you reply, your knee bending as you politely lower your head. “how are you on this fine afternoon-”

“i apologise, y/n. but as you know, i didn’t call you hear on matters of leisure.” he politely interrupts, a flush of embarrassment flooding his cheeks as you frown. “when was last you heard from him?”

“heard from who?”

“from—” hyunjin’s confused gaze cuts to his informants, a few members of his court shying away from him before he marvels at them. “has lady seo not been informed?” when he receives no reply, you feel yourself shrink as the gentle king bellows, “why has lady seo not been informed?”

“informed of what—”

“the order of information begins with yourself sire, before reaching the court, the council, the lady and then the people.”

“i specifically requested she be kept informed. why has she not been kept informed?”

“well, your grace, the lady of a knight is only to be informed once official word is received from the battlefield and delivered to you sire.”

“official word of what—”

“which came through this morning and you are about to deliver the information to the lady.”

“king hyunjin!”

gasps fill the room from all but the king himself. he doesn’t falter, instead he turns to move towards you, his eyes growing more fearful, more earnest as he approaches. he shudders at the thought of delivering this message. he even scolds himself for attempting to delegate such responsibility. you are a friend. not only to the crown, but to the royal family itself. before heavy crowns kissed their heads. before rings ever kissed your knuckles. you were his friend. you had always been a friend to him, and the only time you had ever needed him was now and he had let you down.

“we received word that neo soldiers stormed our fortress in miroh. while we have received word from a few troops who were able to escape, we have yet to ascertain who of the full fleet have made it to safety.” when he pauses to gulp he sees your eyes gleam, breaths shallow. his hands then find yours, gripping your shaky, sweaty digits tightly. “we have received no word from changbin’s troop,” he stops when you gasp, your tears falling, cascading down and around your stained cheeks, your lip trembling. “but we have been able to track a number of our men back through the yellow wood, south of levanter.”

“i-is he there? is he okay?”

“we are yet to hear word,” the tears continue to fall, and he hates himself but all he can do is continue, divulge everything he knows. “they plan to set up camp on the edge of the wood, so i will make my way there now and have word sent back to you as soon as i find him.”

“no,” you refuse, snatching your hands away to drag them over your stained cheeks. “i cannot wait, i will join you.”

“as will i,” jeongin pipes up behind you, his voice an odd comfort once more. “your grace.”

“it is no place for a lady,” hyunjin tries, sighing when you just scowl, already mid curtsey as you preempt his agreement and dismissal. “i will have a carriage sent for you at once.”

“would taking just a horse quicken my arrival?”

“i-it would,” he discloses reluctantly, watching you ready yourself to decline the carriage. “for my sake though,” your scowl returns, ignoring the concern from the king. “i implore you to take the carriage. the yellow wood is far from kind..” you decode his meaning before he ever finishes speaking. the yellow wood is far from safe.

“but is this not the same wood my husband’s troop plans to take, sire?” hyunjin’s nod comes seconds later, shame tensing his jaw. hyunjin is visibly trying to appreciate your patience after having all this information dumped on you. but hyunjin also recalls the threats you readily made and followed through on in your younger years. so much so, he fears the worst of you when you bow before slowly approaching him, voice but a decibel higher than a nat’s buzz to threaten him. the king. before as many witnesses as it takes to have your head. “fine. i will take the carriage.

“but i regret to inform you i have fallen victim to the sick allure of hope. so if this carriage takes him from me? if i am too late? i will burn your kingdom to the ground, jinnie. mark my words.”

only once you leave does hyunjin breathe, noticably shaken by the violent rage existing within the women of his kingdom. “ready her carriage.” he suddenly commands, terrified of letting you down. “i want her there by nightfall.”

hyunjin had not embellished the treachery of this road. you had halted close to ten times in the first six hours of the journey. thanks to forewarning by the king and his council, your guards were prepared to be extra vigilant. weary from all sides of the carriage, bandits who fell from the trees and ambushed from the sides did not live long enough to prevail. from dawn til dusk, the wood falsified night with its woven rotted branches and the gradually setting sun, seeing was becoming more hopeless yet more crucial. without a maid for travelling company and jeongin busy guarding your personage, you were once again left with your thoughts. in times of dire woe, you called on memories of your love, though they read more like dreams. this dream is one that only longing for the man you prayed awaited you on the end of this perilous journey could conjure. because not only do you miss him, you fear for him. not much has changed.

‘you think i am going to get myself killed?’ he breathed, nipping at your clavicle as you rest in his lap. ‘have you no faith in me?’

‘of course i do,’ you defend, gasping as he clamps down, teeth rolling your skin. ‘i just-’

‘you just.. what?’ he doesn’t expect an answer. or so you suspect. especially following a slow drag of your thinly veiled heat over his firmed thigh. ‘you think i would ever abandon you?’

‘no, binnie,’ you start, rising from him with a sigh. ‘i just know you.’

‘you do?’ he ponders sweetly, gazing up at your shining eyes. ‘and what is it you know?’

‘you’re powerful, but far too stubborn.’

‘you know,’ he hums, crossing his thick arms as a small pout steals the lips of the strongest man in the kingdom. ‘for someone who claims to adore me, you tend to speak ill of me every chance you get, my lady.’

‘must the two be exclusive?’ when his frown only deepens, his folded arms tightening, you sigh once more. returning to his spread legs, you perch yourself on them, raising your steady fingers to the creases painting the forehead of the most stubborn man you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. he softens only slightly, his pouted lip closing around yours when you lean in, silently asking his forgiveness. ‘for every ill spoken word, i make up for with countless good, bin.’

‘such as?’ he huffs, knowingly egging you on.

with a small smile, you offer a final peck to his lips before praising the knight beneath you. ‘i know you will fight valiantly.’ you admit, pride permeating right through you to the man you call yours. ‘you will bring honour to your family, to your country.’ with the pads of your fingers, you tuck his hair behind his ear, cooing as he relaxes at your touch. ‘you will be a hero, my love.’

‘and this all worries you?’

‘do you know who will keep your legacy alive, changbin?’ his frown returns at concern for your quivering lip, a sudden fear seeping into your tone. ‘me. your widow.’ he begins to shake his head, a half assed assurance on the tip of his prideful tongue when you remind, ‘it may vex you to hear this, but please remember your knighting was in part an award for your bravery, but also in large part to hyunjin’s love for you.’

‘how can you say that-’

‘since bang chan the brave, name a knight who lived to see his knighting. just one, bin. name one who knelt before their king and felt the sword atop their shoulders. name one who did not die in battle, leaving their grieving widow to accept a meaningless commendation of his honour?’

‘you call your father’s commendation meaningless?’

‘don’t make me laugh, bin.’ your scoff would wound him had you not uttered, ‘i would have rathered he be the one to walk me down the isle the day i married you. knowing my father loved me enough to protect his country is a nice sentiment, but don’t you dare assume i would take that honour over his life.’

‘hey,’ he calls, holding you in his lap as you try to move from him. ‘my love, i didn’t mean to offend.’

‘i know,’ in these seconds you see past the facade, the knight that your husband is. you only see what you fell in love with. you see the compassion, the understanding. ‘bin, i need you to understand. really understand.’ with his cheeks cradled in your palms, you plead with your love. ‘you mean everything to me, seo changbin. before i ever realised you did. i will not let this mindless war take you from me.

‘don’t be a hero, changbin. leave that to some village boy with a chip on his shoulder, with something to prove.’ he nuzzles into your palm as he listens to your plea, gazing into your warning eyes. ‘just come back to me, okay? don’t make me beg.’

‘what if it helped your case?’ he mumbled into your skin, his lips gently puckering as his palms glide up the side of your neck. his tongue slid betwixt your parted lips, trying to exorcise any and all tension from your trembling frame. with another soft pucker of his lips, a suck on your wet muscle has you loosening, falling into him as he moves to embrace you. ‘would you?’

‘do not mock me.’

‘i would never,’ you find this hard to believe as he smirks like a man with ten knives readied for your back. they come as kisses instead, they line the column of your neck, followed closely by his thumbs as he angles your head toward him. ‘you just seem ready to, so i would love to hear it.’

‘perhaps i will marry that lee boy, with the speckled cheeks. i hear the maids think he’s a descendant of fairies, born from the very stars that kiss his face-’ the words halt in your throat as he flips you, firmly pinning you to the goose down.

‘you seem to have thought this through..’

‘have i much choice?’ you huff, glaring at his thoughtful gaze. ‘one tends to ponder such things when faced with their husband’s imminent demise.’ he only sighs, eyes rolling skyward as he asks the gods, old and new, why they ever chose you for him. ‘i hear his line is filled only with beautiful men. who was his ancestor again? minho the something.’

‘you know,’ refusing to come to your aid, he gathering up the hem of your silks. ‘most men would have your head by now.’

‘-magnificent! it was minho the magnificent!’

‘maleficent.’

‘hm?’

‘his name,’ nipping at the exposed skin of your chest, his hand tugs at the starched fabric as he corrects you. ‘it was minho the maleficent.’

‘oh,’ you breathe, less in defeat but rather in sweet contentment. ‘and why is that?’

‘because, my sweet,’ he huffs into your chest, resting on the heels of his palms planted either side of your cushioned head. ‘he burned all of levanter to the ground when his queen died.’

‘yes, he did.’ changbin only strokes the skin of your cheek as you pout, his eyes rolling at your uncanny ability to bring everything back to his encroaching departure. ‘and my husband will not even skip one war for me.’

‘’one war’?’ he smirks, dropping his lips to your exposed breast, tongue sweeping over your teased nipples. ‘you speak as though war is like an evening in a tavern.’

‘both tend to end in regret,’ you jest, or attempt to. it is growing increasingly difficult to barter with him as he presses his lips to your stomach, his body lowering in kind with his touch. before he can disappear entirely from view, you rise. as he rises with you, you are stunned by his rosey cheeks, the flush journeying to his neck as you rest on your elbows. he sees your turmoil. your clear desire for him shadowed painfully by your love and fear. he drops a kiss to your hip, his knuckles dusting the veiled bead of your heat, eyes hard on you as you falter, head lolling to the side before you regain your strength. ‘bin?’

‘hm?’

‘stay.’ it’s faint. so faint he barely recognises it as a plea. he only sighs, his forehead pressed to your abdomen as he purges your wet eyes from his memory. ‘please say you will stay. i cannot bear the thought of a winter without you.’

‘my love,’ changbin speaks into your skin, lowly beseeching your understanding while praying for your peace. ‘a season might separate us,’ he hums, expertly parting your thighs as he offers a lone kiss to your mound. ‘but only a season could.’

“my lady?” jeongin’s voice is first to break you from your nostalgic nightmare. the second is the cries of injured men. “we have arrived.”

the edge of the wood is a wounded minefield. limbless soldiers, knights and footmen alike, are dotted around the dimly lit field. your eyes gloss over at the heaped bodies, and water at the stench. “how long have they been here?”

“just under a week,” jeongin recalls, holding his hand out to stop you as medics pass with a burnt body on a stretcher. “it is hard to believe this is the winning camp.”

“there are no winners in war, jeongin.” you whisper, watching a man close the eyes of his fallen comrade a pair approach to drop his body in a mass grave. a fight ensues. “only loss.”

“y/n?” you halt at the call, half sprinting at the sight of han jisung, wearing a smile warm enough to light the night. “i thought his highness was jesting when he said you’d be here.”

“han!” you cried, latching onto him with a grip that nearly winded him. “thank god, thank god.”

“more like thank changbin,” he wheezed, squeezing you back just as tight, lifting you a few feet off the ground. “had he not been here, i would have surely-”

“where is he?”

“-died.” he only grins as you stiffen, recognising his part in your terror a second too late. “oh! no! he isn’t dead! he is alive! very alive!” his eyes flicker to a scowling jeongin, gulping down an apology as he gestures to his left. “come.”

further from the wood and slowly decaying corpses are the tents. some somehow less grand than a teepee, some spacious enough for a few hours sleep. jisung guides you both up to the largest of the lot, where you find an ill tempered king hyunjin growing increasingly more so. “no, leave him be.”

“had we known you were coming your grace- we can have him moved immediately.”

“your king gave you an order, soldier.” jisung chimes in, tongue slotting into the swell of his cheek as he gestures to you over his shoulder. “now move out of the way or i’ll have you explain to lady seo why she can’t see her husband on account of your insubordinance.”

“yes, sir.”

hyunjin bristles at jisung’s ability to command his men with little effort before he softens at your restless gaze. “he’s been asking for you.”

the grandeur of the king’s tent suits changbin well, you think. a fire crackles at the furthest end, masked only by a large canopy where you know he rests. the four poster bed takes up most of the space, and around it lays tin bowls, rags, blankets and water. the room seems barely lived in bar the knight whose faint breaths float toward you through the warm air. you feel yourself stalling, too busy taking in the space to recognise your fear. what will you find when you pull the curtain away? what remains of your husband, your lover, your friend? will he still have the same warm eyes and full cheeks? will his hands still fit in yours? his feet still step in time with yours? will he look the same, sound the same even? you swallow down this fear, and instead bask in the joy that he’s alive. your husband is alive. and nothing separates you. not a season, nor a wood. not time or conflict. only your fears.

and then they don’t. when you pull back the veil, nothing separates you but air. a soft man made gust as you reveal the man you’d once called your friend, only to call your betrothed and then yours. the fire barely lights the room yet still he glows. he lies bare from the waist up, his abdomen bandaged in rolls of cotton, his chest exposed. you watch it, the slow rise and fall of the place you longed to rest your head, you dreamt of dreaming on. before you realise, you have lowered yourself beside him, careful not to disturb him, nor his wound. before you can call for him he smiles. even in his state of slumber, he leans into your touch. before you meet his eyes, you feel his on you.

“you came.” he whispers, a heavy breath of relief escaping him as your thumb dusts his cheek.

“of course,” you try, before taking your lip between your teeth, fearful your tears might dampen his skin. you kneel at his side, carefully ridding yourself of your outer garments, before returning your hand to his cheek. “how do you feel?”

“now?” he smirks, wincing as a laugh runs through him. “wonderful.”

“and before?”

“so, so.” he murmurs with a kiss to your palm. “a sword to the stomach will do that to you.”

“do i have han jisung to thank for that?”

“no,” he coughs, recalling his sacrifice. “only me.”

“well that’s good,” you hum, employing the upmost care when leaning over him. “because i would hate to think my knight was blindsided.”

“never,” his assurance fans your lips, as yours hover over his. “only by you.”

you almost forgot how it felt to kiss him. the feeling only coming in dreams. there was no memory strong enough to conjure the feeling of his lips pressed against yours. the slow melt of tender skin on skin, the warmth, his gentle caress. his kiss is slow, but even in his prime he took his time. his lips close around yours with such timing and precision, ushering a slow burn of desire from the heels of your feet all the way up to the crown of your head. he knew how to expunge pain and fear from you, to free you from your demons, to reinvigorate you. to love you.

he’s weak. in all the worst ways. his body, his will. he raises his hand to your neck, pulling you closer as he presses his tongue between your lips, connecting the muscles with little intent of parting. he swallows around you, drinking you in, keeping that same, slow and teasing pace. only to pull you closer.

“you need your rest,” you pant into his mouth, resting all your weight on your arms as he pulls you back down, pinning your forehead to his.

“no,” he refuses, sweeping his thumb along your jaw. “i need you.” his voice shakes then, unlike him. unlike the man you know. “only you.”

“is that why you called me here?” you tease, silently wiping his tears away, silently reading the fear in his eyes. he begs them away though warms at your easy dispelling. “to use me?”

“my love,” he laughs, ignoring the pain in favour of basking in your smile. “you know i did not call for you.” when you move to argue, he recalls, as if he were there, “‘would taking just a horse quicken my arrival?’”

“i might have been here sooner if-”

“this,” raising his other arm, he gathers your face in his palms, “is soon enough.”

safe.

“okay.” you agree, allowing him to tug you closer once more. you let him kiss you without restraint. you let him curl his fingers into your neck, ignoring his wincing and kiss him through it. you let his grunts mask his pain, his teeth rolling your lip between the rows, you let him share it. you let him have you, because despite the odds he stayed alive. he stayed alive for you. and that was enough. “i love you.”

he blinks up at your shining eyes, guiding your wet cheeks to his puckered lips. “i love you,” he whispers back against your lips, feeling himself heal at just the touch of your hand. “only you.”

because only a season separated you. but now, not even a season could.

#so #changbin #seo changbin #changbin smut #changbin fluff #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #dno if it counts as angst #stray kids au #ncitygirls #skz au #skz smut #skz changbin #lol it is angst #skz angst #changbin angst #stray kids angst

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 119: Hope

Harry was always alone.

It sounded a bit dramatic, a little pitiable, and more than a little untrue.

Because he was always out with friends. He had pub nights with large groups of people, he went and took those wine and paint classes with Luna and Ginny every other week, and a cooking class with Ron and Pansy on the off week. He met George, Ron, and Seamus for lunch on Thursday afternoons. Hermione dragged him to a book club with Draco once a month. He met Hermione for breakfast on Tuesdays and had dinner with Ron and Hermione every Monday (and often Fridays, too). Neville invited him for tea every Sunday and there was always someone different there with them.

Still, there was something that always separated him from his friends. All of his friends were buying houses, getting married, having babies, getting pets (or in Neville’s case carnivorous plants). And he was just... stuck.

“Well, well,” a smooth baritone voice said behind him, interrupting his sulk at the bar of the Leaky, and a smile tilted up the corner of Harry’s mouth against his will. “If it isn’t the savior himself.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Are you going to sit down?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at the other man.

Silver eyes gleamed in amusement, “that depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you’re going to buy me dinner. It has been a long day.”

(Read more below the cut)

“Oh?” Harry said, nudging the chair next to him back with his toe. “Well it’s a good thing I ordered the shepherd’s pie, then. You and I both know that’s always big enough for two.”

“Were you expecting me then?” Draco asked with a pleased grin as he plopped down in the chair next to him.

“Nope,” Harry said. Strictly speaking, this was true, he’d been hoping the other man might show up but not expecting him to. “I just like to have leftovers.”

Draco laughed at Harry as the bartender slid an old fashioned across the counter to him, “thank you,” Draco said, nodding to the man who all but ignored him.

Harry inhaled to say something about the man’s rudeness (an action he knew was futile since he’d done it several times) but Draco put a hand on his arm and took a sip of his drink. “Not worth it,” he said.

Harry sighed at him, “Tell me about work.”

Draco grinned, it was a sort of grin that Harry used to hate when they were younger. It was a grin that meant Draco had been particularly vicious in the courtroom today. With relish he began telling Harry about the woman and her child whom he had defended against a powerful, abusive husband. How he’d eviscerated the man on the stand and freed the two of them from his grasp.

“It was brilliant,” he finished with a sigh.

“Sounds like it,” Harry replied, resting his cheek in his hand.

Draco gave him a little smile. It had taken a long time to get here, even a year ago Draco would have been looking at him, trying to work out if Harry had meant it sincerely. “Tell me about your day,” he said.

“Oh, you know how it is,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sitting around in board meetings, trying to make sure that the people who actually know something get heard. Watching people who only want what’s best for themselves trying to make people believe they want what’s best for everyone.”

He laughed and took a sip of his drink, “I don’t understand how or why you do it.”

“Well someone’s got to, don’t they?” he asked. “Might as well use my fame to some advantage. Help people. You know,” he said, shrugging one shoulder and picking at the label on his beer.

“Come away with me,” Draco said suddenly.

“Sorry?”

The other man grinned at him, “I’m going on vacation. I’m leaving tomorrow for a week on the beach on an island. Come with me.”

“What? Why?”

The smile that had been so bright a moment ago started to dim, “Nevermind. It’s a stupid idea. Forget I said anyth-”

“Draco,” Harry said, realizing he’d misunderstood. He put his hand on his forearm. “I’d love to. Seriously, I would love nothing more than to go and spend a week on the beach with you. I just,” he trailed off, “why would you want me to?”

“Because you’re always moping. And you’re always doing things for everyone else. And you’re bloody lonely.” He shook his head, “And no one sees it.”

“Except you, apparently,” Harry huffed.

The corner of Draco’s mouth tipped up, “Except me. Come on,” he said.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, Potter. Fucking seriously.”

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

The beach was fantastic.

Harry had never been to the beach for a vacation and he enjoyed every sun soaked minute.

Draco watched him with an expression that Harry couldn't entirely parse out. It was amused, and fond, and exasperated, and something else entirely all at once. "I don't get you," Draco said eventually, after they'd spent half the day by the ocean; lounging, swimming, drinking, and laughing.

"What do you mean?"

Draco shrugged and took a sip of his sangria before he continued, "You're wealthy, you have time, you obviously enjoy it here; why haven't you done this before?"

He frowned, "Well who wants to go on a vacation alone?"

The corner of Draco's mouth tipped up, "I'd planned to go alone. I have actually taken several vacations alone."

"Sorry, I didn't mean-"

Draco waved him off, "It's fine. I'm not offended I just," he shrugged helplessly, "I find you fascinating."

"You find me fascinating?" he asked incredulously.

"Haven't I always?" he replied wryly.

He huffed but couldn't argue considering that he'd been equally obsessed with the other man for most of their lives at this point.

"You could have done anything," Draco said, "There's nothing that the wizarding world wouldn't have given you. If you'd wanted to go on vacation and not be alone you could have had your pick of witches or wizards who would have gladly gone with you. If you wanted to be married with half a dozen children all you would have needed to do was pick the person." He shook his head, "You could have done anything you wanted, been anything you wanted, had anything you wanted but you've chosen a career that makes you miserable and you've chosen to be alone which makes you miserable." He shook his head again, "I don't get it."

"But how can I know if I'm actually good enough?" Harry asked. "How can I know if I'm good at my job or if it was just given to me because I'm Harry Potter? How can I know if the person who agrees to marry me is with me because I'm me or because I'm Harry Potter?"

"All this time I thought that you weren't on to me," he teased.

He rolled his eyes, "You know what I mean."

"You know what I think?" Draco asked as he leaned back in his beach chair and slipped his sunglasses back in place.

"I couldn't possibly guess," he replied.

The corner of Draco's mouth tipped up, "I think you're just scared."

He frowned at the other man even though Draco wasn't looking at him, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me perfectly," he replied, "You're scared."

"Of what?" he asked incredulously.

"Of being loved," he said simply. "Afraid that if you let someone love you, you'll have to let them in. You'll have to let them see all the dark, broken, twisty bits because it's not love if it's not honest."

"Oh and I suppose you're so much better at that," he snapped.

Draco snorted, "Hardly. I'm just willing to live my life until I've found someone who I'll be able to share those jagged pieces with."

He glared at the leg of the other man's chair, "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Alright," Draco replied agreeably.

"I'm going for a walk."

He nodded and yawned, "I think I'm going to take a nap, the sun feels nice."

Harry got up and trudged away without another word, trying to decide if Draco Malfoy was full of shit or if he might just know what he was talking about.

The longer he walked and the more he turned what Draco had said over and over in his head, the more he knew that the only person whom he would trust to see his dark bits was Draco Malfoy.

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

When he got back from his walk Draco was reading a book.

"You might be right," Harry said.

He hummed, "Not to brag but I usually make a point of being right."

Harry collapsed into the sand and stared out at the waves rolling in. "Can I ask you something?"

"Nothing has stopped you so far."

He huffed, "Have you ever been in love."

"Yes," the other man replied.

"How did you know?" Harry asked.

Draco hummed thoughtfully, "I woke up one day and realized that I loved his imperfections more than I loved the perfect image I'd created of him," he said. "I realized that I'm happiest when I'm with him, that he makes me feel brave in my fear and strong in my vulnerability."

"He sounds pretty great," Harry said, swallowing down the bitterness.

"He's also completely oblivious," Draco added. "And normally that would irritate me but his humility is part of his charm."

His heart beat a little quicker, "Is that so?"

Draco grinned, "Yes. And he's not too bad on the eyes, either," he added. "He's got a lovely complexion, fantastic long, dark hair. And his eyes," he let out a low whistle, "A bloke could get lost in those eyes and he wouldn't mind staying in the lovely green of summer."

Harry's mouth went dry and he couldn't quite find any words or summon any courage. Hope blossomed dangerously inside of his chest, expanding and expanding until Harry feared there wasn't room for a shred of doubt.

"He's rather fit, too," Draco continued, giving Harry a once over that even he wasn't oblivious enough to have missed. "And you wouldn't believe his arse," he added, "exquisite."

Harry laughed at that, "You're ridiculous," he said as he bent toward the other man. "I like you, too," he whispered.

"Took you long enough to figure it out," Draco teased.

He reached up and pulled Draco's sunglasses off his face, "I'm going to kiss you," he murmured.

"Took you long enough," he repeated before reaching up to cup Harry's cheek in his palm and draw Harry in.

With a sigh, Harry happily gave himself over to the kiss, over to Draco; knowing that his heart was finally in good hands.

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

Day 118: Glass | Day 120: Tough

#100 drabbles in 100 days #one year of drarry drabbles #fluff #love confessions #friends to lovers #vacation #drarry #drarry ficlet #drarry drabbles #thanks for the prompt

[inhuman-obey-me]

Payback's a Murder

Word Count: 2k Description: Mammon may be the Avatar of Greed and may constantly try to con his brothers, but others who try to do the same will find themselves at the wrong end of his murder. Part of the A Demon's Nature series. Finally got back to this, so here we go with Mammon's turn! Note: Mulciber is a demon mentioned in John Milton's Paradise Lost. He served under Mammon and was an architect. Can also be found on AO3 here. content warning: blood, body horror, torture via the sharp ends of birds

The Avatar of Greed often found himself in trouble, whether it be because he stole personal belongings to sell or tried to cheat someone out of cash or … well, there were a lot of ways. Call him reckless, but when he saw an opportunity to make some cold, hard Grimm, he wasn’t about to pass it up!

But if someone tried to cheat him out of something? That wouldn’t do. Few dared to try it if they knew just who they were dealing with, but that didn’t stop some from trying anyway. They always regretted it afterwards.

The real issue, however, was if someone tried to cheat his brothers out of something. After all, he was the only one allowed to rip them off (that was his justification, anyway). The moment he finds out someone else tried to play confidence demon with any of them, it was a one-way ticket to the Great Mammon’s Beatdown Extravaganza.

He was walking by Leviathan’s room earlier when he heard a loud crash, some swearing, and a slight rumble under his feet. After some door breaking, tackling, and forcing his hotheaded brother to not summon Lotan, he found out what had made him so upset. Apparently, there was some demon running around with elaborate schemes swindling others -- well, nerds -- out of their money. He went on to explain something that Mammon did not at all understand -- as was usual when he got into his otaku rambling. If his brother had not been so upset, Mammon would have commended the guy for knowing how to target and hit a jackpot.

After some additional pestering, Mammon managed to get a rough description of this third-rate demon and realized he had a pretty good idea of just who it was. It was someone far closer to him than he’d like to admit.

So now here he was, leaning against the bar at one of the Devildom’s many clubs, drink in hand as he monitors the floor. If he was right, he would see the other cozening demon somewhere here tonight, so now it was just a waiting game. As Lucifer had told him repeatedly, You have to show that you’re Number Two. He planned to make that very clear tonight.

He felt the pulse of the bass vibrating through his body as the DJ amped up their music, more and more demons flowing into the space as the prime clubbing hours arrived. A few who noticed Mammon acknowledged his presence, some whispering about how he seemed to look way more serious than normal. The Avatar of Greed, not partying the night away already? Strange.

His patience was just about to run out when he caught a glimpse of just the demon he was seeking out. Hair as orange as a flame, he wasn’t too hard to spot amongst the crowd of more muted succubi surrounding him. Mammon downed the rest of his drink in one go, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket as he made his way to his target.

“Mulciber. Already getting started, huh?”

“M-Mammon?!” He seemed startled to see the other, but cleared his throat as he regained his cool composure. “It’s good to see you, man! Why don’t you join us all for a drink?” The succubi around him giggled, one daring to lean towards Mammon in an attempt to latch onto his arm, but he quickly placed a hand up to stop her.

“No touchin’, sweetheart.” He shot her a look that made her immediately back away, a pout on her lips. “And that’s a nice offer, Mulcey, but I was hopin’ I could talk to ya real quick in private.”

Mulciber could tell that no was not an option in this conversation, given the serious look in the Avatar’s eyes. “Oh, uh, sure. Sorry ladies, I’ll be back soon. Gotta take care of business!” He gave them a wink as they continued on to the table for their party. Clearing his throat again, he turned back to his superior. “So, what’s shaking, boss?”

Mammon just gave him a smile before nodding his head towards a side door, motioning to accompany him there. The lesser demon complied, following him outside to a side alley. The night air was brisk, causing a shudder to run through Mulciber’s spine. At least, he hoped it was the weather that was making him feel like this …

“I heard ya got up to another scheme.” Mammon fiddled with a lighter, flipping the top off and on with his thumb and a jerk of his hand as he spoke. Click, click, click, click. “Wanna tell me about it?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, totally!” Mulciber nervously replied, wondering why Mammon seemed so interested. Did he want a cut of the check? Fishing for ideas for his own next get-rich-quick scheme? Or --

Oh.

Oh no.

He suddenly remembered that one of the victims of his scheming had been the very Avatar of Envy. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, delighting in the fact that he was even able to rip off a Greater Demon. Meant his plan had to be pretty genius, right? But now … now he was starting to realize that he may have just made a big mistake.

“Hm? Ya haven’t said a word, Mulcey-boy.” Mammon turned to face him, tucking the lighter into his pocket. He took a step towards the other, who immediately took a step back -- only to be met with a hard brick wall. “Or didja have a moment of realization?”

“L-Listen, Mammon, I’m sorry! I didn’t know at the time, I swear!” Mulciber brought both his hands up, as if that would stop the other from approaching him.

“Oh? ‘Cuz your face says differently, buddy.” He bared his fangs, the usual gradient in his eyes now glowing a furious gold. There’s a malicious grin on his face as he takes a step back, and then he begins to … whistle?

Mulciber does not like where this is going. He’s heard that tune before and it makes his hairs stand on end. “Look, man, please, I’ll do whatever I have to do to make it up to you!” There’s already desperation in his voice, which almost makes Mammon laugh.

“Glad to hear it. Then ya won’t have a problem with what’s about to happen next, yeah?”

It starts in the distance, a noise that made it feel as if your eardrums were being pierced by a thousand shards of glass. It grows louder and louder, closer and closer. An omen.

Mulciber shrinks against the wall, his grey eyes wide in fear. He knows running is pointless -- the other demon would quickly catch him, and leave him even worse for wear as repercussion. “P-please, Mammon, sir, don’t do this … “

“Didn’t you just say ya’d do whatever ya have to do?” Mammon shakes his head, his wings stretching out wide as if to entrap the lesser demon where he stood. “And you really think suddenly pullin’ out the formalities is gonna get ya any mercy here?”

The flapping of numerous wings now filled the air, a large murder of crows circling in the dark sky above. Their bone-chilling caws and cries rain down upon them as the birds eagerly await their master’s command.

Mammon lunged forward and grasped the other’s jaw, his claws digging into flesh as he brought his face threateningly close. “Pretty ballsy of you to think messin’ with any of us was the right move.” He growled, a rumble in his throat. “Looks like someone needs remindin’ of his place.”

“I-I wasn’t thinkin’ at the time! C’mon, you know how that is, don’t you? I was just thinking of making some big bucks, I didn’t mean to go and step out of line--” Mulciber frantically rambled, trying to ignore the searing pain he was feeling from Mammon’s grip.

“I’m sure that was the case, Mulcey, sure!” If it wasn’t for his mocking smile, the Avatar would have nearly sounded genuine. “But that doesn’t mean you can escape the consequences, ya’know?” He let out a tsk, watching as blood dripped from where he had pierced the other’s skin.

He let go of Mulciber, taking a few steps back as he shook his hand as if to clean it of the ichor. There was no denying the glee he was feeling from this -- it had been a while since he decided to flex his abilities and powers on another. Looking up to the sky, he whistled out another tune, causing the crows to descend.

“He’s all yours.” He commands them in a language only they could understand, and in a flash the black-feathered birds rush in to attack. Their squawks mix with Mulciber’s shrieks as they begin to peck at him with their beaks and scratch him with their claws. Mammon fishes out the lighter from his pocket once more, grabbing a cigarette from the box he had on him with his other hand. Leaning against the opposing alley wall, he lights up and takes a slow drag, watching as the flurry of feathers pulverize his inferior.

The crows tear at Mulciber’s flesh, their sharp beaks riddling his body with small cavities and painting him with his own blood. He continues to cry and scream, though it’s obvious he’s losing energy by the second as they grow weaker in intensity, his body slumping towards the ground. Perhaps he had learned his lesson? Surely, he’s just waiting for it all to stop now, right?

Mammon takes a glance around, humming in delight as he catches sight of a discarded iron pipe. He drops the remains of his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out before retrieving his now makeshift weapon. It feels cool and light in his hand, and he gives it a small toss in the air before catching it again with a satisfied smile.

“Alright, alright. You all can leave him alone now.” Mammon commands his murder once more, followed by another whistle to let them know they could go back to doing whatever they were doing before now. One of them flew over to Mammon, perching on the metal rod in his hand, looking up at him with a puffed up chest in pride as blood stained its beak.

“Yes, who’s my good lil’ birdie?” Mammon cooed, scratching the crow under its chin. “Go get yerself cleaned up, okay?” It cawed in delight before flying off to join the rest, who were fading back into the dark night sky. The Avatar of Greed shook his head fondly before turning his attention back to the matter at hand.

Mulciber lay crumpled on the ground, though was making efforts to sit upright as he gasped for breath. His body hurt all over, as if every inch of him had been pierced with needles. He feebly looked up to meet Mammon’s gaze, a whimper leaving him as he noticed the rod in his hand.

“What? I couldn’t let my birds have all the fun, now could I?” Mammon grasped the rod firmly in both hands before swinging it down with a deafening crack as it hit the other, who let out another sharp cry of pain.

“Hm, perhaps just another for good measure.” Whack. Another wail.

“Okay, okay. One more.” Whack. Another splatter of blood.

Content at the shuddering and sniveling mass that was left, Mammon kneeled down to get close to Mulciber’s ear, his next words full of menace. “Ya really should have stuck to the building business. Keep that in mind in the future, ‘kay?”

Mammon stood up and let the iron rod clatter to the ground, its hollowness ringing into the night. He made his way back inside to order another drink, ignoring the whispers and stares from the others in the club. It was doubtful that Mulciber would make an appearance here after what had happened for a while.

He knocked on the bar counter, getting the attention of the bartender. “Give me a glass of your finest whiskey. Put it on Mulciber’s tab.”

#obey me #obey me! #obey me swd #obey me mammon #om! mammon #obey me fics #demons being demons #series: a demon's nature #writings #the all encompassing [mod] cosmos #a side of mammon I would like to see more <3

[soramei]

Intentional - Part 4

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Landing your first real job at JYPE was something short of a miracle. You were prepared to face the new struggles of this elusive career whilst moving to a new country, however, nothing could have prepared you for him. Will stolen glances, secret touches, and hushed nights spent in the recording room ever be enough for the both of you?

Genre: idol!bang chan au, forbidden relationship, coworkers to eventual lovers, slow burn

Warnings: none right now, eventual smut

Word Count: 3.4k

Masterlist

A/N: DOUBLE UPLOAD! So i decided to split this part in two since i didn't want it to drag on for too long... next part will be uploaded tomorrow!

Taglist (reply to be tagged!): @planetdemon​ @hvunvely​ @fluffybitch0325​ @fashi0nablee @juststop88

You picked up the lanyard, looking between your burnt jacket in one hand and the vandalized piece of plastic in the other. The burnt polyester felt rough against your fingers. It was littered with black holes, almost to the point where it was unrecognizable as your jacket.

The lanyard, on the other hand, was almost untouched — save for the black marker that was sketched on the plastic. In the picture, on the part where your upper body was showing, there was only the black marker. The black blob stretched across your torso, the shape depicting a hoodie. Your eyes landed on the eyes in your picture. Thick lines drawn in the shape of an X covered both of them.

You quickly entered your apartment, hoping nobody saw you. You then stood completely still, listening to the silence, trying to find if anybody had broken into your home. After a minute, when it seemed as if you were the only person in there, you decided to lay the two vandalized items on your desk to further analyze them.

Your brain immediately tried to play this down by assuming that these were just kids who did this to your stuff, after all, it was something very immature. Children were the only people who had the time to play with fire and draw on other people’s pictures.

However, your gut told you something different. Why was your jacket along with your lanyard placed right in front of your apartment? Why was the marker outline specifically in the shape of a hoodie? Who could have known you were in the parking lot at that time of day?

Your mind drifted to one specific person. Manager Kim. He not only saw that you were in the parking lot that day with that jacket on, but also he knew your face from the lanyard. But why would he do something this childish? And how did he know where you lived?

The parking lot security guard had also been there when you wore that jacket, but he didn’t even look at you. And he would have no motive to do this sort of thing.

You rubbed your chin in thought, still not understanding everything. Was there somebody else that knew you were there?

Still feeling anxious, you began to prepare a cup of tea. You were reminded of Bang Chan. The tea. The smell of his hoodie.

His hoodie. The black hoodie.

Realization hit you like a truck as your eyes widened in disbelief. Was it maybe… Bang Chan?

Your heart was beating out of your chest. Hands shaking, you picked up your phone to call him, silently begging for the mysterious person to not be him.

He picked up.

“Hello? Y/n?”

You stayed silent.

“Is there something wrong?” He asked.

“I… I lost my jacket and it had my lanyard in it,” you tried to be careful with your words, not wanting to rouse suspicion from him, “have you seen it anywhere?”

“No,” you could almost see Bang Chan furrowing his eyebrows, “I’m still in the building though. I could look for it?”

“That’s alright,” you sighed in relief. He genuinely sounded confused, and plus, he was always so nice — there was no way he would ever do this kind of thing to you. You felt guilty for even suspecting him. “Thanks for offering though.”

“Y/n.”

“Hmm?”

“I know I said this before, but,” he paused, “if you need help with anything I’ll be there. I mean it.”

A chill ran down your spine at the seriousness of his voice. “I know. Thanks.”

You hung up, uneasy. The problem was unsolved, and to be honest, you were a little scared. There was somebody that knew who you were and where you lived. It was probably a good idea to change the passcode to your lock.

The kettle started to whistle. You turned off the flame of your stove and poured yourself a cup of tea, hoping that it would calm you down. Although it did a little, you still felt apprehensive about the whole thing. Your mood stayed the same the whole night, even when you tried to scroll through your phone or go to sleep.

The next day, you woke up with your mind cleared. No longer were you still feeling the aftershocks of the creepy jacket burner, and with your mood lifted more, you felt like you could think more objectively.

And that’s exactly what you did.

Throughout your whole week, this incident stuck in the back of your mind. Although your memory was getting fuzzier and fuzzier with the passing days, you still tried to work out who the culprit was in your free time.

Your mind was also filled with something else. Or was it someone else?

It seemed like, during the whole week, you couldn’t stop thinking of Bang Chan. You had to put part of the blame on him, though. Everytime he had a free moment in his busy schedule — granted it was rare that he did — he wanted to see you.

From secretly bringing you snacks from the vending machine to summoning you to his recording room in order to show his newest creation, he always seemed to stay busy even in his free time. You weren’t complaining, though. It was nice to have a friend who was so different from what you were used to.

You also spent a lot of time with Na-eun too. However, the time you spent with her felt different. Not in any good or bad way, just different. With her, it was mainly in the cafeteria, raving over the food after finally finding a free table. It was also trying to talk over everybody in the crowded streets as you two went shopping after work.

You liked it, sure. But with Bang Chan, every moment felt more intimate. Every smile, every laugh or brush of the hand. Was this what becoming friends felt like?

Other than these intrusive thoughts, the rest of your time was taken up by work. Although you were starting to get the hang of your tasks, there were still many mistakes made. Mistakes in which you had to profusely apologize to Manager Chen for, that you had to stay late nights to fix, mistakes which made you almost lose your mind. You hoped that Manager Chen could see your dedication to not only this project, but your job as a whole.

In the duration of this week, you managed to check in with every department involved with the project and partake in the finalization of the Mid-Autumn Festival content idea. It was decided that the group would do three activities: make lanterns, bake mooncakes, and share a fire while watching the moon. All while in the mountains.

You were surprised when Manager Chen asked you to come along to the shooting despite your inexperience. However, it wasn’t a chance you were going to pass up.

The week was hectic. So hectic, that you didn’t even realize it was almost over until Na-eun brought it up.

“Ugh, I wish I could just steal a whole tray of this food home,” you rolled your eyes. The two of you were raving once again at the cafeteria food. You wished you actually knew how to cook.

“Can you not cook?” She asked.

“I can fry an egg,” you said, stuffing more rice in your mouth.

“My six year old niece can do that,” she laughed. Her eyes widened. “What if I come over tonight and teach you? We’ll make fried rice, even you can’t screw that up.”

“Ha,” you said dryly. “I would, but I have literally nothing in my fridge.”

Na-eun gave you a deadpan look.

“How were you able to stay alive for the past couple weeks? At least you got skinner.” She sneered. “We’ll stop by the grocery store after work, I’ll teach you the bare minimum of living alone.”

And that was exactly what the two of you did. Right after you clocked out of work, you met up with Na-eun to go shopping. You decided to take out some cash to pay for your groceries, an action that Na-eun found hilarious. She was almost crying as she explained that a few groceries didn’t cost as much as you thought.

Your trip was successful. The two of you made it all the way back to your apartment and didn’t waste a second to get started. Halfway through setting things up, Na-eun got a text.

“Hey, is it okay if Yoojin comes? I guess she got jealous that I was here with you and she wasn’t.” She chuckled.

“Of course,” you eagerly nodded. “But, wouldn’t it be hard to get here with her injury?”

“What injury?”

“You know,” you continued, “her ankle.”

“She seemed fine to me.” Na-eun said as she started on the rice.

“Maybe she healed fast.” You shrugged.

“Maybe,” she shrugged back and returned to her task.

You texted Yoojin your address, and it wasn’t long before she was knocking at your door. You opened your door, and she immediately leaped at you for a hug.

“Oh, Y/n! I’m still so sorry for that day, I honestly feel horrible.” She pouted, her big eyes staring at you for a response.

“It’s really nothing, Yoojin.” You tried to sound casual. You let her in your apartment. “But, doesn’t your ankle hurt? There’s a lot of stairs coming up.”

“Oh, uhm, the doctor said it was only a minor injury.” She paused. “And I heal fast.”

“That’s good,” you smiled, patting her shoulder.

“But I still feel so bad, Y/n.” She whined. “Lemme make it up to you. I’ll set you up with this really hot guy I know. He’s a law student. You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

“Kim Yoojin!” Na-eun yelled.

“How about it? You’re free tomorrow, right?” Yoojin looked at you, ignoring Na-eun.

“I guess so,” you hesitantly agreed, “since it’s the weekend tomorrow.”

“Great!” Yoojin wrapped her arms around you, jumping up and down. “I’ll text you everything tonight.”

Yoojin kept up with her promise. After the three of you stuffed yourselves with good food, your two friends decided to leave before it got too dark. It was just a bit later when Yoojin’s text came through. You were to have dinner with this man called Kang Taehyun at an Italian restaurant tomorrow. Although you weren’t too thrilled with the idea of eating pasta, you figured you could withstand it for one night on the basis of trying something new.

You didn’t know how you felt about going on this date. Although you were excited to meet somebody new, something just felt off. Plus, you’ve never been on a blind date before. Who knows how good Yoojin’s judge of character was, or if this guy was like anything that Yoojin described.

You sighed, putting those thoughts aside. It was just a one time thing anyways, and who knows? Maybe this could lead to something. You looked over at Bang Chan’s hoodie. His warm hoodie that smelled so much like him. You should return it soon.

It was almost like he read your mind. As soon as you looked away, your phone rang with a call from Bang Chan.

“Hello?” You picked up.

“Hey, did you find your jacket?” He asked. You were surprised he still remembered.

“No… not yet.” You drifted off.

“Oh. We’ll keep looking for it, yeah? I’ll just buy you a new one if you can’t find it.”

You giggled. A couple seconds of silence passed.

“My shoot ends at six tomorrow. Wanna go to that barbecue place I was talking about?” He asked.

That’s right. Bang Chan couldn’t stop raving about that barbecue restaurant the whole week. He was really excited as his diet would end when he was done with his photoshoot, and he was apparently craving meat the whole time. All his praise made you very eager to see what the hype was all about.

You were about to eagerly accept, but then you remembered the date you had just planned not even a moment earlier. “Can we go another time? I… kinda have a blind date tomorrow.”

A few more seconds passed before you heard Bang Chan’s voice again.

“Blind date?”

“Yeah, my friend set it up. We’re going to this Italian place. Apparently he’s a really nice and handsome guy. He’s a law student, too.”

“Wha- law student? Y/n, are you sure you should be going on a blind date now? I mean, you just got here. You don’t know the city that well and you don’t even like pasta. What if he’s dangerous?” Bang Chan scoffed, his words got faster with each sentence.

“Chan, it’s okay. You don’t need to worry, I’ll be safe. Plus, I trust my friend.”

“You mean your friend you only just met?”

Silence.

“I only just met you as well.” You spat, slightly insulted that he would speak like that about Yoojin.

There was more silence that lingered.

“Whatever. Have fun on your date.” Bang Chan spat back, his harsh tone matching yours. Right after he said that, he hung up.

You looked angrily at your phone. Frowning, you threw your phone on your bed. Who was he to get angry at you for having a blind date? You recognized the dangers of meeting somebody new, but you trusted Yoojin. You were confident that Yoojin was honest about Taehyun.

A boyfriend would be nice too. Ever since your last relationship early in your university career, you haven’t had the best luck with men. It could have been because of how closed off your old friend group was. Your friends stayed consistent ever since you were young, and it was way too awkward to date a friend. You also found yourself way too closed off to go out and meet any new people.

Yes, tomorrow would be a good experience, you told yourself.

The next day, the hours leading up to your date felt like they had passed way too fast. The call with Bang Chan from last night still lingered on your tongue like sour candy, but you were determined to push past that in order to get ready on your date. After all, you didn’t want any frown lines to show.

You were excited to get ready. The amount of time it took to do both your hair and makeup was embarrassingly long, as you wanted everything to look just right for tonight. You didn’t want a hair to be out of place. You also took your sweet time to pick an outfit. Although the skirt you picked out probably wasn’t fit for the fall weather, you stuck with it anyways, choosing to layer a jacket over your outfit. One of your non-burnt jackets.

Double checking yourself in the mirror one last time, you locked the door and headed out. The streets were busy tonight. They were filled with people of all ages trying to relax from their tiring week.

Finding the restaurant wasn’t a hassle as the place was conveniently located at one of the busiest streets for weekend night-life. Dim yellow lights illuminated the tall glass windows just enough for you to see just the shadows of people enjoying their Saturday night. Green vines wrapped around the building, twirling and twisting their way around every crevice available. You tried not to fiddle with your thumbs as you nervously entered the lavish looking Italian restaurant.

“Hello, table for Kang Taehyun?” You asked the hostess. She showed you to a little table right beside a window. It was illuminated by a single candle, and already had two glasses of wine placed on it. And sitting at the table, hands crossed in front of him, was a hideously gorgeous man.

He looked like something out of a drama, really. With his tall nose and his sharp jaw, you struggled to convince yourself that this was a real man. His hands looked twice the size of yours.

“Hi, Y/n?” He asked. “I’m Kang Taehyun.”

He smiled and gestured for you to sit in the empty chair in front of him. You politely greeted him back and sat down. The two of you made some small talk before ordering. He made some suggestions on what to order, but you didn’t really care. You knew you wouldn’t like any of the pastas anyway. Plus, you swore to yourself you wouldn’t be drinking alcohol in front of strangers again.

“I’m surprised you agreed to this date.” You said, awkwardly laughing. “Isn’t a law student supposed to be really busy, especially around this time?”

“Well, I’m mainly doing this as a favour for Yoojin. She helped me with one of my classes.” He took a swig of his wine. “That girl is crazy smart. Or should I say crazy, but smart?”

“Oh?” You didn't want to admit that you were a bit disappointed he only agreed because of a favour. But he was being honest, so that was fair. What he said about Yoojin, though, took you by surprise.

“I’ve only heard rumors,” he tilted his head, “but some say that once in first year she went crazy over a guy. Started stalking him and everything. Apparently she even burned all his textbooks just because he started talking to another girl. They weren’t even dating.”

Your eyes widened at the allegations. There was no way any of that was true. You couldn’t imagine Yoojin — sweet, sweet Yoojin — to be capable of anything like that. There was no way her big puppy dog eyes and her fluffy hair could hurt a soul.

“Are you sure that’s what happened?” You asked.

“I mean, the guy was put into a mental hospital shortly after everything happened,” he shrugged, “so who knows? Maybe he made everything up in his head.”

“Yeah, maybe.” You nodded your head in agreement. Some of your hair fell on your pasta. You blushed, quickly trying to dab the sauce away using a napkin.

“You know Y/n,” Taehyun chuckled, “you’re cute. You’re not my type. I mean, I’ve only ever dated models before, but maybe it’s time to start settling down since I’ll be working at the firm soon.”

Thanks, I guess? You thought. You honestly didn’t know if that was a compliment or a jab, but either way you felt slightly insulted. You didn’t know how to reply to that, but it didn’t take long before Taehyun started again.

“I mean, look at my ex,” he said as he pulled up a picture of his ex-girlfriend on Instagram. She looked flawless in her bikini. “There’s no way I could actually marry somebody like that, right?”

If he says ‘I mean’ one more time… You thought to yourself. This date was turning south fast. This man was extremely handsome — almost god-like — but every word that left his mouth was poison infused arrogance. You didn’t know which was worse: listening to the man in front of you talk about his ex, or eating the pasta that was ordered by him.

You tried your best to stay polite with him for the rest of the evening. It was hard, though, as his cocky personality kept poking you down the whole time. It wasn’t until you finally separated that you had space to breathe. Great, you were left both hungry and annoyed.

Turning the lights on in your home, you sat at the kitchen table, still annoyed over your bad night. You took out your phone, wanting to scroll through the food delivery apps to find something to eat. Your thumbs began drifting.

No, stop. You silently begged yourself. Please, not tonight.

Your body didn’t seem to listen to your mind, however, as your thumb stayed hovering over Bang Chan’s contact. You pleaded to yourself to not press it, but your fingers seemed to have an agenda of their own. You pressed his contact. The phone call started.

One ring. Two rings.

“Hello, Y/n?”

You were shocked. He wasn’t supposed to pick up. Not after how poorly your last conversation went. You didn’t know what to say.

“Chan, how was the photoshoot?” You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t expect him to even pick up.

“It went great — feels good that it’s over, though.” He chuckled.

You wanted to tell him about your date: how arrogant Taehyun was, how fancy the restaurant was, how nasty the pasta was. You wanted to say all that, but tonight it seemed like your body just wouldn’t cooperate with your mind. And sure enough, you caught your mouth running before your mind. But this time, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Chan,” you took a deep breath, “wanna come over?”

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fluff #bang chan scenarios #bang chan imagines #stray kids angst #bang chan angst #skz imagines #skz scenarios

[resonating-kitty]

Dreambur - Pirate AU fic requested by @peppsta

Using the sentence “You’re too distracting with your handsome face and… your… everything!” (Took a bit of creative liberty to make it work)

I am happy with how this turned out. I've been a bit too critical of my writing lately but I generally like this one. Peppsta I hope this fits what you had in mind with the prompt! :)

I hope you all enjoy!

-

Wilbur laughed, joyous, as the wind hit his face. The open sea was such a wonderful place! His love of its wonders and mysteries and melodies was endless. He was a traveling musician, a quite successful one at that. His music was known all across the world and many lords and kings requested his presence to perform at their castles. That’s what he was doing now, headed back to England, summoned by his Majesty’s request to perform at the annual ball.

“Mr. Soot please get down from there!” The Captain’s orders barked hastily at him had him turning with a grin. He was standing up on the bowspirit of the ship and the Captain of the vessel was standing just behind him, hands on his hip and a growing annoyance in his eyes.

Wilbur relented, his boots hitting the bed with a thud as he hopped down to stand beside the Captain. He fixed the older man with an innocent look and a charming smile, “I do apologize Captain. I love the sea so much that I sometimes cannot help myself.”

The Captain regarded him with a knowing look and sighed, “Just please refrain from doing it in the future. It makes the crew nervous. None of us want to report to his Majesty that his requested musician fell overboard.”

“Of course Captain!” Wilbur saluted, mockingly.

The Captain opened his mouth, no doubt to reprimand the action, but was stopped by a frantic call from above.

“Captain! Captain! Skull and crossbones on the horizon!”

The Captain whirled into action, turning full circle to run to the helm. Curious, Wilbur followed closely.

“Pirates?” He asked, excitedly but none around him seemed to share his enthusiasm.

The Captain shot him a sharp look, wordlessly taking the spyglass that was handed to him. He looked through it, curses falling from his lips.

“It’s the bloody Speedrunner!” The Captain announced, turning for the wheel. He started to bark orders. Raise the sails, all hands on deck. “Mr. Soot below deck!” was the Captain’s last order.

Wilbur protested but the Captain cut him off. “Sir, whether you like it or not, you are under my command until you reach shore and you will do as I say and I’m telling you to go below deck.”

Wilbur was escorted below deck, not before he got a peak at the fastly approaching vessel. The light vibrant green sails of the ship stood in stark contrast to the jolly roger waving above them. ‘Tacky’ Wilbur thought as he was ushered below deck.

-

Try as she might, the merchant vessel was no match for the speed of the pirate ship. The Captain gritted his teeth as soon, his crew and his ship was completely taken over by the ragtag group of pirates.

“Dream,” The Captain gritted out with annoyance, heedless of the gun and cutlasses that were pointed at him and his crew. Dream usually never spilt blood during his raids and the Captain had been at sea long enough, had met with the pirate in these exact situations enough times, to know that the show of aggression was all bluff.

The Pirate Captain wasn’t much. He was tall and slim and didn’t even look or dress like a Captain. He wore dirty ragged clothes, a lime green bandana tied around his head to keep his dirty blond hair pulled back. He also wore a mask over the lover portion of his face, hiding all but his emerald green eyes from view. No one had ever seen his face and if they had, rumors had it they never lived to tell about it.

The Captain had no intention of doing that. He just watched the cocky pirate as he sauntered up to him.

“Sparklez!” Dream greeted happily, throwing his hands out, “what a surprise that we ran into each other again while you were transporting goods!”

Captain Sparklez pinched the bridge of his nose, insisting tiredly, “Just get what you came to get and leave”

Dream was grinning under his mask as he laughed, “Glad we have an understanding Captain,” he turned to a couple of his crew, “Alright boys, you heard the Captain, go see what’s below deck for the taking!”

A couple of the crew, a slightly shorter man with dark hair and a white headband tied around his head, a thin man with glasses and wearing a black, red trimmed, cloak, and another pirate that appeared to be in a full reindeer costume, headed below deck.

Captain Sparklez hoped they didn’t discover Wilbur but his hopes were dashed when muffled shouting sounded from below.

“What the hell?” Dream demanded, going to the stairs to call down, “Everything okay!”

“Look what we found!” Came the replying yell moments before the pirates were reappearing and dragging Wilbur with them. “He was trying to hide behind the salmon.”

Wilbur was pushed before the pirate captain. Wilbur looked up with wide eyes. Dark brown met emerald green. Both seem to freeze.

“Got something you wanna tell us Captain Sparklez?” The pirate in the black cloak asked, suspiciously. He glanced at Wilbur then his own Captain, who was still frozen.

“The boy is headed to Britian. He’s but a musician who hired me to ferry him.” Captain Sparklez answered hastily. He also was looking at Wilbur and Dream. “He is an innocent bystander in all of this.”

The pirate opened his mouth, possibly to ask more questions but he was cut off by his Captain.

‘Who are you?” Dream asked Wilbur, his voice soft and held none of the cockiness it had before.

Both crews, pirate and merchant, looked at the two with raised eyebrows and some with shocked expressions.

“Wilbur. Wilbur Soot.” Wilbur answered earnestly and Captain Sparklez facepalmed and muttered, “Boy, don’t engage with the pirate.”

“Why?” Wilbur asked, glancing at Sparklez, “He’s interesting.”

Laughter erupted from Dream. “Yeah Sparklez,” He said, his voice playful and teasing as he looked at the merchant ship’s Captain, “I’m interesting.”

“Please don’t feed his ego.” One of the pirates, a man dressed in light blue with a pair of goggles covering his eyes, warned in exasperation and Dream whirled around to face him.

“Oh shut up George, he can feed my ego as much as he wants to.” Dream demanded though the grin was evident in his voice. George just rolled his eyes at his Captain. Dream turned back, winking at Wilbur, who’s cheeks colored pink.

“So Mr. Soot, you do music?” Dream asked, conversationally as he leant against the mast of the ship.

“Dream, what about the cargo?” The pirate with the white headband asked and Dream waved him off with an order, “Start loading it on the Speedrunner obviously.”

“Dumbass,” the pirate muttered before motioning to a few of the crew and they disappeared below deck.

“I… I uh… yeah.” Wilbur muttered, “I’m actually on my way right now to perform for his Majestic at the castle.”

Dream whistled, impressed, “You’re Mr. Popular then aren’t you?”

Wilbur laughed softly, shaking his head. His brown curls bouncing on top of his head, “Something like that”

“What are some of your songs? Perhaps I’ve heard some of them?” Dream questioned. A crash was heard and his attention snapped to his crew and the box of produce that was now spilling out over the deck, hollering, “Hey be careful with the goods. We need those!”

“Sorry Captain.”

Dream turned back to Wilbur, “Sorry. Go ahead.”

“Let’s see there’s Jubilee Line, Since I Saw Vienna, Soft Boy, Saline Solution, Maybe I was Boring.”

“I’ve heard that one!” Dream exclaimed, eyes shining, “Maybe I was Boring. It was being sung in one of the pirate owned taverns. The guy singing it was trying to pass it off as one of his own but he didn’t look smart enough to come up with something so beautiful.”

“Yes well, as I’m sure you are well aware, there are thieves in every trade I’m afraid,” Wilbur sighed before he seemed to catch the last part of the sentence, “Wait you think my song is beautiful?”

“That’s not the only thing I think is beautiful,” Dream’s voice dropped as he reached up and closed the space between them. They were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Callahan was standing to the side, he looked apologetic.

“I do not mean to alarm anyone and I certainly hate to break up whatever is transpiring between the two of you, Captain but there is a ship on the horizon. Looks like the Navy.”

Wilbur was left at the mast as Dream stepped quickly to the side of the ship and took the spyglass from George. He looked through it, muttering out a curse before barking, “Everyone back to the ship!”

His crew reached instantly.

“What about this ship?” the pirate in the white headband asked almost eagerly as he headed for the ropes that connected the two ships together, “You said we could start sinking them.”

“What?!” Sparklez’s outraged voice rose up as panicked murmurs rose up from the crew. Wilbur’s breath caught in his throat.

“Not this one,” Dream said, his voice steeled with finality. Emerald eyes met dark brown once more, “Today this ship was saved by a distracting handsome face and everything else. So long for now and Mr. Soot? I’m sure you and I will meet again in the future”

Dream gave a little salute before joining his crew and soon the Speedrunner was just a speck in the distance as the Naval ship approached.

Wilbur stood at the bow of the ship, watching as the pirate ship disappeared in the distance. A soft smile on his lips and his whole body was warmed. The pirate captain certainly was charming wasn’t he.

“Charming?” Sparklez repeated with alarm as the Naval ship pulled up alongside them and Wilbur realized that he must’ve uttered the sentence out loud. A hand fell on his shoulder and the Captain leaned down to speak quietly, a warning, “Son let me tell you something, no matter how ‘charming’ he may be, at the end of the day he’s a pirate and you need to stay well away from him. He’s dangerous, not only in general, but also to your career.”

Wilbur tried to heed Captain Sparklez warning but he couldn’t get his mind off the oddly charming pirate. He hoped that Dream was being sincere when he said they would meet each other again because he was looking forward to it.

#dreambur #pirate au #writing prompt request #dream #wilbur soot #mcyt fanfiction #kitty writes

[mimiplaysgames]

Terraqua Week Day 5 (Mischief)

Summary: Aqua doesn’t have a crush on Terra. She doesn’t. Okay, she does. Or, Terra accidentally walks in on her in the shower. || Word Count: 3,476

Read on AO3

A/N: @terraquaweek I should mention a tiny little warning that there is a reference to nudity in this fic! It’s not described, so it’s totally T-rated but in case that is something you wanted to know. :) This is the shortest fic in the bunch, something cute and fun. The shower scene was a deleted scene in my Terraquanort fic, but I found that it just didn’t fit with the mood at all haha

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

nah.

Accidents don’t often happen to Aqua.

Ha.

Aqua swings her Keyblade upward. The force juggles golden rings assigned for training, usually tied to a pole for a bounce back. The Master mentioned some interesting techniques the other day in class: style changes, or the ability to enhance your power after a string of emotional attacks deep in the heat of battle, when you’re forced to rely on your heart to pull you out of a tough situation. Terra is sure to be developing new tricks, too.

There’s two months left until the Mark of Mastery. Letting the rings loose is a handicap Aqua places on herself: they’re heavy, resisting her magic to bounce in the air. This way, they should mimic what it’d feel like to fight a powerful enemy. She practices her pirouettes, and her waves of magic attempt to buoy them in the air in a violent tornado, but her spell flounders, a small push by a child in a playground. She adds a waltz step, a flip to give it a good kick, but it’s not enough. The rings crash back onto the grass. 

Aqua grunts and goes for the kill—but she twists her ankle at the crevice of a rock, landing on her knee.

“Stars,” she curses, wincing. Her knee is scraped, a hole ripped through her stocking, and her ankle aches. Stars. She casts Heal on her knee to soothe the sting and the gentlest summon of Ice to counter the swelling in her ankle. She tries to stand on it but can’t, so she casts more rounds of Heal and Ice spells until her leg can at least bear her weight.

Aqua limps to the castle through the back entrance, where the communal showers are. Showerheads, each with its own white curtain, are built on one side and sinks on the other in a wide open space. It’s part of a long hallway that connects to one of the gyms and a storage room down a corner. The floor is lilac concrete tile and drains, where it gives way to marble when you enter the castle proper. 

There was a time when the castle housed enough students to justify the size of this room, but Aqua is grateful she has direct access instead of having to drag this stupid ankle up a tower to her bedroom.

She shrugs off her sweaty, dirt-ridden clothes and shoes, and throws them in one corner, picking a shower that already houses soap, careful to put all her weight on one foot. The curtain draws around her in a u-shape and she turns the hot water knob, the pipes whistling as the water gushes through.

It gently scalds her at first but Aqua sighs when she gets used to it, rolling her shoulders and lifting her elbow over her head to stretch. The heat is good for the muscles. She presses her fingers near her neck, where it’s tight, and massages, then bends down to cast more Heal and Ice spells onto her ankle. Grime and sand flow down her skin, losing saturation as it curls down the drain under her feet. The soap stings when it runs over her scrape. 

She can’t keep making mistakes. 

Maybe the waltz step was too much and over-complicated things.

Aqua turns the knob off after rinsing her body and listens to the water drip onto the floor. The repetitive sound is hypnotic. She’ll journal her progress when she gets to her room and make comparisons with entries from the last few weeks. 

Hopefully, she’s improving at an acceptable speed despite the injury.

Aqua tests her ankle. She can’t flex it. Stars.

What is she missing when it comes to her technique? Does she need better endurance with her pirouettes? Does she have the time to do it right before the Mark of Mastery? 

When she realizes that she needs a towel to dry off—and there’s no towel in sight—she realizes that she’s been standing there wasting the time away. The shower is the greatest and the worst place to think.

Aqua figures she could grab a towel from the storage room nearby without anyone noticing. 

She opens the curtain.

Terra is standing right there, eyes as round as oranges with a heavy bag of fertilizer in his arms. He drops it. Aqua shuts the curtain with a screech.

“I’m sorry!” she hears him yell. Through the bottom of the curtain, she sees him scalping for excess that spilled over. Whatever hits the floor is mixing into the water, making mud. He’s barefoot.

“Terra, what the stars—?” she hisses, covering herself despite the curtain (a single piece of thin fabric).

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were in here!”

“How is that possible?”

“Why are you standing here doing nothing?”

“Just—Terra—” She groans loudly.

There is a pause as he walks backwards. “I-I didn’t see anything.”

“Get out of here.”

His footsteps slap across the floor, a subtle splash and the smack against the tile. Aqua peeks through the curtain when it’s quiet. She’s alone with a sequence of mud heading into the castle. Aqua grabs her clothes, slipping the bare minimum on despite its filth, and treks down the hall, purposefully taking opposite directions from his trail.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Their designated table in the library is always littered with books, damaged ones exchanged for the unread when the assignment deems it. There’s an extra stack for Ven since he’s a couple of years behind. 

Aqua (carefully) enters the library (ignoring the throbbing—it will heal quickly, she tells herself). She’s cleanly dressed and re-bathed, and takes a seat at the desk while Terra and Ven babble about the nonsense of a textbook they both hate. 

Terra gives her a quick, panicked glance before turning away from her and staring hard at the book in front of him.

Ven notices. “Aqua, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, just a sprain,” she says, suddenly clenched in the throat. What happened in the shower was nothing. No big deal. Sometimes best friends see things. So why is she, too, bordering on panic? Heat builds in her cheeks, so much that it hurts. Aqua tilts her head at an angle so her hair covers her face. 

“What’s with you two?” Ven asks and Aqua flinches. 

“Nothing, Ven,” Terra says too sternly. He bites his lip and stands too quickly. “A Heal spell isn’t enough for a sprain, what were you thinking?” he asks her without looking at her. He clears his throat loud enough to make Ven recoil, trying his best to hide how shaky his voice has become. “Excuse me,” Terra says before shuffling his feet like he’s holding his pee and disappearing.

When it’s quiet, Ven leans forward to get into Aqua’s personal space. “Okay, I know something’s up. What’s going on?” He squints. “Why is your face all red?”

“N-no reason.” Aqua opens a book. If she digs her entire face into it, it will look like she’s hiding on purpose. She lowers her chin (casually) to pretend she’s reading.

“You’re a liar.”

Aqua slams the book back down. “I do not lie, Ven.”

“Sure, you’re the definition of perfect. But you’re lying to me now.”

Aqua doesn’t know what to do. Her record is spotless. She’s a good student and a good person. She’s only ever told small, harmless white lies, about being tired when she doesn’t feel like it, or saying she isn’t hungry when she is so they don’t catch her sneaking in a brownie. But not this. 

“I’m not,” she says in the most unconvincing way.

“Fine, I’ll bug Terra about it—”

“There was,” Aqua says, her voice uneven (damn the stars), “an accident.”

Ven raises a skeptical brow. “And? How bad could that be?”

Aqua huffs and crosses her arms. It’s just Ven. Her other best friend, no judgment here. “Terra surprised me.”

Ven rolls his eyes.

“In the communal shower.”

He points and laughs at her, dropping his head in a fit and slamming a fist onto the surface of the table. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard,” he says in between gasps. “Oh, he must be suffering right now.”

Terra returns, more relaxed, carrying a wooden bowl and bandages. Still, he avoids looking Aqua in the eye.

“So…” Ven says with an obnoxious knowing to his voice and Aqua regrets everything. “Did you enjoy the view?”

Terra stares at her first, his brown skin pale. He glares at Ven with the ferocity of homicide.

Ven bursts into another shake of laughter. “Stars, don’t tell me. You’re blushing so hard.” 

At that, Aqua looks away. The thought is embarrassing and a… relief? At the same time? 

Terra doesn’t honor Ven with a reply. He trembles, forming a claw with his hand. When he waves it, the bookshelves shake. Several books zoom out and flap, hovering over Ven and hitting him on the head like crows on the attack. 

“Wait, stop, how are you doing this?” Ven shields his head with his arms, but Terra is bent on murder. Ven summons his Keyblade and cuts straight through the spine of a book. “Okay, okay, I get it!” The books glide close, ready to torpedo if necessary. Terra refuses to say anything. Ven steps away from the table, on guard. Then he smirks. He sticks his tongue out and bolts out the door. “Maybe that means you guys will finally kiss!” he yells down the hall.

Kiss.

A word as loud as a volcano erupting. 

Terra lets go of his magic and all the books drop to the floor, yet the crash is still quieter than Kiss, quieter than how hard her heart is drumming in her chest.

Without a word, Terra picks up the bowl with both of his hands and mumbles a short-lived Fire spell. It’s obvious that she’s to remove her sock and give her ankle to him. That’s the point, a turmeric and olive oil mix, gently heated to reduce inflammation. He doesn’t need to ask.

Aqua lifts her leg to remove her stocking.

Terra flinches and dramatically averts his eyes.

“It’s just a sock, Terra.”

Terra motions to look at her as a response, but stops himself. “You shouldn’t be walking on it,” he bites.

“Call me stubborn.”

“You’re stubborn.”

She fights the impulse to slap him on the back of the head. “Here.” She offers her naked leg to him.

Terra still won’t look at her, but digs two of his fingers into the mix and holds her calf with his other hand. He almost draws back from her skin. Stars, he is blushing. She is too, she can feel it, a boil in both of her cheeks, a flame building in her stomach. His fingers are warm and strong, a caress on her skin. She likes this. She has all the capability to do this herself but she doesn’t want to.

Shit.

Aqua crosses one arm over and brings her hand to her chest—her way of looking dignified as Terra rubs the solution over her ankle. She has been appreciating how broad his shoulders have gotten, how sharp his jawline is, how tall he’s grown. All things that most people would notice, surely. He’s beautiful, he’s always been.

He opens his mouth to say something.

Aqua panics. “If you dare make a comment—”

“You’ll kick me?” Terra lifts her leg higher out of spite and nearly pulls her off the chair. He takes the bandage and starts to wrap. 

Aqua stammers. How are they going to get through this?

“It was an accident, Terra.”

He freezes as though he can’t decide if he should finish the job or drop her leg. After a pause, he pitches his voice into a high octave to mimic her (badly). “Oh please, Terra, they’re just breasts. Nothing major.”

“You said—” she squeaks and covers her mouth. She shouldn’t be so naive. The heat in her cheeks bake. 

That’s fine. Best friends know lots of intimate things, especially with how long Terra and Aqua have been together. Some of her guts, though, are about to choke her esophagus. She hopes that doesn’t mean she wanted him to see anything. That she’d want him to enjoy it. 

Shit. 

Terra trembles in nervous laughter, soft and quiet, staring holes into her ankle as he knots the bandage. He’s blinking too much. “You’ll need to compress cold rice on it every now and then,” he says, suddenly serious. “And rest,” he stresses like it’s a curse word.

“Terra?”

He hesitates. “Yeah?”

Footsteps approach them from behind, too graceful to be Ven’s. Terra scrambles to pick up the books, choosing the sliced one first to slip into the bookshelf so the Master doesn’t notice. Aqua straightens herself out and slips on her shoe.

“Would someone mind explaining to me the mess in the communal showers?” the Master asks as he enters, before eyeing the mess in the library. He braces his hips with his fists. “What on earth are two concoting here?”

Her cheeks burn harder. 

“Not much, sir,” Terra says, gathering a tall stack of books under his chin. “Pranking Ven. The usual.” 

The tone of his voice is too suspicious and the Master knows them too well.

“Aqua,” the Master says, “you sustained an injury.”

All she can come up with is, “Not in the prank, sir.” 

“So the mud—?”

“In the shower,” Terra says quickly, without thinking. Overcompensating for the awkwardness. He bites his lip. “I mean, she slipped when she was showering.”

“He only knows because I told him,” Aqua says and she wants to slap herself. Of course that’s how Terra would find out in any normal story. Spelling it out makes it seem like he witnessed it himself. Terra glares her a new one.

Eraqus reads her with skepticism. He folds his hands behind his back and clears his throat. “Terra, you remember the discussion we’ve had some years ago regarding certain curiosities—”

“Yes, Master.” Terra inhales sharply and coughs.

The Master smiles. He looks pleased with himself. “You may continue to clear this up. And if you would please, keep the mischief at a minimum. It would be a great distraction from your work.”

Terra grits his teeth and Aqua lowers her eyes. “Yes, Master,” they both say slowly, like they’re about to step on hot coal. 

When the Master leaves, Terra drops books onto the table. He’s finally looking at her, his eyes such a striking depth. It suddenly melts her away. Why so sudden though? He’s always had dark eyes. 

Oh. She’s taken him for granted. Now she sees.

“What was that?” he whispers.

Aqua scoffs. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

He shakes his head. “I never want to have that kind of conversation with the Master ever again.” 

“At least let me help you,” Aqua says, nodding over to the last gathering of books on the floor.

“I’m not letting you stand on that foot.” He bends over to do the work himself.

“Then I’ll help you clean out the mud.”

Terra puts away the last handful of books, and chuckles to himself. “How do you want to get there? Crutches?”

“No, thank you.”

“Well, I either carry you in my arms or I fling you over my shoulder.”

Aqua needs to find a spell to hide the blushing. It aches. “What an obnoxious suggestion.”

“Then I’ll leave you here in the library.”

“No.”

Terra snorts. “Okay.” He hooks an arm under her knees and lifts the rest of her body like she’s a hollow ragdoll. So close to him, Aqua can feel the grooves of his muscle, his chest durable and broad. She wonders if he enjoys holding her this close, too. 

“I am really sorry,” he says as he takes her back towards the showers, passing by the open entrance to that gym, padded for wrestling. It’s not one they use often, since most of their training happens towards the front entrance. “I was on my way to take care of the squash. It was a dumb accident.”

“It’s okay,” Aqua says. She’s resting her head on his shoulder, staring at the way his neck moves when he speaks. Here, they don’t have to look at each other. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Yeah.” He sounds almost disappointed, if not relieved. “Glad we sorted that out, right?”

“Definitely.” She wraps her arms around his neck tighter. 

“What were you doing?”

“Pushing myself too hard.” Aqua scoffs.

“Typical Aqua.”

At the way he says that—mock-cocky, snivelish, playful—she blushes. He hasn’t changed since they were little, but it’s a side to him that only she and Ven sees.

There’s a lot to him that he only shows her.

They reach the storage room where the mop and towels would be stored, but he doesn’t enter. “We really need to install a door here,” he says. They reach the communal showers, and he bypasses them too. Terra finally settles her down on the terrace outside.

“Stay here, I’ll be back.”

“No, wait, I’m helping you—”

“Not with that foot, you’re nuts.”

“You can’t stop me from crawling back inside.”

“Then I’ll drag you back out.” He smirks, almost like he’s his old self but not quite. His old self isn’t this adamant. It makes her think that there’s something he isn’t saying, that maybe she’s misreading him, stuck between doing his duty to help her and needing time away from her. That he’s hiding it all behind a joke, and she has to let him go.

“Okay.” She crosses her arms. 

“Rest isn’t terrible for you,” he says as he walks away. 

Aqua stares at dry dirt. Down this path are the flower and vegetable gardens, contained by a fence. Beyond is the trail that leads right to the spot where she started this ridiculous ordeal. If only she didn’t trip. She’s been training for years. She’s too skilled to be having accidents, too far in her studies to think this hard about her feelings for Terra.

Too far in her studies and too mature to keep denying that she wants him to look at her. She does.

She gets tapped on the head. 

“Wait here,” Terra says, heading towards the gardens, barely giving her a glance.

Aqua anchors her elbows onto her thighs and drops her chin into her hands. A sudden thought invades her mind: he’ll come back from whatever chore he has to finish here, take her to her room, and now that everything is said and done, they’ll pretend like none of this has happened.

And that is that. A weird day finished, a blip in history.

Terra comes back into view faster than she anticipated, holding a bouquet of orange and blue flowers in his hand. 

Aqua uses the wall to pull herself up, keeping most of her weight on the good foot. “What’s this?”

Terra opens his mouth to speak, and leaves it there. He licks his lips and offers the flowers. “Um…” He scoffs. “I’m bad at this.”

They smell nice. Roses and bluestars. They must be his way to apologize. “They’re beautiful.”

“Um…” He clears his throat, rubbing something raw at the back of his neck. “Would you like to, uh…” He glances at the ground beneath him, summoning the courage to look at her and speak clearly, overusing his hands to demonstrate. “There’s actually a really pretty cave nearby, full of crystals and minerals. It’s spectacular, and I’ve always wanted to take you to see it.” He blushes, swallowing. “Um, when you feel better, would you like to come see it with me? Spend the night, I mean?” He blushes harder, scoffing. “It’s a nice hike and it’s a great camping spot.”

Aqua squeezes the stems of the flowers and her heart hammers too hard to find her voice. “That sounds…” She exhales. “Nice.” She almost asks for permission—from who, she doesn’t know. Terra is asking her. She’s asking herself. “Yes, I’d love to.” She hopes to the stars she’s blushing less than him. 

Terra has no answer except for a nervous giggle, his eyes gleaming. He leans forward and kisses her on the cheek, whipping himself back with a hand to his face like he’s committed the worst sin in the world. 

It’s warm where he left his lips. Aqua touches it with her fingers.

Embarrassed laughter sputters out of Terra’s mouth with many unnecessary apologies.

Aqua smiles, and it comforts him. “Can you take me back inside?” she asks, that smile twisting her cheeks. It hurts so good.

“Sure,” he breathes. “Anywhere you want.”

They exchange rogue giggles and excited glances as he carries her. They talk as if nothing indeed has happened, where they avoid any mention of mischief to be had in the near future, at least for now. Maybe the stars threw her off balance this morning on purpose. Best friends. They’ve always been.

#terraqua #aqua #terra #ventus #kingdom hearts fanfiction #lmao omg #this cute little one is finally out #i hope you like it! #my fic

[basicallywhiterice]

on top of the world (dong sicheng/winwin)

pairing: sicheng/winwin x reader

genre: angst, fluff, flangst. friends to lovers, highschool!au, dancer!sicheng, spring break trip

summary: The fall to the ground doesn’t seem so daunting when you’re living on top of the world.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: cussing

a/n: if enough people get mad at me i’ll write a part 2

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

this can be read as a standalone, but it is part 1 in the on top of the world series. crossposted on ao3 here!

Chinatown, Washington, D.C., 7:01 p.m.

“Honest Abe? More like, honest babe,” Lucas hollers to Kun and no one in particular, drawing a few disgruntled looks from the pedestrians waiting for the walk signal to flash again. He winks at a man in a navy suit, who rolls his eyes and looks away. Yangyang reaches over for a high-five.

“Dude was 6′ 4″, of course he’s a babe,” Sicheng whistles, leaning behind Yangyang and craning his neck to steal glances at Kun’s phone.

To your right, Ningning flits around, snapping pictures of the street displays and assorted neon lights on the storefronts. You watch her alongside Giselle, who pops her bubblegum, periodically glancing at the traffic light at the bustling intersection. Standing shoulder to shoulder with you to your left, Kun rattles off a hodge-podge of facts about Abraham Lincoln and Ford’s Theatre, which you just passed by, from his phone screen to a faux-enthused Yangyang, who shakes Sicheng by the shoulders every time Kun reads a new fact. He occasionally gets pushed into Lucas’s side, rolling his eyes while doing little to hide the growing grin on his face.

“... and apparently they planned his assassination in the building the Wok n’ Roll restaurant we passed used to be,” Kun remarks.

“OH MY GOD SICHENG ISN’T THAT SO CRAZY?” Yangyang all but screams. “IT WAS IN THE WOK N’ ROLL!”

As you glance over fondly, your eyes linger on the orange hues and kaleidoscopic shadows the nearby “do not walk” signal spills over Sicheng’s face. After a moment, he looks away from Yangyang’s exaggerated bouncing. His gaze flits upwards, meeting your stolen glance with his own.

The world grinds to a halt beneath your feet when a strong gust of wind blows through your hair, propelling you into free fall into the depths of his eyes until Giselle tugs on your arm, pulling you back into the present.

She gestures toward the “walk” signal on the traffic light, and you fall in line with her quick footsteps as you stride across the crosswalk.

“We should go there later,” she suggests. “Try summoning Lincoln’s ghost or something.”

“The Wok n’ Roll?”

“Yeah. Do you think his ghost would have his top hat?”

“I thought ghosts were just spirits and didn’t take material possessions with them?”

“Yeah, but then every ghost would be naked, which would be hella inappropriate.”

Ningning overhears, skipping up to you and looping her arm through yours. “You have to prove the existence of ghosts and take them out to dinner before you get them naked, you pig.”

“I made yo momma sound like a ghost last night,” Lucas quips. “I skipped the ‘getting dinner’ part, though.”

“Goddamn,” Giselle exclaims as you burst into laughter, throwing jokes and jabs at each other for the rest of the trek to the ramen restaurant where you eat dinner.

Hilton Garden Inn, Washington, D.C., 9:13 p.m.

After helping Giselle and Ningning unpack, you knock on the communicating door between your hotel room and the boys’ in order to bother Kun.

Sicheng answers, moving aside so you can step across. Their room is surprisingly clean, although you chalk it up to the limited amount of time they had to unpack earlier today. Lucas sits at the desk in the corner near the window, hunched over his laptop while Yangyang peeks over his shoulder. You glimpse a few pictures of the Washington Monument on his screen before he scrolls down to other marble structures.

“Are you looking up other places to visit?” you ask him.

He glances up, cracking his neck before responding. “Yeah. I can’t find anything special that we don’t know about, though.”

“It’s boutta be lit,” Yanyang chimes in.

“Ayeee,” Lucas responds. They start aggressively patting each other on the back and arms, and you take that as your cue to leave before they wrestle you into whatever weird ritual they’re performing.

Turning, you see Sicheng flop down onto the bed closest to the windows where Kun lays, sprawled out. “Hey,” Kun greets, lifting his head from his pillows.

“Hey,” you reply, remembering the reason why you came to the room in the first place. “Oh yeah! I found a stop sign a few blocks from here on a decently busy street. It’ll take ten minutes to go there and back, tops.”

He groans. “I would love to go, but I just got a stomachache. Tell you what. Sicheng,” he says, propping himself up at a snail’s pace and clasping Sicheng’s shoulder, “you can accompany her there, right?”

“To a stop sign?” Sicheng asks, looking up from his phone.

“A hand-picked, top tier, magnificent stop sign,” you proclaim. “Whenever me and Kun travel, we always get a random passerby to take our picture in front of a stop sign like it’s a tourist attraction. Are you down for potential social awkwardness?”

The corner of Sicheng’s lips tugs up into a grin. “You know it. I’m not ruining your tradition with Kun, am I?” he asks, glancing sideways at Kun for confirmation.

Kun flops back down on the bed. “Nah. If I went right now, I’d probably ruin the tradition by shitting my pants there or something.”

Sicheng chuckles. “Promise? We could print out those pictures and mail them back to your parents like a postcard.”

“I like the way you think,” you say with a scheming smile, nodding at Sicheng before turning back to Kun. “Anyways, drink some warm water to help with your stomachache, maybe? What do you think caused it?”

He shrugs. “Not sure. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that trashcan pizza slice in the subway.” Sicheng reaches over and flicks his forehead. “Ow! I’m kidding! Why would you torment a sick man like this? Go away and take your pictures already.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” you ask as Sicheng asks, “You sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Worst comes to worst, I’ll take a Pepto-Bismol in fifteen minutes. Go and have fun.” He waves you off, grabbing a spare pillow and lightly smacking Sicheng with it.

“Fine, mom.” Sicheng stands, pocketing his phone. “You ready? I just need to put on my shoes.”

“Yeah.” As he walks over to the closet, you sneak a peek at your reflection through your phone screen. Fighting back a sudden bundle of nerves, you discreetly smooth your t-shirt down, running a hand through your hair. Kun wiggles his eyebrows when he notices, and you flip him off, silently warning him to stay quiet.

He doesn’t. “Have fun on your date with loverboy,” he whispers.

“Shut up.”

“After you leave, should I check out the pool?” he murmurs. “Lucas and Yangyang said they don’t feel like swimming tonight.”

“What, isn’t your stomach—”

“Oh my, would you look at the time? Off you go!” He shoos you away, almost standing up to push you away and laying back down before Sicheng can turn around. You’re almost impressed by how well he set you up.

Still, though. If Kun weren’t your best friend, you’d shove him into the hotel’s fountain.

H Street Northwest, Washington D.C., 9:40 p.m.

Half an hour later, you give up on the facade of collecting anti-tourist pictures after the third stop sign, stopping by the Chinatown Express to grab a bowl of noodles with roast duck to go. You walk for a few blocks before finding a bench to sit and split it at, slurping them up in an appreciative silence.

“Oh my god,” Sicheng intones around a mouthful of noodles. When you look over, his cheeks are puffed, an empty spoon descending to rest inside the soup container.

“You look like one of those baby birds eating scraps,” you giggle.

“I’m certainly skilled with chicks,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes, then scoot closer to pick up a piece of roast duck. Your knees touch, but neither of you move away. “Do you think there’s a more advanced form of life than humans, like aliens, and they view us how we view animals?” you ask, resuming the conversation you had about the meaning of life before you sat down. “Like we don’t think birds could become self-aware, no matter how intelligent they are, so then we can’t achieve the alien version of self-awareness no matter how philosophical we get.”

“Good question. Uh, alien self-awareness would probably relate to the meaning of life or something, right? Or the secrets of the universe and breaking the laws of physics. And because they’re so big brained, they could control things with their minds and be enlightened with telekinesis. So hypothetically, if I were a wise, sagely alien,” he says, gently picking up your hand and laying it flat against his palm, “I could make my hand pass through yours if I had enough brainpower.”

His hand is warm, and you hope furiously that your palms aren’t sweating. “Was this another excuse to hold my hand?”

“Well, did it work?”

You raise your eyebrows and fail at biting back your smile. “You already know, you just want to hear me say it.”

He grins. “Then say it!”

“Yes, Sicheng, it worked.”

“Awesome.” He moves his right hand to pick up his spoon, briefly tugging your hand with him until he realizes. “Fuck. Sorry, I have to let go of your hand while I eat. Unless you wanna see me struggle with my left hand.”

“As much as I’d love to watch you do that, I feel like that’d be an insult to the rest of the noodles.”

When you finally remember to stand up and throw away the long-forgotten remnants of your food, he holds your hand carefully but firmly as you walk past the White House, and you imagine his hold on your heart must feel the same.

Lafayette Square, Washington, D.C., 11:16 p.m.

“Dance with me,” Sicheng pleads, pulling you under a streetlight. You nod, but your feet stay cemented on the brick-paved sidewalk.

“I don’t know how to.”

“That’s fine.” You place your hand in his outstretched one, and he lifts your other hand to rest on his shoulder. “No one’s around to judge, so just do whatever.”

“Wise words,” you deadpan, but you let his hand on your waist guide your swaying.

He’s right, though. After the initial awkwardness fades, you find that waltzing around isn’t so bad after all—especially when he twirls you around the pocket of light underneath the lamppost so gently it feels like you’re dancing on air.

And when he dips you as you throw your head back, laughing, you think you finally understand why his eyes light up every time he finishes a dance performance.

“Is this what you love about dancing?” you ask once you’ve come back up.

He nods, eyes closing briefly. “Partly. The grand choreographies are the showstoppers, but the simpler moments keep me sane.” His eyes flutter open. “I haven’t let anyone see me dance with such bad technique in a while. I’m usually not this bad, I promise.”

“I know,” you grin. “I saw you at the winter showcase. You were amazing.” Then you take a deep breath, and brace for the worst. “The lyrical piece you closed with was the one you used for your audition, right?”

“Yeah, I—yeah.”

Abruptly, he releases your hands and steps back. You allow yourself to feel a twinge of guilt for mentioning the elephant in the room before you steel yourself for the impending conversation.

“We should probably talk about that,” he says.

“We should. Do you want to walk around the National Mall? You said you liked it earlier today.”

“Sure.”

The walk is quiet enough for you to overthink. Sicheng got accepted by a dance studio in Korea, after months of submitting auditions and traveling back and forth between countries. He’s leaving soon, even if he says he’s still waiting to hear back from Juilliard and keeping his options open. You see it in the goodbyes he keeps subconsciously saying and the memories he drinks in like it’s his last chance to, and you’re terrified of what your life will look like without him.

You glance over at him periodically, and he seems to be lost in thought too, staring straight ahead down the well-lit path. His eyebrows furrow as you pass under a streetlight, and you wonder if you brought it up the wrong way.

You’re disappointed in the crude way you shoved the future into a perfectly happy moment, then mad that you’re disappointed. It was inevitable that you’d have to talk about what would come after graduation, and it was inevitable that he’d have to remove himself from your side to chase after his dreams. It’s a wonder he hasn’t pulled away already.

Stupid, you chide yourself. Stupid, stupid, stupid, loving so hard that your chest implodes from all the weight it carries, already drifting through the pangs of hurt and the wisps of melancholy bringing about a premature nostalgia.

“I’m really going to miss you next year,” Sicheng confesses out of the blue.

You glance up. His hands are shoved into his pants pockets, his eyes roaming over your face like he’s trying to remember all the secrets it hides.

You think you might always run back to him. You’re not sure how to feel about that.

National Mall, Washington, D.C., 11:33 p.m.

“So.”

“So,” you echo. “Have you looked at decisions yet?” It’s a pointless question. You know he’s not going to Juilliard.

“Yeah, I looked at them this afternoon in the theater.” He clears his throat. “I got waitlisted.”

“Ah.”

“I’m not going to accept a spot on the waitlist.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “I had made my decision anyway.” Then he sighs, his nonchalant facade dropping for good. “You can probably guess.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m accepting the studio’s offer,” he whispers, as if the air is glass and the moment could shatter at any moment. The words float there, above your head, and you imagine grabbing them and hugging them close to your chest before they slip away.

You don’t. “I figured.”

“Yeah. You knew.”

You stare ahead and will the tears not to fall.

“I’m leaving as soon as school ends,” he says, with the sideways glance that marks the start of his rambling distraction process, “and flying there on—”

“I’m gonna miss you,” you blurt. He pauses mid-sentence. “I’m gonna miss you like crazy. Can we talk about this, for real? You can tell me all the details later, I just—please,” and your voice cracks, “don’t dismiss this.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

A blink, and the first teardrop traces its way down your face.

You waste away the hours of your stolen youth with a boy who wipes your tears away and comforts you over the future that you’ll no longer be a part of.

National Mall, Washington, D.C., 11:57 p.m.

“Before I leave,” Sicheng says, scuffing the heels of his shoes on the gravel pathway, “I know I’d regret it if I didn’t say something. I mean, I’m going to leave anyways, so why not, you know? I have to say something before I’m gone. Um, so, you know this by now, but I… I—” and you already know what’s coming.

“Stop. I know what you’re going to say. Give me a minute to think.”

You make the mistake of glancing up at him, his eyes wide and shining. “Yeah. Alright. Take all the time you need, please.”

In half a year, Sicheng will be gone and you will be left to pick up the pieces of your life that don’t involve him, piecing them together the best you can and carrying on like there isn’t a hole in your heart.

“I’m in love with you.” One thud of your heartbeat. Then another. “Sicheng.”

In half a year, this chance will be long gone, and if you let it slip through your fingers without grabbing on, you’ll never forgive yourself for letting Sicheng become your biggest what-if.

“I’m in love with you too.” He raises his hand to cradle your face in his palm. “Y/n.”

“I’ve wanted to say that for a while now.”

“Me too. It’s not just because I’m leaving, you know.” You nod, his palm momentarily pressing against your cheek. “You knew.”

“Yeah.”

You stare up at him, the boy who wears his heart on his sleeve and holds entire galaxies in his eyes.

“What are we?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

“How do you feel about dating?”

You freeze like a deer in headlights. “Dating?”

“Yeah, would you? Like to date me?”

And then Sicheng turns into a what-if again. “I don’t know,” you confess. “I don’t know if I could handle the split.”

“We don’t have to break up when I leave. We could do long distance,” he suggests, but it sounds flimsy even to your ears.

“I don’t know, Sicheng. I don’t want to end up losing you.”

“I know. We don’t have to, especially if you don’t want to.”

You nod once in acknowledgment, and then you’re stepping into his arms again. He holds you securely, stroking your hair and waiting for you to collect your thoughts.

“I wish we had more time,” you whisper into his shoulder an eternity later. “Could we have been doing this earlier?”

“It would’ve been too fast,” he reasons, and you’re inclined to agree. “We didn’t really… not until this year…”

“Yeah.” You’ve known Sicheng for years and have been close with him for months, but you only fell in love with each other when it was too late. “I wish we started hanging out sooner.”

“Maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way.”

“Maybe.”

You pull back enough to glance up at him, gaze dropping to his lips at the close proximity before immediately bringing it back up. His eyes follow the movement, a smile creeping up his face.

“One kiss wouldn’t hurt, right?” he asks, and he says it so earnestly that it’s hard to believe he’d be wrong.

“It wouldn’t,” you agree. His nose bumps with yours and you blink up at him once, twice, and then you’re leaning in until the faraway sounds of the city fade away. He’s purposeful and patient and when all you can think of is the brush of his lips against yours, it’s just you and him against the world.

One kiss might not hurt, but one turns to two and two turns to too many and when you finally pull away and stare into his eyes, dazed, your lips tingle from the ghost of his mouth on yours.

At that moment, the way his mouth slowly stretches into a grin does something to your heart, and you think you’d let it break a million times just to be the cause of his smile.

“Yes, Sicheng. Let’s date.”

He kisses you again, beaming so wide that his teeth knock against your lips and pulling you closer, almost picking you up in the process.

You wonder if you made the wrong decision.

#nct #sicheng #winwin #nct scenarios #winwin scenarios #sicheng scenarios #nct imagines #winwin imagines #sicheng imagines #dong sicheng #nct winwin #nct drabbles #nct oneshots #wayv #wayv winwin #winwin drabbles #winwin oneshots #sicheng drabbles #sicheng oneshots #kpop #nct fluff #kpop fluff #kpop fanfiction #wayv scenarios #kpop scenarios #nct u #NCT-WRITERS #kwritersworldnet #neowritingsnet #mine

[scattered-irises]

Yu-Gi-Oh Zexal Gothic

You still aren't exactly sure what the meaning or correct translation of “Kattobingu” is. A portmanteau word, yes, but, do the two halves combine to create a whole new meaning or does it only amplify its separate parts? Perhaps you will never know. And, perhaps it is better that way.

“I build the Overlay Network! XYZ SUMMON!” is so fully hammered into the depths of your neurons now that whenever you see two or more monsters of the same level, you instinctively cry out for an XYZ monster, even if there are none in the vicinity.

You've grown desensitized to bright colors and horribly dressed people. They are like the flowers on the wallpaper in the bathroom that no one uses. You never look at them twice.

Numbers now hold special meaning to you. Number 96 in particular.

In your dreams, Kotori’s battlecry of “Yuma!” fills your slumber. You wander down an endless and dark corridor, Kotori’s cries for Yuma  as diverse as tropical birdsong. You can't remember if she said anything else important. It began with Yuma and it ended with you. Yuma is all.

Blinding light now reminds you of Astral’s censored crotch. Perhaps when you are in a darkened place, you could invoke the power of the Holy Crotch.

The mysteries of the Moon have been revealed to you. With a heavy heart, you know exactly who the Man in the Moon is.

The Arclights’ dog stares into your soul. You wonder what happened to it. Knowing Tron’s sadistic habits, you think that perhaps not knowing is a gift. 

The Kamishiro Twins are actually deceased. Instead, two alien souls are inhabiting them and using them like personal flesh puppets. You try not to think about that too often. You try never to think about it.

Thomas’s Gimmick Puppet deck crawls around on all fours in your waking and sleeping hours. Whenever you are alone, you feel watched. The rafters creak in reply. You take in a deep breath and proceed to dust off your antiques. Someday. But not today.

The parallels between Heaven, Hell, the Holy and Unholy Trinity dance about in your mind. If the Numeron Dragon is the Great Creator, Eliphas and Astral as God and Jesus, Don Thousand and Black Mist as Satan and the Antichrist, then who is the Great Destroyer?

Late at night, you swear you can hear Kaito whistling off in the distance. No matter how tightly you shut your windows and lock your doors, the whistling persists.

Vector’s visage has burned itself into the back of your eyelids. You see him, in all of his chaotic glory eternally.

The weeks before the end of Zexal will live in infamy. You can still hear the weekly crying fests of the fans. You can still hear Challenge the Game playing on loop as the unlucky character(s) of the week’s life is flashed through the screen. Distantly, you think you can hear the writers’ besotted jeers and laughter. Perhaps it is just Vector. Since then you carry a pack of tissues and a mourning outfit just in case the occasion arises. Death is imminent. Death is eternal. Death is inevitable. Death frolics through Zexal like young children do in a schoolyard. 

Sharks now hold a special place in your heart alongside the name Reginald.

Gilag devouring Ponta haunts your every waking moment, from the tanuki’s final screams to Gilag’s sated swallowing at the end. You never want to swallow anything whole again, not even yogurt. You methodically chew your yogurt and ignore the disapproving stares of passerby. They don't understand the horror of having to bear witness to an Epicurean murder.

The sounds of orchestral arrangements, especially with heavy brass presence, will always make your blood pressure rise. Are you about to lose a duel and your lifelong spiritual partner? Is your friend about to betray you to fight in an intergalactic war? Is a shrunken man child about to kidnap your brother and torture him? You are never sure, but the brass band has turned into a harbinger of doom.

You aren't sure what Zexal means. However, you can always feel its presence, lurking around your living quarters like a shadow. It began with Zexal and it will end with Zexal. You will be buried with Zexal. 

#zexal #yuma tsukumo #kaito tenjo #ryoga kamishiro #yugioh zexal #Vector Zexal #Gilag zexal #kotori Mizuki #black mist #Thomas Arclight #Astral Zexal #writing from iris

[butcherknives]

hey leon!! just dropping by to say your work is as amazing and beautiful as always 😍😍 i was also hoping to request some nero/m!reader? my thought was that the reader is sick and nero decides to spend the day taking care of him.

thank you so much for your time and hard work! can’t wait to read more of your writing!!

Thank you for this request, anon! I haven’t written for a male reader yet and I’m stoked to do it, even though I didn’t focus too hard on the reader’s gender. I love this prompt and I’m always down for something sweet. Please enjoy!

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 910 𝚂𝙵𝚆: ✓ 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: sick “I'm baby” dramatics, fluff

Nero x M!Reader

How long has it been since you could breathe through your nose? You’ve forgotten what that must be like as you part your chapped lips and exhale a gusty wheeze. The memory is so distant, unfairly foreign...

Although it’s been under a day.

Within the last half hour, you’d collapsed on the couch – as far as you’d been able to trek your weary muscles – and you’ve decided that this will be your final resting place. Here, amidst the cushions, still in your sweats while you throw an arm over your eyes to shield yourself from the agony of the world. A picturesque ending to a terrible film.

Fade to black.

You snort at your own theatrics.

Nero is in the kitchen. From your position, you can see only the top of his silvery head. The sounds of movement, of metal on ceramic, indicate that the soup must be finished. Your throat clicks around an attempt at speaking but the idea of projecting to be heard makes you exhausted. Terribly, horribly exhausted. It’s fortunate that Nero is in front of the coffee table not a minute later with one of your bowls in his hand, brows raised in appraisal while he sets it down with a soft clink. It’s almost as if he’s sensed your summoning.

“It’s hot,” he says. “It’ll be good for your congestion.” His eyes then slide to your glass, still full of water. “And you gotta drink more. Flush that bug out.”

His concern is softly written across his face as he tips down to place his palm on your forehead. With an emphatic hum, he nudges you to sit up and offers a gentle push until you’re upright. He plops down beside you in a heavy drop.

“I’m not hungry,” you say as you teeter to one side. He’s reaching for the bowl to bring it toward you while you lean your weight closer, closer. “Please don’t make me eat, Nero.” Your cheek touches down onto his shoulder and he freezes, watching you through the corner of his eye as you nestle in. “Can’t I just stay right here?”

He snorts, although you can only hope it’s in loving amusement and not a weak attempt to hide the way he rolls his eyes. “Can’t do both?” He pats you until you raise your head enough for him to slide an arm around your waist, drawing you into his side. “Such a baby, dude.”

“I don’t feel well,” is your quick-witted reply, definitely not pouting when you press against his welcomed warmth.

“Which is why you should eat you the soup I made you.” He gives you a pointed stare, although there’s no heat despite his teasing scowl. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

All you manage is a groan while you pull yourself straight and reach for your soup. Mm, you think, it is warm. As warm as your boyfriend, who simmers with crackling power tethered right beneath his skin. Bare toes curling into the carpet, you let the heat wash over your sinuses and lament that you won’t be able to taste the broth to its fullest. Oh, but it takes such energy to lift the spoon. Your back curves into a protective slouch and god, you’re so tired.

“I’ll get you some medicine,” Nero says before you speak, yet as he starts to stand, you reach for his fingers and give him a pathetic tug. His brows knit. “It’s just in the bathroom.”

“No, I want you to stay...” Your heavy stare rests on him. He returns to his seat and bears only the sweet lull of worry. “But what if you get sick, too?”

His smile returns and you feel yourself begin to heal.

“Nah, I couldn’t tell ya the last time I actually got sick.” His hand runs through the hair at your temple, searching your expression. “Worry about yourself, okay? I’m just here to help.”

“Do demons get sick?”

The question has his smile stretching until it’s crooked the way you adore. “What? I look like an expert to you?”

“Switch forms? I’ll ask that Nero.”

“Okay.” He laughs and leans into your space to kiss your cheek. The soft brush of his lips is electric against your heated skin. “Nice one, smart ass. Now would you please eat your soup before I pour it down your throat myself?”

You do. You take several spoonfuls while Nero strokes his fingers along your spine in soothing patterns and abstract shapes, a comforting reminder of his presence despite your whistling nose. You eat until you’re unable to continue, until you’re worn and full enough to ease the churning acid in your stomach, and when you place the bowl back on the coffee table, Nero is pushing your water toward your hand.

A boyfriend-shaped mother hen, you surmise.

“Anything else I can get you?” he asks and you smile, touched by his dedication. “Pain killers? Some tissues?”

“No, that’s alright. Honestly? I just want to sleep.” Your hooded eyes fall and he’s nodding, all eager empathy and affection while you gently drop your head into his lap. You tuck your knees toward your chest and feel the way you begin to fade. “Will you stay with me?”

His fingers coast against your scalp and you drown in his golden solace. “Anything you want,” he says. “I’m here.”

And as you drift, sounds fading into sunken silence, you melt into his devotion.

You love him.

#devil may cry #nero #dmc nero #fulfilled requests #all purpose writing tag #anonymous #thank you again I enjoyed this and I hope it hits the spot #p.s. likes and reblogs keep me in business

[mofieroll]

Thunderstorms (Josuke Higashikata x Reader)

A Josuke Higashikata x Reader one shot where you were once part of the Crusaders, coming to Morioh with Mr. Joestar, and your pomp baby likes you.

Word Count: 5.2k

A chilly breeze under the warm sun. You were standing on the port of a moving boat, facing the wind that blew your [H/C] hair as you leaned on the sill with a calm expression, eyes closed and lips quirked into a wide smile. You loved moments where you just partook the natural quiet sounds around you, the splashes of water and whispering currents being music to your ears. The day has been serene so far, but you didn't really come here for vacation.

"Shizuka! Come quick! Come quick!"

The voice of a man called for you, disturbing your moment with the calming ocean. You stood from leaning and yawned, popping some stiff muscles before you ran off in panic upon realizing that you were supposed to take care of the person that called for you. Yeap, you forgot of your job for over a second.

You entered the lounging room of the boat and darted your eyes on the back of a crouching man who seemed to be inspecting something on the ground beside the couch. You couldn't see what it was but you were relieved, placing your hands on top of your heart as you sighed.

The man shifted his head and glanced at you with wrinkled eyes and parted lips, "I tried slipping on it, Shizuka, but I couldn't!"

You peeked over him after you reached his side and saw something yellow, "Is that what I think it is?" You replied, giggling as you realized his comedic attempt on trying to solve cartoon logic.

"This banana peel couldn't make me slip.." The old man repeated as he tried to stand up. You held his arm and helped him settle on the couch. He grabbed his wooden cane and placed it in between his legs before setting his eyes on the oceanic scenario outside the windows, "[Y/N]..! I'm sorry.. the name Shizuka has been on my mind lately.. It's-it's a pretty name, don't you think?"

You smiled at his words, grabbing the banana peel from the ground before sitting beside him, "I think it is, Mr. Joestar!"

Familial and friend, you were someone that Mr. Joestar would describe with those two words. Being a member of the Crusaders, and being the youngest one at that, had a big contribution on your platonic relationship with the old man. He was always looking out for you while your brave self assured him that you're afraid of one thing, but you're not afraid to kick the lingering enemy Stand users' peaches. He believed you like how a father would believe her daughter's imaginary stories, making sure you won't feel like you were invalidated. Although, his worry that the trip would scar you, both physically and mentally, increased to the max when the group arrived at Egypt, which led to you being transported back to your lonely home by the Speedwagon Foundation.

You couldn't understand the reason of his worry along with the other Crusaders, so you had a childish decision to to cut ties with them, only to reach out a few years later. At that time, you talked to Mr. Joestar himself, not even hiding the fact that you broke down on the phone when he hesitantly told you that only three of your group survived. You were joyed that he still considered you as a part of the Crusaders, but you were disappointed that you were immature, making you miss all the trivial things that happened. The old man comforted you like those nights when you were missing your parents, fondly telling you, "That's a no-go! The boys wouldn't want you shaming yourself now, and neither would I. Live your life like you're supposed to, little [Y/N]. Everyone would be so proud of the woman you'd become!"

Now that you're on the legal age of 18, you're trying to fulfill your number one goal in mind, and that is to be a doctor under the Speedwagon Foundation. Sure, you're a bit forgetful sometimes, but you have a free pass for being under special training which was only possible because of your Stand.

..and your connection with the Joestars.

You and Mr. Joestar were sitting in silence, lost in reminiscing thoughts, until the sound of a water vehicle grew to be disturbing the peace even if it sounded far.

"What..?" You glared at the surroundings, frantically looking from the door where you came from to the side of the windows, figuring out where the vehicle is most likely to be, "Mr. Joestar, I have to check something outside. It'll be quick, a'right?" You stood up, rushing outside after you received no reply from the unbothered old man who still had his attention on the scenery.

You ran through and up the hallway until you reached the edge of the deck. You held on to the red fence as you leaned with squinting eyes, trying to see who was on the.. motorboat approaching the boat you're on. The attempt took minutes, making you sit on the floor in boredom before you jumped to your feet in excitement as you finally saw the passengers of the smaller vehicle. One was a boy in a blue uniform you absolutely do not know and the other..

The other was your childhood emo crush who now wore a white hat and coat, "JOTARO! Jotaroooo!" You screamed, waving both your hands with a cheeky grin. This is your first time meeting him after a decade! You forgot, but you were just as excited when you were informed about meeting Jotaro Kujo during this boat trip with Mr. Joestar.

"I heard you're a Marine Biologist now, huh! Remember when you knocked that one shark out to save me?!" You ironically screamed before laughing, following the motorboat to the back as the boy in uniform whispered to Jotaro while pointing at you. The adult man didn't mind the two children around him and focused on driving the motorboat, tugging the brim of his hat down as he gave himself a small smile.

Two of the Speedwagon Foundation crew was already waiting for the motorboat when you reached the back, "Sirs! You knew they were coming?" You asked as you reached their side, eyes still on the said vehicle.

"[L/N]? We actually informed you about this.." One of the two answered, making you rub your neck as you looked up, trying to remember it happening. You tried.. and got extremely confused in just a minute that you didn't even notice that the passengers of the motorboat had boarded yours. You were snapped with your sudden realization that you've told Mr. Joestar you'll only be quick with checking, making you run back to the room he's in.

Okuyasu Nijimura, who actually thought you ran off because he stood in front of you, looked back at Jotaro with a puzzled face. The adult man shove his hands inside his pockets and gave permission to follow you with a jerk of his head, to which the student complied to, but not without a scrunched face and a dramatic hop on the small wall that separated the stern of the boat from the hull where the lounge was.

Mentoring three different teenage boys has been a pain in the back. Jotaro doesn't know if he should be happy that you're back with them or.. he should just devise an escape plan from all of this. Either way, with you here, he's certain that he doesn't have to look out for his Jiji that much.

The boat arrived at the harbor safely. Knowing that an enemy posed as a crew and wanted to get rid of Mr. Joestar was a bit surprising, you even thought Okuyasu was Mr. Joestar's son at first! But now that you're seeing his actual son who had an eye-catching pompadoured hair, you weren't surprised on how charming he was.

You whistled and nudged Jotaro who was on your side. Everyone had their eyes on the father and son walking away hand in hand, "Woah, that's Josuke Higashikata? Sheesh, Jotaro. What's with y'all Joestars being so hot and everything?"

Jotaro glared at you, "Gimme a break. You're older than him."

You glared back and faced him, "I'm literally 18 and he's 16! Don't say that like I'm some sort of creep!" You jokingly punched him on the shoulder and voiced an ora, to which he responded with tipping his hat down and turning his back on you, "Hmp— Oh, may you please tell Josuke that I could tend to his wounds? I don't wanna ruin their moment right now, so maybe later?"

Jotaro turned his head and nodded, "Coolness! Thanks, my dear ocean man!"

—

Several weeks have passed since yours and Mr. Joestar's arrival at Morioh, and you've grown closer to the group as to be expected. Okuyasu always goes out of his way to meet you at the hotel you're staying at because of how much he enjoys your pampering when he blurts to you about how his pomp-haired friend gets the ladies in school, he had even told you that Koichi had a scary girl obsessing over him, not forgetting to mention that she was cute anyway. You seldomly meet the said boy, Koichi, as he was not the type to go around town if not needed, and only accompanied him once when he walked his large fluffy dog. Josuke on the other hand, always comes with Okuyasu to the hotel but he doesn't speak to you and only observes your interactions with his friend and his father while you also played with the invisible baby they found, whose name is now Shizuka. You didn't know there was a relevant reason as to why he wouldn't talk to you even if you tried to start a conversation, so you shrugged it off and just shot him genuine smiles whenever your gazes met. You were technically the older sister in the gang and it would make sense that Jotaro was the older brother, but he was more of an uncle figure.

Josuke planned to continue his tsundere facade until he was sure of asking you out -on a date- for a hangout with just the two of you, but what he didn't expect was for a certain someone, who he just can't seem to get along with, to poof up and force him to ruin his own plans.

"Listen, listen! I met a Stand User earlier today. I was just doing my own thing when he took photos of me without my permission. He even directed me of what to do and straight up got mad when I hesitated! Turns out, he's a mangaka who found me as a good reference and I was like, good and not perfect? He glared at me for a second then he just summoned his Stand! Yo! It was a cute, white and gold dude! Of course he didn't get the chance to use the dude on me, I have my totally cute Stand too! Next thing I know, he invited me for coffee! Rad, huh?"

You didn't even need to mention his name for them to know who you were talking about. The two boys who listened, Josuke and Okuyasu, looked at each other in shock before talking to themselves like you weren't there. Calling him the 'spider-licking guy', badmouthing him and expressing every inch of their dislike for the man. Inviting you for coffee was a bad call, it just meant that you two became friends and scheduled a date. Josuke tried his best to make you back out of it, eventually talking to you all the time and taking care of you, his father and the baby, like the older brother —your partner— he wanted to be since the time he realized he likes you. He couldn't accept that the mangaka had the upper hand, so he tried to do everything he can to change that.

But of course, the 'pure love kind of guy' failed.

The day of your date with the great mangaka arrived. You were in a good mood as you prepared, the voice of Kai Harada playing on the background radio noise. The man had said that today is a sunny day, to your delight, but there is a chance of a hard gloomy storm at afternoon, to your dismay. If there's one thing about nature that you dislike the most, it's thunderstorms. Although those weren't mentioned, the anxiety of being out in the open while it occurred crept over you. You observed yourself at the vanity mirror: your hair fixed into a [H/S] that you do only for special occasions and a [F/C] [O/F] that fitted your style and body as you kept your face in a natural but fresh look, eyeing details of yourself to shrug off the previous thought.

It's now 1PM and you are finally face to face with the mangaka, seated outside the famous Cafe Rengatei in Morioh. You arrived earlier than the meeting time, making you certain that your efforts to fix yourself went to a shame.

"It seems you've made an effort for your meeting with me today. You look quite presentable," Rohan started, leaning on the chair as he crossed his arms and had his chin up.

You quirked a brow, copying his action, "And what does that imply, Mr. Good Reference?"

"It implies that you're a perfect reference right now so I'll be straight to the point of this meeting," He frankly stated. Puzzled at the word 'meeting', your brows creased, "I want you to let me use Heaven's Door on you, and you will be paid. Since I didn't get a good— let you get away before, I'm asking for the permission you're requiring me of. I heard from my friend, Koichi, that you might have an interesting story. I could have just used Heaven's Door on him, but his information of you is limited. So, is that settled?"

And here you thought this was a date.

You bit your cheek from the inside and held the clothing on your lap, "Yeah, yeah. When do we start? Oh, and you don't have to pay because you sounded real genuine and kind. Thank you very much!" You replied, a bit of sarcasm coming with it.

Rohan raised an eyebrow and battled with your blank stares before speaking, "Tch. I have the money to pay, [L/N]. Meet me at my house tomorrow morning. Don't make me wait." He grabbed his sketchbook from below the table and stood up, giving you one final, sassy look before he left.

You watched him walk away, sighing deeply as his form vanished. He got you hard with the coffee invitation and he didn't even stayed a little longer to order and enjoy an afternoon snack with you. Oh, right.

You were just acquaintances. Nothing more and maybe less. It's not that you liked him in a certain way, you were only bummed that you requested a day off for this. Taking care of the people you care about and studying for your medical course are much better than misinterpreting a business deal for a casual date. You sighed once again, lightly hitting your head on the table, "This is the work of the worst enemy Stand."

The disappointment took over your senses on your surroundings, so you became more oblivious to the Josuke that was watching you far behind.

And yes, he's been there all the time.

Shocking and unbelievable to the ears of the mutual friends of Rohan and Josuke, but the mangaka was the one to set you and the student up. It's true that Rohan had heard of you from Koichi, but that's not all. He had also heard that Josuke had been acting distant to you when all he talks about at school is.. well, you. How did he even know about that? It's absolutely not the work of Heaven's Door, Koichi just had to slip up.

You and Josuke both stayed at your respective places, unsure of what to do next now that Rohan had done his part. A few minutes passed, and you both sighed at the same time. You stood up, deciding that you'd go back at the hotel and play with the adorable Shizuka, while the nervous Josuke continued watching you, figuring out the right time to show up.

You were supposed to walk back, but then drops of water started falling from the sky. You opened your palm and looked up the sky, only to see gray colors eat up the blues. You closed your eyes and sighed once more, whispering to yourself, "This day is a work of an enemy Stand."

Not for Josuke who brought an umbrella that he'd share with you, though.

The drops of rain became a heavy storm within minutes, making you run to the nearest waiting shed. There were only hints of you being soaked, but it didn't help your body that had low resistance towards the cold. In this moment where you hugged yourself to keep your body heat, you remembered the Crusaders. The group of big men who all had a soft spot for you, and the small dog who accompanied you at your mischievous times. They were the group that always made sure to keep you warm, the group that always assured you that thunderstorms—

"AAAAH!"

You squealed upon hearing the deafening noise from above, the sound of pouring rain quickly enveloping after. You whimpered and tucked yourself in the corner of the shed, hands covering your ears and tightly gripping your now messed hair as you trembled greatly. Slowly and weakly, you dropped yourself, your knees meeting the coldness of the ground. This was supposed to be a nice day. A nice, enjoyable day that involved no stress and no professional work. Mr. Joestar also wanted you to enjoy but this, fighting back the urge to sob while you silently hollered in the storming public, isn't exactly your idea of spending your leisure time.

"[Y-Y/N]?"

Josuke stood just outside the waiting shed, a black umbrella, protecting him from the rain, in hand. He ran when he heard your scream, resulting to his shoes and pants to be thoroughly soaked. He looked at you with worry and guilt, although clueless as to what exactly caused your outspoken self to curl into a whimpering puppy. Rohan.. It must've been him. He shouldn't have just stood there watching, "[Y/N]..? Did Rohan do—"

A loud thunderstorm sounded once more, making you scream and push yourself to the corner. Josuke gasped, it's.. the thunderstorms that's causing this.

Josuke entered the shed and closed the umbrella, hanging it on the roof. You weren't paying him any of your attention, your conscious mind devoured by unsettling thoughts. Your phobia of thunderstorms was something you caught from your childhood. Something you caught from the freezing and lonely nights without your parents, people who you most expected to be there for you when you're being secluded by fright.

The boy who was now crouching in front of you noticed your lack of attention as he's been calling your name. He bit his lower lip, feeling more and more soft as each second passed. He should have known.. he usually did ask Mr. Joestar about you after all.

Josuke gave up on calling you and proceeded to his second move, which was to cover you with his gakuran. He stood up, unclasped the remaining buttons and gently enrobed you with the garment, slight joy sparking in him when you quickly accepted and wrapped yourself with it. He expected that you were still clueless of a person here with you, but you really are filled with surprises.

"T-thank you.. Angel.." You muttered, a serene feeling slowly emerging when you thought a kind citizen had randomly decided to be concerned over a breaking down woman. You exhaled deeply, eyes opening as your whole form has been blanketed by the coat.

"Angel? You think that suits me?"

You felt your heart skip a beat upon hearing the familiar cheerful voice. It wasn't some random citizen who helped you, of course it had to be someone you know.

You draped the coat over your shoulder and wrapped your body with it, head turning to the side where your sight met the ever-majestic boy's grin, hastily noticing his biceps as he only had a yellow sando as a top. Your eyes widened in surprise, bringing back the coat over your head to hide the creeping blush on your face. The turn of events had you sweeping away the thoughts of your phobia, at least.

"A-ah..? Of course it suits you! You're my.. our JoJo after all!" You faced him and answered after sighing inside the coat, trying to compose yourself, "Your g-gakuran is so warm, Josuke. I might just steal it now!"

Josuke let out a chuckle, comfortably glad that you feel better now. He had one more move up his sleep and he'd ecstatic if he could do it, but maybe some other time.. or later..? Woah there, he shouldn't be thinking about that right now. But for real, he's curious on.. how having you in his arms would feel. Your body insufferably close to his.. your loving arms wrapping around him as he shared his body heat so that you'd be shivering no more.. Sh*t, this is still a crush, right?

"U-uhm, Higashikata to e-earth..?"

"Ah? What? Oh! Yeah, sorry! W-were you saying something?"

Josuke got too far with his thoughts that he stayed still, staring at you with half-lidded eyes and a smirk, a pink shade on his cheeks which were becoming evident even with the storm blocking out the light from the sun. You didn't consider that he looked at you like a lovestruck boy and snapped him from his trance, concerned that he might be feeling cold now.

"I was asking if you.. uhm.. now that I think of it, I m-might sound like a creep," You said, still trembling. You closed your eyes and sighed, meeting his encouraging expression as you opened them again. A pursed smile formed on your lips, "You could have your coat back although I.. I was hoping if we could share it but—"

"Of course we can! I thought you'd never ask, [Y/N]!" Josuke jumped to his feet, a confident grin on his face. You looked up at him, confused, "Brr! I'm starting to feel cold too! Well?" He happily lied, crossing his arms and making an up and down motion over his biceps to add to his bluff. Josuke's not going to let this chance pass! You were the one to offer the.. intimate gesture, he'd be cursing himself forever if he messes this up.

You nodded with your mouth agape and tried to stand up on your feet. Your legs were numb for having to carry your weight on the ground, so it'd make sense if you stumbled for a bit. Fortunately, a strong and quick-thinking boy was there to catch you before it even happens, his hands —which flicked the coat— supporting your waist as you held on his wrists. Oh boy, why is it that you think he'd be a perfect gym partner?

"Perfect gym partner, huh? I wouldn't mind that too, Ms. [Y/N]!" Your eyes widened upon his words, "Yep, you just said it out loud!" Josuke laughed, giving you the urge to turn around in embarrassment but you couldn't, his stubborn hands locking you in place. An awkward silence engulfed as you looked into each other's eyes, the sound of pouring rain joining in again.

You gulped as Josuke sighed and cleared his throat, "I know this isn't a good moment to say what I'm about to say, but I don't think I could do it anywhere else without being awkward so I'm going to say it," Josuke sighed once more and you blink as a response. He sounded complacent yet also shakened while your confusion is getting ahead of you, "I'm really, REALLY going to say it now! I'm actually going to say it, will you let me say it? Uh.."

"..F*ck this is harder than I thought."

You creased your brows, adamantly switching to your sister form, "Language, JoJo!" You retreated your hands and tapped his cheeks, and.. you know you shouldn't have done that.

From another person's view, yours and Josuke's position just got more romantic than ever. Your small hands cupping his adoring face as his were firmly placed on your waist.. His almost bare top fighting the cold breeze brought by the storm just so you could be warm under the cover of his gakuran that was appealingly big on you.. This is much preferable than what Josuke daydreamed. You even called him JoJo, which he's never heard you call his nephew or his father with. Holy.. you're oblivious to the fact that you're setting the mood for him, aren't you?

You were about to pull your hands away when he swiftly locked your wrists, your waist now free from him. You gasped and felt your heart skip a beat. It was just like when you first heard his voice earlier. Being with him like this feels good but.. it doesn't feel right.

"I'm being pushy here, aren't I?" Josuke chuckled shakily, "I feel like bursting at this moment, so.. Ms. [Y/N], would ya listen? I know it'd be uncomfortable and freaky, but I seriously need to say it."

You barely nodded, his hands bringing down yours and holding it in his. He was looking down at the pairs, smiling at how yours fitted in his, "It's only been weeks since we've met— heck, since I've met you and Mr. Joestar, and this isn't really the right time for me to be having this.. puppy crush when enemy Stand Users are on the lose, but I don't usually crush over someone this hard." He grunted, his hands delicately squeezing yours, "I.. I like you, [Y/N]. Like, like-like like you. There.. I finally said it."

The moment would have been cute because of his mulish confession, but you just had to ruin it for the poor boy.

"Josuke we're.. we're family." Josuke flinched before looking at you, his arched brows hitting each other. The tables have turned, and he's the one that's waiting now, "Mr. Joestar, Jotaro.. they're like father and older brother to me while.." You sighed, successfully pulling your hands away from his weakened grip, "Josuke, I don't want to trade my close relationship with your father's family.. for a possibly temporary feelings for me."

Your words hit like Cupid shot their arrow backwards, but Josuke didn't let himself be completely fazed. He was taken aback for a second, but that doesn't mean he didn't expected this. He knew how much the Joestar Family meant to you. You're even proud that you owe your life to them, to such good people that were the epitome of justice and heroic greatness. He took note of that fact when he was getting to know you through his father, who seemed to enjoy telling stories about you. Somehow, he could say he was prepared for this.

"But, doesn't that mean if I proved my feelings aren't temporary and I'm proudly certain of it, I would have a chance with you?" Josuke grinned, tilting his head as he shove his hands in his pockets, "Also, Mr. Joestar approves of you being his daughter-in-law. Man, I'm just glad you didn't accept his offer to adopt you years ago. That would have sucked!"

Your lips opened and closed like a fish underwater, making Josuke smirk inwardly. You were almost speechless, and that's a good thing for him, "How did you.. Why do you even.." You stiffened, fiddling with his coat as you turned on to your side, facing the raining scenery, "Josuke, I don't know why you're doing this, b-but this ain't funny, y'know? Don't you like, see me as your older sister or—"

"At first," You glanced at Josuke who was now facing outside too, "When you introduced yourself as Mr. Joestar's caretaker, yeah," He stole a glance back and pouted, "But when we got to know you and literally took care of me like you're my caring girlfriend? Hell no. I could even bet Okuyasu also had a crush on you, but he told me you were like a mom, a cute mom at that." He shook his head, chuckling at what he said, "Misunderstanding your actions was a sh*tty move for me but I don't regret it one bit, Ms. [Y/N]."

There, Josuke did not just confess his romantic feelings to you, but also admitted how his decision to like you seemed inappropriate. It was valid nonetheless, as you weren't related to him by blood, but you take pride in being the Joestars' comrade —even if you seemed thirsty for them some times— and he acknowledges that.

No one gets to choose who they specifically prefer to be with, anyway. He had to 'Dora!' his way out of his boundaries with you or he would be lying to himself, which he dislikes the most, aside Rohan.

"Are you sure Mr. Joestar's okay with this?" You asked, sighing, "I don't mind giving you a chance now that—"

Josuke didn't even let you finish and proceeded to lock you in his arms, pulling you in excitement as his arms snaked around your neck and your head, "I said 'chance', JoJo! You haven't even asked me if you wanted me to be your girlfriend—"

"So you like me too?" Josuke cut you off again, smiling down at you. You sighed and nodded, accepting your defeat. He shouted a yes, an arm punching above, hitting the roof of the shed, "Aw—! But hey, you just admitted that you like me! Take that, Rohan!"

You slightly pulled away from Josuke, "What does Kishibe have to do with this?" You asked, glaring at him. Josuke shook his head, scratching the back of it as he grinned. Rohan totally had something to do with this as he didn't only set them up, but even tried to discourage the lively Josuke by saying that you'd reject him and tell him that you only see him as family. Technically, he was right— but that didn't last long!

You were going to ask about it again when a thunderstorm sounded, breaking down your collected spirit as you ended up holding yourself close to the boy in front of you. His playfulness aside, he fixed his gakuran that was still on you and wrapped you in his arms protectively, assuring you that you're going to be okay. Another thunderstorm followed, startling you even in his arms. You were a shaking mess, your fists grabbing a handful on the back of his sando, face buried on his chest. He should've been shivering from the cold all this time, but your presence provided warmth for him and he's grateful for that. Josuke willingly let you nuzzle yourself around him, knowing that it comforted you and it brought contentedness to his feelings.

"I hope you won't mind being the rainbow that brings color to my life, [Y/N]."

"Y-yeah, JoJo.. u-unless I strike you as a lightning w-when you break my heart.."

"I'm frightened that you can be scary while you're scared [Y/N] but.. sh*t, I just realized.."

"What i-is it now..?"

"It's also hot."

[End!]

#josuke higashikata x reader #josuke x reader #jjba x reader #josuke higashikata #x reader #joseph joestar x reader #platonic joseph #jjba one shot #one shot fic #rohan kishibe #rohan kishibe x reader #okuyasu nijimura #koichi hirose #jotaro kujo #4taro #jjba part 4 #diamond is unbreakable #morioh #jojo's bizzare adventure #jojo #jojo x reader #josuke confesses to reader #mr. joestar #shizuka joestar #open for criticisms #reader is afraid of thunderstorms #i just wanna write for my pomp boy 😭 #mirawrites

[oceanselevenism]

If you're still doing them maybe number 12 with both the ocean's siblings and their partners?

hell yeah!! i’ve put it under the cut :)) it is Very Tangentially holiday-sweater-related but it is too long to not post now! hope you enjoy, and happy holidays :))

It’s the first Christmas they’ve spent together in... nearly a decade and a half, actually. The years had flown by, blurring into a mess of run-ins and arguments and you stay on your side, I’ll stay on mine, but hey, Danny can’t fault his sister for wanting to make up for lost time. No, he can’t fault her (after all, if she had been the one to fake her death, he’d probably have moved into her house for a week, just to make sure she didn’t do it again) but he can make fun of her, so that’s what he does. “Aw, you really did miss me,” he says when she gives him and Rusty perfunctory hugs on her way into his house (Lou just claps them both on the shoulder, and he’s not sure whether to feel snubbed or relieved). “I can’t believe my dear sister actually cares,” he tells her when she brings him a mug of cocoa, ingredients nabbed from some billionaire in Germany. “Pure family bonding for the whole family,” he remarks when she goes off on a drunken, expletive-filled tangent about the Met Gala’s security over a game of poker (they’ve given up on trying to enforce the no-cheating rule, and he’s pretty sure Lou takes the opportunity to peek at Debbie’s cards). But in all honesty, he can’t keep up the ribbing; it really is good to see her, even if she definitely gets along better with Rusty (she’s told him as much, and right to his face, too) and the third day ends in a bitter, wine-fueled not-argument about their mother and their father and they themselves. But on the fourth morning Danny gets up early (it’s five in the goddamn morning, why the fuck has Lou already left a note on the counter saying gone on a run) to make latkes, and when Debbie comes downstairs she scoops out a dollop of his favorite sour cream instead of her usual applesauce, so unless her latke preferences have done a complete 180 since the last time he’s seen her, they’ve forgiven each other.

She and Lou volunteer to go on a grocery run that evening, and Danny’s glad; he hasn’t had the chance to jump Rusty’s bones in, like, five days (turns out cleaning up for houseguests takes up way more time than anticipated) (hey, the only people they’ve had over in years have been the crew from the Benedict job, and he’s heard Reuben threaten to shit on Turk’s feet, they don’t need to clean up for them). And for a minute, as Rusty pins him up next to the to-be-composted bag that is currently overflowing with potato scraps, the only thought in his head is the usual why didn’t we do this sooner. But then Rusty pulls back-- “Rus,” Danny complains-- and he tilts his head in that We Need To Talk manner. Which would be hot, if not for the fact that Rusty probably wants to talk about Debbie.

“You’re good, right?”

“We were never on bad terms.”

“Liar.”

“Well, hostile terms, maybe,” Danny amends. “But never bad.”

Rusty shifts, adjusting his forearms so it’s more like they’re just two good pals having a conversation three inches from each others’ faces instead of two good pals about to do very unsanitary things in a kitchen, and says, “I think you’re putting too much water under the bridge.”

“What am I, a Dutch engineer?”

“You’re very funny.”

“I know I am. Now, are we gonna--”

The door opens. Danny swears. “We were gone for twenty minutes,” Debbie says. “Are you that desperate?” Danny regrets going for the open-concept first floor, and he regrets it even more as Rusty pushes himself off with an air of utmost nonchalance.

“Here,” Lou says, lobbing a ball of fabric at Rusty. Her aim is remarkable, and Danny almost asks if she ever played softball before deciding he likes his well-being more than teasing his sister’s motorcycle-riding, brass-knuckle-owning girlfriend. It’s fine; next to him, Rusty huffs an amused laugh at the unsaid comment anyway. “Happy Christmas Eve.”

Rusty unfolds the fabric to reveal a truly hideous (and possibly offensive) Christmas sweater. It’s got red sleeves, a green torso, and a large, colorful fruitcake emblazoned on the stomach. Above it, in red and yellow, is text that reads FRUIT CAKE. “I love it,” Rusty says, pressing his lips together in that way that says he’s trying his damndest not to laugh. “It’s perfect.”

Lou opens her coat to reveal her own sweater, hers saying Ho Ho Homo. “I thought the theme was appropriate.”

“And for you, dearest brother,” Debbie says, pulling an atrociously-colored wad of wool out of a paper bag and chucking it at him, “you get the best of both worlds.”

With a mounting sense of horror, he recalls the year that he insisted on putting teal and orange streamers across the house, because it’s Hanukkah and Christmas mixed! That was the last year their parents had lived in the same house; Danny used to joke that it had been the final nail in the coffin for their mother. He pinches an edge of the cloth between two fingers and lets the rest fall open. It’s a Miami Dolphins holiday sweater. A teal-and-orange, festively-patterned Miami Dolphins sweater. Oh, his Boston-bred father would be frothing at the mouth. “We’re in Canada,” Danny says, equal parts shocked and awed. “How the hell did you get this here so quick? We were supposed to be meeting in Quebec until three days ago--”

“Danny, please learn what priority shipping is,” Debbie says. “Now c’mon. Wear it.”

There’s no way he can back out of this. If he refuses, she’ll just play the I thought you were dead card. He’s never regretted a decision more.

He puts on the sweater. Rusty-- his partner, his right hand, the love of his life-- wolf-whistles.

“I’m divorcing you,” Danny announces.

“Don’t worry,” Lou says with a grin, and is that her phone oh fuck she’s got a picture-- “Debbie, take off your coat.”

With the air of someone who has suffered the weight of the world, Debbie shrugs off her jacket. She’s wearing a matching sweater, and the dolphin on this one has a lovingly-embroidered smiling mouth stitched into it. Danny tries very, very hard not to laugh. “Shut it,” Debbie warns him.

“Oh, I’m not saying a thing,” Danny replies.

“We actually did get groceries,” Lou says, turning back to the door, “so--”

“Lemme give you a hand,” Rusty says. “Let these two bask in the joy of their new sweaters.”

“Fuck off,” Danny and Debbie say in unison. Rusty grins, cheery as ever, and leaves Danny’s side to follow Lou out the door.

“Great gift,” Danny says. “I’ll be laughed at by Reuben for the rest of my days.”

Debbie snorts, walking into the kitchen and rooting around in his cabinets. “Well, actually he’d-- wait, please tell me you didn’t, like, have gross old people se--”

“Shut up, Deborah,” Danny replies, feeling his neck heat up. “I’m only two years older than you. And no.” He refrains from adding on a “not this time.”

“Thank God,” Debbie says, pulling a glass out of the cupboard. “Anyway. Reuben’s not gonna laugh at you, he’s just gonna talk about your embarrassing baby stories in whatever groupchat you people have.”

Danny wonders how his baby sister got to be cooler than him. It’s very distressing. “That’s worse.”

“Yep,” she says, putting the pitcher down and picking her now-full glass up. She leans on the wall across from him, sipping her water, and narrows her eyes at him. “Are we, y’know... good?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Danny says. Besides the thirty years of vaguely pretending the other didn’t exist.

“I’m not gonna answer that,” Debbie says. “But... I’d just like to make sure. ‘Cause you’re the only not-completely-insufferable blood relation I have.”

Neither of them say anything for a moment; Danny picks at a loose teal thread, trying to think of how best to phrase the thoughts rattling around in his head. “I don’t hate you,” he finally says. “And I don’t dislike you, either. You’re a pretty good sister. And a great thief.”

“I know,” she replies. “I’m not gonna say it back, ‘cause then you’re gonna get an inflated ego.”

“Works for me,” Danny says, grinning a little.

“I guess it’s just... I mean, I let all the old resentment get in the way of, y’know. Having a decent relationship, personally or professionally.”

Danny nods. He’s still got the scar from the time they both went after the Ruby of the Isle; he’d won, but just barely, and only because he had Rusty and she hadn’t found Lou. But at the end of the day, neither of them have tried to kill the other, and they still did grow up together, playing in Atlantic City casinos and building sand castles under the boardwalk. “I think we’re too old for that now.”

“You’re the old one here,” Debbie replies, no bite in the remark.

“Only two years,” he reminds her. “But I did the same thing as you, letting petty grudges get in the way of family, and for that I’m sorry.”

“I am, too.”

“Thanks, Debs.” He frowns. “They’re taking a really long time to get the groceries, aren’t they?”

As if summoned, the door opens, and Rusty and Lou, each with a measly two bags in their hands, walk in. And Rusty has his phone in his hands. “Rus, I swear--”

“Too late,” Rusty grins, as the shutter sound rings out through the living room. “That outfit has already been immortalized.”

“Have I already said I’m divorcing you? I’m divorcing you.”

“Does it count as fratricide if he’s your brother-in-law?” Debbie asks.

“Disproportionate reactions,” Rusty accuses. “Besides, I’ve already sent it to Linus.”

Danny’s eyes widen. “Not Linus.”

“You heard me.”

His phone vibrates in his pocket. It’s a text from Linus Caldwell himself, consisting of a single thumbs-up emoji and two grinning cats. “You’re all terrible people. Terrible, terrible people.”

(the sweater rusty is wearing is real) (as is lou’s) (and the ocean siblings’)

#oceans 11 #oceans 8 #danny ocean #debbie ocean #rusty ryan #danny x rusty #debbie x lou #lou miller #my writing

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

What a Time to be Alive - Diego Hargreeves x reader Season I

Chapter 6- The Day That Wasn’t

Summary: Eyyy another family meeting, and let’s see if you can get Klaus sober again.

Masterlist - where all the other chapters are⚔️

Tagged: @sambucky8 @white-wolf-buckaroo @2cuteforyourlies @la-vie-en-amour1 @fandomoverlord221 @thatfandombitcch @alonewolfsblog @starrrybarnes @winterboobear11

You’ve been summoned yet again for another Hargreeves family meeting, you’re not even a legit Hargreeves either. But alas, you’ve known them since you were 12 and this is kinda Diego’s family so, even a bigger reason to be here. You’re all positioned in various spots around the bar area, as Allison kindly hands everyone a coffee while her and Luther talk about what Five said earlier. Diego’s sitting on your left while you lean into his side, the both of you sharing a cup of coffee since Allison’s container only held four. Klaus is sitting on the floor in front of the other chair-type-couch opposite of you and Diego, Luther is seated on a barstool while Allison stands next to him, leaning herself against the bar.

“Three days?” Questions Allison, at the literal bombshell of learning that the apocalypse is coming.

“That’s what Five said.” Replies Luther taking a cup from her.

“The old bastard did mention the apocalypse, come to think of it. He just left out the part about how soon.” Says Klaus, taking a small sip from his cup.

“But can we trust him? I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Five’s a little...” Allison makes a circular motions to her head as she whistles. Klaus chuckles, “Our little psycho.”

“He was pretty convincing. If he wasn’t trying to stop an apocalypse, those lunatics wouldn’t be chasing him.” Explains Luther. You give a small nod while Diego hands you the half empty cup with his non injured arm.

“Yeah.”

“What did Five even see?” Allison asks Luther, the rest of you staring intently, listening to the crucial information he’s about to tell you next. His face seems to fall a bit, like he doesn’t really want to reveal any details. “Uh....apparently, we all fought together against whoever was responsible.” He pauses, looking at all your faces, clearly still hiding something. Now this information you hadn’t had a chance to hear yet, so you’re all ears to learn how the world ends. Luther then gets up off the barstool, “Okay. So, here’s the plan. Uh, we go through Dad’s research..” The four of you all start speaking at once, definitely not interested in searching through any old papers. “Hold on, hold on.” “Wait a tick, wait a tick, wait a tick.” Diego and Klaus interrupting each other.

You finally speak up, gaining everyone’s attention, “Luther, we’re missing a...oh I don’t know... a minor detail here, what happened the first time around? What did Five see?” He looks at you nervously, well that can’t be good. “Yeah. What are you not telling us? Come on, big boy, spit it out.” Adds Diego. Luther’s eyebrows furrow, he looks almost scared. For a good five seconds he stares back at the four of you, then he looks down at his coffee cup before taking a sip he says something you almost didn’t catch, “We died.” He whispers as he takes a long sip, your nerves prick, you definitely heard that right.

 “What was that?” Wonders Allison wanting to hear it louder.

 Luther brings his cup down, clearing his throat for a second, “I said, uh, we died.” He says louder this time.

 Everyone’s faces morph into that of complete shock and evident surprise. Just hearing him tell you everyone dies again, still sends your nerves into hyperdrive, a wave of fear washing over you instantly, and it’s only Wednesday.

——

Some time passes and more squabbling ensues, now your all sitting around the bar practically interrogating Luther about the apocalypse, he’s doing his best to answer your rapid fire questions. You suddenly hear the sound of Vanya’s light footsteps roaming around the Academy with someone following her? They don’t appear to be of any threat either. Huh. “No, outside the house. Everyone died.” “You don’t say” “That’s terrible.”

“Hey.” Says Vanya, finally revealing herself and her less then suspisous looking friend, who’s smiling oddly at the five of you. The others look up from their conversation. “What’s going on?” She wonders.

All of you shift around awkwardly, “It’s a family matter.” Replies Allison, you cringe inside, eh probably not the best thing to say to Vanya right now, considering no one invited her.

“A family matter. So you couldn’t bother to include me.” Scoffs Vanya, disappointed but not surprised at her family’s tendencies.

 “No, it’s not like that. We were...” Starts Luther, apologetically, “Don’t let me interrupt.” Vanya cuts in turning to walk away.

 “Wait.” Says Allison rushing over to a retreating Vanya, “I’ll fill you in later when we’re alone.” She pleads, trying to make amends.

 Vanya waves her off, “Please, please, don’t bother. And I won’t either.” Snaps Vanya turning to face Allison.

“Vanya that’s not fair.” Jabs Allison, uh just leave the poor woman alone, you think. Vanya’s face falls, “Fair? There’s nothing fair about being your sister. I have been left out of everything for as long as I can remember. And I used to think it was Dad’s fault, but he’s dead.” She turns angrily to look at the rest of you by the bar, “So it turns out you’re the assholes.” She sourly ends with, turning away and walking out of sight, her friend trailing behind her.

“Ouch.” Comments Klaus, you raise a glass to that, downing the whole thing in one gulp. Allison turns around to face the rest of you, “I’m gonna go find Vanya and explain.” She says, not feeling right about what just happened. “No, wait, there isn’t time. We need to figure out what causes the apocalypse. Now there are loads of possibilities.....Nuclear war, asteroids. But I’m thinking this is about the Moon. Right? Dad must have sent me up there for a reason. And I was giving him daily updates on the conditions, I sent field samples.” Rambles Luther, you share a bored look with Diego, then to waste time you stick your tongue out at Klaus, who returns the favor. “The first thing we need to do is find his research.” Klaus suddenly cuts in, “Hold the phone. We all died fighting this thing the first time around. Remember?” Points out Klaus.

“That actually makes sense, surprisingly. What gives us the upper hand this time around?” You wonder, hoping this meeting will end soon, you’ve got assassins to hunt.

 “Five. Last time we didn’t have him. We weren’t all together.” Answers Luther as Klaus gets off the barstool holding a hand up to his mouth like he’s about to vomit. Luther continues oblivious, “This time, we’ll have the full force of the Umbrella Academy. That’s what we need.” States Luther ever so confident in his leadership skills.

 “Okay, little problem. Five’s MIA once again.” You add bluntly, leaning yourself against the bar, raising your eyebrows at Luther who’s on the other side.

 “Well, he had a plan to change the timeline. He’ll be back soon.” Answers Luther, only a tinge unsure of himself, you roll your eyes at him. “I’m going after those masked motherfuckers.” You growl, not wanting to waste anymore time. Luther looks at you in slight confusion, Diego speaking up to clarify, “Hazel and Cha-Cha.” You push yourself up off the counter, walking around the bar and past them as Luther questions why, “What, right now?” Diego follows you turning to answer Luther, “Hell, yeah.”

Luther then does his best to stop you, “I know you wanna avenge your friend, but we got bigger problems here.” You swiftly twist around walking in closer to Luther, if he didn’t know any better he’d probably be a tad bit afraid, “She didn’t deserve to die like that, neither have countless others. If I’m gonna die....and I mean actually die. I want to know it was me who killed those fuckers.” You hiss, fed up with being forced to listen for 20 boring minutes about the apocalypse and how we’re gonna stop it. Five’s not even here to help, so what’s the point. You needed more information first. Not caring for an answer from Luther, you turn around and head elsewhere.

——

After a bathroom pit stop cause lets be real coffee does that to you, you walk into the hallway, not hearing a single sound. Alright where did Diego go? You close your eyes and listen, hyper focusing on the world around you, searching in the darkness for a sliver of sound. Your ears prick at the creaking of floorboards up above you and the familiar thump of Diego’s boots along with Klaus’. Got em, they’re in the attic.

Silently walking up the wooden staircase you turn to your left, walking into the room to see Diego tying Klaus up to a chair. “If I see a boner, I’m out.” Grumbles Diego, who’s walking around Klaus in a circle while tightening the blue rope. You snort, “Is this a bad time?” The two of them shoot their heads up to look at your amused face. “Oh, hello there Y/H. I’m gonna get sober.” Says Klaus casually, his face scrunching up as he starts to laugh. You smirk, folding your arms together, “Interesting. End of the world and you wanna get clean? I mean, you go Klaus, but I’d guess you’d wanna pop every pill in sight.” You wonder, truly puzzled as to his true motives. “Oh, the thought did cross my mind, believe me, but there’s something I need to do, and the whole pesky thing doesn’t seem to work unless I’m sober.” Explains Klaus as Diego gets on his knee to tie down Klaus’ legs. “Is this about conjuring the one you lost?” Asks Diego, Klaus just sighs sadly. “What was her name?” Diego wonders, still working on that knot.

You notice how Klaus’ face shifts from sad to happy to sad again, “His name was Dave. We soldiered together in the A Shau Valley...in the Mountain of the Crouching Beast.” He let’s out a shaky breath, you feel for him, the way he talks about Dave and how his body language changes with different emotions, the way he smiles adoringly at his sweet memories. It’s almost like how Diego looks when he’s complimenting you on something. Your heart hurts for Klaus, you couldn’t imagine a world without Diego in it, life would be so much more dull and quiet. “He must have been a very special person to put up with all your weird-ass shit.” You tell him while smiling, he snorts breaking out into a large grin, “Yeah. Yeah, he was...He was kind, and strong, and vulnerable, and...beautiful. And I was foolish enough to follow him all the way to the front line.” He explains, his voice changing with every emotion. Diego looks up in surprise, “You fought in the shit?” Klaus looks at him, “Oh yeah, war couldn’t take enough bodies. Please. Including his.” Klaus’ face darkens, but only for a moment, “Hey, look at us. Logging in some quality bro time before the end of the world.” Cheers Klaus, Diego gives a slight chuckle, finishing the last knot and getting up to walk towards you.

 “Ah, shit.” Whines Klaus loudly, both of you turning to see what’s the matter. 

“What?” Asks Diego.

 “I need to pee.”

You roll your eyes looking around the room, spotting what you had in mind, “Okay good, here’s a bucket.” Walking over to it, you pick it up, setting it down next to Klaus. “Piss, shit, throw up, whatever you need to do. It’s your multipurpose bucket, have a blast.” You tell him sarcastically, giving him a kind smile. He looks back up at you with an unpleasant gaze, wanting to argue but knowing to well that you’d just harass him more. Diego turns to leave, you following right behind him, “No wait, come back. Come back! Come back you pricks!” He shouts defiantly, you don’t want to but it’s for the best, so you ignore him. Trailing Diego down the stairs.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, you just need a moment to chill, maybe a ten minute break. With that in mind you walk towards your old bedroom, Diego silently following your lead.

Walking inside you stop and stretch, taking in your surroundings, “Damn, this room is nicer then the one back home, er...well...we don’t exactly have a bedroom.” You tell him, walking over to the large bed, where you jump on it, laying sprawled out on the whole thing. Ugh, you forgot how comfortable it was, and so soft too.

Diego stands in the middle of your room, fiddling with his arm brace, since he did get shot and all. He suddenly looks up at you smiling, laughing to himself, “What’s so funny Hargreeves?” You call out to him, still staring up at the ceiling. He chuckles again, “Remember when Luther burst through here, cause he thought we were doing something else. When we were really just jumping on the bed, smacking each other with those foam swords you bought at the dollar store.” You smile at the memory, letting out a breathy laugh. “I honestly can’t believe none of them ever actually caught us in the act. That was a true miracle.” You mutter. Diego starts walking over to you with a hint of something new in his eyes, your face falls into a frown when you hear the oddly familiar humming of, Grace? But that can’t be, how is she?

Noticing your abrupt change in mood, Diego stops, confusion and a bit of disappointment flashing through his dark eyes. You make eye contact with him, “This is gonna sound crazy. But I can hear Grace humming downstairs.” You tell him, his eyebrows furrow, he definitely was not expecting you to say that of all things.

——

The both you walk cautiously down the stairs and into the main living room where Grace is dusting the head of a warthog. Humming to herself as casually as ever, you stand in the doorway, letting Diego walk up to her. He questions how she’s able to walk around like nothing bad ever happened to her. Grace answers cheerfully, smiling brightly. You decide to let them have their peace, so you turn around and wait by the front door.

Diego and Grace walk aimlessly into the front room, it appears that Grace would like to go for a walk in the park this evening. With nothing better to do and no clear idea where Hazel and Cha-Cha could possibly be, you follow along.

By the time you all make it halfway through the park, it’s dark out and the night air is cool, your personal favorite time of day. Not a lot of people are walking around, the world is quieter, and there’s no sun to blind you when you forget your sunglasses. Grace suddenly stops, a look of concern melted onto her smooth features, “There’s something else that needs to be said, Diego. Pogo and I...we’ve been lying. Lying to all of you.” She states, you walk in closer to her, “What do you mean Grace?” You ask her, perplexed as to what she might tell you next.

——

The six of you gather around the bar, all conversing about how the apocalypse could start and how we might be able to stop it. From your spot behind the bar, next to Diego, you get the oddest feeling of deja vu. When a flash of blue unexpectedly appears, bringing Five with it. He falls onto the table in front of you, landing hard on a black briefcase. The rest of you, jumping back in surprise, definitely not expecting Five to randomly teleport from out of nowhere.

“You guys, am I still high, or do you see him, too?” Asks Klaus bewildered, as Five rolls off the side of the bar.

 “Five, where have you been? Who did this?” Demands Luther as he and Allison go to help Five up.

 “Irrelevant.” Snaps Five, on to more important things.

 He takes a coffee cup out of Luther’s hand, and downs the whole thing. As you all watch, completely dumbfounded as to what’s even happening right now. Five finishes his drink, turning around with a hard look on his face, “So, the apocalypse is in three days. The only chance we have to save our world is, well, us.” He explains.

“The Umbrella Academy.” Says Luther, stating quite the obvious.

“Yeah, but with me, obviously. So if y’all don’t get your sideshow acts together and get over yourselves, we’re screwed. Who cares if Dad messed us up? Are we gonna let that define us? No. And to give us a fighting chance to see next week, I’ve come back with a lead.” Five says, holding up a white folded piece of paper, “I know who’s responsible for the apocalypse. This is who we have to stop.” Allison takes the paper from his hand, the rest of you gathering around her to see what it says. “Harold Jenkins?” She wonders aloud.

“Who the hell is Harold Jenkins?” Questions Diego.

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy x you #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves x you #number two #tua #tua season one

[sector-i-closed]

In My Blood

Requested by @beankeeper37

Vampire!San x pet!reader

Tagging: @atiny-piratequeen @toppklassik @mirror-juliet @atinybrew

Warning: Smut, blood drinking and a bit fluffy and the cut didn't work

It had been a long night for your master, Choi San; the night being spent talking to his father who was the CEO of Treasure synthetic blood production company.

He had been summoned to discuss the future of the company since he was the heir apparent and needed to know all of the bells and whistles of how the company worked and all of the business aspects of it which was still somewhat confusing to the young vampire.

Arriving home to you was not a moment too soon and when you laid eyes upon him for the first time this evening, you could not help noticing his uber pale complexion and the weakness in his eyes that seemed to whisper hints of redness in his orbs.

You carefully sauntered up to San, listening to him cursing beneath his breath about how he should have fed while he was visiting his father's company.

A pout spread across your face as you tapped the vampire's back, deep in your gut you wanted to help ease your master's discomfort but all you could fathom was to allow him to drink from your veins.

As he turned to face you a thought resounded in your heart and mind, a thought that you were aware of embodying that reminded that you would give up your life for your master if you needed to.

Your heart jolted in your chest when your sickly master made eye contact with you, his eyes now burning completely red with hunger as he looked up and down your body in sweeping motion that stilled your heart.

"Y-you shouldn't be here, pet." San's hands ball into tight fists as he licks his lips, dragging his tongue across his partially unsheathed fangs.

The visual was hypnotic and somehow made you even more willing to give yourself up to him to feed.

"Please master, you're hurting. I want you to feel better so... please feed from me." You give him a small smile while innocently brushing your hair aside.

"Are you even thinking this through, pet? Being so ready to appease my hunger..." San stares down at your neck longingly, the pout that had settled on his face wrenching at your heart even more.

"It's what I want, master. You're always wanting me to be happy and it would make me happy if you do this." You admitted honestly with a reddened flush lighting your face.

"My pet... so willing to please master... come to me." Your master beckoned to you with his fingers.

Obediently you stepped towards him, the rapid beating of your heart rattling your chest and shaking your entire frame while you lowered your eyes to avoid gazing into his enchantingly gorgeous face.

The vampire's usually angelic face morphed into a devilish smirk at the sound that your heart made, becoming quite cocky because of the effect he was having on your senses. Instinctively you submitted yourself to him willingly, tilting your head to the side and exposing the length of your neck to your master.

He rested his fingers against your lively beating pulse point, soaking up your warmth and smirking at how you flinched beneath his touch, obviously expecting to feel his fangs sink into your neck.

"Hold on to me, angel. I won't hurt you." San ordered, allowing you to wrap your arms around his waist as he lowered his head to bite the pulse point that he had traced earlier with his fingertips.

"Oh!!" You winced and almost struggled in your master's grasp when his fangs met your skin, slicing into your artery and tapping the blood that flowed through your vascular system.

"San..." You stiffened in his hold and listened to the soft moan of delight that sounded from your master's throat.

A sudden warm sensation was unlocked, rushing throughout your being and heating your body while filling your stomach with a feeling of liquid honey settling in your gut.

Weakness and pleasure prompted a wave of dizziness to set in, forcing you to grasp onto his shoulders tightly.

An audible sweet groan was coaxed from the vampire as his hands wandered across your body greedily, slowly moving in erotic, sinful movements that brought out the deepest desires to surface in your mind.

San smirked against your neck and moved his lips in continuously sensual movements, exacerbating the lust that now flowed through your veins.

The vampire could see the image of your thoughts imprinted in the blood that he savored with love and it encouraged another pleasured moan to be pulled from him.

You shuddered in his arms, your body going lax from the feelings of love that you felt within your heart and veins as the vampire caressed your curves desperately. He pulled away and carefully licked your bleeding incision clean with firm strokes of his tongue while cradling you to him.

You exhaled in relief, having been worried that your actions may have gave away your feelings while the vampire had drank from your pulsing artery, readily taking in the nourishment that you provided for him like an infant being nourished by it's mother. San stood straight and gave you a knowing smile which made you feel quite uneasy, being uncertain as to how to read his face.

"I saw what you were thinking, kitten." The vampire gave a haunting grin that made your hair stand on end.

"I-in my blood?" You stammered with your words catching in your throat, your brain failing to muster a more explanatory reply regarding your naughty thoughts as your master swiftly closed the distance between your face and his own, planting his lips to yours in a kiss that mirrored your own feelings for him.

Your warm lips melded against your master's mouth, quickly relaxing as sinful feelings coursed through your body. "Baby do you want me to satisfy you the way you desire?" San questioned, his eyes dark with lust as he stares into your e/c orbs.

You blinked at him anxiously, biting down on your lip while thinking about your answer.

"Please master... I- I want all of you." You sighed, feeling tears prickle in your eyes at speaking what you wanted.

"I want all of you also. Your love, your heart, your mind, your body..." The vampire nodded, easing your anxiety as he lifted you into his arms and carried you quickly to his bedroom.

You clung to him by wrapping your arms around his neck, holding on until he lowered you onto his bed.

Impulsively you reached for the hem of your shirt, ready to lift it over your head because of your eagerness. Your master helped you with removing your clothing, carefully removing each article of clothing from your body until you were completely exposed to him.

"My beautiful pet~" San murmured with lust filled eyes, his eyes burning with desire as his gaze swept up and down your body.

You gasped when he hastily removed his clothing, exposing his body completely to you and climbing on top of you to capture your lips in a wanting kiss.

Frail moans leaked from your mouth while the vampire kissed you deeply, prompting you to succomb further to the lust that was being pumped through your veins. Sweet kisses were trailed down your neck, accompanied by gentle sucking motions that seared your skin in spite of the chilliness of his lips.

San stopped at your chest and lingered there, kissing your curves with care as his hands tenderly caressed your waist, encouraging you to feel special with each bit of contact from your master.

"Every part of you is magnificent, kitten~" He coos against your stomach as he trails his lips to your heat. You jolt suddenly at the feeling of your drenched slit being kissed without warning and a hum of pleasure vibrated through you as your master sloppily licked at your heat, bringing you closer to the edge as he peered at you with a breathtakingly haunting gaze.

Unconsciously you clenched your hands into tight fists and your body reacted by tensing beneath the ministrations of your master's tongue.

Languid, slow licks were pressed to your clit and praise of how good you were for him was liberally peppered onto you.

"Mmm..." Your hips bucked upwards as San slowly inserted a single digit inside of you, curling it upwards and pinpointing the beating pulse point of your g spot and assaulting it repeatedly as he worked hard to bring you to orgasm with his mouth.

You tried to scramble your body away from him but the vampire held you firmly in place as you orgasmed on his finger.

"M-master, master!!!" You shrieked out loud as you felt yourself sink completely onto the bed that you were lying upon.

San extracts his finger from you and cleans it orally before climbing back up to you, capturing your lips in a kiss that made your entire head buzz.

Another rush of heat rushed through your veins leaving you begging desperately for him to enter your pulsing heat and satisfy the deep yearning you felt for him.

"As you wish, darling." He whispers against your lips before stealing them again. While your senses were enveloped in the haze of the euphoric kiss, San was slowly pressing his tip against your sopping entrance until your hole began began to stretch to accommodate him.

You whined against his lips as he continued to fill you and the burn seemed to go on forever until he finally sheathed himself completely inside of your heat.

Without realizing what you were doing you reached out for him and encircled his waist with your arms, drawing him in until he was pressed completely against your frame.

"Please move master..." You murmured, gasping sharply when his cock aimed directly for your sweet spot, thrusting against it rhythmically at a pleasant pace that wasn't too fast while keeping sweet feelings circulating throughout your body.

Your master moaned at the soft feel of your walls encasing his cock and you were delighted to feel what you had been craving to feel in a moment like this, an enrapturing feeling that you wished could never end.

"I remember when I first found you and how I felt when I first saw your face." San pants softly between thrusts as you hold onto his arms tightly, moaning with each stroke that penetrated you deeply.

"I knew then without a doubt that I want to be with you forever." A low groan rumbled in his throat while bottoming out deep inside of you before pulling out again to repeat the action of thrusting into your sex.

"You make my life better, angel." San stared deep down into your eyes as he continued his pace, picking up speed slightly while stimulating you internally.

You mewl weakly and your body involuntarily shudders as his tender words filled your ears.

"I love you so much, Y/N." Your master breathed against your lips, sealing your lips over with his own in a breathtaking kiss that weakened you physically, more so than you had already experienced.

The sound of his hips slapping against your skin picked up rhythm but his lips continued the loving kiss that he shared with you.

"I love you, Y/N." He whispered, encouraging your walls to tighten around his length as you spasmed around him.

"P-please bite me... master!!" Your muffled cry spilled from your lips as overwhelming love rushed over you and inhabited your veins.

The vampire reacted by quickly lowering his head in the crook of your neck, slicing into your skin with care and drinking the blood from your veins slowly, savoring every drop of your essence with deep appreciation as you rode out your orgasm on his cock. You moaned weakly and went limp as San chased his own climax, stilling his movements after he came inside of you with a broken whine.

The velvety touch of his tongue licking your neck soothed your senses and you melted when he pulled away from you, revealing his bloodstained mouth while his eyes were filled with love for you.

"I want you in my life forever, baby." San kissed your lips gently and lied down beside you, automatically bringing you in closer. You mewled happily as your eyelids grew heavy, feeling a sense of fullness in your heart that made you glow.

"I love you, master." You croaked out, falling asleep in the safety of his arms.

"I love you more, pet. Be mine forever."

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